The Green Book Part 47

"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 slight feeling of illness that will pa.s.s off, as so often before. I will go and fetch the doctor."

"You will go nowhere! You will stay, when I tell you to. Do not oblige me to talk loudly, but obey. Think, were you to go and alarm Wylie with the 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 the country; he is arming for war. Millions depend upon his decisions for freedom, and a happier future in store. For this he needs all his powers. My father loves me so dearly, and depends so entirely upon me, that the news of this illness will completely unman him, and render him unable to carry on the work he has in hand; the thought of his dying daughter 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 my death shall millions upon millions curse the day of my birth and my death! So, I implore you, do not disquiet the Czar with the news of my extremity."

With pa.s.sionate vehemence Pushkin answered:

"What matter to me h.e.l.las and the Russian Const.i.tution, now that you are ill? I must save you!"

The reason which led Pushkin to this imbittered exclamation was characteristic of the times. Elsewhere, and at any other era, a lover, under similar circ.u.mstances, would have said, "Very well; I will not go to the Czar's physician, but to the first skilful doctor whom we can trust not to publish your illness, and he shall cure you." But at that period no one thought of going to a Russian doctor who did not want to hasten his death. Rather would they go to a quack, or trust to household remedies, than confide themselves to a St. Petersburg doctor. It was the surest way to court death. People only sent to apothecaries for rat-powder; indeed, under Czar Alexander, Russian subjects were forbidden to be apothecaries; Germans only were allowed. A Russian mistrusted his countryman; he held him capable of giving a sick man--in the interest of his enemies--poison instead of remedies. The aristocracy would only be attended by the Czar's and Czarina's physicians. In their absence, 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 the Galens in the world, with their potions; I would take none of them. I will 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 you a child, that you are trembling so? Grant me what I ask. I am going to make my will. Draw the writing-table up to my bed, light two candles, and place the crucifix between them; but first close the shutters and make it night! Oh, these terrible summer nights in St. Petersburg, with their endless gathering dusk--it seems as if night would never come and day would never cease! It is such an oppression! Ah, I feel calmer now that it is dark. Now come and sit down by me and write; or would you rather lay the portfolio on my bed and write kneeling? So you shall, then. And you, Bethsaba, kneel beside him. Attend to what I say, and write: 'Surrendering my soul to G.o.d, my ashes to earth, I, Sophie Narishkin, bequeath, on my death, all my worldly goods to my only friend the Circa.s.sian Princess, Bethsaba Dilarianoff. The only two things I desire to have buried with me are the little piece of lead which I have ever worn upon my heart, and, under my head, the little green silk cus.h.i.+on filled with rose-leaves, on which I shall rest peacefully.'

What! cannot you see the letters that you are writing all across the paper? Pushkin, what a baby you are! Write further: 'To my one and only friend I bequeath the greatest treasure I have in the world--my Aleko Pushkin!'"

At these words Bethsaba would have started up, but Sophie would not allow it. Twining one arm round her neck, the other round Pushkin's, she pressed 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 I confessed to you my love for him, his praises were forever in your mouth; since then you have never once mentioned his name. Do you think I did not know why you always hurried away when he came? Your cheeks used to be so rosy, and you so merry and full of fun. Now they are white, and you 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. Do not have any secrets longer from a dying girl, who to-morrow will be a spirit, knowing all that is in your spirit. Do not wait for my disembodied soul to come nightly to disquiet you, asking, as a spectre, the answer to the question you refused me in life. Confess that you love Aleko!"

As she heard these words Bethsaba's heart felt nigh to bursting, and with 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 to life again, for she has not been killed. You can have no doubt now but that she loves you. Leave her unconscious. It is better that she does not hear what I have to say to you. But you keep every word in your heart of hearts and do as I bid you, for you know that girls who die during 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 say this. If you let her go home, she will never look on G.o.d's free heaven again; 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 flashed across him all the scandalous adventures he had heard the officers of the guards boast of at their mess dinners, outdoing even the scandals of Paris life. The convent had a reputation only equalled by the very worst convents of Montmartre. Young lieutenants wore the rosaries of the nuns of St. Katherine's as bracelets, and only that year a terrible case had happened which had been hushed up by the authorities. The last descendant of a n.o.ble family had disappeared suddenly from society in Moscow, and after a month of vain searching his body was discovered cut to pieces in one of the wells at St. Katherine's. And thither her G.o.dmother intends to send Bethsaba, where not only her happiness for this world, but for the next, is to be lost forever. And Princess Ghedimin was thoroughly capable of it.

"So, no indecision, no sentiment," continued Sophie. "On the day of my death you must marry Bethsaba; if not, she is lost. True, the world will say, 'The scoundrel! the very day he closed the coffin on his betrothed he could open his heart to another.' But you will be in possession of my will, dictated to you by me, and signed with my shaking hand; lay it upon your heart, and it will give you peace. And if your conscience acquits you, what matters the judgment of the world? Be daring! The Patriarch of Solowetshk will be waiting in the Czar Peter's castle on Petrovsky Island. He is charged to marry a young girl to an officer in the guards without previous publication of banns. He does not know them or their names. Two witnesses will be necessary; I have provided for that. Zeneida can be one, Helenka's husband, old Ihnasko, the other; both are trusty friends. And while the one gondola, to the voices of the chanting choristers, glides gently along with my flower-bedecked coffin to the lovely willow-shaded vault on this bank of the Neva, you in the other gondola will be rowing across to the other bank of the Neva to catch your troika, which will be in waiting. And now, G.o.d be with you!"

Pushkin paced the room in wildest excitement, tearing his dishevelled hair.

Sophie, meanwhile, set about restoring her friend to consciousness, and, unfastening her bodice, sprinkled her face with water. Dying, she still thought of others.

At length Bethsaba began to revive; but as she opened her eyes she buried her face in the cus.h.i.+ons.

"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 leave you my pink dress and the platinum diadem. You will soon know when you are to wear them. Why, Pushkin, how can you be so useless? Why have you not written it all down in my will? Now, do not forget the pink wedding-dress and platinum diadem. Old Helenka, too, I bequeath to you; she has always been a good, faithful nurse to me. You may trust her through thick and thin. Now, Aleko, give Bethsaba pen and paper. She must write to tell the Princess not to expect her, as she is not coming back at present. Now write, dear one: 'Your Highness, my honored G.o.dmother,--Sophie is ill and in sore need of my care. I must stay here until the Lord take pity upon her. Your G.o.dchild, Bethsaba.' Now, dear Aleko, 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 her death-like face. Those blots were Pushkin's tears. Sophie made merry over them, and wanted Aleko and Bethsaba to join in her merriment. She wrote her name in large, clear handwriting, and gave back the pen to Pushkin. Then she put both her arms round his neck and drew him down to her.

"To-day you still belong to me! Let me look once more into those eyes which have been so long a sweet home to me! Oh, it was a Paradise on earth! I thank you that you let me know such exquisite happiness! I thank you for the truth and tender love with which you blessed me!"

And she kissed him countless times. Then, letting her arms sink, she motioned 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 have me 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's shoulders.

"Ah, that is right! And now, kiss each other--on the lips. Not like that; you have hardly touched each other; it was such a cold kiss. Give her a real one!"

And, laying her hands on the bowed heads, she drew them together, until their lips united in a kiss, her hands resting the while as if in the act of blessing. Then, raising her transfigured face to heaven, and, folding her hands, she breathed, scarce audibly:

"Mother, I have saved you from sin!"

CHAPTER x.x.xII

NOT ONLY A BULLET STRIKES HOME

The Czar was holding an extraordinary review.

The usual parades took place on the 21st of May, the day of the patron saint, Nicholas, and on the 20th of September; but this time it was a special review of the household troops alone. They are distinct from the rest of the army; each regiment has a different uniform. The Life Guards wear white uniforms, with s.h.i.+ning gilt breastplates; the Cuira.s.siers, light-blue tunics, with white, plated cuira.s.s; the uniform of the Jerusalem Regiment is crimson-red, with gilt breastplate. The ranks, from officer down to corporal, are all knights of the Order of St. John, and even the common soldiers are all of the n.o.bility.

And every regiment boasts its past, its history, which pa.s.ses on to the successors as a tradition, and keeps up the glory of its name.

The regiment of St. John of Jerusalem was so cut to pieces in two battles that in one battalion only eighteen men were left.

The Preobrazsenski Regiment has the proud distinction of having deposed Czar Ivan and set Elisabeth in his place. Every man in the regiment received his patent of n.o.bility.

The Ismailoffski Regiment bears on its colors the trophies of seven conclusive battles. At Borodino half the troops remained on the battle-field, and not a single man came home without a wound. These regiments compose the aristocracy of the Life Guards. The rest of the household troops, too, are characterized by a brilliant variety of dress. Hussars in uniforms of the most varied colors, cuira.s.siers, mounted grenadiers, pontoniers, Cossacks, Asiatic hordes with their fantastic arms, Kirgisians, Kalmucks with their slender spears, their arrow-laden quivers on their backs; Circa.s.sians in their scale-armor, with their pointed helmets; and then the long row of cannon, the ammunition wagons (painted green), the pontoons, the flotilla on wheels--and the whole ma.s.s drawn up on a boundless plain in squares, in geometrical lines, and advancing, charging, halting motionless as a wall, at the word of command, like a machine.

May he not rightly deem himself a G.o.d who with a gesture can set all this in motion or make it stand? And they only need a second gesture to charge and dye the ground beneath them with their blood.

When the household troops advance from St. Petersburg it means that the army is on a war footing and is taking the field. Then let every man concerned summon all his strength.

In the centre of the Field of Mars are pitched the sumptuous tents of the Czar, the foreign amba.s.sadors, and the members of the government; but the Czar himself rides at the head of his suite, and pa.s.ses the a.s.sembled troops in review. As he thus rides past the separate regiments they salute him with welcoming stanzas, in time like the chorus of a giant theatre, with rifle, sword, and lance held rigid at present arms.

The Czar's face beams like a day in summer; every one sees again in him the hero of Leipsic. The inspiration of the army has communicated itself to him too.

And in the ranks of these men presenting at the word of command are all those who have been conspiring against him. In the sabretache of the officers is to be found the _Catechism of the Free Man_.

But the single word "Forward!" suffices to change the whole temper of these men; the conspiring regiments will charge down on the foe with shouts of "Long live the Czar!" When he shows them the battle-field they forget all their complaints and grievances--forget that they are seeking to kill him--and rush into the fight to give up their lives for him.

So it is with the Russian people. Their striving after freedom is silenced when there is hope of war. The private, freely shedding his blood on foreign soil, believes that therewith he will fertilize his native meadows. The priests have indoctrinated him with the belief that he who falls in a strange land to the enemy's bayonet will live again in his own country, where he will find parents, wife, and children once more; and, if he was a serf before, will rise again a free man.

After the review of the troops the Czar himself takes the command, and a series of brilliant manuvres begins, thought out by himself. According to the then science of war, they were intended to be a masterpiece of the system of attack in close order. His aides-de-camp are das.h.i.+ng from battalion to battalion with orders, their spirited horses flying off in all directions. The orders are given by the Czar himself, who watches their fulfilment through a field-gla.s.s. Suddenly an adjutant dashes up to him.