DISCORDS
Zeneida was strolling alone through the shady winding paths of her park
in the twilight of evening. Nightingales were singing; from a pond close
by came the sound of croaking frogs; ever and anon the song of a boatman
on the Neva broke the stillness, or the distant sound of a violin or
clarinet in an inn, or the howl of a chained-up dog. Again would come
the tones of the passing-bell, announcing a death, or from the vicinity
of Monplaisir a sharp "Who goes there?" "Halt!" sometimes followed by a
shot. Why that shot? Then again the song of nightingales, the croak of
frogs, sounds of clarinet and passing-bell. These discords found
answering echo in her heart.
Araktseieff's second return was hurrying on the crisis. No sooner had
the Czar passed over the cares of government again to his favorite's
shoulders than he had secluded himself completely in the solitude of
Monplaisir. Just as he had formerly avoided his consort, so now did he
devote himself exclusively to her. He seemed as if he could not live an
hour without her, as though he were endeavoring to atone by this
devotion for his fourteen years of neglect. Now first he recognized the
treasure he possessed and had neglected; now first he perceived that the
wife he loved was ill, that her protracted sorrows, her secret grief,
had undermined her strength. And he trembled to think he might lose her.
But the Czarina was happy. She blessed the sickness which had given her
back her husband. The Czarina's physician, Dr. Stoffregen, had
recommended a milder climate for her through the severity of winter,
perhaps that of Venice; but Elisabeth had answered, "A Russian empress
should not die anywhere else than on Russian soil." And it was this
thought alone which absorbed the soul of the Czar.
Of the devastations wrought by Araktseieff, armed as he was with
unfettered power, none told the Czar. Of all that was passing on the
other side of the poplars of Monplaisir he was ignorant. He was not
informed that Araktseieff's first step was to have the entire household
of Grusino, who had been witnesses to the murder, consisting of ten men
and twelve maid-servants, brought to St. Petersburg to the pillory and
lashed until they were half-flayed, for not having gone to Daimona's
rescue. He was ignorant that the severity he had previously practised as
a system was now, by his thirst for vengeance, increased to gross
cruelty; that he had dismissed high officials of every kind from their
posts without any other reason than simply because they did not please
him; that he was filling the dungeons on mere suspicion; that he had
even cruelly oppressed the poor Finns. Possessing nothing more that he
could take from them, he punished them through that which he "gave"
them, his latest edict being that their toasts at public dinners must
be given in Russian. All this had strained disaffection and discontent
to its utmost limit. Of all this Alexander knew nothing. No. He was
absorbed in devising how to procure fresh air without draught in his
beloved patient's room; how to keep out the gnats; and, among the
flowers for her apartment, how to select those that would not give her a
headache.
And Zeneida well knows what is looming in the distance. Secret societies
are no longer holding meetings; they are agreed what is to be done. The
only question now is--"When?"
The outbreak must be general throughout the empire. The threads are in
Zeneida's hands. The artiste has retired from the stage. Moreover, the
opera is closed during the summer months in St. Petersburg, and she will
not again appear as a member of the Imperial Opera Company, but will
give a concert for a charitable purpose in the course of the autumn. The
day was to be publicly announced in official papers ten days previously.
When the announcement, therefore, appeared that "Fräulein Ilmarinen
would sing for the benefit of the Orphanage" on such and such a date the
conspirators would know that this was the day fixed for the rebellion.
The government organ would itself spread the word throughout the empire.
Thus in her hand are the shears which shall sever the fatal thread; and
the grave foreknowledge of all that it must bring with it is oppressing
her spirit. The rebellion is unavoidable; no one will longer bear the
heavy burden; from ragged mujik to titled magnate, all are yearning to
burst the yoke, and the Kalevaines have more reason to weep than their
fellows. But what is to happen to the imperial pair in the outbreak?
Both have been such kind protectors to Zeneida. The palace had been a
home to her. How will it be possible to save their lives without proving
a traitor to their cause?
And then a second trouble--Pushkin. True, he had promised her he would
withdraw his name from "the green book"; but, when giving the promise,
he had thought he would have the daughter of the Czar to wife. That is
over now, and Pushkin has no further reason to withdraw from the
Northern Union. He, too, is in possession of the conspirators' plans;
there is not a doubt but that as soon as he reads the announcement that
Zeneida will sing for the benefit of the Orphanage he will appear that
day in St. Petersburg, even he must leave Paradise itself to be there.
How is she to hinder this without casting the slur of cowardice upon
Pushkin? The delights of love alone would not be strong enough to hold
him back--a yet stronger motive must be found. And she paces backward
and forward under the trees in the dusk; in her soul reign the same
discords which disturb the brilliant night, and she seeks in vain some
quieting thought.
The Czar has grown melancholy; the Czarina is sick unto death; they live
but for each other; have shut themselves up from the world. Their
example is contagious. Even Prince Ghedimin has become reconciled to his
wife, and no longer visits Zeneida. St. Petersburg society has scattered
itself among the forty islands of the Neva. Every one lives to himself;
all social life is extinct. Every visitor is looked upon suspiciously by
the host as one of Araktseieff's spies. There is an oppressive calm over
everything. People do not even write to each other any more. They
tremble at the black inquisition.
Pushkin gives no news of himself. He sits at home in his desert at
Pleskow. If he keeps silent about his happiness, he has a hundred good
reasons for that silence. It is possible that Bethsaba has written more
than once to Zeneida; but letters are an uncertain medium of
communication. Who knows into whose hands they may fall?
This great calm, this isolation, this striving to keep up the spirits,
began to be oppressive. Chevalier Galban received orders to go from
villa to villa and organize some amusements among the aristocracy.
Husbands were no longer to be tied to their wives' apron-strings.
It was rumored that the lovely Princess Ghedimin would break the ice and
bring society together again by means of a great reception on the day of
the Feast of Masinka, and, in order to make the reconciliation of the
Prince and Princess more publicly known, that Zeneida would be included
among the Princess's invited guests.
The haughty Princess sending an invitation to the equally haughty Queen
of Song, whom the world credited with having been one of the Prince's
flames! It is hard to say which woman has the greater courage, the one
who sends or the one who accepts the invitation.
But Korynthia has made a still more difficult decision. She means to
send Bethsaba an invitation, accompanied by a coaxing, forgiving,
affectionate letter, written by her own hand. And in order to insure the
young wife's acceptance, the Princess intends to offer the prospect of
the imperial pardon. Bethsaba shall have the opportunity of soliciting
forgiveness from the Czar for her own bold step, and the return of
imperial favor towards her husband, banished by the Czar's displeasure
to Pleskow. This bait would be irresistible.
All this had Zeneida gathered from Chevalier Galban.
What did Korynthia hope to achieve by this? What does she aim at in
getting hold of Bethsaba?
It is next to impossible that the young wife should be tempted to leave
her home during her honeymoon, and alone, without her husband, who may
not leave the precincts of his estate. And yet, did she do so, what
would be the consequences?
Zeneida thought she had found in the person of Bethsaba the missing link
in the chain. Now it is her work to fit that link in its place.