It was when we were at last leaving the cathedral, pressed and hemmed in by the crowd, that I was pushed almost against the Boyar Ramodanofsky. As I glanced at him, I saw a curious look come over his face; his features seemed to freeze with sudden horror, and his eyes fixed themselves in a stare. Following the direction of his glance, I saw in the crowd the tall figure of my acquaintance of election day, Peter Lykof. He was apparently looking at the boyar, and there was a smile on his lips; and was it the scar that so distorted it, and made it horrible, mocking, revengeful? I watched them in keen surprise, until the people surged between, and I saw Lykof no more. Ramodanofsky walked before me like a man in a dream, and I kept him in sight as long as it was possible; but presently, in the press and confusion, I lost him also. Later, I heard that he had been taken suddenly ill, and leaving the procession, had been driven home. All the way along I looked eagerly for another sign of Lykof, but my vigilance was not rewarded with success.
Meanwhile, the funeral cortége took its slow course, returning across the Grand Square of the Kremlin, and once more the figure of the bereaved czarevna absorbed all attention, and she continued to give way to her grief. We had almost reached the centre of the Red Place when she made her appeal to the people. It was the climax of the scene, and took the opposing faction completely by surprise. Pausing, and facing the vast multitude, she stretched out her hands to them with an eloquent gesture; in a moment there was a profound silence, and her voice was distinctly heard at a long distance:—
“Our brother, the Czar Feodor, has departed from this life,” she said. “His enemies have poisoned him. Be merciful unto us orphans, for we are desolate. Our brother Ivan has not been elected czar, and we have no one to protect us. We are innocent; but if you and the boyars wish to be rid of us, let us go to other lands, where we can have the protection of Christian kings.”
CHAPTER VIII.
THE ASSASSIN.
When it was too late to prevent the consequences, the Naryshkins realized the effect of the Czarevna Sophia’s presence at the funeral of Feodor. Her passionate appeal to the people was in the nature of a coup d’état, and who could measure the results? For days, rumors had been afloat that the late czar had been poisoned, and the ignorant populace, always only too ready to credit such accusations, accepted Sophia’s bold declaration as a confirmation of every story, and the ugly skeleton of murder stalked out of the imperial closet. The crowd had surged about the czarevna in a violent manifestation of loyalty and the unfortunate exit of the Czarina Natalia served to increase the victory. Peter was then only ten years old, and the czarina was probably justified in taking the child away from that long and weary service; but no excuse would be accepted for her in the heat of the popular displeasure.
When I left the Kremlin that evening, I encountered Dr. von Gaden, and he walked with me a little way towards my quarters. The doctor was anxious and disturbed, and we discussed the conduct of the czarevna.
“The Miloslavskys are desperate,” Von Gaden remarked, “and Sophia is able enough and clever enough to wring success out of their defeat; they are playing on the disloyalty of the Streltsi.”
“A dangerous move,” I replied. “I heard to-day that the Streltsi had presented a formal petition for redress and the punishment of their own officers.”
“Yes,” Von Gaden said, shaking his head thoughtfully, “only one regiment remains faithful to the young czar.”
“You mean the Sukharef, and I suppose they will tamper even with that.”