CHAPTER VII
The next day, October 3rd, Tolstoi was writing a letter to the Tsar in Petersburg:
“Most Gracious Sovereign,—
“We have to humbly report, that your Majesty’s son, his Highness the Tsarevitch Alexis, has declared unto us this day his intention. Putting aside all former resistance, he submits to your Majesty’s decree, and is coming to Petersburg with us. About this he has himself written to your Majesty, and has given us his letter unsealed, so that we may include it in our packet. Herewith we send a copy of the aforesaid letter, the original we are keeping back, deeming it wiser under present circumstances. He lays down in it two conditions—first, to be allowed to live on his estate near Petersburg, and the second—permission to marry the girl who now lives with him. When we tried at first to persuade him to return to your Majesty, he would not even so much as consider it without these conditions being granted. He is very anxious, your Majesty, that we should obtain permission for him to wed the woman before reaching Petersburg. And though these conditions are rather tiresome, yet I take the liberty of granting them of my own accord, without waiting for your decree. I herewith lay before your Majesty my own humble opinion on this subject. If there is no special reason against it let him have his way, for then only, will he show to the world what sort of a man he is; that no real grievance had prompted his flight, only the woman. Secondly, it will so annoy the Emperor that he will never believe in him again. Thirdly, the danger of a suitable marriage will be warded off; a risk which threatens us even here. And should you sanction all this, please deign to mention this to me in your letter, along with other commands, so that I could show it to him without leaving it with him. And should your Majesty consider that this marriage is not permissible, why not just give him hope by telling him that it cannot take place in any other country save Russia, so that, filled with hope, he may not think of delay, but come to you without the least suspicion. And also, my lord, deign for a little while, at least, to keep your son’s return a secret; lest once it gets abroad, those who are opposed to his return should tempt him to change his mind, which may God forbid. Also, condescend to send me a decree to all the commanders of regiments stationed along our route, in case we may need a convoy. We hope to leave Naples on the 6th or 7th of October. The Tsarevitch desires first to visit Bari to see the relics of St. Nicholas, whither we will accompany him. At the same time, the mountain roads are very bad, and though we should travel without delay, yet it will be impossible to hurry. Besides, the aforesaid woman is four or five months advanced in pregnancy, and this too might lengthen the time of our journey, because he will not travel fast out of consideration for her; it is impossible to describe how he loves her and with what solicitude he watches over her.
“We remain your Majesty’s most humble and respectful servant,
“Peter Tolstoi.
“P.S.—When God shall grant me to be back in Petersburg, then, your Majesty, I shall safely praise Italy without running the risk of the penalty of the Large Goblet, since a real campaign was not even needed; but your intention of coming to Italy alone proved sufficient to yield good results to your Majesty and the entire Russian Empire.”
He also wrote to the Resident in Vienna, Vesselóvsky:
“Keep everything absolutely secret for fear some devil should write to the Tsarevitch and frighten him off this journey. God alone knows the difficulties which have arisen over this affair. I cannot tell you all the miracles we have accomplished.”
It was night and Tolstoi was alone in his apartments at the Three Kings Hotel, sitting with a candle at his writing-table.
Having finished his letter to the Tsar, and made a copy of the Tsarevitch’s letter, he took the sealing wax to seal them up in the same envelope. But he put it down again, then read once more the original of the Tsarevitch’s letter, sighed deeply, joyfully, opened his golden snuff-box, took a pinch, and rubbing the snuff between his finger and thumb, with a quiet smile fell into a reverie.
He could scarcely trust his luck; only this morning he was in the depths of despair, so that on receiving a note from the Tsarevitch: “I wish urgently to speak with you—something to your interest,” he did not want to go, thinking it only meant more talking to while away the time.
And suddenly, the “cursed stubbornness” had disappeared; he had agreed to everything; in very truth a miracle, due to none save God and St. Nicholas. It was not in vain that Tolstoi had always specially honoured St. Nicholas, and trusted to the holy protection of the wonder worker. He was glad to accompany the Tsarevitch to Bari. The holy man well deserved a candle! It is true that besides St. Nicholas, Venus also had her part, Venus whom he so fervently worshipped had not abandoned him—rather helped him. To-day, when saying good-bye he had kissed the woman’s hand—only the hand—why, he had felt equal to falling down before her on his knees and worshipping her, like Venus herself. A clever lass! How she tricked the Tsarevitch? For after all, he was not so great a fool as not to realize what was before him. That’s just the trouble, he is too clever. “It is a general rule,” Tolstoi was in the habit of saying, “that clever people are easily cheated, because while they have a lot of extraordinary knowledge, they have but slight acquaintance with everyday concerns. To fathom the mind and nature of man requires great knowledge; it is more difficult to know people than to remember a number of books.”
With what reckless ease, with what a cheerful face, did the Tsarevitch inform him to-day that he was returning to his father. He seemed either drunk or dreaming; the whole time he was laughing with a strange pathetic laugh.
“Poor man! poor man!” Tolstoi shook his head in distress and having snuffed, he wiped a tear which had come into his eye; whether owing to the snuff, or his pity for the Tsarevitch is doubtful. “Like a sheep which is dumb, he is brought to the slaughter.”
Tolstoi had a kind, almost sentimental heart.
“Yes, it seems a great pity, yet it could not be helped,” he hastened to console himself. “The eel lives in the sea to prevent the carp from sleeping. Friendship is friendship, duty is duty.”
He, Tolstoi, had, after all, succeeded in rendering a service to the Tsar, to the Fatherland; he had kept up his dignity, had proved himself a worthy disciple of Niccolo Machiavelli, and had successfully crowned his career. Now his lucky star will descend on his bosom in the shape of St. Andrew’s decoration, the Tolstoi’s will be Counts, and should they attain celebrity in future generations, reach higher positions, they will remember him. Let now Thy servant depart in peace, O Lord!
These thoughts had filled his heart with an almost frolicsome mirth. He suddenly felt young again, forty years seemed to have dropped off his shoulders, he felt a desire to whirl round and round, as if, like the god Mercury, he had wings on his feet and hands.
He was holding the sealing wax over the candle, the flame trembled, and the huge shadow of a smooth skull—he had taken his wig off—was bobbing on the wall as in a dance, and making awful faces, laughing like a dead skull. The sealing wax melted, thick drops, red as blood, began to fall. He was gently humming his favourite song:
’Tis time to cast thy bow away,
Cupid, we all are in your sway!
Thy golden love-awaking dart
Has reached and wounded every heart.
In the letter Tolstoi was sending to the Tsar the Tsarevitch had written:—
“Most gracious Sovereign and father!
“Your gracious letter was delivered to me by Messieurs Tolstoi and Roumiantzev. From it as well as from their words, I, who, by my presumptuous flight, made myself unworthy of all grace, have been informed of your Majesty’s gracious pardon, assured to me in case of my return, for which I tender you my heartfelt thanks, and humbly pray to be forgiven my manifold transgressions, which I fully realize deserve severe punishment. And trusting to your gracious promise, I give myself into your hands, and will leave Naples together with your envoys in a few days, for Petersburg.
“Your lowliest servant, no more worthy to be called your sop.
“Alexis.”