The Green Book Part 80

The dead of the Northern Union did not even receive a memorial such as that. From the beginning of the fight they were hustled under the ice of the Neva, and the Neva retains its coating of ice for five whole months.

Jakuskin was taken prisoner; but in his prison he dashed his brains out against the stone walls of his cell.

Pushkin was miraculously saved. The hearts of two women accomplished the miracle--two women who united so perfectly in their love for him that to both, equally, he owed his life.

The digression he had made in going first to Galban's delayed his arrival on time at St. Petersburg on the eventful day. Before he had even reached Czarskoje Zelo his horses had broken down under the strain of the long journey, on the road he met Battenkoff, fleeing from the St.

Petersburg slaughter, and learned from him that all was lost, that Prince Ghedimin was exiled to Siberia, whither Zeneida was voluntarily accompanying him.

Pushkin was free to turn back to his wife. There was no longer an Eleutheria. She was dead and buried.

There was no one to accuse him of having belonged to the League of the Partisans of Freedom. His name had been inscribed among that ten thousand whom the "demoniacal" whim of an actress had saved from the scaffold and from banishment to Siberia.

After that came enough of the hard times beloved by Pushkin's muse.

And, that he might belong entirely to his muse, Bethsaba, too, forsook him.

She went--to rejoin Sophie. She could no longer endure this cold prison-world of ours. And Pushkin then remained alone in his desolate castle, with no other confidante than old Helenka. To her he read his verses.

In the spring of the following year he received a command from Czar Nicholas to present himself at St. Petersburg.

His imprisoned friends at that time were to be executed.

That, too, was a tragic episode! It would need the pen of a Victor Hugo to describe how, at the very moment of execution, the whole b.l.o.o.d.y holocaust broke down, and condemned, executioners, and officers of justice were alike buried beneath it.

It was then that the Czar commanded Pushkin in audience before him.

Pushkin was wearing mourning.

"For whom do you mourn?" the Czar asked.

"For my wife, sire."

"So, not for your dead friends? Now, confess. _On which side would you have stood had you been here in St. Petersburg?_"

Pushkin felt the cold edge of the executioner's sword at his throat.

Dare one answer such a question with a lie? According to the world's ethics, one may--one does. The conspirator is not in duty bound to accuse himself, to make confession of what cannot be proved against him, is not required to open out the secrets of his heart. And yet Pushkin could not bring a lie to his lips. Reason dictated it, but his proud heart went counter to it.

"_Had I been present_," he answered the Czar, "_I should have taken my place by the side of my friends._"

"I am glad that you have answered me thus," returned the Czar. "I am about to have the period of Peter the Great written, and seek a man for the purpose who can poetize, but who cannot lie. That man I have found!

I commit the writing of that epoch to you. Go back to your home and begin; and to all that you from henceforth write I will myself be censor."

Thus did one of Russia's greatest poets and personalities escape the fatal catastrophe.

At the Bear's Paw they certainly proscribed him as a traitor; for although all other secret societies had paid for their opinions with their blood, that of the Bear's Paw still existed, and did not cease even then to thirst for Freedom.

GHEDIMIN AND ZENEIDA

Ghedimin was no longer a prince, but became, in Tobolsk, the happiest of men.

Five children, all sons, were born to him there, not one of whom has become a prince. One is a tanner, another a furrier; but they are prosperous, and know nothing of the ancestral palace in St. Petersburg.

This, it is true, is a prosaic ending; but we may not observe silence upon it, for it is true to history, and, moreover, no exceptional case.

How many a descendant of princely families tans and works the skins of that ermine once worn by his ancestors!

The eldest of the three brothers Turgenieff, Michael, who presided at that memorable "green-book" conference, was, although absent in a foreign country at the time of the insurrection, condemned to death, and his property confiscated. The news of this sentence broke the heart of his younger brother Sergius. His other brother, Alexander, followed the condemned man into exile and shared his own fortune with him.

Such hearts as these, too, the fatherland of ice can bring forth!

THE ROMANCE OF CONSTANTINE

Krizsanowski was perfectly right when he maintained that the Poles had no reason to unite their fate with any schemes of Russian aspirants after freedom.

The Polish people needed no explanation of the meaning of "Const.i.tution."

But this, too, is true--that to a Pole the wife of Constantine was wellnigh the equivalent. She was their Providence--turning evil into good, wrath into gentleness, remitting punishments--a Providence bringing blessings in its train.

The famous _Nie pozwolim_! ("I will not have it!") had certainly never so often swayed the wills of the kings of Poland as had the gentle "I should so like it" the will of the Viceroy.

And when time and opportunity were ripe, and the necessary strength had been attained, the whole nation rose in its might--five months after the flight of the French king, Charles X.

One night the Polish youths broke open the gates of Belvedere and pressed, armed to a man, to the Grand Duke's bedchamber. But first they had to break into Johanna's room.

She started from sleep as the dagger was already pointed at her heart.

"Keep silence! Not a sound!"

"What!" she cried, "a Pole turning a.s.sa.s.sin! Infamous!" And, springing from the other side of her bed, she rushed into her husband's room, not even feeling the dagger-thrust in her back. Hastily bolting the tapestried door through which she had pa.s.sed, she flew to the heavily sleeping Viceroy.

"Wake! we are surprised!"

"What! a.s.sa.s.sins?" exclaimed the Viceroy, seizing his weapons.

"Not a.s.sa.s.sins," returned his wife, proudly concealing her indignation, "but heroes of liberty! The Polish people have risen against you. Fly!"

"What! The Polish people risen? And you, a daughter of Poland, not siding with your own people? You protecting me? Is it a miracle?"

"Husband, I love you! I will save you!"

And with these words, pressing a spring in a corner of the room, she disclosed the secret pa.s.sage by which the veteran Krizsanowski had come to her, and of which Constantine knew nothing.

"We must be quick! These stairs lead down to the garden gate."