Part 29 (1/2)
But we won't talk of that before my wife. After all, it was I who was in fault; I who was to blame. A woman who could put up with me is as rare as a comet. And how does the world wag with you, Galban; have you got caught yet? Who is the unlucky woman who calls you husband? If I were the Czar I would levy a tax upon all such bachelors as you. The old-bachelor tax! Lucky for you that I shall never come to the throne.”
”Your Highness! It was an understood thing that we touched upon no serious subjects at table,” observed Araktseieff, deferentially.
”Yes; you are right. I was infringing the rule. To make amends, let us empty our gla.s.ses to my wife's health.”
The men's three gla.s.ses clinked together, then touched the fourth, extended to them by a white hand, while the fiery Tokay moistened a delicate red lip. Dinner was over, dessert on the table. The Grand Duke only took hazelnuts, which he cracked with his teeth. The first three he laid on Johanna's plate.
For the first time since she sat down to dinner she spoke, and then but in a whisper.
”Oh, please be careful about your teeth. You might break away another crown!”
”That may be!” said the Grand Duke, leaning his elbows on the table, and darting a quick glance from under his bushy eyebrows at Araktseieff, who understood it. Then Constantine kissed his wife's forehead.
”Now leave us, darling. Have coffee served on the terrace, and take the Chevalier with you. He likes to end up dinner with his coffee in French fas.h.i.+on. While we, like good Poles, will sit over our wine a little longer.”
On this Johanna, rising, took the Chevalier's arm, and, followed by a footman carrying the silver coffee equipage, left the dining-hall.
The two men, left alone, applied themselves to the wine, filling up their gla.s.ses a fourth time with golden Tokay.
”To the health of my august brother the Czar!”
They drained their gla.s.ses and refilled them.
”In truth, the Czar stands in sore need of that fervent aspiration!”
quoth Araktseieff, with a deep sigh.
”What! is he seriously ill, then? What ails him?”
”He is suffering from the malady hardest to cure--melancholia. All the doctors' arts are of no avail. For months together the Czar gets no sleep, save a short, unrefres.h.i.+ng siesta at noon. By night and day he is tortured by all kinds of fancies. He is weary of life; and what wonder?
Wherever he looks he sees nothing but ruin and decay in all that which he so painfully built up. The dreams he cherished are dispelled. Every inst.i.tution for promoting liberty of thought and action which he called into life has he been himself compelled, one by one, to annul and abolish. And he has no spirit or energy left to pull himself together and devise new schemes. He feels that he has aroused disaffection, and has not the moral strength to become a tyrant and quell that disaffection. He knows himself to be surrounded by a.s.sa.s.sins, and has not energy to take firm hold of the only weapon which remains to him.
Moreover, his domestic happiness is ruined. Your Imperial Highness knows the catastrophe. The Czar's spirit is clouded by the weight of religious depression; he looks upon himself as an irremediable sinner, condemned alike by G.o.d and man. Shudderingly surveying the fatality, he is hurrying it on. A mental condition such as this must in the end undermine the strongest const.i.tution. The slightest indisposition might prove fatal at any moment; and he takes not the slightest care of himself. He will suffer no physician about him, and keeps his ailments secret. It is my firm belief that in his heart is the seat of disease, and that the heart is wounded to death.”
”My poor brother!” muttered the Grand Duke, resting his head on his hand. ”That n.o.ble, powerful fellow, by whose side I was at the victory of Leipsic, when he concluded peace with Napoleon on the island in the Niemen, and in the triumphal entry into Paris; and in Vienna, at the Congress; and wherever we went I heard people whisper, 'There he is, that splendid-looking man beside the deformed one!' Light and shadow; we were their true exponents.”
”We must be prepared for the worst. The feeble flame which still feeds that light needs but a breath to extinguish it, and then the whole country will be given up to most terrible anarchy. The ground is undermined by countless conspiracies; we are menaced on all sides. Who can withstand the flood when the gates of heaven are opened? The Czar has no children. Who is to succeed him?”
”He whom the Czar appoints.”
”And supposing he appoints no one? It is, indeed, impossible to get him to do so. The law, he says, speaks plainly enough--it is the Czarevitch who succeeds the Czar.”
The Grand Duke burst into a loud laugh. He threw himself back in his chair in his fit of laughter; he laughed till his open jaws disclosed two rows of teeth like those of a yawning lion.
”Ha, ha, ha! That's a good one--the Czarevitch! No, my friend, he is much obliged; he would rather not sit on the throne! You don't catch me wearing Ivan's diamond crown!”
”Why not, your Highness?”
”Because I prefer to see your ribbon across your back than about my throat!”
Czar Paul had been strangled by his adjutant's ribbon.