On the following morning Louise, busy over some service on Henri's
behalf, heard herself hailed by a wounded man, lying in the larger room
of the house now in use as a temporary hospital. This was a sergeant
in her own regiment, a rough-tongued veteran, keen in war, strict for
discipline, a terror to the young conscripts of the regiment.
"Hi, you, Prevost, what the devil do you here?" he cried. "You don't
seem to be wounded? May the devil claim all shirkers; why are you not
with the colours?"
"I was engaged last night in tending an officer who was sorely wounded,"
said Louise; "I am no shirker."
"To Hell with your tending; I know what that means: the desire to be out
of the line of fire combined with the hope of a _pourboire_; away with
you and report yourself to Sergeant Villeboeuf by midday."
"But the officer----" Louise hesitated.
"Bah--he is no excuse; Monsieur the under bone-sawer," continued the
fellow, addressing the doctor's assistant busy operating at his elbow,
"see to this officer this shirker speaks of."
"I have seen him," said the man; "he may come through or he may not, but
in any case we desire no loafers in hospital, the space is too confined
already."
"I am ordered to leave you, mon Capitaine," said Louise, entering
Henri's room; "I pray God you may recover; farewell, Monsieur; I will
remember your message."
"Yes--if I die, only!" said Henri; "not if I come through this and the
rest of the war. I feel sick enough to-day--I wish they would leave you,
_mon ami_, to look after me."
"They will not, they call me shirker for remaining only one night! Do
not----" Louise was about to say "do not forget me," but she thought
better of it and altered the sentence to "do not fail to get well".
"Not I--if it depends upon me--_au revoir, mon ami_, let us say, at
Moscow!"
Louise left the little house with a heavy heart. "For God's sake keep
an eye upon Monsieur le Capitaine," she said at parting to the little
_feldscher_, or under-surgeon, who replied with a laugh:--
"_Tiens_, my friend, you are wonderfully anxious about the young man;
one would think you were a woman!"
There was no _arrière pensée_ about the remark, but poor Louise went
away blushing terribly and very angry with herself for allowing herself
to yield to so feminine a weakness.
Would the Baron survive? That was the question which throbbed for an
answer with every beat of her heart. If he survived and remembered the
love which he professed to have felt for the daughter of the old _maître
d'armes_, oh! thought Louise, how heavenly a place the dull earth would
become.
If he should not survive--well, let the first Russian bullet find its
home in her heart, for all she would care to live on! And yet, Louise
felt, even without Henri life was a thousand times more beautiful
now that she had certain sweet memories to draw upon. "The most Holy
Spirit," she reflected, "must have inspired him with that message--oh!
to think that I, of all others, should have been chosen for its
recipient: a message to myself, delivered into my keeping for my
comfort--an inspiration in truth and indeed!"
Meanwhile the army of Napoleon, constantly dwindling, advanced daily
farther and farther into the interior of Russia. Napoleon felt that he
was being enticed forward, but there was no thought of retreating. On
the contrary, successes were achieved daily, though great events were
rare. The policy of the Russian commanders was still that of retreat,
laying waste the country as they went. The faithful peasants aided and
abetted them. Every man proved himself a patriot. "Only let us know the
right moment," they declared, "and every hut in the village shall burn
to the ground, every acre of corn shall be destroyed before the detested
foreigner arrives to eat the fruit of our labours."
From the beginning of the campaign to the present time--two months and
a half--Napoleon had lost by illness and battle 150,000 men; the Grand
Army was melting away before his eyes. He now did all that was possible,
by ordering up large reinforcements, to fill the voids.
But meanwhile the Russian troops, unaware that the continuous retreating
movement was a part of the deliberate policy of their leaders, grew
more and more discontented both with Bagration and Barclay de Tolly,
generals who had, nevertheless, done passing well with the troops
entrusted to them.
And seeing that the feeling of discontent was daily spreading, and
the more quickly since the fall and destruction of Smolensk, the Tsar
Alexander now united both his armies under the supreme command of
Kootoozof.
This new appointment aroused enthusiasm. Kootoozof had no intention of
altering the policy of his lieutenants. He knew, none better, that every
step gained with much pain and difficulty, by the French armies, must
presently be retraced with tenfold and hundredfold more difficulty, and
pains unimaginable. The Don Cossacks were already being recruited in
preparation for the French retreat; the militia, raised in response to
the manifesto of the Tsar, would be ready for work in a month or two;
great things were preparing for the discomfiture of the little Corporal
and his men--the rod was in pickle--let them advance by all means toward
Moscow!
But when old Kootoozof passed his troops in review, he repeated a
hundred times for their edification words of encouragement and patriotic
appreciation.
"Holy Mother!" he would ejaculate; "what soldiers! With troops such as
these success is sure! We shall beat the French, my children--only wait
and see!" And again, "With such soldiers we shall not retreat for long!"
Kootoozof halted his army at Borodino: 120,000 men, all told; and here,
early in the morning of the 7th of September, the great Russian army
confessed and communicated and were blessed by the priests with Holy
Water. During the morning an eagle hovered for a few moments over the
head of old Kootoozof, until frightened away by the shouts of enthusiasm
by which the soldiers saluted the happy omen. The battle raged all day
with varying success, the French capturing the redoubts, losing them
again, and again recapturing these and other outworks. The Russians
slowly retreated and were not pursued. Both sides claimed the victory,
and both lost enormously; but whereas the losses of the French were at
this stage irreparable, those of the Russian army were comparatively of
small consequence.
Then Kootoozof held a great council of his generals, whereat some voted
for a final battle in defence of Moscow, some argued that there were
greater issues at stake than the safety of the ancient capital which,
after all, was "only a city like another". Kootoozof, however, reserved
the final decision for himself, having, probably, long since made up
his mind as to what should be done. He marched his army through the
suburbs of Moscow, and presently spent the month during which Napoleon's
soldiers occupied the Holy City in so disposing his forces that not
only was the road to St. Petersburg blocked by a constantly growing
army, but access to the richer provinces of the Empire was also barred;
while hordes of Cossacks lay in wait along the line of retreat which,
so soon as Moscow should be found no longer tenable, would, Kootoozof
calculated, inevitably present itself as the last resource for the
invading forces. In a word, Napoleon should be practically blockaded in
Moscow.
But meanwhile, on the 14th September, the advance guard of the French
army entered the city. Through the streets of the White Town and of
China Town (known, respectively, as Biélui Gorod and Kitai Gorod) they
marched, singing joyful songs. Then pillage began and continued until
Napoleon himself arrived within the city walls.
But the personal entry of Napoleon into Moscow had been delayed.
The Emperor had remained at the barrier leading to the Smolensky
Road, awaiting the usual ceremonies which, he was determined, should
precede his triumphal entry into the city. His Majesty expected humble
deputations, servile invitations, sham rejoicings. He was accustomed to
see the authorities of the place arrive to lay at his feet the keys of
the conquered city, but here no one came, nothing of the sort happened.
All seemed commotion in Moscow, but the afternoon arrived and still no
deputation was to be seen leaving the city. Napoleon grew angry and sent
a Polish General of his staff to hurry the movements of the authorities.
This gentleman returned at night with the astonishing information that
no authorities were to be found. Moscow was practically deserted; there
were a few private residents scattered here and there, but palaces,
public offices, the house of the Governor-General were all empty; not a
functionary remained in Moscow.
The Emperor was furious and perhaps a little dismayed. He slept that
night without the walls, and on the following day entered the city in
sullen silence--no beating of drums, no music, no church bells greeted
his arrival. As a writer of the times expresses it: "His feelings when
viewing the accomplishment of this long anticipated enterprise must have
resembled those of Satan at the destruction of Paradise. The fiend was
received with hisses by his damned crew."
It is said that as he rode up to the Borovitsky Gate one Russian, an
old soldier, decrepit and tottering, barred the Emperor's passage, and
was struck down by the Guards surrounding his Majesty. Then Napoleon
proceeded to the Kremlin and took up his abode in the ancient habitation
of the Tsars, a home which he was not destined to occupy for many days.