During his stay in Prague, Ivan was cheered by a letter from Clémence, bearing the impress of her own true, tender, and courageous spirit. Henri wrote also, giving a more detailed account of public events; and Emile contributed a version of his own, which was by no means unwelcome. The student of the Polytechnique wrote as though the entire glory of bringing back the Emperor belonged to him and his schoolfellows; and he exhorted Prince Ivan not to be in the least uneasy about the family at Versailles, assuring him that they would enjoy his powerful friendship and protection, with a naïve simplicity that gave his correspondent a hearty laugh. “But after all,” thought Ivan, “some atonement is due to the vanity of Emile, which used to suffer so often from the keen though polished thrusts of his Legitimist friends.”
All this time a burden of pain and apprehension lay heavy on the heart of Ivan. It was probable that by the return of Buonaparte from Elba, the great work of the Czar would be undone; it was already certain that his expectations were frustrated and his predictions falsified. He intended to do good, and the good had become the occasion of evil. Every mouth was opened now to reproach him with the untoward results of his chivalrous kindness to the vanquished. “You see, sire,” said Francis of Austria, “what has occurred in consequence of your protection of the Liberals and the Buonapartists.” “We are far,” said Talleyrand, “from accusing that greatness of soul which treated a conquered Power almost like a conqueror; but at least we cannot accuse ourselves of the imprudent generosity we admired but could not prevent, though we have now become the victims of it.” Doubtless Talleyrand only expressed the sentiments of all the Royalists of France; yet it was as well for him that he did not at that time fall in with the Emperor of Russia’s Chevalier Guard. But infinitely worse to Alexander than all these reproaches was the imminent prospect of another great war, to water the soil of Europe with blood and tears, and renew the horrors it had been the dearest wish of his heart to terminate. Ivan was not surprised when a report reached him that the Czar was ill at Vienna. He knew—he was not likely ever to forget—that each remembrance of the useless slaughter at Austerlitz touched the chords of a lasting sorrow. He had heard of the terrible months of depression that followed the murder of the Emperor Paul, when the attendants of the new sovereign trembled for his reason or his life; nay, he himself had witnessed a partial recurrence of the same depression at the time of the death of Moreau. The sad face of his Czar, as he had seen it then, haunted him day and night, and from the very depths of his heart the cry went up to heaven, “O God, uphold and comfort thy servant, who putteth his trust in thee!”
At last the long-wished-for marching orders came, and the early days of June saw the head-quarters of the Russian army established in Heidelberg, under the personal command of the Czar.
To the great joy of Ivan he looked well, and what surprised him still more, instead of the expected depression, there was such brightness in his countenance, such cheerfulness in his whole demeanour, that he thought some specially good tidings must have arrived. Meeting his friend Tolstoi, he asked him if such were the case. But Tolstoi reported, on the authority of his uncle the Grand Marshal, that there were no good tidings, but rather the reverse. Matters, he said, looked very serious. It was to be feared the whole strength of the Allies would be required to overthrow Napoleon, and a plan of united action was being arranged amongst them. The Czar was only anxious to do what was best for the general welfare, and it was probable he would be called upon to make the first attack; but time and place were as yet uncertain. “If I were the Czar,” Tolstoi added indignantly, “I would see every Bourbon of them all drowned in the Seine before I would stir a finger to save them. You have heard of the practices of M. Talleyrand—how the old fox induced King Louis to enter into a secret treaty against us with the other Powers before the return of Buonaparte, who found the precious document on a table in the Tuileries, where it had been left behind by accident, and sent it to the Czar, just to show him what sort of friends he had.”
“No, I did not hear that,” said Ivan, keenly interested. “Well, what did the Czar do?”
“Put it into the fire. ‘It is not I who am to be thought of,’ he said, ‘but the peace of the world.’ I think, Prince Ivan, something else will be thought of if we take Paris again and M. de Talleyrand sees fit to stay there.”
Ivan had abundance of leisure at this time, some of which he spent in wandering about the beautiful environs of Heidelberg, looking at the picturesque old town from the “Angel’s Meadow,” or watching the sun go down behind the shadowy purple hills. He sometimes prolonged these rambles until late in the evening, enjoying the solitude, for thought was busy within him, and had endless materials upon which to work.
On one of these occasions he strayed into a hilly path, secluded from general observation, and found that it led to a cottage, in the window of which a light was placed. He drew nearer, intending to ask his way; for he was surprised to find himself in a place probably not more than a mile from the town, and yet so entirely new to him. As he approached, he was struck by the singular air of neatness which distinguished a dwelling that in size and appearance was little more than a labourer’s cabin. Presently he became aware that two or three other persons were toiling up the pathway. An old man, with a consumptive-looking girl leaning upon his arm, attracted his attention, and after a courteous salutation, he inquired of him in French, “Who lives yonder?”
“That is the dwelling of the French lady who speaks so beautifully about our Lord Jesus Christ,” returned the old man in the same language. “There is to be a prayer-meeting to-night, and Adèle and I are going. Will you come too, monsieur? It will do you no harm to remember your Creator in the days of your youth.”
“I trust I do remember him,” said Ivan frankly; “but I shall be glad to come in. I suppose you are all Catholics here?”