A FAIR PETITIONER.
I WAS far from satisfied with the thought of bringing mademoiselle to
Mentchikof’s house, but when I unfolded the plan to her and to Madame
de Brousson, they overruled my scruples. Najine was eager to embrace
any opportunity to aid her lover, and my wife saw the advantages of
the situation in the same light that they had appeared to Catherine.
So it was that between the women I found myself of small consequence,
and was forced to yield to their wishes. It was arranged that I should
first introduce the testimony of Apraxin, and that then Najine Zotof
would appear to make her own appeal. Meanwhile Apraxin was a prisoner
at my quarters, and a sullen scapegrace I found him. His indignation
against Najine knew no bounds, and I think that the little love he had
for her, in those hours, turned to resentment. As I had anticipated,
his attendant carried the tidings of his capture to M. Zotof, and in
the course of the day I received a sharp message from him that my
treatment of his relative would be reported to the czar; to which I
replied that I should myself inform his Majesty of my action and of
the cause of it,--a message which I thought carried confusion into the
enemy’s lines, for I heard no more that day, and M. Apraxin remained
biding my pleasure in my upper room, although in truth I had no relish
for my task of jailer, and would have been glad to find another way out
of my embarrassments. The impossibility of reaching M. de Lambert made
me doubly uneasy. I had a genuine affection for the young man, and felt
responsible for his safety. I did not go to the Kremlin that day, but
even in the city the tidings had spread that the czar was to go again
to the house of Mentchikof. Straws show the way of the wind, and it
was easy to see the unhappiness of the sycophants who had deserted the
favorite in his temporary obscurity. It is these miserable creatures
who find the changing tide of court favor such a cause for tribulation,
and overturn each other in their eagerness to arrive first at the gates
of the fortunate. I was amused when I approached Mentchikof’s house
in the evening to find the court, that a few days before had been
deserted, full to overflowing with these poor butterflies that had
flown at the little cloud of imperial displeasure and now returned.
They were not, however, admitted. For some reason the favorite chose
to have but a few present at the arrival of the czar, and when I
entered the ante-rooms I found but a small attendance. Peter and his
suite had already arrived, and a few of the imperial guards were at
the doors. When I reached the _salon_, I found the czar surrounded
by a larger party than I had at first supposed to be present, but
there was no one there of the faction favorable to Zotof except the
Field-Marshal Sheremetief. Madame Golovin, both the Arsenief sisters,
their aunt Madame Tolstoi, and Mademoiselle Shavronsky were all at the
farther end of the apartment, holding a little court of their own,
while the czar was in the midst of his immediate friends, Mentchikof,
Repnin, Sheremetief, and a dozen more. I saw at a glance that Peter
was in an excellent humor. When I entered, he was standing with his
hand on Mentchikof’s shoulder, and was laughing heartily at some jest
that he had made at the favorite’s expense. As I advanced, the czar
saw me, and there was a change--slight and almost imperceptible, but
still a change--in his expression. Doubtless, I was unwelcome enough
at the moment, and it may be that his keen wit instantly suspected a
concealed motive in the occasion, for he could not have been ignorant
of Mentchikof’s dealings with me and with M. de Lambert. However, he
received me with courtesy, and at once asked a direct question in his
usual blunt fashion.
“Well, M. l’Ambassadeur,” he said, “have you found M. de Lambert?”
“I have not, your Majesty,” I replied, “but I have certain information
concerning him.”
A peculiar expression gleamed in his eyes for an instant, but he smiled.
“You speak gravely, sir,” he said lightly. “What is the information?”
I was standing directly before the czar, in the midst of many
spectators, and I answered him deliberately.
“I am glad,” I said suavely, “of this opportunity to inform your
Majesty of the outrage that has been perpetrated upon one of my suite.
M. de Lambert was seized by a palace guard, betrayed into his hands by
M. Zotof’s relative, M. Apraxin.”
There was a pause, and I saw the lightning in the czar’s glance, and
Mentchikof stirred uneasily. The mine was fired, and we awaited the
explosion.
“You must have been misinformed, M. l’Ambassadeur,” Peter said after a
moment. “It is impossible that one of my guards could have dealt with
that fellow. Produce your proofs.”
“Your Majesty,” I replied quietly, “M. Apraxin admitted his share of
the transaction in my presence this morning, and he is at this time
within call.”
The czar bit his lip. He was in a peculiar position, and I think
regretted his folly in having meddled with M. de Lambert.
“Be kind enough, M. le Vicomte,” he said, “to produce M. Apraxin, whom
I supposed long since departed from Moscow.”
This was the order that I had hoped for, and I despatched Pierrot to
bring him, with a couple of Mentchikof’s followers to prevent his
escape. In the interval before his arrival, the czar refused to be
entertained, waiting with impatience for the coming scene. That he
was violently angry at Apraxin’s interference, I did not doubt, but
just what he intended to do it was difficult to imagine. His mood had
changed, and his face was deeply flushed. He walked down the room to
a chair near where the women stood, and, seating himself, leaned his
head upon his hand and stared gloomily down the length of the _salon_,
but with eyes that did not seem to notice the gay courtiers who filled
it. The change in his mood affected the humor of the assemblage, and
there was a general cessation of conversation, and every eye was
turned towards his face. It was, perhaps, half an hour before one
of the ushers announced that Apraxin was under guard in one of the
adjoining rooms, and the czar immediately ordered that he should be
brought before him. There was a little ripple of excitement when
Zotof’s protégé entered and was marched down the room between two of
Mentchikof’s men. His expression was as sullen as usual, and he made
but a slight obeisance as he paused opposite the czar. Peter eyed him
with angry contempt.
“I find that instead of being where you ought to be, in Archangel,
Apraxin,” the czar said sharply, “you are here, and meddling with one
of M. de Brousson’s party.”
He paused as if expecting a reply; but Apraxin made none, maintaining
his attitude of sullen silence. The czar looked at him fiercely.
“Have you a tongue?” he demanded.
The blood rose to Apraxin’s hair.
“You are the Czar of Russia,” he said passionately, “but I am not your
slave, but a freeman! By what right am I arrested by the Vicomte de
Brousson, and dragged from place to place without any formal charge?”
“You were brought here by my order,” the czar replied sternly, “and you
will do well to answer the questions that I put to you with civility,
or we will presently find the means to give you a lesson.”
The czar meant the secret-chancery of Preobrazhensky, and Apraxin knew
it, for I saw the color recede from his cheek and the look of a hunted
animal show in his eyes.
“Briefly, Apraxin,” Peter continued, “by whose order did you betray M.
de Lambert into the hands of the imperial guard?”
For a moment Apraxin was silent, and then he spoke with more manhood
than I had anticipated.
“Your Majesty,” he said, “I am a nephew by adoption of Madame Zotof,
and was affianced in boyhood to her husband’s niece, Najine Zotof. She
has lately departed from the house of her uncle, and fled to that
of the Vicomte de Brousson, the secret envoy of France; encouraged
in her disobedience, and aided by her lover, M. de Lambert. For that
reason, and for no other, I did endeavor to seize him, and succeeded
in delivering him into the hands of an officer of the guard charged by
your Majesty to arrest him.”
The mine had exploded, and the czar flushed crimson, while his eyes
flashed. He had evidently trusted to the discretion of his officer and
had been betrayed. I stood discreetly silent, but I caught the eye of
Mademoiselle Catherine and saw that she was keenly anxious.
“Upon my faith,” exclaimed the czar, with passion, “it is like your
impertinence to charge me with being your accomplice. Officer, remove
the prisoner.”
As Apraxin was led out, Peter turned upon me sharply.
“So, M. l’Ambassadeur,” he said, “mademoiselle is at your house?”
“I do not now deny the charge, your Majesty,” I said quietly.
His lip curled scornfully. “You would have me believe that she was not
there before?” he exclaimed.
I returned his gaze quietly. “It is difficult to know what to believe
about the matter, your Majesty,” I replied dryly.
As I spoke, there was some confusion at the further end of the room,
and the czar glancing in that direction, his reply to me was stayed
upon his lip. I turned with an intuition of the cause, and saw the
crowd part, leaving a wide aisle down the center of the long _salon_,
and through this walked Madame de Brousson and Mademoiselle Zotof. My
wife, who was yet a beautiful woman, moved along with easy dignity,
her fine figure and rich dark robes making her a sharp contrast to
Najine, so slender in her pure white garment, untrimmed save for the
sable that edged it as it fell about her feet, and the sable about
her shoulders making her white neck look yet more white. Her face was
pale, but her eyes darkly blue and fearless in expression. Her whole
appearance and manner were extremely maidenly, and yet she advanced
without embarrassment. As she approached, Peter rose, and the nobles
about him drew back a little, so that he stood quite alone and faced
mademoiselle, a strange expression on his face. That he was astonished
was manifest enough, but he was also strongly moved and looked at her
without a word. Zénaïde paused beside me, and whispered that they
had just received evil tidings, that M. de Lambert’s life had been
attempted, and that he was in great peril. Troubled as I was at the
information, I almost forgot it in my eagerness to watch mademoiselle
and the czar. She addressed him in the quaint Russian fashion.
“I come to you, little father, as a suppliant,” she said in a low
voice, but in the silence it was audible to all; “I have a suit which
is too pressing to brook delay, and I crave indulgence.”
“I am fortunate to see you, Najine,” the czar replied slowly. “Of late,
not even your uncle could find you.”
Her pale cheeks flushed, but she looked up bravely. “Your Majesty
must pardon my faults,” she said earnestly; “so sure am I of your
goodness--of your kingly generosity, that I have come to ask a favor at
your Majesty’s hands.”
Whether he suspected her motive or not, I could not tell, but he looked
at her keenly.
“What is this favor?” he asked gravely; “have I been a hard master to
you that you fear to ask it?”
“No, sire,” she said gently, her eyes fixed earnestly upon his face;
“but when a boon is near the heart, it is difficult to ask. I beg a
man’s liberty--his life, for they tell me it is in danger.”
“A man’s life and liberty?” the czar repeated sternly; “you choose a
strange time, Najine Alexeievna; and is there no one else who can plead
for it to me?”
The color swept up to her hair, and she suddenly kneeled at his feet.
“No one can plead as I can, little father,” she said almost inaudibly,
“because to no one else is his life so dear.”
“Ah!” the czar ejaculated sharply, his brows bending in a dark frown
and his lips twitching; “and who is this prisoner, madam?”
“Guillaume de Lambert, an officer of the household troops of the King
of France,” she replied in a clear voice.
“There is the Ambassador of France,” said the czar coldly, pointing at
me; “why not let him prefer this suit?”
She was still kneeling, and looked up at him with an earnest appeal in
her blue eyes.
“Turn not a deaf ear, your Majesty,” she exclaimed with feeling. “M. de
Lambert is an innocent man, and it is your duty to do justice to the
innocent, for are you not an anointed king? Judgment and mercy belong
to you, little father, and it is to your honor to show justice to the
foreigner. He has been betrayed into prison; they tell me that his life
has been attempted. Show mercy, sire, and set him free.”
The czar looked at her keenly, strong emotions contending in his
passionate face.
“You plead with eloquence, Najine,” he said, still coldly. “Of what
interest is this young man’s fate to you? Answer me freely, if you hope
for mercy for him!”
Najine looked up into Peter’s dark face, and her lips quivered.
“Your Majesty,” she replied in a low voice, but every ear was strained
to catch her words, “I ask his liberty--because I love him.”
The czar drew a deep breath, and the _tic_ convulsed his features.
“You speak boldly, girl,” he said sternly. “Are you not ashamed?”
Najine rose and stood before him, her face as white as her robe, but
her eyes shone like two stars.
“I am not ashamed, sire,” she answered proudly, “to love a brave and
loyal gentleman.”
Peter uttered an exclamation under his breath, regarding her with an
expression in which anger and admiration were mingled. Never before had
any woman faced him with the declaration of her loyalty to another man,
and it must have made a strong impression upon him. It was a strange
picture. The nobles about him had drawn back until the two stood in the
center of a large space, the massive figure of the czar overshadowing
the slight form of mademoiselle, but there was a simple dignity in the
pose of her young figure that was striking. Peter was silent for some
moments, and then spoke with bitterness.
“By my faith, Najine Alexeievna,” he said, “I did not know that you
were asking a bridegroom at my hands!”
The blood rose to her hair, but she answered him in an unfaltering
voice.
“Oh, little father,” she said, “I ask his liberty--his life!”
“And if I refuse, what then?” the czar asked sternly, his dark eyes
searching her face and his lips closing in a hard line.
She turned pale and cast a bewildered glance at me, and I saw that
her courage was sorely tried, and fancied that she was distressed by
the tidings that she had heard before coming there. She took a step
forward, and held out her hands with a gesture that was pathetic in its
appeal.
“I dare not think of your Majesty’s refusal,” she said; “I will not
believe it.”
At this point she was reinforced; with a swift movement Catherine
Shavronsky passed through the circle of spectators and knelt at the
czar’s feet. He started, glancing from one woman to the other in
amazement.
“What is this?” he exclaimed sharply; “I did not come here to hold a
tribunal of justice.”
“But of mercy, little father,” Catherine said quietly. “I kneel here
to second mademoiselle’s appeal. M. de Lambert is a stranger, he can
claim our forbearance. It is your kindness that has abolished forced
marriages, and made happier unions a possibility. Your Majesty has
always been good to the young. Here, then, are two lovers, separated
by misfortune--is it not a royal prerogative to give them happiness? I
also ask a boon: the life--liberty--happiness of a French soldier of
the czar of all the Russias--of Peter the magnanimous!”
She had touched upon a delicate point, but the czar controlled his
emotion. He stood looking at the two women as if he were mentally
contrasting them, and the whole court looked also and marvelled, for
they were singularly beautiful and singularly unlike. Catherine’s
beauty was of the feline type, and coarser but more striking than
Najine’s; hers was refined and charming and spirited, and her face was
clouded with anxiety, while Catherine’s was kindled with excitement.
Mademoiselle stood, while the Livonian continued to kneel until the
czar took her hand and raised her to her feet, and then, turning to the
other petitioner, spoke with affected carelessness.
“Your request is granted, Najine,” he said; “I cannot resist so much
eloquence. Mentchikof, let the captain of the guard release M. de
Lambert at once and deliver him to M. de Brousson.”
Najine took a step forward, and, kneeling, kissed the czar’s hand; and
the blood left his cheek, and his face was as white as her own.