Wonderful Queen, Mother of God!Earth, thou fertile Mother of all.
Wonderful Queen, Mother of God!Earth, thou fertile Mother of all.
Wonderful Queen, Mother of God!
Earth, thou fertile Mother of all.
A few days later, when the monk was preparing to leave, Tichon escaped from him. He now understood that the church of the “Old Believers” was no better than the church of the Orthodox. He had decided to return into the world, there to seek the true faith until he found it.
To Alexis the Church was no longer the true church after he became acquainted with the Tsar’s ukase, whereby the seal of the confessional was no longer inviolate. It seemed to him that the Lord had, without doubt, abandoned His Church since He allowed its humiliation.
When the Moscow trial was ended, Peter returned to Petersburg on March 24, the eve of Lady Day. He applied himself with so much zeal in his “Paradise” to the building of ships, the establishing of Government offices and the transaction of general business, that many in his official circle thought that the inquiry had really ended, and that the whole affair was to be consigned to oblivion. The Tsarevitch, had, however, been brought from Moscow under guard, together with the other convicts, and lodged in a separate house next to the Winter Palace.
Here he was kept a close prisoner, being allowed neither to go out, nor to see any one. It was rumoured that he had gone out of his mind through excessive drinking.
The Easter holy week came. For the first time in his life Alexis refused to prepare himself for Communion. Priests were sent to try and persuade him, but he declined to have anything whatever to do with them; he took them all as spies.
Easter fell on April 13. The Easter midnight service was celebrated in the Cathedral of the Troïtsa, one of the oldest buildings in Petersburg, and as small, low and dark as a simple village church. The Tsar, the Tsaritsa andthe Ministers and senators were present. Alexis at first refused to attend, but he was brought thither by the Tsar’s orders.
In the semi-dark church the tomb of Christ with a picture of the dead was installed according to custom, and the Psalm of the great Saturday, chanted over the representation, sounded like a funeral dirge.
The officiating priests came out of the sanctuary still robed in their black lenten vestments; they raised the tomb with the representation of our Lord, bore it into the sanctuary and closed the doors: they had laid the Lord in the grave.
The singers intoned the last verse of the Canticle:—
“When thou didst descend unto death, Eternal——”
Silence ensued.
Then suddenly the crowd began to sway and move as though hurriedly preparing for some event. The wax taper which each one bore was lighted from that of his neighbour. The Church was filled with a soft light, and in this luminous hush there was the expectation of great joy.
Alexis lighted his candle at that of his neighbour, Count Peter Andreitch Tolstoi—his Judas Iscariot. The delicate light brought back to him all that he used to feel at the early Easter Mass; but he thrust these feelings aside, he no longer cared to recall them, he even dreaded them. Gazing absently at Prince Ménshikoff’s back as he stood in front of him, he tried to fix his attention on how to avoid dropping some of the melted wax upon the gold embroideries of the Prince’s dress.
From behind the closed altar gates came the voice of the deacon:—
“Thy Resurrection, O Christ, our Saviour! is chanted by angels in heaven.”
The gates opened and two choirs sang in response:—
“Grant unto us, who are on earth, to glorify thee with a pure heart.”
The priests, now arrayed in light paschal vestments, issued from the sanctuary and the procession was formed.
The great bell of the Cathedral began to peal; it wasanswered by the bells of the other churches. Rejoicing peals then burst forth from all sides, accompanied by the thunder of cannon in salute from the Peter and Paul fortress.
The procession left the Cathedral and the outer doors were closed. The sanctuary had become empty and again every sound was hushed.
The Tsarevitch remained standing motionless with down-dropt head, gazing always in the same absent way: he forced himself to hear nothing, to see nothing.
From without came the voice, broken and feeble, of the Metropolitan, Stephen:—
“Glory be to the Holy Trinity which maketh alive, one and indivisible, now and for ever, throughout all ages.”
Then came other voices, low and subdued as though from a distance:—
“Christ hath risen from the dead!”
Then louder and louder, nearer and more joyous they sounded.
At last the doors of the Cathedral opened wide, and together with the noise of the returning multitude rang forth the triumphant song, which shook the very earth and the heavens:—
“Christ hath risen: by His death He hath overcome death, and hath given life to those who were in the darkness of the grave.”
And such fulness of joy was in this hymn that nothing could resist it: it was as though all those things were about to be accomplished, which creation had been awaiting from the beginning of time; as if a miracle were about to take place.
The Tsarevitch grew pale, his hands trembled, he very nearly let his candle fall. In spite of himself his whole being was pervaded by an all-pervading sense of joy. Life, suffering, death itself seemed to him to fade and become of no account before it.
He burst into tears, and, in order to conceal his emotion, he went out upon the flight of steps in front of the Cathedral.
The April night was mild and serene. A smell of thawing snow, of moist bark and of unopened buds filled the air.The church was surrounded by people; below, in the dark square, the wax tapers shone like stars, while above, in the dark heavens, the stars gleamed like tapers. Clouds, light as angels’ wings, floated past. The ice was thawing on the Neva. The joyous sound of the rumbling of breaking ice floes mingled with the peal of church bells. It seemed as though both earth and sky were chanting: “Christ is risen!”
After Mass, the Tsar, coming out upon the Cathedral steps, exchanged the Easter Greeting not only with the Ministers and senators but also with all his servants, down to the meanest kitchen boy.
The Tsarevitch looked at his father from a distance, not daring to draw near. Peter, however, saw his son and himself came up to him:—
“Christ is risen, Aliósha,” he said, with the old kindly smile.
“Truly He is risen, father!”
And they exchanged three kisses.
Alexis felt the familiar touch of the plump, clean shaven cheek, of the soft lips; he recognised also the familiar odour. And again, just as in the days of his childhood, his heart began to throb furiously, and the wild hope: “What if he should really forgive and spare me!” almost took away his breath.
Peter was so tall that he had to stoop nearly every time that he gave the kiss, and so, as his neck and back began to ache, he withdrew to the sanctuary from the besieging crowd.
At six o’clock, when daylight had just broken, they went from the Cathedral into the Senate House, a low, long, whitewashed building, like barracks, which adjoined the church. In the narrow audience halls tables had been spread with Kulitchi and Paschi; eggs, wine and vodka to break the fast.
At the entrance to the Senate House, James Dolgorúki overtook the Tsarevitch and whispered to him that Afrossinia would shortly arrive in Petersburg, that she was well, but that her delivery was daily expected.
In the vestibule the Tsarevitch met Catherine the Empress; she looked young and pretty in her gorgeous robe made ofwhite brocade, which had the double eagle worked in pearls and diamonds on the front; she wore the pale blue St. Andrew’s ribbon across her shoulder and a diamond star. Her face, slightly touched up by rouge and powder, looked young and attractive. Receiving her guests, she, like a good hostess, greeted them all with her uniform, affected smile. She had a smile for the Tsarevitch also, and he kissed her hand. She embraced him three times, and they exchanged the Easter greeting, the red eggs. Just as she was about to leave him, suddenly he fell at her feet, and cast upon her a glance so distraught that she retreated slightly from him.
“Sovereign Lady! Have pity upon me! intercede with my father on my behalf, so that he may allow me to marry Afrossinia. I ask nothing else. God is my witness! My life will not be for long. I should wish to withdraw myself far from you, and to die in peace. Have compassion, Mother! for this joyous holy day’s sake!——”
And again he looked at her in such a fashion that she grew afraid. Suddenly her face trembled and she began to cry. Catherine was not averse to shedding tears, and was in fact a mistress in the art. Russians were in the habit of saying that she had the gift of tears; and foreigners, who were not deceived, declared that she could melt the heart as surely as any Andromache on the stage. Yet now her tears were not feigned; her pity was really stirred for the Tsarevitch.
She bent down to him and kissed his forehead. Under the low dress he perceived the ample white bosom with two charming little dark moles—beauty spots perhaps.
“Poor, poor boy! would I not do it for you? But what is the use? Wouldheallow himself to be influenced in the least degree? I should only injure your cause the more.”
And casting a furtive glance around to make sure that no one was listening, she brought her lips close to his ear and hurriedly whispered:—
“Your case is desperate; my poor boy; so bad that you ought to fly at once; leave everything and fly!”
In came Tolstoi. Catherine, leaving the Tsarevitch, quickly dried her tears with a lace handkerchief and turned to Tolstoi with her usual cheerful face, and asked himwhether he had seen the Tsar, and why he delayed his coming.
On the threshold of the door leading from the adjacent hall appeared the tall, angular figure of a German lady, dressed with no pretention to taste; she had a long, narrow, old-maidish face, shaped somewhat like a horse’s head. She was a princess of East Friesland, ex-maid of honour to the late Crown Princess Charlotte, and was now acting as governess of her two orphan children. She had such a decided, commanding air that all involuntarily made way before her. She carried the little boy Peter in her arms and led Natasha, now four years old, by the hand.
The Tsarevitch scarcely recognised his children; it was so long since he had seen them.
“Mais, saluez donc monsieur votre père, mademoiselle!” whispered the old lady to Natasha, who had stopped evidently unable to recognise her father. The little boy first stared at Alexis in curiosity, then turned away, waved his little arms and started to cry aloud.
“Natasha, Natasha, darling!” said the Tsarevitch stretching out his arms to her.
She raised to him her large sad eyes, pale blue, like her mother’s, smiled, ran up to him and threw her arms round his neck.
In came Peter: he glanced at the children and said in an angry voice to the Princess, in German:
“Why have you brought them here? This is no place for children. Go away!”
The governess looked at the Tsar and indignation gleamed in her kind eyes; she was about to reply, but seeing that the Tsarevitch had submissively let Natasha go, she shrugged her shoulders, shook the little boy, who had not yet ceased his cries, angrily caught the little girl’s hand, and silently went out, with the same commanding air which she had borne on entering the hall.
As she was passing out, Natasha turned round and looked at her father with a glance which reminded him of Charlotte. The child’s look expressed, like her mother’s, resigned despair. Alexis’ heart contracted. He felt that he would never see his children again.
They sat down to table. The Tsar between FeofanProkopovitch and Stephen Yavorski. Opposite to them the Kniaz or mock-Pope with the entire “Most Drunken Conclave.” They had found time to break the fast, and were already beginning to squabble.
For the Tsar this was a double festival: Easter and the breaking up of the ice on the Neva. Dreaming about the launching of new ships, he cheerfully looked though the window upon the white ice blocks, which, bathed by the morning sun, floated like swans on the blue surface.
The talk centred round ecclesiastical affairs.
“Father,” asked Peter, addressing Feofan, “will our Patriarch soon be ready.”
“Soon, your Majesty! I have almost completed his cassock,” answered the prelate.
“And I have already finished his hat,” laughed the Tsar.
The “Patriarch” was none other than the Holy Synod, the “Cassock” signified the ecclesiastical regulations which Feofan was drawing up; the “Hat” the ukase which instituted the Holy Synod.
When Feofan began to speak of the utility of this new college every feature of his face lighted up and began to twinkle with almost exaggerated merriment: it sometimes seemed as if he himself were laughing at his own words.
“A College will exercise a more liberal spirit than is possible to any single director. The fact also should not be overlooked, that a College presents no spirit of antagonism to the government. For the people do not recognise the difference which exists between the Spiritual and the Temporal powers, and when they behold the glory and honour which surrounds a pontiff, they think that he is a second Tsar, co-equal, or even greater than he. And when a dispute arises between the two, all will range themselves on the side of the Spiritual, rather than worldly lord, flattering themselves that by so doing they are serving God’s cause, and that far from defiling, they are even sanctifying themselves by the shedding of blood. The evils which this error calls forth are indescribable. A survey of the history of Constantinople, prior to the time of Justinian, proves this. The Papacy gained ascendancy by no other means; it divided the Roman Empire, arrogatedto itself immense power, and brought about the ruin of several kingdoms. There is no need to recall similar facts in our own history! Such evils are impossible in an ecclesiastical college. The people will become peaceable and will abandon all hope of winning the support of the clergy in their rebellions. Lastly, a spiritual college will be to a certain extent a school of clerical administration, where the members can learn with ease the science of politics. Let us hope that in Russia, with the help of God, the time will soon come when the clergy will lose their uncouthness, and that the future will bring us great goodness as the result of our labour.”
The bishop looking straight at the Tsar with an obsequious smile, in which cunning curiously bordered on impertinence, and concluded with the solemn words:—
“Thou art Peter, and upon this rock will I build My Church!”
Silence followed. Only the fraternity of the “Most Drunken Conclave” continued their uproar; the honest Prince James Dolgorúki murmured, so that no one could hear him:—
“Render to God the things that are God’s, and unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s.”
“And you, Father, what think you of this business?” said the Tsar to Stephen.
While Prokopovitch was speaking, Stephen had kept his head lowered, his eyes closed, as though asleep; and his old bloodless face seemed dead. Yet Peter thought that he discerned in this face what he most feared and hated: the quiet spirit of the rebel. Hearing the Tsar’s voice the old man started up, as though awaking from a doze, and gently said:—
“How can I, your Majesty, speak on such a subject as this! I am old and foolish. Let the young talk, we old ones will listen.”
He inclined his head lower still and added in a murmur:—
“It is impossible to sail against the wind.”
“Old man! You are always whining,” retorted the Tsar, shrugging his shoulders in vexation; “what do you want? Out with it!”
Stephen looked at the Tsar and seemed to shrink withinhimself. His whole bearing expressed humility, without a shade of the rebellious spirit. He began to speak in a hurried eager voice, as though afraid the Tsar would not hear all he had to say:—
“Most gracious Sovereign! Give me leave to retire in peace and quietness! My services are known to God, partly also to your Majesty, and I have spent on them my strength, my health, and I might say my life. My eyesight is growing dim, my limbs weak; gout has wrung my fingers, and I suffer from other maladies. Your Majesty’s favour and fatherly protection have hitherto sustained me in the hours of trial, and thereby all sorrow seemed to lose its bitterness. Yet now I see your face turned away from me, and your graciousness is withdrawn. Sire, whence comes this change?”
Peter had long before this ceased to listen to him. He was absorbed in the performance of the princess-abbess Rjévskaya, who kept bending almost to her knees and then darting forward one foot after the other to the accompaniment of many drunken voices:—
Come beat a livelier strain!Blow loudly now my pipe!
Come beat a livelier strain!Blow loudly now my pipe!
Come beat a livelier strain!
Blow loudly now my pipe!
“Give me leave to retire to the Donskoi monastery or wherever your Majesty chooses to permit,” continued Stephen in a plaintive tone, “and should you have doubts as to my motives, I pray that God’s means of grace may serve only for my undoing, if I harbour any evil designs. Whether it be at Petersburg, at Moscow, or at Riazan, I shall still remain in your sovereign power, from which I should neither be able to escape, nor have cause for desiring to do so.”
Meanwhile the singing continued in full swing:—
Come beat a livelier strain!Blow loudly now, my pipe!For my father-in-law has tumbled asleep,From the stove to the log-heap, O!Oh, if I had only known,Or had this chance foreseen;He’d have got a longer drop,And cracked his skull I ween!O, my luck, O!
Come beat a livelier strain!Blow loudly now, my pipe!For my father-in-law has tumbled asleep,From the stove to the log-heap, O!Oh, if I had only known,Or had this chance foreseen;He’d have got a longer drop,And cracked his skull I ween!O, my luck, O!
Come beat a livelier strain!
Blow loudly now, my pipe!
For my father-in-law has tumbled asleep,
From the stove to the log-heap, O!
Oh, if I had only known,
Or had this chance foreseen;
He’d have got a longer drop,
And cracked his skull I ween!
O, my luck, O!
The Tsar stamped his feet and thumped his knee, whistling the air:
Ah, burn, burn——
Ah, burn, burn——
Ah, burn, burn——
The Tsarevitch glanced at Stephen; their eyes met. The old man stopped short as though coming to himself. With a shamefaced expression he cast down his eyes, and lowered his face, while two tears rolled along his wrinkles. His face again wore the lifeless expression. Feofan, the new red-faced Silenus archbishop, was scornfully smiling.
The Tsarevitch involuntarily compared the two faces. The one reflected the Church’s Past; the other bore the promise of its Future.
The air was becoming close in the small, low halls, and Peter ordered the windows to be opened. A cold wind coming from Lake Ládoga blew across the Neva, a common occurrence at the time of the breaking up of the ice. Spring had all at once changed to Autumn. The clouds, which in the night had seemed light as the wings of angels, had become lowering, dark and heavy like great boulders; the sun grew weak and its rays wore a sickly aspect.
From the taverns, which were very numerous in the neighbourhood of the Gostinny Dvor, and on the further side of the Royal works in the Food and Tolkoolchi markets, rose a sound of voices like the roaring of wild beasts. Somewhere near a fight was in progress and a voice cried:—
“Hit him again! He is too well-fed and sleek, that fellow!”
And the deafening sound of the church bells, which entered through the open window together with this drunken uproar, seemed also drunk, coarse and insolent.
In front of the Senate House, in the middle of the square, a moujik was standing over a dirty pool on which floated the red shells of Easter eggs. He had nothing on except his shirt, the rest of his clothing had probably been pawned at the wine shop. As he staggered along he appeared to be trying to make up his mind whether or no he should tumble into the pool: his speech was freely interlarded with oaths, and broken by hiccoughs. Another poor wretch had fallen into a ditch, and his bare legs sticking out waved helplessly in the air. The rigorous authority of the police was, onthis day, quite powerless to cope with the drunkards, whose prostrate bodies lay about in the streets as thickly as the slain on a battlefield. The whole town was nothing but an immense tavern.
The Senate House where the Tsar sat feasting with his Ministers was part of this tavern. Here also the guests were shouting, reviling and fighting one another.
The Kniaz-Pope’s burlesque choir, was attempting to rival the cathedral choir. The one sang:—
Christ hath risen!
Christ hath risen!
Christ hath risen!
The other replied with:—
Come beat a livelier strain!Blow loudly now, my pipe!
Come beat a livelier strain!Blow loudly now, my pipe!
Come beat a livelier strain!
Blow loudly now, my pipe!
The Tsarevitch recalled the holy night, the holy joy, the depth of past emotion, the expectation of a miracle, and he felt as if he had fallen from heaven itself into the mire; like the sot who was lying in the gutter without. Bitter feelings took possession of him. What was the good of beginning Easter as they had done, if this was to be the close? There is not, neither will there be, any miracle, but only the “abomination of desolation” in the Holy Place, to the very end!
Peter was no less fond of Peterhof than he was of his “Paradise.” He went there each summer, and personally supervised the laying out of pleasure gardens, vegetable beds, ornamental cascades of fountains. He ordered that one cascade was to be broken and rough with foam, another, on the contrary, was to fall with a surface smooth as glass; a pyramid of water was to be designed by means of a series of small cascades. In front of the one which formed the apex the legend of Hercules contending with the seven-headed Hydra was to be represented; from the seven heads jets of water were to shoot; while further down the car of Neptune was to appear, drawn by four sea-horses which also gave forth sprays of water. Forming the border of this central group were Tritons blowing their conchs from which jets played in different directions. Designs were to be prepared for the arrangement of each fountain and of the landscape which was to surround it; and the latter were to resemble French and Roman gardens.
A pale May night lay over Peterhof. The sea was as calm as a mirror. Against a green sky shot with pink mother-of-pearl hues, were outlined the dark firs and the yellow walls of the palace. The dim windows, like blind eyes, reflected the light of the coming dawn. In this light everything looked pale and faded, the green of the grass and of the trees was ashen grey, the flowers were as things dead, and all was still in the empty gardens. The fountains slept. Only from the mossy banks of the cascades, and from the porous stones, which formed the walls of grottos, drops fell from time to time like tears.
A mist was rising, and in it gleamed like phantoms countless marble gods, a complete Olympus of risen deities.Here on the very verge of the world, near to the Hyperborean sea, in this pale night, which resembled the twilight of Hades, the dim shadows of dead Hellas wore an aspect of infinite sadness; as though, having risen they were dying a second death from which there should be no awakening.
Overlooking the close-clipt garden close to the sea, stood a small Dutch house, roofed with tiles, the Tsar’s palace Monplaisir. Here too all was quiet and empty. One window only was lighted, and that by a single candle, which was burning in the Tsar’s office.
At the writing table sat Peter and Alexis facing one another in the double light of candle and dawn. Their faces, in harmony with all their surroundings, were pale and spectre-like.
For the first time since his return to Petersburg the Tsar was questioning his son. The Tsarevitch answered in a calm voice; he no longer dreaded his father, but only felt weary and dejected.
“Who among the clergy or laity knew anything of your revolutionary designs, and what words passed between you on this subject?”
“I know nothing beyond what I have already admitted,” replied Alexis, for the hundredth time.
“Have you never said, ‘I spit upon them all, provided the mob are staunch to me.’”
“Perhaps I did say that. I was drunk. I cannot remember everything. When drunk I always speak without thought and with an absolutely unbridled tongue; therefore it is quite possible that I spoke defiantly in company, and gave vent to some such expression. You know yourself, Father, that a drunken man is no longer a human being—— But what does it matter!”
He looked at his father with so strange a smile that the father felt a shudder pass over him, as though a madman were sitting opposite to him.
Having searched among some papers, Peter pulled one out and showed it to the Tsarevitch.
“Is this your handwriting?”
“It is.”
It was the rough draft of the letter which he hadwritten in Naples to the Prelates and Senators, beseeching them not to abandon him.
“Did you write this of your own free will?”
“No, I was forced to write it by Count Schönborn’s secretary, Kühl, ‘because,’ said he, ‘it is rumoured that you are dead: if you refuse to write, the Emperor, in his turn, will refuse to keep you;’ and he did not leave me until I had written it.”
Peter pointed with his finger to the following passage in the letter:—
“I beseech younownot to abandon menow.” The wordnowhad been repeated and both times had been crossed out.
“Why have you written ‘now’ and why have you drawn your pen through the word?”
“I can no longer remember,” answered Alexis, growing yet more pale.
He knew that this crossed outnowwas the sole key to his most secret thoughts with regard to the rebellion, his father’s death, and his possible murder.
“Has this been really written under pressure?”
“Yes, certainly.”
Peter rose, went into the next room, called an orderly, gave him some order, then returned to his table and began to write down his son’s depositions.
Footsteps were heard outside the door. It opened, and Alexis gave a feeble cry as though he were about to faint: on the threshold stood Afrossinia.
He had not seen her since he left Naples. No longer with child, she had probably been delivered in the fortress where, as James Dolgorúki had told him, she had been incarcerated on her arrival in Petersburg. “Where is the child?” thought the Tsarevitch. He trembled from head to foot. His first impulse was to rush towards her, but his father’s steadfast gaze checked him, and he remained rooted to the spot. Only his eyes sought to meet hers, but she seemed unconscious of his presence.
Peter addressed her in a kind voice:—
“Is it true, Afrossinia, as the Tsarevitch tells me, that he was compelled by the Emperor to write this letter to the Bishops and Senators?”
“It is false,” she replied, in a calm voice; “no stranger was present, I alone was in the room with the Tsarevitch at the time. He told me he was writing some letters which were to be distributed secretly in Petersburg, while others were to be sent to the Bishops and Senates.”
“Afrossinia! Afrossinia! What are you saying!” stammered Alexis in terror.
“She knows nothing, she has forgotten, or mixed it all up,” said he to his father, with that strange sinister smile of his. “I was then sending to the Viceroy’s secretary the plan of the Belgorod attack, and not this letter.”
“This very same, Tsarevitch; you wrote and sealed it in my presence. Have you forgotten! I saw it,” she continued in the same calm tone. Then all at once she darted at him that very glance with which she had confronted him, when, three years ago, in Viasemski’s house with a knife in his hand and drunk, he had threatened her with violence.
This look told him that she had betrayed him.
“My son,” said Peter, “you yourself must see that this is a matter of grave importance. If these letters were written of your own free will, it is clear that your projects for revolutionary measures were not vague and undefined, but that you counted on being able to put them into execution. In the avowals which you have made you have passed over this fact not through forgetfulness, but of set purpose, in order that you might continue to work for the realization of your schemes. However, I do not wish to bear an uneasy conscience and to accept accusations without full enquiry. For the last time I ask you, Did you write it of your own free will?”
The Tsarevitch remained silent.
“I regret the necessity, Afrossinia,” said Peter, “I cannot help it, but you must be handed over to official interrogation.”
Alexis glanced at his father, and then at Afrossinia, and fully realized that if he persisted in maintaining silence she would be delivered up to torture.
“I confess it,” he said in a voice scarcely audible, but the next moment all his fear departed and he felt quite indifferent to all things. Peter’s eyes flashed with undisguised joy.
“For what purpose did you write the word ‘now?’”
“In order that the people might take my side, in the belief that the reports of military risings in Mecklenburg were true. And then thinking that this was wrong I crossed out the word.”
“Which means that you rejoiced to hear of these risings?”
The Tsarevitch did not reply.
“And if you were glad,” continued Peter, as though he had heard an answer, “you intended to join the revolutionists?”
“If they had sent for me I would have joined them. I expected a summons after your death, because——”
He stopped, grew yet more pale, and finished with obvious difficulty:—
“Because they wished to assassinate you, but I did not think that there was any design for depriving you of the empire during your lifetime.”
“But if there had been such a design?” asked Peter quietly, with a side glance at his son.
“If I had had the people with me in sufficient force, even during your lifetime I should have laid claim to the empire,” answered Alexis in the same low tone.
“Declare all you know,” ordered Peter, turning to Afrossinia.
“The Tsarevitch has always ardently desired to rule,” she began, in a quick decisive tone as though repeating something which she had learnt by heart. “He ran away because your Majesty was supposed to be trying to kill him by some means or other. When he learnt that your youngest son, the Tsarevitch Peter Petrovitch, was ill, he said, to me: ‘You see my father takes his own course, while God wills another.’ He also counted upon the Senators: ‘I will turn out all the old ones and replace them by new ones, of my own choice! And whenever he heard tell of prophetic visions, or read in the journals that all was quiet in Petersburg, he used to say that these visions and this tranquillity were significant: ‘Either my father will die, or a rebellion will break out——’.” She continued to speak for some length of time; she repeated expressions of his which he no longer remembered to have used, and she laid bare his innermost thoughts, thoughtswhich he had not even dared to confess to himself. “When Tolstoi arrived in Naples, the Tsarevitch wished to give up the Emperor and place himself under the protection of the Pope. It was I who kept him back from doing so,” concluded Afrossinia.
“Is all this true?” Peter asked his son.
“It is,” answered the Tsarevitch.
“You may go now, Afrossinia. Thank you!”
The Tsar gave her his hand: she kissed it, and turned away to leave the room.
“Afrossinia! Afrossinia!” stammered the Tsarevitch, with a convulsive movement of his whole body towards her, and as if unconscious of what he was saying “Farewell, Afrossinia! Perhaps we shall never meet again. The Lord be with you!”
She neither answered nor gave him a look.
“Why do you treat me like this?” he added in a very low tone. There was no reproach in his voice, only infinite astonishment. He buried his face in his hands, and heard the door close behind her.
Peter made a pretence of reading some papers, but he glanced furtively from time to time at his son. He seemed slightly moved and expectant.
It was the calmest hour of the night, and the calm seemed all the more intense, for it was as light as day.
Suddenly the Tsarevitch removed his hands from his face, and the expression upon it was dreadful.
“Where is the child? Where has it been taken to?” he demanded, fixing a feverish gaze upon his father. “What has happened to it?”
“What child?” asked Peter, not understanding him all at once.
The Tsarevitch pointed to the door through which Afrossinia had disappeared.
“It is dead,” answered Peter, avoiding his son’s glance. “It never lived.”
“That is a lie,” exclaimed Alexis, raising his fists as though threatening his father. “It has been killed! Strangled, or else drowned like a whelp! Why has this been done to him, innocent babe as he was?—It was a boy?”
“Yes.”
“If God had granted to me to rule over this country,” continued Alexis thoughtfully, as though speaking to himself, “I would have made him my heir—— I meant to call him Ivan—Tsar Ivan Alexeyevitch. The body—where is it? What has been done with it—— Speak!”
Peter remained silent.
Alexis clutched his head with his hands; his face became convulsed and purple. He remembered the Tsar’s custom of laying stillborn children in spirits of wine, and preserving them along with other curiosities in his museum.
“You have sealed him up in a glass jar, a glass jar with spirits of wine!—— The heir of the Tsars of Russia swimming in spirits of wine, like a frog!” He burst out into such wild laughter that Peter shuddered all over. “A madman,” he again thought, and he felt that intense loathing for his son which the sight of spiders, cockroaches and reptiles always roused in him.
But this feeling soon gave place to the blindest rage. His son was holding him in derision, and was purposely playing the madman so as to escape any further inquiry into his past deeds.
“What else have you to confess?” he asked; thus renewing the interrogation without deigning to notice the condition of Alexis.
The laughter of the latter ceased as suddenly as it had burst forth. He threw back his head until it rested on the back of the arm-chair, and turned pale as death. He remained silent, but his blank gaze was fastened upon his father.
“If you were reckoning upon the support of the people,” continued Peter, raising his voice and forcing himself to appear calm, “did you not send envoys to prepare them for the rising? or perhaps you had learnt that they were already prepared?”
Alexis remained silent.
“Speak!” cried Peter, and his face became convulsed with rage.
The face of Alexis quivered. He opened his lips with difficulty, and said:—
“I have told you everything. I shall say no more.”
Peter struck the table with his fist and bounded to his feet:—
“How dare you?”
The Tsarevitch too had risen and was looking steadfastly at his father. There was a strange and momentary resemblance between these two faces.
“Why use threats, Father?” said Alexis in a low voice. “I am not afraid of you. I fear nothing. You have taken everything from me; you have destroyed everything in me, body and soul. Nothing else remains. You can kill me. Do so. I am quite indifferent.”
His lips moved with a slight smile, in which Peter read only supreme contempt. His fury burst all bounds, and roaring like a wounded beast, he threw himself upon his son, seized him by the throat, and, hurling him to the ground, began to kick him and to beat him with his stick, giving vent the while to the same inhuman roar.
In the palace, people woke in terror from their sleep, and hurried to the quarter whence these sounds came. But no one dared to enter the room of the Tsar. With blanched face, each one crossed himself as he approached the door and heard that sinister sound: there behind the closed door a wild beast might be tearing in pieces a human being.
The Tsaritsa was sleeping on an upper story of the palace; she was hastily roused by attendants and came down half dressed: but she no more than the rest could summon sufficient courage to enter. Only when silence at length reigned in the room did she half open the door, look within, and glide on tiptoe behind her husband.
The Tsarevitch lay on the floor in a dead faint. The Tsar had sunk back into a chair, almost in a state of unconsciousness himself.
The Court physician, Blumentrost, was sent for. He reassured Catherine, who feared that the Tsar had killed his son. The Tsarevitch had been sorely beaten, but no serious wounds nor fractures were discovered. He soon regained consciousness and seemed calm.
The Tsar was in a worse condition than his son. When he had been brought, almost carried, into his bedchamber, he was seized with such violent convulsions that Blumentrost feared paralysis.
In the morning he felt better. Towards evening he got up, and notwithstanding Catherine’s entreaties and the physician’s advice he ordered a boat and went to Petersburg. The Tsarevitch followed in a closed boat at the same time.
The next day, on May 14, a second manifesto concerning the Tsarevitch was published, in which it was declared that the Tsar had promised to grant his son a pardon on the understanding that he sincerely repented and made a full confession of his misdeeds; but since Alexis, in contempt of this proffered favour, had concealed his plot for making himself master of the empire with the aid of foreigners or Russian revolutionists, the pardon thus offered was hereby annulled and cancelled.
On the same day it was decided that the Tsarevitch should be tried in the High Court as a traitor to the state.
A month later, on June 14, he was conducted to the fortress of Peter and Paul, and lodged as a prisoner in the Troubetzkoi wing of it.
“To the Most Reverend Metropolitans, Archbishop, Bishops and other members of the Clergy.“You are sufficiently acquainted with the fact of the unprecedented transgression of my son against me, his father and sovereign. I possess full power, moral and judicial, and especially according to Russian law, by which parents even in their private homes exercise many rights over their children, to deal with him for this his transgression according to the dictates of my own will, without consulting the opinion of others. Notwithstanding this, I fear to sin before God. It is evident that each one is less competent to judge clearly his own affairs than those of other people; a doctor, even the most skilful, does not prescribe for his own ailment, but has recourse to other members of his profession. In like manner do I now confide to your care this malady of mine, and I ask you to heal it, because I fear eternal death. If I had taken in hand my own cure I should never have realized the serious nature of that malady and the grave importance which attaches to the fact that I swore before God to my son, both by letter and word of mouth, to pardon him if he made full confession of his guilt. And though he broke the agreement by concealing the most important point, namely, his projected rebellion against us, his Father and his Tsar, yet we remembering the word of God which, in the 17th Chapter of Deuteronomy, enjoins that appeal be made in such a case to the clergy, our will is but that you Archbishops and Priests who set forth the word of God, do search in the Scriptures for some indication of the punishment which befits our son for his ungodly and Absalom-like conduct towards us. You will seek in all setting forth of the divine laws, and in the Holy Scriptures, and you will report untous your finding in writing, signed by your own hand. We shall then be able without adding to the weight of our conscience to come to a clear decision in this matter. We confide ourselves to you—the revered guardians of God’s laws, the faithful shepherds of Christ’s flock and the zealous protectors of the Fatherland, and we conjure you by virtue of your holy office to act in this matter with integrity and impartiality.“Peter.”
“To the Most Reverend Metropolitans, Archbishop, Bishops and other members of the Clergy.
“You are sufficiently acquainted with the fact of the unprecedented transgression of my son against me, his father and sovereign. I possess full power, moral and judicial, and especially according to Russian law, by which parents even in their private homes exercise many rights over their children, to deal with him for this his transgression according to the dictates of my own will, without consulting the opinion of others. Notwithstanding this, I fear to sin before God. It is evident that each one is less competent to judge clearly his own affairs than those of other people; a doctor, even the most skilful, does not prescribe for his own ailment, but has recourse to other members of his profession. In like manner do I now confide to your care this malady of mine, and I ask you to heal it, because I fear eternal death. If I had taken in hand my own cure I should never have realized the serious nature of that malady and the grave importance which attaches to the fact that I swore before God to my son, both by letter and word of mouth, to pardon him if he made full confession of his guilt. And though he broke the agreement by concealing the most important point, namely, his projected rebellion against us, his Father and his Tsar, yet we remembering the word of God which, in the 17th Chapter of Deuteronomy, enjoins that appeal be made in such a case to the clergy, our will is but that you Archbishops and Priests who set forth the word of God, do search in the Scriptures for some indication of the punishment which befits our son for his ungodly and Absalom-like conduct towards us. You will seek in all setting forth of the divine laws, and in the Holy Scriptures, and you will report untous your finding in writing, signed by your own hand. We shall then be able without adding to the weight of our conscience to come to a clear decision in this matter. We confide ourselves to you—the revered guardians of God’s laws, the faithful shepherds of Christ’s flock and the zealous protectors of the Fatherland, and we conjure you by virtue of your holy office to act in this matter with integrity and impartiality.
“Peter.”
The prelates replied:—
“This is a case in which arbitrament belongs to the civil rather than to the spiritual tribunal. He in whom sovereign power resides cannot be judged by his subjects, but he ought to act in accordance with his own wishes and private judgment, without taking counsel of those whose position is that of obedient submission to his will. However, since we have been commanded to do so, we herewith lay before you those passages in the Holy Scriptures which may be cited as bearing upon this terrible and unprecedented crime.”
Then followed quotations from the Old and New Testaments, and in conclusion:—
“This matter does not come within our province; for who has raised us to the position of judges of him whom we recognise as Lord and Master? How can the members afford counsel to the head when they themselves depend upon its guidance and are swayed by it? Besides, our judgment can only be a spiritual one. The power of the sword of steel is not vested in the Church, but the power of the sword of the spirit only. All this we submit to the monarch’s consideration with profound humility, and we propose to him that he act in this matter as may seem best in his own eyes. Should he desire to chastise the guilty according to the measure of his guilt, he has the example of the Old Testament; whereas if he desire to show grace, he has the example of Christ Himself, who pardoned the prodigal son, and preferred mercy to sacrifice.
“In short, the monarch’s heart is in the hand of God. May he choose that part to which God inclines him!”
It was signed:
“The humble Stephen, Metropolitan of Riazan;
“The humble Feofan, Bishop of Pskoff.”
Also by four bishops, two Greek Metropolitans, those of Stavropol and Thyphaid, four archimandrites, including Theodosius, and two head-monks—all future members of the Holy Synod.
To the Tsar’s main question, concerning the oath which he had passed to his son to forgive him at all costs, the Fathers had made no response at all.
Peter read this epistle with a feeling bordering upon consternation. The prop upon which he relied for support had given way beneath him like rotten timber. He had obtained what he himself had wished for; he had been only too successful. The Church had accepted the Tsar’s supremacy to such an extent that she had well-nigh ceased to exist: he himself embodied the Church. The Tsarevitch said with a bitter smile, when he heard this clerical pronouncement:—
“These humble monks are wilier than the devil himself. They have got as yet no ecclesiastical college, but they have already learnt spiritual diplomacy.”
Once more he felt that the Church was dead, and he recalled the words of the Lord to him of whom it was said: “Thou art Peter, and on this rock I will build My church.”
“When thou wast young, thou girdest thyself, and walkedst whither thou wouldest; but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee and carry thee whither thou wouldest not.”
The first Session of the High Court was opened on June 17, in the Audience Hall of the Senate House. The judges consisted of ministers, senators, generals, governors, captains of the army and navy, majors, lieutenants, sub-lieutenants, ensigns, war-commissioners, officials of the new government departments, and old Boyars, numbering in all, civilian and military, 127 men. Truly a very mixed assemblage! as those of the nobility who were present commented among themselves. Some could not even write, and thus were unable to sign the sentence.
After hearing Mass, which was solemnized in the Church of the Holy Trinity, to invoke Divine aid in their difficult undertaking, the judges assembled in the Senate House. The doors and windows of the hall were open, not only to allow the entrance of fresh air, for it was a hot and heavy day, but also to give to the trial some semblance of publicity. The neighbouring streets had, however, been closed by chevaux-de-frise and barricades; while a whole battalion of the guards, with guns shouldered, was drawn up on the Square to keep the “rabble” at a distance. The Tsarevitch was brought from the fortress under the custody of four officers with drawn swords.
There was a throne in the Audience Hall, the Tsar, however, did not mount it, but seated himself in an arm-chair at the end of the hall. Behind two rows of tables covered with red cloth were seated the judges. The Tsarevitch took up a position in front of his father, like a defendant facing the plaintiff.
When the Court was declared open Peter rose and said:—
“Gentlemen of the Senate and Judges, I pray you to judge this case in the fullest spirit of equity, as its naturedemands, yielding no place to flattery or sordid motives. If you decide that a light punishment will suffice, but hesitate through fear of my displeasure from passing such a sentence, I give you my word that this will not be incurred. I pray you also not to give any weight to the consideration that it is the son of your Tsar whom you are called upon to judge. Misled by no mere appearance, be strictly impartial; let the rights of man and man prevail, and imperil in nowise your own souls and mine, for our consciences ought to be clear on the day of the last Judgment, and our country secure.”
The Vice-Chancellor Shafiroff read aloud a long list of the crimes charged against the Tsarevitch, some of which he had already publicly admitted, others being new, which it was alleged he had concealed at the first Inquiry.
“Do you plead ‘guilty’?” asked Prince Ménshikoff, who had been elected president of the Court.
All expected that the Tsarevitch would fall on his knees before his father, and with tears would pray that mercy might be shown him, as he had done at Moscow; but when they saw him rise and look round the assembly with a calm gaze they knew that events would take a different course.
“Whether I be guilty or no is not for you, but for God alone to judge,” he began, amid silence sudden and profound, and the breathless expectation of all. “How is it possible for you to pass righteous judgment without freedom of speech? Where is your freedom? You are the slaves of the Tsar; whatever he bids you say, you do say. This is called a trial, but it is only an exhibition of injustice and tyranny. You know the fable of the wolf who went to law with the lamb. Your tribunal is a tribunal of wolves. Were I innocent a hundred times over, you would condemn me all the same. If instead of you it was the whole Russian people who were proceeding to judge between me and my father—that would be a very different matter. I love the people. Peter is great, very great; but at the same time his rule is stern and heavy and it is hard to breathe under it. What lives have been lost, how much blood has been shed! The earth herself is groaning beneath it. Do you hear nothing, do you see nothing? But what is the use of speaking? You are not a Senate at all, youare lackeys of the Tsar, his lackeys all of you, from the highest to the lowest!”
A murmur of disapproval drowned the last words, yet nobody dared stop him. All looked towards the Tsar, waiting for him to speak. But the Tsar remained silent, not a muscle of the stony, rigid face quivered; only the large flashing eyes encountered the fixed gaze of his son.
“Why are you silent, Father?” said the Tsarevitch suddenly with a mocking smile to the Tsar. “Has it startled you to hear the truth? Had you merely ordered my head to be cut off, I would not have said a word; but since you have instituted this mock tribunal, whether it be agreeable to you or not you will have to hear me. When you lured me back to Petersburg from under the Emperor’s protection did you not swear by God and His judgment to pardon me everything? What account do you give of that promise? You are dishonoured in the sight of all Europe! The Autocrat of Russia, a perjurer and a liar——”
“Such language cannot be tolerated—It islèse-Majesté. He has gone out of his mind—Away, away with him!” rose from a number of voices.
Prince Ménshikoff came to the Tsar and whispered something to him. But the Tsar continued silent, as though unable to see or hear anything; his face was as expressionless as that of one dead.
“You shall be the first to stain the block with the blood of a son, the blood of Russia’s Tsars,” Alexis rejoined, and his words rang with a prophetic accent. “This blood shall descend upon successive generations of our lineage unto the last Tsar of our race—all shall perish in blood. God will visit your sin upon Russia!”
Peter stirred heavily, with indescribable effort, as if he were striving to rise from under some terrible burden. At last he stood up; his face became convulsed and distorted, the stone mask seemed to become reanimated, his lips parted and a hoarse sound escaped from his throat.
“Silence! silence! I will curse you!”
“Youwill curseme?” exclaimed the Tsarevitch beside himself. He rushed upon the Tsar and raised his fists.
All were terror stricken: it seemed as though the next moment he would strike his father or spit in his face.
“You will curse me! I myself will curse you—Villain—Murderer, Beast—Antichrist!—Be accursed, accursed, accursed!”
Peter fell back into his chair and held his hands out as in self defence.
All started up. A pause ensued, as at a cry of fire or murder. Some closed the window and doors, while others sought safety in flight; some again surrounded Alexis and tried to drag him away from his father, and others rushed to succour the Tsar. He had fainted, he had had another fit like that of a month ago at Peterhof. The session was closed.
That same night the High Court assembled once more and sentenced the Tsarevitch to be examined under torture.