Chapter Chapter 13 · 第9章

Days and months passed, and love-sick Ibrahim could not resolve to

leave the woman he had wronged. The Countess from hour to hour grew

more attached to him. Their son was being brought up in a distant

province; social scandal was subsiding, and the lovers began to enjoy

greater tranquillity, in silence remembering the past storm and trying

not to think of the future.

One day Ibrahim was standing at the Duke of Orleans' door. The Duke

passing him, stopped, handed him a letter, and bade him read it at his

leisure. It was a letter from Peter I. The Tsar, guessing the real

cause of his absence, wrote to the Hake that he in no way desired to

compel Ibrahim, and left it to his free will to return to Russia or

not; but that in any case he should never forsake his foster-child.

This letter touched Ibrahim to the heart. From that moment his decision

was made. Next day he announced to the Regent his intention to start

immediately for Russia.

"Consider the step you are about to take," replied the Duke. "Russia is

not your home. I don't think you will ever have a chance of seeing your

torrid Africa, and your long residence in France has made you equally

a stranger to the climate and the semi-barbarous life of Russia. You

were not born one of Peter's subjects. Take my advice, profit by his

generous permission, stay in France, for which you have already shed

your blood, and be convinced that here your services and talents will

not be left without their due reward."

Ibrahim thanked the Duke sincerely, but remained firm in his resolve.

"I regret it," replied the Regent; "but on the whole you may be right."

He promised to let him retire and wrote to inform the Tsar.

Ibrahim was soon ready for the journey. On the eve of his departure

he passed the evening as usual at the Countess L's. She knew nothing.

Ibrahim had not the courage to tell her. The Countess was calm and

cheerful. She several times called him to her and joked about

his pensiveness. After supper everybody had gone, leaving in the

drawing-room only the Countess, her husband, and Ibrahim. The unhappy

man would have given the world to be left alone with her; but Count L.

seemed to be settled so comfortably near the grate that it appeared

hopeless to wait to see him out of the room. All three remained silent.

_"Bonne nuit!_" at last said the Countess.

Ibrahim's heart sank and he suddenly experienced all the horrors of

parting. He stood motionless.

"_Bonne nuit, messieurs,_" repeated the Countess.

Still he did not move. At last his eyes became dim, his head went

round, and he could scarcely get out of the room.

Arriving at home, almost mad, he wrote as follows:

"I am going, dearest Leonora, to leave you for ever. I write because I

have not the strength to tell you otherwise. Our happiness could not

continue; I have enjoyed it against the will of destiny and nature.

You must in time have ceased to love me. The enchantment must have

vanished. This idea has always haunted me, even when I seemed to

forget all, when at your feet I was intoxicated by your passionate

self-abnegation, by your boundless tenderness. The thoughtless world

mercilessly persecute that which in theory it permits. Sooner or later

its cold irony would have vanquished you, and cowed your passionate

soul, till finally you would have been ashamed of your love.

"What, then, would have become of me?

"Better to die; better to leave you before that terrible moment. Your

happiness to me is more precious than all; you could not enjoy it,

while the gaze of society was fixed upon us. Remember all you have

endured, your wounded pride, the torture of fear; the terrible birth

of our son. Think; ought I any longer to subject you to such fears and

dangers? Why should I endeavour to unite the fate of so tender, so

beautiful a creature with the miserable life of a negro, a pitiable

object scarce worthy of the name of man?

"Forgive me, Leonora; dear and only friend. In leaving you, I leave

the first and last joy of my heart. I have no fatherland nor kin. I go

to Russia, where my utter solitude will be my joy. Serious pursuits

to which from henceforth I devote myself, if they do not silence must

at any rate distract painful recollections of the days of rapture.

Farewell, Leonora! I tear myself away from this letter, as if from your

embrace. Farewell, be happy, and think sometimes of the poor negro, of

your faithful Ibrahim."

The same night he started for Russia. The journey did not seem as

terrible as he had expected. His imagination triumphed over fact. The

further he got from Paris the nearer and more vivid seemed to him all

the objects he was leaving for ever.

Imperceptibly he reached the Russian frontier. Autumn had already set

in, but the hired relays, notwithstanding the badness of the roads,

brought him with the swiftness of the wind, and on the seventeenth

morning he arrived at Krasnoe Selo, through which at that time passed

the high road.

There remained twenty-eight versts' journey to St. Petersburg. While

the horses were being changed Ibrahim entered the posting-house. In a

corner a tall man, in a green caftan and a clay pipe in his mouth, sat

leaning against the table reading the _Hamburg Gazette_. Hearing some

one enter he raised his head.

"Oh, Ibrahim!" he exclaimed, rising from the bench. "How do you do,

godson?"

Ibrahim recognised Peter, and in his delight rushed at him, but stopped

respectfully. The monarch approached, put his arms round him, and

kissed him on the forehead.

"I was told of your coming," said Peter, "and drove off to meet you. I

Pave been waiting for you here since yesterday."

Ibrahim could not find words to express his gratitude.

"Tell them," added the Tsar, "to let your carriage follow us, while you

get in by my side and drive to my place."

The Tsar's calèche was announced; he and Ibrahim got in and started at

a gallop. In an hour and a half they reached St. Petersburg. Ibrahim

looked with interest at the new-born city, which had sprung up by the

will of the Tsar. The bare banks, the canals without quays, the wooden

bridges, everywhere bore witness to the recent triumph of human will

over the elements. The houses seemed to have been hurriedly built.

The whole town contained nothing magnificent but the Neva, not yet

decorated with its granite framework, but already covered with ships

of war and merchantmen. The Tsar's calèche drew up at the palace,

_i.e._ at the Tsaritsa's garden. On the door-steps Peter was met by a

woman about thirty-five, handsome, and dressed in the latest Parisian

fashion. Peter kissed her, and, taking Ibrahim by the hand, said:

"Katinka, do you recognise my godson? I beg you to love and welcome him

as before."

Catherine turned on him her black searching eyes, and graciously held

out her hand. Two young beauties, tall and shapely, and fresh as roses,

stood behind her and respectfully approached Peter.

"Lisa," he said to one, "do you remember the little negro who stole

apples from me at Oranienburgh to give to you? Here he is, I introduce

him to you."

The grand duchess laughed and blushed. They went into the dining-room.

In expectation of the Tsar the table had been laid. Peter, having

invited Ibrahim, sat down with all his family to dinner. During dinner

the Tsar talked to him on different topics, inquiring about the Spanish

war, the internal affairs of Prance and the Regent, whom he liked,

though he found in his conduct much to blame. Ibrahim displayed an

accurate and observant mind. Peter was much pleased with his answers;

remembering some incidents of Ibrahim's childhood, he related them with

such good-humoured merriment that no one could have suspected this kind

and hospitable host to be the hero of Poltava, the mighty and terrible

reformer of Russia.

After dinner the Tsar, according to the Russian custom, retired to

rest. Ibrahim remained with the empress and the grand duchesses. He

tried to satisfy their curiosity, described Parisian life, their fêtes

and capricious fashions. In the mean-while, some of the emperor's

suite assembled in the palace. Ibrahim recognised the magnificent

Prince Menshikoff, who, seeing the negro conversing with Catherine,

cast him a scornful glance; Prince Jacob Dolgoruki, Peter's stern

counsellor; the learned Bruce, known among the people as the Russian

Paustus; young Bagusinski, his former companion, and others who had

come to the Tsar to bring reports and receive instructions. In a couple

of hours the Tsar came out.

"Let us see," he said to Ibrahim, "if you remember your old duties.

Get a slate and follow me." Peter locked himself in the carpenter's

room and was engaged with state affairs. He worked alternately with

Bruce, Prince Dolgoruki, General Police-master Devière, and dictated

to Ibrahim several ukases and decisions. Ibrahim was struck by the

rapidity and firmness of his decision, the strength and the pliability

of his intellect, and the variety of his occupations. When his work

was ended Peter took out a pocket book to compare the notes and see if

he had got through all he had meant to do that day. Then quitting the

carpenter's workroom he said to Ibrahim:

"It is late; I dare say you are tired, sleep the night here, as in the

old time; to-morrow I will wake you."

Ibrahim, left alone, could hardly realise that he was again at St.

Petersburg, in the presence of the great man; near whom, not yet

aware of his great worth, he had spent his childhood. It was almost

with regret that he confessed to himself that the Countess L. for the

first time since they parted had not been his sole thought throughout

the day. He saw that in the new mode of life awaiting him, work and

continual activity might revive his soul, exhausted by passion,

indolence, and secret sorrow. The idea of being the great man's

assistant, and with him influencing the fate of a mighty people, awoke

in him for the first time the noble feeling of ambition. In this humour

he lay down upon the camp bed prepared for him,--and then the usual

dreams carried him back to distant Paris, to the arms of his dear

countess.