The Czar: A Tale of the Time of the First Napoleon/Chapter 19
CHAPTER XIX.
THE CHEVALIER GUARD.
"I sang the joyful pæan clear,
And, sitting, burnished without fear
The brand, the buckler, and the spear—
"Waiting to strive a happy strife,
To war with falsehood to the knife,
And not to lose the good of life."
THE following morning brought Ivan a request, equivalent of course to a command, that he would wait upon General Soltikoff. The Governor of St. Petersburg was a veteran approaching his eightieth year, and much and deservedly respected both by the sovereign and by the people. He received Ivan with remarkable courtesy. Although the ante-chamber was nearly full of persons awaiting an audience, and some of them were evidently of high rank, he sent for him almost immediately, and introduced him to his son and to others who were with him in the cabinet as a young nobleman who had acted a most heroic part during the Occupation of Moscow. Then addressing Ivan himself, he said, "The Emperor has commended you to my particular care. I am authorized to offer you at present a nomination for the Chevalier Guard."
This was a great honour. In this splendid corps every private was a noble of the highest birth and a Knight of Malta. Upon state occasions the members formed the monarch's guard of honour; they had the entrée to the receptions at the palace; they dined at the imperial table. Their uniform, upon which fabulous sums were expended, was a mantle of scarlet, with a massive silver cuirass bearing a large Maltese cross in relief; and the trappings of their priceless Arabian horses glittered with gold and jewels. Ivan, knowing all this, remained silent, his face a curious mixture of intense gratification and extreme embarrassment.
The kind old general beckoned him nearer and spoke in a lower tone. "I believe I understand your feelings, my young friend. You are thinking of the expenses the gentlemen of the Chevalier Guard usually take pride and pleasure in incurring—of their armour, their horses, and so forth. Upon that ground you need hesitate no longer. His Imperial Majesty has requested me to attend to all your requirements."
"His goodness overpowers me," said Ivan with emotion. "But, my general, that is not my only nor my chief reason for hesitation."
"What other can you possibly have? My own grandson would give one of his eyes to be in your place."
"My general, Napoleon is near Moscow, and the Chevaliers of the Imperial Guard are, I believe, in St. Petersburg."
"So that is your objection! But they have not been there always, and they are not going to remain there now."
"Is it not their duty and their honour to remain near the august person of their sovereign? and that—"
Soltikoff interrupted him with a smile. "Make your mind easy, my young friend. The red mantles of the Chevalier Guard will soon have the opportunity of acquiring a deeper dye. Already they have received their marching orders, and in a few days they start for the seat of war. There is barely time for your equipment and your investiture, if you wish to go with them."
"Wish it!" cried Ivan, with kindling eyes. "Whilst Napoleon—who has spoiled Moscow and burned the Kremlin—still his foot upon the soil of holy Russia, I could not support life without doing all that one man may do to drive him thence with infamy."
"My brave boy, I share your feelings. I could wish myself two score years younger to take my place amongst the combatants. Nor is mine," he added, "the only heart that throbs with the soldier's longing. But too gladly would he who is the highest of all stand this moment in the van of all, did not the bonds of a sacred duty detain him here."
"My general," said Ivan, "I am overcome with gratitude. The honour of serving my sovereign, in the position he has assigned me, is beyond my utmost dreams."
"Then that is settled. Here is my son, who is anxious to take possession of you. He will introduce you to the Commandant of the Knights of Malta."
At a sign from his father, the younger Soltikoff came forward, and cordially invited Ivan to his house. Seeing him hesitate for a moment before replying, he said, "Perhaps you have friends with you?" Ivan mentioned Adrian Wertsch, who was immediately included in the invitation. He then remembered Michael, and turning once more towards the general, craved permission to add a few words. This being readily granted, he told the mujik's story; and the poor fellow's courage and devotion touched both the Soltikoffs.
"I think," said the general, "we might put him into the artillery. He could help to serve a gun. Send him to Colonel Tourgenieff; my son will give you the address."
The days that followed were "marked evermore with white" in the calendar of Ivan Pojarsky. His host introduced him to the best society of St. Petersburg; he became acquainted with the Galitzins, the Tolstois, the Narishkins, the Gagarines, and was welcomed everywhere as a young man who had done much that was heroic and seen much that was interesting. He was presented to both the empresses;[1] he attended an imperial reception at Kamenoi-Ostrov, offered his humble acknowledgments to the Czar for his kindness, and had a few gracious words addressed to him in public, which at once raised to the highest point his popularity with the great world.
But he could not help observing that this was a world strangely unlike that which he had known in Moscow before the war. The reckless extravagance, the heedless gaiety, the wild dissipation of those days seemed to be no more. Over many of the noble houses where he visited the angel of death had already spread his wings,—a son, a brother, a nephew had fallen at Smolensko or Borodino; while over all there brooded the apprehension of the same dread visitation, producing, if not melancholy, at least seriousness. Ladies of fashion, instead of playing cards or loto, prepared lint for the wounded or garments for the perishing. Great efforts were being made for the relief of the sufferers in the terrible tragedy of Moscow; and Ivan rejoiced to see immense convoys of clothing and provisions setting out from the new capital for the old.
Troops of all kinds were coming every day to the city, or leaving it for the seat of war. Ivan's friends pointed out to him, with justifiable pride, the excellent equipment of the soldiers, and told him of the unwearied exertions of the Czar to supply the whole of his enormous army not only with the necessaries, but even with the comforts of life. "Every man in the service," it was said, "has his fur pelisse, his warm boots, even his warm gloves."[2] Infinite care and pains were expended upon the commissariat; and depôts of all kinds of provisions were established wherever they were likely to be needed.
In a few days Michael came joyfully to inform "Barrinka" that he had attained the desire of his heart. "Praised be the great St. Nicholas!" he said, "I am to be a gunner. My officer tells me that after a little training I shall be able to pull a thing they call the lanyard. It makes the gun go off, and kills the Nyemtzi." But no earthly happiness is ever without alloy, and Michael's was not an exception. There was one hardship, in his own estimation very serious, to which he had to submit. "Barrinka," he asked, "why must our beards be cut off before we go to fight the Nyemtzi?"
"It has been always done," said Ivan. "It is the custom. Besides, do you not know it makes you a free man? The very hour your beard is cut, you cease to be a serf; you have no longer any lord on earth except the Czar."
"I do not care to be a free man," grumbled Michael; "and I do not see why I must part with my beard, which God gave me. It is very hard."
Ivan laughed. "My dear lad," he said, "you have given your hand for our lord the Czar; you are ready to give your life for him; then why do you grudge him your beard?"
"Do you call it giving to him?" asked Michael. "That makes a difference certainly. Though I cannot see what the Czar wants with my beard, still, if it be his Majesty's pleasure, he shall have it."
Shortly afterwards he paid Ivan another visit. Great was the transformation in his outer man. The cherished beard was gone; he wore, instead of his caftan, the green uniform of a gunner; and he was already beginning to acquire the indefinable but unmistakable air of the trained soldier. "Only think, Barrinka," he began eagerly;—"I am afraid you will not believe me, but I am ready to swear it is true upon the picture of my saint. Besides, all the men in our corps heard it, and can tell you I say nothing but the fact, just as it happened."
"But you have not yet told me what the fact is. What has happened to you, Michael?"
"The Czar has spoken to me," said Michael with beaming eyes—"the Czar, his very self."
"How?—when?—what did he say?" cried Ivan, now thoroughly excited.
"He came to-day to inspect our corps—'recruits for the artillery service,' we are called. You will not need to be told that every man of us did his best, and that we made the air ring with our cheers and 'houras.' When the parade was over, I saw him speaking to our captain, who looked towards me, and then called me forward. 'Your Imperial Majesty,' says he, 'this is the man.' 'Give me your hand, my brave lad,' says the Czar, taking in his own this very hand of mine that you see now. 'I know how you lost the other, and I honour your courage and devotion. You have been tried and found faithful.' I fell on my knees and kissed the hand that held mine; which would be honour enough for such as you, Barrinka, not to speak of a poor mujik like me. Then he said to all of us, 'You have done well, my children;' and we answered with a shout, 'Father, we will do better next time'[3] So he rode away,—God bless him!—and the rest all crowded round me, embraced me, and wished me joy. Now my one hand, which he has touched, is quite as good as two."
Ivan shared the joy of his humble friend. He himself was beginning to learn some lessons which were new and strange to him, and which perhaps the miseries he had witnessed and the sorrows he had experienced had been preparing him to receive. In the circles where he moved now there was no longer any scoffing at religion, but rather a devout and reverent acknowledgment of the hand of God. Most of the nobility were diligent in their attendance upon the church services; but some ladies, and a few men of the highest position, were spoken of in the hearing of Ivan as remarkably pious. Foremost amongst these were the Princess Metchersky and the Countess Tolstoi, Prince Alexander Galitzin, and the Sardinian ambassador De Maistre. No reproach was implied or intended; their piety seemed to be rather considered as a distinction, and it was usually added that they stood high in the imperial favour.
On the last evening of his stay in St. Petersburg, Ivan saw one of his acquaintances—a nephew of the Grand-Marshal Tolstoi, and like himself a member of the Chevalier Guard—sitting apart absorbed in a book. The stirring romance of real life had of late driven all other romances out of the mind of Ivan; but the sight of an interested reader awakened his slumbering tastes. He came to the side of Tolstoi—a gay, good-natured youth, to whom he could say anything he pleased. "Is that a new book which you seem to like so much?" he asked.
"I am ashamed to confess it is new to me, or was so until lately," returned Tolstoi.
"What is it? A romance? I should think it a kindness if you would lend it to me when you have done with it yourself."
"Look at it," said Tolstoi, placing it in his hand.
It was in French, as Ivan expected; but its appearance was different from that of any French book he had ever seen before. Although divided into chapters and verses, it was evidently not poetry, and very sacred names were of frequent occurrence. He turned to the opening page, and exclaimed in surprise, "The New Testament!—how strange!"
"Why should it be strange?" said Tolstoi simply. "What better book could I find to read?"
"What is it all about?" asked Ivan. "Of course I know there are the holy gospels, but this book seems to contain a great deal besides."
"Oh! I cannot tell you in a moment. Read it for yourself, and you will soon learn to love it well."
Ivan turned back again to the page with which his friend had been occupied, and which he had kept open with his finger. He read these words: "Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them that despitefully use you, and persecute you; that ye may be the children of your Father which is in heaven: for he maketh his sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sendeth rain on the just and on the unjust." "That sort of religion would never answer!" he exclaimed indignantly, allowing the book to fall from his hand. "What? Love the French? Do good to them? Pray for them? I think whoever recommended you, just now, the reading of this book, must have gone altogether out of his senses. We should all be ruined if such ideas as these got abroad amongst us, especially at the present moment, when it is our supreme duty to hate the enemies of the Czar and to destroy them."
"Then how comes it to pass that the Czar himself loves this book and reads it daily?" asked Tolstoi, as he reverently took up the volume from the ground.
"I cannot believe that," said Ivan.
"It is quite true. I heard it from my uncle, who, as you know, is always about his person. It was that which made me read it first. Now I love it—better than any other book in the world."
"Since you tell me all this, I will buy a copy, and take it with me to the camp. Pope Yefim would be pleased if he knew it. He has sometimes lamented to me that the unlearned cannot have the Scripture narratives in any tongue they are able to understand. There is the old Slavonic, of course, but you might almost as well try to read Babylonish."
"There is French—for us," said Tolstoi; "and I own that it seems a better thing to me to read the sayings of Christ than the scoffs of Voltaire."
"Perhaps you are right," Ivan answered thoughtfully. After a pause he added, "Since I have stood alone, like one on a rock in the midst of a raging sea, with death before me, death behind me, and death on each side of me, I have sometimes thought what strength it would give me if only I could look up and see a Face bent down on me from above, a Hand outstretched to help me."
The next day the Chevalier Guards began their march, and Ivan with them. Adrian also returned to his duty; and soon they were in the midst of one of the most memorable campaigns the world has ever seen.