and I was alone in my prison and before me was a _chelpan_--a kind of
dough cake--and a cup of water! Both might be poisoned, but a hungry
man is not over-cautious. I despatched the dough and drank the water,
reflecting that I might need both before I escaped the clutches of my
portly friend, the chamberlain, who had evidently determined to avenge
himself for his own capture, whether by order of the czarevna or not.
Having disposed of my breakfast, which served to whet my appetite
rather than to satisfy it, I walked to and fro in the room, lost in
thought--and not very pleasant thought. My reflections running so much
on the line of those of the previous night, it is useless to record
them, but I was in no pleasant frame of mind when I went, at the end of
an hour, to look out of the window. The Red Place was nearly as quiet
as on the previous evening, but now the sunshine illuminated it, and
occasionally a boyar crossed it, or a servant ran out of the palace.
The ravens of the Kremlin were circling around the windows and some
alighted even on the balustrade of the bedchamber porch. The stillness
struck me as unusual; not even a church-bell sounded; it must have been
then between eight and nine in the morning. As I stood looking down,
I saw the carriage of some great noble roll slowly across the court,
attended, according to custom, by twenty or thirty serfs on foot, who
went before and behind the vehicle. They were clad in crimson tunics
edged with gold embroidery, and yet ran bare-foot, while the harness on
the horses was covered with the dangling tails of martens, a decoration
much in vogue with the aristocracy, and the _duga_ above each animal’s
neck shone with jewels. An old man, stately in bearing and magnificent
in dress, sat in this carriage, and at his feet was a slave, also
liveried in crimson, while beside him was a slender girlish figure,
attired with equal splendour and wearing a long white scarf about her
throat, besides the _fata_ over her face. This strange procession
halting at the Red Staircase, the serfs assisted their master and
mistress to alight, and as they did so, a breeze lifted the nun’s veil
and I saw the features beneath it.
It was the Princess Daria.
I stood a moment rooted to the ground, and then the full significance
of her arrival at that hour came upon me. That must be her father, and
they had been decoyed there, doubtless by the Czarevna Sophia.
I flew to the door and shook it, like a madman. I ran again to the
window and measured with my eye the leap to the flint pavement below
and knew it to be impossible, and then I stood and cursed my evil
fortune. She, meanwhile, had gone on blindly to her fate, whatever it
might be, in the same palace where I was a prisoner. There followed an
interval of absolute despair and rage; I felt like a caged beast ready
to tear my jailers in pieces, if they came, but happily for them they
did not, and--though I knew it not--they were little likely to remember
me again that day.
The whirl of my passions had made me deaf, but now at last there came
a sound that roused me and made me listen. Far off at first, and then
nearer and nearer, the bells began to toll, the deep notes of their
metal tongues clanging in the clear spring atmosphere, and with this
burst of music came the sullen roll of many drums, and deeper, louder,
fiercer, the mighty boom of the tocsin--sounded in four hundred
churches--rolled like the roar of thunder over Moscow.
I looked out and saw a man running like a wild creature across the
square, and then--between the deep notes of the tocsin--came an awful
sound, a fierce, many-voiced roar, the cry of the multitude, the savage
yell of the mob. A shout below me, thin and shrill, cut the tumult like
a knife.
“Close the gates!” it screamed, “the Streltsi--the Streltsi have risen!”
The bells of the tower of Ivan Veliki and the cathedrals began to
ring, and near at hand I heard a woman scream. Nearer and nearer drew
the awful waves of sound, lapping up the space between, as a wolf
laps blood, and ever leaping up louder and fiercer--the yelp of the
_canaille_.
_XIV: A DESPERATE CLIMB_
AGAIN I tried the door and beat upon it, and then returned to the
window and was held there by the sight that unfolded before my eyes.
The boyars, knowing well that the fury of the rising tempest would
break upon their heads, were trying to escape; in the brief time that
had elapsed since the first bells began to toll their coaches had been
hurried out and the Red Place was a scene of confusion. From all parts
of the palace and the adjoining buildings officials of the court and
nobles were rushing out, and running hither and yon; the horses plunged
and fretted and the men shouted to each other; not a man among them had
a cool head, and never was there greater need--for the mob was coming
on. It had evidently been impossible to close the gates, and now I
heard the tramp of a multitude, besides its voice. And, at last, in the
spaces between the buildings, I began to see the hundred-headed thing
itself, a surging mass of men, so closely packed that it moved darkly,
even in the sunshine, and above waved the broad folds of the banner of
the Streltsi, which I knew well enough. It bore an image of the Virgin
on it and was esteemed a sacred emblem, though it was to look that day
on dark and bloody work. Now the roar of the mob rose, even in the
court of the Kremlin, and echoed about the palace of the czars. On,
on they came, driving back the fleeing boyars, like a herd of sheep,
closing in on the carriages and horses, surging closer and ever closer
upon the Red Staircase.
I looked down upon them in much curiosity; for an instant I forgot
everything else. Here was the only military force in Russia, the only
guardians of the throne, in mutiny, and who could oppose them? What man
could quell the tumult, drive these mad creatures back to their dens?
Fierce faces looked up, brawny arms brandished their weapons, and I
noticed that they had even broken the long handles of their spears,
that they might use them as swords. They poured in from every avenue
and gateway, they choked up every outlet and massed themselves about
the palace, shouting with passionate fury.
“Down with the Naryshkins! Death to the traitors! They have murdered
the Czarevitch Ivan!”
Down with the Naryshkins! Ah, Mme. Sophia, this is then your handiwork?
Down with your rivals, up with the Miloslavskys, and the blind
czarevitch and his great sister. I saw what she had done, and more than
ever I dreaded her power over the Princess Daria.
Meanwhile the uproar in the Red Place beggared description; for the
most part I could not distinguish what was said, or rather shouted,
but, ever and anon, I did clearly comprehend the cry:
“Give us the traitors! The Naryshkins have murdered the Czarevitch Ivan
and the imperial family!”
The idea that a conspiracy really existed in the family of the Czarina
Natalia to destroy the rivals of her little son, the Czar Peter, had
got a firm hold on the ignorant minds of these creatures, and it had
doubtless much to do with the final outbreak, but even after they were
assured of the safety of the czarevitch, they kept on in their furious
course.
While I looked, the patriarch, in full pontificals, came out upon the
bedchamber porch and addressed the rioters, and with him were some
boyars, among whom I recognised Prince Galitsyn. But their appeals to
the mob had no result; the soldiers crowded up under the balcony and
on the very Red Staircase itself; they brandished their weapons and
shouted:
“Give us the traitors! Down with the Naryshkins!”
Their wild upturned faces scowled fiercely upon the nobles; they
gesticulated and screamed, but, as, yet, no blood was shed, and only
one or two stones had been thrown, and they fell wide of the mark,
but the sullen rumble of wrath rose on the outskirts of the throng;
the naked spears flashed in the sunshine, death was there, riot and
murder--no sane man could be blind to it. Once more that wild shout
rose. I climbed on the window-sill and looked down and saw the boyars
bringing out the Czarina Natalia and her son, the little Czar Peter,
and with them the weak-minded Czarevitch Ivan. At the sight of them
the rioters went mad; they cried out so fiercely that the voice of the
patriarch was drowned. They brought ladders and climbed to the very
porch where the czarina stood--white as death--with the two boys beside
her. The patriarch talked to the soldiers, but in vain, they pushed
him roughly aside and clambered over one another until they pressed so
close upon the czarina that she gave way, and hurried back into the
palace, with her son and stepson, and then--for the moment--I thought
that the end was at hand. The rioters howled like wolves and pressed
forward; below a dark mass of men and a forest of cruel steel.
It was at this crisis that the chancellor, Matveief, came out; he was
an old man of stately bearing, the uncle of the Czarina Natalia, and
once the commander of these animals. At the sight of him there was a
sudden lull, the noise died away, the onward rush was stayed; they
waited, snarling like beasts, and the chancellor spoke. His voice did
not come up to me distinctly; I could not follow his speech word for
word, but I caught the drift of it. He was an astute politician, and he
told them that they had been deceived by bad men, that no conspiracy
existed, that they had themselves seen both the czar and the
czarevitch alive and in good health, and it behoved them to disperse
quietly to their homes, and, if they did so, he would himself intercede
for them, that the czar might pardon this mutiny and attend to their
grievances. Never was a speech better received; a shout of applause
followed it, and the ringleaders began to waver. All might yet be well.
I drew a breath of relief, and in this season of quiet I heard, for the
first time, a knocking at the door of my prison.
I leaped from the sill and, forgetting Matveief and his diplomacy,
hastened to the door. The knocking was now followed by a scratching
sound that had become familiar to me.
“Maluta,” I said, “is it you?”
“Yea, O my master!” replied the shrill voice of the dwarf. “I have been
trying to find you.”
“Can you undo the door?” I demanded.
“Nay,” he replied, “I have tried, but ’tis double-locked with strong
iron locks, and neither can I get the keys. They are in the bosom of
the fat chamberlain.”
“Canst get a mallet to me?” I asked. “In this excitement no one will
heed you.”
“I cannot get it to you, save by the window,” said Maluta, “even if I
can find one--have you tried the window?”
“’Tis a sheer leap on to the spears of the Streltsi,” I said drily.
There was a silence on the other side of the door for a moment, and in
the pause I heard someone speaking on the Red Staircase.
Afterwards, I knew it was the second in command of the Department of
the Streltsi, Prince Dolgoruky, and it was he who let the lions loose.
“The Czarevna Sophia means mischief to the Princess Daria,” said
Maluta’s voice.
Then I went to the window with a sudden resolve to do or die. As I
looked out an awful shout came from the rioters; there was a rush upon
the staircase, and the Boyar Dolgoruky, he who had just ordered them to
disperse, was hurled down upon their spears. It was over in a moment,
and they trampled him under foot. The bright blades dripped now with
crimson, and the yelp of the wolf who laps blood came up. I saw them
seize the chancellor and hurl him down upon their spears, as they would
have hurled a bag of salt.
But I had no time to lose; I tried the iron fretwork beside the window.
Then I went back to the door and shouted to Maluta, for the tumult
almost drowned my voice.
“Go to the room above, below the roof, and wait there--if I can climb
to the window ledge, I will join you there,” I said, and heard his
assent before I returned to my desperate attempt.
I took off my shoes and bound them at my waist by my scarf, and leaping
on the sill in my stocking feet stood a moment, looking down on a scene
of blood. The yell of the mob and the screams of the dying came up
together. The body of Matveief had been hacked to pieces; blood flowed
on the Red Staircase, blood dripped alike from hands and weapons and
smeared their faces with a hideous ruddiness. The mob was no longer
densely massed, it was breaking asunder, into small parties in pursuit
of victims. Every boyar, every man of rank, was a suspect, and he stood
chance of a trial unless he was known to be of the Miloslavsky party.
Even the horses in the carriages were cut down, that not a noble might
escape. I saw two men killed while I stood there, and then I swung
myself out on the ledge of the window and, seizing the iron-work, began
to ascend, expecting every moment that it would give way and hurl me
headlong on the spears below. But it held, and I was half-way up, I saw
Maluta’s wing-eared face above me, over the window-sill. I had but a
few yards to climb when a shrill yell immediately below told me that
I had been seen; they would, of course, mistake me for one of their
enemies, yet could only move slowly and with the greatest care, and,
meanwhile, I was a conspicuous mark. Another yell, and then a stone
struck the wall below my feet, another at my side, a fourth took me
fairly in the small of my back, but I had gained a yard, my hand was on
the window-sill. Then I heard a bullet sing past me, and the report of
a pistol; someone had fired from the porch. It missed, but now the roar
came up, like the roar of thunder. I heard a dying man scream, and, at
the instant, caught the window-sill and swung forward, landing fairly
on it, just as another bullet cut through my sleeve.
I leaped upon the sill and, looking down at those hideous faces, kissed
my hand derisively to them, and sprang back into the room beside
Maluta--safe, by a hair’s-breadth.
_XV: PRINCESS AND CZAREVNA_
I FOUND myself in a low room beneath the roof, belonging, doubtless, to
one of the servants of the palace, and but plainly furnished. Maluta
greeted me eagerly, with every evidence of joy; and while I put on my
shoes and hastily arranged my disordered dress, he told me all he knew,
screaming it at the top of his shrill voice, for even there--under
the very eaves--the mighty cry of the mob, in its fury, leaped up and
echoed, drowning all minor sounds, as the roar of the cataract swallows
up the murmur of the river.
The dwarf had lost sight of me the day before, when I entered the
czarevna’s presence, and had suspected my fate when he found I did
not reappear, but, with all his cleverness, it had been long before
he could locate me. In fact, he had not done so until Maître le
Bastien and Michaud came out and were taken to Prince Galitsyn. It
seemed that there had been a long and stormy scene between the prince
and Sophia Alexeievna, and Maluta was plainly of the opinion that,
whatever transpired at the interview, it had been an unfortunate one.
The czarevna was known to be in a stormy mood, and though Galitsyn was
there, and taking a leading part in affairs, he was under a ban, so
far as his imperial mistress was concerned. Then the dwarf described
the arrival of Prince Voronin and his daughter, and there had been a
scene, he knew, between the latter and the czarevna. The old prince
had been separated from his daughter, and both were under arrest, and
Maluta feared the worst, with the mob yelping below us, and Sophia
and the Miloslavskys supreme. He told me that the Czarina Natalia
could do nothing more than save the life of the little czar, that the
soldiers had already forced an entrance into the palace and could not
be controlled even by the patriarch. As he spoke, I heard their yells
within as well as without the building, and the continuous cry of “Give
us the traitors! Down with the Naryshkins!”
I had controlled my impatience long enough to hear his story, that I
might have a clearer comprehension of the situation, and now I was
ready to act.
“In what part of the palace is the Princess Daria?” I demanded eagerly.
“In the rear, on the floor below,” replied Maluta promptly. “I know the
very room.”
“Then lead the way,” I said, “and lose no time--I would I had my sword!”
They had stripped me of my weapons, and I felt the helplessness of bare
fists. Maluta looked at me sideways, in his elfish fashion.
“I might steal one from the guard-room,” he said, and quietly drew a
pistol from the bosom of his doublet and handed it to me.
“You little rogue,” I said, with a smile, “did you steal this also?
But I thank you--even if you did,” I added, having, after examination,
found the weapon loaded and primed, ready for use.
Then I followed him through the hall and down the stairs. As we
descended the noises below grew even more distinct; we heard the fierce
cries without and answering shouts within, and ever and anon the sharp
crack of a pistol or a scream of agony. But the place where we were was
utterly deserted, not even a serf lingered here; all were drawn to the
scene of horror below, or had fled to safety elsewhere. Now and then
the bells of the cathedrals burst out into wild, discordant chimes, as
if demons set them going, and this clangour added a strange note to the
tumult.
On Maluta led and I followed; further into the heart of the palace,
and presently we passed through a long gallery where the windows, set
in deep recesses, looked down upon the Red Place, and on the other
side, through a lattice-work, we could see into one of the private
chapels, for this was a gallery sometimes used by the women to witness
the ceremonies from behind the screen, an Eastern custom that still
prevailed in Moscow. At the further end of the passage was a door, and
here Maluta paused and signed to me.
“She is here,” he whispered in my ear; “the czarevna locked her in!”
I did not hesitate a moment, I knocked boldly at the door, determined
to speak to the princess. But there was no response, though she must
have heard it, for the outcry of the mob had died down a moment, as it
did at intervals--when there was bloody work to do. I knocked again, to
no purpose, and then I tried the door; it yielded instantly to my hand
and fell open, and I looked eagerly into the room, but it was empty. I
turned angrily upon Maluta, who stood open-mouthed, gazing in with such
honest astonishment that I knew he had not purposely deceived me.
“You little rogue!” I said passionately; “how long ago was she here?”
But he did not answer me; instead, he plucked at my coat and pointed
to the opposite door--the door through which we had entered the
gallery--and there, to my amazement, I saw the Czarevna Sophia and
the Princess Daria entering together. Whether they saw us or not, I
knew not; if they did, neither of them heeded us, and the dwarf and
I, standing back in the recess of the doorway, were witnesses of the
strange scene that followed. As they advanced I saw the awful pallor
of Daria’s face, but she was wonderfully composed, seeming to control
herself by a supreme effort of will, while the czarevna, equally
cool in manner, had an inscrutable expression on her countenance.
She paused midway in the gallery, at one of the windows, and pointed
downward. The mob--nearly silent for a while--had begun to cry out
again, and I could see some horror, enacted below, reflected in the
eyes of the girl who looked, following the direction of that eager
finger.
“I have brought you here to see the fruitlessness of resistance, you
little fool,” said Sophia, in a tone that had the cruelty of triumphant
power in it; “your father is old, and not a strong man; death will
therefore be more easy--but death upon those spears! And death he would
have, if he opposed me. His rank avails not. See, yonder goes the head
of Artemon Matveief, the czarina’s uncle--she could not save him!”
The Princess Daria closed her eyes with a shudder, and I saw Sophia’s
cruel, furtive smile. What devil possessed the woman? I felt in my
bosom for the pistol, the spot was lonely! At the moment, came up the
yell from below--like a voice from the infernal regions.
“Slay, slay the traitors! Give us Ivan Naryshkin and Von Gaden--the Jew
poisoner--and Prince Voronin! Death to these wretches!”
The princess drew back, pale and shivering, but still she did not plead
for mercy; she only listened to the other woman.
“They are demanding your father,” Sophia said; “the czarina cannot save
him, nor can Galitsyn--nor Galitsyn--do you hear, girl, not even the
prince? And they will tear his body, as the wolves tear the one who is
slain first--they would do it now--but for me!”
The Princess Daria cast a scornful look at her, her own face as white
as ashes, but her eyes sparkling.
“You can save him, Sophia Alexeievna!” she said; “and why should he
suffer because Prince Galitsyn loves me? Because you found my miniature
in your locket around his neck? I did not give it to him,” she
continued scornfully, “and if I had--is that cause enough for a great
princess--the daughter of the czars--to murder an old man? Why do you
not murder me?”
Sophia pointed out of the window. “I need not,” she replied, and
laughed.
The red blood leaped up to Daria’s forehead, and then she turned white
again, for the cry came up.
“Give us more Naryshkins! Where is Voronin?”
Sophia walked across the gallery and looked through the lattice into
the chapel. From where I stood I also could see the dim interior,
lighted only by the tapers which burned before the golden iconostase,
and there now was the figure of a priest, on his knees; surely it was a
time to pray.
“See, here is the priest, Daria Kirilovna,” said Sophia, “and Kurakin
waits below. You will go there now, and before my eyes, wed the Boyar
Kurakin. You cannot escape me--there is no escape!”
I felt again for my pistol, and this time drew it out.
The princess did not, at first, reply; she stood quite still, looking
into the chapel.
“I can die!” she said, at last, in a low voice, “and I would gladly
die--rather than wed that man! I can die.”
“Out there?” asked Sophia scornfully, pointing toward the court-yard
where the carnival of hell went on.
The Princess Daria did not answer, her face set itself rigidly.
“Out there?” said Sophia again. “I do not think they would kill
you--not at once!”
Daria shuddered, turning her face away. Sophia looked at her with
glittering eyes.
“It will avail nothing to resist,” she went on, in a fierce, low
tone, “you are in my power; your father cannot save you; you shall
marry Kurakin, I swear it! And Galitsyn will never see your face
again--never.”
Daria gave her a look of superb disdain and answered not a word, and
the czarevna, maddened by her manner, caught her by the wrist and
drew her to a window, and they looked through it as I looked through
another. We could see nearly the whole of the Red Place, and it was
filled with a living, surging mass of humanity that roared and wavered
like the billows of the ocean. A mass of upturned savage faces, white
with fury, red with blood, and, borne aloft--here and there--on the
points of spears, the gory heads of their victims. They waded deep in
blood and mire, for they had trampled the dead and dying under foot,
the very air reeked as from a slaughter-house, and the voice of the
mob! Deep and awesome as the voice of the tempest, rolling and growling
in the distance, and then rising in a fearful, ear-splitting yell of
frenzy--“Slay, slay, slay!”
I, a strong man, turned sick and dizzy; I looked back and saw the
princess standing like a statue. Sophia had her left wrist, but Daria
did not look at her: her eyes were riveted upon the sight below, her
nostrils dilated, her breath came quickly; I saw her right hand clench.
The voice of the mob echoed about us; a raven, frightened by the noise,
burst into the window and flew over our heads, beating its wings
against the roof in its efforts to escape. Looking at the princess, I
felt that she too, was like a captive bird, but still she gazed below
and I looked again also, and saw them kill a boyar and dash his brains
out on the pavement. I cursed Sophia in my heart as a fiend. Then the
howl came up--the wolf’s cry, after tasting blood.
“A Naryshkin! Give us a traitor--give us Prince Voronin!”
“Hearest thou, Daria Kirilovna?” said the czarevna; “he cannot save
you--but I can save him!”
The Princess Daria leaned against the wall, her eyes closed.
“You are in my power!” said Sophia fiercely.
Again, the wolf’s howl: “Blood, blood!”
It rose and leaped against the turrets and rebounded with an echo that
froze the heart. The raven beat its wings.
“I will save your father,” said the czarevna, “but you wed Kurakin!”
The princess made no answer, her face was deathly, and her lips moved
as if in prayer. And below the mob screamed out a name. “Voronin--give
us the traitor!”
The princess opened her eyes and looked--not at Sophia or the fearful
scene below--but away, into the far distance where the sky shone blue
and serene.
“I am in your power,” she said; “the holy Virgin pardon you!”
I took a step nearer, pistol in hand, but the dwarf flung himself on
that wrist and clung there, with the strength of frenzy, terror, and
passionate appeal in his face, but uttering no sound.
_XVI: THE PAINTED GALLERY_
MALUTA’S superstitious fear that I would do violence to the sacred
person of the czarevna stayed me a moment, and that moment changed
my whole resolve. In a flash I saw that, even if I could depend upon
the dwarf, I could not deal with Sophia without the knowledge of
the priest, below us in the chapel, and, moreover, I was suddenly
confronted by another possibility.
Meanwhile, the czarevna had advanced upon the princess and was gazing
fiercely in her eyes.
“You are indeed in my power,” she cried savagely, “and you will wed
Kurakin now!”
In her turn, Daria looked upon her sternly, her pale, spirited face
strongly agitated.
“Sophia Alexeievna,” she said in a low voice, “you are giving me to a
living death, but you shall save my father--see to it that you save
him!”
Sophia flushed deeply; contending emotions--triumph, gratified hatred,
jealousy--were strongly mingled on her coarse features. Never was
there so great a contrast; Sophia’s short, almost shapeless, figure
and her powerful, determined face were thrown into sharp relief by the
beautiful young woman at her side. The Princess Daria had never looked
more lovely, more high-born and noble-minded than at that supreme
moment of trial.