XXXVI: THE PRINCESS
THE light of a hundred torches filled the court-yard with a crimson glow, and shed broad and wavering flashes on the great solid building, with its grim look of strength and pride. On either side of the main entrance the serfs stood in double tiers, clad in white caftans banded with purple, and their wild, dark faces illumined by the streaming fire of the torches that they held aloft, fifty strong men on one side and fifty on the other; while farther off, in the corners of the great yard, and at the gateway, crowded men and women and even children, in every colour, from deep scarlet to pale pink, a living mass of creatures that served one lord, the thralls of the vast domain of this Russian prince, his slaves and his warriors. Above, the black smoke from the burning pine-knots hung heavily, and in the broad blaze of the fiery illumination below Prince Galitsyn had dismounted and advanced, slow and stately; magnificently robed, splendidly armed, the descendant of the Lithuanian monarchs looked every inch a prince and a king. Onward between the long lines of solemn, white-robed fire-bearers, and up the broad steps, he moved and I followed. In the confusion of the great throng I was unrecognised, and thought to be in his train. At the top of the steps he paused, and I lookedbeyond him into the lobby, lighted too by torches, and here, at the threshold, lay two great bears—skins, heads, and claws fairly intact—and stretched across the entrance from side to side, while in the centre of the lobby stood a table, which held a great silver salver, and on it was a silver image oroberis; before that the bread, and beside it a huge silver salt-cellar. A little behind this table stood Prince Voronin, and a young woman, whom I took to be his new wife, but I had eyes for neither, but only for the tall, slender, white-robed figure who stood at the table, looking directly toward us, her head lifted proudly, her dark eyes shining—the Princess Daria!
Galitsyn, too, saw no one but the princess. Obeying the custom of his people, he trod upon the heads of the bears and entered the lobby, and the princess, coming two steps forward, held out the bread and salt. Her hands were firm, and her round arms, but her face was pale—pale and luminous. He took the bread from her hands and broke it, and he tasted the salt, and the Prince Voronin, advancing, clasped him in a warm embrace. It was at this moment that Daria saw me. If she had been pale before, she now turned white to the lips, but swift as a thought she came to me, as I walked across the bears, and held out the bread and salt with hands that shook.
“Take it quickly!” she cried in a low tone; “eat it in the Virgin’s name!” and her voice quivered.
Not ignorant of the sacredness of the bond, I obeyed her, and as I did so, I heard Voronin’s deep tones.
“Who is there, Daria? I command you not to break bread with him!”
But she turned and looked at him, while I still held the hand that had given me the bread.
“He saved my life, O my father!” she said in a sweet, clear voice, “and he has tasted your bread and salt; surely then, he is your guest also, O excellency.”
And I felt her hand like ice.
Galitsyn had turned also and was gazing at me with a strange face. No doubt his breast was filled with contending emotions. Had I not escaped his ruffians and defied him? But the face of Prince Voronin froze into an image of stone, and only the eyes blazed fire, while the stranger at his side, his wife—as I had divined—bustled forward and caught hold of Daria, remonstrating loudly.
“He saved your life, yes, my daughter,” replied the prince, sternly scornful, “and his own; but since he is my guest, I will not hang him at the gateway. But leave his side—I command you!”
The princess had already dragged her hand from mine and she drew back now, and stood silent, her eyes on the floor, while I addressed her father.
“M. le Prince,” I said, “in spite of many difficulties,I have escaped from those who would have carried me to Archangel, and I have journeyed southward for the sole purpose of seeing the Princess Daria. I understand, monsieur, your reluctance to give your consent to a marriage brought about by the Czarevna Sophia, and in circumstances so peculiar. Nor do I blame you for refusing to intrust your daughter to a stranger, but, M. le Prince, I have upon me papers that will establish my birth and my rank, not entirely unsuitable for your consideration, and although a foreigner, monsieur, and a stranger, I love the princess deeply, so deeply that I will force no claim upon her. She is free to choose; if she will recognise the marriage, I am her devoted husband and lover, but she—and she alone—must choose.”
Prince Galitsyn could forbear no longer, his proud face flushed deeply.
“It would be well, sir,” he said haughtily, “to prove that your birth is equal to that of the princess; as for the marriage——” He snapped his fingers.
I eyed him coldly. “M. le Prince,” I said courteously, “permit me to suggest that you ask her imperial highness, Sophia Alexeievna, to support your suit to the Princess Daria,” and as I said it, I heard a rebellious titter, and saw Vassalissa, little rogue that she was, in the background.
Galitsyn turned from red to white, and his handclenched on his sword, but he had no time to answer, for Voronin spoke.
“I have heard you, sir,” he said to me, “with amazement; yonder is the door; two minutes longer and my stewards will see that you find it or——”
“Remember the bread and salt, my uncle,” said Vassalissa softly, plucking at his sleeve.
He shook her off, but he bit his lip. As for me, I folded my arms on my breast and stood firmly, in the centre of the hall.
“M. le Prince,” I said quietly, “I am your daughter’s husband; I must speak to her, and learn her will from her own lips.”
“From the hands of my slaves, rather!” he cried fiercely, his eagle eye kindling. “Do you beard me in my own house, fool?”
“Nay, monsieur,” I replied, unmoved; “but I must have my answer. As she wills it—so will it be.”
His face worked furiously, Galitsyn muttered below his breath, fingering his weapon. All about us, in a constantly narrowing circle, gathered the fierce-eyed serfs. The red light of many torches rose and fell. Daria stood like a statue.
“Answer him,” commanded Voronin fiercely, “answer him, you little fool, and have it done; the fellow raves!”
“Madame,” I said to her, low and tenderly, “I loveyou—I am your husband, if you will. Answer me without fear or favour, for I will surely defend you.”
She looked up and her dark eyes met mine, and slowly, very slowly, the colour of an early rose came softly to her cheeks, but her expression was inscrutable. She looked indeed the picture of pride.
“Do you love me, madame?” I whispered. “Will you remain my wife?”
The stillness of the place was like the stillness of those vast steppes, out in the night. I heard her draw her breath—as in a dream, I saw the ring of fierce faces, the streaming fire, the proud figures of the two princes with their hands on their swords, and behind them the child, her cousin, watching with eager eyes. Outside, in the court, a thin, high voice began to chant the welcome song for the princely guest, but with it there was the clash of swords. She did not speak.
“Are you dumb, my daughter?” demanded Voronin scornfully. “Answer him—I bid you!”
“Nay, M. le Prince,” I said proudly. “Of her own free will or not at all.”
He bowed his head, smiling bitterly. “Do I force her?” he asked.
“Mme. la Princesse,” I said, “ask you, for the last time, will you answer me of your free will, or do you fear to do so?”
“Of my free will,” she answered, in a low voice, but very proudly.
“Will you be my wife still?” I asked gently. “Will you accept my love and henceforth bear my name?”
She took a step backward and stood quite alone and erect.
“I thank you, monsieur, for my life,” she said firmly, “and for standing between me and Kurakin—I thank you. But—it is well for you to go away—it is well to leave me. I cannot be—be your wife.” She hesitated, drew her breath quickly, and then added, in a clear low tone, “I do not love you.”
I bowed profoundly, and without a word I turned and walked across the bear skins, down the broad stone steps, into the crowded court, where I saw only hostile faces and the flash of naked steel.