Chapter VIII: Part IV: The Twilight of the Gods (7)

Bertram now persuaded Robert to indulge in a game of dice with their new friends; and encouraged by his evil companion to double and treble his stakes at each failure, the reckless young Duke quickly lost the whole of his fortune, even to his horses and armour.

Meanwhile, the gentle Alice had not forgotten her promise to her royal foster-brother; and on the day of the Tournament she sought an interview with the Princess of Sicily as she sat beneath her gorgeous canopy, and gave her a message from Robert, who implored pardon and humbly asked permission to contest for her hand in the lists that day. Isabella, who had never ceased to love Robert in spite of her displeasure at his wild conduct, was overjoyed to receive this contrite message, and readily granting the pardon he asked, sent back a gracious invitation to him to accept the challenge of her principal suitor, the Duke of Granada, who proudly called on all rivals to meet him in open combat.

But when at last the heralds blared forth the haughty Duke's challenge to Robert of Normandy, no response was made, and though the challenge was repeated again and again, still Robert did not stand forth. Nor did he appear throughout the whole of the Tournament; and when, at the end of the contests, the Duke of Granada was declared victor and winner of the fair Princess's hand, Isabella returned to her apartments overcome with grief and despair, feeling that Robert had betrayed her trust and scorned her love.

Now, Robert's absence from the Tournament had been cunningly contrived by the fiend-knight, Bertram, who had no desire for his victim to retrieve his character by gaining honour and glory in combat; so, having lured him away from the scene by a phantom in the form of his hated rival, the Duke of Granada, he led him to a desert place outside the city.

Having induced him to enter a gloomy cave, where he intended to reveal a secret to him, and also inquire of the spirits of darkness concerning him, Bertram returned for a moment to the open ground; and here, to his annoyance, he found Raimbaud the minstrel, who announced that he awaited Alice, his betrothed, whom he had asked to meet him there, as they intended to be wedded that day.

Being anxious for him to depart, the knight gave Raimbaud a handsome gift of gold, bidding him think no more of Alice, but return to his wanderings once again, since being now rich, he would quickly find many other pretty girls willing to love him; and the minstrel, held for the time being under the spell of Bertram's evil influence, at once hurried back to the city, where, however, better feelings prevailing again, he waited at the entrance for his betrothed.

Bertram now returned to the cave and invoked the evil spirits he knew so well. Whilst this invocation was going on, Alice appeared at the trysting-place, and, full of disappointment that her lover had failed to keep his engagement, crept into the mouth of the cave to await him.

Here she was alarmed to see vivid flashes of lightning, and to hear, amidst dreadful rumblings, the unearthly voices of demons calling a greeting to Robert; and fearing that her beloved foster-brother was in woeful danger, she was just about to spring forward to the spot where a flash of lightning presently revealed him to her sight, when Bertram suddenly blocked her path. He first attempted to address her in tones of gallantry, but the girl shrank back with such a look of unutterable horror in her eyes that the fiend knew at once she had guessed the secret of his true identity. Seizing her by the arm, he passionately declared that if she ever betrayed his secret, or revealed aught of what she had seen and heard in the cave, she should die, and also bring death upon her lover, and all whom she held dear; and Alice, though she longed to warn Robert, was so terrified by the awful aspect of Bertram that she dared not do so, but rushed wildly from the cave.

Bertram then returned to Robert, and divulged to him an evil scheme, by means of which he hoped to utterly destroy his soul. He invited him to visit the spot where Princess Bertha had been buried, and to pluck therefrom a certain magic bough that would give him resistless power, and enable him to satisfy every earthly desire, no matter how evil or impossible it might be; and Robert, deprived of the good influence of Alice, readily yielded to his solicitations, and set off at once with his fiend-counsellor for the Convent of Rosalie, where his mother's remains had been laid.

This Convent had been founded by Princess Bertha for pure Christian worship; but the spot had soon been deprived of its sanctity by the nuns themselves, who, forgetting their vows, had adored heathen gods, and offered impious sacrifices. Where virtue had once been cherished, vice only now dwelt, and when Bertram and Robert appeared amidst the gravestones, the evil spirits of the fallen nuns arose from all sides, and taking on the form of beautiful nymphs, assisted in the temptation of the victim.

For a short time Robert tried to resist the evil influences around him; but soon the insidious goading of Bertram prevailed, and plucking the magic bough, he rushed madly from the spot. His tempter quickly followed, bidding him to possess himself of the Princess of Sicily, whose innocence he might now destroy unhindered, in revenge for the scorn with which her proud father had treated him; and roused to madness by the subtle suggestion, Robert instantly returned to Palermo to carry it out.

It was the day of Princess Isabella's nuptials with the Duke of Granada, whom she still disliked, though forced by her father to wed with him; and her attendants, attired in wedding garments, were just waiting in the ante-room to conduct the unhappy bride to the adjoining church as Robert entered.

By the power of his magic bough, the frenzied young Duke instantly caused all the attendants to fall into a charmed sleep; and then, hurrying into the apartment beyond, he attempted to carry off the Princess by force. Isabella, quickly reading her ravisher's purpose in the evil passion that blazed in his eyes, fell on her knees, and implored him by the pure love he had once felt for her to show mercy upon her helplessness; and Robert, after a wild struggle with the evil desires within him, was at length overcome by her entreaties, and full of remorse, destroyed his talisman.

Instantly his magic powers vanished, so that the attendants, awakening from their charmed sleep in drowsy astonishment, suddenly beheld the intruder; and quickly divining his fell purpose, they rushed forward to seize him. Robert, however, taking to flight, escaped their hands, and the attendants, returning to the now grief-stricken bride, conducted her to the church in state, to await her bridegroom.

Robert found refuge in the cloisters of the church, and here he was soon joined by Bertram, who, at last revealing himself as his fiend-father, now produced a parchment, begging him to sign it, by which act he would be bound to him for ever.

Though amazed to learn of the true identity of Bertram, Robert did not draw back in horror, since, in his hopeless misery, he still regarded the fiend as his best friend; and he was just about to sign the contract, when the peasant girl, Alice, suddenly appeared in the cloisters, and implored him to refrain from such a dreadful deed, since she had brought a joyful message for him.

She announced that Heaven watched over him and favoured his union with the woman he loved, for the proud Duke of Granada and his attendants had not been able to cross the threshold of the church; and she added that the beautiful Isabella, whose love was still his, now awaited him at the altar, hoping, by their union, to lead him to a better life.

On hearing this, Robert's despair became greater still, torn between the prospects of pure joys held out by Alice, and the wicked enticements of Bertram; and a mighty struggle betwixt good and evil at once took place.

Alice, in her holy enthusiasm, no longer afraid of the fiend, fought desperately for the soul she longed to save; and as her final effort, she produced a letter from the deceased Princess Bertha, in which the redeemed mother warned her son against the fiend who sought to destroy him, and reminded him that she still prayed for him above.

This heavenly message at last prevailed over the wavering Robert, and decided him to adopt the better course; and refusing to be tempted longer by the wicked Bertram, he joyfully allowed himself to be led away by Alice to join his waiting bride at the altar.

The defeated fiend, realising that his cause was now lost for ever, instantly disappeared from the earth; and at the same moment a chorus of heavenly voices was heard rejoicing over the victory of a soul reclaimed from evil.

THE HUGUENOTS
(_Les Huguenots_)

Towards the close of an August day, in the year 1572, a festive scene was taking place in the Castle de Nevers, in the fair land of Touraine; for the young Count de Nevers, a Catholic nobleman of great wealth and vast estates, was entertaining his friends at a magnificent banquet, set out with all the luxurious extravagance customary to his high position.

All the gentlemen present were Catholics; and so, when De Nevers presently announced that he had invited a young Huguenot gentleman, one Sir Raoul de Nangis, to join them at the board, they were at first filled with surprise and displeasure; but upon their host assuring them that his new friend was of noble blood, and had been received well at Court, they were somewhat mollified, and awaited his arrival with eager expectation, intending to exercise their wit at his expense, for the feuds between the Huguenot and Catholic parties in France at this time had now reached the culminating point when an outburst between the two factions was daily looked for.

Consequently, when Raoul de Nangis was at length announced, he was received by the guests at first with suspicion, changing gradually to easy tolerance, for his handsome appearance and noble air dispelled the contempt usually expressed for those of the new faith; and seeing that he wore a somewhat pensive look, they presently began to rally him on his abstraction, declaring that he must be in love and thinking of his fair lady.

Raoul, being of a frank and sunny nature, readily fell in with their mood, and admitted that they had indeed guessed the truth; and upon being pressed further, he told them the story of his first meeting with his lady-love, which had happened only that very morning. During his rambles through the town, he had observed a sedan-chair in which was seated a very beautiful young girl, and which was at the moment surrounded by a group of hilarious students, who were annoying its fair occupant, and alarming her with their vulgar attentions; and, full of indignation, he had drawn his sword, and rushed amongst the importunate loiterers, quickly scattering them. Then, when the lady he had thus saved from annoyance had poured her grateful thanks upon him, he had been so enthralled by her witching smiles and sweet beauty, that he had fallen desperately in love with her at first sight, and now declared that she was the lady of his heart for ever.

As this pretty story came to an end, the entrance of Raoul's old Huguenot servant, Marcello, created a diversion; for his odd appearance, quaint dress, and severe puritanical manners made him a ready butt for the wit of the gay cavaliers in whose company he now found himself very much against his will. He could not refrain from expressing his disapproval of this frivolous scene, and upbraided his young master for sharing in what his strict notions compelled him to consider sinful pleasures.

Afraid that Marcello's severe remarks would offend the proud Catholic nobles, Raoul apologised for his outspoken manner, and craved their indulgence, since Marcello was an old and faithful retainer of his family, and had been accustomed to many privileges not usually extended to serving-men; but the merry guests declared that the old man amused them greatly, and they only treated his censure with laughing derision.

Whilst this slight diversion was taking place, a lady, closely veiled, was seen to enter the grounds, following a servant, who conducted her to an arbour within view of the banquet-hall; and presently the attendant entered to announce that the veiled lady desired an immediate interview in private with the Count de Nevers. The bantering now fell to the share of the young host, his guests declaring that he must indeed be fascinating, since his fair conquests even called him away from his feasts; and when De Nevers had excused himself, and departed to his interview, they all crowded to the window, dragging Raoul with them, in order to catch a glimpse of the mysterious fair one.

As De Nangis looked carelessly towards the arbour, the lady removed a portion of her veil as she addressed De Nevers; and to his surprise and grief, the young Huguenot recognised the beautiful face of the lady he had assisted in the morning, and by whom his heart had immediately been taken captive.

Full of sorrow and disappointment at thus discovering his lady-love to be, as he now naturally supposed from this incident, the mistress of De Nevers, Raoul uttered an exclamation of anger, and would have rushed out into the grounds to interrupt the interview, but was laughingly held back by the lively guests; and shortly afterwards De Nevers returned to the room, wearing a now weary and somewhat preoccupied air.

For the mysterious lady whom he had just interviewed, and whom Raoul had so sadly recognised, had proved to be his own _fiancée_, Valentina, the beautiful daughter of the Count de St. Bris, Governor of the Louvre, and one of the principal leaders of the Catholic party; and the object of her visit had been to implore De Nevers to relinquish her hand, since she did not love him, and was only being coerced into the union by the will of her ambitious father.

When De Nevers returned to the banquet-hall, he was instantly surrounded by the laughing guests, who showered eager questions upon him as to the identity of the veiled lady; but at this moment there came another interruption in the person of Urbano, one of Queen Marguerite's pages, who announced that he was the bearer of a letter from his royal mistress to Sir Raoul de Nangis.

Full of amazement, Raoul broke open the missive, and found that it contained a command from the young Queen to attend her Court that evening before sunset, and added that a carriage would be waiting for him at a certain time, to conduct him to his destination.

Surprised that the young stranger whom they had been inclined to treat somewhat disdainfully was thus about to be so greatly honoured, the fickle guests now began to pour enthusiastic congratulations upon Raoul, and to treat him with marked respect; and so, for the remainder of the banquet, the young Huguenot found himself the centre of attraction.

Meanwhile, Queen Marguerite of Navarre, with her Maids-of-Honour, was awaiting in the grounds of the Castle of Chenonceaux the return of Valentina, whom she intended to use as the means of uniting the antagonistic Catholic and Huguenot parties, having formed the plan of wedding this fair daughter of the Catholic leader, the Count de St. Bris, to the handsome Huguenot noble, Sir Raoul de Nangis; and for this purpose she had persuaded Valentina to visit her _fiancé_ in secret, and beg him to release her hand.

Valentina had been willing enough to fall in with this plan, for she had already become deeply attached to Raoul, whom she had quickly identified with the gallant cavalier who had saved her from the annoyance of the students only that very morning; and when on her return from her painful mission she informed the Queen that De Nevers had promised to relinquish her hand, she was filled with joy, mingled with shyness, on being told that De Nangis was expected almost immediately, and that her betrothal to him would soon afterwards be announced before the whole Court, her father having been persuaded by Queen Marguerite to renounce the more ambitious match he had arranged for her, and to consent to this betrothal as a step towards reconciling the two religious parties.

Whilst they were talking together, Raoul arrived, and was conducted immediately into the presence of the Queen; and as greetings and courtly speeches were being exchanged, Valentina timidly crept away into the background.

Then Queen Marguerite explained to the young Huguenot her reason for desiring his presence, and the marriage she had arranged for him; and Raoul, no longer caring to have any choice in such a matter, since the one upon whom he had fixed his affections had proved to be unworthy, as he supposed, gave his consent readily enough.

Very soon afterwards, the Count de St. Bris and the other lords of the Court appeared on the scene, the Catholic lords ranging themselves in a group on one side of the Queen, and the Huguenots on the other. All had been made aware of the matter in hand; and so, when Queen Marguerite desired the two parties to vow friendship and peace with one another, they took the oath without demur.

Then, at a sign from the Queen, St. Bris led his beautiful young daughter forward to present her in betrothal to the young Huguenot noble; but Raoul drew back with a loud exclamation of repugnance, as he now beheld his offered bride to be none other than she whom he believed to be the mistress of De Nevers, and he declared passionately that he would not wed with one so perfidious.

The Queen and her Courtiers were amazed and indignant at this unexpected outburst, and Valentina was filled with despair, for she already loved De Nangis, and had hoped that her affection was returned; but Raoul, still believing her to be base, again declared that he would not bring disgrace upon his ancient name by wedding with one so unworthy, and with these words departed, leaving the company in a state of great confusion.

Soon after these events, the whole Court removed to Paris, where the Catholic plot for a general massacre of the Huguenots was quickly coming to a head; and the Count de St. Bris, who had only sworn friendship with the Huguenots to please Queen Marguerite, now lost no time in reopening negotiations for his daughter's marriage with the Catholic noble, De Nevers, after having first of all sent a challenge to Raoul de Nangis for satisfaction of the insult that had been put upon his name.

On the appointed day of the wedding, Valentina, who had broken-heartedly obeyed her father's wishes, entreated to be left alone in a little chapel situated on the banks of the Seine until evening, that she might spend the time in prayer and meditation; and in accordance with her wish, she was left in the sacred building until twilight had set in.

Shortly after dusk, De Nevers arrived on the scene with St. Bris and other lords, to claim his bride; but ere they entered the chapel, however, the old Huguenot retainer, Marcello, suddenly appeared, and handed a note from his master to St. Bris, in which Raoul accepted his challenge, and appointed a meeting for that night.

When Marcello was out of hearing, Maurevert, one of the lords present, suggested a plot to St. Bris, whereby they could surround and assassinate the young Huguenot without risk to their own lives; and having arranged this, they retired to await his arrival.

Now, though they knew it not, Valentina, through the open door of the chapel, had heard the whole plot; and when they had gone, she crept from the building with trembling steps, hoping that she might find some means of warning Raoul, who, in spite of his strange treatment of her, she still loved, and would willingly save from such a peril.

At that moment, old Marcello came by again; and, recognising him as De Nangis' servant, Valentina intercepted him, and, telling him of the proposed plot, besought him to devise some means of saving his master's life. Marcello, full of alarm, rushed off at once to seek help; and in a short time he returned, having arranged with a party of Huguenot soldiers, who were supping at a tavern close by, to come to his master's assistance at the first sound of strife.

Valentina then returned to the chapel; and shortly afterwards Raoul and St. Bris, with their seconds, appeared at the appointed place on the banks of the Seine, and the arrangements for the duel were made in accordance with the customary etiquette.

Ere the duel had begun, however, a band of the Catholic followers of Maurevert suddenly surrounded Raoul; and in another moment he would have been slain, but for the prompt arrival of the Huguenot soldiers, who dashed boldly amidst the assassins with drawn swords. The two parties now began to fight; but the combat was soon interrupted by the approach of Queen Marguerite and her escort returning to the Palace.

With an imperious gesture, the young Queen bade the combatants cease, and inquired the cause of the strife; and when Raoul's story was hotly contradicted by St. Bris, old Marcello came forward and verified his master's version, declaring that the warning of treachery had come from the lady who was even then issuing from the chapel.

Valentina, indeed, at that moment came forth, overcome with anxiety for her lover's safety, yet full of fear at being discovered interfering on his behalf. All were amazed at her appearance; and Raoul, who had not been able to quell his love for her, for all that he had spurned her, was bewildered at hearing that she had been the means of saving his life, and, doubtful now of his former suspicions, asked how she had come to be seen by him at the house of De Nevers that fatal evening.

Queen Marguerite answered for the agitated girl, saying that Valentina had gone at her own request to De Nevers, to implore him to renounce her hand; and when Raoul thus knew that Valentina's motive had been a pure and honourable one, and not as he had so jealously imagined, for an unworthy reason, he was filled with joy.

But his joy was quickly turned to grief once more, on learning that Valentina was about to become the bride of another; and at that moment, De Nevers appeared in a splendid barge, in which he was to carry away his bride-elect. As De Nevers landed St. Bris presented his daughter to him with pride, throwing a triumphant glance towards the wretched De Nangis; and, full of elation, the young Catholic noble led his beautiful though now half-fainting _fiancée_ to the barge, in which they were conducted to his mansion, where their nuptials were celebrated that same evening.

Raoul was now plunged into despair at having thus lost the maiden he loved so well, and for several days was almost beside himself with grief; and at last, unable to bear his misery any longer, on the fatal eve of St. Bartholomew, he determined to make an effort to see Valentina once more even at the risk of his life.

Quite unsuspicious of the terrible fate that was to fall on those of his faith that night, the young Huguenot repaired to the mansion of De Nevers, and managed to make his way unperceived into the very room in which Valentina sat, lost in meditation; for she was at the moment bemoaning her sad fate at having been compelled to wed a man she did not love, when her heart was given to another.

As Raoul broke in upon these sad reflections, she was filled with dismay; but scarcely had she exchanged greetings with her distracted lover than she heard the approaching voices of her father and husband, and knew that the discovery of De Nangis alone with her at that hour would mean danger to him and disgrace to herself. In frightened tones she besought him to fly whilst he yet had time; but Raoul declared that he cared not for danger, and would gladly welcome death, since she was lost to him. Valentina, however, entreated him not to be so rash, since his safety was dear to her; and then, finding that the approaching voices were drawing nearer, and that there was no longer time for him to escape, she thrust him behind a heavy curtain, bidding him, by their love, to remain in hiding until the danger was past.

Almost immediately afterwards, De Nevers, St. Bris, and a number of other Catholic lords entered the room, and proceeded to hold a conference; and when they were all assembled, St. Bris unfolded to them the dreadful plot of the Catholic King, Charles IX., whereby at the tolling of a bell that night, the Huguenots, one and all, irrespective of age, sex, or position, were to be massacred without mercy. He next administered an oath, bidding them swear, as good Catholics, to assist in this terrible work, and to show no mercy. All took the oath except De Nevers, who, being of a noble disposition, indignantly refused to disgrace his ancient name by joining in such a murderous enterprise; but, in order to convince the now suspicious lords that he should not betray their plot, even though he would not share in it, he threw his sword at their feet and stood disarmed before them all.

St. Bris then gave his final instructions, bidding the conspirators to disperse in various directions and await the tolling of the bell, which should be the signal for commencing the carnage; and after tying white scarves round their arms, in order to distinguish themselves from their intended victims, the party left the room and departed on their awful mission, leaving the trembling Valentina alone.

No sooner had they gone, than Raoul sprang from his hiding-place, pale and filled with horror at the terrible plot that had, unknown to the assassins, been revealed to him; and hoping yet to be in time to warn his brother Huguenots of the calamity about to fall on them, he would have instantly rushed from the house, had not Valentina held him back, wildly imploring him not to venture into the streets that night, for since she now loved him with her whole heart, his life was too precious for her to bear the thought of his almost certain death, should he take such a risk.

Even in this moment of confusion and danger, Raoul's heart thrilled with a deep joy at thus learning that his love was returned, and he clasped Valentina in his arms in a passionate embrace; but, in spite of this double temptation to remain, his noble nature asserted itself, and upon hearing the sudden clanging of a deep bell, which he knew to be the signal for the Huguenots' doom, he struggled from the tender restraining arms of the now swooning Valentina, as she tried vainly to hold him back, and dashed from the house.

The massacre had already begun, and the streets of Paris were even now running with the innocent blood of the murdered Huguenots, whilst the night was made hideous with the shrieks of the helpless victims and the triumphant cries of those who, in such mistaken zeal, were thus carrying out the dreadful instructions that had been given to them.

As Raoul, filled with horror at the awful scenes of carnage that met his eyes on every side, hastened through the streets in the vain hope that he might yet be in time to save some of his doomed brethren of the faith, he stumbled against a wounded man, and, to his joy, he found that this was none other than his own faithful old body-servant, Marcello.

Equally glad at thus meeting with his beloved master, whom he had never expected to see again alive, Marcello described the terrible scenes that had already taken place, adding that they could now do nothing to help their Huguenot friends, since it was impossible to stem the fury of their remorseless foes, and that they themselves must also be prepared to meet death, since they could not hope to escape.

Whilst they were still standing together, they were overtaken by Valentina, who, on recovering from her swoon, had followed Raoul with frantic haste, hoping that she might even yet be able to save him from his enemies; and she now held out towards him a white scarf she had brought, beseeching him to allow her to fasten it round his arm, that he might then be taken for a Catholic, and so be safe from harm in the streets, adding that if he would proceed with her to the Louvre, and abjure his unfortunate faith, he would receive a free pardon. To strengthen her entreaty, she added that if he would fall in with her plan, when peace had afterwards been restored, they could be wed and be happy together yet; for Marcello had just related to them how his own life had been saved by the brave conduct of the Count de Nevers, who, by endeavouring to protect the old Huguenot from the hand of the Catholics, had himself been slain.

But Raoul, though now terribly tempted by this alluring picture of safety and happiness, was too noble to save himself by denying the religion for which his companions in the faith were still sacrificing their lives; and, refusing the white scarf, he declared that he would remain with Marcello and await his fate.

When Valentina saw that he was thus resolved, she threw herself into his arms, declaring that she would die with him as a Huguenot also, since without him she cared no longer to live; and then, hand-in-hand, they knelt together in the street, and old Marcello uttered a prayer of blessing, as the consecration of their love and devotion.

Whilst they thus prayed together, a party of Catholic musketeers surrounded them, and, eager for more victims, demanded if they were of the true faith or not; and without a moment's hesitation, Raoul replied that they were Huguenots. The musketeers instantly fired a volley upon the little group; and all three fell to the ground, mortally wounded.

The Count de St. Bris was at the head of this company; and upon approaching the fallen victims, he was filled with horror at discovering that he had fired upon his own beloved daughter!

On hearing his exclamation of grief, the dying Valentina opened her eyes once more, and weakly murmured a few words of forgiveness; and then, falling back, she expired in the arms of her dead Huguenot lover!

THE STAR OF THE NORTH
(_L'Etoile du Nord_)

One sunny noon-tide, towards the end of the seventeenth century, a number of workmen in the shipyard of a certain little village in Finland were resting from their labours during the dinner hour; and as they chatted and laughed together a pastry-cook presently appeared in their midst with a basket of fresh sweetmeats, and quickly began to do a roaring trade. For Danilowitz, the pastry-cook, though not a native of the village, was a great favourite with the workmen, being a lively fellow, and ever ready to join in a merry jest; and since his wares were good, and of that delicate kind usually only to be got in large cities, he always found a ready market in the shipyard.

Amongst the group of idlers was one young man who alone continued his work, even during this hour of general relaxation. This industrious worker was a stranger also to the village, who had only taken up his abode there some few weeks ago, and was known amongst the villagers as Peter Michaeloff. But, though the simple peasants little guessed it, the young carpenter whom they treated as an equal was in reality none other than the Czar of Russia, Peter I., who, in accordance with his accustomed energy of character and love of thoroughness, had come thus to the village in humble dress and hired himself out as a carpenter, in order to learn for himself the art of shipbuilding, to know that his navy was being properly constructed. On his arrival in the village, he had fallen ill, and during his illness was tenderly nursed back to health by a fair maiden named Catherine Skavronski, whose brother, George, was a teacher of music; and having afterwards fallen deeply in love with this maiden, whose beauty and wonderful strength of character exercised extraordinary fascination over him, the young King lingered on in the village long after the time when he should have left. He was encouraged to this course by hearing Catherine declare one day that her dead mother, who had possessed wonderful gifts of prophecy, had foretold a brilliant future for her; and he determined to persevere in his wooing, since the maiden would fulfil her destiny if she became his bride.

Catherine usually appeared in the shipyard at noon-day, to sell spirits to the workmen, in which she did a good trade, and earned enough money to keep herself and her brother, who, being of a weaker nature, had always allowed his energetic sister to take the lead in all things connected with their welfare.

But to-day the pretty cantinière was not at her usual trade, and the merry workmen presently began to rally Peter on his gloomy looks, knowing well enough that the cause was to be found in the absence of his sweetheart, Catherine, Peter's passionate nature at all times could ill brook badinage of this kind, and it was with difficulty he now restrained himself; but just at that time, one of the workmen began to sing a patriotic song in praise of Finland, and King Charles XII., and all joined in it uproariously, for the workmen were for the most part Finns or Swedes, to whom the sentiments of the song were acceptable.

Danilowitz, the pastry-cook, however, remained silent, with a frown on his face; and when the song came to an end, he raised his glass to his lips, and cried fearlessly, "_I_ pledge the Czar, brave Peter the First!"

Instantly there was a tumult amongst the men, who indignantly rushed forward to punish the rash man who had dared to drink to one whom they regarded as the enemy of their country; but, to the surprise of Danilowitz, Peter sprang to his aid, and by his skillful defence, kept all at bay.

Just then, the bell for the recommencement of work clanged forth, and the workmen trooped off; and when they had gone, Peter and Danilowitz began to talk together, surprised at having thus discovered that they were countrymen, Danilowitz explaining that he found little opening for his trade in the small Finnish village, and thought of returning to his own country to seek employment under the Czar, whom he spoke of in terms of high praise, little dreaming that he stood before him; and Peter, pleased with the man's daring and evident ambition, invited him to return to Russia with himself, saying he also meant to seek service under the Czar, and prophesying success for his new friend should he join his army. Danilowitz eagerly agreed to his proposal, laughing light-heartedly at the honours which Peter declared were waiting for him; and when he had gone off to dispose of the remainder of his wares elsewhere, Peter made his way to the house of George Skavronski.

Hearing George playing one of Catherine's favourite airs, Peter took his own flute from his pocket, and began to play the same tune in answer; and George quickly appeared at the door, praising his excellent performance, and inviting him to enter for a lesson, since he was one of his most promising pupils. Upon Peter inquiring the cause of Catherine's absence from her accustomed duties, George explained that she had gone to plead his cause with the uncle and guardian of Prascovia, the pretty maiden whom he loved and desired to marry that day; and whilst they were thus talking together, Catherine herself came in, and announced exultantly that she had succeeded in her mission.

Peter now seized the opportunity of pleading his own cause with Catherine, who, as usual, only gave him sharp and merry rebuffs for answer, for although she had really loved him deeply from the beginning of their acquaintance, she so thoroughly understood the weak points of his character, that she always declared she could not marry him until he learned to keep his passions in control, to be less impetuous, and not so determined to have his own way in every matter.

Although Peter greatly appreciated Catherine's clear insight into his character, and knew that she admired his nobler qualities and instincts, he loved her so passionately that her rebukes constantly filled him with impatience; and this afternoon, as usual, he quickly lost his temper, to the great amusement of his tantalising sweetheart, who cried merrily, "There! There! A pretty husband _you_ would make, to be sure!"

Whilst Peter was vainly endeavouring to choke back his right royal wrath at this saucy speech, the pretty little Prascovia hurriedly entered the house, in great agitation; and as George ran to her side in tender concern, she declared that she had been pursued by a party of Kalmuks and Cossacks, who were even now following her to the house with evil intent.

All were alarmed by this news, but Catherine boldly avowed that all would be well, since she herself would address these wild tribesmen, who were, indeed, her kinsmen, since her mother had been their priestess and held in great reverence by them. So when the Kalmuks presently came dashing up, the brave girl ran out fearlessly to meet them, and commanded them, in the name of her dead mother, the Princess Vlasta, instantly to forego their intention of raiding the house; and on hearing this revered name, the wild troop immediately withdrew respectfully.

Then Catherine approached their leader, Gritzenko, and, seizing his hand, prophesied that promotion quickly awaited him in the army of the Czar; and filled with dreams of glory, Gritzenko soon led his men away.

When they had gone, George and Prascovia went off to make arrangements for their wedding that evening; and thus Catherine and Peter were left alone. Catherine, having noticed with pleasure that during the whole time she had spoken with the Kalmuks, Peter had stood near at hand, grimly holding a hatchet, in readiness to dash out to her aid at the least sign of danger, now spoke tenderly to him, declaring that such noble conduct endeared him to her; and Peter was filled with joy, for he felt that his cause was not so hopeless after all, since he could see now that his love was returned, even though the high-spirited maiden did not as yet respect him. Thus fired with a passionate desire to win her regard at all costs, Peter impetuously determined to return with the Kalmuks to the army, and earn such renown as should compel her ungrudging admiration; and bidding Catherine a hasty farewell, he hurried off to seek out Danilowitz to return to Russia with him.

Catherine had not been long alone ere Prascovia returned, saying that all the preparations were now ready for her wedding that evening with George, who would shortly arrive with the wedding guests and musicians; and then, carelessly producing a letter, she handed it to her friend, saying it had been sent to her from the Burgomaster, and upon the letter being opened, the two girls read it together.

To their dismay, they found that this was an order for George to leave the village that night with the Muscovite soldiers who had just arrived, as he was one of twelve chosen recruits who had been impressed into the service of the Czar; but the Burgomaster added that if a substitute could be found to take his place, he would thus be freed from serving.

Prascovia was filled with distress and grief because her wedding could not now take place, and began to weep bitterly, knowing well that no substitute could be found for George, since all in the village hated the Russians, and would refuse to serve the Czar unless compelled to do so; but Catherine, accustomed always to take her brother's troubles upon her own strong young shoulders, bade her dry her tears, and declared that she would herself take George's place as a recruit for a fortnight, so that he might be married that night after all, and also remain with his bride a short time before taking up his soldier's duties.

So when George returned, this plan was eagerly explained to him, and he promised to relieve Catherine of her difficult undertaking in a fortnight's time; and then, as the wedding guests, with the priest and musicians, shortly afterwards arrived, the marriage was celebrated with all the accustomed rejoicings and merriment.

Catherine herself joined gaily in the lively wedding songs, for she delighted in the happiness of her brother, and was quite regardless of the hardships and dangers she would shortly have to endure for his sake; but when the festivities were at their height she stole away unnoticed from the merry throng, and, dressing herself in male attire, went off courageously to join the recruits who were to march with the Russian troops that night.

And now for Catherine came a very difficult and trying time, since the training of a raw recruit was exceedingly exhausting and full of hardships; but the girl's own wonderful powers of endurance and dauntless spirit carried her through without misadventure, or discovery of her real identity.

At the end of a fortnight, the recruits all arrived at the Russian camp, where the imperial forces were gathered and waiting to attack the armies of Sweden, with which country they were then at war; and here Catherine met with her first difficulty. For the Kalmuk, Gritzenko, who had already attained promotion to the rank of corporal, in accordance with her prophecy, had many times on the march eyed her with curiosity, as though he half recognised her; and on arriving in the camp, he called her up to him, saying that her face reminded him of a pretty maiden who used to sell spirits in the Finnish village they had just left.

Catherine, though trembling for fear of discovery, laughingly put him off by declaring that the maiden he spoke of must have been her own sister; and then, by entering into friendly conversation with the talkative soldier, she learnt from him, to her surprise and consternation, that a serious conspiracy amongst many of the chief officers was afoot in the camp, unknown to the general in command, and that Gritzenko himself was receiving large sums of money for carrying treasonable documents, though, being unable to read or write, he was quite ignorant of their contents and purpose, thinking conceitedly that the money bestowed upon him was given by the officers concerned as a reward for his own military zeal and good conduct. Catherine, however, being educated and quick-witted, quickly grasped the situation, and having hastily read the documents produced by Gritzenko, she kept the true knowledge of their contents to herself, leaving the ignorant soldier in his former belief, but afterwards wrote down the names of the officers concerned on a slip of paper, which she concealed in her coat, intending to form some plan of action later. Then, being ordered by Gritzenko to mount guard as sentinel outside a certain tent, within which a rich supper had been laid, pending the arrival of some distinguished officers, she commenced her patrol up and down.

Soon afterwards, whilst Catherine was at the far end of her beat, the expected officers arrived, and entered the tent, their features being unobserved by her; and these new arrivals were none other than Peter and Danilowitz, the latter already a colonel in the Russian army, and rejoicing in the confidence of his companion, whose true identity was of course now known to him.

Peter, though in the dress of a plain captain, was received respectfully by the general in command as Czar, but immediately requested that his _incognito_ should be strictly preserved for the present, since he had been told of the conspiracy in the camp, and had boldly come to quell it in person, having already thought out a scheme by which success would be assured; and when the general had retired, astonished at the news, Peter and Danilowitz sat down to enjoy the supper that had been prepared for them, and which was served by two very pretty and lively little vivandières.

Peter, as he ever did in his moments of relaxation, gave himself up unreservedly to the pleasure of the moment; and casting aside for the time being the cares of State, he began to carouse gaily with Danilowitz, drinking deeply, and caressing the pretty vivandières with the accustomed licence of the times.

Catherine, attracted by the sounds of hilarity that issued from the tent, and forgetful of military discipline, could not refrain from peeping through the opening; and instantly recognising Peter, she was filled with joy on hearing her own name toasted by him at that moment. Her delight, however, quickly turned to indignation on beholding her lover, heated by the wine he had drunk, the next instant freely embracing the vivandière who so constantly kept his goblet filled; and as she continued to look angrily upon the scene, Gritzenko came by, and, discovering the sentry thus forgetful of his duty, instantly dragged her away, and ordered her into confinement.

Catherine, already upset by the scene within the tent, and resenting the rough handling of the Kalmuk, struck him angrily on the face, upon which Gritzenko, furious at being thus defied by a mere recruit, forced her into the tent before the officers, and, explaining her insubordination, demanded reparation.

Peter, impatient at this unwelcome interruption of his pleasure, and without even looking upon the offender, cried out carelessly: "Let him be shot!"

Catherine, now realising the danger of her position, called out as she was being dragged away to execution, "Peter! Peter! Do not let me be killed, but save me!"

At first, Peter, still under the influence of the strong wines he had been drinking, did not heed her appeal, but as her last despairing cry rang out as she was hustled from the tent, his attention was suddenly arrested, and at length, recognising the voice as that of his beloved Catherine, he sprang to his feet in bewilderment. Then, the shock of his discovery quickly restoring his clouded senses, he felt convinced that the young recruit was indeed the village maiden in disguise, and, overcome with horror that he had so carelessly given orders for her execution, he authoritatively commanded the pair to be brought back.

But Gritzenko, in his zeal, had already endeavoured to carry out the first command; and when he was at length brought back to Peter, he explained that the prisoner had attempted to escape by swimming the river close by, upon which he had promptly shot his victim in the water. Then, well satisfied with what he had done, the Kalmuk handed Peter a note, which he stated the young recruit had flung to him before plunging into the stream; and upon opening this missive, the now despairing lover saw that it contained the names of those officers concerned in the conspiracy, at the end of which was a message written in haste by Catherine, bidding him to use this information to advance himself in the favour of the Czar. Enclosed in the paper was the ring he had himself given to her; and as he gazed upon this ring, and read her last tender message of farewell, Peter was plunged into the deepest woe, realising that by his own rash impetuosity the maiden he loved so passionately was now lost to him for ever.

At that moment, the leaders of the conspiracy entered the tent, and, regarding Peter and Danilowitz as belonging to their party, began to talk over their plans of insurrection, declaring that at a given signal they intended to join the ranks of the enemy against the Czar, followed by all the men in the imperial army whom they had affected; and Peter, thus roused from his grief by this pressing need for immediate action, quickly determined to turn this moment of danger to advantage by his own fearless daring. In spite of the efforts made to restrain him by Danilowitz, who trembled for the safety of his beloved sovereign, thus unprotected in the midst of traitors, he sprang forward and rebuked the officers passionately for thus seeking to avenge their own petty grievances by the sacrifice of their honour at a time when their country was in danger; and having worked them up into the wildest enthusiasm of patriotism by his burning eloquence, he implored them to first drive away the enemies of their land, after which he swore that he would himself deliver up the Czar to them, unprotected and alone, to deal with as they chose.

The conspirators, although already rendered ashamed of their base designs by these scathing words, yet demanded who should be their guarantee of this; and Peter, without a moment's hesitation, answered fearlessly: "I, the Czar, whom you were about to betray! Now, slay me if you will!"

But for answer, the conspirators instantly fell on their knees, imploring pardon for their treachery; for they were completely conquered by the dauntless courage thus displayed by the young monarch, whose brave and warlike spirit they had ever admired, even whilst resenting his strict discipline, which had been the cause of their insurrection.

Thus, by a single bold action, and the influence of his own noble personality, did Peter quell the mutinous spirit which had threatened such disaster to his arms; and, having once restored the patriotism of his men, and their loyalty to himself as King, he was now able to lead them on to victory, and scatter the enemies of his country.

Whilst engaged in active warfare, as leader of his now enthusiastic army, Peter had no time to think of his lost Catherine; but when peaceful days came once again, and he returned to the royal palace, all his old grief broke out afresh, and he was plunged into the deepest melancholy.

In order to try to drown his sad thoughts, from time to time he would take up his carpenter's work once more; but even when labouring his hardest, the beautiful face of the maiden he had loved so dearly still intruded, a bright mental picture he could never forget.

Acting upon his instructions, Danilowitz had made every possible effort to discover what had become of the lost Catherine; for, though fired at in the water, Peter clung to the belief that she was not dead, but might possibly have escaped to land, since her body had never been recovered.

At first, Danilowitz found his task a hopeless one; but at length his efforts were crowned with success, and having learnt from a poor peasant woman that she had rescued a wounded soldier from the river some weeks ago, whom she had since discovered to be a female, he bade her bring the girl to his own private room in the palace.

The rescued maiden was accordingly brought to the palace, and proved indeed to be Catherine; but, to the consternation of Danilowitz, he discovered that the shock of her wounds and the terrible hardships she had gone through had told so heavily upon the poor girl's mental activities, that, though now restored to bodily health, she had completely forgotten all the circumstances connected with her love for Peter, the mention of whose name had no meaning for her.

Wondering how he should break this sad news to his royal master, Danilowitz went into the presence chamber with a preoccupied air, and upon Peter as usual peremptorily demanding if he yet had news of his lost love, afraid to tell him the truth, he endeavoured to put him off for a while by admitting that he had got a clue, though he feared that little would result from it.

Whilst they were talking together, Gritzenko entered, and upon Peter demanding the reason why his privacy should be thus disturbed, the conceited soldier announced that he had come to ask for promotion, saying that he considered this to be his due for the zeal he had displayed in having fired upon the recruit who had dared to strike him.

Now recognising Gritzenko as the man who had been the unconscious cause of all his woe, Peter flew into a violent passion on hearing his request, and, seizing a weapon, would have killed him instantly, had not Danilowitz restrained him; and then controlling himself by a violent effort, he left the room, after commanding the Kalmuk, upon pain of death, to produce, ere the next day ended, the recruit whom he had fired upon in the water.