She who wore a Crown
IT was a very ordinary, poorly furnished room in St. Petersburg. Elèna Nikolàevna stood at the window and looked out into the street.
There was nothing interesting to look at in the noisy and somewhat dirty town street, but Elèna Nikolàevna did not look out because she wanted to look at anything interesting. True, it would soon be time for her little son to come round the corner on his way home from school, but Elèna Nikolàevna would not have gone to the window just for that. She had such confident pride in him and in herself. He would come at the right time, as he always did—as everything in life would come at its own appointed time.
Standing there, erect and proudly confident, there was an expression on her beautiful pale face as if she wore a crown.
She was remembering something which had happened ten years ago, in that year when her husband had died, leaving her so soon after their wedded life had begun.
How terrible his death had been! One fine spring morning he had gone out of the house quite well and happy, and before evening he had been brought home dead—run over on the highway. It had seemed then to Elèna Nikolàevna that life could never more bring her happiness. She might have died from grief, but the fingers of her little child drew her back to life, and in the old dreams of her childhood she was able to find consolation. Yet how difficult it had been to live; how poor she had been!
The summer after her husband's death she had spent in the country with her younger sister and her own little child. And to-day she remembered with a marvellous distinctness one bright day on which had happened something delightful and strange—something apparently insignificant in itself, yet shedding upon her soul a wonderful light, illuminating all the rest of her life. On that wonderful day, long past, had happened that which ever afterwards made Elèna Nikolàevna as proudly calm as if she had been crowned queen of a great and glorious land.
But this well-remembered day had dawned in the darkness of grief, and like every day of that summer it had been watered by her tears.
She had quickly accomplished the little household duties that were necessary and had gone into the forest so as to be far away from everybody. She loved to wander in the depths of the forest and dream there. Often she wept there, remembering the happiness that had been hers.
There was one glade which she especially loved. The soft moist grass, the clear faraway sky, the northern moistness, the tender mossy slopes, the soft clouds—all were in sympathy with her grief.
She stood by a grey boulder in this favourite spot; her clear blue eyes gazed at the scene; in her dreams she was far away. She thought she heard herself called, that a voice said:
"Elèna, what are you dreaming about?"
She trembled, and in a moment her sweet dream lost itself in a maze of fancies—she could not have told her dream.
And why should she tell any one what her thoughts had been, where they had wandered? No one else could understand … those dreamland princesses clothed in shining garments, clear-eyed, celestial … who came and comforted her … what meaning had they for others?
She stood alone in the quiet glade, her hands crossed upon her breast. Her blue eyes were shadowed by grief. The sun, shining high above her, caressed her back and shoulders, his rays gleaming on her long red plaits of hair encircled her with a golden halo. She dreamed. … Suddenly she heard voices and laughter.
Before her stood three shining maidens, three woodland princesses. Their dresses were white, as Elèna's own, their eyes were blue like hers. On their heads were fragrant flower-crowns. Their arms were bare as were Elèna's, their shoulders were kissed by the sun like hers. Their little slightly sunbrowned feet, like hers, were bathed in the dew of the grass.
They came towards her and smiled, and said:
"How beautiful she is!"
"She stands there and the sunlight makes her hair look golden."
"She holds herself like a queen."
Joy and grief were strangely mingled in Elèna's heart. Holding out her hands in welcome she spoke joyously in her ringing voice:
"Greeting, dear sisters, dear woodland princesses!"
Clearly, clearly, like a little golden bell, sounded the voice of Elèna, and clear as the ringing of golden bells came in answer the gentle laughter of the three as they said:
"We are princesses—who art thou?"
"Thou should'st be the queen of this place."
Sadness tinged Elèna's voice as she answered:
"How could I be a queen? No crown of gold is mine; my heart is full of sadness for the loss of my beloved. No one can crown me more."
The sisters smiled no longer. Elèna heard the quiet voice of the eldest sister:
"Why this earthly grief? Thy beloved is dead, but is he not ever with thee? Thy heart is sad, but in the remembrance of him canst thou not rejoice? Canst thou not raise thy desires to flow in union with the Heavenly Will? Dost thou not desire to be crowned here as our queen?"
"Ah, I do desire it," cried Elèna, and she trembled with joy and shining tears sparkled in her blue eyes.
Once more a question came:
"And wilt thou then be worthy of thy crown?"
Awe and wonder held the soul of Elèna, and she said:
"I will be worthy of my crown."
Then the princess spoke again:
"Stand always in the presence of fate as pure and brave as now thou standest here before us. Look straight into the eyes of men. Triumph over grief; fear neither life nor the approach of death. Drive far from thee all mean desires and slavish thoughts. In poverty and in bondage and in misery let thy soul be proud and free."
Tremblingly she answered:
"Though in slavery, I will be free."
"Then you shall wear a crown," said the princesses.
"Yes, you shall wear a crown," said they.
They plucked the white and yellow blossoms; with their white hands they wove a chaplet of flowers—the fragrant flower-crown of the woodland nymphs.
Thus Elèna was crowned, and the nymphs joining hands danced about her in a gentle dance—with joyful motion they encircled her.
Fast and faster—the white dresses floated in the air, the light dancing feet moved over the dew-laden grass.
Encircling, enclosing, they drew her into their swift circle of ecstasy—away from grief, from the sadness and anxiety of life, they drew her away with them.
Time fulfilled itself, and the day waned, and grief was as a flame of joy; the soul of Elèna lost itself in rapture.
Then they kissed her and departed.
"Farewell, dear queen of ours!"
"Farewell, dear sisters!"
Among the trees they disappeared; Elèna was alone.
Proudly she walked upon her homeward way; she wore her crown of flowers.
She told no one of her adventure in the forest, but so radiant was her face that her little sister smiled at her and said:
"Elèna looks a shining one to-day; one might think it was the day of her angel."
In the evening Elèna went to visit little Paul, a sick child, who had not long to live. She loved the boy because he was peaceful and serene and nothing disturbed the calmness of his mind. Sometimes at night she would wake and remember little Paul and weep because he must die so soon—and the grief in her heart was strangely mingled: for her husband who was dead, for herself so early left forlorn, for the child who so soon must die.
Paul was sitting by himself in a summer-house on the cliff watching the peaceful flaming of the setting sun. He smiled at Elèna's approach; her coming was always a joy to him. He loved her because she always told him the truth and never sought to comfort him with false hopes as did others. He knew that he must die soon and that there were only two who would long remember him—his mother and his friend Elèna.
Elèna told him what had happened in the forest, and little Paul closed his eyes and sat in thought. But by and by he spoke and said, smiling happily:
"I am glad for you, my dear forest queen. I have always known that you were pure and free. Every one who can speak of himself and say, 'I,' ought to be as a conqueror upon the earth. For man can overcome the world."
Then he saw three young ladies walking below the cliff, and said to Elèna:
"Look! your three woodland princesses are coming by."
Elèna looked also, and she recognised them with a momentary feeling of pain. Three ordinary girls! They wore the same white dresses as in the morning; their eyes were as blue, their hair as golden, their figures as beautiful—but now they wore no flower crowns, but instead white summer hats. They were just ordinary young girls—summer visitors.
They were hidden for a moment behind the bushes, but soon they appeared again, climbing up the cliff and coming along the narrow path which passed the summer-house. Paul bowed to them and smiled, and they recognised Elèna.
"Greeting to you, dear queen."
"Dear sisters," said Elèna happily.
••••••
And ever since that time Elèna had known joy. Under the guise of the ordinary she had known the joy of her crowned life. All poverty and wretchedness had been transformed by her queenly pride, her exalted dignity.
And now after many years, as she stood by the window waiting for her little son, though her dress was poor and shabby, she was whispering to herself as she remembered the crowning day of her life:
"Man can overcome the world."