Читать книгу The Green Book; Or, Freedom Under the Snow - Mór Jókai - Страница 9

Table of Contents

Prince Ghedimin was dining that day with his wife. Both he and the Princess studiously avoided mention of the affair which so abruptly ended the hunt. Yet it was unlikely that the news of it should not have spread throughout the city. The police alone appeared ignorant of it, the shot stag remaining on the spot where it fell. Was it the intention to remove it at nightfall, when no one could see who took it away?

"Shall I meet you at the opera to-night?" asked the Princess.

"I am not sure if I can be there."

"It would be a pity to remain away. Fräulein Ilmarine sings in the Secret Marriage for the last time this season. She will have a great ovation."

The Princess firmly believed that Zeneida would be hissed off the stage; and what could be better than that the Prince should have the pleasure of witnessing her humiliation from his wife's box?

"I am awfully sorry that I cannot engage to be there, my dear. As you are aware, it is my night to visit my grandmother, and when once I am there the dear old lady is sure not to let me come away. She has so much to ask about every one, and at the stroke of midnight she will expect me to take the organ in the chapel adjoining the apartment and sing through the penitential mass; and I cannot refuse her. But if you wish that we should spend the evening together, why not come with me?"

"Oh, many thanks. I do not sing in masses."

"But you have not once been to see the grandmother since our marriage."

"I think you know that I shrink from dead people."

"But the poor old soul is still living."

"So much the worse—a living death! It makes me shudder to look at a mummy, and to think that some day I too shall appear like one!"

"Ah, well! A pleasant evening to you, my love."

"Edifying devotions, your Excellency."

The Prince withdrew. The Princess sent her dwarf after him, that—hidden among the orange-trees in the conservatory—he might find out whether the Prince had actually gone to his grandmother's apartments, and how long he stayed there.

Ivan Maximovitch Ghedimin really did pass through the corridor into his grandmother's apartments. The old lady inhabited the central block of the palace, its windows, on both sides, looking on to the court-yard.

It is twenty years since Anna Feodorovna has left her apartments. Even in the sultry summer heat, a time when all the aristocrats of the capital take refuge in the islands of the Neva, she passes it among her fur-hung walls.

Since the spring of 1804, when she had a critical nervous illness, she has spent her days in a wheel-chair, the being wheeled from the dinner to the card-table and back again her only exercise. She dreads fresh air.

At first she had some society. Three old ladies of her own age used to come to play whist and gossip with her. Gradually they left off coming; first one, then two, at length all three. No one dared to tell her that they were dead; she was told that they found it difficult to mount the stairs. Since then she had played her game of whist alone.

The old lady still wears the old-fashioned cotton costume which was so fashionable in 1803, when the Czar Alexander had forbidden the importation of foreign woollen stuffs. She thinks that every lady in society still wears it, and with it a cap and feather, closely resembling a turban.

It is now twelve years since the last of her contemporaries visited her. All have now been gathered to their fathers. But Anna Feodorovna must not know this. All are living, and on every great occasion send her their messages and congratulations, exchange consecrated cakes with her, and colored Easter eggs; and on Easter morning she always finds on her table their illuminated visiting-cards, with the inscription in letters of gold, "Christos wosskresz."

History for her has stopped with the signing of peace between the Emperors Napoleon I. and Alexander I.; and the appointment, at that date, by the Czar, of her only son, Maxim Wassilovitch, to the command of the new Georgian regiment of Lancers. Georgia had just been incorporated into Russia, and Anna Feodorovna tells proudly to this day how, on one occasion, she had the honor of a conversation with Heraclius, the deposed Emperor of Georgia; how her beloved son, Maxim, brought his Majesty up to her, and although she did not understand what he said to her—for his ex-Majesty only spoke Persian, which was not at all like either Russian or French—they had had a most interesting conversation.

From that period in history it had been the endeavor of the family that no rumors of the world and its events should disturb the quiet of that revered member. A daily paper was published separately for her, from which every war detail was scrupulously expunged. The reigning sovereigns did nothing in the world but give or take a princess in marriage, magnanimously yield each other territory, distinguish their generals for no reason whatever; and, that the century might not pass over without some blood-shedding, the unbelievers on the far-off island of Tenedos were occasionally slaughtered; a revolt of the Kurds on the boundaries of Persia would be suppressed from time to time; or Belgrade be conquered by Csernyi-Gyurka. Anna Feodorovna knew nothing of the terrible French invasion, nor of the burning of Moscow; nor that her only son, Maxim, had fallen in the battle of Borodino. Her paper, on the contrary, stated that Maxim Wassilovitch had been appointed Governor of Georgia, and had at once proceeded there without furlough. From that time news had regularly come to her from him, and he had sent letters, which her man-servant was obliged to read to her, for her eyes were not capable now of deciphering handwriting. The good son who never forgot his old mother! Her man-servant, faithful Ihnasko, is everything to her—cook, house-maid, reader. He, too, must be some seventy-five years old; thus fifteen years younger than his mistress. No other serving-man would have held on as he had done, no other have submitted to put a seal to his lips, and have observed silence as to all that was passing without. Even among us men there are few Ihnaskos. And on a fête day, such as this, it is especially difficult, when Anna Feodorovna does not play cards—for card-playing is sinful—and there being no whist, she questions the more.

Fortunately for her she has a good appetite, and can enjoy all the varieties of cakes sent her by "her friends" on this last Maslica day.

"Ihnasko, I cannot believe that Sofia Ivanovna prepared these cakes herself. She always stones the raisins so carefully. Try this one."

"You are right, your Highness. But then the poor lady's eyesight is not so good as it was."

"Oh yes; she grows old, like me. Reason enough to see nothing."

(The main reason, however, is that six feet of earth lie between her and the world.)

"And the little princess, and the brunette countess, have they sent their usual congratulations to-day? And the Lieutenant-General's wife, who is so hard of hearing?"

"The cards are all laid on the silver table, your Highness."

"And you have acknowledged them in the customary manner?"

"At once, your Highness."

"You should have written in very large characters to the Lieutenant-General's lady, for she is so hard of hearing. Has the old beggar-woman come for the warm clothing? Was she glad to have it? Did she not prophesy good luck for this year? Is it not to be a comet year? Ah, there is no chance of that! Have you taken the grand duchesses their bouquets?"

"I took them. They return their thanks."

"Are neither of them married yet? Dear me! They must be of marriageable age now."

(Both are long married—in their girlhood—to the white bridegroom, Death; but no one has ever told Anna Feodorovna this.)

"How is the old man?"

"As usual."

"Does he make use of the Elizabeth pills I sent him against gout?"

"Constantly."

"Can he sleep at night?"

"Sometimes, yes; sometimes, no."

"Does he not grumble when it is new moon, or the wind blows?"

"At times. But he soon calms down."

"Of course, he always has that horrid pipe in his mouth, and sits in clouds of smoke like a charcoal-burner."

"What else should he do?"

"Wait a minute. Just take him these warm night-caps. I knitted them with red wool for the old man myself. He has always liked red caps. Tell him that I think of him, though he does not think of me. But what could he send me—tobacco ashes?"

(Alas! the old man has long become dust and ashes himself. He was Anna Feodorovna's husband, a martyr to gout, who did not see his wife once in a year, although they lived in the same house. Neither would visit the other. She could not endure a pipe; he could not live without it. One day he, too, found that his mausoleum in the Alexander Nevski Cathedral was a more peaceful resting-place than his bed; but he was interred so silently that his old wife did not know of his death, and continued to knit him his red night-caps.)

"Where can Boysie be so long? My boy is surely not ill? It would be a fine thing if Boysie forgot me! I will give him a downright scolding for this."

Hereupon Ihnasko had to calm his old mistress by telling her that "Boysie" had been called upon to attend an important council held by his Imperial Majesty the Czar. Most probably concerning some new grant of territory.

That was quite another thing!

Of course, Boysie was a grown-up man now—a man of thirty, and the owner of many an order set in brilliants. It is her grandson, the haughty, powerful Prince Ivan Maximovitch Ghedimin, whom his old grandmother still calls the "Boy."

The lamp has long been lighted; indeed, for days together it is not extinguished. At the least current of air the windows are closely curtained, and three or four days may pass before daylight is again admitted. It matters little to the owner of the apartment whether it be day or night; she neither rises nor goes to bed. She lives in her arm-chair. If she is sleepy, she goes to sleep; when she awakes she is ready for her food, and with good appetite. Every Sunday her maid washes and dresses her, and that function lasts for the week. When the bells of the Isaac Cathedral begin their midnight peal she knows that Sunday has come round again; when her newspaper is brought to her she knows that it must be Friday. Sometimes the two, Ihnasko and she, quarrel about politics.

Just now there are strained relations between mistress and man. A paragraph in the newspaper has stated that "the heroic George Csernyi has taken the fortress of Belgrade from the Turks."

The mistress chooses to understand by this that Csernyi had stormed the fortress and massacred the unbelievers; the man, on the contrary, takes it literally, that he had bought the fortress from the Turks for sterling cash.

Over this they quarrel hotly.

"When Ivan comes, he shall decide it; and if you are right, you shall have a brand-new coat trimmed with fox; if I am right, you shall get five-and-twenty lashes with this rod from my own hands!"

From her hands, who had not the strength to kill a fly! But the old woman is vindictive, and has already, for the third time, ordered him to lay out the new coat and the courbash on two chairs, so that the instant Ivan comes he shall get either the one or the other. And yet she forgets all about her anger, Belgrade, and George Csernyi the moment "Boysie" appears on the scene.

He comes in so gently at the tapestried door that she only perceives him when he stands before her.

Her Boysie is the handsomest man in the whole capital; he is as tall as the Czar.

His languishing gray eyes wear an earnest, thoughtful expression.

"Now, you bad boy—to come so late! Is school but just over? Are you not afraid that I shall make you kneel to ask my pardon?"

He is already kneeling before her; and the old grandmother passes her thin, wrinkled hand over his face as he bows his head on her lap. Laughing, she playfully ruffles his hair.

"This naughty Boysie! He knows how to coax his old grandmother, like any kitten. All right; you shall have no blows this time. I forgive you; so no need to cry. He has just the same shaped head as my Maximilian; only Maximilian loves me best, for he writes to me every month; and yet he is a great man. At your age two orders of merit already decorated his breast. But what have you done? Have you fought yet for the honor of your country? Are you following in your father's footsteps?"

The old woman's hands feel over the young man's breast until they rest upon the diamond star of the Alexander Nevski order, upon which she cries, joyfully:

"This is no cross; it is a star! And set in brilliants! You have robbed your father, for this order would have sat well upon him. He is a hero, a great man; the diamond star would well have become him. But he, too, has already obtained the first grade of the order, has he not? And set with diamonds as fine as these?" (Ah yes—ah yes! he has received it set with glistening pebbles in the cool sands of the Muscovite soil.) "But now stand up. You are a grown-up man, and what would the Czar say if he were to know that his privy-councillor still knelt, like a boy, at his grandmother's knee? Stand up, my dear boy, and tell me about matters of State. I know how to talk about them. Oh, in Czar Paul's time I was up in everything. It was I who kept the old man back from joining in Count Paklem's conspiracy, or he would be even now in Siberia. Eh, my boy, you love the Czar? That's right. How many a time has Czar Paul bastinadoed your grandfather! And he never complained. But now there are no conspiracies throughout the whole land against the Czar."

"None, dear granny."

"If at any time you should hear of plots, mind you tell it at once to headquarters. If you knew there was a thief lurking under your grandmother's bed, would you not straightway drag him out by the legs? Much more is it your sacred duty to destroy all conspiracies against the Czar's Majesty. He who works against the Czar will be punished, but he who serves him will be richly rewarded. How was it with Kutusoff? Did not the Czar take the finest jewel from his crown to present to him, and had a golden leaf set in the empty space with 'Kutusoff' inscribed upon it? The family of the Ghedimins is not inferior to that of the Kutusoffs."

Ivan turned pale. The family name, "Ghedimin," and the Czar's crown? One was a part of the other. The topic was a dangerous one. High-treason might be named in the next breath.

"My whole life I have consecrated to the Czar, granny." And then he blushed at his own words, for he had spoken falsely. He neither can nor dare tell the truth to living soul. His old grandmother is the only being on earth he really loves; and her, too, he must deceive. From morning to night his life is a lie; he must look men in the face and lie; must lie to baffle the spies ever on his track, so that at night he dare not offer up the prayer, "Incline thine ear to me, O God," for dread lest he must lie even to his God.

"I have been waiting for you ever so long. I have had a sharp dispute with Ihnasko, and you must be the arbiter;" and she related the subject of their dispute. "So now, who is in the right?"

Ivan laughed.

"As far as experience goes, you were right, grandmother; for fortresses, as a rule, are taken by force. But in this case Ihnasko was right, for George Csernyi really did buy Belgrade for good coin of the realm. So give the good fellow the coat, and not the whip."

The old lady nodded to her man-servant.

"Do you hear, Ihnasko? Thus should a just judge decide. Like Prince Ivan, he should give the servant right over the master, if need be, even if it be over his own grandmother. Rejoice, ye people, that your fate will rest in the hands of a man whose lips only know the truth!"

Ivan turned away.

"But now come nearer, sit down by me, and make your confession. When are you going to marry? It is high time. Have you not made your choice yet?"

And Ivan had to answer, "No."

He could not tell her that he had been already married three years to a woman who was so utterly heartless that she would not be presented to his old grandmother because she was afraid of her age and wrinkles—so he had answered, "No."

"Now you are telling me a fib. Let me feel your pulse. Of course, it was a fib! And why should you not have fallen in love? Look! in this drawer I am keeping a diadem for your bride; it is the same diadem I wore when your grandfather led me to the altar. Then Moscow was the capital of the empire. Where this fine palace stands were nothing but clumps of willows. Now, your bride shall adorn herself with this diadem. Take it; I give it you. You best know who is to wear it. The girl you love shall be my very dear granddaughter."

But Ivan, in truth, did not know to whom to give the diadem. He had a wife who had no love for him, and he loved a woman who could never be his wife. Thus to neither could he give it.

"I will take care of it, dear granny, until the right one comes."

"But now you will stay to supper with me, will you not, that we may eat the last Butter-night meal together? You are not going to be off to any bachelor drinking-party—to get into all sorts of wild company? You will stay, like a good son, with the old grandmother."

And so Ivan stayed to supper, and had to declare how much he was enjoying it, when he had dined but so short a time before, and knew all the while that in Zeneida's palace a Lucullus-like feast awaited him. If his digestion rebelled against the sacrifice, his heart made it a thousand times heavier.

Oh, the unspeakable agony that overpowered him as he thought how at that very time his affronted wife would be venting her whole vengeance upon that other woman who the world knew had thrown her soft shackles over him, and whom he dared not openly protect, least of all against this aggressor, his own wife! Had the Czar been in St. Petersburg, she would not have dared to molest her; but, in his absence, his powerful favorite, Araktseieff, was supreme.

To tell the truth, Ivan was glad that his absence was compulsory. A warm, tender-hearted man, of weak will, he was unequal to the situation. Taller by a head than most other men, he had been chosen as a leader among them; but the position oppressed him, for, capable as he was in all else, he lacked the necessary courage and decision for the post.

What he would most gladly have done would have been to say adieu one fine day to all his palaces, possessions, confederates, and to Russia, and to go out with Zeneida into the wide world to sing tenor to her soprano. Perhaps, too, it might have come about, had Zeneida been an ordinary artist and nothing more. But the disquieting thought is there—what may happen to-night on that other stage? Perhaps she is destined to mortification on the one; but on the other? On those boards the blood of the actors is wont to flow.

And all this time his fond grandmother could not press him enough to eat, as she asked news of Maria Louisa and the great Napoleon, of the little King of Rome, and many another who had long passed away; to many of which questions Ivan returned such mixed answers that the good Ihnasko was constantly exercised to set him right, being far better informed through his newspapers of all these things than was the absent-minded Prince.

At the first sound of the bells the old lady conscientiously lays down her knife and fork; and Ihnasko, without awaiting orders, proceeds to clear the table, and spreads another silken cover over it.

It was Lent.

"Let us draw near to our heavenly Father!" whispers the pious old lady.

Ivan kisses her cheeks, and she his.

There was a small door opening out from her bedchamber into the chapel. Opening this, Prince Ghedimin went in; and while his old grandmother, rosary in hand, began telling her beads, the tones of the organ were heard, and a man's clear voice began chanting the penitential psalm.

"What a good son and a good Christian is my Ivan Maximovitch!" murmured Anna Feodorovna, amid her prayers. "And what a lovely voice he has! He might be one of the Czar's choristers."

And amid the sounds of pealing organ and penitential psalm she reverently thanked the Lord, and, praying for the living and the faithful dead, fell into peaceful slumber in her arm-chair.

The organ still continues to peal, and penitential psalms ascend, for Ivan Maximovitch—Prince Ghedimin—is a good man, and a tender, loving son.

And yet this again is a fresh lie; for, as Ivan entered the chapel from his grandmother's room, one of the Czar's choirmen, who had been admitted by a secret door, was already in waiting there, and his task it was to sing on and play the organ until the old woman had fallen asleep.

Prince Ghedimin, meanwhile, hastily descended the secret staircase and passed into a masked corridor leading from his palace into the next house. There, quickly assuming a disguise, he jumped into a sledge awaiting him in the courtyard, and gave the coachman directions where to drive.

Upon the Princess's return from the opera she was informed, both by his Highness's coachman and her dwarf, that the Prince was still at home, and had not yet left his grandmother's apartments.