We may well conceive that it was not without inward pain and self-reproach that the benevolent Alexander stifled in his heart the voice that rose in favour of the Greeks, and resisted the wishes of his people, who were animated by a lively sympathy for their co-religionists. That sympathy was manifested as strongly as it could be under this despotic government, where every outward demonstration is interdicted, unless when specially commanded or permitted by authority. They could not see without surprise the head of the so-styled orthodox church enduring the outrages of the infidels, and looking on unmoved whilst one of her chief pastors was hung at the porch of his church, and multitudes of her children were massacred. These Greeks had of late been regarded as under the protection of Russia; she was their old ally—nay, more, their accomplice, who had more than once instigated them to break their chains. The supineness of the emperor under such circumstances mortified the nobility, shocked the clergy, and was a subject of sincere affliction to the people, for whom, in their debased condition, religious sentiments held the place of political emotions.
High and low obeyed, however; murmurs were suppressed; but the Russians failed not to attribute to the wrath of God the misfortunes which befel Alexander, amongst which was the malady with which he was afflicted in 1824. It began with erysipelas in the leg, which soon spread upwards, and was accompanied with fever and delirium. For a time his life was in danger, and the people, who sincerely loved him, believed that they saw in this a punishment from on high because he had abandoned an orthodox nation.
THE GREAT INUNDATION OF 1824
[1824 A.D.]
Another misfortune was a frightful calamity which befel St. Petersburg in 1824. The mouth of the Neva, opening westward into the gulf of Finland, is exposed to the violent storms that often accompany the autumnal equinox. They suddenly drive the waters of the gulf into the bed of the river, which then casts forth its accumulated floods upon the low quarters on both its banks. It may be conceived how terrible is the destruction which the unchained waters make in a city built upon a drained marsh, on the eve of a northern winter of seven months’ duration. There were terrific inundations in 1728, 1729, 1735, 1740, 1742, and in 1777, a few days before the birth of Alexander; but the worst of all was that which occurred on the 19th of November, 1824, a year before his death. A storm blowing from the west and southwest with extreme violence, forced back the waters of the Neva, and drove those of the gulf into it.[e]
At eight o’clock in the morning the waters began to rise rapidly and had soon submerged all the lower parts of the town. On the Nevski Prospect the water had reached the Troitski Perenlok, and by twelve three parts of the town were submerged, owing to a southwesterly wind which rose to a violent tempest. At a quarter to three the waters began suddenly to subside. The emperor was profoundly moved by the awful calamity which took place before his eyes, and in the gloomy frame of mind that had possession of him he regarded it as a punishment for his sins. As soon as the water had so far subsided as to make it possible to drive through the streets he set off for the Galernaia (in the lower part of the town). There a terrible picture of destruction was unfolded before him. Visibly affected he stopped and got out of the carriage; he stood for a few moments without speaking, the tears flowing down his cheeks: the people, sobbing and weeping, surrounded him: “God is punishing us for our sins,” said someone in the crowd. “No, for mine,” answered the emperor sorrowfully, and he himself began to give orders about arranging temporary refuge and affording assistance to the sufferers. On the next day, the 8th (20th) of November, Count Araktcheiev, Alexander’s favourite, wrote the following letter to the emperor:
“I could not sleep all night, knowing what your state of mind must be, for I am convinced how much your majesty must be now suffering from the calamity of yesterday. But God certainly sometimes sends such misfortunes in order that His chosen ones may show in an unusual degree their compassionate care for the unfortunate. Your majesty will of course do so in the present case. For this money is necessary and money without delay, in order to give assistance, not to the well-to-do but to the poorest. Your subjects must help you, and therefore I venture to submit my idea to you.
“The wise dispositions that you made, batushka,[65] with regard to my insignificant labours have constituted a tolerably considerable capital. In my position I have not required to use any of this capital even as table money, and now I ask as a reward that a million may be separated from the capital and employed in assisting the poor people. God will certainly give his help in this matter to the benefit of the country and the glory of your majesty, and bring about a still better means for its accomplishment. Batushka, order that a committee may be formed of compassionate people, in order that they may without delay occupy themselves with the relief of the poorest. They will glorify your name, and I, hearing it, shall thus enjoy the greatest pleasure on earth.”
The emperor answered Count Araktcheiev the same day in a few gracious lines, full of heartfelt gratitude: “We are in complete agreement in our ideas, dear Alexis Andreivitch. Your letter has comforted me inexpressibly, for it is impossible that I should not be deeply grieved at the calamity of yesterday, and especially at the thought of those who have perished or who mourn for relatives. Come to me to-morrow so that we may arrange everything. Ever your sincerely affectionate Alexander.”