Pres. Ay, Prince Paul, that is the best way. Vera, the Czar sleeps tonight in his own room in the north wing of the palace. Here is the key of the private door in the street. The passwords of the guards will be given to you. His own servants will be drugged. You will find him alone.
Vera. It is well. I shall not fail.
Pres. We will wait outside in the Place St. Isaac, under the window. As the clock strikes twelve from the tower of St. Nicholas you will give us the sign that the dog is dead.
Vera. And what shall the sign be?
Pres. You are to throw us out the bloody dagger.
Mich. Dripping with the traitor’s life.
Pres. Else we shall know that you have been seized, and we will burst our way in, drag you from his guards.
Mich. And kill him in the midst of them.
Pres. Michael, you will head us?
Mich. Ay, I shall head you. See that your hand fails not, Vera Sabouroff.
Vera. Fool, is it so hard a thing to kill one’s enemy.
Prince Paul (aside). This is the ninth conspiracy I have been in in Russia. They always end in a “voyage en Siberie” for my friends and a new decoration for myself.
Mich. It is your last conspiracy, Prince.
Pres. At twelve o’clock, the bloody dagger.
Vera. Ay, red with the blood of that false heart. I shall not forget it. (To strangle whatever nature is in me, neither to love nor to be loved, neither to pity nor to be pitied. Ay! it is an oath, an oath. Methinks the spirit of Charlotte Corday has entered my soul now. I shall carve my name on the world, and be ranked among the great heroines. Ay! the spirit of Charlotte Corday beats in each petty vein, and nerves my woman’s hand to strike, as I have nerved my woman’s heart to hate. Though he laughs in his dreams, I shall not falter. Though he sleep peacefully I shall not miss my blow. Be glad, my brother, in your stifled cell; be glad and laugh tonight. Tonight this new-fledged Czar shall post with bloody feet to Hell, and greet his father there! This Czar! O traitor, liar, false to his oath, false to me! To play the patriot amongst us, and now to wear a crown; to sell us, like Judas, for thirty silver pieces, to betray us with a kiss! (Standing in the middle of the stage.) With more passion.) O Liberty, O mighty mother of eternal time, thy robe is purple with the blood of those who have died for thee! Thy throne is the Calvary of the people, thy crown the crown of thorns. O crucified mother, the despot has driven a nail through thy right hand, and the tyrant through thy left! Thy feet are pierced with their iron. When thou wert athirst thou calledst on the priests for water, and they gave thee bitter drink. They thrust a sword into thy side. They mocked thee in thine agony of age on age. Here, on thy altar, O Liberty, do I dedicate myself to thy service; do with me as thou wilt! (Brandishing dagger.) The end has come now, and by thy sacred wounds, O crucified mother, O Liberty, I swear that Russia shall be saved!
CURTAIN.
End Of Act III.
ACT IV.
Scene. — Antechamber of the Czar’s private room. Large window at the back, with drawn curtains over it.
Present. — Prince Petrovitch, Baron Raff, Marquis de Poivrard, Count Rouvaloff.
Prince Petro. He is beginning well, this young Czar.
Baron Raff (shrugs his shoulders). All young Czars do begin well.
Count R. And end badly.
Marq. de Poiv. Well, I have no right to complain. He has done me one good service, at any rate.
Prince Petro. Cancelled your appointment to Archangel, I suppose?
Marq. de Poiv. Yes; my head wouldn’t have been safe there for an hour.
(Enter General Kotemkin.)
Baron Raff. Ah! General, any more news of our romantic Emperor?
Gen. Kotemk. You are quite right to call him romantic, Baron; a week ago I found him amusing himself in a garret with a company of strolling players; to-day his whim is all the convicts in Siberia are to be recalled, and political prisoners, as he calls them, amnestied.
Prince Petro. Political prisoners! Why, half of them are no better than common murderers!
Count R. And the other half much worse?
Baron Raff. Oh, you wrong them, surely, Count. Wholesale trade has always been more respectable than retail.
Count R. But he is really too romantic. He objected yesterday to my having the monopoly of the salt tax. He said the people had a right to have cheap salt.
Marq. de Poiv. Oh, that’s nothing; but he actually disapproved of a State banquet every night because there is a famine in the Southern provinces. (The young Czar enters unobserved, and overhears the rest.)
Prince Petro. Quelle bétise! The more starvation there is among the people, the better. It teaches them self-denial, an excellent virtue, Baron, an excellent virtue.
Baron Raff. I have often heard so; I have often heard so.
Gen. Kotemk. He talked of a Parliament, too, in Russia, and said the people should have deputies to represent them.
Baron Raff. As if there was not enough brawling in the streets already, but we must give the people a room to do it in. But, Messieurs, the worst is yet to come. He threatens a complete reform in the public service on the ground that the people are too heavily taxed.
Marq. de Poiv. He can’t be serious there. What is the use of the people except to get money out of? But talking of taxes, my dear Baron, you must really let me have forty thousand roubles tomorrow? my wife says she must have a new diamond bracelet.
Count R. (aside to Baron Raff). Ah, to match the one Prince Paul gave her last week, I suppose.
Prince Petro. I must have sixty thousand roubles at once, Baron. My son is overwhelmed with debts of honour which he can’t pay.
Baron Raff. What an excellent son to imitate his father so carefully!
Gen. Kotemk. You are always getting money. I never get a single kopeck I have not got a right to. It’s unbearable; it’s ridiculous! My nephew is going to be married. I must get his dowry for him.
Prince Petro. My dear General, your nephew must be a perfect Turk. He seems to get married three times a week regularly.
Gen. Kot. Well, he wants a dowry to console him.
Count R. I am sick of town. I want a house in the country.
Marq. de Poiv. I am sick of the country. I want a house in town.
Baron Raff. Mes amis, I am extremely sorry for you. It is out of the question.
Prince Petro. But my son, Baron?
Gen. Kotemk. But my nephew?
Marq. de Poiv. But my house in town?
Count R. But my house in the country?
Marq. de Poiv. But my wife’s diamond bracelet?
Baron Raff. Gentlemen, impossible! The old regime in Russia is dead; the funeral begins to-day.
Count R. Then I shall wait for the resurrection.
Prince Petro. Yes, but, en attendant, what are we to do?
Baron Raff. What have we always done in Russia when a Czar suggests reforms? — nothing. You forget we are diplomatists. Men of thought should have nothing to do with action. Reforms in Russia are very tragic, but they always end in a farce.
Count