The Green Book Part 46

"But it was my father who brought him here."

"Because he has a honeyed tongue with which he can deceive the Czar--and lull the daughter to sleep."

"Oh, mother, you hate him sorely!"

"And with reason! Does not this marriage threaten to ruin my whole life?

Will it not bring the secret of your birth to light--that birth the bane of my early life?"

"Mother! Do you curse the day of my birth?"

"Not now only, but twice daily--when I wake and when I lie down. You were as a death-sentence to me, the hour of which was unfixed. I have thought with shuddering of you. You have been my accomplice, a living witness to my wrecked honor; and now my fate is to be accomplished through you. You announce to the whole world that you exist--look! here am I!"

"No, mother; I will hide myself. No one shall see me. No one shall know of me."

Korynthia here pretended that pity and maternal love had gained the mastery. In sorrowing tones, she exclaimed:

"But, my poor child, do you not know that you are condemning yourself to a living grave--that you are choosing a life worse than h.e.l.l? You will be the wife of an adventurer, who is sunk so low in sin, so fettered by vicious a.s.sociates, that, even if he desired it, he is powerless to avoid the consequences. Do you want to follow him to Siberia?"

"If misfortune a.s.sails him I will share it with him."

"And suppose the mad scheme in which he is the foremost actor succeeds, and his hands are stained with your father's blood?"

"Then I will find a path in which to implore Heaven's pardon for him."

"Blinded creature! Your self-created ideal prevents your seeing the man as he is. Do you believe it possible to confine a heart in a cage that is accustomed to take free flight, and which, moreover, you have by no means made captive? For Pushkin loves you not! I tell you, he loves you not! Be convinced; he loves you not!"

Sophie looked in bewilderment at Korynthia. The instinct of her woman's heart, added to a nervous foreboding, told her the horrible truth.

Seizing Korynthia's hand, she exclaimed:

"_You love him!_"

"You are right!" hissed Korynthia, with wild vehemence.

Sophie, pressing her hands to her heart, turned white as death; her eyes closed, her breathing stopped, and she fell lifeless to the ground.

The Princess went in search of Helenka.

"Go in to your mistress; she is not well."

And, drawing her cashmere close about her (the mornings are misty by the river) and replacing her bonnet, she left the villa.

Knowing that her farewell kiss would be of no benefit to the poor swooning girl, she let it alone.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

THE WILL

That day Pushkin felt as heavy-hearted as if he had not only all the sins of the world, but the national debts of all Europe, upon his shoulders. Was it one of those presentiments to which the race of poets, whose stock-in-trade is nerves, are so sensitive? Nothing gave him any pleasure. He went to Zeneida, to formally announce his approaching marriage to her. She had long been informed of it, for she possessed a splendid service of secret police.

Zeneida replied, with cold, stoical irony:

"I still do not believe that the Czar's daughter _will marry you_."

"Probably not; for _I_ intend to marry the Czar's daughter!"

"Is Princess Ghedimin informed of it?"

"I have announced it to her."

"Then nothing will come of it."

"It has nothing in the world to do with her."

"I prophesy it. Else why am I the pythoness? Does Prince Ghedimin know of it?"

"Prince Ghedimin! _Mille tonnerres!_ Am I to go to the Prince, too, to ask for Sophie's hand? He, at any rate, is out of it."

"Not on account of your wooing, my friend, but that the Prince may erase your name from 'the green book.' You will doubtless see that the name of the son-in-law of the Czar can hardly adorn--I will not say blacken--its pages."

"By Jove! you are right. I had not thought of that."

With heavier heart than he had come, Pushkin left her.

Zeneida's villa was on the Kreskowsky Island, thus some distance from Sophie's home, which lay embowered in orange groves. From afar the light-green roof was visible, standing out from amidst the pines. Every evening a white flag was to be seen floating from the flagstaff, hoisted by Sophie herself, as a signal that she was expecting him. Sometimes she would come down to the sh.o.r.e to meet him, her white-clad figure greeting him when he was yet a long way off.

Now neither white flag nor white-clad maiden was visible. He hastened on impatiently. Usually, as his boat approached the landing-stage, another, in which sat Bethsaba, would row away. The Circa.s.sian Princess never awaited Pushkin; they only exchanged greetings from a distance. Now he perceived a gondola, painted in the Ghedimin family colors, still chained to the landing-stage, the boatmen stretched on benches fast asleep.

Without waiting for his boat to reach the land, Pushkin sprang ash.o.r.e and ran towards the house.

On either side of the path Sophie's beloved roses were blooming; the ground was covered with their fallen leaves.

"What can have happened," thought Pushkin, "that your guardian angel has not been gathering up your leaves this evening?"

"Go in-doors; you will soon know the reason," answered the roses.

He found no one upon the veranda. He opened the familiar tapestried door leading into Sophie's private apartments. There he learned why the rose leaves had not been gathered in that day.

Sophie lay upon her bed, white as death. Yesterday's soft bloom had all fled from her cheeks; they were almost transparent. The anguish she had undergone had left a transfigured expression upon her face. She was clasping Bethsaba's hand, who sat by her bedside, their fingers interlaced, in prayer.

Pushkin advanced cautiously, concealing his alarm. It is not well to let invalids see that their appearance inspires anxiety.

"What is this? Are you not well?"

"No, Aleko; I am dying. Do not be startled; it is past now. I have wrestled through it. You, too, will live through it."