"Ah, the day of tears and mourning,From the dust of earth returning,Man for judgment must prepare him."
"Ah, the day of tears and mourning,From the dust of earth returning,Man for judgment must prepare him."
The psalm and noisy crowd were silenced. The golden sparks died out, the ashes were extinguished.Morning began to dawn. Not a soul was to be seen on the Neva. Every one had gone home to sleep through the gray morning hours; the forenoon in St. Petersburg is good for nothing else.
Even morning here has its special characteristics. The sky is white, and as it is reflected on the calm surface of the Neva it seems like one plate of burnished silver, upon which the long streaks of cloud and the heavy foliage of the trees stand out black as night. Pomp of death in sky and earth!
The mistress of Grusino, who ruled Araktseieff as completely as he ruled the empire, was neither young nor beautiful. She could not have laid claim to beauty even in youth, and her stature was of manly proportions.
There are plain women who can make themselves pleasant; who, aware that they have not the advantages of good looks, lay themselves out to charm by their manner. But Daimona wanted to be beautiful. Her complexion was dark—she painted herself very red and very white; but as her beautifying only extended to her face, leaving her neck its natural hue, it gave her the appearance of wearing a mask. Having no eyebrows, but desiring to obtain them by artificial aid—being, moreover, extremely short-sighted—she usually contrived to paint first one, then the other, higher or lower than its fellow. Her teeth were blackened from much smoking and indulgence in sweets. In addition, sheselected the most ridiculous and garish of costumes and colors, always overloaded with ribbons and jewels. When she spoke it was in a man's barytone, which, when agitated, broke into a sobbing squeak.
And this voice of hers, heard all day long without cessation, inspired fear in all around her, for she only opened her mouth to scold and abuse. In her communications to her household she made use of the most singular punctuation; the cane formed a comma, a box on both ears a colon, and the knout a full stop.
And this woman was the delight, the goddess, the idol, of the all-powerful court favorite. The whole land knew the infatuation of the great statesman for her; whoever aimed at accomplishing any end in St. Petersburg must first make his way to Grusino; for a good word from Daimona outbalanced a whole wagon-load of letters of introduction and whole sackfuls of merit.
And that good word was never given for nothing. Daimona understood her business; she had a carefully made-out tariff for favors desired: So much for an official post; so much for a concession; so much for an order; so much to be let off from an undesired expedition to Siberia, with or without accompaniment of the knout on the way, on foot, or by sledge. She could tell it all off by heart.
The most aristocratic men and women did not esteem it beneath their dignity, whenever they deemed it advisable, to present themselves with friendly or deferential mien to the mistress of Grusino, who, wedded neither in right nor left handed marriage to the favorite, was originally the cast-off wife of a sailor condemned to Siberia, and afterwards had served her time as avivandièreto the Ismailowsk Regiment, who had given her the sobriquet of the "squinting Diana."
And, withal, she had completely captivated the clever man before whom a vast empire trembled. Araktseieff was only at his ease when, throwing off the "iron mask," he could be himself again in the arms of the chatelaine of Grusino.
At court, in order to retain his influence, he had humbly, in cold blood, to receive every affront and humiliation, to flatter, to be more courtly and diplomatic in manner than any diplomat; the while raging internally, filled with uncontrollable pride and savage revolt at everything that opposed him. It was of itself a penance to him to have always to converse in French, for it was the only language of the court, and he who spoke Russian ran the risk of being looked upon as a conspirator, or, worse, "member of a learned society." And he hated the French with a deadly hatred! Their language, dress, manners, music, drinks, diplomats, their drama and their philosophy! Then, too, he had carefully to keep watch over every word he uttered and every glass he put to his lips. Not only lest the contents of the glass should be poisoned, but for fear of drinking too much! For he knew that the true man spake in him when he was in liquor. Even worse, he had to ape the ascetic; for women's charms were an arch snare, in which his enemies would fain have trapped him. Thus he lived like a recluse, with the appetites of a Sardanapalus. And when, flying court atmosphere for a brief respite, he could seek refuge at home in his Eleusinian den, and, throwing off the affectations of the French language, dress, and mask, he was free to resume the despised native Russian costume, and talk the good old true Novgorod dialect, in which the republicanpeasant of those days abused Czar and yeoman alike, he felt himself happy. Then he could vie with his well-mated companion in good round oaths, beat her in the morning, kiss and make friends in the afternoon over the flogging of the peasants, men-servants, and stewards who came in their way, and get drunk together at night. Daimona was a match for him in every form of excess. If he were violent, she incited him to increased violence; if he would vent his wrath on some one, she found him a human object on which to vent it, seconding him with all a woman's refinement of cruelty.
When the master showed his face at Grusino there was a hurrying and scurrying hither and thither, lamentations, groans, and blows; eating and drinking to excess; music and dancing through the streets; battues, dog-fights, mad revels of every description, and at least oneswacha(girl market). For the Sultana provided her Padishah with his Feast of Bairam.
In fine, Prince Alexis Andreovitch found in the hideous Daimona his other self; and this made her more precious to him than all the beauties under the sun.
One day that fine fellow Zsabakoff presented himself, with countless bowings and cringings, before the mighty Daimona. Not this time in the torn garments in which he slipped into Pushkin's quarters, but attired as a man of position. He possessed different costumes for the different parts he had to play.
Herr Zsabakoff came to Daimona because he had learned that the Czar was sending an army against the Turks. The fact was known to none, not even to Araktseieff; only one man knew of it, and that was the Czar's groom of the chambers, the same worthy individual who one evening had lent young Araktseieff the Czar's Vladimir star. This worthy groom of the chambers often did his friends a good turn. Thus, for instance, it was solely to do Herr Zsabakoff a kindness that he gave a glance at the Czar's papers while arranging them on his writing-table. What he there saw, no one, not even the ministers, knew; nor did he proclaim it with beating of drums, but he sold the information without more ado. There is no reason for surprise at this. Other times, other manners. At that time it had happened that university professors had been known to distribute to students on one day answers to the questions to be put to them on the next. But in this affair Herr Zsabakoff was not interested to speculate as to whether the Hellenic champions of freedom would be able to hold Missolonghi until the Russian army had advanced to their aid, but merely whether the Czar's plan that every soldier, besides his customary kit, should carry a flask as a necessary equipment in campaign—consequently three hundred thousand metal flasks would be required. The contractor would make his fortune.
But the honest groom of the chambers had not only communicated this secret intelligence to friend Zsabakoff, but also to many other similar friends, who probably were hurrying on the production of flasks by day and night, for in the course of a fortnight they must be ready. Naturally it would not be the lowest contract which would obtain the order, but he who best greased the wheels of the Intendant-General's carriage. Herr Zsabakoff now came to the influential lady to entreat her to use her powers with the potent Intendant-General to persuade the Czar to havewoodenflasks made instead of the unwholesome metal ones. Thus, at onefell swoop, would disappear all his metal-flask rivals; Zsabakoff would remain in possession of the field, and could demand his own price. In order to lend emphasis to his request he had brought a little present with him which would exactly become its charming wearer—an antique brilliantferronnière, in the centre of which was an exquisite solitaire of unusual fire.
"Of course that is merely earnest-money," said the mistress of the house. "You are aware that in the case of such a large transaction I go shares in the profit."
"Your Excellency has taken the very words out of my mouth. Depend and rely on it, I am straightforward with you—I always speak the truth. I always do the honest thing. Why, then, should I deny it? According to the price of my contract I gain half a griva on every flask; of that I will make over two copecks to your Excellency."
"I tell you what, you make your contract so that it brings you in a whole griva apiece, and give me four copecks on each."
Herr Zsabakoff agreed to this proposition. But Daimona was none too delicate of her guests' feelings. One of her slaves was a jeweller, and expert in precious stones. Him she sent for, and, in Zsabakoff's presence, had the ornament valued. This was her custom. She kept the slave specially for that office. The expert valued it at one thousand five hundred rubles; but had the centre stone been pure water instead of yellow it would have been worth two thousand.
"You don't understand anything about it!" screamed Zsabakoff. "Yellow diamonds are unique; they are called 'fantaisie.' Besides, it is an antique, and great people like antiques best."
"Quite true. All the same, a pure-water solitaire would be worth five hundred rubles more."
"Do you hear?" quoth Daimona. "Don't forget next time to exchange it for a handsomer and costlier one. And then I prefer it set in gold to this silver setting."
Zsabakoff promised to obey her behests, and took his leave with as much kissing of hands and feet as though he had received instead of given.
Some weeks later Zsabakoff came back more amiable and deferential than the first time.
"My word is as good as my bond," said he. "Instead of that worn-out oldferronnièreI bring you a brand-new one. Look at this stone, your Excellency. What a fire! how pure! a perfect Golconda brilliant! It dazzles the eyes like sunlight."
And he went on crying up the new ornament until Daimona gave him back the old one for it.
"You may have this examined. I am positive your goldsmith will value it at three thousand rubles. And, in fact, it cost every penny as much. But I don't grudge it you. All I ask is that you write his Excellency by your special courier, post-haste, that the matter must be at once decided. It is in your own interest. For every field-flask you make four copecks. I am off; I have not a moment to lose."
And once more recommending the flasks to her Excellency's immediate attention, Herr Zsabakoff, rushing out, jumped into his carriage, drawn by three horses, and drove off as if possessed. This time he did not wait for Daimona to summon the jeweller.
Daimona was in haste to write to Araktseieff anent the flasks. But writing with her was a slow process; the pen did not readily obey her untutored fingers. Only when the letter was finished did she submit the jewelsto her goldsmith. He, suspiciously examining theferronnière, begged permission to test it in his laboratory; then told her that, to a jeweller, it would be worth about three rubles. The brilliants were only Strasburg paste; the setting plated, not gold.
Daimona, at first, was merely surprised; she could not believe the man mad enough to deceive her in a matter concerning three hundred thousand flasks. It was such a clumsy trick, such an unheard-of affront. A trinket worth three rubles was only the kind of present that would be given to avivandière.
"Hi, Schinko!" screeched Daimona. Whereupon her factotum appeared, a handsome, muscular fellow of the unmistakable gypsy type. "Take a horse at once, take three mounted men with you, and follow the man who just drove off with three horses abreast! Seize, bind, bring him back. See you do not come back without him!"
The next instant the gypsy was on a horse, without saddle, galloping for his life. His three followers could scarce keep up with him. Daimona was satisfied that Schinko would soon come up with Zsabakoff.
But within scarce half an hour the three horsemen, with Schinko at their head, came back the way they had gone, and behind them a troika in which sat a man alone. But not as a prisoner did they bring him; it was the other way about, he drove them before him. From time to time he kept putting his head out of the carriage, threatening the galloping horsemen so ominously with his stick that, as fast as their horses would go they tore homeward, looking back now and again with scared faces.
"What's the meaning of this?" shrieked Daimona, furiously pacing the hall. "Schinko! You hounds! What, run away—you let yourselves be driven back by one man?"
Yes, when it is that "one" man! Arrived at the castle, and flinging back the leathern apron of the troika, he sprang up from his seat, roaring with all the power of his lungs after the runaways.
"You fellows! Just you wait! I'll teach you to molest travellers in broad daylight on the emperor's highway. A hundred lashes of the knout for each of you! I'll have you all fastened to the handle of the pump. Bojiriks, Bontshiks, thieves that ye are!"
It was "he" the master—Araktseieff himself. Daimona was more furious than ever. Rushing down the entrance steps into the courtyard beneath, she stood, gasping for breath, before the new-comer.
"Why did you hound back my people? They were pursuing a thief who had robbed me! He brought me false stones and stole the real ones. I will have him brought back—the thief."
But the master of the house paid no attention to her. When he was abusing some one, whoever it might be, he had no thought for anything else. His face was crimson as he alighted from his carriage, holding in one hand a stout knotted stick, in the other a flask by its strap.
Daimona thought him informed of the whole affair, so, seizing him by the collar of his cloak, she continued:
"It was Zsabakoff—do you hear?—Zsabakoff! You surely have not given him the flasks yet?"
"Flasks?" retorted Araktseieff, amazed. "I've only got this one; and I can't offer you anything from it, for it's empty."
"Oh, the devil take you! The three hundred thousand flasks, I mean, that the army are to have in the Turkish War."
And now he was more astonished than ever.
"Three hundred thousand flasks? War? Give yourself time to breathe. What have you been drinking to-day?"
The woman cursed and raved. In a medley of words she mixed up weeks and months, copecks and flasks, diamonds worth two thousand rubles, Missolonghi and Omer Brione Pasha, and stormed on so long that at length her lord and master, in a fury, flinging his empty flask at her, pushed her aside; whereupon Daimona, to recover her wounded feelings, fell upon the jeweller, and struck his head with thecorpus delicti, the paste tiara. Why had he said that a yellow diamond was not as good as a white one? It was all his fault that the thief had stolen the real one and made off with it.
And this was the affectionate reception of the weary statesman to his home. Perhaps others have shared his experiences—who shall say?
However, at supper they made it up again; and Daimona recounted to him the history of the field-flasks.
"Well, my dear hen"—this was his pet name for Daimona—"you know more about it than I do, whose province it is, as Intendant-General, to see to the fitting out of the army. I am on leave from court—ostensibly on account of my health. This that scoundrel Zsabakoff knew, hence he got back his present to you. He knew that I am 'very' ill just now."
"But what's the matter with you?"
"The matter is, that I am a follower of the Czar."
"Try to get cured of that ailment."
"I know that I shall soon be recalled, and very soon fall back into my old ailment."
"Bungler! If only you had kept the Czar's favor until the field-flask contract had been delivered!"
"Bah! Say no more about it. Sing me something nice. It's so long since I heard a woman's voice."
Alexis Andreovitch really meant it when he said he wanted to hear Daimona sing. Now, the screech of a peacock was a swan's song compared with Daimona's croak. Her voice was out of tune, throaty, and harsh; but if it pleased her lord, what matter? And then the words of her song, with its refrain, "Give him a taste of the knife!" In truth, an extraordinary ditty to choose; and that it should just have come into Daimona's head! Yet what so extraordinary in it, after all, for the fallen favorite'schère amieto choose a revolutionary song, when he had been dismissed from court by his imperial master, and when the matter of the flasks was not settled? Surely reason enough that he who yesterday kissed the dust from off the tyrant's feet to-day should throw it back in his face!
And the fallen favorite did not interrupt her. He listened to every verse, enjoying the last so much that he chuckled with delight.
"Where did you hear that ridiculous thing?"
"You thick-head! Can't you guess? Didn't you yourself send the gypsy girl to me to be educated? We have made a thorough success of it."
"Right. Among the many pleasures that await me here is carrying on that joke to the bitter end. She drove my son to Archangel! Not a word have I heard from him yet. What have you been doing to the wench?"
"Just what you directed. If you want some fun we'll have her in."
"Nothing better just now."
Daimona sent a man in search of Diabolka. Meanwhile she whispered something to Alexis Andreovitch,her painted eyebrows dancing with fiendish glee as she did so.
Araktseieff seemed to enter fully into the joke; he laughed so loud that he made himself quite hoarse, and, striking his fist on the table, shouted:
"Good! Excellent! By Jove! That'll be worth seeing!"
Both were looking grave when the girl came in. She was hardly recognizable. A young lady in a long dress, wearing mittens, on her head the snood of a Russian maiden. She held both hands, in national style, hidden in the long sleeves of her dress, only withdrawing them to kiss the hand of her master and mistress. Her eyes she kept modestly fixed on the ground.
"Well, dear child, and how do you like being under your mistress's protection?"
In a low whisper the girl answered:
"Thanks be to my gracious master for having sent me where I am so happy."
Araktseieff could scarce repress his laughter.
"You speak like a book."
"That is not my merit, but that of the reverend Herr Prokop, who has spared no pains to give me the benefit of his instruction."
"Ei, ei! You are quite a fine young lady, I see. You must sit down and have supper with us. Come, don't be shy! Here, you long-legged fellow, set a cover for the young lady! Here, you lout! Opposite me."
"It will be a great honor to your unworthy maid-servant to be permitted to sit at table with you; but I must ask forgiveness if I eat nothing. Good Father Prokop has inflicted the penance on me of eating no supper for a whole year."
"For what sin?"
The girl heaved a deep sigh.
"Your Excellency! you know the great sin I have committed, and for which I never can atone." And she sank her head remorsefully.
Was she really penitent, or was it only hypocrisy?
"And what do you do while others are having their meal?"
"I read the Psalms to them."
"What! you can read already? and the Psalms into the bargain! I should like to hear that. Bring her a Psalm-book. Now sit here and read. Which one is it?"
The girl, sitting down as she was bid, rested the finger-tip of one hand daintily on the table, while with the forefinger of the other she marked the syllables as she read, "Lord, the hea-then are come in-to thine in-her-i-tance."
"Wonderful! But do you understand what you are reading about? Who are the 'heathen'?"
"TheTurks!" The girl spat out the words, as beseems an orthodox Muscovite.
"Who is the 'Lord'?"
Rising, the girl answered:
"Our august master, the Czar."
"And what is his 'inheritance'?"
"Greece."
"Very good," returned her master. "How well you have learned to read! And can you write too? And so that you need no one to guide your hand, as when you wrote your first letter? Ha, ha! That was a joke!"
Then, turning to Daimona, he said, so that Diabolka should hear:
"Why, you have made quite a lady of her."
"And I mean to make a good Christian of her, too," responded Daimona.
Diabolka, seeming not to hear, went on spelling out her psalm.
"Come forward, Schinko!" Daimona commanded the man standing behind her chair. "Now, have I not selected a good-looking husband for her?"
"Ah! I sent him to you, too, my lady. Is he not a certain 'cousin' of your ward's?"
"That's why I treat him so well. A fine youth! I have no more faithful servant than he. The peasantry fear him like the very devil. He is my right hand."
"Then I can guess how many floggings he has already administered to them."
"I will give them their wedding. Then I mean to make Schinko my house-steward and Diabolka my confidential maid."
"I will provide the wedding presents."
Diabolka continued reading her psalm without interruption. Any other girl at least would have simpered when she heard talk of her wedding in presence of her bridegroom.
"Now we'll finish up supper with a little singing and dancing," said the mistress of the house, signing to Schinko.
"Ah! Can Diabolka not only sing sacred songs, but dance too?"
"She neither sings nor dances; she has another calling. There is some one else to do that."
Hereupon twelve pretty young peasant girls entered from a side-door, each with a lute in her hand, their faces expressing more repressed fear than pleasurable expectation. Behind them slid Schinko, a long whip in one hand, the other leading a small, humpbacked dwarf on a chain, like a bear, with a bagpipe under his arm. He was hideously ugly, with a hump behind andbefore, his large bald head sunk between his high shoulders. His face was the caricature of a man's face, and so distorted with small-pox that it seemed as if the lineaments, being so grotesque, the fell disease had tried to wipe them out; here and there remained a tuft of beard and whisker; he had but one eye. He was revolting to look upon; but when his cheeks distended with the bagpipe he was a perfect monster. A worthier performer on the bleating goat-skin could scarcely be imagined.
"That's classical music," said the master; "but what about the dancing?"
"Wait a minute. That's the best."
Going out once more, Schinko returned with theballerina assoluta, gripping her by the nape of the neck that she might not bite his hand. She was a deformity in woman's shape—a humpbacked dwarf, with long arms reaching to the ground; her stump nose hardly visible; matted-hair growing down to her eyebrows; her mouth awry with great protruding teeth—add to this an evil, bestial stamp on all her features. Such was the creature who was to perform a ballet for the amusement of the lord of Grusino. She was clad in a dress of gold paper; therefore it did not matter if she tore it. She had been taught to dance as monkeys are, and knew she had to do it.
"Blow away, Vuk! Dance, Polyka!" cried Daimona, clapping her hands; and as the bagpipe began its melody the dancer began her parody of a ballet-dancer, making such pirouettes that with her long arms, not her feet, she chased away the chorus, accompanying the bagpipe with their voices.
"Hopsa! hopsa!" cried Schinko, every now and then, and touched up the calves of the dancer's legs with thepoint of his whip, if she did not spring high enough in the air, at which she made furious grimaces.
Araktseieff and Daimona sank back in their chairs with laughter. The great statesman, the pattern of astute diplomacy, drummed his spurs on the table in his mirth; while Diabolka, without raising her eyes, ever continued spelling out her psalm, as though nothing were going on about her.
At the close of this edifying performance the female monstrosity caught hold of the male by the collar of his coat, and twirled him and his instrument round in a waltz, Schinko cracking his whip the while, as though he were in a circus.
"Well, these two will make a pretty couple, too, I declare!" laughed the master. "We will celebrate both weddings together."
Upon which Daimona gave him such a sharp pinch on his arm that he cried out.
The very next day Diabolka's wedding-dress was put in hand. All Daimona's female serfs were at work upon it. Diabolka now usually dined at the minister's table when he entertained the notables of the neighborhood, all of whom were welcome guests when they could prevail upon themselves to kiss Daimona's hand. A dear repast, in truth!
But his guests had still more to put up with. When Araktseieff had drunk too much he would grow quarrelsome and come to blows with them. All the same, they would come back again next day and meet the same fate. A still costlier price to pay!
Schinko was the chief flogger of the palace; he had to execute all the scourging, whipping, and lashing with the knout. It was his office. He had no choice but to carry out orders. If his master ordered him to thrashcorn, he must do it; if to thrash mujiks, he must thrash them. Lucky that it was his part to administer, not to receive, the lash. Moreover, he was a gypsy; and gypsies, it is known, have stronger nerves than other men.
The eve of the wedding-day Daimona commanded Diabolka to try on her gay wedding-dress, and to show herself in it to the master.
He admired it, and gave the girl a slap on the cheek.
"Do you see? I am glad you have grown at last into a respectable young woman. I raised you out of the mire into which you had sunk. Is it not a good thing to have become a well-behaved girl?"
And Diabolka, falling on her knees before him, kissed his feet.
"Nice to be a bride, eh? Now you love your cousin Schinko, don't you?"
The girl hid her face in confusion.
"Well, show how you can give a kiss. Where's Schinko?"
But Diabolka would not be kissed. Schinko might wait till he was married.
"A sensible girl," said her master, praising her. "Now take her to the priest, that she may tell her prayers and confess. To-morrow morning her bridesmaids and groomsmen shall fetch her back. You go with her, Schinko!"
After she had gone, Daimona sent for the other bridal couple. They were worthy of each other, Vuk and Polyka.
The humpbacked bridegroom was dressed in a handsome seal-skin coat reaching down to his toes, his cap adorned with a pair of hare's ears; while the bride, with mouth all awry, was attired as a Turkish odalisque, making her more hideous than ever.
"Upon my word, they're a handsome couple!" laughed Araktseieff. "I wonder if that great hunch will prevent her kissing him?"
"That doesn't matter," returned Daimona; "her arms are long enough to pull out his hair."
Nor did it need much encouragement for her to try it even before marriage; a word would have sufficed to give proof of their connubial tenderness.
"It will be rare fun to-morrow!" said Daimona.
"A splendid idea," chimed in her lord.
"Are you satisfied with it?"
"It's a masterwork."
"Well, if you love me, do as I do."
When was he not ready to do it? It was the reason the brutal pair loved each other so well that there was nothing so mad devised by the one that the other was not ready to join in.
Song followed the carousal. Daimona began theKnife Song, and Araktseieff joined in the chorus.
For the sweetest of all the forbidden fruit of the tree of knowledge is when a smooth courtier, whose wont is to flatter, to bow, and to scrape, in the privacy of his chamber can tune up a revolutionary song, and blacken his sovereign and fellow-courtiers to his heart's content.
"Let's have it over again! Where's a glass?" He always dashed his empty glasses against the wall. But instead of the glass, Schinko brought on his silver salver a letter, which a mounted messenger had just delivered.
Araktseieff at once knew the handwriting on the cover. Releasing himself from Daimona's arms, he sprang up from the divan, and, hastily wiping his mouth, pressed the letter to his lips and forehead; then said, in a hollow voice:
"Give me the scissors."
"What do you want with scissors? Break it open with your fingers."
"Give me the scissors when I ask for them!" shouted he, angrily, and snatched roughly at the pair hanging from Daimona's girdle. And as with trembling hand he cut the seal, he said, feverishly, "One does not break the Czar's seal."
"The Czar's seal?" repeated Daimona, astounded.
It did not take Araktseieff long to read his letter. Besides the signature were two words only—"Come back!"
"Bring water! Cold water!" he said, imperiously, to Schinko. And as he, not knowing the wherefore, returned with a bucket of water, his master, seizing the utensil with both hands, took a deep draught from it.
Daimona's astonishment increased more and more.
"What is the matter?"
"I must set off this very instant!" gasped Araktseieff. "Hurry, Schinko; let them put the horses to; twelve horsemen to accompany me with torches; and one to ride on before to secure post-horses. Fly!"
"You are going away?" asked Daimona, amazed.
"Instantly! The Czar commands!"
"And you hurry back at his request?"
"As a Cossack pony answers to his master's whistle."
"And will not be taking part in to-morrow's sport?"
"I must deny myself the gratification."
"You are going to leave me?" asked she, reproachfully. "You do not love me any more?"
"The Czar has deigned to write with his own hand," returned Araktseieff, handing her the letter.
"What do I care about his writing?" screamed Daimona; and, snatching at the letter, she cut out apiece with her scissors, which so enraged Araktseieff that he struck her violently on the hand.
"You have struck me! You are going away, and have struck me!" And, turning her face away, the woman wept bitterly.
But Araktseieff had no time to pacify her now.
"Seisasz!This means that the crisis is past."
Had there been an ocean before him he must have swam across it. How much more, then, a few woman's tears!
The celebration of a double wedding will come off, but he will not be there to enjoy the fun.
"Quick, quick, Schinko! Then come to my room to shave me."
While at Grusino the minister was in the habit of letting his beard and mustache grow to please Daimona; but always had it shaved off before returning to St. Petersburg.
"Take care you don't cut me with your razor," were his first words to Schinko, as he began. Schinko was the only one there to whom he intrusted his throat. "If you slash my face I'll shoot you dead."
His two travelling-pistols lay close to his hand. Schinko was cautious, and completed the operation without disfiguring his master's face. A lucky thing for Araktseieff. For the gypsy was resolved at the slightest slip of his razor to cut his master's throat, that he might not have the chance to carry out his threat. Never had Araktseieff been nearer to his grave.
As he finished, the bells on the horses' necks were heard in the courtyard below.
Thrusting the Czar's letter into his breast-pocket, Araktseieff hurried away to say good-bye to Daimona.
She had locked herself up in the room.
"I have gone to bed."
"Then good-bye, my dear!" He had no time for more.
Daimona, from her window, could see the carriage dash away, with its escort of torch-bearers.
It was pitch-dark, the rain coming down in torrents—weather in which one would not have sent out a scullion.
Araktseieff, on arrival at the palace, was received by Chevalier Galban.
"What has happened here?" he asked, as he changed his travelling-dress for his uniform.
"A startling change. Since his daughter's death the Czar has become reconciled to the Czarina, and is with her constantly. Every diplomatic action has been broken off. The Greek deputation has not been received, the commanding officers of the various regiments of the guards have been despatched back to their colonies."
"And what do the women say to all this? That's the main point."
"The women are deucedly hard to get at just now. Since the reconciliation of the Czar and Czarina, domestic fidelity has become the rage in St. Petersburg. Every man is seen driving out with his wife. Even Princess Ghedimin ostentatiously parades everywhere on her husband's arm, and conducts herself so prudishly that she scarce returns my bow."
"And Zeneida?"
"Is in disgrace. The court chamberlain has intimated that it would not give displeasure in high quarters if she were to pass the coming season under a more genial clime. Upon which she at once sent back her credentials as court singer. She is having a sale of her furniture, and is preparing for immediate departure."
"And the cause of disgrace?"
"Pushkin. You are aware that he was to have married Sophie Narishkin?"
"That is—it was a piece of medical jugglery. They proposed to prolong the invalid's life and make it happier by her betrothal."
"All the same, Pushkin was her husband elect, and the Czar was deeply hurt that the very day of Princess Sophie's funeral Pushkin should go and get married to the lovely Bethsaba, whom he ran away with from the Ghedimins'!"
"Hullo! So he ran away with the little Circassian princess!"
"The Czar was very cut up at his heartlessness. Hence his displeasure with Fräulein Ilmarinen."
"But what had she to do with it?"
"She was witness to the marriage."
"What, she? And she who worshipped Pushkin! That is a dangerous woman!"
"Fortunately she can't do much harm now. She begged an audience of the Czar; but his Majesty answered that he would only receive her in your presence."
"Then it shall be a hot reception for her! Thanks for the good news!"
And Araktseieff hastened off to the Hermitage, where the Czar was to be found before noon.
Alexander extended his hand with emotion to the returned favorite, who had travelled night and day to obey his behest.
"My only true friend!" he said, in a low voice.
"Not the only one, sire. The Czarina stands first."
"You are right. We have come together again, and I am only beginning to learn that in her I have won back a whole world. I grudge the moments which this pile of drafts causes me to spend from her."
"I am at your orders, sire!"
"That will greatly help. Just you look through this sheaf of papers, which I can make nothing of, and execute everything according to your own judgment."
"I will not stir from here before I have gone through them all."
"Among them you will find a petition for a farewell audience from Fräulein Ilmarinen. Answer in my name that I am willing to receive her, but solely in your presence. Now I am off to church, where I shall meet the Czarina. We are holding a requiem mass for poor Sophie Narishkin."
Araktseieff made feint to be hearing this for the first time; and in consequence of the melancholy surprise went through a theatrical scene of up-turned eyes and exclamations, ending up with, as he kissed the hand of the Czar, "I feel that my heart is torn out of my body at this mournful news, sire!" He was the only man in the world who secretly exulted over the news of the unhappy child's death.
The Czar left him alone in his study; and the favorite found many more important matters to attend to than Zeneida's petition. From the multitudinous papers it was plain to see that when the cat's away the mice begin to play. Everything was tending to lead the Czarback to the paths of liberalism. Here must the first clearance be made!
A few days later Zeneida was surprised, in the midst of her packing, by a visit from Jakuskin.
"I have come to tell you how glad I am that you are leaving us."
"A singular kind of farewell."
"But comprehensible! It is well for you that you are going; and well for us, too. The rôle you were playing is at an end, and I am glad of it!"
"So it seems."
"Araktseieff is returned, and his iron hand is wielded over our heads. You, fair Madonna, had exiled him with your refined arts. Now it has become evident that the refinement of intrigue does not pay in our atmosphere. The old tyrant is back, and the Czar more completely in his power than ever."
"I know it. I have had intimation that a farewell audience will only be accorded me in his presence."
"And you are going?"
"Decidedly. I must reconcile the Czar with Pushkin."
"Is that your only reason?"
"What else keeps me here?"
"The wish to depose friend Araktseieff."
"I have no power to do that."
"Well, then, I have."
"By violence?"
"It is already done. To-morrow morning will no longer see him in St. Petersburg. I have struck him to the heart, and not with a dagger. His fate is already sealed. He is dead and buried already, though he has no idea of it. Read this letter."
Zeneida's face changed from ghastly white to fiery redas she hastily perused the letter handed her by Jakuskin. Her lips parted with surprise and horror as she read.
"You are terrible men!" stammered she, as she gave it back.
"We understand what we are about, eh?"
"And he knows nothing of it?"
"There is not a man about him who dares to make it known to him. Diabolka wrote me herself. I have copied her letter and sent the whole affair to the Czar through the Sophien post. May he learn it from the lips of the Czar—or, what is still more probable, may it fall into his own hands in opening the Czar's letters. Ah, Zeneida! If only he received the letter at the very time that you were having audience! If only you could see him then! Oh, I could fain envy you the satisfaction of that moment!"
Zeneida's audience was appointed for the next day. It was the Czar's usual habit, on leaving Monplaisir at five in the afternoon, to pass a short time at the Hermitage, which stood near the Winter Palace and had been a favorite resort of Catherine II. His library here, where he transacted business, was furnished very simply. Hither were brought to him the letters which came by the Sophien post. The apartment was now reserved to Araktseieff's use, who sat there from morning to evening settling, on his own responsibility, the affairs of the vast empire in the name of the Czar. Matters of home and foreign policy, religion, education, trade, finance, all were dependent on his sole will; ministers and stadt holders alike his puppets. Alexander would take no part in anything—signing, unread, whatever Araktseieff laid before him. Those drafts laid aside by him were mere waste paper.
To-day, too, found the favorite hard at work at the Czar's own writing-table, Alexander restlessly pacing the room, for Fräulein Ilmarinen alone had been granted audience that day.
Zeneida presented herself at the appointed hour. She was dressed in deep mourning, her golden hair forming a striking contrast to her sombre attire.
The Czar advanced to meet her, but received her with marked coldness.
Araktseieff feigned not to see her; did not lift his eyes from the papers before him.
"Fräulein Ilmarinen," said Alexander, "you desired to speak with me personally. You may speak."
"Will your Majesty forgive the boldness of my request, but I have papers to place before you which the owner intrusted to me on sole condition that I delivered them personally into your own hands. These papers form the diary of the late Princess Sophie Narishkin!"
With a deep sigh the Czar exclaimed, "Poor child!" his voice trembling with agitation.
"It was her last wish, and I must fulfil it."
"You were with her, then, in her last hours?"
"And afterwards. She had sent for me."
"It was you who closed her eyes?"
Zeneida bowed her head silently.
"I thank you," said the Czar, and, taking from her the white-bound diary, he held out his hand to her—a soft, thin hand—but the action was not a cordial one.
Zeneida kissed the hand.
"Have you any wish, Fräulein Ilmarinen?"
"Only one, sire! That you should graciously please to read the last three pages of Sophie's diaryin my presence."
The Czar glanced back, as though to ask Araktseieff's permission. Then only did he resolve to accede to her wish, and, opening the diary, he read.
He bit his lips to conceal his emotion. But Zeneida well knew what it was he was reading; she knew the whole contents of the diary, as well as those last confused lines written by the convulsed hand of an unhappy child, looking forward with yearning and dread to the cold embrace of death. And the Czar, as he concluded the last page, looking up at Zeneida, saw that her eyes were filled with tears.
Mutely he nodded his head and sighed.
"She wanted me to read this to exonerate Pushkin, did she not? She wished it so. She had a great, noble soul!"
"Indeed she had, sire!"
"And it was at her desire; and Pushkin was only fulfilling her last wishes in acting as he did?"
"He could not have done otherwise."
"I believe it. He could not have done otherwise. And yet I cannot reconcile myself to the thought that he did it—that in the very same hour that he had covered the face of one bride with the funereal veil he could draw the bridal veil over the face of the other! He had to do it! And yet it seems incomprehensible to human understanding how there can be a whole eternity in one short hour of time; how, in one short hour, a man can fly from the arctic pole to the equator; how, in one and the same moment, a man can mourn over a dead love and marry a living one!"
"But if he had loved her previously?" asked Zeneida, softly.
"What did you say?"
"If that which he experienced for her who was gonewas but the adoration and boundless reverence for a being of another world, whose wings were already bearing her heavenward when first he knew her? If all the affection, tenderness, devotion which led him to the feet of his worshipped bride were but sacrifices offered at the shrine of a saint to keep her in life?"
Alexander struck his forehead with his hand.
"You are right! I never inquired into it. Never asked him if the dream of love were more than a sick girl's fancy? He suffered himself to be bound by that dream. That was the whole of it. In his heart he loved another, and would have sacrificed himself for her. It was all my doing, my fault—for everything I do is faulty, and everything that goes wrong is through me!"
These words were spoken by the Czar of All the Russias, not in bitterness, but with the deep melancholy of conviction. It moved the heart to pity.
Suddenly he turned to Zeneida.
"Do you wish me, then, to grant Pushkin permission to return?"
"No, sire. He is in good hands. Whoever is a true friend to him would rather desire that he should live a happy lifefar from St. Petersburg!"
This surprised Araktseieff. He threw his pen down and scrutinized Zeneida.
"And for yourself, have you no wishes?" continued the Czar.
"I am leaving St. Petersburg to-morrow, sire!"
"And do you not wish that I should send you back your credentials?"
Oh, how proudly she raised her head at the words! She, too, was a queen, and she proved it.
"Sire, where I am once shown that my presence is unwelcome I do not remain!"
It was an audacious speech, bordering on treason, and not the manner in which to address the Czar of All the Russias!
Springing from his chair, it was the favorite and not the melancholy monarch who hastened to reply to the haughty singer.
"Are you aware, young lady, that there are duties from which a feeling of wounded pride does not exempt us? To them belongs the respect due to the throne and ruler, to whom you owe your fame."
Zeneida's bosom heaved; her nostrils dilated like those of a zebra prepared for the fight with a wolf. Her great dark flashing eyes threatened to annihilate the favorite; her lips quivered as if with fever.
"Your Excellency," she gasped, "there are men who have carried gratitude to their benefactors to the other ends of the earth with them, and who, though they had the misfortune to lose the favor of their august protectors,have not gone home to sing the 'Knife Song'!"
This was such a smart slap in the face to Araktseieff that he went back to his seat as though thinking it not worth his while to reply to the insinuation. Did she really know about it? Had she her secret spies—perhaps Diabolka?—the gypsy girl could write now!
Instead of his silenced favorite, the Czar now took up the lance. It was but fair. If the squire defends his lord, surely his lord should defend the squire.
"Your bitter remarks are in the wrong place, Fräulein Ilmarinen. If there is one man in Greater Russia who deserves to be looked upon as a perfect pattern of fidelity and loyalty, that is the man! He who has been at my side in every battle; has shared with me every danger, yet never claiming part in my glory; who watches, that I may sleep; who defies the world, to defend me;who forsakes me never, when all else desert me; that man is Araktseieff! What hard proofs of loyalty has he not withstood! How often have his enemies prevailed to banish him! And yet, as often as I have called, he has returned, without a word of reproach to me! I struck him a vital blow in exiling his son, yet he could kiss my hand and say I had done right, and remain loyal to me. Such is Araktseieff!"
But the favorite could not glory in this imperial recognition of his services, for, as he resumed his seat and, in order to mark his contemptuous indifference, opened the Sophien post-bag, the very letter Jakuskin had mentioned to Zeneida came to hand, and absorbed his attention to such a degree that he actually became deaf to the sound of his own praises from the lips of the Czar.
Zeneida saw how his face was working with demoniacal torture; how, convulsed by nameless horror, it had changed to the semblance of a maddened spectre; she saw his hair stand on end, his lips become blue, his eyes start from their sockets.
"Oh, woe is me!" he suddenly roared out, in a tone so brutalized that the Czar turned round in affright. Araktseieff beat his breast with the letter, as a man tries to heal his wound with the hair of the dog that bit him, or of a scorpion with its dead body; then, up from his seat, "Oh, woe! oh, woe! that I came back! Why was I not there at the time?" And he flung out of the room like a madman.
The Czar, thinking that a sudden fit of mania had seized the favorite, endeavored to hold him back.
"Alexis Andreovitch! What is the matter—where are you rushing?"
"Pardon, your Majesty; I must go back to Grusino."
"You will not leave me now? Affairs of state—the country?"
Zeneida, placing herself directly in front of Araktseieff, with arms crossed on her breast, gave him one look.
That look sobered him for an instant. Compelling his countenance to resume its cold exterior, while the Czar laid his hand soothingly on his arm, his official self fought the real Araktseieff for the mastery. But this time the man conquered. Striking his forehead with the crushed letter still held in his hand, he burst out:
"What do I care for Russia? What do I care for all this miserable earth—for the Czar—for all the gods, when they could let such things happen? Oh, woe is me!"
And, pushing away the Czar's hand, he rushed screaming from the room like one struck to death. The letter to the Czar he took with him.
"What can have come to the man?" exclaimed the Czar in amazement.
He had but now been investing him with virtues such as had never been possessed save by that one man, and here this very man suffers himself to indulge in so coarse and violent an outbreak as would not be ventured upon before a petty prince, let alone a Russian Czar.
Was there some witchcraft in Zeneida's gaze that could madden the soberest men, until, flinging down the seals of office at the feet of their sovereign, they should say:
"What is your country to me? What care I for you and your gods?"
The eyes of the Czar strove to read the secret from Zeneida's face.
The artiste would have withdrawn.
"Stay!"
"If your Majesty commands, I will stay altogether and not leave St. Petersburg."
"Do you know what ails this man?"
"I do."
"Then speak."
The double wedding was to be celebrated. The whole of the tenantry had been commanded to attend. The courtyard of the castle had been thronged with wondering serfs from early dawn. Two couples—one handsome, the other loathsome—were to be married that day.
The preparations were on a magnificent scale. For three whole days the castle cooks had been engaged in making the national dishes. Long floral walks had been erected in the courtyard; the gateway had been converted into a triumphal arch by means of wreaths and colored transparencies. In the centre of the great courtyard was a stage erected, covered with gay-hued carpets of goat's hair. Upon it stood a table bearing an image of the Virgin Mary, the covered plate in which were the wedding-rings, a goblet, bread and salt—in fine, everything required for the ceremony preceding the marriage service. For there is much to be gone through before a bridal couple reaches the church portion of the ceremony—much to be gone through at the hands of the bystanders, the groomsmen, bridesmaids, and wedding-mother.
The wedding-mother has an important part to play. Until they arrive at the church doors she is the principal personage.
Daimona is the wedding-mother in this instance. She is marrying one of her serfs to her slave; she is mother to both. The high-backed chair upon the tribune is for her. At first sound of the bells the ceremony begins. From the priest's house the bridesmaids bring the bride in her bridal array. Diabolka's dress glistens with heavy gold embroidery; a costly girdle encircles her slender waist, on her neck hangs a fivefold necklace of gold coins; her head-dress is of precious stones. One might think she was a princess. From the opposite side resounds a horn, and the bridegroom, Schinko, is seen advancing with his supporters and groomsmen; his coal-black, curly hair, falling on to his shoulders, betraying, despite the national costume, the bridegroom's Indian descent.
The groomsmen welcome the approaching bride with song, and follow the bridal pair to the altar. From out the stables the second couple are now brought. Wild screeches and the squeak of the bagpipe accompany them in their progress. The pomp of wedding garments only serves to make them more ridiculous. They are received with mocking rhymes, which seem to please them highly. Both are very drunk; they kiss every one who comes in their way; but as they near each other they cut hideous grimaces at one another; and as they go up to the altar steps the bride gives the bridegroom a good pinch on the arm, while the bridegroom deals her out a smart kick with his foot.
This couple is also placed at the table, so that bridegrooms and brides stand one at each corner.
At the second peal of bells the wedding-mother descends with her whole retinue from the castle. The retinue is composed of twelve female slaves, clad in white, who line the steps on either side. The wedding-mother mounts the tribune alone, and takes her seat upon the throne.
She is dressed like a queen, and wears a purple mantle; her cap of marten-skin is embroidered with gold and pearls; her face painted white and red. She begins the ceremony.
"Schinko, what do you bring the bride for your wedding present?"
And Schinko details what he brings her:
"Two gay-colored beds, a cloak of Karassia cloth lined with fox, a breastplate with silver buttons, a kokosnik set with pearls, two pair of red boots, an embroidered linen shirt, twelve zinc plates, a dish, and a gold-embroidered head-dress and veil—if she behaves well!"
All these gifts were brought round by the bridegroom's supporters, and severally shown to the guests.
The bride, on her side, gives the bridegroom clothes, ornaments, household utensils, and, last, a bundle of birch rods, "with which he is to chastise me when I do not behave well."
Now it is the turn of the second couple.
"Well, Polyka, and what do you bring your bridegroom?"
But this well-assorted couple are not content that one should speak before the other; one interrupts the other, and they splutter out:
"I, a ragged cloak."
"I, a pot with a hole in it."
"I, a footless stocking in which ten cats could not catch one mouse."
"I, an empty jug that once had brandy in it."
"I, a bed sacking, with no blankets, and that lacks feathers."
The wedding guests laughed themselves ill over this dialogue of the bridal couple.
"And then twelve pair of 'dubina'!" shouted the bridegroom, with a loud laugh.
"With two ends to them," returned the bride, with a giggle.
The word "dubina," so soft-sounding in Russian, signifies in the barbaric English tongue—stick! The sack has found a mouth, the vinegar jar a stopper, and he his match, grinned the wedding guests.
"Now exchange rings," says Daimona to the couples. "They are in this covered plate. Those of the one couple are of gold and silver; the gold one is the bride's; the silver, the bridegroom's. The rings of the second couple are of copper and lead."
The wedding-mother, removing the silken cover from the plate, signed to Diabolka to set the example.
Diabolka, taking the gold and silver ring, placed the gold one on her own finger, and was handing the silver one to Schinko.
Daimona seized Diabolka's hand.
"Not so! You will give the silver ring to Vuk; and Schinko the copper one to Polyka.For your bridegroom is Vuk, and Schinko's bride is Polyka.That is the arrangement."
A burst of loud laughter followed upon these words. Now there would be some real fun. Diabolka and Vuk, Polyka and Schinko. The wedding-mother had the right to marry her serfs as she chose. Her serfs belonged to her, hand and foot, as did her horses and her asses. She can pair her serfs as she chooses.
The laughter of the assembled guests grew louder as the two drunken monsters, at Daimona's words, threw themselves on the handsome prey given over to them.
Their laughter was only stopped when Diabolka, before them all, gave Vuk such a blow on the chest with both hands that he went backwards off the table, and, rolling from the tribune, fell among the people.
Things were indeed going badly.
Daimona, springing towards the table like a fury, struck her fist violently upon it. At that sound the spectators' laughter suddenly ceased. The grin was still on their faces, but every sound died away on their laughing lips.
It was fun no longer.
"You will not take the husband I have chosen for you?" shrieked Daimona, in fury.
"No," returned the girl, stamping her foot, "no!"
"Dog! gypsy devil! You dare to oppose me—me, who raised you from a dung-heap!"
"Then let me go back to the dung-heap."
"So you shall! If you will not have the bridegroom I have given you, then take off the bridal dress I gave you, and be off in the gypsy rags you came in. But they want something to complete them—the addition of a thrashing for your audacity. Schinko! Here!"
He himself, her elder brother, her lover, her bridegroom!
Schinko was wearing, as bridegroom, the symbol of his office hanging from his girdle—the short-handled whip. At his mistress's command he raised the whip.
"Strike!" ordered Daimona.
The girl, white with fear, held her face between her hands.
"Brother, can you strike me?"
She had even got so far as to fear the lash. Or was it the thought that it was Schinko's hand which was to strike that made her shrink back? The gypsy's heart was not hard enough to let him strike the blow. He threw the whip away.
"Dog, pick up that whip; or shall I have you and her tied together to the tail of a wild horse? Go on. Slash away until I say enough; fifty lashes for me, fifty for Junker Jevgen."
Schinko picked up the whip.
Despairing, the girl, flinging herself at Daimona's feet, clasped her knees, and, sobbing, implored for mercy.
"Ah, you abomination, that's the place for you!" cried Daimona through her clinched teeth; and seizing the girl at her feet by her long plaits, she shrieked to Schinko, "Now, have at her!"
With one spring the gypsy, like a panther, was upon them, and, seizing Daimona by the throat with his left hand, with his right he whipped out his dagger. Terrified, Daimona released her hold of Diabolka and defended herself with one arm; the serf's dagger had pierced her shoulder, the blood spouted high from it.
"Heh! varlets! seize him! help!" stormed the woman.
But not a person stirred among the crowd. Daimona saw that she was left to herself. She was a powerful woman who knew how to fight; so, freeing herself from the gypsy's grasp, she pushed him from her, sprang off the tribune, and rushed towards the castle steps, Schinko after her.
Nor did a hand stir to hinder the serf. The crowd, the whole body of servants, looked on, and saw Schinko dash after the mistress and wound her afresh. The woman, turning upon him, began to wrestle with her pursuer; his dagger was plunged again and again intoher breast. Once more she succeeded in pushing back her adversary, and, darting into the midst of her women servants, shouted, "Help! protect me!" The women put their hands to their ears that they might not hear her cries. They all hated her. Then she was seen flying down the long corridor, screaming and shrieking, her murderer close upon her heels. Still no one went to the rescue.
At the extreme end of the corridor was the picture of a saint. Thither she fled, and fell down before it in beseeching attitude. But the saint did not stir a hand to protect her. Then rushing to the parapet of the balcony, she attempted in vain to spring from it.
The murderer slowly comes down the stone steps into the courtyard. A path is made for him. He ascends the bridal tribune. There, her face to the ground, lies a girl motionless with terror, shame, and despair. Close to her the wedding garments. The murderer wipes the blood off his dagger with the bridal veil, and, taking the girl by the hand, raises her to her feet. They look each other in the eyes. One look, like a couple of wild wolves. No need for speech! Then they run, hand in hand, into the steppe, into the woods—anywhere. No one seeks to hold them back. They were never seen again.
Who would attempt to find two wolves escaped from captivity, in their native lair, amid the dwellers of the endless steppes, whether in forest or jungle? Only once did the two call a halt, where Diabolka, having reached her gypsy encampment, wrote the letter to Jakuskin, in which she related the tragi-comedy of Grusino, and of which a copy fell into the hands of the Czar's favorite, acquainting him with the horrors that had taken place. The starosts ofGrusino had not had the courage to give him the tidings.
Zeneida acted wisely in having personally related the events to the Czar; for those who later informed him of what had occurred at Grusino made a point of causing it to appear that this murder was in connection with St. Petersburg secret societies. Many were set upon finding the motive for the deed in high circles, where it was a matter of interest to keep the favorite from the person of the Czar, and where it was hoped, by the banishment of the son, to have effected a rupture of the close bond uniting Czar and favorite. Schinko and Diabolka were hired by the conspirators.
Was there any truth in this? No one has ever cleared up the mystery. But if any hand had prepared the blow, it had struck home.
Araktseieff was to be seen tearing through the streets of St. Petersburg, hatless, with hair wildly streaming. Your orthodox Russian, when he mourns, goes in sun and snow with head uncovered.
On the day of his flight two great wagon-loads of state papers were despatched from the favorite's palace to the Hermitage. His orders, his sword, his keys of office, he sent by his house-porter to the Lord Chamberlain. And, at the moment of his departure, the thunder of "Holy Christopher" startled the inhabitants of St. Petersburg out of their rest. This father among cannons is only fired when a general dies. The court favorite had himself gone to the commandant of the fortress and ordered the cannon to be fired. The commandant had no choice but to obey. Araktseieff was commander-in-chief of the artillery. When the firing was over the commandant asked:
"What was the name of the deceased general?"