The invention was admirable,it does honor to your genius.But if Fritz has been but the instrument to carry out your sublime conceptions,why do you laugh at his stupidity?""Oh,poor soul!"replied Stephane,with animation,"oh!the donkey,how he spoiled my idea!I didn't order him to call M.Saville his comrade,but to treat him as a comrade,which is a different thing.
Unfortunately I had not time to give him minute instructions,and he misunderstood me,but he did what he could conscientiously to earn his fee.The poor fellow must be pardoned.I am the only guilty one,I repeat it.I am the one to be punished.""And might we know,sir,"said the Count,"what your intention was in causing M.Saville to be insulted by a servant?""I wished to humiliate him,to disgust him,and to force him to leave this house.""And your motive?"
"My motive is that I hate him!"answered he in a hoarse voice.
"Always exaggerations,"replied the Count sneeringly."Can you not,sir,rid yourself of this detestable habit of perpetual exaggeration in the expression of your thoughts?Can I not impress upon your mind the maxims upon this subject which two men of equal genius have given us:M.de Metternich and Pigault Lebrun!The first of these illustrious men used to say that superlatives were the seals of fools,and the second wrote these immortal words:
"'Everything exaggerated is insignificant.'"Then extending his arm:
"To hate!to hate!"exclaimed he."You say the word glibly.Do you know what it is?Sorrow,anger,jealousy,antipathy,aversion,you may know all these;but hatred,hatred!--you have no right to say this terrible word.Ah!hatred is a rough work!it is ceaseless torture,it is a cross of lead to carry,and to sustain its weight without breaking down requires very different shoulders than yours!"At this moment Stephane ventured to look his father in the face.
He slowly uplifted his eyes,inclining his head backward.His look signified "You are right,I will take your word for it;you are better acquainted with it than I."But the Count's face was so terrible that Stephane closed his eyes and resumed his former attitude.A slight shudder agitated his whole frame.The Count perceived that he was near forgetting himself,and drove back the bitter wave which came up from his heart to his lips in spite of himself:
"Besides,my young friend here is the least detestable being in the world,"pursued he in a tranquil tone."Judge for yourself;just now he pleaded your cause to me with so much warmth,that he drew from me a promise not to punish you for what he has the kindness to call only a boy's freak.He even stipulates that I shall restore you your flowers,which he pretends give you delight,and within an hour Ivan will have carried them to your room.In short,two words of apology are all he requires of you.You must admit that one could not have a more accommodating disposition,and that you owe him a thousand thanks.""Apologies!to him!"cried Stephane with a gesture of horror.
"You hesitate!oh!this is too much!Do you then wish to revisit a certain rather gloomy hall?"Stephane shuddered,his lips trembled.
"In mercy,"cried he,"inflict any other punishment upon me you please,but not that one.Oh,no!I cannot go back to that frightful hall.Oh!I entreat you,deprive me of my customary walks for six months;sell Soliman,cut my hair,shave my head,--anything,yes,anything rather than put my feet in that horrible dungeon again!I shall die there or go mad.You don't want me to become insane?""When one is unfortunate enough to believe in ghosts and apparitions at the age of sixteen,"retorted the Count,"he should free himself as soon as possible from the ridiculous weakness."Stephane's whole body trembled.He staggered a few steps,and falling on his knees before his father,clung to him and cried:"Iam only a poor sick child,have pity on me.You are still my father,are you not?and I am still your child?Mon Dieu!Mon Dieu!You do not,you cannot,want your child to die!""Put an end to this miserable comedy,"cried the Count,disengaging himself from Stephane's clasp."I am your father,and you are my son;no one here doubts it;but your father,sir,has a horror of scenes.This has lasted too long;end it,I tell you.You are already in a suitable posture.The most difficult part is done,the rest is a trifle!""What do you say,sir?"answered the child impetuously,trying to rise."I am on my knees to you only.Ah!great God!I to kneel before this man!it is impossible!you know very well it is impossible!
The Count,however,pressing his hand upon his shoulder,constrained him to remain upon his knees,and turning his face to Gilbert:
"I tell you,you are kneeling before the man you have insulted,and we all understand it."Was it,indeed thus,that Gilbert understood it?Quiet,impassible,his eyes fixed upon the window,he seemed a perfect stranger to all that passed around him.
A cry of anguish escaped Stephane,a frightful change came over his face.Three times he tried to rise,and three times the hand of his father weighed him down again,and kept him in a kneeling posture.Then,as if annihilated by the thought of his weakness and powerlessness,he yielded,and covering his eyes with both hands,he murmured these words in a stifled and convulsive voice:
"Sir they do me violence,--I ask pardon for hating you."And immediately his strength abandoned him,and he fainted;as a lily broken by the storm,his head sank,and he would have fallen backward,if his father had not signed to Ivan,who raised him like a feather in his robust arms,and carried him hastily out of the room.
Gilbert's first care after returning to his turret,was to light a candle and burn Stephane's letter.Then he opened a closet and began to prepare his trunk.While engaged in this task,someone knocked at the door.He had only time to close the closet and the trunk when Ivan appeared with a basket on his arm.The serf came for the flowers,which he had orders to carry to the apartment of his young master.Having placed five or six in his basket,he turned to Gilbert and gave him to understand,in his Teutonic gibberish mingled with French,that he had something important to communicate to him.Gilbert answered in a tone of ill-humor,that he had not time to listen to him.Ivan shook his head with a pensive air,and left.Gilbert immediately seated himself at the table,and upon the first scrap of paper which came under his hand,hastily wrote the following lines:
"Poor child,do not distress yourself too much for the humiliation to which you have just submitted.As you said yourself,you yielded only to violence,and your apologies are void in my eyes.
Believe me,I exact nothing.Why did I not divine,this morning,that Fritz spoke in your name!I should not have felt offended,for it is not to me that your insults are addressed,it is to some strange Gilbert of your imagination.I am not acquainted with him.
But what can it avail you to provoke contests,the result of which is certain in advance?It is a hand of iron which lately weighed upon your shoulder.Do you hope then to free yourself so soon from its grasp?Believe me,submit yourself to your lot,and mitigate its rigors by patience,until the day when your eyes have become strong enough to dare to look him in the face,and your hand manly enough to throw the gage of battle.Poor child the only consolation I can offer you in your misfortune I should be a culprit to refuse.I have but one night more to pass here;keep this secret for me for twenty-four hours,and receive the adieus of that Gilbert whom you have never known.One day he passed near you and looked at you,and you read an offensive curiosity in his eyes.
I swear to you,they were full of tears."Gilbert folded this letter,and slid it under the facing of one of his sleeves;then taking the key of the private door in his hand,and posting himself at the head of the staircase,he waited Ivan's return.As soon as he heard the sound of his steps in the corridor,he descended rapidly and met him on the landing at the gallery.
"I do not know what to do,"said Ivan to him."My young master is not himself,and he has broken the first flower-pots I carried to him in a thousand pieces.""Take the others too,"replied Gilbert,taking care to let him see the key which he flourished in his hand."You can put them in your room for the time being.When he becomes calmer he will be glad to see them again.""But will it not be better to leave them with you until he asks for them?""I don't want to keep them half an hour longer,"replied Gilbert quickly,and he descended the first steps of the private staircase.
"As you are going on the terrace,sir,"cried the serf to him,"don't forget,I beg of you,to close the door behind you."Gilbert promised this."It works well,"thought he;"his caution proves to me that the wicket is not closed."He was not mistaken.
For the convenience of his transportation,the serf had left it half open,only taking the precaution to close and double-lock the door of the grand staircase.Gilbert waited until Ivan had reached the second story,and immediately remounting upon tiptoe,he darted into the corridor,followed its entire length,turned to the right,passed before the Count's study,turned a second time to the right,found himself in the gallery which led to the square tower,sprang through the wicket,and arrived without obstacle at the foot of the tower staircase.He found the steps littered with the debris of broken pots and flowers.As he began to descend,loud voices came to his ears;he thought for a moment that M.Leminof was with his son.This did not turn him from his project.He had nothing to conceal."I will beg the Count himself,"thought he,"to read my farewell letter to his son."Having reached the top of the staircase,he crossed a vestibule and found himself in a long,dark alcove,lighted by a solitary glass door,opening into the great room ordinarily occupied by Stephane.This door was ajar,and the strange scene which presented itself to Gilbert,as he approached,held him motionless a few steps from the threshold.Stephane,with his back towards him,stood with his arms crossed upon his breast.
He was not speaking to his father,but to two pictures of saints hanging from the wall above a lighted taper.These two paintings on wood,in the style of Father Alexis,represented St.George and St.Sergius.The child,looking at them with burning eyes,apostrophized them in a voice trembling with anger,at intervals stamping his foot and running his hands furiously through his long hair and tossing it in wild disorder.Illustrious Saints of the Eastern Church,heard you ever such language before?
Then he sprang on a chair,tore the two pictures from the wall,threw them to the ground,and seizing his riding whip,switched them furiously.In this affair,St.George lost half of his head and one of his legs,and St.Sergius was disfigured for the rest of his days.When he had satisfied his fury,Stephane hung them up again on their nails,turning their faces to the wall,and blew out the lamp;then he rolled upon the floor,twisting his arms and tearing his hair--but suddenly sitting up,he drew from his bosom a small,heart-shaped medallion which he gazed on fixedly,and as he looked the tears began to roll down his cheeks,and in the midst of his sobs,he cried out:
"Oh,my mother!I desire nothing from you!you could do nothing for me;but why did I have time to know you?To remember!to remember--what torment!Yes,I can see you now--Every morning you gave me a kiss,high on my forehead at the roots of my hair.The mark is there yet--sometimes it burns me.I have often looked in the glass to see if I had not a scar there--Oh,my mother!come and heal my wound by renewing it!To be kissed by one's mother,Great God!
what happiness!Oh!for a kiss,for a single kiss from you,Iwould brave a thousand dangers,I would give my blood,my life,my soul.Ah!how sad you look!there are tears in your eyes.You recognize me,do you not?I am much changed,much changed;but Ihave always your look,your forehead,your mouth,your hair."Then starting up suddenly,Stephane walked around the room with an unsteady step.He held the medallion closely grasped in his right hand and kept his eyes upon it.Again he held it out at arm's length and looked at it steadily with half-closed eyes,or drawing it nearer to him,he said to it sweet and tender things,pressing it to his lips,kissing it a thousand times and passing it over his hair and his cheeks wet with tears;it seemed as though he were trying to make some particle of this sacred image penetrate his life and being.At last,placing it on the bed,he knelt before it,and burying his face in his hands,cried out sobbing,"Mother,mother,it is long since your daughter died.When will you call your son to you?"Gilbert retired in silence.A voice from this room said to him:
"Thou art out of place here.Take care not to meddle in the secret communion of a son and his mother.Great sorrows have something sacred about them.Even pity profanes them by its presence."He descended the staircase with precaution.When he had reached the last step,--extending his arm in the direction of the Count's room,he muttered in a low tone:"You have lied!Under that tunic of black velvet there is a beating heart!"Then advancing with a rapid step through the corridor,he hoped to pass out unseen;but on reaching the wicket,he found himself face to face with Ivan,who was coming out of his room,and who in his surprise dropped the basket he held in his hand.
"You here!"exclaimed he in a severe tone."Another would have paid dearly for this--"Then in a soft voice,expressing profound melancholy:
"Brother,"said he,"do you want both of us to be killed?I see you do not know the man whose orders you dare to brave."And he added,bowing humbly:"You will pardon me for calling you brother?
In my mouth,that does not mean 'comrade.'"Gilbert gave a sign of assent,and started to leave,but the serf,holding him by the arm,said:
"Fortunately the barine has gone out;but take care;two days since he had one of his turns,he has one every year,and while they last,his mind wanders at night,and his anger is terrible during the day.I tell you there is a storm in the air,do not draw the thunderbolt upon your head."Then placing himself between Gilbert and the door,he added with a grave air:
"Upon your conscience,what have you been doing here?Have you seen my young father?Has he been talking to himself?You could understand what he said,for he always talks in French.He only knows enough Russian to scold me.Tell me,what have you heard?Imust know."
"Don't be alarmed,"answered Gilbert."If he has secrets he has not betrayed them.He was engaged in complaining to himself,in scolding the saints and weeping.Neither must you think that Icame hither to spy upon him,or to question him.As he had met with sorrow,I wanted to console him by imparting the agreeable news of my near departure;but I had not the courage to show myself to him,and besides,I am not quite certain now what I shall do.""Yes,you will do well to go,"eagerly answered the serf;"but go secretly,without warning anyone.I will help you,if you wish it.
You are too inquisitive to remain here.Certain suspicions have already been excited on your account,which I have combated.Then,too,you are imprudent!"Thus saying,he drew from his pocket the candle which Gilbert had dropped in the corridor,the preceding night.
"Fortunately,"said he,returning it to him,"it was I who found it,and picked it up,and I wish you well,you know why.But before going from here,"added he in a solemn tone,"swear to me,that during the time you may yet remain in this house,you will not try to come into this gallery again,and that you will not ramble in the other any more in the night.I tell you your life is in danger if you do."Gilbert answered him by a gesture of assent,and passing the wicket,regained his room,where alternately standing at the window,or stretched upon an easy-chair,he passed two full hours communing with his thoughts.The dinner-bell put an end to his long meditations.There was but little conversation during the repast.M.Leminof was grave and gloomy,and seemed to be laboring under a great nervous excitement which he strove to conceal.
Stephane was calmer than would have been expected,after the violent emotions he had experienced,but there was something singular in his look.Father Alexis alone wore his everyday face;he found it very good,and did not judge it expedient to change it.
Towards the end of the repast,Gilbert was surprised to see Stephane,who was in the habit of drinking only wine and water,fill his glass with Marsala three times,and swallow it almost at a single draught.The young man was not long in feeling the effect of it;his face flushed,and his gaze became vacant.Towards the close of the meal,he looked a great deal at the Apocalyptic frescoes of the vaulted ceiling:then turning suddenly to his father,he ventured to address him a question.It was the first time for nearly two years,--an event which made even Father Alexis open his eyes.
"Is it true,"asked Stephane,"that living persons,supposed to be dead,have sometimes been buried?""Yes,it has sometimes happened,"replied the Count.
"But is there no way of establishing the certainty of death?""Some say yes,others no.I have been told of a frozen man who was dissected in a hospital.The operator,in opening him,saw his heart beating in his breast;he took flight and is running yet.""But when one dies a violent death--poisoned,for example?""My opinion is,that they can still be mistaken.Physiology is a great mystery.""Oh!that would be horrible,"said Stephane in a penetrating voice;"to awaken by bruising one's forehead against the cover of a coffin.""It would certainly be a very disagreeable experience,answered the Count.And the conversation dropped.Stephane appeared very much affected by his father's answers.He gazed no more at the ceiling,but fixed his eyes on his plate.His face changed color several times,and as if feeling the need of stupefying himself,he filled his glass with wine for the fourth time,but he could not empty it,and had hardly touched it with his lips before he set it on the table with an air of disgust.
Tea was brought in.M.Leminof served it;and leaving his cup to cool,rose and walked the floor.After making two or three turns,he called Gilbert,and leaning upon his arm continued his walk,talking with him about the political news of the day.Stephane saw them come and go;he was evidently deeply agitated.Suddenly,at the moment when they turned their backs,he drew from his sleeve a small packet,which contained a pinch of yellow powder,and unfolding it quickly,held it over his still full cup;but as he was about emptying it,his hand trembled,and at this moment,his father and Gilbert returning to his side,he had only time to conceal the paper in his hand.In an instant he raised it again,but at the decisive moment his courage again failed him.It was not until the third trial that the yellow powder glided into the cup,where Stephane stirred it with his spoon.This little scene had escaped Gilbert.The Count alone had lost nothing of it;he had eyes at the back of his head.He reseated himself in his place and drank his tea slowly,continuing to talk with Gilbert,and apparently quite unconscious of his son;but not a movement escaped him.Stephane looked at his cup steadily,his agitation increased,he breathed heavily,he shuddered,and his hand trembled with feverish excitement.After waiting several minutes,the Count turned to him and,looking him full in the eyes,said:
"Well!you do not drink?Cold tea is a bad drug."The child trembled still more;his eyes had a glassy brightness.
Turning his head slowly,they wandered over everything about him,the table,the chairs,the plate,and the black oak wainscoting.
There are moments when the aspect of the most common objects stirs the soul with solemn emotion.When the condemned man is led out to die,the least straw on the floor of his cell seems to say something to his heart.Finally,gathering all his courage,Stephane raised the cup and carried it to his mouth;but before it had touched his lips,the Count took it roughly from his hands.
Stephane uttered a piercing cry and fell back in his chair with closed eyes.M.Leminof looked at him for a moment with a sarcastic and scornful smile;then bending over the cup he examined it with care,smelt of it,and dipping his spoon in it,drew out two or three yellow grains which he rubbed and pulverized between his fingers.Then in a tone as tranquil and as indifferent as if speaking of the rain,or of the fine weather,he said:
"It is phosphorus,a sufficiently active poison,and phosphorus matches have been the death of a man more than once.But I saw your little paper some time before.If I am not mistaken the dose was not strong enough."And dipping his finger in the cup,he passed it over his tongue,and curled his lip disdainfully."I was not mistaken,"continued he,"it would only have given you a violent colic.It was very imprudent in you;you do not like to suffer,and you know we have only fresh-water physicians in this neighborhood.Why didn't you wait a few hours?Doctor Vladimir Paulitch will be here to-morrow evening."And then he went on in a more phlegmatic tone."It should be a first principle to do thoroughly whatever you undertake to do at all.Thus,when a man wants to kill himself according to rule,he should not begin by exciting suspicions in talking of the cemetery.And as these affairs require the exercise of coolness,he should not try to get intoxicated.The courage which a person finds at the bottom of a glass of Marsala is not of a good quality,and the approach of death always sobers one.Finally,when a man has seriously resolved to kill himself,he does not do this little thing at the table,in company,but in his room,after having carefully bolted the door.In short,your little scene has failed in every point,and you do not know the first rudiments of this fine art.I advise you not to meddle with it any more."At these words he pulled the bell for Ivan.
"Your young master wanted to kill himself,"said he;"take him to his room and prepare him a composing draught that will put him to sleep.Watch with him to-night,and in future be careful not to leave any phosphorus matches in his rooms.Not that I suspect him of entertaining any intense desire of killing himself,--but who knows?Wounded vanity might drive him to try it.As his nerves are excited,you will see that for some days he takes a great deal of exercise.If the weather is fine tomorrow,keep him in the open air all day,and in the evening walk him on the terrace;he must get his blood stirred up."From the moment that his father had taken the poisoned cup from him,Stephane had remained petrified on his chair,with livid face and arms hanging over his knees,giving no sign of life.When Ivan approached to take him away,he rose with a start,and leaning upon the arm of the serf,he crossed the room without opening his eyes.
When he had gone,the Count heaved a long sigh of weariness and dejection.
"What did I tell you?"exclaimed he,throwing upon Gilbert a scrutinizing look;"this boy has a theatrical turn of mind.Iwould wager my life that he hadn't the faintest desire to kill himself:he only aimed at exciting us;but certainly if it was the sensitive heart of Father Alexis which he took for a target,he has lost the trouble."And he directed Gilbert's attention to the worthy priest,who,as soon as he had emptied his cup,had fallen sound asleep on his stool,and smiled at the angels in his dreams.
Gilbert gave the Count a lively and agreeable surprise by answering him in the steadiest tone:
"You are entirely right,sir;it was only a very ridiculous affectation.Fortunately,we may consider it pretty certain that our young tragedian will not regale us a second time with his little play.Where courage is required,it is good to have an opportunity of seeing to the bottom of one's sack;nothing is more likely to cure a boaster of the foolish mania for blustering.""Decidedly my secretary is improving,"thought the Count;"he has a tender mouth and feels the curb."And in the joy which this discovery gave him,he felt that he entertained for him sentiments of real friendship,of which he would not have believed himself capable.His surprise and pleasure increased still more when Gilbert resumed:
"But apropos,sir,do you persist in believing that,according to Constantius Porphyrogennatus,all Greece became Slavonian in the eighteenth century?I have new objections to present to you on that subject.And first this famous Copronymus of whom he speaks..."They did not rise from the table until eleven o'clock.It was necessary to awaken Father Alexis,who slept during the whole time,his right arm extended over his plate,and his head leaning upon his elbow.The Count having shaken him,he rose with a start and exclaimed:
"Don't touch it!The colors are all fresh;Jacob's beard is such a fine gray!"The compliant secretary retired humming an aria.M.Leminof followed him with his eyes,and,pointing after him,said to his serf in a confidential tone:
"Thou seest that man there;just fancy!I feel friendship for him.
