“Waiting to strive a happy strife,
To war with falsehood to the knife,
And not to lose the good of life.”
The following morning brought Ivan a request, equivalent of course to a command, that he would wait upon General Soltikoff. The Governor of St. Petersburg was a veteran approaching his eightieth year, and much and deservedly respected both by the sovereign and by the people. He received Ivan with remarkable courtesy. Although the ante-chamber was nearly full of persons awaiting an audience, and some of them were evidently of high rank, he sent for him almost immediately, and introduced him to his son and to others who were with him in the cabinet as a young nobleman who had acted a most heroic part during the Occupation of Moscow. Then addressing Ivan himself, he said, “The Emperor has commended you to my particular care. I am authorized to offer you at present a nomination for the Chevalier Guard.”
This was a great honour. In this splendid corps every private was a noble of the highest birth and a Knight of Malta. Upon state occasions the members formed the monarch’s guard of honour; they had the entrée to the receptions at the palace; they dined at the imperial table. Their uniform, upon which fabulous sums were expended, was a mantle of scarlet, with a massive silver cuirass bearing a large Maltese cross in relief; and the trappings of their priceless Arabian horses glittered with gold and jewels. Ivan, knowing all this, remained silent, his face a curious mixture of intense gratification and extreme embarrassment.
The kind old general beckoned him nearer and spoke in a lower tone. “I believe I understand your feelings, my young friend. You are thinking of the expenses the gentlemen of the Chevalier Guard usually take pride and pleasure in incurring—of their armour, their horses, and so forth. Upon that ground you need hesitate no longer. His Imperial Majesty has requested me to attend to all your requirements.”
“His goodness overpowers me,” said Ivan with emotion. “But, my general, that is not my only nor my chief reason for hesitation.”
“What other can you possibly have? My own grandson would give one of his eyes to be in your place.”
“My general, Napoleon is near Moscow, and the Chevaliers of the Imperial Guard are, I believe, in St. Petersburg.”
“So that is your objection! But they have not been there always, and they are not going to remain there now.”
“Is it not their duty and their honour to remain near the august person of their sovereign? and that—”