On the red staircase

After leaving Galitsyn’s palace, I returned at once to my own quarters, and was glad to find that Pierrot had not neglected my instructions, and had a comfortable meal spread. I had been through a rough experience, and was well pleased to rest a little, with a feeling of satisfaction at the safe execution of my mission. I was well rid of the packet, and hoped too to be rid of the consequences. I saw that Pierrot was far less sanguine than I, for he moved about the table as if waiting on a corpse, his lugubrious countenance both amusing and annoying me. However, the evening passed without any event, and I went early to rest, feeling the effect of the rough handling of the previous night, for I was not a little sore and stiff.

The seven days which ensued were disgusting to every decent man. The pravezh continued, and officer after officer was publicly scourged before being permitted to retire in disgrace to his country-place. It was the revolting spectacle of a weak and tottering government unable to control its own soldiers, and swayed too by every fiendish impulse of the mob. How long this state of things could continue seemed an open question, and among the more conservative there was fear that Sophia would never be able to handle the spirit of evil that her intrigues had helped to set free, for it was no secret that the czarevna was working on the feelings of the ignorant soldiers, and upon the populace.

On every hand there were rumors that Sophia feared the treachery of the Naryshkins, and believed that Peter’s uncle, Ivan Naryshkin, was himself aiming at the throne. But Von Gaden, in his private talks with me, scoffed at the idea; he thought the czarevna far too shrewd to dream of such absurdities, and that she was merely circulating these canards for the purpose of inflaming the ignorant and seditious. I was myself confronted with a new situation, for since the affair of the packet, I had noticed a decided change at the palace, and the Czarina Natalia, on one occasion, treated me with marked coldness. Therefore, as my lot seemed cast with the Miloslavskys, I could no longer pose as an indifferent spectator, but watched the moves at court with the interest of one of the players at dice; and in those few days before the 25th of May, 1682, it was a desperate game, desperately played. Preparations were in progress for the coronation of Peter Alexeivitch, and the whole strength of the aristocratic party was rallying to his support; some of the most honorable names in Russia were reckoned among his immediate adherents; yet there was no master hand to grip the helm of state, and arrayed against them was a clever woman, seconded by Basil Galitsyn and Ivan Miloslavsky, a strong trio, two of them destined to rule Russia for seven years.

But in the midst of this public excitement, came a call upon me that turned my mind from such intrigues and concentrated it upon an effort to secure my own happiness. Ever since my first agreement with Mademoiselle Eudoxie, I had persistently watched Ramodanofsky’s residence, that no ill might come to Zénaïde without a warning to me. I had been at the Kremlin all day, and it was in the dusk of evening that I made my pilgrimage past the gloomy house, and as I approached, it struck me as more than usually forbidding in its aspect; either it was too early for lights, or they were not near the windows, and the effect was somber in the extreme. The gates of the courtyard were closed, and there was no sign of life. I passed around the front of the house and down the lane which had been the scene of Michael’s attack upon me. This lane continued around the back of the house, which was flanked by the other wing, where Mademoiselle Eudoxie’s room commanded a part of the lane from one small window; and it was here that she had agreed to place a signal in the hour of need. I had made the pilgrimage many afternoons without result, but as soon as I turned the corner of the wall that evening, I saw a white handkerchief fluttering on the window sill. Mademoiselle Eudoxie’s signal! For a moment I was taken by surprise, as we always are when we discover anything that we have looked for assiduously but without success day after day; so it was that I was not only astonished but alarmed at the sight of the signal, and was not slow to conjecture the danger which threatened Zénaïde. Now, in the hour of the coronation of the young czar and the return of Matveief, the Naryshkins were endeavoring to strengthen their position among the boyars, and this alliance would be pushed forward by Ramodanofsky, knowing as he did that after his action in regard to Sophia’s packet, he could hope for nothing from the Miloslavskys; moreover, there was, I knew, an undercurrent in this affair too deep even for my plummet line.

I walked down the lane and returned, observing the window in hopes of discovering mademoiselle on the watch for me; but all was quiet. Meanwhile, I had been reflecting upon the best course to pursue. It would be practically impossible for me to see mademoiselle until after dark, for I could not now approach the house without being seen, and there, too, was the difficulty of the closed gates. In the short twilight which ensued, I had time to collect my thoughts, and be in a measure prepared for the emergency. I reflected that, single handed, I could do little in case there was need for immediate action, and so, reluctant as I was to lose sight of the house, I returned to my own quarters and ordered Pierrot to bring a carriage, and wait at the end of the lane in case I should require either the vehicle or his services. I saw that he had no stomach for the errand, remembering too vividly his experience of the previous week; but he did not venture to offer any remonstrance, and in less than a quarter of an hour after my return to my post, he arrived at the entrance to the lane with the carriage. The driver was directed to wait a signal where he was; but I stationed Pierrot where he could watch the gates, which had been opened a few moments before to admit a guest. There were lights now in the front of the house, and choosing my opportunity, I slipped into the courtyard unobserved and passed around towards the wing. Here I was confronted with a darkness that alarmed me; only one light showed, and that was in the third window from the main building, where I had first seen Zénaïde. I went directly to the postern and tried it; but it was locked, and I was not a little nonplussed. I dared not knock, for I could not be sure what danger threatened the women, and who would answer my summons. Stepping back from the door, I looked up again at the dark and quiet house, and saw the light shining in the window above my head. Listening intently, I satisfied myself that all the noise in the house came from the other side of the main building; then, I whistled softly two bars from a love-song that I remembered having heard Mademoiselle Eudoxie sing in the old days at the Tour de Brousson. For a moment there was no reply, and I began to despair of attracting their notice without alarming the household; then I saw a slender figure outlined against the light within. I stepped into the middle of the court and waved my hand over my head. Zénaïde either recognized me or divined who it was, and called Mademoiselle Eudoxie, for I saw the unmistakable outline of the old maid’s gaunt figure behind her. I whistled again, very low, another bar from the same song, and was rewarded by seeing mademoiselle leave the window quickly, to go, as I knew, to the postern. She reached it almost as quickly as I did, and admitted me in silence, after first assuring herself that there had been no mistake. She carried a light in her hand, and fastening the door behind me, put her finger on her lip, and then signed to me to follow her. Stepping very cautiously, she preceded me up the stairs into the room where I had first surprised them. Zénaïde was still standing by the window, and at my entrance, took a few steps forward, and greeted me with an air of some reserve. I saw that she was very pale, and her eyes were strangely brilliant. Mademoiselle Eudoxie closed the door, and bolting it with the manner of a conspirator, set her light down beside the one on the table. Zénaïde made a movement as if to leave the room; but mademoiselle looked at her so reproachfully that she paused and stood irresolute. I broke the ice at once.

“I saw the signal, mademoiselle,” I said, “and responded immediately. You are in trouble?”

“The greatest!” ejaculated mademoiselle, clasping her hands and looking at Zénaïde. “The worst has happened!”

“M. de Brousson does not understand you, mademoiselle,” Zénaïde said gently; and then she turned to me, the color rising on her cheeks until she was no longer pale but sweetly confused. “The worst, M. le Vicomte, means simply that my uncle is determined to compel me to marry Viatscheslav Naryshkin to-morrow morning.”

“And she says that she will kill herself rather than marry a man whom she does not love!” put in mademoiselle, tearfully.

My eyes sought Zénaïde’s, and hers fell, the color sweeping up to her fair hair. In a moment I felt that the room was transformed, and no longer considered either the difficulty or the peril of the situation; I was moved out of myself. We were both so silent that mademoiselle stood looking from one to the other, with a growing terror on her thin features; and it seemed to me that those ecstatic little curls of hers danced in sympathy with her affrighted heart-beats.

“What can we do?” she exclaimed tremulously.

“If Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky is willing to be guided by my counsel, I think I can suggest a way to evade this trouble,” I said, with a little hesitation, trying quickly to decide on the wiser of two courses.

Zénaïde, having recovered her composure, turned to me with something of her natural manner.

“I am in too great straits to refuse any one’s advice, monsieur,” she said gently; “my uncle is an inflexible man, and I can expect no mercy at his hands—and surely none from Naryshkin,” she added with a gesture of contempt.

“Tell us what to do!” cried mademoiselle, hysterically, before I could reply; the poor soul was beside herself with terror.

“There are two courses open to you, Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky,” I said at once; “and in both cases you must accept my escort from this house to-night.”

I saw Zénaïde’s start and her questioning glance at mademoiselle, who was incapable of advising or guiding any one then, and who looked to me with implicit confidence.

“I have reason to think, mademoiselle,” I continued, addressing Zénaïde, “that the Czarevna Sophia could, and would, protect you against your uncle’s violence. There is also another way of securing your liberty, but that would take a longer time to accomplish”—I was thinking of a full exposure of Vladimir’s villainy. “One course would be to permit me to conduct you and Mademoiselle Eudoxie directly to the Kremlin, and to rely on the czarevna’s ability to defend you. The other course, which seems easier and safer as a first move, is to go secretly to Dr. von Gaden’s house. His wife will receive you, and I am sure that the doctor can and will conceal your presence there for a few days, until we find means to evade your uncle’s determination.”

“To what end, M. le Vicomte?” asked Zénaïde, quietly, a strangely resolute expression about her mouth.

I was embarrassed; it was no part of my intention to reveal my scheme for Ramodanofsky’s defeat, but I recognized the significance of her question; she had seen at a glance that all that was to be gained was a possible delay. It was not usual in Russia to oppose the guardian’s wishes in regard to the marriage of his charge, and I knew that she considered that the situation was desperate.

“Mademoiselle,” I said firmly, meeting her eyes with resolution, “there is a matter of which I cannot speak, but which bears immediately upon the case, and leads me to believe that your uncle dare not do violence to your inclinations in the face of the czarevna’s opposition, and he has deeply offended Sophia by his connection with this business of the packet. Trust me, mademoiselle, to unravel the tangled skein. At least, any delay would be better than marriage to-morrow with Viatscheslav!”

She threw back her head with a motion of proud disdain.

“M. de Brousson,” she said slowly, “I will never marry that man!”

Mademoiselle Eudoxie gave way to her grief and sobbed behind her handkerchief.

“She will kill herself!” she moaned; “that is the way she goes on!”

“Mademoiselle,” I said quietly, looking at Zénaïde, “a carriage is waiting in the lane; we have not much time to lose. I pray you get your cloak, and Mademoiselle Eudoxie will accompany us to Dr. von Gaden’s house.”

“Do come, dear Zénaïde,” pleaded her companion, looking up over the top of her handkerchief, her eyes red and swollen.

“I would go gladly enough, Mademoiselle Eudoxie,” Zénaïde replied frankly, “if I knew that I should gain my liberty at last, and if I did not fear being a most unwelcome and burdensome guest in the good doctor’s house.”

“In that matter I can relieve your mind, mademoiselle,” I exclaimed hastily. “Dr. von Gaden has the friendliest regard for you, and I have reason to know that he will consider it a privilege to shelter you in this hour of need.”

Zénaïde looked at me searchingly. “You are very reassuring, M. de Brousson,” she said quietly, “and I see that there is some reason behind all this that causes your confidence; but you must forgive my hesitation. I am indeed in sore straits; but I know my uncle to be a relentless man, and I would not willingly bring down his wrath upon this Jewish physician, from whom I have received nothing but good offices. The Czar Peter will soon be crowned, and the Naryshkins once in power, it will be ruin to have tried to help me against one of that family.”

“Mademoiselle,” I said gently, “I have the greatest respect for your scruples; but, believe me, they are without serious foundation. If the Naryshkins could hold the balance of power, there would have been no pravezh. And, in any case, will you risk nothing for your liberty?”

She looked up, and I saw the tears shining in her blue eyes.

“M. le Vicomte,” she exclaimed passionately, “I would risk life itself, but—I do not wish to peril yours!”

I took her hand and pressed it to my lips. Mademoiselle Eudoxie was crying with much noise by the table.

“Mademoiselle Ramodanofsky,” I said firmly, “I would not leave you in this extremity; and if I remain here—” I looked at her and paused.

“Mademoiselle,” Zénaïde said, with a break in her voice, “are our cloaks here? We must go!”

Mademoiselle Eudoxie ceased sobbing and immediately produced the cloaks. I helped her to muffle Zénaïde and herself, and then, without any light, we went out, and fastening the door of the room on the outside, took the key with us, to delay as long as possible the discovery of their flight; then went groping our way down the narrow steps, starting at every creak of the stairs, like the conspirators that we were.