At last even the pain abated, again everything hardened within him. Again he felt indifferent, and was only wearied by the drowsiness produced by this lifeless voice, which no longer wounded, but only dragged over him like a blunt saw.
To put an end to it and escape, he chose the first moment of silence to give his answer which he had prepared long since, with the same expressionless voice and face as his father’s.
“Most gracious Sovereign and Father, what else can I say, but that should you, because of my unfitness, take from me the inheritance of the Russian Crown, your will be done. I entreat you, my sovereign sire, most humbly let it be so! I consider myself incapable and unfit for the task, especially being deficient in memory, without which nothing can be done; and having grown weak in consequence of numerous ailments in body and soul, I cannot rule this great people, who need a stronger man than I can ever be. This is why I would desire to renounce all claim to the Russian throne even though I had no brother, but I have one, thanks to God. And I therefore in the sight of God finally renounce the Crown, and, if necessary, I am prepared to confirm the statement by my own handwriting. My children I leave to your goodwill; as for myself, I only ask to be fed till my death.”
Silence ensued. Nothing save the measured brass ticking of the hanging clock broke the hush of the wintry day.
“Your resignation is only a means to gain time, and is not sincere,” Peter said at last, “for if now you neither fear nor respect your father’s commands, how would you keep your word after his death? Your hardheartedness makes your oath of no value. David truly said, ‘All men are liars.’ Even if you yourself should desire to keep it, you could easily be influenced and prevailed upon by the ‘long beards,’ the priests and monks, who, because of their indolence are at present not held in high esteem, yet whom you favour exceedingly. It is impossible for you to remain as you desire, for you will be then neither fish nor fowl, but you must either change and clearly prove yourself worthy of a throne, or else become a monk. We cannot rest unless this choice be made, especially now that our health is giving way.”
Alexis remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ground, his face looking as lifeless as Peter’s. One mask confronted the other, and both bore a sudden, strange, phantom-like semblance; two contrasts resembled one another. It seemed that Peter’s round, wide, swollen face, reflected in the drawn haggard face of Alexis, as in a concave mirror, had become strangely narrow and long.
Peter too remained silent; his right cheek, the corner of his mouth and eye, the whole right side of his face began trembling, and twitching, until at last a convulsion ensued which contracted his face, neck, shoulder, arm and leg. Many supposed he was subject to epileptic fits, or was even possessed, because of these convulsive spasms which generally preceded fits of fury. Alexis could not as a rule look at his father without terror at such moments, but to-day he was calm, as if protected by an invisible, impenetrable armour. What more could his father do to him? Kill him! What matter? Was not what he had just done worse than murder?
“Why do you remain silent?” suddenly screamed Peter, banging his fist on the table, in one of those convulsive seizures which shook his whole body. “Take care, Alexis, you think I don’t know you? But I do, I see you through and through! You have rebelled against your own blood, you brat! you long for your own father’s death! O you hypocrite! You cursed sanctimonious humbug! You have probably learnt such behaviour from the priests and the monks! It was not for nothing that Christ ordered his disciples to fear nothing except this: ‘beware of the leaven of the Pharisees,’ which is no other thing than monkish hypocrisy and dissimulation!”
A malicious smile scarcely perceptible lighted up the downcast eyes of the Tsarevitch. He could hardly refrain from asking his father what was the meaning of the substitution of dates—October 11 for October 22—in the “Declaration to my son”? Where had the father learnt the arts of dissimulation, this deception, worthy of Petka the clerk, Petka the villain, or of Theodosius, the “Prince of this world,” with his “Divine intrigue,” his “heavenly diplomacy”?
“This is my last warning,” continued Peter, his voice becoming hard again, calm, passionless; he mastered his convulsions by a supreme effort of will, “consider it all well and when you have made a decision inform me at once of it, otherwise, be it known to you that I will disinherit you. Should my finger become gangrenous would I not be obliged to cut it off, though it be a part of my body? So also will I cut you off! And do not think that I speak this only to frighten you, verily I repeat it before God, I will do as I say, for I have not spared, nor do I spare, my life in the service of my country and people, and why should I spare you, who are worthless. Better a good stranger than a worthless son. This is why I repeat it, so that you may know that you may have these two alternatives clear: either mend your ways, or become a monk! And should you fail to do either——”