Thisaffair of the fifes and drums was a notable one, because it led to the first revolt of young Peter against the authority of his sister and her minister and lover, Galitsin.
For the young Tsar was summoned to the Kremlin to answer for his misdeeds and to be made to promise that the drums and fifes of the Streltsi fellows should be restored to their original owners.
To the Regent’s angry command that he should explain forthwith his conduct, Peter replied somewhat haughtily.
‘You forget, sister,’ he said, ‘that I grow with the years; I am not forever to remain in swaddle clothes—a helpless thing to be fed with spoon meat!’
‘At any rate for the present thou art no more than a child, and as a child thou shalt be treated,’ said the Grand Duchess, flushing, nevertheless, and surprised; ‘for the present also it is I that am set above thee, and I that am to be obeyed.’
‘Thy voice, but that fellow’s counsel!’ said Peter, laughing and tilting his chin at Galitsin.
Galitsin flushed angrily, and asked Peter how he dared speak thus to his sister.
‘And thou,’ said the young Tsar, haughtily enough. ‘Who art thou, Galitsin, to be present when the Tsar takes counsel with the Regent? Go forth, sir, into the ante-room and wait until thou art summoned!’
Galitsin looked bewildered and knew not what to do: he glanced at the Regent.
‘Go, Liubyézny,’ she whispered. ‘I will bring the young fool to reason.’
Galitsin still lingered, and was about to speak.
‘Do you not hear, fool?’ cried young Peter, stamping his foot and actually taking a step towards Galitsin, over whom he towered by half an arm’s length. ‘Lord, sister, I will have better obedience from my servants when I am master!’
This—which was overheard by some who listened in the ante-room—was said to be the first roaring of the young lion who was soon to tear old Russia into shreds.
What passed between brother and sister after Galitsin had gone—pale and trembling—from the room, shutting the door of the ante-room after him, I cannot tell; but it is certain that thedrums and fifes remained at Preobrajensky, and that the conduct of young Peter grew bolder from this day, instead of conforming more strictly to the wishes of the Regent, who would have had the Tsar sink ever more helplessly under her control.
For instance, Peter now set up a recruiting office at his mother’s palace, and here the names of many distinguished Russian families were to be found represented by the younger sons of the Boyars, youths who discerned in the service of Peter hopes of future advancement which could never be expected under Sophia’s rule. It was these young Boyars, more than Peter himself, who worked silently for the revolution in Peter’s favour which was to take place within two years of this time. For men say the Tsar recruited and drilled his men, and fortified his camp, and armed and mounted his troops, all for pastime, not seriously realising his strength or theirs, or his by reason of them; but they worked deliberately and with the full intention to make of Peter’s pleasure regiment a grim and warlike reality, by means of which one day the Tsar of their choice should be placed in power.
And Peter, having now found—perhaps to his surprise, but certainly to his great delight—that he had gained much by asserting himself,began to take more liberty and to ignore his sister the Regent when her wishes clashed with his own.
Were horses required for his pleasure army? A detachment is sent to theKonyúshannui Prikaz, or cavalry department, in Moscow, and the required number of animals is driven out to Preobrajensky.
By the saints, any fool with a pair of eyes in his head might have foreseen which way matters tended!
Yet Mazeppa, who was no fool, and whose eyes were as good as most, made or appeared to make a mistake in this matter.
Peter the Tsar had observed Mazeppa in Moscow, and asked me of him. I did not praise him too highly, for I was anxious to stand higher with this young giant than he, Mazeppa having undoubtedly an understanding with the party in power, Sophia and her satellites. I had now begun to play a part in life—to have my own ambitious ends in view, in gaining which Mazeppa would be an obstruction. For our object, both his and mine, was the Hetmanate, to obtain which he would play Sophia and I should play Peter.
Therefore, desiring to keep my place in the young Tsar’s regard, I did not speak too highlyof Mazeppa, though I allowed him to be a shrewd and capable person, of clerkly rather than military attainments.
‘Can he not ride, then, like thee?’ asked Peter; and I replied that all Cossacks are at home on horseback, as young ducks are in water.
‘Devil take it,’ said the young Tsar. ‘Bring him down here, Chelminsky, and we shall see which of you two ducklings swims best!’
I was glad of this, for I knew that in fancy riding I was a better horseman than Mazeppa. Mazeppa knew this also, and was not anxious to accept the Tsar’s invitation.
‘Why should I take this trouble for the pleasure of a young fool that herds with grooms and moujiks and swills beer with his own cook boys?’ he said. And I replied that this young fool, as Mazeppa was pleased to call him, was nevertheless joint-Tsar of Russia, and must therefore be obeyed.
‘A Tsar in name, but without authority!’ he laughed. ‘Do you not know that Sophia is the mare that draws the chariot, and will draw it to the end?’
‘That may very well be true,’ said I, not willing to argue the matter, lest Mazeppa should become impressed with my own conviction that Peter was destined one day to assert his strength.For at present Mazeppa, being an adherent of Sophia and accustomed to the cant of the Regent and her companions as to Peter’s foolishness and worthlessness, was disposed to think little of this lion-cub, and misdoubted his strength and valour.
‘Continue in that opinion, my friend,’ thought I, ‘for therein may lie my advantage if I have any luck!’
Nevertheless Mazeppa did come with me to Preobrajensky, being too much of a courtier, I suppose, to disobey the will of a Tsar, even though he looked upon that Tsar without much respect.
Peter constrained us to drink with his boon companions and would take no denial, and after these libations to the drunken god Bacchus he must needs set us, first to race and afterwards to exhibit our skill in Cossack feats and tricks of horsemanship.
The race was more a matter for our horses than for ourselves, and Mazeppa being the lighter man, I had fears that he might win. We galloped three times round the exercising ground of the ‘Pleasure Regiment,’ and at one hundred yards from the winning post were still neck and neck, I urging my good beast both with whip and spur, Mazeppa doing the same. Within a stone’sthrow of the post his horse fell from exhaustion, leaving mine to gallop in alone.
‘That is a good race,’ shouted the Tsar, ‘and well ridden by both, but he wins a race who rides the best horse. Let us judge which is the better Cossack—you, Chelminsky, or Mazeppa; show your skill, both, and you shall be judged by the votes of us who look on!’
Mazeppa would rather not have engaged in this competition, for in our own home I was accounted a better horseman than he, and Mazeppa was one who loved to excel and hated to be worsted.
In the tricks we essayed I showed my superiority, the Tsar and his companions clapping their hands vigorously and shouting my name; but the culmination of my triumph came when, at last, Mazeppa fell from his saddle in an attempt to pick up a pistol from the ground while passing at full gallop.
Mazeppa’s misfortune set the Tsar shouting with delight and laughing boisterously.
Mazeppa was angry, first by reason of his failure, but still more on account of the bad manners of the Tsar and his satellites.
‘He rides better than you, Mazeppa!’ cried the Tsar. ‘Well done, Chelminsky; it was welldone indeed; it may be that thou shalt be the Hetman for this one day, when I am master!’
I wished the Tsar had not said this. I saw Mazeppa flush and start and look quickly at the Tsar and at myself.
‘Many things must happen before Chelminsky is Hetman of the Cossacks!’ he said, and the Tsar laughed.
Presently, when a group of Peter’s men stood about me, I observed that Mazeppa and the Tsar spoke together apart, and I was consumed with the desire to know what was said, for I trusted Mazeppa not at all, and I judged that he would not allow so good an opportunity to go by without stabbing me in the dark.
In this opinion of Mazeppa I did him no injustice, for the Tsar, in speaking with me alone a little later, informed me of his own accord of what had passed.
‘Mazeppa is furious with you,’ said his Highness, laughing, ‘else he would scarcely give you so bad a character. You are too great a fool, Chelminsky, to become Hetman. So says Mazeppa. For Hetman a leader of men is needed, not a mere trick-rider of horses!’
‘Better one that can ride than one who falls off,’ said I. The Tsar laughed, after his manner, very loudly.
‘Mazeppa will not shed tears for thy unkindness, Tsar,’ I continued, ‘for to say truth he pins his faith upon the Regent, not thee. “She will for ever sit in the highest place,” says Mazeppa, “though the little Tsar Peter shall wear fine clothes and be called by a great title.”’
Peter flushed and looked angry. ‘Why said Mazeppa this, and why do you tell me of it?’ he asked.
‘Concerning what your Highness said of the Hetmanate,’ I replied. ‘Mazeppa would be Hetman, and doubtless the Regent will support him—has already so promised him, as I believe. Thus he is not alarmed by the threat of your Highness that I shall be Hetman, because, says Mazeppa, it is her Highness the Regent who shall appoint to the office, and not the Tsar Peter.’
‘Oh!’ said the Tsar, flushing, ‘he said this, did he? Well, my friend, when we see, then we shall know!’
Riding back to Moscow Mazeppa was coldly disposed towards me. He spoke little, but said suddenly when we neared the city, ‘If thou art wise, Chelminsky, forget what this youth said of the Hetmanate, for be sure that before Peter is Tsar Mazeppa will be Hetman; wherefore build no hopes and suffer no disappointment!’
‘As to that,’ said I, ‘I may forget and I may remember!’
‘Do as you please, my friend,’ Mazeppa said, laughing grimly, ‘but I think I shall win.’
Thinking all this over and knowing Mazeppa as I did, I determined that the safest plan in dealing with this fox would be to be a fox also.
I metat this time with two adventures which I will now relate, since the first resulted in a friendship which was afterwards—and indeed very soon—of great use to me, and both are essential to the further understanding of Ivan’s bride-choosing.
I was wandering near the Diévitchy monastery, which is the convent for the ‘Devoted of the Female Sex,’ and it occurred to me that here, indeed, was a good refuge for any who, like Vera Kurbatof, would escape the chance of being mated with Tsar Ivan against her will. My thoughts continually ran upon Vera at this time: her sweet though firm character attracted me much, and I began to think that I was not far from being in love with her. But if I suspected myself of this weakness, I suspected Mazeppa yet more of the very same, and perhaps it was this that, at the first, drew me towards Vera more strongly than even her own charm; for it had come to this, that I now felt my principal rule oflife to be opposition to and rivalry with Mazeppa. I must both obstruct him and oust him; he had offended me more than once, and the Cossacks do not easily forget offence. Moreover, he it was that stood in my way, therefore I should make him feel that I stood also in his.
As to Vera, I knew as well as if he had told me in words that he had determined to make the girl his prey, whether honestly as his wife or in some other way. Therefore, above all things, he must not suspect that I, too, had an eye upon Vera. I would move stealthily; he should neither see nor hear anything that would put him upon his guard in this matter. Mazeppa was a better fox than I; he thought me a fool, however, which should give me an advantage.
Firstly, then, he should be led to believe that I was indifferent to Vera, and that might put him off his guard in speaking to me of the girl. We were still upon friendly terms, he and I, and went as dear companions; but he had deceived and offended me more than once, and I felt not towards him now as I did in the old days.
A youth drove up to the monastery as I passed the door: this was a young Boyar, by his dress, though I did not know him. He clanged the great bell, and I heard him give his name as Rachmanof, and demand to see his sister. Therewas a parley at the door, and presently he was admitted up some steps and into a little ante-room that lay outside the great doors leading in to the convent.
I lingered—I know not why—wondering whether anything of interest would happen, and almost immediately my curiosity was rewarded, for there came a medley of angry female voices, a piercing shriek or two, a curse and a scuffle, and then appeared young Rachmanof carrying the body of a young nun or postulant (for her hair, I observed, was not shorn), and followed by an old nun and two or three younger ones, who scolded and cried, and called aloud upon all and sundry for assistance.
‘Help! help!’ cried the elder woman. ‘All good people prevent this sacrilege! Here is a villain would carry off one of God’s devoted women. Help her, all who would serve Christ!’
The fellow took no notice of what was said or shrieked behind him, but dragged his struggling burden grimly on towards histroika, a three-horsed carriage, which stood in the road.
Then I stepped forward and took up a position in front of the carriage so that approach to it was barred by my body.
Rachmanof cursed and bade me get out of the way.
‘I will let you pass when you have assured me of your right to take away this lady!’ I said.
‘She is my sister,’ he cried, ‘and as for right, who in the devil’s name are you that question me?’
‘I am one who will at any rate have an answer when I ask for information,’ I said. ‘Put the girl down and let us hear what you have to say.’
The older nun, shivering on the doorstep, cried out: ‘Well done, good Cossack; be brave, for you act in God’s service. This fellow would carry his sister to the Tsar’steremthat she may be inspected among those who are candidates in the bride-choosing, she being one who has entered the exclusive service of Christ, having withdrawn from the world and its wickedness.’
‘It’s a lie!’ cried Rachmanof. ‘She escaped from home but a week since in order to avoid her duty as a Russian maiden—namely, to offer herself for the Tsar’s consideration. She is no nun, her hair is unshorn; she is but a postulant, and has no rights such as this old hag claims for her. Therefore you, sir, whosoever you may be, move yourself out of my way, or it may be that you shall go back among your Cossacks limping.’
‘Put her down,’ I said, ‘and let her go back whence she came. Shame upon you to use force with her! It is an accursed thing to tear amaiden from the service of Christ, if she would so devote herself.’
‘At any rate, it is not your business, but mine; she is not your sister. This is a family matter: it is my father’s wish that she should return to her home, and the Regent’s command that she should attend the bride-choosing, though why I take the trouble to tell thee, Heaven knows. Come, out of my way! I grow weary of carrying this fool of a girl.’
A crowd began to collect, and though some cried, ‘Let him pass with her,’ a greater number shouted, ‘It is a sacrilege; God’s curse will follow those who offend one of His devoted. Take her from him, Cossack; we will support you.’
‘You hear?’ I said; ‘better put her down and make off quickly, for the people are against you.’
Rachmanof cursed and blasphemed, bidding me in the devil’s name move out of his way, but I laughed and stood where I was. Suddenly he dropped his burden, and, grabbing at his sword, attacked me furiously.
The girl doubled back like a startled hare and quickly disappeared, she and her companions, including the old nun, shutting all the doors behind them.
I was ready for Rachmanof, for I expected his onslaught, but his attack was so violent andat the same time so skilful that he almost bore me down at the first rush.
But I steadied myself in a moment or two, and for awhile our weapons clashed without advantage to either side, while the crowd about us shouted encouragement now to one and now to the other.
I hacked Rachmanof’s arm, drawing blood, but it was no worse than a surface wound, though the sight of it roused the spectators to excitement and sent the balance of sympathy decidedly to my side.
‘Smite, Cossack, and spit the bully!’ cried some; and a few replied, ‘For shame! let the Russian win, he is our brother—the Cossacks are thieving rascals, one and all.’
Then suddenly something happened that sent me toppling over, and as I fell a man brought a club down upon my head and I tumbled senseless in the road.
I know now that the driver of Rachmanof’s carriage interfered in his master’s interest and backed the horses in such a way that the carriage came rolling into me from behind, knocking my legs from under me. Then a sympathiser with Rachmanof suddenly ran in and smote me upon the head, and so—for the moment—ended all interest in the matter for me.
When I regained consciousness I found myself in a small room within the convent. This was the tiny ante-room, built out separately from the parent building, a room in which the friends of the nuns might have interviews with their acquaintances; and here I speedily became aware that the old nun (who, I learned, was the Superior of the community) was busily fastening bandages about my head, which—presumably—had been somewhat roughly used.
‘How did I get here?’ I asked. ‘And who has broken my head for me? Was it Rachmanof?’
‘You were overcome by treachery. Yet the victory was yours, as for ever it has been and shall be on the side of those who espouse the cause of right and fight as the champions of Christ; for see, Rachmanof is wounded and has driven away worsted, and his sister is here and safe, thanks to your intervention. Be sure the good nuns shall pray for you, Cossack, for this service, and I also. The prayers of the righteous travel far. You shall prosper in the world and shall have your desires.’
‘You would not promise so glibly if you knew what they are, Mother,’ I laughed. ‘I am very ambitious.’
‘So long as your ambitions do not transgressthe law of Christ who is our Master, I shall pray that they may be fulfilled to your comfort.’
‘Oh, I mean no ill to any living soul,’ I said. ‘I would climb, certainly, but that need not be over the backs of others! Pray for me, Mother, that the deceitful may not triumph over me.’ I thought of Mazeppa as I made this request, and when the Superior replied that both she and her nuns would pray heartily that I might prevail in a just cause, against devils, principalities, powers, and I know not what, I felt that I had scored many points against my fox-friend, Mazeppa.
‘Moreover,’ said the good woman, ‘if there be any young maiden in whom you are interested whom you would rather see in this sanctuary than exposed to the degradation of the Tsar’s bride-choosing in theterem, let her come here, in God’s name, and we will take her in and cherish her for the sake of your service this day.’
I laughed and thanked the good soul—‘Though I am a stranger and therefore not likely to desire sanctuary for any maiden consigned to theterem’—yet when I left the convent, presently, to return to my lodging, it occurred to me that the offer of the Superior might, after all, prove useful in case matters should become urgently dangerous for Vera Kurbatof.
Andnow for my second adventure.
On my way back from Preobrajensky one evening I met a man and a woman on horseback, both scolding one another at full voice—so loudly, indeed, that I could not fail to hear every word said as we met and passed.
It appeared that the man, who was the older, refused to permit the woman, who seemed scarcely more than a young girl, to take some course which she was resolved to pursue. When I had discovered this much their voices became inaudible, and I should have forgotten all about the matter but that I happened to find a lady in trouble in the forest next day, and in conversation with her recognised her voice as that of the scolding maiden of yesterday.
She was standing, when I first came upon her, in riding dress, and disconsolately gazed through the trees as though looking for someone she had lost, or whom she expected to arrive.
She started round when I rode softy up, and I now saw that I had to do with a most beautifulwoman, one of the most beautiful I had ever seen. She asked me somewhat angrily whether I had seen her horse.
‘The fool shied at a hare that ran across his path,’ she said, ‘and as I was thinking of other things I was surprised and thrown—for which he shall feel my whip when I find him!’
‘A hare to cross your path is bad fortune,’ I laughed. ‘It is to be hoped you are not engaged upon any enterprise in the success of which you are greatly concerned, for, if so, it is likely to fail!’
‘Maybe I am,’ she replied, ‘but it shall not fail—that is, if the issue depends upon myself.’
‘But maybe it depends upon the will of someone—a father or an uncle,’ I hazarded, remembering the sobbing of the previous evening.
She started.
‘Are you a wizard or a guesser?’ she said.
‘Certainly not the first; as to the last, I guess that you are she whom I overheard last night quarrelling with a man who might well be your father, since he appeared to be endeavouring to exercise authority, which you—with the licence of a daughter who is also a beautiful girl—resisted.’
‘Well, you have made a close guess. My father and I—if it was really ourselves you overheard—had disagreed. You remember voices well.’
‘Such a voice as yours, once heard, is no more to be forgotten than is your face, once seen.’
‘Oh, by the saints, if you are of the flattering order of cavaliers, we shall not long be friends. Come, have you seen my horse?’
‘No, I have not,’ I laughed; ‘but there is mine to be had for the asking.’
‘You would not be best pleased if I accepted the offer—though I thank you for making it. I was riding away—I know not whither, perhaps a very long journey—when my horse threw me: if I took your horse you might not see him again!’
‘That would be an irreparable loss only if he carried you away with him beyond return.’
‘Well, I mean to return, and that is why I am escaping.’
‘A riddle!’ I exclaimed, laughing. ‘Why are you escaping, if I may use the word—you who have only just arrived?’
‘How know you that?’ she asked sharply.
‘That requires little guessing! If you had been long in Moscow I should have seen you. I can guess a little more if I be allowed.’
‘Guess on, then!’
‘You have come for the bride-choosing of the Tsar Ivan, but you have seen him and takenfright; and in spite of your father’s commands or desires, you are attempting to escape from the fate you fear. And, indeed, if you do not wish to be Tsaritsa, either for this on another reason, you are wise to escape, for by all the saints I think there is only one among the maidens to equal you, and assuredly none to vanquish you if the prize go by looks!’
She laughed merrily.
‘Bravo!’ she said. ‘You are wrong from beginning to end. In the first place, it is my father who has seen the Tsar and who has taken fright; in the second, I would give half my life to become Tsaritsa, even Ivan’s; lastly, I am escaping from my father, not from theterem, to which I long to obtain admission, though he has sworn I shall not.’
This was a surprising state of things, and quite the opposite of that which was usual as between daughters and fathers—the fathers being, so far as I had seen, for ever ambitious, while the maidens often preferred love to ambition—love, that is, for some lover who was not the Tsar; or perhaps even presumed to allow a sense of personal antipathy to stand between themselves and their chance of high advancement.
‘If that is so,’ I said, ‘the matter should be easily arranged. Your father dare not withstandtheukaseof the Regent. She need but be told that you are here, and that your appearance is worthy of the Tsar’s regard, and you shall soon find yourself among those assembled for his inspection. Go home, if you are wise, and you shall be sent for.’
‘But my father threatens to leave Moscow with me this very day; that is why I attempted to escape. I dare not go home to him, for in an hour I should be on my way back to our own place, which I loathe. It has taken us two months to journey from there to here, and I do not care if I never see it again.’
‘Where, then, is this unloved home?’ I asked.
‘My father is Soltikof, Governor of Siberia. He is a good father, and loves me. He saw this Tsar Ivan for the first time yesterday. The youth became angry with someone and frothed at the mouth, afterwards bursting into tears; lastly, he fell in a fit! Lord knows what ailed him. “No daughter of mine,” said my father in telling me afterwards of what he had seen at the palace of the Regent, “should marry such a creature as this, not if he were Tsar of all Christendom. Tfu!” he said, “the thing is a frog, not a man; fie upon her who should marry such a creature!”’
‘And you, you think differently?’ I asked.‘You would marry this frog-man for the sake of his Tsarship?’
‘Bah! it is the name Tsaritsa one marries, and the clothes, and the beautiful jewels, and the power. What matter whether this man or that calls himself your husband?’
‘Have you, then, seen him, that you speak so boldly?’
‘Not I! He cannot be more loathsome than my father has represented him: whatever he may be I shall surely be agreeably surprised, for verily my good parent, in his anxiety on my account, has drawn the sorriest picture of a prince that fancy could devise. Is he indeed so bad? Can he speak—can he be understood—can he stand upon his own feet—can he wear a Tsar’s clothes and sit upon a Tsar’s chair?’
‘Oh, he can do that much,’ I laughed. ‘He is an invalid, and has fits, but his brother Peter likes him well enough, and they talk and laugh together. To speak truthfully, I fear he would make a sorry husband, though his wife would have as much right to call herself Tsaritsa as the wife of the handsomest prince that ever drew breath.’
‘Well, that is all that matters. Come, what meant you that my admission to theteremcould be arranged? Did you mean anything? Whoare you? A Cossack, I see; that much is in your favour.’
‘Why?’ I laughed.
‘They are independent and the slaves of no man: I suppose that is what I like in the Cossacks. If I were a man I would rather be Cossack than Russian. But come, what about theterem—who are you that you say you can get admission for me?’
‘Your face would open every door——’ I began, but she stamped her foot. ‘Bah!’ she cried. ‘Enough fooling. I suppose, then, you meant nothing; it is a pity you spoke as you did.’
‘I was going to say,’ I continued, looking at her with approval—for, indeed, she appeared very beautiful in her indignation and impatience—‘that though you would be admitted even if you presented yourself with no introduction save your own good looks, I think I can have you sent to theteremunder the best of introductions—if you please to approve the suggestion: namely, that of the Tsar’s brother and joint-Tsar, Peter, who is amiable enough to be my very good friend!’
‘You jest!’ she cried, flushing; but I disclaimed all idea of jesting.
‘You shall come with me to Preobrajensky now at once, if you will,’ I said; ‘I ride fromthence at this moment. The young Tsar will send you forthwith to his brother’s palace.’
So I seated the girl—Praskovia Soltikof—upon my own horse and walked by her side back to Preobrajensky; and as I gazed in her face and listened to her animated talk, ‘By the Saints,’ I thought, ‘you would make the best Tsaritsa of all the girls I have yet seen, for you have spirit enough both for yourself and also for the frog who would call himself your husband, and beauty that should make even his cold blood run warmer in his veins!’
She prattled all the way, telling me how dull was life in her Siberian fortress, and how she longed for change and for movement. She told me she had never had a lover, at which assertion I raised my eyebrows.
‘You will have plenty, my friend,’ thought I, though I did not say it, ‘whether you marry Tsar Ivan or no; for the man who could be near thee and not feel his pulses beat the quicker for it would be no man, but a thing of wood or of stone!’
Even young Peter, when he saw her, for all that he numbered but sixteen years, flushed up and laughed boisterously, crying that Ivashka would be a fool, indeed, if he saw not here something that would change his mind in the matter of hismarriage. ‘By the saints,’ he said, ‘wench, thou shalt bid them send up more of thy stock when it comes to my turn. How old art thou?’
‘Seventeen,’ replied Praskovia, and Peter shook his head. ‘Thou’lt be a hag before I am in middle life,’ he said. ‘Well, let Ivan see thee; I will write him a letter—he will not look at thee else. Lord! I should be a kind brother to thee,’ he ended with a second boisterous laugh, ‘if Ivashka took thee!’
Praskovia Soltikofpassed that night in the Tsaritsa’s house at Preobrajensky, for young Tsar Peter would write his promised letter to Ivan, and that could not be done quickly, since at this time—though in after years he became a notable letter-writer—the writing of letters was a slow and laborious matter for him. In the morning I rode with her to Moscow, Peter having bidden her God-speed at departing, addressing her as ‘sister,’ to Praskovia’s delight, and bidding her—in case Ivan should be fool enough to pass her by—return among the maidens who in two years’ time would assemble for his own bride-choosing.
‘I owe thee much for this, Chelminsky,’ she said as we rode, ‘and if I should become Tsaritsa I will not forget thy service to me.’
‘Do not forget it in any case,’ I laughed, ‘such as it is; moreover, maybe I shall be privileged to add to it before many days are past!’
‘As how?’ she asked, surprised.
‘You have not yet seen Ivan,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps when you have seen him you will take fright, like your father, or feel such an aversion towards him as no sentiment of ambition can withstand: then you may wish to escape the fate you now fancy so desirable, and in that case I shall be at hand to assist you, if possible, out of the quandary into which you have thrust yourself.’
‘I tell you he may be as ugly as the fiend, as repulsive as a leper, what care I? It is the sceptre I marry, not the man. They say he marries only because the Regent will have it so, and is incapable of preferring one woman over another. Others will choose for him and will choose the fairest, in the hope that he will afterwards develop so much manhood as to be moved by her attractions; but once I have him safely I shall take care that my attractiveness ends.’
‘Well,’ I said, ‘I tell you honestly that I am sorry for you, and that I tremble to think what may be your fate if he should, by chance, take a fancy for you. Imagine such a creature pressing amorous attentions upon you—bah! could you withstand such a thing?’
‘I am content to leave such questions. Do not attempt to frighten me: I desire to be called Tsaritsa; it is a prize for which I am preparedto pay a price; yes, and I will pay it, though be sure I shall be a haggler in the matter of payment!’
There was no difficulty in obtaining an entrance to theterem. I stated her name and the object of her coming, and the door opened at once. She gave me a smile as we parted, sweet enough to carry any man’s affections by storm, and I left the palace with a heavy heart, feeling as though I had caught a beautiful lamb and brought it for sacrifice.
Indeed, I found myself heartily praying that this poor child might even yet escape the fate she courted. Maybe, after all, she would not be chosen. There were many others who were beautiful: two or three, certainly, might run her a close race. Olga Panief, in her own style, was as fair as the Soltikof maiden, and my heart beat with a savage hope that she might be preferred for the hideous destiny of becoming Tsaritsa to such a Tsar. She had jilted me in the expectation of doing better for herself at Court—let the Tsar have her and spare this other! Lord! how I should laugh to see Olga mated with such a creature—she who had presumed to throw over Chelminsky! It gave me pleasure to picture to myself the awakening of Olga if she were chosen—awaking to the knowledge that she hadallied herself to this repulsive thing and that the marriage was a reality!
For Olga to be so caught would be the merriest of jests; but for this innocent, this child Praskovia, or—worse still—for Vera Kurbatof, who deserved such a fate least of all, since she did not, like the others, desire it!—for her to be thus offered a living sacrifice!—that would indeed be a matter to make the gods weep!
As for Vera, she was at this time in great danger, as I have shown; for it seemed to me and to many others well informed that the Regent Sophia had set her heart on the poor girl as the Tsaritsa-to-be—dear saints! she to be the life-companion of such a Tsar!
But though this were so, and I am still assured that it was, the Regent was none the less determined that his Highness should have every opportunity to choose for himself a better or fairer consort than Vera Kurbatof, if such could be found; and for this reason she was most strict and most severe in her dealings with the maidens brought to theteremfor inspection and selection—that none should escape before inspection, or should employ arts by which they might render themselves less attractive in appearance than nature had made them. For there were some who did not hesitate to disfigure themselvesby staining their teeth, scratching their faces, or affecting a limp, in order to escape the being chosen. These back-holders were the minority, of course, and very few at that; for the greater number were content to throw everything else to the winds if only they might reach the highest place and be called Tsaritsa. Doubtless those few who were unwilling to be chosen were they whom Love had so securely entangled in his net that the poor fluttering things had lost their heads and were unable to see salvation except in struggling for freedom.
Thus some preferred, as I say, to disfigure themselves, and a few tried to escape; and among these latter was a fair maiden, Doonya Meschersky, who was so terribly in love with her lover, Kostromsky, that they could not wait upon events, but must needs take destiny into their own hands and attempt in clumsy fashion to shape their own ends.
This Kostromsky was a desperate and determined swain. Doonya, like other unwilling candidates, had been forced by her father to enter into competition with her peers; but Kostromsky swore by all the saints that he would see to it the Tsar should not reap where he had tilled, and the two devised a plan of escape which they endeavoured to carry out whenDoonya had been but two days a prisoner in theterem.
Doonya fell ill, or seemed to, having first bribed the oldnyanka, or nurse, who was in charge of her dormitory to declare that she had taken an infectious malady, and was therefore a danger to all the rest. The old nurse ran crying through theteremthat Doonya Meschersky had taken the fever and must be removed at once, and away ran a messenger for her own doctor, who was to be found, said Doonya, at a certain address.
This leech was of course Kostromsky, who was impatiently awaiting the summons, and accompanied the messenger back to the palace in hot haste.
‘Thenyankais right,’ he said, upon seeing Doonya, who made a show of raving and tossing upon her bed; ‘this is the first stage of the blood fever—theBarishnyamust be removed immediately.’
Whereupon Doonya was wrapped in coverings and carried by the doctor himself out of the dormitory and down the stairs which led to the street. But unfortunately the Regent and Galitsin met the party upon the stairs, and her Highness would know what ailed the girl and who was this that carried her away.
Thenyankareplied that a calamity had happened: here was a poorBarishnyataken with fever of a dangerous and infectious kind and must be moved, said this good doctor, before others were tainted with it.
‘And who is this good doctor, and why was not the Court physician summoned?’ asked Sophia.
‘She would see no leech but her own!’ said thenyanka, weeping and crossing herself. ‘Poor lamb, that might have been chosen Tsaritsa but for this sad infection——’
‘Pooh!’ said Sophia, interrupting. ‘Lay her down here on the landing, and go, someone, for Drury, the Court physician.’
When this Englishman came he soon pronounced Doonya well enough, looking hard at Kostromsky the while, whereupon Galitsin, suspecting the family doctor, pulled the wig from his head and revealed Kostromsky, whom both he and the Regent knew well.
The issue of the matter was unfortunate for both the conspirators, for her Highness treated them with severity, in order to deter other fools, as she said, from behaving in a similar fashion. Poor Doonya was taken straight to the flog-room, where she tasted of the knout and was then thrust back into theterem, to be laughed at or pitiedby her companions, according to their dispositions.
But as for Kostromsky—whom, as it happened, Galitsin hated because he was aPetrofsky, or follower of young Tsar Peter—a strange fate was reserved for him.
‘Why have you done this thing, fool?’ Galitsin asked the poor youth, when Doonya was led weeping away to her punishment.
‘She is mynevéysta(fiancée),’ said Kostromsky boldly; ‘do not dare to have her flogged, Galitsin, or I swear that one day I will have revenge.’
‘What!’ exclaimed the Regent Sophia, ‘you would marry—is that it?’
‘I both would marry and will, Highness,’ said Kostromsky.
‘He speaks truth,’ laughed Sophia. ‘Here, one of you, go fetch a priest, he shall be married at once: take thenyanka, some of you, and dress her for bride. Lord, if the fool is anxious to be married, he shall have his way!’
In vain did poor Kostromsky entreat, threaten, blaspheme—the Regent had no reply but laughter; and sure enough, before the hour was out, this youth—and a handsome youth, too—and this hag of seventy were man and wife—so far, at least, as the ministrations of a priest of the Orthodox Church could make them so.
Thus did her Highness endeavour to terrify those of the selected maidens who would prefer to work out their own destinies rather than accord to the Tsar the traditional privileges of Russian Tsarship.
Muchof that which now must be described was not, of course, witnessed by me in person, but—from one source or another—has been gradually communicated to me. Nevertheless, of the accuracy of the version I now place upon record I am completely satisfied.
There had been much scheming in various directions, so soon as it became an accepted matter that the Tsar Ivan was to be married, whether he would or no, for the dynasty’s sake. In the first place, it must be communicated to the bridegroom himself that he should be led, presently, to the altar, together with his bride, whomsoever he might choose.
But Ivan waxed very wroth at the communication, stamping his foot and flushing, showing more spirit than was usual with him.
‘I have told you that I do not wish to reign,’ he cried. ‘My brother Peter likes to be first and to speak loudly; therefore, I have told himand I have told you also that he shall reign, not I. What is the succession to me? Let Peter marry when he is old enough, and leave me alone—you, sister, and you, Galitsin, and you, Miloslavsky. I have done you no harm.’
‘But see, dear Ivan,’ said the Regent Sophia, ‘you have come to man’s estate, and men should marry. It is the intention and the will of the Almighty that they should do so; go not contrary to the laws of God. Your life is dull and lonely; why should you not choose for yourself a companion, as other men do, to comfort your days? You shall settle down presently in your own palace, and if it be the pleasure of the Almighty you shall be a happy husband and the happy father of children.’
‘As for whether you shall reign, or Peter Alexeyevitch, or both together, that is another matter, and nothing to do with this,’ said cunning Galitsin, who had no intention, however, to allow anyone to govern the realm except his beloved mistress, the Grand Duchess Regent, whether Peter should sit upon the throne, or Ivan, or both together.
And Miloslavsky, Ivan’s uncle, added that if the Tsar would but inspect the assemblage of beautiful maidens already prepared for his regard he would not long stand out against the wishes ofthe Regent, his sister, who knew well what was best for his true interests.
But all their efforts failed to induce Ivan to look with favour upon the idea of matrimony.
And for a week the great company of young maidens waited in theteremof the palace, yawning and story-telling, and longing for an end one way or another to this state of tension, and to the long dull period of do-nothing.
It was whispered by some, gossiping with one another, as maidens would naturally do, that Ivan had refused to be married, and this report gave rise to some merriment and also to much bitter disappointing of ambitious hopes.
Thus it was a surprise to all when one morning four persons entered theterem, of whom three were men and one a woman. The men were Galitsin, Mazeppa—prime favourite at this time, both of the Regent and her admirer—and Ivan himself, the lady being, of course, the Grand Duchess Sophia.
The maidens were engaged upon their dreary daily business of gossiping, sewing, fortune-telling with cards, and so forth, and this incursion into their sanctuary caused much agitation, much reddening of pale cheeks and the paling of some rosy ones; much smoothing of skirts and ofunruly locks that had escaped the restraint of band or of ribbon.
It was obvious that Ivan came unwillingly, if not unwittingly, into the midst of the maidens’ sanctuary. He started as he entered, and blushed, half turning as though to retreat.
‘No, no, Vanushka; be a man and a Russian Tsar!’ said Sophia, pushing him forward; and Ivan, with an angry look and a passionate word thrown back at his sister, obeyed and went forward.
But though certain of the maidens sighed as he passed, and some made audible whisper to one another, praising his beauty and what not—his beauty! and he assuredly the most niggardly endowed of mortal men in all that should make a man attractive to the opposite sex!—and though one picked up his handkerchief which he dropped as he went by, restoring it to the Tsar with a smile and a blush that suited her marvellously, he never glanced either at this maiden or at her fellows, but walked stolidly through the long chambers in which they stood and curtsied, his eyes fixed upon the ground and wandering neither to right nor left, even for a single instant.
Mazeppa’s eyes on this occasion were very busy, though Ivan’s were not. I have it fromhim, who was ever a good authority when the fairness of the ladies was the theme, that there were present that day some very exquisite types of Russian beauty. Of our own Cossack maidens one at least shone radiantly even in the midst of this constellation of charming maidenhood, and that was the fair and haughty creature who had preferred the distant chance of a very high seat, by the side of witless Tsar Ivan, to the certainty of a moderately honourable position as my own bride. Mazeppa laughed when he told me of this.
‘By the glory of love,’ he said, ‘Chelminsky, I believe she did wisely enough after all to take the chances! for if ever this fool of a prince opens his eyes and looks out among these young women, our fair Olga is as likely as any to attract him.’
‘And that is no chance!’ I replied; ‘for it is well known that he will not look out among them; and I think you know this as well as the rest.’
‘Why so? And what do you mean?’ said Mazeppa.
‘I mean Vera Kurbatof!’ I laughed. ‘You might have left my Olga at Batourin for all the chance she has here. As it is, you have lost her a moderate lover in me, and found her no better!’
‘Fear not for her, my friend,’ he laughed; ‘there are as good birds in the nest at Batourin as have flown out of it. Olga will not lack for lovers, even though Chelminsky should sulk! But I am not yet assured that Tsar Ivan will not after all look beyond Vera for a bride. They say he has forgotten her. Let not Vera be too sure of her advancement.’
‘Her advancement!’ I exclaimed. ‘Have you then forgotten that you yourself are pledged to protect her rather than allow that very advancement to take place?’
‘I have not forgotten, of course,’ he said; ‘but it would be a better and a safer way if he should reject Vera by his own free will and prefer another. Heaven knows there are some here that might tempt the very saints themselves. There is Olga Panief, for one; then there is a mysterious beauty whom none seem to know—Kozlof they call her, from Novgorod; lastly, one whom to see is to love—Praskovia Soltikof, whose father is the Governor of Siberia, which is as far away as heaven. Do not let yourself behold her, my friend, for to see her is to lose your heart.’
‘Then, what of your own, since you have gazed upon her already?’ I laughed.
‘My heart is proof,’ he replied, laughing also,though not quite at his ease. ‘I have already found food for my love to feast upon. Do not question me now; the time comes when you shall know all, and maybe you shall help me in a certain matter.’
This reply of Mazeppa’s caused me to reflect, and I now began to realise that my friend intended to play a deeper game than I had guessed.
But I must return to the matter of the Tsar Ivan and his bride-choosing, which indeed was somewhat pressing, for it was impossible to retain so large an assemblage of maidens to wait upon Ivan’s conversion. For who could tell how long this backward lover’s masculine spirit would require ere it would take root and develop and mature—even so much spirit as would suffice to lift his bashful eyes and see for himself the wonderful sight presented for his delectation, and then to say, ‘This one is best, or that, or another.’
Therefore, to the delight of many agitated, sanguine maiden hearts, it was decided that the first choosing or weeding out of the maidens should be done by others and not by Ivan himself, in the hope that, if no more than a score, or perhaps even a smaller number, were left to choose from, he might show himself less averse to inspect them; or at any rate he might be induced to look upon them one at a time.
Therefore six men were named to assist the Regent in this first process of weeding out, and again Mazeppa was of the number, the other five being Galitsin, Miloslavsky, Shaklovity, and two whose names are unimportant.
Then began much finessing by Mazeppa and certain others who had their own games to play, and of these games we will first watch that of Mazeppa.
Vera, be it remembered, Vera the beautiful, having already been seen by Ivan, and, as many believed, approved by him, had been exempted from living with the rest of the maidens within theteremof the palace.
Now, when Mazeppa was chosen as one of the judges who should make the first sweeping, he came in excitement to me.
‘Go, Chelminsky,’ he said, ‘and bid Vera come quickly to the palace. Tell her that I ask this of her by design and for her advantage.’
‘For her advantage?’ I exclaimed. ‘Explain first how this should be, for surely Ivan will see her and will immediately show his preference for her, if only by fixing two pig-eyes upon her face, as heretofore.’
‘No,’ said Mazeppa; ‘let her come. I am chosen as one of those who are to weed out the unsuitable, that they may be despatched to theirhomes. Do you understand? I shall see that she is struck from the list this very day: thus she shall receive a passport and may disappear. That shall be the first move. I will see her at the palace and instruct her further.’
This seemed a good plan, so far, and I went to tell Vera of it.
I tookMazeppa’s message to Vera Kurbatof, but Vera was agitated and disinclined to accept the suggestion of my friend.
‘It is foolish,’ she said, ‘and dangerous. What if the Tsar should see me and say something, or even look something? all would then be lost. Remember, I would die rather than be chosen by him. Moreover, does Mazeppa think that the Grand Duchess forgets so easily? Tell him that I was sent for to the palace and that the Tsar kissed my hand. That was my death warrant unless I escape. I tell you, as I myself was told by her Highness, that I am kept in reserve as a kind of trump card: these other maidens are a mere concession to the Tsarish custom and to the feared expostulations of the Boyars, who are accustomed to enjoy the chance of providing each Tsar with a bride. The Tsar will not look seriously at them. It is mere foolishness to bring me into the lion’s den. How shall I come forth again, think you?’
‘Mazeppa, I suppose, has some scheme for your salvation. It is he that suggests it: he would scarcely place you in the lion’s den—he of all others—unless he knew of a way to get you out again, and once for all!’
‘Why he of all others?’ asked Vera.
‘You seem to have left your fate in his hands: he will help you to escape, but be sure that he intends to profit by your devotion to him!’
‘My devotion to him? You use a foolish term, sir. There is no speculation in Mazeppa’s generosity. He has offered to help me from motives of pure sympathy. He would not see me made a living sacrifice.’
‘Why think you so well of Mazeppa?’ I asked.
‘He has understood my position and has offered to save me from that which would be worse than death to me. There has been no talk of reward. He wishes for none and asks none. As for devotion, that—as I say—was a foolish expression. There is no such thing on either side.’
‘So be it,’ I said; ‘only be sure that Mazeppa is not one to labour for nothing.’
Vera was silent for a little while. At last she spoke.
‘I see that you imply more than you say. Do you then know so much of Mazeppa that you mistrust his motives in offering to assist me?’
‘I know that Mazeppa admires a good-looking woman,’ I laughed, ‘and that you are one; also that he admires you even more than other fair women; and lastly, that what Mazeppa admires he covets, and what he covets he generally obtains, by fair means or foul.’
‘You should need to know a man well indeed before you would speak thus of him,’ Vera murmured. ‘Why do you suggest this of Mazeppa?’
‘To say truth, because I do not wish you to put yourself in his hands. He is dangerous.’
‘But if I do not so, what else am I to do? to whom shall I go for help? You are kind and appear to take an interest in me, but have you any alternative plan if I refuse this of Mazeppa?’
‘I should be cruel indeed if I disadvised one plan and had no alternative to suggest,’ I said. ‘As for “interest in you,” perhaps I, too, know a beautiful woman when I see her!’
‘And, like him again, are not one to labour without reward, you would say? Go away then, sir; I have no rewards such as you suggest, either for yourself or for Mazeppa. I will findsome way out of this danger without your help or his. Fie, sir! are you not ashamed to speak so?’
‘You go too fast!’ I said, laughing. ‘It was your own suggestion, not mine, that I expect a reward for serving. I expect none. I only said that I am interested in you because you are beautiful: is that so great a sin?’
‘It is enough to indicate that having served me you will afterwards ask a reward. All men are alike.’
‘Well, see now, Vera Stepanovna,’ I said, ‘you do me injustice, for I had been married ere this, but that my bride was carried off for the Tsar’s choosing. A man thus used may surely be credited with disinterestedness in offering service to a woman!’
‘If that is so,’ she said, after a short silence, ‘I will listen to your proposal. Forgive me if I did you an injustice,’ she added; ‘it may be that in my present terror and agitation I have lost my manners.’
‘I forgive everything at such a time,’ I replied, ‘for I understand that you speak and act as one who stands at the edge of an abyss. I see no way of escape for you excepting by disappearance. That is my view of the matter. It you stay here, that is at your father’s house, you remain in constantdanger, almost as much so as though you were actually within theterem——’
‘That is true,’ she said, sighing; ‘but your scheme, if that is the whole of it, is but a barren one; for how is a maiden to disappear in this city, more especially one who is well known and easily found?’
‘There is more in my scheme. I suggest that you go for sanctuary, but secretly of course, to the Diévitchy monastery.’
‘And take the veil? Oh, no, no! I love life and freedom, and God’s air. I could not be a nun with shorn head and a heart as bare of hope and the joy of life!’
‘You need not be a nun. You shall seek refuge for awhile only, until the Tsar is well married and all this is forgotten. Your hair may remain a crown of glory to you as now. God forbid that it should be taken from you!’
‘You speak impossibilities. You do not know how strict is this community. Once lie in their clutches, and forever the world is shut out to you, and joy and the delight of living and of loving—oh! there could be but one thing worse: to be married to this prince. Oh! why am I so plagued for my sins that I must choose one of two such horrible things? Search your imagination, good Chelminsky, I pray you; think of a better way!’
‘This is a good way, be assured. It so happens that I have done these nuns and their Superior a service for which they have promised me a return. I shall demand that they give you sanctuary, and they will concede it. When you wish you shall come out, and with you shall come your golden head all unshorn, and your heart no more dead to the joy of living and loving than to-day—in short, you shall come forth, when the Tsar is safely married, just as you now go in!’
‘Oh, Chelminsky, do not jest with me!’ she cried, her hands clasped together, her eyes full of tears. ‘How could you obtain so great a favour? What is the claim you have upon these holy women? Remember, there is the curse of God for liars; more especially for such as lie to the ruin and despair of helpless women!’
I told Vera the story of my encounter with Rachmanof, and of his sister’s attempted abduction from the convent, and how the Superior had expressed gratitude for the service I rendered this lady in preventing her brother in his designs.
‘Oh, Chelminsky!’ exclaimed Vera, flushing and seizing me by the arm, ‘beware, I beseech you, after this. I know him, this Rachmanof: he is a man of evil temper; he will kill you at sight. His sister is beautiful. I do not wonderthat you should have risked so much for her sake!’
‘Oh, believe me,’ I laughed, ‘I scarcely looked at her face. What I did I should have done for any woman so situated. Come, is my offer a good one? What say you?’
‘It is so good that I scarcely dare believe in it. Can I trust you? The Cossacks, it is said, are a wild race, caring little for the rights of others, or for the honour of women, so only they have their way. You have shown me that Mazeppa is not to be trusted; how can I tell that you are any better, who are his friend?’
‘You cannot tell, of course. Cossacks are said to be untrustworthy, and you cannot be blamed for your doubting. Mazeppa is a fox whom I have only lately caught in my own fowl-run: do not take him into account or measure me by his standard. Let him be. For the matter of that, let me be also if you will not trust me. I desire to serve you, that is all I can say—believe it or not.’
Vera gazed for a little while into my face. ‘I do not think you are altogether trustworthy,’ she said, a faint smile playing for an instant about her mouth, ‘judging, I mean, by your face. I fear that you do not consider it wrong or dishonourable to deceive others to your ownadvantage; yet I am inclined to trust you now——’
‘Because you must, and there is no other way,’ I cried, laughing aloud. ‘Come, speak the full truth and I will do the same. Yes, I think little of deception when it is necessary to my well-being; but I am a poor deceiver compared with Mazeppa. In this I am not so good a Cossack as he; in other ways I think I am a better. At this moment I am altogether honest; I do desire to serve you——’
‘But why? If only I could understand your motive in this I should be easier in my mind.’
‘Lord knows,’ I laughed. ‘If you will have my opinion, however, I believe it is that, since I have discovered that Mazeppa admires you, I have begun to admire you also. I have lately determined to get the better of Mazeppa, or try to do so, in every matter in which our destinies meet, throughout life. I suppose, therefore, that I wish you to think better of me than of him.’
Vera was silent for a moment. Then she burst into a delightful torrent of laughter, so that for a while she could not speak.
‘Come,’ she said at last, clapping her hands and coughing, ‘that is truth, real naked truth. Oh! what a motive! But it is truth, and I will trust you. Come, when shall we go?’
‘This moment, if you please,’ said I, gazing at the girl in a kind of rapture. I had never seen her look so beautiful as now, with the colour in her cheeks and the tears of mirth in her eyes. She was charming indeed!