by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XI
THE HUNTED STAG
Next morning the Office of the Great Fast was initiated in IsaacCathedral by the court singers--a celebrated choir of men and boys, whopossessed the finest voices in the whole empire, and who were maintainedat great cost.
Contemporary accounts extol these services beyond anything ever producedby human voices. In his riper years the Czar could endure no other musicthan the sound of harps and mystic sacred song. It was on that accountthat Zeneida Ilmarinen, the church singer, was so great a favorite ofthe Czar. He never went to a theatre. Did he desire music his favoriteartiste was commanded to the Winter Palace or the Hermitage. During thefasts, however, he went daily to church to hear the boys sing.
On such occasions it was considered the correct thing by the aristocracyalso to go to church, and in order to appear still more devotional,great ladies made a point of wearing no rouge, only powder.
In the row next the high altar sat Prince Ghedimin, Muravieff, Orloff,Trubetzkoi, all of whom had inscribed their names in "the green book";after them, those officers of the guards who had deliberated theprevious night whether the Czar should die, or be merely banished. Therethey stood in two rows, erect, with military bearing, holding theirdrawn swords in their hands.
The heads of all were bowed so low that perhaps none remarked that thehusband and wife, the rulers of all the Russias, only extended a fingerto each other as they passed up the aisle, deigned no look at oneanother as the service proceeded, and exchanged no word together as theytook the holy-water.
Zeneida also was among the congregation. As she left church an officerbowed to her. It was Pushkin.
"Madame, you have been weeping--your cheeks are wet. Was _some one_,then, in church?"
"There is no _some one_," returned Zeneida; "but the music tells onone's nerves. We are but animals; even dogs howl when they hear music."
"Did you observe with what devotion the Czarina kissed the crucifix? Didyou not know what was her petition?"
"I neither know, nor did I remark anything."
It was late before the church service had ended. The congregationquickly dispersed and hastened home. The streets were deserted. On thefirst day of Lent every family man makes a point of supping at home. Andas among the poorer classes in St. Petersburg only about every seventhman is blessed with a wife, others join together and get some female oftheir own class in life to prepare the Lenten soup for them. This isseen on every table, rich and poor, whether in hardware vessel ordelicate china tureen. Even upon the Czar's table it may not be absent;the imperial cook prepares it according to time-honored formula.
This soup every head of the family is expected to partake of in his ownhome. Time was when even in the Winter Palace the custom was observed.Time was! The table was laid for two covers only; no guests wereinvited. The many dishes, all prepared with oil and honey, were servedfor the two alone. Then came a day when the imperial wife awaited herhusband in vain at the Lenten meal. He came not. And yet she waited andwaited; the supper waited also. Some untoward circumstance had comebetween them. First the meats grew cold, then their hearts. Yet all thesame, year after year, the wife had two covers laid on the first eveningin Lent, and waited on and on, until the dishes grew cold, and still shedid not touch them. She was waiting for him. Hours would pass, theimperial wife sitting lonely, waiting, listening for the slightestsound, wondering whether it were not her husband's footstep outside thetapestried door which connected the corridor of their apartments--thatdoor, at the opening of which her heart had formerly overflowed withearthly bliss. Alas! now the lock had long grown stiff and rusty.Suddenly the clock began to strike--a mechanical clock which Araktseieffhad had made in Paris. The piece it plays is the National Anthem; itplays it but once in the twenty-four hours--at one o'clock in themorning--the hour at which Czar Paul had been murdered by his generalsand nobles in his bedchamber.
The son of the murdered man, who had ascended the throne over hisfather's dead body, had, at the turn of the year, listened for many ananniversary to the solemn strain, kneeling low, bedewing his _prie dieu_with his tears; and one being there was who fully shared the sorrow ofhis heart. With every fibre that heart of his vibrated to the sad notes,a truer timepiece than the clock: it attuned its note to the triumphantstrains of victory, as to the undertone of sadness when it reproachedhim that his father's corpse had been his stepping-stone to the throne,threatening that his body, likewise, should be the stepping-stone to hissuccessor. This was the great trouble of his life; the ever-presenttorture of his soul. To no one had he confided it save to his wife. Noone had ever comforted him in the hours of his agonized wrestling withthat burden of grief save his wife. Now that is all over. Thesoul-destroying blue eyes, in whose depths he had sought a new heaven,gave him for heaven the cold, blue ether eternally separating earth fromheaven for him. The Czar of all the Russias has no one in whom he cantrust. The mightiest of the mighty has no place where he may sleep inpeace. The most forlorn pilgrim of the desert is not so utterly alone asis he.
When the last notes of the hymn has died away, and the husband, so longwaited for, has not returned, the wife, rising, fetches a portrait ofhim painted upon ivory, and places it upon the table by the place heshould have occupied. It is the portrait of a proud, heroic man, withsmiling lip and unclouded brow--such as he was as a bridegroom. Shegazes at it long, so long that her eyes are suffused with tears. Nothingis left to her of him but this portrait. He whom it represents has longceased to smile.
Two sledges, already horsed, are drawn up before the colonnade of theWinter Palace. One is harnessed with six horses, the other with three.Both are closed carriages with drawn blinds. The coachman and footmenbelonging to the six-in-hand wear the livery of the Czar; those of thethree-horsed sledge that of the Grand Duke. But, on getting into them,the Czar takes the Grand Duke's sledge, the Grand Duke that of the Czar;and as they pass out of the gates, with jingling of bells, the onesledge turns to the right, the other to the left. The six-horsed sledgeis followed by an escort of the guards; where it halts, there halts theescort. The three-horsed sledge skims along the road unattended. It isknown that the Grand Duke drives home direct; he is a domesticated man.But of the Czar none knows whither he will take his way in the course ofthe long night; and nowadays it behooves one to be careful; an escorthas become a necessity!
Araktseieff had had a sharp tussle that very morning with Chulkin, Chiefof Police, and the governor of the city, Miloradovics. There were threesets of police on active duty--military, civil, and secret police. Andinstead of playing into each other's hands, their sole study seemed tobe for each to set the other's regulations at naught. Araktseieff wasfurious at Chulkin because Chevalier Galban had been set upon and robbedthe previous night, not only of his money, but of his papers--papers,among which were many important state secrets. To which Chulkin hadretorted that the soldiers on patrol had been the thieves. HereuponAraktseieff's wrath was turned upon Miloradovics, and he demanded thatthe officer in command, who had had the inspection on the night past, besternly reprimanded for lack of supervision. To which the governorreturned that the said officer in command was no other than youngAraktseieff, his hopeful son. Hereupon Araktseieff waxed still morewroth; but with whom? He fully believed that his son had been ChevalierGalban's plunderer, well knowing him to be capable of the act.
He made no further official inquiry into the matter, merely adding thatin future the Household Regiment of Hussars, under his own immediatecommand, were to accompany the Czar, at a distance, whenever he left thepalace. No reliance, evidently, was to be placed on either infantry orpolice.
Araktseieff possessed a sure instinct which warned him of conspiraciesagainst the Czar, even when he failed to obtain any certain clew. Hiswas the sole and ever-watchful eye that guarded the person of the Czar.He gathered upon his head the detestation of a whole nation in order toprotect the head of the one man in whom his entire individuality wasmerged.
But the pursued knew how to elude protector as
efficiently as pursuer.Whilst thus secretly escorted, the six-horsed sledge proceeded frombarrack to barrack, the Grand Duke probably holding an inspection tosatisfy himself that the officers on guard had not removed their tightstocks; the three-horsed sledge glided along the banks of the MoikaCanal, drawing up, at length, before a long walled-in enclosure set withiron spikes. Alighting from his sledge the Czar took from hisbreast-pocket a key, opened the gate, and entered unattended, the unlitpath marked by a line of oak-trees. No footprint was to be seen on thefresh-fallen snow. The path was unused by any but himself. In among thetrees with their crows' nests an old-fashioned house was visible, itswooden steps leading to a low oaken door. The solitary man has with hima key to this door also; he opens it, and enters. Here it is so dark hehas to take a lantern from his pocket in order to find the stairsleading to the story above. Having ascended the stairs, he proceeds ontiptoe down a long corridor. There is not even a dog to bark at him. Ashe opens a door two persons, engaged in conversation, look round instartled fear. They are an old man and woman. The old woman screams; theold man throws himself at the Czar's feet.
"Who is this man, Helenka?"
"My old man, my husband. Hold up your ugly pate, Ihnasko, that the Czarmay see who you are."
"You never told me you had a husband."
"Why should one tell of the gout one is plagued with, or any other uglything one would rather forget?"
"Well, what does he want here?"
Here the old woman, covering half her mouth with her hand, whispers:
"He has brought the king's daughter here."
At these words the icy look melts from the Czar's severe features.
"What! Bethsaba here?"
"Yes; and she is to stay the night. They are playing draughts together."
"How is Sophie?" The inquirer's voice falters.
"Fairly well. She slept well last night, and took her chocolate thismorning. She has not been so cross as usual to-day, since the doctortold her that giving way to temper was bad for her."
"Has she followed the doctor's directions?"
"Rather too closely. If I am a second after time in giving her hermedicine, she rings for me."
"Did the doctor say anything about diet?"
"Yes; he said her Highness was not to observe the fast, but to eat meatand eggs daily; and that will strengthen her. But the Princess gave ithim soundly. What was he thinking of? Did he mean to endanger her soulfor sake of her body? And she has ordered me to pay no attention to whathe said, and has threatened me with blows if I attempt to deceive her."
"Indeed! And the doctor said that the observance of strict fast would beinjurious to her health?"
"Certainly. He said she wanted blood, she was anaemic, and that beanscooked in oil did not make blood."
"What have you prepared for her supper to-night?"
"The usual soup for the fast."
"Just oblige me, my good Helenka. I have brought something with me whichwill do our invalid good. I have had it over expressly from a celebratedphysician in England. Give her a spoonful of it daily in her soup."
"Of course I will do what you command, sire. But tell me first, is itprepared from the flesh of any animal? For if the dear soul were to findout that I had mixed any meat preparation in her soup during the fast,she would cry and rage to that extent that she would make herself illagain."
"Do not be afraid, good Helenka. It is a remedy composed of palm-root,which takes the place of meat."
"And I shall not endanger my own soul by using it?"
"No, no; have no fear. I will take all responsibility upon myself."
And yet were it an unpardonable sin to eat meat during Quadragesima theCzar had laid a great burden upon his soul, for his remedy was no otherthan extract of beef, at that time the patent of an English chemist. Butthe Czar was a philosopher and--a father.
"Go in and tell her I am here, that she may not be startled at mycoming."
By a lamp, whose light was tempered by a lace shade, sat two young girlsplaying draughts.
The one we have already seen at the noteworthy stag-hunt; and now weknow her to be a "king's daughter."
As the Czar entered the Princess's room, and Ihnasko was alone with hiswife, he could not refrain from asking--
"What did you mean by 'king's daughter'?"
"Slow coach! Don't you know that yet? She has lived the last eight yearsin your house without your knowing that she is the daughter of aCircassian king. Her father was once a mighty ruler there, where thecurrants and olives grow; he was killed by the Turks, and the Queenbrought her crown and her little daughter, and fled to us forprotection. She was a wonderfully handsome woman. I saw her once in allher national costume at a New-year's review. I did not wonder at whathad happened. It was General Lazaroff who had received orders to bringher from her own country to Russia. The General was a man of amorousnature. On one occasion the wine he drunk flew to his head, and heforgot that he was escorting a queen, and only saw the lovely woman. Butthe Circassian butterflies have stings as sharp as any bee. The Queendrove her kindzal into his heart, and he fell down dead at her feet. Notmuch was made of the affair; it was hushed up. The Queen was put into aconvent, where she has always been treated with royal honors. But she isnot allowed to leave it. Only on New-year's day she takes her place withthe widowed Queens of Imeritia and Mingrelia on the steps of the throne.As for her little six-year-old daughter, she was taken from her, thather royal mother might not teach her to follow her ways. Why, therewould not be a man left in St. Petersburg! The child was intrusted toPrincess Ghedimin's care, who has not the blessing of a child of herown."
"What child?" blurted out Ihnasko.
"Oh, you goose! What a question to ask! What child? None at all, seeingshe hasn't got one. Don't wink at me, or you'll get a cuff in the face.So the king's daughter was brought to Ghedimin Palace, and is now amember of the family. Forgetting her own mother, she looks upon thePrincess as one."
"I should just like to know why the Princess sends her here to visityour sick princess?"
"That's nothing to do with your thick skull."
* * * * *
The other draught-player is Sophie Narishkin, a tall, delicate-lookinggirl with straw-colored hair. It is well that she is kept in strictretirement, for in face she is the image of what Princess Ghedimin wasat that age. There is an expression of premature wisdom in hercountenance blended with that of superstitious fear. Her eyes wear asofter look than those of her prototype; instead of Princess Ghedimin'shaughty, contemptuous expression, hers are dreamy and melancholy.
What can be a maiden's dreams who knows nothing of the world? The world,peopled with mankind. She may dream of lovely landscapes, of rocks,woods, waterfalls. But of the beings who people the world she knows nonesave her nurse, to whose fairy tales she listens so eagerly, and hergovernesses, who had vainly striven to indoctrinate her into thesciences and fine arts.
All spoiled, no one loved, her.
All around were traces of work or play, begun and leftunfinished--draught-board, cards, chessmen, patience, embroidery,drawings, patterns. She is sitting, in a white embroidereddressing-gown, upon a wide divan, both feet drawn up under her. Besideher sits the Circassian Princess on a low stool.
His Imperial Majesty is received ungraciously. Evidently he hasinterrupted the two girls in some amusement. And yet he seems to havethe right to go up to Sophie and, taking her face between both hands, toimprint a hearty kiss upon her cheek--a kiss the traces of which thegirl, with childlike coquetry, instantly tries to remove by means of thesleeve of her dress, which has the effect of making the offending cheekas red as a rose.
"How are you feeling, my Madonna?"
"Oh, now you have come and interrupted the lovely story Bethsaba wastelling me!"
"She shall go on with it. I will listen too."
"How can you, when you were not here at the beginning?"
"I know Bethsaba will not mind beginning it again."
> The Princess nodded acquiescently, while Sophie, with a look, directedher father to take a seat at the other end of the divan. The Czar,understanding the look, did as he was bid; and, taking one of the girl'sdelicate, transparent hands in his, stroked it, and, as he did so,succeeded in feeling the pulse, to assure himself that there was stillhope for her. He wanted to put a question, but the delicately pencilledeyebrows commanded silence, and the Ruler of All the Russias wasobedient.
"Once upon a time," began the king's daughter, "there lived on theCaspian Sea a mighty king who took a lovely woman to wife, not knowing,when he did so, that she was a fire-worshipper. Now, fire-worshippersare in league with the Jinn (spirit), and the queen had promised theJinn that if she married and bore a daughter she would give her to himwhen grown up. No sooner had the child become a maiden than the Jinncame and knocked at the king's door to claim her. The poor king wasterribly frightened when he was told that the spirit had come to fetchaway his daughter--"
"If he was a king, why could he not command the spirit to obey him?"broke in the sick girl, angrily.
"Ah, my dearest, the spirit is so powerful that no king can controlhim."
"And no _emperor_?"
"No, not even emperor. No one has power over him; but he has power overevery one. There is no locking him up or shutting him out, for he canpenetrate everywhere. He has no material weight, yet can suffocate;carries no sword, yet can kill."
"What a good thing that the spirits only live on the Caspian Sea!"
"When the king heard this he began to entreat the spirit not to take hisbeloved daughter from him so soon; to grant her to him yet another year.'Very well,' said the spirit, 'I will leave you your daughter a yearlonger if you will promise to give me your thumb in exchange.' The kingcared nothing about his thumb, so he promised, and the spirit took hisdeparture. At the lapse of a year the spirit came again either to takethe princess or the king's thumb. The king loved his daughter verydearly, but he also valued his thumb, for without it he would not beable to draw a bow. So again he entreated the spirit that he might granther to him only one year more. 'Be it so,' returned the spirit, 'I willleave her to you another year, but then either I will take her away oryou will give me your right hand.' And the king again closed thebargain. A year passed, and the spirit came a third time. The kingwould neither give up his child, nor would he part from his right hand.Thereupon the spirit demanded the king's whole arm as forfeit."
"But, then, do the spirits never die?" asked Sophie.
"No, darling, the spirits live forever. Well, the king promised him hisarm--if by that means he might save his child--and his hand. And fromyear to year the spirit came back, demanding ever more and more asforfeit-money. At last he obtained promise of the king's head and heart.And when the king's whole body belonged to him he said, 'This is thelast year. Now I shall either carry off your daughter or you mustpromise me your shadow.' Upon which the king replied, 'No; I will giveyou no more. Take what is yours; but neither my daughter nor my shadowshall you have.' Thereupon the spirit left him amid loud claps ofthunder. The next day was fine and sunny, and the king set out for apleasure sail upon the sea. Suddenly a violent storm arose, and engulfedboth ship and king in the waves. His body was never found. His daughterstill lived on; and every evening, when the sun was going down, she sawa shadow draw near to her--the shadow of a man with a kingly crown uponhis head; and as the shadow glided past her it seemed to her as if shefelt a kiss upon her cheek, and as if her cheek became rosy red."
The Czar had grown thoughtful. That king, whose shadow alone wanderedupon the face of the earth, was so like to himself. And Sophie, too,thought that she was like the king's daughter--kissed every evening by akingly shadow.
Bethsaba, however, added, playfully, "We have so many such legends withus. I could tell you more than a hundred."
"It is a very sad story, my dear child," said the Czar.
"I like stories that have a sad ending," said Princess Sophie. "Thosethat end, 'And if they are not dead, they are alive to this day,' Icannot endure. I like books, too, to end badly; but the doctor says Imust not read. But little Bethsie knows such a lot of nice stories."
"Have in your supper now. Are you not hungry?"
"Oh, who wants to be always thinking of eating? Besides, we are eatingall day long." And Sophie pointed to a box of bonbons, from which a fewhad been taken.
"But you ought to eat nourishing things, to make you strong."
"Who says I am ill? Give me my hand-mirror. Have I not color enough?"
"Yes, you have a good color. You are really looking well to-day."
"Phew, phew!" she exclaimed, spitting twice behind her. "One shouldnever tell anybody they look well; it is unlucky. Now let us lay thetable for supper."
The mighty ruler was quite ready to act the lackey to the pale childwith the weary eyes, in whom his whole soul was concentrated. But, withthe best of will, he did it awkwardly; it was plain he was not learnedin the art. And Sophie scolded him roundly.
"See how badly you are holding that plate! Did one ever hear of placingthe spoon betwixt knife and fork like that? No, the salt must be turnedout upon the table; it is not to be put on the table in the salt-cellar;for if the salt-cellar should happen to be upset it is unlucky. You mustnot stick in the point of the knife when you are cutting bread! Firstmake the sign of the cross over it, or Heaven will be angry. To thinkthat such a big man should be so clumsy!"
Meanwhile Helenka had brought in the Lenten soup. Sophie tasted it, thenlaid her spoon down.
"There is something different about it. You have smuggled some meat intoit. I will not eat it! You wanted to deceive me! You wanted to make meeat meat soup!"
The Czar, tasting the soup, assured her that it had no taste of meat.But the sick girl, angry at the mere suspicion of being tricked, sentall away untouched, and vowed she would eat nothing but sweets. The Czarimplored her not to spoil her digestion with such trash; whereupon,bursting into tears, she complained that they would let her die ofhunger. At length the Czar, sending for the samovar, made her some teawith his own hands, and, breaking some biscuit into it, begged her totry it. And great was his joy when she said it was "very nice." She atea whole biscuit; dipped another in it, ate a piece of it, and gave therest to the Czar for him to taste how good it was. Then, letting himtake her upon his knee, she laid her head upon his shoulder, and seemedinclined to sleep. Soon she asked him to carry her to bed and unplaither hair; then, winding her fingers in the Czar's, she said her eveningprayer; and when it came to "Amen" her virgin soul seemed to breatheitself away upon the Czar's lips.
She was the sole being in the world he could call his own! Among hisforty millions of subjects she alone belonged exclusively to him.
The Czar of All the Russias found so many little things still to do forhis sick child. There was a cushion to be warmed to be placed at herfeet; orange-flower water to be prepared for her night drink. He pusheda branch of consecrated palm under her pillow to chase away baddreams--he, a philosopher, believing in the efficacy of a consecratedpalm branch! But philosophy is nowhere by the sick-bed of one's child.
"Now, you go home," whispered Sophie; "Bethsaba is to sleep with me.Good-night. I know I shall have no bad dreams."
"Lay your hand upon my head, that I, too, may sleep well. Good-night."
They called one another by no endearing names, though they knew that inthe whole wide world they had no one but each other.
It was past midnight when the Czar went back to his sledge--too early togo home.
"Drive along Newski Prospect," said the Czar.
The coachman understood the command. Upon Newski Prospect there is atwo-storied house with "Severin" upon the door. Here the coachman drewup. The windows of the first story were lighted. On ringing the bell,men-servants with lamps promptly appeared, who led the great Czar to themaster of the house. Herr Severin was a simple paper-maker and printer,carrying on his business with his sons and sons-in-law, who, with theirfamilies, lived here with
him. Upon great festivals it was the Czar'scustom to indulge himself for an hour or two with the sight of theirsimple family life and joys--such joys as were denied to him. The tinychildren recite their verses to grandpapa, who rides them upon his knee;converting them into generals by dint of paper hats and wooden swords.The Czar has no such generals! Then five or six of them, forming into acircle, dance round, and sing the story of the "Ashimashi Beggars," eachstriking up in a different key. No such choir does the Czar possess! Atsupper every dish is so well cleared out that it would be a puzzle tosay what it had contained. Such a feast the Czar cannot give! And supperover, the favorite game of "Clock and Hammer" is brought out. They playfor high stakes--nuts; and the stakes are eaten while the game isplayed. The Czar has no such national coin!
So he sits among them until the little ones, growing sleepy, are carriedoff to bed by their nurses; first kissing everybody--even the Czar. Nosuch thing happens in the Winter Palace!
When that is all over, the distinguished guest has a long talk with theold man over the good old times. He listens to all the joys and sorrowsof his host's every-day life. The samovar is emptied and filled again.The Czar cannot tell what does him so much good--whether the tea, thecakes, or the good old man's integrity--his honest, straightforwardspirit. No such tea does the Czar taste in his own house!
Without, on the snow-covered roads, gallop the escort of the guards,while stealthy conspirators peer out from dark doorways, and look afterthe six-horsed sledge, pistol and knife in hand.
The hunted stag knows nothing of all this!
None may tell whither he has wandered through the long hours of thenight, nor who it is that so persistently tracks him.