know of—a merchant of retired habits, noted for his munificent charities. He heard the tidings when walking on the Neva Prospekt, reached his home with difficulty, uttered no words but these, 'The Emperor is dead,' and expired in the midst of his family.[1] Nor is it in St. Petersburg alone that he is missed and mourned. There is weeping in the vine-clad valleys of France as well as on the frozen plains of Russia.[2] Wherever his armies trod he has left behind him a track of blessing.
"Of funeral pomp and splendour, of the outward, visible signs of a great nation's pride and sorrow, I have no heart to speak. The priceless jewels of the seven crowns of Russia which were laid upon his bier could be scarcely less to the senseless dust than they had been to the living man."
"What need of them?" Pope Yefim said. "Now he wears the crown of glory that fadeth not away, he walks amidst the splendours of the New Jerusalem, with its streets of gold and gates of pearl, its walls of jasper and foundation-stones of living fire."
"He sees the face of Christ," Henri answered; "for it is written, 'His servants shall serve him; they shall see his face, and his name shall be in their foreheads.'"
- ↑ "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.
- ↑ "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.
