by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XXV
GOG AND MAGOG
The Czar had not undressed at all that night; but, tired out, had thrownhimself upon his couch, which had no covering but a bear-skin.
Before sunrise he was up, and, without making a change of dress, went tothe window. It was frosted over; he had to open it to see out. Hequickly closed it again. The sight was terrible! In feverish excitementhe threw on his cloak and hurried out. In the anteroom his physician,Sir James Wylie, was waiting, who at once accosted him with--
"Your Majesty may not go out to-day!"
"I may not? Who commands me?"
"I merely _prescribe_, sire--a right which physicians may exercisetowards princes."
"But there is nothing the matter with me."
"But there may be. Your health is endangered."
"That rests in the hands of God." And he passed on.
In the audience-chamber he found Araktseieff.
"Your Majesty _cannot_ go out to-day."
"So you, too, order me, as well as the physician."
"Your Majesty's life is in danger."
"Not for the first time. He who protected me yesterday will not fail meto-day. Be a Christian, and do not treat me like a child who letshimself be frightened by old women's tales. Remain at your post; I go tomine."
Araktseieff knew the Czar, and that opposition only made him moreobstinate; so stood deferentially aside as the Czar strode past him.
The Czar passed, alone, down the long corridor hung with pictures of thebattles he had fought. At the end of it a little negro groom stoodwaiting with a note, which he handed in silence. It was the Czarina'spage, a birthday present to her of long ago. The Czar hurriedly brokeopen the note and ran it over, then looked down meditatively. Without aword he went back to his apartment and took off his cloak.
The note was from the Czarina: "I am afraid to be alone in the palace.Please do not leave me now!"
The words were a command; one which even the Ruler of All the Russiashad no choice but to obey. His wife was afraid!
Now he is condemned to remain within the palace, like any imprisonedcriminal.
For the first time for fourteen years his wife had made a request tohim. How could he refuse it? Not only his sense of duty as emperorimpelled him to repair to scenes of distress and danger, but also he wasurged by that mysterious impulse from within, which ever drove him fromone end of his empire to the other, leaving him no rest by night, untilhe would rise, get into his carriage, and drive from street to street.To stay in one place was torture to him. He had but returned this veryweek from a journey which led him as far as to the Kirghiz steppes. Andnow was he to sit idly at home? His wife had asked it. It is not muchshe asks. She does not beg him to come to her in her apartments, tostay with her, to cheer and comfort her; she only asks him to remainunder the same roof.
Now he has leisure to pace from one end to the other of his room, tohearken to the pealing of bells, the roar of the wind, and the splash ofthe waves, whose surf dashes up to his windows. Suddenly he utters acry--"Where are you, Sophie?" It is well that no one hears him, that heis alone. In spirit, he is in that solitary house, surrounded by thewaves. His eyes search round the empty rooms where wind and weathersport unchecked, and, not finding her, he cries, "Sophie! where areyou?" The vision he had called up was even more terrible than the awfulreality of raging nature without. He could better bear to look uponthat. Rushing to the balcony of the palace, he tore open the glassdoors, and gazed down upon the ghastly devastation. The sight was awfulindeed!
Wide as an ocean bay, the giant river was rolling back its waves uponLake Ladoga. Ever and anon from out the misty distance loomed visionsreflected in the surface of the madly rushing waters.
When Napoleon, watching the fire of Moscow from the Kremlin, saw how thestorm was rolling the sea of flame upon the city, he cried in despair,"But what wind is this?" So now Alexander, as he watched the waves,lashed by the furious storm, dash up against his palace, asked, "Butwhat wind is this?"
Houses roofless and in ruins; half-naked creatures clinging to theirframework; here, a tiny hand raised in piteous appeal from its mother'sarms; there, a man rowing with a plank, who finds no place to land on.Every gust of wind, every wave, brings some fresh sight to view. Nowcomes the remnant of a menagerie; its cages, chained together, arebeing whirled about in eddying circles. A Bengal tiger, who has bursthis bonds, dashes wildly from one cage to another. Some men, clinging tothe bars, dare not climb on to the top for fear of the infuriatedanimal. All must perish. Men and beasts shriek and roar in chorus. Thewaves dash them pitilessly on. Then comes the fragment of a woodenbridge wedged in between two icebergs. Upon it there still stands acarriage, shafts in air, from the interior of which projects a pinkdress. Bridge and carriage float past, a flock of croaking ravens flyingabout them.
Who is sufficient for all these horrors?
The current swept on, swift as an arrow, the waves playing with theiricy barriers; now building them into pyramids, now tearing them down,leaving a circling eddy to mark the spot.
Close by the Winter Palace stands the Admiralty, with its copper roof.The furious storm, tearing off a portion of this, rolls it up, withthunderous din, like a sheet of paper, flattens it out again, tosses itinto the air, showering down fragments of it like a pack of cards; then,finally, rips off the whole remainder of the roof, hurling it into theprincipal square. Then follows many thousand casks of flour, sugar, andspices from the flooded warehouses of the Exchange--the whole winterstore of a great capital a prey to the waves!
Again another picture. Arrayed in order of battle like a flotilla come aseries of black boats, not originally designed to carry their inmatesover the water, but under the earth. Coffins! The flood had burst thewalls of the military cemetery of Smolenskaja, washed up thousands ofgraves, and was now bringing back their occupants to the city, of whichthey had long ago taken farewell. The buried warriors were coming tomarch past the Czar once more--the hurricane their deafening trumpets,the waves their kettle-drums! They even bring their memorial chapel withthem, and their marble crosses, which tower in ghostly fashion from outthe icebergs!
Nor is the fearful cyclorama over yet. The horrors of it are everincreasing. In the distance looms a three-master, bearing down upon thecity--or, rather, in the cold gray mist it looks the ghost of aman-of-war. It had broken its moorings at Cronstadt in the gale, andnow, driven before the wind, was coming down upon the city at fullspeed!
At that moment the Czar, forgetful of his dignity, hid his face andwept, never thinking whether any eyes were upon him. And many eyes wereon him.
All those whom in the course of the previous night the Czar had rescuedfrom the tottering houses in the suburbs--all those who, taken unawaresin the tumult of the fair, did not know where to turn, the Czar hadlodged in the western division of the Winter Palace, giving up thatbrilliant suite of rooms to the use of the poor and destitute. Suchguests as these the Winter Palace had never harbored before! True, atNew-year it was the custom for some forty thousand guests to assemble inthe Winter Palace; but they swept the floors with silk, and illuminatedthe marble halls with their diamonds. Now, however, it was theshow-place for rags and tatters. An exhibition of misery anddestitution! There were collected together all those who form the shadyside of a capital, and of whom the fashionable world have noconception--an aggregate of bitter want and of shameless depravity. Theywho did not dare to creep forth by day from their dark cellars havegiven each other rendezvous in the Imperial Palace. The Czar sent themfood and drink, and they spent the night singing the _Knife Song_,taught them by the frequenters of the Bear's Paw.
Czar Alexander heard it, and doubtless rejoiced to know his guests werein such good-humor. They opened their windows, and those in front puttheir heads out, and called to the others to tell them what they saw.
The facade of the Winter Palace had two projecting wings. The refugeeswere housed in the west wing. Between that and the east, like the middlestroke of the capital lett
er E, stretched the covered balcony from whichthe Czar had watched the panorama of destruction.
On seeing him his guests became mute.
He was an imposing figure, with expansive forehead bared to the fury ofthe storm. As long as he remained impassive his self-controlcommunicated itself to the spectators. But when they saw him break downand shed tears, when they saw that the Czar was but a man after all,they grew furious. Weakness arouses indignation.
A man, brother to the French republican Marat, seizing his opportunity,sprang upon the window-sill and shouted to the Czar:
"Yes, you may cry! Cry for the loss of your fine city! The God ofvengeance has sent this destruction upon us as a penalty for your sins!Plague, drought, starvation--all have come upon us through you! For youare deaf to the cry of our glorious brothers the Greeks! Their innocentblood that has been shed cries out to Heaven for vengeance! You are thecause of this devastation! Heaven is punishing us for what you havedone!"
The noisy voices of the people within drowned the concluding words;their yells outvied the storm. The mutinous speech had stirred up thealready excited people to fury. The refrain of the _Song of the Knife_resounded to an accompaniment of infuriated noise and confusion. Theytried to burst open the strong doors communicating with the corridorleading to the Czar's apartments.
He, standing on the balcony, was rooted to the spot by a doubleterror--behind him the yelling populace clamoring for his blood; beforehim the approaching ship. It was one of the largest men-of-war in thenavy. When frozen up in the winter the crew is paid off, and the few menleft in charge had evidently escaped, so that it came along withoutguidance of any kind, and was apparently making direct for the WinterPalace.
At the sound of raised and fierce voices every window in the centralportion of the palace opened suddenly, displaying a treble row ofbayonets. At one of the windows stood Araktseieff, who shouted in hiscruel, harsh voice to the rebels:
"Silence, instantly, you cubs of Gog and Magog, or I will have you castback into the flood from which your sovereign lord saved you! Ungratefulsavages that ye are!"
This was adding oil to the flames.
"Oh, oh, Araktseieff!" roared a thousand throats. "There's the evilgenius!"
"Come on!" screamed Marat. "Let's just see if your thousand bayonets canconquer our ten thousand knives! Make a beginning, or we will!"
The ship came nearer and nearer.
As it reached within half a cable's length of the Winter Palace, theCzar perceived a man in the wheel-house turning the wheel.
"What are you about, man?" he shouted down angrily to him.
The man knew perfectly what he was about. It was Borbotuseff, a navalofficer and a deserter. How came he on board? No one knew. He steeredstraight for the palace, with the one hope of crashing into it, in orderthat all within, and he himself, might be buried under it. A red flagwas flying from the mast.
The struggling crowd and the guards saw nothing of all this; the balconygallery cut off their view.
Now the moment had come to prove which was the stronger, the house ofwood or the house of stone.
But the current was stronger than either, and instead of the bow of theship striking the palace, it came broadside on. It drew so much waterthat its keel crashed on to the granite coping of the moat, throwing thevessel on its side; while, like a knight in a tournament withoutstretched lance, it struck with its masts upon its stony adversary. Aterrific crashing and grinding--two of the masts broke to pieces againstthe pillars; the third crashed through one of the windows, shaking thewhole massive structure from foundation to gable, yet the stone remainedconqueror. The ponderous vessel broke in two; the bow half of the wreckwas hurled on to Alexanderplatz; the afterpart, with the helmsman, fellback into the vortex, and was carried away with the current.
The concussion was like an earthquake. Of a sudden there was silence.People, soldiers, even Araktseieff, fell upon their knees. The man uponthe balcony alone remained standing. He had seen something in the air.It was a dove.
The dove flew direct to him, hovered for a moment, and then alighted onhis shoulder.
It was Sophie's carrier-dove.
Alexander found the letter under its wing, telling him that Sophie wasin good keeping. Then, folding his hands in a prayer of thanksgiving, heraised them to Heaven.
But the dove is the sacred and wonder-working bird of Russia.
As it descended upon the shoulder of the Czar the fury of the peoplechanged to superstitious worship. In it they saw the embodiment of theHoly Ghost. He who would not be lost must be converted. It was a miraclefrom Heaven.
Bozse czarja chrani! An old mujik suddenly started the hymn of praise,and all present joined in it. Araktseieff's bayonets had becomeunnecessary. Marat's brother, leaving the rostrum, disappeared among themultitude. Who could have found him among the ten thousand theregathered? And even if they had he would have denied his identity.
The flood lasted two days longer, leaving behind it three thousandhouses totally wrecked and a countless list of dead.
The people firmly believed that Heaven's judgment had been wroughtbecause the Czar had not come to the assistance of the Greeks in theirWar of Independence.