A ROSEBUD.
“Mais elle etait de ce monde où les meilleures choses
Ont le pire destin;
Et Rose elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses,
L’espèce d’un printemps.”
A happy quiet year passed away at Nicolofsky; then Ivan and Clémence
removed to St. Petersburg, where they established themselves for the
coming winter in one of the palaces on the Fontanka. Clémence, upon
this her first visit, found the city wonderful and fascinating in its
very strangeness. It seemed a thing of yesterday; the magnificent
buildings, the stately streets and squares, looked as if they had
sprung into being at the touch of an enchanter’s wand. Not yet had the
hand of time left its impress anywhere. When she arrived, all was life,
colour, animation; every pulse of the great city was throbbing, and
the din of its multitudinous and busy noises smote strangely upon ears
accustomed to the quiet of the country. But soon a change came. The
snow spread its soft white mantle over the crowded thoroughfares, the
sounds of traffic were hushed, the steps of passers-by fell silently,
and the bright blue waters of the Neva were chained by the genii of the
frost. “It is like a city of the dead,” thought Clémence.
But she thought differently when Ivan took her, well wrapped in furs,
for her first winter drive in St. Petersburg. It was pleasant to glide
rapidly through the clear frosty air along the Neva Prospekt, filled
with glittering throngs on foot or in gaily-decorated sledges. Costumes
the most various and striking showed that every race and kindred, from
Persia and Japan in the far East to the forests of America in the
West, had its representatives in that northern metropolis. Tartars
in their robes of fur, Cossacks in their hooded cloaks, mingled with
bearded Russians in blue caftans, and Englishmen and Germans in the
sober attire patronized by modern Europeans. Officers in uniform were
without number; and the robes of ecclesiastics, Romish as well as
Greek, diversified the scene; while fair ladies, in elegant though
slightly exaggerated Parisian toilets, bowed from their sledges
to their friends, or alighted at the doors of the handsome and
brilliantly-decorated shops.
Their life in the capital was full of interest to Clémence and Ivan.
The best and most brilliant society received them with open arms.
Ivan’s comrades in the late war gathered round him, and many were their
pleasant social meetings. Clémence was soon presented at Court, and
won the marked approval of the dignified Empress Mother, and--what she
prized much more highly--the favour of the gentle Empress Elizabeth.
Both the Empresses found their chief enjoyment in assisting the Emperor
in his works of mercy. The more active disposition of the elder led her
to take delight in the management of the great Foundling Hospital (her
especial favourite); also in the establishment for the education of
young ladies; in the School for the Deaf and Dumb, where the methods of
the Abbé Sicard were being carried out with diligence and success; and
in many other institutions, which were either founded or fostered by
the benevolence of Alexander. When the Winter Palace set the example,
it was no marvel that charity became the fashion in St. Petersburg. Not
from fashion, but from a far higher motive, Clémence and Ivan engaged
heartily in such pursuits, spending much of their leisure and their
substance in the work of serving “Christ in his poor.”
There were at this time in the best society of St. Petersburg two
distinct religious circles, differing widely, and each in its own way
very influential. At the Sardinian Embassy, the “old man eloquent,”
Count de Maistre,--with his white hair and eyes of fire, his “esprit
fin” indescribable in English, his keen, quick sympathies, and his
brave, high, chivalrous spirit,--strove hard to turn the stream of
religious thought into a strong and steady current leading Romewards.
He was worthy to have been the champion of a better cause; but he and
those like him never really knew for what they were contending. They
were as loyal-hearted soldiers who fight and die heroically beneath the
banner of a usurper, honestly believing they are serving their true
king. Madame Svetchine, Countess Tolstoi, and other devout women, were
just then yielding to the fascination of De Maistre’s eloquence; and
a colony of Jesuits, zealous, active, and not over-scrupulous, were
furthering the work of proselytism after their peculiar fashion.
Around Prince Galitzin, Alexander Tourgenieff, Princess Metchersky,
and others of a similar character, there gathered a very different
circle--earnest students of Scripture, simple evangelical Christians,
with whom faith and love were the fulfilling of the law, and forms
occupied a very subordinate place. These were in constant communication
with the leaders of the evangelical movement in other countries, and
especially with the agents of the Bible Society. They knew themselves
the objects of suspicion and aversion, not only to the Romanizing
party, but also to the zealous members of the Greek Church, the men
of the old school, who were strongly attached to things as they were,
and jealous of all reform. But they were strengthened by the knowledge
that the heart of the Emperor was with them, though his sense of
justice made him endeavour to hold the balance evenly between the
contending parties, and his natural attachment to the Church of which
he was the head deterred him from any course that he thought likely to
endanger its stability or weaken its influence. Ivan from the first,
and eventually Clémence also, gave a decided preference to the society
of Galitzin and his friends; although they occasionally frequented the
Sardinian Embassy, and Clémence found a warm personal friend in the
Countess Tolstoi.
The Christmas festivities drew on, and Clémence and Ivan were amongst
the guests invited to the grand ball and supper given at the Winter
Palace to celebrate the Emperor’s birthday. Ivan was extremely
anxious that Clémence should be present at one of these magnificent
entertainments, which had all the brilliancy imperial wealth and
splendour could give, with the addition of what does not always
accompany them--the charm of exquisite taste and “sovereign elegance.”
He returned from the levee, where he had spent most of the day, in
high spirits and full of pleasurable anticipation. But his surprise
was great to find Clémence, still in her usual dress, bending with a
troubled face over the cot in which their little Rosebud lay.
“Surely there is nothing wrong with our darling?” he said, stooping
tenderly over the sleeping babe. “It cannot be. She was so bright and
full of life when I left you this morning.”
“There is something wrong,” Clémence whispered, looking up, but
scarcely stirring, for the little hand of the sleeping child had
closed about her mother’s finger. “I cannot but be anxious, since
that terrible attack of croup she had when the cold weather began.
Listen!--her breathing is still quick, though quieter now than an hour
ago. But I must be here to do what is wanted--and to do it at once. I
_cannot_ go with you, Ivan,” she said pleadingly.
Ivan was greatly disappointed, but he would not combat his wife’s
resolve. After a pause, he said gently, “It shall be as you like,
dearest. I see little Rosebud is stronger than the Czar.”
“Say all that is right for me,” Clémence continued. “But I don’t think
you will have any trouble there. We have not only imperial courtesy to
deal with, but kind hearts and true.”
“Hearts that often bleed beneath their purple trappings,” Ivan
answered. “The Empress Elizabeth does not appear at this ball: she is
mourning to-night for the death of a little girl whom she had adopted,
and to whom she was tenderly attached. ‘Every one dies in whom I take
an interest,’ she says. Perhaps her own frail health makes her look the
more sorrowfully upon all things. Pray for her, Clémence.”
“Indeed I will. How the happy ought to pray for those on whom life’s
shadows seem to fall! _We_ have all sunshine, Ivan.”
But even then a shadow was falling over their happy home. The little
Rosebud, so lovingly watched and tended, was fading quickly. When Ivan
returned that night from the Winter Palace, with its splendour, its
lights, its music, his own dwelling was hushed and still. The Master
had come for their treasure. Unmurmuringly, though with tearful eyes
and aching hearts, they gave it into his keeping. They might have said,
had they known the words,--
“God took thee in his arms, a lamb untasked, untried;
He fought the fight for thee, he won the victory,
And thou art sanctified.”