XXX: THE PRINCE VORONIN
IN this fashion, riding hard, we came in sight of Troïtsa. In the clear sunshine the cupolas and turrets of the beautiful building rose clearly outlined against the sky. The great monastery, with its chapels and its shrines and its glebe, was a princely territory, and close under the protection of its walls clung a village, grown there, doubtless, through the constant stream of pilgrims, whose wants could not be altogether satisfied at the refectory. Herds of cattle moved placidly along the slopes to the south, the herds of the brotherhood, for there was wealth there and power. From among these monks were chosen the great dignitaries of the church, for the priests, compelled to marry and to work in the parishes, could never receive high offices, and a bitter jealousy raged between the two orders. The sunshine on the golden crosses, and the white walls, and over the green slopes, the peaceful atmosphere, the sweet chimes of the church bells, greeted us and made the scene on the road seem like a nightmare. We slackened our pace and went more slowly up the road which led to the gates, and as we approached, I observed a cortège leaving them and coming toward us. Such a cortège as I had seen commonly in Moscow, the serfs running ahead of an open carriage drawnby three horses, the marten-tails floating in the breeze, and in the vehicle a noble in his rich and gaudy dress, and behind again, the serfs, bare-foot, but sparkling in broad collars and belts of gold on their white caftans. As they appeared the princess drew rein with a sharp exclamation, and I looked around at her, divining the cause of her discomfiture.
“My father!” she gasped, and looked at me strangely.
“Yes, madame,” I said, smiling grimly, “his excellency, the prince; have I not redeemed my pledge?”
“But,” she began, and stammered, “but my father—I must tell him—and you—what can you do?”
My face burned.
“Madame,” I said coldly, “do you think I am afraid to tell your father that I married you?”
It was her turn to blush, and her eyes shone strangely.
“You do not know him,” she replied simply. “He will not listen. I know the customs of your country are different; here, sir, a girl is given in marriage by her parents, as they will. Sometimes she never sees her bridegroom’s face until the hour of the ceremony. My father——” She stopped, bit her lip, and sat looking down at her horse’s ears, and the animal, with his bridle hanging loose, put his head down and cropped the grass.
“And your father intended you to marry PrinceGalitsyn,” I suggested coldly, and then—because the pain in my heart was sharp—I added; “and you, madame; do you love him?”
Then I thought a smile quivered about her lips, her head drooped prettily, she would not look up, and the prince’s carriage came swiftly on.
“Do I love him?” she repeated innocently; “who, sir—my father?”
“No, no!” I cried, in fierce haste, my heart beating wildly, “your lover.”
Then she cast a bewildering glance at me. “Which?” she asked, and this time I saw a dimple come and go in her cheek.
I urged my horse closer, and had my hand on her bridle when the prince’s runners came panting up to us, and the three horses were halted before us. He had recognised his daughter and beckoned to her. Every vestige of colour and of life faded out of her face, a moment before rosy and inscrutable, and she would have obeyed, but I rode forward instead, and halting beside his excellency’s carriage, I uncovered and greeted him with the courtesy I would show my equals in France. I told him that I had brought his daughter to him, and he eyed me coldly from head to foot. He was a handsome, dignified man, with white hair and a ruddy skin and clear blue eyes. Nothing, however, could exceed his hauteur; he could have matched the Grand Monarque himself in manner,and, in his own domain, he was as great an autocrat. His whole glance at me said, more plainly than words, “and who are you?” but he acknowledged my information with a stately gesture, at once dignified and courteous. Then he spoke a word in Russ to the slave at his feet, who rose and, opening a long bag, or pouch, began to gather up a handful of roubles, I looking on in some amazement while the slave counted them. Then Voronin spoke again, and this time audibly.
“Nay, twenty roubles more, Vasali,” he said; “would you stint the pay of a man who rescued my daughter?”
Saint Denis! did he take me for a lackey? My wrath well-nigh choked me.
“You mistake, M. le Prince,” I said, in a low voice, that the serfs in attendance might not hear; “I have brought back your daughter—as my wife!”
The slave at his feet, who heard me, dropped the bag of gold and fell on his knees gaping, while the prince merely stared at me, as if he thought me mad. Very briefly, therefore, I told him the story of Sophia and the painted gallery and the marriage, and as I did so, the Princess Daria rode up and drew rein beside me. Many emotions had played across the prince’s strong face as I spoke, but at the end it was inscrutable. He turned his stern eyes on his daughter.
“Is this true?” he asked, in a deep voice.
“It is true,” she replied, very low, “and he saved my life!”
I held up my hand. “Nay,” I said, “there is no virtue in that plea; I do not make it. I am your husband, madame!”
She gave me a strange look.
The prince turned to her again. “You have ever spoken the truth,” he said, in a hard voice. “I acquit you of fault in this; but has he guarded you, and treated you as becomes a princess, and my daughter?” His tone was terrible.
“I have been safe as with you, my father,” she replied, and her voice broke a little.
The prince called a serf. “Take the horse of the princess and lead her ahead of me back to Troïtsa,” he said, and then to me: “Sir, if she had testified against you, I would have had you hanged!”
“M. le Prince,” I replied coldly, “I am a Frenchman and a man of honour. Try me not too far, monsieur; even though you are her father, there are some things you may not say to me. Neither can you compel her to leave her husband—unless she wills it.”
He looked at me with disdain and laughed.
“Her husband!” he repeated. “As little her husband, Sir Frenchman, as that moujik in the field yonder,” and he signalled to his serfs to turn back to Troïtsa.
But I rode beside the carriage and looked into his face, and proud as he was, I saw him colour darkly.
“M. le Prince,” I said, “I am not the man to be thus lightly dealt with. If she wishes to be free—I will free her. No woman is my wife against her will; but if she chooses me of her free will, mine she is, and shall be, against the world.”
“And think you that the Princess Daria will choose you?” he asked contemptuously.
I returned his glance with equal pride. “And why not, monsieur?” I said quietly. “I am her husband.”
He laughed at that, as I have seen men laugh before they engage a deadly enemy.
“There are such things as divorces,” he said suavely, “and other—ways of removal.”
“Assassination, M. le Prince,” I suggested. “It has been tried. In France I am accounted wise enough to save my head.”
“It is well, sir,” he said; “I would advise you to use that wisdom now.” He pointed southward. “The road to Moscow lies there,” he added courteously, “and fifty roubles for your expenses—as a profit for the rescue of the princess.”
“You insult me, sir,” I said scornfully; “yonder is my wife, and yonder will I go,” and I rode forward, in defiance, to her side.
All this while we had been progressing slowly on the road to Troïtsa, and as I went forward the wholeprocession quickened its pace. As my horse came alongside of hers, the princess turned a pale face toward me.
“Monsieur, I pray you be advised,” she said, very low, “and anger him not. He seems a smooth man and courteous, but he has a violent spirit, and look you—you are one against all these, his slaves. ’Tis useless—’tis worse than useless!”
“And you?” I said, “and you—obey him through fear?”
Her lips quivered, she averted her eyes.
“Half an hour ago, you were not thus,” I murmured, “tell me if——”
She looked up and her eyes were full of pain.
“Hush!” she cried, “hush! I will not listen. Yonder is the gate—and I go to my cousin—I will obey my father, I——”
“Do you—will you repudiate your husband?” I asked firmly.
Her hands shook; she gave me an imploring look. “If you love me, monsieur,” she faltered, “I beseech you—retire now and leave us. To-morrow you can speak to him—the mad mood will pass if you——”
I leaned over and touched her hand.
“For your sake,” I said, and drew aside and let the cortège pass me and enter the domain of Troïtsa.
And yet, twelve hours later, I counted this act of gallantry as one of arrant folly, but who can lift the veil of destiny unless it be the astrologer?