Besides the great ceremony of which the world was talking,[18] another, known to one only, took place in the church that day. Ivan drew out the piece of gold his boyar’s hand had given him, and which, ever since, had hung round his neck. He kissed it, and made a solemn vow upon it, “Faithfully to serve my Czar; to live for him all my days; and, if God will, to die for him.”
Yet once more his eyes sought the face of his sovereign, and never wandered from it until the service was concluded. But little could he guess what was passing in the soul of which that expressive countenance was sometimes the too faithful index.
Alexander’s own hand has sketched for us in a few slight touches the conflicts of that period. Not then, nor ever, so far as we know, did the thought of St. Sergius, or of any other human mediator, interpose itself between his soul and the Divine Presence. But for some time past he had been wrestling hard in secret with questions which go down to the very roots of a man’s being. Was there a God in heaven whose ear could be reached by that cry from human lips, “Gospodin Pomilvi”? And, if so, was he the “invented God,” the “God afar off” of the deist and the philosopher; or the God of the Bible, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ? Already these questions were answered for him, almost with assurance; but there still remained another. Would this God hear and help a man who was kneeling before him on behalf of fifty millions of other men whose destinies were committed to his keeping? Would he deign to touch him with his hand, to strengthen him with his strength? In those days the soul of Alexander was feeling after God, if haply he might find him.
The service over, Ivan repaired to the Hall of Nobles, as one whose rank entitled him to find entrance there. He had to content himself with an obscure place in the crowded assembly, where he could not see the Czar, although he could hear his voice. In a noble address, Alexander laid before his subjects the full extent of the public danger. He concealed nothing; the strength of the invaders, the position of the army, its perils, its resources, its needs, all were revealed with a large-minded candour which would have honoured the constitutional monarch of a free people. In conclusion, he said that he “regarded the zeal of the nobility as the firmest support of the throne. In all times and on all occasions it has proved the faithful defender of the integrity and glory of Russia.” Here his voice thrilled, faltered with emotion, and he paused amidst a universal cry that seemed to shake the massive roof and walls of the grand old hall—“Ask what you please, sire; we offer you everything.”
One of the nobles proposed the gift of a serf in every twenty-five; but a chorus of eager voices interrupted, “It is not half enough!” Finally, one serf in every ten, ready armed and equipped, and provided for three months, was unanimously voted for the service of the Czar.[19]
While all this went on, Ivan sat in his place, silent and sad at heart. He had nothing to give,—nothing but his life; yet that, perhaps, might count for something hereafter.
In the meantime, a scene equally significant was taking place in the adjacent Hall of Merchants. Old Petrovitch repaired thither with the rest, leaning on the arm of his youthful guide Feodor, his eldest son, who ought to have accompanied him, being absent at the time. “I cannot see the face of the Lord’s anointed,” he said, “but I can hear his voice.” This assembly, like the other, was densely crowded. Feodor contrived to find standing room upon the edge of a seat; and from this vantage-ground he was able to look over the heads of the throng of grave, bearded merchants. “Grandfather,” he whispered, “the Czar is not here; only the Governor.”
“God save his Excellency Count Rostopchine! Hearts of steel, such as his, are sorely needed now,” the old man responded.
“But we can see him any day we like. It is the Czar we want to see,” grumbled Feodor.
“Patience, boy; he is coming,” said one of the merchants near them. “And, while we wait for him, it is his words the count is going to give us, not his own.”