SOPHIE
Araktseieff's chief care now was to divert the Czar from the influence
of his, Araktseieff's, enemies. And the best means to that end was a
visit to the military colonies. This atrocious idea had originated in
Araktseieff's brain; he was the creator of the military colonies. Half a
million soldiers, who had gone through every European war, were to be
rewarded for their services by being planted as colonists, regiment by
regiment, throughout the length and breadth of the empire. The peasants
were to teach them to plough and sow seed, while they in turn were to
instruct the peasants in drill and the use of firearms. A marvellous
conception--on paper! Thus in time the state would acquire three
millions of well-drilled soldiers at no cost. The scythe would pay the
piper.
But one important factor in the project had been left out of his
calculations by its author. The peasant did not take kindly to drill,
nor did the soldier to the scythe.
The Czar took the military colony of Novgorod for his first inspection;
Araktseieff was in his retinue. They returned unexpectedly; a fact
mentioned in the newspapers, as showing with what marvellous rapidity
the Czar travelled. He had actually accomplished the journey to the Ural
Mountains in four weeks; it was a peculiarity of his to gallop night and
day. Then they went on to describe the magnificent reception the
imperial cortège had met with in every town of the colony, which had
sprung up with magic quickness. They dilated on the triumphal arches,
deputations, the gifts offered them by the people, by which they
endeavored to express their unbounded loyalty to the Czar. The great
military parades which had been held were also graphically described;
and no one for a moment suspected but that all these things had duly
taken place.
On his return from the inspection, Araktseieff went on an official
mission to Warsaw. This, too, was duly announced by the newspapers,
without comment of any kind or description.
With the month of June springtide returned to St. Petersburg. Sophie
Narishkin's room was a mass of lilies-of-the-valley, her favorite
flower. Every vase, every available space was filled with them. With the
more favorable season her health seemed to be re-established. She could
now walk across the room without support, and began to think more about
food than medicines. She even began to speculate on being taken to court
balls in the winter. One of her aunts was to chaperon her in society;
perhaps she might even be allowed to dance a minuet. She was constantly
sending for Bethsaba to hear what a court ball was like. The king's
daughter had already attended one.
One day, after the Czar's return from the inspection, Bethsaba came to
see Sophie.
"Oh, your room is quite full of lilies-of-the-valley! Who sent them to
you?"
"Who else than father?"
Sophie had no secrets from Bethsaba. She openly called the Czar "father"
to her.
"Has he been here?"
"Yes; all last evening. It was a very sad one. I begin to feel quite
afraid of him."
"Did you do anything to vex him?"
"Oh no! It is his great love for me which makes me begin to feel
frightened of him. When he stands so long, looking silently at me, my
hands in his, I feel as if I cannot endure the silence; then I ask him,
'What is it, father? What is grieving you?' And he answers, 'My grief is
that I have no one to whom I can tell my troubles.' 'Can so great a man
as you have any trouble for which there is no help?' Then, pointing to
his heart, he said, 'Here is the trouble!' Upon which I coaxed him, and
begged him to tell me all his trouble. Who could tell--perhaps even my
childish simplicity might find a way to heal or lessen his sorrows? Then
he drew me again to his heart, laid my head on his shoulder, and said,
'I am ill, Sophie; and there is no physician in the wide world to whom I
can tell my ailment. There is something weighing on my heart, and there
is no confessor to whom I can confess it. By night my dreams make me
tremble; by day, my thoughts. I dread solitude, and I dread mankind. I
know that no one loves me; I know that I am condemned.' 'By whom?' 'By
God and man. Every one flatters me; only that which beats within me
tells me the truth and accuses me.' 'And does not this, too, that beats
within me tell the truth?' I cried; 'and does it not live, love, and
worship you? Let those two hearts of ours fight it out together!' Then
he embraced me, and whispered, 'Be it so. There is no one on whom I have
wrought such ill as you. Why should I not confess to you? You are my
martyr; if you can give me absolution, I am indeed absolved.' And
kneeling before me, he said, oh! such sorrowful words, 'Look! I ascended
the throne over my father's body. _I accepted the crown at the hands of
his murderers_, and placed it upon my head. I wept no tears when I heard
of his death; I felt relieved. I had no longer to dread his wrath, for
he had parted from me in anger. On how many a battle-field have I since
sought expiation! It was not for me. It was written upon my brow that
the bullets that whizzed about me should not strike me; it was spoken of
me that my punishment should be as my sin. As a son, my heart was cold
as stone to my father. How was I to suffer in my children? I have borne
them all to the grave. You are my last and only one! I am ground down to
the earth under the iron hand of Fate when I think of you, when I look
into your dear face. Are you, too, to be condemned for my great sin?' I
tried to console him. 'I want for nothing, father dear,' I said; 'I am
happy, quite happy, and mean to grow strong, and love you ever so long.'
And we both burst into tears. 'It is not for myself I tremble,' he
whispered. 'I see the sword hanging over me. I hear, in the watches of
the night, how the knife is being sharpened against the corner-stone of
my palace. I am ready. _Through blood I ascended the throne; in blood I
must descend it._ But it is for you that I tremble! God's sentence upon
me must not strike your head too!' Then I made him rise, and said such
wise things to him that I quite astonished myself; I am usually such a
silly child. I comforted him in a hundred ways, so that at last I won a
smile to his lips, and he said, 'Then give me absolution. Say, _Christe
eleison_!' I was so brave that I even began to talk politics with
him--actually got to matters of state! I said, 'Why torment yourself
with such fancies? Your people are not as bad as those of other
countries. I know something of the world! I have seen Frenchmen,
Italians, Germans. When they drink hard on holidays, they grow noisy and
quarrelsome; but your subjects, when they drink at holiday-time, only
stagger about, and laugh and embrace each other.'"
"Did not that make him laugh?"
"He only kissed me, telling me I was a wiser stateswoman than either
Talleyrand or Metternich; then grew grave again. 'So it used to be in
former times; and the distinction your wise little head draws did then
exist. But nowadays there is something in the air which seems to infect
the most peace-loving people; so that what you are sure of one day you
cannot be the next. I will tell you what happened to me on my recent
journey. It is not talked about, and newspapers and parliamentary
reports will be dumb about it. It was growing dusk as I neared the
military colony of Petrowsk; the setting sun was tinting bright crimson
the fleecy clouds covering the sky. It looked like a ragged imperial
mantle.' Here I, scolding him, asked who had ever seen a ragged imperial
mantle? And he, answering me, said, 'Among others, Julius Cæsar.' 'I
remarked that it was a sky which presaged storm. "A mere fancy,"
returned Araktseieff.
"'In the light of the crimson sky the triumphal arch erected in the
street of Petrowsk looked like a bower of molten gold. The other
triumphal arches under which we had passed had been of fir, which,
taking no reflection from the sun, looked gloomy, however brightly it
might be shining. What was this made of that it shone so brightly? An
immense throng surrounded it. As I drew nearer I discovered of what it
was composed. Oh, I have passed through many a triumphal arch erected in
welcome of me. They have been made of velvets and satins in my honor; I
have seen the two side pillars formed of cannon conquered from the
enemy; the arch decorated with standards wrested from them; the crown in
the centre formed of the orders of fallen heroes; the glittering aureole
around of the swords of the generals who were our prisoners. But the
triumphal arch of Petrowsk exceeded them all.
"'That which from afar in the light of the setting sun shone golden were
strips of ragged shirts and gowns; in place of flags were beggars'
sacks; the crown was composed of crutches stuck through an old
bottomless cooking-pot. It was a triumphal arch built up of rags and
beggars' sacks. While I stood transfixed at the hideous phantom, there
stepped one from the midst of the crowd--a fine, tall old man with
flowing beard, holding in his hand the customary wooden vessel, in which
was a crust of bread--and said:
"'"This is the bread which your soldiers have left us. Taste it! It is
made from the bark of fir-trees. The usual salt we cannot offer you, for
we have none but our salt tears. On this triumphal arch you will find
many a token left us by your soldiers; the ragged clothing of our wives
and daughters. They themselves are not here, because they could not
appear naked before you. The twelve chaste virgins commanded by the
Hetman we could not present to bid you welcome, because in all the
neighborhood there does not exist a single chaste virgin since you have
quartered your soldiers upon us."
"'At these words Araktseieff gave the command to the companies of Guard
Cossacks in our suite to disperse the rebellious crowd. But they were no
rebels, but despairing men. As the trumpet sounded they threw themselves
down by the wayside before our horses' feet, and, with hands and face
uplifted to me, implored:
"'"Deliver us from your soldiers. Take your armed men away from us. We
are loyal peasants, and will work. You must ride over our bodies if you
wish to go farther."
"'It was impossible to make way along the ground so densely strewn with
prostrate figures. Nor angry threats, nor gracious words availed.
Without intermission they cried, "Take your soldiers away from us!"
Seldom has a ruler been in such a dilemma. At length came help. From the
military colony appeared rank upon rank of veterans, marching in close
order, at their head a drum-major, as venerable and gray-bearded as was
the peasants' spokesman. I recognized them as my grenadiers. They
understood how to overcome the obstacles in their way. A blast of the
trumpet, and the sappers advancing seized the peasants by their hands
and feet, and, heaping one upon another, made summary way for the
brigade to pass. The drum-major, planting his standard on the ground,
said:
"'"Sire, do not leave us in this cursed place. We served you faithfully
in the battle-field for fifteen years; we fought for you against
Frenchmen, Germans, and Italians; and are we now to wage war against
field-mice, grasshoppers, caterpillars, and, what is worse, peasants? In
our youth we learned to fight like bears; we don't want, in our old age,
to learn to plough like oxen. We understand how to use our guns and
sabres, but we are not handy with scythe and sickle, and must we be
mocked at by peasants? Lead us into the enemy's country, where behind
every shrub lurks an ambush; but, for pity's sake, sire, do not leave us
here among your peasantry. Send us into the field against idolaters, but
do not leave us here to be cursed when we ask anything; cursed when we
strike them; cursed if we only look at them. Shut us up in a beleaguered
fortress, where we have only the flesh of fallen horses to eat--must
season it with powder instead of salt; and for drink have only the water
that runs down the walls; but do not condemn us to this forsaken spot on
earth, to labor for our bit of bread, envied by a set of thieving,
treacherous peasants. Bury us under the corpses of our brothers on the
field of battle, but do not bury us alive in the military colony. Curses
on him who first thought of it!"
"'Araktseieff here commanded the trumpeter to put an end to the man's
speech, but now peasants and soldiers began to make such an uproar that
the trumpet notes were deadened. Tlia' (the Czar's coachman), 'without
awaiting orders, turned the horses' heads, and we drove back the way by
which we had come, but avoiding the hideous arch. Thus ended my
triumphal progress. When I reached home I read in the papers the glowing
accounts of the ovations I had received. The red sky had truly betokened
storm.' This is what my poor father told me."
"It is indeed sad for so mighty a Czar, when his people _will_ not be
happy, whom he would fain make so. My father's people were happier. Why
does not your father go to them? They are his subjects."
"Bethsaba! What a capital idea! Don't let me forget it. I will propose
it to him as soon as ever he is in better spirits. Just now he is so
depressed. After he had said good-bye he came back to me again. 'I
forgot to ask how you were?' 'That proves,' said I, 'that I must be
looking well.' Looking anxiously at me, he asked if my face was always
as red as then; and I, laughing, said 'Yes. But why are you so anxious?
Does not the good God know how you love me; and are you not the
anointed, the chosen one of Him to whom you pray for my recovery to
health?' 'Yes, He knows,' he answered, gloomily, 'that I love you. But
was not King David also His anointed, chosen servant? And did not the
king sing all night through his despairing, penitential Psalm, and yet
his child was taken from him, in punishment of his sin with Bathsheba?'"
"Who was that Bathsheba?" broke in the king's daughter. "It can only be
another form for Bethsaba. Was there really any one who bore that name
before me? I have hitherto searched in vain to find a namesake in
society or in the Calendar. Never have I been able to find one. My
godmother, Duchess Korynthia, who named me so at my christening--up to
my sixth year I was a heathen--in answer to my question why I could not
find it in any Calendar, told me it was another name for Elizabeth, and
that St. Elizabeth's day was my name-day; and they give me presents on
that day. And now the Czar has told you that there really was a
Bathsheba. Who was she?"
"I do not know any more than you. I have never been taught anything
about her, although I am curious to know. I asked old Helena, and got
from her that Bathsheba was St. David's wife; but that was all she knew,
for only the priests are allowed to read the Bible. On that account it
is written in Bulgarian."
"But why, then, should she not be among the saints in the Calendar?"
"Of course, because she was a Jewess!"
"But he said she had sinned. Oh, why did my godmother give me the name
of a sinful woman?" And Bethsaba was ready to cry.
"Bethsaba, dear," said Sophie, "please don't tell anybody what I have
told you about the Czar's tour and the triumphal arch."
"But if my godmother asks what we have been talking about?"
"Tell her something else."
"What else?"
"Make up a fib."
"A fib! How does one do that? I have never done it."
Sophie Narishkin laughed in great amusement. She had learned to lie and
fib as quite a little child. Instead of "mamma" she had had to say
"madam"; and if her father brought her bonbons to tell people that
"Nicolo" (_la mère Cicogne_) had brought them.
What old Helena told her she dared not repeat to "madam"; what she heard
when with "madam" she must not breathe a word of to old Helena; what
either said must not be repeated to the Czar; and what the Czar told her
must be kept from every one. So she had been so inured to lying that she
had once brought her doctor to the verge of despair when, on his trying
to find out her symptoms, her prevarications made a diagnosis next to
impossible. How the poor child had rejoiced when at last she found two
beings to whom she might really open her heart, her father and her
friend!
"So you always tell every one all you know?" she asked Bethsaba.
"Oh no; although I do not understand the art of lying, if any one thinks
to pump me, or to catch me unawares, I have my own way of being even
with him. I begin to ask so many questions that he or she is only glad
enough to leave me in peace."
At which they both laughed. The music of fresh young laughter was rarely
heard in that cage.