THE FENCING MASTER, page 21
By the following day the Emperor had regained his habitual equanimity, and his face betrayed no signs of the distress he had experienced in the night. When Voronsov came for orders he found him in a state of irritability utterly different from his usual suavity. Nevertheless he gave orders that a start should be made the next morning.
The journey only increased his mental suffering; it seemed to him that the time would never pass and he kept grumbling at the slowness of the horses and the wretched state of the roads. His ill-temper redoubled when Dr. Wyllie advised him to take precautions against the icy autumnal winds. Then he threw aside his overcoat and cloak, and appeared to court the very dangers his friends urged him to shun. Such rashness bore its own punishment; the Emperor was seized one evening with an obstinate cough and the next day, when they got to Ortelov an intermittent fever made its appearance and, aided by the obstinacy of the patient, developed in a few days into a remittent fever, and was soon diagnosed by Wyllie as the same that had raged all the autumn from Taganrog to Sebastopol.
The journey was immediately abandoned. Alexander appeared to be aware of the seriousness of his condition, and being desirous of seeing the Empress again before his death, insisted that he should be removed at once to Taganrog. Absolutely regardless of the entreaties of Wyllie, he rode part of the way on horseback; but he was very soon unable to keep the saddle, and was compelled to et into his carriage. At last, on November 3rd, he reached Taganrog. He had hardly entered the Governor’s palace, before he fainted.
The Empress, who was herself nearly dying of heart disease, forgot her own sufferings in a moment, to attend to her husband. The fatal fever in spite of the change of air, recurred day after day with renewed activity, until on the 8th the symptoms increasing in urgency, Sir James Wyllie insisted that Dr. Stophiegen, the medical adviser of the Empress, should be called in to a consultation. On the 13th the two Physicians agreed that with the hope of combating the brain affection which threatened to complicate matters, the Emperor should be bled; however Alexander vehemently opposed the suggestion, asking for nothing but iced water, and when this was refused, rejecting everything else. About four in the afternoon the Emperor called for ink and paper, and wrote and sealed a letter; then while the candle was still alight he said to a servant: — ” My friend, extinguish that light; otherwise it may be taken for a funeral taper, and they may think I am already dead.”
On the morrow the two doctors returned to their charge, backed up by the prayers of the Empress, but ‘t was in vain, and the Emperor dismissed them in anger. Then almost immediately repenting of his brusqueness he called them back and said to Stophiegen: “Listen, you and Sir James Wyllie, it gives me great pleasure to see you; but I must warn you that I shall be obliged to renounce this pleasure, if you split my head with your medicine.”
However about midnight the Emperor consented to take a dose of calomel.
About four o’clock in the evening the disease had made such appalling strides that t became an urgent matter to call in a priest. Sir James Wyllie at the instigation of the Empress, entered the sick room, and going up to the bed, implored the Emperor with tears in his eyes, since he persisted in refusing the aid of medicine not to refuse the consolations of Religion. The Emperor replied that in this respect he was willing to leave all to them.
On the 15th at five in the morning, a Confessor was introduced. As soon as the Emperor caught sight of him, he stretched out his hand and said, “Father, look upon me as a man and not as an Emperor.” The priest then approached the bed, listened to the Imperial confession and administered the sacrament to the august patient.
Then, as he was aware of the obstinacy with which Alexander had repulsed all medical succour, he brought the dying man’s religious feelings to bear on the question, telling him, that if he persisted in this line of action, it might be a grave question whether God would not regard his death rather as a case of suicide. This idea produced a profound impression upon Alexander and he immediately summoned Wyllie and told him that he put himself in his hands, and that he was to do what he thought fit.
Wyllie immediately ordered twenty leeches to be applied to his head, but it was too late. The sick man was a prey to a consuming fever, and counting from that moment all hope was abandoned and the servants crowded into the apartment weeping and groaning. Meanwhile Elizabeth had not quitted his bedside, except to give place to the Confessor and at his departure she resumed her accustomed place.
About two o’clock the Emperor appeared to be suffering from a great access of pain. He made signs as if he was desirous of imparting a secret. Then changing his mind he cried: “Kings suffer more than other men.” Then with an abrupt pause he fell back among the pillows muttering, “They committed an infamous act.” What did he refer to? No one knows; but many believe it was a final reproach levelled against his father’s assassins.
During the night the Emperor lost consciousness. About two o’clock in the morning General Diebitch spoke of an old man called Alexandrovitch, who was reported to have saved several Tartars from this very fever which was consuming the Emperor. Sir James Wyllie insisted that the man should be sent for, and the Empress catching at this ray of hope, gave orders that he should be found and brought at once.
All this while, the Empress was on her knees at the bedside of the dying man, her eyes fixed on his, watching in dismay the life slowly ebbing. Verily, if the most fervent and most sincere prayers could have influenced the Almighty to spare the dying man, the dying man would have been saved.
About nine in the morning the old man entered. It was with difficulty that he had been induced to come and it had been found necessary to bring him almost by force. At sight of the dying Emperor, he shook his head; and when asked the meaning of this inauspicious sign, replied: — ” It is too late; besides the people whom I cured were not suffering from the same illness.” With this avowal Elizabeth’s last hope vanished.
At ten minutes to three in the morning the Emperor expired.
This was the first of December according to the Russian calendar.
The Empress was leaning so close over him that she actually felt him breathe his last. She uttered a terrible cry, and fell on her knees and began to pray; then after a few minutes, she rose much calmer, closed the eyes of the Emperor which till then had remained open, bound a handkerchief round his head to prevent the jaw from falling, kissed his hands which were now cold, and falling on her knees, continued in prayer until the doctors induced her to withdraw to another room that they might commence the post-mortem examination.
The autopsy revealed the presence of two ounces of fluid in the cavities of the brain, and the congestion of the veins and arteries of the head. In addition they found that there was a softening of the spleen, a characteristic alteration of this organ when the patient has been carried off by one of the local fevers. The Emperor might have been saved if he had not obstinately neglected all precautions.
The next day the body was laid out on a raised platform, erected in the house where he died. The room was hung with black, while the coffin was draped with a pall of cloth of gold, and a vast number of tapers illuminated the apartment. Everyone who entered was presented with a lighted torch which he held as long as he remained in the funeral chamber. A priest, stationed at the head of the bier recited prayers; two sentinels with drawn swords, kept watch day and night; two more guarded the doors, while others were posted on the steps of the staircase.
The body lay exposed to view for twenty-two days, visited by crowds of sightseers, who thronged thither as if to a show. Meanwhile the Empress remained at her post, taking part in the masses which were recited every other day, and invariably fainting under the strain. At last on the 25th of December at nine o’clock in the morning the corpse was conveyed from the Palace to the Greek Monastery of St. Alexander, where it was to lie exposed to view until its removal to St. Petersburg. It was placed on a funeral car drawn by eight horses, draped with black cloths reaching to the ground, while it was sheltered from above by a golden canopy and reposed in a coffin covered with a silver pall, and decorated with escutcheons bearing the arms of the empire. The Imperial crown was placed under the canopy. Four Major-generals, assisted by eight commissioned officers, held the supports of the canopy. The members of their Imperial Majesties’ suites followed, clad in long, black cloaks and bearing torches, while at intervals of a minute, a battery of artillery belonging to the Cossacks of the Don, drawn up in the fortress square, fired a salute.
On reaching the church the body was placed on a staging with twelve steps, covered with black cloth, surmounted by a catafalque hung with red, supporting a framework covered with poppy coloured velvet and studded with golden hatchments. Four pillars held up the canopy, which was surmounted by the Imperial diadem, sceptre and orb. The catafalque was surrounded by curtains of poppy coloured velvet and cloth of gold, while four large candelabras, placed at the four corners of the staging, sustained a sufficient number of candles to overpower the gloominess of the church. This obscurity was due to black hangings, embroidered with white crosses, and hung across the lower windows of the church.
The Empress was very desirous of taking part in the final ceremony, but her strength was not equal to the occasion.
She was carried to the Palace in a swoon, but had no sooner recovered than she entered the private chapel and went through the same service that was being performed in the Church of St. Alexander.
As soon as the first serious symptoms had made their appearance, that is to say on the 18th, the day the Emperor returned to Taganrog, a messenger had been despatched to His Imperial Highness, the grand Duke Nicholas, to inform him of the Emperor’s illness. This messenger had been followed by others despatched on the same errand on the 21st, 24th, 27th and 28th of November. All the letters they carried spoke of the growing danger and caused consternation in the Imperial family, until at last a letter on the 29th gave rise to a spark of hope by announcing that the Emperor, who had been lying in a state of coma for eight hours, had recovered consciousness, recognized everyone, and declared that he felt a little better.
Though the hopes raised on such a slender foundation were but shadowy, the Dowager Empress and the Grand Dukes Nicholas and Michael ordered a public Te Deum in the great Metropoutan Church at Kazan, and as soon as the populace knew that the Te Deum was to be performed in thanksgiving for the improvement in the Emperor’s health, they flocked thither joyfully and filled every corner not occupied by the clergy and the court.
Towards the end of the Te Deum, while the clear voices of the choristers were chanting the praises of God, an officer entered and whispered to the Grand Duke Nicholas that a courier had arrived from Taganrog bearing a despatch which he wished to deliver in person, and that meanwhile he was waiting in the sacristy. The Grand Duke got up, followed by the aide-de-camp and left the church. The Dowager Empress alone noticed his departure, and the service continued.
The Grand Duke had only to glance at the courier to divine the fatal news he was conveying. Besides, the letter he presented was sealed in black. The Grand Duke recognised Elizabeth’s writing and opened the Imperial despatch; it contained nothing but these lines:
“My angel is in heaven, while I still grovel upon the earth; but I am in hopes of soon joining him.”
The Grand Duke sent for the Archbishop, who was a handsome old man with a long white beard and hair falling half way down his back; he handed him the letter, telling him to break the news to the Dowager Empress, returned to his place near her, — and continued his devotions.
A moment later the old man returned to the choir. At a signal from him the service was abruptly stopped and the stillness of death fell upon the place. Then amidst the breathless attention and astonishment of everyone, he advanced with slow and stately steps to the altar, took up a massive silver crucifix which rested upon it, and throwing a black veil over the symbol of all earthly grief and of all Divine hope, he approached the Dowager Empress and held the draped crucifix to her lips.
The Empress uttered a cry and fell face downwards to the ground; she understood that her son was dead.
The sorrowful expectation indulged in by the Empress Elizabeth in her short and touching letter, was not long in being accomplished. About four months after the death of Alexander, at the return of spring, she left Taganrog for the province of Kolouga, where a magnificent estate had just been procured for her. She had journeyed barely a third of the way, when she was suddenly taken ill and halted at Belov, a little town in the province of Kursk; a week later she had joined “her angel in heaven.”
CHAPTER XV
WE heard this news and how it had been broken to the Dowager Empress from Count Alexis, who was present at the Te Deum in his capacity of Lieutenant of the Horseguards. Either, because he was greatly impressed by this news, or because it closely affected other matters, to which it seemed to bear little or no relation, Louise and I fancied we detected some uneasiness in the Count’s manner which was not natural to him, and manifested itself in spite of the habitual self control common to the Russians. We gave voice to our thoughts immediately the Count left us to attend at Prince Trubetski s at six o’clock.
Our exchange of ideas proved very distressing to my poor fellow countrywoman, who naturally could not disassociate her thoughts from the conspiracy, concerning which Alexis at the beginning of his attachment to Louise had allowed a few words to escape. It is true that since then, every time Louise had attempted to bring the conversation round to that topic, the Count had tried to reassure her, declaring that the conspiracy had been dissolved almost as soon as it was formed; but certain signs which are not likely to deceive a woman in love made me think that the Count was trying to beguile her. The next day St. Petersburg appeared in mourning. The Emperor Alexander was adored, and as Constantine’s renunciation of the throne was not known at that time, it was natural that the sweet and generous disposition of the one should be compared with the savage brusqueness of the other. As to the Grand Duke Nicholas, no one thought of him.
In fact, though he knew of the act of abdication which Constantine had signed at the time of his marriage, far from taking advantage of this renunciation which his brother might have regretted since, he had taken the oath of allegiance, looking upon his brother as the Emperor, and had sent a courier inviting him to come and take possession of the throne. But at the same time that the messenger set out from St. Petersburg for Warsaw, the Grand Duke Michael, under orders from the Czarevitch, left Warsaw for St. Petersburg, in charge of the following letter:
“MY DEAREST BROTHER, “It was with the deepest grief that I heard last evening of the death of our adored sovereign, my benefactor, the Emperor Alexander. While hastening to demonstrate to you the feelings inspired in me by this cruel blow, it is my duty to inform you, that I am forwarding by the same messenger, a letter to her Imperial Majesty, our august mother, in which I have declared, that in accordance with the rescript which I obtained from the late Emperor, dated February 2nd, 1822, sanctioning my renunciation of the throne, it is still my unalterable determination to yield to you all my rights of succession to the throne of the Emperors of all the Russias. At the same time I have begged our well-beloved mother and all whom it may concern to make known my resolution in this respect, in order that it may be put in execution.
“After this declaration Ï look upon it as a sacred duty to beg most humbly that your Imperial Majesty will allow me to be the first to take the oath of allegiance and submission, and permit me to declare that it is my express desire not to receive any fresh dignity or title, but simply to preserve the designation of Czarevitch, with which my august father thought fit to honour me for my services. Henceforth my sole pleasure will consist in assuring your Imperial Majesty of my profound respect and unlimited devotion; my best guarantee is the thirty years of faithful service and the unceasing zeal I have displayed in the interests of both Emperors, my father and my brother; inspired by similar feelings, I will not cease to serve your Imperial Majesty and your successors in whatever position I may be.
“I remain, with the deepest respect, “CONSTANTINE.”
The two messengers crossed. The one sent to the Czarevitch Constantine had received strict injunctions from the Grand Duke Nicholas to use every means in his power to induce him to take the crown. He therefore begged and implored the Czarevitch; but the latter held out resolutely, saying that his intentions had not altered since the day when he abandoned his rights and nothing in the world would induce him to change his mind.
Then came the tears of his wife the Princess of Lovitz, who threw herself at his feet, saying that as it was for her sake, in order that he might marry her that he renounced his right to the throne of the Czars, she was willing to agree to the nullity of their marriage, and would be happy to make some return for all he had done for her; but Constantine drew her up and would not allow the discussion to continue, declaring that his resolve was unalterable.
Meanwhile the Grand Duke Michael reached St. Petersburg bearing the Czarevitch’s letter; the Grand Duke Nicholas would not consider it a definite refusal, saying that he hoped the entreaties of his messenger would have a successful termination. But the envoy returned with a formal refusal, and as it was dangerous to leave the matter in this unsettled state, there was nothing for it but to accept what his brother refused.
The day after the courier from the Grand Duke Nicholas had been despatched to the Czarevitch, the Council of State made an announcement that they had in their keeping a document entrusted to them on October 15th 1823, and bearing the seal of the Emperor Alexander, together with an autograph letter from his Majesty, commanding them to take charge of the document until further orders, or in the event of his death to open it at a special meeting. The Council of State had just carried out these orders, and inside the cover they had found the Grand Duke Constantine’s renunciation couched in the following terms: —
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