“CHRISTOHS VOSKRESS.”
“God’s Spirit sweet,
Quench Thou the heat
Of our passionate hearts when they rave and beat;
Quiet their swell,
And gently tell
That His right hand doeth all things well.”
Ivan “entered into his closet, and shut his door;” not to hold
communion with his Father in heaven, but to wrestle in solitude and
silence with the anguish of his soul. Never before had a sorrow touched
the roots of his nature, the very ground and core of his being. He was
stricken to the heart, but he was not stunned by the blow. He had been
able to hear and to comprehend every detail; and now--far from telling
himself, as men often do in the first strangeness of a sudden grief,
that this thing was not, _could not_ be, true--he felt as if he had
known it for years, as if it had already become part of his life. “The
Czar Alexander Paulovitch is dead,” said Ivan--“dead in the very prime
of his days, in the very zenith of his power and glory.”
From the first hour he knew him, the soul of Ivan clave to that of
his Czar. His love for him was a passion of loyalty and hero-worship,
blended with deepest personal affection and gratitude. And now it
seemed to him that the world, from which that grand presence had
departed, was henceforward a dull, cold, sunless world; where, indeed,
there might be much to do and much to suffer, but which could never
more be kindled by the light of morning, by the glamour of romance. All
was changed, and changed for ever.
He laid before him on the table two memorials of the past which he
always wore--the Moscow medal, and the golden coin Alexander’s hand
had given him long ago by the Oka. The medal he looked at with a sigh
and put down quietly, the coin he pressed once and again to his lips.
Clearly, as though it were but yesterday, he saw the noble form of “his
boyar”--the stately head, the young face, so full of manly beauty and
deep concern--bending compassionately over the mujik’s prostrate form.
Then, unawares, the vision changed. The low, distant chant of sweet
voices in the chapel, performing the midnight Easter service, fell upon
his ear, and turned aside the current of his thoughts, though it could
not break the isolation of his sorrow. Instead of the banks of the Oka
he saw the vine-clad plains of France, and heard the thrilling harmony,
almost awful in its solemn majesty, of that thanksgiving service in
the Plaine des Vertus. In what joy and glory had his Czar walked that
day--so grand and peerless amongst men--so full of lowly, reverent
gladness before his Saviour and his God!
A flood of bitter pain swept over him. “O God!” he cried, “why didst
thou not take him thus to thyself?” If a heroic, triumphant death had
stopped him in the midst of his career of victory, Ivan almost felt as
though he could have borne the blow. Or if God had made him to prosper
in all he put his hand to, had given him to see the glad fruition of
all his hopes and dreams, and then gently taken him, full of years
and honours, from an earthly to a heavenly crown, Ivan could have
comprehended his ways with his servant; he could have said, “Thy will
be done.”
He did _not_ say it now. His soul rose up in rebellion, and from its
seething depths there came the bitter cry, “Was this thy word unto thy
servant, upon which thou didst cause him to hope, ‘I will be with him
in trouble; I will deliver him, and honour him. With long life will I
satisfy him, and shew him my salvation’?”--_Was_ he satisfied? What
had he gained? Failure, disappointment, sorrow marked every step of
his way. Almost had he fainted utterly; almost had his feet stumbled
on the dark mountains, while he looked for light, and behold, darkness
and the shadow of death. Until at last, worn out and weary, “with
shattered nerves and sinews all unstrung,” and with heart broken by
the ingratitude of those he loved and trusted, he “laid himself down
in the grave and slept the sleep of death.” “Could any death have been
more sad?” cried Ivan in his agony. “Rather would it have seemed a
fitting end for a life spent in the service of self and sin, than for
one which was laid as an offering at the feet of Christ.” Numb, blank
despair stole over his heart, and a low half-broken moan arose from his
lips--“No use in conflict, no hope of victory! The noblest, brightest
lives only end in the worst bitterness of failure. God is great and
good, and there is his heaven still to look for; but all things here
below are a dark sad mystery. This world belongs to the powers of evil,
and they prevail.”
Fast bound in the trance of his sorrow, he did not see the red
light of the northern morning steal slowly in. Nor did he hear an
approaching footstep, nor a gentle knock at the door; which, however,
was not fastened on the inside, so Clémence opened it softly, and came
towards him. Bending down, she pressed upon his white lips the Easter
salutation, saying, “Christohs voskress” (Christ is risen).
“Voyst venno voskress” (He is risen indeed), Ivan answered
mechanically, after the beautiful custom of the Eastern Church.
“My husband,” she said softly, laying her hand on his arm, “dost thou
believe it?”
He looked up: her face too was pale, and bore the traces of many tears.
“I _know_ it to be true,” he said.
“Do you believe it, my Ivan? Do you believe, in your heart of hearts,
that Christ has burst the bonds of death, not for himself alone, but
for all whom we love?”
“Yes; I believe in the resurrection of the just,” said Ivan with
trembling lips.
“Then why sorrow for our Czar as those that have no hope?”
“Do not speak to me, Clémence. I cannot bear it yet. My heart is
breaking. Not so much because God has taken him from us, as because of
all the darkness--all the seeming failure.”
A still, calm smile passed over the quiet face of Clémence, kindling
it with a radiance more than that of the morning. Ivan looked at her
wondering. “What is it?” he asked, taking her hand and drawing her to a
seat beside him.
“_Christ is risen_,” she said again. “That word folds up within it all
comfort, Ivan.”
“I see no comfort now.”
“You will see it soon, dearest. You will see that His resurrection from
the dead--the ending of his bitter agony in endless joy--means the
resurrection of all our hopes; and assures us for evermore that life,
not death, joy not sorrow, fruition not failure, is his purpose for all
who trust him.”
“But how bitter the way!”
“Who thinks of the way when the end is won? Was the Master’s own way
an easy one, Ivan? Yet it is said, ‘He shall see of the travail of his
soul, and shall be satisfied.’ And as the Master, so the servant.”
“_Satisfied?_” Ivan repeated. “With what? Surely not with the results
of his own work. I thought God meant him to do such great things,
Clémence! Almost to bring in the earthly reign of righteousness and
peace. And I believe he thought so too himself. It was the deepest
longing of his heart. It was what he tried to do--tried and failed.”
“Do you remember, Ivan, the day our little Alexander tried so hard to
make a bow--‘a real bow to shoot with,’ as he called it? He failed in
every effort, until at last he grew discouraged, and cried bitterly,
refusing to be comforted. Then _you_ came, took the wood and the knife
from his hand, and made the bow. I shall never forget his bright glad
face as he stood beside you, watching while you worked. He was so proud
of your strength and skill, and your success in doing what he could
not do; and when the bow was finished, he bore it off triumphantly, to
show every one in the settlement how well his father made it for him.
Ivan, our child’s trust and joy have been a parable for me to-night. I
seem to see him for whom our Easter festival is turned into mourning,
standing thus by the side of Christ, in full, restful, glad content.
What matter if the work dropped unfinished from his own hand? He no
longer heeds it now. It is _Christ’s_ work he is watching. He sees Him
preparing the true reign of peace and righteousness, the grand, final
victory of right over wrong, good over evil. He is satisfied.”
Ivan’s sad face brightened a little. “You bring me comfort, Clémence,”
he said. “I begin to see that even failures--”
“_If_ failures after all they were, which I doubt,” Clémence
interrupted. “Perhaps the seeds he has been sowing will spring up in
flower and fruit when not we alone, but our children too, have gone to
join him in the resting-place within the veil. Indeed I think no real
failure possible to the child of God, except failure in trusting him.”
“And there he did _not_ fail,” Ivan said. After a pause he added, “Yes,
there he won the victory;--and yet Christ’s victory is more to him than
his own.”
“As _his_ glory was ever more to thee than thine, Ivan.”
A patter of little feet and a sound of childish voices broke in upon
their quiet talk. There was a loud shrill burst of laughter from the
baby lips of Henri, checked by low words from Alexander. “Hush! we
must not laugh loud--not _this_ morning.” Then the half-closed door
was pushed open, and at once three little voices spoke the Easter
greeting--“Christohs voskress.” Who should be the first to claim
Papinka’s Easter kiss? Alexander hung back, and putting his arm round
Feodor, held him back also, that sunny-haired little Henri might spring
triumphantly to his father’s arms, never doubting that his own active
limbs had won the race for him.
“Voyst venno voskress,” said Ivan, as he fondly kissed, first the baby
brother, then the two elder boys. There was magic in the touch of those
little lips to soothe the heavy sorrow at his heart. But something in
the thoughtful face of Alexander made him draw the boy close to him.
“My child has been weeping this Easter morning,” he said.
For a moment the child did not speak. Then he said falteringly, “I
meant to serve the Czar, my godfather, when I grew to be a man.”
“Serve instead _his_ King, whom he loved,” answered Ivan. “And take
this thought with thee to keep all thy life, ‘The Lord is _good_ to the
soul that seeketh him.’”
“Yes, father,” the boy whispered, winding his arm about his father’s
neck. “Yes, he is good; for he comforted him at last.”
“He did, my child. However dark his ways with his own may seem to be,
yet are they all mercy and truth--_all_--when we see them from the end
to the beginning. ‘Though he cause grief, yet will he have compassion.’
He will make the heart of his own to rejoice, and that joy no man
taketh from them.”
“Papinka, are these our Easter gifts?” asked Feodor, laying his rash
little fingers on the silver medal and the golden coin so temptingly
near him on the table.
“Nay, my boy; these are too precious for thy father to give away even
to his dear little son. When he is laid in the grave, these shall be
laid there with him. But to-day, my children, we will not talk of the
grave, but of Him who came back from it, and opened our way to the
happy home beyond.”
So the current of those lives flowed on;--little lives of children,
like bright, glad mountain rills, laughing as they tripped along;
larger lives of thoughtful men and women, moving towards the sea in
ever broadening channels, and bearing precious freights. Sorrow might
come to them, but not despair; conflict, but not defeat. Life to
them was “a cordial Yes, and not a dreary No,” for the same reason
which makes it worth while for each one of us to live and work
to-day--because “Christohs voskress,” Christ is risen indeed.
THE END.
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FOOTNOTES:
[1] Nobleman.
[2] Foreigners.
[3] Get out!--Go out from my presence in disgrace.
[4] “Lord, have mercy upon me.”
[5] A light, sour beverage, made by pouring water upon flour or meal.
[6] Brandy.
[7] Of course this would not be done now. But the scene is given
exactly as it occurred.
[8] Alexander’s part in the adventure told above is historically true,
even to the smallest particular. The only liberty taken has been that
of transferring the scene from the bank of the Wilia to that of the
Oka. The story became known in England through a private letter, and
the Royal Humane Society sent the Czar a medal--rather a singular
“decoration” for a monarch. He “accepted it with a noble and modest
simplicity,” and profited by the circumstance to introduce a similar
society into his own dominions. For the description of his personal
appearance one contemporary authority amongst many may be cited:
“Malgré la régularité et la délicatesse de ses traits, l’éclat, la
fraîcheur de ses teints, sa beauté frappait moins à la première vue
que cet air de bienveillance qui lui captivait tout les cœurs, et
du premier mouvement inspirait la confiance.... Il avait l’œil vif,
spirituel, et couleur d’un ciel sans nuages; sa vue était un peu
courte, mais il possédait le sourire des yeux, si l’on peut appeler
ainsi l’expression de son regard bienveillant et doux.... Son front
chauve, mais qui donnait à l’ensemble de sa figure quelque chose
d’ouvert et de serein, ses cheveux d’un blond doré, arrangés avec soin
comme dans les belles têtes des camées ou des médailles antiques,
semblaient faits pour recevoir la triple couronne de laurier, de myrte,
et d’olivier.”
[9] A kind of cold soup made of kvass, with small pieces of meat in it.
[10] This fable was extensively believed in Russia, and not exclusively
by the lower classes.
[11] It is, perhaps, scarcely probable that a man of the character
and position of Petrovitch, an “old Muscovite” and a _protégé_ of
Rostopchine, would have appreciated these liberal measures. But
Petrovitch is supposed to be unusually thoughtful and enlightened. Upon
other points, especially upon the French war, he is made to share the
usual sentiments of his class.
[12] Readers of Mr. Browning’s “Dramatic Idylls” will remember “Ivan
Ivanovitch.”
[13] Lord, or Sir.
[14] Driver.
[15] His heir would have been the wayward, eccentric Constantine, who,
in such a crisis, could not have maintained his position for a month.
[16] De Maistre.
[17] Madame de Stael, “Dix Années d’Exil.”
[18] An eye-witness tells us “how the image of St. Sergius was
presented to the young Czar, whose handsome face, surrounded by the old
banners in the dimly-lighted church, had a most picturesque effect.”
(See the “Memoirs of Madame Junot.”)
[19] All these particulars, as well as those of the meeting in the Hall
of the Merchants, are historical.
[20] Elected annually from their own body. His munificent donation was
paid the next day.
[21] Madame de Stael.
[22] He fought in the Vendéan War, and was taken prisoner and executed
by the Republicans. He said to his judges, “J’ai fait mon devoir;
faites votre métier.”
[23] Alexander would not allow the country to be laid waste before the
invaders; but government stores were destroyed or carried away, and
private individuals voluntarily did the same, to a great extent, with
their own possessions.
[24] These outrages, and others yet more revolting, were constantly
committed by the French in Russia.
[25] A fact.
[26] The story of Petrovitch is historical. Scarcely anything has been
added, and only a few rather improbable details have been omitted.
[27] God the Son.
[28] Her persistence in remaining in the city and her death are
historical.
[29] The conversation which follows is given as it was recorded by
Michaud himself. All the details in this chapter are historical,
without any admixture of fiction.
[30] General Kutusov.
[31] De Maistre.--Sir Robert Wilson, an Englishman, was of great use in
this crisis as the friend and counsellor of Alexander.
[32] Another story is told, connecting Alexander’s first acquaintance
with the ninety-first psalm with Prince Galitzin, but that given above
seems on the whole to be preferable.
[33] A fact.
[34] The ninth of the fourteen official Tchinns, or ranks, recognized
by the Russian Government. Each rank in the army has a corresponding
grade and title in the civil service.
[35] Any one who has read the letters and proclamations of Count
Rostopchine, will be aware that the violence of language attributed to
him is very far from being exaggerated.
[36] The Empress Mary, the mother of Alexander, and the Empress
Elizabeth, his wife.
[37] De Maistre.
[38] The custom upon such occasions.
[39] The French, during the retreat, formed themselves into little
“coteries” of twelve or fifteen. If an outsider tried to join himself
to one of these, he was pitilessly driven away to die, sometimes even
murdered.
[40] A fact.
[41] Not “earlier than usual,” as the apologists of Napoleon delight in
repeating.
[42] A fact.
[43] The survivors in this terrible calamity were usually those who
“happened to have about them a little sugar or coffee.”
[44] A fact.
[45] All that is told in this and the succeeding chapter about the
ministrations of Alexander to the French prisoners is strictly and
circumstantially true. Sir Archibald Alison, who well observes that
Alexander terminated “a campaign of unexampled danger and glory by
deeds of unprecedented mercy,” had the details from the Emperor’s own
physicians, Wylie and Crichton, his assistants in the noble work.
There are many other sources of information from which interesting
anecdotes may be gleaned. The story of the dying Spaniard is one of
these. Alexander not only took care to forward his letter, but sought
out all the other Spanish prisoners, clothed them, and sent them home
at his own expense. He described his visit to the Convent of St. Basil
to a friend in these words:--“I was there in the evening: a single
lamp illumined those profound vaults, beneath which piles of corpses
had been heaped almost as high as the walls. I cannot express the
horror with which I was penetrated when amongst the dead bodies I saw
creatures moving who were yet alive.” On his way to Vilna, he took
up in his own sledge starving French soldiers whom he met with, and
brought them to those whom he could trust to take care of them, leaving
money to supply their wants.
[46] Madame de Choiseul-Gouffier.
[47] “Eh, mon Dieu,” s’écria le maréchal, “qui est-ce qui aurait le
courage de faire du mal à cet ange?”
[48] The aide-de-camp was Rapatel, a protégé of Moreau, who had
attached himself to Alexander out of gratitude for his kindness to the
family of his friend and patron.
[49] A distinguished English officer, who was present, says this was
the only occasion on which he ever saw Alexander put himself personally
forward; he was usually, though only too ready to share the perils of
war, careful to leave its glories to his generals. But this was to save
life.
[50] He could say all that and more with perfect truth. The conduct
of Alexander during the War of Liberation forms a very bright page in
his history. He spared no effort to infuse his own courage, energy,
and determination into his allies. At the outset, he wished for the
chief command of the united armies, a position for which he was well
qualified, and to which he possessed every possible claim. But Austrian
jealousy interfered: for it must be remembered that Francis of Austria
had given his daughter in marriage to Napoleon, so that the infant heir
of the common enemy was the grandson of one of the allied sovereigns.
Inspired by his cabinet, the Austrian general, Prince Schwartzenberg,
opposed the arrangement, and Alexander quietly gave way. He appeased
the indignation of the King of Prussia, and reconciled Schwartzenberg
with him. He broke up his own enormous armies into auxiliary corps,
most of which he placed under the command of his allies; and abandoning
the lower ambition of being the nominal head of the confederation,
contented himself with being its soul and its inspiring genius. It was
he who planned, and urged upon his allies, the march upon Paris that
brought the war to a successful termination.
[51] A fact.
[52] Englishmen who were in Paris during 1814 bear testimony to this
interesting fact.
[53] “Ses ennemis cessaient de l’être à ses yeux, dès qu’ils étaient
malheureux.”--MADAME DE CHOISEUL-GOUFFIER.
[54] He established _two_; one in St. Petersburg, and the other in
Warsaw.
[55] Domergues, a Frenchman bitterly prejudiced against everything
Russian, pronounces this allowance really “munificent” under the
circumstances, and says the prisoners were able to live upon it in the
greatest comfort.
[56] A well-known form of punishment in Russia. Alexander himself
inflicted it upon some personages of the highest rank, for gross acts
of peculation and dishonesty.
[57] Alexander always referred to the day of Austerlitz as “his
unfortunate day,” and never ceased to mourn the slaughter to which he
led his brave army upon that occasion.
[58] A similar act of imperial munificence, performed in a similar
way, drew the comment from De Maistre: “En fait d’élégance souveraine,
l’Empereur de Russie est un grand artiste.”
[59] It is understood, of course, that Ivan speaks from the _Russian_
point of view.
[60] “In Russia every coxcomb is a prince.”
[61] All this, as also the account given at the end of this chapter, is
strictly historical.
[62] 1 John v. 13. The twofold use of the expression “believe on the
name of the Son of God” in this passage is instructive.
[63] This story is not true; but it was believed at the time.
[64] “Many a Parisian scoffer, going to hear her in her drawing-room,
which was open to all, returned,” says Sainte Beuve, “at least
thoroughly subdued by her personal magnetism. Those who seriously
believe in the intervention of Providence in the affairs of the world
should not judge her too superciliously: 1815 was a decisive epoch, and
to religious minds it may well have appeared that the crisis was grave
enough to demand a prophet.”
[65] Really given to Madame de Krudener by a child of Stéphanie’s age,
at a meeting similar to the one described above.
[66] The Governor of Paris.
[67] “He ‘has the honour of being presented’ to a lady; he ‘begs that
they will excuse’ him, etc.; he says, ‘will you permit?’ as well as
others. He is right, for he is a true gentleman, which is not quite so
easy as some believe.”--_De Maistre._
[68] Vie de Madame de Krudener, par M. Eynard.
[69] In the following conversation not only the sentiments but the
words given are all those of Alexander himself. It was his habit to pay
an occasional evening visit in the manner described above to those whom
he esteemed. He was not particular as to their rank (some merchants’
wives had poured out tea for him not unfrequently), but they were
always persons noted for piety and good works.
[70] These remarks on the influence of the Bible are taken from the
conversations of Alexander with the Lutheran Bishop Eylert.
[71] A fact. Visitors to St. Petersburg during the reign of Alexander
bore witness to the admirable condition of these institutions.
[72] “Emancipation is one of his ruling ideas. A great part of the acts
of his government bear the impression of it.”--_Dupré de St. Maure._
[73] The Russian alphabet; so called because arranged by Bishop Cyril.
[74] By William Penn. At the special desire of Alexander, the Countess
Metchersky translated it into Russ.
[75] Kohl.
[76] From a speech made by Alexander at a meeting of the Frankfort
Bible Society.
[77] Dissenters.
[78] Let the thoughtful student read the whole passage from which these
lines are taken. The story of Arthur, as the Laureate has transfigured
and interpreted it for us, sheds a ray of light upon that of Alexander.
[79] This answer was really given by a child of his age, the little son
of Madame de Choiseul-Gouffier.
[80] The army which Russia, in common with the other Allied Powers,
left in France after the peace of 1815. It was withdrawn in the latter
part of 1818.
[81] Words used by Alexander to a young Protestant missionary whom the
Englishman, Lewis Way, brought to see him.
[82] Dupré de St. Maure.
[83] “Vie de Madame de Krudener.” Par M. Eynard.
[84] The death of his only child, Sophie Narischkin, a beautiful and
most amiable girl, about to be married to one of his aides-de-camp. The
whole story is deeply touching.
[85] “His face showed care and sorrow, but the remembrance of these
walks, and the acts of benevolence resulting from them, is the most
touching of my recollections in Russia,” writes a Frenchman who
happened to be at Taganrog at the time.
[86] Life of William Allen.
[87] Nor was it. Alexander died on the 1st of December 1825, Elizabeth
on the 16th of the following May.
[88] “He was said to be no solitary example of a broken heart for the
loss of Alexander. Many were mentioned both in St. Petersburg and in
Moscow; and a Russian assured me that he would venture any wager that
if all the deaths from this cause throughout the empire were reckoned
together, they would amount to above a hundred.”--_Kohl._
[89] “J’aimais à voir partager ma tristesse jusque par les habitans
de cette Champagne où Alexandre était entré en vainqueur. Il n’y eut
pas un pauvre vigneron d’Epernay ou de Vertus qui ne se fut écrié en
apprenant la mort d’Alexandre, ‘Ah, quel malheur; il avait sauvé la
France!’ Une paysanne me disait un jour, ‘Hélas, madame, il était aussi
aimable qu’il était beau!’”--_Madame de Choiseul-Gouffier._
Transcriber’s Notes
Punctuation, hyphenation, and spelling were made consistent when a
predominant preference was found in this book; otherwise they were not
changed.
Punctuation and spelling of non-English words were not changed.
Simple typographical errors were corrected; occasional unbalanced
quotation marks retained.
Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained.
Page 261: “adequately express, themselves” was printed with the comma.