“Become a monk,” urged Kikin, an old confidant of Alexis. “The monk’s hood is not nailed on his head; it will come off again; and meanwhile you will at least have peace.”
“I have rescued you from your father’s axe,” declared Prince Basil Dolgorúki. “Be of good cheer, there is nothing left for you to worry about. Write a thousand letters of resignation—of renunciation of the crown—if necessary. Time is with us. The old proverb says: ‘The snail has started on its way, but there’s no knowing when it will arrive.’ Your decision is not irrevocable.”
“It is well that you have not set your heart on the inheritance,” said Prince George Troubetzkoi, trying to console him; “‘is not gold the source of many tears?’”
With Kikin the Tsarevitch repeatedly talked over the possibility of a flight abroad, where he might live simply, away from everything, in peace.
“If it must be,” advised Kikin, “go to the Emperor at Vienna. You will be safe there. The Emperor said he would receive you like a son. Or else go to the Pope, or the French Court, even kings find refuge there. It would be easy for them to protect you.”
The Tsarevitch listened to these counsels, but unable to make up his mind, he lived from day to day waiting till the will of God should reveal itself.
Suddenly the whole situation changed. Peter’s death threatened to disturb not only Russia but the whole world. He, who but yesterday was thinking of hiding himself with beggars, might on the morrow ascend the throne.
Unexpected friends surrounded Alexis; they met, whispered, and consulted together,
“We must wait and see.”
“What will be, will be.”