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diff --git a/22004-h/22004-h.htm b/22004-h/22004-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aef14fc --- /dev/null +++ b/22004-h/22004-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14569 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=ISO-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Genius, by Margaret Horton Potter</title> + <style type="text/css"> + /*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ + <!-- + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + h2 {text-align: center; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 2em; clear: both;} + h3 {text-align: center; margin-top: 2em; font-weight: normal; clear: both;} + h3.pg {text-align: center; margin-top: 0em; font-weight: bold; clear: both;} + a {text-decoration: none;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .blockquot {margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%;} + p.titlepage {text-align: center; margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0;} + h2.toc {margin-top: 1em;} + hr.major {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + .caption {font-size: 80%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: x-small; + font-weight: normal; font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-indent: 0; color: silver; background-color: inherit;} + a.pagenum:after {border: 1px solid silver; padding: 1px 3px; content: attr(title);} + h1 {text-align: center; clear: both;} + hr.full { width: 100%; + margin-top: 3em; + margin-bottom: 0em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + height: 4px; + border-width: 4px 0 0 0; /* remove all borders except the top one */ + border-style: solid; + border-color: #000000; + clear: both; } + pre {font-size: 85%;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h1>The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Genius, by Margaret Horton Potter</h1> +<pre> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: The Genius</p> +<p>Author: Margaret Horton Potter</p> +<p>Release Date: July 5, 2007 [eBook #22004]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GENIUS***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3 class="pg">E-text prepared by Roger Frank<br /> + and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<table style="margin: auto; border: black 1px solid; width: 400px;" summary=""><tr><td> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 220%; margin-top:60px; margin-bottom:80px;">THE GENIUS</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; ">BY</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 130%; margin-bottom:80px;">MARGARET POTTER</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 70%; ">AUTHOR OF</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 70%; ">"THE HOUSE OF DE MAILLY" "ISTAR OF BABYLON"</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 70%; margin-bottom:80px;">ETC. ETC.</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 80%; ">LONDON AND NEW YORK</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 80%; ">HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 80%; margin-bottom:30px;">1906</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<table style="margin: auto; width: 400px;" summary=""><tr><td> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 80%; margin-top:30px;">Copyright, 1906, by <span class="smcap">Harper & Brothers</span>.</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 80%; "><i>All rights reserved.</i></p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 80%; margin-bottom:30px;">Published March, 1906.</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<table style="margin: auto; width: 400px;" summary=""><tr><td> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; margin-top:30px;">TO</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; ">MY BROTHER</p> +<p class="titlepage" style="font-size: 100%; margin-bottom:30px;">EDWARD CLEMENT POTTER</p> +</td></tr></table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h2 class="toc"><a name="Contents" id="Contents"></a>Contents</h2> +<table border="0" width="500" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto"> +<col style="width:15%;" /> +<col style="width:5%;" /> +<col style="width:70%;" /> +<col style="width:10%;" /> +<tr> + <td align="right"><span style='font-size:x-small'>CHAP</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align="left"></td> + <td align="right"><span style='font-size:x-small'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right"></td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">PROLOGUE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_ANNUNCIATION_93">3</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">I</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">THE CZAR'S BALL</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_CZARS_BALL_228">8</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">II</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">MICHAEL</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#MICHAEL_797">26</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">III</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">THE GREGORIEV HEIR</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_GREGORIEV_HEIR_1282">42</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">IV</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">THE CORPS OF CADETS</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_CORPS_OF_CADETS_1825">60</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">V</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">DEATH JOY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#DEATH_JOY_2280">75</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">VI</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">NATHALIE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#NATHALIE_2759">90</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">VII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">SPRING AND THE ROSE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#SPRING_AND_THE_ROSE_3226">105</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">VIII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">IN CAMP</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#IN_CAMP_3869">126</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">IX</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">"HALF-GODS GO"</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#HALF-GODS_GO_4817">156</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">X</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">SELF-DESTINY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#SELF-DESTINY_5685">184</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XI</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">THE MOSCOW CONSERVATOIRE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_MOSCOW_CONSERVATOIRE_6220">202</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">THE GODS ARRIVE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_GODS_ARRIVE_6957">226</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XIII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">STUDENT'S FOLLY</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#STUDENTS_FOLLY_7850">255</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XIV</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">THE THIRD SECTION</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_THIRD_SECTION_8403">272</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XV</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">ENGULFMENT</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#ENGULFMENT_8832">285</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XVI</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">JOSEPH</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#JOSEPH_9364">302</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XVII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">HERITAGE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#HERITAGE_9901">319</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XVIII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">JOSEPH THE SOWER</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#JOSEPH_THE_SOWER_10480">337</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XIX</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">HIS HARVEST</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#HIS_HARVEST_10963">353</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XX</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">MADAME FÉODOREFF</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#MADAME_FEODOREFF_11330">364</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XXI</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">TOSCA REGNANT</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#TOSCA_REGNANT_11901">381</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XXII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">THE LION</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_LION_12490">400</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right">XXIII</td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">THE HERMIT</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_HERMIT_13320">427</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td align="right"></td> + <td></td> + <td align="left">EPILOGUE</td> + <td align="right"><a href="#THE_TRANSLATION_13890">446</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr class='major' /> + +<h1>THE GENIUS</h1> + +<h2>THEMA</h2> + +<p>Hark, ye Great, that withdraw yourselves from the Multitude! +<i>Loneliness</i> is written for your word. Alone shall ye strive to solve +the riddle of Creation.</p> + +<p>Seek ye help of them that have gone before? Ye shall find it not. Dream +ye of sympathy, of praise, from those that watch your work to-day? They +shall give ye rather mockery. Finally, would ye leave to your children +legacies of wisdom that shall be as gold unto them? Lo! Such desire, +also, must be vain.</p> + +<p>Dowered of Vision, Power or Wantonness, ye shall not escape this scourge +of Fate. Alone shall ye cut your way through the rock of Destiny up to +the High Place of Restitution. Yea! Solitary shall your labor be. But +out of solitude cometh, in good time, that Understanding of the Law that +all, at last, must seek—and find.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_3" id="page_3" title="3"></a> +<a name="THE_ANNUNCIATION_93" id="THE_ANNUNCIATION_93"></a> +<h2>PROLOGUE</h2> +<h3>THE ANNUNCIATION</h3> +</div> + +<p>In the Western world of the revised calendar it was the evening of +January twelfth. In Russia it was New Year's night, of the year 1840. +The year was twenty-three hours old; for the bells of the three churches +in Klin had just chimed eleven times. But in "Maidonovo," a +country-place of the Gregorievs just outside the town, the mistress of +the house, Princess Sophia, had not yet gone to bed. She had been alone +in her bedroom for some time, and was now on her knees before a little +shrine presided over by a great, golden ikon, with its flaring colors, +and stiff, Byzantine figures of Mary and the infant Christ. There, +before the World-Mother, knelt the loneliest of unhappy women: daughter +of an old, impoverished Muscovite house, and wife, by necessity, of +Michael Gregoriev, a man of millions, chief of the Third Section in +Moscow: an official after the heart of the Iron Czar, and of Satan, his +master, too.</p> + +<p>For nearly an hour the Princess had knelt on a heavily rugged floor, her +eyes lifted to the face of the Virgin, her lips revealing, in those +whispers that had become part of her life, the ever-living anguish of +her heart. She was in her thirty-third year, poor creature: had known +now sixteen years of married life—sixteen<a class="pagenum" name="page_4" id="page_4" title="4"></a> years of revelation, of +repulsion mental and physical, of misery not to be told. One by one her +little illusions, fancies, hopes, and, with them, all the graces of her +youth, had fallen from her, till there remained but a shadowy, faded +creature, holding, in the depths of her bruised soul, just one more +desire, one final hope, of which the very possibility was by this time +all but extinguished.</p> + +<p>Yet it was of this hope she was speaking to-night to that distant, +shadowy Mary, who, her confessor had told her, can always understand and +always pity. Here, in the chill silence of her lonely rooms, while the +wide world without grew stiller and more still under its pale covering, +the wife had gathered her last resolution together, and dared a demand +of those High Immortals whose contact with humanity had ended so long +ago. They had hitherto been pitiless enough with her; though this she +would scarcely acknowledge even in her feeble rebellion. But she should +ask them, at last, to make her a tardy restitution.</p> + +<p>Sophia was unaware that her wish was a selfish one. It seemed so natural +a thing she asked; and her mind, poor lady, was all upon herself, there +being no other soul to think for her. That the helpless life she longed +for would be ushered into a dreary world, too dark for bright innocence +to face, never occurred to her. Her outlook had grown strangely +one-sided during the past long years of constantly weakening defence.</p> + +<p>"Mary-Mother—protect me! I have waited very long. I have done all Thy +will. I have kept the fasts: have made my confessions and been absolved. +I have striven so long for strength to endure—all that has been given +me to endure! I have not avoided any pain, or abuse, or disgrace. I have +borne without complaint all the isolation of <i>his</i> life, till my very +family shuns me. Oh, Thy hand has lain heavy upon me, but I have not<a class="pagenum" name="page_5" id="page_5" title="5"></a> +complained! Therefore, in this New Year, I come to Thee, Holy Mother, +with my wish. Grant me, I beseech, that which has been given so many +times to others! Give me at last a companion in my life: one that cannot +leave me. Thou, holiest of women, intercede for me! Make me one with +Thee! Give me, too, a child!"</p> + +<p>Once more, and over and over again, did the frail woman make her +request: so many times, indeed, and at last so fervidly, that her +excitement grew, and tears came. Little by little she drooped towards +the floor. Her face shone wet in the candle-light; and she clutched at +the little shelf below the ikon, where a handful of flowers stood in a +silver vase between the candles.</p> + +<p>The minutes crept by. The few other lights in the big room burned low, +flared, flickered, and went out. There was a vast, muffled stillness in +the snow-filled air. The first night of the New Year was nearly dead. As +the light in her room grew ghostlier, Princess Sophia's voice became +gradually incoherent, dropped to a vague whisper, and finally ceased. +She slid gently from her knees to a sitting posture, her head resting +against the wall, under the little shrine. And then her eyes fell shut. +She slept.</p> + +<p>For a quarter of an hour there was no sound in the room. The last candle +before the ikon at length followed the others, wavered high for an +instant, and then went out. Yet, strangely, the room was not left in +darkness. On the contrary, in the corner by the door had appeared a +soft, misty radiance which, second by second, grew visibly more +luminous. Far over the snow-fields came the clear chime of bells, +ringing the midnight hour. As their echoes died, the Princess, without +moving her body, opened her eyes again upon the form of a woman who had +emerged from the mist and now stood near at hand, looking down at her.</p> + +<p>Tall she was, and classically robed, this visitor. Her<a class="pagenum" name="page_6" id="page_6" title="6"></a> face, shaded by +a drapery of dove blue, was as fair as sculptured marble. But there was +a fire of deep compassion in her dark eyes, and her mouth was curved +into the gentlest smile. The great pity in that wonderful face stirred +Sophia with a sudden pang of joy; and it was long before her gaze moved +from those features. But when they did, her lips parted in a faint cry; +for she saw that the Mary-Mother was not alone. Her left hand was +clasped by that of a child: a tiny, shadowy shape, sweet-faced and +slender-limbed. Looking, Sophia's breath came fast; and leaning forward +instinctively, she held out her arms. At that gesture, the stranger and +her charge came forward a little more, and the holy woman spoke:</p> + +<p>"Sophia, I come to answer your prayer, bringing with me the soul of your +child."</p> + +<p>The Princess bowed to the floor.</p> + +<p>"Your eyes behold a little, lonely spirit, that is to be given into your +care. Guard it and guide it; for the way of its life stretches far, and +is difficult and long. Your paths meet for but a few years: for you are +yourself nearing the end of your unhappy journey; and during these last +years, comfort shall be given you. Look, then, upon the face of your +son."</p> + +<p>Swiftly the little spirit left the protecting shadow of its holy guide, +and paused beside Sophia. She would have clasped the shadowy body in her +eager arms, but a sense outside herself forbade this, and she could only +gaze searchingly into the gentle, childish face.</p> + +<p>"Thou art mine?—my son?" she whispered, softly.</p> + +<p>The little creature looked up at Mary-Mother and then, at once, returned +to the sad mortal at its side. The little face brightened with a smile, +and the lips formed the dear word, "Mother!"</p> + +<p>Then, immediately, darkness had fallen. The visitors from afar were +gone. Sophia lay upon the bare floor beneath the ikon, fast asleep.<a class="pagenum" name="page_7" id="page_7" title="7"></a></p> + +<p>In a few moments the door from the hall opened hastily, and a woman's +voice whispered in frightened haste:</p> + +<p>"My lady! Khazyaceka! His Excellency Prince Michael is coming up-stairs! +He is almost here!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_8" id="page_8" title="8"></a> +<a name="THE_CZARS_BALL_228" id="THE_CZARS_BALL_228"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>THE CZAR'S BALL</h3> +</div> + +<p>After the night of what she came gradually to call the Holy Dream, the +years passed more swiftly, with less of inward tumult, for Sophia +Ivanovna Gregoriev. It was now the close of the year 1851; and the reign +of the Iron Czar was wavering towards its dark end. Meantime the son of +the chief of the secret section in Moscow was eleven years and three +months old: a straight-limbed, quiet child, the son of his mother. And +all Sophia's recent life, that life which had entwined itself wholly +about the promised babe, was mingled the inexplicable strangeness of her +dream-memory. To her, New Year's night had become a sacred time; and she +loved to keep a vigil through it in her own, lonely way. This year, +however, it was to be marked in a different manner. For Michael +Gregoriev had planned that, on the first night of 1852, he, and perforce +his wife, should make a final effort to obtain that social recognition +which had never been the accompaniment of his political advancement.</p> + +<p>At this time—as, indeed, to-day, there stood, in the south-central part +of trans-Moskva Moscow, only two private buildings of any note. One of +these was the low-spreading palace of the Governor; the other that of +Prince Michael Petrovitch Gregoriev. The first had stood in its gardens +for a century and a half. The other was nearly fifty years older. The +dwelling of the Gregorievs was at some distance from its stately +neighbor, however; for it stood on the southeast corner of the<a class="pagenum" name="page_9" id="page_9" title="9"></a> Konnaia +Square, approachable by carriage only through the Serpoukhovskaia. Its +surroundings were of the humblest sort; for it was a long way south of +the Merchants' quarter, and so far from the sacred precincts of the +Kremlin that the voice of Ivan Veliki had melted into an echo ere it +reached the Gregoriev gateway.</p> + +<p>It is certain that neither age nor environment made this old place less +grewsomely interesting: this ancient dwelling of a family whose unsavory +annals were lost in the gloom of Tátar rule. The Gregorievs were closely +bound to the gloomy stone pile; and would dwell there, in all +probability, as long as their line continued. Michael, the present +Prince, was loyal to his house. Yet its situation was one of the +greatest of crosses to this man, who had known and cast away many a +heavier burden during his career. Remote as he was from the fashionable +districts, there was neither man nor woman in the city, from the +proudest house in the Equerries' quarter to the outskirts of the Novaia +Andronovka, but knew and shuddered, agreeably, at the Gregoriev +reputation.</p> + +<p>It was not strange, then, that the affair of New Year's night had become +the sensation of the season. For on this night Prince Gregoriev had +vowed a triumph over the massed society of the Mother City. He intended +to accomplish now what his wedding with a daughter of one of the oldest +and most honored families had failed to do: what no use of his +unscrupulous power could force, what all Moscow society, for once banded +unanimously together, had sworn he should never accomplish—enter their +ranks, the ranks of the old nobility of the Empire.</p> + +<p>By New Year's morning, however, the numbers were admitting, bitterly, +their defeat. Once more Gregoriev was about to achieve the impossible. +Eighteen years before, Moscow society had defeated him, superbly. At the +time of his marriage to a daughter of the Blashkovs,<a class="pagenum" name="page_10" id="page_10" title="10"></a> the question of +his admission into the "court circle" had been violently agitated. But +at that time even his prospective father-in-law had not had the +hardihood to suggest an informal presentation of this man to his +Majesty. Nay, it was the bride, pale, pretty, sensitive Sophia, who, +when it was seen that she had no slightest influence over her dread +husband, had been, not, perhaps, without a sigh, dropped from their +acquaintance by her former associates: nay, by her very family, all save +one sister, a girl younger than herself.</p> + +<p>For eighteen years, then, the Gregoriev palace had stood in its +isolation, echoing only to the revelry that money can always obtain. For +eighteen years its master, buying what the world had to sell, had been +secretly planning to obtain what was not for sale: had faced, unmoved, +an isolation which, to a nature less strong, would have been unbearable.</p> + +<p>Now, at last, he was about to win. His amazing intrigue had succeeded. +Its results were for the eyes of all men. For Moscow society had been +suddenly <i>commanded</i> to his house, to a ball, given on New Year's night, +in honor of his Imperial Majesty Nicholas I., who had decided, by his +appearance, to honor the house of his subject and immediate servant.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was eleven o'clock on that night of nights; and the bed and dressing +rooms of the Princess Sophia were lighted to suffocation with smoking +candles. Two maids and old Másha, general factotum of her mistress, were +bustling importantly from one room to the other, bearing to her, piece +by piece, their mistress's burden of jewels. At her dressing-table, +pale, still wearing, as always in public, her mask of emotionless +impenetrability, sat Sophia. Her neck and shoulders, which, according to +the rigid etiquette of court-dress, were fully exposed, were white, and, +considering her extreme slenderness,<a class="pagenum" name="page_11" id="page_11" title="11"></a> surprisingly round. A broad collar +of sapphires and diamonds clasped above an Oriental necklace of pearls, +successfully hid whatever there was to betray the too-visible marks of +the "certain" age. On her head she bore the oddly becoming kakoshnik, +which, in her case, was set with a triple row of superb diamonds. The +face below this gleaming structure, the delicate, weary face, robbed of +its customary frame of smoothly banded yellow hair, looked more sharply +pointed than usual, but surprisingly pretty. For there was actually a +fire—whether of pleasure, expectancy or nervousness—in her gray eyes; +and there had come a delicate flush to the usually pallid cheeks. Sophia +was, indeed, living with her dead to-night. Dreams of the old days held +her in a kind of spell. The woman of memories—memories of a brief +youth, a swiftly blighted flowering of life—had for once been forced +back to a forgotten theme. And she found, recalling the days of her +first balls, that the customary bitterness of contrast had suddenly +disappeared. There was much that was new in this present situation: she +was alive to sensations unfelt for years. There stirred in her heart +what she was only to define after it had gone again: that which for most +people forms the great staff of the inner life: on which she had been so +long unaccustomed to lean—the great Phoenix, Hope.</p> + +<p>At length they had fastened the last pin in her veil, the last hook in +the heavy gown of cloth of silver. The maids stood off from her a +little, whispering. But she herself remained motionless, gazing absently +into her quaintly framed old mirror, lost in one of those reveries that +her servants had learned not to disturb. The pause had lasted some five +minutes when the door opening into the outer hall opened, vigorously, +and the Princess started suddenly up, her face changing pathetically, a +look of dread painfully contracting her features.</p> + +<p>As their mistress rose, the three women shrank instinctively<a class="pagenum" name="page_12" id="page_12" title="12"></a> backward. +To one understanding it, the act was pathetically familiar. An instant +later, however, the Princess cried out, "Caroline! It is you, then?" and +so turned deathly white and reeled a little till old Másha came to her +support.</p> + +<p>"Sophie! You are not ill—<i>to-night</i>!" The new-comer, who had spoken +in French, halted near the door, an expression of dismay on her face.</p> + +<p>Madame Gregoriev, however, laughed faintly, and the color began to creep +back into her cheeks. As old Másha left her to hobble briskly out of the +room, she continued, "No, no! I am perfectly well. It was only that +you—startled me a little. I—I thought it was—Michael Petrovitch."</p> + +<p>Once more the face of the other changed, but she said nothing as she +came slowly forward, examining her companion the while with a critical +eye. She was the Countess Dravikine, Sophia's younger sister, who, a +year or two after Sophia's misalliance, had herself married remarkably +well: a young diplomat of the capital, already high in the graces of the +official world, and destined to rise steadily, through the clever +management of his wife. The Countess Dravikine fitted her adopted world +extremely well. She was a woman whose one tender sentiment was that +which she held for the sister of her youth. Otherwise she had, not +entirely without justice, been called heartless. She was, in any case, +admirably adapted for the life she had chosen. And strife social and +political, as well as every move in the great game of state intrigue, +were as the breath of life to her. She had not come through the fires +unsinged. There had been, nay, still were, whispers about her in her +world. But they were whispers such as heightened rather than tarnished +the brilliance of her reputation. For, whether wrongly or not, her name +had more than once been linked with that of the Iron Ruler himself.<a class="pagenum" name="page_13" id="page_13" title="13"></a> +This may or may not have been the reason for her presence to-night in +Moscow, whither she had journeyed to stand beside her sister at the +anticipated triumph. But whatever her motive, no one could deny that the +evening would gain by her presence. Here, beside her glittering sister, +she was superb, in her magnificently poised maturity, the voluminous +gauzes of her Paris gown floating like clouds about her: the numberless +opals in her hair and at her breast only continuing the delicate +coloring of the green-and-white costume that was as unusual as it was +becoming to her <i>chic</i> ugliness of feature. But to-night, for perhaps +the first time in her life, Caroline Dravikine was more interested in +the costume of another than in her own. She was determined that her +sister's appearance should be even more perfect than hers. And to this +end she went over the other's toilet detail by detail, only ending the +silent scrutiny as Másha reappeared with a slender glass of wine for her +mistress.</p> + +<p>"Eh bien, Sophie,—yes! drink the wine. If you will not rouge you must +keep what color you have!—the sapphires are not in the least too heavy. +They have done you up very well. Sonya!" turning to one of the maids, +"catch up that curl over the right ear of the Princess. It spoils the +effect of severity that suits your face so well. So. Et maintenon, ma +chère, renvoyez vos femmes de chambre. Je veux causer avec vous en +particulier."</p> + +<p>Sophia complied with the request: the maids, with the simple familiarity +of the Russian serf, taking their dismissal reluctantly. But Madame +Dravikine held them all in awe, and before her they did not dare the +protest that their Princess might have listened to. When the sisters +were alone, they crossed the room together and seated themselves on a +great sofa upholstered in a beautifully faded old brocade, made before +the birth of<a class="pagenum" name="page_14" id="page_14" title="14"></a> the great Catharine. And while Caroline, mindful of her +fresh gauzes, sat upright, like a bird poised for flight, her sister lay +back, wearily, crushing the veil of her headdress against a heap of +pillows.</p> + +<p>There was a moment's pause; then the Countess began, resolutely: "Has +Michael Petrovitch seen you yet?"</p> + +<p>"Oh no! He has not come up-stairs. I hope that he will not, Katrelka! +He—he would not be satisfied, you know."</p> + +<p>"Sophie! Sophie! sometimes I cannot wonder that the man is a terror in +your life! Satisfied with you! Ciel! If Alexis Vassilyitch expressed +dissatisfaction with a toilet of mine, I should not speak to him for a +week. No! I should get him into such difficulties with the ministry that +he would come to me on his knees in three days! I tell you again, +Sophie, that you must assert yourself! Tell me—"</p> + +<p>"Stop, Kasha, stop! I am too tired for all this just now. Say what you +will to-morrow. You know the thing is a great strain. Tell me only this: +Are you quite sure that his Majesty will come? Do you believe it +possible that at last everything is to be right—that we are to have +Moscow—our old Moscow—here again?"</p> + +<p>Having with some little self-control waved aside the unusual rebuff of +Sophia's first words, Madame Dravikine listened to the last with a +smile, a trifle self-conscious; and in spite of her sister's look—a +stare that suggested coldness, the expression remained with her as she +answered: "Yes, at last you are safe, dear. You see—I am here from +Petersburg; though it has meant leaving Nathalie with her nurses, and +Alexis Vassilyitch to spend every night at the yacht-club at baccarat. +Besides, Moscow always bores his Majesty; and even the Czarevitch isn't +with him this time, you know."</p> + +<p>"Caroline, I wish—" Madame Gregoriev's hesitating voice trailed into +silence. She knew that it was scarcely<a class="pagenum" name="page_15" id="page_15" title="15"></a> the hour for remonstrance of +that kind. After a moment she began again, "Do you remember how many +years it is since we were all at home together, in the Nijny Kislovsky? +I should hardly be able to name over the old families now. All the +leaders of our day—Madame Apúkhtin, Princess Osínin, the +Dowager-Countess Parakoff—they are all dead. It is the wife of the +younger Smirnoff—Alexander married a dancer who cannot be received—who +keeps up the name. Eugen married Olga Lodoroff. She was a child when I +was married. She wouldn't remember me at all now. But we have had not +one excuse. They are all to come. Kasha, I am happy to-night! Think—"</p> + +<p>"Of course, Sophie, they are coming. One would think you a parvenue, +absolutely, to hear you!" broke in Caroline, sharply, still smarting a +little at her reading of that unfinished sentence.</p> + +<p>Sophia colored at her sister's appellation, but had no time for +rejoinder; for at this moment an inner door was pushed gently open and a +boy entered.</p> + +<p>Sophia rose, hastily. "Ivan! You were asleep two hours ago!"</p> + +<p>"But I woke up. And Másha said you were so splendid with the diamonds +all on, that I came to see." He looked up at his mother, his big, black +eyes shining with interest as he inspected her unusual array. His aunt, +sharper-eyed than her sister, perceived that, under his eider-down +wrapper, the boy wore no night-flannel, but a more or less complete suit +of day-clothes. She said nothing, however, for, though she had no love +for children, Ivan was quiet enough to have won her liking.</p> + +<p>"Eh bien, mon fils, tu m'as vu. Allez vous en! Retournez immédiatement +au lit. Tu vas prendre un rhume! Allez! Vite!" Laughing, she kissed the +boy—nor had far to stoop to reach his lips. Then, with a gentle hand, +she led him back to the door. The boy<a class="pagenum" name="page_16" id="page_16" title="16"></a> moved reluctantly, and, ere he +left the room, caught his mother round the neck and whispered in her ear +a question which was answered by a determined shake of the head.</p> + +<p>When he had gone, the Princess stood for an instant looking after him, +all her heart in her unconscious eyes. Then, her eyes shining with a +softened light, she turned again to her sister, saying, with a smile:</p> + +<p>"Come, Katrelka, let us go down. The opera must be over by this time; +and I must see the rooms before the first arrival."</p> + +<p>"Just one moment more, then, Moussia." Madame Dravikine rose, crossed +the room, and laid her hand caressingly on the other's arm. "If Michael +Petrovitch should be out of temper when we meet him, do not be +disturbed. Do not, for the sake of our family, Sophie, betray yourself +by—by your face—to-night. Remember, if the scene should grow +unbearable I can always—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, Kasha. Thank you. But let us not speak of it further—just +now."</p> + +<p>A moment's silence. Then suddenly, by a common impulse, the two women +threw themselves into each other's arms and kissed fervently. When they +had separated again, the eyes of the Countess were no less suspiciously +wet than those of her sister, the wife of Michael Gregoriev.</p> + +<p>It was a pity that functions of formal magnificence were affairs of such +rarity in the Gregoriev palace; for no private dwelling in Russia was +better adapted to the purpose. The grand entrance opened into a hall of +royal dimensions, at the back of which rose a massive staircase, which, +ascending to a broad marble landing, separated there into two parts, one +of which wound upward to the right, the other to the left, to the upper +floor. Upon this landing, facing the hall below, stood the figure of a +Diana carved from Carrara marble, its exquisite<a class="pagenum" name="page_17" id="page_17" title="17"></a> Greek curves wreathed +to-night in smilax and white roses, brought up from the southern estates +of the Prince.</p> + +<p>As the sisters descended the stairs together, each critically surveying +the decorations of the rooms below, Prince Michael himself appeared from +the direction of the great dining-room, accompanied by his major-domo, to +whom he was giving some final orders concerning the reception of his +Imperial Majesty.</p> + +<p>A remarkable man was Michael Petrovitch, Prince Gregoriev; nominally a +chief of the Third Section under Ryeléff; actually head of the secret +police of the whole Moscow district; confidential adviser of the royal +Governor-General; and privately and intimately known to the Czar, who +had long been aware that he had at least one man in his Empire who would +balk at no order that should be given him.</p> + +<p>In Prince Michael, as so seldom happens, the story of the mind was +plainly written upon the body. Six feet three inches he stood in his +stockings—two inches more in his regular dress; his head large in +proportion, and finely shaped; eyes black, glittering, and unfaceable; +mustache jet-black and upstanding, as if made of wire, from the set, +ugly mouth, below which jutted a square, blue-shaven chin. And the +appearance thus presented was not to be overshadowed, in any feature, by +the magnificence of the uniform he wore to-night. Tunic and trousers +were of heavy white cloth, the first garment so long, and so heavily +embroidered in gold, that his body seemed cased in a glittering sheath +down to where the edge of the coat met the top of the boots of softly +wrinkling black, that cased his legs almost to the thigh. On his breast +were ranged half a dozen orders; conspicuous among them that of St. +George, for gallant conduct on the field of action, won years before in +the streets of thrice-sacked Warsaw.</p> + +<p>As the two women halted, Gregoriev finished his<a class="pagenum" name="page_18" id="page_18" title="18"></a> orders; and, turning +from the cringing serf, stood staring at his wife and her sister. Madame +Dravikine was smiling brightly; but Sophia's face was set, her cheeks +flaming, her burning eyes unwontedly hard.</p> + +<p>"So! Madame, there is a hair-pin caught in the flounce below your right +ankle."</p> + +<p>Involuntarily the Princess quivered, stooped, and extricated the fine +wire pin which even Caroline had not noted. Then she straightened up +hastily, sought to meet her husband's sneer with something like +resolution, faltered before him, and moved slowly away towards the +reception-rooms. The Countess, however, turned to her brother-in-law, +and covered her sister's retreat. Certainly Prince Michael gave her his +attention; and his manner with women of station was unresentable. +Nevertheless, the covert amusement in his voice and in the eyes that +looked after his wife, set even Caroline's experienced teeth on edge. +She talked with him on the prospects of the evening; and it was a theme +so interesting to both of them that neither perceived the little figure, +dressed in black velvet, that stole quietly down from the second floor +and concealed himself on the landing behind the floral drapery that +spread, star-fashion, from the statue of the goddess. An hour or two +before Ivan, filled with a vague excitement, had bribed his old nurse to +dress him in his best, and, having seen his mother and his aunt in their +court-dress, he had been seized with the desire for more. After waiting +in his room as long as he could, the boy had stolen down the staircase +to a point whence he could see the progress of that great ball which +was, in some mysterious way, to change the fortunes of his father's +house, and, with them, the long loneliness of his own, dreamy days.</p> + +<p>So he crouched there through the hours, well concealed, a figure +unconsciously pathetic, his great, sad<a class="pagenum" name="page_19" id="page_19" title="19"></a> eyes—eyes begotten by his +mother, and with all her own woe in their liquid depths—glowing +brightly in the white, wistful, childish face; the suggestion of a smile +on his straight, delicately chiselled mouth. He had been in his place +barely ten minutes when the great doors opened to the first guests; and, +during the hour that followed, they were scarcely shut. The opera was +over. Fashionable Moscow, accustomed to live at night, swathed itself in +furs, and, grumbling at the unwonted distance, had spun across the city, +in open sleighs, to the distant Gregoriev palace.</p> + +<p>Prince Michael, with his wife and his sister-in-law beside him, stood at +the entrance to the gold drawing-room, welcoming the men and women who +were announced in rapid succession: men and women whose names set +Sophia's heart beating with memory. There were few, indeed, that any +major-domo in Petersburg would not have shouted in his best voice. For +all of them were members of the great Russian world: Apúkhtin and +Mirski, Chipraznik, Smirnoff and the omnipresent Nikitenko—names that +had been the last to fade into, the first to reappear from, the baleful +night of Tátar rule. Not one of them all but had once known Sophia +Blashkov intimately: none but greeted Madame Dravikine as a familiar +acquaintance of to-day. But, for the first time since his wedding-day, +Michael Gregoriev felt himself slighted for that woman he had so long +despised. One and all, women and men alike, they slid by him as rapidly +as decency would permit, nor cared to notice him again, though, from far +corners and discreet retreating-places, they bestowed on him glances +that ran the gamut from curiosity to open horror. Not so did Sophia +fare. There was for her at least one hour when the immediate past was +blotted out, and her heart warmed and thrilled again as it had in that +long-past, joyous winter of her presentation.<a class="pagenum" name="page_20" id="page_20" title="20"></a></p> + +<p>By half an hour past midnight the rooms were crowded and there had +settled over the company a hush: that peculiar stillness of expectancy +that is destruction to the nerves of a host. In this special pause, +however, lay something beyond the ordinary: a discomfort, a palpable +uneasiness, that sheathed a subtle threat. Sophia, with her woman's +instinct, was no quicker to perceive it than her husband. They, with +Countess Caroline and every other woman in the rooms, put the same +interpretation upon that significant lull. It spoke thus: "It is late, +and he whom we were commanded to meet is not here. His Imperial +Majesty's name forced us to this house. Now he has not come. Is the +thing a trick? Michael Petrovitch Gregoriev, have you been capable of +<i>this</i>? Dared you dream that such folly of deceit could really help +you?"</p> + +<p>Such was the unmistakable sentiment in the air when, at a quarter before +one, the sisters met in a corner of the dining-room, and there passed +between them a white-faced look. Then Madame Dravikine whispered:</p> + +<p>"Sophie, what does it mean? <i>Did</i> Nicholas promise?"</p> + +<p>The question was a mistake. Princess Gregoriev's lips went white, and +she seemed to speak with difficulty. "Caroline! Then <i>you</i> were not +assured by him? You as well as Michael have deceived me?"</p> + +<p>Madame Dravikine flushed scarlet. "I have never discussed your affairs +with his Majesty," she returned, haughtily.</p> + +<p>Sophia made no reply. Her face, if possible, grew a little more livid, +her eyes a trifle more piteous.</p> + +<p>Caroline, in spite of her resentment, was touched with pity and with +fear; so that, presently, she burst out, impulsively: "Then you are +<i>ruined</i>, Sophie! Absolutely ruined!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, Princess Sophia's lips curled into a bitter smile. "I have +been ruined, as you call it, for eighteen<a class="pagenum" name="page_21" id="page_21" title="21"></a> years. This—this fiasco +cannot make it any worse!" And, before that expressionless tone, Madame +Dravikine was still.</p> + +<p>A moment or two after this encounter, however, there came a sudden stir. +Beyond the dining-room, in the central hall, was a visible flutter of +excitement, and whispers sped rapidly through the rooms.</p> + +<p>"He has really come!"</p> + +<p>"The Czar is here!"</p> + +<p>"After all, his Majesty has arrived."</p> + +<p>"Where is he, then?"</p> + +<p>"In his dressing-room. The royal sleigh is at the gate."</p> + +<p>"Ah! Then we must remain!"</p> + +<p>During the first seconds of the excitement, the Prince and Princess +Gregoriev came together near the door of the specially prepared +antechamber where his Majesty was to have his furs removed. Sophia's +cheeks were flushed, her eyes burning again; but the face of Michael +Petrovitch had become once more impenetrable. There were three minutes +of the strained attention. Then, from the door of the antechamber, +appeared a stately man, clad in a magnificent uniform, his breast +covered with medals and crosses. When they were still many feet apart, a +look passed between him and Prince Michael; and, in that look, a new, +undying enmity was born in Gregoriev's fierce soul. For the guest from +the Kremlin was <i>not</i> the Czar, but the Czar's most detested envoy: the +notorious Count Alderberg, Minister of the Imperial Household. And his +words to the host and hostess began with the infuriating, formal: "I +regret—"</p> + +<p>Even through that moment of greeting, Princess Sophia scarcely +understood the full significance of this presence. Surely, if the Czar +had sent a proxy, it meant, at least, recognition. But as the Count +carried his cynical smile and gorgeous personality away in the +direction<a class="pagenum" name="page_22" id="page_22" title="22"></a> of the dining-room, and the poor lady turned to her husband, +she was stricken dumb at sight of the blind fury in his face. It was a +look that she had known before—too well. Yet never, perhaps, had such a +concentrated mixture of defeat, rage, and rebellion glared from those +eyes or straightened that heavy mouth. Now, indeed, she knew that they +were undone.</p> + +<p>"Alderberg! Alderberg! By God and the devil, had I dreamed—" The +low-muttered words trailed off and were bitten into silence, while, by a +fierce contortion of the muscles, Michael straightened his face into a +semblance of calm. But the hands hanging at his sides were clinched till +the nails pierced his palms, and the veins started out, knotted and +purple, from his flesh.</p> + +<p>For some moments the Princess stood irresolute, terrified lest her +guests should witness some part of this outbreak. Madame Dravikine was +first to emerge from the throng; and she came towards them, dismay +written in her face. She sent one glance at Michael; and then, biting +her lip, took her sister's hand in a gentle clasp.</p> + +<p>"Ah! You, too, Katrelka!" whispered Sophia. "You, too, think it so bad?"</p> + +<p>Caroline shook her head sadly. "We are helpless, Sophie. A fit of +Nicholas' laziness has lost the world to you. Look!"</p> + +<p>There was no time for response; for, at this moment, the Prince and +Princess Mirski came up with chill good-nights that were passively +accepted. They were immediately followed by the Osínin, who barely +looked towards Michael, but had the grace to murmur some excuse to his +wife. On their heels hastened the Apúkhtin, who played the few seconds +of farce with angry hauteur. Then, injury to insult, Alderberg himself +approached, having been in the rooms a bare five minutes. And, as he +disappeared into the royal alcove, the throng<a class="pagenum" name="page_23" id="page_23" title="23"></a> in the rooms began to fly +the house as from a spot plague-smitten.</p> + +<p>At the instant of Alderberg's appearance in the hall, word of the +defection of the Czar had swept like wildfire through the rooms. The +Minister of the Imperial Household was nearly as unpopular among the +court circle of Moscow as he was among the peasant class; and nothing +could have been more unfortunate than the choice of him as the proxy of +his Majesty. Within five minutes, whispers were everywhere. The drawing, +dining, and dressing rooms were full of the rippling hiss of talk which +in every case preceded either frowns or angry laughter. Ivan, from his +hiding-place on the stairway, caught many phrases the significance of +which he could not fathom; but which filled him with prescience of evil. +His troubled eyes sought the face of his mother in the hall below; and +he found there what he had feared. From his vantage-point he had a clear +view of the quickening rush of departure. Crowds were pouring up-stairs +to re-don their furs; though many of these people had not yet recovered +from the chill of their long drive from the Grand Theatre. Soon the +great staircase was so crowded that many who were still below made no +effort to ascend, deputing the bringing of their wraps to friends who +had forced an upward passage. For so bitter was the night that few had +pursued the usual custom of leaving their sables outside, on the arms of +patient footmen.</p> + +<p>Ivan watched the good-nights to his father and mother; and noted also +the lack of them. He beheld the drooping, weary figure of the Princess, +in her blaze of gems, forcing piteous smiles of farewell. And he was +glad that there were so many who, under cover of the throng, evaded the +ordeal of the good-night, and slipped away from the brilliant rooms as +from a dwelling haunted with evil.<a class="pagenum" name="page_24" id="page_24" title="24"></a></p> + +<p>There was but one consolation for this misery—it was very brief. The +crowd that had taken a long hour to assemble, dispersed and melted away +into the darkness of the city within the space of fifteen minutes. There +had, indeed, been some who had arrived after his Excellency the Count. +These, perceiving the crowd out-streaming, divined calamity, and, +without so much as descending from their sleighs, turned about and +departed as they had come.</p> + +<p>By half-past one o'clock three figures stood alone in the great hall; +while on the staircase, beside the motionless Diana, crouched a lonely, +frightened child, who still stared, as if with enchanted eyes, at his +mother's white, despairing face. Princess Sophia stood motionless, her +head bent, her hands clasped tightly before her, persistently avoiding +her husband's eyes. Caroline, with a half-protective air, was between +her sister and her brother-in-law. Michael, his face as colorless as +that of the statue, his eyes alight with the fire in his brain, stared +straight before him, into some bitter world of his own. About them was +the unbearable silence which Madame Dravikine, who alone was +unaccustomed to it, finally broke in desperation:</p> + +<p>"Come, Sophie! Come to bed. You are too tired to stay down here. You'll +be ill."</p> + +<p>But, at the moment, Sophia had, in her heart, the thought of another +than herself. At sight of some unwonted suggestion in his face of a pain +with which she had been long familiar, there had entered into her heart +a sudden pity for the man she so feared. Imbued with a momentary +courage, she advanced to her husband and took his hand. "Michael," she +murmured, "I—am sorry."</p> + +<p>The man started in amazement, and then drew away from her, at the same +time turning upon her his burning eyes. "<i>Sorry!</i> Good God! Then get to +your ikons and pray. For me—there's no sorrow for me. Nicholas<a class="pagenum" name="page_25" id="page_25" title="25"></a> has +played his game. Now mine begins. Sorrow for him, if you like. For, by +the help of Satan, he and Moscow shall know me yet!"</p> + +<p>The low-spoken words ended with a snarl of inarticulate anger. And the +moment they were uttered, he turned brusquely, and, without another word +or look, disappeared in the direction of his offices, where, as his wife +knew, he would probably work till far into the next day.</p> + +<p>The two women watched him go. Then, after a pause, they found themselves +clinging to each other, and in this fashion began the ascent of the +stairs. Both of them were weeping: not loudly; rather as the reaction +from the strain of the past hour. As they reached the landing, they were +joined by another. Ivan came openly from his hiding-place, and barred +their path, guilt-laden. But there was to be no rebuke to-night for his +disobedience. On the contrary, his mother took him into her arms and +clasped him close, as if his presence brought comfort for much immediate +pain. And the boy, feeling the hot tears from her eyes fall upon his +face, laid his arms about her neck, and yielded himself to a grief and a +terror that he understood vaguely, but could not as yet define.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_26" id="page_26" title="26"></a> +<a name="MICHAEL_797" id="MICHAEL_797"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>MICHAEL</h3> +</div> + +<p>Up to the time of Prince Gregoriev's marriage, that peculiar man had +used his huge dwelling as a gypsy uses a moor: he had wandered about, +living for three months in the west wing, three more in the east, again +for six high up in the central portion of the great building, taking +with him the rather simple impedimenta of his state, and arranging them +as he chose. The presence of Sophia had, however, made at least one +change in his existence. Little either of time or attention as he gave +her, Michael was driven, by mere consciousness of her proximity, to fix +upon some certain suite of rooms for the pursuit of his personal labors +and his peculiar recreations. And, after the first irritation of +necessity had worn away, he found the arrangement to possess unforeseen +advantages. Unlike his class, he was a man of simple, even austere +habits in his working hours. Luxury at such times meant annoyance to +him; and only the barest necessities of furniture and attire were +admitted to his periods of solitary labor. Upon his establishment in his +now permanently arranged suite in the eastern wing of the palace, he +found that certain papers and written references—kept hitherto under +lock and key, and guarded from every eye—could at last find a permanent +place in that work-room which no one was permitted to enter, even for +purposes of cleaning. For twenty-eight years, now, this had formed one +of his six rooms, of which two on the second floor were connected<a class="pagenum" name="page_27" id="page_27" title="27"></a> with +those below by a private staircase. By degrees, his habits had become as +fixed at those of a woman. His many vices were as strong, as severe, as +his few virtues; and more than one man had remarked that, so far as was +known, there was not a single balancing weakness in the nature of this +iron man.</p> + +<p>At two o'clock on the morning after the ball, Michael had seated +himself at the great table in his sanctum, and prepared for work. +He had no idea of bed; for sleep in his present state, his brain +afire with the fury of unwonted defeat, would have been impossible. +But he could still pin his thoughts down to the composition of two +or three state documents—reports requiring a liberal use of +imagination—before allowing himself the luxury of setting about +arranging his plan of retaliation: retaliation upon the great Czar, +his master. Thus it was that dawn, the late, wintry dawn, rising +seven hours later, fell upon his dishevelled figure stretched out +in a chair beside the paper-piled table, his heavy brows drawn down +in deep thought, his lungs filled with deep draughts of smoke drawn +from the pipe between his teeth.</p> + +<p>The passage which led down to this dread room of his, opened also into +the office in which he conducted business with his colleagues, and which +was decorated and furnished with Oriental magnificence. The inner room, +of which only Piotr, his body-servant, had ever had so much as a +glimpse—the room that had sheltered this master of men and of evil at +the ebb and the flood of his power—was bare of ornament, and held not +one unnecessary article. The two windows were uncurtained; but outside +the customary double panes, the cracks of which were filled with pounded +wool, stretched a significant iron net-work which was embedded far in +the stones at the window-edges. Within, the four walls were covered with +staring, yellow plaster; only one side<a class="pagenum" name="page_28" id="page_28" title="28"></a> of it, that opposite the +working-chair, being partly covered—and that only by two big maps: one +of the Russian Empire, with its dependencies; the other covered with a +mass of line-tracery and unreadable jottings, written in what was +evidently a cipher. The key to this was hidden in the brain of the man +who had composed it.</p> + +<p>Michael himself had dubbed this square of parchment a map: his map of +men. And it contained mention of some members in almost every great +family in the Empire. Nicholas himself was there, side by side with his +valet—a man, indeed, of vast importance in that ministerial world to +which a Gregoriev still aspired.</p> + +<p>Finally, beside these things, high up in a corner of the east wall, was +the inevitable, dingy little daub meant for the blessed and blessing +Virgin: a superstitious but universal custom which even Michael +submitted to, and which represented, perhaps, his single remaining shred +of religion. For the rest, a huge table, a single chair, and two +bookcases filled with a small, but remarkably well-chosen collection of +reference-books, finished the characteristic arrangement of the room.</p> + +<p>Here, this morning, the gray light of a winter dawn mingled with the +dull flare of the hanging-lamp increasing the ghastliness of his +appearance, sat Michael Gregoriev, in the stale bitterness of a +night-old rage and mortification. On the floor, in an unceremonious +heap, lay his heavily embroidered coat, with its medals still upon it. +In its stead the Prince had wrapped himself in a worn robe of old +brocade, fur-lined. Heavy felt slippers shod his feet. His hair was +tumbled over his head in a leonine mass. His features were gray; but his +eyes still glowed above the dark, purplish circles that shadowed his +cheeks. His documents were finished. He had sat for two hours and more +in this present brown study; and, tested as his endurance had been, his<a class="pagenum" name="page_29" id="page_29" title="29"></a> +concentration was still absolute. On the table, near at hand, stood a +flask of vodka, nearly empty, and a jar of water scarcely touched.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, the Prince of the lonely house was not drunk: was not even +misty-headed. At a quarter after eight there came a knock at the door, +and his hoarse, "Enter!" was as immediate as was the return to his +reverie. Nor did he lift his eyes as Piotr entered softly, arranged the +steaming samovar at his master's elbow, placed bread, fresh butter, and +a dish of lentils beside it, and then departed as noiselessly as he had +come.</p> + +<p>For five minutes the man beside the table did not stir. Then he rose, +still preoccupied, crossed the room to his cipher map, and ran his +finger down a certain line of hieroglyphics till he found what he +sought, and paused to read one passage carefully, twice. Then, when his +face had straightened till his lips actually stretched themselves into +the semblance of a sardonic smile, he dropped the subject of his +thoughts, returned to the table, and made himself some tea. Glass after +glass of this he drank, steaming hot. But no solid food passed his lips; +and in twenty minutes he reseated himself and set about the writing of +two letters, on the envelope of each of which he placed, in the lower +corner, a peculiar mark—a sign of the Third Section, known to a few +men, and signifying privacy and importance.</p> + +<p>These letters were the result of his recent cogitation; and both +concerned the affair of the previous night. He had realized his +situation to the full; and he knew that it must be faced. His sensations +were unfamiliar, however; for it was many years since he had had to +acknowledge a defeat so absolute and so grave. Never before, however, +had he pitted himself against a force that strong men will not take +seriously because it is never to be logically reckoned with. +Nevertheless, that force must, sooner or later, be acknowledged by every +human<a class="pagenum" name="page_30" id="page_30" title="30"></a> being. Michael Gregoriev especially should have taken it into +consideration long before; for it was many years since he began his +preparations for what last night was to have brought him: a place in the +last unconquered world of power. His preparation, however, had led him +only through ways peopled by men: and for men and their deeds he was +more than a match. Their caprices, their follies, their faithlessness, +their treachery even, he had learned long since to calculate and to cope +with. Women, also, he had known: many women; experienced, innocent, +negative, or wicked. And those who had ventured upon his ground, he had +not failed to conquer. It was in the knowledge of these experiences that +he had stood; by its light preparing a <i>coup</i> that was to carry the last +fortress of that upper world which still held out against him: that +peculiar body of women and men called "society."</p> + +<p>Years before, with this same purpose in his mind, he had married a +daughter of this class, whose only dower was her birth, and whose only +covetable possession her place among her kind. And this effort had +failed, entirely. Sophia Blashkov, a quiet, gentle, blue-blooded, little +débutante, had found herself utterly unequal to the task either of +forcing a place in those glittering, scornful ranks for her +black-blooded, much-condemned husband, or of keeping her own, now that +she bore his name. True, her marriage had, probably, made possible her +younger sister's exceptional and unhoped-for match. But Michael himself +felt that he had sadly bungled a most important affair. Perceiving his +wife's uselessness for his purpose, all the little admiration he had +ever had for the fragile girl changed speedily into an angry despite. +For the moment, he put her and his social ambitions away together, and +turned back to that world of official intrigue and promotion which had +actually occupied him from that distant time until within<a class="pagenum" name="page_31" id="page_31" title="31"></a> the last few +weeks. The old defeat had long since been buried under a heap of newly +gained official honors. But of these, alas! he had now had his fill. For +the first time he was tasting to the full a measure of bitterness as +rank as any the world has to offer. For there is something in the +deliberate rejection by one's kind: a mortification, a sickening sense +of helplessness, of rage, of revolt, that belongs to this experience +alone. It is a kind of suffering in which women frequently become +connoisseurs. But its taste is none the less nauseous to the man on whom +Fate forces it.</p> + +<p>Michael Gregoriev, then, a furious man of men, was to-day enduring that +which has turned many a woman soul-sick and weary of existence. All the +amazement of unforeseen repulse: the agonized acceptance of an unjust +superiority, a scorn, a pitiless disdain; the totally capricious setting +of one's self apart from one's fellows as something too despicable for +consideration; above all, one's utter powerlessness against this +arbitrary judgment—all these things he felt, and every one of them cut +him to the quick. For Michael Gregoriev's egotism had grown with every +year.</p> + +<p>In his black hour he did not fail to indulge in the usual, useless +revilement of the superior class: an act as natural as it is ridiculous. +Was that society that he had sought out and thought to grasp so pure, so +free from corruption, so spotlessly fair, that his, Prince Gregoriev's +peccadilloes must needs bar him from its gatherings? Certainly this +reputation of his was one thing that had kept the door he knocked on +closed. But there were other reasons—innumerable ones, in fact; some of +them adequate, others entirely inconsistent, that Princess Mirski or +Madame Apúkhtin might have named. Yet, in the final summing-up, there +would probably have been a traditional indefiniteness about the +wherefore of the Gregoriev ostracism. It was simply understood,<a class="pagenum" name="page_32" id="page_32" title="32"></a> +instinctively, throughout Moscow, that no person of that name was +knowable. And this fact, <i>mirabile dictu</i>, had, after long cogitation, +been at last borne in upon Michael—man as he was.</p> + +<p>Prince Gregoriev, though he was generally looked upon as a parvenu, had +not, like most of that type, been born in the gutter. On the contrary, +there was behind him a long line of recluses, eccentrics, hermits +almost, bearing the strongest resemblance to one another by reason of +their oddities. One special trait, stronger than any other, served to +bind them all together, father and son, through generations. This was +their constant and unconquerable sense of personal isolation: of +loneliness. Crowds of friends and sycophants might surround the +Gregoriev. He was none the less bitterly alone. It was, perhaps, a +morbid perception of individuality, of the inevitable isolation of every +soul. But whatever its cause, this sense, in more than one of the race, +had developed into extreme stages of melancholia.</p> + +<p>The palace in Konnaia Square had been founded in the year 1679, by the +third of the line, Alexis Gregorievitch, who had purposely placed the +dwelling of his race in this far corner of the city, out of the possible +range of decent dwellings. And none of the succession of Peters and +Mikhails that followed, ever thought to reproach this act of their +ancestor. The details of the life of one of these men would have +sufficed for all, until the breaking of the direct line. But the last +Prince had died childless; and the estate descended by entail to +Michael, eldest son of the dead Prince's dead brother. And though in the +present Gregoriev the instincts of his race survived, they had been in a +large measure altered and redirected. For when, at the age of twenty, +Michael had come into his inheritance, he had, in the first hour of his +new estate, set himself a certain goal, at the<a class="pagenum" name="page_33" id="page_33" title="33"></a> same time turning an +iron will and dire traits towards its attainment. Russia was then just +entering upon the rule of the Iron Czar. Iron men, therefore, were soon +in demand, to replace the more vacillating officials who had served the +first Alexander. Prince Gregoriev came forward at once with the request +for a position. And immediately he became involved in that species of +underhand, almost underground, business (necessary to most governments +and to all absolute monarchies) which reached its extreme depth in the +tyranny that ruled Russia during the next thirty years.</p> + +<p>It did not take many months for Nicholas to perceive that there lived in +Moscow a supreme performer of questionable transactions. Upon test, the +man showed himself to be all the Czar had thought—and more. He was a +man without a conscience. And the official world rejoiced, and put much +work upon him: so much, that lo! a Gregoriev soon became necessary to +the governmental world. And Michael had worked to more purposes than +one. His great master had no fault to find with his performance of duty. +Thus it was not until too late that more than one of the ministers +discovered the fact that it may be better to have certain things bungled +than to have them carried through by a man so clever that he can put +knowledge amassed by the way to double—sometimes triple, uses. This was +what Gregoriev could, and did, do. He was, <i>par excellence</i>, a man of +his time: in many ways even in advance of it. And he had by no means +begun to approach his goal before all the men with whom he came in daily +contact, and many of those considerably above him, had come to stand in +terrible fear of his accurate and tabulated knowledge of things they had +believed to be unsuspected by any human being beyond themselves.</p> + +<p>But there was one man in the Empire who, as yet, remained in ignorance +of this trait of his official: who<a class="pagenum" name="page_34" id="page_34" title="34"></a> had never felt the faintest scratch +beneath the velvet of his favorite cat's-paw. Thus it was that Michael's +momentary defeat had come about. Czar Nicholas crossed him openly; put +upon him an affront unbearable; lowered him in the eyes of three hundred +puny men and women over whom he had no power for revenge. It was, then, +as a result of this, that treason had begun to surge through the mind of +a brilliantly wicked man. And had he been able to read certain thoughts +passing through his subject's head, it is possible that the Iron One +might have felt a certain uneasiness of mind at possibilities of the +future; and a rather poignant regret at his negligence of the evening +before.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Two hours had gone by since Piotr had carried his master's first meal to +that master's work-room. Michael had finished his letters. His first +anger was gone and his plan of "payment" already under way. With his +mind thus relieved, then, he suddenly began to feel the fatigue of +thirty hours of sleeplessness. With a comforting sense of relaxation, he +ascended to his bedroom, partly undressed himself, lay down on the bed, +and within five minutes had fallen into a sound sleep.</p> + +<p>And it was two hours later and Ivan Veliki had rung the hour of eleven, +when the silence of the room was broken by the entrance of Piotr, who, +at sight of his master asleep at this unwonted hour, halted in surprise +and confusion. It took him ten minutes to nerve himself to the waking of +the Prince. But it was only ten more before Michael, who had sworn at +his valet steadily, meantime, for the delay, entered his public office, +fully dressed, to greet General Ryúmin, a member of the Imperial staff, +just now sent as an envoy from the Kremlin. Michael, who chose to greet +him with all the courtesy he could command, hurried forward, his hands +out-stretched, and gave the greetings of the day.<a class="pagenum" name="page_35" id="page_35" title="35"></a></p> + +<p>"So! I roused you from sleep, Prince? However, I come direct from the +Kremlin; and his Majesty commands an audience of you at half-past noon. +He is here ex-officio, of course, with only Alderberg, Zelanoi, and +ourselves, on the matter of the forestry ukase. But about you—there's +another matter he wants you for: the petition for the families of +convict-exiles to follow them to Siberia. The Council has rejected it +twice; but Benckendorf is still agitating the question. His Majesty +still seems to object, strongly. You, too, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"If the wife or the daughter be pretty—of course," returned Gregoriev, +lightly. And Ryúmin, seeing that he was not to be drawn, hastily forced +a laugh.</p> + +<p>They passed thence into a discussion of local affairs in which they had +recently acted as allies when Ryumin had been Lieutenant-Governor of the +Moscow province. No undercurrent of enmity marred their intercourse. +Gregoriev was certainly an adept at applying or loosening his screws. +His guest had felt them sharply once or twice before to-day. He knew +Gregoriev's power; and Michael asked no more. He had soon made the +General entirely at his ease, and the half-hour passed most agreeably. +At last, however, Ryúmin rose, tacitly to remind his host of the +Imperial audience. They had now, indeed, by driving as fast as possible, +barely time to reach the Kremlin. Gregoriev, nevertheless, paid no +attention to the other's movement.</p> + +<p>"Come, Boris Vassilyitch, one more cigar! We may as well settle now the +details of this Pahlen affair. You wish a conviction in any case, I +understand?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Prince, it can wait. His Majesty's wishes are more important +than mine, you know."</p> + +<p>Gregoriev leaned back in his chair and took three leisurely puffs before +he observed, lazily: "I don't agree with you. However, I must not keep +you if you have<a class="pagenum" name="page_36" id="page_36" title="36"></a> some other appointment. I shall hardly start for the +Kremlin before one.</p> + +<p>"But—but my dear Gregoriev! The Czar! Your audience!—You see you +forget, my good fellow!"</p> + +<p>"I forget nothing whatever, General: not even promises that are not +kept."</p> + +<p>Ryúmin stared, open-mouthed, as Gregoriev's gloomy eyes met his. Then, +with a thrill of wonder, he understood that the man before him had the +superb audacity thus openly to rebuke his Emperor.</p> + +<p>Certainly Gregoriev's suggestion was no empty threat. Nicholas Romanoff +actually waited something more than an hour for the arrival of the +Moscow police official. When at last Prince Gregoriev was ushered into +the royal presence, the voice of the master of ceremonies shook as he +announced the name; and, while he closed the door that shut this madman +from his sight, he longed and yet dreaded to hear his Majesty's first +words. Should he—had he time to—rush forth and spread abroad the news +of Gregoriev's fall, before the broken man should issue from that +ominously quiet room? Fortunately for himself, the master of ceremonies +was hardly of an adventurous disposition. He cogitated the matter till +he felt it too late to perform the errand and get back in time to see +Gregoriev's expression as he emerged from the Presence. Nevertheless, +minute after minute went by, till an hour had passed: time for a +comprehensive reproof and dismissal, truly! But the feeble-minded one +was prepared for anything by the time the miracle happened. It was three +o'clock before he beheld, issuing from the audience-chamber, side by +side and chatting together in tones of intimacy, Michael Petrovitch +Gregoriev and Nicholas I., Emperor of Russia. Nor was that all. For it +was the face not of the official but of his Imperial Majesty, that wore +an expression of uneasiness, of disquietude, almost—of alarm.<a class="pagenum" name="page_37" id="page_37" title="37"></a></p> + +<p>Gregoriev left the Kremlin, by the Gate of the Saviour, on foot. He had +dismissed his sleigh upon his arrival. But, though the afternoon was yet +young, the light of the brief winter day was almost gone. Lights were +appearing in the shop-windows of the Tverskaia as Michael, muffled +comfortably in his sables, entered the celebrated street and walked +along it, leisurely, in a direction leading directly away from his +distant palace. He had no definite goal in mind. He was in the high +humor of immediate success. Many-colored Moscow lay all about him: his +city, wherein he was known to and feared by, nearly every man. Labyrinth +though it was, there was scarcely a corner, an alley, a court-yard in +that most jumbled of cities that he did not know. Moscow belonged to him +as London to Dickens, Paris to Balzac. And, like the great novelists, +his walks, always a delight, played also an important part in his +profession. It was, however, rare that he issued forth in his present +guise. The Iákiminskaia, for instance, saw him oftenest as a petty +merchant; the Piatnitskaia as a Jewish or Tátar trader; the Basmanaia as +a soldier, or petty officer off duty; other quarters as a member of a +workingman's artel, a university hanger-on, or a loafer, as the +neighborhood demanded. To-day, however, being himself, he directed his +steps towards the fashionable part of the town, passing from the +shopping district into the old Equerries' quarter lying behind, and west +of, the Kremlin hill. It was possible that he had some hazy idea of +startling his wife's family by an unwelcome visit; and from them gaining +the latest gossip concerning last night's ball. But the idea remained +nebulous. Nicholas had responded too readily to his touch, the few lines +of cipher on his map had proved too disturbing to the royal mind, for +the tormentor's pride not to have been restored by such evidence of his +power. He knew well that their recent talk, in which he had<a class="pagenum" name="page_38" id="page_38" title="38"></a> played his +difficult part with genius, had left his Majesty fearful, not of +revelations concerning mere peculations or juggled laws, but of +something touching his very seat upon the throne; a certain disclosure +that might bring up again that old, forgotten matter of his unnatural +accession to the throne in place of his elder brother Constantine. And +Michael had an unfounded belief that the Czar would, therefore, in some +unknown way, bring him, peaceably, the social power he now trebly +desired. Therefore it was not difficult to turn him from his half-formed +purpose.</p> + +<p>Leaving the great street for the comparatively quiet Nikolskaia, he +presently encountered one of the unofficial companions of his leisure +hours: a retired army officer, with a reputation at cards which few +gamblers cared to ignore. Colonel Lodoroff greeted the Prince with a +customary effusion, and found little difficulty in drawing him on to a +certain small club, maintained by twenty members, of which the very +existence was unknown to outsiders. Here, by day or by night, could be +found companions for any carousal, partners for any known game of skill +or chance; in short, that species of person which the ordinary club does +its best to exclude. The small building's exquisitely decorated rooms +were not, however, unfamiliar to the eyes of certain members of the +opposite sex, whose eligibility to admittance consisted only in certain +powers of attraction and entertainment.</p> + +<p>Within the discreet recesses of this nameless organization, Michael +Petrovitch spent two or three agreeable hours. And finally, at six +o'clock—more than an hour after despatching a short message to Piotr, +in Konnaia Square—Gregoriev, with Lodoroff, three other men, and +Mesdames Nathalie, Anna, and Celéstine, whose last names were as +changeable as their complexions, set off, in four public droschkies, for +the Gregoriev palace.<a class="pagenum" name="page_39" id="page_39" title="39"></a></p> + +<p>Piotr, on receipt of his master's note, carried it at once to his wife, +who was one of the half-dozen serfs educated through the influence of +Princess Sophia. And upon her explanation of its contents he rushed off +to set the kitchens in a hum of preparation. It was no novelty, this +order: a dinner for eight to be served at an hour's notice in his +excellency's dining-room, that the Princess need not be "disturbed." The +chef—a Frenchman, not a serf, chattered with excitement and displeasure +while he composed his hurried menu. Piotr and Sósha, the major-domo, set +to work together in the round dining-room in the Prince's wing, both of +them thinking drearily of the task that must be theirs in that same room +on the following morning. And all through the servants' quarters might +be heard, from time to time, a certain blasphemous little prayer, +uttered in the expressionless tone that bespoke long familiarity: "God +be merciful to us!"—the sign of the cross made in the air—"and cause +the devil soon to take unto himself his own!"</p> + +<p>But the lord of the underworld had evidently no present need of the soul +of the head of the Gregoriev house. It was a quarter before seven when +the Prince's special suite was invaded by the noisy party, already in +the first state of reckless exhilaration induced by an extravagant use +of golden fluid so dear to the Russian palate. Piotr, Sósha, and three +or four of the older serfs who were accustomed to these entertainments, +were in attendance, all of them drooping with the fatigue of the +previous day, but none of them pausing to marvel at the vitality of +their master. The table was satisfactorily decorated. The ladies were +pleased to praise their corsage bouquets of camellias so hurriedly +obtained; and all the party partook heartily of the <i>hors d'œuvres</i> +and liqueurs served on a side-table, according to the old Muscovite +custom. Gregoriev was the only one of them all who appeared to be quite +unaffected by what he had<a class="pagenum" name="page_40" id="page_40" title="40"></a> drunk. But he was, nevertheless, the evil +genius of the company, flattering the women, taunting the men, to +continually increasing libations.</p> + +<p>Meantime, on the second floor of the palace, not far away from that +dining-room beneath, a very different meal was in progress. Princess +Gregoriev, her sister, and Ivan, her boy, sat together at a small, round +table, waited on by women. Only one of the three made much pretence at +eating. Madame Gregoriev, red-eyed, but very calm, sat beside her +sister, whose face also bore traces of recent tears. Both of the ladies +continually pressed food upon the boy, who, as he ate with boyish +heartiness, talked to them with the pleasant and wonderful +unconsciousness of childhood. The difficult hour was nearly over before +sounds of the affair below first began to be audible to them. But at the +first, muffled scream of laughter, Madame Gregoriev started, violently, +all the color flying from her face, and a ghastly pallor taking its +place. The Countess Dravikine, after one instant of puzzled +consideration, leaned forward, and began a hastily animated conversation +with her nephew, upon all sorts of boyish affairs. Fortunately the +effort was needed only for a moment or two, for presently, Alexei, +Ivan's special serf, a combination of playfellow and valet, who had been +summoned by the tactful Másha appeared in the doorway, waiting an order +to remove his young master. It was time. Madame Dravikine's voice could +no longer override the noise from below. Moreover, Ivan had now ceased +to eat, and was sitting motionless, his mouth drawn into a pitiful line, +a spot of vivid red flaming from each pale cheek, his great eyes +wistfully, anxiously, seeking those of his mother, which as persistently +avoided them. Suddenly there came from below a piercing scream: a scream +holding in it a note at which Caroline, forgetting everything else, +sprang suddenly to her feet, crying:<a class="pagenum" name="page_41" id="page_41" title="41"></a></p> + +<p>"Sophia, the thing is unbearable! How can you possibly permit yourself +to endure it? For God's sake, pull yourself up, and leave this—"</p> + +<p>"Ivan! Alexei is waiting for you. Go at once!" broke in the Princess, +sharply, her eyes fixed upon her sister with a light of bitter reproof +in their weary depths. At the same time, she held out both hands to her +son.</p> + +<p>Without a word, the boy rose and went to his mother. A kiss passed +between them. Then he turned and walked straight to the door. He did not +once look back. But neither woman failed to perceive that his delicate +hands were clinched so tightly that the bloodless knuckles were tinged +with blue.</p> + +<p>When the door closed behind him, Sophia Ivanovna answered her sister's +unfinished question: "You think I should leave this house. Do you for an +instant imagine that he would permit his son to go with me? Am I then to +leave my child here—to <i>that</i>?"</p> + +<p>With a low exclamation, Caroline went forward and fell upon her knees +beside her sister, asking for pardon between her shaking sobs.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_42" id="page_42" title="42"></a> +<a name="THE_GREGORIEV_HEIR_1282" id="THE_GREGORIEV_HEIR_1282"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>THE GREGORIEV HEIR</h3> +</div> + +<p>The west wing of the palace in the Serpoukhovskaia sheltered two beings +whose outward and inner lives, though divergent in every detail, were +nevertheless bound fast together by the most powerful tie of nature and +of law. But it was at the other end of the huge building that there +dwelt the solitary offspring of this unnatural union, a boy now in the +eleventh year of childhood, companionless, physically inactive, mentally +over-quick, perceptive, and quaintly imaginative.</p> + +<p>Despite the fact that solitude was as much the keynote of his existence +as of that of his father and mother, many eyes were concentrated upon +the development, spiritual and mental, of Ivan Gregoriev. Upon him had +been fastened the hopes even of the Gregoriev serfs, who were as devoted +to him and to his mother as they were miserably afraid of their master. +An hour's observation was enough to make plain the fact that Ivan had in +him not one of his father's characteristics. For this reason he was said +to resemble his mother. But as a matter of fact this statement was +hardly more true than one of the paternal resemblance would have been. +The boy certainly worshipped his mother; who had been his one staff +during that fearful and lonely pilgrimage of his through dark caverns of +speculation concerning the mysteries of his own and his mother's +isolation: facts of which he had been cognizant at a startling age. From +the first, indeed, he had stood, as it were, apart:<a class="pagenum" name="page_43" id="page_43" title="43"></a> a silent, observant +young creature, not morbid nor markedly unnatural, yet holding within +himself possibilities not to be found in the usual hobbledehoy of his +age. And though it is probable that, in after years, he felt his +aloofness far more keenly than at the present period, it was in his +early boyhood that his sense of it was most apparent to others.</p> + +<p>That Ivan should, from the first, have been a lonely child, was +inevitable, considering his parentage. In the Russia of that day sons of +noble families were not often kept under tutors. They were more +frequently sent to select private schools, where they would meet only +their own class, till they were of age to enter one or another of the +"corps" or academies, started by Nicholas for the noble youths whom he +wished to officer his army and people the royal households. Young +Gregoriev, however, had, up to this time—the new year of 1852—worked, +studied and dreamed by himself under the direction, first of his mother, +recently of his tutor, Monsieur Ludmillo, the son of a Polish exile, +educated in France, and only permitted to re-enter Russia upon the death +of his father, in 1847. This man, a gentle, melancholy idealist, like so +many of his race, had early taken a sincere liking for his young pupil, +nor found, as the years passed, anything special to complain of in +Ivan's performance of his tasks or his obedience during their many hours +together. Of all, in short, who had to do with the young Prince, one +person only, and that his father, felt any displeasure with him. But +Prince Michael looked upon his son with a kind of bitter, resentful +scorn as a creature of his mother's type: weak in character, and holding +within him not one of those fierce and reckless traits which the +traditional Gregoriev proudly claimed for his own.</p> + +<p>From the time of his babyhood, Ivan had lived in the extreme eastern end +of the house—as far as possible<a class="pagenum" name="page_44" id="page_44" title="44"></a> from his father's rooms. In this +putting of him away even from her own proximity, Sophia had shown the +self-sacrifice of devotion. During many a night had the unhappy woman +lain thinking of her child, hungering for the pressure of his young head +upon her breast, his little body by her side, nay, the sound of his +sleeping breath in the same room with her. But she was determined to +keep him as unfamiliar as possible with the details of his father's +existence; and only in this way was it to be done. By day, however, she +lived in the room that was first nursery, later school and living room, +making herself the companion of her boy in his every occupation, +patiently, from day to day, searching his childish face for incipient +signs of unhappiness or melancholy. But it was not until she was too +familiar with his every expression that such signs began to appear; and +then, through very over-intimacy, she failed to perceive the marks of +those peculiar characteristics that had already begun to mould his +nature.</p> + +<p>At eleven, Ivan was tall and well grown, shapely of limb, delicate of +hand and foot, large-eyed, clear-skinned. In certain ways his face did +suggest the face of his mother. But the fine chiselling of her features +was augmented in the sensitiveness of his lip and nostril; and for the +rest, his eyes, that resembled soft, black pansies, and his jet-black, +stubborn hair, that grew like a thick, velvet cap above his smooth +forehead, were all his own. His hands, likewise, were such as had never +been seen upon a Blashkov. They were white and hard, but pliable as +rubber, their fingers extraordinarily long. In fact, they were hands for +which any musician, teacher or virtuoso, would, had such commodities +been marketable, have bought at any price. And this fact had early been +recognized by Ivan's tutor, and by him eagerly seized upon and used.</p> + +<p>Monsieur Ludmillo was hardly the typical lazy, effeminate,<a class="pagenum" name="page_45" id="page_45" title="45"></a> creature +whose only interests in life were holidays and the society of such +ladies as would receive him. On the contrary he was conscientious, +retiring to a point of absolute self-effacement, and able to forget +himself only in his one great passion: music. He was a Pole of the +Chopinesque type: and it was in spite of himself that he gave his pupil, +besides the regular studies, a very thorough grounding in the classical +masters, taught him something of the spirit of Schumann and Schubert, +and even permitted in Ivan's repertoire such bits of Glinka and Sérov as +were to be managed by the boyish hands. Happily, Ludmillo had not lived +enough in the fashionable world for him to endure the vapid floridities +of the late Italian school; but there rose in him a secret delight when +he heard his charge, left to himself, return again and again to the wild +and haunting melodies of little Russia, Lithuania, and, above and beyond +all, of rebellious, crushed, poetic Poland.</p> + +<p>The instrument on which Ivan gained his first understanding of the art +that he was to make his own, was one that had come into the palace upon +the marriage of his mother. In the days before the complete stifling of +her talents, Sophia had been wont often to dissipate the misery of her +earlier disillusions in music. But there arrived a time when grief +became too deep for such sentimental balm; and then the piano's painted +cover had been closed, as she believed, for good, and the instrument, at +her orders, carried away to the unused room where, years afterwards, +Ludmillo discovered it and put it into some sort of order. Madame +Gregoriev's assent to his timid request to have it moved to Ivan's rooms +had been indifferently granted. But later, when, in the candle-lit dusk, +Ivan and his tutor drew instinctively together before the instrument, +they were more and more often joined by another figure, silently +stealing, who would listen to the half-forgotten melodies of other<a class="pagenum" name="page_46" id="page_46" title="46"></a> +years that were, for her, ghost-haunted, till further endurance became +impossible, and she would leave the twain again, and, through the lonely +night, weep away some of the still-rankling bitterness, the incurable +smart, of her many wounds. Later, however, came days when the memories +held less of sadness, and, in those rich, slow harmonies, she began to +discern vague thoughts, faintest hopes that, somewhere, perhaps deep in +the fire-heart of God, she should learn His excuse for suffering: be +taught the wherefore of the present: receive that compensation that must +exist, to balance the account held for her by eternity. In time she came +even to think a little of the music-maker: that silent man to whom her +own existence seemed a thing peaceful and fine in its absolute security +from any form of want. She realized, through him, those other thousands +in the world who had lived through lifetimes of conscious insignificance +and unattainable desire, nor thought these serious evils. In short she +was given a horizon whereon she began to see things properly +proportioned. And there, at last, she beheld also her son, and all the +possibilities in the future of those for whom the road of life lies all +ahead. But even she, who knew him best of all, knew little of Ivan's +inner self. She never surmised his strange consciousness of the mighty +void within his soul: the aching gap that his life could never fill: the +unspoken question that waited in him, fulminating, till he should at +last demand his answer from the most high God.</p> + +<p>In the face of such things it is difficult to reiterate the denial that +Ivan was a morbid boy. True, he bore an inheritance from his mother. The +life she had led before his birth had certainly left its mark upon him. +But that instinctive sadness had in her been tinged with an inner joy: +the joy of eager motherhood. And in Ivan this joy found its repetition +in a vein of practical gayety.<a class="pagenum" name="page_47" id="page_47" title="47"></a> There were days when his mischief was as +diabolical as one could wish it: when Ludmillo, tormented, was still +brought to laugh at his piquant, irresistible nonsense. Nor was the boy +without other traits of his sex and age. There were weeks when he was +full of the wildest plans for his future career; being all for the joys +of the physical, beside which mental labor was to play a most +unimportant rôle. He would be an explorer. Siberia, North America, +Central Africa, were to open before his determined efforts. Or the +Celestial Empire might be penetrated to its innermost recesses by him in +his undetectable disguise; and he was to come home by the caravan route +laden with costliest treasures. Again it was all his wish to be another +Nimrod: Indian tigers, American buffaloes, African elephants were to go +down in thousands before his imaginary gun. While once more (this when +his every spare moment was divided between <i>Peter the Great</i> and the +<i>Arabian Nights</i>), he saw himself, at the head of a Cossack army, +storming Constantinople and carrying away the most beautiful Princess +ever enslaved in royal harem. And while the boy silently performed these +great deeds, he was also engaged upon a few simpler, but more salutary +physical feats in a neighboring gymnasium, whence he emerged with +muscles fairly well-developed, and a hand and eye unusually quick at the +foils.</p> + +<p>His days were kept wisely full. At that time it was the custom to cram +children rather unmercifully. But Sophia and Ludmillo together made +saner disposal of Ivan's hours. He was made to know thoroughly what he +knew. And it was their great effort to keep him busy enough to prevent a +real appreciation of his isolated life. Their plans were made skilfully +and carried out to the letter. Wherefore the fact that their end was not +actually accomplished, could be charged only to the merciless quickness +of the boy's own apperceptions.<a class="pagenum" name="page_48" id="page_48" title="48"></a></p> + +<p>How early it was that he learned the difference between himself and +others, it would be nearly impossible to say. His mother, indeed, was +probably spared the discovery of his knowledge. For he was reserved +beyond his years, and a violent secret pride was his one unsuspected +Gregoriev trait. However it happened, Ivan learned, as a very little +boy, that only in his life was no provision ever made for visits to and +from others of his kind. He knew that he had been left out of the lives +of his class: that the young Mirskies, Blashkovs, Kropotkins, Osínin, +visiting almost daily among themselves, never came to, never asked for, +him. He even divined the one or two half-hearted attempts on his +mother's part to obtain for him at least the occasional companionship of +her own nephews and second-cousins. But what it was that hurt him so +unconscionably about this knowledge he did not realize until after he +had come into manhood. It was doubtful if even his mother, suffering for +him, had a greater sense of unhappiness than he, in his blind sense of +injustice somewhere. For to Sophia, ostracism had long since become a +kind of second nature. But for her son it still had all the misery of +perennial newness.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, despite the deadening of time, the mother-yearning over +her child's loneliness never wholly left the poor Princess. In the case +of the ball, for instance, if her labor for its success, if the care +spent on its details, the summoning of Caroline from Petersburg, the +unwonted extravagance of her Paris costume, had one and all been +suggested by her husband, they had been carried out by her not for his +sake nor for her own; but for the sake of all that it might afterwards +accomplish for Ivan. Once she and Prince Michael were actually accepted, +their son must naturally find his new place. Thus, for weeks before the +event, she had seen Ivan, in her dreams, taking his place among as yet +unknown<a class="pagenum" name="page_49" id="page_49" title="49"></a> companions: outstripping all rivals in brilliance and in +popularity. And after the ball, though some of her dreary disappointment +had, unquestionably, been for herself, the better part of it, also, had +been for the child whose protector she had always been. It was almost a +pity that she was so careful never to drag him into the shadows of her +life. Had he once surmised them, the two, mother and son, might have +found a companionship in sorrow that would mean more to them both than +all their separate, painful pretence of happiness—or contentment.</p> + +<p>Everything considered, Ivan saw much of his mother; and next to nothing +of his father. And because of the apparent mystery with which the Prince +was surrounded before his son: his mother's reluctance in speaking of +him, the serfs' sign for avoidance of the evil-eye when the master was +mentioned, even Monsieur Ludmillo's careful reticence on the subject, +Michael came, by degrees, to play a foremost part in his son's +imaginings: a part at once heroic and terrible. Ivan knew very well that +his father was not a good man: that he frequently did hateful things +that seriously hurt his mother. Nevertheless, there was a strong +fascination about such a personality. Gigantic, fierce, wild, darkly +omniscient, mysteriously terrible, he stalked in a mental lime-light +through Ivan's dreams. His existence, in the boyish imagination, was +more adventurous than that of any hero of Scheherazade. And perhaps the +greatest charm of all was the fact that, in all seriousness, Ivan +believed his father actually capable of most of the deeds he arranged in +his thoughts.</p> + +<p>The boy had been told of his father's importance to the Government; his +power in Moscow. But this was a matter to be so much taken for granted +that it brought little additional pride. Ivan's imaginary father had +long been invested with greater honors than these. He would much have +preferred a satisfactory explanation<a class="pagenum" name="page_50" id="page_50" title="50"></a> of the one point which troubled +him mightily: which had filled many of his nights with unsuspected +grief, and disturbed his day-dreams while he puzzled, anxiously, over +known facts that had become too inconsistent with his beliefs for +comfort. That scene enacted in his mother's rooms, at supper, on the +evening after the ill-starred ball, when, at his mother's bidding, he +had left her, knowing that she wished to keep him from questions that +must not be asked, was neither the first such affair that he had seen, +nor yet the tenth. He had left the room with hands clinched and his +heart burning with anger: anger against—whom? what? The person who +brought the look he could not bear into his mother's eyes; the thing +that reopened those never-healed wounds he knew she bore within her. And +these wounds?—the suffering in her look?—Well, he knew, well enough, +of course, that they had all been made by his father! But the father of +such deeds was not the embodiment of romance that he had created out of +the stuff of dreams! There was, then, another; a reality: terrible, +perhaps, but also despicable, and full of things so mean, so low, that +he was hardly even to be hated? Already he could feel that hate was a +strong passion, not unflattering to its object. But—a man who +ill-treated women:—Incredible!</p> + +<p>This was Ivan's immediate tangle. And, mercifully, tangle it remained +for many years. Only by degrees so gradual that they hardly hurt, did he +begin at last to draw away from the ideal, and accept, with whatever +reluctance, the real. At the very end, the struggle may have been sharp. +But this was simply because the idealized being himself seized and tore +away his last shred of illusion, and stood, bare-souled, before the son +who could only sit and gaze in horrified, horrible judgment.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It happened in this wise.</p> + +<p>Through the years of his son's infancy and boyhood<a class="pagenum" name="page_51" id="page_51" title="51"></a> Michael Gregoriev, +disregarding all thought of his child, saw practically nothing of the +boy. He had, in his heart, some faint satisfaction concerning Ivan's +sex, mingled with a fancy, gained after one accidental interview, that +nevertheless, considering his tastes and traits, Sophia's child should +have been a girl. Later, as Ivan began to emerge a little from utter +childishness, his father had resorted occasionally to his school-room to +search the little dweller there for certain longed-for signs of +temperament. Not finding them, he once more put his son away, this time +furiously raging that he should have been given a Blashkov heir. +Nevertheless, because Ivan was his all, and because the Prince, to his +own discomfiture, found himself constantly building careers for a +successor, there came again a day when his wild heart turned one last +time towards the boy, and, calculating his age, he was astonished to +find that his son had passed the first year of his teens.</p> + +<p>That summer—the summer of 1854—Madame Gregoriev, Ivan, and Ludmillo +had spent at the Princess' favorite country-place, the tiny estate of +Maidonovo, near Klin. Here, in the spot where she had fewest memories of +the man whose name she bore, Sophia found that she could, for a few +weeks, rally from the weakness, the premonitory pain and its +accompanying dread which had lately found definite place in her life. +Here the summer skies were of Italian blue; the bells rang through air +liquidly golden, perfumed, rich with the murmur of insect life. And here +the three, mother, son, and their quiet companion, walked the +country-side, watching, first, the hurried sowing, fostering and reaping +of the brief-seasoned crops, and then the mad Russian festivals which +terminate the frightful summer labor. This year marked itself especially +in Ivan's mind; because it was the first in which he began to be haunted +by unremembered harmonies and melodies that throbbed again and<a class="pagenum" name="page_52" id="page_52" title="52"></a> again +across his brain till he would rush, in a frenzy, to the piano, and play +them swiftly away as one ridding himself of a torment. And it was at +this time rather a misery to him than a delight that, within a few +hours, they were always back again, driving him to continued pondering +over strange mysteries of tone.</p> + +<p>It was the end of September before the little party returned to Moscow, +driven thither by premonitions of swift-approaching winter. A fortnight +more, and, on the seventh of the month, Ivan would enter his fifteenth +year. But it was three days before his birthday when the incident +occurred which prepared him for its unusual celebration. For while, at +dusk on the evening of the fourth day of the month, Ivan sat alone in +his music-room, he was approached by Piotr and silently conducted across +the building and into the presence of his father.</p> + +<p>Michael received his son in his public office: a room which, to the boy, +appeared a fitting frame for the figure of the Prince, magnificent in +gold-embroidered uniform; booted, spurred, fiery-eyed and +fierce-mustached, but for all that showing a softened light in his face +as he perceived his son.</p> + +<p>Piotr was promptly dismissed, and Ivan seated at the huge table whence +he could gaze at the burly figure opposite him as long as his eyes had +courage to look up. Nevertheless the pause was uncomfortable enough; and +the boy was glad when the silence ended.</p> + +<p>"Ivan! you're now at the age at which I entered my first battle—as +drummer-boy—and had—Hm! my first love-affair. Are you in love?"</p> + +<p>Ivan's velvet eyes lifted themselves slowly to the glittering orbs set +in the dark face. No word passed the young lips, but Michael read, +plainly enough, the wondering displeasure in the boyish face. Slightly +amused, he went on, relentlessly:<a class="pagenum" name="page_53" id="page_53" title="53"></a></p> + +<p>"This week, you're fourteen: a man, in short. Now, what have you done +that men can do?"</p> + +<p>A fiery reply flew suddenly to the boy's lips; but there it stuck. He +could not speak to this man of his mother. Again he chose silence for +his answer.</p> + +<p>"Nothing? You don't speak? Bah!" Michael brought his fist down upon the +table, till everything in the room danced. "Bah! It's a girl I've got! A +ninny. A milk-sop.—I thought so! Your lips—your cheeks—<i>you</i>—a +Gregoriev!" But the glittering eyes, striving to fathom those others, +were caught in a sudden quiet depth, wavered for an instant, and—were +lowered! Then Michael sat in a frown, elbows on the table, his chin on +his hand, thinking. Ivan, meantime, this little feat accomplished, sat +waiting, uneasily, for a decision or—a dismissal. He waited for some +time; but the end was worth it—perhaps. When his father spoke again, +his tone was serious:</p> + +<p>"Well, I shall try you, after all. Here, on Thursday—your birthday, +mind! you shall meet life. I'll give you a supper, an early one, at ten +o'clock. Tell your mother about that from me. But Piotr will come to +dress you. I'll have no baby about. He'll bring the suit I command you +to wear; and—we'll see.</p> + +<p>"Tell your mother, Ivan, that at last—on the seventh of this month, her +rule ends. The last Gregoriev becomes a man—or else—he leaves the +Gregoriev house! Do you hear? Prepare yourself, then, and—go!"</p> + +<p>So, without another look, Michael caught his cloak and cap up from a +chair and strode from the room, leaving his son behind him. Presently, +however, Piotr came to lead away the dazed and bewildered boy.</p> + +<p>Once more in his own room Ivan sat down, in a corner, to think. In the +beginning, he could only go over and over the recent scene. Considering +it, it seemed almost like some vivid dream, so unnatural had been<a class="pagenum" name="page_54" id="page_54" title="54"></a> his +father's conduct and manner of speech. And himself! How preposterously +he had behaved! Not a word, not a single sign of response or +comprehension could he remember having given. Certainly his father might +very well think him a—"milk-sop," was it, he had said?</p> + +<p>For a day or two Ivan lived, in secret, through that scene. And after +forty-eight hours it dawned upon him that he was beginning to live in an +ever-increasing dread of that approaching supper-party, "at which he was +to become a Gregoriev!" Those over-sensitive, over-perceptive young +nerves of Ivan's had divined more of his father's mind than Michael +believed. And now a sure and certain instinct was warning the boy of +danger. Nevertheless—disobey the Prince's command? Ivan shivered. Not +appear, on his birthday evening, before the guests that would be—his? +Impossible! Well, something he had yet to do. There remained one command +of his father's which, up to this moment, he had felt reluctant to +follow. This was the message to his mother. Should he take it to her +now; or should he not?</p> + +<p>Ivan had reached this point in his reverie of the late afternoon of +Tuesday, when the Princess came quietly into the room where he sat. With +an exclamation, he rose, and went to her; and presently they were seated +side by side upon a long divan, Ivan's warm young hand clasped tightly +in two that were dry and burning. The boy, relieved, gave a long, quiet +sigh; but it was Sophia who began to speak.</p> + +<p>"Ivan, yesterday you saw your father?"</p> + +<p>"Ah! You <i>know</i>, then, mother?"</p> + +<p>"Know—what, my son?"</p> + +<p>"What—what he said? About my saint's-day supper? Mother, I was to tell +you. He said, tell you that, on the seventh—that's the day—your rule +is over, and<a class="pagenum" name="page_55" id="page_55" title="55"></a> I become a Gregoriev. But, oh mother, it's not so, you +know!"</p> + +<p>This last Ivan added with eager haste; for Sophia had given a low cry, +and her hands so tightened upon his that the grip hurt, rather. But +after he had spoken she waited a little, her head bent so that he could +not see her face in the twilight. When at last she lifted it to him it +was very white; but the lips did not tremble, the voice was steady. "He +is to give you a supper on this night? He told you so? Spoke about your +manhood—at fourteen?" she added, in a whisper, to herself.</p> + +<p>"So he said, Madame. And I did not like it. My father is a very strange +man."</p> + +<p>"Then, you do not <i>want</i> this supper?" her gaze at him was intense, but +the dignity had fully returned to it.</p> + +<p>To her secret consternation, however, Ivan hesitated. +"I—no—yes—Mother, ought I not to want it?"</p> + +<p>For some seconds Sophia stared at him, trying to fathom the exact +purport of his question. Then her whole aspect changed. She took his two +hands and drew them to her breast, and kissed and bowed her head upon +them; and presently, though Ivan was clinging to her and demanding +explanation, she rose, hastily, and left the room.</p> + +<p>Her going was impulsive. That which prompted it had come to her in a +sudden flash. Into Ivan's wistful question she had discerned some sense +of loyalty towards the other parent; and, in that instant, she was +ashamed. After all, he was Michael's own son. Must she, then, be sure +that he sought to do the boy harm? Nay, for once in her life she should +be brave again. First of all, she must try, as never before, to trust +the father of her son. Secondly, she must also trust that son. If Ivan +found himself, at the promised supper, in moral danger, he would +instinctively know it. Then, if he made no effort to escape, of what use +protection, or love, or fear,<a class="pagenum" name="page_56" id="page_56" title="56"></a> on her part, forevermore? No feminine +force could keep him from going, eventually, down the Gregoriev road.</p> + +<p>With such reasoning did the woman try to control the secret, rising +terror that was on her. It would not be wholly downed; yet she succeeded +in keeping her own counsel during the next two days, and in that won a +victory greater than she knew. For the Princess never guessed that +during this time Michael waited in hourly, ironic expectation of some +sort of protest on her part. And neither master nor mistress suspected +that, on Wednesday evening, the serfs, kept informed by Piotr, Alexei, +and Másha of a little more than all, held solemn conclave in their own +house at the back of the inner court-yard. There Michael their lord was +duly cursed, their lady in the same way pitied; and, above all, they +discussed the possibility of giving the young master some sort of +protection at that impending festivity. The matter of open protest to +Prince Michael was actually brought up. For, alas! these simple folk +knew more than their lady of the usual details of their master's orgies; +and the thought of Ivan's participation in the simplest of them was as +horrifying to these slaves as to the gentle lady they served. But the +bold proposition came at last to nothing. For which of these lame dogs +was to beard the lion in his lair?</p> + +<p>Wednesday and most of Thursday passed, for mother and son, in a +fluctuating succession of every mood known to their respective natures. +Finally, on the afternoon of his birthday, Ivan, furious at the +indignity, was forced into an hour or two of preparatory rest. But so +restless had been his recent nights that his very protests drifted +presently into sound unconsciousness, and he only awoke at candle-light, +to find Piotr bending over him, and his promised suit, gorgeous even +beyond expectation, lying at hand. And here Michael showed a<a class="pagenum" name="page_57" id="page_57" title="57"></a> touch of +his wonderful knowledge of human weakness; for that suit played havoc +with Ivan. There was courage to be found in the crimson cloth, interest +in the gold embroidery, ardent curiosity in the gleaming boots, an +almost swagger in the empty sword-belt. Truly, his Highness had +calculated well. By the appointed hour, Ivan was aflame. Once dressed, +he relinquished the idea of going to his mother for a parting kiss. He +felt, instead, that his "manhood" had already come upon him, and that +kisses were for children. Still, it was a relief to find that, had he +wished it, his half-promised visit would not have been feasible; for, +ere the last buckle was fastened, Sósha had come to escort his young +Prince, with due ceremony, in his first descent into the traditional +hell of his fathers.</p> + +<p>Ivan was too little of his own blood, a youth too habitually and +instinctively pure-minded, to comprehend, in the first glance, that +supper scene, and gain therefrom life-long disillusionment. For him, +even after he had left it, there remained in some sort a glamour over it +all—the softening veil of lights and laughter, the gleam of plate and +the perfume of flowers, which successfully hid the blackest ugliness. +The first fresh frost was still upon his glass; and through it the +golden wine was beautiful as it could not be for those about him, who +saw, as it were, through tepid crystal, a flat and nauseous vintage +hardly to be borne even for the faint quickening of the blood still to +be obtained from it. But with Ivan it was as his mother had hoped. She +still sheathed him as in a coat of mail; yet that night the sword of +disaster glanced off it as by a miracle only.</p> + +<p>Was this man indeed a father who could find place for his boy at such a +table, beside the woman who awaited him? who could command the boy in +one breath to drain his glass, and Piotr in the next to refill it?<a class="pagenum" name="page_58" id="page_58" title="58"></a></p> + +<p>Within twenty minutes Ivan's head was light with the delicious poison of +that exquisite wine. So transparently white grew his skin, so huge and +velvety his black eyes, so serious his finely chiselled mouth, that even +Celestine and Cerisette began to feel, somewhere beneath that hardened +outer shell of "temperament," a disregarded organ filled with a +long-forgotten, aching sensation that was not to be encouraged. +Regarding the quiet boy whose gold embroidery glittered so bravely in +the light, they grew painfully silent; and in that silence secretly +reproached the man who put them to such abominable usage. Indeed, +Gregoriev himself, always quick to take the temperature of a company, +was presently amazed at the tone beginning to prevail over this one. The +screaming laughter had been modified; the unquestionable conversations +stilled. But the wine, for these very reasons, was flowing faster, as +each member of that company sought to deaden those strangely roused +sensations which most of them had believed forever dead for them. +Gregoriev perceived how many eyes remained fixed reflectively on the +white face of the young Prince, in whose eyes was beginning to dawn a +look of comprehension. And they saw with fear the gleam of mockery that +was glowing in Michael's orbs. The host, indeed, had planned, but found +no time in which to execute, a new and daring <i>coup</i>, before his son had +sprung to his feet, lifted his brimming glass in a hand grown tremulous, +and dashed it violently at the nearest wall, where it shivered into +splinters, its contents falling, in one heavy, golden mass, upon the +rug. Then, mouth set, head erect, he turned from the company and walked +steadily out of the room. But, the door once closed behind him, once out +of range of his father's mocking eyes, he began to run, madly, through +the narrow corridor, into the central hall and up the staircase, whence +he presently precipitated himself into<a class="pagenum" name="page_59" id="page_59" title="59"></a> the bedroom of his mother, who +was sitting in a lounging-chair before a blazing fire.</p> + +<p>At the unexpected appearance, Sophia rose with a cry. Only the angels +could have read all the anguish which that utterance bore from her—all +the pent-up misery of a woman tortured during the last hours beyond +every power of endurance. High God had heard her at last. Her son had +returned to her, unconstrained, of his own will, up from that depth, +from that nether hell, to the sounds of which she had been listening for +a long hour. But now her boy was clasped within her arms, his suddenly +burning cheek pressed to hers, his wine-tainted breath, mingling with +her half-restrained sobs as she cried over him only half coherently:</p> + +<p>"Ivan—little one—son of my heart—you came back to me!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, little mother! Little mother! Keep me safe—from <i>him</i>!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_60" id="page_60" title="60"></a> +<a name="THE_CORPS_OF_CADETS_1825" id="THE_CORPS_OF_CADETS_1825"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>THE CORPS OF CADETS</h3> +</div> + +<p>In the old, feudal days of quick-spilled blood and easy death, there was +a certain fateful, epoch-making cry which had power to carry dread or +terror through the high ranks of the official world, while it brought to +others exultant hopes of desires and ambitions at last to be fulfilled. +It was a cry of life and of death, of the ending of one rule, the +beginning of another, consisting of two phrases from which nations took +their being; which were cried aloud by men in robes of mingled black and +white and punctuated by the breaking of a black, the flourishing of a +white, wand. It is the cry with which history ends and begins: "Le Roi +est mort! Vive le Roi!"</p> + +<p>Now Russia, in the middle of the nineteenth century, was almost Europe +in the sixteenth. It was on February 18, 1855, that the reign of the +Iron Czar actually came to an end. But the news of his death was made +public in Moscow only two days later. For forty-eight hours the sudden +closing of that rule, which had been as sombre, as turbulent, as +tyrannical as that of any Borgia or Medici, was concealed from the +nation. But the morning of the twenty-first found the petty-official +world, risen early from sleepless unrest, pushing aside its early tea to +re-read the unexpected bulletin from the Hermitage.</p> + +<p>High and low, from the Minister of the Interior to the humblest customs +inspector, waited, trembling, for the readjustment. But Michael +Petrovitch Gregoriev, who, it might have been thought, had good cause +for apprehension,<a class="pagenum" name="page_61" id="page_61" title="61"></a> came down from his bedroom at the usual hour, shut +himself into his sanctum, sat down to stare thoughtfully at a certain +portion of his hieroglyphic map, and then, with a deep, relieving sigh, +fared vigorously forth to the day's officialdom.</p> + +<p>And it soon appeared that Monsieur Gregoriev's confidence was justified. +More yet, special favor was shown him. He passed his summer in a long +and important journey through Southern Russia, travelling especially +through battle-scarred Crimea, and, returning with his report to Moscow, +found awaiting him that for which he had vainly intrigued for years. +Thus his wife was hastily summoned from her retirement at Baden-Baden, +where she had been joyously living with Ivan and her sister; and she +returned, drearily, to Moscow, to receive a blow she had never thought +to dread.</p> + +<p>It was again the evening of October seventh when Ivan, called from the +quiet festivity he was enjoying with his mother and Ludmillo, followed +Piotr unwillingly into the presence of his father, who awaited him in +his official room. Left alone at the closed door, Ivan entered, slowly, +and was motioned to a seat opposite his father at the paper-piled table.</p> + +<p>For a moment or two Michael regarded him thoughtfully. Then all at once +he cried out: "<i>You</i> my son! God! What a baby it is!"</p> + +<p>Ivan's face flamed and his lips twitched; but, in the end, he held his +tongue. After all, did it matter what this man said?</p> + +<p>Michael, watching him, and in some measure reading his thought, let his +face soften again. "Well, it may be better that way. Listen, +Mikhailovitch! I have done for you what has been done for no Gregoriev +before. You are to be pushed up the ladder. You're to be deostracized. +In the end, you'll find that Petersburg will receive you. They must; for +at last I've obtained your<a class="pagenum" name="page_62" id="page_62" title="62"></a> commission in the Cadet Corps: something +that none of our race has ever had. I tried, of course, for the Pages, +but that they wouldn't give. Nevertheless, you'll come out an ensign of +the line, and I can buy your lieutenancy in a guard regiment within the +month. You understand?"</p> + +<p>Michael paused, and fixed his keen eyes on the boy who was now on his +feet, motionless, his brows knitted. He was a little bewildered by the +unexpectedness of the thing. Yet he did understand—tumultuously, what +that great news meant.</p> + +<p>"When do I leave here?" he asked, presently, in a voice that was strange +to him.</p> + +<p>"In one week—to the day. There are preparations to be made. You go like +the Prince you are. Christ! If <i>I</i> had had the chance!"</p> + +<p>This last, muttered exclamation, Ivan scarcely heard. He was still +staring down at the table, trying to readjust himself, to resolve his +thoughts into either joy, or—more difficult—regret. The silence seemed +longer than it was. Then Ivan looked up, silently asking permission to +go. But he found his father's unholy eyes fixed on him, and +instinctively he shrank backward, trying to cover his naked soul from +that piercing vision.</p> + +<p>"Wait! I've not finished yet. I want you to see just what I'm giving +you. I want you to understand the start you're getting. Do you realize +that, unless you make an unholy fool of yourself, within four years all +Petersburg will be open to you? At twenty you will penetrate to those +places to which I—<i>I</i>, with all the—experience, and the intimate +knowledge I've got, shall never be admitted. I can buy commissions for +you in any regiment. But in the end I don't intend you for the army. Oh, +if I could have started you in the Pages Corps! Still, your advance is +certain. And this is my first, middle, and last advice to you: walk +instantly to<a class="pagenum" name="page_63" id="page_63" title="63"></a> the very centre of the first high intrigue that presents +itself—everywhere. You'll find them even at the Corps—in your first +year. For in Russia, Ivan, a full comprehension of that great game means +power. Understand, the utterance of such a sentiment would mean Siberia. +But this young Alexander is simply a puppy. He's to be influenced by a +footman—by a serf! See that you reach him, then. Study him: learn him: +absorb him. Then find your own methods and stick to them; stopping at +absolutely nothing they may carry you to. It's the stopping, sooner or +later, that is the universal mistake: the mistake I've never made—else +I should have been in the gutter yet. You begin, Ivan, where I end. I +see no limit for you. Petersburg will hold more than one empty +portfolio. But you must not look below the highest. Take the Interior +for yourself. To-night, Ivan, I, your father, make you Premier of +Russia. Am I so careless of my son?"</p> + +<p>Once more Michael's gloomy, flashing eyes were fastened upon Ivan's +uplifted face; nor was he wholly dissatisfied at the unquestionable +interest he perceived in the boy's expression. Ivan, indeed, felt +petrified at the vista opened up before him. It seemed as if his +father's words were burning themselves into his brain. And yet, even as +he waited, quietly, for the dismissal that soon came, these ambitions of +his father's for him were succeeded by something all his own: a thing as +yet only half understood, and held secret in his heart out of dread of +hearing it mocked or of finding it something common to all men. While, +then, the words "Premier of Russia" still echoed through his head, there +rose upon his inner ear a sudden note of melody, vagrant, sweet and +melancholy as the songs of the Steppes. Known song it was not, however; +but something unique, as were all the airs that came to him unbidden. +Under its influence it was natural that his face should change, and<a class="pagenum" name="page_64" id="page_64" title="64"></a> +soften. But Michael, imagining that rapt expression to be the result of +his own words, was well satisfied; and he sent the boy from him so +preoccupied with his uncomprehended gift, that the immediate prospect of +the new life faded, for the moment, into the dim land of the unimportant +Real.</p> + +<p>This brief ecstasy of unsought happiness could not last, however. During +the ensuing days Ivan was obliged to banish dreams, and yield himself to +preparations for that change which, though it should have brought +something of eager anticipation to his boy's mind, was really invested +with an unreasonable dread: dread rooted no less in a presentiment of +his own than in the expression of his mother's face, the morning redness +of her eyes, the uncontrollable quiver of her lip. Sophia, indeed, had +received a blow that she was not to recover from. But the full misery of +her immediate future she could, fortunately, not as yet surmise.</p> + +<p>The farewell between Ivan and his quiet tutor was somewhat pathetic. The +prospects of the Pole were, in their way, far drearier than those of his +pupil. He was an intensely shy man; and yet the thought of leaving the +home which had come so perfectly to suit his sensitive temperament, was +to him more calamitous than the prospect of finding and fitting himself +into another place. On the last morning, master and pupil spoke but +little. Ivan sat drearily strumming out one of the nocturnes of that +young countryman of Ludmillo's, lately dead but already hailed immortal +by a select few, Monsieur Chopin; and the heart-break in its strange +harmonies seemed to express all that neither of them dared attempt to +say. Fortunately, the strain did not last long. It was barely ten +o'clock when Casimir, having imprinted a kiss upon the hand of his +Princess, and actually left another on Ivan's scarlet cheek, was driven, +with his modest box, away from the familiar portal<a class="pagenum" name="page_65" id="page_65" title="65"></a> into the unfriendly +realms beyond. With him slipped away the first large piece of Ivan's +child-world. And the rest of it was not to be long in following.</p> + +<p>Of the final clinging of Sophia to her child, the child of her +martyrdom, the man-child who must be relinquished now to the world that +called to him, who shall write? Torn mother-love stares not out from +paper pages, in the cold black and white of print. Poor Princess! She +was strong in neither mind nor body. Trained to a fashionable young +ladyhood of delicacy, vapors and graceful fainting-fits, there had been +little in her married life to build up fortitude and the courage to +endure unwelcome griefs. From day to day her little store of bravery had +been drawn upon, extravagantly. For in Sophia, fear bred no angry pride, +but rather a flat despair. And it had come to a point at last where even +the hauteur of her class would no longer suffice to cover the +humiliations of her daily life. Now that the final climax had come, it +found her quite denuded of all force, all strength, all hope. Her one +<i>raison d'être</i> was to be removed, her single prop drawn from her. +Therefore she fell, quietly, with scarcely a word of protest, only an +instant of tottering. This the metaphor. To speak plainly, so complete +was her desolation that, outwardly, she betrayed nothing. Ivan was drawn +to wonder at it; but he left her, perhaps, with the less anxiety, being +too inexperienced in the ways of grief to worry as a woman might have +done over this attitude towards their parting. Nevertheless, the memory +of their last evening together lay graven so ineffaceably upon Ivan's +heart, that he recalled it clearly, in its every incident, during the +last hour of his life.</p> + +<p>It was a Sunday—the evening of the day of Ludmillo's departure. Ivan +had been summoned to his mother's room, where he found her sitting, +rather wearily, he thought, before a table on which steamed a brightly<a class="pagenum" name="page_66" id="page_66" title="66"></a> +polished samovar, surrounded by the dishes of a tempting meal, devised +by Másha to suit the respective tastes of her lady and the young Prince. +Darkness had fallen an hour before, and the room, with its quaint old +furniture, tapestry-hung walls, and old oaken floor strewn with Bokhara +rugs, was lighted by three swinging-lamps that cast red reflections upon +the polished wood of wainscot and floor. Mother and son sat side by side +at the table, and, while they ate, made little attempt at conversation. +Instinctively, each was waiting for the other to speak.</p> + +<p>But the inevitable talk, at thought of which Sophia's heart fluttered +till her breath was all but gone, was not allowed a natural beginning. +After a time there came from below the first of a crescendo of +sounds—that noise of muffled voices, long since familiar to the room. +As the sound increased, and the laughter began to be punctuated by +clangs of shivering glass, the woman and the boy drew closer together, +and began a hasty conversation, each trying to draw the attention of the +other away from that which occupied them both irresistibly. It was long +before there arrived any diminution in the unholy racket. But at last, +by some fortunate caprice, the party evidently decided to leave the +house for some place of public amusement; so that, at last, the great +palace was wrapped in its wonted, daytime stillness. And in the first +minutes of this, Ivan, as if he read his mother's thoughts, grew silent, +and turned to her expectantly.</p> + +<p>His hope was fulfilled. That night, acting impulsively upon a +half-considered plan, Sophia, for the first and last time in her life, +laid bare her heart before her son. The boy listened in a silence that +grew by degrees from reverent interest to pity, from pity to horror, +from horror to absolute fury, till, thinking of the Gregoriev blood that +ran in his veins, he longed to tear from his<a class="pagenum" name="page_67" id="page_67" title="67"></a> breast the heart which had +been made to beat by the man below—that father whom he now saw in the +full light of truth. It was in that hour that Ivan put away from him +forever all childish things. His mother's story, so direfully heightened +by reason of all which she left to the intuition and imagination of her +listener, suddenly brought him to an understanding of true womanhood +that is the portion of very few experienced men. It seemed as if his +existence had been enveloped in all that was foul, and wicked, and +heart-breakingly pathetic in the world. And afterwards he realized that +in that evening was sown in him a seed which was to bear bitter fruit: +the seed of the Russian Tosca, that <i>Herzeleide</i>, which has stamped +every one of the company of illustrious Slavs with an indelible print of +melancholy.</p> + +<p>Sophia probably did not realize Ivan's capacity for feeling or for pity. +Yet she had a purpose in the telling of her story. Ivan, a Gregoriev, +must be given the opportunity of knowing how a woman's soul can be +killed within her. Then, should he follow the footsteps of his race, his +sin would be upon his own head. Nevertheless, she used little art in her +tale, and she drew therefrom neither moral nor homily. Of what use +either of these? What remonstrance was there that could hold a true +Gregoriev from the pursuits of his maturity? At the same time, if Ivan +was what she believed him to be, he could read the moral as he ran. She +spoke from a bursting heart, and only in small degree relieved herself +by speaking. Nor did she mention their approaching parting; for +reference to this subject was beyond her. Ivan must divine what he could +of her feeling, or he must believe her callous in her great despair.</p> + +<p>Meantime the boy had yielded one slender hand to his mother's clasp; the +other was tightly clinched. He sat bolt upright, his burning eyes fixed +sternly on the wall before him, his face pallid save for the two round<a class="pagenum" name="page_68" id="page_68" title="68"></a> +spots of flaming red that burned high upon his cheekbones. His heart was +throbbing irregularly. And in his brain, amid the chaos of broken +ideals, crumbled idols, and all the jumbled facts of his new +understanding of misery and of evil:—amid all his strange and vibrant +emotions, there thundered gigantically a series of magnificent minor +chords forming a motive over-poweringly climatic. It was the same theme +of "hope abandoned," which, nearly forty years later, was to open the +last movement of his greatest work: that "Tosca Symphony" which has +moved the whole world to wondering tears. Many times during the +succeeding years it left his memory, and he would try vainly to recall +it. But circumstances always rose to bring it again to his mind; till, +at last, recurrent pain had fixed it there forever: that world-theme, +which had its birth on this first Sunday of his sixteenth year.</p> + +<p>It was eleven o'clock when Madame Gregoriev, worn out and trembling with +feeling, finally ended her narrative. It was midnight before she and +Ivan kissed good-night. During that whole hour, neither one of them +uttered a word. Ivan had sunk to the floor at his mother's feet, his +head in her lap, his burning hands clasped in her icy ones, his throat +contracting ever and again with the dry, gasping sob of extreme emotion. +Sophia, on the contrary, sat above him, her head lifted, her pale face +calm, her tearless eyes gazing off into some far country of her own. Yet +before their minds lay the same picture—that of a woman's woe: a petty +thing, the commonest of all affairs in the man-ruled world, yet hardly a +thing to be discussed. Some reverence, or understanding, must be granted +it by the dullest mind. So, as the distant voice of Moscow's great bell +boomed its twelve strokes, Ivan rose, slowly, as one still in his dream; +went for a moment into the mother-clasp; and then, still without +speaking, turned to pass, for the last<a class="pagenum" name="page_69" id="page_69" title="69"></a> night, down the corridor leading +to the distant wing in which were his own rooms.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was on a Monday—beginning of the working week—the morning of +October fourteenth in the year 1855, that Ivan went out into the world. +His flight was not far: merely to the other end of Moscow; but it led +into a life that he had been unable to imagine in the smallest detail. +Once there, it took him less than a week to perceive that, while his +vague hopes of companionship were scarcely to be realized, he was to +drink to its dregs his preconceived cup of unhappiness.</p> + +<p>The four great <i>Corps des Cadets</i>, created in the mid-reign of the Iron +Czar, had been devised especially for the preparation of youthful +Russian nobility for their respective places in the military, possibly +the official, world. As it presently turned out, these great schools +were destined to become hot-beds of tyranny, intrigue, rivalry, +caste-feeling, and snobbery in their worst forms. Hence, considering the +certain future of each cadet, the Corps afforded an even more adequate +preparation for bureaucratic methods than their creator had had reason +to expect. In the Moscow institution every inmate, from its head, +Colonel Becker, to the youngest boy of the fourth class, was subject to +a government of favoritism, bribery, deceit, and the pettiest meanness, +in which was no room whatever for advancement along the lines of +conscientious work, honesty, or honor. Here prestige of birth, or +aptitude for intrigue, carried all before them; for this was, indeed, +the period of the worst mismanagement these schools were to know. In +later years the Liberator found time to look to them. At present—in the +Moscow Corps, Sitsky, "Cock" of the school, a vicious dunce of twenty, +would never be called upon to yield his position to Kashkarev, a +brilliant scholar and a thoroughly scrupulous boy of eighteen,<a class="pagenum" name="page_70" id="page_70" title="70"></a> who was +generally despised because his grandfather had been a Pole.</p> + +<p>In this gathering, where all were in some degree noble, the distinctions +drawn by the boys themselves between lineage and wealth, political +prestige and the quiet conservatism of lofty birth, were so arbitrary, +so contradictory, so innately Russian, that the very masters, who, from +Becker down, were German, did not pretend to understand the system, but +blindly followed the lead of the scholars and their truculent head. And, +to those who have had any experience at such hands, it is bitterly plain +that of all merciless cruelty of civilized lands, that of boys under +twenty-five is the most remorseless.</p> + +<p>It is, then, not difficult to understand that, from the first days, Ivan +was in a situation undreamed-of even by his father. In the immediate +beginning Becker, awed by his knowledge of the enormous power wielded by +Prince Michael, would have treated Michael's son with some sort of +consideration. He was soon shown his mistake. The boys he was supposed +to teach had none of them, as yet, ever come under the eye of the +mysterious, hardly-credited "Third Section." Upon the day following +Ivan's arrival, therefore, there was held, in the dormitory inhabited by +the upper ten of the dreaded "first class," a solemn conclave, headed by +the lords of the school: Sitsky, Sabléf, Osínin, Pryanishikoff, and +Blashkov—this last actually a second cousin of Ivan. The decision +resulting from the debate, held when the lower school was at drill, was +spread abroad without delay by certain methods known only to the boys. +By nightfall every cadet knew that young Gregoriev's status had been +fixed; and henceforth none would dream of disputing it till the boy in +question had passed his second year. By the third day the masters had +read and accepted the decree, quietly assigning the new boy to his +destined oblivion. For Ivan was a Gregoriev, son of a<a class="pagenum" name="page_71" id="page_71" title="71"></a> trans-Moskva +house, and had never even seen the Equerries' Quarter! grandson, +moreover, of a creature who had <i>worked</i>. Worse yet, he was the son of +what was really no more than a police officer. (For, though officialdom +meant much in their ranks, the police was beyond the pale of their +bigoted respect.) Thus it is easy to recognize Ivan's natural place, and +why he must henceforth regard himself honored if a member of the upper +school so much as addressed to him a command. This much the week +decided. But it was Sunday night before active persecution began.</p> + +<p>Boys' schools, be they in what country they may, are as much alike as +boy nature is alike and unalterable the world over, from age to age. +Only the details differ. At Rugby, new boys undergo blanket-tossing. In +France there is a custom less vigorous though physically more painful. +In the Moscow <i>Corps des Cadets</i>, in the fifties, matters were as much +more savage as Russian civilization was, at that day, lower than that of +England. In the Kishinaia, then, the popular form of hazing is—or +was—the "circus"; and the pretty game was ordinarily arranged for +several victims. But Ivan was accorded a distinction, inasmuch as the +boys of his form positively refused to soil themselves by contact with a +rank outsider; and the upper school could not but condone its inferiors +in their aristocratic aloofness. Having, then, but one victim for the +evening's sport, it was thought fitting that some unusual climax should +be invented for the furtherance of the school ideals. And this touch was +finally invented by a youth who had just finished a certain forbidden +book relating to some unspeakable customs of the Orient.</p> + +<p>Ivan's Sunday evening shall know no record here. He bore it, lived +through it—even infuriated his tormentors by his insistent refusals to +cry out or beg for mercy: choosing, instead, meanly to faint just before +the crucial<a class="pagenum" name="page_72" id="page_72" title="72"></a> moment. But though it was a week before he crept shakily +from his bed again, there was no inquiry in the school as to the cause +of his peculiar illness. Only in secret was some notice taken of the +affair; which had really gone beyond ordinary bounds. Colonel Becker +gave Ivan more than one hour of serious consideration; for to him Ivan's +father was more than a name. And, in the end, the boy was granted what +his mother had hitherto vainly asked: leave to spend thirty-six hours, +weekly—from Saturday night to Monday morning—at home, in his mother's +company. It was a wise decision, and it served a double purpose; for not +only did it remove a sure victim from the band of savages that held +possession of the school through every weekly holiday, but it gave one +miserable boy just enough respite from his wretchedness to stifle the +revelations which time and suffering would otherwise have surely +brought. Even so, at first, Becker trembled lest the terrible Chief +should be made aware of his son's treatment at that noted school. But +weeks passed and no complaint was made. And thus came Ivan's first step +towards favor. For Becker could not but be thankful for the boy's brave +silence; nor thereafter did he always try to hide that gratitude from +the unhappiest of his pupils.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Such was the beginning of Ivan's school life. It had taken just seven +days to teach him that the curse of his parentage must still be his +heavy burden. He had done infinitely more than was generally required to +prove a boy's worthiness for acceptance by his fellows. Not a boy in the +school but had watched his clothes cut to ribbons before them, under the +knout. Not a boy but surmised the hideous state of his bruised body. And +yet, not a boy in the school offered the slightest sign of friendliness, +even of recognition. Loneliness he had known—was, indeed, to know +again—but never thereafter<a class="pagenum" name="page_73" id="page_73" title="73"></a> the loneliness that he endured in this +crowded school.</p> + +<p>Of what Ivan bore during his first year in that harsh preparation for +his after life, it would be useless to write. The day's routine was long +and hard: its hours from early morning till nine at night; its subjects +the usual studies, with military drill, tactics, and history. Moreover, +at the end of the ordered day there was frequently guard-duty at the +door of the first form's secret club, which used pretended fear of +discovery as a means of keeping some younger boy awake till he should +fall asleep on his feet, and be carried into the club-room for the +punishment always inflicted for this military crime of "sleeping on +duty." This year the fourth form had one more cause of gratitude for the +existence of Ivan; for he was chosen for this vigil three nights to any +other boy's one. The consequence of this was that, between October and +April, he was in the hospital four times, always owing to an increase in +the low fever induced by physical and mental exhaustion. Through the +winter, Becker had made a few feeble attempts at protection, all of +which proved abortive. But finally, in the early spring, noting Ivan's +look of frailty, and fearing a breakdown that must be brought to the +notice of Prince Michael, he took the case in hand vigorously, and +procured for the boy at least unbroken sleep at night, though he could +force no other consideration from the scornful young brutes towards +their physically broken, mentally-raging victim.</p> + +<p>It was, for Ivan, an added irony of Fate that, during this long period +of physical strain, the severest he was ever to know, his one hitherto +unfailing refuge should be denied him. And the trial culminated in a +shock as unexpected as it then seemed unendurable.</p> + +<p>For many weeks the boy, while sedulously concealing the facts of his +school life, had nevertheless wondered<a class="pagenum" name="page_74" id="page_74" title="74"></a> that, during his Sundays with +her, his mother divined none of his unhappiness. But he himself failed +to perceive the burden which that same mother, hitherto as near to him +as he to her, was herself bearing. How should he guess that she was at +last obliged to concentrate her every faculty upon herself in order to +keep from him any betrayal of her condition? Ivan had, certainly, more +than once remarked the haggard pallor of her face; or caught her in an +involuntary movement of pain. There were nights at school when he +thought long and anxiously of her. Yet he was thoroughly unprepared +when, on the morning of the third of April, he received from her a +brief, strained, unnatural note, containing the astounding information +that she was starting at once, with his aunt, for the Riviera, where she +might remain for some weeks.</p> + +<p>He had the day to ponder over this news: reserving the greater pain of +it for the night: when, happily, he should be unmolested. But he never +came to this; for, at the end of the evening study-period, he was called +from the assembly-hall by no less a person than Colonel Becker himself, +at the door of whose dreaded room stood Piotr, white-faced and red-eyed. +At his appearance Ivan halted for one, heart-stilling instant. Then he +muttered, in a hoarse, dry voice:</p> + +<p>"My mother!—She is dead?"</p> + +<p>Piotr slowly shook his head, replying: "Not yet.—They have sent for +you."</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_75" id="page_75" title="75"></a> +<a name="DEATH_JOY_2280" id="DEATH_JOY_2280"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>DEATH JOY</h3> +</div> + +<p>During that long winter when the mental eyes of Ivan were first opening +to the meaning of life and the individual struggles of each to find his +place in a world apparently unassailable, Ivan's mother, Princess +Sophia, slowly, in great anguish of body, was learning a last lesson of +the master by whom she had never been spared. Through that dark period, +though mother and son met weekly, their intercourse, hitherto so full, +so unreserved, became inevitably hesitant and broken. Each was bearing a +burden which neither was willing to reveal to the other. Ivan, +concealing from the tender woman every sign of his persecution at the +hands of his companions in the Corps, felt himself constantly +tongue-tied before her. And though ordinarily the mother-sense would +speedily have penetrated that awkward reserve, Sophia, herself all +unaccustomed to deceit, was so fully occupied in hiding every sign of +her own secret, that Ivan's reticence appeared to her only the +reflection of her own. It was as natural, then, as it was unfortunate, +that these visits, looked forward to by each of them as bright oases in +an otherwise treeless desert, should also have brought with them their +quota of discomfort and vain regret. Throughout each week, woman and boy +alike hungered for each other. Yet on Sunday night both usually parted +with hearts overflowing with secret remorse at the thought that there +was actual relief in the knowledge that the day was over.<a class="pagenum" name="page_76" id="page_76" title="76"></a> Moreover, as +the weeks passed, the Sunday evenings together became shorter and more +short. Madame Gregoriev, smiling through the agony that yet found place +in every line of her face, would confess to fatigue and would resign +herself to the hands of the maid whose duties were daily becoming more +those of a nurse, leaving Ivan to the care of the serfs, who, by their +unfeigned delight in his appearance, generally sent him away from their +quarters about midnight in a very cheerful mood. Later, however, through +the dark hours that followed, Ivan's thoughts instinctively reverted to +his mother, and the strange expression in her face would take a +significance filling his heart with a pain which the morrow's light +could not banish.</p> + +<p>Months slid by. The Russian New Year came and went. And now, when Ivan +reached home on Saturday evening, his mother frequently greeted him from +her bed; and on Sunday would sit up only for an hour or two, in her +<i>chaise-longue</i>, before the open fire always kept burning in her +up-stairs sitting-room, her frail form clad in the loosest of negligées. +Still, to all the boy's sad and anxious queries, the reply would be: +"Just fatigue, and perhaps a little cold. In a few weeks, you shall see +me quite strong again. Smile for me, Ivan!" And Ivan seemed to accept +the words. But weekly he went back to his work with something added to +the weight now constantly dragging at his heart.</p> + +<p>Had Ivan guessed half the truth, however: could he have had one glimpse +of his mother's reason for her constant "fatigue," he would have learned +that the vague disquiet he was bearing was a feather-weight in +comparison to the helpless misery of watching and comprehending the slow +spread and increase of the most pitiless, direfully cruel, of all +diseases.</p> + +<p>It had been in the very first week of Ivan's life in the Corps that +Sophia Ivanovna returned, in a kind of numb<a class="pagenum" name="page_77" id="page_77" title="77"></a> haze, from the house of the +doctor she had gone to for examination. She stood alone in her own room, +trying to comprehend the fulness of that which had come upon her. All +alone she had made her discovery; and alone had gone to have it +verified. But, in spite of everything, realization was difficult: the +realization that, turn whither she would, there was upon her—upon that +poor, tortured breast, the relentless clutch of death. Struggle as she +might, through the ensuing months—the few, few ensuing months, that +clutch must grow tighter and more cruelly tight, until—the end. During +the years since her marriage Madame Gregoriev had, more than once, +wished—nay, prayed for death. But a hopeless desire and the inevitable +reality are generally two widely different things. And the clearest +possible proof of the poignancy of the mental suffering of her past life +lay in the fact that, fully understanding her position, it was a matter +of only a few hours before she could accept, with some show of +tranquillity, this last incident of, this fitting climax to, her long +tragedy.</p> + +<p>From the first, she kept her knowledge to herself. The doctor who had +examined her had not been requested to take up the case; and as yet, she +asked help of none. It was weeks before old Másha, coming, one +afternoon, into the Princess' rooms with tea, found her mistress on her +knees before the ikon, passionately demanding strength for continued +silence. The old woman, struck suddenly dumb with intuition, waited only +till the dread name had come from Sophia's lips, and then burst into a +wild wailing—that long-drawn cry for the dead, characteristic of the +Russian peasant. The Princess demanded, implored, finally threatened her +old servitor, till the promise of secrecy had been obtained; but she +guessed that Másha had not given it till she had assured herself that +the disease could not be concealed much longer.<a class="pagenum" name="page_78" id="page_78" title="78"></a></p> + +<p>Hitherto, in that bleak and lonely household, there had been little +comfort for the woman who knew no hour, no second, free from pain. But +Másha, like many country-bred women, was skilled in the decoction of +those herbs and simples that seem, at times, more efficacious than more +scientific medicines. Moreover, the old woman was passionately devoted +to the mistress whom she had tended as a child, and nursed through every +illness of girlhood. Thenceforth Sophia was the recipient of the +tenderest care; and the old serf, experimenting, found more than one +preparation which, for a time at least, seemed to draw some of the fiery +agony from the poor, disfigured breast.</p> + +<p>As the winter passed, however, and March drew towards its close, the +Princess, wasted almost to a shadow, left her bed no more. Thus at last +her husband awoke to the fact that her illness was no mere "woman's +nonsense." Their first brief interview terminated when, in response to +his direct questions, Sophia simply drew the covering from her breast +and let him look upon the hideous source of her pain. The man bent over +her, stared for a moment, shuddered, and, turning on his heel, left the +room without a word. Early upon the morning of the following day, that +of March thirty-first, to Sophia's amazed displeasure, the two most +eminent physicians in Moscow met at her bedside. At the conclusion of +their examination they were ushered below, to the Prince's cabinet, +where they gave Michael their decision as to the necessary course of +action. There must be an immediate operation. That was the one possible +hope. Even so—it was a pity, a very <i>great</i> pity, that the <i>gnädige +Frau</i> had waited so long. By now, every day—almost every +hour—diminished the chance of recovery.</p> + +<p>After this explanation, made by the German doctor and entirely +corroborated by his Russian colleague,<a class="pagenum" name="page_79" id="page_79" title="79"></a> there was a silence. Prince +Gregoriev sat bent over the table. A grayish tinge, absolutely foreign +to it, had overspread his face. His eyes were flaming. His teeth gnawed +savagely at the ends of his mustache. The two physicians waited, +considerately, till the lowered head was raised, the eyes lifted:</p> + +<p>"There is—no other way? She—she has got to submit to the knife?"</p> + +<p>"Gewiss! Nor can we promise—recovery—even so. Without it—two weeks—a +month, perhaps!" he shrugged, helplessly. "You understand, it is +medullary: the most rapid, the most malignant variety of all. It is not +a case that promises credit to us. Therefore, if the Herr Graf would +wish to try another physician, I should be glad that it were so. I would +resign the case willingly; for this disease gives little satisfaction to +us who love our work."</p> + +<p>"At the same time," broke in Monsieur Petchkoff, the Russian doctor, +with some asperity, "we must remind our client, Herr Weimann, that +operations to-day do not mean what they did before the recent great +discovery of anæsthetics. I have been using chloroform now for more than +three years; and in every case where the heart permits, it has +obliterated entirely the pain of incision. You understand that the +patient may go to sleep in her bed and awaken there again, a few hours +later, without the slightest knowledge that she has ever been removed +from it. Consider that, your Highness!"</p> + +<p>Gregoriev leaped to his feet. "Is it possible? I never believed those +tales. Do you corroborate this statement?" he added, turning to Weimann, +who sat approvingly nodding his head.</p> + +<p>At the question he merely raised his shaggy brows, replying: "Without +doubt, Herr Graf. Anæsthesia is now used in every enlightened country in +the world. The Herr Doctor has exaggerated its benefits in no +particular."<a class="pagenum" name="page_80" id="page_80" title="80"></a></p> + +<p>Gregoriev sank into his place again with a groan of relief. "Operate, +then! Operate at once—to-day, if there be time!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Prince Michael's desire, which was, in fact, that of his wife also, +since the thing must be gone through, was impractical, owing to the fact +that considerable preparatory work was still necessary. On the first day +of the new month, Weimann made an examination of her heart, which +resulted less satisfactorily than he had hoped. Not until evening did he +finally announce his decision that the administration of chloroform +might be made without undue danger. And after this there were still to +be made those preparations necessary for an operation in the palace: +Michael absolutely refusing his wife's request that she be taken to the +Royal Hospital. Nor was it till the evening of that day—the second of +April—that the unhappy lady wrote Ivan her scarcely deceptive letter: +an act repellent to her, but insisted upon by Michael, who persisted in +maintaining his belief in her ultimate recovery. With what an agony of +yearning to see her boy, to bid him good-bye, the poor soul hung upon +each painfully scrawled word, only those who have lain under the chill +of death can know. From the first she had no hope, and but little +desire, of leaving the dread table alive. Yet she was loath to give +expression to the doubt that might still be hailed by her husband with +his old, scornful mockery.</p> + +<p>It was the first time, perhaps, that she had misjudged Michael on the +side of inhumanity. Scorn for her was gone from him now; and so changed +was he that his very servants could not read him. Was it remorse, or +actually some long-latent affection, reawakened under the shadow of +impending loss, that had brought the haggard lines about his mouth, and +dulled the fires of those terrible eyes? Sophia herself asked that +question<a class="pagenum" name="page_81" id="page_81" title="81"></a> of the darkness, as she lay the long night through, watching +for what she dreamed of as her last dawn.</p> + +<p>The hour of the operation was fixed for one o'clock on the afternoon of +April third. By dawn of that day the whole household was astir, +gravitating, for the first time in many a year, wholly about the bedroom +of the mistress of the house. Madame Gregoriev, lying motionless in the +half-light of her room during the morning hours, preceding the impending +ordeal, was filled with a sense of unreality, of wonder at the stir that +was suddenly being created about her. For years she had been accustomed +to a life of systematic neglect. For months she had borne her bodily +torment silently and without hope of aid. Now, in one day, as it seemed, +she had become the centre of a new world. There were two professional +nurses to anticipate her every want, while old Másha, hitherto her one +attendant, cowered snuffling in a dark corner of the room. At her +bedside her husband, his black eyes dulled with trouble, sat side by +side with Vassily, the brother, whose manner had never before so +softened in addressing her. And his voice grew husky as he persisted in +the assurances of perfect recovery that he could not himself believe. +Lastly, and best of all, Caroline was coming: was, indeed, already on +her rapid way. All things had been done for her comfort; yet none of +them weighed for a moment in the balance with her one, great, unvoiced +desire: the desire to see and talk to her boy before she yielded herself +to that mysterious unconsciousness from which she had not the smallest +hope of emerging. But she was now wholly under Michael's sway. She +realized that he was acting for Ivan's peace of mind: that in so acting +he had himself some hope of her recovery. And, remembering his new +consideration for her, she could not bring herself to dispute him. When, +at the hour named, the surgeons and their assistants entered her room, +she received the<a class="pagenum" name="page_82" id="page_82" title="82"></a> kisses of husband and brother upon an unwrinkled brow; +and, as she lifted her head towards the sweet-smelling sponge, there was +a faint smile upon her lips, a gleam of relief in her tired eyes.</p> + +<p>Vassily Blashkov and his black brother-in-law waited together at +Sophia's bedside till her unconsciousness was complete; and then both +stood, reverently, while the limp body was carried from the room. For +the first time in their lives these two utterly selfish men looked into +each other's eyes with but one comprehensive thought, which was all for +another. Each man was suddenly white with unwonted feeling; for there +was something in the pose of that helpless form which brought home, with +a poignant stab, a sudden realization of her neglected life.</p> + +<p>Still acting upon common impulse the two presently descended, side by +side, to Michael's official room, where, on the table, Piotr had placed +a bottle of sherry, some glasses, and a plate of biscuits. Before these +the two seated themselves; and, as the first glow of the wine began to +course through them, they fell into a low-voiced conversation; for it +was a period of strain so great that any possibility of forgetfulness +was grasped, eagerly. Of Sophia, however, neither could speak; and their +thoughts fell naturally upon that which was dearest to her: Ivan: the +nephew to whom the uncle was almost a complete stranger. And it was to +this man whom for years he had hated so roundly, that Michael revealed, +for the only time in his life, his feeling for the boy whom he had so +tardily and slightly acknowledged.</p> + +<p>"You—haven't told him, I understand?" Blashkov began, in a low tone.</p> + +<p>"Not yet. If—if she comes out—he may see her. The anxiety will be less +for him.—She—she's his whole life, here."</p> + +<p>"And he hers, I imagine?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_83" id="page_83" title="83"></a></p> + +<p>"It's true.—I—I haven't counted with either of them.—I never tried."</p> + +<p>This was all. The long, almost unbearable pause that followed was broken +by a commonplace remark, and the conversation kept in that vein by +mutual consent. For, when the inner life is throbbing fast and strong, +intimate expression becomes impossible. And above these two men, +chatting about the trivial things of their existence, hung a black +shadow of dread: a strain of waiting which, minute by minute, grew more +tense.</p> + +<p>An hour had passed, and the ears of both were strained for the faintest +sound in the corridor, when there came an unhoped-for break. Less than +forty-eight hours after the first news had reached her in Petersburg, +Caroline Dravikine entered the Gregoriev house in Moscow. Piotr, his +face alight with relief, showed her into the room where brother and +brother-in-law sat together. There she flung off her wraps, commanded +tea, and exerted all her power towards distracting the thoughts of those +two men who showed not half her courage in the face of a calamity which +could touch neither of them as it must touch her, who had kept the one +greatly unselfish affection of her life for the sister now lying at the +point of death above her.</p> + +<p>A second hour slipped round, and the momentary relief of Caroline's +arrival passed. The darkening room had grown silent again, and the sense +of oppression was becoming unendurable to the three of them, when one of +the nurses slipped into the room to say:</p> + +<p>"The Princess Gregoriev is in her bed. You can see her if you wish."</p> + +<p>A woman's whisper broke the twilight: "Thank God!—Thank God!—She is +conscious? She is safe?"</p> + +<p>"She cannot be conscious for some hours yet, Madame.—The operation has +been a terribly difficult one. Her Ladyship's condition is critical."<a class="pagenum" name="page_84" id="page_84" title="84"></a></p> + +<p>Silence. Then a faint groan from Michael's chair.</p> + +<p>There followed six hours of waiting, watching, hoping, despairing. The +deadened consciousness trembled on the edge of the great void; and +neither doctor, nurse, nor relative left the still room in which the +soul still delayed. Now and again, after the administration of some +stimulant, one of the three, Michael, Vassily, or Caroline would whisper +a question, hoping always for an answer suggestive of hope. But the +reply was always the same:</p> + +<p>"We cannot tell.—Wait."</p> + +<p>It was nine o'clock at night before the body stirred naturally for the +first time, and a long, fluttering sigh broke from the pallid lips. From +Caroline came a faint cry of joy; and then Sophia's great eyes opened, +languidly, and her look was turned upon her sister.</p> + +<p>"Mother!" she whispered, smiling.</p> + +<p>"No, Sophie!—No!"</p> + +<p>But Weimann was at her elbow. "Do not contradict!" he murmured. Then he +turned to Michael.</p> + +<p>"You have a son?" he said, quietly.</p> + +<p>"Yes!—You mean—" Michael's face had not held this look before.</p> + +<p>"He should be here," said the doctor, steadily. "I think she will know +you all—yet."</p> + +<p>Prince Gregoriev bowed his head upon his breast, and stole from the +room. Ten minutes later Piotr was speeding across Moscow in his master's +brougham, towards the <i>Corps des Cadets</i>.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Of that long drive homeward across the city, Ivan's only memory was of a +long blur of pain that culminated, as they halted at the portals, in a +sudden burst of realization. His eyes, tear-shrouded as they were, +sought the well-known window on the second floor from which his mother's +face had so often greeted him or smiled<a class="pagenum" name="page_85" id="page_85" title="85"></a> down a farewell for one more +week.—Yes, the window was alight! Then—then she was still—Great God! +How did human senses bear such grief as was swelling through him now?</p> + +<p>Within the gloomily lighted hall Ivan found himself, quite unexpectedly, +face to face with his father, who was apparently awaiting him. Until +this moment Ivan had forgotten the very existence of Prince Michael; but +now he was startled at the drawn and haggard face that presented itself +in the lamp-light, as his father seized him by the arm, and, whispering +a few words of the explanation that brought Ivan's heart into his +throat, drew him swiftly up-stairs, to the threshold of her room, and +there turned, leaving him alone.</p> + +<p>Five minutes before the priest, his last rites accomplished, had passed +out of the doorway on which the boy now halted, straining his eyes into +the room beyond. He saw a bed surrounded by silent figures; and only +then became conscious of the meaning of the sound that had filled his +ears since his coming: the high, long-drawn, wailing of Sophia's piteous +struggle for breath. Immediately over her hung Weimann and one of the +nurses, just finishing an injection of strychnine. At the foot of the +bed sat Madame Dravikine, white, silent, dry-eyed. Across the room, +before the largest of the three ikons, knelt Sonya and old Másha, +praying, silently. And upon them all, even the deathlike figure on the +bed, was an air of listening, of waiting, of expectancy, which was +presently relieved by the apparition of the tall, lean, boyish figure, +who wavered for one moment, and then came hurriedly forward.</p> + +<p>Ivan was scarcely conscious of his movements. His limbs were trembling, +his hands were icy cold and damp with sweat, his tightened throat seemed +as if it must break the drawn muscles in its straining. But his great +black eyes shone tearless as he walked straight to the<a class="pagenum" name="page_86" id="page_86" title="86"></a> bed and stood +gazing down upon the quivering face upturned to him. Then, after a +moment of preparation, the dreadful breathing ceased, and a faint, +shaking voice replaced it:</p> + +<p>"Ivan! Dearest! You have come!"</p> + +<p>Taking his mother's transparent hands with a movement of infinite +gentleness into his own, Ivan dropped upon his knees by the bedside, his +two eyes still fixed longingly, hungrily, upon the beloved face. For an +instant he was conscious that others in the room were stealing away, and +presently, save for one nurse, he was alone with her who, sixteen years +before, had brought him into the world.</p> + +<p>In the silence that surrounded him Ivan felt his very soul pierced by a +medley of unknown emotions, chief of which was the sense that he stood +alone and helpless before a separation that he could not bear. And +presently that dread was voiced for him, in the strange, weak, tender +tones of his mother's voice:</p> + +<p>"I must leave you soon now, Ivan."</p> + +<p>At last a sob tore its way through his rigid throat, and his answer was +given in a passionate whisper: "No, mother! No!"</p> + +<p>"Dear, my body is going. You could not wish to keep me always. And I am +so glad, Ivan! So glad! My own mother has been here, at my side, all +day. So, then, I shall come and comfort you—at least at the first, +while it is most sad for you."</p> + +<p>"'At first!' Do you think I can stop wanting you, grieving for +you—ever?"</p> + +<p>She could smile, that dying one, in her great wisdom, at this passionate +repudiation of the balm of time. To her, it appeared, the secrets of the +dead had been already revealed. "You are still very young, dear boy. +None of us of the world can escape this pain of parting. 'Death is the +last enemy that shall be overcome.' The<a class="pagenum" name="page_87" id="page_87" title="87"></a> time is not long, Ivan, before +you will take on man's full estate. Shall you remember then what I, your +mother, have suffered—through a man?—through your father, Ivan?"</p> + +<p>His expression turned to one of surprise. Never had she spoken, even +indirectly, on this subject to him before. But he answered at once: +"Yes, mother. I know. I shall remember."</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes—keep that remembrance—all of it! You will be a man of power, +of influence. When you marry a good woman, Ivan, then think of me most +of all. You have in you Gregoriev blood, and all Gregorievs have been +like your father. You must change that, break that tradition. Will you +remember? Will you—pro—"</p> + +<p>The speech had been a long one, and, syllable by syllable, her voice had +been growing weaker. Now, with a word half uttered, she settled back, +gasping violently, her eyes half shut. Ivan started to his feet; but +already the nurse was by the bed, forcing cognac and water down the +Princess' throat. Ivan stood still, tightly clasping one of those chilly +hands. He was waiting anxiously for her to speak again; for to him their +talk was not finished. His mother, however, seemed to think differently. +Her hand tightened upon his, but she had the air of one satisfied, +content with all things. The boy, watching her, understood that she +desired nothing more.</p> + +<p>Presently the others stole softly in again, and Sophia drew her sister, +by a look, to the bed, beside Ivan, and made one more effort of speech:</p> + +<p>"Katrisha—remember—Ivan. He is—mine. When he—goes—to +Petersburg—care for him—for—my sake!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, yes, Moussia! Yes! Ivan shall be cared for—well!" murmured +Caroline, brokenly.</p> + +<p>Sophia, her dim eyes resting on them both, smiled.<a class="pagenum" name="page_88" id="page_88" title="88"></a></p> + +<p>In the midst of this came an interruption. The smile vanished, and a +gleam of dread crossed the face of the Princess, who had started forward +a little, and seemed to listen. Indeed, there was the sound of a muffled +tread approaching the door. Another instant, and Michael, entering, went +to the bedside, and stood looking down upon his wife. White and strange +was his face, and Madame Dravikine perceived that his hands were +trembling. She saw also, however, how Sophia drew away from him, how the +labor of her breathing was increased. Every one in the room started when +the dying woman's right hand was raised from the sheet and pointed at +the dark and powerful figure bending near.</p> + +<p>"You—who have ruined my life—go! Let me die—at last—in peace!" she +said, all the silent torture of her wifehood sounding through the +wavering, feeble voice.</p> + +<p>Michael Gregoriev, with a violent start, drew back. He passed his hand +once across his face; then, straightening suddenly, and without another +look at the figure on the bed, he turned and strode from the room, +leaving the door open.</p> + +<p>Behind him, silence fell again. Sophia's breathing and the faint mutter +of old Másha's prayers mingled with the wailing of the wind as it rushed +round the corner of the house, and the pelt of freezing rain on the +windows. In the half-lighted room no one either moved or spoke. Minutes +passed. Half an hour. Ivan, standing on his feet, grew desperately +nervous and weary. Madame Dravikine, seated in a corner, leaned back in +her chair and let her heavy eyelids fall.</p> + +<p>Presently, out of the night, came the voice of Ivan Veliki, from the +distant Kremlin, booming the eleventh hour. As the last stroke trembled +through the room and echoed into silence, Sophia Gregoriev lifted +herself suddenly to a sitting posture. Her eyes widened, joyously, upon +some distant scene, and a cry of ecstatic<a class="pagenum" name="page_89" id="page_89" title="89"></a> wonder broke from her lips. +Then, in a breath, the divine light faded. The lips fell apart. It was +her son who caught her as she fell.</p> + +<p>Yet death held something still in store. Minutes later, as Ivan lifted +himself heavily from his kneeling-place beside the bed, and gazed, +through tear-filmed eyes, upon the face of his dead, there broke from +him a little cry, a cry of joy. In its passage to freedom his mother's +soul had stamped her visage with its state. From that face the lines of +many years of anguish, mental and physical, had fallen away, leaving the +flesh as smooth and fair as that of a girl. The eyes were lightly +closed; and, most beautiful of all, her lips had slowly spread into a +smile of such transfigured radiance as sent a thrill of intense and +wistful longing through the hearts of those that looked on her.</p> + +<p>The tragedy of Sophia Gregoriev was at an end; and none seeing her could +doubt that she had found in the Unknown Land ample reason and +compensation for her life on earth.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_90" id="page_90" title="90"></a> +<a name="NATHALIE_2759" id="NATHALIE_2759"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>NATHALIE</h3> +</div> + +<p>There is a certain maxim, unpleasant as it is prevalent, indulged in +with great frequency by a certain class of stoical sophists, to the +effect that there are many sorrows in life more difficult to bear than +that separation from our nearest brought by death. But those men—and +especially the women—who have experienced sorrow of both varieties, do +not use that proverb.</p> + +<p>In his after life Ivan Gregoriev was called upon to bear many burdens of +grief; but none of them ever caused him to waver in the assurance that +the death of his mother had brought him the bitterest suffering he could +be called upon to endure. Before this time—for many recent weeks—he +had believed himself cognizant of most forms of unhappiness. So, in a +blind, insensate fashion, he was. But the night on which his mother left +him opened his eyes to that land of grief where consolation waits on +time; it shook from him the last vestige of morbidity; and, lastly, it +brought him, too, in generous measure, perception of those beauties of +thought and action to be gained by one who accepts his loss unselfishly, +in a true and humble spirit.</p> + +<p>During the three days that passed before the funeral, Ivan, his brain +dulled and heavy with a kind of morbid despair, haunted the room where +his mother lay, surrounded with candles the lights of which illumined +and intensified the smile of transfiguration still remaining on her +peaceful face. To the boy, waiting and watching<a class="pagenum" name="page_91" id="page_91" title="91"></a> dumbly, it seemed +intolerable that the stillness of that sacred room should be disturbed +by the exits and entrances of strangers. In the beginning, he resented +even the arrival from her Petersburg convent of his cousin Nathalie; and +for the many members of the Blashkov family, distant relatives or mere +acquaintances, who throughout her life had left Sophia to bitter +loneliness, and came now to stare upon her empty frame, the son felt a +hatred too fierce to be expressed in words. They, however, neither knew +nor would have cared to learn how the boy heard their every word +concerning him and his with wrath unspeakable, and shuddered with misery +at their heartless insolence. Nevertheless, the wretchedness hidden +under his set, strained mask, was divined by his aunt. Thus, she, for +the time much softened by her grief, and feeling also a good deal of +curiosity concerning the inner nature of this youth of the haunted eyes, +presently sought, by every art of tact and seeming understanding, to +open his heart to tears. The fact that she at length succeeded, must be +put down to her lasting credit; it having been a deed directly opposed +to the traits of her rather cold nature.</p> + +<p>Upon the evening after the funeral Madame Dravikine, intensely wearied +by the long walk to and from the cemetery, was lying on her couch, eyes +closed, her head aching slightly. Nevertheless, when there came a timid +knock upon her door, she answered with a summons to enter, and Ivan, +responding, went to her impetuously, yielded his hands to her clasp, and +allowed himself to be drawn to his knees, at her side, there to listen +to gentle words about his mother's love for him, and her ambitions for +his future, till she had pierced through the armor of his reserve, and +he burst into a storm of sobs the violence of which at first frightened +her.</p> + +<p>It was the one possible means of relief, however; and<a class="pagenum" name="page_92" id="page_92" title="92"></a> Madame Dravikine, +wise in her generation, let him weep his bitter revolt away. This lasted +nearly an hour, and both were exhausted by the time the tears had +ceased, and only an occasional, spasmodic sob gave evidence of the storm +that had passed. It was at this juncture—Ivan upon the floor, half +sitting, half kneeling, Caroline's arms clasping him close—that the +door of the room opened again, quietly, and Nathalie appeared. At sight +of the two she halted, uncertainly. But her mother, gently releasing the +embarrassed boy, bade her come in; nor when, an instant later, he made +the move, would she permit Ivan to go. It was, perhaps, unfair to her +that this kindly act of hers should have borne, for all three of them, +consequences so momentous, and, to the Countess, so unwelcome. Yet it +was certainly this evening which saw the beginning of the single real +passion of Ivan's life. Thereafter, in that little gallery of mental +portraits carried by each of us in his intimate heart, the beloved form +of his dead mother was given a companion picture: that of a girl's face, +warm and living, upon which he often gazed with an ardor, a devotion, a +longing, rather unboyishly sincere.</p> + +<p>Certainly the picture thus enshrined was one not unworthy of strong +admiration. For even at fourteen Nathalie Dravikine was very beautiful, +in a delicate, flower-like way. Her complexion was clear and pale, the +blood which ran beneath it showing only under the stress of some +emotion, when it would suffuse her whole face with waves of exquisite +color. Her delicate head bore a weight, almost too great, of fine, +blue-black hair, just now hanging in a heavy plait to her knees. Her +eyes, large and velvety as Ivan's own, were, however, of a shade +indescribable, chameleon-like: one day varying between beryl and +aqua-marine, anon of a light hazel, and finally, in moments of +excitement, grief, or joy, of a deep, baffling black. Hitherto, Ivan had +been undecided<a class="pagenum" name="page_93" id="page_93" title="93"></a> about their color; but to-night, as he saw them run +their gamut from light to that tender dark, he felt a strange, quivering +half-fear, half-joy, stirring his heart; and in one moment it had become +impossible for him to look her in the eyes again and retain any sort of +composure. Moreover, as he sat, red-eyed and conscious, in a chair +between aunt and cousin, it seemed to him as if some one were pouring a +cool balm over the burning wound within him: as if, already, his +mother's strange promise were finding fulfilment, and she herself, or +her fair spirit, stood at his side, her gentle hand upon his shoulder, a +smile of the old, loving companionship in her deep eyes. He did not know +whether it were minutes or hours before, with a long sigh, he rose, +kissed his aunt, drew back with flaming face from Nathalie's tentative +advance, but finally, with throbbing heart, just touched her cheek in +the usual place, and then ran off, glad of the darkness in the passage +outside. Unlike the traditional young lover, however, he was not +destined to spend the dark hours in waking dreams of his love. Nay, the +pretty child did him better service. That night, for the first time in +ninety-six weary hours, he slept, soundly and dreamlessly, till Alexei +came to call him, when he rose with a feeling of great strangeness, of +irrevocable change, upon him, as he faced a final joyless day.</p> + +<p>There was no help for it. He must return, that afternoon, to the Corps; +where now there would be no weekly breaks in his monotony of +unhappiness. So much he learned in a brief, uncomfortable interview with +his father, immediately after breakfast. And when he was dismissed, he +understood that it was Prince Michael's farewell to him for an +indefinite period: a fact which troubled him very little in itself, +however; the less so since, when he reached his room again, he found in +his hand an envelope containing a princely sum of pocket-money—which +was to last him through the spring.<a class="pagenum" name="page_94" id="page_94" title="94"></a> Wearily and drearily, however, the +boy, with the aid of his serf, packed the few garments he had brought +with him, and then went off to hang about the closed door of his aunt's +suite of rooms, in which, also packing, was Nathalie: that strange, new +Nathalie, born for him fifteen hours before.</p> + +<p>He had reached a great depth of unhappiness when suddenly, about +noon-time, the gate to fairy-land opened and he was admitted by +Celestine, who had been sent, indeed, to seek him. In a few, whirling +moments, he found himself eating an early <i>déjeuner à la fourchette</i> +with his aunt and cousin, after which he drove with them to the +Petersburg station, and there, upon the noisy, crowded platform, reached +his empyrean.</p> + +<p>Madame Dravikine and her maid were in the carriage reserved for them, +arranging their bags and rugs. But Nathalie had remained—ah, was it not +of her own choice?—outside, for three minutes longer. Their few words +were as simple and as awkward as inexperience could make them; but they +were afterwards gone over, a hundred times, at least, by Ivan, who, at +each repetition, became more impressed by the brilliance, the wit, the +<i>savoir-faire</i>, the repose of Mademoiselle Nathalie's brief and +stumbling formalities. Then—then Madame Dravikine was calling her +daughter. A whistle blew. The second bell rang loudly. Officials jangled +hastily down the platform; and Ivan, his heart throbbing in his throat, +suddenly caught his cousin's slender figure in his arms, held her for +one endless instant, found her lips with his own, and found himself, +five minutes later, gazing blindly down an empty track, while the +footman at his side stared at him in stupid wonderment. So, coloring +with shame, joyously angry, broken by the long prospect of ensuing grief +and longing—not for one being loved and lost, but for two—he entered +the carriage which was to carry him across Moscow, from<a class="pagenum" name="page_95" id="page_95" title="95"></a> heaven to hell: +from the Petersburg station to the stone buildings of the <i>Corps des +Cadets</i>, where, in the ensuing weeks, Ivan Gregoriev, already an adept +in enduring the various forms of school-boy misery, was about to begin +upon a lesson before which more than one grown man would have visibly +shrunk; and under which Ivan himself, before it was finished, had become +appalled at his own capacity for suffering.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>During every age of humanity, in every state and stage of human +civilization, there have been certain great-souled beings who, for the +sake of a totally inadequate reward, have delivered themselves over, +bound and helpless, into the hands of a task-master severe, relentless, +all-demanding, but wise and just beyond every other teacher of mankind. +The greater number of these daring persons have, in the end, +accomplished their schooling, done their tasks, and reached their goal; +because, once in the toils, they must needs go forward, or die. A very +few of these toilers, Hindoos ascending towards Arahatship, Christians +aspiring to certain heaven by way of certain martyrdom, have been given +beforehand an exact estimate of the price they were to pay. But all +others, the vast majority of those demanding of nature her divinest +gifts, have mortgaged themselves blindly for an amount, and at a rate of +interest, unknown, undreamed of. Of these, Ivan was one. At the age of +sixteen he first felt his power, made his demand. Consciously or +unconsciously—probably both—he cried to Fate: "Behold me! I hold a +message for mankind! The Spirit of Music will deign to make use of me as +her instrument. I am summoned to the world-service. Give me, then, that +which shall make me great enough to bring this gift of mine to its +highest issue, that my mistress may find her priest worthy of acclaim +and of advancement!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_96" id="page_96" title="96"></a></p> + +<p>This is a cry that Fate is bound to answer, for it is the cry of +assurance. Hearing his words, the Great One stood before the boy and +considered him thoughtfully. It may be that he was given secret warning +of the meaning of his demand. This it is not for us to know. But, +knowing or unknowing, he repeated his cry, and was answered. There and +then, with this mysterious, perverse wisdom, his task-master began his +training, blinding the eyes of the pupil to all save the few immediate +steps along the steep road that lay before, permitting him to advance +only step by step, under her guidance. Ivan yielded himself as clay to +those powerful hands; but the clay was pure, and, because of its youth, +more pliable than are those who know themselves only in later years. And +now, had he wished it, his master would not have let him go.</p> + +<p>Poor Ivan! My poor hero! How was he lashed through that long spring, and +the summer that he spent alone at ghost-haunted Klin, where every corner +of house and garden spoke to him of his mother. How pitilessly was he +dragged through depths of grief and solitude and hopeless longing; till +he stumbled, half fainting, deep in the slough of despair! Hopeless and +heart-sick, forgetting, and, he believed, forgotten by, every living +joy, he fought his battle of temperament hand to hand, imagining every +contest lost. Nothing of his past, his present or his future, was clear +before him. He was as one crying in the wilderness; and no echo of an +answer caught his ear. So numb was he from emotional experience by the +summer's end, that, in the second week of September, he returned to +Moscow for his second winter in the Corps, with hardly more than a dull +and throbbing sense of dread.</p> + +<p>The cold weather set in early that year. October and November passed in +a whirl of powdery snow and winds that cut through the heaviest furs. As +the time of<a class="pagenum" name="page_97" id="page_97" title="97"></a> Christmas fasts and feasts drew on, Ivan began to long for +what he believed would not be granted him—the spending of his holiday +week in comparative freedom at home. He was, however, too proud to beg +such permission; and not one word from Prince Michael did he receive. It +was, then, not till the very hour that his companions were gayly rushing +off to their various conveyances of departure, that Ivan, standing +ruefully in the snow-filled court-yard, perceived Piotr tramping through +the outer gate, looking about him, undecided as to the right entrance.</p> + +<p>That night Ivan slept beneath his father's roof for the first time in +nine months; and in the gray of early morning there came to him an idea +of radiant promise. The pocket-money sent him in September—five hundred +rubles, the existence of which his companions had fortunately never +surmised, remained almost untouched. Ivan was extravagant only in the +purchase of music-paper and harmony-books, which are not matters of +great cost. Why, then, should he not drive to-day to the Tverskaia, and +there select Christmas presents for those few to whom it would be a +delight to give? The custom, not at that day so prevalent in Russia as +now, was still by no means unusual. And though Piotr and Alexei and old +Másha, besides, as a matter of duty, his father, were the names on +Ivan's written list, they were all of them meaningless compared with +that one gift for her for whom no gift in the world could be +sufficiently fine or costly.</p> + +<p>Through that whole morning he dragged the sleigh and patient Alexei up +and down the Tverskaia, while, the other presents long since selected, +he went from shop to shop, dismayed anew at every place by the price +asked for those gems which alone seemed fitting for the object of his +gift. Still, in the end, he was comparatively satisfied; nor was his +choice one likely to displease any<a class="pagenum" name="page_98" id="page_98" title="98"></a> feminine soul the world over. For +the little, pearl-studded bracelet that lay in a blue-velvet case in the +breast-pocket of Ivan's coat was, considering the boy's inexperience, in +astonishingly appropriate taste; and well calculated to recall him to +the mind of the girl of whom he had dreamed through nine long months.</p> + +<p>The remainder of the day belonged to the gods; for Ivan managed to +devote more than two hours in the penning of a moderately long, rather +stiff little letter addressed to his cousin Nathalie, at the Catherine +Institute for the Daughters of Nobility, in Petersburg. Moreover, this +done, there was still the bracelet to be wrapped, tied and stamped. +Then, after his return from the nearest official registry, there +remained the dear delight of dusk-dreams, which, to-day, concerned the +probable reception of his gift, the reading of his letter, and, climax +of climaxes, the probability of an acknowledgment!</p> + +<p>Ivan's holiday week passed slowly, and there came no word from +Petersburg. On each of the last three mornings he rose tremulous with +hope; on each of the nights retired praying for a speedy morrow. But +instead of any joy, these days brought him only unexpected trials. His +father, it seemed, had suddenly become much interested in his son's +straight, strong presence, and took opportunity to keep him, for long +periods every day, in his company, discussing with him the details of +his life at the Corps, and the possibilities of the future. Each +conference brought only strengthened conviction of his father's +insistence upon a military-diplomatic career for him, and of the +futility of the slightest hope of leading that musician's life for which +he had been created. To-day, the least suggestion of his secret desires +might bring upon him a storm which would, then and there, forever +annihilate them. At this day his own, spiritual guide had become a thing +of little importance, in Ivan's<a class="pagenum" name="page_99" id="page_99" title="99"></a> mind, compared with the relentless +strength which his father could exhibit at an instant's warning. And, +because he had not yet learned that supreme faith in destiny to which he +afterwards did attain, Ivan carried this curious trouble with him +through many a long day, nor cast it wholly off till the world had +changed for him.</p> + +<p>On the day after New Year's Ivan returned drearily to the Corps, where, +after a week of aimless dejection, that institute, following its +invariable custom, brought him an unlooked-for blow. It was in the form +of a small packet, bearing the Petersburg mark, which, on opening, he +found to contain a little pearl-studded bracelet, and a note that ran as +follows:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Ivan Mikhailovitch</span>,—The mother-superior of the Catherine +Institute has forwarded to me a gift and a note designed by you for +your cousin Nathalie.</p> + +<p>"I very much regret that you should have made such a mistake as to +think that little girls either receive jewelry from any persons +other than their parents, or, indeed, at my daughter's age, receive +it at all. Nor do the pupils of the Institute accept communications +from any persons but those whose names are upon a list prepared by +the parents of the inmate.</p> + +<p>"Wishing you the compliments of the season, and health under the +blessing of your patron saint, accept, my dear nephew, the +considerations of my sincere regard.</p> + +<p style='text-align:right'> +"<span class="smcap">Caroline Ivanovna Dravikine.</span>"<br /> +</p> + +</div> + +<p>Ivan read this short missive till he had it by rote. At each repetition +it struck him as more cutting, more cruel, more unjust. His aunt had +certainly intended a rebuke; but she hardly realized either the +over-sensitiveness of Ivan's nature or the extent of his boyish feeling +for his cousin, whom he concluded to be responsible, by some +unfathomable pique, for his humiliating discomfiture.</p> + +<p>As a matter of actual fact, Nathalie had never received either letter or +gift. She, like Ivan, had left her school during Christmas week to spend +the festival with<a class="pagenum" name="page_100" id="page_100" title="100"></a> her father and mother. It was not till two days after +the departure of Mademoiselle Dravikine from the institute that the +packet and the letter from Moscow had been placed in the hands of the +mother-superior. That worthy woman, examining the list of her pupil's +correspondents, found upon it but one person from Moscow—Madame la +Princesse Gregoriev, lately deceased, whose name she now took the +opportunity of erasing from the authorized list. This done, it remained +for her to ponder upon the subsequent conclusion of this very unusual +incident. Undoubtedly something must be done, if not with the letter at +least with the packet, which, even to her unworldly eyes, had about it a +suggestion of gold and gems that could not but bring a flutter of +interest to a heart which, long as it had been consecrated to unworldly +things, was still of the eternal feminine. It was not till the good, +stupid soul had resorted to earnest prayer, that she hit upon the +inspiration of casting all responsibility upon the capable shoulders of +her pupil's mamma, the worshipful Countess Dravikine.</p> + +<p>This august lady, though it did not occur to her to seek council with +the Most High, found adequate means of disposing of the undesirable +gift. It was a matter of considerable satisfaction to her that Nathalie +had not been made cognizant of the little affair. Yet the watchful +mother would have been not a little amazed could she have read the +depths of her demure daughter's mind, and found there a vague but +unquestionable disappointment at having in so many months received +neither word nor message from her Moscow cousin. It was odd that Madame +Dravikine should not have realized, by this time, that her daughter was +the child of her own heart: and, since her childhood, Caroline Ivanovna +had certainly never failed to recognize the least of her own conquests. +Was it possible that the woman<a class="pagenum" name="page_101" id="page_101" title="101"></a> now high in the favor of a second reign, +should have a dunce for a daughter? Yet the mother would probably have +felt something other than satisfaction had she suspected how keenly +Mademoiselle Nathalie had studied her tact and her tactics. It might be +flattery of the sincerest order; but it must, nevertheless, prove rather +too trying for comfort.</p> + +<p>It had been in the August of the year 1843 that the court journal of +Petersburg announced, at the head of its budget from Tsarskoë-Selo, at +which fashionable resort the Dravikines were wont to spend part of each +summer, the birth of a daughter to the popular and fascinating Countess, +Caroline Ivanovna. Within the month there began to pour in upon that +lady a flood of congratulations which, upon the occasions of the first +calls, were astutely turned to tactful condolences, it being at length +understood that, while the Count was satisfied with the sex of his +child, the Countess daily vibrated between rage and tears that she +should not have given her house an heir. And since it was unquestionably +madame who ruled the family, young Mademoiselle Nathalie, despite her +remarkable eyes, her curling black hair and her rose-leaf skin, came to +spend her babyhood in the care of the Dravikine serfs; until at the age +of six she talked like a kitchen-maid, and had the manners of a +stable-boy—or a Grand-Duke.</p> + +<p>Now, in the autumn of 1849, Count Dravikine, whose promotions came about +as regularly as his wife's allowance was paid, had just been created +Assistant Minister of Public Works; and the dignity thereby superinduced +in him was in exact proportion to the height of his upward step. Upon a +November afternoon, then, as his Excellency was returning from the +Council, he came suddenly upon his daughter, standing in the court-yard +of his house, bare-headed, arms akimbo, feet spread apart in the +attitude of a jockey, her white bonnet<a class="pagenum" name="page_102" id="page_102" title="102"></a> thrown upon the muddy flags +before her, her shrill voice raised to a scream, as she pelted her +helpless nurse with a string of oaths that would have done credit to his +Iron Majesty, all for presuming to interrupt her game within doors in +order to take her for the prescribed daily walk in the gardens of the +Tauride.</p> + +<p>Count Dravikine, his eyes narrowing with anger, approached the furious +child, lifted her, now kicking frantically, in two powerful arms, +carried her straight to his wife's boudoir, and flung her before her +mother. Then, in a voice that Caroline had heard only twice before, he +expressed his opinion of the up-bringing of his child, finishing with +certain forceful suggestions of change for the future.</p> + +<p>Countess Caroline listened without a word; but when her husband left +her, he was well aware that his orders would be obeyed to the letter. +The Countess, indeed, respected her partner and had continued to obey +his rare commands simply because she was aware of the existence of that +very voice and manner. And from that hour the education of her tomboy +became with her a matter of considerably greater moment than the +planning of the winter's campaign, or the choice of a costume for the +first court ball of the season.</p> + +<p>It followed that Mademoiselle Nathalie passed through two extremely +trying years. At the end of them, however, she was a child transformed. +No one now could possibly mistake her for a boy. She could read and +write, spell fairly, had some knowledge of arithmetic and the +conjugation of <i>Amo</i>: and, finally, her knowledge of intricate profanity +had materially lessened. Nowadays, when she was left alone in her rage, +her most forceful expressions seemed to be "<i>Dieu de Dieu de Dieu!</i>" or +"<i>Sapr-r-risti!</i>" of her mild little tutor or her more vigorous French +maid.</p> + +<p>In spite of this conventional training, Nathalie, whose<a class="pagenum" name="page_103" id="page_103" title="103"></a> temperament +contained a strong dash of masculinity, was quite eleven years old +before she began to turn her vivid imagination to dreams of distant +débutantism or still remoter officers, who, in the most brilliant of +uniforms, should appear at miraculous moments in her career, bringing +shame and jealousy to armies of ill-mannered rivals. After the first +three months in the Catherine Institute, this style of amusement also +changed, and she was overcome by a religious mania which, being +encouraged on every hand, might possibly have become really dangerous. +It was by finally emerging from it unscathed, and having, at the age of +thirteen years and six months, resolved herself into an agreeably normal +young person whose quiet manners covered a swift and keenly feminine +brain, that Nathalie Dravikine proved herself worthy of her mother's +steel.</p> + +<p>This, indeed, Countess Caroline came herself to perceive. After their +long winter's separation, during those few days together in the +sorrowing house of Gregoriev, during the April of 1857, mother and +daughter came closer together than ever before. Madame Dravikine was +softened by grief; and the consolation she found in her daughter's +presence was as great as it was unexpected. Nathalie's tenderness and +gentleness were certainly traits of the Dravikines, rather than of the +Blashkov family. But Caroline, absorbed in memories of her beloved +sister, failed either to analyze these, or to pay much heed to the two +or three brief scenes between her girl and Ivan, which should have been +summarily checked in their infancy. As it was, Mademoiselle Nathalie +gained some relief from gloom and loneliness in the open admiration of +her cousin; and, after the first day of novelty, found herself taking a +quivering delight in this, her first affair.</p> + +<p>The little climax of it all, that five minutes on the platform of the +Petersburg station, which ended in a<a class="pagenum" name="page_104" id="page_104" title="104"></a> most uncousinly kiss, flamed +scarcely less hot in the memory of the maiden than in that of Ivan. +Nathalie carried back with her into the gray Petersburg Institute such a +host of flagrant dreams as kept a dozen chums about her through the long +twilights of as many afternoons. For the damsel was an erratic priestess +of Eros; and, at this dream-age, she and her comrades gave to the +technique of forthcoming flirtation a patient analysis that promised +adequate devastation among the courtier army awaiting their acknowledged +young-ladyhood.</p> + +<p>Thus comes it that we take a final glance through two childish +prison-houses, in far-separate Russian cities, wherein a youth and a +maiden lie nightly dreaming the same dreams: one of them a spirit +already bonded to the service of mind under the whip of circumstance: +destined to storm rocky heights, from which hard-won eminences he shall +command great views of sweeping plains and far-off mountain ranges; the +other a pretty chrysalis on the eve of her change into a butterfly of +butterflies; who is, nevertheless, to attempt flights overhigh and +overfar for her frail wings; venturing to unfriendly lands whence she +must return with frayed and tired pinions and a bruised and bleeding +little soul. And their two destinies, so divergent, are yet fated, ever +and again, in the swift swinging round their orbits, to approach, touch, +and bound away again in opposite directions, strive though they may to +maintain for a while some parallel course.</p> + +<p>Kinder, most surely, just to leave them there: well-guarded children, +walled securely away from the black, bleak world; oblivious of all +things save the white innocency of their dreams of first, most fragile, +high-romantic love.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_105" id="page_105" title="105"></a> +<a name="SPRING_AND_THE_ROSE_3226" id="SPRING_AND_THE_ROSE_3226"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>SPRING AND THE ROSE</h3> +</div> + +<p>The summer of 1860 found Ivan Gregoriev at the end of an experience so +long, so difficult, so seemingly unendurable, that, up to the last few +months of its continuance, he had never indulged in any anticipations of +its conclusion. Like all things, however, his four years' battle came +finally to an end. One, two, three, four: despair, unhappiness, +resignation, and, lastly, some sort of authority as the recognized +leader in his work, at least, of the grandiloquent first form: so passed +the years of his cadetship, till, in the June of 1860, he graduated, +honorably, and went off to spend the summer at Klin in his own fashion, +giving very little thought to that impending commission which was once +again to reorder his existence. Many were the pleasures possible to him +now in that quiet spot. Some part of gilded Moscow—the very best of the +clubs, would have opened to him had he displayed any passion for +baccarat, or the kindred games indulged by the vast majority of his +class. Cared he naught for these, there was yet another, phase of +mannish existence to which he might agreeably be introduced. But when +aspiring sycophants, members of the great mass of impecunious people of +"family," found that this eccentric son of Prince Michael failed to +appreciate the charms of a single member of the opera ballet (now +indulging in the delights of their summer vacation, and expending part +of their savings of fifteen rubles a week upon champagne suppers or +coaching-parties<a class="pagenum" name="page_106" id="page_106" title="106"></a> to the various fashionable suburbs), they left him +disgustedly to his own devices: which consisted in pouring over the +orchestro-harmonical works of Monsieur Berlioz; and evolving strange +progressions upon his new Érard.</p> + +<p>Meantime, behold Prince Michael, alone in his sanctum, diligently +studying the hieroglyphics on his map—of which the last corner, under +the heading of "Alexander II.," was gradually filling—and otherwise +working most zealously towards a new end. Nor was zeal unnecessary; for +it took him four months to make a certain lofty nobleman see the +unavoidable consequences of the translation and publication of a certain +portion of that map. It was October before a peremptory telegram brought +Ivan, with all his paraphernalia (consisting principally of much-worn +musical scores and a considerable pile of crude manuscript-music), back +to Konnaia Square. That night the young man slept once more in his boy's +room in the west wing; and nine o'clock next morning found him, for the +first time in his life, in his father's innermost cabinet, facing the +powerful form and the difficult eyes of Prince Michael.</p> + +<p>The interview was a long one, but contained little repetition, and made +good use of every minute of its three hours. Ivan's whole problematical +future was laid before him, clearly and in detail, as it had been +constructed, during years of consideration, in his father's brain. It +was the one plan of Michael Gregoriev's life which was destined to prove +an absolute waste of energy. Still, there were to be two years of it +literally fulfilled, wherefore we touch upon its preliminaries. +Moreover, as Prince Michael spoke plainly, so we; though Ivan expended +little amazement on the revelation, and appreciated remarkably little of +the powerful influence that had been already brought to bear on his +unimportant behalf. Michael himself was keenly aware that, even<a class="pagenum" name="page_107" id="page_107" title="107"></a> in the +face of his map, he dared attempt nothing more till he had accumulated +at least another twenty-four months of—um—ah—inner official history. +But, for the present, he was satisfied with his accomplishment. Ivan, as +graduate of one of the Corps, had been entitled to an ensignship in a +line regiment. Influence, however, obtained for him a first lieutenancy +in the Mounted Grenadiers—the finest regiment of the imperial guard in +Petersburg, and the Emperor's favorite; whose uniforms, moreover, were +calculated to capture the faith and fancy of any damsel, not of blood +royal, in the whole Empire. Last, and, from Michael's point of view, +most important of all, such a position would give Ivan at once the +<i>entré</i> into the best clubs, and, with them, the "smartest" society of +Petersburg.</p> + +<p>Using these facts as a preface, Prince Gregoriev proceeded to sketch +out, to his silent auditor, the lines of an ideal (!) +social-politico-military career, untrammelled, at last, by the +traditional ostracism of his race. For his commission would do much for +him; and Madame Dravikine was practically pledged to provide some sort +of reputation for her nephew, being not unaware that the celebrated map +of her brother-in-law contained more than one item of interest centering +about her own most sacred name and title.</p> + +<p>Through the period of explanation Ivan sat motionless, eyes down, brows +knit, apparently attentive to his father's words. At the end, when the +Prince had handed him his commission and half a dozen introductory +letters, he bowed to his father, but uttered not one word of thanks or +of understanding:—he—Sophia's son, though he had just received the +gift of such a career as three-fourths of the young men in the country +would have gone on their knees to obtain! Michael was half disposed to +be pleased at the fellow's insolence. But he did not have the fineness +of intuition to dream that his<a class="pagenum" name="page_108" id="page_108" title="108"></a> son, watching him closely through +half-shut lids, had felt his blood pounding so furiously through his +pulses that he dared not permit his lips to open for the fraction of a +second lest he should fling some expression of his deep disgust, his +anger—nay, his <i>hatred</i>—into his father's face, follow it with his +commission, crushed into a ball, and rush forth from that ghost-haunted +house, never to re-enter it again. Instead of this theatrical +performance, then, Ivan chose silence and inaction. And finally, with +bursting brain, he escaped to his own room, where he found +Piotr—ostensibly waiting with tea.</p> + +<p>But, unfortunately for Piotr, the young master was as uncommunicative as +the old; and the door to the inner sanctum had, throughout this +interview, been shut and bolted. Thus mere speculation was all that +found tongue in the serf's quarters that night.</p> + +<p>For many hours that afternoon—in fact, till darkness fell—Ivan sat +over the samovar, drank glass after glass of tea, rolled cigarette after +cigarette, and found himself at last still staring at a blank +horizon-line, upon which not one picture consented to appear. Yet, +reason with himself as he would, he knew that the heart within him was +surging with joy. He was going out into the great world of Petersburg, +his own master at last. He was going into the world of light, of gayety, +of wealth; of the army, the court, of—of Nathalie Dravikine! Ay, it was +true! That little love—that first, foolish love—lived in him still, +having survived all the changes of his past changing years. Was it then +to die, now, when his passion was about to be fired afresh by the +presence of its living object?</p> + +<p>Pondering thus, Ivan inhaled his cigarette-smoke, and felt the fine +thrills of a subtle intoxication creeping along his nerves till, at +length, his thoughts took a new turn. Standing, as he did, upon a +threshold, looking through an open doorway out upon active life, he +considered<a class="pagenum" name="page_109" id="page_109" title="109"></a> those things which he should force from the world for +himself; and first of these, in his desire, was that knowledge which +results only from experience. Kept all his life in the shadows of an +unscalable wall of officialism, there had, nevertheless, reached his +ears the first inarticulate rumors of that great movement of the youth +of Russia towards enlightenment, towards education, towards individual +understanding—a movement unique in the annals of the educational +history of the world. From this period for many years all the youth of +that tremendous Empire—every boy, every <i>girl</i>, from the highest to the +lowest, was to rise up, alone, uninfluenced, demanding of age and +guardianship the right to go forth into the world to work, to study—to +learn, in fine, how a great country might in the future be developed. +For a long time, even at Klin, within the walls of the Corps, Ivan had +heard tales almost incredible in their strangeness of bitterness and +rupture among the finest families between father and son, mother and +daughter:—the members of the old regime against the self-constituted +advocates of the new. Nor did a few months put an end to this +incomprehensible movement. Sonya Kovalevsky, in the company of her +chivalrously nominal young husband, had left her parental estate and was +at work in Heidelberg, perfecting that mathematical genius that was to +make her known throughout the scientific world. Following her brilliant +example, went a small army of young, upright and earnest women and +girls, by whom half the universities in Europe were presently invaded, +by no means, as was soon learned, to the detriment of the collegiate +standing, either in ethics or in learning. And as college after college +opened its doors to these young seekers after truth, bigoted Russia +stood aghast at the incalculable prospect of the future.</p> + +<p>More knowledge of these facts, and information of and experience in half +a hundred other matters, did Petersburg<a class="pagenum" name="page_110" id="page_110" title="110"></a> promise its new lieutenant; and +the more he thought of it all, the more eager did he become to embark at +once upon this new existence. Nor was the time of his departure far +away. He was just a month past his twentieth birthday when, upon a +bitter October morning, he was admitted once more to his father's +sanctum, this time to say good-bye. During the brief interview, Michael +exhibited a touch of feeling, perceiving which Ivan felt a brief pang +that he could not match it. But when a roll of twenty-five hundred +rubles was placed in his hands as the allowance for his first six +months, the young man's gratitude was sincere enough and deep enough to +satisfy the father, who knew more than his son of the expenses entailed +by a life in one of the crack regiments of the guard, and who informed +Ivan a little sarcastically that his lieutenant's pay ought not to do +more than keep him properly gloved and shod.</p> + +<p>By the time he emerged from that celebrated closet, with his commission, +his passport, and three letters of recommendation, together with his +money, in his uniform pockets, Ivan found that his hand-luggage had +already been carried out and placed in the sleigh that was to carry him +on the first brief stage of his journey into the great world. And, as he +left the palace and entered the square, his officer's swagger was just a +trifle overdone. For he had shot up, as it were, in a night: he was +twenty and a personage at last!</p> + +<p>The journey northward across the snowy flats was all a delight to the +traveller. Those odd little first trains that ran over the famous "ruler +line" between the two Russian capitals, were still sources of wonder and +delight to the peasants of the scattered villages now beginning to +spring up along the railway; and each stopping-point found the train +surrounded by a throng of fur-clad individuals, many of whom had +travelled some versts to see the train: perhaps accompanying a friend +who was to<a class="pagenum" name="page_111" id="page_111" title="111"></a> travel a short distance therein; perhaps to get a load of +merchandise or freight destined for a distant town; or, perhaps, just +for the sake of seeing the engine, the cars, and the crowd that would +assemble about them. Many of these last were country priests, idle on +weekdays, desolate enough in their unique isolation, glad to seek any +sort of distraction for its own sake, and even more eager than their +peasant inferiors for the distinction of a single word of greeting or +command from one of the lords of passage. Ivan was pleased to alight +frequently; get a brief walk in the sharp air; address a word or two to +some adoring native; and scatter a handful of kopecks among the +occasional children of the station-masters. But these paltry happenings +were all forgotten, and his heart full to bursting, when at last, on the +evening of the second day, there gleamed, far ahead through the dusk, +the red lights of St. Petersburg.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The first week of a young man's independence: his entrance into the +exalted rank of high-born bachelorhood—can it ever again be brought up +out of the past a distinct, coherent memory? Hardly. For Ivan and the +capital spun together in the wildest of dances, during the first days of +their meeting. Ivan's mind whirled in a chaos of regimental +introductions and instruction, wearying hunts for suitable bachelor +quarters, long afternoon hours filled with the pungent smell of tanbark +and the careerings of a horse with whom he never came to be on terms of +absolute equality; evenings spent in the glamour of strange restaurants, +the discussion of French <i>entrées</i>, and the contemplation of +much-dressed denizens of the high and the half worlds; and, finally, +retirement in a room at the Hôtel Bellevue, where a young lieutenant +with only two thousand rubles in his pocket was not a person of any +special importance.</p> + +<p>This haze of memory terminated, finally, and objects<a class="pagenum" name="page_112" id="page_112" title="112"></a> appeared in a +clearer atmosphere, when young Gregoriev became half-owner of a charming +apartment in the irreproachable <i>Bashkov Peréolouk</i>, ten minutes' walk +from his barracks, in partnership with a fellow-officer, one Vladimir de +Windt, destined to become his friend of friends. And shortly after this +momentous step, Ivan took another, by presenting his card in the +<i>Serghievskaia, numéro 843</i>, where his aunt, Madame Dravikine, +vouchsafed him ten minutes of her much-besought time, it being the +afternoon of one of her receptions. In her small, but admirably arranged +drawing-rooms, were gathered the cream of a certain set of Petersburg +society, now met for the first time this season, and making the rooms +echo with their particular variety of scandalous, intensely personal +news acquired during a long summer, and apparently having been held back +for exploitation at this special hour. Unintelligible as it proved to +Ivan's unsophisticated ears, he listened with awe to the sound of royal, +and other lofty and sacred names bandied about with a familiarity that +was the opposite of respect.</p> + +<p>By some imperceptible means, Madame Dravikine saw to it that her nephew +came in contact with those people who could be useful to him; and she +was satisfied, if slightly surprised, to see the ease with which he +talked. Ivan himself wondered that he felt so little embarrassment in +entering into the mood of the hour, and, while he talked, drank a great +many cups of tea, each of which contained a considerable quantity of +rum. But all the time he kept an eye over his shoulder, in the hope of +catching some glimpse of his cousin Nathalie. Time passed, and the young +lady did not appear. Ivan longed but did not dare to inquire about her. +So, at last, he walked back to his apartment, arm in arm with de Windt, +who had been no less surprised than pleased at discovering him in the +house of so established a leader<a class="pagenum" name="page_113" id="page_113" title="113"></a> as Madame Dravikine. De Windt, himself +a celebrated dandy, began, as they left the Serghievskaia.</p> + +<p>"You are an enigma—a deceiver, Ivan Mikhailovitch! Here it is a week +since you arrived. You profess to know no one. But you managed +immediately to join quarters with me; and now "—he stopped, turning +from the wind to light his cigarette—"now, on the first afternoon you +are left alone, you immediately appear at one of the best-known houses +in the Admiralty quarter, where you seem as much at home as—I myself!"</p> + +<p>Ivan echoed his companion's laugh. He had gauged the real depth of de +Windt's conceit, and knew him to be, at bottom, both sincere and just in +his estimates of men and things. "I ought to be at home there, at +least," he observed, quietly. "Caroline Ivanovna—Madame Dravikine—is +my aunt."</p> + +<p>"St. Serge!—And you let us dub you '<i>bonhomme nouveau</i>'!—<i>Grand +Diable</i>, Ivan Mikhailovitch, had you had the choice of Petersburg, you +could not have selected a better <i>lanceuse</i> than Countess Caroline! On +my word, your saint favors you!"</p> + +<p>And Ivan, who shrugged away the whole affair, found Monsieur de Windt +perfectly right. Fortune had stationed herself at his shoulder, at last; +and the young man did well docilely to obey her whispered directions. In +a month, there were a thousand young men about town, far above the +station of a Gregoriev, who would have given half their prospects for +Ivan's present position. But the fickle goddess loves well to show her +face to him who has never sought to lift her veil; and to Ivan, whom she +had hitherto served so ill, she chose suddenly to shower with all the +things that youth desires. The young man found that, many and varied as +had been his dreams of the new life, reality surpassed them all. Work, +consisting of regimental duties and musical study, had taken a large +place in his mental picture of the present; and these<a class="pagenum" name="page_114" id="page_114" title="114"></a> things, with an +occasional holiday spent in exploring the new city, or, better, alone in +the company of his aunt, were to constitute all his work and recreation. +Moreover, he had, perhaps, secretly pictured himself neglecting his +prescribed duties for those musical studies which he had hoped at last +to undertake seriously, at the recently founded Conservatoire: perhaps +under its founder and chief instructor, the great Rubinstein; at least +under the second professor, the worshipful Zaremba, whilom conductor of +the opera.—These occupations, conceived during long, wakeful nights in +the dormitory of the Corps, at Moscow, had seemed to him, at that time, +details of a nearly perfect life. But Lieutenant Gregoriev of the +imperial guard, man-about-town and nephew of Countess Dravikine, could +afford to laugh at his childish ideas of a "manly" existence.</p> + +<p>First of all, Ivan soon discovered that, in winter, regimental duties +were practically nil. Half the privates of his regiment had been +dismissed to their native villages. The rest, though nominally in +barracks, and paraded once or twice a month (very badly), were wont to +eke out their half-pay (supposed to be whole, but actually shared with +two lofty administrators whose names were known to a certain astute +Moscow official) by working in the Artels that ply their various crafts +in the Russian cities throughout the winter season. The chief duty of +the officers, then, was to act as escort to members of the royal family +when they took formal outings, or made short journeys to Peterhof or +such of the country palaces as were within driving distance of the +Hermitage. Also, certain mornings of each week were spent at the +riding-school; and others in the practice of fencing and shooting, or +the perusal of the drill manual. The afternoons and evenings were free, +in so far as a member of smart society can ever be free, considering the +necessity of being seen in every private or public<a class="pagenum" name="page_115" id="page_115" title="115"></a> place of amusement +considered "the thing" at the moment. And, though Ivan was far too much +of a novice to perceive any iron underneath the flowers on the chains he +had voluntarily donned, he soon discovered that regular study of any +kind was impossible for him in that atmosphere.</p> + +<p>Ivan's regiment had always been a popular one in the capital; and, at +the end of the first six weeks of the new season, there was in it no +officer more sought-after than young Prince Gregoriev—"a nephew of the +Dravikines, you know." And this "young Prince"—who had himself never +been known to use his title, lost no time in picking up the manners and +the jargon of his small, new world. The thing that, in the beginning, +amazed him most, however, was the attitude towards him of his aunt; whom +he viewed with deep respect as the mother of Nathalie. He was slow to +understand Madame Dravikine's habit of surrounding herself with young +men; or the fact that she had had it assiduously whispered about that +her sister, the mother of Ivan, had been married when she was herself a +child scarce out of arms. But he wondered to find how very few of his +aunt's intimates remembered the age of her daughter, now for many years +convent-wrapped. His first moment of disillusion came on the day that +his aunt informed him, with considerable asperity, that his pretty +cousin was not a person to be mentioned in their circle—the reason +given—that "she was not yet out,"—sounding rather flimsy even to his +trusting ears. Still, he was given to understand that, in all +probability, Nathalie would be presented next winter, at one of the +court balls; on which day, Caroline admitted, wearily, to herself, her +special reign must end. But to her, seasoned through fifteen years of +unavoidable pretence, it was impossible to see the effect of her +customary fiction of existence, upon a mind hitherto so<a class="pagenum" name="page_116" id="page_116" title="116"></a> unused to +feminine subterfuge as that of Sophia's son.</p> + +<p>Ivan, troubled at heart by these and several other details of society +life, made certain cautious observations to de Windt which sent that +sophisticated young man into tempests of mirth. But guileless Ivan, who +had used no names, never realized that he himself was responsible, by +his insensibility, for the failure of Madame Dravikine's latest +attempted flirtation, which took the drawing-rooms of Petersburg by +storm that December, and set men and women alike laughing cruelly over +the fall of Countess Caroline's carefully constructed age, which was +announced, <i>en haute voix</i>, by her nephew, at a ball. At the same time, +it was also, in all probability, this same incident, that saved poor +Nathalie another year of seclusion and prayers. For, had not the world +already found her out, it is scarcely probable that the gay Countess, +arrived at the actual hour of abdication, would have had the courage to +bid her youth good-bye, and take up her place behind an exquisite +débutante.</p> + +<p>It was odd, perhaps, that Ivan was not at once banished from the +sunshine of his aunt's favor. But, for some reason, she chose to retain +him among her circle of devotees, sore as was his heart and disabused +his mind, of all illusion concerning the woman whom he had hitherto +looked up to as the single true companion, gay counsellor, gentle +philosopher, of his unhappy mother; and whom he now saw, perhaps rather +unjustly, as a mere, deceptive, heartless <i>mondaine</i>.</p> + +<p>There were, however, in the society of the Russian capital into which +Ivan had been so swiftly drawn, an infinite variety of other types who +amused, pleased, occasionally interested, their new companion and +observer. Petersburg was still under the stimulus of its changed rule. +Nicholas, the Iron Czar, a man stern, unlovable and unsocial, was dead. +With him had<a class="pagenum" name="page_117" id="page_117" title="117"></a> ended alike the horrors of a dreadful war and the lifeless +formalities which, throughout his reign, had served as the only court +functions. Just now a young Emperor, delight of his people and his +court, husband, moreover, of the most charming of Princesses, was +manifesting as much interest in evening gayeties as he did during the +daytime in those gigantic, newly projected reforms to which his wife and +his favorite minister were so ardently urging him. The six months' court +mourning, now thrown back, had revealed a lining of glowing rose. St. +Petersburg, from humblest serf to Czarevitch, was filled with life and +joy. And the society of the capital had plunged into a fever of gayety +unknown for twenty years. Amusements began at noon and ended the +following dawn. The first entertainment of the day was the second +breakfast:—for everybody naturally followed the French mode. Afterwards +there was skating on the lakes of the Tauride; then the traditional +drive down the Nevskiy Prospekt—a ceremony that shall endure till St. +Petersburg is forgotten; then a round of calls at the houses of those +old and noble families whose names demand that they open their doors +daily to the younger of their class. Later, between eight and nine +o'clock came dinner—a meal by no means neglected because of the tea, +<i>zakouski</i> and sweets that had been consumed steadily since <i>déjeuner</i>. +And at ten o'clock, dinner over and the theatre begun, Petersburg began +to grow really wide awake and to enjoy itself. For of all nations in the +world, the Russian is the latest. Your true Slav nobleman is always a +night-owl. Languid at luncheon, he endures his drive, enjoys his dinner, +enthuses at the opera, scintillates at supper, and is <i>then</i> roused to a +full sense of the real business of life: dancing, gambling, or prolonged +calls upon his friends; after which there is usually some +sleighing-party to the ice-palace on the Neva, or, if<a class="pagenum" name="page_118" id="page_118" title="118"></a> nothing better +offers, a round of the music-halls, which open only after the opera is +closed. Yes, truly, after one month in this land, no one will deny that +Paris has held too long the reputation that should belong to St. +Petersburg: that of the gayest of all the gay cities of the world.</p> + +<p>Thus, for some months—from October to January—Ivan lived, nor paused +to reflect on the questionable usefulness of such a life. The boy had +known too many wistful years to be easily inoculated by any reactive +poison in his stimulant. All the quieter dreams of that secret, inner +life of boyhood, were temporarily laid by. He failed to appreciate the +real value of the life he had led; the gift that he had begun to develop +in the finest, highest way. Had any one questioned him—though no one of +his present world would have dreamed of so doing, he would doubtless +have laughed at the suggestion of returning to the old ways. But whether +such questions would or would not have set him, afterwards, to some +furtive weighing of respective values, it is impossible to say. Still, +one may be permitted to hope the best of one's hero; or how impress a +languid public with his qualities?</p> + +<p>Madame Dravikine, despite her little discomfiture, would nevertheless +have declared the season from October to January perfect—save, +possibly, for a single gap in the royal coterie, and that in a spot that +she did not habitually frequent. As a matter of fact, it was only in +January that there returned to the capital, after nearly a year's +absence, possibly, the Empress excepted, the finest woman in Petersburg: +sister of the Iron Czar, and aunt of the present Emperor—the +Grand-Duchess Helena Pavlovna, voluntary leader of the reform party in +the capital. This great lady, immediately upon her return, doffed her +prolonged mourning and threw open once more the doors of her famous +<i>salon</i>. And it was<a class="pagenum" name="page_119" id="page_119" title="119"></a> through her—sister of kings—that Ivan, flocking +with the rest of his world to her famous drawing-rooms, returned after a +little, back to his best self.</p> + +<p>Her Royal Highness was a pattern of energy in all she undertook; and it +had been the habit of her lifetime to receive three evenings a week. On +Monday, on Wednesday, and on Friday she was at home: on each night to a +different world. On Mondays, with Milutin throned on her right hand, she +received the homage of the various members of the Council, each with his +pet bundle of intrigues; and deftly encouraged the clamor of controversy +sure to be roused among these ministers of varied persuasion. On +Wednesdays she sat alone in the centre of her <i>salon</i>, laughing at and +with the pretty world that came to flutter about her, in its richest +plumage and most changeable humor. Finally, on Friday, she rewarded +herself for duties done. Dressed quietly in black, with merely a scrap +of old point on her high, white head, she gave her hands, her brains, +and the refinement of her fine senses to—the musicians and the music of +Russia. For music was her recreation and her passion; and she had +created for it and for herself such a <i>salon</i> as is scarcely to be +equalled in history. No caste save that of ability was known on these +nights. Artists, uncouth and shy, who would have flown at the thought of +a royal command, flocked hither, sure of a genial welcome, artistic +appreciation, and absolute freedom from the dreaded fashionables of the +unknown world. For the Emperor himself could hardly have got an +invitation to his royal aunt's Fridays "at home."</p> + +<p>It was Vladimir de Windt (who, upon further acquaintance, betrayed many +hidden and unexpected talents,) who carried Ivan, experimentally, to one +of these Fridays. For de Windt, who had in him, deeply hidden, tenderly +cherished, that germ of artistic comprehension that is not to be +acquired by any means, divined<a class="pagenum" name="page_120" id="page_120" title="120"></a> the same thing in his new-found +companion, and took a great risk to prove his surmise true. Ivan had not +an inkling of what Vladimir ventured in taking him to that exclusive +little palace, where, did his protégé prove a boor, he knew well he +should never find a place for himself again. But Vladimir had spent many +an evening at the opera with Ivan; and had studied well the expressions +that Mozart, Rossini, Donizetti, even Flotow, at his best, could bring +out upon his companion's mobile face. And her Royal Highness was well +known to reward the discoverer of any new man of talent in her special +art.</p> + +<p>On that mid-January evening of Ivan's first appearance at the palace on +the quays, the scene that greeted his eyes was the same that afterwards +became so familiar to and so beloved by him. In the centre of the +square, well-lighted, bare <i>salon</i>, which, used only for these evenings, +contained not one of the customary hangings, or any medley of useless +toys and ornaments, stood a great Érard, its shining top raised, flanked +by two long stands heaped with music of every description. At the right +of the instrument, willingly accepting second place, stood the arm-chair +of the Grand-Duchess; and about her, in an informal circle, each one +quite at ease, sat or stood twenty or thirty men, young and old, with +possibly half a dozen women. At the piano, engaged in marking a sheet of +manuscript music, was a short, heavy-set person, with a leonine mane and +deep, brilliant eyes: a man known all over Europe, and to be known +throughout America: one Anton Rubinstein, pianist, a maker of music. At +his elbow, but talking to a frail-looking woman, was his brother, +Nicholas, destined always to be overshadowed by Anton, but to whom the +cause of Russian music was to owe far more, in the end, than to the more +showy <i>virtuoso</i>. In the knot about Madame Helena's chair were Zaremba, +Sérov, Glinka, Balakirev,<a class="pagenum" name="page_121" id="page_121" title="121"></a> Stassov, Lechetizsky—for the moment a +special protégé of the Grand-Duchess, and even young Rimsky-Korsakov, at +this time merely a Conservatoire pupil. Finally, far away, at the end of +the room, stood a long table, whereon were two unlighted samovars, +flanked by golden platters of sandwiches, cakes and caviare, together +with piles of untouched plates.</p> + +<p>At the entrance of the two young men, de Windt grasping Ivan by the arm, +the Grand-Duchess turned, in time to hear their names announced. And +after a moment, she summoned them to her, with a slight gesture. Then, +breaking off her argument with Ivan's future biographer, she held out a +hand for de Windt to salute.</p> + +<p>"Vladimir Vassilyitch, I expected you.—Have you enrolled yourself under +Zaremba yet, for proper instruction?"</p> + +<p>De Windt laughed. "Your Highness should get his Majesty and my Colonel +to claim less time of me!"</p> + +<p>"Bah, Monsieur Impertinence! The yacht club's green tables see more of +you than your Colonel, as we all know.—Whom have you brought me?"</p> + +<p>"My brother officer and good friend, Lieutenant Ivan Mikhailovitch +Gregoriev, lately of Moscow."</p> + +<p>Her Highness started and straightened. "Gregoriev!—The son of Gregoriev +of Moscow, here!—Are you aware, sir—" Suddenly she stopped, her gaze +meeting that of Ivan, and noting the deathly pallor of his face, the +sudden fire in his eyes. With an effort, she restrained herself, and +presently observed, in a different tone:</p> + +<p>"I have heard of your father, Lieutenant.—Are you a musician?"</p> + +<p>A shred of color crept back into Ivan's lips; but his voice was unsteady +as he said, in a low, rather rough voice: "I ask the pardon of your +Royal Highness, and beg leave to go.—The fault and the mistake of my +presence are entirely mine!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_122" id="page_122" title="122"></a></p> + +<p>At these words, de Windt turned towards him, sharply; but their hostess +interrupted his first syllable:</p> + +<p>"You have made no mistake, sir. Vladimir Vassilyitch is responsible for +all that he does. You are, I presume, a lover of music?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed yes, your Highness!"</p> + +<p>"You play?"</p> + +<p>Ivan, glancing towards the piano, encountered the keen look of the +world's master-pianist. "I have played at home, as a boy, for—my +mother," he answered, the last word uttered very low.</p> + +<p>A brief silence followed his speech. The little scene was unusual, and +had by this time caught the attention of the room. Ivan felt the hostile +fire of many eyes fixed on him, and perceived dimly what they had +resolved:—that he was to be tried, here, as others had been before +him—rather cruelly.</p> + +<p>Finally the Duchess herself glanced towards the piano. "Anton, have you +marked your expression?"</p> + +<p>"That is finished.—But I have not as yet suggested a fingering for the +cadenza."</p> + +<p>"No matter.—Ivan Gregoriev, Monsieur Rubinstein has brought us a new +manuscript—a barcarolle, you said, Anton?—finished to-day, and brought +here to be played to me. He writes a clear hand. Sit down, then, and let +us hear you interpret it."</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i>, madame!"</p> + +<p>"I said so."</p> + +<p>Ivan flushed crimson, and then went white again. An instant later he +smiled: smiled as on the night of his initiation at the <i>Corps des +Cadets</i>, when his tormentors could not make him cry out. Without another +word he walked to the piano and seated himself in the place vacated by +Rubinstein, who, angered at the thought of having his new creation +murdered by a tyro, speedily betrayed his mood to the company, who +regrouped themselves<a class="pagenum" name="page_123" id="page_123" title="123"></a> near the instrument. After this, the silence +became absolute.</p> + +<p>A long, tense moment, and then,—a sound broke the stillness: a long and +delicate <i>tremolo</i>, high in the treble. Instinctively, Helena Pavlovna +closed her eyes. The vibration increased, descended an octave, continued +an instant alone, and then was joined by a second tone by which the +melody was begun. It was a passage simple to read and played simply, but +with both delicacy and understanding, and without any of that <i>rubato</i> +or other affectation by which young Lechetizsky was already beginning to +mar his style. It was music pure, almost classical—the work not of a +<i>virtuoso</i>, but of a composer. And Rubinstein, leaning against the wall, +his eyes on Ivan's face, felt his humor change. His work, if better than +he had hitherto believed it, was certainly not being spoiled as yet. +Still—he must wait till the turning of the page, where began some of +those elaborate pyrotechnics that cheapen so much of his work. Could +this modest youth accomplish anything intricate? Probably not. And +yet—the fellow was calm enough. Even Rubinstein failed to divine the +extent of the strain under which he labored.</p> + +<p>Ivan had begun the <i>barcarolle</i> trembling. The first page successfully +accomplished, however, he lost himself a little, and began to feel the +old, musical, sixth sense creeping through him, and emerging, +gloriously, at his fingertips. Confidence increased. He had turned the +page. Ah! Here, truly, was need of it. The ensuing passage was utterly +beyond his rusty skill! One hurried glance told him that. Afterwards—he +went calmly on. Rubinstein, listening more at ease, was seen to give a +sudden start, stare an instant at the performer, and then, catching +Nicholas' eye, lift his brows in protest, to the only man who had heard +the composition before. Ivan was retaining the melody, picking it +unerringly from<a class="pagenum" name="page_124" id="page_124" title="124"></a> the mass of blurring notes, and substituting for the +difficulties of the accompaniment, a simple, graceful set of broken +chords.</p> + +<p>At the beginning of the second part of the development the performer, +exalted, even a little intoxicated with his sense of success, essayed a +bit of improvisation considerably more important than the first. This +time he ceased absolutely to follow Rubinstein's harmony, and, retaining +simply the melody, changed, however, to a minor key, he produced an odd, +rhythmical little series of syncopations so rich, so strange, and withal +so unlawful that when, omitting the conventional <i>cadenza</i>, he plunged +into a coda of his own, Rubinstein flew furiously to the piano and would +have struck the youth's hands from the keys but for a gesture from her +Highness so imperious and so unmistakable that the great pianist's angry +protests died upon his lips, and he joined, perforce, in the tumult of +applause that ended the unparalleled performance.</p> + +<p>Ivan found himself the centre of an intensely curious throng. +Congratulation, commendation of a two-edged sort, questions and +ejaculations, flew round him like hail. Then there fell a sudden silence +as the Princess, leaning heavily on her cane, approached the piano +through a little lane respectfully opened for her in the throng. But it +was to Rubinstein, not Ivan, that she addressed herself:</p> + +<p>"What has this young man been about, Anton?—Your style is certainly +very much improved!"</p> + +<p>"Your Highness, it was not my barcarolle you heard, but a clever bit of +improvisation on my theme—my own development having proved, no doubt, +too much for Monsieur Gregoriev's technique."</p> + +<p>Helena Pavlovna cast one answering look at this man whose musical talent +was surpassed only by his well-known, frantic jealousy of every possible +rival. And<a class="pagenum" name="page_125" id="page_125" title="125"></a> then, taking the abashed Ivan by the hand, she turned and +faced her guests:</p> + +<p>"My friends, we have listened, to-night, to the début of one of Russia's +talented sons. I introduce to you, in Monsieur Ivan Mikhailovitch +Gregoriev, a new composer; one who, a Russian of Russians, shall, I +predict, carry the songs of our country beyond herself, and proclaim +them over civilized Europe!"</p> + +<p>A smile of self-forgetfulness, of an enthusiasm that betrayed the beauty +of her royal soul, shone upon the lips and from the eyes of this true +Princess, as Ivan, his heart beating to suffocation, fell impetuously +upon one knee before her and raised her frail hand to his lips.</p> + +<p>It was indeed his début in the Russian world of music; and alas! it +gained for him fewer friends than enemies. For, of all types of men and +women upon earth, those into whom Euterpe has breathed her spirit, are +certainly the most practised in envy, hatred, malice and all +uncharitableness.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_126" id="page_126" title="126"></a> +<a name="IN_CAMP_3869" id="IN_CAMP_3869"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>IN CAMP</h3> +</div> + +<p>It cannot be denied that, on that momentous evening, the marked interest +of the Grand-Duchess in Ivan and his general success, were out of all +proportion to a performance which, as a matter of fact, any one in the +room could probably have duplicated. True, Princess Helena's unerring +judgment had at once marked the originality, the distinctiveness, of the +young man's improvisation; though she did not fail also to mark his +numberless transgressions of the rigid laws of harmony. And Ivan +himself, when all was over, began to feel some little mortification that +he had so openly betrayed his pleasure in his accomplishment; and he +presently discovered that de Windt himself could teach him points in +progression and modification of which he knew nothing: whereupon, behold +him once again on fire to get to work at his long-delayed, +vaguely-foreshadowed profession.</p> + +<p>His rendering of the now celebrated <i>barcarolle</i>, had given him an +unquestioned place in the <i>salon</i> of the Grand-Duchess, which henceforth +he frequented regularly. And there he met with both adulation and +opposition. To his secret surprise, Rubinstein, together with his +co-adjutor Zaremba, professed great enthusiasm concerning him, and +unceasingly urged him to enter the Conservatoire. This, at length, he, +in the company of de Windt, tentatively did: taking his place in one of +Zaremba's classes of composition, and undertaking the study of +orchestration under Serov. Here Ivan showed<a class="pagenum" name="page_127" id="page_127" title="127"></a> himself phenomenally +prolific in the production of exercises; and he grasped the difficult +principles of composition in a remarkably short space of time. +Unfortunately, however, formal work did not content him; and one day he +carried to Rubinstein two or three eccentric little pieces, on which he +had expended both energy and admiration. Here, at last, the great Anton +found his opportunity. He whipped Ivan's work to rags with sarcastic +criticism; leaving not one measure untouched by his caustic and rather +brutal wit. Next day he received his young pupil's resignation from his +classes; and the gay world regained its pet. For Ivan, in a fit of +childish anger, left his work behind him, and plunged into a furious +round of dissipations, of which gambling now formed the chief. Dawn +after dawn saw him leaving the green tables of either the "Nobility" or +the Yacht clubs; and, as if to applaud his defection, fate decreed that +Ivan could not lose. Baccarat, roulette, piquet, even whist,—Ivan won +at them all, till one drawer in his escritoire was stuffed full of +lightly won notes.</p> + +<p>The Countess Dravikine, it seemed, was highly pleased at her nephew's +return to what she considered the only proper society for a member of +her family. And it was probably through some communication of hers that, +during the second week in April, Ivan was astonished at the receipt of a +very good-humored letter from his father, containing much specious +advice upon his conduct, together with the intelligence that, +henceforth, his allowance should be doubled. At this time of his life, +indeed, Ivan might have thrown money into the street by handsful and +still have felt no want. But, as if to add mockery to the situation, +this Ivan was the least extravagant of young men. His wants were +singularly few; and the chief items in his expenditure consisted in the +lending of money to his brother officers; all of whom eventually paid +their debts.<a class="pagenum" name="page_128" id="page_128" title="128"></a></p> + +<p>There was one thing, one brief but delightful incident, indirectly +brought about by Madame Dravikine, which Ivan had to cherish during the +long months that ensued.</p> + +<p>During the whole of this winter of her cousin's introduction to the +great world, Mademoiselle Nathalie Alexeiovna had remained shut away +from any possible encounter, in the Catherine Institute. As the spring +advanced, however, Mademoiselle Nathalie's mother began to receive +rather disturbing reports concerning the health of the young girl. She +was neither eating nor sleeping; she looked pale and worn; and she lay +on her bed during all the hours of recreation. So Madame la Comtesse +finally sacrificed a charming luncheon and a musical, and went, one +afternoon, to see her daughter for herself. The sight did not prove +reassuring. Nathalie was certainly not well. And the outcome was that, +upon the advice of a doctor, the young lady obtained one month's leave +from her studies and returned home to amuse herself, agreeably, under +the wing of her mother, in the house in the Serghievskaia.</p> + +<p>In spite of these things, the details of home life proved less diverting +than the young lady had hoped. To her, accustomed for so many years to a +regular routine of life and the continual companionship of girls of her +own age, the fashionable mode of existence in her father's house was +confusing and unpleasant. Her slight illness did not confine her to her +room. On the contrary, the doctors had prescribed much open-air +exercise, together with early hours. These things not being in the least +in her mother's line of occupations, Mademoiselle Nathalie was driven to +her own resources, and to arrange some sort of programme for herself. +Among the many serfs of the household there was one, Ekaterina +Nicolaievna, who had been her nurse in infancy, and, since the departure +of her demoiselle to the Institute, had become a kind of <i>chargé +d'affaires</i> of the serfs' house. Thus the old<a class="pagenum" name="page_129" id="page_129" title="129"></a> woman was accustomed, +quite on her own responsibility, to leave the house every morning, some +hours before her ladyship was awake, and betake herself to the various +markets to buy food for the serfs' quarters, stopping, on the way home, +to say her prayers before Our Lady of Kazan, and regaining the +Serghievskaia before the Countess had rung for the first time. These +excursions, of which, as a matter of fact, her mother was ignorant, +Nathalie now joined, and they soon became a delight to the young girl, +who was still child enough to enjoy early morning rising. It was to her +an excitement to find herself abroad in the quiet streets, to study the +men and women hurrying to their work, to watch the quaint sights of the +hour, listen to the hoarse cries of the innumerable basket-vendors, and +stand by, half terrified, half ashamed, while old Ekaterina bargained +and haggled and quarrelled over her regular purchases of fish, <i>casha</i>, +buckwheat flour and <i>kvass</i>, which was never made in the Dravikine +household, but bought by each servant for himself out of the inevitable +"tea-money."</p> + +<p>On a certain morning in April, a few days before Easter, all the street +merchants were abroad unusually early, and in great numbers. Two days +before there had been a thaw; but now the streets were a sheet of +glittering ice, and walking was a precarious business. Nathalie and her +companion, their day's buying over, had just finished their devotions: +which the girl went through with a reverence quite as deep as that of +the old woman. Emerging upon the Nevskiy Prospekt, they had gone but a +few steps from the famous little chapel, when Nathalie felt a light +touch upon her arm, and lifted her eyes to behold a slender figure, +wrapped in a fur-lined military coat, bending before her. As his head +was raised, the young girl gave a little cry, upon which her guardian +seized her arm protectingly, glaring, the while, at the presumptuous +one:<a class="pagenum" name="page_130" id="page_130" title="130"></a></p> + +<p>"Let me go, Katrina! It is my cousin—from Moscow—Ivan +Mikhailovitch!—I knew that you were in Petersburg, Ivan. But—you are +out very early!"</p> + +<p>Ivan gave a joyous laugh. He was, as a matter of fact, just returning +from a night of festivity at the Nobility Club. But this, naturally, was +not to be confessed.</p> + +<p>"No earlier than you, at least, mademoiselle," he returned. "And will +you accept my escort to wherever you are going?"</p> + +<p>Nathalie gave one, quick glance into the old woman's scowling face. Then +the demon of mischief entered into her, and she accepted Ivan's offer.</p> + +<p>That fifteen-minute walk to the Serghievskaia, with the lynx-eyed +guardian tramping at his heels, wrought new havoc with Ivan. It took +sixty seconds to perceive that the closely cherished ideal of his +boyhood had been worthy of every moment of adulation expended on it. Two +minutes more, and the intensity of past emotions was quite swallowed up +in the joy of the present. In just what light the maiden regarded him, +she made it difficult enough for him to guess. But the interpretation of +his own feelings,—this furious throbbing of his heart, the awkward +hesitancy of his speech,—was no very difficult matter. When at last he +left her, at her mother's door, he made himself an inward promise that +this should be the first of many such meetings. And when he reached his +own quarters, it was to amaze de Windt by the radiance of his expression +and his apparent lack of fatigue. Though he retired presently to his +room and lay down there, he found sleep to be a thing entirely +undesirable, considering the subject of his waking dreams.</p> + +<p>Next morning, somewhat earlier than on the previous day, he entered the +church of the Virgin of Kazan. But though for an hour and a half he saw +every soul that<a class="pagenum" name="page_131" id="page_131" title="131"></a> entered there, his cousin did not come. That morning +was a black one. In the afternoon, driven by his folly, he presented +himself, at an absurd hour, at the house of his aunt. There he was +received, promptly. But he was not long left in doubt about the nature +of his welcome. Madame Dravikine, it appeared, had learned the whole +tale of yesterday's walk from the dragoness-serf; and her nephew had to +endure a short and sarcastic sermon upon the nature of etiquette for +young girls which finally sent him from the house, white-faced and +furious. Truly, if his aunt had vented upon him her preposterous species +of jealousy, she had gained thereby no good-will from the young man, who +worshipped her daughter from afar as a creature scarcely to be treated +as a mortal being.</p> + +<p>Blindly persistent, Ivan refused to be discouraged by his misadventure. +For a month, at every hour of the day, he watched the door of the +Dravikine residence; but failed, by any strategy, to catch a single +glimpse of his pretty cousin. Nay—one exception there was! Upon a +reception-day he did find her in her mother's drawing-room, seated +before a samovar, prepared to answer "<i>oui</i>" or "<i>non</i>" to any remark +addressed to her. But Ivan had kept his place beside her for less than +ten minutes when he was superseded by a deprecating envoy from the +Countess. Fifteen minutes later he left the house and went raging home, +to endure, for the first time, serious pangs of jealousy. And, as he sat +listening to de Windt's calm prophecies of Nathalie's success, next +winter, as a débutante, he cursed volubly, under his breath, to think +how soon every wretched <i>roué</i> in the city would be free to pollute the +spotless child with glances, with words, even, in dances, with a clasp +of her waist! De Windt, watching him covertly, said to himself that by +that time, should this madness continue, Ivan would be fit only for an +asylum.<a class="pagenum" name="page_132" id="page_132" title="132"></a></p> + +<p>Meantime, the season advanced. The great thaw came; and there would be +no more snow for months. Russia was a sea of mud. All young things were +harkening to the call of the spring: and youthful blood, like sap, +flowed fast. Ivan, vindictively acknowledging that, for the present, his +ideal was quite beyond him, became, to a certain extent, interested in +another woman, whose future career was destined, indeed, to touch his at +points many and strange.</p> + +<p>This young person was called Irina Petrovna; and she was a recent +graduate of the Government School of Singing. Her father was one of the +violins in the opera orchestra. And it was a great day for him when his +daughter made her début on the boards over his head. She made her first +appearance in a small rôle of a Mozart opera; achieving precisely the +success predicted for her by her ironic master: a success of form, of +face, above all, of manner. She had but a moderate voice, this +remarkable young person. But she suffered no stage-fright; and though +the ladies of the audience regarded her with no enthusiasm, it was to be +observed that the vast majority of the men in the house, gave her brisk +applause: hailing with delight this legitimate member of the troupe whom +it would certainly be worth while to ask out to supper.</p> + +<p>Ivan, rarely enough attracted by women of her type, was in a dangerously +susceptible mood. And de Windt was hardly more displeased than surprised +at the invariable attendance of Ivan on those evenings when Mademoiselle +Petrovna was billed to appear. Ivan himself made no great effort to +analyze the appeal she made to him: an appeal to the baser side of his +nature. But, though he met the young woman more than once, it soon +became evident, even to his friend, that he had no intention of +attaching himself seriously to her following. What it was that held him +back, he did not know: the<a class="pagenum" name="page_133" id="page_133" title="133"></a> memory of two sad, gray eyes, a voice raised +for him in warning at the moment when it was about to die into eternal +silence; or the nearer vision of a slender, dark-crowned maid, clad in +whitest draperies;—who shall say? At any rate, Ivan was evidently +determined to keep this latter picture unrivalled in his heart, let +richly dangerous fascinations call to him as they might.</p> + +<p>But the young singer herself, it would appear, cherished no such +protective vision. Her professional career in Petersburg was a brief +one. By mid-May, a fortnight before the opera season came to an end, +Mademoiselle Petrovna had left the company and was no longer available +for pleasant little suppers at the Bellevue or the Courteliain. The +matter of her going—and more especially its manner—formed a week's +subject of surmise at the three great clubs. But the retreat of the +charming débutante was not discovered. And if she had taken with her a +companion, the identity of that person was a matter rather of surmise +than of knowledge. For which reasons, probably, the gossip about the +affair gradually ceased, though the subject that replaced it was common +enough, neither spiced nor salted, but found, by more people than one, +to be as indigestible as it was unsavory.</p> + +<p>To be plain, June was at hand; and every officer in that capital of +officers, was preparing for his ten weeks of annual drill and roasting +in the camp at Krasnoë-Selo.</p> + +<p>In considering the peculiarity of the army regulations in Russia, it +becomes necessary, first of all, to take brief survey of that greatest +and most dread factor of all the life in that Empire, neglected though +it has been by every commentator and critic of civilized nations: a +factor which stands first in the life of every Russian, from the highest +official of the cumbrous governmental machine down to the humblest +descendant of the serfs; both of whom, with every member of every class +between<a class="pagenum" name="page_134" id="page_134" title="134"></a> them, lives, and for ten centuries <i>have</i> lived, at the mercy +of that grim and terrible,—<i>climate</i>.</p> + +<p>It has for some years been the custom among certain foreign nations, +notably the great English-speaking mother and her rebellious offspring, +to set forth, in various forms of print, many individual opinions of +Russia, its people, and its government. Here all the scribbling of the +quasi-authoritative, statistical variety has lately focussed itself, +bursting forth in a very tornado of long-winded, vilificacious +ignorance. Certain subjects may be suitable vehicles for the exploiting +of this species of personal vanity. But of them the most incongruous, +and the most abused, has been the great, white, silent, unprotesting +land. Nothing about it, from its origin to its beverages, but has had to +bear the brunt of outrageous comment, for which the justification +proffered is usually some six weeks' summer residence in the capital, +and perhaps one or two brief "arranged" conversations (by means of an +interpreter), with an official of the third or fourth grade. Such the +source of many a book; though the few English-speaking foreigners who +have enjoyed ten or more years of residence among the Russian people, +would be slow to make a single generalization anent that remarkable +race.</p> + +<p>In this class of writings, however, and even among articles of a better +type, there is, strangely enough, nowhere to be found so much as a +straw's weight of stress laid upon the relentless, indestructible cause +of so many of the woes of a country whose struggle for the bare means of +subsistence has been Titanic. Nowhere is there any analysis of the power +that has won so many victories against the one implacable enemy of +Russia: nowhere any suggestion of the million strategic <i>coups</i> by which +a handful of feeble human beings have again and again defeated this +gigantic force. Above all, has no one ever given pause to the +unquestionable fact that,<a class="pagenum" name="page_135" id="page_135" title="135"></a> supposing Russia to be (what she is not) five +hundred years behind the rest of European civilization, she has had but +one month out of the other nations' two, in which to progress. If her +armies be worse drilled, less hardy, than those of her enemies, it is +because they live their soldier-lives for scarcely one-third of the +year. And finally, the half-brutal, half-savage, wholly ignorant +condition of her one hundred and forty million peasants, is due, not in +any wise to the tyranny of mere kings and overlords, but to the +relentless, never-dying, never-staying cruelty of that unconquerable +ruler, whose abuse of power is to be stopped by neither rebellion nor +assassination; and whose heart is to be warmed to humanity by no tears, +by no appeal; by the lashes of whose frozen knouts a great people has +been beaten into apathy, their brains deadened through physical +suffering, their children's children bearing a hopeless heritage down to +generation after generation of those who wage, from birth to death, +their dreary, dragging warfare with the real tyrant of Russia, monarch +unlimited and unapproachable, the Winter of the North.</p> + +<p>It is, then, in this grim fact, that there is to be found the origin of +the curious custom of the Russian army to take all its lessons in the +art of warfare, together with all discipline, drill, and general +training, during those ten weeks of summer when the daily parade will +not produce a hospitalful of frozen ears, hands and feet. During the +winter, indeed, only the guard regiments, quartered in the large cities, +are kept at anything like full complement, the whole army of the line +dispersing to village and farm, country estate and smaller town, whence, +in the first weeks in June, they come pouring into the half-dozen huge +camps stationed at various points of the Empire. These camps had all of +them been designed by Nicholas I., and they serve his purpose to this +day. Of them all, the most important is naturally that nearest<a class="pagenum" name="page_136" id="page_136" title="136"></a> the +capital and, therefore, under royal supervision: Krasnoë-Selo, distant +from Petersburg between fifteen and eighteen miles, and about half a +mile from the little town of that name. Thither, therefore, Ivan and +Vladimir were about to proceed, with their regiment.</p> + +<p>Naturally enough every cadet, before leaving his Corps, was made aware +of many of the facts of this camp-life. But its more intimate details, +those making the existence tolerable or intolerable, were to be +discovered only by experience; and, moreover, depended largely upon the +name and the reputation of the individual, and the standing of his +regiment.</p> + +<p>Ivan himself obtained considerable information from de Windt, to whom +camp life was by no means a novelty. Certainly the work would be hard, +the days long, and the quarters the opposite of luxurious. At the same +time Ivan, rather weary of his idle existence, looked forward with some +enthusiasm to aiding his captain in whipping their company into shape. +Despite the fact that their regiment was one of the few that remained in +barracks during the winter, it was in anything but "crack" condition. +Indeed, as its under-officers admitted, sadly, among themselves, they +were living now upon their past reputation, gained in a year when they +had led the camp in marching, and won the medals for drill and the +spotless nattiness of their arms and uniforms. They had fairly earned +their nickname of the "Imperial Dandies." But that had been in the time +of Mezéntsoff. Since the day when his promotion had brought his +adjutant, Brodsky, to the colonelcy, the regiment had retrograded +steadily. And now, it appeared, they were about to reach their climax of +disgrace. Already there were whispers in the air concerning the utter +incompetency of their leader. But it was left for the first month at +Krasnoë to reveal to the whole army the dire truth of the whispers.<a class="pagenum" name="page_137" id="page_137" title="137"></a></p> + +<p>Meantime, as the northern days lengthened till the night was a bare two +hours in length, the great houses of the Admiralty quarter were closing, +one by one. The city was filling with merchants, come down from +Helsingfors and the various Finnish towns, for their annual holiday; and +there was the usual invasion of ubiquitous tourists, whose dread of the +Russian winter led them to visit the city at the dismal season when +brown holland covers and fast-boarded windows shroud and coffin the +corpse of the dead winter. In short, the season, Ivan's first season, +was over. The imperial family were at Peterhoff. Tsarskoë-Selo was +brilliant with arrivals from the cream of the court society, among whom, +naturally, the Dravikines occupied a foremost place. The Grand-Duchess +Helena, with both Rubinsteins in her train, had gone to Baden-Baden to +drink the waters and listen to half a dozen summer concerts which the +brothers were to conduct. Lastly, two young officers, Ivan and de Windt, +were closing their snug apartment, and preparing kits suitable for tent +accommodation. The younger of the two men, looking back over the +happenings of his first winter in the great world, that first winter of +his happiness, felt in his heart a pang of regret that those bright +months were gone, carrying with them the great beautiful freshness which +was so soon to pass out of his life forever. There might—nay, there +should, be a hundred more winters, some one of which should bring with +it events greater than any he had known. But never again would one of +them hold for him a touch of the same unlooked-for delight, the same +exquisite joy at the welcome of the world for him, that he had known +this year. He wondered, vaguely, if his mother knew how all that +bitterness of his birth, the sting of his father's whispered reputation, +had been removed from him. And as he prayed that this might be, he +yearned for one hour of her presence, of that unselfish interest in<a class="pagenum" name="page_138" id="page_138" title="138"></a> all +that interested him; for but a dozen words of her gentle but unerring +council, as he had scarcely yearned for her through the first days after +her death. But Ivan was, at this time, little given to melancholies; and +a laughing question from Vladimir in the next room, brought him back to +realities and his man's work.</p> + +<p>Thus, finally, on the second Monday in June, the regiment began its +two-day march to camp; and bore the hours of unaccustomed walking badly +enough to draw upon it the immediate attention of every colonel in the +Corps. But its own colonel was not there to see. The senior Major led +the men to their quarters; and it was not till they had encamped for +four-and-twenty hours that Brodsky made his appearance in the luxurious +double tent prepared for him at a little distance from the end of the +officers' row.</p> + +<p>A few days later, upon the evening of the eighteenth of the month, an +erect, smartly uniformed young officer entered a tent midway down the +narrow, canvas-lined street and flung himself, wearily, upon one of the +two camp-beds that flanked the little room. It was several moments +before he rose to remove his accoutrements, his boots and his clothes, +wrap himself in a most unmilitary dressing-gown, and throw himself down +once more with a sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>It was past nine o'clock; but the sun was still above the edge of the +horizon, and its beams had that soft, whitish, unnatural light of the +northern summer night. A faint breeze came down from the waters of the +gulf, lifting away the fetid odors of the huge camp, and bringing relief +to the thousands of wet and dirty men who were half prostrated by heat +and unwonted exercise. Ivan, who had lain gazing moodily through the +lifted flap of the tent, had fallen into a light doze before de Windt, +more than ever his companion, came quietly in, and repeated the actions +of his comrade. Finally,<a class="pagenum" name="page_139" id="page_139" title="139"></a> when he was comfortably abed and puffing away +at a short meerschaum, he turned to his comrade, stared at him for an +instant, and then called him by name, twice.</p> + +<p>At the second summons Ivan started, shook himself, and turned towards +the other bed: "What did you say? When did you come in, Vladimir? How +long since you left the mess?"</p> + +<p>"Twenty minutes, about."</p> + +<p>"And—?" Ivan paused, for an instant, while a frown appeared between his +brows, "they are—discussing the usual theme?"</p> + +<p>"All evening.—It seems there are developments.—But where were you for +dinner?"</p> + +<p>The frown deepened. "Potapoff of the engineers had asked me over to +their mess—very civilly.—You know I've seen a good deal of him lately, +because of that survey I've been working out.—I went, suspecting +nothing. But I soon discovered it was only to see how much they could +pump me with regard to—to this d—— situation of ours. I tell you, +it's all through the camp."</p> + +<p>De Windt sat up, with an ejaculation of deep disgust. "Well—you +didn't—they didn't get anything out of you, did they?"</p> + +<p>"Holy Virgin!—D'ye think I'm <i>proud</i> of the fix? D'ye think the +regiment doesn't mean as much to me as to you?—I left them the minute +tea came in; and I lay here thinking about it when I dozed off."</p> + +<p>"Vladimir Vassilyitch, the thing can't go on. It <i>can't</i>! We'll be +degraded for good. Two years hence, the report that a fellow's been in +this regiment will come near ruining him.—And yet—what Brodsky's +about, I simply can't fathom. He's been on parade exactly twice since we +pitched tent; and both times, if the men hadn't known his general habits +at manœuvre, they'd have been stumped to obey. Zedarovsky said he +could<a class="pagenum" name="page_140" id="page_140" title="140"></a> barely mumble.—Vladimir, the man's an animal.—But, I say, what +are the developments you spoke of?"</p> + +<p>De Windt was silent for an instant, studying the open expression of the +clear-eyed, clean-cut young face before him. During the past winter the +older man had conceived a friendship for Ivan such as he would hardly +have believed himself capable of. Above all things, de Windt was proud +of Ivan's scrupulous morality, and the almost incredible chivalry with +which he regarded all women. Few men attempted to fathom the extent of +his innocence. But it was a fact that conversations of a certain type +were instinctively stopped when this young fellow entered a room—though +it were the lounging-room of the notorious Yacht club itself. It was for +this reason that de Windt paused for a full five minutes, and that +Ivan's impatience was becoming visible, before he answered, gravely:</p> + +<p>"Ivan Mikhailovitch, you've seen a good deal of our 'manly' existence +this winter, in Petersburg. I imagine you've got your own opinion of it. +We won't discuss that. But see here, when a man is seen continually +neglecting his duty; when he is constantly rushing off, without a word +to a soul, and is always seen in the same locality; when he's always +half-drunk but refuses companionship, and threatens his servant with the +knout if he examines the address on the letters he writes every few +hours; when he seems to have lost any sense of duty or decency or +position that he has attained to; what is the infallible explanation of +that man's behavior?"</p> + +<p>Ivan sprang to his feet. "You mean it's a woman?—Brodsky can't have +married again, surely?"</p> + +<p>De Windt smiled. In his mind he marvelled a little, even while he +rejected the idea of either guile or idiocy in Ivan's simple question. +"Why the secrecy, then?—and the ill-temper?—All the same it <i>is</i> a +woman, though. We've all come to that conclusion.—As a matter of fact,<a class="pagenum" name="page_141" id="page_141" title="141"></a> +Ivan, Zedarovsky swears he <i>saw</i> her, walking down officers' row, +probably on her way to the village, two nights ago. By his watch, she +had just time to catch the last train,—the eleven-twenty-five, for +Petersburg. She was going rapidly, with her head down. She wore a thick +white veil, too. And yet he swears also that—he recognized her."</p> + +<p>"<i>Recognized her!</i> Great God, Vladimir, it's not—it can't be—any one +we know?"</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!—Oh because—that brute!—It would be sickening to think of a +woman's even dining with him!"</p> + +<p>"That is probably precisely what she had been doing.—He's certainly +getting rather reckless. But we compared notes; and nobody saw him that +day after five-thirty; and Féodor, his orderly, was on guard at the tent +door all evening, the officer of the watch says.—By Heavens, he'll have +her—"</p> + +<p>"But you haven't told me whom they say she is, Vladimir. Tell me!"</p> + +<p>De Windt hesitated, and then, lifting his eyes to Ivan's, said, in a +grave voice: "Why should you know, old chap?"</p> + +<p>"Because I'm not the fool you take me for.—You've thought me +effeminate, de Windt, I suppose, because I have never—cared to go in +for certain things. But it's not effeminacy, believe me. It's—"</p> + +<p>"Don't, Ivan! For Heaven's sake don't dream I want your confidence about +any private matter. All I've ever thought was that you were infinitely +more decent than the rest of us."</p> + +<p>A faint flush crept over Ivan's face; but he waived the speech gravely, +and renewed the question. "I do want to know, Vladimir; because I have a +suspicion as to her identity. And—and if it should be the one I +fear,—by Heaven—I've a plan that may help us! Tell me her name!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_142" id="page_142" title="142"></a></p> + +<p>"Zedarovsky says that it was—Irina Petrovna, the singer."</p> + +<p>Ivan's face paled slightly as he said, in a low voice: "I had a +presentiment it was she.—Well, Vladimir, wish me success! I'm going, +to-morrow evening, when I've arranged matters a little, to Brodsky's +tent to protest, in the name of the regiment, about his behavior."</p> + +<p>"Ivan! Good God! He'll have you court-martialled and dismissed from the +regiment!"</p> + +<p>"He will do nothing of the sort. And if he does—better that, than have +the old Second go to utter ruin."</p> + +<p>"But—but—if you will be foolhardy, at least wait till you've given +some one of the others an opportunity. One of the majors, or the +Adjutant, might do it with less danger. Give them a chance, Ivan!"</p> + +<p>"If all things were equal, Vladimir, I'd never dream of arrogating the +interview to myself. But I have a certain power—at least, my father +has, that may, perhaps, properly used, influence Brodsky.—At least, if +it does not, nothing else in the world will!"</p> + +<p>After this, though de Windt's curiosity was roused and he was eager to +learn the unsuspected means the use of which had been so long delayed, +he could get nothing but monosyllables out of Ivan, who soon showed +plainly that he would say nothing more concerning it. And, indeed, when +a young and honorable officer has come to the determination to use +blackmail upon his Colonel, be the purpose never so laudable, it is not +a matter that he is likely to talk of, even with his best friend.</p> + +<p>Amazing though it may seem, and contrary to every rule of novelistic +heroism, Ivan was determined to do a thing that he had been +contemplating for a week: to bring the terrible, unknown, but accurately +estimated power of his father's map of men to bear upon Colonel Brodsky +of the Grenadier Guards; to return a sobered<a class="pagenum" name="page_143" id="page_143" title="143"></a> and battered leader to a +regiment in want; and to rescue—for so Ivan put it to himself—a damsel +in distress from the power of a brutal man, for whom she could not +possibly have any real affection.</p> + +<p>In the officers' mess of the Second Grenadiers, the head of the table +was habitually occupied by the senior Major. From the first day of camp +life, Colonel Brodsky had taken his meals in his tent—ostensibly alone. +And, even when every officer and servant in the regiment could see +Brodsky's orderly running back and forth from the mess-kitchen to his +tent, carrying bottle after bottle of sparkling golden wine, the reason +given was still the same: "The Colonel is too much occupied with +regimental affairs to appear at mess."</p> + +<p>Many a laugh had gone round the table at this excuse. But by now the +joke was growing bitter; for every private in the camp spluttered in his +<i>kvass</i> at the mere mention of the leader of that once gallant regiment. +Within the month, the whole Second was suffering, keenly, under their +disgrace. And for this reason the youngest lieutenant, when he entered +the mess-room on the evening after his talk with de Windt, found himself +the hero of the table. For Vladimir had taken pains, that day, to +intimate pretty clearly to one or two comrades Ivan's expressed purpose. +Throughout the meal the prospect was discussed, indirectly, or in +whispers, between man and man; but even Ivan was a little startled when, +supper ended, there came a sudden lifting of glasses to him, and a toast +was drunk which, though silent, was unanimous. A moment or two later the +young officer, with a visible straightening of his body, rose, bowed, +and walked out of the tent. None followed him; for it was instinctively +understood that he should return to report his failure or success, +before retiring for the night.</p> + +<p>The ranked order of the table was now broken up.<a class="pagenum" name="page_144" id="page_144" title="144"></a> The men pulled their +chairs into informal groups, and sat together puffing at cigarettes, +sipping tea, and talking, in a desultory fashion, while the underlying +tension increased, and more than one man wondered a little at the +weakness of his knees and the slight unsteadiness of the hand upholding +glass or match. Vladimir de Windt, Ivan's acknowledged chum, was doubly +concerned and doubly restless. He shuffled his chair from group to +group, his eyes asking anxious and unanswerable questions of each +comrade with whom he discussed the state of the weather. And, indeed, +the great doubt in his mind was echoed in that of every man present: +what would be the outcome of Ivan's audacity? If Brodsky took the +remonstrance in bad part—and who doubted that he would?—what would be +the fate of Gregoriev? Poor fellow! He had undertaken a quixotic task; +and more than one of his fellow-officers regretted that they had not had +the generosity to warn him of what he certainly should himself have +realized—the strong possibility of disgrace.</p> + +<p>In such wise there passed a quarter of an hour—twenty minutes—half an +hour—finally, three-quarters. De Windt, now on his feet, was on the +point of starting towards the Colonel's quarters, when—the suspense +ended, and Ivan came quietly in. The young man's face was white and +scowling as he seated himself at the table, poured himself a large drink +of <i>vodka</i> and drank it off, amid the breathless attention of the whole +mess. For three or four minutes they waited, patiently. But at last de +Windt, who could restrain himself no longer, burst forth with:</p> + +<p>"Ivan Mikhailovitch, for Heaven's sake tell us what has happened! What +did he say to you? How did he answer your accusation?"</p> + +<p>Ivan broke out into an unpleasant laugh. "He tried swearing me out of +his presence," said he. "But that<a class="pagenum" name="page_145" id="page_145" title="145"></a> didn't quite do. My visit was—well, +timely, or untimely, whichever way you regard it. It was a curious +scene; but I'm afraid I can't explain it very fully. It was—well, too +intimate. What good I've done, I can't tell, just yet. But, at least, +Fóma Vassilyitch is fully aware of our feelings in regard to his—his +recent mode of existence. Now I must go, gentlemen.—Vladimir, may I +speak to you, for a few minutes, on a private matter?"</p> + +<p>With a formal bow, Ivan ended his most unsatisfactory explanation, and +left the tent again, followed eagerly by de Windt.</p> + +<p>Outside, however, Ivan's behavior was unexpected. De Windt began, at +once, with a flood of eager, anxious questions; but, when they were a +few hundred feet away from the mess-tent, Gregoriev turned to him, +saying, in a low tone: "Wait a little, Vladimir. The thing has more in +it than you suspect—thank God!—You will be able to guess all that I +can't explain; but you must wait, before I tell you anything, till I've +read—this!" And Ivan drew, from the breast of his uniform, a bit of +crumpled paper, which, smoothing out, he paused in the white twilight to +read. The note, written in a half-formed, feminine hand, ran thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Lieutenant Gregoriev</span>:—You behold me in an unbearable and +misleading position. I am the most unhappy woman in Petersburg; +but, if you will, you can save my whole life for me. I shall get +this to you in some way; and, if you have any pity, any charity, in +your heart, for a woman helpless and friendless, wait up in your +tent, alone, to-night. I know which it is, and I shall come there +as soon as I can get away and walk through the camp, without +observation. All I ask is a brief talk with you.</p> + +<p style='text-align:right'> +"With unhappiest salutations, I am <br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Irina Petrovna</span>."<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Ivan read the note through twice. Then, without a word, he handed it to +his companion, and waited till<a class="pagenum" name="page_146" id="page_146" title="146"></a> the latter's ejaculation announced that +he also had grasped its significance. Then, leading the way rapidly to +their own tent, Ivan seated himself opposite his companion, and said, in +a low voice:</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle Petrovna was with Brodsky to-night, when I forced my way +past the orderly. She wrote this note and threw it upon the floor at my +feet while Brodsky was facing me. From what I saw, Vladimir, I'm certain +the Colonel hasn't prospered in his siege. For, in spite of all +appearances, I'm convinced that the woman neither belongs to him nor +wishes to yield to him. But for the life of me I can't understand her +continual presence here—in this camp, where—"</p> + +<p>The sentence died away. De Windt shook his head, but forbore to utter +his incredulity. Presently he said:</p> + +<p>"You'll see her, of course.—And you'll want me to be getting out of +here. I can sleep with Deroiev, easily."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, Vladimir.—But, by the way, you'll—that is, I'd prefer, my +good friend, that you should say nothing at all of this incident. I'll +let you know, in the morning, the result of the interview. And I believe +that, through her, we can reach Brodsky and force what we want. I had no +opportunity, to-night, to say what I had planned. He is enraged with me, +just now. But I have no fear of to-morrow. Before he attempts to +court-martial me I shall have a little private interview with him, +and—you shall see that the matter will blow over; and the Second may +take its right place again in the army."</p> + +<p>De Windt sprang to his feet, with an exclamation: "Pardieu, Ivan +Mikhailovitch! I begin to think I have never known you, before! You—in +your first year out of the Corps—doing what not one of us dare do! You +make one ashamed—"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense, Vladimir Vassilyitch! I tell you, I'd be in the same case as +the rest of you if it were not for—my<a class="pagenum" name="page_147" id="page_147" title="147"></a> father. And now, help me to get +the place here in some sort of state to receive—the lady!"</p> + +<p>So, laughing, the two fell silently to work.</p> + +<p>An hour and a half later the great camp was still and the brief night +had fallen. Ivan, sitting alone in the unwontedly neat little tent, had +ceased to smoke, and had begun, as a matter of fact, to nod, when he was +roused by the hurried entrance of some one whose garments brushed his +knees. He rose, hastily; stared about him in the darkness; and then, +bethinking himself of the probable situation, hurriedly took a +match-safe from his pocket and lighted the night-lamp which stood on the +tiny table. Then he turned to greet the young woman, who had thrown an +enshrouding veil back from her face, and stood before him, waiting.</p> + +<p>She was a girl whose face and form were sufficient to excuse the +infatuation of a man of Brodsky's type. Surmounting a figure built on +heroic lines, her noble head seemed as if it must be drawn backward by +the weight of her hair; which she wore without any of the elaborate +side-curls then in fashion, but parted, and coiled low upon her neck, in +unconscious harmony with her classic type. Her creamy skin, her great, +blue eyes, and generously-moulded features, gave one the impression of a +soul similar in size. And, indeed, at this period of her career, there +was little in Irina Petrovna to suggest the sordid, selfish, degraded +woman of later years. To-night she and Ivan, standing close together in +the candle-light, made a noble picture of youth.</p> + +<p>Just now, however, appearance was the last thought in either mind. And, +as Ivan remained nervously silent, the girl presently began:</p> + +<p>"First of all—let me thank you for doing—what I asked. I have very +little time, now. I must catch the train at one o'clock.—It has just +been put on, you know: and I believe Fóma Vassilyitch got it done +for—for me.<a class="pagenum" name="page_148" id="page_148" title="148"></a> He doesn't know, of course, that I am in this tent. +Grigory, his orderly, is always sent to Krasnoë with me. But Grigory is +my friend; and has always let me go and come alone.—I cannot endure +the—the stares, the whispers of the men; and the awful scandal! But I +came here, Lieutenant Gregoriev, to tell you the truth about myself."</p> + +<p>"Sit down, mademoiselle, I beg of you! And let me take your cloak.—So. +Now may I offer you anything?—A glass of claret?"</p> + +<p>"Nothing, thank you! I must tell you—about myself, and ask your advice +before I go. For I have no one in the world to help me. Listen:</p> + +<p>"You think, of course, that I am—a dreadful woman. But I swear to you, +by the Virgin, by the spirit of my mother, that I am—as yet—- +absolutely innocent of the wrong I am being forced into! You do not know +the struggle I have made! You don't know what I endured before I +consented to receive Colonel Brodsky's help, two years ago; and again, +before I would let him visit me in Petersburg; and then before I came +here—<i>here</i>, to this place, where every man in the camp thinks me—Oh! +I believe, now, that <i>that</i> is why my father insisted:—that, knowing +what every one thought of me, I might become reckless, and—let go. But +I will not—never!—for <i>that</i> creature!" Irina's eyes blazed and her +voice grew vibrant with passionate anger.</p> + +<p>"Pardon, Lieutenant. I will try to tell the story quietly, now. You must +know that we are very poor. My mother is dead; my brother in Moscow; and +I was left to keep the three rooms that my father could afford to rent +with his wages from the orchestra and the few lessons he gives. Two +years ago, when I was sixteen, they discovered that I had a voice. My +father, delighted, first gave me lessons himself; and then took me to +the Conservatoire, to Zaremba, I hoped there<a class="pagenum" name="page_149" id="page_149" title="149"></a> to get a scholarship. But +somehow my voice didn't develop as they hoped; and, at the competition, +I failed. I was in despair. We already owed money for my lessons; and +there was no hope of my earning anything. All my work seemed wasted. It +was then, of course, that Colonel Brodsky—he had just had his +promotion—came to my father about me.—He had been watching me for +months, he says.—At that time, I knew nothing about it:—about the +horrible promises my father made him, when he proposed to finish my +musical education, and secure me a début at the opera.—They say now +that my voice isn't nearly big enough for great parts. But at that time, +I never knew this. I planned all sorts of splendid things that I was to +do as a prima-donna; and I never dreamed that I couldn't pay everything +I owed to—<i>him</i>!</p> + +<p>"And now—" she gave a dreary little laugh—"now, look at me! I've not +only ruined myself and my father, but even a whole regiment!—My God, +Monsieur Gregoriev, what can I do? I have refused and refused and +refused that hideous man. But my father owes him nearly five thousand +roubles for my lessons and my theatrical wardrobe; and we cannot +possibly pay him. He is willing to cancel the debt in another way:—the +way you know. In fact, that is what he has intended all along. My father +cares nothing for my feelings. He is as furious with me as is Brodsky. +And I can't imagine how I have managed to keep away from him for so +long.—Ah! If it were—if it were only easier to <i>die</i>!—But I'm a +coward, you see."</p> + +<p>"I do not think you are a coward, mademoiselle," replied Ivan, gravely.</p> + +<p>"Ah, monsieur, you do not know! Months ago I understood that the world +has no room for a young woman who is poor and yet—not ugly. We should +be better out of it."<a class="pagenum" name="page_150" id="page_150" title="150"></a></p> + +<p>"If you are sure that your case is as serious as this, you will not +refuse me the pleasure you can give—"</p> + +<p>"Monsieur!" Irina sprang to her feet, her eyes brilliant with anger.</p> + +<p>"You misunderstand me, mademoiselle, entirely!" cried Ivan, horrified at +her interpretation of his words. "What I mean is this. Your father is in +debt, on your account, to a man who has proved himself dishonorable. I +propose to free you from persecution by transferring that debt to one +who will take nothing but honorable payment—at any convenient time, in +amounts of any size that you or your father find yourselves able to pay. +Here, at once, Mademoiselle Irina, I will give you five thousand roubles +in notes, with which you can discharge your obligations to Brodsky, and +repay me at your leisure."</p> + +<p>The ensuing five minutes proved even more distressing than Ivan, +anticipating them, had feared. The young lady was of a temperament both +emotional and dramatic. And her behavior, to a man to whom scenes were +abhorrent, proved trying in the extreme. In the end, after the amount of +protestation and rather affected timidity which she evidently thought +proper, Ivan's offer was accepted; and the expression of her gratitude +that followed, caused Ivan to terminate the business somewhat brusquely +by calling the lady's attention to the time, and then escorting her to +within a hundred yards of the station. That her relief was genuine and +deep she proved, by persisting in explanations of what Ivan's act must +mean to her; but he regained a certain amount of his usual +unconsciousness, upon perceiving that she was really talking as much to +herself as to him, as she laid out her plans of payment and magnificent +schemes for her own subsequent career. It was to his own astonishment +that her benefactor, finally bidding her good-bye, found himself asking +for her Petersburg<a class="pagenum" name="page_151" id="page_151" title="151"></a> address—which proved to be a humble street on +Vassily Island—and found himself thinking with some pleasure of seeing +her again.</p> + +<p>Upon his return to his quarters, moreover, Ivan might have gone further +than he did in his little analysis of the adventures of the evening. A +man more versed in feminine ways than he, might have read much in the +manner of the lady's farewell to him. For her attitude was ingenuous +enough to have suggested the fact that had Lieutenant Gregoriev and not +Colonel Brodsky been the original holder of her debt, the damsel's +attitude might have been less unyielding. But Ivan had still his boyish +belief in the perfection of all woman nature. And certainly that part of +Mademoiselle Petrovna's career which he knew best, was of a nature to +increase the strength of his faith.</p> + +<p>It was nearly morning before the young officer could banish the subject +from his thoughts—thoughts which had now returned to the disagreeable +certainty of an approaching scene with his redoubtable Colonel. But when +de Windt, agog with curiosity, re-entered his own quarters, his comrade +was sleeping so peacefully that he could not find it in his heart to +disturb Ivan till the <i>reveille</i> roused the camp.</p> + +<p>While Ivan dressed, he and de Windt held a hurried conversation. A few +words sufficed to inform the other of the mission of the lady; but Ivan +was as amazed as he was displeased at de Windt's frankly expressed +surprise at the undeniable uprightness of the young lady's attitude. +There followed a consultation as to any possible retaliation on the part +of Brodsky. On this point de Windt, ignorant of the nature of Ivan's +power, was not sanguine. Thus it was that as he hurried off to review, +Ivan's courage was at low ebb; and for the first time he began, in his +secret heart, to doubt the possible efficacy of his father's knowledge.<a class="pagenum" name="page_152" id="page_152" title="152"></a></p> + +<p>As it happened, that doubt proved unfounded. Once again, as a hundred +times before, the powers of Prince Gregoriev were put to the test and +not found wanting. Perfect knowledge of the universal corruption, the +gigantic systems of graft which, then as now, ate into the very +foundation of that ill-arranged bureaucracy which governed the country, +was at the finger-ends of Gregoriev, himself so besmirched by that black +evil by which he had risen to power. And in his notes of the deeds of +possible victims, the writing below the name of Brodsky—who, though his +official position was not high, was a man of large fortune and, +therefore, valuable to Gregoriev's purpose—occupied a surprising amount +of space.</p> + +<p>The second interview between the Colonel and his Lieutenant took place +three days after that first one, in which the unexpected presence of a +lady had prevented Ivan from giving his opponent so much as a suggestion +of his vantage-point. It came about thus. When Brodsky, already in a +state of impotent wrath at the audacity of his officer's reproof, +received from Ivan's orderly the full sum of Petrovna's debt, together +with a highly imprudent letter from Mademoiselle Irina, who did not +scruple to mention the name of her benefactor, the man's rage became +physically dangerous to himself. It did not however prevent him from +realizing the certainty of exposure of his own criminal folly which must +follow any attempt of his to disgrace Ivan on a trumped-up charge. But +an interview with the Lieutenant in which he could vent some of his +spleen in abusive threats, would be perfectly safe, and also a source of +relief. Wherefore, a half-hour after the receipt of the foolish woman's +letter, Lieutenant Gregoriev and Colonel Brodsky stood face to face in +the Colonel's tent.</p> + +<p>It was an hour before Ivan emerged, his figure erect, his face calm, +save for a rather bitter little smile which<a class="pagenum" name="page_153" id="page_153" title="153"></a> played round the corners of +his mouth. At some yards from the closed tent, he paused to speak to +Grigory, Brodsky's orderly, who stood, as usual, on guard, but at a +prescribed distance.</p> + +<p>"Grigory, I think the Colonel needs your assistance. He is indisposed; +and you would do well to get him a drink of <i>vodka</i>."</p> + +<p>The man, to whom the whole progress of recent events was perfectly well +known, forgot his salute, and stood, open-mouthed, staring after this +incomprehensible young man. It was five minutes before he entered his +chief's tent with the liquor, and found there matter enough to double +his perturbation. What in the world had been done to change that +bawling, swearing, furious and malignant man, who had ordered a +subordinate to his tent with a manner spelling disgrace to the unhappy +offender, into this broken, white-faced, tremulous, sweating creature, +who actually thanked his servant for service done: a thing which, during +Grigory's four years of service, had never happened before?</p> + +<p>If the Colonel's orderly asked himself this question and found no answer +to it, how much more did the matter puzzle the other men and officers of +the Second Grenadiers, and, gradually, as the change in Brodsky and his +regiment became known, the entire camp? To the Colonel's relieved +astonishment, he met with neither avoidance nor taunts from his +superiors; nor yet any special disdain from his inferiors. Ivan, acting +up to his own standard, had told the secret of that interview to no one, +not even de Windt, who, however, brooded over his silence as an +injustice. Indeed, if the truth were known, Gregoriev was strangely +regretful of his behavior towards his chief. True, he had had no choice; +and he had saved a woman from infamy. But his shame at the deeds of his +father had marred his life for so many years, that the consciousness of +having adopted his father's<a class="pagenum" name="page_154" id="page_154" title="154"></a> method, though in an unselfish cause, +depressed him unaccountably. And, even had he known, at the time, how +bitterly he was afterwards to rue his silence, it is probable that he +would have acted again in precisely the same fashion.</p> + +<p>From this time forth, however, his standing in the regiment rivalled +that of its former commander, now General of their brigade. Not a man +nor an officer there but gave him the whole credit for that change for +the better which had begun in the Colonel on the day after his first, +plucky interview, and which grew, steadily, throughout the summer, till, +at a last dress-parade, held in the presence of the Czar, the Second +actually captured the Iron Medal for drill—which gave them the third +place in their army division. Brodsky, when he had nothing else on hand +to occupy him, was a good officer, and strict to a point of tyranny with +regard to dress and the appearance of his regiment. By the time of the +grand reviews he should, had he had the least particle of generosity in +his nature, have forgiven Ivan's victory in his satisfaction over his +renewed standing in the army and at his clubs.</p> + +<p>Meantime, the remaining weeks of camp life proved to be monotonously +dreary. Ivan was not of the type of man to press his popularity and +batten upon it. Rather, flattery, and the inevitable toadyism of weaker +natures, revolted him; and he began once more to retire into himself, +and to live again with dreams, which now formed themselves round any one +of three topics: first and highest, his music, at which he had begun +again to work; secondly, the sweetest of the three, Nathalie, of whom he +thought as of some rare and lovely flower, not to be plucked by human +hands; lastly, at first rarely, later far more often, round that girl +whom he had come to regard in a measure as his protégée—Irina, whom he +saw twice during the summer, and whose father,<a class="pagenum" name="page_155" id="page_155" title="155"></a> though he had paid two +small instalments on his debt, had begun, (to Irina's secret delight, +and Ivan's persistent blindness), to regard the handsome young officer +("whose father was a millionaire prince") as an excellent successor to +the fallen Brodsky.</p> + +<p>The one important fact of these weeks, however, and the one having most +to do with the young man's subsequent career, was the time which he +spent, in his solitary evenings, over his musical note-books. The +absence of a piano sharpened his faculties amazingly; till, by the time +of his return to civilization, an instrument was no longer necessary to +him in composing. Ivan was beginning, at last, to know the faces of his +secret gods; and to be not a little troubled at the anomalous position +of an army officer, whose dreams and ambitions were all towards the arts +of peace. How, indeed, was he now to reach the realm of these heavenly +beings? For always, in the midst of his highest flights, there lowered +above him, blotting out the gleaming spires of his Parnassus, the dark +forms of those demi-gods into whose service he had been forced. And more +than once, in his high solitude, Ivan heard, in the secret chamber of +his soul, a strong voice of command bidding him leave this present life, +drop every vanity of his existence, and set out boldly along that steep +path that should lead him at last, through hardship and labor, to +summits of the highest joy that can be known to human heart and brain. +Then, puzzled and disturbed by his sense of the responsibility of his +solitude, Ivan would perform by day his mechanical duties, and then +hurry away, at evening, to labor undisturbed through the strange +northern twilights, at his chosen task.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_156" id="page_156" title="156"></a> +<a name="HALF-GODS_GO_4817" id="HALF-GODS_GO_4817"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>"HALF-GODS GO"</h3> +</div> + +<p>Ivan made no mistake in these personal equations of his; but he managed +one very bad one when, in his heart, he thought of fate, or destiny, or +circumstance, as leaving all responsibility of decision to him, thus +shirking its generally acknowledged business. Had this chosen son +harbored no such audacity, perhaps the rearrangement of Ivan's life, +necessary though it had now become, might have been gradually wrought. +As it was, the fellow must be given a double lesson, and forced to learn +it well:—by heart, in all probability. Nor must it fail to stretch his +powers of apprehension to their fullest extent. Wherefore, in the early +autumn, the giant wheel that is not turned by chance, began to revolve +for Ivan, very slowly, without apparent aim in its pristine movements.</p> + +<p>Summer was gone. The five great camps in the Empire had been broken a +fortnight before; and officers and men alike began to let their backs +relax a little, and were taking less notice of dust-flecks on their +uniforms. In the suburbs, at Tsarskoë-Selo, for instance, there were now +many villas whose eyes had closed for the night of winter—their +recently open windows and doors being dismally boarded over; while their +aristocratic owners were indulging in a last informal holiday at some +one of the foreign Spas, before the serious business of winter sleighing +and court balls should recommence. This year there was, however, less +flitting than usual; for men in high places had been made to understand<a class="pagenum" name="page_157" id="page_157" title="157"></a> +the full significance of an imperial whisper that the ministers and +their aides remain in close touch with Peterhof and the Hermitage. +Europe was under a tension of hope—and fear. And the Bear and the Lion +crouched face to face, every muscle rigid, eyes glued upon each other, +ears strained to catch every faintest echo from the booming of northern +guns in that far-off land where America lay, already torn and bleeding +with the first lacerations of her terrible inward strife.</p> + +<p>In the first week of September, Lieutenant Gregoriev, returning from a +visit to his father in Moscow, rejoined Captain de Windt in their +apartment in the little Peréolouk.—Thus the court journal: whereby the +young man should have perceived himself to have ascended at least one +more round of the social ladder. If he did not realize this, however, +Ivan was still in a very excellent frame of mind. His stay with his +father had been pleasanter than he had hoped; for Prince Michael, who +began to see his every ambition realized in the probable future of his +son, had been more agreeable to him than ever before, and absolutely +magnificent in his generosity. Ivan felt a little thrill of amazement +every time he recalled the amount of money at his command. Moreover, +here was a new season coming on; and one that promised him delight +untold. For was it not to bring the début of his cousin Nathalie? She, +light of his dreams, no longer to be shut away from his eyes, or voice, +or even—speak of it reverently!—arms, perhaps—stood where he had +stood a year before: on the threshold of the ballroom of youth. The +world was to know her well; for her mother, always advocate of the +<i>dernier cri de la mode</i>, had decided, months before, that she, like a +dozen ladies of the highest Russian world, would adopt, for her +daughter, the English fashion; and actually allow her, before her +marriage, to face the living world of men and things. At the first court +ball of the season she should<a class="pagenum" name="page_158" id="page_158" title="158"></a> be presented to her sovereigns; after +which it would be understood that the charming child was in the +matrimonial market, ready to be knocked down to the highest bidder.</p> + +<p>Had her cousin Ivan, who scarcely regarded her presentation in this +harsh and vulgar light, thrilled at the prospect of her first appearance +there, how much more must it mean to the damsel herself, who, in all her +girlish dreams of the freedom of womanhood, had never dared picture the +possibility of such liberty before the event of marriage? During the +coming season there were to be introduced half a dozen other young girls +of her own station, who had even been in her own class at the Institute. +And more than once this true daughter of the world had laughingly +reviewed her possible rivals, either to herself, or to her interested +maid. There were Mademoiselle Cherneskovsky, with her long, skinny neck; +and Alexandra Nikitenko, whose red face and fat figure could not +possibly be forgotten in the good-nature of her disposition, any more +than the immense wealth of the only daughter of the Shúlka-Mirskies +could compensate for her thin, colorless hair, and pale, red-rimmed eyes +with their invisible white lashes. Finally, there was Olga Tarentino, +whose blonde stateliness might prove dangerous, so long as she could +keep from a betrayal of her vixenish temper. But pretty Nathalie, +remembering the furious recklessness of this, laughed as she lifted her +golden-framed hand-glass, and accepted, complacently, the ready flattery +of smooth-tongued Antoinette.</p> + +<p>Nor, seeing this young girl as she stood, surrounded by her mother, two +maids, and half a dozen adoring serfs, on the evening of November 12th, +in the year 1862, could any one have blamed her, very strongly, for her +gay vanity. Lovelier vision than this surely never graced the somewhat +bare corridors of the labyrinthine Hermitage! For this was the night of +her début,<a class="pagenum" name="page_159" id="page_159" title="159"></a> when Nathalie was to make her first courtesies to royalty.</p> + +<p>She was dressed in the prescribed court costume—which was to prove so +trying to the objects of her naughty ridicule. Upon her, the high +kakoshnik, with its jewelled rim, and the floating veil that softened so +beautifully the great weight of her braids, proved startlingly +beautiful. And, with a neck like hers, what more desirable than the +daring décolletage of her white tulle gown, from the billowing skirts of +which her tiny waist sprang like the slender stem of a huge, white rose. +About her throat was clasped a double row of pearls—her father's gift +to her for the great occasion. And, in her arms,—last, daring touch of +her Countess-mother, who, in the matter of dress, was a consummate +artist,—Nathalie carried a great cluster of vivid crimson camellias, +that gave a perfect finish to a costume now relieved from any suspicion +of monotony, or too conventional simplicity. The red of the waxen +camellia, vividly transparent as it was, was scarce redder than the +unroughed cheeks and lips of their bearer. Nor was the brilliant +sparkling of the diamonds in the kakoshnik inadequately reproduced in +the light of those changing eyes, which, to-night, glowed large and dark +with steady, living fire.</p> + +<p>Caroline, Countess Dravikine, gazing critically at her daughter's +finished figure, felt her heart glow within her. Who could reproach her +for exploiting such beauty before marriage? For at sight of Nathalie +to-night, an Emperor himself could scarce have reproached his son for +desiring the hand of so exquisite a creature. And, with her own great +skill as a firm basis for the girl's charming ingenuousness, reflected +her mother, what alliance would prove impossible to her now? For, even +in her mother-love, this odd woman was filled with the selfishness of a +very empty vanity. And it seemed<a class="pagenum" name="page_160" id="page_160" title="160"></a> now as if, with the death of her +unhappy sister, there had also died in Madame Dravikine the last vestige +of unworldliness.</p> + +<p>The Hermitage that night proved a fitting field for her generalship. The +event so long dreaded by her as the seeming end of her own youth, was +suddenly turned into a double triumph. For, as Nathalie passed through +the long <i>salons</i>, she was followed by such a trail of whispers, +envious, malicious, amazed, from the women, universally applausive from +the men, that the Countess suddenly realized that she held in her hands +a new instrument of power; one greater than she had ever wielded before. +Moreover, before an hour was gone, she knew well that she had been +vindicated of any suggestion of mistake in having adopted the English +rather than the French form in introducing her daughter. For his Majesty +exclaimed, delightedly, as he personally lifted the débutante from her +third low and graceful courtesy; and the Empress, most charming, most +gentle, most refined of women, kissed the young girl on the cheek with a +compliment that made Princess Shúlka-Mirski scowl with displeasure—her +own daughter having received no more than the conventional +acknowledgment. Later, as Nathalie, her cheeks burning, her big eyes +cast down, backed slowly from the room, still prostrating herself at +intervals, every woman present <i>felt</i> that little, insensible murmur of +applause that came from every member of the royal circle—the +grand-dukes indeed attempting no concealment of their admiration.</p> + +<p>The great formality over, Mademoiselle Nathalie was bestowed upon her +own, voluntary subjects: a throng of brilliantly uniformed men, among +whom already—oh remarkable girlhood!—Nathalie's eyes were eagerly +searching, for a certain one. He was there; and presently, catching that +look, he came to her: the handsome, black-eyed cousin, whose heart was +throbbing for and<a class="pagenum" name="page_161" id="page_161" title="161"></a> with her. And her triumphant mother would have been +dismayed indeed had she known that all that evening, throughout her +unprecedented success, Nathalie had moved and spoken and blushed and +been still for one alone, whose eyes, from the moment of her entry into +the royal presence, she had felt upon her!</p> + +<p>How this feeling had come, whence it sprang, whereon been nourished, +grown, who could say? Certainly not the maiden herself. Indeed, until +this night, she had not given Ivan his rightful place with her. But +henceforth she was to hold his image in her heart, and, sleeping and +waking, it was to be with her, her delight, her anguish, her wonderment.</p> + +<p>Already she had given all that was in her to give. She was totally +inexperienced. But he had at last, and recently, tasted the forbidden +apple. And already there had risen in him such a host of fierce, +conflicting passions as left him half frightened at the forbidden +possibilities now thronging his heart. To-night, as he looked into the +eyes of this pure and exquisite girl, there rushed upon him all +suddenly, the real meaning of man-love; the fulness thereof; the fury of +perfected passion: the union of love and of desire.</p> + +<p>Poor Ivan! The evening held things other than delight for him. As he sat +beside his cousin, talked to her, held her in his arms during one of the +wild, Russian mazurkas, he felt his body tremble with the terrible force +within him. And once the little form he held twisted, suddenly, in his +embrace. Nathalie cried out, and looked up at him; and he realized that +his strong clasp had hurt her. His look answered hers. Then the child +lowered her eyes, while a furious color dyed her cheeks and neck; and +Ivan could have shouted aloud at what he saw and knew. Confidently he +demanded of her more dances, and more and more. And she granted them +mechanically, neither thinking nor caring for appearances,<a class="pagenum" name="page_162" id="page_162" title="162"></a> nor for any +other person in those rooms. She was like one in a dream. Vladimir de +Windt, marvelling at the recklessness of the affair, came once to the +twain, thinking to expostulate with Ivan. But what he saw in the two +faces turned blankly upon him, filled him with such sudden perception +that he stumbled through an excuse, and went off to seek some spot where +he could think; saying to himself, as he went:</p> + +<p>"Good God! Who would have believed he could love like that!—and she +also!"</p> + +<p>But there were others in those rooms who had not his insight. And it +came finally to the remembrance of Madame Dravikine, in the midst of a +most amusing <i>tête-à-tête</i>, that she was no longer a free agent at +balls: that she was chaperoning a daughter who appeared to be alarmingly +unconventional. Leaning upon the arm of her titled companion, Madame +Dravikine went forth to fulfil the first scheme of Ivan's relentless +destiny.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Gregoriev and his cousin had finally retreated to a small and +empty antechamber, where the strains of the distant band came in a soft +echo to their ears. Ivan was leaning forward, in front of the girl, +whose eyes were lowered. A moment before his right hand had closed, +gently, over her own unresisting one; and the words he was speaking +would have been inaudible to any one two yards away. Nathalie was with +him in another world. At her feet, forgotten, lay the camellias, looking +like a splash of blood upon the slippery floor. Ivan's head was swimming +as he talked. But, in the midst of a sentence, he saw his companion give +a great start. Then she snatched her hand from his, pushed him aside, +and rose, unsteadily, her face deathly white. Ivan, noting the flowers, +stooped for them, and, ere he returned them to her, detached one, and +thrust it into the pocket of his uniform. Then he lifted his look to +meet the blazing eyes of his aunt, and<a class="pagenum" name="page_163" id="page_163" title="163"></a> the cynical smile of a tall, +gold-laced man, whose breast was covered with orders, and whose mustache +and imperial were known to and hated by all Petersburg; for Prince +Féodoreff was a person whose <i>penchant</i> for feminine youth and beauty +had carried him into many walks of life.</p> + +<p>The present little scene was interesting, but brief. Ivan never knew how +it was that Nathalie was presently disappearing through a doorway on the +arm of this man; her much-abused bouquet, held by one ribbon in her +listless right hand, trailing eloquently upon the ground; while he, +furious, but still dizzy from unwonted emotion, stood facing his aunt. +When her cold look had become intolerable to him, she added to it her +voice; saying, in a tone he had never heard from her:</p> + +<p>"It is a pity I am forced to understand that my daughter is not to be +trusted with her cousin, even for one hour,—in a royal palace!"</p> + +<p>With this she would have turned away. But something in Ivan's eyes +stopped her, despite her justified anger.</p> + +<p>"Mademoiselle Nathalie Alexeiovna is to be trusted with any one, +anywhere, for any length of time. But with no one could she ever be +safer than with me, madame!" he said, passionately.</p> + +<p>"Ah! And your method of taking care of her, is to manage so that she +shall be criticised, commented on, laughed at by the entire court during +the first hour of the first evening of her appearance in the +world!—Were you not a baby, Ivan, I should think you either mad or +dishonorable!—As it is, I am glad to have discovered what you are so +soon; though it will take months to regain for my unfortunate daughter +the position she has lost through your preposterous behavior. I shall +take good care, however, that she never again endangers her reputation +by receiving any sort of attention from you,<a class="pagenum" name="page_164" id="page_164" title="164"></a> in any place, at home or +abroad.—You will do well not to offer it, Ivan Mikhailovitch; for I +cannot have my daughter's name linked with that of a Gregoriev!" With +which brutal thrust this great lady turned coolly away, leaving Ivan, +stuttering with rage, behind her.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Thus, upon the first possible occasion, did Ivan ruin his winter. Nor +can it be said that he had not brought his punishment upon his own head, +by conduct so recklessly inconsiderate, that, considering the custom of +his country, it could scarcely be called that of a gentleman. Madame +Dravikine had been justified in the first part of her reproof; though +nothing, probably, could have excused the bitter insult of her final +taunt. For that, indeed, holding, as it did, a reproof of her dead +sister, her conscience pricked her more than once. But it had no effect +on the chaperonage now imposed by her upon her hapless daughter. Never, +perhaps, was heavier price paid by two offenders for the folly of a +single hour.</p> + +<p>After the night of November 12th, any man in Petersburg could gain +audience of Mademoiselle Dravikine more easily than the one man whom +Mademoiselle Dravikine cared to see. Nathalie, indeed, made herself +miserable enough over the situation to have warmed Ivan's heart, could +he have known the fact. Her longed-for world—that wonder-land of which +she had dreamed so long, for which she had been so assiduously prepared, +was not wonderful to her now. To her eyes, the gilding over the iron +bars was very thin: the perfumed padding on the stone walls but a poor +disguise of their chill impenetrability. Nor could she find in her guide +and mentor—that mother, whom she so little knew,—either comfort or +refuge in her unhappiness. Madame Dravikine, indeed, was disgusted and +disappointed. The tale of Ivan's mad devotion and of her daughter's +imprudence, had spread through the city,<a class="pagenum" name="page_165" id="page_165" title="165"></a> losing nothing in the telling. +And Nathalie's open stubbornness and rebellion confirmed it only too +clearly. To her mother's mind, Nathalie was behaving in an imbecile +fashion. Suppose <i>she</i> had acted in such a way, when, as Mademoiselle +Blashkov of Moscow, she had been besieged by a handsome, impecunious +young officer; and, instead of throwing him over for the wealthy young +Count Dravikine, had capped her sister's black marriage by one wildly +improvident? Besides, she was not without serious plans with regard to +her daughter, even in these first weeks of her first season. But no plan +seemed possible of fulfilment when, night after night, Nathalie would +make a dutiful, dejected appearance in some fashionable <i>salon</i>, and +would sit, drooping and visibly wretched, wherever she was put, unless, +by some unlucky chance, she caught a glimpse of the white and gold of +Ivan's uniform. Then her sudden wild vivacity would fill her mother with +helpless rage; and she would wait and watch, while a roomful smiled, and +the rows of diamond-laden dowagers shook their heads and lifted their +eyebrows solemnly towards the oblivious girl, whom no sarcastic comment, +no openly insulting interpretation of her open preference, could, +apparently, make her understand the importance of a union of family and +fortune in the bridegroom of Mademoiselle Dravikine. Moreover, it would +sound really incredible were one to make a positive statement of the +number of nights throughout which this silly child lay sobbing, in the +kindly darkness of her bedchamber, till the approach of late-rising dawn +brought a brief forgetfulness of her unquestionably ridiculous little +trial.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, after all, it is rather pitiful that this calf-love, confidently +derided by omniscient, sensible middle-age, should be so tender and so +beautiful a thing. Once it is crushed out of us, we are not likely ever +again to be burdened with a feeling at all similar to it. Nor is it<a class="pagenum" name="page_166" id="page_166" title="166"></a> +often tough-fibred enough to weather the stress of the first years of +married life; and come through the equinoctials of the inevitable +adjustment unshattered and unwrecked. And yet—how much would not most +women give to feel once more the fine, ecstatic shiver of that first, +foolish kiss? And the dreams of this period—how fair, how delicate, how +fragile—how utterly impractical they are! What beauties are not +conjured up by the imagination, during those delicious, sleepless +nights; only to be dissipated into chilling mist by the stern realities +of the relentless morning?</p> + +<p>There is a very old, very trite philosophy that can be made to replace +such a state of mind. Most young men of twenty-five are gloating over +it: feeling themselves sad cynics, suffering from a tragic past. +Unbearable to others this stage may be. But it is a pleasant haven to +the individual anchored there, safe from the recent storms of +disillusionment. By January, poor Vladimir de Windt began to long for +the first signs of this state in his companion. Ivan was, certainly, in +a preposterous mood; and had not even grace enough to appreciate the +long-suffering patience of his friend, who listened, with unfailing +courtesy, to his eternal ravings over the nameless but perfectly +well-known object of his undying adoration. There did, however, finally +come a day when Vladimir's despairing wishes met with a kind of +fulfilment.</p> + +<p>About noon on January 16th, Ivan, returning from a morning at the +riding-school, passed the church of St. Simeon. Noting the effect of the +candle-flames on the velvet darkness of that part of the interior +visible through the open portals, and remembering that it was an +especial saint's day, he entered, thinking to kneel for a moment behind +the throng of men and women by whom the church was nearly filled. +Suddenly, before he had chosen his place, he was aware of an intense<a class="pagenum" name="page_167" id="page_167" title="167"></a> +emotion. Ere he had time to analyze it, there came a light touch on his +arm, and he turned to face his cousin, Nathalie, wrapped in the soft +sables that matched the momentary shade of her eyes. Behind her a young +serf, Anitchka, a foolish and romantic creature, bobbed and grinned with +pleased excitement.</p> + +<p>Instantly Ivan saw his opportunity. A moment later Nathalie's attendant, +with a piece of gold in her hand, was forcing her way to a place near +the altar, whence prayers for her benefactor would presently rise. +Meantime Ivan had turned, eagerly, tremulously, to the young girl.</p> + +<p>"Natusha!—The saints have heard me at last!—Oh Natusha,—Natusha!" It +seemed as if that endearing diminutive could not leave his lips, so did +he linger over it, while he pressed her small, gloved hands passionately +between his bare ones.</p> + +<p>"Oh Ivan—I am glad!—But I am afraid, too! I must tell you—everything. +And then we will say good-bye!"</p> + +<p>"No!" She started at the fierceness of that monosyllable. "Not +'good-bye.'—Not yet!—Not yet!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Ivan. I am too unhappy. I must—I have <i>got</i> to stop thinking +about you.—It is too hard, too miserable, the other way.—And I know +they will never let you see me again."</p> + +<p>Ivan's reply was a tightening of his clasp on her hands. Then he bent +his head, while his brows were knitted, anxiously. It seemed as if he +could not speak. And she had opened her lips to comfort him a little +when he burst forth, huskily:</p> + +<p>"Nathalie, I love you better than life! Will you marry me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh!—Ivan!" The child trembled. She would have drawn away, but that he +held her tightly and strove to look into her face. Then, suddenly, she +grew braver, and let her eyes meet his. In the rose-red of her fair<a class="pagenum" name="page_168" id="page_168" title="168"></a> +face he read, ecstatically, his answer. But he was to have yet more. +Unknowing that he had read her thought, she found her voice and +whispered: "Yes!"</p> + +<p>And then, in a second, he had kissed her, upon the mouth, there in the +dusk of the little, empty chapel. Whereafter, indeed, she would have +torn herself from him, had he not drawn her arm through his, and started +forward, saying, in her ear:</p> + +<p>"Come, my dear! We are betrothed. You belong to me, henceforth. And we +are in a church. Let us go and see if they will marry us, here, now.—I +believe God gave you to me just now for this very thing. And—"</p> + +<p>But Ivan had at last got beyond her courage. It was a daring thing he +had proposed; and he had not paused to reflect that, considering the +laws of their stern faith, so hasty an affair would be impossible. +Perhaps, then, Ivan had some right to be bitterly disappointed at her +vehement protests. How could he understand that, even with her, the +signs and formalities, the insignia and paraphernalia of a fashionable +marriage, even more than marriage itself, form, in the mind of a young +girl, the grand aim, centre, end, even, of all life. And he was asking +her to forget all these!—Preposterous—love him though she did! No. +They were engaged. That she allowed. And was not that enough for one +day?—Ivan could not gainsay her.—Well, then, let him come at once to +her father. And perhaps on the morrow—the wonderful morrow—the court +journal would make formal announcement of their betrothal, and she would +be that most interesting (?) of feminine creatures, a girl engaged!</p> + +<p>Thus she talked: thus dreamed. And Ivan, in a little paradise of his +own, was drawn, in spite of himself, into her spirit of enthusiasm. He +promised to go, that very evening, to his uncle. And so, at length, he +left her, half a block from the Dravikine house, and went his way<a class="pagenum" name="page_169" id="page_169" title="169"></a> +towards his apartment, already beginning on the fourth year of his +married life.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was half-past eight o'clock that evening when Lieutenant Gregoriev, +shivering with something more than cold, stood at the door of the +Dravikine house. When it opened, he was informed at once that Monsieur +le Comte was at home; and the impenetrable butler, bursting with +interest, showed him solemnly to the library, on the threshold of which +stood Ivan's shadowy fate, black-robed. For five minutes the Lieutenant +waited, his heart in his mouth, his dry tongue vainly trying to repeat +that careful little speech, the original of which he had unfortunately +left on the bureau of his room in his own apartment.</p> + +<p>In the small <i>salon</i> of that apartment, meantime, sat Vladimir de Windt, +waiting, uneasily, and making futile attempts to read. For Ivan's sake +he was neglecting all his engagements for the evening and the night, +that he might be the first to congratulate his chum on his engagement. +The minutes passed. More than an hour, now, since Ivan had bidden him a +shaky good-night! And the longer the wait, the more hopeful things must +naturally look. An accepted man sits late with his <i>fiancée</i>, discussing +the most important question in the world, while the serfs group +themselves intelligently round the key-hole. And yet, as the clock +ticked off second after second, the faithful Vladimir grew unaccountably +fretful and restless. Time was, indeed, when the circumstances of this +wait had been more painful than now. For, in the early half of the +winter, the ingenuous Nathalie had made some little havoc with the +usually well-ordered mind and heart of Monsieur de Windt. But from the +first Ivan had confided in his friend. And that friend was an honorable +man. As the days of poor Ivan's exile passed, and his misery had grown, +de Windt<a class="pagenum" name="page_170" id="page_170" title="170"></a> found his sympathy gradually overcoming his sentiment. +Moreover, Nathalie's drooping young face, familiar to him through many +balls and receptions, showed the mind of the young girl too plainly for +mistake. In so far as in her lay, she returned her cousin's love. By +December, Captain de Windt had set himself seriously to subdue his +little <i>penchant</i>; and such was his success that, as he sat waiting here +to-night, his heart was sincerely with Ivan. Yet it was not so +unremarkable that when, at a little before eleven, he watched a sleigh +pull up at the door below and saw Ivan alight from it, Monsieur de Windt +should be glad of the three flights of stairs that would assure perfect +steadiness in the voice that must cry out the heartiest of +congratulations.</p> + +<p>Even to de Windt, however, Ivan was a long time ascending those stairs. +Was this the manner of a man triumphant? Was the step, now audible—that +heavy, dragging step,—the pace of a happy man? De Windt's heart beat +slower. His face grew grave. And then,—the door opened; and Ivan came +into the room.</p> + +<p>He walked very slowly to a sofa in the corner, and removed his outer +wrappings, piece by piece, flinging them down on floor or furniture. +Then he turned and came back to the hot porcelain stove by which de +Windt had been sitting, dropped into a chair, drooped his head for a +moment to his breast, but finally lifted his face and looked squarely at +his friend. Good Heaven!—Could calf-love do that to a boyish face?—Was +it really Ivan, this gray-hued, inexpressibly weary man, with the dull, +expressionless eyes, and the mouth drawn into so ugly a +line?—Calf-love?—Impossible!</p> + +<p>The oppressive silence grew heavier and more heavy. Ivan continued to +stare; but it was into vacancy now. He was greatly startled when he felt +a hand touch his shoulder: a hand whose gentleness bespoke a sympathy<a class="pagenum" name="page_171" id="page_171" title="171"></a> +that was very deep. De Windt had certainly not foreseen the effect of +his involuntary act. At the gesture, Ivan started, as if he had been +shot. Then he drew himself away, violently, and sprang to his feet, +turning on his friend:</p> + +<p>"Don't!—My God! Are you going to <i>show</i> me your pity?—<i>Me?</i>—A +Gregoriev?—Humph!" He broke into an abominable little laugh. "<i>They</i> +didn't give me much, Vladimir Vassilyitch! I heard from them +all—Monsieur le Comte first; then my remarkable aunt; finally—finally +from Mademoiselle Dravikine herself. Yes. At the end she came:—not +alone! They led her in, you understand. She didn't look especially +pretty. Her eyes were ridiculously red. Her voice was very husky; but +she had got her part well, and she spoke it to me. Her expression might +have been better; but she'll improve with practice.—There may be other +fools in the world, you know, who haven't realized what a crime it is +not to have ten irreproachably noble grandfathers.</p> + +<p>"She—Mademoiselle Dravikine—asked my pardon for her shocking behavior +of the morning. She had made a great mistake, she said. Upon due +consideration, she perceived how impossible it would be to avail herself +of my offer; because, to mention one of many reasons, of our near +relationship. Nevertheless, she thanked me for my generosity in +countenancing her most unwise action; trusted that the reversal of her +reply would cause me no inconvenience; <i>inconvenience</i>, Vladimir, do you +hear!—and so wished me good-night!—<i>That</i> was my final +answer!—Afterwards, I had a few more words with the others; but I've +forgotten what they were.—<i>She</i>, who let me kiss her, this morning, +twice,—she spoke like <i>that</i>, to me!"</p> + +<p>"Oh but Ivan,—my dear fellow, they evidently discovered your meeting +this morning, and made her do this—little fool!"<a class="pagenum" name="page_172" id="page_172" title="172"></a></p> + +<p>"Oh, they found out about it, certainly.—My aunt saw her come in +alone—without the serf. And it was she, of course—my aunt is a very +strong person, Vladimir—who arranged my charming reception. Dravikine +himself was quite civil to me. I could have stood his refusal of my +offer.—And he looked uncomfortable, too, afterwards, when—his +wife—came down and began to talk. It took her nearly an hour, I +believe, to explain the immensity of my presumption.—I'm so beneath +her, you know, her father being only my grandfather.—And, last of all, +she had the pleasure of showing me what she could do with my—with her +daughter."</p> + +<p>"But—but—tell me, have they forbidden you the house?"</p> + +<p>"She didn't say so."</p> + +<p>"Oh well, then—it'll be easy! You must carry the girl off!"</p> + +<p>Ivan gave a violent start; and, for one instant, the cruel mask dropped +from his face, leaving an expression wonderfully different. Then all the +gray bitterness closed in again. "That would be quite impossible.—Why +man, consider! She herself refused me!"</p> + +<p>"Nothing of the sort! This morning she was herself. To-night, she was +repeating to you her mother's thoughts. They coerced her.—Be a man, my +boy; and I'll help you! You two love each other; and you've got to +marry. Do you think you owe <i>her</i> nothing?"</p> + +<p>"Vladimir—Vladimir—you want to be kind to me. But you don't +understand. You didn't hear—how that woman—insulted my race; my blood; +yes—even her own sister, my mother!—You can't ask me to overlook +that—even—for—Nathalie!"</p> + +<p>And Ivan's deep groan touched the heart of the man that heard it.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, de Windt had been struck by the sudden thought he had as +suddenly expressed. Marriage with<a class="pagenum" name="page_173" id="page_173" title="173"></a> her daughter, would certainly be as +sure a thrust as could be given to the proud woman who had so +causelessly hurt her nephew. After a time the friend pressed this view +upon his companion, till Ivan, in spite of himself, joined in the +working out of a strange idea: an idea of the seventeenth, rather than +the nineteenth, century; but possible, feasible, for all that. So, in +the end, young Gregoriev sought his bed that night not in black +depression, but with his brain once more on fire with hope:—hope of an +incredibly swift fulfilment of his lately despaired-of heart's desire.</p> + +<p>This sudden frame of mind lasted for three days. And during that length +of time Ivan went cheerfully about his daily tasks, meantime, in company +with de Windt, working out the details of their secret plan. It was in +pursuit of one of these that, on the afternoon of the fourth day, Ivan +stood once again on the door-step of the Dravikine house.</p> + +<p>Even in his nervousness Ivan noticed, as he waited, the unusual fact +that the shades of the drawing-room were all pulled down. And it seemed +to him, too, that there was about the house an air of unwonted +desolation, which, as the minutes passed, certainly became intensified +in his mind. Once more he sounded the huge knocker; and yet again: this +time so vigorously that the door shook. His sense of calamity had grown +till it was a presentiment. Yet his heart rose as, after a long five +minutes, there came the sounds of fumbling key and grating lock; and +then the door swung open before him, and he stood facing—not the trimly +liveried butler, but the gaunt and stooping figure of Ekaterina, the old +serf, garbed in a soiled working-dress.</p> + +<p>"Madame Dravikine—does she receive to-day?"</p> + +<p>"Saints behold us, Lieutenant, she may, for all I know! She and my +little Natusha—who cried without ceasing for three days and three +nights—went away this<a class="pagenum" name="page_174" id="page_174" title="174"></a> morning, with all their luggage, to the foreign +land by the sea: to Germany, where it's warm, and where they will stay, +my lady said, till summer comes again, and they can all go to +Tsarskoë.—Saints!—You are sick too, young sir!"</p> + +<p>But Ivan, refusing her suggestion of a glass of wine, made a few more +inquiries, found that the old woman had no idea of her mistress's real +destination (to the Russian poor all the world west of Russia is +"Germany"); and at last turned blindly away and began to walk in the +direction of the nearest "tea-house," where he could think, unmolested.</p> + +<p>His aunt had, at least, paid him a compliment in this flight. Evidently +she was afraid of him—of his poor power!—And little Natusha had cried +for three days and three nights! At thought of this, all the love and +all the chivalry in him rose.—That she should be abused because of an +act of his!—He ground his heels into the rough, wooden floor of the +little <i>traktir</i>, and began to think more rapidly.—Yes, they should +have cause to fear him! Nathalie must be his, since she cared for him as +he for her. It was all very simple. He could find out, without great +difficulty, where they had gone. Then, at once, he would follow them, +and—people had eloped before now!—His father, he knew, would, not be +displeased with the marriage; for he knew Dravikine to be his superior +in rank. At least, there should be money enough, then, always, for his +wife.</p> + +<p>"<i>Wife!</i>" The word made his pulses throb. There remained only to +discover his destination, and to get leave of absence from his Colonel. +The latter was a mere form, given daily to officers at this season. He +might as well obtain it at once.—So, paying his small score, he rose, +leaving his drink untouched, and started off in the direction of Colonel +Brodsky's dwelling.</p> + +<p>It was a strange thing that Ivan, in his confidence of<a class="pagenum" name="page_175" id="page_175" title="175"></a> getting away +immediately, forgot that old, unpaid grudge of his superior officer. +Unhappily for him, when he made his request, eagerness was written in +every line of his face. Brodsky listened and looked; paused, smiled +maliciously, and then, with June in his memory, refused the leave as +curtly as possible. Ivan started with amazement. But it was in vain that +he argued, pleaded, raged, finally—imprudence of imprudence! even +hinted at possible recompense. Brodsky, delighting in the pain he knew +himself to be inflicting, became more and more inexorable, more and more +insulting, till Ivan, angered beyond control, hurled out one furious +epithet, and left the little room—heart-broken.</p> + +<p>The ensuing weeks were ones that Vladimir de Windt, certainly, never +forgot. For forty-nine endless days, until April had once more broken +Russia's icy chains, no word came from the Dravikines; who were +employing their time in a highly interesting fashion at Nice and Monaco +with a party of friends; while Ivan dragged himself about Petersburg, +madly seeking some distraction, finding it never. Daily his companions +marvelled anew at the duration of what was, to them, the pettiest of +"affairs." But Ivan's nature was ridiculously intense; and calf-love had +become, in his eyes, the most serious thing in life. At last, when he +had borne all that it seemed to him he could endure, fate offered him +the relief of a sharp stab in the spot where the monotony of a +continuous, dull ache had become intolerable.</p> + +<p>On the morning of April 7th the court journal—and several other +papers—contained the announcement that "a marriage had been arranged +and would immediately take place between Mademoiselle Nathalie +Dravikine, daughter of,—etc., and S. A. Alexander Gregory Boris, Prince +Féodoreff, sometime Gentleman of the Bedchamber to his Imperial Majesty +Nicholas I." Further down the column came another statement that, owing<a class="pagenum" name="page_176" id="page_176" title="176"></a> +to the delicate health of the bride-elect, the wedding would be a quiet +one, celebrated at Nice within the month; whereafter, during the summer, +the Prince and Princess Féodoreff would return to Russia by easy stages, +probably spending August at Tsarskoë-Selo with the parents of the bride, +where the Prince would have time to settle into the new relationship +between himself and a lady who had hitherto occupied towards him a +position very different from that of mother-in-law. The beginning of the +winter season would, however, see the Féodoreff residence in the +Fourchstadskaia open for the occupation of the young Princess.</p> + +<p>Ivan himself discovered these somewhat startling items of intelligence. +Later he pursued all the feminine details that appeared concerning the +bride's beauty, the magnificence of her trousseau, the wealth and +station of the groom, and even a hint or two of the romantic affair of +the recent débutante with a cousin, during the past winter. For one week +Ivan endured his pain in silence. Then, upon a certain Saturday, he went +to Brodsky again, asking him for leave and a double passport. This time +the Colonel, studying his Lieutenant's face, saw fit to grant both the +leave and the second request. Ten minutes after he had entered the +official room, Ivan left it again, bearing with him the death-warrant of +his military career.</p> + +<p>Returning to his apartment, the young man held a brief interview with de +Windt, who said little, but studied the boy's face anxiously; and, +though he attempted neither advice nor remonstrance, finally made a +tentative suggestion about accompanying his friend. He was not +astonished at the rejection of the proposition. But Ivan's ensuing +remark afterwards troubled him not a little.</p> + +<p>"Don't worry, Vladimir Vassilyitch. I'm not going alone. There will be +some one who will take excellent care of me."<a class="pagenum" name="page_177" id="page_177" title="177"></a></p> + +<p>By an effort, de Windt refrained from questions. But as he watched his +comrade depart, an hour later, his light luggage strapped on the +droschky behind him, Vladimir's heart was heavy with foreboding. Could +he have seen Ivan's first destination he might, at last, have attempted +some active remonstrance; though it is doubtful if he could have made +any impression on Ivan's present mood. Lieutenant Gregoriev drove +straight to a house on Vassily Island: held there a brief but +interesting interview with a certain young woman; and, three hours +later, any one who cared to look might have seen Ivan Gregoriev and +Irina Petrovna, with luggage and passports which attempted no deception, +leaving Petersburg together on the evening train for Baden-Baden!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Just what Ivan's intention had been when, in his hour of madness, he +committed this irreparable and terrible mistake, no one, least of all +himself, could have said. Despair had driven him, for the moment, out of +his senses. He cared nothing whatever for himself or his reputation, +little for that of the woman he would have dragged down with him. In his +mind he had some dreary hope that Nathalie, the weak and faithless, +would learn of his wretched action and be hurt by it—a little as he had +been hurt by her.</p> + +<p>Before the reckless twain had arrived at their all too public +destination, however, Ivan was in a fever of misery and shame. Well +enough to laugh and say that the thing he proposed to do was so common +as scarce to cause notice in the gay watering-place, always a rendezvous +for the high half-world. But Ivan was, even now, by no means of this +kind: the military members of the Yacht club, to whom such escapades +were afterwards proudly exploited among their friends. All night long, +as he sat upright in his place in the reserved carriage, sleepless, +watching the young woman who was reclining<a class="pagenum" name="page_178" id="page_178" title="178"></a> opposite him trustfully +unconscious, Ivan was aware of his mother's reproachful presence: and +heard again the voice that had rung so dreadfully in his boyish ears: +"Remember, Ivan, what I have suffered, through a man! Will you +remember?—Will you break the Gregoriev tradition towards women?"</p> + +<p>Once again Sophia, gentle woman, did her work. Irina Petrovna opened her +eyes, next day, upon a different man.</p> + +<p>Whether the girl were astonished, or pleased, or disappointed, by the +strangeness of her situation during the fortnight in Baden, Ivan could +not tell. He was perfectly well aware that it would be of no use to +explain their true position to any one he knew. Mockery at his faith in +their credulity at so preposterous a statement, would have been his only +reward. But it was none the less true that, so long as Irina remained +with him, she was treated with the punctilious courtesy that he should +have used towards her had she been what they pretended her to be: his +sister. He had taken three rooms—two bedrooms and a little <i>salon</i>—at +the hotel. And the very waiters winked, solemnly, outside the <i>salon</i> +door, as they served early coffee and, later, an elaborate <i>déjeuner</i>, +to the two within. But Ivan could meet any eye calmly. And if Irina +marvelled, she said nothing. Only, from this time forth, Ivan occupied, +in her secret soul, a niche of his own, far above that of any other man. +In later years, many candles burned before her shrine; and it served to +keep within her heart one spot inviolate. The thoughts, the prayers, +expended here without sense of conscious virtue, perhaps served her +unexpectedly in the end, when before her, hopeless one, a golden gate +swung slowly open, and she entered that land where the wretched deeds of +her later life could blacken her thoughts no more.—At the time, +certainly, she might have been impatient at the formality of her<a class="pagenum" name="page_179" id="page_179" title="179"></a> +companion's manner, his unfailing deference to her faintest wish. And +yet she was conscious that the days spent in this gay resort were happy: +happier than any she had ever known. And even Ivan, in the great anxiety +of his soul, found that a conscience unexpectedly clear can bring a +species of content less fleeting than any causeless light-heartedness. +He was giving little thought to others' thought of him. But Petersburg +was dull just now; and his behavior had been a godsend to the +<i>salons</i>.—Good Heavens—how they were using his name—and hers!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>On the morning of April 30th, Petersburg was still a sea of mud: the +atmosphere still thick with rain. Spring was opening slowly. But the ice +had gone out of the Neva. Boats plied along the canals. And all the +world was packing away its furs. The day was intensely dreary. But the +heart of Vladimir de Windt, who was lounging idly about his desolate +apartment, was drearier still. How he missed that foolish Ivan, still +lost in the great unknown! How he railed at him, in secret, the while he +bravely defended him, single-handed, against the world; till the day +when he learned Ivan's prospect of utter calamity and took the knowledge +home with him to bear in solitude. It was a week, now, since the day of +his own interview with Brodsky. By this time the whole city knew +all!—Gregoriev's heart-history had been dragged gayly through the mud +of Petersburg society; and at last the curious world might write <i>finis</i> +upon a completed story—in which the lady was now safely married to +another; the man disgraced and degraded.—But the cause of this +disgrace, and its injustice, only de Windt knew or cared to know.</p> + +<p>Even he could not guess, however, how Brodsky had discovered the +identity of Ivan's companion. But de Windt had borne the brunt of the +Colonel's rage when<a class="pagenum" name="page_180" id="page_180" title="180"></a> he learned it; and de Windt had endeavored to +obtain some sort of softening of the sentence pronounced upon the +unhappy boy.—It was vain. And even Vladimir, as he lay once more going +over the rapid events of the past weeks, never dreamed, in his heart, +that Ivan was not guilty in a certain way. Men must judge one another by +their own standards. De Windt had never thought Ivan effeminate—a +milk-sop; but, had he been made to believe the truth, it is probable that +one or the other of these epithets would then have expressed his opinion +of his friend.</p> + +<p>The first charge made by Brodsky against his Lieutenant was that of +overstaying his leave—already for the length of seven days, and still +no prospect of return. The second charge, a far more serious one, was +that of conduct unbecoming an officer of the guard: conduct which, +though it might be laid to the door of almost any unmarried officer in +the service, nobody had ever before dreamed of forcing home for +judgment. But at last, it seemed, there was a man willing and ready, for +the sake of an old spite, to risk shattering his own glass house to +splinters for the sake of a revenge. Brodsky was determined, immediately +upon Ivan's return, to summon him to a court-martial; and, since he was +not a man to keep silence with regard to his plans, the tale, with its +piquant references to Brodsky's private malice, was in everybody's +mouth, and was found spicy enough to sting the palate of the most jaded +scandal-monger in the army—in comparison with which that of a woman of +fifty years' residence in India, is not to be compared. But by the end +of April even this affair had been served up often enough to have grown +slightly stale; and Petersburg was now on the <i>qui vive</i> for a +dénouement.</p> + +<p>It came, that dénouement—well-timed: just when the clubs were full to +the brim, the barracks crowded, the city overflowing with <i>ennuyée</i> men +and women who<a class="pagenum" name="page_181" id="page_181" title="181"></a> were preparing for their summer flight. But the first +scene of the last act was not watched by the outer world.</p> + +<p>It was eleven o'clock on the morning of the 30th. De Windt, grown +desperate under the weight of his thoughts, flung his yellow novel into +the empty stove, and had just lounged back to the sofa when—the door +opened, quietly, and Ivan came in: Ivan, rather pale, but very +dignified: his head held high.</p> + +<p>Vladimir turned on him, opened his lips, closed them again and gazed, +silently, at his comrade. Ivan returned the look for a few +seconds,—stared—read—possibly understood. At all events his face +suddenly quivered, and then—he began to laugh! He passed from one +paroxysm to another, till de Windt, in a blind rage, took him by the +shoulders and shook him, violently, to silence. Then, under a swift +reaction, he stood before the prodigal drooping like a school-boy under +his master's frown. But Ivan felt, apparently, no resentment. Presently +he went to the side-table, poured himself out three fingers of cognac, +drank it, and then, as he began to remove his dripping outer garments, +asked, rather briskly than otherwise:</p> + +<p>"Well, Vladimir—out with it! What are they going to do about me?"</p> + +<p>And Vladimir, half-irritated, but driven, in any case, to speech, told, +briefly and baldly, all he had to tell. In ten minutes, Ivan stood +looking down upon the hopeless, crumbling ruin of his life.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In these sudden crises, there are few men philosophic enough, or wise +enough, to look, broadly, back, inward, and ahead, in a calm analysis of +cause, effect and reason. At this time, Ivan certainly knew—had known, +for months if not for years, that he was leading a life for which nature +had not fitted him: neglecting a career<a class="pagenum" name="page_182" id="page_182" title="182"></a> bestowed upon him by a higher +hand than often interferes in the destinies of man. There had been many +times when, his whole soul yearning over the work to which he could +devote so little of his best self, he had cried aloud to Heaven to +change his lot—to banish these half-gods that kept his true lord at +bay. And now these inarticulate prayers were fully answered:—and Ivan's +soul was writhing in rebellion at the injustice of that which had been +put upon him: the malicious revenge of a scoundrelly officer who, for +private reasons, had seen fit to punish him for an offence which was +daily winked at by the entire army! Indeed, Brodsky's action, which was +certainly justified by the letter but never by the spirit of the +military code, had caused the military world a quiver of apprehension. +They looked on, aghast, at proceedings which they were powerless to +stop. But it is safe to say that there was not a man in the +court-martial who did not blush as he admitted the justice of the +sentence finally passed upon the luckless prisoner. The proceedings +lasted, altogether, a fortnight; during which time all of Russia and a +great part of Europe rang with the scandal.—Ivan did not even attempt a +defence; though Irina, coming to him on the first evening, went down on +her knees in her plea to be allowed to save him. Even Ivan's lawyer +foresaw the reception of her unsupported statement as against the +testimony of the hotel clerks, boys and waiters brought from Baden by +Brodsky himself. In the end, Mademoiselle Petrovna was not permitted to +appear at all in court. Ivan's money kept her safely out of Russia, +after the second day of the trial. And, while the girl mourned for him, +she knew well that her own fortune in the half-world was made.—Such +advertising as this!—Who could compete with her? Had not the papers in +Europe published, twenty times, the picture of the beautiful heroine of +this unsavory romance?<a class="pagenum" name="page_183" id="page_183" title="183"></a></p> + +<p>In the mean time, in Moscow, the chief of the Third Section was aging a +year a day as he raved, helpless and mad with fury, at the folly of his +son and the treacherous villany of Brodsky. Privately, Russian +officialdom was shaken to its depths. But daily the masks were adjusted, +and the farce of virtue, within and without that court, went on; while +the people, even to the peasants, laughed at the mockery of it all. Some +sort of compensation, later on, Michael Gregoriev did obtain. In the +autumn of that year Fóma Vassilyitch Brodsky went to Siberia, as the +result of an examination of certain peculations, the charge of which, +together with overwhelming proof, was brought by Prince Gregoriev of +Moscow.</p> + +<p>But that was a sorry triumph: the victor a broken man. For Michael +Gregoriev had lost his son; and, with him, all those great ambitions for +which he had toiled and cheated and blackmailed throughout a lifetime.</p> + +<p>Finally, on the morning of May 17th, Ivan Gregoriev, degraded from his +rank, driven in disgrace from the army, sat alone in his bedroom conning +over the words of the telegram clutched in his listless hand: words +whereby he understood that he was no longer the son of his father, but +sat, a penniless outcast, alone in a pitiless, jeering world.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_184" id="page_184" title="184"></a> +<a name="SELF-DESTINY_5685" id="SELF-DESTINY_5685"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>SELF-DESTINY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Ivan had begun to pay his price—not for a foolish escapade, but for his +sonship among the Great that labor and may not rest. It was, perhaps, a +tardy beginning for a career such as his must be: but it was a complete +one, at least. The world lay all before him where to choose:—a blessing +which he, however, at this moment, appreciated not at all.</p> + +<p>During the past hideous days, it had seemed to Ivan that he was living +wholly in the memory of his cousin. It was the picture of her that had +borne him through the time of dreadful notoriety. But now, on the +morning after the receipt of that harsh telegram, Nathalie and all her +history with him, had passed completely from his mind, as something +belonging to a forgotten existence. He rose early, after a restless, +feverish night. During the fumbling toilet that followed, he stopped +short, more than once, to throw himself into the nearest chair appalled +and overcome by some fresh view of the situation which he was beginning, +only now, fully to realize. Moreover, he was suffering physically. All +through the late afternoon and evening of the day before he had sat +alone with de Windt, in the next room, drinking steadily, till, for +perhaps the first time in his life, he had lost consciousness, and could +remember nothing of Vladimir's putting him to bed.</p> + +<p>By the time he entered the little dining-room, where the samovar already +hissed upon that cosey table, to<a class="pagenum" name="page_185" id="page_185" title="185"></a> which he had sat down upon so many +joyous, care-free mornings, the light in his eyes was softer, the new +lines in his face less rigidly fixed. He was remembering, bit by bit, +the details of his recent talk with de Windt, who, heart-broken over +Ivan's double ruin, and showing far more emotion than Michael's son +himself, had fairly gone upon his knees to his friend, begging him to +share his private fortune, and swearing that he should challenge every +officer in the army who uttered one word against their recent comrade. +Ivan remembered with relief how, even under the influence of nearly a +quart of <i>vodka</i>, he had gently refused Vladimir's generosity. From the +very beginning, when, in his numbness, the future had been still +unimaginable, Ivan's course had appeared perfectly clear to him. Cast +out on all sides, by friends and family alike, he would be beholden to +no one in the world. Starve he could, without a murmur, if he did not +find work. But charity—to the amount of one kopeck, one meal, even so +much as a cup of water!—he would accept from no man: no, not from +Vladimir de Windt, though he felt towards him as towards a brother. +Moreover, he had spent his last night in these dearly familiar rooms; +and he had accomplished the difficult task of putting his friend away +from him without rousing that friend's antagonism. So much Ivan had +decided, before, as he sat sipping his first cup of tea, de Windt +appeared, starting to see his comrade in civilian's dress. Ivan saw that +start, and understood it; but his voice betrayed no emotion as the +customary good-mornings passed between them, and de Windt, seating +himself and beginning to prepare his tea, said, quietly:</p> + +<p>"Ivan Mikhailovitch, you have not told me how you are going to begin in +the work you were talking of last night. How are you to get a +start?—It's not very paying at best: the least lucrative of all the +arts—because it's the highest, I suppose. Now, old fellow, I +understand<a class="pagenum" name="page_186" id="page_186" title="186"></a> your general stand; but, for Heaven's sake, don't hurt me by +refusing to let me <i>lend</i> you a rouble or two, till you get +started—have made a little headway, you know!"</p> + +<p>Ivan looked up, seriously: "Thank you, my friend. I'm sorry, but even +that I can't take. It'll be no easier, starting in three months hence, +and with a debt on my hands, than now—will it? I've been so pampered +all my life, that I declare it's going to be absolutely a pleasure to +appreciate the value of a kopeck I have <i>earned</i>. Don't you know, +Vladimir Vassilyitch, that most of us would be infinitely stronger men +if we had to act men's parts?—Bah! How many thousands are in just my +state to-day, except that, besides themselves, they have a wife and +children to feed, clothe and shelter?—That <i>might</i> come hard! But if I +can't earn my own living, I have no right to live at all. Why the devil +should I pity myself?" And he gave a short, rather hard, laugh.</p> + +<p>"You might pity yourself, Ivan Mikhailovitch, because you have just had +three blows about as big as the average man is called upon to bear +throughout his lifetime. The mere fact that you haven't gone under +altogether, says a good deal for your manliness.</p> + +<p>"I've been thinking, half the night, about your future: trying to put +myself in your place. And I swear, Ivan, by the Holy Synod, that, if I +were you, I should not do what you intend about that money. A few weeks +more, and your semiannual allowance is due. The five thousand roubles +that you've saved and tumbled into a bank, don't belong to Prince +Gregoriev. He hasn't asked you for anything that he gave you while you +were—in your rightful place. And good Heavens! Haven't you surrendered +enough, without the quixotism of returning to him what he doesn't either +want or expect?—You might as well try to return him your +baby-clothes!—So, if<a class="pagenum" name="page_187" id="page_187" title="187"></a> not for your own sake, then for me—for us—for +the sake of those that care for you, give yourself, at least, this one +little chance!"—De Windt's voice, as he stopped, was shaking; and he +turned his red face away that Ivan might not notice what was happening +to his eyes. Nevertheless Ivan had seen, and had been touched to the +quick. His hand shot out, impetuously: and his voice was nearly as gruff +as de Windt's as he began:</p> + +<p>"Old fellow, I <i>am</i> giving myself a chance. I've a lot of expensive +trash in these rooms that I sha'n't need now. I shall sell the greater +part of that and make use of the proceeds. Most of the furniture here +belonged to my mother. My own stuff was bought with the little money she +left me.—As for the other affair,—if I had anything else in the world +for which—my father paid, I should certainly return it to him, as I am +returning this money.—You can't possibly understand my feeling; because +you don't know—the man."</p> + +<p>"Well, well! You see, Vladimir, that I should have some hundreds of +roubles, in spite of everything. And that will be enough to keep me for +six months, with economy. By that time I shall prove my +manhood.—Meantime, I intend that one week shall see me settled in my +new world."</p> + +<p>Thus ended their conversation—and with it de Windt's last effort to +prevent his friend from, as he considered, deliberately ruining himself. +Yet, in the end, he did help Ivan, much to that young man's secret +chagrin. And the little affair was managed so adroitly, that it was +impossible to refuse the presentation of two hundred and fifty roubles +which had been obtained in a perfectly business-like way. The rent of +the young men's apartment, which was by no means low, had always been +divided evenly between them, and payed, quarterly, to their landlord. +Immediately upon the decision that Ivan was to leave this fashionable +quarter of the<a class="pagenum" name="page_188" id="page_188" title="188"></a> city, a young ensign of the Second Grenadiers, one to +whom both young men had taken a great fancy during the winter, offered +to take Ivan's share of the apartment off his hands. As he entered +before the 1st of June, he naturally insisted upon paying the two +months' rent, which, however, Vladimir did not send Ivan until +twenty-four hours after that quixotic youth had mailed his father a +check for every kopeck of money saved by him from his large allowance. +The rent-money, added to that accruing from the sale of his personal +effects, which were extravagantly rich, was certainly acceptable to him, +in his otherwise penniless situation; and, stiffly as he acknowledged +the receipt of young Frol's check, de Windt perceived that he was deeply +sensible of the kindliness and friendly feeling that had inspired the +act. This was at least a crumb of comfort to the unhappy Vladimir; who +had been overwhelmed by bitter regret at the series of misfortunes which +now ended forever his friendship with the one intimate companion of his +life. For de Windt, so speedily and so easily attracted to Gregoriev, +was the most difficult officer in the regiment to know. This +peculiarity, indeed, he carried with him through life: for from boyhood +to death, he was always unhappily swift to read the meaner faults of +men; and pettiness, hypocrisy, selfishness and vanity, were stamped, to +his piercing eyes, upon the faces of ninety out of every hundred with +whom he came in contact. By the time he had reached twenty-five, his +inbred pessimism was so deeply rooted within him, that mankind, always +interesting and to be studied as a theme, was to be fenced with, and +generally avoided as a living entity. He rose in his time, did Vladimir +de Windt, to be the Premier of Russia. But never again, throughout his +magnificent career, did he find in the eyes of any man the clear +truthfulness, the unselfishness, and the pathetic<a class="pagenum" name="page_189" id="page_189" title="189"></a> faith that he had +known and so loved in his lost friend, Ivan Gregoriev.</p> + +<p>The end of Ivan's brief and brilliant career was like its beginning: +meteoric. On the 20th of April, a whisper against him whirled through +the <i>salons</i>. On the 30th it had become a murmur. From May 5th to May +19th, Petersburg had stood, with open mouth, craning its neck to catch a +glimpse of this monster of vice and crime. On May 21st, as Ivan walked +from the court-room, every eye had been averted from him, every skirt +drawn back from possible contact with that uniform which he had no +longer the right to wear. By the first of June, occasional furtive eyes +were seeking the chance to look through him once again; and their owners +wondered what signs of shame and misery they should have the joy of +reading upon his face. But, none of these eyes perceiving him, whispers +began once more to creep slowly round: in a weak-voiced inquiry about +the criminal. But, among all of those that asked, there was not one who +received an answer; though it was not till the middle of the month that +society, on the eve of departing to defile the country-side, paused for +a moment to lift its brows over the discovery that Ivan Gregoriev would +never be snubbed again. He had disappeared, absolutely, completely, out +of the ken of his former world; though it took infinite repetition to +convince everybody that even Vladimir de Windt did not know his address. +Certainly Ivan had accomplished a very unusual thing. Living still in +the midst of the world, he was lost to mankind; had vanished utterly +from sight or hearing.</p> + +<p>Yet poor Ivan's decisive action might have been more difficult had he +known that, though his romance was over, there was yet to be a +postscript to society from Nice—an epilogue, as it were, to the +finished romance that had so inconsiderately turned itself into a<a class="pagenum" name="page_190" id="page_190" title="190"></a> +tragedy. Princess Shúlka-Mirski, the intimate friend of the Countess +Dravikine, had received a letter, written in the first heat of the news +of the court-martial's verdict. To be sure, she tried to hide her real +motive, by giving a brief description of Nathalie's wedding, and then +introducing the delicate topic by uttering fervent thanks that her +princess-daughter should have been preserved from marriage with that +infamous creature—Sophia's son!</p> + +<p>Old Princess Shúlka-Mirski had lived long in the world; and reading +between lines becomes to some women as much second-nature as calculating +the cost of a neighbor's gown. Madame Dravikine, then, had been shaken +by the news. Although it was plain that she should always resent any +accusation of him: probably even references to his name, in her +presence, she had still not been able to refrain from inquiring after +his physical health. And the reader guessed how she longed for full news +of him; his reception of his disgrace; his attitude towards the world; +his present whereabouts; and his plans for the future. In her own mind, +the old noblewoman wondered how much of Caroline's odd letter had been +prompted by the mental condition of Caroline's daughter. But she had the +grace not to repeat this mental query aloud, in her world. As for +others' thoughts—well, why should the ecstatic young bride, full of the +delight of her title and the Féodoreff sapphires, take the least +interest in the fate of a miscreant with whom, in the period of his +success, she had indulged in an ephemeral flirtation?</p> + +<p>Thus for nine days more they chattered. And then, as Tsarskoë-Selo +filled, and the Nikitenko divorce proceedings came thundering down the +broad corridor of scandal, Ivan Gregoriev, his youth, success, trial, +disgrace and disinheritance, melted away into the utter oblivion of the +twice-told, the old, and the stale.<a class="pagenum" name="page_191" id="page_191" title="191"></a></p> + +<p>Ah! Could Ivan himself have gained something of indifference! Could his +senses, his jangled, shattered nerves, his bruised and bleeding pride, +have acquired that callousness of stupidity, how well would it have been +with him! But Ivan was Ivan still: high-strung, keenly apperceptive and +receptive; his spiritual, like his physical, nerves, alive to every +emotion, every pain or pleasure that rose up into his present. Only to a +certain natural extent had he changed. The sudden violent revolutions of +his wheel of life, had strengthened his character, though they had +temporarily shocked both mind and body. His mental state, during the +weeks immediately succeeding his change of residence, was one of blank +depression. The hand of inheritance lay heavy on him now. The +hypersensitiveness of Sophia Blashkov, during the months before his +birth, reproduced itself, with startling similarity, in the youth whose +sensibilities had been so sharpened by long pampering in the hot-house +atmosphere of luxurious idleness; and an attitude of constant flattery +and suavity from the men and women in whose eyes he was always haloed by +a crown of thousand-rouble pieces. To-day, how different his estate! He +saw his world now with the eyes of the outsider. And what a thing it +was!—This stolid dummy, from which both tinsel robe and leering mask +had now been stripped for him, exposing the brutal, heartless machine +that had taken such delight in crushing a fallen man!</p> + +<p>Metaphors such as these are stale enough: yet Ivan, in his soreness, +concocted many an unlovely allegory, during those first days of his +lonely exile. He had been at this useless occupation for some time on a +certain afternoon in June, when all his soul seemed crying to him for a +breath of country air. He was sitting in his single rocking-chair, by +the open dormer of his attic-room, in one of the narrow dwelling streets +on Vassily Island—the<a class="pagenum" name="page_192" id="page_192" title="192"></a> poorest quarter of Petersburg. Day after day had +he sat thus, coming, by slow, rather timorous degrees, face to face with +himself and his new surroundings. Just now his eyes were closed; but the +noise of the street, in which most of the inhabitants passed the greater +part of their time at this season, and the fetid smells of the baking +city, came up to him from below, reminding him constantly of his +neighborhood.—Ay, he had got his wish!—The half-gods had gone, indeed. +But the gods—how should they honor such a spot as this by their divine +presence? Nay; he was alone in a strange land. Alone, yet known to many, +all too well! Deserted by his own class, how should the poverty-stricken +creatures who must henceforth be his neighbors welcome among them one +repudiated by his father and his nearest relatives?—Ah! In this last +thought lay, indeed, the keynote to poor Ivan's mental state. All +through the recent, dreadful weeks, he had held in his heart a hope, +however faint, that there would reach him some message, some word, some +hint, even, that she—Nathalie, did not utterly condemn him: had still +for him a thought of sympathy and understanding of his reckless deed. +But day after day had come and gone. The trial had ended. He had left +his old haunts: had severed himself completely from all former +associations; and without knowing whether the woman he loved—she for +whom he had virtually ruined himself,—was a happy wife, a wretched +bride, or—dead. Nathalie, like all the rest, had passed out of his +life. And night by night he laid him down, clasping in his arms the +gaunt figure of despair, before whose dread embrace courage and manhood +alike fell back, wavered, and seemed to fade from him forever.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The chronicle of a human life can never do justice to nature; for the +reason that, for every man and woman,<a class="pagenum" name="page_193" id="page_193" title="193"></a> there come long periods of quiet +labor or inaction when for months, perhaps years, scarce one untoward +incident comes to break the slow routine of existence. The doings of one +day repeat those of the day before, anticipate those of the morrow. What +shall the chronicler do? Send his reader yawning to bed over the +unfinishable tale? Or pass over, in a word, some period in which his +subject is growing and changing, day by day, for better or for worse, +till he emerges from that long, monotonous stretch, a creature +startlingly different from that of the last chapter?—It is to such an +<i>impasse</i> as this that we have arrived with our penniless Ivan. For four +years we find scarce a single mile-stone of event along his highway. And +yet the development of Ivan's secret self was swift; unusual; +tremendous. During this period he grappled frequently with mighty, +rising passions; crushed rebellions; bowed to revolutions carried on +within the kingdom of his soul. Yet he was no weakling, to keep a diary +of moods. And our only testimony of him, is from—let us say—his +landlady, the excellent Elizabeth Stepniak:</p> + +<p>A tall fellow, growing a little stooped: silent, unobliging, unsociable; +yet a good lodger in his way, in that he paid his rent, and never +disturbed families below him with the carousals and other performances +common to young bachelors. When he had first come, he had, indeed, spent +an entire summer in shocking idleness; and she, Frau Gemälin, had +worried, from time to time, about her money; and again sometimes, when +he had paid it without a word, felt inclined, by boldly raising it, to +discover what were really his means. However, in the autumn she did find +out his work. He was a kind of <i>musiker</i>; and not only played one or two +simple instruments in the orchestra of a small, third-class theatre near +by, but also copied orchestra parts from original scores, corrected +music proofs, and orchestrated many<a class="pagenum" name="page_194" id="page_194" title="194"></a> an ambitious attempt at composition +sent him by over-enthusiastic students of the Conservatoire. Moreover, +towards the end of his first winter, the recluse began to have an +occasional caller; and at such times was wont to make disagreeable +demands that he get the amount of wood and peat for his fire that he +paid for: not those customary odd scraps of fuel which she usually found +him willing enough to accept. It was not as if his visitors had been +worth anything!—They were simply musical fellows like himself; and +dressed as such—without even so much as a touch of gold on cuff or +lapel!</p> + +<p>The second summer proved a trying one to the good landlady. If her +lodger had not been with her so long, she vowed she could not have borne +with his actions—bringing home a new musical instrument every week; +from most of which he drew forth noises that either set one's teeth on +edge, or made her so mournful that she would be forced to ease her +feelings by a visit to the cemetery; where her faithful Makár lay +sleeping his last sleep. And yet, for all his preposterous +caterwaulings, on not one of these various instruments did Ivan really +learn to play! Long before he attained any proficiency upon one, he +would take that back to wherever it came from, and bring home another; +till at last she felt it a duty to remonstrate with the fellow upon the +fatuity of not getting something one wanted at first and then sticking +to it. Not that she wasn't well aware how little real liveliness was to +be got out of any of his instruments! She could understand his disgust +with them. But let him get something really musical, and he would see. +She was musical herself, and liked a tune as well as anybody. Now, "In +Berlin Sagt Er," on a concertina, say;—ah! There was something +possible, to be sure!</p> + +<p>But all her advice to the silly fellow was soon seen to be completely +wasted. The idiot thanked her, solemnly, and with an air; but +immediately spoiled it all by explaining<a class="pagenum" name="page_195" id="page_195" title="195"></a> that he did not want to learn +to play any instrument; but was finding out the kind of sounds made by +each one.—As if any but a person born silly could care to learn +that!—And she did not think Mr. Gregoriev exactly a fool—or, at least, +weak-brained.</p> + +<p>Well, he had gone on, and lived with her till four years rolled round, +and it was May again—the May of 1866; when Ivan, who looked thirty and +more, was not yet at his twenty-sixth birthday.</p> + +<p>So much for Madame Stepniak, and her account of her lodger's simple +existence: one which furnishes us no little insight into the process and +progress of that inner impetus towards a career so far from his +inherited position: a yearning, from which he had suffered acutely up to +the time of his sudden freedom. It is, then, somewhat curious that, +throughout his former life, through his boyhood, his years in the Corps, +and the brief period of his society life, Ivan should have been on terms +of genuine intimacy with himself; whereas, after the dissolution of all +artificiality in his surroundings, when at last he stood before himself, +face to face with his naked soul, he became suddenly disturbed, +uncertain, afraid of that self-confidence on which he had hitherto so +prided himself. For many months he had turned from the self-analysis +which would finally have developed into morbidness. And his act had met +its reward. Slowly, at length, there emerged, out of its veiling mists, +that long-neglected animus, which, bearing no malice for neglect, came +to Ivan, and took him by the hand, saying:</p> + +<p>"We meet again. Henceforth let us traverse together the appointed road."</p> + +<p>In that hour it seemed as if a great wave of understanding and of +welcome overswept Ivan; and when it had passed, he knew that the soul of +him had undergone a change: the great change for which he had not dared +to hope. The evil consequences of his long months of<a class="pagenum" name="page_196" id="page_196" title="196"></a> pampering +disappeared. Regret for what had been grew faint. He was glad of the +present: he held out glad arms to the future—that future of labor, +possibly thankless, which he was to dread no more. In fact, he was +become a man, honest and clean and strong; and, for a time, he dwelt in +peace with his best self, and believed his struggle finally ended.</p> + +<p>The belief was premature. Evil habit dies not in a day. A few weeks, and +lo! it was upon him again: his coward self, with all its black legion of +habit, laziness, love of ease, gluttony, and petty vice. Thenceforth his +spirit was become a battle-field, whereon, long and long, the two +leaders, angel and devil, manipulated their forces, and held conflict +upon conflict, not one of which appeared decisive. Yet, gradually, it +seemed to him who waited, the standard of intellect rose high and +shining over the white, luminous lines; while that of the animal grew +frayed and faded, beginning to betray the rottenness of its material +beneath the gaudy ornaments. Victory was finally acknowledged when, upon +a November day of his year of disgrace,—1862, Ivan, braving scorn, +rejection, even deliberate non-recognition, entered the doors of the +Conservatoire over the dead body of his false pride, and asked to see +the director, Monsieur Zaremba.</p> + +<p>He emerged from that building, a little later, with a radiant face, and +a heart throbbing with gratitude. Not only Zaremba, but both Rubinsteins +had come from their classes to greet him; showing in their manner +respect, interest, nay, almost, he believed, pleasure! And, before he +had made his simple request, more than he had dreamed of asking had been +suggested—proffered to him: so generously, moreover, that he could not +possibly take it as patronage. He had now, under his arm, a roll of +manuscript music to be copied into parts—for which work the pay was +good. Such tasks, he was assured,<a class="pagenum" name="page_197" id="page_197" title="197"></a> could be promised regularly. But +there were already other plans in his brain—plans suggested by Nicholas +Rubinstein and developed by the others. Ivan must re-enter the harmony +classes; and there would be no charge, during the winter, since he could +surely, by a little exertion, win one of the scholarships given after +the annual competitions in June. With one of these—or the money he +should earn in later years, all obligations might be cancelled—if he +chose. For these musicians recognized their kind: and, since that +long-past evening of the <i>barcarolle</i>, had marked Ivan for a future, +according to their lights. As for the events of the past May—what was +the army, what was a pretty woman, to them? To their minds, the whole +episode had been singularly fortunate; since it delivered Ivan from a +useless and foolish life; and gave them an opportunity to push the +youth, willy-nilly, into revealing the final quality of his undoubted +talent.—And they were to discover it, indeed. After which, according to +their inconsistent consistency, Ivan having attained some slight +reputation, they might turn upon him, one and all, and score him, +bitterly, in their jealousy.—Which fact, with many another equally sure +and equally unpleasant, remained unsuspected by the happy man who +ascended his four flights of stairs that snowy night to light a +sacrificial fire to the arbiter of his soul, the first of the promised +gods, who had stolen in upon him unawares, and now cast off his whole +disguise: the god of labor loved.</p> + +<p>At last Ivan's days began to be full: full of a dry work that contained +many sources of keen interest to him. Certainly the greater part of it +was the merest drudgery. Each afternoon he bent over a desk, laboriously +copying manuscript music; meditating upon his morning of study at the +Conservatoire; or seeking to hear the music the notes and signs of which +he had been writing down. And this last exercise, idle though he thought +it, in<a class="pagenum" name="page_198" id="page_198" title="198"></a> time bore excellent results. In the evening he still played in +the orchestra of the Panaievsky Theatre—though he had now risen from +"all-round man" to the sole charge of the kettle-drums. Even the +performances on the shallow stage above him held for him keen interest; +and, without other tuition, he gained here a knowledge of dramatic +construction that served him well later, during the creation of his few +operas. For, in Ivan, great talent found itself mated to love of earnest +work:—a union to which the world has, through all time, owed its +greatest masters of art and science.</p> + +<p>During eighteen months—until the autumn of 1864, Ivan's working-day +averaged fourteen hours. He studied constantly under Anton Rubinstein; +and had the privilege, during that time, of many a private lesson under +the master who at that time looked upon him as his special discovery. +During the summer, he took a few pupils from the poorer ranks of the +Conservatoire: students, who, by means of coaching during the summer, +and double work in the winter months, managed to shorten their years of +study, that wage-earning might begin as soon as possible.</p> + +<p>At the beginning of the new winter season, Ivan passed through an +experience deeply dreaded, and found himself the recipient of a +happiness greater than he had dreamed possible. At the earnest +solicitation of his master, he once more made his appearance in the +<i>salon</i> of the Grand-Duchess Helena: this time as a paid accompanist. +The moment in which he crossed the once familiar threshold, seemed to +him the most difficult of his lonely years. And then, in another +instant, he was in a new country! Her Imperial Highness greeted him with +a cordiality such as she had never before shown; and the assembled +company only waited for the royal greeting to crowd about him, hands +out-stretched, with a welcome that brought a lump to his throat. If his<a class="pagenum" name="page_199" id="page_199" title="199"></a> +playing was very bad that night: if his cold, damp fingers could +scarcely move across the keys, no one noticed it save, perhaps, his +hostess, who surely, in her beautiful wisdom, understood it well.</p> + +<p>Years of hard study and constant mechanical training had kept Ivan safe +for a long time from immature and damaging attempts at creative work. +But with the ending of this winter of 1864-65, the spring began to bring +him a renewal of dreams and aspirations too vivid and too strong to be +written off by any fury of exercise, work, or self-deprecation. Melodies +of long ago began to ring again in his ears. Old bits of harmonization, +half forgotten, returned upon him with new meaning in their crude +successions. Vague ideas grew clear. And there was a turmoil within him +which he recognized, instinctively, as the creator's imperative summons. +Still he held off, remembering the warnings of attempting work without +tools—of production before the acquirement of sufficient technique. No +use! The more he fought, the more did his brain seethe—fired by the +events of his dead life, its incidents, its dramatic climaxes, its final +tragedy, all of them turned into a new form, a new meaning: resolving +themselves persistently into his one means of expression. Thus it was +that, before he understood the significance of the change in him, he +realized at last the great fact that his first great work had risen to +completion, as it were, in a night, and lay now awaiting only the +mechanical transcription to paper. It was ambitious, this first +work—the "Symphony of Youth." Its first movement was <i>allegro agitato</i>, +<i>adagio</i>, and <i>allegretto scherzando</i>, picturing each vivid phase of +early boyhood; next came the requisite <i>andante</i>,—a dreaming melody, +expressing all the yearning, the vague melancholy of pre-adolescence; +then the third: a rippling <i>scherzo</i> of youthful pleasures, gayety, +young loves and joyous dances; finally a tempestuous<a class="pagenum" name="page_200" id="page_200" title="200"></a> <i>finale</i>: +<i>allegretto sforzando é appassionato</i>—the rising of the burdens of +manhood, of new ambitions; the descending of the sadness of man's +responsibility, the reluctant passing of the careless, heart-free joys +of youth.</p> + +<p>The idea and its possibilities took possession of Ivan so much to the +exclusion of all else that by mid-May he capitulated to it, announced +his intention of taking a holiday for the summer, and secreted himself +in his old room, confiding in no one, instinctively afraid of +discouragement from his master and benefactor. But it was a reckless +business, this resignation of all means of livelihood. He had very +little money saved; and, do what he would, he could not hope, if he was +to keep out of debt, to buy much nourishing food. Through stifling days +and pitiless, white nights, he labored, alone, incessantly; sparing +himself in no way; foolishly refraining from exercise and out-door air, +because both of them sharpened his constantly unsatisfied appetite. What +more natural, then, than that September should bring with it fever, +delirium, bad nursing, heavy bills; and October a convalescence rendered +doubly slow because of persistent malnutrition. From this he passed, at +the end of this month, into a haggard semblance of health, accompanied +by that black depression which cries aloud for rest and complete change +of scene.</p> + +<p>Neither of these, however, could Ivan get. Doggedly he returned to his +duties, and began, bit by bit, to pay off his debts: those debts which, +five years ago, would have appeared so absurd; and which were now the +nightmare of his existence! But, though he managed to accomplish the +usual amount of work, and had even occasional snatches of a brilliance +which astonished himself, it was not difficult to read in his face the +signs of approaching breakdown. He had lived too long upon his nerves. +The Rubinsteins, consulting together, shook their heads over him, +wondered how his pride was to be<a class="pagenum" name="page_201" id="page_201" title="201"></a> circumvented, and finally hit on a +scheme which was, for them, more than usually tactful. Anton created a +new medal and scholarship, to be presented thereafter annually for the +best musical setting of a classic poem which was to be the same for all. +It was an exercise in which Ivan delighted; and there was little doubt +as to the destination of the prize of the first year. Fate treated him +kindly, at last; for he managed to keep up till after the contest. His +setting of Schiller's "Ode to Joy" was incomparably the best of the +sixty efforts. So, with five hundred roubles, he paid the remainder of +his debts, and found himself, one week later, in Vevey, a nervous wreck, +truly; but free at last from mental worry, and drawing in hope and life +with every breath.</p> + +<p>It was September before Petersburg saw him again—penniless, but full of +such vigor and energy as were equal to a fair-sized capital. And he had +not been in the city more than a fortnight, before he discovered that +one more stage upon his rough road was over; and that the bend beyond +the half-way house hid tremendous possibilities.</p> + +<p>It was the afternoon of the 16th of the month. Ivan was at his table, +bending over some half-finished parts for an orchestra overture, when +the door of his old attic opened, unceremoniously, and Nicholas +Rubinstein strode in.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_202" id="page_202" title="202"></a> +<a name="THE_MOSCOW_CONSERVATOIRE_6220" id="THE_MOSCOW_CONSERVATOIRE_6220"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>THE MOSCOW CONSERVATOIRE</h3> +</div> + +<p>Ivan rose from his place, smiling a welcome. In spite of himself he had +always liked Anton less than the unfamed brother whom Petersburg +supposed just now to be in Vienna, attending Anton in his new series of +electrifying recitals. But the rough, strong, kindly face, short, +muscular figure and genial smile of Ivan's visitor were unmistakable. +He, then, after shaking hands with the younger man, put down the huge +water-proof portfolio that he bore under his arm, shuffled out of the +alpaca overcoat that he persistently wore, summer after summer, threw +his hat upon the bed, and, with a face more than usually serious, drew a +chair to the other side of the work-table, and sat down.</p> + +<p>"I'm interrupting your work," he remarked, as Ivan shoved his copy to +one side and seated himself also. "Yes, I'm interrupting; but you can +spare the time, I believe, considering my errand."</p> + +<p>"I've plenty of time.—But—there's no trouble in Vienna,—no accident, +I hope?" Ivan's tone took on a shade of anxiety.</p> + +<p>Nicholas, who was engaged in lighting a very black cigar, did not answer +till the blue smoke was rolling up satisfactorily. Then he replied: "No, +I left there a week ago. Anton is with Bruckner and one or two others, +and didn't need me. But I—well, there's a most annoying business about +this Moscow affair!"</p> + +<p>"What? The new Conservatoire?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_203" id="page_203" title="203"></a></p> + +<p>"Yes. You know Serov signed a contract to take the intermediate classes: +theory and orchestration, you understand."</p> + +<p>Ivan nodded. "In June, before I left, he was full of it."</p> + +<p>"Um—yes. And he signed the contract, remember!—But that was before +they began to fill his pockets and his head with the success of +'Reseda'—that new opera of his—very mixed style, and too light.—No +depth at all.—No classic restraint. Bald melody—thin little +<i>tum-ti-tums</i>, <i>pizzicato</i>, for accompaniment! But he found a new theme, +the other day, and has gone mad about it. Now there's nothing to be done +with him. Wrote me ten days ago to say that he absolutely must stay here +this winter to keep his proper musical 'atmosphere.'—Oh these +musicians! Not an ounce of business integrity in the lot of 'em!—Of +course, we could hold him to the contract. But do we want a teacher that +hasn't a thought for his classes?—Anton says, make him go to Moscow! I +say, let him stay here. But I'm worried to death over it. I'd do his +work myself, only I'm up to my ears in classes and lectures as it +is.—And the thing opens in November!—Who is to take the main body of +the students, for Heaven's sake?"</p> + +<p>"Laroche!" shouted Ivan.</p> + +<p>"Irresponsible; and—too much money."</p> + +<p>"Um—a—oh—this new man we hear of—Monsieur Kashkine, of Moscow."</p> + +<p>"He's literary, rather than musical. No real time for classes."</p> + +<p>"Wieniawski, then?"</p> + +<p>"By nature a virtuoso. It would be rather a pity to waste his technique +and pin him down to a teacher's life. With a composer, the thing's +different. One can always find time for composition, even while +teaching. But practice knocks any possibility of other work on the head +at once."<a class="pagenum" name="page_204" id="page_204" title="204"></a></p> + +<p>There was a pause. Ivan, at the end of his suggestions, began to feel +puzzled at Rubinstein's coming to him with such questions at all. +Presently, however, he decided that this was not the real object of the +visit; and asked, with a change of tone: "Well, have you some new work +for me?—Some copying?"</p> + +<p>"I've got some new work for you, certainly. But not copying."</p> + +<p>"What then?"</p> + +<p>"Well—this. I want you to leave here for Moscow, with me, in five days; +and prepare to take Serov's place in the new Conservatoire."</p> + +<p>"<i>What!</i>" The exclamation was low, and absolutely incredulous.</p> + +<p>"You heard me. Aren't you perfectly well fitted to teach theory and +harmony laws, and the principles of composition, to a lot of +ignoramuses, at one hundred roubles a month?"</p> + +<p>Before Nicholas had finished, Ivan jumped to his feet and began to pace +up and down the attic-room. In his cheeks there appeared two vivid spots +of red; and his eyes shone, peculiarly. Rubinstein sat puffing at the +pipe for which he had just exchanged his cigar; while he stared about +the bare room, and waited, patiently, for his sudden proposition to sink +home. He was unprepared, however, for what came. Ivan presently stopped +in front of him, saying, hurriedly:</p> + +<p>"You know I was born in Moscow?"</p> + +<p>"I have heard it."</p> + +<p>"My father lives there."</p> + +<p>"That will be fortunate for you."</p> + +<p>"Oh! but—he—I'm disinherited, you know! And—where should I live, +there, on my hundred roubles a month?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it is not a large sum; but it can be done. Besides, as soon as we +prove the thing a success, we'll increase<a class="pagenum" name="page_205" id="page_205" title="205"></a> the salaries. Also, you shall +have time to work on your own little ideas.—Ah! I have it!—I've an +apartment, close to the Conservatoire. It's furnished, and +Shrâdik—violin, you know—is living there already. He has one room, I +another. Will you take the third? We'll share the parlor."</p> + +<p>"Oh—oh Nicholas Ivanovitch, stop! You misunderstand!—The pay is double +what I live on now.—I mean, only, that—for me—there are memories in +Moscow: bitter ones.—I'm used to ostracism here; but in Moscow—where +my mother's family has always been—Oh! I don't see my way to it!"</p> + +<p>"Then I'll see it for you. Look here: this offer is going to help you up +the ladder. It will prepare the way for your new place in the +world:—the one you want to gain for yourself, which is far better than +anything inherited. You've more promise in you than any of these other +lumbering creatures—even Serov himself. And now—you refuse your great +chance because you'll be living in a city where your father is!—Bah, +Ivan! I never thought you a school-girl before!—Must it be Laroche, +then?"</p> + +<p>"By Heavens—no!" The words leaped from him involuntarily; but Ivan let +them stay.</p> + +<p>Two minutes afterwards the pipe was once more going, placidly; and by +the time the room was hazy with smoke, Nicholas had explained the +details of his plan, and had departed, leaving Ivan alone, dizzy with +the prospects of his new life. Within a fortnight, he could turn his +back on Petersburg, the hated city.—Small time now for the long-delayed +placing of his symphony: for the completion of the concert overture and +the tone-poem already forming in his active brain! Better to wait, and +take his chances in the musical world of Moscow.—His work! His +profession!—Did this unexpected offer leave him free enough to develop +the future of his dreams?<a class="pagenum" name="page_206" id="page_206" title="206"></a> Ah well! No use pondering that. The affair +was settled; and circumstance must take care of the rest. Destiny is +probably foreordained. What reason, then, in struggling over and +doubting one's actions? Meantime, a new theme was taking possession of +his mind. Moscow, and the idea of seeing it again, had brought old +memories down on him; and he wondered if he might not gratify his sudden +longing, and let his father know at least that he was alive, and well? +The second wish was graver; touching his hidden self more nearly. Could +he, should he—would it be humbling his pride too much, if he went to +see his aunt—who had just returned to town for the winter?—Would she +let him come to say good-bye to her, give him some faint echo of the +by-gone friendliness?—Time certainly had drawn the poison from Ivan's +wound, since he could debate this question, which, after all, was only +the cloak to another: that of the possibility of learning how his cousin +fared. For of her, the young Princess, he had learned practically +nothing since the time of her hasty marriage in a distant land. That she +spent her life in and around Petersburg, he was aware. But he had never +once seen her in the city; and had never been sure of her immediate +whereabouts. That her place in his heart had never been usurped, nor her +image grown dim with the passing years, was all he realized to-day.</p> + +<p>Ivan's inheritance from his mother was a temperament sensitive to the +point of morbidness. This unhappy characteristic had been fostered only +during his early years. But he had not attempted to change it till the +period of his disgrace plainly offered a choice between a resolute +stifling of his pain or downright madness. Being the son of his father, +he made the practical selection. And he saw now that the years of his +independent poverty had done much towards the development of +common-sense, and the extinction of that<a class="pagenum" name="page_207" id="page_207" title="207"></a> hypersensibility which had so +marred his otherwise fine nature. Moreover, just the regular, daily +routine of work, and the friendly rivalry with his fellow-students, had +imbued him with the manly courage with which he faced the world. Yet not +one of us can permanently alter his temperament; and, to the end of his +life, Ivan was destined to suffer periodic torments from shyness, +natural reticence, and a never-dying sense of shame at the memory of +that unjust disgrace which by this time many interpreted rightly, and +many others had completely forgotten.</p> + +<p>For some years, in fact since his boyhood, Ivan's mental attitude +towards his father had been as to a black shadow which had lain across +the whole of his mother's existence and the greater part of his own. +When his change of feeling began, or how, he did not know. Possibly it +was as far back as the trial and conviction, through his father's +indictment and evidence, of Brodsky, his own bitterest enemy. Certainly +its development had certainly been unconscious. And to-day Ivan was +himself surprised at his secret feeling of tenderness towards Prince +Michael, as for one aged and broken with grief. After the absolute +silence of four years, he found it almost a pleasure to write the lonely +man, telling him of his little success, his sudden change of residence, +something of his ambitions for the future; but not a word of his long +struggle with poverty, and the lonely austerity of his life. In the +letter he enclosed an address—that of Rubinstein's Moscow apartment; +where, even should it not be his own abode, communications at least +would always reach him. And if his excellency would but send some word, +however brief, Ivan would gladly come to see him—not as a son, +necessarily, but as one to whom Prince Gregoriev's welfare could not but +be a matter of supreme interest and concern.<a class="pagenum" name="page_208" id="page_208" title="208"></a></p> + +<p>The writer of this missive spent time and pains upon its composition; +and succeeded in expressing himself with clearness and considerable +delicacy, though making very evident the fact that he neither desired +nor would accept the slightest pecuniary assistance from one who had so +furiously disowned and deserted him in his hour of sore need.</p> + +<p>It may have been this final implication, or, more probably, the one +other unfortunate suggestion in the letter, relating to the importance +to the writer of Michael's welfare—(interpreted <i>health</i>)—which the +father angrily deduced as a desire for his death and the hope of speedy +inheritance, which once more undid Ivan with the desolate, stubborn, +remorsefully remorseless old man, to whom, in his secret soul, the boy +was still the apple of his eye, the greatest and final disappointment of +his harsh life. Certainly Ivan waited in vain for the requested message. +But before this disappointment came, he had passed through another +anxiously waited experience. For, on the same day that he posted the +letter to Moscow, he took his courage into his hands and went, for the +first time since the February of nearly five years ago, to the house in +the Serghievskaia, where a brisk young footman informed him suavely that +Madame la Comtesse received.</p> + +<p>It was forty minutes later when Ivan emerged from the house, his brain +whirling in as great a tumult of emotions as were the hearts of two +women whom he left behind him. Yet the idea of emotion on his aunt's +part would never have occurred to him; and of the other, he knew +nothing. Countess Caroline was past mistress in the worldling's art of +subtle, refined, undiscoverable patronage, snobbery, +indifference—insult if you will. With apparently exactly the same quiet +voice and manner, she could warm the soul of a Royal Duchess with the +delightfulest flattery; while, in the intervals between<a class="pagenum" name="page_209" id="page_209" title="209"></a> phrases, she +would shrivel an undesirable caller into a state of quivering apology +for the presumption of invading the house of so lofty a personage as +Madame Dravikine.</p> + +<p>Thus, when her nephew presented himself before her, Countess Caroline's +heart gave a great throb of welcome and of pity; but her impassive face +grew only a little colder, and, though in the first seconds of looking +into the eyes of Sophia's son, hearing the familiar, inherited tricks of +her sister's speech, she was betrayed into the suggestion of a genuine +frankness, she soon bethought herself of an imminent danger which both +were in; and she instantly set herself to drive him from the house at +the earliest moment. For the Countess had been momentarily expecting her +daughter, who was to come to tea this afternoon; and for many reasons +she dared not permit those two to meet again. Therefore poor Ivan found +himself treated to a succession of monosyllables so chilling that there +rose up in him, first, a great wave of bitter disappointment and grief; +and then a hot anger that held him immovable in his seat, in the face of +a now open attack of rudeness such as few women and no man had ever +before endured from this experienced <i>mondaine</i>. At last, seeing that, +while he gained nothing, he was probably losing much by his persistence, +he rose, restrained, by an effort, any expression of the fury that his +aunt read plainly in his eyes, and left her. Nor did he ever know that +during the last fifteen minutes of his stay Nathalie,—Nathalie, her +dear face lined with grief and care, her beautiful eyes faded and dull +from long bodily pain and the mental anguish that has passed the bounds +of tears,—Nathalie, big with child for the third successive autumn of +her wretched married life—had sat not twelve feet from him, overhead, +in her mother's boudoir. For there she had retreated, on learning that +madame was entertaining a young man who was not an<a class="pagenum" name="page_210" id="page_210" title="210"></a> <i>habitué</i> of the +house, and whose name had not been given for announcement.</p> + +<p>Still Ivan's visit had not been wholly fruitless. He had elicited what +he had chiefly wished to learn. Unconsciously, because the subject was +the present burden of her nights and days, Caroline had betrayed the +fact of her daughter's unhappiness. Yet she would have maintained, and +truly, that she had not permitted three sentences to pass her lips on +the subject of the Princess Féodoreff. But the acuteness of the +<i>mondaine</i> pales before that of the lover. Caroline knew nothing of what +Ivan took away with him; nor dreamed that, from this hour, Nathalie's +load became the secret burden of another. But perhaps in that brief +hour, when her bitter tongue had so belied the crushed emotion of her +heart, Madame Dravikine regretted, not for the first time, her cruel +rejection of the young man who, it was plain to see, had retained his +fidelity to her unhappy child through all his years of separation from +her and ignorance concerning her married life.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Despite the plans of Nicholas Rubinstein, his departure for Moscow, and, +by consequence, that of the under-teacher, was delayed for some weeks; +and it was only on the evening of October 2d that Ivan, with all his +earthly belongings in the two valises beside him, and his whole +fortune—forty roubles—in his pocket, stood by his companion in front +of the Petersburg station in Moscow, waiting for a droschky and looking +once more upon the lights and many-colored domes of his native city.</p> + +<p>Three hours later, in a comfortable little room on the third floor of a +dingy house of the Brionsovskaia, three men, who had been lingering over +a hearty supper, rose to their feet, glasses in hand, to repeat the +toast just suggested by the youngest of the trio:<a class="pagenum" name="page_211" id="page_211" title="211"></a></p> + +<p>"To the Conservatoire of Moscow—and her director: the friend and +benefactor of all Russian musicians,—Nicholas Rubinstein!"</p> + +<p>The first six words rang out from three voices; but before the rest the +oldest man put down his glass, laughing as he said:</p> + +<p>"You prevent my drinking, Ivan Mikhailovitch. No. Let the rest of the +toast be: 'to the friendship of the three who inhabit this apartment: +thou Boris, and thou Ivan,—star of the future, and finally my old, +plain self!'"</p> + +<p>Boris Shrâdik, the young violinist who formed the third inmate of the +Rubinstein apartment, quickly seized the speaker by the right hand, +while Ivan grasped his left; and then the younger men, setting down +their glasses, clasped hands across the small table.</p> + +<p>There was an instant's silence. Then the glasses were drained, and Ivan, +to whom the evening had brought many a throb of sentiment, walked away +to the window for a moment, while even Rubinstein loudly cleared his +throat.—They are an emotional people, these musicians; and, despite the +pettiness which success seems to raise in them, they are, in private +life, genial and generous, and intensely loyal to their kind.</p> + +<p>It was not wonderful that the youngest professor of the Conservatoire +speedily made himself at home in his new abode. Moscow might hold many +sad memories for him; but it was the place which must always be his +home, after all. For where the first years of childhood are spent, +there, however humble the place, are rooted deep some of the soul's +loveliest plants: there rest associations of love and of joy far more +powerful, more unforgettable, than any that can be made in after life: +and these make a consecration recognized by the most careless, the most +unsentimental of us all. Ivan, indeed, rejoiced daily that he had not to +begin life again in a strange city. But he soon perceived that he had +formed<a class="pagenum" name="page_212" id="page_212" title="212"></a> an astonishingly mistaken notion of what that life was to be. He +had believed it would bear a strong resemblance to the existence he had +been leading for the past years: so many afternoon hours among +students—this time as teacher, instead of pupil; so many for rest, +meals, exercise; the rest of the time spent in quiet solitude, at his +own beloved work.</p> + +<p>Two thirds of this programme he did, indeed, carry out; though not +without constant difficulties in escaping those friendly spirits who +would have kept him for hours at a time over a meal, out of sheer +conviviality. And it was three weeks or more before the absent-minded +dreamer became convinced of the hopelessness of attempting his own work +in that particular atmosphere. For Ivan was of a type, fortunately rare, +which demands a large amount of daily solitude. Loneliness he might +dread—and bear. But isolation during his working hours he must have, at +whatever price. And to expect isolation in Nicholas Rubinstein's +apartment, was, truly, to cry for the moon. Regularly, all day, the +little living-room overflowed with visitors; nor did any of these +hesitate to comply with any requested musical exhibition, despite the +fact that, during eight hours of the working day, the apartment +resounded with violin exercises emitted from the bedroom of young +Shrâdik. Even this was not all; for the house was in the heart of the +musicians' quarter. And all day, from apartments below, from rooms +above, came an endless banging, shrieking and caterwauling from +embryonic <i>tenori</i> and <i>virtuosi</i>, such as, within a month, would have +cured all but the most persistent music-lovers of any further desire for +the expression of that abstract art.</p> + +<p>Ivan <i>was</i> of the most persistent. Therefore, towards the middle of +November, his nerves raw and quivering under baffled attempts to compose +against the Devil's Chorus rising to heaven from every side, he sought, +and<a class="pagenum" name="page_213" id="page_213" title="213"></a> finally found, salvation from incipient madness, in the refuge +afforded by a neighboring <i>traktir</i>, much frequented, o' nights, by +university students, but as deserted through the morning hours as had +been Ivan's yearned-for attic.</p> + +<p>Hither, to a small parlor, he removed, by permission, his piano and his +writing-table. And tolerated, nay, encouraged, by a musical and friendly +landlord, Ivan began to forget his recent care-infested, nervous days in +the labor of his love. Provided, on his arrival, with a glass of +<i>vodka</i>, and ending by eating there his noon-day meal, the young +composer, assured by his hosts that any obligations he might be under +were, by these purchases, quite repaid, would seat himself at instrument +or desk, and, in that curious compound of mathematical accuracy and free +flights of imagination that goes to make up music, forget himself and +his surroundings completely. Nor was he ever at a loss for material. At +this period, indeed, his brain was beset with far more ideas than could +ever properly be developed. For many weeks, indeed, he confined himself +to but two things: the overture, as a conscientious necessity; and a +tone-poem, in which, as an unconventional form, he might embody the best +of his vagrant fancies, and the rich, unlawful harmonizations wherein +already, fresh though he was from classical remonstrance, he delighted. +But when he found that the "day-dream" could not be made to contain half +his delighted ideas, he began to jot them down separately, and throw +them into the growing sheaf of manuscript which, by-and-by, was to be +worked into the shape of (oh whisper it reverently!) his first opera, +"The Boyar."</p> + +<p>At the hour in which the young composer (sometime between half-past +twelve and one o'clock) habitually turned his steps away from the kindly +"Cucumber," his mood, likewise, automatically changed. From the<a class="pagenum" name="page_214" id="page_214" title="214"></a> +fanciful creator he became the pedagogue, the serious doctor of music, +whose mind was occupied chiefly by elementary exercises that should tend +to draw the incipient conceits of youth away from the alluring empty +fifth (a form in which his other self delighted), and the equally +insidious octave parallel. At times he advanced to laws of even greater +moment, and corresponding intricacy. For he took a genuine interest in +his pupils; and, in that first year of his teaching, carried his class +to surprising lengths, nor let them betray any evidences of +unthoroughness when they went trembling up to the examinations provided +by the great Anton himself, in the mid-year term.</p> + +<p>Ivan's estimate of his pedagogic labors was very humble. But Nicholas +Rubinstein, who himself taught for nine hours daily, soon came to +appreciate the conscientious work of his subordinate, clearly +perceptible in the excellently trained classes who came up to him for +their monthly competition. And this satisfaction was soon substantially +expressed. Upon the formal opening of the new building of the +Conservatoire in December, Ivan found his salary increased by +twenty-five roubles monthly. Nor did he suspect what Nicholas went +through to obtain this favor; though he was not slow to notice the +change of manner which Anton of the jealous soul had already begun to +betray towards him.</p> + +<p>The month succeeding the opening of the great, white building, was +replete with change. First of all, young Shrâdik departed for a +concert-tour, through Austria and Germany; and, though he and Gregoriev +parted most cordially, it was with a feeling of new freedom that Ivan +looked about him, when the persistent practiser of trills and runs was +gone to show the great world the results of meritorious study. Two weeks +later, came the welcome if astonishing news that Ivan, whose classes had +grown rapidly, was to have an assistant, in the person<a class="pagenum" name="page_215" id="page_215" title="215"></a> of young +Laroche:—his nearest friend in the Petersburg student days. And when +this young fellow replaced the violinist in the Rubinstein household, +Ivan felt the cup of his contentment full.</p> + +<p>In many ways, indeed, this period was one of the happiest of Gregoriev's +career. It was at this time that he formed those several friendships +which stood him, in his after years, in such rich stead. Of the many +professional men who frequented Nicholas' society, one of the foremost +was Monsieur Kashkine:—he who afterwards did so much to make Ivan known +to his world. From the first these two young men took to each other with +the utmost congeniality. Next to the writer, Ivan's fancy locked itself +with that of bullet-headed, homely, great-hearted Balakirev: a man who +has been the inspiration of a dozen greater than he; who, for thirty +years a pillar of Russian music, has let his greatest ideas go to feed +the brains of those who have learned to stand towards him, as the public +towards themselves. Finally, there was young Ostrovsky, later one of the +great playwrights and librettists of the country; who, even at this +time, had come into popularity in Moscow through some of his lighter +comedies, and a farce or two, produced at the Little Theatre.—Of these +three men, not one who did not early appreciate the quality of Ivan's +few productions; and agree enthusiastically—behind Ivan's back—with a +prophecy made by Nicholas Rubinstein, which, had its subject heard it, +would have caused him to retire, stuttering with indignation. Never, in +truth, was young workman more modest than the Gregoriev of that day. But +he had the grace to appreciate his friendships, and to cling to them as +if he understood, even then, from what blackest depths of depression and +melancholy they were, by-and-by, to rescue him!</p> + +<p>Looking back upon the early days of his musical life, it was, as a +matter of fact, to the occasion of the formal<a class="pagenum" name="page_216" id="page_216" title="216"></a> opening of the +Conservatoire that Ivan pointed, as marking the real beginning of his +prolific career. Yet, for years after that night, he could not recall it +without a twinge of bitterness. For, at the time, he was in the throes +of the first of his long series of disappointments:—the cutting +rejection of his symphony by the temporary director of the Petersburg +orchestra. The manuscript had been returned to him with a communication +which had caused stout Nicholas a penance for profanity; though even he +failed to surmise the part that two men had played in this insult to a +piece of work which, if crude in spots, was still far too magnificently +broad, too thoroughly original, to deserve half the criticism incited by +Ivan's former masters, Zaremba and Anton Rubinstein; to whom the +manuscript had been sent.</p> + +<p>When these men came down to Moscow for the celebration of the opening of +their Conservatoire, neither one of them, probably, escaped some slight +twinge of conscience at the frank, deferential greeting given them by +their whilom pupil, whose slight pallor and weariness of expression +alone betrayed his sickening disappointment. But the two were relieved, +also, that no hint of their complicity in unjustice had leaked out; and +they played cheerful parts at the exercises and banquet which were to +mark the completion of their earnest labors for the scheme in hand.</p> + +<p>At the dinner, which began at seven o'clock on the night of December 3d, +were the directors and one or two of the largest stockholders of the +enterprise; together with all the professors, and some dozen of Russia's +celebrated musicians and writers. The meal over, Anton Rubinstein, +originator of the plan, and Zaremba, his able co-adjutor, made brief +speeches. There were one or two impromptu replies; a little discreet +cheering; the customary toasts to the Czar and the persons and the +subject<a class="pagenum" name="page_217" id="page_217" title="217"></a> in hand; and then Ivan, carried out of his usual shyness, +proposed the health of the sister Conservatoire of St. Petersburg, which +was loyally drank. Afterwards, the same young professor, who had +unconsciously been the cause of the abandonment of the proposed concert +after the banquet—owing to Nicholas' unreasonable anger at the +rejection of his symphony—himself triumphantly saved the situation and +snatched the evening from the bonds of awkwardness already tightening +upon the guests, who knew that music in some form there must be, but had +no idea of how to compass it.</p> + +<p>The present musical idol of the hour was Glinka; and Ivan, whose piano +practice had always been kept up, went quietly to the big Érard which +stood lonesomely upon the platform at the end of the hall, opened it, +seated himself, and dashed into the brilliant overture to "Russlan and +Ludmilla": playing with such verve and spirit that, ere he finished, +every man in the room had gone to augment the group around the +instrument, and Ivan had his audience worked up to any pitch of +appreciation.</p> + +<p>Refusing every demand for an encore, Ivan rose, in the midst of a little +babel of "<i>Bis!</i>" and, taking the <i>virtuoso</i> of the world by the arm, +led him to the piano. Well repaid, it seemed, in that moment, for the +disappointment he had lately had to endure. For every face about him was +alive with friendliness and admiration for him and his tact.</p> + +<p>Rubinstein played well, that night; for it was one of those rare +occasions when he let himself go for his friends; and such technique and +feeling as he could display will scarcely be known in the world again. +When this was over, and nine-tenths of the company had gone, a chosen +few made their way to Nicholas' apartment, where they sat down to a +convivial little supper, at which, before them all—Kashkine, Balakirev, +Laroche, Serov, Siloti,<a class="pagenum" name="page_218" id="page_218" title="218"></a> Darjomizky, and, lastly, Monsieur Gounod, who +had not been present at the earlier festivities, Anton Rubinstein lifted +his glass on high and proposed the health of his young friend Gregoriev, +in terms before which Ivan would gladly have fled, had it not been for +the shouts of approbation and affection that held him immovable, +red-faced, choking, quite unable to reply.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Christmas, and the festivities of the new year, approached, proving to +Ivan a time drearier than usual, in the face of his dying hope of an +answer to the letter written, so long before, to his father, in the old +house in the Serpoukhovskaia. One, faint, unfounded expectation, +ridiculous though he felt it, Ivan had retained. As week succeeded week, +he came to connect Christmas Day with a message, a note, a word, of some +sort, from Prince Michael. Afterwards, looking back to his absolute +faith in an event which he had no sort of reason to expect, it seemed as +if some lost presentiment had found a mistaken home with him; for he +actually spoke to Rubinstein of his visit to his father on that day, as +a fact assured. Therefore, when, on Christmas morning, his +fellow-lodgers, together with a gay little party of intimates, set off +for the Slaviansky Bazaar, where they would literally spend the day at +table, Ivan answered the friendly urging to join them by a resolute +refusal. It was only when they had left the house, that Nicholas +explained his protégé's reason for remaining behind; nor so much as +hinted at his secret doubts, or the fact that he had left a cold +luncheon spread on the kitchen-table, in case the mysterious Prince +should not, after all, send for his son.</p> + +<p>When he was left alone, Ivan installed himself at a window of the +living-room, whence he could miss no one who should approach the house, +either on foot or driving. He had, for company, the last of Gógòl's +semi-tragic<a class="pagenum" name="page_219" id="page_219" title="219"></a> satires; and the first hour or two of his wait passed +pleasantly; the unwonted silence in the rooms being a positive relief. +After a time, however, his own thoughts began to intrude themselves +violently upon the endless argument between Vassily Vassilyitch and the +Staroste. So, turning reluctantly from the window, he set himself to +work out some problems in his favorite card game, "yerolash": a Russian +form of whist; which, despite constant practice, he continued to play +very badly. For some time mathematical feats absorbed him. When, at +last, he finished his third puzzle, Ivan Veliki was booming out the +third quarter after twelve. Rather drearily, he lounged across to the +piano. But to-day there was no music in the heart which, on the +contrary, was growing, minute by minute, more heavy and more sad. +Finally, thinking unhappily of the innumerable joyous feasts now +beginning throughout the city—for late mass would be ended everywhere +by now—he sat down alone to the cheerless meal which, poor though it +was, but for Rubinstein he would not have had at all.</p> + +<p>It was nine o'clock that night before the revellers, weary with overmuch +cheer, returned. But the extra twinkle in Rubinstein's gay eyes, and the +joyous grin on the flushed face of Laroche, disappeared when, lighting a +candle to guide them through the darkened antechamber, they entered the +living-room to find Ivan supine on the divan, sunk into a heavy slumber, +the mottled white and red of his stained cheeks betraying a secret never +afterwards referred to by his kindly discoverers. For Ivan's persistent +faith had come to naught. Michael Gregoriev still denied his son.</p> + +<p>The following week of holiday was long enough, and Ivan passed his days +in complete, brooding idleness. But when, at last, on the noon of +January 3, 1867, he returned to his classes at the Conservatoire, the +young professor set to work with the air of one determined to kill<a class="pagenum" name="page_220" id="page_220" title="220"></a> +every thought, every memory, of everything save the task of the hour; +nor, henceforth, to give place to the slightest suggestion of regret or +expectancy.</p> + +<p>His fury of work lasted long. Day by day Nicholas Rubinstein watched for +some sign of abatement: some lessening of the hours of labor: some +little indulgence in the way of ordinary recreation. In vain. Ivan took +barely time enough to satisfy his hunger: slept six or seven hours a +night; and was at the piano alike when his companions appeared in the +morning, and when they bade him good-night in the late evening. Not only +did his hours for his own work increase, but he voluntarily added to his +work at the Conservatoire, where he now remained from one until six, +instead of till half-past four, as stipulated in his contract. And well +did Nicholas understand that this was not done for extra money. Indeed +Ivan had at first begged to relieve his chief of some of his younger +pupils without remuneration of any kind: a suggestion which Nicholas was +far too generous to permit. Instead, he remonstrated, earnestly, at +Ivan's taking upon himself this extra amount of work; for, while +teaching was his own forte, Ivan's nature, as he well knew, was capable +of higher things. But by March such discussions had long since been +dropped: and Rubinstein's whole anxiety now was to note in the youth the +first signs of inevitable breakdown, that his illness might be taken in +time.</p> + +<p>Only Ivan himself, of all their little group, was satisfied with his own +condition. But none of the others knew how deep and how lasting had been +the disappointment of his father's silence; or that this misfortune, +coming on the heels of the rejection of his symphony, had thrown him +into one of those protracted fits of depression, new now even to him, +but which were to become familiar to and dreaded by all who cared for +him. He kept himself in a constant state of exhaustion,<a class="pagenum" name="page_221" id="page_221" title="221"></a> mental and +bodily, in order that sleep should be possible to his idle hours. At the +same time, he was frequently under the Creator's exaltation: the deep +delight of one who knows the quality of that which he is doing, and is, +for the moment, satisfied therewith. And the climax of this +ecstasy—than which there is nothing finer known to man—came when, on +the evening of March 29th, he carried to his room, from the little +parlor of the "Cucumber," one more finished manuscript—that of his +tone-poem, "Day Dreams," which had been written, rewritten, added to, +cut, polished and rounded off till its author knew that not a note, not +a rest, not a mark of expression could be altered now by him. He knew +also, in his secret soul, that this was good work—far the best, in +fact, that he had ever done. For, for weeks and months, the theme had +held possession of him, and he had put the best of himself into his +subject. Indeed, hurt by the accusation, made in the rejection of his +symphony, of hasty and careless writing, he had worked over his new +piece as he was never to work upon anything again. Indeed its great +fault in the eyes of its admirers to-day, the single one agreed upon by +every critic that has ever understood and loved Gregoriev's work, is +that this alone, of all his creations, is over-polished: faultily +faultless.</p> + +<p>That night, for many hours, Ivan sat at the desk in his room, poring +over his beautifully written manuscript, gloating over it, glorying in +the mere texture of the paper sheets; knowing well that they represented +the best and the highest that lay within him; and that the expression +was almost worthy of the conception. Next morning, still acting +secretly, dreading, in his peculiar modesty, possible over-praise from +those who might be prejudiced in his favor, he despatched his precious +bundle to Petersburg, addressed to his old critics and masters, Zaremba +and Anton Rubinstein. With it went<a class="pagenum" name="page_222" id="page_222" title="222"></a> a brief note requesting, humbly, +that they examine it and send him their opinion of its worth. Then, with +a long sigh, half of relief, half of sorrow that he had lost the +companion of so many months, he settled down to put certain lazy, +finishing touches to his overture, (already accepted by the Moscow +orchestra); to sleep as he would; and dream, delightfully, as only the +true artist can, of his forthcoming task: his opera, "The Boyar." And +yet, despite the joys of resting his tired body and yet more tired mind, +his contentment was not complete. For each succeeding day increased the +restless impatience with which he awaited his letter from Petersburg.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At eight o'clock on the evening of April 7th Anton Rubinstein, in the +living-room of his luxurious Petersburg suite, was sitting at his piano, +where, spread out before him, were some sixty sheets of finely-written +manuscript music:—a piano score. The master was playing from it, +contemplatively, a swinging, swaying minor melody, interwoven with an +intricate and rich accompaniment. He had reached a pause, betokening +some change of <i>tempo</i> or key, when the portières were pushed +noiselessly aside, and a servitor in livery appeared, announcing:</p> + +<p>"The Herr Direktor!"</p> + +<p>At once Zaremba, tall, angular, round-shouldered, his fluffy reddish +hair and side whiskers looking thinner and fluffier than ever, entered, +throwing the garments which he had refused the footman down upon one end +of a long, Turkish divan.</p> + +<p>Then the new-comer advanced, deliberately, to the piano, halted in the +side angle of the instrument, and returned the long, white-faced stare +with which Rubinstein greeted him. Finally the head of the Conservatoire +uttered a dry:</p> + +<p>"Well?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_223" id="page_223" title="223"></a></p> + +<p>The <i>virtuoso</i> shook the long hair back from his face, cleared his +throat, and murmured, hesitating, peculiarly, after each word: "The +thing—has—several—good points."</p> + +<p>"Points!" Zaremba croaked, scornfully. "Points!—It's a masterpiece!"</p> + +<p>Anton Rubinstein sprang to his feet, oversetting the piano-chair in +which he had been sitting. "Well—what if it is?"—pacing rapidly up +and down.—"What if, by accident, it happens to be—remarkable? The +fellow's a boy—a mere child—in his trustfulness!—And he's never done +anything like this—before.—It'll turn his head, completely—if he +learns the—this opinion, of yours. Besides, he'll believe exactly what +we tell him. And—and—"</p> + +<p>"And he might suddenly turn <i>virtuoso</i>; in which case Monsieur +Rubinstein—the <i>gr-r-reat</i> Monsieur Rubinstein—would, at all points, +be rivalled!" finished Zaremba, with a dry, malicious grin.</p> + +<p>Rubinstein stopped perfectly still, and maintained a quivering silence +till the speech was concluded. But his two hands were clinched, so that +the nails turned suddenly blue. Zaremba, seeing this, was about to make +an explanation in a very different key, when Anton, in the harsh +raucousness that serves one who is restraining violent profanity, almost +whispered: "You will have the goodness, then, Monsieur Zaremba, either +to send me, in the morning, reparation to the amount of—or stay! shall +we, after all, publish those little letters from your friend the Lady of +the Dyna—"</p> + +<p>"Good God! Anton! Surely, surely I'm too useful to you!—Surely you +understood my little joke, did you not?—Bah! This whiffet of a +Gregoriev! Why, if his stuff contains anything of any value whatever, he +has stolen it all from what he has seen of your unpublished +works!—I—I—"<a class="pagenum" name="page_224" id="page_224" title="224"></a></p> + +<p>Rubinstein burst into a peal of laughter; and yet, well as he understood +all that this bald flattery stood for, it pleased him:—pleased him, +coming from a man whom, years before, in a fit of unwonted generosity, +he had saved from usury and blackmail: from one of those Jews who, then +as now, infested Petersburg and terrorized men of standing from the very +imperial family down. Anton had bought Zaremba's wretched debt, and the +half-dozen innocent love-letters from a young girl who afterwards became +an active Nihilist. And yet Anton Rubinstein, genius, jovial winer and +diner, victim of the devils of envy and jealousy, had actually stooped, +more than once, to threaten blackmail to the man whom he knew, in his +heart, to have been guilty of nothing more than a week's unfortunate +gambling, and an early attachment to a girl who had not returned his +affection in kind!</p> + +<p>Once more, as usual, the pianist won his point; but it took two hours +before he would allow Zaremba, his remnant of a conscience once more +deadened by the combined forces of Rubinstein's magnetism, covert +threats, and golden wine, to leave.</p> + +<p>The result of their talk bore immediate fruit. Late in the afternoon of +the 11th, Ivan Gregoriev sat once more at his bedroom table, and very +slowly, with white face and hands that shook, drew from his coat-pocket +the letter which he had received at the post-office half an hour before, +but had been unable to open on the way. Now, after a moment's fumbling, +he cut the envelope, took out the effeminate sheet of note-paper, and +began to read. Second by second his face changed. The letter was not +long; yet before he reached the signature his face had twice flushed +scarlet, and twice gone deadly pale.</p> + +<p>It was a half-hour before his door was opened, after a dozen unanswered +knocks, and the room invaded by<a class="pagenum" name="page_225" id="page_225" title="225"></a> Nicholas Rubinstein. He beheld his +favorite thrown forward across a table, from which an overturned +inkstand dripped its contents, unnoticed, to the floor. The new-comer +never paused for this; for his eyes had fallen on the letter, crushed in +one of Ivan's out-stretched hands; and then he gazed upon the body which +he perceived to quiver, from time to time, with half-conscious, +reminiscent sobs.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_226" id="page_226" title="226"></a> +<a name="THE_GODS_ARRIVE_6957" id="THE_GODS_ARRIVE_6957"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>THE GODS ARRIVE</h3> +</div> + +<p>At this unprecedented spectacle Nicholas halted, abruptly, uttering some +unintelligible exclamation. And Ivan, deep as he was buried beneath his +weight of despair, heard the sound, and reluctantly raised himself, at +the same time grasping the letter anew, till the intruder's attention +was reattracted by the rustle.</p> + +<p>"Aha!" said he, softly; laying a gentle hand on the young man's +shoulder. "It is thy father that is gone?"</p> + +<p>"Gone? My father? Where?" muttered Ivan, stupidly.</p> + +<p>"You are in grief. Is it the death of some one near?"</p> + +<p>Then, perceiving at last the drift of his friend's sympathy, Ivan burst +into a harsh, unpleasant laugh. "Oh yes: it is a death. It is the death +of a very ancient vanity of mine: a silly idea that I—that I—had a +talent!"</p> + +<p>Rubinstein's friendly face took on an expression of slow bewilderment, +which began presently to soften into a concern whereat, once more, his +companion uttered his mirthless laugh.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm not mad, Nicholas Nikolaitch!—You remember my old symphony, +and Litoritch's criticism when I sent it up to him?—Well, I was fool +enough then not to understand: to go on believing that I—could write +music!"</p> + +<p>"Precisely as you can," returned the other, roughly.</p> + +<p>Ivan's face quivered—and softened. "No. I will tell<a class="pagenum" name="page_227" id="page_227" title="227"></a> thee, my friend! +Ten days ago I finished a symphonic poem:—a thing I've been working on +for months.—I didn't dare play it to you. I wanted an opinion +absolutely unbiassed; so I sent the manuscript to—to Zaremba and—your +brother. Well, they gave me what I asked for.—Here's the letter!" and +Ivan, stretching his white lips into a smile, tossed the crumpled paper +to Rubinstein.</p> + +<p>That burly man seated himself nearer the light, and began to read. As +his eyes rapidly followed the familiar writing, his face grew crimson +with slow, unwonted anger. His thick neck swelled. His lips were +compressed, as if he feared to allow the words behind them to escape. +But when he had reached the signature, he leaped to his feet and broke +into one of those torrents of profanity which, rare as they were, +unfailingly betokened some vigorous action to follow.</p> + +<p>By the time Rubinstein's immediate rage was spent, Ivan had regained his +own self-possession, save for the gnawing pain that was to lie at his +heart throughout many a long week and month. Nicholas' mood, however, +was far from calm. He knew, better than any one save his own brother, +the extent of their protégé's magnificent talent. He had heard many a +fragment of the tone-poem, during its long progress towards completion; +and, unconsciously, he had judged it enough to understand the injustice +of that petty and malicious letter; doubtful though he still was as to +its immediate motive. True, Nicholas had too often suffered from his +brother's tormenting jealousy to be by any means blind to Anton's fault. +Yet it seemed a preposterous thing that a man with a reputation +world-wide, built on the double foundation of creation and +interpretation, should descend to the meanness of persecuting a mere +boy: one whose foot was not yet firmly fixed on the second round of the +great ladder upon which he himself<a class="pagenum" name="page_228" id="page_228" title="228"></a> towered so securely and so +high!—And yet—had not this same belittling blemish been the bugbear of +his own, generous existence? Was anything impossible in one whom he had +known again and again to stoop to the pettiest forms of personal malice +and vindictiveness.</p> + +<p>The big-hearted brother could afford indulgence where only he himself +was concerned. But this idea that his close comrades must be +abused,—this was too much, indeed! The rejection of the +symphony—anything but an amateurish piece of work—still rankled in +him, almost as bitterly as in Ivan. And now this outrage—when any one +could see that the boy was fairly starving for a word of the +encouragement he had more than earned—ah! it was intolerable, at last!</p> + +<p>In the following hour there passed much further conversation between the +two; but Rubinstein, while professing every sympathy, never hinted at +the idea that was taking shape in his mind. When he left the bedroom at +last, Ivan felt that, in spite of himself, he should get some sleep; for +Nicholas had assured him solemnly that, when "The Boyar" should be +finished, and the libretto, to be provided by Ostrovsky, properly +polished, he would himself arrange for its production during the ensuing +winter season. And while Ivan stood, dazed and silent, wondering if such +a thing could really be, this great-hearted friend of Russia and Russian +art, had seized him by the hand, left a vigorous pound of encouragement +on his shoulder, and was gone—shouting, anxiously, as he perceived the +relative positions of the hands of his watch.</p> + +<p>Next morning, before Ivan had risen from his protracted sleep, +Rubinstein's pupils at the Conservatoire were undergoing three hours of +remarkable instruction. Their burly master cursed them roundly when they +failed to point out to him a given number of chords of the ninth and +seventh, augmented or diminished, in a<a class="pagenum" name="page_229" id="page_229" title="229"></a> selected fugue of that mad +iconoclast Bach; or to mark two dozen examples of canon and counterpoint +in the first act of the latest opera by the staid pillar of classicism, +Richard Wagner! After which betrayal of his mental state, the master +leaped to his feet, jammed his ancient hat over his eyes, called out +that his classes for the next three days were to take their instruction +from Balakirev, Gregoriev or Laroche; and then, informing them only that +he should return within the week, he rushed out of the building. A +convenient droschky carried him to his apartment, where he gathered +together a bagful of clothes, scribbled Ivan a fictitious explanation of +his journey, and was soon on his way to the station, where, by a +miracle, he caught the Petersburg express.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Two nights later, at half-past one o'clock, Anton the world-famed +returned to his rooms from a supper which had followed one of his rare +Petersburg recitals. He was in excellent humor; for his success, +throughout both sections of the evening, had been precisely to his +taste. Seven times had he been forced to encore, before the enraptured +audience would leave the concert-hall; and at Count Lichtenstein's—the +house of the German ambassador, he had been lionized till even he was +satisfied. Wherefore was he in excellent humor before, entering his +living-room, his eyes fell upon the unexpected figure of his brother, +who stood silently awaiting him. Nor was Anton long in reading the +significance of his visitor's expression, before which his own changed +utterly. His eyes were dull, his mouth grimly straight as he asked, +harshly:</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it now?"</p> + +<p>"You should gather from your conscience the reason for my highly +uncomfortable journey," returned Nicholas, in the drawl which never +failed to rouse his brother<a class="pagenum" name="page_230" id="page_230" title="230"></a> to fury. "It's your miserably selfish +treatment of young Gregoriev and his work that's brought me up here so +inconveniently."</p> + +<p>Anton turned on his brother, his eyes blazing with swift rage. But +Nicholas, with a single glance from his calm, mocking, but deeply +penetrating eyes, once more arrested him. "This boy trusts you so, +Anton, believes so utterly in your good faith, the impartial judgment of +you and your worm, Zaremba, that even you, whose very blood is green, +would be moved if you could hear him.—However—where's the manuscript +of the boy's tone-poem?"</p> + +<p>"'<i>Tone-poem!</i>'—Eureka!—Do you imagine that it actually is music?—as +he believes it, no doubt, to be?—Still, the rot is safe enough—where +you'll not soon lay your hands on—"</p> + +<p>The voice of the Jew was silenced—perforce; for the reason that hands +were laid upon him: hands heavy and powerful, full of the righteous +anger of a strong man driven beyond himself. And when the hero of the +recent supper-party finally lay back in his own chair, panting and +wriggling with pain, his mood had changed, perceptibly.</p> + +<p>"Have you dared," demanded Nicholas, in a voice low and trembling, "to +burn the first masterpiece of a genius?"</p> + +<p>"I told you it was safe."</p> + +<p>"Do you imagine I believe—Ah well! I take it back to Moscow with me, +to-morrow."</p> + +<p>At these words, the smouldering fire in the other's wretched heart +leaped up again, and he cried, furiously: "You lie! It is <i>not</i> a +masterpiece!—Even Zaremba said that every idea in it had been stolen +from me!—The thing shall never be played until <i>I</i> choose!"</p> + +<p>"Anton, are you mad?—Can you actually heed anything said to you by the +jackal who endures your<a class="pagenum" name="page_231" id="page_231" title="231"></a> blackmail?—Has your infernal jealousy reached +the point where you don't hesitate at <i>crime</i>?—My God!—My bro—"</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens, Nicholas! Since when have you gone into melodrama?" The +voice was pettish, but the listener was not slow to catch a tremor of +discomfort under its attempted loftiness. "As if I cared!—or need to +fear such stuff as Gregoriev's!—Go to Zaremba, if you like, and tell +him I sent you for the manuscript.—Much good may it do you!—Oh, yes, +take the thing! Have it played! Hear the fools howl over it and praise +it! The day of real greatness is over. Beethoven, and Bach and Mozart, +and Rubinstein are to be superseded by the wonderful Wagner—who hasn't +a notion of music in his head! and Serov, the imitator; and now +Gregoriev, infant prodigy, picked out of the gutter by me, from whom he +now proceeds to steal the only ideas he has about composing!—And here +I, a genius, have slaved all my life away to please a public who desert +me in an hour for this—this—"</p> + +<p>Wine and emotion, acting together, were making the man almost maudlin. +Nicholas knew well what climax ten minutes would bring. So, with a word +or two of friendly thanks and farewell, he left the house, and sought a +familiar hotel, where he was too well known to be refused even at this +ungodly hour.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In five days from the time of his departure Nicholas was back in Moscow, +arriving there in the early evening, and proceeding at once to his +rooms, where he found Ivan alone—Laroche being at the theatre, at the +last performance for the season of Ostrovsky's latest farce.</p> + +<p>As he entered the room, Nicholas read the wistful question in Ivan's +eyes, and answered it by tossing him the roll of recovered manuscript, +which, with a quivering cry of joy, Ivan caught to his breast and then +retired,<a class="pagenum" name="page_232" id="page_232" title="232"></a> precipitately, to his room, whence he did not emerge again +that night.</p> + +<p>But, in spite of its successful recovery, and the high opinion +afterwards expressed concerning it by Ivan's own circle, it was many +years before "Day Dreams" had its initial performance: at a time when +Russia was alive with the name of Gregoriev. Moreover, at that first +performance the composer was not present. The work, result of so many +hours of devoted labor, had been hateful to him from the evening on +which he realized the enmity of his hitherto revered and beloved mentor. +Though no word on the subject of Nicholas' visit to Petersburg ever +passed between Ivan and his benefactor; though for years the semblance +of friendship was retained by the young composer and the great +<i>virtuoso</i>; three men knew well that Anton's influence over the younger +man was gone, forever. And Anton himself was bitterly aware of the +expression of half-puzzled, half-regretful disdain that he encountered +so often in Ivan's eyes. Indeed both felt, in their secret souls, that +no tone-poem ever written could be worth the price paid for this unhappy +work:—which had, nevertheless, through Anton's very jealousy given Ivan +the knowledge that he stood already more than one round above his +fellows on the great ladder of attainment.</p> + +<p>In one way, indeed, the young man had hardly needed this active proof of +his ability; for, for some time now, there had been growing in him a +quality much needed by his kind: a stern, dogged, ineradicable belief in +himself and his eventual recognition. Rooted, as, to the shame of +mankind, has been the lot of so many of the world's true great, in the +deep bitterness of non-recognition; growing, sturdily, in the midst of +beating storms and freezing snows of jealousy, malice, criticism +incredibly stupid, misfortunes persistent and discouraging; such natures +as these are bound at last to blossom, gloriously,<a class="pagenum" name="page_233" id="page_233" title="233"></a> in the sunlight of +success; and live, nourished by the quiet dews of appreciation; unless, +indeed, as in certain cases, the growth has been too delicate, too +exquisite, too sensitive to outlive the probation years, and fades +before it has come into maturity, while the bloom of full achievement is +yet in the bud. But Ivan was not of these last. His stubbornness was +great; and he labored on, doggedly, sore as was his heart, till June +brought release from his labors at the Conservatoire. Then he betook +himself and his few belongings joyously back to Vevey, where +surroundings of natural beauty, rest, isolation, the absence of +unwelcome tasks, gave him back his strength, and restored both his hope +and his ambition.</p> + +<p>During this period his great task was always "The Boyar." But, in the +intervals between his stretches of regular work, he undertook certain +lighter things, based on themes jotted down in his note-book at odd +moments. It was, indeed, during this summer,—though Kashkine has +erroneously attributed them to a later year, that he produced the +celebrated "Songs of the Steppes," those "Chansons sans Paroles," which +the world hums still, even after a vogue which would, in six months, +have killed anything less original, less intangibly charming and +uncommon. These finished—and the sheets of manuscript were printed, +eighteen months later, almost without change—he caught a sudden fever +of entomology: hunted daily for specimens, but preserved, eventually, +only six of his captures: a moth, silver and green; a butterfly of +steely, iridescent blue; a solemn, black-coated cricket; a bee bound +round with the five golden rings of Italy; a tiny, rainbow-hued +humming-bird, found dead in a fast-shut moon-flower; and, finally, a +slender, bright-winged dragon-fly. These, humanely chloroformed and +pasted upon cards, Ivan studied, wondering at his own interest; nor +understood its reason till, by the dark and tortuous<a class="pagenum" name="page_234" id="page_234" title="234"></a> ways of +unconscious cerebration, there sprang from his brain, Minerva-like, the +six dances which are incorporated in the most charming ballet of his +time the famous "Rêve d'Été." When, a year later, immediately before its +first production, Monsieur Venara, <i>maître de ballet</i> of the Royal +Opera, asked the composer for a special <i>pas</i> for his favorite <i>première +danseuse</i>, Ivan meditated, and returned in spirit to the fields of +Vevey, hunting for one more sprite of field or wood. In vain. He could +think of nothing but an old familiar hedge of eglantine. And to that, +finally, was written the "Rose Waltz" to which Mademoiselle Pakrovsky, +Venara's "discovery," later danced her way through La Scala to Paris, +that end and aim of the dancer's dreams.</p> + +<p>In September, the musical journal of Moscow announced the return of +young Monsieur Gregoriev, a distant relative of the Prince +Procureur-General of that name, who was winning no small reputation as a +composer of light music, and who would resume his professorial duties at +the Conservatoire. It was, moreover, rumored that the summer of Monsieur +Gregoriev had been no idle one; but that, he having turned for the first +time to a serious subject, Moscow would that winter have the opportunity +of gauging the young man's talent at the Grand Theatre, when, in +November, Signor Merelli's Italian troupe should begin their season of +winter opera.</p> + +<p>For once in a way, that the rule might be proved, the greater part of +this bumptious paragraph was true. Furthermore, as had not been said, +Ivan's name was to appear twice on the programme of the first orchestral +concert of the season, over which the two Rubinsteins were now working +busily. It had been by main force that Nicholas kept two spaces blank +till the return of Ivan from his holiday. But Anton, who was in a +dejected mood, made no great objection when Ivan, filled<a class="pagenum" name="page_235" id="page_235" title="235"></a> with a +strange, new sensation of pride, wrote down the titles of two +compositions under his name, on the manuscript programme handed to him, +one evening, in his new abode.</p> + +<p>For, this fall, Ivan had taken a long stride towards independence. In +August Shrâdik had returned to Moscow, to remain throughout the winter. +But young Laroche, whose family had lately lost a large fortune, was now +in no position to leave the Rubinstein apartment, where his expenses +were very light. Moreover, Wieniawski the pianist had rented the rooms +on the fourth floor; and both he nor Shrâdik could be counted on to +maintain a duet scales and exercises during the entire day. Wherefore +poor Laroche began to seek the sympathetic stillness of the "Cucumber"; +and Ivan, after two days in a temporary closet of six feet by eight, set +out in search of an abode to fit his income.</p> + +<p>This proved a matter less difficult than he had feared. In fact, within +a week he was joyously settled, in a suite of two rooms, with an +antechamber and a cubby for his servant, who was, indeed, none other +than old Sósha, a Gregoriev serf, who, on the day of the proclamation of +freedom, more than five years before, had hurried forth from Konnaia +Square as from the bottomless pit. For years he had led a wandering +life, missing his former companions and comparatively easy existence, +but too stubborn to return to a certain beating, and the plentiful +curses of the Prince. When, then, he one day encountered Ivan issuing +from a second contemplation of his new quarters, the old man rushed to +him as towards a preserver Heaven-sent; and Ivan was but too glad to +accept the charge.</p> + +<p>Sósha, always, like his generation, a slave at heart, would gladly have +served his young master without wages and to the death. But Ivan, +recently amazed by the announcement of a further increase in his +salary,<a class="pagenum" name="page_236" id="page_236" title="236"></a> which now amounted to the princely sum of eighteen hundred +roubles a year, offered his whilom servant wages so good that the fellow +thenceforth actually refrained from any commission on the marketing and +those other household purchases which Ivan was glad to leave to him.</p> + +<p>Thus it came about that Monsieur Gregoriev was installed in a home of +his own, in which to maintain his longed-for gods. Their ghosts +appeared, in the company of Nicholas Rubinstein, on the night when this +stanch friend came to tell Ivan that, instead of the brief <i>passacaglia</i> +which he had modestly offered as his first piece on the concert +programme, it had been decided—on a hearing entirely arranged by +Nicholas, to make Monsieur Gregoriev the chief figure of the evening, by +playing his first symphony—"Youth," as the <i>pièce de résistance</i> of the +first half! Furthermore, he should still be represented in the second by +the little "Sea Picture" already arranged for. Lastly,—and here, at +last, Nicholas spoke with some faint hesitation, it was Anton's express +wish to resign the conductor's baton, during the interpretation of the +symphony, to the composer himself!</p> + +<p>"But—but—good Heaven!" stammered Ivan, in a flutter of excitement and +incredulity, "it is impossible! Conduct!—I cannot do it! It—it is +impossible!"</p> + +<p>The trouble in Rubinstein's mind now stepped forth to his face. "Could +you not try, Ivan?—I want so much to see you and Anton quite +reconciled. And he has suggested this, I think, to prove his +friendship."</p> + +<p>(Simple-hearted brother! Why could he not remember that Anton was as +fully aware as himself of Ivan's inexperience in the art, seemingly so +simple, really inordinately difficult, of leading an orchestra?)</p> + +<p>Poor Ivan was as innocent in the matter as Nicholas himself, however: +yes, more so. For, never having<a class="pagenum" name="page_237" id="page_237" title="237"></a> attempted it, he failed to realize the +firmness, the decision, the executive ability required by him who would +hold a large body of musicians in intelligent control. At this distance, +the matter of conducting his symphony—the orchestration of which he +knew by heart—seemed to hold out few difficulties. He considered, a +little, in silence; and then proceeded to discuss the prospect with his +visitor.</p> + +<p>There were still four weeks before the concert. Work could be begun +immediately. Certainly, during that time, working every day with the men +who were to play his work, he could gain enough confidence, enough +familiarity with the difficult points of this one, familiar composition, +to carry him through the final event. So, at least, it seemed to the two +who, in their eagerness, were leaving out of their calculation the most +important factor in the case: Ivan's unconquerable shyness: his +excessive modesty: the nervous self-consciousness never yet tried in so +keen a way. But to-night Ivan was wrapped in a dream. A golden mist of +hope gratified, ideals realized, ambition met, hid from him every ugly +reality. Consent to Anton's wretched scheme was easily given; and then +the conversation turned to a theme even more delightful: the forthcoming +production of "The Boyar," to which, the concert over, all the energies +of the composer must be turned.</p> + +<p>Later that night Ivan, left alone, dazed and tremulous at the fortune +now hovering within his grasp, laid upon the altar of his gods his first +fruits of success.—Long, long after, when the chimera had become a form +radiantly real, Ivan looked back upon this night as perhaps the happiest +of his life. That it should be spent in solitude, seemed to him most +natural. It would have been abnormal to him to seek companionship in an +hour of exaltation: desecration to drown the pure delights of the +intellect in the artificial ecstasy of alcohol. No.<a class="pagenum" name="page_238" id="page_238" title="238"></a> He sat quietly in +his leathern chair, or paced rapidly about the room, occasionally +seating himself at the piano and rippling off portions of the work that +was to be judged at last by the dread tribunal, whose final verdict was +not to be reversed: the supreme court of the general public.</p> + +<p>To an on-looker, Ivan's behavior would have seemed commonplace enough. +But he was moving through shadowy heavens, star-lit vaults, to which he +had just attained, wherein he floated, the equal of those whom he had +hitherto worshipped: an inhabitant of the kingdom of the gods, from +whose height he could listen to the echo of his name, cried below by the +earth-millions, repeated all around him, in tones of brotherhood, from +the pale spirits of the surrounding great. And there Ivan knew that his +songs were not of a day, not of a century, but for all time; but should +stand as the perfect musical expression of the soul of the great, white, +desolate country of his birth. Such his achievement, which, in this +hour, he knew to be good. And so, as dawn dimmed the golden light of his +lamps, Ivan, overcome with weariness, his exaltation fallen, the wine of +his delight gone flat and stale, crept away to bed, passing into the +transitional sleep whence he must wake to the noon-day light of the +stolid, patient, working world.</p> + +<p>Nicholas, having won Ivan's consent to his brother's plan, and sending +his protégé the first summons to rehearse his numbers with the +orchestra, put the affair into Anton's hands. But Ivan, ridiculously +dreading criticism, and the exposure of his awkwardness in handling the +unaccustomed baton, possessed also of the senseless idea that, on the +final day, the thing must go of itself, "somehow,"—daily put off the +matter of rehearsal. His excuses were endless and feeble; but they were +all of them readily accepted by Anton, who was now conducting his +rehearsals alone. It was actually<a class="pagenum" name="page_239" id="page_239" title="239"></a> within seven days of the concert +before Nicholas, learning the real state of affairs, rushed off, in a +frenzy, to his brother, to seek an explanation and voice a protest. But +Anton's manner was baffling. He was gentle, courteous, and wonderfully +sympathetic with Ivan for the occupations that had prevented him from +appearing at rehearsal. He showed his brother a dozen of Ivan's hasty +notes of excuse, as he said, soothingly:</p> + +<p>"Come, Nikolai, come! What does it signify? Ivan Mikhailovitch is +working very hard; and rehearsals are bothersome things. I shall smooth +away the difficulties and have the orchestra perfectly familiar with his +symphony—which, by-the-way, goes very well. And he will have his back +to the audience, and may do what he likes. The orchestra will get +through; for the concertmeister—Gruening, you know, can manage alone, +perfectly.—Don't bother the young man. All will go well!"</p> + +<p>Nicholas heard him out standing quite still, gnawing at his mustache +ends, and staring, absent-mindedly, into a vague distance, that saw +nothing of the expression of gentle inquiry that covered the nervousness +in Anton. Yet Nicholas' sudden apprehension seemed, on reflection, to be +unwarranted. Certainly, thought he, Anton's attitude towards Ivan had +completely changed. Was he, at last, ashamed, and trying to obliterate +the memory of his jealousy? Certainly so it would seem. And thus, when +Nicholas presently left his brother, it was with the sincerest +expressions of gratitude; though, more than once, during his return +walk, there came to him an unsolicited doubt as to—to—what? The +absolute openness of Anton's actions?—Scarcely that; and yet so much +like that that no other explanation could be found to fit the quickly +suppressed pang.</p> + +<p>Pity, truly, that Nicholas could not have watched his brother for the +fifteen minutes after his departure! During five of these, the great +pianist stood where he<a class="pagenum" name="page_240" id="page_240" title="240"></a> had been left, staring down at the floor, an +expression in his eyes compounded of many emotions. But presently his +thoughts resolved themselves. For, throwing back his head, he gave a +laugh: a laugh long, rather loud, but replete with anything in the world +save mirth: suggesting strongly, indeed, the savageness of the frown +which presently replaced it, when, drumming a scale upon the edge of the +table in front of him, he muttered: "Conduct a symphony played by a full +concert orchestra without a single rehearsal!—Good Heavens! Nicholas is +turning into a fool!"</p> + +<p>All things considered, there was certainly a grain of truth in Anton +Rubinstein's assertion. Still, foolish as Nicholas may have shown +himself over the matter, what was his unwisdom compared to that of Ivan, +the proposed hero of the forthcoming inevitable <i>fiasco</i>? How to explain +such behavior on the part of one who was, from the crown of his head to +his toes, thoroughly a musician, a lover of all things musical, even +Kashkine, intimate and blind adorer of Gregoriev as his biography of +Ivan shows him to be, never discovered. Whether his native shyness +simply put off an evil hour as long as possible: whether, full of the +excitement of giving the final touches to his new work—a business which +always, throughout his life, made Ivan oblivious of everything +else,—rendered him really indifferent to the success of his symphony, +or whether he really believed conducting to be merely a matter of waving +a baton at each body of instruments as they entered or left the +<i>ensemble</i>, the principal actor of this little drama never explained. +Certainly, at the time, it did not occur to him to divine any purpose in +the Herr Direktor's easy acceptance of the flimsy excuses that he sent +to rehearsal after rehearsal. Suffice it to state that Ivan's first +appearance in the greenroom of the Grand Theatre—scene of the +much-discussed concert—was made at half-past seven<a class="pagenum" name="page_241" id="page_241" title="241"></a> o'clock on the +evening of October 16th: forty-five minutes before the overture was +announced to begin. Even now, he found himself the last to arrive of the +little group who were either to take part, or had some professional +interest in, the evening's performance. These greeted him jovially; but, +after he had drunk the glass of sherry pressed upon him, he was drawn +one side by two friends, Laroche and Nicholas Rubinstein, whose faces +had sobered into undisguised anxiety. Rubinstein spoke first:</p> + +<p>"Are you too nervous to glance through the first page or two of the +score, here?" he demanded, his eyes taking quick review of Ivan's +immaculate costume and rather pallid face.</p> + +<p>Ivan's answering laugh caught Anton's ear. "Nervous!" he echoed. "I +hadn't thought about it.—I know the thing by heart; still—where is the +score?"</p> + +<p>Laroche answered silently by holding out to him the thick, leather-bound +sheets of the "Youth" symphony; at the same time pointing out to Ivan +that, instead of third, he was to come second on the programme: +Mademoiselle Pavario having demanded that she give her <i>aria</i> just +before the intermission, for the sake of the probable encore.</p> + +<p>Somehow, as Laroche quietly explained this fact, and Ivan, opening his +familiar book, discovered for the first time certain blue-pencillings, +made therein by Rubinstein during the rehearsals, to indicate those +passages where some body of instruments were weak, or needed special +watching, his heart began to throb, unsteadily. Second by second his +desperate unfamiliarity with the whole thing, his utter ignorance of the +tone and temper of the men he was to conduct—their respective abilities +and faults—were revealing themselves to him. And, presently, he made +for Anton, with a hoarse request that a few of the marks in the first +movement, at least, be<a class="pagenum" name="page_242" id="page_242" title="242"></a> explained to him. Rubinstein was all courtesy, +all geniality, all encouragement. But he overdid his part just enough to +allow the first quick stab of doubt—or of understanding—to pierce the +poor boy's rapidly crumbling barrier of confidence. When, at last, the +director was called to his waiting audience, Ivan sat on, like a stone, +his eyes riveted on the first page of the score,—which might have +contained pictures of butterflies upon it for all he knew. His heart was +palpitating like a woman's. His head was in a sick whirl. Then, in the +horrid silence in which he sat, a voice from out of the far away +addressed him:</p> + +<p>"Herr Gregoriev, they are ready for you!"</p> + +<p>Without a word, his face set, his eyes brilliant, he rose, mechanically, +gave his score into the hands of the librarian, who, for ten minutes, +had been nervously awaiting it, and then walked woodenly up the passage +to the wings. Here somebody grasped his arm and held him for an instant, +whispering something unintelligible into his ears. Some seconds, or +minutes, or hours, after this, there struck into his eyes the white +glare of the footlights. Then a thin sprinkling of applause rose to meet +his slight, mechanical bow; and, at the same instant, he perceived, +sitting in the right-hand stage-box in the first tier, the form of his +father: his white face barred by the black line of his mustache; the +frame of hair above, all iron gray streaked with white. Beyond this +figure rose a dead wall of black and colored patch-work emphasized by +featureless white splashes; the whole punctuated, here and there, with +gleams of light betokening jewels.</p> + +<p>The hand-clapping died away. Ivan turned, mounted his desk, and lifted +the black baton. He rapped, once, and beheld sixty pairs of gleaming +eyes raised to him: rapped twice, and saw thirty bows lifted in air. +Then he glanced at the first, open page of his score.—It was<a class="pagenum" name="page_243" id="page_243" title="243"></a> simply a +horrible, gray blur, from which not a note, not a mark, would detach +itself.—And he wondered, frantically, how in the world his symphony +began:—loudly or softly? with violins or with trumpets? The seconds +that followed were the longest of his life. Then the concertmeister, +sitting below, gave an audible murmur; and, together, the violins and +the woodwinds began the first, long-drawn-out notes of the introduction.</p> + +<p>Heavens! It had begun! He was in for it—hopelessly. Somehow or other +these terrible men must be kept playing.—How? By whom? Again he looked +at his score, and slowly turned a page. The sound of clarinets smote his +ear. They were actually getting on, then.—Good! Out of the mists of his +terror, there came, at last, an idea: the wild notion that here, now, +came a quick <i>crescendo</i> and climax. With a wide sweep of his baton he +suddenly broke in upon the orchestra and demanded the <i>tutti</i>. Gruening, +violently tremoloing, swore, helplessly. The men stared. Wildly, once +more, Ivan indicated full orchestra. So there came one, furious, +discordant crash, as all the instruments, obeying, in their customary, +hypnotic manner, the motion of their leader, came in, each with his +first notes, no matter how far ahead of the present measure they might +be. The noise was, truly, something hideous! The men themselves grew +panic-stricken; and each group strove madly to bring their particular +theme out of the general chaos; thereby increasing, tenfold, the +frightful <i>charivari</i>.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p>From behind, from the vast audience which, till now, had maintained an +amazed stillness, there began to sound little bursts of +laughter—followed by a spluttering streak of hisses which were drowned +in increasing shouts<a class="pagenum" name="page_244" id="page_244" title="244"></a> of amusement. The thing was really too absurd for +legitimate disapproval.</p> + +<p>Ivan's heart stopped beating. In all his mind there remained but one +thought: that Michael Gregoriev, his father, was a witness of this +scene! Yet he felt the touch upon his arm: he was sensible of the kindly +whisper in his ear. Docilely he followed Nicholas off the stage—away +from this climactic <i>fiasco</i> of all his wretched series of failures. And +Anton, watching the outcome of the scene he had planned with so much +gusto, felt a sudden pang of intense pity, of remorse, of generosity, +shoot through his shrivelled heart.</p> + +<p>Two minutes later, the Herr Direktor was on the stage, apologizing +earnestly for the sudden illness of young Monsieur Gregoriev, who had +turned faint as the result of overwork. And then, turning to the +demoralized orchestra, he restored them, by a word and a look, to their +usual order, whence, three seconds later, rose again the first long, +sweet strains of the first movement of the symphony, which, this time, +was received by the audience with frigid politeness, and many inaudible +comments on the shocking management that had admitted a drunken man to +the stage before <i>them</i>—the cream of Moscow's society!</p> + +<p>Moscow society, indeed; but also representatives from other walks of +life. For, as his son retreated from the scene of his disgrace, the +solitary occupant of the right-hand stage <i>loge</i>, wrapping himself, face +and body, in a concealing cloak, walked rapidly towards the street, and +had soon left far behind the Grand Theatre, and his last dream of +reconciliation with his son.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Late in the afternoon of the following day, the directors of the Moscow +Conservatoire of Music held a spontaneous meeting, which the presence of +four men over a quorum rendered formal. It was for the purpose<a class="pagenum" name="page_245" id="page_245" title="245"></a> of +deciding the question of obtaining a new junior-class professor of +harmony. The matter was hotly debated: several speakers maintaining +that, after the affair of the night before, it would be impossible for +Monsieur Gregoriev to retain either the interest or the respect of his +pupils. It was remarkable, however, that only one man—a person who had +never met the person under discussion, referred to the prevalent rumor +of intemperance.</p> + +<p>The door to the directors' room remained shut for two, ominous hours. +But when the inmates appeared again in the light of day, their general +expression was cheerful; and the list of Conservatoire professors +remained unchanged. Ivan was to be spared this final humiliation. For +not only Nicholas, but Anton Rubinstein himself, fought gallantly for +his retention. And it was undoubtedly the influence of the great +<i>virtuoso</i> which turned the scale in his favor.—Moreover, it may be +surmised, and by no means without justification, that, even had Ivan +temporarily lost his position, the following winter would have seen it +once more offered to him; though his acceptance might have proved a more +doubtful matter. As it was, his gratitude towards the various members of +the committee was as deep as it was silent.</p> + +<p>Certainly, without this possible, additional unhappiness, Ivan's cup of +misery was, for the moment, full. During the morning after the fateful +concert many people—all of them cruel, many wantonly malicious, knocked +at Ivan's door. Two only were admitted—neither of whom could come under +the general category. One of these was Nicholas Rubinstein; the other +Laroche. Probably, of all the world, only these two understood Ivan at +this time. But their understanding and their love stood them in poor +stead now. He whom they sought to comfort lay deep in a hell of his own, +from the very threshold of which they were barred away. Later, through +the hours of the meeting—which Ivan<a class="pagenum" name="page_246" id="page_246" title="246"></a> silently divined—Laroche remained +alone with him. And Nicholas' return, with news of victory, in some +measure lessened his agony of shame. But it was weeks before he was +known to show his face outside of his own rooms or the Conservatoire; +for he gave way, unresisting, to the morbidness always lying in wait for +him. And all Rubinstein's upbraidings, all the eloquent logic of +Laroche, could move him to nothing but the reiterated statement that, +years before, at his court-martial, he had been conscious of no fault +for which to lower his head; whereas this time—alas!—he had been +guilty of many more than one: of laziness; of preposterous vanity; +finally, worst of all, of that unpardonable cowardice and +self-consciousness whereby he had lost his final hope of scraping +through the ordeal—by means of his native wit and the experience and +influence of the concertmeister Gruening.</p> + +<p>In the end, Nicholas,—always, forever, this good Rubinstein, set to +work to manufacture a bomb which should, in one instant, blow to +fragments the walls of Ivan's self-constructed hermitage, and bring him +forth again into the free light of heaven—and work. And this difficult +task he did, as a matter of fact, accomplish. For it was on an evening +in the latter half of November that he and Laroche entered Ivan's rooms +at the customary hour, but with new light in their eyes. Waiting only +till the fire was replenished and pipes drawing well, Nicholas observed, +between puffs:</p> + +<p>"Well, I've had my final talk with Merelli; and I have brought with me, +for signing, the contracts covering the production, to be made on New +Year's night, of your opera, 'The Boyar.'"</p> + +<p>Ivan stiffened for an instant; then sank dully back, saying, without a +whit of expression in his voice: "Don't tease me any further about old +visions, Nikolai.—Even from you that comes hard."<a class="pagenum" name="page_247" id="page_247" title="247"></a></p> + +<p>Nicholas' reply was to draw from his pocket a thin roll of paper, which, +separating into duplicate, printed sheets, each bearing at its end the +spluttering signature of the <i>impresario</i>, he spread out on Ivan's knee.</p> + +<p>As the young man, with changing, wondering, finally uplifted, +expression, ran slowly through the document, Nicholas prevented any +possible expression of obligation by a running fire of comment and +explanation.</p> + +<p>"Won your spurs, you see, Ivan!—Royalties not great; but there'll +certainly be a thousand or two for you.—Give you a great push, now that +you've done what we all have to go through before we get there.—I did +it, you know, years ago, in Hamburg!—Simply stopped at the second +movement of the Italian symphony and walked off the stage.—Knees +shaking so I couldn't stand up.—Even Anton lost himself in the Leipsic +Tönhalle, once, in the middle of his own <i>cadenza</i> to a Beethoven +sonata:—had played it a hundred times, I suppose; tried it twice, and +then fairly ran out of the room.—Laroche there, can't expect any real +luck till he's done it too.—What form'll you take it in, +Grigory?—Hey?—Finished, Ivan?—Well, I'm convinced that it is as well +as we can do for you the first time. So you'd better sign it now—using +us for witnesses—and I'll carry 'em back to Merelli myself, to-morrow."</p> + +<p>So Ivan, lips twitching, hands trembling very much, put a shaky +signature in each space indicated below Merelli's sprawling Italian +dashes, while Nicholas and little Laroche looked on with shining eyes.</p> + +<p>Thereupon began the era of a new and difficult experience. Healthy as +was the occupation, Ivan wished a hundred times in those ensuing weeks +that he had been seized with an apoplexy before ever he had put his name +to the contract that gave him into Merelli's hands.—As a matter of +fact, the ordeal was one trying enough for nerveless men. But to Ivan it +was simply a process of<a class="pagenum" name="page_248" id="page_248" title="248"></a> refined torture, in the course of which every +one of his petted peculiarities of style, the most cherished of his +situations, the choicest of his originalities, were ruthlessly cut, +altered, or swept calmly away:—a perfectly correct and artistic +proceeding, and agreeable to every one except the author.</p> + +<p>No cutting of rehearsals now! In fact, for his reputation and the life +of his suffering opera, Ivan dared not be away from the opera-house +during a single hour of that hurried preparation. For, in those days, no +composers had so little right in Russia as Russians: no music was so +neglected, so criticised, so under-estimated in the land of snows as +that produced by the great pioneers of the highest of the arts. And yet, +in that same Russia, any nonsense whatever that came out of Italy, got +immediate hearing and sickening praise. The opera-houses of every city +were given over, during the season, to Italian troupes. And if these did +occasionally consent to perform some native work, it was always on an +"off" night, with third-rate members of the company, in cast-off, +inappropriate costumes, surrounded by worn-out scenery, and accompanied +by the "ballet" orchestra—which contained about half the regulation +instruments.</p> + +<p>Most of these humiliations, it soon appeared, were to fall to the lot of +the unfortunate "Boyar."—Still, New Year's night usually promised a +good-sized audience; and the chorus was actually to be put into newly +designed costumes. But the singers had considered, long ago, that plans +for the winter were finished. Therefore this was a preposterous time to +begin rehearsals for a work entirely new. The prima-donna and the first +tenor simply scouted the idea of applying themselves to learn new +rôles—and in a <i>Russian</i> opera! Merelli must be out of his head to set +about such a thing!—Ivan, it is true, might have been encouraged had he +heard the<a class="pagenum" name="page_249" id="page_249" title="249"></a> opinion of his work expressed by Merelli to his refractory +singers.—It was a masterpiece; the finest opera, be it Italian, French +or Russian, of the decade! etc, etc.—And indeed, had the <i>impresario</i> +not actually believed something of this sort, no pleadings of Rubinstein +would ever have got it accepted at this time of year. But the parts as +they were finally cast might well have discouraged a man more tranquil +and more experienced than Ivan: who, moreover, would have regarded as +insane the person telling him that, in his secret heart, more than one +member of the troupe beside Merelli thought the opera under preparation +far ahead of the usual run of saccharine Italian concoctions habitually +raved over by the sentimental world of the time.</p> + +<p>But alas! What wretchedness it was to listen, day by day, from his empty +box, to the throaty warblings of Finocchi—whose pronunciation of +Russian was as near Chinese or Hebrew as the Slavic tongue: to argue +vainly with La Menschikov, the soprano, who, to Ivan's unbounded +disgust, used every vocal trick invented by the melodramatic Italians, +from a revolting <i>tremolo</i>, and a barefaced <i>falsetto</i> to an +incorrigible persistence in the <i>appoggiatura</i>, an affectation +peculiarly unadapted to Ivan's rich, strong style. Many a concerted +passage, moreover, did he, in silent despair, alter to suit the stubborn +inabilities of the singers, who insisted that the composer knew nothing +of the possibilities of the human voice:—a criticism, indeed, passed +more than once on Ivan's later works, and by those who knew whereof they +spoke. The climax came on a late December afternoon, when, after a three +hours' struggle with a single passage, the contralto went into +hysterics, the soprano flew into a rage that promised to keep her off +the boards for a week, and Finocchi retired to his dressing-room vowing +to resign his part. The cause of this united rebellion was the rhythm of +a quartet in the third act—by far the best<a class="pagenum" name="page_250" id="page_250" title="250"></a> concerted piece in the +opera—in which the two high voices sang four eighth notes against +triplets in the base.</p> + +<p>This passage had, up till now, been held in abeyance by Merelli, who had +foreseen difficulty. And, now that it was reached, it proved a reef +indeed. For, of the four singers, only the basso had any conception of +time. Thus when Merelli, in despair, came apologetically to Ivan to +suggest an alteration of the rhythm—which made the whole beauty of the +song—Ivan rose from his place swearing, savagely, that not one other +note in the score should be altered; but that Merelli and his whole +troupe might go to perdition when and how they chose; after which he +left the theatre, sought out Nicholas, flung his contract in that good +man's face, and requested that he go at once to Merelli with word that +the score be returned, with all its parts, and the entire transaction +declared off.</p> + +<p>Next morning, at ten o'clock, Ivan heard his quartet sung with a +strictness of <i>tempo</i>, rhythm, and expression, far surpassing anything +yet accomplished by any of the principals of the company.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>By Christmas week, all Moscow knew that a Gregoriev opera, <i>The +Boyar</i>—"written by the man who had been too drunk to conduct his +symphony in the previous October, you know"—(as good an advertisement +as any, and costing nothing)—was to be produced at the Grand Theatre, +at eight o'clock on the evening of January 1, 1868; the evening's +ballet, "Rêve d'Été" being by the same composer. Ivan's friends were in +a state of high excitement at a prospective success of which Merelli +seemed very sure. But they suddenly discovered that the composer himself +had not the slightest intention of being present to hear his work. For +three days they besieged Ivan with expostulation, incredulity, +persuasion. All in vain. When, twenty minutes after the<a class="pagenum" name="page_251" id="page_251" title="251"></a> hour on the +night named, the curtain rose, disclosing to the chorus a house packed +to the doors, the composer's box—reserved for him—contained only the +two Rubinsteins, Balakirev, Kashkine, and Laroche. Ostrovsky, the +librettist, was behind the scenes, still on his knees before the +Menschikov, in a mad endeavor to obtain her promise to abstain from the +French habit of adding an <i>e</i> to the end of every word.</p> + +<p>Ivan, deserted even by Sósha, who had a seat in the topmost gallery of +the opera-house, sat before his dying fire, enduring the last throes of +that long struggle for recognition which, he believed in the depths of +his soul, was finally to end, to-night. It is seldom, indeed, that there +does not linger, however unwelcomed, one little shred of hope for the +success of one's own work. But with Ivan there now remained not even +this. The struggle of the past weeks, the glaring imperfections that had +crowded yesterday's dress rehearsal, had brought him despair +unutterable. Up to yesterday afternoon, all had been hopelessly wrong. +And the last thing he had heard, on the previous day, as he fled the +theatre, had been the loud echoes of the latest quarrel between Mesdames +Menschikov and Castello, in which the former sat alternately reviling +her companion and wailing that her voice, on the morrow, would be a mere +hoarse shred. This Ivan did not doubt:—and the first important solo of +the first act, whereby he had planned to capture and hold the interest +of the audience, depended wholly upon her!—Moreover, Finocchi's +costumes, finished barely in time for the dress-rehearsal, had been +discovered to be hopeless anachronisms, which the ridiculous little man +had violently refused to have altered in the least.—And the result of +Merelli's last, special appeal, Ivan had not cared to learn.</p> + +<p>These incidents, and many earlier ones of his long season of trial, +whirled in a numbing chaos through<a class="pagenum" name="page_252" id="page_252" title="252"></a> Ivan's tired brain, wreathing +themselves in malevolent phantasies about the undimmed picture of his +bald failure at the concert, in the presence of his father. Indeed, +unsuspected though it remained by any of his friends, it was really this +fact of Prince Michael's witness of his misfortune—his second +disgrace—which, through all these months, had been eating, like some +poisonous acid, into the very vitals of Ivan's manhood, Ivan's courage. +It was evident to him that his father, having somewhere beheld a +programme of the concert, finding his son's name in famous company, had +determined to give him one more chance of favor. He had come to hear the +symphony: to find out whether, after all, the last Gregoriev were worth +something. And—he had found out, indeed!</p> + +<p>Thus, for the thousandth time, the unhappy man reviewed the history of +the past three months. Minutes dragged themselves away. His thoughts +grew less keen. The intense nervousness that had possessed him earlier, +diminished. Little by little his pulses quieted, his temples ceased to +throb. He sat wondering, vaguely, what new labor his hands must turn to, +now that he had proved himself a fool in the profession he loved. His +education might, possibly, be found of some account. There were such +things as army coaches, he believed:—poor, broken-down creatures, +living upon broken possibilities and the sale of their commissions. Then +there recurred the memory of his old tutor, Ludmillo. He had not always +been unhappy. His life had been dull enough, certainly; but there was +nothing of this hideous notoriety in it. He—perhaps—</p> + +<p>The great Kremlin clock sent twelve, slow strokes booming through the +frosty air. Ivan started, suddenly.—By now, at least, the performance +must be at an end! And—nobody had come to him!—They had all dreaded +the breaking of the news. Even Sósha:—Then it <i>had</i><a class="pagenum" name="page_253" id="page_253" title="253"></a> +failed!—Failed.—Ah, that spark of hope! Good Heavens! Had it actually +existed, after all? Why else this terrible pain? this sickness? This +conscious pallor?—Nonsense! Had he dreamed of anything else for one +moment? He tried, desperately, for a shred of philosophy; and then found +himself pacing the floor, knees trembling, heart in throat, that sense +of nauseated faintness boding little good to a man seeking +tranquillity.—Truly, it was in the ten ensuing minutes that the climax +of his long, desperate struggle was reached, at last.</p> + +<p>Hark! What hear we afar off? This pæan of trumpets? this rolling of +chariot-wheels? No ghosts, to-night. Surely, this time, these are the +gods themselves, that wait without this humble door!</p> + +<p>At least the sound that smote Ivan's ears was real enough. A burly fist +was pounding on the knocker. An instant's pause. Then—ah, then he flew, +shakily, to open;—to be greeted by a volley of wreaths, of ribbons, +more precious yet, of flowers—just single, spontaneous flowers, +perfumed and wilted from their recent warm contact with human flesh, a +spangle or a shred of lace still hanging to more than one audacious +thorn!</p> + +<p>Ivan, surrounded, heaped, by these tributes, deathly white and visibly +shaking now, received the rush of a dozen men, and,—wonder of wonders, +one woman! For presently, out of the mêlée of shaking hands and +emotional bear-hugs, he found himself gazing into the velvet eyes +of—Irina Petrovna, from whom, hopelessly dazed, he turned to the damp +and shining face of Nicholas Rubinstein; (Anton, be it observed, not +having come!)</p> + +<p>"What are you doing?—What is it all?" he asked, wearily.</p> + +<p>"What is it?—Oh, wonderful truly it is, that you've come at last to +your own, Ivan! that Russia holds out her arms to you: that all Moscow +is yours: that <i>The<a class="pagenum" name="page_254" id="page_254" title="254"></a> Boyar</i> is the opera of the century; and you are the +man of—"</p> + +<p>He stopped, perforce. Ivan's arms had risen, trembling. His lips had +uttered one, slight cry. And then, without warning, he pitched forward, +over the tumbled wreaths, into the waiting bosom of his gods.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> This incident is not fictitious; but was an actual +occurrence in the life of one of the most distinguished of Russian composers.</p></div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_255" id="page_255" title="255"></a> +<a name="STUDENTS_FOLLY_7850" id="STUDENTS_FOLLY_7850"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>STUDENT'S FOLLY</h3> +</div> + +<p>Morning, with its usual mood of depressed calm, brought with it, for +Ivan, a pessimistic disbelief in the reality of the recent midnight +scene. Nevertheless he had curiosity enough remaining to cause him to +hurry through his dressing and then run out to buy all the papers of the +day. The result was that by the time Sósha appeared with the early +samovar, Ivan was in the clouds again. Buoyancy had set every nerve to +tingling; and the elation of the knowledge that success had actually +come, quivered from him like a rosy aura.</p> + +<p>Beyond doubt, "The Boyar" had at last opened to Ivan the long-locked +door of recognition. No Russian opera, it seemed, "Russlan and Ludmilla" +possibly excepted, had gone home to the hearts of the Russian people as +had this piece of youthful work, which, though its merit was perfectly +genuine, was by no means free from faults. At the opera-house itself, +every one, from the Menschikov to Merelli and the chorus, was in a state +of beaming delight. Already Madame Pervana and the august Limpadello +himself had gone quietly to the Signor Impresario with the suggestion +that possibly, after all, the parts of Marie Vassilievna and the Boyar +were suited to their respective talents; and that it was a pity to allow +Russian musical progress to be intrusted to such well-meaning but +incompetent persons as the second soprano and tenor.</p> + +<p>To the indignation of the prima-donna, however, the<a class="pagenum" name="page_256" id="page_256" title="256"></a> Menschikov, who, in +the end, had risen to no small heights in her interpretation of the +hapless Marie, was allowed to retain the rôle. But Ivan had the relief +of seeing Finocchi of the hopeless ear replaced by Limpadello, through +whom the quartet was now firmly united and became the sensation of the +whole, sensational piece.</p> + +<p>In the eight weeks of January and February, the opera was given eleven +times. During the latter month the St. Petersburg company began to +rehearse it; and at the end of March, on the Monday after Easter—one of +the great nights of the year—Ivan and Ostrovsky sat together in a +stage-box, watching the delight of one of the most magnificent audiences +ever assembled in the Grand Theatre. The performance was as faultless as +a performance can be made; and, as a final compliment to the composer, +his own "nature ballet" was performed, with Mademoiselle Ellsler, who +had come from Vienna for the purpose, in her already famous <i>pas seul</i> +of the Butterfly. Before the last curtain descended, Ivan had been +forced upon the stage beside his companion, to respond to the frantic +plaudits of the men and women who, a few years before, had turned from +Ivan Gregoriev as from one accursed.</p> + +<p>After the opera there was still a long and hilarious supper, given by +Merelli, to be endured; and when, an hour or two before dawn, Ivan +finally reached his rooms, he found upon his table a sealed envelope, +unaddressed. Opening it, there fell to the floor a packet of notes for +two thousand roubles, together with a little slip of paper containing, +in his father's writing, the words:</p> + +<p>"You have deserved this; but I do not wish to see you."</p> + +<p>The wish was obeyed. But the money, after some hesitation, Ivan spent.<a class="pagenum" name="page_257" id="page_257" title="257"></a></p> + +<p>Final success after long and bitter waiting is apt to prey curiously on +the human character. Ivan took his oddly enough. His intimate +friends—the only people to whom hitherto he had showed common civility, +became first amazed, then chagrined, finally infuriated, by his sudden +change of front. By swift degrees he ceased his intimacy with them all: +Laroche, Kashkine, Balakirev, nay, Nicholas himself. And by mid-April he +found himself scarcely on speaking terms with one of them.</p> + +<p>Angered, hurt as these men were, they naturally put Ivan's behavior down +to a sudden turning of the head. One only of them all, and he, had they +but known it, the most deeply hurt, failed to censure, and guessed at +something like the truth: that the young man, suddenly weary of his long +term of unceasing labor at his profession, was seeking temporary +playmates from another sphere.</p> + +<p>In this spring of 1868, Ivan was nearly eight-and-twenty years of age. +In knowledge of the gray and ugly sides of life, he was twice as old. +Only in experience of the frivolities of existence was he deficient, his +education there having been cut off in its heyday. It was towards this, +then, towards young companionship and youthful pleasures, that his heart +turned with irresistible longing. His former associates and their dry +discussions and pursuits, the round of petty rivalries, the continual +life of the shop, tortured his nerves. Music itself, his great goddess, +became unworshipful, wearying to his very soul. Thus, repudiating her in +a night, he set forth in all the glory of a cleansed record and a full +pocket, to hunt for pleasure. His Conservatoire classes he changed from +afternoon to morning; and, though he taught abominably, Nicholas kept +the dire red notice from him by doing much of his work over after him, +that he might be free for once to laugh with the spring.</p> + +<p>The quarter to which Ivan turned for his recreation<a class="pagenum" name="page_258" id="page_258" title="258"></a> would have +surprised his comrades not a little; and young Laroche would curtly have +denied the truth that he had been responsible for his colleague's type +of amusement. Nevertheless it was he who had been responsible for +bringing Irina Petrovna and her brother to Ivan's rooms on the night of +the opera, inspired, rather maliciously, by some faint memory of the old +court-martial proceedings, and the long intrigue deduced by every one +between Ivan and the girl. That night, after Ivan's recovery from his +fainting-fit, Irina's brother, Sergius, had, on request of the young +composer, given Ivan the address in the student quarter where he and his +sister were living. Old Petrov was dead. Irina had freed herself long +ago from her Petersburg connections; and now she was keeping up two +rooms on ten roubles a month, while her brother finished his medical +course at the university.</p> + +<p>On the morning after the opera, brother and sister discussed the vague +possibility of Ivan's visiting them. Irina had no difficulty in hiding +from Sergius just how much the hope meant to her; but there was no idea +of concealing the same thing from herself. As the days passed and Ivan +did not come, she grew almost frightened at her own disappointment, +discovering only now, perhaps, that there could never be any other man +in her life who could make her feel the extremes of emotion. In two +weeks she had gone through every stage from eager expectation to apathy; +and then, suddenly, during the last, vague flicker of dying hope—he +came; and her life grew red again. She was even content that he should +evince most interest in men—her brother and the fellow-students that +thronged their rooms at all hours. Of these, one and all regarded the +visitor as a great and wealthy personage; and yet none could long remain +unfriendly before the gay simplicity which speedily made Ivan as one of +them. By rapid degrees their intercourse<a class="pagenum" name="page_259" id="page_259" title="259"></a> became intimate; and Ivan +believed that their minds, their dreams, their trials, were as open to +him as his to them. If they were not, if their secret hopes and the +all-powerful reason for their community spirit remained sedulously +concealed, this was, in truth, still greater proof of their friendship +for him; for there were few of the hated upper class that they would +have scrupled to use in their own way for their own purposes.</p> + +<p>It was odd, perhaps, that Ivan never perceived how often his entrance +into their rooms stopped or turned the conversation; though perhaps much +personal sacrifice had been made for that meeting. They had all come to +be proud of the young composer's fondness for them; and they held a +tacit agreement that he should never, through them, be placed in danger. +For, though Ivan saw it not, the shadow of the rope, or of the distant, +frozen, Siberian mines, hung over this little band of youths by day and +by night, sleeping and waking. He had fallen upon the very centre of the +first students' brotherhood: an alliance formed a few years before, +during that unique revolution of Russian youth which resulted in the +birth of Nihilism.</p> + +<p>It was about the year 1860, when the question of abolition was shaking +the Bear from head to tail, that this unique movement began. By some +obscure trait of national heritage, there sprang up, almost at the same +hour, through the mediæval gloom that still enveloped Peter's Empire, a +thousand points of unwonted light. They were to be found burning at once +in the twilight of isolated manors and the midnight of the serf's hut: +in the city palace, and its neighboring tenement. Yet they sprang up +among one class only—the young men and the young women of the race. The +light was the light of intellectual desire for education, for science; +and by it all Russia was presently set ablaze. In the history of mankind +there is to be found no such tale of bloodless<a class="pagenum" name="page_260" id="page_260" title="260"></a> civil war as here. Young +men and delicately nurtured girls were casting off every tradition of +class, of custom, of convention, assuming the right to go forth freely +to the universities, to study: willing, nay, glad, to renounce not only +the luxuries but the comforts, almost the bare necessities of existence, +they assumed the burden of dogged labor under almost unbearable poverty. +Finally, bitterest of all, came the breaking of love-forged chains; the +piteous, fruitless struggle of children to explain their position to +their parents, members of that older generation who could not +understand, who would not yield, who capped defeat by +disinheritance.—Such were the battles of this war; such the sudden +marvellous development of higher education in Russia.</p> + +<p>Many were the virtues of this little army of youths and maidens. They +worked together in perfect harmony of theory and practice. There was +honor among the men; there was faith among the women. The wonderful +history of Sonya Kovalevsky, delicate daughter of a noble house, who +became the first woman to occupy a university professorship in Europe, +was repeated a thousand times with humbler results. Nor have there +failed to linger innumerable stories of those <i>mariages de +facilité</i>—levers used simply to force the freedom of some too +well-guarded aspirant for knowledge. And all of the young men married, +in an hour, to girls whom they had never before seen, not ten, perhaps, +failed in giving chivalrous protection, or ever took the possible, cruel +advantage of this last, desperate ruse to escape the fettering +guardianship of parentage.</p> + +<p>But unhappily, though scandal scarcely raised its head among the sincere +members of the youthful army, other ills as far-reaching and even more +dangerous began soon to sow seeds of evil and of suffering among them. +For out of the fermentation arising among these isolated bands, came the +bitterest drink that Russia has had to<a class="pagenum" name="page_261" id="page_261" title="261"></a> swallow. Poverty, alienation, +the common cause against a common enemy—how should it not breed +socialism? That established, where find a lack of bolder spirits to take +the short step into downright anarchy? Whether it was Turgeniev or +Lermontoff who first interpreted this infant Credo, what matters it? As +in a night, lo! on every lip was the dread word that was destined to be +blazoned in bloody letters at the head of the next and grimmest chapter +of all Russian history: <span class="smcap">Nihilism</span>.</p> + +<p>Indeed, indeed, had these young men and women found their little +knowledge a deeply dangerous thing! Too quickly they perceived the +imperfections of their government, the corruption rife among the +officials of every class. And bitter was their reproach. The question to +them seemed simple. To correct this, at once and forever, dig up the +very soil in which the corruptive roots expanded—here was the way, the +only way. And immediately there followed pamphlets and articles. Secret +meetings, propagandist organizations, flooded the land. And the red flag +was everywhere raised and acknowledged as the student symbol.</p> + +<p>It was down upon the southern bank of the Moskva that the three or four +thousand students of the Moscow University formed their colony, taking, +as it were, communal possession of that narrow neighborhood. There +Sergius and Irina dwelt, in circumstances a little better than those of +their friends. They kept the rent of their rooms paid; and, moreover, it +was a rare thing for a starving youth to drop in on them and find their +samovar cold, or their welcome unready. Sergius was himself, indeed, the +heart and soul of his branch of the brotherhood; and from him had +emanated none knew how many screeds and pamphlets upon his favorite +theme. Irina, relying on him as the last protector of her family, +questioned none of his plans, but found in his manner of life much that +delighted her Bohemian soul.<a class="pagenum" name="page_262" id="page_262" title="262"></a></p> + +<p>Now, into their unstable existence, came Ivan; and over him brother and +sister had their first dispute: Irina her first victory. True, Sergius +knew, and was to know, nothing of his sister's past acquaintance with +the composer, or what a debt he, as a brother, owed Ivan. In his eyes +Gregoriev was simply a man of the world, unknown to the police, and, +therefore, a valuable tool. After that first visit to their rooms, +Sergius unfolded to Irina his purpose for the use of her evident +admirer, which, to his utter amazement, the girl vehemently opposed. By +what tortuous way she managed in the end to reach his deeply hidden +scruples, who can say? Suffice it that, shortly, word went round to the +effect that this one guest of the Quarter, though he was to be accorded +privileges of comradeship, must remain a stranger to the inner +significance of the prevalent red flag. Whereupon Irina, breathing +freely, entered, for a few weeks, into the Kingdom.</p> + +<p>The brief chapter of Ivan's life in the student quarter proceeded +merrily to its dramatic close; and, until that close, Ivan remained +utterly oblivious of his or the others' danger.</p> + +<p>It was in the first week of the queen of months—the May-time, that +Gregoriev took it into his head to return the oft-repeated, meagre +hospitality of the Akheskaia, by giving a birthday supper to Sergius, on +the night of the 10th. The idea had been born in him through some +mention of the date by Irina, and a casual regret that their recent +contribution towards Burevsky's new chemical outfit must preclude any +hope of even the simplest celebration. Whether her speech had been +ingenuous or not, it did not occur to Ivan to inquire, so pleased was he +at thought of an opportunity of doing something for his new friends at +last. Certainly Irina's finished suggestion accomplished its purpose to +perfection; for, within three days, the affair was under way<a class="pagenum" name="page_263" id="page_263" title="263"></a> and the +invitations accepted to a man—and one damsel.</p> + +<p>It came as a surprise and an unpleasant one that news of this modest +festivity should have gone abroad; but that the fact should be objected +to, and that by persons unknown as well as known, was as annoying as it +was preposterous. Four days before the affair, Ivan went through a +highly unpleasant scene with old Nicholas Rubinstein, who came to beg +him to give up his acquaintance in the Akheskaia, and remained to +beseech, with an earnestness a trifle startling, that he would, at +least, put off this supper. When finally his defeated friend had gone, +though he had preserved towards him a courtesy that was as admirable as +it had been cutting to old Nicholas, Ivan sat down to his piano feeling +troubled at heart, uneasy in mind. Nor were either of these feelings +lessened when, a quarter of an hour later, old Sósha, after some +unintelligible parley at the door with a being unknown, came limping in +to his master bearing two notes—notes that bore no post-mark, but were +both tightly sealed. The first was clear enough:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Let Ivan Gregoriev go to the records in his father's office and +verify the day of Sergius Lihnoffs birth.—November 19, 1844. Let +him also see whether the story of the attempted murder of +Guttenrog, at Kiev, in July 1861, is not to be found upon the same, +or the next, page. Monsieur Gregoriev should be better acquainted +with the guests whom he honors by his invitations.</p> + +<p style='text-align:right'> +"<span class="smcap">One who knew Sophia Ivanovna.</span>"<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>As his eyes traversed the last line, Ivan trembled a little, and grew +suddenly faint. His mother's name!—How long ago since he had heard +it.—His mother!—His mother's name used in a denunciation?—Faugh! It +was a trap. Nevertheless he sat rigid, frowning, lost in thought, for +many minutes before he lifted the other<a class="pagenum" name="page_264" id="page_264" title="264"></a> missive, addressed this time in +a hand that seemed vaguely familiar.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">"Dear Friend</span>,—You do too much for those who deserve nothing at +your hands. Serge and I cannot repay you for your kindness; but we +need not be too greatly indebted to you. It is my fault that you +are to give this supper. It is I who ask you to give it up.—I +implore you, Ivan Mikhailovitch, give it up; or, if it must be, +change the date from Thursday to Sunday—and change it at the last +minute. Also, if you pity me, do not show this to Serge, or to any +one we know.</p> + +<p>"Ivan, I wish to help you. Believe that, and accept the sincere +compliments of</p> + +<p style='text-align:right'> +"<span class="smcap">Irina Petrovna.</span>"<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Three times did Ivan read this curious note, meditating the while on the +reason for the obvious fear in which it was written. Certainly the +easiest way to discover her reason, was to talk to her alone. If he went +down to the Quarter, could he manage a <i>tête-à-tête</i>?—If not, could he +not take her for a walk—out for tea? Any of a hundred little ruses +would serve him. Yes, he would go! And, springing up, he ran to his +bedroom to dress.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later he opened the outer door of his apartment. As he +stepped out upon the landing, he twisted his foot in a sudden effort to +avoid stepping on a white envelope that had been pushed half-way under +the door.</p> + +<p>So there were more of them!</p> + +<p>Laughing, a little sardonically, Ivan picked up the letter and turned +back into his living-room again. The envelope of this missive, unlike +the others, bore only his name, not the address. Within, it was undated, +unsigned, and began abruptly:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Monsieur Ivan Mikhailovitch Gregoriev, of whom, politically, the +government as yet knows no wrong, is nevertheless respectfully<a class="pagenum" name="page_265" id="page_265" title="265"></a> +warned against further association with the students of the +brotherhood in the Akheskaia. Let Monsieur Gregoriev assure himself +of the character of his associates before proceeding with an +intimacy which the government will be unable long to overlook.</p> + +<p style='text-align:right'> +"K. by order of M.—O. G. I."<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>"M., Official Government Inspector!"—here, at last, was +tangibility.—And yet—the seal? The great, red, double-eagle, so long +familiar to him as dangling from the documents that were forever in the +hands of his father:—where was it?—Besides, the whole thing was +unofficial.—There was neither heading nor arms.—It was a hoax—a +trick—possibly of Laroche, or Ostrovsky, or some other of that formal, +jealous lot. They thought to drive him from his friendships by +malicious, anonymous calumny, then? calumny of a body of +poverty-stricken, half-starved men, working disinterestedly for the sake +of science,—ah! That was a generous thing to do!—As for Irina's +letter, well, she had all a woman's inconsistencies and whims. She had +got some silly notion of pride in her now. By Heaven! He would not even +go to see her. He would merely write a formal little note reminding her +of the date and the hour of his supper—six o'clock on Thursday evening. +And then, though all Russia, though the Czar himself forbade, he should +give Sergius his festival, or go to prison before the day.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Punctually, then, at the hour named, on Thursday, May 10th, there sat +down to the flower-strewn table in Ivan's rooms seven persons—six men +and one woman, they being all but one of the company asked. The chair +between Sergius and Féodor Lemsky was to have been occupied by Yevgeny +Burevsky, the young man who had been the recipient of those "scientific +instruments" for which the whole Quarter was still out of ready money.<a class="pagenum" name="page_266" id="page_266" title="266"></a> +It was Sergius himself who explained to their host that, ever since he +had received his outfit, Burevsky had been tirelessly working at his +chemistry. Thus, that afternoon, when his friends called for him on +their way to Ivan, they had found him just nearing the end of a long and +difficult experiment which could not be left. It should, he said, be +finished between half-past six and seven, upon which he would hasten +into his clothes and take a droschky at once for the house of his host. +If anything went wrong, however, he sent his sincere regrets and +apologies to Ivan, begging him to excuse an unpolished workman for his +seeming rudeness, and sending a thousand thanks for the kindness of the +invitation.</p> + +<p>Sergius gave the excuse so pleasantly, in a manner so engagingly frank, +that Ivan readily accepted it, nor noticed how fixedly Irina was staring +down into her plate, while the four other young men sat in moody +silence, their faces—this their host did perceive—looking singularly +pallid and drawn.</p> + +<p>Calling out for more candles and champagne—which were brought by two +footmen, hired, for the occasion, to serve the dishes which old Sósha +and the neighboring pastry-shop between them had concocted,—Ivan, +seconded by Sergius, who was in high spirits, set himself to bring life +to his party. He found this unexpectedly easy. In fact, after a minute +or two, one might almost have said that the hilarity became a little too +boisterous, that the laughter almost bordered on the hysterical, that +the humor seemed rather blurred for this stage of the evening. Then, +<i>presto!</i> the room was in a nervous hush, while Irina lifted a quivering +glass to the candle-light, and, in a voice not her own, proposed a +toast:—The complete success of Yevgeny Burevsky's experiment, and—and +his speedy appearance among his waiting friends.</p> + +<p>Ivan heard a breath, indrawn, run round the table like<a class="pagenum" name="page_267" id="page_267" title="267"></a> a hiss, and he +turned his eyes rather sharply on the girl as Sergius cried out:</p> + +<p>"Come, are you all asleep?—Bottoms up—to Yevgeny's—success! May it +fulfil his highest hopes—and—ours!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, your wish is answered," came a voice from the doorway.</p> + +<p>Irina gave a hoarse scream, and her glass, with its untouched contents, +dropped upon the table. Every man had started from his seat; but only +Ivan went forward, hands out-stretched, to greet the young fellow who +now came into the circle of light. He was carefully dressed, his blue +coat buttoned tightly below a well-laundered shirt, a crush hat held in +his hand, one lock of jet-black hair fallen over a forehead no more +bloodless than his lips, while out of his ghastly face gleamed a pair of +gray-green eyes that shone with a fixed brilliancy. One look at him, and +Ivan was exclaiming, anxiously:</p> + +<p>"Yevgeny Alexandrovitch,—you're ill! My God, man, you should be in +bed!—come, sit down!"</p> + +<p>But Burevsky laughed—hoarsely. "No, no. You will give me the best +medicine: a meal—company—a glass of wine. I've—I've been +working!—Sergius told you—?"</p> + +<p>He broke off, waving a listless hand towards his friend. Ivan, touched +with pity, asked no more questions but led him to the table and seated +him; nor heeded, as he sent a servant for <i>vodka</i>, Burevsky's quick +glance round the board, and his low-voiced "All well."</p> + +<p>A moment later, and the room was echoing to the rattle of knives and +forks and a conversation which, though lighter than before, was still +fitful and rather feverish in its rapid change of topic. It was the talk +of men keyed to an unbearable state of anticipation. Sergius presently +called Irina to sing Marie's song of the stirrup-cup from "The Boyar"; +and fourteen hands<a class="pagenum" name="page_268" id="page_268" title="268"></a> applauded wildly as she smilingly climbed upon her +chair, and, holding the replenished glass in her right hand, began one +of the most successful solos in Ivan's opera.</p> + +<p>She sang unaccompanied; but accompaniment was not missed. Save for her +voice, the room was absolutely still. Even Yevgeny, who had finished his +<i>zakouski</i> and liqueur, pushed his broth away to listen undisturbed; and +the footmen, with a change of plates, stole about the room on tiptoe. +Irina's voice, nearing the climax of the solo, soared higher and fuller; +while Ivan, with sparkling eyes, awaited the moment when he should lead +the others into the rousing chorus that terminated the song. At that +moment there came a sudden trampling of heavy feet on the stairs +without, followed by a loud knock at the door, which, speedily thrown +open by Sósha, disclosed an officer and three gendarmes who, following +the sound of the singing, presently halted on the dining-room threshold, +evidently surprised at the scene before them.</p> + +<p>Irina's voice broke off on an upper note, but she remained on her chair, +petrified by some powerful emotion that singularly resembled terror. Her +brother and his friends were, less conspicuously, in the same state. But +Ivan proved himself admirable. Rising, quietly, he went forward, and +asked, in a voice of mingled surprise and dignity:</p> + +<p>"Who are you, may I ask? and what can your errand be with me or with my +guests?"</p> + +<p>The sergeant, after another long look around the room, consulted a paper +in his hand and asked, slowly:</p> + +<p>"You are Monsieur Ivan Gregoriev?"</p> + +<p>"I am."</p> + +<p>"There are others here?"</p> + +<p>"You see them."</p> + +<p>"These are all, then?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_269" id="page_269" title="269"></a></p> + +<p>"I have two hired waiters and my own old servant in the kitchen."</p> + +<p>"It's not them we want.—What are the names of these persons?"</p> + +<p>"What right have you to ask? This house—"</p> + +<p>"I am an officer in the service of the Czar. If you refuse to answer me +I must take you forcibly before the court.—Give me the names of these +men."</p> + +<p>Ivan turned a piteous face towards his friends, and, in an instant, +Sergius said, quietly: "Certainly give our names, Ivan. There is no +reason for withholding them." Nor did either Ivan or the officer +perceive that this young man was holding Irina, now lying back in her +seat, from unconsciousness simply by the power of his eyes, or that he +had grasped Burevsky's hand under the cloth and was keeping him from +self-betrayal by the pure force of contact.</p> + +<p>Meantime the officer was writing the names, occupations, and domiciles, +of every one present, at Ivan's dictation; and, as each was given, he +looked it out from a list in his small, black note-book, and checked it +off. This over, he resumed his general questions:</p> + +<p>"At what hour did these students arrive in your rooms?"</p> + +<p>"I am not certain.—A few minutes—perhaps fifteen—before six."</p> + +<p>"<i>Before</i> the hour?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes. We had to wait for Ivan Veliki to stop striking as I was +calling out an order to my servant."</p> + +<p>"Are you sure that they were all here then?"</p> + +<p>Only now, for the first time, a thought that was like a dagger-thrust +shot through Ivan. He wondered if the officer saw the color leave his +face. Nevertheless his hesitation had been imperceptible when he said, +quietly: "They all came in together."</p> + +<p>The sergeant turned to his men and shook his head<a class="pagenum" name="page_270" id="page_270" title="270"></a> slightly. A few +muttered words passed between them, the men seeming to agree with their +superior. Then the officer once more faced Ivan, who stood waiting: +"Thank you, sir. You have saved your friends from suspicion. +Nevertheless I was forced to ask, because the entire Quarter is being +searched for the man who, at twelve minutes past six to-night, shot and +instantly killed Major Ternoff, assistant secretary of police, as he was +driving, in his open droschky, through the Pretchishlensky Boulevard, +from the public offices of justice towards his home." And, with a stiff +salute, the sergeant, followed by his three men, turned and left the +room and the apartment.</p> + +<p>Mechanically Ivan closed the door upon them, and then stood staring from +the white-faced Sergius to Irina, now supported by a neighbor, who was +wetting her face with water from a goblet.</p> + +<p>Presently, as if his thoughts had broken unconsciously into words, Ivan +muttered, in a low, expressionless voice: "Anarchy!—Murder!—Good +God—why didn't they make it my father?"</p> + +<p>Then Burevsky rose slowly to his feet. "We all rejoice, Ivan, for and +with you, that it was not your father.—And you have saved +me—from—from a serious difficulty. If you had told them that I—that I +did not come with the others—"</p> + +<p>Ivan gave the spectre of a laugh. "Your chemistry should have served +you, Yevgeny Alexandrovitch. Still—the lie—probably +prevented—annoyance—to you all. Ah, these Nihilists! What remarkable +fellows they—"</p> + +<p>"Ivan, we will go now. Irina is recovering," interrupted Sergius, +gravely. To Ivan's dull surprise, the young fellow's eyes met his full +and honestly. Involuntarily Ivan shuddered; but a little of the +convulsive bitterness in his heart faded away. Nevertheless, he took a +curious advantage of the situation. Far from<a class="pagenum" name="page_271" id="page_271" title="271"></a> permitting the now +restlessly eager students to leave his rooms, he kept them there, and, +with them, the miserable Irina, till past midnight. Uncomfortable, +shame-stricken, afraid, as they were, they continued to sit at the table +of the man they had used, and to eat his food and drink his wine. Only +once Sergius ventured to turn to him, saying; "You do not eat.—This +<i>vol-au-vent</i> is perfect."</p> + +<p>But Ivan, turning his grave, black eyes on those of the speaker, made +answer:</p> + +<p>"Pietr Ternoff was my mother's second cousin. He has dandled me on his +knee when I was a baby. Till I was too old for it, I drank my milk out +of the gold mug he sent me at my birth.—And Pietr Ternoff has been +murdered.—Am I to break bread—with you—to-night?"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_272" id="page_272" title="272"></a> +<a name="THE_THIRD_SECTION_8403" id="THE_THIRD_SECTION_8403"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>THE THIRD SECTION</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was a quarter to one o'clock before Ivan finally shut the door upon +his guests—the hand of none of whom had he touched in farewell. And +they, as they went out into the May night, knew that they had left their +friendship behind forever; but only one of them would let a little +heavy-heartedness melt away in tears. Irina, hanging on her brother's +arm, wept, quietly, all the way back to the Alkheskaia.</p> + +<p>In spite of all their genuine regret, however, there was not one of them +who carried Ivan's bitterness to bed with him that night. They believed +in the righteousness of their act. He saw it as it was: cowardly and +cold-blooded murder. Here, then, was a little more faith lost; one more +tradition gone; another shred of his remnant of faith in humanity torn +from him and flung into the mud. During the whole of the following week +he carried his load silently about with him. The papers were filled with +the story of the assassination, the details of the public funeral, the +condition of his widow, and the incomprehensible escape and continued +liberty of the assassin. It had been still light when the man—all were +agreed that it had been a man,—halted in the shadow of a doorway till +his victim's vehicle was in the road opposite him. Then he had shot the +fatal bullet, stepped calmly out of the doorway, and, mingling with the +quickly gathering crowd, passed at once from the sight of the one or two +who <i>believed</i> they had seen him<a class="pagenum" name="page_273" id="page_273" title="273"></a> shoot. And now he had disappeared into +the wilderness of the city. Though a reward of three thousand roubles +was offered for his capture, none had, as yet, brought so much as a +clew.</p> + +<p>Ivan spent the week absorbing these reiterated facts, and trying, +vaguely, to resolve them into some sort of order: to come to some sort +of decision regarding his own course of action. Certain he was that he +knew where to lay hands upon Ternoff's assassin. Certain also was he +that, if he gave Burevsky up to justice—his father's "justice," the +responsibility of Burevsky's execution or exile would be on his +conscience forevermore.</p> + +<p>What to do?</p> + +<p>Burevsky and his companions had used him ruthlessly, as their +shield.—Ivan had no idea of how slight had been the advantage they took +in comparison with predecessors of his.—Why should he hesitate to visit +them with <i>his</i> ideas of right?—But, though he came forever to this +point he always left it again, unanswered, and went reluctantly back to +the beginning of his syllogism. The men had been his friends. He had +liked them more than he had known. He had broken their bread. Could he +deliver them up to their fearful retribution?—God help him, he could +not: criminals, menacing society, though they were.</p> + +<p>It took Ivan an entire week to come to the simple and obvious decision +of a middle course, so harassed and over-excited had his brain become. +But when, on the morning of May 17th, it suddenly occurred to him to go +to Sergius and make a clean breast of his doubt and his self-reproach, +he could hardly constrain himself to wait till his classes were over and +a mouthful of luncheon swallowed before he betook himself, in a swift +droschky along the bank of the river, till he came to the bridge across +which lay the Student Quarter. Thence he proceeded, on foot, through the +maze of ugly little streets,<a class="pagenum" name="page_274" id="page_274" title="274"></a> wherein the spring sunshine only showed up +all the more pitilessly their meanness, and filth, and ugliness. Once at +the house in which the brother and sister lodged, he went up the rickety +stairs unheeding any of the customary sights and sounds, till, arriving +at Sergius' door, he started a little to find it wide open. Five minutes +later he returned to that door in a state of yet greater bewilderment; +for both rooms were empty of occupants.</p> + +<p>Sergius and Irina were gone; but, as their belongings were scattered +about in the usual untidiness, Ivan argued return. Throwing off his hat, +then, he filled and lighted a pipe, seated himself at the battered +piano—sole remaining relic of old Petrov Lihnoff, and now too +dilapidated for sale—and yielded himself for an hour to that most +dangerous luxury of the serious composer: improvisation.</p> + +<p>Interested in the little theme he had developed, Ivan lost count of +time, and nearly two hours passed before he was interrupted. There was a +sound of feet running rapidly up-stairs, and then there burst into the +room Burevsky: bare-headed, leaden-hued, eyes aflame, his left hand +hanging, crushed and bloody, at his side, in his right a pistol, its +barrel glinting in the light.</p> + +<p>Ivan was on his feet, facing the other, who stared at him as he gasped, +between his quick breaths:</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i>, Gregoriev!—<i>You!</i>—Go, instantly!—<i>Leave</i> the house at the +back;—there may be time!—You—"</p> + +<p>"But for God's sake, Burevsky, what's the matter?—Where are Sergius and +Irina?"</p> + +<p>"Irina got away, thank God!—We managed that, last night.—See here, +Ivan, she's at—"</p> + +<p>The next word was drowned in the sharp report of a pistol-shot, which +was instantly followed by another. Afterwards came a wild rush on the +stairs, a low, hoarse cry, the screams of some women in the lower rooms, +and then the room was invaded by Tronsky and Stassov, who<a class="pagenum" name="page_275" id="page_275" title="275"></a> were followed +by Sergius and Féodor Lemsky dragging between them Lemsky's brother, +Boris. Him they laid at once upon a sofa, dripping as he was with the +blood which still gushed from a wound under his heart. He was murmuring, +incoherently. Perhaps he was conscious of receiving his brother's kiss. +But it was his last mortal impression. Immediately afterwards his jaw +fell, his eyes stared wide. One of them, at least, would not see +Siberia.</p> + +<p>And now, without a word, the five—Lemsky, stunned and silent, with +them, began hurriedly to pile furniture before the closed and bolted +door. Ivan, still standing motionless by the window, transfixed with +horror, watched, as piano, table, chairs, finally a bed, were built into +a barricade. Already, however, their movements were accompanied by the +sound of voices and the trampling of feet in the hall outside. Ivan +realized that the combat was about to recommence; and he was moving +vaguely towards the group of students when Sergius seized him by the +shoulder and drew him across to the door of the other room. As they went +he sketched, in three or four vivid sentences the events following the +shooting of Ternoff: the finding of the pistol-dealer, who had put the +police upon the assassin's track; Burevsky's fugitive week; Irina's +escape; the sudden discovery of the arrangements for Burevsky's +departure an hour ago; then the return flight from the station to their +own quarter, ending in this final stand. Now they were in the back room, +and Ivan listened, dully, while Sergius explained that he might escape +even yet, by means of the rear window and a rope, which he drew from +behind the porcelain stove and put into Ivan's hands. Then came one word +of regret and farewell. The door was slammed upon him and he heard the +bolt upon the other side shot home.</p> + +<p>Instantly Ivan, roused too late, sprang after his friend<a class="pagenum" name="page_276" id="page_276" title="276"></a> and began +beating furiously upon the door, calling to be admitted. In vain. His +words were completely drowned in the furious clamor now rising from the +hall beyond. Shot after shot rang out, punctuating sharply the fierce, +steady pounding at the barricade, and the low, dull, but intensely +penetrating murmur of the crowd gathering about the house in street and +alley. Once again, listening, calculating possibilities, Ivan stood +motionless, horror in his eyes, chaos in his brain. How long the fight +beyond him endured he had no idea. Very suddenly, however, the clamor +ceased, and, out of the silence, rose the tones of a deep, official +voice, repeating the formal sentences of accusation and arrest. These +were given but three times; and the names were those of Lihnoff, +Stassov, and Féodor Lemsky. In his heart Ivan realized at once the +reason for this; but the pangs of grief in him came as no surprise. What +he now did seemed natural to him. To the prisoners in the outer room it +was wanton madness. They, and the policemen who were still working upon +the ruins of the barricade, heard the sound of sharp rapping on the +inner door. An officer, uttering an exclamation, ran to it and +unfastened the bolt. The next instant Ivan walked quietly into the +wrecked room, and gazed about him at the ruin, where, in the midst of +splinters and scraps of wood, empty cartridges, and greasy +blood-streaks, lay three bodies: Lemsky, the first sacrifice; Burevsky +the assassin; and Vladimir Tronsky, a gentle, beardless boy. Empty +window-frames, splintered glass, and the ends of two ladders on the +sills, showed how an entrance had finally been effected; for old +Petrov's piano, now a mass of splintered wood and twisted wire, had +served its owner to the last.</p> + +<p>There was some manifestation of surprise at Ivan's appearance; but he +was at once seized, handcuffed, and provided likewise with ankle-chains, +which permitted<a class="pagenum" name="page_277" id="page_277" title="277"></a> of a step of about eight inches. Then he was ranged +beside the other three, who noticed him in no way. And, though he knew +that the lack of recognition was for his own safety, it hurt, +unaccountably. The anger, the repulsion for these youths, was gone from +him now; and at heart he sided fanatically with them against their +captors. But it had not as yet occurred to him that his own plight was +far from pleasant.</p> + +<p>There was an interminable, official wait. Little by little the crowd +outside was broken up by police, who feared a possible attempt to +liberate the prisoners when they should emerge. The golden light of the +May afternoon was fading softly into the silvery white night of the +north. A chill had crept into the air. Inward discomfort began to remind +Ivan that a day had passed since he had eaten substantially; for at noon +he had been too full of the prospective interview to linger over +luncheon. But there was small hope of speedy refreshment now; and the +hunger of prisoners is traditional.</p> + +<p>By degrees, however, he drifted into one of his customary reveries, +which was hardly broken by the termination of their wait. Under a guard +of flattering size, the "politicals" were escorted down the silent, +empty stairs and into the street, where two ordinary carriages awaited +them. On emerging from the smoke-filled, blood-spattered house into the +clean, cold evening air, Sergius looked keenly about him for some sign +of deliverance or of sympathy. None came. The street was like that of an +abandoned city. On penalty of fine, every inhabitant was within doors. +One moment, and the world was shut away from the prisoners, perhaps for +the rest of their lives. The four of them were divided and placed two in +a carriage, facing two guards who sat with loaded pistols on their +knees: on the box an armed driver and a sergeant of police. The windows +were closely curtained, and, during the long drive, not one glimpse was<a class="pagenum" name="page_278" id="page_278" title="278"></a> +to be caught of street or building. Nevertheless, Ivan knew that they +had not crossed the river. That meant that they were not at once to go +to the "politicals'" prison nor to the formal offices of the police. But +one house in this part of the town seemed likely to be their +destination. That was the gubernatorial palace: surely an unusual +destination, Ivan thought, even considering the crime for which they +were to suffer.</p> + +<p>It was as they were finally alighting from the vehicle that Ivan's +companion, Stassov, managed at last to speak, in a whisper so rapid and +so low that Ivan barely caught it:</p> + +<p>"We get our trial now. This examination will be all we'll have.—Be +careful."</p> + +<p>Then, for the first time, Ivan's heart sank, terribly. Another instant, +and it was in his throat. Their destination had not been the palace of +the Governor; but that of the chief of the Moscow Third Section. Ivan +was entering his boyhood home!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>An hour had passed. Ivan, Sergius, and four guards were sitting silently +in the antechamber to Prince Michael's inner room. They alone were left; +for, Stassov first, then Lemsky, had been led away into that dreaded +chamber, and had not returned. Of what passed at their examinations, +Ivan could only guess. But his imagination being now on fire, he felt +that the crossing of that threshold would be little less awful than that +of a doomed heretic into the torture-chamber of the Spanish Inquisition. +Of the memories, realizations, and foreboding of those sixty minutes, it +is difficult to speak, clearly. From the stunned calm of the first +moment of shock, Ivan had drifted gradually into a fever of acutest +feeling. To him, now, his situation assumed monstrous and distorted +proportions; for he expected no jot or tittle of favor from the father +who had cast him<a class="pagenum" name="page_279" id="page_279" title="279"></a> so completely out of his life. Moreover, back of all +the melodrama of the present, lay a black shadow of haunting memory: +memory of the house in which he sat; of his impressionable, childish +days within it; of Nathalie; of Ludmillo; finally, above all, her image +enveloped in a shining aura of passionate appreciation, his mother: of +the sorrow of her tender life; and the poignant bitterness of her death. +It was to this tapestry of the past that he added now his vivid mental +pictures of present events; the revelations concerning the character of +his new friends; of Irina, her treachery and her remorse; and finally, +incongruity that made the fantasy perfect, over all, through all, there +wound, caressingly, the notes of the little melody that had that +afternoon flowed from his fingers on to Sergius' battered piano:—the +melody which now forms the principal theme of the weirdest of his tone +poems; the "Saturnalia of the Red Death," taken from Poe's wild tale.</p> + +<p>At length, while he sat drearily working his numbed fingers, Piotr +entered for the third time and summoned Sergius, away into the inner +room. Before he went, Irina's brother turned his face to his companion +and looked at him; and in that look Ivan read all that the student had +tried to express in it: his remorse, his anguish, his sorrow for the +treachery that had ruined his friend. It was strange how, by that look, +the hearts of both were lightened.</p> + +<p>Ivan waited long alone, under the curious eyes of the guard who saw in +him a type very different from that of the usual "political." Even these +men, uneducated as they were, believed, in their hearts, that there was +a mistake somewhere about this fellow. And yet, as for his chances of +release with the great Chief within there—bah! They were not worth the +price of a rusty nail.</p> + +<p>In the end it was with an air dogged, half-sullen, half-resentful, that +Ivan, concealing his face by keeping his<a class="pagenum" name="page_280" id="page_280" title="280"></a> head bent down, followed his +father's old servitor along the short passage to the closed door of +Prince Michael's cabinet. Immediately there came a word of command from +within. The door was opened, and Ivan was pushed into the room.</p> + +<p>It contained only one man, seated at a great work-table covered with +orderly piles of documents. At first sight, the years seemed to have +passed over Michael's head leaving him untouched; but, as Ivan stepped +into the light of a low-hanging lamp, his father gave a sudden start, a +hoarse gasp, and then fell back into his chair again—an old man. Ivan, +though he had been gripping himself for the ordeal, felt himself turn +slowly white, closed his eyes for an instant, and reopened them to meet +the diamond-bright glare of his father's look. At that, moved by a +combination of emotional strain, physical exhaustion, and nervous +tension, he suddenly began to laugh. It was his father who brought him +back to himself again: his father, who sat slowly rubbing one hand +across his brows, and muttering, as one in a daze:</p> + +<p>"<i>Toi!—Toi, Ivan!—Dieu! Dieu!</i>"</p> + +<p>Words, tone, appearance, moved the son intensely; for never before had +man beheld Michael Gregoriev show such stress of emotion. Never had any +hour so clearly revealed the ravages of mad living and secret +unhappiness.</p> + +<p>True, the fierce eyes could flash as of old; the voice would presently +once more ring harsh and servant and equal alike would cringe before +him; for still he held half Moscow in the iron grip of his terrible +omniscience. But Ivan noted the color of his hair—that dead white that +is not the snow of years but the ashen colorlessness borne of continuous +nervous strain. And there was the unexpected stoop of the powerful +shoulders, the occasional unavoidable trembling of the hands, and in +his<a class="pagenum" name="page_281" id="page_281" title="281"></a> face, which repeated the livid tone of the hair, were graven lines, +many and deep, born of the repressed disappointment and increasing +loneliness that had insensibly humanized the harsh visage. To the eyes +of the son, looking on his father for the first time in years, there lay +on face and figure, everywhere, the marks of that dread instrument which +no member of the Third Section can put away or destroy: the evidences of +relentless <i>experience</i>.</p> + +<p>Eye to eye they faced each other, father and son. One minute +passed.—Two.—Three. Never before had Ivan felt himself a thing of +evil. But under those terrible eyes, that had searched hearts as others +searched printed texts for interlinear meanings, he began to feel +himself drawn into the wild waters between a Scylla of shame and a +Charybdis of terror. Alas! Would this man believe his wretched tale of +the trickery of others; of wanton, stubborn stupidity on the part of +himself?</p> + +<p>The first, hot wave of mortification had not passed when Prince Michael +suddenly straightened, and lifted his head. His two hands were fast +clinched; but their trembling was still plainly visible. He seemed, for +an instant, about to break into one of his old torrents of abuse; but +suddenly, with an effort, he restrained himself, paused, and then said, +slowly:</p> + +<p>"I have been misinformed. I did not know you had entered the +university."</p> + +<p>"I have not. I am the second Professor of harmony and orchestration in +the new Conservatoire of Music."</p> + +<p>"Then, by God, what are you—" The words were shot out by a furious +impulse, and as suddenly ceased. Again a pause, and Michael began, +quietly: "What have you been arrested for, then? How did you get into +that nest of murderers: the brains and the soul of anarchy in central +Russia:—especially the creature Petrovitch, or Lihnoff?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_282" id="page_282" title="282"></a></p> + +<p>Ivan gave a weary sigh. "Because I have been an unspeakable fool: +because I was tired; and had been working long, and hard. I chose some +new companions;—and now I find I entertained assassins unawares."</p> + +<p>At this, the reflected gleam of a smile flickered across Michael's face. +His hands relaxed. "Tell me the story—all of it," he said. Nor would +the prisoners waiting for their comrade, nor yet the guards that +attended them, have believed their ears could they have heard the tone +of the tyrant's voice.</p> + +<p>Without preface, and without apology, Ivan began his story, which he +told baldly, with harsh stress upon his own deliberate folly. Only one +omission did he make: and that was one demanded of him by the past. +Irina's name never appeared in the narrative; and, as he went on, the +hope that she might be successfully shielded throughout, grew large +within him. Again, however, he underrated the man to whom he spoke. He +had finished, and silence had reigned for perhaps ten seconds, when +Gregoriev said, a little impatiently:</p> + +<p>"But the woman!—Lihnoff's sister, Irina, who has managed to get away +from my fools for the moment? Where is she, Ivan? You owe her one turn +for dragging you into your disgrace six years ago. Give me the +information, and—you shall go."</p> + +<p>Ivan's lip curled. "Spy's wages!—I am no informer," he jerked out, his +heart sinking within him, nevertheless.</p> + +<p>Gregoriev leaped to his feet in fury. Almost as quickly he was back in +his chair again. This conflict to retain his temper was so new to him +and his repeated outbreaks were so characteristic, that one might have +laughed had the situation been different. However, when he spoke again, +Michael's voice was quiet enough, though touched with irony:</p> + +<p>"So—actually—you are in love with her still!"</p> + +<p>"Neither now nor ever," Ivan answered, steady-eyed.<a class="pagenum" name="page_283" id="page_283" title="283"></a></p> + +<p>Michael, inwardly relieved, shrugged. "Where is she, Ivan?"</p> + +<p>"Thank God, I don't know!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Why</i> don't you know?"</p> + +<p>"Burevsky was shot with the name of the place on his lips—unspoken."</p> + +<p>Michael's brows were drawn and frowning. "You swear ignorance?" he +demanded.</p> + +<p>"So help me God."</p> + +<p>"Humph!—Well, well,—it merely delays the affair a day or two. She's +known in every town in the Moscow district, and in every big city from +Odessa to Petersburg by this time.—Frontiers all waiting for her."</p> + +<p>"Father!"</p> + +<p>At the sudden title, Michael trembled. "What is it?"</p> + +<p>"Father, it is that I want Irina's pardon.—Listen! Sergius Lihnoff has +been her undoing. Freed from his fanaticism, his fascination, she will +be as dangerous as a baby.—She always hated the treachery.—Before that +supper she even begged me to give it up, or to postpone it to Sunday—a +day when Ternoff wouldn't leave the offices at his hour.—I am willing +to give myself as guarantee for her. If ever again she involves herself +in a plot, I will come here and surrender."</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by his father's harsh laugh. "Useful act!" he said.</p> + +<p>Ivan flushed, but nevertheless repeated, steadily:</p> + +<p>"Give her her pardon!—I've not asked much of you in my life. Do this +thing for me.—I won't want another."</p> + +<p>Gregoriev frowned, but seemed to ponder the question. Finally, leaning +across the table, he growled: "Don't you know that never, in my life as +a Russian official, have I done such a thing as you ask? In all the +years of my service, a criminal hunted has been a criminal sentenced."</p> + +<p>"And now I ask you to prove your rule by this one<a class="pagenum" name="page_284" id="page_284" title="284"></a> exception.—I swear +to you that the only person Irina is dangerous to, is—herself."</p> + +<p>There ended Ivan's fight for the girl. The rest of the struggle, and it +was a fierce one, passed silently within his father's breast. Ten +unbearable minutes, and then, Michael raised his hand.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That conference with the last of the four prisoners, ended in one of the +profoundest sensations ever experienced by Prince Michael's entourage. +For the young man, a Nihilist "political" of the type the Chief hated +with a hatred undying, emerged from the cabinet alone, unguarded, +bearing a pass of complete freedom, signed, "Michael." Two of the men, +examining it, rushed back to the inner cabinet to discover if their +Chief had been foully murdered, as he had so often been warned would +happen when he persisted in interviewing, unattended, desperadoes of the +lowest class. But to-night the Prince was not only alive, but also, Ossa +upon Pelion, in a good humor!</p> + +<p>The guards in-doors had by no means finished gaping over this fact, when +one of the soldiers who, on examination nights, stood at the outer gate, +came hurrying in with a fresh item. The freed "political," so evidently +under the special protection of all the saints, had paused as he reached +the bottom of the entrance stairs of the palace, and burst into a fit of +uncontrollable, hysterical laughter.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_285" id="page_285" title="285"></a> +<a name="ENGULFMENT_8832" id="ENGULFMENT_8832"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>ENGULFMENT</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was this laugh, or, rather, the chaos of emotions which produced it +as their synthetic culmination, that Ivan carried away from his father's +house. So peculiar had been its tone, that even the soldiers at the gate +who heard it were enabled to surmise something of its meaning. But only +Ivan himself was fully conscious of how perfectly it epitomized the +final disillusionment that had swept away from him the last of his +youth. By that laugh, also, was engendered the mood that now rode him +for many months, and was only thrown at last by means of a desperate +strategy. Nor is that devil-haunted period to be reviewed in a single +phrase.</p> + +<p>Anger, disappointment, bitter regret, had driven him back to a +mechanical performance of neglected duties. Thus, presently, his +discarded comrades drew once more about him. Perhaps all save Nicholas +Rubinstein returned at first out of a malicious curiosity; for Moscow +still buzzed about the death of Ternoff; and Ivan's name had got itself +mysteriously coupled with the affair. After their first visit to him +five of his old friends, Laroche, Balakirev, Ostrovsky, Kashkine, and, +inevitably, Nicholas, met together by common impulse to discuss their +brilliant contemporary and the question of their relations with him. The +five of them secretly admired, openly liked him, still. Two of them +loved him, one confessedly. Of the remaining three, one was to become +the closest companion of his famous years.<a class="pagenum" name="page_286" id="page_286" title="286"></a> Naturally, then, the +decision arrived at was, that Gregoriev's nature was not to be forced. +Theirs would be the loss should they repudiate him now. When he desired +them, he would find them within call:—this last delicacy being the +suggestion of Rubinstein.</p> + +<p>Meantime, Ivan's nature, even in unhappiness, called aloud for solitude. +He must struggle alone through his deep waters: waters of the soul, +wherein float neither life-preserver nor raft, rope or even light; +neither coral reef nor oozy grave, for such as he. Darkness and struggle +alike lasted till the end of his strength; but, with exhaustion and the +coming of dawn, came at last one mighty breaker, by which Ivan was +thrown high upon the strand of a new country.</p> + +<p>During the summer of this spiritual woe, Ivan was at Vevey: had +proceeded thither as usual at the beginning of his vacation. He carried +in his pocket a plentiful sum of royalties; and in his brain a hundred +floating ideas. Moreover, the pretty town held two good friends of his: +Kashkine and Balakirev, each one hard at his own work; but delighted at +the opportunity of drawing Ivan a little out of his melancholy. In time, +indeed, they came to think it banished, and the young man at peace. He +was merely gathering strength to renew his battle: that intangible fight +against circumstance and his own nature that has been waged by every +fine and sensitive soul since the world began, and Abel bethought him of +his lamb-offering. Meantime, Ivan's secret but ardent desire to work +again worthily was fulfilled on a day that was to become one of the +vividest of his memories.</p> + +<p>It was a morning of mid-July, sweet-aired, hot-sunned, the waters of the +lake just feathered with a breath that turned the pulsating satin to a +white-sheened, crinkly azure velvet. About eight of the morning the +three men, each brain teeming with its own ambitions and its<a class="pagenum" name="page_287" id="page_287" title="287"></a> peculiar +appreciation of the mysterious Mother, started off for one of their +habitual rambles. Ivan was in a mood whimsically frank, but changeful; +and he blew the conversation this way and that out of sheer wantonness, +till presently it touched a point on which Balakirev suddenly laid a +detaining hand. Gregoriev had been analyzing the character of +Ophelia—the delicate, fantastic disorder of her pathetic mentality; and +something, some specially delicate comprehension of this particular +conception of the greatest poet, caused the burly Russian to say, +softly:</p> + +<p>"She is abstract enough—elusive, rainbow-hued enough, for your +harmonies, Ivan Mikhailovitch. Behold a tone-poem ready to your hand!"</p> + +<p>Ivan halted, quickly lifting his head, as an animal who scents +something: "You think so?—An entire tone-poem?" The tone was alive with +attentiveness.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Ah—a little too fragile—too—wanting in discord." A moment's pause. +Then he broke out in another voice: "But you, Balakirev,—it is your +idea: your theme. You felt it, therefore it belongs to you. Subjects +borrowed—mechanically worked up—bah! It is the worst prostitution of +art." And Ivan tried hard for conviction. Indeed it was quite true that +he had no faith in other men's ideas for his own use. Yet within sixty +seconds of contemplation, <i>this</i> theme had suddenly taken possession of +him in a manner joyously well-known. Already the necessary contrast, the +shadow-background of Ophelia's silver brightness—the melancholy of her +Prince-repudiator, was tingling through him. Could he really relinquish +it to the other?</p> + +<p>No necessity for this, fortunately. Balakirev, bigger, perhaps, in +generosity than any other musician of any time, known purveyor of ideas +for men even smaller than he in accomplishment, forced Gregoriev's eyes +to meet<a class="pagenum" name="page_288" id="page_288" title="288"></a> his. All was said in that look, though presently, with a slow +smile, these words were added:</p> + +<p>"I call you to witness, Kashkine, that our Ivan herewith weds the Lady +Ophelia for the space of one month; the condition being that we listen +to the manuscript on the night of its completion.—Nay, you shall not +refuse me, Gregoriev. I tell you no subjects but those connected with +Russia can fire me. You are bigger—universal. Take this tragedy, then, +and write it again for us in music."</p> + +<p>It was thus that the young man gained the most congenial of the subjects +that were to fill his summer months. The second, something bigger, +though hardly more complex, was another opera—already bespoken by +several <i>impresarii</i>, and founded on a translation of Keats's +"Isabella." Into this subject he grew, slowly, but strongly and with +full interest, till by August the tone-poem was nearly done, and the +opera well under way: he having worked his six hours a day assiduously. +And these hours of occupation gave him courage to bear the other +eighteen, in which he was constantly forced to face—himself.</p> + +<p>Ivan had, indeed, been badly bitten by the snake of the world. The +poison, entering his system long since, had spread, slowly, till his +present weariness brought him wholly under its malign spell. +Disillusion, disappointment, distrust—they worked in him till he was in +a fever of pessimism, denying the good of the world. The newest maggot +in his brain was a bitter over-appreciation of the fact that, while, +after long years of scoffing and revilement, his work had finally come +to some little success, that success was only popular, hardly in any way +professional. This fact every critic in great Russia had taken pains to +impress upon the public and upon him; so that, while solvency was now +his, the butterfly of lasting power seemed farther away than ever.<a class="pagenum" name="page_289" id="page_289" title="289"></a> Ay, +truly, the bad blood that ran in his veins was his only inheritance! +Family had he none. This appalling solitude must, plainly, be henceforth +his portion: neither man nor woman should he trust again.</p> + +<p>So ran the black reveries; for he was in the throes of his second severe +attack of "Tosca"—the <i>Herzeleide</i> of the Russians: that national +melancholy, borne of barren steppe and dreary waste, to which every +giant intellect that race has known, has sooner or later become a prey, +from the great Peter down to the littlest Romanoff; and from which more +than the first Alexander have actually died.</p> + +<p>Ivan knew it young enough, and long. Moreover, it had now come upon him +at a critical time, just as he was emerging into broadened manhood. His +salvation probably lay in the fact that for his work, only, could he +throw off the black mantle; for much of the time he was wont to labor at +the white heat of what is called inspiration. His meditations, his +analyses, were those of a mature mind, replete with human knowledge of +evil and good. But because his belief in the power of evil had become +tainted with morbidness, and because he governed the kingdom of his own +soul with a rigid purity, the friction of the two forces produced in him +an abiding melancholy: a melancholy abstract, almost impersonal, +thoroughly Russian, and yet, because he was a type of the universal, +all-comprehensive. By unhappy degrees his whole life, his every act, +became leavened and tinctured with this melancholy, till it had risen to +the height of his soul's acropolis, and invaded and overflowed—his +work. Thus did it come about that the labors of the lonely soul given +into the keeping of a yearning, lonely woman one New Year's night of +long ago, came at last to reproduce for the world, in sound, the burden +of the world. For who will deny that Gregoriev's music cries out with +the dread cry<a class="pagenum" name="page_290" id="page_290" title="290"></a> of humanity in pain? It has come to be known as the +<i>Herzeleide</i> of the Creation: the sorrow of the great, throbbing +world-soul. And technique and conception had worked well together; for +in this year both came to their fulness in him who used both +wonderfully, artistically, yet always with the restraint that can come +only through absolute self-mastery. It is the great reward of him who +has made complete sacrifice of all things else: the act without which +genius comes not into its own.</p> + +<p>In the last week of August, the three artists left Vevey together: +Kashkine on his way to Germany, for a concert tour; Balakirev to Kiev, +the holy city of the Slavs, for inspiration; Ivan back to Moscow and the +Conservatoire.</p> + +<p>Throughout the ensuing winter he taught all morning six days in the +week, reserving his composing for the hours of early morning and +evening. After his midday meal, he came into the habit of taking long +tramps through the streets of the poorer quarters, resting himself in +little <i>traktirs</i>, finding unhealthy companionship in the patent +discontent, poverty, and misery of the laboring class. By five o'clock +he was in his own rooms again, and from then till ten he worked at piano +and desk, a samovar bubbling at his elbow. Promptly at the hour, the new +manuscript pages, beautifully finished, were locked away; and the piano +closed. Then, in the shadowy corners of his bedroom, devils began to +stir, and creep about, uneasily, waiting for their victim's nightly +attendance at his own torture, where he was set upon in some one of +their hundred ways. Fevered brain, weary body, tumbled bed; loneliness, +regret, heart-hunger, unsated ambition; most of all a longing for loving +arms to close about him, words of comfort and courage to come through +the darkness that thrilled only to his own stifled sighs—thus the +night, with its long dance of horned, fire-eyed beings, who held captive +all<a class="pagenum" name="page_291" id="page_291" title="291"></a> his angels of mental health, faith, hope, joyous life. And so at +last the presage of morning, when, for an hour or two, sleep would free +him from the bondage of his inner life—that ugly prison, whose black +walls were unbeautified by time, unsoftened by the clinging vines of +memory; whose stones were but made darker by the shadow of the banner +floating over all: the black flag of that "Tosca" that has unfurled +itself above so many of the world's great.</p> + +<p>Autumn bursts of rain had whitened into snow. Moscow was now a city of +dazzling purity topped by steep roofs and domes of gold and azure and +water-green, so filling the air with brightness that one minded less the +persistent leaden gray of the vault overhead. But cold and grayness are +bad companions for the morbid-melancholic; and Ivan took his tone from +the clouds, steadily repulsing the gentle efforts of his friends to draw +him from his dim retreat into sunny mental climes.</p> + +<p>The holidays went by, and Ivan began to realize that a few more weeks +would bring about a necessary farewell to two more of his +brain-children. It was the 2d of February before the Ophelia tone-poem +lay before him finished, polished to the last point of perfection. +Another week and "Isabella"—Kashkine's translation, his own +score—would receive its last stroke of the pen. Ivan waited till that +moment came, then laid his two beloved companions side by side in their +cabinet, turned the key, and left them there, while he fared forth into +the frozen night, his brain at last as empty as his heart.</p> + +<p>There remained, however, the fierce desire to place his children well. +The Ophelia he carried to Balakirev and Nicholas Rubinstein, who sat +over it one whole night examining, discussing, rejoicing at its +splendor, its delicacy, the perfection of the reconceived masterpiece. +Next morning Nicholas sent its composer word<a class="pagenum" name="page_292" id="page_292" title="292"></a> that he would play it at +the fifth concert of his regular series, on the afternoon of March 4th. +And Ivan was satisfied; for these concerts were the musical events of +Moscow; and the new work was assured of a performance as perfect as he +could desire: an audience as distinguished as it was ably critical.</p> + +<p>This arranged, and one rehearsal—at which technical difficulties loomed +large before both men and conductor—impatiently endured, all Ivan's +mind was given up to considerations for the placing of his opera. +Merelli, he knew well, was thirsting for it: would make it his feature +of the next year's season. Should he insist, it would even be rushed +through during the spring. But he was not in haste. Moreover, folly +though it was, he had already, some time ago, begun to desire a petty +triumph: a piece of retribution for the man who had more than once +brought him dire suffering. He wanted unstinted praise for a new work +from his old master, the implacable Zaremba. Since the success of "The +Boyar" he could certainly not be put off with a hasty reading and a +damning criticism of the new score. His peculiar style, many a time torn +and ridiculed by Zaremba and the great <i>virtuoso</i>, had now been +applauded by the entire Russian musical world: was beginning to be +recognized beyond the frontier. Certainly it was no longer within range +of one man's malice. So far, no ear but Ivan's had heard "Isabella"; no +eye but his had beheld the pages of that score which, by the +after-judgment of five nations, remains unsurpassed in the history of +opera save by the music-dramas of one Richard of Bayreuth. Already, in +his heart, Ivan knew the value of his work. But his nature, ever prone +to self-depreciation, never wholly believing in his own power till +another had assured him of it, cried out for confirmation of his secret +hope. With the stamp of Zaremba's approval, Petersburg, first city in +the land, would crowd to hear his<a class="pagenum" name="page_293" id="page_293" title="293"></a> work; and it would come to Moscow, to +his father, with a double reputation.—In fine, on the morning of +February 15th, a letter and a registered parcel left Moscow for the +north, addressed to the Director of the Petersburg Conservatoire:—who +was at present in a condition of nervous irritability that kept his +every pupil in a state of petrified wretchedness throughout the working +day.</p> + +<p>Miserable Ivan! Zaremba too—even Zaremba, was in the throes of +composition! He was attempting a work as far beyond his creative powers +as are the harmonies of Wagner beyond the quaint simplicities of +olden-time Scarlatti. Wretched Ivan! Relentless circumstance!—To this +monster of vanity, vain ambition, malicious jealousy, went the +masterpiece of an offending <i>pupil</i>.</p> + +<p>However, happily, Ivan was not clairvoyant. The satisfactory close of +his long period of labor brought with it a state of passive languor. A +quiet numbness replaced the acute sensitiveness of his nerves, and made +him for the nonce impervious to his devils, though it could not prevent +his inner sense of loss. For the creator who has lived for many months +in daily communion with the living creature of his imagination, cannot, +if he work as artists must, but come into a state of great and secret +love for his dream-images. The feeling is sacred, indeed; for what +dweller in Philistia but would scoff at such a sentimentality as love +for work, and unhappiness at its conclusion? Nevertheless it is true +that, when the hour of triumph, the finishing of a long, successful +creation is accomplished, and eager Philistia waits clamoring to enjoy +it, its master knows well that his hour is over: that his good-bye must +be said. His child, stared at, listened to, conned by ten thousand eyes, +ears, or tongues, is his no more; cannot return to him; for it is of the +world, and the dream between them is dissolved.</p> + +<p>This had come to Ivan. His two friends were gone<a class="pagenum" name="page_294" id="page_294" title="294"></a> from him to other men. +His whole being cried out for rest; but his heart was empty.</p> + +<p>A week's desultory waiting, however, suddenly brought an episode that +turned his mind in another direction. Nicholas Rubinstein sent him a +troubled missive, asking his presence at the next rehearsal of Ophelia. +Anxiety stared from every line of the brief note; and, after some +hesitation, and a very bad half-day, Ivan presented himself at the Grand +Theatre; where he instantly found himself the centre of an uproar. The +new tone-poem was impossible. Concertmeister, head of second violins, +all the heads of the other bodies, swarmed to him, each pointing out the +various passages deemed by them either unplayable or unmusical; and, +finally, the whole number came to an agreement of scorn regarding one +fantastical episode—an analysis of Hamlet's yearning to know the mind +of his father, and a suggestion of his own indecision and unbalanced +mentality. This, a passage of some thirty bars, was universally declared +to be contrary to every known law or license possible to composition.</p> + +<p>To this superior, scoffing company of weaklings Ivan, always +gentle-mannered, shrinking from argument or petty conflict as other men +from a nagging woman's tongue, undertook, by rehearsing, to explain his +heart's work. Had it not been for Nicholas, he would soon have left the +field to his opponents. Upborne by the conductor, he did manage to +endure two rehearsals. The evening after the second, however, found him, +haggard and white-faced, in the old apartment, pleading with Rubinstein, +in the presence of Laroche, to give the whole thing up, to strike his +name from the programme.</p> + +<p>Rubinstein stoutly refused; and, the more he was entreated, the more +stubborn did he grow, till he had actually argued himself from a +position of doubt into a<a class="pagenum" name="page_295" id="page_295" title="295"></a> mulish insistence that if they played nothing +else that day, Ophelia should be properly rendered. Indeed by his +yielding, Ivan had unconsciously brought about the thing he had in his +own heart desperately desired.</p> + +<p>At a little past midnight he left his former home, somewhat comforted in +heart and mind. However, he went to no more rehearsals; and speedily +gave his associates to understand that he wished the subject avoided; +though he failed to notice that his wishes were also Rubinstein's. +Nicholas, however, was harassed to a point of fury with all the world. +Never in his life had he encountered such insubordination among his men. +He set out to quell it persistently but tactlessly, regardless alike of +the temper of his prospective audience, and of the highest interests of +the boy whom he had taught, protected, and now unselfishly admired. He +was perhaps more wretched than Ivan. For that youth had temporarily +thrust this subject away from him and was dreaming day and night of his +opera, and of the word that was to come from Zaremba; that word of +absolute capitulation that should make the performance of Ophelia a mere +episode, barely worth considering.</p> + +<p>All too speedily for the unhappy conductor came the afternoon of his +fifth symphony concert. By two o'clock pit and stalls were black with +people. By half-past, even the boxes were noticeably full; and at that +hour Nicholas Rubinstein appeared, bowed to the tumult of applause, +lifted his baton, and drew forth the opening notes of the second +"Lenore" overture. Ivan, very still and pale, troubled and apprehensive, +sat in one of the stalls near the front, between Balakirev and Laroche, +with Kashkine just behind: both of his Vevey companions having journeyed +a thousand miles to hear their joint tone-poem. Never afterwards, +however, could Ivan remember a single incident of the early afternoon. +The "Italian Symphony," something of Glinka's,<a class="pagenum" name="page_296" id="page_296" title="296"></a> one of Anton +Rubinstein's short orchestral commonplaces, were played with the usual +brilliant finish. With the intermission came palpitation, a dry mouth, +and a vague impression of Laroche's biting truths anent Anton's +stupidity as a composer, and his strange influence over hard-headed +Nicholas. Then there was one, last, terrible moment of dread, as the +conductor remounted his daïs and paused. Obviously he was addressing his +men. More than that, he was pleading and admonishing; for yesterday's +rehearsal had been a piece of wanton cruelty. But now the baton must go +up, happen what might. And immediately the twenty-minute practical joke +began.<a name="FNanchor_1_2" id="FNanchor_1_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_2" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p>The orchestra played their tone-poem faultlessly as to notes. Like so +many machines, the instruments performed each its allotted part. But, +oh, Heavens!—the effect! Expression: fire, poetry, +understanding—<i>piano</i>, <i>fortissimo</i>, <i>crescendo</i>, <i>rubato</i>—there was +absolutely none. Never had thing so dead, so stiff, so hideous, so +discordant, been heard in that opera-house. People stared, looked at one +another, frowned for an instant, smiled; at length, tittered, openly. In +all that great building, but one little group sat silent. Ivan and the +three gathered close at his side, were like men dead. Long before it was +over, Nicholas had flung his baton to the floor and left the stage; but +still the orchestra went on—and on. In the silence following on the +last chord—a silence broken by no demonstration, either of applause or +of hissing—Ivan the composer rose, pushed his way to an aisle, and +hurried blindly out into the streets. Thus he knew nothing of the +remarkable sequel of the affair: how Rubinstein, an instant after the +cessation of<a class="pagenum" name="page_297" id="page_297" title="297"></a> the horror, had rushed back upon the stage, addressed a +dozen wild phrases of explanation to the house, and then, at the end of +a sudden clamor demanding Ivan, turned to his men, audibly fined every +one of them a month's pay, after which, once again rapping the desk with +his broken baton, he drove them, cowed and shamed, into a twenty minutes +with Ophelia that was destined to fix Ivan's orchestral fame forever +with the Moscow public; for it was a quarter of an hour after the piece +ended for the second time, before the people would accept Kashkine's +frantic assurances that the young man was not in the house.</p> + +<p>Utterly oblivious of the turning of the tables, wrapped, as by a shroud, +in that dire silence, Ivan was walking—walking—out into Moscow, +through the frozen streets, under the leaden sky, the terrible anger and +rebellion in him fading slowly to a numbing stillness—a stillness as of +death. Was it really by accident that, on his homeward way, he passed +the post-office to which his letters went? Without hesitation he had +gone into the building. When he came out again there was an expression +of fear in his eyes, and his heart was beating wildly. Nor were his +steps any longer aimless. Taking the nearest droschky, he directed it +first to a chemist's shop, then to his own room, where Sósha opened to +his knock, and noted, as he passed, the envelope in his hand, across +which sprawled Zaremba's old, familiar writing. But the pink package +with its crimson danger-label lay hidden in a pocket.</p> + +<p>Ivan sat at his bedroom window for twenty minutes before he found +courage to open his communication. For the first time, doubt of his +opera began to stir in his heart; and the memory of that other long-past +day of disappointment, when Nicholas had found him in this very room, +and had tried to hearten him, came to him as a premonition of doom. How +was he to be heartened<a class="pagenum" name="page_298" id="page_298" title="298"></a> now—after so many more years of failure? +Nay—with a half-smile, Ivan laid his recent purchase on the +window-ledge, and slowly drew the letter from its envelope:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">St. Petersburg</span>, <i>Monday, March 10th</i>.</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Pupil</span>:—Despite the fact that your manuscript score +arrived at a time most inopportune, I having recently renounced all +but my most pressing lessons to plunge myself entirely into an +atmosphere of profound creation, I have conscientiously performed +the task you imposed upon me. That this task proved very little +worth while, I write with double regret—my own time being of +considerable value to our world;—though it should not greatly +surprise you, since it is thoroughly evident that 'Isabella' is a +hasty, ill-thought-out, unfinished composition.—You will remember +my constant reproaches of your excessive carelessness, even when +you were directly under my own eye. And you will not expect me to +think you very serious in your work when, on the very first page of +your overture, I discover two unpardonable blemishes—an empty +fifth (the first error of harmony mentioned in all text-books), and +one of those monstrosities called, I believe, <i>chords of the ninth +diminished</i>—a license actually tolerated, I believe, by a certain +preposterous German school. Need I have read further to learn that, +as a composer, you can never achieve a <i>succès d'estime</i>, and that +your classical ideals are gone?</p> + +<p>"To be brief, my dear Gregoriev, your 'opera'—I give it your own +grandiloquent appellation, is unworthy the signature of a pupil of +mine; and, after a careful reading, I feel that the greatest +service I can do you is to keep the score pigeon-holed here till +you are able to laugh at your wild idea of its possible +performance.</p> + +<p style='text-align:right'> +"Accept, my dear pupil, the remembrances of, <br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">E. Zaremba</span>."<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>Slowly at first, then with more rapidity, Ivan read the letter through. +Even after he had noted the signature, he continued to hold the sheet in +his hands, while his eyes fixed themselves on some distant object. Two, +three, five minutes passed. Then he placed the paper carefully on the +table, dropped into a chair by its side, and seemed to meditate.<a class="pagenum" name="page_299" id="page_299" title="299"></a></p> + +<p>After a time, there came a clamor at the door of the living-room; and +Ivan recognized friendly voices. Instantly he glided to the door, turned +the key, drew the bolt, and returned noiselessly to his place just as +Sósha knocked. After a pause, the knock was repeated. Then the door was +tried, shaken, and pulled. In vain. There came no sound from within. +Ivan heard his servitor inform the would-be condolers that his master +had evidently gone out again. There were muffled good-byes and +so—silence.</p> + +<p>Twenty minutes later Sósha, dozing in his tiny kitchen, was roused by +his master commanding tea at once, and enjoining him to let no one into +the rooms that night. At the acknowledgment of this command, Ivan +returned to his bedroom, to wait. Ten minutes passed. Then Sósha came, +set down the samovar and a plate of food, prepared his bed, and hobbled +off to a quiet evening, a pipe, and the companionship of the old +<i>concierge</i> who came up to sit with him nightly.</p> + +<p>Meantime, Sósha's master had not yet moved, but sat at the table where +the water in the copper pot now bubbled merrily, his eyes still fixed on +some far-off vision of night. There was about his appearance and his +occasional slight movements that mechanical unconsciousness that is a +strong signal of danger. For, when burdens grow unbearable, when one is +taxed beyond that point at which nature sets her limit of endurance, +there comes a condition of mental numbness in which men are apt for +deeds quite transcending their normal natures. And this was the +condition to which, by a long series of mistakes and accidents all +similar in effect, Ivan had been reduced. Many years had passed since +the time when, by the folly of a fortnight, he had been stripped of +youth, gayety, wealth. Since then, balanced only by his little success +of the previous winter, had come a countless string of disappointments +and misfortunes,<a class="pagenum" name="page_300" id="page_300" title="300"></a> which, striking him always in one spot, had rendered +him exquisitely sensitive. Now, in one afternoon, he had lost the fruits +of eight months of sincere and careful labor. In his heart he knew that +it was at last too much; and he felt himself driven, with a wild rush, +down towards the valley of the shadow.</p> + +<p>Tea had come; Sósha was gone; he was alone with the night. The samovar +hissed and steamed, comfortably; and to its accompaniment the man filled +a glass with the amber liquid, tore the wrapper from his chemist's +package, and poured into one hand a dozen yellowish pills. In the other +hand he grasped the tea-glass. There was an instant's pause. He smiled +and his lips moved. Then, suddenly, he lifted his hand to his face, +gulped down the morphia pellets, following them with the steaming +tea.—In that instant all his chains, loosened, rattled down about him +to the floor. Brave man or coward, he felt a sudden mighty wave of +relief over-sweep him. The set, strained look left his face. His eyes +softened. Once or twice he paced across the room. Then he went to his +arm-chair, threw himself into it, and leaned back with closed eyes.</p> + +<p>The period of waiting seemed long. He remembered so much that he ought +to have done: papers that should have been destroyed.—Still, it was too +late for that.—After all, this languor was very pleasant. He was glad +his eyes were closed. Back of them—behind sight—there appeared to be a +most charming country.—What was it he must see there? Out of the silver +mist there was surely a form emerging?—a creature slender, delicate, +crowned with a weight of fragrant hair! Clothed in rose-red, she; and +her lips were smiling, her arms out-stretched to +him:—Nathalie!—Naturally he went forth to meet her, to melt with her +into that radiant light. And there came a great roaring in his ears—the +noise of many waters rushing. Ay, they were closing<a class="pagenum" name="page_301" id="page_301" title="301"></a> now above his head. +He was down.—And so—night.—Oblivion.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>There passed an endless time. In the darkness the soul of Ivan, ready +poised, waited for the summons. No summons came. Must it indeed return +within itself, unfreed? Yes, for the senses were stirring even now. Out +of the void came a vague murmur of human voices—a sharp exclamation. +Then blackness once more; this time complete.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Complete though it had seemed, when Ivan opened his eyes again upon the +scanty furniture of his bedroom, it was with the sense of many days gone +by. His head was iron-bound; his tongue dry and swollen; life a series +of horrible retchings. After a time his dull eyes travelled slowly round +the room. Kashkine was near, and Rubinstein, and two strange men. On +every face was an expression of relief, of joy. Ivan marvelled at the +reason. Then his eye encountered the table, and he thought he knew. For +there, in a pile, lay the manuscript pages of his opera; to recover +which, indeed, Balakirev had, during the five-day battle with death, +journeyed to Petersburg and told his tale to the frightened Zaremba. But +this and certain other things—the fact that there were men in the world +who loved him, and a place in the world that demanded him, Ivan was to +learn by faint degrees, and with some sardonic humiliation.</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_2" id="Footnote_1_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_2"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The incident here recounted, like that of Ivan's failure to +conduct his symphony, is not imaginary. It occurred in Moscow, in the +winter of 1865, with one of the early works of Peter Illich Tchaikowsky.</p></div> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_302" id="page_302" title="302"></a> +<a name="JOSEPH_9364" id="JOSEPH_9364"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>JOSEPH</h3> +</div> + +<p>It was in the November of that same year—1870—that "Isabella" had its +initial performance, in Moscow, under Merelli. The original intention +had been to open the season with the new work. But, at the last moment, +the leader, despite his memories of "The Boyar," repudiated his promise, +deeming the honor too great for a Russian, and chose instead to present +his other novelty, Gounod's "Roméo et Juliette." Ivan, resenting the +act, promptly removed the score of "Isabella" to his own rooms; and it +cost the <i>impresario</i> six weeks of persuasion and apology, besides a +thousand roubles' damages, before he could come to terms again with the +young composer, who, under Rubinstein's advice, was rapidly becoming +worldly wise.</p> + +<p>In the end, the <i>première</i> of the new opera was made under highly +auspicious circumstances; but, to the amazement of every one +concerned,—it being a far finer work than its predecessor,—"Isabella" +made only a moderate success. Ivan's style was still a matter of endless +discussion among the critics; and in the new opera he had let himself +out fully, repudiating all those Italian traditions which, at the time +of the composition of "The Boyar," still largely governed him. Time has +proved his wisdom, however; for, while to-day "The Boyar" is seldom +given, "Isabella" is a standard work in the <i>repertoire</i> of every +opera-house of note in the<a class="pagenum" name="page_303" id="page_303" title="303"></a> white empire, besides having won laurels +both popular and critical in Paris and at Covent Garden.</p> + +<p>Gregoriev bore this little disappointment far better than his friends +had feared. The long fit of depression, thoroughly broken by his attempt +at suicide, had not yet returned. The summer had been spent on a walking +tour through Finland, with Lechetizsky and Sérov and he came home full +of animal vigor. On his way back he had had a fortnight in Petersburg, +and there spent two evenings in the company of Nathalie and his aunt, +who was now suffering from a secret but probably incurable malady. The +ladies, while keeping him at rather formal distance, had none the less +shown genuine interest in him and his work; and he carried away one or +two very precious memories of her who still remained the one woman in +the world for him.</p> + +<p>During the autumn he had done some excellent work; and confided to +Rubinstein his decision that opera was, after all, not his <i>métier</i>, but +that henceforth he should spend his time on orchestral forms, with the +exception of an occasional group of songs, for which he had a special +gift. Finland, with its stretches of pine forest and gray waterways, had +made a powerful appeal to his peculiar imagination; and the "Songs of +the North" form the first of his many tone-pictures of that country.</p> + +<p>A week or two after his return to Moscow, he began to find himself +haunted by the memory of his aunt's face, which brought up inexplicably +vivid pictures of his beloved mother in the last year of her life. +Moreover, he had, in her presence, read upon the face of his beloved +lines of a soul-tragedy that was to bear him glorious fruit. For it was +actually at this time, through these means, when he was barely past +twenty-nine, that there was born in him the seed of that final effort of +his genius, to be dreamed over for twenty years, and finished only as +the shadow of death lengthened over<a class="pagenum" name="page_304" id="page_304" title="304"></a> him: his first faint vision of the +master-work to be known to the music-loving world as the Tosca Symphony.</p> + +<p>Autumn, and the first fortnight of December, proved a busy, fruitful, +pleasant period to the workman, who was now well out of the heyday of +his twenties and glad to settle down to the steady harness-work of man +in his prime. He was beginning to be satisfied with the simple fact that +he himself was sure of his own powers; and it was more than he asked +when some incident showed how fully the outer world was beginning to +acknowledge him as one not to be judged by ordinary standards. Surely he +who has come to this at thirty has small right of complaint!</p> + +<p>It was not often now that Monsieur Gregoriev, the professor who appeared +so worshipfully experienced to his pupils, allowed himself to reflect +upon the episode of the previous spring, when he had swallowed what he +believed to be a death-dose. Yet, in his inner consciousness, hovered +always the knowledge that he possessed a sure and unfailing refuge from +that terrible "Tosca" whence escape was certain only through extremest +measures.—Nor did the exquisite vision of the young Nathalie—his last +living remembrance of that black night—often leave him, sitting through +solitary evenings with pipe and samovar, quite unchallenged. Indeed +there were already times when it seemed as if he need hardly wait for +the excuse of the "Tosca" to turn refuge into indulgence.</p> + +<p>Thus come we to the afternoon of the 18th of the holiday month: a gray +day, and a windy; and bitter, bitter cold; when all dreams of Christmas +cheer were frozen in the forming and replaced by some breath of the +shrivelling air. Ivan came in from his morning's work, partook of a +solitary luncheon, and was standing at his window, puffing at his pipe +and absently staring into the<a class="pagenum" name="page_305" id="page_305" title="305"></a> street, reluctant to turn to work. He had +been calculating, rather cynically, during his meal, on the meagre +returns paid by the world for any labor requiring the cream of thought +and talent: work priceless, indeed, so far as roubles went, but +comparing badly in actual recompense with mere, mechanical labor. The +subject still occupied him in its way, when his attention was drawn from +it to the behavior of the only person to be seen in that +little-frequented thoroughfare. This was a young man, clad in much-worn +sheepskins of the cheapest variety. His hands were uncovered—actually +bare, in an atmosphere of thirty degrees below zero! Little wonder that +Ivan's eye was caught by, and that it remained fixed on, that figure of +poverty. The stranger's gait was slow, and perceptibly unsteady. More +than once he halted, looking about him, vaguely, as if for some +resting-place. And yet, under his left arm, he was carrying, unwrapped, +a good-sized canvas.—Was he delivering it?—Or was he—Impossible! No +such person could be glorified by the title of artist! The questions +passed swiftly through Ivan's mind, and then were suddenly broken off. +As the youth came into line with Ivan's window, he reeled slightly, +caught himself, and then dropped upon the frozen walk, letting his +burden fall at his side, as his head sank into his arms.</p> + +<p>Bah!—Only <i>vodka</i>, then. Some drunken artisan, who faced discharge on +the morrow. Ivan turned from the window; but quickly returned to it. +Vulgarly drunk the man might be. But even the fires of alcohol form +scant protection against such cold as reigned to-day. The man might be +frozen ere an officer perceived him. Moreover, as Ivan looked again, +something in the recumbent figure suggested the abandon rather of +despair than of debauchery.—An instant's hesitation. Then the watcher +caught up his own fur coat and cap, ran from the rooms, and, a moment +later, was bending over<a class="pagenum" name="page_306" id="page_306" title="306"></a> the lonely figure and placing a friendly hand +upon his shoulder.</p> + +<p>There was a slight start. With an effort, the head lifted. Ivan was +gazing into a pair of clear, blue eyes, and realizing that there was no +taint of <i>vodka</i> in the other's breath. Nay! That face spoke of very +different things. Youth was there, and hardship, and suffering, and +discouragement. More than that, the gaunt pallor of face and lips, the +sharp outline of jaw and cheek-bone, told of want, great and immediate. +They were signs that Ivan knew well. The fellow was in the final stages +of starvation.</p> + +<p>In an instant, Ivan had lifted the canvas from the frozen snow, and was +helping the unhappy man to rise. When he spoke, his voice had the +tenderness of a woman's:</p> + +<p>"My friend, you have been unfortunate! I am a worker myself, and have +needed help in my time. Come to my rooms with me. I am all alone; and +you must have rest and food."</p> + +<p>"Food!" There was a note of elemental savagery in the weakened voice. +"Food!—My God! My God! Give me food!—My gloves only got me half a loaf +the day before yesterday—or—three days ago it was,—I think."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Are you strong enough, yet? Are you sure you can?—You see, you've been +through a fearful ordeal."</p> + +<p>Ivan spoke rather anxiously as, two hours later, he bent over the young +man, now lying on the divan in Ivan's living-room and looking even +whiter and wearier than before he had eaten the meal just finished.</p> + +<p>But the stranger smiled; and at sight of that smile Ivan felt a thrill +of surprise. The eyes and features lighted up till the gaunt signs of +want were forgotten and the face looked like that of some cherubic boy. +It<a class="pagenum" name="page_307" id="page_307" title="307"></a> was a revelation so pleasant that a faint suggestion of +weakness—resembling the cloying after-taste of a saccharine +beverage—went, for the moment, unnoticed.</p> + +<p>"I want to talk to you. You see, you're the only one that's done +anything for me.—You are an artist, too. I guessed it before you told +me.—But you can't have had the struggle I've had: everything against me +from the beginning: unknown, and terribly, terribly poor: ambitious, but +with no <i>chance</i> for success!—But you've saved me—and my canvas. That +was the last thing I had to sell; and without it there was no hope."</p> + +<p>"Paints and brushes and knives—what could you do without those? Were +they all gone?—You see, I've been pretty near where you are myself, in +the past."</p> + +<p>It was a surprise to see the sudden look of petulance that crossed the +other's face. "Oh, my working-tools!—You see you can't understand. You, +of course, only need ink and paper. But we painters must have plenty of +implements to work with.—Why, I kept them and starved! Could I do any +more?"</p> + +<p>Ivan shook his head, slightly puzzled. "You've had a very bad time of +it. If you feel able, tell me," he said.</p> + +<p>The stranger elbowed himself a little higher, and took a mouthful of +wine and water from the chair beside him. Ivan settled close by, +cigarette in hand, facing him; and, during the hour that followed, his +thoughts never strayed. The tale he heard interested him deeply, stirred +his admiration, and, at the same time, vaguely troubled him. It was +evident enough that this boy had endured an experience from which only +indomitable determination of some sort could have brought him out. +Nevertheless, ever and again, came suggestions of egotism, selfishness, +love of luxury, that were naïve in their unconsciousness. But so foreign +were these things to Ivan's own simplicity of nature, that he ended by +repudiating his first doubts of the boy before him who had borne so +much.<a class="pagenum" name="page_308" id="page_308" title="308"></a></p> + +<p>"My name," began the youth, "is Joseph Kashkarin. I was born in Poland, +in the spring of 1848, just after we had moved from Lodz to the +outskirts of a little village near Chölm. All my life we have been +horribly poor. But my grandfather—I am of family, you see—was wealthy, +one of the first citizens of Lodz, but a fierce patriot. My father and +mother were married in that city, and lived there very well till the +uprisings against the Russians in 1847. My family had the folly to take +part on the side of the nation; and when the strikes were put down, my +grandfather was transported, my father exiled from the city, and all the +property confiscated. Thus, when I was born, we were as poor as the +serfs that were our neighbors; but we lived decently, because my mother +was a lady.</p> + +<p>"Our village was on the estate of Ladiskowi: the country-seat of the +great family of that name. Before my birth, Prince Ladiskowi heard of my +father from our Staroste, and came to see him. After that we were +sometimes received at the castle—discreetly, of course, for even the +Ladiskowi were under the espionage of Russian spies. But the Prince +appreciated us, and wished to do more for us than our father permitted. +We had books always when we wished them; and my sister Marie learned to +play on a spinnet that they had up there, and had belonged, they said, +to the Leczinski themselves.</p> + +<p>"I wasn't interested in spinnets. That castle held something better for +me. I can scarcely remember the time it first began; but I was not more +than seven when I told my mother one night what I was going to be. She, +I remember, hoped I would say a soldier, to fight for Poland when the +final struggle should come. But I had seen enough of patriotic ruin. +Besides," he went on, a little hastily, "I knew in my heart, even then, +that art is greater than all other things.—That's not cant, Ivan +Mikhailovitch! It's not hypocrisy!—Listen.<a class="pagenum" name="page_309" id="page_309" title="309"></a></p> + +<p>"Princess Ladiskowa had been the daughter of a noble artist; and she had +her father's love for form and color, though she didn't paint. Instead, +she filled the upper gallery of that old fortress with a collection of +pictures that would make any gallery in Europe famous. And she added to +it continually, until a quarter of all her husband's wealth hung in that +room.</p> + +<p>"Those pictures were the things that drove me to this pass. I don't know +where my talent comes from; but I soon found out how much was in me. I +would sit in that hall by the day, looking, studying, puzzling out the +secrets of line, and color, and technique, and conception, in the +best—always the best, things, you understand; till I felt that I <i>must</i> +begin work myself. So I went to my father one day and asked him for +paints and pencils, brushes and canvas. At first he didn't believe in +me. But I begged so long that at last he sent to Chölm for a little +outfit, and I took them up to an empty room in the castle, where Marie +and I always played in winter, when the family were in Warsaw; and there +I worked in secret, at my picture."</p> + +<p>Here Joseph paused to finish his wine, and then lay back rather wearily, +while Ivan replenished the glass. He was plainly exhausted again; and +his host, interested as he was, suggested that the tale be finished +later. Joseph, however, protested. He felt himself a trespasser both on +Ivan's time and on his charity. Yet he sorely needed help, and Ivan, if +he were to give it, must know all his history.</p> + +<p>"It was spring, sir, when my first picture was finished; and I had come +to feel that the winter and my hopes were wasted. I was terribly +disappointed in myself; because I had never dreamed that imagination, +love of the work, and tremendous confidence, cannot produce finished +paintings. My father, though, had come to be interested in what I was +doing, and insisted on seeing what I<a class="pagenum" name="page_310" id="page_310" title="310"></a> had accomplished. I stood with my +back to him, sick with mortification, till I heard him whisper one word +of high praise. Then I found, to my amazement, that he was astonished at +my success.—I was only fifteen; nevertheless, I was furious, because, +you see, my portrait of my sister had not the qualities of the +Velasquez, the Guido, the David, or the little Vandyke that I had +worshipped, each in its turn.</p> + +<p>"But from that hour my father became enthusiastic about my talent. He +grew as eager as I for the return of the Prince, in order to get his +advice about my future. We were both sure of his help and patronage when +he should arrive. But we could not know that my personal misfortunes +were to begin at once. It was August before the Ladiskowi came that +year; and they remained in the country barely two months. The Prince was +ill, and the Princess spent all her time in nursing him, till they +started for Baden to take the waters. We saw them scarcely at all. They +did hear of the picture, and the Prince sent for me to congratulate me. +But I was not alone with him for a moment, and so got no opportunity to +ask for help more useful than praises.</p> + +<p>"When they went away, I knew I must wait another year for my chance. But +even that was not to be. For, next year, they did not come at all to the +castle. Prince Ladiskowi's illness had become incurable; but it took +terribly long to kill him, and he had to be kept in a higher, drier +climate. On his death, two years and five months ago, we found he had +left my father one thousand roubles, and firewood from his forests +forever. This money was left to <i>us</i>. Well then, saying nothing of the +wood, my share as eldest son was at least two hundred and fifty roubles. +With this I determined to set out for Moscow, enter the school of +painting, and work so hard that, by the time my money was gone, I<a class="pagenum" name="page_311" id="page_311" title="311"></a> could +sell pictures enough to support myself. Later, I believed I could send +for my sister, have her keep house for me, and perhaps give her piano +lessons, thus relieving my parents, who were all but destitute, now, +through the loss of their patron.</p> + +<p>"When I spoke to them of my plan, they made some difficulties about the +journey and my life in a Russian city; but I waved them all away. They +offered me half the money then; but, though perhaps you will say it was +an artist's due, I wished to be more than fair, and did not take it. I +waited one week for my mother to prepare my clothes. My furs I left to +my father, since I could not carry them all the way in August weather; +but my first purchase in Moscow had to be this wretched coat and cap, +and some woollen gloves. You are amazed, I see. But, though it was only +August 18th when I left Chernsk, it was mid-October before I entered the +streets of this city of the enemies of my race. For alas! I am a Pole; +and the very sun that shines in Russia refuses to give me warmth.</p> + +<p>"From Chölm to Moscow, by the straightest road, is thirteen hundred +versts. Not one step of this way did I go by train; and but a hundred or +two in passing carts. Twice, at Minsk and at Smolensk, I stopped and +worked for a week, till I had gained an extra rouble or two for food or +beds along the way. True, there was charity among the peasants; and I +found many a meal left on the window-ledge for wanderers. But the food +of convicts and beggars!—it was long before I, the son of a gentleman, +could touch it!—More than once, truly—Ah well, I suffered! I suffered +every fatigue, every hardship, that I might reach my destination with my +bag of roubles as little depleted as possible.</p> + +<p>"Two terrible months of hunger and ceaseless fatigue!—Didst thou as +much for music, sir? But no. No. You are already an artist, and famous, +while I—oh, it<a class="pagenum" name="page_312" id="page_312" title="312"></a> is too much! God is not good!" And Joseph sat suddenly +up, excited by this remembrance of by-gone misery, forgetting the sudden +exhaustion so recently relieved. Two spots of red flamed in his cheeks; +and his blue eyes began to shine, feverishly:</p> + +<p>"Who are those that succeed? Only the ones that have shelter for their +heads, clothes to keep them warm, food to give them strength to +work!—more; who can hire the right models, buy good paints, good +brushes, flawless canvases;—who can afford to study, to dream, to wait! +But to start at the very beginning—nay, with certain faults to +<i>unlearn</i>—and expect to win fame on a fortune of two hundred and fifty +roubles! Why, I <i>began</i> in terror! My first talk with the professor at +the Institute showed me my situation.—And all the other students had so +much! They spent, in a day, an hour, what I stretched out to two weeks, +to a—a—"</p> + +<p>Ivan sprang up, ran to the sofa, and caught the lean figure in his arms. +Kashkarin had wrought himself up to a wretched pitch. The last words had +been uttered in a tone high and wavering; and, as Ivan reached him, the +life left his body, his cheeks grew gray, his eyes dulled, his breathing +became fast and light. His rescuer plied him with weak <i>vodka</i>, chafed +his hands, bathed his temples, would have summoned a doctor, but that +Joseph soon began to revive, and in another twenty minutes seemed more +or less himself again. Indeed, he presently unclosed his eyes, +murmuring:</p> + +<p>"I must go on, my friend. It is not long now.—Will you—hear me?"</p> + +<p>And Ivan, who had become a little restless with his desire to get to +work, answered, after an instant's hesitation, in the affirmative.</p> + +<p>"It took me a month to find a place where I dared stay; and it's taken +two years to find out just how horrible life can be. We had always been +poor enough; but at<a class="pagenum" name="page_313" id="page_313" title="313"></a> least I had had shelter, clothes, a bed, and food. +Here nothing comes naturally; and I could buy only two hundred and ten +roubles' worth of everything. One comfort I had. I was in the +art-school, free; and they thought I had talent, and was doing well. +When I worked I was happy; I could forget. But at the end of one year +they said: 'Two years more. Then you can begin to exhibit, and will have +the right to sell.' And now only one of those two years is gone; and—I +am here, <i>here</i>, alive only through charity!—No, do not speak! I must +tell you. I owe much money, for my rent, for food, for paints; and I was +carrying my last canvas back to the dealer's to-day, to ask him to give +me back half of what I paid for it. My room-mate, Wencislaus Wendt, has +done what he could for me. But the one who, in the beginning, did +most—who once helped us all in the Students' Quarter—Boris Lemsky—was +taken away in the first spring after I came. He was a university man; +but he was good to me. I owe him my life: everything I have. And now +they say that—what is it, Ivan Mikhailovitch?—Why do you look so? Do +you know what became of him?"</p> + +<p>Ivan had bent his head forward on his arms. "Boris"—the voice was +muffled and unnatural—"Boris was shot through the heart, trying to get +to the rooms of Sergius Lihnoff, eighteen months ago."</p> + +<p>"By—by whom?"</p> + +<p>"The police."</p> + +<p>"A—ah!—And his brother—Féodor?"</p> + +<p>"In Siberia."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's pause. Then, after a little, the youth said, dully: +"Yes, it is like Poland here. Only, in this country, it seems they kill +their own patriots.—Boris <i>could</i> not have done a wrong!—Ah, Ivan +Mikhailovitch, my story has been no story. It hurts me too much to think +back through the last months. I fought with starvation, and lost. Now I +am here. I can do<a class="pagenum" name="page_314" id="page_314" title="314"></a> nothing; can be of no use. I am sick. I am tired. I +am discouraged. Better have died on the street before I was fed +again!—I can never go back to my family, to burden them with my +wretched existence—a failure added to failures.—I have in me the blood +of Titian—of Rubens—of Raphael! I see, I feel, I create! Color is life +to me: form is the bread of my soul! But I cannot get beyond my body. +Hunger and cold and fever—then all the visions go!—The soul of an +artist, mated with the existence of a serf!—Almighty God! Do me justice +at last, and free me from this useless torture of life!"</p> + +<p>Once more carried beyond himself by this fragmentary outpouring of his +long and unsuccessful battle, Joseph sank back on his pillows, weak and +shaken, but evidently at the end of his confession.</p> + +<p>Ivan was deeply moved; and in more ways than one. He pitied, profoundly; +yet he wondered at much in this ethereal, fair-haired youth that was +utterly foreign to himself.—He had had no more than Joseph to start +with; and he had not starved.—But what use in saying that?—Instead, he +returned to his chair, and sat lost in thought, rapidly adding, the +while, to the pile of cigarette stubs which were thrown upon the table +at his side. Joseph, meantime, lay still, watching him with weary +expectation, while the clock ticked slowly round the hour.</p> + +<p>As distant Ivan Veliki boomed the half after four, and the increasing +echoes of <i>troika</i> bells without, announced the advance of the +fashionable driving-hour, Sósha entered with tea, and lighted the big +table-lamp that presently mingled its soft radiance with the last +glimmer of the dead day. Then, when the old servitor had shuffled out, +Ivan rose, cigarette in hand, and, gazing down upon the stranger's white +face, said, gently:</p> + +<p>"My brother, Russia has used you hardly. You must, therefore, let me, +not only a Russian, but also a fellow-workman, a lover of art, try to +make amends for<a class="pagenum" name="page_315" id="page_315" title="315"></a> your unhappiness here. I can give you your chance—a +fair one this time. It will be a joy to me as well as a duty to help you +as others helped me in my time of need.—To-night, however, you are too +weak for further emotion. You shall sleep here; and to-morrow, when you +are more yourself, we will arrange for your future.—And now, if it will +not be disturbing to you, I shall play for an hour. You have given me an +idea, and the mood to work it out.—Perhaps you will understand—or it +will soothe you—"</p> + +<p>Joseph's face brightened. He answered, with a note of eagerness in his +still shaking voice: "Ah, I had not dared ask you to play to me.—But +indeed I shall understand!—Music brings pictures of heaven."</p> + +<p>Thereupon Ivan seated himself at his instrument. When, as he expressed +it, he was in the mood, few men could improvise more exquisitely, with a +technique more Chopinesque, than this man whose orchestral work was so +tremendous: so filled with the rolling grandeur, the passion, the +energy, the gigantic climaxes, the seething, troubled depths, of a +nature titanic in its conceptions, overpowering in their presentment.</p> + +<p>For a time Ivan played, so delicately, so melodiously, and, withal, with +an individuality so elf-like in its quaintness, that Joseph's quivering +nerves were stilled and relaxed as by the caresses of a woman's hands. +Then, when count of time had ceased, when the room was filled with +velvet shadows, and the rich, dim glow of the crimson-shaded lamp +touched only the seated figure and the ivory keys his fingers pressed, +Ivan's low voice added itself to the melody. He began to speak, +accompanying his words with music like the tracery of fine gold that +sets forth and enriches the deep beauty of perfect jewels. What he said +came from him spontaneously, without any previous arrangement. It was as +if the long-locked door to the inner sanctum of his soul had<a class="pagenum" name="page_316" id="page_316" title="316"></a> swung +open, betraying all the wealth of a treasure-room the very existence of +which was unsuspected by any other man: for the treasure it contained +was the gathered store of his many years of labor, moulded now into the +<i>Credo</i> of his working life: the creed by which he lived; which was +slowly writing itself upon his face.</p> + +<p>"Art," he whispered, softly, arabesquing the beloved, misused word with +a ripple of vagrant melody, "is a high goddess, one supreme, +all-sufficing, all-embracing, absolutely jealous. Her priests may serve +none and nothing but her; and she is worthy of such worship.—Beauty of +Aphrodite of old—chastity of Artemis of the crescent moon—wisdom of +high Athene, of the silver spear—integrity of Hera the quiet-browed, +giver of laws—these she combines in her perfect whole; these are the +virtues we are bound to emulate who serve her. Let them that are weak, +that understand not, complain of constraint under these rules. Such are +unworthy of the trust. Those things that we need—imagination, +independence, courage of conviction—every quality bespeaking her one +great requirement in the characters of her chosen ones—originality—are +to be fostered in a hundred ways not unpleasing to her. But this first +quality, which may not be bought either by labor or by gold, has been +made the mark whereby she knows and claims her own. Once self-ordained, +a man finds himself subject gloriously to her: divinely driven to prayer +and fasting, to unceasing labor, to the long and beautiful vigils of the +night that bring him her highest rewards: inspiration and love of her +and of her service. For us she is lady of night and of day, of sun and +sky and the green earth. Through her eyes we see and marvel at them all. +Of her many favors to her chosen ones, which is more perfect than that +power of inward vision that brings forth secret beauties in every corner +of our earthly dwelling-places? How small a<a class="pagenum" name="page_317" id="page_317" title="317"></a> price to pay for this +alone:—the absolute fealty to her that is her one demand?</p> + +<p>"Yet there have been many unfaithful: many that have been called, and +found wanting.—Bitter enough their self-wrought punishment! the +yearning, never to be crushed, for her gifts once known and now removed. +These in their anguish do her much despite: paint her as devil, call +Philistia down upon her in wrath. They call us blasphemers who serve +her. Yet what is she but the great Goddess of Truth, holding by one hand +the All-Father; by the other her Mother, and ours? And by this Union of +which she was the first-born, cometh also all we can know of perfect +beauty, all our heritage of creation and creative power. Shall it not be +for us to make this known to men? to the unbelievers? Showing them that, +in working for our Lady, we are likewise serving their God, who is also +ours?</p> + +<p>"Thou, Joseph, hast been chosen her priest. Thou and I together know how +little is any reward but those she gives: how vain that petty applause +of the Philistines for which many an artist has betrayed both his art +and himself. But we who remain long at our apprenticeship, learn well +how petty is the outward and visible of success.—Have we not been led +up into the high place of communion, where, for a little, the veil is +lifted, and the image of Truth shown blazing in the splendor of Her +shrine? These are our moments of fortification and of revelation. No man +who has stood before that vision has failed to understand why the laws +of Truth and the law of the mass of men can never be the same. In the +communion we gain the strength that bids us disdain all applause of man +given for things other than the highest and best. And it is our secret +sense of this, which, through humiliation and defeat, through mockery +and revilement, through want and privation, shall keep us steadfast and +of good courage!<a class="pagenum" name="page_318" id="page_318" title="318"></a></p> + +<p>"Look you, Joseph, even now she stands, Immaculate One, radiant upon her +height, searching, with fearless eyes, our hearts, and those of that +multitude that kneel, and lift their arms to her in supplication!—And +some can raise their eyes to hers and smile; and some—look you, alas, +how many!—must shrink and cower away beneath the scrutiny before which +no deception will avail.—Those now withdraw themselves, to begin their +bitter journey backward and down—down to their native Philistia: but +never again will they rejoice among their fellows, for they have beheld +that which has lifted them far towards the stars; and the companionship +of clods must be hateful to them even in their fall.—But the rest, oh +Joseph, see how they are gathered into those great mother-arms, and +given comfort and good courage, power to continue on their upward way, +strength to fight all battles, face all mockery, kill all slander, till +the day dawns when they shall receive both the homage of the low, and +the loving applause of the Most High; when they shall sit enthroned, +wearing the double crown of man and of God.</p> + +<p>"Oh Priest, oh Painter, such is our Law."</p> + +<p>Ivan, moved beyond himself, struggled slowly out of the vision in which +he had been enwrapped, his mind still soaring in regions of the +imagination, where melodies sky-born did, indeed, surround him. But his +return to earth came with a quick shock. When at length his reluctant +hands fell from the keys, Ivan turned, instinctively, to the couch where +the stranger lay. The gaunt form there was motionless, the head thrown +back upon the pillows, one hand hanging limply to the floor. Something +in the attitude, and the faint sound of quiet, regular breathing, +brought a flood of scarlet over Ivan's face. The Pole's lips were parted +in an angelic smile. Joseph the painter was fast asleep!</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_319" id="page_319" title="319"></a> +<a name="HERITAGE_9901" id="HERITAGE_9901"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>HERITAGE</h3> +</div> + +<p>When he woke next morning, and the unusual incidents of the day before +came back to him one by one, Ivan's sense of mortification at his +self-abandonment in the evening had but one saving grace: the fact that +Joseph had slept through his impulsive and extravagant fantasy. But +unhappily, as it presently appeared, this supposition proved a mistake. +The youth had certainly heard part of his rescuer's parable; though how +much Ivan did not attempt to discover, in his embarrassment at finding +himself burdened with a disciple who very evidently believed him a +world-famous man.</p> + +<p>First of all Ivan set to work to assure himself of the truth of the +young man's story; and, this being proved, next sought his friends' +advice about establishing him somewhere in the neighborhood of the big +art-school where he had worked, (which, as a matter of fact, happens to +be the best in Russia); meantime giving him the wherewithal to live till +his course was finished.</p> + +<p>Unquestionably, Joseph had been in a state of abject destitution. His +rooms were bare of every salable object save the cheapest of necessary +toilet articles, and a rather extravagant color-box and set of brushes. +But this fact of his having refused to sacrifice the implements of his +art, put a final touch to Ivan's growing friendship for and belief in +the plucky boy who had suffered as he had suffered for love of his work. +For one week Joseph remained in Ivan's rooms. At the end of this time +he,<a class="pagenum" name="page_320" id="page_320" title="320"></a> now fairly well recovered from the effects of his long privation, +removed to the new rooms provided for him by Ivan, Nicholas Rubinstein, +and four or five more intimates who had become interested in the young +fellow's career. With these rooms, of which the rent for three months +was already paid, went a purse of five hundred roubles:—far more than +enough, Joseph protested, to keep him during the ten months that would +elapse before the autumn <i>salon</i> which would, he hoped, exhibit his +first picture.</p> + +<p>The young Pole made no trouble about accepting this help from his sudden +friends. Nevertheless, his gratitude was well-expressed and patently +sincere. Nicholas Rubinstein alone, felt some secret, uncorroborated +doubts about the character of the boy; but he was too doubtful of his +perceptions not to abuse even his own <i>alter ego</i> for a pessimistic +cynic. And when, within the month, he received from the protégé a small +portrait of himself, in which the likeness was so striking that it +excused every fault of execution, he tried hard to take Joseph to his +genial heart as, years ago, he had taken Ivan, on sight.</p> + +<p>Every member of the group who had helped him received similar testimony +of the stranger's gratitude. But of them all only the picture of Ivan, a +pastel, in which the face alone was thrown out by the light of a red +lamp, and the rest of the figure, seated at a piano, remained deep in +shadow, was in any way remarkable for its execution. This, however, +impressionistic though it is, remains to this day the one thoroughly +characteristic portrait of Gregoriev; albeit in later life he sat for, +and at the request of, three great artists. This little picture, +however, being recognized as something remarkable, went into the <i>salon</i> +in the following October, and received the first medal for +pastels—completely overtopping the more elaborate oil which had also +been<a class="pagenum" name="page_321" id="page_321" title="321"></a> accepted, and which got a mention.—Truly, the Pole's second start +in life bade fair to be as sensationally successful as his first had +been unhappy.</p> + +<p>Joseph once settled and happily at work, Ivan went back to his own +routine again in excellent spirits. Now and then he saw the young man, +who regarded him, as Ivan could not but know, as his benefactor, his +self-constituted guardian and adviser. Ivan was himself a man of so much +individuality and independence that he failed to understand Joseph as +one of those who cannot live without leaning, if not for help, at least +for constant encouragement, on some one else. Ivan had, indeed, +perceived that a little vein of weakness ran side by side with the +peculiar spirituality of the Pole. But so beyond his own nature was this +combination, that it never entered his head to watch and guard the young +fellow as he might have done had he understood. Perhaps, in this way, +Joseph's gift might have been saved to the world. But fate grants much +help to no man; and when Ivan's eyes were opened, it was already too +late. This did not come about, however, until, in the spring of the year +1871, something had happened to change Gregoriev's mode of life almost +as completely as he had altered that of the waif thrown up at his door +out of the troubled sea of the Akheskaia.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was now twelve years since the youth Ivan, graduated from his four +penitential years of military schooling, had taken his first long flight +from Moscow, northward, into the joyous unknown: twelve years since he +had put behind him all that half-comprehended blackness of evil and grim +unhappiness that had weighted his boyhood with vague premonitions of +coming disaster. Indeed, had he been told, at the hour of his going, +that he should never again know a month of life in the same house with +his father, he would have been possessed by a secret joy.<a class="pagenum" name="page_322" id="page_322" title="322"></a> Not so, +however, Prince Michael. Nothing in all his merciless life had hurt this +man of shadows like the defection of his son. Nor did the rolling years +soften the sting of loss. Rather, as, little by little, the mantle of +loneliness was drawn closer and closer about him, muffling him at last +even from contact with the companions of his relaxation and license, the +hardness and the bitterness in him increased, till something of it was +surmised even by the jackals that served him. Still, of the processes of +that strange nature, no one in the world knew much. His high position, +held against all rivals by power of fear, naturally brought him into +contact with officialdom, from Czar down to police-sergeant. But from +every man he got the same species of servility, fawning or inimical, +born of guilty knowledge of Michael's hieroglyphic map and his +relentless use of it. And this attitude of the world, encouraged though +it was by its recipient, bred in him no desire for intimacy with any of +his kind, but only a half-indifferent, lazily calculating, contempt.</p> + +<p>There had been a time when certain of his private +occupations—interviews with personages of wealth or influence, cryptic +conversations, resulting always, however defiant the beginning, in the +same grovelling pleas and promises—had amused and interested the cynic +most mightily: been the cream of his labors, indeed. But latterly even +these scenes had palled; and it came to him with a faint shock of +surprise that he was beginning to remember with relief those few +occasions on which such talks had ended, by reason, truly, of some mere +wanton freak, in unconditional release.—Preposterous indeed that the +only acts of his life hitherto viewed with self-contempt, were beginning +to seem the only ones bearable to remember!</p> + +<p>His wife, a woman for whom he had had a certain tolerant affection, but +no respect, he had probably not greatly mourned. Of friendship with his +equals, he<a class="pagenum" name="page_323" id="page_323" title="323"></a> knew nothing. So, of sheer necessity, all the personal +interest of his last years had been centered in the career of his +banished son.—And ah! How he had suffered through that son! No other +blow devised by man or God could have touched him save just the disgrace +and downfall of Ivan in Petersburg. During the months immediately +following the court-martial, the palace in Konnaia Square had been the +abode of a fiend incarnate. Servants slunk from room to room in terror +of their very lives; and the Governor-General, an Imperial Highness, had +looked forward with dire dread to his occasional necessary visits to the +chief of the Third Section. This lasted throughout the summer. Then, in +the autumn, had come sudden opportunity for vengeance, of a sort, on +Ivan's persecutor, Colonel Brodsky, whose disgrace and exile were +achieved with marvellous swiftness, and who died, fifteen years later, +in the horrible mines of Kara. Not until midwinter, however, did Prince +Michael's agents receive orders to locate, watch, and make report on the +condition of his son. It took some weeks before Ivan, half-starved, +badly clothed, living like a day-laborer, was discovered in his garret +on Vassily Island. Help was not proffered. But never again did Michael +lose sight of the young man.</p> + +<p>In the succeeding years, the Prince watched the growing career of his +son with a mingled passion of anger, pride, humiliation, relief, and a +mighty, uncontrollable eagerness. As, slowly, wearily, beset with every +difficulty, Ivan climbed, round by round, the ladder of his chosen +profession, his father noted his progress far more accurately than he +himself. And when at last Michael was forced to realize that the younger +Gregoriev had come to a distinction almost as marked as, and infinitely +more respected than, his own, the grim-souled Prince felt himself torn +by an almost unbearable emotion, half delight, half remorseful pain. +For, all unconsciously,<a class="pagenum" name="page_324" id="page_324" title="324"></a> the musician stood a living reproach to the +father whose ambition had found no better road to celebrity than that of +trickery, dishonesty, blackmail,—all-unscrupulousness; while the boy, +by personal sacrifice and hard and honorable labor, had reached the same +end many years earlier.</p> + +<p>A pity, perhaps, that his father's inmost heart should have gone forever +unfathomed by Ivan. But deep down in the son's nature lay the sting of +Michael's desertion in the hour of his great need. That strange +interview held between them on the night of the students' capture, had +done no more to soften the relationship between them than had the money +sent to Ivan on one or two occasions when it had not been greatly +needed. As to the interview, indeed, it was only Ivan who came out +unscathed; for the ring of Ivan's laugh—that cruel laugh which Michael +had understood far better than Ivan himself—sounded for many a month in +the official's ears; and for a time he denied himself his greatest, but +unacknowledged, delight. For three months he kept away from the opera on +Ivan's nights, thereby suffering incredibly.</p> + +<p>Many another incident showing the possibility of reconciliation between +the two might be recounted; but none brought result; and, in fact, till +the very end, a mocking fate kept the two apart.</p> + +<p>In the January of 1872, Michael Gregoriev entered upon his +seventy-fourth year. Up to this time he had held his age back in the +leash of an iron will. Death was, to him, the one unconquerable terror; +and he was determined to hold it off as long as human mortality might. +To the danger of personal attack in which he hourly dwelt, he was +absolutely indifferent. But with the least suggestion of physical +suffering, the thought of the relentless approach of that blank +nothingness of death gripped him till his brow grew cold, and his limbs +trembled.<a class="pagenum" name="page_325" id="page_325" title="325"></a></p> + +<p>Up to the Christmas of that year he had kept the appearance of a man in +his fifties. Then, quite suddenly, his failure began. He was himself +aware of it in December. By the end of January it was the great topic of +the kitchen. In mid-lent the Governor remarked upon it to the +Governor-General;—and hope began to stir in a hundred hearts: hope of a +long despaired-of release from the terrors of an invincible blackmail.</p> + +<p>Up to the middle of March he managed to get about alone. But as the +breath of spring began to make itself perceptible in the icy air, +Michael was forced secretly to realize that will and body were on the +verge of divorce. On the afternoon of March 13th, his sleigh was +announced, ready to drive him across the city to a council with his +colleagues of the police. His furs—cap and coat—were up-stairs in his +bedroom. Piotr delayed answering his ring. At the end of five minutes +the Prince, raging like a school-boy, left the house coatless, wearing +only a common felt hat, and in that guise drove for more than two miles +in the open <i>troika</i>. It was a performance not unique; but it was +destined to be his last.</p> + +<p>Prince Michael was carried home from the council and put to bed, burning +with fever. Two days later the whole city sat awaiting the six-hour +bulletins that recounted the state of the mysterious official, whose +attack of double pneumonia was as serious as it was sudden. The notice +of the morning of April 3d read thus:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"His Excellency has passed a critical night, and this morning it is +feared that there is slight hope of recovery."</p></div> + +<p>By noon of that day Ivan was speeding across the city in his father's +sleigh, with Piotr, who had been sent for him, at his side.</p> + +<p>During the drive, Ivan did not speak. By this time he had somewhat +recovered from the shock of the news of three days before. But Piotr's +word that his father<a class="pagenum" name="page_326" id="page_326" title="326"></a> was actually dying, brought up those thoughts +which, hitherto, he had resolutely refused to consider. And, as his mind +wavered through innumerable irrelevant subjects, he was subconsciously +wondering why, in all the years of his banishment, the possibility of +reinstatement and the inheritance of that enormous fortune, had never +once entered his head. That his casting-off had been final, he had not +doubted. Who had known Michael Gregoriev to forgive?—And now—even now, +how could he have the faintest assurance that this summons meant +forgiveness?—No. His watchword must still be:—Wait.</p> + +<p>When at last the flying vehicle halted at the familiar portal, the heavy +door swung open on the instant, and Ivan found himself facing a +sharp-eyed, lean-jawed man of forty-five, who announced himself one of +the doctors in attendance, and begged "his Excellency" to come up-stairs +at once. Marvelling at the form of address and the vast respect of him +who had used it, Ivan followed, docilely, and soon found himself in the +antechamber to one of the state bedrooms, in which, it appeared, Prince +Michael had been installed. Here the stranger halted, and proceeded to +give Ivan the details of his father's condition. These were of the +worst; and Dr. Fröl Pavaniev strove in no way to make them appear +better.—It was a peculiar form of flattery, but one heretofore used +with excellent effect.—Ivan, however, failed to appreciate it; and +presently pushed past the pessimist, flung open the bedroom door, +and—paused. A sound had reached his ears that struck him to the heart: +a high, feeble, gasping wail, that was repeated again and again. Ivan +shuddered, and immediately the smooth voice whispered in his ear:</p> + +<p>"It is merely his breathing.—The lungs are nearly filled you see; and +his weakness is too great to repress the sound. However, we must not +expect—"<a class="pagenum" name="page_327" id="page_327" title="327"></a></p> + +<p>But once more Ivan shook off the unbearable man, and walked into the +room. It was a great, tapestried chamber, dusky in the early +candle-light, furnished with heavily carved chairs and chests, and a +huge, four-posted bed. In a distant corner stood a man bending over a +tiny oil-stove, and stirring the contents of a steaming dish that stood +thereon. Beside the bed was a sister of mercy, with the white coif on +her smooth hair, her white robes girdled at the waist by a rosary which +she fingered, mechanically. Finally, in the bed, shaded by curtains +which, on one side, were drawn tight, on the other thrust wide apart, +lay the huge form from which issued those ceaseless, sobbing breaths.</p> + +<p>Ivan remained standing a little way beyond the threshold till Pavaniev +entered and passed him, and the sister looked around. Then, for an +instant, the wailing ceased, and was replaced by a high, wavering, +querulous voice, that none would have dreamed of as belonging to Michael +Gregoriev.</p> + +<p>"He is come?—Ivan?—Bring him to me!"</p> + +<p>Only then did the other doctor turn and perceive the new-comer. He did +not summon him, however, but hurriedly poured his decoction into a cup +and carried it to the bed. Then followed whispered words, the slow +administration of the draught, and some further performance requiring +the united efforts of the nurse and both doctors. Afterwards, all three +drew away, and Ivan felt himself called. At once he was at the bedside, +gazing down upon the fever-ravaged face, with its stubble of beard and +the shock of white hair beneath which the cavernous eyes glowed and +burned with something of their old fierceness.</p> + +<p>"Ivan!" whispered the hoarse and feeble voice.</p> + +<p>A rush of pity overwhelmed the son, and, for the moment, to his own +amazement, he could not speak. Instead, he lifted and pressed to his +cheek one of the<a class="pagenum" name="page_328" id="page_328" title="328"></a> burning hands. At that moment the nun placed a chair +for him, whispering, adroitly, that strychnine had been given, that in a +few minutes Prince Gregoriev would be much stronger, and that she, with +the doctors, would remain in the antechamber awaiting his summons. Then, +evidently by command, the three left the room, and Ivan was alone with +his dying father.</p> + +<p>For thirty-five minutes the hired attendants waited in the anteroom, +before they were called by the white-faced son of their rebellious and +powerful patient. Ivan emerged from the sick-room, motioned the three to +go in, and then himself passed swiftly out and made his way down to his +father's office, whither Piotr the omniscient presently brought a little +<i>déjeuner</i> and a bottle of champagne—of Imperial vintage. Ivan drank +rather eagerly, but touched no food. The revelations of the last, +emotional half-hour had affected him to a point of exhaustion. For, +though no priest of the Orthodox Church had been summoned to the +Gregoriev palace, its master had made his confession—fully, without +reservation,—to his son. All his life lay bare before the mental gaze +of Ivan, who had in his pocket the slip of parchment containing the key +to the cipher of the famous map—that marvellous biographical history of +Russia which must always be a fortune of untold magnitude to its +possessor. For there was many a man in the white empire who would have +offered a million roubles for its destruction on the day of Michael's +death; and there were yet others who would have given double the sum for +its possession;—both of which facts Ivan had surmised. And Ivan knew +also, now, that this treasure was but as one gold piece in a mint. He +had been left his father's sole heir; and a few hours more would see him +one of the wealthiest Princes in Europe. Strange, then, that, as he +reflected on these things, there was no joy in his heart, but,<a class="pagenum" name="page_329" id="page_329" title="329"></a> rather, +sensations of revolt and horror, flaming against a background of +dreariness unspeakable: the combination forming an emotion the memory of +which caused this day to stand out from its fellows draped in midnight +darkness.</p> + +<p>It was afternoon before the young man reascended to the antechamber, +where Pavaniev greeted him with the report: "Great exhaustion, lapsing +from semi to total unconsciousness." Any attempt at rousing might +possibly prove fatal.—Was there any message?—No?—Then one could but +wait.—These things were, indeed, most trying. And so Ivan seated +himself on a bench against the wall in the dark little room, to wait.</p> + +<p>There come to most lives certain periods of crisis, when the violence of +shock drives away every commonplace thought or remembrance; when the +mind seems a comparative blank, and time ceases to have any meaning. For +an instant, or an hour, a mortal gazes out upon the void of eternity. So +was it with Ivan, to-day. He sat for the most part huddled in a chair, +lost in depths of the past, the strangeness of the present, the blank of +the morrow. Memories of the last, agonizing, saintly hours of his +mother's life, mingled themselves with remorse for his present numb +indifference. A chaos of thoughts and dreams followed, bringing up +detached visions of the various periods of his life. In the midst of +them he was summoned to another meal; and he followed Piotr docilely to +the table, this time trying to force a little food between his lips.</p> + +<p>It did not occur to him to re-enter the bedroom;—afterwards he wondered +why. Neither, however, did he think of going to bed. Numberless people +were calling at the palace for information:—among them the +Governor-General, who came in person. Ivan, however, saw no one; and by +ten o'clock the house was wrapped in a vast silence. Piotr came to tell +the heir<a class="pagenum" name="page_330" id="page_330" title="330"></a> that his old room was prepared; but Ivan still sat beside the +fire, smoking, lost in vague conjectures. It was as well that he had not +gone to bed. Precisely at midnight—the ghostly hour—the older doctor +came quietly in to him.</p> + +<p>"Your Excellency, I regret to inform you that your father, Prince +Michael, passed from us five minutes ago."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>At ten o'clock on the following morning Ivan, quiet, self-possessed, +entirely himself again, came down to the small drawing-room for his +morning tea. He knew that a mountain of work lay before him; though +there were people enough to execute his orders. But the only command +which the obsequious Piotr could extract from the young Prince was this:</p> + +<p>"Till twelve o'clock I will neither speak to nor see a single person. At +that hour have the whole household assembled in the state drawing-room." +Only this bit of news could the excited valet of the dead Prince carry +out to the kitchen; but the effect of his announcement was to send every +servant, male and female, scudding across the court to their own +building, to prepare themselves for the inspection of the new master.</p> + +<p>Ivan, meantime, was occupying himself with the one matter which must be +concealed from all the throng of executors, lawyers and officials of +administration, by which he would presently be surrounded. During the +night he had pondered on what was to be done concerning the affair of +which his father had spoken at such length. And by now his course was +chosen; his way looked clear; his mother, from on high, seemed smiling +down on him in loving approval.</p> + +<p>At half-past ten he stood alone in that sanctum which was to know its +grim master no more. Behind him was a locked door; before him, the huge +map, now entirely covered with the minute black figures that +constituted<a class="pagenum" name="page_331" id="page_331" title="331"></a> the life-misery of many a respected malefactor;—that map +which Grand-Dukes had prayed to look upon, and which, saving Piotr, and +twice, in his boyhood, Ivan, no human eye but its creator's had ever +seen.</p> + +<p>Before this sinister cipher stood Michael's son; and in his hand was the +little slip of parchment by means of which he was to read the strange +secrets of his father's rise and position. For some minutes Ivan stood +debating within himself as to his right to read so much as a fragment of +this condemnatory document. If he began, what great name might not +become forever dishonored in his thoughts?—Bah!—What need to fear for +good men, after all? With a cynical shrug, he advanced to where the +parchment hung; and then, referring each second to his key, began to +read at the top of one of the narrow columns. After fifteen minutes, he +drew the great table across the room, pulled pencil and paper towards +him, and set to work systematically. It was an hour before he had +translated the following disjointed items:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<i>March 18, 1832</i>: Contract for new outfits of line regiments Nos. +87-8-9 and 90, granted to C—— A—— (one of the Grand-Dukes). +Perquisites understood, 30,000 roubles. Actual per. 280,000 +roubles: all cloth, arms, and ammunitions being lowered two grades. +Suspect Count A—— of complicity. Not proved. Remonstrance from +H—— E—— overruled."</p> + +<p>"<i>December, 1853.</i> Indictment prepared, November 11th, for inquiry +into recent deaths of Prince D—— and his heir, attributed to +poisoning, by person or persons unknown (?). November 20th, +Princess D—— engaged in secret service work for Alexis G——. +November 26th. This day investigation dropped; reconsidered verdict +states poisoning to have been by sterlet caviar. Public feeling +high. Note: Wait definite development. Try woman first."</p></div> + +<p>Over these typical paragraphs Ivan sat for some time. They were what he +had expected.—He himself, indeed, remembered well enough the D—— +scandal, and the subsequent disappearance of the notorious Princess, +who<a class="pagenum" name="page_332" id="page_332" title="332"></a> had been her husband's second wife, and had hated the heir that +took precedence of her own son.—Had Gregoriev finally exposed her? or +had accident taken from Prince Michael this hold upon a powerful +minister, and one of the greatest beauties of her +time?—Faugh!—Sickening, indeed, this wretched system of blackmail, +more systematic, daring and successful than ever blackmail had been +before!—That map! Good Heaven! What further revelations might it not +contain?—What great name of Russia was absent from it?—Crime, +intrigue, peculation, faithlessness, treachery, treason—by these sins +of others had his father risen to his position and his wealth. Trusting +to the ever-renewed baseness, cupidity, passion of humankind, and their +cowardice in the possibility of discovery, Michael had known that his +sources of revenue would never fail, his victims never rebel. So much, +indeed, he had openly acknowledged. His defence had been: "No innocent +person could ever be touched by me. One mistake on my part, and I should +be lost. Whatever I may have done, Ivan, know that I have never been the +coward, never the remorseless traitor, that my victims are and have +been." And the man who could say this, the man who had taken pride in +his skilful manipulation of the world's evil, and had used it all his +life, had been his own <i>father</i>!</p> + +<p>Little by little Ivan's rising emotions of shame and repudiation had +grown into an excitement of righteous anger. All the blood in his body +seemed to have rushed to his brain and to have remained there, +throbbing. Before his mental eyes rose mental pictures of the events in +his father's life: deeds of dishonor unregretted, that ate poisonously +into Ivan's sensitive intelligence. The fearful significance of the +foundations of the enormous wealth that had come to him; its foul +sources, its beginnings laid in filth, in deeds of blackness known to +men and left unrebuked through fear, came upon him,<a class="pagenum" name="page_333" id="page_333" title="333"></a> as it were, for the +first time. In this mood he sprang to his feet, hands shaking, eyes +ablaze, in his soul such a rage as he had never been subject to. For an +instant he stood wavering, gone blind and sick with the fury of his +shame. Then, with a hoarse and guttural cry, he threw himself at the +wall, snatched the great map from its fastenings, and tore, and tore, +and trampled and tore again, till that long record of Russia's +corruption lay scattered at his feet, a pile of crushed and crumpled +bits of the vellum that had been chosen because of its +indestructibility!</p> + +<p>When the mood passed, as suddenly as it had risen, Ivan sank weakly back +into a chair, trembling, and gazing blankly at his bruised and bleeding +hands. He was in this state still when, to his astonishment and +displeasure, there came a knock at the door.—Had the years of his +father's discipline been obliterated in a single night?—What could +Piotr be about, thus to disobey his first command?—What!—Was the knock +repeated?</p> + +<p>It was a stern and angry master that shot back the bolts of the door and +opened it by half an inch. And it was a very humble voice that addressed +him from without:</p> + +<p>"May the Prince pardon his servant!—What choice had I? His Imperial +Highness the Governor-General commands your Excellency's presence. He is +in the outer office."</p> + +<p>Struck though he was by the condescension of such a visit, Ivan +hesitated. Then, with a gesture of impatience, he came out, ignored +Piotr's exclamation at sight of his bleeding hands, and locked the door +after him, following his father's example of putting the key in his +pocket. In one moment he was standing in the presence of the uncle of +the Czar.</p> + +<p>The Grand-Duke's greeting was gracious in the extreme; and five minutes +of condolences and conventionalities passed between them before Ivan, +driven by the recollection<a class="pagenum" name="page_334" id="page_334" title="334"></a> of infinite work to be begun, precipitated +that subject to which his Highness was troublously leading up.</p> + +<p>"The graciousness of your Imperial Highness does my father much honor. +At the same time, realizing the value of your time, it emboldens me to +refer to a matter that may seem to you unduly personal. I am beginning +the adjustment of my father's private papers, that all matters may be in +perfect order for his successor in office. Now if there is—"</p> + +<p>"My dear Prince, this brings us capitally to the second object of my +visit this morning. You are indeed most thoughtful. As it happens, I am +myself—hum—ha—interested in this matter of—You must understand that +I knew your father intimately, for many years. Having the highest +respect for his ability, I took him into my inmost confidence +on—hum!—many affairs.—So, my dear Prince Gregoriev, I will come +straight to my point. You have it in your power to do me the highest +favor. Among your father's personal documents, or somewhere, in some +form, among his papers, there is something relating wholly to me: a few +brief notes regarding an old, and quite unofficial, transaction which, +now that your father is so unhappily lost to us, would be nearly or +entirely incomprehensible and valueless to any one save myself. But to +me, that paper happens to be of some moment: so much so, indeed, that +really no recompense for your trouble in obtaining it for me would be +too great for you to ask. Whatever office might most appeal to you—"</p> + +<p>"Your Imperial Highness will pardon me if I request permission to answer +you in deeds rather than words? Will you do me the honor to come with +me?"</p> + +<p>The Governor-General sprang to his feet. Ivan, without speaking, led the +way back to dead Michael's inner room, into which the Grand-Duke +preceded him, his eyes falling at once upon the litter on the floor.<a class="pagenum" name="page_335" id="page_335" title="335"></a></p> + +<p>The royal visitor turned silently to his host; and Ivan, answering his +look, said, slowly, without royal formalities, but as man to man:</p> + +<p>"The sole condition that I must impose, and which, for your sake as well +as <i>his</i> memory, you will grant, is absolute silence regarding what I +have to say to you here.—Have I your promise?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely: upon the honor of my house and station!"</p> + +<p>"The details of the incident to which you have referred, sir, I do not +know; but the paper containing it does not lie among my father's +documents. It, with many hundreds of such notes, was written upon a huge +sheet of vellum which hung on the wall of this, my father's private +room. Of the use he made of those notes, we shall not speak.—You were +not alone by more than a thousand men and women.—Yesterday, before his +death, I was given the cipher key to this document, and was urged to +continue his use of it."</p> + +<p>The Governor-General gave a slight, involuntary groan.</p> + +<p>"How I carried out that wish, you may see for yourself, sir. The whole +of that infamous document lies there, on the floor, before you. Within +one hour those shreds will be in ashes."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"And your reward, Ivan Mikhailovitch?—What can I make you?—What have I +to give you?"</p> + +<p>"Two things, your Imperial Highness: first, your hand—to me! Secondly, +if possible, your forgiveness,—at least, not too much condemnation—of +the crimes of him who was my father."</p> + +<p>But the Grand-Duke Dmitri, faulty though he might be, had not the vice +of utter ingratitude. In that hour, and for the rest of his life, there +was no exertion of power or strength that he would not have made for the +man who had voluntarily freed him from the yoke which, for years, had +been forcing him<a class="pagenum" name="page_336" id="page_336" title="336"></a> ever lower and lower towards the soil. He left Ivan's +house that day with twenty years fallen from his face and his heart. One +week later a royal messenger entered Prince Gregoriev's presence, +leaving in his hand a little packet, which was found to contain one of +the great honors of Russia:—the white-and-gold cross of St. George, +bestowed only on one who has performed a deed of surpassing personal +heroism.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It took nearly three months to dissolve every vestige of the world that +had once revolved round Michael Gregoriev. At the end of that time there +was a new chief of the Third Section in Moscow, who dwelt far on the +other side of the Moskva. Thus the great palace on Konnaia Square opened +no longer to receive the great dignitaries of the mother-city: nor rang +to any sounds of revelry by night. The formidable suite in the east wing +was closed; for the new Prince dwelt up-stairs, in rooms that had been +his mother's. The palace routine knew little state. The staff of +servants had been cut in twain; but old Sósha was again in the house of +his youth, having first superintended the removal of the furniture from +Ivan's old rooms to the palace: articles gathered, one by one, during +the years of Ivan's long struggle, and so endeared to him forever. The +grand Érard, which had been his one great extravagance, stood in the new +studio between two high windows. And about it Ivan's new life revolved, +dreamwise, for a time. Indeed, Piotr and Sósha and a handful of their +fellows, used to weep with the weakly sentiment of age, as they served +their young master in the rooms that had witnessed the long tragedy of +their beloved Lady Sophia, who had been his mother, and whose gentle +presence, outliving the wild individuality of her lord, still haunted +the house for them as for Ivan.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_337" id="page_337" title="337"></a> +<a name="JOSEPH_THE_SOWER_10480" id="JOSEPH_THE_SOWER_10480"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>JOSEPH THE SOWER</h3> +</div> + +<p>Ivan's new life was monotonous enough, uneventful enough, but singularly +tranquil. The spring this year had brought not so much a quickening of +life as a soothing sense of relief, relaxation, and a lazy contentment +of mind. For the first time in years, Ivan felt absolutely at ease on +the subject of money: knew no uncertainty as to future raiment, and food +and shelter. True, the acquisition of wealth had brought him a loss of +companionship: one never openly proclaimed, but perhaps, for that +reason, the more keenly felt. In June, at the end of the year's work, +Ivan resigned his professorship at the Conservatoire, secretly glorying +in the prospect of thenceforward being free to devote himself wholly to +his own affairs. The resignation put him still further beyond the old +pale of intimacy with composers, painters and writers: the cream of that +intellectual and artistic Bohemia of which he had so long been an +esteemed citizen. In mind, he was unchanged. But a millionaire Prince +<i>and</i> a genius to boot!—It was a combination too fortunate for the +toleration of any class. Where Fate gives too lavishly, man strives to +even things up for the spoiled darling of Heaven:—and usually succeeds +uncommonly well. Envy, jealousy, injustice,—these Ivan believed he had +known already. He found himself mistaken. It seemed now that not one +friend would remain loyal. Anton wrote a sneering and malicious letter +from Paris, purporting to congratulate.<a class="pagenum" name="page_338" id="page_338" title="338"></a> Laroche openly mourned. +Ugly-faced, big-hearted Balakirev shook his convict head +melancholy-wise. Even Nicholas and Kashkine could only hope, +halfheartedly, that, despite his wealth, Ivan would stick to his work +out of the inward necessity: the <i>divine driving</i> of the great artist.</p> + +<p>Autumn justified the faithful. From the leisure of Monsieur Gregoriev, +came his second ballet—"The Enchantress"—a series of rhythmical minor +melodies in the most delicate of the composer's moods; a military +overture, which was one long series of tempestuously mounting climaxes, +built on the theme of the Russian battle-hymn; six songs to poems of +Heine, with piano accompaniment; and, finally, the third of his +symphonies, declared by Balakirev too technical, as more resembling a +clever experiment in orchestral possibilities, than a serious effort in +the most rigid of classical forms.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, despite these flat disprovals of the accusations made +against Ivan by his oldest friends, the summer's work did little to +soften the feeling between the millionaire Prince and his scoffing +fellow-workmen. Their cry now was: Who was he to step in between the +fame, nay, the very bread, of men obliged to live by their work? Humph! +He should see! It should be made very plain to him that neither wealth +nor money could avail to win him entrance into the sanctums of +art!—him, the greatest, the only great, artist of them all! Ah! Bitter +indeed was the fresh humiliation he encountered: knowledge that, while +his music was beginning to be sought for by every orchestra in Europe, +Russia would suddenly have none of him! Nicholas Rubinstein fought his +losing battles somewhat daunted by the constant cries of "hypocrite" and +"toad-eater." Kashkine filled foreign journals with his praises. +Useless! Henceforth, for many years, the concerts at the Moscow theatre, +now under the baton of<a class="pagenum" name="page_339" id="page_339" title="339"></a> Laroche, knew Gregoriev's name no more: until +that day, indeed, when, with his last and supreme effort, by means of +the sheer force of his genius, Ivan overrode them all, broke every +barrier down, and, winning victory unconditional, became at last the +boast and the glory of the Russian musical world. But it was also out of +this victory that Fate got her bitterest laugh at her puppet plaything. +For death and fame ran neck and neck for his goal; and the race ended +with fame four lengths behind.</p> + +<p>Meantime, however, even in the midst of this first battle with his +compatriots, Ivan and they were to meet one last time on neutral ground, +under the white flag of truce. This was on the occasion of +varnishing-day at the <i>salon</i> of native painters—Russians and Poles; +where were exhibited works by men <i>hors concours</i>, together with those +of advanced students: both classes being required to pass an +incorruptible committee of twelve, who spared neither veteran nor tyro. +Hither, on the artists' day, came Ivan and his former circle, to enjoy +the success of a young Polish student, whose three pictures—two oils +and a pastel portrait, were destined to become the sensation of the +exhibit.</p> + +<p>The afternoon was a happy one. The little group about Joseph made common +cause of rejoicing over the work of their protégé. And, in later months, +Ivan, sore wounded, came to remember these hours as the last of the old, +free life of careless poverty, with its untold wealth of comradeship.</p> + +<p>Certainly Joseph's much-lauded work <i>was</i> good. There could be no +question of that. The boy's talent was pronounced, his style highly +individual, his conceptions normal, unimpressionistic, but beautifully +his own. One of his oils represented a peasant-girl of the south, +leaning upon a black fence, looking off into her own gray future, with +that wistful, patient gaze so common<a class="pagenum" name="page_340" id="page_340" title="340"></a> to the low-class Russian. The +background was a shadowy suggestion of steppe farm-land, unobtrusively +implying vast distances of bluish-gray. The other work, more pretentious +in subject but even more severely simple in treatment, was that of a +woman of fashion, seated by a table on which stood a lighted lamp, the +glow from which shone full upon her joy-lit face, on the +sewing-materials scattered about her, and on the little garment, newly +finished, which she was examining.</p> + +<p>Joseph, his varnishing accomplished, stood about among groups of +flatterers, his ethereal face, framed in its pale-gold hair, betraying +very little of the elation that was tingling through him, as he listened +to the comments on his work made by these men who "understood." Still, +of all the extravagant words, not one meant to him so much as Ivan's +strong hand-clasp and his smiling:</p> + +<p>"It is worth the thousand-mile walk;—yes, and the starvation too, +Joseph, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>And Joseph bowed his head, in momentary, deep sincerity.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Nicholas Rubinstein was not wholly justified in his conclusion that +Joseph's manner to a poor and untitled Ivan would have lost the greater +part of its obsequiousness. Joseph did care for his benefactor, +honestly. But later in the afternoon there came a little incident which, +in some measure, bore out the old musician's instinctive scepticism. +Nearly every one in the room had gathered about one or another of the +samovar-tables, indulging in their favorite recreation of eating; and +busily talking shop. Ivan, however, still occupied with the work of his +protégé, remained seated before the smaller picture, comparing it with a +little, two-year-old sketch in oil which he had brought with him. +Presently Joseph moved towards him. Nicholas,<a class="pagenum" name="page_341" id="page_341" title="341"></a> watching, saw the young +fellow hesitate, palpably, for an instant, and then speak a few rapid, +low-voiced sentences into Ivan's ear. Ivan's face betrayed a strain of +surprise; but Nicholas saw the nod that accompanied his answer, and knew +that it meant assent—to what, he guessed. Later, when good-byes were +being said, Joseph was somewhat discomfited at the extreme chilliness of +the gruff old man, who had seen what Joseph imagined he had kept +absolutely invisible:—the passing of certain hundred-rouble notes from +Ivan's hand to his own:—Ivan could now so well afford to give!</p> + +<p>Late in the afternoon, when the young painter regained his own studio, +he threw himself upon his battered sofa with a sigh of relief that was +half-petulant. He had had an afternoon doubly successful; for he had +taken a long-contemplated plunge. In his pocket was another whole year +of frugality; or a month, one little month, of extravagance. His +question now was, which should it be? If he took a scholarship with +either of his pictures—and how they had been admired to-day!—there, in +itself, was a year's subsistence. Again, would not one or both the +pictures sell, at a good price? The whole wealth of Moscow would pass +through those rooms during the next month. Only take the fancy of a +wealthy man, or woman, and he might say good-bye forever to frugality: +to his whole life of unrelenting poverty.</p> + +<p>Ah, how he hated it, all those dreary little shifts that had formed the +laws of his life! How he yearned, how he longed, for a month of +carelessness concerning the state of his pocket!—But what a humiliation +to <i>ask</i> for money—even from great-hearted Ivan! Ivan, with his new +millions—why had he not offered something, instead of letting himself +be dunned? Truly, truly, Providence—<i>his</i> Providence, was a sorry jade! +Tricks enough she had certainly played him: him, to whom she<a class="pagenum" name="page_342" id="page_342" title="342"></a> had given +so enormous a secret capability for spending! With a crust for food, a +rag for his covering, a garret for shelter, she had endowed him with +artist-dreams of luxury, with every extravagant desire, and but one, +faint possibility of attainment. One, however, he had; together with a +higher ambition than that for material things. He longed for the best +sort of fame: was ready to do the best of work to gain it: provided only +it should also bring him wealth!—Perhaps, of all the contradictions +about this youth, the oddest was that, to those who knew him, his most +salient characteristic appeared to be, not one of his many weaknesses, +but his single, undying strength. Possibly, however, the explanation lay +in the fact, that Joseph himself did not realize the extent of his baser +nature. As yet his many thorns had in no wise hurt the single blossom. +All his weaknesses could not hide his strength. A little more, indeed, +and this strength might have grown till it hid all the rest, and formed +a safe refuge for him from himself.—Ah! Had that but been +possible!—How many geniuses have, indeed, come into the world only to +go out of it unfamed, unsuspected? How many have dropped down to hell +through the pitfalls of their own creation, and so been lost forever to +the world? Good God! How pitiful it is!—Turn we away.</p> + +<p>Joseph Kashkarin had many a plaint for his unfortunate lot. But the one +which came to tongue oftener than any other, was that which proclaimed +the red fires of the artist-flesh to burn within him, while he bemoaned +the fact that he had never yet found a woman worthy of his devotion. +Loudly did he bewail his over-fastidiousness; in which, nevertheless, he +secretly glorified. But now for so long had he mourned his loveless +estate, that, since of all the subjects of his brush woman was most +congenial to him, he had gradually come to lay every fault of his work, +crudeness of coloring, hardness<a class="pagenum" name="page_343" id="page_343" title="343"></a> of line, harshness of texture, finally, +his very conventionality of conception, to the door of his ignorance of +the grand passion, in which he expected to attain to his final +development. In the end, as might have been expected, Fate, wearying of +his everlasting complaint, became suddenly impatient, and set about +granting his desire with diabolical fulness.</p> + +<p>Joseph's peasant-girl took a mention, but no prize. Chilled by this and +by the unaccountable failure of either picture to sell, he laid away, +for the hour, his dreams of folly, and worked through the winter +steadfastly. At length, however, the gray cold wore itself away; and, +with the breath of the new spring, there came for Joseph desire +fulfilled, and an end of steadfastness for the rest of his life.</p> + +<p>Endless as the Russian winter seems, there does, at length, when hope is +dormant, come that quickening of nature when the green steppes break +through snowy coverlets, when swelling buds burst the last, thin +ice-films from the branches, and the melancholy peasant-chants come +nearer to the major key than at any other season. Now, also, was the +time when young blood rushes like sap through the veins, and artists' +dreams turn, irresistibly, to the greatest of their subjects. On such a +day it was that Joseph Kashkarin and Irina Petrovna came for the first +time face to face.</p> + +<p>Irina's reappearance in the city of her brother's fall, was made a year +or more after the battle in the Akheskaia. The history of the +twelvemonth of her hiding, lay buried in that oblivion that must shroud +frequent periods of lives like hers. It seemed destined that she should +flash, at intervals, across certain horizons, and never without bringing +to bear some momentary, powerful influence upon the life she illumined. +She was not, like some of her class, led by principles more or less +consistent and dependable: sordid greed for money;<a class="pagenum" name="page_344" id="page_344" title="344"></a> complete +selfishness; experienced heartlessness. To her own detriment, Bohemia +and penury could attract her as surely and as frequently as heavily +paid-for luxury. Contrast, indeed, constituted the one law of her +lawlessness. Without this, how had it been possible for that first +contact with the young painter to have filled her, instantaneously, with +the variable flame that had so often been her undoing?</p> + +<p>Mademoiselle Petrovna, a young person fairly notorious, by this time, +among the half-world of three or four Russian cities, was now living in +Moscow, perfectly protected by the patronage of the universally +connected, much-besought, Prince G——: a venerable personage of some +seventy winters, whose decorous mansion in the old Equerries' Quarter +was considerably better known than his <i>bijou maisonnette</i> in the +Fourmenny district, at present occupied by the young lady of whom he +ardently desired to possess a discreet portrait: one which, as an "ideal +figure" might safely decorate drawing-room or library in his ostensible +home. But in this affair, as in all other really desirable matters, +Prince G——easily perceived the difficulty of complete discretion. +Alas! To no famous brush dared he intrust his rather obvious commission. +And his search for a competent, yet unknown, artist, led him at last to +the studio of Monsieur Kashkarin, who had been recommended by the voice +of Fate speaking through the decorous tongue of the Academy director.</p> + +<p>Irina appeared upon the threshold of Joseph's modest studio clad from +top to toe in a billow of flaming scarlet: tulle and velvet and poppies +cunningly mingled, and well foiled by the solemn black of her escort's +formal garb. While the vision floated about the room examining the +various sketches and studies scattered over the walls, Joseph managed to +keep his head sufficiently to go through the necessary preliminaries<a class="pagenum" name="page_345" id="page_345" title="345"></a> +with his Excellency, who, a trifle nervous about his situation, and +convinced that no danger to his possession could possibly accrue through +this shy and boyish young artist, so plainly in the throes of poverty, +was much relieved when the matter of size and price had been settled and +he could take his departure, leaving Irina to her first sitting.</p> + +<p>As the door closed behind the well-padded back of her Prince, Irina's +indifference dropped from her like a cloak, and she returned to the +proximity of the intoxicated boy, captured his blue gaze with the +slumbrous fire of her Oriental eyes, and then laughed at him—and +laughed—and musically laughed, till the fire from his brain leaped to +his fingertips. Suddenly, commanding her, he flung his canvas on the +easel, seized his charcoal, and, completely misconstruing his own +sensations, began to draw her as she stood.</p> + +<p>The work of that hour was inspirational. In it, he accomplished more +than was done in the succeeding month. In the very beginning he managed, +unconsciously, to make Irina respect his talent. She saw all the best of +him, the finest of his power: which never before had flamed so high, and +was never to flame so high again. But Irina, filled from top to toe with +the <i>tempérament</i> that comprehends every vagary and something of genius, +watched the illumination of his face and eyes till she was beset with +high desire: till her present life, with its hollow luxury, its +spiceless ease, its savorless pretence, had become abominable to her. +Her heart was in the room wherein she stood, set all upon the man for +whom she posed: whose eye, as yet, looked upon her not as man but as +workman, who sought only the secret message in her written for his +brush.</p> + +<p>Through the first two hours, during which she alternately posed and +rested, the two of them spoke scarce one word. In the beginning, their +sensations were<a class="pagenum" name="page_346" id="page_346" title="346"></a> crudely formulative. But they rose, by degrees, till, +at the end, each was beset by a force so powerful that action had become +an impossibility. Their farewell ran thus:</p> + +<p>"When do you wish me again, Monsieur?"</p> + +<p>"When you can come, Madame."</p> + +<p>"In two days?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; in two days."</p> + +<p>"<i>Alors</i>—<i>au revoir!</i>"</p> + +<p>"<i>Au revoir</i>, Madame."</p> + +<p>Thus they entered upon the eight-and-forty hours that were to prepare +the storm of the next meeting which was to set upon them both the seal +of the inevitable. Well for Prince G—— that there came to him no +inkling of the scene which ended that second afternoon! Irina lay back +upon the artist's couch in the dreamy languor of her most dangerous +mood. Joseph knelt on the floor at her side, her hands clasped in his, +the broken, cryptic syllables of innermost intimacy already flowing +familiarly between them.—How it had come about, neither one of them +could possibly have told. But that night Joseph, sitting alone at his +high window gazing over the silvered city, knew at last that he had +entered into the kingdom: that, if he should live a thousand years, he +could never know again the pure emotion of the hours that were gone. He +sat there in the dusk, and his lips formed broken phrases—fragments of +the thoughts that swirled through his storm-ridden brain:</p> + +<p>"It has come!—It is here!—I am a true artist now.—Now, too, I am a +man.—Irina!—Irina!"</p> + +<p>And, alas! Joseph fully believed himself! He never knew that, had he +been in truth an artist now, those last words of his would have been: +"My work! My work!" For to those who hold the greatest gift, there is no +experience in life, from highest joy to highest sorrow, that is not +transmuted, in the crucible of the artist's brain, into some new form of +knowledge to be used in his labor.<a class="pagenum" name="page_347" id="page_347" title="347"></a> Such a one was Ivan, whom Nathalie +herself could only have served again and again to quicken into higher +and richer musical expression: to whom her loss had only meant many +years of minor melodies. Such a man as Ivan, Joseph still believed +himself to be. Slowly, inch by inch, with every step a form of torture, +was he to learn the truth.</p> + +<p>Thus abruptly, thus all unheralded, arrived Joseph's passion-time. In +the beginning, Irina came for her sittings twice or thrice in the week. +Then, driven by the force of their two natures, the visits became daily, +and there began, in the Fourmenny <i>maisonnette</i>, a system of shift and +subterfuge not wholly new to its mistress. None knew better than Irina +herself the inevitable end of this period of excuse and deception. But, +so long as Joseph continued to combine for her those qualities of +novelty, inexperience, and inexhaustible feeling that had seized so +firmly upon her imagination, she was reckless of discovery. After all, +her Prince was proving exceptionally stupid and complaisant. Her words +were gospel to him; and her frequent invisibility seemed only to whet +his appetite for to-morrow.</p> + +<p>Meantime Joseph, perfectly ignorant of his road, careless of the future, +enamoured of each passing hour, left Irina absolutely free so far as her +course was concerned. He himself, however, was neglecting his +professional duties. All the work he did was upon two portraits of her; +for he had decided to finish for himself that first, Carmen-like +creation so happily seized upon. Meantime, there was another for the +Prince; in which the too-vivid draperies were toned down to pinkish +clouds; the background left in misty indecision; and all his care +expended on the face: a face that presently looked forth from the canvas +with a gaze so startlingly lifelike, that Irina herself frequently +shivered at its uncanny reality.<a class="pagenum" name="page_348" id="page_348" title="348"></a></p> + +<p>No. There could be no doubt about the marvel of Joseph's present +technique. Yet, for all that, he had already lost something of his +former purity of style. And now, for six long months, he worked at +nothing but studies of the same subject; knowing only the criticisms of +Irina herself. The days of honest labor and study, the earnest +self-criticism and self-examination, were gone. For the moment he might +believe himself to be of the elect few. But the period was brief; and, +with the coming of the first cloud, the whole horizon suddenly grew +black.</p> + +<p>It was the early twilight of an October day. For the third or fourth +time, Irina had failed in her appointment, and Joseph, sitting alone, +waiting for the sound of her step, had drifted into a reverie concerning +himself and his summer's work. He was kneeling in the midst of a dusty +little group of last year's studies, regarding them with newly +contemplative eyes. Were they, after all, with all their muddy color and +uncertain composition, better—actually <i>better</i>, in the fundamentals +that count, than those two glorified forms that ruled the room?—For the +first time since the very beginning, he doubted: began to feel a +weariness of that garish sea of color, beside which the dull little +studies suddenly looked so quietly restful; so sincere.</p> + +<p>He had come thus far in his musing; and his face was troubled; his blue +eyes had darkened, when, suddenly, without warning, his door was flung +wide. The well-known, silken swish of skirts, a breath of the familiar +perfume of gown and hair and person, and then Irina—an Irina +unfamiliar—had entered, shut and bolted the door behind her, stared at +him for a moment, and then began to weep, hysterically.</p> + +<p>"<i>You!</i>—But Irina—I—you.—But there is no light for the pose now!"</p> + +<p>"Ah, <i>mon Dieu</i>! A sitting!—Pouf! Listen, mon<a class="pagenum" name="page_349" id="page_349" title="349"></a> cher! It has come. I +have always known it must.—Monsieur le Prince knows all the +truth.—Quelle scène!—Incroyable pour un viellard!—And I am banished. +I have none now but you, mon ami. What shall you do with me, Joseph?" +And, as she spoke, her arms crept sinuously about the young man's stiff +figure, and she drew him, by degrees, to the couch, at her side.</p> + +<p>There followed silence: a silence so long that, almost for the first +time in her career, Irina began to wonder if she could have +miscalculated the strength of her hold on this boy for whom she had +conceived so violent a passion.</p> + +<p>Had she, indeed, been able, at that moment, to read the depths of +Joseph's mind, her wonder would probably have been augmented to fear. +For, now that the thing that Joseph had been wanting for months had come +to pass, he was suddenly thrown back upon himself in a panic of doubt. +His mind was a blind chaos of mingled emotion and desire: the new-born +anxiety concerning his profession; the powerful fascination exerted by +the mere presence of the woman he loved; and, lastly, a selfishly +inconsistent anger that Irina's act had forced him at last to the +long-desired point of decision.</p> + +<p>These three feelings warred within him, and the little force of good +fought valiantly and well. But, unhappily, Joseph had always regarded +the promptings of conscience as unwarrantable and unnecessary; and that +inner voice, so often stifled, had grown weak. Irina was now beside him, +the fragrance of her personality stealing upon him with all its +accustomed magnetism. Surely, too, she had been inspired to the silence +she kept? He never dreamed of the heart-sickness that was slowly +invading her. Had he guessed it, that of the brute which lay in him, +would instantly have risen up against her. For the young gentleness of +his face belied him. As it was, however, there came a moment when the +breath of<a class="pagenum" name="page_350" id="page_350" title="350"></a> perfume was strong; when conscience took a step too far. One +instant—and he turned, clasping her in his arms:</p> + +<p>"So let it be, beloved! Thou hast come to me:—be mine! If I have little +wealth, I can give thee love:—love, the glory of life, clothed in +colors of scarlet and gold!—Thou art here to be my inspiration. Mayst +thou find me worthy!—Ah, see! The world shall kneel to us yet: shall +glorify us with laurel and with gold.—Yes, it has come at last, +beloved, the freedom of our love!"</p> + +<p>And the woman, with a half-sob, yielded herself to the strong, young +arms, nor wasted a thought upon that crushed and broken talent now lying +between them, dead, upon the paint-stained floor.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Such was the beginning of their hundred days: the three months' madness +that was to become the amazement and the scandal of the Students' +Quarter. Irina's history, well known to every one except her lover, kept +this strange romance always vivid, always replete with dramatic +possibilities. Meantime, however, during the first weeks, the small +<i>ménage</i> prospered amazingly. Irina had been living for some time among +cloying luxuries. She brought with her a considerable sum of money and +jewels, the amount of which seemed, to Joseph's eyes, princely enough. +He rejoiced over their sudden access of wealth; while she amused herself +by adapting her tastes to the comparative poverty of her present life. +Moreover, the enthusiasm that was really borne from the pleasant novelty +of this existence, seemed, to the boy, wholly the result of her love for +him. He had been possessed by a sudden demon of work.—Ah! <i>How</i> he +worked, during those brief weeks! He had resigned, now, from his +classes, and was painting for the public. In the beginning, his things +caught the general fancy, and he had an unquestioned vogue. It was +pot-boiling, certainly; but, for the moment, glaring<a class="pagenum" name="page_351" id="page_351" title="351"></a> faults were +concealed by the meteoric brilliancy of his technique. Irina was his +only model. But what the world likes, it is willing to have repeated; +and head after head of the beautiful woman was sold, and still the +dealers clamored for more.</p> + +<p>Of his old work—those laborious little studies of still life or nature, +the public would have none. Even the two life-sized pictures, which had +more than a little merit in them, remained unpurchased. Both were for +sale now; for Joseph needed no portrait of what was his; and Prince +G—— naturally never commanded his to be delivered.</p> + +<p>There did, at length, come one offer for the Carmen picture; but of it +Joseph never heard. It had been made by a man who, calling at the studio +one day, found Mademoiselle Irina alone; and to whose impulsive +proposition she had replied—with a certain manner—that his price was +too low—"as yet." Rapidly estimating the pretty woman, and catching the +tone of her last word, the gentleman said no more about the picture; but +presently left the studio and the lady together, and returned to his +club—to bide his time.</p> + +<p>Six weeks saw the end of the first phase of this oft-acted drama. +Intoxicated by the success which no one had as yet explained to him, +Joseph began suddenly to discover spending-powers of his own. After +that, work as he would, a Raphael could scarcely have kept his <i>ménage</i> +out of debt. Irina, watching her lover minutely, and perfectly +foreseeing the forthcoming exigencies of the situation, was quite +prepared when Joseph came to her for advice. That night was the first on +which they drove to a certain house in the aristocratic Sretenskaia, +where, by day and by night, the various rooms glowed with light, and, +during twenty hours of the day, a dozen great, green tables were +wreathed by men and women to whose ears the chink and rustle of gold and +notes were<a class="pagenum" name="page_352" id="page_352" title="352"></a> sounds that followed and drove them, day by day, night by +night, on towards that low-lying land where dwell the throngs that are +gathered together in the outer darkness that is so much denser than the +tomb.</p> + +<p>Lights!—Green tables, gold-bespattered!—The droning undertone of +<i>croupiers</i>; the continual, languid in-rake and out-rake of golden +piles, of crackling notes, of <i>rouleaux</i>—on one of which the old-time +Joseph could have lived so well for months: here, side by side, the +much-remarked woman, the pale-faced, angel-eyed youth, quietly took +their places, and began to play.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_353" id="page_353" title="353"></a> +<a name="HIS_HARVEST_10963" id="HIS_HARVEST_10963"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>HIS HARVEST</h3> +</div> + +<p>"No Ivan, you'll do better alone. You have influence with him.—Good +God! a year ago he worshipped you! I believe there was something you +told him—some pointer you gave him at one time about work, that made an +immense impression on him.—You mean something to him. Me, he dislikes. +He knew months ago that I—well, saw something of his infirmity. But, +while I don't believe in him, this affair mustn't go on. The fellow +<i>could</i> have learned to paint. He's killing himself now, not physically, +but mentally and morally.—The whole city's waked up to him. His pace is +unprecedented.</p> + +<p>"Come, there's nothing more to say, Ivan Mikhailovitch. Go and pull your +protégé out of the mire—if you can!"</p> + +<p>The two men rose, simultaneously. Ivan was very pale. He was still in +the first shock of full revelation; and it was a moment or two before he +put his hand into that of Nicholas, and answered, simply: "Yes, I will +go."</p> + +<p>"Soon?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes." The reply had a weary tone. "Yes. I will go to-day."</p> + +<p>Rubinstein nodded with satisfaction. His self-imposed mission was +accomplished. A moment later, after a close hand-clasp, he was gone.</p> + +<p>It was the first Wednesday of the new year. For the past three months +Ivan, who had been on a distant country<a class="pagenum" name="page_354" id="page_354" title="354"></a> estate, engrossed in his +father's affairs, had heard nothing of the gossip of Moscow. Two days +after his return, Nicholas came to him with the story of Joseph's +disgrace and disaster; the tale over which the malignant city was now +holding its sides with amusement. Ivan, sick with amazement and regret, +had promised his old friend to seek the young fool out and—and what? +Remonstrate—with madness? Right, in an hour or two, a situation that +was the climax of months of wrong? Impossible! All Ivan's instincts +rebelled against the idea. Nevertheless, as Nicholas had clearly pointed +out, something must be done. Yet who but he, Joseph's first friend in +Russia, had the faintest chance of success: of once more setting those +purposeless feet on the upward path?—Thus, in the end, with his mood an +indecisive mixture of pity and revolt, Ivan prepared himself for the +necessary visit.</p> + +<p>Nicholas and he had been lunching together in the Gregoriev palace. The +brief midwinter day was still bright when the Prince's sleigh set its +owner down in the Academy Quarter, a door or two away from the tall +house in which Joseph still retained his rooms. Ivan knew his way well +enough; but he stood in the empty hall before the closed door for some +seconds before he could bring himself to knock, so strong was his +feeling of impotence, his dread of intruding into these two, alien +lives. At length, stifling his thoughts, he hastily clacked the brass +knocker of the door.</p> + +<p>A moment. Then came the sound of a woman's voice, muffled, but +startlingly familiar:</p> + +<p>"C'est toi, Joseph?"</p> + +<p>Instantly, all the blood in Ivan's body rushed to his brain. Then, +fiercely seizing the door, he thrust it open, strode into the studio, +and found himself face to face with Irina Petrovna.</p> + +<p>Irina was garbed very much <i>en negligée</i>, but Ivan's<a class="pagenum" name="page_355" id="page_355" title="355"></a> profound +amazement, (by some freak of chance the woman's name had never been +mentioned to him) for a few seconds prevented his noticing that she was +standing beside a trunk half filled with her own garments, more of which +were scattered about the room. Looking from her dishevelled figure to +the box, the significance of her evident occupation was suddenly borne +in upon him.</p> + +<p>The question which had risen to his lips was prevented by the woman's +exclamation, made in a voice whose usual velvet tones—how long familiar +to him!—were now broken and harsh and strained by her palpable emotion:</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> here, Ivan!—<i>You!</i>"</p> + +<p>He raised his eyes to hers, looking her calmly in the face; for, +suddenly, by her confusion, his self-control had returned to him, and he +felt his power. "Yes, Irina; I have come for a special purpose. +But—you—" he looked doubtfully from her to the trunk, "you—and +Joseph—are leaving this house?"</p> + +<p>"No!—Ah, wait, wait, I will tell you!—Will you sit down?"</p> + +<p>Ivan turned to obey her, and, an instant later, found himself alone. +Irina had disappeared into the adjoining bedroom, whence she emerged, in +a very short space of time, clad in a tea-gown that bore the air—and +the name—of the greatest of Parisian <i>couturières</i>. Her appearance +corresponded with the garment; for Irina's dramatic instinct for effect +was unfailing; and, penniless and debt-laden though she was, no Duchesse +of St.-Germain could have surpassed her now in beauty and in <i>chic</i>.</p> + +<p>As she entered the room and seated herself on the couch with a manner +and a smile that affected him powerfully, a great discouragement came +upon the man. He was here on man's business: to fight with a<a class="pagenum" name="page_356" id="page_356" title="356"></a> weak man +against that man's weakness. How was he to cope with a woman: and, above +all, such a woman as this?</p> + +<p>As the question passed through his mind, Irina herself answered it:</p> + +<p>"Eh bien, Monsieur le Prince, you have come, I am sure, to help that +poor Joseph! Is it not so?—Let us forget the acquaintance which we have +had, you and I. Let us speak of that little one who, in his heart, +worships you, monsieur, though you have not come to him. Well, you hear +of his debts? of his disgrace? his fever for play?—So, at last, you +yield: you come!—Good!—You find me here. I embarrass you. Néanmoins, I +tell you, monsieur, that I, also, in my way—I, who have so hurt him, +pauvre enfant! am at last wishful for his repentance and recovery.</p> + +<p>"You have asked me if <i>we</i>, <i>Joseph et moi</i>, were leaving this place. I +tell you no. <i>I</i> am leaving it. <i>I!</i> To-night, when that boy comes back +from the 'Masque,' he shall find himself once more unencumbered.—Well, +I have allowed myself the luxury of explanation with you. But now I must +finish—<i>that</i>, and go."</p> + +<p>"And where do you go, Irina Petrovna?" inquired Ivan, in the deep, calm +voice that suddenly bereft the woman of all her easy impertinence.</p> + +<p>Unquestionably, she flushed. "Do not ask me. There is a refuge that is +mine for the asking—"</p> + +<p>"Ah!—Well, about Joseph. I have been listening to his story as told by +a man—my friend. But I wish also to hear it from you, who know it +all.—How was it that you met?—And what has become of his real work: of +his talent?"</p> + +<p>Irina did not immediately reply. Picking a small, gold case from a heap +of baubles at her side, she drew therefrom a cigarette, lighted it, with +that innate coquetry that was her bane, and believed that Ivan did<a class="pagenum" name="page_357" id="page_357" title="357"></a> not +see how the match trembled. After three puffs she suddenly turned her +great eyes on the man, and smiled, joyously:</p> + +<p>"You embarrassed me, monsieur! Of my meeting with Joseph, of our life +here, I shall say nothing. His—fall, you may impute to me, wholly. And +yet—and yet, Ivan, in the face of all I have done, I still say to you, +Joseph's own weakness would have killed him in the end.—You, who are a +great artist, who have labored through poverty, through injustice, +through calumny, through the jealousy of friends and the libel of +enemies, and have conquered them all, you know well in your heart that +great ignorance, great vanity, great self-indulgence, belong not to the +characters of the truly great.—Oh I, I, Irina, the outcast, know that +well! Did I tempt <i>you</i>?—Those traits were Joseph's. I, who have loved +him, say it. For love of me and of himself, he degraded his art. For +himself, he has played and played and played, at the 'Masque,' till even +I bade him stop.—Roulette—baccarat—trente et quarante:—all he has, +is gone; and he has borrowed again and again from every one.—Oh bah! +You, mon Prince, can do nothing with or for him. Leave these rooms. +Return to your beautiful, calm life. This is not for you.—And as for +me"—she suddenly flung the cigarette away and leaped to her feet—"I, +also, am going!" And, throwing herself down beside the trunk, she began +to stuff the litter of the room into its capacious trays.</p> + +<p>In the dim light, Ivan saw not the unsteadiness of her hand; nor knew +that her heart was throbbing, wildly; nor that she was fighting back an +impulse to crawl to him, miserably, on hands and knees, and beg for the +generosity of his great heart.</p> + +<p>No, Ivan suspected nothing. He merely sat, rigid, silent, white-faced, +tossing aside stub after stub of cigarettes, and gazing, vacantly, into +the spaces of past<a class="pagenum" name="page_358" id="page_358" title="358"></a> and future, trying to reconstruct the broken life of +that starving boy whom he once had fed.</p> + +<p>The trunk was packed, and locked. Ivan did not look up. Not, indeed, +until a tall woman, in a severely-cut cloth costume, entered the studio +from the inner chamber bearing with her a lighted lamp, did he come back +to himself, and offer to help her into the fur coat that hung over one +arm.</p> + +<p>This act of courtesy accomplished, Ivan mechanically held out his hand. +"You are leaving now?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"I shall wait here for—him. Do you know when he will come?"</p> + +<p>"By seven, probably. We usually dine at that hour."</p> + +<p>"Thank you.—Good-bye."</p> + +<p>"Ivan!"—The word was a strange whisper. Ivan started. When his eyes met +hers, she was looking at him almost steadily. The next instant she had +uttered a hoarse: "Good-bye!" and—was gone.</p> + +<p>He returned to his seat, wondering a little about her destination: +surmising, indeed, the costly equipage that awaited her in the street, +with its two men on the box, and its eager occupant.—Faugh! The reverie +was broken by the appearance of a man who came to take away the trunk. +Her plans had been well laid. But—suppose, as she had imagined when he +entered, <i>he</i> had been Joseph, returned early? Well, she had doubtless +carried things off high-handedly more than once. Why should she hesitate +this time?</p> + +<p>Heart-sick, Ivan returned to his seat in the lamp-light. Odd that he +should have come hither on this day of crisis! Was it well, or ill, that +this was so? Would Joseph, overwhelmed by his loss, prove +pliable?—Would his weakness be guided by another's reason?—Who could +tell? If strength is always consistent, weakness should be as often +incalculable.<a class="pagenum" name="page_359" id="page_359" title="359"></a></p> + +<p>The silent minutes crept along. Ivan, who, in the face of Nicholas' +tale, had eaten little luncheon, began to grow faint for food. Seven +o'clock had already been rung by the myriad bells of Moscow. Joseph did +not come.—The half-hour.—Eight.—Still no Joseph. Well, since he was +here Ivan would wait the night through, if necessary. Another hour. The +watcher's eyelids grew leaden; a great emptiness, a lonely dread, crept +through him. He shivered in the growing chill of the room. At last, a +little before ten, there came the sound of shuffling steps in the hall, +followed by a fumbling at the door, which presently swung back as Joseph +appeared on the threshold and paused, blinking at the light.</p> + +<p>It was at this moment that Ivan caught his most memorable glimpse of the +young man, white-faced, unshorn, ill-clothed, his eyes bloodshot, his +whole person shambling and loose-jointed: his long fingers working, +tremulously. After a moment's anxious gaze he said, in a muffled voice:</p> + +<p>"Irina!—Here, Irina!—I forgot about supper! I forgot I promised, this +time. But you should have seen! Eleven times during the hour, seven came +up!—I was playing your number.—How could any one have dreamed—Irina!"</p> + +<p>"She is not here," said Ivan, quietly, as he rose.</p> + +<p>"What!—Th—Thou!" Joseph straightened, but his jaw fell.</p> + +<p>Ivan made no reply. Presently the other shut the door and came forward, +peering, eagerly. "Thou!" he muttered again, as if to himself. And then: +"Ivan!—I saw him!"—Finally, aloud: "But Irina!—I want Irina, you +know."</p> + +<p>For answer, Ivan took the broken man by the arm and put him into a +chair. Then he said, very gently: "When did you eat last, Joseph?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_360" id="page_360" title="360"></a></p> + +<p>"Eat!" The upturned face, with its varnished eyes, gleamed ghostlike in +the yellow light. "This morning I—"</p> + +<p>"You've been at the 'Masque' all day?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, you see, I—you know she needs a great deal.—Sometimes I—I have +hardly enough.—Perhaps, now, Ivan Mikhailovitch, you—would lend—"</p> + +<p>"You must have some food, at once," broke in Ivan, harshly.</p> + +<p>To his surprise, Joseph suddenly sprang to his feet, crying, angrily: +"See here, what the devil are you doing here?—And where is Irina?—I +want her! She knows me.—Where has she gone?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know."</p> + +<p>"Don't—Rot! She's at a restaurant. I'm late.—Well, I'll wait." He +stumbled backward into the chair, again; but Ivan stood close before +him, his face now as white as Joseph's own.</p> + +<p>"Irina is not at a restaurant. She left these rooms early this +afternoon, and took her things with her." And, as he spoke, Ivan +stiffened his every muscle, and instinctively clinched his hands.</p> + +<p>For the moment, Joseph stared, stupidly. Then, all at once, he was up +and at Ivan, lurching forward upon him, clutching, impotently, at his +throat, breathing gutturally, while he uttered inarticulate syllables in +the tongue of a serf.</p> + +<p>Ivan, even in his disgust at this revelation of the man's lowest self, +his unquestionable bad blood, held him off, easily. In a moment or two, +indeed, he had the half-drunken, wholly exhausted creature back in his +chair, panting and helpless.</p> + +<p>Even now, it seemed, Joseph could meet his eyes. A long look passed +between them, and Ivan perceived that the painter had come enough to +himself to try to analyze his position. He was, however, wholly +unprepared<a class="pagenum" name="page_361" id="page_361" title="361"></a> when the fellow sprang at him again, this time with a wild +shriek:</p> + +<p>"Ah! You devil!—You devil!—It was you, you who have taken her from +me!—My God!—<i>You!</i>"</p> + +<p>"Kashkarin, listen!—Be silent.—You can't hurt me.—Listen!"</p> + +<p>There was too much quiet mastery in that voice for disobedience. Joseph +became suddenly quiet.</p> + +<p>"I came here this afternoon to see what was to be done for you. When I +arrived, Mademoiselle Patrovna was on the point of departure. She was +well aware that you were being ruined through her; and so she left you. +She told me she should be cared for.—There is some one else. I let her +go, gladly, knowing it to be well for you. And now—"</p> + +<p>The interruption this time was a burst of furious laughter, so loud, so +fierce, that Ivan was appalled. Joseph, it seemed, had become a demon. +When at last he spoke, it was only to repeat some of Ivan's words: +"Aware she was ruining me!—<i>Was</i>!—Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!—And you believed it +'<i>well</i>' for me!—'<i>Well!</i>'—Ah-ha-ha-ha!—Thou hast wit, Ivan!"</p> + +<p>Ivan's eyes, piercing the hideous mask that hid an agony, softened. He +went impulsively forward, clasping Joseph's frail body in his own, +strong arms. "Joseph, I do not mock you. I helped you once. You know +that. Trust me again, then. You are not ruined. I have enough to pay +your debts, ten times over. Leave the matter to me. Come to my house. +There you shall rest, and wait for the strength that seems gone. With me +it shall come back to you, the old beauty, the old power of art—"</p> + +<p>Again was Joseph seized in the grasp of his haunting devils. Extricating +himself violently from the kindly clasp, he turned away from Ivan and +stood for a moment mute. When he again faced round, his face was all +but<a class="pagenum" name="page_362" id="page_362" title="362"></a> irrecognizable. And through the tirade that followed, this demoniac +look grew more and more horrible, till Ivan felt himself overwhelmed: as +much by Joseph's appearance as by his words. For the moment, the man was +beyond sanity. And from the depths of his bemired soul poured fragments +of that understanding that still remained to him:</p> + +<p>"Art!—Art.—You once preached it to me, starving. Art; purity; +earnestness; sincerity:—the artist-angel you described for me! And now +to me you say 'rest,' and 'wait!' Rest, for me, the accursed? Wait, to +me, devil-ridden? I have descended, of my own free will, into hell. For +five months I have wallowed there. Art and my soul I sold for the dirt +they would buy. They are gone. Can you buy them back? or the decency, +honesty, cleanliness, <i>youth</i>, I pawned, for filth and more filth? I am +saturated with it. I reek with it. It embraces me with octopus arms. +Every kopeck, every rouble, has gone to tighten that embrace. It is not +to be loosened. I am hell-bound for eternity. And you speak to me of +<i>art</i>!</p> + +<p>"Leave me, Ivan Gregoriev, to my own. You can never know me. I hate you +now. Irina has gone away. Having brought me to this, I disgust her!—Go +thou, then, clean body, clean hands, clean heart!—Ach! I +hate—hate—<i>hate</i>!</p> + +<p>"And there sits my devil—clothed in the scarlet.—Look on her! Look! +Look, for the last time, before I pay her her wage of +destruction!—So!—There!—And there!—And there!"</p> + +<p>It was the canvas containing his first portrait of Irina. Seizing a +palette-knife from a neighboring tray of brushes and paints, he stabbed +thrice into the canvas, ripping the picture, wickedly, from top to +bottom, from side to side.</p> + +<p>"Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha! You see her?—I damn her there<a class="pagenum" name="page_363" id="page_363" title="363"></a> as she has damned +me!—Now you have heard my love, Ivan Mikhailovitch! Now you know!—Go, +then, out at that door, carrying your knowledge of me into the wide +world.—Take care!—Take care!—It is not only pictures I can kill!—You +don't know me yet, I tell you.—Go, I command you! Go!—Go!"</p> + +<p>Seizing Ivan's coat and cap from the chair on which they lay, Joseph +flung them into their owner's arms. Then for the last time the two faced +each other, the sane man gazing earnestly into the other's blazing eyes. +Evidently Ivan reached his decision in that look; for, without more ado, +he donned his fur garments, and then, without a word, left the room.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was barely half-past eight o'clock next morning when Ivan remounted +the stairs leading to Joseph's rooms, expecting to find the madman sunk +in the sleep of exhaustion. He found the door unlocked, and the +room—empty. Joseph was gone:—out into Moscow, into the cruelty of the +frozen city, penniless, friendless, perhaps still mad! Nor did he ever +reappear, in any of his old haunts. Search proved fruitless. Irina had +done her work thoroughly. Every effort failed to bring the wanderer up +out of the dark unknown. Ivan, bitterly rebelling, tried, in his heart, +to hope that that distant Polish hut of his youth knew him again: +sheltered, in peaceful dissolution, one of the great talents of the +age.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_364" id="page_364" title="364"></a> +<a name="MADAME_FEODOREFF_11330" id="MADAME_FEODOREFF_11330"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<h3>MADAME FÉODOREFF</h3> +</div> + +<p>It may be said that it was not until after the ending of Joseph's weak +tragedy that Ivan passed into his third, and final, mental stage. As a +boy, he had known very intimately the inner buoyancy of youth, hope, and +faith in the joy of life. After the marriage of Nathalie, and his +subsequent precipitation, had come those wild rebellions of the soul, +the violent protestations, the young and petted cynicisms, that are the +inevitable accompaniment of the inevitable hour of disenchantment. This +phase, however great its length, must, nevertheless, resolve itself at +last into one of two others: the quiet complacency of a renewed but +gentler optimism; or a cynicism tried, real, deep-rooted, unhappy but +irresistible. Be this state a sign of weakness or of strength, it was +the one to which Ivan felt himself driven, willy-nilly, by all the force +of his experience. From that doubt of complete disillusion, that +confusion of thought and loss of all happy confidence which is one of +the results of the long-continued bread-struggle wherein disinterested +philosophy can have no part, Ivan had moved, by insensible stages, far +into the kingdom of the unredeemable pessimist.</p> + +<p>To him, looking ruefully back along the years of his man-struggle, it +seemed as if each trial, each disappointment, had been built on a +variation of a single theme. Of the several friendships that had been +his, all, after running an uncertain course, had come to violent or<a class="pagenum" name="page_365" id="page_365" title="365"></a> +unhappy ends. And in the grave of each was buried a little and a little +more of his natural faith and optimism. And yet—not all! One +friendship, the first, had lapsed naturally, through separation. Indeed, +Ivan still sometimes heard from the companion of his first Petersburg +days—Vladimir de Windt. Had there, however, been no letters, he could +still always have followed his comrade's track; for de Windt—having +left the army many years since, to enter on a diplomatic career, had +been climbing, steadily, and was already, at thirty-five, on the +threshold of the Council chamber. Over this fact Ivan could unfeignedly +rejoice; for already Russia, high and low, was discussing the merits and +the probable future of this young man.</p> + +<p>But of the others,—that group of men, the two women, who had sat at the +door of his soul's sanctuary—what of them? Nathalie, first: then +Zaremba, Anton Rubinstein, Laroche his comrade of the Conservatoire, +Ostrovsky his collaborator, Balakirev, Merelli, Joseph, finally, +Irina,—her soul still flaunting its rags before the gaze of the world, +while her brother and those student companions of her honest days and +Ivan's first success, labored in distant prison-mines, self-victims of +unsuccessful treason: what of these? Which one remained to him?—Ah! +there were two: old Nicholas, the unswerving, the devoted; and Kashkine, +who owed him nothing, who had given—was to give—so much! Why was it +that they counted so lightly in the scales against these others? Who can +say? who explain that perverseness of human nature which will not value +what it has, but must drop it by the way to stretch out unavailing hands +for the fleeting ungraspable? This, certainly, was what Ivan did; and +his face came in time so to show the bitterness of his heart, that +Joseph, rising stealthily from his unknown depth, dreaming of finding +help from his once benefactor, twice beheld the depth of Ivan's +habitual<a class="pagenum" name="page_366" id="page_366" title="366"></a> frown, and stole away without making appeal to the +heart-hungry man who now, year by year, labored alone in his desolate +palace.</p> + +<p>The years of 1873, 1874, and 1875 passed slowly, bringing rich harvest +of Ivan's great gift to the music-world of Europe. Russia only would +have none of him; wherefore he, deeply resentful, held every individual +of his race at bay, until, at length, an incident, dreamed of long ago +but also long since despaired of, broke successfully into a solitude +that was becoming dangerous.</p> + +<p>On Wednesday October 15th, in the last-named year, Ivan, book in hand, +sat idling over his <i>déjeuner</i>, when gray-headed Piotr entered, +quivering with excitement, to announce that a great lady waited in the +drawing-room and would not be denied a sight of His Excellency. So, +three minutes later, Ivan found himself face to face with the secret +lady of his heart.</p> + +<p>"Nathalie!—Princess!"</p> + +<p>"'Nathalie,' please, dear cousin.—Ivan, I am in great trouble, and I +have come to you for help."</p> + +<p>"Help!—Trouble!" Ivan's low voice faltered. "Ah!—Can I make it right +for you?"</p> + +<p>The woman before him shook her head, sadly. "No one can ever make it +right, Ivan."</p> + +<p>"What is it, Nathalie?" In his secret mind, he was just murmuring her +name, over and over again, and blessing the woe that had brought her to +him.</p> + +<p>"For the present I am here, in Moscow; and my children are with me.—I +might have sent for you sooner, by note, Ivan. I <i>ought</i>, I suppose. But +I waited too long, and so came myself!" And she looked at him, her lips +smiling, her troubled eyes full of anxiety.</p> + +<p>Even after all the years, Ivan read her well enough not to answer that +smile. Instead, he led her, scarcely protesting, into the dining-room; +despatched the amazed but delighted Piotr for fresh tea and something to +eat;<a class="pagenum" name="page_367" id="page_367" title="367"></a> and, when they were alone, sat for a moment lost in contemplation +of her, while she waited, wearily, for him to pick up the thread of +their talk.</p> + +<p>Her appearance, charming to any other man, startled and momentarily +saddened Ivan. He marvelled, indeed, at the emotion roused in him by her +face: the face that he had pictured as forever changeless, but which, he +now perceived, time had dealt with more cruelly than with his own. +Madame Féodoreff was, indeed, a woman sufficiently beautiful, +sufficiently distinguished, to be looked at thrice in any assemblage. +Yet her every feature, the exquisite, pearly skin, most of all the once +sparkling, now deeply-seeing eyes, spoke of a long and difficult drama +of life.</p> + +<p>These things passed through his mind as he gave his order and Piotr left +the room. For some moments more he was silent. Then, rousing himself, +almost unwillingly, from his contemplation, he spoke.</p> + +<p>"You should be able to guess, Nathalie, how much your coming means: how +deeply it touches me. To think that you should still have +confidence!—How many years is it since the winter of your début?"</p> + +<p>Though he asked it lightly, he saw the shiver that ran over the woman at +his side. "We must not count years," she said, softly. "Indeed, Ivan, +now that I am here, I find it hard to explain my idea in coming.—I am +alone in Moscow—virtually hiding. And I can tell you very little of my +reason.—Still, you can guess, at least, that my marriage—has +been—unsuccessful.—I have my children. I adore them; yet I have left +their father, and so injured them forever.—That is about all I can tell +you.—Up—"</p> + +<p>"Princess, I beg of you!—"</p> + +<p>"No, let me finish, Ivan! Up to the time of my mother's death, I never +wholly realized the truth of affairs.—She managed, somehow, to shield +me.—During<a class="pagenum" name="page_368" id="page_368" title="368"></a> her last years, Ivan, she regretted my marriage more than +any act of her life.—Indeed, I think it was the one thoroughly cruel +thing she ever did.—Since she went, I have been forced to understand: +to face black truth. And so, when the time came that even my babies were +beginning to ask me questions about—incidents—and—and persons who +frequented <i>my house</i>, I <i>had</i> to come away. I know how the world +regards a runaway wife; yet I believe that I am not universally blamed. +I hope not. But, just now, it is impossible for me to face the world. I +have been alone for some weeks. I came to you to-day just for—just for +companionship, I suppose."</p> + +<p>As she paused, Ivan leaned forward and impetuously took her delicately +gloved hand into his firm clasp. But the light that glowed in his eyes, +he wisely managed to conceal. "'Companionship,' Nathalie?—Let us give +it a better term: 'Friendship!' Surely that is permissible now, between +us. Believe me, anything that a man can do, I will do for you. You have +told me far more than I should have asked.—I can never take the place +of—of Madame Dravikine. But I can make you feel, perhaps, that the +world is not utterly lonely for you: that there is some one who is made +happier and better by your mere living presence."</p> + +<p>Towards the end, his tone had become slightly uncertain; and Madame +Féodoreff, who was prepared for an emergency, and whose schooling in the +world had been thorough, hastily interposed. Moreover, as she began to +speak, old Piotr entered with an extemporaneous luncheon that did credit +to a purely bachelor establishment. As he set the things down before the +unexpected visitor, she, looking her host squarely in the eye, and with +a manner friendly but quite without sentiment, observed: "You understand +very nicely, Ivan! That, without knowing it, was precisely what I came +to say.<a class="pagenum" name="page_369" id="page_369" title="369"></a> Friendship!—It is something that has never yet entered my +life: very probably through my own fault."</p> + +<p>Ivan's answer was a smile; for he had no special wish to take advantage +of this opening for banalities. While the Princess ate, therefore, he +played with his knife and fork, and they bandied the necessary phrases +of conventionality while the thoughts of both were busy with intimate +matters. Already Ivan, high-hearted, knew that the long-worshipped image +of the young Nathalie was gone, forever, from the chapel of his mind; +and that, already, in the empty niche, stood the shadow of another form: +one less fairy-like, less bewitching; but more suited to the reverence +of reason, and worthier of the homage he found himself still so ready to +outpour.</p> + +<p>Indeed that first visit, self-restrained, brief, uneventful as it was, +proved more momentous to both man and woman than either, beforehand, +would have dreamed possible. Their early passion for each other both +believed to lie buried deep beneath the weight of years of separation +and difference of occupation and environment. Vanity! The first hour of +real reunion showed them both that the old feeling had been far from +dead: was, in truth, sleeping so lightly that a touch must rouse it +again. Four hours after Nathalie's departure, Ivan found himself at the +piano, pouring out his heart in such a burden of passionate melody as +had rarely rushed from him, even in his moments of inspiration. And the +long hours of the sleepless night served absolutely to loosen the +fetters of his self-repression; for in the growing glory of the dawn, he +watched also the glorious resurrection of the one great love of his +life. Again, after many years, she lived in him: in every thought and +hope and dream; not now as a child, potent, through ignorance, to wound +him past endurance; but as a woman, beautiful through time and sorrow, +magnificent in the wreck of her woman's life. Still he knew well<a class="pagenum" name="page_370" id="page_370" title="370"></a> that +if love was to be his, it must remain for a long time under the guise of +friendship. What he did not acknowledge to himself, was the fact that +all the world was to share something of this great and painful joy. He +was still ruthless in the service of his single god. And this love, like +every other factor of his life, must serve as food for his genius. It +was Nathalie who had unconsciously turned him, protesting, to his work. +It was to be through her also that he reached the height of his career: +his perfection of maturity. For she was the inspiration of the "Tosca +Symphony."</p> + +<p>If Ivan had suddenly risen from the depths to the heights, the cause of +his change was also to know powerful emotion on his behalf. In the days +of her far-away youth, Nathalie Dravikine's affection for her cousin had +been as strong as any her school-girl nature was capable of. But when, +after her hurried and loveless marriage, she was forced into, a +revulsion of exquisite misery to a breadth of pain and repression that +forced her naturally light nature into incredible development, the +comparatively petty grief of Ivan's loss was forgotten. News of his +disgrace reached her months after the fact, and but a few weeks before +the birth of her first child,—now long since dead. And in her then +morbid and unnatural condition, she had peevishly brushed all thought of +her cousin aside, accounting his unhappiness as small beside her own.</p> + +<p>Many years later, when the long period of her bitter schooling had +moulded her into something far finer than her youth had promised; when, +also, she had brought the art of concealment to its height of +perfection; the memory of her lost cousin's gallant and loyal devotion +recurred to her, together with the surmise that she had been the cause +of his dismissal from the army, and the still more amazing fact that he +was now beginning to be recognized as an incalculable power in the world +of<a class="pagenum" name="page_371" id="page_371" title="371"></a> music. An interview with Vladimir de Windt confirmed her first +belief; a symphony concert at the Conservatoire hall, fixed the second. +And then, suddenly, she discovered that the man who had sought ruin +because of her loss, and who had risen, pedestalled, from that ruin to +another and a greater personality, had won a place in her heart from +which he was not to be driven.</p> + +<p>For many years, now, his spoken name had never failed to stir her +secretly. Though, in the ordinary sense of the word, she was hardly +musical, her emotional nature had been too fully developed for her not +to recognize the power that breathed through Ivan's tempestuous or +fairy-like compositions. She began to make his work her peculiar study; +and never a phrase of it but touched her deeply, strangely; in spite of +which, <i>mondaine</i> that she must always be, it was not till she heard +that he had inherited the title and wealth of his father, that she began +sentimentally to exalt her undefined feeling for him.</p> + +<p>Certainly, had it not been for his present social status, Nathalie +Féodoreff, even in the desolation that had followed the tragic climax of +her years of married martyrdom, would never have sought that first +meeting with her cousin. Yet she was not to be judged upon that fact +alone. She was a devoted mother. She had been a faithful wife to a man +who had lowered his manhood to a level beneath that of the very beasts. +She had borne with him through degradation, insult, once or twice +physical violence; and this not only because Russian orthodoxy gives no +quarter to a rebellious wife, whatever the provocation. But when that +time arrived when her duty to her children and her duty to her wretched +husband could no longer be compatible; when the two little girls +remaining to her out of five children, began to question the +relationship between their governess and their father, Nathalie +hesitated no longer. Seizing<a class="pagenum" name="page_372" id="page_372" title="372"></a> upon one of her husband's frequent +absences, she completely dissolved her establishment, told the furious, +vile-tongued Frenchwoman quite calmly that her services were no longer +necessary; and, that evening, with her children, two servants, and her +personal effects, disappeared, absolutely, beyond the ken of Prince or +police.</p> + +<p>In Moscow she took a small apartment, in a quiet quarter of the city; +and there, masking her unhappiness behind an habitual languor, strove +heroically to readjust herself to life. Finally, as the result of a +momentary, rebellious impulse, the period of her friendship with Ivan +began. Neither of the two had been quite prepared for the after-effects +of their first quiet and commonplace meeting. Nevertheless when, on the +following Sunday, Ivan's card was brought to her in her little <i>salon</i>, +he was not refused. His cousin greeted him placidly, and he made speedy +friends with the two quaint children whom he found with her, and who +served thenceforward to keep the facts of her existence always in +evidence; but who could not, unfortunately, prevent the existence of +secret emotions, either in their mother or in the beloved new "uncle" +who proved such a mine of sweetmeats and toys.</p> + +<p>After Ivan's first call, Nathalie found herself grappling with the +question as to whether he must be absolutely dismissed, or merely held +at arm's-length. Into this discussion pride entered so largely that she +presently determined to do neither thing; but to conceal her own +impotence beneath an armor of cousinliness. Thenceforth Ivan found +himself, at first to his delight, later to his baffled chagrin, treated +with an informal friendliness, a guileless intimacy, that perfectly +answered its designer's purpose, though the helpless recipient chafed, +rebelled, stayed away, suffered agonies of jealous rage, and finally, +one blustery day, presented himself again<a class="pagenum" name="page_373" id="page_373" title="373"></a> in the <i>Gagarinesky</i>, wrapped +in a manner impenetrably suave and bland. He had read her at last; and +was satisfied. Thus, their companionship entered upon its best period. +Intellectually it was perfect. Sentimentally, though decorum was never +transgressed, there came for each certain minutes of unavoidable +revelation that were eminently satisfactory to the other. And in time +their intimacy reached a point where Ivan began actually to confide +musically in her:—a woman!</p> + +<p>The twilight hours which he spent at the piano in her <i>salon</i>, while she +listened dreamily to his interpretations or improvisation, were the +finest they knew; and wrought a beautiful pediment for their temple to +Amicitia. The difference in their natures served for each as a +stimulant. To Ivan, her sympathetic comments, frequent praise, rare +criticism, lacked absolutely nothing. Nathalie early perceived that she +was beholding a genius at work: a giant engaged upon labor too +stupendous for irreverent contemplation. And from him and his music she +gained the medicine her bruised heart and broken nerves most needed. For +Ivan, in the growth of his great love for her, unconsciously brewed an +elixir of power from which each drank, daily. So, by unavoidable +degrees, both were led unconsciously into a land from which few can +emerge still solitary. Yet that was what the gods eventually decreed for +this hapless twain.</p> + +<p>The semi-religious festival of Christmas passed; and New Year's, the +real holiday of Europe, had arrived. Ivan, who had spent a week and sums +incredible, over gifts for the small Sophia and Katrisha, determined +also, at the last moment, on his present for Nathalie, and then passed +New Year's eve alone in his own palace, in sleepless cogitation.</p> + +<p>Long before this time he realized that all the passion of his youth had +been renewed and increased a hundredfold: that he loved the Princess +Féodoreff as he<a class="pagenum" name="page_374" id="page_374" title="374"></a> had never loved Nathalie Dravikine. He was ready, nay, +mad, to lay himself at her feet. He dreamed, by day and by night, of the +only feasible release for her: civil divorce; to be followed, as +speedily as might be, by a marriage of the same type with him. Alexis +Féodoreff, he was convinced, would readily consent to this release; and +would offer no opposition to her plea. So far, all was easy enough. But +Nathalie: what of her? Had <i>she</i> considered the subject? How devoutly +orthodox was she? Had she divined his heart? Was her kindness directed +towards this possible end? Finally, dared he speak, on the morrow, when +so excellent an opening would be made by his gift to her: a diamond +heart containing one priceless ruby in its centre?—Should he, by +daring, win to heaven? or should he be considered a libertine, and so +thrust back to the dull purgatory whence he had so lately risen to her? +Better risk nothing than lose all!—Whereby it may be seen that Ivan's +blood had cooled a little in the past fifteen years.</p> + +<p>Throughout the night he fluctuated; and morning found him still in +haggard doubt, hardly lessened when, at a most informal hour, he +presented himself at the house in the <i>Gagarinesky</i>, where, from the +<i>concierge</i>, he gained the first hint of trouble. The old woman informed +him that, in the night, a message had arrived for madame up-stairs. +Madame's maid had finally taken it in; and Yekaterina learned, at the +delivery of the morning milk, that the news had been very serious; and +that madame must shortly leave Moscow.—Whereupon the beginning of +lamentations and curiosities—and Ivan out of earshot, flying up the two +flights of stairs which led to the lady of his desire.</p> + +<p>Ivan Veliki had sounded the first stroke of the tenth hour when Prince +Gregoriev knocked upon his cousin's door; and the tenth vibration had +not yet died upon<a class="pagenum" name="page_375" id="page_375" title="375"></a> the air when he paused in the doorway of the +drawing-room.</p> + +<p>Nathalie sat in the jut of the room, her back to the row of windows. The +heavy coronal of dark braids was piled above her white face with all its +usual, exquisite care. The transparent delicacy of her complexion was +accentuated by her gown, which was of black, unrelieved save by a little +line of white at the throat. In her lap lay two or three envelopes, an +open telegram, and some legal-looking, red-sealed papers.</p> + +<p>Ivan gazed at the picture she made without speaking: his heart trembling +in his throat. In a moment or two, however, she lifted her eyes to his, +and, without rising, motioned him to come closer. He went, at once, +lifted her cold hand and kissed it, his holiday greetings long since +forgotten. After a moment's gaze into her set face, he said, gently:</p> + +<p>"You are in trouble, Nathalie <i>mia</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Ivan.—No, Ivan!—I do not know. I cannot think at all, +yet.—Alexei Alexandrovitch is dead," she replied, rapidly, and without +expression.</p> + +<p>At the last words, Ivan felt himself struck as by an inward blow. He +started, violently, and echoed: "Dead!—Alexis dead!—Then, Nathalie, +you—"</p> + +<p>"I am widowed."</p> + +<p>"You are free!"</p> + +<p>Their words were uttered almost simultaneously. Then followed a silence, +pregnant, surcharged; on Ivan's part almost unpermissible. The Princess +Féodoreff lifted one hand to her brow and let it fall again. Ivan turned +and began rapidly to pace the room. The thing was so utterly unexpected, +so entirely the one event that he had felt could never come about, that +he was as one dumb. The woman, watching him, dulled though her mind was +by the shock, divined, instinctively, something of his state of thought. +Woman though she was,<a class="pagenum" name="page_376" id="page_376" title="376"></a> however, she was unprepared for his first action, +which, as it were, threw a search-light upon the sole idea into which +the confusion eventually resolved itself.</p> + +<p>Ceasing his walk he went swiftly to her, took her two hands, drew them +protectively to his breast, and said, huskily: "You are in great +trouble, Nathalie.—You are unhappy.—Is it—tell me!—is it grief for +<i>him</i>?"</p> + +<p>Before the clearness of his look, her own went down. A faint color crept +into her cheeks. For one moment she hesitated; but finally rose to his +own height of honesty.</p> + +<p>"No, Ivan, I cannot grieve for the man who deliberately wrecked my +youth, debased my thoughts, lowered me for years in my own eyes.—Do you +expect it?—It seems to me that, just now, I am feeling nothing. But I +know already that I am <i>going</i> to suffer.—I shall suffer remorse! I, +who have been so proud of my long forbearance, shall suffer for these +last weeks as if I had left him years ago, without provocation!—He is +dead; and I was not with him at the end.—He died in his bed.—They tell +me it was his heart. He had had trouble with it before, and they had +warned him against dissipation; for he was an old man.—But he heeded no +one.—And he asked for me, at the end, and I was not there!—<i>That</i> is +what I shall suffer for. After all those long years of enduring, I left +him to die alone.—Alone: my husband!"</p> + +<p>"Nathalie!"</p> + +<p>The Princess started at the note of agony in Ivan's voice.</p> + +<p>"Nathalie! You are not to suffer for that brute:—that brute who drove +you here—drove you to me!" Still retaining the two hands, which she had +not tried to make him relinquish, he suddenly sank upon one knee before +her, so bringing his head nearly on a level with her own. Then, +oblivious of all things else, he began to pour out his heart to her: +"Nathalie, that first<a class="pagenum" name="page_377" id="page_377" title="377"></a> time, years ago, that you came to Moscow—the +time of my mother's death, I forgot my heart-break over her, in you. +Even then I loved you, utterly. You were the angel of all my wretched +cadet days. Then, years later, when I came to know you a little, my love +became the passion of a young man, and it finally swept me into a gulf +of desolation. But no wrong could really come through you; and what then +seemed ruin, showed itself, in the end, the opportunity of my life. It +drove me to what I could not have done alone. Through you I found my +work.</p> + +<p>"That is long ago, Nathalie; and I am not a young man now. But in all my +life there has been only one woman.—That fact came to me forcibly in +that first hour of your first visit to me here: the beginning of our +thrice-blessed companionship.</p> + +<p>"That beautiful dream is ended, now. No doubt, for a time, you must +leave this place. But it is insulting neither you nor the dishonored +dead whose wife you have not been for years, to tell you what you know: +that you carry away with you my soul!—Nathalie, Princess of all my +life, will you not set forth leaving behind you the promise to come +back?—You shall wait as long as you will: two years, if it must be. I +have endured far longer than that, and without hope.—Only let there be +between us the dear knowledge that, in time, you are to accept for a +husband the man whose life shall thenceforward be at your least +command!"</p> + +<p>His speech had been too rapid for interruption; and yet both voice and +manner were quiet and restrained. His every word was spoken with the +simplicity of unconscious ardor. And only from his eyes, which burned +her, and the almost painful clasping of her hands, could the Princess +surmise his emotion.</p> + +<p>Perhaps, had it been feasible, she would have stopped his speech. But, +somehow, he had compelled a hearing.<a class="pagenum" name="page_378" id="page_378" title="378"></a> And nothing he had said either +shocked or repelled her. Yet she was enough affected by the death of the +man who had done her every despite, but who had, nevertheless, taught +her the mystery of life and given her her children, to be distressed at +this proposal in the first hours of her widowhood.</p> + +<p>Gently she put Ivan from her, and rose, moving towards the window, +before which she stood, gazing down into the white street, while Ivan +waited, trembling with emotion. When she turned to him again, she had +replaced the chains upon her feelings.</p> + +<p>"This afternoon I am leaving for Petersburg," she said. "I must carry +your words away with me.—My impulse is to reject, instantly, every +suggestion of such a thing.—But your companionship in these last weeks +has meant for me more than I can tell you now; and, in my empty home in +Petersburg, I shall carefully consider the honor you have done me.—Yes, +dear Ivan, it is an honor from any man; and from you a very great one. +The woman whom you married would be fortunate, I know. But—I can only +promise to write you, soon. Believe me, you shall not wait longer than I +can help. This is fair, I think.</p> + +<p>"And now, I can give you no more time to-day.—No, you can do nothing, +thank you. Léonie for me, old Kasha for the children—they do +everything.—We leave the Petersburg station at five. Come then, if you +will, to say good-bye to the little girls. Our au revoir must be here."</p> + +<p>"Au revoir!" echoed Ivan, his voice gleaming.</p> + +<p>Madame Féodoreff smiled, rather sadly. "Ah, Ivan, whatever my answer to +you, tell me that I shall have your friendship still! It is the most +precious thing that is left me, excepting my children. I cannot afford +to lose you as my friend.—Promise!" and she held out her hand.<a class="pagenum" name="page_379" id="page_379" title="379"></a></p> + +<p>He took it, quietly. "I promise, dear lady of my life."</p> + +<p>"Then, again—au revoir!"</p> + +<p>"But soon.—<i>Soon!</i>"</p> + +<p>He was gone; but, though she yielded to her impulse and ran to the +window to look after him, he walked away without once turning his head.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That night, when he returned alone to his empty house, after bidding his +world good-bye at the Petersburg station, he perceived at once that the +Moscow around him was but a wilderness, and his great palace a prison. +Thenceforward he was to exist only in the consciousness of waiting: his +faith in her promise that she would torture him not a moment longer than +she must. But, as the days passed, logic, calm, even reason, forsook +him, till no lover of twenty-one was ever in sorer plight than he. Truly +Nathalie herself could hardly have guessed the depths to which she had +plunged this quiet and self-centred man. She had, nevertheless, the +consideration to keep her word. It was but eleven days after her +departure, nine after the funeral of her husband, before Ivan found +himself shut alone into that room where she had first greeted him, +holding her answer in his visibly trembling hands.—A moment.—A long +sigh.—It was open.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +"<span class="smcap">78 Kerzonskaia, St. Petersburg</span>,<br /> +<br /> +"<i>Tuesday, January 9th</i>, 11 <span class="smcap">P.M.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Dear Cousin</span>:—Since our last talk together in far-away Moscow, the +consciousness of you and of your question have been always with me. +To-night I have been sitting here, alone in my boudoir, for two +hours, trying, desperately, to <i>think</i>. I have wished to give +myself fair opportunity for finding out my real mind; but, +miserable thing that I am! the real <i>I</i> will not respond.</p> + +<p>"Ivan, my husband has been buried a week and a day! True, for years +my tie to him was bondage. I have, to-night, a far tenderer feeling +for you than I can remember ever having felt<a class="pagenum" name="page_380" id="page_380" title="380"></a> for him. Yet, in +spite of this, I cannot bid you hope. I am widowed; and the first +numbness of the unexpected shock has not left me yet. I can say to +you truly, cousin, that I love you: that the comradeship we have +known is something which I shall try to continue while we both +live: though we are far beyond our twenties now, Ivan. But more +than this, more than pure friendship, seems to me impossible. +Marriage—even though it be with the love of my girlhood—is still +half-terrible to me. I think that certain memories of my existence +with Alexis can never be wiped away.</p> + +<p>"Am I cruel, dear Ivan? Oh, I so want <i>not</i> to be! But, indeed, I +think I am not yet wholly myself. So I bid you remember that I have +suffered very cruelly from the '<i>love</i>' of a man; and I pray you, +for that reason, to try to forgive me when I tell you that +friendship is all I can ever want now: that as a friend I shall +write you; and as a friend <i>you</i> must know,</p> + +<p style='text-align:right'> +"Your affectionate, sorrowful, <br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">"Nathalie D. F.</span>"<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>There are men, perhaps, who would have read hope into this letter and +have clung to it, willy-nilly. Ivan was not of these. Self-deception was +never a vice of his; and, from this hour, the soul of Nathalie Féodoreff +stood revealed to him more clearly than to herself.</p> + +<p>Once through the letter he sat motionless, the black-bordered sheet +crushed tightly in his right hand. He had forgotten the paper on which +her words to him were traced. Perhaps he had forgotten the words +themselves. But the throbbing of his heart continued: the veins in his +temples still stood out, like purple whip-cords. It was late in the +night before there appeared, in the dark room, the vision of his +mother's angel-face gazing at him, her clear eyes filled with mingled +love and understanding; and midnight had long struck before that which +he instinctively expected was finally given: when, like a diapason, +crashing, <i>fortissimo</i>, through the dark, rolled the magnificent, +despairing chords of the final theme of the great "Tosca Symphony"—the +<i>motif</i>, the epitome, of his own, dark life.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_381" id="page_381" title="381"></a> +<a name="TOSCA_REGNANT_11901" id="TOSCA_REGNANT_11901"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<h3>TOSCA REGNANT</h3> +</div> + +<p>During the weeks immediately succeeding this last repulse, Ivan suffered +as he had suffered in the early days of Nathalie's marriage. It was not +easy for him to comprehend why Madame Féodoreff's letter should affect +him so bitterly. He made all the familiar efforts: tried every resource +known to him of old. They failed. Not only had his tranquillity +departed; not only had his work been turned from joy to drudgery; not +only was the pleasant savor of his quiet existence gone; nay: +physically, mentally, he felt himself sick, and in want. His brain +played him false. His sleep deserted him. His carefully guarded +existence turned upon him, mocking.</p> + +<p>Ivan at last began fully to realize what the past three months had done: +how, in them, all the old love-bitterness, all the accumulated +loneliness and hardship of his solitary years, piled together, had been +transmuted into a mighty hope, the destruction of which swept away his +carefully-reared edifice of artificial content. Out of all the women in +the world, he had wanted, had asked for, in all his life, none but +Nathalie. But her he had needed, terribly; and she was gone: gone out of +his yearning heart, and arms, and soul—for good!</p> + +<p>It was now a long time since he had begun his reign in the house of his +fathers: that dreary house of evil name in which pure women had been +overcome as by some poison, some miasma of foul living, and, generation<a class="pagenum" name="page_382" id="page_382" title="382"></a> +after generation, had died there, down to his mother's day. This, for +more than two centuries had been the tradition of that grewsome palace, +till it was famed throughout the city for the sinister line of men who +had dwelt therein, and had finally died out with the last Prince. Ivan, +when he took up his residence there so suddenly, had put behind him his +memories of the old-wife's tales, and his own boyhood experience. This, +as he progressed farther and farther along the road of power, had become +easier daily until—a woman stepped in, and the power of Prince Ivan +faded and died. In the early days of his disappointment, he was beset by +all the ghosts of his fathers. Himself once more a prey to that black +Tosca that is the heritage of every thinking Russian, he yielded without +resistance to thoughts and memories as morbid and as dreary as those on +which his mother, years ago, had fed her dread disease. So, after a few +midwinter weeks of brooding, lassitude, and sleepless fasting, his +personal servants, there being no friend at hand to replace them, +ventured to remonstrate with their master. Piotr was now as much his +devoted slave as was old Sósha, who had recently retired from active +duty to the kitchen-corner, where his reminiscences and his pipe-smoke +together flavored that cheery room. Sósha had no hesitation in taking +Piotr's lead, and begging the master either to bring home company to +amuse him, or to change his abode to some more fashionable quarter of +the city, whither all his dependants would happily follow him.</p> + +<p>To these simple appeals Ivan listened, certainly; but, bound down by +that cruel lassitude which is the direst symptom of chronic melancholy, +he refused every suggestion, and left his servants to return to their +quarters, dismally shaking their gray heads over his mental state.</p> + +<p>So through the winter. But the flowing of spring-tide rouses the dullest +to contemplate some possible<a class="pagenum" name="page_383" id="page_383" title="383"></a> change of routine. And when that blessed +season once more breathed upon White Russia, Ivan woke to the memory of +old desire. From his mother, who, as a girl, had run wild over the huge +Blashkov estates, Ivan inherited that intense love of nature without +which an artist must be always maimed. This year, especially, he found +himself daily dreaming of the perfumed nights and sweet-aired days of +the country of his boyhood: his mother's favorite resort, at Klin, +whither she had been wont to convey him in May, and whence she departed, +tearfully, under heavy pressure, in October; though twice in her life +she had managed to spend the greater part of the winter there, in the +white wilderness hateful to her lord. "Maidonovo" was a moderate-sized +house, set in the midst of twenty acres of land situated a half-mile +from the extremity of the village of Klin. A year after his wife's death +Michael Gregoriev had sold the place, which he had always detested. Of +it Ivan now dreamed, incessantly; till, late in April, he entered into +negotiations that were presently to electrify his household and that +part of Moscow's population with whom he figured as something of a +personage.</p> + +<p>It was the twenty-eighth of the month when Piotr, after a two-hour +closeting with his master, flew to his fellows with astounding news.</p> + +<p>The great Gregoriev palace was, in less than a month, to pass out of the +hands of the last of the family, and into the possession of the +government, by whom it was to be turned over to the Department of +Police. Moreover—and Piotr's emphasis on the word brought a sharp +stillness in place of the rising buzz of comment—instead of a place in +Moscow, Monsieur le Prince had bought his mother's former country-house +at Klin, whither he intended to remove immediately, there to pass at +least the summer, retaining as many of his present household as cared to +remain with him. (Here a smile, at the idea<a class="pagenum" name="page_384" id="page_384" title="384"></a> of any of the twenty's +leaving the service of a bachelor, a lover of solitude and simplicity, +who would sooner have struck himself than one of his +servants!)—<i>Finally</i>, the whole change was to be completed in two or +three days; and a week, at the outside, would see the new existence well +begun.—Whereupon Piotr, all his news given, descended from his +imaginary rostrum, as eager as his fellows to have a voice in the +impending discussion.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It is no very rare thing for the Russian May-day to wear an aspect of +January. But May snow is, at least, a transient thing; and there are +years when the first day of the gentle month is such as no country would +repudiate. Nature did honor to her disciple; for the world was a glory +of young green and gold, as Ivan, bowed with memories, made his progress +out of the present, along the white, country road to the house of the +long ago.</p> + +<p>Winter had ended ten days before; and Russia, with that marvellous +rapidity with which she accomplishes all change, had already risen from +snow-sheet and mud-bed, and stood negligéed in a robe of gauzy-green, +all flower-sprigged and sun-flecked. Three days more, and the fruit +trees, for which Klin is famous, would be bowers of pink and white. And +behind the flying droschky, there actually arose a fine, white film of +dust! House doors stood open to the milky air; and Staroste and lonely +Village Priest alike were at work in their respective gardens.</p> + +<p>Ivan, now emerged from his black, winter mood, was tremulous with +emotion; and, as his vehicle left the village behind, his eyes ranged +over the broad country-side, reading, as in a familiar book, each old, +beloved character printed on the open page of the landscape seen last +during the summer he had spent here alone, after his mother's death.<a class="pagenum" name="page_385" id="page_385" title="385"></a></p> + +<p>When Ivan alighted at his own gate, Sósha stood there to welcome him and +take upon himself the customary haggle with the driver. Nor did the old +man, noting his master's face, so much as address a word to him whose +expression he read with the sagacity of one trained to the task. Hence +Ivan, his heart overflowing, went at his own, lingering gait towards +that open doorway wherein, it seemed, Sophia's slender form must +presently appear.</p> + +<p>He entered the house alone, turning at once into the little +morning-room, where he looked vaguely about for his mother's +tambour-frame which was not in its place beside the window. Hither, an +instant later, came Piotr, announcing, respectfully:</p> + +<p>"The large room above has been prepared for your Excellency. The trunks +are all unpacked.—At what hour shall I serve the tea—and where?"</p> + +<p>Ivan started, looked about him dazedly, and realized that he had not +eaten since early morning, though the hour was now past four. Then he +said, rather wearily: "Tea here, Piotr, in an hour. After that I will +see you and Sósha. Meantime, let me be left absolutely alone. I want to +go over the whole house. See that I meet no one."</p> + +<p>"Your Excellency is obeyed." And Piotr had bowed and was gone.</p> + +<p>Ivan flung hat, gloves and stick upon the table, and then looked slowly +round once more.—Twenty-one years since his mother had gazed on these +familiar walls?—Impossible! Two decades of other lives intervening +between him and the summer in which sad-eyed Sophia had secretly watched +the coming of her hideous Octopus of disease? Nay! He would not let that +thought endure. But every trace of intrusion must be put away: if, +indeed, it had left a trace. At least the belongings of his mother, now +removed, must come back. He should<a class="pagenum" name="page_386" id="page_386" title="386"></a> dwell here with her beside him, in +his heart, always!—But certainly this room, save for the tambour and +scattered wools, was quite unchanged: roughly-tinted buff walls, +polished floor, with its delicately faded Persian rug, heavy chairs and +sofa, ay, the very spindle-legged table near the bay, were all here, +forming the old ensemble. It was almost incredible.—But Ivan had +discounted the penetration of those servants who, in the long ago, had +loved their lady as now they loved her son.</p> + +<p>With a heart violently throbbing, a throat painfully knotted under the +strain of associations long cherished in the inner sanctum of his +memory, Ivan passed slowly through the long, cold drawing-room towards +the staircase at its farthest end, and so, slowly, upward. As of old, +the slippery stairs were uncarpeted; and his heart jumped anew as his +eyes met the thing they sought: a small, round knot-hole, in a corner of +the seventh step, which had been filled in with a piece of wood rather +darker than the rest, and which, as a boy, he had been possessed to cut +out with his knife, only to be inevitably caught at and punished after +each attempt.</p> + +<p>At the head of the stairs still stood the great, oaken chest, the bottom +drawer of which had been dedicated to the use of his most precious toys. +That was empty, now. He must not break the spell by opening it. So, with +a smile that was an inaudible sigh, he passed on to his mother's +bedroom: that room in which, on a New Year's night now thirty-eight +years gone by, a lonely wife had prayed God for the boon of motherhood.</p> + +<p>The very shrine before which Sophia had knelt, bracket, ikon, and brass +candlestick, still hung on the far wall, beside the bed. Ivan's eyes +paused at it, and he was seized by the impulse to speak to his mother +from that spot. Repressing himself, however, he sat down beside a table +on which he leaned an elbow, supporting<a class="pagenum" name="page_387" id="page_387" title="387"></a> his head upon his hand. +Presently his eyes drooped shut. The unwonted sweetness of the air, the +long, twining sun-shadows of late afternoon, the intense, country +stillness, all of them helped the oppression of memory, till gradually +he began to feel himself enwrapped in a shimmering, elusive mist of +half-real dreams.</p> + +<p>He perceived that the windows were fast-shut, double-paned, their cracks +stuffed with the customary winter moss. Still the raving wind came +through: a freezing breath. Daylight was gone. In its place—was this +some pale moonbeam straying through the uncurtained window, to mingle +its ghostly light with the flaring yellow flame of the guttering +candle?—And that figure that crouched, dumbly, on the floor, beneath +the protective ikon? Who was she?—And who the other two who now +resolved themselves out of the creeping mist and glided towards the +sleeping woman?—a tall and radiant personage, leading by the hand a +little child?—It seemed not strange:—neither new nor amazing. Ivan +knew the gentle lady who had prayed: knew also the Majestic One who +brought the answer to that piteous prayer. But the child—the +shadow-shape whose tiny hand was clasped in that of the Divine +Woman?—Ah, <i>that</i>—</p> + +<p>Ivan shuddered, started, and, by a violent effort, flung off the +clinging vision. Old Sósha, standing in the doorway, was saying, in his +gentle, plaintive voice:</p> + +<p>"The tea, your Excellency!—It is as you commanded.—You have journeyed +far and waited long!"</p> + +<p>"<i>Waited!</i>—I commanded tea in an hour. It can't be five."</p> + +<p>"Pardon, your Excellency, the bells have rung six."</p> + +<p>Ivan sprang to his feet with an exclamation. Then, suddenly, he swayed, +caught himself, by means of the table, and sank back in his chair with a +suppressed<a class="pagenum" name="page_388" id="page_388" title="388"></a> groan. The old servitor ran forward, fear in his face; but +Ivan, smiling at him, waved him away:</p> + +<p>"It is quite well with me, Sósha.—Go bring the samovar up here:—here, +to my mother's room."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>So, with less thought of Nathalie in his heart than he had known for +many a long day, Ivan began his life at Klin: an existence which, +barring one restless interval of travelling, was to continue till the +end of material things came for him. He was not yet old in years. The +experiences that had been given him were scarcely of a theatrical kind. +Those which had gone deepest, and upon which his soul had fed itself, +had been scarce visible to the world, could not have been surmised by +his closest friends. His scars were the scars of temperament: the result +of an abnormal capacity for feeling. The vividness of his imagination +heightened petty trials to a semblance of wanton cruelty. Impersonal +matters he unconsciously made his own. Echoes of the great +<i>Weldschmerz</i>, coming to him from the void, vibrated their way through +his nature till they emerged again, imprisoned in harmonies of his +creating.</p> + +<p>This summer, for example, the first that he spent at Klin, brought him +scarce one outward incident worthy of note; yet it was to him a time +overflowing with events—of mind, and memory. To an outsider or a +<i>mondaine</i>, the Maidonovo routine would have seemed monotonous to a verge +of imbecility. Ivan, ghost-haunted, found each minute of each day +pregnant with its own suggestion: saw his life as a tapestry, the design +of which was woven upon a background of surpassing natural beauty—the +climax and gradual <i>decrescendo</i> of the year. He had emerged from that +long period of semi-idleness in which he had been able to do no more +than refine a mass of half-finished work; and was now feeling a fresh +joy in a renewed and strong-flowing power; an<a class="pagenum" name="page_389" id="page_389" title="389"></a> excitement in the +evolving of new ideas. September found ready for the printer five new +works; the first of them and the biggest, his "Fifth Symphony," the +<i>andante</i> of which must remain forever unrivalled, while the work as a +whole can only be surpassed by its successor in the same form, Ivan's +last and greatest creation: the "Tosca Symphony." Beside this he had +written the "D-minor Violin Concerto" for Brodsky; the "Liturgy of +Joseph of Arimathea," for four voices with organ accompaniment; half a +dozen of the melodious songs that were his special delight: and, lastly, +the little, one-act opera "Iris," for which he had written both libretto +and score, and which created a furore on its performance in Petersburg, +the winter after his death.</p> + +<p>The months that produced this large amount of work were spent in a depth +of solitude such as only Ivan would have dared to undergo. Nathalie's +letters, which grew more frequent as the days went by, and to which he +faithfully replied; two visits from Kashkine, one from Mily Balakirev, +and half a dozen from Nicholas, who was to be daunted by no amount of +taciturnity, were the only incidents of the period. Balakirev, indeed, +had brought with him a young protégé, one Rimsky-Korsakow, (since heard +from,) to worship at the shrine of Russia's Gregoriev; whereupon that +hero, highly disgusted, behaved so boorishly that the chagrined +Balakirev refused Nicholas' next plea, and would not go again. Ivan's +one, regular recreation were his long, solitary walks through the +country-side, disturbed only by the clamorings of children, whom he had +spoiled with kopecks, and whose chatterings interrupted his thoughts no +more than did the voices of squirrels and birds—from which latter, +indeed, he got many an idea.</p> + +<p>These five-mile walks, with four hours in the morning and two in the +evening at the piano, an hour or so spent in skimming over some of the +scores in his vast musical<a class="pagenum" name="page_390" id="page_390" title="390"></a> library, considerable reading, especially at +meal-times, of Russian, French and English novelists and the German +philosophers, whom he approached worshipfully, formed the occupations of +his quiet life during many years. And, as the first months passed, he +began to realize that his painfully acquired philosophy of living was +demonstrating its practicability in the many volumes of his daily +journal.</p> + +<p>No artist, nor, indeed, any scholar or original thinker of temperament, +can progress far in his chosen work without acquiring a certain +philosophic attitude of his own that makes for religion; though it be no +more than the result of orderly habits of thought: its premise gleaned +merely from a continual subconscious synthesis of the sum of personal +existence. The type of the synthesis matters no more than the form of +its result: mockery and atheism of Schopenhauer or von Hartmann; poetic +illogicalities of Hegel; dizzy flights of Schelling; materialism of +Locke; idealism of Berkeley; magnificent transcendentalism of the +imperial Kant;—they become one at last. Truth is one and indivisible; +therefore it is the sincerity of thought, not its fashion, that matters. +True, Ivan Gregoriev, musician by necessity, philosopher by instinct +only, left in the end little record of his answer to the riddle. But +this was rather well than ill. For, from the very beginning, Ivan's +"glimpse behind the veil" was distorted, clouded, smirched, by an +unconquerable cynicism: a personal resentment and rebellion against the +God who stood forth as the acknowledged creator of the miserably unhappy +race of men. The eternal question:—if God be only Omnipotent Good, why +the existence of evil?—he asked in ever-growing bitterness, till +so-called altruism became to him a mockery; and he took a painful +delight in twisting his wisdom into the most fantastic forms, which he +also made the sport and butt of formal logic;<a class="pagenum" name="page_391" id="page_391" title="391"></a> knowing always, in his +own heart, the evil that was wrought in him by those bitter reflections +that formed the refuge of his idle hours. Ah! Had Nathalie but cared!</p> + +<p>September was gone ere Ivan wrote the dedications of his five +newly-finished works. And then, thinking of the men so remembered, he +realized that they all happened, for the moment, to be in Moscow. +Thereupon he suddenly decided to invite them to Maidonovo for +forty-eight hours, and, during that time, to hold a manuscript festival, +in which his and their unpublished works should be played each by its +composer, and criticised by the listeners.</p> + +<p>An invitation from Ivan was not now a thing to be refused. Therefore the +evening of October 10th found six men assembled round the samovar in the +transformed living-room of Ivan's home. For the time, the host had +thrown off his habitual air of grave reserve, and, responding to the +friendly and congenial atmosphere around him, expanded to a gayety, a +magnetic boyishness, that fascinated as much as it amazed the four who +knew him as no others could; and sent Avélallement, a wealthy German +dilettante, whose acquaintance with the famous Russian consisted of a +long correspondence and a fanatical admiration of his work, back to his +native Hamburg determined on bringing Ivan to Germany, in order that the +most sentimental, hospitable and musical race in the world might come to +know, as he did, the great-hearted Russian, whose only possible fault +was that he had not been born on the other side of the frontier.</p> + +<p>That evening, and the day that followed, were more delightful than Ivan +had dared hope. Surrounded by those who were big enough to understand +him, (and, though he did not realize this, he was now generally +recognized as too great a genius to be longer victimized<a class="pagenum" name="page_392" id="page_392" title="392"></a> by jealousy) +he himself shone out with a kind of radiant optimism quite foreign to +his general humor. The new works were gone over, and praise, with thanks +for the dedications, given with a sincerity that was unmistakable. +Finally, his <i>pièce de résistance</i>, the symphony, was played again and +yet again; first by one musician and then by another, the rest hanging +upon each note and chord and progression with the delighted appreciation +of men who understood that they were hearing a masterpiece which was to +be reverenced by generations to come, and which was to bring honor to +all Russian music. By the second evening Rubinstein, his kindly face +beaming with pleasure, was arranging the program of an extra concert in +his Vienna series to be devoted entirely to Ivan's works. Ivan promised +him the symphony for its first performance there; and Brodsky agreed at +once to play the new <i>concerto</i>, the study of which he intended to +begin, from the manuscript, on the following Monday.</p> + +<p>It was perhaps the sharp and painful contrast of the incident that +closed this holiday, which made it afterwards shine so brightly in +Ivan's memory: a memory to which, in later days, he was to turn again +and again, as to the happiest hours of his professional life. His +success might not have been really very great.—And yet, the pressure of +Kashkine's hand upon his shoulder; the friendly light in Rubinstein's +faded eyes, the painful hand-clasp of muscular Balakirev—surely these +things showed that the old cabal against him had at last come to a +natural end? Moreover the attitude of open admiration adopted both by +Brodsky and Avélallement, both of whom lived entirely abroad, plainly +betrayed the esteem in which he was held in other lands. Yes; for one +hour—perhaps the only one of his life—Ivan felt to the full the +exaltation of success, of applause, of the intimate knowledge that, +however great his<a class="pagenum" name="page_393" id="page_393" title="393"></a> praises, they were no more than his work deserved. He +was a successful artist: his feet on one of the last steps of that +great, golden stairway, around the foot of which thronged such +struggling crowds; the serene heights of which were so little trod.—Ay, +it had been given him, his bright day! How could he complain when, at +eleven o'clock on the second night, old Sósha entered the room and +handed a telegram to his master?</p> + +<p>Brodsky and Balakirev were in the middle of a haunting melody of the +Steppes, arranged by Mily himself, when the sharp exclamation of Ivan +brought a quick silence, and turned every eye towards him:</p> + +<p>"I have a message here, my friends.—It is bad news.—I—I must—" he +passed his hand across his brow, and thought for a moment: "I must get +to Moscow to-night, somehow.—A friend—a man, is dying there, in the +Cherémétiev Hospital.—You understand? You forgive me?—It is urgent I +should reach him before the end."</p> + +<p>There was the natural chorus of sympathy, regrets, assurances of +understanding. Only Brodsky betrayed a touch of the curiosity which all +felt; for, even to those who knew him best, Ivan's life and connections +had always had about them a suggestion of mystery which made his every +affair an object of unwonted interest to those who knew him. But to +none—not even to Nicholas—did Ivan disclose the identity of the man, +or the exact nature of the agitation that spoke of hidden grief.</p> + +<p>He made his preparations quietly; bade good-bye to the friends who, +though they were to sleep at Maidonovo, would be gone before he could +return; and, taking the bag prepared for him by Sósha, hurried out to +the sleigh that awaited him. Seventy minutes after the arrival of the +message, the Petersburg mail thundered into Klin on its way to Moscow. +Ivan, solitary midnight passenger,<a class="pagenum" name="page_394" id="page_394" title="394"></a> was put on board, together with the +mail-bags and registered express.</p> + +<p>During the two-hour ride through the roaring blackness, Ivan did not +sleep, and scarcely moved. His mind was occupied in going over and over +two scenes of the days before his succession: one, the afternoon on +which a certain starving youth, fed and warmed by him, had told the +story of his struggle for an artistic education; the other, his final +interview, two years later, with that same youth, soiled, then, in mind +and body; sodden with vice; mentally rotten with the knowledge thereof: +the fair god of his ideal dragged from its altar and sold, with all the +rest of his great heritage, for less than a mess of pottage.—Again, as +he neared the city, these memories were augmented by an anticipation: +the imagined picture of the third and last interview he was destined to +have with the tragic boy. Ivan was to get his last glimpse into that +soul to-night. He was going to one who, dying, had called to him from +the depths: Joseph Kashkarin, the Pole.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Dawn had not yet risen. Moscow, wind-swept, dripping with wild bursts of +rain, its desolation augmented by the mournful shrieking of wind through +the narrow streets, was shrouded in the intense darkness of the last +hour of the night, when Ivan at last dismounted from his droschky at the +door of the great hospital given to the city by Count Cherémétiev. He +found no difficulty in entering; for there is no moment of the day or +night when some wretched soul may not find a refuge there.</p> + +<p>At the same time, the "Prince" Gregoriev, together with a piece of gold, +did serve to cut many yards from the red tape that impedes all progress +in Russia. A brief explanation, two minutes' wait, the appearance of a +young man garbed in spotless white, a walk up<a class="pagenum" name="page_395" id="page_395" title="395"></a> two flights of stairs and +along a chilly corridor, and Ivan found himself at last halting before a +closed door. Here the nurse turned to him saying, softly:</p> + +<p>"We were obliged to remove him from the ward at noon to-day. We prefer +not to allow deaths in the general rooms if we can avoid it.—Then too, +early this evening, the man was suddenly paid for."</p> + +<p>"<i>Paid for!</i>—By whom?"</p> + +<p>"A lady. We do not know the name. She refused to give it, and did not +ask to see the patient; but she left a considerable sum for him."</p> + +<p>"Why did you not send for me sooner?"</p> + +<p>"He never mentioned your Excellency's name till this afternoon. And of +course we did not dream that you—you knew him. He has been conscious +only at intervals since the hemorrhage yesterday; and he is also under +the influence of opiates."</p> + +<p>"He is dying of—what?"</p> + +<p>"Galloping consumption; and—" The man hesitated.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Well, it is a complicated case. We think there must have been a touch +of <i>delirium tremens</i> just before he was brought in—a week ago. +Alcohol, you see, is the best thing we know for consumption. If the case +hadn't been aggravated by privation—hunger, exposure, want,—we might +possibly have saved him, at least for the time. But I assure your +Excellency that everything has been done—"</p> + +<p>"You think it absolutely impossible to save him <i>now</i>—if no expense is +spared? I give you <i>carte-blanche</i>—"</p> + +<p>"The man is dying, Prince Gregoriev. Only a miracle could help him now."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence before Ivan said, very softly: "Let us go +in."</p> + +<p>The room was small, rather bare, but clean and well-warmed by the huge +stove built into the wall, with<a class="pagenum" name="page_396" id="page_396" title="396"></a> half of it extending into the room +beyond. A second nurse was sitting in a chair beside a small table which +held medicines and the night-lamp. This man rose as his successor +entered, and, at the door, a word or two was spoken between them. Ivan +caught the phrase: "No change." Then he halted beside the iron bed and +stood looking down on the motionless form of Joseph.</p> + +<p>Joseph!—Joseph Kashkarin, this bearded, hollow-eyed, gray-lipped man, +with the spots of scarlet flaming from his projecting cheekbones, and +throwing the death-hue of the rest of the face into still more dreadful +prominence? Joseph's, that clawlike hand, with the broken, stained and +shapeless nails, which once had wielded a brush that created the +laughing face of Irina Petrovna—the woman who had brought him down to +death? A great shudder seized upon Ivan; and, for an instant, he was +forced to turn away. Then the nurse brought him a chair; and he removed +his coat and hat and seated himself beside the cot, his face resolutely +straightened into an expressionless gravity. As he watched, the nurse +administered a hypodermic of strychnia, and then bathed the burning face +and hands with cool water. The task completed, the man turned to Ivan, +saying, nonchalantly:</p> + +<p>"The stimulant may pull him up, sir, for fifteen minutes, if you wish to +speak to him. But he's failing. He'll hardly linger to see the sun."</p> + +<p>In spite of himself Ivan betrayed something of the thrill that shot +through him at these words. Till now he had scarcely realized that he +was actually to watch a man start upon that dread passage which +leads—none knoweth whither. He sat wrapped in solemn thought until, +presently, the form beneath the blankets stirred, and Joseph began to +cough:—a cough that shook and racked his emaciated frame as if it would +tear flesh from bone. The nurse hurried to his side. But it was<a class="pagenum" name="page_397" id="page_397" title="397"></a> five +minutes before the fit had ceased and the sick man, raised high upon his +pillows, regained his breath and the strength to open his glittering +eyes, which fell at once upon Ivan. For a moment they stared, dazedly. +Then a distorted smile softened the line of the pallid lips:</p> + +<p>"<i>You!</i>—Then they did send—and you <i>came</i>! I'm not dreaming?" He spoke +in a whisper, as if to himself; but the words were distinct.</p> + +<p>"No, Joseph, I am here.—Joseph, why did you wait?—Why did you not come +to me, years ago?—I hunted so long! I never dreamed of leaving you +longer than for that one night. I have prayed that—" He broke off, +suddenly, remembering that excitement might bring on the cough again. +And indeed Joseph's eyes were already closed once more.</p> + +<p>Ivan waited, patiently, one, two, five minutes. Then the whisper came +again: "That is a long time ago. But I remember why I didn't go to you: +why I concealed myself. It was because I was ashamed.—We all wish to +hide our dirty souls from every one—even from God, I suppose. Well, +<i>you</i> had been really good to me; and you were my ideal: the ideal of my +best self, and of my art. How could I go to you, when you must see the +depths I had got to."</p> + +<p>"But you are letting me see you now, and there is nothing dreadful in +it," put in Ivan, gently.</p> + +<p>"Ah, now I <i>know</i> I am dying. You cannot despise a man who is facing +eternity."</p> + +<p>"I should not have despised you then, if—you had cared.—You see, +Joseph, after all, we're brothers. Your God is also mine. We both wanted +to serve Him in the same fashion; for all the arts are kin. And I knew +how great your talent was: how fine would be the expression of the best +in you."</p> + +<p>"Ah! That is it!" Joseph sat forward, eagerly, and his faint voice +wavered. "'The expression of the<a class="pagenum" name="page_398" id="page_398" title="398"></a> best,'—that, Ivan Mikhailovitch, is +what you tried to give me the chance for: what you always have done +yourself. You were moving steadily upward. I was always plunging farther +down.—And it was my wilful choice. I think I know the truth now. My +service of God was never freely given. It was not the best I could do: +the finest work I was capable of, just for the sake of the work, and the +high thoughts it brought, to me and to others. There were more sordid +motives. I wanted—first, fame: adulation from people; secondly, no, +perhaps most of all, <i>money</i>. For of that I had never had enough for +common necessities in all my life. So, even if there had been no—woman" +(that word almost inaudibly,) "I should not have done what you believed +I could do.</p> + +<p>"Art!—the great sun-goddess, that shines afar! She it is that gives us +the gift: the chance to work. But she knows all our hearts; and she +judges our deeds honestly. That which she accepts of us, she lays at the +feet of the Most High.—Is it well?—Thou art Abel. Thine offering of +the lamb is more pleasing than the first-fruits of the harvest. On +me,—Cain, God frowns, and the devil grins.—He is grinning through the +wine. I hear his laugh amid the clink of the coin.—He is in red; and I +flaunt my mistress in his colors. Then we dance: first for sheer +delight, with the music. Then the whips come down on our shoulders, and +we go on.—Faster!—Higher!—Leap and prance, and watch the grin +expand.—Ah-h-h-h!—Are the shadows there deep enough, rich enough, do +you think? And are the lips too much a 'thread of scarlet'?—Oh the +opalline lights in that cloud!—How to blend such colors on a +palette?—Nature? She is mocking, too.</p> + +<p>"But oh, Irina, I see it now, at last! The dawn—the dawn is here. The +night is gone. I have dreamed, I suppose: ugly dreams.—But they, too, +are done with.—Look,<a class="pagenum" name="page_399" id="page_399" title="399"></a> my beloved, it is morning! The first sunbeam +shines there—and is reflected in your dear eyes!" And, lifting his thin +body, arms wide-stretched, eyes a-glitter, Joseph made his last reach +up, after the great sun-shaft he had sought so long:—reached, and so, +with a faint, far cry of satisfaction, had it, and was gone.</p> + +<p>Ivan, feeling his way to the window, opened the curtains and looked out +through blurred eyes upon the holy city. The dying man had, indeed, +beheld the day. Yet no sunlight glittered upon the Kremlin domes; only +the velvet blackness of the dark hour had melted, and given place to a +twilight of sullen gray. Then, through the mind of Ivan, exhausted by +the emotions of a sleepless day and night, there shot a pang—not of +sorrow, but of deep, irresistible <i>envy</i>, for the man who had passed +away, out of the Russian autumn, into the glory of the everlasting +sun-land.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_400" id="page_400" title="400"></a> +<a name="THE_LION_12490" id="THE_LION_12490"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<h3>THE LION</h3> +</div> + +<p>Before Ivan left the hospital that morning, he had made all arrangements +and provided a generous check for Joseph's funeral. Then, utterly +exhausted, he drove to a quiet hotel, sent a telegram bidding Piotr join +him with necessary clothes, and finally retired. He remained in the city +for four days:—until the interment was over. During that time there +occurred two incidents of which he never afterwards was heard to speak, +but of which the remembrance never left him; for they eventually proved +to be the end of his long and dramatic acquaintance with Irina Petrovna +Lihnoff.</p> + +<p>For all the unspeakable heartlessness of her later career, this +many-sided woman showed deep emotion over the tragic end of the man +whose youth and career she had ruined. Ivan recognized the fact that, +even had he not appeared, Joseph would have received every attention, +every aid, while he lived; every honor after his death. And her first +visit to Ivan was to beg that he would allow her to reimburse him, at +least for the funeral just ended. Ivan's refusal was unalterable. Nor +was his feeling of repugnance towards her softened, either by this +incident, or by her later well-acted but over-theatrical appeal to his +pity, his former affection for her, for the possible restoration of his +consideration, even though entire forgiveness for the irrevocable past +should be impossible. Ivan unfortunately read her too well. Did he do +her an injustice when he said to himself,<a class="pagenum" name="page_401" id="page_401" title="401"></a> bitterly, that Prince +Gregoriev was worth an attempt which would not have been wasted on Ivan +the composer?</p> + +<p>It was noon on the fourteenth day of the month when Ivan re-entered the +lonely house at Klin, whence he was practically not to emerge for five +long years.</p> + +<p>In the years between the October of 1879 and that of 1884, he performed +the hardest labor of his career. His life was one of Spartan simplicity; +nor, though about him Russia fainted beneath the terrible blows of +nihilist knouts, did he once lift his head to catch so much as an echo +of the furore. Unlike the majority of his fellow-countrymen, he took +little interest in the tempestuous history of the period. Still, the +event of March 13, 1881, did affect him powerfully enough to produce the +most beautiful of all requiem masses: one worthy of the martyrdom it +commemorated. For the Liberator met the base reward of his long and +arduous struggle to help his people as nobly as had his great American +predecessor, who, sixteen years before, had also fallen by a traitor's +hand. Yet it is said that none who had known him doubted, as they laid +the shattered form of Alexander down, for the last time, on the iron cot +of his soldier's room in the great Winter Palace, that the sigh of the +dying Czar was no confession of pain, but rather one of relief at this +swift solution of his unsolvable problem.</p> + +<p>It was two years before the third of that royal name dared don his heavy +crown; and when that was done, it was Loris Melikov who became Czar. +But, though the secret societies might shriek and rave of the necessary +doom of the double tyrant to be downed, the people themselves had tired +a little of the everlasting howls of bomb-thrower and assassin; and +quieter years succeeded those of Russia's greatest shame.</p> + +<p>Ivan, from his hermitage, took some part in the coronation<a class="pagenum" name="page_402" id="page_402" title="402"></a> festival; +for from his hand came the Triumphal March, and the great "Victory" +overture, played in the Kremlin Square by an orchestra of one hundred +and seventy pieces, augmented by bells and cannon.</p> + +<p>This was, however, one of the works that Ivan never heard. At the time +of its first performance he refused the invitation to conduct it, and +did not so much as think of going to Moscow to hear it played. He was in +a very different mood from one of triumph; for there had come upon him +the bitter grief of Nicholas Rubinstein's death. For two years the old +man had faded, visibly. During the summer of 1881, he had spent much +time at Maidonovo, where he helped Ivan with the final polishing of his +last opera, the famous "Boris Telekin." That autumn, all the old circle +conspired together to keep him in the country, where Ivan longed to tend +him as a son. But the old man, dominant to the last, insisted on +returning to town and resuming his work at the Conservatoire. In the +February of 1883 he actually went to Paris, to help Anton and Davidoff +prepare for their great festival there. The journey, however, fulfilled +Kashkine's bitter prophecy. Nicholas died in the French capital on the +evening of March 11th; and Ivan, struck to the heart, crept yet closer +into the solitude and isolation of Klin, where, for three months, he +yielded himself to Tosca and opium, till a second catastrophe in the +Russian musical world was averted only by Kashkine, who routed out his +friend and forcibly insisted on beginning rehearsals for "Boris +Telekin"; which opera saw its <i>première</i> in November; and became the +sensation of the season.</p> + +<p>This one was the last of Gregoriev's operas. He had already expended too +much time on a form unsuited to his talent; and when "Boris" left his +hands perfected, he completely lost interest in it, and began at once to +devote himself to his unnumbered symphony, the<a class="pagenum" name="page_403" id="page_403" title="403"></a> "Æneid"; one of the +greatest of musical epics, and well worthy of the poem whence it had +risen. The fruit of the winter of 1883 and 1884, included also the +too-popular "Nathalie" dances, (where, for once, Ivan over-melodized); +the "Cinderella" ballet; and his symphonic poem "Dream of Italy." These +completed, he sank into a state of torpor from which nothing seemed to +rouse him. Overwork had shorn him alike of vitality and of the +imagination which had become as the breath of life to him. And the brief +tone-poem "Hypatia," forced after a fortnight's visit in October from +Madame Féodoreff and her daughters, is the driest, most hopelessly +academic, of his works.</p> + +<p>Nathalie's departure, however, seemed to break the spell of his +dreariness. During the following six weeks he was frequently seen in +Moscow and seemed to cling to the companionship of Kashkine; who, in a +measure, began to replace Rubinstein with him. In December came +Avélallement, acknowledged envoy from the five greatest German +orchestras, begging Monsieur Gregoriev to consent to a tour of the +orchestra cities of Germany, where he should conduct programs of his own +works. To the amazement of the Moscow circle, Ivan received this +proposition with something like enthusiasm. Before Christmas he bade +good-bye to Russia for an indefinite period; for, the German tour over, +he was determined to spend a summer in Switzerland, and follow the +autumn down into that Italy of his dreams which he had never seen.</p> + +<p>"I have spent too many years in this gray land, Constantine. I am +beginning to feel the grayness. My whole soul is yearning for the +sun.—I have grown narrow, and stern, and stiff, mentally and bodily. I +must expand: must seek out men once more: and countries and peoples that +are not ours.—I long for the contrasts of Africa, of Egypt; of the +burning desert, with<a class="pagenum" name="page_404" id="page_404" title="404"></a> skies of fiery blue.—I bid good-bye to Russia. +Time shall lead me whither it will!"</p> + +<p>Kashkine, gazing at him thoughtfully, felt a sudden chill of doubt creep +into his heart. The time for his biography was drawing near.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In mid-December, "Prince" Gregoriev, (the title being the finest of +advertisements,) escorted by Monsieur Avélallement, and attended by a +stately retinue of servants, arrived in Hamburg, where his tour began. +His amazement at the ovations constantly given him, was naïve; for it +seemed that Ivan was never to realize the extent of his reputation. But +fanatical adulation, following in the streets, constant cranings of the +neck from the populace every time he appeared in public, presently began +to make him miserable. He was finding fame rather an unwieldy burden. +Indeed, he had begun seriously to regret his contract, when he learned +that, on a certain evening, both Edvard Grieg and Johannes Brahms, who +had travelled from their respective Norway and Austria to meet him, were +to sup with him and his host after occupying a box at the last of his +Hamburg concerts.</p> + +<p>That supper-party gave a bad quarter of an hour to Madame Avélallement, +the hostess: a woman of supreme tact, but whom three great artists bade +fair to overwhelm. As they seated themselves at table Brahms, who had +been in a brown study, suddenly proffered the company an extemporaneous +criticism of Ivan's music, which he tore into miscroscopic bits, and +flung upon the winds of sarcasm; after which he perorated elaborately +upon his own power and the perfect academic accuracy of his style.</p> + +<p>When he had reached his final period, the silence was awe-inspiring. +Avélallement, his wife, even Grieg, who was an enthusiastic admirer of +Ivan's work, sat dumb<a class="pagenum" name="page_405" id="page_405" title="405"></a> with apprehension, quite oblivious of the fact +that Ivan, appreciating the solemnity of the occasion, was silent only +because he was struggling with hardly repressible laughter. He had +diminished this to a smile, however, before he helped himself +bountifully to wiener-schnitzel, and remarked, with an air of anxious +deference:</p> + +<p>"It is a privilege to have heard your views, Herr Professor. In my youth +I, too, was a worshipper of the mathematical cult. I should doubtless +have compressed myself into that mould had it been possible. But alas! +My stubborn inner self would not permit.—After all, each to his own. To +me, imagination: the great, melancholy harmonies of the infinite +Steppes. To you, your counterpoint, your fugue, the infallible, +unquestionable sequence of one-two-three. Let us not quarrel, then, over +the inevitable."</p> + +<p>Brahms frowned. But alas! for the moment, his mouth was full. And Madame +Avélallement, breathing a prayer of thanks and relief to Ivan, had +seized her instant and turned the conversation to safer paths. Some +hours later the two masters parted, in perfect amicability. But it is to +be noted that they never met again.</p> + +<p>The dour criticism of the rigid classicist was almost the only adverse +word spoken of Ivan throughout his triumphal tour. To be sure, it was +frequently said that his conducting was by no means equal to his +composing: but that was a truth which could have hurt only had it been +turned round. Ivan laughed many a time over his unconquerable terror of +daïs and baton; and had not the orchestras he conducted been perfectly +drilled in his programs before his coming, he might more than once have +come to grief. But it was noticeable that wherever Ivan came into +personal contact with the journalists, no praise was afterwards too high +for him. For the magnetism of his personality had increased<a class="pagenum" name="page_406" id="page_406" title="406"></a> with the +years; and, added to the absence of any conceit in his manner, it made +him an object of adulation that drove him into frequent fits of contrary +taciturnity.</p> + +<p>However, the long years of loneliness and unremitting labor proved an +excellent foundation for this little period of relaxation. Also, as his +tour continued, he was kept in a constant state of surprise at the +number of celebrated musicians who came from flattering distances to +hear his concerts and shake his hand. Grieg and Brahms were the vanguard +of a distinguished throng: men representing every school, and of every +type of ability; from the veteran Carl Goldmark, idol of his following, +to a very young man, by name Richard Strauss, concerning whose immature +but highly individual compositions, Herr Brahms had already worked +himself into many a classical fury in the pages of his favorite musical +journal; though more than one great artist—among them Ivan,—believed +that wondrous messages were to come from the pen of this youth who +already dallied, in such magnificent unconcern, with certain +awe-inspiring transgressions of classical laws, augmented and diminished +to a breathless degree!</p> + +<p>It was nearing March, and the German tour was verging on its close, when +Kashkine came from Petersburg, at Ivan's earnest request, to make one of +the party invited, by Frau Cosima, to spend a week at the home of Wagner +in Bayreuth. It was with a little reluctance that Gregoriev entered this +sanctum of the great magician's world. None who knew intimately Ivan's +work and that of the creator of the music-drama, could easily comprehend +the lack of sympathy between these two men whose music was of so much +the same type. Perhaps the similarity rose from very different sources. +Certainly the effects produced, however much alike in power and in +distinction, had originated in minds bearing<a class="pagenum" name="page_407" id="page_407" title="407"></a> so little resemblance to +each other, that neither could see himself reflected in his +contemporary. Indeed, as Wagner adored, and yearned to imitate, +Beethoven, his diametrical opposite, so Ivan, tempestuous iconoclast, +pored, year after year, over Mozart, deeply deploring his inability to +imitate the simple, wearisome, weakly-flowing syrup of obviousness, +which constitutes the secret of that master's popularity. So the two +great men, each of whom must be reverenced by all the members of the +other's following, found in each other, through the insistence of human +nature, ficklest of contrary jades, none of the greatness but all of the +faults.</p> + +<p>Happily, however, there proved to be no reason for Ivan's hesitancy over +the invitation of Wagner's remarkable wife. His visit, of which many +hours were spent in the opera-house, where rehearsals for the summer's +festival were going busily forward, proved far too interesting to +require any polite pretence. Ivan took his leave of the widow, (who has +done so much to augment the fame of her husband), with expressions of +sincere regard and regret, adding, involuntarily, his satisfaction that +this stay was to form his final impression of musical Germany.—For, +three days later, Monsieur Gregoriev and his suite arrived in Paris: +home of a very different musical cult.</p> + +<p>Here a new group—one no less distinguished than that of their German +brethren,—awaited the Russian star. Aged Gounod, Messrs. Saint-Saëns, +Massenet, and Bizet, with Bemberg, Vidal and Duparc the song-writers, +together with a little group of the younger school, d'Indy, Charpentier +and their set, were gathered together to prepare a festival for Prince +Gregoriev, showering on him attentions of every kind; and laboring +tirelessly to convince him of their admiration and their "sympathetic +appreciation." No blunt comment or criticism<a class="pagenum" name="page_408" id="page_408" title="408"></a> here! All was smoothly, +exquisitely polished: urbanely, beautifully French. But within a week or +two Kashkine noted that Ivan was turning inward again towards himself +and his habitual solitude. And he knew that presently these complacent +fellows would be sticking themselves on the spikes of a chestnut-burr of +moroseness, <i>brusquerie</i>, and blunt refusals to have anything to do with +music and musicians.</p> + +<p>What to do? As the days went on and his fears were fulfilled, Kashkine +brought himself a dozen times to the verge of remonstrance, of pleading, +of explanation; but, each time he opened his lips to speak on that +subject, his courage failed, and he retreated hurriedly to safer topics. +It was odd that this gentle-natured man, so easily assailable in +general, should prove so unapproachable on the subject of personal +expediency. Even Kashkine, already Ivan's Boswell, a man unselfishly +eager that his friend should leave behind him a trail of golden +admiration, dared not make the suggestion that it were better to move +on, merely because he so dreaded the inevitable quiet glance and the +direct, unequivocal: "Why?"</p> + +<p>Happily, however, Constantine's secret anxiety was soon ended. One +afternoon, as the two friends sat together in the <i>salon</i> of Ivan's +suite, the Prince called Piotr to him, ordered him to arrange a farewell +dinner for his friends on the following evening, and to be ready to +leave, on the succeeding morning, for Nice, where they would spend the +carnival: Lent falling very late this year.</p> + +<p>The events of the ensuing months contain no musical history of any note. +Italy, still arrogant over her florid successes of the fifties, had +nothing but ridicule for the robust northern style which, to the ears +accustomed to simple melody, accompanied by the tum-ti-tum of +guitar-notes, that lightest dessert of the musical feast,<a class="pagenum" name="page_409" id="page_409" title="409"></a> was as the +howling of demons drowning the songs of an angel-choir. Ivan, +progressing slowly southward towards the Eternal City, found his name +everywhere unknown; so that he was obliged to depend for comfortable +rooms and ready service solely on his title. In Rome, to be sure, the +score of "Boris Teleken" was to be seen in a window or two, side by side +with those of "Lohengrin" or "Tannhäuser." And there the society of +which Leoncavallo was president, gave him a dinner, at which the +conversation turned principally on the beauties of the Italian climate +and the glories of her historic past.</p> + +<p>These things did not, however, wound that professional vanity of which +Ivan possessed so infinitesimal an amount. Never was man more thoroughly +inoculated by <i>amor Italiæ</i> than Gregoriev. During the first weeks of +his stay in Rome, guide-books and histories of the city were never out +of his hands; and he took up his pen only to write the promised weekly +letter to his cousin. Nor, as the spring advanced, and the tides of the +Roman populace, driven before the hot blast of the sirocco, began to +roll towards Frascati and the hills, would Ivan follow them. On the +contrary, he seemed to glory in the increasing heat of the unclouded +sun; and, when he had sent from him, one by one, every member of his +party save Piotr and Piotr's son, young Ivan, he began to prepare for a +more reckless journey, southward. While his anxious but obedient retinue +proceeded to Florence to prepare for him a winter abode, this madman, +attended by a courier and his two servants, whom neither expostulation +nor threat could drive from his side, set out for Naples, en +route—<i>horror incredibilis</i>, for Sicily!</p> + +<p>During July and August Kashkine, staying, in a condition of enraged +resignation, in Berne, daily awaited a telegram announcing Ivan's mortal +illness or death.<a class="pagenum" name="page_410" id="page_410" title="410"></a> Instead, however, he merely received frequent +epistles from the subject of his fears, written in increasing ecstasy; +till finally, in the first week of September, came the climax. In a note +dated from Heaven (a place called, by the vulgar, Taormina), there came, +at the end of the exclamation points, one or two rational sentences of +information. It seemed that, upon the completion of his "Sicilian +Fantasia," Ivan intended returning, by degrees, to the north, reaching +Florence about November 1st. But he did not forget to add that it would +be a voluntary plunge from the skies to purgatory.—For well indeed was +Sicily named the "Smile of God!" And as for +Russia—Moscow—Petersburg—well! popular mistake had incredibly +conceived the infernal regions hot instead of cold; for who on the +beautiful earth could ever be unhappy while the sun, visible presentment +of the Deity, moved unobstructed through the turquoise vault of +Italy?—Italy!—melody embodied: harmony made visible: Mozart +paraphrased: Kingdom into which all artists must seek entrance; +fairy-land come true!</p> + +<p>Kashkine read his letter with relief, with resentment, finally, with +laughter. But Ivan's earnest invitation to him to spend the winter in +Florence could not be accepted. He had already been absent far too long. +Russia claimed him. And thus, when, at last, in the first days of the +melancholy month, Ivan arrived at the gray capital of Tuscany where he +was to make his temporary home, no friendly faces save those of his +servants were at hand to welcome him.</p> + +<p>Probably no city in all the world possesses so powerful an attraction +for so many people of so many nations as does this grim stronghold of +Medici and Borgia. Its society, like that of most Italian cities, is +largely cosmopolitan. Its different "colonies" intermingle, however, +with the greatest friendliness; and among these "Prince" Gregoriev was +effusively received. It was<a class="pagenum" name="page_411" id="page_411" title="411"></a> less than a month before he was given to +understand that, though a fine dilettantism in any of the arts is a +charming fad, a professional career for a Prince with a fortune like his +was not to be seriously considered for one moment. To the surprise even +of Piotr, this attitude amused rather than angered Ivan; and, his +summer's work polished and sent away, he smiled in his sleeve and +urbanely donned his new garb, determined to play the part assigned him +till <i>ennui</i> should tear away domino and mask.</p> + +<p>By the time he arrived the "season" was already in a vigorous infancy. +Daily, in the late afternoon, the Cascine became an international mêlée +of magnificent equipages and Parisian toilettes. Then, the drive over, +those Florentine leaders who owned palaces, and their foreign imitators +who contented themselves with a "<i>Mezzanine</i>," seated themselves at +well-provided tea-tables and entertained a regularly flowing throng of +tea-drinking, scandal-mongering women, accompanied by a circle of men of +some interest and distinction. In the evening, Florence did still more. +By this time, the <i>salons</i> were suffocating and airless. Yet there were +few nights in the week when, somewhere, the sober reception was not +heightened to a ball, sometimes impromptu, more often formally +prearranged. Morning found the indefatigable leisure world scattered +through one or another of the great galleries, where, before the +masterpieces of a by-gone Italy, they recounted all the questionable +incidents of the preceding day. And never a woman but could tell the +length of time that Countess X—— had remained in the conservatory; or +the variety of rouge used by that preposterous Mademoiselle C——, whose +mother should really adopt spectacles.</p> + +<p>For a matter of four or five weeks Ivan, still living in the glamour of +this land of the death-in-life, permitted himself to float, passively, +round and round the fashionable<a class="pagenum" name="page_412" id="page_412" title="412"></a> whirlpool. It was a wonder he endured +so long; for, from, the first, he was lionized unbearably, and was soon +taken up by the very cream of Florentine society: (a little clique +really difficult for foreigners to penetrate); till behold! the old +Principessa, head of the lofty house of Contarini, reached a stage of +liking and familiarity where she did not hesitate to tap her Prince on +the arm with her fan, commanding his escort during her formal progress +through her sparsely furnished but highly exclusive <i>salons</i>.</p> + +<p>Signs of awakening were, however, plainly visible in Ivan's manner +before the day of the accident which revolutionized his winter.</p> + +<p>Gregoriev, like every other visitor to the city, had observed, and +frequently stared at, a certain person who constantly haunted the best +of the galleries and resorts—Pitti, Uffizi, Academia, the shop of +Vecellio on Lung' Arno, and, finally, the Cascine. She was a woman of +rather odd aspect, somewhere near middle age, who was always followed by +a maid, but otherwise went alone, unspoken to. Despite her complete +isolation, she was unquestionably a person of breeding, probably also, +considering the appointments of her carriage, of wealth. More than once +it had been on Ivan's tongue to ask about her; but the question was +still unspoken when she was thrown forcibly upon his recognition. It was +early upon a December afternoon; and Ivan was walking alone on the +deserted driveway, his mind engrossed with a recalcitrant theme, when he +was broke in upon by the sudden noise of pounding hoofs, rattling +wheels, then, after three or four breathless seconds, a scream, +interrupted by the thud of a falling horse, the snapping of a shaft, and +the plunging of the second animal, who halted, trembling, a few yards +away.</p> + +<p>But half aware of what he did, Ivan rushed to the horse, caught him by +the bridle and held him fast,<a class="pagenum" name="page_413" id="page_413" title="413"></a> while the coachmen, and a workman or two +who had come up, busied themselves over the fallen beast, which, though +bruised and bleeding, had broken no bones, and was declared able to +finish the journey back to the apartment of "madame."</p> + +<p>A few seconds later Ivan found himself standing bare-headed in the +presence of the lonely woman of his imagination, who, herself pale, +evidently shaken, and coughing violently, was, nevertheless, between her +gasps, vigorously remonstrating with her terrified and hysterical maid. +Astonished at the force demonstrated by one whom he now perceived to be +seriously ill, Ivan accepted an eagerly proffered seat opposite the +women, and accompanied them back, across the river, into the city.</p> + +<p>The drive was memorable. On its termination Ivan, fascinated by certain +observations, accepted further hospitality, and sat for half an hour +over a samovar in a beautifully furnished little <i>salon</i>; finally saying +au revoir not only with his lips but with his mind.</p> + +<p>That evening, for next to the last time, a Florentine <i>salon</i> rang once +more with the name of Alexandrine Alexiévna Nikitenko, widow of the +Prince of the name who was the younger brother of the head of one of the +most famous families in Russia. The story of the runaway and the +dénouement which had brought two such well-known compatriots together, +was in every one's mouth. Ivan was besieged with questions, to which his +replies were so unsatisfactory that a general appeal was made to the +authority of the Principessa Contarini. To her Ivan gave a brief account +of the event, and then himself became an eager interlocutor. His first +triple question also ended, for some time, his remarks. And when he had +been fully answered, his mind was too full for further utterance.</p> + +<p>"Who is this Princess Nikitenko? Why is she in Florence? And why is she +not here to-night?"<a class="pagenum" name="page_414" id="page_414" title="414"></a></p> + +<p>A storm of comment, ejaculation, exclamations of wonder! Ivan closed his +ears; and opened them again only for the young Contessa Contarini, who, +at a nod from her mother-in-law, undertook enlightenment. Then—one +half-hour in the dim-lit corner of an inner boudoir,—and Ivan found +himself at last <i>au courant</i> of the great scandal of 1869, which, +wonderful to relate, was still, after nearly eighteen years, almost as +interesting as ever: the persistent presence of its heroine almost as +astonishing as in the first days of her ostracism.</p> + +<p>It was in the autumn of the year 1867, when the reign of the Liberator +was in the fulness of its fame, that a certain scandal <i>intime</i> began, +in St. Petersburg, to divide interest with the still engrossing topic of +the freed serfs. Every one in society took sides, for or against, in the +quarrel and separation of the young Prince and Princess Nikitenko: both +of whom had been, since their marriage, high in the graces of the +Grand-Ducal circle, and leaders of the fastest set in the capital. When +the trouble between them became noticeable, gossip ran fast and furious; +partly for the reason that no human being seemed to understand just +where the cause of the difficulty lay. Whispered mention of the +Grand-Duke Constantine, madcap-libertine, hero of a thousand escapades, +tended in no way to lessen the interest, though of evidence there seemed +none. The climax proved to be a fitting one, however; for, early in +March, the Princess, with two maids, a valet, her entire wardrobe, and +all save the hereditary jewels, disappeared from the ken of humankind.</p> + +<p>Six weeks later she was heard from in Florence, where she remained in +seclusion during the summer, but in the autumn opened a <i>salon</i> which, +in point of brilliance, elegance, and distinction, eclipsed every other +in the Tuscan capital.</p> + +<p>The young Princess was a woman of remarkable<a class="pagenum" name="page_415" id="page_415" title="415"></a> education, and tremendous +gifts.—So much was always admitted.—Her beauty was a moot point: her +<i>chic</i>, never! She threw herself eagerly into the study of those arts +which have made modern Italy what it is; and she rapidly gathered about +her the most talented young men in that part of the country. In the +January of 1869 this company was signally augmented by the arrival of +one Vittorio Lodi, a young Roman tenor; over whose voice—one of those +natural organs found only in that land of the sun—Florence speedily +went mad.</p> + +<p>Up to the middle of the ensuing February, the prestige of the Nikitenko +steadily increased in brilliance. Then, suddenly, as it were in a night, +the shadows began to gather round her. Whence the first rumor rose, none +ever knew. But it ran round the <i>salons</i>, down the Cascine, through the +town, like a circle of fire. Immediately the watch was set: and +immediately the reports began to come in.</p> + +<p>Yes, unquestionably it was true. The Princess and Lodi were constantly +together. In the morning he was unfailingly to be found in her boudoir, +practising, perhaps, his rôle or his songs for the evening. In the +afternoon he had a place in her victoria, and they paid their calls +together, or he sat beside her at her own tea-table. Every evening that +he was free Lodi spent in her <i>salon</i>. And on those evenings when he +sang, people found Madame Nikitenko "not at home till twelve."</p> + +<p>Soon, inevitably, the world began to draw a little away from the woman, +while it courted the man. Immediately, to the general indignation, she +withdrew herself, positively, from the world; and Vittorio refused most +of his invitations. Then, as the season drooped and died, and spring +swept up from the south, the beautiful Alexandrine became invisible to +every eye but that of the devoted tenor.</p> + +<p>Thenceforth it is a stupid tale. "For her sins," the<a class="pagenum" name="page_416" id="page_416" title="416"></a> Russian lady made +a long retreat in a neighboring convent; whence she did not emerge until +November was sweeping the leaves down the Cascine, and the world was +once more at home. When she returned to the city of her former triumph, +it was to find every door shut against her, every face averted as she +passed. As for the Lodi, he was now in Milan, at La Scala, at a +phenomenal salary.</p> + +<p>That, behold, was eighteen years ago! Still, inexplicably, Alexandrine +returned, winter after winter, to the city of her loneliness. There +continued to be stories of regular visits to the convent outside the +walls, where, in the odor of sanctity, was growing up a little girl with +Nikitenko eyes of purple-blue, and the darkest of waving, Italian hair. +None had ever heard of any attempt either at divorce or at +reconciliation on the part of the husband, now a man high in the +councils of the Reactionary party. Nor was scandal ever again able to +couple any name with that of the solitary woman, upon whom a change had +been gradually creeping. Many had heard her cough, and perceived the +nature of it. A few charitable souls would have relaxed towards her now, +had she herself permitted it; but her door remained obstinately closed +against all women and every man save her compatriot, Ivan. He, without +apparent effort, broke in at once upon her solitude. So, indeed, had the +young Contessa prophesied, in sprightly conclusion. Then, yawning behind +her fan, she laughed, and commanded the sombre-eyed Russian to take her +back to the dining-room and her own circle of adorers.</p> + +<p>Ivan himself finished the evening properly. But, as he walked out into +the night chill, his heart and brain alike were overflowing with +interest, with pity, nay, with a kind of fellow-feeling, for this woman +whose bravery was of the greatest known to humanity. Even to-night he +had looked into the hearts of women of her own former<a class="pagenum" name="page_417" id="page_417" title="417"></a> class; and he +shuddered at their conscienceless inconsistency. For the moment, +probably, he forgot the sage maxim concerning "safety in numbers." The +woman who yields herself to a single great passion and will neither hide +it nor cap it with another, is surely lost in the world of to-day—or +yesterday!</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Two weeks. Two little weeks; and the new intrigue of Alexandrine +Alexiévna Nikitenko, now in her forty-first year, was the great subject +of the Florentine world. For, at the dusty wheels of her battered +chariot, she dragged a new captive.—And such an one!—Their lion: <i>the</i> +lion!—The nobleman of the hour, and a genius to +boot!—Incredible.—Nauseating. Finally, resignation; and covert murmurs +about green bay-trees. All doors, of course, were still open to Prince +Gregoriev. He should have every opportunity for repentance. Only, +apparently, Prince Gregoriev cared naught for their high consideration; +and seemed to have taken a vow to darken only one doorway in the city +beside his own: that hitherto lonely entrance to the apartment of Madame +Nikitenko!</p> + +<p>As for Ivan, people might chatter and beckon as they would, his interest +in them was gone. On the other hand, he had become completely absorbed +in the personality of this other, once heart and centre of the gayest +set in civilized society; now dwelling in the fastnesses of an isolation +such as he himself, connoisseur of solitude, had not dreamed of. For in +all existence there can be no such isolation as that of the woman cast +out from among her kind, yet too much one of them to endure the +companionship of others. At the same time, since no brave fight can +leave either man or woman as it found them, so, through the dreary years +of her disgrace, Alexandrine Nikitenko, buoyed up by her unbreakable +pride, had gathered from her blackened fields no small<a class="pagenum" name="page_418" id="page_418" title="418"></a> harvest of +broad-mindedness, philosophy, and courage. The Alexandrine of old, +acknowledged priestess of frivolity, was not a tenth so well worth +knowing as the faded, jaded woman, long since numbed to the pain of +slights and insults, who had, through the long years, persistently made +her dwelling-place in the city of her downfall. She was no saint: +affected no martyr's pose: had never, since her departure from the +convent within whose walls she left her babe, sought the consolation of +religion. Child of the world, in a sense, she must always be; but she +was also a woman, softened far more than she herself dreamed. Cynicism +was the cloak of her defence; but Ivan, early in their acquaintance, +unconsciously folded it back, and beheld the beautiful robe beneath. +Thenceforward, throughout the last months of his stay in Italy, their +friendship increased by leaps and bounds. The woman began to feel that +at last the mysterious Arbiter of human fate had lifted His iron hand, +and was looking upon her with forgiveness written in merciful eyes.</p> + +<p>On the very day after his first dramatic meeting with the Princess, Ivan +had written to Nathalie, in Petersburg, to gather, at first-hand, the +details of the Russian part of the Nikitenko drama. Princess Féodoreff +replied with her habitual promptness; but the story contained in her +letter was rather disappointing. Apparently Florence knew as much as +Petersburg. The deserted husband, who had climbed far up the ladder of +diplomacy, was celebrated for his morose reticence about his personal +affairs. Nathalie's words were almost an exact repetition of those of +the little Contessa. Ivan was obliged to wait until, one day, he learned +the whole story from the lips of its heroine herself, who told it to him +unasked.</p> + +<p>Early in their friendship, as soon, indeed, as she perceived that he +ranged himself absolutely with her, Ivan<a class="pagenum" name="page_419" id="page_419" title="419"></a> learned how scrupulously +honest Madame Nikitenko was. With manlike exactness she gave him to +understand that friendship with him grown purely out of liking would be +a godsend to her; but of kindness from compassion she would have none. +Cut and gibe had little power to sting. Pity infuriated her. Gallantly +she was fighting a disease which every day gained a little ground; and +which she well knew to be mortal. But her very maid, the one person whom +she deeply loved, dared no more to look at her with understanding of her +pain, than she would have bared her back voluntarily to the knout. When, +therefore, Ivan, adopting the Princess' own tone, told her frankly that +she alone had power to keep away from him that <i>ennui</i> which must +otherwise drive him out of Florence, she proceeded to tell him openly +which subjects must thenceforth remain closed between them. Of these, +the principal was her illness, which should, before Eastertide, free her +forever from the eyes of the gaping world.</p> + +<p>She had had her first hemorrhage in October, immediately after her +return from Trouville, where she spent her summers. Christmas Day +brought the second—a severe one, which was stopped barely in time. +After that followed a long and peaceful interlude: weeks which Ivan +afterwards looked back on with wonder; for the glamour of her +personality, her magnetism, remained about that memory till the day of +his death. His intercourse with her combined the best features of +masculine comradeship and feminine Platonism before the mawkish stage is +reached. She had the ability, so rare in men, to draw out the best that +was in her companion. And Ivan would often find himself displaying +qualities of eloquence and brilliancy of which he had never suspected +the existence. But the woman never revealed to him their source. She +herself was more than rewarded by the originality and the depth of the +ideas<a class="pagenum" name="page_420" id="page_420" title="420"></a> which she merely taught him to express. For, though rhetoric may +be cultivated, the most wonderful of tacticians cannot put individual +ideas into the brains of a pupil.</p> + +<p>Late February found the world, even down to Ivan's own servants, in a +state of hot resentment against the Prince's desertion of his class. +Ivan, however, cared not a whit. Daily he grew more absorbed: daily he +found some newly admirable thing about her in whom he had reawakened the +desire and the power to attract. True, their intercourse was purely +intellectual. Yet Ivan had long ago perceived, even in the midst of +wreck and disease, what this woman must have been in the heyday of her +indiscretion; and he realized how helpless he should have been in her +hands twenty years before. It is possible that, in time, the physical +might have come to life in him. He might have forgotten the years, the +emaciation, even the rouge and the careless efforts at concealing gray +hairs with badly-put-on dye. All this, perhaps, in time. But, well or +ill, fate had determined, long before, that this, her one true +friendship, was to be but episodic. It was the prologue to a drama +undreamed of as yet; the last act of which was to take place many years +after the apparent end, now so near at hand.</p> + +<p>Upon the morning of March 15th, a soft and sunny day of the treacherous +Italian spring, Ivan, presenting himself at the familiar door, was +informed that Princess Nikitenko was indisposed, and begged him to +excuse her till the morrow. Thus the wording of the message, which +produced no more effect than a little disappointment. Ivan loitered +about the streets for an hour, and then suddenly decided to go up to +Fiesole and spend his day upon the pleasant height that overlooks the +"smokeless city" and the valley of the winding Arno. As he rode up, and +up, through the sunshine, past fields<a class="pagenum" name="page_421" id="page_421" title="421"></a> just touched with the first, +faint, exquisite green, a slow intoxication began to tingle through his +veins; and lo! the creative instinct came trembling through him once +again.</p> + +<p>From that moment, time ceased. The hours passed dreamwise. And, at the +falling of the day, when the blood-splashed glory of the western sky was +balanced in the east by the soft radiance of the low-swinging moon, his +latest inspiration swelled towards its culmination. Long and long he sat +alone on the little terrace before the gray, stone church, his mind +wandering through space to the accompaniment of wondrous harmonies, +himself oblivious of time and men.</p> + +<p>It was after one o'clock when at last he reached his apartment and +entered the antechamber where, to his astonishment, stood Piotr, anxiety +written on his wrinkled face. As the door shut behind Ivan, and he +stepped into the light of the hanging lantern, Piotr started forward, +crying:</p> + +<p>"Excellency!—At last!"</p> + +<p>"Who else could it have been?—What are you waiting for?"</p> + +<p>"It might have been one of Madame Nikitenko's men.—At four this +afternoon her major-domo came saying that the Princess is believed to be +dying. She—"</p> + +<p>"Good God!—<i>Dying!</i>"</p> + +<p>"There was a hemorrhage early in the morning; and—"</p> + +<p>"She has sent for me?"</p> + +<p>"They have come three times, Excellency; but I could not reach you. I +had no idea where you—"</p> + +<p>Ivan cut him short with a nod, clapped on his hat again, and ran +hurriedly out into the peaceful, moonlit night.</p> + +<p>Fifteen minutes later he was standing at the door of her apartment. He +had not yet knocked; for his heart<a class="pagenum" name="page_422" id="page_422" title="422"></a> was beating, tumultuously, and he +knew that he was afraid of the word that might greet him. Still—every +window visible from below had been ablaze. Surely it could not have +happened—yet.</p> + +<p>He knocked, quietly, at last; and, after a little wait, was admitted to +the antechamber by a person who was strange to him. This was a young +girl, sixteen or seventeen years old, her head crowned by a coronal of +heavy braids; her eyes, of a deep, purplish tint, rimmed with jet-black +lashes, exact replicas of the Princess' own. Meeting those eyes, Ivan +gave a sudden, comprehensive start. Then he said, a little confusedly:</p> + +<p>"My name is Gregoriev. I understand that the Princess Nikitenko sent for +me some hours ago. I received the message only within the last +half-hour. Can you tell me if she is easier?"</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head, slowly. She was very quiet, but seemed dazed. +"No. It is impossible that my mother can live. I came at six o'clock. +She saw me, and knew me, then. The priest is with her now; and the +Signor Dottore is waiting, in the <i>sala</i>. Please to come in, Eccellenze. +If she should be able, after receiving absolution and the unction, +she—she may see you, monsignor.—Ecco!"</p> + +<p>Speaking in a low, wonderfully rich voice, Vittoria Lodi led the way +into the familiar little <i>salon</i>, where a young man, known to most of +the foreign colony in Florence, sat reading a medical paper. At Ivan's +entrance the Englishman rose, and the two talked in whispers, the doctor +giving Ivan a résumé of this last seizure: the fearful hemorrhage which +had continued for half an hour, and had started up again at intervals +throughout the day; and the marvellous vitality which had upheld her, +even though her body was nearly bloodless, and her two lungs almost +solidly filled.</p> + +<p>As he finished speaking, Dr. Tremont looked at his<a class="pagenum" name="page_423" id="page_423" title="423"></a> watch. "A quarter to +two.—She may possibly hold out till daylight. But from now on the +vitality ebbs, and it is more than likely that she will go, quietly, at +any moment.—I trust you can see her, Prince. But I hardly dare +interrupt the priest, who came to her at her special request."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not. My great regret is that, not dreaming the attack was +serious, I left town for the day.—I shall never forgive myself."</p> + +<p>A few words more of reassurance and sorrow, and then the two men seated +themselves, the doctor returning to his paper, while Ivan sank into an +arm-chair, and stared at the fire that burned in the tiny grate. +Vittoria, thoroughly Italian in her habits, had withdrawn from this, and +crouched on a little tabouret, leaning forward to rest her elbows on a +chair in front of her, her chin propped upon her palms. The silence was +absolute. The light of lamp and fire mingled and cast flickering shadows +and fingers of light into the dark recesses of the antechamber. The air +was tainted with the smell of iodine, carbolic, and various antiseptics; +but the door leading into the Princess' bedroom was closed, and the +portière also drawn across it. Young Tremont, whose thoughts had +wandered from his reading, guessed rightly that Ivan's mind was fixed on +what was passing beyond that door. Of the meditations of the girl, the +daughter of his patient, who had arrived in the afternoon in the company +of the priest now absolving the Princess, he was not so sure. And, as he +thought, he began unconsciously to study her slender figure and +half-hidden face.</p> + +<p>How beautiful—how <i>very</i> beautiful—she was! Ah! <i>Was</i> it beauty? Was +it not rather a kind of <i>chic diablerie</i>, that is so much more +attractive, so much more dangerous, than mere perfection of feature and +proportion?—Good Heavens! What a destiny, too, for<a class="pagenum" name="page_424" id="page_424" title="424"></a> such a personality! +The mother dying; the father long since lost in the dreary throng of +forgotten failures; not a relation in the world who could possibly +acknowledge her left-handed relationship to one of the most powerful +families in Europe:—what was left her but the veil? Instinctively he +perceived that she must be intended for this. And yet, to put <i>that</i> +creature into a convent! Set the Venus de Milo in a cathedral +crypt!—What sort of nun would she make, this child of temperament and +unholy passion? <i>Could</i> they manage to keep her consecrated to the hush +of prayer, the eventless, endless routine of the mechanical religion of +her order?</p> + +<p>Again and again these thoughts revolved through the young man's brain; +but he did not note that Ivan's gaze was fixed on Vittoria with the same +expression; that his own thoughts were echoed in Gregoriev's mind. Ivan, +indeed, was undergoing rather a startling dream, or hallucination, or +waking-vision:—call it what one might.</p> + +<p>Up around him, blotting out all the room save the little space where +Vittoria sat, there rose a silvery white mist wherein she was framed. +Then, gradually, her seated form faded from sight and reappeared again, +changed in costume, and in attitude. And again she faded and reappeared, +and again, and yet once more. He saw her in many pictures, in familiar +places, in the company of persons known to him in the long ago. She was +in Russia, in Petersburg. De Windt, not now young, his temples silvered, +his eyes grown weary, was at her side. He was succeeded by others, men +and women of exalted rank, many of them seeming oddly familiar to Ivan, +who sat entranced, watching and wondering at the vividness of the dream. +And while he gazed down the strange future of this girl, he seemed to +realize, intangibly, that she whom he watched was in some way bound up +with his own fate: connected with him by some powerful chain of +circumstance.<a class="pagenum" name="page_425" id="page_425" title="425"></a></p> + +<p>The pictures, continuing, began to grow hazy. Little by little his +sensations became less acute. He was yielding to the influence of +intense fatigue. Tremont saw his head droop forward to his breast, and +his eyes close. Darkness descended. Oblivion trembled over him. Then, +suddenly, there was a creak, a movement, the sound of moaning. The mists +dropped away. Tremont and the girl sprang to their feet; for the door of +the Princess' room had opened and the priest emerged.</p> + +<p>On the father's white face were traces of emotion. His right hand was +uplifted, two of his fingers stretched out in benediction. As he spoke, +his old voice trembled:</p> + +<p>"Let us give thanks to God for His mercy. A sinful soul, repentant and +shriven, has been gathered home."</p> + +<p>Vittoria, with a low cry, fell upon her knees. Ivan, gone deathly white, +stepped forward.</p> + +<p>"The Princess Nikitenko is dead?" he asked, dully.</p> + +<p>"In the odor of sanctity, my son."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>In one brief hour, the shattered illusion of these last weeks of Ivan's +Italian existence had crumbled utterly away. As one walks in some +unhappy dream, he endured the double ceremonies of funeral and burial. A +great crowd was present at the first of these, in the Santo Espirito; +and their eyes were glued neither on coffin nor on priest, but every one +upon the crape-shrouded figure of a girl, who knelt between Ivan and +Madame Nikitenko's heart-broken maid, Marie Latour. Next day the great +subject of the <i>salons</i> was this girl's identity, and the reason for the +tears which every one declared had flowed so copiously from the purple +eyes that might have been stolen from the dead woman who lay upon the +high, violet-strewn catafalque, surrounded by a ring of twinkling +lights. Yet no one in that eagerly sacrilegious throng had the luck to +perceive the most dramatic figure in the church: the shabbily<a class="pagenum" name="page_426" id="page_426" title="426"></a> dressed, +middle-aged man who, hidden in the shadow of a chapel-pillar, stood +watching his daughter, her escort, and the throng of familiar people who +had once received him, the outcast, as one of themselves.—Even +Gregoriev never suspected this last touch to the finished story. And, +had he known it, it could in no way have lightened the weight that lay +on his heart when, upon his return to his lonely rooms, he called Piotr +to him, in the twilight, and spoke to the man who was afraid to show the +joy caused by his master's wearily-spoken command.</p> + +<p>"In two days, Piotr, we shall leave for Russia.—Make things ready; and +come to me for the necessary money.—Great God! How hideous the world +can be!"</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_427" id="page_427" title="427"></a> +<a name="THE_HERMIT_13320" id="THE_HERMIT_13320"></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<h3>THE HERMIT</h3> +</div> + +<p>The issue of the Moscow <i>Journal</i> for March 26, 1887, announced the +return of Prince Ivan Gregoriev to Russia after a thirty-month absence +abroad; adding that he was in Moscow for a few days only, before +proceeding to his country-place of Maidonovo, near Klin. As a matter of +fact, Ivan, after a railway journey of sixty hours, arrived in Moscow on +the evening of one day, and remained at the Slaviansky Bazaar until the +afternoon of the next. During this brief period, he was besieged by +visitors of every description, from the barest acquaintances, to men +like Balakirev and Ostrovsky; and, to the general chagrin, all were +alike refused. Ivan was in his blackest mood. When, three hours before +the departure of the Klin train, Piotr, taking his life in his hands, +did admit Kashkine, it was half an hour before that rarest of +diplomatists could bring the gleam of one faint smile across his old +friend's face. In his memoirs the admirable Constantine has left a +picture of Gregoriev as he was at this period—in his forty-eighth year:</p> + +<p>"A figure lean, not very tall, giving the dual impression of wiry +fortitude, and a delicacy that was rather <i>spiritual</i> than physical, +Gregoriev's body formed a marked contrast to his face—at sight of +which, on the day of his return, I confess to having been shocked, so +changed had it become since my last view of it. From black, with a +slight silvering only at the temples, his hair and beard were now almost +pure white. The lines<a class="pagenum" name="page_428" id="page_428" title="428"></a> of care in his face had deepened incredibly. The +skin had something of that parchment look that I had supposed to be the +special mark of the recluse; but Ivan told me he had been a good deal +out-of-doors in the last months. Without asking, I perceived at once +that he was under his special morbid scourge; and when I learned that he +intended retiring to Klin for a period of complete isolation, I was less +astonished than dismayed. I think I had even a momentary presentiment +that from this retirement he was destined never to emerge; though I knew +that he was still some years removed from his fiftieth birthday. +However, with Ivan Mikhailovitch, time was never a thing to be +considered. He was a man of eternity."</p> + +<p>Into their two hours together on that last Moscow day, the friends +crowded much important conversation. Ivan unfolded his plans for the +future; and discussed those manuscripts he had brought back, and which +he afterwards intrusted to Kashkine to be delivered to his publishers. +Immediately upon the first printing, they were to be sent to the Musical +Society, to be passed or rejected for the next season's concert series. +This business finished, Ivan plunged into an impulsive account of the +bizarre history of his last months in Florence. But when he had reached +a half-way point, he as suddenly halted; and, Piotr a moment later +announcing that the carriage waited to drive him to his train, Ivan bade +his friend a hurried farewell. Kashkine only learned the end of the tale +that interested him so deeply, some fourteen months later.</p> + +<p>Once more, as on the first day of his possession, Ivan reached his +hermitage in the late afternoon of a spring day. But this home-coming +was not like the first; for, among the little throng of servants +gathered in the hall to meet their Prince, one face was missing. After +hasty greetings, Ivan, with a sudden sense of the truth,<a class="pagenum" name="page_429" id="page_429" title="429"></a> asked +haltingly for the old servitor whom he had sent back to Russia, nine +months before, from Naples. The reply, anticipated by but one moment, +was a great shock to him. Old Sósha had been buried yesterday; his last +words being a greeting to the master he had so longed to see again.—And +Ivan might have been present at the funeral of this dearly-loved old +man!—But he made no rebuke; for he knew that the humility of these poor +creatures would never have permitted them to disturb his pleasure for +one of themselves.</p> + +<p>It was, perhaps, only morbidness that Ivan should have allowed the death +of Sósha, a man of eighty-four, to affect him as it did. Yet the +following weeks taught him that all his recent gloomy meditations and +self-analyses had had in them an element of affectation incompatible +with real grief. Was it not real grief, then, that he was suffering now? +For weeks he lived in the blackness that was horrible to those who +watched him. And finally Piotr, who dared anything for his master, sent, +secretly, for Kashkine—whom he believed endowed with miraculous powers +wherever his Prince was concerned. But for once Kashkine's presence +seemed powerless to rouse the composer from his lassitude: a feat which +was eventually accomplished by one who knew him more intimately than any +man.</p> + +<p>It was now many years since his cousin and true companion first began to +make her deeply affectionate study of Ivan's moods. In May, according to +a former custom, Nathalie came down to Maidonovo, unaccompanied by her +daughters. And Kashkine, after watching her during one day and night, +retreated, gallantly leaving the field to her. It was one of the few +times on which she came alone to Ivan's home; and her excuse for the act +was one newly characteristic of her:</p> + +<p>"My dear Ivan, I am forty-four years old: a safe age, if ever woman is +to attain to one. I now, therefore,<a class="pagenum" name="page_430" id="page_430" title="430"></a> insist upon the comfort of personal +freedom. It is the one compensation permitted for the loss of the youth +which can make freedom dangerous."</p> + +<p>Ivan's reply to the theory was a smile. For neither by him nor by +herself could the graceful, beautifully groomed, <i>chic</i> little woman +possibly have been regarded as she chose to describe herself. At the +same time, it would have been a person utterly beyond the pale who would +have admitted the possibility of impropriety in the behavior of the +Princess Féodoreff, one of the greatest ladies of Petersburg. She had +long since recovered any ground lost during the few months of her +separation from her dissolute Prince. And within the last eighteen +months rather a signal honor had been offered her in the intimate +friendship of the Grand-Duchess Catharine:—most irreproachable, +unapproachable, and, at the same time, most popular, of the imperial +women of Russia. Perhaps her friendship with this Princess was the more +genuine and the more truly sympathetic in that, as she was well aware, +her own history and that of her Imperial Highness bore many points of +resemblance. For the great-granddaughter of Constantine the Abdicator +was the wife of one of the most dissolute of the Grand-Dukes, whose +abuses of manhood no ingenuity of his proud wife was able to conceal. +Hence Nathalie, herself so intimately acquainted with this poignant form +of suffering, was just now very full of her friendship with the +beautiful Princess; and she poured into Ivan's half-listening ears all +that she knew of this exquisite woman, married at seventeen, left alone +in her cold and unapproachable state, to learn all the dire details of a +state marriage: and now mother of a son who, in very boyhood, was +already believed to be gazing with interest down the path his father had +trod. Even Nathalie herself could not guess the anguish with which this +secret dread had already filled the mother's heart; nor the struggle +she<a class="pagenum" name="page_431" id="page_431" title="431"></a> was prepared to make before her motherhood should be dishonored as +her wifehood had always been.</p> + +<p>In time the story of this Princess, told, day by day, in semi-accidental +snatches, laid hold of Ivan's imagination. By degrees he began to enter +into the life that was being laid bare before him with all the intimate +understanding that is part of the Creator's gift. For many weeks after +the departure of his cousin, indeed, Ivan mused upon the subject of the +royal lady, dowered, apparently, with every enviable possession of +wealth and power, and yet one of the most truly unfortunate of +humankind. The immediate result of this was the writing of the "Three +Studies," unnamed, so long left in manuscript, and so persistently +misunderstood. It is only, indeed, within the last five years that they +have been discovered to bear a direct relationship to the last three +movements of his greatest symphony. To-day they form the treasure of +that small but expanding cult who have been so mocked at for their +serious study of the connection between various harmonies and the mental +emotions, from which has grown the dream of establishing a perfect +musical law.</p> + +<p>It was the spring of 1889 before Ivan at last began to work seriously +upon his "Sixth Symphony": that which had been growing in his mind for +more than ten years; and which, while it forms, perhaps, his greatest +claim to immortality, was the first to open the eyes of Philistia to the +splendors of his powers. Like all of those few artistic masterpieces +that approach perfection, the "Tosca Symphony" is popular alike with the +many and with the few; because it contains something of the essence of +all humanity: strikes a chord that must find some echo in the breast of +every man and woman that has known the meaning of pain. But, superb as +was the height attained in this work, Ivan paid dearly for its +accomplishment. For, from the nervous breakdown<a class="pagenum" name="page_432" id="page_432" title="432"></a> that marked its +conclusion, he never fully recovered.</p> + +<p>In the weeks dividing New Year's Day from the April of 1890, Gregoriev +seldom left his bed. He was attended night and day by Piotr and Piotr's +son; who saw, with growing alarm, how slowly the strength seemed to come +back to him, and how little increase of vitality arrived with that +quickening of the year to which Ivan had always heretofore responded so +eagerly.</p> + +<p>Through the long days during which he alternated between fever and +debility, Ivan sank into a hell of the senses; and daily gazed with +longing upon the still closed gates of life. He had heard the +low-calling voices of departed Shades. He had been given misty glimpses +of the Elysian land that lay beyond those high black bars. Long and long +was it before he could turn his face from that vision back to the grays +and glooms of his worn routine. And when at last it became patent to him +that this must be, he still clung to the erratic and feverish fancies +for the abnormal, that had come to him in his illness. By May the +Maidonovo household stood aghast at the incomprehensible manner of their +silent master's renewed life. Those who knew him well surmised his +mental condition; but even Kashkine could not fathom the depth to which +his thoughts had sunk. Certainly none but a Russian could, or can, +comprehend the terrible reality of what must, to the inhabitants of the +sunshine lands, seem the mere wilful depression of a hypochondriac. But +those men and women who have dwelt all their lives beneath a sky of +leaden gray, in an horizonless space of desolate, unbroken steppe; whose +children and children's children must come into a heritage even heavier +than their own, handed down from those first, hunted creatures who began +the age-long battle with ice and snow and frozen hurricanes—these, +alas! know well that the disease of Ivan was no pretence,<a class="pagenum" name="page_433" id="page_433" title="433"></a> but a +reality, as grim, as terrible, as sullen, as the temperament of their +peasant-brethren. And not one of them but had felt, to some degree, the +same, deep, passionless, revulsive anger that was working in him, and +turning him from the old, secret habits of spiritual meditation and high +thought, into passions of blasphemy and atheism which burned ever deeper +into his brain.</p> + +<p>It was in this final phase of inward revolt against the submissive +religions that are permitted to govern the world, that Ivan, nearly +recovered from bodily weakness, took up the history of religion and +began to search, diligently, through all the forms of anthropomorphism, +for that one which should display the most artistic beauty and formal +grace. It was impossible to hesitate long. There is no paganism of +obscure antiquity that can compare, in poetic beauty, with the +scarce-forgotten rites of the Hellenic Pantheon. Fired by an +unlooked-for enthusiasm in his chosen task of apostasy, he finally took +for his protective deity that least divine, weakest, and most exquisite +of the gods of the Greeks:—Aphrodite.</p> + +<p>Mad Ivan! Far indeed went he in his bitter defiance of High God! His +attendants looked on in frightened mystification at the changes now +preparing in the inner of the two up-stairs rooms in which their master +had been wont to work. Some simple carpentry; a large number of unusual +articles commanded from Moscow: one, more expensive than all the others, +brought in a coffin-like box from France; the transferrence of all his +paraphernalia of work into the outer room; and behold the fane of Ivan's +new goddess!—a semicircular chamber hung in deep violet; in the centre +of the jut a low, circular pedestal, draped in black, and flanked on +either side by two high church candlesticks of wrought silver, +containing painted candles kept always alight, the windowless room +containing, beside these, only one, silver lamp hanging from the centre +of the sombre ceiling.<a class="pagenum" name="page_434" id="page_434" title="434"></a> Opposite the altar-pedestal, stood the single +piece of furniture in this strange room: a long, low couch of Spanish +leather, violet in color, placed so that the occupant could gaze +directly upon the figure finally lifted to the pedestal prepared for +her: an exquisite modern statue of Aphrodite of old, which had won a +young Frenchman the Prix de Rome, and was compared by those authorities +not inimical to the sculptor, to be worthy of the chisel of Praxiteles. +Ivan had taken advantage of the quarrel among the committee who were +considering it for purchase for the Luxembourg, and had bought it from +its affronted creator for one hundred thousand francs.</p> + +<p>Three workmen and Piotr had, during its preparation, gained glimpses of +this room. Afterwards Piotr entered it once or twice in the month for +the purpose of cleaning. But, barring this, once the door was shut on +the completed shrine, no one save Ivan beheld it; though he soon knew it +to be the chief reason why he was spoken of with bated breath by his own +servants; and called by the inhabitants of Klin a madman. And, truly, +there were days when his appearance and behavior might have brought that +thought to other minds than those of illiterate peasants. But these were +only the hours when he was dominated by the fantastic spirit inherent in +the pungent paste which he kept in a golden, jewel-studded tube at the +feet of the goddess. For, when the black butterfly of his melancholy now +danced before his eyes, Ivan reverted remorselessly to that opium which +he had for years abstained from. These days were irregular, however, and +the act voluntary, being not as yet compelled by physical craving. And, +in the intervals, he pursued his ordinary occupations of reading and +composing, to which he had now added the transcribing of his own memoirs +and a self-instituted office of beauty-worship at the statue-shrine, +inaugurated in a fit of angry repudiation of Christian rites, and<a class="pagenum" name="page_435" id="page_435" title="435"></a> +continued in that spirit of half-ironical defiance that was now his most +salient characteristic. So, month by month, he dwelt alone, withdrawing +daily more and more within himself, and by degrees lessening personal +contact as much as possible even with his servants. Nevertheless he +retained one means of communication with the world beyond, in a +correspondence maintained with half a dozen representatives of as many +different grades of life: Nathalie, of whom he constantly demanded +further details of the story of the Grand-Duchess Catharine; Balakirev, +now long since in Zaremba's chair at the Petersburg Conservatoire; +Avélallement in Hamburg; an odd little Parisian journalist—through whom +he had eventually obtained the Thébaud Venus; and, lastly, there +departed from Maidonovo, twice a month, letters addressed to the inmate +of a certain convent in the Arno Valley near Florence, whence replies as +regularly arrived, giving quaintly monotonous accounts of the life and +welfare of one Vittoria Lodi, at present merely a dependant in the +convent and the special penitent of the writer: a little old priest, the +only man ever allowed within those sacred walls.</p> + +<p>In every one of these people Ivan, despite his distaste for personal +contact with men, took the keenest interest. Their welfare was of +genuine moment to him; though wherefore, he could not himself have said. +Probably this form of communion with his fellow-beings satisfied the +hunger for social intercourse without which man cannot exist as man. And +by degrees his memoirs—the continuation of a sporadic journal long kept +up, which was, however, merely a mass of disconnected thoughts, flashes +of perception, remarks on personal events, and endless reflections on +the unrevealed Alpha and Omega of life—began to be filled with other +matter: chapter after chapter containing nothing but accounts of and +speculations concerning two beings as far apart<a class="pagenum" name="page_436" id="page_436" title="436"></a> as the poles of the +earth, and bearing no such similarity: the history and surmised +character of Nathalie's beloved patroness, the Grand-Duchess Catharine, +and those of the child of the wild romance of Alexandrine Nikitenko and +Vittorio Lodi.</p> + +<p>As to the mental atmosphere in which Ivan passed these strange days and +nights of his, it was indescribable, but peculiarly powerful. For, just +as there are certain incidents or periods in our lives which, for no +perceptible reason, stand out in our memory with marked vividness, so +these last weeks of Ivan's were so fraught with nervous electricity that +each smallest incident took on the importance of an event. And Ivan, +considering, became gradually convinced that these were the last days of +his life.</p> + +<p>Gregoriev was fifty years old; a man ordinarily normal, robust, +unweakened by excesses of any description or by any irregularities of +life. High-strung nervously though he was, there was still no doctor but +would have given him many years yet to live. Nevertheless, his +hallucination of approaching death remained unshaken; and he looked +forward to the end quite calmly, as the sure conclusion of a prescribed +term of study and work: the beginning of a rest of undetermined +duration.</p> + +<p>Unnatural as his life had become, the months from May to October were +nevertheless fertile in production. All the works of this time, however, +are so peculiar in style that they remained in manuscript long after his +death, and the general public are still unfamiliar with that which is +probably the greatest, though no doubt the strangest of them all: the +"Pagan Fantasia," after the first reading of which Kashkine and +Balakirev, who were alone together, looked angrily from each other to +the fire, from which nothing but the memory of their friend's dead face +saved that composition which afterwards came to exercise so powerful a +fascination over<a class="pagenum" name="page_437" id="page_437" title="437"></a> both of them. At the same time, the spell which those +unparalleled harmonies casts over the auditor is considered so +unhealthy, that this flower of Ivan's madness is not yet in print. +Others of the works of this time, the "Songs of the Herzeleide," the +"House of Life," and the "Hymn to Pan" (both these last written for +organ and orchestra), together with the "Serenade to Death," are +gradually acquiring a public who listen in disorganized astonishment to +these records of a soul in the strangest travail ever revealed to +fellow-men.—But enough! Another paragraph, and Gregoriev is lost +forever to Philistia!</p> + +<p>Not only Kashkine, but all those who heard of Ivan at this time, +believed that, behind his eccentricities, there still lurked a sardonic +grin at his own behavior; than which there can surely be no healthier +sign! Yet, towards the very end, he committed an act which once more +plunged the most indulgent of his friends into exasperated anger with +his folly.</p> + +<p>Since his passing, the baton of Nicholas the well-beloved had been +wielded by Brodsky, who had acquitted himself through two seasons of +symphony concerts with considerable credit. The date of the first +concert of the series of 1890-1891, had been set for October 9th; and +its <i>pièce de résistance</i> was the "Sixth Symphony" of Gregoriev, whose +fiftieth birthday was to be celebrated by the playing of this, his +greatest work, with whose praises Moscow was already mysteriously +a-murmur; and afterwards by a supper, to be given that evening by his +old confrères of the Conservatoire. It was really Russia's capitulation +to her greatest musician, in whose universal acclaim there was to be not +one dissentient voice.</p> + +<p>On the first day of the month Ivan received a letter from Kashkine, +explaining these things, giving a minute plan of the arrangements, and +eagerly congratulating<a class="pagenum" name="page_438" id="page_438" title="438"></a> Ivan on his assured triumph. For, well as he +knew his friend's instability, Constantine never for an instant doubted +that Ivan would consent to appear at a reunion for which, as Kashkine +knew, he had been longing, bitterly, ever since the sudden accession to +his father's wealth and title had barred him from the old-time +fellowship.—Wherefore Constantine's letter was couched not in terms of +pleading, but in sentences of joyous satisfaction at the prospect of +Ivan's delight. This was the reply:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"> +<p> +"<span class="smcap">Maidonovo</span>, <i>October 2nd</i>.<br /> +</p> + +<p>"<span class="smcap">My dear Constantine Constantinovitch</span>,—Many thanks. Unfortunately, +I have now endured about thirty years of concerts; and I fear that +the thousand-and-first will hardly tempt me to Moscow. Appropriate +all applause to yourself; for verily I think you are the man who +has kept me at it for the past ten years. Also, do not give up your +<i>festa</i> afterwards. It will be far better than if I were present to +silence the mirth with my morose presence. Drink me one toast, if +you will; for it is borne in upon me that that day will be one of +transformation for me. Therefore wish me, while I wish you</p> + +<p style='text-align:right'> +"Success and happiness! <br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Ivan Blashkov-Gregoriev.</span>"<br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p>And Kashkine, crushing the letter savagely into a ball, muttered, +between his teeth: "Ah! 'transformation'! we'll all drink to that! But, +by God, it'll never come to him now!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>By a quarter before two o'clock on the afternoon of October 9, 1890, the +Symphony Hall of the Moscow Conservatoire was filled to the doors. The +winter season had doubly begun; for, outside, sleighs were flying +joyously through the first snow-storm. All the inhabitants of the +Kremlin and Equerries' quarters were back from estate and resort; and +most of the ladies of their families were seated in the wreath of boxes +that crowned the amphitheatre of the hall. Indeed, from a<a class="pagenum" name="page_439" id="page_439" title="439"></a> fashionable +and musical point of view, it was an audience such as has seldom been +surpassed in the old Russian city; and, to <i>mondaine</i> and musician +alike, the Gregoriev symphony was the event of the afternoon. For was +not its composer a Prince, a millionaire, and his composition the +masterpiece of Russian musical literature?</p> + +<p>In the left-hand stage-box were gathered a little group of his own, old +circle, about the empty chair which had been reserved, in case—faintly +possible—the erratic one should suddenly appear. Kashkine, Laroche, +Ostrovsky, and Ivan's passionate young admirer Rimsky-Korsakow, sat +there in silence, all of them thinking the same half-bitter, +half-resentful thoughts. In their own minds they were persuaded that the +success of the symphony meant more to them than to any other persons +either in the audience or in the city. But they were oddly wrong. Near +them were seated two women, one in a box, amid a little group of people +of the extreme of fashion; the other by herself, in a stall in the +parquet. Both of them were secretly and nervously afire. Both looked +anxiously for Ivan's appearance, longing eagerly for a sight of his +face. And the two of them were at opposite ends of the feminine world; +for one was the Princess Nathalie Féodoreff; the other, a white-faced, +worn-looking, plainly dressed woman, seemingly of the lower +middle-class, was Irina Petrovna; finished, now, with the active +degradations of her life; living in a great silence, upon the scanty +savings of her years of mad extravagance. For her, this was to have been +a day of days: a daring expense, to be paid for by the sacrifice of +luncheon and supper, little missed in the joys of anticipation and +memory. Her worn-out emotions had fired again at the dream of meeting +the one man who had for years remained the unshattered idol of her +heart. Her comprehension of his music—life-music as it was—was fuller, +perhaps,<a class="pagenum" name="page_440" id="page_440" title="440"></a> than that of the delicate Princess; to whom Ivan's unexpected +absence was but a passing disappointment. She had come down from +Petersburg to hear the symphony; and, since he was evidently not to be +present, she suddenly decided to be the first to carry him the news of +his triumph. As she considered the plan, her excitement grew; and she +resolved to take the train which left at six o'clock for Klin: daring +her cousin to turn her from his inhospitable door in the late evening.</p> + +<p>Every one knows what happened at the concert, when, for the first time, +the notes of that matchless symphony fell upon the ears of the world: +when the supreme desolation of the magnificent, crashing retrogression +of the finale held a thousand people in breathless, trembling stillness; +the tears of Ivan's boundless yearning: the passions of the true +<i>Weldschmerz</i> glazing every eye. Accounts of the mad storm of applause +which finally rose into a chorus of shouts for Ivan, are still preserved +in the scrap-books of those who were there. And, though Ivan came not +and the noise was finally stilled, two hours later, when the audience +trooped out into the snowy darkness, but one name was on every lip: one +regret in every heart. Had he but known it, Ivan's act in not coming was +an unconscious but complete revenge for his years of neglect.</p> + +<p>At the entrance to the hall the Princess Féodoreff parted from her +astonished hostess, saying that she intended passing the night at the +house of the Grand-Duchess—wife of the Governor-General. And, leaving +her friends appeased by this sufficient but rather unexpected excuse, +Nathalie hurried into a public droschky, and was presently flying +through the streets towards the Petersburg station—and Ivan.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Thus was Ivan finally, and for all time, established in his own land. +Thenceforward, while music shall<a class="pagenum" name="page_441" id="page_441" title="441"></a> endure, his name must be written among +those who have advanced their most perfect of the arts to a higher +standard. His work was done: his battle over. His name was blazoned for +eternity on the roster of the Russian Great.</p> + +<p>But the man? Where was he, what was he doing, upon this, his day?</p> + +<p>It was half-past three when the first movement of the "Tosca Symphony" +ended in the concert-hall. At that hour Ivan returned to his house from +a long walk through the whitened fields, and, donning dressing-gown and +slippers, went up to his work-room and shut the door. Moved by a most +unusual impulse, he seated himself at the piano and began to play, from +memory, some strains from the last act of "die Götterdämmerung." At the +point where Brunhild, carried beyond herself and her abhorred mortality +back to the heights of immortal perception and abnegation, sings, with +divine calm, the words: "Ruhe, Ruhe, du Gott!"—Ivan paused. The phrase +caught him up. The majesty of the chords in which the great German has +framed it, suddenly fired him with longing: "Rest thee, Rest thee, thou +God!" He played it over and over, meditatively, humming the words in the +rich, low notes of the score. And in those moments his final hour was +ushered in.</p> + +<p>All day, struggle as he would, Ivan had been keyed to a pitch of nervous +excitement by speculations concerning the concert in Moscow. Finally, at +noon, he had gone out, determined upon attaining an animal fatigue which +would rest his brain. His struggle with the wind and snow accomplished +the first end, but not the second. Now, however, those words of the +dying goddess—she who stood quietly awaiting her chosen death, brought +a great calm to his mind. As he lingered over them his face changed, and +a new look came<a class="pagenum" name="page_442" id="page_442" title="442"></a> into those eyes which had striven so many times, of +late, to pierce the shadows that enshroud the future.</p> + +<p>"Rest thee, oh God!"</p> + +<p>Rest—for <i>him</i>! How often had he demanded it, in vain? Now, at last, he +was enjoined to <i>take</i> it—for himself.</p> + +<p>Rising from the piano he went to the door which led into the outer hall, +locked it, and drew the bolt fast. Then, in the wall on the right, he +pressed the spring which opened the invisible door to the room of the +goddess. Entering there, he lighted the two candles at the flame of the +burning lamp, and filled the little golden censer that swung before the +statue, with incense; noting, the while, with his customary delight, the +delicate transparency of the pure Carrara against the soft violet of the +hangings behind her and the shadowy black at her feet. Finally, when the +thin, fragrant smoke had begun to fill the room with its soft haze, he +took the golden tube from its place on the pedestal, and prepared for +himself the largest dose of the narcotic that he had ever dreamed of +taking. After that he returned, quietly, to his piano.</p> + +<p>Darkness had nearly come, and the unlighted music-room was lapped in a +pleasant twilight, broken only by the faint gleam from the candles, +which entered through the open doorway. The odor of the incense was +everywhere; and the mystic scent and warmth of the inner air contrasted +well with the shrieking of the demon-ridden wind outside the house. The +atmosphere perfectly suited Ivan's state of mind. All anxiety about the +concert had gone. Some inkling of success floated through his brain; but +the matter now seemed infinitesimally small. The world, with its +struggling millions of unknown men and women, was farther away from him +now than the shadowland of the departed. For he was almost face to face +with the problem of Eternity.<a class="pagenum" name="page_443" id="page_443" title="443"></a></p> + +<p>Alas! In the life he knew, how small a part did justice, that law innate +in every human heart, play? How much less seemed the justice of God +towards his creatures, good and bad, than the justice, or the pity, of +these creatures for one another? It was this feeling which had generated +that deep, all-pervading sense of injury, that anger with and distrust +of the Almighty, that had thrown Ivan into his revolt. And who was to +explain why we are left in the world without any knowledge of whence and +whither; knowing only that from birth till death we are surrounded by +evil:—evil rewarded; good defiled, disgraced; yet mankind still under +the command of man and of God to walk straightly, in fear of promised +damnation? It was the question he had asked in his "Tosca Symphony": +that symphony of helpless, human wonder and sorrow. And the question, +repeated for the last time in the great <i>motif</i> of the <i>finale</i>, was +still unanswered.</p> + +<p>He sat, now, drearily playing fragments of various works, his brain +teeming with memories: of his mother, in her sweetness and purity, bound +for life to the brute force that had crushed her youth away in the first +days of her married life; of Nathalie and her husband, the husband who +had been the—admirer—of her own mother; of that shadowy Princess whose +grave eyes he beheld overflowing with her secret woe, as they overlooked +the vast and misty throng of mismated womanhood; lastly of the daughter +of a woman who had rebelled against her lot; the nameless child of +Alexandrine Nikitenko, who, filled as she was with the vivid life of her +passionate heritage, was about to be shrouded away from the world she +loved in the coif and robe of the cloistered nun. Gentle women: pure +men; God's world! Why are the two first so unfitted for the last? To God +we apply the attributes of omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence. If +these attributes be true, whence the evil<a class="pagenum" name="page_444" id="page_444" title="444"></a> that rules the world?—Is our +God a demon? It is the logical inference.</p> + +<p>To-day, for the hundredth time, Ivan cast away his defences of sarcasm, +mockery, sophistry, and faced that question that has gone unanswered +from generation to generation. As he meditated, his face lost its +recently acquired harshness; his deep eyes grew sadder even than their +wont; the look of a vast, ineffaceable weariness settled upon him. With +face uplifted he continued to play, drifting through his own many forms +of that unanswered question into final silence. Then, rising, he passed, +a little unsteadily, into the inner room, and ate once more of the thick +black paste in its golden tube.</p> + +<p>Twilight had now long since merged into darkness. In the work-room Ivan +lighted two lamps, and then, going to the fireplace, which he had here +substituted for the traditional stove, and wherein a low fire burned, he +threw on half a dozen blocks of peat. Then, turning to the high bookcase +near at hand, he drew down, with fumbling hands, the sixteen red-leather +books that constituted his journal and newly-written memoirs. Standing +there, he read certain passages of this transcription of his mental +life. Finally, with a straightening of his figure, he took the books one +by one, tore off the covers, and stuffed the closely written sheets into +the flames. Afterwards, like one in a daze, he returned to the piano.</p> + +<p>It was his own, strange "Invocation to Death" to which his half-numbed +fingers turned. The sound of the notes reached his ears as if from a +great distance. Also, he was conscious of a feeling of nausea which told +him that the fatal narcotic was working, powerfully. After a time, his +fingers fell from the keys. Out of the enclosing mists he heard a voice +calling: the clear, sweet voice of one distant, but coming nearer. It +was the voice of Sophia, his mother.<a class="pagenum" name="page_445" id="page_445" title="445"></a></p> + +<p>His face was uplifted, and he smiled as he echoed her words:</p> + +<p>"Rest thee, Rest thee, thou God!"</p> + +<p>With some difficulty he rose to his feet, and stumbled, heavily, into +the inner room, where Aphrodite gleamed through her incense cloud. Here, +with the air of one tired unto death, he sank down upon the leathern +couch. And so the heavy eyelids closed over his weary, weary eyes.</p> + +<hr class="major" /> +<div style="margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 1em; padding-bottom: 1em"> +<a class="pagenum" name="page_446" id="page_446" title="446"></a> +<a name="THE_TRANSLATION_13890" id="THE_TRANSLATION_13890"></a> +<h2>EPILOGUE</h2> +<h3>THE TRANSLATION</h3> +</div> + +<p>An hour went by. The form upon the couch had neither moved nor given any +sign of life; yet body and soul still held together. The mind was only +sunk into a stupor of complete unconsciousness. When it was that the +change began, none could have determined. After a few moments of a +faintly visible fluttering of the breath, a wider parting of the lips, +the feeble movement of a finger, Ivan's eyes suddenly flew wide open, +his jaw relaxed and dropped. He was immediately sensible that all the +heaviness of the opiate had passed from him; and that his being was +possessed by a singular lightness and freedom. Then he perceived that, +at his side, in close contact, indeed, with his new self, was his +mother: tenderness incarnate, as of old, yet with undoubted anxiety +about her.</p> + +<p>"Smile for me, mother! Welcome me home!" he cried; filled now with a +deep, expanding joy, wholly new and wonderful.</p> + +<p>Sophia, looking down upon him, smiled, indeed, but pitifully, and with +less of joy than of anxiety in her gentle look. Starting back from this, +he turned to look about him, and found himself surrounded by +shadow-shapes of many that he had known of old: Madame Dravikine, +Nicholas, Zaremba, and old Sósha: ay, even pallid Joseph, too, lurking +behind a little group of brethren of the spirit: in life unknown; in +death beloved. There was Mozart the beautiful; Beethoven,<a class="pagenum" name="page_447" id="page_447" title="447"></a> of lion-mien; +Schumann, Schubert, Wagner the tempestuous, and the melancholy Pole. But +none of them approached him closely, yearn as he might for welcome from +them, his familiars. Nor did Sophia's sweet seriousness brighten.</p> + +<p>"Mother, what is it?" he whispered. "Why are we waiting?"</p> + +<p>"For a decision, Ivan. You have come to us before your time."</p> + +<p>"But not without reason," he answered, quietly, with a dignity that +seemed to her adequate. "There is a question I have died to ask."</p> + +<p>"It shall be heard, then," said a voice: a voice inexplicable; resonant; +divine.</p> + +<p>Immediately Sophia and all the silent throng melted away. Ivan, no +longer bound to the empty shell upon the couch, prostrated himself, +instinctively, before the figure that appeared, framed in the oaken +doorway of the outer room: the figure of a man white-robed, whose face, +luminous and gently strong, was turned to him in tranquil majesty.</p> + +<p>"Ask thy question, O Mortal," repeated the Christ-voice.</p> + +<p>So Ivan, lifting his head, replied: "I came to ask it; being unable +longer to reconcile myself to a life inconsistent with all logic.</p> + +<p>"O King! Tell me how it is that a world, God-conceived, therefore +inevitably perfect, became corrupt, filled with, and governed by, evil? +wherein great burdens are borne by the good; and wickedness, vice, +injustice, flourish unrebuked and unpunished. Whence comes this evil, +and why?"</p> + +<p>The question was spoken bravely and unfalteringly, for Ivan could +perceive no sign of displeasure in the thoughtful countenance of the Man +Divine. There was an impressive pause; and Ivan had his answer.<a class="pagenum" name="page_448" id="page_448" title="448"></a></p> + +<p>"You have demanded a knowledge that is far beyond your present mortal +understanding. But be assured that he who asks this question shall +receive, in due time, its answer.—Yet know you so little of divine law +that you desire truth without a struggle to gain it? that you demand the +most priceless boon of creation as a favor, thinking to give naught in +return? Nay, more: you have broken a law written at creation in the +heart of every man; and thus, by the destruction of your earthly +fetters, have sought a good end by evil means. This, then, shall be my +judgment of your sin: In the punishment for your act of suicide, you +shall obtain the truth, the knowledge, that you have died to seek.</p> + +<p>"And let this be your appointed task, whereby you may reach that season +of rest given each soul in the intervals between its experiences: Take +first four years among your fellows here. Then return to the world of +mortals where, in mortal guise, yet not in true confinement within the +bounds of the flesh, you shall find a path appointed you to travel. +There shall you cross the lives of two women, both of whom shall be +known to you: the secrets of their hearts and souls laid bare to your +transmortal mind. To these twain, dwellers in the provinces of good and +of evil, you shall seek to give what aid your wisdom can devise for +them. And in that attempt—the attempt to swerve them from the paths +dictated by their own temperaments, you shall learn the reason for the +ills you deprecate.—I have spoken. Obey the word; and in this labor +find thy reward."</p> + +<p>"Master, I will obey!—But—the four years—"</p> + +<p>The trembling question halted; for, heeding his voice no longer, the +Divine Figure passed beyond sight. And presently Ivan, lost in new +meditation, perceived that he was floating softly upward, through space. +About him, close as in his long-past babyhood, were clasped<a class="pagenum" name="page_449" id="page_449" title="449"></a> his +mother's arms; which drew him at last into that peace that passeth +understanding.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>It was nine o'clock when the little household of Maidonovo was thrown +into a ferment over the unexpected arrival of Princess Féodoreff, who +came without either luggage or maid. After she had entered the little +library, Piotr and young Ivan held a hurried conference in the hall, the +question of which the Princess herself speedily solved. Coming out of +the room, she bade the young man conduct her, without ceremony, to the +retreat of her ogre.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later she ceased to bruise her knuckles upon that locked, +unyielding door.—What in the world was Ivan about?—Never, truly, had +man slept through such noise as this!—And Ivan's sleep was notably +light!</p> + +<p>With a chill of premonition, she ran down the hall to call the men.</p> + +<p>When at last Piotr, young Ivan, and Makár, working in a frenzy of dread, +had torn the door from its hinges, Nathalie passed through, alone, into +that inner room over which Ivan reigned no longer. She was the first to +look upon his dead face, illumined by the candle-light—and by something +more. It was also she—the one great love of his loveless life—who +closed, at last, those staring, questioning eyes.</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GENIUS***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 22004-h.txt or 22004-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/2/0/0/22004">http://www.gutenberg.org/2/2/0/0/22004</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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