The Mukaukas’ barge, urged forward by powerful rowers, made its way
smoothly down the river. On board there was whispering, and now and
again singing. Little Mary had dropped asleep on Paula’s shoulder; the
Greek duenna gazed sometimes at the comet which filled her with terrors,
sometimes at Orion, whose handsome face had bewitched her mature heart,
and sometimes at the young girl whom she was ill-pleased to see thus
preferred by this favorite of the gods. It was a deliciously warm, still
night, and the moon, which makes the ocean swell and flow, stirs the
tide of feeling to rise in the human breast.
Whatever Paula asked for Orion sang, as though nothing was unknown to
him that had ever sounded on a Greek lute; and the longer they went on
the clearer and richer his voice grew, the more melting and seductive
its expression, and the more urgently it appealed to the young girl’s
heart. Paula gave herself up to the sweet enchantment, and when he laid
down the lute and asked in low tones if his native land was not lovely
on such a night as this, or which song she liked best, and whether she
had any idea of what it had been to him to find her in his parents’
house, she yielded to the charm and answered him in whispers like his
own.
Under the dense foliage of the sleeping garden he pressed her hand to
his lips, and she, tremulous, let him have his way.--Bitter, bitter
years lay behind her. The physician had spoken only too truly. The
hardest blows of fate had brought her--the proud daughter of a noble
father--to a course of cruel humiliations. The life of a friendless
though not penniless relation, taken into a wealthy house out of
charity, had proved a thorny path to tread, but now-since the day before
yesterday--all was changed. Orion had come. His home and the city had
held high festival on his return, as at some gift of Fortune, in
which she too had a goodly share. He had met her, not as the dependent
relative, but as a beautiful and high-born woman. There was sunshine in
his presence which warmed her very heart, and made her raise her head
once more like a flower that is brought out under the open sky after
long privation of light and air. His bright spirit and gladness of
life refreshed her heart and brain; the respect he paid her revived her
crushed self-confidence and filled her soul with fervent gratitude. Ah!
and how delightful it was to feel that she might be grateful, devotedly
grateful.--And then, then this evening had been hers, the sweetest, most
blessed that she had known for years. He had reminded her of what she
had almost forgotten: that she was still young, that she was
still lovely, that she had a right to be happy, to enchant and be
enchanted--perhaps even to love and to be loved.
Her hand was still conscious of his burning kiss as she entered the
cool room where the Lady Neforis sat awaiting the return of the party,
turning her spinning-wheel by the couch of her invalid husband who
always went to rest at late hours. It was with an overflowing heart that
Paula raised her uncle’s hand to her lips--Orion’s father, might she not
say HER Orion’s?--Then she kissed her aunt--his mother, and it was
long since she had done so--as she and little Mary bid her good-night.
Neforis accepted the kiss coolly but with some surprise, and looked
up enquiringly at the girl and at her son. No doubt she thought many
things, but deemed it prudent to give them no utterance for the present.
She allowed the girl to retire as though nothing unusual had occurred,
superintended the servants who came to carry her husband into his
bedroom, gave him the white globule which was to secure him sleep, and
with indefatigable patience turned and moved his pillows till his
couch was to his mind. Not till then, nor till she was satisfied that a
servant was keeping watch in the adjoining room, did she leave him; and
then--for there was danger in delay--she went to seek her son.
This tall, large and rather too portly woman had been in her youth
a slender and elegant girl; a graceful creature though her calm and
expressionless features had never been strikingly beautiful. Age had
altered them but little; her face was now that of a good-looking, plump,
easy-going matron, which had lost its freshness through long and devoted
attendance on the sick man. Her birth and position gave her confidence
and self-reliance, but there was nothing gracious or captivating in
her individuality. The joys and woes of others were not hers; still she
could be moved and stirred by them, even to self-denial, and was very
capable of feeling quite a passionate interest for others; only, those
others must be her own immediate belongings and no one else. Thus a more
devoted and anxious wife, or a more loving mother would have been hard
to find; but, if we compare her faculty for loving with a star, its rays
were too short to reach further than to those nearest to her, and these
regarded it as an exceptional state of grace to be included within the
narrow circle of those beloved by her somewhat grudging soul.
She knocked at Orion’s sitting-room, and he hailed her late visit with
surprise and pleasure. She had come to speak of a matter of importance,
and had done so promptly, for her son’s and Paula’s conduct just now
urged her to lose no time. Something was going on between these two
and her husband’s niece was far outside the narrow limits of her loving
kindness.
This, she began by saying, would not allow her to sleep. She had but one
heart’s desire and his father shared it: Orion must know full well what
she meant; she had spoken to him about it only yesterday. His father had
received him with warm affection, had paid his debts unhesitatingly and
without a word of reproach, and now it was his part to turn over a new
leaf: to break with his former reckless life and set up a home of his
own. The bride, as he knew, was chosen for him. “Susannah was here just
now,” she said. “You scapegrace, she confessed that you had quite turned
her Katharina’s little head this morning.”
“I am sorry for it,” he interrupted in a tone of annoyance. “These ways
with women have grown upon me as a habit; but I have done with them
henceforth. They are unworthy of me now, and I feel, my dear Mother....”
“That life is beginning in earnest,” Neforis threw in. “The wish which
brings me to you now entirely accords with that. You know what it is,
and I cannot imagine what you can have to say against it. In short, you
must let me settle the matter to-morrow with Dame Susannah. You are sure
of her daughter’s affection, she is the richest heiress in the country,
well brought up, and as I said before, she has quite lost her little
heart to you.”
“And she had better have kept it!” said Orion with a laugh.
Then his mother waxed wroth and exclaimed: “I must beg you to reserve
your mirth for a more fitting season and for laughable things. I am very
much in earnest when I say: The girl is a sweet, good little creature
and will be a faithful and loving wife to you, under God. Or have
you left your heart in Constantinople? Has the Senator Justinus’ fair
relation.--But nonsense! You can hardly suppose that that volatile Greek
girl....”
Orion clasped her in his arms, and said tenderly, “No, dearest mother,
no. Constantinople lies far, far behind me, in grey mist beyond the
farthest Thule; and here, close here, under my father’s roof, I have
found something far more lovely and more perfect than has ever been
beheld by the dwellers on the Bosphorus. That little girl is no
match for a son of our stalwart and broad-shouldered race. Our future
generations must still tower proudly above the common herd in every
respect; I want no plaything for a wife, but a woman, such as you
yourself were in youth--tall, dignified and handsome. My heart goes
forth to no gold-crested wren but to a really royal maiden.--Of what use
to waste words! Paula, the noble daughter of a glorious father, is my
choice. It came upon me just now like a revelation; I ask your blessing
on my union with her!”
So far had Neforis allowed her son to speak. He had frankly and
boldly uttered what she had indeed feared to hear. And so long she had
succeeded in keeping silence!--But now her patience gave way. Trembling
with anger she abruptly broke in, exclaiming, as her face grew crimson:
“No more, no more! Heaven grant that this which I have been compelled
to hear may be no more than a fleeting and foolish whim! Have you
quite forgotten who and what we are? Have you forgotten that those were
Melchites who slew your two dear brothers--our two noble sons? Of what
account are we among the orthodox Greeks? While among the Egyptians and
all who confess the saving doctrine of Eutyches, among the Monophysites
we are the chief, and we will remain so, and close our ears and hearts
against all heretics and their superstitions. What! A grandson of
Menas, the brother of two martyrs for our glorious faith, married to
a Melchite! The mere idea is sacrilege, is blasphemy; I can give it no
milder name! I and your father will die childless before we consent! And
it is for the love of this woman, whose heart is so cold that I shiver
only to think of it--for this waif and stray, who has nothing but her
ragged pride and the mere scrapings of a lost fortune, which never could
compare with ours--for this thankless creature, who can hardly bring
herself to bid me, your mother, such a civil good-morning--by Heaven it
is the truth--as I can say to a slave--for her that I, that your parents
are to be bereft of their son, the only child that a gracious Providence
has left to be their joy and comfort? No, no, never! Far be it from me!
You, Orion, my heart’s darling, you have been a wilful fellow all your
life, but you cannot have such a perverse heart as to bring your old
mother, who has kept you in her heart these four and twenty years, in
sorrow to the grave and embitter your father’s few remaining days--for
his hours are numbered!--And all for the sake of this cold beauty, whom
you have seen for a few hours these last two days. You cannot have
the heart to do this, my heart’s treasure, no, you cannot!--But if
you should in some accursed hour, I tell you--and I have been a tender
mother to you all your life-but as surely as God shall be my stay and
your father’s in our last hour, I will tear all love for you out of my
heart like a poisonous weed--I will, though that heart should break!”
Orion put his arms round the excited woman, who lead freed herself from
his embrace, laid his hand lightly on her lips and kissed her eyes,
whispering in her ear:
“I have not the heart indeed, and could scarcely find it.” Then, taking
both her hands, he looked straight into her face.
“Brrr!” he exclaimed, “your daredevil son was never so much frightened
in his life as by your threats. What dreadful words are these--and even
worse were at the tip of your tongue! Mother--Mother Neforis! Your name
means kindness, but you can be cruel, bitterly cruel!”
Still he drew her fondly to him, and kissed her hair and brow and cheeks
with eager haste, in a vehemence of feeling which came over him like a
revulsion after the shock he had gone through; and when they parted
he had given her leave to negotiate for little Katharina’s hand on his
behalf, and she had promised in return that it should be not on the
morrow but the day after at soonest. This delay seemed to him a sort
of victory and when he found himself alone and reflected on what he had
done in yielding to his mother, though his heart bled from the wounds of
which he himself knew not the depth, he rejoiced that he had not bound
Paula by any closer tie. His eyes had indeed told her much, but the word
“Love” had not passed his lips--and yet that was what it came to.--But
surely a cousin might be allowed to kiss the hand of a lovely relation.
She was a desirable woman--ah, how desirable!--and must ever be: but
to quarrel with his parents for the sake of a girl, were she Aphrodite
herself, or one of the Muses or the Graces--that was impossible! There
were thousands of pretty women in the world, but only one mother; and
how often had his heart beat high and won another heart, taken all it
had to give, and then easily and quickly recovered its balance.
This time however, it seemed more deeply hit than on former occasions;
even the lovely Persian slave for whose sake he had committed the
wildest follies while yet scarcely more than a school-boy--even the
bewitching Heliodora at Constantinople for whom he still had a tender
thought, had not agitated him so strongly. It was hard to give up this
Paula; but there was no help for it. To-morrow he must do his best to
establish their intercourse on a friendly and fraternal footing; for he
could have no hope that she would be content to accept his love only,
like the gentle Heliodora, who was quite her equal in birth. Life would
have been fair, unutterably fair, with this splendid creature by his
side! If only he could take her to the Capital he felt sure that all the
world would stand still to turn round and gaze at her. And if she loved
him--if she met him open-armed.... Oh, why had spiteful fate made her
a Melchite? But then, alas, alas! There must surely be something wrong
with her nature and temper; would she not otherwise have been able in
two years to gain the love, instead of the dislike, of his excellent and
fond mother?--Well, after all, it was best so; but Paula’s image haunted
him nevertheless and spoilt his sleep, and his longing for her was not
to be stilled.
Neforis, meanwhile, did not return at once to her husband but went to
find Paula. This business must be settled on all sides and at once.
If she could have believed that her victory would give the invalid
unqualified pleasure she would have hastened to him with the good news,
for she knew no higher joy than to procure him a moment’s happiness; but
the Mukaukas had agreed to her choice very reluctantly. Katharina
seemed to him too small and childish for his noble son, whose mental
superiority had been revealed to him unmistakably and undeniably, in
many long discussions since his return, to the delight of his father’s
heart. “The water-wagtail,” though he wished her every happiness, did
not satisfy him for Orion. To him, the father, Paula would have been
a well-beloved daughter-in-law, and he had often found pleasure in
picturing her by Orion’s side. But she was a Melchite; he knew too how
ill-affected his wife was towards her, so he kept his wish locked in
his own breast in order not to vex the faithful companion who lived,
thought, and felt for him alone; and Dame Neforis knew or guessed all
this, and said to herself that it would cost him his night’s rest if he
were to be told at once what a concession Orion had made.
With Paula it was different. The sooner she learnt that she had nothing
to expect from their son, the better for her.
That very morning she and Orion had greeted each other like a couple
of lovers and just now they had parted like a promised bride and
bridegroom. She would not again be witness to such vexatious doings;
so she went to the young girl’s room and confided to her with much
satisfaction the happy prospects her son had promised them,--only Paula
must say nothing about it till the day after to-morrow.
The moment she entered the room Paula inferred from her beaming
expression that she had something to say unpleasant to herself, so she
preserved due composure. Her face wore a look of unmoved indifference
while she submitted to the overflow of a too-happy mother’s heart; and
she wished the betrothed couple joy: but she did so with a smile that
infuriated Neforis.
She was not on the whole spiteful; but face to face with this girl, her
nature was transformed, and she rather liked the idea of showing her,
once more in her life, that in her place humility would beseem her. All
this she said to herself as she quitted Paula’s room; but perhaps this
woman, who had much that was good in her, might have felt some ruth, if
in the course of the next few hours she could but have looked into the
heart of the orphan entrusted to her protection. Only once did Paula
sob aloud; then she indignantly dried her tears, and sat for a long time
gazing at the floor, shaking her pretty head again and again as though
something unheard-of and incredible had befallen her.
At last, with a bitter sigh, she went to bed; and while she vainly
strove for sleep, and for strength to pray and be silently resigned,
Time seemed to her a wild-beast chase, Fate a relentless hunter, and the
quarry he was pursuing was herself.