Praskovia Soltikof passed that night in the Tsaritsa’s house at Preobrajensky, for young Tsar Peter would write his promised letter to Ivan, and that could not be done quickly, since at this time—though in after years he became a notable letter-writer—the writing of letters was a slow and laborious matter for him. In the morning I rode with her to Moscow, Peter having bidden her God-speed at departing, addressing her as ‘sister,’ to Praskovia’s delight, and bidding her—in case Ivan should be fool enough to pass her by—return among the maidens who in two years’ time would assemble for his own bride-choosing.

‘I owe thee much for this, Chelminsky,’ she said as we rode, ‘and if I should become Tsaritsa I will not forget thy service to me.’

‘Do not forget it in any case,’ I laughed, ‘such as it is; moreover, maybe I shall be privileged to add to it before many days are past!’

‘As how?’ she asked, surprised.

‘You have not yet seen Ivan,’ I replied. ‘Perhaps when you have seen him you will take fright, like your father, or feel such an aversion towards him as no sentiment of ambition can withstand: then you may wish to escape the fate you now fancy so desirable, and in that case I shall be at hand to assist you, if possible, out of the quandary into which you have thrust yourself.’

‘I tell you he may be as ugly as the fiend, as repulsive as a leper, what care I? It is the sceptre I marry, not the man. They say he marries only because the Regent will have it so, and is incapable of preferring one woman over another. Others will choose for him and will choose the fairest, in the hope that he will afterwards develop so much manhood as to be moved by her attractions; but once I have him safely I shall take care that my attractiveness ends.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘I tell you honestly that I am sorry for you, and that I tremble to think what may be your fate if he should, by chance, take a fancy for you. Imagine such a creature pressing amorous attentions upon you—bah! could you withstand such a thing?’

‘I am content to leave such questions. Do not attempt to frighten me: I desire to be called Tsaritsa; it is a prize for which I am prepared to pay a price; yes, and I will pay it, though be sure I shall be a haggler in the matter of payment!’

There was no difficulty in obtaining an entrance to the terem. I stated her name and the object of her coming, and the door opened at once. She gave me a smile as we parted, sweet enough to carry any man’s affections by storm, and I left the palace with a heavy heart, feeling as though I had caught a beautiful lamb and brought it for sacrifice.

Indeed, I found myself heartily praying that this poor child might even yet escape the fate she courted. Maybe, after all, she would not be chosen. There were many others who were beautiful: two or three, certainly, might run her a close race. Olga Panief, in her own style, was as fair as the Soltikof maiden, and my heart beat with a savage hope that she might be preferred for the hideous destiny of becoming Tsaritsa to such a Tsar. She had jilted me in the expectation of doing better for herself at Court—let the Tsar have her and spare this other! Lord! how I should laugh to see Olga mated with such a creature—she who had presumed to throw over Chelminsky! It gave me pleasure to picture to myself the awakening of Olga if she were chosen—awaking to the knowledge that she had allied herself to this repulsive thing and that the marriage was a reality!

For Olga to be so caught would be the merriest of jests; but for this innocent, this child Praskovia, or—worse still—for Vera Kurbatof, who deserved such a fate least of all, since she did not, like the others, desire it!—for her to be thus offered a living sacrifice!—that would indeed be a matter to make the gods weep!

As for Vera, she was at this time in great danger, as I have shown; for it seemed to me and to many others well informed that the Regent Sophia had set her heart on the poor girl as the Tsaritsa-to-be—dear saints! she to be the life-companion of such a Tsar!

But though this were so, and I am still assured that it was, the Regent was none the less determined that his Highness should have every opportunity to choose for himself a better or fairer consort than Vera Kurbatof, if such could be found; and for this reason she was most strict and most severe in her dealings with the maidens brought to the terem for inspection and selection—that none should escape before inspection, or should employ arts by which they might render themselves less attractive in appearance than nature had made them. For there were some who did not hesitate to disfigure themselves by staining their teeth, scratching their faces, or affecting a limp, in order to escape the being chosen. These back-holders were the minority, of course, and very few at that; for the greater number were content to throw everything else to the winds if only they might reach the highest place and be called Tsaritsa. Doubtless those few who were unwilling to be chosen were they whom Love had so securely entangled in his net that the poor fluttering things had lost their heads and were unable to see salvation except in struggling for freedom.

Thus some preferred, as I say, to disfigure themselves, and a few tried to escape; and among these latter was a fair maiden, Doonya Meschersky, who was so terribly in love with her lover, Kostromsky, that they could not wait upon events, but must needs take destiny into their own hands and attempt in clumsy fashion to shape their own ends.

This Kostromsky was a desperate and determined swain. Doonya, like other unwilling candidates, had been forced by her father to enter into competition with her peers; but Kostromsky swore by all the saints that he would see to it the Tsar should not reap where he had tilled, and the two devised a plan of escape which they endeavoured to carry out when Doonya had been but two days a prisoner in the terem.

Doonya fell ill, or seemed to, having first bribed the old nyanka, or nurse, who was in charge of her dormitory to declare that she had taken an infectious malady, and was therefore a danger to all the rest. The old nurse ran crying through the terem that Doonya Meschersky had taken the fever and must be removed at once, and away ran a messenger for her own doctor, who was to be found, said Doonya, at a certain address.

This leech was of course Kostromsky, who was impatiently awaiting the summons, and accompanied the messenger back to the palace in hot haste.

‘The nyanka is right,’ he said, upon seeing Doonya, who made a show of raving and tossing upon her bed; ‘this is the first stage of the blood fever—the Barishnya must be removed immediately.’

Whereupon Doonya was wrapped in coverings and carried by the doctor himself out of the dormitory and down the stairs which led to the street. But unfortunately the Regent and Galitsin met the party upon the stairs, and her Highness would know what ailed the girl and who was this that carried her away.

The nyanka replied that a calamity had happened: here was a poor Barishnya taken with fever of a dangerous and infectious kind and must be moved, said this good doctor, before others were tainted with it.

‘And who is this good doctor, and why was not the Court physician summoned?’ asked Sophia.

‘She would see no leech but her own!’ said the nyanka, weeping and crossing herself. ‘Poor lamb, that might have been chosen Tsaritsa but for this sad infection——’

‘Pooh!’ said Sophia, interrupting. ‘Lay her down here on the landing, and go, someone, for Drury, the Court physician.’

When this Englishman came he soon pronounced Doonya well enough, looking hard at Kostromsky the while, whereupon Galitsin, suspecting the family doctor, pulled the wig from his head and revealed Kostromsky, whom both he and the Regent knew well.

The issue of the matter was unfortunate for both the conspirators, for her Highness treated them with severity, in order to deter other fools, as she said, from behaving in a similar fashion. Poor Doonya was taken straight to the flog-room, where she tasted of the knout and was then thrust back into the terem, to be laughed at or pitied by her companions, according to their dispositions.

But as for Kostromsky—whom, as it happened, Galitsin hated because he was a Petrofsky, or follower of young Tsar Peter—a strange fate was reserved for him.

‘Why have you done this thing, fool?’ Galitsin asked the poor youth, when Doonya was led weeping away to her punishment.

‘She is my nevÉysta (fiancÉe),’ said Kostromsky boldly; ‘do not dare to have her flogged, Galitsin, or I swear that one day I will have revenge.’

‘What!’ exclaimed the Regent Sophia, ‘you would marry—is that it?’

‘I both would marry and will, Highness,’ said Kostromsky.

‘He speaks truth,’ laughed Sophia. ‘Here, one of you, go fetch a priest, he shall be married at once: take the nyanka, some of you, and dress her for bride. Lord, if the fool is anxious to be married, he shall have his way!’

In vain did poor Kostromsky entreat, threaten, blaspheme—the Regent had no reply but laughter; and sure enough, before the hour was out, this youth—and a handsome youth, too—and this hag of seventy were man and wife—so far, at least, as the ministrations of a priest of the Orthodox Church could make them so.

Thus did her Highness endeavour to terrify those of the selected maidens who would prefer to work out their own destinies rather than accord to the Tsar the traditional privileges of Russian Tsarship.