Diabolka, taking the gold and silver ring, placed the gold one on her own finger, and was handing the silver one to Sc.h.i.n.ko.
Daimona seized Diabolka"s hand.
"Not so! You will give the silver ring to Vuk; and Sc.h.i.n.ko the copper one to Polyka. _For your bridegroom is Vuk, and Sc.h.i.n.ko"s bride is Polyka._ That is the arrangement."
A burst of loud laughter followed upon these words. Now there would be some real fun. Diabolka and Vuk, Polyka and Sc.h.i.n.ko. The wedding-mother had the right to marry her serfs as she chose. Her serfs belonged to her, hand and foot, as did her horses and her a.s.ses. She can pair her serfs as she chooses.
The laughter of the a.s.sembled guests grew louder as the two drunken monsters, at Daimona"s words, threw themselves on the handsome prey given over to them.
Their laughter was only stopped when Diabolka, before them all, gave Vuk such a blow on the chest with both hands that he went backwards off the table, and, rolling from the tribune, fell among the people.
Things were indeed going badly.
Daimona, springing towards the table like a fury, struck her fist violently upon it. At that sound the spectators" laughter suddenly ceased. The grin was still on their faces, but every sound died away on their laughing lips.
It was fun no longer.
"You will not take the husband I have chosen for you?" shrieked Daimona, in fury.
"No," returned the girl, stamping her foot, "no!"
"Dog! gypsy devil! You dare to oppose me--me, who raised you from a dung-heap!"
"Then let me go back to the dung-heap."
"So you shall! If you will not have the bridegroom I have given you, then take off the bridal dress I gave you, and be off in the gypsy rags you came in. But they want something to complete them--the addition of a thrashing for your audacity. Sc.h.i.n.ko! Here!"
He himself, her elder brother, her lover, her bridegroom!
Sc.h.i.n.ko was wearing, as bridegroom, the symbol of his office hanging from his girdle--the short-handled whip. At his mistress"s command he raised the whip.
"Strike!" ordered Daimona.
The girl, white with fear, held her face between her hands.
"Brother, can you strike me?"
She had even got so far as to fear the lash. Or was it the thought that it was Sc.h.i.n.ko"s hand which was to strike that made her shrink back? The gypsy"s heart was not hard enough to let him strike the blow. He threw the whip away.
"Dog, pick up that whip; or shall I have you and her tied together to the tail of a wild horse? Go on. Slash away until I say enough; fifty lashes for me, fifty for Junker Jevgen."
Sc.h.i.n.ko picked up the whip.
Despairing, the girl, flinging herself at Daimona"s feet, clasped her knees, and, sobbing, implored for mercy.
"Ah, you abomination, that"s the place for you!" cried Daimona through her clinched teeth; and seizing the girl at her feet by her long plaits, she shrieked to Sc.h.i.n.ko, "Now, have at her!"
With one spring the gypsy, like a panther, was upon them, and, seizing Daimona by the throat with his left hand, with his right he whipped out his dagger. Terrified, Daimona released her hold of Diabolka and defended herself with one arm; the serf"s dagger had pierced her shoulder, the blood spouted high from it.
"Heh! varlets! seize him! help!" stormed the woman.
But not a person stirred among the crowd. Daimona saw that she was left to herself. She was a powerful woman who knew how to fight; so, freeing herself from the gypsy"s grasp, she pushed him from her, sprang off the tribune, and rushed towards the castle steps, Sc.h.i.n.ko after her.
Nor did a hand stir to hinder the serf. The crowd, the whole body of servants, looked on, and saw Sc.h.i.n.ko dash after the mistress and wound her afresh. The woman, turning upon him, began to wrestle with her pursuer; his dagger was plunged again and again into her breast. Once more she succeeded in pushing back her adversary, and, darting into the midst of her women servants, shouted, "Help! protect me!" The women put their hands to their ears that they might not hear her cries. They all hated her. Then she was seen flying down the long corridor, screaming and shrieking, her murderer close upon her heels. Still no one went to the rescue.
At the extreme end of the corridor was the picture of a saint. Thither she fled, and fell down before it in beseeching att.i.tude. But the saint did not stir a hand to protect her. Then rushing to the parapet of the balcony, she attempted in vain to spring from it.
The murderer slowly comes down the stone steps into the courtyard. A path is made for him. He ascends the bridal tribune. There, her face to the ground, lies a girl motionless with terror, shame, and despair.
Close to her the wedding garments. The murderer wipes the blood off his dagger with the bridal veil, and, taking the girl by the hand, raises her to her feet. They look each other in the eyes. One look, like a couple of wild wolves. No need for speech! Then they run, hand in hand, into the steppe, into the woods--anywhere. No one seeks to hold them back. They were never seen again.
Who would attempt to find two wolves escaped from captivity, in their native lair, amid the dwellers of the endless steppes, whether in forest or jungle? Only once did the two call a halt, where Diabolka, having reached her gypsy encampment, wrote the letter to Jakuskin, in which she related the tragi-comedy of Grusino, and of which a copy fell into the hands of the Czar"s favorite, acquainting him with the horrors that had taken place. The starosts of Grusino had not had the courage to give him the tidings.
Zeneida acted wisely in having personally related the events to the Czar; for those who later informed him of what had occurred at Grusino made a point of causing it to appear that this murder was in connection with St. Petersburg secret societies. Many were set upon finding the motive for the deed in high circles, where it was a matter of interest to keep the favorite from the person of the Czar, and where it was hoped, by the banishment of the son, to have effected a rupture of the close bond uniting Czar and favorite. Sc.h.i.n.ko and Diabolka were hired by the conspirators.
Was there any truth in this? No one has ever cleared up the mystery. But if any hand had prepared the blow, it had struck home.
Araktseieff was to be seen tearing through the streets of St.
Petersburg, hatless, with hair wildly streaming. Your orthodox Russian, when he mourns, goes in sun and snow with head uncovered.
On the day of his flight two great wagon-loads of state papers were despatched from the favorite"s palace to the Hermitage. His orders, his sword, his keys of office, he sent by his house-porter to the Lord Chamberlain. And, at the moment of his departure, the thunder of "Holy Christopher" startled the inhabitants of St. Petersburg out of their rest. This father among cannons is only fired when a general dies. The court favorite had himself gone to the commandant of the fortress and ordered the cannon to be fired. The commandant had no choice but to obey. Araktseieff was commander-in-chief of the artillery. When the firing was over the commandant asked:
"What was the name of the deceased general?"
"Alexis Andreovitch Araktseieff!"
Some days later the Czar had terrible news of Araktseieff. His reason had entirely left him.
CHAPTER x.x.xIX
THE HERMIT
Only when Araktseieff had left the Czar did the emperor realize how completely alone he was in the world.
There was not a man in whom he could place confidence; in every one he saw an enemy, a conspirator; and his true friends, if he still possessed any, he had imbittered by Araktseieff"s recall. His generals were disaffected by his not supporting the Greeks. Secret treaties were directed against him. Those who were already apprised of his declaration of war, and had sufficient energy to act counter to him, had left the field at the beginning of operations.
On Araktseieff"s return to Grusino he had hurried without delay to the mausoleum, and, barring the door behind him, had cast himself down beside Daimona"s coffin, and for two whole days nothing was heard within but his bitter sobs. He would eat nothing, would make no answer to words or entreaties. "Daimona" was the only sound he uttered.
He had loved that woman as only giant beasts love their mates; when the hunter has shot the female he may shoot the male, for it will not leave its dead. For two whole days Araktseieff"s household in vain besieged the door of the mausoleum; Chevalier Galban"s representations also that he should come out and take care of his valuable life were fruitless; he paid no heed to his faithful followers. In vain they called him their sweet, good master, "sweet friend," "Alexis Andreovitch"; he was deaf to their voices.
On the third day Photios, the Archimandrite of the Monastery of St.
George, came to the mausoleum. He is the holy man, to receive whose blessing hundreds of thousands make the yearly pilgrimage to the monastery from all parts of Russia. The decree of the saint is as much esteemed as is a papal bull.
When Czar Alexander I. gave into the hands of Prince Galitzin, the freethinker, the portfolio of Public Instruction, the Archimandrite, going up to the Czar, exclaimed threateningly:
"If you take the ancient faith from your people you will shake your empire to its foundations."