by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XXX
A MOTHER'S BLESSING
In the villa shaded by aromatic pines the bride elect awaited the happyday. No longer a prisoner, condemned to lifelong imprisonment. For thehardest imprisonment of all is sickness; one is made to hear at everystep, "Oh, don't run! Don't sing! You must not drink water! Keep yourshawl about your throat! Do not eat this! Mind you don't take cold!Don't get overheated!"
Even the doctor stays away. The panacea has done wonders.
The lovely month of roses had come. The bridegroom had had the pathalong which Sophie was to walk planted with roses, and the happy girlcollected the blossoms, morning and evening, that not a single leafmight fall to the ground. Why did she do this? When the leaves were dryshe meant to fill a silken cushion with them. Sleep would be so sweet onsuch a cushion.
She was even now spreading out her leaves on the sunny side of theveranda, singing to herself as she did so. No one forbade her to singnow; it was allowed; only old Helenka grumbled out the adage, "Sing onFriday, cry on Sunday." But Sophie is accustomed to laugh at such wisesaws from her old nurse. Who believes in such superstitious omensnowadays? When all of a sudden good old Helenka sighed out, anxiously:
"Holy Maria! St. Anna! What brings her here?"
And without another word she ran off, to avoid the new-comer.
Sophie, looking up wonderingly, saw a lady of striking beauty comingdown the garden path. She wore a dress of gay-colored embroidery, a birdof paradise in her bonnet, and upon her shoulders was a costly cashmereshawl. At sight of the stranger's seductive beauty Sophie felt amysterious shudder pass through her frame; her heart seemed to stopbeating. She began to believe again in omens.
The stranger came alone, and at an hour too early for ladies, as arule, to be out. Without hesitation she ascended the veranda steps, likeone who knew the house well.
As she reached Sophie she raised her hand with the gesture of oneexpecting to have it kissed, saying, in a low voice, as she did so:
"I am Princess Ghedimin!"
The girl's heart beat audibly; but she had no alternative, she must kissthe gloved hand.
"You have never seen me before?" the lady asked.
Sophie shook her head in silent negation.
"Let us go together into your sitting-room, then. Is there any one withyou?"
"No one."
The lady went on first, and, having reached the room, took off herbonnet. Her abundant fair hair was dressed high, _a la giraffe_.
"Now kiss me, child. I am your mother!"
Sophie did as she was bid.
The Princess looked about her. Embroideries, pretty dresses, the wholetrousseau, lay scattered about in charming disorder.
"Ah! Your trousseau. So you are going to be married, little one? Did itnever strike you that so serious a step demanded a mother's blessingupon it?"
The girl ventured to reply, "I had been told that I was neither to visitnor to write to my mother."
"But you might have let me know through your little friend Bethsaba, whohas been seeing you daily."
"I thought she would have told you."
"No; not a word. Oh, girls nowadays can keep their own counsel! Not oncedid she mention 'his' name to me; it was by mere chance that I heard it.Herr Pushkin came to me yesterday to ask my permission to dedicate hisnew poem, _The Spring of Baktshisseraj_, to me."
"To you?"
"Have you any objection to his doing so?"
"On the contrary, I am glad."
"And he happened casually to mention that in a week he was about to leadSophie Narishkin to the altar. I was astonished. I fancied you stillplaying with your dolls. Who brought this big doll to you?"
"My father."
"And do you think yourself sensible enough to marry yet?"
"I do not know if I am sensible; I only know that I love him!"
"A categorical answer! How positive you are that he will marry you! Andwhere did you get to know Pushkin?"
"During the flood. Oh, I was in such terrible danger! Had they not cometo save me I should have been washed away."
"Who came to save you then?"
Sophie was surprised at the question.
"Do you not know? Did not Bethsaba tell you?"
"Bethsaba? No; she has not spoken to me a word of you or Pushkin. Slygirl--she shall pay for this. So the same fairy sheltered you whocarried off Bethsaba from my carriage? That devil in woman's form! AndBethsaba has thought well to keep it from me! And for whole days andnights you were in that den of iniquity! Now I understand it all! It isthis fiend who has brought it all about!"
"Mother, do not curse her! I owe all my happiness to her."
"Do you know, then, what is 'happiness'?"
"To be loved."
"And do you know what is its opposite?"
"That I do not know yet."
"To be betrayed."
"Who would betray me?"
"Who but he whom you believe loves you?"
"My Aleko?"
"Yes, your Aleko, who is the property of so many besides you. A morefickle man, a greater deceiver, more cruel, dishonorable, you could nothave met with on earth."
"What reason could he have to deceive me?"
"Because he hopes, through you, to rise to higher rank."
"Oh no! He has refused all titles, rank, and possessions. He is takingme as I am. My trousseau and this piece of copper--a piece of the shipwhich ran into the Winter Palace, and which he gave me on the day of thecatastrophe--are my whole wealth. He means to remain a poor man, and tomake himself a name which no dukedom could rival."
"How he can deceive you! His schemes stop only at the throne. He ismarrying you that in the next revolution he may figure as the Russian'Prince Egalite.' Nay, Egalite!--as another Pugatseff! Why, do you notknow that he is one of the conspirators whose aim is to oust the Czarfrom the throne?"
"But it was my father who brought him here."
"Because he has a honeyed tongue with which he can deceive the Czar--andlull the daughter to sleep."
"Oh, mother, you hate him sorely!"
"And with reason! Does not this marriage threaten to ruin my whole life?Will it not bring the secret of your birth to light--that birth the baneof my early life?"
"Mother! Do you curse the day of my birth?"
"Not now only, but twice daily--when I wake and when I lie down. Youwere as a death-sentence to me, the hour of which was unfixed. I havethought with shuddering of you. You have been my accomplice, a livingwitness to my wrecked honor; and now my fate is to be accomplishedthrough you. You announce to the whole world that you exist--look! heream I!"
"No, mother; I will hide myself. No one shall see me. No one shall knowof me."
Korynthia here pretended that pity and maternal love had gained themastery. In sorrowing tones, she exclaimed:
"But, my poor child, do you not know that you are condemning yourself toa living grave--that you are choosing a life worse than hell? You willbe the wife of an adventurer, who is sunk so low in sin, so fettered byvicious associates, that, even if he desired it, he is powerless toavoid the consequences. Do you want to follow him to Siberia?"
"If misfortune assails him I will share it with him."
"And suppose the mad scheme in which he is the foremost actor succeeds,and his hands are stained with your father's blood?"
"Then I will find a path in which to implore Heaven's pardon for him."
"Blinded creature! Your self-created ideal prevents your seeing the manas he is. Do you believe it possible to confine a heart in a cage thatis accustomed to take free flight, and which, moreover, you have by nomeans made captive? For Pushkin loves you not! I tell you, he loves younot! Be convinced; he loves you not!"
Sophie looked in bewilderment at Korynthia. The instinct of her woman'sheart, added to a nervous foreboding, told her the horrible truth.Seizing Korynthia's hand, she exclaimed:
"_You love him!_"
"You are right!" hissed Korynthia, with wild vehemence.
Sophie, pressing her hands to her heart, turned white as death; her eyesclosed, her breathing stopped, and she fell lifeless to the ground.
The Princess went in search of Helenka.
"Go in to your mistress; she is not well."
And, drawing her cashmere close about her (the mornings are misty by theriver) and replacing her bonnet, she left the villa.
Knowing that her farewell kiss would be of no benefit to the poorswooning girl, she let it alone.