SPARKS AND ASHES
Zeneida's gondola glided quickly past the funeral barge back to
Kreskowsky Island. Her guests were entertaining themselves without her.
They were used to do so.
The conspirators were largely represented; even Pestel, from far-off
Nikolajevsk, was there. To-night the conflicting parties were to measure
themselves; the decision was to be made which plan should be the
accepted one: the one which should give freedom by means of the Czar; or
that which, regardless of him, living or dead, should carry the work to
its completion.
As the fireworks commenced, the Bojars withdrew from the gay scene to
the roulette chamber.
There were three-and-twenty men and Zeneida. Prince Ghedimin alone was
still expected; he was to come direct from the Czar.
He came.
He had a long envelope, sealed with five seals, in his hand.
In extreme agitation all awaited the opening of the document. The Prince
cut the seals with a pair of scissors, opened the envelope, and there
fell from it the ashes of some burned sheets of paper, as they had been
reclaimed from the fire. It was the anxiously awaited _charta_--reduced
to ashes.
"I said so!" exclaimed Pestel, with triumphant countenance. "The whole
thing was a comedy. Scarce three months has it lasted. There's an end of
fine words. Now to dark deeds!"
Nothing was left but to decide if _the deed_ should be consummated.
They voted openly and by name.
There were twelve ayes and twelve noes.
"There is still one to give the casting vote," said Pestel. "Here is the
'Votum Minervæ.' Here is Zeneida. Her vote shall decide it."
Zeneida saw the deadly pallor which had overspread Ghedimin's face.
With calm voice she said, "Aye."
Thirteen to twelve the majority for the deed. But when? That was the
next question.
Pestel said, "At once."
Ryleieff moved that in September would be their best opportunity, at the
concentration of the army.
"To-day," growled Jakuskin. "Not to-morrow!"
Fresh votes had to be taken.
"At once, or in September?"
Once more the votes were twelve to twelve. Once more Zeneida was called
upon to give the casting vote.
Upon her breath hung the decision whether the world at that very hour
should be shattered to its foundations.
"In September," she said; and Ghedimin gave a deep breath of relief.
Pestel shrugged his shoulders wrathfully.
"Then it were better to put it off until May, to try the success of the
concentration of the army in Kiew. There in the South we are the
masters."
"Shame upon us!" growled Jakuskin. "We are twelve to their twelve, and
dare not do the deed. Every one of us a Brutus! More than an Armada!
Were I alone I would do it myself."
The concluding set piece of the fireworks was greeted by the crowd
without with clapping of hands. The golden rain fell like a shower of
stars from the sky.
"Very well. The 20th of September," whispered the conspirators, as they
shook hands with each other. Loud peals of laughter were heard among the
gay company; the health of the lady of the house was drunk with acclaim.
Upon the smooth surface of the Neva, under the shower of golden rain,
gently glided the funeral barge to its destination; the dead lay with
face serene; and amid the applause and hand-clapping of the spectators
arose the dirge:
"Ah, the day of tears and mourning,
From the dust of earth returning,
Man for judgment must prepare him."
The psalm and noisy crowd were silenced. The golden sparks died out, the
ashes were extinguished. Morning began to dawn. Not a soul was to be
seen on the Neva. Every one had gone home to sleep through the gray
morning hours; the forenoon in St. Petersburg is good for nothing else.
Even morning here has its special characteristics. The sky is white, and
as it is reflected on the calm surface of the Neva it seems like one
plate of burnished silver, upon which the long streaks of cloud and the
heavy foliage of the trees stand out black as night. Pomp of death in
sky and earth!