The Shadow of the Czar Part 67

Here Miroslav drew forth a small card, which Gabor conveyed to the princess, who started at sight of the words that were written upon it.

She handed the note to Radzivil, whose face immediately expressed the utmost consternation. He tendered the card to Zabern, who in turn pa.s.sed it to the minister beside him, and thus amid a death-like silence it went the round of the table.

And the words of the note were these,--

_You are herewith commanded to release the Duke of Bora.

Delay will mean death to you._

_NICHOLAS PAULOVITCH Czar of all the Russias._

"When I saw that signature," continued Miroslav, "I gave orders that the visitor should be instantly admitted. On entering the room he commanded my servant to retire, and then when he had withdrawn the cloak from his face I saw that it was indeed the Emperor Nicholas.

'Have you given command for the release of my kinsman?' were his first words. Vain was it for me to protest that I could receive such an order only from the princess herself. 'I am the suzerain of Czernova, and therefore above the princess,' was his reply."

"Ha!" said Barbara, with a flash of her eyes. "And you acknowledged his suzerainty?"

"Your Highness is great, but the Czar is greater. Who is like the mighty Nicholas?"

"No one on earth, Miroslav; for which fact may the saints be praised!"

remarked Zabern.

"Your Highness, I was so awed by the emperor's majestic presence, by his authoritative manner, by the thought of his empire and power that I could not do otherwise than obey him. The marshal himself would have done the like, had he been in my place."

Zabern repudiated the statement with a scornful laugh.

"I brought the duke to the presence of the emperor, and the two withdrew, going I know not where. Fearing your Highness's displeasure, I myself quitted the Citadel, intending to fly from Czernova. I throw myself upon your Highness's mercy."

"It was your duty, Miroslav," returned Barbara, "to retain your prisoner, even at the hazard of your life. In taking orders from a foreign sovereign you have committed an act of treason. Gabor, see that the governor be kept in the palace here till our return from the cathedral. We will then decide as to his punishment."

Gabor saluted, and the troop retired with their prisoner.

"The Czar secretly in our city!" murmured Radzivil, in a tone of dismay. "What is his object?"

"No good to our rule, count," replied Barbara, quietly.

The secret visit of the Czar to Slavowitz, and his act in releasing the Duke of Bora, had so sinister an aspect that the hopeful ones among the ministry returned at a bound to their previous state of doubt. Were they about to witness a coronation or a dethronement? Was the Czar preparing to intervene in the ceremony? Would the solemnity in the cathedral end amid the mockery and the triumph of the Muscovite faction? With a feeling of pity they glanced at their fair young ruler, who for her part showed no sign of fear in this great crisis.

They recognized that if she should fall, she would fall with dignity.

The breakfast ended, and Barbara retired to dress for the coming ceremony.

Outside, in the wide extent of ground fronting the Vistula Palace, the long line of the procession was slowly forming under the direction of marshals and heralds.

Part of the procession consisted of a sort of historic pageant; its members, attired in costumes that recalled every period of Polish history, carried trophies and emblems, calculated to stir the patriotic enthusiasm of the populace.

In this pageant Katina Ludovska bore part, by far the most charming of the maidens present, clad as she was in a dainty corselet of silvered mail, above a dark-blue satin skirt flowered with gold. Mounted upon a beautiful bay, she bore proudly aloft a famous historic memorial, a standard captured by King Sigismund at the taking of Moscow, its white silken folds distinctly stamped with the impress of a b.l.o.o.d.y hand, a ghastly testimony to the struggle that had once raged around it.

In riding along the line of the procession, Zabern stopped and addressed a few words to his affianced.

"Not pasteboard and tinsel, I trust?" he said, with a smile, and referring to the sword by her side.

"Real steel," replied Katina, exhibiting the blade.

"Good! 'Tis well to go armed on such a day as this. We shall be fighting for our liberties ere long."

"Death before submission," replied Katina, with a brave light in her eyes that made Zabern love her the more.

The din caused by the marching of soldiers, the neighing of steeds, the rolling of carriage-wheels, the snarling of silver trumpets, the crisp, sharp word of command floated upward to Barbara's ears as she sat undergoing her toilet at the hands of her ladies. She wondered, as she had wondered many times that morning, how it would all end, for a.s.suredly no coronation could ever have been heralded with more sinister auspices than her own.

Partly with a view to picturesque effect, and partly that the populace along the line of route might have a clear and uninterrupted view of their princess, it had been decided that she should proceed to the cathedral mounted upon a white palfrey.

Barbara had been somewhat disposed at first to shrink from this exposure to public gaze, but had finally consented to the arrangement, won over by the argument that as the people would a.s.semble for the express purpose of seeing her, it would be a disappointment to them to catch but a glimpse of their ruler through the windows of a state-coach.

To Radzivil and Zabern had been given the honor of riding side by side with the princess, though the marshal cared much less for the honor than for the opportunity afforded him of exercising guard over her person, since he was not without apprehension that some fanatic Muscovite might attempt her life during her progress through the streets.

The procession was timed to start at ten o'clock, and as the hour drew near Zabern and the premier rode to the entrance of the palace, and there waited the coming of the princess.

The marshal was mounted upon a magnificent black charger, and made a splendid figure, for he wore the old picturesque Polish costume, and sparkled with diamonds from plume to spur.

"And to think," he mused in the interval of waiting, "to think that Captain Woodville has not yet arrived."

"Captain Woodville?" exclaimed the premier with a start. "Surely the princess is not recalling him?"

"No, but I am; and his non-arrival is a grave matter for us. Were the duke still in the Citadel, Woodville's absence might be borne with equanimity. As it is--but here comes the princess. I must defer my explanation."

Punctually at one minute to ten, Barbara appeared at the entrance of the palace, and descending the marble stairs, she mounted her white palfrey with the a.s.sistance of Radzivil.

Zabern at the same moment waved his plumed cap, and immediately a salvo of artillery from the roof of the palace proclaimed to the waiting populace that the princess was about to set off.

Amid the roll of drums, the crash of music, and the pealing of bells from every steeple in the city, the great brazen gates of the palace gardens were flung wide, and there rode forth the head of the procession, the Blue Legion, their lances flas.h.i.+ng brightly in the sunlight.

As they moved out, the sight that met their eyes was sufficient to stir the blood of the most sluggish. The centre of the road was empty, but the sidewalks were literally paved with human heads. Every window, balcony, and roof was alive with spectators. All Czernova was there, every citizen apparently determined to find a place somewhere along the line of route. Resolved to obtain a view somehow of their youthful sovereign, men could be seen clinging in mid-air to steeples, pediments, cornices, wherever foothold could be found. From the ground below to the sky above nothing but human faces.

"Sword of Saint Michael!" muttered Zabern. "A pity all have not been trained to use the rifle. We might, then, make good defence, even against the Czar's one hundred thousand."

As soon as Barbara made her appearance, she was greeted with frenzied cheering. Roar after roar rent the air. Rolling along the boulevard, and mounting upward to the sky, the sound was almost loud enough to be heard in the distant camp of the Czar. So great was the enthusiasm that the troops lining the streets could with difficulty prevent the populace from pressing forward to touch her.

If any dissentients to her rule were present along the line of route, they were careful to dissemble their feelings. But who could dissent from a maiden so sweet and fair? Dressed simply in white silk, she looked every inch a princess. Her dark hair was without covering, save for a slender gold diadem, from which there flowed behind a veil of diaphanous lace.

Tears glistened in eyes that had not been wet for years.

Aged men who had seen the great Kosciusko carried off from the fatal field of Macicowice; veterans who, like Zabern, had marched with Napoleon to the fall of Moscow; fugitives from Siberian mines, with bodies scarred by the iron fetters they had worn; Polish patriots, survivors of the ill-starred rising of '30--all were gathered that day in the Czernovese capital to acclaim one destined, so they believed, to revive the ancient empire of Poland. Many a salute did Zabern give, as from time to time he caught sight among the crowd of the face of some old familiar-in-arms.

Barbara, however, though smiling sweetly upon all around, was inwardly unhappy. A secret voice seemed to whisper, "Deceiver! this tribute of loyalty is offered to Natalie Lilieska, the lawfully born daughter of the Princess Stephanie, and not to the Barbara of doubtful origin."

It was too late now to recede from the _role_ she had a.s.sumed, and so amid shouting mult.i.tudes she rode on, her progress from the palace to the cathedral being one continuous scene of triumph, unmarred by anything of a hostile character.

"It is here, then, that we are to look for the Czar's _coup_?"

muttered Zabern, as the cavalcade drew in sight of the stately Gothic cathedral of Saint Stanislas, from every tower of which silver-tongued bells were pealing jubilant carillons.

Those in the procession whose duty or privilege it was to enter the cathedral, made their ingress by various doors to their appointed places; the less fortunate remained drawn up in order around the edifice.