الفصل الفصل 17 · 第13章

Gently burnt the hanging lamp before the glass case, wherein glittered

the gold and silver frames of the ancestral _icons._ The flickering

light lit faintly the curtained bed, and the table strewn with labelled

phials. Near the fireplace sat a servant at her spinning wheel, and

only the light sound of her distaff broke the silence.

"Who is there?" asked a weak voice. The maid rose instantly, approached

the bed, and quietly raised the curtain.

"Will it soon be dawn?" asked Natalia.

"It is already noon," replied the maid.

"Oh, heavens! and why is it so dark?"

"The shutters are closed, miss."

"Then let me dress quickly."

"You must not, miss; the doctor forbids it."

"Am I ill then? How long?"

"Nearly a fortnight now."

"Is it really so? And it seems to me but last night that I went to bed."

Natasha was silent; she tried to collect her scattered thoughts.

Something had happened to her, what it was she could not remember. The

maid stood before her, awaiting her orders. At that moment a muffled

sound was heard below.

"What is it?" asked the patient.

"The masters have finished dinner," answered the attendant; "they are

rising from table. Tatiana Afanassievna will be here directly."

Natasha seemed pleased, she waved her feeble hand. The maid dropped the

curtain and resumed her seat at the spinning wheel.

A few minutes after, a head, covered with a broad white cap with dark

ribbons, peeped through the door and asked in a low voice:

"How is Natasha?"

"How do you do, auntie?" said the invalid gently, and Tatiana

Afanassievna hurried towards her.

"The young lady is conscious," said the maid, cautiously moving up

an easy chair. With tears in her eyes the old lady kissed the pale

languid face of her niece, and sat down beside her. Immediately after

her came the German doctor in a black caftan and learned wig. He

counted Natalia's pulse, and told them first in Latin, then in Russian,

that the crisis was over. He asked for paper and ink, wrote a new

prescription, and departed. The old lady rose, kissed Natalia again,

and at once went down with the good news to Gavril Afanassievitch.

In the drawing-room in full uniform, with sword and hat in hand, sat

the royal negro, talking respectfully with Gavril Afanassievitch.

Korsakoff, stretched full length upon a downy couch, reclined,

listening to their conversation while he teased the greyhound. Tired of

this occupation, he approached a mirror, the usual refuge of the idle,

and in it saw Tatiana Afanassievna behind the door making unperceived

signs to her brother.

"You are wanted, Gavril Afanassievitch," said Korsakoff to him,

interrupting Ibrahim.

Gavril Afanassievitch instantly went to his sister, closing the door

behind him.

"I am astonished at your patience," said Korsakoff to Ibrahim. "A whole

hour have you been listening to ravings about the ancient descent

of the Lykoffs and the Rjevskis, and have even added your own moral

observations. In your place _j'aurais planté la_ the old liar and

all his race, including Natalia Gavrilovna, who is only affected and

shamming illness, _une petite santé._ Tell me truly, is it possible

that you are in love with that little _mijaurée?_"

"No," replied Ibrahim, "I am of course marrying, not from love, but

from consideration, and that only if she has no actual dislike for me."

"Listen, Ibrahim," said Korsakoff, "for once take my advice; really I

am wiser than I look. Give up this silly idea--don't marry. It seems

to me that your chosen bride has no particular liking for you. Don't

many things happen in this world? For instance: of course I am not bad

looking, but it has happened to me to deceive husbands who were really

not a whit my inferior. Yourself too.... you remember our Parisian

friend Count L.? A woman's fidelity cannot be counted on. Happy is

he who can bear the change with equanimity. But you! with "your

passionate, brooding, and suspicious nature, with your flat nose, thick

lips, is it with these that you propose to rush into all the dangers of

matrimony?"

"Thank you for your friendly advice," said Ibrahim, coldly; "you know

the proverb: 'it is not your duty to rock other folk's children.'"

"Take care, Ibrahim," replied Korsakoff, smiling, "that it does not

fall to your lot to illustrate that proverb literally later on."

The conversation in the next room waxed hot.

"You will kill her," the old lady was saying; "she cannot bear the

sight of him."

"But just consider," replied her obstinate brother. "For a fortnight

now he has been calling as her accepted bridegroom, and hitherto has

not seen his bride. He might think at last that her illness is simply

an invention, and that we are seeking only to gain time in order to get

rid of him. Besides, what will the Tsar say? He has already sent three

times to ask after Natasha. Do as you please, but I do not intend to

fall out with him."

"My God!" exclaimed Tatiana Afanassievna; "how will she bear it? At any

rate, let me prepare her for this."

Gavril Afanassievitch consented, and returned to the drawing-room.

"Thank God!" he said to Ibrahim; "the crisis is over. Natalia is much

better. I do not like to leave our dear guest, Mr. Korsakoff, here

alone> or I would take you upstairs to get a glimpse of your bride."

Korsakoff congratulated Gavril Afanassievitch, begged them not to put

themselves out on his account, assured them that he was obliged to go,

and rushed into the lobby, whither be refused to allow his host to

follow him.

Meanwhile, Tatiana Afanassievna hastened to prepare the invalid for the

arrival of her terrible visitor. Entering the apartments, she sat down

breathless by the bedside and took Natalia by the hand. But before she

had time to say a word, the door opened.

"Who has come in?" Natasha asked.

The old lady felt faint, Gavril Afanassievitch drew back the curtain,

looked coldly at the patient, and inquired how she was. The sick girl

tried to smile but could not. Her father's stern gaze startled her, and

fear overcame her. She fancied some one stood at the head of her bed.

With an effort she raised her head and instantly recognised the Tsar's

negro. At that moment she remembered all, and all the horror of the

future presented itself before her. But exhausted nature could receive

no further perceptible shock. Natasha dropped her head back on the

pillow and closed her eyes, her heart within her gave sickly throbs.

Tatiana Afanassievna signed to her brother that the patient wanted to

go to sleep, and everybody left the apartments quietly. The maid alone

remained and resumed her seat.

The unhappy beauty opened her eyes, and seeing no one by her bedside,

called the maid and sent her for the dwarf. But at that moment an old,

round creature, like a ball, rolled up to her bed. Tie Swallow (so

the dwarf was nicknamed) had rushed as fast as her short legs would

carry her up the stairs after Gavril Afanassievitch and Ibrahim, and

hid behind the door. Natasha saw her and sent the maid away. The dwarf

sat down on a stool by the bedside Never had so small a body contained

so active a soul. She interfered in everything, knew everything, and

exerted herself about everything. With cunning penetration she knew how

to gain the affection of her masters, and the envy of all the household

over which she wielded autocratic sway. Gavril Afanassievitch listened

to her tales, complaints, and petty requests. Tatiana Afanassievna

asked her opinion every moment and took her advice, while Natasha's

affection for her was unbounded. She confided to her all the thoughts,

all the impulses of her sixteen-year-old heart.

"Do you know, Swallow," she said, "my father is going to marry me to

the negro." The dwarf sighed deeply, and her wrinkled face became more

wrinkled.

"Is there no hope?" added Natasha. "Do you think my father will not

have compassion upon me?"

The dwarf shook her cap.

"Won't grandfather intercede for me, or my aunt."

"No, miss, the negro during your illness managed to bewitch everybody.

Master is mad about him, the prince dreams of him alone, and Tatiana

Afanassievna says it is a pity he is a negro, otherwise we could not

wish for a better bridegroom."

"My God, my God!" sobbed poor Natasha.

"Don't grieve, dear beauty," said the dwarf, kissing her feeble

hand. "If you must marry the negro, at any rate you will be your own

mistress. Now it is not as it was in olden times; husbands no longer

imprison their wives; the negro is said to be rich, the house will be

like a full cup--you'll live merrily."

"Poor Valerian," said Natasha, but so low, that the dwarf only guessed

but did not hear the words.

"That is just it, miss," she said mysteriously, lowering her voice; "if

you thought less of the sharpshooter's orphan you would not rave of him

in your delirium, and your father would not be angry."

"What!" inquired Natasha, in alarm; "I raved about Valerian? My father

heard? My father was angry?"

"That is the misfortune," replied the dwarf. "Now, if you ask him not

to marry you to the negro, he will think Valerian is the cause. There

is nothing to be done, you had better submit, and what is to be will

be."

Natasha made no reply. The notion that the secret of her heart was

known to her father had a powerful effect upon her mind. One hope only

was left to her--that she might die before the completion of this

hateful marriage. This idea comforted her. With a weak and sad heart

she resigned herself to her fate.