“Alexis, suppose the Tsar is killed and you are sent for, will you side with the revolutionists?”
She glanced at him sideways, with a look which, had he not been so entirely preoccupied with his own thoughts, would have amazed him, or even made him aware of a secret sting in this question; but he noticed nothing.
“I don’t quite know yet,” he answered, after a short silence. “Should the summons come, I might side with them. But why build on probabilities? God’s will be done——” He stopped short, as if now only realizing what he was saying. “I only tell you this, Afrossinia, to show you how God works. My father plans one course, God follows His own!”
Exhausted with joy he sank into a chair, and, oblivious of Afrossinia’s presence, began talking to himself.
“There is printed information that the Swedish fleet has started for the Lithuanian shores to land troops. If this be true, great mischief will ensue. In Petersburg our Senators and Prince Ménshikoff will not work harmoniously together; and meanwhile our main forces are far away; there are quarrels and rivalries, the Swedes will be able to do great mischief. Petersburg lies within their reach; mind we don’t lose it as we lost Azov. Either the Swedes will take it from us, or else of itself it will fall into ruins. Petersburg will be destroyed, destroyed!“ he repeated with gusto his aunt’s habitual prophecy.
“And this apparent lull is also a bad omen. My uncle, Abraham Lopoukhin, writes that people of all ranks and classes inquire after me, sympathize with me, and are ready to stand by me; that there is already beginning a ferment round Moscow, also lower down along the Volga, the people will not remain unaffected. Is this to be wondered at? Have they not remained patient for so long! Ah, but it won’t pass by this time! I am sure their longsuffering will give out, and they will act in some way or other. Add to this the conspiracy in Mecklenburg, the Swedes, the Emperor, myself. Calamity threatens on all sides! the whole edifice is crumbling, tottering. It will, indeed, be a severance. Ah! father! you won’t have the best of it!”
For the first time in his life he felt himself to be a power, dangerous to his father. Joy was again well-nigh stifling him, as on that memorable night, during Peter’s illness, when, behind the frosted window in the moonlight, a wild turbulent snowstorm, a luminous blue chaos, was tossing itself about as in some mad delirium. Joy had intoxicated him even more than the wine of which he continued to drink glass after glass, his eyes fixed on the distant sea, also blue, luminous, and as it were throbbing with mad joy.
“In the German papers it is reported that my youngest brother, Petinka, had a narrow escape from being killed by a thunderbolt this summer at Peterhof. The nurse, who was carrying him, almost died from the shock; the soldier in attendance was actually killed. The babe’s health has suffered ever since. And yet what attention, what care has been bestowed on him! It is evident he won’t live long. Poor Petinka! his young soul is innocent before God. He is suffering, not for his own, but for his parents’ sins. Lord have mercy upon him. Here again is a clear manifestation of God’s will. I cannot understand how my father does not see it. It is awful to fall into the hands of the living God!”
“Who of the senators will espouse your cause?” suddenly queried Afrossinia; again that same strange spark flashed in her eyes and instantly died, as if a candle had been carried behind a curtain.
“And why should you trouble your head about it?” The Tsarevitch looked at her with surprise, he seemed to have entirely forgotten her presence, and only now realized that she had been listening to him the whole time. Afrossinia did not repeat her question; yet they both felt that a scarcely perceptible cloud had passed between them.