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.
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 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.