XIV: A DESPERATE CLIMB
AGAIN I tried the door and beat upon it, and then returned to the window and was held there by the sight that unfolded before my eyes. The boyars, knowing well that the fury of the rising tempest would break upon their heads, were trying to escape; in the brief time that had elapsed since the first bells began to toll their coaches had been hurried out and the Red Place was a scene of confusion. From all parts of the palace and the adjoining buildings officials of the court and nobles were rushing out, and running hither and yon; the horses plunged and fretted and the men shouted to each other; not a man among them had a cool head, and never was there greater need—for the mob was coming on. It had evidently been impossible to close the gates, and now I heard the tramp of a multitude, besides its voice. And, at last, in the spaces between the buildings, I began to see the hundred-headed thing itself, a surging mass of men, so closely packed that it moved darkly, even in the sunshine, and above waved the broad folds of the banner of the Streltsi, which I knew well enough. It bore an image of the Virgin on it and was esteemed a sacred emblem, though it was to look that day on dark and bloody work. Now the roar of the mob rose, even in thecourt of the Kremlin, and echoed about the palace of the czars. On, on they came, driving back the fleeing boyars, like a herd of sheep, closing in on the carriages and horses, surging closer and ever closer upon the Red Staircase.
I looked down upon them in much curiosity; for an instant I forgot everything else. Here was the only military force in Russia, the only guardians of the throne, in mutiny, and who could oppose them? What man could quell the tumult, drive these mad creatures back to their dens? Fierce faces looked up, brawny arms brandished their weapons, and I noticed that they had even broken the long handles of their spears, that they might use them as swords. They poured in from every avenue and gateway, they choked up every outlet and massed themselves about the palace, shouting with passionate fury.
“Down with the Naryshkins! Death to the traitors! They have murdered the Czarevitch Ivan!”
Down with the Naryshkins! Ah, Mme. Sophia, this is then your handiwork? Down with your rivals, up with the Miloslavskys, and the blind czarevitch and his great sister. I saw what she had done, and more than ever I dreaded her power over the Princess Daria.
Meanwhile the uproar in the Red Place beggared description; for the most part I could not distinguishwhat was said, or rather shouted, but, ever and anon, I did clearly comprehend the cry:
“Give us the traitors! The Naryshkins have murdered the Czarevitch Ivan and the imperial family!”
The idea that a conspiracy really existed in the family of the Czarina Natalia to destroy the rivals of her little son, the Czar Peter, had got a firm hold on the ignorant minds of these creatures, and it had doubtless much to do with the final outbreak, but even after they were assured of the safety of the czarevitch, they kept on in their furious course.
While I looked, the patriarch, in full pontificals, came out upon the bedchamber porch and addressed the rioters, and with him were some boyars, among whom I recognised Prince Galitsyn. But their appeals to the mob had no result; the soldiers crowded up under the balcony and on the very Red Staircase itself; they brandished their weapons and shouted:
“Give us the traitors! Down with the Naryshkins!”
Their wild upturned faces scowled fiercely upon the nobles; they gesticulated and screamed, but, as, yet, no blood was shed, and only one or two stones had been thrown, and they fell wide of the mark, but the sullen rumble of wrath rose on the outskirts of the throng; the naked spears flashed in the sunshine, death was there, riot and murder—no sane man could be blind to it. Once more that wild shout rose.I climbed on the window-sill and looked down and saw the boyars bringing out the Czarina Natalia and her son, the little Czar Peter, and with them the weak-minded Czarevitch Ivan. At the sight of them the rioters went mad; they cried out so fiercely that the voice of the patriarch was drowned. They brought ladders and climbed to the very porch where the czarina stood—white as death—with the two boys beside her. The patriarch talked to the soldiers, but in vain, they pushed him roughly aside and clambered over one another until they pressed so close upon the czarina that she gave way, and hurried back into the palace, with her son and stepson, and then—for the moment—I thought that the end was at hand. The rioters howled like wolves and pressed forward; below a dark mass of men and a forest of cruel steel.
It was at this crisis that the chancellor, Matveief, came out; he was an old man of stately bearing, the uncle of the Czarina Natalia, and once the commander of these animals. At the sight of him there was a sudden lull, the noise died away, the onward rush was stayed; they waited, snarling like beasts, and the chancellor spoke. His voice did not come up to me distinctly; I could not follow his speech word for word, but I caught the drift of it. He was an astute politician, and he told them that they had been deceived by bad men, that no conspiracy existed,that they had themselves seen both the czar and the czarevitch alive and in good health, and it behoved them to disperse quietly to their homes, and, if they did so, he would himself intercede for them, that the czar might pardon this mutiny and attend to their grievances. Never was a speech better received; a shout of applause followed it, and the ringleaders began to waver. All might yet be well. I drew a breath of relief, and in this season of quiet I heard, for the first time, a knocking at the door of my prison.
I leaped from the sill and, forgetting Matveief and his diplomacy, hastened to the door. The knocking was now followed by a scratching sound that had become familiar to me.
“Maluta,” I said, “is it you?”
“Yea, O my master!” replied the shrill voice of the dwarf. “I have been trying to find you.”
“Can you undo the door?” I demanded.
“Nay,” he replied, “I have tried, but ’tis double-locked with strong iron locks, and neither can I get the keys. They are in the bosom of the fat chamberlain.”
“Canst get a mallet to me?” I asked. “In this excitement no one will heed you.”
“I cannot get it to you, save by the window,” said Maluta, “even if I can find one—have you tried the window?”
“’Tis a sheer leap on to the spears of the Streltsi,” I said drily.
There was a silence on the other side of the door for a moment, and in the pause I heard someone speaking on the Red Staircase.
Afterwards, I knew it was the second in command of the Department of the Streltsi, Prince Dolgoruky, and it was he who let the lions loose.
“The Czarevna Sophia means mischief to the Princess Daria,” said Maluta’s voice.
Then I went to the window with a sudden resolve to do or die. As I looked out an awful shout came from the rioters; there was a rush upon the staircase, and the Boyar Dolgoruky, he who had just ordered them to disperse, was hurled down upon their spears. It was over in a moment, and they trampled him under foot. The bright blades dripped now with crimson, and the yelp of the wolf who laps blood came up. I saw them seize the chancellor and hurl him down upon their spears, as they would have hurled a bag of salt.
But I had no time to lose; I tried the iron fretwork beside the window. Then I went back to the door and shouted to Maluta, for the tumult almost drowned my voice.
“Go to the room above, below the roof, and wait there—if I can climb to the window ledge, I will joinyou there,” I said, and heard his assent before I returned to my desperate attempt.
I took off my shoes and bound them at my waist by my scarf, and leaping on the sill in my stocking feet stood a moment, looking down on a scene of blood. The yell of the mob and the screams of the dying came up together. The body of Matveief had been hacked to pieces; blood flowed on the Red Staircase, blood dripped alike from hands and weapons and smeared their faces with a hideous ruddiness. The mob was no longer densely massed, it was breaking asunder, into small parties in pursuit of victims. Every boyar, every man of rank, was a suspect, and he stood chance of a trial unless he was known to be of the Miloslavsky party. Even the horses in the carriages were cut down, that not a noble might escape. I saw two men killed while I stood there, and then I swung myself out on the ledge of the window and, seizing the iron-work, began to ascend, expecting every moment that it would give way and hurl me headlong on the spears below. But it held, and I was half-way up, I saw Maluta’s wing-eared face above me, over the window-sill. I had but a few yards to climb when a shrill yell immediately below told me that I had been seen; they would, of course, mistake me for one of their enemies, yet could only move slowly and with the greatest care, and, meanwhile, I was a conspicuous mark. Anotheryell, and then a stone struck the wall below my feet, another at my side, a fourth took me fairly in the small of my back, but I had gained a yard, my hand was on the window-sill. Then I heard a bullet sing past me, and the report of a pistol; someone had fired from the porch. It missed, but now the roar came up, like the roar of thunder. I heard a dying man scream, and, at the instant, caught the window-sill and swung forward, landing fairly on it, just as another bullet cut through my sleeve.
I leaped upon the sill and, looking down at those hideous faces, kissed my hand derisively to them, and sprang back into the room beside Maluta—safe, by a hair’s-breadth.