The Green Book Part 19

Araktseieff's palace was just then being decorated with those historic frescos by which the celebrated Doyen perpetuated the deeds of Czar Alexander. The master was even then himself at work on the immense circle which formed the cupola of the domed reception-room, and in which the Czar appears in the midst of his generals and surrounded by mythological and allegorical figures.

The furious Censor had to pa.s.s through this saloon. He glanced up at the master, who, astride on the plank, was touching up the figures, already designed, with color. It was just what he wanted. He would let off some of his rage upon him.

"Is it Master Doyen, or one of his a.s.sistants, who is painting up there?" asked he.

To this singular question the artist made reply:

"And pray what may be your business down there?"

"I have no 'business,' but am Vasul Sujukin Sergievitch, Counsellor of Enlightenment to his Majesty." Such was the Censor's t.i.tle.

"A jolly good thing you have come. There is precious little light in this city with its confounded fogs."

"Learn, sir, that this is no 'confounded' fog. A St. Petersburg fog is purer than that of any other city. We allow no complaints of our skies.

But, look! who is that woman up there in the picture, standing close to the Czar, with leg bared to the knee?"

"It is Fame, the G.o.ddess of novelty."

"But what indecency for any one to stand in proximity to the Czar in such a costume!"

"Ha, my friend, in the period of Roman-Greek mythology stockings were not in fas.h.i.+on."

"But we are in Russia, where ladies who have been presented do not go about barefoot. I forbid you to bring women in such _negligee_ in contact with the person of the Czar!"

"All right! I will give her sandals."

"And let down her dress!"

"It is going to have a border to it."

"Mind, then, that it is a broad one that covers the knee. And who is that with a roll of papers in his hand?"

"General Kutusoff."

"Why is his right arm shorter than the left?"

"It is not shorter; only his position makes it appear so. We call that _scorzo_ in Italian."

"_Scorzo_ here, _scorzo_ there! We are not Italians! Here we call a man who has one arm shorter than the other deformed!"

"But I cannot paint my characters with stretched-out arms as if they were on a crucifix!"

"I don't see why not."

The artist here, giving up the discussion, began touching up the face of the Czar.

"What is that black you are smearing over the countenance of the Czar?"

"_Terra di Siena._ It gives the shadows."

"But there must be no shadow on the countenance of the Czar! It must s.h.i.+ne, be radiant, brilliant. And then, look here, one-half of the imperial face is broader than the other."

"Of course it is; because it is taken in three-quarter profile."

"But why do you take the Czar in three-quarter profile?"

"Because he could not otherwise be looking straight at Kutusoff."

"Then turn Kutusoff's head so that the Czar may look at him in full face."

The artist was nigh to springing off his plank with brush and palette, and alighting on the head of the dictatorial Counsellor of Enlightenment. But, controlling himself, he took up a large brush and began painting in the clouds in the background. This thoroughly provoked the Censor's severity.

"Halt! What are you doing? What is that?"

"A cloud."

"I can under no conditions permit you to paint clouds behind the person of the Czar. It might seem to some to have an allegorical meaning, as though our political horizon were threatened with dark clouds."

"But, my dear sir, clouds are necessary to make the figure stand out."

"The Czar stands out by himself! You must paint in a twilight sky for your background."

"Impossible! Light is thrown on to the figures from the other side, where the sun is s.h.i.+ning."

"Where is the sun? How are you going to paint it--in what colors? With us the sun s.h.i.+nes far more brilliantly than in any other country."

The artist looked round to see which paint-pot he could aim at the Enlightened Counsellor's head. Then a better idea struck him.

"Stop a bit, Herr Counsellor! Here at the feet of the Czar is to be a figure, 'Death Conquered.' Your head will make a capital model. Just let me jot down a sketch of it."

The Counsellor of Enlightenment once more felt his reason staggered. He could not at the moment decide whether it were a compliment or an impertinence that his physiognomy should be perpetuated on one canvas with that of the Czar as "Death Conquered." But his brutish instincts whispered him that it would be doing the Frenchman a service to stand as his model; so he did not do it. Leaving him in the lurch, he pa.s.sed on to his patron's apartments.

CHAPTER XIV

THE YOUNG HOPEFUL

The Counsellor of Public Enlightenment was just by way of detailing at large to Araktseieff Pushkin's unheard-of outrage upon the censorial red pencil, with all its aggravations, when a young man, unceremoniously bursting open the door of the reception-room of the dread President of Police, appeared upon the scene. The intruder seemed privileged to break in upon him unannounced, whoever might be having audience of the all-powerful statesman. The new-comer was a man of some thirty years of age; his dress the uniform of a colonel in the Life Guards. His features were pleasing and regular, but the expression uneasy, s.h.i.+fty; he never looked the person to whom he was speaking full in the face.

It was Junker Jevgen, Araktseieff's son and young hopeful.

"Ah!" cried his father, "you have got into some other ugly sc.r.a.pe, sir!"

"_Au contraire_, governor! Mistaken for once."

"Your appearance rarely means anything else. Have you anything of importance to say to me?"