"But what if that is not due to Johanna's head-dress, but is the fault of Rurik's crown? A sensible man does not shelter from the storm under a fir-tree if he means to keep dry, and of all fir-trees the crown of a Russian fir is the most dangerous in a storm. Every one knows—even the sparrows twitter it—that the late Czar was only saved by the kind agency of Caucasian fever from the fatality which awaits every Russian czar. There are many rumors, even, about his end. People talk of poison. The bon-mot of Talleyrand is going the round: 'It is really time that Russian czars changed their manner of dying.' One shudders to say it, how assassination, treachery, conspiracy, await him who sits upon Rurik's throne. The very kneeling-chair, the altar, the church wherein he prays, are undermined. Is not this explanation enough why one brother vies with another in refusing the throne? The most open expression of feeling was that which caused the Czarevitch to explain the reason of his hesitation to the Queen Dowager of Saxony in these words: 'Russian czars need to have very strong necks, and I am not fond of having my neck tickled.'"
So outspoken! Only agents provocateurs venture to say such audacious things.
Pushkin shoved the amber mouth-piece so far into his mouth that he could not bring out a word. Bethsaba saw that her husband was on thorns, and left the room. She had divined his wish, and ordered three sledges to be horsed and despatched to fetch their neighbors, hindered from coming by the snow-storm.
Galban, meanwhile, continued the conversation.
"You know very well who I was and what I am. My whole life long I have been a courtier. I loved to serve, to obey, to intrigue. Never did I have the least inclination to join a league of conspirators. I tell the truth. But under the present circumstances a man's ordinary loyalty is of no account whatever. The whole country is at sixes and sevens. Even political leagues are disrupted. By the death of the Czar the ground has been cut from under their feet. There is no Czar. Against whom should they conspire? They have split up into two parties. If Constantine take the crown, Nicholas will immediately be proclaimed Czar as well; if Nicholas, Constantine will be set up against him. The soldiers are ready to fire upon each other; each party will fight for their legitimate head. Under the counter battle-cry, 'Long live the Czar!' we shall have a fine revolution breaking out. Nor can one tell who will come out conqueror. If Constantine's party win the day, Nicholas's followers will be the rebels; if Nicholas's party gain the upperhand, it will be Constantine's followers who will suffer. The position of a man like myself is simply terrible. Whichever side I take to-day, how am I to tell if, with all my loyal devotion, I shall not to-morrow be proscribed as a rebel? Under such circumstances a wise man cannot do better than to leave the chaos to take care of itself and flee to the woods to hunt wolves. And, I trust, Alexander Sergievitch, that we shall often join in that healthful pursuit together."
"I am not allowed to go a day's journey from Pleskow."
"Well, then, my estate lies within your boundary—just a short winter day's distance. Let us get all the enjoyment out of it we can as long as this chaotic world endures."
Pushkin promised to return the visit shortly.
"Then, now we are friends and companions," continued Galban, garrulously. "You may imagine the lamentations under the tsinovniks in St. Petersburg. Next March Czar Alexander was to have celebrated his five-and-twentieth year of accession. Every man about the court was congratulating himself on the prospect of ascending a step on this ladder of rank; instead of being 'vasé blagorodié' that he would become 'vasé vomszkoblagorodié.' Numbers of them had had their uniforms made beforehand, and had prepared their answers for the forthcoming examinations. You are aware that all of us, when we get preferment, have to undergo an examination? Luckily for us the professors give out the papers in good time; a golden key lets them out the sooner. And now all this has come to naught. I myself stood on the list, in the third rank of nobility, as director of the St. Petersburg Theatre, and you figured in it in the rank of major. Three thousand aspirants! most of whom had paid pretty heavily for their chances into Daimona's fair hands. Money thrown away now."
This dangerous conversation was brought to an end by the noisy entrance of the three neighbors. Never had doors opened to more welcome guests. They had not, moreover, come to quarrel over involved questions of succession, but to play tarok; and it is an acknowledged axiom—tarok before everything!