by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XV
THE CZAR SMILES
Only as Pushkin reached home did he begin to meditate over what he haddone. He did not for a moment hesitate as to the consequences of hisrash act. A man only just permitted to return from exile in Bessarabia,whither his hot head had banished him, and even then but received insemi-favor at court, could not expect other from his recent scene withthe sacred person of the Censor than to be deported to some fortress onthe Volga, or to guard the Kirghis Pustas, where he would be foreverlost to sight and mind. He therefore set to work at once addressingP.P.C. cards to his friends; on that to Zeneida he added, "pour jamais."When once he received marching orders, there would be no time for suchthings. The report of the assault had quickly made the round of thetown; such news is sure to spread quickly. Among his many friends therewas but one who found his way to him on hearing of it; that one wasJakuskin.
"Well, friend, now you, too, will make acquaintance with the Caucasus.You would do well to have your portrait taken at once, that after tenyears, when you come back, like me, you may at least know what you oncewere like."
"I am prepared for anything," answered Pushkin, sealing the letter inwhich he was returning the publisher Severin the two hundred rubles hehad received for his poem, not having obtained the Censor's permissionto publish. "But there is one thing I cannot understand. I have justreceived from the Lord Chamberlain an invitation to the state concertto-night. Now, what the devil does that mean?"
"What does it mean, my friend? That your punishment is to be carried outwith a refinement of cruelty! Had I not a similar experience? The verynight I had challenged that scoundrel, I, too, received an invitation toa court ball. When the circle was formed round the Czar, the LordChamberlain placed me among the guests to whom his Majesty desired tospeak. I was simple enough to feel elated at the distinction. My turn atlength came. The great man stood before me, letting me feel his colossalheight. Looking full at me with his cold, green eyes, his face asimmovable as a moonlit landscape, he asked, 'You are not satisfied withyour commanding officer?' And, taking my confusion for acquiescence,added, 'We will provide against any such unpleasant friction in thefuture.' And I stammered out something like thanks, never thinking thatthis was only a planned humiliation for me, that every one standinground about me knew already whither I was to be banished, and that thehonor of this imperial interview was merely intended to furtherhumiliate me. Oh, if I had but known it then! If it should again happenthat I-- Ah, fool that I am! Fate does not so repeat itself. But could Ipass on to you my imbittered heart, my experience, and my determinationat the moment in which you will be standing there, face to face with'him,' apart from all, all eyes upon you, but every man's hand turnedaway from you; no one near you but a devil! Casca's devil! But what am Italking about! You are but an Epimetheus to whom wisdom only comes whenthe opportunity is past. A pleasant journey to Tungusia; my respects tothe marmots! Come, let us shake hands. We are comrades now."
"Eh! fate does not repeat itself? How if the soup be not eaten as hot asit is served?" asked Pushkin, simulating light-heartedness. ButJakuskin's words had left a sting in his heart. Why had he received theinvitation to the palace that night?
There was no evading the command. His sledge was one among the manyformed in line before the gates of the Winter Palace that evening; theguests numbered more than two thousand, the whole _elite_ of St.Petersburg society was there.
At that time the Winter Palace, in its magnificence, tone of society,its mode of paying compliments, and distinguished courtesy, threatenedto rival the Tuileries; even Parisian _bon-mots_ went the round. Allnational characteristics had become decidedly bad form. Ladies no longerwore the fur-lined _dolmanka_, the clasped girdles; the singular fashionwhich had formerly prevailed of wearing gold watches in the hair hadbeen given up; feminine taste displayed itself in following the latestParis fashions, in which lace and artificial flowers were _de rigueur_.The men wore uniforms. The Czarina was the sole exception to theprevailing fashion; she continued to wear the out-spreading head-dress,in form of a peacock tail, which made her tall figure seem even taller,and lent still more majesty to her countenance. The Czar, on the otherhand, was wearing plain civilian evening dress, without ribbon or orderof any description.
Late as was Pushkin's entry among the gayly attired throng, he could notfail to notice how greatly the tone of society had altered towards himfrom the night before. People did not seem to see him. His superiorofficers and others to whom he had been presented did not acknowledgehis salute. Intimate friends, comrades in arms, seemed suddenlyengrossed in conversation with their neighbors on his approach, to avoidaccosting him. Lovely women, who but yesterday had welcomed him to theiropera-boxes, spread out their fans before their faces as he neared them;the heat suddenly became oppressive! One lady alone, clad in rich silks,crossing the room on Prince Ghedimin's arm, vouchsafed him herattention; she was the beautiful Princess Korynthia, Prince Ghedimin'swife; her cold gray eyes measured the young officer from head tofoot--she who had so often laughed at his wit--while she deigned him noother return to his salutation than a contemptuous curl of the lip, forwhich he promptly revenged himself by turning and exchanging mischievoussmiles with the young girl at her side, Princess Bethsaba. Just then thepress before them brought Prince Ghedimin's party to a standstill, andPushkin saw the bright flush which had suffused the young Princess'sface under the fire of his eyes. Almost he felt inclined to say: "Nay,fair rosebud, do not blush at my gaze. To-morrow I shall be speeding tothe land where your fathers sleep!"
The Prince and Princess were now received by Araktseieff, who conductedthe ladies to the arm-chairs reserved for them near the stage on whichthe artistes were to appear. Ghedimin disappeared among the crowd ofbrilliant uniforms; there were no seats for the men.
The concert began with a sonata of Beethoven, to which the Czar listenedabsorbed, as he leaned over the back of the Czarina's chair, his tallfigure overtopping all others, his eyes fixed on vacancy. When it cameto the turn of the harpist his manner became animated. Hurrying acrossto the performer, he led him on the stage, settled the music-stand forhim to the requisite height, and then, as his chair was too low, himselffetched a cushion, oblivious for the moment that he was the Czar of allthe Russias. The harpist acquitted himself magnificently, fully bearingout his world-wide fame. At the Czar's state concerts there is noapplause; but the murmurs of delight passing from mouth to mouth of acrowded audience are a higher reward to the artist than the stormiestapplause.
After the harpist followed Fraeulein Ilmarinen.
Every one said she had never sung the Swan's song so thrillingly andexquisitely as on that evening; the tears sparkling in her eyes were asreal as the brilliants which flashed in her hair.
The Czar involuntarily was beating time to her song. Zeneida lookedlovelier than ever that night; her dress was covered with springflowers; her face was radiant. It could not be all art.
Three pair of eyes are fixed most untiringly upon her. The first arethose of Princess Korynthia. Filled with hate and contempt, they striveto read into the singer's inmost soul; to detect some false look ofbetrayal which shall expose the artiste in the part she is playing; andthe Princess inwardly rages that she does not find the clew.
The second pair of eyes are Bethsaba's. Her great dark eyes are staringwide open at the charming apparition, as though to say, "Does the devillook like that? Then, indeed, one must be on one's guard, for itscounterpart is very lovely!"
The third pair of eyes belong to Pushkin. He feels that the better partof his soul is merged in that of the lovely woman before him; and thatsoul, at this moment, is filled with bitterness against all those whowould banish him from her vicinity. He feels that in losing Zeneida heloses all that is noblest within him, and that evil alone will remain.Already it has gained the upper hand as he recalls Jakuskin's speech:"Oh that I could infuse into you Casca's fiendish spirit, when youstand, the mark of every eye, before 'him'!"
He feels himself touched on the
shoulder. Looking back, he sees the LordChamberlain. Speaking no word, the latter was lost in the crowd of men.
Pushkin knows what that touch on the shoulder means. It means that atthe close of the concert the person thus signalled out is to take hisplace in the middle of the concert-room, as one of those to whom theCzar designs to speak. Exactly as Jakuskin had prophesied! The bloodrushes wildly through his veins. The comedy may be turned into atragedy.
Princess Korynthia turns to Araktseieff, standing behind her chair.
"Fraeulein Ilmarinen seems to be in particularly good spirits thisevening."
"I have done my best to spoil them. I have struck her heart a blow whichwill stop her love of intrigue for a while."
"Let me be the first to enjoy your secret."
"The lady's hero, Pushkin, is about to be despatched to Uralsk."
"Do you think the girl will desert St. Petersburg and follow him?"
"Either that, or she will commit some greater folly. Anyway, it willcompel her to unmask."
The Czar, after thanking and praising Zeneida, now began to make theround of the gentlemen; while the ladies to whom the Czarina desired tospeak were called up to her.
The Czar entered into conversation with some of the ambassadors,exchanged a few words with Miloradovics; then, passing over a number ofthe circle, looked about him, and, perceiving Pushkin, signed him toapproach.
All deferentially drew back. From the Czar and a culprit it is well tokeep one's distance. All the same, every eye was fixed on the two.
At this critical moment Pushkin felt himself singularly calm. He stood,in fact, as cold bloodedly before his imperial master as he would havedone before any ordinary man.
"So I hear you are not satisfied with your Censor?" asked the Czar.
The very form of question he had addressed to Jakuskin!
But Pushkin had a guardian angel--his Muse--who did not suffer him toremain silent and abashed.
"As satisfied as one is with an illness, sire."
"Do not bear him a grudge. He is a well-meaning man, but with certainold-fashioned notions. That is not his fault. I have read your poem; itis very fine. The Censor had struck out some portions; but that you didnot allow?"
"No, sire."
"And do not allow their suppression?"
"No, sire."
"You are right. They are the best passages in the whole poem. But whatare we to do about it? I cannot go against the Censor; for were I topermit what he forbids, the whole institution would be overturned; andit is a necessary one. What do you think?"
"Sire, I will take back my poem and burn it."
"No, no. I think we will send it to Leipsic, have it printed there, andthen import it."
"And the frontier custom-house, sire?" asked Pushkin.
The Czar smiled; nay, he laughed--he laughed aloud.
"We will have it packed in among my own personal things, which are notexamined in the customs. Thus will we bring the poem into the country."
Pushkin trembled in every limb, like a schoolboy who has undergone anexamination.
"Stay a moment!" exclaimed the Czar. "It will be more profitable to yourpoetical studies were you to prosecute them in the country. It will bebetter for you to pass the summer on your estate of Pleskow. You willfind you can write better there."
That meant the restoration of his confiscated estate. Moved to tears,Pushkin's voice failed.
"Tell no one of what has passed between us. I do not wish it spreadabroad."
"Only to one woman, sire, whose silence is as perfect as is hersinging."
"She knows it already," returned the Czar, with a smile. He had smiledtwice.
How instantly the brightness of that smile had changed the temperature!How immediately the ice and snow in it had thawed! As Pushkin rejoinedthe circle he was greeted on all sides by friendly faces beaming withcongratulation. Distinguished court ladies shut up their fans; they nolonger felt the heat. Pushkin could not but respond to the crowd whoclaimed acquaintance. He was wise enough to tell every one that the Czarhad restored his Pleskow estates to him on condition that he gave upwriting poetry, which raised him at once on a pinnacle. For be it known,not to write poetry at all is a negative merit; to write bad poetry andgive it up is some slight merit; to write good poetry, and yet give itup, is a positive and great merit--in high society.
Even Princess Korynthia had the hero of the hour called up to her inorder to ask him why he had not recognized her just now. Women alone arecapable of such a piece of audacity, and men are obliged to take it fromthem.
Pushkin and the Princess conversed pleasantly for some little time, andhe was introduced to Bethsaba, to whom he said many foolish things.
One woman only, Zeneida, he had no courage to approach. With thedivination of a true poet, he felt that she was the only creditor in allthe world from whom he must keep aloof; for that which he owed to thatcreditor he was unable to pay.
Nor had he any news to impart. Had not the Czar said, "She knows italready"?
* * * * *
The Czar had smiled. The smile had lightened all hearts. The melancholyfeeling of monotony which was weighing over society was at oncedispelled. But it was but an autumnal ray--a ray of evening sunshine ona rainy day.
But he to whom this turn of things brought no content was Araktseieff.Pleskow is not the end of the world! If Pushkin went no further thanthat, Fraeulein Ilmarinen's intrigues would suffer no reverse. They couldmeet as often as they wished. He could not understand how it had allcome about. That the Czar favored Fraeulein Ilmarinen he well knew; andthat Zeneida had been working to save her beloved poet, that, too, heknew. But this was not sufficient to have put the Czar in the veryopposite frame of mind from that which he, the all-powerful favorite,had striven to bring about. Some other hand must have been at work here.
Now among those whom the unaccustomed ray of sunlight had moved to creepout of their dark corners was young Araktseieff.
Forgetting his father's advice to keep well in the shade, and notthinking that the sparkling order on his breast was a borrowed one, andthat its owner was among the party there assembled, he suffered himselfto be enticed to the front, and joined the set of young men who werepaying court to the ladies.
Suddenly he became aware that the Czar was bearing down upon him.
He was about to make way respectfully for his Majesty, but the Czar,going directly up to him, said:
"What fine diamonds those are you are wearing, Araktseieff!"
He who was thus addressed replied, with audacious humility:
"Sire, I wear them by your Majesty's favor."
"Remarkable!" exclaimed the Czar. "Those brilliants are the verycounterpart of the ones in my Vladimir star."
Junker Jevgen began to think that cheek alone would carry him throughhere.
"Sire, some diamonds resemble each other wonderfully."
"And yet I am inclined to think that the star you are wearing is mine,and that in my pocket I happen to have a Vladimir order bearing yourname on the ribbon."
"Mercy, sire!" implored Jevgen, with shaking knees.
"Silence! You surely would not implore mercy here before the wholecourt. Go to your quarters. Keep the order you are wearing; I wear it nomore, since it has been worn by you. Away with you!"
"A bad adviser led me on, sire." The young nobleman was ready to betrayhis father.
"I do not ask who advised you. Go to-morrow morning to your father.There you will learn what is in store for you."
After this scene the Czar abruptly left the concert-room and withdrew tohis own apartments, the former icy expression on his face. He did noteven return the greetings of the surrounding guests.
Araktseieff, who had watched the scene from a distance, followed theCzar. He was not admitted, but commanded to await his Imperial Majesty'spleasure, and the all-powerful favorite awaited it until two in themorning.
Then the Czar entered the audience-chamber, carrying a roll of papers inh
is hand.
"What say you, Alexis Maximovitch," said he to his favorite. "Was it nota good idea of mine to institute the _posta sofianskaja_?"
"Without doubt, sire. It has given the people opportunity to bring theirneeds and wishes directly, in written form, before the Czar."
"One learns interesting things through it at times. This morning, forexample, I received a letter from a gypsy girl containing a Vladimirorder set with diamonds. The letter graphically recounted the manner inwhich the said order had fallen into the girl's hands. Here, read it."
Araktseieff was never so near to swooning as when he had come to the endof the letter. It was a cruel, bitter blow to his heart; he was cut tothe quick in his paternal love. He had wanted to strike a blow at thatwoman's heart, and it had rebounded on his own in its most vulnerableplace. That this was all Zeneida's doing there was no manner of doubt.Araktseieff was to be disgraced before the Czar. She meant to bring uponhim what he had intended for her.
But she should find herself mistaken.
Refolding the letter, he said, coldly and calmly:
"The criminal must suffer."
"Will it be punishment enough if he be sent to Uralsk?"
To Uralsk! That meant never to see him more! He, the well-loved onlyson, the arch-rogue for whom he lived, for whom he gathered up treasure,through whom he trusted to make his name live to posterity; he to beburied in a rocky fortress of the Kirghis steppes! But if it had beengood enough for Pushkin, who had resisted the extinction of his poeticfervor, why not good enough for a soldier who by nights made burglariousonslaughts on the passers-by? And yet he would so gladly save him! Afterall, it was no crime, only a foolhardy scrape, such as had taken placein the days of old chivalry, and even been practised by King Henry ofEngland himself when he was yet Prince of Wales. Foolhardiness, but nocrime! He suppressed the defence, however, feeling that although theCzar might perhaps pardon his son at his intercession, such pardon wouldmean the end of the father's influence. His enemies should findthemselves mistaken if they reckoned upon that.
"He was my only son," he said, sobbing. "I loved him above all theworld, but I love the Czar better than my only son. He must suffer if hehas sinned." And he prepared the ukase condemning his son to banishmentin Uralsk, then kissed the Czar's hand.
Araktseieff parted from his son without saying farewell to him. He mustcarry out the part of Brutus consistently, that his enemies mightrecognize the ancient Roman and tremble. But the Roman in him had astrong admixture of the Sarmatic. Like Foscari, he could sign with hisown hand his only son's banishment; but not because he made nodistinction, but out of the genuine love of a Russian subject towardshis ruler, and, by making his powerful position still more powerful, tobe able to pay back to his enemies the cruel vengeance they had wreakedon him.
To this he made preparation. No single one should be exempt.
On the very day his son set out on the road from which so few everreturn, Magriczki came to him with the intelligence that the police hadarrested Diabolka. What should be her penalty? Should he have herknouted in the open market-place, or with slit ears and nose betransported to Lake Baikal? There was cause sufficient. Her vagabondlife, her immoral habits, could be brought up against her--moreover, agypsy girl! Was not the dark skin crime enough?
"Bring her to me," said Araktseieff. "You, none of you yet know how topunish. This is a wild animal who only feels the smart of the lash whileit is upon her. It were no shame to such as her to be beaten half nakedin the market-place; she is brazen enough to laugh while the punishmentis being inflicted. Of what use is punishment to her yet? First thatsense must be awakened in her, latent in every human being, butslumbering yet--the sense of self-respect. Then we can inflict thepenalty when something more than her outer skin will feel it. Send thegirl in."
And soon Diabolka was standing before Araktseieff, both hands chainedto her back, her unkempt hair about her saucy face, her eyes gleamingwildly through it. Her feet, too, were chained.
"So you are Diabolka, the street dancer?" asked the President of Police.
"Of course. Don't you hear my castanets?" answered the girl, strikingher feet together, and making the chains clash.
"And do you know who I am?"
"Of course. The father of a street thief."
"You are right! My son is an offender; he has paid the penalty. I myselfsigned his sentence. Was it you who informed against him?"
"I might deny it if I chose, but I do not."
"Was it you who wrote the letter to the Czar?"
"Though I cannot write, yet it was I who wrote it."
"Then somebody guided your hand, and you wrote down the characters?"
"But you shall never know the name of that 'somebody.'"
"Were you aware what your hand was putting to paper?"
"I was."
"Then you must have been aware that not alone he whom you denounced waslost, but also you yourself, for having stolen a Vladimir order."
"But I have returned it."
"None the less, you are a thief, and must be sent to the pillory."
"Women of higher rank than mine have stood there already."
"Your shoulders will be branded with hot iron."
"My dark skin marks me already as a gypsy. I am bad from head to foot."
"Come, I don't believe that. This very day, through you, I have foreverlost my only son. All night long until the sun rose I was tossing in anagony of sobs on my bed. In the early morning I went into the chapel,and there, before my Maker, I swore an oath that I would free theunhappy creature who had been my son's undoing, body and soul. At least,I will loose your outer chains."
"No need to trouble the jailer for that. If I choose and you allow, Ican be rid of them myself."
The gypsy girl had extraordinarily little hands. Easily, as if she weredrawing off a glove, she drew out her hands from the fetters; and assimply, without even sitting down, freed her feet. Lifting one foot inthe air, she balanced herself on the other, and, in a second, stoodunfettered. So she stood before Araktseieff, holding one end of herchain in her hand, looking capable of laying about her with the otherend on the head of any one who came near her; and that person would haveremembered the attention to his dying day.
The keeper was alone in the cage with the unchained leopard.
"Listen to what I will do with you!"
The leopard took an attitude as if about to spring.
And this time Araktseieff was not, as usual, prodding about with hissword-stick. He had no weapon of any description near to hand.
"I will find you a respectable situation, where you can both livequietly and honestly, and educate yourself, mind and body--where, infact, you can improve yourself."
"But I don't want it. I want neither a cloister, nor praying nuns, norhypocritical monks. I will not work, unless I am beaten and made to; andeven if I am beaten, I won't pray."
"You shall not be forced to anything of that kind. I will send youneither to a cloister, nor to a reformatory, but into the country. Ihave a castle on my estate where a dear friend of mine is living."
There was a sudden sparkle in the girl's eyes. Throwing away thethreatening chain, and shaking back the loose hair with sudden movementfrom her brow, she looked with joyful smile at the President of Police.
"Ah! you would send me to Daimona?"
"Yes; to Daimona."
Ah! stern Cato Censorius then had yet one tender chord in his heart, onefar more tender even than that which had been wrung by the banishment ofhis son!
There was much talk about Daimona, but not in her favor; and what wassaid of her was but a shadow of truth--the woman whom the favorite ofthe Czar worshipped more than all the saints in heaven or earth! It waswith her he spent every moment he could snatch from affairs of state.She was the sun of his life--at once his tyrant and his happiness. Shewas a woman so savage, so cruel and passionate, that none but anAraktseieff could have loved her. Or was it just for that that he didlove her? Every one who wished to
appeal to Araktseieff, or hoped toescape his vengeance, must first sue to his idol and offer his sacrificeat her feet; and costly sacrifices they must be--no make-believes.Daimona's extortions were renowned throughout the breadth of the empire.
Diabolka's pearly teeth glistened white through her coral lips.
"So you would like to go to Daimona?" asked the great official.
"Why not? She is a woman after my own heart."
"I am not sending you to her to be her servant, but to be her friend."
"Oh, we shall soon be very friendly!"
"She feels lonely; and you will know how to amuse her."
"I will divine her thoughts."
"If she takes a fancy to you, you will be happy with her. She will giveyou smart clothes, trinkets, and riding-horses."
"And a whip to scourge the slaves with."
"And if you get on well, and become a _young lady_, Daimona will findyou a husband."
At these words the girl's face darkened. Shaking her head energetically,till the dishevelled hair fell over it again, she struck her thighvehemently as she exclaimed, with a stamp of her foot:
"Then I will not go!"
A malicious smile curled Araktseieff's lips. Then he continued, in apaternal tone:
"I understand. You have a lover here among the gypsies."
"A 'brother'!" exclaimed the girl.
"Oh, a 'brother'! Gypsies are prudish; they only have 'brothers.' Andsuppose I were to send your brother, too, to Daimona's castle? He mightmake a good overseer of slaves."
"Would that be possible?" cried Diabolka, joyously.
"It shall be done. I will send you together to Daimona, and you shallbecome her confidential people."
Diabolka fell at the feet of the dreaded President and kissed them,while Araktseieff, with Christian mildness, stroked the gypsy's unkempthair. And at the moment of this scene of foot-kissing and hair-strokingthe hearts of both were filled with thoughts of direst vengeance. Inthe inexperienced girl's soul a scheme of as wide-spreading a nature wasdeveloping against Araktseieff as he was evolving to the torture of thegirl, while she was as deft at lying, dissembling, and hiding herfeelings as was the statesman. It is the advantage alike of savages anddiplomats.
Which would triumph?
Diabolka and her "brother" set off that very day for Araktseieff'sestates, where Daimona was already expecting them.