الفصل الفصل 12 · 第8章

Amongst the young men sent abroad by Pet

Story 9. PETER THE GREAT'S NEGRO

the

information necessary for a civilised country was his godson Ibrahim

the negro. He was educated in a Parisian military school, passed out

as a captain of the artillery, distinguished himself in the Spanish

war, and when seriously wounded returned to Paris. In the midst of his

enormous labours the emperor never ceased to ask after his favourite,

of whose progress and good conduct the accounts were always favourable.

Peter was exceedingly pleased with him, and frequently invited him to

Russia; but Ibrahim was in no hurry. He excused himself; either his

wound, or his wish to complete his education, or want of money, served

as the pretext; and Peter complied with his wishes, begged him to take

care of his health, thanked him for his assiduity in study, and though

exceedingly economical himself was lavish to his _protégé,_ and sent

together with gold pieces fatherly advice and warning.

Judging by all historical accounts, the flightiness, madness, and

luxury of the French of that period were unequalled. The latter years

of Louis XIV.'s reign, memorable for the strict piety, dignity,

and propriety of the court, have left no traces behind. The Duke

of Orleans, in whom many brilliant qualities united with vice of

every kind, unfortunately did not possess an atom of hypocrisy. The

orgies of the Palais Royal were no secret in Paris; the example was

infectious. At that time Law made his appearance. To the love of money

was united the thirst for pleasure and amusement. Estates dwindled,

morals perished, Frenchmen laughed and discussed, while the kingdom

crumbled to the jovial tunes of satirical vaudevilles. Meanwhile

society presented a most uninteresting picture. Culture and the

craving for amusement united all classes. Riches, amiability, renown,

accomplishments, even eccentricity, whatever nourished curiosity or

promised entertainment, was received with equal pleasure. Literature,

learning, and philosophy left the seclusion of the study to appear in

the great world and minister to fashion, the ruler of opinions. Women

reigned, but no longer exacted adoration. Superficial politeness took

the place of profound respect. The escapades of the Duke de Richelieu,

the Alcibiades of modern Athens, belong to history and display the

morals of that period:

"Temps Fortune, marqué par la licence,

Ou la folie, agitant son grelot,

D'un pied leger parcourt toute la France,

Ou nul mortel ne daigne être dévot,

Ou l'on fait tout excepté pénitence."

Ibrahim's arrival, his appearance, culture, and native wit, attracted

general attention in Paris. All the ladies fought for a visit from

the Tsar's negro. More than once was he invited to the Regent's merry

evenings; he was present at the suppers enlivened by the youth of

Voltaire and the age of Shollier, the conversations of Montesquieu

and Fontenelle. Not a ball, not a fête, not one first representation

did he miss; and he gave himself up to the general whirl with all the

passion of his youth and nature. But the idea of exchanging these

entertainments, these brilliant pleasures for the simplicity of the St.

Petersburg Court was not all that Ibrahim dreaded. Other and stronger

ties bound him to Paris. The young African was in love. No longer in

the first bloom of youth, the Countess L. was still celebrated for

her beauty. At seventeen, on leaving the convent, she was married to

a man for whom she had not learnt to feel the love which ultimately

he showed no care to win. Rumour assigned her lovers, but through

the leniency of society she still enjoyed a good repute; for nothing

ridiculous or scandalous could be brought against her. Her house was

the most fashionable, a centre of the best society in Paris. Ibrahim

was introduced by young G. de Merville, who was regarded generally

as her latest lover; an impression which he tried by every means to

strengthen. The Countess received Ibrahim with civility, but without

particular attention. He was flattered. Usually the young negro was

regarded with wonder, surrounded and overwhelmed with attention

and questions; and this curiosity, though veiled by a display of

friendliness, offended his vanity.

The delightful attention of women, almost the sole aim of our

exertions, not only gave him no pleas are, but even ailed him with

bitterness and wrath. He felt that he was for them a species of rare

animal, a strange peculiar creature, accidentally brought into a

world with which he had naught in common. He even envied those whom

no one noticed, and deemed their insignificance a blessing. The idea

that nature had not formed him for tender passion robbed him of all

self-assertion and conceit, and added a rare charm to his manner

towards women. His conversation was simple and dignified. He pleased

the Countess L., who was tired of the formal pleasantries and pointed

innuendoes of French, wit.

Ibrahim visited her often. Little by little she grew used to the young

negro's looks, and even began to find something agreeable in that early

head, so black amid the powdered wigs that thronged her drawing-room

(Ibrahim had been wounded in the head and wore a bandage in the place

of a wig). He was twenty-seven, tall and well built, and more than one

beauty glanced at him with feelings more flattering to him than mere

curiosity. But Ibraham either did not observe them or thought their

notice merely coquetry. But when his gaze met that of the Countess his

mistrust vanished. Her eyes expressed so much kindness, her manner to

him was so simple, so easy, that it was impossible to suspect her of

the least coquetry or insincerity.

Though no thought of love entered his mind, to see the Countess daily

had become a necessity. He tried to meet her everywhere, and every

meeting seemed a godsend. The Countess guessed his feelings before he

did so himself. There is no doubt that a love which hopes nothing and

asks nothing touches the female heart more surely than all the arts of

the experienced. When Ibrahim was near, the Countess followed all his

movements, listened to all his words. Without him she became pensive,

and fell into her usual abstraction. Merville was first to notice their

mutual attraction, and congratulated Ibrahim. Nothing inflames love

like approving comments of outsiders. Love is blind, and putting no

trust in itself clings eagerly to every support.

Merville's words roused Ibrahim. Hope suddenly dawned upon his soul;

he fell madly in love. In vain the Countess, alarmed by the vehemence

of his passion, wished to meet him with friendly warnings and sage

counsels; but she herself was growing weak.

Nothing escapes the eye of the vigilant world. The Countess's new

attachment soon became known. Some ladies wondered at her choice;

many found him very ordinary. Some laughed; others considered her

inexcusably imprudent. In the first intoxication of their passion

Ibrahim and the Countess noticed nothing, but soon the jokes of the

men, the sarcasms of the women, began to reach them. Ibrahim's formal

and cold manner had hitherto guarded him from such attacks; he bore

them with impatience, and knew not how to retaliate. The Countess,

accustomed to the respect of society, could not calmly endure to see

herself an object of ridicule and scandal. She complained to Ibrahim

either with tears or bitter reproaches; then she begged him not to

take her part, nor ruin her completely by useless disturbance.

Fresh circumstances complicated her position still more: results of her

imprudent love began to show themselves. The Countess in distress told

Ibrahim. Consolation, advice, suggestions were in turn exhausted and

rejected. She foresaw her inevitable ruin, and in despair awaited it.

Immediately the Countesses condition became known, reports circulated

with renewed vigour. Sensitive women exclaimed in horror; the men made

bets whether she would bear a white or a black child. Epigrams poured

in about her husband, who alone in all Paris suspected nothing. The

fatal moment approached, the Countess was in a terrible state. Ibrahim

called every day. He saw her strength of mind and body gradually

failing. Her tears and terror increased momentarily. At last she felt

the first throes. Measures were taken hurriedly. Means were found to

get the Count out of the way. The doctor arrived. Two days previous

to this a poor woman had been persuaded to resign into the hands of

strangers her new-born infant, for which a messenger was sent.

Ibrahim remained in the study next the bedroom where the unhappy

Countess lay, scarcely daring to breathe; he heard muffled groans, the

maidservants whispers, and the doctor's directions. She suffered long.

Each groan lacerated Ibrahim's heart, and every silent pause filled

him with dread; suddenly he heard the weak cry of a child, and unable

to control his delight rushed into the Countess's room. A black infant

lay on the bed at her feet. Ibrahim approached it. His heart throbbed

violently. He blessed his son with a trembling hand. The Countess with

a faint smile stretched towards him a feeble hand, but the doctor,

fearing too much excitement for his patient, dragged Ibrahim away from

her bedside. The new-born babe was laid in a covered basket and carried

out by a secret staircase. The other child was brought in, and its

cradle placed in the bedroom. Ibrahim left feeling a trifle calmer. The

Count was expected. He returned late, heard of the happy confinement

of his wife, and was much pleased. Thus the public, which expected

a great scandal, was disappointed, and forced to be satisfied with

backbiting. Everything fell back into its usual routine. But Ibrahim

felt that his life must undergo a change, and that his intimacy must

sooner or later become known to Count L. In which case, whatever might

ensue, the Countess's ruin was inevitable. Ibrahim loved and was loved

with passion; but the Countess was wilful and flighty; and this was

not her first love. Disgust and hatred might in her heart replace

the tenderest feelings. Ibrahim already foresaw the time of her

indifference. Hitherto he had not known jealousy, but now with horror

he anticipated, it. Convinced that the anguish of a separation would be

less painful, he resolved to break off this luckless connection, quit

Paris, and return to Russia, whither Peter and a dull sense of duty had

long been calling him.