by Mór Jókai
CHAPTER XLIX
THE ANTIDOTE
Lovely, sunny December days followed on the past arctic weather, withits snow-storms. Chevalier Galban returned home, having received apromise from Pushkin to make him a return visit very soon. Post trafficwas resumed; that is, communication by means of sledging was once morepracticable.
The official newspaper outdid itself in dulness. But at the end of theso-called news of the day was an announcement to the effect that "_onDecember 26th Fraeulein Ilmarinen would sing in the Imperial Exchange forthe benefit of the Orphanage_!"
The concert was announced eight days in advance, in order that all whodesired to attend should have due notice.
Pleskow to St. Petersburg is two good days' journey. Allowing for thetime for post to reach, Pushkin had six days' notice.
Bethsaba, too, read the announcement, and said:
"Oh dear! How I should like to be there, to hear my dear Zeneida sing!"
Her heart was filled with dread. She, too, knew full well--Zeneida hadtold her--what this concert and this singing heralded.
From that moment Pushkin was utterly changed--morose, melancholy.Bethsaba read in his face as in an open book. Had she not had the keyto the hieroglyphics from Zeneida? She knew exactly what Pushkin wasbrooding over; she knew perfectly well that "Eleutheria" was the name ofhis old love. And she concentrated all her love upon him to hold himfast.
Was it such an unheard-of thing for men, renowned statesmen, to forget,in their domestic happiness, an appointment they had made with friend orenemy on the battle-field? How often it had happened that great men,when once they had learned to know "the little world of love," had beenfain to think how good it was to be "little" men! What happy peopleLilliputians must be!
Vain endeavor!
For two whole days Pushkin fought with himself; then told Bethsaba thathe must leave home on December 24th.
Bethsaba never asked whither, nor for how long; she only said, "And youare not taking me with you?"
"No, love. It would be impossible for you to travel in this coldweather; the roads are so bad."
"But not too bad for you! Can you not put off this journey?"
"Impossible!" returned Pushkin, irritably.
The tone in which he spoke forbade further question. Bethsaba saw thatthe hour of the dreaded danger had come. The poison was already workingin his veins. An antidote must be administered.
Going to her room, she wrote to Chevalier Galban:
"Alexander Sergievitch is making preparations for a journey very shortly. I await your answer."
This significant letter she gave to a footman, with instructions toconvey it to its address as fast as a sledge would take him.
After their conversation, Pushkin, seeing that his moroseness betrayedhim, forced himself to be in high spirits. His friends said they hadnever seen him so merry. Bethsaba alone was not deceived.
At last came the morning of the dreaded day. Both rose early, thatPushkin might not be late in starting. Just as he was getting into hisfur coat, Bethsaba, throwing herself on his breast, said, tremblingly:
"I cannot let you go without confessing a sin which I have committedagainst you."
"Against me? What can that be?"
"I have been jealous."
"About this journey?"
"Yes."
"You are a little goose! Are you always going to be jealous when I goaway for a day or two?"
"Only this time. I had been told that you were going to visit your oldlove, and that is why you wanted to go alone."
"Was it Galban who gave you this information?"
"He said so when he was here. I asked him the lady's name. He answeredme he would tell it me _if I asked it again_. When I saw you makingready for departure, jealousy revived in me in all its strength. I lostmy judgment. Kill me! Trample me underfoot! I wrote to Galban,entreating him to tell me the name of her for love of whom my husbandwas leaving me, and asked him to prove to me in writing the statement hehad made by word of mouth. Read what he answers."
And she gave him Galban's letter.
As Pushkin read the letter to the end the world seemed to swim in bloodbefore his eyes.
"ADORED LADY,--If you would possess the desired document, deign to visit my modest dwelling; I cannot intrust it to strange hands.
Your ever-faithful slave,
"GALBAN."
Pushkin looked in amazement at Bethsaba.
Trembling, his wife fell on her knees.
"Oh, forgive me! I did not know what I was doing! Do not beat me; I ampunished enough by the shame I have brought upon myself! I am foreverdisgraced!"
Pushkin gently raised his wife.
"Do not cry. You have been a foolish child, that is all. In my eyes youare purer than the angels. And I swear by Heaven that no shame shallever attach to you for this. Kiss me, and take comfort."
"And you forgive me?"
"I have nothing to forgive. A woman has the right to demand that herhusband is as true to her as she to him. Such truth I will preserve toyou. Now embrace me, and take good care of your dear little self. On myreturn I will tell you who she was at whose invitation I am undertakingthis journey."
Bethsaba knew her well--"Eleutheria."
Pushkin, taking his weapons, sprang into his sledge, giving his coachmaninstructions where to drive.
The jemsik shook his head. They would never reach St. Petersburg by thatroad.
It was evening before Pushkin arrived at Galban's castle. It was anold-fashioned building, standing in the midst of extensive pine woods--ahunting-box.
The antidote was working splendidly.
Happiness had never succeeded in causing Pushkin to overlook anappointment; but jealousy is a strong antidote. There are men enoughready to give up love, happiness, means, rank, for freedom; but theworld has not yet seen the man who would sacrifice honor for it. Placein one scale all the workings of passion, in another those ofjealousy--the latter would weigh heavier. No tyrant in the world ishated so intensely as is a rival.
Had Brutus been told on the Ides of March that Casca had paid court tohis wife, it would have been Casca, not Caesar, who would have died.
Zeneida had laid the train cleverly. She knew the whole position.
For months past the two parties had been playing with open cards. Theirplans had long been known to one another by means of secret agencies;their very names known. But each hesitated to begin the attack. Themembers of the constitutional party were to be found among the higheststatesmen, and even generals. That a collision would take place all wereconvinced, but none knew when. But there was a key to the exact periodof the outbreak; that key was the day of Pushkin's leaving home. The dayhe left Pleskow to appear against his edict of banishment in St.Petersburg was the signal. Chevalier Galban, Princess Ghedimin, and thefollowers of Araktseieff were on the watch for it.
Knowing this, Zeneida had planned the intrigue which would effectuallykeep Pushkin out of the charmed circle on the eventful day.
Among certain nationalities her little game might easily have endeddangerously. Jealousy has often led to fatal results. But in Russiasocial opinion is different. At that time duels were almost unknownthere. We saw from Jakuskin's experience that the challenger was simplydespatched forthwith to the Caucasus. Bethsaba risked nothing more thanthat her husband should be sent to Georgia, in the event of hischallenging Galban, for Galban was certain not to fight. At the worst,it would only lead to fisticuffs, and there the strong-wristed countrygentleman would be more than a match for the effeminate courtier.
In order that the noise of his approaching sledge might not attractattention, Pushkin left it in the road, and, taking his case of pistolsand whip in his hand, walked to the house.
It had a deserted appearance; not even a dog barked in the courtyard. Itwas after some time that Pushkin at last succeeded in getting a dvornikto open the door in answer to his rep
eated knocking.
"Where is Chevalier Galban?"
"Ah, little master, that I can't tell. He went away yesterday."
"Tell me no lies, or you shall have a taste of my whip! Go and tell himthat some one from Pushkin's is here."
"Ah, soul of mine, you have come, then, at the right time, for theChevalier left a letter for the Pushkins. True, he said it would be alady who came for it; but I suppose it's all the same if I give it toyou?"
So saying, he drew out a letter from the leg of his boot. No matter ifthe scent of patchouli became slightly mixed with the smell of leather.
Pushkin, tearing open the letter, read:
"MADAME,--I ask you ten thousand pardons; but this time it was not your heart but your husband's head I was after. I hasten to meet him beside the lovely woman whose name is 'Scaffold.'
"GALBAN."
"Drive back!" growled Pushkin to his jemsik. "Drive as hard as yourhorses will go to St. Petersburg!"
It was too late. A day had been lost. Pushkin could not possibly arriveat the scene of action on December 26th. A woman's intrigue hadsucceeded admirably. If all else were lost, the poet's head was saved.