by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XXI
THE MOST POWERFUL RULER OF THEM ALL
While the members of "the green book" were at work on theirwide-spreading plans, those of the Bear's Paw had made others to theirway of thinking. Passing over the military, and turning their backs uponthe league of the aristocrats, they took up a ground of their own,calling themselves "Napoleonists!" What induced them to choose thatextraordinary name for themselves?
Well, it is easy enough to make the poor believe their lot to be a hardone; it was at that time that the Russian Volkslied was written--
"My soul I give to God; My head I give the Czar; My body beneath my master's feet; The grave is all I call my own!"
Within the last four years especially the iron hand of adversity hadpressed heavily on the country. The earth no longer gave back the seedsown upon it; terrific fires had reduced the large cities to ashes; anda pestilence, hitherto unknown in the land, had crept over the frontierand devastated the population. The streams and rivulets had becomefloods, carrying away whole towns at a moment's notice; locusts,caterpillars of a kind and species never seen before, came down inshoals, tormenting man and beast; great war-ships out at sea sank withall their men and ammunition on board.
And all this was Heaven's retribution because the Czar had not gone tothe assistance of the Greeks fighting for their freedom. Againstmiracles, counter-miracles alone can be effectual.
And the present century had produced a miracle in the form of a man: hisname, Napoleon.
It was all a lie that the English had taken him prisoner at Waterloo!All a lie that he was being kept in confinement on the island of St.Helena! He was in hiding, though the whereabouts must not at present bedivulged. Where was that place? Only so much might be known, that it wassomewhere in the neighborhood of Irkutsk. Thence he would come, as soonas the people's cup of bitterness was filled to the brim, to tread downthe mighty, and free every people under the sun.
This rumor was extensively circulated everywhere. Among the conspiratorsof the Bear's Paw was a plaster-modeller (our "Canova") who,single-handed, sent out of his workshop over two hundred thousand bustsof Napoleon. These busts were worshipped by the mujiks as if they werepictures of saints; they took the place of the crucifix to them. He wasthe deliverer, before whom the mujik and his family bent the knee; hewould bring them relief from all their troubles.
Even at the present time these plaster casts are to be seen in many aRussian peasant's hut: the well-known form, cocked hat, arms crossedupon the breast, in overcoat or short-waisted military tunic. Fortyyears after his death they still awaited his coming.
Hence the words "Only wait till Napoleon comes!" were a cry which spreadthrough the land.
The people only remembered that twelve years before, when Napoleonreally did come, their masters were terribly frightened, and so mercifulto the peasants. How fast they cleared out, leaving their castles asbooty behind! and money then was as plentiful as blackberries. No pricewas high enough for corn and oats. And such brilliant promises werescattered about in all directions. The mujik was led to expecteverything under heaven and earth; but his expectations were neverrealized. So let Napoleon come again!
And to hasten this was the plan of the leader of the Bear's Paw party.
The 8th of November, according to the Russian calendar, is the Feast ofthe Archangel Michael. On that day it is the custom to have greatrejoicings in Isaacsplatz and on the Neva. The whole population of St.Petersburg, from the highest to the lowest, take part in it. Now whenthe throng should be at its thickest, and aristocrat and plebeian wellmixed up together, suddenly at the corner of every street and squarethere should arise the cry, "Here comes Napoleon!" And in the midst ofthe crowd, borne on the shoulders of the enthusiastic people, shouldappear the well-known figure of the Corsican hero, to be represented byDobujoff, one of the Bear's Paw community--a man the very image of thegreat Napoleon, and an admirable mimic. The rest would follow of itself.At the words "Napoleon has come" all St. Petersburg would be at theirmercy, and the wave, thus started, would not stop until it reachedNovgorod, where the brotherhood of "Ancient Republic" would at onceswell the tide, overflowing Moscow and all that ventured to oppose it.They looked upon their plan as sure of success. The people may sufferthemselves to be deprived of freedom, even of bread, but no one maydeprive them of their amusements. With the days set apart as holidays nopower on earth may meddle. The plan of campaign was devised cunninglyenough. Every one having anything to do with "the classes" was carefullyexcluded. And one other circumstance was favorable to the audaciousoriginators. The Neva that year had frozen over in October, a successionof hard frosts had followed, but no snow, while ordinarily in Novemberhouse-roofs were covered a foot deep in snow, which lasted into May. Itwould be, therefore, no difficult task to set fire to the city invarious quarters, a thing not usually so possible in the winter in St.Petersburg as in Moscow, built as it was entirely of wooden houses. Withfire breaking out in ten or twelve places simultaneously the panic wouldbe complete.
The Feast of St. Michael was at that time still celebrated in theIsaacsplatz. In one night, in the vast, usually empty space, a perfecttown had been erected, with entire streets of booths, the principalbooth being the People's Theatre. And what a theatre it was! in whichmarionettes acted like real people and fought in real battles! And thenthe troops of artists of all kinds, whose patron is not Apollo, but Pan,who amuse the people, and are not at the beck and call of the rich andlearned, but are to be seen at fairs and in holiday places, and who donot think it beneath their dignity to come down among the crowd tocollect kopecs after the performance. Then there are the people'sfavorites, the Bajazzos, who are not so ambitious as to work forposterity, but are perfectly content if they can earn to-day theiryesterday's score at the inn, playing the while, so the populace think,every whit as well as Talma or Macready. They eat tow, draw wholebundles of rags out of their noses, swallow red-hot coals and sharpswords, and can scratch their ears with their toes, which is more thaneither Sullivan or Kean, or even Dimitriefsky, more celebrated thaneither, can do. In one booth is shown the "real original sea-maiden witha fish's tail, who lives on live fish, and can only say 'Papa,' 'Mama.'"In another the big drum is being beaten to call attention to theelephants walking on a tight rope; next door to them are to be seen menof the woods, with four hands and tusk-like teeth. The giantess is alsoon view, under whose arm the tallest man can stand, although she wearsno high heels to her shoes, and, when desired, shows that the calves ofher legs are not wadded. The showman of a panorama describes, in singingvoice to an astonished public, great battles, eruptions of Vesuvius,storms at sea, and ghastly tales of murders, the faithful representationof all which is to be seen in his booth for the sum of two kopecs. Then,how endless are the amusements hidden by no jealous tent! Here a groupof cornet-players, each playing a different note, and so forming amelody; there a set of gypsies dancing and singing; windmill-like swingsswishing through the air with their delighted occupants; while crowds intheir holiday best glide over the smooth ice in sledges or on skates.High above all these earthly delights is to be seen a rope slung acrossbetween the tower of St. Isaac's Cathedral to the balcony of theAdmiralty, upon which a tight-rope dancer is to wheel his little son ina wheelbarrow.
Wild spirits reign among the crowd! The samovars are inexhaustible withtheir supplies of hot tea, and epicures who know how to enjoy lifeswallow mountains of sweet ices, and salt cucumbers immediately after.The people listen to Volkslied singers, and join in with them; whilethose who have brought their three-sided balalaikas with them accompanythe voices--no very difficult art, as it is an instrument with only twostrings.
And it is not only a day for "the masses"; the "classes" are there alsoin all their magnificence. True, every precaution has been taken toprevent "the masses" from encroaching upon their betters. To this endthe Summer Garden is enclosed, and there the world of fashion is to beseen driving in every variety of equipage, from the barouche to thenational _proledotky_, the o
wners exhibiting their costly furs andrunning Bolognese dogs.
The frozen Neva, open to all, is alive with thousands and thousands ofsledges, from smart gilded ones with their English thoroughbreds tothose of simple Lapland construction drawn by reindeer, crossing andrecrossing each other on the polished surface of the river. The NorthernBabel is in full force.
As evening comes on, the terrace of the pavilion is illuminated withBengal lights, and huge pitch bonfires spring into flame, showing up theanimated picture of the people's feast in varied coloring.
After the fireworks three salvoes of cannon from the citadel give thesignal for the bells in all the churches to begin ringing in honor ofSt. Michael.
These three salvoes and ringing of church bells are to serve as a signalto the conspirators. At the first sound they are to rush forward, armedwith knives and torches, with the cry, "Napoleon is here! Here isNapoleon!" When, under cover of the noise of the pealing bells, theyhave forced a way into the midst of the aristocrats and soldiers, itwill be easy for them, in the universal chaos, to push on to the palaceand murder him of whom the _Song of the Knife_ was written.
The thing was plain, a foregone conclusion. That afternoon a strongsouthwest wind from the sea had sprung up, to the discomfort of many.True, the St. Petersburger is accustomed, if one fur coat be notsufficient, to put on two; but the poor performers suffered much damagefrom the wind, which blew down their booths and stopped theirperformances. The tight-rope dancer dared not venture upon hisneck-breaking exhibition, for the storm would have carried off him andhis son bodily like a couple of flies. Aristocratic ladies in theenclosure lamented that the wind tore their veils off their bonnets.Greater still were the lamentations anent the fireworks, for none butBengal lights and wheels could succeed on such a night.
Towards evening the gale rose to a perfect hurricane. Suddenly came theroar of the cannon from the citadel, and simultaneously the peal ofbells. Three hundred bells at one and the same time! A carillon truly.
The roar of the cannon deadened the bells. It is the people's habit tocount the salvoes. Three were the signal for the lighting up of theBengal lights.
But the cannon thundered on.
When the reports had reached twenty-one, people whispered under theirbreath, "What! can it be the birth of a princess in the Winter Palace?"
No. Still the cannons thundered on.
At the fiftieth report the rumor arose that a successful navalengagement was being celebrated.
But still the cannons continued their volley, amid the crash of churchbells.
When the iron tongue had roared for the hundred and first time, peoplebegan to ask themselves, "Can this be the Czar's birthday?"
No; not even that. The iron monsters thundered on--102, 103, 104. At thehundred and fifth time none asked any more what it meant; for the wholecity with one voice sent up a despairing cry, deadening even the crashof the three hundred bells.
"It is coming! It is coming!"
But it was not the approach of Napoleon's army which aroused the voiceof panic, but that of a far mightier lord--the Neva! which, rushing backupon the city, brings the sea with it, and with foaming, roaring,resistless waves breaks up the ice of the river, flinging it abroad onall sides.
That was the meaning of the incessant firing of cannon from the citadel.
* * * * *
When Czar Peter I. first began to put into form his idea of building acapital in the midst of the Finnish morass, and, to that end, had thevast forest there standing exterminated, he came upon an old fir-tree,on whose bark were cut deep lines. "What is the meaning of these lines?"he asked an old countryman. "_These lines denote the height of the Nevawhen it leaves its banks and floods the whole surrounding land._" TheCzar gave orders for tree and peasant to be cut down; but both hadspoken truly. The Neva remained the sworn enemy of the mighty city ofthe Czar.
* * * * *
Yes. It is coming, rushing on with backward movement; it has left theriver-bed and increases mightily; it is no longer the Neva, but thesea--the salt sea in all its awful immensity! And once it has gone down,the walls of palaces and houses, as far as the water has reached, willbe covered with salt.
The sledgers on the ice were the first to become aware of the extent ofthe danger. Those of them who took refuge on the right bank of the rivermight esteem themselves lucky, for there the streets were clear; butthose seeking the left side spread mad panic among the unconsciousthrong of pleasure-seekers with their cry, "The Neva is coming!"
The very words sufficed to strike dismay into the hearts of the bravestand to paralyze the cowardly with terror; for in such danger there is noway of escape. When the Neva rises it overflows the whole city, and hewho would flee the danger meets it at the next turning.
Confusion reigned supreme. The crowds of carriages in the railed-inSummer Garden had but one way of egress, and collision was inevitable;those which at last forced a passage came into the midst of a maddenedpress of people, who carried them along, regardless of the crest uponthe panels and the supercilious lackey on the box. There were for thetime being no princes and no mujiks, only a panic-stricken mob. Andbefore disentanglement was possible the flood was upon them.
The first huge wave washed down the booths in Isaacsplatz. The terrifiedowners came rushing out of the beer-houses, and, clambering on the topsof their dismantled booths, shrieked for help. The giantess pushed headand shoulders out of her tent, frightened to death. Boys dressed likeperforming apes flew up their poles; the sea-maiden found her feet, and,discarding tail, made for dry land. The performing elephant waddledthrough the crowd, his roaster on his back; and the wild beasts in themenagerie roared as if they were in their native forests. At thatinstant, as though in mockery of this scene of terror, the red and greenlights on the terrace of the Summer Garden pavilion shone forth,lighting up the flood in all its horror. The men in charge of thefireworks were ignorant of what was happening. Only when the festivepeals of bells had died away in distant reverberations did they becomeaware of their danger; and hastily putting out their lights, left thewhole city in darkness. For the slippery pavements impeded thelamp-lighters; nor, indeed, could they have lighted their lamps in thestorm that was raging. Darkness added the final touch of horror to thescene of danger! Among the terrified refugees were Duchess Ghedimin andBethsaba; their carriage, in Russian style, drawn by two horses tandem.The first horse was wellnigh unmanageable; it was a spirited Englishmare, which the Duchess had specially chosen that day to show that herequipage was superior to Zeneida's. Only she had not attained her aim,for Fraeulein Ilmarinen had not entered an appearance.
"Drive down one of the side streets," the Duchess said, peremptorily, toher coachman.
Easy to command, but not so easy to carry out! The mob surrounded themon all sides.
"Get down," she ordered her jaeger, "and force a way through the people!"
The jaeger, a gigantic young fellow, a Finlander, seized the foremosthorse by the bridle, and, dealing out blows roundly with his other armon the mujiks, thought to steer the carriage in this way through thecrush. All very well; that kind of thing may do with the mujik, who isaccustomed to the lash; but your thoroughbred has noble blood in hisveins, and does not suffer himself to be led by the bridle. Violentlyshaking himself loose, the horse dealt the jaeger such a blow on the headthat he fell senseless to the ground.
"Oh, what are we to do now?" asked the Duchess, terror-stricken,bursting into tears.
"I know a way," said Bethsaba. "Have the leader led in the saddle."
"But who would venture to mount it?" asked the Duchess, wringing herhands.
"I will!" returned Bethsaba; "I am used to riding."
"Very well, then," said the Duchess.
Selfish to the last degree, she never considered that in order to reachthe farthermost horse Bethsaba would have to wade through the icy waterup to her knees, and in her light carriage-wrap expose herself to thebitter cold of the stor
my night, and to the maddened populace, who, inthe darkness and panic, recognized neither lord nor master. Also, in heremergency, Princess Ghedimin utterly forgot that Bethsaba was, moreover,a king's daughter, who had not been committed to her care to act aspostilion for her.
So she merely said, "Very well, then."
And the girl, throwing off her fur-lined cloak, jumped from the carriageinto the water, ran to the foremost horse, calling it by its name as sheran; then, stroking its mane with one hand, sprang lightly upon itsback, using the leading-reins for bridle.
And now they moved on once more.
With her soft voice saying to the on-pressing crowd, "Dear cousin,please make way! Heaven be with you!" she effected more than any amountof violence would have done. The people made way for her, and shesucceeded in guiding the carriage into a side street, clear as yet fromthe flying masses.
But there was a reason which made advance impracticable. The flood wasalready ahead of them; and the farther they proceeded the more imminentgrew their danger. The waves were already washing into the carriage; theDuchess had to take refuge on the coachman's box to keep her feet dry.There she was so far secure, but Bethsaba was soaked to the skin fromthe spray dashed up by the horses' feet, while the water covered herknees.
"If only we could get to Nevski Prospect," gasped the Duchess."Hurry--hurry on! There is our castle."
At length they reached it. But what a sight met their eyes! It was asthough they were in the very midst of the Neva, with its fields of ice.Not water alone was round them, but ice--great icebergs floating on theblack expanse of water. Through the Moika Canal the flood was comingdown upon them.
"Holy Archangel Michael!" screamed the coachman at the sight, "save uson this your day!"
"Don't pray now, but push on the horses," commanded the Duchess,peremptorily.
"From this only St. Michael or the devil can save us!"
"Hold your tongue!" cried the Duchess, giving him a smart blow on thehead. "I trust neither in St. Michael nor the devil, but in my goodhorses, which will take me home in safety. Drive on!"
And the Duchess struck the coachman, the coachman the horses, and thehorses' feet the raging element. All three were furious. The king'sdaughter alone prayed:
"My God!--oh, dear God, send some one to help us!"
She felt that she could not hold out much longer, that her limbs weregrowing numb with cold.