CHAPTER LI

THE NAMELESS WIFE OF A NAMELESS MAN

But, meanwhile, what had become of the Dictator--the leader--the active spirit of the whole movement? He had been seeking all day for a man he could not find--himself.

How should he find him, when he was running away from himself?

The task he had undertaken was neither suited to him physically nor morally. At the very first step he had become conscious of the awful chasm into which the whole affair he had undertaken must drag himself and all concerned in it.

Instead of an enthusiastic people, excited to heroic resolves by the baptism of fire, he found a mob of soldiers, fooled by the pretext that their leaders wanted to steal away from them their former Czar, whom, by-the-way, they hated, but to whom they had sworn allegiance; a senseless band of soldiery clamoring for "Constitucia," whom they believed to be the wife of the Czar! What would be the consequence did they gain the victory to-day? To-morrow some new lie must be fabricated for them, that they might not find out that it was Freedom for which they had fought. What was Hecuba to them, they to Hecuba? What had Freedom and Life Guards in common with each other? How would "Constitucia" better their condition?

True, their commanding officers had promised them that "Constitucia" would double their monthly pay; but the people must be doubly taxed if the soldiers were to get double pay. Is that freedom? And what would ensue if he for whom they had been fighting, Constantine, were to come among them? Might he not come from Warsaw at the head of the army he had brought with him, and say, "You wanted me; here I am. The constitution I bring with me is not my wife, but a stout stick!" What would follow then?

And the people? These poor wretches, resigned to rags and misery, working day by day to keep body and soul together. Seventy thousand mujiks, representatives of the oppressed of the four corners of the earth--not the Russian people, but the dregs of all imaginable Slav races--Finnish, Lithuanian, Lapp, and Wallachian--who do not speak each other's tongues, who are only united by their common misery. And their leaders? A set of runaway French adventurers. What do they understand by Freedom? The wrecking of a brandy-store or plundering palaces and shops. A mutinous word sets them on fire like straw, and a charge of grape-shot scatters them like chaff before the wind.

His soul could find no guiding thought. He went hither and thither, and could rest on no single idea. In the course of his wanderings he came upon Ryleieff, in whose face were reflected his own feelings. The poet sadly grasped his hand.

"The time was not ripe," he whispered in his ear, and hurried away.

In another street he met Colonel Bulatoff in mufti. Bulatoff had been chosen as military leader of the rebellion, and here was he, going abroad in frock-coat and tall hat. They did not wish to recognize each other, so passed hurriedly by, one on one side, the other on the opposite side of the street.

Less than all had he the courage to go to Zeneida's palace. He dreaded more to look into her face than into the mouth of a cannon. She defied danger, while he, who had dragged her into it, fled from it. At last, however, he could no longer delay seeking her. He must cross Moika bridge. But the toll-keepers would see him; the canal was frozen, so, descending the steps of the stone quay, Ghedimin prepared to cross the ice in order to reach the other side.

Scarce had he gone two steps before he heard his name whispered behind him. Startled, he turned. From under one of the arches peeped a well-known face--that of Duke Odojefski, a bloodthirsty braggart, who but that morning would have mown men down right and left; now all his courage had oozed out, and he was hiding under the arch of a bridge!

"Don't venture near Zeneida's! Her palace is surrounded!" whispered he, and crept back into his hiding-place again.

What a sight! Odojefski in hiding! The colonel, whose battalion is even now fighting on Isaacsplatz; the duke, whose palace is among the grandest of the capital, whose family name is renowned in history, who himself has claimed a place between Brutus and Riego--in hiding behind a snow-drift! And what is he about there? Scarring his face with a stick of caustic to render himself unrecognizable.

Ghedimin lost his head completely. Turning back by the other bank, he hurried home. There arrived, he wrote on a visiting-card, "I entreat you, for Heaven's sake, to come across to my grandmother's house. I have important secrets to confide to you."

This card he sent up by his house-porter to Korynthia. He himself then repaired to his grandmother's. It was his last refuge.

Without it was already night. The roar of cannon did not cease. The watch-fires were the only lights in the imperial capital.

* * * * *

Good old Anna Feodorovna was still alive among her fortune-telling cards, her purring cats, and her faithful Ihnasko, with whom she counted the days still remaining before the New-year.

"Another New-year! What will it bring with it? Who will live through it?"

It is the day after Christmas day. If two tapers of equal length are lighted on that evening, one can tell who will die first, the husband or the wife, by seeing whose taper is the first to burn out.

This time it was the wife's taper.

"Well, God's will be done," sighed the old woman, "if I must go first. And it is time; I have lived long enough! But I cannot but pity the poor old man, whose life will be so lonely without me. He must not be told that I am dead. Let him think I am still alive. And see that every birthday and name-day he gets one of the red nightcaps I always give him. Do you hear, Ihnasko?"

"Oh, don't keep on talking so much about dying, your Highness," ejaculated the old man, with chattering teeth. "All my bones are shaking, without that, from the thunder of those cannons."

"Because you are a coward, and because you have never been a soldier. The idea of being frightened at the sound of cannon that are only inviting people to join the great Christmas procession! The Czar is now giving a gala banquet to the court and a display of fireworks to the people. Do you hear those reports? They are rockets. Now the great set piece is going off! And when six such volleys are fired, one after another, it means that the Czar is raising his glass for a toast. Oho! how often have I attended such festivities! Not one took place without me. Ah, I was beautiful as a young woman, and my voice was musical as silver. Czar Paul was constantly asking me to sing him his favorite song--_When by Evening's Latest Rays_. It is a pretty song still. But I have no one now to sing it to."

At that very moment came some one who liked to listen to the "pretty" song.

"Blessed be the Lord of all!" cried Anna Feodorovna, clapping her hands. "Has her nest-bird remembered his old grandmother? What? You have left the Czar's brilliant banquet in the lurch, to come and pay a visit to your poor old grandam on this second Christmas day? Now that is really very good of you, Ivan Maximovitch. But you must be going back. Don't on my account do anything to excite the Czar's displeasure. For the favor of the Czar is like a virgin's innocence; there must not be a breath upon it. If he has happened to notice that you have left before the time, seek an audience with him. Confess to him that you came away early in order to visit your old grandmother. He knows me, and used to be very fond of me as a little boy. Ah! I was quite a young woman then!"

The old lady was talking of Czar Alexander, only twenty-seven years younger than herself.

"How often have I hushed him on my lap when, to please his father, I sang the song he was so fond of--_When by Evening's Latest Rays_. Don't you know it? Come; I will sing it. Sit down on my footstool and rest your head on my hands."

Ivan sat at his grandmother's feet. How restful it was to be a child once more! And the old lady began her song. True, her voice sounded like some old harpsichord hidden away and forgotten in some king's palace for five-and-twenty years, out of tune, and with some of the strings broken; but, all the same, she sang to her grandson:

"'When by evening's latest rays Thou art resting 'neath the trees, And a silent peaceful form Wakes thee out of sweetest dreams, Thy true friend it is who nears-- Seek, oh, seek, not to avoid him; For he thinks of you and brings Joy, true joy, upon his wings.'"

Ivan kissed his grandmother's hand for her sweet song.

"But you are so sad to-day, Ivan! Tell me, what is troubling you? Are you going, perhaps, on some journey--a long, far journey?"

"A very far journey."

"Ah, I can guess whither!" she said, laughing. "You are going to see your father, my beloved Maxim."

She had guessed truly!

"You are right, dear granny. That is where I am going." (To the other world.)

"Then take him these kisses--and a hundred more! See, I cannot cry. Old eyes are forever weeping--that is, when one does not want to weep; when one fain would, there are no tears to shed."

Ivan Maximovitch wept in her stead. He was such an "affectionate boy."

"Now, you see, you are going away and leaving me here. And going without having married, without being able to leave me your wife here in your stead."

"But I have married, granny dear," returned Ivan. "And I came purposely to-night to present my wife to you."

"Oh, what a happy day! You are married--you have a little wife! A dear, charming little angel of a wife! And I shall see her soon? That I call indeed a Christmas present!"

But then the old lady must needs temper the joyful news with a little reproach.

"But why have you kept this to yourself until after your wedding, when I have so often told you that I specially wished that your wife should receive her bridal tiara from my hands? That was not right of you! I hope she is of noble blood."

"She is a Princess Narishkin."

"I suppose you sought the Czar's permission to your marriage?"

"He granted it, grandmother."

"Then I cannot guess why you should have kept it secret from me. Perhaps she did not know Russian when you married, and you were obliged to teach it her first, that she might be able to speak to me, for I know no other language--I am a Muscovite."

Ivan let her suppose that to have been the reason. It was nothing unusual. The St. Petersburg princesses know but little Russian--as little as, at that period, the great ladies of Hungary knew Hungarian.

The sound of the bell at the outer door interrupted their talk. The rustle of a silk dress was heard in the adjoining room. Then Korynthia had fulfilled her husband's wish; she had come, at his entreaty, to meet him at his grandmother's. There were good reasons why Ivan had not gone to her instead of begging her to come here to him--reasons his wife knew well. In society they were to be seen, she leaning on his arm, all affection. But did the husband knock at his wife's door the answer was "You cannot come in." So it had been ever since the night of the 21st of June. Korynthia was unusually pale; her expression cold and resolute.

"Thank you for coming," said her husband to her, in a whisper; and, taking her hand, led her to his grandmother. "My wife, grandmother."

Korynthia bent one knee to Anna Feodorovna, then presented her cheek to the kiss of the "mummy." To-day she was bent on doing all that was required of her. Even the old lady's hand--that hand so withered and parchment-like--she kissed.

The good old woman was beside herself with happiness.

"What a splendid creature! How charming, how lovely she is! How beautifully brought up! And what an exquisite ball-dress she is wearing. It is easy to see that she has come from the Czar's ball."

Good old lady! She took Korynthia's gown for a ball-dress. In her day silk dresses, trimmed with the delicate lace Korynthia wore upon her dressing-gown, were only worn at court balls. The grandmother had not seen a fashion-book or interviewed a dressmaker for the past five-and-twenty years. So she thought it was a ball-dress.

"I do not know how the tiara I have been keeping for you will suit that dress. Ihnasko, bring me my jewel-case."

The old lady looked out the antique ornament set with pearls and brilliants, almost worth an earl's ransom, and was in sore perplexity how to place it upon Korynthia's giraffe-like mode of wearing her hair, not arranged to support it. Yet she must, at any price, see it worn.

Korynthia suffered herself to be adorned.

"Ah! now you are handsomer than ever! Wearing that tiara, you can well take her back to the Czar's ball, to be the envy of all."

"No, grandmother, we are not going back," said Ivan. "If you will allow us we will stay with you and pass our Christmas evening here."

"But what will the Czar say to that?"

"He knows that we are here, and has given us permission to remain."

"Oh, if you have his permission, that is quite another thing, and I shall be glad to have you here. But how can I amuse you? Can your wife play ombre?"

"Oh yes."

"But my cards I play with every day are soiled. I should be ashamed to bring them out."

"My wife will see about getting a fresh pack. Give me permission to tell her where she will find some."

"Of course, dear boy. Ihnasko, you meanwhile can be getting the card-table ready. Dear me! How long it is since I had a game of ombre! Never since the little dark duchess and the general's wife have been unable to mount the stairs. Then put out tea and cakes. Now some logs on the fire. We will see who will be the first to get sleepy when once we have warmed to our game. I know I shall not!"

Meanwhile Ivan began speaking in French to his wife, constraining his face to wear as calm an expression as though he were merely explaining whereabouts in his room she would find the cards.

"I am lost. The insurrection which has broken out to-day, and which, I believe, is already quelled, was secretly instigated by me. Prince Trubetzkoi was the _nominal_ Dictator; in reality it was I. I was the guiding hand, he only the mask. Trubetzkoi has already washed his hands of it; he has been to the commander-in-chief and taken the oath of allegiance to the Czar. This leaves me alone in the post of danger. The leadership falls upon me. Nor would I put it back upon his shoulders. The poor fellow has a young wife who is devotedly fond of him. That I have taken no part in to-day's revolt helps me not in the slightest, for, all the same, I was Dictator. If the papers connected with this movement are discovered I am irrevocably lost, and with me thousands of the highest in the land whose names are inscribed in a book we call 'the green book.' This book must be destroyed!"

"Will you intrust that to me?"

"To whom else? All that I have I possess in common with you. My name, my wealth, my rank are yours; my honor, too, is yours. All this is now at stake; and you can help me--none other."

"Command what shall I do."

"Oh, do not speak so! It is not command, but entreaty. For what I now ask of you I crave as ardently as a man craves forgiveness from his Maker for his sins. That book is in Zeneida Ilmarinen's keeping."

"Ah!"

"I know that you hate her; but without reason, I swear to you! But of what value is the oath of a desperate man? No feeling has ever bound me to that lady that could in any way hurt your woman's pride. It was another tie--far more dangerous to me--but innocuous to you. But you do not believe me. Nor do I ask it. What I do implore is that in this hour of supreme danger you should show yourself magnanimous. If you have had cause of anger against me, forget it for the sake of the honor of the Ghedimin escutcheon, and lose no time in going to Fräulein Ilmarinen's house with this key, which unlocks the hiding-place. I well know the sacrifice I ask of you in begging you to cross that threshold. But I dare not go myself, for were I to be seen in the vicinity of that house I should be at once arrested. But no one will suspect you. See Fräulein Ilmarinen without delay, and tell her of the imminence of the danger, of which she may know nothing. She may have been informed, and, in that case, would certainly have destroyed 'the green book' were it not locked away in a place of safety, only to be broken open with great strength and much loss of time. Throw the book on the fire, and wait until you have seen it reduced to ashes; then hasten back to rescue me from my desperate situation!"

"I will act as beseems a Princess Ghedimin."

"My life and honor I give into your hands."

"I know it." And, taking the key, Korynthia hurried away.

"What a hurry the child is in!" said the old lady.

"She will soon be back."

"With the cards?"

"Yes; with the cards."

"Then, meanwhile, I will make myself smart, that she does not find me looking so untidy."

The smartness consisted in the old lady's having her new cap--fashioned in 1807--brought to her with its large yellow ostrich feather. This she duly put on, and with it her two false curls. Her hair was white, the curls black.

A full hour went slowly by.

"What a long time the child is finding the cards! She will be changing her dress, taking off her grand ball-dress, and slipping into a cotton morning-wrapper. Wait a minute; it will be such fun. How it will make her laugh! I will sing the Matrimonial Ditty. It is really very pretty. Bring me my guitar, Ihnasko. Ah, how well I used to play it!"

And the good matron took the ancient instrument, and, encouraged by her previous success, set about amusing her little nest-bird with a cheery old song--he sitting there, the drops of cold perspiration on his brow.

"Listen--

"'It is a good wife's part To honor and obey, In gossiping and dress Time ne'er to pass away. By daybreak she is up, His breakfast to prepare; Then a good roast and wine With him at noon to share.'

Isn't it pretty? This is the second verse:

"'A husband's part it is With her wishes to comply, And whatsoe'er she ask In no case to deny. Through fire itself to go, If but her hand to kiss, And ever to be slow To mark what's done amiss.'

Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the good old grandmother, in praise of her own merry ditty, and quite disposed, had Ivan expressed but the slightest word of entreaty, to repeat it for his benefit. "I only hope your little wife will soon come back to hear it."

But Ivan was no longer paying attention to her--a sound was audible from without. There had been time for Korynthia to have gone to Zeneida's and to have returned. He hurriedly opened the door.

But it was not the expected Korynthia who entered, but one whom of all others he desired least to meet with in this sublunary world--Galban.

The Chevalier was not alone; four grenadiers of the Finnish regiment stood behind him.

The Chevalier, without taking off his hat in presence of the lady of the house, or in any way saluting her into whose apartment he was thus forcing an entrance, exclaimed:

"Ivan Maximovitch Ghedimin, you are my prisoner! Surrender your sword!"

Without a word, Ivan, unbuckling his sword, handed it to him.

Anna Feodorovna was furious.

"What does this fellow mean by breaking into my apartment and presuming to take away my grandson's sword, the sword of a Duke Ghedimin? Who is this gentleman?"

"Who I am, madame, it is absolutely unnecessary for you to know; but I will tell you who your grandson is. He is the _Dictator of yonder mutinous rebels_ who attempted to murder the Czar and have been defeated."

"Ihnasko! Ihnasko!" shrieked the matron, "come here, and laugh instead of me! I cannot; help me to laugh. Look at this carnival buffoon who is performing here. He says that my nest-bird is the Dictator of the rebels! Where have you crept to? Laugh--laugh!"

Ivan said in a low voice, and in French, to Galban, "I can exculpate myself to the Czar. There is no proof against me."

"How about 'the green book?'"

"I know nothing of it."

"Do not build up vain hopes, Ivan Maximovitch! You are thoroughly undone. Your wife has betrayed you. No sooner did you give over into her hands a certain key which, as you are aware, opens a certain roulette-bank at Fräulein Zeneida's than she went directly to the President of Police and placed that key in his hands. 'The green book' is now in good keeping."

Ghedimin felt his knees totter at these words, as though the stars had fallen from the skies upon his head. His head sank upon his breast. Horror so illimitable numbed his power of thought. The next moment, however, the blood within him took fire; he trembled with rage and indignation.

"No, no! It is impossible that a woman should betray her own husband, and sacrifice her honor, her means, by so doing! Such a monster the world has never known! Nor have I ever committed such grave sins as to demand such sore punishment at God's hands!"

"You have a short memory, Ivan Maximovitch," whispered Galban in his ear. "Remember the night on which you conveyed to Korynthia the news of Sophie Narishkin's death, and with it the news of Bethsaba's flight with Pushkin. Did you not know that Sophie Narishkin was her daughter, and that even then she was awaiting Pushkin and not you?"

This disclosure was a heavier blow to Ghedimin than even his disgrace. With rigid, wide-open mouth he gasped for breath; his hands convulsively grasped at some invisible phantom, his heart was nigh to bursting.

"But do not disturb yourself with jealousy, either on account of Pushkin or of your wife. Pushkin will have a ball through his head when and wherever he is found. Your wife will receive back her wealth and rank, and husband also, in compensation. You will perform your little walk to the scaffold; but your fine possessions and titles--most probably your wife into the bargain--will be inherited by one who knows better how to value them than you have done--possibly by Chevalier Galban!"

At these words Ivan's arms sank helplessly to his side. He saw and heard no further. Chevalier Galban's next duty was to finish the condemned man's "toilet."

First he tore the orders from his breast, then the epaulettes from his shoulders; finally cut off every regimental button bearing the imperial arms.

The grandmother did not understand the subject of their talk, but when she saw her grandson being stripped of every vestige of his military and civil rank, and of all his orders, she found herself endowed with strength, if not to rush to his assistance, still to rise from her chair, and, supporting herself by the table, to cry to the audacious intruders:

"You murderer! Godless man! how dare you assail my grandson? Stop! Insult him no further. Your accusations are lies! I will go myself to the Czar; he will hear me. He has ever been gracious to me. Ihnasko, give me my mantle; I will go myself to the Czar! Leave off your mutilations, you executioner! You shall not put a convict's dress upon my grandson, my Ivan! A convict's dress! Before my very eyes! You varlets! And cut off his hair! Where is the Czar? I will go to the Czar--to Czar Alexander, to implore mercy!"

Her strength of will worked miracles. Her infirm, paralyzed body seemed to be galvanized into life like a walking ghost. She succeeded in staggering up to where Galban stood, and seized his hands.

"To Czar Alexander," she breathed, "for pardon!"

"He has already gone to heaven," said the Chevalier, brutally.

"Then I will go after him," sighed the venerable lady, and fell where she stood. She had said truly.

She had gone after him--thither where even the Czars of All the Russias do not grant, but must entreat, pardon.

* * * * *

The last locks of hair were severed from the head of Ghedimin, no longer a prince. This is the tonsure of those condemned to death. He stood alone. He had no one to mourn his fate. The old servant, concealed behind the stove, sobbed uninterruptedly over the shameful operation.

Ivan was not even permitted to raise his dead grandmother from the ground. A condemned rebel has henceforth no family either among the living or the dead.

They fettered him hand and foot with the heavy iron fetters, of which the Counsellor of Enlightenment was wont to say, "Never you fear, you won't have to pay for them!" And, being an officer of high rank, he had received as distinction a heavy ball fastened to the end of his chain, which he was compelled to drag along at every step.

"Now, shoulder arms! The prisoner in the middle! Forward--march!"

But in the doorway their advance was hindered by some one with the words:

"In the name of the Czar!"

It was Zeneida Ilmarinen.

Chevalier Galban looked at her in astonishment.

"Ah, Fräulein, you still at large?"

"As you see. I come from the Czar."

"How could you get to him?"

"Did not my countrymen, the Kalevaines, take the son, mother, and wife of the Czar under their protection to-day?"

"I see; it was they who gave you admission to the Czar. And then?"

"The Czar has pardoned Ivan Maximovitch Ghedimin. Here is his pardon."

"Ah! you have saved Ivan Ghedimin from the scaffold?"

"And also from the mines. The Czar is graciously pleased to exile him to Tobolsk among the sable-hunters, whither he will go at once."

"On foot, it is to be hoped."

"Not so--in his own sledge, and alone!"

"And all this has been effected by your dark eyes, fair lady? But allow me, an instant. At the time that the Czar signed this pardon he was not aware that 'the green book' had been discovered."

"What 'green book?'"

"Ah, my charming _diva_, you are playing the unconscious innocent! But the part does not suit you. This time I fear I shall have to hiss. Do you not know that the key to your secret roulette-bank is in the hands of the police?"

"I know; and then?"

"And this time the police will not be fooled as I once was, when Michael Turgenieff said, '_Je suis un président sans phrase. Messieurs, faites vos jeux._' 'The green book' has been found!"

"As far as I know a _yellow_ book has been found."

"And in it the conspirators had signed their names to the Constitution, and the several schemes of rebellion were traced."

"In it were the names of those gentlemen who remained debtors to the banker of the roulette-table and those whose debts of honor were unredeemed."

"You act comedy well, exceedingly well, Fräulein; but, all the same, you will be hissed off the stage. _Written characters_ must witness against you."

"They will witness against no one. Knowing that roulette is a forbidden game, being unable to open the safe, I took the precaution to pour aquafortis through the keyhole; and they into whose hands the 'yellow' book has fallen have not found a single name inscribed upon its pages, for they are all effaced. I was present when it was produced; there was no writing to be seen."

At these words there was a loud clanking of chains, Ivan striking together those which fettered his hands.

Chevalier Galban was wild with rage.

"You are truly an imp of Satan, Zeneida Ilmarinen. By this demoniacal act you have deprived Siberia and the scaffold of ten thousand conspirators!"

"Let us add their families, and reckon it at a hundred thousand."

"Only a woman could be capable of such an abomination. And you dare to tell it to me?"

"What have I to fear from you? I have in my possession a letter from the Czar, authorizing me to leave this unhappy country and to go wherever I like."

Chevalier Galban, seeing that she was thus outside the pale of his castigation, wished to return to his tone of studied French courtesy.

"The world of St. Petersburg, madame, will deeply regret its loss after this 'farewell' performance of yours to-day. And where may you be going, if I may take the liberty of asking, that I may instruct the police to allow you to pass unmolested?"

"Where else than where my _master_ leads--to Tobolsk?"

"What! You are going with Ghedimin to Siberia?"

"Why not? I am not his wife, to separate from him when misfortune overtakes him. I am only his friend; I cannot desert him." And, going to the chained prisoner, she took the heavy ball hanging to his feet in her hands; it was her bridal dowry. "We can go now, master."

At this moment Ivan proudly raised his head, a glow upon his face. The attitude of the shaven head was what it should have been before--that of a hero--the statuesque head of one fighting for his country's freedom. With his fettered hands he raised Zeneida's to his lips and cried, in the full metallic tones of his manly voice:

"I thank thee, O my God! Thou hast made me richer now than ever I was before!"

Zeneida, nestling up to him, put her arms about him.

"Now you may hiss to your heart's content, Chevalier Galban. The play is over!"

But Galban had no desire to do so. Even his despicable heart was touched by so much nobility of spirit. The four grenadiers, too, stood with sunken heads, against all military discipline.

"But, Fräulein," stammered the Chevalier, "only consider what is in store for you if you seriously carry out this tremendous determination."

Zeneida looked at Ivan Maximovitch, her whole soul in that look.

"I will be a _nameless wife_ to this _nameless man_. Let us go."

The heavy chains clanked at each step. In the deserted room the only sound now heard was the sobbing of the faithful old serving-man; but on the face of the dead, stretched upon the floor, all lines had been smoothed away. She smiled.

Similar figures, sketched in with equally grand lines, were abundant in that great historic epoch. Thus the young wife of Trubetzkoi, the nominal Dictator, accompanied him to Siberia; so did the wives of the two Muravieffs and Narishkins. Ryleieff's widow haughtily refused to accept the pension assigned her by the Czar. A young governess, who had had the strength to shut up within her own heart her love for a Russian prince while his rank raised him so high above her, confessed her feelings for him to his parents when he was degraded and sentenced to serfdom in Siberia. She became his wife and went with him into exile.

But the dark side of the picture stood out also in grewsome detail. The Prince Odojefski, who hid himself under the bridge, was betrayed by his own relatives; and one might form a long list of those who, on the same melancholy day that their people were setting out for Siberia, crossed hands with Korynthia Ghedimin in a country-dance at the Winter Palace.

EPISODES

THE RESCUED POET

The revolution was entirely suppressed. The last body of insurgents, under the leadership of Jakuskin, had thrown themselves into a palace and defended it with the heroism of despair until it had been attacked on all sides. This ended the St. Petersburg attempt.

Equally disastrous was the Southern insurrection. The two brothers Muravieff Apostol,[1] being taken prisoners, were rescued by some officers belonging to the republican "League of United Serfs." Then, placing themselves at the head of the Southern Army, they proclaimed a republic in Vasilkov, its priest blessing their arms. But the blessing bore no fruit. The soldiers had nothing to urge against a republic; but _who would be its Czar_? For a republic must necessarily have a Czar! Upon the hills of Ustinoskai they lie buried, where they were shot down in whole companies and trodden under the horses' feet. Upon the grave which covers their remains a gallows has been erected as their memorial.

[Footnote 1: Apostol was the family name.]

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 bloody 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 "Constitution."

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 assassin! 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 passed, she flew to the heavily sleeping Viceroy.

"Wake! we are surprised!"

"What! Assassins?" exclaimed the Viceroy, seizing his weapons.

"Not assassins," 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 passage 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."

The tapestried door was backed with iron; the assailants could not force it. Johanna threw a cloak about her, not mentioning her wound, and seizing her husband's hand led him hurriedly through the familiar passage until they had reached the gate of the subterranean way under the garden.

They were saved. But only for a brief period. From the adjacent city of Warsaw resounded the clang of alarm-bells: the insurrection had triumphed.

Outside the walls of Lazienka they met with a mounted lancer. Calling to him, the Viceroy bade him dismount and give him his horse, and, springing on to it, he lifted Johanna behind him and galloped away.

But the lancer making haste to inform the insurgents of the Viceroy's flight, he was quickly followed.

A division of lancers reached the fugitives in the forest of Bjelograd. The double burden was too much for the horse. The leader of the troops was Krizsanowski himself.

As they came up to her husband Johanna encircled him with her arms.

"Only through my body do you reach his!"

Krizsanowski replaced his sword in its scabbard.

"Good! So let it be! There's not a man who could injure _your_ husband! We will form Constantine's escort."

And the troop of Polish cavalry gave escort to the fugitive Viceroy until he had reached the encampment just assembled for manoeuvres.

An enemy protecting a fugitive!

Magnanimity is sometimes contagious, not always; but occasionally people are carried away by it.

It was only in camp that Constantine knew that Johanna, in saving his life, had been wounded. It touched him to the heart. Only such deep emotion as he then experienced makes it intelligible that a Russian Grand Duke, viceroy and field-marshal, could rise to the unexampled magnanimity of uttering in camp such words as these to the troops ranged before him in battle-array:

"He who is a Pole, and loves his fatherland more than he does me, may step forth from the ranks and go free."

And, with arms and banners, he suffered every Polish regiment under his command to march out, and then with his remaining Russian troops withdrew from Poland, and, at their head, returned to Russian territory.

Could such immense magnanimity be forgiven?

Never!

Upon arrival at Minsk the Grand Duke Constantine died suddenly.

By whose hand?

No other than that of _the man with the green eyes_. Only that this time it was not he of the Tsatir Dagh, but he of the banks of the Ganges--cholera.

It was said, too, that he was buried--that his coffin had been lowered into the vault in the Church of Peter-Paul at St. Petersburg. But the people would not believe it.

Tradition has it that he was taken prisoner and conveyed to "Holy Island."

Not many years after there was a peasant rising, and it was rumored that their leader was Constantine. The rising was suppressed, but the leader was not captured; the people had hidden him too securely.

And to this day the belief is that Grand Duke Constantine is still alive.

The fishermen of Lapland, when at nights their boats beat about off Solowetshk Monastery, often see the figure of a tall, gray-headed man wandering about the bastions. It is attended by two armed sentinels; and ever and anon the spectre raises its clasped hands to heaven, as if in supplication.

Then they whisper to one another that the mysterious prisoner of Holy Island is none other than the vanished Constantine, though forty years have passed since his disappearance.

* * * * *

Snow lies deep all around--so deep that no roads are visible. A gray, leaden firmament spans the horizon. All is intense silence.

But beneath the deep snow something is still growing, and the roots of which will never die.

THE END

Transcriber's Note: The following typographical errors present in the original edition have been corrected.

In Chapter V, "Another was 'Szojus Spacinia'" was changed to "Another was 'Szojusz Spacinia'", and "a fourth 'Szojus Blagadenstoiga'" was changed to "a fourth 'Szojusz Blagadenztoiga'".

In Chapter VI, "faithful Ihuasko" was changed to "faithful Ihnasko", and "Count Paklem's conspiracy" was changed to "Count Pahlen's conspiracy".

In Chapter VIII, a quotation mark was removed after "before going to bed".

In Chapter IX, a quotation mark was added after "the yoke that is bowing down its neck", and "Krizsanowski, the delegate of the Polish 'Kosyniery'" was changed to "Krizsanowski, the delegate of the Polish 'Kosynyery'".

In Chapter X, "Commandant Diebitsh prisoners" was changed to "Commandant Diebitsch prisoners".

In Chapter XII, a quotation mark was removed after "put a good face on it", and a quotation mark was added after "paid them twice over in interest".

In Chapter XXIV, a question mark was changed to a period after "I can understand their being angry with him".

In Chapter XXVI, a quotation mark was added before "Relate again".

In Chapter XXVII, "Araktsejeff vied" was changed to "Araktseieff vied".

In Chapter XXVIII, "Banish Araktsejeff" was changed to "Banish Araktseieff".

In Chapter XXXI, "Helenka's husband, old Ihnasco" was changed to "Helenka's husband, old Ihnasko".

In Chapter XXXIII, a quotation mark was added after "desirable to keep them secret".

In Chapter XXXVI, a quotation mark was added before "Just what you directed".

In Chapter XXXVIII, "wrote the letter to Jukuskin" was changed to "wrote the letter to Jakuskin".

In Chapter XL, a quotation mark was removed after "Who knows into whose hands they may fall?", and "the Kalevains have more reason to weep" was changed to "the Kalevaines have more reason to weep".

In Chapter XLI, "as Jukuskin has planned" was changed to "as Jakuskin has planned", and "plenipotentiary of the Szojusz Blagodenztoga" was changed to "plenipotentiary of the Szojusz Blagodenztoiga".

In Chapter XLII, a quotation mark was added before "No harm to her!", "their breasts literally sown with orders" was changed to "their breasts liberally sown with orders", and "with naive, unconscious expression" was changed to "with naïve, unconscious expression".

In Chapter XLIII, "the _matadores_ of the _Szojusz Blagodenztoga_" was changed to "the _matadores_ of the _Szojusz Blagodenztoiga_".

In "The Romance of Constantine", "Outside the walls of Lazienska" was changed to "Outside the walls of Lazienka", and "off Solowesk Monastery" was changed to "off Solowetshk Monastery".