CHAPTER XL
DISCORDS
Zeneida was strolling alone through the shady winding paths of her park in the twilight of evening. Nightingales were singing; from a pond close by came the sound of croaking frogs; ever and anon the song of a boatman on the Neva broke the stillness, or the distant sound of a violin or clarinet in an inn, or the howl of a chained-up dog. Again would come the tones of the pa.s.sing-bell, announcing a death, or from the vicinity of Monplaisir a sharp "Who goes there?" "Halt!" sometimes followed by a shot. Why that shot? Then again the song of nightingales, the croak of frogs, sounds of clarinet and pa.s.sing-bell. These discords found answering echo in her heart.
Araktseieff"s second return was hurrying on the crisis. No sooner had the Czar pa.s.sed over the cares of government again to his favorite"s shoulders than he had secluded himself completely in the solitude of Monplaisir. Just as he had formerly avoided his consort, so now did he devote himself exclusively to her. He seemed as if he could not live an hour without her, as though he were endeavoring to atone by this devotion for his fourteen years of neglect. Now first he recognized the treasure he possessed and had neglected; now first he perceived that the wife he loved was ill, that her protracted sorrows, her secret grief, had undermined her strength. And he trembled to think he might lose her.
But the Czarina was happy. She blessed the sickness which had given her back her husband. The Czarina"s physician, Dr. Stoffregen, had recommended a milder climate for her through the severity of winter, perhaps that of Venice; but Elisabeth had answered, "A Russian empress should not die anywhere else than on Russian soil." And it was this thought alone which absorbed the soul of the Czar.
Of the devastations wrought by Araktseieff, armed as he was with unfettered power, none told the Czar. Of all that was pa.s.sing on the other side of the poplars of Monplaisir he was ignorant. He was not informed that Araktseieff"s first step was to have the entire household of Grusino, who had been witnesses to the murder, consisting of ten men and twelve maid-servants, brought to St. Petersburg to the pillory and lashed until they were half-flayed, for not having gone to Daimona"s rescue. He was ignorant that the severity he had previously practised as a system was now, by his thirst for vengeance, increased to gross cruelty; that he had dismissed high officials of every kind from their posts without any other reason than simply because they did not please him; that he was filling the dungeons on mere suspicion; that he had even cruelly oppressed the poor Finns. Possessing nothing more that he could take from them, he punished them through that which he "gave"
them, his latest edict being that their toasts at public dinners must be given in Russian. All this had strained disaffection and discontent to its utmost limit. Of all this Alexander knew nothing. No. He was absorbed in devising how to procure fresh air without draught in his beloved patient"s room; how to keep out the gnats; and, among the flowers for her apartment, how to select those that would not give her a headache.
And Zeneida well knows what is looming in the distance. Secret societies are no longer holding meetings; they are agreed what is to be done. The only question now is--"When?"
The outbreak must be general throughout the empire. The threads are in Zeneida"s hands. The artiste has retired from the stage. Moreover, the opera is closed during the summer months in St. Petersburg, and she will not again appear as a member of the Imperial Opera Company, but will give a concert for a charitable purpose in the course of the autumn. The day was to be publicly announced in official papers ten days previously.
When the announcement, therefore, appeared that "Fraulein Ilmarinen would sing for the benefit of the Orphanage" on such and such a date the conspirators would know that this was the day fixed for the rebellion.
The government organ would itself spread the word throughout the empire.
Thus in her hand are the shears which shall sever the fatal thread; and the grave foreknowledge of all that it must bring with it is oppressing her spirit. The rebellion is unavoidable; no one will longer bear the heavy burden; from ragged mujik to t.i.tled magnate, all are yearning to burst the yoke, and the Kalevaines have more reason to weep than their fellows. But what is to happen to the imperial pair in the outbreak?
Both have been such kind protectors to Zeneida. The palace had been a home to her. How will it be possible to save their lives without proving a traitor to their cause?
And then a second trouble--Pushkin. True, he had promised her he would withdraw his name from "the green book"; but, when giving the promise, he had thought he would have the daughter of the Czar to wife. That is over now, and Pushkin has no further reason to withdraw from the Northern Union. He, too, is in possession of the conspirators" plans; there is not a doubt but that as soon as he reads the announcement that Zeneida will sing for the benefit of the Orphanage he will appear that day in St. Petersburg, even he must leave Paradise itself to be there.
How is she to hinder this without casting the slur of cowardice upon Pushkin? The delights of love alone would not be strong enough to hold him back--a yet stronger motive must be found. And she paces backward and forward under the trees in the dusk; in her soul reign the same discords which disturb the brilliant night, and she seeks in vain some quieting thought.
The Czar has grown melancholy; the Czarina is sick unto death; they live but for each other; have shut themselves up from the world. Their example is contagious. Even Prince Ghedimin has become reconciled to his wife, and no longer visits Zeneida. St. Petersburg society has scattered itself among the forty islands of the Neva. Every one lives to himself; all social life is extinct. Every visitor is looked upon suspiciously by the host as one of Araktseieff"s spies. There is an oppressive calm over everything. People do not even write to each other any more. They tremble at the black inquisition.
Pushkin gives no news of himself. He sits at home in his desert at Pleskow. If he keeps silent about his happiness, he has a hundred good reasons for that silence. It is possible that Bethsaba has written more than once to Zeneida; but letters are an uncertain medium of communication. Who knows into whose hands they may fall?
This great calm, this isolation, this striving to keep up the spirits, began to be oppressive. Chevalier Galban received orders to go from villa to villa and organize some amus.e.m.e.nts among the aristocracy.
Husbands were no longer to be tied to their wives" ap.r.o.n-strings.
It was rumored that the lovely Princess Ghedimin would break the ice and bring society together again by means of a great reception on the day of the Feast of Masinka, and, in order to make the reconciliation of the Prince and Princess more publicly known, that Zeneida would be included among the Princess"s invited guests.
The haughty Princess sending an invitation to the equally haughty Queen of Song, whom the world credited with having been one of the Prince"s flames! It is hard to say which woman has the greater courage, the one who sends or the one who accepts the invitation.
But Korynthia has made a still more difficult decision. She means to send Bethsaba an invitation, accompanied by a coaxing, forgiving, affectionate letter, written by her own hand. And in order to insure the young wife"s acceptance, the Princess intends to offer the prospect of the imperial pardon. Bethsaba shall have the opportunity of soliciting forgiveness from the Czar for her own bold step, and the return of imperial favor towards her husband, banished by the Czar"s displeasure to Pleskow. This bait would be irresistible.
All this had Zeneida gathered from Chevalier Galban.
What did Korynthia hope to achieve by this? What does she aim at in getting hold of Bethsaba?
It is next to impossible that the young wife should be tempted to leave her home during her honeymoon, and alone, without her husband, who may not leave the precincts of his estate. And yet, did she do so, what would be the consequences?
Zeneida thought she had found in the person of Bethsaba the missing link in the chain. Now it is her work to fit that link in its place.
CHAPTER XLI
HOW TO ROB A MAN OF HIS WIFE
It must be a poor toy that cannot amuse children. And there can be no greater children than a newly married couple who are deeply in love with each other.
There is kite-flying in the park at Pleskow; Bethsaba is in high glee at her kite always flying straight up and remaining aloft, while Alexander"s is always coming to grief. Her kite, too, is much handsomer than his. In the form of a dragon, it has two large eyes, a mouth, nose, and movable ears; while Alexander"s is just a commonplace thing, made out of old sc.r.a.ps of ma.n.u.scripts pasted together. The wide expanse affords the two grown-up children room enough to run with their kites.
No eyes to see them but those of the stag on the edge of the forest.
A post-chaise rolls quickly along the highway skirting the park walls; the postilion blows his horn cheerily.
"I think that post-chaise must have stopped at our gate," observes Bethsaba.
"So it has. It means either a guest or a letter."
"Oh, I hope no guest," sighed the little wife.
Newly married folk are not hospitable, as a rule. Still, somebody appeared to have come. The dvornik came out towards them from the castle. They hastily let down their kites; they must not be caught at such childish amus.e.m.e.nts. In the hurry the dragon caught in the withered bough of a pine-tree and lost one eye.
"What a pity!" murmured Bethsaba, in vexation. "Now my dragon has only got one eye. Have you a sc.r.a.p of paper about you to repair the damage?"
"Where should I get it from? Haven"t you already seized upon every vestige of paper to make your dragon with?"
"Do look! Perhaps you"ll find some old bill or other."
Meanwhile the dvornik had come up to them.
"Well, Tanaschi, what is it?"
"A letter."
"To whom?"
Bethsaba seized the letter from the dvornik.
"Oh, oh! A woman"s handwriting! Take it. A love-letter. Some former flame writing to reproach you. Read it. Of course it is to make an appointment."
"You are right enough. It is a woman"s handwriting, but addressed to you, not to me, my dear."
"To me?" cried Bethsaba, in surprise. "Who can have written to me?
Perhaps Zeneida?"
"No, it"s not Zeneida. I know her handwriting."
"Perhaps too well. But who else could have written to me?"
And they began guessing who the writer could have been while the letter pa.s.sed from one to the other. At last Alexander proposed that the best way to see who had written the letter would be to open it.
As they saw the signature both simultaneously cried, "My G.o.dmother!"