We obeyed, but only arrived in time to hear the last words—“a cessé de vivre.” Special orders were then given that no demonstration should be made, and a low and mournful conversational sound was alone heard amongst those assembled. A few minutes after leaving the imperial palace, a friend and myself were quietly taking our coffee at a celebrated establishment, and in conversation said loud enough to be heard by our neighbours, that certainly the death of the Emperor Nicholas was very likely to change the state of affairs, as the present Emperor, Alexander was, so we had always heard, rather a pacificator. Before we could finish the remark, an elderly gentleman, who was sitting near us, exclaimed, “What do you say? What do you say, sir?—the Emperor Nicholas dead?”
“Yes, sir, he is dead.”
“Go to ——, sir; that’s another Crimean shave, like the taking of Sebastopol.”
“Sir,” I replied, “I can vouch for this not being a shave, and that his Majesty, the Emperor Nicholas the First of Russia, expired yesterday; and what is more, I will lay you a wager of it.”
In a few minutes some jumped upon the chairs and benches, others upon the billiard-table, looking at me, no doubt anxious to see whether I was intoxicated or mad. One gentleman raising his voice, said, “I’ll bet anything this report is not true.”
“Done for a dozen of champagne.”
“I take you, and we will drink your health at your own expense.”
We scarcely had time to deposit our money with the lady who presided at the bar of the establishment when mine was again in my pocket. A number of officers who had returned from the banquet entered, and affirmed the truth of what I had stated. Nevertheless, no one could believe it; so I proposed returning my money to the stakeholder till the next morning, and turning the champagne into an early déjeuner à la fourchette.
At the custom-house the following morning I was detained, and reached twenty-five minutes behind the time appointed by my friend, and perhaps thereby lost the chance of a short interview with the Emperor, which made me bless the douaniers who were so long at their breakfast, and longer still in clearing my luggage. I found my friend M. Léon smoking his short pipe at the hotel door, with his hands in his pantalon à la cosaque, a type de troupier well worthy of the past and present empire; so I made sure his Majesty was off.
“Oh, here you are at last—a fine fellow truly, and very punctual indeed! Why, his Majesty has been gone this half-hour. I intimated you were still here, and he would probably have seen you; but mind, if you don’t look sharp, we shall be at Constantinople before you. You are sure to see his Majesty there, for the first thing he will do will be to visit all the hospitals, both French and English.”