Early in the morning Ivan entered Gilbert's room. The face of the
poor serf was distressing to see. His eyes were red and swollen,
and his features bloated. The bloody marks of his nails were
visible on his face; forehead and cheeks were furrowed with them.
He informed Gilbert that towards noon Count Kostia would go out
with Vladimir Paulitch and would be absent the rest of the day.
"He left me here to watch you and to render an account to him upon
his return of all I should see and hear. I am not ugly;--but after
what has passed, you would be foolish to expect the least favor
from me. My eyes, ears, and tongue will do their duty. You must
know, too, that the barine is in a very gloomy mood to-day. His
lips are white, and he frequently passes his left hand over his
forehead, a sure sign that a storm is raging within."
"My dear Ivan," answered Gilbert, "I also shall be absent all day;
so you see your task of watching will be easy."
Ivan breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed as if a mountain had
been taken from his breast.
"I see with pleasure," said he, "that you repent of your sin, and
that you promise to be wiser in the future; ah, if my young master
would only listen to reason, like you."
"Your young master, as you call him, will be as rational as myself.
But do me the favor to tell me--"
"Oh! don't be alarmed; his fainting fit was not long. I had hardly
got to him, when he opened his eyes and asked me if you were still
alive. On hearing my answer he exclaimed: 'Ah! my God! how happy I
am! He lives and loves me!' Then he tried to rise, but was so
weak that he fell back. I carried him to his bed and he said to
me: 'Ivan, for four nights I have not closed my eyes,' and at these
words he smiled and fell asleep, smiling, and he is asleep yet."
"In order to be wise, Stephane must be occupied. She must work
with her mind and her hands. Here, take this little white flower,"
added he, handing him the one he had plucked the day before; "ask
her, for me, to paint it in her herbarium to-day."
And as Ivan examined the plant with an air of distrust, he added:
"Go, and fear nothing. I've not hidden a note in it. I am a man
of honor, my dear Ivan, and never break my word."
Ivan hid the flower in one of his sleeves and went out muttering to
himself:
"How is all this going to end? Ah! may the Holy Trinity look down
in pity upon this house. We are all lost!"
Gilbert went out. Leaving upon his right the plateau and its close
thickets, he gained the main road and followed the bank of the
Rhine for a long distance. A thousand thoughts crowded in
confusion through his mind; but he always came to the same
conclusion:
"I will save this child, or lose my life in the attempt."
As the sun began to sink towards the horizon, he returned to the
castle. He went in search of Father Alexis and found him in the
chapel. The good father had learned from Ivan what had happened
the night before. He reproached Gilbert severely, but
nevertheless, after hearing his explanations, softened
considerably, and in a tone of grumbling indulgence, repeated the
old proverb, "Everyone to his trade." "Oxen," added he, "are born
to draw the plow, birds to fly, bees to make honey, Gilberts to
read and make great books, and Father Alexis to edify and console
his fellow-creatures. You have encroached upon my prerogatives.
You wanted to walk in my shoes. And what has been the result of
your efforts? The spoiling of my task! Have you not observed how
much better this child has been for the last two months, how much
more tranquil, gentle, and resigned? I had preached so well to
her, that she at last listened to reason. And you must come to put
in her head a silly love which will cost both of you many tears."
Upon which, seizing him rudely by the arm, he continued:
"And what need had we of your assistance, the good God and I? Have
you forgotten? Open your eyes and look! To-day, my child, even
to-day I have put the finishing touch to my great work."
Then he pointed his finger to two long rows of sallow faces,
surmounted by golden halos, which two lamps suspended from the
ceiling illuminated with a mysterious light. Like a general
enumerating his troops, he said:
"Look at these graybeards. That is Isaac, this Jeremiah, and this
Ezekiel. On the other side are the holy warrior martyrs. Then St.
Procopius, there St. Theodore, who burnt the temple of Cybele. His
torch may yet be relighted. And these archangels, do you think
their arms will be forever nerveless and their swords always asleep
in their scabbards?"
Then, falling upon his knees, he prayed aloud:
"And thou, holy mother of God, suffer thy unworthy servant to
summon thee to keep thy promise. Let thy august power at last be
made manifest. At the sight of thy frowning brows let there be
accomplished a mystery of terror and tears in hardened hearts. Let
the neck of the proud be broken, and let his haughty head, bent
down by the breath of thy lips, as by the wind of a tempest, bow to
the very earth and its hair sweep the dust of this pavement."
Just then they heard a voice calling:
"Father Alexis, Father Alexis, where are you?"
The priest turned pale and trembled. He tried in vain to rise, his
knees seemed nailed to the ground.
"Ah! my child, did you not hear a divine voice answer me?"
But helping him to his feet, Gilbert said with a sad smile:
"There is nothing divine in that voice. It has a strongly-marked
Provencal accent, and if I am not mistaken, it belongs to Jasmin
the cook, who is there in the court with a lantern in his hand, and
is calling you."
"Perhaps you are right," answered the good father, shaking his head
and passing his hand over his forehead, which was bathed in
perspiration. "Let us see what this good Jasmin wants. Perhaps he
brings my dinner. I had notified him, however, that I proposed to
fast to-day."
Jasmin no sooner saw them come out of the chapel than he ran
towards them and said to the priest:
"I don't know, father, what has happened to Ivan, but when I went
into his room to carry him his dinner, I found him stretched on his
bed. I called him and shook him, but couldn't wake him up."
A shudder ran through Gilbert's whole body. Seizing the lantern
from Jasmin he darted off on a run; in two seconds he was with
Ivan. Jasmin had told the truth; the serf slept heavily and
profoundly. By dint of pulling him by the arm, Gilbert succeeded
in making him open his eyes; but he soon closed them again, turned
towards the wall, and slept on.
"Someone must have given him a narcotic," said Gilbert, whispering
to Father Alexis who had just joined him.
And addressing Jasmin, who had followed the priest.
"Has anyone been here this afternoon?"
"I ask your pardon," said the cook. "Doctor Vladimir returned from
his walk at about five o'clock. This surprised me very much, as
Count Kostia told me before he left, that M. Stephane would dine
here alone to-day."
"The doctor is at the table then, now."
"Pardon, pardon! He didn't wish any dinner. He told me in a
joking way, that he would shortly go to a grand dinner in the other
world."
"But where is he then? In his study?"
"Two hours afterwards, he went out with M. Stephane."
"Which way did they go?" cried Gilbert, shaking him violently by
the arm.
"Ah! pardon, sir, take care, you'll put my arm out of joint,"
answered the huge Provencal.
"Jasmin, my good Jasmin, answer me: which way did they go?"
"Ah! I remember now, they took the road to the woods."
Gilbert darted off instantly. Father Alexis cried after him in
vain:
"Wait for me, my child, I will accompany you. I am a man of good
judgment." As if carried by the wind, Gilbert was already in the
woods. His head bare, pale, out of breath, he ran at the top of
his speed. Night had come, and the moon began to silver over the
foliage which quivered at every breath of wind. Gilbert was blind
to the moon's brightness, deaf to the sighing of the wind. He
heard nothing but the diminishing sound of steps in the distance,
he saw nothing but a cloud of blood which floated before his eyes
and indicated the path; the sole thought which shed any light upon
his mind, filled with gloomiest apprehensions, was this:
"I did not understand this man! It was an offensive alliance which
he proposed to me yesterday. I refused to avenge him: he is going
to revenge himself, and a Russian serf seeking vengeance is capable
of anything."
On he ran with unabated speed, and would have run to the end of the
world if, in an elbow of the road, some steps before him, he had
not suddenly perceived Stephane. Standing in the moonlight erect
and motionless, Gilbert stopped, held out his arms, and uttered a
cry. She trembled, turned, and running to him, cried:
"Gilbert, do you love me?"
He answered only by pressing her to his heart; and then perceiving
Doctor Vladimir, who was sitting on the edge of a ditch, his head
in his hands, he stammered:
"This man here with you!"
"I do not know," said she in a trembling voice, "whether he is a
mad man or a villain; but it is certain that he is going to die,
for he has poisoned himself."
"What have you to say?" said Gilbert, looking wildly at the
dejected face of the doctor, upon which the moon was shining full.
"Explain I beg of you."
"What do I know?" said she; "I think I have been dreaming since
yesterday evening. It seems to me, however, that this man came to
my room for me. He had taken the precaution to drug Ivan. I was
dying with melancholy. He persuaded me that you, my Gilbert, were
waiting for me in one of the paths of this forest, to fly with me
to a distant country. 'Let us go, let us go,' I cried; but on the
way I began to think, I grew suspicious, and at this turning of the
road I said to my gloomy companion: 'Bring my Gilbert to me here; I
will go no further.' Then he looked at me with frightful eyes, and
I believe said to me: 'What is your Gilbert to me? Follow me or
you die;' and then he fumbled in his bosom as if to find a
concealed weapon; but if I am not mistaken, I looked at him
steadily, and crossing my arms, said to him: 'Kill me, but you
shall not make me take another step.'"
Vladimir raised his head.
"How deceptive resemblances are," said he in a hollow voice. "I
once knew a woman who had the same contour of face, and one
evening, by the sole power of my eye, I compelled her to fall at my
feet, crying: 'Vladimir Paulitch, do with me what you will.' But
your young friend has a soul made of different stuff. You can
believe me if you wish, sir; but the fact is that her charming face
suddenly struck me with an involuntary respect. It seemed to me
that her head was adorned with a royal diadem. Her eyes glowed
with a noble pride; anger dilated her nostrils, and while a
scornful smile flitted over her lips, her whole face expressed the
innocence of a soul as pure as the rays of the moon shining upon
us. At this sight I thought of the woman of whom I spoke to you
yesterday, and I felt a sensation of horror at the crime I had
premeditated, and I, Doctor Vladimir, I prostrated myself at the
feet of this child, saying to her: 'Forgive me, I am a wretch;'
after which I swallowed a strong dose of poison of my own
composition, whose antidote I do not know, and in two hours I shall
be no more."
Gilbert looked steadily at him.
"Ah! great God," thought he, "it was not the life but the honor of
Stephane which was in danger! But the promised miracle has been
wrought, only this is not the one which Father Alexis expected,
since it has been the work of the God of nature."
Stephane approached him, and taking his hands murmured:
"Gilbert, Gilbert, let us fly--let us fly together! There is yet
time!"
But he only muttered:
"I see through it all!" Then turning to Vladimir he said in a tone
of authority, "Follow me, sir! It is right that Count Kostia
should receive your last breath."
Vladimir reflected for a moment, then rising, said:
"You are right. I must see him again before I die; but give me
your arm, for the poison begins to work and my legs are very weak."
They began to walk, Stephane preceding them a few steps. At
intervals, Vladimir would exclaim:
"To die--to breathe no more--no more to see the sun--no more to
remember--to forget all!" And then he added, "One thing disturbs
my happiness. I am not sufficiently revenged!"
At last his voice died upon his lips and his legs failed him.
Gilbert was obliged to carry him on his shoulders, and was nearly
giving out under the burden when he saw Father Alexis coming
towards them breathless. He gave him no time to recover breath,
but cried:
"Take this man by the feet. I will support his shoulders.
Forward! my good father, forward! We have no time to lose."
Father Alexis hastened to comply with Gilbert's request, and they
continued on their way with bowed heads and in gloomy silence.
Stephane alone, with her cap drawn over her eyes, occasionally
uttered disconnected words and alternately cast a furtive glance at
Gilbert, or gazed sadly at the moon. Arriving at the castle, they
crossed the court and ascended the stairs without meeting anyone;
but entering the vestibule of the first story, in which all the
lamps were lighted, they heard a noise of steps in the corridor
which led to the square tower.
"M. Leminof has returned," said Gilbert, trembling. "Father
Alexis, carry this man to his room. I will go and speak to the
Count, and will bring him to you in a moment."
Then taking Stephane by the arm, he whispered to her:
"In the name of Heaven, keep out of the way. Go down on the
terrace and conceal yourself. Your father must not see you until
he has heard me."
"Do you think I am afraid, then?" she replied, and escaping from
him, darted off in the direction of the corridor.
Meanwhile Father Alexis had entered the room of Vladimir Paulitch,
whom he sustained with difficulty in his trembling arms. At the
moment he laid him upon his bed, a voice, which reached even to
them, uttered these terrible words:
"Ah! this is braving me too much! Let her die!" Then a sharp cry
pierced the air, followed by the dull noise of a body falling
heavily upon the floor.
Father Alexis looked at Vladimir with horror. "The mother was not
enough," cried he, "thou hast just killed the daughter!"
And he sprang out of the room distracted.
Vladimir sat up. An atrocious joy gleamed in his face; and
recovering the use of his speech, he murmured, "My vengeance is
complete!"
But at these words a groan escaped him--the poison began to burn
his vitals. Nevertheless he forgot his sufferings when he saw the
Count appear, followed by the priest, and holding in his hand a
sword, which he threw in the corner.
"Count Kostia," cried the dying man, "what have you done with your
daughter?"
"I have killed her," answered he sternly, questioning him with his
eyes.
Vladimir remained silent a moment.
"My good master," resumed he, "do you remember that Pauline whom I
loved? Do you also remember having seen me crouched at your feet
crying, 'Mercy! Mercy! for her and for me'? My good master, have
you forgotten that corner of the street where you said to me one
day: 'This woman is charming; but if your marriage is not broken
off before evening, to-morrow she will learn from me who you are'?
That day, Count Kostia Petrovitch, you had a happy and smiling air.
Say, Kostia Petrovitch, do you recollect it?"
The Count answered only by a disdainful smile.
"Oh! most simple and most credulous of men," continued Vladimir,
"how could you think that I would empty the cup of sorrow and of
shame to the very dregs, and not revenge myself upon him who smiled
as he made me drink it."
"Six months later, you saved my life," said the Count, slightly
shrugging his shoulders.
"Because your days were dear to me. You do not know then the
tenderness of hatred! I wished you to live, and that your life
should be a hell."
And then he added, panting:
"The lover of the Countess Olga, . . . was I."
The Count staggered as if struck by lightning. He supported
himself by the back of a chair, to avoid falling; then springing to
the table, he seized a carafe full of water and emptied it in a
single draught. Then in a convulsed voice, he exclaimed:
"You lie! The Countess Olga could never have given herself to a
serf!"
"Refer to your memory once more, Kostia Petrovitch. You forget
that in her eyes I was not a serf, but an illustrious physician, a
sort of great man. However, I will console you. The Countess Olga
loved me no more than I loved her. My magnetic eyes, my threats
had, as it were, bewitched her poor head; in my arms she was dying
with fear, and when at the end of one of these sweet interviews,
she heard me cry out, 'Olga Vassilievna, your lover is a serf,' she
nearly perished of shame and horror."
The Count cast upon his serf a look of indescribable disgust, and,
making a superhuman effort to speak, once more exclaimed:
"Impossible! That letter which you addressed to me at Paris--"
"I feared that your dishonor might be concealed from you, and what
would life have been to me then?"
M. Leminof turned to the priest who remained standing at the other
end of the room. "Father Alexis, is what this man says true?"
The priest silently bowed.
"And was it for this, foolish priest, that you have endured death
and martyrdom--to prolong the days of a worm of the earth?"
"I cared little for his life," answered the priest, with dignity,
"but much for my conscience, and for the inviolable secrecy of the
confessional."
"And for two years in succession you have suffered my mortal enemy
to lodge under my roof without warning me?"
"I was ignorant of his history and of the fact that he had reasons
for hating you. I fancied that a mad passion had made him a
traitor to friendship, and that in repentance he sought to expiate
his fault, by the assiduous attentions which he lavished upon you."
"Poor fellow!" said the Count, crushing him with a look of pity.
Then Vladimir resumed in a voice growing more and more feeble:
"Since that cursed hour, when I crawled at your feet, without being
able to soften your stony heart with my tears, I became disgusted
with life. To feel that I belonged to you was every instant a
torment. But if you ask me why I have deferred my death so long, I
answer that while you had a daughter living my vengeance was not
complete. I let this child grow up; but when the clock of fate
struck the hour I waited for, courage suddenly failed me, and I was
seized with scruples, which still astonish me. But what am I
saying? I bless my weakness, since I brought home a victim pure
and without stain, and since her virginal innocence adds to the
horror of your crime. Ah! tell me, was the steel which pierced her
heart the same that silenced Morlof's? Oh, sword, thou art
predestinated!"
Count Kostia's eyes brightened. He had something like a
presentiment that he was about to be delivered from that fatal
doubt which for so many years had poisoned his life, and he fixed
his vulture-like eyes upon Vladimir.
"That child," said he, "was not my daughter."
Vladimir opened his vest, tore the lining with his nails and drew
out a folded paper, which he threw at the Count's feet:
"Pick up that letter!" cried he, "the writing is known to you. I
meant to have sent it to you by your dishonored daughter. Go and
read it near your dead child."
M. Leminof picked up the letter, unfolded it, and read it to the
end with bearing calm and firm. The first lines ran thus: "Vile
Moujik. Thou hast made me a mother. Be happy and proud. Thou
hast revealed to me that maternity can be a torture. In my
ignorant simplicity, I did not know until now it could be aught
else than an intoxication, a pride, a virtue, which God and the
church regard with favor, and the angels shelter with their white
wings. When for the first time I felt my Stephan and my Stephane
stir within me, my heart leaped for joy, and I could not find words
enough to bless Heaven which at last rewarded six years of
expectation; but now it is not a child I carry in bosom, it is a
crime. . . ."
This letter of four pages shed light, and carried conviction into
the mind of Count Kostia.
"She was really my daughter," said he, coolly. . . "Fortunately I
have not killed her."
He left the room, and an instant after re-appeared, accompanied by
Gilbert, and carrying in his arms his daughter, pale and
disheveled, but living. He advanced into the middle of the room.
There, as if speaking to himself, he said:
"This young man is my good genius. He tore my sword from me. God
be praised! he has saved her and me. This dear child was
frightened, she fell, but she is unhurt. You see her, she is
alive, her eyes are open, she hears, she breathes. To-morrow she
shall smile, to-morrow we shall all be happy.
Then drawing her to the head of the bed and calling Gilbert to him,
he placed his hands together, and standing behind them, embracing
their shoulders in his powerful arms, and thrusting his head
between theirs, he forced them, in spite of themselves, to bend
with him over the dying man.
Gilbert and Stephane closed their eyes.
The Count's and Vladimir's were wide open devouring each other.
The master's flamed like torches; the serf's were sunken, glassy,
and filled with the fear and horror of death. He seemed almost
petrified, and murmured in a failing voice:
"I am lost. I have undone my own work. To-morrow, to-morrow, they
will be happy."
One last look, full of hatred, flashed from his eyes, over which
the eternal shadow was creeping, his features contracted, his mouth
became distorted, and, uttering a frightful cry, he rendered up his
soul.
Then the Count slowly raised himself. His arms, in which he held
the two young people as in a living vice, relaxed, and Stephane
fell upon Gilbert's breast. Confused, colorless, wild-eyed,
intoxicated with joy and terror at the same time, clinging to her
friend as the sailor to his plank of safety, she said in an
indistinct voice:
"In the life to which you condemn me, my father, the joys are as
terrible as the sorrows."
The Count said to Gilbert:
"Console her, calm her emotion. She is yours. I have given her to
you. Do not fear that I shall take her back again." Then, turning
again to the bed, he exclaimed: "What a terrible thorn death has
just drawn from my heart!"
In the midst of so many tragic sensations, who was happy? Father
Alexis was, and he had no desire to hide it. He went and came,
moved the furniture, passed his hand over his beard, struck his
chest with all his might, and presently in his excess of joy threw
himself upon Stephane and then upon Gilbert, caressing and
embracing them. At last, kneeling down by the bed of death, under
the eyes of the Count, he took the head of the dead man between his
hands and kissed him upon the mouth and cheeks, saying:
"My poor brother, thou hast perhaps been more unfortunate than
guilty. May God, in the unfathomable mystery of his infinite
mercy, give thee one day, as I have, the kiss of peace! Then
raising his clasped hands, he said: "Holy mother of God: blessed be
thy name. Thou hast done more than I dared to ask."
At that moment Ivan, roused at last from his long lethargy,
appeared at the threshold of the door. For some minutes he
remained paralyzed by astonishment, and looked around distractedly;
then, throwing himself at his master's feet and tearing his hair,
he cried:
"Seigneur Pere, I am not a traitor! That man mixed some drug in my
tea which put me to sleep. Seigneur Pere, kill me, but do not say
that I am a traitor."
"Rise," returned the Count gayly, "rise, I say. I shall not kill
thee. I am not going to kill anybody. My son, thou'rt a rusty old
tool. Dost know what I shall do with thee? I shall slip thee in
among the wedding presents of Madame Gilbert Saville."