Their life in the capital was full of interest to Clémence and Ivan. The best and most brilliant society received them with open arms. Ivan’s comrades in the late war gathered round him, and many were their pleasant social meetings. Clémence was soon presented at Court, and won the marked approval of the dignified Empress Mother, and—what she prized much more highly—the favour of the gentle Empress Elizabeth. Both the Empresses found their chief enjoyment in assisting the Emperor in his works of mercy. The more active disposition of the elder led her to take delight in the management of the great Foundling Hospital (her especial favourite); also in the establishment for the education of young ladies; in the School for the Deaf and Dumb, where the methods of the Abbé Sicard were being carried out with diligence and success; and in many other institutions, which were either founded or fostered by the benevolence of Alexander. When the Winter Palace set the example, it was no marvel that charity became the fashion in St. Petersburg. Not from fashion, but from a far higher motive, Clémence and Ivan engaged heartily in such pursuits, spending much of their leisure and their substance in the work of serving “Christ in his poor.”
There were at this time in the best society of St. Petersburg two distinct religious circles, differing widely, and each in its own way very influential. At the Sardinian Embassy, the “old man eloquent,” Count de Maistre,—with his white hair and eyes of fire, his “esprit fin” indescribable in English, his keen, quick sympathies, and his brave, high, chivalrous spirit,—strove hard to turn the stream of religious thought into a strong and steady current leading Romewards. He was worthy to have been the champion of a better cause; but he and those like him never really knew for what they were contending. They were as loyal-hearted soldiers who fight and die heroically beneath the banner of a usurper, honestly believing they are serving their true king. Madame Svetchine, Countess Tolstoi, and other devout women, were just then yielding to the fascination of De Maistre’s eloquence; and a colony of Jesuits, zealous, active, and not over-scrupulous, were furthering the work of proselytism after their peculiar fashion.
Around Prince Galitzin, Alexander Tourgenieff, Princess Metchersky, and others of a similar character, there gathered a very different circle—earnest students of Scripture, simple evangelical Christians, with whom faith and love were the fulfilling of the law, and forms occupied a very subordinate place. These were in constant communication with the leaders of the evangelical movement in other countries, and especially with the agents of the Bible Society. They knew themselves the objects of suspicion and aversion, not only to the Romanizing party, but also to the zealous members of the Greek Church, the men of the old school, who were strongly attached to things as they were, and jealous of all reform. But they were strengthened by the knowledge that the heart of the Emperor was with them, though his sense of justice made him endeavour to hold the balance evenly between the contending parties, and his natural attachment to the Church of which he was the head deterred him from any course that he thought likely to endanger its stability or weaken its influence. Ivan from the first, and eventually Clémence also, gave a decided preference to the society of Galitzin and his friends; although they occasionally frequented the Sardinian Embassy, and Clémence found a warm personal friend in the Countess Tolstoi.
The Christmas festivities drew on, and Clémence and Ivan were amongst the guests invited to the grand ball and supper given at the Winter Palace to celebrate the Emperor’s birthday. Ivan was extremely anxious that Clémence should be present at one of these magnificent entertainments, which had all the brilliancy imperial wealth and splendour could give, with the addition of what does not always accompany them—the charm of exquisite taste and “sovereign elegance.” He returned from the levee, where he had spent most of the day, in high spirits and full of pleasurable anticipation. But his surprise was great to find Clémence, still in her usual dress, bending with a troubled face over the cot in which their little Rosebud lay.
“Surely there is nothing wrong with our darling?” he said, stooping tenderly over the sleeping babe. “It cannot be. She was so bright and full of life when I left you this morning.”
“There is something wrong,” Clémence whispered, looking up, but scarcely stirring, for the little hand of the sleeping child had closed about her mother’s finger. “I cannot but be anxious, since that terrible attack of croup she had when the cold weather began. Listen!—her breathing is still quick, though quieter now than an hour ago. But I must be here to do what is wanted—and to do it at once. I cannot go with you, Ivan,” she said pleadingly.
Ivan was greatly disappointed, but he would not combat his wife’s resolve. After a pause, he said gently, “It shall be as you like, dearest. I see little Rosebud is stronger than the Czar.”
“Say all that is right for me,” Clémence continued. “But I don’t think you will have any trouble there. We have not only imperial courtesy to deal with, but kind hearts and true.”
“Hearts that often bleed beneath their purple trappings,” Ivan answered. “The Empress Elizabeth does not appear at this ball: she is mourning to-night for the death of a little girl whom she had adopted, and to whom she was tenderly attached. ‘Every one dies in whom I take an interest,’ she says. Perhaps her own frail health makes her look the more sorrowfully upon all things. Pray for her, Clémence.”
“Indeed I will. How the happy ought to pray for those on whom life’s shadows seem to fall! We have all sunshine, Ivan.”