The Czar: A Tale of the Time of the First Napoleon

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The Czar: A Tale of the Time of the First Napoleon by Deborah Alcock

Published 1895

I. A SLEEPING VILLAGE, ... ... ... ... ... 7

II. IVAN'S ADVENTURE, ... ... ... ... ... 18

III. SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN, ... ... 25

iv. IVAN'S HORIZON WIDENS, ... ... ... ... 37

V. PETROVITCH, ... ... ... ... ... ... 48

VI. IVAN'S EDUCATION, ... ... ... ... ... 59

VII. "ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM," ... ... ... ., 70

vin. A NATION'S TRANSPORT, ... ... ... ... ... 81

IX. CLEMENCE, ... ... ... ... ... ... 94

X. THE DRAWING OF THE LOT, ... ... ... ... 106

XI. ONE OF HALF A MILLION, ... ... ... ... 113

XII. ONE OF FIFTY MILLION, ... ... ... ... ... 119

XIII. SERF AND BOYAR, ... ... ... ... ... 130

XIV. THE FORLORN HOPE, ... ... ... ... ... 138

XV. THE MARTYR CITY, ... ... ... ... ... 148

XVI. ALEXANDER, ... ... ... ... ... ... 153

XVII. IN THE CAMP, ... ... ... ... ... ... 166

XVIII. TWO IMPORTANT INTERVIEWS, ... ... ... ... 174

XIX. THE CHEVALIER GUARD, ... ... ... ... ... 183

XX. WEARY, WANDERING FEET, ... ... ... ... 192

XXI. OVER THE BERESINA, ... ... ... ... ... 206

XXII. THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST, ... ... ... 216

XXIII. THE MOSCOW MEDAL, ... ... ... ... ... 230

XXIV. ONE YEAR AFTERWARDS, ... ... ... ... ... 23

vi CONTENTS.

xxv. "FATHER PARIS FOR MOTHER MOSCOW," ... ... 244

XXVI. AT VERSAILLES, ... ... ... ... ... 250

XXVII. RECOGNITIONS, ... ... ... ... ... 260

XXVIII. DRIFTING, ... ... ... ... ... 274

xxix. IVAN'S DINNER PARTY, AND WHAT FOLLOWED, ... ... 283

XXX. THE PURPLE BROCADE ONCE MORE, ... ... ... 294

XXXI. LEAVES FROM LETTERS, ... ... ... ... 306

XXXII. TWO RETURNS, ONE OF THEM NOT EXPECTED, ... ... 315

XXXIII. HIS KING SPEAKS TO THE CZAR, ... ... ... 329

XXXIV. AFTER WATERLOO, ... ... ... ... ... 342

xxxv. "THE GRAY SISTER OF HEARTS," ... ... ... 353

XXXVI. TWO HAPPY DAYS, ... ... ... ... ... 363

XXXVII. AT NICOLOFSKY, ... ... ... ... ... 376

XXXVIII. A ROSEBUD, ... ... ... ... ... ... 384

XXXIX. MORNING SUNSHINE, ... ... ... ... ... 389

XL. MORNING CLOUDS, ... ... ... ... ... 400

XLI. FROM AFAR, ... ... ... ... ... ... 409

XLII. SNOW-DRIFTS, ... ... ... ... ... ... 422

XL1II. HIS KING SPEAKS TO THE CZAR ONCE MORE, ... ... 427

XL1V. "CHRISTOHS VOSKRESS," ... ... 440

THE CZAR.

CHAPTER I.

A SLEEPING VILLAGE.

"Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay." TENNYSON.

]HE nineteenth century was still very young; its eventful day that day whose sunset we have yet to see had but lately dawned upon the world. There were regions, even in Europe, where, for any illumination brought them by the age, the hand of time might have been put back for centuries. In the vast monotonous plain around Moscow the ancient, Moscow the holy, with her "forty times forty 'churches," Russian serfs tilled the corn fields of their lords, trembled beneath the knout and the plitt, ate their kasha and drank their kvass, and enjoyed the simple luxuries of their stoves and their vapour-baths, just as their fathers and fathers' fathers had done for generations.

In that land of sameness, where received types repeat each other to weariness, with almost as little variety in the works of nature as originality in those of man, the village of Nicol- ofsky was a fair sample of a hundred others. It belonged to Plato Zoubof, one of the favourites of Catherine II., who had bestowed it upon him with the adjacent lands and the " bodies and souls of men " it contained. Out of these he contrived to

8 A SLEEPING VILLAGE.

wring no inconsiderable revenue ; but lie never honoured Nicol- ofsky with his presence. A steward managed everything, unfortunately for the peasants, or mujiks, who were treated with much more severity than their brethren whose natural lords dwelt " among their own people," and cultivated relations with them usually kindly, often even paternal. From the mujiks of Nicolofsky heavy dues were exacted, and much labour required in the corn-fields of their lord. In harvest- time they were often forced to toil the whole night long, and any shortcoming was cruelly punished. At this very epoch a series of enlightened enactments, tending to ameliorate the lot of the serf and to prepare the way for his complete eman cipation, were emanating from the supreme authority in the state ; but from these Nicolofsky had as yet received little or no practical benefit, except, indeed, the deep conviction, which sank into the heart of the mujik, that his lord the Czar loved him and cared for his welfare.

Still, as the proverb tells us, '-The holy Russian land is large, but everywhere the dear sun shines." Many a gleam of sunlight, from the mercy of Him whose compassions are over all his works, brightens even the lot of servitude, that looks, and rightly looks, so dark and so degrading to the thoughtful observer. Had such an observer visited- Nicolofsky on the bright afternoon of one of the Church holidays in the late llussian spring, he would have found some difficulty in remem bering, and perhaps as much in persuading the mujiks, that they were an oppressed and miserable race.

Youths and maidens, boys and girls were crowding to the birch wood to enjoy their favourite pastime of the swing. Nor were the older villagers unrepresented at least so far as regards the men. Many a grave, bearded mujik keenly enjoyed the motion without labour so dear to the indolent and excitable Russian, although the women for the most part remained at horne to prepare the tschi (or cabbage soup)

A SLEEPING VILLAGE. 9

for the festive evening meal. The young people, as they passed along, made the air resound with their sweet national songs, chanted in parts and with wonderful grace and har mony.

The company of children seemed to follow the guidance of one of their number, whom either his position or the choice of his companions had made a leader amongst them. At twelve or fourteen the little mujik is often a very handsome lad, as may be seen from the boy postilions of St. Petersburg. And a most favourable specimen of the class, if indeed he belonged to it at all, was the fair-haired boy who stepped so proudly along, quite conscious of his superior dignity, and conspicuous in his new caftan of bright blue, bound round the waist with a crimson sash. He held by the hand a little girl, very pretty, though not so gaily clad. She seemed to be his especial charge; and when the spot in the wood where they meant to pursue their sport was reached at last, the other children crowded around them, and, like juvenile courtiers, emulously tendered their help to make a swing for " Barrinka," the little lord, who had promised to swing Anna "Popovna," the priest's daughter. These swings were made very easily, by bending down and tying together the flexible elastic branches of the giant birches.

Barrinka, however, wanted to do all himself, and he did it quickly and neatly. He had just, with boyish gallantry, placed his little companion in the seat prepared for her, when an older lad pushed rudely through the group of children, and coming up to him laid his hand on his shoulder. " Get into that seat and swing yourself, Ivan Barrinka," he said. " To-day Anna Popovna belongs to me not to you."

Ivan shook off his hand, and for a moment they stood motion less, looking each other in the face. Strong was the contrast between the fine, delicate features of the one, and the rough, I, determined face of the other, which seemed hewn out

10 A SLEEPING VILLAGE.

of his native granite. Evidently this was not by any means their first quarrel.

" Hold thy peace, one-eared Michael," Ivan answered at last. " I tell thee Anna wants me to swing her me, and not thee."

" Let her say so, then. Is that true, Anna Popovna? Didst thou not promise me yesterday, after church, that I should swing thee to-day I, and no one else ?"

Tims appealed to, the little girl behaved very like a grown-up daughter of Eve. She pouted, blushed, stammered, and seemed to hesitate between her two cavaliers, neither of whom she wished to offend. At length she said, " If you wanted so much to swing me, why were you not here in time, Michael Ivanovitcli ?"

" Easy for those who have naught to do to blame those who work hard. I had water to fetch and wood to cut for the mother," said Michael, the widow's son.

" Well, it was a pity, since you stayed away so long, that you did not stay altogether, and leave us in peace," Anna rejoined in a pettish tone.

This exasperated Michael, and not without reason, if all were told. " You did not say that to me, Anna Popovna," he cried, "when I went to seek you in the snowstorm, you and your brother the Popovitch, and lost my left ear to save you." Then he turned fiercely upon Ivan, as upon a foe more worthy of his wrath : " It is all your fault, Ivan Barriiika. I am quite tired of you and of your prido. Lord though you may be, you shall not lord it over me. And, after all, who knows who and what you are? I'm sure I don't. Do you know yourself? Answer me that. Whose son are you ?"

"It is you who are proud, Michael Ivanovitch. Since that wonderful snowstorm you were out in there has been no bearing with you. One would think, from the airs you give yourself, that no one ever had an ear frozen before."

By this time the loud voices had attracted the attention of

A SLEEPING VILLAGE. 11

the other boys. Leaving their swings, they came crowding around ; and as soon as they understood the cause of the dispute, they all turned with one accord upon Michael, threatening him with condign punishment if he did not forthwith let Barrinka have his way, whatever that way might be.

But Barrinka no longer cared for the pastime. Michael's taunt, " Who knows who and what you are 1" had struck home. From infancy the pet and plaything of the village every wish anticipated, every caprice borne with, he had been surrounded with an atmosphere of deferential affection. He could not but know that he differed from all around him ; a mystery hung about his birth, which, through injudicious and mistaken kind ness, had been neither wholly concealed nor yet frankly revealed to him. All his little playfellows had fathers and mothers. It is true they were beaten sometimes, while he was never beaten. Still, it seemed to him a strange thing to have no father or mother. He called the starost, or elder of the village, in whose house he had been brought up, " bativshka " (little father), and his wife, " mativshka " (little mother), but that was not by any means the same as having a father and mother of his own.

" Take the swing if you like it," he said to Michael. " I care nothing about it. I shall do something by-and-by much better than anything you have ever done in your life."

Leaving the children behind him in the wood, he bent his steps homeward, regardless of the regretful looks sent after him by blue-eyed Anna Popovna, who saw that her little cavalier was sorely vexed, and would gladly have comforted him. Two longings filled his childish heart, to be able to tell Michael and everybody who he was, and to be the hero of an adventure more wonderful than Michael's wanderings through the snow in search of the priest's children. Michael had been out in a snowstorm and lost an ear ! In comparison with such a hero the little lord felt himself a very child.

12 A SLEEPING VILLAGE.

He soon came in sight of the double row of brown wooden cottages that called itself Nicolofsky. These cottages, or izbas, were built of the trunks of trees laid one over the other, with the interstices stuffed with moss. There was a church, also of wood, but larger and better built, with a bell suspended from a fine elm tree close to it. Two of the izbas were better than the rest, and belonged, one to the starost, the other to the pope, or parish priest, Anna's father. That of the starost boasted a porch, with ornamental wooden pillars and quaint carvings. It had a substantial chimney built of good bricks, and secure well-glazed windows to keep out the intense cold of the Russian winter. Indeed all the cottages were more com fortable than they looked.

Ivan entered, and dutifully made his bow, as he had been taught to do, to the holy picture which hung in the corner, with a lamp burning before it, since this was a feast-day. The con tents of the izba were extremely simple. The most conspicuous object was the stove, with a wide shelf or platform over it, upon which the family usually slept ; a handsome carved chest con tained the clothing used upon festive occasions, and there were besides a few stools, a table, an arm-chair, and some wooden cups, platters, and cooking utensils. The vapour-bath, that indispensable Russian luxury, occupied an outhouse.

An old woman stood over the fire, diligently stirring a capa cious caldron, from which there issued a very savoury steam. The family the starost had to feed was not a small one, three grown-up sons, with the wife and child of one of them, found shelter beneath his roof.

"You are cooking tschi for our supper, mativshka," said Ivan.

" And what better dish could I be cooking, my little dove ?

• For tschi, folk wed,' says the proverb."

"When I am old enough I will wed Anna Popovna."

" Hush ! hush ! My darling must not talk so. He is worth a thousand Popovnas."

A SLEEPING VILLAGE. 13

"One-eared Michael does not think that."

"Who cares for one-eared Michael?"

" But, mativshka, to-day he asked me who I was, and I I had no answer."

" No answer ! Why, every one knows who you are. You are our dear little lord."

" But whose son am I, mativshka ? That was what he wanted to know."

"Ask the father, boy, ask the fatnei-. As for me, why, ' A word is not a bird : if it flies out, you'll never catch it again.'"

Old Feodora would not have thought it any harm to put her nursling off with a string of falsehoods, if they had occurred to her at the moment, or if she had thought them necessary ; for these poor, " dimly-lighted souls " had little idea of the value of truth. But Ivan's history was now so much an "open secret" in the village, that she saw no reason why the boy should not know it himself, since he was twelve years old, and very intelli gent. Still, she was afraid to tell him anything without her husband's knowledge and concurrence.

Soon afterwards the starost came in an imposing and vener able figure, his long, gray beard nearly covering the breast of his caftan. He would have parted with his head quite as readily as with that beard.

As soon as he had made his reverence to the sacred picture, seated himself in his chair by the stove, and exchanged his formidable (and fragrant) boots of Russia leather for a pair of lapti, or bark slippers, Ivan stood up before him, and put the question directly, "Bativshka, whose son am I?"

" Great St. Nicholas ! what has come to the boy ?" the starost exclaimed ; then he looked perplexed, and hesitated for an answer. His wife leaned over the back of his chair and said a few words in a low voice, and a whispered discussion fol lowed, during which Ivan waited patiently. Presently Feo-

14 A SLEEPING VILLAGE.

dora returned to her cooking ; and the starost solemnly crossed his breast with the thumb and two fingers of his right hand, then taking from his pocket a medal with the effigy of his patron saint upon it, he brightened it with a rub against his sleeve, and said a prayer to it, or to the personage it represented. Having thus prepared himself, he told Ivan to sit down at his feet.

"My child," he said, "since you wish to know, I will tell you to-day what name you have a right to bear but pray to your saint day and night that the knowledge may work you no harm."

" Why should it work me harm, bativshka? Is it that I am the son of a bad man ? "

" God only knows that. What I know is that you are the son of our lord and master."

" Not of Zoubof ! no, no ! " cried Ivan, wondering.

The old man replied by a gesture of supreme contempt : " Zoubof 7 He is of yesterday. Such as he come and go and are forgotten, like last year's snow. But you, Ivan Barrinka, you are the son of our true lord, our master in God's sight a great boyar,* a prince who can trace his lineage back to the days of Rurik. Yes ; you are the son of " here he paused and bowed his gray head reverently " of Prince Pojarsky."

Ivan was impressed by the solemn tone in which these words were spoken. He waited in silence for a few moments, then he questioned in a low voice, "And who is Prince Pojarsky ]"

" He and his have been the lords of Nicolofsky and the lands around it for generations and generations, even before the old times when the Poles conquered Muscovy. But in the days of the great Czarina Catherine, who rests with God, our lord and your father, being a young man, full of pride and loving plea sure, must needs go forth to travel in strange lands. For you must know, Ivan Barrinka, that there are other lands in God's

• Nobleman

A SLEEPING VILLAGE. IS

world besides holy Russia, and that the peoples thereof do not obey our lord the Czar, but have kings and rulers of their own. This is hard to believe ; but Pope Nikita says so, and, moreover, the soldiers tell us of them when they come back from the wars. Besides, I have seen Nyemtzi* myself Frenchmen and French women, who had not a word of good Russian, but spoke an out landish tongue of their own. What is sad to think, our lord and your father not only went amongst these foreigners, but gave his hand in marriage to one of them. Not that I have anything to say against the beautiful, gracious lady, your mother. The good saints rest her soul ! Mativshka loved her well, and God knows she served her faithfully. But amongst her kinsfolk must have been some who were the devil's children ; for they rose against their own king, and, horrible to tell ! they slew him. Moreover, they did not do it secretly and in darkness, but openly, in the face of day, on a scaffold, as if he had been a thief or a murderer. Truly they are strange people, those Nyemtzi.

" Let us hope that evil men slandered our lord to the Czarina when they said he bore part in such wickedness. But at all events she believed the tale. When he came back to St. Peters burg, and dared to show his face at the Hermitage (the great, beautiful house where our lady the Czarina lived), she scathed him with the lightning of her anger. It is even reported that she said to him, ( Pachol/'^ the word you would use to a dog if you were angry with it. Straightway he was sent an exile to Siberia, and all he had was taken from him and given to Plato Zoubof. Better had they laid him in his grave at once. The beautiful young lady, your mother, quickly died of grief, and mativshka, who was your nurse, brought you home to her own people. For a long time we hid you carefully, and guarded the secret jealously amongst ourselves ; for we feared the new lord Plato Zoubof, and still more the steward Dmitri

• Foreigners. t Get out ! Go out from my presence in disgrace.

16 A SLEEPING VILLAGE.

a hard man, who has no pity. But now both know you are here, and care nothing for it. 'What is it to us?' they say. So that now, without fear, you may call yourself, and be called by every one, by the noble name you have a right to bear. Only remember, Ivan Barrinka, that although you are the son of a boyar and a prince, the same God made us and you, and the poor man's soul is worth as much in his sight as your own."

Ivan answered not a word. As one overpowered, he threw himself face downwards on the earthen floor, and lay there absorbed in thought. But at last he raised his wondering, child-like face, full of the brightness of a new idea. " Bat- ivshka, people sometimes come back from Siberia, do they not ? "

The old man shook his head. "They who go are as the sand," he said ; " they who come back may be reckoned on your fingers."

"But I remember the time of the Czar's coronation four five years ago, was it? I was quite a little boy then. Many exiles came home from Siberia ; and you went to the Moscow road to see them pass, and the people wept for joy, you said. I wanted to go, but you would not bring me, saying I was too young. If these exiles came back, then why not my father?"

"Ah, you cannot understand. That was quite another matter. The late Czar, Paul Petrovitch, who reigned after the Czarina Catherine, was somewhat stern and hard. Doubtless God sent him to punish the great nobles for their sins. He banished many of them to Siberia ; but the Czar that now is, whom God preserve ! pardoned them all, and let them return home. Yet some offences there be that find no pardon ever, except in the grave ; and to the exile's resting-place the grave is always near."

Ivan's next thought was a more childish one. " Bativshka,"

(696)

A SLEEPING VILLAGE. 17

he said, after another silence, " I should like to tell all this to Anna Popovna and to Michael Ivanovitch. Still, although I am the son of a boyar and a prince," he added presently, " I shall not be quite happy, not quite, until I have taken a longer journey than ever Michael did, and have had something happen to me much more wonderful than getting frozen and losing one of my ears."

CHAPTER II.

IVAN'S ADVENTURE.

"Adventures are to the adventurous." CONINGSBY.

VAN BARRINKA, or Ivan Pojarsky, as he may now be called, was a genuine child of Russia. His nature was quick, mobile, restless, passionate. He was capable of strong determination, but capable also of changefulness and inconstancy, because the mood of the moment always seized upon and swayed his whole soul. But lie was all this only in the germ, for his was as yet the un- awakened, undeveloped mind of a child. The simple-hearted guardians of his infancy had given him all they could food, shelter, and tenderness ; and this not only without hope of re ward, but during some years under absolute terror of discovery and punishment. But they could not give him the instruction to which his intelligent mind would have so eagerly responded. No one in the village, except the priest, knew the mysteries of the Russian alphabet ; and Pope Nikita, like most Russian priests, was in 110 real sense a pastor or a teacher, but rather a machine for performing the numerous ceremonies of his Church. All that could be said in his favour was, that if he did little good, he did little harm. Neither from him nor from the starost did Ivan learn any religion except a series of outward acts and postures, of bowings and crossings, and formal repeti tions of "Gospodin pomilvi,"* with a respect for sacred pic-

" Lord, have mercy upon me."

IVAN'S ADVENTURE. 19

tures, and a vague reverence for God, for the saints, and for the Czar. He never dreamed that any of these mysterious, far-away powers should influence his daily conduct, though he did believe that his patron St. John (Ivan is the Russian form of John) might help him in a time of need ; because, when he had the measles, a picture of the saint had been blessed by the pope and laid on his breast, and straightway he began to re cover ! It was mournfully significant of the kind of instruction he received, that he had but one and the same word to designate the divine Being and the " gods of silver and gods of gold" that too often, in the popular estimation, usurped His place. If any one had asked him, "Who made you 1 ?" he would have answered, " Bog ; " and had the question followed, "What is that in the corner, before which the candle is burning 1 " lie would still have replied, without hesitation, "It is Bog."

A few childish legends of the saints, a few stories of " kiki- noras " or goblins, formed the staple of the "folk lore" that circulated round the stove during the long winter evenings. The Bible narratives, so familiar and so fascinating to the English child, were almost unknown to Ivan ; nor did exploits of the heroes of his own country hold the place they sometimes do on the lips or in the hearts of the people. Hence, when the starost told him that he was himself the heir of one of the noblest of Russian names, no answering chord resounded in his heart. The revelation, that ought to have moved him so deeply, failed of its due effect, because his ignorance did not supply the background that was needed to throw it into relief. He had always known that he was something other, something greater than those around him ; but beyond that he had no power of measuring social distances. Princes, boyars, all who were not mujiks, were alike to him ; just as it seemed to him nearly the same thing to go to the Moscow road, to Moscow itself, or even to St. Petersburg. Therefore, after spending a little vague, half-comprehending wonder upon the starost's story, his mind

20 IVAN'S ADVENTURE.

reverted, as days went on, to what was at this period his ruling

idea the hope of rivalling and surpassing Michael in some deed

of daring, and consequently in the regard of Anna Popovna.

It was not for his advantage that his kindly foster-parents never exacted from him any of the labours that fell to the lot of the little mujiks, his play-fellows. " Prepare to die, mujik, but till the soil," says the Russian proverb; and certainly where there is no other education an early apprenticeship to manual toil is rather a blessing than otherwise. Ivan's idle hands and restless feet were left quite at liberty to obey all the suggestions of his active, untaught iniiid; while his naturally brave disposi tion was rendered still more fearless from the fact of his never having been, upon any occasion, punished or even thwarted or reproved.

One summer morning, just as the first faint streaks of dawn began to brighten the cottage window, he rose softly from his sleeping-place on the shelf above the stove. All the rest had worked hard the day before, and were slumbering soundly now; so he dressed himself quietly, and going to the great carved chest lifted the heavy lid with difficulty and took out and put on his rough sheep-skin coat, or shuba ; then he drew on his warm boots of Ptussia leather lined with fur ; next, he cut for himself with a hatchet a great piece of sour black bread, and tied it in a cloth as provision for the way ; lastly, he went to a secret hiding-place of his own and transferred to his pocket his greatest treasure a silver rouble mativshka had given him. Having done all this, he was hurrying forth with quick noiseless footsteps, when he remembered an omitted duty. Returning a step or two, he took his stand before the picture in the corner, made a reverence, and repeated a hasty prayer ; then, with a brave heart and a quiet conscience, he went forth in search of what fate might bring him, a little knight-errant going to look for adventures.

He passed through the sleeping village, with the familiar

IVAN S ADVENTURE. 21

brown cottages on either side of him looking peaceful and home like in the morning twilight. The church-bell in the tall elm- tree seemed to beckon him near ; he could scarcely resist the temptation of climbing the tree, seizing the rope, and astonish ing the village with an untimely peal. Only the reflection that this would inevitably bring his own adventure to an abrupt conclusion stayed his hand. Leaving the houses behind him, he passed through fields rich with waving corn, then through pasture-lands, from which he emerged at length upon a bare, monotonous, sandy plain. Now, for the first time, he ventured to beguile his way with a song ; and his clear, ringing, childish voice sounded far and wide, yet failed to reach any human ear. Nor would it have fared otherwise with a cry for help, however shrill and agonized.

Ivan, happily,- did not think of this. Fleet of foot and light of heart, he pursued his course, still singing as he went, until village, corn-fields, and birch-woods were all left far behind him. And now, wherever he looked, he saw nothing but a dreary waste of sand, with here and there a few patches of stunted herbage, and at rare intervals a solitary pine or a little cluster of birch-trees. The stillness was absolute : the children of the air eschewed that land of barrenness, and the beasts of the field seemed also to have abandoned it. None of the gentler races that man has succeeded in taming found pasture there ; and fortunately wolves were extremely rare, though not quite un known. Ivan never dreamed of them ; his one concern was to keep the road, for so he called the track made by the wheels of the rude waggons which brought the produce of the corn-fields to the river Oka. He knew that a ferry-boat crossed the river, bringing adventurous travellers to the great Moscow road on the other side. This road was the goal of his ambition. As already intimated, no clear distinction existed in his mind be tween the Moscow road and Moscow itself, the holy city towards which the heart of every Russian yearned with reverent love

22 IVAN'S ADVENTURE.

and passionate longing. It was their Jerusalem, " beautiful for situation, the joy of the whole earth." Even ignorant little Ivan had heard of its wonders and its glories ; and he fancied that if once he gained the road he might see in the distance the gilded spires and domes of the Kremlin gleaming in the sun. Michael had never seen so much as that, nor been so far from home !

The sun, in Russia such a rare and much-prized guest, was prodigal of his favours that day, and shone forth from a cloud less sky. Ivan had equipped himself for a winter journey, and about noon he began to grow hot and weary. No shelter was near him, so he sat down on the sand, rested a little, and ate some of his bread ; but he longed in vain for a draught of kvass* to finish his repast, nor could he find a single drop of water anywhere. He rose unrefreshed and pursued his way ; but, in spite of all his childish courage, the utter loneliness of the dreary waste around him began to tell upon his spirits. He sang, he shouted, he talked aloud to himself, merely for the comfort of hearing his own voice; until by-and-by he be came too weary for these exercises all he could contrive to do was to keep moving on with a kind of dogged determina tion. Once and again was he tempted to turn back and give up the adventure ; indeed, he would have done so, only for the thought, " If I come back having seen nothing, Michael will jeer me, and Anna Popovna will join in the laugh."

At last he grew so tired and frightened that he threw himself on the ground in a kind of despair, made the sign of the cross, said a prayer to his patron St. John the evangelist, then fell into a state of drowsiness, and lost all sense of time, until, after an interval of perhaps an hour, he was aroused by the sound of voices.

Never had human voices seemed more welcome. Ivan started to his feet, and saw to his great delight a party of five

• A light, sour beverage, made by pouring water upon flour or meal.

IVAN S ADVENTURE. 23

or six mujiks, carrying large baskets of cabbages and other vegetables. Greetings were soon exchanged. His new friends told him that they were journeying from a distant village to a fair at Kaluga, a town on the other bank of 'the Oka. They intended, after crossing the river, to travel all night, that they might reach the fair with their merchandise early the next morning. They took the tired little wayfarer by the hand' and helped him on, encouraging him with kind words, and telling him they were now not far from the ferry.

At last the river appeared in the distance, glimmering in the light of the rising moon. "Look," cried his companions, "yonder is the Oka." But Ivan was by this time too weary to care; he could scarcely keep his eyes open and his feet moving.

They drew nearer and nearer. The river was as broad as the Thames a fine sheet of water, with green banks on either side. From these there came a hoarse, monotonous sound the croak ing of innumerable frogs, which some one has unpoetically called "the nightingales of Russia." Soon a brown wooden shed came into view, where the men said they would find kvass, and perhaps even vodka.* This roused Ivan, who was still tormented with thirst. He saw the moonlight upon the waters ; the grassy sward beside them ; the rough boat-house, out of which a withered old woman, with a red handkerchief wrapped around her head and a torch of pine- wood in her hand, came to meet the wayfarers.

There was no boat to be had, she said ; her son had not returned, though she expected him before sundown; she could not think what detained him. The peasants were grievously disappointed. The sale of their merchandise depended on their reaching the fair in good time, so their vexation was quite natural. It was somewhat allayed, however, by the offer of vodka, that charmer so fatally dear to the heart of the mujik. And their weary little companion was not quite forgotten.

• Brandy.

24 IVAN S ADVENTURE.

" Give the little one a taste, mother," they said. " Poor child, he is ready to faint."

It was to the honour of the people of Nicolofsky that, though themselves no patterns of sobriety, they had at least kept the destroyer from the young lips of their nursling. Ivan turned from the fiery Leverage with loathing, and asked for kvass. " Here is no kvass," said the old woman roughly. " No man would be fool enough to drink it who could get vodka. But you can have water, if you like."

With this he was content. He wrapped himself up in his shuba, lay down beside the fire in the shed, and was soon fast asleep; while the mujiks sat outside talking, laughing, singing, and drinking vodka.

CHAPTER III.

SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN.

" Dir ist dein Ohr geklungen

Vom Lob das man dir bot, Doch ist zu ilm gedrungen

Ein schwacher Schrei der Noth. Der ist ein Held der Freien

Der, wenn der Ruhm ilin kranzt, Noch gluht, zu dem zu weihen,

Das frommet und nicht gliinzt." RUCK ART.

HEN Ivan awoke it was broad daylight ; the shed was empty, and all around him still and silent. After a few moments of bewilderment, he remem bered where he was, and a sudden terror seized him lest the boat might have come and gone, and his companions have crossed the river without him. So he threw on his shuba and hurried out. They were standing on the bank, watch ing eagerly for the boat or rather for the boatman, of whom as yet there was no appearance, though they were tantalized by the sight of the empty boat lying high and dry on the opposite bank. Their irritation increased every moment, and curses were not wanting, which lost none of their effect uttered in that hard, resonant, metallic language.

At this point a new wayfarer joined the group. He came with long strides, as one in eager haste, and his annoyance at the delay seemed even greater than that of the rest. He was a fine, active, young fellow, neatly dressed, and with a mason's trowel stuck in the sash of his caftan, where all the others carried the indispensable axe. Seeing no sign of the approach

26 SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN.

of a boat, lie grew pale, and ground his teeth with angry dis appointment.

" Just like my luck ! " he muttered. " As well throw myself into the river at once, as wait here much longer."

"Patience, friend," said the oldest of the mujiks. "Are we not all in the like case ? Nay, we are worse off than you, for

we have waited here all night."

" Worse off ! you little know ! With you it is a matter of a few kopecks ; with me it is life and death. If I am not at Klopti by sundown, there is the knout for my back."

" Why '? In Heaven's name, what have you done ? " " Done ! nothing in the world but work at my trade, and pay my obrok truly to my lord" (for he was one of that numer ous class of serfs who were permitted by their lords to work on their own account, upon payment of an annual tax, or obrofy. " But he raised my obrok three times, until at last I could scarcely live, and was left 110 chance of saving a rouble or two for the future. Then last summer I fell from the scaffolding of a house I was building, and was sore hurt. Only that the people I lodged with were good Christians, it would have gone ill with me. But I recovered, thanks to my patron St. Stefen; and when the spring came on I got work again government work too, which is well paid. I made up my obrok, and then why then, my brothers, the world went well with me, and my heart was light. Little Katinka, the daughter of the kind soul that took care of me while I was ill, was the prettiest girl in the quarter, and good and pure like a candle of white wax made to burn before the picture of a holy saint. So we gave each other our troth ; and I think the Czar himself on his golden throne was scarce happier than I. But five days ago there came a messenger from Klopti to call me home at once. My lord wants to make him a new house, and must needs have me to build it for him and to teach the men of the village to build

SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN. 27

also. It was sudden ; but my lord does not think much of us poor people God forgive him ! "

"But, brother; what is it you call yourself?" asked the mujik who had spoken before.

"Stefen Alexitch, at your service."

"Well, then, Brother Stefen, why did you not set out at once? You would have been by this time at your journey's end."

" I know it. Indeed I was wrong, very wrong. But the very next day was Katinka's feast-day, and as I knew only too well that I was never likely to look on her sweet face again, I was tempted to stay, just that I might dance one more measure with her. I thought I could have walked more quickly. And now this cursed delay ! God grant my lord may not lose pa tience altogether, and wreak his vengeance on my poor old father and mother ! That would be worse than the knout across my own shoulders."

Stefen's narrative elicited many expressions of compassion.

"Poor lad ! thy case is hard indeed," said one.

"Ah," sighed another, "how true the proverb, 'Heaven is high, and the Czar far off.' "

But at that moment a third exclaimed joyfully,

"Look, brothers ! the boat at last ! "

So it was. At first it was seen to shoot rapidly across the strong current of the river ; but by-and-by the rower seemed to flag, and his strokes grew uncertain and unsteady.

The mujiks were too glad to see him on any terms to be critical about the quality of his performances. They crowded to the river's brink, that they might be ready to spring into the boat the moment it touched the land.

Ivan took advantage of the confusion to steal up to Stefen and slip his silver rouble quietly into his hand. " Take it," he whispered. " It is all I have ; but you can get a fairing with it to send to Katinka."

28 SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN.

It was poor consolation ; but he meant it well, and Stefen's sore heart was soothed by the gentle touch. He bent over the boy and kissed him. There was no time to do more ; if they wished to get places in the boat, they must hasten.

The boatman, meanwhile, was volubly explaining the cause of his delay, his speech thickened with much vodka. A party of boyars very great boyars, high and mighty excellencies had come to the post-house on the Moscow road, and the post master had kept him busy going on their errands, both last night and this morning. It was easy to see in what coin his services had been paid for ; he had taken so much vodka that he was scarcely able to row the boat at all, and, moreover, it was too heavily freighted for safety, not to say for comfort.

Ivan, had never been on the water before, and he soon became thoroughly frightened ; not without reason. When they reached the middle of the river the boatman showed himself so manifestly incapable that Stefen offered to take the oars. Hussian peasants are usually good-tempered, even when under the influence of vodka ; but the boatman, unhappily, was surly and dogged by nature, and rudely refused to yield his place. For a few min utes Stefen waited quietly ; then seeing that the man was allow ing the boat to drift, to the peril of all their lives, he made an attempt to take the oars from him by force. The boatman resisted, and a struggle ensued, from which Ivan hid his face in terror ; for now the two men were standing up, striking and push ing each other wildly, while the frail, heavily-laden boat swayed and rocked beneath their reckless feet. One was drunk, the other angry and "bitter of soul." At length Ivan heard a heavy plash close beside him. Hastily uncovering his eyes, he saw the waters closing over the luckless Stefen, and uttered a cry of horror. To his great relief, however, Stefen rose again to the surface, and one of the mujiks, seizing an oar, held it out to him. But either he had lost his presence of mind, or, more probably, his head had been hurt by the boat in falling. At all

SOMETHING WONDEKFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN. 29

events, lie made no effort to grasp the oar ; and the mujiks ignorant, stupid, and awkward, though not lacking in kindliness gave him up for lost. Indeed, their own situation was critical enough ; but they got to the shore somehow.

The boatman was sobered by the shock, and almost stupified with grief for what had happened. But the others crowded round him, and urged him to go and seek for poor Stefen's body, that he might at least be buried like a Christian. This he consented to do ; and the task of finding it proved un expectedly easy, for a miniature island, in the midst of the river, with a single tree growing upon it, had arrested the body as it was borne downwards by the strong current of the stream. The group on the shore waited in mournful silence while the boatman and two of the mujiks went and returned, bringing with them their solemn freight, which they laid sadly and reverently on the fair greensward, beneath the happy morning sun.

All crossed themselves and murmured a prayer for his soul ; and the oldest of the mujiks detached a little sacred picture from his own neck and laid it on his breast.

It was Ivan's first meeting face to face with the king of ter rors. The form so lately full of life and energy lay stiff and rigid ; while the brow, the cheek, the lips when he saw the strange and solemn change that had swept over all these, his young heart could bear no more, he lifted up his voice and wept. His tears unlocked the floodgates of the general sorrow ; all the mujiks standing around him wept and wrung their hands, like the grown-up children that in truth they were.

Just at that moment, as if to throw into strongest relief the contrast between life and death, between earth's brightest sun shine and her deepest shadows, a young boyar from the party at the post-house came riding rapidly over the smooth green sward. Drawing near the weeping group, he checked his horse to a foot-pace, and Ivan turned and looked at him. There was

80 SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN.

no splendour in his dress an officer's uniform, gray in colour and plain in fashion. But his face, which seemed to bring the glow and glory of the morning with it, held Ivan's gaze with a kind of fascination. Features almost perfect enough for the deathless marble of a Grecian sculptor might have worn no charm to his untrained eye, if they had not also beamed with a kindness and gentleness that took his heart at once. That bright, young face the first beardless manly face he remem bered to have seen left itself for ever on his mind. It was destined to be the inspiration of his life; and when death closed his eyes, he had scarcely a clearer hope than to see it once again in the morning of the resurrection.

The boyar, meanwhile, had come quite close to the group ere lie appeared to perceive distinctly the cause of their distress. But no sooner had he done so than he sprang from his horse, flinging the bridle to Ivan, who proudly accepted the charge. The next moment he w^as bending over the lifeless form ; the next, he turned and said cheerfully to the mujiks standing near,

" My children, this is not death. We will save him yet." They were speechless with amazement. Was this stranger a holy saint, a worker of miracles 1 They knew at least that he was a nobleman and an officer, whom fortunately every instinct of their nature, every habit of their lives, taught them to obey without a question. Rapidly singling out two or three of the most intelligent-looking, he set them to work working with them himself as Ivan, used to the dawdling, dreamy ways of the mujiks, had never in his life seen any one work before. By magic, as it seemed, poor Stefen's dripping clothes were removed, and he was wrapped in the warmest garments the mujiks could contribute for the purpose Ivan, amongst others, gladly offering his little sheepskin shuba. Then the cold and rigid limbs were gently chafed, a work of time and patience. Those who were helping did mechanically

SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN. 31

whatever they were directed to do, while the rest looked on in a kind of wondering stupefaction. How could even a boyar expect to bring a dead man to life ?

After a considerable time had been spent in this manner, the whole party from the post-house came up, boyars and servants, all on horseback. Instead of calling upon their companion to join them, as Ivan rather expected them to do, the boyars at once dismounted and joined him, leaving their horses on the road in the care of the servants. One of these drew near Ivan, and attempted to take his charge from him ; but he resisted.

" No," he said. " My boyar's hand gave this bridle into mine, and into no other but his will I give it back again. "

" Let the boy alone, Ilya," cried another of the attendants, with a good-humoured laugh. " Let him keep his luck. It may not come twice in his life-time."

After that Ivan could not so easily see what was happen ing, though he watched intently and with the keenest interest. "His boyar" seemed to refer the matter, as to a person of superior authority, to a very tall, very stern-looking individual, who examined Stefen carefully, putting his hand on his heart and on his wrist. Presently, and rather to Ivan's horror, he drew from his pocket a sort of case, out of which there flashed a bright instrument of steel, like a thin sharp knife, and with this he proceeded to inflict a deep cut upon Stefen's arm ; while, far from objecting, the young boyar carefully held it for him, and then produced a fine white kerchief of his own, which he gave him to bind the wound. *

But still the pale, cold form lay there stiff and motionless. Was it death 1 or was it only a death-like swoon 1 It was the nobles who were busy now, chafing the cold hands and feet, and using every other possible means to restore animation ; for the peasants had given place to them, and stood aside, silent and wondering spectators of the scene.

• Of course this would not be done now. But the scene is given exactly as it occurred.

32 SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN.

Time passed : life and death were struggling for the mastery, and the conflict was tedious and protracted. It was no even contest. From the first, victory seemed to incline to the side of the sable king. The chance of life, always desperate, lessened apparently with every minute, and when the minutes grew to hours it seemed to vanish altogether away. At last the tall sur geon shook his head, and turning to the boyar said something in a foreign tongue that evidently expressed despair. But he would not admit the thought. Ivan knew not, of course, what he said in answer, but it was easy to see that he had steadfastly re solved not to abandon hope, and that he was entreating, urging, even commanding the rest to continue their efforts.

Apparently for no purpose but to please him they obeyed. An interval followed of renewed exertion, though of ever- waning hope. At length, however, the surgeon's instrument flashed out once more, and almost immediately afterwards a thrill of emotion passed through the entire group. One shuddering sigh, one faint, low groan was heard from the lips that had seemed to be sealed for ever in death. " Thank God ! " said the boyar, raising the military cap from his stately head with its clus tering chestnut curls. "This is amongst the brightest days of my life." Ivan stood near enough to see that his blue eyes were full of tears.

Whilst they gave Stefen a little vodka, and prepared a kind of litter in which to carry him to the post-house, several other persons came up, including the priest and the starost of the nearest village; for some of the mujiks had gone away and spread the story of the strange things they had been wit nessing.

Then to Ivan's young eyes the scene became confused. Much happened that he could not exactly understand. But Stefen was alive that at least was certain, for he saw him try to kiss the hand that had so patiently drawn him back from the gates of the grave. And now, for the first time, the thought occurred

SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN. 33

to Ivan that his triumph over Michael would be complete and glorious. Michael assuredly had never seen a dead man brought to life again !

At last the great people seemed to be preparing to pursue their journey. Ivan watched "his boyar" as he talked for some time to the priest and the starost, who stood before him with uncovered heads and an air of the deepest reverence ; then, seeing him look for his horse, he led his charge forward, and held the stirrup gracefully while he mounted. He got a word of praise for his "long patience," and a bright piece of gold glittered in his hand.

" Take me with you, my boyar," he cried, with a sudden im pulse. " Let me serve you ; I would love to do it."

"My child, you shall serve me one day not yet," said the boyar, smiling.

A few moments more, and the stately cavalcade had moved away. Ivan stood in silence, unable to withdraw his gaze from the retreating figure of his hero until it was lost in the distance.

The white-haired priest came up to him and laid his hand on his shoulder. "My lad," he said, " do you know who has spoken to you whose horse you have had the honour of holding ? "

" Yes," said Ivan, wakening out of a dream ; " no yes at least I know it was a boyar, a great, and good, and splendid boyar, with the face of an angel. I love him ! "

" Then pray for him all the days of thy life, for know that he is none other than thy sovereign lord and mine, the Czar Alexander Paulo vitch."

Ivan stared, then burst out laughing. " You are jesting with me," he said. " Nay, father, I am only a boy, but I know better than that. I am quite twelve years old, and I know very well that the Czar lives in St. Petersburg, and wears a golden crown, and sits upon a throne, and all the boyars stand uncovered around him."

(696) 3

34 SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO i?AN.

" Still, I tell tliee truth. That handsome young officer was the great Czar himself the lord of all the Russias. To prove my words I am a poor man, but I will give thee twice, three times its value for that coin in thy hand, which his hand touched."

Ivan shook his head. "No, no, father; I don't believe a word of your story ; but I love my boyar, and I will not give away his gift. He said I should serve him one day, and I mean to do it. Though, to be sure," he added, thoughtfully, " I might almost part with it for poor Stefen's sake, and to do a good deed. How will he dare to meet his master's face later than ever now ? "

" Never trouble thyself for thy friend Stefen ; he is rich enough this day to buy his freedom, if he will. He who gave him back his life has taken care to make that life worth the keeping."

"Then he can marry Katinka?"

" He can marry whom he pleases. Our lord the Czar never leaves anything half done."

" Oh ! what a good day it has been ! " and Ivan, in his own estimation far too old to be deceived by an idle story, was by no means too old to leap and dance for very joy.

" You believe that" said the priest ; " then why do you doubt the rest of my story ? "

"Because," returned Ivan, "I have wit enough to know that the great Czar, who 'is God upon earth,' as the proverb says, would not care for the life of a poor mujik, and toil hard to save it, as my boyar did this day."

" Well, fools will be fools while the world lasts. Here, take thy shuba ; Stefen left it for thee when they brought him to the post-house. Go thy ways; and God teach thee that it shows more wit to believe what one is told than to question it."

" Good day, father," returned Ivan ; " I am going home to Nicolofsky, where people speak the truth to their neighbours."

SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN. 35

With this parting shaft, he drew on his shuba, and turned his steps homewards, highly pleased with his adventure. What a story he would have for the starost and mativshka, for Pope Nikita and one-eared Michael, not to speak of Anna Popovna, by no means the least in his estimation !

He crossed the river without delay the ferry-boat and the penitent ferryman being this time both in readiness and then he resumed his journey on foot. As he walked, he ate the re mainder of his bread ; for he had tasted nothing that day, and it was now long past noon. With a happy heart he pursued his way until about sunset, when fatigue obliged him to stop and rest. He lay down under a solitary fir-tree, intending only to indulge in a short a very short slumber. But nature proved too strong for him : when he awoke again the sky was flushed with the light of early dawn. The remainder of his task was quickly accomplished : he walked into the starost's cottage as the family were sitting down to their morning meal of kasha, or stewed grain.

Warm was the welcome and great were the rejoicings that greeted his appearance. The poor people had been sorely terri fied by the mysterious absence of their nursling, and they had sought him far and near, through the birch-wood and the corn fields, and even for some distance in the waste. They were preparing to renew the search that day with anxious and fore boding hearts.

Almost all Nicolofsky crowded to the starost's cottage to congratulate Ivan and to hear his wonderful story. Certainly, he had attained his object, if that object was to make himself the hero of the village, and totally and for ever to eclipse the exploits of Michael Ivanovitch !

But Ivan was no more the thoughtless little lad who set out two days ago in search of adventures. His young heart had awakened from the sleep of childhood ; new feelings, vague and dimly comprehended, were beginning to stir it. As he trod his

36 SOMETHING WONDERFUL HAPPENS TO IVAN.

homeward way, full of all the wonders he had witnessed, a voice seemed to murmur within him, "And I, too, am a boyar." What did it mean to be a boyar 1 He had no words in which to express his thought ; but the dawning light of a grand truth, faint and far off, shone upon him from the face of the first boyar he had ever seen, as it bent anxiously and tenderly over the mujik's senseless form that to be greater than all the rest meant to do good to all the rest.

He told his adventures modestly and truthfully. What he had done with his silver rouble he told no one, but he showed the gold piece that had been given him with proud pleasure, and asked the starost to make a hole in it, as he wished to keep it always, and to wear it on the ribbon round his neck with the little iron cross put there at his baptism.

He told what the priest had said to him, adding, however, "But of course he was mocking me ; no one could believe such a foolish story as that."

Every one present agreed with him, except Pope Nikita, who pondered awhile, and then said thoughtfully, " Who knows ? it may have been. After all, One greater than the Czar put his hands upon the poor sick folk and healed them." *

• Alexander's part in the adventure told above is historically true, even to the

smallest particular. The only liberty taken has been that of transferring the scene from the bank of the Wilia to that of the Oka. The story became known in England through a private letter, and the Royal Humane Society sent the Czar a medal rather a singular " decoration " for a monarch. He " accepted it with a noble and modest simplicity," and profited by the circumstance to introduce a similar society into his own dominions. For the description of his personal appearance one contemporary authority amongst many may be cited: "Malgre' la regularite et la delicate.sse de ses traits, l'e"clat, la fraicheur de ses teints, sa beaute" frappait moins a la premiere vue que cet air de bien- veillance qui lui captivait tout les coeurs, et du premier mouvement inspirait la con- fiance II avait 1'ceil vif, spirituel, et couleur d'un ciel sans nuages ; sa vue e'tait un peu courte, mais il posse"dait le sourire des yeux, si Ton peut appeler ainsi 1'expression

de son regard bienveillant et doux Son front chauve, mais qui donnait a 1' ensemble

de sa figure quelque chose d'ouvert et de serein, ses cheveux d'un blond dore", arranges avec soin comme dans les belles tetes des came'es ou des me"dailles antiques, semblaient faits pour recevoir la triple couronne de laurier, de myrte, et d' Olivier."

CHAPTER IY.

IVAN'S HORIZON WIDENS.

" Behind the orphan, God himself bears a purse." Russian Proverb.

|O child ever dreams of being grateful for food and shelter, unless taught by the sad experience of destitution. The little guest expects to be Avel- comed to the feast of life, and even assumes that the board has been spread on purpose for him. Ivan was no exception to the rule : hitherto he had received the devotion and tenderness of those around him as a matter of course ; perhaps indeed he was in danger of exacting them as a right, and of becoming, as he grew older, proud and overbearing. But now a change had come. If he knew that he was noble, he had also gained a glimpse of the great truth that " Noblesse oblige." He had begun to reflect, and to some purpose.

" Bativshka," he said one day to the starost, " why was it you were afraid to let the lord Zoubof or the steward Dmitri know who I was ^ "

" Because they might have killed you, Barrinka, out of spite and jealousy, knowing that your father was our lord before Zoubof came."

" But would they have done anything to you, bativshka, for taking care of me 1 "

" Oh ! as to that I don't know. Perhaps I might have had the knout."

Ivan bent down and kissed the old man's hand,

38 IVAN'S HORIZON WIDENS.

The next morning, when the family rose early to begin the toils of the harvest, Ivan rose with them. " I am going to the field," he quietly observed, putting on his oldest garments.

All protested, especially mativshka, whose love for her foster- child amounted to weakness.

" Dmitri and Vasil and little Peter are going, and they are all younger than I am," said Ivan.

" But the ij are only little mujiks," she answered. " They must work hard for their bit of rye bread and their bowl of kasha. It was for that God made them."

" Boyars work too; I am a boyar," said Ivan, raising his fair head proudly ; and he went with the rest.

To do him justice, he bore himself bravely in the field, although the unaccustomed toil wearied him quickly, and it was tantalizing to find himself so easily outdone by Michael's stronger limbs and more practised hands. Yet, after all, it was no great hardship to bind the sheaves along with Anna Popovna all the morning, and at noon to share with her his dinner of okroshka.*

But harvest-time does not last for ever. At length all the sheaves were gathered in : the wheat to be sold for the profit of the lord of the soil ; the rye to be transformed into the black bread, the kvass, the kasha, which were the staple of the mujik's diet ; for, as they said themselves in one of their terse though homely proverbs, "Wheat picks and chooses, but Mother Rye feeds all fools alike." Then the long blank winter settled down over Nicolofsky, which, like the rest of Russia, "lay numb beneath the snow " for many a month in the year.

During this silent, dreary season the industrious fingers of the girls and women found occupation in spinning and weaving. The lads too made lapti, wove rude baskets, and prepared fire wood; and these occupations were often pursued in social gatherings, and lightened with jest and song and story. Still

• A kind of cold soup made of kvass, with small pieces of meat in it.

IVAN S HORIZON WIDENS. 39

there was abundant leisure, in which the young people amused themselves with games of babshky little pieces of mutton bone, which they used as English children use nine-pins while their elders sat beside the stoves, and too often enlivened their gossip with much vodka. In this respect, however, Nicolofsky contrasted rather favourably with other villages, since the starost and the pope were both temperate men and set a good example.

They were great friends, and during their long confidential talks one question often came uppermost, What was to be done with Ivan when he grew up ? In a country like Russia, where sons almost invariably followed the calling of their fathers, and every man's position was assigned him by the fact of his birth, it was peculiarly difficult to find a niche for a waif like Ivan. A mujik, of course, he could never be ; nor a priest, since he was not a popovitch, or priest's son; nor a merchant, that would have been a terrible degradation for one who was born a boyar ; nor a soldier, for his village friends had not the influence necessary to procure him a commission, while had he been drawn for a recruit they would at once have pro vided a substitute. But Ivan was not old enough to share these perplexities. The knowledge that he was by birth a boyar, with the desire, sincere though ignorant and wavering, to be worthy of his destiny, sufficed him for the present.

Thus two long winters passed away. A second spring had come, heralded by the eight days of drinking and carousing which the Russians call the Masslanitza, or "Butter-week." Then the long fast went slowly by. At last came the crown of the Russian year, with Easter eggs, and joyous greetings, and manifold festivities.

One fine evening, a few weeks after, a* kibitka, or rude one- horse vehicle, drove up to the starost's door. Its occupant, a well-dressed man, whose hair and beard of iron gray showed him past the prime of life, flung the rope that served him for a

40 IVAN'S HORIZON WIDENS.

rein on the horse's neck, and entered the izba. He first made his reverence to the sacred picture in the corner, then courte ously saluted the starost and his wife, who, without speaking, placed some bread and salt on a carved wooden trencher and offered them to him. He tasted both ; and this indispens able ceremony performed, he began at once to make known his errand.

u God save you, Alexis Yasilovitch ! " he said to the starost. li Do you chance to remember in your early youth one Feodor Petrovitch, who was born here 1 ?"

' Feodor Petrovitch ? " repeated the starost, stroking his beard meditatively.

"Feodor Petrovitch?" cried his wife. "Yes, I think I remember him. Had he coal-black hair, and eyes like ail eagle's?"

" That he had ; but the hair is now snow-white, and the eagle eyes well, no marvel, they served him fourscore years. I am his eldest son, Ivan Petrovitch."

" Ah, I too remember him now ! " said the starost, " though, like my wife, I was but a child when he went away. Many a time our old folk have told us how our good lord, Prince Pojarsky, the last but one, took such notice of him on account of his bright face and clever ways how he had him taught to read and write and to count up money. At last he took him away somewhere, so that after he came to man's estate Nicol- ofsky knew him no more."

" All quite true. The prince sent him to Moscow, and when his education was finished he gave him a sum of money to trade with. My father quickly doubled it ; and, unlike most men, he brought every kopeck honestly to his lord. ' Go on and prosper,' said the prince. ' Take that money with thee and double it again.' He did so. Then said the prince, ' Feodor Petrovitch, thou hast paid me thy last obrok. From this day thou art free.' He divided the money into two parts, declaring

IVAN S HORIZON WIDENS. 41

himself well satisfied with half, and leaving the other half to my father to start with on his own account. Large hearts had the Princes of Pojarsky, one and all, God rest their souls ! From that day all things prospered with my father ; and now he and his have silver and gold more than enough for their needs. For he has sons and sons' sons, all prosperous one here and one there, as God wills. About fifteen days ago, tidings reached him, through Dmitri, Zoubof's steward, which filled his aged heart with joy. The grandson of our lord is liv ing still, and among you. I am come the bearer of my father's earnest prayer that you would give the boy to him. It will be his pride and pleasure to have him taught all that a young noble ought to know, and so to maintain and provide for him that he may go without shame among his equals, and live the kind of life that is right for such as he. And I, the son of Petrovitch, say that therein my father will do well. Since every rouble and kopeck we have came from Prince Pojarsky, it is right that some should go back to his heir. But my father prays of you to send him the little lad at once, while yet he can see his face, for God's hand is fast drawing down a curtain over his aged eyes. What say you, Starost Alexis Yasilovitch ? "

The starost paused. At length he said firmly, though in a broken voice " That we love our little lord too well not to send him with you ay, and that thankfully, though it wrings our hearts to part with him. Ah ! here he comes himself. Ivan Barrinka, this good man will take you with him to Moscow the holy, and make of you that which it is your birth right to be."

Petrovitch gazed admiringly on the tall, graceful figure of the handsome lad, now about fourteen, and looking considerably older. " Praise be to God !" he said. " That is a goodly shoot from the old stem."

Ivan's face changed rapidly from pale to red, and from red

42 IVAN'S HORIZON WIDENS.

again to pale. At last lie said, " Bativshka, I will do what you think I ought."

" Then, dear child, you will go from us ; for like should ever dwell with like."

But the old foster-mother lifted up her voice in lamentation, mingling her tears for her " little dove," her nursling, her treasure, with regrets that his shirts were not in order, that the new socks they had been knitting for him in the winter were not finished, and that his boots wanted mending.

" We will see to all that in the city, good mother," said Petrovitcli, unable to repress a smile, as he pictured the extraor dinary transformation Ivan's outer man would have to undergo before he could take his pleasure in the Kremlin gardens with the elite of Moscow society.

Hospitality is a plant that nourishes luxuriantly in Russian soil, and seems to find the smoky atmosphere of the izba as congenial as the clearer air of the palace. It was with great difficulty that Petrovitch could fix his departure for the next day but one ; but a single day of rest for himself and of pre paration for Ivan was all that the starost's importunities could obtain from him, since he knew his father's anxiety about the result of his mission.

That evening, in the starost's cottage, there was much baking of wheaten bread, of cakes called kissel, and of greasy, indigest ible pastry called pirogua. There was also a great slaughter, a sheep, a couple of sucking pigs, and quite a multitude of fowls were sacrificed on the altar of hospitality ; for the whole of Nicolofsky would no doubt assist at the festival of the next day, not in the French, but in the English sense of the word. Huge buckets of kvass were of course prepared ; and it might have been better if this harmless beverage had not been supple mented by a plentiful supply of vodka.

Next day began, not unworthily, with a service in the church, a kind of farewell to Ivan and compliment to Petrovitch. But

IVAN S HORIZON WIDENS. 43

its remaining hours were wholly given up to revelry, and it is to be feared that but few sober men went to rest that night in Nicolofsky. Meanwhile Ivan bade farewell to the friends and playfellows of his childhood. With Anna Popovna his parting Was a tearful one. He kissed her again and again, and vowed that he would come back and marry her as soon as his beard was grown.

" God be praised ! " said her mother, who was standing by. lt See how St. Nicholas protects the innocent, and will not let him take the sin of a false vow upon his soul ! He does not dream, poor child, that his beard will never grow at all, since he is born a boyar, who will have to shave it off every morning worse luck for him."

But the saddest and most tender farewells were spoken at daybreak on the following morning, when Ivan was kissed and wept over by his foster-parents, and by all their immediate family. His own eyes were dim as he took his place in the kibitka beside Petrovitch ; and when he turned to look his last upon the brown cottages of Nicolofsky, he could scarcely see them through his tears.

" But the winds of the morn blew away the tear. " By-and- by Ivan cheered up a little. He roused himself to listen to his companion's stories of the great city, and began to be interested, and even to ask questions.

There was not much in the incidents of their journey to engage or rivet his attention. They crossed the Oka upon a raft horse, kibitka, and all but not at the spot so well remem bered by Ivan as the scene of his adventure. After that came the long monotonous Moscow road, where everything seemed to Ivan always the same. Only that his senses assured him he was moving, and that rapidly, he would have fancied himself fixed in the centre of the same horizon, which was revolving around him eternally and unchangingly. Plains of sand, forests of birch or pine, went by in endless succession, merely diversified

44 IVAN'S HORIZON WIDENS.

here and there by some pasture lands, or by a brown village built upon the pattern of Nicolofsky. On one occasion, how ever, they passed a company of horsemen carrying long lances, and clad in gray cloaks, with ample hoods drawn over their heads.

" Who are these ? : ' Ivan asked with interest.

" Cossacks. I suppose they are going to join the army. They had better have stayed at home now that peace is being made with the French. That unlucky peace ! " he grumbled, touching his horse rather unnecessarily with his long whip.

" Why do you say that 1 ? I thought peace was always a good thing. We have a proverb in Nicolofsky, ' A bad peace is better than a good quarrel.' "

" A bad peace with your enemies sometimes means a worse quarrel with your best friends. On, my little pope ! Now, now, my beauty, my darling, mind what you are about. Gee up, you barbarian ! " This to his horse, the wheel of the kibitka having stuck fast in a deep rut. A touch of the whip, this time in earnest, and the horse bounded on, freeing the wheel with a jolt that brought I van to his feet, and shook peace and war alike out of his thoughts. But Petrovitch, more accustomed to the ordinary incidents of travel, presently re sumed the thread of his discourse.

" What does peace with France mean? War with England, for one thing. And that what does that mean 1 Our ports shut up, our trade destroyed. No market for our timber, our corn, our tallow, our furs. Ruin, ruin ! " groaned the merchant.

" I have heard of France," said Ivan. " But England what is that ? "

" England is a great, rich, beautiful country, with the sea like a wall of defence built by the hand of God all around it. The King of England hates Napoleon, and has sworn before the picture of his saint never to make peace with him."

IVAN S HORIZON WIDENS. 45

" I have heard of Napoleon too," said Ivan. " The recruits who left our village said they were going to fight against him. Pope Nikita thinks he is a magician."

" Pope Nikita thinks truly. It is said he has for his wife a beautiful lady named Josephine, who transforms herself at will into the likeness of a white dove, flies into the midst of his enemies, hears all they say, and comes back and tells her lord.* No one can resist him ; the Emperor of Austria and the King of Prussia are both at his feet, and he has conquered all the other kings and dukes of the Nyemtzi, except the King of England."

" But the Czar why does not the Czar send his soldiers and tell them to kill him 1 " queried Ivan.

" 'Not so easy ! " Petrovitch answered with a short laugh. " However, there is little to be said after all. Russia has fought him long and well. If the devil helps his own, what can good orthodox Christians do 1 Think of Austerlitz, Eylau, Friedland blood and tears have flowed in torrents. I know a widow who lost her two sons at Austerlitz. Another ; but why speak of these things? War is always terrible."

"Then why don't you wish for peace 1 ?"

" A good peace might be very desirable, but save us from a peace that will ruin our commerce ! " cried Petrovitch with energy. " The Czar has evil counsellors around him who are persuading him to that sort of peace. Perhaps, indeed, Napoleon has bewitched him with his sorceries. Who knows ? "

Having thus uttered, not merely his own sentiments, but those of Moscow and her merchants upon the subject of the Treaty of Tilsit, at that time in progress, Petrovitch relapsed into silence. The only part of his discourse that greatly im pressed Ivan happened also to be the only part of it which had

• This fable was extensively believed in Russia, and not exclusively by the lower

classes.

46 IVAN'S HORIZON WIDENS.

not at least a considerable substratum of truth the story of the beautiful lady who could transform herself into a white clove. The rest he understood very partially.

After a journey of many days, a happy change came over the spirit of what had almost seemed to Ivan a long and dismal dream. The dreary expanse of sandy waste was suc ceeded by a green, fertile, well-cultivated plain, diversified by the gentle slope of wooded hills and the gleam of a winding river.

At last, one evening, they reached the summit of a lofty eminence. Petrovitch, who was on foot leading the horse, turned suddenly to Ivan, and said in a tone of solemnity, " Take off thy cap, I van Barrinka, take off thy cap, and thank God for thy first sight of holy Moscow ! "

Any traveller might have thanked God for the beauty of that sight. Dome and cupola, minaret and tower, shone beneath them in the evening sunshine, giving back its rays with dazzling brightness from their gilded tops ; and some there were which flamed like balls of fire suspended in the air. The brightest and most varied of colours green, purple, crimson, blue relieved and diversified the gleaming gold of the cupolas and the burnished lead of the roofs, which looked like silver. Be yond the bewildering glories of the Kremlin, whose feet were kissed by the bright waters of the winding Moskva, the great city stretched away into the distance. To the eye there was no limit : streets and squares and gardens, gardens and streets and squares ; here a castle, there a blooming terrace ; yonder a painted gateway, everywhere light and colour, and shining metallic surfaces that reflected the sun. " Forty times forty churches " pointed upwards with their " silent fingers," as if to remind the dwellers in that city of palaces of the yet fairer city which is eternal in the heavens, even the new Jerusalem, with its streets of gold and gates of pearl.

Ivan crossed himself. " Beautiful ! beautiful ! " he mur-

IVAN S HORIZON WIDENS. 47

mured, as he gazed like one entranced on the scene before him.

" Upon God's earth there is no spot like that," said Petro- vitch, stretching forth his hand and pointing to the city. " ' If I forget thee, Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.' God keep Moscow the holy, Moscow the beautiful, the ancient city of the Czar, the fairest jewel of his crown, the apple of his eye ! "

CHAPTER Y.

PETROVITCH.

" Oh, but soon ye read in stories

Of the men of long ago ; And the pale, bewildering glories Shining farther than ye know. "

JUR travellers liad still a long drive before them after they entered the stately gate called " the Gate of Triumph. " The ancient capital of the Czars enclosed, within the vast circumference of its painted walls, gardens, orchards, terraces, even parks and pleasure-grounds, in this as in other ways resembling an Eastern city. In due time, however, the merchants' quarter was reached, and Ivan Petro- vitch drew rein before the gateway of a long, low, wooden build ing, or rather range of buildings, painted in various colours. He was evidently expected and watched for ; quite a crowd of men, women, and children, servants or members of the family, hurried out to meet him, and his young companion shared the welcome and the greetings that followed. Ivan Petrovitch, however, took him by the hand, saying to those who were pressing around them, " Stand back, brothers and sisters ; no one should speak to the little lord until he has been presented to our father."

He led Ivan into a spacious room or hall, of which the furniture, though far from answering to Western ideas of comfort, showed conclusively that wealth was not lacking, for vessels of silver, rugs of costly fur, and rich Turkish carpets were there in abundance. But Ivan scarcely noticed anything,

PETEOVITCH. 49

except the great arm-chair at the upper end and the venerable figure of its occupant. " My father," said the younger Petro- vitch, as he gently placed the boy directly in front of him, " I have brought thee our little lord."

The old man rose slowly from his chair, leaning upon his staff. His hair was white as snow, and so was the beard which reached nearly down to his waist. His large, dark eyes, once so full of fire, were dim with age, but an ardent soul glanced forth from them even yet, and they had, moreover, a wistful, pathetic look, as if seeking the light which was fading from them. "God be gracious to thee, Prince Ivan Ivanovitch Pojarsky," he said solemnly, laying his hand on the young fair head which was bowed before him in instinctive reverence. Then he kissed the boy, and having seated himself once more in his chair, drew him close and examined his features. " Like his grandfather, my dear friend and master," he said at last.

It was evident, from the silence which followed, that thoughts of other days came crowding fast upon the old man's memory. But he soon aroused himself from his reverie to bid Ivan wel come to Moscow, and to commend him to the care of the members of his family who had gathered around them.

These now came forward, drew Ivan gently away, and lavished upon him every kindness and attention that could be devised. He was charmed with his new friends, and quickly and easily took his place as the honoured guest of the great heterogeneous household united beneath the roof of its vener able head. There were sons and sons' sons, daughters-in-law and grand-daughters, and quite a tribe of servants, forming altogether a little clan rather than a family. This large house hold had all the necessaries of life in abundance, and many of its luxuries, though only such as the old Muscovite manners and traditions fully sanctioned. For Petrovitch was an auto crat in his own house, though usually a just and generous one. Woe to the son or grandson of his who should presume to

50 PETROVITCH.

" deface the image of God " by shaving his beard, to exchange his caftan for a French paletot, or to lose his roubles and peril his soul at the fashionable game of loto ! This strong personal government was the secret of the domestic peace which, on the whole, prevailed in the household, notwithstanding the many different elements of which it was composed.

There was only one person w T ho ventured to take liberties with the patriarch to tease him, coax him, sometimes even jest with him, always to claim his caresses as a matter of right, not, like the others, as a rare, occasional favour. This was little Feodor, a bright, black-eyed boy about three years younger than Ivan. The mother of this favourite grandson had been the only daughter of Petrovitch, and she was dead. Much of the old man's heart was in the grave with her, nor could his seven brave and prosperous sons wholly supply her place.

Ivan's first days in Moscow were spent in viewing its wonders, under the guidance of one or other of the Petrovitch family. Feodor was often with him, and soon became his particular friend ; for his playfellows at Nicolofsky having been dull and slow, the overflowing merriment of his new acquaintance was a welcome change. He was shown the marvels of the Krem lin, its palace, its three cathedrals, its bell-tower of Ivan Veliki, to the top of which he ascended and beheld the panorama of the city stretched out beneath him like a picture. He saw also the great Cathedral of St. Basil, in the " Beautiful " Place outside the Kremlin wall. He saw the Chinese city and the dwellings of the Tartars ; he wandered through the streets and rows of the Grand Bazaar. In fact, he saw so many wonderful things that his power of wondering was exhausted, and he soon ceased to be much impressed by any of them.

Each time that he returned from one of these expeditions, old Petrovitch would call him to his side, and make him sit where he could see his face. One evening he said to him,

PETROVITCH. 51

" God make thee as brave and true as thine ancestor, the great Prince Pojarsky, who delivered Moscow from the Poles."

" Who was he 1 I have never heard of him," said Ivan.

" Is that possible 1 Poor child ! did no one ever tell thee that story, so glorious for thee and thine 1 Know, then, that about two hundred years ago the Poles conquered holy Russia. The whole country was at their feet, in great misery and trouble, and no man dared resist them. Prince Pojarsky lay on his bed in his own castle, sick as it seemed unto death. But God put it into the heart of a poor man working at his trade in Moscow, a butcher named Minim, to save his country. He first went to all the great people of the city and of the surrounding country, and got them to promise men and money. Then he went to Prince Pojarsky, and stood before him like a messenger from God. ' Rise,' he said ; ( go forth and conquer the Poles. God will strengthen thee.' ' But soldiers are needed, and arms,' said the prince. ' All are ready,' answered the courageous citizen. The prince arose from his bed of sickness, and, trusting in God, put himself at the head of the men of Moscow. He gained a glorious victory, and the sword of the Poles was broken for ever in Muscovy. That is the man whose name you bear, and whose blood is flowing in your veins, Prince Ivan Pojarsky ! "

" He was splendid ! " said Ivan with kindling eyes ; " I am proud to bear his name."

Petrovitch felt shocked by the disclosure of Ivan's ignorance of the history of his native country, that country which was to himself the object of proud and passionate love.

" Can it be," he said to him the next day " can it be that no one has ever even told you about the great Czar Peter 1 "

" I have heard of the Czar Peter," said Ivan : " he ordered all the mujiks to cut off their beards, threatening to cut off their heads if they refused. ' God will make your beards grow again/ he said ; ' but will he do the same for your heads ? ' "

Petrovitch built a long and interesting narrative upon this

62 PETROVITCH.

very meagre foundation of historical knowledge. He had little Feodor for a listener as well as Ivan, and the intelligent ques tions of the boys drew out the information he loved to impart. Especially graphic was his account of the Swedish defeat at Pultowa, and the horrors of the retreat that followed horrors that seem to have prefigured those of a yet more awful retribu tion near at hand, though still wrapped in the mysterious veil of the future.

" File after file the stormy showers benumb, Freeze every standard sheet, and hush the drum ; Yet ere he sank in nature's last repose, Ere life's warm torrent to the fountain froze, The dying man to Sweden turned his eye, Thought of his home, and closed it with a sigh : Imperial pride looked sullen on his plight, And Charles beheld, nor shuddered at the sight. "

Then, gradually bringing down the narrative to more recent times, he told of the great Czarina Catherine of the splendours of her court and the triumphs of her arms especially of the conquest of Poland, in his partial eyes only a just retribution for the past wrongs, and a glorious achievement of the prowess ojf holy Russia. At last, though with some reserve, he spoke of the short, sad reign of the Czar Paul. " God sent him for our sins," he said.

This reserve only piqued the curiosity of the boys.

" It is true he wrought much evil," he admitted, in answer to their questions ; ' ' but still his heart was good. It was his head that went astray. Oh, my children, there are sorrows in the world darker than you have ever dreamed of ! Seems it sad to you to sit as I do now, and see the beautiful light of God's world fading from me day by day ? What is that to the desola tion, the anguish, when God lays his hand upon the immortal light within and turns it into darkness 1 The Czar Paul was not himself when he sent half his nobles to Siberia, shut up his own son in prison and threatened his life ay, even the life of the Empress. His true self fought long against the demon

PETROVITCH. 53

that possessed him. Many a time did he listen to his son, though he never loved him, when he dared bravely to plead for and shelter the victims of his wrath. More than once he said regretfully, after some unusual outburst of violence, ' I wish I had consulted the Grand Duke Alexander.' But such a state of things could not go on. The end came."

" What was the end, dadushka ? " queried Ivan. (Dadushka, " little grandfather," the term of endearment constantly used by Feodor, was often adopted by Ivan.)

" Do not ask me of the end," said the old man very sorrow fully. "It was said in official proclamations, it is still written in printed books, that 'the Czar Paul Petrovitch died of apoplexy. ' But all the world knows that is false. Some there are, too, who will have cause to know it when they come to stand before the judgment-seat of God."

"He was murdered," said Feodor with decision. "That is what / have always heard."

" Were the people sorry for him, or glad of his death f asked Ivan.

"Glad exceedingly. They were delivered from a reign o terror. Yet there were men who loved the Czar Paul truly who love him still, and will take that love with them to the grave. One such I know my good friend and patron, from whom I have received many favours, Count Rostopchine. He kept proudly aloof from the court of the new Czar, would hold no communication with him, and take no favour from his hands hands which, he dared to hint, were not pure from the stain of a father's blood. When the great battle of Austerlitz was lost, Count Rostopchine said, ' God would not prosper the arms of a bad son.' "

"How angry the Czar must have been !" said Ivan. "He ought to have sent him to Siberia, to repent of his insolence."

" He did not send him to Siberia, nor have I heard that he was angry. It is the guilty who are angry, and from that stain

54 PETROVITCH.

the soul of Alexander Paulovitch is white as the snow from heaven. Of the necessity of removing the Czar Paul from the government, and placing him under restraint, there was no shadow of doubt ; and to that he had given his consent only to that. When he knew what had been done, his horror and anguish were unbounded. At last he was not so much persuaded as compelled to take up the blood-stained sceptre which the con spirators laid at his feet, I saw him myself, on the day of his coronation, yonder in the Cathedral of the Assumption, and sadder face have I never seen upon living man than that young handsome face of his. Often yet I seem to see it, and to hear the very tones of his voice, as, kneeling before the altar, he recited the solemn coronation prayer : ' May I be in a condition to answer thee without fear in the day of thy dreaded judgment, by the merits and grace of Jesus Christ thy Son, whose name is glorified for ever with thine, and with that of thy holy and life-giving Spirit.' God fulfil that prayer ! Amen."

A brief silence succeeded the sublime words, uttered so rever ently ; but presently the old man resumed :

" Six short years only have passed since then ; but I charge you two, who are children now, to lay up in your hearts the things that have been done in them, and to tell them to your children and your children's children. The Czar Alexander Paulovitch has freed the Press, has abolished the secret police, has refused to make use of spies. He has utterly forbidden every kind of torture as a blot upon humanity. He has also for bidden the confiscation of hereditary property."*

" Dadushka " it was Ivan who spoke now " I do not un derstand what you are talking about. What are those things which you say he has forbidden ? "

• It is, perhaps, scarcely probable that a man of the character and position of Petro-

vitch, an " old Muscovite " and a proUg& of llostopchine, would have appreciated these liberal measures. But Petrovitch is supposed to be unusually thoughtful and enlight ened. Upon other points, especially upon the French war, he is made to share tho ucual sentiments of his class.

PETBOVITCH. 55

" Ah, child, I forgot. So little do you know as yet of wrong and cruelty, that the story of the efforts to redress them falls without meaning on your ear. But the young do well to re member much they cannot understand. As for me, I was born a serf, like my father and my father's father ; and these lips of mine shall be silent in the grave ere they forget to praise Alexander Paulovitch. Before his time we were bought and sold like the beasts of the field. You might read a notice in the window of a shop, ' To be sold : An active and capable servant, and a good milch cow. Inquire within.' This he for bade ; forbidding also the removal of peasants from the land. He permits and encourages the nobles to set their serfs at liberty whenever they will ; and if they are without land, he himself advances them money to purchase their homesteads. He has deprived their lords of the dangerous privilege of send ing them to Siberia without a trial ; nor dare any one, however rich or great, use his serfs with harshness or cruelty. Amongst many stories of his interference on behalf of the oppressed, I remember one concerning a great lady, whose name I will not tell you, as she lives in this city. From that love of money which the priests tell us is a root of all evil, she neglected her sick and aged serfs, and allowed them to suffer from want. The Czar heard of it, and he sent his own physician to minister to these poor suffering peasants, whom no man cared for. Dr. Wylie so they call him a shrewd, clever Scotchman, took care to order his patients so many expensive remedies and com forts that the princess, by the time she had paid for wine and wheaten flour, and I know not what besides, had also learned the useful lesson that nothing costs so dear in the long run as a duty neglected. Nor has the Czar given the mujik that which costs him nothing. He refuses absolutely to grant men as serfs to his courtiers ; and thus he has dried up the unfailing stream of wealth wherewith all the Czars that went before him have enriched and rewarded their servants without impoverishing

56 PETROVITCH.

themselves. God give it back to him in the prayers of the poor ! Moreover, I have heard that every year, out of his own treasure, he lays by one million of roubles to aid in the fulfil ment of his beloved and cherished dream to make the body of every mujik on the soil of holy Russia as free as his soul is already in the sight of God."

The rapt, kindling expression of his face as he spoke thus impressed the children deeply. He seemed to be gazing far away into some " white starry distance " where he could see the fruition of that glorious dream. But gradually the light faded, and the shadow passed once more over the aged face.

" Who shall see that day 1 " he murmured sadly. " Not the old ; their work is quickly over, while God's work goes on but slowly. No, not the old ; they are content to lie down in hope, waiting for what God will let them see in the resurrection, morn ing. But the young. He is young yet, this Czar God has given us, whose youthful dreams are not of pleasure, or con quest, or glory, but of loosing the heavy burdens, letting the oppressed go free, and breaking every yoke. Shall it be given to him to see the desire of his heart 1 It may be before his hairs are white as mine. But it may not. I have heard the priests say that, after all, it was not Moses who led the children of Israel into the Promised Land."

Ivan and Feodor waited in respectful silence until his reverie was over. Then I van began to question him upon a subject about which he was interested, and indeed perplexed.

" Dadushka, why do you seem to think the Czar ought not to have made this peace with Napoleon for which all the bells in the city have been ringing ? "

" There be many reasons, boy good reasons and bad, noble reasons and selfish. Of the selfish reasons I need not tell you. You are now surrounded by merchants ; you will soon be sur rounded by nobles. No doubt you will hear lamentations enough from both for the luxuries wherewith English commerce sup-

PETROVITCH. 57

plied the tables of the one, and the gold with which it filled the purses of the other. But what, perhaps, you will never hear, is the truth that lies buried beneath that stream of idle talk. Have you ever, in Nicolofsky, listened on winter nights to the low howling of the wolves amidst the snow ? There is a horrible story I remember hearing in my childhood about a woman a mother who was making a winter journey in her sledge with her five little ones. Perhaps you too know the tale? The famished pack with their demon voices howled around her sledge. To save all the rest, as she fondly dreamed, she sacri ficed one child, her youngest. Then a moment of respite, a verst or two gained upon the savage pursuers a wild, fleeting gleam of hope. Then then; but I need not go on. She reached her journey's end alone, to die the next day, accursed and broken-hearted.* Forget the story if you can, but remem ber the awful lesson. The taste for blood grows with what it feeds 011, and the doom of the coward only comes the more quickly from his guilty efforts to avert it. The French are wolves, and Napoleon is a demon. Already has he devoured the nations of Germany, and it has but whetted his appetite for fresh victims. He deceives the Czar who is young, and likes to think others as true and generous as himself with his offers of peace. But the peace he offers is only from the lip out ; for he hates us, and he will never cease to hate us. Why not? We stand upright, while the other nations all except the Eng lish bow down and kiss his feet. But they are all infidels, those Frenchmen. They believe neither in God, nor saint, nor devil. Therefore I think that if we had put our trust in God, and gone to war with them again, he would have protected holy Russia, the land of his people and of his orthodox Church."

Old Petrovitch, in speaking thus, expressed the thoughts and feelings of the mass of his countrymen. They were ignorant and superstitious, but they were devout. They believed in

• Readers of Mr. Browning's "Dramatic Idylls" will remember "Ivan Ivanovitch."

58 PETROVITCH.

" the God of Russia," and in the Czar as the first of his servants. A time was drawing near when this belief of theirs should be tried in the furnace heated seven times. The trial proved beyond a doubt that metal was there, genuine and enduring ; but how much was the pure gold of faith, and how much the iron of a fierce fanaticism ? There is one test potent to divide between the gold and the iron. The fanatic may endure like a martyr and fight like a hero ; but when the battle is past, and the victory won, he will trample on the fallen like a tyrant; for his God is the God of vengeance. But while the man of faith can suffer and fight, and that with a heroism as undaunted, he can also pardon ; for his God is the God of mercy, and He whose "right hand holds him up" makes him "great" with " His gentleness."

CHAPTER VI

IVAN'S EDUCATION.

" Our young people think they know everything when they have learned to dance and to speak French." Words of the Emperor Alexander, quoted by Madame de Choiseul-Gouffier.

JETROVITCH the merchant would have thought himself greatly lacking in his duty towards Ivan the boyar if he had suffered him to remain beneath his roof. As soon as he had provided him with a fashionable outfit that is to say, an outfit composed of gar ments fashionable in Paris three seasons previously he trans ferred him to the palace of a widowed lady of rank who had promised to act as his guardian. He was to associate with her sons, and to share with them the instructions of the French tutor whose services were then considered indispensable to every young Russian of noble birth. For these advantages Petrovitch paid very liberally : in many families, even of the highest posi tion, good silver roubles were not as plentiful as they were desirable, and were not likely to be rejected when they pre sented themselves for acceptance.

Feodor was deputed to accompany Ivan to his new home, since the elder members of the family did not care to present themselves. It must be owned that the little Russian, in his glossy blue caftan of the finest cloth and his bright silken sash, had the advantage of his companion, who looked as awkward as a naturally graceful boy could contrive to do with his limbs confined in the tightest of French garments.

co IVAN'S EDUCATION.

Having reached the stately painted gateway of the Wertsch family mansion or palace, the two boys were admitted by the porter and led across an ample courtyard into a large saloon furnished in a manner utterly strange to Ivan. As no one was there, he had time to indulge his wonder and curiosity. Chairs and tables, divans and ottomans, with many other objects, of the uses of which he had not the slightest conception, were scattered about in profusion ; the woodwork was painted rose- colour or lilac, and lavishly adorned with gilding, while the numerous cushions were covered with a kind of tapestry of a shining gray. At one side of the room a row of slender shafts, rose-coloured and tipped with gold, supported climbing-plants in luxuriant flower ; at the other, three large windows looked out upon the terrace and the pleasure-grounds beyond it. Ivan thought these windows were open, and was stepping confidently towards one of them, when Feodor pulled him back with a laugh. "Take care, Prince Ivan," he said; "that is one great sheet of glass. I have seen such before; they cost oh, I know not how many roubles. But come, let us look at the orangery;" and he pointed to a trellised door at the farther end of the room.

Here a fairy scene met their view. Oranges gleamed amidst dark glossy foliage like "golden lamps hid in a night of green ; " heavy clusters of grapes, purple and amber, hung high above their heads ; peaches, apricots, and plums ripened temptingly beside them for in that ungenial climate many fruits that grow elsewhere in the open air require the protection of glass. Wonderful was the wealth of flowers, all of which were new to Ivan. Sheets of blossom gold, and purple, and scarlet, azure, and creamy white wooed his delighted gaze; and ever and anon he paused as some rare peculiar beauty, rose or lily, geranium or costly orchid, attracted his eye with the richness of its colouring or the grace of its form.

But this was not the first " orangery " (all greenhouses were

IVANS EDUCATION. 61

then called orangeries in Russia) which Feodor had seen, and he had no objection to show off his larger experiences before his senior and his superior in rank. He could even name to him a few of the flowers. " Look here," he said, as he paused before a plant laden with clusters of graceful bells, their dark crimson sheaths half concealing cups of white faintly tinged with rose- colour ; " that is called fuchsia. There is one of the same kind in the Kremlin gardens. Last winter's frost nearly killed it ; but it lives still a thick, stunted, hardy bush, with little fed flowers, as unlike as possible to this one. That is like me, and this one before us is like you, Prince Ivan. You are going to be put in the orangery, because you were born a boyar ; while I am left outside in the frost and snow. After all, I had rather be myself than you. It is hot here in the orangery, and there is not room enough one could not run or play in comfort."

He was about to try the experiment by indulging in a race from one end of the tiled passage to the other, when a strange figure was seen approaching them. It was that of a young lad with flat, ugly Tartar features, and very fantastically dressed. He was one of those Calmucks whom the Russian nobility had a singular fancy for keeping in their houses as pets ; although, as they grew up, they often proved very troublesome to their patrons. With a grin and a bow he informed the boys that the countess was ready to receive them, and invited them to follow him into her presence. Having passed once more through the saloon, they entered a boudoir richly furnished and adorned with hangings of blue and silver. An elderly lady, dressed in exaggerated French fashion, reclined on a couch. Her appearance was not improved by two rows of teeth dyed an ebony hue, a curious Russian custom of the period. She played with a fan, which was rather useless in that climate, while she conversed in French with two gentlemen in frock coats who sat near her. When Ivan entered, she languidly

62 IVAN'S EDUCATION.

extended her hand, glittering with jewelled rings, and addressed some words to him in. the same tongue. He looked embarrassed, but the ready Feodor came to his aid. " Pas Francois, madame," he said.

The Countess Wertsch accordingly condescended to the use of her native language, in which she bade Ivan welcome cor dially enough. She then gave him a French bonbonniere, and told him to help himself and his companion to its contents, while she continued her conversation with her guests. Ivan could not help thinking, from the manner of the speakers, that this conversation had reference to himself, and he was beginning to grow hot and uncomfortable, when Feodor effectually diverted his thoughts by taking out his pocket-knife and cutting upon one of the bonbons a large almond covered with chocolate a striking likeness of the countess's rather peculiar face. He was on the point of indulging in a laugh which might have had awkward consequences, when a young man, dressed ct la fran- $aise t and carrying in his hand a long pipe tipped with amber, lounged into the room.

" This is Adrian, my eldest son," said the countess, turning to Ivan. "You are to be fellow-students, so you ought to be friends. Adrian, this is Prince Ivan Pojarsky."

Adrian made a bow, and addressing himself to Ivan, asked if he had seen the new piece at the French theatre.

Ivan, who thought he meant a new part of the building, answered with simplicity, "I do not know; everything I see here is alike new to me."

" Then I shall have the pleasure of introducing you to a great; many tilings," said Adrian, with a smile, and, by way of a further overture of friendship, he took out and presented a jewelled snuff-box. Ivan supposed this to be another -kind of bonbonniere; but fortunately for himself he was not attracted either by the look or the odour of its contents, and declined with thanks.

IVAN'S EDUCATION. 63

At length the older guests took their leave, and the countess turned her attention to the boys. She seemed struck with the appearance of Ivan's little companion, and asked him many questions, which he answered with a grace and sprightliness that interested her still further.

"I should like to keep both of you," she said to Feodor. " Will you stay with me, and become my little page of honour? I will have you taught French, and you shall be always with your friend Prince Ivan."

" I thank you, madame," Feodor answered gravely. " But I cannot leave my grandfather. I belong to him, and I will stay with him always always" he repeated with earnestness.

" But, my little lad, your grandfather is very old. Some day he will die, and then what will become of you ? "

" When he dies, I will die too," said Feodor resolutely, with a glow in his dark eyes.

" Wait, boy, till you are ten years older," laughed Adrian, " and for no man in the world will you say as much as that. As for a woman well, I know not ; you may have your fever- fit like another, and get over it, and laugh at it."

Feodor gave him a surprised, incredulous look, and repeated quietly, "When he dies, I will die too." Then, turning to the countess, he took his leave in words he had been carefully instructed to use : " May I be permitted to kiss your hand, madame 1 My grandfather will expect me at home."

She responded graciously, and asked Adrian to take him into the orangery and give him some fruit. Ivan went with them, being anxious to see the last of his little friend. They passed a half-opened door, which the boys had not noticed before. Within was a kind of oratory : sacred pictures glit tered "in frames of gold and silver adorned with jewels, and lights were burning before them in massive silver candlesticks. Adrian turned in, but not to make his reverence, as the boys supposed. On the contrary, he deliberately used one of the

64 IVAN'S EDUCATION.

candles to light his pipe. Ivan and Feodor were both horrified, and Ivan said, "How can you do that? The saint will be angry, and some harm will happen to you."

" My dear innocent babe, when you know a little more you will believe a little less. Ah, here comes Mousie, our French professor. M. Thomassin, here is your new pupil, Prince Ivan Ivano vitch Poj arsky . "

A dapper little Frenchman glided noiselessly towards them, and bowed profoundly. But the ceremony of introduction accomplished, Adrian went off with him, much to the relief of the boys, whom he left in the charge of a servant, bidding him supply Feodor plentifully with fruit.

That day was the beginning of a new life for Ivan. His versatile, imitative Russian nature stood him in good stead. Ashamed of his ignorance of what Adrian and Leon Wertsch knew so well, arid perhaps with the same feelings of emulation towards them as of old towards Michael, he devoted his quick intelligence and his retentive memory to two branches of study, the French language and the art of reading. The average Russian is a remarkably good linguist, and Ivan was much more than an average Russian. It very soon became unsafe for "Mousie " to say anything in his presence which he was not intended to understand ; nor was it long before he could read sufficiently well to amuse his leisure with the worthless senti mental romances then, unhappily, popular in Russia.

In other ways his education made rapid progress. He soon appreciated the attractions of the French theatre ; he learned to like the taste of champagne ; and cards and loto were substituted for the homely babshkys of his childhood. Under the tutelage of M. Thomassin as worthless and unprincipled a Frenchman as ever professed and propagated the doctrines of Yoltaire the Wertsches were growing up into frivolous, dissipated young men of fashion, and open scoffers at what they styled a stupid and antiquated superstition. Their mother, a thoroughly

IVAN S EDUCATION. 65

ignorant woman, with a thin veneering of showy accomplish ments, was a little horrified when their contempt for things she had been accustomed to revere was manifested in her presence; but she supposed that all must be right which was taught them by a fashionable French " professeur." At all events, they only did like other people in the beau monde, and its opinion was her idol.

Once only did Ivan see her really provoked. He often visited his kind old friend Petrovitch, as indeed for every reason he was bound to do. The easiest way of reaching or returning from the merchants' quarter was by crossing the river, in summer by a ferry-boat, in winter on foot or in a sledge. Once, however, just when the ice was beginning to break, and the passage was difficult and rather unsafe, Ivan stayed with the Petrovitches for dinner, and came home in the evening in a drosky by a longer route. The countess, before his return, had been a little alarmed for his safety, but was much more annoyed when he made his appearance and ex plained how his day had been spent.

"It is well enough to visit people like the Petrovitches," she said. " But to eat in their house ! such a thing is never done in the world never ! For Heaven's sake, Ivan, do not let any one know of it. You would be talked about."

Adrian, who was present, took Ivan's part. " After all, mother," he said, " in St. Petersburg his Imperial Majesty has been known to drink tea in the house of a merchant."

"His Imperial Majesty," replied the countess with solemnity, "had better take care of himself."

"Which," returned Adrian, "he is abundantly able to do."

" Of course, Ivan," Madame Wertsch resumed, " you can go to the Petrovitches at proper times and in a proper way, when the old man wishes to see you."

" He will never see me again," Ivan answered sadly ; " he is quite blind now."

(696) * 5

66 IVAN'S EDUCATION.

One incident of his first winter in Moscow shocked Ivan con siderably, though it made scarcely any impression upon those around him. Coming out at midnight with the "Wertsches from a sumptuous entertainment at the palace of a friend, they found their little postilion lying dead in the snow, close to the horses' feet, with the reins still wound around his stiffened arm. The child a mujik of twelve years old, chosen for his beauty had fallen from his seat overcome by cold and fatigue, and the coachman, himself half frozen, did not know what had hap pened until too late to help him. Such accidents were of daily occurrence, Ivan was told, during the frosty weather. No one seemed to think much about it ; he was only a mujik, one of the " black people," in the eyes of the fashionable world little better than beasts of burden. But Ivan was haunted for weeks with the dead face of the pretty boy, to whom he had often given a few kopecks to buy sweetmeats. Another face came before him too with a reproachful, accusing look the face that he had seen bending compassionately over the senseless form of Stefen Alexitch. Ivan often looked for that face in public places, in fashionable assemblies, in church ; but it is needless to add that he looked for it in vain.

About two years after his arrival in Moscow, Ivan made an expedition to Nicolofsky to visit his old friends. Although scarcely sixteen, he already considered himself, and was con sidered by others, quite grown up. The young Russian of that day ripened early into manhood : fifteen was a usual age for entering the army, and education was then considered complete. Still, though he thought himself old enough for any adventure, Ivan might have postponed his journey for another year, had not the proprietor of a neighbouring estate, who was going to spend the summer at his country house, obligingly offered him a seat in his carriage.

He had provided himself with gifts for all his friends, and ransacked the "Silver Row" in the Great Bazaar for the

IVAN'S EDUCATION. 67

prettiest ear-rings and bracelets he could procure for Anna Popovna. The welcome he received was everything that could be desired affectionate, enthusiastic, and admiring. There was but one exception. Michael Ivanovitch scowled upon him with undisguised ill-humour. He would like to know what brought him there, he was heard to mutter ; adding that the less boyars and mujiks had to say to one another the better for both. Otherwise, his visit was a complete success. He returned to Moscow fancying himself desperately in love with Anna Popovna, and the hero of one of his favourite romances, in which princes sighed for shepherdesses and queens wedded clowns. An attack of fever, which he had shortly afterwards, and which kept him for some time confined to the house, gave him leisure to indulge his dreams and reveries.

As he grew older, the works of Yoltaire and Diderot began to replace in his esteem the flimsy, unreal productions of the novelists. M. Thomassin's only genuine love was a love of pleasure, his only genuine hatred a hatred of religion. Conse quently he taught his pupils just enough to make them sen sualists and scoffers like himself. He bid fair to succeed as completely with Ivan as he had done with Adrian and Leon Wertsch ; indeed Ivan would probably go farther than they, because his nature was stronger and his character more energetic. What has no root is easily displaced. The re ligion of Ivan's early years was a mere superstition, a matter of outward forms and observances ; therefore, when he ceased to attach importance to these, he lost everything. " From him that hath not shall be taken away even that which he seemeth to have." There was no mental conflict, there were no keen and bitter searchings of heart. From a dead faith he glided almost insensibly into a dead scepticism, and by neither the faith nor the scepticism had the profound slumber of his soul been at any time disturbed.

He continued to attend the numerous church services because

68 IVAN'S EDUCATION.

others did so, and because the exquisite music (in the Greek Church entirely vocal) and the gorgeous ceremonial gratified his taste. He also observed, at least as strictly as those around him, the long and severe fasts of the Church ; availing himself, however, of such evasions as were sanctioned by custom : "name days," for example, which happened to fall in Lent were sure to be honoured with a double measure of feasting.

Meanwhile his emotional nature craved excitement and his mind needed occupation. Genuine, earnest study under a com petent teacher he would have thoroughly enjoyed ; but the Greek and Latin lessons with which M. Thomassin supple mented his instructions in French were very superficial and perfunctory. Fortunately he had another master for Polish and German ; and with these languages he took some pains, because a knowledge of them was necessary in order to obtain a commission in the army. But even in these his interest was slight; for at present he found the attractions of the ball room and the gaming-table far more powerful than those of the library.

The narrow world of pleasure in which he lived thrilled but faintly to the shock of those mighty impulses that were moving the great world around him. Now and then he heard the strife of many tongues which accused the Czar of blindness for having made peace with Napoleon at all, and of weakness for keeping that peace in spite of numberless provocations. In those days, any one who heard the talk of the salons in Moscow and St. Petersburg might have thought it the easiest thing in the world to measure swords once more with the conqueror of Austerlitz. Ivan shared the sentiments of those around him, and accordingly he was overjoyed when at last, in defiance of Napoleon, the ukase was published which reopened the trade with England under the protection of neutral flags, and foreign luxuries appeared once more upon the table of the noble, while foreign gold glided quickly into the purse of the merchant.

IVAN'S EDUCATION. 69

He shared, too, the universal indignation at Napoleon's atrocious spoliation of the Duke of Oldenburg, the Czar's brother-in-law, perhaps the most flagrant of his many violations of the Treaty of Tilsit. Ivan was breathing an atmosphere highly charged with electricity, and full of the indications of an approaching storm ; but he knew not the signs of the times. Besides, how was it possible that he, whom competent judges were calling the best dancer in Moscow, and who was the acknowledged favourite of fortune at all games of hazard, could disquiet himself about the designs of Napoleon and the prospect of a war with France ?

CHAPTER VII.

" ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM."

" Still the race of hero-spirits

Pass the lamp from hand to hand ; Age from age the words inherits ' Wife, and child, and fatherland ! ' "

JEARS came and went, changing the "little lord" of Nicolofsky into the graceful, handsome young nobleman, the ornament of the ball-rooms of Mos cow. Ivan Ivanovitch as he was usually called by his numerous friends, such use of the father's Christian name being accounted the best style and the highest courtesy in Russian society had now completed his education. He spoke French, the French of the salons, in perfection; he played the violin ; he danced with exquisite grace ; he was an adept at cards and loto.

This last accomplishment was a dangerous one. Diderot's famous saying, " Russia is rotten before she is ripe," had but too much truth in its application to the higher classes. A superficial foreign civilization too often covered without eradi cating the barbarism from which the nation was only emerging, and thus the vices of the one state of society were added to those of the other. In the brilliant circles where Ivan moved, no form of vice was rare, except perhaps intemperance. The noble did not usually misuse his champagne as grossly as the mujik did his vodka but this was the only particular in which he set his poorer brother a good example.

" ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM." 71

The most fashionable vice of the Russian nobility at this period was the perilous excitement of the gaming-table. In this, as in other things, the licentious court of Catherine II. had been to the whole empire a very seed-plot of corruption. It is recorded that on one occasion the Empress herself had been unable to obtain a glass of water, so engrossed were pages, equerries, ladies-in-waiting, even grooms and porters, with their cards and their dice. Things were altered now. Alexander neither played himself, nor permitted any one to play for money within the precincts of his palace ; but when once evil seed has been sown, who can eradicate the crop that springs from it 1

Adrian Wertsch was now a tchinovik ; that is to say, he had obtained a place under government which gave him an official tchin, or rank, corresponding to a particular grade in the army, the standard of all honour under the military despotism of the Czars. Leon had a commission, and had recently joined his regiment. Like every one else, he was greatly excited by the prospect of the war with France ; but, like nearly every one, he thought the vast army Napoleon had been collecting was intended to winter in Germany, and that the grand drama for which all the world was looking with strained eyes and eager hearts would not be played out until the following summer.

About Ivan's future there was some perplexity, but of a kind which no one was in a hurry to solve. His education had begun very late, and his present life of elegant dissipation was very pleasant. Still, when Count Rostopchine became Gover nor of Moscow, early in 1812, Ivan's friends thought it well to present him, acquainting the count with his position as the penniless heir of a great though proscribed name. But Rostopchine was a Russian of the old school, in whom the proverbial " Tartar " was very near the surface. He surveyed Ivan critically, from his perfumed hair to his silk stockings

72 " ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM.

and jewelled shoe-buckles, and muttered contemptuously, as he turned away, " Dandified French coxcomb ! " To Count Rostopchine the French, with all their works and ways, were anathema.

Ivan's heart was not broken by this repulse, though he took his revenge for it in a clever lampoon, much applauded in the salons. He plunged the more madly into every form of excite ment and dissipation. For a while fortune continued to smile upon him, and all things went well ; his heart was glad, his laugh light, and his step elastic.

But a bitter hour came at last. One night the debts scored against him upon the gaming-table grew and grew, until the total became absolutely alarming. Of course he was plied with the usual arguments, " Go on ; your fortune will change, you will retrieve all ; " and, of course, he yielded. The fascination of companionship was upon him, and the yet more potent spell of champagne completed his infatuation. So far as he was able to reflect at all, the very thoughts that ought to have checked his madness only stimulated it. He could not bear that his associates should taunt him with cowardice, but it was still more intolerable that they should suspect him of poverty. The fear made him desperate, and he went on wildly and recklessly, lavishly increasing his stakes, lest any one should surmise the truth that he was risking more than he possessed. But at last that very fear arrested him when on the brink of ruin. Seeing him so heavy a loser, his friends came forward with offers of assistance, which they urged, nay, even pressed upon him. But he rejected all. Not to these would he become a debtor ; for what hope could he entertain of repaying them 1 There was only one in all the world to whom he could turn for real help in the hour of need.

It was not until the next morning that he fully realized his position. He awoke unrefreshed from a short feverish sleep, and drank the tea his valet brought him, but could not eat

" ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM. 73

Fortunes ten times larger than the whole sum of his debts changed hands continually over the card-tables of Moscow and St. Petersburg. But all tilings go by comparison, and what would have been little indeed to the lord of broad lands and toiling serfs, was much to the "merchant's pensioner," as Ivan bitterly called himself. He had no alternative but to go to Petrovitch, confess his folly, and throw himself upon the generosity of his kind old friend. This, to a youth of his spirit and temper, was a cruel humiliation. All his manliness, all his independence of character revolted from the task ; and it was equally abhorrent to his pride. Both the good and the evil in him were at war with the necessities of his position ; but both had to give way. He dressed himself quickly, left the Wertsch mansion without speaking to any one, hailed the first drosky he saw, sprang in, and gave his directions, choosing the longer route to the merchant's house, that he might avoid the ferry with its possible delays. The driver, as he settled himself in his seat and grasped more firmly the long ropes that served him as reins, leaned over and asked him, " Gospodin,* have you heard the news ? "

" Curse the news ! " said Ivan petulantly. " Drive quickly, isvostchik,f and I'll double thy fare."

Yet absorbed as he was in his sordid, selfish trouble, he could not fail to see that some extraordinary change had passed over the city. At the street corners and in the thoroughfares persons of all classes were gathering in groups, talking and gesticulating. A few had letters or printed papers in their hands ; but those who could read were a small minority, and by far the greater number were discussing what they had heard from the lips of others. Now and then Ivan wondered languidly what had happened ; but his thoughts always slipped back to subjects of more pressing interest. What should he say to Petrovitch ? and what would Petrovitch say to him 1

• Lord, or Sir. t Driver.

74 " ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM."

It was a glorious morning at the end of June,

" The very city's self was filled With the breath and the beam of heaven."

41

Fair shone the gilded cupolas of the Kremlin, brightly gleamed the silver Moskva, and the gardens and terraces were blooming with a thousand flowers. Never had the old city looked more lovely, with the strange peculiar charm of its quaint barbaric magnificence toned and softened by those sweet influences of sun and air that touch the responsive earth like the benediction of Heaven. On that day Ivan scarcely noticed its beauty; but in after years the memory often returned to him, like the last happy, untroubled look we have seen on some beloved face, ere it is dimmed by those shadows of disease and pain that prelude the darker shadow of the grave.

At length he reached the house of Petrovitch, dismissed his drosky, and walked in. He was accustomed to enter the old man's presence unannounced, to be recognized by the sound of his footsteps, and affectionately welcomed.

It was now almost four years since Petrovitch had become totally blind. God's hand had touched him gently, and the touch softened and ennobled him. The interests of commercial life, the buying, selling, and getting gain, which once occupied him so intensely, had faded from him now; and if still he ruled his household with a strong hand, it was less by fear and more by love. Feodor had learned to read on purpose to while away the long hours for him, though there were not many books in the Kussian language likely to interest him. For romances in the French style, whether translated or imi tated, he cared nothing at all ; history, which he would have greatly enjoyed, had still to be naturalized in Eussia ; and, un happily, the best Book of all was then locked away from the Russian in a casket of which the key was well-nigh lost the old Slavonic tongue, more unintelligible to Petrovitch than the English of Chaucer would be to us. But a friend of his, Pope

" ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM." 75

Yefim, a priest of much more than average intelligence and seriousness, used often to visit him, and to tell him Scripture narratives, and repeat for him prayers or passages from the Psalter. " I can no longer raise my eyes to the holy pictures," Petrovitch was wont to say, " so I must learn to lift up my heart to God."

To-day Ivan found him surrounded by several members of his family. His eldest son stood before him; two or three others, sons or grandsons, were at hand ; and Feodor, now a fine lad of sixteen, had perched himself as usual upon one of the arms of his chair.

"Father, your will is law," Ivan Petrovitch was saying. " Still it is rather hard upon me to be chained to desk and ledger because I am the eldest son, while sons, nephews, and grandsons are doing their duty."

"Thou too wilt be doing thine," the old man returned. "What if it be a harder one? Is it thy part, or mine, to choose ? But hush ! are not the footsteps that I hear those of my lord's grandson ? "

Ivan came forward, and the usual greetings were exchanged, though on his side in a tone of embarrassment, which did not escape the quick ear of Petrovitch.

"Prince Ivan," he said, "you are in trouble. Do you wish to speak with me alone 1 "

Petrovitch usually gave Ivan the title of prince, although, on account of his father's disgrace and his own equivocal position, the heir of Pojarsky had forborne to assume it in general society a modest reticence which Petrovitch not only approved, but had himself actually recommended.

" It is true, dadushka," Ivan answered frankly ; "I wish to speak with you alone."

At a sign from Petrovitch the others left the room, and with out waiting for Ivan to begin, the old man said, " I know what you feel. Speak freely. What can I do for you 1 "

76 " ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM.

Ivan was greatly surprised at this address. Which of those who were present last night, he asked himself, could possibly have told the story of his folly, and how could it have found its way so quickly to the ears of Petrovitch 1

"I do not think you can know what I feel," he began humbly ; "I am so utterly ashamed of myself. You have so often warned me to be moderate in play, and as often have I made the best of resolutions, and I meant to keep them faith fully, but"

He came to a sudden stop, astonished, even terrified by the change that swept over the sightless but expressive face of Petrovitch. Disappointment, sorrow, anger chased each other rapidly, like clouds before a stormy wind ; then all these passed away and were succeeded by something too sadly like contempt. Ivan stood in silent embarrassment, unable to proceed with his story.

But he had said enough. After a pause, Petrovitch spoke in a cold, constrained voice, " So that is your trouble, Prince Ivan ? You have lost money at play. How much 1 "

" Eight thousand seven hundred and fifty roubles," said Ivan in the low tones of penitence and shame.

" Silver or paper ? "

" Paper," said Ivan, rather more cheerfully. There was an enormous difference in value between the two, although in neither case would the sum have been a large one in the eyes of extravagant Russian nobles.

" Do me the favour to call Feodor ; you will find him in the next room."

Ivan obeyed; and Petrovitch, taking a key which hung round his neck, gave it with a few directions to his grand son.

Something in the old merchant's manner made Ivan stand before him in silence, without venturing a word of explanation or of defence, until Feodor's return.

" ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM. 77

The boy gave his grandfather a roll of bank-notes, clean and crisp, and immediately left the room.

In perfect silence the old man handed the notes to Ivan, who tried to express his thanks ; but Petrovitch stopped him. " The money," he said coldly, " is a matter of indifference to me. You are more than welcome to it, Prince Ivan." Never until to-day had he addressed him in such a tone.

Ivan drew near, knelt down before his chair, and took his hand affectionately. " Dear old friend," he said, " I see that I have wounded you. Forgive me, for my grandfather's sake, and for my own, for I love you truly."

The aged face quivered with suppressed emotion, yet Petro vitch drew his hand away. "You cannot love me, Prince Ivan Pojarsky," he said, "if you love not the land of your fathers."

"The land of my fathers!" repeated Ivan in surprise. " What can you mean 1 "

" Stand up, Prince Ivan," continued the old man, still speak, ing with sternness ; " the posture of a suppliant does not be come you. Do you think it is anything to me that you have lost a few thousand roubles at play 1 Do you think that if you needed my whole fortune I would heave a sigh or shed a tear as I gave it into your hands ? But it is a grief to me, beyond sighs and tears, that trifles such as these should occupy the heir of Pojarsky when the foot of the enemy is on the soil of holy Russia."

" What ? " cried Ivan, springing to his feet in amazement.

" Can it be possible you have not heard 1 " asked Petrovitch, the heavy cloud of displeasure beginning to clear from his brow. "At daybreak this morning the tidings came. They have crossed the Niemen, those barbarous hosts that own no God in heaven, no king on earth save that monster from the abyss they call Napoleon. They come in the stillness and darkness I seem to hear their footsteps across plain, and forest,

78 " ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM."

and river. They come to trample down the soil of our father land, to water it with blood, to waste our fields, to burn our villages with fire, to make our wives widows, our children orphans ; ay, and to do yet darker deeds than these, deeds which I have no words to tell. The storm has been gathering long ; and now, at last, the thunder-cloud has burst upon us ! My country, O God, my country ! "

" But our cause is just," said Ivan. " Surely every Russian will fight to the death."

" This, indeed, will be a death-struggle," Petrovitch resumed. " Do you not understand 1 It is all the world against holy Russia all the world, except England and Spain : England, far away, safe within her God-given rampart of crested foam ; Spain already bleeding beneath the talons of the vulture. Russia, Russia only, stands upright, and refuses, as Pope Yefim expresses it, to bow the knee to the Baal, or rather to the Moloch of France. Therefore, the conqueror has forced the conquered to join his standard, and it is not only the legions of France who are pouring across the Niemen, but Prussians, Austrians, Saxons, Westphalians, all the men of Germany who are Napoleon's subservient though unwilling slaves; Poles, ever eager to trample on our pride and profit by our mis fortunes ; ay, even Spaniards, dragged from their vines and their olives to fight for the tyrant they detest." He paused, then went on again in a sadder tone and with even deeper feeling " If in this dark hour God had but been gracious to us, and given us a bearded Czar ! "

" A bearded Czar ! " Ivan repeated in perplexed surprise.

" Yes. Do you not remember the words of the great Czar Peter? 'If ever again a bearded Czar shall sit upon the throne of Russia, all Europe may tremble.' He meant a true Muscovite Czar stern, hard, and strong, like Ivan the Ter rible long ago, somewhat like Count Rostopchine now. But instead of such a hero as the Czars of old with the world in

" ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM. 76

arms against us, God in his inscrutable providence has seen fit to send us Alexander Paulovitch."

"But, dadushka, the people love him."

" Love him ? with all their hearts. The men of Russia are not wood or stone. They love him well enough to be true to him to the death, if only he dares to be true to himself and to them. But that is too much to hope. All things must do after their kind. Does the antelope of the desert confront the tiger in his den, and tear from him his blood-stained spoil 1 Do men take the fine gold out of the furnace to forge it into their weapons of war? or the silk of China to spin into the cable that holds the ship of war to her moorings ? But, Prince Ivan, I am talking wildly, perhaps idly and sinfully. Forget what I have said. After all, Alexander Paulovitch is the Lord's anointed."

" And you know that, since last April, he has been in the field with his army where he ought to be."

" Where he ought not to be ! " thundered Petrovitch angrily. " What we ask from our Czar is not the cheap courage of the recruit, whose one virtue is to stand and be shot at, but the far higher courage to think, to decide, to act for fifty millions of men. 'Thou shalt not go forth with us to battle,' said the men of old to their king, ' that thou quench not the light of Israel.' God put the heart of man in the very midst of his body, to send the life-giving blood to the strong hands, which in their turn are meant to defend it from scath and harm."

"True; and it occurs to me," said Ivan quietly, "that my place is with the hands."

The face of Petrovitch actually lighted up. "Thank God for that word ! " he said. " But I expected no less from Prince Ivan Ivanovitch Pojarsky."

Ivan had entered the house of Petrovitch that day a reck less, frivolous youth, capable indeed of nobler things, but ab sorbed in the pursuit of pleasure and in the petty, selfish troubles

80 "ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM."

it entailed upon him. He left the presence of his aged friend with the heart, the purpose, the thoughts of a man. He felt the ennobling glow of patriotic fervour. His country was in jeopardy, and he was ready to give his life for it. He thought, as he turned his steps homewards,

" This is enough to make my brave ancestor, the great Prince Pojarsky, arise from his grave to fight for holy Russia. From his grave ? There are living graves, far off in drear Siberia : will the dead arise out of these, I wonder? Dear, unknown father unknown, yet not forgotten if still you see the sun and breathe the air of this world, how would you rejoice to come back and cover your stained name with glory ! But I scarcely dare to hope your life has lingered on through all these weary years. If not, then mine are the only veins in which the blood of Pojarsky is flowing. Oh that I could win our ancient honour back again ! "

CHAPTER VIII.

A NATION'S TRANSPORT.

" Take thy banner, and beneath The battle-cloud's encircling wreath, Guard it till our homes are free Guard it, God will prosper thee ! In the dark and stormy hour, In the breaking forth of power, In the rush of steeds and men, His right hand will guard thee then."

| BOUT three weeks later all Moscow was in a frenzy of excitement. The Czar was coming. Ten thou sand bells, from those of the world-famous " Ivan Veliki," that looked down from its giddy height upon the domes of the Kremlin, to that of the most obscure of her fifteen hundred churches, were clamouring their sonorous welcome. Cannon were ready to thunder a greeting yet more deafening, though far less musical ; and the nobles and clergy were preparing a grand procession to meet their sovereign at the Smolensko gate. Meanwhile the people poured forth in a dense, tumultuous crowd to watch for his approach. Long and patiently did they wait; and the shades had fallen deep over the city, in which that night there were but few sleepers, when at last continued shouts and "houras "announced his appear ance. Happy was he who could catch, through the darkness, even a glimpse of the unpretending open carriage, drawn by four unbroken horses from the steppes of Tartary, in which the Czar was wont to travel.

It had been a bitter sacrifice to Alexander to forsake his

(696) Q

82 A NATION'S TKANSPORT.

armies, now face to face with the enemy, and retrace his steps to the centre of his dominions. But his generals had said to him, " Sire, your presence here paralyzes the army ; it takes fifty thousand men to guard you;" and he was forced to ac knowledge the justice of their remonstrances: a chance bullet perhaps a bullet which was not a chance one ; for Napoleon was no chivalrous antagonist might at any moment leave Russia a prey to untold confusion.* On the other hand, a new army was urgently needed, and none but the sovereign could raise it ; men's hearts everywhere were failing them for fear, and none but the sovereign could inspire them with hope and confidence. So "the great heart" returned "to the midst of the great body."f For the present.

On the morning after the arrival of the Czar in Moscow, Ivan was walking in a fashionable street called the Arbatskaya, not far from the Kremlin. Adrian Wertsch and two or three other young noblemen were with him. Like all the crowd amongst which they were moving, they had donned their richest and gayest dresses. Every one wore a festive air, and seemed to be making holiday in honour of the presence of the sovereign.

" Come, Adrian Nicoliiitch," said young Kanikoff, the very person to whom Ivan had lost so many of Petrovitch's hard- earned roubles " come, tell us how much of the show you saw last night."

"As much as you did," was the laughing answer; "or as our friend here, Ivan Ivanovitch."

"Oh, as for me," said Ivan, "/am born under an unlucky star. I am destined never to see his Imperial Majesty. During one of his visits to the city I was ill ; during two I was absent ; and last night, all I could contrive to see was the head of one of his horses."

• His heir would have been the wayward, eccentric Constantino, who, in such a

crisis, could not have maintained his position for a month . t Be Maistre.

A NATION'S TRANSPORT. 83

"Better luck another time. Stay, I really think we are going to have it now. Hark ! listen to those shouts. What a throng there is though all the 'black people' in Moscow pressing about us ! Come, come, good people if it is the Czar, still you need not crowd us in this way. There is room enough in the world for all. Stand back, I say ! Ivan, take care of your purse ! "

" No need," laughed Ivan ; " there is nothing in it."

" Hush ! he is coming. Off with hats and caps. Yakovlef, of what are you thinking 1 Do not kneel, man ; he has strictly forbidden it."

" Great St. Michael ! " exclaimed Wertsch in another moment, " what a disappointment, and what fools we have all been making of ourselves ! Be quiet there, good people, and save your throats until you have something to shout for. That is not his Imperial Majesty ; it is only one of his aides-de-camp, with some other person belonging to the suite."

"Eh bien!" said Kanikoff. "It is no wonder the servant was taken for the master. He is handsome enough for that." And he gazed in undisguised admiration at the splendid figure of the young aide-de-camp, with his plumed cap in his hand, and a galaxy of jewelled orders glittering on his breast, as he bowed gracefully to right and left in acknowledgment of the salutations of the crowd.

" That is Prince Ouvarov," said Yakovlef. " You seem to admire him."

"Who could help it?"

"Not the ladies of St. Petersburg, at all events. It is said he breaks a score of hearts every season. Once the Czar him self read him a lecture ; and I am told he answered, with the utmost sang-froid, ' How can I help it, your Imperial Majesty ? The ladies are such fools about me.' But would you believe it ? in war he is the Archangel Michael himself. He led the hussars at Austerlitz ; and at Erfurt Napoleon asked, ' Which

84 A NATION'S TRANSPORT.

is the brave general who punished my infantry so sorely 1' This young gallant, as beautiful as a girl, and as daintily curled and perfumed, stepped forward and said quietly, ' Je, sire.' 'You may not speak very good French, but you are a very brave officer/ said Napoleon, taking his hand kindly."

" Have a care, Yakovlef. If the people hear us talking of Napoleon, ten to one they will tear us to pieces."

"Not they, while the Czar is here. Ivan Ivanovitch, what ails you? You seem lost in a dream. Wake up, my friend."

Ivan started.

" True enough," he said ; "I feel in a dream. I am per plexed, haunted, by the face of that man."

"Of Ouvarov?"

" No ; of the other who rode beside him. That tall, gaunt, foreign-looking man. I have seen him before ; I am sure of it. But where? when?"

" I should think," said Kanikoff, " that you would care very little to see him again. He must ride out with Ouvarov on purpose to illustrate Beauty and the Beast."

" Ivan would like well enough to see him if he were ill," Yakovlef interposed. " That is the Czar's physician Dr. Wylie, a Scotchman, very clever, but very ready with his lancet, they say. He has been accused of cutting off a man's head to cure him of a headache."

" The head of the man who allowed him to do it could have been little loss to its owner," laughed Ivan. Then he repeated thoughtfully, " His lancet ! I am sure I have seen him with a lancet. Of what can I be thinking?"

He was interrupted by Feodor, the grandson of Petrovitch, who pushed his way through the crowd to the group of young nobles. The handsome, dark-eyed lad, in his blue caftan and crimson sash, looked to no disadvantage amongst them. They all knew him, and greeted him with kindness, if also with a little condescension.

A NATION'S TRANSPORT, 85

" I am so glad I have found you, Prince Ivan," said the boy breathlessly. " My grandfather thought you would like to see the benediction of the Czar with the holy picture. His friend, Pope Yefim, is to take part in the ceremony, and he says he can secure you a good place."

Ivan gladly accepted the offer ; and in the short conversation that followed, the merchant's son was able to contribute materi ally to the information of his social superiors.

" Pope Yefim has seen a copy of the letter which the Patriarch wrote to the Czar," he said. " He was not able to come him self for you know, gentlemen, he is nearly a hundred years old, much older than my grandfather but he writes that it grieves him to the heart he cannot see the face of his sovereign that face which is to him ' as the face of Christ. ' "

Neither speaker nor hearers were startled by the expres sion which to us seems to border on the profane. But the profanity was unintentional, and the passionate loyalty utterly sincere.

Feodor went on " He has sent him the sacred picture of St. Sergius, from the Troitza monastery. You know, gentle men, that is the picture which the Czar Alexis and the great Czar Peter carried into battle, and it always gave them the victory. Though, my grandfather says, it is not the holy pic ture that gives the victory, or even the holy saint, but God himself."

" Thy grandfather seems to be a wise man," said Yakovlef. " But I wonder what the Czar himself thinks of the matter. People used to call him very enlightened, quite a philosopher, a disciple at heart of Yoltaire and Diderot. I warrant me they are right, and he believes little enough."

The last remark was intended for the nobles, but it reached the ear of Feodor, who, to every one's surprise, both understood and answered it.

" The Czar," he said reverently, " must believe very much in

86 A NATION'S TRANSPORT.

God, for he cares very much about the poor, whom God has made."

" God give him the victory over his enemies !" said Kanikoff; and the little group responded with a hearty "Amen!" for, "beneath all the foam and sputter" of their light and careless talk, it was true that " the heart's depths boiled in earnest."

Such a benediction as the Czar was about to receive is often bestowed, in the Greek Church, even upon private persons who have in view some important enterprise, or wish to offer some particular supplication or thanksgiving. It is called a Moleben ; and it would be a beautiful and touching ceremony, but for the baneful influence of that superstition which too often leads its votaries to worship and serve the creature more than the Creator. Usually, most of the prayers are addressed to the guardian angel, or to the saint with whose picture the votary is blessed the picture being then given to him as a kind of talisman.

The benediction was to take place on the 27th of July, and early in the morning Ivan entered the Church of the Assump tion, the sacred spot where the holy anointing oil had been poured upon the head of the Czar. Pope Yefim had found for him a quiet niche, from whence he could witness the whole of the ceremony. He had room to stand or kneel : in Russian churches the worshippers never sit, however protracted the services may be. From his place of waiting he heard the tumult, the shouts and cheering, which welcomed the Czar as he approached. He knew that now he was ascending the " Red " or " Beautiful" Staircase, by which, upon state occasions, the Czars were wont to enter the cathedral ; but he could not know that he was " followed by an immense crowd, who wept, and blessed him, and swore to defend his empire with their lives."* He knew that now this Czar would take his stand, as other Czars had done, upon the summit of the staircase, to allow

• Madame de Stael, " Dix Annies d'Exil."

A NATION'S TRANSPOKT. 87

the people beneath "to see the light of his eyes;" but he could not know as yet how profoundly the mighty heart of that people was moved, " as the trees of the wood are shaken with the wind."

Clear and sweet as the song of angels rose the ringing treble of the boyish choristers, who welcomed the Czar as he entered " Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord!" The violet robes of the bishop and the assistant priests the flash of innumerable jewels upon mitre, pall, and crozier the faint per fume of incense the sparkling drops of holy water flung from vessels worth the ransom of a king, all these held the senses of Ivan, and wholly filled for a time his imaginative and impress ible heart.

Meanwhile, the man who was the centre of all this pomp, and whose manhood for Russia in. that solemn hour was more than worth it all, stood reverently in his place while the officiating bishop sprinkled him with holy water, or touched his forehead, his lips, his breast with the sacred picture. As the eyes of Ivan rested on that stately figure, peerless in its grace and majesty, a kind of awe stole over him. All the old supersti tious reverence of the Russian for the Czar, who is " God upon earth," came upon him. It seemed almost an irreverence to raise his eyes to the face of the monarch ; he could scarcely dare to do it.

But a " Gospodin Pomilvi" of exquisite sweetness from the choir drew away his thoughts for a moment, and involuntarily he glanced towards the spot whence the sound proceeded. Then, once again he looked where all else were looking ; and suddenly a strange thing happened to him. As in a dream, he saw instead of the gorgeous, dimly -lighted church, the gleaming vestments, the drooping banners a green bank be side a river, a group of peasants, a cold and rigid form, a noble, compassionate face bending over it. He heard a voice that said, in tones of courageous hope, " My children, this is not death.

88 A NATION'S TRANSPORT.

We will save him yet." For he knew that his boyar and the Czar Alexander Paulovitch were the same. Only, it seemed to him that now it was holy Russia that was lying numb and pros trate, and that the Czar had pledged himself to save. He would do it. From that moment Ivan never doubted it.

Besides the great ceremony of which the world was talking,* another, known to one only, took place in the church that day. Ivan drew out the piece of gold his boyar's hand had given him, and which, ever since, had hung round his neck. He kissed it, and made a solemn vow upon it, " Faithfully to serve my Czar to live for him all my days ; and, if God will, to die for him."

Yet once more his eyes sought the face of his sovereign, and never wandered from it until the service was concluded. But little could he guess what was passing in the soul of which that expressive countenance was sometimes the too faithful index.

Alexander's own hand has sketched for us in a few slight touches the conflicts of that period. Not then, nor ever, so far as we know, did the thought of St. Sergius, or of any other human mediator, interpose itself between his soul and the Divine Presence. But for some time past he had been wrestling hard in secret with questions which go down to the very roots of a man's being. Was there a God in heaven whose ear could be reached by that cry from human lips, " Gospodin Pomilvi" ? And, if so, was he the " invented God," the "God afar off" of the deist and the philosopher; or the God of the Bible, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ? Already these questions were answered for him, almost with assurance ; but there still remained another. Would this God hear and help a man who was kneeling before him on behalf of fifty millions of other men whose destinies were committed to his keeping ? Would he deign to touch him with his hand, to strengthen him with his strength ? In those days the soul

• An eye-witness tells us "how the image of St. Sergius was presented to the young

Czar, whose handsome face, surrounded by the old banners in the dimly-lighted church, had a most picturesque effect." (See the " Memoirs of Madame Junot.")

A NATION S TRANSPORT. 89

of Alexander was feeling after God, if haply he might find him.

The service over, Ivan repaired to the Hall of Nobles, as one whose rank entitled him to find entrance there. He had to content himself with an obscure place in the crowded assem bly, where he could not see the Czar, although he could hear his voice. In a noble address, Alexander laid before his sub jects the full extent of the public danger. He concealed noth ing ; the strength of the invaders, the position of the army, its perils, its resources, its needs, all were revealed with a large- minded candour which would have honoured the constitutional monarch of a free people. In conclusion, he said that he " regarded the zeal of the nobility as the firmest support of the throne. In all times and on all occasions it has proved the faithful defender of the integrity and glory of Russia. " Here his voice thrilled, faltered with emotion, and he paused amidst a universal cry that seemed to shake the massive roof and walls of the grand old hall "Ask what you please, sire; we offer you everything."

One of the nobles proposed the gift of a serf in every twenty- five ; but a chorus of eager voices interrupted, "It is not half enough ! " Finally, one serf in every ten, ready armed and equipped, and provided for three months, was unanimously voted for the service of the Czar.*

While all this went on, Ivan sat in his place, silent and sad at heart. He had nothing to give, nothing but his life ; yet that, perhaps, might count for something hereafter.

In the meantime, a scene equally significant was taking place in the adjacent Hall of Merchants. Old Petrovitch repaired thither with the rest, leaning on the arm of his youthful guide Feodor, his eldest son, who ought to have accompanied him, being absent at the time. " I cannot see the face of the Lord's

• All these particulars, as well as those of the meeting in the Hall of the Merchants,

are historical.

90 A NATION'S TRANSPORT.

anointed," he said, " but I can hear his voice." This assembly, like the other, was densely crowded. Feodor contrived to find standing room upon the edge of a seat ; and from this vantage- ground he was able to look over the heads of the throng of grave, bearded merchants. " Grandfather," he whispered, "the Czar is not here ; only the Governor."

" God save his Excellency Count Rostopchine ! Hearts of steel, sucli as his, are sorely needed now," the old man re sponded.

" But we can see him any day we like. It is the Czar we want to see," grumbled Feodor.

" Patience, boy ; he is coining," said one of the merchants near them. " And, while we wait for him, it is his words the count is going to give us, not his own."

This was true. Amidst a hush of eager expectation, the Governor rose and read aloud the address of the Czar " to our ancient city and metropolis of Moscow." It contained the same explanations and appeals which at that moment in another place were falling from his own lips ; and concluded with an earnest exhortation to prepare for " that defence which must now shield the babe at the mother's breast, and guard from sacrilege the tombs of our fathers. The very existence of our name in the map of nations is menaced. The enemy denounces ' Destruction to Russia.' The security of our holy Church, the safety of the throne of the Czars, the independence of our ancient Muscovite Empire, all call aloud that the object of this appeal may be received by our loyal subjects as a sacred decree. May the filial ardour spread itself from Moscow to the extremi ties of our dominions ; and a force will then assemble around the monarch that may defy the thousand legions of our treach erous invader. The ills which he has prepared for us will then fall upon his own head, and Europe, delivered from slavery, may then celebrate the name of "

"Alexander!" The words sprang from the lips of Feodor

A NATION'S TRANSPORT. 91

Petrovitch, the youngest there, who spoke aloud the thought that thrilled in every heart, and knew not that he spoke until he caught the reproving looks of some of those around him. In the meantime Count Rostopchine calmly completed the sen tence as it had been written " Europe, delivered from slavery, may then celebrate the name of RUSSIA."

Scarcely had he concluded, when the Czar himself stood amongst them, and with a few eloquent words wound up to its highest pitch the enthusiasm of the audience. Amidst the tears and acclamations which followed, the venerable chief of the merchants * stood up in his place and subscribed his name for the gift of fifty thousand roubles two-thirds of his fortune. Others gave in similar proportion ; and Petrovitch was surpassed by none in self-sacrificing liberality. Feodor, under his direc tions, wrote his name upon the list of subscribers. When he had done so, he turned to his grandfather " Dadushka, I think you must give the Czar something more even yet."

"Even sons and grandsons?" said the old man, with a smile that had in it a little sadness and a great deal of resignation ; "well, I shall not refuse."

"Even me?" said Feodor, nestling close to him and putting his arm caressingly about his neck. But Petrovitch did not answer.

" The people were willing," even beyond their power, so that three days afterwards the Czar published a ukase, not to ask for gifts, but to limit their amount. " The nobles literally gave him Russia," wrote the Sardinian ambassador to his sovereign. " They melted into tears ; in short, sire, there never was any thing like it. The merchants have given him ten million roubles, and lent him fifty or sixty million."

But the mass of the people peasants, mujiks, serfs, who tilled the soil what part had they in this splendid outburst of

• Elected annually from their own body. His munificent donation was paid the next

day.

92 A NATION'S TRANSPORT.

loyal and patriotic enthusiasm ? Napoleon expected that these " oppressed and degraded slaves " would hail him as a deliverer would rise everywhere in revolt, and massacre their tyrants. Very different was the fact. When the time came for the serfs voted by the nobles to be levied from their estates, and when the vast crown lands had also to contribute their propor tion of recruits, there was weeping and wailing in the izbas of every village from the Neva to the steppes of Tartary. But it was not, as in other days, the conscript who mourned his hard lot, and his mother, his sister, his betrothed who made sore lamentation over a separation probably life-long. It was the one not chosen who mingled his tears with those of his friends and parents, because he might not go and shed his blood for the Czar and holy Russia. Glad was the young recruit as he donned his simple uniform a gray caftan, with loose trousers and a crimson sash ; and proudly did he wear on the front of his gray cap the imperial badge, "a brazen cross surmounting a crown over the letter A" First and highest the cross, symbol of the Christian faith ; beneath that, the imperial crown of Russia ; again beneath that Alexander.

But although putting himself, as he was wont to do, in the lowest place, and when possible out of sight altogether, the strong personal love with which Alexander had inspired his subjects counted for more, in that hour of a nation's conflict and agony, than the traditional religious veneration of the Russian for his country and his Czar. "Well was it for Russia, and for Europe also, that the Czar God had given her was Alexander Paulovitch. It was not only that he had been, since the beginning of his reign, "perfectly just as emperor, singularly generous as man;"* not only that he was richly endowed with all those brilliant and fascinating qualities which take the eye and win the suffrage of the multitude. The secret of his influence lay deeper. God had given him a gift more

• Madame de Stael.

A NATION S TRANSPORT. 93

precious still. He had touched his heart with "the enthu siasm of humanity." This autocrat of fifty millions " loved his brother whom he had seen," even when as yet he knew not the divine Father " whom he had not seen." The hand that toiled so hard to bring back the perishing mujik from his death like swoon was well used to deeds of beneficence. Of these a hundred stories might be told : at that time they were told, not only in the salons of St. Petersburg, but beside the stove in the izbas of many a country village. Everywhere the mujiks said, " Our lord the Czar loves us." And everywhere, as long as the world lasts, love will win love.

CHAPTER IX.

CLEMENCE.

"Vive, vive le Roi ! A bas la Republique J" Vendfan War-Song.

]T is the fair and pleasant land of France a land of corn-fields and orchards and sunny garden-plots, where quiet villages nestle in shady nooks, and old chateaux stand proudly amidst their sheltering woods. You feel everywhere that this land has been for many a century tilled and cared for by the hand of man ; that genera tion after generation sleeps in peace beneath the shadow of its gray old churches. Long ages of toil and civilization have left their impress here, and the present is the heir of a glorious and venerable past.

Yet, perhaps no country has ever suffered more. War after war has swept over it ; cruel oppression made the Revolution a terrible necessity ; and, again, the excesses of the Revolution made men forget the crimes of the despotism that engendered it. And in the days of which we write there brooded over all the portentous shadow of another despotism almost crush ing enough to recall the worst days of Louis, falsely called the Magnificent, and of his thrice-accursed successor.

Still, even in those evil times many a secluded nook seemed to be hidden in the hollow of His hand, so quietly did it slumber throughout all escaping not indeed occasional suffering, but anything like general ruin.

CLEMENCE. 95

One such nook a little pastoral village not a hundred miles from Paris had in its immediate neighbourhood a spot yet more secluded, where a noble family of the " old regime" who otherwise might have wandered homeless exiles from their native land, found a welcome refuge. The simple four-roomed cottage, with the vine trained over its tiny porch, would have been an unpretending dwelling for the village smith or car penter. Yet few could have looked on it attentively, even from the outside, and none could have entered it, without feel ing sure that its inmates inherited the traditions of centuries of refinement and cultivation.

The morning sun of one of the earliest days of 1812 was streaming into the little porch. The weather was mild and beautiful unusually so for the season. One person was enjoy ing it thoroughly a lad of about seventeen, who reclined in the porch, intent upon a book, while the sunshine streamed brightly over him, and the breeze gently lifted his soft brown hair. The expression of his face was rather sweet than strong his forehead was good, his eyes large and dark, his mouth well-formed and sensitive, but lacking as yet the look of resolu tion that might come with riper manhood.

So absorbed was he in his book that he did not hear an approaching footstep ; but then it was a very light one. The young girl who came out from the parlour to join her brother was his senior by a year, and looked even more. She was tall, but her slight figure was well formed and graceful. Her eyes were dark, like her brother's ; and her hair a glossy brown, very fine and soft. It did not wave or float, but was neatly coiled about a head which might have served a sculptor for his model. There was no weakness in the delicate lines of her face, though there was much tenderness. Her complexion was pale; but there was in her cheek a hint of possible colour, which came and went with every passing emotion. No one thought of calling Cl&nence de Talmont pretty, but in the

98 CLEMENCE.

eyes of the few who loved her she was beautiful as the dream of a poet.

"Henri," she said, in a gentle but decided voice "Henri."

He looked up slowly, and said with a reluctant air, " Surely it is not time for breakfast."

" Mother has had her coffee, and yours is ready whenever you wish for it. It is not that

" I had rather wait," said Henri, ignoring her last words. " I want to see the end of Pizarro's expedition;" and he turned over a page of his book.

" What are you reading?" asked Clemence, suppressing some thing like a sigh.

" Les Incas de Marmontel a beautiful book," he added, rousing himself. " Those old heathen monarchs, who lived for their people, tried to make others happy, placed their glory in being loved, not feared, ought to have had a better fate."

"I think you might find a better book," returned his sister, with a slight tinge of asperity. " Marmontel was a friend of the Revolution a philosopher, a deist."

" Ah, sister mine, you would rather see me reading the Con fessions of St. Augustine," said Henri with a good-humoured laugh. " But there is a time for all things ; and I cannot think ill of books that make me love God, and his beautiful world, and the creatures he has made."

" True, brother," said Clemence earnestly and with a rising colour ; " only take care that the God you love is the God of the Bible and the Church, not the God of the philosophers and the savants. But " after a pause, and with a change of tone " but, Henri, will you not run down to the village before our mother leaves her room, and see whether there is any placard on the Mairie?"

Henri closed his book and stood up, the anxiety in his sister's face reflecting itself, though faintly, upon his. " Why such haste 1 ?" he asked.

CLEMENCE. 97

" Babette told me this morning that she hears there is a new ' senatus consultus.' "

Henri's thoughts turned rapidly from the mild sway of the Incas, of which he had been dreaming, to the iron despotism of Napoleon, for him no dream, but a stern and terrible reality. " If there were twenty conscriptions," he muttered hastily, " you know I am under age."

" I do not know it," Clemence answered. " The cure says he fears all are liable who will complete their eighteenth year in 1812. That is why I want you to go and see whether the placard is there, before we alarm our mother. But take your coffee first, brother. I will bring it to you, if you like."

She brought him a cup of fragrant cafe-au-lait, and a fresh roll, prepared that morning by her own hands. He had just begun to eat and drink when a voice from an adjoining room like her own, gentle and musical, but decided called, "Cle mence."

" Don't delay about the Mairie," she said as she hastened in. " I will tell our mother you are going for a walk."

Grave, sweet, and dignified was the lady who stood at the table in the little parlour. Her face was worn and pale ; the hair that appeared beneath her snowy cap was slightly sil vered; and in her demeanour something of antique stateliness combined with the peculiar and inimitable grace of the old regime.

A dress of purple brocade, rich and stiff, lay on the table before her. "Come here, Clemence," she said; "I want to make this dress fit you."

But Clemence shrank back. " Oh no, no, mother!" she said, with an air of pain.

" But yes," returned Madame de Talmont, in a quiet, peremptory voice. " Not a word, my daughter ; it is yours." And seating herself, she took up a pair of scissors,

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98 CLEMENCE.

and began to rip off some antiquated trimming from the sleeve.

Clemence felt almost as if a living thing she loved was being hurt. Tears quivered in her eyes, and the colour rose to her cheek as she laid her hand on her mother's arm. " Mother, listen to me," she pleaded. "Do not touch that gown. It would never suit me. Is it well, think you, that I should go to mass on Sundays looking like a princess, while the few who know of our existence know also that we have scarcely bread to eat from day to day ? Is it suitable 1 And besides, dear mother," she continued timidly, " you know I do not love gay clothing. I do not think it becomes a girl who, however un worthily, still desires and endeavours to lead a religious life."

" Be as religious as you please, my dear daughter," said Madame de Talmont, with a slight smile, " but be duti ful also, and believe that I know how Mademoiselle de Talmont ought to appear at mass much better than she does herself."

" Mother, that is not all," Clemence resumed. " I had rather keep that gown of yours all my life as it is now. It is part of my childhood ; and, mother dear," she continued sadly, " there is so little of our childhood left to Henri and me. One of the earliest things I can remember is your showing that dress to me and telling me how my father brought it home to you the first time he went to Paris after his marriage, and how you wore it when you stood at the window of our old chateau in the Bocage, and watched him as he rode out with his men to join the Royalists."

"The last time I ever saw him until I stood beside his death-bed. Ah, my child ! that war in La Vendee has broken many a woman's heart."

" Still, mother, it was a just war. My father did well to die for his King."

CLEMENCE. 99

"That is understood. My children and I have a consolation denied to those whose dear ones perish every day in the fright ful wars of this Corsican usurper. But do not trouble thy heart about the old gown, Clemence. Silk and brocade and such things fade and perish and are lost; but thy father's last look as he rode away that remains, that is mine for ever. Does not the Bible say that 'the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal'?"

"Yes; but is that what it means, mother 1 ?"

" That may not be all it means, but it may mean that too."

Clemence yielded. She was accustomed to give way to her mother ; and indeed it is not usually the strong in heart who dispute pertinaciously about trifles, like good soldiers, they reserve their fire until the right moment. A consultation followed; and certain mysteries of cutting and placing, of letting out and taking in, were decided upon and arranged. While they were discussing the pattern of the sleeves, Madame de Talmont paused to ask, in a kind of parenthe sis, " What has become of Henri ? I have not seen him this morning."

" He has gone for a walk."

No more was said until the ladies had entered upon the mechanical part of their task, and deft, skilful fingers were busy with needles and thread. Then Madame de Talmont resumed, " Is it a fancy of mine, or is it true, that Henri becomes every day more like our cousin Louis ? "

"That, of course, I cannot tell," Clemence replied, smiling, " since, as you are aware, mother, I have never seen Cousin Louis ; though I find it hard to believe that. From my earliest childhood I have thought of him and pictured him, until he has become a kind of friend to me like the saints, or the holy recluses of Port-Royal."

"He was no saint, my daughter," returned Madame de

100 CLEMENCE.

Talmont rather bitterly. "And an evil friend he proved him self to thy dear father."

"Yet, mother, he must have been one of the most lovable of men."

" He was fascinating, I do not deny. Besides, he was the head of our house or, at least, he became so on the death of his father. Arid thy father could never forget that his own orphaned childhood and youth had been protected by the parents of Louis, and surrounded with an atmosphere of love and ten derness. Often has he talked to me of his happy boyhood at Vernier, where he and his cousin Louis were like brothers, and Victoire was the cherished sister of both."

" Cousin Victoire ! Ah, mother, I wish you would tell me more about her. I have always felt such a romantic interest in this beloved and beautiful sister of Cousin Louis, and yet, somehow, I know very little about her."

" There is little to know, child," said the mother, with per haps a shade of embarrassment.

" One thing perplexes me," Clemence resumed thoughtfully. "I remember to have heard you say that for generations the first daughter of our house has been always called Victoire. Now, / am not Victoire. Nor do I bear your name, mother, nor that of my father's mother, Leonie."

" Child, ere thou wert born, the name Victoire had become a sound of woe to thy father's ear. Once, perhaps, it may have been too sweet ; I cannot tell. Brought up together as they were, and with the grateful, reverential love he bore to all the De Talmonts of Vernier, it would have been but natural if Still, when all things changed

"Mother, how was it that they changed so sadly? What could Cousin Victoire have done to grieve my father ? As for Cousin Louis, I know that he became a Jacobin, a bonnet rouge."

"Too true. Louis de Talmont the child of a family of

CLEMENCE. 101

unstained honour and unshaken loyalty, the nephew of the gallant prince who died so nobly on the scaffold for his King * betrayed every sacred memory of the past, every holy hope for the future. I marvel that the dust of his ancestors did not rise from the battle-fields of their country to curse the wretch who bore part in the murder of his King." A red glow suffused the pale cheek of Madame de Talmont as she spoke, showing how hotly the fire of passion burned beneath its covering or proud and dignified self-control. With this lady of the old regime the affections of the heart were strong, but the tradi tions and prejudices of a class were stronger yet.

" But Victoire 1 " Clemence ventured after a pause.

" Ah, Victoire ! Poor child ! she was more sinned against than sinning. But her life was wrecked ; and that sin lies at the door of Louis de Talmont. In those early days of the Revolution many foreigners came to Paris. With one of these, who was young, brilliant, wealthy, and noble, Louis formed, after his fashion, a violent friendship. M. le Prince, as we used to call him, had a fine figure, a handsome face, and the most splendid diamonds I have ever seen. But there was an end of his perfections ; and great as they may have been, they could scarcely atone for a head and heart as empty as air. Being a stranger, with nothing to lose, and no knowledge of our past to restrain him, he went farther than even his misguided teachers. There was no excess of the mob, in those evil days, in which he did not bear a part. In the Jacobin halls his voice was the loudest, his counsel the most violent ; and ever on his lips was that misused, delusive cry, 'Liberty, Equality, Fra ternity.' It was to this man that Louis de Talmont must needs give the hand of his sister, the cherished daughter of his house. "

" Poor Victoire ! How terrible for her ! How miserable

• He fought in the Vendean War, and was taken prisoner and executed by tho

Republicans. He said to his judges, " J'ai fait mon devoir ; faites votre metier."

102 CLEMENCE.

she must have been ! And this foreign prince did he perish on the scaffold, like our Cousin Louis?"

^ No ; he escaped that fate. When the storm he and his friends had evoked passed beyond their control, and the Revo lution began to devour its own children, he found safety in flight."

"And Victoire?"

" His wife went with him. I believe he took her to his own country. It is but justice to say that he seemed to love her well. But her place here knew her no more ; she has been dead ever since to all who held her dear. Her name has passed into eternal silence. And when God gave you to us, your father said to me, ' M'amie, for many years now the world has been talking of nothing but peace and love and the universal brother hood of man ; but because in the brotherhood of man men have forgotten the Fatherhood of God, their peace is ending in war, and their love in hatred such as earth has seldom seen. By the time this babe is a woman grown, perhaps once again the world will have tired of war and victory ' (only in this way did he utter the name), ' and may be glad to be reminded of the existence of such things as clemency and forgiveness ; so I pro pose that we call the daughter of our house Clemence. ' Accord ingly, Clemence you are."

" It is quite right, mother. I like my name. Clemency should always follow victory. Ah ! there is Henri. His step is tired and slow."

Henri came in, and in the old ceremonious way kissed his mother's hand and asked after her health. But the look that passed between them showed that although Madame de Talmont loved both her children intensely, her son was the very joy of her existence ; while on his part, the love of his mother was the strongest passion that had yet found entrance into his young heart. His face was pale and anxious ; indeed it wore almost an expression of terror.

CLEMENCE. 103

"What is the matter? his mother asked presently.

" Nothing particular, nothing much," said Henri.

"Whatever it is, speak, my son, and at once," said Madame de Talmont imperatively.

" There is a placard 011 the Mairie announcing that the draw ing for the conscription is to take place next Thursday. It is as the cure told us : all are liable who will be eighteen in the course of the year."

Both his hearers grew pale, and the work fell from their hands. After a short pause his mother said, "It is plain you will have to attend. God grant you may draw a good number. But, at all events She remained silent for some moments, then she added, in a voice which struggled hard to be calm, " Bring me my desk, Clemence ; we must be prepared for the worst."

Clemence obeyed mechanically, while Henri stood silent and listless, watching her movements.

" Henri," resumed Madame de Talmont, " I am going to write to our good friend Grandpierre. Should the worst happen, you must escape, and go to him through the forest. He will shelter you."

" But, mother, mother " the lad's colour came and went, and a quiver ran through his frame "the risk is terrible."

" To him ? He will venture it, for the House of Talmont, for his King, and for his God."

" To us all. Do you know how they deal with the refractory, as they call those who try to evade the conscription, and with their families?"

Madame de Talmont raised her thin hand with a peremptory gesture, " Not another word, Henri. It concerns not thee or us to measure the danger ; the duty is all with which we have to do. I can bear to think of thee pining on bread and water, with a bullet chained to thy foot, and thy head shaved like a convict's ; I could not bear to know thee in the camp of the

104 CLEMENCE.

Corsican tyrant, fighting to fasten his iron yoke upon the necks of free men. How could I look upon thy father's face in heaven, if I had reared and nourished his son for this?" " But oh, mother, it is you I think of you and Clemence." " Whatever cross God lays upon us he will give us strength to sustain. Go, my children, and pray to him. I must be alone while I write this letter, for it will need to be very cau tiously but very distinctly worded. The posts are not safe."

CHAPTER X.

THE DRAWING OF THE LOT.

" Our God upon the cross, Our king upon the scaffold ; let us think Of these, and fold endurance to our hearts."

(LEMENCE went into her own room, and Henri followed her. The chamber was severely simple, but scrupulously neat. The narrow bedstead might have suited a nun, and the table and chairs were of unpainted deal : but an ivory crucifix, exquisitely carved, hung over the bed; and the white- washed wall was adorned with a little tier of book-shelves, constructed by Henri, and containing a select and precious library the "Augustinos" of Jansenius, the works of Arnauld, Nicole, and other divines of the school of Port-Royal, the sermons of Fenelon, and the letters of Madame Guyon. Most precious of all was De Sacy's translation of the New Testament; and next to this inestimable treasure, the volume best beloved and most carefully studied by Clemence was the Port-Royal edition of the " Pensees de Pascal." Many a line, marked by the hand of the thoughtful young student, showed her sympathy with the soul of the great teacher. Her heart, like his, had turned from all that earth could give to seek a more enduring rest and a better portion. Had she found it? At least she had found much that was unspeakably precious a God to be loved and served with all her mind, with all her soul, and with all her strength. But she had been taught to dwell rather upon his commandments

106 THE DRAWING OF THE LOT.

than upon his gifts, and was still far from recognizing, with St. Augustine, that lie himself must give that which he commands. She had seen the mystery of the cross, but dimly and afar off, reading therein rather the exceeding sinfulness of the sin that had to be atoned for, than the unutterable greatness of the love that atoned for all. Consequently, her religion was one of sur render and renunciation, not of joyous acceptance and activity; death to the flesh was her watchword rather than life in the Spirit. The air she breathed was bracing and invigorating, but it was cold and sunless. If it were the will of God that Henri should become a hunted fugitive, that he should be arrested as "refractory," and should perish miserably in a fortress dungeon, there was nothing for her to say but this, "It is the Lord let him do what seemeth him good." And having said it, she would still be an unprofitable servant. Her heart, it is true, would be broken ; but what mattered that to any one ?

While such thoughts passed through the mind of Clemence, Henri stood in silence, leaning against the little latticed window, and looking out upon the peaceful country landscape. At last he spoke. " They are gay enough in the village," he said. " They do not seem to dread the conscription half so much as they did last year. In fact, this new war is very popular. Mathieu Feron, who was standing in his father's forge when I went by, said he would be glad to be drawn ; and Jacques Bonin, and that other lad who is with him, were of the same mind, saying they would like nothing better than to go and give the Russians a good beating."

" What miserable folly !" said Clemence with bitter sadness. " What have the Russians done to us, that the blacksmith's son and the butcher's boys of Brie should be eager to go and kill them?"

" I daresay you know as well as they do," returned Henri. 1 ' It is in his heart to pluck up and to destroy kingdoms not a few,' " Clemence quoted. " But, Henri," she added, with a

THE DRAWING OF THE LOT. 107

sudden gleam of hope, " may not good for us spring out of this madness of theirs? Might we not, even if you draw a bad number, find a substitute? You know there is nothing we would not part with to raise the money nothing."

Henri shook his head. " Last time," he said, " the price went up to three thousand francs, and beyond it. Indeed, it was difficult to get one at any price. But that is not all," he lowered his voice : " Clemence, I have reason to think M. le Maire means no good to me."

She started. " Why do you say that ? " she asked, with a quick fading of the new-born hope.

" Quietly as we have lived here," Henri resumed, " we are not quite unknown. Every one is aware that I am the son of Henri Charles de Talmont, who died for his King in La Vendee. I have no favour to hope. On the contrary, I think M. le Maire would be glad to see me with a musket on my shoulder."

" If that be the case," Clemence returned sadly, " at least we may thank God that he cannot tamper with the num bers."

" The numbers we are to draw ? They matter less than you think. The lists must be filled up ; and so many young men have been taken already that few enough are left to choose from now. In any case, our little village will have to contribute its full quota ; and even should / suc ceed in escaping, some other luckless lad will have to go in my place."

"It is not the misfortune of serving as a soldier that you want to escape, but the dishonour, nay the sin, of serving a usurper."

" But, Clemence " He paused.

"Well, brother?"

"It is no sin to fight for France, for France, not for Napoleon."

" There is no France," Clemence returned proudly " no

103 THE DRAWING OF THE LOT.

France that we can recognize apart from the King of France, Louis Dix-huit."

" Of whom 7 know no more than Feron or Bonin knows of the Emperor of Russia."

" What does that matter 1 What do you mean, Henri ? "

" That we think Feron and Bonin a couple of fools because they are longing to go and destroy the Emperor of Russia, about whom they know nothing. Are ive so much wiser if we let ourselves be destroyed for a king of France about whom we know just as little 1 "

" Not for a king of France, but for the King," Clemence answered gently. " And not alone for the King, but for truth, and loyalty, and God."

No more was said ; for at that moment they heard the voice of Madame de Tulmont, who, having finished her letter, called her daughter to read it. Henri stood yet beside the window ; but it was not the quiet wintry scene without which was passing before the boy's anxious eyes. He saw instead his mother's peaceful home invaded by ruthless soldiers; he heard the clank of their spurs, the tread of their feet upon the stair, their oaths, their threats as they sought everywhere for him, the fugitive. He saw he heard much more his dwelling given over to pillage that, perhaps, might be borne ; but his mother, his sister, exposed to all the wrongs and insults a lawless soldiery could inflict, and had inflicted in like cases ! No ; he could not risk it. Not for all the kings of France that ever wore a crown ! Better serve Napoleon better a thou sand times ! And, after all, what was Napoleon what were emperors and kings, to him and his ? What was death on the battle-field? He had always heard that such a death was honourable and noble, and at all events a man could die but once. But the deserter's fate was only terrible; suffering without glory, "the pang without the palm." From those dreary fortress prisons where the " refractory " toiled in the

THE DRAWING OF THE LOT. 109

garb of convicts, fed on bread and water, with shaven heads and fettered feet, no man ever came forth alive.

Days wore on, bringing the dreaded morning that was to decide the fate of the conscripts. Madame de Talmont wrapped her mantle around her and took the arm of her son. Cle- mence also was prepared to accompany them to the village. Henri, who looked very pale, attempted a remonstrance. " The place will be crowded to-day," he said. " It is not fit for you, mother, or for Clemence."

But they would not listen. " There is no country lad," said his mother, " who will not have his people with him to-day to learn his fate ; and shall De Talmont go to the drawing alone, as if no one cared for him ? "

As they passed along, they could not avoid hearing the mock ing remarks which were exchanged by the peasants of Brie when they saw the proud aristocrats, whose lives had flowed on for years beside yet apart from their own, forced at last into fellow ship with their neighbours by a common hope and fear. The silk of Madame de Talmont's mantle, well-worn yet unmistak ably elegant, rubbed against the homespun gown of the baker's widow, and both faces were pale with one anxiety.

" Ah, madame, there's little chance for us this time," said Widow Simon. " They like it, the young folk. They know no better. But God help the old ! "

A crowd of women were standing together in the town hall, while the young men went inside into the mayor's office to draw each his number from the box. Without, in the village street, a band was playing martial airs, and people were shout ing, " Yive 1'Empereur ! "

Every minute or two some one came out of the office, swag gering or downcast, as the case might be. Widow Simon's son had drawn a very high number, which made him comparatively safe ; and Madame de Talmont felt glad ever afterwards that she congratulated the mother. Mathieu Feron came out wav-

110 THE DRAWING OF THE LOT.

ing his cap triumphantly, and shouting, " Vive 1'Empereur ! I am <*oing to fight the Russians ! Hammer and tongs, good- Lye ! "

Then Henri came. He was calm, but a few shades paler than before. He showed his number eleven. No one spoke ; but a moment after Clemence touched his arm and whispered hurriedly, " Come out into the air. Our mother is growing faint."

" Let us go home," said Madame de Talmont, sighing heavily. The crowd was increasing every moment, and the din and tumult were deafening With some impatience Henri pushed aside those who stood in his path, and there was a sharp ring in his voice as he said, " Make way, make way, good people ! "

" Oil yes ; make way for the new conscript. How well M. de Talmont will look in the awkward squad ! " cried some one.

Feron had crossed the street to the little inn opposite the Mairie, and was about to drink the Emperor's health in a cup of good red wine, a practice much in favour with the conscripts, but before tasting it he pushed through the throng, and offered the brimming goblet to Henri. " Drink, M. de Talmont," he said. "We are all comrades now, and the sooner we learn good fellowship the better."

Henri pushed the cup aside without a word ; but Clemence spoke gently to the village lad. " It is not that my brother would not drink with you, Mathieu," she said; "but he is troubled just now, and so are we like your mother and your sisters."

No other word was spoken until the De Talmonts reached their home, and even then very few. Madame de Talmont and Clemence arranged everything, and Henri seemed quite passive in their hands. According to their plan, he was to leave the cottage after nightfall, and travelling on foot by unfrequented ways, to try to reach the neighbourhood of their old home

THE DRAWING OF THE LOT. Ill

in the Bocage, where the faithful Grandpierre, who had been their father's steward, would receive and protect him. A little money and a change of linen were concealed about his person, but on no account must he look like a traveller. So long had Madame de Talmont contemplated the necessity for this journey that she was able to give her son the fullest and clearest directions.

At length all was done. The last meal was eaten together, or at least a pretence was made of eating it. Henri embraced his mother, and received her parting blessing ; then Clemence, wrapping a shawl around her, said, " The night is fine ; I will go with you to the stile of the far corn-field."

They walked along in silence. They had worlds to say to each other, and this might be their last opportunity 011 earth, yet neither found a word. Not until the parting-place was reached did Clemence whisper, as she slipped a purse into her brother's hand, " There are five napoleons, Henri ; you will be sure to want them. And oh ! write to us as soon as you can. I will try to cheer and comfort our mother. Just one word more, dearest of brothers. Pray to God, seek to have him for your friend ; then, whatever happens "- But here her voice failed utterly.

Henri threw his arms around her, and his voice was hoarse and changed, very unlike his own. " Clemence," he said, " pro mise me one thing."

"Yes."

" That, whatever happens, you will not hate or curse me, or call me traitor, but forgive and love me still; that you will plead with my mother to forgive me "-

" Forgive you ! love you still ! What can you mean, Henri 1 It is not possible we should ever change to each other. Not possible," she sobbed, clinging to him, and straining him to her heart in an embrace that seemed as if no power on earth could sunder it.

112 THE DRAWING OF THE LOT.

Somehow or other Henri freed himself at last. He said in a kind of choked whisper, " Remember my words. Good-bye, and God your God bless you." One last lingering look, and he turned away, ran quickly down the sloping corn-field, and was soon lost to sight.

But he did not take the path that Clemence supposed. He returned to the village by a circuitous route, and about mid night tapped gently at the cure's door. The priest was evidently on the watch, for he opened the door and admitted him at once, then shut and bolted it, and extinguished the light he had kept burning in his window as a guide to his ex pected guest.

CHAPTER XI.

ONE OF HALF A MILLION.

" It is not youth that turns

From the field of spears again, For the boy's high heart too proudly burns Till it rests among the slain."

IT was evening in a crowded barrack-room in Paris. Recruits, not yet clad in uniform, but wearing the blouses or the coarse fustian jackets they had brought from their native villages, chatted, drank, quarrelled, or dozed upon the benches or about the floor. One noisy fellow was singing the Marseillaise at the top of his voice, another was defying any man in France to beat him at single stick, but by far the greater number seemed dispirited and utterly weary.

A young lad had seated himself at the table, beneath one of the lamps which, at long distances, lit up the darkness of the great bare room. Writing materials were before him, and he had begun a letter, but paused, as if unable to proceed, and shaded his face with his hand. Presently the tears dropped slowly down between his fingers, blistering the paper; then once more he seized the pen, and wrote eagerly and rapidly :

" Dearest mother, forgive me. I could not no, I could not expose you and Clemence to the terrible sufferings inflicted upon the families of the refractory, even if, for myself, I was strong enough to encounter the horrors of a convict prison. There was no way but the way I took. M. le Cure" answered for me

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IU OXE OF HALF A MILLION.

to the maire, and concealed me in his house until marching orders came. As we started in the gray dawn of a winter's morning, I hoped to pass unnoticed ; but so many villagers were there to bid farewell to their friends, that I know you must have heard all. Mother, Clemence, pray for me; and oh, mother, forgive me if you can ! It is not for Napoleon I am going to fight, but for France."

" Conscript, do you want that letter put into the post to night?" asked a short, thick-set, red-haired man with a cor poral's badge on his sleeve ; " because, if you do, I am going out, and I am a very obliging fellow."

Henri looked up quickly. He might perhaps have doubted the corporal's word, but five or six other letters which he held in his hand seemed to corroborate his statement ; besides, he knew that for him there would be no leave to go out that night.

" Then I shall be very much obliged to you, corporal," he said.

" Quick with you then. Sign your name and give it to me. I cannot wait all night. You may make my compliments to your sweetheart while you are about it, however."

Henri hastily folded and sealed his letter, and put it in the corporal's outstretched hand.

" Peste, man ! " said the other impatiently ; " where is the postage ? "

Henri took out half a franc. " That is it, I think," he said, without noticing the signs one of his comrades was making to attract his attention. The corporal flung the coin upon the table, and caught it again, as if to try whether it was genuine, muttered a curse, and went his way.

" Fool ! " said Henri's neighbour. " Did you not see he wanted something to drink ? What else should he take your letter for ? Look out for yourself on parade to-morrow ; he will do you a mischief if he can."

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"And who cares?" cried the chanter of the Marseillaise. " We want no aristocrats among us. * C& ira ! ga ira ! ' "

" We want no bad companions either," said Feron, who was standing near, " so you may keep your breath for your eternal 'Ca ira,' Guillaume St. Luc." Then, going over to Henri, he sat down beside him, and laying his hand on his shoulder, said in a low voice, " Keep up your heart, M. de Talmont. Who knows but you have a marshal's baton in your knapsack 1 "

Henri felt grateful for the kind words, and perhaps yet more so for the form of address, which had not fallen upon his ear since the miserable morning when he marched out of Brie a conscript. He placed his white, delicate hand in the rough palm of the blacksmith's son. " You are a good comrade," he said.

" I vowed you should find me that, the day Mademoiselle Clemence spoke to me so kindly," returned Feron.

" But as to the marshal's baton," resumed Henri, " that is a fine story. Six feet of Russian clay to lie in is what more of us are likely to get, I fancy."

" No good comes of burying ourselves before we are dead," returned the cheery Feron. " Of course, some are killed in every war. It is their luck. If a Russian bullet has my name upon it, why, then, I shall have the consolation of falling in the greatest war of the greatest captain that ever lived. I shall see his eagles flap their wings over Moscow and St. Peters burg. I shall die in the hour of victory, and I shall die shout ing, ' Vive 1'Empereur ! " ; In fact, the last words so nearly approached a shout already, that they were taken up and re echoed by those around.

Then Feron resumed his low tone. " M. de Talmont, may I give you a word of advice 1 "

"Certainly, comrade."

"When you hear other people shouting, always shout too; and the greater fools you think them, the louder you

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ought to shout, if only by way of drowning their foolish voices. "

For the first time since the day of the conscription Henri laughed ; and Feron presently continued, " But as for me, I do not shout ' Vive 1'Empereur ! ' like a fool. I know very well what I am about. I am only a conscript, it is true, but I am a soldier. The whole world is before me, and if I am brave, active, and resolute, the marshal's baton is no impossible dream for me. If we had lived in the old times, M. de Talmont, you would have ridden a fine horse and worn a beautiful sword; and I should have been like the dust beneath your feet a private all my days, and no more. Thanks to the Revolution and the Empire, we have changed all that ; so now we can be good comrades, as you have been kind enough to say."

Good comrades they were through many a dreary day of drill and marching. At first the physical hardships of his life weighed so heavily upon Henri that thought and feeling were almost crushed into silence. When he halted for the night, after a long day's march, he was scarcely conscious of anything except weary limbs and blistered feet. During his stay at the depot in Metz, where the conscripts had to go through some preliminary training, things were scarcely better. The moral and the mental atmosphere of the barrack-room were alike abhorrent to his refined, sensitive nature ; while the cruel and degrading punishments that followed any failure in skill or quickness on the parade-ground, forced him to bend all his re maining energies to the task of avoiding them. No answer to his letter from Paris ever reached him, and this added to the dull apathy that was creeping over his soul. His mother, he feared, was implacable. And Clemence 1 perhaps his mother would not allow her to write, perhaps she herself was too deeply offended to make the attempt.

At last marching orders came once more. Strange to say, from that day the heavy cloud of gloom that hung over Henri

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began to lighten. Change of scene proved a tonic, and as he grew accustomed to long marches he ceased to suffer so greatly from fatigue. Like other young conscripts who did not droop and fail utterly, he gradually plucked up strength and spirits. As he was uniformly gentle and courteous no ordinary merit in a French soldier of the Empire he often met with much kindness from the families upon whom he was billeted ; and the extreme youthfulness of his appearance gained many friends for him. By the time he reached the headquarters of the imperial army, the profession into which he had been forced was rather an object of indifference than of detestation to him. When the recruits were reviewed by Napoleon in per son, he remembered the sage advice of Feron, and did not imagine that a cry of " Vive 1'Empereur ! " from the lips of a De Talmont would awaken the slumbering dust of his an cestors. Moreover, he could not but gaze, with a kind of fascination that had in it as much of admiration as of horror, upon the face of the man whose will at that moment was the most stupendous force in all the world. Henri de Tal mont did not love Napoleon Buonaparte he feared him, perhaps he hated him but, like almost every other man in Europe, he believed him irresistible. There was a sense of exhilaration in the universal feeling that to march under him was infallibly to march to victory. Some faint reflected glow from the enthusiasm of all around could not fail to reach him and to awaken stirrings of the martial ardour that slumbered in the son of a long line of gallant warriors.

An unknown unit in a regiment of infantry young recruits who as yet had won no laurels Henri de Talmont marched one day over a temporary wooden bridge which had been flung by French pontoniers across the Niemen. " Now, mes enfants," their captain said, "you are standing upon Russian ground."

They cheered, embraced one another, and shouted until they were hoarse, " Vive 1'Empereur ! vive Napoleon ! A bas les

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Russes ! : ' Henri shouted as loudly as the rest ; while, at least to the human eye, coming events cast no shadow before, nor was there any foreboding voice raised to whisper, as that vast and gallant host passed by,

" The snow shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre ! "

CHAPTER XII.

ONE OF FIFTY MILLION.

" The might that slumbers in a peasant's arm."

GREAT battle, and a great victory this was what Henri de Talmont, in common with the six hundred thousand fighting men who crossed the Niemen under Napoleon, fully expected to see. Young hearts kindled, young blood grew hot at the thought; while the veterans of Lodi, of Austerlitz, of Jena, saw their cherished laurels fade and pale before the lustre of those with which they hoped soon to adorn their victorious brows. And then how royally would the treasures of Moscow and St. Petersburg recompense all their toils !

But there was no great battle. The Russians, under Barclay de Tolly, retreated without fighting, skilfully drawing the enemy after them into the immense and dreary plains of the interior. Then followed a succession of marches, as wearisome and far more monotonous than those by which the recruits had reached the headquarters of their army. The weather was hot and sultry a curious first experience of the climate of Russia and both men and horses suffered from the want of water. Other wants, too, were supplied but carelessly, or perhaps not at all. Many a conscript lay down supperless night after night beside the fire of his bivouac, to sleep away his hunger as best he could. It is said that some even died of starvation, while others found unwholesome nutriment in the

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unripe corn and the raw vegetables that grew along their route. Nor did the knowledge that the general of his division was feasting upon sterlet and champagne make the hard, insufficient fare of the conscript more palatable. "It is the soldier's own fault if he wants anything in an enemy's country," was a maxim often repeated ; but Avhat can the soldier do when the people flee at his approach, carrying off or destroying everything they possess, and the country, at best but thinly inhabited, is left a desert around him ?* Yet it must be owned that the French had themselves to thank for some of their privations, since those peasants who did not flee at their approach were plun dered, beaten, ill-treated, perhaps even murdered.

One day Henri accompanied a detachment of his regiment which was sent out on a foraging expedition. They were under the command of Seppel, the corporal who had undertaken to post Henri's letter in Paris ; but he was a sergeant now, and rode a good horse, while the others tramped wearily on foot. After a long march through a dreary country they saw, towards evening, a brown village surrounded by promising corn-fields. "Courage, mes enfants," cried Seppel; "here is luck for us at last. No doubt food and water, ay, and brandy too, are to be found yonder."

They marched across the fields, trampling down the standing corn without remorse. Henri and some of his comrades were hungry enough to pluck the unripe ears and to eat them as they passed, like another company strangely opposite to these in their character and their place in the world's history.

As they approached the village, they became aware that its inhabitants had not only seen them, but were prepared for their approach. A crowd of men and boys, armed with axes, pitch forks, and reaping-hooks, came towards them with loud cries and intentions evidently the most hostile.

• Alexander would not allow the country to be laid waste before the invaders ; but

government stores were destroyed or carried away, and private individuals voluntarily did the same, to a great extent, with their own possessions.

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Seppel caught hold of a tall, gaunt soldier, whose white uniform gleamed conspicuous amongst the blue tunics of the rest, and pushed him to the front. " Here, Klinki, Schlinki, or whatever your unpronounceable name may be, tell these beggars in their own jargon that we want food for man and horse, and that if they give it, in plenty and at once, we will do them no harm."

The Pole who had been brought with the party to act as interpreter, as he happened to know a little Russian tried to gain a hearing ; but in vain. So the Frenchmen drew their swords, and a brisk fight began. Suddenly, however, Seppel observed something which made him call upon his men to stop. He saw a party leaving the village and proceeding towards the adjoining birch-wood, and he rightly conjectured that these were the women and children under the escort of some of the men who had remained behind for the purpose. In fact, this had been from the first the design of the villagers, and the attack had been only a feint made in order to gain time for its execution. Seppel raised his hand, pointing to the retreating group. " Fire, mes enfants ! " he cried ; " fire yonder upon them!' 1 ' 1 They were just within musket-range, and the sharp, ringing sound of the shots was followed by heart-rending cries.

There was no more thought of resistance. The village lads threw down their extemporized weapons, and hurried to the assistance of their friends. Soon the whole party, their move ments quickened by terror, had disappeared into the wood, carrying with them their wounded, perhaps their dead. " Was not that well done ? " laughed Seppel. " I knew they would go to look after the women at the first cry."

Thus Nicolofsky was taken by the French. The victors were soon busy exploring the deserted cottages in search of food and vodka. Other things too were needed.

"Here, blacksmith," said Seppel to Feron, "look after my horse. He has cast a shoe."

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"Yes, sergeant," returned Feron coolly, "if you will find me a hammer and tongs, and a nail or two."

" Is that my business, stupid? Go and look. These fellows have horses, so they must have smith's tackle somewhere about."

"And they call this conquering a country!" grumbled Feron as he walked away. " Well, it may be glorious, but it is not particularly convenient or amusing."

At that moment there was a joyful shout from some of the party. Very few fires were burning in the village on that warm summer evening, but in one of the two largest cottages the great stove had been lighted, and a capacious caldron of tschi was simmering over it. The French soldiers fully appre ciated the national dish of the Russians, and found the prospect of an abundant and savoury supper very agreeable.

" Here is one good thing for me," said Feron, glancing at the fire. "Now for hammer and nails. Talmont, you lazy fellow, don't stand there gazing at nothing, but come and help me to find them."

But when they stood outside together, Feron's tone changed. " M. Henri," he said in a quick, eager whisper, "show me your musket."

Henri did so with a smile.

"Ah!" said Feron, looking relieved, "then after all you did fire. I feared you would not, and I was going to give you a word of advice."

" I did fire," answered Henri in a low voice, " in the air. What else could I do, Feron? they were women and children."

" Well, perhaps / did not shoot very straight either ; still we are in an enemy's country. Why did not the Czar do whatever the Emperor wanted him ? But take care, M. Henri ; that old fox Seppel is no friend of yours."

They entered another cottage in search of what they wanted, and Feron struck his foot against a small bucket full of some

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liquid. "Ha! what have we here? Vodka, I hope." He stooped down and tasted it, but got up with an air of disgust. " No such luck. Only frog's ratefia " (so the French called the kvass of the Russians). " How could any poor wretches be expected to fight with such stuff as that in their insides 1 "

" Let me have a pull at it," said Henri. " I am thirsty enough not to despise even frog's ratefia. Do you think Seppel means to stay here all night 1 "

" He ought not ; but if he finds vodka I would not answer for the consequences. And certainly it is growing very late."

Feron at last succeeded in finding the tools with which the villagers performed whatever rude blacksmith's work they needed. Then he rejoined his companions, who were just beginning to help themselves to the supper which had been prepared for very different guests by the priest's wife. The cottage was that of Pope Nikita, and the day happened to be the name-day of Anna Popovna.

A good store of vodka had been found, and with this help the soldiers soon forgot their troubles, past, present, and to come. They ate, drank, and made merry ; and the sergeant, far from being any check upon their mirth, drank more deeply and talked more boisterously than any of them. The night closed over them unawares, and of course there was now no question of leaving their comfortable quarters until the morning.

Feron had brought in his hand a small piece of iron, as well as the hammer and tongs he had been using. He had a jesting dispute with one of his comrades, who called in question his capabilities as a blacksmith. " Blacksmith, indeed ! " said Feron. " That's nothing. I am quite an artist, messieurs. At Brie I was accounted a connoisseur an ornamental worker in brass, iron, and the other precious metals."

" A fine story," laughed Henri, who was greatly the better for his comfortable meal. " At Brie your crooked nails were a joke for the whole village."

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" Don't talk, but let us see what you can do. Give us a specimen," said a conscript, a timorous little fellow, who was unpopular in the regiment because of his habit of shifting off his work upon his comrades.

" Yes, I will," returned Feron. " I'll make an iron to brand you with when you are caught trying to desert, as you are sure to be one of these days."

A general laugh followed this retort, then silence fell over the group, while Feron hammered away at his task, and most of the others began to doze in their places. When at last he held up triumphantly, in proof of his skill, a finely-formed branding-iron with the letter 1ST upon it, his companions were far too sleepy to give him the applause he expected.

One hour two hours passed away. All were sleeping now, even the sentinels Seppel had placed outside as a matter of form. The village of Nicolofsky was as still as it was wont to be in the noon of a midsummer night. If a sound of weeping and lamentation came, softened by distance, from the adjacent birch- wood, it failed to disturb the sleepers. But the short summer night was soon over, and the dawn began to creep in, cold and gray.

Its first faint light fell upon the figure of a mujik, who traversed, with stealthy, silent footsteps, the deserted street of his native village. As he passed the church he noticed that the door had been forced open though it was again roughly secured on the outside. He removed the fastening and looked in. The spirit of wanton outrage, only too common amongst the French soldiery, had made Seppel choose that sacred place as a stable for his horse, and the animal was eating corn out of a consecrated vessel placed upon the altar.* Michael Ivanovitch ground his teeth, and his dark cheek flushed ominously; but he passed on, for his heart was full of a great, deep anguish, before which every other emotion paled and faded.

• These outrages, and others yet more revolting, were constantly committed by tho

French in Russia.

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That which, at the risk of his life, he had come to fetch, was not in the desecrated church. It had to be sought for in the very place where most of the French soldiers had taken up their quarters for the night the cottage of Pope Nikita. The door of the cottage was half open, and he saw that the floor was covered with sleeping forms clad in the blue tunic of the French infantry. What matter to him? Blotting out that sight, he saw the wistful, longing look in the dying eyes of the girl he loved, and, before him, the sacred picture her faltering accents had entreated him to bring to her. Thank God, there it hung yet on the cottage wall, in the right-hand corner. Could he tread amongst those sleepers without awakening them, and reach it ?

His step was noiseless as the footfall of the desert panther, and the French were weary with marching, and most of them heavy with vodka. He had grasped his prize he stood with his hand on its frame, and a momentary throb of triumph in his sorrowful heart, when suddenly a head was raised ; some one more wakeful than the rest had seen the intruder. In an instant the alarm was given, and the whole group were on their feet ; in another, a dozen strong hands were laid at once upon Michael Ivanovitch.

He struggled desperately, but what could one man do against a dozen armed with swords and bayonets? He would have been cut down almost immediately, had not Seppel, very sensibly, called upon his men to spare his life and secure him as a prisoner. " He may serve for a guide, or at least give us some information," he said. Then he summoned the Pole to act as interpreter, taking the precaution to make another man Feron it happened to be stand before the prisoner with his loaded musket pointed at his breast. " He looks dangerous," he observed.

There was not much to be read in Michael's stolid, deter mined face, as the light of the early morning shone upon it.

12 6 ONE OF FIFTY MILLION.

He had placed the sacred picture in the breast of his caftan ; but seeing the musket, he took it out and laid it on the table. " They shall not harm that, at all events," he thought.

"Tell him," said Seppel to the Pole, "that if he fails to satisfy us, we will shoot him; but that if he behaves well, we will spare his life."

The Pole interpreted, and Michael answered coolly, " Nit-

shevo."

" That means," the Pole explained, " ' It is no matter. I do

not care.' "

" Ask him," pursued Seppel, " what brought him here."

Michael, as soon as he understood the question, pointed to the picture.

Seppel laughed incredulously; and the Pole inquired of his own accord, " Is that the whole truth, Russian?"

" Da," returned the prisoner.

" He says, ' Yes/ " the Pole explained.

" Tell him he is a liar," said Seppel.

A scornful smile was the only answer, and Seppel tried another course. "Ask him," he said, "how far it is from this place to Klopti."

He did so ; but Michael answered nothing.

" Tell him he must take us there to-day."

Still no answer.

" Tell him if he chooses to behave in this way he has not two minutes to live."

" Nitshevo," was the only reply.

This went on for some minutes, every inquiry being met by a dogged silence, every threat by " Nitshevo." At last Seppel lost patience, and told Feron to fire upon the prisoner.

But Feron disliked the task, for he rather admired the cour age of the Russian. He slowly laid his finger on the trigger of his musket, then withdrew it again. This he did twice, keenly watching the countenance of the prisoner, which showed no

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perceptible change. All the French soldiers had now crowded around them, and were watching the scene with interested faces.

" Do not kill him, sergeant," pleaded one.

" He is a brave fellow. Try something else first," said another.

Seppel paused, and a new thought occurred to him. " Ah, yes," he said, " these Russian slaves understand nothing except it comes to them through their bodily feelings. They are accus tomed, I suppose, to be treated like beasts of the field. Pole, tell him he is our prisoner; tJiat, at least, we will make him know. Feron, put down your musket, and bring that branding- iron I saw you make last night; there is enough fire yet in the stove to heat it red-hot."

Feron obeyed without hesitation, even with alacrity ; for it seemed to him much better to brand a man on the hand than to shoot him through the heart. So the letter 1ST, fashioned in sport the night before, was used in earnest now. It came down with burning pain, and left its mark, indelible for ever, upon the unresisting hand of Michael.

For a moment his strong frame quivered, but his lips were silent, pressed closely together. Then he turned to the Pole, and, for the first time speaking of his own accord, he asked him, " What does that mean V

"It means that you belong now, soul and body, to our Emperor, the great Napoleon. That which you bear on your hand is his mark the first letter of his name."

Michael smiled slightly, and advancing to the table, laid the wounded hand upon it. (Feron not unintentionally had made choice of the left one.) Then with one blow from the axe which he drew from the sash of his caftan, he severed it from his wrist. "Take what belongs to your Emperor," he said, turning proudly to the astonished group. " As for me, I belong altogether to the Czar."*

• A fact.

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A thrill of involuntary admiration passed through the spec tators, and for some moments no one spoke. Meanwhile, in the calm summer sky outside, the sun was rising, and its first red beams flashed through the little window upon the homely features of the serf, which shone with a courage and devotion that were almost sublime.

"Cut him down!" cried a solitary voice, that of the con script who, the night before, had challenged Feron's skill. But half-a-dozen other voices cried, "Shame!" while Seppel him self seemed to hesitate, and stood with the air of a man per plexed and confounded.

In the meantime Henri de Talmont, who had hitherto taken no part in the scene, walked boldly up to the prisoner. He held in his hand a fine white cambric handkerchief, which he wound carefully about the wounded arm. " As you love your Czar," he said gently, " so we Royalists in France loved our King."

The words, of course, fell meaningless upon the ear of Michael ; but the tones in which they were uttered, and the action which accompanied them, were abundantly intelligible. The eyes of the Russian serf and the French gentleman met with a look of comprehension and sympathy.

"Shall we let him go?" Seppel asked at length. "What say you, mes enfants?"

There was now not one dissentient voice, and Seppel turned to the interpreter. " Tell him, Pole, that we Frenchmen know how to respect a brave enemy. He is free."

Michael heard, bowed his head gravely in acknowledgment, took up the sacred picture with his remaining hand, and walked slowly out. He scarcely noticed the ringing cheer which the excitable Frenchmen sent after him. Their applause was noth ing to him : it could not bring back the young life of his betrothed, flowing forth so quickly through the wound their guns had made last night. Enough if he might but be in

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time to see her once again, and to comfort her dying moments with the treasure he had risked so much to procure.

When he was gone, Seppel stretched his limbs once more before the stove, and said half to himself with a meditative air, " After all, I begin to doubt whether we shall succeed so easily in conquering these Russians."

CHAPTER XIII.

SERF AND B Y A R.

" Vengeance, deep brooding o'er the slain,

Had locked the source of softer woe ; And burning pride and high disdain Forbade the rising tear to flow."

[T was evening. Ivan Pojarsky sat alone in the saloon of the Wertsch family mansion. The costly furniture with which it was strewn had that inde scribable air of neglect and forlormiess which house hold goods assume when death, or sorrow deep as death, broods over their owners. There was disorder too: chairs had been dragged carelessly about, and their rich and delicate coverings soiled and crumpled; while a beautiful climbing plant, laden with rare flowers, lay unheeded on the floor beside the broken shaft that had been its support. A costlv buhl table near Ivan's chair had the remains of his last meal upon it.

Within the apartment all was still, Ivan sat motionless and silent, his head resting on his hands, but without there was a hoarse, continuous, never-ending murmur, made up of many sounds. There was the tramp of armed men, heavy and mono tonous. There was the roll and rumble of ten thousand wheels wheels of every sort and description, from those of the pon derous waggon laden with the goods of an entire household to those of the light telega, from which every now and then a scout was imparting to the breathless crowd his tidings that the standards of Napoleon had been seen at such or such a

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point of the Smolensko road. Mingling with and following the stately rhythmic march of the disciplined hosts was the tread of innumerable footsteps footsteps of women and little children, of boys and aged men, who were leaving with break ing hearts the only home they had ever known. And if the weeping and wailing, the sighs and groans and cries, which filled the clear September air did not rise above all other sounds, it was only because the things most deep and real are ofttimes the last to meet the eye or reach the ear except, indeed, the ever-present eye and the ever-listening ear of Him who notes " the sob in the dark and the falling of tears."

Suddenly Ivan raised his head and looked around him. The last few weeks had changed him wonderfully. He appeared several years older no longer a stripling, but a man, with a man's responsibilities, thoughts, and duties. There was in his young face a look of sternness, as of one who had to do hard things and to bid others do them; there was the high, courageous, half-defiant air of one who dares death cheerfully, even joyfully, and also an expression of proud though mourn ful satisfaction. For had not he, a youth scarcely twenty, been intrusted with a terrible secret, been charged with a des perate but honourable mission ?

" Beg pardon, gospodin," said a servant, entering. Ivan was now virtually the master of the household, for both the Wertsches were with the army Adrian serving as a volunteer, Leon as a lieutenant of hussars. " Here is a mujik," continued the servant, "who wishes to speak with your excellency."

" Send him in," said Ivan quickly. " And stay a moment, Joseph. "What does your wife say of her mistress ?"

" The countess, gospodin, will not hear reason from my wife, though she has been waiting upon her these twenty years, any more than from your excellency. 'The French, 5 says my lady, 'will never enter holy Moscow. They dare not.' I must own, Lord Ivan, that Maria thinks this very hard;

132 SERF AND BOYAR.

because if our lady the countess will not be persuaded to go away, as all other folk are doing who have brains in their heads, she my wife I mean must stay, too, of course, and be murdered by the ISTyemtzi."

" Murdered by the Nyemtzi shall our women never be, Joseph," said Ivan, with a flash in his eyes. " At the worst, we know what to do. Tell thy wife the countess must be induced to quit this house before to-morrow night. If she will not leave the city, like a sensible woman, at least she must go to the Devitshei Convent, and Maria must go with her. I sup pose even the infidel French will scarcely outrage that asylum. Meanwhile, send in this mujik; perhaps he brings tidings."

A tall figure entered, with a bandaged arm, and wearing a rough, soiled caftan, and heavy Russia leather boots that left their traces on the inlaid floor.

Ivan looked up, started, hesitated, then exclaimed in great surprise, " Michael Ivanovitch ! One-eared Michael !"

" One-handed Michael now, at your service, Ivan Barrinka \ and well if that were the only loss I had to tell of."

" Have you come from Nicolof sky ? " asked Ivan.

" Yes, I come from Nicolofsky. Barrinka, the Nyemtzi have been there."

" Ah !" cried Ivan. " Curse them !"

" I have done with cursing them, Ivan Barrinka I cannot find words so I leave them to God. He knows what wages they have earned, and he will pay them one day. But as for me, my heart is hot and dry, and unless I can go and fight and kill some of them I shall die."

" What has happened, Michael 1 what have they done to you?"

" At Christmas I was to be married to Anna Popovna. You remember her, Ivan Barrinka?"

"Remember her!" cried Ivan angrily. "Of what are you dreaming, Michael ? Do you not know that I I"

SERF AND BOYAR. 133

" Oh, I forgot it seems a thousand years ago," said Michael, in a sad, dreamy voice. " Besides, it was never anything but child's play with you. Ivan Barrinka, we quarrelled in the old days, you and I. She used to like you better than me, because you were handsome and a boyar. But that is all over now. We shall quarrel no more, for Anna Popovna is with the saints. The Nyemtzi have killed her."

Ivan's agitation was extreme. He still fancied he loved the village girl, no real passion having as yet taken possession of his heart to " put the old cheap joy in the scorned dust." In wild excitement he strode up and down the room, uttering incoherent lamentations and cursing the French; but at last he stopped before Michael and asked briefly, in a choking voice, "How?"

Michael's grief had been his companion for weary days and nights he was used to it now, so he answered very quietly, " One evening we saw the blue-coats coming, and some of us went out to show fight and keep them off a little, while the rest convoyed our women safely into the wood. But the scoundrels saw them, and fired. The distance was long, and they 'did not take good aim. Only two shots told: one of them wounded the lad we used to call little Peter rather badly in the shoulder; the other killed her

"At once!"

" She lived some hours. She did not suffer much. She died in peace." Michael spoke with difficulty, and in a low voice. There was a pause; then he resumed, taking a pic ture from beneath his caftan and showing it to Ivan, " Her last look was fixed on this. Her father gave it to me, be cause I brought it to her from his house, where the Nyemtzi were."

" Did the French stay there for the night?"

Michael nodded.

"Then what were you about, Michael Ivanovitch," cried

134 SERF AND BOYAR.

Ivan with sudden energy "what were you about that you did not set the village on fire and burn it over their heads ?"

Michael's remaining hand fell by his side with a gesture of mingled admiration and regret. "Great St. Nicholas!" he exclaimed.

"Well 1 ?" said Ivan.

" We never thought of it," cried Michael. " Would to God we had ! What a sight it would have been !"

" You may yet see a greater, Michael Ivanovitch."

There was silence, and the tumult outside became audible once more to both.

At last Michael resumed. " I am forgetting what I came for. Since that night my head is confused. I live those last hours over and over again. I hear nothing, I see nothing except that bed of leaves in the forest, and the torches nicker ing upon those sad faces all around, and that one sweet white f ace except when I sleep and dream of killing Frenchmen. Ay, killing Frenchmen, that is it ! Ivan Barrinka, I come here to beg of you if you like it, on my bended knees to speak one word for me to our lord the Czar, only one word."

"My good friend for my friend you are, in the love we both have for the dead I would speak a hundred if I could ; but the Czar is in St. Petersburg, and I am here. I scarce hope ever to see again the face that is to us all as the sun in the heavens."

" Then give me a written word for him. You are a boyar, and can do it."

" Nay, I should not presume so far. He does not even know of my existence yet" The last word was spoken proudly, with an evident under-current of meaning. " But what is it you want, Michael?"

" See, I have lost my left hand."

" Another French outrage 1 "

"Yes, and no. When I went to fetch that picture, they

SERF AND BOYAR. 135

caught me, and put their Emperor's mark on my hand. Was I to carry that with me all my life, and after my life in the resurrection, before the judgment-seat of God 1 I had a good hand still, and a good axe in. it, and with these I struck oflf what they had denied. Now there is not an inch of me that does not belong to the Czar."

" Nobly done, brother ! " cried Ivan, embracing him. " I am proud of my old Nicolofsky playfellow. Michael, will you cast in your lot with me, and let us serve the Czar together?"

" Ay, Barrinka ; but there is the difficulty. No use in my offering myself for a recruit. No officer would take me, because I want my hand. That is why I pray you to ask the Czar to let me fight for him in spite of that loss. You could tell him I would serve him so faithfully."

" I can show you, even now, a way to render him signal and splendid service ; but it is hazardous, very. It is scarce likely we shall live to go through with it ; but, Michael, if we do, I think the Czar will have cause to thank us."

"And shall we kill plenty of Nyemtzi?" Michael asked eagerly.

"We shall deal their Emperor a blow he will never forget." Ivan sat down before him, looked at him in silence for some mo ments, and then, apparently changing the subject, he asked, "Are you not surprised at the condition in which you find the city ? "

" What condition ? Oh yes ; I saw crowds of people going away." Then, looking up "But is it true, is it really true, Barrinka, that holy Moscow is to be given up to the infidel Nyemtzi?"

" Too true. A great battle was fought a few days ago at Borodino. The French say they won, and we say we won; but, however that may be, the result is for us as bad as a defeat. Marshal Kutusov says it is now hopeless to think of defending the city. All day our soldiers, with breaking hearts, have been marching through on their way to Yladimir. "

136 SERF AND BOYAR.

' And without fighting? Ivan Barrinka, it is too bad ! So those accursed Nyemtzi will have it all the glorious, beautiful city of the Czar ; the tombs, the treasures of his fathers ; the forty times forty churches, the holy pictures of the saints ! Woe, woe ! Why have we lived to see such days?"

"Listen, Michael," said Ivan, arresting the hand with which he was tearing his beard. " Listen to me. The Nyemtzi shall not have it."

"What do you mean, Barrinka?"

" This. We will do for holy Moscow our beautiful, our beloved w T hat a father would do for an only daughter, a hus band for a wife, a brother for a sister, if there were no other way to save them from those accursed Nyemtzi our own hands will deal the death-blow."

"How?"

"What should you have done with Nicolofsky while the French were in it?"

" Holy saints ! Then you mean to burn the city ?"

"These hands of mine will fling the brand into this house, which has been my home ever since I left your village. Nay, more, I am one of the directors of the secret band com missioned to spread the conflagration."

Michael stared at him in amazement, but did not speak.

Ivan resumed : " Perhaps you will think me dreaming at least you will wonder by what authority I tell you these strange and awful things. I was a boy when last we met, Michael ; indeed, until six weeks ago I was little more. Then the war broke out, and the Czar came here. I saw him ; not for the first time, Michael Ivanovitch, for it was he he and no other whom I saw in my childhood's days ministering to poor un conscious Stefen on the bank of the Oka. My heart went forth to him at once, laid itself at his feet, vowed to serve him until death."

" So? Then you fight for love, Ivan Barrinka. I fight for hate. "

SERF AND BOYAR. 137

" I too, after what you have told me to-night," said Ivan, with flashing eyes. He continued more calmly : " Then I went to the governor, Count Rostopchine, and told him my story. I said that, though my name was of the noblest, I had not, like other boyars, lands, or serfs, or gold to give to the Czar ; I had only a strong heart, full of devotion. He answered me, for he saw I was in earnest, * Such hearts are what we want now.' Then he told me what to do. At first, Michael, I was horror-stricken. I had rather have been burned at the stake myself. But he assures me there is no other way of saving holy Russia and the Czar. Moreover, most of the nobles, and all the merchants except seven, have resolved upon the sacrifice of their property. Loss of life we will try to prevent."

" I suppose all good Russians, save those who, like you, have work to do, are leaving the city?"

" Almost all ; except the * black people/ who think they have nothing to lose and perhaps something to gain by the confusion. A few others are remaining on various pretexts ; for instance, Countess Wertsch, the owner of this house, obstinately insists upon staying, positively refusing to believe that the French will enter the city a great embarrassment to me, since I cannot burn the house over her head. I must get her away somehow. For this and other matters I need advice from my good old friend Petrovitch, and I mean to go to him at day break. You shall come with me ; I should like to tell him what you have done, Michael."

" Anywhere with you. There will be plenty of work for us, and plenty of danger too. All the better for me. But you will be sorry to part with life, Ivan Barrinka."

For a moment Ivan's face assumed a grave and thoughtful expression ; then it gradually lighted up, until it absolutely glowed with enthusiasm. "If I fall," he said, "Count Ros topchine has promised to name me to the Czar."

CHAPTER XIY.

THE FORLORN HOPE.

r Oh, sweet and strange it seems to me, that ere this day is done The voice that now is speaking may be beyond the sun, For ever and for ever with those just souls and true ; And what is life that we should moan ? why make we such ado?"

1HE two young men wore out the short summer night in earnest talk. Neither thought of sleep ; but Ivan was careful to provide a comfortable repast for Michael, and was by 110 means reluctant to share it. Very early in the morning they set out on foot for the merchants' quarter. The shades of night had brought no repose to the doomed city ; hour after hour the living tide flowed on without pause or respite, and Ivan and Michael found it extremely diflicult to thread their way through the dense con fused mass of vehicles and foot passengers that crowded every street.

At last they reached the dwelling of Petrovitch. The doors were all open. Unhindered and unannounced, they walked into the great hall. Here they found the whole family assem bled. In the midst sat the patriarch, with silver hair and beard, and large, wide-open, sightless eyes. His face was as calm and almost as colourless as that of the dead ; but its look expressed the steadfast high resolve of a " living soul," the heir of a death less immortality.

All around that calm centre there was profound agitation. Women were weeping and wringing their hands; and those

THE FORLORN HOPE. 139

"tears of bearded men" which are so rare and sad to see were flowing without restraint. One of the sons of Petrovitch in the green uniform of a Russian grenadier, his military hat, with its long black feather tipped with white, laid beside him was sobbing bitterly himself, while he tried to comfort a little girl whom he held in his arms. Another young soldier, almost a boy, seemed to be imploring the interference of his mother, who was sitting a little apart, her face covered with a kerchief. At one side of the old man's chair stood his eldest son, with a look of indignant appeal and remonstrance ; at the other knelt Feodor and his face no one saw.

"Welcome, Prince Ivan!" cried Ivan Petrovitch as soon as he perceived his entrance. " Come hither and speak to our father. It may be he will listen to you, as the son of his ancient lord."

"Is that Prince Ivan?" asked the old man. "Son of my dear lord, ever welcome in this house, yet give us leave, I pray you, for a little space, for this is a bitter hour to me and to all of us. I am bidding farewell to every one in whose veins my blood is flowing. By-and-by I will talk once more with thee."

Ivan would have withdrawn, from a feeling that the scene was too sacred for any not immediately belonging to the family ; but the eldest son of Petrovitch appealed to him once more. " Have you not a word you whom he loved so dearly to per suade him against flinging his life away?"

" My son, I am not flinging my life away," the old man interposed. " That would be a sin. I am only laying it at the feet of the God who gave it. He has given me a message for these Nyemtzi, and shall I spare to deliver it?"

" But how is this, dadushka ? " asked Ivan gently, as he drew nearer to the weeping group. " How is this ? Do you not go, with these your beloved ones, to a place of safety ?"

" I go indeed to a place of safety, but not with these. My resolve has long been made; nor is it for thee, Prince Ivan,

140 THE FORLORN HOPE.

nor for you, sons and grandsons, true and well-beloved though you are, to change it now. Here have I lived, and here will I die. The Nyemtzi shall enter holy Moscow only over my body."*

" A vain sacrifice, useless as it is cruel," said Ivan Petro- vitch in a broken voice.

" My son, it is neither. I have no strong arm to fight for the Czar, but I have yet a voice with which to hurl defiance against his enemies. It is the mightiest of all voices, though it makes no sound the voice of blood. My blood shall cry to the invader from the gate of the city I have loved : ' It is but vain the labour that you take to conquer this land for your Prince. A land where youth and manhood arm to resist you, while old age dies beneath your feet rather than submit to your SW ay such a land is unconquerable.' Therefore, my children, no more words. They are but needless pain, and time presses. I think my soldier lads should even now be rejoining their regiments. Are you all here, my brave boys whom I have given to the Czar?"

The sergeant of grenadiers answered for the rest, " Yes, my father, all."

" Four sons and nine sons' sons thirteen in all have I given to our lord. Soldiers of holy Russia, fight bravely ; and may God prosper your arms and give you the victory ! I doubt not he will, for your cause is just."

" My father, ere we go," said the sergeant, advancing and kneeling before him, "bless thy sons."

In a voice tremulous with deep feeling the solemn patri archal blessing was given. One after another the members of the family advanced to receive it : first the soldier sons and grandsons, keeping down their emotion with manly self-control ; then Ivan Petrovitch, and a few others whose circumstances

• The story of Petrovitch is historical. Scarcely anything has been added, and only

a few rather improbable details have been omitted.

THE FOELORN HOPE. 141

had prevented their volunteering with the rest; lastly the women and children. But Feodor did not stir from his place, until at length the old man called him by name. Then he slowly rose and stood before him.

" Son Ivan," said Petrovitch, " come hither and take this boy's hand in thine. Children, you know that little Feodor is all God has left with me of Maria Petrovna, the daughter of my old age, the one white dove in our falcon's nest. Be tender with him, all of you ; and thou, Ivan, take care of the lad, and be to him a father in my place. Feodor, my little Feodor, Maria's son, God bless thee !"

" Kneel, boy," whispered Ivan Petrovitch almost angrily, as Feodor, like one in a trance, stood motionless, with his passive hand in his uncle's.

The boy obeyed mechanically. The aged eyes of Petrovitch were full of unaccustomed tears, and his voice faltered, grew almost inaudible, as he murmured the words of blessing over that beloved head. But Feodor showed no sign of feeling, except that cheek and lip were white as marble.

Ivan Pojarsky, who, though he had withdrawn into the back ground, had not left the place, observed him with sorrowful wonder. " The boy," he thought, " will soon forget the old man, who will die with a prayer for him upon his lips."

Once more the aged voice was heard. Petrovitch arose slowly from his seat, and lifted up his hands over the group. " Now farewell, my children, and God bless you. May he grant us in his mercy a joyful meeting in the home above, the abode of the righteous, where no enemy or evil thing can enter. Go in peace."

Sadly and slowly, one by one, they turned away. Ivan Pojarsky followed, to assure his weeping friends that he at least would do all he could for the comfort and protection of their father. There were servants, too, who purposed remain ing in the house for the present; and to these was intrusted the

342 THE FORLORN HOPE.

task of consummating the sacrifice by setting fire to what had been the happy home of three generations.

With a feeling akin to awe Ivan returned to the side of the now solitary old man. He was almost ashamed to bring his personal difficulties and perplexities before him. A rever ent, tender compassion for the silver hairs so soon to be steeped in blood filled his heart, though even this was dominated and subdued by the over-mastering enthusiasm that possessed him, rising higher and higher every moment. Before that tide of passionate loyalty and patriotism all else gave way. It seemed easy and natural and oh, how beautiful ! to die for the Czar and holy Russia.

Petrovitch, of his own accord, asked him about his plans and purposes. He knew already what a commission Rostop- chine had intrusted to the young man ; and Ivan, though thor oughly master in outline of the role he had to play, was glad to consult his aged friend upon certain questions of detail. After discussing the directions he had to give to the criminals who were to be released from the various prisons to aid in the terrible work, he spoke of the unaccountable obstinacy of the Countess Wertsch, and of the difficulty in which it placed him.

But instead of expressing indignation at the old woman's folly, Petrovitch answered gently, " My boy, be patient with her. Remember all her days have been spent here. To her, as to others, the ruin of holy Moscow is like the fall of the sun from the noonday sky. Should the need to remove her actually arise, God will show you what to do. But wait. Where we stand now, hours do the work of years."

" Dadushka, there is another thought in my mind of which I want to tell you. I talked it over last night with my old friend Michael. Ah, where is Michael?" said Ivan, who in the excitement and confusion of the last two hours had totally forgotten his companion. " No matter," he continued, " I shall

THE FORLORN HOPE. 143

find him by-and-by. Say, dadushka, would it not be a pity these infidel Frenchmen should enter the Kremlin without so much as a musket-shot to bid them welcome ?"

" But what would you do, my son ? Remember the lives of Russians are precious."

" I should peril no life which would not be just as sorely perilled elsewhere; but I think that, with the help of the work men who are still on the spot, and a few of the lads whom I know to be ready for any wild work, I could give a fair account of some of Napoleon's advanced guard."

" Well, since Count Rostopchine has left the city, every man may do that which is right in his own eyes. Have you arms ?"

" Plenty; and I, as well as the other directors nominated by the count, have his authority to distribute them as I see fit.- Ah, Pope Yefim, is that you ? So you have not left us yet,"

" Not yet, nor ever," said the priest as he advanced and saluted first his aged friend, then Ivan.

" I thought all the churchmen were gone already, or going to-day," observed Ivan.

" It may be so," returned Pope Yefim, " but, whosoever goes, sorrow and death remain."

" Remain/" cried Ivan. " It is their carnival."

" Well, then, may not one of God's humblest ministers remain also, to pray beside the sorrowful and to bury the dead?"

" My dear pope, the part you have chosen is noble, but most perilous."

" I scarcely think so. All civilized nations respect Religion and her ministers. I have heard that Napoleon said to one of our popes, who. bravely presented himself before him to plead for his flock, ' You have done well. Your " Bog" is the same as our "Dieu."'"

" Whose altars the French have cast down, and whose wor ship they have forsaken; therefore they shall not prosper," said Petrovitch. He added after a pause : " My friends, I am soli-

144 THE FORLORN HOPE.

tary now. Stay with me for a little while. And if Prince Ivan will forget his worldly rank in the presence of great Death, who makes all men equal, I pray you both to partake with me of what may be to all of us our last meal upon earth."

Ivan readily consented; and the attendants left in the house, who watched carefully over their aged master, served a com fortable repast. One of them informed Ivan that his servant was in their quarters, awaiting his orders. Michael had been a deeply -moved spectator of the parting between Petrovitch and his family. He had been seen coming out of the hall with a sobbing child in his arms, a little great-grandson of Petro vitch, whom he was trying to comfort. Afterwards he frater nized with the attendants, who were mujiks, like himself, and to whose inquiries he answered simply and briefly that he was Prince Ivan's servant.

The hours wore on. At last Ivan and Yefim were obliged to depart Ivan to his work in the city, the priest to one of the numerous services of his Church.

Then for the first time Petrovitch knew himself indeed alone. To darkness he was accustomed now, but the strange unwonted stillness "ached round him like a strong disease and new." No kindred voice would break the silence ever again upon earth. Such had been his deliberate choice, and he must bear it. But his strong heart sank lower and lower yet, even to the very depths those deepest depths of all, which only strong hearts know how to sound.

" Out of the depths have I cried unto thee," said one of old, uttering the experience of ten thousand tried and sorrowful hearts. Very earnest was the cry that went, up that bitter hour from the soul of Petrovitch. It was not his first cry to God ; for the hand that had drawn a veil over the eyes of his body had been gradually and gently opening the eye of his soul to another and holier light. What though, at the best, that light was dim and clouded? It was enough for his needs;

THE FORLORN HOPE. 145

and in this hour of lonely anguish it shone out with greater clearness than ever before. " I am a sinful man," thought Feodor Petrovitch; " and now the last hour of my long day of life has struck. I am going into the presence of God. But there is the dear Bog Sun,"* and the cross, of which Pope Yefim talks. I hope to be forgiven for the sake of what He suffered there, and to see His face with joy in the resurrection."

Then thoughts of the past chased each other quickly across his mind, like clouds across a summer sky. All the events of his life seemed to crowd upon him, and to pass in review before him " like a tale that is told." First came visions of his early years, his village home, his boyhood's friends, his dear lord, Prince Pojarsky, with the face of Ivan grown older; then his own struggles as a man, his efforts to secure an honourable place in the world, to gain wealth, character, and the esteem of all. But these things flitted lightly by, and did not stay. What came and stayed, fresh and vivid as though he saw them even now, were the faces that he loved faces over which the grave had closed long ago. " Yesterday they seemed so far; to-day they are close at hand. I shall see them before another sun has set," he thought. The wife of his youth came back, young and fair as on her bridal day. Scarce younger and not less fair, so like that they seemed to mingle into one sweet all-pervading presence, was that child of his heart, so tenderly loved, so deeply mourned. As the Hebrew patriarch, casting a retrospective glance over his long and weary pilgrim age, rested the wistful gaze of his dying eye upon one chief unforgotten sorrow " As for me, when I came from Padan, Rachel died by me in the land of Canaan" so it was with Feodor Petrovitch. A passionate yearning swept over him to see his daughter's face, to hear her voice again.

By-and-by another change came. It was no longer faces that haunted him, but voices voices and footsteps. The little feet

• God the Son.

(696) 10

146 THE FORLOEN HOPE.

of his grandchildren pattered around him; he heard their merry shouts, their ringing laughter at their play. He felt tempted to call them; he almost believed that if he called they would come to him. At last he heard the footstep that he loved best so plain, so near, that he thought he must be dreaming. How strangely fancy must be cheating him ! Surely that ivas Feodor his Feodor trying in jest, as he was wont to do, to steal upon him unawares and surprise him. Surely, as in the old happy days, the boy had slipped off his lapti, and was stepping softly and noiselessly upon the rugs that strewed the floor. Surely he was close to him now his breath was touching his very cheek. All unconsciously the name escaped his lips, and he called aloud, " Feodor !"

" Dadushka," the voice he loved seemed to answer.

" O God !" sobbed the old man, for the first time completely unnerved, " leave me my senses. Do not let me lose myself in vain delirious dreams. Grant that I may give up my soul to thee in peace."

" Dadushka, do not be afraid. It is I it is your little Feodor." And now he knew it was no dream, for Feodor's arms were around him, Feodor's face was buried in his breast.

" Did you think I could leave you, dadushka 1 Did you think I could really go away with the others ? Of course I pretended to go; but I watched my opportunity, slipped off, and came back to you as soon as I dared. I have been hiding ever since."

" My child, my child, I must send you from me."

" Dadushka, you must not, for I cannot go. Listen I have sworn upon bended knees before the picture of my saint that where you die there will I die also."

" My boy, I cannot have it the old have so little life to give, the young so much !"

" Dadushka, I will not live after you ; for am I not yours altogether? My mother is dead, and my father too. You

THE FORLORN HOPE. 147

have ever been to me instead of both. I have nothing in the world but you. But what need of words?" said the boy, draw ing up his slender figure to its full height; " / have sworn"

Petrovitch could not see how his young face glowed, and his dark eyes shone like lamps of fire; but he heard the tones of his voice, which had in them the ring of a steadfast purpose, not proud or self-confident, scarcely even passionate, only full of a quiet resolute persuasion that he was doing something to which God had called him.

The old man's reverence for the sanctity of an oath was ren dered stronger by a tinge of superstition. Moreover, he thought this world where apparently and for the present the infidel Nyemtzi were victorious not such a safe and happy home that true hearts need mourn to leave it. Perhaps it would even be well for him to take his dearest treasure with him to the better land, and bring Maria Petrovna the little one she had intrusted to his care. Thus it was that when once more Feodor whis pered softly, " And I too, dadushka, I am glad to die for the Czar," he only answered, " For our monarch, our country, and our God. May he accept the sacrifice, and receive our souls into his kingdom."

Just then a servant hastily entered the room. " Father," he said, in great agitation, " a horseman is galloping through the streets, crying aloud that the French are coming. Their stan dards may be seen, he says, upon the Sparrow Hill. And, father," he added, " the kibitka is ready, according to your orders."

" Then give me thine arm, Feodor," said the old man rising. " Our hour has come."

CHAPTER XY.

THE MARTYR CITY.

" Thou to thy rest art gone,

High heart; and what are we, While o'er our heads the storm sweeps on, That we should weep for thee ?"

[FIE slow hours that had dragged their weary length since the evacuation of the doomed city began, seemed a lifetime to Ivan. He almost felt as if the suspense, the dull, hushed lull of expecta tion that was not hope and yet was scarcely fear, would never end. But the end came at length, and from that hour events followed each other with tremendous, bewildering rapidity.

Ivan was in the Kremlin, distributing arms to the workmen whom he found there, when some one cried that the French were fording the Moskva (the Russian general, Miloradovitch, having broken down the bridges). Ivan sprang to the nearest point of observation, and saw some horsemen in fantastic uni forms, and bringing with them a couple of guns, actually cross ing the stream. A personage, splendidly attired and surrounded by a brilliant staff, was directing their movements, and ap parently preparing to follow them. This, though Ivan knew it not, was Murat, King of Naples, who was leading the French vanguard, thirsting for glory and plunder, and already devouring with covetous eyes the fabulous treasures of the Kremlin.

Ivan returned to his companions. " God has delivered them

THE MARTYR CITY. 149

into our hands," lie said. " We will let them cross the ford, and then "

What followed may be learned from Murat's own confession found in an intercepted letter to his wife. " Never in my life," wrote the King of Naples, " was I in such wild danger." First a sharp fire of musketry saluted the advancing French; then the workmen and the populace sprang upon them " with maniac fury," and fought "like demons." The two pieces of cannon which Murat had with him, and which were loaded with grape-shot, eventually decided the contest, but not until a colonel of engineers and a large number of soldiers had fallen.

After the fray Michael saw Ivan, covered with dust and mortar, leaning against a wall which had just been struck by a shot. " Are you hurt, Barrinka?" he asked.

"No," said Ivan, shaking the mortar from his clothes; "I am all right. And you too, I hope? We must not throw away our lives, Michael; there is too much still to be done. Come with me to the prison."

"Anywhere with you, Barrinka. See, though I could not use a gun, I have killed Nyemtzi." And Michael triumph antly displayed a short sabre dyed with blood.

" Where did you get that 1 ?" asked Ivan.

" Took it from one of themselves. That is French blood upon the blade," said Michael, with an air of intense satisfaction.

The Wertsch palace was directly in their way, and Ivan went in, saying, with a determined air, " I will hear no more excuses from the countess now. Go she must; her hour has come."

Her hour had come in a sense other and more solemn than Ivan meant. The waiting-woman Maria met him in the saloon, and told him with many tears that her mistress was dying. At the tidings that the French had actually entered holy Mos cow, so terrible was her agitation that she had broken a blood-

!50 THE MARTYR CITY.

vessel, and was now beyond the reach of human aid.* Ivan despatched a messenger for Pope Yefim the only priest he knew who had not left the city while he himself hastened to the side of the dying woman, to whom he thought his presence might be a comfort.

He was too late. The countess had sunk into a state of unconsciousness, and only faint occasional sighs showed that life lingered still. As he stood in the darkened room beside the motionless form, thoughts of death, at once more solemn and more true than any that had come to him before, stole into his heart. There was a sense of reality about this slow sinking of the powers of nature which he had not felt in any of the wild and stormy perils he had braved and was braving still. That living soul, that personal mind and will, but yesterday so pronounced and active, where was it 1 "Whi ther was it going 1 ? I van did not know. With him all the future was mist and fog" a land of darkness, as darkness itself." And for a moment his strong heart almost quailed as there swept over it those old yet ever new apprehensions and doubts, those

" Blank misgivings of a creature Moving about in worlds not realized."

But this mood passed as quickly as it came. He dared not linger; every moment was of importance now. With one sad look of farewell he went his way, and was soon absorbed in preparations for the great and terrible sacrifice which was approaching so quickly.

He did not forget to send a messenger to the dwelling of Petrovitch to learn the latest tidings of the heroic old man; and was told that he had left the house, with his grandson Feodor, on the first intimation of the approach of the French.

The first regiment of Frenchmen who advanced that day along the great Smolensko road to the Gate of Triumph could

• Her persistence in remaining in the city and her death are historical

THE MARTYR CITY. 151

have told Ivan something more. Just outside the gate, under a green and spreading oak-tree, sat a venerable old man, with hair and beard of silver whiteness ; while beside him stood a slight, tall stripling of some sixteen summers. The boy held a gun in his hand, and as the French advanced, he took deliberate aim at their leader, who was conspicuous on his stately horse, his plumed cap waving in the wind. In. a moment more the horse was riderless and the plumes were trailing in the dust.

This was the signal for a dozen Frenchmen with drawn sabres to spring at once upon the old man and the boy. "It is I whom you ought to kill," cried Petrovitch; " for it was I who armed him and bade him fire upon you." Feodor meanwhile took two pistols from his belt and discharged them against his .assailants; then drawing a poniard, he defended his aged grand father, until at last he fell overpowered by numbers and covered with wounds. Nor did the snow-white hairs of the patriarch save him from the same fate.

It is said that an hour afterwards Napoleon passed the spot attended by his staff. With a look of horror he turned away and drew his horse to the other side of the road, saying to those around him, " Such a venerable old man ! It was a cowardly murder."

Night fell over the doomed city, and a full moon illumined its fair minarets and domes with a robe of silver light. But to the French, as they entered, it seemed like the deserted camp of the Syrians " Behold, there was no man there, neither voice of man," except a few trembling servants, who led the conquerors into the abandoned dwellings of their lords, and showed them the rich furniture, the costly provisions, the rare wines which they had left behind them. In some cases even the unfinished embroidery of the ladies was found lying as it had fallen from their hands.

Yet the city had not surrendered to the enemy. No one brought the keys to Napoleon; no one entreated his mercy or

152 THE MARTYR CITY.

deprecated his vengeance. The strange silence touched even his haughty soul with surprise and misgiving. In all Moscow there remained not one person with whom he could communi cate, not one of sufficient importance to answer his inquiries or to receive and execute his commands. The only official he could find was the director of the Foundling Hospital, who had refused to desert his helpless little flock at the coming of the wolf.

The Bourse and the buildings around it were already wrapped in flames when the French entered the city ; but the immense extent of Moscow prevented anything like a general alarm, and the first four-and-twenty hours of the Occupation passed quietly away. On the following night, however a night much to be remembered in the annals of Russia, of Europe, and of freedom, that of the 15th of September the sad Russian host on its weary march, and the immense crowd of weeping fugitives that followed it, beheld a sight magnificent indeed but most terrible. A sheet of flame, fanned by a tempestuous wind, grew and spread until it wrapped the wide extent of the devoted city like a shroud of fire. The entire horizon was illuminated. Three quarters of a league away men could see to read by the lurid light. Nor did the dawn of day bring any respite to the horror. The sun turned sickening from the scene, its pale beams unable to contend with that fierce red glare. Another sun arose, and yet another; still the conflagration raged. It took six awful days and nights to consume that holocaust, the grandest the world has ever seen. But when at last the flames died slowly out, nine-tenths of the ancient capital of the Czar were laid in ashes,

CHAPTER XVI.

ALEXANDER.

Thou comest to me with a sword, and with a spear, and with a shield : but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts."

[MIDST the splendid environs of St. Petersburg, where Art has done all in her power to atone for the sparing hand with which Nature has strewn her bounties, there is a picturesque group of wooded islets embraced by the clear blue waters of the Neva, and con spicuous for the splendour of the " datcha," or country houses, which adorn them. One of these islets, called Kamenoi-Ostrov, or the stony island, contains an imperial residence, a castle sur rounded by gardens; and here, while Moscow was still in flames, arrived Colonel Michaud, the eminent Sardinian engineer, with a sad and heavy heart.*

He had travelled with the speed and almost in the style of a courier. When he alighted from his unpretending vehicle at the castle gate, he saw that the place had a deserted look ; and only a single Cossack, who happened to be on duty as sentinel, perceived his approach. Although the Emperor was still here, even his very guards had been despatched to the seat of war. Michaud briefly gave his name, and asked for an audience.

He was introduced at once into the cabinet of the Czar. Alexander looked worn and anxious ; young as he was, a few

• The conversation which follows is given as it was recorded by Michaud himself.

All the details in this chapter are historical, without any admixture of fiction.

154 ALEXANDER.

threads of silver showed themselves already In his chestnut hair. He saluted Michaud courteously ; but asked immediately, with a keen and searching look, " Do you not bring me sad tidings, colonel 1 "

" Very sad, sire; the evacuation of Moscow."

" Have they given up my ancient capital without a struggle?"

"Sire, the environs of Moscow offer no position in which we could hazard a battle with our inferior forces. The marshal* thought he did well in preserving your army, whose loss without saving Moscow would have been of the greatest consequence ; and which, by the reinforcements your Majesty has just pro cured, and which I met everywhere along my road, will soon resume the offensive, and make the French repent of invading Russia."

" Has the enemy actually entered the city ? "

" Yes, sire. At this moment Moscow is in ashes. I left it in flames." Here Michaud stopped abruptly, for the agony depicted on the Emperor's face, " the expression of his eyes," completely unmanned him, he could say no more.

It was Alexander who, after a few bitter moments, and main taining his self-control with a strong effort, resumed the conver sation.

"I see that God requires from us great sacrifices. I am ready to submit to his will. But, Michaud, tell me frankly, what of the army ? What do my soldiers say upon seeing my ancient capital abandoned without a struggle 1 Must not this have exercised a most disastrous influence upon the spirit of the troops ? "

"Sire, may I speak to you quite frankly, and as a loyal soldier?"

" Colonel, I have always required this frankness ; now I entreat of you to use it. Hide nothing from me: I desire absolutely to know the truth."

• General Kutusov.

ALEXANDER. 155

" Sire, I left all the army, from the generals to the meanest soldier, possessed with one overpowering and terrible fear

" How ? Whence these fears ? Are my Russians overcome by the first misfortune?" the Czar interrupted with emotion which even he could not restrain, and which, as Michaud says, "altered for a moment the noble calm of his fine features."

" Never, sire ! " resumed the colonel. " Their one fear is that your Majesty, out of kindness of heart, may be persuaded to make peace. They are burning to fight for you, and to prove their devotion by the sacrifice of their lives."

At these heroic words the light flashed once more across the clouded face of Alexander. " You reassure me, colonel," he said. " Well then, return to the army. Say to our brave men, say to all my subjects wherever you meet them, that if I had not a soldier left, I should put myself at the head of my dear nobles, of my faithful peasants, and expend to the uttermost the resources of my empire. They are greater than my enemies think. But if it be the will of God that my dynasty shall cease to reign upon the throne of my ancestors, then after having done all else that man can do I will let my beard grow to this," said Alexander, placing his hand upon his breast, " and I will eat potatoes like the lowest of my mujiks, rather than sign the humiliation of my country and of my dear people, whose sacrifices for my sake I appreciate." Here his voice failed : it was easier to speak of his own ruin than of the love of his sub jects. Greatly moved, he turned away from Michaud, and walked to the other end of the cabinet. But he came back almost immediately with long and rapid strides, and a face that had quickly changed from a deadly pallor to a fiery flush. Press ing his hand on the arm of the officer, he said, "Colonel Michaud, do not forget my words ; perhaps one day we shall remember them with pleasure. Napoleon or I I or Napoleon we can no longer reign together. I know him now; he shall never deceive me again."

156 ALEXANDER.

"Sire," cried the colonel joyfully, "your Majesty signs in this moment the glory of the nation and the deliverance of Europe."

His words were true with this qualification, that the glory of Russia and the deliverance of Europe were not the work of a moment, but of long months of patient, heroic resolution. Alexander had not wished for war perhaps, indeed, he had striven too long to avert it. Personally, in his earlier years, he admired Napoleon : the fact is undeniable, though it has been the subject of much exaggeration. From the dawn of manhood his favourite dream had been of a universal and durable peace, and he imagined he saw in the victories of Napoleon so many steps to its attainment. What are now called " Les idees Napo- leoniques," seem to have captivated for a season this young, ardent, somewhat visionary mind. But the veil once torn from his eyes by the insatiable ambition and the repeated perfi dies of the French usurper, thenceforward it was between them war to the death.

When Napoleon suddenly poured his enormous hosts across the Niemen, Alexander at once and emphatically announced his resolution, "I will not sheathe the sword while a single foreigner remains in arms upon the soil of Russia." At that moment the eyes of all Europe were upon him, and neither friend nor foe believed it possible that he could make good his word.

" Napoleon," said an astute observer, " thought he could terrify the Emperor of Russia by his menaces without drawing a sword; he thought he could make him lose his head by beginning the war suddenly in the midst of negotiations; he thought he could end that war by a single battle. But nothing happened that he thought."* In a letter written by him about this time, which was intercepted and brought to his rival, were

• De Maistre. Sir Robert Wilson, an Englishman, was of great use in this crisis aa

the friend and counsellor of Alexander.

ALEXANDER, 157

these words : " Alexander is a child. I will make him weep tears of blood." Alexander upon reading it remarked : " He said to me himself that in war determination always carries the day. We shall see who has the most determination, he or I."

But the determination of the strongest heart might well have quailed before the perils that beset the Czar in this solemn crisis of his own and his people's history. Six hundred and fifty thousand fighting men had crossed his border under a leader hitherto invincible, whose name was the terror of the civilized world. No man felt more keenly than Alexander his own inferiority to Napoleon as a general. The bitter memory of Austerlitz, his " unfortunate day," never left him. Nor had he any commander whose surpassing merit might inspire the army with confidence. The excellent Barclay cle Tolly had un fortunately become so unpopular both with the army and the nation, that Alexander, though with much regret, was obliged to remove him. Of his successor, the aged Kutusov, he had no very high opinion; but when everything depended upon the cordial support of his people, he was in a manner obliged to consult their wishes.

Meanwhile the French were marching onwards into the very heart of the country. The retreat of the Russians before them was no doubt a master-stroke of policy, but to the sovereign of Russia it was unutterably painful. From the thought of the suf- erings of his people, the murders, the plundering, the desola tion, his sensitive heart recoiled in horror. Nearer and nearer came the fiery deluge, leaving a track of ruin behind it. Con sternation seized his counsellors, his court, his very family. The foreign envoys at St. Petersburg packed up their effects in readi ness for an immediate flight. Even the Grand Duke Constan- tine made the hard task of the brother he idolized harder still by assuring every one that the French would inevitably conquer, it was hopeless to resist them. He called for peace, it was said, "as men call for water in a conflagration."

158 ALEXANDER.

To aggravate and crown all this misery, dejection, and terror, came the overwhelming tidings of the destruction of Moscow. In some ways it was a calamity more bitter, more crushing than that of St. Petersburg would have been. While the one was the official capital, the other was the real heart of the old Musco vite empire. Here the Czars were baptized, were crowned, were buried ; here were heaped all the treasures, were concentrated all the glories of their past. It was their holy city, their Jeru salem. No one knew as yet that its destruction had been a signal act of patriotism and self-sacrifice ; almost all the world, including the Czar himself, believed that the French had con summated their atrocities by setting fire to the city. Nor could he or others foresee the future, or discern at once amidst the dust and smoke of the conflict that the victory, in truth, was won. The final hour of Napoleon's triumph had struck, but the toll of fate was audible neither to friend nor foe ; and to Alexander and to Russia the day that saw the fall of Moscow seemed the darkest that had ever dawned upon them.

In the heart of Alexander it left " a profound and bitter sor row," which neither time, nor victory, nor glory could ever wholly obliterate. Long afterwards, when conquered France offered the conqueror pecuniary compensation, he answered with proud sadness, " Gold can never give me Moscow back again." Yet not for one moment did his courage fail or his determination falter. His wife implored him with tears to make peace, or to allow her to leave the empire. His mother, less submissive, actually prepared to go. He gently dissuaded her from a course so injurious to the interests of the country, and at last, when she refused to listen, he said firmly, " I have entreated you as a son ; I now command you as your sovereign. You shall not go." Amidst the universal panic he alone stood firm. Naturally susceptible, tender-hearted, perhaps even irres olute, the hour of trial found him undaunted as the fiercest of his barbarian ancestors. Like the delicate mainspring of some

ALEXANDER. 159

complicated machine which sustains a pressure that would shatter a bar of iron, so this fine sensitive nature assumed the best attributes of strength, and bore up triumphantly against a world in arms.

Amongst the first words which he addressed to his people after the fall of Moscow were these : " An oppressed world looks to us for encouragement, and can we shrink from the honourable mission 1 Let us kiss the hand that selected us to act as the leader of nations in the struggle for independence, and contend with courage and constancy to obtain a durable peace, not only for ourselves, but for those unhappy countries forced by the tyrant to fight in his quarrel : it is glorious, it is worthy of a great nation, to render good for ill." The proclama tion ends with a prayer : " Almighty God, is the cause for which we are battling not just ? Cast an eye of compassion on our holy Church. Preserve to this people its courage and con stancy. Suffer it to triumph over its adversary and thine. May it be in thy hand the instrument of his destruction; and in delivering itself, redeem the independence of nations and of kings."

Here we recognize the secret of Alexander's strength. He knew himself in the hands of God ; he and his people were instruments to do his will.

Some years later he said to a friend, " The conflagration of Moscow illumined my soul. " It certainly marked a crisis in his spiritual history ; but with souls the sudden illumination of a tropical sunrise is the rare exception, while light " increasing more and more unto the perfect day " is the ordinary rule. From Alexander's earliest years it had seemed as if God was drawing his heart towards himself. While yet a little child he would rise from his bed at night, and kneel unbidden to ask forgive ness for some childish fault. Then and throughout his life his tenderness of heart was remarkable. He "never willingly hurt any living thing ', " and so beautiful was the influence he exer-

160 ALEXANDER.

cised over his wayward brother Constantine, that a plan for having the latter brought up amongst Greeks as their future sovereign was abandoned, because it was wisely concluded that no political advantage could counterbalance the loss of Alex* ander's example and companionship.

Unfortunately, the Empress Catherine had intrusted the educa tion of her favourite grandson to freethinkers like herself, of the school of Voltaire and Diderot. He was early taught to look upon all forms of religion as antiquated superstitions, use ful, perhaps, for the vulgar, but beneath the notice of the wise. His natural benevolence was not discouraged, but justice and humanity were inculcated to the utter exclusion of piety.

With such an education, and while yet a boy, he was launched upon the troubled sea of one of the most dissolute, frivolous, and vicious courts in Europe. He did not wholly escape con tamination, but all the dreams of his youth were noble and lofty. To be the benefactor of his kind, to free the oppressed such were the visions he nursed in solitude or breathed into the car of a sympathizing friend during the long walks in which he delighted. The voice of God was never quite silent in his heart. He himself says that with regard to religion, " things were at the court of St. Petersburg very much as everywhere else many words, but little meaning ; many outward practices, but the holy essence of Christianity was hidden from our eyes. I felt the void in my soul, and a vague presentiment accompanied me everywhere. I went I came I sought to distract my thoughts."

The void within of which he spoke was deepened by sorrow. During the reign of his father, who disliked and dreaded him as a rival, his position was both difficult and painful. Personally, he was submissive and patient; but he was brave in interceding for the oppressed, and in using for the good of others any measure of authority that was allowed him. After four years,

ALEXANDER. 161

the tragedy which terminated the reign of the unfortunate Paul placed the imperial crown upon the head of Alexander, but cast a shadow over his life which never wholly passed away. To his latest hour, in every period of sorrow or despondency, " the agony returned." It was not exactly remorse, for he was guiltless ; but it was poignant grief and horror. It deepened that inherited tendency to morbid gloom and depression which perhaps, even amidst the happiest surroundings, might have developed as years went by.

In one of these sorrowful moods he confessed his dejection to an intimate friend, hinting that he envied him his unfailing cheerfulness. Prince Galitzin told him in reply that he had found in the Bible the source of true comfort and happiness. The story was a remarkable one. Early in his reign Alexander nominated Galitzin "Minister of Public Worship." "But I know nothing about religion," objected the Prince,~who, like his master, had been educated in an atmosphere of French infidelity. " That is a point in your favour," replied the philosophic Czar. " It will secure your impartiality. You have only to hold the balance even, and do justice to every one." But Galitzin, not quite satisfied, asked Archbishop Plato to recommend him some book which would give him a knowledge of religion. The venerable metropolitan advised him to read the Bible ; which he did, at first very reluctantly, afterwards with ever deepening interest and profit.

Alexander determined to follow the example of his friend, and next day surprised the Empress Elizabeth by asking her to lend him a Bible. She gave him a French copy of the Sacred Word De Sacy's translation, printed at Cologne and it became thenceforward his inseparable companion. For a long time he was haunted by sceptical doubts ; but he persevered in his study, and the shadows that obscured his soul gradually and slowly passed away.

Notwithstanding the general unbelief and indifference of the

(696) 11

162 ALEXANDER.

higher classes, there were at that time in the Russian court a few " devout and honourable women," who were earnestly seek ing light from above. To these the Czar was an object of interest, as " not far from the kingdom of heaven." When the French war was impending, and the burden of anxiety from which fe\v hearts were free was known to weigh most heavily upon his, a message, which proved to be indeed from God, came to him through one of them. It was the night before he started for Vihm, and, according to his usual custom, he was spending it in transacting business, content to find what sleep he could in his open carriage while dashing at headlong speed through the country. As he was diligently arranging his papers, a lady entered his cabinet unannounced, and looking up in great surprise he recognized the wife of his Grand Marshal, the Countess Tolstoi. She apologized 'for her un seasonable visit, and put a paper into his hand, which she entreated him to read, saying he would find true comfort there. His unfailing courtesy led him to accept it and thank her ; and she withdrew. He put the paper in his pocket, resumed his occupation, and thought no more of it until, after two days and nights of rapid travel, he changed his clothes for the first time. Upon removing his coat he found it, and saw that it was a copy of the ninety-first psalm. He lay down ; but, worn out with fatigue, was unable to sleep, so he called his chaplain and re quested him to read to him. Strangely enough, the portion which the priest selected was that very psalm, and the Czar was greatly impressed by the coincidence.* The glorious words of promise, so exactly suited to his need, were received with simple faith. From that day forward he said of the Lord, " He is my refuge and my fortress : my God ; in him will T trust."

His study of the Divine Word became more earnest and

• Another story is told, connecting Alexander's first acquaintance with the ninety-

first psalm with Prince Galitzin, but that given above seems on the whole to be preferable.

ALEXANDER. 163

systematic : from this period until the end of his life he read three chapters daily, even under the most difficult circumstances, " when the cannon were thundering about his tent. " He prayed constantly, " using no form," as he said himself, " but the words which God's Spirit taught him, according to his needs." And he sought to conform his conduct to the will of God, so far as he understood it.

This was not done without a struggle. His life had not been blameless, and much once dear had to be surrendered. But henceforward his court became a model of purity ; and more over his fear of God showed itself in an increase of gentleness towards man. He made great efforts Co control his naturally passionate temper; and if, after this period, he was betrayed into a hasty expression, he would frankly apologize, not only to a member of his suite, but even to the humblest of his attendants.

He had always known that his enormous power was in trusted to him for the good of others, not for his own happiness or glory. " Fifty millions of men are worth more than one man," had been an axiom with him from the beginning of his reign. But now he knew himself the steward of God, respon sible to him for its exercise. " You should be in my place," he said to a friend, " to understand what is the responsibility of a sovereign, and what I feel when I reflect that one day I must render an account of the life of every one of my soldiers."

Amongst the commands of Christ which impressed him most deeply were these : " Love your enemies : do good to them that hate you." He learned to forgive personal injuries, " which in other reigns would have drawn down thunder." One instance amongst many may be given. Admiral Tchichagof, one of his ministers, quarrelled with his colleagues, and at length with drew to Paris, where he said many bitter and injurious things about the Czar, which were all reported to him, and probably

164 ALEXANDER.

exaggerated. Just before the outbreak of the war, Tchichagof s wife died, and, in accordance with her last request, he brought her body to St. Petersburg for interment. He wrote to the Czar to inform him of his return and its reason ; and Alexander replied by an autograph letter, which Tchichagof showed in confidence to his friend De Maistre. " What a letter ! " wrote the Sardinian ambassador to his sovereign. " The most tender and most delicate friend could not have written otherwise." And he said to Tchichagof, as he handed back the precious paper, " You ought to die for the prince who wrote you that letter. " An interview followed, in which the reconciliation was cemented. " I know what you have said of me," said Alex ander, " but I attribute all to a good motive." Need it be added that henceforward Tchichagof served him faithfully 1

But what of the French of Napoleon ? What of his deso lated country, his murdered subjects, his fair and favourite city laid in ashes ? Could these things be forgiven 1 Or is it true, as many would tell us, that the precepts of Christ are admir ably suited for women and children, perhaps, at the utmost, for men in their private relations each with the other, but a nullity or a failure when applied to larger scenes and interests, utterly ineffectual to guide and control the statesman in his cabinet or the monarch on his throne ? We shall see how far the story of Alexander answers this question.

For two or three years he might truly have been said to " abide under the shadow of the Almighty," although not as yet did he " dwell in the secret place of the most High." He trusted in God, he sought to obey Christ, long before he knew him as the Saviour upon whom his sins were laid. Again, to use his own words, "I did not arrive there in a moment. Believe me, the path by which I was conducted led me across many a conflict, many a doubt."

The light that shone within him was like the slow dawn of a Northern day

ALEXANDER 165

" An Arctic day that will not see A sunset till its summer's gone."

Those were indeed the beams of the sun which flooded the whole horizon, gladdening the heart of every living thing ; but the sun itself was still unseen, because as yet unrisen. Its light was there ; its glory was yet to come.

CHAPTER XVil.

IN THE CAMP.

Our souls are parched with agonizing thirst,

Which must be quenched though death were in the draught :

We must have vengeance."

[NE evening towards the end of October, and just when the first snow of the year was beginning to fall, Ivan Pojarsky and Michael Ivanovitch entered the head-quarters of the Russian army at Tarovtino. Their fleet Arabian horses were flecked with foam, for they had traversed the ten leagues which divided them from Moscow without once drawing rein. As they dashed along, they shouted to all whom they passed, " Napoleon has quitted Moscow ! " and answering " houras " and cries of joy cheered them on their way.

" Bring us at once to Count Rostopchine," said Ivan to the soldiers who crowded around them. " He is here, is he not 1 "

" He is here, gospodin ; but the Marshal

" With all due respect to the dignity of his Highness the General-in-Chief, our business is with the Count, brothers," returned Ivan.

He was accordingly conducted to the presence of Rostop- chine, who, after a lengthened interview, dismissed him to seek rest and refreshment, desiring him to return early in the morning.

Rostopchine's aide-de-camp offered his hospitality, and Ivan

IN THE CAMP. 167

thanked him courteously, but inquired whether Captain Adrian Wertsch, of the Moscow militia, was not then in the camp. The aide-de-camp answered in the affirmative, and agreed to bring Ivan to his tent, though very reluctantly ; for he was sorry to lose the honour and pleasure of entertaining one who could give him so many interesting details about the French occupa tion of Moscow.

Adrian was standing outside his tent when Ivan approached, and he greeted him with joyful astonishment, as one risen from the dead.

" I did not think to see your face again," he said.

" Life is still left me," returned Ivan in a broken voice ; for, after so many horrors, the sight of a familiar face proved at the moment almost more than he could bear.

" Come in," said Adrian, drawing his arm affectionately within his own. " A good draught of champagne is what you want now."

" Will you tell your orderly to take care of my friend Michael Ivanovitch ? He has behaved like a hero. "

" Certainly."

Adrian gave a few rapid directions, then led Ivan into his tent, and before he would listen to a word, poured for him a sparkling goblet of the beverage which he considered a panacea for all the ills, mental and bodily, of the noble, as vodka was for those of the mujik.

Ivan needed the stimulant, for he was worn out with fatigue and excitement. He said, as he finished the draught, "You got my letter, Adrian ! "

" Yes. My poor mother ! "

" No one was to blame. We did all we could, but nothing would induce her to leave the old home ; and when the French entered Moscow, the shock was more than she could bear. We buried her honourably, by the side of her husband, in the Church of St. Eustacius. Pope Yefim performed the funeral services,"

138 IN THE CAMP.

" That was nobly done, Ivan, and I thank you most heartily. By the way, your friend Pope Yefim has made himself famous. "

" How 1 By remaining in the city ? "

" By daring to celebrate, with a solemn service, the Czar's coronation day, under the very beard of Napoleon.* We have all heard of it,"

" He never supposed lie was doing anything extraordinary. The Prior of the Dominican Monastery, whom he consulted, agreed that he was right. I can tell you, Adrian, that good man himself was by 110 means in love with his countrymen. Though his religion is their own, and he kept his church open the whole time of the Occupation, scarcely a Frenchman darkened its doors, except a few officers of noble birth belong ing to the old regime. As a rule, the soldiers of Napoleon are infidels. Sometimes, out of curiosity, they would stray into our churches. On the coronation clay, a poor young- fellow, a mere lad, stole into Pope Yefim's church, and was near paying dearly for his rashness ; for a party of mujiks set upon him after the service, taking him for a spy. They might have killed him ; but strangest chance of all my friend Michael, whose thoughts by day and dreams by night are only of slaying Nyemtzi, interposed to save this one, saying he knew him, and had received a kindness at his hands. I spoke to the youth, and he told me he had been religiously brought up, and said the very sound of a church-bell, and the sight of men kneeling in prayer, seemed to do him good, though he could not understand a word of the service."

" A queer taste," said Adrian, shrugging his shoulders. Then to his orderly, who had just entered the tent, " Bring us the best supper you can get, and more champagne."

" Adrian," asked Ivan, " where is Leon?"

Adrian's face assumed a sorrowful expression. " Gone to

• A fact.

IN THE CAMP. 169

our mother," he answered. " He was wounded at Borodino, though not severely. He insisted upon going out again, and met his death in a skirmish ten days ago."

Ivan felt and showed real sorrow. Of the two companions of his youth, Leon had been his favourite, and he could not hear unmoved the tidings of his death. " Death death every where," he murmured sadly.

" Come, my friend," said Adrian kindly, " you must not give way. It is only the fate of war. You have been so long in that horrible den of a city that your nerves are shattered. Take some more wine."

" That horrible den ! " Ivan repeated. " A lair of wild beasts ! Such it has been indeed. The count, who is as hard as this" laying his hand upon Adrian's iron camp-bedstead, " has been asking me for reports and descriptions. I cannot describe, I can scarcely even report facts. Picture to yourself nine-tenths of the town in ashes or in charred blackened ruins with thousands of the wretched inhabitants, who could not, or did not, make good their escape, wandering about homeless and starving, filling the air with their lamen tations. Then think of the French, like a host of demons turned loose upon their prey, ransacking the smoking ruins in search of plunder. I have seen the gold-laced uniform of the general and the woollen jacket of the private side by side, contending for the spoils of our desolated homes ; while all the dangerous classes, all the thieves and ruffians who are to be found amongst the scum of the populace in every great city, joined them in the horrible work and added to the confusion and misery."

" Did not Napoleon shoot or hang a great number of our people?"

" If you call three hundred a great number ; so many at least he executed as incendiaries and indeed most of them were taken in the act. They died in silence, without asking

170 IN THE CAMP

for mercy, and without accusing any one as having instigated them to the deed."

" How did you escape?" asked Adrian.

" There was little difficulty in escaping. It was easy enough to hide in the ruins or in the cellars, many of which had been left well stocked with provisions when the city was abandoned. But have you heard about our wounded men 1 ?" he asked, with a return of animation, and even of something like cheerfulness.

" No ; I have heard nothing."

" The count was obliged to leave two thousand men, who were too desperately wounded to bear removal, concealed in the cellars of the city. Here they managed to drag on their lives, though in a state of extreme wretchedness. We found them out, and used to bring them food and other comforts. That work was even more hazardous than setting the city on fire ; for discovery would have cost, not our lives alone, but theirs. Napoleon's last act before he left the city was to order ten sick men, found in a cellar, to be shot."

" Wretch !" cried Adrian, clenching his hand.

" The half has not been told you, or you would find no name to call him by," returned Ivan fiercely. " He has defiled our holiest sanctuaries ; he has torn open our imperial tombs ; he has stabled his horses in the church where our Czar was crowned ; he has carried everything away upon which he could lay his sacrilegious hands, even to the cross upon the tower of Ivan Veliki, and the Tartar banners which hung as trophies in the Arsenal. Well may Count Rostopchine curse him, as only he knows how to curse. But those wounded we contrived somehow to keep them alive; and I think a goodly number may be saved yet. I asked the count not to lose an hour in sending them succour."

" I hope he has had the grace to do justice to your courage and your exertions."

" He has condescended to approve my conduct," said Ivan

IN THE CAMP. 171

with modest satisfaction. " And now he offers me three things, by way of recompense, as he is pleased to say. If I choose to return with him to the city, he will give me an appointment in the civil service, with the rank of titular coun sellor, which, as you know, answers to that of senior captain in the army."*

" Surely you will not do that ! You could not sheathe your sword now" Adrian exclaimed.

" So much I said to the count ; and he answered that, if I pleased, he would request the marshal to put me on his staff."

" Capital ! What more could you desire ?"

" He made another proposal to send me to the Czar with the report of what I had seen and done."

" And which did you accept?"

" The last," said Ivan. At that moment a sound, dull, pro longed, and loud, like distant thunder, smote upon their ears. Again it came, and yet again, making the air tremble around them and the earth shake beneath their feet. " What is that?" cried Ivan.

" Not musketry or cannon," said Adrian, with a look of alarm and perplexity. " We are tolerably familiar with those sounds. This is different."

" More like an explosion if so, a terrible one. Perhaps a great powder magazine. But where?" mused Ivan.

Adrian hurried out in search of information, and soon re turned to tell his friend that the noise evidently came from the direction of Moscow. More than that no one knew.

Morning brought the explanation. Ivan was still enjoying the profound slumber of youth and weariness, when a brother officer of Adrian's rushed into the tent. " The Kremlin is de stroyed !" he cried. " That demon Napoleon had it undermined before he left, and last night it was blown into fragments !"

• The ninth of the fourteen official Tchinns, or ranks, recognized by the Russian

Government. Each rank in the army has a corresponding grade and title in the civil service.

172 IN THE CAMP.

" The Kremlin 1 ? Impossible !" cried Adrian, who was dress ing for parade.

" Too possible, and too true," said his informant. " A mes senger from the city has just arrived to bring the tidings to the marshal and the count."

Meanwhile Ivan, who had been suddenly awakened, started up in horror, exclaiming, " The Czar ! oh, what will it be to him ?"

"Blown into fragments, did you say 1 ?" returned Adrian. " Utterly impossible ! The masonry is as solid as the rocks beneath our feet, and the walls of the arsenal are three yards in thickness."

" Those walls are now level with the ground," said the officer ; " and the palace the Czar's ancient palace is in ruins."

Ivan uttered a bitter cry, and Adrian asked breathlessly, "What of the churches?"

" One of them, I have not heard which, is thrown down. The mines were fired by slow-consuming fusees ; and our men, who arrived just before the messenger left, were beginning a perilous search for powder, to prevent further mischief, if they could."

" But," said Ivan, who had risen now, " but there must be a mistake somewhere ; for the French kept their own sick and wounded in the Kremlin, and I happen to know that those unfit to be moved were still there when I left the city. That Napoleon could have exposed them to a horrible death is simply inconceivable. "

"Yet too true," the officer answered. "He has .sacrificed his own helpless followers to his revenge and hatred. For this barbarous deed can have had no other motive. There was nothing to be gained by it."

Adrian laid his hand upon Ivan's shoulder. " Do not go to St Petersburg," he said. " Stay with us, and fight. We will pay this Napoleon double for all his atrocities."

IN THE CAMP. 173

" I wish his neck were there" said Adrian's comrade, grind ing the earth with his strong heel. " But I would not kill him," he added, after a pause. " No. I would drag him in chains to the feet of the Czar, and let him kill him with his own hand."

" I think," said Ivan slowly and with deliberation, " I think every Russian, from the Czar himself down to the lowest mujik, should swear a solemn oath not to sheathe the sword until we have taken such vengeance upon Napoleon and his Frenchmen as the world has never yet seen."

" So be it," said Michael, who came in while he was speak ing. " I, a mujik, will be the first to swear. Barrinka, what is the name of Napoleon's great city, where he has his palace and all his treasures ? Suppose the Czar were to make a blaze of that some day ! It may be. God is just !"

CHAPTER XVIII.

TWO IMPORTANT INTERVIEWS.

" Nous verrons ce qui reussira le mieux, de se faire aimer ou de se faire craindre."

Words of the Emperor Alexander.

| HEN Ivan waited upon Count Rostopchine that morning, he found his excellency in a very bad humour. The destruction of the Kremlin was perhaps enough to account for this ; but there may have been in addition an altercation with Marshal Kutusov not a very rare occurrence, for between the general-in-chief of the army and the governor of Moscow there was no friendship. Ivan found the count surrounded by the members of his suite, to whom he was giving directions in preparation for an immedi ate return to the city.

" Do you come with us, Ivan Ivanovitch ? " he asked abruptly, and of course in Russian, the only language he would tolerate in his presence, although he himself spoke and wrote French with elegance and precision.

Ivan saluted him with due respect, but answered in the negative.

" Ah ! then I shall have the trouble of speaking to the marshal about you," returned the count, with an air of annoy ance, at which Ivan was scarcely surprised, for Rostopchine's manner on the preceding evening had made him fully aware that he desired to retain him in his own service. So he answered deferentially, " Instead of imposing that trouble upon

TWO IMPORTANT INTERVIEWS. 175

your excellency, I shall avail myself of the third proposal you did me the honour to make, and very humbly entreat of you to intrust me with despatches for his Imperial Majesty."

Ivan was utterly amazed at the count's reception of this re quest. " Then you are as great a fool as I took you for the first day I saw your face. And," added Rostopchine, with one of his resounding Russian oaths, "you could not possibly be a greater!"

Such an address from such a personage, and in the presence of a score of witnesses, might well have disconcerted an older man than Ivan, especially as he could not in the least imagine the cause of it. But to every one's astonishment he stood his ground, and answered with the utmost coolness and self-posses sion, " Your excellency's opinion may be correct, but it must have some better foundation than my choosing to embrace an offer which you yourself condescended to make to me last night."

" He sees no difference between last night and this morning," remarked Rostopchine, turning to his officers, but speaking in a voice quite loud enough for Ivan to hear. " He is in a mighty hurry to go and tell the Czar that the Kremlin is de stroyed." Then addressing Ivan directly " I understand you perfectly, young gentleman : you prefer the air of a court to that of a camp, and had rather dangle your feet in the Czar's ante-chamber than use your hands fighting the French."

If Ivan had not just been performing most hazardous ser vices with signal intrepidity, he might have been angry. But he knew that no one present doubted his courage for an instant, Rostopchine perhaps least of all. So he only bowed, and answered with extreme sang-froid, " That being the case, when shall I have the honour of waiting upon your excellency to receive your commands for St. Petersburg?"

" I will send them to you in half-an-hour ; you need not show your face here again."*

• Any one who has read the letters and proclamations of Count Rostopchine, will

be aware that the violence of language attributed to him is very far from being exaggerated.

178 TWO IMPORTANT INTERVIEWS.

Ivan returned to the tent of his friend with, strange to say, a more cheerful air than when he left it. He seemed to be rather exhilarated than otherwise by his encounter. "Every one knows the count's temper," he said, after detailing the ad venture. " I was not going to lose the reward of all I have passed through during the last six weeks for a few rough words. Only for the hope of seeing the face of my Czar, and telling him I tried to serve him faithfully, I should once and again have lain down to die."

" It is well known," answered Adrian, " that Count Rostop- chine does not love the Czar but he loves Russia." Then, to Ivan's surprise, Adrian told him that he himself hoped to be the companion of his rapid journey to St. Petersburg. His mother's death had left the pecuniary affairs of the Wertsch family in confusion, and of course the intervention of " govern ment " \vas necessary for their arrangement. Amongst other matters, the term of years for which one of their estates hatj been granted by the crown was now expired, and a new grant would have to be solicited. While Ivan was engaged with the count, Adrian lid asked for and obtained a short leave of ab sence, that he might take advantage of his friend's telega ; for Ivan, as one travelling upon public business, would be au thorized to require, at every post-house, the swiftest horses that could be obtained.

This explanation had not long been finished, when a fine young man, the son of Rostopchine, entered the tent. He brought Ivan his father's letter to the Czar, and the other documents necessary for his journey. Then he offered him a supply of money, which Ivan, under the circumstances, was glad to be able to decline the contents of a purse of ducats, found accidentally in one of the abandoned palaces of Moscow, sufficing for his present needs. Lastly, young Rostopchine lingered to say, " My father desires me to tell you that he has mentioned you to the Czar in very hand-

TWO IMPORTANT INTERVIEWS. 177

some terms, though not more so than you have fully de served."

Ivan was touched by this magnanimity, which was quite in keeping with the character of the fiery and prejudiced but honest and generous old Muscovite. He answered gratefully : " I beg of you to present my very humble thanks to his ex cellency, and to assure him I shall never forget the trust he has reposed in me."

Ivan, Adrian, and Michael were soon seated in a rough, light telega and dashing across the country, under the guidance of a practised driver, at a speed that almost anticipated the age of railways. Until they passed beyond the theatre of war, they had a guard of flying Cossacks ; after that, they were left to their own resources. They travelled day and night Ivan anxious and rather melancholy, Adrian enlivening their way with his conversation. As they were drawing near their journey's end, he took occasion, from some remark of Ivan's, to explain to him the views of General Kutusov with regard to the war. " Russia, says the marshal, is making herself the champion and the martyr of Europe 4 ; and scanty thanks will Europe give her for the same when once the com mon danger is over. These English, Germans, and Swedes are glad enough to see us shedding our best blood to overthrow the despotism of Napoleon and secure the general freedom; but when the work is done, which of them will have the grace to be grateful to us ? Rather will they envy us the very glory we acquired in fighting their battles. Hence the marshal would not be at all averse to an honourable peace, if such could be had; and they say the Czar has had to interfere more than once to prevent his opening negotiations with the enemy "

" Of which the enemy would be only too glad," said Ivan. " Our friend Yakovlef, who, as you are aware, was detained in Moscow by the illness of his uncle, was taken before Napoleon, who cajoled and threatened him by turns to try and induce him

(696) 12

178 TWO IMPORTANT INTERVIEWS.

to bring a letter from him to the Czar. But young Yakovlef stood firm ; in fact, he told Napoleon he could not presume so far, if his life depended upon it. The Czar's refusal to re- ceive any proposition whatsoever from the French is absolute. But surely I see buildings in the distance, and smoke. Isvost- chik, can this be St. Petersburg?"

" Yes, gospodin, this is St. Petersburg." Then, being him self a native of Moscow, " But it is not Moscow the holy. Ah! Moscow the holy will be never more what she was in the old days."

None of the party, except the driver, had seen the new capital before. Adrian was full of natural curiosity and interest in all that met their view as they drove along ; while Michael was busy wondering whether the Nyemtzi would come here also, what sort of defence could be made if they did, and whether a great many of them would be killed. But Ivan grew silent and absorbed, and looked very pale. " I verily be lieve," said Adrian, turning to him suddenly, " that you are seeing the horrors of Moscow over again."

" No," reirurned Ivan " no. I was not thinking just then of what I have seen, but of what I am about to see."

" You are about to see the thing you have been longing for through all your toils and perils. Rouse yourself, man ! Of what are you afraid ?"

"Of the face of Majesty," said Ivan to himself; though to Adrian he only answered, with a rather nervous laugh, " First interviews are trying." Yet he knew that this was not, for him, a first interview with his sovereign. He felt beneath his doublet for the precious piece of gold, the cherished souvenir of his boyhood, as if to assure himself that the great Emperor, into whose presence he was going, was really the kind young boyar who had promised that he should serve him one day.

" Dear Barrinka," pleaded Michael, " do not forget to tell our lord the Czar that a mujik who has lost one hand desires

TWO IMPORTANT INTERVIEWS. 179

his leave to fight for him, and that he will serve him so faith fully. At the camp," he added, " they laughed at me, and told me I would never make a soldier. But the Czar will listen to you."

Ivan smiled doubtfully. In his heart he wished that the poor mujik's childlike idea of his sovereign had been his own also. Then he saw Michael take out his beloved picture, and, fastening it before him on the telega, address to it his prayers for the success of his young lord's mission. " The saint and the Czar are equally real to him," thought Ivan, " and he would address either with equal reverence and equal confidence."

His reverie was interrupted by the voice of the isvostchik. " This is the square of the Admiralty, and there is the great Czar Peter," said he, as he pointed out the celebrated equestrian statue where the father of modern Russia perpetually climbs the rock and treads the serpent beneath his horse's hoofs.

They drove to an inn, where Ivan merely delayed to make those changes in his dress which etiquette imperatively de manded, and then, leaving his companions to await his return, took his despatches to the Winter Palace. There he was for tunate enough to find the Emperor, who had just returned from Kamenoi-Ostrov.

In less than two hours Ivan came back to the inn. Michael had gone out with the isvostchik, but Adrian was waiting for him, and met him with an air of some anxiety. " Is it well 1 ?" he asked briefly.

" Well 1 oh yes, very well," Ivan answered. He spoke in an abstracted voice, but there was a new light in his eyes, and his face was flushed and excited.

" I cannot make you out," said Adrian, looking at him with surprise and curiosity. " If it were possible, I should say that you look at once ten years older and ten years younger than you did two hours ago."

" Two hours ! It ought to be ten years, if all O Adrian !"

180 TWO IMPORTANT INTERVIEWS.

he broke out suddenly, and with uncontrollable emotion, "the half was not told me ! He is grand beautiful ! There is only one thing more I want now to die for him."

The sorrows of the last two months had done somewhat to deepen the slight nature of Adrian. He was no longer disposed to scoff at everything. " I guessed ' le s6duisant,' as Czernichef calls him, would fascinate you," he said. " But, now you have returned, I will own that I wished you better news to bring him than that of the destruction of the Kremlin. Evil tidings do not always insure their bearer a good reception."

" I think he was prepared," Ivan answered. " At all events he betrayed no emotion ; only saying very calmly, ' It is the will of God ! ' I think he grew pale, but even of that I cannot speak certainly, as at the beginning of our interview I scarcely dared to raise my eyes to his face. But all changed when he spoke of Moscow, and questioned me about the things I had witnessed there during the Occupation. I could see that much was new to him, and even startling, and that my account of the conflagration moved him deeply. Then all fear passed from me, save the fear of giving pain to him. His intense gaze seemed to draw the whole truth from my lips, even in spite of my will; but it was hard to tell of the burnings and plunder- ings, and of the starved, homeless, despairing people. Once or twice my voice dropped so low that he had to ask me to repeat my words; for you know he is somewhat deaf. But when I told him of the wounded men whom we found in the cellars and tried to keep alive, his face lighted up, and he thanked me yes, thanked me," Ivan repeated, raising his head proudly; though almost immediately he allowed it to sink again, while a vivid flush passed over his features.

" Tell me the rest," said Adrian eagerly.

Ivan struggled with some feeling which he would not, per haps could not express. " It is almost too sacred," he said at last. " But I will tell you ; only, never speak to me of it

TWO IMPORTANT INTERVIEWS. 181

again. Even now I look back upon what I said with amaze ment. Evidently Count Rostopchine has been generous, and has spoken highly of my services in his letter. His Majesty observed that heroism and fidelity appear to be hereditary in my family; and asked me whether I was not the representative of the great Prince Pojarsky, the deliverer of Moscow. I an swered, ' Sire, I am his descendant; I know not whether I am his representative.' He inquired my meaning, and thus it came to pass that I talked to him about my father."

"About your father!" Adrian repeated in great astonish ment. " You amaze me ! You and I have lived together for six years, and never have I heard you so much as name him."

"ISTo; never to any one around me scarcely even to dear old Petrovitch. Yet to my sovereign, in one hour, the whole secret of my life flashed out, I know not how. I told all; how ever since I heard the story of my birth in early boyhood, I dreamed of that exiled father, dwelling forlorn and solitary in the frozen desert of Siberia; how I longed to seek him out and comfort him, and even dared to cherish the hope that one day I might win his pardon and restore him to his home. But, even as I spoke thus, a sudden overwhelming sense of the presence in which I stood swept over me. I was confounded, struck dumb, paralyzed with the sense of my own boldness. At last I stammered, by way of excuse, ' I implore of your Majesty to pardon me; you can understand how the sad fate of a father must shadow the life of a son !' "

Adrian uttered a groan of dismay. " Most luckless of men !" he cried. " Never in all your days did you make a blunder until that moment. My friend Ivan, it is clear you are no courtier; you may as well give up the game at once and come back to the camp with me."

" Why so ?" asked Ivan, terribly disconcerted. " What have I said amiss ? I don't understand "

" You don't understand ! Have you forgotten the fate of

182 TWO IMPORTANT INTERVIEWS.

the Czar Paul, and the unfortunate circumstances under which his majesty began his reign?"

" Utterly !" cried the horror-stricken Ivan, growing red and pale by turns. " Oh, what have I done 1 I never dreamed of any sorrow save my own." But after a long pause he resumed, with a look of returning composure: "I think he did not misunderstand me. It is true I saw a look of pain pass across his face, and I wondered at it for a moment. But his manner to me grew even gentler than before. He asked me what my father's supposed crime had been, and I told him frankly. Then he said, ' He shall be sought out and restored to you, if he be not already beyond our reach;' and he added, ' Beyond the reach of God he cannot be. Is it not so V I thought he waited for an answer, and I said, ' Yes, sire.' That was nearly the end. He told me I should receive a communication to-morrow through the Governor of St. Petersburg, General Soltikoff. Then I kissed his hand; and the gentleman-in-wait- ing, who accompanied me to the gate of the palace, asked for my address. Now, Adrian, you know as much as I can tell you. But," he added to himself, " not all ; the look, the tone, the manner, these are mine, mine only. These it is that give me the precious sense that I myself Ivan Ivanovitch Pojarsky am recognized, thought of, cared for."

CHAPTER XIX.

THE CHEVALIER GUARD.

" I sang the joyful paean clear, And, sitting, burnished without fear The brand, the buckler, and the spear

" Waiting to strive a happy strife, To war with falsehood to the knife, And not to lose the good of life."

| HE following morning brought Ivan a request, equiv alent of course to a command, that he would wait upon General Soltikoff. The Governor of St. Peters burg was a veteran approaching his eightieth year, and much and deservedly respected both by the sovereign and by the people. He received Ivan with remarkable courtesy. Although the ante-chamber was nearly full of persons awaiting an audience, and some of them were evidently of high rank, he sent for him almost immediately, and introduced him to his son and to others who were with him in the cabinet as a young nobleman who had acted a most heroic part during the Occupa tion of Moscow. Then addressing Ivan himself, he said, " The Emperor has commended you to my particular care. I am authorized to offer you at present a nomination for the Cheva lier Guard."

This was a great honour. In this splendid corps every pri vate was a noble of the highest birth and a Knight of Malta. Upon state occasions the members formed the monarch's guard of honour; they had the entree to the receptions at the palace;

184 THE CHEVALIER GUARD.

they dined at the imperial table. Their uniform, upon which fab ulous sums were expended, was a mantle of scarlet, with a mas sive silver cuirass bearing a large Maltese cross in relief; and the trappings of their priceless Arabian horses glittered with gold and jewels. Ivan, knowing all this, remained silent, his face a curi ous mixture of intense gratification and extreme embarrassment.

The kind old general beckoned him nearer and spoke in a lower tone. " I believe I understand your feelings, my young friend. You are thinking of the expenses the gentlemen of the Chevalier Guard usually take pride and pleasure in incurring of their armour, their horses, and so forth. Upon that ground you need hesitate no longer. His Imperial Majesty has re quested me to attend to all your requirements."

" His goodness overpowers me," said Ivan with emotion.

' But, my general, that is not my only nor my chief reason for

hesitation."

" What other can you possibly have ? My own grandson would give one of his eyes to be in your place."

" My general, Napoleon is near Moscow, and the Chevaliers of the Imperial Guard are, I believe, in St. Petersburg."

" So that is your objection ! But they have not been there always, and they are not going to remain there now."

" Is it not their duty and their honour to remain near the august person of their sovereign 1 and that

Soltikoff interrupted him with a smile. " Make your mind easy, my young friend. The red mantles of the Chevalier Guard will soon have the opportunity of acquiring a deeper dye. Already they have received their marching orders, and in a few days they start for the seat of war. There is barely time for your equipment and your investiture, if you wish to go with them."

" Wish it!" cried Ivan, with kindling eyes. " Whilst Napo leon who has spoiled Moscow and burned the Kremlin still his foot upon the soil of holy Russia, I could not support

THE CHEVALIER GUARD. 185

life without doing all that one man may do to drive him thence with infamy."

" My brave boy, I share your feelings. I could wish my self two score years younger to take my place amongst the combatants. Nor is mine," he added, " the only heart that throbs with the soldier's longing. But too gladly would he who is the highest of all stand this moment in the van of all, did not the bonds of a sacred duty detain him here."

" My general," said Ivan, " I am overcome with gratitude. The honour of serving my sovereign, in the position he has assigned me, is beyond my utmost dreams."

" Then that is settled. Here is my son, who is anxious to take possession of you. He will introduce you to the Com mandant of the Knights of Malta."

At a sign from his father, the younger Soltikoff came for ward, and cordially invited Ivan to his house. Seeing him hesitate for a moment before replying, he said, " Perhaps you have friends with you 1 ?" Ivan mentioned Adrian Wertsch, who was immediately included in the invitation. He then remembered Michael, and turning once more towards the gen eral, craved permission to add a few words. This being readily granted, he told the mujik's story; and the poor fellow's courage and devotion touched both the Soltikoffs.

" I think," said the general, " we might put him into the artillery. He could help to serve a gun. Send him to Colonel Tourgenieff; my son will give you the address."

The days that followed were "marked evermore with white" in the calendar of Ivan Pojarsky. His host introduced him to the best society of St. Petersburg; he became acquainted with the Galitzins, the Tolstois, the Narishkins, the Gagarines, and was welcomed everywhere as a young man who had done much that was heroic and seen much that was interesting. He was presented to both the empresses;* he attended an imperial recep-

• The Empress Mary, the mother of Alexander, and the Empress Elizabeth, his wife.

186 THE CHEVALIER GUARD.

tion at Kamenoi-Ostrov, offered his humble acknowledgments to the Czar for his kindness, and had a few gracious words addressed to him in public, which at once raised to the highest point his popularity with the great world.

But he could not help observing that this was a world strangely unlike that which he had known in Moscow before the war. The reckless extravagance, the heedless gaiety, the wild dissipation of those days seemed to be no more. Over many of the noble houses where he visited the angel of death had already spread his wings, a son, a brother, a nephew had fallen at Smolensko or Borodino; while over all there brooded the apprehension of the same dread visitation, producing, if not melancholy, at least seriousness. Ladies of fashion, instead of playing cards or loto, prepared lint for the wounded or gar ments for the perishing. Great efforts were being made for the relief of the sufferers in the terrible tragedy of Moscow; and Ivan rejoiced to see immense convoys of clothing and provisions setting out from the new capital for the old.

Troops of all kinds were coming every day to the city, or leaving it for the seat of war. Ivan's friends pointed out to him, with justifiable pride, the excellent equipment of the sol diers, and told him of the unwearied exertions of the Czar to supply the whole of his enormous army not only with the neces saries, but even with the comforts of life. " Every man in the service," it was said, " has his fur pelisse, his warm boots, even his warm gloves."* Infinite care and pains were expended upon the commissariat; and depots of all kinds of provisions were established wherever they were likely to be needed.

In a few days Michael came joyfully to inform "Barrinka" that he had attained the desire of his heart. " Praised be the great St. Nicholas !" he said, " I am to be a gunner. My officer tells me that after a little training I shall be able to pull a thing they call the lanyard. It makes the gun go off, and

• De Maistre.

THE CHEVALIER GUAED. 187

kills the Nyemtzi." But no earthly happiness is ever without alloy, and Michael's was not an exception. There was one hardship, in his own estimation very serious, to which he had to submit. " Barrinka," he asked, " why must our beards be cut off before we go to fight the Nyemtzi 1 "

" It has been always done," said Ivan. " It is the custom. Besides, do you not know it makes you a free man ? The very hour your beard is cut, you cease to be a serf; you have no longer any lord on earth except the Czar."

" I do not care to be a free man," grumbled Michael; " and I do not see why I must part with my beard, which God gave me. It is very hard."

Ivan laughed. " My dear lad," he said, " you have given your hand for our lord the Czar; you are ready to give your life for him; then why do ycu grudge him your beard ?"

"Do you call it giving to him?" asked Michael. "That makes a difference certainly. Though I cannot see what the Czar wants with my beard, still, if it be his Majesty's pleasure, he shall have it."

Shortly afterwards he paid Ivan another visit. Great was the transformation in his outer man. The cherished beard was gone ; he wore, instead of his caftan, the green uniform of a gunner; and he was already beginning to acquire the indefinable but unmistakable air of the trained soldier. " Only think, Barrinka," he began eagerly; "I am afraid you will not be lieve me, but I am ready to swear it is true upon the picture of my saint. Besides, all the men in our corps heard it, and can tell you I say nothing but the fact, just as it happened."

" But you have not yet told me what the fact is. What has happened to you, Michael 1 ?"

" The Czar has spoken to me," said Michael with beaming eyes " the Czar, his very self."

"How? when? what did he say?" cried Ivan, now thor oughly excited.

188 THE CHEVALIER GUARD.

" He came to-day to inspect our corps * recruits for the artillery service,' we are called. You will not need to be told that every man of us did his best, and that we made the air ring with our cheers and ' houras. ' When the parade was over, I saw him speaking to our captain, who looked towards me, and then called me forward. ' Your Imperial Majesty,' says he, 'this is the man.' 'Give me your hand, my brave lad,' says the Czar, taking in his own this very hand of mine that you see now. ' I know how you lost the other, and I honour your courage and devotion. You have been tried and found faithful.' I fell on my knees and kissed the hand that held mine; which would be honour enough for such as you, Barrinka, not to speak of a poor mujik like me. Then he said to all of us, ' You have done well, my children ; ' and we answered with a shout, ' Father, we will do better next time ' * So he rode away, God bless him ! and the rest all crowded round me, embraced me, and wished me joy. Now my one hand, which he has touched, is quite as good as two."

Ivan shared the joy of his humble friend. He himself was beginning to learn some lessons which were new and strange to him, and which perhaps the miseries he had witnessed and the sorrows he had experienced had been preparing him to receive. In the circles where he moved now there was no longer any scoffing at religion, but rather a devout and reverent acknowledgment of the hand of God. Most of the nobility were diligent in their attendance upon the church services; but some ladies, and a few men of the highest position, were spoken of in the hearing of Ivan as remarkably pious. Foremost amongst these were the Princess Metchersky and the Countess Tolstoi, Prince Alexander Galitzin, and the Sardinian ambas, sador De Maistre. No reproach was implied or intended; their piety seemed to be rather considered as a distinction,

• The custom upon such occasions.

THE CHEVALIER GUARD. 189

and it was usually added that they stood high in the imperial favour.

On the last evening of his stay in St. Petersburg, Ivan saw one of his acquaintances a nephew of the Grand-Marshal Tol stoi, and like himself a member of the Chevalier Guard sitting apart absorbed in a book. The stirring romance of real life had of late driven all other romances out of 4he mind of Ivan; but the sight of an interested reader awakened his slumber ing tastes. He came to the side of Tolstoi a gay, good- natured youth, to whom he could say anything he pleased. "Is that a new book which you seem to like so much?" he asked.

" I am ashamed to confess it is new to me, or was so until lately," returned Tolstoi.

" What is it 1 ? A romance 1 ? I should think it a kindness if you would lend it to me when you have done with it yourself."

" Look at it," said Tolstoi, placing it in his hand.

It was in French, as Ivan expected ; but its appearance was different from that of any French book he had ever seen before. Although divided into chapters and verses, it was evidently not poetry, and very sacred names were of frequent occurrence. He turned to the opening page, and exclaimed in surprise, " The New Testament ! how strange !"

"Why should it be strange?" said Tolstoi simply. "What better book could I find to read?"

"What is it all about?" asked Ivan. "Of course I know there are the holy gospels, but this book seems to contain a great deal besides."

" Oh ! I cannot tell you in a moment. Read it for yourself, and you will soon learn to love it well."

Ivan turned back again to the page with which his friend had been occupied, and which he had kept open with his finger. He read these words : " Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them

190 THE CHEVALIER GUARD.

that despitefully use you, and persecute you ; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven : for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." " That sort of religion would never answer ! " he exclaimed indignantly, allowing the book to fall from his hand. " What? Love the French? Do good to them ? Pray for them ? I think whoever recommended you, just now, the reading of this book, must have gone altogether out of his senses. We should all be ruined if such ideas as these got abroad amongst us, especially at the present moment, when it is our supreme duty to hate the enemies of the Czar and to destroy them."

"Then how comes it to pass that the Czar himself loves this book and reads it daily 1 " asked Tolstoi, as he reverently took up the volume from the ground.

" I cannot believe that," said Ivan.

"It is quite true. I heard it from my uncle, who, as you know, is always about his person. It was that which made me read it first. Now I love it better than any other book in the world."

" Since you tell me all this, I will buy a copy, and take it with me to the camp. Pope Yefim would be pleased if he knew it. He has sometimes lamented to me that the unlearned cannot have the Scripture narratives in any tongue they are able to understand. There is the old Slavonic, of course, but you might almost as well try to read Babylonish."

" There is French for us," said Tolstoi ; " and I own that it seems a better thing to me to read the sayings of Christ than the scoffs of Voltaire."

" Perhaps you are right," Ivan answered thoughtfully. After a pause he added, " Since I have stood alone, like one on a rock in the midst of a raging sea, with death before me, death behind me, and death on each side of me, I have sometimes thought what strength it would give me if only I could look up

THE CHEVALIER GUARD. 191

and see a Face bent down on me from above, a Hand out stretched to help me."

The next day the Chevalier Guards began their march, and Ivan with them. Adrian also returned to his duty ; and soon they were in the midst of one of the most memorable campaigns the world has ever seen.

CHAPTER XX.

WEARY, WANDERING FEET.

" There shall be no more snow, No weary, wandering feet."

|T was one of the early days of a genuine Russian winter. The vast and desolate plain between Moscow and Smolensko was white with snow ; bitter winds thick with falling flakes were sweeping over it; and the wintry sun struggled in vain to pierce a dense frosty fog. A regiment of French infantry, weary, dispirited, and famishing with hunger, was toiling through the snow-drifts. Already the ranks were thinned terribly, while the ghastly faces and shrunken limbs of the survivors told the story of their sufferings. All the soldier's pride in his appear ance, in the brightness of his arms, in the trim perfection of his accoutrements, had vanished long ago ; half the disorderly crowd had thrown away the muskets they were too weak to carry, nor was a dress to be seen that deserved the name of a uniform. Any warm garment found amongst the spoils of Moscow was made to do duty as an overcoat, without regard to the sex of its original wearer. Our old friend Seppel wore a lady's fur-lined dressing-gown, whilst the practical Feron con tented himself with a sheep-skin shuba which had once envel oped the ample form of a Russian coachman. But no fur was warm enough to keep the bitter cold of that wintry day from the weakened frames of men whose only food since leaving

WEARY, WANDERING FEET. 193

Moscow had been a few handfuls of rye soaked in water or a little horse-flesh.

Clinging to the arm of Feron was a form slight and worn, and evidently ready to sink with fatigue. " Peste ! Mind what you are about there ! " cried Feron sharply, as Henri de Talmont stumbled and sank to his knees in a snow-drift a little deeper than usual. Then, pulling him up again by main force and setting him on his feet " Can't you see where you are going?" he asked.

" No, I cannot see," answered Henri in a weary voice. " Feron, you have been very good to me. But it is no use. You must let me go."

" I shall do no such thing. Here, my boy, take a pull at this ; " and he put a flask filled with vodka to the lips of his friend. " Now you can see a little better," he said with a laugh, as the stimulant brought a momentary colour to the pale cheek of Henri. " Can't you hear too ? Listen ! there are wheels coming near us, and horse-hoofs. God grant it may be stores of some kind, and if so " Feron paused a moment and set his teeth resolutely " the Old Guard themselves, with the Emperor at their head, shall not keep them from us."

The wheels were already quite close, else under the circum stances they could not have heard them at all. A carriage drawn by four horses, and attended by outriders, came dashing by. It had only one occupant, a general of division, wrapped from head to foot in rich furs ; but every available spot was crammed with packages and bottles. Some of the men sprang towards it, and clinging to the back or the sides, begged in piteous accents for bread, meat, spirits, even a little tobacco anything " Monsieur le General " would be good enough to spare them. The coachman and the outriders had to use their whips pretty freely to get rid of them. It was only surprising that they did not take what they wanted by force ; but either the lack of courage and mutual understanding, or perhaps some

(696) 13

194 WEARY, WANDERING FEET.

remains of military discipline, prevented an outbreak of open violence.

" Fools for their pains !" said Feron bitterly. " They might know by this time that the general never has anything to spare for the soldier. But I am glad he is gone, for the sight of his luxuries made me mad. May his horses break their knees in the next snow-drift ! Sure to do it before long. That's one comfort !"

" And then," said a comrade, " perhaps we may overtake him, and get horses, stores, and all. What a supper we should have !"

" Ay," observed another, " his horses are very unlike the last we supped upon. Poor brutes ! they were little more than skin and bone."

" Feron," asked a third, " are there no horses in this accursed country no men, no food, no anything?"

" Not much, I suppose, at the best of times. But remember, my lad, we marched over this very ground ourselves a few months ago, and wasted and destroyed all we could find."

It was too true. In this respect they were filled with the fruit of their own devices; their wanton acts of pillage and devastation recoiled upon their own heads.

" Feron," murmured once more the faint voice of Henri, " I can go no further. I must lie down and rest."

" Monsieur Henri, if you lie down on that ground, you rise never more."

" I know it ; but I can bear up no longer. My sight is gone, my limbs are failing. Dear Feron, let me go." And in spite of the sustaining arm of his friend, he staggered and fell. Feron bent over him, entreating him to rise, and offering his help.

" Monsieur Henri, think of your mother of your sister, Mademoiselle Clemence. If you hope ever to see their sweet faces again, rouse yourself, exert all your strength."

But already Henri seemed half-asleep. A look of rest stole

WEARY, WANDERING FEET. 195

over his worn features, and his eyes were closed. Opening them for a moment, he murmured, " Feron my mother Clemence. Ask them to forgive me. Good-bye, dear Feron God bless thee!"

The others meanwhile continued their march. In those ter rible days the fall of a comrade scarcely made a Frenchman turn his head. Seppel called to Feron, " Come along, man ! For what are you lingering?"

To stay behind would be to share the fate of Henri, not to rescue him. Feron turned sadly away ; but after taking two or three steps, turned back once more, murmuring, " What u fool I am ! No good to him, and a sore loss to me. Still, if he should awake, even for a moment." Stooping down, he slipped his flask of vodka into the benumbed hand of Henri. " Adieu, comrade," he said. " If ever I see France again, I will tell thy mother and Mademoiselle Clemence."

He rejoined his comrades, and marched on ; but as long as it continued in sight, he could not help looking back, every now and then, to that black spot in the snow where a comrade had lain down to die. "Soon enough," he thought, "it will be covered with white, and all trace of my poor friend gone for ever. Perhaps / may be the next who knows 1 ?"

But at least there was one sufferer unconscious of suffering now. A feeling of utter peace, of deep content, unknown for many days, steeped the weary senses of Henri. He seemed to be sinking into the heart of a profound and dreamless sleep. Pain and fatigue cold and hunger of body aching, feverish unrest of spirit all had ceased together. The last sounds that reached his dulled ear before he passed into unconsciousness were the words of Feron, "Thy mother and Mademoiselle Clemence." And once again those beloved faces drew near bent over him glimmered faintly and yet more faintly at "last vanished into air. But he did not even know that they had vanished. All was oblivion now.

196 WEARY, WANDERING FEET.

Assuredly never again in this world would Henri de Tal- mont have awakened, had not a sudden thrill of agony called him roughly back to life. He started up to wrestle with a great half-savage wolf-dog, which had fixed its sharp fangs in liis arm. Pain and desperation lent him a momentary strength, and clenching his hand, he dealt his antagonist a blow between the eyes that sent it howling away over the snow. Then he picked up Feroii's flask, and having thanked in his heart that generous friend, he drank some of its contents, which seemed to infuse new life into his frame.

Thus strengthened, he rose and stood upon his feet. It was midnight. The snow had ceased to fall, and the fierce winds of winter had dropped into utter stillness. Above his head the moon shone forth from a cloudless sky, and a thousand stars glittered with frosty brightness. Not a living thing was in sight, not a tree, not even a stone. Nothing met his gaze but a broad expanse of stainless white, covering the whole horizon like a veil of silver. How desolate it looked, yet how fair and pure ! With what bright softness the moonbeams touched the snow ! and how calmly the majestic eyes of those sleepless, starry watchers looked down from on high, as though they would say to the toiling, suffering sons of men, "We have seen ten thousand times ten thousand nights like this since the making of the world. We know the secret of the Lord. He means something by every star and every snowflake ; and what he means is very good."

"He telleth the number of the stars ; he calleth them all by their names." The words flashed unbidden through the mind of Henri. He remembered that in this solitude he was not alone. God was here. He could not turn to God as his friend, and he knew that he could not. Brought up in a religious atmosphere, he was all the more distinctly conscious that he himself was not religious that he stood outside some sacred enclosure Clemence had entered, that he had not something

WEARY, WANDERING FEET. 197

which she had. But had it been a stranger or an enemy whose presence he felt amidst that immense, dreary, aching solitude, still he would have flung himself at his feet and im plored his help and pity. Surely he might cast himself upon the God who counted the shining host above his head ; surely that God would look down with pity on the creature his hand had made, who was "wandering in dumb dismay" over the untrod den snow. If He would only bring him home, and let him see his mother's face again, and ask her forgiveness before he died!

He knelt down and prayed ; if indeed the words were not a cry of agony rather than a prayer. But they were breathed into the ear of One who heareth the young ravens when they cry and the beasts of the forest when they seek their food. As he rose, he noticed some bright thing glistening in the moonlight near the spot where he had been lying. He took it up, and found that it was a tin case containing preserved meat. ~No doubt it had belonged to the general of division, and had fallen out of his carriage as he passed. But to Henri it seemed the beginning of an answer to his prayer. He ate a portion of the meat, reserving the rest for future use, and drank a little more vodka. Thus a degree of animation was restored to his exhausted system. " Even yet," he thought, " I may rejoin my companions."

There was no wind, yet so intense was the cold that it seemed to pierce him through and through. He felt as though he were in a bath of ice. He determined to keep moving, to walk on straight before him as long as he had strength to do so. He supposed that he was still upon a road of some kind, because when he diverged to the right or to the left the snow became deeper, while if he kept his direct course it did not reach above his ankles.

Onwards he toiled, and still onwards, weary and footsore, yet not quite despairing. He knew well that if he yielded to

198 WEARY, WANDERING FEET.

his ever-increasing fatigue so far as to lie down again, he should rise no more. It seemed as if years had passed since he parted with his comrades, a lifetime since he quitted Moscow ; and as to his old happy life in France, that belonged to another and earlier stage of existence, almost beyond his recollection.

Red rose the sun over the snowy landscape, to sink again, after the brief wintry day, in clouds of purple and amber. Once more the stars came out, and still Henri toiled on. But his strength was well-nigh spent ; he was ready to sink from fatigue, and his little store of meat and vodka had long since been exhausted. " After all," he thought, " it is hopeless. As well die first as last. But what is this 1 Have the stars come down upon the ground ? or whence are those lights I see in the distance?"

He tried to collect his failing senses and to think. Could this be a town he was approaching 1 No ; the lights were not numerous enough. Perhaps it might be a Russian village ? Scarcely ; for that the lights seemed too far apart, though, even if it were, he would take his chance and go forward. Better to fall, like some of his comrades, beneath the axes of the mujiks, than to perish with cold and hunger in the trackless wilder ness.

Suddenly he cried aloud, making his voice ring over the snow, "Bivouac fires!" A gush of joy, long unknown to him, filled his heart, bringing with it, from its very intensity, a kind of momentary pain, as the warmth for which he was longing would bring a tingling pain to his half-frozen limbs. " Bivouac fires ! " he cried once more, with a glad, weak voice. " I shall see the faces of my comrades \ I shall hear their voices. Thank God ! "

Hope and joy lent new strength to his weary feet. As he drew nearer to the lights, he saw that the snow was trampled by footsteps and crushed by wheels. And then the thought occurred to him, " If these should be our enemies'? If I should

WEARY, WANDERING FEET. 199

find myself in the midst of Russians ? " But as the cheerful blaze of the nearest fire grew clearer and more distinct, and he saw figures moving around it, fear and hesitation vanished. He felt nothing but a wild longing to get close to it, which grew every moment more intense. Running, slipping, stagger ing along as best he could, at last he threw himself on the ground before the fire, in the very midst of the group that surrounded it.

" Eh ! what have we got here ? " cried some one with an oath. The words were French, so much at least was plain to Henri's bewildered senses ; and at the same time a very savoury odour reaching his nostrils reminded him that he was famishing with hunger.

The next moment he was roughly seized and dragged upon his knees. " What do you want here ? You are none of us. Be off with you, and pretty quick too ! " cried a fellow dressed in a velvet coat which had once belonged to some Moscow exquisite.

Slowly and stiffly Henri rose to his feet. " Comrades," he said with a bewildered air, "it is you who are making a mis take. I am one of you a Frenchman a private in the Tenth Infantry

" Hang the Tenth Infantry ! It is every man for himself here. You are not one of our coterie.* We cannot feed all the stragglers of the grand army. Begone this instant, or A push with the butt end of his musket finished the sentence.

The heartless cruelty of his countrymen filled up the measure of Henri's cup of suffering. His spirit was broken. With no power, with scarcely even a wish to struggle any longer for his life, he staggered slowly away, intending to lie down in the nearest snow-drift and die.

• The French, during the retreat, formed themselves into little "coteries" of

twelve or fifteen. If an outsider tried to join himself to one of these, he was pitilessly driven away to die, sometimes even murdered.

200 WEARY, WANDERING FEET.

Some one took a blazing brand out of the fire and flung it after him. " If you Avant fire, take it ! " cried he, and a mocking laugh rang in the ears of Henri. He turned, and said, " Would that I had met this night, instead of you Frenchmen, a com pany of Russians or, still better, a pack of wolves ! "

" What is all this about 1 " asked a deep, hoarse voice, and a tall figure rose slowly from the opposite side of the fire.

"It is a straggler, a jjolisson, who was trying to join our coterie. We have just been sending him about his business," \vas the answer.

" What a hurry you were in ! Bring him to me," said the voice of authority.

There was no need to bring him. Henri himself turned gladly, though very feebly, towards this new arbiter of his fate. But when he saw him, he started in surprise. It is true that part of his uniform was concealed by a long cloak lined with fur, but his great hairy cap, and his white waistcoat and gaiters, showed him to be one of the Old Guard, the very elite of the French army. These veterans were objects of envy to all their fellow-soldiers ; for while the rest had been treated with cruel neglect and indifference, receiving between Moscow and Smolensko absolutely no rations whatever, the Old Guard were well and carefully fed, and supplied abundantly with wine or spirits. The reason was obvious. Upon them de volved a duty of paramount importance, that of guarding the person of Napoleon. Therefore, when the bulk of the army, demoralized by its sufferings, had broken up into fragments, the Old Guard was still able to keep rank, to present a noble appearance, and oppose a firm front to the enemy. Hence the surprise of Henri at finding one of its number amongst a group of wretched -looking stragglers belonging to various regiments.

Meanwhile the Guardsman surveyed him with a critical eye. " Why, this is only a slip of a lad, un petit jeune homnie," he

WEARY, WANDERING FEET. 201

said. "He looks half dead already. Mes enfants, lie shall stay with us."

Faint tones of remonstrance began to make themselves heard, but they were silenced in a very summary fashion. The Guardsman laid his bronzed hand, hard as iron, upon the shoulder of Henri. " Sacre ! " he cried. " You shall take him and me together. Both of us, or neither ! "

This was decisive. The poor, abject, half-starved wretches knew their master; they felt their lives depended upon his care and guidance ; and they obeyed him as, in a time of need, the incapable usually obey any capable person who undertakes to direct them. Room was made for Henri beside the fire, and the very man who had flung the brand after him a few minutes before now volunteered to chafe one of his ears, which showed symptoms of being frozen.

Supper was served, consisting of a piece of roasted horse flesh without bread or salt, and a very small quantity of rum, carefully measured out to each member of the party, and mixed with snow-water. Then every man crept as close to the fire as he could, wrapped about him what garments he had, and tried to sleep ; every man, that is to say, except the Guard, who, explaining to Henri that some one must always watch, and that the first watch of the night devolved upon him, lit his pipe with a meditative air, and seated himself beside the fire.

Weary as Henri was, he could not help asking one or two questions. " Garde," he said, " do you know where we are 1 "

" Somewhere on the way to Smolensko, which, if we live, we may reach perhaps in two days or three."

" Shall we find our regiments again, do you think 1 "

" 1 cannot answer for yours, my boy ; the new ones seem to be melting like snow-flakes. The Old Guard," he added with a flash of pride, " is always to be found, whether by friend or foe."

"These men around us, who are they 1 "

202 WEARY, WANDERING FEET.

"Waifs and strays, like yourself. We are gathering to gether in coteries of a dozen or so, to try and keep one another alive in this horrible desert."

" Little life they would have left in me, but for you, Garde. God bless you for your kindness."

" Thank you, comrade. Blessings do a man as little harm as curses any day. Here, take a pull at my pipe."

" No, thank you. I don't smoke."

" More fool you ! That is the way you young conscripts die off, because you never know what is good for you, nor how to keep your souls inside your bodies. Now, when I was in Egypt"- here he stopped suddenly, and a look of emotion passed over his bronzed, weather-beaten features " ay, Egypt, Italy, Spain, Lodi, Marengo, Austerlitz, Wagram, Friedland, why go over all these now 1 Why recall the past the glorious past ? Why, indeed ? Have our eagles floated over all the world to lie buried in a Russian snow-drift ! Bah ! This confusion is only temporary. You shall soon see the Emperor rise again in his glory, and overwhelm our hounds of enemies with destruction. I tell thee, boy, he is unconquerable. A cloud a little fleeting cloud may pass over his star and hide it for a moment, but it will shine out again all the more brightly afterwards. "

"But," said Henri sadly, "if he expected us to fight for him, he ought to have fed us."

" My lad," said the Guardsman sternly, laying his hand upon Henri's shoulder, and turning him round away from the fire, "you see that snow 1 ? "

" I have seen too much of it," returned Henri. " I think I shall never see anything else."

" Out there you go, to have part or lot with us never more, the first word you speak against the Emperor. With his own hand he gave me these medals, this cross " touching his breast "and, moreover, he said to me once when he was

WEARY, WANDERING FEET. 203

reviewing us, ' Pierre Rougeard, I know you for a brave man. It was you was it not? who took that pair of colours at Lodi?'"

" Garde, how were you separated from the rest 1 "

" You will see to-morrow that I am lame. In a skirmish near Moscow I got a ball in my leg and a sabre cut on my shoulder. We who were wounded were all put into waggons by the Emperor's orders, to be sent on to Smolensko ; but those in charge of us, thinking our lives less precious than the plunder they were bringing from Moscow, flung us out by the wayside to die." *

" Wretches ! May the Emperor punish them as they deserve."

" The Emperor has much more important things to think about. We of the Old Guard do not die easily ; what would kill conscripts like you, only hardens us. I contrived to live and to creep along, picking up every day a comrade or two in distress, until we formed the little coterie you see now. I hope to overtake the Old Guard at Smolensko if not, farther on. All I live for is to rejoin my colours, and to fight once more for the Emperor. But you are almost asleep. Sleep on, my boy; to-night, at least, you shall neither freeze nor starve."

Henri was almost asleep. But he roused himself for a moment or two to breathe a thanksgiving to Almighty God for the help sent him in his need ; together with an earnest prayer that he would be pleased to bring him through all dangers again to his native land, to see the face of his mother and of Clenience.

All succeeding generations will ask in half incredulous wonder how it came to pass that a splendid army, numbering over six hundred thousand men, and commanded by perhaps the greatest military genius that ever existed, could fall so suddenly and swiftly into a state of utter disorganization and

• A fact.

204 WEARY, WANDERING FEET.

abject misery. Certainly never, since those ancient days when the Red Sea rolled over the hosts of Pharaoh, or the angel of the pestilence smote the sleeping myriads of Sennacherib, was the arm of the Lord stretched out more visibly in the sight of the nations. Yet it is the glory of Infinite Wisdom, not to interpose amongst the wheels of human action with arbitrary breaks and changes, but so to direct the whole stupendous machine that wrong works out its own punishment and right its ultimate justification by the operation of everlasting laws. In gaining Moscow, Napoleon expected to gain everything food and shelter for his troops, stores of all descriptions, trea sures enough to satisfy the greed of those soldiers of fortune whom the hope of plunder had attracted to his standards. He expected to dictate a humiliating peace to the crushed and trembling Czar, and to make yet one more submissive tributary of hitherto unconquered Russia. But in the flames of Moscow and the heroic resolution of Alexander he found the destruction of his plans. Retreat became a necessity ; and it had to be made through a country already devastated by the license of his armies license for which he made himself responsible, which indeed he forced upon them, by neglecting to provide them with the necessaries of life. This cruel neglect recoiled upon his own head : even before the severities- of a northern winter set in* the hosts of Napoleon were peris-king with hunger. " If he expected us to fight for him, he ought to have fed us," was the mournful accusation that fell from the dying lips of many a gallant soldier, who, faithful to the end, would allow himself to utter no other reproach. What famine and pestilence the result of insufficient and unwhole some food had begun, was completed by the arrows of the winter in the hand of God himself. As, on the occasion of another memorable national deliverance, "he blew with his wind," and the foes of his people were scattered ; so now he

• Not " earlier than usual," as the apologists of Napoleon delight in repeating.

WEARY, WANDERING FEET. 205

cast forth his ice like morsels, and who was able to abide his frost 1 Snow and vapour and stormy wind fulfilled his word. Of the six hundred thousand warriors who crossed the Memen in the pride of their strength, only about forty thousand miserable fugitives diseased, forlorn, and famished straggled back again five months later.

CHAPTER XXI.

OVER THE BERESINA.

" Milder yet thy snowy breezes

Pour on yonder tented shores, Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes,

Or the tent-brown Danube roars. Oh, winds of winter, list ye there

To many a deep and dying groan ; Or start, ye demons of the midnight air,

At shrieks and thunders louder than your own ! Alas ! even your unhallowed breath

May spare the victim, fallen low; But man will ask no truce to death,

No bounds to human woe."

and his companions succeeded in reaching Smolensko, but only to find it a scene of intolerable wretchedness and unutterable con fusion. The Emperor and the Old Guard had left some days previously, and for the disorganized troops pouring every hour into the miserable, ruined city, there was neither food nor shelter, neither order nor discipline. So our little coterie still kept together, and hoping against hope determined to continue their march towards the frontier.

Ten or twelve weary days of marching followed. Always hungry, always cold, always tired, Henri would have given up the struggle once and again, but for the thought which kept for ever

" Beating in upon his weary brain, As though it were the burden of a song "

" I must see my mother and my sister again ; I cannot die without my mother's forgiveness."

OVER THE BERESINA. 207

Usually their only food was a little horse-flesh, but even that failed them frequently ; nor could fuel be always found for the fire of their bivouac. From the bodies of their comrades that strewed the way they sometimes obtained articles of clothing a sad resource, but all, even the gentle Henri, were now be coming inured to sights of horror. Sometimes they would meet with other coteries whose condition was as pitiable as their own, or they would be alarmed by a few stray shots from the "clouds of Cossacks" that hovered about them. Rougeard informed them that the enemy was beside, not behind them ; the Russians having very prudently chosen their lines of march parallel to that of the retreating French armies, which were thus kept from straying to the right or to the left, and sternly restricted to the track their own cruelty had already rendered a desert.

At last a serious misfortune happened to the little band. A long day's march, absolutely without food and in piercing cold, had exhausted them all. Rougeard, who was by far the strongest of the party, said to his companions, " R/est in the shelter of this wall, while I go a little further towards the lights I see yonder. I daresay some of our people are there ; perhaps they will respect my uniform, and spare us a little food." He moved away, but turned back for a moment to add, " Keep up your hearts, my lads. If your strength is good for one day's marching more, I think you may see the Beresina before to-morrow night."

That was the last time they looked upon the face or heard the voice of Pierre Rougeard. Whether he was buried in the snow, was murdered or made prisoner by the Russians, they could not tell. His loss dissolved the coterie which his in fluence had held together. Its members went their several ways, and far too sad a task would it be for us to follow them. Each in his own measure fulfilled the awful doom that had fallen upon the host to which he belonged. For the word had

208 OVER THE BERESINA.

gone forth: "Thus saith the Lord, Such as are for death, to death ; such as are for the sword, to the sword ; and such as are for the famine, to the famine; and such as are for the captivity, to the captivity."

We may, however, follow for a little way the fortunes of Rougeard. The bivouac fires he saw at a distance proved to be those of a Russian regiment of volunteers. He fell into the hands of the sentries, and in spite of a resistance as des perate as his exhausted condition permitted him to make, was secured, and brought at once to the colonel, a Russian nobleman named Demidoff. To his questions Rougeard replied with proud fearlessness ; but he owned, upon being asked, that he was famishing with hunger. Demidoff, who perhaps had been reading the Book his sovereign loved so well, led the prisoner to his own tent, where an elegant and abundant dinner had just been served. " Sit down, my friend," he said to him, " eat and drink ; you are welcome."

But the veteran did not obey. His brave, proud heart, which no peril of field or flood or wilderness had ever daunted, was melted, was crushed by the unexpected kindness. A great shudder passed over his frame. Trembling "as certainly he never would have trembled before the enemy," he said with uncontrollable emotion, " Can it be that a Russian, an officer, bids me sit down to eat and drink with him, after all the horrors we have committed in his country, and against his Emperor ? " *

But it could not be expected that all Russians would take their revenge after the manner of Demidoff. Many of the mujiks, who had been insulted and plundered, or had seen their relatives murdered by the French, put the prisoners that fell into their hands to a cruel death. Fortunately, reports of these outrages soon reached St. Petersburg, and a ukase was despatched im mediately by the hand of a special courier, forbidding all such

• A fact.

OVER THE BERESINA. 209

practices on pain of the Czar's highest displeasure ; and, as the most effectual mode of preventing them, offering the reward of a ducat of gold for every prisoner brought safely to head-quarters.

Henri de Talmont bore in mind Rougeard's parting words, and determined at all hazards to try to reach the Beresina. He was strengthened in his belief that he was drawing near some point of general rendezvous by the constantly increasing crowds. At length, instead of a vast and solitary plain, he found himself traversing a broad high-road, frozen hard, and thronged with a disorderly rabble of soldiers and camp-followers, amongst whom vehicles of all kinds were moving with difficulty. Some of these were baggage-waggons, but the great majority contained women and children connected in various ways with the French army, and endeavouring with it to make their escape from a hostile country. Most pitiable was the fate of those unhappy fugitives.

As Henri stumbled wearily along, the velvet cap of a little child dropped from one of the carriages and fell at his feet. He picked it up and restored it to its owner, a pretty fair-haired .boy about four years old.

" Thank you, poor soldier," lisped the child in soft Italian, a language of which Henri had learned a little from his mother.

" I think, Guido, we could make room for the poor soldier here," said the child's mother, a gentle-looking lady with an infant in her arms ; " he seems very tired."

Most thankfully did Henri accept the proffered help. He soon ascertained that the lady was an Italian singer who had come to Russia, with the band of professional artists to which she belonged, in the train of the fantastic and pomp-loving King of Naples. These poor children of pleasure, dragged un awares into the midst of a horrible tragedy, seemed like butter flies caught in a thunderstorm. Madame Leone told Henri, with many tears, that her husband had been made prisoner by

(696) H

210 OVER THE BERESINA.

the Cossacks, and that she knew not whether he was alive or dead. Henri tried to console her, helped her to take care of the children, and defended her as well as he could from the rude assaults of the famishing soldiers who surrounded the carriage, begging for food, or rather demanding it.

At last they reached the bank of the Beresina, but it was to find themselves in the midst of untold confusion and unutter able horror. The frozen marsh beside the river was thronged with an innumerable crowd, increasing in density as it neared the heads of the two bridges which had been thrown across the current. Hundreds of vehicles were there, vainly attempting to force a passage through the living mass. Oaths and shrieks, cries, groans, and entreaties resounded upon every side. To add to the terrors of the scene, the Russians were pouring a continuous fire upon the troops which were endeavouring to cross the river.

In the midst of all this bewildering, maddening confusion, Henri found himself thinking dreamily of his mother's stories of the terrible passage of the Loire by the defeated Vendeans. " It was like the day of judgment," she used to say. " And what," asked Henri, " would she have thought of this?"

He was startled by a voice near him. " Monsieur Henri, is it you ? Is it really you ?" cried some one in the crowd, seizing his hand and grasping it. " This is indeed a miracle."

" Feron ! dear Feron !" exclaimed Henri, springing from his seat in the carriage and throwing himself into the arms of his comrade.

Questions and explanations followed, and each told the other his adventures since they parted.

" Where is our regiment?" asked Henri.

" It has ceased to exist," returned Feron. " < Sauve qui peut' is our only marching order now."

" Ah, friend," said Henri, " I see you have suffered. Your hand -^

OVER THE BERESINA. 211

" Frost-bitten one bitter night. I could not help thinking when I lost it of that poor Russian whom we branded in the hand before we came to Moscow. Do you remember him, Monsieur Henri 1 ?"

" I ought to remember him. I saw him again in the city, and he did me a good turn. Now, Feron, I want you, if you can, to help me to protect this lady and these two helpless little children."

"7/1 can. But we must be patient. Those who are rush ing madly forward to try and reach the bridge only increase their own danger. Already they are trampling one another down by dozens."

"Ay," said Henri, "because they are afraid the bridges will be burned or broken as soon as the effective troops have passed over them, to protect the retreat of the Emperor."

" Fools ! Do they think the Emperor will let the bridges be touched so long as one Frenchman or Frenchwoman remains upon this side ? They do not know him," returned Feron.

"Perhaps not," said Henri sadly. "Ah, what is this?" he cried the next moment, as a bullet whizzed close by them through the air.

" I believe our rear-guard and the Russians are fighting it out, and we are near enough to come in for a stray shot or two."

" Then help me to turn this carriage over, that we may make a shelter for the lady."

This was accomplished, not without some difficulty. Anxious hours of suspense and forced inactivity followed. Night fell, but an awful light still illumined the landscape. What looked like a semicircle of flame environed half the sky. It was the fiery breath of the Russian cannon.

Suddenly there came a sound of fearful shrieks, and a frantic swaying and tossing of the crowd. One of the bridges that con structed for the artillery had broken down, precipitating its

212 OVER THE BERESINA.

living freight into the freezing waters beneath ; and the miser- able multitude on the bank, who were suffering more and more from the cannonade of the enemy, now rushed forward in blind terror to gain the only remaining bridge.

Henri lost sight of Madame Leone and the baby in the press, and it was with difficulty that he saved little Guido from being trodden under foot, by holding him continually in his arms.

Feron kept by his side throughout. At last, however, he cried aloud suddenly, " Comrade, I am done for ! That bullet

Henri saw it was too true. In great distress he knelt down beside him and tried to stanch the blood that was flowing from his breast.

Almost at the same moment a company of the rear-guard came thundering by, forcing their way through the living mass, and cutting down without remorse or pity all who obstructed their retreat.

" Time to go now," said Feron with an effort. " Monsieur Henri, don't stay for me. I thought / would have brought home news of you ; now you but go, I entreat of you, go at once. No time to lose."

" Never, while you breathe. Besides, as you said, the Em peror will not leave a Frenchman behind him." Recollecting that Madame Leone had filled with wine the flask Feron him self had left with him, he mixed some of its contents with snow-water, and put the reviving draught to the lips of his comrade.

" Monsieur Henri," murmured Feron, " can you say a prayer for me ? You used to pray, though we laughed at you for it in the regiment."

"There is one prayer I have often prayed since all this trouble came upon us," said Henri. " It is good, and it is short ; you can say it for yourself * God be merciful to me a sinner, for Jesus Christ's sake.'"

" God be merciful to me a sinner, for Jesus Christ's sake,"

OVER THE BERESINA. 213

Feron repeated earnestly ; and during the hour that followed an hour that seemed like a year to Henri the cry was often on his lips.

But he grew weaker and weaker, until at last he fell into a kind of stupor, while Henri watched silently beside him.

Just about the dawning of the day, a cry, great and terrible, thrilled every heart, and reached even the dulled ear of the dying man. He roused himself, and murmured faintly, "What is it, Monsieur Henri?"

Henri knew too well. All around him were repeating, in tones that expressed every variation of anguish and despair " The bridge is on fire ! the bridge is burning ! " So, after all, Napoleon had not waited until every Frenchman was safe on the other side !

" ' The hireling fleeth, because he is an hireling, and careth not for the sheep,'" thought Henri bitterly. " But thou shalt never know, Feron. This pang at least shall be spared thy dying hour."

He bent once more over his friend, who was feebly repeating the question " Monsieur Henri, what is it 1 ?"

" Nothing that concerns you or me," Henri answered firmly. " Do you suffer, comrade?"

" No no pain. Only I am sinking sinking. I want to say that prayer again. God be merciful for Christ's sake."

With these words on his lips, Feron passed away. Henri had scarcely time to close his eyes before he was forced by the strong current of the crowd from the spot where he had been standing. He kept fast hold of Guido : just now he cared but little what became of himself ; his only thought was to save the child. He was at last pushed into a position from which he could see the river ; but he turned shuddering from the sight, which indeed was horrible beyond description. Men, women, and children were struggling in the icy waters, or sink ing for the last time beneath them. Here and there a strong

214 OVER THE BERESINA.

swimmer gained the opposite bank in safety ; but the weak, the famished, the wounded perished by hundreds. Pieces of the broken bridge, to which drowning wretches were clinging, floated about amidst debris of every conceivable kind ; and those on board the few sorely overcrowded boats were violently thrusting away their despairing comrades who tried to enter.

One of these boats was just putting off from the bank when Henri called aloud, " Take this child with you, for God's sake!"

A tall man stood upright in the boat. " Hold him up, man," he cried ; " give us a sight of him."

Henri did so.

"The very child we are seeking eh, comrades'?" said the man, turning to his companions. " About three or four years old, fair-haired, with a crimson velvet cap. Well worth our while a thousand ducats reward." Then to Henri : " Throw him in, my lad."

This was much more easily said than done. Little Guido clung to his protector with all his might, absolutely refusing to be separated from him. Henri found it impossible to unclasp those soft arms from about his neck, though he tried hard to do it.

Meanwhile the men in the boat were disputing with one another. Some were willing to take Henri as well as the child ; others objected, afraid of losing the reward or of having to share it with him. But the tall man who had spoken first decided the question. " Let the lad come with us," he said. " Anything to save time."

So Henri stepped into the boat with his little companion still in his arms. It did not occur to him until afterwards that Madame Leone would have been by no means able to offer a reward so large as a thousand ducats for the recovery of her child. Happily during the crossing Guido engrossed all his at tention. Terrified by everything around him, he cried violently

OVER THE BERESINA. 215

for his mother, and refused to be comforted ; so that a child's tears drew away the eyes of Henri from the agonized faces of strong men, who were looking up to Heaven with their last appeal for mercy ere they sank to rise no more.

Scarcely had the boat touched the opposite bank of the stream, when a lady ran down to meet it, and stretched out her arms to receive the boy. But the next moment a cry of bitter disappointment rang through the air. This was not her child not the darling for whose recovery she had offered all her golden store. The broken-hearted mother turned away, and Henri saw her no more. Still holding Guido in his arms, he followed listlessly and mechanically the stream of fugitives who were taking the road to Vilna.

CHAPTEE XXII.

THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST.

" You would not let your little finger ache For such as these ?

But I would die, said " lie.

HE miserable fugitives who succeeded, at the cost of so much suffering, in crossing the icy waters of the Beresina, found no " promised land " on the other side. Better had it been if with one accord they had laid down their arms on the banks of that fatal river, and sur rendered to the mercy of the enemy. The horrors that awaited them well-nigh cast into oblivion those they had already passed through, and filled to absolute overflowing the cup of trembling put into their hands. Until then the cold had not exceeded that of the ordinary winter of those regions ; but during that terrible month of December it grew ever more and more in tense, until it reached a pitch of severity almost beyond prece dent. A silent, invisible, invincible enemy, it mowed down the ranks of strong men with a pitiless scythe, sparing neither the young recruit nor the hardened veteran who had passed unscathed through all the sufferings of the preceding cam paign.

Henri de Talmont was at first only conscious of one definite purpose, that of keeping his little charge from perishing with cold. If he could but bring him alive to Vilna, perhaps he might find Madame Leone there and restore him to her. Seeing that a crowd had gathered about a carriage which had been

THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST. 217

overturned, and which they were plundering of its contents, he joined it in the hope of obtaining some provisions for the way. With more consideration for Guide's tastes than for his own, he seized eagerly upon a small bag of sugar and a box of choco late bonbons. He afterwards made use of the chocolate as a bribe to induce the little one to run along by his side, for he was scarcely strong enough to carry him. But the poor little fellow was unable to endure the piercing cold, and cried pite- ously to be taken up again in his arms. Weak though he was himself, Henri could not resist the appeal ; but it hastened the inevitable moment when, utterly overcome with fatigue, he was fain to lie down and rest, even at the risk of rising again no more.

So many broken and abandoned properties of all kinds strewed the way that it was not difficult to contrive a sort of shelter for the night. A disabled gun-carriage and a couple of cloaks served Henri as a tent for himself and Guido, whom he folded to his breast as warmly as he could, and both were soon fast asleep.

The intense, biting chill that preceded the dawn awakened Henri. " My poor little Guido is very cold," he thought ; "I must wrap him up better;" and he took the coverings from himself to fold them more closely about his charge. The child did not waken, nor even stir ; nor did any increase of external warmth remove the icy chill from those little limbs. Henri grew alarmed, and thought at last that he ought to awaken him and give him some nourishment. But all his efforts were in vain. That wintry night Christ had called a little child to come to him from the frozen plain. Gentle was the call and silent the response, the young spirit passed away in sleep, without struggle and without suffering.

Black despair fell upon Henri then. There seemed no use in making any further struggle for life. All around him were dead or dying ; all whom he had known during the long

218 THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST.

agony of the retreat from Moscow had yielded to their doom. Feron was dead Rougeard was dead, as he believed the dying face of many another comrade rose before him and now, this child. How was he better than they ?

Before he lay down to sleep he had prayed for himself and for Guido. The little one also had clasped his baby hands and lisped in his soft Italian a prayer that they might find his mother on the morrow. But beside that still, fair form al most as white as the snow around it, and consecrated with the twofold beauty of childhood and of death Henri breathed no prayer. Not then, nor for many days afterwards. It was no use, he said in his heart.

Still he wandered 011 in cold, in hunger, in weariness. Hope was gone, memory had almost left him \ nothing re mained but that desperate clinging to life, which is scarcely more than the instinct of an animal. The path he had to follow was strewn with the dead bodies of his comrades ; and upon these he sometimes found a little bread, or a small quantity of wine or spirits. On more than one occasion he warmed his freezing limbs by crouching beneath the corpse of a fellow-sufferer in whom the vital spark was only just extinct. He could not have survived at all but for the sugar and the chocolate that he had obtained for Guido. These, though he knew it not, afforded precisely the kind of nutriment best adapted to sustain life under intense cold.*

He was seldom conscious of any sensations but those of the body. He was always cold, always hungry, always in pain ; only sometimes this never-ceasing, never-ending sense of pain was lightened by a kind of dull satisfaction, as when he found food, or slept, or felt a little warmer than usual. Oc casionally a comrade would hail him, and inquire his name and whither he was going. Henri hardly knew what he

• The survivors in this terrible calamity were usually those who " happened to have

about them a little sugar or coffee."

THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST. 219

answered. Sometimes he would talk incoherently; at other times he would reply correctly enough say he was going to Vilna and in his turn ask questions about the road. He noticed that some of those whom he met stared at him vacantly, or with the fierce glare of insanity ; when he spoke they would give him wild and wandering answers, or perhaps even threaten him with violence. Once a miserable being, looking like a spectre, stood and gazed at him in silence, until he asked him what he wanted. " Nothing," answered he, with a strange, sad smile, " nothing; I am a dead man."*

There were moments, perhaps hours, when Henri's crushed intelligence seemed to revive, and he regained the power of thought and feeling. But these seasons were the most terrible of all. His soul was fast bound in misery and iron. It was hard with despair as the ground beneath his feet with the frost of winter. If he thought of his mother he "would never see her again ; and what did it matter ? She had never for given never would forgive him now." Of Clemence "she was so good ! She would be very happy in her religion, in her pious books, in her good works. No doubt she was happy enough even now, though her one brother was dying miserably of cold and hunger by the side of a Polish road. Clemence would only say, ' It is the will of God.' "

The will of God! That was the bitterest thought of all. His will was inexorable. There was no use in prayer. Henri had tried prayer, and had not been heard. God did not care for him. He sat on his throne, far above yonder cold, gray, pitiless wintry sky, as cold, and yet more pitiless. This was his hand, his vengeance ; by his inscrutable decree half a million of men were dying in torture, because he was angry with Napoleon Buonaparte.

Sometimes he thought it was not his will, but only a terrible chance. Sometimes it seemed easier to believe, with most of

• A fact.

220 THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST.

his comrades, that there was no God, no Being who shaped the destinies of the human race. Practically, at least, there was none for him ; none to whom it mattered whether he lived or died. Then the whole subject would pass from him and be forgotten in the absorbing interest of his quest for food. Some thing to allay the pangs of hunger had to be sought for, very much as the wild beast seeks for its prey.

How long this dreary life in death continued Henri never knew. But it had an end at last, like all suffering on this side of the grave. One day he found himself in what was evidently the melancholy and abandoned ruin of a once beautiful pleasure- ground. The pitiless frost had done its part to blight and to destroy ; but the yet more pitiless hand of man had left its deeper traces. A castle, once fit for a royal residence, but now dismantled and partly burned, completed the picture of desola tion.

All at once, as revealed by a lightning flash, Henri recalled the past. Could this indeed be Zakret the splendid summer residence, with beautiful gardens, which the Czar had purchased just before the war? Only six months had passed since Henri wandered with genuine pleasure amidst its shady walks, and admired its magnificent conservatories filled with rare exotics, its terraces gay with the bloom of a thousand summer flowers. He even remembered the exasperation he had felt at the con duct of his fellow-soldiers, who wasted all that wealth of beauty with reckless, malicious hands, because it belonged to their enemy the Czar. "He is well avenged," thought Henri. "We did not dream that he would have proved himself so strong."

Another thought came then. Zakret was close to Yilna, the goal for the present of his weary wanderings. The idea lent his worn frame a momentary strength ; he would get up, and go there immediately. He had thrown himself upon a seat some broken masonry belonging to what had once been a

THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST. 221

beautiful fountain but now lie rose quickly, and tried to walk. But the effort proved too much for him ; lie tottered, slipped upon the frozen ground, fell, and utterly lost conscious ness.

When he recovered from his long and deathlike swoon, he found everything changed around him. Instead of the wintry sky, he saw above him a lofty vaulted roof. The light was dim, but sufficient to reveal the scene. The floor was covered, or rather crowded with prostrate forms ; in some places they lay in heaps. He stretched out his hand, and touched the form nearest him ; it was cold as ice, and in his horror at the thought that he was surrounded by the dead, he uttered a weak, agonized cry.

Several heads were raised at this, and eyes, bright with fever or dim with the mists of approaching death, gazed at him in a kind of dull surprise.

" Where am I ? " he asked feebly.

Some one dressed in a ragged French uniform, and carrying a large pitcher filled with snow, approached the place where he lay. " In prison," he said. " They brought you in a while ago with some other sick men."

" Are you a warder ? " pursued Henri.

" You insult me ! Can't you see my uniform ? I am, like yourself, a prisoner and a Frenchman. But those of us who are still passably strong are allowed to go down to the court and gather snow for the rest."

He was prevented from adding more by the clamour of the sick men around. All who were able to speak begged in piteous accents for a portion of the snow, holding out cups and other small vessels to receive it.

Henri was more conscious at the moment of hunger than of thirst. "Is there any food?" he asked in a faint voice.

A piece of hard biscuit was pushed towards him, and he took

222 THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST.

it eagerly. Then half-a-dozen hands were extended, and as many voices spoke to him " Take my biscuit, and give me in exchange your next cup of snow-water."

Henri ate a little, moistening his biscuit with the snow water; but bitter experience had taught him moderation. Then, forgetting that he was no longer a famished fugitive fighting for the necessaries of life, he began, from habit, to con ceal the remainder about his person.

A harsh, bitter laugh, from the man who brought in the snow, made him look up. " No need to hide what nobody wants," said he. " Biscuit is the only thing we have in plenty here except death."

" Can this indeed be Vilna 1 " Henri asked with a bewildered look.

His informant nodded.

"Then where is the army the Emperor? How comes it that we are prisoners ? "

" The army Igone like the snow I brought in just now. The Emperor? safe in Paris by this time. If it will be a comfort to you in your dying moments to know that his Imperial Majesty 'never was better in all his life,' I have the satisfaction of affording it. He announced the fact in his last bulletin."

Henri stirred uneasily, and cast a mournful glance around him. All that met his senses was foul and loathsome in the extreme. The atmosphere of the place was "at once icy and pestilential;" and the whole, the sick, the dying, and the dead, lay heaped together promiscuously. Dead bodies, or mutilated portions of them, were piled together in the windows, a ghastly defence against the bitter wintry wind; while every noxious odour, every hideous and revolting sight that accompanies disease and death, filled the vaults and corridors of the spacious building, making it one vast and dreary charnel- house.

THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST. 223

" This is horrible ! " he murmured.

"Nothing could be worse. No beds no straw even no fire, no wine, no medicine nothing but rations of hard biscuit, and the snow we can find for ourselves in the court."

" The Russians, since we are their prisoners, ought to treat us with more humanity," said Henri.

"The Russians, my boy, have as much as they can do to take care of their own sick and wounded. As for us, hundreds of famished wretches are brought in here every day, until there is no more room in which to lay them down to die. This building which is now our prison, the Convent of St. Basil, will soon be our grave. That is one comfort. Our miseries will be quickly ended. The hospital fever has broken out."

" Typhus fever ? " said Henri with a look of horror.

" Even so ; we are dying fast. Every day we have to carry out the dead bodies, or to throw them from the windows."

" Are there no physicians ? "

" Physicians ? What should bring them here ? It is death to enter these doors. Not the very Poles themselves, who were so loud in their acclamations when we came here six months ago who called us their brothers, their deliverers would dare to bring us now so much as a cup of cold water. Even the guards die who are stationed to watch us. We shall soon be left unguarded. Then we may go out free if we like only none of us will be alive to go. "

Henri covered his face. He was utterly crushed. He seemed no longer to feel, to care for anything a numb chill despair lay like a weight of lead upon his heart.

After what might have been, for aught he knew, a considerable time, he was aroused from his stupor by the sound of voices, and interested, in spite of himself, by what reached his ear. Some one was pleading earnestly with another in the accents of a soft musical tongue, which at first he took for Italian, like

224 THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST.

Guide's, but he soon found that he could not understand the words spoken. However, the speakers presently relapsed into French, and then he easily gathered that one of them, a Spaniard, dying of the cruel hospital fever, was entreating his French comrade to write for him a letter of farewell to his wife. Evidently the feelings of the Frenchman were touched. Henri saw him tear a leaf from a book which he had with him, and write upon it at the dictation of the Spaniard, and in his language. "Though where is the use?" he heard him say to one near him in a lower tone. " Poor fellow ! there is none to send it for him."

By-and-by another pitcher of snow was brought in by Henri's first acquaintance, whose name was Pontet.

When with some difficulty he had distributed the coveted refreshment among its many eager and agonized claimants, he said briefly, as he set down his pitcher, "I have news."

Heads were raised and eyes were turned towards him, but for the most part languidly ; suffering had well-nigh killed desire and hope even fear was scarcely felt.

"The Emperor is come," said Pontet. In that word there was a spell potent enough to arouse the dying. On every side exclamations arose " Come back ! Retaken the town \ Stolen a march upon them all ! Ah, what joy ! What a triumph ! " and one voice, weak but courageous, raised the old well-remembered cry, " Vive Napoleon ! "

" Hush, you fools ! " said Pontet sharply. " Napoleon is far enough away. Do you think there is no other Emperor in the world? I am speaking of the Emperor Alexander."

Bitter was the disappointment, especially to dying hearts. Pontet came in for sundry curses, feeble but emphatic, and one sick man flung his cup at him. "How dare you raise our hopes only to dash them so cruelly 1 " he cried.

" I had more to tell," Pontet continued ; " but if you care not to listen, I can spare my breath."

THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST. 225

" Tell us, friend, tell us," spoke two or three voices together.

" I have made a friend amongst the guards who knows a little French, and is disposed to be communicative. He says the Czar has appointed General St. Priest governor and guardian of all the prisoners."

" St. Priest ! Who is he ? "

"A Frenchman in the service of Russia. Because he is a Frenchman this office has been given him. My comrades, this looks well."

" Nothing looks well now but the grave," said the man who cried "Vive Napoleon."

" Pontet," he continued, " I don't think much of your news. St. Priest may be a Frenchman, but then he must be a pretty rascal, to fight against France."

"Well, we shall see."

"What is that noise 1 ?" asked Henri, as the loud rattling of an iron chain was heard.

"They are only swinging the great lamp up to its place, where it hangs from the roof. How early they are lighting it to-night ! It will be daylight in the court for another hour. "

After this Henri fell into a troubled, uneasy sleep. When he awoke, there was a general stir around him, and a mur mur of suppressed excitement. " What is the matter 1 " he asked of Pontet, who was sitting near him, resting his head on his hand.

He looked up to answer the question. " The guards say Monsieur de St. Priest is coming to visit us."

" He must be a brave man," said Henri.

" Ay de mi ! " murmured the Spaniard. " If I dare but ask him to send that letter ! Ah, Teresa mia ! " Tears stole into his dying eyes as that beloved face arose before him in its dark, well-remembered beauty; and once more his little children seemed to climb about his knees, while the orange-tree beside his cottage door shed its fragrant blossoms over him.

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226 THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST.

" Hush ! " said those around " hush ! here comes Monsieur le General."

St. Priest came slowly, threading his way through the thick ranks of sick men stretched upon the ground. His look was absorbed and anxious ; some great care seemed to oppress him. Pontet whispered, "See how he is leaving the work to his aide-de-camp."

For all observed that the companion of St. Priest paused continually, and, bending low over the sufferers, spoke in turn to each, patiently waiting for an answer. Those near him no ticed also with surprise that Frenchmen, Poles, and Germans were addressed with equal fluency, each in his own tongue.

As he approached, the good-natured Frenchman who had written the Spaniard's letter for him whispered, " Try the aide- de-camp. He looks kind."

Thus encouraged, the dying man stretched out his worn and fevered hand. "For the love of God, Monsieur 1'Aide de camp," he prayed in his broken French, " take this letter and send it for me. It is my last farewell to my dear wife."

" That letter shall reach its destination," was the answer, uttered in a tone of deep feeling ; and stooping over the pros trate form, the speaker added some gentle words of hope and consolation.

As his tall figure resumed its erect position, the lamplight shone upon his face, revealing it to Henri. It was a noble, refined, sensitive face, pale with uttermost horror and loath ing at the abominations around, though the revolt of the shrinking nerves and senses was crushed down by a strong will, and a look of profound compassion and sympathy effaced every other expression. Instinctively Henri raised himself, and, resting on his elbow, gazed at him with a hungry longing in his heart that to him even to him also he would address so much as a single word. At the same moment the stranger's pitying eye fell upon his young, sad, wasted face. "Et toi aussi,

THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST. 227

pauvre enfant," he said with tenderness, bending down once more and touching Henri's forehead gently with his hand.

Henri seized the hand in his and pressed it to his lips. " Speak to me so again," he cried, "and I verily believe I shall not die, but live ! "

His prayer was granted. He was spoken to, or rather spoken with, until St. Priest drew near, and with an anxious air en treated, not commanded, his companion to hasten onwards.

Then Henri covered his face with his thin hands and wept quietly almost the first tears he had shed since leaving Mos cow. The gentle shower softened the hard soil of his heart, the flood-gates were thrown open, the fountains of the great deep were unloosed, and the shower became a storm. " Mother, mother ! " he sobbed piteously, "O mother ! " Wild and passion ate was the longing that swept him to see her face again, hers and his sister's. He thought of the old days of his happy childhood, of the love and tenderness that used to surround him ; and every thought unlocked afresh the source of tears. He wept until he could weep no more.

Meanwhile, Pontet followed the visitors as far as he could, and then spoke to the guard at the door. He came back with a beaming countenance and a manner full of suppressed excite ment. " Wonderful news, my comrades ! " he began eagerly. " Guess, if you can, who it is that has been among us that we took for the aide-de-camp of M. de St. Priest ? "

" It was an angel from heaven," murmured one poor sufferer, lifting up a face flushed with fever. " There was light rest while he was here. Oh, if he could but have stayed ! The darkness is coming back now."

"He has left the light with me" said the Spaniard. "God must have sent him here, his messenger, to fulfil my last wish."

"But his name, his name?" cried the eager Pontet, "no one has guessed that yet. Will you try, or shall I tell you ? But if I do, you will not believe me."

228 THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST.

"Tell us, tell us," cried half-a-score of voices.

" The aide-de-camp of St. Priest was no other than our great enemy our conqueror, Alexander, Emperor of Russia ! "

His auditors were utterly incredulous. " Have you lost your senses, Pontet 1 " they cried ; " or have the guards been mocking you and us 1 Not a physician, not a nurse even, would enter here were a fortune offered as a bribe ; and do you expect us to believe that the Czar, our enemy, would risk his life -for us ? "

" Listen," answered Pontet; "the guards have told me all. He has spent the whole day going through the other hospi tals ; at last he came here. M. de St. Priest, knowing well how the deadly hospital fever is raging amongst us, entreated, implored him not to enter. He would not listen. Then the general, in a kind of desperation, flung himself before the door, and, daring his sovereign to his face, told him he should enter only over his body. The Czar put him gently aside and walked in ; and I tell you, comrades, there is not a nook or corner in all this den of horrors that he has not thoroughly explored. There was no hiding anything from him. I take it, things will be altered with us from this time forth. My friends, if there is any man amongst you happy enough still to believe in God, let him thank him this night for sending the Emperor Alexander here."

When the comments made by others upon this speech had died away, Henri raised his quivering, tear-stained face and said gently, but with a new air of courage and firmness, "Pontet, / believe in God; and I thank him as you say." After a pause he added, "Dear comrades, if you will listen, I should like to tell you how it is with me ; for, perhaps, some other poor lad may even now be struggling and suffering in darkness, as I have been."

" Say on," cried several voices.

"When I was wandering through the snow, in hunger, in

THE AIDE-DE-CAMP OF ST. PRIEST. 229

misery, in despair, almost in madness, I lost my faith in God r perhaps because I never had the right kind of faith, because 1 only believed that he was great and just, without believing that he was my God. I fainted utterly. I thought either that he was not, or that there was with him no love, no compassion. I thought his pitiless hand was sweeping us all from the face of the earth, because he was angry with Napoleon. I thought he was like the great fire in Moscow, which burned, blazed, destroyed, unchecked by human efforts, unstayed by human prayers. May he forgive me ! To-night I can believe in his forgiveness and in his divine compassion. If the man who was our enemy whose land we tried to ruin, upon whom we heaped every insult, every injury in our power can pity and forgive us, surely the God who made him will not be found less merciful than he ! Surely none but that God could so have softened the proud heart of the Czar; and perhaps he has done it just to show that even for those who have sinned deeply, wilfully, like me, there is forgiveness with Him. Therefore let us hope in the Lord ; for with the Lord there is mercy, and with him is plenteous redemption."

There were murmurs of assent from the pale lips of many of the sufferers around him ; and Pontet observed, with a thought ful air, " The lad speaks well ; and perhaps what he says may be true. Who knows ? " *

• All that is told in this and the succeeding chapter about the ministrations of

Alexander to the French prisoners is strictly and circumstantially true. Sir Archibald Alison, who well observes that Alexander terminated "a campaign of unexampled danger and glory by deeds of unprecedented mercy," had the details from the Emperor's own physicians, Wylie and Crichton, his assistants in the noble work. There are many other sources of information from which interesting anecdotes may be gleaned. The story of the dying Spaniard is one of these. Alexander not only took care to forward his letter, but sought out all the other Spanish prisoners, clothed them, and sent them home at his own expense. He described his visit to the Convent of St. Basil to a friend in these words:" I was there in the evening: a single lamp illumined those profound vaults, beneath which piles of corpses had been heaped almost as high as the walls. I cannot express the horror with which I was penetrated when amongst the dead bodies I saw creatures moving who were yet alive." On his way to Vilna, he took up in his own sledge starving French soldiers whom he met with, and brought them to those whom he could trust to take care of them, leaving money to supply their wants.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE MOSCOW MEDAL.

" Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are ! "

| HE very next day Henri de Talmont was removed from the horrible Convent of St. Basil to one of the other hospitals of the town in which, indeed, every palace, every public building sufficiently large, was now being transformed into a hospital. As he passed through the streets, he observed that large fires were burning in all the thoroughfares ; and the Russian physician who took charge of the party of invalids told them this was done to purify the air and to destroy infection.

A delicious sensation of rest stole over the weary frame of Henri when at last he found himself lying on a comfortable pallet, in a clean, well-warmed room. Nourishment sufficient for his need and suitable to his weak condition was given him with a willing hand. He had escaped the deadly hospital fever, but the prostration of his strength was excessive, the vital forces seemed exhausted For many days he lay in a kind of con tented apathy, slumbering continually, and even when not asleep floating in hazy dreams amongst vague remembrances of the past. Once or twice he roused himself sufficiently to make some inquiry after his fellow-sufferers. "Be at rest," said his nurse. "All are cared for now; just as well as the wounded Russians." But he used to waken up thoroughly whenever the Emperor came to inspect the hospital where he lay. He would

THE MOSCOW MEDAL. 231

watch with pathetic eagerness for a word, even for a look, from him, and live upon the recollection until his next visit. To most of the other French prisoners the person of their bene factor remained unknown ; and as Alexander moved in and out amongst them, listening to their complaints, ministering to their needs, and speaking words of comfort, they took him generally for the aide-de-camp of St. Priest.

One day Henri, feeling rather stronger than usual, observed with interest a handsome, splendidly-equipped young Russian, who had come to visit one of his countrymen in the same ward. The conversation, carried on in their own language, was unin telligible to Henri ; but something in the face of the visitor touched a chord of memory. The Russian, seeing the sick Frenchman look at him earnestly, and as he thought implor ingly, came to his side and asked kindly in French, "Can I do anything for you 1 "

" No, sir, no ; I thank you. I have everything I want. Stay though," he added with a slight increase of animation ; " I should like to know, if you will be good enough to tell me, how the Grand Duke is to-day."

Strange to say, the eccentric, passionate Constantino, at other times even wantonly cruel, was now so wrought upon by the example and influence of the brother he adored that he emulated his works of mercy, and had actually caught the hospital fever in his ministrations to the prisoners. Alexander himself seemed to bear a charmed life through every peril ; for God fulfilled unto his servant the word upon which he had caused him to hope : " A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand ; but it shall not come nigh thee."

The Russian answered, "He is much better. Dr. Wylie has pronounced him out of danger. You know Dr. Wylie ? "

"Yes; he comes here often. He examined me one day, and said he would like to bleed me, only I was too weak."

The Russian could not suppress a smile. " You enjoyed a

232 THE MOSCOW MEDAL.

most unusual exemption," he said. " Dr. Wylie's lancet is not easily escaped. But I hope, as you have been so fortunate, that you are growing stronger 1 "

" I scarcely know. I ought to be ; for I am not in pain, not hungry, not cold. All that is so strange now, so pleasant. But, pardon me, have I not seen your face before ? Where can it have been ? "

"I do not remember yours," was the answer. That was not wonderful ; for Henri was a melancholy shadow of his former self, with ghastly, shrunken features, and frame reduced to a .skeleton. The hardships of a very severe campaign had told also upon Ivan Pojarsky, but in a different way ; he looked bronzed and weather-beaten, and much older than he really was.

"I remember now," Henri resumed after a pause. "I saw you during the Occupation, in a church in Moscow. After the service some Russians attacked me, and I might have been killed, but for that brave fellow with one hand. He appealed to you, and you protected me. Ah ! " he added with a sigh, " if I had known then what sufferings were before me, I might have prayed you to plunge your sword into my breast ! "

" I am glad to find you amongst the living," Ivan said kindly.

" And that day," mused Henri, " was little more than three months ago, while it is but two since we left Moscow. Were there ever two such months since the beginning of the world ? "

"Of suffering? I think not," said Ivan thoughtfully, as he took a seat beside him.

"Of suffering for us, of glory for you. How you must triumph, you Russians ! Five months ago Napoleon crossed your border with half a million of men ; and now the miserable remains of that splendid host are dying in your hospitals, pensioners of your bounty. Surely such an overthrow was never seen since Pharaoh and his armies perished in the waters of the Red Sea ! "

THE MOSCOW MEDAL. 233

" How we triumph, we Russians ! " Ivan repeated. " Should you like to know how ? Our Emperor said the other day in confidence to a friend, ' This miserable campaign has cost me ten years of my life ! ' "

" Miserable ! when it has been for him and his one long glori ous victory ! "

" True ; but the sufferings he has witnessed have well-nigh broken his heart."

"The sufferings of his enemies" said Henri, as tears filled his eyes.

"They have so cast our own into the shade, that we ourselves almost forget them. Yet you must not think we have suffered nothing. Remember Moscow, our beautiful, our holy city ; remember Borodino and the other battles in which the best blood of our country was poured out like water. Moreover, the ice-king has thinned our ranks as well as yours."

" Ah ! not so fatally."

" No ; we had wholesome food, and warm clothing, and care and comforts for the sick. As a rule, our invalids recovered, while yours died. Yes, oh yes, God has surely given us a great deliverance ; would it had been at less cost to others ! Look here, monsieur," Ivan took a silver medal, new and bright, from his neck, where it hung attached to a sky-blue ribbon. " The Czar has just given one of these to every man who has borne part in this winter's campaign, from the general to the youngest recruit."

Henri examined it with interest. One side bore a Triangle surrounded by rays, and in its centre an Eye.

" What does that mean 1 " he inquired.

"It is, with us, the symbol of the Divine Presence," Ivan answered, crossing himself. "It typifies the All-seeing and Ever-present the Three in One. Beneath, you read '1812,' the ever-memorable year when He himself interposed to deliver us. Now, turn the other side."

234 THE MOSCOW MEDAL.

Henri did so, and saw, though he could not read, an inscrip tion in the old Slavonic tongue.

" That is, translated literally, 'Not us! not us! but His Name/' In your French Bible the same which I use also the verse reads thus : ' Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory.' "

" Beautiful ! " said Henri ; and as he gave back the medal, he looked with interest at the brilliant young Guardsman, who spoke in such a simple, manly, unaffected way of God's Word and Providence.

" To-morrow the Czar leaves this," said Ivan, replacing his medal. " We of the Chevalier Guard go also, of course."

Henri's cry of distress made all the sick men in the ward raise their heads.

" What is the matter ? " Ivan asked compassionately.

"The Emperor is going !" Henri said, or rather sobbed, for so weak was he that he could not restrain his tears.

" You need not be afraid that will change anything, my poor friend. He has made arrangements for the safety and the comfort of all the prisoners. Henceforth they will want for nothing. "

" I was not afraid of wanting food or shelter," Henri said. " But, M. le Garde, when I lay in that horrible prison, dying in black despair, it was his voice called me back from the gates of the grave, and showed me what the mercy of God was like. I would give half the little life loft in me to hear that voice yet once again, " After a pause he added, with an effort to control himself, " Still, he stayed among us longer than we could have dared to hope. Is he going home now 1 "

Ivan shook his head. " His work is not half done yet ; nor ours," he said.

"What will you fight for now 1 ?" asked Henri with a sad smile. " For vengeance ? "

"For peace" returned Ivan. "Shall I tell you what the

THE MOSCOW MEDAL. 235

Czar says about that ? He speaks without anger or bitterness of your Emperor."

" Call him not mine," Henri interrupted, with a flush on his pale cheek. " Mine he never was. I am a Royalist."

" Well, then, of Napoleon. What a brilliant career,' said the Czar, ' that man might have run ! He could have given peace to Europe he could have done it ; and he has not. Now the charm is broken. ' "

" At least you Russians cannot regret that," said Henri with enthusiasm ; " for the olive crown of the peace-maker which Napoleon has put aside awaits the brow of Alexander."

"So said the friend to whom the Czar was speaking.* 'If only peace is made,' was his answer, ' what does it matter by whom, whether by him, or by me, or by another?' It is a good time to think of peace," Ivan added. " To-morrow will be Christmas day, when peace and good-will upon earth were sung by the angels."

" To-morrow ?" repeated Henri. " Am I dreaming ? Surely I remember noticing that one of the first blessed, restful days I spent here was Chrisimas day."

"You forget," said Ivan with a smile, "that we Russians are behind the Western world by twelve days. Our Christmas is your feast of the Epiphany. After divine service to-morrow, the Czar begins his journey, and we follow."

" You do not accompany him ? "

" No ; he travels with far greater speed than we could do. For guards he never cares anything."

" Strange," said Henri "strange; and how perilous ! Think of the country, overrun by war, swarming with stragglers from the army, with desperate characters of every kind ! "

" He has no fears," returned Ivan ; "nor we for him. Even our white-haired general, with all the caution of his seventy years, answered to some one who spoke as you do, ' Who could

• Madame de Choiseul-Gouffier.

236 THE MOSCOW MEDAL.

have the courage to harm him ? ' * But, my friend, I must go now, for it is late. Accept my best wishes for your recovery." He clasped Henri's hand warmly, and contrived to leave in it a few pieces of gold. Henri tried to remonstrate, but was quickly silenced. " Soldiers always help one another ; that is a matter of course. If you like," added Ivan, with a touch of playful malice, "you can repay me after the first French victory. Good-bye."

" What a fine young fellow ! " thought Ivan as he left the hospital ; "so grateful and so patient. And I have forgotten even to ask his name ! How thoughtless of me ! Too late to return now. But I am sure he is well born, particularly since he calls himself a Royalist. Probably he belongs to one of those noble families of the old regime Napoleon delights to oppress and humble."

Over Ivan himself great changes had passed, and were pass ing even then. Perhaps his share in the foregoing conversation has already indicated these with sufficient clearness ; if not, his conduct during the events that have yet to follow may com plete the picture.

Amongst the works of faith and love which in all ages have been inspired by the precepts and the example of "the for giving Christ," the labours of Alexander on behalf of his perish ing enemies undoubtedly deserve a place. It is good for the world to keep such deeds in remembrance, although to those who do them the world's remembrance may avail but little. It was not the motive that inspired, nor will it be the reward that crowns them.

A few years later, at Cherson in the Crimea, Alexander stood beside the grave of a philanthropist whose character and work he held in genuine veneration John Howard, the prisoners' friend. With his own hand he designed a monument to mark

"Eh, mon Uieu," s'^cria le marechal, "qui est-ce qui aurait le courage de faire du niul a cet ange ? "

THE MOSCOW MEDAL. 237

the resting-place of Christ's honoured servant, choosing for its sole inscription those words of Christ himself "I was sick, and you visited me; I was in prison, and you came unto me." " Where the kings of the nations lie in glory, every one in his own house," the Czar Alexander Paulo vitch has his stately sleeping-place; and well might it bear the same inscription. No human hand has placed it there ; but we doubt not Divine lips will one day utter the commendation, " Inasmuch as you have done it unto one of the least of these, you have done it unto Me."

CHAPTER XXIV.

ONE YEAR AFTERWARDS.

" "War is mercy, glory, fame,

Fought in Freedom's holy cause, Freedom such as man may claim Under God's restraining laws."

WOKDSWORTH.

|ETWEEN the opening month of 1813 and that of the following year a great change swept over Europe. Men of Teutonic race, true-hearted sons of their dear Fatherland, look back upon that era with honourable pride. They talk with enthusiasm of " the war of liberation," telling gratefully beside their hearths, or by the vine-clad banks of their glorious " German Rhine," how prince and peasant armed for the fight, and flung from them the intolerable yoke of the foreign oppressor. Korner's patri otic lyrics thrilled every heart, and many another tuneful voice, then and since, has chanted the psean of Germany's deliver ance,

" How the crowned eagle spread again

His pinion to the sun ; And the strong land shook off its chain, So was the triumph won."

But there are other heroes besides the pre-Homeric of whom it may be said,

" They had no bard, and died."

In that memorable battle fought long ago in the valley of Elah, we are told how the men of Israel arose with a great shout, and

ONE YEAR AFTERWARDS. 239

rushing upon their Philistine oppressors, chased them with tre mendous slaughter to the very gates of their own fastnesses. It was a glorious victory ; but it would scarcely have been won at all if the Hebrew champion had not first slain Goliath "in the name of the Lord of Hosts, the God of the armies of Israel." In like manner the battle of the deliverance of Europe was really fought and won upon the frozen plains of Russia.

The early days of 1813 found the Russian hosts upon the frontiers of their own country. Within that country, through the blessing of God upon their valour and constancy, not an enemy remained except in captivity. By the first month of 1814 the still victorious armies of the Czar had reached the boundaries of France. That unhappy land seemed now about to suffer what she, or her rulers, had once and again inflicted upon others. " Woe to thee that spoilest, and thou wast not spoiled ; and dealest treacherously, and they dealt not treacher ously with thee ! when thou shalt cease to spoil, thou shalt be spoiled; and when thou shalt make an end to deal treacherously, they shall deal treacherously with thee." So has it ever been since the world began : wrong begets wrong, cruelty engenders cruelty; "they that take the sword perish with the sword." It was the hour of retribution. Slavs and Teutons, whose homes and hearths had been made desolate by French bayonets, gazed, flushed with triumph, on the fertile plains of France, and promised themselves and their dead a terrible vengeance. " We will reward her even as she rewarded us, and the cup which she hath filled we will fill to her double," they said in their hearts. It was the voice of Nature.

But in that hour another voice was heard. " Soldiers," said Alexander to the armies of Russia, "your valour and your perseverance have brought you from the Oka to the Rhine. We are about to enter a country with which we are waging a sanguinary and obstinate war. The enemy, entering our

240 ONE YEAR AFTERWARDS.

empire, brought on us great evils, but suffered for it an awful punishment. Let us not take example by them ; cruelty and ferocity cannot be pleasing in the eyes of a merciful God. Let us forget their deeds, and render them, not vengeance and hatred, but friendship, and a hand stretched out for peace. Such is the lesson taught by our holy faith. Divine lips have pronounced the command, 'Love your enemies; do good to them that hate you.' Soldiers, I trust that by your moderation in the enemy's country you will conquer as much by generosity as by arms ; and, uniting the valour of the soldier against the armed with the charity of the Christian towards the unarmed, you will crown your exploits by keeping stainless your well- earned reputation of a brave and moral people." This was not the voice of Nature, but of Grace.

But these noble words, did they die upon the ears of those who heard them, leaving only an echo, faint though musical, to remind them of the existence of such things as mercy and humanity ? or did they really prove strong enough to restrain the excited passions of a hundred thousand fighting men? Strange to tell, the voice of Alexander was obeyed. It was not easy to secure such obedience ; it would not have been even possible, had not he whose lips uttered the command been passionately loved, as well as feared and honoured. But a touching proof how well it was secured was given years afterwards. When, through the length and breadth of Europe, the tidings flashed from lip to lip, " The Emperor of Russia is dead," the peasants of the French provinces through which he marched at the head of a victorious hostile army crowded unbidden to their churches to offer their humble prayers, useless indeed but sincere, for the repose of his soul.

Two months of hard fighting brought the Allies from the banks of the Rhine to those of the Marne, which they crossed on the 28th of March, and found themselves in the rich and fertile plain that surrounds Paris. The Chevaliers of the

ONE YEAR AFTERWARDS. 241

Imperial Guard had borne their full share in the glories and dangers of the war ; for their place was near the person of a sovereign of whom it was said with truth that " the only life he ever exposed without reflection was his own." Their ranks were sorely thinned : one gallant youth had fallen by a shot from the same battery as that which killed Moreau, two at Toplitz, others at Leipzig and elsewhere. But their arms were as bright, their equipages as splendid, as when they left the banks of the Neva ; and their massy silver cuirasses reflected the sunshine of France from surfaces as stainless as those which flashed upon the parade-ground of St. Petersburg.

Ivan Pojarsky was an ensign now he had won his colours on the banks of the Elbe and he wore besides the Order of St. George along with the Moscow medal on the breast of his crimson tunic. He had escaped without a wound ; but his friend Tolstoi was looking very pale, and had his left hand in a sling.

As the Chevaliers rode together towards Paris on the evening of the 29th of March, their party was joined by some noble young Prussian volunteers, their personal friends. One of these, named Schubart, was vaunting to the Russians the courage and ability of Blucher, and telling them the story of some of his exploits.

"All that is very well," said Tolstoi, with a little irritation. " Far be it from me to deny that Prince Blucher is a brave soldier and a good general. But where, I ask you, would he be now, but for his Russian auxiliaries ? You know as well as I that his army contains four Russians for one Prussian. Still," he pursued, "there is all the difference in the world between your fine old hero and that Austrian trimmer and time-server, who, I verily believe, would have us all prisoners in the camp of Napoleon, if he were left to himself."

"I am not any more in love with Prince Schwartzenberg than you are," said the Prussian; while Ivan whispered to Tolstoi, with a warning glance, "Take care."

(696) 16

242 ONE YEAR AFTERWARDS.

" Oh yes, I'll take care," answered Tolstoi lightly. Then, as a spasm of pain passed across his face, " What a nuisance this hand is ! Lucky it is not the right one, though."

"If it had been," said Ivan, "you would have done as Diebitch did at Austerlitz taken the sword in your left, and fought on."

" I am sorry to see you are wounded," remarked Schubart. "How was it?"

" Oh, it is nothing," returned Tolstoi. " I got the hurt three days ago, in that fight with Pacthod's corps."

"A brilliant affair. We have all heard of it," said the Prussian.

" Ay," answered Tolstoi ; " those Frenchmen fought like demons."

" Like heroes, you mean," said Ivan. " Certainly the empire Napoleon has kept over the hearts of his soldiers is no less than a miracle, especially when we know how little he would care if all of them were dead to-morrow, provided he had as good to replace them. It was sixteen thousand men with guns and cavalry against six thousand without either ; and yet they would not yield to us. Our guns raked their lines. Still they stood undaunted, resolved to resist to the death. The Czar sent an aide-de-camp with a flag of truce to them. They shot him dead." *

" Not very chivalrous that," Schubart interposed.

" No, truly. But how gallantly they fought ! They would have kept their places till they were cut to pieces, man by man. And to that it must have come, but the Czar would not have it. He called on us to follow us of the Chevalier Guard," said Ivan with a look of pride "and dashed head long into the midst of them, breaking up and scattering their compact square by the sheer impetus of his charge. It was a

• The aide-de-camp was Rapatel, a protege" of Moreau, who had attached himself to

Alexander out of gratitude for his kindness to the family of his friend and patron.

ONE YEAR AFTERWARDS. 243

glorious melee the grandest I have ever seen. Think of Pacthod giving his sword into the Czar's own hand, and not dreaming until afterwards that the gallant cavalry officer whose courage and promptitude averted a massacre was the Emperor him self ! " *

" Ach, wunderschon ! " cried Schubart. " Herr Tolstoi, I would take your wound twice over to have been in the midst of it."

" Look ! " Ivan suddenly exclaimed, pointing to the scene before them. While absorbed in their eager talk, they had been ascending an eminence, from the top of which they now caught their first sight of the magnificent capital of France. The sun had just set, but its parting beams still lingered upon the gilded dome of the Hotel des Invalides and the stately summit of the Pantheon. " Paris ! Paris ! " was the exclama tion that broke from every lip, and resounded far and wide in lengthened cries of fierce joy and exultation. " Paris ! Paris ! " was shouted again and yet again, as rank after rank of that gallant army beheld the goal of all their aspirations, the end of all their toils.

After the first involuntary cry Ivan was silent. At length he said quietly to his friend Tolstoi, " When I think of that terrible September, the last but one, and of the flames of Moscow, the wonder and the gladness seem too great, too awful for words."

"Those flames are burning in many a heart now," Tolstoi answered. " I suppose they will hardly let us in yonder with out a struggle," he added in an altered tone. " What will to morrow bring 1 "

• A distinguished English officer, who was present, says this was the only occasion

on which he ever saw Alexander put himself personally forward ; he was usually, though only too ready to share the perils of war, careful to leave its glories to his generals. But this was to save life.

CHAPTER XXV.

" FATHER PARIS FOR MOTHER MOSCOW."

" Lay the sword on his breast; there's no spot on its blade In whose cankering breath his bright laurels will fade : It was taken up first at humanity's call ; It was sheathed with sweet mercy when glory was all."

| HE passion and the tumult, the glory and the agony of the next day will live in History as long as History herself lives to depict the scenes of blood and violence which earth has witnessed. No battle in that terrible war was more hotly or more obstinately con tested than the battle of Paris ; although it ought to be remem bered that it was not the men of Paris who contested every inch of ground with the Allies, but the corps of Marmont and Mortier, old soldiers of Napoleon, the National Guard, and the youths of the Ecole Polytechnique.

The sun that shone upon that long day's conflict was already near its setting when Ivan, with the rest of the Chevalier Guard, was still straining every nerve to drive the French from the Butte de Chaumont, an important height commanding the city. It is not enough to say that he fought with gallantry : all did that. He fought as one whose whole soul was in the work who was conscious of no thought, no impulse, no resolve save that Paris must be won for the Czar that day. His horse was at a gallop; his red sabre was driving the fleeing French before him; the crest of the hill was reached; the city lay outspread beneath his feet; when a well-aimed bullet grazed

" FATHER PARIS FOR MOTHER MOSCOW." 245

the top of his silver cuirass, and passed through his right shoul der. Faint and dizzy, he still pressed on. To be stopped now would be intolerable. But in another moment his senses reeled; all things grew dim about him. He had barely time to thrust the colours which he held into the hand of the comrade nearest him; then, after clutching vainly at the mane of his horse, he found himself lying under its hoofs. Immeasurably bitter was the thrill of disappointment that flashed through him ere con sciousness departed. " I shall not enter Paris with my Czar," he murmured with his failing voice. After that he knew nothing.

When he came to himself he was still lying on the ground where he had fallen. Blood was flowing freely from the wound in his shoulder, but no hoof of horse had grazed him as he lay all had passed him by, sparing the fallen, as those noble and gentle creatures so often do. He heard voices near him, and to his joy they spoke in Russian. Then the Butte de Chau- mont was theirs yet ! He raised himself with an effort, and looked about him. It was night, but lights were blazing all around. A party of artillery occupied the height which he and his comrades had won for them, and the gunners were standing, match in hand, beside their loaded pieces. It was evident that the word of command to fire upon the city that lay outspread beneath them was expected every instant. Fierce and eager was the excitement. The passionate, exulting antici pation which kindled every eye and throbbed in every heart resounded on all sides in " houras" and "vivas," while from lip to lip along the ranks the cry was echoed and re-echoed, " Father Paris, you shall pay for Mother Moscow ! "

A voice near Ivan a voice that Ivan knew exclaimed, in tones of deepest emotion, "Thank God and the saints, we have our revenge this night for our beautiful and holy city, laid in ashes ay, and for our dead, our murdered! Anna Popovna, in thy name I send the messenger of Death into the homes of tha infidel Nyemtzi."

246 " FATHER PARIS FOR MOTHER MOSCOW.

" Michael ! Michael Ivanovitch ! " Ivan called in a faint and quivering voice.

Fortunately Michael heard the sound, and moved towards the spot whence it came. "Great St. Nicholas!" exclaimed he, "it is Barrinka!"

A good soldier always knows what to do for a wounded comrade. Water, mixed with a little brandy, was quickly borne to the lips of Ivan; and gladly would Michael have bound the wound himself, only he thought it right to yield the privilege to some one who had the use of both his hands. "But what shall we do for linen?" asked the gunner who undertook the surgeon's office.

" Here is the very thing we want !" cried Michael, delightedly producing from his knapsack a clean white cambric handker chief.

" A token from some fair one, I suppose," said his comrade with a laugh, as he took it from his hand.

" A token from some one harder to find," returned Michael. " From a Frenchman with a notion of justice and mercy in his head."

" The Frenchmen shall learn what justice is before the dawn of to-morrow's sun," said the gunner with a dark and angry look.

He bound Ivan's wound as well as he could, gave him a little more brandy and water, and then, with Michael's assistance, placed him on a kind of couch made of cloaks and blankets. Meanwhile their companions kindled a fire, the warmth of which proved welcome to all the party.

" I feel quite comfortable now," said Ivan. " Thank you, my brothers."

At that moment an exclamation of amazement broke from the entire group. Upon a pole, on an eminence near them, a white flag was visible through the darkness. Bitter murmurs, even cries of disappointment, began to be heard. " Can it be," cried Michael, "that they are dreaming of a truce now

" FATHER PARIS FOR MOTHER MOSCOW." 247

now with the city in our very hands? It must be those accursed treacherous Austrians or those fools of Prussians who are showing the white feather. But the Czar will never listen to them never!"

"Never!" eagerly assented all around. "He remembers the flames of Moscow."

They were not left long in suspense. Presently an aide- de-camp, galloping along the lines, brought the orders of the Czar: "Extinguish your matches. Pile your muskets. The city is about to capitulate."

The order was obeyed, but with a great and bitter cry, like the cry of a wild beast that sees his prey escape him. Rage and disappointment filled every heart to overflowing. Michael flung himself on his knees beside his now useless gun, cover ing his face with his one hand, while the tears rolled down his Weather-beaten cheeks.

Touched by his distress, Ivan called him to his side. "What is the matter, friend?" he asked gently.

" Matter, Barrinka? Matter enough to break the heart of a man who has marched from Moscow to Paris with only one thought, one hope in his heart the hope of vengeance."

" I cannot blame you, Michael. You have bitter wrongs to avenge."

" Ay, Barrinka," answered he, choking down the emotion he did not wish to betray. " I see nothing day and night but that sweet pale face with the look of death upon it. Only killing JSTyemtzi makes it go away now and then for a little while. All this time I have been thinking, perhaps if we kill Nyemtzi enough kill and destroy them utterly utterly," he repeated, sending out the word with a hissing sound through his clenched teeth, " that face may go or change change back again," he added more gently, " to the old happy look it used to have in the bygone days when she was my betrothed, before the Nyemtzi came and ruined everything."

248 " FATHER PARIS FOR MOTHER MOSCOW."

" I think, Michael, there may be another way to bring the change you long for," began Ivan; but Michael interrupted him.

" No !" he cried passionately "no way but killing Nyemtzi. That is all the joy left me now upon earth. And the Czar will not let us do it."

" He will not," said Ivan. " That is true. Remember, Michael, that he who forbids it is the Czar Alexander Paulo- vitch no one else.'

"If it were any one else," returned Michael gloomily, "we should tear him to pieces."

" What do you suppose has made the Czar forbid it? Ever since we entered this land of the enemy, he has held back his avenging armies, as one might hold a bloodhound in the leash from springing on his prey. Is it that he has no wrongs to revenge; that he has forgotten holy Moscow and the Kremlin and the outraged tombs of his fathers?"

" ' The Czar is God upon earth,' " said Michael, quoting the proverb of his people. " He does what he pleases. How could such as I pretend to understand him ? Are you suffering, Bar- rinka ? " he asked, as Ivan stirred uneasily and shivered.

" Not much. I think it is the chill before the morning that I feel. Wrap that cloak around me, please, and give me a little more brandy."

Michael did so, saying, as he tried to fasten the cloak, " If I had my other hand, I would do it better for you, Barrinka."

"You have done it well, my friend; but you must often miss your hand, and regret its loss."

" Regret it ! " cried Michael with the old enthusiasm flashing from his eyes. " Never! Did I not give it for the Czar?"

" Michael, listen to me. As you love and honour the Czar> so the Czar loves and honours his King"

" His king ?" repeated Michael, wondering. But a moment afterwards he made the sign of the cross. " I understand," he said in a lower voice.

" FATHER PARIS FOR MOTHER MOSCOW." 249

Ivan resumed : " The thought of vengeance may have been dear to him dear as was your hand to you still at the com mand of his King, and for his sake, it was surrendered, and that joy fully. You see?"

"I see." Michael relapsed into silence, and stood gazing thoughtfully upon the city spread out beneath their feet, and growing every moment clearer in the dawning light. At last he said, turning once again to Ivan, " Barrinka, it is true I gave my hand for the Czar. But I never thought he would care or even hear of it. He did though; he spoke to me with his own lips. He thanked me, and said I had been found faithful. Not one hand, but two, would have been well lost for that. But will his King speak to the Czar and thank him ?"

" Yes," Ivan answered, " he will, though I cannot tell how. God has many ways of speaking to his servants."

In due time the day broke, and the sun arose over Paris. Then came relief and refreshment for the troops, and surgical help and care for the wounded. Then came also the tidings, flashing from rank to rank, " The capitulation is signed. The city has surrendered without conditions. At half-past three o'clock this morning, the keys of Paris were placed in the hands of Alexander."

CHAPTER XXYI.

AT VERSAILLES.

" A poor man helped by thee shall make thee rich; A sick man served by thee shall make thee whole : Thou shalt be blessed thyself in every sense Of blessing which thou renderest."

1 HE two years so eventful to others had not passed without change over the mother and sister Henri de Talmont left sorrowing behind him in the cot tage at Brie. That he had joined the corps of recruits instead of making his escape soon became known to them. Both were stricken to the heart ; and because this was so, the grief of both was still and silent. Clemence told her mother Henri's parting words, upon which a mournful light was thrown by what followed. But these brought little com fort, and no tidings since had reached them from the wanderer. As may have been inferred, the letter intrusted to Seppel was never posted ; and Henri did not write again.

At length came news of the appalling disasters in Russia. Neither Madame de Talmont nor Clemence indulged the faintest hope that Henri could have survived them. They mourned for the one who "was not," in an utter desolation, beyond words and beyond tears.

Sometimes they murmured sadly to each other, " If only we knew the truth." For it was one of the bitterest drops in their full cup of bitterness that they could not tell in what form death had come to their beloved, while they knew but too well

AT VEKSAILLES. 251

how hideous and revolting were some of the forms assumed by the king of terrors. Horrible details reached them, piercing the thick veil of falsehood with which Napoleon sought to hide the disasters of his army; and imagination that magician so powerful for good and evil exercised a fearful ingenuity in torturing their aching hearts to the uttermost

These were pangs they endured in common ; but each had besides her solitary burden of pain. That of the mother was tinged with something like the bitterness of remorse. She had been wroth with her boy for deceiving her and betraying the cause she held dearer than life. Pride and anger had kept her back from obeying the first impulse of her heart when she heard of him as amongst the conscripts who left the village. She thought of hastening after him to Paris, that he might not go forth to die without his mother's pardon and her blessing. But she put the thought aside. The difficulties in her way would have been very great, yet it was not these that deterred her. It was the persuasion that he did not deserve this sacrifice at her hands that the first step towards a reconciliation ought to come from him. If he wished for it, why had he not written 1 ? But now everything was changed. With vain tears that had no healing in them the broken-hearted mother mourned over " the irrevocable past."

Clemence too had her lonely sorrow. Deeply thoughtful and truly pious, after the strong, stern, self-sacrificing Jansenist fashion, she knew too well that her brother's young heart had never truly surrendered itself to its Creator and Redeemer. The " Except ye be converted" of the Divine Teacher held as real a place in the creed of Clemence as in that of any Protes tant; nor, under the circumstances, could the Catholic belief in sacramentary grace interpose its soft, misleading glamour be tween her eyes and the truth. So her soul went down to the depths of a sorrow without hope; depths that few are strong enough to sound, and those who do sound them seldom

252 AT VERSAILLES.

tell what they find there. Some, it may be, bring back from thence secrets of divine love, " treasures of the deep that lieth under," worth all they have passed through to learn them. But it was not so with Clemence. She brought no pearls with her from the deeps of ocean. It was much if she herself came back, or rather drifted back, forlorn and weary, because mind and body were no longer strong enough to bear the strain of intense emotion. She said in her heart, as poor Henri thought she would do all too easily, " It is the will of God;" but she never truly said, " Thy will be done." Perhaps she made her heavy burden heavier by asking from herself what God never asked from her ; forgetting that it is not his will that any sinner should perish, and that Christ him self wept tears of divine compassion over lost souls. So her own faith grew dim and clouded, until even the sense of per sonal love to God seemed to vanish away, and with it the trust in his love to her; for, unhappily, her creed did not teach her that his love to his chosen and adopted is " everlasting."

In the course of time an outward change was mercifully sent to break up the current of those two sorrowful lives. A widowed sister of Madame de Talmont's mother had been able to retain a portion of her property through all the storms of the Revolution. Madame de Salgues had lost both her sons, and only one grandson remained to her, the object of her pas sionate devotion. But the agents of Napoleon kept watch over the lad, as a scion of the old noblesse; and when he had attained a suitable age, Madame de Salgues was requested to send him to the Ecole Polytechnique, such a request being too evidently a command. She wept, but had to obey; removing, however, to Paris, in order to be near him. But the superin tendent of police, the notorious Savary, had a word to say upon that subject ; and the poor old lady w T as soon forbidden to reside within the city. Remonstrance was useless; so she retired to Versailles, where she was still near enough to receive frequent

AT VERSAILLES. 253

visits from her grandson. Finding herself alone and lonely, with failing health and depressed spirits, she thought of Madame de Talmont; and very wisely wrote offering a comfortable home to her and her daughter, if they would come and cheer her declining years.

The invitation was accepted with thankfulness; and the first faint gleams of comfort stole unconsciously into the darkened hearts of Madame de Talmont and Clemence as they sought to soothe the sorrows of another. Poor Madame de Salgues had soon a fresh grief to mourn over. Like all her family, she was a stanch Legitimist, and she had brought up her grandson in the same political creed; but he could not long withstand the influ ence of his new surroundings. Before he had been three months at the Ecole Polytechnique, his teachers and fellow-pupils had wrought a rapid conversion, and made him as fiery and unrea soning a partisan of Napoleon as he had once been of the Bour bons. Emile de Salgues was not a lad whose opinions upon any subject were likely to be of particular importance to the rest of the world, but to Madame de Salgues the apostasy of her grandson from the good cause was a very grievous affliction.

The invasion of France by the Allies, and the attack upon Paris, caused many apprehensions to the household of un protected ladies ; but, as they themselves would have expressed it, they were " quitte pour la peur," no adversary nor evil of any kind came near them. They all rejoiced at the overthrow of Napoleon, but with trembling, and that for more reasons than one, they could not yet believe it was real, and they had not the slightest idea of what was to take his place.

On the day following the entry of the conquerors into Paris, Madame de Talmont said to her daughter, "Clemence, the Allies have sent their wounded here."

Clemence looked up from the embroidery upon which she was engaged. Two years of sorrow had changed the young girl into a

254 AT VEKSAILLES.

grave and quiet woman; but there was even a rarer beauty than of old in her pale and sculptured face. " There must be many wounded," she remarked with an air of sadness. " Every one says the fight was an obstinate one."

"The hospital is full to overflowing. Clemence, they are all of them mothers' sons, also."

In the last word there was an undertone of pain that went straight to the heart of Clemence. " True, dear mother," she said softly,

" I have been thinking," Madame de Talmont resumed, " that it would do us good to try and comfort some of them, even a little. What should we feel now, if we knew that any one had done it for our beloved 1 "

With Clemence a call to action always found a ready re sponse. " What can we do, mother 1 " she asked with even a touch of eagerness.

" To some of the sick men fruit may be welcome ; to others, a little money to buy the trifling luxuries they may long for ; to all, kind words will not be valueless."

"But, mother, they are Germans and Russians. They will not understand us."

" Some of them will. At all events, we can try."

An hour afterwards, two ladies dressed in deep mourning and closely veiled entered the Hospital of Versailles. Each carried a basket filled with grapes and oranges, which they easily obtained permission to distribute amongst the patients.

" These are all Russians who are here," they were told ; " the Prussians and Austrians have been provided for in other places."

The sufferers were well cared for, as well at least as circum stances permitted. A liberal allowance was made for their support by their own government; and the Mayor of Ver sailles interested himself so warmly in their welfare, that the Czar afterwards wrote him an autograph letter of thanks.

AT VERSAILLES. 255

Madame de Talmont and Clemence passed between long rows of pallets, distributing their little gifts, which were most thank fully received, especially the oranges, of which the Russians were excessively fond. They tried to show their gratitude by looks and signs ; and one poor fellow, remembering a word which is the same in most languages and full of blessing in all, brought tears to the sad eyes of Clemence by looking up and murmuring, "Christohs;" as though he would have said, "We are one in Him.'

They came at last to the ward where the wounded officers lay. Their little store was long since exhausted ; and even had it been otherwise, they would have thought the common soldiers greater objects of compassion. So they passed on rather quickly, and without paying much heed to the pale but interested faces which were raised from many a pillow to gaze at the gentle, sweet-looking ladies, the very sight of whom seemed to do the poor sufferers good.

At length one face arrested the eye of Madame de Talmont, and she could not but pause for another look. It was a young and handsome face, with a burning spot on either cheek, and a contraction of the brows that told the story of feverish pain. Yet, in spite of weariness and suffering, the eyes were absolutely beaming with joy, and a happy, satisfied smile played over the parted lips.

She stood for a moment by the side of the invalid. " My young friend," she said kindly, " you seem to be in pain ; and yet you look happy."

"Yes, madame, I am indeed happy," answered Ivan Pojar- sky, who had just been receiving a visit from his friend Tolstoi. "How can I help it? Yesterday the Czar entered Paris in triumph."

He spoke French as correctly and with almost as pure an accent as Madame de Talmont herself. She was touched and interested by his words. " But," she asked, " do you not feel

256 AT VERSAILLES.

it hard to be lying here, helpless and suffering, while your Emperor and your companions in arms enjoy their triumph 1 "

" Oh no, madame," he said with animation ; " I cannot think of that. Nor could you, if you belonged to my Czar. If you had seen the flames of Moscow ; had heard the thunder when the mines exploded that laid half our Kremlin in ruins ; had witnessed the faith and courage that upheld him then, had watched the long and weary conflict he has waged from that hour until now patient, wise, self-sacrificing, undaunted,* you would rejoice for him in the very depths of your heart that the goal is won at last, that he stands a conqueror in the midst of Paris, and possesses the gate of his enemies ! " In his eagerness he half raised himself, his eyes sparkled, and his whole face flushed with excitement.

"Gently, gently, my poor young friend," said Madame de Talmont in a tone of almost motherly tenderness. " I fear you will hurt yourself."

" Oh no, madame ; " but even as he spoke his colour changed rapidly, and his lip quivered with the pain he tried to hide.

Meanwhile, many thoughts were passing through the mind of the silent but observant Clemence. There was a little stand beside the bed, upon which were a phial containing medicine, a small book, and a clean white cambric handkerchief. She saw, with interest and pleasure, that the book was a copy of

• He could say all that and more with perfect truth. The conduct of Alex

ander during the War of Liberation forms a very bright page in his history. He spared no effort to infuse his own courage, energy, and determination into his allies. At the outset, he wished for the chief command of the united armies, a position for which he was well qualified, and to which he possessed every possible claim. But Austrian jealousy interfered: for it must be remembered that Francis of Austria had given his daughter in marriage to Napoleon, so that the infant heir of the common enemy was the grandson of one of the allied sovereigns. Inspired by his cabinet, the Austrian general, Prince Schwartzenberg, opposed the arrangement, and Alexander quietly gave way. He appeased the indignation of the King of Prussia, and reconciled Schwartzenberg with him. He broke up his own enormous armies into auxiliary corps, most of which he placed under the command of his allies ; and aban doning the lower ambition of being the nominal head of the confederation, contented himself with being its soul and its inspiring genius. It was he who planned, and urged upon his allies, the march upon Paris that brought the war to a successful termination.

AT VERSAILLES. 257

the New Testament in French. Then her eye rested upon the folded cambric, and presently a cry of amazement broke from her lips.

Every one started and looked towards her. Madame de Talmont was terror-stricken. So quiet and self-contained had Clemence ever been, that even in childhood a cry from her lips was a thing almost unknown. And now, with a face as white as that of any of the stricken sufferers around them, she was placing the handkerchief in the hand of her mother. "Look," she faltered "look, mother ! "

Ivan called an attendant, fortunately within reach. " Will you kindly place seats for these ladies 1 " he said, for he saw that the agitation of the mother was as great as that of the daughter. Both were gazing spell-bound at the crest, worked curiously and skilfully on a corner of the handkerchief, and having beneath it the initials " H. de T." No wonder; for it was the fingers of Clemence that had wrought every stitch, and her mother's eyes had watched the work. In both hearts a horrible dread succeeded to the first rush of uncontrollable and unreasoning emotion. Was this amongst the spoils of the dead ?

Ivan watched them with pitying eyes. " Have the good ness to be seated, madame and mademoiselle," he said. " A little nearer, please ; I cannot speak very loud. But I think I have something to tell you. "

They obeyed mechanically ; arid Madame de Talmont said falteringly, pointing to the initials on the handkerchief, " He was my son."

" Is," Ivan corrected.

From that moment to her dying day Madame de Talmont loved the voice that uttered that blessed monosyllable.

"I have good hope, madame, that God has preserved him to you through many dangers," Ivan went on. "I saw him twice the last time at Vilna, after the perils and horrors of the retreat were over. He was lying sick in a hospital there.

(696) 17

25S AT VERSAILLES.

vrith any malady, only worn out with hunger, cold, and weariness. Every care was afforded him, and every kindness shown that circumstances permitted ; and so, I trust !>

"But." Clemence interrupted, "'can we be snre there is no mistake ? M. le Russe. how did you become possessed of this ] " pointing to the handkerchief.

" In a strange way, mademoiselle/' said Ivan, filing his deep blue eyes on her face. "A young peasant, a friend of my childhood, was made prisoner by the French as they were marching upon Moscow. They branded him in the hand with the letter X, tilling him that now he belonged to their Em peror. Xapoieon. The brave fellow took out his axe and struck off the hand, saying to them, ' Take what belongs to vour Emperor : as for me, I belong wholly to the Czar.' Then, mademoiselle, monsieur, your your brother, I presume, stepped forward before them all. like the gallant and chivalrous gentle man he is. and bound up the poor lad's wounded arm with his own handkerchief."

A look of pride and pleasure flashed over the pale face of Clemence and Ivan saw it.

He resumed. "' It was in Moscow, during the Occupation, that I met him first My friend pointed him out to me in one of our churches. He found his way there, for he said it did him good to see men kneel in prayer to God, though he could not understand their words. Afterwards, as I told you, I saw him in the hospital at Tilna."

Absorbed though she was in the interest of his narrative, Clemence perceived that Ivan was growing faint " Mother," she whispered, " I fear we are hurting him. Let us go."

Only one word more/' said Ivan. "You wish to know how / came by that," again indicating the handkerchief. "My friend Michael treasured it carefully as a souvenir, and when I was wounded the other night, he used it to bind the wound Knowing how he prizes it, I was careful to have it washed, and

AT VERSAILLES. 259

kept it by me to give him when he comes to see me. Xow it is better in your hands."

Here one of the surgeons, who for some time had been hovering uneasily about the group, interposed and courteously requested the visitors to withdraw. He said, as he attended them to the door, " Pardon me, ladies, for interrupting your con versation, but I must take care of my patient, who will be in a high fever to-night if he excites himself any further. Indeed, I fear mischief has been done already not by you, ladies." he added with a bow, "but by one of his comrades, who came to him this morning full of yesterday's triumphal entry into the city/'

" I hope," Madame de Talmont contrived to say. in spite of her extreme agitation, " I hope he is not severely wounded ? "*

" Severely, but not dangerously." was the answer. " He is one of the finest young men we have, madame : an ensign in the Emperors Chevalier Guard, and already very favourably noticed by his Imperial Majesty. Adieu, madame and made moiselle : we shall be happy to see you another day."

CHAPTER XXVII.

RECOGNITIONS.

" There's a Divinity that shapes our ends."

jT is enough : my son is yet alive; I shall see him before I die." These were the first words Madame de Talmont found voice to falter, as, leaning heavily 011 the arm of Clemence, she traversed the short distance between the hospital and the house where they dwelt.

The unutterable joy and thankfulness that filled the soul of Clemence was not unmixed with fear. With the speechless, agonizing dread of a loving heart, she trembled for the treasure left her still. If, after this re-awakening of their hopes, the only tidings that had to reach them were of a nameless grave at Vilna, how could her mother bear the blow 1 Surely, had he recovered, Henri would have written to them ere this. She could not help concluding, from the young Russian's narrative, that he had met with sufficient kindness in the house of his captivity to have rendered it easy for him to do so.

But she could not bear to communicate her misgivings. She led her mother to the pleasant room they shared together, and persuaded her to lie down and rest, taking upon herself the task of relating what they had heard to La Tante, as they both called Madame de Salgues.

During the long night that followed, bringing sleep to neither, mother and daughter had abundant leisure for the

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scattered, incoherent, " discursive talk " beneath which over whelming emotions usually conceal, because they cannot ade quately express, themselves. Morning had almost come when Madame de Talmont asked, suddenly raising her head from a hot, tear-stained pillow, " Clemence, what about a ransom ? We have that to think of now."

"I have been thinking of it, mother," Clemence answered gently. " But peace will be made must be made shortly. May we not conclude that something will be arranged in it aboui the prisoners ? "

" If peace were to be made with any one save Napoleon, I should say yes. Some men would think of their followers, and try to make terms for them, were they themselves on the way to the scaffold. But this Corsican adventurer has as little idea of knightly honour as of Christian grace ; while who can tell yet what is to come after him 1 No, Clemence ; you may depend upon it those poor captives have no friends save God and their own kinsfolk. What can we do 1 ? Not even a jewel of any value is left us now."

" But, mother, we have still our little pittance in the Rentes. Now that La Tante supplies all our real needs, we can sell what is there."

" Ah, that is not enough, I fear, since the Rentes have fallen 30 low. Yet it is all we have.- Clemence, I do not like Rus sians ; in fact, as a general thing, I have quite a prejudice against them."

" Oh, mother, why ? " asked Clemence, in tones rather more earnest than the case demanded. " They could not help killing our people ; they were defending their native country," she added.

" Not for that, of course ; but there are reasons which you do not know. I was about to say, however, that young Russian has interested and attracted me in spite of myself. He seems quite a 'preux chevalier;' and," she added more softly, " al-

262 RECOGNITIONS.

though he said nothing of it, I doubt not he showed kindness to our dear one when he met him in the hospital at Vilna. Besides, there is something in his face which I cannot describe, but which haunts and troubles while it touches me. It seems to remind me of some other face known long ago. We must go and see him again to-morrow, and bring him some little token of our gratitude. What do you think he would like, Cl&nence?"

But they did not see Ivan on the morrow ; for Madame de Talmont was too ill to rise from her bed, and Clemence, even if she had been willing to leave her, could not go to the hospital alone. When, after an interval of three or four days, they made their appearance once more, the courteous Russian surgeon gave them quite a warm welcome.

" M. Pojarsky has been watching for you, mesdames," he said. " You will do him more good than any of our medicines."

" Pojarsky ! " Madame de Talmont repeated, as one in a dream " Pojarsky ! "

Clemence was amazed to find her mother's ready and graceful courtesy fail her completely for once. By way of supplying her unaccountable omission she ventured upon an inquiry for the invalid.

" He has been very feverish, and has suffered a good deal since," the surgeon admitted. " But he is much better to-day. Will you come to him at once, mesdames 1 "

" Willingly, monsieur, if you will be kind enough to dis tribute these oranges amongst those who need them most," said Clemence, placing a large bag in the hands of the surgeon ; for her mother's continued silence forced her to take the initiative. "Mother," she whispered, as they passed into the ward where Ivan lay " dear mother, what ails you? "

"That name awakens old associations not happy ones," Madame de Talmont answered.

Ivan received his friends with a bright, glad smile of welcome.

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Since their last visit he had beguiled his hours of loneliness and pain by endeavouring to recall every word, every look of Henri's, as a drop to be added to the cup of comfort he was bearing to the lips of Henri's mother and sister. Very pleasant had the recognition been to him. Well could he imagine how the solitary invalid far away in the hospital at Vilna must have longed for those sweet faces, for the gentle touch of those kind hands. What would lie give for such a mother, such a sister, to tend and care for him ! But then his thoughts would revert once more, with a thrill of thankful joy, to the triumph of the Czar. How could he wish for anything else in the world when Alexander was in Paris, and the flames of Moscow were avenged 1

At first Madame de Talmont seemed embarrassed, and a faint pink flush lent unwonted colour to her pale cheek. But Ivan's detailed description of his interview with Henri at Yilna arrested and held her with its absorbing interest.

" M. de Pojarsky," she said, uttering the name with a little hesitation, perhaps even reluctance, " if you have a mother living, 1 pray God to send some one to comfort her, as you have comforted me."

" Ah, madame," returned Ivan, " I have never known my mother ; she died in my earliest infancy. I am tempted to envy M. de Talmont," he added with a smile.

Madame de Talmont looked at him with quickened interest. " May I ask," she said rather quickly, " does your father live ? It is sad if one so young as you appear to be, stands alone in the world."

Ivan sighed. " I am alone in the world," he said. " But the strange thing is, that I cannot tell whether my father is living or dead."

" How is that ? " pursued Madame de Talmont eagerly. But Clemence interposed, from a kindly desire to spare the young Russian a painful recital. " We can guess," she said " we

264 RECOGNITIONS.

have heard, even in France, of exiles in Siberia. We have pitied their sufferings."

Ivan's white face flushed. " No one is sent to Siberia 'now" he said eagerly, " who would not in any other country than ours be far more severely punished. It was the Czarina who exiled my father," he continued with some excitement " not my Czar."

" Do not think me unkind or discourteous," Madame de Talmont said gently, " if I venture to inquire what was the offence laid to his charge. I have a reason."

" I can answer without pain or reluctance," said Ivan. " My father's disgrace and banishment, and my mother's death, which quickly followed, took place in my infancy ; and the kind but simple people who cared for me and brought me up could tell me very little. But from that little I have gathered that my father, being in Paris at the outbreak of the Revolution, became involved in the crimes of the Jacobins, rather from youthful thoughtlessness than from any deliberate evil inten tion."

" All ! " said Madame de Talmont.

Something in her tone made Ivan raise himself to look at her. " Madame," he asked quickly, " did you know my father ? "

" That is a question I shall be better able to answer if you on your part will tell me was your mother a French woman 1 "

" Yes, madame," said Ivan, looking greatly agitated.

" Have you ever heard her name ?"

" Not her family name, madame. Her Christian name 1 know Victoire. "

Madame de Talmont wrestled in silence with some emotion, and conquered it. Then taking Ivan's hand in hers, she said kindly, even with tenderness, " My dear boy, you must accept us as your cousins."

RECOGNITIONS. 265

" My cousins !" I van repeated. " Ah, maclame, how gladly! But I must entreat of you to explain to me my good fortune. It quite bewilders me."

" I can explain very easily. Your mother, Yictoire de Talmont, was my husband's much-loved cousin nay, his sister rather, for he was early left an orphan, and her father was as a father to him. Her only brother, Louis de Talmont, was as his brother, until that hateful revolutionary madness seized upon him, bringing misery and disunion into the house hold. It was her brother's influence made Victoire give her hand to his friend, the fascinating young Russian, Prince Pojarsky. I cannot deny that this was a great sorrow to my husband, for Prince Pojarsky had embraced the same opinions as Louis de Talmont.'*

"And did you know him, madame 1 ?" I van asked eagerly. ' : Have you ever seen him 1 "

" I did not know him well. All this happened before my own marriage. But I have seen him more than once a fine, brilliant young man, magnificent in dress and bearing, and very handsome. You are like him ; yet I think I see in you a stronger resemblance to the features of Yictoire."

Madame de Talmont's estimate of the young Russian prince had not been very favourable, though she naturally and prop erly expressed herself as kindly as she could in speaking to his son. But Clemence had always beheld the half-mythical Vic toire robed from head to foot in shining garments, woven in the loom of her own youthful romance. To see the son of Yictoire in the flesh seemed to be part of " the stuff that dreams are made of " brought suddenly into the realities of waking life. Breaking silence for the first time, she asked,

" Have you any portrait of your mother, monsieur ? "

" I have never even seen one," Ivan answered. " My father's ruin robbed me of everything. The poor mujiks who sheltered me most kindly and most bravely indeed at the peril of their

266 RECOGNITIONS.

own lives were unable to keep for me, out of all my father's wealth, even the smallest heirloom."

" We have a likeness of our cousin Yictoire, a pencil-sketch from the hand of my father," Clemence rejoined. " We must show it to you, monsieur."

Then Madame de Talmont made some inquiries about his early history ; and he answered modestly and with feeling. He dwelt with much gratitude upon the kindness of his dear old friend Petrovitch, saying in conclusion, " He taught me what a good father might be like."

At last it was necessary to say farewell. The ladies witLf drew, promising a speedy renewal of their intercourse.

" Would that I had a house of my own, even the humblest," said Madame de Talmont to Clemence, as they returned home ; " the son of Victoire should not lie ill another day in a public hospital. Thy father loved her well, Clemence."

Perhaps there was a shade on the brow of the widow as she said this ; but it was a tender shade a long-past sorrow touched and softened into the calm of resignation.

When they reached the house of Madame de Salgues, they went at once to the parlour, where that lady always sat ; for, kindly and tolerant though she was, she would not readily have forgiven them if a surprising piece of news had been kept from her a moment longer than was necessary. They found her, however, already engaged in hearing quite as much as was good for her, perhaps rather more.

A lad, dressed in the uniform of the Ecole Polytechnique, seemed to have brought a breath of modern air into the quaint parlour, furnished as "petits appartements " used to be in the days of Louis Quinze. Emile de Salgues was seated before a table laden with every good thing in the shape of food that the house contained. When the ladies entered he was dividing his attention between two occupations equally fascinating. He was exploring the depths of a Perigord pie, and driving his

RECOGNITIONS. 267

grandmother almost to distraction by a graphic account of the exploits and perils of the Polytechnic scholars during the defence of Paris.

Madame de Salgues was really slight and small, but en shrined in her own particular fauteuil, and arrayed with elaborate care in her antique brocades and laces, she looked dignified and even stately, while her manners exactly suited her surroundings, and seemed to lend them an added grace.

" Be seated, my dear Rose, and you too, Clemence," she said to her nieces as they entered. " You will both wish to hear what Emile has just been telling me."

Emile's narrative did not flow quite so easily in the pres ence of his cousins. He sometimes had a shrewd suspicion that Madame de Talmont criticised and Clemence laughed at him; though this was hardly correct, because Clemence in those days had little heart to laugh. However, he resumed, after due exchange of greetings :

" I was just telling my grandmother how we manned the guns at the Barriere du Trone, and sent a point-blank discharge into the midst of Count Pahlen's hussars. Then they charged us in flank ; and, outnumbered though we were, I think I may say we gave them enough to do. It was a glorious fight ! But as for myself, I thought my last hour was come. I was knocked down in the melee, and flung into a ditch. A gigantic Cossack levelled his spear at my breast, and would have run me through with it ; but another Russian turned it aside, and I heard him say, ' Pas tuez le jeune Frangais.' " *

" May God's blessing rest upon that Russian, whoever he was ! " sighed Madame de Salgues.

" How is the Queen of Cities bearing her reverse of fortune?" asked Madame de Talmont, after suitable comments upon Emile's perils and his gallantry.

In no queenly fashion," returned Emile, with an air of

• A fact.

268 RECOGNITIONS.

mortification, which, however, did not appear to spoil his enjoyment of his grandmother's delicate preserves. " The truth is, I am ashamed of Paris. I am heartily glad / was born in the provinces. The Parisians have no faith, no con stancy, no loyalty. "Would you believe it? nay, I suppose you have heard it already, for ill news travels fast they have dragged down the Emperor's statue from the top of the column in the Place Veiidome ; they have loaded it with the vilest of insults, covered it with a sheet, put a rope round its neck I know not what besides."

" Perhaps the conquerors desired its removal," suggested Madame de Talmont.

" Quite the reverse. The whole column would have shared the fate of the statue, but for a placard announcing that the Allies had taken it under their protection. The conduct of the mob has been unutterably base ; and no whit better are the fine gentlemen of Paris, while the fine ladies are infinitely worse."

" Take care what you say, my dear grandson," spoke Madame de Salgues' correct, quiet voice. " I could wish to see you more chivalrous."

" Chivalry would be wasted upon ladies who demean them selves so far as to beg the gentlemen of the Emperor of Russia's suite to take them up on their horses, only that they may catch a glimpse of him ! "

Here Clemence interposed. " The ladies of Paris may not be very dignified," she said, " but at least they have not, like the mob, incurred the reproach of inconstancy. Perhaps we women are not always wise in our choice of an idol, or self- respecting in the incense we burn before it ; but at least we seldom choose as the object of our idolatry a man capable of leaving those who fought and bled for him to perish unpitied in the snow, while he warmed himself at his fire in the Tuileries, saying, in the satisfaction of his heart, ' This is better than Moscow.'"

RECOGNITIONS. 269

Such an outburst from Cle'mence was rare indeed. It would not have been possible, had not the newly-found balm of hope taken the sting out of the old wound, and brought the Moscow retreat within the category of things that could be spoken about.

" These are not the grounds upon which ladies form their estimates of character," Emile returned, a little superciliously. " Oh no ! When Napoleon wished to see a lady, he simply ordered her to come to him. This Russian autocrat, in the like case, sends his aide-de-camp to inquire whether madame proposes remaining at home this afternoon, as, if so, he hopes to have the pleasure of waiting upon her. After that, what fair lady could suspend her judgment for a moment? Trust the dear creatures, one and all, to prefer the finely-polished pebble to the diamond in the rough.

" Does the polish prove the pebble, or the roughness the dia mond ? " asked Clemence demurely.

" The polish, at all events, takes with the multitude," re sumed the indignant Emile. " High and low alike have gone out of their senses about this Alexander. The canaille of St. Antoine are as bad as the habitues of St. Germain. Every word he utters flies from lip to lip, as if it were inspired. ' Ah, sire, why did you not come to us before 1 ' ask the deputies of the municipality. ' It was the valour of your armies that detained me/ says Alexander ; and all Paris is delighted. I am bound to own he has kind words for all, and kind deeds as well so far."

" There is but one question of absorbing interest for us, and for France," said Madame de Talmont. " Does he do the Allies intend to use their influence for the restoration of our rightful king 1 "

" That I scarcely know," said Emile. " I do know, however, that the streets are full of white cockades ; every hour one sees more of them. And I hear that the Emperor of Russia and the King of Prussia have been deep in consultation with tha-t

270 RECOGNITIONS.

old schemer Talleyrand, who, of course, is turning his coat again. So, my dear grandmother, and you too, my cousins, I think you may indulge a hope that the reign of the antediluvians is about to recommence, and that Moses and Abraham and all the rest of them may be shortly expected in Paris. ' ;

Evidently Scripture history was not taught carefully at the Ecole Polytechnique ; still there was a strain of reason in the boy's random talk. It was as true of the men before the Revolution as of those before the Flood, that " they ate, they drank, they planted, they builded," heedless of the rising tide of divine and human wrath, until the torrent overflowed its bounds and swept them all away. Would their successors do the same?

" As for me, / am not one of your slight, inconstant time- servers, ever ready to swim with the current and to turn towards the rising sun," Emile pursued, with a tragic air and a sublime confusion of metaphors. " I can tell you, very little more would make me go to Fontainebleau and lay my sword and my life at the feet of the Emperor, the great Napoleon, never more truly great than now, in the hour of his overthrow!"

" My dear boy ! " Madame de Salgues interposed, in a voice of agony.

" Let us suppose you do it," said Clemence very quietly. " Even such assistance would scarcely, at this stage, restore his fallen fortunes; while you, on your part, would lose that mathematical prize for which you have been trying so hard."

Emile looked angry, and the heart of Clemence smote her. She thought of the glow of enthusiasm with which the young Russian said " My Czar!" and, after all, Emile's hero-worship too was sincere in its way.

" I think," she resumed, " you have already discharged your debt of honour to Napoleon. If all who swore allegiance to him fought as you seem to have done at the Barriere du Trone, the Allies w^ould not be in Paris now."

RECOGNITIONS. 271

The concession soothed his wounded vanity, and he started a fresh subject.

" You have no idea what the city looks like," he said. " To walk down the Rue St. Honore or along the Champs-Elysees is as good an amusement as going to the play. All sorts of strange beings, out of all nations under heaven, are riding about. Cossacks in sheep-skin jackets, with sandy-coloured, shaggy hair and beards, long lances, and queer little whips with plaited thongs hanging on their necks ; Calmuck Tartars, with flat noses and little eyes; Bashkirs and Tungusians from Siberia, carrying bows and arrows. Strangest of all and best worth seeing are the Circassian nobles, in complete hauberks of steel and bright conical helmets. Then there are countless uniforms of a kind to which we are better accustomed, and some of them very splendid, jewelled orders glittering on the breasts of the officers. All the Allies wear sprigs of box or elm in their caps to distinguish them. Clemence, you should come into Paris and see the show. You really must do it. I will take care of you," he ac^ded magnanimously, and not perhaps averse to the prestige it would give him amongst his school fellows to be seen escorting his beautiful cousin.

" My dear, you must not dream of such a thing ! " cried Madame de Salgues in great alarm. " A young lady to ven ture into the midst of a city occupied by a hostile army ! Who ever heard of such a piece of insanity ? "

" Grandmamma, the city is as quiet as if the allied sovereigns had only come to pay us a visit of ceremony," said Emile. " The shops are driving a splendid trade ; only I am afraid our clever Parisians contrive to cheat the strangers outrage ously. The Rentes have risen already since the Occupation from forty-five to seventy." (Madame de Talmont and Clemence exchanged glances of satisfaction.) " You could run no risk in Paris, Clemence, unless it should come into your head to say a word against the Emperor of Russia ; and of that there is no

272 KECOGNITIONS.

danger, because ladies always take care to be in the fashion. Dame Fashion herself has become a Russian just now. We have bonbons a la Cosaque, bonnets a la Rostopchine, dinner services adorned with pictures of the entry of the Allies, and I know not what follies besides. But it is the most wonderful triumph of Alexander that he is actually bringing into fashion the very thing most scorned and laughed at in the Paris of our days. Can you guess what I mean 1 "

" Good manners and decorum," said Madame de Salgues.

" Religion," said Madame de Talmont.

" You are right, ma cousiiie," answered Emile. " Alexander ascribes all his victories, not to his own skill or prowess, nor to that of his army, but to Providence. Strange to say, his followers do the same. Veteran officers scarred with wounds and decorated with orders, and brilliant young guardsmen evidently of the first fashion, hold the same language. They tell you, apparently with the most naive simplicity, that God, not themselves, has done it all.* Our Parisians, who for years have scarcely uttered the name of God except to scoff at it, find this piety delightful for a change. But the clear-sighted understand that this sort of language is dictated, if not by policy, at least by a refined and delicate courtesy. They are gentlemen, these Russians, and they adopt this tone to avoid wounding our sensitive pride."

11 Do you then find it so much easier to believe in chivalrous courtesy towards man than in piety towards God 1 ?" asked Clemence.

Emile did not answer ; and, after a pause, Madame de Tal mont observed,

" But you said there were generous deeds as well as gracious words. Those, after all, are the most reliable ; and at least it is pleasant to hear of them."

"Then I have one to tell of, certainly upon a scale of im-

• Englishmen who were in Paris during 1814 beir testimony to thh interesting fact.

RECOGNITIONS. 273

perial magnificence. Alexander has just restored to freedom without ransom and without conditions all the Frenchmen who are prisoners in Russia. It is said they number one hundred and fifty thousand. They are to return immediately to France. How? what is it, my cousins? what has hap pened 1 " It was no wonder he asked, for at his words Madame de Talmont had fainted,

18

CHAPTER XXYIIL

DRIFTING.

" To that new land which is the old."

IVAN recovered slowly from his severe and painful wound. He had just risen from his bed one day, and was sitting, pale and languid, near the table trying to read, when he heard some one inquiring for him. He had received frequent visits from his comrades in the Guards, and from other friends in. the army ; but now he turned gladly to welcome one whom he had not seen since the night of the assault.

"Michael Ivanovitch ! " he exclaimed; "I am delighted to see you."

Michael returned his greeting with respectful and affectionate w^armth, and they sat down to talk over all that had happened. The change in Ivan's appearance shocked and grieved his old playfellow.

" You look so pale and worn, Barrinka," he said. " Have they been good to you here?"

" Most kind and good," said Ivan. " I have had the best of care and nursing. But oh, Michael, I have been longing to tell you the luck the bandage brought me which you placed on my wound. It was wonderful !" And he told the story of his acquaintance with the De Talmonts. " Nothing can exceed their kindness to me," he said. " They insist upon my becom ing their guest or rather. I suppose I should say, the guest

DRIFTING. 275

of the aged relative with whom they live. They are good enough to tell me she is eager to make my acquaintance. So I go to them to-morrow ; indeed, it was with difficulty I contrived to put it off so long, but I could not bear to burden them with a helpless invalid."

" Ah, Barrinka, you make friends everywhere ! "

" These friends were made for me, first by you, then by the Czar, who has put all loyal Frenchmen under infinite obliga tions. But tell me, Michael, what do you think of Paris ? I have not been there yet, you know."

" Well, Barrinka," said Michael meditatively, and with the air of an old traveller, " I do not think much of it after all. I would not compare it for a moment with St. Petersburg, not to speak of holy Moscow. I never saw holy Moscow until just before the fire, and that was like seeing a lovely face with the hand of death upon it, but this city of the Frenchmen is nothing to it nothing ! To what it was, I mean," he added with a sigh. " Where do you see anything like the great beautiful houses, painted red and green and purple and yellow ; like the roofs of burnished lead, all shining as if they were on fire ; like the gilded domes and crosses on the tops of our churches? Na poleon himself had the wit to admire them, and to know he had nothing half so good in his own country, so he got the dome of the Hotel des Invalides gilt to look like one of ours, a Frenchman told me that himself. Curse those Invalids!" said Michael, with a sudden change of manner and a look of gloom and ill-humour.

"And why so 1 ? What harm have the poor old fellows done to you ? " asked Ivan, half laughing.

" Great harm, Barrinka. Think of their having got hold of our own Maria Ivanovka and taken her for themselves !"

" Your who .?"

" Our Maria Ivanovka, who was with us from the day we left St. Petersburg until we entered this same city of Paris

276 DRIFTING.

which is no great things of a city, as / shall always say. Poor clear Maria Ivanovka ! She may have been rather old, I don't deny it,' and she had a droop in her upper lip, which they say is a bad sign, besides being frayed about the mouth in a sort of general way. But the Invalids will never love her and take care of her as we used to do."

A momentary stupefaction had fallen upon Ivan ; he wondered hazily whether Michael was speaking of a hospital nurse or of a favourite sutler. But he prudently held his peace, and Michael went on : " Before the war she used to take care of the Winter Palace, there are some that say she stood in front of it for fifty years, but that I can't believe. However, not a fight have we had since we left St. Peters burg that she has not borne a part in and done her business well, though it is I who say it. At Leipzig her carriage was broken; but we mended it with a cart wheel, which answered famously."

Ivan understood now. " You don't mean to say," he ex claimed, laughing heartily, " that the Invalids have got your gun ! How came that about?"

" It is no laughing matter, Barrinka. They have got her ; and it was the Czar's own doing. He went to see the poor old Frenchmen, and found them sorely cast down and sorrowful, breaking their hearts over their country's disgrace and their Emperor's defeat."

" That was natural," Ivan interrupted. " Think what you and I would have felt, Michael, had this war gone against us. And if we were old and worn out, unable to strike a blow for our country and our Czar, we would have felt it all the more."

" The Czar seems to have thought like you, Barrinka ; for he spoke kindly to the poor old fellows, and tried to cheer them. And when he found they were grieving over the loss of their guns, the trophies of their old victories that they used to be so proud of, he told them to be comforted ; they should

DRIFTING. 277

have their trophies back again. The Allies had carried off those guns of theirs when they came into the city, so what must he do but send them twelve of ours, Maria Ivanovka being one of them to my sorrow."

For a moment Ivan wondered silently, " Was there ever such a knight in friendship or in war " as his Czar, Alexander Paulovitch ? Then he said : "I think you need not grudge your gun to the poor old Frenchmen. Do you know how many of their cannon they left behind in our country, for us to show as trophies of what our arms no, rather of what our God has done 1 "

" No, Barrinka, I have never heard exactly ; but I am sure they must be many."

" Not counting those they contrived to bury, or lost in the rivers they passed over, we have captured of their cannon nine hundred and twenty and nine !"

"Great St. Nicholas!" cried Michael, lifting up his one hand in amazement.

" Shall we not show our gratitude for this marvellous de liverance by gentleness and kindness to our enemies, whom God cares for, even as he does for us 1 That is what the Czar thinks. He has refused to break down the bridge of Austerlitz, a standing monument of the old triumph of the French over us, or even to change its name. ' It is enough,' said he, 'that I have passed over it with my armies.'"

" Can that be possible, Barrinka ? Then no wonder every one is saying now that the Czar is taking the part of Napoleon and of his family."

" And if he is ? What is a brave man's duty when a foe has fallen ? Should he not think, ' How would / wish to be dealt with if the case were mine?' My friend Tolstoi tells me that as the Czar was entering Paris in triumph, he looked up and saw the statue of his great enemy on the top of the column in the Place Yendome. < If / had been placed so high,' said he,

278 DRIFTING.

' my head would have been turned.' Surely he was not think ing of the lifeless statue on its pinnacle of stone, but of the living man on the proud summit of this world's dominion and glory."

" Barrinka, the Czar is there now, and his head is not turned."

" Thank God ; for it is his grace that keeps him safe. Michael, my friend, do you remember the oath we swore that morning in the camp at Tarovtino, with the explosion still sounding in our ears that laid half the Kremlin in ruins'?"

Michael's eyes kindled and his dark cheek glowed. " How could I forget it, Barrinka?" he said. " Did we not swear to take such vengeance on Napoleon and the French as the world has never heard of yet ? Woe is me ! we have had the chance and lost it."

" Not lost it used it nobly. Do you not see, Michael, that the Czar has indeed taken such vengeance as the world never heard of before? To comfort and help our enemies, to give back good for evil, is not indeed the world's way, but it is the way of Christ ; and perhaps in the end even the world may come to see it is the best."

The day after this conversation took place Ivan became the guest of Madame de Salgues. It was a happy change for him. Now, for the first time in his life, he was thrown into the society of good, refined, and noble-hearted women. He enjoyed its pleasures with keen appreciation ; though, as it happened, the beginning of his acquaintance with Madame de Salgues was not particularly promising. When the ceremony of presenta tion was over, the old lady began to compliment him upon the magnanimity of his sovereign in restoring to France her right ful monarch.

" Madame," answered Ivan, who was anxious in his turn to say something agreeable, " the Czar has only been desirous of consulting the wishes of the French people. He and his Allies

DRIFTING. 279

would have given their approbation to any settled government the nation had been pleased to appoint, excepting that of Napoleon or a member of his family. But Louis Dix-huit appears to be the choice of France."

Madame de Salgues stirred uneasily in her chair. " My dear young friend," she exclaimed in a slightly irritable tone, " do you not see that is as much as to say that if a man takes a purse of gold from the hands of a robber, he is at liberty to give it to whom he pleases? Not so; he must restore it to its owner, else he himself is a robber also."

Ivan had a dim perception of the fact that France did not belong to the Bourbons in at all the same sense that a purse of gold belongs to its owner, but it was scarcely clear enough to express in words ; and had it been otherwise, courtesy would have admonished him to decline an argument with his hostess. So he dexterously changed the subject ; and Madame de Salgues afterwards observed to her niece, " That young man is cer tainly very well bred, and a perfect gentleman. But I fear his principles are rather unsettled. I hope he will not in fluence Emile."

Madame de Talmont could not suppress a quiet smile at the idea of the scapegrace Emile suffering contamination from Ivan. As days passed on, the young Russian proved a very pleasant addition to the little household, and brightly and swiftly the period of his convalescence glided by. When the weather improved, he often sat in a summer-house in Madame de Salgues' little garden; and here the ladies would bring their embroidery and bear him company, or comrades from the city would come to visit him.

He had one visit from Michael, who was feted and made much of by the De Talmonts for Henri's sake. He said after wards to Ivan, " Who would have thought French people could be so good and gentle ? May the Virgin bless the young

280 DKIFTING.

lady's sweet face ! If she would just get one of our priests to baptize her into the true orthodox faith, I should like well enough to see you lead her up the church, a little far ther than the font, Barrinka. I think she is almost good enough."

" Hold thy peace, Michael !" cried Ivan, half pleased, half angry, and blushing deeply. " How little you understand ! / am not good enough to kiss her feet, or to take up the glove she has dropped and give it back to her."

At an early stage of their acquaintance Ivan discovered Clemence's little store of theological books, and asked leave to study them. It was now nearly a year and a half since he had begun to read his Bible with attention and interest ; but books about religion were still quite new to him. He began their study eagerly, hoping to find a solution for some difficulties which had occurred to him ; but, instead of this, fresh per plexities were awakened in his mind. He found that he had plunged into a labyrinth of words and ideas absolutely strange to him. It is true that the shallow scepticism of his youth had long since given place to the only real belief he ever knew. The flames of Moscow, the study of the New Testa ment, the living faith of the man whom he supremely admired and venerated, had been God's way of leading him into a simple, child-like dependence upon Himself, and a genuine desire to serve and follow Him. But of the deeper mysteries of spiritual experience he was still almost wholly ignorant.

One afternoon Madame de Salgues was slumbering in her easy-chair, and Madame de Talmont had been called away ; so he found himself practically alone with Clemence. The oppor tunity was too precious to be lost. He took from his pocket a little book, " Les Pensees de Pascal," which he had been study ing with deep and rather mystified attention. Showing her a passage her own hand had marked carefully, line by line, he asked,

DRIFTING. 281

"Mademoiselle, what does that mean? I confess I cannot understand it."

She read "'I see my abyss of pride, of curiosity, of sin. There is no connection between me and God, or the holy Jesus Christ. But he has been made sin for me ; by his wounds we are healed. He has healed himself, and therefore assuredly he will heal me. I must place my wounds upon his, must give myself to him, and he will save me with himself.' "

Clemence paused a while. " I think it means," she said at last very reverently, "that the Lord Jesus Christ has taken our sins upon him, and put himself in our place. We should be quite overwhelmed when we come to see the ' abyss ' of sin that is within us, if we did not know he had done so. But ho has taken our sin and bound it about him like a robe, that we may take his righteousness and stand before the Father robed in that." This, however, was a height beyond the range of her own ordinary spiritual experience. So she added presently, with an involuntary sigh, " If only we are numbered amongst his redeemed."

" It is very wonderful," answered Ivan thoughtfully. " Of course I always knew the blessed Lord died for our sins," he added, crossing himself ; " but I never felt that there was any ' abyss ' of sin within me. Do you think, mademoiselle, that one must feel that in order to be really religious ? "

" I think we cannot know the grace of Christ without know ing our own sin," Clemence answered. " But, monsieur, look at these words also ; I think you will find them easier to under stand." She turned to another page of the book, and read " ' Console thyself ; thou wouldst not be seeking Me, if I had not already found thee.'"

Ivan pondered. "Found thee?" he repeated. "As the shepherd in the gospel found the lost sheep 1 But perhaps the sheep never knew how far he had wandered ; certainly he never was able to tell. That is a comfort. I like, too, to think of

282 DRIFTING.

one of the proverbs of my country : ' The babe does not know God, yet God loves it. 7 But I fear I am deplorably ignorant, and in every way very far from what I ought to be."

It was not often that the talk of these young people glided into channels so profound. The bright and varying experiences that lay near the surface of their lives furnished far more fre quently the daily bread of their intercourse.

When Ivan grew stronger, his friends urged him to go and see the wonders of Paris, which the elder ladies vaunted to him, exerting all their powers of description to depict them in glow ing colours. They had of course already done the honours of Versailles, with its splendid palace dedicated " to all the glories of France." Ivan was far too polite to tell them, as Michael would have done, that he was sure Paris could not equal Moscow before the conflagration : but he seemed less anxious to see Paris than to bring his friends to see the Czar. At last an expedition was arranged for an early day in May. A car riage was engaged, in which Madame de Talmont, Clemence, and Ivan were to drive together to the city, where Emile was to meet them, and a long day of sight-seeing was to follow.

Ivan, all this time, was like one who floats dreamily on the calm expanse of a tropic sea. Now and then a bright land-bird skims by, or a blossom borne from afar sleeps on the surface of the still, clear water. He is drawing near the shore of a new, undis covered country ; but as yet he has not seen, has not dreamed of it. His "eyes are holden," until he feels the coral grate beneath his keel ; then suddenly he looks up and behold, in one glori ous moment all is changed ! Palm trees wave above him, green grasses kiss the water's edge, gorgeous plants trail their luxuri ant wealth of flowers, and for him there is a new world created.

CHAPTER XXIX.

IVAN'S DINNER PARTY, AND WHAT FOLLOWED.

"Charity suffereth long, and is kind; charity envieth not; charity vaunteth not itself, is not puffed up, doth not behave itself unseemly, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked."

[HE day fixed upon for the expedition to Paris was bright and sunny, with that delicious and undefm- able quality of exhilaration in the air which is nature's promise of summer hours to come. Such days often make sorrowing hearts yet more sorrowful, because the chords of hope and memory are intertwined, and no touch is light enough to stir the one without at the same time awak ening the other. But the young and happy those who are looking before them, not behind find in the vague gladness of the world without the answer and the echo to voices equally glad and vague in the world within them. Earth, air, and sky alike seem to whisper, " Something good is coming. We know what it is, but we may not tell it yet."

Truly something good was coming to two young hearts that day; nay, it had come already, only they themselves were not quite con scious of it. The sharp eyes of the Polytechnic scholar dis cerned some things which were perhaps not equally clear to those more immediately concerned. Emile felt very angry with Ivan for what he chose to consider his presumption, and he vowed in wardly that, if he could, he would spoil his plans. It seemed a kind of propitiatory sacrifice to his fallen idol Napoleon to dis-

284 IVAN'S DINNER PARTY, AND WHAT FOLLOWED.

appoint and humiliate one of his conquerors "ce coquin russe," as he called him in his heart. But he allowed nothing