Chapter III: A Menace From the Czar

In an ante-chamber of the Vistula Palace sat Count Radzivil, premier of Czernova, in company with Marshal Zabern, the Warden of the Charter; and the Charter being the palladium of Czernovese liberty, the custody of that sacred document carried with it a high distinction, second only to that of the premiership.

The two ministers were waiting to communicate to the princess the contents of an important despatch, which had just arrived from the Czernovese ambassador at St. Petersburg; for Czernova, be it known, though but a small state, was nevertheless sufficiently wealthy to maintain an embassy at the three courts with which its interests came most in contact, namely, St. Petersburg, Vienna, and Berlin.

The only other occupants of the apartment were two silent chamberlains, standing like statues before the folding doors of the audience-chamber, each dressed in white pantaloons and silk stockings, and each decorated with the silk wand of office.

Ladislas Zabern was a man of fine soldierly presence, with limbs that seemed carved from oak and soldered with iron. Courage was indelibly stamped upon his face. He was fifty-three years of age, and though his dark hair and moustaches were streaked with gray, he had lost none of the energy of youth.

A sabre-cut marked his left cheek, for he had known fighting from early days. There was a legend current among his admirers--and they numbered every man with Polish blood in his veins--that in childhood he had been taken by his father, a patriotic noble, to the sacramental altar, and made to swear that he would be the life-long enemy of Russia.

Be that as it may, his fiery youth had been spent in vain attempts to procure the emancipation of Poland from the Russian yoke, and, as a result, he had made acquaintance with that indispensable adjunct to Muscovite civilization, Siberia. Chains and hardships, however, had not soured his nature, as the good-humored twinkle in his eye sufficiently proved.

He was the sword and buckler of Czernova, unceasingly vigilant in guarding this last fragment of Poland both against open aggression from without, and also against secret disaffection from within.

The Muscovites of the principality who regarded him as an incarnation of the devil had some shadow of reason on their side; for though Zabern was naturally of a frank and open disposition, the web of political circumstances had forced him to be crafty and subtle.

Czernova, being but a small state, was dependent for its freedom, not upon strength of arms but upon the arts of diplomacy, and in those arts Zabern was without a rival. Prince Metternich and Count Nesselrode came off second-best when they played their game with the Polish patriot.

No man ever wore the mantle of Ananias with more ease and grace, and when rebuked half-playfully, half-seriously by the princess for some brilliant piece of deception, calculated to make the most daring diplomatist stand aghast, he would merely reply: "The truth is, your Highness, each of us was trying to deceive the other; I happened to be the greater liar of the two, and so I succeeded. With two empires like Austria and Russia pressing upon our borders and endeavoring to annex us, it would be folly to act on the lines of the Sermon on the Mount. We'll wait till they set us the example."

It was only natural that, as a refugee from Siberia, he should be an object of hatred to the bureaucracy of St. Petersburg, and extradition having failed to secure his person, recourse was had to darker methods, and Zabern had come to regard attempts upon his life as all in the day's work.

Such was Marshal Zabern, the leading member of the Czernovese ministry, for Radzivil's premiership was purely nominal. None knew better than the count himself that he had been selected by the princess mainly to gild the cabinet with a famous historic name.

Radzivil had been narrating to the marshal the incident of the fracas between Paul and the Duke of Bora.

To the premier's surprise Zabern received the news with an air of grim satisfaction.

"Why, count, this is manna from heaven. Have you told the others?" he added, meaning by that expression the rest of the ministry.

"Yes, and the opinion of one and all is that the princess must be called upon to intervene."

Zabern smiled with the air of one who should say, "A parcel of old women!"

"Count," he said, assuming an authoritative manner, "this duel must take place. The good of the state requires it."

"The cabinet connive at the breaking of the law! Impossible! It is our duty to inform her Highness without delay, unless," added the premier, "unless you can give good reason for acting otherwise."

"Well, I, Zabern, forbid you," laughed the marshal good-humoredly. "Won't that reason suffice you, count?"

Ere the premier could reply, the chiming of a silver bell in the audience-chamber announced that the princess was ready to receive her visitors.

The chamberlains flung wide the open doors.

"Remember," said Zabern, in a somewhat stern whisper, "not a word of this duel to the princess."

And the perplexed Radzivil, always guided by the advice of his colleague, gave a reluctant assent.

The two ministers entered the White Saloon,--a hall so called from its pure white decorations relieved with gold.

At a table sat the fair princess who now bore the name of Natalie, but in earlier days that of Barbara.

She looked up with a bright smile, and motioned the two councillors to a seat at her table.

Zabern was her favorite minister, and he on his part was ready to sacrifice his life to advance her interests and happiness. It was this sentiment which made him look askance at her intended marriage with the duke. With doubts of its wisdom even as a political expedient, he had no doubts at all as to the private unhappiness that would result from the union of such an ill-assorted pair.

Therefore, he, Zabern, would prevent it; and matters that day seemed to be favoring his design.

"You come at an unusual hour, my lords, presumably, therefore, with important tidings?"

"From the grand liberticide," remarked Zabern.

"Our representative at St. Petersburg," remarked the premier, taking some papers from his despatch-box, "reports that at an ambassadorial ball given at the Winter Palace a few nights ago the Emperor Nicholas walked up to him, and in a severe voice, obviously intended to be heard by the whole assembly, exclaimed: 'Is it true, sir, that the Princess of Czernova has become a convert to the Catholic Faith?'"

"So my secret has transpired at last!" smiled Barbara. "Well, it matters little. It would have become public knowledge soon, inasmuch as my coronation must take place in a Latin cathedral."

"Of course the reply of our representative was that he could give no answer till he had received instructions from the princess."

"What said the Czar to this?"

"'We,'" replied Radzivil, reading from the despatch, "'we shall send an envoy to remind the princess that her coronation-oath requires assent to the Greek Faith.' Your Highness, the Czar speaks truly. Czernova must be governed according to its Charter, and as the Charter fixes the words of the coronation-oath, we cannot deviate from them without violating the conditions upon which autonomy was ceded to us. I would that we could send word to deny the truth of your conversion. Cannot," continued the premier, fixing a wistful look upon the face of the young princess, "cannot your Highness be persuaded to return to your early faith?"

"My early faith," murmured Barbara to herself, "has never changed." And then aloud she added, "Why, count, would you have me change my faith as lightly as I change my mantle?"

Zabern, though a Catholic himself, and that mainly because the Czar was a Greek, was nevertheless a politician before all things, and he here intervened with a characteristic suggestion.

"Since your Highness has not yet publicly avowed yourself a Catholic, you are free to deny that you are one. Act diplomatically. Publicly attend the services of the Greek basilica; privately have your own oratory in the palace here. The Pope will doubtless grant you a dispensation to this effect."

"No more such counsel, I pray you," said Barbara, coldly. "I am a Catholic, not a Jesuit."

"Your Highness corrects me with admirable judgment," returned Zabern, who made a point of always agreeing with his sovereign, for by such course he usually contrived to secure his own way in the end.

"Our representative proceeds to say," remarked the premier, referring again to his despatch, "that the Czar's words and manner were regarded by all the ambassadors present as a distinct menace to your Highness. 'The annexation of the principality,' and '_Finis Czernovæ_' passed from lip to lip."

"Czernova has survived many similar threats," said Barbara disdainfully.

"It is the contention of the Czar and his ministers," pursued the premier, "that as a Catholic your Highness is precluded from reigning. We would not alarm your Highness unnecessarily, but we cannot disguise the fact that we are approaching a very grave crisis."

"Be it so," replied Barbara, firmly. "My faith is dearer to me than crown or life. I shall not change it to please the Czar."

Radzivil looked the picture of melancholy at this avowal.

"As the Czar has promised to send an envoy," remarked Zabern, "your Highness will, of course, delay your answer till his arrival?"

To this Barbara assented.

"And in the interval," smiled Zabern cynically,--he was never happier than when opposing Russian designs,--"we will set the jurists to work to discover whether they cannot put upon the coronation-oath an interpretation different from that taken by the Czar. We will appeal to the decision of the other Powers; they being interested in opposing Russian aggrandizement will readily lay hold of any ambiguity in the wording of the oath."

After a brief interval of silence the princess, knitting her brows into a frown, said,--

"How comes the Czar to be aware of that which I revealed to my cabinet under pledge of secrecy?"

The two ministers interchanged significant looks.

"The statement we are about to make," began Radzivil, "is of so distasteful, so startling a character that we have hitherto withheld it from your Highness, hoping that it might prove false. In vain, however. We can no longer blind ourselves to the fact that there is a traitor in the cabinet."

"A traitor!" ejaculated Barbara.

"Reluctantly we are forced to this conclusion. Secrets discussed in the privacy of our council-chamber have been reported to the ministers of the Czar. The previous letters of our ambassador leave no doubt on this melancholy question."

Here the premier began to read various extracts, all tending to prove his statement.

"One of my own ministers secretly corresponding with the Czar!" murmured Barbara in dismay. "Who is the traitor! Whom do you suspect, my lords?" turning sharply upon her ministers.

"I know not in the least at whom to point the finger," replied the premier.

A smile flickered over Zabern's face, and he murmured to himself, "Blind Radzivil!"

"You suspect some one, marshal?" said Barbara, reading his looks.

"Your Highness, I do, but prefer to verify my suspicions ere stating them. I will say this much, however," continued Zabern, bending forward over the table and speaking in a whisper, "he whom I suspect is not one of the 'Transfigured.'"

The princess seemed somewhat relieved by this last statement.

"My spies are attentive to the traitor's movements," continued Zabern. "Nay, more; I have his emissary under lock and key in the Citadel."

"You refer to the man Russakoff?" asked Radzivil.

"Yes. I am convinced that he is the intermediary of this treasonable correspondence, and nothing but her Highness's clemency prevents me from learning the name of his principal."

"My clemency? How?" asked Barbara in surprise.

"The rack would soon make him confess."

"Oh! no, marshal," returned the princess, quickly. "No prisoner shall be put to the torture during my _régime_. I am trying to civilize Czernova. The rack would indeed be a return to barbarism."

"Then we must fall back upon our secretary, Trevisa, and pray the saints that he will unravel that cipher despatch. It may give us the clue we want."

"A traitor in the cabinet!" murmured Barbara. "Russia's arm is long and crafty; when will it be stayed? That desire of our hearts, a war betwixt England and Russia, seems as far off as ever."

"Nearer than men think," returned Zabern. "And strange to say, our capital contains at the present moment an Englishman whose words may have the effect of bringing it about."

"Who is this potent personage?" asked Barbara in surprise.

"A certain Captain Woodville, lately returned from India."

Zabern had been apprised by Radzivil of the duke's suspicion as to a former love-affair between the princess and this English captain, and therefore while speaking he watched Barbara with an eye ready to detect the slightest change in her manner. But the princess showed no confusion of face at the mention of the name "Woodville," and the marshal was forced to the conclusion that the duke was laboring under an error. Or, he murmured to himself, "the princess knows well how to hide her feelings."

"Woodville? Woodville?" repeated Barbara pensively; and then her face brightening, she added, "Surely not the Woodville of Tajapore renown?"

"The very same," replied Radzivil. "He is staying at the Hôtel de Varsovie. I had a--a brief conversation with him this morning."

At this moment the premier received from Zabern a look which warned him to say as little as possible concerning that interview.

"The siege of Tajapore!" said the princess. "Ah! that was a noble defence. Would four hundred of our men have done the like, think you, Zabern?" and without waiting for reply she turned to Radzivil and asked: "Did you inquire of Captain Woodville how long he intends to remain in Czernova?"

"His stay will be very brief, I fear," replied Radzivil, thinking of the duel and its probable issue.

"Very long, you mean," said Zabern in a grim whisper to the premier, "for you believe he'll never quit Czernova."

"I should like to see this illustrious Englishman ere he departs. Count, you must arrange for an audience."

And the count, knowing that he was conniving at a breaking of the law which would probably end in the death of this same Englishman, felt extremely uncomfortable, and but for the presence of his colleague, would certainly have revealed the whole truth.

"But how," inquired Barbara, "can Captain Woodville's words bring about an Anglo-Russian War?"

"Why, thus," returned Zabern. "He was interviewed at Alexandria by the correspondent of the English 'Times,' to whom he stated his belief that the artillery officers commanding the Afghans in their attack upon Tajapore were really Europeans in disguise, his opinion being based upon the superior way in which they handled their guns. And of what nationality they were is shown by the fact that Russian words were frequently heard in the heat of the _mêlée_. Captain Woodville has already embodied his views in despatches which are now under the consideration of the British cabinet. We shall soon have a troubling of the diplomatic waters. Lord Palmerston, alarmed at the recent advances made by Russia in Central Asia, is in no mood to be trifled with. He may seize upon the siege of Tajapore as a _casus belli_. If an Anglo-Russian war should come--"

Zabern checked his utterance and tapped the hilt of his sabre significantly.

"Then will come the day of Poland's uprising," said the princess with a heightened color. "My lords, you may withdraw."

The premier of Czernova and the Warden of the Charter rose, bowed, and retired, wending their way in leisurely fashion to the entrance of the palace.

"Marshal," said Radzivil, with a troubled look, "the princess seems to take great interest in this Woodville?"

"So much the more angry will she be with the man who slays him," returned the other, coolly.

"Which is your reason for wishing this duel to take place?" said Radzivil angrily. "You seek to destroy my favorite scheme of uniting the princess and the duke?"

"Precisely; that is my object. Her Highness will certainly be offended at seeing her future consort presuming to set himself above the law. It may cause her affections to become alienated. The duke has walked nicely into my net, as I foresaw he would."

"What net?"

"The Anti-duelling Act," replied Zabern with a cynical smile. "Why was I so earnest in getting the Diet to pass that measure?"

"To please the princess."

"Partly that, but much more because I saw in the measure an opportunity of entangling the duke. Aware of his arrogant disposition, I knew that he, deeming himself above the law, would soon be engaging in another duel. And my plan has succeeded," continued the marshall with a triumphant chuckle. "This day the duke is pledged to a duel with sabres. They fight _à la mort_,--that's the best of it. It's possible they may kill each other; if not, the alternatives are that the Englishman will slay the duke--and may the saints confer that boon upon Czernova!--or--"

"Or, which is far more likely, the duke will slay the Englishman."

"Regrettable that, since the Englishman is a fine fellow, who deserves a better fate. In that case the duke, in accordance with the new enactment, will have to stand his trial for murder."

Radzivil stood aghast. Strange that he had not carried the matter in thought so far as this!

"And if the princess adheres to the spirit and the letter of the law," continued Zabern with imperturbable coolness; "and, as you know, she is an enthusiast for law, she will have to sign the warrant for the execution of her intended consort."

"Good God!" gasped the premier.

"Works out beautifully, doesn't it? I intended it should."

"Oh, this shall not be! The princess must intervene to stop this duel. I will return at once and inform her."

"Hold!" said Zabern, sternly. "Let the duke abide by his folly and lose his bride. If Polish ascendancy is to be maintained in Czernova the duke must go. Fool!" he continued with a savage flash of his eyes, and forcibly detaining the premier by the sleeve. "How long, think you, shall we retain office if Bora once sits upon the throne of the Lilieskis?"

They had now reached the grand entrance of the palace. A trooper moved forward to meet them and stood at the salute, apparently wishful to deliver a message.

"What is it, Nikita?"

"Sire, the spy Russakoff has escaped from the Citadel."

"Damnation! the guards shall swing for this."