# The Czar: A Tale of the Time of the First Napoleon/Chapter 35

CHAPTER XXXV.
"THE GRAY SISTER OF HEARTS."
"Why should we dream youth's draught of joy,  If pure, would sparkle less;  Or that the cup would sooner cloy  The Saviour deigned to bless?"
IVAN could afford just now to be very generous and very patient, because he was very happy. There was sunshine not only on his path but in his heart. Almost at the same time that the best of earthly blessings had been given him, he was given also the conscious possession of the love divine; and he received it in thankful, trustful joy. Christ had come to him, not in sorrow, as he comes to many, but making the brightest hours of life infinitely brighter by his presence.
He thought he had nothing to do but to tell Clémence the new happiness he had found, and that she would immediately understand and share it; that she would no longer be content to wait for acceptance with God until some future day, but would henceforth enjoy the glad consciousness of being already accepted in the Beloved. But to her tender conscience and thoughtful mind difficulties presented themselves which had never troubled the eager, impulsive Ivan. Her fears of self-deception, of presumption, of spiritual pride, raised up a host of shadowy disturbers of the peace within, which Ivan had not skill enough to combat. He urged her therefore to come with him and hear the teachers from whom he had learned so much.
​Madame de Krudener had come to Paris, and established herself in a house adjoining the Elysée Bourbon, where she held what would now be called "drawing-room meetings," to which all the rank and fashion of Paris were flocking. It was strange that for once religious meetings became the rage in the very stronghold of ungodliness, vice, and frivolity. Many of the visitors had their curiosity piqued by the extraordinary reports that reached them, and wished to ascertain the truth for themselves; many more "went to scoff," and of these a goodly number "remained to pray." But the greatest attraction to these soirées was the hope of seeing the Emperor of Russia—a hope, however, not often gratified. Far from parading his religion, Alexander was strongly tempted to conceal it. His sensitive nature dreaded ridicule; and he was well aware that a profession of personal religion would expose him to the most polished shafts of that exquisite Parisian wit, which, keen as the scimitar of Saladin, could divide asunder, with fine, unerring touch, the most delicate fibres of thought and feeling. Even in Protestant London—which he always placed in honourable contrast to Paris for seriousness and morality—he had observed that religious laymen were looked upon almost with contempt. It was therefore not without much prayer and conflict that he took his stand on the side of God in the face of all the world.
He did not often mingle with the throng that filled the drawing-rooms of Madame de Krudener to overflowing on three or four evenings of every week; but he frequently came later, when his day's work was over, for prayer and quiet study of the Scriptures. These hours of communion were prolonged until far into the night; yet he always rose at five in the morning, so that no man was able to reproach him with any lack of diligence ​in business, nor was any part of the heavy burden of care and responsibility that fell to his lot neglected or avoided.
Clémence would gladly have accompanied Ivan to some of Madame de Krudener's meetings; and Madame de Talmont, though she had her objections, might have gone also, but for the determined opposition of Madame de Salgues. "In my time," said the lady of the old régime, "women did not preach; and certainly, if they had done so, 'gens comme il faut' would not have gone to hear them. Why should you need Madame de Krudener to tell you to repent and believe? I suppose you hear those Christian duties inculcated every Sunday and holiday, when you go to church."
"Many people go to hear Madame de Krudener who never enter a church," Clémence observed.
"That is possible," returned Madame de Salgues. "Sick people, who will not eat wholesome food, sometimes take a fancy for extraordinary messes, and a wise doctor gives them their way. But you, my dear niece, are certainly not in that position."
"Madame de Krudener does not always speak; sometimes it is M. Empaytaz, a Swiss pastor, who gives the address," Clémence ventured again.
"Worse and worse, my dear! A Protestant!" cried Madame de Salgues in a tone of horror. "I sometimes wonder what the world is coming to. All barriers, all distinctions seem to be swept away in these revolutionary days."
Henri was sitting in another part of the room, occupied with a book; and none, save Clémence, noticed the flush of pain that overspread his face at these words.
Ivan and Clémence agreed that it would not be right for the latter to set aside the expressed wish of a relative to whom she owed so much. Therefore, instead of listening to Madame de Krudener or Empaytaz, she studied the Bible diligently, both alone and with Ivan, and lost nothing by going to the fountainhead, instead of to streams, not always of undeniable purity.
​Yet her desire to see and hear the remarkable woman whose words were making so great an impression was very natural, and was destined at length to be gratified. One morning, while the family were seated at their eleven o'clock déjeûner, they were honoured by a visit from Stéphanie de Sartines. The little girl was intensely conscious of a new silk dress—green shot with pink, which shone and glistened with each of her quick, restless movements—and of a large Tuscan hat adorned with a wreath of blush roses. She exchanged greetings, in a highly satisfied tone, with every one in the room, and then, coming to the side of Clémence, began as usual, "Papa says he will allow me—"
The smile that passed round the group was not unnoticed by the observant Stéphanie. She looked up quickly, but resumed her little speech after a moment's hesitation. "Papa says he will allow me to go and hear Madame de Krudener preaching to the children, if you will be kind enough to accompany me, mademoiselle,—I mean Madame la Princesse; and if M. le Prince will permit you," she continued, bowing towards Ivan with the air of a little queen.
"If no one objects more than I do, Madame la Princesse is quite at your service, mademoiselle," answered Ivan, with a smile and a bow as ceremonious as her own.—"I am on duty to-day, as you are aware, m'amie," he added in a lower voice to Clémence.
"I thought the old lady kept her ghostly admonitions for those who needed them—hardened transgressors like M. de Talleyrand, for example," said Emile. "Does she lecture children too, for variety?"
"It appears she does. You ought to go and hear her, M. Emile," returned Stéphanie gravely. "It would do you good.—But really, madame," she added, addressing Clémence again, "you must come. It will be so—so delightful, so exciting, so amusing."
​"My dear child, one does not go to a religious service to be amused," observed Madame de Talmont.
"Ah, madame, you cannot imagine how delicious it is! My cousin Coralie has told me all about it. Madame de Krudener visited Coralie's pension and preached to the young ladies, and you never saw anything like it! They were all moved—they shed torrents of tears—it must have been grand, beautiful; a great deal better than going to the theatre—even when Talma is acting, as papa would say. I would give the whole world to see it for myself, and to know what it is all about. Come—do come, mademoiselle—madame, I mean.—Prince Ivan, I beg of you to send her with me."
"You are most welcome to her escort as far as I am concerned," Ivan answered. "But, mademoiselle, if you or I were going to meet even an earthly monarch, I think we should do so with a little more seriousness."
"Ah, that reminds me—that is the best thing of all. Coralie says that the Czar is coming to the meeting to see the children.—What do you think of that, M. Emile?"
"I think he may go wherever he pleases; he is sure to be welcome," returned Emile with unusual graciousness.
Ivan gave him a quick glance of surprise and pleasure, then said, turning to Stéphanie, "May I ask where you heard that, mademoiselle? For it does not look very probable."
"Oh, M. de Berckheim told Coralie's father; for he is a great friend of his. This is not a little meeting in a school-room, Prince Ivan; it will be quite a grand affair. Any children who like may come, and grown-up people too. There will be crowds, no doubt. I daresay we shall find it hard to get seats. It will be altogether delightful. Besides, I am longing to see the Czar."
A few questions about time and place were asked, and the answers showed that Stéphanie had carefully considered every detail of her plan. "We can get a fiacre," she said, "and be there in three-quarters of an hour."
​Madame de Salgues, who had been silent hitherto, now spoke in a gracious tone. "If you are to hear this woman at all, Clémence, it appears to me that you could not do so in a manner less open to objection. Go, my dear niece, if you wish it."
"I am at your service, Stéphanie," Clémence said smiling; and she rose to leave the room. As she passed the chair of her aunt she kissed her hand with a grateful look; and the old lady responded kindly, "I hope you will enjoy yourself, my dear." She had been greatly touched, though she had said nothing, by the quietness with which Clémence had given up what was evidently her own and her husband's wish, in deference to her feelings.
"I must own, mon ami," Clémence said to Ivan, who joined her while she was making her simple toilet, "I think it is a pity the Czar should go to a meeting such as Stéphanie expects this to be."
"Why so, if it please you, my princess?" asked Ivan, rather surprised.
"Because," she answered, "the children will all be gazing at the great people instead of listening to what Madame de Krudener is saying to them. Besides, it is bad for them—is it not?—to think themselves objects of attention. The less the religion of children is noticed and talked about the better."
"Oh, you need not fear. The presence of half-a-dozen gentlemen, in a large public room, will be scarcely observed by the children; and who is to tell them that one of them is the Czar? You don't know, Clémence," he added with a change of tone, "how his heart yearns over the little ones. In England, no sight pleased him so well as the annual gathering of the charity children under the dome of St. Paul's Cathedral. And I have seen him myself in Dresden, when he lodged in the Bruhl Palace, come out in the evening to watch the children playing in the gardens, which he would not allow to be closed against them. Three little princesses—'daughters of Russia'—are ​sleeping in the Church of St. Alexander Nevsky at St. Petersburg, and God never gave him a son."
But Stéphanie's impatient voice was heard in the passage, so, after a tender little farewell to Clémence, Ivan escorted the ladies to a fiacre, and saw them depart.
The room where the meeting was held was crowded when they arrived. However, Coralie saw her cousin and Clémence seeking a place, and persuaded the governess who had charge of her party to make room for them. Clémence at first regretted this, for the girls began to chatter amongst themselves about their dress and other trifles in a way well calculated to put to flight all serious impressions.
Meanwhile she looked with much interest on the face and figure of the person about whom Ivan had told her so much. Perhaps on the whole she was disappointed: the worn and haggard features had in her eyes no charm save one, the charm of intense earnestness and utter sincerity. The thought passed through her mind, "That is a woman from whom I might learn much as a teacher, but I could never trust her as a guide." One thing, however, she learned that day—that the Pietists neither thought lightly of sin themselves, nor induced others to think lightly of it. The "Gray Sister of Hearts" (so Clémence remembered Ivan's calling Madame de Krudener) denounced in scathing accents just those sins of which the world thinks least—the sins of childhood. Conceit, selfishness, disobedience, forgetfulness of God, were exposed in terms that Clémence might have thought exaggerated, had she not remembered that the poison-seed is the poison-plant in embryo. Never before had she felt so thoroughly—
"That the most childish sin a child can do  Is yet a sin which Jesus never did  When Jesus was a child, and yet a sin  For which he came in lowly pain to die."
By-and-by the speaker's tone changed, and with a tenderness of look and manner of which Clémence felt all the charm, she ​spoke of "the child-loved Lover of children," of the Shepherd who gathers the lambs in his arms and carries them in his bosom, who gave his life for the sheep and the lambs so willingly, so patiently, so lovingly. "My little child," she seemed to say to every one present, "he died for thee, he loves thee, he speaks to thee and says, 'My son, or my daughter, give me thine heart, and give it to-day.'"
While she listened, the head of Stéphanie had sunk very low, her face was quite shaded by the broad leaf of her hat, and Clémence saw with wonder that tears were falling quick and fast upon the cherished silk, utterly unheeded by its owner. She tried gently to take her hand; but Stéphanie, with a quick, impetuous movement, drew it away.
When the meeting was at an end, any who wished for private conversation were invited to remain.
"Shall we go home, dear?" Clémence whispered. Stéphanie shook her head with a vehement negative. Her slight frame was quivering with convulsive sobs. After an interval Clémence asked gently, "Why are you weeping so bitterly? Tell me, dear. Is it for your sin?"
The child looked up quickly. "Not all—not most—for that. Most because I have grieved Him, and He is so good."
Clémence said no more; she prayed in silence for her little friend. Her own deep inward life had taught her great reverence for the soul of another. Even in that of a child there might be mysteries with which no hand but God's could deal aright. Stéphanie prayed too, for the first time in her life.
Meanwhile the "Gray Sister of Hearts" was going quietly amongst the children who, like Stéphanie, had remained, advising, comforting, and instructing them, according to the power God had given her. At last she came to Stéphanie. "My little girl, why do you weep?" she asked, with that peculiar tenderness which in great measure accounted for the spiritual magnetism she exercised.
​"I am holding out my hand to the Lord Jesus, and he will not take it," was the answer.
"That is only because his arms are around you already, dear little one," she said. She added many loving words, to which Clémence as well as Stéphanie listened with deep interest. At length she kissed a farewell to her little pupil, in whose eyes a happy light had begun to shine. "I am ready to go now," said Stéphanie, putting her hand in that of Clémence.
It was late when they reached home. Madame de Salgues and Madame de Talmont were beginning to grow uneasy, and Henri had just volunteered to go in search of the wanderers. They were warmly welcomed; and, as had been already arranged, Stéphanie remained to spend the rest of the day with her friends.
While Madame de Talmont asked Clémence many questions about the meeting, Emile opened a fire of banter upon Stéphanie, about the effect her dress and appearance had produced upon the assembly, and especially upon the Czar, "The very least I expected of his Imperial Majesty," he said, "was to send an aide-de-camp to inquire who was the charming young lady in pink and green silk."
But Stéphanie did not reply with her usual saucy readiness; and Henri, noticing her agitation, quickly came to her relief, making some commonplace inquiry about the numbers who were present.
"Ah, I see what is the matter," said Emile: "the Czar was not there after all. Very unlike him, to disappoint so many young ladies."
Stéphanie gave the surprising answer, "I do not know if he was there. I never thought of him at all."
Then Clémence drew her gently away to her own room, leaving her there in quiet until supper was ready. As she went ​out Madame de Salgues observed, "I really think that child is improving—at least in appearance. This evening she looks almost pretty."
"I have always said that Mademoiselle Stéphanie de Sartines will one day be a beautiful woman," Henri answered in a tone of decision.
* ↑ "Many a Parisian scoffer, going to hear her in her drawing-room, which was open to all, returned," says Sainte Beuve, "at least thoroughly subdued by her personal magnetism. Those who seriously believe in the intervention of Providence in the affairs of the world should not judge her too superciliously: 1815 was a decisive epoch, and to religious minds it may well have appeared that the crisis was grave enough to demand a prophet."
* ↑ Really given to Madame de Krudener by a child of Stéphanie's age, at a meeting similar to the one described above.