The Green Book Part 23

"Without doubt, sire. It has given the people opportunity to bring their needs and wishes directly, in written form, before the Czar."

"One learns interesting things through it at times. This morning, for example, I received a letter from a gypsy girl containing a Vladimir order set with diamonds. The letter graphically recounted the manner in which the said order had fallen into the girl's hands. Here, read it."

Araktseieff was never so near to swooning as when he had come to the end of the letter. It was a cruel, bitter blow to his heart; he was cut to the quick in his paternal love. He had wanted to strike a blow at that woman's heart, and it had rebounded on his own in its most vulnerable place. That this was all Zeneida's doing there was no manner of doubt.

Araktseieff was to be disgraced before the Czar. She meant to bring upon him what he had intended for her.

But she should find herself mistaken.

Refolding the letter, he said, coldly and calmly:

"The criminal must suffer."

"Will it be punishment enough if he be sent to Uralsk?"

To Uralsk! That meant never to see him more! He, the well-loved only son, the arch-rogue for whom he lived, for whom he gathered up treasure, through whom he trusted to make his name live to posterity; he to be buried in a rocky fortress of the Kirghis steppes! But if it had been good enough for Pushkin, who had resisted the extinction of his poetic fervor, why not good enough for a soldier who by nights made burglarious onslaughts on the pa.s.sers-by? And yet he would so gladly save him! After all, it was no crime, only a foolhardy sc.r.a.pe, such as had taken place in the days of old chivalry, and even been practised by King Henry of England himself when he was yet Prince of Wales. Foolhardiness, but no crime! He suppressed the defence, however, feeling that although the Czar might perhaps pardon his son at his intercession, such pardon would mean the end of the father's influence. His enemies should find themselves mistaken if they reckoned upon that.

"He was my only son," he said, sobbing. "I loved him above all the world, but I love the Czar better than my only son. He must suffer if he has sinned." And he prepared the ukase condemning his son to banishment in Uralsk, then kissed the Czar's hand.

Araktseieff parted from his son without saying farewell to him. He must carry out the part of Brutus consistently, that his enemies might recognize the ancient Roman and tremble. But the Roman in him had a strong admixture of the Sarmatic. Like Foscari, he could sign with his own hand his only son's banishment; but not because he made no distinction, but out of the genuine love of a Russian subject towards his ruler, and, by making his powerful position still more powerful, to be able to pay back to his enemies the cruel vengeance they had wreaked on him.

To this he made preparation. No single one should be exempt.

On the very day his son set out on the road from which so few ever return, Magriczki came to him with the intelligence that the police had arrested Diabolka. What should be her penalty? Should he have her knouted in the open market-place, or with slit ears and nose be transported to Lake Baikal? There was cause sufficient. Her vagabond life, her immoral habits, could be brought up against her--moreover, a gypsy girl! Was not the dark skin crime enough?

"Bring her to me," said Araktseieff. "You, none of you yet know how to punish. This is a wild animal who only feels the smart of the lash while it is upon her. It were no shame to such as her to be beaten half naked in the market-place; she is brazen enough to laugh while the punishment is being inflicted. Of what use is punishment to her yet? First that sense must be awakened in her, latent in every human being, but slumbering yet--the sense of self-respect. Then we can inflict the penalty when something more than her outer skin will feel it. Send the girl in."

And soon Diabolka was standing before Araktseieff, both hands chained to her back, her unkempt hair about her saucy face, her eyes gleaming wildly through it. Her feet, too, were chained.

"So you are Diabolka, the street dancer?" asked the President of Police.

"Of course. Don't you hear my castanets?" answered the girl, striking her feet together, and making the chains clash.

"And do you know who I am?"

"Of course. The father of a street thief."

"You are right! My son is an offender; he has paid the penalty. I myself signed his sentence. Was it you who informed against him?"

"I might deny it if I chose, but I do not."

"Was it you who wrote the letter to the Czar?"

"Though I cannot write, yet it was I who wrote it."

"Then somebody guided your hand, and you wrote down the characters?"

"But you shall never know the name of that 'somebody.'"

"Were you aware what your hand was putting to paper?"

"I was."

"Then you must have been aware that not alone he whom you denounced was lost, but also you yourself, for having stolen a Vladimir order."

"But I have returned it."

"None the less, you are a thief, and must be sent to the pillory."

"Women of higher rank than mine have stood there already."

"Your shoulders will be branded with hot iron."

"My dark skin marks me already as a gypsy. I am bad from head to foot."

"Come, I don't believe that. This very day, through you, I have forever lost my only son. All night long until the sun rose I was tossing in an agony of sobs on my bed. In the early morning I went into the chapel, and there, before my Maker, I swore an oath that I would free the unhappy creature who had been my son's undoing, body and soul. At least, I will loose your outer chains."

"No need to trouble the jailer for that. If I choose and you allow, I can be rid of them myself."

The gypsy girl had extraordinarily little hands. Easily, as if she were drawing off a glove, she drew out her hands from the fetters; and as simply, without even sitting down, freed her feet. Lifting one foot in the air, she balanced herself on the other, and, in a second, stood unfettered. So she stood before Araktseieff, holding one end of her chain in her hand, looking capable of laying about her with the other end on the head of any one who came near her; and that person would have remembered the attention to his dying day.

The keeper was alone in the cage with the unchained leopard.

"Listen to what I will do with you!"

The leopard took an att.i.tude as if about to spring.

And this time Araktseieff was not, as usual, prodding about with his sword-stick. He had no weapon of any description near to hand.

"I will find you a respectable situation, where you can both live quietly and honestly, and educate yourself, mind and body--where, in fact, you can improve yourself."

"But I don't want it. I want neither a cloister, nor praying nuns, nor hypocritical monks. I will not work, unless I am beaten and made to; and even if I am beaten, I won't pray."

"You shall not be forced to anything of that kind. I will send you neither to a cloister, nor to a reformatory, but into the country. I have a castle on my estate where a dear friend of mine is living."

There was a sudden sparkle in the girl's eyes. Throwing away the threatening chain, and shaking back the loose hair with sudden movement from her brow, she looked with joyful smile at the President of Police.

"Ah! you would send me to Daimona?"

"Yes; to Daimona."

Ah! stern Cato Censorius then had yet one tender chord in his heart, one far more tender even than that which had been wrung by the banishment of his son!

There was much talk about Daimona, but not in her favor; and what was said of her was but a shadow of truth--the woman whom the favorite of the Czar worshipped more than all the saints in heaven or earth! It was with her he spent every moment he could s.n.a.t.c.h from affairs of state.

She was the sun of his life--at once his tyrant and his happiness. She was a woman so savage, so cruel and pa.s.sionate, that none but an Araktseieff could have loved her. Or was it just for that that he did love her? Every one who wished to appeal to Araktseieff, or hoped to escape his vengeance, must first sue to his idol and offer his sacrifice at her feet; and costly sacrifices they must be--no make-believes.

Daimona's extortions were renowned throughout the breadth of the empire.

Diabolka's pearly teeth glistened white through her coral lips.

"So you would like to go to Daimona?" asked the great official.