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Late in the afternoon of the same day the splendour of the evening sun flooded the magically beautiful park surrounding the imperial palace of Zarskoë Selo; that park of which it is said, that a fallen leaf is never allowed to remain on the well-kept roads, that magnificent creation of the first Catharine, which a succession of mighty autocrats have embellished until it has attained the charms of Fairyland.
General von Knesebeck appeared from one of the side doors of the enormous castle, which with its ornaments of gilded bronze, and its colossal caryatides glittered in the rays of the setting sun from amidst dark masses of lofty trees. He had arrived that morning at Zarskoë Selo at the emperor's command, and he awaited an audience, during which he was to deliver a letter to the emperor from his king, who had sent the general to beg Alexander II. to interfere on his behalf.
Grave and sad, the general walked through the glorious alleys, lost in gloomy thought. The distinguished attention with which he had been received, the equipages and servants placed at his disposal, had not removed the impression made on him, both from his conversation with Prince Gortschakoff, and from the remarks of gentlemen about the court, that there was little hope for his king. They had all expressed sympathy and interest; but in the atmosphere of a court there is a certain fluid, always perceptible to those accustomed to such circles, from which they can almost always tell beforehand whether or no a mission will be successful.
The general had not approved of the policy of the Hanoverian court, his quick eyes had perceived the weakness of Austria, and he had deeply deplored the unaccountable command of the Hanoverian army during its short campaign. Many ties bound him to Prussia, and with his whole heart he grasped the thought of a United Germany; but he was a true servant to his king, and deep grief overwhelmed him when he thought of the future that was now inevitable, unless his mission attained success.
He walked slowly on, farther and farther, lost in thought.
Suddenly an artistically contrived ruin, producing an excellent effect, arose before him in the solitude, amongst lofty trees. He went up to it, a doorkeeper in the imperial livery obsequiously opened the door after glancing at the general's uniform, and he entered a lofty circular space lighted only from above, dark, severe, and simple, an English chapel. Before him in exquisite Carara marble rose a figure of Christ, Dannecker's marvellously beautiful creation. The Saviour with one hand points to his breast, the other is raised with inexpressible grandeur towards heaven.
The general stood still for a long time before this affecting figure.
"We must lay our sorrows on the Saviour's divine breast, and humbly await wisdom from heaven," he whispered, "does a secret warning draw me hither now, and lead me to this beautiful and holy image?"
Overcome by the powerful impression made upon him by this work of genius, he folded his hands and stood before it for some time.