Moscow in flames

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MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Moscow IN Flames

BY

G. P. DANILEVSKI

TrMslattd from tht Russian by Dr. A. S. RAPPOPORT

LONDON

STANLEY PAUL &l GO.

31 ESSEX STREET, STRAND, W.G.

OC I 0 6 1994

First published in 1917

Primtbo at Tmb DBVONaaiiiB Prbss, Torqvat.

MAIN

PREFACE

Gregory Petrovitsh Danilevski, the author
of " Moscow in Flames," now pubUshed for the
first time in English (it is also the first book from
his pen rendered accessible to the British reading
public), was born on April 14th, 1829, ^^ Danilovka,
in the province of Kharkoff. He was descended
from an ancient Cossack family, and his work
frequently reflects the roaming, vagabond spirit
of his ancestors. He passed his early childhood
in the peace and quiet of his little native village
which he greatly loved, and which later he often
described in the stories he published during the
first half of his literary career.

His childish imagination was fed with the old
tales of heroic deeds and the old legends of his
Ukrainian home ; all of which later became for him
a storehouse of material for his Ukrainian stories.
He went to school at Moscow and then entered
the University of Petrograd where he studied
criminal law. In 1849 he accidentally became
involved in the Petrashevski affair, was arrested
and kept a prisoner for some months in the Petro-
pavlovsk fortress : the Russian Bastille. How-
ever, he succeeded in passing his final examinations,
took his degree in 1850, and entered the Ministry
of Public Instruction.

383865

8 -. :,.-:. ^'.//. Preface

From 1868 ' he' wrote for the Pravitelstveny
Vyestnik or " Government Messenger," which paper
he edited from 1881 to his death in 1890. Danilev-
ski's larger works first appeared in the Vyestnik
Eiiropi (" European Messenger ") the Rousskaya
My si {" Russian Thought ") and in the biblio-
graphical section of the official organ Th» Govern-
ment Messenger. He started his literary activities
by writing some small poems and maldng several
translations from Shakespeare and Byron. But
his stories of the Ukraine or of Little Russia, in
which he employed his childhood's impressions,
were more successful.

Danilevski first attracted pubHc attention with
his Triology describing the life and adventures of
Russian fugitives in the steppes. His " Fugitives
in New Russia," published in 1862, under the
pseudonym of "A. Skavronski " ; " The Return
of the Fugitives/' and " Freedom " are full of the
romance of struggle and labour. These three
novels are ethnographical in character and describe
the life and experiences of the Russian peasants
when, in terror of serfdom, they fled to the Southern
Russian steppes and met with greater sufferings
and adventures. His work is very similar to that
of Fenimore Cooper and the latter's descriptions
of life in Texas and Kansas, therefore, he has often
been called the Russian Cooper.

The year 1878 was a notable one for Danilevski ;
it marked a turning point in his literary career,
for then he put ethnographical work aside to try
his hand at historical novel writing. To these
latter belong his " Potemkin on the Danube,"

PREFACE 9

(1878) ; " Mirovitsh," (1879) ; " Princess Tara-
ksLXiofi," (1883) ; " Moscow in Flames " (1886),
etc. In spite of the fact that Danilevski's deHnea-
tion of character is somewhat weak, he is never-
theless a splendid and vivid story-teller, and he
still enjoys great popularity in Russia. The secret
of his popularity lies in his choice of subject ;
it is always interesting and fascinating. From an
artistic point of view, his historical novels are
inferior to his earlier ethnographical works, but,
on the other hand, they are maturer and are not
written so hastily or with such an evident desire
for melodramatic effect.

Danilevski has always been a great student of
the eighteenth century ; his historical knowledge
is profound and authoritative, as is evidenced by the
accuracy and minuteness of detail given in " Miro-
vitsh " and " Moscow in Flames." In " Moscow
in Flames " Danilevski competes with Tolstoy's
" War and Peace," and I venture to point out
that he was so successful in his effort that his
heroine, Aurora Kramahn, the great society beauty,
who, deserting her sex, fought in the ranks
against the invaders, would have been considered
an abomination by Tolstoy. This novel has also
a somewhat topical interest for it will enable the
reader to draw comparisons between the Napoleonic
invasion of Russia and the present European
cataclysm. Napoleon's frustrated campaign
against Russia finally resulted in the Corsican's
abdication. Tsar Alexander, against whom the
victor of Austerlitz and Jena led his " grande
arm^e," was ultimately received by the enthus-

10 PREFACE

iastic Parisians as their saviour, and they flung
down their idol from his pedestal. Sapienti sat.
Caveat Guilelmus secundus ! Will not the present
European war end in the abdication of him who
craved to be a second Napoleon ? We hope so
in the interests of humanity and civilisation.

A. S. Rappoport.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Never had the people of Moscow and its neigh-
bourhood enjoyed themselves so much as during
the first months of the terrible and gloomy year
*' twelve." In the suburbs, as in the city, balls
were succeeded by balls only varied by promenades,
concerts and mascarades. Winged Cupid seemed
to be hovering over Moscow, that haven and refuge
of the shipwrecked, such as the Orloffs, the
Suboffs, etc. Numerous were the gallant adven-
tures, the elopements from beneath the paternal
roof and the duels in a society that was distinguished
by many brilliant and remarkable beauties, the
inspiration of the poets of the day. The Moscovites
met to enjoy their society at the houses of the
Razumovsld's, the Neledinski-Meletzkis, the
Arkharoffs, Apraxins and Buturlins.

May was approaching its end. In spite of the
appearance of the comet and the incessant and
disquieting rumours of a probable break-up of
relations with Napoleon, no one believed in the
possibility of war, and no one paid any heed.

In one of the wealthy houses in the quarter of
the Patriarchal Ponds, the house of a rich sexa-

11

12 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

genarian widow of a brigadier-general, Princess
Sheleshpansky, a crowded reception of city and
country guests was held one evening. It was
the birthday of the first great-grandson of the
Princess. The year before, on an equally beautiful
April day, the marriage of her eldest grand-daughter,
the joyful and vivacious Xenia Valerianovna
Kramalin, had been celebrated at Lyubanova,
one of the Princess' estates. She had married
Ilya Borisovitsh Tropinin, the secretary of the
Senate of Moscow and a functionary of the Theatre-
Administration.

Besides celebrating the christening of her great-
grandson with such splendour, the Princess had
another reason for wishing that joy should surround
her. Her second grand-daughter, the proud and
serious-minded Aurora KramaUn, was on the point
of following the dictates of her young heart and
betrothing herself to Basil Alexeievitsh Perovski,
a general staff officer, who was on leave at Moscow.
The old Princess was pleased that he should pay
such assiduous court to Aurora. Perovski had
been introduced to Aurora at the last winter ball
by her sister's husband, Ilya Tropinin, the young
officer's friend and schoolfellow.

The majority of the Princess' guests were already
leaving ; old Mordvinoff, Prince Dolgoruki, Prince
Calembour as he was called, Neledinski-Meletzki,
Sergius GUnka, and the Editor of the Rousski
Vjestnik had gone. Only a few relations and
intimates remained, among whom was an old
friend of her late husband. Count Rostoptshin,
who had just been appointed commandant-in-

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 13

chief of Moscow. He was a man of tall stature
and carried his fifty years very lightly ; he had
dark, very brilliant eyes, a broad, open forehead
and narrow side whiskers framing his face. He
talked loudly, even shouted when he became
animated. The Princess confided in him, though
she did not mention it to any of her other guests,
that Aurora's admirer was the natural son of the
Minister of Public Instruction, a grand seigneur
of the Ukraine.

When taking his leave, Rostoptshin, with a
smile, designated Basil Perovski, who, clad in a
new uniform, was sitting in a corner, and half
whispered to her : " Your grand-daughter is
wrong to delay ; the admirer is acceptable and
you ought to settle the matter before he returns
to his duties."

'* But why hurry, Count ? Aurora is not yet
eighteen," replied the Princess. " In any case,
she will not be an old maid. Everything is in
God's hands. Besides, carnival is approaching,
and the young man's leave is now up. He promises
to return after the Day of Assumption, by the end
of August, and then, if we are alive, we shall
celebrate the betrothal and wedding at once."

" You will invite me. Princess. But take my
advice, do not protract this love-affair ; you know
that people are talking of the possibiUty of
war."

** But, my dear Count, where is this Napoleon ? "
said the Princess. " There are many leagues
between him and us. And then, are we not under
the guardianship of the holy protectors of Moscow ?

14 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

And do we not also rely upon your ability, Mon-
sieur le Comte ? "

Rostoptshin looked at the other guests in a
worried manner, drew on his gloves and moved to
go, then, suddenly, drawing his brows decisively
together, he took a seat near the Princess.

" Do you know anything new ? " asked Anna
Arcadievna.

Rostoptshin nodded. The Princess nearly fainted.
" Speak, my dear, speak," she said, in great distress,
as she searched in her reticule for her smelling
salts and then inhaled their perfume. " This is
neither the place nor the moment," said the Count,
" I shall come to see you to-morrow."

" No, no, tell me this evening, do not make me
anxious. You know what a coward I am."

" But to-night you have guests, and no doubt
they will play boston, and you know how I detest
all card games."

*' Do not talk against the cards. Remember
that Talleyrand said : * He who never plays cards
in his youth prepares a sad old age for himself.'
Well, till this evening, I shall be alone for you."

" I shall do my best to come."

II

The Count kept his word. The Princess received
him in her oratory. This room, as the Count knew,
served her also as a bed-chamber and refuge during
the summer thunderstorms. The Count curiously
examined the decoration of the room ; everything
was made of silk : the hangings of the walls and
windows, the quilts, pillows and sheets, while the
bed was made of glass and stood upon large glass
feet ; even a portrait of Napoleon was in silk woven
at Lyons and brought from Paris. Rostoptshin
found the Princess lying upon her bed. Two
chambermaids were standing in front of her holding
up her dog Tutik, while another chambermaid
was busy endeavouring to slip a new embroidered
costume on the little beast. Taking Tutik into
her arms, the Princess dismissed her maids and
begged the Count to sit down.

Tall, with powdered hair, and a face as if cut in
ivory, Anna Arcadievna was the last representative
of an ancient family, whose women, from genera-
tion to generation, had always been distin-
guished for their daring spirit and rare beauty.
At balls, mothers used to say to their young daugh-
ters ; *• You see that lady so pale and thin. She
has come from Paris. When you pass before her,
do not forget to bow low and to kiss her hand, you
will not regret it."

15

16 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

In his youth, Rostoptshin had seen the charm
and seductive powers of these great ladies of the
1 8th century, and among them the Princess, whom
all men courted. The absolute submission to these
queens of fashion had not surprised him then, but
now he laughed quietly to himself, both at them
and at the Princess. He would often tease the
latter, who had brought with her, as mementoes
of her long sojourn in Paris, the fashion of using
hoar-frost powder, of dressing her hair & trois
marteaux, and a predilection for giddily-coloured
dresses. Speaking of the ardent, honest, though
affected Princess, the Count had even once re-
marked that Dant6 had omitted one section in his
Inferno : where many worldly sinners would suffer
not remorse for their guilt, but regret at the re-
membrance of the opportunities they had let slip
because of their cowardice or pride.

In the olden days, the Princess, a disciple of
Voltaire, Diderot and Mme. Roland, had not been
afraid of anything, but now, at the slightest clap
of thunder, she would take refuge in her oratory,
would light the candles before the holy images,
dress herself from head to foot in silken garments,
creep under the silken covers of her crystal bed,
and finally losing all self-control in her fear, would
scold and shout at her maids and the poor relations
to whom she had given a home for charity's sake,
and would order them to shut all the doors and
shutter all the windows. Every rumble of thunder
would set her trembling, and she would ceaselessly
murmur " Holy, holy, holy, Hozanna in the places
most high," until the thunder had passed, and the
storm was over.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 17

" The Princess clings to life," thought Rostop-
tshin, as he sat down in the easy chair," but why
should she not ? Life is sweet to her, and she is
so wealthy. But another storm is approaching,
a storm from which neither her silken hangings,
nor her glass bed will be able to protect her."

" Well, Count," the Princess, cuddling the dog
in her lap, asked anxiously," is it true that we are
going to have war ? " Like the rest of Moscow
society of those days, she spoke in French, using
the Russian language only when praying, or
joking, or scolding her servants.

** We are alone, Anna Arcadievna," repHed the
Count, " and, as an old friend of your husband's and,
I venture to say, an old admirer of yours, I confess
that things do not look bright for us. Bonaparte
has left St. Cloud and intends to come here. He
is now in Dresden and surrounded, so the Ham-
burg courier says, by kings, dukes and a countless
army."

" But he does not always make war ; it is only
his pastime. Perhaps he does not intend to march
against us at all."

" Alas, Tsar Alexander Pavlovitsh has left St.
Petersburg in haste, and gone to Vilna; all thoughts,
all eyes are directed there."

" But Count, it may only be a threat against
some of our neighbours. How can we believe
it is against us ? "

" Bonaparte would never have gathered such
an army against anyone but us. He has half a
milhon men ready now, and over 1,200 cannon ;
one train alone contains 6,000 carts."

18 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

The Princess inhaled her smelling salts, and
shifted her sleeping dog.

" And you believe this, Count ? '* she asked with
a sigh.

Fedor Vassilievitsh crossed his arms over his
chest. " A fiery current is traversing Europe, and
is now touching Russia. I have predicted it more
than once. The usurper ought to have been
stopped when, without declaring war, he seized
entire countries and entered the capitals. It is now
our turn,the turn of us Russians, to see him on the
Western frontiers at least, if not nearer."

" But whose fault is it ? "

Rostoptshin was silent.

" And our army, our legions of Cossacks, the
pious troop, the unshaven troop ! " continued the
Princess.

" The bearded ones ! " said Rostoptshin in
Russian. " But my dear Princess, you should
not speak like that, you, who have lived abroad so
long. You have seen everything, heard every
thing."

The Princess was flattered and forgot her fear
for a moment. She thought of Paris, and of the
celebrities who used to crowd her salon.

" Fancy, Count, that my good friend Mme. de
Stael assures me that Bonaparte is coarse, rude,
and an outrageous liar. Don't you think that is a
little exaggerated ? I am not as au courant as
you ; tell me what you think about it."

Rostoptshin bowed. "It is perfectly true," he
said. " Napoleon considers Metternich a great
statesman, only because he can lie so adroitly

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 19

For some time past, I have maintained — but no
one would agree with me — that Bonaparte has a
mean and envious soul without a touch of greatness.
His education is that of a corporal only ; real
culture has never touched him. He pours out
abuse like a market women, or a soldier. He has
never read anything decent, and does not even
care for reading."

" And yet Mme. de R6musat, at whose house I
saw him, is enraptured with him."

" She is the daughter of his minister. Believe me,
he is another Tamerlane, great impulses of the heart
and the ties of blood are unknown to him, and his
constant desire to dissemble has poisoned the
last vestige of truth in him. According to his own
admissions, the ordinary laws of morality and the
conventions accepted by everyone are not binding
on him. Did he not lately say that he was the
French revolution incarnate, that he carried it in
himself, that the man who hid from him in the
depth of a desert was wise, and that when he dies
the universe will heave a sigh of relief ? "

" But what is his grudge against us ? " inquired
the Princess in great agitation.

" He has been spoilt by fortune and besides, he
has been refused the hand of the Grand-Duchess
Catherine Pavlovna. But he is a genius according
to the press and the young poet hangers-on ; he is
the fate of servile Europe. How could one thus
treat a genius ? And now he is telling the whole
of Europe that ' Russia has forgotten herself ; I
shall throw her back into the heart of Asia ; I shall
mete out to her the fate of Poland ! ' And yet^ in

20 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

my hearts of hearts, I feel convinced that we shall
not perish."

" Really ? " said the Princess, quite relieved,
*' but please tranquillize me completely."

" Very well, Anna Arcadievna, I shall tell you
this much," continued Rostoptshin, still speaking
in Russian, " our country is like the stomach of
Potemkin ; after all is said and done, it can digest
everything, even a Napoleon."

" But what should we do ? "

" What we should do ? I have not yet said it
to anyone, but I will tell you. Leave Moscow at
once. The French will not come here — but still,
you never know."

" But where should I go ? "

" Go to your estate in the province of Kolomna,
or further still, to your estate in the province of
Tamboff. I say it again, the French will not be
allowed to cross the frontier, but there will be much
unrest here and at your age. Princess," added
Rostoptshin in a half whisper, " one should not
expose oneself. The troops will be armed and
mobilised ; there will be much excitement."

The Princess cast a supplicating glance upon a
Christ in white marble, standing in the oratory
surrounded by the ancient family ikons. ** I
don't understand it at all," she murmured, " Is it
possible that here, in our ancient capital of Moscow,
in the midst of our holy reUcs, under the protecting
eye of God, and under your rule, Count, we are not
safe ? "

" You are a brave woman," said Rostoptshin,
" you fear the thunder, but you are not afraid of

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 21

Bonaparte; you even exhibit his portrait in silk
upon your walls. Well, do as you think best.
Princess," he added, rising to take his leave, "it
was my duty to warn you. Under the seal of
secrecy I have even told you my own personal
opinion. This is what our strong minds have
obtained by glorifying Bonaparte. It is madden-
ing when one thinks of it. In the west, cobblers
are engineering revolutions in order to grow rich,
whilst in our own country, the grand seigneurs
are agitating and creating trouble in order to
become, at all costs, cobblers. And all this is
the work of their leader, Speranski."

" You are still hostile to Speranski but what has
he done to you ? " asked the Princess.

" What has he done to me ? I shall tell you.
He has been extolled to the clouds, and yet he is
only a bureaucrat of a bigger calibre ; the chan-
cellery is his forum ; the thousands of papers, very
injurious and hurtful, are his trumpets and cym-
bals. They have done very well to seal him
up now ; now he has himself become a waste
paper, numbered and relegated to the archives.
But you do not share my view. Princess. I greet
you." Rostoptshin kissed the hand of Anna
Arcadievna, and walked towards the door. " Yes,"
he said, standing still, " something else. My pre-
diction of this morning with regard to Perovski
has come true sooner, alas, than I imagined it
would."

" What is it, mon Dieu ? "exclaimed the Princess.

" On my return home, I found an order com-
manding all oificers, wherever they were, to rejoin

22 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

their regiments at once. I shall summon him
to-morrow very early. Should Perovski ask for
it, I can grant him two or three days more to make
preparations for his departure.**

The Princess, utterly crushed, stretched out her
hand for the bell, but was unable to find it.

Ill

The next morning Perovski learned that all officers
were ordered to rejoin their regiments at once.

As different as the two sisters were from each
other — Xenia, with her golden curls, blue eyes,
vivacious countenance, and plump hands, and
Aurora, dark, thin, and always pensive — so dis-
similiar, both physically and morally, were the
two friends, Ilya Tropinin and Basil Perovski.
When still a child, Basil had been brought from
Potshep, an Ukrainian property belonging to his
father, to Moscow, where, under the guidance of
tutors and a Little-Russian preceptor, he was
educated at a pensionat, until old enough to enter
the University. His studies finished, he left for
St. Petersburg, where he entered the military service.
He was well-read, knew French and German
thoroughly, and loved music. Brave, even over-
courageous, and brimful of enthusiasm for the
ideals of military life, he, like many of his comrades-
in-arms, harboured a secret admiration for the
idol of the moment, who had subdued the
French Reign of Terror and the Jacobins, the
plebeian Caesar, whom farsighted men were already
beginning to suspect and accuse.

Basil was one of the real Europeans of St. Peters-
burg. He thought — and was not even afraid of saying

23

24 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

it aloud on occasion — that the Court had been wrong
to decline Napoleon's proposition when the latter
demanded the hand of the Grand-Duchess Cather-
ine, the sister of Alexander I. In his opinion,
Bonaparte, scorned by the Imperial family, would
sooner or later think of reprisals, and would make
Russia pay dearly for such an indelible outrage.
Dark, tall, broad-shouldered, with a neat waist,
and irreproachably dressed, Basil attracted all
eyes by his general air of intelligence, his polite
manners, his distinguished speech and above all,
by the brilliancy of his pensive brown eyes, his
affable smile, and his original and witty conversa-
tion. Among his comrades he was considered
a jovial companion, indeed, the very soul of their
gatherings. Women pronounced him enigmatic,
whilst his military chiefs thought him an officer
with a future. Passionately fond of music he
had learned, almost without any teaching, to sing
and accompany himself on the piano ; he made
music not only for himself but also for his com-
rades ; he even sang at social gatherings. For
some time he and several other staff officers were
members of a masonic lodge ; these young men had
conceived the project of establishing themselves
on the distant Japanese island of Socu, as Sakhalin
was then called, and of founding a republic there.
The project, as may be imagined, had to be aban-
doned for lack of funds. As for love-affairs, no one
knew that Perovski had ever had any. He laughed
heartily at the gallants and fops of the town.
Therefore, everyone was very much surprised to
hear that this handsome, careless and gay officer

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 25

of the Guards, who was still too young to marry,
had not only fallen in love, but was seriously
thinking of marriage. Perovski's origin was un-
known in society and to his comrades ; he was
simply called ** the handsome Little-Russian."

Long afterwards Basil remembered that last
Tuesday at the Neledinski-Meletzkis, at their
house in the Mjasnitskaja, to which he had been
taken by his old comrade, Ilya Tropinin. The
older people had played cards in the study and
conservatory, whilst the others danced in the
grand salon ; sumptuous dresses brought from
Paris and scarcely clinging to the shoulders of the
young women were exhibited that evening in
unaccustomed profusion. An interminable cotil-
lion, of which the poets sang : " Cette image
mobile de I'immobile eternite," was in full swing.
Basil was dancing like the others, to the music of
Santi's orchestra, when, in the midst of lilies and
roses, for the first time he caught sight of a graceful
brunette seated a little apart from the dancers.
Not far from her, and devouring her with his eyes,
stood the dark immigrant, Gerambeau, known all
over Moscow as a lover of music and painting.
He assured everyone that he was an officer of the
Hussars of Death, a mysterious legion which had
flourished some little time before ; he wore a dol-
man with silver buttons engraved with Death's
heads ; it suited his pale complexion very well.
When he first noticed the unknown beauty, Perov-
ski thought : " Not bad looking, that Uttle thin
girl," but when he had looked more closely into
those dark eyes with their tranquil gaze, at the pale

26 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

countenance, the magnificent hair negligently
twisted high upon her head, he suddenly felt that
the young woman had entered his heart as its
sovereign, and would never leave it again. The
severe beauty and pensive expression which almost
seemed disdain, had fascinated him. She practi-
cally never smiled ; when she was merry, one only
saw it in her laughing eyes and raised upper lip.
Gerambeau, the Hussar of Death, was not her only
admirer ; there were several other young men who
paid assiduous court to Aurora. Among them was
also the wealthy, aged, but tall and clever widower,
Cuslanoff, who had been wounded in the war
against the Turks when he served under Suvaroff.
Like Gerambeau, he followed Aurora silently
everywhere she went. The wits called them
*' the nymph Galatea and the Cyclop Polyphem."
Mitia Oussof and the two Galitzins also swelled
the group of admirers of the new Galatea, all of
whom, however, seemed voluntarily to efface
themselves before the conqueror, Perovski. He
almost haunted the house of the Princess. One
day he was on the point of declaring himself.
It was after the Easter mass, which the Princess
had attended at the Church of St. Yermolay ;
Aurora received the guests in the palm salon and
then they both sat down near the piano. While
the music of a waltz, by Romberg, floated round
them, Perovski essayed to open his heart to her
but the words refused to come. He left the house,
dismayed that he had not been able to speak.

Ilya Borisovitsh Tropinin had long guessed his
friend's secret. Tropinin was a descendant of an

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 27

old, noble, but not very rich, Moscow family.
He had made Perovski's acquaintance at the
University, and had become greatly attached to
him, not only because of similarity of character,
but also because he listened more patiently than
any of their comrades to Basil's passionate dreams
of military glory, should the day ever come when
Russia would have to measure her strength with
him who was the god of the young men of that day.
Bonaparte, Toulon, the Pyramids and Marengo,
were the subjects of all their talks.

They read contemporary literature, but whilst
Basil preferred the French Romanticists, Ilya would
blush to his ears at their daring language and
expressive details. Tropinin devoted much of his
leisure time to drawing, for which he had a decided
talent. " Decidedly," said Ilya, one day, twisting
his blond curls as they fell over his grey eyes,
always somewhat exalted in expression, "it is as
I say, Basil, I am afraid of women, and I shall
never marry. I shall enter a monastery, I think."
At Moscow, they called him " the monk " and
his fellow-students declared that in his desk he
had arranged a kind of iconostasis before which he
was in the habit of officiating and singing Te Deums.
The University brought the two friends very close
together ; together they enjoyed the lectures
by famous professors, and when they left the
University, the Rector said to Perovski : " You
will be a field-marshal." Then turning to Tropinin,
he added : " And you the happy father of a
numerous family."

The two friends met again in 1812, when Basil

28 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

and Dmitri Oussof, a cousin of Tropinin, and, like
Perovski, an officer on the general staff, were sent
to Moscow to copy some military plans in the
Archives. For a month they worked far from the
whirl of Moscow on the Oussoff' s estate of Novos-
selovka, and then returned to Moscow. At that
time, Ilya Tropinin, contrary to all his youthful
prognostications, was not only married, but bliss-
fully happy. He dreamed of marrying Perovski
to his sister-in-law, and the meeting of his friend
with Aurora promised well for his dreams. At
Easter, Perovski could talk only of Aurora, by the
end of May he was madly in love with her — but
as yet he had not declared his love.

The news that all officers had to rejoin their
regiments at once greatly troubled Perovski. He
asked and obtained a respite of four days from the
Commandant. A short week before he had paid
a visit to Tropinin, and the two friends had gone
out for a stroll on the boulevards. " And so it
is decided that Napoleon is against us ? " Tropinin
had asked.

" Yes, but I still hope we shall not have war,"
Perovski had replied, with some hesitation.

" And why ? "

"It is but a rumour spread by the blustering
bravadoes ; in a month's time it will be all for-
gotten."

" But why then all this excitement and the
gathering of troops on the frontier ? "

" Precautionary measures, that is all."

" That is easy to say, my dear fellow. Your
idol is at last smashed. They expect to see him

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 29

here even ; to-day he is at Dresden, to-morrow
he will be on the Niemen, on the Dvina, perhaps
even nearer still."

" Never mind. I don't believe it," repeated
Perovski, pacing up and down the boulevard.
" Napoleon is not a traitor, and it must be admitted
that we should not have chosen ambassadors of
such limited intelligence, such fools even to send
him. How could such a bilious and suspicious
man as Kurakin have been chosen ? It is these
needle pricks, these continual provocations and
this playing with England, his enemy, which have
caused all the trouble. Speranski, the only true
statesman we possess, has not only been removed
from the vicinity of the throne, but has also been
branded as a traitor. Why ? Because he dared
to prefer to the laws of Tsar Alexis, the ingenious
code of laws promulgated by him who put an end
to the state of revolutionary anarchy reigning in
France, and re-established order in Europe."

" That is an old story. Freedom is excellent,
but what about the murder without a trial of the
Due D'Enghien ? After having been in Rome,
Vienna and Berlin, everywhere except in our
country, Napoleon intends to come here and allow
our women, our sisters, my wife, your fiancee,
if you had one, to be insulted by his soldiers."

" Listen, Ilya," Perovski sharply interrupted
him. " One can forgive everything to women,
even their cowardice and their gossip, but it is
quite another question when a man knowing the
world and life, talks as you are doing. Are you not
ashamed ? What need, I ask you, has Napoleon

30 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

of us, who, after all, alas, are only a half-Scythian
horde ? "

" And yet it was to the Tsar of this horde to
whom your idol was so anxious to be related."

" Come here, listen, and be reasonable," said
Perovski, more calmly. " The matter is as clear
as the day. The great man went to the Pyramids
for Egyptian hieroglyphics, to Italy for the marbles
and Raphael's pictures ; all that is quite compre-
hensible, but what could he find here ? Vyazma
gingerbread, Yaroslav bast, or our ballet dancers ?
No, Ilya, you need have no fear for our dancers.
It is not for us to threaten with our boar-spears
the conqueror of kings, the master of half of
Europe. It was not vainly that he offered to
divide the universe with our Emperor. Creative
genius that he is, he had the right. ..."

" It was not only Alexander whom he thus
wished to entice, but God Almighty, since he had
the generosity to include Him in the inscription
for the proposed medal : * Yours are the heavens,
mine is the earth.' You ought to be ashamed
of yourself, Perovski ! "

Perovski hesitated, he was losing the thread of
the conversation. " You are repeating the follies
invented by German pamphleteers," he said, after
a short silence. ** Napoleon ! . . . . Are you
aware that though thousands of years may pass,
his glory will not die ? He is the incarnation of
truth and goodness. His heart is the heart of a
child. Is it his fault that he is being forced to
make war, to see the inferno of battles ? He,
who is so fond of silence, of starry nights, who

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 31

loves the poetry of Ossian, the sad music of Pae-
siello with its sweet and mysterious harmony ?
Have I not often told you that when at school
at Brienne, he used to hide and read the romances
of chivalry, weeping over the Matilda of the
crusades, and dreaming of the day when he would
be able to give the world felicity and constant
peace ? "

" Then why is he, this idol whom you adore,
now that he has reached the summit, why is he
constantly on the move ? " asked Tropinin.

" Don't you understand it ? "

" Well, explain it to me."

"It is because Napoleon is the elect of heaven
and is not an ordinary mortal at all."

Tropinin shrugged his shoulders. " That is a
weak argument," he said, " a sonorous newspaper
phrase and nothing more ; a useful formula by
which all iniquities and violations of the rights of
others may be explained away."

" No, listen," cried Basil, insistently. ** In
order to understand him truly you must imagine
yourself in his place. After establishing order,
he could not let the French, that fickle people,
rest ; had he done so, he would have only paralysed
the native energy of his country, extingiushed the
flame of great enterprises, of daring adventures.
The tsars and kings are strong in the aureole of
their national memories, in their past, ten centuries
old. For him, his past, his dynasty is himself."

" Many thanks for the manner in which you
justify all the violence of the modern Attila. But
I shall tell you one thing, praise him as much as

32 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

you like, but mind, if he dares to invade Russia,
all your philosophy will be wasted. Here he
will be treated like any ordinary robber, like the
thief of Tushino and other usurpers/*

" Calm yourself. He will not come to Russia,
he does not need it," replied Perovski, in a low
voice, pacing up and down the boulevard.

" It would be sweet to sip hydromel through
your lips," said Tropinin. ** Remember, however,
that should he come, I shall be the first to seize
a spike and march with the others against this
archstrategist, this leader of king^. And we shall
show him, this Napoleon, that he is after all only
one man, while Russia is an entire nation."

Long afterwards, Perovski blushed whenever
he remembered this conversation and his error.

IV

New rumours, persistent and sinister, thoroughly
shook Perovski's enthusiasm for Napoleon. He
learned from reUable sources of the perfidious
proceeding of the Emperor against the family of the
Dukes of Oldenburg and other German princes
related to the Tsar. The presence of the French
on the banks of the Niemen, a veritable perjury
on the part of Napoleon, completely shattered the
ideas he had conceived of his demi-god. The
embarassed Perovski was quite unlike his former
self.

A horseback ride had been arranged for the next
evening. Xenia, her husband, Aurora, Perovski
and Mitia Oussoff were of the party. The gentle-
men's horses were taken at Mamonoff's. The
party left the faubourgs, and rode across the
Poklonnaya hill. It had rained heavily a few
hours previously. Aurora was riding Barss, a
magnificent bay horse, and keeping it well in hand,
though the noble animal, shaking its bit, acceler-
ated its pace more and more, prancing on the soft
dewy path across the fields. The young couple
were^soon ahead of the rest of the party, and then
Aurora reined in her horse.

" Are you going soon ? " she asked.

*' I have a few days respite."

33 c

84 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" I suppose you will find it a little hard to march
against the genius you have so greatly admired,"
said Aurora, splashing through the rain pools.
" Besides, you will have to leave so many dear
friends behind you."

After a short gallop, they fell into pace with one
another.

" The friends will console themselves," answered
Basil. " They will pray to God."

" For whom ? "

" For the absent and the travellers, as it is
said in the scriptures."

" And those who are either ill or suffering will
remain at home ; shall one pray for them too ? "
asked Aurora, again breaking into a canter, and
hardly visible in the dusk in her black riding
habit and cendrillon hat with a red feather.

" I do not know if those who remain at home will
suffer," said Basil, rejoining her. " Is it not said :
woe unto the absent ? "

" The misfortunes of the latter are as great as
those of the former," said Aurora, holding in her
horse. " War is a profound mystery."

The trampling of the horses behind them came
nearer and soon two riders passed them in a quick
gallop. They were Xenia and Mitia Oussoff.

" And how are your race horses ? " gaily shouted
Mitia. " Mine was given to me by Mamonoff's
jockey, Rakitka."

Xenia, in a red riding habit and long veil, passed
by so quickly that her sister had no time to call to
her. Tropinin followed at a measured pace, on a
long and heavy Enghsh racer with a short tail.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 35

" How nice he is, this Mitia," said Aurora, when
Perovski was again by her side. " With what
impatience he is looking forward to the war, the
battles. ..."

" His is a heart of gold," added Perovski. " He
has just written an enthusiastic letter to his chief
begging the latter to entrust him with the first
perilous message that he will have to send. But
what is really odd is the fact, that in spite of
everything, Mitia expects to fall in love during the
campaign and to marry in the autumn."

The riders again galloped for a verst* among the
shaggy bushes and hillocks, and then once more
they fell into a gentle jog-trot, side by side.

" How beautiful the sunset is," said Perovski,
looking back. " Moscow seems a mass of flames ;
the crosses and steeples look like so many burning
masts."

Aurora looked for a long time towards Moscow.
" Will you do me a favour if I ask it of you ? "
she said, at last.

" I promise you," replied Perovski.

" Well then, tell me frankly, without any am-
biguity, what you now think of Napoleon."

" I have made a mistake, and I shall never forgive
myself for it."

Aurora's eyes sparkled with surprise and pleasure.
" Yes," she continued, after a short silence, " ter-
rible events are approaching, this mysterious sphinx,
this Napoleon. ..."

" A traitor, and our enemy ! " cried the young
man. " I shall leave everything, I shall give up

'-^3,500 English feet.

36 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

everything, my life, and what is even dearer to me
than my life, to march against this enemy 1 "

Aurora looked at him with rapture. " I was
not mistaken then/' she thought. " We hold the
same opinions, we have the same ideals I
You are right, right," she added aloud,
" and. ..." she blushed, tried to speak,
failed, and lapsed into silence. Then, lashing her
horse, she jumped over a ditch skirting the road,
and galloped across the fields to rejoin the other
riders. They all gathered at the entrance of the
already darkening wood, and riding together,
returned to Moscow in the moonlight. In the
quarter of Novinski, Perovski pointed out to
Aurora the windows of his apartments, where,
during the last few days, he had passed through
much agony and torment of mind. Hs wished to
leave the party here but that was not permitted
so he rode on with the others. The old Princess was
expecting the riders, and until supper, she listened
to their stories and gay conversation.

" You did not finish the sentence you began ;
you were going to tell me something," said Perovski,
after supper. Aurora silently went to the piano ;
the half-lit room echoed with harmonious sounds.
She sang the favourite romance of an old friend
of her grandmother, Neledinski-Meletzki :

** Witnesses of my sadness.
Forests consecrated to silence."

" Basil Alexeievitsh," said Xenia to Perovski,
'* sing us that romance, you know, the one I am
so fond of."

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 37

Perovski approached the piano, and placing his
hands upon the back of Aurora's chair, sang the
lines by the same author :

*' Forgive me the indiscreet murmuring,
Oh ! sovereign of my soul."

Everyone was deeply moved. Basil, greatly
agitated, was silent, looking down upon the hair
and shoulders of Aurora bending over the piano.
Tropinin wiped away his tears.

" How beautifully you sing," he said.

" How could a man with a soul like that take
the part of Napoleon ? " Aurora tried to signal
to Tropinin, but he did not see.

Perovski and Tropinin left, and Xenia remained
for the night with her sister ; they both passed
into the oratory, where it was dark. After a short
silence, Aurora suddenly arose and said : " No,
I cannot."

Returning to the drawing room, she sat down
to the piano and started to play her favourite
sonata, the Sixteenth, by Beethoven, then fell
again into a reverie.

" What are you thinking about ? " asked Xenia,
kissing her.

Without replying, Aurora again started to play.

** Are you thinking of him ? " Xenia asked
again.

" Yes, he will soon leave here, and we shall never
see each other again."

" Why this idea ? " asked Xenia, covering her
sister with kisses. " He will return. It all de-
pends upon you, if you give him a little hope."

38 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Aurora did not reply. " Why did I ever meet
him ? Why have I grown to care for him ? " she
thought, bending over the piano and continuing
to play amid her tears. " Would it not have been
best never to have been born, never to have lived ? "

Returning to her own apartment, Aurora dis-
missed her maid and began to undress. Without
lighting a candle, she took off her dress, slipped on
a nightgown and sat down on the nearest chair.
The moon was pouring waves of light through the
open windows. Aurora undid her plaits, ret wist ed
and undid them again. Her gaze was lost in
empty space, as if the caressing and meditative
eyes of Perovski were still rivetted upon her.

" Oh, those eyes, those eyes ! " she murmured.
The bronze ornamented mahogany furniture sur-
rounding her reminded her of something dear and
distant. It had belonged to her mother, and
Aurora's thoughts travelled back to the little
provincial town where she had formerly lived, to
the cottage of her father, to the first years of her
childhood when her mother was still alive.
Aurora's mother, a daughter of Anna Arcadievna,
had fallen in love with an excellent and handsome
young man, a poor infantry officer of whom the
Princess did not approve. The girl eloped, there-
fore, and married the man of her choice. She had
two daughters to whom she gave the romantic
names of Aurora and Xenia. Aurora scarcely
remembered the roving life, full of privations, she
had led with her parents, but she did remember the

39

40 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

love and affection of her mother, and the time when
her father, on leaving his regiment, had been
elected by the nobility of his district, and had
entered the administration of his native town.
There he possessed a house overlooking the steep
banks of the river ; a large garden, half orchard
and half flower beds, surrounded the house. Aurora
remembered every corner of that shady garden,
the shubbery where she used to play with Xenia,
the bushes of lilac in flower, the honeysuckle
where she had for the first time caught a blue
butterfly with golden dots, the hillock whence one
had a fine view of the town and the fields, and the
old birchtree under the shadow of which the two
sisters buried their favourite dolls before leaving
the country. They were not ignorant of the fact
that they had a grandmother who was rich and a
Princess, that she never left the place where she
lived, far away in a strange land, and that she was
angry with their mother, and, therefore, wrote but
rarely. Aurora remembered one snowless, muddy
winter, when she was only ten. An epidemic was
raging in the town. One morning when the girls
were going to wish good-morning to their mother,
they were forbidden to enter her room as she was
dangerously ill. Aurora never forgot the sinister
silence that reigned in the house, the sad counten-
ances, the tear-reddened eyes, and especially the
morning when they were taken into the drawing
room and there saw stretched out upon the table,
a motionless, terrifying form, clad in white and
with a white veil over her face, and were told that
this cold, motionless form was their mother. The

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 41

poor children began to cry and to call their mother :
** Mamma, mamma, wake up ! " They could not
beheve that their mother was no longer among the
Uving, Aurora remembered how bitterly their
father wept at the cemetery, how he beat his
breast and tore his hair. Then came their de-
parture in a snowstorm. They were taken to a
cousin of their father's, Peter Andreevitsh Krama-
hn, who lived on his estate Diedinovo, not far from
the town. The doctor had ordered that the
children should remain there all the summer.
She remembered a spring passed in the same village,
the new butterflies and the lilac which no longer
charmed her, and again, a summer with their uncle,
when their father often came to see them. This
uncle, old and a widower, was a great sportsman. In
spite of his age he was constantly hunting, some-
times with the hounds and sometimes with his gun
alone. His housekeeper, old Illinishna. looked
after the two sisters. They used to long to accom-
pany their uncle on his hunting trips, and one
morning, unable any longer to resist their appeal,
he mounted them on horseback. Xenia was afraid,
but Aurora, firmly seated on her dead cousin's
mount, made a few turns, and henceforth thought
of nothing else but riding. Coco, white as milk,
was a contemporary of his master, but was never-
theless still a good runner and gave prompt
obedience to the reins.

" Dear Uncle Peter," begged Aurora, '* let me
go for a ride on horseback accompanied by the
groom."

Then Coco was saddled and brought trium-

42 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

phantly up to the flight of steps before the big door
of the house ; the sHp of a girl offered a thin sHce
of black bread and salt to her favourite, and then
lightly jumped into the saddle.

" You are not a ittle girl, you are a veritable
street boy ! " said Illinishna, shaking her head.
And " Miss, miss ! " the groom often cried behind
her, finding himself unable to keep pace with
Aurora.

" Dear uncle," said Aurora, one day, " let me
shoot with your gun, I beg of you."

Uncle Peter thought a moment, then he unhooked
his gun from the wall, loaded it and showed the
girl how to shoulder a gun and how to take aim,
and then allowed her to practise shooting in the
garden. This game was repeated several times.
One evening in the autumn, when the uncle was
out hunting in the wood, a shot was heard in the
house. lUinshnia and the servants came hurrying
from all sides and found Aurora in the master's
room enveloped in a cloud of smoke. She ex-
plained that she had seen people running and
shouting after a mad dog ; she had been playing
there with her sister, and in spite of the latter's
remonstrance, she had seized the gun, taken aim
and fired. The wounded animal had fallen, and
had been dispatched by its pursuers. The child
was pale and trembling, shedding tears copiously ;
she scarcely seemed to understand what she had
done.

** But you little madcap," said her uncle on his
return home. " How did you dare to fire ? "

*' I saw everybody running and shouting : * a

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 43

mad dog, a mad dog/ and so I seized the gun."
" Yes, but suppose that instead of the dog you

had hit one of the people ? "
Aurora only wept by way of reply.
When her father next came to see them he

quarrelled with Peter Andreevitsh because he

took the girls with him on his hunting trips, yet

he allowed them to stay there another summer.

As for Aurora, she used to dream at night of Coco

and her gun.

VI

One day Valerian Andreevitsh Kramalin came to
Diedinovo, and in the presence of his children read
aloud a letter which he had just received from his
mother-in-law, in Paris, the Princess Sheleshpanski.
A year before the Princess had learned of the death
of her daughter and had been very ill since, not
expecting to live. Her health, however, had im-
proved, and, therefore, she now wrote to her son-
in-law offering to receive the two orphans into her
house. The letter also contained a draft for a
considerable sum of money. There were numerous
consultations between uncle and nephew, and even
quarrels concerning the future of the children.
Towards the end of the autumn the father took
the girls to the institute of St. Catherine at Moscow.
The two sisters then corresponded frequently
with their grand-mother. At the end of the second
year they informed the Princess that their father
was dangerously ill ; winter passed, summer came,
and the girls wrote a desperate letter to their grand-
mother telling her that their father was dead and
that they were in mourning, that all the pupils of
the institute were going to pass their vacation
with their parents, but that they alone, poor orphans,
had nowhere to go, since their good Uncle Peter
had left Diedinovo and gone to pass a season at a

44

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 45

watering place. The grand-mother replied that
they should pray to God for their parents and arm
themselves with patience ; she also sent them a
French book that was very instructive, and dealt
with the duties of young girls.

Thus several sad years passed for the orphans,
and then, one day, they were called to the princi-
pal's room at an unaccustomed hour. On entering
that austere apartment, they saw a grand old lady
seated near the principal. She had powdered hair,
a black shawl over her shoulders, a protecting air,
and somewhat stiff manners. Without saying a
word, she examined the two sisters through her
gold-rimmed lorgnette, turned to the principal as
if about to say something, then suddenly burst into
tears, and abandoning all etiquette, passionately
kissed the little girls. It was the Princess Anna
Arcadievna Sheleshpanski, who had made up her
mind, out of pity for the two sisters, to leave Paris
and take up her residence at Moscow.

Once she had become acquainted with the two
orphans, the old lady grew to love them with all
her heart ; she fondled them and spoiled them,
coming to see them nearly every day at their
institute. Aurora had decided talent for music,
whilst Xenia preferred dancing. Their education
finished, she re-opened her house in the Patriar-
chal Ponds quarter which had been closed so long,
and introduced her grand-daughters into society.
There was no longer any question of her weakness
or her old age ; everyone spoke of the salon of the
Princess, decorated with black, printed leather,
studded with golden nails, of her carriages drawn

46 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

by six black and four light bay horses, of her balls
and soirees. After the marriage of Xenia, the
Princess made her will, leaving her estate, Ly-
banovo, to Aurora, and Yartzovo, to Xenia. Then
she began to worry about the future of Aurora,
who, under various pretexts more or less plausible,
had already refused several very advantageous
offers of marriage.

" I am not going to leave you, grand-mamma,"
said Aurora, as she caressed the old lady. " I do
not want anything. Am I not perfectly happy ?
We go out together, I have Barss, I study singing,
the piano. I read a great deal, for you have a
wonderful library. Don't talk to me of marriage,
let me live with you always."

The old lady dried her tears, and admiring the
severe beauty of Aurora, thought : " After all,
why should she not remain a little longer with me ?
God, in His mysterious way, is thus making her
redeem the fault committed by her who so easily
abandoned me." In her unconscious egotism the
Princess always considered the marriage of her
daughter an irreparable fault, although the latter
had never ceased to honour and respect her, and,
loving her husband dearly, had lived happily and
contentedly to the end.

Aurora forgot Barss only for her music and her
favourite books. Her grand-mother's library con-
sisted of cupboards full of Russian books and
several foreign editions. The Russian books had
been collected by the Princess' husband, who had
been a friend of Novikoff and other Moscow Martin-
ists, whilst the foreign books had been brought from

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 47

Paris by Anna Arcadievna herself. Since she had
left the institute, she had found time between her
solfege and the roulades of Felice Andrien, despite
balls and concerts, to read a good deal of con-
temporary Russian literature. She did not care
much for Krijanin, Derjavin and Dmitriev, but
she devoured the historical writings of Karamsin,
the fables of Kryloff, the poetry of Joukovski.
Among the French authors, Dalembert, De Maistre,
Rousseau and Bernardin de St. Pierre charmed her
for a long time. With them she dreamed of a
rejuvenated and transformed society. But all
the world was then talking of Bonaparte ; Bona-
parte was ever in her thoughts ; he appeared to her
as a legendary supernatural hero. At first, she
looked upon him as a beneficent genius who had
mysteriously made his appearance upon the earth
in order to pour out upon humanity the promises
of a hitherto unknown happiness, and to shed the
dazzling rays of his glory upon it. One day,
however, her grand-mother received a parcel
containing pamphlets published in London and
Belgium, and also a recent publication from the
pen of Mme. de Stael, and then Aurora's ideas
underwent a drastic change. Some years before,
when she had heard of the assassination of the
Due D'Enghien, shot without a trial at the Fort
of Vincennes, she had shed bitter tears and cried in
despair : " The poor man ! What has he done ? "
Afler perusing those pamphlets. Napoleon, the
destroyer of ancient cities and European kingdoms,
appeared to her in a different light. Instead of
the ideal hero, she saw in him only an ambitious

48 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

man armed with a boundless egotism ; she longed
to be a man and to join those daring warriors who
were going to fight the new Djengis-Khan.

When she first made the acquaintance of Perovski
she had Hstened with a mocking smile to his
dithyrambic about Napoleon, then, influenced by
the overflowing, gushing enthusiasm of the young
officer, she had modified her ideas, without exactly
abandoning them. Then came the news of Napo-
leon's probable invasion of Russia. Perovski and
the Princess still took his part, whilst Rostoptshin
and Tropinin openly abused him. When the
rumour became more persistent, Aurora once more
felt her soul penetrated by a deep hatred for the
" Corsican monster," who was threatening not
only to invade her country, but also to separate
her from him to whom she had given her heart.
" Three months," she said to herself, consolingly,
" will soon pass, and then he will return and declare
his love."

But when at last, Perovski and all the other
officers on leave had been summoned by Rostopt-
shin and ordered to rejoin their regiments at once,
her grief knew no bounds. Will he return ? she
continually asked herself. Why does this personi-
fication of violence, of so many terrors, this Napo-
leon think of attacking us ? Will not an avenging
hand strike him as it did Marat, his predecessor ?
" Oh God," she prayed, " confound the monster,
and strike him with your wrath ! "

VII

On the eve of his departure Perovski dined with the
Princess ; several people were present, among them
two or three girl students from the institute, school
companions of Aurora and Xenia, who had come
with their brothers. In spite of the gravity of the
times, the young people were freely enjoying
themselves. They played charades and secretaire,
talked of the last few balls, of possible and forth-
coming marriages. The Princess, dressed in a dark
gown, sadly looked on. Before tea was served,
Xenia opened the piano and asked one of her friends
to sing ; a few of the guests were walking in the
garden among whom was Aurora. Absorbed by
the singing, she did not notice that the garden
had gradually become deserted until suddenly
lifting her eyes, she saw Perovski approaching her.
The moon was shedding its bright light over the
garden, the avenues and the fountains, whilst the
perfume of flowers scented the air. Every path
and every bush seemed to be replete with a myste-
rious dusk and perfume.

" You are here ? " said Basil, looking at her
with respectful admiration.

" Yes," she replied, slowly, as if in search for
words. " This evening we have talked of every-
thing except of the war, and yet it is the only

49 D

50 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

subject of which everyone is thinking in spite of
himself. I want to tell you something. Last year
I stayed with the Arkharoffs on their estate, you
know. They have a picture gallery, and I parti-
cularly remember one painting, depicting a hunt
in a vast park in the neighbourhood of Paris. It
is a wonderful picture. The figures seem alive,
and so do the rocks, the brooks and the trees."

" The Arkharoff collection is indeed a remarkable
one."

** No, Hsten. ... To the right, in a clearing,
there is a pack of furious hounds pursuing a deer
which would undoubtedly escape them were
it not for a hunter hidden in the grove of trees,
and waiting for the animal with his gun. This
hunter, surrounded by gold-bedizened cavaliers,
is Napoleon ; he is wearing a blue uniform, a white
waistcoat, and a three-cornered hat ; he is stout,
round, and looks happy, and as if carved in stone."

" Yes, stony," said Perovski, with a sigh.

** His full dusky face expresses self-satisfaction,"
continued Aurora. " Quite calmly he is taking
aim at the panting animal. ' Fie, I have taken
part in many a hunt,' I said to Elisa Arkharoff,
* and I assure you that this man is wicked, a
coward and cruel. It is thus that Bonaparte
ordered the Due D'Enghien to be shot.' " Deeply
moved, Aurora became silent.

" You are right," said Perovski. " The man is
cruel and we shall repay him for his perjuries ;
he will one day recall to his memory his lying
assurances of Tilsitt and Erfurt. I have been
mistaken, I have been blind, and I am not ashame4

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 51

to admit it now. I am leaving here with the firm
hope that our sacrifices, our efforts will triumph
over our enemy. My only misfortune is. . , . "
Perovski became embarrassed ; he was silent.
Aurora feared something dreadful, or that some-
thing extraordinary would happen.

" Forgive me," he said, suddenly, his voice
trembling. "I am leaving, perhaps never to
return — but. . . . No, it is beyond my strength."
Aurora listened to him, motionless, her heart
beating fast and furiously.

" It is impossible to keep silent," continued
Basil. " I must speak. I love you, and
therefore. ..."

Aurora was silent ; everything seemed to be
whirling around her. After a moment's hesi-
tation she extended her hand, which Perovski
covered with passionate kisses, madly happy, and
unable to believe.

" How ? You consent ? You. ..."

" Yes, I am yours ; thine," she added, in a
half- whisper, and drooping her head.

They had now entered the main avenue of the
park. Perovski talked to her of his love ; he
had loved her from the first moment he saw her,
but he had never, until then, been able to muster
enough courage to speak.

" Do you know everything about me ? " he
suddenly asked. " My own name is Perovski,
but my father's name is different." And then he
told Aurora of his past. She sat by his side,
silently listening to his confession, and when he
had finished, she asked : " Why do you tell me all
this ? "

52 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" So that you may know everything about me.
It is the secret of my father ; I must keep it from
everyone, but not from you."

Aurora gently pressed his hand. " And so you are
the son of the Minister ? Well, I am glad, not
for you, but for him. But why is he keeping it a
secret ? "

Perovski pleaded the conventions, his father's
position, etc.

" Do you love your mother ? Has she looked
well after you ? "

Basil then told her of his childhood in Little
Russia, of his meeting with his father before leaving
for the University, then of his joining the service.

** And since then he has not seen you ? "

" Yes, at St Petersburg."

" And he has not kept you with him ? "

Basil was silent.

*' I shall love your mother as dearly as I love
you," said Aurora. " Your father will be proud of
you once he knows you well."

The voice of Vlass, the old chamber valet of the
Princess was now heard from behind the gate ;
he was calling for Aurora.

" Madamoiselle, your grand-mother wants you.
The Meletzkis are leaving."

" Just one word," said Perovski, still clasping
Aurora's hand. " Give me some token in remem-
brance of this hour, a flower, anything, no matter
what."

Aurora took a little bunch of lilac from her
bouquet, and handed it to the young man.

*' flave you a portrait of yourself ? " she asked.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 53

" I have a miniature, painted by Ilya Tropinin.
I intended to send it to my mother at Potshep,
but for you. ..."

** Very well, Ilya will make me a copy of it."

** No, no," exclaimed Perovski. " Here it is."

Aurora pressed the miniature to her bosom.

" Mademoiselle, mademoiselle, where are you ? "
Maremiasha, the housekeeper, cried from a distance.

Aurora slipped the portrait into her bodice,
dried her eyes, and entered the house on the arm
of Perovski.

" Now go to grand-mother," said Aurora, " and
formally ask her for my hand, otherwise she might
feel offended and refuse."

Basil was directing his steps towards the drawing
room, when Aurora stopped him.

" No," she said, taking his hand, " let's go
together." Pale, scarcely looking at anyone, she
crossed the row of reception rooms, and leading
Perovski to the Princess, who was standing in the
doorway of the oratory, surrounded by her depart-
ing guests, she said, in a low voice : " Dear grand-
mother, this is my fiance."

The Princess seemed amazed.

" How, without telUng me anything about it ?
And how have you dared. ..."

She turned to Perovski, but she could not re-
strain the tears suddenly welling up in her eyes ;
instead of scolding, she embraced him, and then,
kissing Aurora, who had slipped to her knees, she
blessed them and made the sign of the cross over
them.

" Just like her mother, just like her ; daring

54 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

and charming," repeated the old lady, sobbing and
laughing at one and the same time. " Oh ! my-
children, love each other and be happy."

No one now thought of leaving ; everyone was
rejoicing at the happy denouement of Aurora's
love affair.

Champagne was served and the betrothal cele-
brated with enthusiastic toasts.

"Is it possible that this is our last farewell ? "
asked Perovski, when the moment of departure
had arrived. " Whatever I do, I must leave here
to-morrow." Tears trembled in his voice ; all
eyes were upon him.

" Au re voir until this autumn," said Aurora,
simply, trying hard to smile, and pressing his hand.

" Au re voir ! Au re voir ! " said everybody.

Perovski left, and the young girl went to her
room where she burst into tears. " No, no, this
cannot be," she cried, pacing up and down the
room, wringing her hands. "It is impossible.
Oh, my God, inspire me, support me, protect me."

On his return to his apartments, Basil woke up
his servant, lit a candle and wrote a note to Mitia
Oussoff, telHng him that the post-horses had been
ordered for seven o'clock in the morning, and
stating that he would expect him at that hour.
They were to pass through Mojaisk and stop at
Novoselovka where Mitia was to receive some
arrears of rent due to his father. He had to pay
Perovski back some money which he had borrowed
from him. The note dispatched, Basil saw that
it was already after one o'clock.

"It is nearly morning now," he murmured ;

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 55

" the night is glorious. I shall take a stroll, and
before leaving, call on Aurora to bid her a last
farewell." He opened his window and fell into a
reverie. " Perhaps I shall not be able to see her
so early ; I think that I had better write her a line
and take it myself. Who knows, she might,
perhaps, come down to me for a few moments.
She might be able to come as far as the Patriarchal
Ponds with me if Maremiasha or Vlass accompanied
her. We have scarcely been able to talk together,
and I have so much I want to say to her."

He sat down to write. A few moments passed,
then he heard a faint rustle behind the door. " It
must be my servant returning from Mitia,"
thought Basil, continuing to write his letter. The
door creaked. Perovski turned round and per-
ceived a figure clad in a dark cloak, a thick veil
hiding its face, standing on the threshold.

" Who is it ? " he asked, rising. Then he
recognised Aurora. *' You, you here ? " he
exclaimed, drawing her to him and showering
passionate kisses upon her cold hands, her face,
and her hair. " How did you make up your mind,
dearest ? How did you find your way ? "

" I wanted to see you once more."

He was beside himself with happiness. " I, too,
have been thinking of you. I was just writing
to you, look ! "

Aurora threw back her veil and intently gazed
into her lover's face. " I do not know what is in
store for us," she said, " but at this moment I am
with you." Passionately she drew Perovski's
head to her breast, and whispered amid her tears :

56 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

** What a martyrdom ! Why did we ever meet ?
Will our separation be eternal ? But no, I am
mad. We shall see each other again, I believe it,
I feel it." She dried her tears and continued more
calmly : " During our walk you spoke lightly of
prayer. You men have little faith. To-day, when
you are entering upon a new phase of your life,
when your duty is so vast and so heavy, will you
be angry with me if. ..." .

" Speak ! speak ! "

** Our dear mother advised us, my sister and
myself, to pray in our days of sorrow to the Holy
Virgin and to implore her intercession. Give me
your word that you will pray before this image."

" I give you my word."

She took from her pocket a small ikon and
placed it round Perovski's neck. Her eyes were
brimming with tears. " I have said everything,
now good-bye."

" How, so soon ? Where is divine justice ?
Only a moment together and months of separation
before us ? No, I shall give up everything, every-
thing. I shall remain near you. Listen, I shall
ask to be transferred to one of the regiments in
garrison at Moscow."

" Don't do it, Basil. Have courage, duty calls
you ; your country calls you. I love you. I shall
never love anyone but you, but I shall only feel
happy if I know that you are doing your duty
like a true patriot. How contemptible are those
husbands, brothers, and fiances who have hurriedly
left for their estates, and how high above them you
stand 1 "

Moscow IN FLAMES 57

" Stay a little longer, in the name of Heaven !
Don't go yet," pleaded Perovski. "Just a few
words more."

They heard the steps of the servant who now
returned from his errand.

*' Au re voir ! Courage ! We shall meet again I "

"I shall accompany you! " said Perovski.

She took his arm, and they walked towards the
Bronnaia Street. Dawn was just breaking. Near
the Church of St. Yermolay a droshki* overtook
them ; but they paid no attention to the fare.

A little later, at seven o'clock, a post troika was
driving Perovski and Mitia along the road leading
to Mojaisk. Basil was passionately kissing the
handkerchief which Aurora had forgotten in his
rooms.

The two friends spent twenty-four hours at
Novosselovka. Klim, the starosta,t who was manag-
ing the Oussoff estates complained, as usual, of the
last harvest, the hard times, when he brought
the arrears to his young master. ArinaYefimovna,
the old nurse, prepared some pies, cakes and other
delicacies for the two friends on their long journey.
The two travellers had to separate here, each going
in a different direction. Ilya Tropinin had asked
Perovski to watch over the departure of Mitia,
whom he loved tenderly.

" And you, Mitinka," said Yefimovna, as she
busied herself in the house, her bunch of keys
hanging at her waist, " don't you worry ! Your
father's house, the furniture and everything will
be well cared for. Lyubanovo is not very far,
♦Cab. t House-steward, inspector.

58 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

and the future mistress will come over and keep
order, and the Princess herself said at the christen-
ing of her little grandson : ' I have good eyes, and
from Moscow I shall see everything that is
going on here.' I shall see that everything belong-
ing to the masters is well taken care of. The old
master is beyond the Volga, and the son is leaving
for the army. It is for you to watch."

" Don't worry, Yefimovna," replied Mitia.
" With such a good housekeeper as yourself, we
can sleep safely."

Arina was flattered ; she dried her tears, twisting
the end of her shawl on her breast.

" Listen Yefimovna," added Mitia. " When
peace is declared he intends to marry, and they
will all come to Lyubanovo, as their house at
Yartzevo is too small. Then I, too, shall marry,
and I shall celebrate my wedding in this very
room.

" It is a little early for you, Mitinka, to think of
these things. You must serve first," replied the
good woman, weeping. Towards evening all their
preparations were finished. The kibitkas* were
awaiting Mitia and Basil before the front door
steps. Arina, quite exhausted, was weeping as
she placed the portmanteaus and bundles ready
for them.

" Why are you crying, Yefimovna ? " asked
Perovski, endeavouring to keep up his spirits and
appear jolly. " Have another look at your house,"
he added, turning to the curly-headed youth
already seated in the vehicle. " See how well-

♦Tilt waggon, vehicle.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 59

kept it is ; all thanks to your old nurse. I hope
that in August or September we shall meet again
here. As soon as peace is declared, we shall take
our leave, or retire from the army altogether, and
live happily upon our estates. Lyubanovo is
only a stone's throw from here so we shall see each
other very frequently."

Mitia, deeply moved, gave some last instruction
to his nurse. " Mind you have my hunting gun
carefully cleaned. You know where it is, and do
not forget my fishing rods and grand-father's
pistols." Then turning to Perovski, he said :
" And now Basil, good-bye and au revoir."

The horse started. Yefimovna stood there
crying and only waved her hand. Mitia looked on
smiling, and made the sign of the cross over his
friend and Arina. He could not take his gaze from
the old house, surrounded by birchtrees with the
pigeons hovering over the roof. It was here that
he had been born, that he had grown up and lived
until the moment that, at the request of his father,
Ilya Tropinin took him to Moscow, and afterwards
made him enter the service at St. Petersburg.

i

VIII

After Mitia had gone, Perovski inquired which
was the best way from Klim, and then started
towards Smolensk. Night began to fall. Not far
from Novoselovka, he had to cross a river. From
a distance, some buildings loomed vaguely in
front of them. He asked his coachman what they
were.

"It is Borodino," replied the latter.

"Is it a big village ? "

" Yes, sir. Dimitri Nicolaevitsh bought some
pigeons there last year."

The name of this little Russian village was
destined to live for ever in the memory of the
Russian people.

The horses ran on swiftly. Perovski, his last
interview with Aurora still fresh in his mind, let
himself dream. " I wonder what she is doing now
my queen. How she loves me. Oh yes, I too be-
lieve in our happiness." Other images crowded ou
his dreams of the future. He saw himself a child
again at Potshep, a wealthy estate, in the province
of Tshernigoff. He saw the immense mansion
built by the architect Rostrello, the magnificent
garden surrounding it, and leading down to the
river. He remembered his mother, Anna Mik-

60

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 61

hailovna, a tall handsome woman with a dazzling
complexion, enormous plaits of hair, and dark
eye-brows. She was occupied in the master's
house, where she lived in a separate wing with her
two sons. During Basil's childhood the Count but
rarely resided at the big house, and the children
only used to see him either at church or when he
went out for a walk escorted by his servants, or
on a visit to his neighbours. The shady avenues
of the garden, the elegant pavilions, the flower beds
and the labyrinth of Italian poplars, where, in the
absence of the Count, the two boys used to hide and
play with the other children of the employes, all
this remained in the memory of Perovski, blended
with the tears his mother used to shed when she
kissed them, and said : " My darlings, my little
darUngs ! What will become of you ? What will
be your destiny ? "

One incident especially remained very vividly
in Perovski's mind. It was a pilgrimage to some
convent which his mother had made with him and
his brother Leo. The Count was at St. Petersburg
where, they said, he held a very important post.
On their return home, however, he came to Potshep
to seek rest during the summer. The morning after
his arrival at the castle, Anna Mikhailovna and
the children were summoned to his study. The
Count, in a dressing-gown of violet velvet, his hair
powdered, was seated at his desk. His secretary,
having finished his report, left the room.

" Bravo ! " exclaimed the Count when the boys
had finished reciting " The Ode of Derjavin."
" They are handsome boys, ma foi," and then be
kissed them.

62 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Arranging his necktie and the lace on his cuffs,
he gave each of the boys a purse full of golden
ducats. " That is to buy nuts with," he said,
" and in token of remembrance of your father who
has been a friend to me and a faithful servant. I
promised him to look after his orphans ; you must
now get on with your studies, you will go to
Moscow."

The children examined, with great curiosity,
the study embellished with valuable paintings,
statues and hunting trophies. Their mother, stand-
ing on the threshold, was drying tears of joy. Her
eldest son went first, though Basil followed him
very shortly. He studied with a foreign tutor,
entered a private school, and afterwards the
University. When he was eight, Basil learned,
while at Potshep, from a village scribe, a drunkard
by profession and a former pupil of an ecclesiastical
seminary, that the Count was really his father, and
that he did not acknowledge him for his pride's
sake, as he was then living at St. Petersburg in close
relation with the Emperor, whose cabinet minister
he was.

"Is it forbidden to ministers to have children
then ? " Basil had asked, in surprise.

** You are nothing but a blockhead. Of course,
it is forbidden them," the village savant had
declared.

Basil had told his mother of this conversation,
and she had warned him that if the Count knew
that people were gossiping of his relationship to
them, he would be very angry, and would no doubt
deprive them of his bounty. Henceforth, when

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 63

Basil was questioned by his schoolmates about his
father, he used to reply : "I have been an orphan
since my birth ; my father was a small landowner
in the Ukraine, and manager on the estate of a
count."

When he had passed his last examinations at
the University, he wrote a letter brimful of happi-
ness to his mother. He had not seen her for seven
years and told her that he was coming to see her,
that he was very anxious to see her again and to
revisit his native country, the dear old house, and
also to enjoy a little liberty.

Just then, an old functionary, whom he had
never seen before, called on him. He wore a grey
tailed coat, had a honeyed smile on his lips, and a
tuft of hair on his head. He congratulated Basil
on behalf of the Count, and informed him that,
thanks to the kindness of his generous benefactor,
he had already been inscribed on the general staff,
and that in order not to lose his priority of inscrip-
tion, he had best make preparations to hurry to
the capital. The functionary also handed Basil
a sum of money sufficient for his equipment, and
asked him when he thought he would be able to
leave, as he wished to report to His Excellency.

" In a week," replied Basil, after a moment's
thought. Ilya Tropinin could not prevail upon
him to remain beyond the appointed time and enjoy
himself a little in company with his fellow-students.
Basil was impatient to reach St. Petersburg, and to
see his father. " No doubt," he thought, " the
Count will now acknowledge me. I am no longer
the little villager of Potshep. I am an officer now,

64 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

If he does not yet give me his name and title, I
don't even expect it, he will at least give me in
private the title of son. I shall have a father, and
what a father ! Everyone praises his capabilities,
his love of science and art, his loyalty and intelli-
gence. I shall live in his house, shall see this
statesman daily ; he will allow me to call him
father."

Basil's hopes were not realised. In his con-
versation the Count carefully avoided everything
that could betray their relationship ; he thought it
as yet inopportune for his son to reside with him.
The same old functionary, employed in the Count's
private chancellery, came to see Basil at his hotel
the morning after the interview between father and
son when Basil had imagined himself at the summit
of happiness. He was anxious to know where the
young man intended to reside, whether he was
satisfied with his service and with his superiors,
and whether he required anything, but, at the
same time, he gave him clearly to understand that
his future depended upon two things : discretion
and silence. Basil, with a somewhat heavy heart,
declared that he bowed to the will of the Count.

Dimitry Nicolaevitch Oussoff, a young cousin of
Ilya Tropinin, whom Basil had occasionally met at
Moscow at the house of his friend, had also been
appointed staff officer. He came to the capital
and brought a letter from Ilya. Basil took the
newcomer to his heart, and henceforth they became
almost inseparable. Later on, when he met
Aurora at the ball of the Neledinskis, Perovski
confided to his new friend the sentiment which the

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 65

girl had evoked in his heart. Mitia, growing pale,
and blushing in turns, pressed Basil's hand and
said :

" Listen, Perovski, she is a wonderful girl.
Ever since Ilya married Aurora's sister, a year ago,
I have constantly thought of her. I considered,
but still hesitated. I would have given everything
— everything. . . . But now, having heard you,
I relinquish to you the treasure."

" But why take things so seriously ? " asked
Basil, surprised, and a little embarrassed. " What
is a meeting at a ball ? Do we not make such
acquaintances every day ? "

" You will see, you will see. Remember my
words," replied Mitia. " I feel it, indeed, I am
sure of it. Aurora will be yours."

He had not been mistaken : Perovski was
leaving for the front the happy fianc^ of Aurora.

At Mojaisk he had to take the post horses going
in the direction of the headquarters of the army
at Vilna. Arrived at the relay, he took a room,
handed his order for post horses to the post-
master, and requested fresh horses as quickly as
possible. The man went out to give some in-
structions but returned immediately.

" The horses will be ready in a moment," he
said, " only. . . . " he seemed somewhat embar-
rassed, " travellers who have just arrived wish to
speak to you."

" Who are they ? "

The postmaster showed him the travellers'
waiting room. A thin, pale individual came to meet
him. He was wearing a black dolman with silver

66 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

buttons. Basil retreated a step ; he recognised
Gerambeau. Behind the latter stood two men, one
old and the other a youth, dressed in the very latest
fashion.

" You are surprised," said Gerambeau, in French,
" and so am I at this unexpected meeting. I was
just going with these gentlemen to the estate of one
of them, but since you are here. ..."

" What is it you require ? " asked Basil, drily.

" Monsieur Perovski," continued Gerambeau,
in a trembling voice, " you understand we are
both striving for the same goal, an honourable
goal!

" As far as honour is concerned, allow me to be
the best judge of that."

" You had better chances. I am ready to with-
draw ; I have even withdrawn."

" Yes, yes, but what is it ? " cried Perovski,
losing all patience.

Gerambeau was silent for a moment ; his lips
were twitching, his hands trembling ; his com-
panions looked at him in silence.

" Understand me, Monsieur Perovski," he said.
** Two days ago I saw you at dawn in the company
of a lady ; she is not yet yours and yet you are
pursuing her; you were walking with her."

" I was not aware that she had such voluntary
spies around her. What do you mean by this ?
I insist upon knowing," Basil said, looking at him
witheringly. " Upon satisfaction ? " he asked.
'' A duel ? "

" Precisely."

" Where ? Here ? "

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 67

" Even here, without quarter."

" But have you forgotten that we are at war,
and that besides, I have no seconds ? "

" Oh, one of these gentlemen will act for you."
Gerambeau pointed to the young man.

" One does not ask such services from strangers,"
replied Basil. " Besides, you ought to know that
she is my fiancee."

Gerambeau burst out laughing. Basil threw
himself upon his rival. At this moment, the door
opened and two travellers entered ; one was an
infantry officer and the other a military doctor,
Mirtoff , whom Basil had met at St . Petersburg. They,
too, were on their way to rejoin the first corps.
Informed by the postmaster of what was taking
place, they had hurried to intervene and to put
an end to the quarrel. Basil gave his card to
Gerambeau, saluted, and left the room.

Doctor Mirtoff, a big handsome man, always
jolly, remonstrated with Perovski. " What an
idea to waste your strength and your time upon
that walking skeleton ! Have we not enough
living enemies before us ? " he asked. Basil
pressed his hand and mounted his kibitka.

*' Don't forget, after the war," shouted Geram-
beau, still boiling with rage.

" At your service," replied Perovski. The
vehicle started at the sound of the bells. Basil
thought of his departure from Moscow, of his
farewell to Aurora.

" And this fellow has taken it into his head to
try and frighten me, to take her away from me !
Oh no, no-one will ever take her from me."

IX

When he reached the headquarters of the first
army corps, Perovski hastened to write and inform
his fiancee of his safe arrival. " Everyone," he
wrote, " believes that war is inevitable ; the troops
are on the march, though, as yet, we have no
accurate knowledge of anything."

In the meantime, great excitement prevailed at
Moscow. . . . The foreign papers, the Mouths
of the Elbe and the Hamburg Courier published daily
alarming news. War was but a matter of days.
They stated that suddenly, a month previously,
the Tsar had left the capital and gone to Vilna,
where the first army corps, under Barclay de Tolly,
was stationed. However, all these rumours were
unofficial.

When the officers on leave had been recalled,
then the public heard that Rostoptshin had received
a courier bringing important dispatches. At first,
it was only whispered around, then said aloud,
that without openly declaring war, Napoleon had
entered Russian territory with an enormous army
and had taken Vilna without encountering the
slightest resistance. On July 6th, another courier
brought Rostoptshin the Imperial Proclamation,
which the Tsar had addressed to the city of Moscow.
Then the people learned that Alexander had made a

68

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 69

vow not to sheathe his sword as long as one soldier
of the enemy remained on Russian soil. People
also repeated Alexander's words, spoken a year
previously, when speaking of Napoleon : " There
is not room for both of us in Europe. Tot ou
tard, Tun ou Tautre doit se retirer ! "

On the sixteenth, the Tsar came to Moscow
where he met with an enthusiastic reception. He
received the members of the nobility and a deputa-
tion of merchants, and, two days later, left for St.
Petersburg whence the Archives and the Treasury
were being romoved to Yaroslav. Great excitement
reigned at Moscow. The people talked of organis-
ing a national defence corps. The militia were
exercised daily. The most eminent seigneurs,
Counts Mamonoff and Soltikoff, declared that they
would equip two cavalry regiments at their own
expense. The Tver and the Nikitski boulevards
were crowded with people anxious to learn the
latest news. The ladies admired the new and
brilHant uniforms of Mamonoff 's Cossacks. The
victory of Kliastitz, won by Wittgenstein towards
the end of July, caused great joy. The officers
of the guards and of the army, formerly the pride
and ornament of Moscow balls, and now busily
occupied carrying despatches, filled the Greek and
Swiss confectioners all over the city in order to
hear the news contained in the foreign papers,
which was passed on in half -whispers. Everyone
was waiting for a decisive victory. Time passed
on, and on the I2th of August, Moscow was horrified
to learn that the army had abandoned Smolensk.
The road was now open for the French. People

70 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

argued over the quarrel that had arisen between
the commanders-in-chief, Bagration and Barclay
de Tolly. To this quarrel public opinion attributed
the fact that the Russian troops were never to be
found at the place where they should have repulsed
the French attack. The wits of the day hummed
the old lines, composed in earlier days :
" Vive r6tat militaire.
Qui promet a nos souhaits

Les retraites en temps de guerre,
Les parades en temps de paix ! "
Barclay de Tolly, slow and prudent, and who, by
his retreating movement, was endeavouring to
entice Napoleon into the heart of a hostile country,
was declared to be a traitor. People contempt-
ously mocked his name and called him Boltai-
da-i-tolko — brag, and nothing more. On the other
hand, they discovered the real chief and saviour
of Russia : Bog-rati-on — the God of the army !
But it was Kutuzoff, the conqueror of the Turks
who was appointed commander-in-chief. It is
true that the Emperor did not hke him, and some
of the initiated maintained that the Tsar had said :
" The nation has desired it. I have consented,
but I wash my hands of the result." The name
of Napoleon was changed, according to the Apocal-
ypse, into that of Apollyon, the Angel of the Abyss,
and someone discovered, again in the Apocalypse,
that the Anti-Christ would be hurled down by the
hand of the Archangel Michael. Now Kutuzoff's
Christian name was Michael. People therefore
expected soon to hear of the speedy extermination
of Napoleon and his armies.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES Tl

In the meantime the wounded from Smolensk
began to arrive at Moscow. The city was rapidly
becoming deserted. The ladies, for whom, accord-
ing to Rostoptshin, the Fatherland was the Kous-
netzki Bridge and Paris the Kingdom of Heaven,
these ladies became enthusiastic in the national
cause and pestered the military as to when the
decisive battle would take place. Mixing up
chronological dates and events, they would exclaim :
** Did not Minin, Pojarski and Dimitry Donskoi
drive out the Poles ? "

No foreign enemy had trod the soil of Russia
for a century, and now suddenly. . . . The
Moscovites therefore cried out in indignation
when they realised that whilst in June everyone
had refused to believe in the possibility of war,
already in July, Russia was being invaded. Many
members of the nobility still gave and attended
balls and went to the theatres, whilst others
assiduously visited the convents and churches and
forgot their favourite musicians and tenors, such
as Rode, Martini, and the others. Many people
devoted themselves to making bandages and lint,
and listened to stories about the fallen and the
wounded, and above all, much preparation was
going on in the event of having to leave Moscow.
There was no longer any talk of the sublime grandeur
of Napoleon ; on the contrary, one heard either
the French Royalist lines :

" O, roi, tu cherches la justice ! "
or the Russian patriotic verses :

" Arrogant Coulaincourt, vassal
Of the wicked Corsican ! "

72 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Then too, the Tsar Alexander Pavlovitsh, who
had declared that he would not make peace until
the last soldier of the enemy had left the country,
was no longer treated as an idealist and a dreamer.
" You will see," said Rostoptshin, who, as everyone
was aware, kept up an intimate correspondence
with the Tsar, " you will see that in this universal
upheaval, in the midst of Russia's unhappiness,
his eyes will be opened. He has started with La
Harpe and he will finish with Araktsheef ; already
he has gathered up the floating reins of the State
chariot into his own firm hands. ..."

A satire on enslaved Europe was freely quoted :
" And there, on cardboard thrones, are seated
cardboard kings."

Two months elapsed. Aurora frequently wrote
to her fianc6. Perovski, in his letters, told her of
their marches, of the places they had passed
through, of Barclay-de-Tolly, and gave her enthus-
iastic descriptions of the junction of the two Russian
armies and of the glorious, though unsuccessful
battle of Smolensk. She knew all the rest from
her brother-in-law. Thanks to the connections
of the old Princess, Ilya Tropinin had daily access
to the club of the Commandant-in-Chief of Moscow ;
it was by that name that the morning meetings
at the house of Count Rostoptshin were known.

That which worried Ilya and the family of the
Princess most was the absence of any news from
Mitia Oussoff. They only knew that he had met
Bagration's vanguard somewhere behind Vitebsk,
and that he had taken part in an encounter under
Salt an vi. Was it merely laziness on his part, or

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 73

were his letters lost in the disorder reigning at the
camp ? "He has fallen in love with some beautiful
Polish lady," said the old Princess, in the endea-
vour to tranquilise her grand-daughter and Ilya.
Time passed on. Aurora sent her fiance all
the news from Moscow ; told him of the general
excitement reigning in the city, of the arrest and
expulsion of some suspicious persons, mostly
foreigners, and of Rostoptshin's proclamations.
The Archives, relics and treasures of the churches,
were being transferred to places of safety. Several
of their acquaintances had already left the town.
The most prudent of them, she wrote, had gone to
their distant estates, whilst others were still dawd-
ling, trusting impHcitly to Rostoptshin, who criti-
cised very adversely all those who hurried away
from the city. The Count assured everyone that
the scoundrel would never be able to enter Moscow.
The common people, however, scented misfortune.
Vlass Sissoitsh, the Princess' old valet, and Mare-
miasha, her housekeeper, repeated constantly :
" We shall all end by being caught in the eel-
trap ! " Thanks to the activity of her brother-
in-law, Aurora managed to forward all her letters
to her fiance by the couriers leaving for the armies.
These armies continually retreated towards Moscow.

X

About the middle of August, when the Russian
troops were retreating towards Viazma, Basil
received a letter from Aurora. " For some days,"
she wrote, " I have not been able to write to you,
and yet I have great news for you. Grand-
mother has at last made up her mind to pack.
You can hardly imagine the rummaging that has
gone on in the house from cellar to attic. To-day,
we can at last breathe a little more freely. Far
from you, who are the joy of my life, I only have
my music to console me. I used to play and sing
in the room above — you know the one that looks
out upon the garden. I have studied the overture
you gave me, the aria from ' Jeune Troubadour,'
and the Romance of Boildieu : ' S'il est vrai que
d'etre heureux.' But now I must bid good-bye
to all these things — to the melodies we used to sing
together. I shall soon now leave my own dear
chamber, my paradise, where I have thought so
much of you. I have made my devotions at the
Church of St. Yermolay ; how I have prayed for
all of you ! A certain Figuner, a sworn enemy
of Napoleon, has recently been to see Rostoptshin ;
he has a plan, he says, which would put an end to
the war in a day. The Count has advised him to
submit his idea to headquarters.

74

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 75

" Our house is surrounded by numerous carts,
which are being filled. Everyone is leaving Mos-
cow ; it is a veritable flight from Egypt. The
first to leave were the fops and those civilians
whom no duty or service kept in town. According
to the reports of the guards at the city gates, over
fifteen hundred private carriages are supposed to
have left Moscow in one day. The price for hired
horses is simply exorbitant : our neighbour paid
300 roubles for a troika* which will only take him
fifty versts from here. The Arkharoffs have left
for the privince of Tamboff ; the Apraxins for
that of Orel, and the Tolstois for that of Simbirsk.
The poor young pupils of the institute have been
taken in carts to Kazan. They say that Yaroslav
and Tamboff are so full of refugees that one can
hardly find a vacant room. I have already told
you that at the beginning of Lent, Ilya took Xenia
and the child to grandmother's estate in the
province of Tamboff.

" People say that even in the neighbourhood
of Moscow there will be danger. The peasants are
agitated, and, instead of looking after their master's
possessions, they are pillaging, sacking and dividing
among themselves whatever they can steal, and
then seeking refuge in the woods. Recently, a
band of drunken peasants met the carriage of
Fanny Strieshneft, in which she and her children
(you remember how you used to admire them on the
boulevard) were leaving Moscow. The peasants
surrounded the carriage and threatened and shouted
at her : ' Where are you going masters ? Have
♦A carriage drawn by three horses.

76 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

you any worries ? Don't you like Moscow ? Get
down from your carriage, you must become workers
like ourselves.' Wasn't it horrible ? But for the
timely interference of a wounded colonel, whose
orderlies happened to be there, and who commanded
his soldiers to disperse the savage horde, God only
knows how the matter would have ended. I told
grandmother about it, gently of course. She was
greatly frightened at first, then she had a Te Deum
for the journey sung and subsequently gave orders
for her sleeper to be prepared, but then she again
postponed our departure, convinced that all the
rumours of the enemy's approach were absurd.
She still says, when speaking of our retreat : * Nous
reculons pour mieux sauter ' (We retreat in order
to jump forward the better.) She has not changed
her manner of living. Recently I read to her a
pamphlet written by Mme. de Stael. You know
that she has arrived at Moscow where, to say the
least, she was not expected. She spent an evening
at our house and spoke with such spirit and fire
that in spite of a violent headache, which her loud
voice only increased, I could not leave the drawing
room. She is delighted with Russia ; she com-
pares us to the works of Shakespeare, where
everything that is not erroneous is subhme, and
what is not sublime is erroneous.

" The boulevards are deserted now : only the
inns are full. Last week at the Tardini and Renzei
restaurant, some merchants boxed the ears of two
civilians because the latter were speaking French.
Another civilian, in his cups, was ill-treated because
in speaking of Rostoptshin who had dismissed

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 77

the director of the post office, he exclaimed : ' That
is right, one general exiles another general ! '
When grandmother heard of this, she went to
sleep in the oratory and took some of her drops.
And when I told her that, thanks to this monster
of a Napoleon, our position is becoming desperate,
she replied : * Listen Aurora, I know Bonaparte,
I have even met him at the house of Mme. de
R^musat and spoken to him ; I repeat that he is a
man of destiny ; there you have his true definition.
He is a great genius and not a brigand and a robber
as that idol of yours, the prating Mme.de Stael, be-
lieves, and as Rostoptshininhis proclamations, would
have it, although, mind you, I admit that both
Rostoptshin and Mme. de Stael are people of the
highest standing. But do you think that Napoleon
at the summit of his glory, has brought half of
Europe here to do harm to me, a poor old defenceless
woman, who is moreover an acquaintance of his ?
Kutuzoff too would not allow it. Besides, don't
you see that I am ill ? Karl Ivanovitsh has just
prescribed a new remedy for me and I must wait
until it has taken effect. What would become of
me in the country ? Who would attend to me in
that desert ? I should never be able to get to such
a distant place alive.' So you see, my well-beloved,
that we are not leaving as yet. We pray, we make
lint, we follow you with our thoughts. One word
more : if I hear that your army corps is also
retreating towards Moscow, I think that without
asking any one's permission, I shall get on my
horse and rush to meet you, and, if necessary,
we shall die together for Holy Russia. Adieu,

78 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

adieu, when shall we meet again ? Take care of
yourself for your country's sake, and for that of
Aurora who loves you."

On the Eve of Assumption, Vlass, the Princess's
old chamber valet, and Maremiasha the housekeeper
were chatting in the big yard by the furniture
store room.

" The wrath of God is upon us," said Vlass
through the door which the housekeeper was
holding ajar. " Here we are, we have passed our
lives in service and now suddenly, everything
that we have saved threatens to float down the
stream from us."

" Where have you been hiding ? "

*' I have been in the antechamber as usual.
I have not yet packed up the laced red livery, nor
the out-of-door furcoat."

" Serpent that you are ! As long as you can
stuff your nose with snuff, you are content. You
wait until I tell the Princess ; she will take her
slipper from her little foot and box your ears ;
how would you like that ? "

In the coach house, two masons had been working
since the day before ; under the supervision of
Karpp the gatekeeper, they were secretly erecting
a wall from floor to ceiling. Behind this wall,
Maremiasha, with the help of some trustworthy
people, was busy packing all the objects which
could not be placed in the carts.

" Maremiasha Dmitrievna," begged Vlass, turning
a parcel in his hands, " do not refuse me."

" Well, what is it you want ? "

** I have prepared this for the day of my death :

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 79

a frock coat of half-cotton, a pair of new
boots, a waistcoat and linen, everything that
is required. ..."

" What a nuisance you are ! Do you want me
to throw your rags over the trousseau of mademoi-
selle ? .... Do you think that is why the wall has
been raised. ? "

" But if the demons arrive, they will pillage
everything. Let me die as a Christian."

" Ah, you are always the same. In my opinion
there is only one thing to be done : to burn every-
thing that cannot be carried away so as not to
leave anything for these cursed ones. Well, you
old box, give me your parcel." And the house-
keeper threw Vlass' parcel to the masons.

" And mine too, Maremianoushka, our Hght,"
sputtered Ermil, the octogenerian who lived among
the servants, and had not left the stove for years.

** And ours too," cried the head chambermaids,
Duniasha, Stesha and Lusha who came hurriedly
up followed by Varlashka, a little baptised negro
boy belonging to the personnel of the Princess.

" Have you ever seen such people ? More of
them. Well, where do 3^ou want me to store
away all this ? Well, well, give me your parcels,
what can I do with you ? " cried Maremiasha
who had long ago hidden away safely all her own
possessions. " Throw down your parcels your-
selves and quickly. And you, my friends," she
said to the two masons," close up this wall in such
a way that it will not be noticed that it has only
recently been erected. We shall place sacks of
oats, hay and straw in front of it."

80 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

But this place of concealment was not roomy
enough, so Maremiasha had a large hole dug in the
garden behind the vegetable cellar. During the
night, the gatekeeper, tall, bent and very pale, and the
gardener brought a quantity of things belonging to
the masters and the servants and hid them in it ;
then the hole was covered up with boards cleverly
hidden beneath earth and turf. The gardener
received instructions that he should carefully
water and tend the grass turf that it should not
dry up.

The last letter that Aurora had received from
Perovski was dated August 20th ; it had been
written in the bivouac, under the walls of the
Kolotsky convent, and was brought to Moscow
by an aide-de-camp of Kutuzoff, who came with
the object of urging the hasty dispatch of surgeons
to the battlefield. Basil wrote that at last the
army had received orders to take up their positions
before Mojaisk; the troops were well pleased,
as they hoped that a decisive battle would be the
result. —

" But be prepared to hear some sad news which
has greatly upset me. Poor Mitia has been severely
wounded in the leg by a shell splinter : it happened
during the encounter which took place near the
river Osma ; he has been taken to Moscow by a
surgeon in the open carriage of Prince Tenisheff
who has also been wounded. Tell Ilya of this
and go and meet him. Tell Karl Ivanovitsh also of
this, if he has not been sent away with the other
doctors. Friend of my soul, joy of my life, shall
we meet again ? Shall we see our Mitia again in

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 81

this world ? To think of that boy, so strong, so
young ! It is the beginning ; may God keep you ;
May He keep us all."

The letter did not find Aurora at Moscow : she
had already left for Lyubanovo with Ilya ; Var-
lashka, the negro boy, presented the letter on a
silver tray to the Princess. " Holy mother of
God ! The French are at Mojaisk," cried Anna
Arcadievna, perusing the letter. It dropped from
her hands together with her glasses, " and she,
madcap, she is but two steps from the enemy
at Lyubanovo ! And Mitia wounded ! Mare-
miasha ! Vlass ! Where are my glasses ? Call the
coachman, quick, hurry, save, save madeoiselle !
They will make her a prisoner ! "

XI

A WEEK after the Assumption, Arina, the old
nurse, and her grand-daughter, Fenia, were seated
on the steps of Oussoff's house at Novoselovka.
KUmm, the starosta, and a few peasants, old and
young, were also there seated on the steps ; they
were discussing the alarming rumours spread
throughout the country, and talking of the battles
that had already taken place, and of the possible
arrival of the enemy at Novoselovka.

" A man, who had just arrived from Viazma
said that one could distinctly hear the cannon
there."

" The old master is beyond the Volga. What
shall we do in his absence ? " asked the peasants.
" How shall we save his possessions and ours ? "

" Where can we hide ? " said someone.

** The Tatarinoff peasants took refuge in the
forest, behind Mojaisk, but even there they were
robbed."

" We must wait ; we cannot do anything with-
out the authorities," declared KHmm.

Arina had already stored away all the most
valuable possessions in the granary and in the
furniture store-room. Many things which she
had not yet had time to hide were lying about
scattered in the grass. It had grown dark but
the moon had not yet risen.

82

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 83

" Listen, baboushka* Yefimovna/' said a little
bald-headed moujik named Korney. He looked
rather pitiful of aspect but was very vivacious
in manner and stopped to cough before continuing
his speech. " You must not be offended at what
I am going to say." This Korney had seen the
world for he had not only been to Moscow but
to Kazan and even to St. Petersbnrg.

'* Speak " said the old woman with an air of
importance " if what you have to say is worth
listening to."

*' They say," continued Korney " that this
Bonaparte is only Bonaparte in name ; that in
reality he is an unknown son of the late Empress
Catherine who, on her deathbed, left half of the
Empire to him and that he has now come to claim
his half from his brother Paul that is the father
of the Emperor."

" Don't talk rubbish " snapped the starosta
Klimm. " They lie, those sons of a dog."

"It is true, uncle, the boyars'f have been hiding
him in foreign lands and have only now produced
him."

" Don't tell such lies " retorted Klimm severely,
as he caressed his long beard and cast a look of
meaning at Arina.

" Why has he now been set free ? " asked
Yefimovna, anxiously.

' " Give me back my half of the Empire and keep

the other half,' " continued Korney. " ' I shall

give the land to the peasants with all that the

seigneurs possess.' Thus we shall be subjects

* Little grandmother. f Boyarins or noble*.

84 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

not of the Tsar but of Bonaparte. Well, that is
what people are saying."

" Karnioushka,t I warn you that you will get
your account when the ispravnik* comes. I shall
tell him what you have been saying," replied
Arina, rising and draping herself majestically in
her shawl.

" He will come when he is least expected, and
will cry : ' Where are the subjects of Bonaparte ?
Bring them hither,' and you will be brought the
first, and you will have to answer."

The peasants were scratching their ears. One
could hear sighs and a shuffling of worn-out lapHsif
on the steps of the perron.%

" Wait, wait, uncle," cried a voice. " Babou-
shka, listen a minute."

" I hear wheels rolling ; it is something coming
from the mill. I should say a carriage."

Everybody listened in silence. The rolling
became more distinct ; no doubt it was a carriage
approaching.

*' Fenia, quick, a candle," cried Arina, rushing
into the house. " Klimm Potapovitsh, open the
gate. That is he, it is our ispravnik. It is a cart,
no, it is his gig."

When Yefimovna and Fenia returned to the
steps, a hooded, dust-covered cabriolet was stand-
ing before the door. The peasants, bare-headed,
and keeping a respectful silence, were surrounding
a young man, very pale, and lying very still upon
the straw. Khmm was weeping and kissing a

X Dim. of Korney. ♦ Official. f Bastshoes.
I Blight of steps to door.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 85

hand hanging out of the cabriolet. Arina brought
her candle near the face of the new-comer.

'* Mitinka, my child ! " she cried.

" You have recognised me, my dear," said a
voice, weak and feeble as that of a child. " Here
I am, I have come home, God be thanked for it.
How I have trembled lest I should not be able to
reach home. Give me a little water, some tea !
Thirst is tormenting me."

The peasants, having deliberated in whispers
with Klimm, with a thousand precautions, trans-
ported the wounded man into the house. The one
who gave himself the greatest pains, who was more
concerned than anyone about the young master,
was just bald-headed Korney, he who had been
speaking of Bonaparte.

" Well, there is Dimitri Nicolaevitsh ! One
might think that he had been crucified," said the
peasants, drying their eyes.

** We had two wounded," said the assistant
surgeon to KHmm, " Lieutenant-Colonel Prince
Tenisheff, and your master. At first we used the
open carriage of the Prince."

" But where is the Prince ? "

" We left him at Gjatsk. He is dead. Your
master does not know about it as yet ; he believes
that we left him at the hospital. The carriage
broke down, and with much difficulty we persuaded
this waggoner to bring us here."

" Will our angel live ? " asked Yefimovna,
hesitatingly. " So young, so handsome, the child
that I have brought up. Oh, what a misfortune !
Why have they so mutilated my child ? "

86 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

*' He will live," replied the surgeon, somewhat
restlessly, looking away, his eyes all reddened by
dust and sleeplessness. "It is an ugly wound,
but God will help us. If only we could get to
Moscow. There we should find a hospital and
doctors."

Arina raised her eyes to the holy image sus-
pended in a corner of the room, made the sign of
the cross, turned up her sleeves, and, assisted by
the other women, set to work. The rooms were
lit up ; the samavar'* sang in the dining room. She
produced a feather bed, placed a mountain of
cushions upon the bed of the late mistress of the
house, and the whole was then transported into
the drawing room, which was well aired and
perfumed with fumigated rosin. Mitia was brought
in and placed upon the bed. The assistant surgeon
washed the horrible, gaping wound, dressed it and
bound up his patient in some linen, exhaling the
perfume of tansy and mint. During these prepara-
tions, Mitia was feverish and slightly deUrious.
However, when he had eagerly drunk two cups
of perfumed tea, mixed with some of his favourite
barberry jam, which his breathless and panting
nurse brought him, his eyes brightened, and a
smile, denoting a feeling of well-being, illuminated
his face. He signed that all should leave him,
with the exception of his old nurse.

" Ah," he said, seizing her rough hand, and kissing
it, " fumigating rosin, tanesie, barberry, at last I am
in my own nest. My God, how afraid I have been
and how happy I am now. I shall live, I shall
live, but where is Basil Perovski ? "
♦ Tea urn.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 87

" He is at the war where you have come from,"
said Arina, still contemplating her beloved child.
" Two months have passed since you left us, and
we knew nothing of what was happening to you.
May the Holy Mother of God protect you."

" What ? Two months ? But it seems to me
as if it were only yesterday ! " He closed his
eyes and remained silent for a time. " Give me
some more tea, my dear nurse. . . . And our
plans for the autumn with Perovski, when we hoped
to live here happily together. . . . " he continued,
looking around him. " This is mamma's bed.
How well you have arranged everything. And
where is papa ? I shall not see him again. . . .
Where is Ilya ; where is Aurora, the fiancee of
Perovski ? "

" The master is at Saratoff, and Ilya Borisso-
vitsh they say is at Moscow ; they say that he is
coming to Lyubanovo and that Aurora Valerovna
is coming with him. Xenia Valerovna is at
Panshino with her child."

" My dear nurse send someone at once to
Lyubanovo, it is not far. Ah, if I could only
see her. My father is away. I should have asked
her blessing; it helps. She is so pious, so good!
I must tell you, nurse, I confess to you, I loved
her long before Perovski loved her ! "

" What are you saying, my child, may God
protect you ! What ideas ! " cried Arina, making
the sign of the cross. " As for sending to Lyu-
banovo, that can easily be done." She left off
wiping her eyes and called Frolka who mounted
a horse and rode away at once.

88 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

*' Take care of the ravines/' cried Korney, '* it
is dark and the horse belongs to the master."

Mitia having drunk his tea, fell into a peaceful
sleep and Ycfimovna spent the night beside his
bed. Towards dawn, the patient became restless.

" What is it you want, Mitinka, are you not
comfortable ? "

" A la batterie ! Take better aim ! They are
coming," he cried in his delirium. " Do you see
them with the horsetails on their helmets ? "

The nurse made the sign of the cross over him
and touched his forehead, it was burning. After
the battles, he saw a spring evening. He was
galloping by the side of Aurora, he tried to kiss
her but she always evaded him.

" Aurora, Aurora, it is I, look at me,"
he murmured.

Yefimovna was frightened and went to wake
the assistant surgeon who was sleeping in an
adjacent room.

** What is coming over him?" asked the poor
woman, contemplating the purple spots which were
gradually covering the face of the patient.

On tiptoe, the surgeon approached the patient,
looked at him and then making a gesture, said :
" It is nothing. Leave him with me. I will
watch beside him.

Calmed, Yefimovna made the sign of the cross
over the head of Dimitry and left the room. Day
broke, Frolka returned from Lyubanvo ; they
were expecting Ilya Borissovitsh and Aurora to
arrive the next day. Arina promised herself
that she would tell Mitia as soon is he woke up.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 89

" Let him sleep, the poor child. Sleep will do
him good ; then he will take some tea, will have
a little food and then, please God, they will arrive
from Lyubanovo." Worn out, the poor old
woman fell asleep in the hall. She woke up late
the next morning. She was very surprised to
see that the assistant surgeon was not with the
patient, despite his promise to remain beside him.
Day was peering through the window panes. The
lint and all the materials for dressing the wound
had not been touched. His forehead pressed against
the window pane, the assistant surgeon seemed
to be looking out into the yard very attentively.

" That is strange," thought Arina, " one might
imagine that he was crying. Has he been drinking
so early ? " She looked towards the sideboard
where the spirits were kept ; it was locked. Pen-
sively she walked towards the drawing room.

" Don't go," murmured the young man, " or
no, you may go, it is all the same now."

Seized by a sudden terrible fear, Arina entered
the room. Mitia was lying on his bed, his blonde
head reposing on his arm, his mouth seemed to be
smiling under his dawning moustache ; his blue
eyes, half open, gazed fixedly straight in front of
him as if they saw joys unknown to mortal eyes.
Loud sobbings and lamentations filled the room,
Dimitry Oussof was dead.

In the room still permeated by the odour of
fumigating rosin, on the very table where yesterday
the samovar had sung its hospitable song, the
dead was placed, arrayed in his uniform. In the
coach house, the carpenter was busy finishing the

90 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

coffin. Any moment the priest was expected, he
who had baptised Mitia ; he was coming from
Borodino. When the coffin was finished, Mitia
was placed in it, and the candles were lit, and
Yefimovna at the head of the other peasants
knelt round it sobbing and praying. The sun
filled the room with its shafts of golden light, and
cast its rays upon the dark and red heads of the
fervently praying peasants.

" My young falcon," thought Arina, " you have
hardly lived and yet already, the grave is being
dug for you in the very garden of your paternal
home where you used to run about as a little
child ; it is being dug on high ground, so that
your tomb will be visible for many miles around."

The waggoner hired at Moscow, was hastily
repairing his cart, for the assistant surgeon was
anxious to get back to his post near the convent
of Kolotsky.

The priest arrived. He was reciting the prayers
for the dead when suddenly, behind the mill, iron
lances glittered ; a detachment of cavalry was
approaching.

" The French ! " cried a voice in the yard.

Everyone became greatly excited and someone
rushed into the house to tell the housekeeper.
The peasants, grouped on the steps, saw a few
Cossacks approaching, headed by a portly officer
of sapeurs ; he had a long moustache and sHghtly
greyed hair.

" Who is the master here " he asked the peasants,
" tell him of our arrival."

" The old master is beyond the Volga, your

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 91

Excellency, and the young master was brought
back wounded last night, but he died this morning,"
replied Klimm with a respectful salute. " They
are just reciting the prayers for the dead."

The officer bared his head and piously made the
sign of the cross.

" See, he is making the sign of the cross, he is
not a Frenchman, he is of our own religion," said
the peasants.

The officer dismounted and followed by a sergeant
of the Cossacks, signed to Klimm to come near.

" You are the starosta ? "

" Yes, replied Klimm proudly.

" Very well, starosta, listen to my orders,"
said the officer in a low voice. " Very soon,
perhaps to-morrow, our army will concentrate
itself in this neighbourhood ; a great battle will
be fought."

Klimm turned pale and drooped his head.

" The house of your master, with all its depen-
dencies, would be in the way. Orders have been
given to raze it to the ground. Listen to me
attentively and see that this is done to-day. You
understand me. . . . orders have been given. A
battery will be placed upon this elevation, perhaps
a redoubt ; the house would be under fire and in the
way ; you understand me ? "

" In the way, under cannon fire," repeated
the astounded Klimm, shuffling from one foot to
the other. " But how are we to move all these
buildings, and how are we going to do it ? "

" You will see how it is done," said the sapeur,
frowning heavily.

92 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" And our poor huts ? What shall we do ? It
means ruin."

" Your huts are situated at the foot of the hill.
We shall see, perhaps they may remain where they
are."

" And the dead ? " asked Klimm.

" Bury him as quickly as possible."

" Night is approaching," said the officer turning
away, " but above all, send away the women, there
should be as little noise as possible."

Klimm transmitted the order to Arina. The
poor woman, overwhelmed by her grief, was
stunned.

" Batyoushka"* she cried, falling on her knees
before the officer, " do not ruin us. The master's
house is in my charge. The brigands will soon
retire from here. Where can I take all the posses-
sions of my master ? where hide all these things
garnered by the fathers, grandfathers and ancestors.
So much work, so many privations, all for nothing !"

The officer, greatly annoyed, pulled his moustache
then he called the priest and the assistant surgeon
into a corner and talked to them for some time,
frowning heavily the while and casting irate
glances about him, and then went away.

The priest ordered the candles to be relit, the
deacon put on his sacerdotal garments, and the
ceremony proceeded. The coffin was carried to
the grave and speedily lowered to its resting place.
Whilst the grave was being filled, the horses were
put to the carriage and the dismayed Arina hfted
into it. Fenia and the assistant surgeon sat down
• Little father.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 93

beside her, and the carriage started for Lyubanovo.
Night fell.

" This is the best thing for you to do," said the
young surgeon, " I will accompany you as far
as Lyubanovo and there you will be looked
after. They say that the village is out of the
range of the cannon and is, therefore, quite safe."

" Burn, burn, my friends, if such be the will
of God, but it is not only the property of the
Oussoff' s that will perish ; misfortune and death
await all of us 1 " muttered Arina.

When the carriage and the cart had disappeared
the officer cried in a tone that brooked no contra-
diction : " Now, you starosta and you others,
set to work quickly. Take away all the valuables
belonging to your masters, as well as your own
and hide them as best you can. The utmost
time I can give you for this work is an hour. Then
gather straw and fire the house."

" What is this, my God," cried a voice in the
crowd. " They were talking of the enemy but
these are our own people ! "

" What's that ? Rebellion ? " thundered the
officer, " Take care of the gallows, my men."

*' Larionoff, seize him, garrot him."

The Cossacks and the sapeurs dispersed in every
direction. The moujiks, mad with fright,, rushed
about, carrying away any object that they could
lay their hands upon. The fire crackled. A
Cossack had run up to the haystack with a blazing
straw torch. The farm was already ablaze and
the smoke spread over the hill ; the women and
children cried and lamented,

94 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Night had now fallen. A light closed vehicle
was rolling rapidly over the wooded slope leading
from Lyubanovo to Novoselovka ; inside were
two people ; they were Ilya Tropinin and Aurora ;
both were silent. The deepening shadows pre-
vented them from seeing clearly what skirted
the road and so, without noticing them, they
passed several Cossacks who were beating the
bushes. Ilya was thinking of the wounded Mitia
from whom only about three versts separated him,
whilst Aurora was saying to herself : "If Mitia is
wounded, what will happen to Basil ? He was
so anxious to fight and the war has but just begun !"

" What is the matter ? The sky seems all red
over yonder ? " cried Aurora, suddenly.

Ilya looked out of the carriage. " Yes, it looks
like a fire. Driver, can you see where the fire
is ? Can it by any chance be at Novoselovka ? "

" That is just where it is sir."

'* I dare say the women were anxious to have
some fresh bread and did not know how to look
after the barns."

The vehicle emerged from the wood and the
view became clearer. The blazing buildings, on
one of the elevated pieces of ground, spread a red
glare for a considerable distance. The mill with
its wings, which were only now catching fire,
looked black in the midst of the whirling red
sparks. A swarm of frightened pigeons were
fluttering over it.

Wheels could be heard coming from the valley ;
soon a carriage appeared between the bushes.
" Oh, my falcon ! " a voice sighed. " Oh, my

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 95

falcon, our own people, it is the end of the world ! "
It was Yefimovna with Fenia and the surgeon.
All stopped. Hurried questions were asked. Ilya,
dumbfounded, could hardly stand. His young
favourite, his child almost, his pupil, his brother
by baptism, had been carried off by death. He
sobbed bitterly, alternately crossing himself and
cursing the French.

" That's what it is, this is war," he said, clenching
his fists, " civilised legal brigandage ! "

Aurora made Arina enter her vehicle, and
Fenia got on the box beside the driver, whilst the
surgeon seated himself as best he could. Aurora
cast a last glance at Novoselovka in flames.

" Implaceble fatality ! " she thought with a
shudder. " The laws of war. What will be the
expiation for the death of this brave, this excellent
Mitia, upon whose fresh grave this red light is
being shed ? Curse upon him who has brought about
this war. Will not a new courageous avenger
arise for him as for Marat, another Charlotte
Corday ? "

The carriage started, returning the way it had
come. During the night, the entire Russian army
advanced from both sides of the old Smolensk
road and immediately took up their positions.
Paying any price asked for horses, Ilya, accompanied
by Aurora, Yefimovna, Fenia and the surgeon,
arrived at Moscow towards noon. He told the
Princess that there was not a moment to be lost ;
she must leave at once ; they had heard the cannon
booming already at Mojaisk. Nevertheless Anna
Arcadievna still wanted to postpone her departure.

96 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" Very well," she said, " then they will be
beaten, these Frenchmen, we shall drive them
out."

Ilya lost all patience. " It is more than impru-
dence \ " he cried. " I beg of you grandmother,
leave here at once, otherwise it will be too late.
They will make you a prisoner, will rob you,
frighten you, kill you."

" Oh, my dear," retorted the Princess Shelesh-
panskaya, " what I make a prisoner of an old
woman like me ? Well then, my dear, send for
a priest, let him sing a Te Deum. Yes, and we
cannot leave without first consulting my doctor.
Send for Karl Ivanovitsh ; anything may happen
on the journey, a thunderstorm may come up."

" What thunderstorm is to be feared at the end
of August, grandmother ? " asked Aurora.

" That is not your business ; there are thunder-
storms even in September. As for you, Ilyoushka,
go quickly to Rostoptshin, and ask him whether
such things as those which have just occurred at
Novoselovka are permissible, even in war time.
I shall write to the Emperor, he knew my husband
and will remember him very well. Kutuzoff will
have to answer for everything."

XII

On the evening of the 25th of August, on the
eve of the battle of Borodino, the headquarters
of Prince Kutuzoff were at the farm of Mik-
hailovski, near the village of Tatarinovo, the
property of the Astafiefs, situated about four
versts from Borodino. The old fieldmarshal was
lodged in the manor, a one storeyed, small, but
commodious house. The river Stonetz, falling
into the river Kolotsha, separated Tatarinovo
and the farm from the wooded elevation upon
which Miloradovitsh, commanding the right wing
of the army, had disposed his corps for the morrow's
battle. In the twilight, one could just distinguish
from here, to the left of the stream near the village
of Gorki, the batteries protected by retrenchments ;
a little farther one could see the white tents of the
infantry, the chasseurs and the artillery of Bago-
wouth ; a little farther still, behind a wood of
birch trees, rose the smoke from the bivouacs of
Ouvaroff's dragoons and lancers, which constituted
the reserves and were masked by the slopes of the
Moskva. In a straight line from Tatarinovo,
on a hillock about half a verst from the stream,
one could see the horses and even hear the voices
of Platoff's Cossacks. The weather was calm,
damp and fresh ; the sun had just set but night

97 G

98 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

had not yet fallen. Since joining the army led
by Barclay, Perovski had been attached to the
general staff of Bagowouth ; accompanied by
several officers and a surgeon, he had just returned
from the bivouac at Gorki and was pacing up and
down in front of the izba"^ where Miloradovitsh
was sitting in council with Ouvaroff and Bago-
wouth. Cossacks were holding the saddled horses
of the generals and other officers, ceaselessly
watching the door and windows of the izba. Perov-
ski attentively scanned the blue lines of the ele-
vations beyond Kolotsha through a telescope.

" At last, we are settled and solidly encamped,
it seems," said an old officer, a tall and dried-up
man. " Do you think we have finished retreating
now ? "

" God only knows," rephed his young colleague.

" Surely," rejoined the former, " but don't
you know that the Prince is determined to wage
a decisive battle ? "

" Well," asked the young officer who had but
recently joined the general staff, " and what do you
think about it ? "

" We shall do our duty," gravely answered the
other, gazing in front of him. " What does it mat-
ter to me ! I have been greatly worried about my
family, but now that I know that my wife is in
safety, it is all the same to me. Fancy, she writes
to me from Tver and tells me that the pilgrims
declare we shall have peace on St. Michael's day,
the name day of the Prince. ..."

" Peace will surely come one day," rang out the
♦ Peasant's hut.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 99

musical voice of the doctor, a handsome middle-
aged man, " in the meantime, however, many
brave men will disappear from the ranks tomorrow."

" It is the will of God," said an elderly officer in
a low voice, " the wings of death are fluttering,
but as Fingal said, they do not reach everyone."

" What is really unfortunate," continued the
doctor, " is the fact that such disorder reigns every-
where. The cannon are already thundering, but
we have neither pickaxes nor shovels ; half of
our soldiers have nothing to do, and we lack lint
and bandages for the hospitals. The tents are
full of holes, and the patients are lying on damp
ground, though the nights are rather cold now.
I shall have to speak to the general again."

The old officer shook his head discontentedly.
He was an educated but modest man, not unaware
of the general disorder, but bearing patiently
with it. He also knew that Dr. Mirtoff, who was
somewhat of a fop and fond of his own comfort,
managed on all his marches to carry amongst his
luggage, a small, perfectly appointed tent, in
which one could find a feather bed covered with
an embroidered quilt.

" Why are you so attentively scanning the
river ? " asked the officer, turning to Perovski ;
" are the French moving ? "

" No, everything is quiet over there. I am
looking for the house of some friends ; it used to be
to the right of Borodino. ... it is barely three
months since I left there, on my way to rejoin the
army. I cannot locate it ; it is rather strange. And
yet I can clearly see the village that belongs to it ;

100 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

it lies at the foot of the hill. But I can find no
trace of the house or the buildings surrounding
them."

" It will have been removed ; this hill is under
the fire of our batteries. A portion of Semionovka,
at the back of us, has also been demolished. Take
my telescope, it comes from Vienna, from Corte.
You can see everything through it as if it were on
the palm of your hand."

Perovski looked through the telescope offered
him. Before his dazzled eyes, passed, as in a mist,
the vague outlines of the ravines and forest trees
but still he could not see the house.

At this moment the door of the izba opened and
the elegant silhouette of Ouvaroff was outlined ;
behind him appeared the red whiskers and speckled
countenance of Bagowouth. The doctor approached
them and informed the latter of the requirements
for the ambulances. Bagowouth listened silently
and then, turning to Ouvaroff, said in French :
" You see, it is always the same thing, no remedies
for the ill and wounded ! "

He scribbled a few words on a page torn from
an agenda, folded it and then let his tired eyes
rest upon the officers surrounding him.

" Sintianin," he said, turning to an officer no
longer young, " take this to Count Benigsen, if he
does not write an answer, bring me his verbal
reply."

Sintianin took his telescope from Perovski,
replaced it in its leather case, jumped on his horse
and doubled up over its back, rode away in the
direction of the road at the back of the Stonetz.

MOSCOW IN EL AMES IGl:

Ouvaroff and Bagowouth retiirfted to the bivouac ;
Perovski and the Doctor following after the latter.

Night had fallen. A narrow path descending
from Gorki through a coppice of birch trees wound
a little round the mountain and then through a
wooded ravine. The riders slowly passed the
coppice and on reaching the ravine, saw their
bivouacs. Perovski was thinking of Mitia Oussoff,
of the latter's severe wound, of their recent plans
to be married this very month of August, and of
the morrow's battle.

" Tell me," said Dr. Mirtoff, " are you afraid of
death ? Do you ever think of it ? "

" Afraid ? no, but I often think of it ; at this
very moment, I admit I have been thinking of it."

" And yet you at once accepted the challenge
of that Frenchman the other day at the relay
station of Mojaisk ! Would you like to hear my
views on the subject of death ? " continued the
doctor in his agreeable and calm voice. " Ordi-
narily death comes as an unpleasant surprise,
but when it comes unexpectedly, as the result
of a wound in the head or in the heart, there is
no reason to be afraid of it. A bullet whistles ;
you have no time to think ; it is an unexpected
issue and that is all ; Mirtoff was alive, Mirtoff
is no more." The doctor laughed. " Arm your-
self with patience," he continued ; * a hideous death
does not come from a bullet or from a shell but
grips you on the hospital bed where everything is
torment, sleeplessness, delirium, terror of waiting.
We doctors who know and understand all this
find this death painful and ugly."

:lQ2t.: .. M IN FLAMES

Thus discussing, they reached the outskirts of
the forest and the boundary of the camp.

" This is certainly not a moment to think of
anything else," said Basil, lowering his head so as
to protect himself as best he could against the
branches of the birch trees grazing his face in the
dark.

" As for myself," said the doctor, " I have a
strange presentiment of what is going to happen
to me. I am convinced that I shall die twenty
years from to-day and where ? At the English
club in Moscow, after partaking of a good dinner
for I am fond of dining well, and then, crack ! It
is all over. Little stars dazzle before your eyes
and then comes an agreeable mist. What is it ?
Then, then there is nothingness : Mirtoff existed,
Mirtoff exists no more. And now, come into my
tent and make yourself comfortable. Take off
your c^oak and snatch a little sleep. I have my
travelling tea urn, some excellent rum and I shall
prepare you some punch : one does not refuse
it on the eve of a battle."

" Thanks," said Perovski, " I am due at the
general's, and I am afraid that he will not dismiss
me very soon."

" Another word," said the doctor. " did you
notice Major Sintianin ? Guess at the idea I have
in my mind ? "

" I cannot guess."

" You noticed how preoccupied and sad he
seemed. Well, I think that to-morrow he will
go ahead of both of us. There will be no Sintianin
any more," said the doctor, jokingly before he said
good-bye.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 103

It was past mid-night when Perovski reached
his tent among the general staff. He found his
orderly and gave him instructions to have his
horse ready for him a little earlier than usual
and then stretched himself upon a truss of hay
without, however, being able to sleep. The camp
was awake. The soldiers had cleaned their weapons
brushed their uniforms, and said their prayers.
Then they sat round the extinguished fires to
prepare their knapsacks. Here and there a few
words were exchanged in low voices. Some scanned
the horizon to see whether dawn would soon break.

Through an aperture in his tent, Perovski per-
ceived a corner of a starless sky, and a little farther,
beyond the river, the enemy's camp, to judge by
the line of lights of their bivouac, stretched over
several versts. Separated by a distance of but
two or three versts, one hundred thousand Russians
on the one side, and an equal number of French-
men on the other, waited in tense expectation
for the morning. Thousands of mouths ready to
vomit and spit fire were soon to cover the valley
with bullets and grapeshot. What had brought
these armies opposite each other ? Vainly en-
deavouring to find a solution of this enigma, Basil
fell into a deep sleep.

It was six o'clock when the first French cannon
boomed in the morning mist ; from both camps
hundreds of others at once replied. Perovski
rushed out of his tent. For the first few seconds,
he could hardly grasp the meaning of the scene
unfolding itself before his eyes. Bagowouth's
army corps was drawing itself up in battle array :

104 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

between the lines aides-de-camp were galloping.
Jumping upon his horse, Perovski hurried away.

Lower down, to the left, shots were cracking ;
a Russian infantry column was advancing at a
run while over and above this column a Russian
battery, stationed near Gorki, was firing inces-
santly in the direction of Kolotsha. Bagowouth,
mounted upon a magnificent white horse, and
holding himself very stiffly, was in front of his
men watching the opposite bank of the river
through his telescope. Near the farm of Mik-
hailovski, a column of dust could be distinguished :
there, surrounded by his suite, the fieldmarshal,
Prince Kutuzuff, mounted on a small bay horse,
was galloping. The first half of this memorable
day of Borodino had passed.

On the eve of that day. Napoleon had issued a
proclamation appealing to his kings, generals and
soldiers ; at dawn, he attacked with his full force
the centre and left wing of the Russians, and now
he was squeezing and harassing the detachments
led by Barclay and Bagration. Fresh Russian
regiments took the places of those that were
destroyed. Davout, Ney and Murat attacked the
vanguards of Bagration and the heights of Seme-
novski, which changed hands several times. After a
bloody battle, the viceroy, at the head of his troops,
took the battery of Raievski, and the French flag
was unfurled there before the eyes of the terrified
Russians. The Russian lines were broken.
Kutuzuff was told of this disaster : he and Benigsen
were stationed not far from that izba where the
evening before he had held council with Milora-

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 105

dovitsh ; the fieldmarshal immediately sent
Yermoloff, chief of the general staff of the first
army, and the battery was retaken. At the same
moment, Bagowouth received orders to execute
a flank movement so as to disengage the left wing.
Bagration led his columns along a cross-road
by the Khoromovski River between the farm
Mikhailovski and Kniazkovo. The French bullets
whistled above the heads of the detachment and
fell into the wood. Bagowouth hastily despatched
Perovski with instructions to transfer the ambu-
lances a little farther away towards the farm
Mikhailovski and Tatarinovo. Perovski galloped
away from the Khoromovski hollow over the open
slope. The thunder of an infernal cannonade
boomed in his ears ; more than once he heard a
bullet whiz over his head and thought that the
next would certainly kill him. " Perovski existed,
Perovski exists no more," he thought, as he ner-
vously spurred on his horse. On the outskirts
of the wood, he saw the first ambulance and gave
instructions for it to be moved a little farther back.
Instead of continuing on his way, he looked around
for someone from whom he could inquire where
Dr. Hirschfeld was to be found. At the entrance
of one of the tents used for surgical operations,
he saw Mirtoff, exhausted with fatigue, covered
in sweat, his apron blood-stained, but still in good
humour. The doctor had evidently just performed
a difficult operation and had come out to smoke a
cigarette and take a breath of fresh air.

" You want Hirschfeld ? " he asked, recognising
Perovski.

106 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" Yes," replied Basil, reining in his horse.
" Which way should I go ? "

The doctor, still smoking, approached a fine
bay horse standing in front of his tent ; caressing
the animal with one bloodstained hand, with the
other he pointed out the path to the right.

" Happy journey," he said. " As far as we are
concerned, don't worry. We are going to move ;
they are packing up now. This poor animal has
just lost its master ; we have extracted a shell
splinter from his back, but he is lost. Ah, pardon,
just one word more, tell Fedor Bogdanovitsh to
send me the reserve instruments, I need them.
Remember, years hence, we two shall meet at the
English Club, unless the bullet of your Frenchman,
Gerambeau, hits 3^ou."

" What coolness," thought Perovski, as he rode
away amidst the noise of the cannonade, " to
jest in the midst of this inferno ! "

Suddenly something crashed at the outskirts of
the wood, piercing the air with a sharp, whistling
sound. In spite of himself, Perpvski trembled,
and nervously seized the neck of his horse ; a
terrible noise broke out near him, shouts of terror
were heard. Basil turned round. A thick column
of smoke, mixed with sand, was whirling at the
very spot where but a few moments before the
operating tent had stood ; a big gaping hole, still
smoking, was in its place. Doctor Mirtoff had
disappeared. The big bay horse near the tent
was writhing on the ground, contorted in agonising
convulsions, and beating the air with its four hoofs.
Crushed underneath the animal, something pitiful.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 107

terrible to behold, was groaning miserably. Ter-
rified soldiers, bruised and covered with earth,
were hastening to lift up the horse and to disengage
the man who was being crushed and choked under
it. Perovski saw the soldiers, the linen clothes
and the blood spurting out in a jet and jumped off
his horse to help the soldiers support the upper part
of the body of the wounded man. He recognised
Mirtoff.

" My friends," murmured the doctor, in a
choking voice, looking down with terrified, almost
invisible eyes, upon the bleeding pieces of flesh
which had beeij his legs, " my friends, quick, the
apparatus. Yegoroff, the bandages, quick," and
he fainted. Yegoroff, the assistant surgeon, sat
down on the ground near him and with trembling
hands began to close the opened arteries.

" Is he dead ? " asked Perovski, bending down.

" Alas, no ; the poor fellow will suffer greatly.
As for hving — impossible. A litter," he cried,
turning to the soldiers.

Perovski galloped aw^ay to another ambulance.

The Raievski battery was again being attacked.
Napoleon hurled against it his guards and reserves.
Ouvaroff's attack upon the French left flank
paralysed this movement, but fresh French troops
continued to arrive until the battery was taken
once more.

" Look, look," said someone to Perovski, pointing
to the heights which Bogowouth's columns were
attacking, " yonder is Napoleon."

Basil raised his telescope, and for the first time
saw the Emperor. Mounted upon a white horse.

108 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

and followed by a suite of officers, he was riding
towards the redoubt Raievski, now occupied by
the French. Everyone expected an attack by
the old French Guard, but Napoleon did not risk it.

Towards six o'clock in the evening the battle
ceased. Woltzogen, the Emperor Alexander's aide-
de-camp, arrived at Gorki and told Prince Kutuzuff
that the enemy had captured all the principal
Russian positions and that the troops had been
defeated.

"It is false," cried the Prince, aloud, in the
hearing of his suite. "The exact progress of the
battle is known to me alone ; the enemy is beaten
on every point, and from to-morrow we shall
drive him out of Holy Russia." Night had fallen.
Kutuzuff took up his quarters at the farm Mik-
hailovski ; the windows were again brilliantly lit
and one could see the orderlies passing round and
serving tea ; towards midnight the commanders
of the various detachments posted round the farm
foregathered with the Prince. Bogowouth, too,
was there with one or two young officers of his
general staff. Cavalier guards kept watch over
the yard and its dependencies. Aides-de-camp
and orderly officers, standing near the perron,
conversed with the new arrivals. A big fire had
been lit in front of the house illuminating the old
hme and birch trees in the yard, the orchard, the
pond and the troika of the courier ready to leave.
Perovski, standing near the perron, saw the pale
and gloomy face of Count Thol slowly and ner-
vously mounting the steps ; he had returned from
an inspection of the lines. Then appeared the

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 109

brown and curly head of Yermoloff, the hero of the
day ; he shouted through the window, calHng for
a courier as soon as Count Thol had finished
deUvering his report. A troika advanced, and
an aged officer, carrying a leather case slung over
his shoulders, descended the steps. Basil was
happy to recognise Sintianin in this officer.

" Where are you going ? " asked the others.

" To St. Petersburg; I am taking the report,"
answered Sintianin, making the sign of the cross.
Afterwards they learned that as soon as he had
heard Count Thol's report, Kutuzuff had given
orders for the army immediately to retreat towards
Moscow by way of Mojaisk. The next morning,
Perovski received orders to rejoin General
Miloradovitsh.

XIII

On the 31st of August, everything was at last
ready for the departure of the Princess Anna
Arcadievna. She was going to her estate Panshino
in the province of Tamboff. The waggons, which
were to precede her with all the domestics, were
already waiting in the courtyard. The beautiful
chambermaids, Sasha, Duniasha and Stesha,
mounted, wrapped up in shawls and Kazavaikas*
upon the carts full of casks, poultry cages, crockery
and feather beds. They were laughing and
cracking nuts. The other maids, seven in number
followed them. There were the laundresses, the
lace-makers, embroiderers etc. The chef and his
scullions hoisted Yermil the gouslar^ upon a cart,
whilst he himself, accompanied by his acolytes,
was to follow the procession on foot. First came
a long cart containing the Princess' buffetier,
her confectioner and her hairdresser. Then came
a waggon full of hay and oats to which Aurora's
horse Barss was attached ; to another waggon the
Princess' favourite cow Molodka, of pure Khol-
mogori breed, and the old he-goat of the stables,
were attached. Maremiasha, the housekeeper, had
chosen for herself, Yefimovna and Fenia, a hood

♦ Large coloured handkerchiefs,
t Player on the gousli or dulcimer.

no

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 111

cabriolet drawn by three piebald horses. A
featherbed, covered with a carpet was placed in
it and respectfully and with many precautions,
the negro boy Varlashka, wearing a red fez, placed
on it the parrot's cage and basket containing the
Princess' two lapdogs, Limka and Timka. They
reposed upon eiderdown.

Maremiasha, who had superintended all the
arrangements for the journey, bade good bye to
the Princess and re-entered the house once more.

For the last time she inspected all the rooms,
groaning and sighing the while, hurried the slackers
without hurrying herself, and at last appeared
upon the perron with several women, carrying
vases of jasmin and geraniums. Everyone made
the sign of the cross and towards noon, the carriages
started, followed by a cart carrying a tent.

Aurora had left the house early in the morning
on a visit to the Nikitski convent where she had
prayers recited for the soul of Mitia. She was
dressed in black and wore a white wrap over her
head. Her eyes were tear-stained for she had
cried a great deal. On her return she heard that
the doctor was with her grandmother, so she went
up to her own room to pack up a few odd things
left about. She closed the cupboards, placed the
keys on the table and grew pensive. " Shall
I take the keys with me ? — but how stupid I
am," she thought, as she contemplated the paper
and hay strewn all over the room. " If the enemy
enter Moscow, the furniture will be broken and
rough hands will handle all these dainty things."
Mechanically she picked up a theatre programme,

112 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

perused it, and threw it away. It stated that
quite recently at the grand theatre, an anacreontic
ballet : " The Marriage of Zephir " had been given.
The evening before, a drama " Nathalie, the
daughter of the Brigand " had been played ; it
was followed by a mascarade*. It also announced
that in September the subscription list for a series
of 200 performances would be opened.

" Theatres, performances," thought Aurora
sighing deeply, " in times like these ! Have these
people no hearts, no conscience ? "

A book of music, bound in red morocco and
lying forgotten upon a table then caught her eye.
She opened it and hid her tear-stained face in it.
" Where are you at this moment, my dear absent
one ? Do you see me ? What are you doing ? "
she cried. Her thoughts dwelt upon her horse-
back ride with her fiance ; upon her last interview
with Basil ; and then reverted to Novoselovka
in flames, and to the cannonading under Mojaisk.

" How did it finish, that terrible battle ? Who
had won the victory ? Who was still alive ? "

" Mademoiselle, her Excellency is waiting for
you," said Vlass from the threshold of the room.

Aurora turned round and perceived that the
old retainer was freshly shaven and arrayed in the
crumpled livery which he had not worn for a long
time ; its collar and bronze buttons were
ornamented with the family crest. He looked
tired and his face was flushed ; the preparations
for the departure had put him in a bad humour
as anyone could sec from his arched, grey brows.
♦ Burlesque.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 113

" All right, I am ready, my good man. I am
coming down," replied the girl, closing the book
of music. She seized a pen and hastily scribbled
a few lines to be handed to the gatekeeper.

" If God keeps my Basil safe," she thought, " he
will enter Moscow with the troops and his first
thought will be to come here ; it will be some
consolation for him to receive these few lines."
This is what she wrote :

" August 31st, 1812. My dear ; We are leaving
this very moment for Panshino. No doubt you
have already heard of the death of Mitia ; I have
this morning prayed for the repose of his soul,
and I have made a vow that if any sacrifices be
required, I am ready to make them ; you will see
what a patriotic Russian woman is capable of
when duty calls. Do not forget Aurora who
loves you."

She descended the stairs, looked in the oratory
of her grandmother, picked up a lace cap that had
been prepared for the Princess and then forgotten,
and slowly wended her way towards the Palm
salon so memorable to her. Here perfect chaos
and disorder reigned ; the furniture had been
removed and the pictures and mirrors taken
down from the walls ; in the dining room the chime
of the clock forgotten among many other objects,
began to play a tune by Neledinski, a friend of the
house.

When I come to the river.

And see the water flow,

Carry away my grief. . .
Aurora was unable to restrain her tears and

114 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

rushed away. For the last time she looked up at
the house that she was about to leave. On the
perron, she saw the chief of police, who had come
to bid " God speed " to the Princess, in spite of the
fact that he was almost overwhelmed with work.

Tropinin, who had decided to stay in town until
the departure of the Senate and all the employes
of the theatrical administration, supported the
weeping Aurora, and helped her take her seat in
the dormeuse, * opposite her grandmother.

Anna Arcadievna said good-bye to the chief of
police, and to two old praying sisters, who had
hastily come to pay their respects. The Princess
was annoyed ; she could not arrange her feet com-
fortably because of the numerous and varied parcels,
not forgetting the basket containing Tutik, the
Princess' third and favourite little dog, a fallow
spaniel, who was never separated from his mistress.
Tutik was wrapped up in a green silken coverlet,
and had a rose bow on his little head.

** How tiresome you are!" said the Princess to
her faithful chamber valet Vlass, " You are fussing
about and behaving like a perfect madman without
doing anything at all useful."

" And if your Excellency only knew how she
wearies me ! " muttered Vlass who could no longer
restrain himself as he closed the carriage door with
a bang.

'* You hear him ? " cried the old lady addressing

Aurora, as if the latter were responsible for the

impertinence of the servant. " There you have

the fate of the Princesses Sheleshpanski. These

♦ Sleeping Csimage,

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 115

people will send me to my grave. Where are my
drops ? "

" Move on," shouted Vlass to the coachmen,
majestically seating himself on the box and casting
a reproachful look at the two plaster lions that
guarded the entrance of the house.

*' The angels have left," said one of the praying
sifters, bowing low to the carriage, and hiding the
alms she had received ; " now we have only the
heavenly queen to protect us."

Karpp, somewhat pale, threw an angry withering
glance at the departing sisters and closed the
principal gate with a clang. The roof of the big
house with its terrace had already passed out of
sight behind the other houses ; the heavy dormeuse
of the Princess drawn by six horses, four in front,
and two at the sides, one of them mounted by a
small postilion, slowly passed through Bronnaja
Street, crossed the Boulevard Tverskoi, and con-
tinued its route through the Kremlim towards the
Rogojski Gate.

Tropinin, a cloak thrown over his uniform, ac-
companied the ladies in a hired droshki. On the
other side of the Yaouza, the streets swarmed
with people hurriedly leaving Moscow. The city
was deserted after the terrible news of the battle
of Borodino.

XIV

It was the second of September. Day and night
thousands of carts moved along the Smolensk
road carrying the Borodino wounded to Moscow,
whilst numerous closed carriages, carts and vehicles
of every description hurried in the direction of
Vladimir, Ryazan and Tula, each striving to get
ahead of the other. The last inhabitants were
leaving the town. It was rumoured that after
the battle the army started on a retreat towards
Moscow, but everyone believed that a new battle,
this time a decisive victory for the Russians,
would take place at the gates of the city.

Perovski, and one or two other officers on the
general staff, had already received instructions
to draw up a map of the Vorobyevo Mountains ;
redoubts were even being erected, but after a Coun-
cil held at the village of Filly, Kutuzuff decided to
abandon Moscow without a battle. The troops
marching from the Smolensk road towards that of
Ryazan, passed through Moscow ; the hostile
army followed close upon their heels, and was
rapidly advancing towards the Dorogomilovski
Gate ; one could even hear the fusilade between
the French vanguards and the Cossacks and
Lancers of the Russian rearguard.

The commander of the Russian rearguard, the

m

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 117

brave and intrepid Miloradovitsh, surnamed " The
Winged," anxious to facilitate the retreat of the
Russian army, and to give time to the luggage
trains and to the remaining inhabitants of the
town to retire, declared to Murat, King of Naples,
who commanded the French vanguard and was as
brave and intrepid a man as himself, that if the
French did not stop their advance and wait, he
would give battle with the bayonet and the knife
in every street and in every house of Moscow.
Murat therefore, verbally agreed to an armistice
that should last until the evening. The firing
ceased, and the French, though in sight of Moscow,
suspended their attack. Perovski had come safely
through the battle of Borodino, and with another
young and handsome officer, a certain Kvashnin,
was now in the army of Miloradovitsh. He was
crazy with impatience to reach Moscow and learn
the whereabouts of his fiancee, and the news of
Mitia Oussoff, who had been sent to Moscow after
the encounter at Osma. He still hoped to see
Aurora. "Who knows," he thought, "perhaps
the ladies may not have left the city yet." The
night before at Filly, Basil had put on his last clean
shirt with lace cuffs, a white pique waistcoat,
and then, freshly shaved, he mounted his grey
horse ready to enter Moscow. An inexpHcable
depression however, agitated and even irritated
him ; everything looked black to him ; he tor-
mented himself with the thought that his servant,
who had gone on oUead of him, would get drunk
and lose his precious small box that contained
all his dear souvenirs.

118 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Kvashnin was in a better humour. He was a
good comrade with a sympathetic nature. Like
Perovski, he had followed his general to Filly,
where the important war council was held. There,
he had not only seen Kutuzuff and the principal
generals and commanders of the army, but had
also heard the most astonishing opinions expressed,
not only on military but also on political questions
and had learned much that later on was to become
history.

" I think that Borodino will be known by the
name of * The Battle of the Giants,' " he said,
his short, plump fingers, caressing his foam-white
horse ; "as for myself, I should rather baptise
it : ' The Battle of the Six Michaels.' "

" But why that name ? " asked Perovski,
absent-mindedly, as through the lines of the
dragoons in front of him, he caught sight of the
silhouette of the Poklonnaya Hill, and endeavoured
to place the slopes where, but a short time before,
he had galloped with Aurora and Mitia Oussoff.

" Don't you know ? " replied Kvashnin, happy
that he could tell his serious comrade what he had
learned. " Kutuzuff' s name is Michael ; Barclay's
name is Michael, so is our Miloradovitsh's, and
Vorontzoff and Borozdin are also named Michael.
Then the French, too, have a Michael, Marshal
Ney."

" That equals the Apollyon of the Apocalypse,"
replied Basil, drily.

" And do you know how many men we lost at
Borodino," continued Kvashnin.

" It was an ocean of blood," said Basil, sighing

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 119

as he recalled the picture of the battle to his mind ;
" and yet you and I are safe ; we have not even
been wounded/'

" Our turn will come. But listen. What I
heard is extraordinary and fabulous. I heard
Tunitin, the aide-de-camp of Yermoloff, say at
headquarters that the battle had really only lasted
about six hours, and yet during those six hours
we lost in killed and wounded, fifty thousand men,
while the French lost an equal number I Out of
this hundred thousand men, it is reckoned that
about forty thousand men were killed. Isn't it
terrible ? They say that taking the two armies,
over fifty generals were killed or wounded ; sixty
thousand cannon balls were fired, and about one
and a-half milliard gun shots, which makes over
50,000 shots to the second, therefore one shot out
of every thirty was fatal. What do you think of
that ? When in history has such a massacre
taken place and so much blood been shed ? It
is frightful ! "

Basil listened with a shudder to Kvashnin's
calculations. He remembered his former admira-
tion for Napoleon and how, in imitation of his
dreamy genius, he had once bought at Kaltshu-
gin's a translation by Kostrovski of Ossian's
poems, and had read them in his first bivouac.
He also remembered his farewell to Mitia when
the latter, seated in his cabriolet, looked through
tear-dimmed eyes at his paternal home and from
a distance blessed his old nurse, Arina, and Basil,
and then shouted : " Until the autumn, remember,
we shall marry then and be happy."

120 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Kvashnin was still talking.

" Don't forget, mon cher," rejoined Basil, as if
excusing himself. " Don't forget that if we have
had losses, our enemies have lost twice as many
men. And it is not an insignificant fact that
Napoleon was very angry, as a prisoner told us at
headquarters. He was furious to see our resistance,
furious that we did not budge an inch but re
mained all night on the battlefield, still on the
defensive. We have retreated, it is true, but also,
we have not cried for mercy. He is supposed to
have said to Ney : ' La fortune est une franche
courtisane.' Now we shall see which way this
courtesan, who has certainly spoiled him in the
past, will turn."

Kvashnin was silent ; he was busy endeavouring
to engrave the words of Napoleon in his memory,
that he might be able to repeat them to his mother
when they met.

" They seem to be quite satisfied at head-
quarters," said Basil, in an irritated tone, " for
they believe that once the French have entered
Moscow, which we are going to abandon to them
without a struggle, they will accept any conditions
and will celebrate peace. Their amour-propre will
be satisfied, and they will retire to Poland. I
hope that nothing of the kind will happen ; we
cannot accept an humiliating peace." He spurred
on his horse and rejoined Miloradovitsh. " Mos-
cow," he thought, " is the end of Napoleon, the
tomb of his fortunes and of his glory. I feel sure
of it, and I pray God that I may not be mistaken."

The street through which the rear of the army

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 121

was passing was packed by carriages carrying the
inhabitants leaving the city ; excited pedestrians
rushed about in the midst of the confusion. " They
are coming, they are coming, the French are coming ;
they are already on the Vorobyevo Hill,*' people
shouted on all sides. From the cross-roads,
savage shouts could be heard. The populace was
plundering the shops and public houses, now
abandoned by their proprietors. The inhabitants,
who had not been able to leave the city, either
hid in cellars, or came out of their gates, carrying
holy images, and saluted the passers-by, and
inquired whether the Russians were victorious
or still retreating.

Miloradovitsh had reached the Oustinski bridge
on the other side of the Yaouza, and his columns
were marching in front of him when a Cossack
officer arrived with a report.

" Lieutenant Perovski, Ensign Kvashnin," called
the general.

The young men approached.

" You are both of you Moscovites ; do you
know the city well ? "

" Perfectly," both replied at once.

" Then you, Perovski, ride to the Le Fortovo
Barrier, and you, Kvashnin, to that of Boutirski,
and hurry on the slackers. General Sikorski
seems to have lost his way and the Cossacks have
remained behind. The armistice cannot last much
longer, the enemy is already encircling us, and may
cut off our retreat through Sokolniki or Le Fortovo.
If you require anything, say so ; our halting place
will be at the Rogojskaja Barrier."

XV

The two officers, followed by a couple of Cossack
orderlies, quickly crossed the bridge, and together
passed through the Solianka. Although his horse
was tired out, Kvashnin did not lag behind.

" Fate is against me," thought Basil ; " had I
been sent to the Boutirki Barrier, I should have
passed the Patriarchal Ponds and if, as Aurora
wrote me, the Princess has not yet left the town, I
should perhaps have seen my fiancee at the window,
or on the balcony. I should have told her to hasten
their departure as the danger is momentarily in-
creasing. But now I am sent in another direction.
Suppose we exchanged."

" Well, comrade, au revoir," said Kvashnin at that
moment ; " here I go to the left and you to the
right through the Pokrovka, and the Gorokhovoe.
I know the part well for one of my uncles lives in
German Street."

" Pardon," replied Perovski, very agitated," the
minutes are precious, but just one word. My
fiancee lives at Moscow in the Bronnaja Street, near
the Patriarchal Ponds. On your way you will
see a house with a green roof, and a terrace, and
two lions in the front. If on your return from
Dmitrovka or the Tver boulevard, it is not far. . ."

" At your service," said Kvashnin blushing and

122

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 123

casting a glance at his orderly, " Whose house is
it? "

Perovski gave the name of the Princess. " I
only ask you to tell the ladies how things are
and, should they have already left the town, ask the
gatekeeper Karpp, or anyone else you see, where
the Princess and her grand-daughter have gone,
and if everything is all right. But I fancy I heard
you say that your mother lives at Moscow ; if it is on
my way, I should be happy to give a message for
you."

*' Certainly," exclaimed Kvashnin, pressing Basil's
hand, " I am quite at your service. My mother
must have already left Moscow, but should she
happen to be still in town, we might go, and have
tea with her and taste some of her home-brewed
liquor, and what a liquor it is ! How happy the
old woman would be ! She lives at the corner of
the Klementievski square in the Piatnitzkaja,
in the Clement quarter, you know, Clement the
Pope. It is a house with a red roof and, if it has no
terrace, it boasts of an entresol."

" Happy journey and good luck ! Should you
arrive before me at the luggage train, would you
mind finding my servant ? I am always afraid
that he will lose my things."

Kvashnin succeeded in executing Miloradovitsh's,
orders at the Boutirski Barrier, then passing through
the Bronnaja, he stopped at the house of the Prin-
cess, where he learned that the family had left the
town two days previously. As Karpp mentioned
a note left behind by Aurora, he asked that it should
be delivered to him. Then, quite happy at his

124 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

success, he galloped gaily away towards the Rogo-
jski Barrier, but fell in with a French regiment, and
was made a prisoner. When night fell, however, he
managed to escape and safely reached the luggage
train ; he found Perovski's servant all right, but
no one knew anything about the young officer or his
fate.

After bidding good-bye to Kvashnin, Basil,
followed by his Cossack, rode quickly through the
Pokrovka to the Basmannaja. A regiment passing
through the quarter of St. John, the Precursor,
detained him ; he transmitted the instructions
to its Commandant, and then was again detained
by infantry troops coming from the Gorokhovaja.
He crossed through the lines of soldiers, all marching
in sad silence, rode through an obscure side street,
past some waste ground, and then found himself in a
grove on the banks of the Tshetshora. He judged
that by crossing the rivers Tshetshora and Yaouza,
he would be able to reach Le Fortovo much quicker
than through the Basmannaja street ; here he met
a luggage train, whose conductors were quarrelling
with the chasseurs of Dimidoff, escorting a dozen
carts laden with furniture and with greyhounds,
other dogs and some horses attached behind. It
was not until five o'clock that he succeeded in
reaching the bridge at Le Fortovo, but here again,
he met an obstacle ; a belated column of cavalry was
passing, hurrying and pushing their way along.
They were dragoons and Cossacks.

" Where are you coming from ? "

" From Sokolniki."

" Who is your divisional chief ? "

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 125

" Major General Sikorski."

" Where is he ? "

The soldiers pointed to a wood beyond the
bridge.

" Hurry boys, it is getting late," cried Basil, " we
are meeting at the Rogojski Barrier. Hurry."

" Radi staratsa ! (Happy to do our best.),"
replied several voices, and the bridge resounded
with the hurried tramping of the soldiers.

Perovski could pass through at last. The wood
was much further than he had imagined ; the un-
even, marshy path, softened by the recent heavy
rains, led through numerous kitchen gardens.
Night fell. Basil, surprised to find that it was so
late, mopped his perspiring brow and spurred on
his horse.

He had galloped at least a verst though the
wood when, near a pond, he saw a military detach-
ment drawn up in a column. In the twilight he
saw that not only Russians, but also some French
were there. He was still hesitating what to do
when suddenly he saw General Sikorski seated
beside a French general who, he afterwards learned,
was General Sebastiani, the commander of the
French rearguard. Telling his Cossack to remain
behind, he rode up to General Sikorski, saluted, and
gave him Miloradovitsh's instructions.

" What can I do, batyoushka ? " replied the
portly but energetic general in a discontented
voice. He looked worried, and his eyes were red.
" God is my witness that we have lost no time ; we
heard of the armistice like all the others, but there
is an extra bridge over the Yaouza, and these

126 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

gentlemen," he pointed to the gloomy and silent
Sebastiani, and his following," have cut off our last
brigade, and have taken it into their heads not to
let us pass ; we have, however, managed to come
to an understanding. Tell his Excellency that
we shall follow without delay."

Orders were given in French ; a regiment of
Cossacks of the Don, and one of dragoons, passed
between the lines of the French.

Perovski waited until they had passed, then
he hurried to the outskirts of the wood where he had
bade his Cossack wait for him, but the man was no
longer there. He called him, but no answer came
back. He could only hear the tramping of the
Russian brigade marching towards the bridge.
Basil turned in the same direction, but already the
French had posted their guards between the wood
and the bridge.

" Qui vive ? Who goes there ? " cried a sentry.

" A Russian officer," repHed Perovski.

But the sentry would not let him pass, and the
officer in charge of the pickets begged Basil to
follow him to General Sebastiani, who authorised
him to cross the French chain. He had barely
passed it, however, when the general re-called
him.

*' The King of Naples is here," he said ; " you
speak French, you are educated, he will be delighted
to talk to you. Your cordon is just on the other
side of the bridge, you can therefore, spend a little
time here quite safely." Perovski followed him
rather unwillingly. They went slowly, surrounded
by aides-de-camp, passed the wood, and found

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 127

themselves in open fields, where fires blazed in
the distance. Crossing a ditch, they soon found
themselves in front of a big izba. A crowd of
officers were stationed at the entrance, and soldiers
carrying lighted torches, came to meet the little
group.

XVI

Sebastiani dismounted, ordered that Perovski's
horse should be taken care of, and then asked that
officer to wait until he had seen Murat. Basil
entered a feebly-lit room ; he could hear all the
outside noises ; riders were perpetually coming and
going. A tall Frenchman with a horsetail on his
helmet came in, rummaged in a cupboard, evidently
searching for something to eat, and then left the
room swearing. Half-an-hour later, General Sebas-
tiani returned.

" The King of Naples is busy ; he cannot see
you before to morrow morning ; you had better
pass the night here."

" Impossible," cried Basil, losing all patience.
" I am expected back : I brought orders, and now
I must return quickly, in order to hand in my
report. Please do not detain me."

" I understand, but the night is dark and our
positions not being clearly defined, you could not,
without great danger, reach your outposts."

" Am I then a prisoner ? " inquired Basil, control-
ling his temper. " You, General, better than any
one can settle the question. You saw that I had
been sent to;the general of the brigade which has just
left."

" Calm yourself, young man," said Sebastiani

128

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 129

smiling, and sitting down on a stool. " I give
you my word, the word of a soldier, that you will
see the King of Naples early in the morning, and
that you will then be taken back to your outposts.
And now let us have something to eat and then
rest."

An aide-de-camp brought in a sort of dusty
leather scabbard in which was some food and a
bottle of wine. He offered Perovski, who had not
tasted anything since the morning, some white
bread, cheese, and a glass of Sauterne.

" Moscow is deserted, abandoned by its inhabi-
tants," said Sebastiani, munching his bread and
cheese," are you aware of that ? "

" It could not have been otherwise," replied
Basil.

" But the Emperor will enter the Kremlin to-
morrow ; he will reside in the palace of your
Tsars. You did not expect that."

" Our army still exists ; it has not been defeated."

** Had your Emperor extended his hand to us,
Napoleon and he would have been masters of the
Universe. We would have proved it to perfidious
Albion by attacking India. But it is time to sleep,"
added Sebastiani, seeing that Basil was silent, and
had not touched the food offered to him.

Perovski was taken to another room full of
officers of the general staff, all sleeping pell mell
on the floor. He put his coat on the floor, placed
his cap underneath his head and, without taking
off his boots, lay down in a corner. By the light
of the torches, still burning in the yard, he saw a
remarkably good-looking French officer, with his

130 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

arm in a sling, and a bloodstained handkerchief
round his head, seated by the window ; he was
talking to someone outside. Neither of the speak-
ers paid any attention to the entrance of the
Russian officer, but continued their conversation.

" I saw him one day in a consul's toga of red
velvet and gold," said the voice of the man standing
outside ; he spoke in French but with a distinctly
foreign accent. " How handsome he looked !
Here he will appear in a new guise ; no doubt, he
will don the costume of the ancient Tsars."

" But shall we ever see our country again ? "
rejoined the wounded man in a very feeble voice.

" My father writes to me from Ma9on that the
taxes are becoming heavier every day, and that the
people are being oppressed. They have taken my
sister's last cow away from her, and my sister has
six children ! "

"He is a great man," replied the other ; " he
will not have said in vain that Russia must undergo
her destiny. Remember my words ; he will set the
serfs free, will resuscitate Poland, will found the
Duchies of Smolensk, Vilna and St. Petersburg ;
new Dukes and viceroys will be created, and he
will distribute appanages to his generals and give
the kingdom of Poland to his brother Jerome."

" And yet you are not even a general ; your com-
patriots are brave, I do not deny, but Kutuzulf's
army is not yet annihilated and fortune is blind."

" You are talking at random," retorted the other
" you are forgetting the word of the new Caesar :
'The bullet that will kill me has not yet been
moulded ;' *' Le boulet qui me tuera n'est pas encore

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 131

fondu." The great man must go on living for a long
time, yet ; live and fight for the oppressed and the
downtrodden. Riga has been taken, and it is
said that Macdonald has already reached the capital.
Don't you believe it ? It is also said that several
million false Russian banknotes are in circulation.
If necessary, a new usurper will be produced ; the
people are already whispering that the Emperor
Paul is still alive."

The wounded man did not reply ; silence fell upon
the room and outside the torches were extinguished.

" Can all that be true ? " Basil asked himself in
the darkness. "Is it possible that a civiHsed
people, that a man of genius, who so short a time
ago was my idol — is it possible that they could go
to such lengths ? No, it is not possible ! They
are but the inventions of delirious brains, of people
intoxicated with pride, and who are angry at their
ill-luck at Borodino."

Perovski for a long time could not sleep ; it
occurred to him to try and leave the izba and reach
the wood. He got up, but he heard the " Qui vive "
of the sentry and realized the utter uselessness of
such an attempt. He lay down again and, at last,
fell asleep. At dawn, the beating of the drum
awoke everyone. The day promised to be mild
and warm.

Sebastiani kept his word, and sent one of his
aides-de-camp to accompany Perovski to Murat.
The King of Naples had passed the night at Moscow.
Perovski and his companion wended their steps
towards the Zamoskvarietshe where Murat was
lodged ; it was near the church of St. Clement.

132 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Basil looked around and discovered the house
with the green shutters that belonged to Kvashnin's
mother ; French soldiers carrying furniture and
other objects were just then emerging from the
gates. Through the windows he could see others,
their faces flushed and excited, walking through
the rooms, their helmets on their heads, and their
uniforms in disorder.

"Is it possible that this is pillage ? Poor
Kvashnin ! " thought Perovski. He saw a small,
thickly built infantry soldier, bow-legged and with
a nose like an eagle's beak, drag a big parcel of linen
and woman's apparel, shouting : " This is for my
sweetheart, this is for Paris ! C'est pour ma
belle, c'est pour Paris ! "

A little further along, they learned that Murat's
headquarters had been transferred to the Vshivaja
hill ; retracing their steps, they soon reached the
big house belonging to Batashoff , the gold merchant
and manufacturer. Two sentries were stationed
at the gate, and a guard of honour was drawn up
in the yard. Over the house the royal red and
green flag was floating ; saddled horses were already
waiting in the garden, bound to boar spears, and
tramping down the turf and flower beds. Generals,
junior officers and orderlies stood upon the perron.
On the lower steps stood a stout, elderly man, wear-
ing a blue coat with a frill ; he was saluting, hat
in hand, and almost weeping.

" What the devil does he want ? Qu'est qu'il
chante, voyons ? " shouted with an air of annoy-
ance, the general on duty, whom the old man was
addressing with many gestures.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 133

" Here is a Russian officer whom General Sebas-
tiani has sent to see His Majesty," said the aide-de-
camp.

" Ah, tant mieux," replied the general, then
addressing Perovski, he added : " Will you have
the goodness to tell us what this man wants ? "

The man was the manager and majordom for
Batashoff.

" What is it you require," asked Basil without
dismounting, " tell me, and I shall translate your
request."

" Ah, batyoushka, benefactor of the orthodox
faith," exclaimed the stout man, happily, as he
crossed himself. " And so you too are a prisoner
like ourselves ? "

" Not at all," curtly replied Basil blushing ; " you
see I have my sword ; I am free, but what is it you
want ? "

" Well, it is like this ; my name is Maxim Sokoff,
I am the house steward of the Batashoffs ; they
have swooped down here with their king — may
the unholy take them ! — like so many beasts of
prey. There are not less than thirty generals,
and they have all installed themselves here since
last night. Unable to do anything against superior
forces, we prepared a copious supper for them.
We went out to find some bread but there was no
white bread to be had, none but black, and only
a small oblong loaf for their king. They were so
angry," continued the poor Maxim, mopping the
perspiration from his forehead. ... " And every
general is clamouring for a feather bed and a separ-
ate room — and where are we to find them ? " (here

134 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

he cast a glance full of irritation at the French
standing around). "Their king took his meal
in the drawing-room, and slept in the bed of the
masters ; the others passed the night in the big
reception room, the dining room, and in the corner
room, but they were not satisfied, for they dis-
dained the divans and couches and demanded
the cushions and beds of the masters ; they threw
our people out of the windows. The candles
burned all night in the big candelabra and in the
lamps, and as for ourselves, batyoushka, they treat-
ed us as if we were beggars and dirt. It is absolute
ruin. This morning, when all their generals and
their horde woke up in the big house, in the musi-
cian's wing, in the conservatory, in the kitchen,
they all at once demanded tea, food, brandy, bur-
gundy, champagne. It was simply maddening,
enough to make one drown oneself."

Basil translated the steward's complaints.

" Yes, yes, champagne," laughed one of the
officers of the suite," but what the devil does he
want ? "

*' They have also been molesting the women,
chasing them in the garden and in the kitchen,"
continued the house steward with a look full of
hatred towards the French. " To-day I make so
bold as to tell them, and I beg of you to repeat it
to them, that their soldiers have carried away
from the kitchen, not only the fresh bread, but even
the unbaked bread. Have you ever seen such
goings on ? One of their officers, a little dark one,
oh, I would recognize that chap anywhere, came
this morning with a stable man and they broke the

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 135

lock of the coach-house, harnessed one of our
trotters to the Vienna carriage and went off ; they
have, perhaps, stolen the horse and carriage, but
what do they care, the brigands ? There are some
among them who only have a threadbare uniform
to their backs, and a patched pair of trousers.
And I — I am responsible to the master. ' That
is how you have watched over my things, Sokoff,'
he will say."

Perovski translated the speech.

XVII

The audience was still laughing heartily, when
suddenly there was a commotion and everyone
became silent. They flung themselves towards the
perron upon which a general appeared ; he was
tall, slim, had a Roman nose, an engaging counten-
ance and vivacious, laughing eyes ; his light brown
hair, cut short on the forehead, fell down from his
temples in long curly locks over his shoulders. He
wore a tri-cornered hat, embroidered with gold,
a short tunic of green silk, maroon-coloured breeches
blue stockings, and Polish boots ; on his breast was a
gold chain, formed of eagles and hanging on a red
ribbon ; he wore earrings like a woman, and had a
Turkish sabre at his belt ; from his open collar, the
ends of a lace neckerchief peeped out negligently.
This was Murat, the King of Naples. The general
on duty approached, and reported about the Rus-
sian officer who had just arrived.

** What is it that you have to tell me, Captain ? "
asked Murat, fixing his intelligent and kindly eyes
upon Perovski, and politely lifting his hat as he
walked elegantly towards the black horse, covered
with an embroidered saddle cloth held ready for
him.

" General Sebastiani sent me to your Majesty,
who wished to see me.'*

136

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 137

*' Ah yes, but pray excuse me, mon cher,"
replied Murat as he briskly jumped into his saddle.
" I am in a hurry, you see. On my return from the
parade, I shall be deUghted to listen to you. Take
care of him and of his horse," he added, affection-
ately saluting Basil. Then, escorted by his bril-
liant suite, he galloped away with a somewhat
theatrical elegance. The general on duty placed
Perovksi in the care of the orderlies and Basil was
led away to the musician's wing that looked out
upon the garden. Here he remained alone for
some time. Pacing up and down his room he finally
opened a door and saw a sentry in the antechamber ;
through the window, he noticed another sentry
under a lime tree, guarding with shouldered rifle
a military baggage waggon.

At last, he heard footsteps approaching, and the
house steward came in panting ; a servant carry-
ing a breakfast on a tray, followed him.

" Oh, those gluttons, those demons ! " lamented
the old man as he pulled a wicker bottle out of his
pocket. " However, I have managed to save
something. Take this batyoushka, it is real
Jamaica rum."

Perovski emptied a glass and breakfasted copi-
ously.

'' Petia," said the house steward, to the boy,
" we have still some ham and smoked goose left ;
here, take the key of the pantry ; they have not
yet taken it from me, though they have eaten up
everything. You will also find some fresh butter
in a httle pot behind the door, bring it all here
quickly."

138 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

The servant left, and Maxim sat down on the
edge of a chair and wiped his brow.

" They will not lack any light here ; they will
have as much as they require to illumine their
departure, these monsters," said the steward after
a short silence.

" How is that ? " asked Basil.

" Don't you know ? Look out of the window ;
Moscow is burning."

" Where ? How ? "

" It started first at the Pokrovka, no doubt.
When I came here I saw the fire at the Zamoskvari-
etshe. They have all gone out to look at it, gesti-
culating and talking in their own gibberish."

Basil went to the window ; the trees prevented
him from seeing the river but above their tops
he perceived a thick column of smoke, threaten-
ingly curling up from the direction of the Donskoi
monastery.

" Ah, these wicked pagans have caused a great
deal of harm, and have destroyed many innocent
victims ; what an account they will have to render
on the day of the last judgment ! "

" Do you think it was our people who started the
fire ? "

" How could it be otherwise, batyoushka ? "
retorted the astonished Maxim. *' As we have
not had time to save our goods, it is best to burn
them. For instance, I, who have spent my life
keeping watch over my master's possessions, my
hands are now itching to seize a torch and roast
them and their hordes in their sleep, not forgetting
their robber, Bonaparte."

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 139

" There we have the Russian people," thought
Basil, " they have understood our civilised con-
querors more simply and truly than we others."

" Uncle," said the boy hurrying back, " they are
breaking open the boxes ; I did not dare go down
to the cellar."

" Who is breaking open the boxes ? " cried
Maxim, bounding from his chair.

" The soldiers are in your room ; they are carry-
ing away the dishes, the hol}^ images, your clothes,
everything ; they have taken your fox fur-coat, and
aunt's new dressing gown out of the box."

*' Ah, they will remember us," cried the dis-
mayed steward. He rushed out into the corridor
and never returned. Piercing cries were heard
coming from the lower apartments ; a handful of
soldiers, headed by a sergeant, emerged from the
garden gate, and crossed the yard ; the pillage was
stopped and silence fell ; an hour passed. Basil,
tortured by doubts and trembling for his own
fate tried vainly to understand why he was being
detained. He stretched himself upon a settee.
Again the idea of escaping occurred to him but
how ? Where ? At last, he heard the noise made
by spurred boots coming towards him ; an attache
of the general staff entered and informed him that
the King ol Naples who had been detained at the
Kremlin by Napoleon, had just returned and was
dining ; he summoned Perovski to his presence.
Perovski was taken to an anteroom, where he was
again kept waiting for a considerable time. The
loud voices of the diners, mingled with the noises
made by plates and the popping of champagne

140 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

corks, reached his ears. When he was at last
ushered in, the candles had been lit. Murat was
writing, looking gloomy and pre-occupied.

" Ah, what a day, captain," he exclaimed ; " I
have kept you waiting. What unexpected worries
we have ! Sit down. You are an educated Rus-
sian ; explain one thing to me which we fail to
understand. Why are the Russian people so afraid
of us ? What is the meaning of this inexplicable
flight of all the peaceful inhabitants of Moscow ? "

" It is a rather embarrassing question for me to
answer," said Basil, " I belong to the enemy camp."

" Speak without fear," rejoined Murat with an
amiable and protecting air, as he watched the
Russian officer with his tired but observant eyes ;
" I assure you that I do not understand it at
all."

Perovski remembered the threats of the portly
Maxim and the straw torch.

" For two centuries," he replied, " Moscow has
not been invaded by an enemy. I do not know
what Russia will say when she learns that the
city has been abandoned without even a fight for it,
and that the enemy has entered the Kremlin."

" Are we then barbarians, Scythians ? " asked
Murat, smiling condescendingly, " In what way are
we threatening the lives and property of the Mosco-
vites ? The city has been abandoned to us without
a struggle, and our soldiers, like mariners per-
ceiving land, in view of this ancient and grandiose
city, exclaimed : " Moscow means peace, the end
of a long and loyal fight." Yesterday we accepted
the prolongation of the armistice, we allowed your

MOSCOW IN FLAMES Ul

detachments and luggage trains to pass — and now,
suddenly. ..."

" But without the armistice, our army would
have fought/' replied Perovski ; " instead of sabres,
you would have met knives in every thoroughfare,
at every street corner. ..."

" And why such a reception ? What is the
meaning of these fires ? It is nothing more nor
less than a trap," said Murat rising in a passion.

" I have been detained here since yesterday,"
observed Perovski lowering his eyes, "the fires have
only started since then."

"It is treachery ! " continued Murat, excitedly
pacing the room ; " the police does not exist ; the
pumps have disappeared ; it is evident that Ros-
toptshin gave the signal to the accomplices he
left behind to burn Moscow out. But we will pay
him back. His description has been sent out
everywhere ; dead or alive, we shall catch him.
That is not the way to behave towards him who was
with you at Tilsit and Erfurt."

" Your Majesty," said Perovski, " I am only a
simple soldier, and the duties of my service are
urgent ; political questions are not in my line.
If you have now learned from me all that you were
anxious to know, I beg of you to let me return to
my post. I am aide-de-camp of General Milora-
dovitsh, and it was he who sent me."

" How ? You are not a prisoner ? asked Murat
in astonishment.

" No, I am not a prisoner," repHed Perovski,
" General Sebastiani detained me during the
armistice, saying that your Majesty wished to see

142 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

me ; his aide-de-camp who brought me here, could
corroborate my words."

Murat reflected for a moment, then rang the
bell, and asked for the aide-de-camp, who had
come with Perovski, but he had already left.

" I believe you," he then said. '* Now I re-
member Sebastiani suggesting that I should see
a Russian officer. So it was you ? I was to have
sent you back to General Miloradovitsh, but now it
does not depend upon me ; you must have a permit
from the chief of the general staff, General Berthier.
It is late now," he added, bowing slightly, " and you
cannot enter the Kremlin, the residence of the
Emperor at this hour. I shall send you there with
pleasure to-morrow morning."

Once more Perovski was taken back to the musi-
cian's wing. Crossing the yard he heard insults, and
the voice of a man saying : " But my beauty, I
assure you that the Signora Prascovia will be
respected everywhere."

" Go to the devil, you dolt," retorted a woman's
voice. '* If you don't leave me alone, I shall knock
you down with a log, or call for help."

XVIII

Without undressing Basil stretched himself upon
a couch. Neither the house steward nor any of
the servants came to him ; he passed the night
without closing his eyes. In the morning, the
same officer came to tell him that he had received
instructions to send him to Berthier, accompanied
by an officer.

In the yard, Perovski saw his companion already
mounted on horseback, so he asked for his horse.
A search was made everywhere in the gardens,
in the stables, but the horse was nowhere to be
found ; it had disappeared. Basil was, therefore,
obliged to follow on foot as far as the Kremlin.

All along the way, in the Solianka and Varvarka
streets, in front of the Foundling Hospital and
Zaryadie, and near the Gostinoydvor, Basil's
heart became heavier and heavier as he saw what
was taking place. Even near the residence of the
King of Naples, in the Solianka, groups of drunken
and riotous soldiers were wandering about, carrying
various objects which they had stolen from the
houses and shops. Through an open door of the
Church of St. Barbara the Martyr, Basil saw horses
stabled up to the sanctuary, and on the walls
** The stables of General Guilleminot " was scrawled
in coal.

143

144 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

The weather had changed ; thick clouds hid
the sky, and a piercing northerly wind was blowing.
In the open square before the Barbara Gates, a
big bonfire had been lit with the furniture thrown
out of the windows ; chairs, soft sofas, gilded
frames, lacquered tables — everything was blazing.
Sparks were whirUng over the old roofs of the
adjoining houses but none paid any heed. Sud-
denly, Perovski saw a thick column of smoke
rising up from the house of Batashoff, which he
had just left. " Had the old house steward kept
his word, then," he asked himself, as he neared
the Gostinoidvor. " It is quite possible, for the old
chap had a very determined air about him. I
really begin to believe that it is the Russians who
are setting everything on fire."

The shops of the Gostinoidvor were shrouded in
smoke. French soldiers, belonging to various
regiments, dirty, and clad in rags, were busy
carrying away part of the spoil, and disputing over
it among themselves : boxes of tea, dry raisins,
sacks full of fruit, casks of wine, sugar, honey,
bales of cloth and linen. Near Zaryadie, he saw
a band of drunken marauders dragging two pris-
oners, one wearing a grey hat and a blue frockcoat,
as was the fashion of the day, and the other, aged,
tall and lean, was disguised as a Russian peasant.
The robbers deprived the younger one of his frock-
coat, his hat, his boots and stockings, and there
he stood on the pavement, barefooted, pale and
frightened. The soldiers holding the other prisoner
were busy compelling him to sit down that they
might take off his boots.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 145

" But that is Gerambeau with his companion of
the other day," muttered Basil, in surprise.
" What treatment ! And from whom ? From his
own conquering countrymen ! " At that moment,
Gerambeau also recognised Perovski, but thinking
that Basil was an envoy sent to Moscow to discuss
terms, he dared not implore his protection.

" This is infamous," said Basil, indignantly
pointing out the scene to his companion. " Are
you not going to put a stop to it ? It is brutality
towards peaceful inhabitants, brigandage in broad
daylight. I know the man wearing a caftan;
he is a compatriot of yours."

" Ah bah ! A Frenchman ? But since he lives
at Moscow it does not matter," replied the officer,
galloping and passing the group. " What would
you expect me to do ? They will be questioned,
and if found innocent, will be set free. All these
are small annoyances, inseparable from war.
That is all. But you others, you have condemned
your guests to solitude and boredom. Not only
have the men left, but the ladies too have gone.
That is cruel. Where are your charming barinyas,
your young maidens ? "

Basil cast a swift glance at his companion and
saw that he was drunk. The drum was beating,
and the wind raised a whirl of dust ; one could hear
the tramping of horses and the creaking wheels
of a luggage train. A regiment of guards on horse-
back, followed by artillery, marched under the
Spasski Gates, then in front of the Church of
VassiU-Blajenni on their way to the Kremlin.
Then came vehicles, new open carriages, their

K

146 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

varnish glistening ; they had been taken from
the various carriage-making estabHshments ; dust-
covered cavalry soldiers with sunburnt faces, and
wearing brass helmets, were seated on the boxes ;
at the door of one landau he saw the laughing faces
of girl prisoners caught in the suburbs of Moscow ;
they were gaily cracking nuts.

" Well, what do you complain of ? " said Basil
to his companion. " There you have the Sabine
prisoners for the modern Romans."

*' Not for us, for the others," retorted the officer,
with a plaintive sigh, pointing to the Kremlin.
" The Emperor slept in the palace of the Tsars,"
he continued. " He went out on the terrace in
the moonlight to admire the fairy-like city of a
thousand and one nights. This morning he told
the King of Naples that he will order a tragedy
to be written and entitled, * Peter the Great.*
Notice the difference : the other went to the west
to study and came back to teach you what he had
learnt ; whilst this one has himself come to bring
you civilisation."

They could not continue along that road, so
Perovski and his conductor passed the Church of
Vassili Blajenni, descended towards the river, and
entered the Kremlin through the Tainitzki Gate.
Here Basil saw hastily constructed stoves in
which, confidential and trustworthy servants were
throwing vases, chalices, reliquaries, crosses and
other precious objects taken from the churches,
and out of which ingots were being made.

*' Does this not make you indignant either ? "
said Perovski, pointing to the sacrilege being coin-

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 147

mitted. ' ' And it is we who are called barbarians ! ' '
*' I would advise you," retorted his companion,
" to abstain from judgment ; it is not permitted
here. We are thinking of war and not of church
ornaments. We have half a million soldiers and
not one priest," he added, smiling. " You had
better tell us where your barinyas* and barishnasf
are hidden away. But here we are ; this way,
please."

At the entrance of the castle, near the Red
Staircase, two sentries on horseback, enveloped
in their large white coats, were standing motionless.
The guard of honour, composed of grenadiers of
the old guard, was installed in the interior, and on
the perron of the Arkhangelsk Cathedral. The soup
of the soldiers was boiling in a vast cauldron over a
big, blazing fire. Perovski's companion, recognis-
ing a friend in the commandant of the guard,
handed his charge over to the latter. The prisoner
was led into the cathedral, where he was imme-
diately surrounded by officers who asked him
numerous questions, and laughed when he told
them that he was not a prisoner.

The cathedral looked indescribably desolate ;
not only was the corps of guards stationed there,
but also a warehouse of supplies, a butchery and
a kitchen. The holy images taken from the walls
had been placed upon boxes containing groats or
flour, and served the soldiers as seats ; in the
sanctuary, a couch had been made with the doors
of the Holy of Holies placed against the altar,
and was covered with a lilac silk priestly garment.
♦ Term for married ladies. f Young Ladies,

148 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

It was occupied by the regimental cook, a chubby,
ruddy lady, who was busy paring carrots. The
table and the altar were heaped with numerous
kitchen utensils ; geese and pieces of game hung
from the big chandelier ; nails had been driven
in the iconostasis* and supported quarters of
bleeding beef, which were carefully enveloped in
a rich altarcloth ; soldiers were smoking and
playing cards ; the atmosphere was suffocating.
The officers surrounding Perovski asked him
what had become of the Russian army ; where
were Kutuzuff and Rostoptshin ; and they com-
plained that they oould find neither tailors nor
bootmakers to replenish their wardrobes. Soon
they would not even be able to buy anything,
either, for since yesterday Moscow had started to
burn on all sides. Basil replied that the Russians
were suffering even more through the French.
Soon he followed his companion to Berthier's
apartments.

♦ Holy Picture.

XIX

They crossed several reception rooms full of
officers of the Imperial suite, of pages in gold
embroidered uniforms, and then at last, Perovski
found himself in a gallery leading to the River
Moskva. In front of a big gilded door, stood two
mamelukes* in white turbans and red morning
coats ; a little powdered page in uniform and silk
stockings held a big book under his arm, and, like
the mamelukes, never took his eyes away from
the door. The din of voices could be heard in
the adjoining chamber. Basil looked through the
window. The spectacle it presented to him was
horrible ; an entire quarter of Moscow was in
flames. It was a very sea of fire from which
emerged a few whole roofs here and there. The
fire was so near that it cast a red glare into the
room and upon everything in it. Basil remembered
the purple colour of the sky over Moscow during
his last ride with Aurora, at the Poklonnaja Hill.
One might beheve it to have been a prophecy, he
thought, with a sigh.

" You are admiring the fruit of your works,"
briskly said a voice behind them.

He turned round and saw Berthier, the chief
of the general staff, through, as it were, a halo of
♦ Negro Slaves.

149

150 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

flames ; he was surrounded by his aides-de-camp.
He was a lean old man with a narrow chest, and
was visibly suffering from a severe cold ; his cheeks
were red with fever, he wore a woollen muffler
around his throat and his eyes were blazing with
anger.

" It is revolting,'' he continued. *' You and
your people ; you will pay me for this."

" I fail to understand you, Marshal. What is
it that you are accusing the Russians of having
done ? "

*' Do you hear, he is excusing himself," cried
Berthier, angrily. " Your compatriots are burning
a magnificent city which they have abandoned.
They are burning us, us, and we must not accuse
them ! But we shall know the truth. A com-
mittee has been appointed to discover the
incendiaries. Everything will be discovered."

" Pardon me, Marshal, I have been detained
here during the armistice ; the fires have only
started since, therefore, I am unable to explain
the cause to you. I beg you to give instructions
that will permit me to return to my post. General
Sebastiani gave me his word ; the word of a
French soldier."

" I cannot help that," snapped Berthier, irri-
tated with his cough. "It is beyond my power
to send you back. I am told that you have passed
two days among the French troops ; you have not
been properly watched ; you might have seen and
heard things that you should not know."

"It is not my fault that I have been detained
at the front posts," said Basil. " Ask those who

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 151

detained me. I repeat, I make so bold as to
protest ; this is violence, for I am not a prisoner.
Are the sentiments of justice and honour, the
word of a French general ?...."

" Honour ! Justice ! " cried Berthier, pointing
to the window with a gesture of contempt. " How
will the Russians redeem this act of vandalism ?
All I can do for you is to submit your request to
the Emperor. Wait, he will, perhaps, hear you
himself, although I cannot guarantee it ; he is
very busy."

At this moment a great noise was heard ; people
shouted and screamed : " Fire ! Fire ! We are
burning." Everyone rushed to the windows, but
no one could discover where the fire had broken
out. Great commotion followed. Berthier sent
his aide-de-camp to find out where the fire was,
whilst he himself walked towards the door guarded
by the mamelukes.

This door suddenly opened, and upon the
threshold appeared a portly man of about forty
or forty-five ; he was rather short in stature. The
fire glare outside fell full upon his pale face and
illuminated it ; his few hairs, carefully combed
and tended, fell in short locks over his grey-blue
eyes ; his chin was half buried in the folds of his
white cravat ; he wore breeches of doeskin and
high boots with tassels ; there was no decoration
upon his sand-grey frock coat, open over his chest.
On his appearance, all in the hall stood still, saluted,
and remained like so many statues. As for him-
self, he neither saluted nor looked at anyone. He
held a paper in one hand and a snuff-box in the

152 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

other ; his face looked discontented, and he, like
Berthier, seemed to be suffering from a cold in
the head.

Perovski at once recognised Napoleon. The
blood rushed to his head. '* There he is, the hero
of Marengo and of the Pyramids," he thought,
staring intently at the Emperor. "Is it possible
that this was my idol, my God Almighty of yore ?
Only a few days ago he was galloping towards
the Rajevski redoubt, and now here am I but a
few steps from him. Is it possible that he has
anything in common with these men who surround
him, and who are doing so much harm in his
name ? No, whatever he is, he is a messenger of
Providence ; he will understand me, and I shall
be free." He took a step towards Napoleon, but
two hands seized him as in a iron grip, and a
threatening voice whispered in his ear : "If you
move you are a dead man ! " Si vous osez y
toucher, je vous tue !

He heard a brisk and haughty voice. " He
is speaking," thought Basil, with a shiver of
enthusiasm.

" The Russians arc burning us out, you will
inform the Prince of Eckmuhl," said Napoleon,
negligently handing the paper to Berthier. " Shoot
by the tens and hundreds ; it is my command.
But what is this noise ? " he asked, looking
around, and Basil had the impression that he was
also looking at him. He felt a kind of ecstatic
torpor steal over him.

" New incendiaries have been caught and brought
here to-day," reported Berthier, bowing, " and

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 153

the President of the Commission, General La
Here, is following up clues to the criminals. Here
is one of the officers whom I sent out to inquire
what is happening in the castle."

Napoleon slowly inhaled some snuff, and then
fixed his stern eyes upon the young officer.

" There is no danger, your Majesty," reported
the officer, bowing low before the Emperor. " It
was only some timber that had caught fire from a
wandering spark ; the logs have been scattered,
and everything is now in order."

" Tell the inspector of the castle that he is a
fool," retorted Napoleon. " Everything is in
order ! What luck ! Double and treble the price
upon Rostoptshin's head, and have the incen-
diaries shot without pity or trial."

Having said this. Napoleon rudely turned his
back upon Berthier, and went into his room,
slamming the door behind him.

At that moment, Basil was struck even more
strongly with the shocking disproportion between
the long waist and the short legs of the Emperor ;
he was also struck by the cold and hard expression
in his eyes. The Italian accent of the Emperor
was very pronounced ; he almost said sance in-
stead of chance, and spoke very rapidly. Perovski
felt like a man who has fallen from a great height.
" A price upon the head of Rostoptshin ; men shot
by the hundreds," he repeated, " so that is what
this crowned Corsican soldier is really like ! He has
crossed half of Europe to bring fire and sword to
us, and he was my ideal, my idol I How right
Aurora was ! Ah heaven, if I could only escape I "

154 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" Follow me," said one of Berthier's aides-de-
camp.

The anteroom was by now half empty, and
those who remained looked askance and half
suspiciously at the Russian officer.

'* Where to ? " inquired Perovski.

*' You are to wait outside the castle until the
Emperor has been spoken to about you."

Basil went out upon the perron d'honneur ;
below an officer was questioning a police agent
who had just been arrested.

" Why did you stay at Moscow when all the
other police officials left ? Who is setting Moscow
on fire ? And by whose instructions is it being
done ? "

Pale and trembling with fright, the poor man
looked in dismay at the officer interrogating him.
Not understanding a single word of French, he
remained silent.

" I believe that at last we have caught the
leader of the incendiaries," triumphantly remarked
the French officer, turning to Berthier's aide-de
camp. " He must know everything, and must
have been left behind to superintend it all."

Perovski could not refrain from interfering ; he
questioned the prisoner and translated his answers.
The man was not guilty. He had been left behind
to pack up various objects belonging to the crown.
He was looking for a carriage for himself and his
wife when he was arrested at the gate by the night
watch.
** We shall see," replied the examining officer.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 155

sternly. '* The Commission will get the truth out
of you. In the meantime, lock him up with the
others."

XX

The soldiers seized the accused, and led him down
underneath the terrace to the cellar that served as
a prison.

" I assure you," said Perovski, " that the poHce
officers have had no hand in the incendiarism ;
this man is the father of a family."

*' That has nothing to do with us," retorted the
officer ; " we only execute our orders."

" But what is to be the fate of the poor people
in the cellar," asked Basil.

" Oh, that is a simple matter ; they will be hanged,
though if some pity be shown to them, they will
be shot."

The aide-de-camp whispered something to the
officer, and the latter pointed to the church,
Spassana-borou. Basil was asked to follow his
companion. They left the castle and approached
the peristyle whence one could clearly see the
flames of Zamoskvorietshe.

" Why do we come here ? " asked Basil of the
aide-de-camp, who was busy pushing back the
bolt and opening the door.

" It is forbidden to set you free," the latter re-
plied as he signed that Perovski should enter the
church. " The Emperor will, no doubt, shortly
summon you to his presence ; at present he is
lunching."

156

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 157

" But why should the Emperor desire to see me ?"
" He will, perhaps, wish to send a message by you
to your chiefs. We have found several thousand
Russian wounded here, and we are rather short of
medical assistance. Besides, there are these fires.
In any case, I am only expressing my own personal
opinion. Au re voir."

The iron gate fell heavily back into its place and
closed. Perovski, left alone, threw himself in
despair upon the ground. His last hope was
vanishing. His only consolation was that he had
not been shut up in the same cellar as the other un-
happy prisoners, accused of having set Moscow on
fire. He wondered what was to be his fate. An
hour passed and then another. No one came near
him ; he had evidently been forgotten. He had
had neither food nor drink since the early morning
and suffered greatly from thirst and hunger but,
above all, he was a prey to the torment and agony
of his thoughts. Suppose that, in the midst of this
general disorder, I am forgotten altogether ?
Murat's drunken aide-de-camp has doubtless al-
ready left the castle hke Sebastiani's aide-de-camp.
The officer on guard has doubtless been relieved.
Who will remember that a Russian officer has been
locked up in this church, and how long shall I
have to wait here in vain ? Various possibilities,
each more agonising than the other, tormented
his brain. He lay there motionless, stretched out
upon the ground with his head on the steps of the
sanctuary. His fatigue and mental torture finally
caused him to lose consciousness, and he only came
to himself again towards the evening. The sinister

158 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

glare of the flames lit up the windows of the old
church ; the figures of the saints seemed to look
down with compassion upon the unhappy young
man ; various objects lay scattered upon the floor
that had been forgotten in the general pillage ; the
shadow of the double shrine falling upon the walls
and flagstones made the old church resemble an
iron cage. " Why, Oh, my God, do you let me
pass through this furnace ? " he lamented ; " why
is my strength so useless ? " Scenes of his life
crowded his memory ; he remembered his love-
making to Aurora ; he saw himself again bidding
good-bye to her. Tropinin and Mitia Oussoff,
were they still alive ? Where were they ? Where
was hie fiancee ? Had she had time to leave
Moscow with her grandmother ? Or had she, per-
haps, tried to escape and, like the poor police
officer, been too late ? They might have been
arrested. What will become of them ? He pic-
tured Aurora as a captive ; the terror of the old
Princess, helpless and defenceless, and his well-
beloved exposed to the brutalities of the soldiers.
He trembled, a prey to hunger and thirst, and
searched the altar and floor for crumbs of the con-
secrated bread. He picked up the smallest crumbs
and greedily devoured them. Another long terri-
ble night, more horrible than the first. He shut
his eyes and tried to sleep, but no sleep would
come. The howling wind and the continuous
shouting of the soldiers repeatedly woke him. He
rose, a little delirious, listened, jumped up, and
then again fell back upon the flagstones. Nobody
came to him. At dawn, he heard a noise at first

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 159

indistinctly, then clear and loud. Voices shouted
" Help ! Water ! " People were running past the
front of the church ; the fire was evidently very
near ; it was perhaps the church itself that was on
fire. A soldier hastily crossed the yard, pages and
aides-de-camp were running in all directions ; the
drums beating in a distant field could be heard
clearly ; mounted guards were lining up in front of
the church, and soon the square was crowded with
troops ; in the midst of the cries, one could hear
the rolling of the carriages leaving.

Long afterwards, Basil learned that it was the
roof of the arsenal that had caught fire ; the firemen
extinguished it. Awakened by this new alarm.
Napoleon became furious, and hit the mameluke
who was handing him his doeskin breeches, full in
the face with his boot. He swore terrifically,
called Berthier, and announced that he intended
to leave the Kremhn. An hour later he had taken
up his residence outside Moscow in the castle
Petrovski. A detachment of guards escorted the
Emperor. The place became deserted. The wind
howled, raising a heavy cloud of dust, heavy drops
of rain were falling. Perovski listened and looked
round, but no one came near him.

*' My God," he cried in his despair, shaking the
bars of the window, " give me death rather than
this torture." At that instant he heard voices,
steps were approaching. Perovski rushed to the
door, and waited, panting ; he listened, would they
pass or stop ? The steps approached the church,
the bolt creaked, the door opened, a detachment
pf grenadiers headed by a tall sergeant was on the

160 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

perron ; at the foot of the steps two soldiers were
holding over a stick a cauldron full of steaming
soup.

*' Hullo, the apartment is already occupied,"
gaily remarked the sergeant, examining the church,
" and we had hoped to take our meal here quietly,
and then have a rest. Captain," he continued,
addressing someone in the yard, *' there is a
Russian here. What are we to do with him ? "

A tall, thin officer, with long curly hair, cast an
indifferent glance at the prisoner, and then turned
away.

" I suppose he cannot remain here with us ? "
queried the sergeant.

" Put him in the cellar with the others," negli-
gently replied the officer and walked away. A
mist passed before Perovski's eyes, he felt giddy ;
rushing to the door, he pushed the soldiers aside
and hurried out upon the perron.

" Where are you ordering me to be taken ?
With whom ? " he cried, horrorstruck, addressing
the Captain. " This is against all law, this that
you are doing. I know what the other prisoners
are accused of, and what is the fate in store for
them."

The Captain stopped in surprise.

** I was detained here during the armistice and
they have forgotten me here. You see, they left
me my sword and you. . . ."

" Pray, excuse me," rejoined the Captain, as if
suddenly awakened, " I have made a mistake."

" Thank you, that mistake would have cost me
my life,"

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 161

" Oh," said the Frenchman, pressing Perovski's
hand, " that would indeed have been a misfortune.
I shall immediately ask where I shall put you."
Half-an-hour later he returned. " I have been
ordered to take you to the Prince of Eckmuhl ;
you will be treated with every possible considera-
tion." He ordered a grenadier on horseback, whom
he had brought, to accompany Perovski. " Worse
and worse," thought Perovski, " here am I arrested
for the fourth time, and I am being taken before
whom ? before the terrible Marshal Davout."

XXI

The Prince of Eckmuhl had taken up his head-
quarters in the house of the big manufacturer
Miliukoff, on the Dievitshepole. Perovski followed
the grenadier through the burning streets, where
a few houses were still blazing ; he scarcely recog-
nized the city They passed through the Volkhonka
and Pretshistenka streets ; pillaging and sacking
were still going on furiously. In the midst of
the smoke, the soldiers dragged along boxes full
of wine and eatables, and bales of cloth. In front
of the gates of houses which had been spared by
the fire, groups of famished, dirty soldiers disputed
among themselves over their booty. In the open
squares, fires blazed to warm the soldiers, surprised
by the sudden cold. Near the church of the Trinity
the grenadier asked an artillery soldier of his ac-
quaintance for the shortest cut to the house where
the marshal was lodged. Through the open doors
of the church, serving as lodging for the chief of
the battery established in this quarter, Basil saw a
bay horse covered with a priestly garment of gold
cloth; eating its oats from the baptismal font.
After replying to the questions of his comrade, the
artillery soldier turned his brilliant eyes towards
the church and went to caress the magnificent
animal. Clicking his tongue, he said : " Isn't it a

162

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 163

splendid horse. It is more like a human being than
an animal ; it understands everything ; it is nice
and warm for it in here, and it has as much oats
as it likes. We took it from a Count. In Paris,
we shall get thousands for it."

On the square Zouboff, near a house half con-
sumed by fire, one could still read upon a sign-
board well-known to Perovksi, the words ; Grenis-
tav, Parisian tailor. A butchery had been estab-
lished in the interior of a ruined steeple ; the purvey-
ors waited outside and a grenadier, arrayed in
the brocaded coat of a deacon distributed the meat
with his bloodstained hands. Suddenly the crowd
rushed towards a side street whence carts, escorted
by soldiers, emerged ; it was a convoy of young
women in peasant costume, their heads wrapped in
shawls. Everyone gazed greedily at the cap-
tives.

" What is that ? Where have these women
come from ? " asked the grenadier.

" They are dancers disguised ; they have been
caught in the wood ; now we shall have a properly
appointed theatre."

The two men reached the Dievitshepole at noon.
The two storeyed stone house of Miliukoff, where
Marshal Davout had established his general staff
was situated on the banks of the Moskva, near the
Dievitshe convent, facing a garden still in bloom.
The cambric factory adjoined the private residence.
The proprietor and his workmen had left Moscow
on the eve of the day that the French entered the
city. On the open square, an artillery practice
ground had been established ; a guard stood at the

164 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

door. In the yard one saw the four-seater carriage
which had brought the Marshal.

Perovski was taken into the reception room used
by the suite. The aide-de-camp disappeared into
a study, came out again, asked Perovski for his
sword and then ushered him in. The study looked
out upon an avenue of the garden at the end of
which one could see one of the contours of the
river. The window was open, and a light breeze
entered the room, strewing the floor with leaves
from the old lime trees. The Marshal had his
back turned to the door, and continued to write
when the Russian officer entered ; he did not raise
his head.

" Is this the redoubtable Davout ? " thought
Perovski, " the most pitiless of all Bonaparte's
marshals ? " He contemplated the bent back,
the bald head of this deUcate and sickly old man,
dressed in an old blue uniform. The pen con-
tinued to scratch upon the paper. Davout was
silent. Thus a few moments passed.

" Who is there ? " queried a low voice that seemed
to Perovski to be coming from the other side of the
window ; he remained silent.

A gesture of discontent was heard. ''Who are
you ? " repeated the voice, ** you are being spoken
to and yet you are as silent as a block of wood I "

*' A Russian officer," replied Basil.

" An envoy ? "

**No."

" A prisoner ? "

" No,"

Davout turned round. " Then who on earth

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 165

are you ? " he cried in an angry voice, as he scru-
tinized Perovski.

The latter calmly explained how he had been
sent, during the armistice, by General Milorado-
vitsh to the outposts ; how he had been detained,
first by General Sebastiani, then by Murat, and
at last, by Berthier and how, in spite of the promise
he had received, and contrary to all war usages,
he had not yet been set free.

" Armistice ? " growled Davout, " what armis-
tice are you talking about ? Which armistice, when
here at Moscow, which was abandoned to us, we
have been treacherously fired upon. You are
a prisoner, do your hear, a prisoner, and you will
remain here until — until you are wanted."

" Pardon, Monsieur le Mar^chal," retorted
Perovski, " but I am not responsible for the others.
.... there is a fatal error here ! "

" Rubbish, k d'autres, k d'autres," interrupted
Davout, " you cannot deceive me."

" My freedom was promised to me on his word of
honour by a French general."

Davout rose from his chair. ** Silence," he
thundered, clenching his fists, " your days are
numbered. Anyhow I recognise you." He seemed
to be endeavouring to remember something.

Perovski anxiously watched the pale, thin lips,
the enormous bald forehead, the small wicked eyes
that were examining him suspiciously from under-
neath bushy eyebrows.

" Yes, 1 recognise you," repeated Davout,
freeing with an effort his wrinkled cheeks from
his stiff collar and re-seating himself in his easy

166 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

chair. *' This time you shall not escape. Your
name ? "

" Perovski."

The marshal bent over a list before him and
inscribed the name he had just heard.

" Pardon, Monsieur le Marechal," said Basil,
making an effort to remain calm, " but you are
mistaken. This is the first time that I have had
the honour of seeing you."

Davout's eyes flashed lightning. " Don't try to
deceive me, you will not succeed. You were made
a prisoner at Smolensk, you were set free on parole ;
then you escaped after you had succeeded in learning
all you wanted to know about us."

*' I assure you," repHed Perovski, " that I was
arrested for the first time when the French troops
entered Moscow. Ask the King of Naples and
General Sebastiani."

Davout again jumped to his feet ; his face was
absolutely disfigured by anger. " Devil take you
for the liar that you are ! " he cried furiously,
lifting his clenched fist. "I tell you straight that
a bandage over your eyes and twelve bullets in
your head is what you shall receive." He rang a
bell. " Call a sergeant and twelve men," he
thundered to the aide-de-camp who hastened to
answer his summons.

** This is an injustice that will cry aloud for
vengeance ! " said Perovski, shuddering in spite
of himself, when he heard the ferocity with which the
Prince of Eckmuhl gave the fatal order. '* And
I suppose there is no appeal against this injustice.
Pardon me, Prince, but you are insulting an un-

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 167

armed prisoner, and you would assassinate him
even without the farce of a trial. It is a violation of
all established law."

" Ah, you wish to be tried and judged ? Take
care, the judgment will be short ; my aide-de-camp
remembers you perfectly well, for it is he who made
you a prisoner. Oh, you could not deceive him."

" Then please call your aide-de-camp and con-
front me with him," said Perovski, though with
terror he realised that the ignoble accomplice of
this hangman might well have forgotten, and
though failing to recognize him as the fugitive,
might say, "Oh, yes, this is he ! " "I could seem
to him to be the man ! " he thought.

The eyes of the marshal smiled strangely and
his eyebrows smoothed down.

" Ah, so you wish to be confronted with him," he
said giving a caressing inflection to his voice ; " very
well then, you shall be confronted with him. But
remember, if I am not mistaken in you, you will
receive no mercy. Call Olivier," he added, turning
to the waiting orderly.

XXII

Thb orderly left the room and Davout started to
arrange the papers scattered over his desk. Basil
greatly perturbed in mind, could scarcely stand
upon his feet. A thought crossed his mind. Why
not throw himself upon this elderly soldier, strangle
him, jump out of the window, run across the gar-
dens as far as the river, and then swim to the other
side. Before the crime could be discovered, and a
pursuit of the assassin begun, he would already
have reached a place of safety. His hands con-
tracted, a shiver shook him from head to foot, and
his teeth chattered.

" How old are you ? " asked Davout, turning
round.

" I am in my twentieth year."
" You are young. Do you know Moscow ? "
*' I have studied here at the University."
The marshal rose and pointed to a map of Moscow
hanging on the wall.

" These quarters of the city have been set on fire
by the Russians," he said, pointing with a long
and crooked finger ; " hundreds, thousands of
houses are ablaze. You too, you were here to set
the place afire ; I have not the slightest doubt of
it."

168

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 169

Perovski was silent.

" Why are you burning us ? "

" Your own soldiers, either in drink or careless-
ness have also set many houses on fire."

" Lies ! Calumnies ! And why do the peasants
not bring us in food, in view of the fact that
we have offered to pay them generously ? There
are numbers of agricultural villages around Moscow
but not a soul comes in to the market."

" They are afraid of violence."

" That is absurd. What violence is there to be
feared from a civilized army ? These are but the
inventions of people like you. And Kutuzuff ?
Why did he treacherously abandon such a big
city, leaving neither pumps nor police behind in
it ? Where is he ? "

" I have been detained here for the past two days
so I know absolutel}^ nothing of the arrangements
made by our commander-in-chief."

" You are an arrant liar," said Davout, stiffening
in his chair, " you are a perjured partisan and a
runaway to boot. Oh, you will see how we punish
people who add impudent lies to their treachery."
The marshal again rang his bell ; an aide-de-camp
appeared. " Well, where is Oliver ? "

" They have gone to fetch him."

Davout, weary of waiting, thought it superfluous
to take any more trouble in the matter, so wrote
out Perovski's sentence himself. " Here," he said,
handing a heap of papers to the aide-de-camp,
*' these are for the general staff. As for this gentle-
man, hand him over to Molinat with this list."

** Molinat ? Molinat ? " repeated Perovski as

170 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

he followed the aide-de-camp, " that must be the
name of the president of some court of justice."

They reached the open square which had been
converted into an artillery practice ground. Then
his guide handed him over to a portly, short-necked
grey-headed officer. "He is Molinat," thought
Perovski, as he looked at the wicked, blinking eyes
of the corpulent man who listened to what the
marshal's envoy had to tell him, and then dismissed
him with a gesture. Without even carefully
examining the list, he handed over the prisoner to
the nearest post. A corporal and six soldiers
advanced.

" Follow me," cried the corporal to the amazed
Perovski. " Don't you understand ? "

Three men, quite indifferent and calm, marched
in front of him, whilst the three others, with the
corporal followed. They were all quietly looking
at Perovski, who, at last, began to understand
what it all meant. He was led away into one of
the market gardens skirting the river Moskva; near
some devastated cabbage and beetroot beds stood
a tall pole, and near this pole were a few freshly-
filled holes.

" The graves of those who have been shot,"
thought Basil. " Are these men bandits ? Is this
really the end ? " He marched between the
soldiers over the soft and damp earth ; the horror
of his position and his helplessness were maddening
him. A beautiful autumn sky stretched high above
his head ; all around lay the deserted gardens ; a
little farther away one could see the steeple of a
monastery upon which croaking ravens were

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 171

swooping down ; he felt bitterly that he could
neither help himself, nor could those surrounding
him help him. He remembered Borodino ; his last
conversation with Dr. Mirtoff ; the rendezvous
which the latter had given with him at the English
club ; his head swam ; memories succeeded memor-
ies with a lightning, torturing speed.

Somebody was shouting behind them. The
escort turned round ; someone wildly waving his
arms, was running after them.

" What is it ? " asked the corporal.

A young soldier wearing the cap and vest of the
recruit, hastily explained something.

" There is a delay," said the corporal, turning
to Perovski ; ** it often happens this way with our
Prince ; evidently they forgot to give you your
breakfast. Aurevoir."

The prisoner was taken back to the marshal.
Davout looked even gloomier and more threatening
than before.

"You are surprised," said Davout when he saw
Perovski. " I ask you for a full confession. If
you will tell me the names of your accomplices,
you may perhaps save your skin."

" I have no confession to make."

" And if I confront you with Olivier ? "

" I have already asked your Highness to con-
front me with him," replied Perovski.

Davout rang the bell. " Where is this Olivier ? "
he asked the entering aide-de-camp. " Shall I ever
see him ? "

" He is here ; he has just returned from the Duke
of Vicence."

172 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

"Call him."

The door opened and shut behind Perovski.

" Come here, stand here and confront this gentle-
man," said the marshal.

Perovski saw a dark-faced man with a tuft of
hair on his forehead, wearing an old uniform and
worn-out boots. His weather-beaten face ex-
pressed abject submission to his terrible superior.
His eyes looked at Basil attentively and severely.

** I am lost," thought Basil.

*' Well, Olivier," said Davout addressing his
aide-de-camp, " look attentively at this man and
tell me, for you, better than anyone else, should be
able to remember him — is this not he who passed
twenty-four hours in perfect liberty in the city
and then, having heard and seen everything he
wished, escaped in spite of his given word ? You
ought to remember him well. Two of them ran
away ; one was shot down in his flight, whilst the
other escaped. Is this man now before us not the
same man ? "

" My fate is sealed," thought the terrified Perov-
ski; " this little officer is going to agree servilely
with every word of his master's. Ah, if only my
face could become contorted or covered with spots
of leprosy, should it in any way resemble that of
the runaway ! "

" Examine him well," repeated Davout ; " I am
waiting."

The aide-de-camp, shuffling in his torn, ragged
boots, advanced a step towards the prisoner and
scrutinized him attentively, and then said in a low

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 173

voice: *' Yes, I remember the occurrence of which
your Highness speaks/'

" You are stupid, OUvier, or you have been
drinking. You are not asked whether you remem-
ber whether the thing did or did not happen. I
know that myself better than you can. I but
command you to answer my question : is this the
same individual who escaped from Smolensk, the
night after the town was taken ? Do you under-
stand me ? "

Perovski noticed that the eyes of the aide-de-camp
which a moment before had merely reflected calm
submission, had now grown quite dull, as if indeed
they had disappeared altogether. The officer
touched his tuft of hair, crossed his hands on his
chest, and muttered something half aloud. His
lips had become even more pallid than before, and
his words appeared as unexpected as terrible to
Basil. He could not hear them distinctly, although
they sounded like clarion calls in his ears, but he
was aware that something in him was leaving him
forever ; in the silence that ensued, his heart con-
tracted so painfully that he felt as if he were dying ;
a poignant feeling of pity for that something that
was leaving him, came over him ; it was his life of
which they were robbing him with such callousness
and he was still so young ! Where were truth and
divine justice ? Perovski asked himself.

" I cannot hear you," shouted Davout to his
aide-de-camp, " speak louder, more clearly."

** This gentleman, your Highness, I remember
perfectly," said Olivier.

Perovski clinging to the back of a chair, almost

174 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

unable to stand, made a great effort to catch the
words spoken by the pale lips of the aide-de-camp,
lips that seemed to him to be soundless 1

XXII

A FEW days after the departure of the Princess and
Aurora, Ilya Borissovitsh Tropinin put on his hat
and coat, and went to the Senate, where they said
news had arrived from the capital. He wished to
know whether the members of the Senate and of
the theatrical administration had already received
authorisation to leave Moscow. From Povaloshin
the ex-governor of Astrakhan he learned that the
old millionaire merchant, I van Semeonovitsh Zhi voff,
whom they both knew very well, had shut up his
shops in the Gostinoidvor, when he finally became
certain that the French were coming, made the sign
of the cross and said to his chief clerk : " I am
leaving, but look to it that as soon as you see the
first Frenchman enter the town that nothing is left
for them. You understand ? Set fire to every-
thing, shops, houses, everything that I possess.
Rather that than let them fall into the hands of the
enemy."

At the very moment that Ilya arrived at the
Kremhn, and entered the Senate, the French
entered Moscow. He heard the cannon fired by
them at the Borovitski gates when they took
possession of the Kremlin. At first, Tropinin
rushed towards the Spasski gates, thinking that he
would be able to descend to the Moskvoretzki

175

176 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

bridge and escape in the crowd that was hurrying
along the Zamoskvaretshe. " Quickly, quickly/' he
urged his cabman. Near the square of Execution,
he was surrounded by a group of French soldiers,
busy shouting and sacking the Gostinoidvor.
Laughing they seized Ilya, who they thought
looked rather funny in his blue coat, and made him
sit down on the pavement ; they then took off his
boots, looking at him the while as if to say : " You
are astonished, are you ? " They took away his
coat, and his hat. A big sergeant, with a freckled
face and red side whiskers, showed his white teeth
in a hearty laugh as he calmly appropriated Ilya's
gold watch and chain, and helped himself to his
rings and other jewellery. The young man, amazed
at first, soon came to himself, violently pushed back
the robber, and, foaming at the mouth, raged at the
horde. He swore at them in French, using a few
choice oaths that came back to his memory.

" Tiens ! he speaks French like a true French-
man," exclaimed the sergeant. They surrounded
Ilya, pushed him under the arcade of the blazing
shops, and plied him with questions ; they asked
him where the richest shops were, the goldsmiths,
the restaurants, and wine shops.

Finally, avaihng himself of the commotion in the
crowd, Ilya threw himself into a passage of the
Gostinoidvor, and ran swiftly as far as the Varvarka,
and then crouched in the cellar of a deserted house ;
at night, he slipped through side streets as far as the
Tver boulevard, attained the garden of the rich
Astashevski, whom he knew and passed the night
in a summer house there, He fell asleep, harassed

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 177

by fatigue and excitement. When he awoke, he
saw thin smoke floating up behind the trees ; the
adjoining house was burning ; he left the summer
house ; it was broad day, and flames and smoke were
everywhere ; the Tverskaja, Nikitskaja and the
Arbatt were on fire. He remembered the instruc-
tions given by Zhivoff about his house and property,
and looked around him in terror. He was hungry,
cold, and his bare feet were numbed. Where should
he go ? The house of the Princess was not far away
and he knew that the gate-keeper had some pro-
visions stored away. He jumped over the hedges,
and climbed over some walls in order to get there.
He was within a few steps of the Patriarchal Ponds,
and could already see the roof of the Princess' house,
when suddenly he stumbled into a group of French
soldiers, carrying sacks and bales. They barred
his way. An officer ordered him to take up the
load of a soldier whom he had sent elsewhere !
The load weighed about two or three pouds.*
Tropinin submitted silently, knowing that every-
thing comes to an end. When he had deposited his
load at the Kremlin he was sent with some soldiers
to fetch hay ; in the evening he was given some
food, and told that he was attached to the stables
of the general staff. For five days, he curried the
horses, cleaned the dung out from the stables and
chopped wood for the officers' kitchen. One day
he was sent with a soldier to bring in some oats ; he
took advantage of his companion's noon siesta and
ran away. He was then in the neighbourhood of
the Sadova. From there he could see the church
♦ A Russian weight, equals about 55 pounds.

M

178 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

of St. Yermolay ; he rushed to it through blazing
streets, and finally reached the Patriarchal Ponds.
But here he seemed lost, he searched in vain for the
house of the Princess. Everything had disappeared
or was aflame. The street was but ashes and
ruins with, here and there, a few chimneys and
walls still standing. With terror, Ilya realised
that the house no longer existed. *' My God," he
cried, " is this not a bad dream ? " He looked
around him and the tears flowed down his cheeks.

He walked about in the midst of this desolation
and searched for what still remained of the house ;
he wandered thus like a shadow, finding nothing,
only hearing the roofs crack and the walls tumble
down. The smoke blinded him. Near the church
of Spiridoni, he became enveloped in the flames
and hastily climbed a wall to escape ; in his fall into
a neighbouring garden, he hurt his foot, but did not
remark it at first. Soon, however, it began to pain
him and then he grew anxious : " What shall I do
if I become lame ? " Suddenly he heard himself
called by name ; he shivered, and then saw an old
greybeard watching him ; the head seemed to be
popping out of the ground ; it was the red counten-
ance of Karpp, the Princess' gatekeeper, who was
climbing up out of a hole.

" How is it that you are here ? "

*' I have been in hiding here for three days."

" Where are we ? "

*' Don't you know ? This is our house. Every-
thing is destroyed in the garden, even the trees are
burning." He helped Ilya who was dying of hun-
ger and fatigue, to creep down into the hole which

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 179

he had dug ; then he went to the pond for some
water, gave him some biscuits to eat, and insisted
upon his taking some rest.

" You see," said Karpp crying bitterly, " every-
thing is burnt ; the house, the kitchen, the furniture
store ; the brigands sacked the place and carried
everything away before the fire broke out ; they
even discovered the hiding place behind the newly-
erected wall, and carried away the things that
had been stored there. It was Telesheff's Proshka
who brought them here after he had got drunk
with them. And you, sir, what a state you are in,
my God."

Karpp went away and soon returned, carrying
an old Calmuck cloak under his coat, also some
peasant boots and a sheepskin cap.

" Dress yourself in these, batyoushka Ilya Boris-
sovitsh. It is damp here in this marsh. How these
unbelievers have ruined everything I Now, dressed
as you are, even should they see you, they would
never lay hands upon you. But what is this ?
Your foot is wounded ? "

Tropinin told him of his fall.

" Stay here, sir, our army will, perhaps, return,
and drive out these brigands. In the meantime
we shall cover this hole with some boards for the
night. I shall even place some earth over them.
Ah, God is punishing us ; it is the end of the world."

Ilya put on the fur cloak, lay down on the straw
in a corner of the hovel, and fell asleep to the sound
of Karpp's voice, who busily related the adventures
he had passed through. In the morning, the gate-
keeper told him that soldiers had come, had rum-

180 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

maged everywhere as if searching for something
in the yard ; they had even raised the beams with
their sabres, but had not entered the garden, nor
come near the ponds.

For two days, Ilya did not leave his hiding place.
Through the half-burnt trees, he could see the fire
receding and dying out in the adjoining yards.
From time to time, he could perceive over the walls,
detachments of the enemy soldiers, could even dis-
tinguish the words of command given either in
French or German. Patrols of soldiers were out
searching for the incendiaries and marauders, either
friendly or hostile, and seizing all suspicious pedes-
trians. Some sort of an encounter took place near
by. Tropinin heard the commanding officer say
to his soldiers : " Forward boys, fire, take good
aim ! " And shots rang out upon this order, being
replied to by other shots coming from behind the
chimneys. A few soldiers jumped into the garden,
swearing in German ; they passed within about five
feet of the hole in which crouched the two Russians.
They were shouting : " Du lieber Gott I Schwernot
Kerl von Bonaparte I " When they had gone
Karpp picked up some loaves of bread, a barrel of
honey, and a bale of woman's apparel ; the bread
and honey would come in useful, as their stock of
food was running low.

A week elapsed and Karpp declared that there
was nothing left to eat ; he decided to go out and
see whether he could find any food in the church
of St. Yermolay, and to try and find out at the
same time what was happening in Moscow He
came back tired out and discontented. The enemy

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 181

he said, had appointed functionaries to govern the
city ; he had chosen them from among our own
people.

" Whom have they appointed ? "

" The deacon of the church told me ; he is also
in hiding, in the crypt of the church. He knows
your honour ; it was he who officiated at your
marriage."

" Yes, but — what did he tell you ? "

" He said that the enemy has appointed Marck,
the jeweller of the Kousnetzki bridge sub-governor
of our quarter, and the merchant Nakhodkin as
mayor ; his own son Pavloushka has been appointed
assistant mayor. He is giving himself airs at
Pokrovka too. Ah, the cowards, they are servants
of the Anti-Christ ! They wear no cross upon their
breasts."

Tropinin remembered that he had more than
once met this Paul Nakhodkin, a young debauche,
a very frequent visitor at the gambling houses and
a boon companion of the gypsy dancing girls ; one
day, he had even got him out of an ugly scrape dur-
ing a festival at Novinski. Ilya shook his head
as he thought thus.

" All that would not matter, sir," continued
Karpp, " but you ought to see the sacrilege in the
churches. These renegades, God curse them, are
even filhng the cathedrals with dirt and shame.
They have thrown down the reUcs of holy Alexis
and Philip ; they have arranged a dormitory in the
Arkhangelsk Cathedral, and placed a carpenter's
bench in the Tshoudoff church above the Holy
Sepulchre. They clothe themselves with the priest-

182 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

ly garments. The deacon saw Napoleon himself
pass through the Sadova ; he is stout and fat, wears
a grey frock coat and a tricornered hat ; he has a
broad, quite plebeian face, and his skin is dark in
hue — such is their Bonaparte."

Ilya remembered how very recently Perovski
had adored the Emperor.

" But why has Napoleon come to hide himself
in the Sadova ? "

" They say it is because the Kremlin was set on
fire. He then took up his quarters outside the
city. But you ought to see how the Frenchmen
are being knocked down. They are being quickly
drowned, the brigands ! "

" How is that ? "

" They say that when fishing in the pond, some-
times one draws up a bream and sometimes a French-
man. They also say that their Coulaincourt is a
kindly man ; when passing in front of St. Yermolay,
he called the baker's little son to him and gave
him a white cracknel biscuit. I have brought you
some potatoes, batyoushka * you must forgive
me, sir, if they are a little black ; they have been
burned in the ashes, and there is no salt."

Ilya appeased his hunger, devouring with relish
the carbonised potatoes.

♦Little Father.

XXIII

Another few days passed. There were no pro-
visions left in the hole. Karpp went out for news.
Towards evening, Tropinin too, left the hiding
place to stretch his legs. In a neighbouring garden,
he saw an apple tree still bearing a few apples,
which had been half roasted by the fire ; he picked
a few and began to munch them greedily when a
drunken French soldier grabbed him, grossly
insulted him, and seizing the apple, bit a piece of it
and spat it out into his face. The blood rushed to
Tropinin's head ; everything whirled round him,
he saw red ; he seized the soldier by the neck. A
fight ensued ; the soldier, though drunk, rained
mighty blows upon his opponent, and was about to
fell him to the ground, when Ilya seized the French-
man and dragged him towards the trees to the well
into which he hurled him headlong. Panting,
hardly daring to draw his breath, he hastily returned
to the hole, still seeing in his mind's eye the terrified
expression on the soldier's face, and the sight of
his two worn-out boots, sticking up out of the
well-opening. They haunted him.

Karpp returned empty-handed. Afraid of re-
prisals, Ilya told him that their hole was no longer
a safe place, and that they would have to go some-
where else. They decided to call on the new mayor.

183

184 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Tropinin's sleep that night was very agitated. He
was a prey to night-mare and constantly saw an
apple tree with curiously-shaped apples hanging
on the branches, all twisted by the fire ; very near
was an abandoned well. Then he saw another
vision ; it was night, warm and perfumed ; a strange
red moon illumined the tops of the half-burnt
birch trees ; his wife Xenia came to meet him,
carrying a basket full of ripe apples ; their young
son Kolia, gambolled on the grass, and then, sud-
denly, pale and covered with moss, the drowned
man emerged from the well raising himself upon his
hands. Ilya hastened to his wife's assistance,
when the dead man precipitated himself upon the
child ; his soaked boots splashed upon the ground,
he seized the boy with his teeth. Tropinin awoke
terrified. The boards covering their hiding place
had been removed, Karpp was going away. Where
can he be going ? thought Ilya. He got up and
followed him ; the gatekeeper was gliding towards
the adjoining yard which the fire, so far had spared.
Ilya saw Karpp creep cautiously into the coach
house. What could he be doing there ? Suddenly
flames sprang up. There could by no doubt of it —
Karpp was setting the place on fire ; soon a sinister
glare illuminated the courtyard, and Karpp returned
to their hiding place ; everything was aflame. " He
is like the merchant Zhivoff," thought Ilya quickly
retracing his steps so as not to be seen by the gate-
keeper ; " now I know who the people are who are
setting Moscow on fire." And in his heart, he was
very pleased.

In the morning Tropinin and Karpp called on the

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 185

new mayor. On the front of the house, in letters
freshly painted, one could read the words : " Mairie
de Moscow," and underneath, also in French
*' Secours aux indigents." Ilya mounted the stairs,
leaving Karpp in the rez-de-chaussee. Paul Nak-
hodkin was wearing a grey suit, cut in the latest
fashion, with a white sash flung over his shoulder ;
he was seated in the reception room, interrogating
a few vagabonds sent there by General Sokolnitski,
chief of the French secret service.

Nakhodkin failed to recognise Tropinin, owing
to the peasant costune in which he was clad and
also because of his bristling beard. When he
revealed his identity, the mere mention of his name
made the young mayor blush, but nevertheless
he continued to write until the gendarmes had
led away the prisoners. Then he rose from his
chair and adjusted his sash to give himself coun-
tenance.

"So," he began, without looking at Tropinin,
" I recognise you, of course. Well, what is it you
wish me to do, and why have you remained in
Moscow during this time ? ' '

Ilya told him of his arrest, of his wounds and
asked his help to enable him to leave the city,
together with the Princess's old gatekeeper.

" But how ? " queried Nakhodkin, his eyes still
lowered, *'how, in what way ? We are very much
in your debt, my father and I. You remember that
time on the promenade when the hussars — but
times are different now. We no longer have our
own laws, but foreign laws, and then again, we are
not alone." He stopped to consider. " Look

186 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

here," he continued, " the chief of their secret
service, Sokolnitski, and also General Lesseps,
require educated men. Could you not render a
service to our conquerors ? It would be a means
towards obtaining what you desire."

" What service ? "

" You were on the directorate of the theatrical
administration ! It appears that you were super-
intending the painting of the scenery. You even
paint yourself."

" Yes, what then ? "

" His Majesty, that is — well, in short, the Em-
peror Napoleon, has conceived the idea of organis-
ing, for his soldiers you understand, he is afraid
that they may be bored — a theatre at the Nikitskaja.
You, no doubt, know the house of Pozniakoff, Maria
Lvovna used to live there."

*' Which Maria Lvovna ? "

" Maria Mashenka, the actress ; have you for-
gotten her ? It is an old story. The theatre is
near her lodging ; they used to give many per-
formances there in olden times ; there is a large hall
with boxes and a winter garden ; only the stage, the
scenery and the costumes have been burned."

" And where will you get new scenery ? They
say that the Imperial theatre has been burnt to the
ground."

" They have some artists among them. The
curtain will be of gold cloth, made from sacerdotal
garments ; instead of a lustre, there will be church
lamps."

Tropinin could scarcely believe his ears. ** Is

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 187

this a renegade, a raskolnik standing before me ?
No, even they have more respect for reHgion."

" As a designer, and knowing their language so
well, you ought to be very useful to them ; they
would lodge and board you, in a word, have pity
upon you, and, it is possible, that ultimately you
would obtain your freedom. As for ourselves,
father and I, we shall do what we can."

Tropinin was boiling with rage, but still, he was
silent as he reflected, and asked himself if it were
possible, after all, for this "municipal" functionary
to help him to obtain his freedom.

" Well, do you consent ? " asked Nakhodkin.

" Consent to what ? "

*' To help them with their decorations ? "

" I consent," sighed Ilya. .

" That is right, I am delighted. But let us pro-
ceed in order ; we shall send you first to Gregori
Nikititsh."

" Who is he ? "

" Koltshoughin, the bookseller in the Myasnits-
kaja ; by the grace of the Emperor Bonaparte,
he is, at present so to say, the protector of science
and art ; he has been appointed chief charity com-
missioner for the poor and the prisoners ; so has
General Sokolnitski. Papa, are you there ? "
cried Paul.

" Yes, what is it that you require ? " answered a
voice from the other room.

Paul went into the adjacent room and returned
with his father. Peter Ivanovitsh was a tall, bald-
headed old man, with a pock-marked face and a
pointed beard ; he wore the long frock coat of the

188 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Russian merchant that touched his heels and top
boots. He, too, had a white sash slung over his
shoulder.

" You accept ? " he asked Ilya, fixing his small
piercing eyes on him.

" Your son suggested it."

" Paul talked good business. We are all working
under the eye of God, not understanding the where-
fore of things. A good many of our people have
already joined the theatre ; the violinist Poliakofl,
the 'cellist Tatarinoff. Don't be afraid. We, too,
know how to be grateful and to remember a kind-
ness."

Tropinin and Karpp carrying a letter from
Nakhodkin, were conducted by a gendarme to the
Myasnitskaja. A guard of cuirassiers on horse-
back was posted in front of the stone house, occu-
pied by Sokolnitski, the chief of the secret service.
The two Russians were taken into a room, where a
number of clerks, military and civil, were seated
before tables heaped with papers. Near the
door, behind a partition wall, stood a group of
petitioners, women of the people, beggars, cripples,
drunkards. Ilya recognised Koltshougin through
the grating ; in his student days, he had often
bought books from him. He held out Nakhodkin's
letter but Gregori Nikititsh saw nothing ; his
hair was cut short, and his beard had been shaved
off. He was absorbed in a French officer, a pale,
hook-nosed man with heavily pommaded hair, who
was impatiently pointing to a map of Moscow and
asking the Russian some questions through an
interpreter. The interpreter, a teacher of mathe-

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 189

matics, understood but very little French and
spoke even less, so the officer was rapidly losing
patience. No one paid any attention to Ilya.
It caused him great pain to wait around like that
for his foot hurt him severely, when he stood on it.
At last, Koltshougin took his letter from him.

" You know their language," he said in a tone of
relief," that is excellent. You will tell your busi-
ness to them yourself then. In the meantime,
would you mind helping this officer to find the
house of Pashkoff on the map ; the principal build-
ing has been burned down, but in the remaining
smaller buildings, they intend to establish a hospi-
tal. You are surprised, sir, to see me here,' added
Koltshougin, " but what could I do ? We are all
bearing a very heavy cross, and have been com-
pelled by force to take it up."

XXIV

Tropinin passed behind the partition and gave the
officer the required information, then he told him
of Nakhodkin's suggestion. At first the French
officer listened to him with an air of indifference,
but as soon as he learned that Ilya could paint, he
began to grow interested.

" In spite of your costume, I can see that you are
an educated man, belonging to good society," he
said delightedly. " Sit down, please, and don't
look upon us as mere conquerors ; you will see that
we are truly anxious to resuscitate the country, and
the food for the mind will be furnished by the
theatre. I, who am talking to you, am a singer,
actor, poet, all that you require, in a word, an
artist." He fixed his dark caressing eyes upon
Ilya, while a sad smile illumined his countenance.

" Yes," he continued, " in my youth, when I
lived at Bordeaux, I acted not only in Moli^re's
comedies, but also in Racine's drama. Happy,
distant times ! I assure you that there is much
real talent among your artists here ; all of them
have not run away ; we have already engaged a
few quite passable artists. . . " He mentioned a
few merchants, an apothecary and two hairdressers
of the Kousnetski bridge. " And Lamiral, your
director of the ballet, he is very clever ! He has

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 191

offered his services as stage manager and intends
to organize several ballets, and then there is — but
just a moment, I'll remember his name ; we dined
with him and his charming wife the other day !
He has undertaken to supply everything we require
for the theatre.

* * Oh yes, I remember now ; he is a cloth merchant,
Dancart is his name ; his signboard bears the coat
of arms of the Emperor Alexander."

" But all these gentlemen," Ilya interrupted,
" are your compatriots, Frenchmen."

" You mean to say," retorted the Frenchman,
'' that for a real Russian, though he speaks French
like one of us, it would not be proper for him to
participate in our pleasures ? " Isn't that it ? "

" Exactly," replied Ilya.

" Come, come, help us all the same."

" How ? "

*' You can paint ?"

" Yes."

" That is all we want and, if you consent, you
may tell me in your turn what I can do for you.
** Charles Droz," he concluded politely, "at your
service, Captain in the 17th, aide-de-camp on the
general staff and, in his leisure hours, a lover of all
that is beautiful, and of the theatre in particular."

" I am hungry. Monsieur Droz," said Ilya gloom-
ily, " I have not tasted food since yesterday."

" Ah, mon Dieu," cried the captain, " and I ?
but forgive me ! Come with me, we are both of us
artists. What can we do ? It is the fate of war.
I live quite near here ; I'll just finish this and be
\vith you in an instant. And you, monsieur

192 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Nikititsh," he said addressing the bookseller through

the interpreter, " will you give M ? Tropinin,

that is right ? — a decent pair of boots, and a coat
from our depot ; I'll report it myself to the general."

Ilya was led into a tiny room packed with all
sorts of things ; he was given a miUtary coat, a cap,
and a pair of new boots, which, no doubt, had been
taken from some sacked shop. Outside he met
Karpp.

" And I, batyoushka, Ilya Borissovitsh," asked
Karpp, scarcely recognising Ilya in his new attire.
" Will they allow me to leave here ? "

*' Where do you want to go ? "

** I have just met a friend, we are going to dig
up some potatoes and beetroot."

" Where ? I know very well where you intend
to go and what you want to do, but take care ; don't
let yourself be caught."

" May God punish me ! I assure you that we
are going to the kitchen gardens, behind the
barracks. We shall gather vegetables for these
serpents, and may, perhaps, find a way to es-
cape."

The officer returned and conducted Ilya through
the inner apartments to a vast wing, which the
fire had scarcely touched. These apartments were
inhabited by the aides-de-camp of the chief of the
secret service, as well as by the employes of the
chancellery, and the various couriers, both foot
and mounted. In the room adjoining that of the
captain, a little grey-headed clerk, clad in a mih-
tary coat, and with enormous glasses on his nose,
was writing busily near the window.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 193

" It is time to leave off work now, Pierre," said
Droz kindly. " You can hardly see."

"Impossible, Captain," replaied the little clerk,
" the machinery would stop ; the Usts of the Prince
of Erckmuhl have just come in."

" May one ask of what this work consists ? "
asked Ilya.

The captain said a few words to his orderly and
soon they were seated in front of a cold supper.

" Yes, my dear sir, the lot of a man at arms is
often bitter, " said the captain with a sigh. " I
have more than once cursed my destiny. To be a
soldier when I am a born artist 1 At present I am
employed in making enquiries of all kinds. The
names of the prisoners of Marshal Davout are
contained in those lists."

" And what will become of these lists ? " queried
Ilya, whilst Droz got out a bottle of wine from a
cupboard and poured out a glass for his guest.

" They are sent to the general staff."

" And is that all ? "

" No, the chancellery of the marshal separates
the inscribed upon the lists into two categories ;
the one includes the names of mildly dangerous
people whilst the other contains the names of those
who are suspected of greater things."

** And what will be the fate of these unfortunate
people ? "

" The first are inscribed as simply to be kept as
prisoners or made to work, whilst against the names
of the others, the marshal has written, with his own
hand, the sentence ; to be shot, or to be hanged.
War is not a joke ; I have written some verses on

N

194 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

this subject. Would you like me to read them to
you ? " added the captain blushing.

" If you please."

Droz rose and extending his arm, gazed sadly
at his guest as if imploring him to act as witness.
In his sweet, ringing tenor voice, he recited an
elegy on the nest of a linnet, robbed by a vulture.
He himself somewhat resembled a linnet. Ilyawas
deeply moved by the verses and Droz's voice. The
wine and the good meal had brought back the
colour to his cheeks ; the handsome nose of the
captain had grown slightly red, his eyes were sad.
Pensive and silent he sat looking into space.

At this moment, the old clerk brought in the
papers. The officer turned them over in his hands
and sighed.

" Yes," he said, "it is a good handwriting, but
what a work ! Have you in Russia such clever
copyists ? " He showed Ilya the papers, and then
carefully placed them on the window-sill, declaring
that he would himself take them to the general.

" A glass of — you know — of the other ? " he
said to the secretary, pointing with a dehberate air
to a bottle of peppered brandy." " With such a
handwriting, you ought to have been copying Beau-
marchais or Ch6nier."

He handed him a glass of the liquor which he
called " bouche de fer."

** Captain," said the flattered scribe. " I shall
never forget your kindness."

He sipped the liquor and wiping his mouth with
his sleeve, exclaimed : " This is a beverage fit for
the gods ! To the fulfilment of your desires,

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 195

gentlemen, to those dear to your hearts I " and he
left the room.

The captain, crumpled up in his chair, remained
silent.

" Dear to our hearts," he repeated at last, shaking
off his sad thoughts. " My family is far, far away
— and yours, comrade ? Are you married, by
the way ? "

*' I do not know — yes, yes I am married," replied
Tropinin, " my wife left Moscow two days before my
arrest. God only knows what has become of her,
whether she be alive or dead."

" She too fled then ? " asked the astonished
captain. " But why ? "

" What about those lists ? " exclaimed Ilya.
" Suppose her name had been inscribed upon these
lists in the beautiful handwriting of your secretary,
perhaps, even among the suspicious persons !
Your terrible marshal does not joke ; you said it
yourself ; he might also have considered a woman
as suspicious."

The captain blushed up to his ears.

"What an idea ! " he exclaimed, " we are not Red-
skins after all. You need have no fear ; women are
sacred to us ; I assure you that you will not find a sin-
gle woman's name on those lists. But I have missed
my vocation ; I ought to have made the Fine Arts my
career," and the captain, standing in front of the
mirror, extended his hand and bulged out his chest,
** Aren't these forms, plastic ? They are not mus-
cles, they are marble and steel. To-morrow I shall
give you a letter to Lamiral and then you will
embellish our theatre with your brush. We shall

196 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

not lack artists, you will see. Beside the charming
Louisa Fusy, Burc6, and the noted comedian
Sanvy, whom we found here, we have also a number
of other amateurs. Then we have taken charge
of the entire corps de ballet of one of your counts,
Sheremete, I think is his name. But it is high time
that we went to our rest ; you take my bed and I
shall sleep upon this box."

" I am exceedingly obliged to you," said Ilya,
*' but that is more than I can accept. No, I cannot
permit that."

" No comphments, cher colleague. We both of
us serve the muses and besides, you are my guest.
Make yourself comfortable. I must take these
papers to the general, but first I shall look in at the
chancellery. One cannot be sure of these people
especially at the present moment. They have so
gorged themselves with booty that they are not
behaving themselves quite- as irreproachably as
usual."

XXV

The officer left the room. Ilya heard his steps die
away in the distance then he threw himself upon
the papers left behind. " Have I the right to read
them," he asked himself, " am I not committing
perjury and betraying hospitality, but then they

themselves — this war " and he began to peruse

the lists rapidly, one after the other. One especi-
ally, written a few days previously, attracted his
attention. Many names were accompanied by
such words as "incendiaries," "brigands," "spies."
Tropinin scanned the column, and then turned the
page. Suddenly he received a shock ; he rubbed
his eyes, read and re-read the words. Among the
very suspicious persons, he distinctly read the
words : " Lieutenant Perosski," and on the
margin, " le d^serteur de Smolensk," and another
hand, evidently that of the terrible marshal, had
added : " to be shot ! " The blood rushed to Tropin-
in's head ; the papers fell from his hands ; the table
the candle the bed which the captain had so gener-
ously offered him, all whirled and danced round
him. Perovski, as the marshal had spelt the name,
he felt sure was no other than Basil Perovski ; there
could be no doubt of it. " But how on earth could
he have been made a prisoner at Smolensk and
escaped, when he wrote to us from Viazma ? There

197

198 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

must be some mistake, a fatal mistake that cries for
vengeance." He wrung his hands not knowing
what to do. Should he tell the captain that he had
read the lists ? but he would only be angry and,
moreover, would probably report the whole affair.

Droz returned : " What ? Are you still up ? " he
cried. *' Go to bed at once, otherwise I shall be
offended.' He insisted that Tropinin should accept
his bed. He then undressed, placed his head upon
his folded coat, stretched himself upon the box, and
blew out the light.

A little later, as the captain was not yet asleep,
Ilya asked him : " Has it ever happened that a
sentence passed by your terrible marshal has been
commuted or not carried out ? "

The captain sighed and turned his face to the wall.

" Alas," he replied after a short silence," that
is absolutely impossible with the Prince of Eck-
muhl ; he himself writes the sentence after the
examination. And who would dare to disobey
him ? You ought to know, it is an open secret,"
he added, half aloud, " Davout is not a man, he is a
tiger."

" Yet it is not possible," continued Ilya, en-
deavouring to clutch at some floating shadow of
hope," it is not possible that all the sentences
passed by your tiger-prince could be carried out at
once ; one must verify, find sure data. Suppose the
sentence had been passed in the morning, would not
the execution be postponed until the evening, so as
to have time to collect some proofs ? "

" What do you mean ? I don't understand you,"
said Droz.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 199

" What I want to say is this ; " replied Ilya, " one
of my own compatroits has been arrested at Mos-
cow ; he is accused of being an escaped prisoner.
It is an absolutely false accusation, I can assure
you of that."

*' When was he arrested, and of what is he
accused ? "

" I do not know exactly when he was arrested,
but I do know that he is accused of escaping. How
can I explain all this to you ? They declare that
he was made a prisoner at Smolensk, and then
escaped. Now that is a lie, for until Borodino he
was not taken prisoner. He is my friend, my com-
rade ; in the name of heaven, if he be still alive will
you intercede on his behalf ? "

" But intercede with whom ? "

** With the Prince, with the Emperor himself."

*' Ah, how little you seem to know us," exclaimed
the captain, turning round. " To go to the Prince
with such a request would be like asking a hyena
to give up its prey. And the Emperor ? Do you
know him ? No. Well then, listen to what I shall
tell you here, where no one can hear us, but, you
understand, that this is absolutely between our-
selves. Recently when Berthier told him of some
requirements of the soldiers, he exclaimed : * In-
stead of talking to me about the soldiers, you had
better speak to me of their horses.' Do you think
that he would trouble himself about Davout's exe-
cutions ? He has other things to think of."

The captain was silent for a While, and then
continued :

" The Emperor would have done better to

200 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

remain in France, and to make art and literature
flourish. But you see, he is afraid of peace ; it
would give the people time to think and criticise the
Imperial regime ; that is the reason why he so con-
stantly launches himself into new wars. Besides,
it is not for us, the small people, to criticise such a
great man. In the meantime, while waiting for the
moment when he will decide to return to a peaceful
life, we shall amuse ourselves with our theatre,
my dear colleague. To-morrow we shall give the
grand army a little recreation, and a small souvenir
of happier, far-off days."

*' Still, should an opportunity present itself, and
if it were no trouble to you, I beg of you to make
enquiries about the fate of my friend."

" What is his name ? " Tropinin told him.

" I shall do my best, mon cher. But in these
days of storm and stress, there is a lot of work at
headquarters, and sometimes no trace is left in
writing." Having said this, Droz became silent.
Soon Ilya heard his sonorous snoring. The brave
captain was, no doubt, dreaming of France ; he
was on the stage of a little provincial theatre, fancy-
ing himself a Talma and Uttle guessing that Bona-
parte's conscription would make him a soldier and a
staff officer, employed in the secret service enquiry
department.

" Poor Basil," thought Tropinin, " your fate is
settled. That is how your hero, your idol has
rewarded you. Son of a grand seigneur, of a
Cabinet minister, to die like this among incendiaries
and brigands, to die unknown and no one able to
save you ! Poor Aurora ! I wonder if she has any

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 201

presentiment of the fate awaiting her fianc6e ? "
Then he thought of his wife, of his dear home
Hfe, and tears choked him. He racked his brains
to find some way of escaping and avoiding a fate
similar to that of Basil.

When he woke in the morning, he saw that the
captain was already dressed, and busy writing.

" Here is a letter for you," he said in apreoccupied
tone ; " take it to Lamiral. I wish you all success
and good luck. As for myself, to my great regret,
I am ordered to go down and follow up some enquiry.
Au revoir."

" Have you been able to learn anything about
my friend Perovski ? " asked Ilya.

"I have made enquiries," replied Droz somewhat
drily, " but — I could find no traces whatever ; there
is such a lot to do, such a lot ! " The Captain then
left the room.

Tropinin got up, shaved himself with the assis-
tance of the orderly, dressed and went to the
Pozniakoff house in the Nikitskaja. Lamiral,
the director was slightly drunk, he only spoke a
few words to him, then took him to the stage,
and without any preliminaries, told him to get to
work on the scenery of an Italian villa. Tropinin
put on an apron, took up his palette and brushes,
and set to work. He worked the entire day without
ceasing ; in the evening he was taken to where the
actors and actresses were installed. Several times
Ilya endeavoured to bring the conversation around
to the fate of the prisoners, especially of those who
had been sent to the Devitshe pole. The gaiety
of the artists ceased at once. Lifting up their

202 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

eyes to heaven, they exclaimed: " It is infamous.
People are daily shot and hanged without trial."

Droz came two or three times to examine his work,
complimented Ilya, and then ceased coming. He
had for a long time been attached to a Commission
in the neighbourhood of the Soukharev tower. In
the meantime, the scenery was nearing completion.
Lamiral was busy rehearsing comic operas, pastoral
plays with travesties, the genre preferred by Napo-
leon : " Martin et Fortin ; " " Les folies amour-
euses ; " " Guerre ouverte." Lamiral emphatically
told Tropinin that he was very pleased with his
work. After this a ballet would be given and new
scenery for it was required. Ilya worked again
for some time. Under the pretext of supervising
the arrangements, several of the great ones came
to visit the ladies of the ballet, and to flirt with
them. Murat was often among the visitors. Ilya
saw Murat flirt with the dark-eyed dancer Lisa.
Yet the girl's only reply to all the advances of the
crowned Seladon was : " You large-eyed devil ! "
as she clenched her fists. The King, not under-
standing her, merely smiled amiably.

Seeing that he was no longer suspected , Ilya
ventured to ask permission to go and see Droz. His
request was granted the more easily as Lamiral
desired Droz's advice upon a theatrical matter. He
therefore gave Ilya a letter and a safe-conduct to
the Soukharev tower. The weather was cold.
Tropinin met an Alsatian conscript. The little
soldier, his gun on his shoulder, and his knapsack
on his back, seemed very tired ; he constantly looked
around him, as if he were trying to find his way.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 203

They entered into conversation, and Ilya learned
that the little soldier had left the KremUn and was
carrying some papers to Le Fortovo, where a
French hospital had been established in the castle.

" And you, where are you going ? " queried the
small, blond, rosy-cheeked, dimpled Alsatian in
his turn.

" I ? I am also going this way," replied Tropinin
after a moment's thought.

" That is splendid. It is much pleasanter to
walk with someone, sir. As you see, I have lost my
way, and am very tired ; the horses are dying like
flies and so we must go on foot. Are you from
headquarters ? "

" Yes, I am carrying a message like yourself."

" Your boots are newer than mine."

'* I got them as a reward."

" We too, we need some new boots," remarked
the soldier, as he sadly looked at his own footgear,
attached to his feet by pieces of string.

The two new friends passed the Bassmannaja
and, by way of German street, finally reached the
Yaouza ; night had fully fallen, when Ilya pointed
out to his companion the lit-up windows of Le
Fortovo. He knew that behind the castle, on the
banks of the Sinitshka, was situated the cemetery
of the town.

" Are you not coming in with me ? " asked the
soldier, mopping his perspiring brow. " I have
been promised some of the broth and wine which
they serve out to the convalescent patients ; they
are supposed to be excellent, especially when one is
very tired."

204 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" No, you had better accompany me as far as the
church," repHed Ilya. " Although I belong to the
general staff I am unarmed so you can protect me
against the marauders who, it seems, infest this
neighbourhood."

" Willingly," replied the soldier, " It is strange,
but I don't know where I am at all, and yet I have
been here before. There used to be an artillery
park here near the church, but now everything is
so quiet and deserted ; it seems to me as if I saw it all
for the first time. It is indeed lucky that I met you ;
I am so shortsighted that I would have completely
lost myself without you."

" It is precisely to the commander of the artillery
corps of which you spoke, that I have been sent,"
tranquilly rephed Ilya.

" Very well ; let us get along."

The soldier and Ilya walked towards the church
of St. Peter and Paul ; a sentry stopped them.

" Where to ? "

" To the church house," replied Ilya.

" So late ? " grumbled the grenadier on horseback
as he bent forward to examine them as well as he
could in the darkness. " What are you doing in
this deserted corner ? There are Cossacks wander-
ing around here and they will take away your
weapons, if they do no worse to you."

" Have no fear, my friend, there are two of us,"
retorted Ilya with assurance, as he waded along
in the sticky mud ; " they would not dare to attack
us."

" But remember the watch ends here."

XXVI

The two pedestrians passed the hospital and
reached the church gates ; dead silence reigned
here ; the wind rustled in the tops of the birch trees.

" You had better go back now, my friend/'
said Ilya to the soldier. " I shall meet you at the
hospital." However, he was busy asking himself
whether he would not do wiser to take away the
soldier's gun and kill him so as to have a better
chance of escape.

" But where are you going," asked the astonished
Alsatian, not seeing any trace of the artillery corps
which he remembered having seen there. " Unless,"
he added laughingly, " your message is addressed
to the dead."

" Should I kill him ? " thought Ilya again. '"U
he suspects anything he will inform the sentries
of the night watch."

The soldier had placed his gun on the ground,
while he tied up his boot.

Ilya hestitated. " No," he said finally to him-
self, " continue on your way in peace, brave little
Alsatian. God be with you." " What ? " he said
quickly to the young soldier, ** don't you see the
house yonder among the trees ? The lights have
been extinguished, the Commander is doubtless
already asleep, but the sentries will be awake. As

205

206 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

soon as I have delivered my message, I shall run
after you to try and catch you up."

"Au-revoir, then, "said the soldier, "my eyesight
is so bad that I often wonder why they accepted
such a blind man as I am. Try and learn from
the artillerymen whether we shall soon be allowed
to return home ; they might perhaps, know some-
thing. Take care also that a sentry does not shoot
you."

" Thank you, I shall be careful."

The Alsatian retraced his steps. Ilya listened
for a moment, passed the church, and crouching
near the gate, listened again. The wind was
alternately howling and calming ; to the right
and to the left, as far as the river bank, one could
hear the shouts of the sentries. Over the city, the
sky was red ; a new fire had broken out somewhere.

" Shall I be lucky enough to pass through the
chain of sentries," wondered Ilya ; " will my
desperate flight succeed ? The soldier may be
stopped and questioned about his companion.
The sentry, seeing that I have deceived him, may
give the alarm and then I shall be pursued.
Quick, quick, I must get on."

He began to move onwards, creeping along the
ground ; then he started to run ; he ran at random,
stumbling over the uneven ground and falling into
puddles ; only when he felt himself sinking up to
his knees in the mire, did he stop ; he realised
that he was on the bank of the Sinitshka ; then
he entered the high grass and lay quiet, determined
to wait for the morning ; his foot pained him
again.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 207

" Alas," he thought, " I shall not be able to
escape. My hope was but an illusion. They will
find me, take me back and then, who knows ?
perhaps the well business is already known. Good
God, let me live for the sake of my orphaned family,
and for your glory."

Thus more than an hour passed ; the night
seemed ever darker in contrast to the reflection of
the fire ; Tropinin fell into a heavy sleep ; a pale
white light appeared behind the bushes to his right :
"Is it day ? " he asked himself, waking up.
Everything, however, was quiet and dark ; it was
but the moon rising and shedding its white light
over the brook and the forest trees. Ilya remem-
bered that the streamlet ran along the cemetery,
then came the ravines, the forest and fields.
" There is no time to be lost," he said, and quickly
undressing, he made a bundle of his boots and
clothes. He waded through the ice-cold water,
carefully testing with his feet the marshy bottom,
and safely reached the opposite bank. More than
once he had stumbled and nearly lost his bundle.
In the middle of the stream, the water had reached
up to his chin, but then it again became shallow.
Trembling all over, Ilya stepped on the other bank,
dried himself as well as he could in the grass,
dressed himself hastily and crept as far as the
cemetery. The moon was just then clouded so he
progressed very slowly ; at last, he could see the
crosses in the cemetery. He stopped then and
considered what was best for him to do. The
night had grown less dark, and the cries of the
sentries had quite ceased. "I must get away

208 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

before daylight comes," thought Ilya. *' I must
reach the wood near here." He advanced a few
steps then suddenly stood quite still, trembling
all over ; a slight rustUng sound had attracted his
attention.

There, standing quite near him, he saw a tall
man in a torn cassock, who, seeing his military coat
and French cap, seemed to be as frightened as
himself and remained speechless for a few moments.

" Ultrum hostis an amicus es " he uttered at last
in a trembling, bass voice. " Are you a friend
or an enemy ? Respice et parce, look and have
mercy," he continued, pointing pitifully to a child
sleeping in the grass at his feet.

" This is no doubt the priest of the cemetery ;
he takes me for a Frenchman," thought Ilya.
" Have no fear, batyoushka," he added aloud :
" I am a Russian like yourself, and as much to be
pitied ; my name is Ilya Tropinin."

" Mine is Savva Skvartzoff, deacon of Koudrin,
and this is my Uttle nephew," said the stranger.
" What I have suffered can hardly be told. The
brigands came, took away everything and burned
down my house. Then I took this little orphan,
who had been placed in my care, and left the town
by way of the kitchen gardens. I was going to
the convent Andronieff but I have lost my way.
I pray to God that he will enable me to reach my
people and place my little nephew in safety ; then
these monsters shall have cause to remember Savva.

" In which direction are you going, father
deacon ? "

" In the direction of Kolomna. I am going to

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 209

Ryazan : my family are in the district of
Morshansk."

" Well then, let us lose no time ! If you wish it,
we can walk together ; day is already breaking."

The fugitives entered the wood and marched
on for a long time. Day found them in a glade
near an abandoned forester's house. They stopped
for a rest on the shore of a small lake situated in
the very heart of the forest ; the deacon had a few
biscuits ; here they rested until sunset, not moving
for fear of encountering the enemy. Savva told
Ilya that after he had terminated his studies at the
seminary, he had been a chorister for several
years at the Tshoudoff monastery ; he had recently
been married, had been consecrated deacon, and
was awaiting his ordination as priest. Then the
memory of his wife again plunged him into despair.
He incessantly repeated that as soon as he had
placed his little nephew in safety with his relations
he.would take up arms and go against the enemy ;
hejwould be accepted in the militia.

In the evening, the pedestrians resumed their
journey. They walked all through the night and
towards morning had the joy of hearing dogs
barking ; a Httle farther on, they saw a small
village, but who lived there — friends or enemies ?
They came out on to the Vladimir road,

XXVII

Perovski, still standing in front of the terrible
Davout, finally realised the importance to him of
the words spoken by the Prince's aide-de-camp.

" This gentleman," Olivier was saying respect-
fully, *' is much younger and shorter than the one
of whom your Excellency is speaking ; I remember
him perfectly."

A ray of simlight shone in Perovski's eyes. A
heavy weight seemed to have fallen from his
shoulders as if by enchantment ; he breathed
deeply, endeavouring not to lose a word from the
lips of his unexpected defender. To Basil's utter
surprise, the Marshal's face seemed to brighten
and assume a less savage expression.

" Dawdling again, Olivier," he said as if anxious
to shake off this impression. " Devil take you,
one might think your mouth were full of pap ! "

"The other prisoner," continued Olivier, in re-
spectful and quiet tones, " was a head taller than this
gentleman. He had wrinkles and a birthmark
upon his cheek and walked with a swagger. If
your Excellency doubts my words," he added in a
trembling voice and growing pale, " I am ready to
share the prisoner's fate."

'' That will do," curtly said Davout. " I don't
want your grandeur of soul. Aa for you," he

210

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 211

added, turning to Perovski, *' you are saved by
my subordinate ; you may rejoin your companions."

For a few moments, Perovski remained immovable
looking at Davout who seemed to be satisfied with
his decision, and to be enjoying the prisoner's
evident dismay. Then, without saluting or uttering
a word, Basil staggered to the door ; he could
never say how he managed to join the other
prisoners.

The Marshal's prisoners were lodged in a wing
in which there were neither stoves nor flooring.
As he neared it, Basil heard sounds of singing and
a hubbub of voices. It was a motley crowd, of all
sorts of people : merchants caught as they were
leaving the city ; valets ; men of the people
suspected of brigandage and incendiarism ; two
or three officials, military and churchmen. Perovski
recognized Maxim, the house steward of Batashoff,
who burst into tears when he saw him. To kill
time and also to earn a few coppers, some of the
prisoners busied themselves doing a little work for
the French ; if they were lucky, they then procured
a Httle vodka and got drunk when they sang
rather heart-breaking songs. Maxim, the mer-
chants and the priests assumed a more dignified
attitude. A sad sifence prevailed among them ;
only at times they conversed in half whispers,
wondering when the war and their captivity would
come to an end. Basil learned that Napoleon,
with the object of honouring the old believers, had
visited the Preobrajenski hermitage. He had also
summoned Obershalme, the milliner of the Dmit-
rovka and this ohershelma (arch-rascal) as she wa§

212 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

called by the Moscovites, had had a conversation
with the Emperor about the emancipation of the
serfs.

Perovski thought that he would have to sleep
on the bare floor in the corner assigned to him,
but a tall young man with curly red hair, a joyous
mien and great languishing eyes, came up to him
and offered his services. His name was Senka
Koudinitsh ; he had been valet to a Countess, and
as a prisoner, was domiciled in the corner reserved
for the men of the people. It was always Senka
who intoned the songs taken up in chorus fashion
by the others. Basil asked him to bring in some
dry leaves and grass from the garden and, in the
twinkling of an eye, Senka had made a couch for
him. Grinning and showing his white teeth, he
then said to Basil :

"Here is your bondovar^, sir; you only need
your dressing gown and slippers. Your honour
will sleep upon it as upon a feather bed." Then
he swept the floor near and strewed some sand upon
it.

Basil, in his turn, was able to render him a little
service ; having learned that Senka was in love
with Glasha, the Countess' chambermaid, he wrote
her a letter for him. When he asked him how
he hoped to forward the letter to his sweetheart,
Senka replied as he sUpped the letter into his boot,
that their captivity could not last forever, that it
would come to an end one day or other.

For four days, Perovski and the other prisoners
without any escort, went out to the kitchen gardens

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 213

and gathered potatoes and other vegetables. They
were also sent to the slaughter house where they
helped the French to slaughter the cows, oxen
and horses, useless for service, brought in by the
purveyors of the Grand Army. During these
expeditions, Koudinitsh amused his comrades with
his jokes and songs. However, this did not last
long ; the provisions were soon exhausted and then
the prisoners only received biscuits and groats to
eat. One day, about a fortnight after his arrival
in the wing in Miliukoff's garden, Perovski noticed
that an unusual commotion was taking place at
Davout's headquarters The aides-de-camp seemed
to be agitated, orderlies hurriedly crossed the
yard, and men on horseback were riding away in a
great hurry.

" We are going to start," said the prisoners
joyfully, " Something has been decided with regard
to us and we shall be taken to the outposts." On
the 17th of September, they were called up and
sent to the Dorogomilovki barrier whence, in
batches of a hundred or more, they were taken to
various districts of Moscow.

" Where are they taking us ? " the prisoners
asked each other, only to receive the unvarying
answer : " We don't know ! "

A portly general, on horseback, rode up, cast a
worried look over the prisoners and made a gesture,
when the drums began to roll. One portion of the
escort walked in front of them, whilst the other
followed them. Words of command were loudly
spoken, and then the column started upon the old
road to Smolensk.

214 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" We are being taken to Mojaisk," said some
of the prisoners, " Is it possible that the French are
retreating 7 "

Some seemed quite satisfied whilst the others
only sighed, remaining silent. Two Russian
prisoners, driving in a carriage, invited the limp-
ing ones in turns to join them and have a rest.
Basil had the good fortune to ride a few stages with
them.

He congratulated himself although he was
somewhat astonished at receiving the privilege.
Some of the other prisoners, merchants or servants,
who, because of their long beards were believed to
be Cossacks, were also benevolentl}^ treated by their
escort. This did not last however. At one halting
place, a sergeant with a pock-marked face and
arrayed in a woman's cloak, approached the carriage,
took one of the officers by the hand, made him and
his companion get out, and then quickly seated
himself and one of his comrades in the carriage
and never allowed the owners to enter it again.

They marched on and on ; a piercing wind arose,
accompanied by a cold, drizzling rain ; the servants
had by now lost their liveries and their plumes ;
all were dragging themselves along, clad in torn
garments, wading through the frozen mud ; the
priests were now but half-frocked and Basil was
shivering. Near a bridge, a sergeant politely
invited him to sit down on the edge of the road
and — still poUtely — made him take off his boots,
which he then patted with a caressing hand and
offered Basil his own torn footgear in exchange.
Afraid of worse happening, he resignedly put them

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 215

on. Batashoff's house steward walked by his
side ; his feet were wrapped up in pieces of rag.

" They have taken away your boots too ? "
asked Perovski.

" Yes," replied Maxim in a tone of utter indif-
fernce.

" Look here, between you and me, it was you
who set your house on fire, when Murat was lodging
there ? "

Tho old man looked carefully around and then
replied with a sigh : " Yes, it was I ! "

" And who told you to do it ? "

Maxim raised his hand and pointed to heaven.
" It was He who put it into our heads ; besides
Fedor Vassilievitsh Rostoptshin had summoned
a few of us and told us secretly : ' When the
enemy enter Moscow. . . . you understand, my
friends ; begin with my own house in the Lou-
byanka,' and we have done what he told us ; we
have burned, burned !...."

Frost succeeded the rain, and the road became
covered with hard clods of mud ; the prisoners,
exhausted, hungry, their feet bleeding and painful,
lagged behind, often fell to the ground and only
with the butt end of a gun could they be forced to
rise. They stopped longer now at each halting
place. The officers of the escort began to lose
patience, so they commenced to kill off the sick
and the crippled. Perovski noticed that these
executions generally took place at sunrise when the
column started on its march after the night's
rest. The first time he had heard a few isolated
shots from the back of the column, he had asked

216 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

a soldier what the shots meant. The Frenchman
had shrugged his shoulders and replied : " It is
the midnight soup of your compatriots." (Soupe
de minuit de vos confreres.) Henceforth poor
Basil shuddered every time he heard those shots
and anxiously contemplated his bare feet, tied up in
pieces of rag ; he asked himself how long he would
be able to walk and when the midnight soup would
be his portion.

Frequently, during those hours of anguish, he
took out the holy image which Aurora had given
him and prayed fervently. At one halting place,
he noticed that the shots were more numerous than
usual, and this time, he could not refrain from
remarking reproachfully to the chief of their escort :
" How can you tolerate such barbarism, Captain ?
That you have taken away my boots, that my
comrades have been deprived of their carriage is
to be understood : it is the right of the strong —
but what about these assassinations ? Have they
too been commanded ? "

" It is the will of the Emperor," sadly replied the
officer.

" But pray tell me, how can you explain such
monstrous behaviour ? The Indian cannibal who
devours his helpless enemy. ..."

" Listen," the Captain interrupted him sternly,
" you had better take care ; every one of you is
exposed to such an accident." After a moment's
pause, he continued : " You taunt us with our
violence but it was you who started it ; you were
guilty first. Have you not set your towns and
villages on fire ? You have no hospitals, no doctors.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 217

What do you expect us to do with your sick ?
Benevolently send them back to your own people,
perhaps ? At your service ! You perfectly well
understand that sick though they were, they would
at once turn against us 1"

Crouching on the frozen ground, during the cold
and rainy nights, listening to the shots daily be-
coming more and more numerous, Perovski noticed
with terror that his feet were gradually getting
swollen ; he was afraid to go to sleep at night
in case his feet should freeze ; when sleep was
almost overpowering him, he would rise and pace
up and down in order to get warm. The detach-
ment had passed Mojaisk, and was now approaching
Borodino. Here, but fifty days ago, Perovski had
taken part in the great battle. Three months had
scarcely elapsed since he had left the Novoselovka
estate, so near him now ; then his heart had been
full of happiness and hope.

The frost had abated ; the night was cold ; a
fierce wind howled and the rain poured down ;
prisoners and goalers alike were numbed and
anxious to reach a halting place ; they scrambled
as best they could over the ruins of a burnt village,
not far from a ravine where the corpses of men and
horses lay in heaps.

*' My God," cried the officer whose carriage
had been taken from him, " we are in front of the
battery of Raievski ; I recognise the spot."

Basil remembered how he had seen Napoleon
galloping here on his white horse surrounded by
his suite. The soldiers had barely lain down when
the trill of a joyful song broke out, to be immediately

218 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

greeted with a shout of unanimous laughter. It
was burly Senka Koudinitsh who was singing :

" A barn owl is seated on a stove,
She flops her wings,
With her feet, she makes topp, topp.
And with her eyes, lopp, lopp."

Senka evidently accompanied his words with
appropriate gestures, for the laughter continued
in gusts.

Shuddering, Perovski listened to these jokings ;
he took off the rags covering his feet, and saw
that his legs were covered with sores, even wounds
from the ankle to the knee. He was famished.
That morning he had been lucky enough to find
half of a rotten onion in the dust-heap of the village
in which they had halted. " Lost ! I am lost !"
he repeated to himself, indifferently looking at
what was going on around him. The big sergeant
who had taken away his boots, passed. He was
now parading in a woman's short coat of hare-skin
and a white silk muff hung from his neck by a
ribbon. Followed by a few soldiers, armed with
hatchets, he went across to the abandoned redoubt.
Soon the sharp sounds of wood being chopped was
heard.

" They are cutting off the legs of the dead."
said Koudinitsh, smiling, as he sat down by the side
of Perovski ; " they are taking off their boots."

" Well, what does it matter ? " replied Basil,
as he wrapped up his legs again. " Once they are
dead, it is all the same to them."

" Yes, but if there should be any living among
them ? "

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 219

" Come, come, Senka," he answered wearily, "two
months have passed since the battle."

" Well, only recently Broshka, the buffetier of
Arkharoff, touched a dead man with his foot and
he signed that he was alive. We gathered around
him and asked him how he had managed to live all
that time and he replied : "At night, I crept
towards the dead and took the biscuits from their
knapsacks and ate them."

" What did you do with him ? "

" With whom ? "

" Well, with this living-dead man ? "

" What could we do ? " repHed Koudinitsh ;
" he begged us to finish him but we had not the
heart to do it. All our people cannot have left,
someone will find him and take care of him."

XXVIII

When the prisoners reached Krasnoe, Perovski
felt that his end was near. He was losing his
strength, and he could only walk with difficulty :
he could hardly understand how he walked at all.
He was shaken with fever, and sometimes marched
at the head of the column, and sometimes with
those lagging at the rear. He was sure of but one
thing : he was going to die. The French had
just shot a few more, night was falling, and Perovski
was marching along, almost unconsciously. He
looked at the willows lining the road, and in deUrious
horror, asked himself which was the tree at whose
foot he would fall exhausted, and be mercilessly
shot down.

" Sir," whispered the familiar voice of Koudinitsh
in his ear, " you are quite done up and so am I.
As I have decided to try and escape, you may have
my lapfis, I no longer require them."

" Your laptis ! and yourself — consider ! Besides,
do you think this is the moment to attempt an
escape ? If they should retake you, they would
shoot you."

** It means death in any case, sir," replied
Koudinitsh, " and one must try to live as long as
death does not come to one : you cannot escape
death when it does come. If God will come to my

220

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 221

assistance, I shall be able to escape as well in your
footgear as in my laptis. They are only laptis
outside, inside they are velenkis (felt shoes) and
are very comfortable. But here we are at our
resting place.."

The prisoners halted on the outskirts of a wood :
Koudinitsh sat quickly down and took off his laptis.

" Take these as a remembrance of Senka," he
said offering them to Perovski .

" Think what you are doing, my boy," said
Basil. " You surely have a father, a mother ; you
might still be able to see them one day, whilst
now. ..."

*' I am only a poor devil, sir ; an orphan, and what
I have once taken into my head, I usually do. . "

" But consider the matter, I tell you. So many
eyes are watching you; you will certainly be caught.

" Yes, perhaps, but sometimes the hatchet when
chopping the wood meets a knot," said Koudinitsh
in a mysterious tone, as he looked around him
" You will see. As for the laptis, Glasha gave
them to me as a present when she left Moscow with
her mistress. The French took away my boots,
and I have walked all this way in these laptis ; you
too will be able to continue your march in them."

Perovski no longer resisted. Senka helped him
to put on the laptis, which were large and soft,
and gave him a delightful sense of well-being. He
did not even go to fetch his food at the common
cauldron, but stretched himself on a sheltered
slope among his shivering companions and soon
fell asleep thinking of Senka. " He too is in love,"
he thought. The dark night, the redoubt with its

222 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

abandoned corpses, the escort and the ravine all
disappeared from his vision. Once more he saw
a cloudless summer sky, and walked with Aurora
on the soft green grass in a flower-carpeted glade
and a lark sang gaily in the azure sky above.
*' Do you pray to the Virgin whose image I gave
you ? " suddenly asked Aurora. He opened his
uniform and searched for the image, but could not
find it. His hands convulsively touched his breast,
searched through his old garments, his worn-out
coat, but there was nothing. Embarrassed, not
daring to look Aurora in the face, he wondered
where he could have left the image that she had
given to him. Could he have lost it ? Aurora still
waited, gazing at him attentively.

Someone pulled him roughly, and a curt word of
command sounded in his ears. He opened his
eyes, and saw the sergeant in the woman's fur
coat and the white muff ; day was breaking ; it
was raining again, and the roll-call of the prisoners
had begun.

" Get up," repeated the sergeant, shaking
Perovski ; " What a sleeper I "

Basil got up. He saw the detachment drawn up,
all ready for the march. The first lines had barely
entered the wood when a shot, followed by several
others, resounded among the trees. Basil shuddered,
surprised to hear the well-known shots fired at the
head of the column instead of in the rear. In the
pale light of the morning, he perceived an agitated
group on the outskirts of the wood; a portion of the
escort, abandoning their prisoners, were pursuing
something in the forest, whilst others were gazing

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 223

at a dark object stretched in a ditch by the road-
side. Shouts were raised, the detachment stopped ;
everyone talked, gesticulated, but no one seemed
to know exactly what had happened. At last they
learned that one of the prisoners, Koudinitsh, had
snatched the gun from the nearest soldier, thrown
himself into the thicket and defended himself with
the butt of the gun. The sergeant with the muff
was the first to regain control of himself ; he gave
orders to fire at the fugitive ; shots rang out,
then Senka stopped and, taking aim through the
branches, fired and hit the sergeant. With fixed
bayonets, the soldiers rushed after him. Tall and
agile, his feet wrapped up in Basil's rags, Senka ran
on like a hare ; he jumped over ditches and bushes
and was soon lost in the depth of the wood. His
pursuers fired a few more shots at random, then,
persuaded that he had been hit and was grievously
wounded, they retraced their steps . This happe ned
near Viazma.

The detachment, ever diminishing in number,
at last arrived at Smolensk and wended its way
towards Vitcsk. Snow fell, and the road became
almost impracticable. Subjected to unheard of
sufferings, the first column crossed the frontier
during a terrible snowstorm with the temperature
at 20 degrees. Thanks to the felt shoes with which
Senka had presented him, Perovski was able to bear
the cold and the fatigue of the march.

" Koudinitsh, Koudinitsh," he thought, " good
and generous Russian soul, you have saved my life ;
and you, are you still anlong the living ? If you
have really been wounded, may God help you. He

224 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

will reward you for what you have done for me,
giving me a chance to fight, to suffer but also to
hope."

In Poland, the prisoners were placed in carts ;
they traversed Prussia in closed carriages but were
starved. In Prussia, Perovski became ill ; ague
was followed by fever, and he passed two months
in a hospital. His health only returned with the
Spring. The wife and daughter of the doctor
brought him flowers ; he burst into tears when he
saw them. " Aurora, Aurora," he thought, as he
looked at the flowers, and the sun, " where are you ?
Shall we ever meet again ?"

XXIX

Princess Anna Arcadievna Shelespanskaja
had left Moscow two days before the arrival of the
French. She found the journey very exhausting,
so frequently caused her carriages to stop and the
tents to be pitched, or rested at an inn ; at last she
reached Yartzovo, her estate in the government of
Kolomna, on the way to Panshino, her estate in the
province of Tamboff. At every ravine, every hil-
lock, the Princess had cried : " Stop ! Stop ! I
can go no further," and promptly descended from
her carriage. Xenia Valerianovna awaited her
grandmother at Panshino. Yartzovo was only
ninety versts distant from Moscow, and about
twenty from Kolomna. On the eve of the day
following her departure, when already in sight of
Yartzovo, the travellers perceived the red glare of
fire over Moscow. Aurora was the first to say :
" Grandmother, Moscow is burning ! " The car-
riage stopped, and everyone ventured upon some
conjecture, but doubt was impossible. Moscow
was in flames, probably set on fire by the French,
who had taken the city.

The Princess nearly fainted when she heard this
news, and, on her arrival at Yartzovo, declared that
she would stay there a short time to rest. Mare-
miasha, Yefimovna and the other servants were
there waiting for her.

225 P

226 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" The French are retreating," said the Princess.
'' It is far from here to where the French are, and
besides, Kutuzoff is on guard."

Thanks to Aurora's and Maremiasha's efforts,
the house was put in order and everything was
arranged to suit the Princess' mode of life.
Kolomna was almost deserted but whatever
provisions were found there were bought ; a doctor
was also located who promised to visit the patient
daily. The numerous servants brought by the
Princess from Moscow, her buffetiers, cooks, hair-
dressers, chambermaids, etc., were all lodged as
well as was possible in the wings and izbas. When
the boxes were opened, Aurora found the glass bed,
with its silken cushions and covers, and she placed
it in the bedroom of the Princess. When the latter
saw the portrait of Napoleon woven in silk, she
became very angry, and ordered it to be hung up
in the drawing room with this inscription beheath it :
" Murderer and Blackguard." (Assassin et
sc616rat.)

Life at Yartzovo gradually fell into the ordinary
groove of the life the Princess had led at Moscow.
The morning was consecrated to the dressing table,
to the favourites Limka, Timka and Tutik ; then
Aurora came into her grandmother's room and
read aloud to her. In the evening, at the tea table,
she read again, or Maremiasha and Yefimovna,
busy with their knitting, came to tell her what they
had heard from the starosta or others. The
Princess listened and played patience. In the
anteroom, the servants played cards ; the chamber-
maids sang in chorus, and sometimes Vlass accom-

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 227

panied them with his bass voice, or the Httle negro
boy, Varlashka, with his baritone. After supper,
everyone went to bed.

It was impossible to obtain any news of the war,
although its theatre was so near. Only the doctor
and the marshal of nobility from Kolomna occas-
ionally brought in some news which they had read
in the newspapers. In the peaceful country with
the moujiks busy at their usual work, one could
easily imagine that the dreadful plague of war
that had fallen upon Russia, raged miles and miles
away, far in the depths of the immense empire :
it was difficult to realise that it was raging but
eighty versts from them. It all revolted Aurora,
just as the ballets and operas, presented at Moscow
on the eve of the entry of the French, had revolted
her. The weather from the middle to the end of
September was bright, mild and dry. The foHage
of the birch trees had turned from green to red
and golden yellow, those wonderful shades of late
autumn. The work in the fields went on peacefully.
The winter corn was sown, and the ground was
being prepared for the summer corn ; it was the
time, too, for repairing the izbas, and gathering
in the vegetables. The men went to the markets
or worked in the woods, whilst the old people, men
and women alike, who had not seen the Princess
for a long time, came to visit her in the evenings ;
they brought her presents of hens, eggs, mushrooms,
and, in exchange, asked for all sorts of things :
permission to cut wood in the reserved part of the
forest ; a loan of oats or rye, or they begged the
Princess to buy some of their handiwork, such as

228 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

homespun cloth or linen. Others appealed to
Aurora to listen to their various troubles and
differences, and to judge between them, and put an
end to their quarrels about some geese, or maybe,
swine. She patiently listened to them without,
however, being able to understand that people
should trouble about such trifling matters at a
time like that.

In her anguish and worry over the issue of the
war and the fate of her fiancee, she sought consola-
tion in long, solitary rides. She would have Barss
saddled in the evenings, and would gallop through
the forest and fields until night fell. The great
deeds of the Russian army at Borodino, the wound
and death of Bagration, the little news they
received of the war, seemed to trouble the life at
Yarzovo not in the slightest ; this greatly dismayed
Aurora. At first, the newspapers arrived very
much delayed, and then they ceased, so that had
it not been for the red sky over Moscow, one might
have thought that the war really was over. But
the red glare of the fire was still reflected over the
city. From her own room Aurora contemplated
the red glare in the sky, and shuddered. The
torturing thought of all the misfortunes and suffer-
ings of which the fire was to her a symbol, prevented
her sleeping. But none of it either troubled or
$ moved the peasants out of their quiet calm.

The starosta told Maremiasha and then Aurora
of a new rumour that was spreading through the
country. A project had been promulgated among
the peasants by means of leaflets printed in French.
At first they had discussed it in whispers, but now

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 229

they were speaking of it openly. These leaflets
declared that the peasants were now free and
emancipated. They announced that the Emperor
Alexander was expected shortly at Vladimir and
later at Kolomna. He intended to deport certain
of the seigneurs to Kazan, and others were to be
sent to various other towns, where they would
have to " write papers," whilst the land, the
forests and the houses would be divided among the
moujiks. These rumours were believed and
resulted in the peasants becoming rude and diso-
bedient ; they refused to listen to the managers
and starostas. They not only refused to work
for the seigneurs, but even pillaged the possessions
of certain of them and, here and there, a manor
house was set on fire.

" Call the peasants tegether," said Aurora
bravely, " I shall speak to them ; our moujiks are
the victims of wicked people who are trying to turn
their heads and pervert their common sense."

" What an idea, Mademoiselle," exclaimed the
starosta. " You must not think of such a thing.
Our people are quite quiet. You will only put
ideas into their heads ; better leave them alone.
They will gossip and gossip, and then everything
will quiet down."

Aurora considered it to be her duty to tell her
grandmother of the matter ; the old lady was so
upset that she had to take to her bed. The girl
sent an express messenger to Panshino. Ilya must
have returned, she thought ; he will come and put
things straight here. But Xenia arrived alone
with her child ; she had changed greatly. Instead

230 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

of bringing courage and hope, new trouble and
grief came with her, for then, for the first time,
they learned that she had had no news whatever
of her husband. She trembled at the thought
that he had not been able to leave Moscow in time,
and had therefore been made a prisoner. The
sisters shared their fears and wept together. But
above all, they had to endeavour to soothe and
tranquillize their poor grandmother, for the old
lady was quite inconsolable.

" My God," she cried, "why am I so unfortunate.
I am only a burden to myself and to all of you.
And now my cough has begun to trouble me again.
Oh, how I wish that I could be taken quickly to
Panshino so as to get away from here."

" Don't think of it, grandmother," said Xenia.
" You have no idea how things are at Panshino ; it
is much worse than at Yartzovo. Here at least
we are near the town, we have the doctor and can
sometimes hear a little news from Moscow, while
there, it is a desert. The peasants are also agitated
but here, at least, we are near the army, whilst
out there at Panshino, we would only have the
ispravnik and his invaHds."

Aurora agreed with her sister. The Princess
at last yielded and, whilst playing patience, consoled
herself with the thought that this state of affairs
could not last very much longer. A decisive
battle would soon be fought. Who would be
victorious, she could not say, but in any case peace
would soon follow upon it, and then they could
return to Moscow. Of course, the enemy might
have sacked the house, but luckily the most valuable

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 231

things had been removed, and then the house itself
would be there ; it could not have been burnt down.

Thus a few days passed. One evening, Aurora
was called out to the perron. Yefimovna, crying
bitterly, told her that the starosta from Novoselovka
had just arrived.

" Where has he come from?" said Aurora, for
she knew that Novoselovka had been burned
down.

" The French compelled him with others to carry
the wounded to Moscow, said Arina ; "He has
escaped from them."

" Call him here quickly, nurse," cried the young
girl.

'' There he is," replied Arina.

The starosta then emerged from the shadow ; his
head was wrapped up in bandages ; his clothes were
torn, he was barefooted. Maremiasha stood crying
behind Aurora.

" Did you stay long at Moscow ? " asked Aurora.

" All the time, Mademoiselle. The accursed
Herods put us to all kinds of drudgery ; we had
to drag those people as if we were beasts of burden ;
we chopped wood, dug up potatoes, carried water,
and ground flour with handmills."

" But as a reward, you are now the subjects of
Bonaparte," said Yefimovna as she spat angrily.

" Did you hear anything of Vassili Alexievitsh
Perovski ? " queried the young girl.

" How could we get any news, dear lady ? The
enemy oppressed us, overwhelmed us, utterly
exhausted us. Some of us were put to death for
disobedience ; I managed to escape."

232 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

'* Did you go to the Patriarchal Ponds, Klimm ?
Did you see our house ? " asked Aurora.

*' The brigands sent us to Priesnia ; on the way
we passed your quarter but neither the Bronnaja,
the houses near the ponds, the Nikitskaja, nor
the Arbatt exist any more ; everything has been
burned to the ground."

Aurora looked at Maremiasha ; she was drying
her tears. " And grandmother's house ? " asked
Aurora.

" Everything is gone ; there are only ashes left,"
replied Klimm. " It was there that my pal and I
decided to attempt to escape."

" And you managed it ? "

" Alas ! The cursed Frenchmen caught us on the
Orloff meadow, and from that time I was kept under
lock and key. We went to work, accompanied by an
escort. But God came to our aid. One day,
carrying pails and shovels, we went to a well whose
water is excellent, but people had trampled around
it so much that it had become quite unapproachable
because of the mire. There were about ten of us,
and the escort consisted of four soldiers. We were
worn out, starving and suffering ; we could hardly
drag our feet after us. The sun had already set,
and the place was quite deserted . . . The French
were drunk and rather gay. We had planned
everything beforehand ; it was Kornyoushka's
idea. Well, after all, why should we have suffered
so much ? Once arrived at the well, we caught
each other's eyes, and then suddenly seized the four
soldiers and hurled them one after the other into the
well, together with their guns ; then we threw

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 233

earth over it with our shovels, and ran away into the
wood near the kitchen gardens."

*' What ? You buried them aHve ? " cried Aurora
shuddering.

" Certainly," retorted KHmm. " You should
have heard them jabbering in their gibberish when
we were throwing the earth down upon them. God
will have forgiven them," concluded the starosta,
looking up to heaven and making the sign of the
cross.

XXX

The two sisters carefully kept the news that the
Moscow house had been burnt from their grand-
mother. KUmm, they sent to Panshino. Night
and day, they fervently prayed to God to grant
Basil and Ilya the strength to bear the terrible
hardships which, there was little doubt, they were
suffering. Were they even alive ? They trembled
at the very thought and once, in an unguarded
moment, Aurora said : " And if Basil were
dead.'* . . . She could not continue but thought :
" Then life would be over for me, and I know
what I should have to do."

One day, Aurora and Xenia went to church at the
neighbouring village of Tshapligino, which belonged
to the Pissareffs. After mass, they heard the appeal
of the Holy Synod to the people, and the prayers
for the defence of the country and the holy orthodox
religion against the invader, read by the old priest,
with a profound feeling of piety and patriotism.
The Russian people were called upon to fight the
Gauls without truce or mercy. Russia was com-
pared to God-fearing and peaceful David, and
Napoleon to the arrogant and inhuman Goliath.
" Where is this David, the saviour of our country ? "
Aurora asked herself amidst her tears as she looked
round at the moujiks crowding the church who

234

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 235

yet seemed to care so little for the national calamity,
for the terrible war, who indeed, on the contrary,
expected it to result in some new and unknown
happiness for themselves. Aurora reflected that
David, although a shepherd, was also a poet and
that only fine natures were capable of understanding,
of feeling deep in their hearts, that love for one's
native land that made one feel the passionate
necessity to avenge its honour. " If Basil has
fallen, as so many brave men have been mowed
down by the scythe of pitiless death, who will
avenge his sufferings and his death ; who will call
the oppressor before the supreme judge ? "

When the service was over, the priest approached
Aurora and Xenia and invited them to enter his
house. They knew the clergyman's wife who
frequently came to see their grandmother, so they
accepted the invitation. Tea was served and they
talked. The clergyman did his best to console
and reassure the sisters. Bonaparte would soon
beg for peace and then all the prisoners would be
exchanged.

" But where is Bonaparte at present ? " asked
Xenia.

" Wherever he is," repUed the priest, " the hand
of justice will reach him ; he is trapped, and, hke
a lion, is pacing up and down in his cage. The
robbers and plunderers will derive no benefit from
their spoils. Our army is intact, holding its
positions, whilst the French army is dwindUng
away and disappearing slowly day by day, like wax
before the flame."

The sisters eagerly listened to his words.

236 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" And what tears and losses ! " said the clergy-
man's wife in her turn ; " Some families have lost
milUons. And the drudgery ! It is kilHng, martyr-
ising the prisoners ! "

*' Not all of them are being martyrised or killed/*
her husband interrupted her, signalling to her the
while to be quiet ; "a good many have escaped.
The miller of Zaraisk told me recently that Prince
Dmitri Galytzin carried his friend Sokovnin, who
was ill, away in his arms. The French were already
in possession of Moscow, there were no carriages,
so he had to walk. When they reached the barriers,
the Prince took his friend upon his shoulders and
carried him to our rearguards. Oh, there are a
good many acts of courage, glorious deeds to be
told. Rostoptshin set fire to his estate, Voronovo,
after nailing on the gate, this inscription : " I am
burning everything that no Frenchman may pass
over the threshold of my house ! "

" He was uncle Peter's neighbour," said Xenia
to her sister.

" You have an uncle," asked the priest.

*' Yes, Peter Andreievitsh Kramalin ; we are
Kramalins on our father's side."

" And what does your uncle write to you ? Our
entire army is in the neighbourhood of Serpukhoff."

" He is often ill and so does not write to us very
often. His last letter to us was addressed to
Panshino."

Aurora listened to this converstaion and thought :
" Those who came as far as Moscow were able to
leave but Basil : perhaps he remained at Borodino ;
did he too, like Sokovnin, find a friend ready to save

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 237

him ? " However, despite her doubts and tor-
menting fears, she still cherished a secret hope as
to the fate of her fiance. " He has been saved and
I shall see him again. He cannot die." The sisters
returned home. The weather was beautiful. Xenia,
anxious to enjoy it and also to divert Aurora from her
gloomy brooding, sent the carriage on in advance
and suggested that they should walk home. Soft,
light transparent clouds sailed across the azure
sky ; crows, croaking gaily to each other, fluttered
from tree to tree ; spiders spun their webs in the
warm air, and the dogs in the village were barking
loudly.

Aurora suddenly seized her sister's hand, " Look
Look ! " she cried. She had seen a little girl
hurrying along on the outskirts of the wood.

" Well, what is it," replied Xenia, blushing and a
prey to some inexplicable emotion ; " the child
must have gone out to pick mushrooms ; the forest
guard has seen her, and she is now running away."

" No, No, Xenia, Look ! Look ! She is coming
straight to us. Don't you see ? "

" How odd you are ! " said Xenia, making an
effort to remain calm ; " You see something extra-
ordinary in every little thing. ..."

" But stop, don't you see that she is signalling to
us to wait for her ? "

Xenia stopped at last. The child came running
up, lifting her arms as she came. She disappeared
for an instant, hidden by the curve of the road but
then emerged again on a hillock ; they could hear
the hurried tapping of her bare little feet.

"It is Fenia, Yefimovna's niece," said Xenia

238 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

gleefully, ' ' something must have happened at home. ' '

Aurora, white as her dress, did not take her eyes
away from the child.

" Do you want me ? " she asked, hastening to
meet Fenia.

" Why should it be she rather than 17" thought
Xenia, feeling a little annoyed. " Why should she
be luckier than I ? " but the next moment she
thought : " Oh, how shamefully envious I am !
May God be with her ! "

" The deacon ! The deacon ! " cried Aurora
joyfully to her sister who looked at her in
amazement.

" Which deacon ? " asked Xenia breathlessly.

" They have both escaped from Moscow, both of
them" cried^Aurora, almost beside herself with joy
as she danced and kissed her sister and shook and
kissed the flushed and dishevelled Fenia.

" But where is this deacon, and with whom has
he escaped ? " asked Xenia.

" At Yartzovo, at the house," replied Aurora,
laughing and crying at the same time as she clasped
her hands. " Peasants met them and brought them
home. Yefimovna was the first to think of u-, and
then she sent Fenia. The other is still in town."

" Who is in town, who ? " asked Xenia turning
to the child.

" The gentleman."

•* What gentleman ? "

" I do'^not know."

XXXI.

The sisters ran on ; they passed the park, the
village and, scarcely able to breathe, entered the
house through the back entrance.

" Where is he ? Where is the deacon ? " asked
Xenia, crossing the ante-room like a whirlwind.

" Here," said Yefimovna beaming and pointing to
the Princess' bedroom.

Xenia stood still, one hand pressed to her breast.
" Who may this deacon be ? " thought Aurora
holding the handle of the door. "Is it possible ?
Oh, God grant that Basil has returned with him ! "
The door opened and Aurora stood as if rooted upon
the threshold. Near the bed of the Princess, by
the side of a priest in a cassock, sat a bearded man
dressed in a sheepskin and wearing top boots.
Aurora did not recognise him. Silence feel upon
the room ; the two sisters were not expected back
so soon.

" Why are they all so silent ? Why do they all
look at me so ? " thought Xenia. " Terrible news
must have arrived. They are anxious to prepare
me for it : Ilyoushka has been killed — he is dead ? "
The decision to which she had come during the last
few days not to survive him, again crossed her mind ;
she saw the deep chasm beyond the garden, the
well-known path leading to it ; the steep bank of the

239

240 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

river. " I have nothing to live for," she thought.
At this moment she felt something touch her
shoulder. She shivered and raised her head. It
was her child stretching out its little arms to her.
The nurse was holding Kolia before her ; he was
only half-awake, his bonnet was awry on his little
head, his face was pink and flushed with sleep.
Behind the child she saw another face with eyes
smiling in happiness. " Who is it ? Who ? " she
asked herself, then uttered a piercing shriek.
Almost distracted, she threw herself into her hus-
band's arms, covered the pale face with kisses
and repeated joyfully : " Ilyoushka ! Ilyoushka I "
All wept for sheer joy.

" Oh, Xenitshka, Xenia," said Aurora, wiping her
tears away, " how happy you are, and how you
deserve your happiness."

Tropinin gazed at her somewhat sadly ; she felt
a vague dread creep over her. Had he any fatal,
painful news for her ? They talked all together for
some time in the Princess's room ; questions were
asked, answered ; suppositions made and discussed.
Dinner was served there and later, tea. A Russian
vapour bath was prepared for the two guests, but
the deacon refused to avail himself of it.

" How can one think of luxuries that rejoice the
flesh when the soul is suffering and is being torn
asunder ? " he said.

At the request of the Princess, he related the
story of his misfortunes and his flight from Moscow.
Partly on foot and partly with hired horses, the
travellers had reached Panshino where Klimm told
them that the family were staying at Yartzovo.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 241

Hither they hurried but their taraniass* had broken
down on the road and then the peasants of the
neighbourhood had brought them here. Aurora
sat down by the side of the deacon.

" Where is the nephew you saved ? " she asked.

" I left him at Kolomna with his godfather who is
a chorister;"

" Do you also come from there ? "

" No, I come from Serpukhoff ; my father and
mother have been dead many years now, but my
wife's brother keeps an inn in a village near ; I
think that I shall stay there for a time ; it is this
side of Serpukhoff, just beyond Kashira,"

" It is time for the travellers to rest," said the
Princess when Ilya had returned from his bath.
Everyone got up to say good-night. Aurora joined
her brother-in-law :

" And Basil ? " she queried," why don't you tell
me about him ? It is impossible that you should
know nothing whatever about him."

" But my dear sister, what an idea ! " replied
Ilya. " Where and how could I have heard any
news of him ? I was among the early prisoners and
there were so many, and kept in so many different
places. Don't worry ; I feel sure Basil is safe, and
that you will see him soon again."

* A small Russian carriage.

Q

XXXII

" No, no he knows something that he is hiding
from me," Aurora repeated to herself; " my sister's
husband has come back to her ; the child has found
its father ; they are now re-united, and I dare not
envy them their happiness, but what will become
of me ? ' ' She retired to her room when these
black thoughts crowded and beat upon her brain.
Unable to sleep, she opened her window ; silence
reigned over the house ; the night, though moon-
less, was clear and beautiful. Throwing a shawl over
her head, she went out for a stroll in the fresh night
air. The idea that she was now alone in the world
haunted her ; she felt that everything was passing
just in front of her, but that she could not stretch
out her hand and grasp at anything. Her memory
brought back to her her past life, and the three
principal events in it ; the death of her mother,
her departure from the paternal roof, and her
farewell to her fiancee. She felt that she had not
the strength to fight and struggle against her fate ;
she believed herself doomed to suffering, to a cruel
and fatal destiny. She remembered her childhood,
her terror and tears at the sight of her mother's
coffin ; her cries : " Mamma, Mamma, get up, speak
to me." Then she thought of her father, of the day
when she and her sister first entered the institute :

242

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 243

then too, she had had a presentiment that she was
seeing him for the last time. In her mind, she went
over all the little incidents of last spring ; her first
meeting with Perovski, her engagement, their last
interview, his departure from Moscow. "How much
has happened since then ! And what new sorrows ! "
she exclaimed. She contemplated the sky all aglow
in the distance by the reflection of the fire. And
she remembered the comparison her fiancee had
made during their last ride together, when Moscow
had seemed to him as if bathed in an ocean of fire,
and the churches and steeples looked like so man^^
shipmasts in flames. " It all seems to have been
realised as if it had been a prophecy," she said to
herself. She walked down to the end of the garden,
bending her head beneath the branches, and follow-
ing the path that skirted the river A horse neighed
in the stable. " It is Barss," she said half-aloud,
" I forgot to give him his ration of sugar to-day ;
what will he think of me ? " Then she remembered
her uncle Peter, the little countryhouse, her old
white horse, and her hunting expeditions. Oh,
how she would like to see that uncle, and to re-live
the past with him.

She looked up at the house ; but one window was
feebly lit ; it was the night-light burning in the
nursery, little Kolia's room. " It is time to go in,"
she said, " everyone is asleep." And yet she hesi-
tated, death appeared so attractive, and the river
was so near. She sat down on a bench underneath
the lime trees, w^here she often came to look to-
wards Moscow. Soon she fancied she heard voices ;
she was not mistaken ; her sister and brother-in-law

244 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

were talking at the open window, and involuntarily
she listened :

'* But it would have been madness, sheer mad-
ness,'' Tropinin was saying. " How could you have
come to such a decision, you a good Christian, and
a tender and devoted mother ? "

" I came to that decision almost involuntarily,
even against my will," replied Xenia. " Had you
not returned, had I learned that you were dead, I
swear to you that I should have thrown myself into
the chasm, and our family would have had one
more death to mourn."

The barking of the dogs prevented Aurora hearing
her sister's concluding words. " One more death
to mourn," she repeated : " Mitila Oussoff is dead,
but who is the other ? " She tried to Hsten ; she
felt almost as if turned to stone ; the^ cold was
affecting her.

" They were not married, but still what a
tragedy," Tropinin was speaking again ; ** I have
always said "

The dogs again started barking, and poor Aurora
could not hear.

" Are you sure ? " asked Xenia.

" I saw the Hsts ; I don't know the result, but it
is always the same ! "

"Is it really possible that the marshal should,
without any trial, any sentence. ..."

Everything had again become still, but Aurora
was no longer listening. Pressing her hands to her
breast, she went away, swaying, then suddenly
started to run towards the house. Groping in the
(Jark, she entered her room, threw herself upon the

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 245

bed, and hiding her face in her pillows, cried for a
long time, utterly crushed in her despair.

" What is to become of me now ? " she thought ;
" Shall I remain in the common groove of life, put
on mourning, be courted by some ordinary good
man, allow myself to be married off ? Adieu, my
beautiful dreams, adieu, my well-beloved ! "

It was bright day when the house awoke. Tea
was served, but Aurora's room still remained
locked. Stesha, the chambermaid, peeped through
the keyhole, and saw that her mistress was not yet
up; she must have been reading late last night.
They did not want to wake her.

" Let her sleep, poor child," said Xenia, when
she came down to breakfast with her husband.

The Princess came down in very good humour ;
" Ilyoushka has come back, now Aurora's fiancee
will be here too shortly — very shortly," she said.
Tropinin read aloud the news which the post had
brought them in letters and papers. Then Aurora
came down, paler than usual, and with her lips
tightly pressed together. Her eyes seemed to
glisten with some secret resolution ; she seemed
a different person from yesterday. She listened,
questioned, replied, but her eyes seemed lost in the
distance, in some mysterious unknown ; she seemed
hardly aware of what was going on about her. The
deacon told the Princess how God had miraculously
saved the Trinity convent of St. Sergius. Three
times the French were on the point of sacking it,
and three times a thick mist had hidden it from
their view.

" Is it our people who are guarding the road to
Kaluga ? " asked Aurora, turning to Ilya.

246 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

"Yes," replied Tropinin. "They say that Napo-
leon sent proposals of peace to Kutuzuff, but that
the Prince pretended to be decrepit and an invalid.
He is supposed to have cried and said : ' Do you see
my tears ? All my hopes are placed in Napoleon
but,' he added, 'it is quite impossible to think of
peace, as yet, the war has only just begun.' "

Aurora helped her sister to clear away the break-
fast cups, and then, when Xenia had left the room
with her husband and the deacon had gone to
make ready for his departure, she proposed to her
grandmother that they continue their reading of
the novel " Addle et Theodore." She seemed
quite calm and remained so the whole day.

"Aurora is marvellous," said Xenia; "what
force of character to bear her sorrow like that, but
oh, how would she be if she knew the truth ! "

The deacon came the next morning to thank the
Princess who had generously provided him with
money and provisions for his journey ; they gave
him horses for as far as Kashira. The kihitka was
waiting for him at the perron, when Aurora sent
Yefimovna to bring him up to her room.

" You are going to Kashira, father deacon ? "
she said.

" Certainly, Mademoiselle ; I cannot miss it."

" Will you have the goodness to post these two
letters for me ? "

" With pleasure," then glancing at the addresses
on the envelope, he added, " one of these letters is
for your uncle, and the other to a cabinet minister.
What a great person you are writing to ? "

" My fiancee Perovski is the minister's ward,"

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 247

she replied. " Surely Ilya Borissovith must have
told you about it. The Count is perhaps ignorant
of his fate, and could, perhaps, help him with his
influence, and through his connections, then. . ."
but tears choked her voice.

" Console yourself. Mademoiselle, these letters
shall be posted without fail."

" That is not all, that is not all," continued
Aurora, drying her tears. " I want you to reply
frankly to a question."

" I shall do so conscientiously."

" You have talked a great deal to my brother-in-
law during your journey. Tell me, is Perovski
alive ? "

Savva was embarrassed and remained silent.

" I shall facilitate your reply. Perovski was
made a prisoner, was condemned to death, and his
name was inscribed on the lists. I know all that.
Tell me only, is he dead or alive ? "

" If you know all that, Mademoiselle, what more
can I tell, I, small and feeble of mind ? I swear
to you by the God Almighty, that I know no
more."

Aurora sat motionless ; tears streamed down her
pale face. " Lost ! lost," she said at last, raising
her eyco to the holy images ; " all is finished for me.
But one thing remains to be done. My uncle lives
in the neighbourhood of Serpukhoff ; will you please
call on him and deliver my letter to him personally?"

" You may rest assured that I will."

A week passed ; September was approaching its
end. The Princess, completely recovered, declared
her intention, now that Ilya was with them, to go

248 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

to Panshino while the fine weather lasted. There
was no time to be lost, the French might arrive at
any moment. No one objected. The decisions of
the old Princess permitted of no appeal. Every-
thing was again packed up, and Aurora helped,
being apparently quite calm. One day, she came
into her sister's room, whilst the latter, radiant and
happy, was bathing her baby. She sat down and
watched the mother dry the rosy back and little
face of the child. Xenia herself, a few stray
golden curls falling over her white, dehcate neck,
completed the pretty picture; the vapour from the
steaming bath surrounded her like a halo.

** My husband says that Kolia resembles you
much more than he does me ; he has your dark
eyes ; he is so beautiful and so loving. It is now
your turn. ..."

Aurora looked at her sister.

*' You don't understand ? Well, your firstborn
should now resemble me ! "

" Xenia, why are you so cruel ? "

" What ? How ? "

Aurora rose and left the room without uttering
another word. In the evening, the sisters met in
the dark corridor.

" Listen," said Aurora, " you are strange people.
You are hiding something from me, and yet I know
everything."

" What do you know ? " queried Xenia visibly
embarrassed.

** God be with you ! " said Aurora walking away
in the direction of the drawing-room.

" The deacon must have told her," said Tropinin

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 249

when his wife related this incident to him ; " I
shall scold him, the chatterbox."

" No, Ilyoushka, this morning Aurora received a
letter, and she sat brooding over it for a long time.

XXXIII

On the eve of the Princess's departure, Tropinin
went to say good-bye to the marshal of the nobiHty,
and to thank him for his attentions to the old lady.
He also asked him to keep an eye on the property
they were about to leave. Aurora also expressed a
wish to say good-bye to the clergyman's wife at
Tshapligino. She rode there on horseback ; in the
evening some one came to announce that she had
sent Barss back and word that she would return
later. Night came but still Aurora did not return
home.

" What a dark night it is," said Xenia looking
out of the window. " The sky is clouded, Aurora
must be staying the night there."

** She will be wise to do so," said the Princess.
" We ought to have sent Maremiasha or Yefimovna
to her."

" Arina Yefimovna is with Mademoiselle," said
Vlass who had remained somewhat in the back-
ground during the Princess's stay at Yartzovo,
but was now again beginning to assume his old
airs of importance in view of the departure.

" But why did Arina go to TshapHgino ? " asked
the Princess.

" Mademoiselle asked for her warm mantle, and
as there are evening prayers there in honour of the

250

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 251

festival of the Holy Virgin, the moujiks offered to
conduct Arina Yefimovna."

The next morning, the dormeuse, two open
carriages and three kibitkas were ready near the
stables ; packages, boxes and baskets were being
placed in them. As Aurora had not returned,
Tropinin sent Vlass with one of the carriages to
fetch her. After having given his last orders, he
went out on the perron and saw the carriage return-
ing empty. " And Mademoiselle 7 " he asked
frowning. Vlass descended from the carriage and
silently handed Ilya a letter, which he took out of
his pocket.

" From whom is it ? "

" From Mademoiselle Aurora Valerianovna."

*' But where is she, and what does it all mean ? "

" Mademoiselle wrote this letter last night, and
left orders that it should be given to you when she
was sent for this morning."

Tropinin opened the letter :

" Don't search for me," wrote Aurora, " and
above all, do not try to find or stop me. I have
irrevocably decided, after mature consideration,
to go to my uncle Peter who is ill. At my request,
he sent me a carriage and horses. When I have
seen him and asked his advice, I shall go to the head-
quarters of the general staff of our army Don't be
frightened. Kutuzoff's headquarters are not far
away. I shall try to see his Excellency and implore
him personally to find out for me what has happened.
I have no strength left, I cannot suffer any longer.
I shall, perhaps, manage to learn something about
Basil's fate. I beg my beloved grandmother to

252 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

forgive me for the pain that I am giving her. I
am taking Yefimovna with me, and I beg you all,
and you too, my dear Xenia, not to think unkindly
of me. What I am about to do is, perhaps, impossi-
ble, even insensate, but I am not going to give it up.
You will soon know everything ; I shall try to write
from Serpukhoff, and from other places where my
destiny may lead me. Should I, however, never
return, I beg you to pray for all the true patriots
who love their outraged country, and are ready to
die for her. There is no other way for me.

Aurora."

Tropinin read and re-read the letter. He ques-
tioned Vlass.

" When ? How ? With whom did Mademoiselle
leave ? "

Vlass related that she had left in a hritshka* that
had been sent for her by Peter Andreievitsh Krama-
lin ; that the deacon and Yefimovna had begged
Mademoiselle to renounce her project, but that
their supplications had been in vain. She left
saying that she would soon return, and would
probably be at Panshino even before her grand-
mother's arrival there. Tropinin rushed to
Xenia.

"There you have women," he cried, " no middle
course, an angel of sweetness or a demon of violent
and secret passions."

Neither he nor Xenia could muster up the courage
to tell the Princess what had happened. At last,
with a thousand precautions, they told her. The
Princess was very angry at first, and then she
summoned the house steward, and gave him orders
♦ An open carriage.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 253

to hurry after her grand-daughter. With difficulty,
Ilya managed to calm her ; he proved to her that
pursuit would be quite useless. Aurora, having
left in her uncle's carriage, would have changed
horses at Kashira, and by this time would have
reached her destination. In any case, Kramalin
was quite sure to advise her to return speedily to
her people. The Princess opened her reticule,
took out her smelling salts, inhaled their fragrance,
and asked what time it was.

" Order lunch, Ilya, then we shall start. Leave
one carriage behind, my dear, and tell the house
steward that should Aurora return, he is to accom-
pany her himself to Panshino. Her mother was
like that, she too could never keep still. Besides,
Yefimovna is a sensible woman, she will look after
her. As for that old lunatic of a Peter Andreievitsh,
I shall write to him myself as soon as we reach
Panshino. He is so proud, that man, he has avoid-
ed us all his life. What advice, pray, can he give
her about the general staff ? It is not a hunt with
hounds ! But his brother and he always liked to
look down into other people's flower gardens, and
now he has locked himself up in his hole, and does
not want to come out."

Aurora and Yefimovna safely reached Diedino.
The old man was delighted to see his niece ; he
cried like a child, showered caresses upon her and
questioned her about herself, her fianc6, her sorrows,
complaining all the time that the peasants would no
longer listen to him, that indeed he was quite
deserted. White, feeble and emaciated, he yet
reminded Aurora of her father, *' He has the same

254 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

observant expression, the same kind eyes, and the
same caressing voice," she thought.

" Oh, if I were but a few years younger, and not
nailed to my chair," the old man said " how quickly
I should have mounted my racehorse, and how
speedily we should have galloped to his Excellency
to inquire after your intrepid falcon ! "

Three days later Aurora left her uncle, taking
with her his benediction and a sum of money. She
went to Serpukhoff. The nearer the two travelling
ladies came to the city, the more they noticed the
unrest and disorder that reigned among the people.
A few villages had been completely deserted. Fear
then seized Yefimovna ; she began to cry and lament.
Food for the horses could only be procured with
great difficulty. They reached Serpukhoff with
exhausted animals. Half of the population had
left the city ; the rich families had gone to Toula,
Orel, or Tshernigoff. In the streets only soldiers,
munition waggons, cannon, trains carrying food
supplies for the army were to be .seen. Aurora
asked for the best hotel and sent for the deacon.

" Why do you want to see him ? " asked Yefim-
ovna ; " what new plan have you thought out, and
where can you find him, this deacon ? "

*' I know that he is here," replied Aurora ; " he
knows this neighbourhood well ; one of his relations
keeps an inn near here."

*' Then finish your business here as quickly as
possible," begged the old nurse plaintively. " Great
God, to what a country we have come ! Nothing
but cannon and soldiers ! I shall be well scolded
by your grandmother."

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 255

" She is kind and will forgive us. I shall see the
deacon to-day, and to-morrow I shall speak to the
chief of the district police, and to the authorities
and then, I give you my word, we shall go home
quickly."

They found Father Savva. He arrived in a great
hurry, very pleased though greatly surprised to see
Aurora. She told him of her intention to proceed
to Letashovka where Kutuzoff was stationed at
that moment ; she commissioned him to find her
some conveyance and fresh horses. The deacon
returned in the evening in a very bad humour ;
the waggoners, who remained in town asked insol-
ently exorbitant prices — a hundred roubles for two
relays.

" Give them what they ask," said Aurora. " I
shall take nurse with me, although I do not like to
expose her to any danger."

The deacon grew pensive. He had made up his
mind to abandon the church, and to enter the army ;
he was anxious to pay his debt to the enemy, the
debt he had sworn to repay on behalf of his wife.

" Ah," he said, " it would not be only one brigand
that I would fell to the ground ! " Here was a
splendid opportunity to go to Letashovka ; he had a
great mind to avail himself of it, and offer to accom-
pany Aurora. But he could not decide definitely.

Yefimovna brought in the samovar* and set the
table. They heard the din of voices accompanied
by a clashing of plates and glasses from the large
room in the inn ; a party of officers were there
having their supper.

* tea-urn

256 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" What rude men, not to have any consideration
for a lady staying in the same house ! " He left the
room, spoke to the waiter, and entered the large
dining room. His presence caused a hush among
the company.

*' Who is below ? " asked Aurora when he
returned to her.

" Some hussars and among them, the famous
partisan, Colonel Seslavin," replied the deacon ;
" he is brave and kind and presented me with a glass
of rum."

" What are these partisans ? " asked the girl as
she poured out the tea.

" They are volunteers who have recently formed
themselves into battalions ; they lie in wait for the
enemy, and then throw themselves upon them in
small groups. There are several now ; Seslavin,
Prince Koudasheff and so on ; people talk a great
deal about them."

" And what do they say ? "

" They say that not only officers but peasants,
too, lie in wait for enemy soldiers, and that they
kill them with hay-forks, pikes, or drown them in
wells and ponds. Proshka Zernin, the sotzki*
Klutshkin, and the starostikhalf VassiHssa are in-
deed heroes, and the latter is a daring amazon, a
Martha Posadnitza or a Judith ! "

" A Judith ? " repeated Aurora in enthusiastic
curiosity, shivering with emotion and drawing her
cloak closer over her shoulders.

" What ? Don't you know ? This woman, the

* A hundreder, police inspector over a district of loo houses,
t Wife of i^ starosta, or village bailiflf.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 257

wife of the starosta, called the peasants of Sitshovki
together, armed them with scythes, hatchets, any-
thing they could lay their hands on, and then, on
horseback, led them against the enemy."

" A woman ? " cried Yefimovna from the thres-
hold. " How can you say such foolish things,
father deacon ? "

" Grandmother, I swear to you, that it is nothing
but the holy truth."

" And where did she go ? " queried Aurora.

" Against the French. Unexpectedly she fell
upon one of their detachments, killed the officer
with her scythe, whilst the peasants knocked down
about a dozen soldiers, the rest fled, and they say
that Vassihssa went as far as their camp through the
wood."

" Merciful Father!" exclaimed Yefimovna, mak-
ing the sign of the cross. " Were they not afraid ?
What were they going to do in the enemy's camp ?
There must surely be guards, sentries and one can-
not enter."

" You can enter anywhere, grandmother, when
there is the desire and the will to do it."

" But why march thus against the enemy ? "

" They say that she had a vision and in it she
saw herself go near a great general, or some one
higher still, and kill him from behind a tree. Why
should one not attack them, these brigands who
have committed so many infamous crimes ? In the
neighbourhood of Smolensk, they took away the
two daughters of the landowner Volkoff ; two
beautiful girls. I have a great mind myself to join
the volunteers."

R

258 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

The stories told by the deacon greatly impressed
Aurora. She was silently reflecting upon what she
had heard when the deacon rose to take his leave.

" See that I am able to leave here to-morrow
morning ; pay whatever you are asked," said
Aurora.

When the deacon had gone, Aurora wrote several
letters, then drawing a bundle of banknotes — the
present from her uncle —from her bodice, she took
a banknote from among them and offered it to
Yefimovna.

" Take this," she said, " pack up and prepare
everything whilst I go to see about some business."

" But why do you give me this money ? " won-
dered Arina.

" You said that we had no change ; buy the
necessary provisions and change the note. Pay
the driver and for the oats too. As soon as I return,
we shall leave here."

Yefimovna went, and Aurora fell on her knees
before the holy images and prayed fervently ; then
she called the waiter and sent him to Colonel
Seslavin with a message, asking him to come and
see Mademoiselle Kramalin on a matter of great
importance. A quarter of an hour later, the
famous partisan entered her room.

When Yefimovna returned, quite out of breath
and laden with the provisions, she met the deacon,
looking very unhappy.

" I have brought an open kihitka *," he said,
" with good horses, but the young lady is no longer
here. Oh God, no trace of her."

*A low open carriage.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 259

" Where can she have gone ? " cried the terrified
Yefimovna.

'* She left these letters behind her ; she herself
went with the Hussars."

Almost distracted, Arina rushed into Aurora's
room ; it was empty.

XXXIV

At the beginning of October, a few days before the
battle of Taroutino, Kutuzoff gathered the principal
detachments of the Russian army in the neighbour-
hood of Letashovka. A fine rain was drizzling
down ; towards evening the wind rose, and then
the rain ceased for a while. The Prince was
lodged at the extreme end of the muddy village of
Letashovka, not far from Taroutino, in the little
house belonging to the clergyman. Yermoloff,
the chief of his general staff, and his aides-de-
camp, Hved at the other side of the village in some
workmen's cottages belonging to an abandoned
farm. It was about eleven o'clock in the evening
when Yermoloff, having rendered his daily report
to the Prince, started on his return journey to his
lodgings ; an orderly, carrying a lantern, walked
ahead of him ; both had to wade through the mud
which sometimes reached their knees ; the lantern
cast but a feeble light over the broken hedges,
courtyards, coach-houses and blackened roofs
dripping with rain ; the darkness was quite dense
beyond itc ray.- .

Alexis Petrovitsh Yermoloff was in a bad humour;
his rain-soaked cloak hung heavily from his should-
ers, his cap was rammed down upon his head, yet
scarcely covered the crop of dark curly hair that

260

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 261

had grown quite long since the war. Heavily
and wearily he ascended the small wet perron of
his izba ; his orderly came quickly to meet him ;
a stranger was waiting in a dark corner.

" Who was with you ? " asked the general in a
dissatisfied tone, as he entered the well-lit room,
where his servant was already arranging his supper.

" He would not give his name ; he is dressed like
an ordinary citizen, but very evidently belongs to
the aristocracy, and is an educated man."

" What is his business ? "

",He has an important communication to make
to his Highness."

" What ? To the Prince, at this hour of the
night ? " cried Yermoloff angrily shaking his wet
cap upon the floor.

" He says that the matter is of the highest im-
portance to the State, and cannot be delayed."

" They have all affairs of state which cannot
brook delay," continued Yermoloff, much annoyed,
and casting a side glance at the table where some-
thing tasty and fried in butter with onions, w^as
steaming by the side of a bottle of Chablis, sent
that very morning as a present to Alexis Petro-
vitsh by the butler of the general staff, who was a
popular favourite, and very clever in finding good
wines. And now here was unexpected, additional
work to be done ; a groan escaped the wide and
heroic breast of the general.

" Call this uninvited guest in," he said, turning
to the aide-de-camp, and then sat down on a stool.

A tall, slow and somewhat awkward individual of
about thirty, with a round, flat face and large, rolling

262 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

grey eyes, entered the room ; there was something
feminine in his face ; his reddish hair fell down over
his eyes and ears ; his heavy eyebrows, his thk\
compressed lips, gave him an air of dissatisfiaction
and fear. At the first glance, had it not been for
the side-whiskers framing his face, from ear to chin,
anyone would have thought that he was a woman.
The stranger wore a sheepskin fur coat, top boots
and held a fur cap in his hand.

" Who are you ? " asked Yermoloff.

The man silently looked at the aide-de-camp.
The general made a sign and the aide-de-camp
left the room.

" Your name ? Profession ? " he repeated.

" Reserve captain of artillery, Alexander Samoilo-
vitsh Figuner," the stranger replied in a low voice.

" What is it you want ?" asked Yermoloff,
fixing his own falcon eyes upon the grey eyes of the
stranger, and looking at him quietly and steadily.
He remembered the name, having come across it in
military reports.

" I can assure you that the matter is of the
highest importance, otherwise I would not have
dared to disturb you," said Figuner, speaking
slowly, and endeavouring to pronounce his words
very clearly. " But remember. General, every-
thing that is possible to-day may become impossible
to-morrow, if one dawdles and procastinates. Only
his Excellency, and you should know anything of
my plan."

"Explain your business without further preamble.
We are alone here. What is it all about ? "

" I have served in the 3rd company of the nth

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 263

brigade of artillery ; recently I was gorodnitshy *
in the province of Tamboff. Actuated by a strong
feeling of patriotism at the sight of all that is
happening in our country, I left the service and
my family, addressed myself to Count Rostoptshin
and others, and quite recently I entered Moscow."

" You have been to Moscow ? " the general
interrupted him.

*' I went everywhere, dressed either in the uniform
of an Italian or a French officer, or the garb of a
Russian moujik. I have seen everything ; I
entered the houses occupied by the enemy, crossed
the blazing streets, and I am firmly convinced that
it is possible to put an end at once, not only to the
occupation of our ancient capital, but even to the
war itself, and the calamities that have fallen upon
Russia."

" Really," said Yermoloff, " Finish the war at
once."

** Yes, the war," said Figuner, " but how, is my
secret."

" What is he, a Finn or a Jew ? "' thought the
general ; '* devil take him ! Is he mad or simply
insolent ? " and he looked a little askance at the
stranger. " Really it is a pity to waste too much
time on these civilians." Then he continued aloud :

" Your words are more than unusually grave.
Do you really believe that it is possible to end this
gigantic war immediately ? What united forces, the
efforts of scientific strategy have not been able to
accompHsh, you. . . . However, let me hear your
marvellous idea."

• Mayor, bailiff. y ->

264 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Figuner listened in silence to the general, then
took a step nearer him :

" Since I have decided to devote myself, with
complete self-sacrifice to the matter, I may tell you
that my plan is extremely dangerous. I have
considered it well, weighed all the chances for and
against ; like all human enterprises, my plan may
fail, but I should like to hope that in case of such
an eventuality — which would inevitably cause
my death, the Emperor and the country would not
abandon my family ; I am poor myself. Your
word for this would be sufficient for me."

" But first of all," said Yermoloff, somewhat
impatiently ** what do you require so as to execute
your plan ? "

"My friend Alexander Nikititsh Seslavin offered
to permit me to enter his corps of volunteers : he
is waiting for my answer, but I have another idea.
I want to act quite independently and I wish to be
allowed to pick out seven or eight Cossacks to be
under my orders."

" The future of your family will be assured " said
the general after a few moments reflection. " But
tell me, what do you want the Cossacks for ; in a
word, what is it you intend to do ? "

Figuner's eyes sparkled strangel}^ ; he drew him-
self up ; he was animated and seemed taller ; his
face was pale and his lips twitched.

" My plan is very simple. I am a sworn enemy
of all dreamers and idealogians. They have done
a great deal of harm." He became silent finding
no words to express his thoughts. " I have decided,"
he resumed after a short silence, " and my resolution

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 265

is irrevocable, to exterminate the principal and
unique author of all the evil that is now being
committed. I intend to kill Napoleon."

" What did you say ? " exclaimed Yermoloff,
rising from his seat.

*' Kill Napoleon, the leader of the French ! "
repeated Figuner.

*' He is certainly not in his right mind," thought
the general. " But after all, why should he not be
in his right mind ? Perhaps, he is only a determined
fanatic, haunted by an obsession, a fixed idea, a
passion ! He would not be the only one. Did not
Lounin beg to be sent to Bonaparte as an en-
voy with the intention of killing the Emperor
when he stretched out his hand for the papers he
brought ! " Yermoloff rose.

" Have you finally decided upon this ? " he asked.

" I have decided and I shall not withdraw from
it."

" And how do you intend to carry out your plan ?'

" God will decide. It will be He who will either
help me to succeed or will let me fail. I intend to
disguise myself as a beggar or a peasant and enter
the Kremlin or wherever the blackguard may be.
I alone shall strike ; I require help only for the
reconnoitering, for the preliminary preparations."

" You say that you have a family ? "

" Yes, a wife and five young children."

" Where are they ? "

" I left them at Morshansk when I went to
Moscow."

" And how did you manage to get there ? "

266 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" With a passport which the French themselves
gave me. I was described in it as a farmer."

" And what did you do at Moscow ? "

" I followed their parties reconnoitering and
foraging outside the city ; I fought them when it
was possible and took away their carts and supplies.
I think the reports of the general staff must have
mentioned me."

" Yes, your name has been mentioned in them.
And so you have quite decided upon this ? You are
not afraid of anything ? "

" One cannot fear all misfortune^. If God did not
abandon man, the boar would not eat him,"
replied Figuner. " Brutus killed his friend Caesar,
but the Corsican tyrant is not my friend. I have
prayed night and day ; I have sworn."

" The dammed German is coming out," thought
Yermoloff, " but we shall see. What do you ex-
pect in case of success ? " he resumed aloud ; *' say
it frankly, do not be ashamed."

Figuner blushed slightly ; his expression, how-
ever, was calm and cold.

" I require nothing ; I am sacrificing myself
for the country. Russia has brought me up and at
heart I am a Russian."

" And by birth ? "

*' From the Baltic provinces."

** Have you your papers ? "

*' Here they are."

XXXV.

"It is wonderful," thought the General as he
glanced over the papers. " And yet he speaks
with such enthusiasm, quotes Russian proverbs
and endeavours to pronounce his words clearly.
What is to be done with him ? " Yermoloff asked
himself, lost in his thoughts " It is quite impossible
to let his Excellency remain in ignorance of the o0er
of this man ; whatever happens, I shall be held re-
sponsible. Well, let us hope that his Excellency
will send him about his business."

He called his aide-de-camp, handed Figuner over
to his care and walked back over the muddy path.
The aide-de-camp had offered to saddle a horse
for him but Yermoloff had thanked him with an
impatient gesture.

At the door of Kutuzoff's hut, Yermoloff's
orderly ran against a soldier busy closing the
shutters.

"Everyone is asleep," said the latter seeing the
general emerge from the darkness.

" And his Excellency ? " asked Yermoloff.

" In bed, but the light is not yet extinguished."

" Announce me."

The orderly entered the vestibule, went to the
bedroom and announced the general who had left
there barely half an hour before.

Kutuzoff was seated on his bed with his bare feet

267

268 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

touching the carpet ; he was enveloped in a Bokhara
dressing gown : before him, on a small table, was
spread out a map of Russia, in which small pins
with heads of red and black wax were stuck here
and there to represent the Russian and French
armies ; he was busy working. The room was
over-heated as always with the old man.

" What is the matter, my dear fellow ? " he
asked, fixing his tired eyes discontentedly on
Yermoloff. " Is everything all right ? "

" Thank God, no bad tidings but there is some-
thing new," and slowly and minutely Yermoloff
told him of the arrival of Figuner and of his offer.
" I considered it to be my duty to submit the mat-
ter to you, and to ask for your orders. Figuner is
at my place, awaiting your decision."

** So," said Kutuzoff, pulling up the dressing
gown which had slipped off his shoulders ; " it is
a serious matter. Have you questioned him
thoroughly, listened to his whole story ? "

" Down to the smallest details. Prince."

" And what do you think of his mental condition ?
Has he, by any chance, come out of the yellow
house ? His brain is not cracked ? "

" That was my first idea but I have questioned
him carefully ; he speaks very well and there is
nothing in his expression that could suggest. . . .
But whether his plan is possible of realization or no
is a different question. He seems to be determined
and brave beyond cavil, and his decision is quite
irrevocable."

Kutuzoff leaned his old head upon his chest. He
meditated. Perspiration appeared upon his full

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 269

and clean-shaven chin, either as the result of the
heat, or of some emotion. He fell into a reverie ;
his only eye seemed to look beyond the little room
in which he was sitting, beyond Yermoloff and the
dark night. All his past seemed to come before
this old commander, so tired and yet so vigilant,
so active and so courageous.

" What a strange man. Think how he has
worked it all out, the rascal I I must admit that the
affair is out of the ordinary. But what have we to
rely upon ? " The old man settled himself com-
fortably upon his feather bed and put his hand to
his perspiring forehead. " Of course, there have
been similar examples, especially in Roman history
notably during the war with Pyrrhus. How did it
happen ? Fabricius was informed that a certain
Greek doctor (a Greek at Rome was Hke a German
in Russia) had offered to go and poison Pyrrhus, so
as to put an end to the war. If you remember your
Roman hisotry, you ought to know that Fabricius
listened to the Greek as you have done to this
German, and that he sent the traitor to Pyrrhus.
Naturally he was hanged on a birch tree or, as
they called it there, a fig tree. Well, what do you
say to that ? "

Yermoloff preserved a gloomy silence. The
candles were burning low. Kutuzoff looked out of
the window through which he could see the sky,
all red and glowing from the reflection of the fire
at Moscow. " My feeling is that if this man should
succeed in killing Bonaparte, everyone would say
that it was not he, but you or I , who had killed him
treacherously. Don't you think so ? "

270 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" Possibly," grunted Yermoloff, who did not yet
see what the Prince was leading up to ; " possibly
things happened Hke that in ancient Rome, but
the past cannot always serve as an example for the
future. And may I ask how this modern invading
Attila is better than a Stenka Razin, or a Pugat-
sheff ? The only difference is that those brigands
came from beyond the Volga, and this one comes
from Paris. And you know how the Russian
people treated those reprobates of yore 1 "

Kutuzoff pushed back the table, let his dressing
gown down, put his bare feet in his slippers, and
began to walk up and down the room. He walked
heavily with a swaying movement, his hands locked
behind his back.

" Yes, a reprobate but of a different stamp," he
said after a short silence. ** If you or I were per-
sonally to fall upon Napoleon and fight him openly,
it would be quite a different matter, but this plan
is like throwing a stone from behind a wall."

" It shall be just as your Excellency commands,"
said Yermoloff drily, yet in a respectful tone, as he
rose to go.

Kutuzoff detained him. " Wait a moment," he
said ; " You and I, we are soldiers of the nineteenth
century — that is what I want to remind you, but
the real question is whether our enemies deserve
the same title. I predicted that they would eat
horseflesh, and they are doing it. I said that
Moscow would see the finish of their idol, and of their
army ; it has happened. Their strength is being
exhausted ; we shall drive them out of the country,
you may feel sure of it. And even if I do not live

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 271

until then, you will live, and will see these same
Frenchmen hurl their present idol into nothing-
ness with the same facihty with which they have
dethroned and assassinated their legitimate King.
A pitiful nation ! "

Kutuzoff, leaning against the window, contem-
plated the glowing sky. " Again a fire ? The
martyr city is being burnt to the ground. Ah, they
will remember their fires ; they will pay dearly for
this, burning Moscow."

" What are your Excellency's instructions ? "
asked Yermolofi.

Kutuzoff turned to the general. " There is no
article in any code concerning such a matter. May
Christ be with him. You know the proverb : 'Look
for the brave in the prison, for the coward among
the clergy.' Give him eight Cossacks, and may
God be with him. They say the voice of the
people is the voice of God. Let him do what he has
decided upon, if such be the supreme will, but as
for a command to kill — I give him none."

As the partisans, Seslavin and Figuner, met at
Stafievo, a property belonging to Prince Vyazemski.
Figuner told the Colonel that he had been authorised
to act on his own account, but that he had come to
ask the advice of a colleague more experienced than
himself. Seslavin gave him two cavaliers from
his own detachment : one was an ensign, quite
young, lean, dark, short of stature, almost a child in
looks, but an admirable horseman ; he had begged
Seslavin to let him go with Figuner. The same
night Figimer and his escort left for Moscow.

XXXVI

The French definitely left Moscow on the nth
of October. A week later, that is on the 19th, the
news was published in the " Northern Post " of St.
Petersburg, but it only reached Panshino, where the
entire family of the Princess was now gathered
together, by the end of the month. Everyone was
wondering and making conjectures as to where
Aurora was and what she was doing ; nothing had
been heard from her since her last letter from
Serpukhoff. The Princess was in despair, and
neither Xenia nor her husband could console her.

Then came the glorious reports of the battles
of Taroutino, where Bagowouth fell ; of Malojaro-
slavetz and Krasnoe, when the French lost nearly
all the prisoners they had with them. Prevented
by the Russians from using the Kaluga road.
Napoleon was compelled to traverse that of Smolensk
which he had himself devastated. The French,
regularly pursued by fresh and vigorous Russian
troops, entered that vast stretch of land between
the Dnieper and the Dvina. Furious at his failures,
Napoleon led his troops to the Berezina, losing
thousands of men and horses on the way, thanks
to the terrible Russian weather : the mud was up to
their knees, the frosts were awful, and the Cossacks
perpetually harrassed them. The Volunteers too

272

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 273

greatly plagued them. The deeds of the poet-
colonel Davidoff, of Orloff-Denissoff, the Princes
Koudasheff and Vadbolski, of Seslavin, Figuner
and of many others were known to all. There were
others less known, such as the deacon, Savva
Skvartzoff, who was busy avenging his wife who had
been ravished by the French. One day he suddenly
appeared from out of a wood and, with his stick,
knocked down a French artillery officer who was
just about to open fire on a Russian detachment.
The French battery was captured without a shot
being fired. All sorts of legends were told of the
deeds of the partisans. It was said that Figuner,
having missed Napoleon at Moscow,had strengthened
his escort by enrolling a few more volunteers, and
then thrown himself upon the road of Mojaisk,
where he captured a train of supplies and luggage,
set free over a hundred Russian prisoners, and blew
up an entire artillery corps. The names of several
women were mentioned in these tales. People
praised the courage and daring of Mademoiselle
Douroff, known as Cavalier Alexandroff, and of
two other heroines whose names have not come
down to us. These intrepid partisans, at the head
of small squadrons of Hussars, Cossacks, and
various volunteers, appeared here and there,
harrassing the remainder of the French army by
night and day, capturing supplies, luggage, and the
booty carried away from Moscow. They freed the
Russian prisoners, whom the French were dragging
with them to carry their loads and act as servants
for the army.
The Russian victories at Krasnoe completely

274 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

routed the French army. During these battles,
from the third to the sixth of November, the enemy
lost nearly 26,000 men, most of whom were made
prisoners ; among them were seven generals and
over 300 officers. It was here that the debacle of
the splendid French army began ; it was destroyed
by fatigue, hunger, cold and disease. The fields
had long been covered with snow ; severe frosts,
accompanied by fierce northern gales, followed.
Then suddenly the weather turned very mild ;
fogs succeeded the fierce frost and cold ; the roads
with their deep tracks and thick mud became
impracticable. In the meantime, Kutuzoff, tra-
velling either in a closed sledge, or in a droshki*
accompanied his troops who were as if electrified by
their recent victories. On the eve of the sixth of
November, when inspecting the bivouacs, he arrived
on horseback at the camp of the Semenovski
regiment of Guards escorted by several generals
and aides-de-camp. They were all very jolly,
talking with animation about the definite and
decisive defeat of Ney's army corps ; they had even
found the baton of the terrible Marshal Davout in a
captured luggage train. Dusk fell in the midst
of a thick fog. The Prince reached the tent of
Commandant Lavroff. Not far away a young
artillery officer was hastily sketching a comrade
who had been severely wounded. The Prince and
his escort dismounted. A seat was brought out for
Kutuzoff ; he sat down and stretched out his
benumbed limbs and enjoyed the confusion of the
young artist.

• c»b.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 275

" What is your name ? "

" Kvashnin, your Excellency, " replied the officer
blushing ; " I am making a sketch for the father of
my comrade."

" That is splendid of you. But I have seen you
somewhere before."

" After my imprisonment at Moscow. Your
Excellency was surprised that I could have borne
it. I was aide-de-camp to Mikhail Andreievitsh."

" And who is he, whose portrait you are drawing ?

" A colleague, Tyountin ; we were both at
Krasnoe. ..."

But Kutuzoff was no longer Hstening. The
cuirassiers of his escort, in order to keep out the
gusts of wind, had unfurled before him the banners
taken from the French. Kutuzoif contemplated
the banners. The fog lifted, and the last rays of the
setting sun shed a vivid light upon the lines of tents,
the cannon and the soldiers grouped around the
fires. The commandant's orderly served tea.
Someone began to read aloud the inscriptions on the
banners.

" What is written there ? " queried Kutuzoff.
" Austerlitz ? Ah, it was hot at Austerlitz, but
to-day we are revenged. I have been criticized
because of the diamond crosses I demanded and
obtained for the officers after Borodino, but what
kind of cross do we deserve after Krasnoe ? If I
were to cover, not only the officers but every single
soldier with diamonds, it would not be too much ! "

The Prince was smiling. Everyone looked at him
with a glow of satisfaction and pride. The veteran

276 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

was in a good humour and seemed to grow younger
with each day that passed.

** I have never forgotten," he continued, " the
highest recompense that I ever received : the
grand cordon of St. George which the Empress pre-
sented to me after Matshin. That decoration used
to be greatly coveted. I was young and full of hope
then. Does anyone here remember the young
Kutuzoff ? No ? . . . never mind, I received the
much coveted star. Our mother, the Empress
of blessed memory, summoned me to Tsars koe Selo.
I hurried there and arrived in the middle of a gala
reception ; the gilded rooms were crowded with
high dignitaries of State, courtiers with embroidered
garments ; everyone stared at him whom they
called 'the young hero of Ismail.' I might even say
* the handsome hero,' for in those days I was not the
old owl I am now. But I looked at no one ; I went
straight through with the sole thought that I
was wearing the illustrious star of St. George. I
arrived at the Imperial study, boldly opened the
door and — what happened to me ? I forgot every-
thing, gentlemen ! St. George, Ismail, even Kutuzoff
himself. I only saw the heavenly blue eyes, the
magnificent bearing of Catherine, — and that was
my recompense."

Kutuzoff pulled out his handkerchief, wiped his
eyes and grew pensive. All the others observed a
respectful silence.

" And where is he sleeping to-night, this son of a
dog ? " suddenly asked the Prince laughing loudly ;
'* where is our Bonaparte who came here to fetch
wool and is leaving shorn, No chance to-night

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 277

for a rest. Seslavin has promised to give him no
respite to-night, and Alexander Nikititsh is a man of
his word. Ah, they are brave fellows, these
partisans. We owe them a good deal ; the much
praised hero runs away from them Uke a school boy
from the rod."

Loud laughter followed this sally of the Prince.
The talk turned to the deeds of the volunteers.
Some praised Seslavin and Vadbolski, while others
spoke of Tshernosuboff and Figuner. Someone
observed that Mademoiselle Douroff, the cavaher
Alexandroff, was greatly distinguishing herself with
the corps of Seslavin. Kvashnin added blushing,
that he had heard from a reliable source that among
Figuner's escort there was also a young woman, a
heroine, disguised as a Cossack. Everyone at once
began to question him about this mysterious lady.
Timidly looking at the Prince, Kvashnin related
in French all that he had heard concerning the young
lady whom he knew belonged to Moscow society,
but whom he had never met.

" Who is she ? " enquired Kutuzoff , slowly sipping
his hot tea. " Is she another amazon ? "

" Precisely, your Excellency," replied Kvashnin,
growing scarlet. " She is a Mademoiselle Kramalin
of Moscow. She came to find Alexander Nikititsh
Seslavin at Letashovka, and he took her with him
from Serpukhoff."

" But why did she come ? "

*' She was searching for someone I had just
escaped from Moscow and I don't. ..."

" Did she find whom she was seeking, ?" asked the
Prince.

278 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" No, her search proved hopeless. She therefore
begged Figuner to accept her in his escort, and since
then she has never left him ; she is wonderfully
courageous, doing her service like any ordinary
soldier, supporting, without complaint, privations
and fatigue ; she sets an example. . . .
because . . , . " Here Kvashnin grew quite em-
barrassed and could not finish his sentence.

" Yesterday, gentlemen," interrupted general
Lavroff ; " this Figuner was on the point of falling
upon Napoleon. He went straight to the French
camp behind a hillock ; unfortunately, however, his
guides lost their way, and he missed a great capture,
a first rate beast of prey."

** Yes, first rate," amiably repeated Kutuzoff,
stretching his tired limbs. " By the way, to-day
I received, among the many epistles in prose and
verse, a new fable from our esteemed author, Ivan
Andreievitsh Kryloff : * The Wolf among the Dogs ' ;
that is a present worth having ! " The Prince took
a sheet of blue, rather crumpled paper out of his
pocket ; he smoothed it out with the back of his
hand, and began to read it aloud. In his youth he
had been a fine elocutioniot, a good actor even, so
that even now he read well, in a somewhat singing
voice.

" A wolf thinking that he was entering a sheep-
cot, fell into a dog-kennel." He continued to read,
growing enthusiastic, lowering and raising his voice
as he read how the dogs discovered the grey one and
barked so loudly that the kennel became an inferno,
whilst the wolf crouching in the corner assured them
that he was only an old friend, and had only to

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 279

fraternise with them and make peace ; he did not
want to fight. And when he reached the Unes :

" The hunter interrupted him saying :
" You are grey, my friend, but I am white,"

Kutuzoff raised his cap, showing his head with its
few white hairs, and then continued to recite the
last few Unes with great feeUng :

" That is why it is my habit
Never to make peace with wolves.
Before I have taken their skin,
And he let the dogs loose upon the wolf ! ' '

Everyone frantically shouted " hurrah," and the
camp took it up and shouted " Hurrah " also.

" Hurrah for the saviour of our country ! "
shouted Kvashnin, drying his tears, and rapturously
looking at the Prince.

" That honour is not mine, it belongs to the
Russian soldier," cried Kutuzoff and mounting
upon his seat, he waved his cap ; " it is he who has
tracked the famished animal and wounded him to
the death I "

XXXVII

The cold bitter weather returned, fierce gales
again blew, and snow covered the country. The
famished wild animal was losing his fur, torn from
him bit by bit ; he, bleeding to death, ran quicker
and quicker across the endless snowfields and mys-
terious forests. When he reached the Berezina, he
halted in view of his pursuers, who were ready to fall
upon him and rend him to pieces. In a desperate
movement, he threw himself into the snow in the
endeavour to make them lose him, leaving behind
but one or two tracks of his enfeebled paws to lead
the hunters astray. Then, gathering his last
strength, he swam over the Berezina. What did he
care that his own people were falling under the fires
of the pursuers or drowning in the river ? He
was saving himself. That was enough. The French,
losing their last supplies and luggage trains, crossed
the Berezina at Stoudianki on November fourteenth
on a hastily constructed bridge that was crumbling
away.

Puzzled and perplexed by this unexpected cros-
sing and flight, the Russian leaders, each accusing the
other of having lost their quarry, threw themselves
with renewed vigour upon the heels of the hostile
legions, even following them beyond the Russian
frontier. The partisans and Cossacks pursued the

280

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 281

fugitives over the Lithuanian marshes and forests,
harassing them, as Napoleon himself expressed it,
like Arabian hordes. Seslavin was on his left, and
Figuner on his right. Both were anxious to make
good for the mistake committed at the Bere-^ina,
and make Napoleon himself a prisoner. Seslavin
nearly succeeded at the village of Lyad. He
stealthily approached it during the night, succeeded
in penetrating into the village, and killing the out-
post sentries guarding the road to the Emperor.
But Napoleon was warned by a fire that broke out
and left the village with his escort. Figuner, with
a view to cutting off the French party, hurried his
detachment through the neighbouring woods to the
little town of Oshmiani. Seslavin was also hurry-
ing there from the other side. Each of them had
his plan all cut and dried, and was anxious to carry
it out.

Worn out, and furious at his continued mis-
fortune. Napoleon gathered Murat and the other
marshals together at Smorgoni, and unexpectedly
declared that the burning of Moscow, the cold and
the mistakes of his subordinates, had made it imper-
ative for him to hand over the command of the
army to Murat, whilst he himself hurried to Paris
to recruit a new army of 300,000 men for a new
invasion of Russia in the spring. The entire
cavalry division, commanded by Loyson, had
already been secretly summoned from Vilna to guard
the Emperor on his journey thither. The division
hurried to meet the fugitive emperor, and on its
march, occupied various villages, farms and inns.
The reason of this march gradually became known

282 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

to the soldiers of the first regiment of the division,
that chiefly consisted of Italians and Saxons. The
Southern soldiers, who were unwilling followers of
the Grand Army, and who were, moreover, all
suffering from frozen faces, hands and feet, grumbled
almost audibly in the smoky and damp Lithuanian
hovels at the miserable oat soup, and cursed the
chief culprit responsible for their miseries.

"He is again ignominiously running away and
abandoning us to ruin ; he also ran away in Egypt,"
murmured the soldiers, and the officers too ; " If
the Cossacks would only catch him and shut him
up in some iron cage like a rare animal."

It was the 23rd of November. After a terrible
snowstorm and gale that had lasted two days the
weather again became mild and clear. The sun
shone brightly ; the temperature rose to over 20°.
Over the white brilUant snow-covered road, skirted
by hollows, a small Jewish-Polish sledge coach,
such as well-to-do farmers and middle-class land-
owners used for travelling in those days, was gliding
rapidly. It was followed by a mat-covered kibitka*,
with a body in the shape of a sunshade. Both
vehicles were guarded by horsemen ; they were a
few hundred Polish Uhlans, who relieved one
another in their guard duty. The snow creased
under the sledges, and the red waving plumes on the
headgear of the escort looked like so many poppies
against the white snow.

In the sledge-coach sat Napoleon ; he was clad
in a bearskin coat and cap ; Coulaincourt, wrapped
up in a foxskin coat, sat beside him, whilst General
*A low carriage.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 283

Rapp, wearing a hourka (felt cloak) faced them.
The mameluke Rustan, clad in a peasant's sheep-
skin sat on the box with the Pole Vonsovitsh, who
served as their guide. In the kihitka were Duroc,
the court marshal, and Mouton, the general aid-de-
camp. Napoleon was travelling under the name of
the Duke of Vicence, that is Coulaincourt.

" Where are these cursed villages and towns ? "
angrily asked Napoleon, who now and then thrust
out his frozen nose from underneath his bearskins,
and impatiently peered through the frost covered
windows ; " Nothing but a desert, snow upon snow.
Shall we soon reach a halting place and get a relay
of horses ? "

Rapp took out his large silver watch and, scarcely
able to hold it in his benumbed hand, examined it.

" The relay of horses, your Highness," he said,
" will soon reach us, but the next halting place is
beyond Oshmiani, about four hours from here."

" Have we any provisions ? "

" Your Highness finished everything this morning
for breakfast," replied Coulaincourt : "a stuffed
turkey and a Strasburg pie."

" And the ham ? "

" There were only some remnants of it which were
given to the guide."

" Cheese ? "

" There is still an old piece."

" No, thanks, it is bitter and hard like a piece of
wood. Is there no white bread even ? "

" Not a morsel. Rustan served the last piece
at dessert."

Five versts further on, the travellers saw a group

284 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

of soldiers warming themselves before a fire in
front of a demolished inn ; it was the relay. Napo-
leon looked out angrily, but did not leave his
vehicle. The sledge-coach and the kihitka went on
again. Napoleon slept, but shaken and jolted,
he soon woke again, and began to talk to his com-
panions.

" Yes, gentlemen," he said as if following out his
train of thought ; " in addition to our misfortunes,
there was also undoubted treachery. Schwarzen-
berg, despite our arrangements, kept aloof from
the Grand Army ; we were abandoned to our fate.
And how could we fight under such terrible con-
ditions ? "

The vehicle quickly ascended and descended a
heavy snowdrift.

** And the cold ! And these Cossacks and par-
tisans ! " continued Napoleon ; " They are finishing
off our exhausted legions. Who would ever have
thought that their savage cavalry, that was only
able to make a noise and was powerless against a
handful of clever sharpshooters, could become such
a danger in this absurd, incomprehensible country ?
Our cavalry is being destroyed for want of supplies,
our infantry is left without boots and coats, and
all are hungry."

From the face of the new Caesar his companions
saw that hunger was indeed a terrible thing. They
travelled another ten versts. Night was falling.
Napoleon, tortured by his benumbed and frozen
toes, again fell asleep.

" No, I cannot stand it any longer," he exclaimed
at last, seizing the handle of the window ; " we must

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 285

stop at the first house we come to. We shall find a
piece of meat or a plate of something hot."

" Your Majesty need not worry," said Rapp;
" according to our itinerary, our next halting place
is only two hours from here. It is a castle belonging
to a man who is devoted to us. Vonsovitsh assured
me that we shall find everything ready for us there."

" Go to the devil with your itineraries and your
castles. I tell you that I am hungry, and that it is
no joke. I cannot wait another two hours."

" But we must reach Oshmiani before night."

Napoleon was impatient ; he pulled down the
window and looked out. In the distance, about
three versts to the right of the road, he could see a
dwelUng of some sort.

" A farm ! " cried the Emperor, " there is a house
and a church. We shall stop there."

" But your Highness," observed Coulaincourt,
" it is not on our itinerary, and we are not expected
there."

" And it is possible that a trap is laid there for us,"
added Rapp.

" What the deuce are your talking about ? This
is a hamlet in the midst of an open field," faid
Napoleon. " There are neither forests nor hills
near, and besides we have our escort. Duke, order
them to drive there."

Coulaincourt gave orders to halt, and sent some
of the escort to reconnoitre. They returned with
the information that all was quiet at the farm. The
vehicles glided over the hard snow, and turned in
the direction of the small farmhouse with its tiled
roof. A granary stood by its side, also a stable and

286 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

an izba* At the back of the house, in a snow-cover-
ed garden, a church could be seen and a little
further on a small hamlet was visible. The vehicle
stopped before the perron but no one seemed to be
there. However, a horse, attached near the
barn, proved that the house was not wholly deserted.
♦ Pewant's hut.

XXXVIII

A BALD and portly Catholic priest came to meet the
travellers in the anteroom. Behind him was a
boy pressing himself against the wall. The priest
seemed to be embarrassed by the dress and aspect
of the new arrival. He seemed pale and pre-
occupied. Napoleon entered the living room, threw
off his fur coat and cap, Rustan and Vonsovitsh
taking them from him, and remained in his green
velvet wadded jacket, worn over his blue chasseur
uniform. He sat down and looked severely at
Vonsovitsh.

" Serve the Emperor with something to eat,"
whispered Vonsovitsh in the priest's ear. The
latter, quite startled that the Emperor of the French
was there before him, stared at Napoleon in silent
amazement, while Rustan drew off his master's
boots.

" Anything will do," continued Vonsovitsh,
" soup, cabbage soup, a glass of hot milk, anything,
only be quick."

" There is absolutely nothing in the house,"
plaintively replied the priest, crossing his hands
upon his breast.

" Some white bread, cream and. ..."

'* Nothing, nothing," the priest repeated in

287

288 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

despair, his lips pale and trembling ; " where am I
to get it ; soldiers passed here to-day and pillaged
everything."

" What is he saying ? " asked Napoleon.

Vonsovitsh translated the priest's words.

" They broke open the storehouse," continued
the priest, " killed all my fowls, and drove away
my last cow. I have remained, as you see, only in
my cassock, and I have not tasted any food since the
morning."

" Cannot you send down to the village," queried
Vonsovitsh.

" Oh, sir Captain, all our peasants, all my house-
hold have run away, and were it not for my nephew,
who has just come from town to fetch me, I should
have died of hunger here. Oh, I am sure his
Caesarian Majesty will pay for everything in time."

Vonsovitsh translated the priest's reply. Napo-
leon frowned at first, but then, realising that there
was nothing to be done, and that these things were
but the result of war, he thought it best to appear
magnanimous, so patting the priest condescendingly
on the back, he told him, through his interpreter,
that he was glad to meet him, and that he was the
first clergyman he had ever met who submitted to
circumstances and was disinterested.

" But," he said, suddenly turning to the priest,
and speaking in Latin, "we have a common lan-
guage. Let us talk like two good Cathohcs."

The priest was delighted and bowed low.

" I never leave my Sallust behind me," said
Napoleon, " I always carry it in my pocket. I
often read Jugurtha and Caesar and his Gallic wars.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 289

We too, holy father, we are fighting against the
modern barbarians ; the Gauls of the east ; we must
resign ourselves to privations."

Napoleon paced the room while he talked. The
priest, agreeably surprised, and the Imperial suite
listened in admiration to the Latin quotations
of the new Caesar. It was very warm in the room,
and the sun threw its bright rays over the modest
furniture and the flower pots, which had been
neglected by the pillaging soldiers. Napoleon
suddenly stopped speaking, as through the window
he caught sight of something which gave him
great pleasure. From the garret window of the
stables, a grey-spotted chicken, that had somehow
escaped the general massacre of the previous day,
was looking down upon the visitor.

" Reverendissime, ecce pulla," said Napoleon,
turning to the priest.

The priest and the Emperor's suite hurried to
the window, then out to the yard ; lancers sur-
rounded the stables and ascended the granary.
The fowl flew above their heads into the garden,
where the mameluke and the officers pursued it.
The portly and dignified Duroc himself opened
the skirts of his fur coat to try and catch the bird.
Napoleon watched the scene from the window,
smiling pleasantly the while. The fugitive bird
was at last caught, and brought in in triumph.

" Si item," said the Emperor, " if you are as
good a cook as you are a priest, prepare me agood
soup."

" Magna cum voluptate, Caesar," replied the
priest, " but will I succeed ? "

T

290 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

The nephew Ht a fire and Rustan plucked and
cleaned the fowl.

" But sire," said Rapp glancing at his big watch,
'* we are losing time. They will be getting anxious
at the castle where we are expected, and also at
Oshmiani."

" Another moment," said Napoleon, " I can scent
a pleasant, appetising odour from the kitchen ;
it is still day, and we have time."

A table was placed in front of the sofa upon which
the Emperor was reclining ; the soup was served
in an earthen pot, and a soldier had found a wooden
spoon.

'* Optime, superrime," repeated Napoleon, as he
greedily swallowed the tasty broth.

The mameluke cut the chicken with his pocket
knife, and served the Emperor with a wing and a
portion of the breast, but Napoleon took the whole
bird and devoured it, whilst Rustan handed him
the remains of a bottle of Bordeaux from his travel-
ling flask.

" My friends," said Napoleon in a tone of great
dehght, " this is a banquet ; I have never dined
so well at the Tuileries."

" It is time for us to leave here, your Highness,"
said Coulaincourt ; "it is growing dusk, and we
have been here over an hour ! "

Napoleon smiled happily, stretched his legs,
placed them upon a chair, waved his hand, and
leaning back on the sofa, fell asleep in the warm
atmosphere of the half -lit room.

The faces of his escort grew more and more
worried. Coulaincourt made impatient signs to

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 291

Rapp ; Rapp signalled to Duroc, but they all stood
there in servile respect, not daring to move, silently
waiting for the exhausted Caesar to waken.

In the evening of the same day there appeared in
the forest skirting the town of Oshmiani, about
five versts from the road to Vilna, a little party of
horseback riders. In was Figuner's detachment.
They camped in the wood, but before lighting a
fire, they endeavoured to discover by whom, and
in what numbers, Oshmiani was occupied. Dis-
guised in a peasant's loose coat, with a flat cap
pulled down over his ears, Figuner himself first
entered the town on a forest-guard's sledge. There
he learned to his great dismay that a detachment of
French cavalry had arrived in the town from Vilna
the previous evening. Wondering why the French
had gone there, he hastened back to his bivouac
and consulted with his officers. Then he divided
his party into two groups, sent one through the
forest to the village of Medyanka, and retained
the other with him. He sent his aide-de-camp
Kramm, and the old Cossack Moseitsh, who was
acquainted with the Lithuanian dialect, into
Oshmiani ; they were to discover in what force the
French had come. The travellers entered the town
at dusk. The streets were quite deserted ; the
shops all closed. They only met one or two pedes-
trians, an odd traveller, and but few windows
were lit. At the entrance of the town, the French
had stationed a picket at a small inn. The soldiers,
holding their horses ready, seemed to be waiting
for something. Moseitsh, disguised as a wood-
cutter, watched them from a distance, then turning

292 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

to Kramm, who was stretched upon a heap of wood
in the sledge, whispered :

" Your honour, do you see how many there are I
We had better turn back,"

" Go on," repUed the latter also in a whisper ;
" they will let us pass, perhaps. I shall enter the
inn, and we may learn something useful."

" But I have been ordered not to leave you."

" Well, then, come in as well, but we must not
enter together ; you must come in later."

The orderly passed the patrol and entered the
inn, then the workmen's izba. The corporal, so as
not to attract attention, drove through the side
streets to the market place, then to the bridge
where he deposited his load of wood, and returned
to the inn. Without undoing their harness, he put
the horses before a crib, got some oats from the inn-
keeper for them, and then stretched himself in the
empty sledge and attentively listened to all that
was said in the yard around him. It had now
grown quite dark.

XXXIX

Figuner's aide-de-camp, clad in the costume of a
lesser Polish landowner, a fur-lined beshmet* and
black Lithuanian sheepskin cap was none other
than Aurora KramaHn. She had greatly changed.
With her hair cut short, and her face heavily tanned
by the wind and weather and wearing either the
tshekmen'f of the Cossack, or the vest and top-boots
of the artilleryman, with a pistol stuck in her belt,
she could easily be taken for a pupil of the school
for cadets. But it was not so much her costume
as her sojourn in burnt Moscow, and the life she
had led for the past month among Figuner's volun-
teers, that had changed her so greatly. Figuner
himself, to whom Seslavin had entrusted Aurora,
had carefully kept the secret of her birth and sex
from his suite, and attributed her small physical
strength to her extreme youth. The officers of
Figuner's detachment at first called her Kramahn,
and then Kramm for short. At first, they had
made fun of the new recruit, and had called him
*' girl," but Figuner had quickly stopped that by
speaking of the noble birth and breeding of the
young man. Then they ceased making their little
jokes about her.

Aurora never dismounted from her horse, and
♦ Jerkin worn by the Tartars. f Surtout worn by the Cossacks.

293

294 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

everyone greatly admired her zeal and pluck. But
scarcely returned from an expedition, trembling
with cold, famished with hunger, and a prey to
nervous excitement, she yet prayed to be sent
away again at once. The only thing that troubled
her was the cold cruelty, almost barbarism with
which her chief treated the French prisoners. At
first Figuner would question them kindly give them
food to eat, but once that he had learned all he
wanted from them, he ordered them to be shot
without mercy. She could never forget that he
had once, with his own hands, shot five prisoners
who had implored him to spare their lives.

" Why such cruelty ? " she had asked him one
day.

" Listen, Kramm," Figuner had repUed, passing
his hands through his hair ; " why should I let them
live ? What for ? As the proverb says, ' they
are neither a candle for God, nor a firepoker for the
devil.' Besides, they are sure to freeze to death if
we leave them, and we cannot drag them around
with us."

While watching the poor, half-frozen Italian
soldiers at Oshmiani, Aurora remembered another
incident which had occurred but two days before.
Figuner had gone to Smorgoni to reconnoitre, and
on his return, had related how he had met a carriage
full of French wounded, which had broken down
on the road, and he had garrotted them all, and, in
addition, had chastised the officer in command
before shooting him. Aurora remembered all these
incidents when she entered the izba. The benches
and the stove were occupied by sleeping travellers.

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 295

and working men. She was so tired that she
thought of nothing but how to snatch an hour's
sleep.

" Do you want to rest and warm yourself, my
young master," asked a bearded, White- Russian of
about fifty years of age, lying on the top of the
stove.

" Yes," replied Kramm.

" Have you come from the village ? "

" Yes."

" Have you come to fetch fish or flour ? "

" Fich."

" Come and lie down here," said the peasant,
making room for Aurora beside him, " you will be a
little crushed, but we'll make room for you." He
extended a rough hand to Aurora who, placing one
foot on the bench, jumped up on the stove and lay
down beside the peasant, whose clothes smelt of hay
and tow.

*' We are millers," the peasant informed her,
yawning, " but we also deal in flax. "

Placing her head upon her sheepskin cap, she
listened carefully to know if all were asleep ; a pro-
found silence reigned in the izba. For a long time
she waited to hear Moseitsh give the signal for them
to leave the town ; they had agreed to do so before
daybreak ; then she fell asleep.

Suddenly she heard someone calling her ; she
raised her head and listened.

** It is me," said the voice of the peasant.

It was quite light in the izba, and Aurora saw
that she was now alone in the room with the White-
Russian, who was gazing kindly at her.

296 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" Listen to what I am going to tell you, my young
master," said the latter raising himself on his elbow.

Aurora sat up also.

" Answer my question ; is it a sin to kill ? **

" Kill whom ? "

*' A man, for even if he be an enemy, he has a soul."

" In war-time and on the battle field, it is not a
sin to kill the enemy," replied Aurora. She remem-
bered the service at the church of Tshapligino, and
the appeal of the Holy Synod. " One must defend
one's country, one's religion and honour."

" Yes, but it sometimes happens that one kills
off the battle field," sighed the moujik.

" What do you mean ? " asked Aurora.

And then the moujik told her how he had shot a
Frenchman in the back ? he had met him limping on
his way into the town. Aurora was silent. She
thought of burnt Moscow, of the place of execution.
" What is he worrying about ? " she thought.
" What does it matter now that all is finished and
destroyed ; let them perish too." It grew quite
light in the room. She could see people passing in
front of the windows ; she could hear the din of
voices from outside.

" And I, my young master," the peasant began
again, " I have come to Oshmiani. ..." And as
Aurora still did not reply, he continued : " They
say that General Platoff is coming here with his
Cossacks, and I. . . ."

The door opened and Moseitsh entered. On
seeing the moujik, he stopped.

*' Don't be afraid," said Aurora, descending from

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 297

the stove, *' he is one of our people. Well, \^hat
news ? "

" Let us go, they are expecting their Bonaparte."

" Where ? "

" Here ! "

" How do you know ? "

*' They are constantly repeating the word Em-
peror, and pointing to the road."

" Get out the sledge ; we have plenty of time to
rejoin our people."

The Cossack went to fetch the horse and Aurora
followed him. The day had scarcely begun, but
the street was already full of people. Everyone
seemed worried, for Napoleon was three hours
late.

XL

The mayor and the other officials appointed by the
French, were waiting at the entrance of the town,
their eyes rivetted upon the road. The Jews, the
people and the children, pressed behind, or mounted
on the roofs and fences so as better to see the escort
drawn up in battle array.

" There is no doubt," thought Aurora " that they
are expecting Napoleon and our people are pur-
suing him," And she thought of Napoleon as she
had seen him in the painting, aiming at the deer.

" It is not the Emperor," said a voice near by, " it
is Coulaincourt going to Paris."

Suddenly there was a commotion in the crowd
which pressed forward. A small sledge was ap-
proaching, followed by a kihitka A thousand
thoughts swiftly crowded Aurora's brain. She
remembered the starosta Klimm, and the French-
men he had thrown into the well and covered with
earth. She thought of the confession which the
White-Russian had made to her. It appeared to
her that she too had a work to do and that she
should do it at once. " Blackguard, blackguard,"
she repeated mentally, " you have trampled under-
foot all that was most sacred to us ; you will have
to pay for it." Feeling the solemnity of the
moment, she could not help noticing that the crowd

298

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 299

that had been used to welcome Napoleon with
shouts of enthusiasm, now received him in silence,
with an air of worry and embarrassment.

The sledge halted before the inn, and Aurora
asked herself tremblingly whether it were the Duke
of Vicence or the Emperor himself. At that
moment, the pale countenance of the Emperor was
silhouetted on the window of the sledge. Aurora
recognized him immediately. " Oh, there he is,"
she murmured, " the plebeian Caesar, the crowned
private ! "

The crowd behind her had fallen on its knees.

" Well, why are we not moving on ? " asked
Napoleon in a loud and discontented voice, not
paying the sUghtest attention to the mayor, who
was making a speech of welcome.

Aurora remembered her childhood, her uncle
Peter, and the dog pursued by the peasants shout-
ing : " Mad ! Mad ! ' Here is the chance that I
have been waiting for," she thought, taking a sud-
den resolution. " Why not shoot down the monster?
Basil, God keep you ! " She made the sign of the
cross, placed her hand under her hesHmet *, pro-
duced her revolver and fired. She missed the
Emperor. The escort immediately turned round
and fired at the crowd. A few fell, and among them
a pale young man in a beshmet ; he fell face down
and remained motionless. The inn was surrounded,
and several people, among them the innkeeper,
were arrested. The miller also was killed ; half
turned towards Aurora, his eyes seemed to be still
saying : *' My young master, listen to what. ..."

♦Jerkin.

300 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

Moseitsh had been waiting for his comrade in the
fields, and not seeing him arrive, concluded that he
had been made a prisoner. He reached the forest
where Seslavin had just joined Figuner. They had
surrounded the French escort and made Ihem
prisoners. When Figuner heard of Kramm's death,
he swore and bit his hands, and ordered that all the
French prisoners should be shot at once. Seslavin
dissuaded him, then Figuner, swearing against
kind-hearted dreamers, rushed his men away, to
endeavour to cut off the Emperor's road to Vilna.
Seslavin remained behind.

" Have you heard ? " asked a captain of hussars
turning to Seslavin's aide-de-camp.

" Heard what ? "

" That the young ensign Kramm was a woman ? "

" Is it possible ? "

" It is as I am telling you. They told it first to
Sintianin who repeated it to Alexander Nikititsh."

Seslavin's aide-de-camp was none other than
Kvashnin, who had joined the volunteers after
Krasnoe. The words struck him.

" Kram, Kramalin ; it is as clear as daylight ;
how stupid of me not to have guessed it before."
He remembered the promise he had given Ferovski
the day he had entered Moscow, to find his fiancee's
house, and that he still had the note the porter had
handed to him. Deeply moved, he rushed to the
izba, where the bodies had been deposited.

" Yes, gentlemen," said Seslavin standing by the
body of Aurora, " this was a woman, and what is
more, a heroine. Now that she is dead, we need
no longer make a secret of it. Her love story will

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 301

be known one day. We found on her a medallion,
no doubt a portrait of her beloved."

The officers looked at the miniature.

" My God/' cried Kvashnin, "it is Basil Per-
ovski."

" Who ? Basil Perovski ? " asked Seslavin.

" Yes, we were both aides-de-camp of Milorado-
vitsh at the beginning of the war, and we followed
him from Borodino to Moscow. Perovski told me
of his loved one."

" Where is he now ? "

*' He must have been made a prisoner, but
whether he is still alive or not, I do not know."

" Since you know him," said Seslavin, " take
this miniature, and if Perovski be still alive, and you
meet him one day. . . . And now, gentlemen to
horse and let us be off. ..."

Seslavin's volunteers also took the road of Vilna.
Before leaving, Kvashnin cut off a lock of Aurora's
hair and placed it in the medallion, and hid it in his
uniform.

" What an encounter," he murmured. " Would
Perovski ever have believed that his elegant
Moscow society lady would finish her life in a
Lithuanian inn, where no one knew her, where no
one will weep over her body, or throw a handful
of dust over her unknown grave ! " And involun-
tary tears welled up in the officer's eyes.

XLI

On the 24th of November, St. Catherine's day,
Napoleon passed through Vilna, and two day^ later,
St. George's day, he crossed the frontier in the
very same sledge-coach in which he had been fired
at and missed at Oshmiani. With much bitterness,
he thought of his proclamation issued but a few
months before, when he had entered the country of
which he knew so little. Remembering his haughty
words, he shrugged his shoulders and frowned in
gloomy silence. Moscow in flames haunted his
memory. " That savage city shall remember me,"
he thought. He was endeavouring to persuade
himself, as well as others, that it was he who had
burned Moscow.

It was on this road that he nearly fell out of the
sledge, and only saved himself by catching hold of
Coulaincourt. It was then that he uttered the
historic phrase : " Du sublime au ridicule il n'y a
qu'un pas."

Meanwhile the remnants of his once proud army,
dying of hunger and cold, were hurrying to reach the
frontier. In the cities entered by the Russian
regiments in pursuit of the French, the inns and
hotels were crowded with people, and choice wines
and viands suddenly appeared as if by magic.
Moscow began to rise from her ashes, and the bell

302

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 303

of the church of St. Peter and Paul again rang out'
announcing the glad tidings of Russia's victory*
The archbishop Augustin entered the Arkhangelsk
Cathedral, exclaiming : " Christ has risen," and the
crowd replied as one, their voices sounding like
thunder ; " Krhistos voskress."

Eight thousand houses had been burned to the
ground, and but one thousand had been spared by
the fire. A host of workmen set to work to rebuild
the city.

Princess Sheleshpanskaya spent the winter at Pan-
shino, whilst Xenia and Ilya went to Moscow, where
the house of Anna Arcadievna was being rebuilt.
Rostoptshin, the patriotic journalist Sergius Glinka,
and many others, returned to Moscow. Clubland
and society followed. The Emperor Alexander
re-entered Vilna, which he had left six months
before. Ilya had made many inquiries about
Aurora, but with no result, as the Russian troops
had now passed into Germany. Rostoptshin, on
the other hand, informed him that the Minister of
Public Instruction was in communication with Tal-
leyrand, and hoped to learn something of the fate of
Basil Perovski. Rostoptshin himself began to
write a memoir entitled : "The Truth of the Burning
of Moscow."

At the beginning of 1814, Perovski was still a
prisoner. When he entered France, the news spread
that the Emperor Alexander had joined the Russian
troops which were entering Paris. The prisoners
were taken from Orleans to Tours along the banks
of the Loire, but at Beaugency, they learned that the
Russian troops were near Orleans. Perovski and

304 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

one of his fellow prisoners, a certain Captain Somoff,
who had now been separated from his wife and
children for two years, decided to try and escape.
They managed to execute their plan, and swimming
the Loire, sought refuge in the wood. Paris capitu-
lated, and Tsar Alexander and his allies entered the
capital. The Tsar was returning the visit that
Napoleon had paid him at Moscow ; mounted on
his white horse Eclipse, which Coulaincourt, when
he was French Ambassador at St. Petersburg, had
presented to him, he entered the French capital on
March the 19th. Unlike Bonaparte, Alexander
brought peace with him, and the inhabitants flung
white roses before him all along the boulevards
and shouted : " Vive Alexandre ! Vivent les
Russes ! "

" Are these the savage descendants of Djenghis
Khan, of whom we have heard such terrible tales ? "
asked the astonished Parisians, as they watched the
handsome men of the Russian regiments. " No,
these are not Tartars, they are our saviours. Long
live the Russians I Vive Alexander, down with the
tyrant ! "

The Russians led a joyous life in Paris ; the officers
visited the theatres, caf^s, restaurants and attended
many dances at which they were feted and admired.
All day crowds of people waited outside the private
hotel of Talleyrand where Alexandre was lodged,
hoping to see him, and they always greeted his
appearance with loud shouts of welcome. The
French were surprised at the noble and disinterested
conduct of the victors. The opera produced an
allegorical play : " Le Triomphe de Trajan," and

I

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 305

General Sacken, the Russian governor of Paris, was
the recipient of many ovations. The Senate has-
tened to declare Napoleon's fall, and to send his
family into exile. Everything Russian became
highly fashionable.

XLII

In a small restaurant in the rue St. Honore, a few
Russian officers had dined well, and were now
sitting chatting and smoking. They were feeling
very jolly ; they had thoroughly enjoyed the
exquisite wines and the daintily prepared menu.
They related to each other their experiences in the
late war and their battles in Germany and France.
All were happy in the knowledge that peace had at
last been proclaimed. They were entertaining one
of their fellow officers ; a lean, dark-haired man
wearing the Cossack uniform and a nagaika* ; he
held a meerschaum pipe in his hand. The officers
were not drunk but just a little gay, and glad to be
alive. One of them, the most j o vial of the company,
who wore the uniform of an aide-de-camp, talked
loudly, and with many gesticulations. The con-
versation had turned on love and women, and the
young officer was endeavouring to prove that love
was the only real and lasting happiness in the world.

" Do you know, Kvashnin," said the officer with
the nagaika, " you are charming ; I have been listen-
ing to you for some time but, pardon me if I tell you
that you are much too enthusiastic ; believe me,
there is nothing lasting and sure in this world."

" How is that ? " asked the astonished Kvashnin,

♦ Short whip carried by the Cossacks.

306

I

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 307

intoxicated by his own eloquence. " You are an
officer out of the ordinary, a brave and intrepid man;
who to-day does not know of the famous partisan
Seslavin ? But yet you only look on the gloomy
side of life, and as for women — pardon me — but
you do not understand them at all."

Seslavin smiled and replied :

" Everything in this world is either a dream or a
lie ; everything can be summed up in the one word :
Nothingness ! I am not alone in thinking thus."

" H'm ! " thought Kvashnin," your friend Fig-
uner did not succeed in killing Napoleon, and you
yourself failed to capture him ; that is what has
disappointed you, and turned you into a hypo-
condriac ! " "But," he said aloud, as he re-
filled Seslavin's glass : " the hero of the French
Revolution, the greatest military genius of our
time, though he is a miserable and conquered man
to-day, is he too a dream, an illusion ? "

" Young man," said Seslavin, " you speak of the
French Revolution. . . Are you sure you know
what that means ?. . ." Seslavin stopped as if he
had changed his mind, and silently filled his pipe,
while the officers crowded round him, and cried
insistently : " Continue ; Continue."

" I despise nothing in the world so much as those
people who speculate in the welfare of humanity,"
said the partisan at last ; " and the greatest specu-
lators of that description are the French. Listen
now, Kvashnin, do not start up like that. I am
not ashamed of my opinion, which was also that
of the dead Figuner, of whom so many weird tales,
of myself also I may add, have been told,"

308 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

" Good heavens," said Kvashnin, " I have never
heard anyone say anything ill of him or of you."

" Let us," continued Seslavin as he puffed at his
pipe, ** let us analyse the French a little. To-day,
they are feeling sentimental ; yesterday they were
as blood-thirsty as tigers. These much-praised
heroes of the revolution with a madrigal on their
Hps, a cane in their hands, and a lily of the valley
in their buttonholes, not so very long ago invited
their fellow-citizens, arid after them, the whole world,
that is to say you and me too, Kvashnin, to come
and pasture our sheep in the new Arcadia, but how
did they finish ? With Murat and Robespierre,
with the guillotine, the murder of their king, and the
crowning of a soldier, who was clever but not great,
who was not even a Frenchman but a Corsican,
only a man who understood them and knew how
to handle them."

" Then according to you, where can one find
happiness on this earth ? " asked the tall and elderly
Colonel Sintianin. His comrades said that the war
had revealed his true vocation to him ; that of a
poet ; like the partisan Davidoff, he had started
writing verse.

" Love is the true happiness ! " cried Kvashnin
for the second time ; " What is more beautiful than
a great, sincere and pure love ? "

" Happiness does not exist," repeated Seslavin.
" Ask me rather what are the greatest sufferings of
life ? "

" Continue. We are listening."

" I shall explain myself by giving you an example.
In his youth Count Rost opt shin knew a Moscow

I

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 309

lady who, to-day, must either be very old or dead.
He said that Dante in his Inferno had forgotten
one very important class : that of the old sinners
tortured by the remembrance of the opportunities
of sinning without being found out that they had
let slip because of their fear of the consequences,
or by sheer carelessness."

A burst of laughter greeted the words of the
speaker.

" Do not laugh, gentlemen ; these hidden suffer-
ings are very comprehensible to anyone who has been
heavily tried by fate. Our poor comrade Figuner
was a striking example ; after having promised
himself to deliver Europe of the monster, after
having had the opportunity and not used it, he
finished by drow^ning himself in the Elbe. . . ."

Seslavin become silent ; his comrades were also
silent.

" May I ask, Alexander Nikititsh," said Kvashnin
a little later, signing to the others, " who was the
lady of whom Rostoptshin spoke ? "

" It is a long time ago," answered Seslavin. " I
spent a holiday with my parents at Moscow, and
Rostoptshin often came to see them. I believe that
the lady in question is no longer of this world, and no
one here would know her at any rate. She was the
Princess Scheleshpanskaya."

"What? it was she?" cried Kvashnin. "But
she was the grandmother of an officer of your
detachment, Mademoiselle Kramalin. I was in
their house, in the Patriachal Ponds the day the
French entered Moscow, you remember, when I
was nearly made a prisoner. Doubtless you know

310 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

that Mademoiselle Kramalin fired at Napoleon at
Oshmiani, and that she was killed by the French,
when they fired upon the crowd."

And then Kvashnin told the others, who knew
nothing of the incident, all he knew of Aurora and
Perovski.

" Perovski ? " in his turn said Colonel Sintianin ;
" but he is aUve ! "

" Alive ? Basil Perovski ? " cried Kvashnin
growing pale.

" Yes, even to-day I saw Somoff ; he and Perovski
escaped at Orleans ; they both arrived at Paris
yesterday utterly exhausted, half dead with fatigue
and privations."

" Are you sure that you are not mistaken ?"
asked Kvashnin who could not believe his ears.

" Certainly not. You know where my regiment
is lodged ; go there and ask for Captain Somoff, and
he will take you to Perovski. It was to him and
to me that Dr. Mirtoff, the evening before Borodino,
declared that it was much better to die from a bullet
during a battle than to fight for life in a hospital."

" And Mirtoff himself ? " asked someone, *' is
he still alive ? "

" He lives, yes, but he spent over a year and a
half in the hospital, begging that they would cut
off his legs. However, he got better and returned
to his regiment ; he rejoined them on the Rhine.
And now he again has a tent, a feather bed, a tea
basket and punch for everyone. But it is painful
to see such a fine man, such a jovial soul on crutches."

Kvashnin, weeping with joy, flung his arms
around Sintianin, and embraced all his comrades,

I

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 311

not forgetting Seslavin. who regarded him with
an indulgent kindly smile, and then hurried away
to the bivouac of the guards in the Champs-Elysees.
" My God ! " he cried. " I shall at last see him
again. But how shall I tell him my awful news,
how shall I break it to him ? . . . . For two years
I have carried Aurora's lock of hair, her letter, and
the miniature against my heart. Poor Basil !
How long he has waited for his liberty, and the
chance of returning to his country ! He dreams of
again seeing his fiancee. . . Must I tell him the
terrible truth and, perhaps, kill him ? Yes, he
must know it. The memory of the woman who
loved him, and whom he loved, must remain with
him throughout his life like a guiding star. . .
though unattainable."

Kvashnin, following Somoff' s directions, turned
down a street near the Champs-Elysees, and entered
a court shaded by large chestnut trees, at the end
of which, in a small pavilion, three sick Russian
officers were being cared for ; two of them had gone
out, the porter told him, but the greatest invalid
was within.

Kvashnin knocked gently at a door at the head
of the stairs ; some one answered ; " Come in ! "
and he entered a small comfortably furnished room,
softly lit by the rays of the setting sun. Lying
on a bed of marvellous whiteness was a pale, emaci-
ated young man with a black beard ; he was dressed
in civil clothes that had very evidently belonged to
some one else before they came into his possession.
He was reading a newspaper ; seeing a stranger
enter, he rose slowly as if startled, and in his as-

312 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

tonished gaze, Kvashnin saw something sparkle
that he had seen once before.

"Is it really Kvashnin ? " said the unknown
hesitatingly, and as if afraid of making a mistake.

*' And you ? Are you really Perovski ? " asked
the young man hardly able to control himself.

They threw themselves into each other's arms.

" Dear friend," repeated Kvashnin swallowing the
tears that seemed to astonish Perovski ; " Ah !
believe me that life is stronger than even our great-
est sorrows. ..." And then he told Perovsski of
Aurora's tragic death.

XLIII

Forty years had passed ; it was now 1853.

For the third time since Peter the Great, a small
Russian army was on the march against Central
Asia, and this time the campaign had to be decisive
one way or the other.

The Governor-general of Orenburg, Count Basil
Alexeyevitsh Perovski, marched at the head of the
army. Despite his sixty years, he still looked a
young man, but his health was no longer what it
had been ; he suffered greatly with asthma. Beside
him was his aide-de-camp, who was said to be his
god-son ; he was a very young officer, fair and
beardless. The governor-general was very fond
of him, and entrusted him with a portion of his
correspondence ; he was the grandson of Xenia
Tropinin. He had barely left the school for cadets,
when he fell in love with a young Moscow girl, and
was impatiently waiting for the close of the cam-
paign to return to the side of his beloved, and marry
her.

Despite the fatigue and the privations of their
long march, once the orders for the day had been
given out, the governor loved to talk to his god-son
of the future of the deserts which they were travers-
ing, in the heart of which, one hundred and twenty-
five years previously, the entire Russian detachment
commanded by Prince Bekovitsh Tsherskaski

313

314 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

had been treacherously massacred by the Khan of
Khiva. In the felt Calmuck tent, while the samovar
sang, the old commander also loved to talk of the
great days of 1812, and of the long and bitter cap-
tivity he had endured. And then one could see
some few traces of the old-time Basil, the gay
chatterbox, in the serious, almost severe, sometime
despotic and often silent, general of to-day. He
had remained a bachelor, but kept up a tender
friendship with those of his past, who were still
alive, and sent them many affectionate letters
which he dictated to his god-son.

*' What great days those were," he would say.
" One could tell so many stories of it, and go on for
years. And when one thinks, my dear Paul, that all
that world lived, loved, sang, or suffered! All those
men, unknown to us of to-day, but who then were so
near to us, the unhappy and the happy, the gay and
the sad had their morning, their noon, and their
evening, and now — the majority of them are sleep-
ing the long sleep ! To us, old sentinels, it is sweet
to look back into those shadows, to remember those
who sleep behind the lowered curtain, the dear
friends of the past who to-day are dead ! "

Very few people knew of the great wound that
still bled in his faithful heart. His comrade, the
poet Joukovski, knew the truth however. He had
even dedicated a touching poem to him :

"I see thy youth blossom into full flowering.
Love — that murderer of life —
Is killing you in silence.
Often on your face I can read the thoughts of
your soul,

I

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 315

Suffering, inconsolable love,
Paint themselves there, one after the other."

On the 28th of July 1853, ^-fter almost unheard of
efforts, the Akmetshett fort was taken by assault,
and was renamed the" Perovski Fort." The road
to Turkestan, Khiva, Bokhara, and even to Merv,
was open.

One evening, Paul Tropinin seated in the tent of
the commander-in-chief, placed under the walls of
the above fortress, told him how, during the pre-
vious winter, when travelHng across the steppe,
between Orenburg and Moscow in obedience to his
godfather's call, he had nearly perished, indeed
he had only escaped death thanks to a deerskin
cape and to a pair of valenkis. ..."

" A pair of valenkis ? " said Perovski ; "ah
yes, I know them well. In 1812, 1 too was saved by
a pair of those shoes, and you can imagine my joy
when I discovered the comrade who had so gener-
ously given them to me, still alive and well."
" Who is he ? " asked Paul.
" A freed serf, who belonged to a Countess. He
succeeded in escaping before I did, while we were
still in Russia ; he wandered as far as the Volga,
where he secured employment in the fisheries.
He has changed his name ; to-day, he is a fish
merchant at Samara."

" At Samara ? I must see him," interrupted
Paul.

" That is it ; look him up ; his name is Simeon
Nikodimitsh. Last year, having heard that I had
been appointed Governor of Orenburg, he came to

316 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

offer me his services in the provision department ;
he has married and is a grandfather ; he has a white
beard that falls to his belt. He has become an old
behever, and is very devout, but sometimes I
recognize in him traces of what he was, when I
knew him as the lively and daring Sienka Koudin-
itsh ; he has even not forgotten his old songs,
especially that of " the barn-owl," with which he
used to amuse the prisoners. He was then be-
trothed ; as soon as he was free, he went at once to
his beloved."

" His fianc6e ? " said Paul, reddening suddenly.

'* Yes, but what has that to do with you ? "

Paul gathered all his courage together and told
the G)unt stammeringly, that he also was engaged.
Then he asked for his blessing and a furlough of some
days.

Pero\'ski looked at the young man for some time
with a kindly and gentle ^ance.

" Well, why not, Pavloushka ?♦ May God be
with you ! Even though I am an old bachelor, I
imdanstand. You may go to-morrow. As to my
Uessiiig, you have it, dear boy." And he embraced
his god-son. ** You do not remember your grand-
mother, Xenia Valeriano\Tia," he said.

" She died before my father was married,"
replied Paul.

" Your great grandmother, the Princess Schelesh-
panskaya, was terrified of storms ; she did everything
she could to guard herself against them, and she
died in the country, sitting in her armchair, the
day our troops entered Paris."

♦ Dim ol Pmrl. FteL

MOSCOW IN FLAMES 317

** I have often heard her spoken of," said the
young man.

** Have you ever been told that she had another
grand-daughter, the beautiful Aurora ? Your
father resembled her a little, and you do too
slightly."

" I remember hearing about her. It seems that
she joined the volunteers and greatly distinguished
herself.**

** It seems," thought Perovski with a sigh.
" Such is oMi fate, such is our history ! " " Well
go," he added aloud, " go my young friend ! Make
your preparations for your departure ; I also, shall
prepare something for you.'*

When his godson had gone, Perovski shut him-
self in his tent, lighted a candle, and took out of his
bag a small casket mounted in silver. He opened
it and pensively looked through it. In a secret
compartment, were some sprigs of dried lilac, some
yellowed letters, a lock of black hair, a small image,
and the handkerchief that Aurora had left behind
her at their last interview. His hanc^ appeared
living to him ; he saw again the house, the garden,
the Patriachal Ponds. For a long time he stay^
bent over the Uttle casket, and dropped warm tears
on the flowers, the letters, the lock of hair. ** Oh,
my beloved ! *' he said as he kissed these poor
relics of the past. Then he took the holy image,
locked the casket, and again calm, left the tent.
Paul, stretched out upon a mat, was dozing at the
entrance.

** What, you are still here ? " said Perovski.
** Come, and walk with me a little."

318 MOSCOW IN FLAMES

They passed the guard, and leaving the camp,
walked along beside the grey earth walls of the
fortress, that had just been demolished, and directed
their steps towards the fiat banks of the Sir-Daria.

The evening was oppressively hot. In the
twilight one could just see the heaps of yellow sand
around the green pools of sea water in which the
stars were reflected ; the mist above the marshes,
the rushes, the absinthe, filled the air with their
perfume, and one heard a continual rustling move-
ment ; it was caused by the hosts of locusts rubbing
their dry wings as they greedily swarmed upon the
meagre vegetation. Perovski thought of the in-
vasion of 1812.

** This is the benediction that I have kept for you,"
he said, as he hung the image of the Holy Virgin
round the neck of his godson : " In all the critical
hours of my life, I have prayed before this image ;
do thou the same ! "

They walked on a little. A world of sweet and
bitter memories swelled the heart of Basil Alexeye-
vitsh.

" You are happy ! You are going to your
fiancee," he said stopping and listening to the
rustUng of the wings of the aerial and devastating
army. " Your happiness has revived in me the
memory of a great sorrow that came to me in my
youth. Many of those concerned in it are dead
to-day. But. I — I do not forget."

And then Perovski, without mentioning names,
told his godson the story of his love for Aurora.

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A GREAT EMPEROR : Charles V. 1519-1558

By Christopher Hare, author of " Maximilian the
Dreamer : Holy Roman Emperor, 1459-1519,"
" Men and Women of the Italian Reformation," etc.

Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, with illustrations. 12/6 net.

The striking figure of Charles V., the last great Emperor of the
Hapsburg line, dominates the period of the later Renaissance. He
inherited the valour of his ancestor, Charles the Bold of Burgundy,
with the wise discretion and passion for justice of his grandmother,
Isabel la Catolica.

A gallant soldier, at his best in time of battle, Charles was yet an
earnest iover of peace, and all his wars in Europe were defensive.
It was well said of him by a contemporary : " He is not greedy of
territory, but most greedy of peace and qaiet for his people." As we
follow his exciting career, we realize that only a man of his rare char-
acter and talent could have so ruled his vast Empire, for forty years,
as to leave each one of his dominions more powerful and prosperous for
his rule. His reign attains the high-water mark of Hapsburg dominion.

This study of the personal character and life of Charles V. will form
a natural sequence to that of his grandfather and predecessor, the
Emperor Maximilian. The book was begun long before the outbreak
of the present war, which has revived such keen and widespread
interest in the Hapsburg dynasty, as well as in the eventful history
during the sixteenth century, of the Netherlands, now once more the
battlefield of Europe.

THE MASTER PROBLEM

By James Marchant, F.R.S., Ed. Director of the
National Council of Public Morals : with a Preface by
the Lord Bishop of Birmingham.

Crown Svo, cloth gilty 5/- net.

The social evil, its causes and remedies, is the theme of The Master
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restrained earnestness, on a subject which has been the master problem
in every age, and is the supreme, unsolved enigma of our present
civilisation. About it has grown a vast, organised trade, mth a
piteous host of victims. The White Slave traffic is only one aspect of
the social evil which touches human life on every side : it is the social
problem of great cities and remote hamlets. It is the problem of the
most advanced as of the backward nations, and they must, at all costs,
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The Master Problem is not merely an exposure of this open sore of
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and in so doing draws upon world-wide sources of information.
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organizations and moral crusades in which he has taken part. The
over-ruling object of the book, however, is to attempt the difficult but
supremely needful task of discovering the root causes of these vices, and
of suggesting lasting remedies, A book to be bought and studied.

IRELAND : Vital Hour

By Arthur Lynch, M.P., Author of " Modern Authors :
A Review and Forecast," " Approaches : The Poor
Scholar's Quest of a Mecca," " Our Poets,"
" Human Documents," " Prince Azreel."

In Demy Svo, with Portrait, cloth gilt, 10/6 net.

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to exliibit the strength of the materials of which the Irish nation of the
future must be built.

I' Animated by hope for Ireland, he discards flattery, and some of his
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the clergy in politics will produce a deep unpression. His fervent
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life. The book is both conciliatory and unifying, and the true way
of Ireland's concord with England is pointed out. " Ireland : Vital
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THE LAST KING, or, THE NEW FRANCE : Being

A History from the birth of Louis Philippe
IN 1773 TO the Revolution of 1848, with Appendices
By Alexandre Dumas. Now first translated into
English, with an introduction and notes, by R. S.
Garnett.
In two volumes. Demy 8yo, cloth gilt, 'profusely illus-
trated with a rare portrait of Dumas and other pictures
after famous artists. 24/- net.
It is impossible to understand the French Republic of to-day unless
the struggle in 1848 be studied : for every profound revolution is an
evolution. Dumas took part in this second revolution, and having
taken part in it, he wrote its history when his fame was at its height.
Although composed with scrupulous fidelity to facts, it is as amusing
as a romance. Wittily written, and abounding in life and colour, the
long narrative takes the reader into the battlefield, the Court and the
H6tel de Ville with equal success. Dumas, who in his early days
occupied a desk in the prince's bureaux, but who resigned it when the
Due d'Orleans became King of the French, relates much which it is
curious to read at the present time. To his text, as originally pub-
lished, are added as Appendices some papers from his pen relating to
the historv of the time, which are unknown in England.

THE SCOTTISH FRIEND OF FREDERICK THE

GREAT ; The Last Earl Mabischall
By Edith E. Cuthell F.R.Hist.S.
Demy Svo, cloth gilt, fully illustrated, 2 vols, 24/- net.

George Keith, a gallant young colonel of Life Guards under Marl-
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plottings before and after the '45. He was the ambassador and friend
of Frederic the Great and the friend and correspondent of Voltaire,
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Marshal, who was killed in attempting to retrieve the reverse of
Hochkelch.

THE JOLLY DUCHESS: Harriot, Duchess of
St. Albans. Fifty Years' Record of Stage and
Society (1787-1837)

By Chaeles E. Peasce, Author of " Polly Peachum,"

etc.
Demy Svo, cloth gilt, fully illustrated, 16/- net.
Mr, Charles E. Pearce tells m a lively, anecdotal style the story of
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died a few years later, leaving her a gigantic fortune. She then
married^the Duke of St, Albans.

3

THE LIFE AND TIMES OF QUEEN ADELAIDE

By Mary F. Sandars, author of " Princess and Queen
of England," " Honore de Balzac," etc.

Demy Svo, cloth gilt, with many illustrations, 16/- net.

This is a careful and sympathetic study of the much-misunderstood
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and reveals the backstairs influences that were employed to defeat the
popular will as declared in the demand for Reform.

THE MEMOIRS OF THE DUKE de ST. SIMON

Newly translated and edited b}^ Francis Arkwrioht.

In six volumes, demy ^vo, handsomely bound in cloth
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No historian has ever succeeded in placing scenes and persons so
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mass of unnecessary detail overshadowing the marvellously fascinating
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A BIOGRAPHICAL INDEX TO THE MEMOIRS
OF THE DUKE de ST. SIMON.

Uniform with the six volumes of the Memoirs
Compiled bj^ Frederic J. Simmons.

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In this Index, the immense gallery of personages pictured for us"by
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six volumes which Mr. Francis Arkwright has so admirably trans-
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WAR MEDALS AND THP:iR HISTORY

By W. Augustus Steward, Officier d'Academie
Author of " From the Breasts of the Brave," etc.

Demy Svo, cloth gilt, ivitli 258 illustrations in half-tone
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Mr. Steward weaves into the romance and history of the War Medal
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present day, explaining at the same time the ditTerences between the
b ona-fide and the fraudulent.

THE ADMIRABLE PAINTER : A Study of Leonardo
da Vinci.

By A. J. Anderson, Author of "The Romance of Fra
Fihppo Lippi," " His Magnificence," etc.

Demy 8vo, cloth gilt, fully illustrated. 10/6 net.

In this book we find Leonardo da Vinci to have been no absorbed,
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These notebooks form the groundwork of Mr. Anderson's fascinating
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well as the painter, than was possible before.

LIFE AND LETTERS IN THE ITALIAN
RENAISSANCE

By Christopher Hare, author of "Men and Women of

the Italian Reformation," etc.
Demy Svo, cloth gilt, illustrated, 12/G net.

In this author's previous books on the Renaissance, he has told the
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5

MARCHING SONGS.

A pocket book for our soldiers.

In stiff covers, size 3| x 5|, M. net.

"A merry heart goes all the day — your sad tires in a mile-a." Every
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WAR UP TO DATE

A Vade-Mecum of Modern Methods of Warfare, together
with a Naval and Military Dictionary, by Charles E.
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F'cap Svo, (6i X 3 J), with illustrations, including 120
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ANCIENT FIREARMS

By Alan Owen.

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This is a profusely illustrated volume. In it the author traces the
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'• Ancient Firearms " is a book packed with information for the student
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6

JAMES HINTON : A Study

By Mrs. Havelock Ellis, Author of " Three Modem
Seers," " My Cornish Neighbours," " Kit's Woman,"
etc. With a Preface by Havelock Ellis.

Demy Suo, cloth gilt, with illustrations, 10/6 net.

James Hinton, who in his lifetime was distinguished as physician
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SCHOOL FOR LOVERS. A Novel

By E. B. DE Rendon.

Large Paper Edition, limited to 20 copies. Each copy

signed by the Author. Crown 4do, handsomely hound

in half vellum gilt, 21/- net ; also in Crown %vo, 6/-.

SHORT CUTS TO FIRST AID

By a Metropolitan Police Surgeon attached to the Royal
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reap Svo m X 3i), Id. net.

At this particular time when thousands of active men have been
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CONTINENTAL COOKERY FOR THE ENGLISH
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By Mrs. Edith Siepen.
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Special attention is given to those dishes which are not familiar, and
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7

NEW VOLUMES OF

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THE LIFE OF LOUISE DE LA VALLIERE :

The Martyr of Love.

By Claude Ferval, with an introduction by Jean

Richepin. Translated by Sidney Dark.

Demy Svo, cloth gilt^ illustrated, 5/- net.

No more poignant account of the romance of Louise de la Valliere
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French romantic writer. In its always interesting setting of the gay,
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language the story of the first mistress of Louis XIV. It is at once a
\ivid historical study and a passionate romance.

JULIETTE DROUET'S LOVE - LETTERS TO
VICTOR HUGO

Edited with a Biography of Juliette Drouet by Louis

Guimbaud ; translated by Lady Theodora Davidson.

Demy Svo, doth giltj with muny illustrations, 5/- net.

The story of Juliette's love for the great French novelist is one of the
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THE CURE FOR POVERTY

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:Mr. John Calvin Brown, after many years of heavy commercial
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STANLEY PAUL'S
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THE PRUSSIAN TERROR

THE HERO OF URBINO

RANK AND RICHES

DEFIANT DIANA

CONCERNING A VOW

FRIVOLE

YOUTH WILL BE SERVED

THE PRICELESS THING

THE PRICE OF FRIENDSHIP

RODING RECTORY

THE FLUTE OF ARCADY

Alexandre Dumas

May Wynne

Archibald Marshall

E. Everett-Green

Rhoda Broughton

Kate Horn

Dole Wyllarde

Mrs. Stepney Rawson

E. Everett-Green

Archibald Marshall

Kate Horn

[For other volumes in the series see page 35]

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NEW VOLUMES

THE BLACK LAKE

THE CLOAK OF ST. MARTIN

CASSERLEY'S WIFE

THE WOMAN WHO LOOKED BACK

THE INK-SLINGER

DEVIL'S BREW

THE HEIRESS OF SWALLOWCLIFFE

THE UNDYING RACE

TAINTED GOLD

Sir

William Magnay, Bt .

Armine Grace

Esther Miller

M. Hamilton

" Rita "

Michael W. Kaye

E. Everett-Green

Ren6 Milan

H. Noel Williams

[For other volumes in the series see page 39]
9

THE A.B.C. SERIES

In Large Crown 8vo, each volume very fully illustrated
in half-tone and line, price 5s. net each.

THE A.B.C. OF HERALDRY

By Guy Cadogan Rothery, Author of '* Symbols,

Emblems and Devices," etc. ; With 13 illustrations

in colour and 314 in half-tone and line.

This book traces the evolution of heraldry from its origin in ancient

tribal totemism, th tough the feudal system, subordinating to some

extent, the purely technical details to the romantic, sociological and

artist c aspects. Nevertheless, to those who desire a handy reference

book on the subject, giving information readily without dulness, it

will be as useful as it will be to those who only seek a description of a

subject wrapped in history and romance.

THE A.B.C. OF ENGLISH CATHEDRALS

By W. F. Taylor, Author of " The Charterhouse of
London," etc. ; with over 150 photographs by the
Author.

This book, including both an historical section and a descriptive
itinerary to each cathedral, deals with its subject broadly, yet with
sufficient detail to make both an effective guide-book on the spot and a
readable record for study. The numerous photographs by the author,
while illustrating the essential points of the architecture, portray
excellently the beauty of the old buildings.

THE A.B.C. OF CHURCH ARCHITECTURE

By Sidney Heath, Author of " Our Homeland
Churches," etc. ; with 70 pages of illustrations from
photographs and drawings.

While explaining clearly every feature of the different architectural
styles, this book also shows in what way historical, religious and socio-
logical events and ideas influenced the theories of building in the
different centuries. To those interested in architecture, there is a
constant fascination in the evolution of one style from anotlier, and
Mr. Heath has put many illuminating suggestions into his book.

THE A.B.C. OF MODERN PROSE QUOTATIONS :

From Blake to Bergson.

By HoLBROOK Jackson, Author of " Great English
Novelists," etc.

At once a fascinating anthology of one of the most brilliant oenturici
of history, and a useful reference volume.

10

THE A.B.C. OF INDIAN ART

By J. F. Blacker, Author of " The A.B.C. of Japsmei*
Art," etc. ; richly illustrated.

A complete survey of the art of India, forming a companion volume
to "The A.B.C. of Japanese Art." Palaces, temples, and tombs
represent the architecture ; armour, musical instruments, jewellery
and metal work, show the craftsmanship ; paintings, and carvings in
wood and marble are carefully dealt with, while idols in stone, wood,
and bronze speak of the inspiration of religion.

[For other volumes in the series see page 29]

WHO'S WHO IN AMERICA, 1916-1917

Edited by Albert Nelson Marquis.
Large Demy Svo, Cloth 21/- net.

A biographical dictionary of over 20,000 notable living men and
women of the United States. The American "Who's Who, a biennial
publication now in its ninth vo ume, should have its place on the
reference shelves of all business olfices, clubs, hotels, newspaper offices,
public libraries and similar institiitions.

STORIES OF THE KAISER AND HIS ANCESTORS

By Clare Jerrold, Author of '* The Early Court of

Queen Victoria," etc.
Crown Hvo, with portraits, cloth gilt, 2/6 net ; paper, 2/-
net.
In this book Mrs. Clare Jerrold presents in anecdotal fashion in-
jidents both tragic and comic in the career of the Kaiser Wilhelm
and his ancestors. The frank and fearless fashion in which Mrs.
Jerrold has dealt with events in Iter earlier books will pique curiosity
■IS to this new work, in which she shows the Kaiser as an extraordinary
example of heredity — most of his wildest vagaries being foreshadowed
in the lives and doings of his forbears.

IHE DEVIL'S SPAWTSI: How Italy will Defeat
Them
By William Le Queux. Third Edition.
Cr. Svo, Paper, 1/- net ; Cloth gilt, 2/- net.
This work presents an interesting and critical view of ourselves as
leen through the Italian and French spectacles, and also reveals some
j{ Great Britain's mistakes. Dealing with the entry of Italy into the
f^ar, Mr. Le Queux, who is persona grata at the Italian Court, recounts
conversations he has had with His Majesty, with the Duke of Abruzzi,
and various Italian Cabinet Ministers. Critical studies are also given
from personal knowledge of the most important men in the southern
jphere of military operations, while the book, in addition, contains
□nuch important information hitherto unpublished.

11

KULTUR CARTOONS

By Will Dyson. With a Foreword by H. G. Wells.
20 Original War Cartoons, each mounted on a dark
background (suitable for framing). Imperial 4:to,
cover design by the artist 2/- net. A limited edition
of 500 copies bound in cloth, numbered and signed by
the artist, 6/- net each.

The Daily Mail : — ** Mr. Will Dyson has the most virile style of any
British cartoonist. . . Wonderful. . . Striking war cartoons."

BEST BOOKS

Being an annotated and classified list of the important
works published in Great Britain, giving fuJl Bibliographical
particulars, full names of authors, publishers and prices.
Issued half-yearly.

Compiled by Arthur John Hawkes, advisorily
assisted in special departments by Prof. Sidney
Webb, Prof. H. J. Fleure, Prof. C. Anderson Scott,"
Prof. C. Roberts Chappie, and Dr. W. G. McNaught
(Editor of the Musical Times). Small Cr. 4to., 4/- net.

GERMAN SPIES IN ENGLAND

By William Lb Queux (100th thousand). Crown Svo,

Paper y 1/- net ; Cloth gilt, 2/- net.

The Lord Mayor of London says : — " It deserves the serious
attention of the authorities, vividly depicting a very grave
national peril.**

The Daily Mail says : — " It is a book which should be carefully
studied from cover to cover."

The Globe says : — " There are many astonishing statements in this
most amazing book."

BRITAIN'S DEADLY PERIL

By William Le Queux. Fourth edition.

Cr, Sw, Paper, 11- net ; Cloth gilt, 2/- net.

In this work which is one of fearless and outspoken criticism, the
Author has indicated in vivid terms the growing anger and irritation
of the public with regard to many matters of moment. These include
the peril of Deluding the Public, of Exploiting the Poor, of Uncon-
trolled Aliens, of *' Muddling Through," and more important than all,
the peril of Irresponsible Censorship. Full of startling and authentic
facts, hitherto unpublished, this work should intensify the patriotic
feeling of the public by bringing home to them a fuller and more serious
realization of the very grave peril by which the Empire is now menaced.

12

STANLEY PAUL'S NEW
SIX SHILLING NOVELS

A GENTLEWOMAN OF FRANCE

By Rene Boylesve, Author of " A House on the Hill,"
etc. Translated by Aphra Wilson.

In this finely stimulating novel, which has been crowned by the
French Academy, the author, with quite remarkable insight, shows
the subtle movements of a woman's mind, and heart, and soul. A
young French gentlewoman, of the professional class, born and brougnt
up in the province of Touraine, makes a marriage of convenience, lives
in Paris, mixes witii a gay, money-making set, and meets ner affinity.
A poignant soul drama ensues. The character presentation is admir-
able, and the delineation of Madeleine is a triumph.

LOVE'S INFERNO

By Edward Stilgebauer. Translated from the
original German by C. Thieme.

This stirring novel of the World War has been translated into various
European languages, but neither the book nor its author (a German
Doctor of Philosophy) dare enter Germany ; for round the deeply tragic
figure of Melanie von Berkersburg he has built up a terrific indictment
against his fellow countrymen. Looking at tiie War not as a passing
event, but in connection witn tne progress of humanity, he explains
how it was 'willed" and prepared; he loathes the iron Prussian
discipline ; to him the war is a hell of crime and cruelty, of madness
and metnodical brutality. Tne word-pictures of *' Love's Inferno"
are vivid and realistic. The description of the terrible battle on the
Yser holds the reader spellbound by its marvellous writing. • Love's
Inferno " is a pathetic, a poignant romance . . . more, it is a
great book. It is the novel of tne World War.

THE TEMPTATION OF MARY LISTER.

By E. Everett-Green, Author of " Defiant Diana,"
etc.

To fulfil a promise to a dead friend, Mary Lister comes to England as
an heiress, claiming the property which had belonged to her friend but
which is now usurped by another family. Her scheme succeeds until
it is complicated by Mary's growing affection for the man wnom she is
ousting from tne inlieritance. Mary Lister is a heroine who will be
loved for her naturalness, as well as for the pluck with which sne faces
her task.

13

New Six Shilling Novels — continued

A THORN IN THE FLESH

By Rhoda Brouqhton, Author of '* Concerning a
Vow," " Between Two Stools/* etc.

Miss Boughton's social pictures arc, in their inimitable way, a sound
contribution to the history of manners. She always writes with dis-
tinction, humour and charm ; so skilful is her delineation of character
that the people she depicts have the very touch of life : she views them,
too, from snarp and unexpected angles of observation. In tiiis novel
we are shewn the effect of the War upon the lives and characters of a
group of people living near a large camp.

SIX STAR RANCH

By Eleanor H. Porter, Author of " Miss Billy," etc.

•' There was the long, low ranch facing the wild reach of the prairie.*'

The spirit of the open prairie, of unbroken horses, and of galloping

cowboys is in this story of a ranch in Texas and six girls wiio stayed

there. Like all this author's books, the novel has simlight in it.

THE GODS' CARNIVAL

By Norma Lorimer, Author of ** A Wife out of
Egypt," " On Desert Altars," etc.
No one can read * The Gods' Carnival " without being moved by its
profound human interest. The delig .tful love-making brings out the
beauty and romance of Sicily, as no novel has done before ; and in the
midst of all this beauty the story shows the bligit of the great war,
laying bare the elaborate machinery by wliich for twenty years Germany
soug t to rivet the chains of Teutonism on Italy. This is a novel full
of swift surprises, dramatic situations, and vivid writing.

ADVENTUROUS ANNE

By E. Everett-Green, Author of '* Barbed Wire," etc.
Anne, impatient for adventures, goes out ■' to see the world," becom-
ing in turn waitress in a fasliionable tea-sliop, rider of horses for a job-
master, helper at a circus, companion to a lady of fashion, and a smart
chauffeur. She has romantic as well as thrilling adventures, wl.ile
helping to thwart the plots of a designing woman bent on marriage
with the heir of Lord Valchester. \ origiit book.

THE GRAIN OF MUSTARD

By Hamilton Drummond, Author of " The Half-
Priest," etc.
The romantic story of a young girl who wins for herself a place at the
Spanish Court in ti e days w en Christop! er Columbus is begging for
s^iips to aai! westwards, Torquemada is seeding new viotims for the
Inquisition, and the Spanish army is besieging the Moors in Granada.

14

New Six Shilling Novels — continued

THEIR LIVES

By Violet Hunt, Author of " The House of Many
Mirrors," " The Doll," etc.

This novel, the latest from Miss Violet Hunt's amazingly clever
pen, is a brilliant account of the social amenities, difliculties, extrava-
gances, and love affairs of a middle-class artist's family in the eighties,
in which literary and artistic celebrities are freely introduced — all
this described from the inside by one who knows it. There is the
comedy of incompetent match-making on the part of the mother,
countered by the inchoate character and instinctive passions of the
daughters. Incisive wit, almost uncanny insight, subtle portraiture,
are to be found in this clever and entertaining novel.

WATERMEADS

By Archibald Marshall, Author of " Ex ton Manor,"
**Rank& Riches," "Roding Rectory," etc.

This is the story of an old country family with a large estate and a
fine house, in which they are living with scarcely enough money to
keep things going, and none to spare to support their position. The
love affairs of the sons and daughters of the house, and their hopes and
fears regarding their beautiful home are dealt with. Will " Water-
meads " have to go, or will they be able to restore it and themselves to
their former state ? There are various possibilities, but it is not until
the end that their doubts are set at rest. The manipulation and
development of '* Watermeads " will satisfy Mr. Marshall's most
exacting admirers.

THE NEAPOLITAN LOVERS

By Alexandre Dumas. Translated for the first time
into English ; with an Introduction by R. S.Garnett.

An Alexandre Dumas novel new to the English reading public is a
literary event : to tl:e many admirers and eager readers of Alexandre,
tl e event is a thrilling one. " The Neapolitan Lovers," in its English
dress we owe to Mr. R. S. Garnett, an expert in all that pertains to the
writings of Dumas. Mr. Garnett has supplied a most interesting and
informing introduction to the English version. It seems that Dumas,
after accompanying his friend Garibaldi through the campaign wl ich
resulted in the conquest of Sicily, resided in the Chiatamone Palace at
Naples, where he spent eighteen months writing this romance. He
expressed the hope that it would be imperishable ; he threw his whole
heart into it, and looked on it as one of his best works. It is founded
on a true story — one of the most moving and tragic in history. Dumas
h d access to the secret archives of the City, and relates much that is
unknown even to historians.

15

New Six Shilling Novels — continued

QUIS?

By J. A. T. Lloyd, Author of " The Three Destinies,"
" The Lady of Kensington Gardens, etc.
This is a story of a young man, who, born with everything in his
favour, deliberately flings it all away. As a boy at school," he gets tired
of every present that comes to him, and in the old schoolboy fashion
shouts, " Quis ? " perfectly willing to abandon it to the first who
responds with " Ego." For this reason he is nicknamed Quis, and
the name sticks to him in after life, and with the name, the parasite,
who had been most eager of all to shout " Ego." As time passes Quis
flings money, and love, and life carelessly to the winds, retaining only
one thing for himself — his personal honour.

THE FISHERMEN

DiMITRY GrEGOROVITSH.

D. Gregorovitsh, a contemporary of Tourgenev, is the Russian
novelist who has best described the life of the common people. He
has been rightly styled the Russian Dickens. His stories are dramatic,
full of stirring incidents and striking effects. He excels in his delinea-
tion of youthful characters, and in his touching descriptions of family
scenes. One of Gregorovitsh's best novels is "The Fishermen," now
for the first time rendered accessible by Dr. A. S. Rappoport to English
readers. It deals with the life of a family of fishermen dwelling on the
banks of the river Oka, and gathered round the honest, hardworking
master of the house, who rules the family like an ancient patriarch.
The story, told with vigour and sympathy, is interspersed with
numerous descriptions of the life, customs, and characteristics of the
Russian common people.

THE MIST POOL

By Cecil Adair, author of " Gabriel's Garden," " The
Sails of Life." etc.

Cecil Adair, in this new full-length story, has chosen a subject which
provides ample scope for fine character-drawing. Strong human
feeling pervades every page, and the enthralling love romance that runs
through the novel makes the volume a very pleasing one.

FANTOMAS

Bv Pierre Souvestrb and Marobl Allain.

The authors of " Fantomas " have created a character that catchse
the imagination of the world. To find Fantomas, " the genius of
crime," to know whether he is an individual or the directing spirit of
a highly organised company, is the life-work of a detective, Juve, a
character possessing as much actuality as Sherlock Holmes or Le Coq,
or any of the famous figures in the fictional annals of crime. And
when these two men are set against each other — Fantomas with
his daring and his cleverly planned and executed criminal
operations, and Juve with his deductive reasoning and his
dogged, silQnt, weasel-like pursuit of the man wnom it is his fixed
intention to run down — we have a story of imaginative ingenuity aad
fltreogth that will rank with the best achievements of Gaboriau.

16

New Six Shilling Novels — continued

BECAUSE OF PHGEBE

By Kate Horn, Author of " Edward and I and Mrs.
Honeybun," "The Flute of Arcady," " Frivole."

A romance with all the charm of this author's " Edward and I and
Mrs. Honeybun." An obstinate daughter, a loving, extravagant,
charming middle-aged widow, the faithful major she marries, and a
little grandson, are some of the clever character studies in this bright
humourous and fascinating story, which is full of human feeling.

UPSIDONIA

By Archibald Marshall, Author of " Exton Manor,"
''The Honour of the Clintons," " Roding Rectory."
In " Upsidonia," Mr. Marshall introduces his readers to a strange
country. There it is a disgrace to be rich, and an honour to be poor.
Lack of goods and lucre crown the Upsidonian with honour and joy ;
free and destitute he is at the top of the ladder of social consideration ;
while the luckless possessor of such gear is in miserable plight and
lowest of the low. A spirit of humourous satire pervades this fantasy.

LITTLE SIR GALAHAD

By Phcebe Gray.

This full-length story, by a new writer, should appeal to readers of
the famous " Mrs. Wiggs of the Cabbage Patch." It is a cheerful,
inspiriting, stimulating novel, written with a faithfulness to real life
which is absolutely convincing, and which awakens the finest and
deepest emotions of the human heart.

PASSION AND FAITH

By Dorothea Gerard, Author of " Ths City of
Entioement," " The Waters of Lethe," etc.
This vivid story depicts the conflict between passion and faith in
the soul of Marion Escott, a generous but headstrong woman whose
love for the man she should marry is challenged by the tribunal of her
faith. The struggle wages with varying fortunes down to the issue
which is reached with this author's usual sympathy and strength.

THE FLOWER OF SLEEP

By Dr. J. Morgan-de-Groot, Author of " The Bar
Sinister," etc.
A clever and original story dealing with the abduction of an English
girl by a native chief of Africa, who first renders her unconscious by
means of the Flower of Sleep. She is rescued, and marries, still unaware
of the catastroplie which has befallen her. Tdcu comes the struggle in
the one between love for her husband, and love for her child, and in the
other between love for his wife and hatred of the child. The author, in
bringing the story to a successful conclusion, shows a deep knowledge
of human nature.

17

New Six Shilling Novels — continued
ON DESERT ALTARS

By Norma Lorimbr, Author of *' A Wife out of Egypt,"

etc.

Miss Lorimer, with characteristic courage and delicacy, has tackled
another elemental problem. A woman finds that the only way to get
the husband whom she adores out of the swamps of the Gold Coast,
wiiich are killing 1 im with fever, and to find him work by her side in
London, is to receive for a few weeks the visits of a great financier, who
is passionately fond of her, but whom she detests. The husband comes
home and recovers his health, but eventually discovers what r.is wife
has done.

Once more Miss Lorimer has given us a very human woman wrestling
with her longing for a larger life.

DO THE DEAD KNOW?

By Annesley Kenealy, Author of "The Poodlo
Woman," A "Water-Fly's Wooing," etc.

Written in a happy, hopeful spirit, Miss Annesley Kenealy's new
novel opens with a seeming tragedy ; but love is shewn to be stronger
than death, and hope more potent than despair. The plot of this
story is strikingly original, and is worked out with a dramatic skill
which leaves the solution of the mystery to the last few chapters.
*' Do The Dead Know ? " is a novel of absorbing interest, and it is
founded upon an incident which points to a startling and hitherto
unsuspected form of crime in London.

THE HALF-PRIEST

By Hamilton Dbummond, Author of "Shoes of Gold,"
" Sir Galahad of the Army," etc.

This, Mr. Hamilton Drummond's latest historical novel, deals with
that period in the development of the Renaissance when the ambitions
of the Borgia family threw all Italy into the melting pot. Oi" necessity
there is subtlety and intrigue, plotting and counter-plotting, but the
main interest of the story turns on the unscrupulous use made of a
woman's devotion and self-sacrifice. It is a vivid, historical novel, in
,which the author has given us of his best.

IRONMOUTH

By CoRALiE Stanton and Heath Hosken, Authors of
" Out of her Depth," " The Swelling of Jordan," etc.

A great love story plays an important part in the novel. Tiie
problem of tl e deceased wife's brother is also raised. The vivacious
and fascinating Blanc e Driver is a character tiiat will hold every
woman : s'.e is ti oroug ly representative of to-day. Tiie strange
deatri of Adam Driver will arouse the reader's curiosity in the first
chapter, and never satisfy it until the last.

18

l^ew Six Shilling Novels — continued

DASHING DICK'S DAUGHTER

By E. Everett-Green, Author of " Herndale*s Heir."
In this very readable story, Miss E. Everett-Green recounts the
doings and adventures of Sally, the daughter of Dashing Dick Dare.
When he dies suddenly Sally sets off for England to find her father's
friend. Instead of the woman she expects, she finds a man — Sir
Cecil Rainsham. There are complications ; some exciting adventures ;
a German spy plays a wicked game ; and then there is a satisfactory
ending.

LOVE'S LAW

By Kate Horn, Author of " Edward and I and Mrs.
Honeybun," " The Flute of Arcady."
Kate Horn has never done anything better than " Love's Law.**
There is a fresh, sweet, womanly charm about this novel ; at the same
time it strikes a deeper, stronger note of emotion than has any previous
novel of hers. '* Love's Law " is entirely on the subject of love. The
heroine learns what love means through trouble and distress. She
sees her sister loving foolishly, and her friends loving unwisely ; she
comes into her heritage of womanhood by the hard and dilficult way of
correction and of the Cross.

THE EXPLOITS OF JUVE : Being the Further

Pursuit of Fant6mas the Mysterious.

By Pierre Souvestre and Marcel Allain, Authors of

" Fantomas," etc.

"The Exploits of Juve," which forms the second volume of the

Fantomas series, is easily among tlie select company of first-class

detective stories written in any language. Juve is a creation. He has

won fame in France, and that fame is deservedly spreading far and

wide. His exploits, when on the track of the elusive Fantdmas, are

marvellous : the account of them entertains, enthralls and convinces

the reader. Detective .Juve is no superhuman omniscient police

officer : his is a very human and attractive personality, and his fatherly

affection for a young journalist whom he has rescued from a Fantdmas

plot is a delightful trait. This young man is devoted to Juve, and

shares his adventures when on the trail of Fant6mas the Mysterious.

THE GENERAL'S WIFE

M. Hamilton, Author of "Cut Laurels," **Mrs. Brett "
In " The General's Wife," the author has given us an exceedingly
readable novel. The theme — a marriaire of incompatibility — is not
new, but it is so convincingly handled, that it is as if an episode from
life's comedy and tragedy were being enacted before the reader's eyes.
The main scene of action is India, the India M. Hamilton knows and
describes so intimately. Tlie General's two little boys, Peterkin and
Freddy, are perfectly delightful ; they are the realest of real little
boys : the presentation of them would alone make '• The General's
Wife " worth reading, and worth buying.

19

RECENT
SUCCESSFUL NOVELS

In Groion %vo. SIX SHILLINGS EACH,

THREE GENTLEMEN FROM NEW CALEDONIA

(3rd Ed.) R. D. Hemingway & Henry de Halsalle

SCHOOL FOR LOVERS (2nd Ed.)

MISS BILLY (3rd Ed.)

MISS BILLY'S DECISION (2nd Ed.)

MISS BILLY— MARRIED

THE PERSISTENT LOVERS

GREATER THAN THE GREATEST

A " WATER-FLY'S " WOOING

THE SAILS OF LIFE (2nd Ed.)

THE GATES OF DOOM (5th Ed.)

THE HOUSE OF MANY MIRRORS (4th Ed.)

A WIFE OUT OF EGYPT (13th Ed.)

E. B. DE Rendon

Eleanor H. Porter

Eleanor H. Porter

Eleanor H. Porter

A. Hamilton Gibbs

Hamilton Drummond

Annesley Kenealy

Cecil Adair

Rafael Sabatini

Violet Hunt

Norma Lorimer

STANLEY PAUL'S
"Cleartype" Sixpenny Novels

NEW VOLUMES

*** Owing to the continued demand for romances by Charlotte Brame
the Publishers have found it necessary to issue new editions
of the following novels. Each will be re-set from new type
and bound in a new pictorial cover printed in three colours.

A WOMAN'S ERROR

A STRUGGLE FOR A RING

THE MYSTERY OF COLDE FELL

AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR

A SHADOWED LIFE

CLARIBEL'S LOVE STORY

WHITE ABBEY

THE LOVE OF HIS LIFE

THE MAN SHE MARRIED

Charlotte Brame

Charlotte Brame

Charlotte Brame

Charlotte Brame

Charlotte Brame

Charlotte Brame

Effie Adelaide Rowlands

Effie Adelaide Rowlands

Effie Adelaide Rowlands

[For other volumes in the series see page 41]
20

/nbessre. Stanley Paul R Co v
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THE RETROSPECT

Ada Cambridge. Crown 8vo, cloth gilt.

OUR NATIONAL SONGS

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STANLEY PAUL'S 6/- NOVELS

ADAIR, CECIL

Cantacute Towers
The Sails of Life
Francesca
Gabriel's Garden
Under the Incense Tree
Quadrille Court
The Qualities of Mercy
The Mist Pool

ANDERSON, A. J.
His Magnificence

BAZIN RENE

The Redeemer
BEDFORD, H. LOUISA

Maids in Many Moods

BEESTON L. J.

Dagobert's Children

BETT, HENR

The Watch Night

BOWER, B. M.
Lonesome Land

BOYLESVE, REN^

A Gentlewoman of France

BROUGHTON, RHODA
Concerning a Vow.
A Thorn in the Flesh
Between Two Stools,

BRUGtVE-VALLON, WALTER

That Strange Affair
BUSSELL, DOROTHEA

The New Wood Nymph

CAMERON, CHARLOTTE
A Durbar Bride
A Passion in Morocco

COLMORE, G.

Suffragette Sally

CURRIE, BARTON W., & AUGUSTIN
MCHUGH

Officer 666
DANBY, FRANK

A Babe in Bohemia
D'ANETHAN, BARONESS ALBERT

The Twin-Soul of O'Take San

DE RENDON, E. B.
School for Lovers

DIEHL, ALICE M.

Confessions of Perpetua

"DRAIG GLAS"

Madge Carrington and her Welsh
Neighbours

DRUMMOND, HAMILTON
The Justice of the King
Sir Galahad of the Army
Little Madame Claude
The Winds of God
Greater than the Greatest
The Half- Priest

DUDENEY, MRS. HENRY
Married when Suited

DUMAS, ALEXANDRE

The Prussian Terror

The Neapolitan Lovers
ENOCH. C. REGINALD, F.R;G.S.

The Promoter's Pilgrimage

EVERETT-GREEN, E.
The Price of Friendship
Defiant Diana
Barbed Wire
The Double House
The Heiress of Swallowcliffc.
Herndale's Heir
Adventurous Anne
Dashing Dick's Daughter

FLOWERDEW, HERBERT

Mrs. Gray's Past

The Villa Mystery
FORBES-ROBERTSON, FRANCES
(MRS. HARROD)

The Horrible Man

GERARD, DOROTHEA
The Waters of Lethe
Passion and Faith
The City of Enticement

GIBBS, A. HAMILTON
The Hoiu: of Confiict
The Persistent Lovers

GILL, ANTHONY KIRBY

The Marble Aphrodite
GRAHAM, WINIFRED

The Pit of Corruption

GRACE, ARM IN E

The Cloak of St. Martin

GRAY, PHCEBE

Little Sir Galahad
GREGOROVITSH, DIMITRY

The Fishermen
HAGGARD, LT.-COL-, ANDREW C. r

The Romance of Bayard

HARROD, MRS.

(See Forbes- Robektson)

HAMILTON, M.
Mrs. Brett

The Woman Who Looked Back
The General's Wife
HEMINGWAY, R.D. & HENRY DE
HALSALLE

Three Gentlemen from New Cale-
donia (A ;(300 First Prize
Novel)

87

Stanley Paul's Six Shilling Novels—continued

HTl,I„ HEADON
The Split Peas
The Thread of Prool

HOCKING, SII,AS K.

Sword and Cross
HORN, KATE

Columbine at the Fair

The Mulberries of Daphne

Susan and the Duke

I^ove's I^w

Frivole

The Flute of Arcady

Because of Phoebe
HOSKEN, HEATH

(See Stanton, Coralie)
HUNT, VIOIvET

The House of Many Mirrors

Their I^ives

AMES, A. E.

Her Majesty the Flappet

JORDAN, KATE

The Creeping Tides

KAYE, MICHAEI* W
Devil's Brew

KENDAI,, OSWAI^D

Captain Hawke, Master Mariner
KENEALY, ANNESI^EY

The Poodle- Woman

A "Water-Flys" Wooing

Do the Dead Know ?

KENEALY, ARABEI,I,A
The Painted I,ady

i;amport, r. fifiei,d

Veeni the Master

I,E QUEUX, WII,I,IAM
The Four Faces

I^I^OYD, J. A. T.

The Three Destinies
Quis ?

lyORIMER, NORMA
A Wife out of Egypt
On Desert Altars
The Gods' Carnival

MADOX-HUEFFER, OI^IVER
(JANE WARDI^E)
Hunt the Slipper

MAGNAY, SIR WII.I,IAM
Paul Burdon

The Fruit of Indiscretion
The Long Hand
The Price of Delusion
The Black Lake

MARSHALL, ARCHIBALD H.
Roding Rectory

The Mystery of Redmarsh Farm
Rank and Riches
Upsidonia
Watermeads

MEADE, L. T.

The Passion of Kathleen Duvecn

EUzabeth's Priaonet

Ruffles

MILAN, REN^

The Undying Race

MILLER, ESTHER
Casserley's Wife

MILLS-MALET, VINCENT
The Meteoric Benson

MORGAN- DE-GROOT, Dr. J.
The Flower of Sleep

MUIR, WARD

When we are Rich
Cupid's Caterers

PEARCE, CHARLES E.
The Eyes of Alicia
The Crimson Mascot
A Star of the East
Red Revenge

PORTER, ELEANOR H. ;
Miss Billy

Miss Billy's Decision
Miss Billy— Married

RAWSON, MAUD STEPNEY

The Priceless Thing

The Watered Garden
" RITA "

The Ink-Slinger

JUI— All-Alone

SABATINI, RAFAEL
The Gates of Doom

RAMSEY, ALICIA

The Adventures of Mortimer Dixou

SHIERS-MASON, MRS.
The Loves of Stella

SOUVESTRE, PIERRE & MARCEL
ALLAIN

Fantomas

The Exploits of Juve

STANTON, CORALIE AND HEATH
HOSKEN
Thistles

The Swelling of Jordan
Out of Her Depth
Ironmouth

STEWART, NEWTON V,
The Cardinal

STILGEBAUER, EDWARD
Love's Inferno

STOURTON, JOHN DE and OLIV«
LETHBRIDGE
The King's Master

STUART, G. VILLIERS
The Lost Destiny

Stanley Paul's Six Shilling Novels — continued

SY3HONS, BERYI.
Prince and Priest

VAHEY, H. I,.
Camilla Forgetting Herself

VANE, DEREK
Ivady Varley

VYNNE, NORA

So it is with the Damsc

VANEWORDS, J. P.
The Great Miracle

WARDI^E, JANE
Htint the Slipper

WHISHAW, FRED
An Empress in lyove

WII,I,IAMS, H. NOEI.
Tainted Gold

WIIvSON, THEODORA WII^SON
A Modern Ahab

WODNII,, GABRIElvIvE
Brineta at Brighton

WYI,I.ARDE, DOIvF
Youth will be served

WYNNE, MAY

The Destiny of Claude
The Red Fleur De I,ys
The Silent Captain
The Hero of Urbino.

YARDI^^Y, MAUD H
Because

THE ABC SERIES

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29

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A BIOGRAPHICAL INDEX TO THE MEMOIRS OF THE DUICE
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Demy 8vo., bound uniform with the six volumes of the Memoirs.

THE INSANITY OF GENIUS, and the General Inequality of Human

Faculty Physiologically Considered

By J. F. Nisbet. Sixth Edition, with an introduction by Bernard
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GAIETY AND GEORGE GROSSMITH : Random Reflections on

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Chronicled by Stanley Naylor. Crown Svo, fully illustrated.

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30

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ANOMALIES OF THE ENGLISH LAW : " The Law in the Dock.'
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FEODOR DOSTOIEFFSKY : A Great Russian Realist.

By J. A. T. Lloyd. Author of " Two Russian Reformers," etc.,
2nd Edition.

*' A critical and appreciative biography that will be welcomed
by all lovers of literature. There is a fascination that cannot
be resisted in its pages." — Newcastle Chronicle.
THE LIFE OF CESARE BORGIA.

By Rafael Sabatini, Author of '* Torquemada and the Spanish
Inquisition," etc. 3rd Edition.

" Mr. Sabatini has a lively and vigorous style which imparts
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short but varied career proves as entertaining as it is inform-
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HONORE DE BALZAC : His Life and Writings.

Bv Mary F. Sandars, with an introduction by W. L. Courtney,
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" Excellent. An accurate, complete, intelligible life of
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THE LIFE OF LOUISE DE LA VALLTERE

By Claude Ferval, with an Introduction by Jean Richepin ;
trans atcd into English bv Sidney Dark. FuIIv illustrated.
JULIETTE DROUET'S LOVE-LETTERS TO VICTOR HUGO
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31

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*TWIXT LIFE AND DEATH on Sea and Shore.
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/
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" RITA "

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1 The Unholy Estate (5)
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36 Bright Shame (2)

WARDLE, JANE

18 The Artistic Temperament (J)

WYLLARDE, DOLF

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13 The Career of Beauty Darling

(13)
31 Tropical Tales (7)

WYNNE, MAY

48 Brave Brigand (2)

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BROUGHTON, RHODA

7 Between Two Stools (6)
CHATTERTON, E. KEBLE

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COTES, MRS. EVERARD (SARA
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DE ROBERT, I,OUIS
11 Ufe's I^st Gift

DODSWORTH, FRANCIS
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GALI.ON, TOM

14 Brother Rogue and Brother

Saint
16 The Mystery of Roger Bullock
20 The Dream — and the Woman (2

HORN, KATE

22 The Garden of I.ife (2)
HOWARD, KEBLE

30 The Cheerful Knave (5)
KENNARD, MRS. EDWARD
9 A Professional Rider (2)

MARSHALL, ARCHIBALD

31 The Mystery of Redmarsh
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PERRIN, ALICE

3 The Spell of the Jungle (2)
QUEUX, WILLIAM LE

13 Fatal Thirteen (2)
35 Lying Lips (5)
RALEIGH, CECIL

4 The Sins of Society (2)
RAWSON, MRS. STEPNEY

12 The Three Anarchists (7)
ROWLAND, HELEN

1 The Widow — to say nothing of
the Man (3)
SABATINI, RAFAEL

1 7 Bardelys the Magnificent (1 4
SIMS, GEO.R.

10 The Devil in London (2)

15 The Death Gamble

19 The Cabinet Minister's Wife
WARDLE, JANE

32 The Artistic Temperament (4)
WILLIAMS, H. NOEL

6 A Ten Pound Penalty (2)

WODNIL, GABRIELLE
21 Brineta at Brighton

WYLLARDE, DOLF
27 Tropical Tales
34 The Riding Master (7)
23 The Career of Beauty Darling (13 )

WYNNE, MAY

37 The Red Fleur-de-Lys (2)

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Stanley Paul's ' Clear Type ' Sixpenny Novels

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good paper. In Demy %vo, with Pictoral Covers.

y:.BANESI, MADAME

24 Heart of His Heart
23 The Wonder of I^ove

BRAME, CHARLOTTE

33 A Struggle for a Ring
32 A Shadowed Life

31 The Mystery of Colde Fell
30 A Woman's Error
29 Claribel's Love Story
28 At the Eleventh Hour
BURGIN, G.B.

7 The Trickster

DANBY, FRANK

139 Dr. Phillips

DE LA PASTURE, MRS. HENRY
11 Cornelius

DRUMMOND, HAMILTON
39 The Justice of the King

5 Shoes of Gold

eVERETT-GREEN, E.

150 The Lady of the Bungalow
152 Clive Lorimer's Marriage
22 Co-Heiresses

6 The City of the Golden Gate
37 A Will in a Well

FLOWERDEW, HERBERT

48 The Second Elopement
GALLON, TOM

149 Brother Rogue and Brother
Saint.
47 The Mystery of Roger Bullock
42 The Dream — and the Woman

SERARD, DOROTHEA

62 The City of Enticement
61 Exotic Martha
BAGGARD, LIEUT.-COL. ANDREW
158 Sidelights on the Court of
France
HAMILTON, COSMO

8 Indiscretions
BILL, HEADON

3 Troubled Waters
HORN, KATE

141 The White Owl
145 Susan and the Duke
52 The Mulberries of Daphne
36 Edward and I and Mrs. Honey-
bun
HOWARD, KEBLE

148 The Cheerful Knave
HUNT, VIOLET

140 The Doll
FAMES, ADA & DUDLEY

1 Stolen Honey
:,E QUEUX, WILLIAM

34 Fatal Thirteen
tfAGNAY, SIR WILLIAM

49 The Long Hand

MEADE, L.T.

142 Ruffles
PEARCE, CHARLES E.

154 The Snake Girl

50 Red Revenge
41 Love Besieged

PERRIN, ALICE

51 The Spell of the Jungle

PHILPOTTS, EDEN

2 The Human Boy Again
RAY, P. QUINTON

58 Golden Destiny

" RITA

"

138

That is to Say—

67

My Lord Conceit

66

Asenath of the Ford

65

Faustine

64

Corinna

63

The Laird o' Cockpen

46

Edelweiss

45

Only an Actress

38

The Man in. Possession

ROWT.ANDS. EFFIE ADELAIDE

27

Love's Mask

26

The Wooing of Rose

25

Wliite Abbev

20

The Love of His Life

19

A Charity Girl

18

The House of Sunshine

17

Dare and Do

16

Beneath a Spell

15

The Man She Married

14

The Mistress of the Farm

13

Little Lady Charles

12

A Splendid Destiny

SABATINI. RAFAEL

53

The Lion's Skin

SIMS, GEO. R.

144

The Devil in London

SNOWDEN. KEIGHLEY

153

The Free Marriage

SUTCLIFFE. HALLIWELL

40

A Benedick in Arcady

35

Priscilla of the Good Intent

THURSTON, E. TEMPLE

44

The Apple of Eden

21

The Evolution of Katherine

10

Traffic

WARDEN. FLORENCE

4

The Adventures of a Pretty

Woman

WILSON, AUGUSTA EVANS

9

St. Elmo

WODNIL. O.ABRIELLE

146

Maggie of Slargate

WYLLARDE, DOLF

143

All Sorts

WYNNE, :\KlY

151

The Destiny of Claude

GO

Honour's Fetters

41

INDEX

A.B.C. About Collecting, The

A.B.C. OF Artistic Photography, The ... '...

A.B.C. op Church Architecture, The

A.B.C. OF Collecting Old Continental Pottery

A.B.C. OF Collecting Old English China

A.B.C. of Collecting Old English Pottery

A.B.C. Dictionary of Artists, The

A.B.C. of English Cathedrals, The

A.B.C. OF English Ceramic Art, The

A.B.C. Guide to American History

A.B.C. Guide to Music

A.B.C. Guide to Mythology *

A.B.C. Guide to Pictures

A.B.C. of Heraldry, The

A.B.C. OF Indian Art, The

A.B.C. OF Japanese Art, The

A.B.C. OF Modern Prose Quotations, The

Activities of Lavie .Tutt,'The

Admirable Painter, The

Adventures of Mortimer Dixon, The ...

Adventures of a Pretty Woman, The

Adventurous Anne

Al Book of Readings, The

Al Reader, The

Al Reciter, The

Aldine Reciter,* The

All Sorts

Amazing Duchess, The '..

America — through English Eyes

American Reciter, The

An Empress in Love

Ancient Firearms

Anomalies of the English Law

Apple of Eden, The

Argentine Republic, The

Artistic I'emperament, The

asenath of the ford

At the Eleventh Hour

August Strindberg ...

Babe in Bohemia, A

Ballads of Brave Women

Barbed Wire

Bardely's the Magnificent

Beau, The

Because

Because of Phcebe

Beneath a Spell

Benedick in Arcady, A

Between two Stools

BiLLICKS

Biographical Index to the Memoirs op thb Dues db St. Simon, A

Black Lake, The

Book of Brave Boys. A

Book of Brave Girls, A

Book of Short Plays, A

Boy's Book of Sports, Pastimes, Hobbies, etc., The

Brave Brigands

Bride of Love, The

Bright Shame

Brineta at Brighton

Britain's Deadly Peril

Brother Rogue and Brother Saint

Bungalow under the Lake, The

Business of Bookbinding, The

By the Waters of Germany

By the Waters op Sicily

i

]

Page

...

30

29

*ib

. 29

30

30

30

."

29

10

, 29

29

30

30

...

30

30

ib,

, 29

11,

, 29

30

i'o,

. 29

35

5,

, 24

28

41

14,

, 27

40

...

40

40

33,

, 40

..

41

22

...

38

40

...

29

"e

25

31

...

41

24

Sd,

39

41

20,

41

26

27,

39

37

27

39

...

34

29

17,

28

41

41

"27,

,39

39

4,

30

9.

28

32

.«.

32

35

32

35

...

35

35

29,

39

12,

37

39,

41

35

25,

26

23

26

INDEX— Continued

Pao»

Cabinet's Minister Wife, The 39

Cakes and Ale 33

California 24

Camilla Forgetting Herself 29

CAaip Cookery 39

Cancacute Towers 27

Captain Hawke 28

Cardinal, The 28

Career of Beauty Darling, The 35, 39

Casserley's Wife 9, 28

Celebrity's Daughter, The 35

Charity Girl, A 41

Cheerful Craft 35

Cheerful Knave, The 35, 39, 41

Cinematograph Films 40

City of Enticement, The 27, 41

City of the Golden Gate, The 41

Claribel's I,ove Story 20. 41

Clive I^orimer's Marriage 41

Cloak of St. Martin, The 9, 27

Confessions of Perpetua 27

Co-Heiresses 41

Cole's Fun Doctor (First Series) 34

Cole's Fun Doctor (Second Series) ... 34

Cole's Intellect Sharpener 34

Coloured Designs for Wall and Ceilino Decoration 32

Columbine at the Fair 28

Coming Dominion of Rome in Britain 40

Concerning a Vow 9, 27

Consort, The 35, 39

Continental Cookery for the English Table 7, 33

Countess Daphi^ 35

CORINNA 41

Cornelius 41

Crabbe, The Life of George 24

Creeping Tides, The 28

Crimson Mascot, The 28

Croquet 24

Cupid's Caterers 28

Cure for Poverty, The 8, 35

Curse of the Nile, The 35

Dagobert's Children ... 27

Dare and Do 41

Dashing Dick's Daughter 19, 27

David Garrick and his French Friends 24

Death Gamble, The 39

Decorators' Symbols, Emblems and Devices 33

Defiant Diana 9, 27

Destiny of Claude, The 29, 41

Devil in London, The 39, 41

Devil's Brew 9, 28

Devil's Spawn, The 11, 37

Diners a Deux 30

Diner's-out Vade-Mecum, The 36

Divorce in its Ecclesiastical Aspect 38

Do THE Dead Know ? 18, 28

Doll, The 35, 41

Dostoieffsky, a Great Russian Realist 24

Double House, The 27

Dr. Phillips 39, 41

Drawing-Room Entertainments 37

Dream — and the Woman, The ... 39, 41

Duckworth's Diajionds 35

Durb.vr Bride, A 27

Edelweiss 41

Edward and I and Mrs. Honeybun 41

Elizabeth's Prisoner 28

INDEX— Continued

Page

English Reciter, The 40

European in India, The 24

Everyday Economical Cookery Book, The -JS

E\'ERYDAY Pudding Book, The 38

Everyday Savoury Book, The 38

E\'ERYDAY Soup Book, The 38

E%teryday Vegetable Book, The 38

E^'OLUTION OF KATHERINE, THE 41

Exotic Martha 41

Exploits of Juve, The 19, 28

Eyes of Alicia, The 28

Famous Artists and their Models 23

Fanxomas 16, 28

Fatal Thirteen 39, 4J

Faustine 41

Favourite Songs for the Contralto Voice 37

Federation of the Whole World 34

Feodore Dostoeeffsky 31

First Favourite Reciter, The 40

First Signs of Insanity, The 25

Fishermen, The 16, 27

Flower of Sleep, The 17, 28

Flowing Bowl, The 33

Flute of Arcady, The 9, 28

Four Faces, Ti^e ... ' 28, 35

Fourteen Years of Diplomatic I^ife in Japan 22

Francesca 27

Free Marriage, The 4]

French Gardening without Capital 40

Frivole 9, 28

From Jungle to zoo 25

Fruit of Indiscretion, The 28

Gabriel's Garden 27

Gaiety and George Grossmith 30

Galbraith of Wynyates 35

Oarden of I,ife, The 39

Garland of Verse for Young People, A 33

Gates of Doom, The 20, 28

General's Wife, The li), 27

Gentlewoman of France, A 13, 27

German Spies in England 12, 37

GoDOY, The Queen's Favourite 23

Gods' Carnival, The 14, 28

Golden Destiny 41

Grain of Mistard, The 14

Great Emperor, A 1, 24

Great Miracle, The 29

Great Russian Realist, A ... 24

Greater than the Greatest 20, 27

Grey I^ife, A 35

Guerilla Leaders of the World 25

Half-Hours in the I^evant 38

Half-Priest, The 18, 27

Heart of his Heart 41

Heiress of Svvallowcliffe, The 9 27

Herndale's Heir 27

Her Majesty the Flapper 28

Hero of Urbino, The 9, 29

Heroines of the Home 32

HiNTON, James 7, 24

His Magnificence 27

History of Garrards, The 30

History of Gravesend, The 21, 23

History of Penal Methods, A 24

Honour of the Clintons, The 35

Honore de Balzac 31

Honour's Fetters 41

Horrible Man, The 41

Page

27

20.

28

41

...

41

28.

29

...

40

23

35

3*5,

39

23

32

32

...

22

41

9,

28

30

22

...

21

...

40

2,

, 24

18.

, 28

35

7,

, 24

28

"3,

, 22

26

24,

, 31

INDEX— Continued

Hour of Conflict, The

House of Many Mirrors, The

House of Sunshine, The

Human Boy Again, The

Hunt the Slipper

Ideal Cookery

Imperial America

Impertinent Reflections

In Fear of a Throne

In the Footsteps of Richard Cceur de Lion

In the Lion's Mouth

In the Teeth of Adventure

Index to Periodicals
Indiscretions ...

Ink-Slinger, The

Insanity of Genius, The

Intimate Memoirs of Napoleon III

Intimate Society Letters op the 18th Century

Introduction to Elementary BiBLiooRAPny

Ireland : Vital Hour

Ironmouth

Irresistible Mrs. Ferrars, The ,

James Hinton

Jill — All-Alone

Jolly Duchess, The

Joy of Tyrol

Juliette Drouet's Love-Letters to Victor Hugo

Justice of the Duke, The ... 35

Justice of the King, The 27, 41

King's Master, The 28

KuLTUR Cartoons 12, 31, 34

Lady of the Bungalow, The

Lady Varley

Laird o' Cockpen, The

Last King, or the New France, The

Laughter Lover's Vade-:Mecum

Librarian and Book World, The

Libraries, Museums and Art Galleries Year Book, The ...

Library Assistants' Association

Library Encyclopcedia, The

Life and Letters in the Italian Renaissance

Life and Times of Queen Adelaide. The

Life and Reign of Victoria the Good, The

Life of Cesare Borgia, The

Life of Louise De La Valliere

Life's Last Gift

Lion's Skin, The

Little Lady Charles

Little Madame Claude

Little Sir Galahad

Lonesome Land

Long Hand, The

Lords of the Devil's Paradise, The

Lost Destiny, The

Louis XI. and Charles the Bold

Love Besieged

Love of his Life, The

Lovely Woman

Love Letters of a Japanese

Love's Cross Roads

Love's Inferno

Love's Law

Love's Mask

Loves of Stella, The

Love's Old Sweet Song

Lumber Room The

Lying Lips

iv

41

...

29

...

41

3.

21

36

39

...

25

40

21

5.

23

4,

22

36

...

31

8.

31

39

'B5,

41

41

...

27

17,

27

27

28,

41

...

31

28

23

'35,

41

20,

41

38

30

...

35

13,

28

19.

28

41

28

...

35

...

35

'35,

, 39

INDEX— Continued

Madge Carrington and her Welsh Neighbours
IklAGGiE OF Margate ...

Maids in Many Moods

Man in Possession, The

Man She Married, The

Marble Aphrodite

Marching Songs

Marie Tempest Birthday Book, The

Marriage Making and Breaking

Marriages of Mayfair, The

Married When Suited

Master Problem, The

Martyr of I,ove, The

Maximilian the Dreamer ...

Memoirs of the Duke de St. Simon, The

Men and Women of the Italian Reformation

Meteoric Benson, The

Miss Billy

Miss Billy's Decision

Miss Billy — MAiiRiED

Mist Pool, The

Mistress of the Farm, The

Modern Ahab, A

Modern Reciter, The

More about Collecting

Motor, The

Motor Tour through England and France, A

Mrs. Brett

Mrs. Gray's Past

Mulberries of Daphne, The

Murray Finds a Chum

My Lord Conceit

My Own Reciter

Mystery of Colde Fell, The

Mystery of Redmarsh Farm, The

Mystery of Roger Bullock, The

Napoleon in Exile at Elba

Napoleon in Exile at St. Helena

Neapolitan Lovers, The

Neighbours of Mine

New Wood Nymph, The

Officer 666

Old Wood Carver, The

On Desert Altars

Only an Actress

Our Fighting Sea ]Men

Our National Songs

Out of Her Depth

Painted Lady, The

Painters' and Builders' Pocket Book, The ...

Passion and Faith

Passion in Morocco, A

Passion of Kathleen Duveen

Paul Burdon

Paul's Simplicode

Perfidious Marriage and other Plays, The ...

Perfidious Welshman, The

Persistent Lovers, The

Physiology of Faith and Fear

Pit of Corruption

Pluto and Proserpine

Polly Peachum

Poodle-Wooman, The

Practical Art of Graining and Marbling, The...

Practical Church Decoration

Practical Gilding, Bronzing and Lacquering

Practical Stencil Work

Pretty Barbara

Price of Delusion, The

Price of Friendship, The

INDEX— Continued

Priceless Thing, The

Prince and Priest

Princess and Queen of England

Princess Mathilde Bonaparte, The

Priscilla of tne Good Intent

Production of the Printed Catalogue, The ...

Professional Rider, A

Promoter's Pilgrimage, The

Prussian Terror, The

Quadrille Court

Qualities of Mercy, The

Quantities of a Detached Residence, The ...

Queens of Arogan, The

Quis?

Ralph Raymond

Rank and Riches

Red Fleur De I,ys, The

Red Revenge

Redeemer, The

Remarkable Women of France

Retrospect, The

Revolution and War

Ridge of the White Waters, The

Riding Master, The

Romance of an Elderly Poet, The

Romance of Bayard, The

Romance of Sandro Botticelli, The

Roding Rectory

Ruffles

Sails of I,ife, The ..

Samphire

School for Lovers ..
Scotch Reciter, The..
Scottish Friend of Frederic the Great, The

Scrumbling and Colour Glazing

Second Elopement, The

Second Woman, The
Shadowed Life, A

Shakespeare Reciter, The

Shakespeare's "Hamlet"

Shoes of Gold

Short Cuts to First Aid

Sidelights on the Court of France

Silent Captain, The ...

Sins of Society, The

Sir Galah.ad of the Army

Six Star Ranch

Snake Girl, The

So it is with the Damsel

Spell of the Ju-ngle, The

Splendid Destiny, A
Split Peas, The
Star of the East, A
St. Elmo
Stolen Honey

Stories of the Kaiser and his Ancestors

Strolling Saint, The

Struggle for a Ring, A

Suffrage Annu.al and Woman's Who's Who, 1913, The

Suffragette Sally

Sugar Round the Pill

Suggestions Towards a Constructional Revision of the Dewey

Classification

Susan and the Duke

Swelling of Jordan, The

Sword and Cross

Tainted Gold

Temptation of Mary Lister, The

Ten Pound Penalty, A

That Strange Affair

vi

7, 20,

Pagb

. 28

29

23

22

41

31

39

27

, 27

27

27

25

23

28

.. 35

9, 28

29, 39

28. 41

16

27,

35,

8. 41

0, 27

. 32

2, 27
. 40

3. 21
. 33
. 41
. 35
0, 41
. 40

38.

39,

28.

INDEX— Continued

That is to Say —

Their Lives

This Funny World

This is My Birthday

Thistles

Thomas Shortt

Thorn in the Flesh, A

Thoroughbred

Thread of Proof, The

Three Anarchists, The

Three Destinies, The

Three Gentlemen from New Caledonia

Three Modern Seers

torquemada and the spanish inquisiton

Tour through Old Provence, A

Tour through South America, A

Traffic

Training for the Track, Field and Road

Trickster, The

Tropical Tales

Troubled Waters

Truth

TwEsr-SouL of O'Take San, The

'TwixT IviFE and Death

Under the Incense Trees

Undying Race, The

Unholy Estate, The

Unspeakable Scot, The

Unworthy Pact, The

Upsidonia

Up-to-Date Reciter, The

Vagabond Courtier, A

Veeni the Master

Verses

Victorian Reciter, The

Villa Mystery, The

VON Pi'iLLNiTz, Baron

Wall Paper Decoration

War Medals and their History

Wars of the Olden Times

War Up to Date

Watch Night, The

Watered Garden, The

*' Water- Fly's " Vk^ooiNC, A

Watekmeads

Waters of Lethe, The

Welshman's Reputation, The

Western :\Ien with Eastern Morals

When we are Rich

Where Duty Calls

White Abbey

White Australia Impossible, A

White Owl, The

White Slave Market, The

White Slaves of London, The

Who's Who in America 1914-15

Who's Who in America 1916-17

Widow The — to say nothing of the man

Wife out of Egypt, A

Will in a Well, A

Winds of God, The

Winter Holiday in Portugal, A

Woman Hunter, The

Winter in India, A

Woman's Error, A

Woman's Winter in Africa, A

Woman's Winter in South America, A

Woman Who Looked Back, The

Wonder of Love, The

Wooing of Rose, The

Youth will be Served

Zmc Oxide and its Uses

vii

Pags

...

41

15

, 28

35

...

34

...

28

...

34

'14

. 27

...

39

...

28

35

. 39

28

2a

, 27

32

...

23

25

24

...

41

35

...

41

35,

, 39

41

...

34

...

27

...

32

...

27

"9,

, 28

35

...

38

35

17,

, 28

40

...

21

28

33.

36

40

■'7

21

25

5.

23

32

'36,

, 37

27

...

28

20,

. 28

15.

28

27

34

...

38

...

28

32

26.

41

34

■35.

41

38

38

22

n.

22

..

39

20.

28

41

27

23

35

26

20.

41

25

26

"'9.

27

41

*1 1

'"9.

29

35 1

I

I

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INVERSnY OF CAUPORSSIX LIBRARY