The rebellion of the Princess

WHEN I opened the door into the apartment which held Kurakin I found Maluta sitting on the floor, cross-legged, his elbows on his knees, his sharp chin in his hands, and his ferret-like eyes fastened on our prisoner with an expression of malice that reminded me that he had once been cast off by this boyar. The Russian nobleman, meanwhile, remained where we had bound him to the settle. It was true that his position was one of peculiar humiliation, and I could not blame him for any violence of feeling against me. I, in his place, would undoubtedly have meditated murder, and I knew that he did, when I saw his savage, bloodshot eyes. Moreover, afraid of an outcry, the dwarf had gagged him with a handkerchief, and his discomfort added to his rage. I think he had divined the trick that I had played upon him, or Maluta had twitted him with it, for the expression of his flushed and distorted face was that of a man goaded to the border of madness, but he could not speak and I could not remove the gag. A shout for help might have ruined us, and the only alternative, assassination, while it might have suited the dwarf, was not to my taste, so I left the gag in place. I looked at his hands at once, however, for the signet, and saw it, conspicuous enough, although he wore many rings, but this one bore the imperial arms, and I took it from his finger without more ado. The Princess Daria’s life and my own might hang upon it, and it was no time for squeamishness.

“Pardon me, monsieur,” I said calmly, “but I must even borrow the czarevna’s signet, in a matter of life and death; your clothes, too, serve the same purpose, so I must leave you to your reflections. It is wiser, monsieur, to avoid intrigues and to eschew all attempts to coerce a noble lady.” I said this, having myself just married one without her consent.

He sputtered; he could do no more with the gag, but I never saw such hatred before or since, in a man’s eye, or—thanks be to the Virgin—in a woman’s. But I wasted no time on him; signing to Maluta to follow me, I went out again into the painted gallery, and locking the door on the outside, thrust the key into my bosom. I still wore the boyar’s dress, and thought it best to wear it until I could get out of the palace.

The princess still stood in the window; I do not believe she saw anything of the scenes below, however, or heard the noises; her face was as still as chiselled marble, and it seemed to me she scarcely breathed.

I turned to the indefatigable dwarf.

“Can you reach the Golden Hall and carry a message to Prince Voronin?” I asked him, growing to depend upon the strange little creature more and more.

He nodded, looking from me to the princess and back again, his head on one side, his brows wrinkled.

“Then you must go to him and ask him where he can meet us. But first pilot us down to the postern by which we entered yesterday, for I hope we can get out by that way,” I added doubtfully, consulting him as much as my own wits.

His face sobered in an instant, and he cast a grave look at the princess, and I think she felt his eyes upon her, for she turned and regarded us earnestly.

“Will you take me to my father?” she asked with simple dignity, as if that question tested me.

I felt it so and bowed gravely. “If it can be done at all, I will do it, madame,” I said.

And she, noting that “mademoiselle” had become “madame,” flushed crimson.

Meanwhile the tumult in the court below had somewhat subsided; not because the worst was past, but because there was a satiety of blood for the moment, and the rioters were at that very time searching the lower rooms of the palace and the adjacent churches for two victims whom they were determined to immolate, the czarina’s brother, Ivan Naryshkin, and the Jewish physician of the late czar, Dr. Daniel von Gaden. But I had only one object, to get the princess safely out of the palace before Kurakin was discovered and all was lost. Our fate hung by a hair on this event, and I had no light task before me to get her out of the palace, at such a time, and unaided, too, save by a dwarf. Yet I could not risk an hour’s delay; discovery was dogging my heels, and I could divine the fury of Sophia when she found herself duped. I touched Maluta’s arm impatiently.

“Come,” I said, “this is no time to stand gaping; show us the way to that back staircase that you and I ascended yesterday.”

But he showed every sign of reluctance, looking askance at the princess, as if he thought that her presence carried evil fortune in its train.

“Wilt go, blockhead?” I whispered to him angrily, shaking him by the shoulder.

“Yea, O my master!” he said, with something like a whimper, “but the woman—I know not what to do with her!”

“But I do!” I exclaimed grimly, “and hold your tongue about her if you would be a follower of mine.”

He gave me one of his sidelong looks and shrugged his shoulders.

“Come then,” he said, “and blame me not, if ill comes of it.”

I walked gravely up to the princess and held out my hand.

“Will you trust me?” I asked, looking her full in the face, “and go with me?”

She returned my look proudly, and she did not touch my hand.

“Take me to my father,” she repeated mechanically, her face colourless again.

“Come, then,” I said coldly, feeling the hot blood burn in mine, for I was provoked at her refusal to even touch my hand, and yet I knew, all the while, that it was a petty anger to feel, at such a time, and against a woman tried beyond all reason.

And in this order we proceeded out of the painted gallery into the chapel again and to the door on the other side: Maluta first, then the princess, and last the new-made husband—a rôle in which I confess I did not know myself. The chapel was deserted, and only one taper burned before the iconostase, and in the dim light I stumbled once and suppressed an exclamation, but the dwarf and Daria walked on, surely and swiftly, passing out into a gallery lighted from above, and coming at once to a long flight of stone steps that led down and down, seemingly to the cellar, for a light shone across them half-way down, where they opened on a landing, and the lower part again dropped into darkness. On either side were sheer walls, groined and arched above us, save at the landing where, as I have said, there was an opening. We paused at the top and listened; there was no sound below us on the stair, though there were confused noises echoing from other portions of the building, and an awful consciousness prevailed that the death work went on merrily below and around us.

Satisfied that no one was on the stair, Maluta started down ahead of us, lightly and softly, as he alone could tread, swinging forward to listen, his long monkey-like arms dangling at his sides, his wing-like ears standing out more than ever. The princess was about to follow him, but a sudden thought made me stop her.

“Permit me, madame,” I said, and walked ahead of her, pistol in hand; “it is better that I precede you here.”

She assented quietly, drawing aside more sharply, I thought, than need be, to let me pass. However, there was no time for quibbles, and I descended cautiously, content to feel that she was with me. We had gone down, perhaps ten or fifteen steps, and were, therefore, about as far from the landing, when there was a sudden burst of sound from the left, as if a door had opened somewhere and let out pandemonium, and Maluta stopped, stooping down to listen. But even he was taken by surprise when a man leaped from the gallery below on to the landing and came up toward us, running madly, so blind, indeed, that he nearly stumbled over the dwarf and cried out in terror when he saw us. His rich dress was covered with dust and blood, and his eyes were starting out of his head. He gave us a wild look and was about to turn and dive down the stairs, when I called out to him in Russ.

“Have no fear, we will not harm you—where is the danger?”

“The Streltsi!” he cried; “they’re after me,” and seeing that we made no effort to bar his way, he leaped up two steps at a time, brushing past us, and rushed into the chapel.

And before we could either advance or retreat, we heard his pursuers coming toward the landing.

“Back!” I cried, and the princess, foreseeing the danger as quickly as I, turned with me, and we all ran back up the stairs, in hopes of reaching the chapel before the rioters gained the landing.

The princess was ahead of me and laid her hand on the door just as I reached it.

“It is locked!” she cried, and there was a tremor in her voice.

I shook it, and threw myself against it with my whole force, but it would not yield—the fugitive had barred it and cut off our only means of escape, for below us half a dozen mutineers began to ascend with fierce cries of baffled rage. I thrust the princess behind me into the shadow of the doorway, and Maluta darted after her, crowding against her feet, while I stood alone at the top of the stair, facing the savages as they came on. I was no boy; I had seen five pitched battles in my life, and I was under fire with the household troops at Seneffe, but I confess that none of these things moved me so much as those half dozen men leaping up that dim old stair, with just light enough to flash on their naked blades and show the whites of their wild eyes. A surly, mad, long-haired, long-bearded lot, with blood upon them and the reek of slaughter.

It takes long to tell it, but it was not long before they were upon me—crying for blood and vengeance.