“Why are you silent, Father?” said the Tsarevitch suddenly with a mocking smile to the Tsar. “Has it startled you to hear the truth? Had you merely ordered my head to be cut off, I would not have said a word; but since you have instituted this mock tribunal, whether it be agreeable to you or not you will have to hear me. When you lured me back to Petersburg from under the Emperor’s protection did you not swear by God and His judgment to pardon me everything? What account do you give of that promise? You are dishonoured in the sight of all Europe! The Autocrat of Russia, a perjurer and a liar——”
“Such language cannot be tolerated—It is lèse-Majesté. He has gone out of his mind—Away, away with him!” rose from a number of voices.
Prince Ménshikoff came to the Tsar and whispered something to him. But the Tsar continued silent, as though unable to see or hear anything; his face was as expressionless as that of one dead.
“You shall be the first to stain the block with the blood of a son, the blood of Russia’s Tsars,” Alexis rejoined, and his words rang with a prophetic accent. “This blood shall descend upon successive generations of our lineage unto the last Tsar of our race—all shall perish in blood. God will visit your sin upon Russia!”
Peter stirred heavily, with indescribable effort, as if he were striving to rise from under some terrible burden. At last he stood up; his face became convulsed and distorted, the stone mask seemed to become reanimated, his lips parted and a hoarse sound escaped from his throat.
“Silence! silence! I will curse you!”
“You will curse me?” exclaimed the Tsarevitch beside himself. He rushed upon the Tsar and raised his fists.
All were terror stricken: it seemed as though the next moment he would strike his father or spit in his face.
“You will curse me! I myself will curse you—Villain—Murderer, Beast—Antichrist!—Be accursed, accursed, accursed!”