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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 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, uttering 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, 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 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," replied 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 like a pair of oars, and you'll 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 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 consecutive times and
went to sleep with one eye open.

Riekje wrung her hands and cried out:

"Mamae Puzzel! Mamae 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."

"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 directly," 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, 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.

Riekje 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 Karnavash. 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.

"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:

"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
Felbermann. Published by Frederick Warne & Co.




In the time of the Czar Peter III. a secret society 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, young commercial men,
musicians, street-singers, actors and actresses, scientific men,
clergymen and statesmen, used to meet here. Beauty and talent were alone
qualifications for entry into the Society, the members of which were
selected by Jelagin. Every one addressed 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
assemble here? To amuse themselves at their ease. Those who, by the
prejudices of caste and rank, were utterly severed, and who occupied 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 accompaniment 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 enjoyed 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
the Government, and tell anecdotes of the High Priests, utterly
fearless, and dispensing with salutations!

Can this be done for love of novelty? The existence of this secret
society was repeatedly divulged to the police, and these cannot be
reproached for not having taken the necessary steps to denounce it; but
proceedings once begun 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 document relating to the matter was either burned or
vanished, and whole sealed cases of writings 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 important mission, from which he did not return for a
considerable period. "The Nameless Society" must have had very powerful
protectors. 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?"

"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 shoulder 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 outriders."

"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 sparkling eyes, he said to Jelagin:

"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 administered 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 husband 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. 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 people gladly credited, and which caused much
bloodshed before it was wiped out of their memory, 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 soldier's clothes, and would return to retake his throne, to
vanquish his wife, and behead his enemies! Five Czar pretenders rose one
after the other in the wastes of the Russian domains. One followed the
other with the motto, "Revenge on the faithless!" The usurpers conquered
sometimes a northern, sometimes a southern 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
themselves; and so things went on continually and 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
Cossack 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 before 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! Pugasceff's 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 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 Roskolniks live--they who oppose the Russian
religion, and who were the adherents of the persecuted 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 themselves 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 surrounding 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! 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 acquaintanceship. 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
themselves by slaughtering the Russian Commissioner-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 the Government had nothing to do 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 miserable
town, Jaiczkoi, knocked at the door of the 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 because 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 appearance before you.'"

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

"He is already here."

"Where is he?"

"I am he!"

"Very well--very well," replied the old Roskolnik. "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 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.

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