MADAME VON GADEN.
FOR days it was impossible for Zénaïde to leave the house with safety.
The Kremlin was virtually in the possession of the Streltsi, and every
gate strongly guarded. The scenes of blood did not end with the first
day. The czarina’s brother, Peter Naryshkin, had been found in a house
across the Moskva and brutally murdered, and they were clamoring for
the life of Ivan Naryshkin and Dr. von Gaden. The Departments of
Justice and Serfage had been attacked by the mob and rifled of their
contents, the papers strewn to the winds, for it pleased the caprice
of the soldiers to declare the people free. But after the first day,
the leaders had checked the impetuosity of their men, and but few
private houses were molested, and general pillage was not allowed. It
was distinctly a mob of soldiers, and there was a certain discipline
even in their riot. But as yet they did not permit the burial of the
horribly mutilated bodies which had been lying in the Red Place
since the morning of May 25th, and the czarina had to submit to the
humiliation of allowing her guardian’s dismembered remains to lie
exposed in the public square.
Ramodanofsky went out freely in his character of Peter Lykof. He
possessed considerable influence with the Streltsi, and had succeeded
in completely concealing his relations with the hated nobility. It
occurred to me that if the truth should be discovered at an unfavorable
moment, he might be treated by the soldiers as a traitor, and even a
spy. The event justified my fears. I had been to the Kremlin and seen
Mademoiselle Eudoxie, assuring her of Zénaïde’s safety; Mademoiselle
and Madame von Gaden were concealed in the private apartments of the
young Czarina Martha, the widow of Feodor, Sophia having rescued Von
Gaden’s wife from the mob, and hidden her in her sister-in-law’s room.
Meanwhile, a curious change had taken place in affairs of state. The
young Czar Peter had been virtually deposed, and the czarina dowager,
broken down with grief and trouble, made but a feeble resistance. I
was shocked to see the change in her; she seemed utterly unnerved and
unable to cope with the situation, while the Czarevna Sophia was
making all the appointments, filling the vacancies caused by death, and
selecting her own councillors. All the woman’s shrewdness and ability
showed in the crisis. While she pretended to lament the atrocities of
the riot, she was quick to profit by the opportunities they made for
her success. She had acquired a thorough knowledge of public affairs
during the illness of her brother, the Czar Feodor, when she had, in
many instances, acted for him, and she showed her ability now in the
selection of her advisers, Prince Basil Galitsyn, of course, standing
foremost in her regard. It was patent to all that she was aiming at
the regency, and we suspected at the crown, although she screened
her motives behind her apparent affection for her blind brother, the
Czarevitch Ivan. Peter’s election being discredited, it was impossible
for affairs to remain on their present footing. The two young princes
would have to reign jointly, and that meant the regency of Sophia
Alexeievna. It was an evil hour for the Naryshkins, and the prospects
of the young Peter never looked more gloomy. Glancing back upon those
days of blood, it seems impossible that no one should have foreseen the
advent of the great czar; that every eye was absorbed by the subtlety
of the clever czarevna, never dreaming of the day of reckoning, when
Peter should reclaim his own.
It was on the evening of the third day, when I had returned from
the Kremlin, that Pierrot, who had been on duty constantly to guard
Zénaïde, answered a gentle summons at the side door. I was in the
lower hall at the time, and saw him admit two closely veiled women,
followed by a young fellow, whom I recognized as one of the attendants
of the imperial household. The foremost female figure was undoubtedly
Mademoiselle Eudoxie.
“This was a risk, mademoiselle,” I said smiling, as I held out my hand,
at the same time looking beyond her at the veiled figure, which I did
not know.
“I could not stay there any longer,” mademoiselle exclaimed with a
shudder. “It is too horrible. I seem to hear the shrieks of those poor
murdered creatures all the time. Besides, I wanted to be with Zénaïde;
I am not happy when I do not know that she is safe; and madame wanted
to see you.”
This surprised me, and I glanced inquiringly at the muffled form.
Seeing my look, the stranger raised her veil, and I saw the face of
Madame von Gaden, changed as I have scarcely ever seen a woman’s face
change in a few days. She looked old with her pallor and the dark
rings under her eyes. I divined her errand in a moment, and sending
mademoiselle to Zénaïde, turned to the poor woman with as gentle a
manner as I could command.
“Have you seen him?” she asked in a broken voice; “have you heard
anything?”
Very tenderly I told her of my parting with her husband after our
escape from his house.
“And you have never seen him since?” she exclaimed, pressing her hand
to her heart. “Where can he be?”
“Far away, I trust, madame,” I replied gravely. “Let us not wish to see
him until this frenzy is over. It is almost spent; it cannot last a
great while now.”
She shook her head. “Alas!” she said, “they will not be satisfied until
they have his blood. I thought that they would have mine when they
dragged me through the streets to the Kremlin. Nothing saved me but
Sophia and the young Czarina Martha; she concealed me in her own room
until now, when I could endure it no longer. Poor Jan Gutmensch was
killed, in spite of the intercession of the princesses, you know, M. le
Vicomte?”
“Let us hope that your good husband has escaped from Moscow,” I said,
reassuringly.
“I pray so,” the poor woman replied brokenly. “But I hear their howls
for his blood all the time. They were like the cries of wolves, M. de
Brousson; they have less pity than the beasts.”
“Yet, be of good cheer, madame,” I said soothingly. “Your husband has
evaded them so long, let us hope that he may still succeed. The hottest
pursuit grows tardy after a while, and their patience will be soon
exhausted.”
She was eager enough to snatch at a straw of comfort, and quieted
down under my soothing remonstrance. Presently she went up with me,
and I sent mademoiselle and Zénaïde to comfort her. In a great degree
I shared her anxiety, for the mob had made a point from the first
to demand the death of Von Gaden. It seemed improbable that the Jew
could successfully elude them, when not even the Czarina Natalia could
protect her own brothers.
I went down again to find Pierrot, hoping to hear some reassuring
tidings; but before I called him, I heard a light step on the stair,
and Zénaïde was looking down upon me, her lovely face full of anxiety.
“What is it?” I exclaimed softly, reaching up until I touched her hand
upon the balustrade.
“Has my father come yet, Philippe?” she asked. “I feel sure that he
will have tidings for this poor woman. I cannot bear to see her so
broken down.”
“Alas, Zénaïde!” I replied gravely, “any news may be evil for her.
They have never ceased to search for poor Von Gaden, and I have really
little hope of his escape. It seems a miracle that he has avoided them
so long.”
“The wretches!” she exclaimed, the color mounting in her cheeks. “If
I were czarina of all the Russias--” she paused, seeing a smile in my
eyes.
“My love,” I said smiling, “what would become of me? I felt abashed
when I told the Boyar Ramodanofsky that I loved his daughter, and he
has not replied to me yet. How could I sue for the white hand of an
empress?”
She looked at me with her head a little on one side.
“If I were an empress, M. le Vicomte”--she began, but the opening of
the outer door arrested the laughing words upon her lips, and we both
turned startled glances at the stern countenance of the boyar. His keen
eyes searched us for a moment, but he closed the door and advanced with
a sober face.
“You have evil tidings, father,” Zénaïde exclaimed, her quick eye
reading his clouded brow.
“Not for you, my child,” he replied quietly; “but a sad thing has
happened. We have lost a friend,” he added, turning to me.
“Von Gaden?” I exclaimed at once.
The boyar bowed his head in assent.
“Alas!” exclaimed Zénaïde, “is he slain?”
“He and Ivan Naryshkin were taken to-day,” Ramodanofsky replied. “The
Streltsi came to the palace and demanded Ivan Naryshkin; the czarina
resisted, until Sophia told her that his life must be sacrificed to
save the others. He received the eucharist in the Church of the Savior
beyond the Wicket, and Sophia gave him an image of the Virgin to hold.
Poor Natalia Kirilovna went with him to the Golden Wicket, and there
the Streltsi seized him and insulted him before her eyes. Meanwhile,
Von Gaden had been arrested in disguise, begging for food; he has been
three days in the woods without it. He and Naryshkin were both taken to
the Constantine torture-room and subjected to excruciating agony. Ivan
uttered not a word, but Von Gaden had already endured too much, and he
made some sort of confession, the wild talk of a man in death agony. It
availed nothing. They were dragged to the Red Place and lifted on the
points of the rioters’ spears. Then their hands and feet were cut off,
their bodies chopped in pieces and trampled in the dirt. Thus perished
a benevolent physician.”
“His poor wife!” cried Zénaïde; “who can tell her? She is here,
father,” she added; “she came to hear some tidings of him.”
“You will have to tell her, Zénaïde,” her father said, gravely.
At that moment we heard a step upon the stair, and looking up, saw
madame standing just above us. Her robe was black, and the mantle about
her head, and out of its shrouding folds showed a face like that of a
corpse.
“She need not tell me,” she said in a strange wild voice; “I heard it
all. Let me die too! Let me go out and tear these ruffians with my
hands and die battling with them! May they be torn limb from limb, and
their wives and children left desolate, as I am desolate!”
She threw her hands over her head with a frantic gesture as she invoked
the wrath of Heaven. Then she came down, her eyes staring out of her
white face, yet seeming not to see us, or anything but the door. We
thought her mad, and no doubt for the moment she was. Ramodanofsky,
springing forward, caught her and held her back. She shrieked aloud
and struck at him with her fists, but he held her in a grip of iron.
Mademoiselle Eudoxie came running at the sound of the screams, and
Pierrot and the man who had attended her from the Kremlin. But in a
moment it was over, and she fell across the boyar’s arm in a deathlike
swoon, the foam upon her lips. Very gently he lifted her and carried
her up the stairs, followed by Zénaïde and mademoiselle, who were eager
to minister to the poor, afflicted creature, so horribly bereaved.