The Green Book Part 6

"What a good son and a good Christian is my Ivan Maximovitch!" murmured Anna Feodorovna, amid her prayers. "And what a lovely voice he has! He might be one of the Czar's choristers."

And amid the sounds of pealing organ and penitential psalm she reverently thanked the Lord, and, praying for the living and the faithful dead, fell into peaceful slumber in her arm-chair.

The organ still continues to peal, and penitential psalms ascend, for Ivan Maximovitch--Prince Ghedimin--is a good man, and a tender, loving son.

And yet this again is a fresh lie; for, as Ivan entered the chapel from his grandmother's room, one of the Czar's choirmen, who had been admitted by a secret door, was already in waiting there, and his task it was to sing on and play the organ until the old woman had fallen asleep.

Prince Ghedimin, meanwhile, hastily descended the secret staircase and pa.s.sed into a masked corridor leading from his palace into the next house. There, quickly a.s.suming a disguise, he jumped into a sledge awaiting him in the courtyard, and gave the coachman directions where to drive.

Upon the Princess's return from the opera she was informed, both by his Highness's coachman and her dwarf, that the Prince was still at home, and had not yet left his grandmother's apartments.

CHAPTER VII

THE EIGHT-IN-HAND

Prince Ghedimin left his secret domicile in a simply appointed sledge, without crest, his coachman wearing no livery. He ordered his man to drive to the opera.

At that time the capital possessed but one large, newly built theatre--the opera-house. Here representations of the drama, comedy, and opera were given, and often on one and the same evening, the performances lasting, as a rule, from early evening to midnight.

It was just the period when Russians had conceived a pa.s.sion for the drama. One theatre no longer sufficed them. It had become the fashion for the wealthy princes of the blood to have stages erected in their own palaces, and to have representations given by their own private companies of Shakespeare and Moliere. Even in the Czar's two palaces--the Winter Palace and Hermitage--there were theatres, where the court actors and actresses made their debut. One leader of fashion carried the theatrical mania so far that he never travelled to his country-seat without taking his troop with him; but, the main difficulty there being to find the audience, he had a collection of wax figures made--generals, statesmen, and elegant women--and with these figures he filled his stalls, to give the illusion of a full house. If we add that this theatrical company was largely recruited from the retainers and serfs of the said magnate, there is nothing improbable in the story that went about of him that one night, as Oth.e.l.lo was in the very act of throttling his Desdemona, my lord in his box was seized with a fit of sneezing, which resounded through the house; whereupon the dark-skinned tyrant, instantly abandoning his murderous design, advanced to the front of the stage, humbly uttered the Russian form, "G.o.d bless your Grace,"

and then retreated, to proceed with Shakespeare's ghastly deed.

Hence we may imagine the enthusiasm excited by so extraordinary an artistic genius as was Zeneida, a child of the people--since Finland was _born_ to Russia on the day of Zeneida's birth.

Zeneida was a more powerful factor than a cabinet minister. Even in Catharine II.'s time a prima donna, on the Czarina's representing to her that she was drawing as heavy pay as the most renowned of her generals, had presumed to say flatly to her, "Then, your Majesty, bid your generals sing to you."

Prince Ghedimin's great source of anxiety was not that Zeneida might be exposed to some insult or humiliation at the hands of a wounded rival; much more, knowing her spirit, he dreaded lest she, at first sound of a hiss, should rush forward to the footlights and begin singing the _Ma.r.s.eillaise_, and that if rotten eggs were thrown one moment, in the next men's heads would be flying. It needed so tiny a spark to fire the whole mine.

His heart was beating violently as he neared the opera-house. The clang of bells from a hundred clock-towers drowned all other sounds; but as they ceased a roar rose in the long street into which his sledge had turned. The stately avenue was simply filled with a moving ma.s.s of people surging in his direction. What could it be? A revolt, or a triumphal procession? Hundreds and hundreds of torches cast their lurid light over the heads of the throng.

His heart beat faster and faster. He was not a lover of revolutions; not one of those who grow drunk with enthusiasm when they hear the leonine roar of an insurgent ma.s.s. On the contrary, his soul shuddered within him at the thought. But he was a brave man--a man who, although heart and spirit might shrink, would know how to die with those to whom he had sworn fidelity; who, although his soul might faint within him, would walk with firm step to the scaffold for the great aspirations with which that soul was fired. More than one man has proved himself a hero whose soul has quailed within him before the beginning of the fight. Prince Ivan, ordering his coachman to stop, awaited the throng.

And presently a strange sight met his gaze. In the very midst of the torch-lit crowd came a golden sledge, shaped like a swan. It was Zeneida's well-known sledge. In it was sitting the prima donna (wrapped in her costly sables, and literally covered with bouquets, the flowers of which were beginning to sparkle with the night frost), drawn by a team of eight--such a team as the Czar himself had never been drawn by, since it was composed of eight young n.o.blemen, the cream of Russia's _jeunesse doree_. On the coachman's box sat Chevalier Galban in person.

Prince Ghedimin, springing from his sledge, joined the procession. Among the crowd a man was pressing and forcing his way. In him the Prince recognized one of his wife's lackeys. Reaching Zeneida's sledge, the man handed up to Chevalier Galban an enormous bouquet of hyacinths, whispering a few words as he did so. The Chevalier, straightway standing up, called out with stentorian voice:

"Ho, ho, gentlemen! n.o.ble team of teams! halt an instant! Look at this brilliant trophy! See these flowers with their diamond-set bouquet-holder--'With the expression of her admiration for our divine Zeneida--from Princess Ghedimin!'"

A thousand hurrahs resounded through the icy air, thickened for an instant with the breath from many vociferous lungs.

"_Allons!_ forward, my n.o.ble steeds!" And the eight-in-hand proceeded on its way.

A young man was standing at the back of the sledge. As Zeneida leaned forward to take the flowers, he reached over her so that his face, bent downward, nearly touched hers. In such a position even a well-known face is hard to recognize. The man thus standing whispered to her:

"Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes."

"I do not understand Latin," she answered. "Translate it into some other language for me."

And he at once, converting it into faultless hexameter, said, in their own tongue:

"Ever I fear the Russian, even when with gifts he comes."

"Thanks, Pushkin."

The members of the "Northern Confederation" called each other by their family names, in contradistinction to the old Russian usage, which is to call every one by their Christian names, adding to a man that of his father, to a woman that of her mother.

So this young man was to become the renowned Pushkin. At that time he had no such claim; at that time he was a n.o.body.

CHAPTER VIII

AN ORGY OVER A VOLCANO

It needed a well-seasoned head to keep his wits about him when, on entering Zeneida's palace, a man found himself suddenly plunged into the fairy-like pell-mell, such as is usually only to be seen at a masked ball at the opera.

Hundreds of guests, invited and uninvited, thronged the brilliantly lighted reception-rooms. Zeneida to-night had been acting in the last scene of _Semiramide_, and it suited her mood to carry on the part of the all-conquering queen off the stage; to see her admirers, her slaves, and those she fooled, at her feet.

The whole _corps de ballet_ were here a.s.sembled in the dresses in which they had appeared on the stage; the chorus and singers wearing their rich costumes of Persian and Median n.o.bles. The male aristocracy of St.

Petersburg, young and old, were there a.s.sembled. As the hostess appeared in the ballroom, leaning on Chevalier Galban's arm, the band, concealed behind the balcony of the gallery, struck up a welcoming overture; the guests cheered, and those nearest pressed round to kiss her hands.

However, things were not long destined to proceed so smoothly.

In the middle of the ballroom was standing a police-agent in full uniform, his helmet on his head. Going forward to meet the hostess and her cavalier, and bowing stiffly, he made a hissing sound which was supposed to stand for _Sudar_ and _Sudarinja_ ("Monsieur" and "Madame").

"His Excellency the President of Police bids you take notice that at the stroke of twelve to-night the great fast has begun, and all dancing, music, and entertainments of every description are in consequence prohibited. Such being the case, monsieur and madame's guests are to return forthwith to their own houses, and monsieur and madame, the host and hostess, to retire to their apartments. Monsieur and madame--"

Here Zeneida burst into a merry laugh; while Galban inwardly cursed the Minister of Police, who by his clumsy zeal was in danger of spoiling the excellent plan he and Araktseieff had together made out.

Zeneida drawing three golden-shaped arrows from her hair, handed them to the sergeant of police.

"Go back to your chief and show him these symbols. From them he will recognize that a.s.syria's queen challenges the Prince of Sarmatia to combat."

The words were over the head of the agent of police, but he took the golden arrows.

"Then I shall be compelled to take your names. Yours, sir, is--"

"Caracalla," replied Galban, readily, "and this lady is my wife."

The police-agent duly entered in his book, "Herr Caracallus and Madame Caracalla"; then turned to a gentleman who had just entered, Prince Ghedimin. "And what is your name?"

"Rainbow. Here is my card."