Stories by foreign authors

STORIES BY FOREIGN AUTHORS

POLISH, GREEK, BELGIAN, HUNGARIAN

STORIES BY
FOREIGN AUTHORS

POLISH, GREEK, BELGIAN,
HUNGARIAN

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER

OF ASPINWALL BY HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ

THE PLAIN SISTER BY DEMETRIOS BIKELAS

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNO-
CENTS BY MAURICE MAETERLINCK

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE .... BY CAMILLE LEMONNIER

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA BY MAURICE JOKAI

NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

1898

Copyright, 1898, by
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS

PUBLISHERS' NOTE

The translations in this volume, where pre-
viously published, are used by arrangement
with the owners of the copyrights (as specified
at the beginning of each story). Translations
made especially for the series are covered by
its general copyright. All rights in both classes
are reserved.

The portrait of Henryk Sienkiewicz prefixed
to this volume is used by permission of Messrs.
Little, Brown & Co., the authorized American
publishers of Sienkiewicz's works.

252694

CONTENTS

PAGE

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF

ASPINWALL Henryk Sienkiewicz 11

THE PLAIN SISTER Demetrios Bikelas... 39

THE MASSACRE OF THE. INNO-
CENTS Maurice Maeterlinck 95

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE Camille Lemonnier 115

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA... Maurice Jokai 149

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF
ASPINWALL

BY

HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ

From "Yanko the Musician and other Stories.'
Translated by Jeremiah Curtin. Published by
Little, Brown & Co.

Copyright, 1893, by Little, Brown & Co.

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPIN-
WALL

BY HENRYK SIENKIEWICZ

CHAPTER I.

ON a time it happened that the light-house
keeper in Aspinwall, not far from Panama,
disappeared without a trace. Since he disap-
peared during a storm, it was supposed that the
ill-fated man went to the very edge of the small,
rocky island on which the light-house stood, and
was swept out by a wave. This supposition
seemed the more likely as his boat was not found
next day in its rocky niche. The place of light-
house keeper had become vacant. It was neces-
sary to fill this place at the earliest moment
possible, since the light-house had no small sig-
nificance for the local movement as well as for
vessels going from New York to Panama. Mos-
quito Bay abounds in sandbars and banks.
Among these navigation, even in the daytime, is
difficult ; but at night, especially with the fogs
which are so frequent on those waters warmed
by the sun of the tropics, it is nearly impossible.

13

« LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

The only guide at that time for the numerous
vessels is the light-house.

The task of finding a new keeper fell to the
United States consul living in Panama, and this
task was no small one : first, because it was ab-
solutely necessary to find the man within twelve
hours ; second, the man must be unusually con-
scientious,— it was not possible, of course, to
take the first comer at random ; finally, there was
an utter lack of candidates. Life on a tower is
uncommonly difficult, and by no means enticing
to people of the South, who love idleness and
the freedom of a vagrant life. That light-house
keeper is almost a prisoner. He cannot leave
his rocky island except on Sundays. A boat
from Aspinwall brings him provisions and water
once a day, and returns immediately ; on the
whole island, one acre in area, there is no in-
habitant. The keeper lives in the light-house ;
he keeps it in order. During the day he gives
signals by displaying flags of various colors to
indicate changes of the barometer ; in the even-
ing he lights the lantern. This would be no
great labor were it not that to reach the lantern
at the summit of the tower he must pass over
more than four hundred steep and very high
steps ; sometimes he must make this journey re-
peatedly during the day. In general, it is the life
of a monk, and indeed more than that, — the life
of a hermit. It was not wonderful, therefore,

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 15

that Mr. Isaac Falconbridge was in no small
anxiety as to where he should find a permanent
successor to the recent keeper ; and it is easy to
understand his joy when a successor announced
himself most unexpectedly on that very day. He
was a man already old, seventy years or more,
but fresh, erect, with the movements and bearing
of a soldier. His hair was perfectly white, his
face as dark as that of a Creole ; but, judging
from his blue eyes, he did not belong to a people
of the South. His face was somewhat downcast
and sad, but honest. At the first glance he
pleased Falconbridge. It remained only to ex-
amine him. Therefore the following conversa-
tion began :

" Where are you from ? "

"I am a Pole."

" Where have you worked up to this time ? "

" In one place and another."

" A light-house keeper should like to stay in
one place."

" I need rest."

" Have you served ? Have you testimonials
of honorable government service ? "

The old man drew from his bosom a piece of
faded silk resembling a strip of an old flag, un-
wound it, and said :

" Here are the testimonials. I received this
cross in 1830. This second one is Spanish from
the Carlist War ; the third is the French legion ;

1 6 THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

the fourth I received in Hungary. Afterward I
fought in the States against the South ; there
they do not give crosses."

Falconbridge took the paper and began to
read.

" H'm ! Skavinski ? Is that your name ? H'm !
Two flags captured in a bayonet attack. You
were a gallant soldier."

" I am able to be a conscientious light-house
keeper."

" It is necessary to ascend the tower a number
of times daily. Have you sound legs ? "

" I crossed the plains on foot." (The im-
mense steppes between the East and California
are called " the plains.")

" Do you know sea service ? "

11 1 served three years on a whaler."

"You have tried various occupations."

" The only one I have not known is quiet."

" Why is that ? "

The old man shrugged his shoulders. " Such
is my fate."

" Still you seem to me too old for a light-
house keeper."

" Sir," exclaimed the candidate suddenly in a
voice of emotion, " I am greatly wearied, knocked
about. I have passed through much as you see.
This place is one of those which I have wished
for most ardently. I am old, I need rest. I
need to say to myself, ' Here you will remain ;

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 17

this is your port/ Ah, sir, this depends now on
you alone. Another time perhaps such a place
will not offer itself. What luck that I was in
Panama ! I entreat you — as God is dear to me,
I am like a ship which if it misses the harbor
will be lost. If you wish to make an old man
happy — I swear to you that I am honest, but — I
have enough of wandering."

The blue eyes of the old man expressed such
earnest entreaty that Falconbridge, who had a
good, simple heart, was touched.

"Well," said he, "I take you. You are light-
house keeper."

The old man's face gleamed with inexpressible
joy.

" I thank you."

" Can you go to the tower to-day ? "

" I can."

" Then good-bye. Another word, — for any
failure in service you will be dismissed."

" All right."

That same evening, when the sun had de-
scended on the other side of the isthmus, and a
day of sunshine was followed by a night without
twilight, the new keeper was in his place evi-
dently, for the light-house was casting its bright
rays on the water as usual. The night was per-
fectly calm, silent, genuinely tropical, filled with
a transparent haze, forming around the moon a
great colored rainbow with soft, unbroken edges ;

l8 THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

the sea was moving only because the tide raised
it. Skavinski on the balcony seemed from below
like a small black point. He tried to collect his
thoughts and take in his new position ; but his
mind was too much under pressure to move with
regularity. He felt somewhat as a hunted beast
feels when at last it has found refuge from pur-
suit on some inaccessible rock or in a cave.
There had come to him, finally, an hour of quiet ;
the feeling of safety filled his soul with a certain
unspeakable bliss. Now on that rock he can
simply laugh at his previous wanderings, his
misfortunes and failures. He was in truth like
a ship whose masts, ropes, and sails had been
broken and rent by a tempest, and cast from
the clouds to the bottom of the sea, — a ship
on which the tempest had hurled waves and
spat foam, but which still wound its way to
the harbor. The pictures of that storm passed
quickly through his mind as he compared it
with the calm future now beginning. A part
of his wonderful adventures he had related to
Falconbridge ; he had not mentioned, however,
thousands of other incidents. It had been his
misfortune that as often as he pitched his tent
and fixed his fireplace to settle down perma-
nently, some wind tore out the stakes of his tent,
whirled away the fire, and bore him on toward
destruction. Looking now from the balcony of
the tower at the illuminated waves, he remem-

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 19

bered everything through which he had passed.
He had campaigned in the four parts of the
world, and in wandering had tried almost every
occupation. Labor-loving and honest, more than
once had he earned money, and had always lost
it in spite of every prevision and the utmost
caution. He had been a gold-miner in Australia,
a diamond-digger in Africa, a rifleman in public
service in the East Indies. He established a
ranch in California, — the drought ruined him ;
he tried trading with wild tribes in the interior
of Brazil, — his raft was wrecked on the Amazon ;
he himself alone, weaponless, and nearly naked,
wandered in the forest for many weeks living on
wild fruits, exposed every moment to death from
the jaws of wild beasts. He established a forge
in Helena, Arkansas, and that was burned in
a great fire which consumed the whole town.
Next he fell into the hands of Indians in the
Rocky Mountains, and only through a miracle
was he saved by Canadian trappers. Then he
served as a sailor on a vessel running between
Bahia and Bordeaux, and as harpooner on a
whaling-ship ; both vessels were wrecked. He
had a cigar factory in Havana, and was robbed
by his partner while he himself was lying sick
with the vomito. At last he came to Aspinwall,
and there was to be the end of his failures, — for
what could reach him on that rocky island ?
Neither water nor fire nor men. But from men

2O THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

Skavinski had not suffered much ; he had met
good men oftener than bad ones.

But it seemed to him that all the four ele-
ments were persecuting him. Those who knew
him said that he had no luck, and with that they
explained everything. He himself became some-
what of a monomaniac. He believed that some
mighty and vengeful hand was pursuing him
everywhere, on all lands and waters. He did
not like, however, to speak of this ; only at times,
when some one asked him whose hand that could
be, he pointed mysteriously to the Polar Star, and
said, " It comes from that place." In reality his
failures were so continuous that they were won-
derful, and might easily drive a nail into the
head, especially of the man who had experienced
them. But Skavinski had the patience of an
Indian, and that great calm power of resistance
which comes from truth of heart. In his time
he had received in Hungary a number of bayonet-
thrusts because he would not grasp at a stirrup
which was shown as means of salvation to him,
and cry for quarter. In like manner he did not
bend to misfortune. He crept up against the
mountain as industriously as an ant. Pushed
down a hundred times, he began his journey
calmly for the hundred and first time. He was
in his way a most peculiar original. This old
soldier, tempered, God knows in how many fires,
hardened in suffering, hammered and forged,

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 21

had the heart of a child. In the time of the
epidemic in Cuba, the vomito attacked him be-
cause he had given to the sick all his quinine,
of which he had a considerable supply, and left
not a grain to himself.

There had been in him also this wonderful
quality, — that after so many disappointments he f
was ever full of confidence, and did not lose
hope that all would be well yet. In winter he ;
grew lively, and predicted great events. He \
waited for these events with impatience, and
lived with the thought of them whole summers.
But the winters passed one after another,
and Skavinski lived only to this, — that they
whitened his head. At last he grew old, began
to lose energy; his endurance was becoming
more and more like resignation, his former
calmness was tending toward supersensitiveness,
and that tempered soldier was degenerating into
a man ready to shed tears for any cause. Besides
this, from time to time he was weighed down by
a terrible homesickness which was roused by
any circumstance, — the sight of swallows, gray
birds like sparrows, snow on the mountains,
or melancholy music like that heard on a
time. Finally, there was one idea which mas-
tered him, — the idea of rest. It mastered
the old man thoroughly, and swallowed all
other desires and hopes. This ceaseless wan-
derer could not imagine anything more to be

22 THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

longed for, anything more precious, than a
quiet corner in which to rest, and wait in
silence for the end. Perhaps specially be-
cause some whim of fate had so hurried him
over all seas and lands that he could hardly
catch his breath, did he imagine that the high-
est human happiness was simply not to wander.
It is true that such modest happiness was his
due; but he was so accustomed to disappoint-
ments that he thought of rest as people in
general think of something which is beyond
reach. He did not dare to hope for it. Mean-
while, unexpectedly, in the course of twelve
hours he had gained a position which was as
if chosen for him out of all the world. We
are not to wonder, then, that when he lighted
his lantern in the evening he became as it were
dazed, — that he asked himself if that was
reality, and he did not dare to answer that it
was. But at the same time reality convinced
him with incontrovertible proofs ; hence hours
one after another passed while he was on
the balcony. He gazed, and convinced him-
self. It might seem that he was looking at
the sea for the first time in his life. The
lens of the lantern cast into the darkness an
enormous triangle of light, beyond which the
eye of the old man was lost in the black dis-
tance completely, in the distance mysterious and
awful. But that distance seemed to run toward

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 23

the light. The long waves following one another
rolled out from the darkness, and went bellow-
ing toward the base of the island ; and then their
foaming backs were visible, shining rose-colored
in the light of the lantern. The incoming tide
swelled more and more, and covered the sandy
bars. The mysterious speech of the ocean came
with a fulness more powerful and louder, at one
time like the thunder of cannon, at another like
the roar of great forests, at another like the dis-
tant dull sound of the voices of people. At
moments it was quiet ; then to the ears of the old
man came some great sigh, then a kind of sob-
bing, and again threatening outbursts. At last
the wind bore away the haze, but brought black,
broken clouds, which hid the moon. From the
west it began to blow more and more ; the waves
sprang with rage against the rock of the light-
house, licking with foam the foundation walls.
In the distance a storm was beginning to bellow.
On the dark, disturbed expanse certain green
lanterns gleamed from the masts of ships.
These green points rose high and then sank;
now they swayed to the right, and now to the
left. Skavinski descended to his room. The
storm began to howl. Outside, people on those
ships were struggling with night, with darkness,
with waves ; but inside the tower it was calm
and still. Even the sounds of the storm hardly
came through the thick walls, and only the meas-

24 THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

ured tick-tack of the clock lulled the wearied
old man to his slumber.

CHAPTER II.

HOURS, days, and weeks began to pass.
Sailors assert that sometimes when the sea is
greatly roused, something from out the midst of
night and darkness calls them by name. If the
infinity of the sea may call out thus, perhaps
when a man is growing old, calls come to him,
too, from another infinity still darker and more
deeply mysterious ; and the more he is wearied
by life the dearer are those calls to him. But to
hear them quiet is needed. Besides old age loves
to put itself aside as if with a foreboding of the
grave. The light-house had become for Skavin-
ski such a half grave. Nothing is more monot-
onous than life on a beacon-tower. If young
people consent to take up this service they leave
it after a time. Light-house keepers are gener-
ally men not young, gloomy, and confined to
themselves. If by chance one of them leaves
his light-house and goes among men, he walks
in the midst of them like a person roused from
deep slumber. On the tower there is a lack of
minute impressions which in ordinary life teach
men to adapt themselves to everything. All
that a light-house keeper comes in contact with
is gigantic, and devoid of definitely outlined

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 25

forms. The sky is one whole, the water another ;
and between those two infinities the soul of man
is in loneliness. That is a life in which thought
is continual meditation, and out of that medita-
tion nothing rouses the keeper, not even his work.
Day is like day as two beads in a rosary, unless
changes of weather form the only variety. But
Skavinski felt more happiness than ever in life
before. He rose with the dawn, took his break-
fast, polished the lens, and then sitting on the
balcony gazed into the distance of the water ;
and his eyes were never sated with the pictures
which he saw before him. On the enormous
turquoise ground of the ocean were to be seen
generally flocks of swollen sails gleaming in the
rays of the sun so brightly that the eyes were
blinking before the excess of light. Sometimes
the ships, favored by the so-called trade winds,
went in an extended line one after another, like
a chain of sea-mews or albatrosses. The red
casks indicating the channel swayed on the
light wave with gentle movement. Among the
sails appeared every afternoon gigantic grayish
feather-like plumes of smoke. That was a
steamer from New York which brought pas-
sengers and goods to Aspinwall, drawing behind
it a frothy path of foam. On the other side of
the balcony Skavinski saw, as if on his palm,
Aspinwall and its busy harbor, and in it a forest
of masts, boats, and craft ; a little farther, white

26 THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

houses and the towers of the town. From the
height of his tower the small houses were like the
nests of sea-mews, the boats were like beetles,
and the people moved around like small points
on the white stone boulevard. From early morn-
ing a light eastern breeze brought a confused
hum of human life, above which predominated
the whistle of steamers. In the afternoon six
o'clock came ; the movement in the harbor began
to cease ; the mews hid themselves in the rents
of the cliffs ; the waves grew feeble and became
in some sort lazy ; and then on the land, on the
sea, and on the tower came a time of stillness
unbroken by anything. The yellow sands from
which the waves had fallen back glittered like
golden stripes on the width of the waters ; the
body of the tower was outlined definitely in blue.
Floods of sunbeams were poured from the sky
on the water and the sands and the cliff. At
that time a certain lassitude full of sweetness
seized the old man. He felt that the rest which
he was enjoying was excellent ; and when he
thought that it would be continuous nothing was
lacking to him.

Skavinski was intoxicated with his own happi-
ness ; and since a man adapts himself easily to
improved conditions, he gained faith and confi-
dence by degrees ; for he thought that if men
built houses for invalids, why should not God
gather up at last His own invalids ? Time passed,

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 2J

and confirmed him in this conviction. The old
man grew accustomed to his tower, to the lan-
tern, to the rock, to the sand-bars, to solitude.
He. grew accustomed also to the sea-mews which
hatched in the crevices of the rock, and in the
evening held meetings on the roof of the light-
house. Skavinski threw to them generally the
remnants of his food ; and soon they grew tame,
and afterward, when he fed them, a real storm
of white wings encircled him, and the old man
went among the birds like a shepherd among
sheep. When the tide ebbed he went to the
low sand-banks, on which he collected savory
periwinkles and beautiful pearl shells of the nau-
tilus, which receding waves had left on the sand.
In the night by the moonlight and the tower he
went to catch fish, which frequented the wind-
ings of the cliff in myriads. At last he was in
love with his rocks and his treeless little island,
grown over only with small thick plants exuding
sticky resin. The distant views repaid him for
the poverty of the island, however. During after-
noon hours, when the air became very clear he
could see the whole isthmus covered with the
richest vegetation. It seemed to Skavinski at
such times that he saw one gigantic garden, —
bunches of cocoa, and enormous musa, combined
as it were in luxurious tufted bouquets, right
there behind the houses of Aspinwall. Farther
on, between Aspinwall and Panama, was a great

28 THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

forest over which every morning and evening
hung a reddish haze of exhalations, — a real trop-
ical forest with its feet in stagnant water, inter-
laced with lianas and filled with the sound of. one
sea of gigantic orchids, palms, milk-trees, iron-
trees, gum-trees.

Through his field-glass the old man could see
not only trees and the broad leaves of bananas,
but even legions of monkeys and great mara-
bous and flocks of parrots, rising at times like a
rainbow cloud over the forest. Skavinski knew
such forests well, for after being wrecked on the
Amazon he had wandered whole weeks among
similar arches and thickets. He had seen how
many dangers and deaths lie concealed under
those wonderful and smiling exteriors. During
the nights which he had spent in them he heard
close at hand the sepulchral voices of howling
monkeys and the roaring of the jaguars ; he saw
gigantic serpents coiled like lianas on trees ; he
knew those slumbering forest lakes full of tor-
pedo-fish and swarming with crocodiles ; he
knew under what a yoke man lives in those
unexplored wildernesses in which are single
leaves that exceed a man's size ten times, — wil-
dernesses swarming with blood-drinking mos-
quitoes, tree-leeches, and gigantic poisonous
spiders. He had experienced that forest life
himself, had witnessed it, had passed through it ;
therefore it gave him the greater enjoyment to

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 29

look from his height and gaze on those matos,
admire their beauty, and be guarded from their
treacherousness. His tower preserved him from
every evil. He left it only for a few hours on
Sunday. He put on then his blue keeper's coat
with silver buttons, and hung his crosses on his
breast. His milk-white head was raised with a
certain pride when he heard at the door, while
entering the church, the Creoles say among
themselves, " We have an honorable light-
house keeper and not a heretic, though he is a
Yankee." But he returned straightway after
Mass to his island, and returned happy, for he
had still no faith in the mainland. On Sunday
also he read the Spanish newspaper which he
brought in the town, or the New York Herald,
which he borrowed from Falconbridge ; and
he sought in it European news eagerly. The
poor old heart on that light-house tower, and
in another hemisphere, was beating yet for
its birthplace. At times too, when the boat
brought his daily supplies and water to the
island, he went down from the tower to talk
with Johnson, the guard. But after a while he
seemed to grow shy. He ceased to go to the
town to read the papers and to go down to talk
politics with Johnson. Whole weeks passed in
this way, so that no one saw him and he saw no
one. The only signs that the old man was liv-
ing were the disappearance of the provisions

3<D THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

left on shore, and the light of the lantern kindled
every evening with the same regularity with
which the sun rose in the morning from the
waters of those regions. Evidently, the old man
had become indifferent to the world. Homesick-
ness was not the cause, but just this, — that even
homesickness had passed into resignation. The
whole world began now and ended for Skavinski
on his island. He had grown accustomed to the
thought that he would not leave the tower till his
death, and he simply forgot that there was any-
thing else besides it. Moreover, he had become
a mystic ; his mild blue eyes began to stare like
the eyes of a child, and were as if fixed on some-
thing at a distance. In presence of a surround-
ing uncommonly simple and great, the old man
was losing the feeling of personality ; he was
ceasing to exist as an individual, was becoming
merged more and more in that which inclosed
him. He did not understand anything beyond
his environment ; he felt only unconsciously.
At last it seems to him that the heavens, the
water, his rock, the tower, the golden sand-banks,
and the swollen sails, the sea-mews, the ebb and
flow of the tide, — all form a mighty unity, one
enormous mysterious soul ; that he is sinking in
that mystery, and feels that soul which lives and
lulls itself. He sinks and is rocked, forgets
himself ; and in that narrowing of his own indi-
vidual existence, in that half-waking, half-sleep-

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 3!

ing, he has discovered a rest so great that it
nearly resembles half-death.

CHAPTER III.

BUT the awakening came.

On a certain day, when the boat brought
water and a supply of provisions, Skavinski
came down an hour later from the tower, and
saw that besides the usual cargo there was an
additional package. On the outside of this
package were postage stamps of the United
States, and the address : " Skavinski, Esq.," writ-
ten on coarse canvas.

The old man, with aroused curiosity, cut the
canvas, and saw books ; he took one in his hand,
looked at it, and put it back ; thereupon his
hands began to tremble greatly. He covered
his eyes as if he did not believe them ; it seemed
to him as if he were dreaming. The book was
Polish, — what did that mean ? Who could have
sent the book ? Clearly, it did not occur to him
at the first moment that in the beginning of his
light-house career he had read in the Herald,
borrowed from the consul, of the formation of a
Polish society in New York, and had sent at once
to that society half his month's salary, for which
he had, moreover, no use on the tower. The
society had sent him the books with thanks. The

32 THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

books came in the natural way ; but at the first
moment the old man could not seize those
thoughts. Polish books in Aspinwall, on his
tower, amid his solitude, — that was for him some-
thing uncommon, a certain breath from past
times, a kind of miracle. Now it seemed to him,
as to those sailors in the night, that something
was calling him by name with a voice greatly
beloved and nearly forgotten. He sat for a
while with closed eyes, and was almost certain
that, when he opened them, the dream would be
gone.

The package, cut open, lay before him, shone
upon clearly by the afternoon sun, and on it
was an open book. When the old man stretched
his hand toward it again, he heard in the stillness
the beating of his own heart. He looked ; it was
poetry. On the outside stood printed in great
letters the title, underneath the name of the author.
The name was not strange to Skavinski ; he saw
that it belonged to the great poet,* whose produc-
tions he had read in 1 830 in Paris. Af terward,when
campaigning in Algiers and Spain, he had heard
from his countrymen of the growing fame of the
great seer ; but he was so accustomed to the musket
at that time that he took no book in hand. In
1849 he went: to America, and in the adventur-
ous life which he led he hardly ever met a Pole,

* Mickiewicz (pronounced Mitskyevich), the greatest
poet of Poland.

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 33

and never a Polish book. With the greater
eagerness, therefore, and with a livelier beating
of the heart, did he turn to the title-page. It
seemed to him then that on his lonely rock some
solemnity is about to take place. Indeed it was
a moment of great calm and silence. The clocks
of Aspinwall were striking five in the afternoon.
Not a cloud darkened the clear sky ; only a few
sea-mews were sailing through the air. The
ocean was as if cradled to sleep. The waves
on the shore stammered quietly, spreading softly
on the sand. In the distance the white houses
of Aspinwall, and the wonderful groups of palm,
were smiling. In truth, there was something
there solemn, calm, and full of dignity. Sud-
denly, in the midst of that calm of Nature, was
heard the trembling voice of the old man, who
read aloud as if to understand himself better :

" Thou art like health, O my birth-land Litva! *
How much we should prize thee he only can know who

has lost thee.

Thy beauty in perfect adornment this day
I see and describe, because I am yearning for thee."

His voice failed Skavinski. The letters began
to dance before his eyes ; something broke in his
breast, and went like a wave from his heart higher
and higher, choking his voice and pressing his

* Lithuania.

34 THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

throat. A moment more he controlled himself,
and read further :

" O Holy Lady, who guardest bright Chenstohova,
Who shinest in Ostrobrama and preservest
The castle town Novgrodek with its trusty people,
As Thou didst give me back to health in childhood,
When by my weeping mother placed beneath Thy care
I raised my lifeless eyelids upward,
And straightway walked unto Thy holy threshold,
To thank God for the life restored me, —
So by a wonder now restore us to the bosom of our
birthplace."

The swollen wave broke through the restraint
of his will. The old man sobbed, and threw
himself on the ground ; his milk-white hair was
mingled with the sand of the sea. Forty years
had passed since he had seen his country, and
God knows how many since he heard his native
speech ; and now that speech had come to him
itself, — it had sailed to him over the ocean, and
found him in solitude on another hemisphere, —
it so loved, so dear, so beautiful ! In the sob-
bing which shook him there was no pain, — only
a suddenly aroused immense love, in the presence
of which other things are as nothing. With that
great weeping he had simply implored forgive-
ness of that beloved one, set aside because he
had grown so old, had become so accustomed to
his solitary rock, and had so forgotten it that in
him even longing had begun to disappear. But

THE LIGHT HOUSE-KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 35

now it returned as if by a miracle ; therefore the
heart leaped in him.

Moments vanished one after another ; he lay
there continually. The mews flew over the light-
house, crying as if alarmed for their old friend.
The hour in which he fed them with the rem-
nants of his food had come ; therefore, some of
them flew down from the light-house to him ;
then more and more came, and began to pick and
to shake their wings over his head. The sound
of the wings roused him. He had wept his fill,
and had now a certain calm and brightness ; but
his eyes were as if inspired. He gave unwit-
tingly all his provisions to the birds, which
rushed at him with an uproar, and he himself
took the book again. The sun had gone already
behind the gardens and the forest of Panama, and
was going slowly beyond the isthmus to the other
ocean ; but the Atlantic was full of light yet ; in
the open air there was still perfect vision ; there-
fore, he read further :

" Now bear my longing soul to those forest slopes, to those
green meadows."

At last the dusk obliterates the letters on the
white paper, — the dusk short as a twinkle.
The old man rested his head on the rock, and
closed his eyes. Then " She who defends bright
Chenstohova " took his soul, and transported it
to " those fields colored by various grain." On

36 THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL.

the sky were burning yet those long stripes, red
and golden, and on those brightnesses he was
flying to beloved regions. The pine-woods were
sounding in his ears ; the streams of his native
place were murmuring. He saw everything as it
was ; everything asked him, " Dost remember ? "
He remembers ! he sees broad fields ; between
the fields, woods and villages. It is night now.
At this hour his lantern usually illuminates the
darkness of the sea; but now he is in his na-
tive village. His old head has dropped on his
breast, and he is dreaming. Pictures are passing
before his eyes quickly, and a little disorderly.
He does not see the house in which he was born,
for war had destroyed it ; he does not see his
father and mother, for they died when he was a
child ; but still the village is as if he had left it
yesterday, — the line of cottages with lights in the
windows, the mound, the mill, the two ponds
opposite each other, and thundering all night with
a chorus of frogs. Once he had been on guard
in that village all night ; now that past stood
before him at once in a series of views. He is
an Ulan again, and he stands there on guard ; at
a distance is the public-house ; he looks with
swimming eyes. There is thundering and sing-
ing and shouting amid the silence of the night
with voices of fiddles and bass-viols " U-ha !
U-ha!" Then the Ulans knock out fire with
their horseshoes, and it is wearisome for him

THE LIGHT-KOrSE KEEPER OF ASPINWALL. 37

there on his horse. The hours drag on slowly ;
at last the lights are quenched ; now as far as the
eye reaches there is mist, and mist impenetrable ;
now the fog rises, evidently from the fields, and
embraces the whole world with a whitish cloud.
You would say, a complete ocean. But that is
fields ; soon the land-rail will be heard in the
darkness, and the bitterns will call from the
reeds. The night is calm and cool, — in truth, a
Polish night ! In the distance the pine-wood is
sounding without wind, like the roll of the sea.
Soon dawn will whiten the East. In fact, the
cocks are beginning to crow behind the hedges.
One answers to another from cottage to cottage ;
the storks are screaming somewhere on high.
The Ulan feels well and bright. Some one had
spoken of a battle to-morrow. Hei ! that will go
on, like all the others, with shouting, with flutter-
ing of flaglets. The young blood is playing like
a trumpet, though the night cools it. But it is
dawning. Already night is growing pale ; out of
the shadows come forests, the thicket, a row
of cottages, the mill, the poplars. The well is
squeaking like a metal banner on a tower. What
a beloved land, beautiful in the rosy gleams of
the morning ! Oh, the one land, the one land !

Quiet! the watchful picket hears that some
one is approaching. Of course, they are com-
ing to relieve the guard.

Suddenly some voice is heard above Skavin-
ski, —

38 THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF

" Here, old man ! Get up ! What's the mat-
ter?"

The old man opens his eyes, and looks with
wonder at the person standing before him.
The remnants of the dream-visions struggle in
his head with reality. At last the visions pale
and vanish. Before him stands Johnson, the
harbor guide.

" What 's this ? " asked Johnson ; " are you
sick?"

"No."

"You didn't light the lantern. You must
leave your place. A vessel from St. Geromo
was wrecked on the bar. It is lucky that no
one was drowned, or you would go to trial.
Get into the boat with me ; you '11 hear the rest
at the Consulate."

The old man grew pale ; in fact he had not
lighted the lantern that night.

A few days later, Skavinski was seen on the
deck of a steamer, which was going from Aspin-
wall to New York. The poor man had lost his
place. There opened before him new roads of
wandering; the wind had torn that leaf away
again to whirl it over lands and seas, to sport
with it till satisfied. The old man had failed
greatly during those few days, and was bent
over; only his eyes were gleaming. On his
new road of life he held at his breast his book,
which from time to time he pressed with his
hand as if in fear that that too might go from him.

THE PLAIN SISTER

BY

DEMETR10S BIKfiLAS

From " Tales from the >£gean." Translated by L. E.
Opdycke. Published by A. C. McClurg & Co.

Copyright, 1894, by A. C. McClurg & Co.

THE PLAIN SISTER

BY DEMETRIOS BIK^LAS
I.

MR. PLATEAS, professor of Greek in the
Gymnasium of Syra, was returning from
his regular afternoon walk.

He used to take this walk along the Vaporia,
but since they had begun to build a carriage road
to Chroussa — at the other end of the island — he
bent his steps in that direction, instead of pacing
four times up and down the only promenade in
Syra. He followed the road-building with great
interest, and went farther and farther from week
to week. His learned colleagues said he would
finally get to Chroussa, — when the road was
finished ; but at this time — that is, in 1850 — the
Conservative party in the town regarded the ex-
pense as useless and too heavy for the resources
of the commune, and so the work had been
stopped for some months.

The road was completed as far as the stony
valley of Mana, and here the professor's daily
walk ended. To look at him nobody would have

4i

42 THE PLAIN SISTER.

suspected that he had to care for his health ; but
his growing stoutness gave him no litttle anxiety,
and led him to take this exercise. Perhaps his
short stature made him look stouter than he really
was ; yet it could not be denied that his neck
emerged with difficulty from the folds of his neck-
cloth, or that his close-shaven, brick-red cheeks
stood out rather too conspicuously on each side
of his thick moustache. The professor had
passed his fortieth year. True, he still preserved
his elasticity, and his short legs carried their
burden easily ; but it was noticed that when he
had a companion on his walks, he always con-
trived to have his interlocutor do the talking
going up hill, and took his own turn coming down
or on the level ground.

If he had thus far failed to lessen his rotundity,
he had at least stopped its growth, — a fact of
which he made sure once a month by weighing
himself on the scales of the Custom House,
where a friend of his held the post of weigher.
His physician had also recommended sea-bathing.
Most of his friends — both doctors and laymen
— protested against this advice ; but the professor
was immovable when once he had made up his
mind or bestowed his confidence; he stood firm
against the remonstrance and banter of those who
regarded sea-bathing as a tonic, and consequently
fattening. He continued his baths for two
seasons, and would have kept on for the rest of

THE PLAIN SISTER. 43

his life, if a dreadful accident had not given him
such a fear of the sea, that he would have risked
doubling his circumference rather than expose
himself again to the danger from which he had
been saved only through the strength and cour-
age of Mr. Liakos, a judge of the civil court.
But for him, Mr. Plateas would have been
drowned, and this history unwritten.

It happened in this wise.

The professor was not an expert swimmer, but
he could keep above water, and was particularly
fond of floating. One summer day as he lay on
the surface of the tepid sea quite unconcernedly,
the sense of comfort led to a slight somnolence.
All at once he felt the water heaving under him
as if suddenly parted by some heavy body, and
then seething against his person. In an instant
he thought of a shark, and turned quickly to swim
away from the monster; but whether from hurry,
fright, or his own weight, he lost his balance and
sank heavily. While all this happened quick as a
flash, the moments seemed like centuries to him,
and his imagination, excited by the sudden rush of
blood to the head, worked so swiftly, that, as the
professor said afterwards, if he should try to set
down everything that came into his mind then, it
would make a good-sized book. Scenes of his
childhood, incidents of his youth, the faces of
his favorite pupils since the beginning of his
career as a teacher, the death of his mother, the

44 THE PLAIN SISTER.

breakfast he had eaten that morning, — all passed
before him in quick succession, and mingled
together without becoming confused ; while as a
musical accompaniment, there kept sounding in
his ears the verse of Valaoritis in " The Bell " :

" Ding-dong ! The bell ! "

The night before poor Mr. Plateas had been
reading " The Bell " of the poet of Leucadia,—
that pathetic picture of the enamored young sailor,
who, on returning to his village, throws himself
into the sea to reach more speedily the shore,
where he hears the tolling knell and sees the fu-
neral procession of his beloved, and as he buffets
the waves is devoured by the monster of the deep.
The poetical description of this catastrophe had
so affected him that he afterwards attributed his
misadventure to the influence of the poet's verses.
If he had not read " The Bell " that night, he would
not have mistaken for a shark the urchin that
swam under him, for it was not the first time that
mischievous boys had amused themselves by
plunging under the professor's broad shoulders ;
but he had never been frightened before, while
to-day this poetic recollection nearly cost him
his life.

Fortunately Mr. Liakos was taking his bath
near by, and when he saw the professor disap-
pear in that extraordinary fashion, and the circles
widening on the surface, he at once understood

THE PLAIN SISTER. 45

what had happened. Swimming rapidly to the
spot, he dived down, managed to grasp the
drowning man, dragged him to the surface, and
brought him ashore unconscious. Thanks to
these prompt measures, Mr. Plateas came to
himself, — with great difficulty, it is true, but he
finally did come to himself ; and there on the
shore of the sea he made a double vow : never
again to go into the water, and never to forget
that he owed his life to Mr. Liakos.

This vow he kept faithfully. Indeed, so far as
his preserver was concerned, it was kept with such
exaggeration, that while the judge did not repent
saving the professor's life, he often found himself
regretting that some one else had not been at
hand to earn all this embarrassing gratitude.
Everywhere Mr. Plateas boasted of the merits of
his preserver ; the whole island resounded with
his praise ; each time they met, — and they met
several times a day, — he rushed toward the judge
enthusiastically and lost no chance to proclaim
that henceforth his only desire was to prove his
words by his deeds.

" My life belongs to you," he would say ; " I
have consecrated it to you."

In vain the judge protested, and urged that the
matter was not so serious, — that any one else
would have done the same in his place. Mr.
Plateas would not be convinced, and persisted
in declaring his gratitude. While it often rather

46 THE PLAIN SISTER.

bored him, the judge was touched by this devo-
tion, and came to accept the professor as a part
of his daily life ; in this way the two men gradu-
ally became fast friends, although they were un-
like in almost everything.

So Mr. Plateas was returning from his consti-
tutional. It was one of those beautiful February
days, true forerunners of spring, when the sun
kisses the first leaves of the early almonds, the
blue sea sparkles, and the cloudless sky of
Greece smiles. But it was nearly sunset, and the
prudent professor hardly dared expose himself
to the cool evening air, for at this season winter
reasserts itself as soon as the sun goes down.
He had almost reached the dockyard, which then
marked the outskirts of Syra, and was still walk-
ing along the shore, when he saw his well-beloved
Liakos in the distance coming from the town.
A smile of satisfaction lighted his round face ;
he threw up both hands, in one of which was a
stout cane, and raising his voice so as to be
heard by his friend from afar, declaimed this line
from the " Iliad " :

r/f 6e GV £Gct (f>epi&T£

Who mayest thou be, of mortal men most brave ?

The professor had a habit of quoting Homer
on all occasions, and was reputed to know the
whole " Iliad " and " Odyssey " by heart. He
modestly disavowed this tribute to his learning,

THE PLAIN SISTER. 47

but without giving up the quotations that seemed
to justify it. It is true ill-natured people said
his verses were not always quite applicable; but
the Hellenists of Syra did not confirm this slan-
der, possibly because they were not competent
to judge. Still, everybody used to smile when
he raised his voice in the midst of a trivial con-
versation to roll forth majestically some sonorous
hexameter from Homer.

When the two friends were near enough, Mr.
Plateas stopped and effusively shook hands with
his preserver.

" My dear friend, why did n't you tell me you
were going to walk today? We could have
come out together, — it's time to go in now.
Why did you start so late ? "

" Yes, I am late ; I expected to meet you far-
ther on." And Mr. Liakos added with a show
of indifference, " Are there many people out to-
day?"

" Very few. You know our Syrans ; they 're
content to saunter up and down their crowded
square ; it is only people of taste who enjoy
themselves —

. . . Trapa Oiva rro^v(f)^oi,af3oio da^aoarjg.
. . . on the shore of the resounding sea."

11 And who were these men of taste to-day ? "
asked the judge, with a smile.

" If I had spoken of men of taste, I should

48 THE PLAIN SISTER.

have had to confine myself to the dual number ! "
Mr. Plateas began to laugh at his own joke. His
friend smiled too, but wishing a more exact an-
swer, continued :

" At least we two have imitators ; how many
did you meet and who were they ? "

" Always the same ; Mr. A., Mr. B. — " And
the professor began to count off on his fingers
the peripatetic philosophers, as he used to call
the frequenters of this promenade, that he had
met, — all of them old, or at least of ripe age, ex-
cept one romantic youth who thought himself a
poet.

" And no ladies ? " asked the judge.

" Oh, yes, Mrs. X. with her flock of children,
and the merchant, — what is his name, — Mr.
Mitrophanis, with his two daughters."

The judge had learned all he wanted to know
without letting his friend perceive the drift of
his questions. This was not very difficult, for
the professor was by no means a modern Lyn-
ceus, and did not see any great distance beyond
his nose. No doubt this resulted from the innate
simplicity and integrity of his character; having
never been able to conceal or feign anything
himself, he was easily led to believe whatever he
was told. The readiness with which he became
the victim of his friends each first of April was
notorious. He was always on the watch from
the night before ; but his precautions were in

THE PLAIN SISTER. 49

vain. He was a man of first impressions. Some-
times, but not often, he fathomed the questions
afterward, and discovered that he had not acted
or spoken as he would have liked. As a rule,
however, these after-thoughts came too late to
be of any use, and he had to console himself
with the reflection that what 's done is done.

" What do you say, will you stroll on with
me ? " asked the judge.

"What, at this hour, my dear friend ! "

" Only to the turn of the road."

" You had better come home with me, and I '11
treat you to some perfumed wine that I received
yesterday from Siphnos. I can recommend it."

" Well, since you are so kind, I shall be very
glad to taste your native wine ; but first let us
sit here awhile and breathe the fresh sea-air."
And he pointed to a modest cafe', "On the
Sands," which a bold speculator had improvized
only a few weeks before, by making a small in-
closure of planks and setting up a few tables.

The professor turned toward the cafe, then
looked at the setting sun, took out his watch,
glanced at the hour, and heaved a gentle sigh.

" You do whatever you please with me," he
said, as he followed Mr. Liakos.
4

5O THE PLAIN SISTER.

II.

THE two friends bent their steps toward the
empty cafe7, to the great delight of the proprie-
tor, who ran forward zealously to offer his ser-
vices. The judge contrived to place the seats
so that he could see the road that led to Mana.
The professor sat down opposite, facing the town,
with his back to the country ; but he seemed
rather nervous about the evening air, for he shiv-
ered every now and then, and took care to but-
ton up his overcoat to the very neck.

They began by talking about their daily affairs ;
Mr. Liakos suggested the topics, while the pro-
fessor held forth to his heart's content, and fairly
revelled in Homeric quotation. He noticed,
however, that his companion, instead of heeding
what he said, kept looking toward the highway,
and leaning forward to see still further around
the bend in the road. Following his friend's
gaze, Mr. Plateas also turned now and then ; he
even turned squarely around and peered through
his glasses to find out what the judge was look-
ing at ; but seeing nothing he sat down again
erect upon his stool, and went on with the con-
versation.

At last Mr. Liakos espied what he was looking
for. His eyes shone ; the expression of his
whole face changed, and he made no further pre-
tence of listening to his friend's story about a re-

THE PLAIN SISTER. 5!

cent controversy between two learned professors
in the University of Athens. Seeing the judge's
eyes fixed upon some object behind, Mr. Plateas
stopped short, leaned his fat hand on the table
to aid the gyration that he was about to make
upon his stool, and was preparing for another
effort to discover what could thus fascinate Mr.
Liakos, when the judge, divining his companion's
purpose, suddenly laid his hand on the profes-
sor's, and pressing it firmly, said in a low voice,
but with a tone of authority :

" Don't turn around ! "

Mr. Plateas sat motionless, with mouth open
and eyes fastened on those of his friend, who was
still staring at the road. The judge's look showed
that the object of his interest was coming nearer,
but the professor did not dare to stir or utter a
word.

" Talk," whispered Mr. Liakos. " Continue
the conversation."

" But, my dear friend, what shall I say ?
You 've driven every idea out of my head."

" Recite something."

" What shall I recite ? "

" Anything you like, — something out of the
* Iliad.' "

" But I can't think of a single line ! "

" Say the Creed, then, — anything you please,
only don't sit there dumb."

The poor professor began to stammer out

52 THE PLAIN SISTER.

mechanically the first words of the Creed ; but
either from a sense of impiety or from mere con-
fusion of mind, he passed abruptly to the first
book of the " Iliad." His memory played him
false. How his pupils would have suffered if
they had thus maltreated the immortal bard !

He was still reciting when the judge released
his hand and got up to make an elaborate bow.
Mr. Plateas looked in the same direction, and saw
the back of an elderly gentleman between two
attractive young girls. He had no difficulty in
recognizing the trio, even from the rear.

Mr. Liakos sat down again, blushing furiously,
while the professor in utter stupefaction made the
sign of the cross.

"Kyrie Eleison!" said he. "Then all this
ado was for Mr. Mitrophanis and his daugh-
ters ? "

" I beg your pardon," replied the judge, in a
voice that betrayed his agitation. " I did not
want them to think that we were talking about
them."

" Bless my soul ! You don't mean to say
you 're in love ? "

" Ah, yes. I love her with all my heart ! "
Mr. Liakos turned once more, and his eyes fol-
lowed one of the two girls.

The professor had listened with some uneasi-
ness. While touched by the judge's emotion, he
was at the same time perhaps a little jealous of

THE PLAIN SISTER. 53

its cause ; he was surprised that his friend had
never spoken of this love, and vexed with him-
self that he had not divined it. But all these
ideas were so hazy that he could hardly have
expressed them.

After a few moments' silence, and while the
judge's passionate avowal still lingered in his
ears, he asked naively, and without stopping to
think :

" Which one ? "

Mr. Liakos looked at the professor in astonish-
ment, and although he did not speak, the ex-
pression of his face said plainly, " Can you
ask?"

Mr. Plateas clapped his hand to his forehead.

" Where were my wits ! " he cried. " Excuse
me, my dear friend ; but seeing only their backs,
as I did a moment ago, I could n't tell one from
the other; and I had forgotten that the elder
sister's face would scarcely inspire love, But
the younger — she is charming ! "

The judge listened without reply.

" Do you know," the professor went on, at
last unburdening his mind, " I don't understand
how you could be in love, and not tell me about
it ; how you could hide your feelings from your
friend ! If it had been I, you would n't have
been spared a single sigh ! " And his chest gave
forth an " Ah " which he tried to render amo-
rous. This sigh, or perhaps the mere idea of the

54 THE PLAIN SISTER.

professor in love, brought a smile to the judge's
clouded face.

" Why have n't you ever spoken to me about
it ? " continued Mr. Plateas.

" Because I did not wish to bore you," replied
Mr. Liakos. Then, touched by his friend's re-
proachful look, he made haste to add, " But now
I will tell you everything, since you desire it."

Still he was silent, as if he hardly knew how
to begin. The professor shivered again, and
seeing that the sun had gone down behind the
mountains, said :

" Had n't we better talk about this on the way
home, or at my house ? It 's time to go in."

The two men rose, and started toward the
city.

What desponding lover has not yearned to
pour out his heart to some friend ? Even rever-
ence for the purity of his feeling will not restrain
him. He tries to guard the mystery of his love
as in a holy sanctuary ; he would not expose it
to unrevering eyes ; he hesitates, he delays,—
but sooner or later his heart will overflow, and
he must have a confidant.

The judge had already chosen his confidant,
and so was in no hurry to take advantage of the
opportunity that now offered ; he was still silent,
and began to regret his thoughtless promise to
tell his friend everything. While he had an es-
teem and even a warm affection for Mr. Plateas,

THE PLAIN SISTER. 55

he could not regard the professor as a fitting
recipient for a love-confidence, or quite able to
appreciate the delicacy of his feeling ; and, be-
sides, it seemed to him almost treason to reveal
again the secret he had already confided to
another.

Mr. Plateas noticed his friend's hesitancy, but
ascribed it to agitation. After a pause he saw
that the confession was not coming of itself, and
tried to draw it out by asking questions. Al-
though frank, the answers he received were brief;
still, he was able to gather that the judge had
been in love ever since coming to Syra, — three
years before, — and had then vowed either to
marry Mr. Mitrophanis's younger daughter, or
never to marry at all. It was only within the
last few months, however, that Mr. Liakos had
met the young girl for the first time, at a friend's
house, and had discovered that his love was re-
turned.

" Where did this happen ? "

" At my cousin's."

" Does she know the two girls ?"

" Oh, yes ; she was a friend of their mother's."

" Ah ! Now I understand," cried the professor.
" Your cousin received your sighs. She has been
your confidante ! That 's why you never said
anything to me."

The judge smiled, but his poor friend felt a
little jealous of this cousin.

56 THE PLAIN SISTER.

" Why did n't you propose for her hand just as
soon as you knew she liked you ? " the professor
continued.

" I did, a week ago ; I requested my cousin to
call on Mr. Mitrophanis, but — "

" But what ? Where could he find a better
son-in-law ? He did n't refuse you, surely ? "

" No, he did not refuse, but he made a condi-
tion that can be fulfilled — Heaven knows when !
In the meanwhile he does not wish us to meet.
I had not seen her for ten days, even at a dis-
tance, and you can understand with what emo-
tion just now I — "

" What is this condition ? " asked the pro-
fessor.

" To wait until the elder sister is married. He
won't allow the younger to marry, or even to be
betrothed, before the elder."

" Ah, my friend, that 's a pity ! I fear you '11
have to wait a long, long time. It won't be so
easy to marry off the sister. Still, all things are
possible, — you mustn't despair."

The judge was silent, evidently a prey to mel-
ancholy. After a little he said :

" And yet that sister is a perfect treasure,
in spite of her lack of beauty. There is n't a
sweeter soul on earth ; she has entreated her
father to change his decision ; she assures him
that she has no wish to marry, and that her only
desire is to remain with him to care for his old

THE PLAIN SISTER. 57

age, and to help rear her sister's children. But
the old man is inflexible ; when once he takes a
stand, that 's the end of it ! "

The judge's tongue was untied, and he was as
eloquent in praise of the elder sister as he had
been reserved in telling of his love. Perhaps
this eased his mind, for to speak of her seemed
almost like speaking of his sweetheart; to com-
mend the one was to exalt the other.

" She is an angel of goodness," he continued,
" and loves her sister with all a mother's tender-
ness ; indeed, she has filled a mother's place ever
since the two girls were left orphans. She has
the whole care of the house, and manages it
admirably ; my cousin never tires of telling me
that she has nowhere seen such good order, or
a house so well kept. But you must not imagine
that she neglects other things for the sake of her
housekeeping. Few of our women are so well
read or so widely informed. In that respect, at
least, Mr. Mitrophanis is worthy of all praise ;
his daughters have been carefully educated. It
is hardly his fault if the two are not equally fair
to look upon ; in beauty of character they are
equal. The elder also is a treasure, and happy
the man that wins her."

At first the professor listened in some aston-
ishment to his friend's sudden enthusiasm ; then,
little by little, his surprise changed to uneasiness.
He began to suspect that — But he was not the

58 THE PLAIN SISTER.

man to conceal anything that came into his mind,
and stopping abruptly in the middle of the road,
he interrupted the judge's eulogy.

" But why do you tell me all this ? " he asked.
"Why do you sing her praises to me? What do
you mean — are you trying to inveigle me into
marrying her? "

Mr. Liakos was astounded. The idea had
never occurred to him ; he had never thought of
the professor as a marrying man. And yet, why
not ? In what was he lacking ? Was n't his
friend the very man to become the brother-in-
law he so ardently desired ? All this passed
vaguely through his mind while he stood staring
at Mr. Plateas, unable to find an answer to this
unexpected question. The professor continued
with energy :

" Listen, Liakos. I owe you my life ; it be-
longs to you. But if you ask me to get married
as a proof of my gratitude, I 'd far rather go this
moment back to the sea, where you saved me
from death, and drown myself before your very
eyes ! "

The sudden heat of the professor's speech
showed that he was hurt, but whether at what
the judge had just been saying about the elder
sister, or at the secrecy he had shown in the mat-
ter and his studied reserve in speaking of the
younger sister, was doubtful. Probably the good
man himself did not know ; what he did know

THE PLAIN SISTER. 59

was that he felt hurt. This was clear enough
from what he said and the way he said it.

Mr. Liakos was offended.

" Mr. Plateas," he replied dryly, " I have often
told you — and I repeat it now for the last time,
I hope — I have not, and I do not wish to have,
any claim upon your gratitude. As for your
marrying, I assure you that I never dreamed of
presenting you as a suitor, or of seeking a wife
for you. I had not the least thought of it when
I spoke to you of my affairs, and I now regret
having troubled you with them."

The two friends walked on in silence side by
side, but were impatient to part as soon as they
could decorously. When they had nearly reached
the place where their homeward paths would
separate, the professor repeated his invitation.

" Won't you come and taste my muscat? "

" No, thank you ; it is late, and I have an
engagement."

" With your cousin, perhaps ? "

" Perhaps ! " and the judge tried to smile.

" I hope you 're not vexed with me," said his
friend, in a conciliatory tone.

" Why should I be ? "

" Perhaps what I said was uncalled for, — par-
ticularly as you never meant to interfere with my
liberty." The good man began to laugh, and
then added : " But it 's much better to have such
things cleared up."

60 THE PLAIN SISTER.

" Certainly, quite so."

The judge shook the fat hand that was cor-
dially offered him, and hurried on, while his
companion went slowly home.

III.

THE professor's house was on the hillside in the
quarter where the Orphan Asylum now stands.
At that time there were very few dwellings in the
neighborhood, which was rather far from the
centre of the town, and the outlook was wide
and varied. It was not the view, however, that
had attracted the professor, but the cheapness of
the land. He had built the house himself, and
its walls were the fruit of many years of toil.
Small and modest as it was, it was his own ; he
was in debt to no man, and had no rent to pay.
This sweet feeling of independence quite made
up for the tiring climb that the corpulent little
owner had to take twice a day up the steep
" River," as the street was called. The road bore
this name (as everybody knows who has visited
Syra), because it had been the bed of a stream
that used to carry the winter rains from the moun-
tain to the sea. In fact, the water runs down the
street to this day, and in the wet season it be-
comes a raging torrent. Although the rocks and
stones that once lined its sides have given place
to houses, with their doors raised high above the

THE PLAIN SISTER. 6 1

flood, the origin of the street and the reason for
its name are obvious enough even now.

Fortunately, rains are rare in Syra, but when
they do fall, the " River " is often impassable ;
at such times the professor could reach his house
only by zigzags through the side streets, and
there were days when all communication was cut
off, and he had to stay shut up at home.

The greatest pleasure that the house had
brought him was that it had enabled him to give
his old mother the happiness of passing her last
days in comfort under her own roof, after the
long privations and trials through which she had
reared her son and had seen him overcome the
difficulties of his professorial career. She had
died peacefully in this house, and although a
year had passed, her room remained as she had
left it. The professor really needed it for his
library, which grew from day to day, but he pre-
ferred to leave the room unused, as sacred to his
mother's memory.

The only heritage that she left him was her
old servant, the taciturn Florou, whose senile
caprices he endured patiently, bearing with her
uncertain service and poor cooking. Florou's
rule, however, rose no higher than the ground-
floor. Her master found peace and quiet in his
own room upstairs. Here he worked; at his
table before the window he prepared his lessons,
and read his favorite authors. Here, with pen in

62 THE PLAIN SISTER.

hand and his books spread out before him, he
liked to look dreamily over the roofs of the other
houses at the sea and the hazy outline of the
neighboring islands, or to lean back with closed
eyelids and look — at nothing, for he was asleep.

The professor was very fond of his house.
Since he had owned it, he went out but little
except to attend to his classes or take his regu-
lar walk, and it was always with a new pleasure
that he looked upon his walls and opened his
door again.

This evening he came home with even greater
contentment than usual, as to a haven of refuge
from the fancied dangers that lurked in his
friend's eulogy of the plain sister.

"That would be the finishing stroke ! " he said
aloud, as he carefully folded his coat, put on an
old dressing-gown, and tied a silk handkerchief
around his head in the shape of a cap, as was
his custom every evening.

" That would be the finishing stroke indeed !
To bring a wife here to turn everything upside
down ; to take me out when I want to stay in, or
keep me in when I want to go out ; to talk to me
when I want quiet; to open the window when I
am chilly, because she is too warm ; or to close
it when I am warm, because she is too cold ! "
and with that he shut the window.

w Marriage may be all very well for the young ;
but when a man has reached years of discretion,

THE PLAIN SISTER. 63

such folly is not to be thought of. I have es-
caped the fetters so far, and I am not going to
throw away my liberty at this late day !

AvriKa dovfaov f//uap E/J.OI

Craftily they contrived against my freedom."

He remembered the woman who had been
chosen for him in his youth, as he had seen her
the year before while on a visit to his native
island, — with her gray hair and premature
wrinkles, — surrounded by a troop of children,
playing, quarrelling, and crying.

" Thank Heaven," he said aloud, " I have n't
that load to carry! I wish the man joy that fills
my place ! "

Florou interrupted him by opening the door.
She looked about the room in astonishment, but
seeing that her master was only talking to him-
self, she shook her head and said curtly :

" Supper ! "

" Very well, I 'm coming ; " and he went down
to the parlor, which was next to the kitchen and
served as dining-room also. The professor sat
down with a good appetite, and when his hunger
was appeased, he began to think over the in-
cidents of his walk. At first his mind dwelt
upon the advantages of bachelorhood ; then he
thought of Mr. Liakos, and felt a sincere pity for
his friend.

" Poor fellow ! " he said to himself. " He has

64 THE PLAIN SISTER.

been hit by Cupid's arrow, and is no longer his
own master. He thinks he 's on the right road to
happiness ; I hope he may find it, and never dis-
cover his mistake! Well, we never get just what
we want in this world, and a man's happiness
depends after all on his own way of feeling and
thinking."

Mr. Plateas fancied this was philosophy, but,
in fact, it was only a blind attempt to get rid of
disagreeable thoughts. He could not forget the
judge's evident dejection and vain effort to hide
it. What if Mr. Liakos did want him to marry
the plain sister ! Perhaps his friend had felt a
delicacy about speaking to him on the sub-
ject, and had denied ever having thought of
such a thing only when stung by his ungrateful
words-

Who had a better right to claim such a sacri-
fice ? Did he not owe his very life to the judge ?
And how had he repaid this debt ? He had tried
to escape it ! He had ignored his friend's deli-
cacy, and basely threatened to drown himself
rather than lift a hand to secure his preserver's
happiness. The more he thought of it, the
blacker seemed his ingratitude. He had actually
insulted the man who had saved his life ! The
blood rushed to his cheeks ; his remorse grew
keener and keener, and his philosophy was of
little comfort. Having eaten his last bunch of
raisins, he pushed away his plate angrily, threw

THE PLAIN SISTER. 65

his napkin on the table, and went up to his room
in a very discontented frame of mind.

" I Ve behaved abominably," he said to him-
self. " Why should I have offended him ? There
was no need of saying what I did. Reflection
always comes too late with me ! "

And striking his head with his hand, he paced
up and down his room in the growing darkness
until Florou came in and put his lamp on the
table.

She came and went without a word.

The professor stopped a moment, and his eyes
rested on the light. The light reminded him of
his duty and invited him to work ; he must pre-
pare his lesson for the morrow. For the first
time in his life he found that he could not fix
his mind upon his books. He hesitated, and
then began to walk up and down again, thinking
of Mr. Liakos, of his pupils, of the merchant's
two daughters, and of the gymnasiarch* all at the
same time. Finally, in this jumble of ideas, pro-
fessional instinct got the upper hand. He sat
down at the table, put the three heavy volumes
of Gazis's Dictionary, the Syntax of Asopios, and
his other handbooks of study in their usual order,
then set out his ink and paper, and found in his
" Iliad " the page marked for the next day. He
began his work by noting the etymology of each
word, the syntax of every phrase, and the peculi-
* Superintendent of a gymnasium or secondary school.
5

66 THE PLAIN SISTER.

arities of each hexameter. His class had reached
the sixth book of the " Iliad."

Soon, however, he forgot syntax, etymology,
and metre ; he forgot his pupils and the dry analy-
sis he was making for their benefit, and he read
through the passage before him without stopping.
It was the parting of Hector and Andromache.
He discovered new beauty and meaning in the
story ; the exquisite picture of conjugal and pa-
ternal love, the happiness of mutual affection,
the grief of parting, had never made such an
impression upon him before. Never before had
he read or recited the " Iliad " in this way, for
as he read, Mr. Liakos gradually took Hector's
place. He kept thinking of his friend ; it was
his friend who felt the bitterness of separation,
and that too without ever having tasted, like
Hector, the joys of conjugal happiness!

Mr. Plateas shut his book and started up
again. A thousand conflicting thoughts filled his
mind as he paced from his table to his bed, and
from his bed back to his table.

"Pshaw!" he cried. "Why shouldn't I be-
lieve that Liakos never had any thought of marry-
ing me off ? I was a fool to imagine such a
thing ! Do I look like a marrying man ? "

He stopped before his glass, which was lighted
by the lamp only at one side, and saw one half
of his face reflected with the silk handkerchief
wound around his head, while the other half was

THE PLAIN , SISTER. 67

in shadow, and the two ends of the knot stuck up
over his forehead.

" Truly," he laughed, " between us we should
have a beautiful Astyanax ! "

He sat down again, calmer ; but once more
there began to throng before his eyes scenes and
images that had nothing to do with the next
day's lesson. He saw that he could not work in
earnest, and decided to go to bed, thinking that
rest would quiet his nerves, and that he could
get up early in the morning and prepare his task
with a fresher mind. So he went to bed and put
out his lamp. But sleep would not come ; he
tossed about restlessly, and in the silence and
darkness the very tension of his nerves made him
more and more remorseful.

The long hours of the night passed slowly.
At last, toward morning, he fell asleep; but his
waking thoughts were distorted into a frightful
nightmare, and he started up in terror. He had
dreamt that his bed was the sea, while his pillow
was a shark, and his head was in the jaws of the
monster. Then the shark began to wear the face
and shape of the merchant's elder daughter, and
a voice — the voice of Liakos — sounded in his
ear, repeating over and over :

" Ding, Dong ! Ungrateful wretch ! Ding,
Dong ! Ungrateful wretch ! "

He sat up in bed, and as he wiped his drip-
ping forehead with the silk handkerchief, which

68 THE PLAIN SISTER.

had come untied in the agony of his dream, he
made an heroic resolution.

" I will marry her ! " he cried. " I owe so
much to my preserver. I must do my duty and
ease my conscience."

He covered himself up again, with a lighter
heart ; his mind was now tranquil, and free from
all suspicion, hesitation, or remorse.

The morning sunlight flooded his room and
woke him a full hour later than usual. It was
the first time this had ever happened to the
punctual professor, and Florou was positively
dazed. With heavy head and aching eyes, he
dressed hastily, swallowed his cup of black coffee,
and sat down to the unfinished task of the night
before. But his thoughts still wandered.

Nevertheless, he was at the gymnasium in time,
and began the daily lesson. But what a lesson !
At first the scholars wondered what had become
of their teacher's wonted severity ; they soon per-
ceived that this remarkable forbearance was not
due to any merit on their part, but to complete
heedlessness on his. Wonder of wonders ! Mr.
Plateas was inattentive ! Emboldened by this
discovery, they took malicious delight in heap-
ing blunder upon blunder, and played dire havoc
with that sixth book of the" Iliad," never sparing
etymology, syntax, nor prosody. The good man
sat through it all undisturbed until the regular
closing hour had struck. His pupils went out,

THE PLAIN SISTER. 69

commenting not on Homer, but on the unheard-
of lenity of their master, while as he walked
away he resumed the burden of his thoughts, —
how to set about putting his resolve into execu-
tion.

The affair was not so simple as it had seemed
to him in the night. His decision to marry the
elder daughter of Mr. Mitrophanis was not
enough ; there were certain steps to take, but
what were they ? Should he apply to his friend ?
After what had passed between them the day
before, he hardly liked to go to the judge and
say — what ? " I am ready for the sacrifice ! "
Certainly he could n't do that. Should he ask
the aid of Mr. Liakos's cousin ? There were
objections to this course, too ; to be sure, he
knew the lady, and her husband as well ; he was
in the habit of bowing to them on the street,
but he had never had any conversation with the
cousin, and felt that he had neither the right nor
the courage to ask her to serve as intermediary.

He thought it all over without reaching any
conclusion, and was crossing the square on his
way home, — for it was nearly time for his noon-
day dinner, — when suddenly he saw Mr. Mitro-
phanis coming toward him. This meeting put
an end to all his doubts, and with a flash of
inspiration he decided to speak directly to the
young lady's father. What could be simpler?
Having no time to weigh the matter carefully, he

70 THE PLAIN SISTER.

was only too glad to find this happy way out of
his perplexity. He bowed, and stopped before
the old gentleman.

" Mr. Mitrophanis, I am delighted to meet you,
for I have a few words to say."

"Mr. Plateas, I believe?" said the other,
politely returning the bow.

"The same."

" And what can I do for you, Mr. Plateas ? "

The professor began to feel a little embar-
rassed ; but it was too late to turn back, so he
took courage and went on :

" To come to the point at once, Mr. Mitro-
phanis, I desire to become your son-in-law ! "

This abrupt proposal was a surprise to the old
gentleman, and hardly an agreeable one. The
offer itself was not so astonishing, for the beauty
of his younger daughter had often obliged the
father to refuse proposals of this kind ; but he
had never been addressed quite so brusquely
before. Moreover, of all the suitors who had
thus far presented themselves, Mr. Plateas
seemed the least eligible in point of age and
other respects. But it was not this so much that
the old gentleman had in mind, as he said to
himself, " What, he too ! "

" I am greatly honored by your proposal," he
said to Mr. Plateas; "but my little girl is too
young, and I have not thought of marriage for
her yet."

THE PLAIN SISTER. 71

" What little girl ? My suit is not for the
younger sister ; I ask you for the hand of Miss
— " He meant to call her by her name, but
found he did not know it. " I ask you for the
hand of — your elder daughter."

Mr. Mitrophanis could not conceal his aston-
ishment at these words ; such a thing had never
happened before. He said nothing, but looked
sharply at Mr. Plateas, who felt his patience giv-
ing way.

" I must admit, Mr. Plateas," said the old
gentleman at last, " that your proposition is
wholly unexpected, and comes in rather an un-
usual form. Don't you think that our tradi-
tional custom in such cases is very sensible,
and that these questions are managed better by
intermediaries ? "

The professor was not prepared for this. He
had even imagined that the young lady's father
would fall on his neck in the open street, with
delight at having at last found the wished-for
son-in-law.

" I — I thought, " he stammered, " that you
knew me well enough, and that the simplest way
was to speak to you myself."

"Certainly, without doubt. But if you would
send one of your friends to speak to me, and —
give me time for reflection, you would oblige me
greatly."

" With pleasure ! I '11 send Mr. Liakos."

72 THE PLAIN SISTER.

At this name the old man frowned.

" Ah ! " said he, " Mr. Liakos is in your
confidence."

Poor Mr. Plateas saw that he had made a mis-
take in bringing up his friend's name in the affair.
He was about to say something, — he did n't know
exactly what, — when Mr. Mitrophanis forestalled
him, and ended his embarrassment.

" It is well. I will await Mr. Liakos." Then
the old gentleman bowed and walked on.

Never in his life had the professor been in such
a state of mental distress as that to which he had
been a prey ever since the evening before. His
sufferings at the time he came so near drowning
were not to be compared with his present anguish.
Then the danger had come suddenly, and he had
realized it to the full only when it was over.
Now, the uncertainty of the future added to his
misery. At the very moment when he thought
he had reached port, he found himself completely
at sea again. He stood there in the middle of
the square, his arms hanging helplessly, and
stared at the back of the retreating merchant.

"Well, I must see Liakos," he said to himself.
" But where shall I find him at this time of day ? "

Just then the clock on the Church of the Trans-
figuration struck twelve. Mr. Plateas remem-
bered, first that his dinner was waiting for him
at home, and next that his friend was in the
habit of dining at a certain restaurant behind the

THE PLAIN SISTER. 73

square ; and wending his way there, he met the
judge at the door.

" Oh, my dear friend ! " he exclaimed. " My
dear friend ! "

" What 's the matter ? What has happened to
you ? " asked Mr. Liakos, anxiously.

" What has happened to me ? Something I
never dreamed of ! I 've just asked Mr. Mitro-
phanis for the hand of his elder daughter, and
instead of — "

" You asked him for his daughter's hand ? "

" Yes. Is there anything so very astonishing
in that ? "

" Why, did n't you tell me yesterday that—"

" Well, what if I did ? During the night I
thought it over, and became convinced that I
ought to get married, and that I never shall find
a better wife."

" Listen, Plateas," said Mr. Liakos, obviously
much moved. " I understand your sudden con-
version, because I understand you ; but I can't
let you make such a sacrifice."

" What sacrifice? Who said anything about
sacrifice ? I have made up my mind to get mar-
ried, because I want to get married ; and I will
get married, and if her father refuses his consent
I '11 run away with her ! " And he gave a lively
account of his meeting with Mr. Mitrophanis.

The judge smiled as he listened, for he, too, had
been thinking of this match ever since the night

74 THE PLAIN SISTER.

before, and the more he thought of it the more
eminently fit and proper it seemed. After rigid
self-examination, he persuaded himself that he
was quite disinterested in the matter, and that
his sweetheart's sister and his friend could never
be happy apart. As for the father's consent, he
had little fear on that score. He rather dreaded,
it is true, the mission that was thrust upon
him, especially when he thought of the manner in
which the old man had received his name ; but
he felt that he could not refuse this service to his
friend, and finally promised to see Mr. Mitro-
phanis that very day, and to come in the evening
to report the happy result of his interview.

IV.

WHEN the professor had gone, the judge began
to think with misgiving of the difficulties that
beset his mission. He had so much at stake in
its success that his mediation might not be
accepted as impartial, or his praise of the suitor
as quite unbiased. His friend's cause ought to
have been entrusted to some one less deeply
interested in the event. If the professor had not
been in such haste to name him as an intermedi-
ary, they could have consulted his cousin, and
even placed the matter in her hands; his own
appearance on the scene would only give Mr.
Mitrophanis fresh offence.

THE PLAIN SISTER. 75

But why not ask her advice in confidence ?
She was a woman of sense and experience, and
could probably find some way out of their quan-
dary. Mr. Liakos was on the point of going to
his cousin, but he reflected that it would be a
grave indiscretion to impart the secret to a third
person without his friend's consent, and he felt
too that it would be very weak in him not to per-
form loyally the\ duty that he had undertaken.
Forward, then ! Courage !

So Mr. Liakos started for the office of his
sweetheart's father, although not without inward
trepidation.

It so happened that Mr. Mitrophanis was just
receiving a consignment of coffee from the Cus-
tom House ; carts were coming up one after
another, porters were carrying the sacks into the
warehouse, and the judge had difficulty in making
his way to the door.

It was a huge square building, with a room on
the street partitioned off at one corner. This
room was the office, and had a grated window ;
but the light from it and from the street door
was too dim for Mr. Liakos to see what was
going on inside the warehouse. As he stood
there on the threshold, he saw that his arrival
was ill-timed ; for there was a dispute in progress.
Although he did not understand, or even try to
understand what it was all about, he heard hot
words bandied back and forth, and above them

76 THE PLAIN SISTER.

he could distinguish the merchant's voice, loud
and masterful.

The judge stopped in surprise. He had heard
of the old gentleman's temper, but had not imag-
ined that anger could raise to such a pitch a voice
usually so calm and dignified. He was alarmed
and was trying to slip away unseen, when Mr.
Mitrophanis interrupted the discussion and called
out to him from the depths of the warehouse :

" What do you wish, Mr. Liakos ? "

" I came to say a few words ; but I see you 're
engaged, and will come again some other time."

" Pass into my office, and I will be with you
in a moment."

The judge stumbled over some coffee bags,
and, making his way into the office, sat down by
the merchant's table in the only chair that was
vacant. The air was heavy with the odor of
colonial merchandise. The dispute began anew
inside the warehouse, and the words, " weight,"
" bags," " Custom House," were repeated over
and over again. Mr. Liakos sat listening to the
noise, and tried to picture to himself the quiet
old gentleman who had been out walking with his
two daughters the night before. At last the com-
motion quieted down, and Mr. Mitrophanis came
in with a frown on his face.

" I have happened on an unlucky time for my
call," thought the judge.

u I suppose you come from Mr. Plateas,"

THE PLAIN SISTER. 77

began the old man, with a touch of irony in his
tone.

" Yes ; the fact is he has communicated to me
the conversation he had with you this morning."

" I must say, Mr. Liakos, that your anxiety to
find a husband for my elder daughter seems to
me rather marked."

" I assure you, sir, that my friend's proposal
was wholly voluntary, and was in no wise
prompted by me."

The old gentleman smiled incredulously.

" My only regret is," continued the judge,
" that I allowed Mr. Plateas to discover my
secret yesterday. I protest I never had the
least thought of urging him to this step ; he
has taken it of his own accord, and you do me
wrong in supposing that I have acted from self-
interest."

" I believe it, since you say so, and will not
stop to inquire how it happens that he should
ask me for the hand of my daughter, whom he
does not know, the very day after receiving your
confidence.

" But however that may be," he went on, with-
out letting Mr. Liakos speak, " I cannot give you
an immediate reply ; I must have time to consider
the question. Pray do not trouble yourself to
call ; I will make my decision known to you."
The last words were spoken dryly.

The judge went away much disconcerted. It

78 THE PLAIN SISTER.

was not a positive refusal that he had received,
nor yet was it a consent; his most serious dis-
quiet was caused by the old man's tone and
manner. Although they might have arisen partly
from the dispute in the warehouse, it was only
too clear that his deep interest in the success of
his mission had been as detrimental in awakening
the merchant's suspicions as in checking his own
eloquence.

How many things he could have said to Mr.
Mitrophanis if he had only dared ! He felt that
his mediation had simply made matters worse,
and might prove fatal. A more skilful diplo-
matist than he would be needed to conduct the
affair to a happy ending ; why had he not acted
on his first impulse and consulted his cousin ?
Why not go to her even now ? Surely his friend
could not be offended, especially if the result was
successful ; the poor judge was in trouble, and
longed for encouragement and support ; but while
he reasoned with himself, his feet were carrying
him to his cousin's house, and by the time he
reached her door, all his doubt had vanished.

Mr. Liakos found his kinswoman at work con-
verting a jacket of her elder son, which had
become too small for its owner, into a garment
still too ample for the younger brother. The
boys were at school, while their three sisters —
who came between them in age — were studying
their lessons under their mother's eye, and at the

THE PLAIN SISTER. 79

same time learning domestic economy from her
example.

Being a woman of tact, she saw at once from
the judge's manner that he wished to speak with
her alone, and sent the girls out to play.

" Well, what is it ? " she asked as soon as they
had left the room. " What 's the news ? "

" Why should you think there is any news ? "

" Ah, indeed ! As if I did n't know you ! I
could see at a glance that you had something on
your mind."

In truth, her feminine insight was seldom at
fault in reading Mr. Liakos, for she had seen
him grow up from a child, and knew him
thoroughly. On his side, the judge flattered
himself that he knew her quite as well, but then
he ought to have foreseen that her help would
not be easily enlisted in an affair that she had
not been allowed to manage from the begin-
ning. She enjoyed busying herself with mar-
riages in general and with those of her friends in
particular ; but she felt that she was peculiarly
qualified to assume the chief part in planning
and carrying out arrangements of this kind, and
unless her claims were recognized, she rarely gave
her approval, and even did not hesitate to oppose
occasionally. But for his discomfiture at the re-
sult of his visit to the old merchant, Mr. Liakos
would doubtless have devised some way of con-
ciliating his cousin ; it had not occurred to him

80 THE PLAIN SISTER.

to take that precaution, and he soon perceived
the blunder he had made.

When he announced abruptly that he had found
a husband for his -sweetheart's sister, his cousin,
instead of showing pleasure, or at least some
curiosity, quietly continued her sewing with af-
fected indifference, saying merely, " Ah ! " This
" Ah " was half-way between a question and an
exclamation ; the judge could not tell whether
it expressed irony or simple astonishment ; but
it was enough to chill him.

" Everything is against me ! " he thought.

"And who is your candidate?" she asked
after a pause, but without stopping her work.

" Mr. Plateas."

His cousin dropped her needle, and looked at
Mr. Liakos with eyes full of mocking surprise.

" Mr. Plateas ! " she cried, and began to laugh
heartily. The judge had never seen her so
merry.

" I don't see what you find to laugh at," he
said, with dignity.

" You must forgive me," she replied, trying
to stifle her merriment. " Pray forgive me if I
have hurt you through your friend, but I can't im-
agine Mr. Plateas in love." And she began to
laugh again ; then seeing the judge's expression,
she asked, " What put this marriage into your
head ? "

" No, " he began, without answering her ques-

THE PLAIN SISTER. 8 1

tion, " please to tell me what you find so repre-
hensible in him."

" Reprehensible ! " she repeated, imitating her
cousin's tone. " I don't find him reprehensible,
simply ridiculous."

" I admit that his person is not awe-inspir-
ing."

" Awe-inspiring ! What long words you use !
You '11 be giving me one of your friend's quota-
tions from Homer next."

" Listen," he said, changing his manner. " At
first I looked at it just as you do ; but the more
I thought it over, the more clearly I saw that I
was wrong. Mr. Plateas has all the qualities that
go to make a good husband. He will be ridicu-
lous as a lover, I must admit. He will look
absurd on his wedding day, with the wreath of
flowers on his head * — "

At this his cousin broke into a fresh peal of
laughter, in which the judge was forced to join
in spite of himself. Their sudden gayety having
subsided, the conversation became more serious.
Mr. Liakos related all the details of the affair,
and as his story went on he was delighted to see
his cousin's prejudices gradually disappear, al-
though she still made objections when they came
to dissect the suitor's character.

" He is a hypochondriac ! " she said.

* The Greek bride and bridegroom both wear a wreath
of flowers.

6

82 THE PLAIN SISTER.

" He takes care of his health," replied the
judge, " simply because he has nothing else to
occupy him. When once he is married, he '11 care
for his wife, just as he cared for his mother while
she lived, and his hypochondria, as you call it,
will vanish fast enough."

"He's pedantic."

" That is hardly a grave fault in a professor."

Now that the question had narrowed down to
his friend's moral qualities, Mr. Liakos began to
feel certain of victory so far as his cousin was
concerned. His only remaining doubt was as to
the young lady's consent.

" Her consent ! " cried his cousin. " She '11
accept Mr. Plateas gladly. Since she can't per-
suade her father to let her remain single, she
will take the first husband that offers, rather than
stand in the way of her sister's happiness. She
has the soul of an angel," the cousin went on,
with enthusiasm. " She does n't know her own
worth ; she sees that she is not pretty, and in
her humility she even exaggerates her plainness ;
but her sweet unselfishness is no reason why she
should be sacrificed."

" Do you think, then, that it would be a sacri-
fice to marry Mr. Plateas ? "

" How can we tell ? "

His cousin's reserve was more propitious than
her merriment of a few minutes ago, and Mr.
Liakos felt encouraged.

THE PLAIN SISTER. 83

" If she were your sister, or even your daughter,
would you not give her to him ? "

This question struck deeper than he knew, for
one of her daughters was not well-favored, and
the girl's future was beginning to give the mater-
nal heart much uneasiness. The mother laughed
no longer ; her eyes filled, and she made no re-
ply. Without searching into the cause of his
cousin's emotion, the judge was only too glad to
take her silence for consent.

"Very well," he went on. "Now you must
help me to arrange this marriage."

In order to humor her innocent vanity, he
pictured the obstacles that she would find in the
character of Mr. Mitrophanis, and urged his own
inability to overcome them ; he frankly declared
that his mediation had compromised his friend's
suit, and that the affair was far more difficult than
if it had been in her hands from the beginning;
he insisted that she alone could retrieve the
mistakes committed, and bring about a happy
ending.

His cousin's objections gradually grew weaker ;
and at last, after three hours of argument, the
judge succeeded so well that she left her work
(to the temporary disadvantage of her younger
son), and put on her bonnet. The two went out
together, she to call on Mr. Mitrophanis, and he
to find the professor.

84 THE PLAIN SISTER.

V.

POOR Mr. Plateas was waiting for his friend
impatiently.

On reaching home he had found his dinner
growing cold, and Florou worrying over her
master's unusual tardiness ; it was full twenty
minutes after noon ! Although the professor was
hungry and ate with relish, his mind was ill at
ease. He yearned to talk to some one, but there
was no one to talk to. He would have been
glad to tell his story even to Florou, but she
cared neither to talk nor to listen ; conversation
was not her strong point.

Besides, her master rather shrank from telling
her that he had made up his mind to get mar-
ried, and that her reign was over. Since his
mother's death, Florou had had absolute control
over the household ; why make her unhappy be-
fore it was necessary ? On the other hand, he
could contain himself no longer; if he had not
spoken, there is no telling what would have hap-
pened.

Not daring to face the question boldly, he beat
about the bush, and tried to pass adroitly from
the subject of dinner to that of marriage.

" Florou," he said, "your meat is overdone."

The old woman made no reply, but looked up
at the sun as if to suggest that the fault lay not
with her, but with her master's tardiness.

THE PLAIN SISTER. 85

He paid no attention to her mute reproach.

" In fact," he went on, ** the dinner is n't fit to
eat to-day."

" You Ve eaten it, though."

Florou was in the habit of resorting to this
argument as unanswerable. Usually her master
laughed and said that he had eaten his dinner
because he was hungry, and not because it was
good. To-day, however, her phrase irritated
him, less on account of the words themselves,
than from an inward consciousness that this day
of all others he had no right to complain of her
culinary art.

In his vexation he forgot how he had planned
to lead up to the subject of his marriage, and
had to finish his dinner in silence ; but while
Florou was carrying the dishes away, he thought
of a new pretext for coming back to the absorb-
ing topic. He noticed for the first time a hole
in the tablecloth that had been there a long
time.

" See there ! " said he, putting his finger
through it. " My house needs a mistress, —
there 's no other remedy for such a state of
things. I must have a wife ! "

Florou shrugged her shoulders as though she
thought her master had lost his wits.

" Do you understand me ? I must get mar-
ried."

The old woman smiled.

86 THE PLAIN SISTER.

" What are you laughing at ? I have quite
made up my mind to marry."

Florou stared.

" I 'm going to get married, I tell you ! "

" And who '11 have you ? "

" Who will have me ! " he cried, fairly choking
with rage.

Almost beside himself at the old woman's
effrontery, he wanted to crush her with angry elo-
quence ; but her stolidity baffled him, and he
went up to his room without a word. When he
was alone, his anger soon cooled ; but he found
himself repeating those cruel words, and as he
said them over, he began to fear that Florou was
not so far wrong.

He recalled his friend's first disavowal of any
thought of him as a suitor, and the father's
strange hesitation. And then, why did n't Liakos
come ; what was keeping him so long ? If his
mission were successful, he would have brought
the news at once. The question was very sim-
ple, the answer " yes " or " no " ; it surely must
be "no," and the judge was keeping back the
evil tidings.

How silly he had been to expose himself to a
rebuff on the impulse of the moment — what per-
fect folly ! What business had he to get into such
a scrape ? But no, he had only done his duty ;
he had proved to his preserver the sincerity of
his friendship and the depth of his gratitude.

THE PLAIN SISTER. 87

But why did n't Liakos come ? Why did n't
he hurry back and end this suspense ?

The unhappy man looked at his watch again
and again, and was astonished each time at the
slowness of the hands ; they seemed hardly to
move at all. He sat down, then jumped up
again and looked out of the window, — no
Liakos ! He tried to read, but could not
keep his thoughts from straying, and shut
the book petulantly. He was in a perfect
fever.

Meanwhile the time came for his daily consti-
tutional, and Mr. Plateas was on thorns. He
could not stay indoors waiting for his friend any
longer ; but in order to be near at hand, he re-
solved to take his old walk and go no farther
than the Vaporia. So he called Florou and told
her that he would not be gone long, but that if
Mr. Liakos should come, she must send him to
the Vaporia. He explained with great care the
route he would take in going and in coming back,
so that Florou might tell his friend exactly. All
this was quite unnecessary, for the road to the
Vaporia was so direct that the two friends could
hardly help meeting unless they went out of
their way to avoid each other ; but he insisted
upon his topographical directions, and repeated
them so often that Florou at last lost her patience,
and exclaimed :

" Very well, very well ! "

88 THE PLAIN SISTER.

It was most unusual for the old woman to say
the same word twice.

Not a living soul was to be seen on the Vapo-
ria, and Mr. Plateas was able to follow the course
of his thoughts undisturbed. To tell the truth,
his ideas rather lacked sequence, and were much
the same thing over and over ; but they were so
engrossing that he had not quoted a line of
Homer all day. If this worry had lasted much
longer, it would have effected what all his exercise
and sea-bathing had failed to accomplish ; the
poor man would certainly have been reduced to
a shadow.

And still Liakos did not come ! For a mo-
ment the professor thought of going to look for
his friend ; but where should he go? The judge
had promised to come, and Florou had been told
to get supper for both ; Liakos must come.

But why did n't he come now ? Mr. Plateas
paced up and down the Vaporia twenty times at
least, and although he kept looking toward his
house, there was no sign of the judge. At last !
At last he saw his friend coming in the distance.

" Well, is it * yes ' or * no ' ? " he cried, as soon
as he was near enough to be heard.

" Do let me get my breath first."

From the expression of the poor man's face
Mr. Liakos feared that " no " would be more wel-
come than " yes."

" Can he have repented ? " thought the judge ;

THE PLAIN SISTER. »9

then, taking Mr. Plateas affectionately by the arm,
he turned back to prolong the walk, and tried to
soothe his friend's amour propre.

" Don't be troubled ; she's not a silly girl, but
has good sense and good judgment. She will
treat your offer as an honor, and will be happy
to have a man like you for a husband."

" Never mind about that," said the professor,
in a calmer tone. " Tell me how the matter
really stands. What have you been doing all
this time ? "

In relating his story, Mr. Liakos did not tell
his friend everything. He passed over the stiff-
ness of Mr. Mitrophanis as well as his cousin's
unseemly mirth, and urged so skilfully the need
of her good offices as to disarm all objection ;
he had left the affair in his cousin's charge, and
secured her promise to send him word of the
result at the professor's house. This was the
substance of the conversation ; but Mr. Plateas
asked so many questions and the judge had to
repeat each detail so often, that the sun was
setting when the two friends went back to do
justice to Florou's supper.

They had scarcely finished when there was a
knock at the door, and Florou came in with a
note for Mr. Liakos.

Mr. Plateas rose, napkin in hand, and leaned
over his friend's chair, eagerly following the
words as the judge read aloud :

9O THE PLAIN SISTER.

" MY DEAR COUSIN, — Bring your friend to my
house this evening ; the young lady will be there.
Come early. YOUR COUSIN."

" What did I tell you ! " cried Mr. Liakos, joy-
fully. " Come, you must get ready."

Mr. Plateas looked very serious ; the idea of
meeting the young girl made him nervous. What
should he say to her ? How should he behave ?
Besides, he was not yet sure of being accepted !
Why had n't the message been a plain "yes " or
"no "? The judge had difficulty in persuading
Mr. Plateas that the invitation was in itself an
assurance of success, and that his cousin and he
would do their best to lessen the -embarrassment
of the meeting. Taking upon himself the duties
of valet, Mr. Liakos superintended the poor
man's toilet, and having made him look as fine
as possible, marched him off.

He would have given almost anything to be
well out of the scrape, but it was too late to
retreat now.

As they went along, the judge tried in vain to
impart some of his own high spirits to his faint-
hearted friend. He was brimming over with
gladness at the thought of his marriage, which
now seemed assured. After so long a separation
he was about to see his betrothed, for he felt
sure that she would come with her sister. Mr.
Plateas had no such reasons for rejoicing. He

THE PLAIN SISTER. 91

walked on in silence, paying little heed to his
friend's gay sallies ; he was trying to think what
he should say to the young lady, but nothing
came to him.

" By the way," he broke in suddenly, " what
is her name ? "

" Whose ? "

" I mean my future wife. Yesterday I had to
let her father see that I did n't even know her
name. I must n't make that mistake' to-night ! "

At this Mr. Liakos broke into a merry laugh ;
he was in such high good-humor that he found
fun in everything. His companion did not laugh,
but repeated :

"What is her -name?"

The judge was about to reply when he heard
some one coming toward them call out in the
darkness :

" Liakos, is that you ? "

It was his cousin's husband, who brought word
that he was not to be present at the interview.
The tactful cousin had felt that it would be bet-
ter to leave the young lady alone with her suitor ;
then, too, the younger sister would not come,
and the presence of Mr. Liakos was quite un-
necessary; her instructions were that he should
spend the evening with her husband at the club.

Mr. Plateas felt his knees give way under him.
What — go in and face the two ladies all ^alone !
No, decidedly he had n't the courage for that.

92 THE PLAIN SISTER.

But his supporters, one on either side, urged and
encouraged the unhappy man until they reached
the threshold, when the door opened and they
pushed him in, regardless of his protests, then
closed it again, and went off to the club.

When Mr. Liakos learned that his sweetheart
was not coming, he submitted to his banishment
with stoicism ; but it seemed to him that the
evening at the club would never come to an end.
About ten 'o'clock a servant came to say that
Mr. Plateas was waiting for him ; he rushed down-
stairs and found his friend in the street. By the
light of a street lamp the judge saw at once from
the expression of the suitor's face that the visit
had been a complete success. The professor
looked like another man.

" Well ? " asked Mr. Liakos, eagerly.

" I tell you, she is n't plain at all ! " exclaimed
Mr. Plateas. " When she speaks her voice is
like music, and she has a charming expression !
As for her little hand, — it 's simply exquisite ! "

" You kissed it, I suppose ? " said the judge.

" Of course I did ! "

" What did you say, and what did she say to
you ? "

" As though I could tell you everything ! The
idea ! " Then lowering his voice, he added :
" Do you know what she said to me ? She told
me she was glad and grateful that I had asked
her to marry me through friendship for you, be-

THE PLAIN SISTER. 93

cause such a good friend must make a good hus-
band. I begged her not to say that, else I could
not help thinking that she accepted me only out
of love for her sister.

" ' And why not ? ' she said gently. ' What
sweeter source could the happiness of our future
have ? ' "

Mr. Liakos was touched.

"But really," his friend went on, "I can't be-
gin to tell you everything now. One thing is
certain, — I 've found a perfect treasure ! "

" Did I not tell you so ? "

" Yes, but you have n't told me her name, and
I did n't dare ask her. What is it ? "

The judge bent over and whispered the name
that his friend longed to hear.

" There, you know it now."

"Yes, at last ! " and the two friends parted, —
the one went home with a new joy in his heart,
saying over the name he had just learned, while
the other softly repeated the name so long dear
to him.

A few weeks later, the first Sunday after Easter,
there was a high festival in the old merchant's
house to celebrate the marriage of his two daugh-
ters. Of the bridegrooms, Mr. Liakos was not
the merrier, for now that his dearest hopes were
realized, his soul was filled with a quiet happi-
ness that left no room for words. Mr. Plateas,

94 THE PLAIN SISTER.

on the other hand, was overflowing with delight,
and his high spirits seemed contagious, for all
the wedding guests laughed with him. Even His
Eminence the Archbishop of Tenos and Syra,
who had blessed the double marriage, was jovial
with the rest, and showed his learning by wishing
the happy couples joy in a line from Homer :

" I,ol 6e 6eol r6aa 6oleij, baa <f>peai oyoi fj.evovag.
" Thine own wish may the Gods give thee in every place."

To which Mr. Plateas replied majestically :

" Etf olcjvbs apLcrog a/uvveo6ai Trepl
" The best omen is to battle for one's native land ! "

After the wedding, the judge obtained three
months' leave, and took his bride for a visit to
his old home among his kinsfolk.

How eagerly their return was awaited, and
how delighted the sisters were to be together
again ! The old father trembled with joy.

When the two brothers-in-law were alone, each
saw his own happiness reflected in the other's face.

" Well, did I exaggerate when I sang your
wife's praises ? " asked Mr. Liakos.

" She 's a treasure, my dear friend ! " cried
Mr. Plateas, — " a perfect treasure ! In a few
months," he went on, " I shall have a new favor
to ask of you. I want you to stand as godfather
to your nephew."

" What ! You too ! "

" And you ? "

THE MASSACRE OF THE
INNOCENTS

BY

MAURICE MAETERLINCK

From " The Massacre of the Innocents and other Tales
by Belgian Writers." Translated by Edith Win-
gate Rinder. Published by Stone & Kimball.

Copyright, 1895, by Stone & Kimball.

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS

BY MAURICE MAETERLINCK

HpOWARDS the hour of supper on Friday,
i the twenty-sixth day of the month of De-
cember, a little shepherd lad came into Nazareth,
crying bitterly.

Some peasants, who were drinking ale in the
Blue Lion, opened the shutters to look into the
village orchard, and saw the child running over
the snow. They recognized him as the son of
Korneliz, and called from the window : " What
is the matter ? It 's time you were abed ! "

But, sobbing still and shaking with terror, the
boy cried that the Spaniards had come, that
they had set fire to the farm, had hanged his
mother among the nut trees and bound his nine
little sisters to the trunk of a big tree. At this
the peasants rushed out of the inn. Surrounding
the child, they stunned him with their question-
ings and outcries. Between his sobs, he added
that the soldiers were on horseback and wore
armor, that they had taken away the cattle of his
uncle, Petrus Krayer, and would soon be in the
7 97

go THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS.

forest with the sheep and cows. All now ran to
the Golden Swan where, as they knew, Korneliz
and his brother-in-law were also drinking their
mug of ale. The moment the innkeeper heard
these terrifying tidings, he hurried into the vil-
lage, crying that the Spaniards were at hand.

What a stir, what an uproar there was then in
Nazareth ! Women opened windows, and peas-
ants hurriedly left their houses carrying lights
which were put out when they reached the or-
Ichard, where, because of the snow and the full
moon, one could see as well as at midday.

Later, they gathered round Korneliz and
Krayer, in the open space which faced the inns.
Several of them had brought pitchforks and
rakes, and consulted together, terror-stricken,
under the trees.

But, as they did not know what to do, one of
them ran to fetch the cure, who owned Korne-
liz's farm. He came out of the house with the
sacristan carrying the keys of the church. All
followed him into the churchyard, whither his
cry came to them from the top of the tower, that
he beheld nothing either in the fields, or by the
forest, but that around the farm he saw omi-
nous red clouds, for all that the sky was of a deep
blue and agleam with stars over the rest of the
plain.

After taking counsel for a long time in the
churchyard, they decided to hide in the wood

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS. 99

through which the Spaniards must pass, and, if
these were not too numerous, to attack them and
recover Petrus Krayer's cattle and the plunder
which had been taken from the farm.

Having armed themselves with pitchforks and
spades, while the women remained outside the
church with the cure*, they sought a suitable am-
buscade. Approaching a mill on a rising ground
adjacent to the verge of the forest, they saw the
light of the burning farm flaming against the stars.
There they waited under enormous oaks, before a
frozen mere.

A shepherd, known as Red Dwarf, climbed the
hill to warn the miller, who had stopped his mill
when he saw the flames on the horizon. He
bade the peasant enter, and both men went to a
window to stare out into the night.

Before them the moon shone over the burn-
ing farmstead, and in its light they saw a long
procession winding athwart the snow. Having
carefully scrutinized it, the Dwarf descended
where his comrades waited under the trees, and
now, they too gradually distinguished four men
on horseback behind a flock which moved grazing
on the plain.

While the peasants in their blue breeches and
red cloaks continued to search about the margins
of the mere and under the snowlit trees, the
sacristan pointed out to them a box-hedge, behind
which they hid.

100 THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS.

The Spaniards, driving before them the sheep
and the cattle, advanced upon the ice. When
the sheep reached the hedge they began to nibble
at the green stuff, and now Korneliz broke from
the shadows of the bushes, followed by the others
with their pitchforks. Then in the midst of the
huddled-up sheep and of the cows who stared
affrighted, the savage strife was fought out be-
neath the moon, and ended in a massacre.

When they had slain not only the Spaniards,
but also their horses, Korneliz rushed thence
across the meadow in the direction of the flames,
while the others plundered and stripped the dead.
Thereafter all returned to the village with their
flocks. The women, who were observing the
dark forest from behind the churchyard walls,
saw them coming through the trees and ran with
the cure to meet them, and all returned dancing
joyously amid the laughter of the children and
the barking of the dogs.

But, while they made merry, under the pear
trees of the orchard, where the Red Dwarf had
hung lanterns in honor of the kermesse, they anx-
iously demanded of the cure what was to be done.

The outcome of this was the harnessing of a
horse to a cart in order to fetch the bodies of the
woman and the nine little girls to the village.
The sisters and other relations of the dead woman
got into the cart along with the cure', who, being
old and very fat, could not walk so far.

THE MASSACRE OF THZ" Itf<0€ZN7S. ' '' '* ?Zh J

In silence they entered the forest, and emerged
upon the moonlit plain. There, in the white
light, they descried the dead men, rigid and
naked, among the slain horses. Then they
moved onward toward the farm, which still
burned in the midst of the plain.

When they came to the orchard of the flaming
house, they stopped at the gate of the garden,
dumb before the overwhelming misfortune of the
peasant. For there, his wife hung, quite naked,
on the branches of an enormous nut tree, among
which he himself was now mounting on a ladder,
and beneath which, on the frozen grass, lay his
nine little daughters. Korneliz had already,
climbed along the vast boughs, when suddenly,
by the light of the snow, he saw the crowd who
horror-struck watched his every movement.
With tears in his eyes, he made a sign to them to
help him, whereat the innkeepers of the Blue Lion
and the Golden Sun, the cure, with a lantern, and
many others, climbed up in the moonshine amid
the snow-laden branches, to unfasten the dead.
The women of the village received the corpse in
their arms at the foot of the tree ; even as our
Lord Jesus Christ was received by the women at
the foot of the Cross.

On the morrow they buried her, and for the
week thereafter nothing unusual happened in
Nazareth.

But the following Sunday, hungry wolves ran

ib2 ' THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS.

through the village after high mass, and it snowed
until midday. Then, suddenly, the sun shone
brilliantly, and the peasants went to dine as was
their wont, and dressed for the benediction.

There was no one to be seen on the Place,
for it froze bitterly. Only the dogs and chickens
roamed about under the trees, or the sheep nib-
bled at a three-cornered bit of grass, while the
cure's servant swept away the snow from his
garden.

At that moment a troop of armed men crossed
the stone bridge at the end of the village, and
halted in the orchard. Peasants hurried from
their houses, but, recognizing the new-comers as
Spaniards, they retreated terrified, and went to
the windows to see what would happen.

About thirty soldiers, in full armor, surrounded
an old man with a white beard. Behind them,
on pillions, rode red and yellow lancers who
jumped down and ran over the snow to shake
off their stiffness, while several of the soldiers in
armor dismounted likewise and fastened their
horses to the trees.

Then they moved in the direction of the Golden
Sun, and knocked at the door. It was opened
reluctantly ; the soldiers went in, warmed them-
selves near the fire, and called for ale.

Presently they came out of the inn, carry-
ing pots, jugs, and rye-bread for their compan-
ions, who surrounded the man with the white

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS. lOJ

beard, where he waited behind the hedge of
lances.

As the street remained deserted the com-
mander sent some horsemen to the back of the
houses, to guard the village on the country side.
He then ordered the lancers to bring him all the
children of two years old and under, to be mas-
sacred, as is written in the Gospel of St. Matthew.

The soldiers first went to the little inn of the
Green Cabbage, and to the barber's cottage which
stood side by side midway in the street.

One of them opened a sty and a litter of pigs
wandered into the village. The innkeeper and
the barber came out, and humbly asked the men
what they wanted ; but they did not understand
Flemish, and went into the houses to look for
the children.

The innkeeper had one child, who, in its little
shift, was screaming on the table where they had
just dined. A soldier took it in his arms, and
carried it away under the apple trees, while the
father and mother followed, crying.

Thereafter the lancers opened other stable
doors, — those of the cooper, the blacksmith, the
cobbler, — and calves, cows, asses, pigs, goats,
and sheep roamed about the square. When
they broke the carpenter's windows, several of
the oldest and richest inhabitants of the village
assembled in the street, and went to meet the
Spaniards. Respectfully they took off their caps

104 THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS.

and hats to the leader in the velvet mantle, and
asked him what he was going to do. He did
not, however, understand their language ; so
some one ran to fetch the cure.

The priest was putting on a gold chasuble in
the vestry, in readiness for the benediction.
The peasant cried : " The Spaniards are in the
orchard ! " Horrified, the cure ran to the door
of the church, and the choir-boys followed, carry-
ing wax-tapers and censer.

As he stood there, he saw the animals from the
pens and stables wandering on the snow and on
the grass ; the horsemen in the village, the
soldiers before the doors, horses tied to trees all
along the street ; men and women entreating the
man who held the child in its little shift.

The cure' hastened into the churchyard, and
the peasants turned anxiously towards him as he
came through the pear trees, like the Divine
Presence itself robed in white and gold. They
crowded about him where he confronted the man
with the white beard.

He spoke in Flemish and in Latin, but the
commander merely shrugged his shoulders to
show that he did not understand.

The villagers asked their priest in a low voice :
" What does he say ? What is he going to do ? "
Others, when they saw the cure in the orchard,
came cautiously from their cottages, women hur-
ried up and whispered in groups, while the

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS. IO5

soldiers, till that moment besieging an inn, ran
back at sight of the crowd in the square.

Then the man who held the innkeeper's child
by the leg cut off its head with his sword.

The people saw the head fall, and thereafter
the body lie bleeding upon the grass. The
mother picked it up, and carried it away, but
forgot the head. She ran towards her home, but
stumbling against a tree fell prone on the snow,
where she lay in a swoon, while the father strug-
gled between two soldiers.

Some young peasants cast stones and blocks
of wood at the Spaniards, but the horsemen all
lowered their lances ; the women fled and the
cure with his parishioners began to shriek with
horror, amid the bleating of the sheep, the cack-
ling of the geese, and the barking of the dogs.

But as the soldiers moved away again into the
street, the crowd stood silent to see what would
happen.

A troop entered the shop kept by the sacris-
tan's sisters, but came out quietly, without harm-
ing the seven women, who knelt on the threshold
praying.

From there they went to the inn of St. Nicholas,
which belonged to the Hunchback. Here, too,
so as to appease them, the door was opened at
once ; but, when the soldiers reappeared amid a
great uproar, they carried three children in their
arms. The marauders were surrounded by the

IO6 THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS.

Hunchback, his wife, and daughters, all, with
clasped hands, imploring for mercy.

When the soldiers came to their white-bearded
leader, they placed the children at the foot of an
elm, where the little ones remained seated on the
snow in their Sunday clothes. But one of them,
in a yellow frock, got up and toddled unsteadily
towards the sheep. A soldier folio wed, with bare
sword ; and the child died with his face in the
grass, while the others were killed around the
tree.

The peasants and the innkeeper's daughters
all fled screaming, and shut themselves up in
their houses. The cure, who was left alone in
the orchard, threw himself on his knees, first
before one horseman, then another, and with
crossed arms, supplicated the Spaniards piteously,
while the fathers and mothers seated on the snow
beyond wept bitterly for the dead children whom
they held upon their knees.

As the lancers passed along the street, they
noticed a big blue farmstead. When they had
tried, in vain, to force open the oaken door
studded with nails, they clambered atop of some
tubs, which were frozen over near the threshold,
and by this means gained the house through the
upper windows.

There had been a kermesse in this farm. At
sound of the broken window-panes, the families
who had assembled there to eat gaufres, custards,

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS. lO'J

and hams, crowded together behind the table on
which still stood some empty jugs and dishes.
The soldiers entered the kitchen, and after a sav-
age struggle in which many were wounded, they
seized all the little boys and girls ; then, with
these, and the servant who had bitten a lancer's
thumb, they left the house and fastened the door
behind them in such a way that the parents could
not get out.

The villagers who had no children slowly left
their houses, and followed the soldiers at a
distance. They saw them throw down their
victims on the grass before the old man, and
callously kill them with lance and sword. Dur-
ing this, men and women leaned out of all the
windows of the blue house, and out of the barn,
blaspheming and flinging their hands to heaven,
when they saw the red, pink, and white frocks of
their motionless little ones on the grass between
the trees. The soldiers next hanged the farm
servant at the sign of the Half Moon, on the
other side of the street, and there was a long
silence in the village.

The massacre now became general. Mothers
fled from their houses, and attempted to escape
through the flower and vegetable gardens, and so
into the country beyond, but the horsemen
pursued them and drove them back into the
street. Peasants with caps in their clasped
hands knelt before the men who dragged away

IO8 THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS.

their children, while amid the confusion the dogs
barked joyously. The cure, with hands up-
raised to heaven, rushed up and down in front of
the houses and under the trees, praying desper-
ately ; here and there, soldiers, trembling with
cold, blew on their fingers as they moved about
the road, or waited with hands in their breeches
pockets, and swords under their arms, before the
windows of the houses which were being scaled.

Everywhere, as in small bands of twos and
threes, they moved along the streets, where these
scenes were being enacted, and entered the
houses, they beheld the piteous grief of the
peasants. The wife of a market-gardener, who
occupied a red brick cottage near the church,
pursued with a wooden stool the two men who
carried off her children in a wheelbarrow.
When she saw them die, a horrible sickness
came upon her, and they thrust her down on the
stool, under a tree by the roadside.

Other soldiers swarmed up the lime trees in
front of a farmstead with its blank walls tinted
mauve, and entered the house by removing the
tiles. When they came back on to the roof, the
father and mother, with outstretched arms, tried
to follow them through the opening, but the
soldiers repeatedly pushed them back, and had
at last to strike them on the head with their
swords, before they could disengage themselves
and regain the street.

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS. 1 09

One family shut up in the cellar of a large
cottage lamented near the grating, through which
the father wildly brandished a pitchfork. Out-
side on a heap of manure, a bald old man sobbed
all alone; in the square, a woman in a yellow
dress had swooned, and her weeping husband
now supported her under the arms, against a
pear tree ; another woman in red fondled her
little girl, bereft of her hands, and lifted now one
tiny arm, now the other, to see if the child would
not move. Yet another woman fled towards the
country; but the soldiers pursued her among the
hayricks, which stood out in black relief against
the fields of snow.

Beneath the inn of the Four Sons of Aymon a
surging tumult reigned. The inhabitants had
formed a barricade, and the soldiers went round
and round the house without being able to enter.
Then they were attempting to climb up to the
signboard by the creepers, when they noticed a
ladder behind the garden door. This they raised
against the wall, and went up it in file. But the
innkeeper and all his family hurled tables, stools,
plates, and cradles down upon them from the
windows ; the ladder was overturned, and the
soldiers fell.

In a wooden hut at the end of the village,
another band found a peasant woman washing
her children in a tub near the fire. Being old
and very deaf, she did not hear them enter. Two

HO THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS.

men took the tub and carried it away, and the
stupefied woman followed with the clothes in
which she was about to dress the children. But
when she saw traces of blood everywhere in the
village, swords in the orchards, cradles over-
turned in the street, women on their knees,
others who wrung their hands over the dead, she
began to scream and beat the soldiers, who put
down the tub to defend themselves. The cure*
hastened up also, and with hands clasped over
his chasuble, entreated the Spaniards before the
naked little ones howling in the water. Some
soldiers came up, tied the mad peasant to a tree,
and carried off the children.

The butcher, who had hidden his little girl,
leaned against his shop, and looked on callously.
A lancer and one of the men in armor entered
the house and found the child in a copper boiler.
Then the butcher in despair took one of his
knives and rushed after them into the street, but
soldiers who were passing disarmed him and
hanged him by the hands to the hooks in the
wall — there, among the flayed animals, he kicked
and struggled, blaspheming, until the evening.

Near the churchyard, there was a great gather-
ing before a long, low house, painted green. The
owner, standing on his threshold, shed bitter
tears; as he was very fat and jovial looking, he
excited the pity of some soldiers who were seated
in the sun against the wall, patting a dog. The

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS. Ill

one, too, who dragged away his child by the
hand, gesticulated as if to say : " What can I
do ? It 's not my fault ! "

A peasant who was pursued, jumped into a
boat, moored near the stone bridge, and with his
wife and children moved away across the un-
frozen part of the narrow lagoon. Not daring to
follow, the soldiers strode furiously through the
reeds. They climbed up into the willows on the
banks to try to reach the fugitives with their
lances — as they did not succeed, they continued
for a long time to threaten the terrified family
adrift upon the black water.

The orchard was still full of people, for it was
there, in front of the white-bearded man who
directed the massacre, that most of the children
were killed. Little dots who could just walk
alone stood side by side munching their slices
of bread and jam, and stared curiously at the
slaying of their helpless playmates, or collected
round the village fool who played his flute on the
grass.

Then suddenly there was a uniform movement
in the village. The peasants ran towards the
castle which stood on the brown rising ground,
at the end of the street. They had seen their
seigneur leaning on the battlements of his tower
and watching the massacre. Men, women, old
people, with hands outstretched, supplicated to
him, in his velvet mantle and his gold cap, as to

112 THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS.

a king in heaven. But he raised his arms and
shrugged his shoulders to show his helplessness,
and when they implored him more and more per-
sistently, kneeling in the snow, with bared heads,
and uttering piteous cries, he turned slowly into
the tower and the peasants' last hope was gone.

When all the children were slain, the tired sol-
diers wiped their swords on the grass, and supped
under the pear trees. Then they mounted one
behind the other, and rode out of Nazareth across
the stone bridge, by which they had come.

The setting of the sun behind the forest made
the woods aflame, and dyed the village blood-
red. Exhausted with running and entreating,
the cure had thrown himself upon the snow, in
front of the church, and his servant stood near
him. They stared upon the street and the
orchard, both thronged with the peasants in their
best clothes. Before many thresholds, parents
with dead children on their knees bewailed with
ever fresh amaze their bitter grief. Others still
lamented over the children where they had died,
near a barrel, under a barrow, or at the edge of
a pool. Others carried away the dead in silence.
There were some who began to wash the benches,
the stools, the tables, the blood-stained shifts,
and to pick up the cradles which had been
thrown into the street. Mother by mother
moaned under the trees over the dead bodies
which lay upon the grass, little mutilated bodies

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNOCENTS. 11$

which they recognized by their woollen frocks.
Those who were childless moved aimlessly
through the square, stopping at times in front of
the bereaved, who wailed and sobbed in their
sorrow. The men, who no longer wept, sullenly
pursued their strayed animals, around which
the barking dogs coursed ; or, in silence, repaired
so far their broken windows and rifled roofs. As
the moon solemnly rose through the quietudes
of the sky, deep silence as of sleep descended
upon the village, where now not the shadow of
a living thing stirred.

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE

BY

CAMILLE LEMONNIER

From " The Massacre of the Innocents and other Tales

by Belgian Writers." Translated by Edith Wingate

Kinder. Published by Stone & Kimball.

Copyright, 1895, by Stone & Kimball.

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE

BY CAMILLE LEMONNIER
I.

is the finest day of the year, Nelle,"
exclaimed a big stalwart man of about
sixty, with a bright smile, to a fresh clean-look-
ing woman, who at that moment came down the
ladder of the boat with shavings in her hand.

" Yes, Tobias," replied the woman, " it is in-
deed the day of days for boatmen."

" Do you remember the first feast of St.
Nicholas, which we kept together, after we were
married ? "

" Yes, Tobias, it will soon be forty years ago."

" Hendrik Shippe, our master, came on to the
boat and said to me : ' Tobias, my lad, you must
keep the festival of our blessed saint in a proper
way, now that you have brought a wife to your
boat.' With that, he put a five-franc piece into
my hand. * Mynheer Shippe,' I replied, ' I am
more pleased with your five-franc piece than if I
had been crowned.' I went out without saying

117

Il8 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

anything to my dear Nelle, crossed the plank,
and ran into the village to buy cream, eggs, flour,
apples, and coffee. Who was glad when I came
back with all the good things and laid them side
by side on the table, while the fire burned brightly
in the stove ? Who was glad ? Tell me, my
Nelle."

" Ah, Tobias ! We sat hand in hand that
evening till ten o'clock as we had sat together
in the moonlight on the banks of the Scheldt
before we were married. But we did other
things, too, on that day, lots of other things.
What did we do ? Do you remember, Tobias ? "

" Oh ! oh ! we made golden apple pancakes ;
I can smell them now. I wanted you to teach
me how to toss them, but I tossed two into the
fire, and the third fell into the cat's mouth. Yes,
yes, Nelle, I remember."

"Now, my man, we must make apple pancakes
again in memory of that happy evening ; I have
brought shavings to light the fire. One day,
Riekje and Dolf will recall the good festival of
Saint Nicholas as we now recall it."

It was thus that the boatman, Tobias Jeffers,
spoke to his wife Nelle, on board the Gulden-
visch.

The Guldenvisch, which had been thus named
from the pretty gold-fish which shone afore and
aft on her prows, was Hendrik Shippe's best
boat, and he had entrusted it to the care of

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 1 19

Tobias Jeffers, his ablest boatman. There was
not a smarter looking craft in Termonde, nor
one better fitted for hard work. It was a pleas-
ure to watch her glide along, her waist well
under water, laden with corn, wood, straw, or
provisions ; to see, too, her big brown hull set
off with red and blue lines, her prows ornamented
with the long smooth-scaled gold-fish, her shin-
ing bridge and her little cloud of smoke curling
out of the black painted funnel.

That day, the Guldenvisch, like all the other
boats on the Scheldt, had stopped work. She
was anchored to a strong rope, and toward
seven in the evening there was nothing to be
seen but the light on the top of the funnel,
and the port-holes, round and bright as cod's
eyes.

Preparations for the feast of St. Nicholas
were in full swing in the little room under the
bridge ; two candles burned in the brass candle-
sticks, and the stove roared like water which
rushes from a lock when the gates are opened.

The good Nelle pushed the door and Tobias
went in quietly, thinking of the happy days
which he had just recalled.

" Maman Nelle," said a young voice, " I can
see the round windows lighting up everywhere
one after the other on the dark water."

"Yes, Riekje," Nelle replied, "but it is not
to see the windows lighted up on the water that

•120 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

you stay near the window, but to see if that fine
lad, Dolf, is not coming back to the boat.

Riekje laughed.

" Maman Nelle sees straight into my heart,"
said she, sitting down near the fire, and stitch-
ing away at a baby's cap, which she held in her
hand.

" Who could not see straight into the heart of
a woman who is in love with her husband,
Riekje ?" asked old Nelle.

As she spoke she took off the top of the stove
and put the pot on the fire, much to its delight,
for it began to hiss like the rocket sent off from
the market-place the day before in honor of the
election of a new mayor. Then Nelle wetted
her finger and snuffed the candles, and the flame
which had been flickering unsteadily at the end
of the black wick burned brightly again and lit
up the little room with a beautiful quiet light.

The room was very small and was something
like a big cask cut in half, with its curved wooden
ceiling, and its stave-like wooden panels. A
coating of shiny, brown tar covered the walls ;
in places, especially over the stove, it was black
as ebony. The furniture consisted of a table,
two chairs, a chest which served as a bed, and
near the chest a white wooden box with two
shelves. On these two shelves lay linen, caps,
handkerchiefs, women's dresses, and men's
jackets, all smelling somewhat of fish. In ore

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 121

corner hung the nets, together with tarred capes,
boots, oilskin hats, and enormous sheepskin
gloves. Strings of onions encircled a picture of
the Virgin, and some twenty dried herrings with
shining bellies were strung by their gills on a
thread under an enamelled clock.

All this could be seen by the light of the two
candles, whose flicker made the shadows dance
on the ceiling; but the fairest thing to see was
beautiful dark Riekje sitting near the fire. She
had broad shoulders, a plump neck, and strong
arms ; her cheeks were round and sunburnt, her
eyes of a dusky brown, her lips full and red ;
and as for her black hair, which was coiled six
times round her head, the coils were heavy as the
towing ropes used on the banks of the river.
Though so gentle and quiet, she was often lost
in sombre fancies ; but when Dolf was near, her
face lit up with smiles and her teeth were bright
as a wet oar's blade shining in the sun. Then
she no longer gloomed ; the cloud which veiled
sad memories was lifted, bright hopes irradiated
her face, every line in which sparkled like white-
bait in the meshes of a net. Then it was that
she would turn to her " beau gar^on " and clap
her hands. The flame which escaped through
the stove door caught her cheeks at that mo-
ment, and they were red as salmon ; the dark
eyes fixed on her work were bright as living coal.
Yet two other things shone like her eyes ; the

122 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

pendant hanging to the gold ring in her ear, and
the silver ring which she wore on her finger.

" Are you comfortable, Riekje ? " asked Nelle,
from time to time. " Do your straw-lined sabots
keep your feet warm ? "

" Yes, maman Nelle, I am as happy as a queen,"
she answered, smiling.

" As a queen, you say," replied Nelle. " You
will be like a queen, soon, my girl, for you are
going to eat some of my apple keikebakken.
There comes Dolf over the planks, bringing us
flour, eggs, and cream ; you will have something
to say about my pancakes, Riekje."

She opened the door, for a heavy step could
be heard on the bridge of the boat.

II.

As a broad-shouldered man, with a frank, smil-
ing face, stepped into the cheerful light of the
room, his head almost touched the ceiling.

" There you are, mother ! " he cried.

He threw his hat into a corner and began to
empty his pockets with great care, placing the
paper bags on the table.

" Dolf, I was sure you 'd do it ; you Ve forgot-
ten the pint of milk," cried maman Nelle when
everything was spread out.

Dolf drew back, and made a grimace as if he

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 123

really would have to go back to the shop. But,
at the same time, he winked to Riekje to let her
know that it was a joke. Nelle, who had not
seen this, struck the palm of her left hand with
her right fist, complaining bitterly.

" What are we to do without milk, Dolf ? I
must go to town myself. These big lads think
of nothing but their love, Tobias."

" If I produced the milk from under Riekje's
chair, would you kiss me, mother ? " Dolf broke
in, heartily laughing, and throwing one arm
round his mother's neck, while he held the other
hidden behind his back.

" Be quiet, bad boy," said Nelle, half in anger,
half jokingly ; " how can there be any milk under
Riekje's chair? "

" Will you kiss me ? " he replied blithely.
" Once— twice— "

Nelle turned quickly to Riekje :

" Get up, my girl, so that I may see whether I
am to kiss your good-for-nothing husband."

Dolf bent over Riekje and looked under her
chair, pretending not to find anything at first ;
finally he held the jug of milk triumphantly out
at arm's length. He laughed gayly, his hand
on his thigh :

" Ah ! who '11 be kissed now, mother ? Who '11
be kissed ? "

They all roared with laughter at the good
joke.

124 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

" Dolf, kiss Riekje ; bees like honey," cried
Nelle.

Her lover made a ceremonious bow to Riekje,
placed one foot behind the other, pressed his
hand to his heart, as the quality do, and, with a
solemn air, exclaimed :

" Soul of my soul, may I embrace one so fair
as you ? "

Then, without waiting for a reply, Dolf threw
his arm round Riekje's waist, raised her from
her chair, and pressed his young lips upon
her neck. But Riekje half turned her head,
and they kissed one another warmly on the
lips.

" Riekje," said Dolf, licking his lips in a
greedy fashion, " a kiss like that is better than
ryspap?

" Nelle, let us do the same thing," said To-
bias. " I delight to see them so happy."

"Willingly," said Nelle. "Were we not the
same in our own kissing days ? "

" Ah ! Nelle, they are always kissing days
when there are two, and when there is some little
spot on earth where they can make a peaceful
home."

Tobias kissed his wife's cheeks ; then, in her
turn, Nelle gave him two big kisses which re-
sounded like the snapping of dry firewood.

"Riekje," Dolf whispered, "I shall always
love you."

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 125

" Dolf," replied Riekje, " I shall love you till
death."

" I am two years older than you are, Riekje.
When you were ten I was twelve, and I think I
loved you then, but not so much as now."

" No, dear, you have only known me since
last May. All the rest is not true. Tell me,
Dolf, that all the rest is not true. I must hear
it, that I may love you without any feeling of
shame." As Riekje leaned against her husband's
breast, she threw herself back a little, and it was
evident that she would soon be a mother.

" Come, children," cried maman Nelle, " it 's
time now to make the batter."

She reached down an iron pan, lined with
shining white enamel, poured in the flour, the
eggs, and the milk. After turning up her sleeves
over her brown arms, she whipped all vigorously
together. When she had beaten the batter well,
she placed the pan on a chair near the fire and
covered it with a cloth that it might rise. Tobias
took down the frying-pan, greased it with a little
lard, and put it on the stove for a moment to
warm, so that the batter might brown all over
equally.

Riekje and Dolf, sitting side by side on the
same bench, took some apples from a basket,
cored, and afterwards sliced them. Then Nelle
went slyly to fetch a second saucepan from the
cupboard and placed it on the fire ; she poured

126 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

in some warm water, adding flour, thyme, and
laurel leaves. Dolf noticed that the saucepan
contained something else, but Nelle covered it
up so quickly that he could not tell whether it
were meat or cabbage. He was puzzled and
tried to guess.

Gradually the contents began to boil, and a
thin, brown smoke escaped from the lid which
bubbled up and down. Dolf stretched his nose
towards the stove and opened his nostrils wide
enough for a nut to rest in each, but still he could
not define the smell.

When maman Nelle went to lift the lid to see
if the contents were cooking properly, he stood
on tip-toe behind her back, making himself, for
the fun of the thing, first quite short, and then
quite tall.

Riekje laughed quietly as she looked out of
the corner of her eye. Suddenly Dolf gave a cry
to surprise his mother, but Nelle had seen him
come up, and just at the moment when he
thought to look into the pot she put down the lid
and nodded to him :

"Who's caught now, Dolf?'' But he cried
out, laughing ; " I saw that time, mother. It 's
Slipper's old cat that you have put into the stew-
pan, with some candle-grease."

"Yes," replied Nelle, " and next time I shall
fry mice. Go and set the table, and leave me
alone you bad fellow."

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 127

Dolf went quietly into the closet, leading from
the cabin. Choosing a very white and well-
starched shirt he put it on over his clothes and
came back flapping the tails.

When Nelle saw him she put her hands to her
hips and laughed till the tears streamed down her
face ; Riekje clapped her hands and laughed too.
Tobias remained serious, and, while Dolf walked
up and down the room, asking Nelle if she would
not have him for a cook, he took the plates out
of the cupboard and began to rub them on a
corner of the shirt. Then the good Nelle fell
into a chair and slapped her knee with her hand
as she rocked herself backwards and forwards.
At last the table was spread ; the plates shone
round and bright as the moon in water, while the
pewter forks beside them were bright as silver.

Nelle opened the saucepan for the last time,
tasted the gravy, and raising the big tin spoon,
in command, cried :

" Come to table. Now you can enjoy your-
selves."

They moved the big chest up to the table, for
there were two chairs only, and Dolf sat on it
near Riekje. Tobias took a chair, placed an-
other beside him for Nelle, stretched out his legs
and crossed his hands over his stomach. Then
a cloud of smoke rose up to the wooden roof and
the saucepan appeared on the table, making a
sound like the melting of snow in the sun.

128 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

" It 's Slipper's cat, I knew it was," cried Dolf,
when Nelle had taken off the lid.

Each held out his plate and Nelle, looking into
the pot, produced some brown meat, cut into
pieces, which she poured on to the plates with
plenty of gravy. Dolf looked carefully at the
pieces which Nelle gave him, smelt them, and
after a moment's pause, brought his fist down on
the table and cried :

" God forgive me, Riekje, it 's schetsels"

It was indeed ox tripe prepared in the Flemish
manner, with liver, heart and lungs. Dolf put
his fork into the biggest pieces first, and as he
swallowed them, rubbed his hands over his
stomach to show his approval.

" Nelle is a capital cook," said Tobias. " I
know King Leopold eats scheisels cooked in wine,
but Nelle makes them just as good with water."

" This is indeed a fine Saint Nicholas we are
keeping," said Dolf to his wife, smacking his
tongue against the roof of his mouth. " We shall
always remember eating tripe on St. Nicholas
day this year."

Nelle now got up and pushed the frying-pan
on the fire. She took care first to rake out the
ashes and to put some fagots of wood on the
flames. When the stove began to roar again
Nelle became serious and uncovered her batter.

It had risen to the top of the pan, and was
rich, thick, and fragrant, with here and there

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. I 29

little bubbles on its surface. Nelle plunged a
big spoon into the beautiful, deep mass, and
when she drew it out long threads hung from it
on all sides. The frying-pan hissed and bubbled
as the batter was poured on to the brown butter
around the slices of apple which Nelle had care-
fully laid in first. When the pancake began to
brown at the edges it was tossed into the air by
a clever twist of the arm. Dolf and Tobias
clapped their hands and Riekje admired Nelle's
dexterity.

" A plate, quick ! " The first kxkebakke was
spread out, golden and juicy, the color of a fried
sole. Who would have this first one ? It should
be for Tobias ; Tobias passed it on to Riekje,
and the young girl cut it in pieces and shared it
with Dolf.

Tobias watched them both eat it with pleasure,
then said to Nelle : " Ah ! my wife, I see that
the kcekebakken are as good as when you made
them for me the first time."

In gratitude for these kindly words a big juicy
pancake, round as a quoit, fell on to his plate.
" The sun shines on my plate just as I see it
shine on the water from the bridge," he cried
out.

More batter was quickly poured into the fry-
ing-pan, the butter bubbled, the fire roared, and
round pancakes fell on the table as plentiful as
tench.
9

I3O SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

" Now it 's my turn, mother," cried Dolf, when
the bowl was almost empty.

Nelle sat down near Tobias and ate the two
pancakes which she had kept for herself, because
they were not quite so perfect as the others.
Dolf poured the batter into the frying-pan, but
not in a ring, as Nelle did, for his idea was to
make a mannikin such as are to be seen in the
bakers' shop windows on the eve of St. Nicholas.
The body and head were soon visible ; then
came the arms and legs. Dolf, leaning over his
work, carefully guided the spoon, for fear of
pouring the mixture too quickly or too slowly.
Suddenly he uttered a proud cry and slid the
absurd figure on to Riekje's plate, but no sooner
did it touch the earthenware than it broke in two,
and ran into an indistinguishable mass. He
tried again and again, until the mannikin could
stand on its legs. Then he gave him a slice
of apple for a head, to make him look more
natural.

" My lad," Tobias said to his son, " in the cor-
ner among the shavings you will find an old
bottle of schiedam which I brought from Hol-
land, along with three others ; they have been
drunk, there is only this one left. Bring it
here."

Dolf obeyed, and Nelle took out some small
glasses. Tobias uncorked the bottle, and filled
two of them, one for himself and one for Dolf.

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 13!

Anyone could see that it was good old schicdam,
for Tobias and his son nodded their heads and
smacked their lips with pleasure.

" Ah ! my daughter," said Nelle, " it will be a
happy day for us all in two years' time, when a
little sabot stands in the hearth filled with carrots
and turnips."

" Yes, Riekje, it will be a happy day for us all,"
said Dolf, closing his big hands over hers.

Riekje raised her eyes, in which stood a tear,
and said softly :

" Dolf, it 's a good heart you have."

He sat down beside her and threw his arm
round her waist :

" I am neither good nor bad, my Riekje, but I
love you with all my heart."

Riekje kissed him.

" Dolf dear, when I think of the past I hardly
know how I can still care for life."

" The past is past, my beloved Riekje," replied
Dolf.

" Ah ! Dolf, dear Dolf, there are times when I
think it would almost be better to be up there
now, so that I might tell the good Virgin all you
have done for me."

" Riekje, I am sad when you are sad : you do
not wish to make me unhappy about you this
evening ? "

" No, Dolf dear, I would give my life to save
you one moment's pain."

132 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

" Then show me your beautiful white teeth,
Riekje, and turn round and smile at me."

" As you will, my Dolf, for all my joys and
sorrows are yours. I have only you in the
world."

" Since that is so, Riekje, I wish to be every-
thing to you ; your father, your husband, and your
child. Tell me, Riekje, I am your baby, am I
not? There will be two of us to love our
mother."

Riekje took Dolf's head in her hands, and
kissed his cheeks ; she paused from time to time
as one pauses when drinking sweet liqueur to
enjoy the flavor, and then drinks again. Then
she put her lips to his ear and whispered :

" Dolf, my darling Dolf, will you love it ? "

Dolf raised his hand solemnly.

"I call God to witness, Riekje, I shall love
it as if it were my own flesh and blood."

" Our lad has been lucky," said Nelle to her
husband. " Riekje is a dear lass. She brought
joy with her when she entered our house,
Tobias."

" We are very poor, Nelle," he replied, " but
old parents like ourselves can have no greater
happiness than to see their children sitting round
their fire in love with one another."

"They love one another as we loved, Tobias."

" You were then a pretty, fresh girl from
Deurne, Nelle, with cheeks as red as a cherry and

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 133

a nose like a pretty little seashell. When you
went to church on Sunday with your fine winged
cape and your big metal star, which all young
girls wear, every man turned to look at you."

" But I did not look at them, for Tobias was
my sweetheart ; a fine lad he was, with black
hair and a pointed beard, a green velvet jacket,
bright eyes and big brown cheeks."

" Ah ! Nelle, how happy we were in those days
when we could clasp hands behind a hedge, and
sometimes, too, I stole a kiss when your head
was turned away."

" That 's true, Tobias, but afterwards, I did
not turn my head away and you kissed me all
the same."

" There is no greater happiness on earth, my
Dolf," said Riekje, " than to grow old loving one
another; the years don't then gloom as life
lengthens, and when one dies, the other soon
follows."

" It is so, Riekje. If my old father dies first,
I shall say to the gravedigger, 'Dig a big hole,
sexton, for my mother will lie there too.' "

" Ah ! heart of me ! " cried Riekje, clasping
her husband in her arms, " I shall say the same
thing to the sexton if you die first, my Dolf."

The fire roared in the stove, and the candles,
which were nearly burned down, gave a flickering
light. Nelle had forgotten to snuff the wicks
and the thieves which fell into the tallow made

134 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

it drop in big yellow tears. In the ruddy light,
which widened in circles like water where a stone
has fallen, the little narrow cabin seemed a
paradise because of the happy hearts which were
in it.

The rough head of the old man, with his prom-
inent cheek-bones, his gray beard, his shaven
lips, and ears pierced with gold rings, stood out
the color of smoked salmon, against the brown
wall. Near him sat Nelle. Her back was turned
to the candles, and now and again, when she
moved her head, a bright light caught her brow,
the gold rings sparkled in her ears, the tip of her
nose shone, and the wings of her cap stood out in
the shadow like the wings of a bird. She wore
a coarse woollen skirt, over which hung the full
basque of her flowered jacket, but as Tobias' arm
was round her waist the stiff pleats were not in
such perfect order as usual.

Riekje and Dolf sat hand in hand on the other
side of the room ; they had drawn as idea little
that they might look at one another unbeknown
to the others, and their faces were close together.
When they moved, the candlelight struck Dolf's
shaven chin, Riekje's red lips, their necks or
their pierced ears, as the sun strikes the belly
of a fish below the water. Kettles, saucepans,
and pots shone on the shelves and the shadows
in the corners were soft as velvet.

" What is the matter, Riekje ? " cried Dolf sud-

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 135

denly, "you are as white as those plates in the
cupboard, and your eyes are closed. My Riekje,
what is the matter with you ? "

" Ah ! Dolf," replied Riekje, " if it were to
happen to-day! I have been in pain all the
afternoon, and now I feel worse. My child ! If
I die, you will love it, Dolf, dear ? "

" Mother ! Mother ! " cried Dolf, " I am sick
at heart."

Then he hid his face in his big hands and be-
gan to sob, without knowing the reason.

" Come, Dolf, be brave," said Tobias, tapping
him on the shoulder. " We have all gone through
this ! "

" Riekje, Riekje, my heart ! " said Nelle in
tears, " no greater happiness could come to us
on Saint Nicholas day. Poor folk rejoice more
over a child that is born to them, than over all
the treasures in the world, but the child whom
God sends on Easter Day or St. Nicholas day is
above all welcome."

" Dolf, you can run better than I can," said
Tobias. " Run and fetch Madame Puzzel ; we
will look after Riekje."

Then Dolf pressed Riekje once more to his
heart, and ran up the ladder. The plank which
connected the boat with the shore shook as he
crossed it.

" He is already a long way off," said Tobias.

136 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

III.

THE night hung over the town like a great
bird, but it had snowed on the preceding days,
and through the darkness Dolf could see the
blanched face of the earth, white as the face of
the dead. He ran full speed along the river
bank as one pursued by the tide, though, even
then, his footfall was not so rapid as the beating
of his heart. The distant lights through the fog
seemed to him like a procession of taper-bearers
at a funeral ; he did not know how this idea arose,
but it terrified him, for behind it again he saw
death. Then he came upon silent figures hasten-
ing mysteriously along.

" Doubtless, they have been suddenly called
to the bedside of the dying," he muttered.

It was now he remembered that it is customary
in Flanders on that night to replace the hay,
carrots, and turnips which the little ones put on
the hearth to feed Saint Nicholas' ass, by big
dolls, wooden horses, musical instruments, violins,
or simply by mannikins in spikelaus, according as
each can afford.

" Ah," he said to himself, comforted, " they
are fathers and mothers going to the shops."
But now the gloomy lights which resembled the
taper-bearers seemed to be chasing one another
along the quays ; their little flames ran in every
direction, crossed one another, and looked like

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 137

big fireflies. " I must see double," he said, " the
fireflies can be in my brain only."

Suddenly he heard voices, calling, crying out,
lamenting.

Torches moved to and fro on the river bank,
their red tongues of flame blown by the wind
amid clouds of smoke. In the uncertain light he
could at last distinguish figures rushing about,
others leaning over the river, black as well.
This explained everything : the lamps had not
moved, but he had been misled by the flitting
torches.

" Let us fetch Dolf Jeffers," cried two men.
" No one else will be able to do it."

" Here is Dolf Jeffers," cried the good fellow
at that moment, " what do you want ? "

He recognized the men ; they were his friends,
his fellow-workers, boatmen, like himself. All
surrounded him, gesticulating. An old man,
wizened as a dried plaice, tapped him on the
shoulder, and said :

" Dolf, for God's sake ! A fellow-creature is
being drowned. Help ! Perhaps it 's already
too late. Strip off your clothes, Dolf."

Dolf looked at the water, the lanterns, the
night above him, and the men who urged him on.

" Comrades," he cried, " before God, I can-
not. Riekje is in labor and my life is not my
own."

" Dolf ! Help ! " cried the old man again, as

13 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

with trembling hands he pointed to his dripping
clothes. " I have three children, Dolf, yet I
have been in twice. I have no strength left."

Dolf turned to the pale faces which stood in a
circle round him.

" Cowards," he cried. " Is there not one
among you who will save a drowning man ?"

The greater number bent their heads and
shrugged their shoulders, feeling that they had
deserved the reproach.

" Dolf," the old man cried, " as sure 's death 's
death, I shall try again, if you do not go."

" God ! God ! There he is ! " cried the men
at that moment, who were moving the torches
over the water. "We saw his head and feet.
Help ! "

Dolf threw off his coat and said to the boat-
men coldly : " I will go."

Then he spoke again : " One of you run to
Madame Puzzel and take her back to the Gul-
denvisch at once."

He made the sign of the cross and muttered
between his teeth : " Jesus Christ, who died
on the cross to save sinners, have mercy on
me."

He went down the bank, with bared breast,
and the crowd who followed him trembled for
his life. He looked for a moment at the traitor-
ous river, on which the torches dripped tears of
blood, as if he saw death before him. The flood

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 1 39

gurgled, as when a great fish strikes the water
with its tail.

" There he is," the same voices cried.

Then the abyss was opened.

" Riekje ! " cried Dolf.

The cold river closed about him like a prison.
Increasing circles were all that ruffled that black
surface, which seemed blacker than ever by the
light of the torches.

Absolute silence reigned among the men who
looked on from the bank. Some stood up to
their waist in water, feeling about with long poles ;
others unfastened ropes, which they sent adrift ;
three men slipped into a boat and rowed noise-
lessly, moving their lanterns carefully over the
surface of the water. Beneath all was the gentle
murmur of the cruel Scheldt as, lapping the
banks, it flowed eternally onward.

Twice Dolf came to the surface and twice he
disappeared again. They could see his arms
move and his face seemed paler in the darkness.
Once more he clove the icy gulf and plunged still
deeper. Suddenly his legs became motionless,
as if entangled in the treacherous sea-weed by
the spiteful water-spirits. The drowning man
had seized him, and Dolf realized that if he could
not get free, both would be lost. His limbs were
more tightly pressed than in a vice. Then there
was a terrible struggle, and the men both sank to
the mud of the river-bed. In the drowning

I4O SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

darkness they fought, bit, tore one another, like
mortal enemies. Dolf at last gained the upper
hand ; the paralyzing arms ceased to strangle
him, and he felt an inert mass floating upon him.
A terrible lassitude as of a sleep overcame him,
his head fell forward, the water entered his mouth.
But the light of the torches penetrated the dark
water ; he gathered up his strength and dragged
after him the prey which he had robbed from the
hungry eels. Then at last he breathed pure air
again.

With that there was a great outburst from the
bank.

" Courage, Dolf," cried the breathless crowd,
stretching out over the river. One or two boat-
men had piled some wood and set light to it.
The flames rose spirally and lit up the sky for
some distance.

" This way, Dolf ! Courage, Dolf ! A brave
heart, courage ! " yelled the crowd.

Dolf was just about to reach the bank : he
parted the water with all his remaining strength
and pushed the limp body before him. The red
light from the wood-fire spread over his hands
and face like burning oil, and suddenly it caught
the face of the drowning man, by his side.

No sooner did he see that pale face than, utter-
ing a cry of rage, he pushed it to the bottom of
the water. He had recognized the man who had
dishonored Riekje. Dolf, a right loyal fellow,

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 141

had had pity on the poor lonely fisher lass and
had made her his wife before God and man. He
pushed him from him, but the drowning man, who
felt the water close once more about him, clung
to his saviour with an iron grasp. Then both
disappeared in the darkness of death.

Dolf heard a voice say within himself :

" Die, Jacques Karnavash ; there is not room
in the world for you and Riekje's child."

To this another voice replied :

"Live, Jacques Karnavash, for it would be
better to strike your mother dead."

IV.

"THERE 's Dolf bringing Madame Puzzel back
with him," said Nelle, after about an hour.

The gangway swung under the weight of two
people and sabots sounded on the bridge, while
a voice cried :

" Tobias ! Tobias ! get the lantern and light
Madame Puzzel."

Tobias took one of the candles and carefully
sheltered it with his hand as he opened the
door.

" This way," he cried, holding it ajar. "This
way ! "

The midwife stepped down the ladder, and a
man followed her.

" Ah ! Madame Puzzel, Riekje will be pleased

142 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

to see you. Come in," said Tobias. "Good-
evening, lad. Oh ! it 's Lucas."

"Good evening, Tobias," said the young man.
" Dolf has stayed behind with his comrades, so
I brought Madame Puzzel."

" Come and have a drink, my son, then you
can go back to Dolf."

Nelle now came forward.

" Good-evening, Madame Puzzel, how are
you ? Here is a chair. Sit down and warm
yourself."

" Good-evening to you all," replied the fat
little old woman. "So we are going to have
christening sugar on board the Guldenvisch this
evening. It's your first, is it not, Riekje?
Come, Nelle, make me some coffee and give me
some supper."

" Riekje," said the young boatman, " I brought
Madame Puzzel because Dolf was dragged off
by his comrades. He must not see you suffer.
It is better not, so the others have carried him
off to have a drink to give him courage."

" I shall be braver, too, if he is not here," re-
plied Riekje, raising her eyes full of tears.

"Yes," said Nelle, in her turn, " it 's better for
every one that Dolf should not be here."

Tobias then poured out a glass of gin and gave
it to the man, saying :

"There's something for your trouble, Lucas.
When you have drunk that, your legs will lengthen

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 143

like a pair of oars, and you '11 get back to your
friends in no time."

Lucas drank it off at two gulps. As he drank
the first he said to the company :
" Here's to every one's health."
He drank the second, saying to himself :
" To Dolf's health, if he is still alive."
Then he said good-evening. As the lad left
the cabin, the kettle was singing on the fire and
there was a good smell of coffee in the room, for
Nelle with the mill on her lap was crushing the
black berries, which snapped cheerily.

Madame Puzzel had unfastened the metal
clasp of her big black-hooded cloak and taken
her spectacle case and knitting from her basket.
She put on her spectacles, took up her knitting,
sat down by the fire and began to knit. She
wore a woollen flowered jacket under a black
shawl, and a skirt of linsey-woolsey. From time
to time she looked over her spectacles without
raising her head and glanced at Riekje walking
up and down the room groaning. When the pain
became worse, Madame Puzzel tapped her on the
cheek, and said :

"Be brave, Riekje. You cannot think what a
joy it is to hear the little one cry for the first
time. It is like eating vanilla cream in Paradise
listening to beautiful violin music."

Tobias, having put back the big chest which
served as a bed against the wall, went to fetch

144 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

two sea-weed mattresses from his own bed, and,
as he laid them on the chest, there was a healthy
salt smell in the room. Then Nelle covered the
mattresses with spotless coarse linen sheets, and
smoothed them with the palm of her hand to
take out the creases and make it as soft as a
feather-bed. Towards midnight, Madame Puzzel
folded up her knitting, placed her spectacles on
the table, crossed her arms and looked into the
fire ; then she began to prepare the linen, made
a hole in the pillows and looked at the time
by the big silver watch which she wore under
her jacket. Finally, she yawned six consecu-
tive times and went to sleep with one eye
open.

Riekje wrung her hands and cried out :

" Mamce Puzzel ! Mama Puzzel ! "

" Mama Puzzel can do nothing for you,
Riekje," replied the midwife. "You must be
patient."

Within the room, the kettle sang on the fire ;
without, the water lapped against the boat.
Voices died away along the banks, and doors
were shut.

" It is midnight," said Tobias, " those are the
people leaving the inn."

11 Ah ! Dolf ! dear Dolf ! " cried Riekje, each
time. " Why does he not come back ? "

" I see the lamps in the houses and boats
being put out one by one. Dolf will be in di-

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 145

rectly," said Nelle to quiet her. But Dolf did
not return.

Two hours after midnight Riekje was in such
pain that she had to go to bed. Madame Puzzel
sat beside her and Nelle told her beads. Two
hours passed thus.

" Dolf ! Dolf ! " Riekje cried incessantly.
" Why does he stay away so long when his
Riekje is dying ? "

Tobias went up the ladder now and again to see
if Dolf were not coming back. The little port-
hole of the Guldenvisch reflected its red light
on the dark water; there was no other window
alight in the town. In the distance a church
clock rang out the quarters, the chimes falling
through the night like a flight of birds escaped
from a cage. Tobias listened to the notes of the
music which spoke of the son whom he awaited.
Gradually the lights were relit one after another
in the houses, and lamps twinkled like stars
along the water's edge. A fresh cold dawn broke
over the town. Then a little child began to cry
in the boat, and it seemed to those who heard it
sweet as the bleating of a lambkin.

" Riekje ! Riekje ! "

A distant voice called Riekje. It was Dolf
who sprang over the bridge and rushed into the
room. Riekje, who was asleep, opened her eyes
and saw her loving lad kneeling beside her.
Tobias threw his cap up in the air, and Nelle,

10

146 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

laughing, pinched the face of the new-born babe
whom Madame Puzzel swaddled on her knee.
When the baby was well wrapped up, Madame
Puzzel placed it in Dolf's arms and he kissed it
cautiously with little smacks.

Reikje called Dolf to her side, took his head
in her hand, and fell asleep until morning. Dolf
put his head beside her on the pillow, and their
breath and their hearts were as one during that
sleep.

V.

DOLF went off into the town one morning.

Funeral bells were tolling, and their knell
echoed through the air like the hoarse cry of gulls
and petrels above the shipwrecked.

A long procession disappeared through the
church porch, and the altar draped in black shone
with its many wax lights, which glistened as the
tears in a widow's eyes.

" Who has died in the town ? " Dolf asked of
an old beggar sitting at the threshold of the
church, his chin on his knees. " The son of a
rich family, a man of property, Jacques Karna-
vash. Give a trifle for the repose of his soul."

Dolf took off his hat and entered the church.

He hid himself behind a pillar and saw the
silver-nailed coffin disappear beneath the black
catafalque.

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE. 147

" Lord God," he said, " may Thy will be done.
Forgive him as I have forgiven him."

When the crowd made their taper-offering, he
took a wax light from the chorister and followed
those- who walked round the branch candlesticks
mighty as trees, which burned at the four corners
of the pall.

Then he knelt down in the dark corner, far
from the men and women who had come out of
respect for the dead, and these words were
mingled with his prayer :

" God, Father of men, forgive me also ; I saved
this man from drowning, but my courage failed
when I first saw that it was my Riekje's seducer,
and I desired vengeance. Then I pushed from
me the man who had a mother, and whom I was
to restore to that mother ; I thrust him back
under the water, before I saved him. Forgive
me, O Lord, and if I must be punished for this,
punish me only."

Then he left the church and thought deep
down in his heart :

" Now there is no one living who can say that
Riekje's child is not my child."

" Hey ! Dolf," voices called to him from the
quay.

He recognized those who had seen him bring
Jacques Karnavash to the bank.

Their rude hearts had trembled for him like
women's hearts ; they had clung to him and said :

148 SAINT NICHOLAS EVE.

" Dolf, you are worth all of us put together."

Suddenly he had fallen on the pavement, but
they had carried him near the kitchen fire of an
inn, had revived him with gin and looked after
him until he felt strong enough to run back to his
beloved Riekje.

" Dolf," they now cried.

And when Dolf turned, the old boatman clasped
him in his arms and said :

" My dear son, I love you as if you were my
own flesh and blood."

The others pressed his hand heartily, saying :

" Dolf, we shall at least have known one really
brave fellow before we die."

" As for me, comrades," said Dolf, laughing,
" I shall not die before I drink a glass with you
to the health of the fine little chap Riekje gave
me the other night."

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA

BY

MAURICE JOKAI

From "In Love with the Czarina and other Stories."

Translated by Louis Fdbermann. Published by

Frederick Warne & Co.

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA

BY MAURICE JOKAI

IN the time of the Czar Peter III. a secret so-
ciety existed at St. Petersburg which bore
the title of " The Nameless." Its members used
to assemble in the house of a Russian nobleman,
Jelagin by name, who alone knew the personality
of each visitor, they being, for the most part,
unknown to one another. Distinguished men,
princes, ladies of the court, officers of the Guard,
Cossack soldiers, ypung commercial men, mu-
sicians, street-singers, actors and actresses, scien-
tific men, clergymen and statesmen, used to meet
here. Beauty and talent were alone qualifica-
tions for entry into the Society, the members of
which were selected by Jelagin. Every one ad-
dressed the other as " thee " and " thou," and
they only made use of Christian names such as
Anne, Alexandra, Katharine, Olga, Peter, Alexis,
and Ivan. And for what purpose did they as-
semble here? To amuse themselves at their
ease. Those who, by the prejudices of caste
and rank, were utterly severed, and who occu-

152 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

pied the mutual position of master and slave,
tore the chains of their barriers asunder, and all
met here. It is quite possible that he with
whom the grenadier-private is now playing chess
is the very same general who might order him a
hundred lashes to-morrow, should he take a step
on parade without his command ! And now he
contends with him to make a queen out of a
pawn !

It is also probable that the pretty woman who is
singing sportive French songs to the accompani-
ment of the instrument she strikes with her left
hand is one of the Court ladies of the Czarina,
who, as a rule, throws half-roubles out of her
carriage to the street-musicians ! Perhaps she
is a Princess ? possibly the wife of the Lord
Chamberlain ? or even higher in grade than this ?
Russian society, both high and low, flower and
root, met in Jelagin's castle, and while there en-
joyed equality in the widest sense of the word.
Strange phenomenon ! That this should take
place in Russia, where so much is thought of
aristocratic rank, official garb, and exterior pomp ;
where an inferior is bound to dismount from his
horse upon meeting a superior, where sub-officers
take off their coats in token of salute when they
meet those of higher rank, and where generals
kiss the priest's hands and the highest aristocrats
fall on their faces before the Czar ! Here they
sing and dance and joke together, make fun of

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 153

the Government, and tell anecdotes of the High
Priests, utterly fearless, and dispensing with salu-
tations !

Can this be done for love of novelty ? The
existence of this secret society was repeatedly
divulged to the police, and these cannot be re-
proached for not having taken the necessary
steps to denounce it ; but proceedings once be-
gun usually evaporated into thin air, and led to
no results. The investigating officer either never
discovered suspicious facts, or, if he did, matters
were adjourned. Those who were arrested in
connection with the affair were in some way set
at liberty in peace and quietness ; every docu-
ment relating to the matter was either burned
or vanished, and whole sealed cases of writ-
ings were turned into plain white paper. When
an influential officer took energetically in hand
the prosecution of " The Nameless," he was
generally sent to a foreign country on an im-
portant mission, from which he did not return
for a considerable period. " The Nameless
Society" must have had very powerful protect-
ors. At the conclusion of one of these free and
easy entertainments, a young Cossack hetman
remained behind the crowd of departing guests,
and when quite alone with the host he said to
him :

" Jelagin, did you see the pretty woman with
whom I danced the mazurka to-night ? "

154 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

u Yes, I saw her. Are you smitten with her,
as others have been ? "

" That woman I must make my wife."

Jelagin gave the Cossack a blow on the shoul-
der and looked into his eyes.

" That you will not do ! You will not take her
as your wife, friend Jemeljan."

" I shall marry her — I have resolved to do
so."

" You will not marry her, for she will not go
to you."

" If she does not come I will carry her off
against her will."

** You can't marry her, because she has a
husband."

" If she has a husband I will carry her off in
company with him ! "

" You can't carry her off, for she lives in a
palace — she is guarded by many soldiers, and
accompanied in her carriage by many out-
riders."

" I will take her away with her palace, her
soldiers, and her carriage. I swear it by St.
Gregory ! "

Jelagin laughed mockingly.

" Good Jemeljan, go home and sleep out your
love — that pretty woman is the Czarina ! "

The hetman became pale for a moment, his
breath stopped ; but the next instant, with spark-
ling eyes, he said to Jelagin :

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 1 55

"In spite of this, what I have said I have
said."

Jelagin showed the door to his guest. But,
improbable as it may seem, Jemeljan was really
not intoxicated, unless it were with the eyes of
the pretty woman.

A few years elapsed. The Society of " The
Nameless " was dissolved, or changed into one
of another form. Katharine had her husband,
the Czar, killed, and wore the crown herself.
Many people said she had him killed, others
took her part. It was urged that she knew what
was going to happen, but could not prevent it —
that she was compelled to act as she did. and to
affect, after a great struggle with her generous
heart, complete ignorance of poison being ad-
ministered to her husband. It was said that she
had acted rightly, and that the Czar's fate was a
just one, for he was a wicked man ; and finally, it
was asserted that the whole statement was untrue,
and that no one had killed Czar Peter,, who died
from intense inflammation of the stomach. He
drank too much brandy. The immortal Voltaire
is responsible for this last assertion. Whatever
may have happened, Czar Peter was buried, and
the Czarina Katharine now saw that her late hus-
band belonged to those dead who do not sleep
quietly. They rise — rise from their graves — •
stretch out their hands from their shrouds, and
touch with them those who have forgotten them.

156 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

They turn over in their last resting-place, and
the whole earth seems to tremble under the feet
of those who walk above them !

Amongst the numerous contradictory stories
told, one difficult to believe, but which the peo-
ple gladly credited, and which caused much
bloodshed before it was wiped out of their mem-
ory, was this — that Czar Peter died neither by
his own hand, nor by the hands of others, but
that he still lived. It was said that a common
soldier, with pock-marked face resembling the
Czar, was shown in his stead to the public on
the death-couch at St. Petersburg, and that the
Czar himself had escaped from prison in sol-
dier's clothes, and would return to retake his
throne, to vanquish his wife, and behead his ene-
mies ! Five Czar pretenders rose one after the
other in the wastes of the Russian domains.
One followed the other with the motto, "Re-
venge on the faithless ! " The usurpers con-
quered sometimes a northern, sometimes a south-
ern province, collected forces, captured towns,
drove out all officials, and put new ones in their
places, so that it was necessary to send forces
against them. If one was subjugated and driven
away into the ice deserts, or captured and hung
on the next tree, another Czar Peter would rise
up in his place and cause rebellion, alarming
the Court circle whilst they were enjoying them-
selves ; and so things went on continually and

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 157

continually. The murdered husband remained
unburied, for to-day he might be put in the earth
and to-morrow he would rise again one hundred
miles off, and exclaim, " I still live ! " He might
be killed there, but would pop out his head
again from the earth, saying, " Still I live." He
had a hundred lives ! When five of these Peter
pretenders went the way of the real Czar a sixth
rose, and this one was the most dreaded and
most daring of all, whose name will perpetually
be inscribed in the chronicles of the Russian
people as a dreadful example to all who will not
be taught wisdom, and his name is Jemeljan
Pugasceff ! He was born as an ordinary Cos-
sack in the Don province, and took part in the
Prussian campaign, at first as a paid soldier of
Prussia, later as an adherent of the Czar. At
the bombardment of Bender he had become a
Cossack hetman. His extraordinary physical
strength, his natural common sense and inventive
power, had distinguished him even at this time,
but the peace which was concluded barred be-
fore him the gate of progress. He was sent
with many discharged officers back to the Don.
Let them go again and look after their field
labors ! PugascefFs head, however, was full of
other ideas than that of again commencing
cheese-making, from which occupation he had
been called ten years before. He hated the
Czarina, and adored her ! He hated the proud

158 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

woman who had no right to tread upon the neck
of the Russians, and he adored the beautiful
woman who possessed the right to tread upon
every Russian's heart ! He became possessed
with the mad idea that he would tear down that
woman from her throne, and take her afterwards
into his arms. He had his plans prepared for
this. He went along the Volga, where the Ros-
kolniks live — they who oppose the Russian re-
ligion, and who were the adherents of the perse-
cuted fanatics whose fathers and grandfathers
had been continually extirpated by means of
hanging, either on trees or scaffolds, and this
only for the sole reason that they crossed them-
selves downwards, and not upwards, as they do
in Moscow !

The Roskolniks were always ready to plot if
they had any pretence and could get a leader.
Pugasceff wanted to commence his scheme with
these, but he was soon betrayed, and fell into
the hands of the police and was carried into a
Kasan prison and put into chains. He might
thus go on dreaming ! Pugasceff dreamed one
night that he burst the iron chains from his legs,
cut through the wall of the prison, jumped down
from the inclosure, swam through the surround-
ing trench whose depth was filled with sharp
spikes, and that he made his way towards the
uninhabited plains of the Ural Sorodok, without
a crust of bread or a decent stitch of clothing !

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 159

The Jakics Cossacks are the only inhabitants of
the plains of Uralszk — the most dreaded tribe in
Russia — living in one of those border countries
only painted in outline on the map, and a people
with whom no other on the plains form acquaint-
anceship. They change locality from year to
year. One winter a Cossack band will pay a
visit to the land of the Kirghese, and burn down
their wooden huts ; next year a Kirgizian band
will render the same service to the Cossacks !
Fighting is pleasanter work in the winter. In
the summer every one lives under the sky, and
there are no houses to be destroyed ! This
people belong to the Roskolnik sect. Just a
little while previously they had amused them-
selves by slaughtering the Russian Commis-
sioner-General Traubenberg, with his suite, who
came there to regulate how far they might be
allowed to fish in the river Jaik, and with this
act they thought they had clearly proved that
the Government had nothing to do with their
pike ! Pugasceff had just taken refuge amongst
them at the time when they were* dividing the
arms of the Russian soldiers, and were scheming
as to what they should further do. One lovely
autumn night the escaped convict, after a great
deal of wandering in the miserable valley of
Jeremina Kuriza, situated in the wildest part of
the Ural Mountains, and in its yet more miser-
able town, Jaiczkoi, knocked at the door of the

l6o IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

first Cossack habitation he saw and said that he
was a refugee. He was received with an open
heart, and got plenty of kind words and a little
bread. The house-owner was himself poor ; the
Kirgizians had driven away his sheep. One of
his sons, a priest of the Roskolnik persuasion,
had been carried away from him into a lead-
mine ; the second had been taken to serve as a
soldier, and had died ; the third was hung be-
cause he had been involved in a revolt. Old
Kocsenikoff remained at home without sons or
family. Pugasceff listened to the grievances of
his host, and said :

"These can be remedied."

" Who can raise for me my dead sons ? " said
the old man bitterly.

" The one who rose himself in order to kill."

" Who can that be ? "

" The Czar."

" The murdered Czar ? " asked the old soldier,
with astonishment.

" He has been killed six times, and yet he lives.
On my way here, whenever I met with people,
they all asked me, ' Is it true that the Czar is not
dead yet, and that he has escaped from prison ? '
I replied to them, ' It is true. He has found his
way here, and ere long he will make his appear-
ance before you.' "

" You say this, but how can the Czar get
here ? "

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. l6l

" He is already here."

" Where is he ? "

« I am he ! "

" Very well — very well," replied the old Ros-
kolnik. " I understand what you want with me.
I shall be on the spot if you wish it. All is the
same to me as long as I have any one to lead me.
But who will believe that you are the Czar ?
Hundreds and hundreds have seen him face to
face. Everybody knows that the visage of the
Czar was dreadfully pockmarked, whilst yours is
smooth."

" We can remedy that. Has not some one
lately died of black-pox in this district ? "

" Every day this happens. Two days ago my
last laborer died."

" Well, I shall lay in his bed, and I shall rise
from it like Czar Peter."

He did what he said. He lay in the infected
bed. Two days later he got the black-pox, and
six weeks afterwards he rose with the same wan
face as one had seen on the unfortunate Czar.

Kocsenikoff saw that a man who could play so
recklessly with his life did not come here to idle
away his time. This is a country where, out of
ten men, nine have stored away some revenge of
their own, for a future time. Amongst the first
ten people to whom Kocsenikoff communicated
his scheme, he found nine who were ready to
assist in the daring undertaking, even at the cost
ii

1 62 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

of their lives ; but the tenth was a traitor. He
disclosed the desperate plot to Colonel Simonoff,
the commander of Jaiczkoi, and the commander
immediately arrested Kocsenikoff; but Pugasceff
escaped on the horse which had been sent out
with the Cossack who came to arrest him, and
he even carried off the Cossack himself ! He
jumped into the saddle, patted and spurred the
horse, and made his way into the forest.

History records for the benefit of future gen-
erations the name of the Cossack whom Puga-
sceff carried away with his horse : Csika was the
name of this timid individual ! This happened
on September 15. Two days afterwards Puga-
sceff came back from the forest to the outskirts
of the town Jaiczkoi. Then he had his horse, a
scarlet fur-trimmed jacket, and three hundred
brave horsemen. As he approached the town
he had trumpets blown, and demanded that Col-
onel Simonoff should surrender and should come
and kiss the hand of his rightful master, Czar
Peter III. ! Simonoff came with 5,000 horsemen
and 800 Russian regular troops against the rebel,
and Pugasceff was in one moment surrounded.
At this instant he took a loosely sealed letter
from his breast and read out his proclamation in
a ringing voice to the opposing troops, in which
he appealed to the faithful Cossacks of Peter
III. to help him to regain his throne and to aid
him to drive away usurpers, threatening with

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 163

death those traitors who should oppose his com-
mand. On hearing this the Cossack troops ap-
peared startled, and the exclamation went from
mouth to mouth, "The Czar lives ! This is the
Czar ! " The officers tried to quiet the soldiers,
but in vain. They commenced to fight amongst
themselves, and the uproar lasted till late at
night, with the result that it was not Simonoff
who captured Pugasceff, but the latter who cap-
tured eleven of his officers ; and when he re-
treated from the field his three hundred men had
increased to eight hundred. It was a matter of
great difficulty to the Colonel to lead back the
rest into the town. Pugasceff set up his camp
outside in the garden of a Russian nobleman,
and on his trees he hung up the eleven officers.
His opponent was so much alarmed that he did
not dare to attack him, but lay wait for him in
the trenches, at the mouth of the cannon. Our
daring friend was not quite such a lunatic as to
go and meet him. He required greater success,
more decisive battles, and more guns. He
started against the small towns which the Gov-
ernment had built along the Jaik. The Roskol-
niks received the pseudo-Czar with wild enthu-
siasm. They believed that he had risen from
the dead to humiliate the power of the Moscow
priests, and that he intended to adopt, instead of
the Court religion, that which had been perse-
cuted. On the third day 1500 men accompanied

164 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

him to battle. The stronghold of Ileczka was the
first halting-place he made. It is situated about
seventy versts from Jaiczkoi. He was welcomed
with open gates and with acclamation, and the
guard of the place went over to his side. Here
he found guns and powder, and with these he
was able to continue his campaign. Next fol-
lowed the stronghold of Kazizna. This did not
surrender of its own accord, but commenced
heroically to defend itself, and Pugasceff was
compelled to bombard it. In the heat of the
siege the rebel Cossacks shouted out to those in
the fort, and they actually turned their guns upon
their own patrols. All who opposed them were
strung up, and the Colonel was taken a prisoner
to Pugasceff, who showed no mercy to any one
who wore his hair long, which was the fashion
at the time amongst the Russian officers, and for
this reason the pseudo-Czar hung every officer
who fell into his hands. Now, provided with
guns, he made his way towards the fort of Nis-
naja Osfernaja, which he also captured after a
short attack. Those whom he did not kill joined
him. Now he led 4,000 men, and therefore he
could dare attack the stronghold of Talitseva,
which was defended by two heroes, Bilof and
Jelagin. The Russian authorities took up a firm
position in face of the fanatical rebels, and they
would have repulsed Pugasceff, if the hay stores
in the fort had not been burned down. This fire

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 165

gave assistance to the rebels. Bilof and Jelagin
were driven out of the fort-gates, and were forced
out into the plains, where they were slaughtered.
When the pseudo-Czar captured the fort of Nis-
naja Osfernaja, a marvellously beautiful woman
came to him in the market-place and threw her-
self at his feet. " Mercy, my master ! " The
woman was very lovely, and was quite in the
power of the conqueror. Her tears and excite-
ment made her still more enchanting.
" For whom do you want pardon ? "
" For my husband, who is wounded in fighting
against you."

" What is the name of your husband ? "
" Captain Chalof, who commanded this fort."
A noble-hearted hero no doubt would have set
at liberty both husband and wife, let them be
happy, and love one another. A base man would
have hung the husband and kept the wife. Pu-
gasceff killed them both ! He knew very well
that there were still many living who remembered
that Czar Peter III. was not a man who found
pleasure in women's love, and he remained true
to his adopted character even in its worst ex-
tremes.

The rebels appeared to have wings. After the
capture of Talicseva followed that of Csernojecs-
inszkaja, where the commander took flight on the
approach of the rebel leader, and entrusted the
defence of the fort to Captain Nilsajeff, who sur-

l66 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

rendered without firing a shot. Pugasceff, with-
out saying "Thank you," had him hanged. He
did not believe in officers who went over to the
enemy. He only kept the common soldiers, and
he had their hair cut short, so that in the event
of their escaping he should know them again !
Next morning the last stronghold in the country,
Precsisztenszka, situated in the vicinity of the
capital, Orenburg, surrendered to the rebels, and
in the evening the mock Czar stood before the
walls of Orenburg with thirty cannon and a well-
equipped army ! All this happened in fifteen
days.

Since the moment when he carried off the
Cossack who had been sent to capture him, and
met Kocsenikoff, he had occupied six forts, en-
tirely annihilated a regiment, and created an-
other, with which he now besieged the capital of
the province.

The towns of the Russian Empire are divided
by great distances, and before things were de-
cided at St. Petersburg, Marquis Pugasceff might
almost have occupied half the country. It was
Katharine herself who nicknamed Pugasceff
Marquis, and she laughed very heartily and often
in the Court circles about her extraordinary hus-
band, who was preparing to reconquer his wife,
the Czarina. The nuptial bed awaited him — it
was the scaffold !

On the news of Pugasceff's approach, Reins-

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 167

burg, the Governor of Orenburg, sent, under the
command of Colonel Bilof, a portion of his troops
to attack the rebel. Bilof started on the chase,
but he shared the fate of many lion-hunters.
The pursued animal ate him up, and of his en-
tire force not one man returned to Orenburg.
Instead of this, Pugasceff's forces appeared be-
fore its gates.

Reinsburg did not wish to await the bombard-
ment, and he sent his most trusted regiment,
under the command of Major Naumoff, to attack
the rebels. The mock-Czar allowed it to ap-
proach the slopes of the mountains outside Oren-
burg, and there, with masked guns, he opened
such a disastrous fire upon them that the Rus-
sians were compelled to retire to their fort utterly
demoralized. Pugasceff then descended into the
plains and pitched his camp before the town.
The two opponents both began with the idea of
tiring each other ou,t by waiting. Pugasceff was
encamped on the snow-fields. The plains of
Russia are no longer green in October, and in-
stead of tents he had huts made of branches of
oak. The one force was attacked by frost — the
other by starvation. Finally, starvation proved
the more powerful. Naumoff sallied from the
fort, and turned his attention towards occupying
those heights whence his forces had been fired
upon a short time previously. He succeeded in
making an onslaught with his infantry upon the

1 68 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

rebel lines, but Pugasceff, all of a sudden,
changed his plan of battle, and attacked with his
Cossacks the cavalry of his opponent, who took
to flight. The victory fell from the grasp of
Naumoff, and he was compelled to fly with his
cannon, breaking his way, sword in hand, through
the lines of the Cossacks. Then Pugasceff at-
tacked in his turn. He had forty-eight guns,
with which he commenced a fierce bombardment
of the walls, which continued until November
9th, when he ordered his troops to storm the
town. The onslaught did not succeed, for the
Russians bravely defended themselves. Puga-
sceff, therefore, had to make up his mind to starve
out his opponents. The broad plains and valleys
were white with snow, the forests sparkled with
icicles, as though made of silver, and during the
long nights the cold reflection of the moon alone
brightened the desolate wastes where the auda-
cious dream of a daring man kept awake the
spirits of his men. The dream was this : That
he should be the husband of the Czarina of All
the Russias.

Katharine II. was passionately fond of playing
tarok, and she particularly liked that variety of
the game which was later on named, after a
celebrated Russian general, " Paskevics," and re-
quired four players. In addition to the Czarina,
Princess Daskoff, Prince Orloff, and General Karr

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 169

sat at her table. The latter was a distinguished
leader of troops — in petto — and as a tarok-player
without equal. He rose from the table semper
victor ! No one ever saw him pay, and for this
reason he was a particular favorite with the
Czarina. She said if she could only once suc-
ceed in winning a rouble from Karr she would
have a ring welded to it and wear it suspended
from her neck. It is very likely that the mis-
takes of his opponents aided General Karr's con-
tinual success. The two noble ladies were too
much occupied with OrlofFs fine eyes to be able
to fix their attention wholly upon the game, whilst
Orloff was so lucky in love that it would have
been the greatest injustice on earth if he had been
equally successful at play. Once, whilst shuf-
fling the cards, some one casually remarked that
it was a scandalous shame that an escaped Cos-
sack like Pugasceff should be in a position to
conquer a fourth of Russia in Europe, to disgrace
the Russian troops time after time, to condemn
the finest Russian officers to a degrading death,
and now even to bombard Orenburg like a real
potentate.

" I know the dandy, I know him very well,"
said Karr. " During the life of His Majesty I
used to play cards with him at Oranienbaum.
He is a stupid youngster. Whenever I called
carreau, he used to give cceur"

" It appears that he plays even worse now,"

I7O IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

said the Czarina ; " now he throws pique after
caurf"

It was the fashion at this time at the Russian
Court to throw in every now and then a French
word, and cceur in French means heart, wn&piquer
means to sting and prick.

"Yes, because our commanders have been in-
active. Were I only there ! "

" Won't you have the kindness to go there ? "
asked Orloff mockingly.

" If Her Majesty commands me, I am ready."

"Ah! this tarok-party would suffer a too great
loss in you," said Katharine, jokingly.

" Well, your Majesty might have hunting-
parties at Peterhof," he said, consolingly, to the
Czarina.

This was a pleasant suggestion to Katharine,
for at Peterhof she had spent her brightest days,
and there she had made the acquaintance of
Orloff. With a smile full of grace, she nodded
to General Karr.

" I don't mind, then ; but in two weeks you
must be back."

"Ah! what is two weeks?" returned Karr;
" if your Majesty commands it, I will seat myself
this very hour upon a sledge, and in three days
and nights I shall be in Bugulminszka. On the
fourth day I shall arrange my cards, and on the
fifth I shall send word to this dandy that I am
the challenger. On the sixth day I shall give

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 171

' Volat'* to the rascal, and the seventh and
eighth days I shall have him as Pagato ultimo^
bound in chains, and bring him to your Majesty's
feet ! "

The Czarina burst out laughing at the funny
technical expressions used by the General, and
entrusted Orloff to provide the celebrated
/^£tt/0-catching General with every necessity.
The matter was taken seriously, and Orloff
promulgated the imperial ukase, according to
which Karr was entrusted with the control of
the South Russian troops, and at the same time
he announced to him what forces he would have
at his command. At Bugulminszka was General
Freymann with 20,000 infantry, 2,000 cavalry,
and thirty-two guns, and he would be reinforced
by Colonel Csernicseff, the Governor of Szin-
birszk, who had at his command 15,000 horse-
men and twelve guns ; while on his way he would
meet Colonel Naumann with two detachments of
the Body Guard. He was in particular to attach
the latter to him, for they were the very flower
of the army. Karr left that night. His chief
tactics in campaigning consisted in speediness,
but it seems that he studied this point badly, for

* " Volat " is an expression used in tarok to denote that
no tricks have been made by an opponent.

t This is another term in the game, when the player
announces beforehand that he will make the last trick with
the Ace of Trumps.

172 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

his great predecessors, Alexander the Great,
Frederick the Great, Hannibal, etc., also travelled
quickly, but in company with an army, whilst
Karr thought it quite sufficient if he went alone.
He judged it impossible to travel faster than he
did, sleighing merrily along to Bugulminszka ;
but it was possible. A Cossack horseman, who
started the same time as he did from St. Peters-
burg, arrived thirty-six hours before him, in-
formed Pugasceff of the coming of General
Karr, and acquainted him as to the position of
his troops. Pugasceff despatched about 2,000
Cossacks to fall upon the rear of the Gen-
eral, and prevent his junction with the Body
Guard.

Karr did not consult any one at Bugulminszka.
He pushed aside his colleague Freymann in
order to be left alone to settle the affair. He
said it was not a question of righting but of
chasing. He must be caught alive — this wild
animal. Csernicseff was already on the way
with 1,200 horsemen and twelve guns, as he had
received instructions from Karr to cross the river
Szakmara and prevent Pugasceff from retreating,
while he himself should, with the pick of the
regiment, attack him in front and thus catch him
between two fires. Csernicseff thought he had
to do with clever superiors, and as an ordinary
divisional leader he did not dare to think his
General to be so ignorant as to allow him to be

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 173

attacked by the magnificent force of his oppo-
nent, nor did he think that Pugasceff would
possess such want of tactics as, whilst he saw
before him a strong force, to turn with all his
troops to annihilate a small detachment. Both
these things happened. Pugasceff quietly allowed
his opponents to cross over the frozen river.
Then he rushed upon them from both sides. He
had the ice broken in their rear, and thus de-
stroyed the entire force, capturing twelve guns.
Csernicseff himself, with thirty-five officers, was
taken prisoner, and Pugasceff had them all hanged
on the trees along the roadway. Then, drunk with
victory, he moved with his entire forces against
Karr. He, too, was approaching hurriedly, and,
thirty-six miles from Bugulminszka, the two forces
met in a Cossack village. General Karr was
quite astonished to find, instead of an imagined
mob, a disciplined army divided into proper de-
tachments, and provided with guns. Freymann
advised him, as he had sent away the trusted
squadron of Csernicseff, not to commence opera-
tions now with the cavalry, to take the village as
the basis of his operations, and to use his in-
fantry against the rebels. A series of surprises
then befell Karr. He saw the despised rowdy
crowd approaching with drawn sabres, he saw
the coolness with which they came on in the face
of the fiercest musketry fire. He saw the head-
long desperation with which they rushed upon

174 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

his secure position. He recognized that he had
found here heroes instead of thieves. But what
annoyed him most was that this rabble knew
so well how to handle their cannon ; for in St.
Petersburg, out of precaution, Cossacks are not
enlisted in the artillery, in order that no one
should teach them how to serve guns. And here
this ignorant people handled the guns, stolen but
yesterday, as though accustomed to them all
their lifetime, and their shells had already set
fire to villages in many different places. The
General ordered his entire line to advance with
a rush, while with the reserve he sharply attacked
the enemy in flank, totally defeating them. His
cavalry started with drawn swords towards the
fire-spurting space. Amongst the 1,500 horsemen
there were only 300 Cossacks, and in the heat of
battle these deserted to the enemy. Immedi-
ately General Karr saw this, he became so
alarmed that he set his soldiers the example of
flight. All discipline at an end, they abandoned
their comrades in front, and escaped as best they
could.

PugascefFs Cossacks pursued the Russians for
a distance of thirty miles, but did not succeed in
overtaking the General. Fear lent him wings.
Arrived at Bugulminszka, he learned that Csernic-
seff's horsemen had been destroyed, that the
Body Guard in his own rear had been taken
prisoners, and that twenty-one guns had fallen

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 175

into the hands of the rebels. Upon hearing this
bad news he was seized with such a bad attack
of the grippe that they wrapped him up in pil-
lows and sent him home by sledge to St. Peters-
burg, where the four-handed card-party awaited
him, and that very night he had the misfortune
to lose his XXL* ; upon which the Czarina made
the ban mot that Karr allowed himself twice to
lose his XXI. (referring to twenty-one guns),
which ban mot caused great merriment at the
Russian Court.

After this victory, PugascefFs star (if a demon
may be said to possess one) attained its meridian.
Perhaps it might have risen yet higher had he
remained faithful to his gigantic missions, and
had he not forgotten the two passions which had
led him on with such astonishing rapidity — the
one being to make the Czarina his wife, the
other, to crush the Russian aristocracy. Which
of these two ideas was the boldest ? He was
only separated from their realization by a trans-
parent film.

After Karr's defeat he had an open road to
Moscow, where his appearance was awaited by
100,000 serfs burning to shake off the yoke of
the aristocracy, and form a new Russian empire.
Forty million helots awaited their liberator in
the rebel leader. Then, of a sudden, he cast
away from him the common-sense he had pos-
* The card next to the highest in tarok.

176 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

sessed until now — for the sake of a pair of
beautiful eyes !

After the victory of Bugulminszka a large
number of envoyes from the leaders of the Baskirs
appeared before him, and brought him, together
with their allegiance, a pretty girl to be his wife.

The name of the maiden was Ulijanka, and
she stole the heart of Pugasceff f rom the Czarina.
At that time the adventurer believed so fully in
his star that he did not behave with his usual
severity. Ulijanka became his favorite, and the
adventurous chief appointed Salavatke, her father,
to be the ruling Prince of Baskirk. Then he
commenced to surround himself with Counts
and Princes. Out of the booty of plundered
castles he clothed himself in magnificent Court
costumes, and loaded his companions with deco-
rations taken from the heroic Russian officers.
He nominated them Generals, Colonels, Counts,
and Princes. The Cossack, Csika, his first
soldier, was appointed Generalissimus, and to
him he entrusted half his army. He also issued
roubles with his portrait under the name of Czar
Peter III., and sent out a circular note with the
words, " Redevivus et tiltor" As he had no sil-
ver mines, he struck the roubles out of copper, of
which there was plenty about. This good example
was also followed by the Russians, who issued
roubles to the amount of millions and millions,
and made payments with them generously. Puga-

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. IJJ

sceff now turned the romance of the insurrec-
tion into the parody of a reign. Instead of
advancing against the unprotected cities of the
Russian Empire, he attacked the defended
strongholds, and, in the place of pursuing the
fairy picture of his dreams which had led him
thus far, he laid himself down in the mud by the
side of a common woman !

Generalissimus Csika was instructed to occupy
the Fort Ufa, with the troops who were entrusted
to his care. The time was January, 1774, and it
was so terribly cold that nothing like it had been
recorded in Russian chronicles. The trees of
the forest split with a noise as though a battle
were proceeding, and the wild fowl fell to the
ground along the roads.

To carry on a siege under such circumstances
was impossible. The hardened earth would not
permit the digging of trenches, and it was impos-
sible to camp on the frozen ground.

The two rebel chiefs occupied the neighboring
towns, and so cut off all supplies from the neigh-
boring forests. In Orenburg they had already
eaten up the horses belonging to the garrison,
and a certain Kicskoff, the commissary, invented
the idea of boiling the skins of the slaughtered
animals, cutting them into small slices and mix-
ing them with paste, which food was distributed
amongst the soldiers, and gave rise to the break-
ing out of a scorbutic disease in the fort which
12

178 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

rendered half the garrison incapable of work.
On January the i3th, Colonel Vallenstierna tried
to break his way through the rebel lines with
2,500 men, but he returned with hardly seventy.
The remainder, about 2,000 men, remained on
the field. At any rate, they no longer asked for
food ! A few hundred hussars, however, cut
their way through and carried to St. Petersburg
the news of what Czar Peter III. (who had now
risen for the seventh time from his grave) was
doing ! The Czarina commenced to get tired of
her adorer's conquests, so she called together
her faithful generals, and asked which of them
thought it possible to undertake a campaign in
the depth of the Russian winter into the interior
of the Russian snow deserts. This did not mean
playing at war, nor a triumphal procession. It
meant a battle with a furious people who, in
forty years' time, would trample upon the most
powerful European troops. There were four who
replied that in Russia everything was possible
which ought to be done. The names of these
four gentlemen were : Prince Galiczin, General
Bibikoff, Colonel Larionoff, and Michelson, a
Swedish officer. Their number, however, was
soon reduced to two at the very commencement.
Larionoff returned home after the first battle of
Bozal, where the rebels proved victorious, whilst
Bibikoff died from the hardships of the winter
campaign.

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 179

Galiczin and Michelson alone remained. The
Swede had already gained fame in the Turkish
campaign from his swift and daring deeds, and
when he started from the Fort of Bozal against
the rebels his sole troops consisted of 400 hus-
sars and 600 infantry, with four guns. With this
small force he started to the relief of the Fort of
Ufa. Quickly as he proceeded, Csika's spies
were quicker still, and the rebel leader was in-
formed of the approach of the small body of the
enemy. As he expected that they only intended
to reinforce the garrison of Ufa, he merely sent
against them 3,000 men, with nine guns, to occupy
the mountain passes through which they would
march on their way to Ufa. But Michelson did
not go to Ufa as was expected. He seated his
men on sledges, and flew along the plains to
Csika's splendid camp. So unexpected, so dar-
ing, so little to be credited, was this move of his,
that when he fell on Csika's vanguard at one
o'clock one morning nobody opposed him. The
alarmed rebels hurried headlong to the camp,
and left two guns in the hands of Michelson.
The Swedish hero knew well enough that the
3,000 men of the enemy who occupied the moun-
tain pass would at once appear in answer to the
sound of the guns, and that he would thus be
caught between two fires ; so he hastily directed
his men to entrench themselves beneath their
sledges in the road, and left two hundred infantry

l8o IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

with two guns to defend them, whilst with the
remaining troops he made his way towards the
town of Csernakuka, whither Csika's troops had
fled. Michelson saw that he had no time to lose.
He placed himself at the head of his hussars,
sounded the charge, and attacked the bulk of his
opponents. For this they were not prepared.
The bold attack caused confusion amongst them,
and in a few moments the centre of the camp was
cut through, and the first battery captured. He
then immediately turned his attention to the two
wings of the camp. After this, flight became
general, and Csika's troops were dispersed like a
cloud of mosquitos, leaving behind them forty-
eight cannon and eight small guns. The victor
now returned with his small body of troops to
the sledges they had left behind, and he then
entirely surrounded the 3,000 rebels. Those who
were not slaughtered were captured. The vic-
torious hero sent word to the commander of the
Ufa garrison that the road was clear, and that
the cannon taken from his opponents should be
drawn thither. A hundred and twenty versts
from Ufa he reached the flying Csika. The
Generalissimus then had only forty-two officers,
whilst his privates had disappeared in every
direction of the wind. Michelson got hold of
them all, and if he did not hang them it was only
because on the six days' desert march not a single
tree was to be found. In the meantime, Prince

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. l8l

Galiczin, whose troops consisted of 6,000 men,
went in pursuit of PugascefL On this miserable
route he did not encounter the mock Czar until
the beginning of March. Pugasceff waited for
his opponent in the forest of Taticseva. This
so-called stronghold had only wooden walls, a
kind of ancient fencing. It was good enough to
protect the sheep from the pillaging Baskirs, but
it was not suitable for war. The genius of the
rebel leader did not desert him, and he was well
able to look after himself. Round the fences he
dug trenches, where he piled up the snow, on
which he poured water. This, after being frozen,
turned almost into stone, and was, at the same
time, so slippery that no one could climb over it.
Here he awaited Galiczin with a portion of his
troops, while the remainder occupied Orenburg.
The Russian general approached the hiding-place
of the mock Czar cautiously. The thick fog was
of service to him, and the two opponents only
perceived one another when they were standing
at firing distance. A furious hand-to-hand fight
ensued. The best of the rebel troops were there.
Pugasceff was always in the front and where the
danger was greatest, but finally the Russians
climbed the ice-bulwarks, captured his guns, and
drove him out of the forest. This victory cost
the life of 1,000 heroic Russians, but it was a
complete one ! Pugasceff abandoned the field
with 4,000 men and seven guns ; but what was a

l82 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

greater loss still than his army and his guns, was
that of the superstitious glamour which had sur-
rounded him until now. The belief in his in-
capability of defeat, that was lost too ! The
revengeful Czar, who had but yesterday com-
menced his campaign, now had to fly to the
desert, which promised him no refuge. It was
only then that the real horrors of the campaign
commenced. It was a war such as can be im-
agined in Russia only, where in the thousands
and thousands of square miles of borderless
desert scantily distributed hordes wander about,
all hating Russian supremacy, and all born gun
in hand. Pugasceff took refuge amongst these
people. Once again he turned on Galiczin at
Kargozki. He was again defeated, and lost his
last gun. His sweetheart, Ulijanka, was also
taken captive — that is, if she did not betray him !
From here he escaped precipitately with his cav-
alry across the river Mjaes.

Here Siberia commences, and here Russia has
no longer villages, but only military settlements
which are divided from each other by a day's
march, across plains and the ancient forests,
along the ranges of the Ural Mountains — the so-
called factories.

The Woszkrezenszki factory, situated one day's
walk into the desert, is divided by uncut forests
from the Szimszki factory, in both of which cin-
namon and tin paints are made, and here are to

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 183

be seen the powder factory of Usiska and the
bomb factory of Szatkin, where the exiled Rus-
sian convicts work. At the meeting of the rivers
are the small towns of Stepnaja, Troiczka Uszt,
Magitnaja, Petroluskaja, Kojelga, guarded by
native Cossacks, whilst others are garrisoned by
disgraced battalions. Hither came Pugasceff
with the remnants of his army. Galiczin pursued
him for some time, but finally came to the con-
clusion that in this uninhabited country, where
the solitary road is only indicated by snow-
covered trenches, he could not, with his regular
troops, reach an opponent whose tactics were
to run away as far and as fast as possible.

Pugasceff rallied to him all the tribes along the
Ural district, who deserted their homesteads and
followed him.

The winter suddenly disappeared, and those
mild, short April days commenced which one can
only realize in Siberia, when at night the water
freezes, while in the daytime the melting snow
covers the expanse of waste, every mountain
stream becomes a torrent, and the traveller finds
in the place of every brook a vast sea. The run-
away might still proceed by sleclge,but the pursuer
would only find before him fathomless morasses.
Only one leader had the courage to pursue Puga-
sceff even into this land — this was Michelson.
Just as the Siberian wolf who has tasted the
blood of the wild boar does not swerve from the

184 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

track, but pursues him even amongst reeds and
morasses, so the daring leader chased his op-
ponent from plain to plain. He never had more
than 1,000 men, cavalry, artillery, and gunners,
all told. Every one had to carry provisions for
two weeks and 100 cartridges. The cavalry had
guns as well as sabres, so that they might also
fight on foot, and the artillery were supplied with
axes, so that, if necessary, they might serve as
carpenters, and all prepared to swim should the
necessity arise. With this small force Michelson
followed Pugasceff amid the horde of insur-
rectionary tribes, surrounded on every side by
people upon whose mercy he could not count,
whose language he did not understand, and
whose motto was death. Yet he went amongst
them in cold blood, as the sailor braves the ter-
rors of the ocean. On the yth of May he was
attacked by the father of the pretty Ulijanka,
near the Szimszki factory, with 2,000 Baskirs,
who were about to join Pugasceff. Michelson
dispersed them, captured their guns, and dis-
covered from the Baskir captives that Beloboro-
doff, one of the dukes created by Pugasceff, was
approaching with a large force of renegade Rus-
sian soldiers. Michelson caught up with them
near the Jeresen stream, and drove them into the
Szatkin factory. Riding all by himself, so close
to them that his voice could be heard, he com-
menced by admonishing them to rejoin the

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 185

standard of the Czarina. He was fired at more
than 2,000 times from the windows of the fac-
tory, but when they saw that he was invulver-
able they suddenly threw open the gates and
joined his forces. From them he discovered the
whereabouts of the mock Czar, who had at the
time once more recovered himself, had captured
three strongholds, Magitnaja, Stepnaja, and Pet-
roluskaja, and was just then besieging Troiczka.
This place he took before the arrival of Michel-
son, who found in lieu of a stronghold nothing
but ruins, dead bodies, and Russian officers
hanging from the trees. Pugasceff heard of the
approach of his opponent, and, with savage cun-
ning, laid a snare to capture the daring pursuer.
He dressed his soldiers in the uniform of the
dead Russian soldiers, and sent messengers to
Michelson in the name of Colonel Colon that he
should join him beyond Varlamora. Michelson
only perceived the trick when his vanguard was
attacked and two of his guns captured.

Although surrounded, he immediately fell upon
the flower of Pugasceff's guard, and cut his way
through just where the enemy was strongest.
The net was torn asunder. It was not strong
enough. Pugasceff fled before Michelson, and,
with a few hundred followers, escaped into the
interior of Siberia, near the lake of Arga. All of
a sudden Michelson found Szalavatka at his rear
with Baskir troops who had already captured the

l86 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

Szatkin factory, and put to the sword men,
women, and children. Michelson turned back
suddenly, and found the Baskir camp strongly
intrenched near the river Aj. The enemy had
destroyed the bridges over the river, and confi-
dently awaited the Imperial troops. At daybreak
Michelson ordered up forty horsemen and placed
a rifleman behind the saddle of each, telling
them to swim the river and defend themselves
until the remainder of the troops joined them.
His commands were carried out to the letter,
amidst the most furious firing of the enemy, and
the Russians gained the other side of the river
without a bridge, drawing with them their cannon
bound to trees. The Baskirs were dispersed and
fled, but whilst Michelson was pursuing them
with his cavalry, he received news that his artil-
lery was attacked by a fresh force, and he had to
return to their aid. Pugasceff himself, who again
was the aggressor, stood with a regular army on
the plains. The battle lasted till late at night in
the forest. Finally the rebels retreated, and
Michelson discovered that his opponents meant
to take by surprise the Fort of Ufa. He speedily
cut his way through the forest, and when Puga-
sceff thought himself a day's distance from his
opponent, he found him face to face outside the
Fort of Ufa. Michelson proved again victorious,
but by this time his soldiers had not a decent
piece of clothing left, nor a wearable shoe, and

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 1 87

each man had not more than two charges. He
therefore had to retreat to Ufa for fresh ammu-
nition. It appears that Michelson was just such
a dreaded opponent to Pugasceff as the man not
born of a woman was to Macbeth. Immediately
he disappeared from the horizon, he arose anew,
and at each encounter with the pretender beat
him right and left. When Michelson drove him
away from Ufa, Pugasceff totally 'defeated the
Russian leaders approaching from other direc-
tions, London, Melgunoff, Duve, and Jacubovics
were swept away before him, and he burned before
their very eyes the town of Birszk. With drawn
sword he occupied the stronghold of Ossa, where
he acquired guns, and, advancing with lightning
rapidity, he stood before Kazan, which is one of
the most noted towns of the province ; it is the
seat of an Archbishop, and there is kept the
crown which the Russian Czars use at their cor-
onation. This crown was required by the mock
Czar. If he could get hold of it, and .the Arch-
bishop of Kazan would place it on his head,
who could deny that he was the anointed Czar ?
Generals Brand and Banner had but 1,500 mus-
ketry for the defence of Kazan, but the citizens
of the town took also to the guns to defend them-
selves from within their ancient walls. The day
before the bombardment, General Potemkin, ac-
companied by General Larionoff, arrived at
Kazan. The Imperialists had as many generals

1 88 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

and colonels in their camp as Pugasceff had cor-
porals who had deserted their colors, yet the
horde led by the rebel stormed the stronghold of
the generals. Pugasceff was the first to scale the
wall, standard in hand, upon which the generals
took refuge in the citadel. Larionoff fled, and on
his flight to Nijni Novgorod did not once look
back.

Pugasceff captured the town of Kazan, and
gave it up to pillage. The Archbishop of Kazan
received him before the cathedral, bestowed up-
on him gold to the value of half a million roubles,
and promised that he would place the crown on
his head immediately he procured it ; it being in
the citadel. Pugasceff set fire to the town in all
directions, as he wanted to effect the surrender
of the citadel garrison by that means. Just at
this moment Michelson was on his way. The
heroic General hardly allowed his troops time for
rest, but again started in pursuit of Pugasceff.
No news of him was heard, his footsteps alone
could be traced. At Burnova he was attacked
by a gang of rebels, whom he dispersed, but they
were not the troops of Pugasceff. At Brajevana
he came upon a detachment, but this also was
not the one he was looking for. He then turned
towards the Fort of Ossa, where he found a group
of Baskir horsemen, whom he dispersed, captur-
ing many others, from whom he learned that Pu-
gasceff had crossed the river Kuma ; and he

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 189

knew that he would find the rebel at Kazan. He
hastened after him, meeting right and left with
camps and troops belonging to his adventurous
opponent. He found no boats on the river
Kuma, so he swam it. Two other rivers lay in
his way, but neither of these prevented his prog-
ress, and when he arrived at Arksz he heard
firing in the direction of Kazan. Allowing but
one hour's repose to his troops, he marched
through the night, and at daybreak the thick
dark smoke on the horizon told him that Kazan
was in flames. PugascefFs patrols communi-
cated to their leader that Michelson was again
at hand. The mock Czar cursed upon hearing
the news. Was it a devil who was again at his
heels, when he believed him 300 miles off ? He
decided that this must not be known to the gar-
rison, who had been forced into the citadel. He
collected from his troops those whom he could
spare, and stationed them in the town of Tazic-
zin, seven miles from Kazan, to prevent the ad-
vance of the dreaded enemy. Just as he was
proclaiming himself Czar Peter III. in the mar-
ket-place of Taziczin, a miserable-looking woman
rushed in, and fell at his feet, embracing him,
and covering him with kisses. This woman was
PugascefFs wife, who thought her husband lost
long ago. They had been married very young,
and Pugasceff himself believed her no longer
living, but the poor woman recognized him by

IQO IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

his voice. Pugasceff did not lose his presence
of mind, but, gently lifting the woman up, he
said to his officers : " Look after this woman ;
her husband was a great friend of mine and I
owe him much." But every one knew that the
sham Czar was no other than the husband of
Marianka, and no doubt the appearance of the
peasant woman told on the spirits of the insur-
gent troops. The most bitter and decisive battle
of the insurrection awaited them. The night
divided the two armies, and it was only in the
morning that Michelson could force his way into
the town, whence he sent word to the people of
Kazan to come to his assistance. Pugasceff
again attacked him with embittered fury, and as
he could not dislodge him he withdrew the re-
mainder of his troops from Kazan and encamped
on the plain. The third day of the battle, for-
tune turned to the side of Pugasceff. They
fought for four hours, and Michelson was already
surrounded, when the hero put himself at the
head of his small army and made a desperate
rush upon Pugasceff.

The insurrectionary forces were broken asun-
der. They left 3,000 men on the battlefield, and
5,000 captives fell into the hands of the victors.

Kazan was free, but the Russian Empire was
not so yet.

Pugasceff, trodden a hundred times to the
ground, rose once more. After his defeat at Ka-

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. IQI

zan, he fled, not towards the interior of Siberia,
but straight towards the heart of the Russian
Empire — towards Moscow. Out of his army
which was split asunder at Kazan he formed 100
battalions, and with a small number of these
crossed the Volga. Immediately he appeared
on the opposite banks of the river, and the en-
tire province was enkindled : the peasantry rose
in revolt against the aristocracy. Within a dis-
trict of 100 miles every castle was destroyed, and
one town after the other opened its gates to the
mock Czar. The further he advanced the more
his army increased and the faster his insurrec-
tionary red flag travelled towards the gates of
Moscow. On their way the rebels occupied forts,
pillaged and destroyed the towns, and the troops
which were sent against them were captured.
Before the Fort of Zariczin an Imperial force
challenged their advance. In the ensuing battle,
every Russian officer fell, and the entire force
was captured. Again Pugasceff had 25,000 men
and a large number of guns, and his road would
have been clear to Moscow if the ubiquitous
Michelson had not been at his back ! This won-
derful hero did not dread his opponents, however
numerous, and like the panther which drives be-
fore him the herd of buffaloes, so he drove with
his small body Pugasceff's tremendous army.
The rebel felt that this man had a magic power
over him, and that he was in league with fate.

J92 IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA.

Finally, he found a convenient place outside
Sarepta, and here he awaited his opponent. It
is a height which a steep mountain footpath
divides, and this path is intersected by another.
Pugasceff placed a portion of his best troops on
the ascending path, whilst to the riff-raff he
entrusted his two wings. If Michelson had
caught the bull by the horns with his ordinary
tactics he ought to have cut through the little
footpath leading to the steep road, and if he had
succeeded then, the troops which were at the
point of intersection would have fallen between
two fires, from which they could not have escaped.
But Michelson changed his system of attack.
Whilst the bombardment was going on, he, to-
gether with Colonel Melin, rushed upon the wings
of the opposing forces. Pugasceff saw himself
fall into the pit he had dug for others. The rebel
army, terror-struck, rushed towards his camp.
The forces that flew to his rescue fell at the
mouth of his guns, and he had to cut his way
through his own troops in order to escape from
the trap. This was his last battle. He escaped
with sixty men, crossed the Volga, and hid
amongst the bushes of an uninhabited plain.

The Russian troops surrounded the plain
whence Pugasceff and his men could not escape.
And yet he still dreamt of future glory ! Amidst
the great desert his old ambition came back to
him— he pictured the golden dome of the Krem-

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA. 193

lin, and the conquered Czarina. And with these
dreams he suffered the tortures of hunger. For
days and days he had no nourishment but horse-
flesh roasted on the reeds, which was made pal-
atable by meadow-grass in place of salt. One
night, as he was sitting over the fire and roasting
his meagre dinner on a wooden spit, one of the
three Cossacks who formed his body-guard said
to him, " You have played your comedy long
enough, Pugasceff ! " The adventurer sprang up
from his place.

" Slave, I am your Czar ! " and whilst saying
this he slew the speaker. The two others made
a rush at him, struck him to the ground, bound
him, tied him to a horse, and thus took him to
Ural Sorodok and delivered him to General
Szuvarof. It was the very same Ural Sorodok
whence he had started upou his bold undertaking.
From here he was taken to Moscow. The sen-
tence passed upon him was that he should be cut
up alive into small pieces. The Czarina con-
firmed the sentence, though her beautiful eyes
had had great share of responsibility for the
sinner's fate. The hangman was more merciful.
It was not specified in the sentence where he
should commence the work of slaughter, so he
began at once with his head, and for this over-
sight he was sent to Siberia ! Katharine about
this time changed her favorite. Instead of Or-
loff, Potemkin, a fine fellow, was chosen.
'3

STORIES BY
FOREIGN AUTHORS

« » « »

These fifty-one tales comprise a careful selec-
tion of the best Continental short stories by
contemporary or nearly contemporary writers,
and the ten volumes appropriately round out
the unique idea begun in the " Stories by Ameri-
can Authors " and ' ' Stories by English Authors. "
As may be seen by the following complete list,
each volume is a collection of masterpieces and
represents admirably the more recent achieve-
ments in this branch of literature of the nation
for which it stands. It would be difficult to
find anywhere so much good fiction of such
wide variety in the same compass.

FRENCH. I.

THE SIEGE OF BERLIN ... By Alphonse Daudet

THE JUGGLER OF NOTRE DAME, By Anatole France

UNCLE AND NEPHEW ... By Edmond About

ANOTHER GAMBLER .... By Paul Bourget

THE NECKLACE By Guy de Maupassant

THE BLACK PEARL .... By Victorien Sardou

FRENCH.

THE SUBSTITUTE

THE ATTACK ON THE MILL
THE VIRGIN'S GOD-CHILD . .
THE SEMPSTRESS'S STORY . .
THE VENUS OF ILLE ....

FRENCH.

THE HIDDEN MASTERPIECE . .
THE SORROW OF AN OLD CONVICT,
THE MUMMY'S FOOT .

FATHER AND SON

LAURETTE OR THE RED SEAL

II.

By Francis Coppee
By Emile Zola
By Emile Souvestre
By Gustave Droz
By Prosper Merimee

III.

By Honore de Balzac
By Pierre Loti
By Theophile Gautier
By Edouard Rod
By Alfred de Vigny

THE FURY ....

THE PHILOSOPHER'S
PENDULUM ....

THE BOOKBINDER OF
HORT

THE EGYPTIAN FIRE
EATER

THE CREMONA VIOLIN .

ADVENTURES OF A NEW-
YEAR'S EVE

GERMAN. I.

. . . By Paul Heyse

By Rudolph Lindau

By Leopold von Sacher-Masoch

By Rudolph Baumbach
By E. T. A. Hoffman

By Heinrich Zschokke

GERMAN. II.

CHRISTIAN GELLERT'S LAST
CHRISTMAS

A GHETTO VIOLET

THE SEVERED HAND . . .

PETER SCHLEMIHL

By Berthold Auerbach
By Leopold Kompert
By Wilhelm Hauff
By Adelbert von Chamisso

SPANISH.

THE TALL WOMAN . . By Pedro Antonio de Alarcon

THE WHITE BUTTERFLY . By Jose Selgas

THE ORGANIST ... By Gustavo Adolfo Becquer

MOORS AND CHRISTIANS . By Pedro Antonio de Alarcon

BREAD CAST UPON THE

WATERS By Fernan Caballero

RUSSIAN.

MUMU By Ivan Turgeney

THE SHOT By Alexander Poushkin

ST. JOHN'S EVE ... By Nikolai Vasilievitch Gogol

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE . By Lyof N. Tolstoi

SCANDINAVIAN.

THE FATHER By Bjornstjerne Bjornson

WHEN FATHER BROUGHT

HOME THE LAMP . . . Juhani Aho

THE FLYING MAIL . . . M. Goldschmidt

THE RAILROAD AND THE

CHURCHYARD .... By Bjornstjerne Bjornson

Two FRIENDS By Alexander Kielland

HOPES By Frederika Bremer

ITALIAN.

A GREAT DAY By Edmondo de Amicis

PEREAT ROCHUS By Antonio Fogazzaro

SAN PANTALEONE .... By Gabriele d'Annunzio

IT SNOWS By Enrico Castelnuovo

COLLEGE FRIENDS .... By Edmondo de Amicis

POLISH— GREEK— BELGIAN
HUNGARIAN

THE LIGHT-HOUSE KEEPER OF
A SPIN WALL

THE PLAIN SISTER ....

THE MASSACRE OF THE INNO-
CENTS

SAINT NICHOLAS EVE .

IN LOVE WITH THE CZARINA .

By Henryk Sienkiewicz
By Demetrios Bikelas

By Maurice Maeterlinck
By Camille Lemonnier
By Maurice Jokai

Ten Volumes Complete. Handsomely bound in silk-
ribbed cloth, with photogravure frontispieces. Price, $7.50»
including a year's subscription to Scribner's Magazine;
$1.50 to be paid on delivery of bocks, and remaining
$6.00 at 50 cents a month.

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK

STORIES BY
ENGLISH AUTHORS

In this set of well printed and bound volumes
the publishers have gathered together the best
short stories issued in recent years, with a few
of the older tales which have become classics.
The main plan of the books has been to pre-
serve stories of genuine value and interest.
The volumes have been arranged with regard to
the locality of the stories, and the following list
exhibits the wide scope of subjects as well as the
completeness of the list of popular and standard
authors presented. There are in all sixty-one
complete tales.

LONDON

THE INCONSIDERATE WAITER . By J. M. Barrie

THE BLACK POODLE .... By F. Anstey

THAT BRUTE SIMMONS .... By Arthur Morrison

A ROSE OF THE GHETTO . . . By I. Zangwill

AN IDYL OF LONDON .... By Beatrice Harraden

THE OMNIBUS By"Q"

THE HIRED BABY By Marie Correlli

ENGLAND

THE Box TUNNEL By Charles Reade

MINIONS OF THE MOON . . . By F. W. Robinson

THE FOUR-FIFTEEN EXPRESS . By Amelia B. Edwards

THE WRONG BLACK BAG . . By Angelo Lewis

THE THREE STRANGERS . . . By Thomas Hardy

MR. LISMORE AND THE WIDOW . By Wilkie Collins
THE PHILOSOPHER IN THE APPLE

ORCHARD By Anthony Hope

IRELAND

THE GRIDIRON By Samuel Lover

THE EMERGENCY MEN . . . . By George H. Jessop

A LOST RECRUIT By Jane Barlow

THE RIVAL DREAMERS .... By John Banim

NEAL MALONE By William Carleton

THE BANSHEE Anonymous

ITALY

A FAITHFUL RETAINER . . By James Payn

BIANCA By W. E. Norris

GONERIL By A. Mary F. Robinson

THE BRIGAND'S BRIDE . . By Laurence Oliphant

MRS. GENERAL TALBOYS . . By Anthony Trollope

FRANCE

A LODGING FOR THE NIGHT . By R. L. Stevenson

A LEAF IN THE STORM ... By Ouida

A TERRIBLY STRANGE BED . . By Wilkie Collins

MICHEL LORIO'S CROSS ... By Hesba Stretton

A PERILOUS AMOUR .... By Stanley J. Weyman

AFRICA

THE MYSTERY OF SASASSA

VALLEY By A. Conan Doyle

LONG ODDS By H. Rider Haggard

KING BEMBA'S POINT .... By J. Landers

GHAMBA By W. C. Scully

MARY MUSGRAVE Anonymous

GREGORIO By Percy Hemingway

ORIENT

THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING By Rudyard Kipling

TAJINA By Miss Mitford

A CHINESE GIRL GRADUATE . . By R. K. Douglas

THE REVENGE OF HER RACE . . By Mary Beaumont

KING BILLY OF BALLARAT ... By Morley Roberts

THY HEART'S DESIRE .... By Netta Syrett

THE SIEGE OF SUNDA GUNGE . . Anonymous

SCOTLAND

THE COURTIN' OF T'NOWHEAD'S

BELL By J. M. Barrie

THE HEATHER LINTIE . . . . By S. R. Crockett

A DOCTOR OF THE OLD SCHOOL By Ian Maclaren

WANDERING WILLIE'S TALE . . By Sir Walter Scott

THE GLENMUTCHKIN RAILWAY . By Professor Aytoun

THRAWN JANET By R. L. Stevenson

GERMANY, ETC.

THE BIRD ON ITS JOURNEY . By Beatrice Harraden

KOOSJE By John Strange Winter

A DOG OF FLANDERS ... By Ouida

MARKHEIM By R. L. Stevenson

QUEEN TITA'S WAGER ... By William Black

THE SEA

MELISSA'S TOUR By Grant Allen

QUARANTINE ISLAND .... By Sir Walter Besant

THE MASTER OF THE CHRYSO-
LITE By G. B. O'Halloran

VANDERDECKEN'S MESSAGE HOME Anonymous

THE PETREL AND THE BLACK

SWAN Anonymous

THE ROCK SCORPIONS .... Anonymous

THE EXTRAORDINARY ADVEN-
TURES OF A CHIEF MATE . By W. Clark Russell

Handsomely bound in American satin cloth, with
photogravure frontispieces

PRICE PER VOLUME, 75 CENTS

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
NEW YORK

STORIES BY
AMERICAN AUTHORS

"These tales are well selected. They credit-
ably represent many of our most successful and
admired tale writers, and afford another and
impressive proof of the reluctant admission
made by the London Saturday Review, that the
most successful tale writers are Americans."

— Hartford Times.

"They have been selected with excellent
judgment, and in bringing this entire collection
of sketches together from the various period-
icals in which they have appeared the publishers
have shown that our literature is more fertile
than has been hitherto supposed in writers who
have mastered the difficult art of story writing."
— Boston Saturday Evening Gazette.

VOLUME I.

WHO WAS SHE? . . . . . . . Bayard Taylor

THE DOCUMENTS IN THE CASE

Brander Matthews and H. C. Bunner

ONE OF THE THIRTY PIECES . William Henry Bishop
BALACCHI BROTHERS . . . Rebecca Harding Davis
AN OPERATION IN MONEY . Albert Webster

VOLUME II.

THE TRANSFERRED GHOST . . . Frank R. Stockton
A MARTYR TO SCIENCE . Mary Putnam Jacobi, M.D.

MRS. KNOLLYS J. S. of Dale

A DINNER PARTY . John Eddy

THE MOUNT OF SORROW . . Harriet Prescott Spofford
SISTER SILVIA Mary Agnes Tincker

VOLUME III.

THE SPIDER'S EYE Lucretia P. Hale

A STORY OF THE LATIN QUARTER

Frances Hodgson Burnett

Two PURSE-COMPANIONS . George Parsons Lathrop

POOR OGLA-MOGA David D. Lloyd

A MEMORABLE MURDER CeliaThaxter

VENETIAN GLASS Brander Matthews

VOLUME IV.

Miss GRIEF ...... Constance Fenimore Woolson

LOVE IN OLD CLOATHES H. C. Bunner

Two BUCKETS IN A WELL N. P. Willis

FRIEND BARTON'S CONCERN . . . Mary Hallock Foote

AN INSPIRED LOBBYIST J. W. De Forest

LOST IN THE FOG Noah Brooks

VOLUME V.

A LIGHT MAN Henry James

YATIL '..... F. D. Millet

THE END OF NEW YORK Park Benjamin

WHY THOMAS WAS DISCHARGED . . George Arnold
THE TACHYPOMP . E. P. Mitchell

VOLUME VI.

THE VILLAGE CONVICT C. H. White

THE DENVER EXPRESS A. A. Hayes

THE MISFORTUNES OF BRO' THOMAS WHEATLEY

Lina Redwood Fairfax

THE HEARTBREAK CAMEO . . . . L. W. Champney

Miss EUNICE'S GLOVE Albert Webster

BROTHER SEBASTIAN'S FRIENDSHIP . Harold Frederic

VOLUME VII.

THE BISHOP'S VAGABOND .... Octave Thanet

LOST Edward Bellamy

KIRBY'S COALS OF FIRE Louise Stockton

PASSAGES FROM THE JOURNAL OF A SOCIAL WRECK

Margaret Floyd

STELLA GRAYLAND James T. McKay

THE IMAGE OF SAN DONATO . Virginia W. Johnson

VOLUME VIII.

THE BRIGADE COMMANDER . . . . J. W. De Forest

SPLIT ZEPHYR Henry A. Beers

ZERVIAH HOPE Elizabeth Stuart Phelps

THE LIFE MAGNET Alvey A. Adee

OSGOOD'S PREDICAMENT . . Elizabeth D. B. Stoddard

VOLUME IX.

MARSE CHAN Thomas Nelson Page

MR. BIXBY'S CHRISTMAS VISITOR . . Charles S. Gage
ELI . . ;."... . . . . . C. H. White

YOUNG STRONG OF "THE CLARION"

Milicent Washburn Shinn

How OLD WIGGINS WORE SHIP, Captain Roland T. Coffin
" — MAS HAS COME" Leonard Kip

VOLUME X.

PANCHA T. A. Janvier

THE ABLEST MAN IN THE WORLD . . E. P. Mitchell

YOUNG MOLL'S PEEVY C. A. Stevens

MANMAT'HA Charles De Kay

A DARING FICTION H. H. Boyesen

THE STORY OF Two LIVES Julia Schayer

Handsomely Bound in English buckram cloth
PRICE PER VOLUME, 75 CENTS

"The public ought to appreciate the value
of this series, which is preserving permanently
in American literature short stories that have
contributed to its advancement. American
writers lead all others in this form of fiction,
and their best work appears in these volumes.
They ought to be in every private library.
It should have an honorary place in
every library, because it is the only undertak-
ing of its kind, and has been carried out with a
taste and judgment that have secured the best
short stories of American fiction."

— Boston Globe.

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