The Vagrant Duke | Page 4

terrible than the
men--"
"And the leaders----?"
Dmitri Sidorov of the Zemstvo and Michael Kositzin and Anton
Lensky. See, yonder! Where the road turns from the clearing--they
come!"
The keen eyes of Boris saw further through the forest than those of
most men but in a moment those of the Grand Duke Peter confirmed
him. Figures were moving in the twilight, along the roads and bypaths.
To Peter Nicholaevitch they seemed like a great river which had
flooded over its banks seeking new levels. Behind them the flames
from the wooden hunting lodge roared upward painting a lurid sky. He
saw that the flood came rapidly, and above the roar of the flames came
the sound of voices singing the Russian version of the "Marseillaise."
The Grand Duke stood at the terrace wall watching their approach. He
knew that if they meant to attack the Castle the gate could not hold long,
but he had hope that he might still be able to prevail upon them to listen
to him. In a moment they saw him and began running forward toward
the courtyard gate. He recognized individuals now--Anton Lensky,
Michael Kuprin, with his head tied in a dirty handkerchief--and Conrad
Grabar. The defection of his old instructor in wood-lore disturbed him.
Conrad must have known what was to happen and he had said nothing.
If Conrad had turned against him, what hope had he of prevailing
against the others?
The singing died away and in its place, shouts and cries burst forth in a
bedlam. "Open the gate!" "Let us in!"

The Grand Duke had heard that note in men's voices in the Carpathian
passes, and he knew what it meant, but while his gaze sought out the fat
figure of Michael Kositzin who was the leader of the uprising, he held
up his hand for silence.
There was a roar of voices.
"Peter Nicolaevitch wishes to speak."
"It is our turn to speak now."
"Nasha pora prishlà," (our time has come).
"Let the little master speak."
"We know no little masters here!"
"No, nor old ones!"
"Smiert Bourjouiam" {Death to the bourgeoisie).
But as the young Grand Duke began to speak the voices of the most
rabid of the peasants were hushed for a moment by the others.
"My friends and my children" he began, "one word before you do
something that you will forever regret. I am your friend. I am young--of
the new generation. I have kept abreast of the new thought of the time
and I believe in the New Life that is for you and for us all. I have
proved it to you by bringing the New Life to Zukovo by peaceful
means, by friendliness and brotherhood while other parts of Russia near
by are in agony and darkness." {Cries of "That is true") "It was in my
heart that I had brought the Revolution to Zukovo, a Revolution against
the old order of things which can be no more, implanting in you the
strong seeds of Peace and Brotherhood which would kill out the ugly
weeds of violence and enmity."
Here a hoarse voice rang out: "Fire--only fire can clean." Then the
reply of a woman, "Yes, Tovaristchi, it is the only way."

Peter Nicholaevitch tried to seek out the speakers with his gaze. One of
them was Michael Kuprin whom when a child the Grand Duke had
seen flogged in this very courtyard.
"There are sins of the past," he went on, raising his voice against the
low murmur of the mob, "many sins against you, but one sin does not
wash out another. Murder, rapine, vengeance will never bring peace to
Zukovo.
What you do to-day will be visited on you to-morrow. I pray that you
will listen to me. I have fought for you and with you--with Gleb
Saltykov and Anton Lensky, against the return of Absolutism in Russia.
The old order of things is gone. Do not stain the new with crime in
Zukovo. I beseech you to disperse--return to your homes and I will
come to you to-morrow and if there are wrongs I will set them right.
You have believed in me in the past. Believe in me now and all may yet
be well in Zukovo. Go, my friends, before it is too late--"
The crowd wavered, murmuring. But just then a shot rang out and the
cap of the Grand Duke twitched around on his head.
A roar went up from near the gate, "Nasha pora prishlà! Break in the
gate!'" cried the voices and there were those of women among them
shouting "Tovaristchi! Forward!"
Over the heads of those in the front ranks, Peter Nicholaevitch saw
some men bringing from the forest the heavy trunk of a felled pine tree.
They meant to break down the