I carried out. I knew that the fever of the princess, aggravated by the
inflammation of her dislocated wrist, would continue for some time, and
I bent all my energies to the work of doing as much good as I could in the
vast empire under my control while I had the opportunity. And it was a
great opportunity, indeed! I did not want to do anything so radical as to
arouse the opposition of the court, and therefore I directed my principal
efforts to the amelioration of the condition of the people in the
provinces. It would be a long time before word could get back to the
capital of what I had done in those distant regions. By night and by day
my couriers were galloping in every direction, carrying good news to the
peasants of Russia. It was remarked by some of the councilors, when they
spoke of the municipal reforms I instituted, that the princess seemed to
be in a very humane state of mind; but none of them cared to interfere
with what they supposed to be the sick-bed workings of her conscience. So
I ruled with a high hand, astonishing the provincial officials, and
causing thousands of downtrodden subjects to begin to believe that perhaps
they were really human beings, with some claim on royal justice and
kindness.
"I fairly reveled in my imperial power, but I never forgot to be prudent.
I lessened the duties and slightly increased the pay of the military
regiments stationed in and about Moscow, and thus the Princess Sophia
became very popular with the army, and I felt safe. I went in to see the
princess every day, and several times when she was in her right mind she
asked me if everything was going on well, and once when I assured her that
all was progressing quietly and satisfactorily, she actually thanked me.
This was a good deal for a Russian princess. If she had known how the
people were thanking _her_, I do not know what would have happened.
"For twenty-one days I reigned over Russia. If I had been able to do it,
I should have made each day a year; I felt that I was in my proper place."
"And thee was right," said Mrs. Crowder, her eyes sparkling. "I believe
that at that time thee was the only monarch in the world who was worthy to
reign." And with a loyal pride, as if he had just stepped from a throne,
she put her hand upon his arm.
"Yes," said Mr. Crowder, "I honestly believe that I was a good monarch,
and I will admit that in those days such personages were extremely scarce.
So my imperial sway proceeded with no obstruction until I was informed
that Prince Galitzin was hastening to Moscow, on his return from his
estates, and was then within three days' journey of the capital. Now I
prepared to lay down the tremendous power which I had wielded with such
immense satisfaction to myself, and with such benefit, I do not hesitate
to say, to the people of Russia. The effects of my rule are still to be
perceived in some of the provinces of Russia, and decrees I made more than
two hundred years ago are in force in many villages along the eastern side
of the Volga.
"The day before Prince Galitzin was expected, I visited Sophia for the
last time. She was a great deal better, and much pleased by the expected
arrival of her minister. She even gave me some commands, but when I left
her I did not execute them. I would not have my reign sullied by any of
her mandates. That afternoon, in a royal sledge, with the royal
permission, given by myself, to travel where and how I pleased, I left
Moscow. Frequent relays of horses carried me rapidly beyond danger of
pursuit, and so, in course of time, I passed the boundaries of the empire
of Russia, over which for three weeks I had ruled, an absolute autocrat."
"Does thee know," said Mrs. Crowder, "that two or three times I expected
thee to say that thee married Sophia?"
Mr. Crowder laughed. "That is truly a wild notion," said he.
"I don't think it is wild at all," she replied. "In the course of thy life
thee has married a great many plain persons. In some ways that princess
would have suited thee as a wife, and if thee had really married her and
had become her royal consort, like Prince Albert, thee might have made a
great change in her. But, after all, it would have been a pity to
interfere with the reign of Peter the Great."
VI
"And what did thee do after thee got out of Russia?" asked Mrs. Crowder,
the next evening.
Her husband shook his head. "No, no, my dear; we can't go on with my
autobiography in that fashion. If I should take up my life step by step,
there would not be time enough--" There he stopped, but I am sure we both
understood his meaning. There would be plenty of time for him!
"Often and often," said Mr. Crowder, after a few minutes' silence, "have
I determined to adopt some particular profession, and continue its
practice wherever I might find myself; but in this I did not succeed very
well. Frequently I was a teacher, but not for many consecutive years.
Something or other was sure to happen to turn my energies into other
channels."
"Such as falling in love with thy scholars," said his wife.
"You have a good memory," he replied. "That sometimes happened; but there
were other reasons which turned me away from the paths of the pedagogue.
With my widely extended opportunities, I naturally came to know a good
deal of medicine and surgery. Frequently I had been a doctor in spite of
myself, and as far back as the days of the patriarchs I was called upon
to render aid to sick and ailing people.
"In the days when I lived in a cave and gained a reputation as a wise and
holy hermit, more people came to me to get relief from bodily ailments
than to ask for spiritual counsel. You will remember that I told you that
I was visited at that time by Moses and Joshua. Moses came, I truly
believe, on account of his desire to become acquainted with the prophet El
Khoudr, of whom he had heard so much; but Joshua wanted to see me for an
entirely different reason. The two remained with me for about an hour, and
although Moses had no belief in me as a prophet, he asked me a great many
questions, and I am sure that I proved to him that I was a man of a great
deal of information. He had a keen mind, with a quick perception of the
motives of others, and in every way was well adapted to be a leader of
men.
"When Moses had gone away to a tent about a mile distant, where he
intended to spend the night, Joshua remained, and as soon as his uncle was
out of sight, he told me why he wished to see me."
"His uncle!" exclaimed Mrs. Crowder.
"Certainly," said her husband; "Joshua was the son of Nun and of Miriam,
and Miriam was the sister of Moses and Aaron. What he now wanted from me
was medical advice. For some time he had been afflicted with rheumatism in
his left leg, which came upon him after exposure to the damp and cold.
"Now, this was a very important thing to Joshua. He was a great favorite
with Moses, who intended him, as we all know, to be his successor as
leader of the people and of the army. Joshua was essentially a soldier;
he was quiet, brave, and a good disciplinarian; in fact, he had all the
qualities needed for the position he expected to fill: but he was not
young, and if he should become subject to frequent attacks of rheumatism,
it is not likely that Moses, who had very rigid ideas of his duties to his
people, would be willing to place at their head a man who might at any
time be incapacitated from taking his proper place on the field of battle.
So Joshua had never mentioned his ailment to his uncle, hoping that he
might be relieved of it, and having heard that I was skilled in such
matters, now wished my advice.
"I soon found that his ailment was a very ordinary one, which might easily
be kept under control, if not cured, and I proceeded at once to apply
remedies. I will just mention that in those days remedies were generally
heroic, and I think you will agree with me when I tell you how I treated
Joshua. I first rubbed his aching muscles with fine sand, keeping up a
friction until his skin was in a beautiful glow. Then I brought out from
the back part of my cave, where I kept my medicines, a jar containing a
liniment which I had made for such purposes. It was composed of oil, in
which had been steeped the bruised fruit or pods of a plant very much
resembling the Tabasco pepper-plant."
"Whoop!" I exclaimed involuntarily.
"Yes," said Mr. Crowder, "and Joshua 'whooped' too. But it was a grand
liniment, especially when applied upon skin already excited by rubbing
with sand. He jumped at first, but he was a soldier, and he bore the
application bravely.
"I saw him again the next day, and he assured me with genuine pleasure
that every trace of the rheumatism had disappeared. I gave him some of my
liniment, and also showed him some of the little pepper pods, so that he
might procure them at any time in the future when he should need them.
"It was more than twenty years after this that I again met Joshua. He was
then an elderly man, but still a vigorous soldier. He assured me that he
had used my remedy whenever he had felt the least twinges of rheumatism,
and that the disease had never interfered with the performance of his
military duties.
"He was much surprised to see that I looked no older than when he had met
me before. He was greatly impressed by this, and talked a good deal about
it. He told me he considered himself under the greatest obligations to me
for what I had done for him, and as he spoke I could see that a hope was
growing within him that perhaps I might do something more. He presently
spoke out boldly, and said to me that as my knowledge of medicine had
enabled me to keep myself from growing old, perhaps I could do the same
thing for him. Few men had greater need of protecting themselves against
the advance of old age. His work was not done, and years of bodily
strength were necessary to enable him to finish it.
"But I could do nothing for Joshua in this respect. I assured him that my
apparent exemption from the effects of passing years was perfectly
natural, and was not due to drugs or medicaments.
"Joshua lived many years after that day, and did a good deal of excellent
military work; but his life was not long enough to satisfy him. He fell
sick, was obliged to give up his command to his relative Caleb, and
finally died, in his one hundred and twenty-eighth year."
"Which ought to satisfy him, I should say," said Mrs. Crowder.
"I have never yet met a thoroughbred worker," said Mr. Crowder, "who was
satisfied to stop his work before he had finished it, no matter how old he
might happen to be. But my last meeting with Joshua taught me a lesson
which in those days had not been sufficiently impressed upon my mind.
I became convinced that I must not allow people to think that I could live
along for twenty years or more without growing older, and after that
I gave this matter a great deal more attention than I had yet bestowed
upon it."
"It is a pity," said Mrs. Crowder, "that thy life should have been marred
by such constant anxiety."
"Yes," said he; "but this is a suspicious world, and it is dangerous for a
man to set himself apart from his fellow-beings, especially if he does it
in some unusual fashion which people cannot understand."
"But I hope now," said his wife, "that those days of suspicion are entirely
past."
Now the conversation was getting awkward; it could not be pleasant for any
one of us to talk about what the world of the future might think of Mr.
Crowder when it came to know all about him, and, appreciating this, my
host quickly changed the subject.
"There is a little story I have been wanting to tell you," said he,
addressing his wife, "which I think would interest you. It is a love-story
in which I was concerned."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Crowder, looking up quickly, "a scholar?"
"No," he answered; "not this time. Early in the fourteenth century I was
living at Avignon, in the south of France. At that time I was making my
living by copying law papers. You see, I was down in the world again."
Mrs. Crowder sighed, but said nothing.
"One Sunday morning I was in the Church of St. Claire, and, kneeling a
little in front of me, I noticed a lady who did not seem to be paying the
proper attention to her devotions. She fidgeted uneasily, and every now
and then she would turn her head a little to the right, and then bring it
back quickly and turn it so much in my direction that I could see the
profile of her face. She was a good-looking woman, not very young, and
evidently nervous and disturbed.
"Following the direction of her quick gaze when she again turned to the
right, I saw a young man, apparently not twenty-five years of age, and
dressed in sober black. He was also kneeling, but his eyes were
steadfastly fixed upon the lady in front of me, and I knew, of course,
that it was this continuous gaze which was disturbing her. I felt very
much disposed to call the attention of a priest to this young man who was
making one of the congregation unpleasantly conspicuous by staring at her;
but the situation was brought to an end by the lady herself, who suddenly
rose and went out of the church. She had no sooner passed the heavy
leathern curtain of the door than the young man got up and went out after
her. Interested in this affair, I also left the church, and in the street
I saw the lady walking rapidly away, with the young man at a respectful
distance behind her.
[Illustration: PETRARCH AND LAURA.]
"I followed on the other side of the street, determined to interfere if
the youth, so evidently a stranger to the lady, should accost her or annoy
her. She walked steadily on, not looking behind her, and doubtless hoping
that she was not followed. As soon as she reached another church she
turned and entered it. Without hesitation the young man went in after her,
and then I followed.
"As before, the lady knelt on the pavement of the church, and the young
man, placing himself not very far from her, immediately began to stare at
her. I looked around, but there was no priest near, and then I advanced
and knelt not very far from the lady, and between her and her persistent
admirer. It was plain enough that he did not like this, and he moved
forward so that he might still get a view of her. Then I also moved so as
to obstruct his view. He now fixed his eyes upon me, and I returned his
gaze in such a way as to make him understand that while I was present he
would not be allowed to annoy a lady who evidently wished to have nothing
to do with him. Presently he rose and went out. It was evident that he saw
that it was no use for him to continue his reprehensible conduct while
I was present.
"I do not know how the lady discovered that her unauthorized admirer had
gone away, but she did discover it, and she turned toward me for an
instant and gave me what I supposed was a look of gratitude.
"I soon left the church, and I had scarcely reached the street when
I found that the lady had followed me. She looked at me as if she would
like to speak, and I politely saluted her. 'I thank you, kind sir,' she
said, 'for relieving me of the importunities of that young man. For more
than a week he has followed me whenever I go to church, and although he
has never spoken to me, his steady gaze throws me into such an agitation
that I cannot think of my prayers. Do you know who he is, sir?'
"I assured her that I had never seen the youth before that morning, but
that doubtless I could find out all about him. I told her that I was
acquainted with several officers of the law, and that there would be no
difficulty in preventing him from giving her any further annoyance. 'Oh,
don't do that!' she said quickly. 'I would not wish to attract attention
to myself in that way. You seem to be a kind and fatherly gentleman. Can
you not speak to the young man himself and tell him who I am, and impress
upon his mind how much he is troubling me by his inconsiderate action?'
"As I did not wish to keep her standing in the street, we now walked on
together, and she briefly gave me the facts of the case.
"Her name was Mme. de Sade: she had been happily married for two years,
and never before had she been annoyed by impertinent attentions from any
one; but in some manner unaccountable to her this young student had been
attracted by her, and had made her the object of his attention whenever he
had had the opportunity. Not only had he annoyed her at church, but twice
he had followed her when she had left her house on business, thus showing
that he had been loitering about in the vicinity. She had not yet spoken
to her husband in the matter, because she was afraid that some quarrel
might arise. But now that the good angels had caused her to meet with such
a kind-hearted old gentleman as myself, she hoped that I might be able to
rid her of the young man without making any trouble. Surely this student,
who seemed to be a respectable person, would not think of such a thing as
fighting me."
"Thee must have had a very long white beard at that time," interpolated
Mrs. Crowder.
"Yes," said her husband; "I was in one of my periods of venerable age.
"I left Mme. de Sade, promising to do what I could for her, and as she
thanked me I could not help wondering why the handsome young student had
made her the object of his attention. She was a well-shaped, fairly
good-looking woman, with fair skin and large eyes; but she was of a grave
and sober cast of countenance, and there was nothing about her which
indicated the least of that piquancy which would be likely to attract the
eyes of a youth. She seemed to me to be exactly what she said she was--the
quiet and respectable lady of a quiet and respectable household.
"In the course of the afternoon I discovered the name and residence of the
young man, with whom I had determined to have an interview. His name was
Francesco Petrarca, an Italian by birth, and now engaged in pursuing his
studies in this place. I called upon him at his lodgings, and,
fortunately, found him at home. As I had expected, he recognized me at
once as the elderly person who had interfered with him at the church; but,
as I did not expect, he greeted me politely, without the least show of
resentment.
"I took the seat he offered me, and proceeded to deliver a lecture. I laid
before him the facts of the case, which I supposed he might not know, and
urged him, for his own sake, as well as for that of the lady, to cease his
annoying and, I did not hesitate to state, ungentlemanly pursuit of her.
"He listened to me with respectful attention, and when I had finished he
assured me that he knew even more about Mme. de Sade than I did. He was
perfectly aware that she was a religious and highly estimable lady, and he
did not desire to do anything which would give her a moment's sorrow.
'Then stop following her,' said I, 'and give up that habit of staring at
her in such a way as to make her the object of attention to everybody
around her.' 'That is asking too much,' answered Master Petrarca. 'That
lady has made an impression upon my soul which cannot be removed. My will
would have no power to efface her image from my constant thought. If she
does not wish me to do so, I shall never speak a word to her; but I must
look upon her. Even when I sleep her face is present in my dreams. She has
aroused within me the spirit of poetry; my soul will sing in praise of her
loveliness, and I cannot prevent it. Let me read to you some lines,' he
said, picking up a piece of manuscript which was lying on the table. 'It
is in Italian, but I will translate it for you.' 'No,' said I; 'read it as
it is written; I understand Italian.' Then he read the opening lines of a
sonnet which was written to Laura in the shadow. He read about six lines
and then stopped.
"'It is not finished,' he said, 'and what I have written does not
altogether satisfy me; but you can judge from what you have heard how it
is that I think of that lady, and how impossible it is that I can in any
way banish her from my mind, or willingly from my vision.'
"'How did you come to know that her name is Laura?' I asked. 'I found it
out from the records of her marriage,' he answered.
"I talked for some time to this young man, but failed to impress him with
the conviction that his conduct was improper and unworthy of him. I found
means to inform Mme. de Sade of the result of my conversation with
Petrarch,--as we call his name in English,--and she appeared to be
satisfied that the young student would soon cease his attentions, although
I myself saw no reason for such belief.
"I visited the love-lorn young man several times, for I had become
interested in him, and endeavored to make him see how foolish it was--even
if he looked upon it in no other light--to direct his ardent affections
upon a lady who would never care anything about him, and who, even if
unmarried, was not the sort of woman who was adapted to satisfy the lofty
affection which his words and his verses showed him to possess.
"'There are so many beautiful women,' said I, 'any one of whom you might
love, of whom you might sing, and to whom you could indite your verses.
She would return your love; she would appreciate your poetry; you would
marry her and be happy all your life.'
"He shook his head. 'No, no, no,' he said. 'You don't understand my
nature.
"'Marriage would mean the cares of a house--food, fuel, the mending of
clothes, a family--all the hard material conditions of life. No, sir! My
love soars far above all that. If it were possible that Laura should ever
be mine I could not love her as I do. She is apart from me; she is above
me. I worship her, and for her I pour out my soul in song. Listen to
this,' and he read me some lines of an unfinished sonnet to Laura in the
sunlight. 'She was just coming from a shaded street into an open place
I saw her, and this poem came into my heart.'
"About a week after this I was very much surprised to see Petrarch walking
with his Laura, who was accompanied by her husband. The three were very
amicably conversing. I joined the party, and was made acquainted with
M. de Sade, and after that, from time to time, I met them together,
sometimes taking a meal with them in the evening.
"I discovered that Laura's husband looked upon Petrarch very much as any
ordinary husband would look upon an artist who wished to paint portraits
of his wife.
"I lived for more than a year in Avignon with these good people, and I am
not ashamed to say that I never ceased my endeavors to persuade Petrarch
to give up his strange and abnormal attentions to a woman who would never
be anything to him but a vision in the distance, and who would prevent him
from living a true and natural life with one who would be all his own. But
it was of no use; he went on in his own way, and everybody knows the
results.
"Now, just think of it," continued Mr. Crowder. "Suppose I had succeeded
in my honest efforts to do good; think of what the world would have lost.
Suppose I had induced Petrarch not to come back to Avignon after his
travels; suppose he had not settled down at Vaucluse, and had not spent
three long years writing sonnets to Laura while she was occupied with the
care of her large family of children; suppose, in a word, that I had been
successful in my good work, and that Petrarch had shut his eyes and his
heart to Laura; suppose--"
"I don't choose to suppose anything of the kind," said Mrs. Crowder. "Thee
tried to do right, but I am glad thee did not deprive the world of any of
Petrarch's poetry. But now I want thee to tell us something about ancient
Egypt, and those wonderfully cultivated people who built pyramids and
carved hieroglyphics. Perhaps thee saw them building the Temple of the Sun
at Heliopolis."
Mr. Crowder shook his head. "That was before my time," said he.
This was like an electric shock to both of us. If we had been more
conversant with ancient chronology we might have understood, but we were
not so conversant.
"Abraham! Isaac! Moses!" ejaculated Mrs. Crowder. "Thee knew them all, and
yet Egypt was civilized before thy time! Does thee mean that?"
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Crowder. "I am of the time of Abraham, and when he was
born the glories of Egypt were at their height."
"It is difficult to get these things straight in one's mind," said Mrs.
Crowder. "As thee has lived so long, it seems a pity that thee was not
born sooner."
"I have often thought that," said her husband; "but we should all try to
be content with what we have. And now let us skip out of those regions of
the dusky past. I feel in the humor of telling a love-story, and one has
just come into my mind."
"Thee is so fond of that sort of thing," said his wife, with a smile,
"that we will not interfere with thee."