The Queen of Spades, and other stories

child-like gaiety, how often, with her pleasant prattle or intoxicating caress, has she in an instant chased away my gloom! And now, Zemphira is false! My Zemphira is cold!" _The Old Gypsy:_ "Listen, and I will tell thee a story about myself. Long, long ago, before the Danube was threatened by the Muscovite (thou seest, Aleko, I speak of an ancient sorrow), at a time when we feared the Sultan who, through Boodjak Pasha, ruled the country from the lofty towers of Ackerman. I was young then, and my bosom throbbed with the passion of youth. My curly locks were not streaked with white. Among the young beauties there was one.... To whom I turned as to the sun, till at last I called her mine. Alas! like a falling star, my youth swiftly sped. Still briefer was our love. Marioula loved me but one year." "One day, by the waters of Kagula, we encountered a strange band of gypsies, who pitched their tents near ours at the foot of the hill. Two nights we passed together. On the third, they left, and Marioula forsook her little daughter and followed them. I slept peacefully. Day broke, and I awoke; my companion was not there. I searched, I called--no trace remained. Zemphira cried, I wept too! From that moment I became indifferent to all womankind. Never since has my gaze sought amongst them a new companion. My dreary hours I have spent alone." _Aleko:_ "What! Didst thou not instantly pursue the ingrate and her paramour, to plunge thy dagger in their false hearts?" _The Old Gypsy:_ "Why should I? Youth is freer than the birds. Who can restrain love? Everyone has his turn of happiness. Once fled, it will never return." _Aleko:_ "No, I am different. Without a struggle never would I yield my rights. At least, I would enjoy revenge. Ah, no! Even if I were to find my enemy lying asleep over the abyss of the sea, I declare that even then my foot should not spare him, but should unflinchingly kick the helpless villain into the depths of the ocean, and mock his sudden terrible awakening with a savage laugh of exultation. Long would his fall resound a sweet and merry echo in my ears." . . . . . . . _A Young Gypsy_: "One kiss, just one more embrace." _Zemphira:_ "My husband is jealous and angry. I must go!" _The Young Gypsy_: "Once more.... a longer one.... at parting." _Zemphira:_ "Good-bye. Here he comes." _The Young Gypsy:_ "Tell me. When shall we meet again?" _Zemphira:_ "To-night, when the moon rises over the hill beyond the tombs." _The Young Gypsy:_ "She is deceiving me; she will not come." _Zemphira_: "Run--there he is! I will be there, beloved!" Aleko sleeps, and in his mind dim visions play. With a cry he wakes in the dark, and, stretching out his jealous arm, clutches with a startled hand the cold bed. His companion is far away..... Trembling he sits up and listens.... All is quiet! Fear comes upon him. He shivers, then grows hot. Rising from his bed, he leaves the tent, and, terribly pale, wanders round the vans. All is silent, the fields are still, and it is dark. The moon has risen in a mist, and the twinkling stars are scarcely seen. But on the dewy grass slight footprints can be discovered, leading to the tombs. With hurried tread he follows on the path made by the ill-omened footmarks. In the distance, on the road side, a tomb shines white before him. Carried along by his hesitating feet, full of dread presentiment, his lips quivering, his knees trembling ... he proceeds ... when suddenly ... can it be a dream? Suddenly he perceives two shadows close together, and hears two voices whispering over the desecrated grave. _The First Voice_: "'Tis time." _The Second Voice_: "Wait." _The First Voice_: "'Tis time, my love." _The Second Voice_: "No, no! We will wait till morning." _The First Voice_: "'Tis late already." _The Second Voice_ "How timidly thou lovest! One moment more." _The First Voice_: "Thou wilt destroy me!" _The Second Voice_: "One moment!" _The First Voice_: "If my husband wakes and I am not----" _Aleko:_ "I am awake. Whither are you going? Don't hurry; you both are well here--by the grave." _Zemphira_: "Run, run, my friend." _Aleko:_ "Stop! Whither goest thou, my beautiful youth? Lie there!" (_He plunges his knife into him._) _Zemphira:_ "Aleko!" _The Young Gypsy:_ "I am dying!" _Zemphira:_ "Aleko, thou wouldst kill him! Look, thou art covered with blood! Oh, what hast thou done?" _Aleko:_ "Nothing; thou canst now enjoy his love." _Zemphira:_ "Enough, I do not fear thee! Thy threats I despise, and thy deed of murder I curse." _Aleko:_ "Then die thyself!" _Zemphira:_ "I die, loving him." . . . . . . . From the east the light of day is shining. Beyond the hill Aleko, besmeared with blood, sits on the grave-stone, knife in hand. Two corpses lie before him. The murderer's face is terrible. An excited crowd of timid gypsies surrounds him. A grave is being dug. A procession of sorrowing women approaches, and each in turn kisses the eyes of the dead. The old father sits apart, staring at his dead daughter in dumb despair. The corpses are then raised, and into the cold bosom of the earth the young couple are lowered. From a distance Aleko looks on. When they are buried, and the last handful of earth thrown over them, without a word he slowly rolls from off the stone on to the grass. Then the old man approaches him, and says: "Leave us, proud man. We area wild people and have no laws. We neither torture nor execute. We exact neither tears nor blood, but with a murderer we cannot live. Thou art not born to our wild life. Thou wouldst have freedom for thyself alone. The sight of thee would be intolerable to us; we are a timid, gentle folk. Thou art fierce and bold. Depart, then; forgive us, and peace be with thee!" He ended, and with great clamour all the wandering band arose, and at once quitted the ill-fated camp and quickly vanished into the distant desert tract. But one van, covered with old rugs, remained in the fatal plain standing alone. So, at the coming of winter and its morning mists, a flock of belated cranes rise from a field loudly shrieking and flying to the distant South, while one sad bird, struck by a fatal shot, with wounded drooping wing, remains behind. Evening came. By the melancholy van no fire was lighted; and no one slept beneath its covering of rugs that night. THE END.