Alcott, Louisa May - SSC 20 (36 page)

 
          
It
was a hard word to utter, but I spoke it, looking him full in the eve and seeing
w'ith a pang how pale he grew with real despair.

 
          
“Is
it because you love already, or that you have no heart?” he said slowly.

 
          
“I
love already.” The words escaped me against my will, for the truth would find
vent in spite of me. He took it as I meant he should, for his lips whitened, as
he asked hoarsely:

 
          
“And
this
man
whom you love, is he alive?”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
“He
knows of this happiness — he returns your love?”

 
          
“He
loves me; ask no more; I am ill and weary.”

 
          
A
gloomy silence reigned for several minutes, for the prince seemed buried in a
bitter reverie, and I was intent on watching him. An involuntary sigh broke
from me as I saw the shadow deepen on the handsome face opposite, and thought
that my falsehood had changed the color of a life. He looked up at the sound,
saw my white, anxious face, and without a word drew from a pocket of the
carriage a flask and silver cup, poured me a draught of wine, and offered it,
saying gently:

 
          
“Am
I cruel in my love, Sybil?”

 
          
I
made no answer, but drank the wine, and asked as I returned the cup:

 
          
“Now
that you know the truth, must I go to Volnoi? Be kind, and let me return to
Madame Yermaloff.”

 
          
His
face darkened and his eyes grew fierce, as he replied, with an aspect of
indomitable resolve:

 
          
“It
is impossible; I have sworn to make you love me, and at Volnoi I will work the
miracle. Do you think this knowledge of the truth will deter me? No; I shall
teach you to forget this man, whoever he is, and make you happy in my love. You
doubt this. Wait a little and see what a real passion can do.”

 
          
This
lover-like pertinacity was dangerous, for it flattered my woman’s nature more
than any submission could have done. I dared not listen to it, and preferring
to see him angry rather than tender, I said provokingly:

 
          
“No
man ever forced a woman to love him against her will. You will certainly fail,
for no one in her senses would give her heart to
you!"

           
“And why? Am I hideous?” he asked,
with a haughty smile.

           
“Far from it.”

           
“Am I a fool, mademoiselle?”

 
          
“Quite the reverse.”

 
          
“Am
I base?”

 
          
“No.”

 
          
“Have
I degraded my name and rank by any act?”

 
          
“Never,
till to-night, I believe.”

 
          
He
laughed, yet looked uneasy, and demanded imperiously: “Then, why will no woman
love me?”

           
“Because you have
the will of a tyrant, and the temper of a madman.”

 
          
If
I had struck him in the face it would not have startled him as my blunt words
did. He flushed scarlet, drew back and regarded me with a half-bewildered air,
for never had such a speech been made to him before. Seeing my success, I
followed it up by saving gravely:

 
          
“The
insult of to-night gives me the right to forget the respect I have hitherto
paid you, and for once you shall hear the truth as plain as words can make it.
Many fear you for these faults, but no one dares tell you of them, and they mar
an otherwise fine nature.” I got no further, for to my surprise, the prince
said suddenly, with real dignity, though his voice w as
less
firm
than before:

           
“One dares to tell me of them, and I
thank her. Will she add to the obligation by teaching me to cure them?” Then he
broke out impetuously: “Sybil, you can help me; you possess courage and power
to tame my wild temper, my headstrong will. In heaven’s name I ask you to do
it, that I may be worthy some good womans love.”

 
          
He
stretched his hands tow ard me with a gesture full of force and feeling, and
his eloquent eyes pleaded for pity. I felt my resolution melting aw'ay, and
fortified myself by a chilly speech.

 
          
“Monsieur
le Prince has said that nothing is impossible to him; if he can conquer all
obstacles, it
were
well to begin with these.”

 
          
“I
have begun. Since I knew' you my despotic w ill has bent more than once to
yours, and my mad temper has been curbed by the remembrance that you have seen
it. Sybil, if I do conquer myself, can you, will you try to love me?”

 
          
So
earnestly he looked, so humbly he spoke, it was impossible to resist the charm
of this new and manlier .mood. I gave him my hand, and said, with the smile
that always won him:

 
          
“I
will respect you sincerely, and be your friend; more I cannot promise.”

 
          
He
kissed my hand with a wistful glance, and sighed as he dropped it, saying in a
tone of mingled hope and resignation: “Thanks; respect and friendship from you
are dearer than love and confidence from another woman. I know and deplore the
taults fostered
bv
education and indulgence, and I
will conquer them. Give me time. I swear it will be done.”

           
“I believe it, and I pray for your
success.”

 
          
He
averted his face and sat silent for many minutes, as if struggling with some
emotion which he was too proud to show. I watched him, conscious of a redoubled
interest in this man, who at one moment ruled me like a despot, and at another
confessed his faults like a repentant boy.

 
          
In
Russia
,
from the middle of May to the ist of
August, there is no night. It is davlight till eleven,
then
comes a soft semi-twilight till one, when the sun rises. Through this gathering
twilight we drove toward Volnoi. The prince let down the windows, and the
summer air blew in refreshingly; the peace of the night soothed my perturbed
spirit, and the long silences were fitly broken by some tender word from my
companion, who, without approaching nearer, never ceased to regard me with eyes
so full of love that, for the first time in my life, I dared not meet them.

 
          
It
was near
midnight
when the carriage stopped, and I could discover nothing but a tall white pile
in a wilderness of blooming shrubs and trees. Lights shone from many windows,
and as the prince led me into a brilliantly lighted
salon,
the princess
came smiling to greet me, exclaiming, as she embraced me with affection:
“Welcome, my sister. You see it is in vain to oppose Alexis. We must confess
this, and yield gracefully; in truth, I am glad to keep you,
chere am'ie
,
for without you we find life very dull.”

 
          
“Madame
mistakes
; I never yield, and am here against my will.”
I withdrew myself from her as I spoke, feeling hurt that she had not warned me
of her brother’s design. They exchanged a few words as I sat apart, trying to
look dignified, but dying with sleep. The princess soon came to me, and it was
impossible to resist her caressing manner as she begged me to go and
rest, leaving all disagreements till
the morrow. I
submitted, and, with a silent salute to the prince, followed her to an
apartment next her own, where I was soon asleep, lulled by the happy thought
that I was not forgotten.

 
          
The
princess was with me early in the morning, and a few moments’ conversation
proved to me that, so tar from her convincing her brother of the folly of his
choice, he had entirely won her to his side, and enlisted her sympathies for
himself. She pleaded his suit with sisterly skill and eloquence, but I would
pledge myself to nothing, feeling a perverse desire to be hardly won, if won at
all, and a feminine wish to see my haughty lover thoroughly subdued before I
put mv happiness into his keeping. I consented to remain for a time, and a
servant was sent to Madame Yermaloff v. ith a letter explaining mv flight, and
telling where to forward a portion of my wardrobe.

 
          
Professing
herself
satisfied for the present, and hopeful for the
future, the princess left me to join her brother in the garden, where I saw
them talking long and earnestly. It was pleasant to a lonely soul like myself
to be so loved and cherished, and when I descended it was impossible to
preserve the cold demeanor I had assumed, for all faces greeted me with smiles,
all voices welcomed me, and one presence made the strange place seem like home.
The
princes
behavior was perfect, respectful, devoted
and self-controlled; he appeared like a new being, and the whole household
seemed to rejoice in the change.

 
          
Day
after day glided happily away, for Volnoi was a lovely spot, and I saw nothing
of the misery hidden in the hearts and homes of the hundred serfs who made the
broad domain so beautiful. I seldom saw them, never spoke to them, for I knew
no Russ, and in our drives the dull-looking peasantry possessed no interest for
me. They never came to the house, and the prince appeared to know nothing of
them bevond what his Stavosta, or steward reported. Poor Alexis!
he
had manv hard lessons to learn that year, yet was a
better man and master for them all, even the one which nearly cost him his
life.

 
          
Passing
through the hall one day, I came upon a group of servants lingering near the
door of the apartment in which the prince gave his orders and transacted
business. I observed that the French servants looked alarmed, the Russian ones
fierce and threatening, and that Antoine, the valet of the prince, seemed to be
eagerly dissuading several of the serfs from entering. As I appeared he
exclaimed:

 
          
“Hold,
he is saved! Mademoiselle will speak for him; she fears nothing, and she pities
every one.” Then, turning to me, he added, rapidly: “Mademoiselle will pardon
us that we implore this favor of her great kindness. Ivan, through some
carelessness, has permitted the favorite horse of the prince to injure himself
fatally. He has gone in to confess
,,
and we fear for
his life, because Monsieur le Prince loved the fine beast well, and will be in
a fury at the loss. He killed poor Androvitch for a less offense, and we
tremble for Ivan. Will mademoiselle intercede for him? I fear harm to my master
if Ivan suffers, for these fellows swear to avenge him.”

 
          
Without
a word I opened the door and entered quietly. Ivan was on his knees, evidently
awaiting his doom with dogged submission. A pair of pistols lay on the table,
and near it stood the prince, with the dark flush on his face, the terrible
fire in his eyes which I had seen before. I saw there was no time to lose, and
going to him, looked up into that wrathful countenance, whispering in a warning
tone:

 
          
“Remember
poor Androvitch.”

 
          
It
was like an electric shock; he started, shuddered, and turned pale; covered his
face a moment and stood silent, while I saw drops gather on his forehead and'
his hand clinch itself spasmodically. Suddenly he moved, flung the pistols
through the open window, and turning on Ivan, said, with a forceful gesture:

 
          
“Go.
I pardon you.”

 
          
The
man remained motionless as if bewildered, till I touched him, bidding him thank
his master and begone.

 
          
“No,
it is you I thank, good angel of the house,” he muttered, and lifting a fold of
my dress to his lips Ivan hurried from the room.

 
          
I
looked at the prince; he was gravely watching us, but a smile touched his lips
as he echoed the man’s last words, “‘Good angel of the house’; yes, in truth
you are. Ivan is right, he owes me no thanks; and yet it was the hardest thing
I ever did to forgive him the loss of my noble Sophron.”

 
          
“But
you did forgive
him,
and whether he is grateful or
not, the victory is yours. A few such victories and the devil
is
cast out for ever.”

 
          
He
seized my hand, exclaiming in a tone of eager delight:

 
          
“You
believe this? You have faith in me, and rejoice that I conquer this cursed
temper, this despotic will?”

 
          
“I
do; but I still doubt the subjection of the will,” I began; he interrupted me
by an impetuous —

 
          
“Try
it; ask anything of me and I will submit.”

 
          
“Then
let me return to
St. Petersburg
at once, and do not ask to follow.”

 
          
He
had not expected
this,
it was too much; he hesitated,
demanding, anxiously:

 
          
“Do
you really mean it?”

 
          
“Yes.”

 
          
“You
wish to leave me, to banish me now when you are all in all to me?”

 
          
“I
wish to be free. You have promised to obey; yield your will to mine and let me
go.”

 
          
He
turned and walked rapidly through the room, paused a moment at the further end,
and coming back, showed me such an altered face that my conscience smote me for
the cruel test. He looked at me in silence for an instant, but I showed no sign
of relenting, although I saw what few had ever seen, those proud eyes wet with
tears. Bending, he passionately kissed my hands, saying, in a broken voice:

 
          
“Go,
Sybil. I submit.”

 
          
“Adieu,
my friend; I shall not forget,” and without venturing another look I left him.

 
          
I
had hardly reached my chamber and resolved to end the struggle for both of us,
when I saw the prince gallop out of the courtyard like one trying to escape
from some unfortunate remembrance or care.

 
          
“Return
soon to me,”
I
cried; “the last
test is over and the victory won.”

 
          
Alas,
how little did I foresee what would happen before that return; how little did
he dream of the dangers that encompassed him. A tap at my door roused me as I
sat in the twilight an hour later, and Claudine crept in, so pale and agitated
that I started up, fearing some mishap to the princess.

 
          
“No,
she is well and safe, but oh, mademoiselle, a fearful peril hangs over us all.
Hush! I will tell you. I have discovered it, and we must save them.”

 
          
“Save
who?
what
peril?
speak
quickly.”

 
          
“Mademoiselle
knows that the people on the estate are poor ignorant brutes who hate the
Stavosta, and have no way of reaching the prince except through him. He is a
hard man; he oppresses them, taxes them heavily unknown to the prince, and they
believe my master to be a tyrant. They have borne much, for when we are away
the Stavosta rules here, and they suffer frightfully. I have lived long in
Russia
, and I hear many things whispered that do
not reach the ears of my lady. These poor creatures bear long, but at last they
rebel, and some fearful affair occurs, as at Bagatai, where the countess, a
cruel woman, was one night seized by her serfs, who burned and tortured her to
death.”

 
          
“Good
heavens! Claudine, what is this danger which menaces us?”

 
          
“I
understand Russ, mademoiselle, have quick eyes and ears, and for some days I
perceive that all is not well among the people. Ivan is changed; all look dark
and threatening but old Vacil. I watch and listen, and discover that they mean
to attack the house and murder the prince.”

 
          
“Mon Dieu!
but
when?”

 
          
“I
knew not till to-day. Ivan came to me and said, ‘Mademoiselle Varna has saved
my life. I am grateful. I wish to serve her. She came here against her will;
she desires to go; the prince is away; I will provide a horse to-night at dusk,
and she can join her friend Madame Yermaloff, who is at Baron Narod’s, only a
verst distant. Say this to mademoiselle, and if she agrees, drop a signal from
her window. I shall see and understand.’”

 
          
“But
why think that the attack is to be to-night?”

 
          
“Because Ivan was so anxious to remove you.
He urged me to
persuade you, for the prince is gone, and the moment is propitious. You will
go, mademoiselle?”

 
          
“No;
I shall not leave the princess.”

           
“But you can save us all by going,
for at the baron’s you can procure help and return to defend us before these
savages arrive. Ivan will believe you safe, and you can thwart their plans
before the hour comes. Oh, mademoiselle, I conjure you to do this, for we are
watched, and you alone will be permitted to escape.”

 
          
A
moment’s thought convinced me that this was the only means of help in our
power, and my plans w ere quickly laid. It was useless to w ait tor the prince,
as his return was uncertain; it was unwise to alarm the princess, as she would
betray all; the quiek-w itted Claudine and
myself
must
do the work, and trust to heaven for success. I dropped a handkerchief from mv
window'; a tall figure Emerged from the shrubbery, and vanished, whispering: