That which Dante omitted among the tortures of hell was that a woman should be condemned to see the man she loves, who might have been hers, revelling in the love of another woman, and she his wife. Had Zeneida's love been that of ordinary women, it would have mattered little to her that the man, round whom her fetters had been cast, should, sooner or later, be dragged by these very fetters to the grave. The joys of the present would have outweighed the tortures of the future, the dread secrets of eternity. But so dearly had she loved Pushkin that she sought for him a happiness in which she had no part. It was an unnatural situation, and one requiring a nobler courage than most possess. But is not the woman who devotes herself to play a part in politics an unnatural, abnormal creation? Upon the altar of politics the heart is the lamb of sacrifice. In the service of a Moloch sensual passion may exist, but not love. Those who become political leaders have no longer father or mother, brother or sister, lover or friend; they recognize no difference between honesty and roguery, between the laws of God and the expediencies of man. Hence the pursuit of politics is an unnatural occupation for women, with whom love and justice are ruling principles. The Amazon who went forth to war had first rooted out the gentler feelings. The possibility of women taking up such a part is only comprehensible in countries where oppression is so unbearable, so utter, that the thirst for freedom extends from the starved hearts of the men to those of the women. The poet-laureate might love the court prima donna, but not the plenipotentiary of the Szojusz Blagodenztoiga. Between those two lay "the green book"--a far more efficient obstacle than the green ocean. But, all the same, the anchorites of St. George's Monastery had not carried their self-torture to greater perfection than had this woman who had forced herself to come as a guest to the house where she would be witness to the happiness denied her, and which she had voluntarily given to another. And now she has come to guard that happiness against the storms of the future. And she is not only witness to their happiness when they are together, but even when his farm-yard or stables tear Pushkin for a short hour from Bethsaba's side, the young wife can talk of nothing but to boast of her happiness. No peacock is so proud of spreading his tail as is a fond wife of telling of her happy lot. She has so many things to tell. Her husband is a perfect model of virtue and perfection! And to all this Zeneida must listen with utmost composure; to see, if the husband were absent over the expected half-hour, how uneasy and distraught the young wife grows; to read from her face: "Oh, you dear benefactress mine, my good fairy, my goddess, how gladly, were you not with me, would I run out to seek him!" And this, too, must she bear with a smile on her face! Oh, this Moloch!