On the red staircase

by Mary Imlay Taylor

For days it was impossible for Zénaïde to leave the house with safety. The Kremlin was virtually in the possession of the Streltsi, and every gate strongly guarded. The scenes of blood did not end with the first day. The czarina’s brother, Peter Naryshkin, had been found in a house across the Moskva and brutally murdered, and they were clamoring for the life of Ivan Naryshkin and Dr. von Gaden. The Departments of Justice and Serfage had been attacked by the mob and rifled of their contents, the papers strewn to the winds, for it pleased the caprice of the soldiers to declare the people free. But after the first day, the leaders had checked the impetuosity of their men, and but few private houses were molested, and general pillage was not allowed. It was distinctly a mob of soldiers, and there was a certain discipline even in their riot. But as yet they did not permit the burial of the horribly mutilated bodies which had been lying in the Red Place since the morning of May 25th, and the czarina had to submit to the humiliation of allowing her guardian’s dismembered remains to lie exposed in the public square.

Ramodanofsky went out freely in his character of Peter Lykof. He possessed considerable influence with the Streltsi, and had succeeded in completely concealing his relations with the hated nobility. It occurred to me that if the truth should be discovered at an unfavorable moment, he might be treated by the soldiers as a traitor, and even a spy. The event justified my fears. I had been to the Kremlin and seen Mademoiselle Eudoxie, assuring her of Zénaïde’s safety; Mademoiselle and Madame von Gaden were concealed in the private apartments of the young Czarina Martha, the widow of Feodor, Sophia having rescued Von Gaden’s wife from the mob, and hidden her in her sister-in-law’s room. Meanwhile, a curious change had taken place in affairs of state. The young Czar Peter had been virtually deposed, and the czarina dowager, broken down with grief and trouble, made but a feeble resistance. I was shocked to see the change in her; she seemed utterly unnerved and unable to cope with the situation, while the Czarevna Sophia was making all the appointments, filling the vacancies caused by death, and selecting her own councillors. All the woman’s shrewdness and ability showed in the crisis. While she pretended to lament the atrocities of the riot, she was quick to profit by the opportunities they made for her success. She had acquired a thorough knowledge of public affairs during the illness of her brother, the Czar Feodor, when she had, in many instances, acted for him, and she showed her ability now in the selection of her advisers, Prince Basil Galitsyn, of course, standing foremost in her regard. It was patent to all that she was aiming at the regency, and we suspected at the crown, although she screened her motives behind her apparent affection for her blind brother, the Czarevitch Ivan. Peter’s election being discredited, it was impossible for affairs to remain on their present footing. The two young princes would have to reign jointly, and that meant the regency of Sophia Alexeievna. It was an evil hour for the Naryshkins, and the prospects of the young Peter never looked more gloomy. Glancing back upon those days of blood, it seems impossible that no one should have foreseen the advent of the great czar; that every eye was absorbed by the subtlety of the clever czarevna, never dreaming of the day of reckoning, when Peter should reclaim his own.

It was on the evening of the third day, when I had returned from the Kremlin, that Pierrot, who had been on duty constantly to guard Zénaïde, answered a gentle summons at the side door. I was in the lower hall at the time, and saw him admit two closely veiled women, followed by a young fellow, whom I recognized as one of the attendants of the imperial household. The foremost female figure was undoubtedly Mademoiselle Eudoxie.

“This was a risk, mademoiselle,” I said smiling, as I held out my hand, at the same time looking beyond her at the veiled figure, which I did not know.

“I could not stay there any longer,” mademoiselle exclaimed with a shudder. “It is too horrible. I seem to hear the shrieks of those poor murdered creatures all the time. Besides, I wanted to be with Zénaïde; I am not happy when I do not know that she is safe; and madame wanted to see you.”

This surprised me, and I glanced inquiringly at the muffled form. Seeing my look, the stranger raised her veil, and I saw the face of Madame von Gaden, changed as I have scarcely ever seen a woman’s face change in a few days. She looked old with her pallor and the dark rings under her eyes. I divined her errand in a moment, and sending mademoiselle to Zénaïde, turned to the poor woman with as gentle a manner as I could command.

“Have you seen him?” she asked in a broken voice; “have you heard anything?”

Very tenderly I told her of my parting with her husband after our escape from his house.

“And you have never seen him since?” she exclaimed, pressing her hand to her heart. “Where can he be?”

“Far away, I trust, madame,” I replied gravely. “Let us not wish to see him until this frenzy is over. It is almost spent; it cannot last a great while now.”