But Ivan suddenly remembered that a grand review of the whole Imperial Guard was to take place that morning at six o’clock, so he dismissed the idea of writing at once to tell Clémence the wonders he had witnessed, and wisely threw himself upon his pallet to snatch a few hours of necessary slumber.
When he came to the parade-ground in the morning he felt like one bewildered. There, in the midst of his brilliant staff, their uniforms glistening with gold and jewels, and the costly trappings of their magnificent horses glancing in the sunlight, stood the Czar, at once the centre and the heart of all that martial pomp and pride. As Ivan, in his place in the Chevalier Guard, advanced, retreated, wheeled to the right or the left, in instant obedience to the word of command that issued from those imperial lips, he wondered silently which was the dream—this splendid pageant, or the scene last night in the lowly cottage; but when he looked again upon the calm and joyous face of the Czar he knew that both were real.
It was not until long afterwards that he heard the story of how God had spoken to the heart of the Czar. Madame de Krudener for some time past had been acquainted with the Empress Elizabeth, and other persons belonging to the Russian Court. What she heard from every one of the noble character of Alexander awakened in her mind an intense desire to be of use to him. “I have great things to say to him,” she wrote to a friend; “for I have felt much upon his account. My business is to be without fear and without reproach, his to be at the feet of Christ.” Such impulses are sent from above.
It was late in the night of the 4th of June. Alexander sat in his quarters at Heilbronn, depressed and weary, trying to read a book of devotion, but unable to profit by what he read. He had heard of the conversations of Madame de Krudener with his wife, and the thought passed through his mind, “I wish she would come and talk to me.” At that moment his confidential attendant, Volkonski, entered the room, and told him, with much ill-humour, that there was a lady in the ante-chamber who insisted upon seeing him, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour.
“I cannot get rid of her, sire,” said the irritated aide-de-camp.
Alexander inquired her name.
“Madame de Krudener.”
“Ask her to come in,” said the Emperor. He afterwards told a friend that he felt as though he were dreaming, so strange did the coincidence appear to him.
Madame de Krudener entered. Certainly she did not fear the face of man. She prophesied no smooth things to the monarch of all the Russias. Perhaps she scarcely knew how far God had led him already; for she told him, with uncompromising boldness, that never yet had he come to the foot of the cross with the prayer of the publican on his lips, and that until he did so there could be neither pardon nor peace for him. Much more she added, perhaps not altogether wisely; but since she held up Christ and his cross before him, there was power in her words to reach and to bless a heart which had been prepared of the Lord to receive them. Seeing him affected even to tears, she apologized for her boldness, and would have paused, but he entreated her to go on. This proved the first of numerous interviews.
Many a quiet talk over the Bible, prolonged into the hours of the early morning, took place in the labourer’s cottage at Heidelberg, where Madame de Krudener had established herself in order to be near the Emperor. The young Swiss pastor, Empaytaz, who shared in these conversations, has left a brief record of them. One day he summoned courage to ask the Emperor plainly, “Sire, have you now peace with God? Are you assured of the pardon of your sins?”