And even now, when he felt alone and abandoned by all the kings of Christendom, he still found peace when he was with his wife, despite his liaisons with younger women. Without his wife, where would he be today? She had given him so much joy. With her, he had been content to be “Lord of the Cottage,” the title he had once used to travel incognito in England. It suited him better than “Emperor of Russia.” If God had not put him on the throne, he was sure he could have lived a simple bourgeois existence, as long as he had Mouffy and the children by his side. The children. The very thought of them amid all this chaos raining down on him made him sentimental. What kind of a world would he bequeath the czarevitch Alexander, a world where Christians allied with Muslims to fight Christians? Thank God his daughter Alexandra would never see this, his beloved lost daughter, who was in heaven now with the angels. The memory of Alexandra, Adini, who had not been able to live out her earthly existence, saddened him. Emotion began to color his reasoning. What right had he to rob Jamal Eddin of his happiness, to deprive him of salvation? What right had he to prevent him from saving his soul by being baptized?
The boy’s return to the Caucasus had become problematic. And if, moreover, he no longer wished to return—
The czar was not crazy enough to send him back to this father against his will. That would be a monumental wrong. Without the young man’s love for his people, he would be useless to Russia there. It was certain to be a disaster. The fact that he preferred civilization to barbarity could be seen as a triumph.
That today he should choose Russia, of his own free will—yes, it was a victory! And far more brilliant than any military victory.
Once the idea took root, it had obvious appeal, and the emperor began to see its advantages.
This much was clear: Jamal Eddin’s choice embodied the triumph of the Russians over the Chechens. The triumph of the czar over the imam. Nicholas’s personal triumph over Shamil.
The voluntary conversion of the imam’s son proved to these savages, and to the entire world, that no one could resist the Orthodox faith and the truth that was incarnate in Holy Russia.
The voluntary conversion of the imam’s son was proof of the triumph of light over the forces of evil.
It proclaimed to the whole world that Christ was King.
Jamal Eddin’s mind was characterized by such integrity and his heart had resisted for so long. Such a call could only come from God.
The czar renounced his earlier plans entirely. He accepted the fact that his protégé would never become an imam at his service.
But he was still worried, not about carrying out his plans, but about Jamal Eddin’s affections. The boy was so sincere—was he sure he wasn’t making a mistake? He knew Jamal Eddin was passionate by nature, his character and his actions wholehearted. He was probably the most passionate of lovers as well. Overcome with adoration for this young girl, he was perhaps blinded by love.
The czar sounded him out one last time.
“You understand that if you marry a Christian, you will never be able to go home to your father?”
“But you are my father!”
A cry from the heart.
The czar was so touched, tears welled up in his eyes.
Kings may have abandoned him, but this child remained loyal and loved him. He reacted by making a decision that was completely irrelevant to the matter at hand.
“You will be named an officer in my own Chevaliers-Gardes!”
“Thank you, Your Imperial Majesty,” Jamal Eddin stammered, this incongruous order jolting him back into the world of practical decisions. “But I cannot accept such an order—”
“Because you haven’t the means? Don’t worry about a thing, my lad. My treasury is now yours. In all the great changes your future holds, I will always be at your side. Come here, my son, come closer, Prince Jamal Eddin, so that I can embrace you.”
Deeply moved, Jamal Eddin stood up. The czar rose too.
“Come here, let me bless you.”
Jamal Eddin obeyed and walked around the desk.
Trembling with emotion, the two men looked into each other’s eyes for a long moment. Then they clasped each other in a heartfelt embrace.
As he had six years ago, sitting on his daughter Alexandra’s favorite bench at Peterhof, the czar was the first to pull away. His face was wet with tears.
“I want to be godfather at your baptism,” he said with infinite tenderness. “And I shall be best man at your wedding. Take this cross.”
The czar unbuttoned his collar and removed the crucifix he wore under his uniform. He placed it around Jamal Eddin’s neck. As the gold chain touched Jamal’s skin, it caught for an instant on the leather cord he wore beneath his cherkeska. The inlaid precious stones of the cross clicked against the little silver tube he had never removed, not since the day on the ramparts of Akulgo when his mother had rolled up the sura of Men and placed it inside to protect him from the temptation of evil. The last sura of the Koran.
“Take this crucifix as a token of my love and of the immense love of Our Lord Jesus Christ. His will be done. Go now, my child. I consent to all for your happiness.”
“No other story could have begun so inauspiciously,” La Potemkina prattled on before her audience of governesses and fellow embroiderers, “and ended in such an apotheosis!”
She reveled in this success as though she had been personally responsible for it.
Her priest, accustomed to the conversion of Muslims, was already giving Jamal Eddin religious instruction, and she followed his progress with her usual zeal. Her nephew’s family was too far removed from the affairs of aristocratic society to organize this kind of a ceremony, so La Potemkina was planning the two masses that would take place at her Church of the Holy Trinity at Gostilitsy.
“His Imperial Majesty as godfather! His Imperial Majesty as best man! Such an honor!”
She scarcely took a breath before enumerating the countless privileges “such an honor” implied. Godfather, best man. In assuming these roles, the czar was not only symbolically taking part in the destiny of the young couple, he was ensuring the social and financial future of their household as well.
“The prerogatives of the czar’s godsons can extend to their progeny as well,” the wife of the marshal of the aristocracy explained to the women of Machouk, who were deplorably unsophisticated in her opinion. “The crown pays for their education, they are granted an honorary function as a career, and their fortunes are assured with gifts and substantial emoluments. At every parade and official ceremony, they are in the front row.”
La Potemkina was equally quick to point out that Jamal Eddin’s admission to the regiment of the Chevaliers-Gardes elevated him to the rank of a Russian prince. To belong to the Chevaliers-Gardes, a young man had to count so many noble forbears that relatively few cadets were eligible for the honor, even among those of the First Corps. Quite apart from his blue-blooded lineage, a candidate had to count at least one former general of the Gardes among his grandfathers. Not to mention a colossal fortune to be invested in equipment, the purchase of several uniforms, and the maintenance of several dozen horses and as many servants. The czar’s generosity would provide for all of this.
“If anyone stands to gain from this marriage, it is surely the Olenins,” she insisted, with her usual habit of stretching the truth. “Ah, she can congratulate herself on her conquest of Jamal Eddin, our little darling. A veritable triumph over fate!”
In the eyes of the lovers, there was no talk or triumph, destiny, or fate. For them, the universe opened up. Each dawn was the beginning of the first day of the world, and the sun rose over an immemorially radiant present.