THE NIGHT OF THE 15TH SEPTEMBER.
The past day had been unusually gloomy for the season. The sun had
set in fiery clouds beyond the spires of St. Petersburg. The night
was without a moon, and a strong east wind rolled the waters of
Ladoga in billows of inky hue against the massive walls of the
fortress in foam and fury on one side, while on the other, the waters
of the Neva, swollen by recent rains, gurgled and chafed round the
mouldy and moss-grown piers of the drawbridge.
The wind moaned with a sullen sound past the mouths of the cannon,
and whistled drearily through the deep embrasures and the loopholes
for musketry in the casemates. Thunder had been heard at times, but
afar; Elias, as the Russians poetically phrase it, was driving his
chariot among the stars. Lightning had reddened all the lake, and
cast the weird shadow of the castle athwart it for an instant; and,
that a complete and melodramatic omen of impending evil might not be
wanting, a huge sea-bird had perched upon the castle clock, and
forcing round the hands, struck midnight four hours before the proper
time.
Since morning roll-call, Jagouski, the knouted, beaten, and ill-used
Cossack, had been missing; he had quitted the fortress on some
trivial pretence and had not since returned; patrols had seen nothing
of him. Then Colonel Bernikoff was more than ever on the alert; but
Balgonie, who now deemed anything better than the torture of
suspense, had gone weary and feverishly to bed, to court for a time
the happiness of oblivion, after having spent nearly the entire day
upon the lake with an armed boat's crew, patrolling by water.
From sleep, however, a sudden sound aroused him: he looked at his
watch, and saw that the hands indicated twelve o'clock, midnight.
What had he heard?
In another moment the sound came again--the drums were beating to
arms! He heard the clamour of hoarse Muscovite voices in court and
corridor; the clanging of the castle bell; and he saw the gleam of
torches reddening the old black walls and towers, and flaring on the
grated windows as they were borne to and fro.
His heart was beating with wild anxiety as he threw on his staff
uniform, belted his sabre about him, placed his pistols in his
girdle, and hurried forth to meet--it might be to cross blades--with
the only friends he had in Russia!
As he crossed the castle-yard by torchlight, he could perceive that
the Cossacks, clad in their short blue jackets, red loose breeches,
short boots, and tall, black, woollen busbies, were falling into
their ranks with musketoon and sabre; and that the gunners were
standing by their cannon with port-fires lighted: the latter casting
a pale, ghastly, and unearthly glare upon the yawning embrasures, the
walls of the fortress, and on their own stolid visages, which were
pale and cadaverous as those of people usually who are hastily
summoned from sleep in the night.
As a staff officer who had no particular post, Charlie Balgonie knew
that his duty attached him chiefly to Bernikoff, whom he now met
hurrying forth in uniform, with a great cocked hat thrust angrily
over his cunning and twinkling eyes, which were sparkling with anger,
while every hair of his grizzled mustachioes, though these were long
and snaky, bristled with excitement. There was a dangerous pallor in
his visage; his square jaw looked still more tiger-like in contour,
as his teeth were clenched; and he had his sabre drawn.
By his side were his two favourite brother officers, who in face,
form, and bearing, bore indications of being each, originally, a serf
of the lowest, basest, and most unthinking kind--Captain Vlasfief,
cruel and hollow-hearted, with his unfathomable smile; and Lieutenant
Tschekin, the slimy, savage, and unscrupulous Muscovite. With these
came several officers of the Cossack guard, with their elevated
eyebrows, black mustachioes, their keen features, the plumes and
cockades in their black fur caps, and their glittering costumes,
forming altogether a striking and picturesque group, when seen by the
light of several torches, which streamed through the deep and small
arch, or doorway, of the keep in which Ivan was confined.
The portcullis of this tower was up; and Balgonie could perceive its
row of lower bars, like a line of black fangs in an open jaw, between
him and the outline of the lighted archway.
"What is the matter, Colonel Bernikoff," asked Balgonie; "what is the
cause of all this alarm?"
"Matter enough! We have had an _alerte_--the place seems to be
invested by troops--Infantry of the Line, by all the devils--the head
of a column--look for yourself, Balgonie!" exclaimed Bernikoff, with
an oath.
To omit the Christian name of a person addressed, and that of his
father also, is a direct insult in Russia; but Balgonie heeded it not
then. He hurried to the curtain wall which faced the landside, the
outer gate, and drawbridge, and then, by the light of a torch, he
could see that which certainly seemed to be the head of a column--a
front rank of nearly fifty men, clad in the hideous uniform then worn
by the Russian army, before it was altered, a few years after, by the
superior taste of the notorious Major Semple Lisle, a Scottish
adventurer,* who was well known as a lounger about St. James's Park,
London, in 1804. Their coats were green, lined and faced with red,
very tight in the body, with preposterously long skirts, tight
breeches, and boots to the knee, with small cocked hats, having long
flannel flaps to cover the ears in winter.
* _Vide_ "Life of Major J. G. Semple Lisle, written by himself.
London, 1800. Printed for W. Stewart, 194, Piccadilly."
By the light of the same torch, Balgonie could see the bayonets
fixed, and that two officers, with their sabres drawn, and a drummer,
were in front of their little line. Having possession of the parole
and countersign, which, no doubt, had been betrayed to them by the
absent Jagouski, the whole party had contrived to delude the
_Putparooschick_ (sub-lieutenant) in charge of the outer guard, and
were now past the first barrier, and had actually taken possession of
the drawbridge, which they had lowered across the Neva. The gate and
guns of the second barrier were yet to be forced or passed; and thus
these midnight visitors were in a species of trap.
Too well could Balgonie recognise in the two officers--Basil
Mierowitz, wearing the familiar uniform of the Regiment of Smolensko;
and Usakoff, in the gay trappings of the Grenadiers of Valikolutz;
and now, for the second time, their drummer beat a _chamade_, or
summons for a parley, but as yet there was no response.
Balgonie hastened after Bernikoff and the other officers. They had
now ascended to the chamber of the unfortunate Ivan, from whose
presence they had somewhat roughly expelled the chaplain, Father
Chrysostom. On entering, he found that the royal recluse had sprung
from bed, inspired by natural alarm, on finding his chamber suddenly
entered at midnight, and full of armed men; but Ivan manifested no
indignation--he was too gentle, too subdued, and completely broken in
spirit for that.
His singularly beautiful face was very pale; there was a strange
calmness in his manner; and whatever he thought or anticipated, there
was more of calm inquiry than of fear in his tone and in the
expression of his fine soft eyes. Over his night-dress he had thrown
a _robe-de-chambre_ of fine scarlet cloth edged with white ermine;
and in this attire, with his long hair and delicate features, so
chastened in expression by long solitude and complete seclusion from
the outer world, he seemed more like a tall handsome woman, than a
young man of three and twenty years.
"What is this you tell me, Colonel Bernikoff," he was asking, as
Balgonie entered; "my unhappy life threatened say you?"
"Even so," said Bernikoff hoarsely, while averting his stealthy eyes
from the young man's open and earnest face; "even so, Ivan
Antonovitch; but your death will not be of our seeking."
"Whose then, whose then?"
"Your friends."
"Oh, what dreadful paradox is this?" asked the Prince calmly; "must I
die, even as Demetrius died?"
"Yes," replied the other hoarsely.
"And wherefore?"
"There are those without the gates who seek you, and you must not
fall alive into their hands," said Captain Vlasfief sternly, as he
felt the point of his sabre with a finger.
"Alas! I do not understand who can come to seek me!" replied the
poor Prince, shuddering now, while an expression of horror began to
spread over his fine face,--a horror gathered from the fierce and
relentless aspect he read in the visages of those around him,--and he
withdrew a pace or so towards his bed, saying, in a touching voice:--
"Ah, do not leave me, good Colonel Bernikoff, or at least give me a
sword--a sword----"
"Fool--child--dolt! thou with a sword, and for what purpose?"
thundered Bernikoff, as he sought to lash himself into the requisite
pitch of fury; "for what purpose, I say?"
"That I may defend myself."
"'Tis needless," said Tschekin, with a cold smile; "we shall take
every care of you."
"Oh, Carl Ivanovitch Balgonie, my friend, my good friend! you I can
trust--you I can command--come hither, and remain by my side," said
the Prince, in an imploring accent, as a solemn foreboding came upon
him when he saw the sabres stealthily drawn from their scabbards on
every side, and even the terrible Nicholas Paulovitch drawing near,
dagger in hand, with his long lock of hair, his scowling front, and a
cruel expression, the very lust of blood, in his deep-set stony eyes.
"Carl, Carl," cried Ivan; "your hand!"
"Captain Balgonie--_he_ here!" roared Bernikoff, with one of his
terrible maledictions.
"Oh Excellency!" implored Balgonie, scarcely knowing what he should
ask or urge.
"Begone, sir, to the barrier gate, and keep the guard there to their
duty--begone, sir, I command you, on your allegiance to the Empress!"
To refuse or linger were alike impossible, though a wild cry of
entreaty escaped the lips of the young Prince, who sprang forward,
but was thrust roughly back towards his couch by many hands and many
levelled weapons.
The sword of Damocles, which had hung over his unhappy head so long,
was about to descend at last!
Balgonie, his heart swollen almost to bursting with shame, rage, and
grief, rushed down the stair of the keep; but at the foot, and just
as he passed where the old Chaplain Chrysostom was saying devoutly on
his knees the prayers for the _dying_, he heard a shrill and
protracted cry of agony ring through the vaulted tower--a cry that
made his blood run cold!
Humanity, generosity, and all his own good impulses would have drawn
him back to the side, and, if possible, to the aid, of Ivan; but the
force of discipline, and a knowledge of his own utter powerlessness,
made him pause: for he was but one man--a young officer--a foreigner,
too, opposed to a whole garrison of ferocious and unscrupulous
soldiers.
When, from the inner barrier gate, he looked up to the window of
Ivan's room, he saw that the lights had been extinguished and all was
darkness now.