Essentials of Systems Analysis and Design 5th Edition Valacich Test Bank
Essentials of Systems Analysis and Design 5th Edition Valacich Test Bank
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Essentials of Systems Analysis and Design 5th Edition Valacich Test Bank
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22. demand that the object of this appeal be regarded by our
subjects as a Sacred Decree....
"The ills which this treacherous invader has prepared for us shall
fall upon his own head. Europe, delivered from vassalage, shall
celebrate the name of Russia!
"Alexander.
"Given at our Camp at Polotsk,
6, 7, 1812."
The Countess Maximof presently received a letter from a relative in
Moscow. "Come quickly," her cousin wrote; "you are the favoured of
fortune; Sasha has arrived, slightly wounded—do not be afraid, it is
a mere bagatelle, a bullet scratch in the left arm; he is busy
recruiting—a very important billet, my dear, and the appointment is
the highest compliment to so young a man! Sasha is too busy to
write, but he begs me to say that he hopes to see you here, and
also—if she is with you—Vera Demidof, who has of course returned
from Paris." The Countess went straight to Vera with her letter.
"You will come, chérie—do not refuse—give him this pleasure; only
think, he is wounded; one of the first to bleed for our dear Russia;
he is wounded and will soon go back to the front—you will not
refuse his request."
"Oh, I will come," Vera laughed, "if only to prove to you, Madame,
that Alexander Petrovitch and myself shall need but one interview to
assure ourselves that neither is anxious to be bound by the foolish
betrothal of a dozen years ago!"
"Well, we shall see, we shall see; meanwhile you will come, and that
is good. We shall travel in my own Dormese; in three days we shall
be in Moscow. We shall not journey by night, for I would have you
look your sweetest when Sasha sees you; poor lad, he will not be at
his best—wounded and perhaps ill with fever; you will remember
that when you see him!"
23. "I will remember that he has already bled for Russia, that will mean
more for me than the colour of his cheeks," said Vera.
"That is a wise saying, chérie; good, I like it; yes, remember that he
is a good Russian."
Vera was not long in Moscow before Sasha Maximof presented
himself. He came with his arm in a sling, pale and looking many
years older than when Vera last saw him. His face was certainly a
handsome one, and much of its present pallor was lost in the blush
which spread over his features as he took Vera's hand and bent over
it.
"My mother did not exaggerate," he said, gazing at the girl with
undisguised admiration. "I thought—three years ago, is it?—that you
would grow into a handsome girl, but by the Saints, Vera, I did not
anticipate—this!"
"So you have 'eschewed the follies of cadetdom,'" laughed Vera,
quoting Sasha's late letter to her in Paris. "What does that mean,
pray?"
"You quote imperfectly," Sasha blushed again. "I wrote, 'my heart is
disengaged, and I have eschewed the follies of cadetdom'. You must
know what I mean by the follies of my cadet-period, for assuredly
there could scarcely have existed upon this earth a more
objectionable person than I was in those days."
"You had, if I remember rightly," said Vera, "a very fair opinion of
yourself; you refused to know me because I was too young."
"I am prepared to make amends," Sasha laughed. "Please do all
your fault-finding at once, in order that my repentance may be
complete. I know I was a conceited young cub and treated you
abominably. What is your next grievance?"
"A very much more serious one. Your memory is so good that you
will not have forgotten a certain conversation when we parted three
years ago."
"I think I remember every word of it; I have often thought of it."
24. "Is that so?" asked Vera in surprise. "Why?"
"Honestly, because you looked so pretty that day and showed so
much spirit that I was surprised into liking you better than I thought.
I realised this afterwards. I suppose I am a person of strong
imagination, because from time to time, recalling that interview, I
have felt that sense of 'like' almost deepen into 'love'."
"Oh!" Vera laughed; "but that could only have been after your heart
became disengaged; do not forget, mon ami, that when we parted
your heart was far from being disengaged."
"I thought so; but one makes mistakes about such things. At any
rate I got over that—that foolish business. Am I forgiven all these
juvenile sins?"
"But there is nothing in the last confession which concerns me. What
have I to forgive in the circumstance that you were once in love with
some one unknown, and 'got over it'?"
Sasha winced.
"Of course that was nothing to you," he said.
"Absolutely. But with regard to that same conversation, I have a
grievance and a serious one, as I hinted before. We came to an
agreement, I remember, with regard to a certain foolish contract
entered into by our parents on our behalf. You were to destroy it, by
mutual consent. You did not do so, as I learned for the first time but
a few months ago."
"Honestly, Vera, the notary said it could not be destroyed but in the
presence of, and by sworn consent of, both. The priests, too, declare
that the sanction of the metropolitan is necessary."
"You should not have asked them. You had undertaken to tear up
the foolish thing. That would have sufficed for us. Why did you ask
advice?"
"I see that you will have the whole truth. I stupidly thought that by
retaining the contract I retained also a kind of hold upon you. Of
25. course, on reconsideration——"
"Yes, of course that is nonsense. I will tell you, my friend, that
contract or no contract, I should never dream of marrying any man
against my own will and desire. Your action makes no difference, but
it was foolish and not quite honest. It is better that we should
understand one another from the beginning."
"Yes, that is true. Will you do me a kindness, Vera? You say that it is
better that we should understand one another. It might save me
much pain if you were to tell me now, before it is quite too late,
whether you have left Paris as heart free as you entered it?"
Vera flushed crimson.
"By what right am I thus catechised?" she asked angrily. "Is it by
virtue of the contract you so dishonestly retained? or do you
consider that I am bound to give you my confidence because you
have been so good as to lay bare your heart for my entertainment?
Neither is a sufficient reason, sir."
"You are very hard on me, Vera," Maximof sighed. "What you have
implied might have been conveyed to me less harshly. Well, thank
you for letting me know what I wished to know." He paused. "With
regard to our intercourse here in Moscow, I shall be very busy and—
well, I may as well speak to you frankly while I am about it, I fancy
it would be too dangerous for me to see much of you. Good-bye—
oh, as to this thing——"
Sasha produced a pocket-book and took from it an oldish paper. "At
any rate you shall be worried no longer by the whim of our parents!"
He opened the door of the stove and threw the betrothal contract
within; then he lit a match and applied it to an edge of the
document which was soon in flames.
"So ends a foolish comedy that might have developed into a pretty
romance!" said Maximof, laughing bitterly. "Farewell, Vera Danilovna.
I wish to God you had not lived these three years in Paris!" At the
door he turned and spoke again.
26. "Of course I don't blame you, but it's hard on me that you should
have grown so—so maddeningly pretty." Maximof repeated his loud
laugh and departed.
Vera sighed. "I ought to have known you before, my friend," she
thought; "before—before Paul! But after all, the gulf between Paul
and me is wide enough!"
27. CHAPTER XIV.
The war was in full swing, victory favouring the French troops, for
the most part, though occasionally she would hearten the defending
Russians with a smile or two of encouragement. Louise, with her
fellow recruits, had joined Ney's army corps. Already she had been
present in several minor engagements and had even received a
slight flesh wound in the left hand. The army surgeon attending her
had remarked upon the smallness of her hand. "It might be a
woman's!" he said with a laugh. "There's nothing here to keep you
out of the fun," he added; "get back to the colours as soon as you
please."
The Russian General, Barclay de Tolly, was throughout unwilling to
expose his troops to the risk of battle. He was no coward. In the
face of much patriotic opposition from his fellow generals and the
nation at large, he adhered to his own tactics, which were to lure
the enemy constantly forward, striking only when a blow could be
dealt with effect. The peasantry, patriots to a man, beseeched their
general to bid them set fire to their standing crops, to their very
homes and granaries, that the enemy might find but a desolate
waste in his advance. Thousands of villages were so destroyed, their
inhabitants preferring to wander homeless and hungry into the
woods rather than allow the enemy to profit, even for a night, by the
use of their property.
Michel Prevost, as Louise was called among her fellows, was soon a
favourite in her regiment. No one had the slightest suspicion that
she was anything but what she pretended to be, a young conscript
like thousands of others who went to swell the Grande Armée.
Occasionally remarks would be made—jokes as to her complexion,
which was fair for a man's; her slight though well-knit figure, her
modesty, her obvious dislike for coarse topics of conversation, but
28. though occasionally a man might declare with a laugh that Michel
was as much woman as man, barring his fencing, which was second
to none, no one dreamed that in saying such a thing he was nearer
the truth than he knew.
Never a day passed but Louise looked anxiously for the Baron
d'Estreville. He belonged, she knew, to a fashionable light cavalry
regiment, and this regiment she saw more than once, in the
distance; but during the first month of her campaigning she never
succeeded in catching a glimpse of her friend, an unkind
arrangement of destiny which caused Louise to sigh daily.
Then came a day of stress and battle.
Barclay de Tolly had decided to vary, for once, his tactics by staying
for a day his retrograde movement. If attacked and beaten, he could
immediately recommence his slow retreat upon Moscow. Should he
prove victorious—which he scarcely expected—it might be possible
to inflict a blow upon Napoleon which, at this crisis, would be fatal to
his further advance. Barclay decided upon this stand in deference to
the complaints of his army. The result was disastrous, and involved,
besides the loss of thousands of men, the burning and destruction of
the splendid old city of Smolensk, on the Dnieper, into which
stronghold he had thrown himself in his desperate attempt to stay
the advance of the French.
Napoleon made the remark that the blazing town "reminded him of
Naples during an eruption of Vesuvius".
During this day of fighting Louise suffered a shock, for she not only
saw Henri close at hand for the first time during the campaign, but
almost at the moment of recognising him, as he rode by at the head
of his troop of Hussars, saw him also struck by a shot and knocked
senseless from his saddle.
Her own regiment was at the moment rushing forward with cheers
to assault a house held by marksmen of the enemy, whose shots
from the windows had been a serious annoyance for an hour or
more, and acting upon the inspiration of the moment Louise fell
29. forward upon her face, as though struck by a bullet. She saw her
comrades go forward shouting, laughing, cursing, leaving a man
here and half a dozen there; she saw Henri's Hussars ride on also;
then she rose and ran to the spot where she had seen the Baron fall.
Henri was unconscious but alive. She bathed his temples with tepid
fluid from her own water-bottle. A bullet, she now saw, had passed
through his left shoulder. She ripped the tunic and tore away the
shirt and washed the wound. It bled fiercely, but she was able to
stop the bleeding by means of a tight bandage.
Henri opened his eyes presently and half sat up, using his right arm
and hand to prop himself. He looked around, listened to the
cannonading, the shouting and turmoil a mile away, and glanced,
eventually, at Louise, who was still busy over her bandage.
Henri stared at her face, saying nothing; Louise employed herself
busily, collecting composure for the trying ordeal through which she
now expected to have to pass.
"You are very kind to attend to my wound, mon ami," said Henri, at
last. "Who are you?"
"Michel Prevost, Monsieur le Capitaine," Louise replied, saluting; "I
saw you struck down, and fearing that you might bleed to death if
left alone, I stopped to bind your shoulder. You will recover, please
God; the bullet has missed the vital parts."
"It is curious. I seem to know your face, yet I think I have not seen
you before. Are you a Parisian?"
"Certainly, Monsieur, but only a conscript; it is not likely that you
should have seen me before."
"Perhaps not—yet your face seems familiar. Are you wounded?"
"No, mon Capitaine. I have no excuse to stay, now that your wants
are for the moment attended to. With your permission, I will follow
my companions, or I shall get myself shot for a skulker."
30. "I will speak for you. Stay a while here, my friend; or, still better,
help me, if you will, to the small house yonder, which our
cannonballs have half demolished. This wound of mine may be more
serious than you suppose—I feel very faint. It is cold here and very
damp. Is it dark or do my eyes——"
The Baron suddenly fainted, falling back into his companion's arms
with a groan. Within one hundred yards stood the half-demolished
house to which Henri had made reference. Louise laid the wounded
man carefully upon the grass and hastened to see whether any
assistance was to be had. The house was of stone, the only
habitation left standing within half a mile, for the wooden cottages
which had surrounded it were burned to the ground, every one. This
had been a village, she concluded, standing a mile or two from the
town of Smolensk, now blazing in the distance. The house was
empty. It had been, to judge from its appearance, the village shop
or store. The upper portion had been destroyed by a cannon-ball,
but the ground floor still stood. Searching hastily among the débris
left by the owners on the approach of the French troops, Louise
found a bottle of vodka, three parts empty. With this treasure-trove
she flew back to her patient.
Henri opened his eyes when she had poured a quantity of the stuff
down his throat.
"You again?" he said. "What is it—did I faint?"
"There is a wheel-barrow in the yard of the house yonder," said
Louise; "can I leave you for a moment while I fetch it? If you are
strong enough to bear moving, it would be better to take you under
shelter. It is raining and miserable here. The night will be wet and
cold."
"By the Saints, you are a good soul—what did you say your name
was—Michel? Yes, fetch the wheel-barrow, my friend. Strong enough
or not, I will make the journey, with your assistance."
Louise fetched the wheel-barrow. With many groans Henri contrived
to seat himself in the conveyance, and Louise wheeled him very
31. carefully into port. She improvised a bed out of a pile of hay which
she found in the stable behind and soon Henri lay in comparative
comfort.
His wound seemed to be serious, though not dangerous, unless
complications should set in; but being young and very healthy there
was little danger that anything in the nature of mortification would
supervene. The wounded man and his companion were not long left
in undisturbed possession of their sanctuary, however, for before
long a surgeon and his assistants, following in the steps of the
fighting contingent, and finding a score of wounded men in the
vicinity of Henri's house, brought in as many as could be
accommodated in the place, which now became a pandemonium of
groaning, swearing, raving and dying men. Two other sufferers were
brought into Henri's room, a circumstance which did not please his
nurse; but there was no help for it and the men remained.
Henri d'Estreville was seen and treated by the doctor.
"You'll be all right," he said; "though you'd have bled to death but
for this young fellow—your servant, doubtless. I shall leave an
assistant in charge of the household; I must be off; by the Saints,
his Majesty gives us poor fellows work enough. Up at Smolensk,
they say, it is like the shambles."
One poor fellow died during the night and was removed by Louise.
The other lay groaning and raving in delirium, too far gone to take
notice of any one or anything.
All night Henri, too, raved in delirium, suffering from high fever.
Louise sat on the ground beside him, her back to the wall, weary to
death but sleeping never a wink. Towards morning Henri was
quieter, but could not sleep. He was inclined to talk, and treated
Louise to a long account of his adventures in love, some of which
caused the poor girl—who knew little of such things—to blush from
neck to temples, though Henri was unaware of the fact, owing to the
darkness.
32. "Every one of these affairs," said Henri, "has left me without a mark.
I had begun to think that Nature, in her wisdom, had omitted to
provide me with a heart, well knowing that such a possession is as
much a trouble as a comfort to its owner; yet now, in my old age—
imagine, Michel, I am twenty-five, no less!—I have begun to fear
that after all she has treated me no better than my fellows. Not only
have I found, of late, that I possess a heart, but no sooner was it
found than I have lost it—so, at least, I fear!"
"It is possible, I suppose, that I shall die of this wound," Henri
continued presently.
"God forbid!" muttered his companion.
"Oh, agreed! I am not anxious to die," Henri laughed; "still, it is
possible, for, be assured, Michel, I have felt very ill this night;
certainly I have been nearer death than has been my lot before to-
day. Who can tell how the malady will go—which turn it will take.
This girl, I spoke of; if I should die, Michel, you shall take a message
to her. Sapristi—it is an odd thing, that I who have exchanged vows
with a hundred women should now remember with affection but
one, and she the most artless of them all and doubtless the most
virtuous. You will carry a message for this one, Michel, promise me—
it is only in case of my death—come!"
"I promise," murmured Louise.
"Good—perhaps I shall live, in which case keep my secret, lest by
that time I should think differently. But supposing that I should die,
go to the Palais d'armes of old Pierre Dupré, there ask for his
daughter Louise—remember their names—you shall take a note of
them presently, and tell her that in dying Baron Henri d'Estreville
remembered her with tenderness; of all his vows of love he
remembered those only that he made to her, which vows, say, he
would certainly have kept if he should have remained in the same
mind when he returned."
Louise suddenly broke in upon Henri's message with a merry laugh.
33. "I will leave out the last sentence, it will not sound so well as the
rest," she said. "If you had lived, I will say, you might have been
faithful to her. That you died loving her fairly well."
"Ah, you mock me!" said Henri. "No, I am serious. It is wonderful,
but I remember that little simple one with true affection. To her lips I
send a loving kiss, the pledge of my love."
"Shall I carry your very kiss to her?" said Louise; "if—if it would be a
comfort to you, I will do so."
"Ah, rascal! I think I have roused your interest in my pretty one—
well, if I die I care very little what happens; yes, take her my very
kiss—bend over and receive it from me. It is a strange thing, Michel,
but there is something in your face which reminds me of my Louise;
in kissing you thus I can almost fancy it is she—I would to God it
were!"
"Ah, you rave again!" murmured Louise.
34. CHAPTER XV.
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."
35. "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
36. 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.
37. "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.
38. 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.
40. CHAPTER XVI.
Meanwhile Count Rostopchin, ex-Governor of Moscow, had had a
difficult task to perform. General Kootoozof, making no secret of his
intention of abandoning Moscow, unless the stand at Borodino
should meet with unexpected success, had promised the Count three
days notice before the French should be free to enter the city; but
Rostopchin received warning only twenty-four hours before the
arrival of the first batch of foreign soldiers. During those four and
twenty hours much was done. The archives, with many treasures
from churches and palaces were removed to a neighbouring city.
The arsenals were thrown open in order that whosoever desired
might arm himself. The prisons were also opened, the fire-engines
were removed or destroyed; the greater part of the population
crowded out of the city, taking with them—as far as possible—their
possessions. Only a few enthusiasts remained, patriotic souls or
religious fanatics who would not leave the Holy City of Russia to the
licence of the invaders.
Thus Napoleon found a deserted Moscow, deserted by all but a grim
remnant of resolute, desperate, Russia-loving, foreigner-hating
patriots.
Among them was Vera Demidof, whose motives for remaining were,
however, decidedly mixed.
During the months of anxiety preceding the arrival, first of the
Russian army and afterwards of the French, Vera had shown herself
one of the most patriotic of Russian women. She had been surprised
by her own fierce patriotic passion. She had gone daily among the
people, inflaming their minds against the foreigners, helping—like
many of the ladies in Moscow—to enrol every man of fighting age
and capacity among the drujina or militia, which had started into
being in response to the manifesto of the Tsar. She remained behind
41. when the great majority of the population left in the hope that she
might even yet find work to do for Russia's sake. She was a member
of a patriotic guild, formed at this time to watch and to protect the
beloved city, given over into the hands of her enemies.
If any one had told Vera that she had remained in Moscow partly at
least in the hope of seeing a Frenchman, one Paul de Tourelle; of
assuring herself that he was alive and well and that he still loved her,
perhaps she would have admitted the first portion of the indictment,
but certainly not the last. Vera was, as a matter of fact, anxious to
see Paul, if possible, but for a different reason. Whether he loved
her or not was, at this moment of patriotic fervour, a matter of
supreme indifference to her, for, indeed, she more than suspected
that she had altogether lost that partiality for the young Frenchman
which she had believed to be a preliminary to love; perhaps her
patriotic hatred of the invaders of her country had scotched all
private feelings for individual French persons; perhaps there were
other reasons. At any rate Vera was anxious to see the man in order
to make sure of herself; it was just as well, she thought, to know
one's own heart. In any case she would be a patriot first. If she
found that she still preserved some affection for this man, it might
be a comfort to her wounded patriotic spirit to offer her private
feelings a living sacrifice. At least she could do that much for Russia,
if there was little else a woman could do.
On the day of the evacuation of Moscow Vera, sitting at her window
and watching the turmoil and movement of the people in the streets
below, heard the footsteps of someone running rapidly down the
road. She recognised Sasha Maximof, who entered the house
panting and excited.
"Vera, what is the meaning of this?" he said; Sasha was greatly
agitated—"I hear you are determined to remain in Moscow—have
you thought of the dangers from lawless French soldiers, the
uselessness, the——"
Vera laughed. "Dear Sasha," she said, "give me time to say 'thank
God you are alive and safe'; remember that I have not seen you
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