“Nay,” I replied, “was I not lost in Paris? Did I not flee from the
Place Royale, with the provost-marshal at my heels? Tush, monsieur, I
am inured to perils; fear not for me. But now, I would give much for
a single clew of her whereabouts; whether she went of her own will or
not, and who she went with?”
Deeply flushed with embarrassment, Maître le Bastien hesitated, and
then ventured to speak his mind.
“Pardon me, monsieur,” he said; “did you not marry her against her
will, and almost--well, yes, M. le Marquis--almost, we might say, by
force?”
I assented gloomily, my eyes on the bushes opposite, that swayed,
though there was no wind.
“Then--may she not have fled--of her free will--monsieur?” suggested
the goldsmith, avoiding my eye.
“’Tis not impossible,” I replied, “yet I think it improbable. She had
less to fear from me than from others, and I thought her at the last
inclined to trust me.”
“‘_Souvent femme varie_,’” quoted Maître le Bastien softly.
I did not reply; instead, I went across the garden and, diving my arm
into the bushes, drew forth--by the nape of the neck--that rogue,
Michaud.
At the sight of him the master goldsmith’s face flushed with
mortification; he felt that I had borne much from his apprentice; and
he was more severe now than I, who knew, by the knave’s looks and his
chattering teeth, that he had hidden there in an agony of terror and
from no sinister motive.
“What are you doing here, you rogue?” demanded his master harshly;
“have you not done harm enough already, without playing also the part
of eavesdropper?”
The scenes that he had witnessed, and the near approach of violent
death, had cowed the fellow completely, and he hung his head, sullen
and wretched to the last degree.
“I hid here to escape these savages,” he said, “and had no thought of
seeing you, Maître le Bastien.”
“That may be!” retorted the goldsmith sharply, “but when you saw only
M. de Cernay and me here, why did you lurk like a snake in the bushes!”
Michaud turned deeply red and glanced aside at me.
“I thought that you despised me,” he said bluntly, “and could well
dispense with the sight of me.”
But Le Bastien was not appeased, and would have said more but that I
interposed.
“We cannot judge him too severely, monsieur,” I said, laughing; “only
last night I hid in a wine-butt!”
The goldsmith, who knew me for a choleric man and a fighter, smiled in
spite of himself at this, and Michaud cast a look of something akin to
gratitude at me. The fellow loved his master. I myself had once just
such a follower, devoted to jealousy, and full of sullen fits and the
changeful moods of a woman.
“You speak truly, M. le Marquis,” said Le Bastien thoughtfully; “we
cannot judge too harshly; but where have you been, Michaud?”
“I got out of the palace in the tumult, monsieur,” replied the
apprentice, “and I have been hiding in one place and another, ever
since; only an hour ago I got out of the Kremlin through the kindness
of a soldier, whom I knew, and who got me through the guard at the Gate
of Saint Nikolas, for a rouble--all I had.”
“Ah, then money still has its virtue, has it?” I exclaimed, seeing a
gleam in the thick cloud of trouble.
Michaud shuffled his feet in the weeds and stood looking down
without answering, and then suddenly he lifted his head and looked
at me--squarely--for the first time since he had released the fat
chamberlain.
“M. le Marquis, I have somewhat to tell you,” he said slowly. “Last
night, as I hid under the portico of the banqueting-hall, I saw the
palace guards under that man--the stout man--you know whom I mean?” I
nodded. “He who was imprisoned in Maître le Bastien’s house. They came
by, bringing a lady, veiled and muffled, and afterwards one of their
number, who speaks a little French,--the man I bribed--told me that she
was taken from our quarters and--was the Princess Daria.”
I drew a deep breath, and then I took two roubles and put them into
Michaud’s hand.
“To repay your loss,” I said, “and to thank you; your good deed
outweighs your evil.”
But Maître le Bastien shook his head. “’Tis ill news, M. le Marquis,”
he said ponderously, “and an ill wind that will blow nobody good.”
“No news can be worse than bad news, monsieur,” I replied, as lightly
as I could, though, I confess, my heart sank. “At least I know now
where to look.”
He regarded me in despair. “You cannot dream, monsieur, of going
there?” he exclaimed, pointing toward the Kremlin with a shudder of
repulsion.
I nodded gaily, as if I thought it a light matter.
“Ay, and at once,” I said.
He held up his hands. “’Tis madness,” he cried, “sheer madness! The
dead lie there to warn you!”
“And she is there!” I retorted, and drawing my pistol from my belt, I
primed it.
“Tut, tut, monsieur!” said Maître le Bastien, “you dream! Why rush
to death? The Church accounts suicide sin, and what is this you
contemplate but suicide? Come, monsieur, come home with me,” and he
plucked at my sleeve, in honest consternation.
I thanked him pleasantly. “You are a good friend, Maître le Bastien,” I
said, “and I am glad to feel that you will be safe. Cut loose from me,
monsieur, however, for I will be henceforth a marked man--the Princess
Daria’s husband,” and I smiled bitterly.
He shook his head despondently, knowing me too well to interfere
further.
“Michaud,” I said, looking to my sword, “where is your Streltsi? I must
get into the Kremlin, instead of out of it.”
But at these words the apprentice turned white as paper.
“I cannot go back there, monsieur,” he protested; “I dare not.”
“Are you a woman?” I asked scornfully, eyeing him in a way that brought
the blood to his face, but he stood sullenly silent.
“Bah!” I said; “where are your petticoats?”
But Maître le Bastien was inclined to support him, if only to thwart
me, and my temper was rising when--happily for all--the dwarf, Maluta,
suddenly appeared in the gateway, and, at the sight of me, came
pattering in, and ’twas he, as usual, who found a way to cut the knot.
In fact, in those five bloody days of the insurrection, it was these
little creatures--these playthings of the court--who wrought much good
and evil. Homyak, the dwarf, betrayed the czarina’s brother to his
death; Komar, the dwarf, saved the son of the Chancellor Matveief and
Feodor Naryshkin; and Maluta, the dwarf, was my true friend and ally.
Yet they were the veriest waifs of fortune, the most miserable toys
of tyrants, the outcasts of society--and its spies. Misery and secret
power, degradation and triumph, merriment and despair, these things
made up the sum of their short lives, but love and happiness and honour
passed them by and left them to perish by the wayside.
_XXVI: MALUTA BUYS TWO SOULS_
NO sooner was Michaud’s information explained to the dwarf than the
latter fell into a reverie, rubbing his chin with his forefinger and
puckering up his forehead in that monkey-fashion which never failed him
in time of thought, when it always seemed to me that his ears moved
also. For my part, I was not inclined to reflections, but to action;
if the Princess Daria was in the Kremlin, I would be there too. But
there was a difficulty to be surmounted first; my Streltsi captors
had relieved me of all the money I had upon my person, and I had only
put three roubles and a few kopecks in my pocket when I visited our
quarters; it would, therefore, be necessary for me to go there, not
only for more money, but for a stock of ammunition, before I attempted
to pass the gates of the Kremlin. Meanwhile Maluta had evidently
reached a conclusion, and asked me the name of the soldier who knew
Michaud, for the dwarf and the apprentice could only communicate by
signs, neither understanding the other’s language. I repeated the
question to our knave and he shrugged his shoulders sullenly.
“I know not, monsieur,” he replied; “’tis one of their villainous names
that make a man sneeze and then forget them.”
This I did not translate, but told Maluta that he did not know the
Streltsi’s name.
“Ask him if it is Grotsky?” said the dwarf shrewdly.
Michaud was not sure, but thought it might be. He described the man,
however, as tall, black-haired, and with a cast in the left eye.
Maluta nodded when this was translated to him; and held out his small,
claw-like hand.
“Give me money, O excellency,” he said in his shrill voice, “for
’tis for money that men sell their souls--and for drink, their
understanding.”
I put the rouble and the few kopecks that I had left in his hand, but
he was by no means satisfied.
“_Prebavit!_” he cried shrilly, stamping his foot, “_prebavit!_ Can thy
servant buy a soul for a rouble or twenty kopecks?”
“Some souls would be dear at that, Maluta,” I said drily, “and you have
drained my purse.”
But he stamped the more. “’Tis not enough, O my master,” he said,
“_prebavit, prebavit_!”
“Maître le Bastien, for the nonce, I must even borrow of you,” I said.
Whereupon the goldsmith gave me ten roubles more, though he was open in
his disapproval.
“All this will lead to nothing but misfortune,” he said, “and, after
all, ’twould have been wiser to let you fall into the hand of his
majesty’s provost-marshal.”
“Ah, monsieur,” I said, “you do not know the Princess Daria.”
Le Bastien shook his head despairingly. “No,” he replied, “and ’tis
well I do not, since she can turn a sane man’s head so completely.”
While he was speaking I was giving the money to the dwarf, and trying
to fathom his plans, but to no purpose, he would tell nothing--only
looked at me, in an elfish fashion.
“Let be, O excellency,” he said; “I will go to the Kremlin and by
nightfall I will return to you, then we will go together, and we will
find the Princess Daria, if she is still in the fortress.”
My faith in his acuteness was growing to be almost a superstition, but
it was too much to ask me to wait from noon until nightfall, and I told
him so.
“You must wait,” he replied wisely. “You cannot go--as I can--in and
out of the palaces and the cathedrals; you are big--a tall man,” he
measured me with his eye, as though he thought me a giant. “Such a man
cannot hide--any more than the Tower of Ivan Veliki can hide among
the churches! I must find where the lady is, and then I must come
for my master. Nay, fear not--she is safe to-day and to-morrow and
the day after; not even Sophia Alexeievna rules to-day, but only the
Streltsi. They have mobbed the Department of Justice and Serfage; they
have thrown the papers in the street, they have threatened the Danish
Resident, they would have killed the patriarch. Sophia will do nothing
yet to the princess, for she has hidden her, and to-night we will find
her.”
“Nay, now we will find her,” I said, determined to go with him.
But he fell on his knees. “Have I failed you at all, O excellency?” he
cried.
I was forced to admit that he had, on the contrary, saved my life and
hers.
“Then give me two hours--two hours and eleven roubles, O my master,” he
said, “and surely I may buy a man’s soul and also his body--for there
is vodka yet in the cellar--where, they know not--and red wine.”
“The little fellow talks sense, monsieur,” said the goldsmith; “I pray
you be ruled; give him, at least, two hours. It is madness for you to
attempt the Kremlin now. Until they find the poor Jew, Von Gaden, they
will suspect every man in foreign clothes. Come, therefore, to our
quarters; two hours of rest, and food, and more money will but prepare
you for this desperate adventure.”
I knew there was truth in his argument, and my need of money was
absolute if I was to take the princess out of Moscow. So, hard as it
was to wait, I yielded, at last, to their entreaties, and went back to
our quarters for two hours’ rest, of which I stood in great need, and
for money and another pistol.
Prince Galitsyn had kept his promise and sent Maître le Bastien a guard
of Streltsi; a score of villainous-looking knaves who were as ready to
rob us as to watch us, and sat about the court-yard making frequent
demands for brandy and meat, and their presence proving a cause for
fresh alarms to the goldsmith, who kept the shutters up and the doors
bolted and busied himself hiding his valuables in the earth of the
cellar, assisted by Michaud. Meanwhile, stretched myself on my bed, in
my clothes, resolved to rest but a few moments; however, we are only
human, and my body was worn out with continued exertions and loss of
sleep, and I had hardly touched the pillow before I dropped off into
the heavy slumber of sheer exhaustion.
My room being in the second story, the shutter of the one window was
open and the red glow of sunset shone full in my face when I awoke,
and, for a moment, kept me from seeing Maluta, who was standing beside
me, watching my slightest movement. With the return of consciousness
came back the memory of my situation, and I started up, and began to
snatch up my weapons. The sweet air of a May evening came softly in at
the casement, and with it far-off sounds, harsh cries, and discordant
music.
“Where is she?” I cried. “Why have I slept like a brute? Where is the
Princess Daria?”
“She is safe,” replied the dwarf gravely, “and ’tis well that my master
slept, for we must work to-night and travel to-night, if we would get
her away, from the czarevna and from Kurakin.”
I had, by this time, arranged my disordered clothing and belted on my
weapons, and now I hid a bag of gold upon my person.
“Was the money sufficient?” I asked eagerly.
He nodded gravely. “The souls were cheap this day,” he said solemnly.
“I bought two for nine roubles and two kopecks, and the rest of the
money I put into good liquor, and the drug that they keep in the
Gostinnoi Dvor, in the street of sweet perfumes and spices and myrrh
and aloes.”
By this he referred to the divisions of the Gostinnoi Dvor, or great
bazaar, where every commodity had a separate street, and a man could
find only silk merchants in one avenue, and dealers in jewels--opals
and pearls and the great amethysts of Russia--in another.
“Come, then,” I said with impatience, “let us go!”
He nodded his assent, and without more delay we descended the stairs
together, and I went to bid Maître le Bastien farewell. I found him
burrowing, like a mole, in the cellar.
“The Prince Galitsyn means well to me,” the good man said earnestly,
“but these Streltsi have already demanded a rouble apiece, a flagon
of good brandy, and ten loaves of rice bread, besides the pickled
mushrooms and the fine sterlet, that I would have kept for my dinner!
Moreover, Michaud and I are spent with hard labour, but, praised be the
saints! everything is buried now but the great vase, and that being for
Sophia, I think they will leave it.”
“Unless they sell it to satisfy their stomachs,” I replied; “but adieu,
Maître le Bastien, I go on a perilous enterprise, and may not soon see
you again.”
The goldsmith wiped his eyes surreptitiously, and then shook my hand
heartily.
“Farewell,” he said; “you go against my counsel and my will, but yet--I
suppose, if I were young, I would do likewise! But, I pray you, be
cautious, if you can, and if I can do aught----”
“But you cannot, monsieur,” I interrupted heartily, “nor do I wish you
in this tangle,” and I bade him a hasty farewell and hurried away, lest
he should delay me by more arguments.
It took us a few moments more to get past our own Streltsi, and then
Maluta and I struck off into the lanes that led through some byways to
the Kremlin, avoiding the short route which would have taken us into
the crowded quarter.
The city still wore its desolate air and, by contrast with the sky,
yet glowing with sunset, it seemed dark and haunted with the grimmest
of shadows. Close-shuttered windows and barred doors surrounded us;
not a woman looked out, not a child ran in the court-yards, and if we
chanced on a peaceful citizen, he skurried away at the sight of an
armed man. As we neared the Gate of Saint Nikolas, I saw that it was
occupied by a guard of Streltsi, and the dwarf signed to me to advance
slowly, while he began to whistle softly, holding his hands over his
mouth. Then I saw one of the guards at the gate lounge toward us, and
began to suspect Maluta’s designs. When the soldier had placed a few
yards between himself and his comrades, he quickened his steps and the
dwarf whispered to me to keep close to the wall of the house, in front
of which we had halted, while he sidled forward, crab-fashion, to meet
the Streltsi; and I saw that he must have saved some money, for it
changed hands before my eyes. Then he called to me in a low voice:
“We will go forward now, excellency,” he said. “Way here, for the
ambassador to their czarish majesties!” he added, in his shrillest
tone, clapping his hands.
The soldier bowed low and saluted, and then walked before me, with
Maluta, crying:
“Way for the ambassador to the czar and czarevitch!”
The Streltsi at the gate stared curiously; they had been well enough
supplied with liquor to be happy, but they could not let me pass until
one of their number, who knew Von Gaden, was called.
“Is this the Jew doctor?” they demanded, “for, by Saint Nikolas of
Mojaïsk, he shall not escape us!”
But the fellow, happily, shook his head. “This is not the Jew!” he
declared.
And my Streltsi, all the while, cried out:
“’Tis an ambassador from the French King to their czarish majesties;
the okolnitchy bade me pass him. Way there, or your beards will be
plucked out by the roots, and ye will have the _pravezh_!”
But I found a speedier remedy, and quietly drew some money from my
wallet and cast a handful of it among them, and in the fierce scramble
for it, I slipped through the gate and hurried away towards the Red
Place, at the top of my speed, with Maluta at my heels. I who, but
yesterday, had struggled so hard to get out of the Kremlin, had now
paid high to be in again, and rejoiced at my good fortune. I clapped my
hand on the dwarf’s shoulder.
“Maluta,” I cried, “you deserve to be a prime minister, I----”
But he put his finger on his lips, and catching hold of the skirt of my
coat, hurried along under the shadow of the Cathedral of Saint Basil
the Blessed. At last he stopped and pointed at a narrow door in the
lower part of the Palace of Facets.
“Yonder,” he whispered, “beyond that door, is a room with no windows,
and in it is the Princess Daria.”
I caught my breath sharply. “Let us go in,” I cried.
But he seized my sleeve. “Stay,” he whispered, and his thin,
three-cornered face showed white in the dusk.
“In the entry there is a soldier, but he drinks good wine,” he said,
“wine that thy servant bought, and also the stuff from the Gostinnoi
Dvor, and at this hour he troubles us but little. But one false
step--one outcry--one whisper--and----”
He put his hand to his throat with a significant gesture.
“It is death,” he said, “for you--and for her, the shaved head!”
And that was a living death for a Russian woman.
_XXVII: “IS IT THOU?”_
WE stood in the parvis of the cathedral, in the deep shadows that fall
at dusk, but the light still streamed broadly over the Red Place--the
Palace Beautiful, as the Russians love to call it--and across the
square I caught the gleam of golden crosses against the sky. It was
silent--with the silence of terror. A guard of Streltsi sat on the
Red Staircase, throwing dice, but their voices were subdued. Some
dark figures flitted softly across the portico, between the cathedral
and the banqueting-hall. Lights shone fitfully in the windows of the
palace. An officer of the guard lighted a pine torch, and it flared up
in a vivid tongue of flame, throwing his burly figure and dark face
into relief. He was scarcely twenty yards away from the spot where
Maluta and I stood waiting. I pressed my hand heavily on the dwarf’s
shoulder.
“Whether it is death or not, I must enter that prison,” I said, in a
low tone.
He nodded, motioning to me to be silent, and pointing. I followed the
direction of his finger with my eyes and saw a short, stout female
figure on the portico, accompanied by two men. The three stood a while
talking together, in subdued voices, and then they entered the palace
and I drew my breath more easily. At least, they had not entered by
that low door that would lead them to the princess. Meanwhile the
officer with the torch had walked away and the soldiers were busy with
their dice. Maluta stripped off a short cloak he wore and drew his
dagger.
“I am going in,” he said, “and when I whistle, the door will be
unbarred. Then it will rest with you, O excellency!”
“Go, then,” I exclaimed, with impatience, “and make haste, in the name
of your patron saint!”
He stooped low and scudded across the space that intervened between
the cathedral and that low door, and I watched eagerly to see how he
intended to enter, for I purposed following without more delay. But a
few moments sufficed to show me the futility of such a design, for the
dwarf did not go to the door; he made straight for a window ten feet
away--to the left--and swinging himself up on the ledges of the stone
copings, as I had seen him do that first day in Kurakin’s court-yard,
he reached the window-sill, and here I thought to see him balked, for I
could plainly perceive the iron bars across it. However, I was destined
to another surprise, for he stopped, and, hanging on the ledge, began
to work at the farthest bar on the left-hand side, and in a moment he
had it out and began to wriggle through the opening, which was scarcely
large enough, to my eyes, to admit a monkey, and, small as the dwarf
was, he had much ado to squeeze and twist his body through, but finally
he disappeared within, and left me writhing with impatience without.
The creature’s cleverness had, by this time, so far impressed me that
I was given to expecting marvels from him, and I knew that he had a
liberty about the palace--in common with the other dwarfs--that no one
else had, or even dreamed of. So I forced myself to await his signal
and to use all the caution that I could, reflecting that a misstep now
would ruin the adventure, and, perhaps, separate me from the princess.
In this frame of mind, certainly not a happy one, I waited in the ever
increasing shadow, and watched and listened for ten minutes, which I
took--in that mood--for two hours, though sober reflection afterwards
showed me that the time was short, as men count it. I thought of
Maluta’s possible failure, of the death or removal of the prisoner,
while we had delayed, of a change of guard, of the arrival of Sophia,
of a dozen things, in fact, that might wreck my happiness for all time.
And then I heard Maluta’s shrill whistle.
I drew my sword, trusting the silent weapon rather than the noisy one,
and in a moment I was at the door and had pushed it inward. So far all
was well: I stepped in and closed it quickly behind me. Before me I
saw a long narrow passage lighted by a single lanthorn swung on the
wall. Under it stood Maluta, and farther on I saw the figure of a man
sitting at a table with his back toward me. The light shone on me, and
Maluta saw me grasp my weapon more tightly, and he laughed--his shrill
little laugh.
“He sleeps, O my master,” he said, wagging his head; “he sleeps
well--come and look at him.”
I thought the rogue had killed him, but a glance told me that the man
slept heavily, as a drunken or a drugged person does. His head hung
forward on his breast and his mouth was open, while he breathed deeply,
and his arms hung limp at his sides. I drew a bunch of keys from his
belt.
“Is that the door?” I asked Maluta, pointing at the end of the passage.
He nodded and I went swiftly forward. It was strongly secured with
both locks and bars, but I removed the latter and found a key, in
the guard’s bunch, to undo the former. Then I tapped upon the door
and called the princess by name. At first there was no answer, nor
indeed any sound within, though there was a grille in the upper half,
doubtless to admit the air, and I was on the point of opening it when
I heard a soft step on the other side, and then silence as though she
listened.
“Princess,” I called gently, “Princess Daria--open the door, I pray
you.”
I heard a little cry--quivering and soft and, I thought, joyful--and
the door was opened.
“Is it thou?” she exclaimed eagerly.