The Green Book Part 70

Or had there been something in Jakuskin's face which betrayed his plans, and was that why the adjutant's utterances had been framed so sarcastically?

The conspirator advanced into the room. At that moment no one else was there. The Czar was alone. Jakuskin saw him whom he had been seeking lying before him--silent, motionless, with eyes closed, his arms folded on his breast.

A mighty man--invulnerable--dead. Jakuskin dared not draw nearer. Before the dead Czar he trembled.

He rushed staggering back into the adjacent room, holding the despatch still in his hand.

"The Czar--" he stammered.

"Is dead!"

"When?"

"In this very hour."

"Why did I not arrive one day sooner, in order to deliver up this despatch to him!"

The adjutant thought this exclamation somewhat odd.

"I give you a piece of advice," said he to Jakuskin. "Make this letter into a bullet, and shoot yourself through the head, and you will overtake him yet."

In truth, no bad piece of advice! Jakuskin would have done better had he followed it; instead, he dashed the despatch on the table, and flung from the room, uttering curses on his fate.

At the gate of the palace he again came across the man of the green eyes in the act of mounting his horse. Looking at him with his cat-like eyes, he laughed.

"You came too late, eh?" cried he, and, driving his spurs into his horse's sides, dashed away.

Jakuskin s.h.i.+vered and trembled in every limb.

Elisabeth, as soon as she had recovered from her swoon, went back to her dead, and wrote the following letter to the Czarina-mother from the chamber of death:

"BELOVED MOTHER,--Our angel is already in heaven, and I still am left on earth. Who would have thought that I, the invalid, should have outlived him? Mother, do not forsake me, who now stand alone in this world of care and suffering. Our beloved has recovered all his sweetness of expression in death; the smile upon his face shows that he is looking upon more lovely things in the next world than here on earth. My one consolation is that I shall not long survive him, and shall soon be reunited to him."

Her presentiment was a true one. Next spring brought her to that land where Czar and serf alike are happy and there is no difference between them.

CHAPTER XLV

THE HERALD

The science was not then discovered by which man can compel lightning to convey his messages, and by means of which any linen-draper nowadays can flash to the other half of the world the news that a son is born to him, or extend an invitation to his partner at the other end of the kingdom to attend the christening next day.

At that period it took eight days before so important a matter as the death of Czar Alexander could be transmitted, by means of the fleetest Ukraine pony and its rider, from the remote end of the Russian dominions where it had occurred to the capital. The first messenger bringing the news of the Czar's recovery, in fact, arrived before the second. He was spurred by the good tidings; sorrow went a more leaden pace.

Upon the arrival of the good news, ten members of the imperial house of Romanoff--the eleventh, Grand Duke Michael, being then at Warsaw with the Grand Duke Constantine--a.s.sembled to early ma.s.s in the chapel of the Winter Palace, the highest ecclesiastical dignitary being the celebrant.

The chapel was crowded with high officials, magnates, and officers of rank. The choir intoned the collect, "G.o.d preserve the Czar!"

As the protopope was in the act of opening the jewelled book upon the altar, and with trembling voice was about to begin intoning the prayer for the Czar's recovery, suddenly, in the devotional stillness, a harsh voice, like the sharp stroke of a bell, called out:

"He is dead already!"

The terrified congregation mechanically made a pa.s.sage for the new-comer, whose light-green beshmet was streaming with the mud of many a Russian province--the black mud of the Nogai steppes, the yellow mud of Moscow, the chalky clay of Novgorod, and the greeny slime of Czarskoje Zelo. In his hand the messenger held a letter, with which he pressed forward through the throng direct to the Grand Duke Nicholas. It was the Czarina's letter to the Dowager Czarina.

The Grand Duke, taking the letter, opened it himself.

Then, hurriedly going up to the protopope, whispered something in his ear. Upon which the protopope, covering the crucifix he held in his hand with c.r.a.pe, advanced to the Czarina Marie, saying:

"Thy son is dead!"

And, the choir breaking off their _Te Deum_, in another minute the burial hymn mournfully resounded through the chapel:

"Lord! send him eternal peace!"

The service which had begun as a _Te Deum_ had ended as a requiem.

CHAPTER XLVI

"BEATUS ILLE ..."

What, on this earth, is true happiness?

To be able to dissociate one's self from the tussle and tangle of the political arena.

There is no such happy man on this earth as your landed proprietor, who only learns what is going on in the political world from the columns of his daily paper.

In the morning he goes out coursing; starts three hares, two of which are caught by his terriers; this is a real triumph. The third they let run; this is a disgrace. But on the way home his dogs seize and throttle a wildcat; that makes up for the former vexation. His horse stumbles over a stone; that is a great misfortune. But neither man nor horse are any the worse for it; and that is a piece of good-luck.

Within easy distance live some men--jolly fellows--to whom he can detail the morning's doings, and who, in return, give their adventures.

At noon the wife awaits her husband's return to a well-spread board, and she hospitably presses his friends to stay. Cabbage with fried sausages is very acceptable after such an active morning! After dinner they find they are just enough for a game of tarok, and the husband can boast next day how he has conquered against long odds.

The only political allusion made was when Pushkin named the "fox"

Araktseieff; but even at that the postmaster shook his head disapprovingly. Why disturb the harmony of the evening by such reference?

Then, as the company is about to separate, the postmaster suddenly remembers that he has forgotten to give Pushkin his newspaper, which he had brought in his coat-pocket.

The paper was opened. Old-fas.h.i.+oned newspapers used to be sent out in envelopes. What news?

"A military review."