XXXIV: A BOYAR’S FUNERAL
I KEPT the pace at a run, until I had left my pursuers far behind, and then I had much ado to secure one of their horses. One, frightened by the shots, outran us, and was disappearing southward, but the other had fallen from a gallop to a trot, and from a trot to an amble, and, at last, stopped to crop the fresh grass by the wayside, and I caught him, though with some difficulty; but I had two good reasons for desiring his company upon the road. First, I had no mind to leave him for the two varlets, who would doubtless follow on foot—if they did not kill each other; and secondly, I meant to sell him at the first village I reached, for I was penniless and without weapons, besides having been robbed of my cloak and the lace ruffles at my neck and sleeves, and even of the gold buttons on my waistcoat, for the two ruffians had been a pretty pair of thieves, and would doubtless, in the end, have stripped me to my shirt.
It was then that my habits of observation served me well. M. de Turenne used to say of me, that not even a rat ran into camp without my knowledge—and he gave me great credit for it, though, perhaps, I should not tell of it, but what will you? If a man praise not himself, who will? Not his enemies, and not his friends, for they are ever envious of too much eminence; ’tis the way of the world. But, as I said, my observation served me well; but for it, I should never have found my way on those wild plains, but a stump here, or a dip of the land there, showed me the path, and riding with as much speed as I thought prudent for my horse-flesh, I reached the village where the women-folk were still swinging, and here I sold the led horse and bought a long Russian saber and some food for myself and my beast, and went on again, not caring to trust to their hospitality or loyalty, for my reappearance with two horses led at once to suspicion, and to increase my difficulties, before I was done with my bargains, in trotted the other horse, who had evidently been grazing in the meadow by the town, and nothing but a speedy departure saved me from being carried before the starosta—the village magistrate.
That night I lay under the open sky again, and only long enough to rest myself and my horse, and was in the saddle before dawn. I had bought food enough to last, with frugality, until I reached Troïtsa, and I steadily avoided all hamlets or signs of human habitation, fearing more complications, and by dint of prudence and hard riding I saw, at last, the golden crosses of Troïtsa, and for very joy I could have fallen down and prayed, as the Russians do, on the Hill of Prostration, when they first see Moscow. Of my friends, Martemian and Mikhail, I had seen nothing, and I fancied that one of them had been killed over that bag of roubles, for which they cared far more than they did for me.
As I approached Troïtsa my thoughts—never far-distant from their loadstar—dwelt constantly on the Princess Daria. I thought to find her there; it would be impossible for Voronin to return yet to the city, and if they were still in Troïtsa, I could find her, and learn her will and her inclinations. Every word that she had said to me, every gesture, the swift lifting of her slender, long-fingered hands, the droop of her head, or its proud erectness, the slender virginal outlines of her figure; all these things dwelt in my recollection. I was bewitched, if ever man was, and yet—and yet, did she love Galitsyn? With these pretty torments to sting and goad me on, I rode boldly into the village at the gates of Troïtsa, and finding quarters for my horse, set out, at once, on foot to make inquiries.
It was a cloudy day and exceedingly dreary; even the splendour of that great monastery seemed subdued. There were more pilgrims, though, I thought; more men and women kneeling here and there in the road facing the sacred place.
But I was inattentive to these things; I knew nothing yet, and I must learn something of her, and at once. I felt like a traveller in a desert country, I was athirst for tidings. Presently I came to the road that led to the shrine of Saint Sergius, and here I saw that the ground was strewn with bits of fir and hemlock, as these people ever strew the way before a corpse, and I heard the slow weird chant rising as the procession approached me. I was caught, hemmed in by the peasants around me, who fell on their knees. Slowly down the wide path of hemlock boughs wound the black-robed figures, and slowly with long-drawn notes rose the chant.
First came the lanthorn-bearers, though it was in the forenoon, four tall men in long black gowns with wide-brimmed black hats, and each one bore a candle, burning in a lanthorn, and behind them came a man with his head uncovered, his long grey hair floating in the breeze and he bore a sacred picture clasped to his breast, and—lest his touch should defile it—fine white cambric covered the edges of the frame where he held it. Then followed two men bearing the coffin-lid, on which lay the long sword, the embroidered robe of state, the arms and insignia of a great noble and boyar, and with him walked two boys carrying crosses on velvet cushions. These walked slowly—as they all did—and behind them came the priests and deacons in robes of black velvet, edged with silver and covered with silver crosses, and the deacons carried aloft the tapers and the censers which filled the with the dead sweetness of incense, and they led the chant, slower—slower and more solemn—for after them followed the bier, borne by six tall men in the rich robes of noblemen, and beside them were the bearers of more tapers, burning in keen yellow points in the grey day. The bier itself was covered with a pall of silver brocade and on it, in a magnificent embroidered robe of scarlet and gold, his hands clasping a cross on his breast, his face uncovered, lay the embalmed corpse. And the face, though distorted by death, was still the face of Kurakin.
I started, and stood staring while the gorgeous bier was borne slowly past me. Face to face again with him—mine enemy! Slain, too, in a fight with me, though not directly by my hand. His face, exposed so cruelly in the daylight, and with the flare, too, of the yellow tapers on it, seemed to reproach me. I had as certainly been his evil genius as I had been that of M. d’Argenson, and yet I could not feel regret. I knew the man’s life had been evil, report said that he had beaten his first wife to death, and his ways had been violent and bloody. So much the worse too, for him, in this his sudden taking-off. I stood staring, like a fool, while the crowd of mourners followed, his friends and his serfs, all bare-headed, and the last bare-foot. Then, reflecting that these people, if they recognised me, might hold me to account, I turned to find my way out of the press of onlookers, and had not gone two steps before I saw a face that I welcomed with joy. Not ten yards distant stood the dwarf, Maluta, and, at the sight of me, he beamed with delight. I beckoned to him to follow, and in a few moments we were comparatively alone, and I halted to ask and answer questions. He had been in great distress at my disappearance, and must know the particulars, even while he replied to my inquiries. He had only reached Troïtsa the night before, and he bore messages and letters, as well as more of my money, sent by Maître le Bastien, and he described his search for me and his perplexity, and ended by saying that he had thought, up to a moment ago, that I had gone with Prince Voronin, or in pursuit of him.
“Prince Voronin!” I cried excitedly; “I left him here with his daughter and his niece—is he back in Moscow?”