The rebellion of the Princess

by Mary Imlay Taylor

I looked down upon them in much curiosity; for an instant I forgot everything else. Here was the only military force in Russia, the only guardians of the throne, in mutiny, and who could oppose them? What man could quell the tumult, drive these mad creatures back to their dens? Fierce faces looked up, brawny arms brandished their weapons, and I noticed that they had even broken the long handles of their spears, that they might use them as swords. They poured in from every avenue and gateway, they choked up every outlet and massed themselves about the palace, shouting with passionate fury.

“Down with the Naryshkins! Death to the traitors! They have murdered the Czarevitch Ivan!”

Down with the Naryshkins! Ah, Mme. Sophia, this is then your handiwork? Down with your rivals, up with the Miloslavskys, and the blind czarevitch and his great sister. I saw what she had done, and more than ever I dreaded her power over the Princess Daria.

Meanwhile the uproar in the Red Place beggared description; for the most part I could not distinguish what was said, or rather shouted, but, ever and anon, I did clearly comprehend the cry:

“Give us the traitors! The Naryshkins have murdered the Czarevitch Ivan and the imperial family!”

The idea that a conspiracy really existed in the family of the Czarina Natalia to destroy the rivals of her little son, the Czar Peter, had got a firm hold on the ignorant minds of these creatures, and it had doubtless much to do with the final outbreak, but even after they were assured of the safety of the czarevitch, they kept on in their furious course.

While I looked, the patriarch, in full pontificals, came out upon the bedchamber porch and addressed the rioters, and with him were some boyars, among whom I recognised Prince Galitsyn. But their appeals to the mob had no result; the soldiers crowded up under the balcony and on the very Red Staircase itself; they brandished their weapons and shouted:

“Give us the traitors! Down with the Naryshkins!”

Their wild upturned faces scowled fiercely upon the nobles; they gesticulated and screamed, but, as, yet, no blood was shed, and only one or two stones had been thrown, and they fell wide of the mark, but the sullen rumble of wrath rose on the outskirts of the throng; the naked spears flashed in the sunshine, death was there, riot and murder—no sane man could be blind to it. Once more that wild shout rose. I climbed on the window-sill and looked down and saw the boyars bringing out the Czarina Natalia and her son, the little Czar Peter, and with them the weak-minded Czarevitch Ivan. At the sight of them the rioters went mad; they cried out so fiercely that the voice of the patriarch was drowned. They brought ladders and climbed to the very porch where the czarina stood—white as death—with the two boys beside her. The patriarch talked to the soldiers, but in vain, they pushed him roughly aside and clambered over one another until they pressed so close upon the czarina that she gave way, and hurried back into the palace, with her son and stepson, and then—for the moment—I thought that the end was at hand. The rioters howled like wolves and pressed forward; below a dark mass of men and a forest of cruel steel.

It was at this crisis that the chancellor, Matveief, came out; he was an old man of stately bearing, the uncle of the Czarina Natalia, and once the commander of these animals. At the sight of him there was a sudden lull, the noise died away, the onward rush was stayed; they waited, snarling like beasts, and the chancellor spoke. His voice did not come up to me distinctly; I could not follow his speech word for word, but I caught the drift of it. He was an astute politician, and he told them that they had been deceived by bad men, that no conspiracy existed, that they had themselves seen both the czar and the czarevitch alive and in good health, and it behoved them to disperse quietly to their homes, and, if they did so, he would himself intercede for them, that the czar might pardon this mutiny and attend to their grievances. Never was a speech better received; a shout of applause followed it, and the ringleaders began to waver. All might yet be well. I drew a breath of relief, and in this season of quiet I heard, for the first time, a knocking at the door of my prison.