“There is something in what you say,—especially about secret meetings,” he added in a lower tone. “But it is late; I must go to those mathematics. Good night.” He turned away, softly whistling the air of a song very popular with the Imperialists, “Veillons au salut de l’Empire.” “I shall watch henceforward over the safety of something else, very dear to Prince Pojarsky,” thought the conceited but generous boy. “How little he guesses what plans we have talked of—we Buonapartists—at those secret meetings he denounces! Such, for instance, as the assassination of a certain great personage, in his innocent eyes the greatest in the world! But if ever again, in my presence, any one dares to drop a hint on that subject, I swear the words shall be his last!”
CHAPTER XXXV.
“THE GRAY SISTER OF HEARTS.”
“Why should we dream youth’s draught of joy,
If pure, would sparkle less;
Or that the cup would sooner cloy
The Saviour deigned to bless?”
Ivan could afford just now to be very generous and very patient, because he was very happy. There was sunshine not only on his path but in his heart. Almost at the same time that the best of earthly blessings had been given him, he was given also the conscious possession of the love divine; and he received it in thankful, trustful joy. Christ had come to him, not in sorrow, as he comes to many, but making the brightest hours of life infinitely brighter by his presence.
He thought he had nothing to do but to tell Clémence the new happiness he had found, and that she would immediately understand and share it; that she would no longer be content to wait for acceptance with God until some future day, but would henceforth enjoy the glad consciousness of being already accepted in the Beloved. But to her tender conscience and thoughtful mind difficulties presented themselves which had never troubled the eager, impulsive Ivan. Her fears of self-deception, of presumption, of spiritual pride, raised up a host of shadowy disturbers of the peace within, which Ivan had not skill enough to combat. He urged her therefore to come with him and hear the teachers from whom he had learned so much.
Madame de Krudener had come to Paris, and established herself in a house adjoining the Elysée Bourbon, where she held what would now be called “drawing-room meetings,” to which all the rank and fashion of Paris were flocking. It was strange that for once religious meetings became the rage in the very stronghold of ungodliness, vice, and frivolity. Many of the visitors had their curiosity piqued by the extraordinary reports that reached them, and wished to ascertain the truth for themselves; many more “went to scoff,” and of these a goodly number “remained to pray.”[64] But the greatest attraction to these soirées was the hope of seeing the Emperor of Russia—a hope, however, not often gratified. Far from parading his religion, Alexander was strongly tempted to conceal it. His sensitive nature dreaded ridicule; and he was well aware that a profession of personal religion would expose him to the most polished shafts of that exquisite Parisian wit, which, keen as the scimitar of Saladin, could divide asunder, with fine, unerring touch, the most delicate fibres of thought and feeling. Even in Protestant London—which he always placed in honourable contrast to Paris for seriousness and morality—he had observed that religious laymen were looked upon almost with contempt. It was therefore not without much prayer and conflict that he took his stand on the side of God in the face of all the world.
He did not often mingle with the throng that filled the drawing-rooms of Madame de Krudener to overflowing on three or four evenings of every week; but he frequently came later, when his day’s work was over, for prayer and quiet study of the Scriptures. These hours of communion were prolonged until far into the night; yet he always rose at five in the morning, so that no man was able to reproach him with any lack of diligence in business, nor was any part of the heavy burden of care and responsibility that fell to his lot neglected or avoided.