HOMYAK.
AT last, after so much ill luck, fortune favored me. At no great
distance from Von Gaden’s house, in a lonely street, I saw a small
figure dodging along ahead of me. Dark as it was, I was certain of my
discovery. There were many court dwarfs, but there was something about
Homyak’s figure and gait that was unmistakable. He did not know who was
behind him, and was off his guard. In a moment I had overtaken him,
and had him by the collar; he shrieked and cowered like a frightened
animal, but I put my pistol to his head for the second time.
“Be quiet, you rogue!” I said, in a low tone. “If you make any outcry,
it will cost you your life.”
He recognized my voice at once, and I fancied that he drew a long
breath of relief.
“Why do you use me so ill, M. le Vicomte?” he whined. “I was on my
way to the Kremlin on business for her majesty; it is not safe to
interfere with me; the czarina--”
I had turned him about, and was half pushing, half dragging him along.
“You will come back with me, nevertheless,” I replied calmly, making
my way towards Von Gaden’s. “You can give us some information that we
need, and give it you shall.”
He whimpered in the darkness, and writhed in my hands like the
miserable ape that he was.
“I know nothing, M. de Brousson,” he cried feverishly; “you are wasting
time on a poor wretch who cannot fight you.”
I did not reply, but tightened my grip on his collar, remembering
Zénaïde, and longing to whip the hound as he deserved. But he was
determined not to give up without a protest.
“Where are you taking me?” he moaned. “I shall be punished at the
palace for my delay. What can your excellency want with so humble a
creature?”
I smiled grimly in the darkness; I was not without some enjoyment of
the situation.
“I am taking you to an old acquaintance, Homyak,” I said quietly; “to
the Boyar Feodor Sergheievitch Ramodanofsky.”
Homyak cried out in his agony of alarm, and almost wrenched himself
from my grip. “Have mercy!” he shrieked, with a repetition of
Polotsky’s abject terror. “Anything but that, M. le Vicomte; do with me
as you will, but spare me that. I will tell anything, do anything if
you will keep me from him.”
I could not help sympathizing with his desire to escape; I could
scarcely imagine a more relentless fate than the boyar. However, I saw
my advantage, and merely hastened my steps, although I had literally to
drag the dwarf by main force, while he begged for mercy. At the door, I
found Von Gaden, and together we took the limp prisoner into the study,
and there, while he cowered before my pistol, we cross-examined him,
Von Gaden annoying me by his eagerness to fathom the dwarf’s connection
with Ramodanofsky, while I was endeavoring to obtain information about
Zénaïde.
“Polotsky has confessed,” I said, “and it only remains for you to tell
us what you know. Denials will not serve.”
“I know nothing,” whined the dwarf, reassured by the absence of
Ramodanofsky, and resuming his original pretense of ignorance.
“Pshaw, Homyak!” interposed Von Gaden, sternly, “what is the use of
lying to me? Do you think I have forgotten the attempted murder of
Feodor Sergheievitch? Do you think you can escape his vengeance?
There is no one to protect you. Vladimir has gone to meet the eternal
justice.”
The dwarf stared at him wildly.
“Vladimir Sergheievitch dead?” he cried; and then a sudden thought
brought a gleam to his eyes. “By the hand of Feodor?” he asked.
“By his own act,” I retorted gravely; “and we know that you were
employed to remove Mademoiselle Zénaïde Feodorovna from this house,
and you must take us to the place where she is imprisoned. You were
Vladimir’s agent.”
“Yes,” interrupted Von Gaden again, to my annoyance, “just as you were
employed fifteen years ago to stab Feodor on the threshold of his home.”
“I was not,” cried the dwarf, vehemently. “Vladimir Sergheievitch
stabbed his brother himself; I only witnessed it.”
“It is easy to accuse the dead,” retorted Von Gaden, scornfully.
“It is true,” protested Homyak, angered and frightened by the
physician’s mocking manner. “I knew it all, and he feared me,--feared I
would betray him to the Czar Alexis.”
“Yet you were guilty, Homyak,” said the other, calmly; “it was you who
stripped the dead body of the prisoner and put the clothes on Feodor,
while he was yet unconscious.”
The dwarf cowered, watching his interlocutor as if under a spell.
“I never put the clothes on the boyar,” he exclaimed. “I did strip the
corpse in the prison and helped Polotsky to throw it in the Yauza, but
they dressed Feodor Sergheievitch in the clothes and put him in the
cell themselves; he was about the size of the dead felon, and it didn’t
cost much to make the guards think he was the same. I did nothing then.”
“You have admitted a good deal,” said Von Gaden, with a laugh; “the
boyar may have another opinion about your innocence.”
Homyak collapsed in his chair, suddenly awakened to the trap into which
the Jew had skillfully led him. I was beside myself with impatience.
“Come, Homyak,” I said impatiently, “where is Mademoiselle Zénaïde?”
“I do not know,” he reiterated sullenly.
I looked at the clock and ran my finger down the barrel of my pistol.
“The Boyar Ramodanofsky will be here in a quarter of an hour,” I said
quietly, “and you can take your choice between answering him and
leading me to the place.”
It seemed to me that the dwarf’s pale face turned green as he stared at
us. It was the last straw, and he surrendered quickly enough.
“Zénaïde Feodorovna is safe,” he protested; “she is in a house across
the Moskva, in the Biélui-gorod. I will take you there instantly, M.
le Vicomte; I will do anything if you will but save me from that man’s
hands.”
“Prepare yourself, then,” I said at once; “we will go without delay
to the house, and woe to you if you have deceived me--in the smallest
particular--for your life shall answer for Mademoiselle’s safety.”
Von Gaden had been called out of the room while I spoke, and returned
now with a grave face. I was making ready for instant departure.
“You will have to go out by the secret stair, M. le Vicomte,” he said
to me in French; “the Streltsi have risen, and there is a mob in the
street. I hear them calling for me.”
While he was speaking, I heard a loud noise at the street door; in our
excitement we had not noticed the sounds without, which might have
warned us. We stood listening now, taken by surprise, and could hear
the shouting of a mob and the crash of stones against the door.
“Where is your wife?” I asked at once.
“Fortunately not here to-night, but with a friend,” he replied quietly.
Looking suddenly at Homyak, I saw a gleam of demoniac triumph on his
white face; it roused me to immediate action.
“We have not a moment to lose,” I said to Von Gaden; “we must get out
by the secret staircase, and take this knave with us, or all will be
lost.”
The servants were crowding into the room, shaking with fear, to tell us
that a mob was beating in the door.
“They will not harm you, you fools!” Von Gaden said. “They want me;
they think me a poisoner, a magician, a devil.” He spoke with a
passionate scorn, realizing how bitter was the requital for all his
skill and devotion. “You can save yourselves easily,” he added, looking
at the trembling menials, “by throwing open the door and delivering me
into their hands.”
Meanwhile the tumult without increased, and we could hear the door
creak under the shower of heavy blows; it was only a question of a few
minutes before they would be upon us. I seized Homyak by the collar
and touched Von Gaden’s sleeve; he started as if suddenly roused, and
awakened to the importance of haste.
“We must be off, Dr. von Gaden,” I said. “The door will not hold many
minutes more.”
He told the servants to return to their quarters, where they would be
safe, as soon as the mob found that he had gone. Then we went up the
stairs, he leading and I following with Homyak, who came submissively
enough, hoping, probably, that we should not be able to escape. There
had been a momentary lull without, but I knew that the quiet boded ill.
We had barely reached the top of the stairs when there was a tremendous
crash, and the outer door fell, and with a roar of triumphant rage
the rioters poured in. Von Gaden extinguished his light, and in the
dark we rushed along the passage, and getting into the rooms formerly
occupied by Zénaïde, secured the doors. We could hear the mob shrieking
and crashing through the lower part of the house, and we had not a
moment to spare. The doctor had procured another light, and I held
it, while he unfastened the panel and listened a moment, to assure
himself that the secret passage was not discovered. A blow on the room
door ended his hesitation; signing to me to enter first, he secured
the panel on the inner side just as we heard the other door give way.
Would they discover the panel? We had no time to think, but dashed down
the stairs, almost dragging Homyak, who either could not or would not
keep pace with us. When we reached the cellar, we were confronted with
the possibility that the house was surrounded, and the lane cut off.
All was quiet behind us; evidently they had not discovered the stair,
and we paused to draw breath. Then Von Gaden put out the light, and
cautiously unfastening the trap-door, peeped out. The fresh air struck
my face with a strangely reviving power. It was still; only distant
sounds came from the house above us. Von Gaden raised the trap and
called to me to come.
“All is well here,” he said quietly, a tone of relief in his voice.
Approaching with Homyak, I stood beside him and looked out. The first
gray light of the morning of the twenty-fifth of May was shining upon
the stone walls and the deserted lane. It was as quiet and lonely as
the most peaceful spot in the world, but the coming light troubled me
not a little.
“Where will you go?” I said to Von Gaden in French. “You cannot
accompany us in broad daylight; it would be certain death to you.”
“Ay, and ruin to your project, M. le Vicomte,” he replied calmly. “I
know of a temporary refuge near at hand. You must go on at once, and
may success attend you.”
“I cannot bear to leave you in this extremity,” I rejoined,
hesitatingly.
“Delay is fatal,” he replied quietly; “this is the beginning of the
end. Sophia has let loose the fiends, and who will chain them up again?
Zénaïde Feodorovna is in danger from them also; therefore farewell, M.
de Brousson, and may your patron saint befriend you.”
We were standing in the lane, and he pressed my hand; his face was sad,
it may have been with a prescience of impending fate. His warning had
taken effect, however, and my thoughts were all for Zénaïde’s safety;
and so I parted from him and hurried on with the reluctant dwarf, who
saw that his chances of evading me grew momentarily less. Once I looked
back and saw the Jew disappearing into the low door of a pine hovel at
the end of the lane,--one of those huts occupied by peasants, and built
in two days, at the cost of a few rubles, and at that time scattered
through Moscow, beside the palaces of the nobles, in every quarter of
the town. After this, I turned my face steadily towards the river and
hurried on, guided by Homyak, who seemed to grow more resigned to the
inevitable as he realized my relentless determination. I had selected
a way that I knew was not likely to be crossed by the rioters, and our
progress was uninterrupted. This part of the city seemed quiet enough
as yet, undisturbed as it was by the tumult stirring in the quarters of
the Streltsi. Yet there was a portentous aspect even about these silent
houses; occasionally a face would appear at a window, to be withdrawn
as quickly at our approach, and once or twice I heard the heavy bolts
drawn across a door as our footsteps sounded in the silent street.
There was terror here, concealed in these quiet corners; the specter
of some danger already lurked in these lonely alleys. The gray of dawn
had passed into the broad daylight, but there were no signs of the
busy life of a city waking up; it seemed as if the active element must
have been drawn off to another quarter, and there was only desolation
here. How still it was! We were in the Biélui-gorod now, walking in
the direction of the Smolensk Gate, and suddenly we were startled by a
strange sound, the galloping hoofs of a horse and a man’s hoarse voice
shouting something, the same words repeated again and again. I stopped
involuntarily to listen, and in a moment he crossed the end of the
street, riding recklessly, and swinging his long arms over his head. It
was one of the Streltsi, and his uniform was splashed with mud and his
long hair was flying. He saw us but did not pause, only calling out his
constant cry:--
“The Naryshkins have murdered the Czarevitch Ivan! To arms! To the
Kremlin and punish the traitors! Rescue the czar!”
And with this he dashed on, repeating his alarm as he went. Could
it be true? It was not probable that the blind czarevitch had been
injured; but, in any case, I had no time for reflection, but hastened
on, knowing that this must be a preconcerted signal, and anticipating
the worst. My fears were soon justified by another more ominous sign.
The silence of the quiet city was once again broken, and now by a
tremendous wave of sound, a deep, warlike note; the tocsin in four
hundred churches called the Streltsi to arms. On every side, the loud,
full notes smote the air and awoke a tremendous echo, and in the
intervals, far off I heard the roll of drums. Still, the streets about
me remained deserted; the rioters were not here.
I had released my hold on Homyak, because I did not wish to attract
the notice even of the occasional watcher at a window; but he walked
in front of me, knowing that I carried my pistol, ready to send him to
his last account if he made an attempt to escape. It struck me now that
he was walking slowly, and I mended my pace. “More haste, Homyak,” I
remarked grimly; “every moment lost increases your risk of falling into
Ramodanofsky’s hands.”
“It is but a little way now, M. le Vicomte,” he said sullenly; “yonder
is the house.”
I looked eagerly in the direction he indicated, and saw a plain-looking
building that might be the home of one of the middle class, and it was
closed in a gloomy fashion. Running my eye over the portions that faced
us, I could not see a sign of occupation. It occurred to me that the
dwarf might be leading me into a trap, and I laid my hand again on his
collar, at the same time pushing on to the door.
“If you have duped me,” I said sternly, “it will cost you your life, if
the odds are twenty to one.”
“I have not duped you, master,” he replied earnestly. “M.
Ramodanofsky’s daughter was there, and must be there still.”
We had reached the door, and he tapped on it three times in a peculiar
manner; and after a little it was opened by a plain-looking woman, who
gazed at me curiously, but stood aside to admit us, as if Homyak’s
presence was a sufficient guarantee.
“Take this gentleman to Zénaïde Feodorovna’s apartments,” the dwarf
said to her; and without a word she led the way, and we followed to the
rear of the house and up a flight of steps; and here, at an open door,
they both stood aside, and I tapped gently before entering, my anxiety
swept away by the anticipation of seeing Zénaïde. A large vacant room
met my eyes, sparsely furnished, and with a door leading into another
apartment. I paused, hesitating to intrude farther. I looked back, and
the woman stood in the other door, watching me curiously.
“Go in and tell mademoiselle that M. de Brousson is here,” I said.
She only stared at me for a moment, and then I repeated my order
sharply.
“I thought you knew that she was not here now,” she said stupidly.
“Not here?” I rushed into the inner room, only to find it empty; but on
the floor lay a woman’s glove, a glove like the one dropped by Zénaïde
in the Kremlin long ago. In an instant I divined the truth.
“Where is that rogue?” I exclaimed as I came out.
“He has gone, master,” she answered stolidly; “he went down the stairs
as soon as you turned your back, and out at the door.”
I saw that she at least spoke the truth, and ran to the outer door;
but there was no sign of the dwarf,--he had escaped. I came back,
determined to learn the truth from the woman, who, I saw, was a dull
tool, little schooled in evasion.
“When did the young lady leave here?” I asked her sharply.
“About an hour ago, perhaps,” she replied, simply enough, “and much
against her will; she would rather have stayed with me.”
“Who was with her?” I asked, a horror possessing me.
“A tall man, master,” she said slowly. “I did not know him, but he gave
the signal and he had the boyar’s signet,--a man with an ill-favored
face, and one eye turned in towards the nose, and very long teeth.”
There was no difficulty in recognizing the description; it was
Viatscheslav.
“Did he say where he was going?” I asked, curbing my excitement.
“To the Kremlin,” she replied promptly, “and they have scarcely been
gone an hour.”
Without waiting for another word, I dashed out and turned my steps
towards the Kremlin, frenzied with anxiety.