"DEREVASKI DALOI"
Things had never gone so quietly in St. Petersburg as during those three
months preceding the 26th of December. Night noises, public-house
gatherings, had ceased entirely. In the kabas, instead of the daily
three thousand pots of drink, not more than two hundred were given out.
It is a serious outlook when the Russian people do not drink.
For five-and-twenty days Russia had been without a Regent. What had
occurred during those five-and-twenty days?
The vast empire had had two heads and two hearts: one at Warsaw, the
other at St. Petersburg. In St. Petersburg, the Viceroy of Warsaw had
been proclaimed Czar; in Warsaw, the Grand Duke Nicholas.
Their youngest brother, Michael, was on a visit to Constantine when the
news of Alexander's death at Taganrog reached him--two days earlier than
it was received at St. Petersburg. A grand gala was going on at the
time, which was stopped at once on receipt of the melancholy
intelligence. Constantine begged his brother to return instantly to St.
Petersburg and repeat his declaration of renunciation of the succession.
The Grand Duke Michael crossed the deputation sent from St. Petersburg.
At the same time that he reached the capital with his brother's fresh
repudiation, Labanoff arrived at Warsaw with documents stating that
Constantine had been chosen, and containing the oaths of fealty of the
army, and the people's address to him bearing a hundred thousand
signatures. Every one had been required to affix his signature, on the
previous Sunday, on leaving the churches; such as could not write had
their hands guided. But Johanna Grudzinska's power was still victorious.
The sealed document bore the inscription, "To His Imperial Majesty."
"I know the contents," said Constantine. "I am to separate from my wife
and espouse the imperial throne. Much obliged! This document is not
addressed to me; I am no 'Imperial Majesty.' Take it back to those who
sent it."
And with seals unbroken he sent back the documents.
The Grand Duke Michael's mission met with similar success. The letter of
Constantine was addressed to Czar Nicholas. He would not receive it.
Constantine had already been elected; the army had sworn allegiance to
him; the people had signed an address; important state papers were being
prepared in his name. It was unalterable.
Michael had to return once more to Warsaw and endeavor to move
Constantine. This time he met the returning deputation at Dorpat, taking
back the bull with seals unbroken.
Thus Russia had no Czar. The republicans said: "All right. If they can't
settle with one, let them try two."
Suddenly came news in St. Petersburg that a seditious rising had been
detected in the Southern Army.
Now neither party could hesitate any longer. Pestel and ten leaders of
battalions were arrested; but this, far from suppressing the
insurrection, only hurried it on.
Late in the evening of the 25th of December Nicholas decided to accept
the crown. This brought things to a crisis.
The manifesto of his accession was drawn up at two o'clock in the
morning, thus could not be made public then and there. On the following
morning the regiments were to swear the oath to the new Czar, without
knowing what had happened to the one to whom they pledged allegiance but
a fortnight before. The conspirators passed the night deliberating what
should be done.
"All is ready for the war of freedom," said enthusiastic Ryleieff.
"But one thing is wanting," answered Zeneida Ilmarinen; "and that is
that the people do not know what freedom is."
"True!" said Ghedimin. "The people do not understand our views. We ought
to have begun by teaching them what is freedom."
"We must begin by freeing the people from their tyrants," broke in
Jakuskin, "then they will soon learn the meaning of freedom."
War was declared. The conspirators, going back to their regiments, took
possession, with their mutinous troops, of the square in front of the
Winter Palace in the mist of early morning. Their watchword was
"Derevaski daloi" (throw away your touchwood). In ordinary gun practice
touchwood was used. Now all hastened to change this for steel and flint.
Then came the cry, "Hurrah, Constantine!" Only Constantine then; and no
word of freedom? But that had been provided for. The mutinous soldiers
set up the shout, "Long live the Constitution!" They had been made to
believe that "Constitucia" _was the wife of Grand Duke Constantine_, and
thus waxed enthusiastic for freedom as the Czar's wife.
Freedom itself lay deep, deep under the snow like a buried acorn,
needing the rays of the sun to awaken it to vitality. On the morning of
his accession, the first day of his rule, the Czar was greeted by the
tumult of a revolution. They were the household troops, the crack
regiments, that rose against him. Their hurrahs resounded from Czar
Peter's Platz to the Winter Palace, which Nicholas had exchanged for the
little, quiet, old-fashioned Anikof Palace, where he formerly resided.
Pale with terror, his generals rushed up to tell him of the danger of
the rebellion. Nicholas had seen one like it before, five-and-twenty
years ago. Then, a little boy, he was sleeping peacefully in his bed,
when his mother, suddenly rushing into the room, snatched him up in her
arms, and ran the length of the dark apartments crying for help. One of
the doors she was passing opened, and a pale man emerged from it. From a
neighboring room came the sounds of a furious struggle--some one within
was fighting for his life. That some one was his father. The pale man,
Count Pahlen, tore the mother and her trembling burden away from the
scene of terror. This episode Nicholas had never forgotten. He, too, now
had a little son, still slumbering in his bed. And he, too, snatching up
the child in his arms, dashed with it down the stairs of the palace. But
before handing over his son to the soldiers he took his wife into the
chapel. There, kneeling side by side, they swore to die in a manner
worthy of rulers of the empire. That moment of terror gave the Czarina a
palsied movement of the head which she never lost in after-life. Then
the Czar, taking his son up in his arms, went out with him into the
courtyard. The battalion on guard at the Winter Palace chanced to be of
a Finnish regiment. Kalevaines, despised as Tschuds by the Suomalai
tribes--they were no Russians--what interest had they in Rurik's empire?
The new Czar, going up to them, his son in his arms, tore open his
uniform, and, presenting his bare breast to the bayonets, said:
"If you have cause against me, fire at my defenceless breast!"
And Pushkin was right.
The feeling of humanity is stronger than the thirst for freedom. It
protects the serf when the Czar persecutes him, and protects the Czar
when persecuted by the serf.
"Fear not. We will protect you!" cried Zeneida's countrymen.
"_Then to you I intrust my child; take care of him. If I fall, he is
your future Czar._" And he threw his pale little successor, Alexander
II., into the arms of the most heavily oppressed of all his subjects.
He knew the hearts of men. By this action he had turned their weapons
from his own bosom upon his assailants.
That one Finnish battalion defended the Winter Palace from the morning
to the evening against the whole revolutionary force.
Nicholas, however, springing on his horse, dashed through the gates,
followed by his generals.
In front of the palace surged a dense mass of the lowest of the low,
roaring out _The Song of the Knife_--its harvest-time had come. Riding
into their very midst, Nicholas said:
"What are you doing here, dear children? This is no place for you."
The people looked at one another.
"Eh! He is a kind man! He calls us his dear children, and tells us so
kindly to go away from here. Let's go home!"
And they dispersed.
Outside the Admiralty he was received by some well-affected battalions.
At their head he marched to the vast Czar Peter's Platz, where was the
insurgents' camp. One-half of the square was occupied by them; the other
half by the troops loyal to him. Betwixt the opposing armies was the
colossal statue on its granite pedestal, with hands outstretched, no one
knows whether to command or bless. One party of insurgents stormed the
castle on the other side of the frozen Neva; the other pressed on
towards the gates of the Winter Palace, Nicholas wandering, meanwhile,
undecidedly up and down the great square, weighing on which cast of the
die hung the fate of his imperial house and empire. He had first
endeavored by every means in his power to avoid the conflict--had sent
the most popular leader of the army, General Miloradovics, to parley
with the insurgents and move them to submission. A ball had struck him
from his horse before he could speak; it was Kakhowsky who had shot him.
The heroic general died in the Czar's arms. Then he had sent the highest
Church dignitary of the country, the metropolitan Seraphim, in full
canonicals, to parley with his enemies.
What cared they now for priests? Seizing the venerable man by his
snow-white beard, they had roared in his ears:
"If you are a priest, read your breviary, and don't meddle to your hurt
in military matters!"
The insurgents received unexpected support. The marines and half the
grenadier regiments joined them. Their numbers grew and grew; the
square echoed with the cry, "Long live the Constitution!"
Then the Czar himself rode up to them. The rebels saw him coming. It was
a temptation to them to see him ride up unattended. A cavalry officer
galloped up to him, a loaded pistol in his hand.
"What is your business?" the Czar asked, threateningly, as he came near.
There was such a spell in his cold look that the foolhardy man, hiding
his face, turned away his head and galloped back.
It was only by force that his followers could tear the Czar away from
the scene of revolt.
It began to grow dusk.
The armies of Gog and Magog went on ever increasing, and darkness added
its terrors to the rest. With night, axe and knife would begin their
work; seventy thousand mujiks would decide who should be Russia's future
ruler!
The generals entreated the Czar to give the signal to attack. He still
hesitated. First, he tried to disperse the insurgents by means of a
feigned attack upon the square of the enemy, and gave the Horse Guards
orders to this effect. They were received by a salvo of artillery, and
the Horse Guards retreated decimated. At that critical moment drums
beating to attack were heard advancing from Morskoje Street, and Grand
Duke Michael appeared at the head of the Moscow regiment. He had just
returned from Moscow, and, hastily summoning those of his own regiment
who had remained faithful to him, advanced against the rebels, and the
fight began.
The noisiest of the insurgents, the heroes of the Bear's Paw, cleared
out of the square at the first volley; the soldiers alone stood fire.
The heroes of freedom fought heroically. The poor soldier, however, who
fell without knowing why or wherefore, perhaps learned in his
death-agony that she for whom he had fallen was a living goddess, who in
some future time would make his descendants happy--the goddess of
Freedom.
Until late in the night they held the square and repulsed the attacks of
the imperial troops.
Then, in the deep darkness, a division of artillery suddenly approached
up Nevski Prospect. This broad, radial street opens in such a manner on
to the great square, which lies between the Admiralty, the Winter
Palace, and Isaac Cathedral, that it commands both sides of the square.
The fire of the approaching cannon might as easily be directed against
the Czar's army as against the rebels' camp; and nearly all the officers
in the artillery were in league with the insurgents! They were received
by the latter with cheers as they unlimbered their guns at the corner of
the street. Of course, they had come to the aid of the rebel army! At
that critical moment Grand Duke Michael, dashing up to the foremost gun,
snatched the fuse from the gunner's hand, sighted on to the mass of the
insurgents, and the first thunder of cannon belched forth into their
ranks a fire of destructive grape.
That first cannon-shot decided the fate of the day and of the epoch.
Others followed. The whole division turned their destroying force upon
the insurgent army.