THE SHADOWS ON THE WALL.
BEFORE I left Von Gaden, I had learned the exact locality of
Ramodanofsky’s house. I scarcely knew what design was forming in my
mind; but my love of adventure was keen, and the story I had just heard
affected me deeply. If I was half in love before with the beautiful
stranger, I was now wholly so with the young orphan, whose peculiar
circumstances appealed to the romance in my nature. If I had ever
considered obstacles or difficulties, I should not have allowed myself
such a day-dream; but I was resolved upon gaining a closer acquaintance
with the Ramodanofskys, and I did not count the cost.
The shadows of the early Russian twilight had gathered when I went out,
and it was strangely quiet after the tumult of the day, and yet the
very air seemed to be portentous; the grim-faced houses looked as if
they were locking some dark secret in their bosoms; and now and then
a lurking figure started from the shadow of the wall and scurried into
a softly opened door. As I walked on, my own footsteps startled an
echo in the silence; and it was almost a shock to hear, far off, the
sudden roll of a drum, a sound which came and died away as quickly,
leaving behind a greater quietude. I had no love for the city--I was
a Frenchman to the core; yet there was something about Moscow on that
night that impressed me more deeply than any city in which I had
ever sojourned. There was a solemnity, a desolation which seemed to
speak of the miseries and sins of the suffering masses. I had been
but lately at Versailles, in the midst of the splendors of the Grand
Monarque’s brilliant court, and here was a wondrous contrast: here,
too, was an absolute monarchy, but without the master hand, the iron
grip that keeps the helm of state. Here was a court whose ceremonial
was as stately as any in the world; but how strong was the feeling of
instability! I looked at the Kremlin; within it lay the dead Feodor,
not yet buried, and within it, too, was the young czar,--a child, and a
tool as yet in the hands of an intriguing party. I had known the Czar
Feodor, and had been a recipient of his kindness; and I knew all the
prominent figures in the drama of to-day,--it had been a drama to me,
and I had not dreamed, and did not dream that night, of the part I was
to play in that great tragedy, which was approaching swiftly, silently,
malignantly, along the dark streets and in the hidden quarters of the
city.
As I reached the neighborhood of the Ramodanofsky house, I noticed
that I was no longer solitary. A man was walking along ahead of me,
and something in his figure seemed familiar; still, I slackened my
pace, having no desire for company. He was evidently observant of my
movements, and as little inclined to sociability as I. He kept in the
shadow on the other side of the street, and something in his manner of
lurking made me loosen my sword in the scabbard and feel for my pistols.
The house of the Boyar Ramodanofsky was now close at hand, and I looked
curiously at the dark and forbidding mass of masonry; it appeared as
unapproachable as a fortress, although the gate of the courtyard was
open, and there were lights in the windows. Observing my companion
upon the street, I saw that he had crossed to the other side, and was
keeping well in the shadow. It was evident that I could not reconnoiter
outside without being spied upon, so I determined upon a bold course,
and entered the courtyard. Finding it vacant, and being now out of
sight of the man in the street, I walked cautiously around to the side
of the house, observing it narrowly. Von Gaden’s story had awakened
the keenest interest in my mind, and I could not avoid the thought of
the boyar lying in his blood in that very courtyard, across which his
daughter’s feet passed every day, going and returning in the house of
her father’s assassin. It was a hideous incongruity. I walked along
cautiously, observing the house on the side where I was; the windows
were too high from the ground for me to look in, and there was no
door in the main building, but there was a low postern in the wing;
however, that portion of the house was so quiet that I concluded that
it must be the _Terem_, the part allotted to the women, in accordance
with the eastern custom, still to a great extent prevalent in Russia.
The main building was quiet too, although there were many lights,
and some of the windows cast a perfect square of illumination on
the wall opposite, so that an occasional shadow of some one passing
before the light within was sharply defined on the wall beyond. I soon
decided which were the rooms occupied by the boyar himself, and my
attention was concentrated upon those. My occupation seemed likely
to be fruitless enough, and yet I lingered, held either by fate, or
the sense of the propinquity of Zénaïde Ramodanofsky. While I was
loitering there, the sound of voices from a window, a little over my
head, attracted my notice, and looking about for a way to see into the
room, I discovered an irregularity in the masonry, which furnished a
precarious foothold; and being an expert climber, I lifted myself up
until my eyes were just above the level of the sill. For a moment the
light within dazzled me; then becoming accustomed to it, I saw a large
square apartment furnished with a luxury far more French than Russian,
and at a table sat the Boyar Vladimir Ramodanofsky, Viatscheslav
Naryshkin, and a tall man, whom I recognized as one of the unpopular
colonels of the Streltsi, although his name was unknown to me. The
three worthies were drinking _vodka_, and Viatscheslav was already a
little under its influence. The table was across the room from the
window, and though I heard the voices plainly enough, they spoke too
low for me to catch more than an occasional word; but I gathered that
the discourse was political, and was on the question of the possible
adherence of the Streltsi to Peter’s party,--a sore point, and one
which was uppermost in every mind on that momentous night. The colonel
had a swaggering confidence in the ability of Prince Dolgoruky and the
officers to pacify the troops, which was not reflected in the keen
face of Vladimir; I saw the contemptuous attention that he bestowed
upon his visitor, probably estimating readily the amount of blustering
importance that was assumed on account of the presence of the czar’s
cousin. Viatscheslav himself was taking far less interest in the
dispute than he was in his _vodka_ and caviare; I knew him to be a
_gourmand_, and watched his performance with scornful amusement; here
was a suitor who could, at least, do justice to the refreshments.
After a while, the boyar brought the dispute to a close, and the
officer, evidently feeling that his company was superfluous, withdrew,
leaving Naryshkin still hugging his cup of _vodka_. But as soon as
Viatscheslav found himself alone with the boyar, I saw that the
conversation was immediately becoming more personal, and they got
their heads together over the table. It seemed to me that Ramodanofsky
felt some contempt for his guest, although he treated him with marked
courtesy. After a little, it became evident that Naryshkin was asking
to see Zénaïde, and the boyar, summoning an attendant, sent him in
quest of his niece. In spite of my difficult and precarious position,
my interest was now so keen that I would not have quitted my place but
to save my life. The servant’s face showed at once that he did not
relish his errand, and after a prolonged absence, he returned with
a message that Mademoiselle Zénaïde would see no one at that hour.
The boyar looked like a thunder-cloud, but making a brief apology to
Viatscheslav, he left the room to fetch his niece himself.
I looked narrowly at the house to see if I could ascertain which
window belonged to the young girl. A bright light from one in the
wing shone full on the wall opposite, and presently, on that square
of illumination, I saw outlined distinctly the shadow of a woman’s
figure. Convinced at once that it was Zénaïde’s shadow, I watched it
with a kind of fascination; at first she stood alone, and by her pose
and gesture seemed to be talking to some one, talking with excitement,
and making occasionally a vehement gesture. Then on the bright square
was cast another silhouette, that of a man,--of Ramodanofsky; he, too,
was making gestures even more vehement than hers; at first, he seemed
to plead with and then went on to threaten her. I could read the whole
scene in that dumb shadow-show upon the wall. Suddenly he struck her,
and then both shadows slipped off the bright space, and in my anger and
surprise, I dropped to the ground.
I thought of the murdered father and the defenseless girl, and then
I counted the windows; the lighted one was the third from the main
building, and on the second floor. How could I reach it? Not by
climbing; then I bethought myself of the postern in that very wing,
and went feeling my way along in search of it, my naked sword in my
hand. There were strange thoughts in my heart just then, and it would
have cost the boyar dear to meet me in that gloomy court. I found the
postern and tried it; to my joy, it yielded to my hand, and I found
myself in a dark, narrow hall. For a moment I stood nonplussed, not
knowing which way to turn; but as luck would have it, a noise to the
left sent me to the right, and finding a door, I opened it and stumbled
upon a staircase. A light in the hall above served to make the darkness
visible, and I crept cautiously up the stairs, a step at a time. Before
I gained the top, the closing of a door sounded somewhat sharply, and
with it all gleam of light went out, so I knew that it had proceeded
from a room. Reaching the head of the stairs, I paused to take my
bearings. Coming in at the door, I had turned to the right, so the
stairs had led me toward the main building, and the window was the
third away from it; I must turn now to the left. With this small clue,
I felt my way along the corridor, passing two doors, and pausing at the
third. There was a light within, for it shone through the chink at the
bottom, and I heard a woman’s voice. Remembering only the shadow-drama
on the wall, and the orphan’s helplessness, I opened the door, without
a thought of the strangeness of my presence and my errand.
The light within fell full upon me on the threshold, and on my drawn
sword. There was confusion and a startled cry, one woman rushing
away to the farther door; but the other remained where she was,--a
slender young girl, standing in the center of the room, her pose one
of dignity, her fair hair falling in heavy braids on either shoulder,
and a red mark showing angrily on her white cheek. It was Zénaïde
Feodorovna.