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 ALEXANDER AND THE GREEK UPRISING

We have now touched upon all that is worthy

[1822 a.d.] of note in Alexander’s home policy during the
last ten years of his reign. That portion of his life
was spent in perpetual motion and perpetual agitation to little or no
good purpose, whilst his proper functions were delegated to Count
Araktcheiev, whose name was a word of terror to everyone in
Russia. Absorbed by affairs foreign to the interests of his empire,
Alexander was consistent or persevering in nothing but his efforts to
enforce the dark, stagnant policy of Austria, which had become that
of the Holy Alliance. He was present at the congresses of Aix-la-
Chapelle, Troppau, Laibach, and Verona, and zealously participated
in all the repressive measures concerted there. He was the soul of
the deliberations held at the latter place in 1822, and whilst he
refused aid to the Greeks in their rebellion against their “legitimate
sovereign,” the sultan, he was all but inclined to use constraint to his
ally, France, to compel her, in spite of the opposition of England, to
take upon herself the execution of the violent measures resolved on
in behalf of the execrable Ferdinand of Spain. A speech made at this
congress to Châteaubriand, the French plenipotentiary, has been
praised by some of the emperor’s biographers for its “noble
sentiments.” To us it seems well worthy of record for its unconscious
sophistry and signal display of self-delusion.
“I am very happy,” said the emperor to Châteaubriand, “that you
came to Verona, because you may now bear witness to the truth.
Would you have believed, as our enemies are so fond of asserting,
that the alliance is only a word intended to cover ambition? That
might have received a colour of truth under the old order of things,
but now all private interests disappear when the civilisation of the
world is imperilled. Henceforward there can be no English, French,
Russian, Prussian, or Austrian policy; there can only be a general
policy, involving the salvation of all, admitted in common by kings
and peoples. It is for me, the first of all, to declare my appreciation of
the principles on which I founded the Holy Alliance. An opportunity
presents itself; it is the Greek insurrection. Certainly no event
appeared more adapted to my personal interests, to those of my
subjects, and to the feelings and prejudices of the Russians, than a
religious war against Turkey; but in the troubles of the Peloponnesus
I saw revolutionary symptoms, and from that moment I held aloof.
What has not been done to dissolve the alliance? Attempts have
been made by turns to excite my cupidity, or to wound my self-love; I
have been openly outraged; the world understood me very badly if it
supposes that my principles could be shaken by vanities, or could
give way before resentment. No, no; I will never separate myself
from the monarchs with whom I am united. It should be permitted to
kings to form public alliances, to protect themselves against secret
associations. What temptations can be offered to me? What need
have I to extend my empire? Providence has not placed under my
command eight hundred thousand soldiers to satisfy my ambition,
and to conserve those principles of order on which society must
repose.”
This was not the language of “noble sentiment,” but of an intellect
narrowed by sinister influences, perverted to the views of a most
sordid policy, and flattering itself on its own debasement with the
maudlin cant of philanthropy.
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

Another misfortune was a frightful calamity

[1824 a.d.] 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.”
The emperor sent a note of the following content to Adjutant-
General Diebitsch: “In order to afford effectual relief to the sufferers
from the inundation of the 7th of November, and on account of the
destruction of the bridges and the difficulties of communication
between the various parts of the town, the following military
governors are temporarily appointed under the direction of the
military governor-general, Count Miloradovitch: for Vasili Oetroo,
Adjutant-General Benkendorv; for the St. Petersburg side, Adjutant-
General Komarovski; and for the Viboz side, Adjutant-General
Depreradovitch.”
On the 8th of November the
emperor sent for the newly
appointed military governors and
declared his will to them—that
the most speedy and effectual
assistance should be given to
the unfortunate sufferers from
the awful catastrophe. Count
Komarovski, in describing the
reception given to him and the
other military governors, says
that tears were observed in the
emperor’s eyes. “I am sure that
you share my feelings of
compassion,” continued Tverski Gate, Moscow
Alexander; “here are your
instructions, which have been
hastily drawn up—your hearts will complete them. Go from here
straight to the minister of finance who has orders to give each of you
100,000 rubles to begin with.” According to Komarovski the emperor
spoke with such feeling and eloquence that all the assembled
governors were deeply touched.
At the time of the inundation in a space of five hours about 5,000
persons perished and 3,609 domestic animals; 324 houses were
destroyed or carried away, and 3,581 damaged; besides this
pavements, foot ways, quays, bridges, etc., were either destroyed or
damaged. Considerable destruction and damage was also
occasioned in the environs of the capital, on the Petershov road, in
old Petershov, Oranienbaum, and Kronstadt, along the northern
shore. More than 100 persons perished in these places, while 114
buildings were destroyed and 187 damaged.
On the 22nd of November the emperor assisted at a requiem
service in the Kazan cathedral for those who had perished during the
inundation. The historian Karamzin writes that the people as they
listened to the requiem wept and gazed at the czar.b

THE CLOSE OF ALEXANDER’S REIGN

The czar, deeply affected by the sad spectacles he had witnessed,

never recovered from the shock. This increased his disgust of life
and the heavy melancholy that had of late being growing upon him.
The whole aspect of Europe gave fearful tokens that the policy of the
Holy Alliance was false and untenable; it was everywhere the subject
of execration, and its destruction was the aim of an almost universal
conspiracy, extending even into Alexander’s own dominions. Poland
inspired him with deep alarm, and his native country, notwithstanding
her habits of immobility, seemed ripe for convulsions. Thus his public
life was filled with disappointment and care, and his private life was
deeply clouded with horrors.
The diet of Warsaw had become so refractory, that in 1820
Alexander had found it necessary to suspend it, in violation of the
constitution given by himself; and though he opened a new diet in
1824, he did so under such restrictions, that the Poles rightly
considered it a mere mockery of representative forms.
 Russia herself was by no means tranquil. In the year 1824
insurrections of the peasants occurred in several governments, and
especially in that of Novgorod, in dangerous vicinity to the first-
founded of the military colonies. The latter themselves shared the
general discontent, and threatened to become a fearful focus of
rebellion, as was actually the case in 1832. There existed also in
Russia other centres of disaffection, the existence of which might
have been long before known to Alexander, but for his culpable habit
of allowing petitions to collect in heaps in his cabinet without even
breaking their seals. He, however, learned the fact on his last
journey into Poland in June, 1825, or immediately after his return.[66]
He then received the first intimation of the conspiracy which had for
many years been plotting against himself and against the existing
order of things in Russia—a conspiracy which, as many believe,
involved the perpetration of regicide. It is a curious fact, but one by
no means unparalleled, that in a country where the police is so
active, such a plot should have remained for years undetected. In
1816, several young Russians who had served in the European
campaigns of the three preceding years, and who had directed their
attention to the secret associations which had so greatly contributed
to the liberation of Germany, conceived the idea of establishing
similar associations in Russia; and this was the origin of that abortive
insurrection which broke out in St. Petersburg on the day when the
troops were required to take the oath of allegiance to Alexander’s
successor.
These details would be sufficient of themselves to account for the
melancholy that haunted Alexander in the later years of his reign,
and which was painfully manifest in his countenance. But he had to
undergo other sufferings.
He was not more than sixteen years of age
[1825 a.d.] when his grandmother, Catherine II, had
married him to the amiable and beautiful
princess Maria of Baden, then scarcely fifteen.[67] The match was
better assorted than is usually the case in the highest conditions of
life, but it was not a happy one. It might have been so if it had been
delayed until the young couple were of more mature years, and had
not the empress unwisely restricted their freedom after marriage,
and spoiled her grandson as a husband by attempting to make him a
good one in obedience to her orders. Moreover, the tie of offspring
was wanting which might have drawn the parents’ hearts together,
for two daughters, born in the first two years of their union, died
early. Alexander formed other attachments, one of which with the
countess Narishkin, lasted eleven years, until it was dissolved by her
inconstancy. She had borne him three children; only one was left, a
girl as beautiful as her mother, who was now the sole joy of her
father’s sad heart. But the health of Sophia Narishkin was delicate,
and he was compelled to part with her, that she might be removed to
a milder climate. She returned too soon, and died on the eve of her
marriage, in her eighteenth year. The news was communicated to
Alexander one morning when he was reviewing his guard. “I receive
the reward of my deeds,” were the first words that escaped from his
agonised heart.
Elizabeth, whose love had survived long years of neglect, had
tears to shed for the daughter of her rival, and none sympathised
more deeply than she with the suffering father. He began to see in
her what his people had long seen, an angel of goodness and
resignation; his affection for her revived, and he strove to wean her
from the bitter recollections of the past by his constant and devoted
attention. But long-continued sorrows had undermined Elizabeth’s
health, and her physicians ordered that she should be removed to
her native air. She refused, however, to comply with this advice,
declaring that the wife of the emperor of Russia should die nowhere
else than in his dominions. It was then proposed to try the southern
provinces of the empire, and Alexander selected for her residence
the little town of Taganrog, on the sea of Azov, resolving himself to
make all the arrangements for her reception in that remote and little
frequented spot. A journey of 1800 versts, after the many other
journeys he had already made since the opening of the year, was a
fatigue too great for him to sustain without injury, suffering as he still
was from erysipelas; but he was accustomed to listen to no advice
on the subject of his movements, and two or three thousand versts
were nothing in his estimation; besides, on this occasion, in the very
fatigue of travelling he sought his repose: he would fulfil a duty which
was to appease his conscience. He quitted St. Petersburg in the
beginning of September, 1825, preceding the empress by several
days. His principal travelling companions were Prince Volkhonski,
one of the friends of his youth of whom we have already heard; his
aide-de-camp general, Baron Diebitsch, a distinguished military man
who had been made over to him by the king of Prussia; and his
physician, Sir James Wylie, who had been about his person for thirty
years, and was at the head of the army medical department.
The journey was prosperous, and was accomplished with
Alexander’s usual rapidity in twelve days, the travellers passing over
150 versts a day; but his mind was oppressed with gloomy
forebodings, and these were strengthened by the sight of a comet;
for though brought up by a philosophic grandmother, and by a free-
thinking tutor, he was by no means exempt from superstition. “Ilia,”
he called out to his old and faithful coachman, “have you seen the
new star? Do you know that a comet always presages misfortune?
But God’s will be done!” A very favourable change having taken
place in the empress’s health in Taganrog, Alexander ventured to
leave her early in October, for a short excursion through the Crimea.
On the 26th of that month Dr. Robert Lee, family physician to Count
Vorontzov was one of the emperor’s guests at Alupka. He relates
that at dinner Alexander repeatedly expressed how much he was
pleased with Orianda, where he had been that day, and stated that it
was his determination to have a palace built there as expeditiously
as possible. “To my amazement,” says Dr. Lee, “he said after a
pause, ‘When I give in my demission, I shall return and fix myself at
Orianda, and wear the costume of the Taurida.’ Not a word was
uttered when this extraordinary resolution was announced, and I
thought that I must have misunderstood the emperor; but this could
not have been, for in a short time, when Count Vorontzov proposed
that the large open flat space of ground to the westward of Orianda
should be converted into pleasure-grounds for his majesty, he
replied: ‘I wish this to be purchased for General Diebitsch, as it is
right that the chief of my état-major and I should be neighbours.’”
During the latter part of his tour in the Crimea, Alexander had
some threatenings of illness, but peremptorily refused all medical
treatment. He returned to Taganrog on the 17th of November, with
evident symptoms of a severe attack of the bilious remittent fever of
the Crimea. He persisted in rejecting medical aid until it was too late,
and died on the 1st of December. For a long time the belief prevailed
throughout Europe that he had been assassinated; but it is now
established beyond question that his death was a natural one. The
empress survived him but five months.
Alexander’s last days were embittered by fresh disclosures
brought to him by General Count de Witt, respecting the conspiracy
by which, if the official report is to be believed, he was doomed to
assassination. From that time he declared himself disgusted with life.
Once when Sir James Wylie was pressing him to take some
medicine, “My friend,” said Alexander, “it is the state of my nerves to
which you must attend; they are in frightful disorder.”—“Alas!”
rejoined the physician, “that happens more frequently to kings than
to ordinary men.”—“Yes,” said the emperor, with animation, “but with
me in particular there are many special reasons, and at the present
hour more so than ever.” Some days afterwards, when his brain was
almost delirious, the czar gazed intently on the doctor, his whole
countenance manifesting intense fear. “Oh, my friend,” he exclaimed,
“what an act, what a horrible act! The monsters! the ungrateful
monsters! I designed nothing but their happiness.”e
“It is difficult to represent the condition of St. Petersburg during the
last years of the reign of the emperor Alexander,” writes a
contemporary. “It was as though enveloped in a moral fog;
Alexander’s gloomy views, more sad than stern, were reflected in its
inhabitants. Many people said: What does he want more? He stands
at the zenith of power. Each one explained after his own fashion the
inconsolable grief of the emperor. For a man who must live to all
eternity, who was famed as the friend of liberty, and who had out of
necessity become her oppressor, it was grievous to think that he
must renounce the love of his contemporaries and the praise of
posterity. Many other circumstances and some family ones also
weighed on his soul. The last years of Alexander’s life,” writes in
conclusion the eye-witness of these sorrowful days, “may be termed
a prolonged eclipse.”
 The Death of Alexander I

On the 1st of December, 1825, a truly great misfortune fell upon

Russia: the best of European sovereigns had ceased to exist. When
he vanished from the political arena, only the finer side of his life
came into view; the remainder was given over to oblivion. A
contemporary who was at the same time a poet writes: “You see
arising before you that beautiful spirit that was welcomed with such
joy in 1801; you see that glorious czar to whom Russia owes the
years 1813 and 1814; you see the comforter of the people after last
year’s inundation; you see that gracious, benevolent man who was
so amiable in personal intercourse,” and who, in the words of
Speranski, will ever remain a true charmer. There was much that
was ideally beautiful in his soul, he sincerely loved and desired good,
and attained to it. There was indeed cause for grief, particularly in
view of the uncertainty of the future that awaited Russia, which,
according to the picturesque expression of a Russian writer after the
death of Alexander, had, as it were, to enter a cold, uninviting
passage to a long dark tunnel. This was a feeling that was shared by
many contemporaries.
Independently of the grief which fell upon all Russia, for the
persons who had surrounded the deceased monarch at his death a
truly tragic moment had approached. Far from the capital and from
all the members of the imperial family, in an isolated town (Taganrog)
of the Russian empire, at two thousand versts from the centre of
government the terrible question arose: Who would now be emperor,
to whom was the oath of allegiance to be taken, and by whom in
future would orders issue? Moreover, it was amidst the ramifications
of a vast conspiracy and a universal fermentation that these
questions presented themselves.
“The sphinx, undivined even to the grave,” as the poet justly called
Alexander, had not revealed his royal will, and even in view of the
inevitable end he had not considered it necessary to refer by a single
word or hint to the question that was of such crucial interest to the
welfare of Russia. On the contrary, during the last days of his life
Alexander had as though consciously set aside all earthly matters
and died like a private individual who has closed his accounts with
the world. Therefore it is not surprising that he failed to indicate the
successor he had chosen; being satisfied with the dispositions he
had previously made in secret, he seemed to think: “After my death
they will open my will and testament and will learn to whom Russia
belongs.”
During the life of Alexander no one knew of the existence of the
act naming the grand duke Nicholas Pavlovitch heir to the throne
except three state dignitaries: Count Araktcheiev, Prince A. N.
Galitzin, and the archbishop of Moscow, Philaret. By a fatal
concurrence of circumstances, not one of them was present at the
decease of the emperor at Taganrog. Of the three persons of
confidence who were with Alexander, Adjutant-general Prince
Volkonski, Baron Diebitsch, and Tchernichev, not one was aware that
the elder brother’s right to the succession of the throne had been
transferred to the second. Adjutant-general Diebitsch afterwards said
to Danilevski: “The emperor, who had confided many secrets to me,
never, however, told me a word of this. Once we were together at the
settlement, and he, directing the conversation to the grand duke
Nicholas Pavlovitch, said, “You must support him.” I concluded from
these words only that, judging from the age of the grand duke, he
might be expected to outlive the emperor and the czarevitch, in
which case he would naturally be their successor.”
Such were the limits of the knowledge that Diebitsch had at his
disposal in Taganrog as the question of the succession. Nor did
Prince Volkonski know anything about the matter. Even the empress
Elizabeth Alexievna was in the same ignorance regarding the
rejection of the grand duke Constantine Pavlovitch.
“When the illness of Alexander at Taganrog no longer gave any
hopes of recovery,” relates Diebitsch, “Prince Volkonski advised me
to ask the empress to whom, in case of the emperor’s death, I as
chief of his majesty’s general staff must address myself, for my
position was one of very great difficulty; I was left chief of the army at
a time when instances of a conspiracy were being disclosed. I could
not decide upon personally proposing such a question to the
empress, fearing to distress her, besides which, although I enjoyed
her favour, yet it was not to such a degree as Prince Volkonski, who
was the friend of the imperial family; therefore I urgently requested
him to take upon himself this explanation with the empress. He only
consented under the condition that I should be present. We went
together into the room where the emperor was lying unconscious,
and Prince Volkonski, going up to Elizabeth Alexievna said to her
that I, as chief of the staff, requested her to say to whom, in case of
misfortune, I was to address myself? ‘Is the emperor then so ill that
there is no hope?’ asked the empress. ‘God alone can help and save
the emperor: only the tranquillity and security of Russia demand that
the traditional forms should be observed,’ answered the prince
Volkonski.
“‘Of course in case of an unhappy event the grand duke
Constantine Pavlovitch must be referred to,’ said the empress. The
words plainly proved the empress’ ignorance as to who was named
heir to the throne. Prince Volkonski and I supposed that the late
emperor Alexander had made a will, for he had an envelope with a
paper in it always with him, which never left him. When we opened it
after his death we found that it contained some written-out prayers.”
Such being the position of affairs it only remained for Adjutant-
general Diebitsch to inform the czarevitch Constantine Pavlovitch in
Warsaw of the melancholy event, as the person who, according to
the law of succession, had become emperor of all the Russias. It
was then that Diebitsch wrote a letter to the empress Marie
Feodorovna in which he said in conclusion: “I humbly await the
commands of our new lawful sovereign, the emperor Constantine
Pavlovitch.” The act of the decease of the emperor Alexander was
drawn up in Taganrog, annexed to the report of Baron Diebitsch,
dated December 1st, 1825, and sent to the emperor Constantine.b

ALISON’S ESTIMATE OF ALEXANDER I

Majestic in figure, a benevolent expression of countenance, gave

Alexander I that sway over the multitude which ever belongs to
physical advantages in youthful princes; while the qualities of his
understanding and the feelings of his heart secured the admiration of
all whose talents fitted them to judge of the affairs of nations.
Misunderstood by those who formed their opinion only from the ease
and occasional levity of his manner, he was early formed to great
determinations, and evinced in the most trying circumstances, during
the French invasion and the congress of Vienna, a solidity of
judgment equalled only by the strength of his resolution. He had
formed, early in life, an intimacy with the Polish prince, Czartorinski,
and another attachment, of a more tender nature, to a lady of the
same nation; and in consequence he considered the Poles so dear
to him, that many of the best informed patriots in that country hailed
his accession to the throne as the first step towards the restoration of
its nationality. A disposition naturally generous and philanthropic,
moulded by precepts of Laharpe, had strongly imbued his mind with
liberal principles, which shone forth in full and perhaps dangerous
lustre when he was called on to act as the pacificator of the world
after the fall of Paris. But subsequent experience convinced him of
the extreme danger of prematurely transplanting the institutions of
one country into another in a different stage of civilisation; and his
later years were chiefly directed to objects of practical improvement,
and the preparation of his subjects, by the extension of knowledge
and the firmness of government, for those privileges which, if
suddenly conferred, would have involved in equal ruin his empire
and himself.g

SKRINE’S ESTIMATE OF ALEXANDER I

Of Alexander I it may be truly said that no monarch ever wielded

unlimited power with a loftier resolve to promote the happiness of his
people. And not theirs alone; for he sympathised with all the myriads
doomed to suffering by false ideals and effete institutions. In him
men saw the long-expected Messiah who was to give peace to a
distracted world. But his nature had an alloy of feminine weakness,
unfitting him to bear the reformer’s cross. He was too sensitive of
impressions derived from without; too easily led by counsellors who
gained his confidence but were not always worthy of it. In youth he
was swayed by noble infatuations and enamoured of the most
diverse ideas in turn. But when he stood confronted with a crisis in
his country’s fortunes he rose superior to vacillation and kept a great
design steadily in view. The will-power thus developed, and the
resources at his command, made him for a brief period the leading
figure in the civilised world. Despondency came with the inevitable
reaction which followed the effort. He was drawn into the mazes of
German illuminism, which lessened his capacity for persistent
resolve. Its effect was heightened by his failure to pierce the dense
phalanxes of ignorance around him, and by the unvarying ingratitude
which requited his efforts for the public weal. Increasing physical
weakness hastened the death of his generous illusions. An
excessive devotion to duty exhausted his flagging powers and he
became unequal to the task of governing all the Russias. As a dying
tree is strangled by parasitical growths, so was Alexander in his
decadence attacked by the enemies of human progress. When
Metternich and Araktcheiev gained the mastery, all hope of domestic
reform and consistent foreign policy disappeared. But despite the
shadows which darkened his declining years, Alexander I of Russia
will stand out in history as one of the few men born in the purple who
rightly appraised the accident of birth and the externals of imperial
rank; who held opinions far in advance of his age, and never wittingly
abused his limitless powers; who displayed equal firmness in danger
and magnanimity in the hour of triumph.h

FOOTNOTES

[60] In the year 1812 Alexander had granted a charter to the

Jesuit College of Polotsk, raising it to the rank of an “academy”
and giving it rights and privileges equal to those of the university;
he was then probably governed by political considerations
concerning Poland, and in the charter he refers to the college as
“affording great advantages for the education of youth” and trusts
that the “Jesuits will labour in Poland dans le bon sens” (along the
right lines.)
[61] Much earlier, in 1807, the emperor had expressed himself
to General Savari upon this question in the following words: “I
want to bring the country out of the state of barbarism in which
this traffic in men leaves it. I will say more—if civilisation were
more advanced, I would abolish this slavery even if it were to cost
me my head.”
[62] Étienne de Grelle Mobillier was born in France in 1760 and
was brought up in the Roman Catholic faith. At the beginning of
the French Revolution he went to America and there entered the
society of Friends or Quakers. He subsequently repeatedly visited
Europe with various philanthropic aims, mainly in order to
strengthen the principles of a morally religious life amongst
mankind.
[63] [Prince A. N. Galitzin.]
[64] General-adjutant, chief of the guards staff.
[65] [“Little father,” a title sometimes given to the Russian
sovereigns by their subjects.]
[66] The informer was an inferior officer of lancers. His name
was Sherwood, and he was of English origin.
[67] She took the name of Elizabeth Alexievna.
 CHAPTER XI. THE REIGN OF NICHOLAS I
Nicholas Pavlovitch triumphed over two military revolts; then, as if the twelve
days’ interregnum had not existed, he dated his reign from the 1st of December,
1825, the day of Alexander’s death. During the first ten or twelve years of his reign
embarrassments of every kind, followed hard upon one another. These
embarrassments were foreign war, first with Persia, and next with Turkey; the
enmity of Austria whilst this latter struggle was going on; the abandonment of the
Russian alliance by France, in consequence of the revolution of July, 1830; the
insurrection of Poland; the epidemic of Asiatic cholera in 1831 and the popular
riots to which this scourge gave rise, especially in St. Petersburg; a revolt in the
heart of the military colonies; a famine which desolated the southern provinces
during the years 1834 and 1835; the fires at Åbo, Tula, Kazan, and at last
(December, 1837) at the emperor’s own residence, the Winter Palace. But all
these cruel trials did not daunt the courage of the new autocrat; they served only to
bring out the firmness of his mind and the strong cast of his character.—
Schnitzler.c

THE INTERREGNUM

After the 24th of November, 1825, Adjutant-

[1825-1855 a.d.] general Diebitsch had begun to send
information to Warsaw of the illness of the
emperor Alexander, by means of letters addressed to General
Kuruta. The first courier, bearing this alarming news, arrived at
Warsaw on the 1st of December in the evening of the very day of the
emperor Alexander’s death.
The czarevitch Constantine Pavlovitch did not conceal the painful
presentiment that took possession of him, and wrote to Baron
Diebitsch the same day in the following terms: “In spite of all the
consolations expressed in your letter, I cannot rid myself of the
painful impression it has produced on me. I tell you frankly that if I
were to obey the dictates of my heart I should set off and come to
you. But unfortunately my duties and my position do not permit me to
give way to these natural sentiments.”
The grand duke Michael Pavlovitch was at that time at Warsaw,
and the czarevitch hid even from him and Princess Lovitch the
alarming letters that he received from Taganrog. “I do not speak to
you of the condition of mind in which I now find myself,” wrote the
czarevitch to Adjutant-general Diebitsch on the 5th of December, “for
you know only too well of my devotion and sincere attachment to the
best of brothers and monarchs to doubt them. My position is
rendered all the more painful from the fact that, the emperor’s illness
is only known to me and my old friend Kuruta and my doctor; the
news has not yet reached here, so that in society I have to appear
calm, although there is no such calmness in my soul. My wife and
brother do not suspect anything, so that I had to invent an
explanation for the arrival of your first messenger, which I shall have
to do again to-day. If I were to obey only the suggestions of my heart
of course I should have been with you long ago, but you will naturally
understand what hinders me.”
Meanwhile couriers continued to follow upon
[1825 a.d.] each others’ heels and finally on December 7th,
at seven in the evening, the czarevitch received
the fatal intelligence of the death of his brother. The report of
Adjutant-general Diebitsch did not shake the czarevitch’s decision as
to the question of the succession to the throne, and he then said to
the grand duke Michael Pavlovitch, “Now the solemn moment has
come to show that my previous mode of action was not a mask, and
to terminate the matter with the same firmness with which it was
commenced. My intentions and my determinations have not changed
one iota, and my will to renounce the throne is more unchangeable
than ever.”
Summoning the persons of his entourage and informing them of
the loss that had overtaken Russia, the czarevitch read them his
correspondence with the emperor Alexander in 1822 and ordered
that letters to the empress Marie Feodorovna, and to the grand duke
Nicholas Pavlovitch, should be prepared, stating that he ceded his
rights to the succession to the throne to his younger brother, by
virtue of the rescript of the emperor Alexander of the 14th of
February, 1822. The czarevitch here used the expression “cede the
throne to the grand duke Nicholas Pavlovitch,” because he knew
nothing of the existence of the state act which as long ago as 1824
had invested this cession with the power of a law. Such were the
misapprehensions with which was accompanied Alexander’s secret
and evasive manner of action in regard to the question of the
succession.
Meanwhile what was taking place in St. Petersburg? The news of
the death of the emperor Alexander was received in the capital only
on December 9th, during prayers which were being said for the
recovery of the emperor in the church of the Winter Palace. The
circumstances are thus narrated by the empress Elizabeth Alexievna
herself:
On the 9th inst. at the termination of the liturgy, when prayers for
the health of the emperor had already commenced, his highness
was called out from the sacristy by Count Miloradovitch and informed
by him that all was over. His imperial highness became faint, but
recovering himself he returned with Doctor Rule to the sacristy. The
empress was on her knees and being already prepared by the grand
duke’s prolonged absence, and guessing her lot from his face she
grew faint; meanwhile the priest presented the cross to her, and as
she kissed it she lost consciousness.
His imperial highness, turning to his wife, said to her “Take care of
our mother, and I will go and do my duty.” With these words he
entered the church, ordered that a reading desk should be brought
in, and took the oath of allegiance to his beloved brother and
emperor, Constantine, which he ratified by his signature; some
others who happened to be there also subscribed to the same: they
were the minister of war Tatistchev, General Kutusov, the general in
waiting Potapov, and all the others who were present.
Then he presented himself before the Preobrajenski regiment that
was on guard in the palace (the company of his majesty’s
grenadiers), and informed them of the emperor’s death and
proclaimed Constantine emperor. The grenadiers received the
announcement with tears, and immediately took the oath of
allegiance. After this his imperial highness commissioned the
general in waiting, Potapov, to inform the chief and all the other
guards of what had taken place and to bring them from their posts to
take the oath, which was done without delay and with sorrow and
zeal; meanwhile General Neitgart was sent to the Nevski monastery,
where were all the general officers of the guards’ corps, with the
proposal to General Voinov to do the same throughout all the
regiments of the guards. Finally similar announcements and
instructions were sent to all the regiments and detachments in both
the city and its environs.
Meanwhile the council of the state had assembled and opened its
sitting by the proposal to break the seals of the envelope which
contained the will of the late emperor. Some discussion arose, and
finally it was decided to unseal the packet, in order to learn the last
will of the czar.
In the act was drawn up the renunciation of the throne by the
czarevitch and the nomination of the grand duke Nicholas as the
emperor’s heir. Some discussion again arose upon this question, but
it was cut short by the suggestion that his highness should be invited
into the presence of the council. Count Miloradovitch replied that his
highness had already taken the oath and that in any case he
considered it unfitting that his highness should be called, or should
come to the council, but offered to bring all this to his knowledge and
to ask that they might be allowed to come to him in order to report all
that had taken place; this was done and the grand duke replied that
he could not hinder their coming.
When the members of the council presented themselves before
the grand duke he informed them that the contents of the act had
long been known to him, namely since July 25th, 1819, but that in no
case would he dare to occupy the place of his elder brother, from
whose supreme will his lot depended, and that holding it as a sacred
obligation most humbly to obey him in all things, he had therefore
taken the oath and felt entirely certain that the council, having in view