Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (31 page)

 
          
“Mademoiselle
is an Englishwoman?”

           
“My mother was English, my father of
Russian parentage, although born in
England
.”

 
          
I
knew not by what title to address the questioner, so I simplified the matter by
using none at all.

 
          
“Ah,
you are half a Russian, then, and naturally desire to see your country?”

 
          
“Yes,
I have long wished it,” I began, but a soft cough from the princess reminded me
that I must check my wish till it was safe to express it.

 
          
“We
return soon, and it is well that you go willingly. Mademoiselle sets you a
charming example, Nadja; I indulge the hope that you will follow it.”

 
          
As
he spoke the princess shot a quick glance at me, and answered, in a careless
tone:

 
          
“I
seldom disappoint your hopes, Alexis; but mademoiselle agrees with me that
St. Petersburg
at this season is unendurable.”

 
          
“Has
mademoiselle tried it?” was the quiet reply, as the prince fixed his keen eyes
full upon me, as if suspecting a plot.

 
          
“Not
vet, and I have no desire to do so — the report satisfies me,” I answered,
moving to go.

 
          
The
prince shrugged his shoulders, touched his sister’s cheek, bowed slightly, and
left the room as suddenly as he had entered.

 
          
The
princess chid me playfully for my
maladresse,
begged to see me on the
morrow, and graciously dismissed me. As I waited in the great hall a moment for
my carriage to drive round, I witnessed a little scene which made a curious
impression on me. In a small ante-room, the door of which was ajar, stood the
prince, drawing on his gloves, while the lad whom I had seen above was kneeling
before him, fastening a pair of fur-lined overshoes. Something was amiss with
one clasp, the prince seemed impatient, and after a sharp word in Russian,
angrily lifted his foot with a gesture that sent the lad backward with painful
violence. I involuntarily uttered an exclamation, the prince turned quickly,
and our eyes met. Mine I know were full of indignation and disgust, for I
resented the kick more than the poor lad, who, meekly gathering himself up,
finished his task w ithout a word, like one used to such rebukes.

 
          
The
haughtiest surprise was visible in the face of the prince, but no shame; and as
I moved away I heard a low laugh, as if my demonstration amused him.

 
          
“Laugh
if you will, Monsieur le Prince, but remember all your servants are not serfs,”
I muttered, irefully, as I entered the carriage.

 
          
All
went smoothly for a week or two, and I not only found my new home agreeable but
altogether luxurious, for the princess had taken a fancy to me and desired to
secure me by every means in her power, as she confided to Madame Bayard. I had
been in a treadmill so long that any change would have been pleasant, but this
life was as charming as anything but entire freedom could be. The verv caprices
of the princess were agreeable, for they varied what otherwise might have been
somewhat monotonous, and her perfect simplicity and frankness soon did away
with any shyness of mine. As madame said, rank was nothing after all, and in
this case princess was but a name, for many an untitled Parisienne led a gayer
and more splendid life than Nadja Tcherinski, shut up in her apartments and
dependent upon those about her for happiness. Being younger than myself, and
one of the clinging, confiding women who must lean on some one, I soon felt
that protective fondness which one cannot help feeling for the weak, the sick,
and the unhappy. We read English, embroidered, sung, talked, and drove out
together, for the princess received little company and seldom joined the revels
which went on in the other wing of the hotel.

 
          
The
prince came daily to visit his sister, and she always exerted herself to make
these brief interviews as agreeable as possible. I was pressed into the
service, and sung, played, or talked as the princess signified — finding that,
like most Russians of good birth, the prince was very accomplished,
particularly in languages and music. But in spite of these gifts and the increasing
affability of his manners toward myself, I always felt that under all the
French polish was hidden the Tartar wildness, and often saw the savage in his
eye while his lips were smiling blandly. I did not like him, but my vanity was
gratified
bv
the daily assurances of the princess that
I possessed and exerted an unconscious influence over him. It was interesting
to match him, and soon exciting to trv my will against his in covert ways. I
did not fear him as his sister did, because over me he had no control, and
being of as proud a spirit as himself, I paid him only the respect due to his
rank, not as an inferior, but an equal, for my family was good, and he lacked
the real princeliness of nature which commands the reverence of the highest. I
think he felt this instinctively, and it angered him; but he betrayed nothing
of it in words, and was coolly courteous to the incomprehensible
dame-de-compagnie
of his sister.

 
          
My
apartments were near the princess’s, but I never went to her till summoned, as
her hours of rising were uncertain. As I sat one day awaiting the call of
Claudine, her maid came to me looking pale and terrified.

 
          
“Madame
la
Princesse waits, mademoiselle, and begs you will
pardon this long delav.”

 
          
"What
agitates you?” I asked, for the girl glanced nervously over her shoulder as she
spoke, and seemed eager, yet afraid to speak.

 
          
“Ah,
mademoiselle, the prince has been with her, and so afflicted her, it desolates
me to behold her. He is quite mad at times, I think, and terrifies us by his
violence. Do not breathe to any one this that I say, and comfort madame if it
is possible,” and with her finger on her lips the girl hurried away.

 
          
I
found the princess in tears, but the moment I appeared she dropped her
handkerchief to exclaim with a gesture of despair: “We are lost! We are lost!
Alexis is bent on returning to
Russia
and taking me to my death.
Chere
Sybil, what is to be done?”

 
          
“Refuse
to go, and assert at once your freedom; it is a case which warrants such
decision,” was my revolutionary advice, though I well knew the princess would
as soon think of firing the Tuileries as opposing her brother.

 
          
“It
is impossible, I am dependent on him, he never would forgive such an act, and I
should repent it to my last hour. No, my hope is in you, for you have
eloquence, you see my feeble state, and you can plead for me as I cannot plead
for myself.”

 
          
“Dear
madame, you deceive yourself. I have no eloquence, no power, and it is scarcely
for me to come between you and the prince. I will do my best, but it will be in
vain, I think.”

 
          
“No,
you do not fear him, he knows that, and it gives you power; you can talk well,
can move and convince; I often see this when you read and converse with him,
and I know that he would listen. Ah, for my sake make the attempt, and save me
from that dreadful place!” cried the princess imploringly.

 
          
“Well,
madame, tell me what passed, that I may know how to conduct the matter. Is a
time for departure fixed?”

 
          
“No,
thank heaven; if it were I should despair, for he would never revoke his
orders. Something has annoyed him; I fancy a certain lady frowns upon him; but
be that as it may, he is eager to be gone, and desired me to prepare to leave
Paris
. I implored, I wept, I reproached, and
caressed, but nothing moved him, and he left me with the look which forebodes a
storm.”

 
          
“May
I venture to ask why the prince does not return alone, and permit you to join
him in the spring?”

 
          
“Because
when my poor Feodor died he gave me into my brother’s care, and Alexis swore to
guard me as his life. I am so frail, so helpless, I need a faithful protector,
and but for his fearful temper I should desire no better one than my brother. I
owe everything to him, and would gladly obey even in this matter but for my
health.”

           
“Surely he thinks of that? He will
not endanger your life for a selfish wish?”

 
          
“He
thinks me fanciful, unreasonably fearful, and that I make this an excuse to
have my own way. He is never ill, and knows nothing of my suffering, for I do
not annoy him with complaints.”

           
“Do you not think, madame, that if
we could once convince him of the reality of the danger he would relent?”

           
“Perhaps; but how convince him? He
will listen to no one.”

           
“Permit me to prove that. If you w
ill allow' me to leave you for an hour I fancy I can find a w ay to convince
and touch the prince.”

           
The princess embraced me cordially,
bade me go at once, and return soon, to satisfy her curiosity. Leaving her to
rest and wonder
,
I went quietly away to the celebrated
physician who at intervals visited the princess, and stating the ease to him,
begged for a written opinion which, coming from him, would, I knew, have w
eight with the prince. Dr. Segarde at once complied, and strongly urged the
necessity of keeping the princess in
Paris
some months longer. Armed w ith this, I
hastened back, hopeful and ga\.

 
          
The
day was fine, and wishing to keep mv errand private, I had not used the
carriage placed at my disposal. As
I
crossed one of the long corridors, on my way to the princess, I was arrested by
how
Is
of pain and the sharp crack of a w hip,
proceeding from an apartment near by. I paused involuntarily, longing vet
fearing to enter and defend poor Mouche, for I recognized his voice. As
I
stood, the door swung open and the
great hound sprang out, to cower behind me, with an imploring look in his
almost human eves. The prince
followed,
whip in hand,
evidently in one of the fits of passion which terrified the household. I had
seen many demonstrations of wrath, but never anything like that, for he seemed
literally beside himself. Pale as death, w ith eyes full of savage fire, teeth
set, and hair bristling like that of an enraged
animal,
he stood fiercely glaring at me. My heart fluttered for a moment, then was
steady, and feeling no fear, I lifted mv eyes to his, freely showing the pity I
felt for such utter w ant of self-control.

 
          
It
irritated him past endurance, and pointing to the dog, he said, in a sharp, low
voice, with a gesture of command:

 
          
“Go
on, mademoiselle, and leave Mouche to his late."

 
          
“But
what has the poor beast done to merit such brutal punishment?” 1 asked, coolly,
remaining where 1 was.

 
          
“It
is not for you to ask, but to obey,” w as the half-breathless answer, for a w
ord of opposition increased his fury.

 
          
“Pardon;
Mouche takes refuge with me; I cannot betray him to his enemy.”

 
          
The
words were still on my lips, when, w ith a step, the prince reached me, and
towering above me like the incarnation ol wrath, cried fiercely, as he lifted
his hand menacingly:

           
“If you thwart me it will be at your
peril!”

           
I saw he was on the point of losing
all control of himself, and seizing the upraised arm, I looked him in the eye,
saying steadily: “Monsieur le Prince forgets that in
France
it is dastardly to strike a woman. Do not
disgrace yourself by any Russian brutality.”

           
The whip dropped from his hand, his
arm fell, and turning suddenly, he dashed into the room behind him. I was about
to make good my retreat, when a strange sound made me glance into the room. The
prince had flung himself into a chair, and sat there actually choking with the
violence of his passion. His face was purple, his lips pale, and his eyes
fixed, as he struggled to unclasp the great sable-lined cloak he wore. As he
then looked I was afraid he would have a fit, and never stopping for a second
thought, I hurried to him, undid the cloak, loosened his collar, and filling a
glass from the
carafe
on the sideboard, held it to his lips. He drank
mechanically, sat motionless a moment, then drew a long breath, shivered as if
recovering from a swoon, and glanced about him till his eye fell on me. It
kindled again, and passing his hand over his forehead as if to collect himself,
he said abruptly:

 
          
“Why
are you here?”

           
“Because you needed help, and there
was no one else to give it,” I answered, refilling the glass, and offering it
again, for his lips seemed dry.

 
          
He
took it silently, and as he emptied it at a draught his eye glanced from the
whip to
me,
and a scarlet flush rose to his forehead.

 
          
“Did
I strike you?” he whispered, with a shame-stricken face.

           
“If you had we should not have been
here.”

           
“And why?” he asked, in quick
surprise.

           
“I think I should have killed you,
or myself, after such degradation. Unwomanly, perhaps, but I have a man’s sense
of honor.”

           
It was an odd speech, but it rose to
my lips, and I uttered it impulsively, for my spirit was roused by the insult.
It served me better than tears or reproaches, for his eye fell after a furtive
glance, in which admiration, shame and pride contended, and forcing a smile, he
said, as if to hide his discomposure:

 
          
“I
have insulted you; if you demand satisfaction I will give it, mademoiselle.”

 
          
“I
do,” I said, promptly.

 
          
He
looked curious, but seemed glad of anything which should divert his thoughts
from himself, for with a bow and a half smile, he said quickly:

 
          
“Will
mademoiselle name
the reparation I shall make her? Is
it to be pistols or swords?”

 
          
“It
is pardon for poor Mouche.

 
          
His
black brow lowered, and the thunderbolt veins on his forehead darkened again
with the angry blood, not yet restored to quietude. It cost him an effort to
say gravely: