by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XXXI
THE WILL
That day Pushkin felt as heavy-hearted as if he had not only all thesins of the world, but the national debts of all Europe, upon hisshoulders. Was it one of those presentiments to which the race of poets,whose stock-in-trade is nerves, are so sensitive? Nothing gave him anypleasure. He went to Zeneida, to formally announce his approachingmarriage to her. She had long been informed of it, for she possessed asplendid service of secret police.
Zeneida replied, with cold, stoical irony:
"I still do not believe that the Czar's daughter _will marry you_."
"Probably not; for _I_ intend to marry the Czar's daughter!"
"Is Princess Ghedimin informed of it?"
"I have announced it to her."
"Then nothing will come of it."
"It has nothing in the world to do with her."
"I prophesy it. Else why am I the pythoness? Does Prince Ghedimin knowof it?"
"Prince Ghedimin! _Mille tonnerres!_ Am I to go to the Prince, too, toask for Sophie's hand? He, at any rate, is out of it."
"Not on account of your wooing, my friend, but that the Prince may eraseyour name from 'the green book.' You will doubtless see that the name ofthe son-in-law of the Czar can hardly adorn--I will not say blacken--itspages."
"By Jove! you are right. I had not thought of that."
With heavier heart than he had come, Pushkin left her.
Zeneida's villa was on the Kreskowsky Island, thus some distance fromSophie's home, which lay embowered in orange groves. From afar thelight-green roof was visible, standing out from amidst the pines. Everyevening a white flag was to be seen floating from the flagstaff, hoistedby Sophie herself, as a signal that she was expecting him. Sometimes shewould come down to the shore to meet him, her white-clad figure greetinghim when he was yet a long way off.
Now neither white flag nor white-clad maiden was visible. He hastened onimpatiently. Usually, as his boat approached the landing-stage, another,in which sat Bethsaba, would row away. The Circassian Princess neverawaited Pushkin; they only exchanged greetings from a distance. Now heperceived a gondola, painted in the Ghedimin family colors, stillchained to the landing-stage, the boatmen stretched on benches fastasleep.
Without waiting for his boat to reach the land, Pushkin sprang ashoreand ran towards the house.
On either side of the path Sophie's beloved roses were blooming; theground was covered with their fallen leaves.
"What can have happened," thought Pushkin, "that your guardian angel hasnot been gathering up your leaves this evening?"
"Go in-doors; you will soon know the reason," answered the roses.
He found no one upon the veranda. He opened the familiar tapestried doorleading into Sophie's private apartments. There he learned why the roseleaves had not been gathered in that day.
Sophie lay upon her bed, white as death. Yesterday's soft bloom had allfled from her cheeks; they were almost transparent. The anguish she hadundergone had left a transfigured expression upon her face. She wasclasping Bethsaba's hand, who sat by her bedside, their fingersinterlaced, in prayer.
Pushkin advanced cautiously, concealing his alarm. It is not well to letinvalids see that their appearance inspires anxiety.
"What is this? Are you not well?"
"No, Aleko; I am dying. Do not be startled; it is past now. I havewrestled through it. You, too, will live through it."
"Oh, do not speak so, my love!" stammered Pushkin, kneeling by the bed,and covering the girl's white face with kisses. "It is but some slightfeeling of illness that will pass off, as so often before. I will go andfetch the doctor."
"You will go nowhere! You will stay, when I tell you to. Do not obligeme to talk loudly, but obey. Think, were you to go and alarm Wylie withthe news that I am on my death-bed, he would at once inform the Czar.The Czar just now is engaged upon a great work for the good of thecountry; he is arming for war. Millions depend upon his decisions forfreedom, and a happier future in store. For this he needs all hispowers. My father loves me so dearly, and depends so entirely upon me,that the news of this illness will completely unman him, and render himunable to carry on the work he has in hand; the thought of his dyingdaughter would deprive him of all energy and power. Is it not strange?In my lifetime scarce a dozen people have known of my existence; in mydeath shall millions upon millions curse the day of my birth and mydeath! So, I implore you, do not disquiet the Czar with the news of myextremity."
With passionate vehemence Pushkin answered:
"What matter to me Hellas and the Russian Constitution, now that you areill? I must save you!"
The reason which led Pushkin to this imbittered exclamation wascharacteristic of the times. Elsewhere, and at any other era, a lover,under similar circumstances, would have said, "Very well; I will not goto the Czar's physician, but to the first skilful doctor whom we cantrust not to publish your illness, and he shall cure you." But at thatperiod no one thought of going to a Russian doctor who did not want tohasten his death. Rather would they go to a quack, or trust to householdremedies, than confide themselves to a St. Petersburg doctor. It was thesurest way to court death. People only sent to apothecaries forrat-powder; indeed, under Czar Alexander, Russian subjects wereforbidden to be apothecaries; Germans only were allowed. A Russianmistrusted his countryman; he held him capable of giving a sick man--inthe interest of his enemies--poison instead of remedies. The aristocracywould only be attended by the Czar's and Czarina's physicians. In theirabsence, it was no use for any one to be ill.
"I have begged you not to excite me! In vain would you bring me all theGalens in the world, with their potions; I would take none of them. Iwill drink no more of that odious physic that tastes of bitter almonds.I must die! Do you understand? I _must_. My death is necessary,irremediable. Not because I am ill, but because I am condemned to die.And it is right that it should be so!"
Pushkin, unable to solve this riddle, looked inquiringly at Bethsaba,who, at this, made a movement to go. But Sophie held her back.
"Stay! I want you both. Pushkin, be a man--a brave, strong man! Are youa child, that you are trembling so? Grant me what I ask. I am going tomake my will. Draw the writing-table up to my bed, light two candles,and place the crucifix between them; but first close the shutters andmake it night! Oh, these terrible summer nights in St. Petersburg, withtheir endless gathering dusk--it seems as if night would never come andday would never cease! It is such an oppression! Ah, I feel calmer nowthat it is dark. Now come and sit down by me and write; or would yourather lay the portfolio on my bed and write kneeling? So you shall,then. And you, Bethsaba, kneel beside him. Attend to what I say, andwrite: 'Surrendering my soul to God, my ashes to earth, I, SophieNarishkin, bequeath, on my death, all my worldly goods to my only friendthe Circassian Princess, Bethsaba Dilarianoff. The only two things Idesire to have buried with me are the little piece of lead which I haveever worn upon my heart, and, under my head, the little green silkcushion filled with rose-leaves, on which I shall rest peacefully.'What! cannot you see the letters that you are writing all across thepaper? Pushkin, what a baby you are! Write further: 'To my one and onlyfriend I bequeath the greatest treasure I have in the world--my AlekoPushkin!'"
At these words Bethsaba would have started up, but Sophie would notallow it. Twining one arm round her neck, the other round Pushkin's, shepressed their cheeks together.
"Am I not to be allowed to dispose of my treasure as I like in my will?Do you think, then, that I do not know how dearly you love him? Before Iconfessed to you my love for him, his praises were forever in yourmouth; since then you have never once mentioned his name. Do you think Idid not know why you always hurried away when he came? Your cheeks usedto be so rosy, and you so merry and full of fun. Now they are white, andyou are so sad and lifeless. Do you think I have not divined your grief?You love him, as I do. Do not conceal it any longer. Tell the truth. Donot have any secrets longer from a dying girl, who to-morrow will be aspirit, knowing all that i
s in your spirit. Do not wait for mydisembodied soul to come nightly to disquiet you, asking, as a spectre,the answer to the question you refused me in life. Confess that you loveAleko!"
As she heard these words Bethsaba's heart felt nigh to bursting, andwith open lips and upturned eyes she fell unconscious to the ground.
"Lift her up and lay her by me on the bed," said Sophie, tranquilly."Now you have two dead brides to choose between. Only one will wake tolife again, for she has not been killed. You can have no doubt now butthat she loves you. Leave her unconscious. It is better that she doesnot hear what I have to say to you. But you keep every word in yourheart of hearts and do as I bid you, for you know that girls who dieduring their betrothal change into spirits whom it is not good to anger.So listen. You are not to leave Bethsaba's side again. I know why I saythis. If you let her go home, she will never look on God's free heavenagain; she will be confined for life in St. Katherine's Convent."
Now Pushkin began to divine what had happened.
At the mention of St. Katherine's Convent, in Moscow, there flashedacross him all the scandalous adventures he had heard the officers ofthe guards boast of at their mess dinners, outdoing even the scandals ofParis life. The convent had a reputation only equalled by the very worstconvents of Montmartre. Young lieutenants wore the rosaries of the nunsof St. Katherine's as bracelets, and only that year a terrible case hadhappened which had been hushed up by the authorities. The lastdescendant of a noble family had disappeared suddenly from society inMoscow, and after a month of vain searching his body was discovered cutto pieces in one of the wells at St. Katherine's. And thither hergodmother intends to send Bethsaba, where not only her happiness forthis world, but for the next, is to be lost forever. And PrincessGhedimin was thoroughly capable of it.
"So, no indecision, no sentiment," continued Sophie. "On the day of mydeath you must marry Bethsaba; if not, she is lost. True, the world willsay, 'The scoundrel! the very day he closed the coffin on his betrothedhe could open his heart to another.' But you will be in possession of mywill, dictated to you by me, and signed with my shaking hand; lay itupon your heart, and it will give you peace. And if your conscienceacquits you, what matters the judgment of the world? Be daring! ThePatriarch of Solowetshk will be waiting in the Czar Peter's castle onPetrovsky Island. He is charged to marry a young girl to an officer inthe guards without previous publication of banns. He does not know themor their names. Two witnesses will be necessary; I have provided forthat. Zeneida can be one, Helenka's husband, old Ihnasko, the other;both are trusty friends. And while the one gondola, to the voices of thechanting choristers, glides gently along with my flower-bedecked coffinto the lovely willow-shaded vault on this bank of the Neva, you in theother gondola will be rowing across to the other bank of the Neva tocatch your troika, which will be in waiting. And now, God be with you!"
Pushkin paced the room in wildest excitement, tearing his dishevelledhair.
Sophie, meanwhile, set about restoring her friend to consciousness, and,unfastening her bodice, sprinkled her face with water. Dying, she stillthought of others.
At length Bethsaba began to revive; but as she opened her eyes sheburied her face in the cushions.
"I have arranged everything with Aleko," said the dying girl, in a low,contented voice. "You have only to do exactly what he tells you. I leaveyou my pink dress and the platinum diadem. You will soon know when youare to wear them. Why, Pushkin, how can you be so useless? Why have younot written it all down in my will? Now, do not forget the pinkwedding-dress and platinum diadem. Old Helenka, too, I bequeath to you;she has always been a good, faithful nurse to me. You may trust herthrough thick and thin. Now, Aleko, give Bethsaba pen and paper. Shemust write to tell the Princess not to expect her, as she is not comingback at present. Now write, dear one: 'Your Highness, my honoredgodmother,--Sophie is ill and in sore need of my care. I must stay hereuntil the Lord take pity upon her. Your godchild, Bethsaba.' Now, dearAleko, send off this note to the Princess, that she may not be uneasy.And as soon as you are ready give me my will, that I may sign it."
Sophie read it through.
"How many blots there are!" she whispered, and a smile lit up herdeath-like face. Those blots were Pushkin's tears. Sophie made merryover them, and wanted Aleko and Bethsaba to join in her merriment. Shewrote her name in large, clear handwriting, and gave back the pen toPushkin. Then she put both her arms round his neck and drew him down toher.
"To-day you still belong to me! Let me look once more into those eyeswhich have been so long a sweet home to me! Oh, it was a Paradise onearth! I thank you that you let me know such exquisite happiness! Ithank you for the truth and tender love with which you blessed me!"
And she kissed him countless times. Then, letting her arms sink, shemotioned him away. It was the last caress.
"Aleko! Bethsaba! I want to see you embrace each other--now at once,while I am still alive and can see it! If you love me, if you would haveme know you to be sincere, if you place any value on my blessing,embrace each other."
And so across the dying girl's bed they laid their arms on each other'sshoulders.
"Ah, that is right! And now, kiss each other--on the lips. Not likethat; you have hardly touched each other; it was such a cold kiss. Giveher a real one!"
And, laying her hands on the bowed heads, she drew them together, untiltheir lips united in a kiss, her hands resting the while as if in theact of blessing. Then, raising her transfigured face to heaven, and,folding her hands, she breathed, scarce audibly:
"Mother, I have saved you from sin!"