The Green Book Part 15

Two sledges, already horsed, are drawn up before the colonnade of the Winter Palace. One is harnessed with six horses, the other with three.

Both are closed carriages with drawn blinds. The coachman and footmen belonging to the six-in-hand wear the livery of the Czar; those of the three-horsed sledge that of the Grand Duke. But, on getting into them, the Czar takes the Grand Duke's sledge, the Grand Duke that of the Czar; and as they pa.s.s out of the gates, with jingling of bells, the one sledge turns to the right, the other to the left. The six-horsed sledge is followed by an escort of the guards; where it halts, there halts the escort. The three-horsed sledge skims along the road unattended. It is known that the Grand Duke drives home direct; he is a domesticated man.

But of the Czar none knows whither he will take his way in the course of the long night; and nowadays it behooves one to be careful; an escort has become a necessity!

Araktseieff had had a sharp tussle that very morning with Chulkin, Chief of Police, and the governor of the city, Miloradovics. There were three sets of police on active duty--military, civil, and secret police. And instead of playing into each other's hands, their sole study seemed to be for each to set the other's regulations at naught. Araktseieff was furious at Chulkin because Chevalier Galban had been set upon and robbed the previous night, not only of his money, but of his papers--papers, among which were many important state secrets. To which Chulkin had retorted that the soldiers on patrol had been the thieves. Hereupon Araktseieff's wrath was turned upon Miloradovics, and he demanded that the officer in command, who had had the inspection on the night past, be sternly reprimanded for lack of supervision. To which the governor returned that the said officer in command was no other than young Araktseieff, his hopeful son. Hereupon Araktseieff waxed still more wroth; but with whom? He fully believed that his son had been Chevalier Galban's plunderer, well knowing him to be capable of the act.

He made no further official inquiry into the matter, merely adding that in future the Household Regiment of Hussars, under his own immediate command, were to accompany the Czar, at a distance, whenever he left the palace. No reliance, evidently, was to be placed on either infantry or police.

Araktseieff possessed a sure instinct which warned him of conspiracies against the Czar, even when he failed to obtain any certain clew. His was the sole and ever-watchful eye that guarded the person of the Czar.

He gathered upon his head the detestation of a whole nation in order to protect the head of the one man in whom his entire individuality was merged.

But the pursued knew how to elude protector as efficiently as pursuer.

Whilst thus secretly escorted, the six-horsed sledge proceeded from barrack to barrack, the Grand Duke probably holding an inspection to satisfy himself that the officers on guard had not removed their tight stocks; the three-horsed sledge glided along the banks of the Moika Ca.n.a.l, drawing up, at length, before a long walled-in enclosure set with iron spikes. Alighting from his sledge the Czar took from his breast-pocket a key, opened the gate, and entered unattended, the unlit path marked by a line of oak-trees. No footprint was to be seen on the fresh-fallen snow. The path was unused by any but himself. In among the trees with their crows' nests an old-fas.h.i.+oned house was visible, its wooden steps leading to a low oaken door. The solitary man has with him a key to this door also; he opens it, and enters. Here it is so dark he has to take a lantern from his pocket in order to find the stairs leading to the story above. Having ascended the stairs, he proceeds on tiptoe down a long corridor. There is not even a dog to bark at him. As he opens a door two persons, engaged in conversation, look round in startled fear. They are an old man and woman. The old woman screams; the old man throws himself at the Czar's feet.

"Who is this man, Helenka?"

"My old man, my husband. Hold up your ugly pate, Ihnasko, that the Czar may see who you are."

"You never told me you had a husband."

"Why should one tell of the gout one is plagued with, or any other ugly thing one would rather forget?"

"Well, what does he want here?"

Here the old woman, covering half her mouth with her hand, whispers:

"He has brought the king's daughter here."

At these words the icy look melts from the Czar's severe features.

"What! Bethsaba here?"

"Yes; and she is to stay the night. They are playing draughts together."

"How is Sophie?" The inquirer's voice falters.

"Fairly well. She slept well last night, and took her chocolate this morning. She has not been so cross as usual to-day, since the doctor told her that giving way to temper was bad for her."

"Has she followed the doctor's directions?"

"Rather too closely. If I am a second after time in giving her her medicine, she rings for me."

"Did the doctor say anything about diet?"

"Yes; he said her Highness was not to observe the fast, but to eat meat and eggs daily; and that will strengthen her. But the Princess gave it him soundly. What was he thinking of? Did he mean to endanger her soul for sake of her body? And she has ordered me to pay no attention to what he said, and has threatened me with blows if I attempt to deceive her."

"Indeed! And the doctor said that the observance of strict fast would be injurious to her health?"

"Certainly. He said she wanted blood, she was anaemic, and that beans cooked in oil did not make blood."

"What have you prepared for her supper to-night?"

"The usual soup for the fast."

"Just oblige me, my good Helenka. I have brought something with me which will do our invalid good. I have had it over expressly from a celebrated physician in England. Give her a spoonful of it daily in her soup."

"Of course I will do what you command, sire. But tell me first, is it prepared from the flesh of any animal? For if the dear soul were to find out that I had mixed any meat preparation in her soup during the fast, she would cry and rage to that extent that she would make herself ill again."

"Do not be afraid, good Helenka. It is a remedy composed of palm-root, which takes the place of meat."

"And I shall not endanger my own soul by using it?"

"No, no; have no fear. I will take all responsibility upon myself."

And yet were it an unpardonable sin to eat meat during Quadragesima the Czar had laid a great burden upon his soul, for his remedy was no other than extract of beef, at that time the patent of an English chemist. But the Czar was a philosopher and--a father.

"Go in and tell her I am here, that she may not be startled at my coming."

By a lamp, whose light was tempered by a lace shade, sat two young girls playing draughts.

The one we have already seen at the noteworthy stag-hunt; and now we know her to be a "king's daughter."

As the Czar entered the Princess's room, and Ihnasko was alone with his wife, he could not refrain from asking--

"What did you mean by 'king's daughter'?"

"Slow coach! Don't you know that yet? She has lived the last eight years in your house without your knowing that she is the daughter of a Circa.s.sian king. Her father was once a mighty ruler there, where the currants and olives grow; he was killed by the Turks, and the Queen brought her crown and her little daughter, and fled to us for protection. She was a wonderfully handsome woman. I saw her once in all her national costume at a New-year's review. I did not wonder at what had happened. It was General Lazaroff who had received orders to bring her from her own country to Russia. The General was a man of amorous nature. On one occasion the wine he drunk flew to his head, and he forgot that he was escorting a queen, and only saw the lovely woman. But the Circa.s.sian b.u.t.terflies have stings as sharp as any bee. The Queen drove her kindzal into his heart, and he fell down dead at her feet. Not much was made of the affair; it was hushed up. The Queen was put into a convent, where she has always been treated with royal honors. But she is not allowed to leave it. Only on New-year's day she takes her place with the widowed Queens of Imeritia and Mingrelia on the steps of the throne.

As for her little six-year-old daughter, she was taken from her, that her royal mother might not teach her to follow her ways. Why, there would not be a man left in St. Petersburg! The child was intrusted to Princess Ghedimin's care, who has not the blessing of a child of her own."

"What child?" blurted out Ihnasko.

"Oh, you goose! What a question to ask! What child? None at all, seeing she hasn't got one. Don't wink at me, or you'll get a cuff in the face.

So the king's daughter was brought to Ghedimin Palace, and is now a member of the family. Forgetting her own mother, she looks upon the Princess as one."

"I should just like to know why the Princess sends her here to visit your sick princess?"

"That's nothing to do with your thick skull."

The other draught-player is Sophie Narishkin, a tall, delicate-looking girl with straw-colored hair. It is well that she is kept in strict retirement, for in face she is the image of what Princess Ghedimin was at that age. There is an expression of premature wisdom in her countenance blended with that of superst.i.tious fear. Her eyes wear a softer look than those of her prototype; instead of Princess Ghedimin's haughty, contemptuous expression, hers are dreamy and melancholy.

What can be a maiden's dreams who knows nothing of the world? The world, peopled with mankind. She may dream of lovely landscapes, of rocks, woods, waterfalls. But of the beings who people the world she knows none save her nurse, to whose fairy tales she listens so eagerly, and her governesses, who had vainly striven to indoctrinate her into the sciences and fine arts.

All spoiled, no one loved, her.

All around were traces of work or play, begun and left unfinished--draught-board, cards, chessmen, patience, embroidery, drawings, patterns. She is sitting, in a white embroidered dressing-gown, upon a wide divan, both feet drawn up under her. Beside her sits the Circa.s.sian Princess on a low stool.

His Imperial Majesty is received ungraciously. Evidently he has interrupted the two girls in some amus.e.m.e.nt. And yet he seems to have the right to go up to Sophie and, taking her face between both hands, to imprint a hearty kiss upon her cheek--a kiss the traces of which the girl, with childlike coquetry, instantly tries to remove by means of the sleeve of her dress, which has the effect of making the offending cheek as red as a rose.