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 Napoleon—who has spoiled Moscow and burned the Kremlin—still sets his foot upon the soil of holy Russia, I could not support 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 myself 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 Commandant of the Knights of Malta.”
At a sign from his father, the younger Soltikoff came forward, and cordially invited Ivan to his house. Seeing him hesitate for a moment before replying, he said, “Perhaps you have friends with you?” Ivan mentioned Adrian Wertsch, who was immediately included in the invitation. He then remembered Michael, and turning once more towards the general, 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;[36] he attended an imperial reception 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 garments 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 soldiers, and told him of the unwearied exertions of the Czar to supply the whole of his enormous army not only with the necessaries, 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.”[37] 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.