"The Circassian Chief" (continued 2)

In many spots along the road, were small chapels with pictures of the Panagia (the Russian appellation of the Virgin Mary,) or of some of the multitudinous saints in their calendar; these were the especial objects of Karl’s devotion, as he bowed his head to them, and crossed himself all over with the greatest reverence. They overtook many teams of small carts, sometimes forty together; carrying tallow, hides, and hemp to the cities, to be exchanged for merchandise, with which they return to the interior: their drivers were generally lying asleep on their goods, one alone at the head of the train, conducting the team. As evening closed in, they halted, forming bivouacs by the way-side, and their cheering fires served as beacons for the wayfarer.

Although but a few years have glided by, since the period to which we allude, great changes have taken place on the highway between St. Petersburg and Moscow. Not only has the road been macadamised, and become one of the best in Europe, but elegant bridges have been thrown across the rivers and streams; handsome, well-conducted post-houses have been established on the road, and public conveyances traverse it regularly.

It was towards the evening of the second day of their departure from Tver, that they approached the Phoenix-like, the resuscitated, holy, and ancient city of Moscow.

The rays of the setting sun shed a glittering lustre on the innumerable gilded domes, steeples and spires, of its churches, shooting upwards from amid the dark masses of habitations, like trees of gold in a forest of enchantment. Each tower being surmounted by the emblem of Christian faith, resplendent with gold, and connected by golden chains, which shone more brightly as they waved in the breeze.

This gorgeous scene breaking suddenly on their sight, arrested their progress; the stately city, extending over a wide space of undulating ground, encompassed by woody and cultivated heights—the hundred-crested Kremlin rising majestically above all—the magnificent palaces, churches, and convents, with their cupolas and domes of blue, and white, and gold, giving it an aspect of oriental magnificence.

Karl, animated by a spirit of devotion, threw himself from the cart, and prostrated himself on the soil, in adoration, as he beheld the Jerusalem of Russia—the city sanctified in their hearts, and so beloved by every true Muscovite. Having completed the ceremony, with innumerable genuflexions and crossings, much to his own satisfaction, he drove on to regain his master and Thaddeus, who not being imbued with the same feeling of respect for the City of the Czars, and having often viewed the spectacle, had, after a slight pause at the grandeur of the scene, proceeded on their road.

After traversing many of the irregular, winding streets of the city, the moment arrived when they were to part, to hasten to their respective homes. Exchanging pledges to meet again as soon as circumstances would permit, they then started off in opposite directions.

Volume One—Chapter Six.

Missing the society of his lively companion, a shade of gloom overspread the handsome features of Ivan; his mind being thus thrown back upon itself, the sombre scenery through which he passed, as he drew nigh to the end of his journey, on the day after he quitted his friend, contributed to augment the melancholy bias of his thoughts.

On either side of his path arose a thick and dark wood, without a single opening vista, or a green glade; every part seemed impenetrable to joy and gladness. The habitations of the miserable and oppressed serfs were closed; their inmates having early retired to rest, after the ill-requited toils of the day.

Occasionally, however, he fell in with labourers returning to their homes, who, as they recognised the son of their seigneur, saluted him with respect and a look of affection. In an instant, the cloud on his brow would be dissipated as he returned their greetings, and offered a kind word to each, either in inquiries after their families, or other good-natured remarks, by which the unsophisticated peasant’s heart is so easily gained.

On approaching the chateau, even such signs of life as had previously appeared ceased to exist, and all around wore, if possible, a still more gloomy and dreary aspect.

He unconsciously shortened his rein; that action sufficed to betray that he could not regard the Baron in the light of a father. So far from having an anxious desire to hasten to receive his welcome, his languid pace proved his reluctance to enter sooner than necessary into the presence of the fierce lord of that dark domain. His heart was a blank as he drew up at the principal entrance.

No group of bustling and pleased domestics stood ready to receive him on his return, after a long absence; no fond mother or affectionate sisters, to rush forward with outstretched arms, to welcome him in a loving embrace, or to surround him as they gazed with eager and delighted eyes, their repeated inquiries lost amid the confusion of anxious tongues. All within was as silent as without, a solitary household serf alone presenting himself at Ivan’s summons; while, after considerable delay, another of the same class appeared, to lead his horse to the stables; both, however, greeted him with welcome smiles.

His heart now beat with eagerness to hasten to the presence of the revered and much loved being so mysteriously connected with him, for well he knew how anxiously she was awaiting his arrival. At the same time, a feeling of dread came over him, of misfortune having befallen her; she might be on her death-bed, perhaps—horrible thought!—extended a cold and lifeless corpse! Lost to him for ever, and her important secret known to none but her God!

This idea became almost insupportable. He dared not make any inquiries respecting her of the domestic. To visit her, ere he had appeared to the Baron, who he was informed had desired his presence immediately on his arrival, would have been attended by results equally injurious to her as to himself.

Without delay, therefore, he was ushered into the apartment where the Baron was sitting, who neither rose as the young man advanced to pay his respects, or relaxed the cold stern cast of his features.

The Baron Galetzoff seemed a man long past the prime of life, on whom age had laid its wintry marks, but still retaining the air and firm port of a soldier. His stature was rather under than above the middle height, and his figure full and unwieldy. His features might have been handsome in his youth, though now they were disfigured by an habitual scowl on his forehead, and a deep cut reaching from the left eye to the lower part of the ear; his cold grey sunken eyes retreating, as if from observation, under the shade of his coarse overhanging brows. His grizzled moustache was long and untrimmed; and this, when excited by passion—no uncommon occurrence, unfortunately for his dependants—or labouring under uncertainty as to the success of his projects, he was wont to twist and pluck at.

“So, Sir,” he exclaimed, in a tone of severity, as Ivan approached the table, “you have loitered on your way, methinks; else why this delay in your arrival? Your duty and obedience would have been better proved by a more rapid journey. How did it thus happen, Sir?”

Ivan explained that the delay arose from a violent storm, which had obliged him to take shelter under the tent of a Gipsy; but he did not choose to hazard a relation of the rest of his adventures.

The Baron’s brow lowered as he resumed—

“And is this, Sir, the bent of your disposition to herd with outcasts, and the vilest of the earth? A race I detest and abhor; and strong enough are my reasons. Rather would I have bared my head to the fiercest storm the heavens ever sent forth, than to have been beholden to such wretches for a dry crust, or the covering of their miserable tents.”

“The people you speak of, Sir,” answered Ivan, “I found as kind and hospitable in their humble way, as any of a higher rank; and I received much attention from them.”

The Baron here rose from his seat, and took several turns across the apartment; then suddenly addressing himself to Ivan, exclaimed—

“Talk not to me of receiving kindness at the hands of such ignominious beings as those cursed Gipsies. I loathe their very name! Is this the return you render me, degenerate youth, for the care and attention I have lavished on your infancy and education? Though how could I have expected ought else? Yet I thought you possessed more proper pride than to have thus demeaned yourself. Learn, however, henceforth to pay more respect to my honour and dignity, though you may be careless of your own; and remember, the name you bear must not, and shall not, be disgraced by associating with the base and worthless.”

Ivan remained mute during this tirade, for he saw that the Baron required an object to vent his spleen upon, and he willingly offered his own shoulders, to screen some victim less able to bear it.

The haughty noble had thus worked himself into a state of passionate excitement, as undignified as it was causeless, and continued pacing the floor with hasty steps, while the young man stood silently by, waiting its result, knowing that his withdrawal from the scene would but increase the Baron’s anger.

After the lapse of a few minutes, this fit of rage seemed to have subsided, as turning towards Ivan, he said—

“Young man, let me never hear again of so discreditable an occurrence. And now listen to the reasons which induced me to recall you. I have been appointed by our gracious Emperor to high command in his armies destined for foreign service; and I intend that you shall accompany me to learn the art of war by practical experience, as you have hitherto done in theory. Before you, now opens a path which will lead you to honour and renown; and it rests with yourself to enter it or not. If you follow it, and I find you worthy, it then will be my care to advance you rapidly. But mark me! I demand from you implicit obedience; that rendered, rank and fortune shall be yours—if not, beware!”

Ivan’s heart beat high at this information, though conveyed in harsh and uncourteous words; but he ardently sought to enter at once into the exciting scenes of active life, and his eye brightened as he expressed his readiness to comply with the Baron’s wishes, and thanked him for the solicitude he professed for his welfare.

“My intention,” continued the Baron, “is, that you should visit Moscow in a few days, to procure your military equipments, and to mix somewhat in society; for though, I myself detest its ceremonies and trivialities, I wish you to gain the advantages its lessons afford, ere you enter into the more active and stirring scenes of life. You may now retire to rest after your journey, and to-morrow, I will impart my other projects.”

His listener, having expressed the gratitude he really felt at the prospects held out to him, gladly retired from the presence of his capricious father.

The above conversation, so characteristic of the Baron’s usual deportment towards his son, was little calculated to win either his respect or his love: indeed, his conduct altogether seemed inexplicable; for while he had spared neither care, nor expense in his education, he had evidently no affection for him; and had on every occasion tried his utmost, to imbue him with his own fierce and savage disposition: in the latter, however, he had signally failed, through an agency he little suspected. The young man, meanwhile, profited by the great advantages offered by a good education, and grew up endued with extraordinary firmness and courage.

Ivan had retired to his chamber for the night, after endeavouring in vain to obtain some communication with the lady before alluded to, as a mysterious inmate of the château; when, as he was reclining in a chair, and gazing through the window on the dark groves which surrounded the building, he was startled by a knock at his door. Hastening to open it, a person presented himself, of unusual and remarkable appearance.

He was one of those extraordinary productions of nature, possessing a figure of just proportions, though in stature he was scarcely three feet high. His dress was arranged with extreme neatness and care, but of a fantastic cut; and the little man seemed to delight in the most gaudy colours. His feathered hat was placed with a rakish air on one side of his head, from which flowed a profusion of curling locks. His whiskers were also curled with the greatest care, while his long thin moustaches rose fiercely upward, in imitation of heroes of larger size.

It was difficult to define the expression of his diminutive, but very regular features, which would have been considered handsome in a larger mould. Age had spared him not, for already wrinkles furrowed his cheeks, which were of a shallow, parchment-like hue. His small grey eyes still bright and twinkling, expressed talent, and cunning; there was a restlessness too in his look and manner—each movement he made being quick, but uncertain. He would first cast a hurried glance at the person he was speaking to; next on the ground, then suddenly over his shoulder, as if he expected an attack from behind; and presently he would spin his little body round on one leg, ere he recommenced the subject he had abruptly discontinued. When he spoke, the tone of his voice was so shrill and loud, that those who heard it, could scarcely believe that the sound proceeded from so diminutive a creature.

As this lilliputian-like figure entered the room, he opened his arms to their full extent to embrace Ivan, who kindly stooped to the requisite level to meet him, for otherwise the little personage, who seemed unconscious of his own size, would have been unable to clasp more than one of his friend’s knees.

“My friend, my dear boy!” exclaimed the dwarf, “my heart beats with pleasure to see you back again. You are grown, Ivan, since I saw you last, for we could then walk arm in arm; and now, I doubt if we could do so with perfect ease. I have been longing to have you here again, for I knew not what to do without you. I could neither ride, hunt, or shoot with any satisfaction during your absence; but now we will recommence our former amusements.”

“I am truly glad to see you, my worthy friend Ladislau,” answered Ivan, “and to find you as vivacious and active as ever; but there is one I would inquire after; my kind protectress—my most beloved friend—tell me, Ladislau, how is she? of no one else have I been able to learn, nor as you well know, dared I to seek the information, my heart yearned after, though my thoughts have been filled with sad forebodings.”

“My young friend,” replied Ladislau, “she is well, and is anxiously waiting to see you; but the mighty man, the great Baron, has been treating her more severely than ever, and will not allow her to proceed beyond the walls of the garden. One of these days his cruelty will meet with its due reward!”

“Alas!” said Ivan, “that I should not have the power to rescue that angelic being from his tyranny! She herself forbids me to interfere. Tell me, my dear Ladislau, when shall I find an opportunity of seeing her?”

“I cannot now say,” answered the dwarf. “I will, however, contrive the matter for you, whilst the Baron is from home, and the meeting will contribute greatly to the lady’s cure. Ha! ha! ha! I am laughing at the idea that those, whom the mighty tyrant despises, can so outwit him; aye, and revenge themselves too, in a way he little dreams of. The day will come, when he shall learn that the being he has kept to laugh and jeer at, has a soul with passions strong as his own, and who has known how to revenge himself for all the injuries and insults heaped on him for so many years. But away with such thoughts: now that you are returned, Ivan! pleasure must be our sole study, and I owe you my utmost services, for you were ever kind and attentive, while others scorned me, although they laughed at what they termed my antic tricks. I am grateful, Ivan, and I will prove it; for though I can be a bitter and implacable hater, I can also be a firm and true friend.”

“In your love, I have always trusted, my good Ladislau, though what I may have done is not worthy of mention; and you amply repay me by your services, and constant readiness to follow my wishes.”

“Well, well, we will not discuss that matter now;” said Ladislau, “but tell me, Ivan, how came it, that you did not arrive yesterday? I was looking out for you the whole day!”

Ivan gave him an account of his adventure, in rescuing the Gipsy maid Azila, and of his visit to the tents of her tribe, to which the dwarf listened attentively.

“You acted rightly,” said he, as Ivan concluded; “and you may some future day be richly rewarded. Is she not beautiful, and endowed with talent, and far superior to the life she leads?”

“If you allude to Azila,” replied Ivan, “she is both; but how happens it, that you are acquainted with these Gipsies?”

“Ha! ha! ha!” chuckled the dwarf, “that’s a long story, my dear boy, and I cannot tell it you now, though I may some day. You have much to learn—many deep secrets—of which my bosom is the depositary; ha! ha! those who despise me, little know the power I possess! There is one, who would give half he is worth, to know a secret which is safely locked up in my breast, and he would not scruple to tear it open, if he knew that it was there! Ha! ha! ha!” and the dwarf laughed shrilly, as he triumphed in this consciousness of his own power, and of the revenge he was taking on those by whom he considered himself injured.

“Now to you, Ivan,” he continued, “who indulge in no idle curiosity, and treat me so kindly, I will some day, when the fit moment arrives, disclose the treasured secret.”

“You are one of the first of the few persons I remember ever since my childhood,” answered Ivan, “and I act towards you as I feel—with sincere regard. But tell me, Ladislau, what is there remarkable, or unusual, with respect to the Gipsy’s daughter, besides her beauty, which I can judge of, and her talents which I suppose do not extend beyond her sweet singing, and a clever tact in turning her pretended knowledge of palmistry to account.”

“Ah, you little see into her character, if you imagine that she practises any of the vulgar deceits of her tribe,” answered the dwarf. “She is above every act of that kind. Her heart is with her people, and she delights in their wild life; yet she might, if it so pleased her, dwell in cities, and enjoy all the luxuries others value so highly. Her education has not been neglected, while her talents are of the highest order, her judgment superior, and her virtue unquestionable; these high endowments she employs for her noble ends. She might have been far different from what she is—enjoying rank, riches and power; but then too probably, alas! she might have been proud, vicious and ignorant. I love her much, but would not have her different to what she is, though on some future day, it may be said that I have injured her; but I know better. I am saying, perhaps, more than is prudent; I can, however, trust you, Ivan, and I beseech you, utter not a syllable of what you have heard, as you love me.”

“Your confidence shall not be abused,” answered Ivan.

“Fare thee well, fare thee well! I must now away, my young friend;” quickly cried the little man, as whisking round on one foot, waving his hand, and singing his adieus, he skipped out of the room.

As long back as Ivan could recollect, he had always been on terms of perfect friendship with the dwarf Ladislau; but never since his earliest infancy had he observed the slightest alteration in his appearance. At that early age, he used to romp and play with him; and as he grew older and stronger, with a consideration which few boys would have possessed, he never exerted his power and strength to his annoyance, so that the diminutive creature cherished a feeling of attachment for him, stronger than for any other human being; while Ivan, having but few to expend his affections upon, returned his regard with equal sincerity.

It is still the custom in many of the wealthy and noble families, both of Russia and Poland, to retain in their establishments, one of the race of dwarfs, to amuse their children and dependants, and as a butt for their own wit. As in former days, a jester, a fool, or a dwarf was considered a necessary appendage to the household of every noble throughout Europe, though that custom is now fortunately banished to the less civilised countries of the eastern part of the continent, where education has made but slow advances.

As soon as the dwarf had retired, Ivan threw himself on his couch; but it was long, ere the repose he sought, drew a veil over his confused and agitated thoughts.

Volume One—Chapter Seven.

Ivan had obtained but few and brief opportunities of meeting the lady who resided at the chateau, and whose history was so totally unknown to the world. The Baron constantly required his attendance, and narrowly watched her actions.

Some days had elapsed since Ivan’s arrival, during which time he had invariably accompanied the Baron in his hunting expeditions, the latter having determined to clear his forests of the wolves which infested them. On the next of these expeditions, he determined to find some expedient for absenting himself, so as to be able to obtain the long-sought interview with his mysterious friend.

Accordingly, whilst the followers were beating about for the lurking plunderers, and the woods echoed with their loud shouts, he feigned an excuse, and galloped back to the château, trusting that his brief absence would be overlooked. In the mean time, the dwarf, who had not been summoned to the chase by his lord, had willingly remained at home, and prepared every means to facilitate the meeting. The young man, with anxious haste, repaired to the appointed spot, where, beneath a bower covered with luxuriant dark foliage, and shaded by a group of venerable trees, he beheld the loved object of his search.

The lady had scarcely reached the meridian of life, still retaining every feature of matronly beauty. Her figure was tall; its every movement graceful; her face cast in the true Grecian mould, with a pure and translucent complexion; the long dark silken eyelash shading a clear grey eye, and giving a subdued softness of expression to her countenance. A casual observer on viewing the two persons, side by side, would have discovered a striking resemblance between them.

Her watchful ear caught the sound of his footstep, and rising, she rushed forward to meet him, folding him in a momentary embrace, as he endeavoured reverently to kiss her hand. A convulsive sob impeded her utterance as she attempted to speak; but her fast-falling tears, which bedewed his neck, expressed the fulness of her love. That agitating moment over, her composure returned; and retiring to a seat, Ivan placed himself by her side, his hand being fondly locked in hers.

“Loved one,” she said, “is it thus alone we can meet, by stealth, and but for a brief space, after so long an absence, and when, too, you may be torn from me for ever? Oh, Ivan! much have I suffered for your sake, and gladly would I suffer more; yet a woman’s weakness overpowers me, when I think of the dangers you may be exposed to. He has told me that you are about to accompany him on a distant military expedition wherein you may gain honour and renown, such as I know your noble heart will rejoice in; but dreadful forebodings haunt my mind, for I feel it will be full of peril; and I cannot trust him. I seek to discover the plans he is meditating for you, but they are beyond my comprehension. Whether affection, or any other motive influences him, I know not; yet though he promises to advance you rapidly, I doubt the sincerity of his words. But oh! Ivan, I am powerless, and commit you to the charge of the God of your fathers.”

“For your sake,” exclaimed the young man, “I would resign all my fond aspirations, and would gladly remain to protect you; but, alas! as a slave I must obey the Baron’s will, or seek my own fortune in the world without his aid.”

“Well do I know your love, my brave youth,” replied the lady, “which would hazard all for my welfare; but that I ask not. No! go where glory and fame await you, and care not for me, for I feel that my course of life is well nigh run, and that the day of my freedom is at hand. Much more of anguish than you, Ivan, can possibly know, has my bosom borne; but the hour is not yet come when I may recount to you the tale of my woes.”

“To what secret woes do your words allude?” exclaimed Ivan, in agitation. “Oh, my more than mother! my protectress! my guardian angel! am I then incapable of protecting you, or at least of comforting you? Oh despise me not by concealing your sufferings from me!”

“Alas! your interference,” said the lady, despondingly, “would be of little avail; it might bring ruin on yourself, without improving my lot. No, no, loved one! I would not blight your happiness with my sorrow. You are on the eve of visiting Moscow; when there, mix in the world; seek all the enjoyment it can afford, though I fear me there is but little to be found. Yet I too was once blest with perfect happiness. You will return here, I learn, before you depart for the army, when I will relate all; till then, may your young heart be unseared by grief.”

“Oh! disclose your griefs to me now, dearest lady. Let me endeavour to console them; and let my devotion in your service prove my love. Surely the Baron, though severe and unjust at times to me, cannot—dare not, be so barbarous as to injure one so lovely and gentle as yourself.”

“I may not at present reveal to you my sad history,” replied the lady; “prudence demands that the veil should not yet be withdrawn. You know not what the Baron is. Time will display his nature.”

The lady and the youth were still indulging in their melancholy, yet interesting conversation, when they were suddenly interrupted by the appearance of Ladislau, looking like some woodland sprite, as, with alarm on his countenance, he rushed up to them through the mass of the shrubbery.

“Hist! hist!” he cried, but in a suppressed voice; “fly, Ivan, fly! off with you—begone! this is no place for you! Madam, pardon my intrusion. Fly, Ivan, fly! The Baron has returned; this moment I heard the tramp of his horse’s hoofs in the court-yard, and his voice raised in anger; so I hastened to warn you. He stormed and raged as usual. Yes, his high mightiness was storming like a tornado.”

The dwarf laughed in a shrill tone, and added, “He will undoubtedly come this way; and it would not calm his anger to find his son here instead of accompanying him in the chase of animals, less savage than himself. So fly, my friend, fly from hence; tarry not another moment. And I would recommend you too, Madam, to avoid him at present, if you wish not to bear the brunt of his fury, which has been excited by Ivan’s absence.”

Ivan respectfully raised the lady’s hand to his lips, and was bidding her farewell, when the dwarf exclaimed, “Haste, haste, or you will be discovered—see, here he comes;” and at that instant, the Baron was seen at a short distance, walking rapidly towards them. Ivan quickly retreated by an opposite path, fortunately unperceived by his father, while the Baron advanced towards the lady and dwarf, with a dark frown on his brow.

“So, ho, Madam,” he cried; “is it thus you abide by my injunctions not to move beyond your apartment? Be pleased forthwith to retire to your chamber, until I repair thither; I shall know how to correct this disobedience to my commands. Make no answer! go, Madam, at once!”

The lady spoke not, though her lip trembled with emotion, and there was a flush on her brow, as she turned to obey the Baron’s command, and walked calmly towards the château.

“And you, imp! what business of state brought you to the lady?” said the Baron, turning to the dwarf. “Doubtless, you have been laying some mischievous plans together. Have you lately seen Ivan, sir manikin?”

“Yes, most noble and potent Seigneur,” answered Ladislau; “I met him some time since, walking in solitary and meditative mood. I ventured not to interrupt the current of his thoughts. Can I be the bearer of any of your most gracious orders to him?”

“Yes, go find him, and say I desire his attendance,” said the Baron. “No, stay—I myself will seek him. In which direction went he, do you say?”

“In yonder avenue,” replied the dwarf, pointing to an opposite spot to the one he believed the youth was to be found in.

As the Baron walked quickly forward, he muttered to himself, “Can it be that she, whose stubborn soul would never bend to my will, should be captivated by this youth! By heavens! if I so find it, I will tear her limb from limb, and let the boy feast his eyes on the spectacle. Had the idea occurred to me before, he never should have returned here. He is capable of any deed; there is a bold, unruly spirit within him, which I must curb with a tight rein, or he will break loose even from me. He to be my rival, forsooth! here comes the audacious youth. By heavens! he has a right noble air, which may well win any woman’s love. I would destroy him at once, to prevent any further mischief; but then I lose the cherished object for which I nurtured him—no, no, that were worse than folly. He shall live to become the fierce soldier I would make him, and when he gains more of the spirit of the tiger, which he now somewhat lacks, I shall be content. He comes of a race, whose blood is strongly imbued with it, and in his it must exist also.”

By the time the Baron had arrived at the conclusion of this soliloquy, which vaguely hinted at his sinister schemes, his anger had been tempered, partly by the ideas of future triumph it awakened, partly by the cool perfumed breeze, which played within the shady walk. He had been unsuccessful that morning in the chase, which had raised his choler; and when he missed Ivan from his side, and ascertained on inquiry, that he had been seen riding in the direction of the château, his rage was greatly increased. On his return, he learned that his son had proceeded into the grounds, whither the lady had shortly before also been observed to go.

“I perceive, Sir,” he said on confronting his son, “that you prefer luxurious ease in shady bowers, to the hardy and noble exercise of hunting, in disobedience moreover to my wishes; but let me tell you, young man, such is but a bad promise of your future conduct in a military career; and you need not expect my countenance or support, during the continuance of such frivolities, and opposition to my will. I expect henceforth to find you foremost in danger, and ever prompt to endure hardships without murmur. Thus it was that I fought my way up the ladder of fame, and thus must you follow, if you desire advancement, and value a high name.”

“I trust, Sir, you will never find me remiss in my military duties,” answered Ivan.

“I have found you already deficient in its most essential branch;” angrily rejoined the Baron, then assuming a calmer tone, he added “you had some motive, and not a trifling one, which induced you to act contrary to my will this day; ah, you start! Beware, young man, should my suspicions prove correct, your fate is sealed! Again, I say, beware! My nature is such as will not be trifled with; prepare for your departure to-morrow for Moscow; that is a favour I grant you; so answer me not; you now know my will.”

Accustomed as he was to the authoritative tone of one who, in his mildest mood, never brooked a reply, Ivan’s lips moved with emotion, yet they uttered no sound, as the Baron turned away, and walked towards the mansion.

The dark hints which his father had let fall fixed Ivan to the spot in deep meditation; yet he could not settle in his mind to what they could allude, dismissing at once, as too preposterous, the real cause. Finally he came to the resolution of implicitly following his orders, though he would fain have tarried a few days longer in the chateau, to hold further intercourse with his sorrowful protectress. Then retiring to his chamber, to make the requisite preparations, he was soon joined by the dwarf.

As soon as he was informed of his friend’s banishment, tears fell from the little man’s eyes.

“Oh, Ivan,” he exclaimed, “my friend, my brother, my son—for you are each and all to me—I have experienced many cruel trials; but to part with you is severer than all combined. We may never meet again, for I fear the Baron will not allow you to return here; and I am growing so weary of this cruel world, that I expect not to remain much longer an inhabitant of it. Ivan, my dear boy, forget not Ladislau, for be assured his first and last daily thought will be of you.”

Ivan succeeded in soothing his little friend’s grief, by sincere assurances of his remembrance. He then requested him to take his earnest farewell to the lady, as he could not hope to see her again before his departure, promising that, at every risk, he would return ere he joined the army, while during the interval, he would regularly inform Ladislau of his proceedings.

After quitting his son in the grounds which encompassed the mansion, the Baron repaired forthwith to the chamber of the lady, who received him with a proud and dignified air, before which even he for a moment paused abashed.

“Your time, Madam, I have discovered, is not always passed in the dismal solitude of which you so repeatedly complain. Hear me! you would seduce the affections of my son! Ha. Madam, is it so? You turn pale and tremble! This moment I parted from the youth; and as I taxed him with my suspicions, his look of conscious guilt revealed the truth. He had not a word to urge in his own defence. Do you answer for him? Am I not correct? Speak, woman!”

The lady stood for a while in mute astonishment at the accusations so suddenly and violently brought against her. At length she uttered, in a voice, choking with emotion:

“Be Heaven my witness that I speak the truth, when I declare that I am guiltless of the crime you charge me with.”

“Deceitful woman, thou liest!” cried the Baron, giving vent to a burst of uncontrollable anger; he gnashed his teeth, while his eyes rolled wildly; he lifted his arm, and struck the defenceless female. She uttered no cry; but every drop of blood quitted her cheek, and she would have fallen to the floor, had not the wall supported her. Rivetting her eye on her oppressor, and mustering all her energy, she proudly confronted him in scorn and contempt, branding him with the epithet of coward. The ruffian, in his turn, trembled, and quailed before the superior might—the majesty of a lovely woman, conscious of her unsullied virtue. He felt himself to be the despicable being she termed him; his honour had been for ever disgraced by this foul indelible stain. He felt that his name was for ever blotted from the rolls of chivalry; that every slave who crawled in chains on his land would be deemed more worthy to touch a lady’s hand than he.

The haughty lord answered not: his tongue was tied—he was conquered. Without even daring to meet her glance of scorn, he turned away, and quitted the apartment. When left in solitude, the lady sunk on a couch, and pressed her brow within her hands.

“For what fate am I reserved?” she cried. “To perish by the hand of this dastard tyrant! No more to revisit my own sunny hills and smiling vales. Yet, for the sake of that loved one, I can and will bear all. Could I but feel assured of his happiness, I would yield to death contentedly. There is, however, one duty more due to him—then welcome death!”

Volume One—Chapter Eight.

Ivan was fully equipped for his journey to Moscow, in pursuance of his father’s orders, when he received a summons to attend him.

“I have desired your presence,” said the Baron, as he entered, “to communicate my last orders. I will allow you an ample sum for your expenses, and a sojourn of six weeks in Moscow. Dedicate that period to amusement; at its expiration you will be attached to my staff; meanwhile have your uniforms prepared. You may now depart.”

The young man withdrew, his parting salutation being scarcely noticed. He was met in the court-yard by his friend the dwarf, who shed tears as Ivan mounted his horse; while he himself felt sad in parting from one of the few friends he possessed in the world. He took a last look at the apartment occupied by the lady so deeply beloved by him. All was closed and mournful there. Then spurring his horse, he rode rapidly from the chateau.

A lively and bustling scene met his view as he entered Moscow. It was a day dedicated to one of the numerous saints in the calendar of the Greek church, and a holiday; so that all the world was abroad, taking recreation during their brief but beautiful spring.

The sumptuous equipages of the nobles were dashing by, with their four spirited horses, harnessed in long traces, and guided by a tiny postillion, while a portly, liveried coachman was seated more for state than service, on the richly ornamented coach-box. Officers, in various uniforms, and followed by wild and fierce-looking Calmuc Tartars, galloped in every direction. Countless were the gay vehicles in motion; conspicuous amongst these, was the light-formed drosky, drawn by a pair of horses, the animal in the shafts advancing at a finely paced trot, while his companion, now prancing and curvetting, now sidling in graceful bounds, attracted the spectators’ admiring gaze. Costly were the dresses, and glittering the stars with which the proud nobles were arrayed, as they rode or drove past in rapid succession, offering a marked contrast to the humble and bearded citizens assembled on the occasion. Every human being, whatever his garb or condition, seemed happy; and the young visitor unconsciously caught the same feeling. Having given his friend Thaddeus notice of his intended coming, he was not surprised, though much pleased, to be welcomed by him on dismounting at his hotel.

“Most grave hermit,” exclaimed his friend, “happy am I to find that you have been enticed away from your contemplations amid groves and lakes, and I trust soon to initiate your philosophy in the mysteries of a city existence.”

“Thanks, my good Thaddeus, I have determined upon seeing what you term the world and its amusements, and resign myself entirely to your sage guidance.”

It is unnecessary to follow the two friends through all the scenes of gaiety, into which they plunged with the ardour of youth; it is sufficient to say, that Ivan, in spite of his retiring disposition, soon found himself much sought after, among the highest circles of rank and tone in Moscow, formed as he was both in person, and mind to adorn society. He could not but feel gratified by the attentions he received, and amused by the various scenes of gaiety in which he moved; so that sombre reflections had no opportunity to creep in, and mar his pleasure. Many days had thus flown quickly by, without a single interruption to their light and joyous course; even the adventure with the Gipsies, on their journey from St. Petersburg, was forgotten; when one evening, at an entertainment given by the Prince Galitzin, they were startled on hearing announced the name of the Count Erintoff.

Shortly after, they saw him advancing with an acquaintance of theirs, in the direction where they were standing, apparently without his recognising them, and he would have passed by, had not Ivan’s eye been fixed sternly upon him. A sudden start accompanied by a frown marked the recognition, when his companion turning round, and observing the two young men, stopped to present him to them. With a bland smile he advanced, and politely saluting them, began, without hesitation, a light and diverting conversation on the common topics of the day. His address was so unembarrassed, and his manner so cordial towards them, that they became doubtful whether he actually remembered them as his former opponents; a slight incident, however, took place later in the evening, which made them again feel certain, that he knew them. Ivan had engaged, as a partner in the dance, a beautiful girl, to whom the Count had been paying marked attention; and he was standing near to her, when Ivan advanced to claim her hand, which she offered with a smile.

The eyes of the Count turned upon him with a peculiarly dark and ominous expression, indicating his feelings of animosity more fully and directly than any words, that he could venture to utter in such an assembly; ere Ivan had time to scrutinise that glance, the Count’s features had resumed their wonted bland expression; and he had turned with some witty repartee to the nearest lady.

“No matter,” thought Ivan, “if he does recognise me, I may yet laugh at, and despise his vengeance.”

On quitting the palace with Thaddeus, they fancied that their steps were dogged by some one, who appeared to be watching the course they took; but whoever it might be, he kept at so wary a distance, that they could not devise a plausible excuse for addressing him; and ere they had reached their hotel, the individual had disappeared.

The following day was also a festival of the church, and again were the promenades and public drives swarming with old and young; the gay noble, and sober tradesman.

Thaddeus engaged Ivan to accompany him in his drosky, to the favourite promenade of the citizens, called “L’Allée des Peuples,” which is without the city barrier; and were the shopkeepers and inferior classes of society assemble to enjoy their favourite pastimes. On their way they observed in the distance the state prisons, where the unfortunate exiles are confined, previously to their departure for Siberia; collected together from all parts of the Empire, in gloomy despondency, they there await the day, which always falls on Monday, when it shall be their turn to set forth in a troop on their toilsome and dreary journey.

“Ah,” thought Ivan, as he gazed on the long, low, but strongly guarded walls, “how many an innocent victim has there parted from all the sweet, and fond ties of life, to march bare-footed, and in chains over hundreds of long leagues, weak and bleeding; his companions dying by his side, day after day, as lying down to rest, they find an everlasting repose, happier than the survivors left to eke out, with hopeless toil, a miserable existence, in an inhospitable clime.”

It must, however be observed, that though the fate of most of the exiles is forlorn and miserable in the extreme; others of higher rank, and banished for slight political offences, are allowed comparative freedom, on their arrival at their place of destination. Many reside in cities with their families, surrounded with most of the luxuries of Europe, though under the surveillance of the police. Yet what can compensate for a banishment from their native land without the remotest hope or power of returning thither?

The promenade of the people of which we have spoken, is a wide tract, ornamented with noble trees, and furnished with all the means necessary to promote the national amusements of the Russians. Thither had resorted the easily pleased citizens to amuse themselves, to the utmost, after their busy occupations. Surrounded by their families and friends, seated on the turf, they were enjoying their tea, which was served out of large urns, placed before them on the ground; the joke and the refreshments passing merrily round. Here, a large concourse of idlers formed a circle round a party of mountebanks and jugglers; each feat of dexterity receiving loud applause: there, a troop of Gipsy girls gained equal admiration, as, in the mazy figures of the dance, they exhibited their picturesque and graceful movements.

It mostly happens that those of a higher station do not deign to become spectators of these scenes, and restrict themselves to their own promenades; yet, there were a few whose curiosity, like of that our two friends, had led them to this spot.

Thaddeus was conversing with an acquaintance whom he accidentally met, while Ivan, standing a few paces from them, observed the approach of a band of dancing girls, and, among them, he recognised a face he could not easily forget, though the person was evidently not taking a part in the exhibition. He could not be deceived in Azila, the Gipsy maiden. She passed close to him, and a slight momentary blush tinged her cheek, as beckoning to him, she separated from her companions. He followed her, until she stopped beneath a thick cluster of trees, which screened them from observation.

“I fear you will think me bold, and forward in thus addressing you,” said she, “but I have urgent reasons for so doing. This day, I purposed seeking you out in another part of the city; when, having joined the band of dancers, with a view of meeting those whom I sought, without suspicion, I saw you enter the gardens. Think not,” and she blushed deeply; “that I would exhibit myself to the gaze of the miserable slaves assembled to witness the performances of my companions. You will shortly understand more clearly the reasons which induce me to appear among them; till then, judge not ill of me—but to my errand, for time presses. Danger threatens under many shapes; and one whom you know, the Count Erintoff, has sworn to revenge himself on you, for your generous defence of me. He seeks your life, and that of your friend; and though he is too great a coward to hazard his own, he may employ others to do his bidding. Be therefore constantly on your guard, yet without fear, for there are those who feel an earnest interest in your welfare, who will watch over your safety, and have marked each movement of yours, since you arrived in Moscow.”

“I thank you, fair one, for your warning,” answered Ivan; “but I fear not the Count, or any plans he may form against me or my friend.”

“You know not,” hastily rejoined Azila; “what means a man of his vindictive, and dastard disposition would stoop to, for the accomplishment of a vile purpose; and I entreat you to beware of him—but I have more to say. You are destined for nobler deeds than the life you now lead affords, where you are dissipating your time and talents in pursuits totally unworthy of you. My boldness of speech may surprise you, and appear unmaidenly; but I know that I may trust you in what I am about to impart. A great revolution in the affairs of this country is about to take place; yet you—so fit to lead your countrymen, and to aid in their regeneration, are ignorant of the project. Sure I am, that were you once summoned to join in the noble work, you would stake all on the glorious enterprise. One, on whom you may rely, will shortly communicate with you on the subject; oh! do not hesitate to follow his advice. The day of the regeneration of Russia is at hand! Thus much—but more I may not disclose; but think deeply on my words;—see, some one draws near, farewell for a time!”

Ere Ivan had time to make any answer to this extraordinary communication, the speaker had escaped, and following her with his eye, he traced her, until she rejoined the party of dancing girls, who shortly moved away from the spot.

On returning in search of Thaddeus, he pondered on what he had just heard. “Extraordinary being that she is,” thought he; “what secret motive can so deeply interest her in my actions, and how can she become acquainted with plots and conspiracies of such deep import?”

At first, he hesitated to mention the occurrence to his friend; but, on their return to the hotel, when he was rallied on account of his silent and meditative mood, he informed him of the warning he had received.

Thaddeus laughed loud, as he expressed his opinion; “Truly, indeed, this is an excellent excuse which the pretty Gipsy has discovered for renewing her acquaintance with you; why, Ivan, I see through it all. She has fallen desperately in love with you, and would have told you so, had you given her the slightest encouragement, and the time been more opportune.”

Ivan indignantly repelled the idea. “No, no!” he said, “her manner was too earnest—too respectful to bespeak any such inclination. She naturally feels gratitude for our aid in rescuing her from the power of that smiling faced ruffian, the Count Erintoff, and, in return, has warned us of the revenge he meditates for our interference, and which she has, by some means, discovered. With regard to the more important part of her disclosure, I confide in you with an equal trust to that she has reposed in me. I gather from her words that a plot is being laid to overthrow the whole mighty fabric of this despotic government, which now appears to stand on so immoveable a foundation.”

A laugh again burst from his friend, who replied, “Your vivid imagination, my dear Ivan, carries you beyond the limits of probability; though I sincerely wish it were so; but I rather think that the pretty messenger’s sole view, was to excite your curiosity, in order to gain another interview.”

“Time will shew, Thaddeus,” replied the other, “I differ entirely from you, and, until then, I will not give up the opinion I have formed of Azila.”

Immediately on quitting the public promenade of the citizens, and previously to their return to the hotel, Thaddeus drove to a far distant scene. The aristocratic promenade of Pedroski leads through a magnificent forest; the grounds encompassing the venerable château are laid out with perfect taste, and are ornamented with every variety of tree and shrub. Here they were among the votaries of rank and fashion; the élite of Moscow; vying with each other in the magnificence and style of their equipages. Elegantly dressed ladies, reclined in their carriages, and proud seigneurs covered with decorations, and followed by their attendants, galloped by with erect and haughty mien. Dashing young officers, in their brilliant uniforms, were displaying themselves and their mettled steeds to their own satisfaction—if not to that of others.

Whilst they were in earnest conversation, on the subject of Azila’s warning, a messenger arrived to summon Thaddeus home, on account of the illness of his father. He accordingly departed, leaving Ivan again alone. Left to his own thoughts, a heavy weight oppressed his spirits, for his mind dwelt forcibly on the mysterious import of Azila’s words. At one moment, his calm reason warned him not to listen to the seductive arguments that might be used to induce him to join in an attempt, which would too probably lead to the utter destruction of all engaged in it; and, then again, his enthusiasm would be aroused, and he confessed the enterprise was well worthy of a severe struggle.

He was alone in the hotel on the following day, when a noble of some consideration, whom he had frequently met in society, was announced.

The visitor, as soon as the servant had retired, looked cautiously round the room, and approaching the door, secured it. “I would be private,” he whispered, “and free from any chance of interruption, for I have a communication of deep importance to make:—are we safe from eaves-droppers?”

“I believe so,” answered Ivan, wondering to what grave matter such cautious preliminaries would lead.

“Can I trust to the most inviolable secrecy in what I am about to say?” inquired the stranger guest; “but why do I ask, for I am satisfied that I may.”

“Undoubtedly you may, Sir,” proudly replied Ivan, “in anything not opposed to my honour.”

“Far from it,” hastily rejoined the other. “Think not for a moment that I would propose aught that would reflect disgrace on your name. I pledge you my own word of honour; that all I require, in return for my disclosure, is inviolable secrecy on your part; any step farther I leave to your own judgment.”

“Speak on,” answered Ivan, “whatever you may reveal, shall never pass my lips.”

“My confidence is fully confirmed,” replied the guest, “or I should not have visited you. You were last evening in the ‘Allée des Peuples’ with your friend, Stanisloff; you were there accosted by a Gipsy girl, whom you had previously known; she beckoned to you, and you followed her. You recollect the words she uttered—‘The day of the regeneration of Russia is at hand.’ Nay, start not, no one overheard you: she was but performing a commission for others of power and of influence—a task she gladly undertook. You have been marked by them as one fit to assist in the noble cause in which they are engaged. Azila, the Gipsy girl, is one of the chief means of communication with our friends in all parts of the country; she has guaranteed your honour and fidelity.”

“What aid can I afford to the cause of freedom?” inquired Ivan, “when I am myself utterly powerless; opposed as you must know the Baron Galetzoff to be to any measures calculated to give liberty to the people.”

“We well know that the son has far different opinions to those entertained by his father; we are also well aware that the Baron is a staunch upholder of despotism; but, need I ask—is it incumbent on the son to adhere to the despotic principles of his parent? No!—I feel confident that you at least, will not.”

The stranger, as he spoke, had intently watched Ivan’s countenance, and appearing to gather confidence, continued—

“That you will ultimately join us, I anticipate with satisfaction; meanwhile, however, come and hear our plans. These I dare not utter within these walls, for even they may have ears and a voice to carry the tale; but, would you know more, I will conduct you where all will be disclosed. Will you accompany me?”

“I must deeply consider the matter, ere I answer you; but tell me,” said Ivan, “where I can meet you, should I consent.”

“On the banks of the Moskowa, beneath the walls of the Kremlin, is a secluded walk, which is entered from the public gardens—you doubtless know it; there we may escape observation; our converse secure from the lurking spy. At dusk this evening—may I reckon upon your coming?”

A few minutes succeeded, during which Ivan appeared wrapped in thought. At length, he answered firmly—

“I will meet you at the spot and hour you name, and, though I do not engage to enter into your views, I swear that your confidence in me shall not be abused.”

His visitor smiled, and replied: “With you, fear has doubtless little influence; but there are some who require that motive for secrecy; and imagine not that a thought of treachery can be harboured, without drawing down instant retribution. At dusk we meet again, adieu!”

Ivan ushered the stranger to the door, the latter, passing out into the street, assumed the easy and careless air of the numerous loungers thronging around him.

How little can the passenger through the crowded streets tell of the varied thoughts, feelings, and passions, which fill the breasts of those who encounter him! The grief and agony; despair and hatred; the avarice, love, or beneficence, the joy, or careless indifference of the wayfarers; the man whose dearest tie has been torn from him; the ruined gamester; the assassin, advancing to his work of blood, the miser to his hoards; the father to his offspring; the lover to his mistress; the Samaritan, hastening to relieve the distressed; the long-absent traveller, to his home; the fop, the fool, or the wise man; every character is passed in succession each instant, unheeded and unknown.

Volume One—Chapter Nine.

Ivan, once having resolved to follow the guidance of his new friend, looked forward with eagerness to the approach of evening; and, ere the time had arrived, throwing his cloak about him, he sauntered forth in the direction of the Kremlin.

This venerable pile, regarded by the inhabitants of Moscow as the heart—the sacred place—the tabernacle, as it were, of their city, was anciently a fortress of the rude and fierce Tartars; and indeed, at that period, the whole of the city was contained within its walls. It stands on a commanding site by the banks of the Moskwa, whose waters wash its base, surrounded by high and ancient walls of a triangular form, nearly two miles in extent. Its area encloses numerous cathedrals, gorgeous palaces, churches and monasteries; surmounted by towers, belfries, and steeples; displaying every variety of architecture, including the Tartar, Hindoo, Chinese, and Gothic. Above all this vast pile rises the lofty tower of Ivan Veliki, its golden ball now reflecting the rays of the setting sun with dazzling brilliancy; the whole forming a strange mixture of barbaric splendour, blended with the stately elegance of modern times.

There are no regular streets within the Kremlin, the buildings being raised around several open places or squares, to which the inhabitants resort for walking or driving.

The walls, which are surmounted by battlements and watch-towers, have five gates, the principal of which is the “Saviour’s” or “Holy Gate.” Through this awe-commanding portal no male, not even the Czar and Autocrat of all the Russias, may pass, save with uncovered head and bended body.

Through this gate, Ivan now proceeded bareheaded, and entered a noble esplanade, commanding one of the most interesting views of Moscow, having in front the range of the palaces of the Czars, with their varied and fanciful style of architecture. He paced its extent for some time, meditating on the important affairs which he was likely to be suddenly, and as he could not but admit to himself, rashly engaged in.

As the shades of evening began to close around him, he left the Kremlin by one of the less remarkable gates, and sought the appointed place of rendezvous.

After traversing the walk several times, he began to suspect that he must have mistaken the time and place, as no one appeared; or that his new friend had been prevented from keeping the appointment by some unforeseen circumstance. He accordingly determined to return to the hotel, when suddenly, as if springing from the earth, a dark figure stood before him, so closely muffled as to baffle recognition. Ivan recoiled a few paces, so unexpectedly did the figure come upon him; and, as his mind recurred to Azila’s warnings respecting the secret revenge of the Count Erintoff, the idea of treachery presented itself, and his hand clutched the pistols concealed within his breast. Thus prepared, he confronted the stranger, friend or foe as he might prove to be.

“Why come you here?” demanded the figure, in a voice unknown to Ivan’s ear.

“In search of him who appointed a meeting with me here,” answered the young man. “Know you aught of him?”

“Behold him before you,” said the visitor of the morning, stepping forward, and speaking in a tone which the other immediately knew.

“It is well,” replied Ivan. “Your feigned voice at first deceived me. But how came you so suddenly upon me?”

“All, you were taken unawares,” said the other. “You then did not observe my skiff, as I guided it noiselessly under the bank, and landed when you had turned the other way while I closely watched you. It behoves all of us, in these times, who seek success in bold enterprises, to be wary in our movements. But we have no time to lose; and now to the matter on which we have met.”

“Speak on,” said Ivan. “I am prepared to hear, and shall not forget my promise.”

“Listen then,” said the other. “Ivan Galetzoff, you are far better known than you are aware of. Since you came to Moscow you have been constantly followed, and your words marked. Many, of whom you are totally ignorant, know you, and admire your principles; and further, have selected you as fit to engage in noble and daring deeds.”

“You surprise me!” exclaimed Ivan, yielding to flattery, so difficult for youth to resist when administered to the very points on which he probably prides himself; “I did not deem myself of sufficient importance to have notice taken of my words and actions.”

“I speak but the truth respecting you,” answered his companion. “Say, do you not abhor despotism and tyranny? Do you not cherish the love of freedom, and the happiness of your fellow-creatures?”

“I both detest tyranny and love freedom,” answered Ivan; “but what service can my single arm afford, either to overthrow the one, or to defend the other?”

“Much,” hastily responded the stranger. “You do not stand alone. Your principles are supported by thousands of spirits, noble as your own. The sacred cause of liberty must, and will be triumphant over all her base opponents.”

“I fear that our chains are too securely rivetted, to be wrenched asunder,” answered Ivan, “and too many are interested in forging fresh links to leave us hope of freeing ourselves, even at the sacrifice of our heart’s blood.”

“You labour under a false impression, my young friend,” answered his companion; “for all classes join heart and soul in this glorious work. Indeed, the Despot has no greater enemies than many among the highest in the land, who feel their chains more galling than do the humble serfs; again I ask you, do you not wish success to their gallant spirits engaged in the noble attempt?”

“Most earnestly do I hope they may succeed,” said Ivan.

“Enough,” answered the conspirator, for such he declared himself, “I need test you no more; for I place implicit confidence in you. This evening, the advocates of Russian Liberty hold a meeting, and, as I anticipate that ere long you will join them with heart and hand, I will introduce you to them.”

“Lead—and I will follow,” replied Ivan, with enthusiasm; “my heart yearns to join any who advocate so noble a cause, and I trust I may not prove unworthy of it.”

“No time must then be lost; e’en now they are assembled,” rejoined his companion, “their place of council is at some distance, and speak not, till I give the word, for we shall be obliged to pass the police patrols, ever watchful and vigilant.”

“Forward then,” said Ivan, “and rely on my prudence.”

The conspirator stealthily led the way down a path to the margin of the river, where they found a small skiff, capable of containing three persons—a rower resting on his oars being already seated, who, on a signal from the former, pulled rapidly down the stream. Continuing their course in silence for some time, the oarsman abruptly ceased rowing, and the little bark glided swiftly into a dark and narrow creek on the opposite bank of the river. Ivan followed his guide on shore, while the boat held her course again down the narrow stream.

As they advanced, lights were visible in the apartments of many handsome buildings, and Ivan found himself in a respectable part of the city, though one in which many vestiges still remained of the devastating conflagration which had reduced Moscow to ashes. His guide threaded in his way many lanes, and traversed wide streets, till suddenly retreating to the back of a handsome mansion, that had lately been raised from the ruins which surrounded it, he gave a low and peculiar knock at a wicket gate, opening apparently into a garden. The signal on being twice repeated, was answered by a decrepit old man, with a long beard and tattered dress, who unclosed the gate, but instantly relocked it, as the two visitors entered.

“Who is it,” said he, “seeking to disturb the old serf Kersoff at this late hour?—If any wish to buy his garden produce, let them come by daylight, and not rouse him from his bed.”

The guide whispered a word in the old man’s ear, and he retired to his hut by the side of the gate.

The light afforded by the starry heavens enabled Ivan to distinguish the appearance of the place where he stood, which seemed to have been a large garden, now filled with ruins; apparently the remains of buildings of considerable extent.

Passing over heaps of rubbish, his guide stopped at what appeared to be a small summer house—also in a ruinous state; the same signal as before was given, and the door opening, admitted them into an apartment in total darkness.

Ivan for a moment hesitated to follow; the idea of some diabolical treachery—such as he had heard of too often—again rushing on his mind; yet, quickly determining to brave the worst, he prepared to go on. His guide spoke a few words to the person who had admitted them, and who yet remained concealed, and then offered his hand to Ivan to conduct him onwards.

“The neophyte must pass through darkness before he can reach the light,” he whispered; “but fear not, it will soon burn brightly on you. Ah! I feel your pulse beats calm and regular, such are the nerves we require; do not speak now.”

They descended a flight of steps, narrow and winding, till they were again stopped by another door, which was opened, on the like signal as before being given, without the porter being visible, and they found themselves in a small chamber, lighted by a single dim lamp suspended from the ceiling. The walls were hung with black; a chair, and a table, on which were placed a skull and cross bones, an hour glass, and writing materials, were the only furniture.

His guide again spoke. “This,” said he, “is the chamber of meditation; if you doubt, you may draw back. Stir not from hence till I return, when I will lead you to undergo your ordeal, should you still nobly keep to your determination of engaging in our cause. I need not tell you not to fear, or to shrink from an ordeal which you will pass through with ease, though it may fright nerveless fools. I now go to prepare the friends of freedom for your coming; adieu!” Saying which, the conspirator disappeared through a door opposite to the one by which they had entered, and which closed with a loud noise behind him.

Ivan looked round, not a door was visible; he was a prisoner, he knew not where. Left to his own reflections, he half repented the step he had taken.

“I like not this mummery,” thought he. “How weak I have been to put such implicit trust in a man of whom I know so little. He may, after all, have deceived me; but it is now too late to retract, and if deceived, I must suffer for my folly, and will boldly carry through the adventure.” He threw himself on the chair. “Emblem of mortality!” he exclaimed, looking at the skull, “to this must we all come, and to a brave man, what terrors canst thou bring? Death, what have we to fear in thee? Why, then, should I hesitate, when thou, happen what may, must be the victor at last! Thou art, at the same time, the mighty despot of all, and the only true dispenser of liberty! Thou canst conquer the proudest potentates, and make all men equal—and yet I fear not thee; then, why should I fear aught else? Time flies quickly; I learn this lesson, that one must not delay when work is to be done!” His eye caught sight of a sheet of paper, on which were inscribed several questions. He seized the pen, and wrote appropriate answers. He remained lost in thought. “Yes,” he exclaimed, “the die is cast; I will plunge boldly in, nor dream of retracting.”

He had just come to this conclusion, when suddenly, three dark figures stood before him enveloped in cloaks, and their features concealed by masks.

“You must consent to be for a time deprived of sight,” said one, “ere the true light can shine on you. Are you ready to undergo your ordeal?”

“I am prepared for every ceremony necessary,” answered Ivan; “do as you will!”

One of the dark figures advanced, a handkerchief was tightly bound over his eyes, and he felt his hand grasped by some one.

“Follow me,” said a voice, “we have a long and toilsome road to take, full of difficulties and perils, such as you dream not of finding here; but true courage and perseverance will carry you through all dangers.”

“Lead on then,” said Ivan, “I am eager to undertake the journey.”

Ivan felt that he was led from the chamber, when a sudden rush of cold air met him, almost stopping his breath. He then seemed to be climbing over rough rocks, from which he had to spring to others, following the guide’s directions; then a torrent seemed to be rushing at his feet, into which he appeared every instant to be ready to fall, so slippery was the broken ground. He felt himself next led up a steep mountain, the ashes on its sides giving way under his feet as he climbed, till at length, he reached some harder ground, when, no sooner did he appear to have attained the summit, than he was as quickly obliged to descend, and to pass through some low and damp cavern. On a sudden, his guide bidding him spring forward, and dragging him at the same time, enabled him to evade an icy torrent, which broke overhead. On, on he went; but he neither hesitated nor trembled. A loud din now assailed his ears, of a strange variety of confused sounds, and in a moment he found himself near some immense furnace, into which he appeared to be about to plunge, when his guide drew him aside, as the fierce and forked flames rushed after him. Again he heard a loud noise, and this time it was intelligible. He could distinguish the clashing of swords, the shrieks of the wounded, the cries of the victors. He was in the midst of some fierce combat. On every side was heard the jarring sound of weapons; he felt them whirling round his head, as his guide protected him; their sharp edges seemed to pass close to his ears, the struggling combatants swept by him in their desperate strife, but he remained unharmed. On a sudden, the silence of death reigned around. He stood alone: some one presently approached, and a deep and solemn voice thus spoke—

“Ivan Galetzoff! you have shewn that you can go through the lesser dangers and difficulties of life without shrinking; but have you courage to face the worst, for what you have just undergone is as nothing to what you must suffer, before we can confide in you.”

“I am prepared for the most terrific dangers, and fear nothing.”

“Stay then,” said the voice; “answer our questions. Wherefore did you come hither?”

“To meet those who are lovers of true freedom,” answered Ivan.

“You speak well,” said the voice; “are you ready to devote your talents, your fortune, and your life, to their sacred cause?”

“Most willingly would I do my utmost to win true Liberty for Russia,” he answered.

“Are you willing to take the oaths which bind all the members of this association?”

“I would be equally bound to support others, as they are to support me, but I cannot pledge myself to measures of which I know not the aim.”

“You speak sensibly,” said the voice, “that we do not demand. Inviolable secrecy and fidelity are all that is required of you, but oaths must not be taken in the dark: from henceforth, may the light of liberty shine as bright and purely as this flame.”

At that moment, the bandage fell from Ivan’s eyes, and he was almost blinded by a dazzling and brilliant flame which burned before him. On recovering his sight, he found himself standing in the midst of a circle of persons, the points of whose swords radiated towards him.

“With these swords we swear to protect you! to gain true liberty for Russia, or to perish in the attempt, with them in our hands!—and with these swords we swear to destroy any, who, by word or deed, shall betray the trust reposed in him!—We swear!” uttered all the persons present.

“Our aims are these,” added the first speaker: “to curb the despotic power of the autocrat; to abolish the exclusive privileges of the nobles; to place every subject of Russia on an equal footing of liberty; to liberate the serfs from the thraldom under which they groan; to have but one law in the land to govern all men.”

“To these we have sworn,” responded the conspirators.

“Ivan Galetzoff! are you ready to swear to do your utmost to aid in the accomplishment of these objects?”

“To all this I solemnly swear!” said Ivan, repeating the secret form of the oath.

No sooner had he uttered these words, than the conspirators dropped the points of their swords, which they had hitherto held up at his breast, and advanced towards him with extended hands, exclaiming—

“Welcome, our brother in the great work of the regeneration of Russia!”

“We will leave you now,” said he who appeared to be the conductor of the ceremony, “till it be time to summon you to the assembly of members;” saying which, the conspirators disappeared by a number of separate doors, from the chamber, which was much larger than the one where he had been previously left, and Ivan again found himself alone.

The room was vaulted, and lighted by a number of lamps, shedding a bright glare on the various devices with which it was ornamented; but Ivan was too much occupied and confused by the strange adventures he had gone through to examine them. He had now banished all hesitation and doubt, having once made the step from which there was no retracting, and he stood with dilated eye, compressed lip, and determination on his brow, boldly prepared to redeem, to the utmost, the pledge he had given. He had not much time left for thought, when his friend, who had conducted him to the place, entered, summoning him to follow, and led the way down a flight of rude and broken steps, through a long passage, ascending to a door, through which proceeded the sound of many voices. He presently found himself in a rude, but large and vaulted apartment, in the centre of which was placed a long table, surrounded by a number of persons, who rose at his entrance, and he was desired to take a seat by his guide, near the head of the table. As he gazed around him, he recognised, to his astonishment, the faces of several nobles whom he had met in the first circles of the society of Moscow, though, with the greater number of persons present he was unacquainted.

The association comprised men of rank, fortune, and influence; military officers; grave citizens, distinguished from the rest by their beards and long coats; and even some who appeared to be lowly serfs. All present wore an air of anxiety and eagerness on their countenances, conversation being carried on in an undertone: meanwhile, several others entered, and took their seats at the board. When all were seated, the president of the meeting arose, and silence ensued. He was a man long passed the prime of life, of a tall and commanding figure, whose expansive forehead, piercing eye, and firm set lips, marked one fit to command.

“Countrymen! Fellow Russians!” he cried, “the sacred cause of liberty is advancing with rapid strides, and soon may we hope to see its standard unfurled, and floating proudly in the face of our panic-struck enemies. To those who have not yet had an opportunity of hearing our ultimate ends and aims discussed, I now address myself.

“We have not combined to overthrow religion, virtue, and honour, order, and wholesome government; no, my countrymen! our purpose is rather to confirm and strengthen them throughout the land. We war alone against vice and tyranny, unjust power and misrule. These shall crouch trembling before our triumphant standard. I ask you, is it right—is it just, that one man should rule millions, by the fiat of his will—that he should be the sole and undisputed master of their lives and properties? Are Russians worthy of the name of men, while they tamely submit to bow their necks to so despicable a yoke? Who amongst us is, for a moment, safe? The noble, the citizen, or the serf, by the single word of a tyrant, may be deprived of his liberty, his property, and his life; each amongst them is liable to be torn from his home and family—from all that is held dear and sacred, to be bound in chains, and sent to pass a life of exile amidst the dreary wilds of Siberia. Can we longer submit to be thus enslaved? No—justice, honour, manhood forbid it!

“We have, moreover, other enemies to contend with. We must attack the privileges of those vain and dastardly nobles, who, bending their necks to the yoke of the despot, aid and abet him in his tyranny; for without them, how could his power stand? Are not the rest of their countrymen equal to them in intellect, in talents, in virtue? Why then should they be allowed to hold in slavish subjection, creatures, human as themselves, with the same blood and sinews, with hearts beating to the same impulses, with thoughts as free, and sentiments as noble, as their own? There are many among us here of aristocratic birth, disinterestedly refusing to avail themselves of their privileges, and animated by a spirit of the most exalted philanthropy, who have arrayed their power under the banner of freedom.”

The speaker paused; his eye proudly surveyed the assembly, and the countenances of all tacitly echoed his sentiments. He resumed:

“My brave, my loved countrymen! pardon me for speaking of myself; but I must do so to afford you an example. I was born of the privileged class. I once held high rank, noble possessions, unbounded wealth, and, as I thought, power. I was young, and vainly fancied myself happy and free. I dared to speak the thoughts of my heart, which were bold and free, under the impression that I was too far removed from the authority of the Emperor, to fear his anger. I dared to assert the right and just independence of man—to utter the word liberty. Yet how had I deceived myself in my dream of impunity; for a word spoken thoughtlessly, I was deprived of my rank, stripped of my wealth, dragged from my family, and banished from my rich possessions, to the barren soils of Siberia. I, who had been brought up in the most luxurious indulgence, was driven over hundreds of weary leagues, bare-footed, and in chains, exposed to the inclemency of the weather the lash of the brutal guards impelling my drooping, my exhausted steps. Each time that the sharp thong became crimsoned with my blood, I swore deeply that no human power should prevent me from returning, and straining every nerve to overthrow the tyranny which could allow such atrocious barbarities to be perpetrated. I passed many years in banishment, forgotten, and unknown. At length, I escaped, to return to my native city; and here again I vow to accomplish that noble purpose, or to perish in the attempt. Russians, you know my history—many here will remember my name. The same fate may await any of you, when least expected; and thus you are all equally interested in rescuing our country from so abject a thraldom.

“Is it not preposterous—is it not shameful, that men who, with the light of education, have by their own exertions gained wealth, must still wear the vile mark of bondage; that they cannot without their masters’ will be free, and that their children must be brought up as slaves!

“To liberate the serfs from their state of galling vassalage, is, in itself, a great and noble work. No sooner shall the bright folds of the standard of liberty be displayed, than thousands, tens of thousands of that now debased class, arousing from their lethargy, will flock around it, and proclaim the regeneration of Russia! For this cause we are all ready to shed our blood; and again do I swear never to sheath my sword till our holy, our glorious object is accomplished.”

Every man simultaneously animated by the same spirit, stood up, and with one accord, drawing their weapons, exclaimed together “We swear to accomplish the regeneration of Russia, or to die in the attempt.”

The president was succeeded by several of the conspirators, who in their turn rose to address the meeting. Some were fierce and fiery characters, to whom mild measures were distasteful, and who would be satisfied with nothing short of the total overthrow of the Imperial family; the abrogation of all the privileges and titles of nobility; and the establishment of a republic, in which each member of the government should be elected by ballot. Ivan was at first carried away by the enthusiasm, and force of eloquence displayed by some, but he soon discovered, that many were actuated by motives far different from those which they professed; some by vindictive feelings; others by the anticipation of succeeding to offices and employments, from which the present occupiers would be thrust. Some, bankrupt in purse and character, hoped to reap a harvest amid the general confusion, which must ensue on a revolution, having themselves nothing to risk; but few of the whole number perhaps, were solely influenced by the exalted principles of liberty.

The meeting, after numerous speeches, and discussions, at length broke up; no plan of proceedings having yet been arranged. The conspirators departed a few at a time, each man as he reached the open air, shrouding himself in his cloak, and bending his steps in various directions across the mass of ruins, so that no two persons sought the same path at the same time.

As Ivan was about to depart, he was accosted by the friend who had brought him to the meeting.

“You have acted well, and nobly,” said he; “and I trust that you may never have reason to repent, that you have engaged in this just cause. Ere we go, I will explain to you the secrets of this place of meeting. This large vaulted chamber was a cellar belonging to a mansion, destroyed at the burning of the city, during the French occupation. The former inhabitants of the place have all died, or have left Moscow; and no one knows of this vault, save the owner of the new house, and he is one of the principal and most active members of the Association. He discovered the vault amid the ruins, and prepared it for our meetings: he himself never approaching it, except at night, and by the many secret exits, he has formed with indefatigable labour. In every avenue are trusty guards in various disguises, so that there is but little likelihood of a surprise; yet, should we by any chance be discovered, we are prepared to sell our lives dearly. I will now lead you forth; follow—but at a short distance behind me.” Threading several passages, they gained the open air, and passing from the garden by a different gate, to that by which they had entered, after a short walk, Ivan found himself in a part of the city, with which he was acquainted; his guide then bidding him farewell, he returned to his temporary home.

Volume One—Chapter Ten.

It has been the constant aim of the Imperial Court to draw within its focus the noblesse from all quarters of the Empire, with a view to keep them more entirely under the eye of government, tempting them with ribbons, stars, and titles.

However well the plan has succeeded with the poorer nobles and many indeed of the more powerful, attracted by the pomp and magnificence of St. Petersburg, no lures have been found to decoy others equally rich and influential, who prefer the independence and freedom they enjoy in their palaces at Moscow, and country-seats, to the formality and tedious etiquette of the court. The Czar, therefore, naturally regards with a jealous eye, those who shun his presence,—as inimical to his rule, and none more so perhaps, than the proud and wealthy patricians of Moscow, known to possess the liberal principles so subversive of despotism: men who prefer to reside with their families among the ancient retainers of their house, and to enjoy the freedom, and surpassing beauty of their native city.

Not so, however, the Count Erintoff; he kept at a distance from the court, and the eye of authority, that he might enjoy greater license for his vices and profligacy. His palace stood in the environs of the city, and was furnished with all the magnificence and luxury for which his fortune gave ample means.

It was a stately mansion, and had been rebuilt after the conflagration by his father; a nobleman every way qualified to fill the high station he held; but who with culpable indulgence had not paid that attention to the education of his son, which would qualify him to be a worthy successor to himself. Magnificent mirrors and pictures adorned the walls; couches and hangings from the East; objects of virtu from Italy; of decoration, from France; and furniture and all the appurtenances of comfort from England, filled the rooms.

The Count was pacing through his spacious galleries with hasty steps, when a servant submissively approached him.

“How now knave! what want you here?” said the Count, angrily; without noticing the person of the intruder.

“I come to bring you the information you sent me to gain,” answered the man. “I have been partly successful.”

“Ah, Groff! is it you, faithful villain. I did not expect you so soon,” said the noble. “What is the information you bring me? for if I recollect right, you had a variety of commissions to perform.”

“Why, what I should think would please you most—about the Gipsy girl, who before slipped through our fingers,” answered the man.

“What of her, knave?” said the Count, in an angry tone at his servant’s freedom of speech; but the man seemed unmoved as he answered, “She is now in Moscow, I passed her just now on my way here, and I have formed a plan by which I think I can induce her to come here.”

“Tell me not of your plans, knave!” answered the Count. “I require no suggestion but must have execution, and you shall then have the reward I promised. But say, when do you expect to succeed with this most notable plan you talk of? The girl is not to be entrapped so easily as you anticipate.”

“By to-morrow at furthest, or perchance this very day, if my messenger can find the girl, though he may have some difficulty in falling in with her; but you may have changed your mind, Sir. Is it still your pleasure that she come here?”

“Yes, knave; and mark me, if you fail and disappoint me, you shall suffer!” said the Count. “Now, tell me quickly, how you hope to succeed; let me hear all you have to say.”

“In the first place, fortune has favoured us, Sir,” said Groff, “for while I was out concerning the affairs you sent me on, it appears that two Gipsy boys were singing and playing in front of the palace, to the idle porters and other servants, when a drosky, driven furiously by, knocked one of them down, and left him senseless on the ground. I know not how it was, but Kruntz and some of the other men, were seized with a fit of humanity, and brought the wounded boy within the palace, and when his companion was crying over him, some of them bathed his bruises and hurts. I arrived at that time, having just encountered the damsel of the same race where I told you. A thought struck me, that I might turn the accident to some account. I found that the boys did not know in whose palace they were; and after some talk with the one who was not wounded, I contrived to learn that he belonged to the same tribe as the girl you are in search of. I accordingly hinted to the boy, where she was likely to be found, and persuaded him to set off, in order to bring her to his brother, as she was better able to cure him than any doctor. I told him, therefore, that this was the palace of the Prince Raziminski, into which she will not fear to enter; and having directed him to mark it well so as not to forget it, sent him off to bring her here immediately. Have I done well, Sir?”

“I have no great expectation, that your ill-contrived scheme will succeed,” answered the Count, stiffly; “I know she will not come! What else have you to communicate?”

“Somewhat with respect to the son of the Baron Galetzoff. I think Sir, you may soon have your revenge on him.”

“Ah!” exclaimed the Count, looking deeply interested, “what of that youth? could I wreak my vengeance on him, and win the girl into the bargain, I should be contented. What have you to say of him?”

“Why, Sir,” replied Groff, “I have discovered where he resides, and have dogged his steps constantly; once or twice I have been nearly discovered; but have hitherto eluded him successfully. I know all his haunts, his habits and his movements; and I find that he constantly passes a spot where a dagger might reach his bosom, without fear of the deed being discovered. You have thus a full opportunity of satisfying your vengeance.”

“What, villain!” exclaimed the noble, indignantly, “do you think that I have become a common assassin, to strike my enemy in the dark? I would have revenge; but not such as your dull brain can invent. In what part of the city, do you say you have seen him?”

Groff mentioned a part of Moscow, near the spot where the conspirators held their meetings.

“And at what time did he usually pass by?”

“Soon after sun-set,” answered Groff. “I marked him on his way from the hotel; but each time I lost sight of him, soon after he passed that spot: I have then waited for hours till his return; but before long, I hope to discover where he vanishes to, and he will be clever if he again escapes me. I have my suspicions, that he is not the only person who visits that part of the city by stealth; for I confess that I have twice made a mistake, and followed different people, when I was in search of him.”

“That must be looked to,” said the Count, “we may find that something is going forward worth discovering; beware, that you do not make a mistake. For myself, I would not imbue my hands with blood. It would be but slight satisfaction to feel my dagger entering his bosom, and his warm life-blood streaming from the wound: I leave those feelings to the passionate, fiery-blooded Italians. Yet, mark me Groff! I hate the young Galetzoff, and it would be enough for me to know that he had ceased to live. There are many dark lanes in Moscow, and the Istvostchiks are great villains, and often commit murder with no better object, than for the sake of the paltry sums a person may have about him; you understand me. I loathe the very sight of that youth. He faces me with the coolest indifference, as if he had not injured me to the utmost; and yet there is something in his eye, when he meets my gaze, by which I have strong suspicions that he knows me. I cannot rest till I am revenged on him. You will probably win one reward, and here take half for what you have already done, in earnest of the future.”

The Count then tendered a purse which Groff weighed in his hand, as if to consider whether the bribe was high enough for the deed. “I will do my best to please you, Sir,” he answered.

“Enough, I need now say no more then; ten times the sum you hold in your hand shall be yours, if, by chance, I hear of that youth’s death. The police are not over vigilant in those matters, and I think the Baron will take no great pains to discover the author of his son’s death, for he seems not to have much love for him. Now leave me, and think well on what I have said. Should the Gipsy girl fall into your snare, let me immediately know of her arrival; but take care that she does not see your face—that alone is enough to frighten her, and she would remember it. See that the wounded boy is well tended, that he may learn to speak well of the owner of the mansion; and let the girl remain some time with him, if possible, ere I go to her.”