The Green Book Part 8

Chevalier Galban smiled. So this was the idea. And to make it more secure they had shut the cat in with the mouse. Poor fools! They think to catch a serpent in a mouse-trap! Meanwhile, why not amuse himself?

The enemy must be allowed time to get into battle-array. They believe him disposed of already. And now, safe from his sharp eyes, the initiated will be betaking themselves to the place of meeting. But where is this place of meeting? In what hidden portion of this mysterious building? These and like thoughts rush through his brain. Tschirr! a sound of shattered gla.s.s falling in a thousand pieces on the table.

"When I am by your side, I forbid you to think of anything else. When you can look into my eyes, do not stare out into the wide world. Or are you afraid of me? Don't you drink?"

Galban soon proved to her that he was not afraid of her, and that he did drink. Seizing the bottle, he drank. He may have had his reasons for thus drinking direct out of the bottle. No sleeping potion can be mixed with a bottle of champagne, for, once opened, it forces its way out; while a drug can be easily conveyed into a gla.s.s.

Chevalier Galban's suspicion that they might seek to disarm him by means of a narcotic is the more easily explained in that he himself was carrying a similar medium in his waistcoat-pocket, with the idea of ridding himself of any inconvenient obstacle did it come in his way.

But one cannot listen to two things at a time, the beating of one's heart and the tick of the clock. Galban knew this from experience. He must rid himself betimes of the dark beauty. They were drinking by turns from the bottle. One such bottle must do the work for her. Four-fifths of a champagne bottle standing in ice is frozen; the sleeping powder shaken into it can only mix with that which remains fluid. The first who drinks receives the opiate; the next one, drinking the wine as it melts, takes no harm.

Diabolka's wild abandonment suddenly seemed to give place to a certain exhaustion; her arms sank wearily to her side; she began to yawn; her head fell back. For an instant she pulled herself together as though shaking off the inertia. She must not sleep now when some great danger might be threatening without. She reached out her hand for the water-jug. But the potion had been too powerful. Going a step or two, she staggered; in the act of pressing her hand to her head she fell into a deep sleep. "Chain up the bear," she stammered. She was already dreaming of the forest. Then she fell full length on to the ground.

Galban, lifting her on to the couch, pressed the spring. The secret door opened to his touch, and he found himself once more in the palm-grove.

This was an amphitheatre, some six fathoms high, ma.s.sed with the rarest palms from India and Senegal, which in an atmosphere of artificial heat and suns.h.i.+ne were being coaxed into flouris.h.i.+ng in a land where winter reigns nine months in the year.

Hidden behind a giant cactus, Chevalier Galban peered into the adjacent apartment, intent upon discovering whether the men he had previously marked were taking part in the Eleusinian mysteries. None were visible.

It was in truth a _masked_ ball; the ball was the mask, and they who wore the mask were no longer present.

Where were they then?

All had disappeared, even Pushkin, the head and front of the revels.

He resolved to go in search of them. It was a difficult and dangerous undertaking. It meant beginning a search in a vast place, utterly strange to him, to which he had no clew; it meant avoiding any he might meet, deceiving those who noticed him by simulated intoxication--a drunken man, not knowing whither he was going; it meant the risk of being kicked out from intrusive disturbance of flirting couples. And even if at length he find the spot whither the conspirators had retired, it is only too probable that some watch would be kept to warn them of the approach of a suspected person. This watchman he must murder, his pistol at his breast; for where a guard is necessary, a conspiracy lurks behind the portal. Then to force his way in. If the doors be closed, suspicion is well founded. Then is the palace doomed; if need be, razed to the last stone. If the doors stand open, then to enter with the words, "In the name of the Czar, you are my prisoners!" Possible that they may overpower him, but far more likely that they will not. A detected conspiracy is demoralizing; to say, "If I do not return to Araktseieff by to-morrow morning, all who are here to-night will fall into the hands of justice," will be to lame them and bring them to his feet. Moreover, it is his profession. One man dies in one way, one in another. The soldier knows the enemy will fire upon him, yet he goes forward; the sailor knows the sea is treacherous, yet he trusts himself to it. One man bows his head to the executioner's axe, another bares his breast to the dagger. In both it is heroism.

And suppose he should find the missing guests round the board of green cloth, instead of round "the green book," staking their money at the prohibited roulette-table? _Eh bien!_ then he would join them, and say nothing to Araktseieff. It would not be a gentleman-like thing to tell upon them.

In his search he had, in a measure, an Ariadne clew, like that strewn sand which, according to the fable, served to guide the lost child out of the wood.

Zeneida had returned from the opera in her costume as Semiramide, her wealth of reddish golden hair interwoven with real pearls. When Chevalier Galban, on her triumphal return to the palace, had a.s.sisted the _diva_ to remove the bashlik from her head, he had, unseen and purposely, severed one of the strings of pearls in her hair. For a time the thick ma.s.ses of hair might hold them together, but it was unlikely that in moving hither and thither one should not occasionally fall to the ground.

He had already picked up one in the palm-grove; she had, therefore, pa.s.sed through there. The second he found in a corridor; a third betrayed to him the threshold of the apartments into which she had disappeared. Where she is, there must the others be.

CHAPTER IX

THE BOARD OF GREEN CLOTH AND THE GREEN BOOK

The room in which the "Confederation of the North" held its meetings was provided with double doors--a circ.u.mstance by no means uncommon in Russian palaces, in order that there should be no spying through keyholes, no listening at doors.

The centre of the room was taken up by a ma.s.sive table, or rather a great chest, the upper part of which formed a roulette-table.

The rolls of gold--probably sovereigns (bank-notes are not used in roulette)--are laid out in rows, beside which is placed the croupier's long scoop. Each new-comer, as he enters, takes his seat at the table and puts down his purse before him. But there is no play--in fact, it is a mere sham. At each arrival the opening of the outer door sets the table in motion, the noise of the rotary ball calling the attention of those present to the fact that some one is coming. Thus there is no fear of surprises.

The introductions are performed by the lady of the house--a necessary ceremony, for on this occasion there are people who have never met before--accredited agents, representatives of secret societies which have been formed in the remotest corners of the Russian dominion. The president and keeper of the privy seal of the Northern Confederation is Prince Ghedimin; the secretary, Ryleieff, is a young poet, and agent of the American corn trade.

Of the three brothers Turgenieff, Nicholas, the historian, is present; as well as Colonel Lunin, the proprietor of the secret press; Bestuseff, Kuchelbacker, Commandant of Artillery. There are also Vaskofsky, Chief of the "Welfare Union"; Muravieff, the representative of the "United Slavs"; and Orloff, the life and soul of the "Patriots." All are distinct secret societies; yet all are united in one aim, "Freedom"

(freedom under the snow)--their mode of procedure, action, the instruments employed, wholly diverse. For this reason they have arranged the present meeting, in order to unite the various opposing plans into one common form of action. To this conference they have called the president of the "Southern Confederation," Colonel Pestel, from the far-off sh.o.r.es of the Black Sea, and the still more distant chief of the Caucasian "Barbarians," Jakuskin. But of all, he who has come from the remotest part (for he had had to wade through the sea of blood which separates the two countries) was the spokesman of the Polish "Kosinyery," Krizsanowski. All these men wear uniforms, save Ryleieff, who is of the burgher cla.s.s, and who wears a modern blue frock-coat with gold b.u.t.tons; all are beardless, with clean-shaven faces; only the Pole preserves the national type; and Jakuskin, whose s.h.a.ggy eyebrows join his tousled beard, represents the wild Cossack, and seems, by his rough, neglected exterior, to bid defiance to the civilized world.

There is something written on the foreheads of all these men.

Zeneida stands by the door to receive the new-comers, until the room fills up. Conversation is not loud; each seems to be conferring with the spirit which has led him hither.

The rolling of the roulette ball is heard yet again.

"Who can still be coming?" asks Zeneida.

Pushkin appears on the threshold.

Zeneida's countenance involuntarily a.s.sumes an expression of alarm.

"Why do you come here?" she whispers, excitedly, to him.

"Is it not permitted?"

"Did I not commission you to watch Galban, that he might not take us by surprise?"

"I found a better guardian for him. Diabolka has got him in the mouse-trap."

"But your responsibility remains."

"I will go back as soon as I can do so without exciting attention. At present, I stay here. Introduce me!"

"What a child you are! Are you not consumed with curiosity to know what we are about here?"

"I wish to take my part in it."

"What wilfulness! Of course you imagine lives are going to be risked, and must needs stake yours for sake of the glory. Well, stay here. You shall see. Herr Pushkin!" And she turned her back upon him, as if in anger, while making the introduction.

Zeneida was the accredited agent of the whole union. Whom she invited to her palace was received as a "Brother"; to whom she confided any work was ranked among the "Men"; but to take part in secret conferences and to be promoted to be a "Bojar" required a further recommendation.

"Who else stands security for him?" asked Prince Ghedimin.

"I," answered Ryleieff.

Upon which room was at once made for Pushkin at the table.

His was a fine head. The curly hair and form of the nose recalled the African blood which ran in his veins, one of his forefathers having taken to wife a daughter of Hannibal, the negro slave promoted by Peter the Great to be a general. His eyes were dark and deep-set, yet, despite the irregular features, one could trace in the expression a resemblance to Byron. Pushkin was in love with Zeneida--that is, he raved about her.

Zeneida was deeply in love with Pushkin, therefore she did not want him really to love her.

A word will clear up this seeming paradox. Zeneida knew too well that he who united his fate to hers must inevitably meet some dark doom, in the background of which loomed the scaffold. Finland had been reduced to subjection by the same power against which these secret societies were waging war, and Zeneida could still remember her mother's tears, and the plain black coffin brought by stealth to her home one dark night, wherein lay the corpse of a headless man for whom they dared not even mourn. Only when she was grown up had she learned that that man was her father. She loved Pushkin far too dearly to lead him on that perilous path on which men risk their heads. She had dreamed of a happier, sunnier lot for him. She had long detected in the wild, restless youth that genius that had not been given him to make the lion of a lady's boudoir--a genius which belonged, not to Russia only, but to the whole world. A poet was not thus to be wasted. Why load the gun with a charge of diamonds when common lead would answer the purpose equally well, nay, better!

"Gentlemen," said Zeneida, addressing those a.s.sembled. "I will first request our brother Ryleieff to read to us the verses we are to spread among the people. To prepare the minds of the people is, indeed, the main object." (General applause.)

Ryleieff, the poet, a fair, slim, handsome young man, here rising, produced the verses he had written.

It was a fine, n.o.ble-toned poem, perfectly rhythmical, and true to every rule of composition. The rhetorical warmth rising gradually to an impa.s.sioned climax, the under-current expressing that deep spirit of yearning melancholy which harmonizes so entirely with the spirit of the people.