21. But the ambitious papa wanted immediately to become the relative of a marquis. That is to say, he wanted to join up with the higher aristocracy. So, then and there, he concluded the following agreement with the marquis. Every month he would pay the marquis an immense allowance, until the bride became of age. The marquis binds himself to marry her within twelve years. But the betrothal would take place right away.
And so, for nine years, the marquis punctually received his allowance and gave himself up to all the pleasures of life. But in the tenth year, the young twelve-year-old bride fell ill with diphtheria and died.
You can imagine for yourselves the tears the papa-speculator shed! In the first place, naturally, he grieved madly for his daughter, but in the second place, he couldn't help thinking how
much money he'd thrown away for nothing. And, naturally, there were no hopes of getting as much as a penny back from the gentleman-marquis.
And he, rubbing his hands, no doubt, said to the grieving papa: "Now look, as far as the money is concerned, naturally, you understand how it is yourself. Since the girl has kicked the bucket —it's my luck."
22. But there is still more! There have been even more amazing incidents on the love front.
Now, it's very strange, for example, to read how men—various Beau Brummell types, barons, distinguished knights, cavaliers, merchants, landowners, and tsars—have gotten married without ever seeing their brides. Withal, this was a fairly frequent phenomenon. And yet, to us contemporary readers, it seems to a certain degree surprising.
In those days they only paid attention to how affairs and finances shaped up and what the bride's property situation was like, who her papa was serving, or where he reigned—and that's all. Well, maybe a few of the more cautious bridegrooms would ask approximately what kind of a companion-for-life they were getting, did she have a humpback or something—and that's all.
They made their agreement and got married, so to speak, in the dark, with their eyes closed. And they saw the bride only at the last moment.
No, in our time—why, it's even difficult to imagine how such things could be among us! Among us there might be, it is true, some wailing, nervous shouts, refusals, brews, a fist fight, and devil knows what. But in those days, this is the kind of thing that went on.
23. Naturally, a number of shocking and unpleasant incidents occurred.
For example, from among world scandals, two are well known.
One is a well-known incident which is performed even in the theaters, as a monstrous tragedy and drama of royal life.
The Spaniard, Philip II, an old man of sixty, decided to marry off his son and heir, the famous Don Carlos. He decided to marry him off to the French princess, Isabella, which was advantageous and necessary on account of high policy. He himself had not seen this princess. He knew she was youngish and trying to get married, but just what she was like, he didn't know.
But when, after the betrothal, he saw her, he fell in love with
her and married her himself, to the immense grief of his son, who also proved not indifferent to his charming bride. After which, as is well known, there took place the drama between father and son.
24. The second instance took place in Persia. The Persian king Cambyses (son of the famous Cyrus) made a proposal to the daughter of the Egyptian pharaoh, Amasis II (five hundred twenty-nine years before our era). Cambyses made this proposal without seeing the bride. In those days traveling and moving were quite a complicated business. And, for a trip to Egypt, it took several months.
Rumor had it that the Egyptian pharaoh's daughter was distinguished for her great beauty and charming airs.
And, there, the powerful Persian king, whose father had conquered almost the whole world, up and sent a proposal to the Egyptian king's daughter.
The pharaoh, who loved his only daughter very much, did not want to send her off into unknown lands. At the same time, he was afraid of offending the sovereign of the world with a refusal. So he up and chose the prettiest girl among his slaves and sent her to Persia instead of his own daughter. He sent her as his own daughter, you see, and gave her instructions accordingly.
History tells that Cambyses, having married her, loved her very much, but when the deception was accidentally discovered, he mercilessly had her executed, and, offended in his finest sentiments, went to war against Egypt.
This was, if you will, one of the most powerful love dramas, from which may be seen how love began in those days and how it ended.
25. Ah, we see that dramatic episode before us so vividly, and that tragic moment when the whole deception was uncovered!
There they sit, embracing one another, on a Persian ottoman.
On a lower bench, there are, just imagine, Oriental delicacies and drinks—Turkish delight, halvah, and all that. And a stout Persian with a huge fan in his hands chases the flies off the sweets.
The Persian king, Cambyses, having drunk up a glass of their equivalent of sherry-brandy, is exclaiming his admiration for his charming wife and muttering various soothing words in her ear: like this, "Ah, my sweet little Egyptian pigeon, you . . . How is it there in Egypt? . . . Papa-pharaoh spoiled you terribly, no doubt. But how could he help spoiling you, when you're such a sweet
little thing, and I have loved you, my dear princess, from the first time I saw your royal approach," and so forth.
26. At this point maybe she was depending on her feminine charms, or else nobody knows what happened in her feminine heart, only she smiled a silvery smile and said, "Well, now, just look at that, what dumb luck: the pharaoh's daughter still in Egypt, and he, the Persian king Cambyses, fallen head over heels in love with her, who had nothing whatsoever in common with the pharaoh's daughter. He loved a simple slave girl. That is what love did to a man's heart."
At this point, one cannot imagine what happened next without trembling.
No doubt he shouted in a wild voice. Leaped from the divan in his drawers. The slipper fell off from one of his bare feet. His lips turned pale. His hands shake. His knees wobble. "What?!" shouted he, in Persian. "Repeat what you just said! Ministers! Arrest the hussy!"
At this point the ministers ran in, "Ah, ah! What is it? Calm down, your majesty! . . . Look—you dropped a slipper off your feet; remember your royal dignity."
But, naturally, it isn't so easy to calm down when one's vanity has borne such an immense affront.
27. And so, in the evening, after they had expeditiously chopped off the poor Egyptian girl's head, Cambyses no doubt sat long in council with his ministers.
Waving his hands about and all atremble, he paces nervously up and down the room.
"No, who would have guessed the Egyptian pharaoh was that kind of a bastard, eh?" he exclaims indignantly.
The ministers sigh deferentially, shake their heads and spread out their hands, glancing at one another venomously.
"What should I do now, gentlemen, after an insult like that? Should I go to war against that scoundrel, or what?"
"We can go to war, your majesty."
"Only, the dog, he's a long way off ... Egypt. . . Africa . . . Takes almost a year to get there . . . Seems we'd have to go on camels . . ."
"It's nothing, your majesty. The army will get there."
"I was nice to her," said Cambyses, upset all over again. "I i^ook her in as an Egyptian princess, I loved her passionately, and then it turns out that isn't what she is... How about it, gentlemen?
What am I, a dog or what, not good enough for his daughter? Sending a hussy like that. . . Eh?"
28. The minister of foreign affairs says, trying to keep from laughing: "The important thing is, your majesty, that it's a world scandal. .."
"That's exactly it! ... I'm telling you—it's a scandal. Aye, what in the world am I going to do?"
"The important thing is, your majesty, that it won't go down well in world history . . . That is, Persia . . . Cambyses . . . condemned a girl to death . . ."
"Aye, what are you unsettling me
for, you son of a bitch! . . . Gather the army! . . . Go on campaign! . . . Conquer Egypt and send it to the devil's mother! . .."
In all, Cambyses personally led the army against Egypt and in a short time conquered it. The very old and hapless Pharaoh Amasis, however, died about that time. And his nephew Psamtik, expecting nothing good would come of all this, put an end to himself.
As far as the ill-fated princess is concerned, we have unfortunately found no clues in history concerning her fate ...
A certain acquaintance of ours, who is a professor of history and who lectures at the university, told me that Cambyses gave away this Egyptian girl, as it were, into the harem of one of his ministers. But to what extent this is true, we would not take it upon ourselves to assert. But, naturally, it's possible. In all, love had scattered like smoke. From which it is clear exactly how much a pound of this emotion was worth.
29. So what does it signify? Does it signify that the matter is, as it were, of no importance? Where, then, is that famous love glorified by poets and singers? Where, then, is that passion which has been sung in marvelous poems? Can it be that these nibbling poets, these rhythm sewers and lovers of every beauty and grace, have allowed such a disturbing exaggeration to slip by? So that, reading history, we find no such experiences?
No, certainly, paging through history, we do find some. But these are very few. We had wanted some kind of unique pearl to glitter from every page. But, as it is, once in a century we stumble on some kind of doubtful little love affair.
So here we have scraped together a few such love stories. But to do this we have read through, and definitely with diligence, all the history of various, if you'll excuse me, Ethiopians and
Chaldeans, and from the creation of the world right on up to our own time.
And we've only managed to scrape up what you now see before you. Here, for example, is a fairly powerful love, thanks to which one daughter ran over her own papa in a chariot.
Here's how it happened.
30. The Roman emperor, Servius Tullius, had a daughter. This daughter had a husband, a man of fairly doubtful reputation. But, nevertheless, the daughter loved him exceedingly.
And here, this gentleman was thinking of knocking this daughter's noble father, Servius Tullius, off the throne. Of course, he was an old man, this Servius Tullius, and he had led some unsuccessful wars against those, you can just imagine, Etruscans. Nevertheless, to go knocking him off was too bad. All the more so, since it wasn't necessary to kill him. This was already piggishness.
But this energetic son-in-law, after having taken counsel with the old man's daughter, decided to kill her papa anyway. And she, for love of this cannibal, agreed.
And so this energetic son-in-law, having bribed a hired murderer, pitilessly finishes off r the noble old man with a dagger in the open square. And he drops, without a word. And the people shout: "And who, gentlemen, is going to be our emperor now?"
And, there, the daughter of this murdered father, instead of weeping and falling all over her papa's corpse in grief, comes dashing up in a chariot and, wishing to hail the new emperor— her husband—with a shout of joy, runs over the corpse of her only recently murdered father with the wheels.
The scene, though to a certain degree repulsive, nevertheless has power. And the love of this imperial daughter comes across rather strongly. For she must have been very much in love in order to run over the old man at such a moment.
She stands in the chariot. She gives a whoop. Her hair has come undone. Her puss goes all askew. "Hurrah!" she shouts to the new emperor. And she drives across all that has fallen.
But in the crowd they cry out: "Look, that shameless wench Wasn't even hesitated, it seems, to run over her own papa." $, No, but anyway, this was love. And in part, probably, the wish to rule in her own right. In all, it is not unknown.
31. But here is an even more powerful love for you. One which involved a certain historical lady in the sunset of her life.
The Russian empress, Catherine II, in her declining years, at the age of about fifty-eight, fell madly in love with a certain dashing young beau—Platon Zubov. He was twenty-one years old, and he really was a very attractive young man. Although, his brother Valerian was even more attractive. Both their portraits are in the Russian museum—so it's really true: the brother was of untold beauty.
But the old girl didn't see the brother till later, and so, not knowing what was what, instantly fell in love with Platon. And when she saw Valerian, she sighed and said: "Yes, this young man could please me, too. But since I've already fallen in love with Platon, so, if you please, I'll go on with it."
But Platon, seeing that Valerian made an irresistible impression on the old girl, sent this brother of his off to war. And in the war a cannon ball tore off the beau's leg. So that the old girl devoted herself to Platon entirely and bestowed various amazing favors upon him.
It would be interesting to know how their romance began. The handsome young man probably felt terribly inhibited at first and quailed when the elderly lady pressed down on him. Naturally you'd quail. In any case, this is a sacred person, so to speak, empress of all the Russians and so forth, and suddenly, devil take it, a coarse business like this!
32. Let us imagine this romance.
"So, embrace me, little fool," said the empress.
"God almighty, I just don't dare, your majesty," muttered the favorite. "I fear and honor, so to speak, the imperial dignity."
"Ah, forget it. Just call me Ekaterina Vasilievna." (Or whatever her patronymic was.)
And the boy, smiling unnaturally, respectfully touched the aging shoulders of the empress. But then he got used to it, and received for his love rather more than it was worth.
In all, by the time he was twenty-four, this beau was already general in chief, viceroy of the region of New Russia, and commander in chief of all the artillery.
The lady, no longer young, fell in love with him more and more with every passing year, and scarcely knew how and with what to keep him happy.
She permitted him to glance through all secret dispatches and
reports from abroad. All ministers and generals, before dropping in on Catherine, had to pass through his hands.
The youth entertained ministers and courtiers, lying on a couch in his silk Bokhara dressing gown. Elderly generals, trembling respectfully, stood at attention before the young beauty.
The elderly empress, in love beyond measure, entrusted him with all the most responsible state tasks. Love literally blinded her.
33. But all along, the lad had some very mixed-up notions about life and politics. For example, his project for a New Russia is well known.
In this amazing project the following are proudly indicated as capitals of the first order: Petersburg, Astrakhan, Moscow, and Constantinople. Among cities of the second order are indicated, for some reason: Cracow, Taganrog, and Danzig. In this project, there is the following phrase: "The sovereign empress of so vast an empire should be likened to the sun, who, with his beneficent gaze, warms everything that his rays can reach."
In all, one can judge from this project alone, how much the old lady had begun to spit on affairs of state and the extent to which world politics had faded in comparison with her last love.
But this instance shows us an aging human being in all her pathetic beauty, rather than the happier qualities of love.
Here, however, is the story of a great love for you, one which took place when the forces were in full flower.
34. This story is also fairly well known, having been performed on theatrical stages. So we will not linger on it especially long. This, you know, is the one about how the Roman consul, Mark Antony, loved the Egyptian queen, Cleopatra. In all, let us try to recall this story, all the more since it is a touching story and at the same time extremely surprising. An ambitious man, having achieved for himself, just imagine, immense power, fell in love with a woman and threw it all decisively away. He even threw away his army with which he had set
out on conquest. And he stuck forever in Egypt.
He gave Cleopatra Roman lands—true, conquered by him— Armenia, Syria, Chilicia and Phoenicia; and lifted her to the rank of "empress of emperors."
The Roman Senate, seeing the military commander's scandalous activities, hastily removed Antony from the position of first Consul. But the love-bound Antony did not even wish to return home.
Then Rome declared war on Cleopatra. And the famous struggle between them began.
Antony, along with Cleopatra, marched out against the Roman army.
The Roman army approached Alexandria, and the Roman consul Octavian wrote Cleopatra a letter to the effect that she could still save her life and throne if she'd only sacrifice Antony.
35. The lady empress, seeing that her private affairs were of little importance, decided to sacrifice her ardent lover.
And while Antony was engaged in the struggle with Octavian, Cleopatra informed her lover by way of a servant that she had taken her own life. She knew Antony was so in love with her that he would not survive his grief. And that's really the way it was: When he learned of Cleopatra's end, Antony ran himself through with his sword.
As it turned out, though, the wound wasn't fatal. And Antony, when he found out that Cleopatra was still alive, had himself brought to her on a stretcher. And, in her embraces, he died, having forgiven her for her deception.
This surprising story really tells of a fairly great love which decisively eclipsed everything else.
And a little later, Cleopatra also put an end to herself.
For this reason: that Octavian was getting ready to send her off to Rome as a trophy. Cleopatra had wanted to attract this leader too, with her flirting, but nothing came of it, and then she, not wanting to survive her shame, poisoned herself. And thirty of her servant girls poisoned themselves along with her.
And for some reason we feel sorry for this beauty, to whom Octavian said: "Put away thy net, O queen—you won't catch me in it." But she was already forty years old, and she understood that her song had been sung.
And Other Stories Of Communist Russia Page 16
