Alexander was not a man who could hear or answer such a question without emotion. For a time he was silent, apparently questioning his own heart. Then “it seemed as if a dark veil was lifted from his face,” and he looked up and answered, “Yes, I am happy—I am very happy. I have peace, even the peace of God. I am a great sinner; but since Madame”—glancing towards Madame de Krudener, who was present—“has shown me that Jesus came to seek and to save that which was lost, I know and believe that my sins are pardoned. The Word of God says that he who believes in the Son of God—in God the Saviour—is passed from death unto life, and shall not come into condemnation. I believe; yes, I have faith.” Two words were at this time often on his lips—“I am very happy,” and “I am a great sinner.” They supplied the double key-note of his inner life. His joy in the forgiving Christ kept pace with his sorrow for the sins that had grieved him; the one grew and deepened in the same proportion as the other.
Years afterwards he said to a friend—tracing his conversion, it is interesting to observe, not merely to his conversations with Madame de Krudener, but to the whole course of God’s dealings with him from the time of the burning of Moscow—“Since then I have known God as the Holy Scriptures have revealed him. Then I learned to understand, and I understand now, his will and his law; and the resolution to consecrate to him only, and to his glory, my life and my reign has ripened and strengthened within me. Since then I have become another man; to the deliverance of Europe from her ruin I owe my own salvation and deliverance. It is only since Christianity has become important above all things else to me, since faith in the Redeemer has been manifested in me, that his peace—for which I thank God—has entered into my soul. Ah, but I did not arrive there at once: the path by which I was led stretched across many a conflict and many a doubt.”
It was no wonder that now he found it less difficult than ever to pardon his enemies. It seemed to him something which he could not help doing, because he had been himself forgiven. “Why should I do otherwise?” he said, when Madame de Krudener expressed her surprise at some act of forgiveness extraordinary even for him; “have I not the gospel in my heart? I know only that; and I think that if any one were to compel me to go a mile with him, I should willingly go with him twain.” So glad was his heart in those early days of faith and love.
God had given this man the seventh part of the habitable globe to rule over. He had given him the splendour of a throne, the wealth of an imperial treasury, the command of mighty armaments. He had given him even more—victory over all his foes, success in all his undertakings; at this time nothing that he sought to accomplish was denied him. Yet the man’s deep heart was still unsatisfied. “All these things were too little” for him. One thing he desired of the Lord, that he sought after—“to behold the beauty of the Lord, and to inquire in his temple.” That also God gave him. The brightest glory, the “crowning mercy” of Alexander’s life, was no earthly triumph, no victory in war or diplomacy; it was that God answered him in the joy of his heart, and enabled him to say, with the poorest and humblest of his believing children, “My Father, my Saviour.” The secret of the Lord was with him, and He showed him His covenant.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
AFTER WATERLOO.
“Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the cross of Christ, my God;
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to his blood.”
“A great battle! Napoleon is annihilated! Wellington and the English have done it!” Such was the cry with which Tolstoi rushed breathless into the guard-room where Ivan and others were sitting. The tidings were not wholly unexpected, and yet they came with startling swiftness and suddenness. Only a few days before had Napoleon disclosed his real design, and poured his troops into Belgium. So rapidly had this movement been effected, that while Wellington was actually engaged in writing to the Czar to arrange a plan for an offensive campaign, the French had advanced upon the British and Prussian cantonments, and the firing had begun. Wellington’s letter was dated the 15th of June, and by the evening of the 18th—one of the most momentous days in the world’s history—Napoleon was a ruined and despairing fugitive.