past me. Face to face again with him--mine enemy! Slain, too, in a
fight with me, though not directly by my hand. His face, exposed so
cruelly in the daylight, and with the flare, too, of the yellow tapers
on it, seemed to reproach me. I had as certainly been his evil genius
as I had been that of M. d’Argenson, and yet I could not feel regret. I
knew the man’s life had been evil, report said that he had beaten his
first wife to death, and his ways had been violent and bloody. So much
the worse too, for him, in this his sudden taking-off. I stood staring,
like a fool, while the crowd of mourners followed, his friends and
his serfs, all bare-headed, and the last bare-foot. Then, reflecting
that these people, if they recognised me, might hold me to account, I
turned to find my way out of the press of onlookers, and had not gone
two steps before I saw a face that I welcomed with joy. Not ten yards
distant stood the dwarf, Maluta, and, at the sight of me, he beamed
with delight. I beckoned to him to follow, and in a few moments we
were comparatively alone, and I halted to ask and answer questions.
He had been in great distress at my disappearance, and must know the
particulars, even while he replied to my inquiries. He had only reached
Troïtsa the night before, and he bore messages and letters, as well
as more of my money, sent by Maître le Bastien, and he described his
search for me and his perplexity, and ended by saying that he had
thought, up to a moment ago, that I had gone with Prince Voronin, or in
pursuit of him.
“Prince Voronin!” I cried excitedly; “I left him here with his daughter
and his niece--is he back in Moscow?”
Maluta shook his head vehemently. “No, O excellency,” he replied;
“Moscow bubbles as the pot does when the sterlet stews. He could not go
there; he has gone to his own domain.”
“And the Princess Daria?”
“Is with him also,” said the dwarf, “she and her cousin and the female
slaves, and the new wife of the prince, and all his retinue.”
“Where is his home?” I demanded sharply, for I meant to follow the
great lion even to his lair.
Maluta pointed southward.
“Away and away,” he said, “many versts beyond the great white city,
south still, toward the Tchornosjorn[B] and beyond, where the prince
keeps peace with the Cossacks and is a great lord.”
“I will go after him,” I exclaimed.
The dwarf looked at me askance, his brows wrinkled.
“There is danger there, O my master,” he said shrilly; “even there the
prince is lord, and who he wills to live, lives, and who he wills to
die, dies, and he rules the land, and his house is strong, and there
are twenty-eight bolts to the _terem_, and lo! the windows thereof are
barred, so that not even the sweet-singing bird goes through them, and
he has serfs by the score, strong men with the crossbow.”
I laughed bitterly. “Your picture is enchanting, Maluta,” I said. “How
goes it in Moscow?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “The Streltsi reign, excellency,” he
replied, “and the Czarevna Sophia. The Czarevitch Ivan and the Czar
Peter will be crowned together, as lords and czars, and she, too,
will rule--as the cat”--Maluta stretched out his hand like a cat’s
paw--“rules the mice, and Galitsyn is a great prince and fair in her
eyes, and the Naryshkins run like rats, and men dare not squeak--but
the master goldsmith is safe.”
And so Maître le Bastien’s letters told me and something more. There
were despatches from my cousin in France; Mme. de Montespan had fallen
and Mme. de Maintenon would befriend me; the king was inclined to
clemency, the scandal of the duel had blown over, more money was
forwarded from my estates, and I could come home! It would have been
a joyful summons two months ago, but now--I tore the letter, for the
goldsmith had added some sage advice and urged M. le Marquis to go back
to France.
“_Peste!_” I exclaimed, tossing away the fragments of the letter, “I go
south to-morrow--to the land of the nightingale and the despot!”
The dwarf plucked at my coat.
“I--I also, go with you, O my master!” he said.
_XXXV: THE DWARF AND I_
FOR three days and nights the dwarf and I rode southward, and ever
southward, and so long and tedious was the journey and so eternal the
sameness of the level landscape that it seemed as if we rode and rode,
without ever advancing a day’s journey. Ah! those steppes of southern
Russia, wide and level and unending; sweeping away from us on every
side, until they seemed to drop over the rim of the world. They were
green then, for it was June, and the cattle grazed where, after a
while, there would be only a dry desert swept by the south winds. Not
a tree grew near us, only in the upper courses of the rivers was there
timber, and the moujiks burned straw and dried dung.
And while we rode the dwarf chattered to me of the power of the great
Prince Voronin, and the rumours, current on the back stairs of the
palace, of Sophia’s jealousy of Prince Galitsyn, and his love for
the Princess Daria. A conversation that furnished gall and wormwood
in plenty for my diet, and while showing me the insignificance of my
cause and my efforts, only served to make me the more obstinate; for
I have that in me that will not yield. As I journeyed, however, I
reflected that I was no longer a youth, nor so handsome and graceful
as to please a young girl’s eye at once, and here my rank and fortune
counted as nothing. I found myself examining my suit--a plain and
dark one of taffeta--such as a gentleman might wear on a journey, but
not fit for the great occasion of wooing a princess, yet the change
of apparel, that I had provided, was scarcely more gaudy, and I grew
peevish, remembered that I had grey hairs besides, and a stern cast
of countenance, and was almost tempted to ask Maluta’s opinion, but
forbore.
Yet, for all my ill-humour at my own appearance, which was that of a
soldier rather than a courtier, I could not mend matters, and so went
on, pushing forward as rapidly as I could, for something warned me not
to linger on the road. We passed through the hamlets as quickly as we
could, being ever assailed there by the curious and the idle, and,
indeed, but for the need of supplies, I would not have troubled them.
Thus we lay ever at night under the stars and found no inconvenience,
save on the last night of our journey, when we were already on the
outskirts of the prince’s domain. We had learned, by diligent inquiry,
that his party had preceded us by two days only, and that there were
women in it, so I pressed on, and when we were but a day’s journey from
the great house of Voronin, we lay in a deserted hut to pass the night.
Here there were trees about us, sparsely set, but gigantic, and the
prince’s château was but a short distance from the village below us,
where the serfs dwelt together, they who tilled the fields about us,
and served him night and day.
It was that evening while we were at supper that I asked Maluta if he
would follow me to France, and, at the question, his small face seemed
to wither, his eyes rolled, and his great wing-like ears quivered.
“Have I not served my lord?” he asked humbly.
“So faithfully that I would fain reward you,” I replied; “in France I
have a house and lands by the sea; and there you could live and die in
peace, under my protection. Will you follow me, Maluta?”
He shivered and looked over his shoulder. In the west the red of sunset
trailed upward toward the zenith, in long scarlet feathers; on the wide
scene shadows fell.
“Have I not served my lord?” he repeated; “for I owed him my life--for
him have I risked it!”
“So you have!” I retorted kindly. I was lying full-length on the grass
and I rose now on my elbow; “and I would repay you.”
He fell on his knees. “Then leave me here, O my master,” he whimpered;
“here was I born, here have I lived, here, also, will I die. In the
strange land I should perish--my heart would be empty. I should never
see the great white city again--I should die! Yet, I owe my life to
you, O excellency, and if you will it--take it!”
“Saint Denis, you little rogue!” I exclaimed; “do you think I would
kill you by taking you away? But what can you do here?”
He knelt meekly, his hands clasped, his eyes rolled up, the picture of
a saint, though he was as arrant a little knave as ever lived, when he
wanted to be.
“Here I can live,” he said, looking at me with that sidelong glance of
his; “here I see the great tower of Ivan Veliki, I hear the bells, I
dance for their czarish majesties, and in the kitchens of the palace
are pickled mushrooms, and oil of cinnamon, and sterlet soup, and
_pampushki_, and----”
I laughed aloud; I recollected his greedy feast on the day of his
rescue. Here was a soul that could not forsake the flesh-pots.
“There are also dainties in France, and your feast cakes, your
_pampushki_, are but flour and garlic,” I said, but he shook his head
dismally.
“At least, I will make you independent of the kitchens,” I said; “money
I can give you.”
As I spoke, one of the horses--startled, as I think, by some noise
of the trees--plunged, and but for his halter would have run away. I
started to my feet and fastened both more securely, but Maluta fell to
trembling and crossing himself.
“’Tis the second time,” he whispered; “’tis Koshchei or one of his
legion!”
Koshchei, one of the demons of the forest, was the terror of the
Russian heart, and believed in, as I think, more devoutly than the
Virgin and the saints.
“’Tis a sure sign of danger,” cried Maluta, “and see yonder, O
excellency, the storm-cloud rises. Stribog, the god of the winds, is
abroad; ’twill be a wild night--we must take the beasts into the hut,
for if the tempest comes and they escape us, we cannot walk.”
The wisdom of this and his superior knowledge of the Russian climate
made me comply, and it was well, for though we were crowded to the door
of the hovel, the beasts were safe, and it was a night of the wildest.
The great black storm-cloud rolled up, covering the heavens and the
earth with the blackness of the pit, and the wind, rising steadily,
swept over those wide plains with furious power. The few trees that
stood about us bent and creaked, feeble as reeds, and the rain came
down in torrents, and all through the fury of the tempest Maluta
shouted a weird song, kneeling sometimes, while the water swirled
around his little figure, and again lifting his arms over his head and
dancing to and fro, swaying back and forth, and calling for protection
on Koshchei and his legion of evil spirits. Once or twice, as the
storm broke above us, in all its fury, and the wind came sweeping wild
and mighty across the steppes, and the black heavens showed strange
copperish streaks, Maluta fell face downward, at the threshold of the
hut, and seemed to wrestle with an invisible foe, crying to me that
the place was filled with evil spirits and that Koshchei the Deathless
rode the wind, until--between the little demon-worshipper and the demon
of the tempest--I was fairly beset, and crossed myself to be sure that
I was yet a Christian. And through all those long hours the wind wailed
and the dwarf chanted, until, at last, morning broke suddenly on the
wild scene and little by little the tempest subsided.
But it was full noonday before we could set out, and having to advance
cautiously now, to avoid questions, we could not reach the house before
nightfall. But we were nearing it and my heart beat high, although the
dwarf rode beside me, a drooping figure, exhausted doubtless by his
unearthly vigil, and fearful of meeting the evil spirits of the forest,
the Leshy and the Baba Yaga.
It was toward the late hours of the afternoon that we became aware that
a party--a large one, too--travelled to the westward of us, and in the
same direction. To avoid them we turned further east and, though we
made good speed, night had already fallen before we saw the lights of a
large village, and Maluta told me that it lay between us and the palace
of Prince Voronin. Determined to avoid all suspicion, we dismounted at
the edge of the hamlet, and the dwarf agreed to stay with the horses
while I went forward to reconnoitre, though he did not care for the
arrangement, for he distrusted my ability as a scout, and feared to be
alone in the wood. However, I had no mind to play a secondary part here
and one of waiting, so I left him on duty with the horses, and slipping
past the first straggling houses of the settlement sought for the road
to the prince’s château, and I was led to find this by the peasants
themselves, who were all thronging toward the great house, drawn--as I
was to learn--by the prospect of a spectacle. Using all the precaution
I could, I advanced along the outskirts of the throng and finally
mingled with it unnoticed, as the serfs pressed on behind a procession
of flaming torches that was winding up the road that led to the great
house before us.
Even in the gloom of early nightfall I could distinguish the outlines
of a large and imposing building, looming grandly amidst the level
country, and surrounded by the huts of the village, which were little
more than a growth of mushrooms by comparison. But, from what I heard
about me, and from what I saw, I gathered that the party of travellers,
that Maluta and I had avoided, had arrived and were proceeding in
state to the castle, where--from the brightly illumined court-yard--I
knew they were expected. Pushing my way carefully, but steadily, to
the front, that I might be sure of drifting into the court with the
crowd, I came, at last, close to the torches and saw the glint of
scarlet tunics, and then intuition warned me and I was not surprised to
recognise the man who rode--in state--through the great gateway, with
the flare of torches flashing on his jewels and the gold brocade of
his mantle. Mounted on a splendid horse and riding like a soldier and
a prince, with his footmen before him and behind, was my rival, Basil
Galitsyn.
And, as he dismounted in the centre of the court-yard, I entered the
gateway unchallenged and passed along to the right, so that I almost
faced him. Yet he did not see me--he was looking at the door and beyond
it.
_XXXVI: THE PRINCESS_
THE light of a hundred torches filled the court-yard with a crimson
glow, and shed broad and wavering flashes on the great solid building,
with its grim look of strength and pride. On either side of the main
entrance the serfs stood in double tiers, clad in white caftans banded
with purple, and their wild, dark faces illumined by the streaming
fire of the torches that they held aloft, fifty strong men on one side
and fifty on the other; while farther off, in the corners of the great
yard, and at the gateway, crowded men and women and even children,
in every colour, from deep scarlet to pale pink, a living mass of
creatures that served one lord, the thralls of the vast domain of this
Russian prince, his slaves and his warriors. Above, the black smoke
from the burning pine-knots hung heavily, and in the broad blaze of the
fiery illumination below Prince Galitsyn had dismounted and advanced,
slow and stately; magnificently robed, splendidly armed, the descendant
of the Lithuanian monarchs looked every inch a prince and a king.
Onward between the long lines of solemn, white-robed fire-bearers,
and up the broad steps, he moved and I followed. In the confusion of
the great throng I was unrecognised, and thought to be in his train.
At the top of the steps he paused, and I looked beyond him into the
lobby, lighted too by torches, and here, at the threshold, lay two
great bears--skins, heads, and claws fairly intact--and stretched
across the entrance from side to side, while in the centre of the
lobby stood a table, which held a great silver salver, and on it was a
silver image or _oberis_; before that the bread, and beside it a huge
silver salt-cellar. A little behind this table stood Prince Voronin,
and a young woman, whom I took to be his new wife, but I had eyes for
neither, but only for the tall, slender, white-robed figure who stood
at the table, looking directly toward us, her head lifted proudly, her
dark eyes shining--the Princess Daria!
Galitsyn, too, saw no one but the princess. Obeying the custom of his
people, he trod upon the heads of the bears and entered the lobby, and
the princess, coming two steps forward, held out the bread and salt.
Her hands were firm, and her round arms, but her face was pale--pale
and luminous. He took the bread from her hands and broke it, and he
tasted the salt, and the Prince Voronin, advancing, clasped him in a
warm embrace. It was at this moment that Daria saw me. If she had been
pale before, she now turned white to the lips, but swift as a thought
she came to me, as I walked across the bears, and held out the bread
and salt with hands that shook.
“Take it quickly!” she cried in a low tone; “eat it in the Virgin’s
name!” and her voice quivered.
Not ignorant of the sacredness of the bond, I obeyed her, and as I did
so, I heard Voronin’s deep tones.
“Who is there, Daria? I command you not to break bread with him!”
But she turned and looked at him, while I still held the hand that had
given me the bread.
“He saved my life, O my father!” she said in a sweet, clear voice, “and
he has tasted your bread and salt; surely then, he is your guest also,
O excellency.”
And I felt her hand like ice.
Galitsyn had turned also and was gazing at me with a strange face. No
doubt his breast was filled with contending emotions. Had I not escaped
his ruffians and defied him? But the face of Prince Voronin froze into
an image of stone, and only the eyes blazed fire, while the stranger at
his side, his wife--as I had divined--bustled forward and caught hold
of Daria, remonstrating loudly.
“He saved your life, yes, my daughter,” replied the prince, sternly
scornful, “and his own; but since he is my guest, I will not hang him
at the gateway. But leave his side--I command you!”
The princess had already dragged her hand from mine and she drew back
now, and stood silent, her eyes on the floor, while I addressed her
father.
“M. le Prince,” I said, “in spite of many difficulties, I have
escaped from those who would have carried me to Archangel, and I have
journeyed southward for the sole purpose of seeing the Princess Daria.
I understand, monsieur, your reluctance to give your consent to a
marriage brought about by the Czarevna Sophia, and in circumstances so
peculiar. Nor do I blame you for refusing to intrust your daughter to a
stranger, but, M. le Prince, I have upon me papers that will establish
my birth and my rank, not entirely unsuitable for your consideration,
and although a foreigner, monsieur, and a stranger, I love the princess
deeply, so deeply that I will force no claim upon her. She is free to
choose; if she will recognise the marriage, I am her devoted husband
and lover, but she--and she alone--must choose.”
Prince Galitsyn could forbear no longer, his proud face flushed deeply.
“It would be well, sir,” he said haughtily, “to prove that your birth
is equal to that of the princess; as for the marriage----” He snapped
his fingers.
I eyed him coldly. “M. le Prince,” I said courteously, “permit me to
suggest that you ask her imperial highness, Sophia Alexeievna, to
support your suit to the Princess Daria,” and as I said it, I heard a
rebellious titter, and saw Vassalissa, little rogue that she was, in
the background.
Galitsyn turned from red to white, and his hand clenched on his sword,
but he had no time to answer, for Voronin spoke.
“I have heard you, sir,” he said to me, “with amazement; yonder is the
door; two minutes longer and my stewards will see that you find it
or----”
“Remember the bread and salt, my uncle,” said Vassalissa softly,
plucking at his sleeve.
He shook her off, but he bit his lip. As for me, I folded my arms on my
breast and stood firmly, in the centre of the hall.
“M. le Prince,” I said quietly, “I am your daughter’s husband; I must
speak to her, and learn her will from her own lips.”
“From the hands of my slaves, rather!” he cried fiercely, his eagle eye
kindling. “Do you beard me in my own house, fool?”
“Nay, monsieur,” I replied, unmoved; “but I must have my answer. As she
wills it--so will it be.”
His face worked furiously, Galitsyn muttered below his breath,
fingering his weapon. All about us, in a constantly narrowing circle,
gathered the fierce-eyed serfs. The red light of many torches rose and
fell. Daria stood like a statue.
“Answer him,” commanded Voronin fiercely, “answer him, you little fool,
and have it done; the fellow raves!”
“Madame,” I said to her, low and tenderly, “I love you--I am your
husband, if you will. Answer me without fear or favour, for I will
surely defend you.”
She looked up and her dark eyes met mine, and slowly, very slowly, the
colour of an early rose came softly to her cheeks, but her expression
was inscrutable. She looked indeed the picture of pride.
“Do you love me, madame?” I whispered. “Will you remain my wife?”
The stillness of the place was like the stillness of those vast
steppes, out in the night. I heard her draw her breath--as in a dream,
I saw the ring of fierce faces, the streaming fire, the proud figures
of the two princes with their hands on their swords, and behind them
the child, her cousin, watching with eager eyes. Outside, in the court,
a thin, high voice began to chant the welcome song for the princely
guest, but with it there was the clash of swords. She did not speak.
“Are you dumb, my daughter?” demanded Voronin scornfully. “Answer
him--I bid you!”
“Nay, M. le Prince,” I said proudly. “Of her own free will or not at
all.”
He bowed his head, smiling bitterly. “Do I force her?” he asked.
“Mme. la Princesse,” I said, “ask you, for the last time, will you
answer me of your free will, or do you fear to do so?”
“Of my free will,” she answered, in a low voice, but very proudly.
“Will you be my wife still?” I asked gently. “Will you accept my love
and henceforth bear my name?”
She took a step backward and stood quite alone and erect.
“I thank you, monsieur, for my life,” she said firmly, “and for
standing between me and Kurakin--I thank you. But--it is well for you
to go away--it is well to leave me. I cannot be--be your wife.” She
hesitated, drew her breath quickly, and then added, in a clear low
tone, “I do not love you.”
I bowed profoundly, and without a word I turned and walked across the
bear skins, down the broad stone steps, into the crowded court, where I
saw only hostile faces and the flash of naked steel.
_XXXVII: THE WOMAN_
I WALKED out slowly through the crowd of serfs, beyond the flaming
torches, beyond the swords and spears, and no man offered to stay me,
though many stared--in no kindly fashion--at the foreigner and the
stranger within their gates. But to me it was nothing; I felt myself a
fool for my pains.
Leaving the throng at the entrance of the palace yard, I found the
village lying below, dark and deserted, not even the voice of a child
sounded there; the inhabitants had all been drawn to the master’s
house. My footsteps alone sounded in the narrow lanes, and there was an
aspect of desolation in this desertion. I went on, past the last house,
and came upon Maluta, squatted cross-legged on the ground before the
horses. He had made a little fire of brush-wood, and the light played
fantastically on his face and his great ears. I stood looking at him a
moment in silence and he looked back at me--wrinkling his face up and
peering.
“I am going back to France, Maluta,” I said.
He made an inarticulate sound, clasping his knees with his long arms.
“I am a fool--a _durak_,” I added drily. “Come--we will ride.”
But he shook his head. “No, excellency,” he said, “not with these
horses.”
Then I remembered. The dwarf was wiser than I; they needed rest. We
were in a dangerous neighbourhood, but--at the moment--I cared little.
“Very well,” I rejoined; “we will ride at daybreak.”