THE EVE OF THE CORONATION
The dusk of a lovely autumnal eve had fallen over Slavowitz. Lights
were beginning to twinkle along the boulevards.
The preparations for the coronation were complete. The clinking of the
carpenter's hammer had ceased; the last bench had been put up; the
last flag hung out. The streets had become fairy arcades festooned
with flowers and colored lamps.
Crowds of sight-seers were abroad viewing the city decorations.
A numerous throng, composed principally of peasants from the more
remote parts of Czernova, and who had never before seen their
princess, moved to and fro in front of the Vistula Palace, calling for
a sight of their fair ruler; and Barbara, responsive to their desire,
appeared at intervals on the balcony smiling her acknowledgments, and
occasionally waving a scarf--an action which drew forth rounds of
applause.
The gayly decorated capital, brilliant with light, resonant on all
sides with song and music, alive with an ever-moving, laughing
populace, formed a picture difficult to associate with coming
disaster.
"So hath many a city looked on the eve of its fall," murmured Barbara,
as she turned away from the window. "Oh, Paul, why are you not with
me? If you have a plan for the salvation of Czernova, now is the time
for putting it forth."
By means of swift couriers despatched at intervals of every hour the
princess was kept informed of the movements that were taking place
along the frontier.
Early in the day the Russian army--horse, foot, and artillery--with
the Czar Nicholas at its head, had set forward from Zamoska, and was
now encamping within a mile of the Czernovese border. East and west
for many a furlong stretched the armed line of one hundred thousand
men. The Paulovski and Semenovski Guards were there, the most splendid
in the imperial service; as well as the Tartar Guards, the Finland
Guards, and other regiments drawn from the motley nationalities that
compose the vast empire of the Czar. Picturesque Circassians, clad in
silver mail, and mounted upon fiery steeds, pranced proudly along to
the camping-ground marked out for them, discharging their pistols at
the sun in the exuberance of their glee at the prospect of fighting
and pillage.
Wild-looking Cossacks riding shaggy ponies were continually galloping
up to the frontier-line with defiant cries as if challenging the
Czernovese sentinels to fire; after which, with a menacing flourish of
their lances they would career back to their own camp.
Russian generals, stately and bearded, could be seen standing on
various points of elevated ground, coolly reconnoitring through
field-glasses, and studying the topography of Czernova, as if
purposing to conduct a campaign in the principality.
Two envoys successively despatched by the princess to the Russian camp
to inquire into the meaning of these sinister doings had failed to
return. The obvious conclusion was that they had been forcibly
detained.
Barbara had resolved at all hazards to defend her throne; and
accordingly, while a body of ten thousand troops was retained at
Slavowitz for the preservation of order during the coronation, a
second division of ten thousand, with Dorislas in command, had made
their way to the frontier. Under the personal supervision of Zabern,
artillery had been planted upon all the strategic points that
commanded the road to Slavowitz.
It was a critical time. The Czernovese army lay encamped within sight
of a force whose numerical superiority was as ten to one. On each side
of the frontier Polish and Russian sentinels paced not one hundred
yards apart; a chance shot from either side might easily bring on
hostilities.
The princess's ministry lived in hourly dread of invasion, and though
striving to put a bold front upon the matter, were secretly convinced
that the sands of Czernovese liberty were fast running out.
In the midst of a melancholy revery, Barbara learned that the Duke of
Bora was in the palace, desirous of an interview with her. She was not
unprepared for his coming, and stern was her face as she descended to
the White Saloon where the duke was in waiting.
At the foot of the staircase she was met by the captain of the
palace-guard, who requested the watchword for the night; and taking
the proffered tablet, the princess returned it inscribed with the
words, "Fatherland and Liberty."
Lifting her eyes she perceived Zabern by her side.
"The duke has come," she whispered.
"All is ready," replied the marshal.
As Barbara entered the White Saloon, the duke bowed with a scarcely
disguised smile of triumph. The recent Russian movement, as the
princess had secret reason to know, was directed in his interests;
with pitying grace he came as a sort of conqueror to make his terms
with her.
Great at swordsmanship, Bora was not very shrewd in other matters, and
none but a fool would have ventured to play the game that he was
playing.
"I have come, fair cousin," he began, undeterred by her cold manner,
"to remind you of your promise so frequently made--your promise to
marry me."
Barbara made no reply, but regarded him with a look of sovereign
disdain on her beautiful face.
"It is true," continued Bora, airily, "that you gave what you were
pleased to call your final decision some weeks ago; still, the logic
of events often compels one to revoke a decision."
"And why do you deem the present a favorable time for renewing your
suit? What is this logic of events?"
Bora smiled mysteriously.
"I will say no more than this," he remarked, "that you will certainly
live to regret the rejection of my suit."
"You evade my question. Let me then express what is in your mind. My
lord, by favor of the Czar, you expect to reign over Czernova; you
seek to usurp my throne. But knowing that so long as I live, your
throne would always be insecure, you would make me your wife, not from
love, not from generosity or pity, but merely to give validity to your
title. Have I not read your cowardly motive aright?"
She had--accurately.
Unaware how much the princess had learned of his secret dealings, the
fatuous Bora had come in the full assurance that the approach of a
Russian army and the consequent rumors of annexation would have
disposed her to welcome his suit as a means of retaining her throne.
He now perceived his error. The princess was not so timid a person as
he had thought. Her stern manner somewhat alarmed him. He began to
regret his imprudence in thus venturing into her presence.
"In short, your grace, marriage with you is the only thing that can
save me from deposition. Is not that what you would say?"
"You reject my suit? Good! Then let this interview terminate," said
Bora, rising as if to depart.
The princess restrained him by a haughty gesture.
"Keep your seat, or I shall call the guard."
The duke obeyed, trembling now for his own safety. Never had he seen
the princess looking so angry.
"Why, during the past twelve months, have you insulted me with vows of
love, with offers of marriage?"
"Insulted? Why that word?" said the duke, striving to conceal his
alarm under an assumption of dignity.
"Because while simulating affection for me you were secretly
intriguing with my enemies."
"You have been listening to the aspersions of Zabern."
"I have been listening to the words of Lipski. Ah! you start, my lord,
and well you may. You are not yet aware--for the affair was carried
out very quietly--that a raid was made this afternoon upon Lipski's
premises. His cellars were found to contain a vast store of arms. In
the house, too, was a number of Russian agents, among them the spy,
Ivan Russakoff. Lipski has made full confession."
"Of what?" muttered the duke, looking thunderstruck at the princess's
statement.
"Of many things. Here is one. About a twelve-month ago there was
established a new journal entitled the 'Kolokol,' mainly devoted to
the libelling of myself and to the stirring-up of civil strife. Before
the founding of that newspaper the Muscovites of Russograd were as
loyal and law-abiding as the Poles themselves; under the influence of
the 'Kolokol,' however, they have become restless, disorderly,
inclined to sedition. Was that well done, John Lilieski?"
"What has this to do with me?"
"Much, for though Lipski might be editor, yet he who actually owned
the paper, financed it, and secretly controlled its policy was none
other than the Duke of Bora."
"A fable of Lipski's, invented to please the princess's ministers."
"We will see whether you adhere to that statement in the presence of
Lipski, for you shall have the opportunity of facing your accuser. He
likewise avers that his measure, the Secular Appropriation Bill, was
in reality your work; he simply acted as your mouthpiece in the Diet.
The money with which he corrupted the deputies was supplied by you,
and came from Orloff, the governor-general of Warsaw."
"A falsehood. I affirm the story to be a falsehood."
"You devised a plot for the destruction of the Czernovese Charter. You
wrote to Orloff desiring him to obtain the Czar's sanction for this
scheme--a scheme which was, however, happily frustrated," added
Barbara, not knowing how widely she erred from the truth.
"Lipski has been terrorized into saying whatever Zabern wishes,"
muttered the duke, moistening his dry lips with his tongue.
He saw that his treason had become known and proved; and for such
treason as his there could be but one punishment--death! He glanced
around the apartment, wondering whether her guards were really within
call. In his desperation he would not have hesitated at slaying her,
if by that deed he could have effected his escape.
Barbara drew forth a handkerchief marked with a dreadful dark stain.
Instead of regarding it with a shudder as might have been expected,
she pressed it affectionately to her lips.
"The blood of Trevisa," she said solemnly, "of Trevisa, the most
faithful and loyal of my servants--slain at your instigation.
Russakoff was paid to do the deed by Lipski, but Lipski took his
instructions from the Duke of Bora."
"It's a lie."
"Katina Ludovska, though at the time she did not clearly see Lipski's
face, has to-day recognized him by his voice, as the man who at the
inn--Sobieski's Rest--offered to Russakoff the bribe of four hundred
roubles. I have had Lipski brought here purposely to meet you. He is
in the palace at the present moment. Your grace, come with me," said
the princess, rising and motioning Bora to follow her. "Let me see you
meet him with a denial. None more glad than I if you will do this.
Come. Dare you?"
It seemed not. He shrank back from accompanying the princess to the
adjoining ante-room, where sat both his miserable accomplice Lipski
and the equally miserable Russakoff, each under the guard of a
quaternion of soldiers.
"You virtually admit your guilt in refusing to face your accuser. The
muskets found on Lipski's premises have been surreptitiously forwarded
by Orloff with your knowledge and approval. To-morrow before break of
day those arms were to have been distributed to a Muscovite mob
rendered valiant by copious supplies of vodka. At a certain point
along the intended route of the coronation procession, barricades were
to be thrown up, and when firing and rioting had begun, a message was
to be despatched to the camp of the Czar, urging him to come and save
the Muscovites from massacre at the hands of the Poles. And the Czar,
responsive to the appeal, would come to establish in Czernova what he
would call a stable government, its stability to consist in the
acceptance of his own suzerainty and in the establishment of his
kinsman Bora upon the throne. The deposed princess might marry Bora,
if she chose; if not, there is in Ladoga's gray lake an island
fortress named Schlusselburg; there let her pass the remainder of her
days. Such is the programme you would fain carry out to-morrow. My
lord of Bora, you have played a dark game; it is time you received
your reward."
The princess clapped her hands quickly, and at the sound every door of
the White Saloon opened and through each there came marching a file of
soldiers, two abreast. With quick silent footfall they advanced over
the velvet carpet, and with a thrill of awe the duke perceived that
all were carrying their arms reversed as at a funeral.
Deploying in their advance the files so moved as to form a double ring
around the princess and the duke, and there they stood, terrible in
their rigidity and silence.
The circle gave way and Zabern appeared, a chilling glare in his eye.
At a sign from him one soldier with a swift motion pulled the duke's
hands behind him, and in a moment more had corded his wrists, while a
second pinned upon his breast a piece of white satin in shape like a
heart.
At sight of this dreadful fabric designed to direct the aim of a
firing party, the duke's courage fled; his knees smote together; he
grew white to the very lips.
Only ten miles distant were one hundred thousand men ready to assist
him to a throne; for all the aid they could now give him they might as
well have been situated in the planet Mars.
"The firing-party awaits you in the quadrangle," said Zabern, as the
guards closed up around the duke. "Forward!"
"Have a care what you do, Cousin Natalie," said Bora, scarcely able to
speak from fear. "You will have to answer to the Czar for this."
"You speak treason with your last breath," said Barbara. "Answer to
the Czar for executing a traitor in my own principality! What
jurisdiction hath the Czar in Czernova?"
"Traitor!" cried Zabern, fiercely. "I would stab you with my own hand,
though the Czar himself were by. To the quadrangle--forward!"
The murmur of the restless populace without penetrated to the interior
of the palace, and was heard by the wretched duke. Was he to die with
the sound of the coronation-mirth ringing in his ears?
In the ante-chamber Zabern halted his troop and returned to the side
of the princess.
"This instrument lacks your Highness's signature," he remarked,
presenting her with the warrant for the duke's execution.
"On occasions such as this," murmured Barbara, taking the document,
"one is tempted to say with Saint Vladimir, 'Who am I that I should
shed blood?'"
"And yet Vladimir shed a good deal, if history speak truth," responded
Zabern, "and therefore became he a saint after Russia's own heart.
Your Highness, this is no time for pity. It is a question of your life
or the duke."
The princess appended a name to the warrant.
"I fear," observed Zabern, with a grave smile, "that the captain of
the firing-party will question the authority of that signature."
The princess looked, and to her surprise saw that she had subscribed
herself not "Natalie Lilieski," but "Barbara Tressilian!" She had
unwittingly written her mother's maiden name.
She did not erase the signature, but proceeded to indite a fresh
warrant. She wrote very slowly, pondering as she wrote. What would the
real Natalie have thought, said, or done, if she were living now and
saw her elder sister signing the death-warrant of her lover?
With a sigh she handed the document to the marshal, who immediately
returned it with a very strange look. And there, staring at her from
the paper, were the self-same words as before--"Barbara Tressilian!"
The princess had her superstitious moments, and this was one of them.
That she should unintentionally have written the same twice seemed a
confirmation of the misgiving that had troubled her for several weeks.
"This is the hand of heaven," she murmured, in a tone of awe, and
laying down the pen. "Are not the illegitimate always called after
their mother? I have written my true name. Marshal," she added in a
fearful whisper, "it is Bora who should be on the throne, and I should
be the prisoner of the Citadel."
"Your Highness, do not talk thus."
But Barbara paid little heed.
"I am tempted to summon the Diet, even at this late hour, and to
reveal to them my secret history, the whole miserable story of my
birth."
"You will bring ruin on Czernova if you do. What guarantee have you
that the cardinal's story is true?"
"This," replied Barbara, pointing to her signature on the
death-warrant.
The marshal shrugged his shoulders deprecatingly.
"And therefore, because you suspect yourself to be of illicit birth,
you would tender your diadem to an assassin and a traitor. Then let
the Czar himself lay down his power; true, he is the son of the
Emperor Paul, but was Paul really the child of Peter III.? Catherine
and Soltikoff, the chamberlain, could best answer that question.
Princess, you are over-scrupulous. Your title to the throne is founded
on a better right than that of the accident of birth. The sovereign
rules by the will of the people, and are not the majority on your
side? If the princely office were made elective, is there any
candidate who would have the least chance of success against yourself?
And, _vox populi, vox Dei_. What other sanction do you require?"
"The sanction of my own conscience. And to-morrow--to-morrow," she
murmured in a tone of distress, "after taking the Holy Sacrament I
must lay my hand upon the Charter--"
"Upon a forged document, rather," muttered Zabern, grimly to himself.
"And declare that 'I, Natalie Lilieska, do solemnly vow' to maintain
its provisions, knowing that I am not Natalie Lilieska. No, Zabern, I
cannot--I will not utter this falsehood."
"Then let the Pope avow himself a liar when in solemn conclave he
assumes the style of Pio Nono, and ignores his true name of Giovanni
Mastai."
"All men know of the Pope's change of name; there is no attempt at
deception; but I claim to be other than I am. If I were certain of
illegitimacy I would resign my power this very night."
"I see quite plainly," said Zabern, speaking with more freedom than he
had hitherto employed towards the princess, "that if Czernova were
handed over to the Czar, and your faithful ministers sent to Siberia,
you would be very well content."
As he spoke the marshal drew his sabre.
"Do you bid me break the sword that has been so long used in the
Polish cause? Must I retire hence to aid the Hungarians, to obtain
that freedom which you would deny to us in Czernova?"
"No, marshal, no; we must not part. I will stand by those who have
stood by me. Clinging to the hope that there is no dishonor on my
name, I will hold to my crown."
"A wise decision, princess," replied Zabern, considerably relieved by
her words. "And now as to the duke's execution."
"What, marshal? Would you have me sign his death-warrant when I am
doubtful of my right to rule?--and sign it, too, in the name of one,
who, strange as it may seem to us, loved him? No, I cannot sign this
document with the name of Natalie."
"But your Highness cannot sign it with any other."
"Then I will not sign it at all."
"I greatly fear that your Highness will live to regret this clemency."
"Be it so."
The first glow of Barbara's anger had passed, and she listened to the
voice of prudence. Though the duke richly merited death, yet his
execution without trial would give the Czar a very convenient pretext
for intervening in the affairs of Czernova.
"By shooting the duke I make the Czar the heir to my crown," said
Barbara. "By retaining him alive I may be able to make use of his
person as a pawn on the political chessboard. Imprisonment will be the
wiser course. Remove the duke to the Citadel."
And inasmuch as the marshal recognized Barbara as his princess, he had
of necessity to obey.
When Zabern had seen the duke securely lodged in a cell of the
Citadel, he returned to the White Saloon, where Barbara still
lingered, wrapt in melancholy thought.
"Your Highness, on entering the palace this note was put into my
hands."
Barbara glanced at the missive and saw that it contained the following
words: "Marshal, will you accord the bearer of this an interview with
the princess?--PAUL WOODVILLE."
Barbara's melancholy vanished as if by enchantment. Two months had now
elapsed since Paul's departure, and during that time she had received
no message from him. Now at last there seemed to be tidings.
"Who is the bearer, marshal?"
"One returned from the dead. A woman calling herself 'Jacintha of
Castel Nuovo.' She is in the ante-room at the present moment awaiting
your Highness's pleasure."
The mention of the name "Jacintha" almost drew a scream from the
princess. She ordered the visitor to be instantly admitted.
Barbara's character was not marked by the false pride that is too
often the accompaniment of rank and wealth. She welcomed her humble
visitor as warmly as she would have welcomed a queen or empress.
Jacintha had nursed her back to life, and Barbara, mindful of this
service, was delighted to have the opportunity of making some return.
"My lady--your Highness, I should say," began Jacintha, sinking upon
her knees, "it is very untimely on my part to visit you on the eve of
your coronation, when you are occupied--"
"My dear old nurse," said Barbara, raising Jacintha up with a winning
smile, "let me whisper a secret to you. I want to forget my
coronation, and your presence will make me forget it. Sit here beside
me, and let us talk of the old days at Castel Nuovo."
Zabern would have withdrawn, but the princess bade him stay.
"I had thought," continued Barbara, "that you had perished in that
dreadful earthquake. And Lambro? Is he alive?"
"No, my la--your Highness. We were outside the castle at the time of
the calamity, for some previous rumblings had alarmed us. When the
great shock came Lambro slipped into a fissure that opened beneath his
feet. He went down before my very eyes, and the earth closed over him
immediately. How I myself escaped I cannot tell, for the ground was
opening and closing all around me."
"Poor Lambro!" sighed Barbara, who had always entertained a liking for
the old Palicar, not knowing how little he deserved her friendship.
"And where have you been living during the two past years?"
Jacintha's story, briefly stated, was as follows. After the earthquake
she had made her way to Trieste, and thence by steamer to England.
Within a few weeks of her return she had had the good fortune to
become housekeeper in one of the ancient halls of Kent.
"But now will you not remain with me?" smiled the princess.
"Your Highness will not wish it after you have heard the whole of my
story," replied Jacintha, and the strange look which accompanied her
words somehow caused all Barbara's gladness to die away.
A few days previously Jacintha's master had bidden her prepare for the
coming of one of his friends, Captain Woodville by name. What was her
amazement to find in her visitor none other than Captain Cressingham,
who on his part was equally astounded at meeting Jacintha. Paul
immediately fell to talking of the old days at Castel Nuovo, and,
among other matters, he questioned Jacintha closely as to the young
lady who had visited the castle under the escort of Cardinal Ravenna.
Jacintha learnt from Paul that this lady was in reality the
half-sister of Barbara, and that both held the rank of princess. Then
it was that Jacintha resolved to tell Paul the true story of Natalie's
death.
"Ha!" muttered Zabern, foreseeing that his dark suspicion was about to
be verified.
"And Captain Woodville has sent you here to tell it to me likewise--is
it not so?" asked Barbara.
"Yes, your Highness. I wanted to put the story into writing, that you
might learn it in that way. I wanted Captain Cressingham himself to
tell it to you. But no; he said it was better that you should hear it
from my lips, and he prevailed upon me to come here."
"Go on, Jacintha," said Barbara encouragingly, for Jacintha seemed
very loath to proceed.
"Your Highness, it is no wonder that the earthquake came to swallow up
the castle, for wicked doings took place there. But do not blame me
for my association with them. I loathed my position there, and would
have run away, but for the fear of Lambro and his mastiffs. Now that
you are a great princess, you will perhaps punish me when you shall
have heard the truth."
"Captain Woodville would not have sent you all the way to Czernova, if
he had thought that I should punish you. Tell me the story of my
sister's death. You have my word beforehand that no hurt shall happen
to you."
And Jacintha with a faltering tongue began a story, the recital of
which caused Barbara to thrill with horror.
"O Natalie, my sister! my sister!" she murmured, when Jacintha had
finished. "But for the cardinal, you would still be living. His guilty
love has driven one sister to suicide, and now, opposed in his wicked
desires, he seeks to destroy the other. How can heaven permit this man
to live? Bora's guilt is innocence compared with the guilt of
Ravenna."
Powerless to allay the princess's grief, Zabern could only watch her
in sympathizing silence, and mentally renew his vows of vengeance upon
the cardinal. So full was Barbara of this new sorrow that she seemed
to have forgotten Paul; at least she made no inquiries about him.
Zabern, however, leading Jacintha aside, quietly questioned her as to
the movements of the princess's late secretary. It appeared that Paul
had accompanied Jacintha as far as Berlin, and had there put her in a
train bound for Czernova; seized with a sudden illness on the way, she
had been removed from the carriage at the first stopping-place, and
this circumstance had delayed her arrival in Czernova by several days.
Paul himself, on parting from her, was going direct to St. Petersburg,
a statement which Zabern received with incredulity.
"St. Petersburg? Are you certain?"
Yes, Jacintha was quite certain.
"St. Petersburg," muttered Zabern. "Not three months ago the Russians
were demanding his extradition, and now does he venture into the
country of his enemies? If his passport is made out in the name of
Paul Woodville, he is a doomed man; they will never let the defender
of Tajapore depart. This is something I can't understand."
Though closely interrogated by Zabern, Jacintha was unable to throw
any light upon the motives that had prompted Paul to visit Russia.
The marshal paced uneasily to and fro.
"Captain Woodville," he murmured, "pledged his solemn word to be in
Czernova on the coronation eve; for, forewarned by me, he had reason
to believe that the princess's crown depended upon his sword. But he
has not yet appeared. His absence has something sinister in it, for it
is certain that he would be here if he could. True, his presence in
one sense has now become unnecessary, inasmuch as the duke being a
prisoner in the Citadel will be unable to appear in the cathedral
to-morrow to challenge the princess's rights, and to defy her to
mortal combat by deputy. But as Woodville can know nothing of the
duke's imprisonment, why does he not hasten to the supposed aid of the
princess? I greatly fear that our champion is himself a prisoner."
At this point intimation was given by the chamberlain that one of
Zabern's familiars, privileged to enter the palace at all hours, was
in the anteroom, desirous of a word with the marshal.
Zabern withdrew from the White Saloon, and returned after a minute's
absence with the tidings for which he had been waiting all day.
"Your Highness, my spy appointed to watch the cardinal in his
journeying to and fro from Rome reports that his Eminence has just
arrived at Slavowitz, bringing with him the papal bull which deposes
the Princess of Czernova, and absolves her subjects from their
allegiance."
"Say, rather, bringing with him his own death-warrant," cried
Barbara, with a blaze of wrath unusual in her.
"Your Highness gives me leave to deal with the cardinal as I please,"
whispered Zabern, tapping the hilt of his sabre significantly.
Barbara made no reply.
The marshal interpreting her silence as consent, stole quietly from
the apartment.