The Green Book Part 16

"How are you feeling, my Madonna?"

"Oh, now you have come and interrupted the lovely story Bethsaba was telling me!"

"She shall go on with it. I will listen too."

"How can you, when you were not here at the beginning?"

"I know Bethsaba will not mind beginning it again."

The Princess nodded acquiescently, while Sophie, with a look, directed her father to take a seat at the other end of the divan. The Czar, understanding the look, did as he was bid; and, taking one of the girl's delicate, transparent hands in his, stroked it, and, as he did so, succeeded in feeling the pulse, to a.s.sure himself that there was still hope for her. He wanted to put a question, but the delicately pencilled eyebrows commanded silence, and the Ruler of All the Russias was obedient.

"Once upon a time," began the king's daughter, "there lived on the Caspian Sea a mighty king who took a lovely woman to wife, not knowing, when he did so, that she was a fire-worshipper. Now, fire-worshippers are in league with the Jinn (spirit), and the queen had promised the Jinn that if she married and bore a daughter she would give her to him when grown up. No sooner had the child become a maiden than the Jinn came and knocked at the king's door to claim her. The poor king was terribly frightened when he was told that the spirit had come to fetch away his daughter--"

"If he was a king, why could he not command the spirit to obey him?"

broke in the sick girl, angrily.

"Ah, my dearest, the spirit is so powerful that no king can control him."

"And no _emperor_?"

"No, not even emperor. No one has power over him; but he has power over every one. There is no locking him up or shutting him out, for he can penetrate everywhere. He has no material weight, yet can suffocate; carries no sword, yet can kill."

"What a good thing that the spirits only live on the Caspian Sea!"

"When the king heard this he began to entreat the spirit not to take his beloved daughter from him so soon; to grant her to him yet another year.

'Very well,' said the spirit, 'I will leave you your daughter a year longer if you will promise to give me your thumb in exchange.' The king cared nothing about his thumb, so he promised, and the spirit took his departure. At the lapse of a year the spirit came again either to take the princess or the king's thumb. The king loved his daughter very dearly, but he also valued his thumb, for without it he would not be able to draw a bow. So again he entreated the spirit that he might grant her to him only one year more. 'Be it so,' returned the spirit, 'I will leave her to you another year, but then either I will take her away or you will give me your right hand.' And the king again closed the bargain. A year pa.s.sed, and the spirit came a third time. The king would neither give up his child, nor would he part from his right hand.

Thereupon the spirit demanded the king's whole arm as forfeit."

"But, then, do the spirits never die?" asked Sophie.

"No, darling, the spirits live forever. Well, the king promised him his arm--if by that means he might save his child--and his hand. And from year to year the spirit came back, demanding ever more and more as forfeit-money. At last he obtained promise of the king's head and heart.

And when the king's whole body belonged to him he said, 'This is the last year. Now I shall either carry off your daughter or you must promise me your shadow.' Upon which the king replied, 'No; I will give you no more. Take what is yours; but neither my daughter nor my shadow shall you have.' Thereupon the spirit left him amid loud claps of thunder. The next day was fine and sunny, and the king set out for a pleasure sail upon the sea. Suddenly a violent storm arose, and engulfed both ship and king in the waves. His body was never found. His daughter still lived on; and every evening, when the sun was going down, she saw a shadow draw near to her--the shadow of a man with a kingly crown upon his head; and as the shadow glided past her it seemed to her as if she felt a kiss upon her cheek, and as if her cheek became rosy red."

The Czar had grown thoughtful. That king, whose shadow alone wandered upon the face of the earth, was so like to himself. And Sophie, too, thought that she was like the king's daughter--kissed every evening by a kingly shadow.

Bethsaba, however, added, playfully, "We have so many such legends with us. I could tell you more than a hundred."

"It is a very sad story, my dear child," said the Czar.

"I like stories that have a sad ending," said Princess Sophie. "Those that end, 'And if they are not dead, they are alive to this day,' I cannot endure. I like books, too, to end badly; but the doctor says I must not read. But little Bethsie knows such a lot of nice stories."

"Have in your supper now. Are you not hungry?"

"Oh, who wants to be always thinking of eating? Besides, we are eating all day long." And Sophie pointed to a box of bonbons, from which a few had been taken.

"But you ought to eat nourishing things, to make you strong."

"Who says I am ill? Give me my hand-mirror. Have I not color enough?"

"Yes, you have a good color. You are really looking well to-day."

"Phew, phew!" she exclaimed, spitting twice behind her. "One should never tell anybody they look well; it is unlucky. Now let us lay the table for supper."

The mighty ruler was quite ready to act the lackey to the pale child with the weary eyes, in whom his whole soul was concentrated. But, with the best of will, he did it awkwardly; it was plain he was not learned in the art. And Sophie scolded him roundly.

"See how badly you are holding that plate! Did one ever hear of placing the spoon betwixt knife and fork like that? No, the salt must be turned out upon the table; it is not to be put on the table in the salt-cellar; for if the salt-cellar should happen to be upset it is unlucky. You must not stick in the point of the knife when you are cutting bread! First make the sign of the cross over it, or Heaven will be angry. To think that such a big man should be so clumsy!"

Meanwhile Helenka had brought in the Lenten soup. Sophie tasted it, then laid her spoon down.

"There is something different about it. You have smuggled some meat into it. I will not eat it! You wanted to deceive me! You wanted to make me eat meat soup!"

The Czar, tasting the soup, a.s.sured her that it had no taste of meat.

But the sick girl, angry at the mere suspicion of being tricked, sent all away untouched, and vowed she would eat nothing but sweets. The Czar implored her not to spoil her digestion with such trash; whereupon, bursting into tears, she complained that they would let her die of hunger. At length the Czar, sending for the samovar, made her some tea with his own hands, and, breaking some biscuit into it, begged her to try it. And great was his joy when she said it was "very nice." She ate a whole biscuit; dipped another in it, ate a piece of it, and gave the rest to the Czar for him to taste how good it was. Then, letting him take her upon his knee, she laid her head upon his shoulder, and seemed inclined to sleep. Soon she asked him to carry her to bed and unplait her hair; then, winding her fingers in the Czar's, she said her evening prayer; and when it came to "Amen" her virgin soul seemed to breathe itself away upon the Czar's lips.

She was the sole being in the world he could call his own! Among his forty millions of subjects she alone belonged exclusively to him.

The Czar of All the Russias found so many little things still to do for his sick child. There was a cushion to be warmed to be placed at her feet; orange-flower water to be prepared for her night drink. He pushed a branch of consecrated palm under her pillow to chase away bad dreams--he, a philosopher, believing in the efficacy of a consecrated palm branch! But philosophy is nowhere by the sick-bed of one's child.

"Now, you go home," whispered Sophie; "Bethsaba is to sleep with me.

Good-night. I know I shall have no bad dreams."

"Lay your hand upon my head, that I, too, may sleep well. Good-night."

They called one another by no endearing names, though they knew that in the whole wide world they had no one but each other.

It was past midnight when the Czar went back to his sledge--too early to go home.

"Drive along Newski Prospect," said the Czar.

The coachman understood the command. Upon Newski Prospect there is a two-storied house with "Severin" upon the door. Here the coachman drew up. The windows of the first story were lighted. On ringing the bell, men-servants with lamps promptly appeared, who led the great Czar to the master of the house. Herr Severin was a simple paper-maker and printer, carrying on his business with his sons and sons-in-law, who, with their families, lived here with him. Upon great festivals it was the Czar's custom to indulge himself for an hour or two with the sight of their simple family life and joys--such joys as were denied to him. The tiny children recite their verses to grandpapa, who rides them upon his knee; converting them into generals by dint of paper hats and wooden swords.

The Czar has no such generals! Then five or six of them, forming into a circle, dance round, and sing the story of the "Ashimashi Beggars," each striking up in a different key. No such choir does the Czar possess! At supper every dish is so well cleared out that it would be a puzzle to say what it had contained. Such a feast the Czar cannot give! And supper over, the favorite game of "Clock and Hammer" is brought out. They play for high stakes--nuts; and the stakes are eaten while the game is played. The Czar has no such national coin!

So he sits among them until the little ones, growing sleepy, are carried off to bed by their nurses; first kissing everybody--even the Czar. No such thing happens in the Winter Palace!

When that is all over, the distinguished guest has a long talk with the old man over the good old times. He listens to all the joys and sorrows of his host's every-day life. The samovar is emptied and filled again.

The Czar cannot tell what does him so much good--whether the tea, the cakes, or the good old man's integrity--his honest, straightforward spirit. No such tea does the Czar taste in his own house!

Without, on the snow-covered roads, gallop the escort of the guards, while stealthy conspirators peer out from dark doorways, and look after the six-horsed sledge, pistol and knife in hand.

The hunted stag knows nothing of all this!

None may tell whither he has wandered through the long hours of the night, nor who it is that so persistently tracks him.

CHAPTER XII

HOW A FORTRESS WAS TAKEN