The fencing master, p.19
THE FENCING MASTER, page 19
At about eleven o’clock, as the sentinel had said, the Emperor returned to the Palace, and at once retired to his apartment, where he immediately got into bed and had just fallen asleep, pinning his faith on Pahlen.
At this moment the conspirators reached the door of the ante-room which lay before the bedroom, and Arkamakov knocked.
“Who is there?” inquired the valet de chambre.
“I, Arkamakov, his Majesty’s aide-decamp.”
“What do you want?”
“I have come to make my report.”
“Your Excellency is joking, it is almost midnight.”
“Not at all, you are mistaken, it is six o’clock in the morning; open the door at once, or the Emperor will be angry with me.”
“But I don’t know if I ought...”
“I am on duty and I command it.”
The valet obeyed. The conspirators immediately burst into the ante-room, sword in hand; the terrified valet took refuge in a corner, but a Polish Huzzar, who was on guard, throws himself in front of the Emperor’s door, and, guessing the intentions of the nocturnal visitors, orders them to depart. Zubov refuses and tries to push the man on one side. A pistol goes off; and at that moment the sole defender of the man who an hour before ruled over fifty-three millions, is disarmed, felled to the ground and reduced to impotence.
At the report of the pistol Paul had awakened with a start, had leapt out of his bed, and rushing at the curtained door which led to the Empress’s room, had tried to open it; but three days before in a moment of misgiving he had had it blocked up, so it resisted his efforts; then he thought of the trap door and dashed to the corner of the room where it was concealed, but as he had bare feet the bolt would not yield to the pressure and the trap door likewise refused to act. At this moment the door of the ante-room burst open and the Emperor had only time to hide behind a fire screen.
Beningsen and Zubov rushed into the room, and Zubov went straight to the bed, but seeing it empty, “All is lost!” he cried, “he has escaped us.”
“No,” said Beningsen, “here he is.”
“Pahlen!” cried the Emperor, seeing that he is discovered. “Help! Pahlen.”
“Sire,” said Beningsen, advancing towards Paul and saluting him with his sword, “it is useless to call for Pahlen, Pahlen is one of us. Besides, your life is in no danger: only you are a prisoner in the name of the Emperor Alexander.”
“Who are you?” said the Emperor, so bewildered by the feeble and flickering light of the lamp that he failed to recognise who was speaking to him.
“Who are we?” replied Zubov, presenting the Act of Abdication, “we are Envoys of the Senate. Take this paper, read it, and settle your own fate.”
Then Zubov hands him the paper with one hand, while with the other he places the lamp on the corner of the mantelpiece so that the Emperor may read the Act presented to him. Then Paul takes the paper and reads it. A third of the way through he stops short, raises his head and looks at the conspirators.
“But in God’s name,” cried he, “what have I done to be treated like this?”
“For four years you have tyrannised over us,” cries a voice.
The Emperor continues to read.
But the more he reads the greater becomes his distress; expressions increasingly virulent cut him to the quick; dignity gives place to anger; he forgets that he is alone, half naked and without weapons, that he is surrounded by men in uniform, sword in hand; he crumples up the Act of Abdication and throwing it at his feet:
“Never,” said he, “death rather.” With these words he endeavours to get possession of his sword, resting against a chair a few paces from him.
Just then the second body of conspirators appears on the scene; it is composed chiefly of young noblemen who had been degraded or sentenced to service in remote provinces, and one of the most distinguished was Prince Tatetsvill, who had sworn to avenge himself for such an insult. The moment he enters he throws himself on the Emperor, grips him, struggles and falls with him, upsetting the lamp and the screen. The Emperor utters a terrible cry, for in falling he strikes his head against the corner of the mantelpiece, and receives a deep wound. Fearful lest the cry should be heard, Sartarinov, Prince Verinski and Seriatin throw themselves upon him. Paul gets on his feet for a moment, then falls again. All this takes place in the dark in the midst of sharp cries and muffled groans. At length the Emperor tears aside the hand which is covering his mouth: — ” Gentlemen,” he cries in French, “spare me, give me time to pray to the Almighty...” The last syllable of the word was lost, for one of his assailants has torn off his belt and passed it round the victim’s waist. They dare not strangle him by the neck, for the corpse will have to lie in state, and it is imperative that it should have the appearance of a natural death. Then the groans were succeeded by a rattling in the throat; presently all was still; a few convulsive movements followed, but they soon ceased, and when Bernngsen returned with lights the Emperor was dead. It was not till then that the wound in the cheek was noticed; but no matter, as he had fallen the victim to an apoplectic fit, it can be no matter for surprise that in falling he had struck against a piece of furniture and thus injured himself.
In the silence which succeeds the crime and while every eye is fixed on the motionless corpse, lit up by the candles brought by Beningsen, a noise is heard at the door leading to the Empress’s room; she has heard the stifled cries, the muffled voices and the threats, and is approaching. The conspirators are at first dismayed; but they recognise the voice and their confidence returns; besides since Paul could not make use of the door, neither can she; they have plenty of time to finish what they have begun and will not be disturbed in their work.
Beningsen raises the Emperor’s head and seeing that life is extinct, he has the body laid on the bed. Not till then does Pahlen enter sword in hand; for, faithful to his double role, he has waited till all is over before allying himself with the conspirators. At sight of his sovereign over whose face Beningsen is throwing a coverlet, be stops short in the doorway, turns pale and leaning against the wall drops his sword to his side.
“Come, gentlemen,” said Beningsen, who though one of the last to join in the conspiracy had preserved his imperturbable sang froid during the whole of that fatal night, “it is time to go and render homage to the new Emperor.”
“Yes, yes,” tumultuously exclaims everyone, their eagerness to leave the room greatly exceeding their precipitation in entering it; “Yes, yes, let us go and pay homage to the Emperor. Long live Alexander!”
While this was going on, the Empress Marie, seeing that she could not get past the barred door, and hearing the incessant clamour, runs to the other door of her apartment, but in the adjoining room she encounters Pettaroski, a lieutenant in the Semonovski Guards, with thirty men under him. Faithful to his trust, Pettaroski bars the way.
“Pardon, Madam,” said he, bowing before her, “but you cannot pass this way.”
“Don’t you know me?” demands the Empress.
“Yes, Madam, I know I have the honour of speaking to your Majesty; but I have special orders not to allow your Majesty to pass.”
“Who gave you the orders?”
“My Colonel.”
“We will see if you dare to obey them.”
With these words she approaches the soldiers; but they cross their arms and bar her passage.
At this moment the conspirators tumble pell-mell out of Paul’s room, crying “Long live Alexander! “Beningsen at their head advances towards the Empress; then she recognises him, and calling him by name, begs him to let her pass.
“Madam,” said he, “all is now over, you might endanger your own life, Paul’s is already ended.”
At these words the Empress utters a cry and sinks into a chair: the two Grand Duchesses, Marie and Christine, who have been aroused by the disorder, run up to her assistance, and kneel on each side of the chair. Feeling faint the Empress asks for some water. A soldier brings a glass; the Grand Duchess Marie hesitates to give it to her mother, fearing that it may be poisoned. The soldier, divining the cause, drinks half of it and presenting the remainder to the Grand Duchess; “You see,” said he, “her Majesty may drink it in perfect safety.”
Beningsen leaves the Empress in the care of the Grand Duchesses and goes down to the Czarevitch. His room is below Paul’s; he has heard everything; the pistol shot, the cries, the struggle, the groans and the death rattle. He attempted to leave the room and go to the assistance of his father; but the guard posted by Pahlen at his door thrust him back into his room; everything has been well prepared; he is a prisoner and can do nothing.
Then Beningsen enters, followed by the conspirators. The cries of “Long live Alexander “tell him that all is over. The manner in which he is ascending the throne is no longer in doubt to him; then catching sight of Pahlen, who is the last to enter, he cries: — ” Ah! Pahlen, what a page for the commencement of my history!”
“Sire,” replied Pahlen, “those which are to follow will soon cause it to be forgotten.”
“But don’t you understand,” cries Alexander, “that it will be said that I am my father’s assassin?”
“Sire,” said Pahlen, “there is only one thing for you to consider at the present moment; at this hour...”
“My God! what would you have me consider if not my father?”
“That you should be acknowledged by the Army.”
“But my mother, the Empress!” cries Alexander, “what will become of her?”
“She is quite safe, Sire, but in the name of Heaven let us not lose a moment.”
“What must I do?” asks Alexander, incapable in Ins prostration of coming to any decision.
“Sire,” answers Pahlen, “you must follow me this instant, for the least delay may provoke the most disastrous consequences.”
“Do what you like, I am ready.”
Thereupon Pahlen hurries the Emperor to a carriage which is waiting in readiness to convey him to the fortress; Paul takes his seat weeping, Pahlen and Zubov climb up behind in the footmen’s seats, and the carriage, bearing the future destiny of Russia, sets out at a gallop for the Winter Palace, escorted by two battalions of Guards. Beningsen remains with the Empress, for one of Alexander’s last recommendations was for the safety of his mother.
On the Admiralty Square Alexander comes upon the chief regiments of the Guards: “The Emperor! The Emperor!” shout Pahlen and Zubov pointing to Alexander whom they are escorting. “The Emperor! the Emperor!” cry the two accompanying battalions. “Long live the Emperor!” reply all the regiments in chorus.
Then they crowd to the door. Alexander is helped out, pale and weary, they drag him along, and finally lift him up, they swear allegiance to him with an enthusiasm, which proves that the conspirators though they have committed a crime, have only fulfilled the desire of the people; it is quite certain then that however much he may desire to avenge his father, he must abandon all idea of punishing the assassins. The latter separated for their homes, in ignorance as to how the Emperor would treat them in the future.
The next day it was the turn of the Empress to swear allegiance to her son; according to the constitution of the Empire, she ought to succeed her husband, but when she saw the urgency of the situation, she was the first to renounce her rights.
Vette, the surgeon, and Dr. Stoff, held a post-mortem on the body, and gave out that the Emperor Paul had died in an apoplectic fit; the wound on the cheek was attributed to the fall that occurred when the seizure caught him.
The body was embalmed and exposed to view for a fortnight on a state bed, to the steps of which etiquette brought Alexander several times; but not once did he ascend or descend them without turning pale and bursting into tears. Then the conspirators were gradually removed from the court; some received special appointments, others were incorporated in regiments stationed in Siberia; there only remained Pahlen who had retained his post of military governor of St. Petersburg, the sight of whom filled the new Emperor with remorse; so he took advantage of the first opportunity of getting rid of him, and this is how it happened.
A few days after Paul’s death, a priest exposed to view a sacred image, which, so he pretended, had been brought to him by an angel. On its base were inscribed these words: — ” God will punish all the assassins of Paul I.”
Pahlen hearing that the people were flocking into the chapel where the miraculous image was exposed and fearing lest from this trick some false impression might be implanted upon the Emperor’s mind, asked permission to put an end to the priest’s pretensions, a permission which was readily granted by Alexander. The priest was therefore flogged and in his agony declared that he had only acted in accordance with the orders of the Empress. In proof of his assertion, he declared that an image exactly like his would be found in her oratory. Pahlen broke open the Empress’s chapel and finding the image there had it removed; the Empress very properly resented this insult and demanded reparation from her son. Alexander was on the look out to get rid of Pahlen, and did not allow such an opportunity to escape him. M. de Beckleclev was commissioned to hand to Count Pahlen the Emperor’s command that he should withdraw into retirement. “I was expecting it,” said Pahlen, “and my belongings are already packed.”
An hour later Count Pahlen had sent in his resignation to the Emperor and the same evening he set out for Riga.
CHAPTER XIII
THE Emperor Alexander was barely twenty-four years old when he ascended the throne. He had been educated under the supervision of his grandmother Catherine, on an original plan of her own, one of the principal tenets of which ran as follows: —
“The young Dukes are not to be taught either poetry or music, for to bear any fruit it would be necessary to dedicate too much time to their study.” Alexander therefore received a strict and severe education. His tutor, La Harpe, selected by Catherine herself and known at Court by the name of “the Jacobin,” because he was not only a Swiss but also a brother of the brave General La Harpe who served in the French Army, was exactly the man to impress his pupil with noble and upright ideas, so important in the case of those in whom the impressions of later life are likely to conflict with the recollections of youth. This choice of Catherine’s was remarkable at an epoch when thrones were tottering, shaken by the volcano of revolution, when Leopold died of poison, so it was said, Gustavus fell murdered by Ankarstrôm and Louis XVI. lost his head on the scaffold.
One of Catherine’s express commands was to keep all knowledge of the distinction between the sexes and of love which brought them together, from entering the heads of the young Dukes. The celebrated Pallas was giving them a course of Botany in the Imperial Gardens; the demonstration of the system of Linnaeus OR. the sexes of flowers and their method of reproduction led to a crowd of questions on the part of his august pupils which he found it very difficult to answer. Protasov, the superintendent of the Princes, was obliged to make a report to Catherine who, in an interview with Pallas, advised him to omit all details as to pistils and stamens. As this recommendation rendered the course of Botany almost impossible and the silence of the professor only led to a fresh outburst of questions, the study was definitely abandoned. However such a system of education did not last long and while Alexander was still quite a youth, Catherine had to consider the question of providing him with a wife.
Three young German Princesses were brought to the Russian Court, that the grandmother might make a selection for her grandson. Catherine heard of their arrival at St. Petersburg and eager to see and criticise them, she invited them to come to the Palace, and awaited them in rapt attention at a window whence she could see them alight in the Courtyard. Very soon the carriage which was conveying them drove up, the door was opened, and one of the Princesses jumped straight to the ground without putting foot on the step.
“That is not the one,” said Catherine shaking her head, “to be Empress of Russia, she is too lively.”
The second alighted in the same fashion, and catching her feet in her dress very nearly fell.
“That is not the one either, to be Empress of Russia,” said Catherine; “she is too clumsy.”
Then the third one stepped out, handsome, stately and sedate.
“That is the Empress of Russia,” said Catherine.
It was Louise of Baden.
Catherine sent for the grandsons to come to the Palace while the young Princesses were there, telling them that as she knew their mother, the Duchess of Baden-Durlach, originally Princess of Darmstadt, and that as the French had captured their country, she had invited them to St. Petersburg to live near her. After staying a short time, the two Grand Dukes were dismissed; on their return they spoke a great deal of the three young girls, and Alexander said he thought the eldest very pretty. “Well, I don’t,” said Constantine; “I don’t think any of them pretty. They will have to be sent to Riga, to the Princes of Courland, they will just suit them.”
The Empress heard the same day of the opinion of her grandson concerning the lady she had selected for him and looked upon the fact of his youthful predilection coinciding with her intentions as providential. Moreover the Grand Duke Constantine was wrong, for the young Princess in addition to the freshness of youth, had beautiful long flaxen hair falling over magnificent shoulders, a graceful figure like a Rhineland fairy and the great blue eyes of Goethe’s Marguerite.
The next day the Empress paid them a visit at one of Potemkin’s Palaces, where they were staying. As they were at their toilette, she brought them some dress materials and jewels and also the ribbon of St. Catherine. After a short chat, she made them show her their wardrobes, handled several articles in turn, and after she had finished her examination, kissed them on the forehead with a smile and said to them: — ” My dears, I was not so rich as you when I first entered St. Petersburg.” The truth is Catherine was very poor when she came to Russia; but she more than made, up for her lack of dowry by leaving as a heritage both Poland and the Crimea.
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