by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XLIII
UNDER THE COMETS
In the summer of the year 1825 no oil was needed for the streets of St.Petersburg, the nights were so light. The first lighting of the lampsfalls on the day the court leaves Peterhof for the Winter Palace. Thelighting of the lamps, on this occasion, was looked forward to by many.
A great plan was in course of operation among the lower strata ofsociety, which they had imparted neither to the _matadores_ of the_Szojusz Blagodenztoiga_ nor to the _Szojusz Spacinia_.
A succession of gloomy, rainy days came with the new moon. When on thefourth day a keen north wind blew away the clouds from the sky, peoplewere astonished to see near the silver sickle of the moon yet anotherwonder, like a fiery sword--a comet. So quickly had it come that it wasonly perceived when in its full blaze of glory.
What is a comet?
Scientific men themselves do not know; how, then, can poor ordinarymortals?
A comet is the herald of pest, of war, of downfall! Let him who does notbelieve this show reason why he is unbelieving. In wine-growingcountries it is true that a comet year is said to promise a good wineyear. But that does not affect the people of St. Petersburg, where theyonly make brandy. And a comet has no influence upon the increase ofbrandy. On the contrary, when there is any trouble brewing in the empirethere is always but little brandy consumed. It is a peculiarity of theRussian that he does not drink when in great trouble. When the head ofthe police learns that in St. Petersburg, instead of a daily consumptionof five thousand casks of brandy, only two thousand are being consumed,he redoubles the patrols.
The appearance of the comet only heightened the general feeling ofexcitement. A comet is the prophet's material symbol concerning which hecan cry, "Look! the fiery sword has appeared too in the heavens!"
When Czar Alexander was leaving Peterhof he gave orders that the LordChamberlain should precede the Czarina, to see that her apartments werein order on her arrival.
It was evening when the Czar, with a small retinue, neared the capital.Arrived at Alexander Nevski Monastery, he called a halt, and, going intothe church, commanded that a mass for the dead should be read the nextday. As he left the church, standing on the terrace, he cast one longlook at the capital, lying before him veiled in mist. The distant soundscame up to him like the roar of the sea; the traffic in the streets, themurmur of voices mingled together like the buzz of a beehive.
He stood there a long time, lost in meditation. The giant conflicts of aquarter of a century rose before his eyes out of the sea of mist, and heexperienced that agony almost beyond human endurance--the consciousnessof an approaching end, the mighty tasks of his life stillunaccomplished. He had risen so high that he had half thought himself agod; he had fallen so low that there was not a man who would havechanged places with him. Napoleon and he had been the dominatingpersonalities of that quarter of a century.
Nor did that lonely figure on St. Helena look with other feelings on theocean surrounding him than does Czar Alexander on the mist fallingthickly over his capital. This mist is vaster than the ocean, because itis formed by the breath of man; and as many breaths, so many cursesagainst him--against him, once so idolized.
The only difference between them is that Napoleon's people ardentlyyearn to have their conquered hero back, while this conquering hero hasbecome a weariness to his country.
And that comet in the sky is like an illuminated pen with which aninvisible hand is writing the fate of empires and their rulers amid thestars. Alexander's spirit was ever inclined to mysticism. He was filledwith forebodings and terrors. He was a believer in fate and itsportents. Comet and moon had both sunk beneath the horizon of the thicksea of mist.
The Czar had an old coachman, known to every one by his long, graybeard, which reached down to his girdle. This coachman always drove theCzar long distances; he was the most faithful servant he had. As, onreturning to his three-horsed troika, Alexander asked:
"Ilias, did you see the comet?"
"I saw it, your Majesty."
"Do you know that the comet is the forerunner of misfortune andmourning? Ah, well! The Lord's will be done!"
And he gave orders to drive to the noisy city.
People told each other that the Czar was about to take a long journey;whither was not known. He intended taking the Czarina away from theinclement climate of the capital to more genial skies; whither he had asyet told no one. He was himself going first, to secure quarters.Whenever he undertook a long journey it was his custom to hear the _VeniSancte_ in the Church of the Holy Virgin of Kasan. It was his ownchurch; he had built it, and had had it consecrated, and from itsthreshold he would get into his travelling carriage. The entire body ofthe clergy would await him there betimes, wearing their richestvestments; his favorite choir, too, would be in attendance, to sing thecollects. And the murmuring capital whispered to itself, when oncepriests, Czar, and Grand Dukes were collected together in the Church ofthe Holy Virgin of Kasan: suddenly, at the invocation, "Come, HolyGhost!" a determined man would start up from the crypt below, and,presenting a loaded pistol, would say, "Come down, then, to him!" Andstraightway church, holy images, Czar, Grand Dukes, priests, andchoristers would be blown into the sky. An awful thought!
Perhaps to be realized. Perhaps already for days past some boldspirit--one of the Irreconcilables--has been crouching below in thecrypt, the coffins filled with gunpowder, waiting for the signal of thebell which calls the faithful together to carry out the awful deed whichshall overturn a mighty empire. The fatality was prevented--forbidden bythe ashes of the dead.
The next day, at early morning, the Czar was not driven to the Church ofthe Holy Virgin of Kasan, where the richly clad Metropolitan awaitedhim, but to the Chapel of Alexander Nevski, where an ascetic attired inblack, the "Simnik," advanced to conduct him to the mass for the dead.
An official paper has categorically described this ceremony. How theCzar knelt before the Icons; how the protopope Seraphim placed the NewTestament upon his head, lying prostrate in the dust; how the Ruler ofAll the Russias did penance in the poor Simnik's cell, and how theSimnik told him of the degeneracy of the people. The account beingauthentic, it, of course, does not contain a single word that is nottrue.
A very different reason was it that had brought the Czar within thosewalls. Here rested the ashes of his three dead daughters, side byside--for he had had Sophie's remains brought here secretly. And it wasthese three children, deep down in the earth as they were, who combinedto save their father, calling him to their calm, secure resting-place.
What had the father to say to his dead? The walls alone can make reply.Official report is silent.
As the Czar left the church, in which he had heard the mass for thedead to the end, the sun was just rising, its reddish rays gilding thetowers of the Church of SS. Peter and Paul, and the cupolas and cross ofthe Isaac Cathedral, through the sea of mist, the hollow tones of theearly bells vibrating long in the stillness.
All sounds were hushed as Czar Alexander looked upon the capital of hisvast empire for the last time. And as the troika, drawn by its fieryteam, rolled rapidly away, the Czar turned to gaze, the better toimpress the scene upon his memory, a scene which the rising mist wasslowly, slowly shutting out from his view.