The terrible war of 1812 was over, and Russia had shaken herself free
of the last Frenchman. Already the Tsar Alexander had taken in hand
preparations for the terrible vengeance which was to be exacted from
his arch-enemy. Moscow was being rapidly rebuilt; the Russian workman,
equipped with axe alone, is able to do wonders in the matter of building
up a structure of wooden beams. In front of the Senate house was already
beginning to accumulate that immense collection of cannon captured from
or abandoned by the Grand Army, which may still be seen by visitors to
the Kremlin. Of these nearly 370 are French, 190 Austrian, 120 Prussian,
50 from the German States, over 100 Italian and some 35 to 40 Spanish,
Dutch and Polish; over 800 items of evidence to the anguish of the great
retreat.
The prevailing sense throughout Russia was that of profound devotional
gratitude to the God of Battles, not unmingled with a feeling of
jubilant pride in the nation's prowess, and of passionate affection
for the Tsar Alexander himself, whose courage and wisdom had shown
themselves pre-eminent qualities from first to last, and of respect and
admiration for those of his Generals, and for Count Rostopchin, Governor
of Moscow, who had distinguished themselves in the defence of their
beloved country.
Alexander himself was undoubtedly the hero of the hour. At the annual
reception of the cadet corps in St. Petersburg, a function to which the
reader of this history has been introduced on a former occasion, his
advent was awaited with the greatest excitement. A laurel crown was to
be laid at his feet by a deputation of beautiful women, of whom Vera
was one. "Bozhé Tsaryá Chranee," the National Anthem, was to be sung by
cadets and guests, as it had never been sung before; all the world was
on the tiptoe of expectation.
Vera moved across the room, supporting upon her arm a limping,
decrepit-looking figure, one of many who limped among the august company
present that day. Old Countess Maximof sat and watched them. She nudged
her nearest neighbour, a motherly old person dressed in gorgeous attire.
"See them--are they not a lovely pair?" she said. "It has taken me some
time to forgive Vera the impropriety of remaining in Moscow throughout
the trouble, but she has been so good to my Sasha that who could
have held out for ever?" The other gazed at Vera through her double
eyeglasses.
"Hah! remaining in Moscow! Many unkind things were said of her upon that
account, I remember. She had friends among the French officers--old
acquaintances in Paris--that was the chief indictment. That will all be
forgiven and forgotten. Yes, she is beautiful. Your son might have done
worse!"
Vera and Sasha talked and laughed together, they appeared to be
radiantly happy.
"It is only four years ago that we met here," Vera whispered, "and at
that time you were still a victim to the follies of cadetdom--do you
remember how----"
"Shall I never be forgiven that expression?" Sasha laughed.
"Oh, _droog moy_, let us remember it to our everlasting gaiety; let us
remember also how you had no leisure to be presented to your little
fiancée; she was too young and too ugly, and Mademoiselle Kornilof was
at the same time so fascinating; and oh, _mon Dieu_, the conceit of the
good-looking cadet whom poor I was obliged to adore from afar!"
"Ah, you did not adore me, that is not true, _dooshá moyá_; come,
confess that at that moment you detested me!"
"Perhaps I tried to think so; but there was a something deep down in my
heart that was certainly not hatred. It has lurked there ever since. If
you had shown a liking for me that day, it might never have existed,
but when you gave me the cold shoulder it came and with it a kind of
determination that you should repent in sackcloth and ashes; that you
should sue----"
"Little tyrant! you exacted a terrible revenge! Oh, the hours of misery
you have caused me, you and your French admirers."
"Ah! poor Paul!"
"Frankly, Vera, were you ever near to loving him?"
"Never so near as when he befriended you on the battlefield." Sasha's
fingers closed tightly over his companion's arm. He had never thought it
necessary to inform Vera that Paul had very nearly killed him before
befriending him, nor did Vera ever learn that it was he who had dealt
the blow which went so near to widowing her heart for ever.
Vera was much observed at this time. She was more beautiful than ever.
Sorrow and suffering had added something to her loveliness. Her story
was known to most of those present and rendered her an interesting
personality, for the Russian dearly loves a romantic tale. This
afternoon there were many lips that told of the baby-betrothal of these
two, of Vera's Parisian experiences, of her patriotism, of her finding
and nursing the Russian lover, her childhood's fiancé, and of his
triumph over all rivals, French and otherwise.
Even the Tsar, when at last he made his triumphal entry into the hall
and had received the laurel tribute prepared for him and listened to the
splendid soulful rendering of the National Anthem, presently noticed the
beautiful girl in constant attendance upon young Count Maximof, whom he
knew.
"Who is she?" he asked--"she is beautifully dressed--one would say she
was French--but her face is Russian, of our loveliest type."
"It is the daughter of Demidof, your Majesty's envoy at present at the
Court of Sweden," the Tsar was informed.
"What, the beautiful Russian maiden who was said to have inflamed the
hearts of half the youth of Paris?" the Tsar laughed. "Has she then
decided, at last, in favour of a Russian admirer?"
"Not only so, Sire, but of one who was betrothed to her in
childhood--perhaps your Majesty remembers the story. It was said that
they had agreed to annihilate the contract entered into, perhaps, in a
moment of conviviality by their respective fathers; but the end of the
story is most romantic; the lady sought and found her lover upon the
battlefield outside Moscow at the village of Pavlova; there she nursed
him back to life, and--at his request, for he believed himself to be
dying--actually married him as he lay gasping in a peasants hut."
"_Chort Vosmee!_" laughed the Tsar, "that is a good story; what, and
they have not disagreed, since he recovered? That kind of marriage might
prove a more serious matter than the foolish betrothal contract!"
"They seem good friends, Sire, if one may judge from appearances!" said
the other.
Afterwards Vera, to her astonishment and delight, though perhaps also
somewhat to her consternation, was informed by his aide-de-camp that the
Tsar would dance with her.
She went through the ordeal of that stately quadrille excellently well,
however, entertaining and delighting the Tsar with an account of how
Sasha had stolen a march upon her by persuading her to marry him as he
lay dying--which she did, she explained, to oblige a friend--afterwards
recovering when he certainly had no right to do so.
"You are caught now, Madame," said the Tsar; "will the caged bird beat
herself against the bars of her prison?"
"Your Majesty must ask me a year hence," Vera laughed; "at present I am
a new toy, and my jailer is content to play with me!" The Tsar laughed
again.
"By the Saints, Madame, if he should show signs of falling short in his
appreciation of his good fortune, you shall tell me and he shall be sent
to Siberia. Such a man would deserve his fate."
"It may be, your Majesty, that he married me out of patriotic motives in
order to prevent my falling into French hands."
"Good--good! it was a worthy act and shall be rewarded," said the Tsar,
smiling kindly. "Adieu, Madame; we shall meet again I trust."
On the following morning Vera received a beautiful present from his
Majesty: an order, the collar of St. Anne, commonly known in Russia as
"Annooshka na shay". The gold cross attached to the collar was inscribed
"For Patriotism".
Sasha at the same time obtained, what was at the moment the object of
every young Russian officer's ambition, a captain's commission in the
new regiment of Imperial Guards lately organised by his Majesty. Not
long after this Vera received a letter from Paris. It was brought by
hand by a Russian prisoner returning to his native country. The packet
contained a gilt-edged card, upon which was printed:--
Mons. le Baron Henri d'Estreville.
Madame la Baronne Henri d'Estreville
(_née_ Louise Dupré).
To which was added, written in a woman's hand:--
"En suite le Capitaine d'infanterie Michel Prevost, qui vous
fait part, belle cousine, de sa mort."
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