“Yes; and the King would go in to dinner before his guest, were that guest an Emperor,” said Emile. “Certainly no one can call Louis Dix-huit ‘only a gentleman.’”
“Prince Ivan may be trusted in matters of etiquette,” said Henri. He added apart to Clémence, “Do you remember, sister mine, the good things we two agreed to ask for the man who saved my life?”
“Love, joy, peace, God’s best gifts. And there is that in his face to-day, Henri, which makes me think God has heard and answered our prayer.”
They were not mistaken. A few words, spoken that evening to intimate friends, show how truly Alexander dwelt then in the secret place of the Most High. “This day has been the most glorious of my life, I shall never forget it,” he said; but never surely did king or conqueror give so unique a reason for his joy and triumph: “My heart has been filled with love for my enemies. I have been able to pray fervently for them all; and it is with tears and at the foot of the cross that I have prayed for the welfare of France.”
Such joy as this is like the name in the white stone, “which no man knoweth save he that receiveth it.” It would lose its beauty and its reality if passed from lip to lip as a common thing. Nor was it. It was told at the time in confidence to those who should have held it as a sacred trust; and the confidence was not violated until, for Alexander, all earthly joys and sorrows were no more. His joy was his own; but his faith was a thing to be confessed before all the world. And such a confession was the real meaning and purport of the celebrated Holy Alliance,—so greatly discussed, ridiculed, wondered over, blamed.
To Alexander, and to Alexander alone, belongs unquestionably the responsibility of this act, in which, not without much difficulty, he obtained the concurrence of his brother sovereigns. There is no doubt that it was his hand which penned the remarkable document itself, as well as the private letter which accompanied it when sent for signature to the English Prince Regent. A few words from this letter may explain his intention. “The events,” says Alexander, “which have afflicted the world for more than twenty years have convinced us that the only means of putting an end to them is to be found in the closest union between the sovereigns whom Divine Providence has placed at the head of the nations of Europe. The history of the three last memorable years is a proof of the happy effect this union has produced for the safety of mankind. But to assure to this bond the solidity required by the greatness and purity of the end to which it tends, it ought to be founded on the sacred principles of the Christian religion. Deeply penetrated by this important truth, we have signed the act we submit to-day to the meditation of your Royal Highness. You will see its object is to strengthen the ties uniting us, in forming the people of Christendom into one family, and in assuring to them, under the protection of the All-Powerful, the happiness and safety of peace in the ties of an indissoluble fraternity.”
The purpose of the Holy Alliance was threefold. It was firstly, as has been intimated, a solemn confession of faith in Christ, which Alexander, both as man and as sovereign, made for himself, and desired his brother sovereigns to make also. It was, moreover, a solemn declaration of the brotherhood and unity of all Christian nations. And, lastly and chiefly, it was a bond and pledge of peace. A stable, enduring, universal peace had been the dream of Alexander from the days of his youth. He had seen much of the miseries of war; and to his noble, sensitive, romantic spirit, ever full of longings for the happiness of humanity, the vision of terminating all these miseries, and ushering in a glad new period of joy, security, and prosperity, robed itself in the fairest colours. Once and again did he say, at different epochs, that he would willingly give his own life for the peace of the world. It was a poet’s dream, to be wrought out, not in the stately march of rhythmic words, but in the more enduring language of golden deeds.
Two good things, which seemed to bring nearer the fulfilment of his dream, happened almost at the same time. His great antagonist, the troubler of nations, who had hitherto made peace impossible, was laid low; while to himself Christ came in conscious, realized presence, saying to his soul, “I am thy salvation.” Was it strange if he thought the great work Christ had given him to do was to establish this longed-for peace upon the foundation of a firm and enduring faith in Him? “Oh, how happy I am!” said he in one of those moments of private intercourse with congenial friends in which heart and lips were opened. “My Saviour is with me. I am a great sinner, but he will make me his instrument in obtaining peace for the people. Oh, if all people would understand the ways of Providence, if they would but obey the gospel, how happy they would be!”
That splendid, impossible “if” was the rock upon which the whole project—like a gallant bark richly freighted—foundered and was wrecked. As it has been well said, “In desiring to Christianize the world, Alexander attempted the impossible. He vainly flattered himself that he could regulate according to the gospel the transactions of nations and individuals who had never submitted to the gospel; but it was the error of a noble heart, and so much the more excusable because, uniting in himself the civil and religious supremacy within his own empire, he had no means of ascertaining how far the reign of Christ is not of this world. Because he misconceived this truth, he sowed his path with inextricable difficulties, he saw his noble desires abandoned to ridicule.”[68]
If the leading statesmen of Europe, to each of whom in turn the Holy Alliance had to be submitted, did not venture to ridicule it openly, it was not so much because the document came from an imperial hand, as because they thought it involved them in difficulties of too grave a character. It was natural that Metternich and Talleyrand should hesitate to advise their sovereigns to sign such a paper; regarding it, as they did, as a mere rodomontade, with no more bearing upon practical business than a tale out of the Arabian Nights. Castlereagh’s letter to Lord Liverpool presents a vivid picture of these perplexities. He foresees that, “as Wilberforce is not yet in possession of the Great Seal,” there may be some difficulty in passing the document through the ordinary course of office; but he considerately hopes that no person will blame the Prince Regent for not refusing to sign it, “when the objection lies rather against the excessive excellence than the quality and nature of the engagement.”