The Green Book Part 69

"Countryman, what peculiar green eyes you have!"

"Yes, so people say. I have never seen my own eyes."

After an hour's walking the Czar and his attendant reached the cla.s.sic ruins, now the monastery. He was wet through with perspiration from the exertion of the long climb on a hot autumn day; still overheated, he pa.s.sed through the subterranean pa.s.sages, visited the caves at one time appropriated to youths destined for sacrifice, and those secret hiding-places cut out of the rock whence Orestes had formerly stolen the golden statue of Artemis. After which he visited the chapel and remained some time in prayer.

On leaving the monastery he sent to seek his guide, but he was nowhere to be found. No one had noticed when he left them. The monks themselves conducted the Czar through the woods on the way to "the ladder," where his horse and hors.e.m.e.n awaited him.

Thus the Czar avoided pa.s.sing the yew-tree where Jakuskin lay in wait for him.

That same day the Czar was forced to confess to his physician that he was feeling a strange languor in all his limbs, accompanied by attacks of s.h.i.+vering. But he would not be persuaded to take any remedies, saying it would pa.s.s off of itself, and continued his journey.

He visited the ancient Akhtia, which now bears the high-sounding name of Sebastopol, was present at the launch of a man-of-war, and inspected the Pontus fleet. Despite the recurrence of fever, he was untiringly occupied throughout the day; late in the evening he again went into the church to pray.

When Jakuskin took the despatch from the dying messenger and placed it in his bosom the thought flashed through his mind that it might carry infection; but he dismissed it with:

"Bah! How ridiculous to fear a sc.r.a.p of folded paper!"

And yet Jakuskin would have done himself and his friends better service had he taken to his bosom one of the horned serpents which lie in wait for the traveller by the side of ditches, or in coach-tracks, rather than that piece of paper.

He thought to himself, "Let the despatch contain what it may, as long as I deliver it to the man for whom it is intended!"

The story of the despatch was this:

In the Southern Army all preparations had been made for the proclamation of the Const.i.tution. Pestel--called the Russian Riego--had up to now won over one thousand officers, including even generals, to the conspiracy.

Pestel himself had been chosen as the future Dictator, who, with the Southern Army, was to hasten to aid in proclaiming the Greek Republic; while Ghedimin, as civil governor, was to construct the new republic within the empire. It had been planned that on January 1st, 1826, the "Viatka" regiment commanded by Pestel should march into the headquarters of Tultsin. And that very day every officer not among the conspirators should be slaughtered. From Tultsin they were to rush on to Kiew, take the commandant of the First Army Corps, General Osten-Sacken, prisoner; proclaim the Republic; incite the Poles to rebellion, and declare the abdication of the Czar. Entire regiments of infantry, hussars, and artillery had been won over to this scheme, the commandants never even dreaming what was going on about them. Privates were won over by being told that the "German" officers were to be ma.s.sacred. To ma.s.sacre the Germans is naturally always a popular idea. The generals at the head of the army, Osten-Sacken, Wittgenstein, Roth, Diebitsch, were all Germans.

The whole of this bold plot had been wrecked by the weakness of one man.

One among a thousand, a certain Captain Mairoboda, could not act against his conscience, and confided to his commandant, General Roth, the whole details of the conspiracy, giving the names of the superior officers, the leaders of the whole affair.

General Roth had written fully to the Czar, sending his report by an officer to his imperial master at Taganrog.

The officer was seized by fever on the way, which quickly turned to typhus; he was unable to press on to Taganrog. Fate brought Jakuskin that way, that he might be the one to replace the broken wheel of its chariot. Such were the contents of the despatch he had undertaken to deliver. With it in his bosom he was himself converted into a witness against his fellow-conspirators.

When at last he pulled up his poor staggering horse at the gates of the imperial castle at Taganrog, his first question to the officer on guard was if the Czar were here?

The answer was that the Czar was here, and had not left his room for some days past. It was understood that the Czar was ill, but scarce four hours since an imperial messenger had been despatched to carry the joyful news to the Czar's mother that last night his illness had suddenly taken a favorable turn and he was recovering.

"Heaven be thanked!" sighed Jakuskin, while his hand sought his dagger.

Every circ.u.mstance combined to favor his awful scheme. The guard of honor of the imperial palace happened to have been taken from the "Viatka" regiment, both officers and men of whom had been won over to the conspirators. Well-known faces on all sides gave him secret looks of intelligence.

With determined tread he hastened up the staircase. The two grenadiers on guard at the door of the Czar's room, saluting, let him pa.s.s.

In the anteroom was the officer on duty, who greeted him by name as a friend.

"I seek the Czar, with an urgent despatch."

"Go through. You will find there Adjutant Diebitsch, who will announce you."

Jakuskin opened the door. At the same time the door was opened from the inside, and the man coming out and the one going in met on the threshold.

Jakuskin trembled. The face before him had _green eyes_. Or was it only his fancy? The man was wearing a Tartar costume; his expression at once so singular, awe-inspiring, defiant, arrogant! Contempt, scorn, and sorrow mingled in his look; his eyes glittered like green beetles. As he pushed by, an icy shudder pa.s.sed through Jakuskin.

Jakuskin staggered.

"I say!" he exclaimed to the officer, as he pointed to the man pa.s.sing through, "who is that fellow?"

"Some messenger or other."

"Did you not notice what green eyes he has?"

"'Pon my word, no. What the deuce do his green eyes concern you?"

Jakuskin pa.s.sed on to the inner room. Here he found Diebitsch sitting at a table writing. He seemed in haste, for he did not raise his head.

"Am I permitted to go in to the Czar?"

"You are."

"Is he alone?"

"Alone."

"What is he doing?"

"Sleeping."

"I am the bearer of an urgent despatch to him. May I wake him?"

"Wake him."

The general did not look up from his writing--did not observe to whom he was speaking. Jakuskin resolutely approached the door of the adjoining room. It seemed remarkable that the man he had addressed had not perceived, by the wild beating of his heart, what he was meditating! A door only separated him from his victim--and that door stood open!

The Czar was already very ill on his return to Taganrog. Still he would hear of no remedies. It is a characteristic trait of Russian czars to defy illness. They will not believe that Death (their chief agent), who has been so long in their service, who at their word of command has mown down rows of men like ears of corn, should ever--brandis.h.i.+ng his scythe backward--cut down his lord and master. They are far too proud to concede that the pale spectre should ever see their weakness, hear their groans, limit their wills. Even Death, when he knocks at their door, they would bid to "wait."

Or, was it not so? Was it that the great colossal figure which, like a second Atlas, had so long borne the whole world on its shoulders, had grown weary of the burden? That he who had been accustomed to hear his praises echoed from the four corners of the earth now shrank from hearing the murmurs born of revenge and bitterness, and that his soul yearned for the rest of the grave? Earth has nothing more for him to do. He feels that he stands in the way of history. He has lost all that his heart held dear; his last ray of suns.h.i.+ne, his sick wife's smile, is but a fading light in the sky of evening. Is it not possible that the giant, weary of life, and becoming aware of a call to another world, should, far from shutting out that call, open wide the doors, saying, "Here am I--let us go"?

That day he had so far recovered that his illness seemed entirely to have disappeared. Even his physician was deceived by the outward symptoms; and late that evening a courier had been despatched to the Dowager Czarina in St. Petersburg with the glad news, "Alexander out of all danger. No further fears for him." (None further than some hundred thousand attempts at a.s.sa.s.sination.)

But the next morning the benevolent spirit, which comes alike to kings and beggars to ease them of their burdens, had appeared to him, saying, "Come home." For three days and nights Elisabeth had not left her sick husband's room. She was his constant nurse, her wifely affection his one consolation.

And to the Czar of All the Russias was granted the happiness--at the moment when every arm was turned against him, when the altar itself at which he prayed was undermined, when a whole vast empire was about to crumble to pieces about him--that for the last time, by the rays of the rising sun, with the life-giving warmth of the day-star bathing his brow, he could yield up his soul to Him who gave it with the words "_Ah, le beau jour!_"--the happiness of having tender hands to close his eyes, and to cross his arms upon his breast.

Then the sick wife's strength broke down entirely, and she sank swooning to the ground. The two physicians, hastening to her, lifted her, and carried her to her apartment. The third man, who had been witness to the dying scene, hastened back to the study to send off the despatch to the Czarina-mother announcing the death of the Czar, giving the messenger instructions to make all speed in order to overtake the courier of the previous night, and, if possible, precede him. After which his next care was to send off a letter to the Grand Duke Constantine, in Warsaw.

At that moment Jakuskin had entered.

Diebitsch hastened on with his writing, his mood that of Russian cynical humor. "What is the Czar doing?" "Sleeping." "Dare I wake him?" "Wake him if you like!"