The Czar A tale of the Time of the First Napoleon 10
Here a fairy scene met their view. Oranges gleamed amidst dark glossy
foliage like “golden lamps hid in a night of green;” heavy clusters
of grapes, purple and amber, hung high above their heads; peaches,
apricots, and plums ripened temptingly beside them--for in that
ungenial climate many fruits that grow elsewhere in the open air
require the protection of glass. Wonderful was the wealth of flowers,
all of which were new to Ivan. Sheets of blossom--gold, and purple, and
scarlet, azure, and creamy white--wooed his delighted gaze; and ever
and anon he paused as some rare peculiar beauty, rose or lily, geranium
or costly orchid, attracted his eye with the richness of its colouring
or the grace of its form.
But this was not the first “orangery” (all greenhouses were then
called orangeries in Russia) which Feodor had seen, and he had no
objection to show off his larger experiences before his senior and
his superior in rank. He could even name to him a few of the flowers.
“Look here,” he said, as he paused before a plant laden with clusters
of graceful bells, their dark crimson sheaths half concealing cups of
white faintly tinged with rose-colour; “that is called fuchsia. There
is one of the same kind in the Kremlin gardens. Last winter’s frost
nearly killed it; but it lives still--a thick, stunted, hardy bush,
with little red flowers, as unlike as possible to this one. That is
like me, and this one before us is like you, Prince Ivan. You are
going to be put in the orangery, because you were born a boyar; while
I am left outside in the frost and snow. After all, I had rather be
myself than you. It is hot here in the orangery, and there is not room
enough--one could not run or play in comfort.”
He was about to try the experiment by indulging in a race from one
end of the tiled passage to the other, when a strange figure was seen
approaching them. It was that of a young lad with flat, ugly Tartar
features, and very fantastically dressed. He was one of those Calmucks
whom the Russian nobility had a singular fancy for keeping in their
houses as pets; although, as they grew up, they often proved very
troublesome to their patrons. With a grin and a bow he informed the
boys that the countess was ready to receive them, and invited them
to follow him into her presence. Having passed once more through the
saloon, they entered a boudoir richly furnished and adorned with
hangings of blue and silver. An elderly lady, dressed in exaggerated
French fashion, reclined on a couch. Her appearance was not improved
by two rows of teeth dyed an ebony hue, a curious Russian custom of
the period. She played with a fan, which was rather useless in that
climate, while she conversed in French with two gentlemen in frock
coats who sat near her. When Ivan entered, she languidly extended her
hand, glittering with jewelled rings, and addressed some words to him
in the same tongue. He looked embarrassed, but the ready Feodor came to
his aid. “Pas Français, madame,” he said.
The Countess Wertsch accordingly condescended to the use of her native
language, in which she bade Ivan welcome cordially enough. She then
gave him a French _bonbonnière_, and told him to help himself and
his companion to its contents, while she continued her conversation
with her guests. Ivan could not help thinking, from the manner of the
speakers, that this conversation had reference to himself, and he
was beginning to grow hot and uncomfortable, when Feodor effectually
diverted his thoughts by taking out his pocket-knife and cutting upon
one of the bonbons--a large almond covered with chocolate--a striking
likeness of the countess’s rather peculiar face. He was on the point of
indulging in a laugh which might have had awkward consequences, when a
young man, dressed _à la française_, and carrying in his hand a long
pipe tipped with amber, lounged into the room.
“This is Adrian, my eldest son,” said the countess, turning to Ivan.
“You are to be fellow-students, so you ought to be friends.--Adrian,
this is Prince Ivan Pojarsky.”
Adrian made a bow, and addressing himself to Ivan, asked if he had seen
the new piece at the French theatre.
Ivan, who thought he meant a new part of the building, answered with
simplicity, “I do not know; everything I see here is alike new to me.”
“Then I shall have the pleasure of introducing you to a great many
things,” said Adrian, with a smile, and, by way of a further overture
of friendship, he took out and presented a jewelled snuff-box. Ivan
supposed this to be another kind of _bonbonnière_; but fortunately for
himself he was not attracted either by the look or the odour of its
contents, and declined with thanks.
At length the older guests took their leave, and the countess turned
her attention to the boys. She seemed struck with the appearance
of Ivan’s little companion, and asked him many questions, which he
answered with a grace and sprightliness that interested her still
further.
“I should like to keep both of you,” she said to Feodor. “Will you stay
with me, and become my little page of honour? I will have you taught
French, and you shall be always with your friend Prince Ivan.”
“I thank you, madame,” Feodor answered gravely. “But I cannot
leave my grandfather. I belong to him, and I will stay with him
always--_always_,” he repeated with earnestness.
“But, my little lad, your grandfather is very old. Some day he will
die, and then what will become of you?”
“When he dies, I will die too,” said Feodor resolutely, with a glow in
his dark eyes.
“Wait, boy, till you are ten years older,” laughed Adrian, “and for no
man in the world will you say as much as that. As for a woman--well, I
know not; you may have your fever-fit like another, and get over it,
and laugh at it.”
Feodor gave him a surprised, incredulous look, and repeated quietly,
“When he dies, I will die too.” Then, turning to the countess, he took
his leave in words he had been carefully instructed to use: “May I be
permitted to kiss your hand, madame? My grandfather will expect me at
home.”
She responded graciously, and asked Adrian to take him into the
orangery and give him some fruit. Ivan went with them, being anxious
to see the last of his little friend. They passed a half-opened door,
which the boys had not noticed before. Within was a kind of oratory:
sacred pictures glittered in frames of gold and silver adorned
with jewels, and lights were burning before them in massive silver
candlesticks. Adrian turned in, but not to make his reverence, as
the boys supposed. On the contrary, he deliberately used one of the
candles to light his pipe. Ivan and Feodor were both horrified, and
Ivan said, “How can you do that? The saint will be angry, and some harm
will happen to you.”
“My dear innocent babe, when you know a little more you will believe
a little less. Ah, here comes _Mousié_, our French professor.--M.
Thomassin, here is your new pupil, Prince Ivan Ivanovitch Pojarsky.”
A dapper little Frenchman glided noiselessly towards them, and bowed
profoundly. But the ceremony of introduction accomplished, Adrian went
off with him, much to the relief of the boys, whom he left in the
charge of a servant, bidding him supply Feodor plentifully with fruit.
That day was the beginning of a new life for Ivan. His versatile,
imitative Russian nature stood him in good stead. Ashamed of his
ignorance of what Adrian and Leon Wertsch knew so well, and perhaps
with the same feelings of emulation towards them as of old towards
Michael, he devoted his quick intelligence and his retentive memory to
two branches of study,--the French language and the art of reading. The
average Russian is a remarkably good linguist, and Ivan was much more
than an average Russian. It very soon became unsafe for “_Mousié_” to
say anything in his presence which he was not intended to understand;
nor was it long before he could read sufficiently well to amuse his
leisure with the worthless sentimental romances then, unhappily,
popular in Russia.
In other ways his education made rapid progress. He soon appreciated
the attractions of the French theatre; he learned to like the taste of
champagne; and cards and loto were substituted for the homely babshkys
of his childhood. Under the tutelage of M. Thomassin--as worthless and
unprincipled a Frenchman as ever professed and propagated the doctrines
of Voltaire--the Wertsches were growing up into frivolous, dissipated
young men of fashion, and open scoffers at what they styled a stupid
and antiquated superstition. Their mother, a thoroughly ignorant
woman, with a thin veneering of showy accomplishments, was a little
horrified when their contempt for things she had been accustomed to
revere was manifested in her presence; but she supposed that all must
be right which was taught them by a fashionable French “professeur.” At
all events, they only did like other people in the _beau monde_, and
its opinion was her idol.
Once only did Ivan see her really provoked. He often visited his kind
old friend Petrovitch, as indeed for every reason he was bound to do.
The easiest way of reaching or returning from the merchants’ quarter
was by crossing the river, in summer by a ferry-boat, in winter on
foot or in a sledge. Once, however, just when the ice was beginning to
break, and the passage was difficult and rather unsafe, Ivan stayed
with the Petrovitches for dinner, and came home in the evening in a
drosky by a longer route. The countess, before his return, had been a
little alarmed for his safety, but was much more annoyed when he made
his appearance and explained how his day had been spent.
“It is well enough to _visit_ people like the Petrovitches,” she
said. “But to _eat_ in their house! such a thing is never done in the
world--_never_! For Heaven’s sake, Ivan, do not let any one know of it.
You would be talked about.”
Adrian, who was present, took Ivan’s part. “After all, mother,” he
said, “in St. Petersburg his Imperial Majesty has been known to drink
tea in the house of a merchant.”
“His Imperial Majesty,” replied the countess with solemnity, “had
better take care of himself.”
“Which,” returned Adrian, “he is abundantly able to do.”
“Of course, Ivan,” Madame Wertsch resumed, “you can go to the
Petrovitches at proper times and in a proper way, when the old man
wishes to see you.”
“He will never see me again,” Ivan answered sadly; “he is quite blind
now.”
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