diff options
Diffstat (limited to '12349-h')
| -rw-r--r-- | 12349-h/12349-h.htm | 16459 |
1 files changed, 16459 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/12349-h/12349-h.htm b/12349-h/12349-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..5cd1e9e --- /dev/null +++ b/12349-h/12349-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16459 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + The Secret City, by Hugh Walpole + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .75em; margin-bottom: .75em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 5%; text-align: justify; font-size: 80%; font-style: italic;} + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + .xx-small {font-size: 60%;} + .x-small {font-size: 75%;} + .small {font-size: 85%;} + .large {font-size: 115%;} + .x-large {font-size: 130%;} + .indent5 { margin-left: 5%;} + .indent10 { margin-left: 10%;} + .indent15 { margin-left: 15%;} + .indent20 { margin-left: 20%;} + .indent25 { margin-left: 25%;} + .indent30 { margin-left: 30%;} + .indent35 { margin-left: 35%;} + .indent40 { margin-left: 40%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {position: absolute; right: 1%; font-size: 0.6em; + font-variant: normal; font-style: normal; + text-align: right; background-color: #FFFACD; + border: 1px solid; padding: 0.3em;text-indent: 0em;} + .side { float: left; font-size: 75%; width: 15%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: left; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + .head { float: left; font-size: 90%; width: 98%; padding-left: 0.8em; + border-left: dashed thin; text-align: center; + text-indent: 0; font-weight: bold; font-style: italic; + font-weight: bold; color: black; background: #eeeeee; border: solid 1px;} + p.pfirst, p.noindent {text-indent: 0} + span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 0.8 } + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} +</style> + </head> + <body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12349 ***</div> + <div style="height: 8em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE SECRET CITY + </h1> + <h3> + A Novel In Three Parts + </h3> + <h2> + By Hugh Walpole + </h2> + <h4> + New York George H. Doran Company + </h4> + <h3> + 1919 + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + TO + </h3> + <h3> + MAJOR JAMES ANNAND (15TH BATTALION 48TH HIGHLANDERS, C.E.F.) + </h3> + <h3> + IN RETURN FOR THE GIFT OF HIS FRIENDSHIP + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + In the eastern quarter dawn breaks, the stars flicker pale. + The morning cock at Ju-nan mounts the wall and crows. + The songs are over, the clock run down, but still the feast is set. + The Moon grows dim and the stars are few; morning has come to the world. + At a thousand gates and ten thousand doors the fish-shaped keys turn; + Round the Palace and up by the Castle, the crows and magpies are flying. + + <i>Cock-Crow Song</i>. Anon. (1st Century B.C.). +</pre> +<p> + <br /> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <b>CONTENTS</b> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> PART I — VERA AND NINA </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> PART II — LAWRENCE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> PART III — MARKOVITCH AND SEMYONOV </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I — VERA AND NINA + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + There are certain things that I feel, as I look through this bundle of + manuscript, that I must say. The first is that of course no writer ever + has fulfilled his intention and no writer ever will; secondly, that there + was, when I began, another intention than that of dealing with my subject + adequately, namely that of keeping myself outside the whole of it; I was + to be, in the most abstract and immaterial sense of the word, a voice, and + that simply because this business of seeing Russian psychology through + English eyes has no excuse except that it <i>is</i> English. That is its + only interest, its only atmosphere, its only motive, and if you are going + to tell me that any aspect of Russia psychological, mystical, practical, + or commercial seen through an English medium is either Russia as she + really is or Russia as Russians see her, I say to you, without hesitation, + that you don’t know of what you are talking. + </p> + <p> + Of Russia and the Russians I know nothing, but of the effect upon myself + and my ideas of life that Russia and the Russians have made during these + last three years I know something. You are perfectly free to say that + neither myself nor my ideas of life are of the slightest importance to any + one. To that I would say that any one’s ideas about life are of + importance and that any one’s ideas about Russian life are of + interest... and beyond that, I have simply been compelled to write. I have + not been able to help myself, and all the faults and any virtues in this + story come from that. The facts are true, the inferences absolutely my + own, so that you may reject them at any moment and substitute others. It + is true that I have known Vera Michailovna, Nina, Alexei Petrovitch, + Henry, Jerry, and the rest—some of them intimately—and many of + the conversations here recorded I have myself heard. Nevertheless the + inferences are my own, and I think there is no Russian who, were he to + read this book, would not say that those inferences were wrong. In an + earlier record, to which this is in some ways a sequel,<a + href="#linknote-1" name="linknoteref-1" id="linknoteref-1"><small>1</small></a> + my inferences were, almost without exception, wrong, and there is no + Russian alive for whom this book can have any kind of value except as a + happy example of the mistakes that the Englishman can make about the + Russian. + </p> + <p> + But it is over those very mistakes that the two souls, Russian and + English, so different, so similar, so friendly, so hostile, may meet.... + And in any case the thing has been too strong for me. I have no other + defence. For one’s interest in life is stronger, God knows how much + stronger, than one’s discretion, and one’s love of life than + one’s wisdom, and one’s curiosity in life than one’s + ability to record it. At least, as I have said, I have endeavoured to keep + my own history, my own desires, my own temperament out of this, as much as + is humanly possible.... + </p> + <p> + And the facts are true. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="linknote-1" id="linknote-1"></a> + </p> + <p class="foot"> + 1 (<a href="#linknoteref-1">return</a>)<br /> [ <i>The Dark Forest</i>.] + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + They had been travelling for a week, and had quite definitely decided that + they had nothing whatever in common. As they stood there, lost and + desolate on the grimy platform of the Finland station, this same thought + must have been paramount in their minds: “Thank God we shan’t + have to talk to one another any longer. Whatever else may happen in this + strange place that at least we’re spared.” They were probably + quite unconscious of the contrast they presented, unconscious because, at + this time, young Bohun never, I should imagine, visualised himself as + anything more definite than absolutely “right,” and Lawrence + simply never thought about himself at all. But they were perfectly aware + of their mutual dissatisfaction, although they were of course absolutely + polite. I heard of it afterwards from both sides, and I will say quite + frankly that my sympathy was all with Lawrence. Young Bohun can have been + no fun as a travelling companion at that time. If you had looked at him + there standing on the Finland station platform and staring haughtily about + for porters you must have thought him the most self-satisfied of mortals. + “That fellow wants kicking,” you would have said. + Good-looking, thin, tall, large black eyes, black eyelashes, clean and + neat and “right” at the end of his journey as he had been at + the beginning of it, just foreign-looking enough with his black hair and + pallor to make him interesting—he was certainly arresting. But it + was the self-satisfaction that would have struck any one. And he had + reason; he was at that very moment experiencing the most triumphant moment + of his life. + </p> + <p> + He was only twenty-three, and was already as it seemed to the youthfully + limited circle of his vision, famous. Before the war he had been, as he + quite frankly admitted to myself and all his friends, nothing but + ambitious. “Of course I edited the <i>Granta</i> for a year,” + he would say, “and I don’t think I did it badly.... But that + wasn’t very much.” + </p> + <p> + No, it really wasn’t a great deal, and we couldn’t tell him + that it was. He had always intended, however, to be a great man; the <i>Granta</i> + was simply a stepping-stone. He was already, during his second year at + Cambridge, casting about as to the best way to penetrate, swiftly and + securely, the fastnesses of London journalism. Then the war came, and he + had an impulse of perfectly honest and selfless patriotism..., not quite + selfless perhaps, because he certainly saw himself as a mighty hero, + winning V.C.’s and saving forlorn hopes, finally received by his + native village under an archway of flags and mottoes (the local + postmaster, who had never treated him very properly, would make the speech + of welcome). The reality did him some good, but not very much, because + when he had been in France only a fortnight he was gassed and sent home + with a weak heart. His heart remained weak, which made him interesting to + women and allowed time for his poetry. He was given an easy post in the + Foreign Office and, in the autumn of 1916 he published <i>Discipline: + Sonnets and Poems</i>. This appeared at a very fortunate moment, when the + more serious of British idealists were searching for signs of a general + improvement, through the stress of war, of poor humanity.... “Thank + God, there are our young poets,” they said. + </p> + <p> + The little book had excellent notices in the papers, and one poem in + especial “How God spoke to Jones at Breakfast-time” was + selected for especial praise because of its admirable realism and force. + One paper said that the British breakfast-table lived in that poem “in + all its tiniest most insignificant details,” as no breakfast-table, + save possibly that of Major Pendennis at the beginning of <i>Pendennis</i> + has lived before. One paper said, “Mr. Bohun merits that much-abused + word ‘genius.’” + </p> + <p> + The young author carried these notices about with him and I have seen them + all. But there was more than this. Bohun had been for the last four years + cultivating Russian. He had been led into this through a real, genuine + interest. He read the novelists and set himself to learn the Russian + language. That, as any one who has tried it will know is no easy business, + but Henry Bohun was no fool, and the Russian refugee who taught him was no + fool. After Henry’s return from France he continued his lessons, and + by the spring of 1916 he could read easily, write fairly, and speak + atrociously. He then adopted Russia, an easy thing to do, because his + supposed mastery of the language gave him a tremendous advantage over his + friends. “I assure you that’s not so,” he would say. + “You can’t judge Tchehov till you’ve read him in the + original. Wait till you can read him in Russian.” “No, I don’t + think the Russian characters are like that,” he would declare. + “It’s a queer thing, but you’d almost think I had some + Russian blood in me... I sympathise so.” He followed closely the + books that emphasised the more sentimental side of the Russian character, + being of course grossly sentimental himself at heart. He saw Russia + glittering with fire and colour, and Russians, large, warm, and simple, + willing to be patronised, eagerly confessing their sins, rushing forward + to make him happy, entertaining him for ever and ever with a free and + glorious hospitality. + </p> + <p> + “I really think I do understand Russia,” he would say + modestly. He said it to me when he had been in Russia two days. + </p> + <p> + Then, in addition to the success of his poems and the general interest + that he himself aroused the final ambition of his young heart was + realised. The Foreign Office decided to send him to Petrograd to help in + the great work of British propaganda. + </p> + <p> + He sailed from Newcastle on December 2, 1916.... + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + At this point I am inevitably reminded of that other Englishman who, two + years earlier than Bohun, had arrived in Russia with his own pack of + dreams and expectations. + </p> + <p> + But John Trenchard, of whose life and death I have tried elsewhere to say + something, was young Bohun’s opposite, and I do not think that the + strange unexpectedness of Russia can he exemplified more strongly than by + the similarity of appeal that she could make to two so various characters. + John was shy, self-doubting, humble, brave, and a gentleman,—Bohun + was brave and a gentleman, but the rest had yet to be added to him. How he + would have patronised Trenchard if he had known him! And yet at heart they + were not perhaps so dissimilar. At the end of my story it will be + apparent, I think, that they were not. + </p> + <p> + That journey from Newcastle to Bergen, from Bergen to Torneo, from Torneo + to Petrograd is a tiresome business. There is much waiting at + Custom-houses, disarrangement of trains and horses and meals, long + wearisome hours of stuffy carriages and grimy window-panes. Bohun I + suspect suffered, too, from that sudden sharp precipitance into a world + that knew not <i>Discipline</i> and recked nothing of the <i>Granta</i>. + Obviously none of the passengers on the boat from Newcastle had ever heard + of <i>Discipline</i>. They clutched in their hands the works of Mr. + Oppenheim, Mr. Compton Mackenzie, and Mr. O’Henry and looked at + Bohun, I imagine, with indifferent superiority. He had been told at the + Foreign Office that his especial travelling companion was to be Jerry + Lawrence. If he had hoped for anything from this direction one glance at + Jerry’s brick-red face and stalwart figure must have undeceived him. + Jerry, although he was now thirty-two years of age, looked still very much + the undergraduate. My slight acquaintance with him had been in those + earlier Cambridge days, through a queer mutual friend, Dune, who at that + time seemed to promise so magnificently, who afterwards disappeared so + mysteriously. You would never have supposed that Lawrence, Captain of the + University Rugger during his last two years, Captain of the English team + through all the Internationals of the season 1913-14, could have had + anything in common, except football, with Dune, artist and poet if ever + there was one. But on the few occasions when I saw them together it struck + me that football was the very least part of their common ground. And that + was the first occasion on which I suspected that Jerry Lawrence was not + quite what he seemed.... + </p> + <p> + I can imagine Lawrence standing straddleways on the deck of the <i>Jupiter</i>, + his short thick legs wide apart, his broad back indifferent to everything + and everybody, his rather plump, ugly, good-natured face staring out to + sea as though he saw nothing at all. He always gave the impression of + being half asleep, he had a way of suddenly lurching on his legs as though + in another moment his desire for slumber would be too strong for him, and + would send him crashing to the ground. He would be smoking an ancient + briar, and his thick red hands would be clasped behind his back.... + </p> + <p> + No encouraging figure for Bohun’s aestheticism. + </p> + <p> + I can see as though I had been present Bohun’s approach to him, his + patronising introduction, his kindly suggestion that they should eat their + meals together, Jerry’s smiling, lazy acquiescence. I can imagine + how Bohun decided to himself that “he must make the best of this + chap. After all, it was a long tiresome journey, and anything was better + than having no one to talk to....” But Jerry, unfortunately, was in + a bad temper at the start. He did not want to go out to Russia at all. His + father, old Stephen Lawrence, had been for many years the manager of some + works in Petrograd, and the first fifteen years of Jerry’s life had + been spent in Russia. I did not, at the time when I made Jerry’s + acquaintance at Cambridge, know this; had I realised it I would have + understood many things about him which puzzled me. He never alluded to + Russia, never apparently thought of it, never read a Russian book, had, it + seemed, no connection of any kind with any living soul in that country. + </p> + <p> + Old Lawrence retired, and took a fine large ugly palace in Clapham to end + his days in.... + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, after Lawrence had been in France for two years, had won the + Military Cross there and, as he put it, “was just settling inside + his skin,” the authorities realised his Russian knowledge, and + decided to transfer him to the British Military Mission in Petrograd. His + anger when he was sent back to London and informed of this was extreme. He + hadn’t the least desire to return to Russia, he was very happy where + he was, he had forgotten all his Russian; I can see him, saying very + little, looking like a sulky child and kicking his heel up and down across + the carpet. + </p> + <p> + “Just the man we want out there, Lawrence,” he told me + somebody said to him; “keep them in order.” + </p> + <p> + “Keep them in order!” That tickled his sense of humour. He was + to laugh frequently, afterwards, when he thought of it. He always chewed a + joke as a cow chews the cud. + </p> + <p> + So that he was in no pleasant temper when he met Bohun on the decks of the + <i>Jupiter</i>. That journey must have had its humours for any observer + who knew the two men. During the first half of it I imagine that Bohun + talked and Lawrence slumbered. Bohun patronised, was kind and indulgent, + and showed very plainly that he thought his companion the dullest and + heaviest of mortals. Then he told Lawrence about Russia; he explained + everything to him, the morals, psychology, fighting qualities, strengths, + and weaknesses. The climax arrived when he announced: “But it’s + the mysticism of the Russian peasant which will save the world. That + adoration of God....” + </p> + <p> + “Rot!” interrupted Lawrence. + </p> + <p> + Bohun was indignant. “Of course if you know better—” he + said. + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said Lawrence, “I lived there for fifteen years. + Ask my old governor about the mysticism of the Russian peasant. He’ll + tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Bohun felt that he was justified in his annoyance. As he said to me + afterwards: “The fellow had simply been laughing at me. He might + have told me about his having been there.” At that time, to Bohun, + the most terrible thing in the world was to be laughed at. + </p> + <p> + After that Bohun asked Jerry questions. But Jerry refused to give himself + away. “I don’t know,” he said, “I’ve + forgotten it all. I don’t suppose I ever did know much about it.” + </p> + <p> + At Haparanda, most unfortunately, Bohun was insulted. The Swedish Customs + Officer there, tired at the constant appearance of self-satisfied + gentlemen with Red Passports, decided that Bohun was carrying medicine in + his private bags. Bohun refused to open his portmanteau, simply because he + “was a Courier and wasn’t going to be insulted by a dirty + foreigner.” Nevertheless “the dirty foreigner” had his + way and Bohun looked rather a fool. Jerry had not sympathised sufficiently + with Bohun in this affair.... “He only grinned,” Bohun told me + indignantly afterwards. “No sense of patriotism at all. After all, + Englishmen ought to stick together.” + </p> + <p> + Finally, Bohun tested Jerry’s literary knowledge. Jerry seemed to + have none. He liked Fielding, and a man called Farnol and Jack London. + </p> + <p> + He never read poetry. But, a strange thing, he was interested in Greek. He + had bought the works of Euripides and Aeschylus in the Loeb Library, and + he thought them “thundering good.” He had never read a word of + any Russian author. “Never <i>Anna</i>? Never <i>War and Peace</i>? + Never <i>Karamazov</i>? Never Tchehov?” + </p> + <p> + No, never. + </p> + <p> + Bohun gave him up. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + It should be obvious enough then that they hailed their approaching + separation with relief. Bohun had been promised by one of the secretaries + at the Embassy that rooms would be found for him. Jerry intended to + “hang out” at one of the hotels. The “Astoria” + was, he believed, the right place. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go to the ‘France’ for to-night,” Bohun + declared, having lived, it would seem, in Petrograd all his days. “Look + me up, old man, won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + Jerry smiled his slow smile. “I will,” he said. “So + long.” + </p> + <p> + We will now follow the adventures of Henry. He had in him, I know, a tiny, + tiny creature with sharp ironical eyes and pointed springing feet who + watched his poses, his sentimentalities and heroics with affectionate + scorn. This same creature watched him now as he waited to collect his + bags, and then stood on the gleaming steps of the station whilst the + porters fetched an Isvostchick, and the rain fell in long thundering lines + of steel upon the bare and desolate streets. + </p> + <p> + “You’re very miserable and lonely,” the Creature said; + “you didn’t expect this.” + </p> + <p> + No, Henry had not expected this, and he also had not expected that the + Isvostchick would demand eight roubles for his fare to the “France.” + Henry knew that this was the barest extortion, and he had sworn to himself + long ago that he would allow nobody to “do” him. He looked at + the rain and submitted. “After all, it’s war time,” he + whispered to the Creature. + </p> + <p> + He huddled himself into the cab, his baggage piled all about him, and + tried by pulling at the hood to protect himself from the elements. He has + told me that he felt that the rain was laughing at him; the cab was so + slow that he seemed to be sitting in the middle of pools and melting snow; + he was dirty, tired, hungry, and really not far from tears. Poor Henry was + very, very young.... + </p> + <p> + He scarcely looked at the Neva as he crossed the bridge; all the length of + the Quay he saw only the hunched, heavy back of the old cabman and the + spurting, jumping rain, the vast stone grave-like buildings and the high + grey sky. He drove through the Red Square that swung in the rain. He was + thinking about the eight roubles.... He pulled up with a jerk outside the + “France” hotel. Here he tried, I am sure, to recover his + dignity, but he was met by a large, stout, eastern-looking gentleman with + peacock feathers in his round cap who smiled gently when he heard about + the eight roubles, and ushered Henry into the dark hall with a kindly + patronage that admitted of no reply. + </p> + <p> + The “France” is a good hotel, and its host is one of the + kindest of mortals, but it is in many ways Russian rather than Continental + in its atmosphere. That ought to have pleased and excited so sympathetic a + soul as Henry. I am afraid that this moment of his arrival was the first + realisation in his life of that stern truth that that which seems romantic + in retrospect is only too often unpleasantly realistic in its actual + experience. + </p> + <p> + He stepped into the dark hall, damp like a well, with a whirring snarling + clock on the wall and a heavy glass door pulled by a rope swinging and + shifting, the walls and door and rack with the letters shifting too. In + this rocking world there seemed to be no stable thing. He was dirty and + tired and humiliated. He explained to his host, who smiled but seemed to + be thinking of other things, that he wanted a bath and a room and a meal. + He was promised these things, but there was no conviction abroad that the + “France” had gone up in the world since Henry Bohun had + crossed its threshold. An old man with a grey beard and the fixed and + glittering eye of the “Ancient Mariner” told him to follow + him. How well I know those strange, cold, winding passages of the “France,” + creeping in and out across boards that shiver and shake, with walls + pressing in upon you so thin and rocky that the wind whistles and screams + and the paper makes ghostly shadows and signs as though unseen fingers + moved it. There is that smell, too, which a Russian hotel alone, of all + the hostelries in the world, can produce, a smell of damp and cabbage + soup, of sunflower seeds and cigarette-ends, of drainage and patchouli, + of, in some odd way, the sea and fish and wet pavements. It is a smell + that will, until I die, be presented to me by those dark half-hidden + passages, warrens of intricate fumbling ways with boards suddenly rising + like little mountains in the path; behind the wainscot one hears the + scuttling of innumerable rats. + </p> + <p> + The Ancient Mariner showed Henry to his room and left him. Henry was + depressed at what he saw. His room was a slip cut out of other rooms, and + its one window was faced by a high black wall down whose surface gleaming + water trickled. The bare boards showed large and gaping cracks; there was + a washstand, a bed, a chest of drawers, and a faded padded arm-chair with + a hole in it. In the corner near the window was an Ikon of tinsel and + wood; a little round marble-topped table offered a dusty carafe of water. + A heavy red-plush bell-rope tapped the wall. + </p> + <p> + He sat down in the faded arm-chair and instantly fell asleep. Was the room + hypnotic? Why not? There are stranger things than that in Petrograd.... I + myself am aware of what walls and streets and rivers, engaged on their own + secret life in that most secret of towns, can do to the mere mortals who + interfere with their stealthy concerns. Henry dreamt; he was never + afterwards able to tell me of what he had dreamt, but it had been a long + heavy cobwebby affair, in which the walls of the hotel seemed to open and + to close, black little figures moving like ants up and down across the + winding ways. He saw innumerable carafes and basins and beds, the + wall-paper whistling, the rats scuttling, and lines of cigarette-ends, + black and yellow, moving in trails like worms across the boards. All men + like worms, like ants, like rats and the gleaming water trickling + interminably down the high black wall. Of course he was tired after his + long journey, hungry too, and depressed.... He awoke to find the Ancient + Mariner watching him. He screamed. The Mariner reassured him with a + toothless smile, gripped him by the arm and showed him the bathroom. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Pajaluista!</i>” said the Mariner. + </p> + <p> + Although Henry had learnt Russian, so unexpected was the pronunciation of + this familiar word that it was as though the old man had said “Open + Sesame!”.... + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + He felt happy and consoled after a bath, a shave, and breakfast. Always I + should think he reacted very quickly to his own physical sensations, and + he was, as yet, too young to know that you cannot lay ghosts by the simple + brushing of your hair and sponging your face. After his breakfast he lay + down on the bed and again fell asleep, but this time not to dream; he + slept like a Briton, dreamless, healthy and clean. He awoke as sure of + himself as ever.... The first incantation had not, you see, been + enough.... + </p> + <p> + He plunged into the city. It was raining with that thick dark rain that + seems to have mud in it before it has fallen. The town was veiled in thin + mist, figures appearing and disappearing, tram-bells ringing, and those + strange wild cries in the Russian tongue that seem at one’s first + hearing so romantic and startling, rising sharply and yet lazily into the + air. He plunged along and found himself in the Nevski Prospect—he + could not mistake its breadth and assurance, dull though it seemed in the + mud and rain. + </p> + <p> + But he was above all things a romantic and sentimental youth, and he was + determined to see this country as he had expected to see it; so he plodded + on, his coat-collar up, British obstinacy in his eyes and a little excited + flutter in his heart whenever a bright colour, an Eastern face, a street + pedlar, a bunched-up, high-backed coachman, anything or any one unusual + presented itself. + </p> + <p> + He saw on his right a great church; it stood back from the street, having + in front of it a desolate little arrangement of bushes and public seats + and winding paths. The church itself was approached by flights of steps + that disappeared under the shadow of a high dome supported by vast stone + pillars. Letters in gold flamed across the building above the pillars. + </p> + <p> + Henry passed the intervening ground and climbed the steps. Under the + pillars before the heavy, swinging doors were two rows of beggars; they + were dirtier, more touzled and tangled, fiercer and more ironically + falsely submissive than any beggars that, he had ever seen. He described + one fellow to me, a fierce brigand with a high black hat of feathers, a + soiled Cossack coat and tall dirty red leather boots; his eyes were fires, + Henry said. At any rate that is what Henry liked to think they were. There + was a woman with no legs and a man with neither nose nor ears. I am sure + that they watched Henry with supplicating hostility. He entered the church + and was instantly swallowed up by a vast multitude. + </p> + <p> + He described to me afterwards that it was as though he had been pushed (by + the evil, eager fingers of the beggars no doubt) into deep water. He rose + with a gasp, and was first conscious of a strange smell of dirt and tallow + and something that he did not know, but was afterwards to recognise as the + scent of sunflower seed. He was pushed upon, pressed and pulled, fingered + and crushed. He did not mind—he was glad—this was what he + wanted. He looked about him and found that he and all the people round him + were swimming in a hazy golden mist flung into the air from the thousands + of lighted candles that danced in the breeze blowing through the building. + The whole vast shining floor was covered with peasants, pressed, packed + together. Peasants, men and women—he did not see a single member of + the middle-class. In front of him under the altar there was a blaze of + light, and figures moved in the blaze uncertainly, indistinctly. Now and + then a sudden quiver passed across the throng, as wind blows through the + corn. Here and there men and women knelt, but for the most part they stood + steadfast, motionless, staring in front of them. He looked at them and + discovered that they had the faces of children—simple, trustful, + unintelligent, unhumorous children,—and eyes, always kindlier than + any he had ever seen in other human beings. They stood there gravely, with + no signs of religious fervour, with no marks of impatience or weariness + and also with no evidence of any especial interest in what was occurring. + It might have been a vast concourse of sleep-walkers. + </p> + <p> + He saw that three soldiers near to him were holding hands.... + </p> + <p> + From the lighted altars came the echoing whisper of a monotonous chant. + The sound rose and fell, scarcely a voice, scarcely an appeal, something + rising from the place itself and sinking back into it again without human + agency. + </p> + <p> + After a time he saw a strange movement that at first he could not + understand. Then watching, he found that unlit candles were being passed + from line to line, one man leaning forward and tapping the man in front of + him with the candle, the man in front passing it, in his turn, forward, + and so on until at last it reached the altar where it was lighted and + fastened into its sconce. This tapping with the candles happened + incessantly throughout the vast crowd. Henry himself was tapped, and felt + suddenly as though he had been admitted a member of some secret society. + He felt the tap again and again, and soon he seemed to be hypnotised by + the low chant at the altar and the motionless silent crowd and the dim + golden mist. He stood, not thinking, not living, away, away, questioning + nothing, wanting nothing.... + </p> + <p> + He must of course finish with his romantic notion. People pushed around + him, struggling to get out. He turned to go and was faced, he told me, + with a remarkable figure. His description, romantic and sentimental though + he tried to make it, resolved itself into nothing more than the sketch of + an ordinary peasant, tall, broad, black-bearded, neatly clad in blue + shirt, black trousers, and high boots. This fellow stood apparently away + from the crowd, apart, and watched it all, as you so often may see the + Russian peasant doing, with indifferent gaze. In his mild blue eyes Bohun + fancied that he saw all kinds of things—power, wisdom, prophecy—a + figure apart and symbolic. But how easy in Russia it is to see symbols and + how often those symbols fail to justify themselves! Well, I let Bohun have + his fancies. “I should know that man anywhere again,” he + declared. “It was as though he knew what was going to happen and was + ready for it.” Then I suppose he saw my smile, for he broke off and + said no more. + </p> + <p> + And here for a moment I leave him and his adventures. + </p> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + I must speak, for a moment, of myself. Throughout the autumn and winter of + 1914 and the spring and summer of 1915 I was with the Russian Red Cross on + the Polish and Galician fronts. During the summer and early autumn of 1915 + I shared with the Ninth Army the retreat through Galicia. Never very + strong physically, owing to a lameness of the left hip from which I have + suffered from birth, the difficulties of the retreat and the loss of my + two greatest friends gave opportunities to my arch-enemy Sciatica to do + what he wished with me, and in October 1915 I was forced to leave the + Front and return to Petrograd. I was an invalid throughout the whole of + that winter, and only gradually during the spring of 1916 was able to pull + myself back to an old shadow of my former vigour and energy. I saw that I + would never be good for the Front again, but I minded that the less now in + that the events of the summer of 1915 had left me without heart or desire, + the merest spectator of life, passive and, I cynically believed, + indifferent. I was nothing to any one, nor was any one anything to me. The + desire of my heart had slipped like a laughing ghost away from my ken—men + of my slow warmth and cautious suspicion do not easily admit a new + guest.... + </p> + <p> + Moreover during this spring of 1916 Petrograd, against my knowledge, wove + webs about my feet. I had never shared the common belief that Moscow was + the only town in Russia. I had always known that Petrograd had its own + grace and beauty, but it was not until, sore and sick at heart, lonely and + bitter against fate, haunted always by the face and laughter of one whom I + would never see again, I wandered about the canals and quays and deserted + byways of the city that I began to understand its spirit. I took, to the + derision of my few friends, two tumbledown rooms on Pilot’s Island, + at the far end of Ekateringofsky Prospect. Here amongst tangled grass, + old, deserted boats, stranded, ruined cottages and abraided piers, I hung + above the sea. Not indeed the sea of my Glebeshire memories; this was a + sluggish, tideless sea, but in the winter one sheet of ice, stretching far + beyond the barrier of the eye, catching into its frosted heart every + colour of the sky and air, the lights of the town, the lamps of imprisoned + barges, the moon, the sun, the stars, the purple sunsets, and the strange, + mysterious lights that flash from the shadows of the hovering snow-clouds. + My rooms were desolate perhaps, bare boards with holes, an old cracked + mirror, a stove, a bookcase, a photograph, and a sketch of Rafiel Cove. My + friends looked and shivered; I, staring from my window on to the entrance + into the waterways of the city, felt that any magic might come out of that + strange desolation and silence. A shadow like the sweeping of the wing of + a great bird would hover above the ice; a bell from some boat would ring, + then the church bells of the city would answer it; the shadow would pass + and the moon would rise, deep gold, and lie hard and sharp against the + thick, impending air; the shadow would pass and the stars come out, + breaking with an almost audible crackle through the stuff of the sky... + and only five minutes away the shop-lights were glittering, the + Isvostchicks crying to clear the road, the tram-bells clanging, the boys + shouting the news. Around and about me marvellous silence.... + </p> + <p> + In the early autumn of 1916 I met at a dinner-party Nicolai Leontievitch + Markovitch. In the course of a conversation I informed him that I had been + for a year with the Ninth Army in Galicia, and he then asked me whether I + had met his wife’s uncle Alexei Petrovitch Semyonov, who was also + with the Ninth Army. It happened that I had known Alexei Petrovitch very + well and the sound of his name brought back to me so vividly events and + persons with whom we had both been connected that I had difficulty in + controlling my sudden emotion. Markovitch invited me to his house. He + lived, he told me, with his wife in a flat in the Anglisky Prospect; his + sister-in-law and another of his wife’s uncles, a brother of Alexei + Petrovitch, also lived with them. I said that I would be very glad to + come. + </p> + <p> + It is impossible to describe how deeply, in the days that followed, I + struggled against the attraction that this invitation presented to me. I + had succeeded during all these months in avoiding any contact with the + incidents or characters of the preceding year. I had written no letters + and had received none; I had resolutely avoided meeting any members of my + old Atriad when they came to the town. + </p> + <p> + But now I succumbed. Perhaps something of my old vitality and curiosity + was already creeping back into my bones, perhaps time was already dimming + my memories—at any rate, on an evening early in October I paid my + call. Alexei Petrovitch was not present; he was on the Galician front, in + Tarnople. I found Markovitch, his wife Vera Michailovna, his sister-in-law + Nina Michailovna, his wife’s uncle Ivan Petrovitch and a young man + Boris Nicolaievitch Grogoff. Markovitch himself was a thin, loose, untidy + man with pale yellow hair thinning on top, a ragged, pale beard, a nose + with a tendency to redden at any sudden insult or unkind word and an + expression perpetually anxious. + </p> + <p> + Vera Michailovna on the other hand was a fine young woman and it must have + been the first thought of all who met them as to why she had married him. + She gave an impression of great strength; her figure tall and her bosom + full, her dark eyes large and clear. She had black hair, a vast quantity + of it, piled upon her head. Her face was finely moulded, her lips strong, + red, sharply marked. She looked like a woman who had already made up her + mind upon all things in life and could face them all. Her expression was + often stern and almost insolently scornful, but also she could be tender, + and her heart would shine from her eyes. She moved slowly and gracefully, + and quite without self-consciousness. + </p> + <p> + A strange contrast was her sister, Nina Michailovna, a girl still, it + seemed, in childhood, pretty, with brown hair, laughing eyes, and a + trembling mouth that seemed ever on the edge of laughter. Her body was + soft and plump; she had lovely hands, of which she was obviously very + proud. Vera dressed sternly, often in black, with a soft white collar, + almost like a nurse or nun. Nina was always in gay colours; she wore + clothes, as it seemed to me, in very bad taste, colours clashing, strange + bows and ribbons and lace that had nothing to do with the dress to which + they were attached. She was always eating sweets, laughed a great deal, + had a shrill piercing voice, and was never still. Ivan Petrovitch, the + uncle, was very different from my Semyonov. He was short, fat, and dressed + with great neatness and taste. He had a short black moustache, a head + nearly bald, and a round chubby face with small smiling eyes. He was a + Chinovnik, and held his position in some Government office with great + pride and solemnity. It was his chief aim, I found, to be considered + cosmopolitan, and when he discovered the feeble quality of my French he + insisted in speaking always to me in his strange confused English, a + language quite of his own, with sudden startling phrases which he had + “snatched” as he expressed it from Shakespeare and the Bible. + He was the kindest soul alive, and all he asked was that he should be left + alone and that no one should quarrel with him. He confided to me that he + hated quarrels, and that it was an eternal sorrow to him that the Russian + people should enjoy so greatly that pastime. I discovered that he was + terrified of his brother, Alexei, and at that I was not surprised. His + weakness was that he was inpenetrably stupid, and it was quite impossible + to make him understand anything that was not immediately in line with his + own experiences—unusual obtuseness in a Russian. He was vain about + his clothes, especially about his shoes, which he had always made in + London; he was sentimental and very easily hurt. + </p> + <p> + Very different again was the young man Boris Nicolaievitch Grogoff. No + relation of the family, he seemed to spend most of his time in the + Markovitch flat. A handsome young man, strongly built, with a head of + untidy curly yellow hair, blue eyes, high cheek bones, long hands with + which he was for ever gesticulating. Grogoff was an internationalist + Socialist and expressed his opinions at the top of his voice whenever he + could find an occasion. He would sit for hours staring moodily at the + floor, or glaring fiercely upon the company. Then suddenly he would burst + out, walking about, flinging up his arms, shouting. I saw at once that + Markovitch did not like him and that he despised Markovitch. He did not + seem to me a very wise young man, but I liked his energy, his kindness, + sudden generosities, and honesty. I could not see his reason for being so + much in this company. + </p> + <p> + During the autumn of 1916 I spent more and more time with the + Markovitches. I cannot tell you what was exactly the reason. Vera + Michailovna perhaps, although let no one imagine that I fell in love with + her or ever thought of doing so. No, my time for that was over. But I felt + from the first that she was a fine, understanding creature, that she + sympathised with me without pitying me, that she would be a good and loyal + friend, and that I, on my side could give her comprehension and fidelity. + They made me feel at home with them; there had been as yet no house in + Petrograd whither I could go easily and without ceremony, which I could + leave at any moment that I wished. Soon they did not notice whether I were + there or no; they continued their ordinary lives and Nina, to whom I was + old, plain, and feeble, treated me with a friendly indifference that did + not hurt as it might have done in England. Boris Grogoff patronised and + laughed at me, but would give me anything in the way of help, property, or + opinions, did I need it. I was in fact by Christmas time a member of the + family. They nicknamed me “Durdles,” after many jokes about my + surname and reminiscences of “Edwin Drood” (my Russian name + was Ivan Andreievitch). We had merry times in spite of the troubles and + distresses now crowding upon Russia. + </p> + <p> + And now I come to the first of the links in my story. It was with this + family that Henry Bohun was to lodge. + </p> + <h3> + VII + </h3> + <p> + Some three years before, when Ivan Petrovitch had gone to live with the + Markovitches, it had occurred to them that they had two empty rooms and + that these would accommodate one or two paying guests. It seemed to them + still more attractive that these guests should be English, and I expect + that it was Ivan Petrovitch who emphasised this. The British Consulate was + asked to assist them, and after a few inconspicuous clerks and young + business men they entertained for a whole six months the Hon. Charles + Trafford, one of the junior secretaries at the Embassy. At the end of + those six months the Hon. Charles, burdened with debt, and weakened by + little sleep and much liquor, was removed to a less exciting atmosphere. + With all his faults, he left faithful friends in the Markovitch flat, and + he, on his side, gave so enthusiastic an account of Mme. Markovitch’s + attempts to restrain and modify his impetuosities that the Embassy + recommended her care and guidance to other young secretaries. The war came + and Vera Michailovna declared that she could have lodgers no longer, and a + terrible blow this was to Ivan Petrovitch. Then suddenly, towards the end + of 1916, she changed her mind and announced to the Embassy that she was + ready for any one whom they could send her. Henry Bohun was offered, + accepted, and prepared for. Ivan Petrovitch was a happy man once more. + </p> + <p> + I never discovered that Markovitch was much consulted in these affairs. + Vera Michailovna “ran” the flat financially, industrially, and + spiritually. Markovitch meanwhile was busy with his inventions. I have, as + yet, said nothing about Nicolai Leontievitch’s inventions. I + hesitate, indeed, to speak of them, although they are so essential, and + indeed important a part of my story. I hesitate simply because I do not + wish this narrative to be at all fantastic, but that it should stick quite + honestly and obviously to the truth. It is certain moreover that what is + naked truth to one man seems the falsest fancy to another, and after all I + have, from beginning to end, only my own conscience to satisfy. The + history of the human soul and its relation to divinity which is, I think, + the only history worth any man’s pursuit must push its way, again + and again, through this same tangled territory which infests the region + lying between truth and fantasy; one passes suddenly into a world that + seems pure falsehood, so askew, so obscure, so twisted and coloured is it. + One is through, one looks back and it lies behind one as the clearest + truth. Such an experience makes one tender to other men’s fancies + and less impatient of the vague and half-defined travellers’ tales + that other men tell. Childe Roland is not the only traveller who has + challenged the Dark Tower. + </p> + <p> + In the Middle Ages Nicolai Leontievitch Markovitch would have been called, + I suppose, a Magician—a very half-hearted and unsatisfactory one he + would always have been—and he would have been most certainly burnt + at the stake before he had accomplished any magic worthy of the name. His + inventions, so far as I saw anything of them, were innocent and simple + enough. It was the man himself rather than his inventions that arrested + the attention. About the time of Bohun’s arrival upon the scene it + was a new kind of ink that he had discovered, and for many weeks the + Markovitch flat dripped ink from every pore. He had no laboratory, no + scientific materials, nor, I think, any profound knowledge. The room where + he worked was a small box-like place off the living-room, a cheerless + enough abode with a little high barred window in it as in a prison-cell, + cardboard-boxes piled high with feminine garments, a sewing-machine, old + dusty books, and a broken-down perambulator occupying most of the space. I + never could understand why the perambulator was there, as the Markovitches + had no children. Nicolai Leontievitch sat at a table under the little + window, and his favourite position was to sit with the chair perched on + one leg and so, rocking in this insecure position, he brooded over his + bottles and glasses and trays. This room was so dark even in the middle of + the day that he was often compelled to use a lamp. There he hovered, with + his ragged beard, his ink-stained fingers and his red-rimmed eyes, making + strange noises to himself and envolving from his materials continual + little explosions that caused him infinite satisfaction. He did not mind + interruptions, nor did he ever complain of the noise in the other room, + terrific though it often was. He would be absorbed, in a trance, lost in + another world, and surely amiable and harmless enough. And yet not + entirely amiable. His eyes would close to little spots of dull, lifeless + colour—the only thing alive about him seemed to be his hands that + moved and stirred as though they did not belong to his body at all, but + had an independent existence of their own—and his heels protruding + from under his chair were like horrid little animals waiting, + malevolently, on guard. + </p> + <p> + His inventions were, of course, never successful, and he contributed, + therefore, nothing to the maintenance of his household. Vera Michailovna + had means of her own, and there were also the paying guests. But he + suffered from no sense of distress at his impecuniosity. I discovered very + quickly that Vera Michailovna kept the family purse, and one of the + earliest sources of family trouble was, I fancy, his constant demands for + money. Before the war he had, I believe, been drunk whenever it was + possible. Because drink was difficult to obtain, and in a flood of + patriotism roused by the enthusiasm of the early days of the war, he + declared himself a teetotaller, and marvellously he kept his vows. This + abstinence was now one of his greatest prides, and he liked to tell you + about it. Nevertheless he needed money as badly as ever, and he borrowed + whenever he could. One of the first things that Vera Michailovna told me + was that I was on no account to open my purse to him. I was not always + able to keep my promise. + </p> + <p> + On this particular evening of Bohun’s arrival I came, by invitation, + to supper. They had told me about their Englishman, and had asked me + indeed to help the first awkward half-hour over the stile. It may seem + strange that the British Embassy should have chosen so uncouth a host as + Nicolai Leontievitch for their innocent secretaries, but it was only the + more enterprising of the young men who preferred to live in a Russian + family; most of them inhabited elegant flats of their own, ornamented with + coloured stuffs and gaily decorated cups and bright trays from the Jews’ + Market, together with English comforts and luxuries dragged all the way + from London. Moreover, Markovitch figured very slightly in the + consciousness of his guests, and the rest of the flat was roomy and clean + and light. It was, like most of the homes of the Russian Intelligentzia + over-burdened with family history. Amazing the things that Russians will + gather together and keep, one must suppose, only because they are too + lethargic to do away with them. On the walls of the Markovitch dining-room + all kinds of pictures were hung—old family photographs yellow and + dusty, old calendars, prints of ships at sea, and young men hanging over + stiles, and old ladies having tea, photographs of the Kremlin and the + Lavra at Kieff, copies of Ivan and his murdered son and Serov’s + portrait of Chaliapine as Boris Godounov. Bookcases there were with + tattered editions of Pushkin and Lermontov. The middle of the living-room + was occupied with an enormous table covered by a dark red cloth, and this + table was the centre of the life of the family. A large clock wheezed and + groaned against the wall, and various chairs of different shapes and sizes + filled up most of the remaining space. Nevertheless, although everything + in the room looked old except the white and gleaming stove, Vera + Michailovna spread over the place the impress of her strong and active + personality. It was not a sluggish room, nor was it untidy as so many + Russian rooms are. Around the table everybody sat. It seemed that at all + hours of the day and night some kind of meal was in progress there; and it + was almost certain that from half-past two in the afternoon until + half-past two on the following morning the samovar would be found there, + presiding with sleepy dignity over the whole family and caring nothing for + anybody. I can smell now that especial smell of tea and radishes and + salted fish, and can hear the wheeze of the clock, the hum of the samovar, + Nina’s shrill laugh and Boris’s deep voice.... I owe that room + a great deal. It was there that I was taken out of myself and memories + that fared no better for their perpetual resurrection. That room called me + back to life. + </p> + <p> + On this evening there was to be, in honour of young Bohun, an especially + fine dinner. A message had come from him that he would appear with his + boxes at half-past seven. When I arrived Vera was busy in the kitchen, and + Nina adding in her bedroom extra ribbons and laces to her costume; Boris + Nicolaievitch was not present; Nicolai Leontievitch was working in his + den. + </p> + <p> + I went through to him. He did not look up as I came in. The room was + darker than usual; the green shade over the lamp was tilted wickedly as + though it were cocking its eye at Markovitch’s vain hopes, and there + was the man himself, one cheek a ghastly green, his hair on end and his + chair precariously balanced. + </p> + <p> + I heard him say as though he repeated an incantation—“<i>Nu + Vot... Nu Vot... Nu Vot</i>.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Zdras te</i>, Nicolai Leontievitch,” I said. Then I did + not disturb him but sat down on a rickety chair and waited. Ink dripped + from his table on to the floor. One bottle lay on its side, the ink oozing + out, other bottles stood, some filled, some half-filled, some empty. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ha!” he cried, and there was a little explosion; a cork + spurted out and struck the ceiling; there was smoke and the crackling of + glass. He turned round and faced me, a smudge of ink on one of his cheeks, + and that customary nervous unhappy smile on his lips. + </p> + <p> + “Well, how goes it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well enough.” He touched his cheek then sucked his fingers. + “I must wash. We have a guest to-night. And the news, what’s + the latest?” + </p> + <p> + He always asked me this question, having apparently the firm conviction + that an Englishman must know more about the war than a man of any other + nationality. But he didn’t pause for an answer—“News—but + of course there is none. What can you expect from this Russia of ours?—and + the rest—it’s all too far away for any of us to know anything + about it—only Germany’s close at hand. Yes. Remember that. You + forget it sometimes in England. She’s very near indeed.... We’ve + got a guest coming—from the English Embassy. His name’s Boon + and a funny name too. You don’t know him, do you?” + </p> + <p> + No, I didn’t know him. I laughed. Why should he think that I always + knew everybody, I who kept to myself so? + </p> + <p> + “The English always stick together. That’s more than can be + said for us Russians. We’re a rotten lot. Well, I must go and wash.” + </p> + <p> + Then, whether by a sudden chance of light and shade, or if you like to + have it, by a sudden revelation on the part of a beneficent Providence, he + really did look malevolent, standing in the middle of the dirty little + room, malevolent and pathetic too, like a cross, sick bird. + </p> + <p> + “Vera’s got a good dinner ready. That’s one thing, Ivan + Andreievitch,” he said; “and vodka—a little bottle. We + got it from a friend. But I don’t drink now, you know.” + </p> + <p> + He went off and I, going into the other room, found Vera Michailovna + giving last touches to the table. I sat and watched with pleasure her calm + assured movements. She really was splendid, I thought, with the fine + carriage of her head, her large mild eyes, her firm strong hands. + </p> + <p> + “All ready for the guest, Vera Michailovna?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, smiling at me, “I hope so. He won’t + be very particular, will he, because we aren’t princes?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t answer for him,” I replied, smiling back at + her. “But he can’t be more particular than the Hon. Charles—and + he was a great success.” + </p> + <p> + The Hon. Charles was a standing legend in the family, and we always + laughed when we mentioned him. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know”—she stopped her work at the table + and stood, her hand up to her brow as though she would shade her eyes from + the light—“I wish he wasn’t coming—the new + Englishman, I mean. Better perhaps as we were—Nicholas—” + she stopped short. “Oh, I don’t know! They’re difficult + times, Ivan Andreievitch.” + </p> + <p> + The door opened and old Uncle Ivan came in. He was dressed very smartly + with a clean white shirt and a black bow tie and black patent leather + shoes, and his round face shone as the sun. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Mr. Durward,” he said, trotting forward. “Good + health to you! What excellent weather we’re sharing.” + </p> + <p> + “So we are, M. Semyonov,” I answered him. “Although it + did rain most of yesterday you know. But weather of the soul perhaps you + mean? In that case I’m very glad to hear that you are well.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah—of the soul?” He always spoke his words very + carefully, clipping and completing them, and then standing back to look at + them as though they were china ornaments arranged on a shining table. + “No—my soul to-day is not of the first rank, I’m afraid.” + </p> + <p> + It was obvious that he was in a state of the very greatest excitement; he + could not keep still, but walked up and down beside the long table, + fingering the knives and forks. + </p> + <p> + Then Nina burst in upon us in one of her frantic rages. Her tempers were + famous both for their ferocity and the swiftness of their passing. In the + course of them she was like some impassioned bird of brilliant plumages, + tossing her feathers, fluttering behind the bars of her cage at some + impertinent, teasing passer-by. She stood there now in the doorway, + gesticulating with her hands. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Nu, Tznaiesh schto?</i> Michael Alexandrovitch has put me off—says + he is busy all night at the office. He busy all night! Don’t I know + the business he’s after? And it’s the third time—I won’t + see him again—no, I won’t. He—” + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, Nina Michailovna,” I said, smiling. She turned + to me. + </p> + <p> + “Durdles—Mr. Durdles—only listen. It was all arranged + for to-night—the <i>Parisian</i>, and then we were to come straight + back—” + </p> + <p> + “But your guest—” I began. + </p> + <p> + However the torrent continued. The door opened and Boris Grogoff came in. + Instantly she turned upon him. + </p> + <p> + “There’s your fine friend!” she cried; “Michael + Alexandrovitch isn’t coming. Put me off at the last moment, and it’s + the third time. And I might have gone to Musikalnaya Drama. I was asked by—” + </p> + <p> + “Well, why not?” Grogoff interrupted calmly. “If he had + something better to do—” + </p> + <p> + Then she turned upon him, screaming, and in a moment they were at it, + tooth and nail, heaping up old scores, producing fact after fact to prove, + the one to the other, false friendship, lying manners, deceitful promises, + perjured records. Vera tried to interrupt, Markovitch said something, I + began a remonstrance—in a moment we were all at it, and the room was + a whirl of noise. In the tempest it was only I who heard the door open. I + turned and saw Henry Bohun standing there. + </p> + <p> + I smile now when I think of that moment of his arrival, go fitting to the + characters of the place, so appropriate a symbol of what was to come. + Bohun was beautifully dressed, spotlessly neat, in a bowler hat a little + to one side, a light-blue silk scarf, a dark-blue overcoat. His face wore + an expression of dignified self-appreciation. It was as though he stood + there breathing blessings on the house that he had sanctified by his + arrival. He looked, too, with it all, such a boy that my heart was + touched. And there was something good and honest about his eyes. + </p> + <p> + He may have spoken, but certainly no one heard him in the confusion. + </p> + <p> + I just caught Nina’s shrill voice: “Listen all of you! There + you are! You hear what he says! That I told him it was to be Tuesday when, + everybody knows—Verotchka! Ah—Verotchka! He says—” + Then she paused; I caught her amazed glance at the door, her gasp, a + scream of stifled laughter, and behold she was gone! + </p> + <p> + Then they all saw. There was instant silence, a terrible pause, and then + Bohun’s polite gentle voice: “Is this where Mr. Markovitch + lives? I beg your pardon—” + </p> + <p> + Great awkwardness followed. It is quite an illusion to suppose that + Russians are easy, affable hosts. I know of no people in the world who are + so unable to put you at your ease if there is something unfortunate in the + air. They have few easy social graces, and they are inclined to abandon at + once a situation if it is made difficult for them. If it needs an effort + to make a guest happy they leave him alone and trust to a providence in + whose powers, however, they entirely disbelieve. Bohun was led to his + room, his bags being carried by old Sacha, the Markovitch’s servant, + and the Dvornik. + </p> + <p> + His bags, I remember, were very splendid, and I saw the eyes of Uncle Ivan + grow large as he watched their progress. Then with a sigh he drew a chair + up to the table and began eating zakuska, putting salt-fish and radishes + and sausage on to his place and eating them with a fork. + </p> + <p> + “Dyadya, Ivan!” Vera said reproachfully. “Not yet—we + haven’t begun. Ivan Andreievitch, what do you think? Will he want + hot water?” + </p> + <p> + She hurried after him. + </p> + <p> + The evening thus unfortunately begun was not happily continued. There was + a blight upon us all. I did my best, but I was in considerable pain and + very tired. Moreover, I was not favourably impressed with my first sight + of young Bohun. He seemed to me foolish and conceited. Uncle Ivan was + afraid of him. He made only one attack. + </p> + <p> + “It was a very fruitful journey that you had, sir, I hope?” + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” said Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “A very fruitful journey—nothing burdensome nor extravagant?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, all right, thanks,” Bohun answered, trying unsuccessfully + to show that he was not surprised at my friend’s choice of words. + But Uncle Ivan saw that he had not been successful and his lip trembled. + Markovitch was silent and Boris Nicolaievitch sulked. Only once towards + the end of the meal Bohun interested me. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” he asked me, “whether you know a fellow + called Lawrence? He travelled from England with me. A man who’s + played a lot of football.” + </p> + <p> + “Not Jerry Lawrence, the international!” I said. “Surely + he can’t have come out here?” Of course it was the same. I was + interested and strangely pleased. The thought of Lawrence’s square + back and cheery smile was extremely agreeable just then. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! I’m very glad,” I answered. “I must get him + to come and see me. I knew him pretty well at one time. Where’s he + to be found?” + </p> + <p> + Bohun, with an air of rather gentle surprise, as though he could not help + thinking it strange that any one should take an interest in Lawrence’s + movements, told me where he was lodging. + </p> + <p> + “And I hope you also will find your way to me sometime,” + </p> + <p> + I added. “It’s an out-of-place grimy spot, I’m afraid. + You might bring Lawrence round one evening.” + </p> + <p> + Soon after that, feeling that I could do no more towards retrieving an + evening definitely lost, I departed. At the last I caught Markovitch’s + eye. He seemed to be watching for something. A new invention perhaps. He + was certainly an unhappy man. + </p> + <h3> + VIII + </h3> + <p> + I was to meet Jerry Lawrence sooner than I had expected. And it was in + this way. + </p> + <p> + Two days after the evening that I have just described I was driven to go + and see Vera Michailovna. I was driven, partly by my curiosity, partly by + my depression, and partly by my loneliness. This same loneliness was, I + believe, at this time beginning to affect us all. I should be considered + perhaps to be speaking with exaggeration if I were to borrow the title of + one of Mrs. Oliphant’s old-fashioned and charming novels and to + speak of Petrograd as already “A Beleaguered City”—beleaguered, + moreover, in very much the same sense as that other old city was. From the + very beginning of the war Petrograd was isolated—isolated not by the + facts of the war, its geographical position or any of the obvious causes, + but simply by the contempt and hatred with which it was regarded. From + very old days it was spoken of as a German town. “If you want to + know Russia don’t go to Petrograd.” “Simply a + cosmopolitan town like any other.” “A smaller Berlin”—and + so on, and so on. This sense of outside contempt influenced its own + attitude to the world. It was always at war with Moscow. It showed you + when you first arrived its Nevski, its ordered squares, its official + buildings as though it would say: “I suppose you will take the same + view as the rest. If you don’t wish to look any deeper here you are. + I’m not going to help you.” + </p> + <p> + As the war developed it lost whatever gaiety and humour it had. After the + fall of Warsaw the attitude of the Russian people in general became + fatalistic. Much nonsense was talked in the foreign press about “Russia + coming back again and again.” “Russia, the harder she was + pressed the harder she resisted,” and the ghost of Napoleon + retreating from Moscow was presented to every home in Europe; but the + plain truth was that, after Warsaw, the temper of the people changed. + Things were going wrong once more as they had always gone wrong in Russian + history, and as they always would go wrong. Then followed bewilderment. + What to do? Whose fault was it all? Shall we blame our blood or our + rulers? Our rulers, certainly, as we always, with justice, have blamed + them—our blood, too, perhaps. From the fall of Warsaw, in spite of + momentary flashes of splendour and courage, the Russians were a + blindfolded, naked people, fighting a nation fully armed. Now, Europe was + vast continents away, and only Germany, that old Germany whose soul was + hateful, whose practical spirit was terribly admirable, was close at hand. + The Russian people turned hither and thither, first to its Czar, then to + its generals, then to its democratic spirit, then to its idealism—and + there was no hope anywhere. They appealed for Liberty. In the autumn of + 1916 a great prayer from the whole country went up that the bandage might + be taken from its eyes, and soon, lest when the light did at last come the + eyes should be so unused to it that they should see nothing. Nicholas had + his opportunity—the greatest opportunity perhaps ever offered to + man. He refused it. From that moment the easiest way was closed, and only + a most perilous rocky path remained. + </p> + <p> + With every week of that winter of 1916, Petrograd stepped deeper and + deeper into the darkness. Its strangeness grew and grew upon me as the + days filed through. I wondered whether my illness and the troubles of the + preceding year made me see everything at an impossible angle—or it + was perhaps my isolated lodging, my crumbling rooms, with the grey expanse + of sea and sky in front of them that was responsible. Whatever it was, + Petrograd soon came to be to me a place with a most terrible secret life + of its own. + </p> + <p> + There is an old poem of Pushkin’s that Alexandre Benois has most + marvellously illustrated, which has for its theme the rising of the river + Neva in November 1824. On that occasion the splendid animal devoured the + town, and in Pushkin’s poem you feel the devastating power of the + beast, and in Benois’ pictures you can see it licking its lips as it + swallowed down pillars and bridges and streets and squares with poor + little fragments of humanity clutching and crying and fruitlessly + appealing. + </p> + <p> + This poem only emphasised for me the suspicion that I had originally had, + that the great river and the marshy swamp around it despised + contemptuously the buildings that man had raised beside and upon it, and + that even the buildings in their turn despised the human beings who + thronged them. It could only be some sense of this kind that could make + one so repeatedly conscious that one’s feet were treading ancient + ground. + </p> + <p> + The town, raised all of a piece by Peter the Great, could claim no ancient + history at all; but through every stick and stone that had been laid there + stirred the spirit and soul of the ground, so that out of one of the + sluggish canals one might expect at any moment to see the horrid and scaly + head of some palaeolithic monster with dead and greedy eyes slowly push + its way up that it might gaze at the little black hurrying atoms as they + crossed and recrossed the grey bridge. There are many places in Petrograd + where life is utterly dead; where some building, half-completed, has + fallen into red and green decay; where the water lies still under + iridescent scum and thick clotted reeds seem to stand at bay, concealing + in their depths some terrible monster. + </p> + <p> + At such a spot I have often fancied that the eyes of countless inhabitants + of that earlier world are watching me, and that not far away the waters of + Neva are gathering, gathering, gathering their mighty momentum for some + instant, when, with a great heave and swell, they will toss the whole + fabric of brick and mortar from their shoulders, flood the streets and + squares, and then sink tranquilly back into great sheets of unruffled + waters marked only with reeds and the sharp cry of some travelling bird. + </p> + <p> + All this may be fantastic enough, I only know that it was sufficiently + real to me during that winter of 1916 to be ever at the back of my mind; + and I believe that some sense of that kind had in all sober reality + something to do with that strange weight of uneasy anticipation that we + all of us, yes, the most unimaginative amongst us, felt at this time. + </p> + <p> + Upon this afternoon when I went to pay my call on Vera Michailovna, the + real snow began to fall. We had had the false preliminary attempt a + fortnight before; now in the quiet persistent determination, the solid + soft resilience beneath one’s feet, and the patient aquiescence of + roofs and bridges and cobbles one knew that the real winter had come. + Already, although it was only four o’clock in the afternoon, there + was darkness, with the strange almost metallic glow as of the light from + an inverted looking-glass that snow makes upon the air. I had not far to + go, but the long stretch of the Ekateringofsky Canal was black and gloomy + and desolate, repeating here and there the pale yellow reflection of some + lamp, but for the most part dim and dead, with the hulks of barges lying + like sleeping monsters on its surface. As I turned into Anglisky Prospect + I found stretched like a black dado, far down the street, against the + wall, a queue of waiting women. They would be there until the early + morning, many of them, and it was possible that then the bread would not + be sufficient. And this not from any real lack, but simply from the + mistakes of a bungling, peculating Government. No wonder that one’s + heart was heavy. + </p> + <p> + I found Vera Michailovna to my relief alone. When Sacha brought me into + the room she was doing what I think I had never seen her do before, + sitting unoccupied, her eyes staring in front of her, her hands folded on + her lap. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t believe that I’ve ever caught you idle before, + Vera Michailovna,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m glad you’ve come!” She caught my hand + with an eagerness very different from her usual calm, quiet greeting. + “Sit down. It’s an extraordinary thing. At that very moment I + was wishing for you.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it I can do for you?” I asked. “You know that I + would do anything for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know that you would. But—well. You can’t help me + because I don’t know what’s the matter with me.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s very unlike you,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know it is—and perhaps that’s why I am + frightened. It’s so vague; and you know I long ago determined that + if I couldn’t define a trouble and have it there in front of me, so + that I could strangle it—why I wouldn’t bother about it. But + those things are so easy to say.” + </p> + <p> + She got up and began to walk up and down the room. That again was utterly + unlike her, and altogether I seemed to be seeing, this afternoon, some + quite new Vera Michailovna, some one more intimate, more personal, more + appealing. I realised suddenly that she had never before, at any period of + our friendship, asked for my help—not even for my sympathy. She was + so strong and reliant and independent, cared so little for the opinion of + others, and shut down so closely upon herself her private life, that I + could not have imagined her asking help from any one. And of the two of + us, she was the man, the strong determined soul, the brave and + self-reliant character. It seemed to me ludicrous that she should ask for + my help. Nevertheless I was greatly touched. + </p> + <p> + “I would do anything for you,” I said. + </p> + <p> + She turned to me, a splendid figure, her head, with its crown of black + hair, lifted, her hands on her hips, her eyes gravely regarding me. + </p> + <p> + “There are three things,” she said, “perhaps all of them + nothing.... And yet all of them disturbing. First my husband. He’s + beginning to drink again.” + </p> + <p> + “Drink?” I said; “where can he get it from?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I must discover. But it isn’t the actual + drinking. Every one in our country drinks if he can. Only what has made my + husband break his resolve? He was so proud of it. You know how proud he + was. And he lies about it. He says he is not drinking. He never used to + lie about anything. That was not one of his faults.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps his inventions,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “Pouf! His inventions! You know better than that, Ivan Andreievitch. + No, no. It is something.... He’s not himself. Well, then, secondly, + there’s Nina. The other night did you notice anything?” + </p> + <p> + “Only that she lost her temper. But she’s always doing that.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s more than that. She’s unhappy, and I don’t + like the life she’s leading. Always out at cinematographs and + theatres and restaurants, and with a lot of boys who mean no harm, I know—but + they’re idiotic, they’re no good.... Now, when the war’s + like this and the suffering.... To be always at the cinematograph! But I’ve + lost my authority over her, Ivan Andreievitch. She doesn’t care any + longer what I say to her. Once, and not so long ago, I meant so much to + her. She’s changed, she’s harder, more careless, more selfish. + You know, Ivan Andreievitch, that Nina’s simply everything to me. I + don’t talk about myself, do I? but at least I can say that since—oh, + many, many years, she’s been the whole world and more than the whole + world to me. Our mother and father were killed in a railway accident + coming up from Odessa when Nina was very small, and since then Nina’s + been mine—all mine!” + </p> + <p> + She said that word with sudden passion, flinging it at me with a fierce + gesture of her hands. “Do you know what it is to want that something + should belong to you, belong entirely to you, and to no one else? I’ve + been too proud to say, but I’ve wanted that terribly all my life. I + haven’t had children, although I prayed for them, and perhaps now it + is as well. But Nina! She’s known she was mine, and, until now, she’s + loved to know it. But now she’s escaping from me, and she knows that + too, and is ashamed. I think I could bear anything but that sense that she + herself has that she’s being wrong—I hate her to be ashamed.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” I suggested, “it’s time that she went + out into the world now and worked. There are a thousand things that a + woman can do.” + </p> + <p> + “No—not Nina. I’ve spoilt her, perhaps; I don’t + know. I always liked to feel that she needed my help. I didn’t want + to make her too self-reliant. That was wrong of me, and I shall be + punished for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Speak to her,” I said. “She loves you so much that one + word from you to her will be enough.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Vera Michailovna said slowly. “It won’t be + enough now. A year ago, yes. But now she’s escaping as fast as she + can.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps she’s in love with some one,” I suggested. + </p> + <p> + “No. I should have seen at once if it had been that. I would rather + it were that. I think she would come back to me then. No, I suppose that + this had to happen. I was foolish to think that it would not. But it + leaves one alone—it—” + </p> + <p> + She pulled herself up at that, regarding me with sudden shyness, as though + she would forbid me to hint that she had shown the slightest emotion, or + made in any way an appeal for pity. + </p> + <p> + I was silent, then I said: + </p> + <p> + “And the third thing, Vera Michailovna?” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Alexei is coming back.” That startled me. I felt my + heart give one frantic leap. + </p> + <p> + “Alexei Petrovitch!” I cried. “When? How soon?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I’ve had a letter.” She felt in her + dress, found the letter and read it through. “Soon, perhaps. He’s + leaving the Front for good. He’s disgusted with it all, he says. He’s + going to take up his Petrograd practice again.” + </p> + <p> + “Will he live with you?” + </p> + <p> + “No. God forbid!” + </p> + <p> + She felt then, perhaps, that her cry had revealed more than she intended, + because she smiled and, trying to speak lightly, said: + </p> + <p> + “No. We’re old enemies, my uncle and I. We don’t get on. + He thinks me sentimental, I think him—but never mind what I think + him. He has a bad effect on my husband.” + </p> + <p> + “A bad effect?” I repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He irritates him. He laughs at his inventions, you know.” + </p> + <p> + I nodded my head. Yes, with my earlier experience of him I could + understand that he would do that. + </p> + <p> + “He’s a cynical, embittered man,” I said. “He + believes in nothing and in nobody. And yet he has his fine side—” + </p> + <p> + “No, he has no fine side,” she interrupted me fiercely. + “None. He is a bad man. I’ve known him all my life, and I’m + not to be deceived.” + </p> + <p> + Then in a softer, quieter tone she continued: + </p> + <p> + “But tell me, Ivan Andreievitch. I’ve wanted before to ask + you. You were with him on the Front last year. We have heard that he had a + great love affair there, and that the Sister whom he loved was killed. Is + that true?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “that is true.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he very much in love with her?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe terribly.” + </p> + <p> + “And it hurt him deeply when she was killed?” + </p> + <p> + “Desperately deeply.” + </p> + <p> + “But what kind of woman was she? What type? It’s so strange to + me. Uncle Alexei... with his love affairs!” + </p> + <p> + I looked up, smiling. “She was your very opposite, Vera Michailovna, + in everything. Like a child—with no knowledge, no experience, no + self-reliance—nothing. She was wonderful in her ignorance and + bravery. We all thought her wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + “And she loved <i>him?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—she loved him.” + </p> + <p> + “How strange! Perhaps there is some good in him somewhere. But to us + at any rate he always brings trouble. This affair may have changed him. + They say he is very different. Worse perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + She broke out then into a cry: + </p> + <p> + “I want to get away, Ivan Andreievitch! To get away, to escape, to + leave Russia and everything in it behind me! To escape!” + </p> + <p> + It was just then that Sacha knocked on the door. She came in to say that + there was an Englishman in the hall inquiring for the other Englishman who + had come yesterday, that he wanted to know when he would be back. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I can help,” I said. I went out into the hall and + there I found Jerry Lawrence. + </p> + <p> + He stood there in the dusk of the little hall looking as resolute and + unconcerned as an Englishman, in a strange and uncertain world, is + expected to look. Not that he ever considered the attitudes fitting to + adopt on certain occasions. He would tell you, if you inquired, that + “he couldn’t stand those fellows who looked into every glass + they passed.” His brow wore now a simple and innocent frown like + that of a healthy baby presented for the first time with a strange and + alarming rattle. It was only later that I was to arrive at some faint + conception of Lawrence’s marvellous acceptance of anything that + might happen to turn up. Vice, cruelty, unsuspected beauty, terror, + remorse, hatred, and ignorance—he accepted them all once they were + there in front of him. He sometimes, as I shall on a later occasion, show, + allowed himself a free expression of his views in the company of those + whom he could trust, but they were never the views of a suspicious or a + disappointed man. It was not that he had great faith in human nature. He + had, I think, very little. Nor was he without curiosity—far from it. + But once a thing was really there he wasted no time over exclamations as + to the horror or beauty or abomination of its actual presence. There was + as he once explained to me, “precious little time to waste.” + Those who thought him a dull, silent fellow—and they were many—made + of course an almost ludicrous mistake, but most people in life are, I take + it, too deeply occupied with their own personal history to do more than + estimate at its surface value the appearance of others... but after all + such a dispensation makes, in all probability for the general + happiness.... + </p> + <p> + On this present occasion Jerry Lawrence stood there exactly as I had seen + him stand many times on the football field waiting for the referee’s + whistle, his thick short body held together, his mouth shut and his eyes + on guard. He did not at first recognise me. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve forgotten me,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon,” he answered in his husky good-natured + voice, like the rumble of an amiable bull-dog. + </p> + <p> + “My name is Durward,” I said, holding out my hand. “And + years ago we had a mutual friend in Olva Dune.” + </p> + <p> + That pleased him. He gripped my hand very heartily and smiled a big ugly + smile. “Why, yes,” he said. “Of course. How are you? + Feeling fit? Damned long ago all that, isn’t it? Hope you’re + really fit?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m all right,” I answered. “I was never a + Hercules, you know. I heard that you were here from Bohun. I was going to + write to you. But it’s excellent that we should meet like this.” + </p> + <p> + “I was after young Bohun,” he explained. “But it’s + pleasant to find there’s another fellow in the town one knows. I’ve + been a bit at sea these two days. To tell you the truth I never wanted to + come.” I heard a rumble in his throat that sounded like “silly + blighters.” + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” I said. “You must meet Madame Markovitch with + whom Bohun is staying—and then wait a bit. He won’t be long, I + expect.” + </p> + <p> + The idea of this seemed to fill Jerry with alarm. He turned back toward + the door. “Oh! I don’t think... she won’t want... better + another time...” his mouth was filled with indistinct rumblings. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense.” I caught his arm. “She is delightful. You + must make yourself at home here. They’ll be only too glad.” + </p> + <p> + “Does she speak English?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered. “But that’s all right.” + </p> + <p> + He backed again towards the door. + </p> + <p> + “My Russian’s so slow,” he said. “Never been here + since I was a kid. I’d rather not, really—” + </p> + <p> + However, I dragged him in and introduced him. I had quite a fatherly + desire, as I watched him, that “he should make good.” But I’m + afraid that that first interview was not a great success. Vera Michailovna + was strange that afternoon, excited and disturbed as I had never known + her, and I could see that it was only with the greatest difficulty that + she could bring herself to think about Jerry at all. + </p> + <p> + And Jerry himself was so unresponsive that I could have beaten him. + “Why, you’re duller than you used to be,” I thought to + myself, and wondered how I could have suspected, in those days, subtle + depths and mysterious comprehensions. Vera Michailovna asked him questions + about France and London but, quite obviously, did not listen to his + answers. + </p> + <p> + After ten minutes he pulled himself up slowly from his chair: + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must be going,” he said. “Tell young Bohun I + shall be waiting for him to-night—7.30—Astoria—” + He turned to Vera Michailovna to say good-bye, and then, suddenly, as she + rose and their eyes met, they seemed to strike some unexpected chord of + sympathy. It took both of them, I think, by surprise; for quite a moment + they stared at one another. + </p> + <p> + “Please come whenever you want to see your friend,” she said, + “we shall be delighted.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” he answered simply, and went. + </p> + <p> + When he had gone she said to me: + </p> + <p> + “I like that man. One could trust him.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, one could,” I answered her. + </p> + <h3> + IX + </h3> + <p> + I must return now to young Henry Bohun. I would like to arouse your + sympathy for him, but sympathy’s a dangerous medicine for the young, + who are only too ready, so far as their self-confidence goes, to take a + mile if you give them an inch. But with Bohun it was simply a case of + re-delivering, piece by piece, the mile that he had had no possible right + to imagine in his possession, and at the end of his relinquishment he was + as naked and impoverished a soul as any life with youth and health on its + side can manage to sustain. He was very miserable during these first + weeks, and then it must be remembered that Petrograd was, at this time, no + very happy place for anybody. Bohun was not a coward—he would have + stood the worst things in France without flinching—but he was + neither old enough nor young enough to face without a tremor the queer + world of nerves and unfulfilled expectation in which he found himself. In + the first place, Petrograd was so very different from anything that he had + expected. Its size and space, its power of reducing the human figure to a + sudden speck of insignificance, its strange lights and shadows, its waste + spaces and cold, empty, moonlit squares, its jumble of modern and + mediaeval civilisation, above all, its supreme indifference to all and + sundry—these things cowed and humiliated him. He was sharp enough to + realise that here he was nobody at all. Then he had not expected to be so + absolutely cut off from all that he had known. The Western world simply + did not seem to exist. The papers came so slowly that on their arrival + they were not worth reading. He had not told his friends in England to + send his letters through the Embassy bag, with the result that they would + not, he was informed, reach him for months. + </p> + <p> + Of his work I do not intend here to speak,—it does not come into + this story,—but he found that it was most complicated and difficult, + and kicks rather than halfpence would be the certain reward. And Bohun + hated kicks.... + </p> + <p> + Finally, he could not be said to be happy in the Markovitch flat. He had, + poor boy, heard so much about Russian hospitality, and had formed, from + the reading of the books of Mr. Stephen Graham and others, delightful + pictures of the warmest hearts in the world holding out the warmest hands + before the warmest samovars. In its spirit that was true enough, but it + was not true in the way that Bohun expected it. + </p> + <p> + The Markovitches, during those first weeks, left him to look after himself + because they quite honestly believed that that was the thing that he would + prefer. Uncle Ivan tried to entertain him, but Bohun found him a bore, and + with the ruthless intolerance of the very young, showed him so. The family + did not put itself out to please him in any way. He had his room and his + latchkey. There was always coffee in the morning, dinner at half-past six, + and the samovar from half-past nine onwards. But the Markovitch family + life was not turned from its normal course. Why should it be? + </p> + <p> + And then he was laughed at. Nina laughed at him. Everything about him + seemed to Nina ridiculous—his cold bath in the morning, his + trouser-press, the little silver-topped bottles on his table, the crease + in his trousers, his shining neat hair, the pearl pin in his black tie, + his precise and careful speech, the way that he said “<i>Nu tak... + Spasebo... gavoreet... gariachy</i>...” She was never tired of + imitating him; and very soon he caught her strutting about the dining-room + with a man’s cap on her head, twisting a cane and bargaining with an + Isvostchick—this last because, only the evening before, he had told + them with great pride of his cleverness in that especial direction. The + fun was good-natured enough, but it was, as Russian chaff generally is, + quite regardless of sensitive feelings. Nina chaffed everybody and nobody + minded, but Bohun did not know this, and minded very much indeed. He + showed during dinner that evening that he was hurt, and sat over his + cabbage soup very dignified and silent. This made every one uncomfortable, + although Vera told me afterwards that she found it difficult not to laugh. + The family did not make themselves especially pleasant, as Henry felt they + ought to have done—they continued the even tenor of their way. He + was met by one of those sudden cold horrible waves of isolated terror with + which it pleases Russia sometimes to overwhelm one. The snow was falling; + the town was settling into a suspicious ominous quiet. There was no light + in the sky, and horrible winds blew round the corners of abandoned + streets. Henry was desperately homesick. He would have cut and run, had + there been any possible means of doing it. He did not remember the wild + joy with which he had heard, only a few weeks before, that he was to come + to Petrograd. He had forgotten even the splendours of <i>Discipline</i>. + He only knew that he was lonely and frightened and home-sick. He seemed to + be without a friend in the world. + </p> + <p> + But he was proud. He confided in nobody. He went about with his head up, + and every one thought him the most conceited young puppy who had ever + trotted the Petrograd streets. And, although he never owned it even to + himself, Jerry Lawrence seemed to him now the one friendly soul in all the + world. You could be sure that Lawrence would be always the same; he would + not laugh at you behind your back, if he disliked something he would say + so. You knew where you were with him, and in the uncertain world in which + poor Bohun found himself that simply was everything. Bohun would have + denied it vehemently if you told him that he had once looked down on + Lawrence, or despised him for his inartistic mind. Lawrence was “a + fine fellow”; he might seem a little slow at first, “but you + wait and you will see what kind of a chap he is.” Nevertheless Bohun + was not able to be for ever in his company; work separated them, and then + Lawrence lodged with Baron Wilderling on the Admiralty Quay, a long way + from Anglisky Prospect. Therefore, at the end of three weeks, Henry Bohun + discovered himself to be profoundly wretched. There seemed to be no hope + anywhere. Even the artist in him was disappointed. He went to the Ballet + and saw Tchaikowsky’s “Swan Lake”; but bearing Diagilev’s + splendours in front of him, and knowing nothing about the technique of + ballet-dancing he was bored and cross and contemptuous. He went to “Eugen + Onyegin” and enjoyed it, because there was still a great deal of the + schoolgirl in him; but after that he was flung on to Glinka’s + “Russlan and Ludmilla,” and this seemed to him quite + interminable and to have nothing to do with the gentleman and lady + mentioned in the title. He tried a play at the Alexander Theatre; it was, + he saw, by Andréeff, whose art he had told many people in England he + admired, but now he mixed him up in his mind with Kuprin, and the play was + all about a circus—very confused and gloomy. As for literature, he + purchased some new poems by Balmont, some essays by Merejkowsky, and André + Biely’s <i>St. Petersburg,</i> but the first of these he found + pretentious, the second dull, and the third quite impossibly obscure. He + did not confess to himself that it might perhaps be his ignorance of the + Russian language that was at fault. He went to the Hermitage and the + Alexander Galleries, and purchased coloured post-cards of the works of + Somov, Benois, Douboginsky, Lançeray, and Ostroymova—all the quite + obvious people. He wrote home to his mother “that from what he could + see of Russian Art it seemed to him to have a real future in front of it”—and + he bought little painted wooden animals and figures at the Peasants’ + Workshops and stuck them up on the front of his stove. + </p> + <p> + “I like them because they are so essentially Russian,” he said + to me, pointing out a red spotted cow and a green giraffe. “No other + country could have been responsible for them.” + </p> + <p> + Poor boy, I had not the heart to tell him that they had been made in + Germany. + </p> + <p> + However, as I have said, in spite of his painted toys and his operas he + was, at the end of three weeks, a miserable man. Anybody could see that he + was miserable, and Vera Michailovna saw it. She took him in hand, and at + once his life was changed. I was present at the beginning of the change. + </p> + <p> + It was the evening of Rasputin’s murder. The town of course talked + of nothing else—it had been talking, without cessation, since two o’clock + that afternoon. The dirty, sinister figure of the monk with his magnetic + eyes, his greasy beard, his robe, his girdle, and all his other + properties, brooded gigantic over all of us. He was brought into immediate + personal relationship with the humblest, most insignificant creature in + the city, and with him incredible shadows and shapes, from Dostoeffsky, + from Gogol, from Lermontov, from Nekrasov—from whom you please—all + the shadows of whom one is eternally subconsciously aware in Russia—faced + us and reminded us that they were not shadows but realities. + </p> + <p> + The details of his murder were not accurately known—it was only sure + that, at last, after so many false rumours of attempted assassination, he + was truly gone, and this world would be bothered by his evil presence no + longer. + </p> + <p> + Pictures formed in one’s mind as one listened. The day was fiercely + cold, and this seemed to add to the horror of it all—to the + Hoffmannesque fantasy of the party, the lights, the supper, and the women, + the murder with its mixture of religion and superstition and melodrama, + the body flung out at last so easily and swiftly, on to the frozen river. + How many souls must have asked themselves that day—“Why, if + this is so easy, do we not proceed further? A man dies more simply than + you thought—only resolution... only resolution.” + </p> + <p> + I know that that evening I found it impossible to remain in my lonely + rooms; I went round to the Markovitch flat. I found Vera Michailovna and + Bohun preparing to go out; they were alone in the flat. He looked at me + apprehensively. I think that I appeared to him at that time a queer, + moody, ill-disposed fellow, who was too old to understand the true + character of young men’s impetuous souls. It may be that he was + right.... + </p> + <p> + “Will you come with us, Ivan Andreievitch?” Vera Michailovna + asked me. “We’re going to the little cinema on Ekateringofsky—a + piece of local colour for Mr. Bohun.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll come anywhere with you,” I said. “And we’ll + talk about Rasputin.” + </p> + <p> + Bohun was only too ready. The affair seemed to his romantic soul too good + to be true. Because we none of us knew, at that time, what had really + happened, a fine field was offered for every rumour and conjecture. + </p> + <p> + Bohun had collected some wonderful stories. I saw that, apart from + Rasputin, he was a new man—something had happened to him. It was not + long before I discovered that what had happened was that Vera Michailovna + had been kind to him. Vera’s most beautiful quality was her + motherliness. I do not intend that much-abused word in any sentimental + fashion. She did not shed tears over a dirty baby in the street, nor did + she drag decrepit old men into the flat to give them milk and fifty + kopecks,—but let some one appeal to the strength and bravery in her, + and she responded magnificently. I believe that to be true of very many + Russian women, who are always their most natural selves when something + appeals to the best in them. Vera Michailovna had a strength and a + security in her protection of souls weaker than her own that had about it + nothing forced or pretentious or self-conscious—it was simply the + natural woman acting as she was made to act. She saw that Bohun was lonely + and miserable and, now that the first awkwardness was passed and he was no + longer a stranger, she was able, gently and unobtrusively, to show him + that she was his friend. I think that she had not liked him at first; but + if you want a Russian to like you, the thing to do is to show him that you + need him. It is amazing to watch their readiness to receive dependent + souls whom they are in no kind of way qualified to protect—but they + do their best, and although the result is invariably bad for everybody’s + character, a great deal of affection is created. + </p> + <p> + As we walked to the cinema she asked him, very gently and rather shyly, + about his home and his people and English life. She must have asked all + her English guests the same questions, but Bohun, I fancy, gave her rather + original answers. He let himself go, and became very young and rather + absurd, but also sympathetic. We were, all three of us, gay and silly, as + one very often suddenly is, in Russia, in the middle of even disastrous + situations. It had been a day of most beautiful weather, the mud was + frozen, the streets clean, the sky deep blue, the air harshly sweet. The + night blazed with stars that seemed to swing through the haze of the frost + like a curtain moved, very gently, by the wind. The Ekateringofsky Canal + was blue with the stars lying like scraps of quicksilver all about it, and + the trees and houses were deep black in outline above it. I could feel + that the people in the street were happy. The murder of Rasputin was a + sign, a symbol; his figure had been behind the scenes so long that it had + become mythical, something beyond human power—and now, behold, it + was not beyond human power at all, but was there like a dead stinking + fish. I could see the thought in their minds as they hurried along: + “Ah, he is gone, the dirty fellow—<i>Slava Bogu</i>—the + war will soon be over.” + </p> + <p> + I, myself, felt the influence. Perhaps now the war would go better, + perhaps Stunner and Protopopoff and the rest of them would be dismissed, + and clean men... it was still time for the Czar.... And I heard Bohun, in + his funny, slow, childish Russian: “But you understand, Vera + Michailovna, that my father knows nothing about writing, nothing at all—so + that it wouldn’t matter very much what he said.... Yes, he’s + military—been in the Army always....” + </p> + <p> + Along the canal the little trees that in the spring would be green flames + were touched now very faintly by silver frost. A huge barge lay black + against the blue water; in the middle of it the rain had left a pool that + was not frozen and under the light of a street lamp blazed gold—very + strange the sudden gleam.... We passed the little wooden shelter where an + old man in a high furry cap kept oranges and apples and nuts and sweets in + paper. One candle illuminated his little store. He looked out from the + darkness behind him like an old prehistoric man. His shed was peaked like + a cocked hat, an old fat woman sat beside him knitting and drinking a + glass of tea.... + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry, Vera Michailovna, that you can’t read + English....” Bohun’s careful voice was explaining, “Only + Wells and Locke and Jack London....” + </p> + <p> + I heard Vera Michailovna’s voice. Then Bohun again: + </p> + <p> + “No, I write very slowly—yes, I correct an awful lot....” + </p> + <p> + We stumbled amongst the darkness of the cobbles; where pools had been the + ice crackled beneath our feet, then the snow scrunched.... I loved the + sound, the sharp clear scent of the air, the pools of stars in the sky, + the pools of ice at our feet, the blue like the thinnest glass stretched + across the sky. I felt the poignancy of my age, of the country where I + was, of Bohun’s youth and confidence, of the war, of disease and + death—but behind it all happiness at the strange sense that I had + to-night, that came to me sometimes from I knew not where, that the + undercurrent of the river of life was stronger than the eddies and + whirlpools on its surface, that it knew whither it was speeding, and that + the purpose behind its force was strong and true and good.... + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” I heard Bohun say, “I’m not really very + young, Vera Michailovna. After all, it’s what you’ve done + rather than your actual years....” + </p> + <p> + “You’re older than you’ll ever be again, Bohun, if that’s + any consolation to you,” I said. + </p> + <p> + We had arrived. The cinema door blazed with light, and around it was + gathered a group of soldiers and women and children, peering in at a + soldiers’ band, which, placed on benches in a corner of the room, + played away for its very life. Outside, around the door were large bills + announcing “The Woman without a Soul, Drama in four parts,” + and there were fine pictures of women falling over precipices, men shot in + bedrooms, and parties in which all the guests shrank back in extreme + horror from the heroine. We went inside and were overwhelmed by the band, + so that we could not hear one another speak. The floor was covered with + sunflower seeds, and there was a strong smell of soldiers’ boots and + bad cigarettes and urine. We bought tickets from an old Jewess behind the + pigeon-hole and then, pushing the curtain aside, stumbled into darkness. + Here the smell was different, being, quite simply that of human flesh not + very carefully washed. Although, as we stumbled to some seats at the back, + we could feel that we were alone, it had the impression that multitudes of + people pressed in upon us, and when the lights did go up we found that the + little hall was indeed packed to its extremest limit. + </p> + <p> + No one could have denied that it was a cheerful scene. Soldiers, sailors, + peasants, women, and children crowded together upon the narrow benches. + There was a great consumption of sunflower seeds, and the narrow passage + down the middle of the room was littered with fragments. Two stout and + elaborate policemen leaned against the wall surveying the public with a + friendly if superior air. There was a tremendous amount of noise. Mingled + with the strains of the band beyond the curtain were cries and calls and + loud roars of laughter. The soldiers embraced the girls, and the children, + their fingers in their mouths, wandered from bench to bench, and a mangy + dog begged wherever he thought that he saw a kindly face. All the faces + were kindly—kindly, ignorant, and astoundingly young. As I felt that + youth I felt also separation; I and my like could emphasise as we pleased + the goodness, docility, mysticism even of these people, but we were + walking in a country of darkness. I caught a laugh, the glance of some + women, the voice of a young soldier—I felt behind us, watching us, + the thick heavy figure of Rasputin. I smelt the eastern scent of the + sunflower seeds, I looked back and glanced at the impenetrable superiority + of the two policemen, and I laughed at myself for the knowledge that I + thought I had, for the security upon which I thought that I rested, for + the familiarity with which I had fancied I could approach my + neighbours.... I was not wise, I was not secure, I had no claim to + familiarity.... + </p> + <p> + The lights were down and we were shown pictures of Paris. Because the + cinema was a little one and the prices small the films were faded and + torn, so that the Opera and the Place de la Concorde and the Louvre and + the Seine danced and wriggled and broke before our eyes. They looked + strange enough to us and only accented our isolation and the odd + semi-civilisation in which we were living. There were comments all around + the room in exactly the spirit of children before a conjurer at a + party.... The smell grew steadily stronger and stronger... my head swam a + little and I seemed to see Rasputin, swelling in his black robe, catching + us all into its folds, sweeping us up into the starlight sky. We were + under the flare of the light again. I caught Bohun’s happy eyes; he + was talking eagerly to Vera Michailovna, not removing his eyes from her + face. She had conquered him; I fancied as I looked at her that her + thoughts were elsewhere. + </p> + <p> + There followed a Vaudeville entertainment. A woman and a man in peasants’ + dress came and laughed raucously, without meaning, their eyes narrowly + searching the depths of the house, then they stamped their feet and + whirled around, struck one another, laughed again, and vanished. + </p> + <p> + The applause was half-hearted. Then there was a trainer of dogs, a + black-eyed Tartar with four very miserable little fox-terriers, who + shivered and trembled and jumped reluctantly through hoops. The audience + liked this, and cried and shouted and threw paper pellets at the dogs. A + stout perspiring Jew in a shabby evening suit came forward and begged for + decorum. Then there appeared a stout little man in a top hat who wished to + recite verses of, I gathered, a violent indecency. I was uncomfortable + about Vera Michailovna, but I need not have been. The indecency was of no + importance to her, and she was interested in the human tragedy of the + performer. Tragedy it was. The man was hungry and dirty and not far from + tears. He forgot his verses and glanced nervously into the wings as though + he expected to be beaten publicly by the perspiring Jew. + </p> + <p> + He stammered; his mouth wobbled; he covered it with a dirty hand. He could + not continue. + </p> + <p> + The audience was sympathetic. They listened in encouraging silence; then + they clapped; then they shouted friendly words to him. You could feel + throughout the room an intense desire that he should succeed. He responded + a little to the encouragement, but could not remember his verses. He + struggled, struggled, did a hurried little breakdown dance, bowed and + vanished into the wings, to be beaten, I have no doubt, by the Jewish + gentleman. We watched a little of the “Drama of the Woman without a + Soul,” but the sense of being in a large vat filled with boiling + human flesh into whose depths we were pressed ever more and more deeply + was at last too much for us, and we stumbled our way into the open air. + The black shadow of the barge, the jagged outline of the huddled buildings + against the sky, the black tower at the end of the canal, all these swam + in the crystal air. + </p> + <p> + We took deep breaths of the freshness and purity; cheerful noises were on + every side of us, the band and laughter; a church bell with its deep note + and silver tinkle; the snow was vast and deep and hard all about us. We + walked back very happily to Anglisky Prospect. Vera Michailovna said + good-night to me and went in. Before he followed her, Bohun turned round + to me: + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t she splendid?” he whispered. “By God, + Durward, I’d do anything for her.... Do you think she likes me?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I want her to—frightfully. I’d do anything for her. Do + you think she’d like to learn English?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” I said. “Ask her.” + </p> + <p> + He disappeared. As I walked home I felt about me the new interaction of + human lives and souls—ambitions, hopes, youth. And the crisis, + behind these, of the world’s history made up, as it was, of the same + interactions of human and divine. The fortunes and adventures of the soul + on its journey towards its own country, its hopes and fears, struggles and + despairs, its rejections and joy and rewards—its death and + destruction—all this in terms of human life and the silly blundering + conditions of this splendid glorious earth.... Here was Vera Michailovna + and her husband, Nina and Boris Grogoff, Bohun and Lawrence, myself and + Semyonov—a jumbled lot—with all our pitiful self-important + little histories, our crimes and virtues so insignificant and so quickly + over, and behind them the fine stuff of the human and divine soul, pushing + on through all raillery and incongruity to its goal. Why, I had caught up, + once more, that interest in life that I had, I thought, so utterly lost! I + stopped for a moment by the frozen canal and laughed to myself. The drama + of life was, after all, too strong for my weak indifference. I felt that + night as though I had stepped into a new house with lighted rooms and + fires and friends waiting for me. Afterwards, I was so closely stirred by + the sense of impending events that I could not sleep, but sat at my window + watching the faint lights of the sky shift and waver over the frozen + ice.... + </p> + <h3> + X + </h3> + <p> + We were approaching Christmas. The weather of these weeks was wonderfully + beautiful, sharply cold, the sky pale bird’s-egg blue, the ice and + the snow glittering, shining with a thousand colours. There began now a + strange relationship between Markovitch and myself. + </p> + <p> + There was something ineffectual and pessimistic about me that made + Russians often feel in me a kindred soul. At the Front, Russians had + confided in me again and again, but that was not astonishing, because they + confided in every one. Nevertheless, they felt that I was less English + than the rest, and rather blamed me in their minds, I think, for being so. + I don’t know what it was that suddenly decided Markovitch to “make + me part of his life.” I certainly did not on my side make any + advances. + </p> + <p> + One evening he came to see me and stayed for hours. Then he came two or + three times within the following fortnight. He gave me the effect of not + caring in the least whether I were there or no, whether I replied or + remained silent, whether I asked questions or simply pursued my own work. + And I, on my side, had soon in my consciousness his odd, irascible, + nervous, pleading, shy and boastful figure painted permanently, so that + his actual physical presence seemed to be unimportant. There he was, as he + liked to stand up against the white stove in my draughty room, his rather + dirty nervous hands waving in front of me, his thin hair on end, his + ragged beard giving his eyes an added expression of anxiety. His body was + a poor affair, his legs thin and uncertain, an incipient stomach causing + his waistcoat suddenly to fall inwards somewhere half-way up his chest, + his feet in ill-shapen boots, and his neck absurdly small inside his high + stiff collar. His stiff collar jutting sharply into his weak chin was + perhaps his most striking feature. Most Russians of his careless habits + wore soft collars or students’ shirts that fastened tight about the + neck, but this high white collar was with Markovitch a sign and a symbol, + the banner of his early ambitions; it was the first and last of him. He + changed it every day, it was always high and sharp, gleaming and clean, + and it must have hurt him very much. He wore with it a shabby black tie + that ran as far up the collar as it could go, and there was a sense of + pathos and struggle about this tie as though it were a wild animal trying + to escape over an imprisoning wall. He would stand clutching my stove as + though it assured his safety in a dangerous country; then suddenly he + would break away from it and start careering up and down my room, stopping + for an instant to gaze through my window at the sea and the ships, then + off again, swinging his arms, his anxious eyes searching everywhere for + confirmation of the ambitions that still enflamed him. + </p> + <p> + For the root and soul of him was that he was greatly ambitious. He had + been born, I learnt, in some small town in the Moscow province, and his + father had been a schoolmaster in the place—a kind of Perodonov, I + should imagine, from the things that Markovitch told me about him. The + father, at any rate, was a mean, malicious, and grossly sensual creature, + and he finally lost his post through his improper behaviour towards some + of his own small pupils. The family then came to evil days, and at a very + early age young Markovitch was sent to Petrograd to earn what he could + with his wits. He managed to secure the post of a secretary to an old + fellow who was engaged in writing the life of his grandfather—a + difficult book, as the grandfather had been a voluminous letter-writer, + and this correspondence had to be collected and tabulated. For months, and + even years, young Markovitch laboriously endeavoured to arrange these old + yellow letters, dull, pathetic, incoherent. His patron grew slowly + imbecile, but through the fogs that increasingly besieged him saw only + this one thing clearly, that the letters must be arranged. He kept + Markovitch relentlessly at his table, allowing him no pleasures, feeding + him miserably and watching him personally undress every evening lest he + should have secreted certain letters somewhere on his body. There was + something almost sadist apparently in the old gentleman’s + observation of Markovitch’s labours. + </p> + <p> + It was during these years that Markovitch’s ambitions took flame. He + was always as he told me having “amazing ideas.” I asked him—What + kind of ideas? “Ideas by which the world would be transformed.... + Those letters were all old, you know, and dusty, and yellow, and eaten, + some of them, by rats, and they’d lie on the floor and I’d try + to arrange them in little piles according to their dates.... There’d + be rows of little packets all across the floor..., and then somehow, when + one’s back was turned, they’d move, all of their own wicked + purpose—and one would have to begin all over again, bending with one’s + back aching, and seeing always the stupid handwriting.... I hated it, Ivan + Andreievitch, of course I hated it, but I had to do it for the money. And + I lived in his house, too, and as he got madder it wasn’t pleasant. + He wanted me to sleep with him because he saw things in the middle of the + night, and he’d catch hold of me and scream and twist his fat legs + round me... no, it wasn’t agreeable. <i>On ne sympatichne saff-szem</i>. + He wasn’t a nice man at all. But while I was sorting the letters + these ideas would come to me and I would be on fire.... It seemed to me + that I was to save the world, and that it would not be difficult if only + one might be resolute enough. That was the trouble—to be resolute. + One might say to oneself, ‘On Friday October 13th I will do so and + so, and then on Saturday November 3rd I will do so and so, and then on + December 24th it will be finished.’ But then on October 13th one is, + may be, in quite another mood—one is even ill possibly—and so + nothing is done and the whole plan is ruined. I would think all day as to + how I would make myself resolute, and I would say when old Feodor + Stepanovitch would pinch my ear and deny me more soup, ‘Ah ha, you + wait, you old pig-face—you wait until I’ve mastered my + resolution—and then I’ll show you!’ I fancied, for + instance, that if I could command myself sufficiently I could just go to + people and say, ‘You must have bath-houses like this and this’—I + had all the plans ready, you know, and in the hottest room you have + couches like this, and you have a machine that beats your back—so, + so, so—not those dirty old things that leave bits of green stuff all + over you—and so on, and so on. But better ideas than that, ideas + about poverty and wealth, no more kings, you know, nor police, but not + your cheap Socialism that fellows like Boris Nicolaievitch shout about; + no, real happiness, so that no one need work as I did for an old beast who + didn’t give you enough soup, and have to keep quiet, all the same + and say nothing. Ideas came like flocks of birds, so many that I couldn’t + gather them all but had sometimes to let the best ones go. And I had no + one to talk to about them—only the old cook and the girl in the + kitchen, who had a child by old Feodor that he wouldn’t own,—but + she swore it was his, and told every one the time when it happened and + where it was and all.... Then the old man fell downstairs and broke his + neck, and he’d left me some money to go on with the letters....” + </p> + <p> + At this point Markovitch’s face would become suddenly triumphantly + malevolent, like the face of a schoolboy who remembers a trick that he + played on a hated master. “Do you think I went on with them, Ivan + Andreievitch? no, not I... but I kept the money.” + </p> + <p> + “That was wrong of you,” I would say gravely. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—wrong of course. But hadn’t he been wrong always? + And after all, isn’t everybody wrong? We Russians have no + conscience, you know, about anything, and that’s simply because we + can’t make up our minds as to what’s wrong and what’s + right, and even if we do make up our minds it seems a pity not to let + yourself go when you may be dead to-morrow. Wrong and right.... What + words!... Who knows? Perhaps it would have been the greatest wrong in the + world to go on with the letters, wasting everybody’s time, and for + myself, too, who had so many ideas, that life simply would never be long + enough to think them all out.” + </p> + <p> + It seemed that shortly after this he had luck with a little invention, and + this piece of luck was, I should imagine, the ruin of his career, as + pieces of luck so often are the ruin of careers. I could never understand + what precisely his invention was, it had something to do with the closing + of doors, something that you pulled at the bottom of the door, so that it + shut softly and didn’t creak with the wind. A Jew bought the + invention, and gave Markovitch enough money to lead him confidently to + believe that his fortune was made. Of course it was not, he never had luck + with an invention again, but he was bursting with pride and happiness, set + up house for himself in a little flat on the Vassily Ostrov—and met + Vera Michailovna. I wish I could give some true idea of the change that + came over him when he reached this part of his story. When he had spoken + of his childhood, his father, his first struggles to live, his life with + his old patron, he had not attempted to hide the evil, the malice, the + envy that there was in his soul. He had even emphasised it, I might fancy, + for my own especial benefit, so that I might see that he was not such a + weak, romantic, sentimental creature as I had supposed—although God + knows I had never fancied him romantic. Now when he spoke of his wife his + whole body changed. “She married me out of pity,” he told me. + “I hated her for that, and I loved her for that, and I hate and love + her for it still.” + </p> + <p> + Here I interrupted him and told him that perhaps it was better that he + should not confide in me the inner history of his marriage. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” he asked me suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + “Because I’m only an acquaintance, you scarcely know me. You + may regret it afterwards when you’re in another mood.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you English!” he said contemptuously; “you’re + always to be trusted. As a nation you’re not, but as one man to + another you’re not interested enough in human nature to give away + secrets.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, tell me what you like,” I said. “Only I make no + promises about anything.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want you to,” he retorted; “I’m + only telling you what every one knows. Wasn’t I aware from the first + moment that she married me out of pity, and didn’t they all know it, + and laugh and tell her she was a fool. She knew that she was a fool too, + but she was very young, and thought it fine to sacrifice herself for an + idea. I was ill and I talked to her about my future. She believed in it, + she thought I could do wonderful things if only some one looked after me. + And at the same time despised me for wanting to be looked after.... And + then I wasn’t so ugly as I am now. She had some money of her own, + and we took in lodgers, and I loved her, as I love her now, so that I + could kiss her feet and then hate her because she was kind to me. She only + cares for her sister, Nina; and because I was jealous of the girl and + hated to see Vera good to her I had her to live with us, just to torture + myself and show that I was stronger than all of them if I liked.... And so + I am, than her beastly uncle the doctor and all the rest of them—let + him do what he likes....” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time that he had mentioned Semyonov. + </p> + <p> + “He’s coming back,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is he?” snarled Markovitch. “Well, he’d + better look out.” Then his voice, his face, even the shape of his + body, changed once again. “I’m not a bad man, Ivan + Andreievitch. No, I’m not.... You think so of course, and I don’t + mind if you do. But I love Vera, and if she loved me I could do great + things. I could astonish them all. I hear them say, ‘Ah, that Nicholas + Markovitch, he’s no good... with his inventions. What did a fine + woman like that marry such a man for?’ I know what they say. But I’m + strong if I like. I gave up drink when I wished. I can give up anything. + And when I succeed they’ll see—and then we’ll have + enough money not to need these people staying with us and despising us....” + </p> + <p> + “No one despises you, Nicolai Leontievitch,” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “And what does it matter if they do?” he fiercely retorted. + “I despise them—all of them. It’s easy for them when + everything goes well with them, but with me everything goes wrong. + Everything!... But I’m strong enough to make everything go right—and + I will.” + </p> + <p> + This was, for the time, the end of his confidences. He had, I was sure, + something further to tell me, some plan, some purpose, but he decided + suddenly that he would keep it to himself, although I am convinced that he + had only told me his earlier story in order that I might understand this + new idea of his. But I did not urge him to tell me. My interest in life + had not yet sufficiently revived; it was, after all, none of my business. + </p> + <p> + For the rest, it seemed that he had been wildly enthusiastic about the war + at its commencement. He had had great ideas about Russia, but now he had + given up all hope. Russia was doomed; and Germany, whom he hated and + admired, would eat her up. And what did it matter? Perhaps Germany would + “run Russia,” and then there would be order and less thieving, + and this horrible war would stop. How foolish it had been to suppose that + any one in Russia would ever do anything. They were all fools and knaves + and idle in Russia—like himself. + </p> + <p> + And so he left me. + </p> + <h3> + XI + </h3> + <p> + On Christmas Eve, late in the evening, I went into a church. It was my + favourite church in Petrograd, rising at the English Prospect end of the + Quay, with its white rounded towers pure and quiet and modest. + </p> + <p> + I had been depressed all day. I had not been well, and the weather was + harsh, a bitterly cold driving wind beating down the streets and stroking + the ice of the canal into a dull grey colour. Christmas seemed to lift + into sharper, bitterer irony the ghastly horrors of this end endless war. + Last Christmas I had been too ill to care, and the Christmas before I had + been at the Front when the war had been young and full of hope, and I had + seen enough nobility and self-sacrifice to be reassured about the true + stuff of the human soul. Now all that seemed to be utterly gone. On the + one side my mind was filled with my friends, John Trenchard and Marie + Ivanovna. The sacrifice that they had made seemed to be wicked and + useless. I had lost altogether that conviction of the continuance and + persistence of their souls that I had, for so long, carried with me. They + were dead, dead... simply dead. There at the Front one had believed in + many things. Here in this frozen and starving town, with every ghost + working against every human, there was assurance of nothing—only + deep foreboding and an ominous silence. The murder of Rasputin still hung + over every head. The first sense of liberty had passed, and now his dirty + malicious soul seemed to be watching us all, reminding us that he had not + left us, but was waiting for the striking of some vast catastrophe that + the friends whom he had left behind him to carry on his work were + preparing. It was this sense of moving so desperately and so hopelessly in + the dark that was with me. Any chance that there had seemed to be of + Russia rising from the war with a free soul appeared now to be utterly + gone. Before our eyes the powers that ruled us were betraying us, laughing + at us, selling us. And we did not know who was our enemy, who our friend, + whom to believe, of whom to take counsel. Peculation and lying and the + basest intrigue was on every side of us, hunger for which there was no + necessity, want in a land packed with everything. I believe that there may + have been very well another side to the picture, but at that time we could + not see; we did not wish to see, we were blindfolded men.... + </p> + <p> + I entered the church and found that the service was over. I passed through + the aisle into the little rounded cup of dark and gold where the altars + were. Here there were still collected a company of people, kneeling, some + of them, in front of the candles, others standing there, motionless like + statues, their hands folded, gazing before them. The candles flung a mist + of dim embroidery upon the walls, and within the mist the dark figures of + the priests moved to and fro. An old priest with long white hair was + standing behind a desk close to me, and reading a long prayer in an + unswerving monotonous voice. There was the scent of candles and cold stone + and hot human breath in the little place. The tawdry gilt of the Ikons + glittered in the candle-light, and an echo of the cold wind creeping up + the long dark aisle blew the light about so that the gilt was like + flashing piercing eyes. I wrapped my Shuba closely about me, and stood + there lost in a hazy, indefinite dream. + </p> + <p> + I was comforted and touched by the placid, mild, kindly faces of those + standing near me. “No evil here....” I thought. “Only + ignorance, and for that others are responsible.” + </p> + <p> + I was lost in my dream and I did not know of what I was dreaming. The + priest’s voice went on, and the lights flickered, and it was as + though some one, a long way off, were trying to give me a message that it + was important that I should hear, important for myself and for others. + There came over me, whence I know not, a sudden conviction of the fearful + power of Evil, a sudden realisation, as though I had been shown something, + a scene or a picture or writing which had brought this home to me.... The + lights seemed to darken, the priest’s figure faded, and I felt as + though the message that some one had been trying to deliver to me had been + withdrawn. I waited a moment, looking about me in a bewildered fashion, as + though I had in reality just woken from sleep. Then I left the church. + </p> + <p> + Outside the cold air was intense. I walked to the end of the Quay and + leaned on the stone parapet. The Neva seemed vast like a huge, white, + impending shadow; it swept in a colossal wave of frozen ice out to the far + horizon, where tiny, twinkling lights met it and closed it in. The bridges + that crossed it held forth their lights, and there were the gleams, like + travelling stars, of the passing trams, but all these were utterly + insignificant against the vast body of the contemptuous ice. On the + farther shore the buildings rose in a thin, tapering line, looking as + though they had been made of black tissue paper, against the solid weight + of the cold, stony sky. The Peter and Paul Fortress, the towers of the + Mohammedan Mosque were thin, immaterial, ghostly, and the whole line of + the town was simply a black pencilled shadow against the ice, smoke that + might be scattered with one heave of the force of the river. The Neva was + silent, but beneath that silence beat what force and power, what contempt + and scorn, what silent purposes? + </p> + <p> + I saw then, near me, and gazing, like myself, on to the river the tall, + broad figure of a peasant, standing, without movement, black against the + sky. + </p> + <p> + He seemed to dominate the scene, to be stronger and more contemptuous than + the ice itself, but also to be in sympathy with it. + </p> + <p> + I made some movement, and he turned and looked at me. He was a fine man, + with a black beard and noble carriage. He passed down the Quay and I + turned towards home. + </p> + <h3> + XII + </h3> + <p> + About four o’clock on Christmas afternoon I took some flowers to + Vera Michailovna. I found that the long sitting-room had been cleared of + all furniture save the big table and the chairs round it. About a dozen + middle-aged ladies were sitting about the table and solemnly playing + “Lotto.” So serious were they that they scarcely looked up + when I came in. Vera Michailovna said my name and they smiled and some of + them bowed, but their eyes never left the numbered cards. “<i>Dvar... + Peedecat... Cheteeriy... Zurock Tree... Semdecet Voisim</i>”... came + from a stout and good-natured lady reading the numbers as she took them + from the box. Most of the ladies were healthy, perspiring, and of a most + amiable appearance. They might, many of them, have been the wives of + English country clergymen, so domestic and unalarmed were they. I + recognised two Markovitch aunts and a Semyonov cousin. + </p> + <p> + There was a hush and a solemnity about the proceedings. Vera Michailovna + was very busy in the kitchen, her face flushed and her sleeves rolled up; + Sacha, the servant, malevolently assisting her and scolding continually + the stout and agitated country girl who had been called in for the + occasion. + </p> + <p> + “All goes well,” Vera smilingly assured me. “Half-past + six it is—don’t be late.” + </p> + <p> + “I will be in time,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, I’ve asked your English friend. The big one.” + </p> + <p> + “Lawrence?... Is he coming?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. At least I understood so on the telephone, but he sounded + confused. Do you think he will want to come?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m sure he will,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Afterwards I wasn’t sure. I thought he might think it + impertinent when we know him so little. But he could easily have said if + he didn’t want to come, couldn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + There seemed to me something unusual in the way that she asked me these + questions. She did not usually care whether people were offended or no. + She had not time to consider that, and in any case she despised people who + took offence easily. + </p> + <p> + I would perhaps have said something, but the country girl dropped a plate + and Sacha leapt upon the opportunity. “Drunk!... What did I say, + having such a girl? Is it not better to do things for yourself? But no—of + course no one cares for my advice, as though last year the same thing....” + And so on. + </p> + <p> + I left them and went home to prepare for the feast. + </p> + <p> + I returned punctually at half-past six and found every one there. Many of + the ladies had gone, but the aunts remained, and there were other uncles + and some cousins. We must have been in all between twenty and thirty + people. The table was now magnificently spread. There was a fine + glittering Father Christmas in the middle, a Father Christmas of German + make, I am afraid. Ribbons and frosted strips of coloured paper ran in + lines up and down the cloth. The “Zakuska” were on a + side-table near the door—herrings and ham and smoked fish and + radishes and mushrooms and tongue and caviare and, most unusual of all in + those days, a decanter of vodka. + </p> + <p> + No one had begun yet; every one stood about, a little uneasy and awkward, + with continuous glances flung at the “Zakuska” table. Of the + company Markovitch first caught my eye. I had never seen him so clean and + smart before. His high, piercing collar was of course the first thing that + one saw; then one perceived that his hair was brushed, his beard trimmed, + and that he wore a very decent suit of rather shiny black. This washing + and scouring of him gave him a curiously subdued and imprisoned air; I + felt sympathetic towards him; I could see that he was anxious to please, + happy at the prospect of being a successful host, and, to-night, most + desperately in love with his wife. That last stood out and beyond all + else. His eyes continually sought her face; he had the eyes of a dog + watching and waiting for its master’s appreciative word. + </p> + <p> + I had never before seen Vera Michailovna so fine and independent and, at + the same time, so kind and gracious. She was dressed in white, very plain + and simple, her shining black hair piled high on her head, her kind, good + eyes watching every one and everything to see that all were pleased. She, + too, was happy to-night, but happy also in a strange, subdued, quiescent + way, and I felt, as I always did about her, that her soul was still asleep + and untouched, and that much of her reliance and independence came from + that. Uncle Ivan was in his smart clothes, his round face very red and he + wore his air of rather ladylike but inoffensive superiority. He stood near + the table with the “Zakuska,” and his eyes rested there. I do + not now remember many of the Markovitch and Semyonov relations. There was + a tall thin young man, rather bald, with a short black moustache; he was + nervous and self-assertive, and he had a high, shrill voice. He talked + incessantly. There were several delightful, middle-aged women, quiet and + ready to be pleased with everything—the best Russian type of all + perhaps, women who knew life, who were generously tolerant, kind-hearted, + with a quiet sense of humour and no nonsense about them. There was one fat + red-faced man in a very tight black coat, who gave his opinion always + about food and drink. He was from Moscow—his name Paul Leontievitch + Rozanov—and I met him on a later occasion of which I shall have to + tell in its place. Then there were two young girls who giggled a great + deal and whispered together. They hung around Nina and stroked her hair + and admired her dress, and laughed at Boris Grogoff and any one else who + was near them. + </p> + <p> + Nina was immensely happy. She loved parties of course, and especially + parties in which she was the hostess. She was like a young kitten or puppy + in a white frock, with her hair tumbling over her eyes. She was greatly + excited, and as joyous as though there were no war, and no afflicted + Russia, and nothing serious in all the world. This was the first occasion + on which I suspected that Grogoff cared for her. Outwardly he did nothing + but chaff and tease her, and she responded in that quick rather sharp and + very often crudely personal way at which foreigners for the first time in + Russian company so often wonder. Badinage with Russians so quickly passes + to lively and noisy quarrelling, which in its turn so suddenly fades into + quiet contented amiability that it is little wonder that the observer + feels rather breathless at it all. Grogoff was a striking figure, with his + fine height and handsome head and bold eyes, but there was something about + him that I did not like. Immensely self-confident, he nevertheless seldom + opened his mouth without betraying great ignorance about almost + everything. He was hopelessly ill-educated, and was the more able + therefore from the very little knowledge that he had to construct a very + simple Socialist creed in which the main statutes were that everything + should be taken from the rich and given to the poor, the peasants should + have all the land, and the rulers of the world be beheaded. He had no + knowledge of other countries, although he talked very freely of what he + called his “International Principles.” I could not respect him + as I could many Russian revolutionaries, because he had never on any + occasion put himself out or suffered any inconvenience for his principles, + living as he did, comfortably, with all the food and clothes that he + needed. At the same time he was, on the other hand, kindly and + warm-hearted, and professed friendship for me, although he despised what + he called my “Capitalistic tendencies.” Had he only known, he + was far richer and more autocratic than I! + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this company Henry Bohun was rather shy and uncomfortable. + He was suspicious always that they would laugh at his Russian (what + mattered it if they did?), and he was distressed by the noise and + boisterous friendliness of every one. I could not help smiling to myself + as I watched him. He was learning very fast. He would not tell any one now + that “he really thought that he did understand Russia,” nor + would he offer to put his friends right about Russian characteristics and + behaviour. He watched the young giggling girls, and the fat Rozanov, and + the shrill young man with ill-concealed distress. Very far these from the + Lizas and Natachas of his literary imagination—and yet not so far + either, had he only known. + </p> + <p> + He pinned all his faith, as I could see, to Vera Michailovna, who did + gloriously fulfil his self-instituted standards. And yet he did not know + her at all! He was to suffer pain there too. + </p> + <p> + At dinner he was unfortunately seated between one of the giggling girls + and a very deaf old lady who was the great-aunt of Nina and Vera. This old + lady trembled like an aspen leaf, and was continually dropping beneath the + table a little black bag that she carried. She could make nothing of Bohun’s + Russian, even if she heard it, and was under the impression that he was a + Frenchman. She began a long quivering story about Paris to which she had + once been, how she had lost herself, and how a delightful Frenchman had + put her on her right path again.... “A chivalrous people, your + countrymen”.... she repeated, nodding her head so that her long + silver earrings rattled again—“gay and chivalrous!” + Bohun was not, I am afraid, as chivalrous as he might have been, because + he knew that the girl on his other side was laughing at his attempts to + explain that he was not a Frenchman. “Stupid old woman!” he + said to me afterwards. “She dropped her bag under the table at least + twenty times!” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the astonishing fact was that the success of the dinner was + Jerry Lawrence. He was placed on Vera Michailovna’s left hand, + Rozanov, the Moscow merchant near to him, and I did not hear him say + anything very bright or illuminating, but every one felt, I think, that he + was a cheerful and dependable person. I always felt, when I observed him, + that he understood the Russian character far better than any of us. He had + none of the self-assertion of the average Englishman and, at the same + time, he had his opinions and his preferences. He took every kind of chaff + with good-humoured indifference, but I think it was above everything else + his tolerance that pleased the Russians. Nothing shocked him, which did + not at all mean that he had no code of honour or morals. His code was + severe and stern, but his sense of human fallibility, and the fine fight + that human nature was always making against stupendous odds stirred him to + a fine and comprehending clarity. He had many faults. He was obstinate, + often dull and lethargic, in many ways grossly ill-educated and sometimes + wilfully obtuse—but he was a fine friend, a noble enemy, and a + chivalrous lover. There was nothing mean nor petty in him, and his views + of life and the human soul were wider and more all-embracing than in any + Englishman I have ever known. You may say of course that it is sentimental + nonsense to suppose at all that the human soul is making a fine fight + against odds. Even I, at this period, was tempted to think that it might + be nonsense, but it is a view as good as another, after all, and so + ignorant are all of us that no one has a right to say that anything is + impossible! + </p> + <p> + After drinking the vodka and eating the “Zakuska,” we sat down + to table and devoured crayfish soup. Every one became lively. Politics of + course, were discussed. + </p> + <p> + I heard Rozanov say, “Ah, you in Petrograd! What do you know of + things? Don’t let me hurt any one’s feelings, pray.... Most + excellent soup, Vera Michailovna—I congratulate you.... But you just + wait until Moscow takes things in hand. Why only the other day Maklakoff + said to a friend of mine—‘It’s all nonsense,’ he + said.” + </p> + <p> + And the shrill-voiced young man told a story—“But it wasn’t + the same man at all. She was so confused when she saw what she’d + done, that I give you my word she was on the point of crying. I could see + tears... just trembling—on the edge. ‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ + she said, and the man was such a fool....” + </p> + <p> + Markovitch was busy about the drinks. There was some sherry and some light + red wine. Markovitch was proud of having been able to secure it. He was + beaming with pride. He explained to everybody how it had been done. He + walked round the table and stood, for an instant, with his hand on Vera + Michailovna’s shoulder. The pies with fish and cabbage in them were + handed round. He jested with the old great-aunt. He shouted in her ear: + </p> + <p> + “Now, Aunt Isabella... some wine. Good for you, you know—keep + you young....” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no...” she protested, laughing and shaking her + earrings, with tears in her eyes. But he filled her glass and she drank it + and coughed, still protesting. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, thank you,” she chattered as Bohun dived under the + table and found her bag for her. I saw that he did not like the crayfish + soup, and was distressed because he had so large a helping. + </p> + <p> + He blushed and looked at his plate, then began again to eat and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you like it?” one of the giggling girls asked + him. “But it’s very good. Have another ‘Pie!’” + </p> + <p> + The meal continued. There were little suckling pigs with “Kasha,” + a kind of brown buckwheat. Every one was gayer and gayer. Now all talked + at once, and no one listened to anything that any one else said. Of them + all, Nina was by far the gayest. She had drunk no wine—she always + said that she could not bear the nasty stuff, and although every one tried + to persuade her, telling her that now when you could not get it anywhere, + it was wicked not to drink it, she would not change her mind. It was + simply youth and happiness that radiated from her, and also perhaps some + other excitement for which I could not account. Grogoff tried to make her + drink. She defied him. He came over to her chair, but she pushed him away, + and then lightly slapped his cheek. Every one laughed. Then he whispered + something to her. For an instant the gaiety left her eyes. “You + shouldn’t say that!” she answered almost angrily. He went back + to his seat. I was sitting next to her, and she was very charming to me, + seeing that I had all that I needed and showing that she liked me. “You + mustn’t be gloomy and ill and miserable,” she whispered to me. + “Oh! I’ve seen you! There’s no need. Come to us and we’ll + make you as happy as we can—Vera and I.... We both love you.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear, I’m much too old and stupid for you to bother about!” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand on my arm. “I know that I’m wicked and care + only for pleasure.... Vera’s always saying so. But I can be better + if you want me to be.” + </p> + <p> + This was flattering, but I knew that it was only her general happiness + that made her talk like that. And at once she was after something else. + “Your Englishman,” she said, looking across the table at + Lawrence, “I like his face. I should be frightened of him, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, you wouldn’t,” I answered. “He wouldn’t + hurt any one.” + </p> + <p> + She continued to look at him and he, glancing up, their eyes met. She + smiled and he smiled. Then he raised his glass and drank. + </p> + <p> + “I mustn’t drink,” she called across the table. “It’s + only water and that’s bad luck.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you can challenge any amount of bad luck—I’m sure,” + he called back to her. + </p> + <p> + I fancied that Grogoff did not like this. He was drinking a great deal. He + roughly called Nina’s attention. + </p> + <p> + “Nina... Ah—Nina!” + </p> + <p> + But she, although I am certain that she heard him, paid no attention. + </p> + <p> + He called again more loudly: + </p> + <p> + “Nina... Nina!” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” She turned towards him, her eyes laughing at him. + </p> + <p> + “Drink my health.” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t. I have only water.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you must drink wine.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t. I detest it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you must.” + </p> + <p> + He came over to her and poured a little red wine into her water. She + turned and emptied the glass over his hand. For an instant his face was + dark with rage. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll pay you for that,” I heard him whisper. + </p> + <p> + She shrugged her shoulders. “He’s tiresome, Boris....” + she said, “I like your Englishman better.” + </p> + <p> + We were ever gayer and gayer. There were now of course no cakes nor + biscuits, but there was jam with our tea, and there were even some + chocolates. I noticed that Vera and Lawrence were getting on together + famously. They talked and laughed, and her eyes were full of pleasure. + </p> + <p> + Markovitch came up and stood behind them, watching them. His eyes devoured + his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Vera!” he said suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” she cried. She had not known that he was behind her; + she was startled. She turned round and he came forward and kissed her + hand. She let him do this, as she let him do everything, with the + indulgence that one allows a child. He stood, afterwards, half in the + shadow, watching her. + </p> + <p> + And now the moment for the event of the evening had arrived. The doors of + Markovitch’s little work-room were suddenly opened, and there—instead + of the shabby untidy dark little hole—there was a splendid Christmas + Tree blazing with a hundred candles. Coloured balls and frosted silver and + wooden figures of red and blue hung all about the tree—it was most + beautifully done. On a table close at hand were presents. We all clapped + our hands. We were childishly delighted. The old great-aunt cried with + pleasure. Boris Grogoff suddenly looked like a happy boy of ten. Happiest + and proudest of them all was Markovitch. He stood there, a large pair of + scissors in his hand, waiting to cut the string round the parcels. We said + again and again, “Marvellous!” “Wonderful!” + “Splendid!”... “But this year—however did you find + it, Vera Michailovna?” “To take such trouble!...” + “Splendid! Splendid!” Then we were given our presents. Vera, + it was obvious had chosen them, for there was taste and discrimination in + the choice of every one. Mine was a little old religious figure in beaten + silver—Lawrence had a silver snuff-box.... Every one was delighted. + We clapped our hands. We shouted. Some one cried “Cheers for our + host and hostess!” + </p> + <p> + We gave them, and in no half measure. We shouted. Boris Grogoff cried, + “More cheers!” + </p> + <p> + It was then that I saw Markovitch’s face that had been puckered with + pleasure like the face of a delighted child suddenly stiffen, his hand + moved forward, then dropped. I turned and found, standing in the doorway, + quietly watching us, Alexei Petrovitch Semyonov. + </p> + <h3> + XIII + </h3> + <p> + I stared at him. I could not take my eyes away. I instantly forgot every + one else, the room, the tree, the lights.... With a force, with a + poignancy and pathos and brutality that were more cruel than I could have + believed possible that other world came back to me. Ah! I could see now + that all these months I had been running away from this very thing, + seeking to pretend that it did not exist, that it had never existed. All + in vain—utterly in vain. I saw Semyonov as I had just seen him, + sitting on his horse outside the shining white house at O——. + Then Semyonov operating in a stinking room, under a red light, his arms + bathed in blood; then Semyonov and Trenchard; then Semyonov speaking to + Marie Ivanovna, her eyes searching his face; then that day when I woke + from my dream in the orchard to find his eyes staring at me through the + bright green trees, and afterwards when we went in to look at her dead; + then worst of all that ride back to the “Stab” with my hand on + his thick, throbbing arm.... Semyonov in the Forest, working, sneering, + hating us, despising us, carrying his tragedy in his eyes and defying us + to care; Semyonov that last time of all, vanishing into the darkness with + his “Nothing!” that lingering echo of a defiant desperate soul + that had stayed with me, against my bidding, ever since I had heard it. + </p> + <p> + What a fool had I been to know these people! I had felt from the first to + what it must lead, and I might have avoided it and I would not. I looked + at him, I faced him, I smiled. He was the same as he had been. A little + stouter, perhaps, his pale hair and square-cut beard looking as though it + had been carved from some pale honey-coloured wood, the thick stolidity of + his long body and short legs, the squareness of his head, the coldness of + his eyes and the violent red of his lips, all were just as they had been—the + same man, save that now he was in civilian clothes, in a black suit with a + black bow tie. There was a smile on his lips, that same smile half sneer + half friendliness that I knew so well. His eyes were veiled.... + </p> + <p> + He was, I believe, as violently surprised to see me as I had been to see + him, but he held himself in complete control! + </p> + <p> + He said, “Why, Durward!... Ivan Andreievitch!” Then he greeted + the others. + </p> + <p> + I was able, now, to notice the general effect of his arrival. It was as + though a cold wind had suddenly burst through the windows, blown out all + the candles upon the tree and plunged the place into darkness. Those who + did not know him felt that, with his entrance, the gaiety was gone. + Markovitch’s face was pale, he was looking at Vera who, for an + instant, had stood, quite silently, staring at her uncle, then, recovering + herself, moved forward. + </p> + <p> + “Why, Uncle Alexei!” she cried, holding out her hand. “You’re + too late for the tree! Why didn’t you tell us? Then you could have + come to dinner... and now it is all over. Why didn’t you tell us?” + </p> + <p> + He took her hand, and, very solemnly, bent down and kissed it. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t know myself, dear Vera Michailovna. I only arrived + in Petrograd yesterday; and then in my house everything was wrong, and I’ve + been busy all day. But I felt that I must run in and give you the + greetings of the season.... Ah, Nicholas, how are you? And you, Ivan?... I + telephoned to you.... Nina, my dear....” And so on. He went round + and shook hands with them all. He was introduced to Bohun and Lawrence. He + was very genial, praising the tree, laughing, shouting in the ears of the + great-aunt. But no one responded. As so frequently happens in Russia the + atmosphere was suddenly changed. No one had anything to say. The candles + on the tree were blown out. Of course, the evening was not nearly ended. + There would be tea and games, perhaps—at any rate every one would + sit and sit until three or four if, for no other reason, simply because it + demanded too much energy to rise and make farewells. But the spirit of the + party was utterly dead.... + </p> + <p> + The samovar hissed at the end of the table. Vera Michailovna sat there + making tea for every one. Semyonov (I should now in the heart of his + relations, have thought of him as Alexei Petrovitch, but so long had he + been Semyonov to me that Semyonov he must remain) was next to her, and I + saw that he took trouble, talking to her, smiling, his stiff strong white + fingers now and then stroking his thick beard, his red lips parting a + little, then closing so firmly that it seemed that they would never open + again. + </p> + <p> + I noticed that his eyes often wandered towards me. He was uneasy about my + presence there, I thought, and that disturbed me. I felt as I looked at + him the same confusion as I had always felt. I did not hate him. His + strength of character, his fearlessness, these things in a country famous + for neither quality I was driven to admire and to respect. And I could not + hate what I admired. + </p> + <p> + And yet my fear gathered and gathered in volume as I watched him. What + would he do with these people? What plans had he? What purpose? What + secret, selfish ambitions was he out now to secure? + </p> + <p> + Markovitch was silent, drinking his tea, watching his wife, watching us + all with his nervous frowning expression. + </p> + <p> + I rose to go and then, when I had said farewell to every one and went + towards the door, Semyonov joined me. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Ivan Andreievitch,” he said. “So we have not + finished with one another yet.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me with his steady unswerving eyes; he smiled. + </p> + <p> + I also smiled as I found my coat and hat in the little hall. Sacha helped + me into my Shuba. He stood, his lips a little apart, watching me. + </p> + <p> + “What have you been doing all this time?” he asked me. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been ill,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Not had, I hope.” + </p> + <p> + “No, not had. But enough to keep me very idle.” + </p> + <p> + “As much of an optimist as ever?” + </p> + <p> + “Was I an optimist?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, surely. A charming one. Do you love Russia as truly as ever?” + </p> + <p> + I laughed, my hand on the door. “That’s my affair, Alexei + Petrovitch,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” he said, smiling. “You’re looking + older, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “You too,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, perhaps. Would I still think you sentimental, do you suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “It is of no importance, Alexei Petrovitch,” I said. “I’m + sure you have other better things to do. Are you remaining in Petrograd?” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me then very seriously, his eyes staring straight into mine. + </p> + <p> + “I hope so.” + </p> + <p> + “You will work at your practice?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps.” He nodded to me. “Strange to find you + here....” he said. “We shall meet again. Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + He closed the door behind me. + </p> + <h3> + XIV + </h3> + <p> + Next day I fell ill. I had felt unwell for several weeks, and now I woke + up to a bad feverish cold, my body one vast ache, and at the same time + impersonal, away from me, floating over above me, sinking under me, tied + to me only by pain.... + </p> + <p> + I was too utterly apathetic to care. The old woman who looked after my + rooms telephoned to my doctor, a stout, red-faced jolly man, who came and + laughed at me, ordered me some medicine, said that I was in a high fever, + and left me. After that, I was, for several days, caught into a world of + dreams and nightmares. No one, I think, came near me, save my old woman, + Marfa, and a new acquaintance of mine, the Rat. + </p> + <p> + The Rat I had met some weeks before outside my house. I had been returning + one evening, through the dark, with a heavy bag of books which I had + fetched from an English friend of mine who lodged in the Millionnaya. I + had had a cab for most of the distance, but that had stopped on the other + side of the bridge—it could not drive amongst the rubbish pebbles + and spars of my island. As I staggered along with my bag a figure had + risen, as it seemed to me, out of the ground and asked huskily whether he + could help me. I had only a few steps to go, but he seized my burden and + went in front of me. I submitted. I told him my door and he entered the + dark passage, climbed the rickety stairs and entered my room. Here we were + both astonished. He, when I had lighted my lamp, was staggered by the + splendour and luxury of my life, I, as I looked at him, by the wildness + and uncouthness of his appearance. He was as a savage from the centre of + Africa, thick ragged hair and beard, a powerful body in rags, and his + whole attitude to the world primeval and utterly primitive. His mouth was + cruel; his eyes, as almost always with the Russian peasant, mild and + kindly. I do not intend to take up much space here with an account of him, + but he did, after this first meeting, in some sort attach himself to me. I + never learned his name nor where he lived; he was I should suppose an + absolutely abominable plunderer and pirate and ruffian. He would appear + suddenly in my room, stand by the door and talk—but talk with the + ignorance, naïvete, brutal simplicity of an utterly abandoned baby. + Nothing mystical or beautiful about the Rat. He did not disguise from me + in the least that there was no crime that he had not committed—murder, + rape, arson, immorality of the most hideous, sacrilege, the basest + betrayal of his best friends—he was not only savage and outlaw, he + was deliberate anarchist and murderer. He had no redeeming point that I + could anywhere discover. I did not in the least mind his entering my room + when he pleased. I had there nothing of any value; he could take my life + even, had he a mind to that.... The naïve abysmal depths of his depravity + interested me. He formed a kind of attachment to me. He told me that he + would do anything for me. He had a strange tact which prevented him from + intruding upon me when I was occupied. He was as quick as any cultured + civilised cosmopolitan to see if he was not wanted. He developed a certain + cleanliness; he told me, with an air of disdainful superiority, that he + had been to the public baths. I gave him an old suit of mine and a pair of + boots. He very seldom asked for anything; once and again he would point to + something and say that he would like to have it; if I said that he could + not he expressed no disappointment; sometimes he stole it, but he always + acknowledged that he had done so if I asked him, although he would lie + stupendously on other occasions for no reason at all. + </p> + <p> + “Now you must bring that back,” I would say sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, Barin.... Why? You have so many things. Surely you will not + object. Perhaps I will bring it—and perhaps not.” + </p> + <p> + “You must certainly bring it,” I would say. + </p> + <p> + “We will see,” he would say, smiling at me in the friendliest + fashion. + </p> + <p> + He was the only absolutely happy Russian I have ever known. He had no + passages of despair. He had been in prison, he would be in prison again. + He had spasms of the most absolute ferocity. On one occasion I thought + that I should be his next victim, and for a moment my fate hung, I think, + in the balance. But he changed his mind. He had a real liking for me, I + think. When he could get it, he drank a kind of furniture polish, the only + substitute in these days for vodka. This was an absolutely killing drink, + and I tried to prove to him that frequent indulgence in it meant an early + decease. That did not affect him in the least. Death had no horror for him + although, I foresaw, with justice as after events proved, that if he were + faced with it he would be a very desperate coward. He liked very much my + cigarettes, and I gave him these on condition that he did not spit + sunflower seeds over my floor. He kept his word about this. + </p> + <p> + He chatted incessantly, and sometimes I listened and sometimes not. He had + no politics and was indeed comfortably ignorant of any sort of geography + or party division. There were for him only the rich and the poor. He knew + nothing about the war, but he hoped, he frankly told me, that there would + be anarchy in Petrograd, so that he might rob and plunder. + </p> + <p> + “I will look after you then, Barin,” he answered me, “so + that no one shall touch you.” I thanked him. He was greatly amused + by my Russian accent, although he had no interest in the fact that I was + English, nor did he want to hear in the least about London or any foreign + town. Marfa, my old servant, was, of course, horrified at this + acquaintanceship of mine, and warned me that it would mean both my death + and hers. He liked to tease and frighten her, but he was never rude to her + and offered sometimes to help her with her work, an offer that she always + indignantly refused. He had some children, he told me, but he did not know + where they were. He tried to respect my hospitality, never bringing any + friends of his with him, and only once coming when he was the worse for + drink. On that occasion he cried and endeavoured to embrace me. He + apologised for this the next day. + </p> + <p> + They would try to take him soon, he supposed, for a soldier, but he + thought that he would be able to escape. He hated the Police, and would + murder them all if he could. He told me great tales of their cruelty, and + he cursed them most bitterly. I pointed out to him that society must be + protected, but he did not see why this need be so. It was, he thought, + wrong that some people had so much and others so little, but this was as + far as his social investigations penetrated. + </p> + <p> + He was really distressed by my illness. Marfa told me that one day when I + was delirious he cried. At the same time he pointed out to her that, if I + died, certain things in my rooms would be his. He liked a silver cigarette + case of mine, and my watch chain, and a signet ring that I wore. I saw him + vaguely, an uncertain shadow in the mists of the first days of my fever. I + was not, I suppose, in actual fact, seriously ill, and yet I abandoned + myself to my fate, allowing myself to slip without the slightest attempt + at resistance, along the easiest way, towards death or idiocy or + paralysis, towards anything that meant the indifferent passivity of + inaction. I had bad, confused dreams. The silence irritated me. I fancied + to myself that the sea ought to make some sound, that it was holding + itself deliberately quiescent in preparation for some event. I remember + that Marfa and the doctor prevented me from rising to look from my window + that I might see why the sea was not roaring. Some one said to me in my + dreams something about “Ice,” and again and again I repeated + the word to myself as though it were intensely significant. “Ice! + Ice! Ice!... Yes, that was what I wanted to know!” My idea from this + was that the floor upon which I rested was exceedingly thin, made only of + paper in fact, and that at any moment it might give way and precipitate me + upon the ice. This terrified me, and the way that the cold blew up through + the cracks in the floor was disturbing enough. I knew that my doctor + thought me mad to remain in such a place. But above all I was overwhelmed + by the figure of Semyonov. He haunted me in all my dreams, his presence + never left me for a single instant. I could not be sure whether he were in + the room or no, but certainly he was close to me... watching me, sneering + at me as he had so often done before. + </p> + <p> + I was conscious also of Petrograd, of the town itself, in every one of its + amazingly various manifestations. I saw it all laid out as though I were a + great height above it—the fashionable streets, the Nevski and the + Morskaia with the carriages and the motor-cars and trams, the kiosks and + the bazaars, the women with their baskets of apples, the boys with the + newspapers, the smart cinematographs, the shop in the Morskaia with the + coloured stones in the window, the oculist and the pastry-cook’s and + the hairdressers and the large “English shop” at the corner of + the Nevski, and Pivato’s the restaurant, and close beside it the art + shop with popular post cards and books on Serov and Vrubel, and the + Astoria Hotel with its shining windows staring on to S. Isaac’s + Square. And I saw the Nevski, that straight and proud street, filled with + every kind of vehicle and black masses of people, rolling like thick + clouds up and down, here and there, the hum of their talk rising like mist + from the snow. And there was the Kazan Cathedral, haughty and proud, and + the book shop with the French books and complete sets of Tchekov and + Merejkowsky in the window, and the bridges and the palaces and the square + before the Alexander Theatre, and Elisseieff’s the provision shop, + and all the banks, and the shops with gloves and shirts, all looking + ill-fitting as though they were never meant to be worn, and then the + little dirty shops poked in between the grand ones, the shop with rubber + goods and the shop with an Aquarium, gold-fish and snails and a tortoise, + and the shop with oranges and bananas. Then, too, there was the Arcade + with the theatre where they acted <i>Romance</i> and <i>Potash and + Perlmutter</i> (almost as they do in London), and on the other side of the + street, at the corner of the Sadovia, the bazaar with all its shops and + its trembling mist of people. I watched the Nevski, and saw how it slipped + into the Neva with the Red Square on one side of it, and S. Isaac’s + Square on the other, and the great station at the far end of it, and about + these two lines the Neva and the Nevski, the whole town sprawled and + crept, ebbed and flowed. Away from the splendour it stretched, dirty and + decrepit and untended, here piles of evil flats, there old wooden + buildings with cobbled courts, and the canals twisting and creeping up and + down through it all. It was all bathed, as I looked down upon it, in + coloured mist. The air was purple and gold and light blue, fading into the + snow and ice and transforming it. Everywhere there were the masts of ships + and the smell of the sea and rough deserted places—and shadows moved + behind the shadows, and yet more shadows behind <i>them</i>, so that it + was all uncertain and unstable, and only the river knew what it was about. + </p> + <p> + Over the whole town Semyonov and I moved together, and the ice and snow + silenced our steps, and no one in the whole place spoke a word, so that we + had to lower our voices and whispered.... + </p> + <h3> + XV + </h3> + <p> + Suddenly I was better. I quite recovered from my fever and only lay still + on my bed, weak, and very hungry. I was happy, happy as I had not been + since I came to Petrograd. I felt all the luxury of convalescence creeping + into my bones. All that I need do was to lie there and let people feed me + and read a little if it did not make my head ache. I had a water-colour + painted by Alexander Benois on the wall opposite me, a night in the + Caucasus, with a heavy sweep of black hill, a deep blue steady sky, and a + thin grey road running into endless distance. A pleasing picture, with no + finality in its appeal—intimate too, so that it was one’s own + road and one’s own hill. I had bought it extravagantly, at last year’s + “<i>Mir Eskoustva</i>,” and now I was pleased at my + extravagance. + </p> + <p> + Marfa was very good to me, feeding me, and being cross with me to make me + take an interest in things, and acting with wonderful judgement about my + visitors. Numbers of people, English and Russian, came to see me—I + had not known that I had so many friends. I felt amiable to all the world, + and hopeful about it, too. I looked back on the period before my illness + as a bad dream. + </p> + <p> + People told me I was foolish to live out in this wretched place of mine, + where it was cold and wild and lonely. And then when they came again they + were not so sure, and they looked out on the ice that shone in waves and + shadows of light under the sun, and thought that perhaps they too would + try. But of course, I knew well that they would not.... + </p> + <p> + As I grew stronger I felt an intense and burning interest in the history + that had been developing when I fell ill. I heard that Vera Michailovna + and Nina had called many times. Markovitch had been, and Henry Bohun and + Lawrence. + </p> + <p> + Then, one sunny afternoon, Henry Bohun came in and I was surprised at my + pleasure at the sight of him. He was shocked at the change in me, and was + too young to conceal it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you do look bad!” were his first words as he sat down by + my bed. “I say, are you comfortable here? Wouldn’t you rather + be somewhere with conveniences—telephone and lifts and things?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all!” I answered. “I’ve got a telephone. I’m + very happy where I am.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a queer place,” he said. “Isn’t it awfully + unhealthy?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite the reverse—with the sea in front of it! About the + healthiest spot in Petrograd!” + </p> + <p> + “But I should get the blues here. So lonely and quiet. Petrograd is + a strange town! Most people don’t dream there’s a queer place + like this.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s why I like it,” I said. “I expect there + are lots of queer places in Petrograd if you only knew.” + </p> + <p> + He wandered about the room, looking at my few pictures and my books and my + writing-table. At last he sat down again by my bed. + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me all the news,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “News?” he asked. He looked uncomfortable, and I saw at once + that he had come to confide something in me. “What sort of news? + Political?” + </p> + <p> + “Anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, politics are about the same. They say there’s going to + be an awful row in February when the Duma meets—but then other + people say there won’t be a row at all until the war is over.” + </p> + <p> + “What else do they say?” + </p> + <p> + “They say Protopopoff is up to all sorts of tricks. That he says + prayers with the Empress and they summon Rasputin’s ghost.... That’s + all rot of course. But he does just what the Empress tells him, and they’re + going to enslave the whole country and hand it over to Germany.” + </p> + <p> + “What will they do that for?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why, then, the Czarevitch will have it—under Germany. They + say that none of the munitions are going to the Front, and Protopopoff’s + keeping them all to blow up the people here with.” + </p> + <p> + “What else?” I asked sarcastically. + </p> + <p> + “No, but really, there’s something in it, I expect.” + Henry looked serious and important. “Then on the other hand, + Clutton-Davies says the Czar’s absolutely all right, dead keen on + the war and hates Germany... <i>I</i> don’t know—but + Clutton-Davies sees him nearly every day.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, food’s worse than ever! Going up every day, and the bread + queues are longer and longer. The Germans have spies in the queues, women + who go up and down telling people it’s all England’s fault.” + </p> + <p> + “And people are just the same?” + </p> + <p> + “Just the same; Donons’ and the Bear are crowded every day. + You can’t get a table. So are the cinematographs and the theatres. I + went to the Ballet last night.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” + </p> + <p> + “‘La fille mal gardée’—Karsavina dancing divinely. + Every one was there.” + </p> + <p> + This closed the strain of public information. I led him further. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Bohun, what about our friends the Markovitches?” I + asked. “How are you getting on there?” + </p> + <p> + He blushed and looked at his boots. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” he said. “They’re very decent.” + </p> + <p> + Then he burst out with: “I say, Durward, what do you think of this + uncle that’s turned up, the doctor chap?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing particular. Why?” + </p> + <p> + “You were with him at the Front, weren’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I was.” + </p> + <p> + “Was he a good doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent.” + </p> + <p> + “He had a love affair at the Front, hadn’t he?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And she was killed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor devil....” Then he added: “Did he mind very much?” + </p> + <p> + “Very much.” + </p> + <p> + “Funny thing, you wouldn’t think he would.” + </p> + <p> + “Why not,” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he looks a hard sort of fellow—as though he’d stand + anything. I wouldn’t like to have a row with him.” + </p> + <p> + “Has he been to the Markovitches much lately?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—almost every evening.” + </p> + <p> + “What does he do there?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, just sits and talks. Markovitch can’t bear him. You can + see that easily enough. He teases him.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he laughs at him all the time, at his inventions and that kind + of thing. Markovitch gets awfully wild. He is bit of an ass, isn’t + he?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you like Semyonov?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I do rather,” said Henry. “He’s very decent to + me. I had a walk with him one afternoon. He said you were awfully brave at + the Front.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank him for nothing,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “And he said you didn’t like him—don’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that’s too old a story,” I answered. “We know + what we feel about one another.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, Lawrence simply hates him,” continued Bohun. “He + says he’s the most thundering cad, and as bad as you make them. I + don’t see how he can tell.” + </p> + <p> + This interested me extremely. “When did he tell you this?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yesterday. I asked him what he had to judge by and he said + instinct. I said he’d no right to go only by that.” + </p> + <p> + “Has Lawrence been much to the Markovitches?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—once or twice. He just sits there and never opens his + mouth.” + </p> + <p> + “Very wise of him if he hasn’t got anything to say.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but really—do you think so? It doesn’t make him + popular.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, who doesn’t like him?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody,” answered Henry ungrammatically. “None of the + English anyway. They can’t stand him at the Embassy or the Mission. + They say he’s fearfully stuck-up and thinks about nothing but + himself.... I don’t agree, of course—all the same, he might + make himself more agreeable to people.” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense!” I answered hotly. “Lawrence is one of + the best fellows that ever breathed. The Markovitches don’t dislike + him, do they?” + </p> + <p> + “No, he’s quite different with them. Vera Michailovna likes + him I know.” + </p> + <p> + It was the first time that he had mentioned her name to me. He turned + towards me now, his face crimson. “I say—that’s really + what I came to talk about, Durward. I care for her madly!... I’d die + for her. I would really. I love her, Durward. I see now I’ve never + loved anybody before.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what will you do about it?” + </p> + <p> + “Do about it?... Why nothing, of course. It’s all perfectly + hopeless. In the first place, there’s Markovitch.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. There’s Markovitch,” I agreed. + </p> + <p> + “She doesn’t care for him—does she? You know that—” + He waited, eagerly staring into my face. + </p> + <p> + I had a temptation to laugh. He was so very young, so very helpless, and + yet—that sense of his youth had pathos in it too, and I suddenly + liked young Bohun—for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Bohun,” I said, trying to speak with a proper + solemnity. “Don’t be a young ass. You know that it’s + hopeless, any feeling of that kind. She <i>does</i> care for her husband. + She could never care for you in that way, and you’d only make + trouble for them all if you went on with it.... On the other hand, she + needs a friend badly. You can do that for her. Be her pal. See that things + are all right in the house. Make a friend of Markovitch himself. Look + after <i>him!</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Look after Markovitch!” Bohun exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes... I don’t want to be melodramatic, but there’s + trouble coming there; and if you’re the friend of them all, you can + help—more than you know. Only none of the other business—” + </p> + <p> + Bohun flushed. “She doesn’t know—she never will. I only + want to be a friend of hers, as you put it. Anything else is hopeless, of + course. I’m not the kind of fellow she’d ever look at, even if + Markovitch wasn’t there. But if I can do anything... I’d be + awfully glad. What kind of trouble do you mean?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Probably nothing,” I said; “only she wants a friend. + And Markovitch wants one too.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause—then Bohun said, “I say, Durward—what + an awful ass I was.” + </p> + <p> + “What about?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “About my poetry—and all that. Thinking it so important.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “you were.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve written some poetry to her and I tore it up,” he + ended. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a good thing,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “I’m glad I told you,” he said. He got up to go. “I + say, Durward—” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “You’re an awfully funny chap. Not a bit what you look—” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all right,” I said; “I know what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-night,” he said, and went. + </p> + <h3> + XVI + </h3> + <p> + I thought that night, as I lay cosily in my dusky room, of those old + stories by Wilkie Collins that had once upon a time so deeply engrossed my + interest—stories in which, because some one has disappeared on a + snowy night, or painted his face blue, or locked up a room and lost the + key, or broken down in his carriage on a windy night at the cross-roads, + dozens of people are involved, diaries are written, confessions are made, + and all the characters move along different roads towards the same + lighted, comfortable Inn. That is the kind of story that intrigues me, + whether it be written about out-side mysteries by Wilkie Collins or inside + mysteries by the great creator of “The Golden Bowl” or + mysteries of both kinds, such as Henry Galleon has given us. I remember a + friend of mine, James Maradick, once saying to me, “It’s no + use trying to keep out of things. As soon as they want to put you in—you’re + in. The moment you’re born, you’re done for.” + </p> + <p> + It’s just that spectacle of some poor innocent being suddenly caught + into some affair, against his will, without his knowledge, but to the most + serious alteration of his character and fortunes, that one watches with a + delight almost malicious—whether it be <i>The Woman in White, The + Wings of the Dove,</i> or <i>The Roads</i> that offer it us. Well, I had + now to face the fact that something of this kind had happened to myself. + </p> + <p> + I was drawn in—and I was glad. I luxuriated in my gladness, lying + there in my room under the wavering, uncertain light of two candles, + hearing the church bells clanging and echoing mysteriously beyond the + wall. I lay there with a consciousness of being on the very verge of some + adventure, with the assurance, too, that I was to be of use once more, to + play my part, to fling aside, thank God, that old cloak of apathetic + disappointment, of selfish betrayal, of cynical disbelief. Semyonov had + brought the old life back to me and I had shrunk from the impact of it; + but he had brought back to me, too, the presences of my absent friends + who, during these weary months, had been lost to me. It seemed to me that, + in the flickering twilight, John and Marie were bringing forward to me + Vera and Nina and Jerry and asking me to look after them.... I would do my + best. + </p> + <p> + And while I was thinking of these things Vera Michailovna came in. She was + suddenly in the room, standing there, her furs up to her throat, her body + in shadow, but her large, grave eyes shining through the candlelight, her + mouth smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Is it all right?” she said, coming forward. “I’m + not in the way? You’re not sleeping?” + </p> + <p> + I told her that I was delighted to see her. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been almost every day, but Marfa told me you were not + well enough. She <i>does</i> guard you—like a dragon. But to-night + Nina and I are going to Rozanov’s, to a party, and she said she’d + meet me here.... Shan’t I worry you?” + </p> + <p> + “Worry me! You’re the most restful friend I have—” + I felt so glad to see her that I was surprised at my own happiness. She + sat down near to me, very quietly, moving, as she always did, softly and + surely. + </p> + <p> + I could see that she was distressed because I looked ill, but she asked me + no tiresome questions, said nothing about my madness in living as I did + (always so irritating, as though I were a stupid child), praised the room, + admired the Benois picture, and then talked in her soft, kindly voice. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve missed you so much, Nina and I,” she said. + “I told Nina that if she came to-night she wasn’t to make a + noise and disturb you.” + </p> + <p> + “She can make as much noise as she likes,” I said. “I + like the right kind of noise.” + </p> + <p> + We talked a little about politics and England and anything that came into + our minds. We both felt, I know, a delightful, easy intimacy and + friendliness and trust. I had never with any other woman felt such a sense + of friendship, something almost masculine in its comradeship and honesty. + And to-night this bond between us strengthened wonderfully. I blessed my + luck. I saw that there were dark lines under her eyes and that she was + pale. + </p> + <p> + “You’re tired,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am,” she acknowledged. “And I don’t know + why. At least, I do know. I’m going to use you selfishly, Durdles. I’m + going to tell you all my troubles and ask your help in every possible way. + I’m going to let you off nothing.” + </p> + <p> + I took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “I’m proud,” I said, “now and always.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know that I’ve never asked any one’s help + before? I was rather conceited that I could get on always without it. When + I was very small I wouldn’t take a word of advice from any one, and + mother and father, when I was tiny, used to consult me about everything. + Then they were killed and I <i>had</i> to go on alone.... And after that, + when I married Nicholas, it was I again who decided everything. And my + mistakes taught me nothing. I didn’t want them to teach me.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke that last word fiercely, and through the note that came into her + voice I saw suddenly the potentialities that were in her, the other + creature that she might be if she were ever awakened. + </p> + <p> + She talked then for a long time. She didn’t move at all; her head + rested on her hand and her eyes watched me. As I listened I thought of my + other friend Marie, who now was dead, and how restless she was when she + spoke, moving about the room, stopping to demand my approval, protesting + against my criticism, laughing, crying out.... Vera was so still, so wise, + too, in comparison with Marie, braver too—and yet the same heart, + the same charity, the same nobility. + </p> + <p> + But she was my friend, and Marie I had loved.... The difference in that! + And how much easier now to help than it had been then, simply because one’s + own soul <i>was</i> one’s own and one stood by oneself! + </p> + <p> + How happy a thing freedom is—and how lonely! + </p> + <p> + She told me many things that I need not repeat here, but, as she talked, I + saw how, far more deeply than I had imagined, Nina had been the heart of + the whole of her life. She had watched over her, protected her, advised + her, warned her, and loved her, passionately, jealously, almost madly all + the time. + </p> + <p> + “When I married Nicholas,” she said, “I thought of Nina + more than any one else. That was wrong.... I ought to have thought most of + Nicholas; but I knew that I could give her a home, that she could have + everything she wanted. And still she would be with me. Nicholas was only + too ready for that. I thought I would care for her until some one came who + was worthy of her, and who would look after her far better than I ever + could. + </p> + <p> + “But the only person who had come was Boris Grogoff. He loved Nina + from the first moment, in his own careless, conceited, opinionated way.” + </p> + <p> + “Why did you let him come so often to the house if you didn’t + approve of him?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “How could I prevent it?” she asked me. “We Russians are + not like the English. In England I know you just shut the door and say, + ‘Not at home.’ + </p> + <p> + “Here if any one wanted to come he comes. Very often we hate him for + coming, but still there it is. It is too much trouble to turn him out, + besides it wouldn’t be kind—and anyway they wouldn’t go. + You can be as rude as you like here and nobody cares. For a long while + Nina paid no attention to Boris. She doesn’t like him. She will + never like him, I’m sure. But now, these last weeks, I’ve + begun to be afraid. In some way, he has power over her—not much + power, but a little—and she is so young, so ignorant—she knows + nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Until lately she always told me everything. Now she tells me + nothing. She’s strange with me; angry for nothing. Then sorry and + sweet again—then suddenly angry.... She’s excited and wild, + going out all the time, but unhappy too.... I <i>know</i> she’s + unhappy. I can feel it as though it were myself.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re imagining things,” I said. “Now when the + war’s reached this period we’re all nervous and overstrung. + The atmosphere of this town is enough to make any one fancy that they see + anything. Nina’s all right.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m losing her! I’m losing her!” Vera cried, + suddenly stretching out her hand as though in a gesture of appeal. “She + must stay with me. I don’t know what’s happening to her. Ah, + and I’m so lonely without her!” + </p> + <p> + There was silence between us for a little, and then she went on. + </p> + <p> + “Durdles, I did wrong to marry Nicholas—wrong to Nina, wrong + to Nicholas, wrong to myself, I thought it was right. I didn’t love + Nicholas—I never loved him and I never pretended to. He knew that I + did not. But I thought then that I was above love, that knowledge was what + mattered. Ideas—saving the world—and he had <i>such</i> ideas! + Wonderful! There was, I thought, nothing that he would not be able to do + if only he were helped enough. He wanted help in every way. He was such a + child, so unhappy, so lonely, I thought that I could give him everything + that he needed. Don’t fancy that I thought that I sacrificed myself. + I felt that I was the luckiest girl in all the world—and still, now + when I see that he is not strong enough for his ideas I care for him as I + did then, and I would never let any trouble touch him if I could help it. + But if—if—” + </p> + <p> + She paused, turned away from me, looking towards the window. + </p> + <p> + “If, after all, I was wrong. If, after all, I was meant to love. If + love were to come now... real love... now....” + </p> + <p> + She broke off, suddenly stood up, and very low, almost whispering, said: + </p> + <p> + “I have fancied lately that it might come. And then, what should I + do? Oh, what should I do? With Nicholas and Nina and all the trouble there + is now in the world—and Russia—I’m afraid of myself—and + ashamed....” + </p> + <p> + I could not speak. I was utterly astonished. Could it be Bohun of whom she + was speaking? No, I saw at once that the idea was ludicrous. But if not—. + </p> + <p> + I took her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Vera,” I said. “Believe me. I’m much older than + you, and I know. Love’s always selfish, always cruel to others, + always means trouble, sorrow, and disappointment. But it’s worth it, + even when it brings complete disaster. Life isn’t life without it.” + </p> + <p> + I felt her hand tremble in mine. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” she said, “I know nothing of it, + except my love for Nina. It isn’t that now there’s anybody. + Don’t think that. There is no one—no one. Only my + self-confidence is gone. I can’t see clearly any more. My duty is to + Nina and Nicholas. And if they are happy nothing else matters—nothing. + And I’m afraid that I’m going to do them harm.” + </p> + <p> + She paused as though she were listening. “There’s no one + there, is there?” she asked me—“there by the door?” + </p> + <p> + “No—no one.” + </p> + <p> + “There are so many noises in this house. Don’t they disturb + you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think of them now. I’m used to them—and + in fact I like them.” + </p> + <p> + She went on: “It’s Uncle Alexei of course. He comes to see us + nearly every day. He’s very pleasant, more pleasant than he has ever + been before, but he has a dreadful effect on Nicholas—” + </p> + <p> + “I know the effect he can have,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I know that Nicholas has been feeling for a long time that his + inventions are no use. He will never own it to me or to any one—but + I can tell. I know it so well. The war came and his new feeling about + Russia carried him along. He put everything into that. Now that has failed + him, and he despises himself for having expected it to do otherwise. He’s + raging about, trying to find something that he can believe in, and Uncle + Alexei knows that and plays on that.... He teases him; he drives him wild + and then makes him happy again. He can do anything with him he pleases. He + always could. But now he has some plan. I used to think that he simply + laughed at people because it amused him to see how weak they can be. But + now there’s more than that. He’s been hurt himself at last, + and that has hurt his pride, and he wants to hurt back.... It’s all + in the dark. The war’s in the dark... everything....” Then she + smiled and put her hand on my arm. “That’s why I’ve come + to you, because I trust you and believe you and know you say what you + mean.” + </p> + <p> + Once before Marie had said those same words to me. It was as though I + heard her voice again. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t fail you,” I said. + </p> + <p> + There was a knock on the door, it was flung open as though by the wind, + and Nina was with us. Her face was rosy with the cold, her eyes laughed + under her little round fur cap. She came running across the room, pulled + herself up with a little cry beside the bed, and then flung herself upon + me, throwing her arms around my neck and kissing me. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Nina!” cried Vera. + </p> + <p> + She looked up, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? Poor Durdles. Are you better? <i>Biédnie</i>... give me + your hands. But—how cold they are! And there are draughts + everywhere. I’ve brought you some chocolates—and a book.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear!...” Vera cried again. “He won’t like <i>that</i>,” + pointing to a work of fiction by a modern Russian literary lady whose + heart and brain are of the succulent variety. + </p> + <p> + “Why not? She’s very good. It’s lovely! All about + impossible people! Durdles, <i>dear</i>! I’ll give up the party. We + won’t go. We’ll sit here and entertain you. I’ll send + Boris away. We’ll tell him we don’t want him.” + </p> + <p> + “Boris!” cried Vera. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Nina laughed a little uneasily, I thought. “I + know you said he wasn’t to come. He’ll quarrel with Rozanov of + course. But he said he would. And so how was one to prevent him? You’re + always so tiresome, Vera.... I’m not a baby now, nor is Boris. If he + wants to come he shall come.” + </p> + <p> + Vera stood away from us both. I could see that she was very angry. I had + never seen her angry before. + </p> + <p> + “You know that it’s impossible, Nina,” she said. “You + know that Rozanov hates him. And besides—there are other reasons. + You know them perfectly well, Nina.” + </p> + <p> + Nina stood there pouting, tears were in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “You’re unfair,” she said. “You don’t let me + do anything. You give me no freedom, I don’t care for Boris, but if + he wants to go he shall go. I’m grown up now. You have your + Lawrence. Let me have my Boris.” + </p> + <p> + “My Lawrence?” asked Vera. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. You know that you’re always wanting him to come—always + looking for him. I like him, too. I like him very much. But you never let + me talk to him. You never—” + </p> + <p> + “Quiet, Nina.” Vera’s voice was trembling. Her face was + sterner than I’d ever seen it. “You’re making me angry.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care how angry I make you. It’s true. You’re + impossible now. Why shouldn’t I have my friends? I’ve nobody + now. You never let me have anybody. And I like Mr. Lawrence—” + </p> + <p> + She began to sob, looking the most desolate figure. + </p> + <p> + Vera turned. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t know what you’ve said, Nina, nor how you’ve + hurt.... You can go to your party as you please—” + </p> + <p> + And before I could stop her she was gone. + </p> + <p> + Nina turned to me a breathless, tearful face. She waited; we heard the + door below closed. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Durdles, what have I done?” + </p> + <p> + “Go after her! Stop her!” I said. + </p> + <p> + Nina vanished and I was alone. My room was intensely quiet. + </p> + <h3> + XVII + </h3> + <p> + They didn’t come to see me again together. Vera came twice, kind and + good as always, but with no more confidences; and Nina once with flowers + and fruit and a wild chattering tongue about the cinemas and Smyrnov, who + was delighting the world at the Narodny Dom, and the wonderful performance + of Lermontov’s “Masquerade” that was shortly to take + place at the Alexander Theatre. + </p> + <p> + “Are you and Vera friends again?” I asked her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes! Why not?” And she went on, snapping a chocolate + almond between her teeth—“The one at the ‘Piccadilly’ + is the best. It’s an Italian one, and there’s a giant in it + who throws people all over the place, out of windows and everywhere. Ah! + how lovely!... I wish I could go every night.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be helping with the war,” I said severely. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hate the war!” she answered. “We’re all + terribly tired of it. Tanya’s given up going to the English hospital + now, and is just meaning to be as gay as she can be; and Zinaida + Fyodorovna had just come back from her Otriad on the Galician front, and + she says it’s shocking there now—no food or dancing or + anything. Why doesn’t every one make peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want the Germans to rule Russia?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” she said, laughing. “We can’t do it + ourselves. We don’t care who does it. The English can do it if they + like, only they’re too lazy to bother. The German’s aren’t + lazy, and if they were here we’d have lots of theatres and + cinematographs.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you love your country?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “This isn’t our country,” she answered. “It just + belongs to the Empress and Protopopoff.” + </p> + <p> + “Supposing it became your country and the Emperor went?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then it would belong to a million different people, and in the + end no one would have anything. Can’t you see how they’d + fight?”... She burst out laughing: “Boris and Nicholas and + Uncle Alexei and all the others!” + </p> + <p> + Then she was suddenly serious. + </p> + <p> + “I know, Durdles, you consider that I’m so young and frivolous + that I don’t think of anything serious. But I can see things like + any one else. Can’t you see that we’re all so disappointed + with ourselves that nothing matters? We thought the war was going to be so + fine—but now it’s just like the Japanese one, all robbery and + lies—and we can’t do anything to stop it.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps some day some one will,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes!” she answered scornfully, “men like Boris.” + </p> + <p> + After that she refused to be grave for a moment, danced about the room, + singing, and finally vanished, a whirlwind of blue silk. + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + A week later I was out in the world again. That curious sense of + excitement that had first come to me during the early days of my illness + burnt now more fiercely than ever. I cannot say what it was exactly that I + thought was going to happen. I have often looked back, as many other + people must have done, to those days in February and wondered whether I + foresaw anything of what was to come, and what were the things that might + have seemed to me significant if I had noticed them. And here I am + deliberately speaking of both public and private affairs. I cannot quite + frankly dissever the two. At the Front, a year and a half before, I had + discovered how intermingled the souls of individuals and the souls of + countries were, and how permanent private history seemed to me and how + transient public events; but whether that was true or no before, it was + now most certain that it was the story of certain individuals that I was + to record,—the history that was being made behind them could at its + best be only a background. + </p> + <p> + I seemed to step into a city ablaze with a sinister glory. If that appears + melodramatic I can only say that the dazzling winter weather of those + weeks was melodramatic. Never before had I seen the huge buildings tower + so high, never before felt the shadows so vast, the squares and streets so + limitless in their capacity for swallowing light and colour. The sky was a + bitter changeless blue; the buildings black; the snow and ice, glittering + with purple and gold, swept by vast swinging shadows as though huge doors + opened and shut in heaven, or monstrous birds hovered, their wings spread, + motionless in the limitless space. + </p> + <p> + And all this had, as ever, nothing to do with human life. The little + courtyards with their woodstacks and their coloured houses, carts and the + cobbled squares and the little stumpy trees that bordered the canals and + the little wooden huts beside the bridges with their candles and fruit—these + were human and friendly and good, but they had their precarious condition + like the rest of us. + </p> + <p> + On the first afternoon of my new liberty I found myself in the Nevski + Prospect, bewildered by the crowds and the talk and trams and motors and + carts that passed in unending sequence up and down the long street. + Standing at the corner of the Sadovia and the Nevski one was carried + straight to the point of the golden spire that guarded the farther end of + the great street. All was gold, the surface of the road was like a golden + stream, the canal was gold, the thin spire caught into its piercing line + all the colour of the swiftly fading afternoon; the wheels of the + carriages gleamed, the flower-baskets of the women glittered like shining + foam, the snow flung its crystal colour into the air like thin fire dim + before the sun. The street seemed to have gathered on to its pavements the + citizens of every country under the sun. Tartars, Mongols, Little + Russians, Chinamen, Japanese, French officers, British officers, peasants + and fashionable women, schoolboys, officials, actors and artists and + business men and priests and sailors and beggars and hawkers and, guarding + them all, friendly, urbane, filled with a pleasant self-importance that + seemed at that hour the simplest and easiest of attitudes, the Police. + “Rum—rum—rum—whirr—whirr—whirr—whirr”—like + the regular beat of a shuttle the hum rose and fell, as the sun faded into + rosy mist and white vapours stole above the still canals. + </p> + <p> + I turned to go home and felt some one touch my elbow. + </p> + <p> + I swung round and there, his broad face ruddy with the cold, was Jerry + Lawrence. + </p> + <p> + I was delighted to see him and told him so. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m damned glad,” he said gruffly. “I + thought you might have a grudge against me.” + </p> + <p> + “A grudge?” I said. “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven’t been to see you. Heard you were ill, but didn’t + think you’d want me hanging round.” + </p> + <p> + “Why this modesty?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “No—well—you know what I mean.” He shuffled his + feet. “No good in a sick-room.” + </p> + <p> + “Mine wasn’t exactly a sick-room,” I said. “But I + heard that you did come.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I came twice,” he answered, looking at me shyly. “Your + old woman wouldn’t let me see you.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind that,” I said; “let’s have an evening + together soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—as soon as you like.” He looked up and down the + street. “There are some things I’d like to ask your advice + about.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “What do you say to coming and dining at my place? Ever met + Wilderling?” + </p> + <p> + “Wilderling?” I could not remember for the moment the name. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—the old josser I live with. Fine old man—got a + point of view of his own!” + </p> + <p> + “Delighted,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow. Eight o’clock. Don’t dress.” + </p> + <p> + He was just going off when he turned again. + </p> + <p> + “Awfully glad you’re better,” he said. He cleared his + throat, looked at me in a very friendly way, then smiled. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Awfully</i> glad you’re better,” he repeated, then + went off, rolling his broad figure into the evening mist. + </p> + <p> + I turned towards home. + </p> + <h3> + XVIII + </h3> + <p> + I arrived at the Baron’s punctually at eight o’clock. His flat + was in a small side street off the English Quay. I paused for a moment, + before turning into its dark recesses, to gather in the vast expanse of + the frozen river and the long white quay. It was as though I had found my + way behind a towering wall that now closed me in with a smile of + contemptuous derision. There was no sound in the shining air and the only + figure was a guard who moved monotonously up and down outside the Winter + Palace. + </p> + <p> + I rang the bell and the “Schwitzer,” bowing very + ceremoniously, told me the flat was on the second floor. I went up a broad + stone staircase and found a heavy oak door with brass nails confronting + me. When this slowly swung open I discovered a very old man with white + hair bowing before me. He was a splendid figure in a uniform of dark blue, + his tall thin figure straight and slim, his white moustaches so neat and + fierce that they seemed to keep guard over the rest of his face as though + they warned him that they would stand no nonsense. There was an air of + hushed splendour behind him, and I could hear the heavy, solemn ticking of + a clock keeping guard over all the austere sanctities of the place. When I + had taken off my Shuba and goloshes I was ushered into a magnificent room + with a high gold clock on the mantlepiece, gilt chairs, heavy dark carpets + and large portraits frowning from the grey walls. The whole room was + bitterly silent, save for the tick of the clock. There was no fire in the + fireplace, but a large gleaming white stove flung out a close scented heat + from the further corner of the room. There were two long glass bookcases, + some little tables with gilt legs, and a fine Japanese screen of dull + gold. The only other piece of furniture was a huge grand piano near the + window. + </p> + <p> + I sat down and was instantly caught into the solemn silence. There was + something threatening in the hush of it all. “We do what we’re + told,” the clock seemed to say, “and so must you.” I + thought of the ice and snow beyond the windows, and, in spite of myself, + shivered. + </p> + <p> + Then the door opened and the Baron came in. He stood for a moment by the + door, staring in front of him as though he could not penetrate the heavy + and dusky air, and seen thus, under the height and space of the room, he + seemed so small as to be almost ridiculous. But he was not ridiculous for + long. As he approached one was struck at once by the immaculate efficiency + that followed him like a protecting shadow. In himself he was a + scrupulously neat old man with weary and dissipated eyes, but behind the + weariness, the neatness, and dissipation was a spirit of indomitable + determination and resolution. He wore a little white Imperial and a long + white moustache. His hair was brushed back and his forehead shone like + marble. He wore a black suit, white spats, and long, pointed, black + patent-leather shoes. He had the smallest feet I have ever seen on any + man. + </p> + <p> + He greeted me with great courtesy. His voice was soft, and he spoke + perfect English, save for a very slight accent that was rather charming; + this gave his words a certain naïvete. He rubbed his hands and smiled in a + gentle but determined way, as though he meant no harm by it, but had + decided that it was a necessary thing to do. I forget of what we talked, + but I know that I surrendered myself at once to an atmosphere that had + been strange to me for so long that I had almost forgotten its character—an + atmosphere of discipline, order, comfort, and above all, of security. My + mind flew to the Markovitches, and I smiled to myself at the thought of + the contrast. + </p> + <p> + Then, strangely, when I had once thought of the Markovitch flat the + picture haunted me for the rest of the evening. I could see the Baron’s + gilt chairs and gold clock, his little Imperial and shining shoes only + through the cloudy disorder of the Markovitch tables and chairs. There was + poor Markovitch in his dark little room perched on his chair with his + boots, with his hands, with his hair... and there was poor Uncle and there + poor Vera.... Why was I pitying them? I gloried in them. That is Russia... + This is.... + </p> + <p> + “Allow me to introduce you to my wife,” the Baron said, + bending forward, the very points of his toes expressing amiability. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness was a large solid lady with a fine white bosom and strong + white arms. Her face was homely and kind; I saw at once that she adored + her husband; her placid smile carried beneath its placidity a tremulous + anxiety that he should be pleased, and her mild eyes swam in the light of + his encouragement. I was sure, however, that the calm and discipline that + I felt in the things around me came as much from her domesticity as from + his discipline. She was a fortunate woman in that she had attained the + ambition of her life—to govern the household of a man whom she could + both love and fear. + </p> + <p> + Lawrence came in, and we went through high folding doors into the + dining-room. This room had dark-blue wall-paper, electric lights heavily + shaded, and soft heavy carpets. The table itself was flooded with light—the + rest of the room was dusk. I wondered as I looked about me why the + Wilderlings had taken Lawrence as a paying guest. Before my visit I had + imagined that they were poor, as so many of the better-class Russians + were, but here were no signs of poverty. I decided that. + </p> + <p> + Our dinner was good, and the wine was excellent. We talked, of course, + politics, and the Baron was admirably frank. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t disguise from you, M. Durward,” he said, + “that some of us watch your English effort at winning the heart of + this country with sympathy, but also, if I am not offending you, with some + humour. I’m not speaking only of your propaganda efforts. You’ve + got, I know, one or two literary gentlemen here—a novelist, I think, + and a professor and a journalist. Well, soon you’ll find them + inefficient, and decide that you must have some commercial gentlemen, and + then, disappointed with them, you’ll decide for the military... and + still the great heart of Russia will remain untouched.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “because your class are determined that + the peasant shall remain uneducated, and until he is educated he will be + unable to approach any of us.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” said the Baron smiling at me very cheerfully. + “I perceive, M. Durward, that you are a democrat. So are we all, + these days.... You look surprised, but I assure you that the good of the + people in the interests of the people is the only thing for which any of + us care. Only some of us know Russia pretty well, and we know that the + Russian peasant is not ready for liberty, and if you were to give him + liberty to-night you would plunge his country into the most desperate + torture of anarchy and carnage known in history. A little more soup?—we + are offering you only a slight dinner.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but, Baron,” I said, “would you tell me when it is + intended that the Russian peasant shall begin his upward course towards + light and learning? If that day is to be for ever postponed?” + </p> + <p> + “It will not be for ever postponed,” said the Baron gently. + “Let us finish the war, and education shall be given slowly, under + wise direction, to every man, woman, and child in the country. Our Czar is + the most liberal ruler in Europe—and he knows what is good for his + children.” + </p> + <p> + “And Protopopoff and Stürmer?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Protopopoff is a zealous, loyal liberal, but he has been made to + see during these last months that Russia is not at this moment ready for + freedom. Stürmer—well, M. Stürmer is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “So you, yourself, Baron,” I asked, “would oppose at + this moment all reform?” + </p> + <p> + “With every drop of blood in my body,” he answered, and his + hand flat against the tablecloth quivered. “At this crisis admit one + change and your dyke is burst, your land flooded. Every Russian is asked + at this moment to believe in simple things—his religion, his Czar, + his country. Grant your reforms, and in a week every babbler in the + country will be off his head, talking, screaming, fighting. The Germans + will occupy Russia at their own good time, you will be beaten on the West + and civilisation will be set back two hundred years. The only hope for + Russia is unity, and for unity you must have discipline, and for + discipline, in Russia at any rate, you must have an autocracy.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke the furniture, the grey walls, the heavy carpets, seemed to + whisper an echo of his words: “Unity... Discipline... Discipline... + Autocracy... Autocracy... Autocracy....” + </p> + <p> + “Then tell me, Baron,” I said, “if it isn’t an + impertinent question, do you feel so secure in your position that you have + no fears at all? Does such a crisis, as for instance Milyukoff’s + protest last November, mean nothing? You know the discontent.... Is there + no fear....?” + </p> + <p> + “Fear!” He interrupted me, his voice swift and soft and + triumphant. “M. Durward, are you so ignorant of Russia that you + consider the outpourings of a few idealistic Intelligentzia, professors + and teachers and poets, as important? What about the people, M. Durward? + You ask any peasant in the Moscow Government, or little Russia, or the + Ukraine whether he will remain loyal to his Little Father or no! Ask—and + the question you suggested to me will be answered.” + </p> + <p> + “Then, you feel both secure and justified?” I said. + </p> + <p> + “We feel both secure and justified”—he answered me, + smiling. + </p> + <p> + After that our conversation was personal and social. Lawrence was very + quiet. I observed that the Baroness had a motherly affection for him, that + she saw that he had everything that he wanted, and that she gave him every + now and then little friendly confidential smiles. As the meal proceeded, + as I drank the most excellent wine and the warm austerity of my + surroundings gathered ever more closely around me, I wondered whether + after all my apprehensions and forebodings of the last weeks had not been + the merest sick man’s cowardice. Surely if any kingdom in the world + was secure, it was this official Russia. I could see it stretching through + the space and silence of that vast land, its servants in every village, + its paths and roads all leading back to the central citadel, its whispered + orders flying through the air from district to district, its judgements, + its rewards, its sins, its virtues, resting upon a basis of superstition + and ignorance and apathy, the three sure friends of autocracy through + history! + </p> + <p> + And on the other side—who? The Rat, Boris Grogoff, Markovitch. Yes, + the Baron had reason for his confidence.... I thought for a moment of that + figure that I had seen on Christmas Eve by the river—the strong + grave bearded peasant whose gaze had seemed to go so far beyond the bounds + of my own vision. But no! Russia’s mystical peasant—that was + an old tale. Once, on the Front, when I had seen him facing the enemy with + bare hands, I had, myself, believed it. Now I thought once more of the Rat—<i>that</i> + was the type whom I must now confront. + </p> + <p> + I had a most agreeable evening. I do not know how long it had been since I + had tasted luxury and comfort and the true fruits of civilisation. The + Baron was a most admirable teller of stories, with a capital sense of + humour. After dinner the Baroness left us for half an hour, and the Baron + became very pleasantly Rabelaisian, speaking of his experiences in Paris + and London, Vienna and Berlin so easily and with so ready a wit that the + evening flew. The Baroness returned and, seeing that it was after eleven, + I made my farewells. Lawrence said that he would walk with me down the + quay before turning into bed. My host and hostess pressed me to come as + often as possible. The Baron’s last words to me were: + </p> + <p> + “Have no fears, M. Durward. There is much talk in this country, but + we are a lazy people.” + </p> + <p> + The “we” rang strangely in my ears. + </p> + <p> + “He’s of course no more a Russian than you or I,” I said + to Lawrence, as we started down the quay. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, he is!” Lawrence said. “Quite genuine—not + a drop of German blood in spite of the name. But he’s a Prussian at + heart—a Prussian of the Prussians. By that I don’t mean in the + least that he wants Germany to win the war. He doesn’t—his + interests are all here, and you mayn’t believe me, but I assure you + he’s a Patriot. He loves Russia, and he wants what’s best for + her—and believes that to be Autocracy.” + </p> + <p> + After that Lawrence shut up. He would not say another word. We walked for + a long time in silence. The evening was most beautiful. A golden moon + flung the snow into dazzling relief against the deep black of the palaces. + Across the Neva the line of towers and minarets and chimneys ran like a + huge fissure in the golden, light from sky to sky. + </p> + <p> + “You said there was something you wanted to ask my advice about?” + </p> + <p> + I broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + He looked at me with his long slow considering stare. He mumbled + something; then, with a sudden gesture, he gripped my arm, and his heavy + body quivering with the urgency of his words he said: + </p> + <p> + “It’s Vera Markovitch.... I’d give my body and soul and + spirit for her happiness and safety.... God forgive me, I’d give my + country and my honour.... I ache and long for her, so that I’m + afraid for my sanity. I’ve never loved a woman, nor lusted for one, + nor touched one in my whole life, Durward—and now... and now... I’ve + gone right in. I’ve spoken no word to any one; but I couldn’t + stand my own silence.... Durward, you’ve got to help me!” + </p> + <p> + I walked on, seeing the golden light and the curving arc of snow and the + little figures moving like dolls from light to shadow. Lawrence! I had + never thought of him as an urgent lover; even now, although I could still + feel his hand quivering on my arm, I could have laughed at the ludicrous + incongruity of romance, and that stolid thick-set figure. And at the same + time I was afraid. Lawrence in love was no boy on the threshold of life + like Bohun... here was no trivial passion. I realised even in that first + astonished moment the trouble that might be in store for all of us. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Lawrence!” I said at last. “The first thing + that you may as well realise is that it is hopeless. Vera Michailovna has + confided in me a good deal lately, and she is devoted to her husband, + thinks of nothing else. She’s simple, naïve, with all her sense and + wisdom....” + </p> + <p> + “Hopeless!” he interrupted, and he gave a kind of grim chuckle + of derision. “My dear Durward, what do you suppose I’m + after?... rape and adultery and Markovitch after us with a pistol? I tell + you—” and here he spoke fiercely, as though he were + challenging the whole ice-bound world around us—“that I want + nothing but her happiness, her safety, her comfort! Do you suppose that I’m + such an ass as not to recognise the kind of thing that my loving her would + lead to? I tell you I’m after nothing for myself, and that not + because I’m a fine unselfish character, but simply because the thing’s + too big to let anything into it but herself. She shall never know that I + care twopence about her, but she’s got to be happy and she’s + got to be safe.... Just now, she’s neither of those things, and that’s + why I’ve spoken to you.... She’s unhappy and she’s + afraid, and that’s got to change. I wouldn’t have spoken of + this to you if I thought you’d be so short-sighted....” + </p> + <p> + “All right! All right!” I said testily. “You may be a + kind of Galahad, Lawrence, outside all natural law. I don’t know, + but you’ll forgive me if I go for a moment on my own experience—and + that experience is, that you can start on as highbrow an elevation as you + like, but love doesn’t stand still, and the body’s the body, + and to-morrow isn’t yesterday—not by no means. Moreover, + Markovitch is a Russian and a peculiar one at that. Finally, remember that + I want Vera Michailovna to be happy quite as much as you do!” + </p> + <p> + He was suddenly grave and almost boyish in his next words. + </p> + <p> + “I know that—you’re a decent chap, Durward—I know + it’s hard to believe me, but I just ask you to wait and test me. No + one knows of this—that I’d swear—and no one shall; but + what’s the matter with her, Durward, what’s she afraid of? + That’s why I spoke to you. You know her, and I’ll throttle you + here where we stand if you don’t tell me just what the trouble is. I + don’t care for confidences or anything of the sort. You must break + them all and tell me—” + </p> + <p> + His hand was on my arm again, his big ugly face, now grim and obstinate, + close against mine. + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you,” I said slowly, “all I know, which + is almost nothing. The trouble is Semyonov, the doctor. Why or how I can’t + say, although I’ve seen enough of him in the past to know the + trouble he <i>can</i> be. She’s afraid of him, and Markovitch is + afraid of him. He likes playing on people’s nerves. He’s a + bitter, disappointed man, who loved desperately once, as only real + sensualists can... and now he’s in love with a ghost. That’s + why real life maddens him.” + </p> + <p> + “Semyonov!” Lawrence whispered the name. + </p> + <p> + We had come to the end of the quay. My dear church with its round grey + wall stood glistening in the moonlight, the shadows from the snow rippling + up its sides, as though it lay under water. We stood and looked across the + river. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve always hated that fellow,” Lawrence said. “I’ve + only seen him about twice, but I believe I hated him before I saw him.... + All right, Durward, that’s what I wanted to know. Thank you. + Good-night.” + </p> + <p> + And before I could speak he had gripped my hand, had turned back, and was + walking swiftly away, across the golden-lighted quay. + </p> + <h3> + XIX + </h3> + <p> + From the moment that Lawrence left me, vanishing into the heart of the + snow and ice, I was obsessed by a conviction of approaching danger and + peril. It has been one of the most disastrous weaknesses of my life that I + have always shrunk from precipitate action. Before the war it had seemed + to many of us that life could be jockeyed into decisions by words and + theories and speculations. The swift, and, as it were, revengeful + precipitancy of the last three years had driven me into a self-distrust + and cowardice which had grown and grown until life had seemed veiled and + distant and mysteriously obscure. From my own obscurity, against my will, + against my courage, against my own knowledge of myself, circumstances were + demanding that I should advance and act. It was of no avail to myself that + I should act unwisely, that I should perhaps only precipitate a crisis + that I could not help. I was forced to act when I would have given my soul + to hold aloof, and in this town, whose darkness and light, intrigue and + display, words and action, seemed to derive some mysterious force from the + very soil, from the very air, the smallest action achieved monstrous + proportions. When you have lived for some years in Russia you do not + wonder that its citizens prefer inaction to demonstration—the soil + is so much stronger than the men who live upon it. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, for a fortnight I did nothing. Private affairs of an + especially tiresome kind filled my days—I saw neither Lawrence nor + Vera, and, during that period, I scarcely left my rooms. + </p> + <p> + There was much expectation in the town that February 14th, when the Duma + was appointed to meet, would be a critical day. Fine things were said of + the challenging speeches that would be made, of the firm stand that the + Cadet party intended to take, of the crisis with which the Court party + would be faced. + </p> + <p> + Of course nothing occurred. It may be safely said that, in Russian + affairs, no crisis occurs, either in the place or at the time, or in the + manner in which it is expected. Time with us here refuses to be caught by + the throat. That is the revenge that it takes on the scorn with which, in + Russia, it is always covered. + </p> + <p> + On the 20th of February I received an invitation to Nina’s birthday + party. She would be eighteen on the 28th. She scribbed at the bottom of + Vera’s note: + </p> + <p> + Dear Durdles—If you don’t come I will never forgive you.—Your + loving Nina. + </p> + <p> + The immediate problem was a present. I knew that Nina adored presents, but + Petrograd was now no easy place for purchases, and I wished, I suppose as + a kind of tribute to her youth and freshness and colour, to give her + something for which she would really care. I sallied out on a wonderful + afternoon when the town was a blaze of colour, the walls dark red, dark + brown, violet, pink, and the snow a dazzling glitter of crystal. The bells + were ringing for some festival, echoing as do no other bells in the world + from wall to wall, roof to roof, canal to canal. Everybody moved as though + they were inspired with a gay sense of adventure, men and women laughing; + the Isvostchicks surveying possible fares with an eye less patronising and + lugubrious than usual, the flower women and the beggars and the little + Chinese boys and the wicked old men who stare at you as though they were + dreaming of Eastern debauches, shared in the sun and tang of the air and + high colour of the sky and snow. + </p> + <p> + I pushed my way into the shop in the Morskaia that had the coloured stones—the + blue and azure and purple stones—in the window. Inside the shop, + which had a fine gleaming floor, and an old man with a tired eye, there + were stones of every colour, but there was nothing there for Nina—all + was too elaborate and grand. + </p> + <p> + Near the Nevski is a fine shop of pictures with snow scenes and blue + rivers and Italian landscapes, and copies of Repin and Verestchagin, and + portraits of the Czar. I searched here, but all were too sophisticated in + their bright brown frames, and their air of being the latest thing from + Paris and London. Then I crossed the road, threading my way through the + carriages and motor cars, past the old white-bearded sweeper with the + broom held aloft, gazing at the sky, and plunged into the English Shop to + see whether I might buy something warm for Nina. Here, indeed, I could + fancy that I was in the High Street in Chester, or Leicester, or Truro, or + Canterbury. A demure English provincialism was over everything, and a + young man in a high white collar and a shiny black coat, washed his hands + as he told me that “they hadn’t any in stock at the moment, + but they were expecting a delivery of goods at any minute.” Russian + shopmen, it is almost needless to say, do not care whether they have goods + in stock or no. They have other things to think about. The air was filled + with the chatter of English governesses, and an English clergyman and his + wife were earnestly turning over a selection of woollen comforters. + </p> + <p> + Nothing here for Nina—nothing at all. I hurried away. With a sudden + flash of inspiration I realised that it was in the Jews’ Market that + I would find what I wanted. I snatched at the bulging neck of a sleeping + coachman, and before he was fully awake was in his sledge, and had told + him my destination. He grumbled and wished to know how much I intended to + pay him, and when I said one and a half roubles, answered that he would + not take me for less than three. I threatened him then with the fat and + good-natured policeman who always guarded the confused junction of the + Morskaia and Nevski, and he was frightened and moved on. I sighed as I + remembered the days not so long before, when that same coachman would have + thought it an honour to drive me for half a rouble. Down the Sadovya we + slipped, bumping over the uneven surface of the snow, and the shops grew + smaller and the cinemas more stringent, and the women and men with their + barrows of fruit and coloured notepaper and toys more frequent. Then + through the market with the booths and the church with its golden towers, + until we stood before the hooded entrance to the Jews’ Paradise. I + paid him, and without listening to his discontented cries pushed my way + in. The Jews’ Market is a series of covered arcades with a square in + the middle of it, and in the middle of the square a little church with + some doll-like trees. These arcades are Western in their hideous covering + of glass and the ugliness of the exterior of the wooden shops that line + them, but the crowd that throngs them is Eastern, so that in the strange + eyes and voices, the wild gestures, the laughs, the cries, the singing, + and the dancing that meets one here it is as though a new world was + suddenly born—a world offensive, dirty, voluble, blackguardly + perhaps, but intriguing, tempting, and ironical. The arcades are generally + so crowded that one can move only at a slow pace and, on every side one is + pestered by the equivalents of the old English cry: “What do you + lack? What do you lack?” + </p> + <p> + Every mixture of blood and race that the world contains is to be seen + here, but they are all—Tartars, Jews, Chinese, Japanese, Indians, + Arabs, Moslem, and Christian—formed by some subtle colour of + atmosphere, so that they seem all alike to be citizens of some secret + little town, sprung to life just for a day, in the heart of this other + city. Perhaps it is the dull pale mist that the glass flings down, perhaps + it is the uncleanly dust-clogged air; whatever it be, there is a stain of + grey shadowy smoke upon all this world, and Ikons and shabby jewels, and + piles of Eastern clothes, and old brass pots, and silver, hilted swords, + and golden-tasselled Tartar coats gleam through the shadow and wink and + stare. + </p> + <p> + To-day the arcades were so crowded that I could scarcely move, and the + noise was deafening. + </p> + <p> + Many soldiers were there, looking with indulgent amusement upon the scene, + and the Jews with their skull-caps and the fat, huge-breasted Jewish women + screamed and shrieked and waved their arms like boughs in a storm. I + stopped at many shops and fingered the cheap silver toys, the little blue + and green Ikons, the buckles and beads and rosaries that thronged the + trays, but I could not find anything for Nina. Then suddenly I saw a + square box of mother-of-pearl and silver, so charming and simple, the + figures on the silver lid so gracefully carved that I decided at once. + </p> + <p> + The Jew in charge of it wanted twice as much as I was ready to give, and + we argued for ten minutes before a kindly and appreciative crowd. At last + we arranged a compromise, and I moved away, pleased and satisfied. I + stepped out of the arcade and faced the little Square. It was, at that + instant, fantastic and oddly coloured; the sun, about to set, hung in the + misty sky a perfect round crimson globe, and it was perched, almost + maliciously, just above the tower of the little church. + </p> + <p> + The rest of the world was grey. The Square was a thick mass of human + beings so tightly wedged together that it seemed to move backwards and + forwards like a floor of black wood pushed by a lever. One lamp burnt + behind the window of the church, the old houses leaned forward as though + listening to the babel below their eaves. + </p> + <p> + But it was the sun that seemed to me then so evil and secret and cunning. + Its deep red was aloof and menacing, and its outline so sharp that it was + detached from the sky as though it were human, and would presently move + and advance towards us. I don’t know what there was in that crowd of + struggling human beings and that detached red sun.... The air was cruel, + and through all the arcades that seemed to run like veins to this heart of + the place I could feel the cold and the dark and the smoky dusk creeping + forward to veil us all with deepest night. + </p> + <p> + I turned away and then saw, advancing towards me, as though he had just + come from the church, pushing his way, and waving a friendly hand to me, + Semyonov. + </p> + <h3> + XX + </h3> + <p> + His greeting was most amiable. He was wearing a rather short fur coat that + only reached to a little below his knees, and the fur of the coat was of a + deep rich brown, so that his pale square yellow beard contrasted with this + so abruptly as to seem false. His body was as ever thick and + self-confident, and the round fur cap that he wore was cocked ever so + slightly to one side. I did not want to see him, but I was caught. I + fancied that he knew very well that I wanted to escape, and that now, for + sheer perversity, he would see that I did not. Indeed, he caught my arm + and drew me out of the Market. We passed into the dusky streets. + </p> + <p> + “Now, Ivan Andreievitch,” he said, “this is very + pleasant... very.... You elude me, you know, which is unkind with two so + old acquaintances. Of course I know that you dislike me, and I don’t + suppose that I have the highest opinion of <i>you</i>, but, nevertheless, + we should be interested in one another. Our common experience....” + He broke off with a little shiver, and pulled his fur coat closer around + him. + </p> + <p> + I knew that all that I wanted was to break away. We had passed quickly on + leaving the Market into some of the meanest streets of Petrograd. This was + the Petrograd of Dostoeffsky, the Petrograd of “Poor Folk” and + “Crime and Punishment” and “The Despised and Rejected.”... + Monstrous groups of flats towered above us, and in the gathering dusk the + figures that slipped in and out of the doors were furtive shadows and + ghosts. No one seemed to speak; you could see no faces under the spare + pale-flamed lamps, only hear whispers and smell rotten stinks and feel the + snow, foul and soiled under one’s feet.... + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Semyonov,” I said, slipping from the control of + his hand, “it’s just as you say. We don’t like one + another, and we know one another well enough to say so. Neither you nor I + wish to revive the past, and there’s nothing in the present that we + have in common.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing!” He laughed. “What about my delightful nieces + and their home circle? You were always one to shrink from the truth, Ivan + Andreievitch. You fancy that you can sink into the bosom of a charming + family and escape the disadvantages.... Not at all. There are always + disadvantages in a Russian family. <i>I</i> am the disadvantage in this + one.” He laughed again, and insisted on taking my arm once more. + “If you feel so strongly about me, Durward” (when he used my + surname he always accented the second syllable very strongly) “all + you have to do is to cut my niece Vera out of your visiting list. That, I + imagine, is the last thing that you wish. Well, then—” + </p> + <p> + “Vera Michailovna is my friend,” I said hotly—it was + foolish of me to be so easily provoked, but I could not endure his + sneering tone. “If you imply—” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” he answered sharply, “I imply nothing. Do + you suppose that I have been more than a month here without discovering + the facts? It’s your English friend Lawrence who is in love with + Vera—and Vera with him.” + </p> + <p> + “That is a lie!” I cried. + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “You English,” he said, “are not so + unobservant as you seem, but you hate facts. Vera and your friend Lawrence + have been in love with one another since their first meeting, and my dear + nephew-in-law Markovitch knows it.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s impossible,” I cried. “He—” + </p> + <p> + “No,” Semyonov replied, “I was wrong. He does not know + it—he suspects. And my nephew-in-law in a state of suspicion is a + delightful study.” + </p> + <p> + By now we were in a narrow street, so dark that we stumbled at every step. + We seemed to be quite alone. + </p> + <p> + It was I who now caught his arm. “Semyonov!” I said, and my + urgency stopped him so that he stood where he was. “Leave them + alone! Leave them alone! They’ve done no harm to you, they can offer + you nothing, they are not intelligent enough for you nor amusing enough. + Even if it is true what you say it will pass—Lawrence will go away. + I will see that he does. Only leave them alone! For God’s sake, let + them be!” + </p> + <p> + His face was very close to mine, and, looking at it in the gathering dark, + it was as though it were a face of glass behind which other faces passed + and repassed. I cannot hope to give any idea of the strange mingling of + regret, malice, pride, pain, scorn, and humour that those eyes showed. His + red lips parted as though he would speak, for a moment he turned away from + me and looked down the black tunnel of the street, then he walked forward + again. + </p> + <p> + “You are wrong, my friend,” he said, “if you imagine + that there is no amusement for me in the study of my family. It <i>is</i> + my family, you know. I have none other. Perhaps it has never occurred to + you, Durward, that possibly I am a lonely man.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke I heard again the echo of that voice as it vanished into the + darkness.... “No one?” and the answer: “No one.”... + </p> + <p> + “Don’t imagine,” he continued, “that I am asking + for your pity. That indeed would be humorous. I pity no one, and I despise + the men who have it to bestow... but there are situations in life that are + intolerable, Ivan Andreievitch, and any man who <i>is</i> a man will see + that he escapes from such a thing. May I not find in the bosom of my + family such an escape?” He laughed. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing about that,” I began hotly. “All I know + is—” + </p> + <p> + But he went on as though he had not heard me. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever thought about death since you came away from the + Front, Durward? It used to occupy your mind a good deal while you were + there, I remember—in a foolish, romantic, sentimental way of course. + You’ll forgive my saying that your views of death were those of a + second-hand novelist—all the same I’ll do you the justice of + acknowledging that you had studied it at first hand. You’re not a + coward, you know.” + </p> + <p> + I was struck most vividly with a sense of his uneasiness. During those + other days uneasy was the very last thing that I ever would have said that + he was—even after his catastrophe his grip of his soul did not + loosen. It was just that loosening that I felt now; he had less control of + the beasts that dwelt beneath the ground of his house, and he could hear + them snarl and whine, and could feel the floor quiver with the echo of + their movements. + </p> + <p> + I suddenly knew that I was afraid of him no longer. + </p> + <p> + “Now, see, Alexei Petrovitch,” I said, “it isn’t + death that we want to talk about now. It is a much simpler thing. It is, + that you shouldn’t for your own amusement simply go in and spoil the + lives of some of my friends for nothing at all except your own stupid + pride. If that’s your plan I’m going to prevent it.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Ivan Andreievitch,” he cried, laughing, “this is a + challenge.” + </p> + <p> + “You can take it as what you please,” I answered gravely. + </p> + <p> + “But, incorrigible sentimentalist,” he went on, “tell me—are + you, English and moralist and believer in a good and righteous God as you + are, are you really going to encourage this abominable adultery, this + open, ruthless wrecking of a good man’s home? You surprise me; this + is a new light on your otherwise rather uninteresting character.” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind my character,” I answered him; “all you’ve + got to do is to leave Vera Michailovna alone. There’ll be no + wrecking of homes, unless you are the wrecker.” + </p> + <p> + He put his hand on my arm again. + </p> + <p> + “Listen, Durward,” he said, “I’ll tell you a + little story. I’m a doctor you know, and many curious things occur + within my province. Well, some years ago I knew a man who was very + miserable and very proud. His pride resented that he should be miserable, + and he was always suspecting that people saw his weakness, and as he + despised human nature, and thought his companions fools and deserving of + all that they got, and more, he couldn’t bear the thought that they + should perceive that he allowed himself to be unhappy. He coveted death. + If it meant extinction he could imagine nothing pleasanter than so restful + an aloofness, quiet and apart and alone, whilst others hurried and + scrambled and pursued the future.... + </p> + <p> + “And if death did not mean extinction then he thought that he might + snatch and secure for himself something which in life had eluded him. So + he coveted death. But he was too proud to reach it by suicide. That seemed + to him a contemptible and cowardly evasion, and such an easy solution + would have denied the purpose of all his life. So he looked about him and + discovered amongst his friends a man whose character he knew well, a man + idealistic and foolish and romantic, like yourself, Ivan Andreievitch, + only caring more for ideas, more impulsive and more reckless. He found + this man and made him his friend. He played with him as a cat does with a + mouse. He enjoyed life for about a year and then he was murdered....” + </p> + <p> + “Murdered!” I exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—shot by his idealistic friend. I envy him that year. He + must have experienced many breathless sensations. When the murderer was + tried his only explanation was that he had been irritated and + disappointed. + </p> + <p> + “‘Disappointed of what?’ asked the judge. + </p> + <p> + “‘Of everything in which he believed....’ said the man. + </p> + <p> + “It seemed a poor excuse for a murder; he is still, I have no doubt, + in Siberia. + </p> + <p> + “But I envy my friend. That was a delightful death to die.... + Good-night, Ivan Andreievitch.” + </p> + <p> + He waved his hand at me and was gone. I was quite alone in the long black + street, engulfed by the high, overhanging flats. + </p> + <h3> + XXI + </h3> + <p> + Late on the afternoon of Nina’s birthday, when I was on the point of + setting out for the English Prospect, the Rat appeared. I had not seen him + for several weeks; but there he was, stepping suddenly out of the shadows + of my room, dirty and disreputable and cheerful. He had been, I perceived, + drinking furniture polish. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, Barin.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening,” I said sternly. “I told you not to come + here when you were drunk.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not drunk,” he said, offended, “only a + little. It’s not much that you can get these days. I want some + money, Barin.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve none for you,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “It’s only a little—God knows that I wouldn’t ask + you for much, but I’m going to be very busy these next days, and it’s + work that won’t bring pay quickly. There’ll be pay later, and + then I will return it to you.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing for you to-night,” I said. + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “You’re a fine man, Barin. A foreigner is fine—that’s + where the poor Russian is unhappy. I love you, Barin, and I will look + after you, and if, as you say, there isn’t any money here, one must + pray to God and he will show one the way.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s this work you’re going to do?” I asked + him. + </p> + <p> + “There’s going to be trouble the other side of the river in a + day or two,” he answered, “and I’m going to help.” + </p> + <p> + “Help what?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Help the trouble,” he answered, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Behave like a blackguard, in fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, blackguard, Barin!” he protested, using a Russian word + that is worse than blackguard. “Why these names?... I’m not a + good man, God have mercy on my soul, but then I pretend nothing. I am what + you see.... If there’s going to be trouble in the town I may as well + be there. Why not I as well as another? And it is to your advantage, + Barin, that I should be.” + </p> + <p> + “Why to my advantage?” I asked him. + </p> + <p> + “Because I am your friend, and we’ll protect you,” he + answered. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn’t trust you a yard,” I told him. + </p> + <p> + “Well, perhaps you’re right,” he said. “We are as + God made us—I am no better than the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed you’re not,” I answered him. “Why do + you think there’ll be trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “I know.... Perhaps a lot of trouble, perhaps only a little. But it + will be a fine time for those of us who have nothing to lose.... So you + have no money for me?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “A mere rouble or so?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must be off.... I am your friend. Don’t forget,” + and he was gone. + </p> + <p> + It had been arranged that Nina and Vera, Lawrence and Bohun and I should + meet outside the Giniselli at five minutes to eight. I left my little + silver box at the flat, paid some other calls, and just as eight o’clock + was striking arrived outside the Giniselli. This is Petrograd’s + apology for a music-hall—in other words, it is nothing but the good + old-fashioned circus. + </p> + <p> + Then, again, it is not quite the circus of one’s English youth, + because it has a very distinct Russian atmosphere of its own. The point + really is the enthusiasm of the audience, because it is an enthusiasm that + in these sophisticated, twentieth-century days is simply not to be found + in any other country in Europe. I am an old-fashioned man and, quite + frankly, I adore a circus; and when I can find one with the right sawdust + smell, the right clown, and the right enthusiasm, I am happy. The smart + night is a Saturday, and then, if you go, you will see, in the little + horse-boxes close to the arena, beautiful women in jewellery and powder, + and young officers, and fat merchants in priceless Shubas. But to-night + was not a Saturday, and therefore the audience was very democratic, + screaming cat-calls from the misty distances of the gallery, and showering + sunflower seeds upon the heads of the bourgeoisie, who were, for the most + part, of the smaller shopkeeper kind. + </p> + <p> + Nina, to-night, was looking very pretty and excited. She was wearing a + white silk dress with blue bows, and all her hair was piled on the top of + her head in imitation of Vera—but this only had the effect of making + her seem incredibly young and naïve, as though she had put her hair up + just for the evening because there was to be a party. It was explained + that Markovitch was working but would be present at supper. Vera was + quiet, but looked happier, I thought, than I had seen her for a long time. + Bohun was looking after her, and Lawrence was with Nina. I sat behind the + four of them, in the back of the little box, like a presiding Benevolence. + </p> + <p> + Mostly I thought of how lovely Vera was to-night, and why it was, too, + that more people did not care for her. I knew that she was not popular, + that she was considered proud and reserved and cold. As she sat there now, + motionless, her hands on her lap, her whole being seemed to me to radiate + goodness and gentleness and a loving heart. I knew that she could be + impatient with stupid people, and irritated by sentimentality, and + infuriated by meanness and cruelty, but the whole size and grandeur of her + nobility seemed to me to shine all about her and set her apart from the + rest of human beings. She was not a woman whom I ever could have loved—she + had not the weaknesses and naïveties and appealing helplessness that drew + love from one’s heart. Nor could I have ever dared to face the depth + and splendour of the passion that there was in her—I was not built + on that heroic scale. God forgive me if, as I watched them, I felt a + sudden glow of almost eager triumph at the thought of Lawrence as her + lover! I checked it. My heart was suddenly heavy. + </p> + <p> + Such a development could only mean tragedy, and I knew it. I had even + sworn to Semyonov that I would prevent it. I looked at them and felt my + helpless weakness. Who was I to prevent anything? And who was there now, + in the whole world, who would be guided by my opinion? They might have me + as a confidant because they trusted me, but after that... no, I had no + illusions. I was pushed off the edge of the world, hanging on still with + one quivering hand—soon my grip would loosen—and, God help me, + I did not want to go. + </p> + <p> + Nina turned back to me and, with a little excited clap of her hands, drew + my attention to the gallant Madame Gineselli, who, although by no means a + chicken, arrayed in silver tights and a large black picture-hat, stood on + one foot on the back of her white horse and bowed to the already + hysterical gallery. Mr. Gineselli cracked his whip, and the white horse + ambled along and the sawdust flew up into our eyes, and Madame bent her + knees first in and then out, and the bourgeoisie clapped their hands and + the gallery shouted “Brava.” Gineselli cracked his whip and + there was the clown “Jackomeno, beloved of his Russian public,” + as it was put on the programme; and indeed so he seemed to be, for he was + greeted with roars of applause. There was nothing very especially Russian + about him, however, and when he had taken his coat off and brushed a place + on which to put it and then flung it on the ground and stamped on it, I + felt quite at home with him and ready for anything. + </p> + <p> + He called up one of the attendants and asked him whether he had ever + played the guitar. I don’t know what it was that the attendant + answered, because something else suddenly transfixed my attention—the + vision of Nina’s little white-gloved hand resting on Lawrence’s + broad knee. I saw at once, as though she had told me, that she had + committed herself to a most desperate venture. I could fancy the + resolution that she had summoned to take the step, the way that now her + heart would be furiously beating, and the excited chatter with which she + would try to cover up her action. Vera and Bohun could not, from where + they were sitting, see what she had done; Lawrence did not move, his back + was set like a rock; he stared steadfastly at the arena. Nina never ceased + talking, her ribbons fluttering and her other hand gesticulating. + </p> + <p> + I could not take my eyes from that little white hand. I should have been, + I suppose, ashamed of her, indignant for her, but I could only feel that + she was, poor child, in for the most desperate rebuff. I could see from + where I sat her cheek, hot and crimson, and her shrill voice never + stopped. + </p> + <p> + The interval arrived, to my intense relief, and we all went out into the + dark passage that smelt of sawdust and horses. Almost at once Nina + detached me from the others and walked off with me towards the lighted + hall. + </p> + <p> + “You saw,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Saw what?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Saw what I was doing.” + </p> + <p> + I felt that she was quivering all over, and she looked so ridiculously + young, with her trembling lip and blue hat on one side and burning cheeks, + that I felt that I wanted to take her into my arms and kiss and pet her. + </p> + <p> + “I saw that you had your hand on his knee,” I said. “That + was silly of you, Nina.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t I?” she answered furiously. “Why + shouldn’t I enjoy life like every one else? Why should Vera, have + everything?” + </p> + <p> + “Vera!” I cried. “What has it to do with Vera?” + </p> + <p> + She didn’t answer my question. She put her hand on my arm, pressing + close up to me as though she wanted my protection. + </p> + <p> + “Durdles, I want him for my friend. I do—I do. When I look at + him and think of Boris and the others I don’t want to speak to any + one of them again. I only want him for my friend. I’m getting old + now, and they can’t treat me as a child any longer. I’ll show + them. I know what I’ll do if I can’t have the friends I want + and if Vera is always managing me—I’ll go off to Boris.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear Nina,” I said, “you mustn’t do that. You + don’t care for him.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I know I don’t—but I will go if everybody thinks me + a baby. And Durdles—Durdles, please—make him like me—your + Mr. Lawrence.” + </p> + <p> + She said his name with the funniest little accent. + </p> + <p> + “Nina, dear,” I said, “will you take a little piece of + advice from me?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked doubtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Well, this.... Don’t you make any move yourself. Just wait + and you’ll see he’ll like you. You’ll make him shy if + you—” + </p> + <p> + But she interrupted me furiously in one of her famous tempers. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you Englishmen with your shyness and your waiting and your + coldness! I hate you all, and I wish we were fighting with the Germans + against you. Yes, I do—and I hope the Germans win. You never have + any blood. You’re all cold as ice.... And what do you mean spying on + me? Yes, you were—sitting behind and spying! You’re always + finding out what we’re doing, and putting it all down in a book. I + hate you, and I won’t ever ask your advice again.” + </p> + <p> + She rushed off, and I was following her when the bell rang for the + beginning of the second part. We all went in, Nina chattering and laughing + with Bohun just as though she had never been in a temper in her life. + </p> + <p> + Then a dreadful thing happened. We arrived at the box, and Vera, Bohun, + and Nina sat in the seats they had occupied before. I waited for Lawrence + to sit down, but he turned round to me. + </p> + <p> + “I say, Durward—you sit next to Nina Michailovna this time. + She’ll be bored having me all the while.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” I began to protest, but Nina, her voice shaking, + cried: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Durdles, you sit down next to me—please.” + </p> + <p> + I don’t think that Lawrence perceived anything. He said very + cheerfully, “That’s right—and I’ll sit behind and + see that you all behave.” + </p> + <p> + I sat down and the second part began. The second part was wrestling. The + bell rang, the curtains parted, and instead of the splendid horses and + dogs there appeared a procession of some of the most obese and monstrous + types of humanity. Almost naked, they wandered round the arena, mountains + of flesh glistening in the electric light. A little man, all puffed up + like a poulter pigeon, then advanced into the middle of the arena, and was + greeted with wild applause from the gallery. To this he bowed and then + announced in a terrific voice, “Gentlemen, you are about to see some + of the most magnificent wrestling in the world. Allow me to introduce to + you the combatants.” He then shouted out the names: “Ivan + Strogoff of Kiev—Paul Rosing of Odessa—Jacob Smyerioff of + Petrograd—John Meriss from Africa (this the most hideous of negroes)—Karl + Tubiloff of Helsingfors....” and so on. The gentlemen named smirked + and bowed. They all marched off, and then, in a moment, one couple + returned, shook hands, and, under the breathless attention of the whole + house, began to wrestle. + </p> + <p> + They did not, however, command my attention. I could think of nothing but + the little crushed figure next to me. I stole a look at her and saw that a + large tear was hanging on one eyelash ready to fall. I looked hurriedly + away. Poor child! And her birthday! I cursed Lawrence for his clumsiness. + What did it matter if she had put her hand on his knee? He ought to have + taken it and patted it. But it was more than likely, as I knew very well, + that he had never even noticed her action. He was marvellously unaware of + all kinds of things, and it was only too possible that Nina scarcely + existed for him. I longed to comfort her, and I did then a foolish thing. + I put out my hand and let it rest for a moment on her dress. + </p> + <p> + Instantly she moved away with a sharp little gesture. + </p> + <p> + Five minutes later I heard a little whisper: “Durdles, it’s so + hot here—and I hate these naked men. Shall we go? Ask Vera—” + </p> + <p> + The first bout had just come to an end. The little man with the swelling + chest was alone, strutting up and down, and answering questions hurled at + him from the gallery. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Vanya, where’s Michael of Odessa?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, he’s a soldier in the army now.” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Vanya... Uncle Vanya... Uncle Vanya...” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Why isn’t <i>Chornaya Maska</i>, wrestling to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, he’s busy.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s he busy with?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, he’s busy.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s he busy with?... Uncle Vanya... Uncle Vanya...” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Shto?</i>” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t it true that Michael’s dead now?” + </p> + <p> + “So they say.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it true?” + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Vanya... Uncle Vanya....” + </p> + <p> + The message had passed along that Nina was tired and wanted to go. We all + moved out through the passage and into the cold fresh air. + </p> + <p> + “It was quite time,” said Vera. “I was going to suggest + it myself.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you liked it,” said Lawrence politely to Nina. + </p> + <p> + “No, I hated it,” she answered furiously, and turned her back + on him. + </p> + <p> + It could not be said that the birthday party was promising very well. + </p> + <h3> + XXII + </h3> + <p> + And yet for the first half-hour it really seemed that it would “go” + very well indeed. It had been agreed that it was to be absolutely a + “family” party, and Uncle Ivan, Semyonov, and Boris Grogoff + were the only additions to our number. Markovitch was there of course, and + I saw at once that he was eager to be agreeable and to be the best + possible host. As I had often noticed before, there was something pathetic + about Markovitch when he wished to be agreeable. He had neither the figure + nor the presence with which to be fascinating, and he did not know in the + least how to bring out his best points. + </p> + <p> + Especially when he tried, as he was sometimes ill-advised enough to do, to + flirt with young girls, he was a dismal failure. He was intended, by + nature, to be mysterious and malevolent, and had he only had a malevolent + spirit there would have been no tragedy—but in the confused welter + that he called his soul, malevolence was the least of the elements, and + other things—love, sympathy, twisted self-pity, ambition, courage, + and cowardice—drowned it. He was on his best behaviour to-night, and + over the points of his high white collar his peaked, ugly, anxious face + peered, appealing to the Fates for generosity. + </p> + <p> + But the Fates despise those who appeal. + </p> + <p> + I very soon saw that he was on excellent terms with Semyonov, and this + could only be, I was sure, because Semyonov had been flattering him. Very + soon I learnt the truth. I was standing near the table, watching the + company, when I found Markovitch at my side. + </p> + <p> + “Very glad you’ve come, Ivan Andreievitch,” he said. + “I’ve been meaning to come and see you, only I’ve been + too busy.” + </p> + <p> + “How’s the ink getting along?” I asked him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the ink!” He brushed my words scornfully aside. “No, + that’s nothing. We must postpone that to a more propitious time. + Meanwhile—meanwhile, Ivan Andreievitch, I’ve hit it at last!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it this time?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He could hardly speak for his excitement. “It’s wood—the + bark—the bark of the tree, you know—a new kind of fibre for + cloth. If I hadn’t got to look after these people here, I’d + take you and show you now. You’re a clever fellow—you’d + understand at once. I’ve been showing it to Alexei” (he nodded + in the direction of Semyonov), “and he entirely agrees with me that + there’s every kind of possibility in it. The thing will be to get + the labour—that’s the trouble nowadays—but I’ll + find somebody—one of these timber men....” + </p> + <p> + So that was it, was it? I looked across at Semyonov, who was now seated on + Vera’s right hand just opposite Boris Grogoff. He was very quiet, + very still, looking about him, his square pale beard a kind of symbol of + the secret immobility of his soul. I fancied that I detected behind his + placidity an almost relieved self-satisfaction, as though things were + going very much better than he had expected. + </p> + <p> + “So Alexei Petrovitch thinks well of it, does he?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Most enthusiastic,” answered Markovitch eagerly. “He’s + gone into the thing thoroughly with me, and has made some admirable + suggestions.... Ivan Andreievitch, I think I should tell you—I + misjudged him. I wasn’t fair on what I said to you the other day + about him. Or perhaps it is that being at the Front has changed him, + softened him a bit. His love affair there, you know, made him more + sympathetic and kindly. I believe he means well to us all. Vera won’t + agree with me. She’s more cynical than she used to be. I don’t + like that in her. She never had a suspicious nature before, but now she + doesn’t trust one.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t tell her enough,” I interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her?” he looked at me doubtfully. “What is there I + should tell her?” + </p> + <p> + “Everything!” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Everything?” His eyes suddenly narrowed, his face was sharp + and suspicious. “Does she tell me everything? Answer me that, Ivan + Andreievitch. There was a time once—but now—I give my + confidences where I’m trusted. If she treated me fairly—” + </p> + <p> + There was no chance to say more; they called us to the table. I took my + place between Nina and Ivan. + </p> + <p> + As I have said, the supper began very merrily. Boris Grogoff was, I think, + a little drunk when he arrived; at any rate he was noisy from the very + beginning. I have wondered often since whether he had any private + knowledge that night which elated and excited him, and was responsible in + part, perhaps, for what presently occurred. It may well have been so, + although at the time, of course, nothing of the kind occurred to me. Nina + appeared to have recovered her spirits. She was sitting next to Lawrence, + and chattered and laughed with him in her ordinary fashion. + </p> + <p> + And now, stupidly enough, when I try to recall exactly the steps that led + up to the catastrophe, I find it difficult to see things clearly. I + remember that very quickly I was conscious that there was danger in the + air. I was conscious of it first in the eyes of Semyonov, those steady, + watching, relentless eyes so aloof as to be inhuman. He was on the other + side of the table, and suddenly I said to myself, “He’s + expecting something to happen.” Then, directly after that I caught + Vera’s eye, and I saw that she too was anxious. She looked pale and + tired and sad. + </p> + <p> + I caught myself in the next instant saying to myself, “Well, she’s + got Lawrence to look after her now”—so readily does the spirit + that is beyond one’s grasp act above and outside one’s poor + human will. + </p> + <p> + I saw then that the trouble was once again, as it had often been before, + Grogoff. He was drinking heavily the rather poor claret which Markovitch + had managed to secure from somewhere. He addressed the world in general. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you that we’re going to stop this filthy war,” + he cried. “And if our government won’t do it, we’ll take + things into our own hands....” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Semyonov, smiling, “that’s a thing + that no Russian has ever said before, for certain.” + </p> + <p> + Every one laughed, and Grogoff flushed. “Oh, it’s easy to + sneer!” he said. “Just because there’ve been miserable + cowards in Russian history, you think it will always be so. I tell you it + is not so. The time is coming when tyranny will topple from its throne, + and we’ll show Europe the way to liberty.” + </p> + <p> + “By which you mean,” said Semyonov, “that you’ll + involve Russia in at least three more wars in addition to the one she’s + at present so magnificently losing.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you,” screamed Grogoff, now so excited that he was + standing on his feet and waving his glass in the air, “that this + time you have not cowards to deal with. This will not be as it was in + 1905; I know of what I’m speaking.” + </p> + <p> + Semyonov leant over the table and whispered something in Markovitch’s + ear. I had seen that Markovitch had already been longing to speak. He + jumped up on to his feet, fiercely excited, his eyes flaming. + </p> + <p> + “It’s nonsense that you are talking, sheer nonsense!” he + cried. “Russia’s lost the war, and all we who believed in her + have our hearts broken. Russia won’t be mended by a few vapouring + idiots who talk and talk without taking action.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you call me?” screamed Grogoff. + </p> + <p> + “I mention no names,” said Markovitch, his little eyes dancing + with anger. “Take it or no as you please. But I say that we have had + enough of all this vapouring talk, all this pretence of courage. Let us + admit that freedom has failed in Russia, that she must now submit herself + to the yoke.” + </p> + <p> + “Coward! Coward!” screamed Grogoff. + </p> + <p> + “It’s you who are the coward!” cried Markovitch. + </p> + <p> + “Call me that and I’ll show you!” + </p> + <p> + “I do call you it!” + </p> + <p> + There was an instant’s pause, during which we all of us had, I + suppose, some idea of trying to intervene. + </p> + <p> + But it was too late. Grogoff raised his hand and, with all his force, + flung his glass at Markovitch. Markovitch ducked his head, and the glass + smashed with a shattering tinkle on the wall behind him. + </p> + <p> + We all cried out, but the only thing of which I was conscious was that + Lawrence had sprung from his seat, had crossed to where Vera was standing, + and had put his hand on her arm. She glanced up at him. That look which + they exchanged, a look of revelation, of happiness, of sudden marvellous + security, was so significant that I could have cried out to them both, + “Look out! Look out!” + </p> + <p> + But if I had cried they would not have heard me. + </p> + <p> + My next instinct was to turn to Markovitch. He was frowning, coughing a + little, and feeling the top of his collar. His face was turned towards + Grogoff and he was speaking—could catch some words: “No + right... in my own house... Boris... I apologise... please don’t + think of it.” But his eyes were not looking at Boris at all; they + were turned towards Vera, staring at her, begging her, beseeching her.... + What had he seen? How much had he understood? And Nina? And Semyonov? + </p> + <p> + But at once, in a way most truly Russian, the atmosphere had changed. It + was Nina who controlled the situation. “Boris,” she cried, + “come here!” + </p> + <p> + We all waited in silence. He looked at her, a little sulkily, his head + hanging, but his eyes glancing up at her. + </p> + <p> + He seemed nothing then but a boy caught in some misdemeanour, obstinate, + sulky, but ready to make peace if a chance were offered him. + </p> + <p> + “Boris, come here!” + </p> + <p> + He moved across to her, looking her full in the face, his mouth sulky, but + his eyes rebelliously smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Well... well....” + </p> + <p> + She stood away from the table, drawn to her full height, her eyes + commanding him: “How dare you! Boris, how dare you! My birthday—<i>mine</i>—and + you’ve spoilt it, spoilt it all. Come here—up close!” + </p> + <p> + He came to her until his hands were almost on her body; he hung his head, + standing over her. + </p> + <p> + She stood back as though she were going to strike him, then suddenly with + a laugh she sprang upon the chair beside her, flung her arms round his + neck and kissed him; then, still standing on the chair, turned and faced + us all. + </p> + <p> + “Now, that’s enough—all of you. Michael, Uncle Ivan, + Uncle Alexei, Durdles—how dare you, all of you? You’re all as + bad—every one of you. I’ll punish all of you if we have any + more politics. Beastly politics! What do they matter? It’s my + birthday. My <i>birthday</i>, I tell you. It <i>shan’t</i> be + spoilt.” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to me so excited as not to know what she was saying. What had + she seen? What did she know?... Meanwhile Grogoff was elated, wildly + pleased like a boy who, contrary to all his expectations, had won a prize. + </p> + <p> + He went up to Markovitch with his hand out: + </p> + <p> + “Nicholas—forgive me—<i>Prasteete</i>—I forgot + myself. I’m ashamed—my abominable temper. We are friends. You + were right, too. We talk here in Russia too much, far too much, and when + the moment comes for action we shrink back. We see too far perhaps. Who + knows? But you were right and I am a fool. You’ve taught me a lesson + by your nobility. Thank you, Nicholas. And all of you—I apologise to + all of you.” + </p> + <p> + We moved away from the table. Vera came over to us, and then sat on the + sofa with her arm around Nina’s neck. Nina was very quiet now, + sitting there, her cheeks flushed, smiling, but as though she were + thinking of something quite different. + </p> + <p> + Some one proposed that we should play “Petits Cheveaux.” We + gathered around the table, and soon every one was laughing and gambling. + </p> + <p> + Only once I looked up and saw that Markovitch was gazing at Vera; and once + again I looked at Vera and saw that she was staring before her, seeing + nothing, lost in some vision—but it was not of Markovitch that she + was thinking.... + </p> + <p> + I was the first to leave—I said good-night to every one. I could + hear their laughter as I waited at the bottom of the stairs for the + Dvornik to let me out. + </p> + <p> + But when I was in the street the world was breathlessly still. I walked up + the Prospect—no soul was in sight, only the scattered lamps, the + pale snow, and the houses. At the end of the Canal I stopped. The silence + was intense. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to me then that in the very centre of the Canal the ice suddenly + cracked, slowly pulled apart, leaving a still pool of black water. The + water slowly stirred, rippled, then a long, horned, and scaly head pushed + up. I could see the shining scales on its thick side and the ribbed horn + on the back of the neck. Beneath it the water stirred and heaved. With + dead glazed eyes it stared upon the world, then slowly, as though it were + drawn from below, it sank. The water rippled in narrowing circles—then + all was still.... + </p> + <p> + The moon came out from behind filmy shadow. The world was intensely light, + and I saw that the ice of the canal had never been broken, and that no + pool of black water caught the moon’s rays. + </p> + <p> + It was fiercely cold and I hurried home, pulling my Shuba more closely + about me. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II — LAWRENCE + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + Of some of the events that I am now about to relate it is obvious that I + could not have been an eye-witness—and yet, looking back from the + strange isolation that is now my world I find it incredibly difficult to + realise what I saw and what I did not. Was I with Nina and Vera on that + Tuesday night when they stood face to face with one another for the first + time? Was I with Markovitch during his walk through that marvellous new + world that he seemed himself to have created? I know that I shared none of + these things..., and yet it seems to me that I was at the heart of them + all. I may have been told many things by the actors in those events—I + may not. I cannot now in retrospect see any of it save as my own personal + experience, and as my own personal experience I must relate it; but, as I + have already said at the beginning of this book, no one is compelled to + believe either my tale or my interpretation. Every man would, I suppose, + like to tell his story in the manner of some other man. I can conceive the + events of this part of my narration being interpreted in the spirit of the + wildest farce, of the genteelest comedy, of the most humorous satire—“Other + men, Other gifts.” I am a dull and pompous fellow, as Semyonov often + tells me; and I hope that I never allowed him to see how deeply I felt the + truth of his words. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile I will begin with a small adventure of Henry Bohun’s. + Apparently, one evening soon after Nina’s party, he found himself + about half-past ten in the evening, lonely and unhappy, walking down the + Nevski. Gay and happy crowds wandered by him, brushing him aside, refusing + to look at him, showing in fact no kind of interest in his existence. He + was suddenly frightened, the distances seemed terrific and the Nevski was + so hard and bright and shining—that it had no use at all for any + lonely young man. He decided suddenly that he would go and see me. He + found an Isvostchick, but when they reached the Ekaterinsgofsky Canal the + surly coachman refused to drive further, saying that his horse had gone + lame, and that this was as far as he had bargained to go. + </p> + <p> + Henry was forced to leave the cab, and then found himself outside the + little people’s cinema, where he had once been with Vera and myself. + </p> + <p> + He knew that my rooms were not far away, and he started off beside the + white and silent canal, wondering why he had come, and wishing he were + back in bed. + </p> + <p> + There was still a great deal of the baby in Henry, and ghosts and giants + and scaly-headed monsters were not incredibilities to his young + imagination. As he left the main thoroughfare and turned down past the + widening docks, he suddenly knew that he was terrified. There had been + stories of wild attacks on rich strangers, sand-bagging and the rest, + often enough, but it was not of that kind of thing that he was afraid. He + told me afterwards that he expected to see “long thick crawling + creatures” creeping towards him over the ice. He continually turned + round to see whether some one were following him. When he crossed the + tumbledown bridge that led to my island it seemed that he was absolutely + alone in the whole world. The masts of the ships dim through the cold mist + were like tangled spiders’ webs. A strange hard red moon peered over + the towers and chimneys of the distant dockyard. The ice was limitless, + and of a dirty grey pallor, with black shadows streaking it. My island + must have looked desolate enough, with its dirty snow-heaps, old boards + and scrap-iron and tumbledown cottages. + </p> + <p> + Again, as on his first arrival in Petrograd, Henry was faced by the solemn + fact that events are so often romantic in retrospect, but grimly realistic + in experience. He reached my lodging and found the door open. He climbed + the dark rickety stairs and entered my sitting-room. The blinds were not + drawn, and the red moon peered through on to the grey shadows that the ice + beyond always flung. The stove was not burning, the room was cold and + deserted. Henry called my name and there was no answer. He went into my + bedroom and there was no one there. He came back and stood there + listening. + </p> + <p> + He could hear the creaking of some bar beyond the window and the + melancholy whistle of a distant train. + </p> + <p> + He was held there, as though spellbound. Suddenly he thought that he heard + some one climbing the stairs. He gave a cry, and that was answered by a + movement so close to him that it was almost at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s there?” he cried. He saw a shadow pass between + the moon and himself. In a panic of terror he cried out, and at the same + time struck a match. Some one came towards him, and he saw that it was + Markovitch. + </p> + <p> + He was so relieved to find that it was a friend that he did not stop to + wonder what Markovitch should be doing hiding in my room. It afterwards + struck him that Markovitch looked odd. “Like a kind of conspirator, + in old shabby Shuba with the collar turned up. He looked jolly ill and + dirty, as though he hadn’t slept or washed. He didn’t seem a + bit surprised at seeing me there, and I think he scarcely realised that it + <i>was</i> me. He was thinking of something else so hard that he couldn’t + take me in.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Bohun!” he said in a confused way. + </p> + <p> + “Hullo, Nicolai Leontievitch,” Bohun said, trying to be + unconcerned. “What are you doing here?” + </p> + <p> + “Came to see Ivan Andreievitch,” he said. “Wasn’t + here; I was going to write to him.” + </p> + <p> + Bohun then lit a candle and discovered that the place was in a very + considerable mess. Some one had been sifting my desk, and papers and + letters were lying about the floor. The drawers of my table were open, and + one chair was over-turned. Markovitch stood back near the window, looking + at Bohun suspiciously. They must have been a curious couple for such a + position. There was an awkward pause, and then Bohun, trying to speak + easily, said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, it seems that Durward isn’t coming. He’s out + dining somewhere I expect.” + </p> + <p> + “Probably,” said Markovitch drily. + </p> + <p> + There was another pause, then Markovitch broke out with: “I suppose + you think I’ve been here trying to steal something.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no—oh no—no—” stammered Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “But I have,” said Markovitch. “You can look round and + see. There it is on every side of you. I’ve been trying to find a + letter.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes,” said Bohun nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that seems to you terrible,” went on Markovitch, + growing ever fiercer. “Of course it seems to you perfect Englishmen + a dreadful thing. But why heed it?... You all do things just as bad, only + you are hypocrites.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, certainly,” said Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “And now,” said Markovitch with a snarl. “I’m sure + you will not think me a proper person for you to lodge with any longer—and + you will be right. I am not a proper person. I have no sense of decency, + thank God, and no Russian has any sense of decency, and that is why we are + beaten and despised by the whole world, and yet are finer than them all—so + you’d better not lodge with us any more.” + </p> + <p> + “But of course,” said Bohun, disliking more and more this + uncomfortable scene—“of course I shall continue to stay with + you. You are my friends, and one doesn’t mind what one’s + friends do. One’s friends are one’s friends.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, then, Markovitch jerked himself forward, “just as though,” + Bohun afterwards described it to me, “he had shot himself out of a + catapault.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” he said, “is your English friend in love with + my wife?” + </p> + <p> + What Bohun wanted to do then was to run out of the room, down the dark + stairs, and away as fast as his legs would carry him. He had not been in + Russia so long that he had lost his English dislike of scenes, and he was + seriously afraid that Markovitch was, as he put it, “bang off his + head.” + </p> + <p> + But at this critical moment, he remembered, it seems, my injunction to + him, “to be kind to Markovitch—to make a friend of him.” + That had always seemed to him before impossible enough, but now, at the + very moment when Markovitch was at his queerest, he was also at his most + pathetic, looking there in the mist and shadows too untidy and dirty and + miserable to be really alarming. Henry then took courage. “That’s + all nonsense, Markovitch,” he said. “I suppose by ‘your + English friend’ you mean Lawrence. He thinks the world of your wife, + of course, as we all do, but he’s not the fellow to be in love. I + don’t suppose he’s ever been really in love with a woman in + his life. He’s a kindly good-hearted chap, Lawrence, and he wouldn’t + do harm to a fly.” + </p> + <p> + Markovitch peered into Bohun’s face. “What did you come here + for, any of you?” he asked. “What’s Russia over-run with + foreigners for? We’ll clear the lot of you out, all of you....” + Then he broke off, with a pathetic little gesture, his hand up to his + head. “But I don’t know what I’m saying—I don’t + mean it, really. Only things are so difficult, and they slip away from one + so. + </p> + <p> + “I love Russia and I love my wife, Mr. Bohun—and they’ve + both left me. But you aren’t interested in that. Why should you be? + Only remember when you’re inclined to laugh at me that I’m + like a man in a cockle-shell boat—and it isn’t my fault. I was + put in it.” + </p> + <p> + “But I’m never inclined to laugh,” said Bohun eagerly. + “I may be young and only an Englishman—but I shouldn’t + wonder if I don’t understand better than you think. You try and + see.... And I’ll tell you another thing, Nicolai Leontievitch, I + loved your wife myself—loved her madly—and she was so good to + me and so far above me, that I saw that it was like loving one of the + angels. That’s what we all feel, Nicolai Leontievitch, so that you + needn’t have any fear—she’s too far above all of us. And + I only want to be your friend and hers, and to help you in any way I can.” + </p> + <p> + (I can see Bohun saying this, very sincere, his cheeks flushed, eager.) + </p> + <p> + Markovitch held out both his hands. + </p> + <p> + “You’re right,” he cried. “She’s above us + all. It’s true that she’s an angel, and we are all her + servants. You have helped me by saying what you have, and I won’t + forget it. You are right; I am wasting my time with ridiculous suspicions + when I ought to be working. Concentration, that’s what I want, and + perhaps you will give it me.” + </p> + <p> + He suddenly came forward and kissed Bohun on both cheeks. He smelt, Bohun + thought, of vodka. Bohun didn’t like the embrace, of course, but he + accepted it gracefully. + </p> + <p> + “Now we’ll go away,” said Markovitch. + </p> + <p> + “We ought to put things straight,” said Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “No; I shall leave things as they are,” said Markovitch, + “so that he shall see exactly what I’ve done. I’ll write + a note.” + </p> + <p> + He scribbled a note to me in pencil. I have it still. It ran: + </p> + <p> + Dear Ivan Andreievitch—I looked for a letter from my wife to you. In + doing so I was I suppose contemptible. But no matter. At least you see me + as I am. I clasp your hand, N. Markovitch. + </p> + <p> + They went away together. + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + I was greatly surprised to receive, a few days later, an invitation from + Baron Wilderling; he asked me to go with him on one of the first evenings + in March to a performance of Lermontov’s “Masquerade” at + the Alexandra Theatre. I say Lermontov, but heaven knows that that great + Russian poet was not supposed to be going to have much to say in the + affair. This performance had been in preparation for at least ten years, + and when such delights as Gordon Craig’s setting of “Hamlet,” + or Benois’ dresses for “La Locandiera” were discussed, + the Wise Ones said: + </p> + <p> + “Ah,—all very well—just wait until you see ‘Masquerade.’” + </p> + <p> + These manifestations of the artistic spirit had not been very numerous of + late in Petrograd. At the beginning of the war there had been many + cabarets—“The Cow,” “The Calf,” “The + Dog,” “The Striped Cat”—and these had been + underground cellars, lighted by Chinese lanterns, and the halls decorated + with Futurist paintings by Yakkolyeff or some other still more advanced + spirit. It seemed strange to me as I dressed that evening. I do not know + how long it was since I had put on a dinner-jacket. With the exception of + that one other visit to Baron Wilderling this seemed to be my one link + with the old world, and it was curious to feel its fascination, its air of + comfort and order and cleanliness, its courtesy and discipline. “I + think I’ll leave these rooms,” I thought as I looked about me, + “and take a decent flat somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + It is a strange fact, behind which there lies, I believe, some odd sort of + moral significance, that I cannot now recall the events of that evening in + any kind of clear detail. I remember that it was bitterly cold, with a sky + that was flooded with stars. The snow had a queer metallic sheen upon it + as though it were coloured ice, and I can see now the Nevski like a slab + of some fiercely painted metal rising out of the very smack of our horses’ + hoofs as my sleigh sped along—as though, silkworm-like, I spun it + out of the entrails of the sledge. It was all light and fire and colour + that night, with towers of gold and frosted green, and even the black + crowds that thronged the Nevski pavements shot with colour. + </p> + <p> + Somewhere in one of Shorthouse’s stories—in <i>The Little + Schoolmaster Mark</i>, I think—he gives a curious impression of a + whirling fantastic crowd of revellers who evoke by their movements some + evil pattern in the air around them, and the boy who is standing in their + midst sees this dark twisted sinister picture forming against the gorgeous + walls and the coloured figures until it blots out the whole scene and + plunges him into darkness. I will not pretend that on this evening I + discerned anything sinister or ominous in the gay scene that the Alexandra + Theatre offered me, but I was nevertheless weighed down by some quite + unaccountable depression that would not let me alone. For this I can see + now that Lawrence was very largely responsible. When I met him and the + Wilderlings in the foyer of the theatre I saw at once that he was greatly + changed. + </p> + <p> + The clear open expression of his eyes was gone; his mind was far away from + his company—and it was as though I could see into his brain and + watch the repetition of the old argument occurring again and again and + again with always the same questions and answers, the same reproaches, the + same defiances, the same obstinacies. He was caught by what was perhaps + the first crisis of his life. He had never been a man for much contact + with his fellow-beings, he had been aloof and reserved, generous in his + judgements of others, severe and narrow in his judgement of himself. Above + all, he had been proud of his strength.... + </p> + <p> + Now he was threatened by something stronger than himself. He could have + managed it so long as he was aware only of his love for Vera.... Now, + when, since Nina’s party, he knew that also Vera loved him, he had + to meet the tussle of his life. + </p> + <p> + That, at any rate, is the kind of figure that I give to his mood that + evening. He has told me much of what happened to him afterwards, but + nothing of that particular night, except once. “Do you remember that + ‘Masquerade’ evening?... I was in hell that night....” which, + for Lawrence, was expressive enough. + </p> + <p> + Both the Baron and his wife were in great spirits. The Baron was more than + ever the evocation of the genius of elegance and order; he seemed carved + out of some coloured ivory, behind whose white perfection burnt a shining + resolute flame. + </p> + <p> + His clothes were so perfect that they would have expressed the whole of + him even though his body had not been there. He was happy. His eyes danced + appreciatively; he waved his white gloves at the scene as though blessing + it. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, Mr. Durward,” he said to me, “this is + nothing compared with what we could do before the war—nevertheless + here you see, for a moment, a fragment of the old Petersburg—Petersburg + as it shall be, please God, again one day....” + </p> + <p> + I do not in the least remember who was present that evening, but it was, I + believe, a very distinguished company. The lights blazed, the jewels + flashed, and the chatter was tremendous. The horseshoe-shaped seats behind + the stalls clustered in knots and bunches of colour under the great + glitter of electricity about the Royal Box. Artists—Somoff and + Benois and Dobujinsky; novelists like Sologub and Merejkowsky; dancers + like Karsavina—actors from all over Petrograd—they were there, + I expect, to add criticism and argument to the adulation of friends and of + the carelessly observant rich Jews and merchants who had come simply to + display their jewellery. Petrograd, like every other city in the world, is + artistic only by the persistence of its minority. + </p> + <p> + I’m sure that there were Princesses and Grand Dukes and Grand + Duchesses for any one who needed them, and it was only in the gallery + where the students and their girl-friends were gathered that the name of + Lermontov was mentioned. The name of the evening was “Meyerhold,” + the gentleman responsible for the production. At last the Event that had + been brewing ceaselessly for the last ten years—ever since the last + Revolution in fact—was to reach creation. The moment of M. Meyerhold’s + life had arrived—the moment, had we known it, of many other lives + also; but we did not know it. We buzzed and we hummed, we gasped and we + gaped, we yawned and we applauded; and the rustle of gold tissue, the + scent of gold leaf, the thick sticky substance of gold paint, filled the + air, flooded the arena, washed past us into the street outside. Meanwhile + M. Meyerhold, white, perspiring, in his shirt-sleeves with his collar + loosened and his hair damp, is in labour behind the gold tissue to produce + the child of his life... and Behold, the Child is produced! + </p> + <p> + And such a child! It was not I am sure so fantastic an affair in reality + as in my rememberance of it. I have, since then, read Lermontov’s + play, and I must confess that it does not seem, in cold truth, to be one + of his finest works. It is long and old-fashioned, melodramatic and clumsy—but + then it was not on this occasion Lermontov’s play that was the + thing. But it was a masquerade, and that in a sense far from the author’s + intention. As I watched I remember that I forgot the bad acting (the hero + was quite atrocious), forgot the lapses of taste in the colour and + arrangement of the play, forgot the artifices and elaborate originalities + and false sincerities; there were, I have no doubt, many things in it all + that were bad and meretricious—I was dreaming. I saw, against my + will and outside my own agency, mingled with the gold screens, the purple + curtains, the fantasies and extravagances of the costumes, the sudden + flashes of unexpected colour through light or dress or backcloth—pictures + from those Galician days that had been, until Semyonov’s return, as + I fancied, forgotten. + </p> + <p> + A crowd of revellers ran down the stage, and a shimmering cloud of gold + shot with red and purple was flung from one end of the hall to the other, + and behind it, through it, between it, I saw the chill light of the early + morning, and Nikitin and I sitting on the bench outside the stinking but + that we had used as an operating theatre, watching the first rays of the + sun warm, the cold mountain’s rim. I could hear voices, and the + murmurs of the sleeping men and the groans of the wounded. The scene + closed. There was space and light, and a gorgeous figure, stiff with the + splendour of his robes, talked in a dark garden with his lady. Their + voices murmured, a lute was played, some one sang, and through the thread + of it all I saw that moment when, packed together on our cart, we hung for + an instant on the top of the hill and looked back to a country that had + suddenly crackled into flame. There was that terrific crash as of the + smashing of a world of china, the fierce crackle of the machine-guns, and + then the boom of the cannon from under our very feet... the garden was + filled with revellers, laughing, dancing, singing, the air was filled + again with the air of gold paint, the tenor’s voice rose higher and + higher, the golden screens closed—the act was ended. + </p> + <p> + It was as though I had received, in some dim, bewildered fashion, a + warning. When the lights went up, it was some moments before I realised + that the Baron was speaking to me, that a babel of chatter, like a sudden + rain storm on a glass roof, had burst on every side of us, and that a huge + Jewess, all bare back and sham pearls, was trying to pass me on her way to + the corridor. The Baron talked away: “Very amusing, don’t you + think? After Reinhardt, of course, although they say now that Reinhardt + got all his ideas from your man Craig. I’m sure I don’t know + whether that’s so.... I hope you’re more reassured to-night, + Mr. Durward. You were full of alarms the other evening. Look around you + and you’ll see the true Russia....” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t believe this to be the true Russia,” I said. + “Petrograd is not the true Russia. I don’t believe that there + <i>is</i> a true Russia.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, there you are,” he continued eagerly. “No true + Russia! Quite so. Very observant. But we have to pretend there is, and + that’s what you foreigners are always forgetting. The Russian is an + individualist—give him freedom and he’ll lose all sense of his + companions. He will pursue his own idea. Myself and my party are here to + prevent him from pursuing his own idea, for the good of himself and his + country. He may be discontented, he may grumble, but he doesn’t + realise his luck. Give him his freedom, and in six months you’ll see + Russia back in the Middle Ages.” + </p> + <p> + “And another six months?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “The Stone Age.” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” he said, smiling, “you ask me too much, Mr. + Durward. We are speaking of our own generation.” + </p> + <p> + The curtain was up again and I was back in my other world. I cannot tell + you anything of the rest of the play—I remember nothing. Only I know + that I was actually living over again those awful days in the forest—the + heat, the flies, the smells, the glassy sheen of the trees, the perpetual + rumble of the guns, the desolate whine of the shells—and then Marie’s + death, Trenchard’s sorrow, Trenchard’s death, that last view + of Semyonov... and I felt that I was being made to remember it all for a + purpose, as though my old friend, rich now with his wiser knowledge, was + whispering to me, “All life is bound up. You cannot leave anything + behind you; the past, the present, the future are one. You had pushed us + away from you, but we are with you always for ever. I am your friend for + ever, and Marie is your friend, and now, once more, you have to take your + part in a battle, and we have come to you to share it with you. Do not be + confused by history or public events or class struggle or any big names; + it is the individual and the soul of the individual alone that matters. I + and Marie and Vera and Nina and Markovitch—our love for you, your + love for us, our courage, our self-sacrifice, our weakness, our defeat, + our progress—these are the things for which life exists; it exists + as a training-ground for the immortal soul....” + </p> + <p> + With a sweep of colour the stage broke into a mist of movement. Masked and + hooded figures in purple and gold and blue and red danced madly off into a + forest of stinking, sodden leaves and trees as thin as tissue-paper burnt + by the sun. “Oh—aye! oh—aye! oh—aye!” came + from the wounded, and the dancers answered, “Tra-la-la-la! + Tra-la-la-la,’” The golden screens were drawn forward, the + lights were up again, and the whole theatre was stirring like a coloured + paper ant heap. + </p> + <p> + Outside in the foyer I found Lawrence at my elbow. + </p> + <p> + “Go and see her,” he whispered to me, “as soon as + possible! Tell her—tell her—no, tell her nothing. But see that + she’s all right and let me know. See her to-morrow—early!” + </p> + <p> + I could say nothing to him, for the Baron had joined us. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night! Good-night! A most delightful evening!... Most + amusing!... No, thank you, I shall walk!” + </p> + <p> + “Come and see us,” said the Baroness, smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Very soon,” I answered. I little knew that I should never see + either of them again. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + I awoke that night with a sudden panic that I must instantly see Vera. I, + even in the way that one does when, one is only half awake, struggled out + of bed and felt for my clothes. Then I remembered and climbed back again, + but sleep would not return to me. The self-criticism and self-distrust + that were always attacking me and paralysing my action sprang upon me now + and gripped me. What was I to do? How was I to act? I saw Vera and Nina + and Lawrence and, behind them, smiling at me, Semyonov. They were asking + for my help, but they were, in some strange, intangible way, most + desperately remote. When I read now in our papers shrill criticisms on our + officials, our Cabinet, our generals, our propagandists, our merchants, + for their failure to deal adequately with Russia, I say: Deal adequately? + First you must catch your bird... and no Western snare has ever caught the + Russian bird of paradise, and I dare prophesy that no Western snare ever + will. Had I not broken my heart in the pursuit, and was I not as far as + ever from attainment? The secret of the mystery of life is the isolation + that separates every man from his fellow—the secret of + dissatisfaction too; and the only purpose in life is to realise that + isolation, and to love one’s fellow-man because of it, and to show + one’s own courage, like a flag to which the other travellers may + wave their answer; but we Westerners have at least the waiting comfort of + our discipline, of our materialism, of our indifference to ideas. The + Russian, I believe, lives in a world of loneliness peopled only by ideas. + His impulses towards self-confession, towards brotherhood, towards vice, + towards cynicism, towards his belief in God and his scorn of Him, come out + of this world; and beyond it he sees his fellow-men as trees walking, and + the Mountain of God as a distant peak, placed there only to emphasise his + irony. + </p> + <p> + I had wanted to be friends with Nina and Vera—I had even longed for + it—and now at the crisis when I must rise and act they were so far + away from me that I could only see them, like coloured ghosts, vanishing + into mist. + </p> + <p> + I would go at once and see Vera and there do what I could. Lawrence must + return to England—then all would be well. Markovitch must be + persuaded.... Nina must be told.... I slept and tumbled into a nightmare + of a pursuit, down endless streets, of flying figures. + </p> + <p> + Next day I went to Vera. I found her, to my joy, alone. I realised at once + that our talk would be difficult. She was grave and severe, sitting back + in her chair, her head up, not looking at me at all, but beyond through + the window to the tops of the trees feathery with snow against the sky of + egg-shell blue. I am always beaten by a hostile atmosphere. To-day I was + at my worst, and soon we were talking like a couple of the merest + strangers. + </p> + <p> + She asked me whether I had heard that there were very serious disturbances + on the other side of the river. + </p> + <p> + “I was on the Nevski early this afternoon,” I said, “and + I saw about twenty Cossacks go galloping down towards the Neva. I asked + somebody and was told that some women had broken into the bakers’ + shops on Vassily Ostrov....” + </p> + <p> + “It will end as they always end,” said Vera. “Some + arrests and a few people beaten, and a policeman will get a medal.” + </p> + <p> + There was a long pause. “I went to ‘Masquerade’ the + other night,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “I hear it’s very good....” + </p> + <p> + “Pretentious and rather vulgar—but amusing all the same.” + </p> + <p> + “Every one’s talking about it and trying to get seats....” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Meyerhold must be pleased.” + </p> + <p> + “They discuss it much more than they do the war, or even politics. + Every one’s tired of the war.” + </p> + <p> + I said nothing. She continued: + </p> + <p> + “So I suppose we shall just go on for years and years.... And then + the Empress herself will be tired one day and it will suddenly stop.” + She showed a flash of interest, turning to me and looking at me for the + first time since I had come in. + </p> + <p> + “Ivan Andreievitch, what do you stay in Russia for? Why don’t + you go back to England?” + </p> + <p> + I was taken by surprise. I stammered, “Why do I stay? Why, because—because + I like it.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t like it. There’s <i>nothing</i> to like in + Russia.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s <i>everything</i>!” I answered. “And I + have friends here,” I added. But she didn’t answer that, and + continued to sit staring out at the trees. We talked a little more about + nothing at all, and then there was another long pause. At last I could + endure it no longer, I jumped to my feet. + </p> + <p> + “Vera Michailovna,” I cried, “what have I done?” + </p> + <p> + “Done?” she asked me with a look of self-conscious surprise. + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You know what I mean well enough,” I answered. I tried to + speak firmly, but my voice trembled a little. “You told me I was + your friend. When I was ill the other day you came to me and said that you + needed help and that you wanted me to help you. I said that I would—” + </p> + <p> + I paused. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said, in a hard, unrelenting voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well—” I hesitated and stammered, cursing myself for my + miserable cowardice. “You are in trouble now, Vera—great + trouble—I came here because I am ready to do anything for you—anything—and + you treat me like a stranger, almost like an enemy.” + </p> + <p> + I saw her lip tremble—only for an instant. She said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “If you’ve got anything against me since you saw me last,” + I went on, “tell me and I’ll go away. But I had to see you and + also Lawrence—” + </p> + <p> + At the mention of his name her whole body quivered, but again only for an + instant. + </p> + <p> + “Lawrence asked me to come and see you.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at me then gravely and coldly, and without the sign of any + emotion either in her face or voice. + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, Ivan Andreievitch, but I want no help—I am in no + trouble. It was very kind of Mr. Lawrence, but really—” + </p> + <p> + Then I could endure it no longer. I broke out: + </p> + <p> + “Vera, what’s the matter. You know all this isn’t + true.... I don’t know what idea you have now in your head, but you + must let me speak to you. I’ve got to tell you this—that + Lawrence must go back to England, and as soon as possible—and I will + see that he does—” + </p> + <p> + That did its work. In an instant she was upon me like a wild beast, + springing from her chair, standing close to me, her head flung back, her + eyes furious. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn’t dare!” she cried. “It’s none + of your business, Ivan Andreievitch. You say you’re my friend. You’re + not. You’re my enemy—my enemy. I don’t care for him, not + in the very least—he is nothing to me—nothing to me at all. + But he mustn’t go back to England. It will ruin his career. You will + ruin him for life, Ivan Andreievitch. What business is it of yours? You + imagine—because of what you fancied you saw at Nina’s party. + There was nothing at Nina’s party—nothing. I love my husband, + Ivan Andreievitch, and you are my enemy if you say anything else. And you + pretend to be his friend, but you are his enemy if you try to have him + sent back to England.... He must not go. For the matter of that, I will + never see him again—never—if that is what you want. See, I + promise you never—never—” She suddenly broke down—she, + Vera Michailovna, the proudest woman I had ever known, turning from me, + her head in her hands, sobbing, her shoulders bent. + </p> + <p> + I was most deeply moved. I could say nothing at first, then, when the + sound of her sobbing became unbearable to me, I murmured, + </p> + <p> + “Vera, please. I have no power. I can’t make him go. I will + only do what you wish. Vera, please, please—” + </p> + <p> + Then, with her back still turned to me, I heard her say, + </p> + <p> + “Please, go. I didn’t mean—I didn’t... but go + now... and come back—later.” + </p> + <p> + I waited a minute, and then, miserable, terrified of the future, I went. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + Next night (it was Friday evening) Semyonov paid me a visit. I was just + dropping to sleep in my chair. I had been reading that story of De la Mare’s + <i>The Return</i>—one of the most beautiful books in our language, + whether for its spirit, its prose, or its poetry—and something of + the moon-lit colour of its pages had crept into my soul, so that the + material world was spun into threads of the finest silk behind which other + worlds were more and more plainly visible. I had not drawn my blind, and a + wonderful moon shone clear on to the bare boards of my room, bringing with + its rays the mother-of-pearl reflections of the limitless ice, and these + floated on my wall in trembling waves of opaque light. In the middle of + this splendour I dropped slowly into slumber, the book falling from my + hands, and I, on my part, seeming to float lazily backwards and forwards, + as though, truly, one were at the bottom of some crystal sea, idly and + happily drowned. + </p> + <p> + From all of this I was roused by a sharp knock on my door, and I started + up, still bewildered and bemused, but saying to myself aloud, “There’s + some one there! there’s some one there!...” I stood for quite + a while, listening, on the middle of my shining floor, then the knock was + almost fiercely repeated. I opened the door and, to my surprise, found + Semyonov standing there. He came in, smiling, very polite of course. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll forgive me, Ivan Andreievitch,” he said. “This + is terribly unceremonious. But I had an urgent desire to see you, and you + wouldn’t wish me, in the circumstances, to have waited.” + </p> + <p> + “Please,” I said. I went to the window and drew the blinds. I + lit the lamp. He took off his Shuba and we sat down. The room was very dim + now, and I could only see his mouth and square beard behind the lamp. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve no Samovar, I’m afraid,” I said. “If I’d + known you were coming I’d have told her to have it ready. But it’s + too late now. She’s gone to bed.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” he said brusquely. “You know that I don’t + care about that. Now we’ll waste no time. Let us come straight to + the point at once. I’ve come to give you some advice, Ivan + Andreievitch—very simple advice. Go home to England.” Before + he had finished the sentence I had felt the hostility in his voice; I knew + that it was to be a fight between us, and strangely, at once the + self-distrust and cowardice from which I had been suffering all those + weeks left me. I felt warm and happy. I felt that with Semyonov I knew how + to deal. I was afraid of Vera and Nina, perhaps, because I loved them, but + of Semyonov, thank God, I was not afraid. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, that’s very kind of you,” I said, “to + take so much interest in my movements. I didn’t know that it + mattered to you so much where I was. Why must I go?” + </p> + <p> + “Because you are doing no good here. You are interfering in things + of which you have no knowledge. When we met before you interfered, and you + must honestly admit that you did not improve things. Now it is even more + serious. I must ask you to leave my family alone, Ivan Andreievitch.” + </p> + <p> + “Your family!” I retorted, laughing. “Upon my word, you + do them great honour. I wonder whether they’d be very proud and + pleased if they knew of your adoption of them. I haven’t noticed on + their side any very great signs of devotion.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. “No, you haven’t noticed, Ivan Andreievitch. But + there, you don’t really notice very much. You think you see the + devil of a lot and are a mighty clever fellow; but we’re Russians, + you know, and it takes more than sentimental mysticism to understand us. + But even if you did understand us—which you don’t—the + real point is that we don’t want you, any of you, patronising, + patting us on the shoulder, explaining us to ourselves, talking about our + souls, our unpunctuality, and our capacity for drink. However, that’s + merely in a general way. In a personal, direct, and individual way, I beg + you not to visit my family again. Stick to your own countrymen.” + </p> + <p> + Although he spoke obstinately, and with a show of assurance, I realised, + behind his words, his own uncertainty. + </p> + <p> + “See here, Semyonov,” I said. “It’s just my own + Englishmen that I am going to stick to. What about Lawrence? And what + about Bohun? Will you prevent me from continuing my friendship with them?” + </p> + <p> + “Lawrence... Lawrence,” he said slowly, in a voice quite other + than his earlier one, and as though he were talking aloud to himself. + “Now, that’s strange... there’s a funny thing. A heavy, + dull, silent Englishman, as ugly as only an Englishman can be, and the two + of them are mad about him—nothing in him—nothing—and yet + there it is. It’s the fidelity in the man, that’s what it is, + Durward....” He suddenly called out the word aloud, as though he’d + made a discovery. “Fidelity... fidelity... that’s what we + Russians admire, and there’s a man with not enough imagination to + make him unfaithful. Fidelity!—lack of imagination, lack of freedom—that’s + all fidelity is.... But I’m faithful.... God knows I’m + faithful—always! always!” + </p> + <p> + He stared past me. I swear that he did not see me, that I had vanished + utterly from his vision. I waited. He was leaning forward, pressing both + his thick white hands on the table. His gaze must have pierced the ice + beyond the walls, and the worlds beyond the ice. + </p> + <p> + Then quite suddenly he came back to me and said very quietly, + </p> + <p> + “Well, there it is, Ivan Andreievitch.... You must leave Vera and + Nina alone. It isn’t your affair.” + </p> + <p> + We continued the discussion then in a strange and friendly way. “I + believe it to be my affair,” I answered quietly, “simply + because they care for me and have asked me to help them if they were in + trouble. I still deny that Vera cares for Lawrence.... Nina has had some + girl’s romantic idea perhaps... but that is the extent of the + trouble. You are trying to make things worse, Alexei Petrovitch, for your + own purposes—and God only knows what they are.” + </p> + <p> + He now spoke so quietly that I could scarcely hear his words. He was + leaning forward on the table, resting his head on his hands and looking + gravely at me. + </p> + <p> + “What I can’t understand, Ivan Andreievitch,” he said, + “is why you’re always getting in my way. You did so in + Galicia, and now here you are again. It is not as though you were strong + or wise—no, it is because you are persistent. I admire you in a way, + you know, but now, this time, I assure you that you are making a great + mistake in remaining. You will be able to influence neither Vera + Michailovna nor your bullock of an Englishman when the moment comes. At + the crisis they will never think of you at all, and the end of it simply + will be that all parties concerned will hate you. I don’t wish you + any harm, and I assure you that you will suffer terribly if you stay.... + By the way, Ivan Andreievitch,” his voice suddenly dropped, “you + haven’t ever had—by chance—just by chance—any + photograph of Marie Ivanovna with you, have you? Just by chance, you + know....” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said shortly, “I never had one.” + </p> + <p> + “No—of course—not. I only thought.... But of course you + wouldn’t—no—no.... Well, as I was saying, you’d + better leave us all to our fate. You can’t prevent things—you + can’t indeed.” I looked at him without speaking. He returned + my gaze. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me one thing,” I said, “before I answer you. What + are you doing to Markovitch, Alexei Petrovitch?” + </p> + <p> + “Markovitch!” He repeated the name with an air of surprise as + though he had never heard it before. “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “You have some plan with regard to him,” I said. “What + is it?” + </p> + <p> + He laughed then. “I a plan! My dear Durward, how romantic you always + insist on being! I a plan! Your plunges into Russian psychology are as + naïve as the girl who pays her ten kopecks to see the Fat Woman at the + Fair! Markovitch and I understand one another. We trust one another. He is + a simple fellow, but I trust him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you remember,” I said, “that the other day at the + Jews’ Market you told me the story of the man who tortured his + friend, until the man shot him—simply because he was tired of life + and too proud to commit suicide. Why did you tell me that story?” + </p> + <p> + “Did I tell it you?” he asked indifferently. “I had + forgotten. But it is of no importance. You know, Ivan Andreievitch, that + what I told you before is true.... We don’t want you here any more. + I tell you in a perfectly friendly way. I bear you no malice. But we’re + tired of your sentimentality. I’m not speaking only for myself—I’m + not indeed. We feel that you avoid life to a ridiculous extent, and that + you have no right to talk to us Russians on such a subject. What, for + instance, do you know about women? For years I slept with a different + woman every night of the week—old and young, beautiful and ugly, + some women like men, some like God, some like the gutter. That teaches you + something about women—but only something. Afterwards I found that + there was only one woman—I left all the others like dirty washing—I + was supremely faithful... so I learnt the rest. Now you have never been + faithful nor unfaithful—I’m sure that you have not. Then about + God? When have you ever thought about Him? Why, you are ashamed to mention + His name. If an Englishman speaks of God when other men are present every + one laughs—and yet why? It is a very serious and interesting + question. God exists undoubtedly, and so we must make up our minds about + Him. We must establish some relationship—what it is does not matter—that + is our individual ‘case’—but only the English establish + no relationship and then call it a religion.... And so in this affair of + my family. What does it matter what they do? That is the only thing of + which you think, that they should die or disgrace their name or be unhappy + or quarrel.... Pooh! What are all those things compared with the idea + behind them? If they wish to sacrifice happiness for an idea, that is + their good luck, and no Russian would think of preventing them. But you + come in with your English morality and sentiment, and scream and cry.... + No, Ivan Andreievitch, go home! go home!” + </p> + <p> + I waited to be quite sure that he had finished, and then I said, + </p> + <p> + “That’s all as it may be, Alexei Petrovitch. It may be as you + say. The point is, that I remain here.” + </p> + <p> + He got up from his chair. “You are determined on that?” + </p> + <p> + “I am determined,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing will change you?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it is a battle between us?” + </p> + <p> + “If you like.” + </p> + <p> + “So be it.” + </p> + <p> + I helped him on with his Shuba. He said, in an ordinary conversational + tone, + </p> + <p> + “There may be trouble to-morrow. There’s been shooting by the + Nicholas Station this afternoon, I hear. I should avoid the Nevski + to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “I’m not afraid of that kind of death, Alexei + Petrovitch,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, looking at me. “I will do you justice. + You are not.” + </p> + <p> + He pulled his Shuba close about him. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Ivan Andreievitch,” he said. “It’s + been a very pleasant talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Very,” I answered. “Good-night,” + </p> + <p> + After he had gone I drew back the blinds and let the moonlight flood the + room. + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + I feel conscious, as I approach the centre of my story, that there is an + appearance of uncertainty in the way that I pass from one character to + another. I do not defend that uncertainty. + </p> + <p> + What I think I really feel now, on looking back, is that each of us—myself, + Semyonov, Vera, Nina, Lawrence, Bohun, Grogoff, yes, and the Rat himself—was + a part of a mysterious figure who was beyond us, outside us, and above us + all. The heart, the lungs, the mouth, the eyes... used against our own + human agency, and yet free within that domination for the exercise of our + own free will. Have you never felt when you have been swept into the + interaction of some group of persons that you were being employed as a + part of a figure that without you would be incomplete? The figure is + formed.... For an instant it remains, gigantic, splendid, towering above + mankind, as a symbol, a warning, a judgement, an ideal, a threat. Dimly + you recognise that you have played some part in the creation of that + figure, and that living for a moment, as you have done, in some force + outside your individuality, you have yet expressed that same individuality + more nobly than any poor assertion of your own small lonely figure could + afford. You have been used and now you are alone again.... You were caught + up and united to your fellowmen. God appeared to you—not, as you had + expected, in a vision cut off from the rest of the world, but in a + revelation that you shared and that was only revealed because you were + uniting with others. And yet your individuality was still there, + strengthened, heightened, purified. + </p> + <p> + And the vision of the figure remains.... + </p> + <p> + When I woke on Saturday morning, after my evening with Semyonov, I was + conscious that I was relieved as though I had finally settled some affair + whose uncertainty had worried me. I lay in bed chuckling as though I had + won a triumph over Semyonov, as though I said to myself, “Well, I + needn’t be afraid of him any longer.” It was a most beautiful + day, crystal clear, with a stainless blue sky and the snow like a carpet + of jewels, and I thought I would go and see how the world was behaving. I + walked down the Morskaia, finding it quiet enough, although I fancied that + the faces of the passers-by were anxious and nervous. Nevertheless, the + brilliant sunshine and the clear peaceful beauty of the snow reassured me—the + world was too beautiful and well-ordered a place to allow disturbance. + Then at the corner of the English shop where the Morskaia joins the Nevski + Prospect, I realised that something had occurred. It was as though the + world that I had known so long, and with whom I felt upon such intimate + terms, had suddenly screwed round its face and showed me a new grin. + </p> + <p> + The broad space of the Nevski was swallowed up by a vast crowd, very + quiet, very amiable, moving easily, almost slothfully, in a slowly + stirring stream. + </p> + <p> + As I looked up the Nevski I realised what it was that had given me the + first positive shock of an altered world. The trams had stopped. I had + never seen the Nevski without its trams; I had always been forced to stand + on the brink, waiting whilst the stream of Isvostchicks galloped past and + the heavy, lumbering, coloured elephants tottered along, amiable and slow + and good-natured like everything else in that country. Now the elephants + were gone; the Isvostchicks were gone. So far as my eye could see, the + black stream flooded the shining way. + </p> + <p> + I mingled with the crowd and found myself slowly propelled in an amiable, + aimless manner up the street. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” I asked a cheerful, fat little + “Chinovnik,” who seemed to be tethered to me by some outside + invincible force. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know....” he said. “They’re saying + there’s been some shooting up by the Nicholas Station—but that + was last night. Some women had a procession about food.... <i>Tak oni + gavoryat</i>—so they say.... But I don’t know. People have + just come out to see what they can see....” + </p> + <p> + And so they had—women, boys, old men, little children. I could see + no signs of ill-temper anywhere, only a rather open-mouthed wonder and + sense of expectation. + </p> + <p> + A large woman near me, with a shawl over her head and carrying a large + basket, laughed a great deal. “No, I wouldn’t go,” she + said. “You go and get it for yourself—I’m not coming. + Not I, I was too clever for that.” Then she would turn, shrilly + calling for some child who was apparently lost in the crowd. “Sacha!... + Ah! Sacha!” she cried—and turning again, “Eh! look at + the Cossack!... There’s a fine Cossack!” + </p> + <p> + It was then that I noticed the Cossacks. They were lined up along the side + of the pavement, and sometimes they would suddenly wheel and clatter along + the pavement itself, to the great confusion of the crowd who would scatter + in every direction. + </p> + <p> + They were fine-looking men, and their faces expressed childish and rather + worried amiability. The crowd obviously feared them not at all, and I saw + a woman standing with her hand on the neck of one of the horses, talking + in a very friendly fashion to the soldier who rode it. “That’s + strange,” I thought to myself; “there’s something queer + here.” It was then, just at the entrance of the “Malaia + Koniushennaia,” that a strange little incident occurred. Some fellow—I + could just see his shaggy head, his pale face, and black beard—had + been shouting something, and suddenly a little group of Cossacks moved + towards him and he was surrounded. They turned off with him towards a yard + close at hand. I could hear his voice shrilly protesting; the crowd also + moved behind, murmuring. Suddenly a Cossack, laughing, said something. I + could not hear his words, but every one near me laughed. The little + Chinovnik at my side said to me, “That’s right. They’re + not going to shoot, whatever happens—not on their brothers, they + say. They’ll let the fellow go in a moment. It’s only just for + discipline’s sake. That’s right. That’s the spirit!” + </p> + <p> + “But what about the police?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, the police!” His cheery, good-natured face was suddenly + dark and scowling. “Let them try, that’s all. It’s + Protopopoff who’s our enemy—not the Cossacks.” + </p> + <p> + And a woman near him repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, it’s Protopopoff. Hurrah for the Cossacks!” + </p> + <p> + I was squeezed now into a corner, and the crowd swirled and eddied about + me in a tangled stream, slow, smiling, confused, and excited. I pushed my + way along, and at last tumbled down the dark stone steps into the “Cave + de la Grave,” a little restaurant patronised by the foreigners and + certain middle-class Russians. It was full, and every one was eating his + or her meal very comfortably as though nothing at all were the matter. I + sat down with a young American, an acquaintance of mine attached to the + American Embassy. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a tremendous crowd in the Nevski,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Guess I’m too hungry to trouble about it,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think there’s going to be any trouble?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Course not. These folks are always wandering round. M. Protopopoff + has it in hand all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I suppose he has,” I answered with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to want trouble,” he said, suddenly looking up at + me. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t want trouble,” I answered. “But I’m + sick of this mess, this mismanagement, thievery, lying—one’s + tempted to think that anything would be better—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you believe it,” he said brusquely. “Excuse + me, Durward, I’ve been in this country five years. A revolution + would mean God’s own upset, and you’ve got a war on, haven’t + you?” + </p> + <p> + “They might fight better than ever,” I argued. + </p> + <p> + “Fight!” he laughed. “They’re dam sick of it all, + that’s what they are. And a revolution would leave ‘em like a + lot of silly sheep wandering on to a precipice. But there won’t be + no revolution. Take my word.” + </p> + <p> + It was at that moment that I saw Boris Grogoff come in. He stood in the + doorway looking about him, and he had the strangest air of a man walking + in his sleep, so bewildered, so rapt, so removed was he. He stared about + him, looked straight at me, but did not recognise me; finally, when a + waiter showed him a table, he sat down still gazing in front of him. The + waiter had to speak to him twice before he ordered his meal, and then he + spoke so strangely that the fellow looked at him in astonishment. “Guess + that chap’s seen the Millennium,” remarked my American. + “Or he’s drunk, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + This appearance had the oddest effect on me. It was as though I had been + given a sudden conviction that after all there was something behind this + disturbance. I saw, during the whole of the rest of that day, Grogoff’s + strange face with the exalted, bewildered eyes, the excited mouth, the + body tense and strained as though waiting for a blow. And now, always when + I look back I see Boris Grogoff standing in the doorway of the “Cave + de la Grave” like a ghost from another world warning me. + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon I had a piece of business that took me across the river. + I did my business and turned homewards. It was almost dark, and the ice of + the Neva was coloured a faint green under the grey sky; the buildings rose + out of it like black bubbles poised over a swamp. I was in that strange + quarter of Petrograd where the river seems, like some sluggish octopus, to + possess a thousand coils. Always you are turning upon a new bend of the + ice, secretly stretching into darkness; strange bridges suddenly meet you, + and then, where you had expected to find a solid mass of hideous flats, + there will be a cluster of masts and the smell of tar, and little fierce + red lights like the eyes of waiting beasts. + </p> + <p> + I seemed to stand with ice on every side of me, and so frail was my + trembling wooden bridge that it seemed an easy thing for the ice, that + appeared to press with tremendous weight against its banks, to grind the + supports to fragments. There was complete silence on every side of me. The + street to my left was utterly deserted. I heard no cries nor calls—only + the ice seemed once and again to quiver as though some submerged creature + was moving beneath it. That vast crowd on the Nevski seemed to be a dream. + I was in a world that had fallen into decay and desolation, and I could + smell rotting wood, and could fancy that frozen blades of grass were + pressing up through the very pavement stones. Suddenly an Isvostchick + stumbled along past me, down the empty street, and the bumping rattle of + the sledge on the snow woke me from my laziness. I started off homewards. + When I had gone a little way and was approaching the bridge over the Neva + some man passed me, looked back, stopped and waited for me. When I came up + to him I saw to my surprise that it was the Rat. He had his coat-collar + turned over his ears and his dirty fur cap pulled down over his forehead. + His nose was very red, and his thin hollow cheeks a dirty yellow colour. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening, Barin,” he said, grinning. + </p> + <p> + “Good-evening,” I said. “Where are you slipping off to + so secretly?” + </p> + <p> + “Slipping off?” He did not seem to understand my word. I + repeated it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m not slipping off,” he said almost indignantly. + “No, indeed. I’m just out for a walk like your Honour, to see + the town.” + </p> + <p> + “What have they been doing this afternoon?” I asked. “There’s + been a fine fuss on the Nevski.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there has....” he said, chuckling. “But it’s + nothing to the fuss there will be.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense,” I said. “The police have got it all in + control already. You’ll see to-morrow....” + </p> + <p> + “And the soldiers, Barin?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, the soldiers won’t do anything. Talk’s one thing—action’s + another.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed to himself and seemed greatly amused. This irritated me. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you know?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I know nothing,” he chuckled. “But remember, Barin, in + a week’s time, if you want me I’m your friend. Who knows? In a + week I may be a rich man.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one else’s riches,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” he said. “And why not? Why should he have + things? Is he a better man than I? Possibly—but then it is easy for + a rich man to keep within the law. And then Russia’s meant for the + poor man. However,” he continued, with great contempt in his voice, + “that’s politics—dull stuff. While the others talk I + act.” + </p> + <p> + “And what about the Germans?” I asked him. “Does it + occur to you that when you’ve collected your spoils the Germans will + come in and take them?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you don’t understand us, Barin,” he said, laughing. + “You’re a good man and a kind man, but you don’t + understand us. What can the Germans do? They can’t take the whole of + Russia. Russia’s a big country.... No, if the Germans come there’ll + be more for us to take.” + </p> + <p> + We stood for a moment under a lamp-post. He put his hand on my arm and + looked up at me with his queer ugly face, his sentimental dreary eyes, his + red nose, and his hard, cruel little mouth. + </p> + <p> + “But no one shall touch you—unless it’s myself if I’m + very drunk. But you, knowing me, will understand afterwards that I was at + least not malicious—” + </p> + <p> + I laughed. “And this mysticism that they tell us about in England. + Are you mystical, Rat? Have you a beautiful soul?” + </p> + <p> + He sniffed and blew his nose with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Barin—I + suppose you haven’t a rouble or two on you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t,” I answered. He looked up and down the + bridge as though he were wondering whether an attack on me was worth + while. He saw a policeman and decided that it wasn’t. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-night, Barin,” he said cheerfully. He shuffled + off. I looked at the vast Neva, pale green and dim grey, so silent under + the bridges. The policeman, enormous under his high coat, the sure and + confident guardian of that silent world, came slowly towards me, and I + turned away home. + </p> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + The next day, Sunday, I have always called in my mind Nina’s day, + and so I propose to deal with it here, describing it as far as possible + from her point of view and placing her in the centre of the picture. + </p> + <p> + The great fact about Nina, at the end, when everything has been said, must + always be her youth. That Russian youthfulness is something that no + Western people can ever know, because no Western people are accustomed, + from their very babyhood, to bathe in an atmosphere that deals only with + ideas. + </p> + <p> + In no Russian family is the attempt to prevent children from knowing what + life really is maintained for long; the spontaneous impetuosity of the + parents breaks it down. Nevertheless the Russian boy and girl, when they + come to the awkward age, have not the least idea of what life really is. + Dear me, no! They possess simply a bundle of incoherent ideas, untested, + ill-digested, but a wonderful basis for incessant conversation. Experience + comes, of course, and for the most part it is unhappy experience. + </p> + <p> + Life is a tragedy to every Russian simply because the daily round is + forgotten by him in his pursuit of an ultimate meaning. We in the West + have learnt to despise ultimate meanings as unpractical and rather + priggish things. + </p> + <p> + Nina had thought so much and tested so little. She loved so vehemently + that her betrayal was the more inevitable. For instance, she did not love + Boris Grogoff in the least, but he was in some way connected with the idea + of freedom. She was, I am afraid, beginning to love Lawrence desperately—the + first love of her life—and he too was connected with the idea of + freedom because he was English. We English do not understand sufficiently + how the Russians love us for our easy victory over tyranny, and despise us + for the small use we have made of our victory—and then, after all, + there is something to be said for tyranny too.... + </p> + <p> + But Nina did not see why she should not capture Lawrence. She felt her + vitality, her health, her dominant will beat so strongly within her that + it seemed to her that nothing could stop her. She loved him for his + strength, his silence, his good-nature, yes, and his stupidity. This last + gave her a sense of power over him, and of motherly tenderness too. She + loved his stiff and halting Russian—it was as though he were but ten + years old. + </p> + <p> + I am convinced, too, that she did not consider that she was doing any + wrong to Vera. In the first place she was not as yet really sure that Vera + cared for him. Vera, who had been to her always a mother rather than a + sister, seemed an infinite age. It was ridiculous that Vera should fall in + love—Vera so stately and stern and removed from passion. Those days + were over for Vera, and, with her strong sense of duty and the fitness of + things, she would realise that. Moreover Nina could not believe that + Lawrence cared for Vera. Vera was not the figure to be loved in that way. + Vera’s romance had been with Markovitch years and years ago, and + now, whenever Nina looked at Markovitch, it made it at once impossible to + imagine Vera in any new romantic situation. + </p> + <p> + Then had come the night of the birthday party, and suspicion had at once + flamed up again. She was torn that night and for days afterwards with a + raging jealousy. + </p> + <p> + She hated Vera, she hated Lawrence, she hated herself. Then again her mood + had changed. It was, after all, natural that he should have gone to + protect Vera; she was his hostess; he was English, and did not know how + trivial a Russian scene of temper was. He had meant nothing, and poor + Vera, touched that at her matronly age any one should show her attention, + had looked at him gratefully. + </p> + <p> + That was all. She loved Vera; she would not hurt her with such ridiculous + suspicions, and, on that Friday evening when Semyonov had come to see me, + she had been her old self again, behaving to Vera with all the tenderness + and charm and affection that were her most delightful gifts. + </p> + <p> + On this Sunday morning she was reassured; she was gay and happy and + pleased with the whole world. The excitement of the disturbances of the + last two days provided an emotional background, not too thrilling to be + painful, because, after all, these riots would, as usual, come to nothing, + but it was pleasant to feel that the world was buzzing, and that without + paying a penny one might see a real cinematograph show simply by walking + down the Nevski. + </p> + <p> + I do not know, of course, what exactly happened that morning until + Semyonov came in, but I can see the Markovitch family, like ten thousand + other Petrograd families, assembling somewhere about eleven o’clock + round the Samovar, all in various stages of undress, all sleepy and + pale-faced, and a little befogged, as all good Russians are when, through + the exigencies of sleep, they’ve been compelled to allow their ideas + to escape from them for a considerable period. They discussed, of course, + the disturbances, and I can imagine Markovitch portentously announcing + that “It was all over, he had the best of reasons-for knowing....” + </p> + <p> + As he once explained to me, he was at his worst on Sunday, because he was + then so inevitably reminded of his lost youth. + </p> + <p> + “It’s a gloomy day, Ivan Andreievitch, for all those who have + not quite done what they expected. The bells ring, and you feel that they + ought to mean something to you, but of course one’s gone past all + that.... But it’s a pity....” + </p> + <p> + Nina’s only thought that morning was that Lawrence was coming in the + afternoon to take her for a walk. She had arranged it all. After a very + evident hint from her he had suggested it. Vera had refused, because some + aunts were coming to call, and finally it had been arranged that after the + walk Lawrence should bring Nina home, stay to half-past six dinner, and + that then they should all go to the French theatre. I also was asked to + dinner and the theatre. Nina was sure that something must happen that + afternoon. It would be a crisis.... She felt within her such vitality, + such power, such domination, that she believed that to-day she could + command anything.... She was, poor child, supremely confident, and that + not through conceit or vanity, but simply because she was a fatalist and + believed that destiny had brought Lawrence to her feet.... + </p> + <p> + It was the final proof of her youth that she saw the whole universe + working to fulfil her desire. + </p> + <p> + The other proof of her youth was that she began, for the first time, to + suffer desperately. The most casual mention of Lawrence’s name would + make her heart beat furiously, suffocating her, her throat dry, her cheeks + hot, her hands cold. Then, as the minute of his arrival approached, she + would sit as though she were the centre of a leaping fire that gradually + inch by inch was approaching nearer to her, the flames staring like little + eyes on the watch, the heat advancing and receding in waves like hands. + She hoped that no one would notice her agitation. She talked nonsense to + whomsoever was near to her with little nervous laughs; she seemed to + herself to be terribly unreal, with a fierce hostile creature inside her + who took her heart in his hot hands and pressed it, laughing at her. + </p> + <p> + And then the misery! That little episode at the circus of which I had been + a witness was only the first of many dreadful ventures. She confessed to + me afterwards that she did not herself know what she was doing. And the + final result of these adventures was to encourage her because he had not + repelled her. He <i>must</i> have noticed, she thought, the times when her + hand had touched his, when his mouth had been, so close to hers that their + very thoughts had mingled, when she had felt the stuff of his coat, and + even for an instant stroked it. He <i>must</i> have noticed these things, + and still he had never rebuffed her. He was always so kind to her; she + fancied that his voice had a special note of tenderness in it when he + spoke to her, and when she looked at his ugly, quiet, solid face, she + could not believe that they were not meant for one another. He <i>must</i> + want her, her gaiety, happiness, youth—it would be wrong for him <i>not</i> + to! There could be no girls in that stupid, practical, far-away England + who would be the wife to him that she would be. + </p> + <p> + Then the cursed misery of that waiting! They could hear in their + sitting-room the steps coming up the stone stairs outside their flat, and + every step seemed to be his. Ah, he had come earlier than he had fixed. + Vera had stupidly forgotten, perhaps, or he had found waiting any longer + impossible. Yes, surely that was his footfall; she knew it so well. There, + now he was turning towards the door; there was a pause; soon there would + be the tinkle of the bell!... + </p> + <p> + No, he had mounted higher; it was not Lawrence—only some stupid, + ridiculous creature who was impertinently daring to put her into this + misery of disappointment. And then she would wonder suddenly whether she + had been looking too fixedly at the door, whether they had noticed her, + and she would start and look about her self-consciously, blushing a + little, her eyes hot and suspicious. + </p> + <p> + I can see her in all these moods; it was her babyhood that was leaving her + at last. She was never to be quite so spontaneously gay again, never quite + so careless, so audacious, so casual, so happy. In Russia the awkward age + is very short, very dramatic, often enough very tragic. Nina was as + helpless as the rest of the world. + </p> + <p> + At any rate, upon this Sunday, she was sure of her afternoon. Her eyes + were wild with excitement. Any one who looked at her closely must have + noticed her strangeness, but they were all discussing the events of the + last two days; there were a thousand stories, nearly all of them false and + a few; true facts. + </p> + <p> + No one in reality knew anything except that there had been some + demonstrations, a little shooting, and a number of excited speeches. The + town on that lovely winter morning seemed absolutely quiet. + </p> + <p> + Somewhere about mid-day Semyonov came in, and without thinking about it + Nina suddenly found herself sitting in the window talking to him. This + conversation, which was in its results to have an important influence on + her whole life, continued the development which that eventful Sunday was + to effect in her. Its importance lay very largely in the fact that her + uncle had never spoken to her seriously like a grown-up woman before. + Semyonov was, of course, quite clever enough to realise the change which + was transforming her, and he seized it, at once, for his own advantage. + She, on her side, had always, ever since she could remember, been + intrigued by him. She told me once that almost her earliest memory was + being lifted into the air by her uncle and feeling the thick solid + strength of his grasp, so that she was like a feather in the air, poised + on one of his stubborn fingers; when he kissed her each hair of his beard + seemed like a pale, taut wire, so stiff and resolute was it. Her Uncle + Ivan was a flabby, effeminate creature in comparison. Then, as she had + grown older, she had realised that he was a dangerous man, dangerous to + women, who loved and feared and hated him. Vera said that he had great + power over them and made them miserable, and that he was, therefore, a + bad, wicked man. But this only served to make him, in Nina’s eyes, + the more a romantic figure. + </p> + <p> + However, he had never treated her in the least seriously, had tossed her + in the air spiritually just as he had done physically when she was a baby, + had given her chocolates, taken her once or twice to the cinema, laughed + at her, and, she felt, deeply despised her. Then came the war and he had + gone to the Front, and she had almost forgotten him. Then came the + romantic story of his being deeply in love with a nurse who had been + killed, that he was heartbroken and inconsolable and a changed man. Was it + wonderful that on his return to Petrograd she should feel again that old + Byronic (every Russian is still brought up on Byron) romance? She did not + like him, but—well—Vera was a staid old-fashioned thing.... + Perhaps they all misjudged him; perhaps he really needed comfort and + consolation. He certainly seemed kinder than he used to be. But, until + to-day, he had never talked to her seriously. + </p> + <p> + How her heart leapt into her throat when he began, at once, in his quiet + soft voice, + </p> + <p> + “Well, Nina dear, tell me all about it. I know, so you needn’t + be frightened. I know and I understand.” + </p> + <p> + She flung a terrified glance around her, but Uncle Ivan was reading the + paper at the other end of the room, her brother-in-law was cutting up + little pieces of wood in his workshop, and Vera was in the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” she said in a whisper. “I don’t + understand.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you do,” he answered, smiling at her. “You know, + Nina, you’re in love with the Englishman, and have been for a long + time. Well, why not? Don’t be so frightened about it. It is quite + time that you should be in love with some one, and he’s a fine + strong young man—not over-blessed with brains, but you can supply + that part of it. No, I think it’s a very good match. I like it. + Believe me, I’m your friend, Nina.” He put his hand on hers. + </p> + <p> + He looked so kind, she told me afterwards, that she felt as though she had + never known him before; her eyes were filled with tears, so overwhelming a + relief was it to find some one at last who sympathised and understood and + wanted her to succeed. I remember that she was wearing that day a thin + black velvet necklet with a very small diamond in front of it. She had + been given it by Uncle Ivan on her last birthday, and instead of making + her look grown-up it gave her a ridiculously childish appearance as though + she had stolen into Vera’s bedroom and dressed up in her things. + Then, with her fair tousled hair and large blue eyes, open as a rule with + a startled expression as though she had only just awakened into an + astonishingly exciting world, she was altogether as unprotected and as + guileless and as honest as any human being alive. I don’t know + whether Semyonov felt her innocence and youth—I expect he considered + very little beside the plans that he had then in view.... and innocence + had never been very interesting to him. He spoke to her just as a kind, + wise, thoughtful uncle ought to speak to a niece caught up into her first + love-affair. From the moment of that half-hour’s conversation in the + window Nina adored him, and believed every word that came from his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “You see, Nina dear,” he went on, “I’ve not spoken + to you before because you neither liked me nor trusted me. Quite rightly + you listened to what others said about me—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no,” interrupted Nina. “I never listen to anybody.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then,” said Semyonov, “we’ll say that you + were very naturally influenced by them. And quite right—perfectly + right. You were only a girl then—you are a woman now. I had nothing + to say to you then—now I can help you, give you a little advice + perhaps—” + </p> + <p> + I don’t know what Nina replied. She was breathlessly pleased and + excited. + </p> + <p> + “What I want,” he went on, “is the happiness of you all. + I was sorry when I came back to find that Nicholas and Vera weren’t + such friends as they used to be. I don’t mean that there’s + anything wrong at all, but they must be brought closer together—and + that’s what you and I, who know them and love them, can do—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes,” said Nina eagerly. Semyonov then explained that + the thing that really was, it seemed to him, keeping them apart were + Nicholas’s inventions. Of course Vera had long ago seen that these + inventions were never going to come to anything, that they were simply + wasting Nicholas’s time when he might, by taking an honest clerkship + or something of the kind, be maintaining the whole household, and the very + thought of him sitting in his workshop irritated her. The thing to do, + Semyonov explained, was to laugh Nicholas out of his inventions, to show + him that it was selfish nonsense his pursuing them, to persuade him to + make an honest living. + </p> + <p> + “But I thought,” said Nina, “you approved of them. I + heard you only the other day telling him that it was a good idea, and that + he must go on—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Semyonov. “That was my weakness, I’m + afraid. I couldn’t bear to disappoint him. But it was wrong of me—and + I knew it at the time.” + </p> + <p> + Now Nina had always rather admired her brother-in-law’s inventions. + She had thought it very clever of him to think of such things, and she had + wondered why other people did not applaud him more. + </p> + <p> + Now suddenly she saw that it was very selfish of him to go on with these + things when they never brought in a penny, and Vera had to do all the + drudgery. She was suddenly indignant with him. In how clear a light her + uncle placed things! + </p> + <p> + “One thing to do,” said Semyonov, “is to laugh at him + about them. Not very much, not unkindly, but enough to make him see the + folly of it.” + </p> + <p> + “I think he does see that already, poor Nicholas,” said Nina + with wisdom beyond her years. + </p> + <p> + “To bring Nicholas and Vera together,” said Semyonov, “that’s + what we have to do, you and I. And believe me, dear Nina, I on my side + will do all I can to help you. We are friends, aren’t we?—not + only uncle and niece.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Nina breathlessly. That was all that there was to + the conversation, but it was quite enough to make Nina feel as though she + had already won her heart’s desire. If any one as clever as her + uncle believed in this, then it <i>must</i> be true. It had not been only + her own silly imagination—Lawrence cared for her. Her uncle had seen + it, otherwise he would never have encouraged her—Lawrence cared for + her.... + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, in the happy spontaneity of the moment she did what she very + seldom did, bent forward and kissed him. + </p> + <p> + She told me afterwards that that kiss seemed to displease him. + </p> + <p> + He got up and walked away. + </p> + <h3> + VII + </h3> + <p> + I do not know exactly what occurred during that afternoon. Neither + Lawrence nor Nina spoke about it to me. I only know that Nina returned + subdued and restrained. I can imagine them going out into that quiet town + and walking along the deserted quay; the quiet that afternoon was, I + remember, marvellous. The whole world was holding its breath. Great events + were occurring, but we were removed from them all. The ice quivered under + the sun and the snowclouds rose higher and higher into the blue, and once + and again a bell chimed and jangled.... There was an amazing peace. + Through this peaceful world Nina and Lawrence walked. His mind must, I + know, have been very far away from Nina, probably he saw nothing of her + little attempts at friendship; her gasping sentences that seemed to her so + daring and significant he scarcely heard. His only concern was to endure + the walk as politely as possible and return to Vera. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps if she had not had that conversation with her uncle she would have + realised more clearly how slight a response was made to her, but she + thought only that this was his English shyness and gaucherie—she + must go slowly and carefully. He was not like a Russian. She must not + frighten him. Ah, how she loved him as she walked beside him, seeing and + not seeing the lovely frozen colours of the winter day, the quickly + flooding saffron sky! The first bright star, the great pearl-grey cloud of + the Neva as it was swept into the dark. In the dark she put, I am sure, + her hand on his arm, and felt his strength and took her small hurried + steps beside his long ones. He did not, I expect, feel her hand on his + sleeve at all. It was Vera whom he saw through the dusk. Vera watching the + door for his return, knowing that his eyes would rush to hers, that every + beat of his heart was for her.... + </p> + <p> + I found them all seated at dinner when I entered. I brought them the news + of the shooting up at the Nicholas Station. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps, we had better not go to the theatre,” I said. + “A number of people were killed this afternoon, and all the trams + are stopped.” + </p> + <p> + Still it was all remote from us. They laughed at the idea of not going to + the theatre. The tickets had been bought two weeks ago, and the walk would + be pleasant. Of course we would go. It would be fun, too, to see whether + anything were happening. + </p> + <p> + With how strange a clarity I remember the events of that evening. It is + detached and hangs by itself among the other events of that amazing time, + as though it had been framed and separated for some especial purpose. My + impression of the colour of it now is of a scene intensely quiet. + </p> + <p> + I saw at once on my arrival that Vera was not yet prepared to receive me + back into her friendship. And I saw, too, that she included Lawrence in + this ostracism. She sat there, stiff and cold, smiling and talking simply + because she was compelled, for politeness sake, to do so. She would + scarcely speak to me at all, and when I saw this I turned and devoted + myself to Uncle Ivan, who was always delighted to make me a testing-ground + for his English. + </p> + <p> + But poor Jerry! Had I not been so anxious lest a scene should burst upon + us all I could have laughed at the humour of it. Vera’s attitude was + a complete surprise to him. He had not seen her during the preceding week, + and that absence from her had heightened his desire until it burnt his + very throat with its flame. One glance from her, when he came in, would + have contented him. He could have rested then, happily, quietly; but + instead of that glance she had avoided his eye, her hand was cold and + touched his only for an instant. She had not spoken to him again after the + first greeting. I am sure that he had never known a time when his feelings + threatened to be too much for him. His hold on himself and his emotions + had been complete. “These fellers,” he once said to me about + some Russians, “are always letting their feelings overwhelm them—like + women. And they like it. Funny thing!” Well, funny or no, he + realised it now; his true education, like Nina’s, like Vera’s, + like Bohun’s, like Markovitch’s, perhaps like my own, was only + now beginning. Funny and pathetic, too, to watch his broad, red, genial + face struggling to express a polite interest in the conversation, to show + nothing but friendliness and courtesy. His eyes were as restless as + minnows; they darted for an instant towards Vera, then darted off again, + then flashed back. His hand moved for a plate, and I saw that it was + shaking. Poor Jerry! He had learnt what suffering was during those last + weeks. But the most silent of us all that evening was Markovitch. He sat + huddled over his food and never said a word. If he looked up at all he + glowered, and so soon as he had finished eating he returned to his + workshop, closing the door behind him. I caught Semyonov looking at him + with a pleasant, speculative smile.... + </p> + <p> + At last Vera, Nina, Lawrence, and I started for the theatre. I can’t + say that I was expecting a very pleasant evening, but the deathlike + stillness, both of ourselves and the town did, I confess, startle me. + Scarcely a word was exchanged by us between the English Prospect and Saint + Isaac’s Square. The square looked lovely in the bright moonlight, + and I said something about it. It was indeed very fine, the cathedral like + a hovering purple cloud, the old sentry in his high peaked hat, the black + statue, and the blue shadows over the snow. It was then that Lawrence, + with an air of determined strength, detached Vera from us and walked ahead + with her. I saw that he was talking eagerly to her. + </p> + <p> + Nina said, with a little shudder, “Isn’t it quiet, Durdles? As + though there were ghosts round every corner.” + </p> + <p> + “Hope you enjoyed your walk this afternoon,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No, it was quiet then. But not like it is now. Let’s walk + faster and catch the others up. Do you believe in ghosts, Durdles?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I think I do.” + </p> + <p> + “So do I. Was it true, do you think, about the people being shot at + the Nicholas Station to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps all the dead people are crowding round here now. Why isn’t + any one out walking?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose they are all frightened by what they’ve heard, and + think it better to stay at home.” + </p> + <p> + We were walking down the Morskaia, and our feet gave out a ringing echo. + </p> + <p> + “Let’s keep up with them,” Nina said. When we had joined + the others I found that they were both silent—Lawrence very red, + Vera pale. We were all feeling rather weary. A woman met us. “You + aren’t allowed to cross the Nevski,” she said; “the + Cossacks are stopping everybody.” I can see her now, a stout, + red-faced woman, a shawl over her head, and carrying a basket. Another + woman, a prostitute I should think, came up and joined us. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked us. + </p> + <p> + The stout woman repeated in a trembling, agitated voice, “You aren’t + allowed to cross the Nevski. The Cossacks are stopping everybody.” + </p> + <p> + The prostitute shook her head in her alarm, and little flakes of powder + detached themselves from her nose. “<i>Bozhe moi</i>—<i>bozhe + moi</i>!” she said, “and I promised not to be late.” + </p> + <p> + Vera then, very calmly and quietly, took command of the situation. “We’ll + go and see,” she said, “what is really the truth.” + </p> + <p> + We turned up the side street to the Moika Canal, which lay like powdered + crystal under the moon. Not a soul was in sight. + </p> + <p> + There arrived then one of the most wonderful moments of my life. The + Nevski Prospect, that broad and mighty thoroughfare, stretched before us + like a great silver river. It was utterly triumphantly bare and naked. + Under the moon it flowed, with proud tranquillity, so far as the eye could + see between its high black banks of silent houses. + </p> + <p> + At intervals of about a hundred yards the Cossack pickets, like ebony + statues on their horses, guarded the way. Down the whole silver expanse + not one figure was to be seen; so beautiful was it under the high moon, so + still, so quiet, so proud, that it was revealing now for the first time + its real splendour. At no time of the night or day is the Nevski deserted. + How happy it must have been that night!... + </p> + <p> + For us, it was as though we hesitated on the banks of a river. I felt a + strange superstition, as though something said to me, “You cross + that and you are plunged irrevocably into a new order of events. Go home, + and you will avoid danger.” Nina must have had something of the same + feeling, because she said: + </p> + <p> + “Let’s go home. They won’t let us cross. I don’t + want to cross. Let’s go home.” + </p> + <p> + But Vera said firmly, “Nonsense! We’ve gone so far. We’ve + got the tickets. I’m going on.” + </p> + <p> + I felt the note in her voice, superstitiously, as a kind of desperate + challenge, as though she had said: + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see nothing worse can happen to me than has happened.” + </p> + <p> + Lawrence said roughly, “Of course, we’re going on.” + </p> + <p> + The prostitute began, in a trembling voice, as though we must all of + necessity understand her case: + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to be late this time, because I’ve been + late so often before.... It always is that way with me... always + unfortunate....” + </p> + <p> + We started across, and when we stepped into the shining silver surface we + all stopped for an instant, as though held by an invisible force. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it,” said Vera, speaking it seemed to herself. + “So it always is with us. All revolutions in Russia end this way—” + </p> + <p> + An unmounted Cossack came forward to us. + </p> + <p> + “No hanging about there,” he said. “Cross quickly. No + one is to delay.” + </p> + <p> + We moved to the other side of the Moika bridge. I thought of the Cossacks + yesterday who had assured the people that they would not fire—well, + that impulse had passed. Protopopoff and his men had triumphed. + </p> + <p> + We were all now in the shallows on the other bank of the canal. The + prostitute, who was still at our side, hesitated for a moment, as though + she were going to speak. I think she wanted to ask whether she might walk + with us a little way. Suddenly she vanished without sound, into the black + shadows. + </p> + <p> + “Come along,” said Vera. “We shall be dreadfully late.” + She seemed to be mastered by an overpowering desire not to be left alone + with Lawrence. She hurried forward with Nina, and Lawrence and I came more + slowly behind. We were now in a labyrinth of little streets and black + overhanging flats. Not a soul anywhere—only the moonlight in great + broad flashes of light—once or twice a woman hurried by keeping in + the shadow. Sometimes, at the far end of the street, we saw the shining, + naked Nevski. + </p> + <p> + Lawrence was silent, then, just as we were turning into the square where + the Michailovsky Theatre was he began: + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?... What’s the matter with her, + Durward? What have I done?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that you’ve done anything,” I + answered. + </p> + <p> + “But don’t you see?” he went on. “She won’t + speak to me. She won’t look at me. I won’t stand this long. I + tell you I won’t stand it long. I’ll make her come off with me + in spite of them all. I’ll have her to myself. I’ll make her + happy, Durward, as she’s never been in all her life. But I must have + her.... I can’t live close to her like this, and yet never be with + her. Never alone, never alone. Why is she behaving like this to me?” + </p> + <p> + He spoke really like a man in agony. The words coming from him in little + tortured sentences as though they were squeezed from him desperately, with + pain at every breath that he drew. + </p> + <p> + “She’s afraid of herself, I expect, not of you.” I put + my hand on his sleeve. “Lawrence,” I said, “go home. Go + back to England. This is becoming too much for both of you. Nothing can + come of it, but unhappiness for everybody.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said. “It’s too late for any of your + Platonic advice, Durward. I’m going to have her, even though the + earth turns upside down.” + </p> + <p> + We went up the steps and into the theatre. There was, of course, scarcely + any one there. The Michailovsky is not a large theatre, but the stalls + looked extraordinarily desolate, every seat watching one with a kind of + insolent wink as though, like the Nevski ten minutes before it said, + “Well, now you humans are getting frightened, you’re all + stopping away. We’re coming back to our own!” + </p> + <p> + There was some such malicious air about the whole theatre. Above, in the + circle, the little empty boxes were dim and shadowy, and one fancied + figures moved there, and then saw that there was no one. Someone up in the + gallery laughed, and the laugh went echoing up and down the empty spaces. + A few people came in and sat nervously about, and no one spoke except in a + low whisper, because voices sounded so loud and impertinent. + </p> + <p> + Then again the man in the gallery laughed, and every one looked up + frowning. The play began. It was, I think, <i>Les Idées de Françoise</i>, + but of that I cannot be sure. It was a farce of the regular French type, + with a bedroom off, and marionettes who continually separated into couples + and giggled together. The giggling to-night was of a sadly hollow sort. I + pitied and admired the actors, spontaneous as a rule, but now bravely + stuffing any kind of sawdust into the figures in their hands, but the + leakage was terrible, and the sawdust lay scattered all about the stage. + The four of us sat as solemn as statues—I don’t think one of + us smiled. It was during the second Act that I suddenly laughed. I don’t + know that anything very comic was happening on the stage, but I was aware, + with a kind of ironic subconsciousness, that some of the superior spirits + in their superior Heaven must be deriving a great deal of fun from our + situation. There was Vera thinking, I suppose, of nothing but Lawrence, + and Lawrence thinking of nothing but Vera, and Nina thinking of nothing + but Lawrence, and the audience thinking of their safety, and the players + thinking of their salaries, and Protopopoff at home thinking of his + victory, and the Czar in Tsarskoe thinking of his Godsent autocracy, and + Europe thinking of its ideals, and Germany thinking of its militarism—all + self-justified, all mistaken, and all fulfilling some deeper plan at whose + purpose they could not begin to guess. And how intermingled we all were! + Vera and Nina, M. Robert and Mdlle. Flori on the other side of the + footlights, Trenchard and Marie killed in Galicia, the Kaiser and + Hindenburg, the Archbishop of Canterbury and the postmaster of my village + in Glebeshire. + </p> + <p> + The curtain is coming down, the fat husband is deceived once again, the + lovers are in the bedroom listening behind the door, the comic waiter is + winking at the chamber-maid.... + </p> + <p> + The lights are up and we are alone again in the deserted theatre. + </p> + <p> + Towards the end of the last interval I went out into the passage behind + the stalls to escape from the chastened whispering that went trembling up + and down like the hissing of terrified snakes. I leaned against the wall + in the deserted passage and watched the melancholy figure of the + cloak-room attendant huddled up on a chair, his head between his hands. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I saw Vera. She came up to me as though she were going to walk + past me, and then she stopped and spoke. She talked fast, not looking at + me, but beyond, down the passage. + </p> + <p> + “I’m sorry, Ivan Andreievitch,” she said. “I was + cross the other day. I hurt you. I oughtn’t to have done that.” + </p> + <p> + “You know,” I said, “that I never thought of it for a + minute.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I was wrong. But I’ve been terribly worried during these + last weeks. I’ve thought it all out to-day and I’ve decided—” + there was a catch in her breath and she paused; she went on—“decided + that there mustn’t be any more weakness. I’m much weaker than + I thought. I would be ashamed if I didn’t think that shame was a + silly thing to have. But now I am quite clear; I must make Nicholas and + Nina happy. Whatever else comes I must do that. It has been terrible, + these last weeks. We’ve all been angry and miserable, and now I must + put it right. I can if I try. I’ve been forgetting that I chose my + own life myself, and now I mustn’t be cowardly because it’s + difficult. I will make it right myself....” + </p> + <p> + She paused again, then she said, looking me straight in the face, + </p> + <p> + “Ivan Andreievitch, does Nina care for Mr. Lawrence?” + </p> + <p> + She was looking at me, with large black eyes so simply, with such trust in + me, that I could only tell her the truth. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “she does.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes fell, then she looked up at me again. + </p> + <p> + “I thought so,” she said. “And does he care for her?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, “he does not.” + </p> + <p> + “He must,” she said. “It would be a very happy thing for + them to marry.” + </p> + <p> + She spoke very low, so that I could scarcely hear her words. + </p> + <p> + “Wait, Vera,” I said. “Let it alone. Nina’s very + young. The mood will pass. Lawrence, perhaps, will go back to England.” + </p> + <p> + She drew in her breath and I saw her hand tremble, but she still looked at + me, only now her eyes were not so clear. Then she laughed. “I’m + getting an old woman, Ivan Andreievitch. It’s ridiculous....” + She broke off. Then held out her hand. + </p> + <p> + “But we’ll always be friends now, won’t we? I’ll + never be cross with you again.” + </p> + <p> + I took her hand. “I’m getting old too,” I said. “And + I’m useless at everything. I only make a bungle of everything I try. + But I’ll be your true friend to the end of my time—” + </p> + <p> + The bell rang and we went back into the theatre. + </p> + <h3> + VIII + </h3> + <p> + And yet, strangely enough, when I lay awake that night in my room on my + deserted island, it was of Markovitch that I was thinking. Of all the + memories of the preceding evening that of Markovitch huddled over his + food, sullen and glowering, with Semyonov watching him, was predominant. + </p> + <p> + Markovitch was, so to speak, the dark horse of them all, and he was also + when one came to look at it all the way round the centre of the story. And + yet it was Markovitch with his inconsistencies, his mysteries, his + impulses, and purposes, whom I understood least of them all. He makes, + indeed, a very good symbol of my present difficulties. + </p> + <p> + In that earlier experience of Marie in the forests of Galicia the matter + had been comparatively easy. I had then been concerned with the outward + manifestation of war—cannon, cholera, shell, and the green + glittering trees of the forest itself. But the war had made progress since + then. It had advanced out of material things into the very souls of men. + It was no longer the forest of bark and tinder with which the chiefs of + this world had to deal, but, to adapt the Russian proverb itself, “with + the dark forest of the hearts of men.” + </p> + <p> + How much more baffling and intangible this new forest, and how deeply + serious a business now for those who were still thoughtlessly and + selfishly juggling with human affairs. + </p> + <p> + “There is no ammunition,” I remember crying desperately in + Galicia. We had moved further than the question of ammunition now. + </p> + <p> + I had a strange dream that night. I saw my old forest of two years before—the + very woods of Buchatch with the hot painted leaves, the purple slanting + sunlight, the smell, the cries, the whirr of the shell. But in my dream + the only inhabitant of that forest was Markovitch. He was pursued by some + animal. What beast it was I could not see, always the actual vision was + denied to me, but I could hear it plunging through the thickets, and once + I caught a glimpse of a dark crouching body like a shadow against the + light. + </p> + <p> + But Markovitch I saw all the time, sweating with heat and terror, his + clothes torn, his eyes inflamed, his breath coming in desperate pants, + turning once and again as though he would stop and offer defiance, then + hasting on, his face and hands scratched and bleeding. I wanted to offer + him help and assistance, but something prevented me; I could not get to + him. Finally he vanished from my sight and I was left alone in the painted + forest.... + </p> + <p> + All the next morning I sat and wondered what I had better do, and at last + I decided that I would go and see Henry Bohun. + </p> + <p> + I had not seen Bohun for several weeks. I myself had been, of late, less + to the flat in the English Prospect, but I knew that he had taken my + advice that he should be kind to Nicholas Markovitch with due British + seriousness, and that he had been trying to bring some kind of + relationship about. He had even asked Markovitch to dine alone with him, + and Markovitch, although he declined the invitation was, I believe, + greatly touched. + </p> + <p> + So, about half-past one, I started off for Bohun’s office on the + Fontanka. I’ve said somewhere before, I think, that Bohun’s + work was in connection with the noble but uphill task of enlightening the + Russian public as to the righteousness of the war, the British character, + and the Anglo-Russian alliance. I say “uphill,” because only a + few of the <i>real</i> population of Russia showed the slightest desire to + know anything whatever about any country outside their own. Their interest + is in ideas not in boundaries—and what I mean by “real” + will be made patent by the events of this very day. However, Bohun did his + best, and it was not his fault that the British Government could only + spare enough men and money to cover about one inch of the whole of Russia—and, + I hasten to add, that if that same British Government had plastered the + whole vast country from Archangel to Vladivostock with pamphlets, orators, + and photographs it would not have altered, in the slightest degree, after + events. + </p> + <p> + To make any effect in Russia England needed not only men and money but a + hundred years’ experience of the country. That same experience was + possessed by the Germans alone of all the Western peoples—and they + have not neglected to use it. + </p> + <p> + I went by tram to the Fontanka, and the streets seemed absolutely quiet. + That strange shining Nevski of the night before was a dream. Some one in + the tram said something about rifle-shots in the Summer Garden, but no one + listened. As Vera had said last night we had, none of us, much faith in + Russian revolutions. + </p> + <p> + I went up in the lift to the Propaganda office and found it a very nice + airy place, clean and smart, with coloured advertisements by Shepperson + and others on the walls, pictures of Hampstead and St. Albans and Kew + Gardens that looked strangely satisfactory and homely to me, and rather + touching and innocent. There were several young women clicking away at + typewriters, and maps of the Western front, and a colossal toy map of the + London Tube, and a nice English library with all the best books from + Chaucer to D.H. Lawrence and from the <i>Religio Medici</i> to E.V. Lucas’ + <i>London</i>. + </p> + <p> + Everything seemed clean and simple and a little deserted, as though the + heart of the Russian public had not, as yet, quite found its way there. I + think “guileless” was the adjective that came to my mind, and + certainly Burrows, the head of the place—a large, red-faced, smiling + man with glasses—seemed to me altogether too cheerful and pleased + with life to penetrate the wicked recesses of Russian pessimism. + </p> + <p> + I went into Bohun’s room and found him very hard at work in a + serious, emphatic way which only made me feel that he was playing at it. + He had a little bookcase over his table, and I noticed the <i>Georgian + Book of Verse</i>, Conrad’s <i>Nostromo</i>, and a translation of + Ropshin’s <i>Pale Horse</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Altogether too pretty and literary,” I said to him; “you + ought to be getting at the peasant with a pitchfork and a hammer—not + admiring the Intelligentzia.” + </p> + <p> + “I daresay you’re right,” he said, blushing. “But + whatever we do we’re wrong. We have fellows in here cursing us all + day. If we’re simple we’re told we’re not clever enough; + if we’re clever we’re told we’re too complicated. If we’re + militant we’re told we ought to be tender-hearted, and if we’re + tender-hearted we’re told we’re sentimental—and at the + end of it all the Russians don’t care a damn.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I daresay you’re doing some good somewhere,” I + said indulgently. + </p> + <p> + “Come and look at my view,” he said, “and see whether it + isn’t splendid.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke no more than the truth. We looked across the Canal over the roofs + of the city—domes and towers and turrets, grey and white and blue, + with the dark red walls of many of the older houses stretched like an + Arabian carpet beneath white bubbles of clouds that here and there marked + the blue sky. It was a scene of intense peace, the smoke rising from the + chimneys, Isvostchicks stumbling along on the farther banks of the Canal, + and the people sauntering in their usual lazy fashion up and down the + Nevski. Immediately below our window was a skating-rink that stretched + straight across the Canal. There were some figures, like little dolls, + skating up and down, and they looked rather desolate beside the deserted + band-stands and the empty seats. On the road outside our door a cart + loaded with wood slowly moved along, the high hoop over the horse’s + back gleaming with red and blue. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it <i>is</i> a view!” I said. “Splendid!—and + all as quiet as though there’d been no disturbances at all. Have you + heard any news?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Bohun. “To tell the truth I’ve been so + busy that I haven’t had time to ring up the Embassy. And we’ve + had no one in this morning. Monday morning, you know,” he added; + “always very few people on Monday morning”—as though he + didn’t wish me to think that the office was always deserted. + </p> + <p> + I watched the little doll-like men circling placidly round and round the + rink. One bubble cloud rose and slowly swallowed up the sun. Suddenly I + heard a sharp crack like the breaking of a twig. “What’s that?” + I said, stepping forward on to the balcony. “It sounded like a shot.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t hear anything,” said Bohun. “You get + funny echoes up here sometimes.” We stepped back into Bohun’s + room and, if I had had any anxieties, they would at once, I think, have + been reassured by the unemotional figure of Bohun’s typist, a gay + young woman with peroxide hair, who was typing away as though for her very + life. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Bohun, can I talk to you alone for a minute?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + The peroxide lady left us. + </p> + <p> + “It’s just about Markovitch I wanted to ask you,” I went + on. “I’m infernally worried, and I want your help. It may seem + ridiculous of me to interfere in another family like this, with people + with whom I have, after all, nothing to do. But there are two reasons why + it isn’t ridiculous. One is the deep affection I have for Nina and + Vera. I promised them my friendship, and now I’ve got to back that + promise. And the other is that you and I are really responsible for + bringing Lawrence into the family. They never would have known him if it + hadn’t been for us. There’s danger and trouble of every sort + brewing, and Semyonov, as you know, is helping it on wherever he can. + Well, now, what I want to know is, how much have you seen of Markovitch + lately, and has he talked to you?” + </p> + <p> + Bohun considered. “I’ve seen very little of him,” he + said at last. “I think he avoids me now. He’s such a weird + bird that it’s impossible to tell of what he’s really + thinking. I know he was pleased when I asked him to dine with me at the + Bear the other night. He looked <i>most awfully</i> pleased. But he wouldn’t + come. It was as though he suspected that I was laying a trap for him.” + </p> + <p> + “But what have you noticed about him otherwise?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ve seen very little of him. He’s sulky just + now. He suspected Lawrence, of course—always after that night of + Nina’s party. But I think that he’s reassured again. And of + course it’s all so ridiculous, because there’s nothing to + suspect, absolutely nothing—is there?” + </p> + <p> + “Absolutely nothing,” I answered firmly. + </p> + <p> + He sighed with relief. “Oh, you don’t know how glad I am to + hear that,” he said. “Because, although I’ve <i>known</i> + that it was all right, Vera’s been so odd lately that I’ve + wondered—you know how I care about Vera and—” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean—odd?” I sharply interrupted. + </p> + <p> + “Well—for instance—of course I’ve told nobody—and + you won’t tell any one either—but the other night I found her + crying in the flat, sitting up near the table, sobbing her heart out. She + thought every one was out—I’d been in my room and she hadn’t + known. But Vera, Durward—Vera of all people! I didn’t let her + see me—she doesn’t know now that I heard her. But when you + care for any one as I care for Vera, it’s awful to think that she + can suffer like that and one can do nothing. Oh, Durward, I wish to God I + wasn’t so helpless! You know before I came out to Russia I felt so + old; I thought there was nothing I couldn’t do, that I was good + enough for anybody. And now I’m the most awful ass. Fancy, Durward! + Those poems of mine—I thought they were wonderful. I thought—” + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted by a sudden sharp crackle like a fire bursting into a + blaze quite close at hand. We both sprang to the windows, threw them open + (they were not sealed, for some unknown reason), and rushed out on to the + balcony. The scene in front of us was just what it had been before—the + bubble clouds were still sailing lazily before the blue, the skaters were + still hovering on the ice, the cart of wood that I had noticed was + vanishing slowly into the distance. But from the Liteiny—just over + the bridge—came a confused jumble of shouts, cries, and then the + sharp, unmistakable rattle of a machine-gun. It was funny to see the + casual life in front of one suddenly pause at that sound. The doll-like + skaters seemed to spin for a moment and then freeze; one figure began to + run across the ice. A small boy came racing down our street shouting. + Several men ran out from doorways and stood looking up into the sky, as + though they thought the noise had come from there. The sun was just + setting; the bubble clouds were pink, and windows flashed fire. The rattle + of the machine-gun suddenly stopped, and there was a moment’s + silence when the only sound in the whole world was the clatter of the + wood-cart turning the corner. I could see to the right of me the crowds in + the Nevski, that had looked like the continual unwinding of a ragged skein + of black silk, break their regular movement and split up like flies + falling away from an opening door. + </p> + <p> + We were all on the balcony by now—the stout Burrows, Peroxide, and + another lady typist, Watson, the thin and most admirable secretary (he + held the place together by his diligence and order), two Russian clerks, + Henry, and I. + </p> + <p> + We all leaned over the railings and looked down into the street beneath + us. To our left the Fontanka Bridge was quite deserted—then, + suddenly, an extraordinary procession poured across it. At that same + moment (at any rate it seems so now to me on looking back) the sun + disappeared, leaving a world of pale grey mist shot with gold and purple. + The stars were, many of them, already out, piercing with their sharp cold + brilliance the winter sky. + </p> + <p> + We could not at first see of what exactly the crowd now pouring over the + bridge was composed. Then, as it turned and came down our street, it + revealed itself as something so theatrical and melodramatic as to be + incredible. Incredible, I say, because the rest of the world was not + theatrical with it. That was always to be the amazing feature of the new + scene into which, without knowing it, I was at that moment stepping. In + Galicia the stage had been set—ruined villages, plague-stricken + peasants, shell-holes, trenches, roads cut to pieces, huge trees levelled + to the ground, historic châteaux pillaged and robbed. But here the world + was still the good old jog-trot world that one had always known; the shops + and hotels and theatres remained as they had always been. There would + remain, I believe, for ever those dull Jaeger undergarments in the windows + of the bazaar, and the bound edition of Tchekov in the book-shop just + above the Moika, and the turtle and the gold-fish in the aquarium near + Elisseieff; and whilst those things were there I could not believe in + melodrama. + </p> + <p> + And we did not believe. We dug our feet into the snow, and leaned over the + balcony railings absorbed with amused interest. The procession consisted + of a number of motor lorries, and on these lorries soldiers were heaped. I + can use no other word because, indeed, they seemed to be all piled upon + one another, some kneeling forward, some standing, some sitting, and all + with their rifles pointing outwards until the lorries looked like + hedgehogs. Many of the rifles had pieces of red cloth attached to them, + and one lorry displayed proudly a huge red flag that waved high in air + with a sort of flaunting arrogance of its own. On either side of the + lorries, filling the street, was the strangest mob of men, women, and + children. There seemed to be little sign of order or discipline amongst + them as they were all shouting different cries: “Down the Fontanka!” + “No, the Duma!” “To the Nevski!” “No, no, <i>Tovaristchi</i> + (comrades), to the Nicholas Station!” + </p> + <p> + Such a rabble was it that I remember that my first thought was of pitying + indulgence. So this was the grand outcome of Boris Grogoff’s + eloquence, and the Rat’s plots for plunder!—a fitting climax + to such vain dreams. I saw the Cossack, that ebony figure of Sunday night. + Ten such men, and this rabble was dispersed for ever! I felt inclined to + lean over and whisper to them, “Quick! quick! Go home!... They’ll + be here in a moment and catch you!” + </p> + <p> + And yet, after all, there seemed to be some show of discipline. I noticed + that, as the crowd moved forward, men dropped out and remained picketing + the doorways of the street. Women seemed to be playing a large part in the + affair, peasants with shawls over their heads, many of them leading by the + hand small children. + </p> + <p> + Burrows treated it all as a huge joke. “By Jove,” he cried, + speaking across to me, “Durward, it’s like that play Martin + Harvey used to do—what was it?—about the French Revolution, + you know.” + </p> + <p> + “‘The Only Way,’” said Peroxide, in a prim + strangled voice. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it—‘The Only Way’—with their + red flags and all. Don’t they look ruffians, some of them?” + </p> + <p> + There was a great discussion going on under our windows. All the lorries + had drawn up together, and the screaming, chattering, and shouting was + like the noise of a parrots’ aviary. The cold blue light had climbed + now into the sky, which was thick with stars; the snow on the myriad roofs + stretched like a filmy cloud as far as the eye could see. The moving, + shouting crowd grew with every moment mistier. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear! Mr. Burrows,” said the little typist, who was not + Peroxide. “Do you think I shall ever be able to get home? We’re + on the other side of the river, you know. Do you think the bridges will be + up? My mother will be so terribly anxious.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’ll get home all right,” answered Burrows + cheerfully. “Just wait until this crowd has gone by. I don’t + expect there’s any fuss down by the river...” + </p> + <p> + His words were cut short by some order from one of the fellows below. + Others shouted in response, and the lorries again began to move forward. + </p> + <p> + “I believe he was shouting to us,” said Bohun. “It + sounded like ‘Get off’ or ‘Get away.’” + </p> + <p> + “Not he!” said Burrows; “they’re too busy with + their own affairs.” + </p> + <p> + Then things happened quickly. There was a sudden strange silence below; I + saw a quick flame from some fire that had apparently been lit on the + Fontanka Bridge; I heard the same voice call out once more sharply, and a + second later I felt rather than heard a whizz like the swift flight of a + bee past my ear; I was conscious that a bullet had struck the brick behind + me. That bullet swung me into the Revolution.... + </p> + <h3> + IX + </h3> + <p> + ...We were all gathered together in the office. I heard one of the + Russians say in an agitated whisper, “Don’t turn on the + light!... Don’t turn on the light! They can see!” + </p> + <p> + We were all in half-darkness, our faces mistily white. I could hear + Peroxide breathing in a tremulous manner, as though in a moment she would + break into hysteria. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll go into the inside room. We can turn the light on + there,” said Burrows. We all passed into the reception-room of the + office, a nice airy place with the library along one wall and bright + coloured maps on the other. We stood together and considered the matter. + </p> + <p> + “It’s real!” said Burrows, his red, cheery face + perplexed and strained. “Who’d have thought it?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course it’s real!” cried Bohun impatiently (Burrows’ + optimism had been often difficult to bear with indulgence). + </p> + <p> + “Now you see! What about your beautiful Russian mystic now?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear!” cried the little Russian typist. “And my + mother!... What ever shall I do? She’ll hear reports and think that + I’m being murdered. I shall never get across.” + </p> + <p> + “You’d better stay with me to-night, Miss Peredonov,” + said Peroxide firmly. “My flat’s quite close here in + Gagarinsky. We shall be delighted to have you.” + </p> + <p> + “You can telephone to your mother, Miss Peredonov,” said + Burrows. “No difficulty at all.” + </p> + <p> + It was then that Bohun took me aside. + </p> + <p> + “Look here!” he said. “I’m worried. Vera and Nina + were going to the Astoria to have tea with Semyonov this afternoon. I + should think the Astoria might be rather a hot spot if this spreads. And I + wouldn’t trust Semyonov. Will you come down with me there now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “of course I’ll come.” + </p> + <p> + We said a word to Burrows, put on our Shubas and goloshes, and started + down the stairs. At every door there were anxious faces. Out of one flat + came a very fat Jew. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, what is this all about?” + </p> + <p> + “Riots,” said Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “Is there shooting?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Bozhe moi! Bozhe moi!</i> And I live over on Vassily Ostrov! + What do you advise, <i>Gaspoda</i>? Will the bridges be up?” + </p> + <p> + “Very likely,” I answered. “I should stay here.” + </p> + <p> + “And they are shooting?” he asked again. + </p> + <p> + “They are,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen, gentlemen—stay for a moment. Perhaps together we + could think.... I am all alone here except for a lady... most + unfortunate....” + </p> + <p> + But we could not stay. + </p> + <p> + The world into which we stepped was wonderful. The background of snow + under the star-blazing sky made it even more fantastic than it naturally + was. We slipped into the crowd and, becoming part of it, were at once, as + one so often is, sympathetic with it. It seemed such a childish, helpless, + and good-natured throng. No one seemed to know anything of arms or + directions. There were, as I have already said, many women and little + children, and some of the civilians who had rifles looked quite helpless. + I saw one boy holding his gun upside down. No one paid any attention to + us. There was as yet no class note in the demonstration, and the only + hostile cries I heard were against Protopopoff and the police. We moved + back into the street behind the Fontanka, and here I saw a wonderful + sight. Some one had lighted a large bonfire in the middle of the street + and the flames tossed higher and higher into the air, bringing down the + stars in flights of gold, flinging up the snow until it seemed to radiate + in lines and circles of white light high over the very roofs of the + houses. In front of the fire a soldier, mounted on a horse, addressed a + small crowd of women and boys. On the end of his rifle was a ragged red + cloth. + </p> + <p> + I could not see his face. I saw his arms wave, and the fire behind him + exaggerated his figure and then dropped it into a straggling silhouette + against the snow. The street seemed deserted except for this group, + although now I could hear distant shouting on every side of me, and the + monotonous clap-clap-clap-clap of a machine-gun. + </p> + <p> + I heard him say, “<i>Tovaristchi!</i> now is your time! Don’t + hesitate in the sacred cause of freedom! As our brethren did in the famous + days of the French Revolution, so must we do now. All the Army is coming + over to our side. The Preobrojenski have come over to us and have arrested + their officers and taken their arms. We must finish with Protopopoff and + our other tyrants, and see that we have a just rule. <i>Tovaristchi</i>! + there will never be such a chance again, and you will repent for ever if + you have not played your part in the great fight for freedom!” + </p> + <p> + So it went on. It did not seem that his audience was greatly impressed. It + was bewildered and dazed. But the fire leapt up behind him giving him a + legendary splendour, and the whole picture was romantic and unreal like a + gaudy painting on a coloured screen. + </p> + <p> + We hurried through into the Nevski, and this we found nearly deserted. The + trams of course had stopped, a few figures hurried along, and once an + Isvostchick went racing down towards the river. + </p> + <p> + “Well, now, we seem to be out of it,” said Bohun, with a sigh + of relief. “I must say I’m not sorry. I don’t mind + France, where you can tell which is the front and which the back, but this + kind of thing does get on one’s nerves. I daresay it’s only + local. We shall find them all as easy as anything at the Astoria, and + wondering what we’re making a fuss about.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment we were joined by an English merchant whom we both knew, a + stout elderly man who had lived all his life in Russia. I was surprised to + find him in a state of extreme terror. I had always known him as a calm, + conceited, stupid fellow, with a great liking for Russian ladies. This + pastime he was able as a bachelor to enjoy to the full. Now, however, + instead of the ruddy, coarse, self-confident merchant there was a pallid, + trembling jelly-fish. + </p> + <p> + “I say, you fellows,” he asked, catching my arm. “Where + are you off to?” + </p> + <p> + “We’re off to the Astoria,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Let me come with you. I’m not frightened, not at all—all + the same I don’t want to be left alone. I was in the 1905 affair. + That was enough for me. Where are they firing—do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “All over the place,” said Bohun, enjoying himself. “They’ll + be down here in a minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Good God! Do you really think so? It’s terrible—these + fellows—once they get loose they stick at nothing.... I remember in + 1905.... Good heavens! Where had we better go? It’s very exposed + here, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very exposed everywhere,” said Bohun. “I + doubt whether any of us are alive in the morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens! You don’t say so! Why should they interfere + with us?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, rich, you know, and that kind of thing. And then we’re + Englishmen. They’ll clear out all the English.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m not really English. My mother was Russian. I could + show them my papers....” + </p> + <p> + Bohun laughed. “I’m only kidding you, Watchett,” he + said. “We’re safe enough. Look, there’s not a soul + about!” We were at the corner of the Moika now; all was absolutely + quiet. Two women and a man were standing on the bridge talking together. A + few stars clustered above the bend of the Canal seemed to shift and waver + ever so slightly through a gathering mist, like the smoke of blowing + candles. + </p> + <p> + “It seems all right,” said the merchant, sniffing the air + suspiciously as though he expected to smell blood. We turned towards the + Morskaia. One of the women detached herself from the group and came to us. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go down the Morskaia,” she said, whispering, as + though some hostile figure were leaning over her shoulder. “They’re + firing round the Telephone Exchange.” Even as she spoke I heard the + sharp clatter of the machine-gun break out again, but now very close, and + with an intimate note as though it were the same gun that I had heard + before, which had been tracking me down round the town. + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear that?” said the merchant. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” said Bohun. “We’ll go down the Moika. + That seems safe enough!” + </p> + <p> + How strangely in the flick of a bullet the town had changed! Yesterday + every street had been friendly, obvious, and open; they were now no longer + streets, but secret blind avenues with strange trees, fantastic doors, + shuttered windows, a grinning moon, malicious stars, and snow that lay + there simply to prevent every sound. It was a town truly beleaguered as + towns are in dreams. The uncanny awe with which I moved across the bridge + was increased when the man with the women turned towards me, and I saw + that he was—or seemed to be—that same grave bearded peasant + whom I had seen by the river, whom Henry had seen in the Cathedral, who + remained with one, as passing strangers sometimes do, like a symbol or a + message or a threat. + </p> + <p> + He stood, with the Nevski behind him, calm and grave, and even it seemed a + little amused, watching me as I crossed. I said to Bohun, “Did you + ever see that fellow before?” + </p> + <p> + Bohun turned and looked. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you remember? The man that first day in the Kazan?” + </p> + <p> + “They’re all alike,” Bohun said. “One can’t + tell....” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come on,” said the merchant. “Let’s get to + the Astoria.” + </p> + <p> + We started down the Moika, past that faded picture-shop where there are + always large moth-eaten canvases of cornfields under the moon and Russian + weddings and Italian lakes. We had got very nearly to the little street + with the wooden hoardings when the merchant gripped my arm. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” he gulped. The silence now was intense. + We could not hear the machine-gun nor any shouting. The world was like a + picture smoking under a moon now red and hard. Against the wall of the + street two women were huddled, one on her knees, her head pressed against + the thighs of the other, who stood stretched as though crucified, her arms + out, staring on to the Canal. Beside a little kiosk, on the space exactly + in front of the side street, lay a man on his face. His bowler-hat had + rolled towards the kiosk; his arms were stretched out so that he looked + oddly like the shadow of the woman against the wall. + </p> + <p> + Instead of one hand there was a pool of blood. The other hand with all the + fingers stretched was yellow against the snow. + </p> + <p> + As we came up a bullet from the Morskaia struck the kiosk. + </p> + <p> + The woman, not moving from the wall, said, “They’ve shot my + husband... he did nothing.” + </p> + <p> + The other woman, on her knees, only cried without ceasing. + </p> + <p> + The merchant said, “I’m going back—to the Europe,” + and he turned and ran. + </p> + <p> + “What’s down that street?” I said to the woman, as + though I expected her to say “Hobgoblins.” Bohun said, “This + is rather beastly.... We ought to move that fellow out of that. He may be + alive still.” + </p> + <p> + And how silly such a sentence when only yesterday, just here, there was + the beggar who sold boot-laces, and just there, where the man lay, an old + muddled Isvostchick asleep on his box! + </p> + <p> + We moved forward, and instantly it was as though I were in the middle of a + vast desert quite alone with all the hosts of heaven aiming at me + malicious darts. As I bent down my back was so broad that it stretched + across Petrograd, and my feet were tiny like frogs. + </p> + <p> + We pulled at the man. His head rolled and his face turned over, and the + mouth was full of snow. It was so still that I whispered, whether to Bohun + or myself, “God, I wish somebody would shout!” Then I heard + the wood of the kiosk crack, ever so slightly, like an opening door, and + panic flooded me as I had never known it do during all my time at the + Front. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve no strength,” I said to Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “Pull for God’s sake!” he answered. We dragged the body + a little way; my hand clutched the thigh, which was hard and cold under + the stuff of his clothing. His head rolled round, and his eyes now were + covered with snow. We dragged him, and he bumped grotesquely. We had him + under the wall, near the two women, and the blood welled out and dripped + in a spreading pool at the women’s feet. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Bohun, “we’ve got to run for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” said I, as though I were making a sudden + discovery, “I don’t think I can.” I leaned back against + the wall and looked at the pool of blood near the kiosk where the man had + been. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but you’ve got to,” said Bohun, who seemed to feel + no fear. “We can’t stay here all night.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I know,” I answered. “But the trouble is—I’m + not myself.” And I was not. That <i>was</i> the trouble. I was not + John Durward at all. Some stranger was here with a new heart, poor + shrivelled limbs, an enormous nose, a hot mouth with no eyes at all. This + stranger had usurped my clothes and he refused to move. He was tied to the + wall and he would not obey me. + </p> + <p> + Bohun looked at me. “I say, Durward, come on, it’s only a + step. We must get to the Astoria.” + </p> + <p> + But the picture of the Astoria did not stir me. I should have seen Nina + and Vera waiting there, and that should have at once determined me. So it + would have been had I been myself. This other man was there.... Nina and + Vera meant nothing to him at all. But I could not explain that to Bohun. + “I can’t go...” I saw Bohun’s eyes—I was + dreadfully ashamed. “You go on...” I muttered. I wanted to + tell him that I did not think that I could endure to feel again that awful + expansion of my back and the turning my feet into toads. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I can’t leave you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + And suddenly I sprang back into my own clothes again. I flung the + charlatan out and he flumped off into air. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” I said, and I ran. No bullets whizzed past us. I + was ashamed of running, and we walked quite quietly over the rest of the + open space. + </p> + <p> + “Funny thing,” I said, “I was damned frightened for a + moment.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s the silence and the houses,” said Bohun. + </p> + <p> + Strangely enough I remember nothing between that moment and our arrival at + the Astoria. We must have skirted the Canal, keeping in the shadow of the + wall, then crossed the Saint Isaac’s Square. The next thing I can + recall is our standing, rather breathless, in the hall of the Astoria, and + the first persons I saw there were Vera and Nina, together at the bottom + of the staircase, saying nothing, waiting. + </p> + <p> + In front of them was a motley crowd of Russian officers all talking and + gesticulating together. I came nearer to Vera and at once I said to + myself, “Lawrence is here somewhere.” She was standing, her + head up, watching the doors, her eyes glowed with anticipation, her lips + were a little parted. She never moved at all, but was so vital that the + rest of the people seemed dolls beside her. As we came towards them Nina + turned round and spoke to some one, and I saw that it was Semyonov who + stood at the bottom of the staircase, his thick legs apart, stroking his + beard with his hand. + </p> + <p> + We came forward and Nina began at once— + </p> + <p> + “Durdles—tell us! What’s happened?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” I answered. The lights after the dark + and the snow bewildered me, and the noise and excitement of the Russian + officers were deafening. + </p> + <p> + Nina went on, her face lit. “Can’t you tell us anything? We + haven’t heard a word. We came just in an ordinary way about four o’clock. + There wasn’t a sound, and then, just as we were sitting down to tea, + they all came bursting in, saying that all the officers were being + murdered, and that Protopopoff was killed, and that—” + </p> + <p> + “That’s true anyway,” said a young Russian officer, + turning round to us excitedly. “I had it from a friend of mine who + was passing just as they stuck him in the stomach. He saw it all; they + dragged him out of his house and stuck him in the stomach—” + </p> + <p> + “They say the Czar’s been shot,” said another officer, a + fat, red-faced man with very bright red trousers, “and that + Rodziancko’s formed a government...” + </p> + <p> + I heard on every side such words as “People—Rodziancko —Protopopoff—Freedom,” + and the officer telling his tale again. “And they stuck him in the + stomach just as he was passing his house...” + </p> + <p> + Through all this tale Vera never moved. I saw, to my surprise, that + Lawrence was there now, standing near her but never speaking. Semyonov + stood on the stairs watching. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly I saw that she wanted me. + </p> + <p> + “Ivan Andreievitch,” she said, “will you do something + for me?” She spoke very low, and her eyes did not look at me, but + beyond us all out to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Will you keep Alexei Petrovitch here? Mr. Lawrence and Mr. Bohun + can see us home. I don’t want him to come with us. Will you ask him + to wait and speak to you?” + </p> + <p> + I went up to him. “Semyonov,” I said, “I want a word + with you, if I may—” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” he said, with that irritating smile of his, as + though he knew exactly of what I was thinking. + </p> + <p> + We moved up the dark stairs. As we went I heard Vera’s clear, calm + voice: + </p> + <p> + “Will you see us home, Mr. Lawrence?... I think it’s quite + safe to go now.” + </p> + <p> + We stopped on the first floor under the electric light. There were two + easy-chairs there, with a dusty palm behind them. We sat down. + </p> + <p> + “You haven’t really got anything to say to me,” he + began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, I have,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No... You simply suggested conversation because Vera asked you to + do so.” + </p> + <p> + “I suggested a conversation,” I answered, “because I had + something of some seriousness to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, she needn’t have been afraid,” he went on. + “I wasn’t going home with them. I want to stop and watch these + ridiculous people a little longer.... What had you got to say, my + philosophical, optimistic friend?” + </p> + <p> + He looked quite his old self, sitting stockily in the chair, his strong + thighs pressing against the cane as though they’d burst it, his + thick square beard more wiry than ever, and his lips red and shining. He + seemed to have regained his old self-possession and confidence. + </p> + <p> + “What I wanted to say,” I began, “is that I’m + going to tell you once more to leave Markovitch alone. I know the other + day—that alone—” + </p> + <p> + “Oh <i>that</i>!” he brushed it aside impatiently. “There + are bigger things than that just now, Durward. You lack, as I have always + said, two very essential things, a sense of humour and a sense of + proportion. And you pretend to know Russia whilst you are without those + two admirable gifts! + </p> + <p> + “However, let us forget personalities.... There are better things + here!” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke two young Russian officers came tumbling up the stairs. They + were talking excitedly, not listening to one another, red in the face and + tripping over their swords. They went up to the next floor, their voices + very shrill. + </p> + <p> + “So much for your sentimental Russia,” said Semyonov. He spoke + very quietly. “How I shall love to see these fools all toppled over, + and then the fools who toppled them toppled in their turn. + </p> + <p> + “Durward, you’re a fool too, but you’re English, and at + least you’ve got a conscience. I tell you, you’ll see in these + next months such cowardice, such selfishness, such meanness, such + ignorance as the world has never known—and all in the name of + Freedom! Why, they’re chattering about freedom already downstairs as + hard as they can go!” + </p> + <p> + “As usual, Semyonov,” I answered hotly, “you believe in + the good of no one. If there’s really a Revolution coming, which I + still doubt, it may lead to the noblest liberation.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’re an ass!” he interrupted quietly. “Nobility + and the human race! I tell you, Ivan Andreievitch of the noble character, + that the human race is rotten; that it is composed of selfishness, vice, + and meanness; that it is hypocritical beyond the bounds of hypocrisy, and + that of all mean cowardly nations on this earth the Russian nation is the + meanest and most cowardly!... That fine talk of ours that you English + slobber over!—a mere excuse for idleness, and you’ll know it + before another year is through. I despise mankind with a contempt that + every day’s fresh experience only the more justifies. Only once have + I found some one who had a great soul, and she, too, if I had secured her, + might have disappointed me.... No, my time is coming. I shall see at last + my fellowmen in their true colours, and I shall even perhaps help them to + display them. My worthy Markovitch, for example—” + </p> + <p> + “What about Markovitch?” I asked sharply. + </p> + <p> + He got up, smiling. He put his hand on my shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “He shall be driven by ghosts,” he answered, and turned off to + the stairs. + </p> + <p> + He looked back for a moment. “The funny thing is, I like you, + Durward,” he said. + </p> + <h3> + X + </h3> + <p> + I remember very little of my return to my island that night. The world was + horribly dark and cold, the red moon had gone, and a machine-gun pursued + me all the way home like a barking dog. I crossed the bridge frankly with + nerves so harassed, with so many private anxieties and so much public + apprehension, with so overpowering a suspicion that every shadow held a + rifle that my heart leapt in my breast, and I was suddenly sick with fear + when some one stepped across the road and put his hand on my arm. You see + I have nothing much to boast about myself. My relief was only slightly + modified when I saw that it was the Rat. The Rat had changed! He stood, as + though on purpose under the very faint grey light of the lamp at the end + of the bridge, and seen thus, he did in truth seem like an apparition. He + was excited of course, but there was more in his face than that. The real + truth about him was, that he was filled with some determination, some + purpose. He was like a child who is playing at being a burglar, his face + had exactly that absorption, that obsessing pre-occupation. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve been waiting for you, Barin,” he said in his + hoarse musical voice. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “This is where I live,” he said, and he showed me a very dirty + piece of paper. “I think you ought to know.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” I asked him. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Kto snaiet</i>? (who knows?) The Czar’s gone and we are + all free men....” + </p> + <p> + I felt oddly that suddenly now he knew himself my master. That was now in + his voice. + </p> + <p> + “What are you going to do with your freedom?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + He sighed. + </p> + <p> + “I shall have my duties now,” he said. “I’m not a + free man at all. I obey orders for the first time. The people are going to + rule. I am the people.” + </p> + <p> + He paused. Then he went on very seriously. “That is why, Barin, I + give you that paper. I have friendly feelings towards you. I don’t + know what it is, but I am your brother. They may come and want to rob your + house. Show them that paper.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you very much,” I said. “But I’m not + afraid. There’s nothing I mind them stealing. All the same I’m + very grateful.” + </p> + <p> + He went on very seriously. + </p> + <p> + “There’ll be no Czar now and no police. We will stop the war + and all be rich.” He sighed. “But I don’t know that it + will bring happiness.” He suddenly seemed to me forlorn and desolate + and lonely, like a lost dog. I knew quite well that very soon, perhaps + directly he had left me, he would plunder and murder and rob again. + </p> + <p> + But that night, the two of us alone on the island and everything so still, + waiting for great events, I felt close to him and protective. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t get knocked on the head, Rat,” I said, “during + one of your raids. Death is easily come by just now. Look after yourself.” + </p> + <p> + He shrugged his shoulders. “<i>Shto boodet, boodet</i> (what will + be, will be). <i>Neechevo</i> (it’s of no importance).” He had + vanished into the shadows. + </p> + <h3> + XI + </h3> + <p> + I realise that the moment has come in my tale when the whole interest of + my narrative centres in Markovitch. Markovitch is really the point of all + my story as I have, throughout, subconsciously, recognised. The events of + that wonderful Tuesday when for a brief instant the sun of freedom really + did seem to all of us to break through the clouds, that one day in all our + lives when hopes, dreams, Utopias, fairy tales seemed to be sober and + realistic fact, those events might be seen through the eyes of any of us. + Vera, Nina, Grogoff, Semyonov, Lawrence, Bohun and I, all shared in them + and all had our sensations and experiences. But my own were drab and + ordinary enough, and from the others I had no account so full and personal + and true as from Markovitch. He told me all about that great day + afterwards, only a short time before that catastrophe that overwhelmed us + all, and in his account there was all the growing suspicion and horror of + disillusion that after-events fostered in him. But as he told me, sitting + through the purple hours of the night, watching the light break in ripples + and circles of colour over the sea, he regained some of the splendours of + that great day, and before he had finished his tale he was right back in + that fantastic world that had burst at the touch like bubbles in the sun. + I will give his account, as accurately as possible in his own words. I + seldom interrupted him, and I think he soon forgot that I was there. He + had come to me that night in a panic, for reasons which will he given + later and I, in trying to reassure him, had reminded him of that day, when + the world was suddenly Utopia. + </p> + <p> + “That <i>did</i> exist, that world,” I said. “And once + having existed it cannot now be dead. Believe, believe that it will come + back.” + </p> + <p> + “Come back!” He shook his head. “Even if it is still + there I cannot go back to it. I will tell you, Ivan Andreievitch, what + that day was... and why now I am so bitterly punished for having believed + in it. Listen, what happened to me. It occurred, all of it, exactly as I + tell you. You know that, just at that time, I had been worrying very much + about Vera. The Revolution had come I suppose very suddenly to every one; + but truly to myself, because I had been thinking of Vera, it was like a + thunder-clap. It’s always been my trouble, Ivan Andreievitch, that I + can’t think of more than one thing at once, and the worry of it has + been that in my life there has been almost invariably more than one thing + that I ought to think of.... I would think of my invention, you know, that + I ought to get on with it a little faster. Because really—it was + making a sort of cloth out of bark that I was working at; as every day + passed, I could see more and more clearly that there was a great deal in + this particular invention, and that it only needed real application to + bring it properly forward. Only application as you know is my trouble. If + I could only shut my brain up....” + </p> + <p> + He told me then, I remember, a lot about his early childhood, and then the + struggle that he had had to see one thing at once, and not two or three + things that got in the way and hindered him from doing anything. He went + on about Vera. + </p> + <p> + “You know that one night I had crept up into your room, and looked + to see whether there were possibly a letter there. That was a disgraceful + thing to do, wasn’t it? But I felt then that I had to satisfy + myself. I wonder whether I can make you understand. It wasn’t + jealousy exactly, because I had never felt that I had had any very strong + right over Vera, considering the way that she had married me; but I don’t + think I ever loved her more than I did during those weeks, and she was + unattainable. I was lonely, Ivan Andreievitch, that’s the truth. + Everything seemed to be slipping away from me, and in some way Alexei + Petrovitch Semyonov seemed to accentuate that. He was always reminding me + of one day or another when I had been happy with Vera long ago—some + silly little expedition we had taken—or he was doubtful about my + experiments being any good, or he would recall what I had felt about + Russia at the beginning of the war.... All in a very kindly way, mind you. + He was more friendly than he had ever been, and seemed to be altogether + softer-hearted. But he made me think a great deal about Vera. He talked + often so much. He thought that I ought to look after her more, and I + explained that that wasn’t my right. + </p> + <p> + “The truth is that ever since Nina’s birthday-party I had been + anxious. I knew really that everything was right. Vera is of course the + soul of honour—but something had occurred then which made me.... + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, that doesn’t matter now. The only point is that I + was thinking of Vera a great deal, and wondering how I could make her + happy. She wasn’t happy. I don’t know how it was, but during + those weeks just before the Revolution we were none of us happy. We were + all uneasy as though we expected something were going to happen—and + we were all suspicious.... + </p> + <p> + “I only tell you this because then you will see why it was that the + Revolution broke upon me with such surprise. I had been right inside + myself, talking to nobody, wanting nobody to talk to me. I get like that + sometimes, when words seem to mean so much that it seems dangerous to + throw them about.... And perhaps it is. But silence is dangerous too. + Everything is dangerous if you are unlucky by nature.... + </p> + <p> + “I had been indoors all that Monday working at my invention, and + thinking about Vera, wondering whether I’d speak to her, then afraid + of my temper (I have a bad temper), wanting to know what was the truth, + thinking at one moment that if she cared for some one else that I’d + go away...and then suddenly angry and jealous, wishing to challenge him, + but I am a ludicrous figure to challenge any one, as I very well know. + Semyonov had been to see me that morning, and he had just sat there + without saying anything. I couldn’t endure that very long, so I + asked him what he came for and he said, ‘Oh, nothing.’ I felt + as though he were spying and I became uneasy. Why should he come so often + now? And I was beginning to think of him when he wasn’t there. It + was as though he thought he had a right over all of us, and that irritated + me.... Well, that was Monday. They all came late in the afternoon and told + me all the news. They had been at the Astoria. The whole town seemed to be + in revolt, so they said. + </p> + <p> + “But even then I didn’t realise it. I was thinking of Vera + just the same. I looked at her all the evening just as Semyonov had looked + at me. And didn’t say anything.... I never wanted her so badly + before. I made her sleep with me all that night. She hadn’t done + that for a long time, and I woke up early in the morning to hear her + crying softly to herself. She never used to cry. She was so proud. I put + my arms round her, and she stopped crying and lay quite still. It wasn’t + fair what I did, but I felt as though Alexei Petrovitch had challenged me + to do it. He always hated Vera I knew. I got up very early and went to my + wood. You can imagine I wasn’t very happy.... + </p> + <p> + “Then suddenly I thought I’d go out into the streets, and see + what was happening. I couldn’t believe really that there had been + any change. So I went out. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know of recent years I’ve walked out very seldom? What + was it? A kind of shyness. I knew when I was in my own house, and I knew + whom I was with. Then I was never a man who cared greatly about exercise, + and there was no one outside whom I wanted very much to see. So when I + went out that morning it was as though I didn’t know Petrograd at + all, and had only just arrived there. I went over the Ekateringofsky + Bridge, through the Square, and to the left down the Sadovaya. + </p> + <p> + “Of course the first thing that I noticed was that there were no + trams, and that there were multitudes of people walking along and that + they were all poor people and all happy.’ And I <i>was</i> glad when + I saw that. Of course I’m a fool, and life can’t be as I want + it, but that’s always what I had thought life ought to be—all + the streets filled with poor people, all free and happy. And here they + were!... with the snow crisp under their feet, and the sun shining, and + the air quite still, so that all the talk came up, and up into the sky + like a song. But of course they were bewildered as well as happy. They + didn’t know where to go, they didn’t know what to do—like + birds let out suddenly from their cages. I didn’t know myself. That’s + what sudden freedom does—takes your breath away so that you go + staggering along, and get caught again if you’re not careful. No + trams, no policemen, no carriages filled with proud people cursing you.... + Oh, Ivan Andreievitch, I’d be proud myself if I had money, and + servants to put on my clothes, and new women every night, and different + food every day.... I don’t blame them—but suddenly proud + people were gone, and I was crying without knowing it—simply because + that great crowd of poor people went pushing along, all talking under the + sunny sky as freely as they pleased. + </p> + <p> + “I began to look about me. I saw that there were papers posted on + the walls. They were those proclamations, you know, of Rodziancko’s + new government, saying that while everything was unsettled, Milyukoff, + Rodziancko, and the others would take charge in order to keep order and + discipline. It seemed to me that there was little need to talk about + discipline. Had beggars appeared there in the road I believed that the + crowd would have stripped off their clothes and given them, rather than + that they should want. + </p> + <p> + “I stood by one proclamation and read it out to the little crowd. + They repeated the names to themselves, but they did not seem to care much. + ‘The Czar’s wicked they tell me,’ said one man to me. ‘And + all our troubles come from him.’ + </p> + <p> + “‘It doesn’t matter,’ said another. ‘There’ll + be plenty of bread now.’ + </p> + <p> + “And indeed what did names matter now? I couldn’t believe my + eyes or my ears, Ivan Andreievitch. It looked too much like Paradise and I’d + been deceived so often. So I determined to be very cautious. ‘You’ve + been taken in, Nicolai Leontievitch, many many times. Don’t you + believe this?’ But I couldn’t help feeling that if only this + world would continue, if only the people could always be free and happy + and the sun could shine, perhaps the rest of the world would see its folly + and the war would stop and never begin again. This thought would grow in + my mind as I walked, although I refused to encourage it. + </p> + <p> + “Motor lorries covered with soldiers came dashing down the street. + The soldiers had their guns pointed, but the crowd cheered and cheered, + waving hands and shouting. I shouted too. The tears were streaming down my + face. I couldn’t help myself. I wanted to hold the sun and the snow + and the people all in my arms fixed so that it should never change, and + the world should see how good and innocent life could be. + </p> + <p> + “On every side people had asked what had really happened, and of + course no one knew. But it did not matter. Every one was so simple. A + soldier, standing beside one of the placards was shouting: ‘<i>Tovaristchi!</i> + What we must have is a splendid Republic and a good Czar to look after it.’ + </p> + <p> + “And they all cheered him and laughed and sang. I turned up one of + the side streets on to the Fontanka, and here I saw them emptying the + rooms of one of the police. That was amusing! I laugh still when I think + of it. Sending everything out of the windows,—underclothes, ladies’ + bonnets, chairs, books, flower-pots, pictures, and then all the records, + white and yellow and pink paper, all fluttering in the sun like so many + butterflies. The crowd was perfectly peaceful, in an excellent temper. Isn’t + that wonderful when you think that for months those people had been + starved and driven, waiting all night in the street for a piece of bread, + and that now all discipline was removed, no more policemen except those + hiding for their lives in houses, and yet they did nothing, they touched + no one’s property, did no man any harm. People say now that it was + their apathy, that they were taken by surprise, that they were like + animals who did not know where to go, but I tell you, Ivan Andreievitch, + that it was not so. I tell you that it was because just for an hour the + soul could come up from its dark waters and breathe the sun and the light + and see that all was good. Oh, why cannot that day return? Why cannot that + day return?...” + </p> + <p> + He broke off and looked at me like a distracted child, his brows puckered, + his hands beating the air. I did not say anything. I wanted him to forget + that I was there. + </p> + <p> + He went on: “... I could not be there all day, I thought that I + would go on to the Duma. I flowed on with the crowd. We were a great river + swinging without knowing why, in one direction and only interrupted, once + and again, by the motor lorries that rattled along, the soldiers shouting + to us and waving their rifles, and we replying with cheers. I heard no + firing that morning at all. They said, in the crowd, that many thousands + had been killed last night. It seemed that on the roof of nearly every + house in Petrograd there was a policeman with a machine-gun. But we + marched along, without fear, singing. And all the time the joy in my heart + was rising, rising, and I was checking it, telling myself that in a moment + I would be disappointed, that I would soon be tricked as I had been so + often tricked before. But I couldn’t help my joy, which was stronger + than myself.... + </p> + <p> + “It must have been early afternoon, so long had I been on the road, + when I came at last to the Duma. You saw yourself, Ivan Andreievitch, that + all that week the crowd outside the Duma was truly a sea of people with + the motor lorries that bristled with rifles for sea-monsters and the + gun-carriages for ships. And such a babel! Every one talking at once and + nobody listening to any one. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know now how I pushed through into the Court, but at + last I was inside and found myself crushed up against the doors of the + Palace by a mob of soldiers and students. Here there was a kind of hush. + </p> + <p> + “When the door of the Palace opened there was a little sigh of + interest. At intervals armed guards marched up with some wretched pale + dirty Gorodovoi whom they had taken prisoner—” + </p> + <p> + Nicholas Markovitch paused again and again. He had been looking out to the + sea over whose purple shadows the sky pale green and studded with silver + stars seemed to wave magic shuttles of light, to and fro, backwards and + forwards. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mind all these details, Ivan Andreievitch? I am + trying to discover, for my own sake, all the details that led me to my + final experience. I want to trace the chain link by link...nothing is + unimportant...” + </p> + <p> + I assured him that I was absorbed by his story. And indeed I was. That + little, uncouth, lost, and desolate man was the most genuine human being + whom I had ever known. That quality, above all others, stood forth in him. + He had his secret as all men have their secret, the key to their pursuit + of their own immortality....But Markovitch’s secret was a real one, + something that he faced with real bravery, real pride, and real dignity, + and when he saw what the issue of his conduct must be he would, I knew, + face it without flinching. + </p> + <p> + He went on, but looking at me now rather than the sea—looking at me + with his grave, melancholy, angry eyes. “...After one of these + convoys of prisoners the door remained for a moment open, and I seeing my + chance slipped in after the guards. Here I was then in the very heart of + the Revolution; but still, you know, Ivan Andreievitch, I couldn’t + properly seize the fact, I couldn’t grasp the truth that all this + was really occurring and that it wasn’t just a play, a pretence, or + a dream... yes, a dream... especially a dream... perhaps, after all, that + was what it was. The Circular Hall was piled high with machine-guns, bags + of flour, and provisions of all kinds. There were some armed soldiers of + course and women, and beside the machine guns the floor was strewn with + cigarette ends and empty tins and papers and bags and cardboard boxes and + even broken bottles. Dirt and Desolation! I remember that it was then when + I looked at that floor that the first little suspicion stole into my heart—not + a suspicion so much as an uneasiness. I wanted at once myself to set to + work to clean up all the mess with my own hands. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t like to see it there, and no one caring whether it + were there or no. + </p> + <p> + “In the Catherine Hall into which I peered there was a vast mob, and + this huge mass of men stirred and coiled and uncoiled like some huge + ant-heap. Many of them, as I watched, suddenly turned into the outer hall. + Men jumped on to chairs and boxes and balustrades, and soon, all over the + place there were speakers, some shouting, some shrieking, some with tears + rolling down their cheeks, some swearing, some whispering as though to + themselves... and all the regiments came pouring in from the station, + tumbling in like puppies or babies with pieces of red cloth tied to their + rifles, some singing, some laughing, some dumb with amazement... thicker + and thicker and thicker... standing round the speakers with their mouths + open and their eyes wide, pushing and jostling, but good-naturedly, like + young dogs. + </p> + <p> + “Everywhere, you know, men were forming committees, committees for + social right, for a just Peace, for Women’s Suffrage, for Finnish + Independence, for literature and the arts, for the better treatment of + prostitutes, for education, for the just division of the land. I had crept + into my corner, and soon as the soldiers came thicker and thicker, the + noise grew more and more deafening, the dust floated in hazy clouds. The + men had their kettles and they boiled tea, squatting down there, sometimes + little processions pushed their way through, soldiers shouting and + laughing with some white-faced policeman in their midst. Once I saw an old + man, his Shuba about his ears, stumbling with his eyes wide open, and + staring as though he were sleep-walking. That was Stürmer being brought to + judgement. Once I saw a man so terrified that he couldn’t move, but + must be prodded along by the rifles of the soldiers. That was Pitirim.... + </p> + <p> + “And the shouting and screaming rose and rose like a flood. Once + Rodziancko came in and began shouting, ‘<i>Tovaristchi! Tovaristchi!</i>...’ + but his voice soon gave away, and he went back into the Salle Catherine + again. The Socialists had it their way. There were so many, and their + voices were so fresh and the soldiers liked to listen to them. ‘Land + for everybody!’ they shouted. ‘And Bread and Peace! Hurrah! + Hurrah!’ cried the soldiers. + </p> + <p> + “‘That’s all very well,’ said a huge man near me. + ‘But Nicholas is coming, and to-morrow he will eat us all up!’ + </p> + <p> + “But no one seemed to care. They were all mad, and I was mad too. It + was the drunkenness of dust. It got in our heads and our brains. We all + shouted. I began to shout too, although I didn’t know what it was + that I was shouting. + </p> + <p> + “A grimy soldier caught me round the neck and kissed me. ‘Land + for everybody!’ he cried. ‘Have some tea, <i>Tovaristch</i>!’ + and I shared his tea with him. + </p> + <p> + “Then through the dust and noise I suddenly saw Boris Grogoff! That + was an astonishing thing. You see I had dissociated all this from my + private life. I had even, during these last hours, forgotten Vera, perhaps + for the very first moment since I met her. She had seemed to have no share + in this,—and then suddenly the figure of Boris showed me that one’s + private life is always with one, that it is a secret city in which one + must always live, and whose gates one will never pass through, whatever + may be going on in the world outside. But Grogoff! What a change! You + know, I had always patronised him, Ivan Andreievitch. It had seemed to me + that he was only a boy with a boy’s crude ideas. You know his fresh + face with the way that he used to push back his hair from his forehead, + and shout his ideas. He never considered any one’s feelings. He was + a complete egoist, and a man, it seemed to me, of no importance. But now! + He stood on a bench and had around him a large crowd of soldiers. He was + shouting in just his old way that he used in the English Prospect, but he + seemed to have grown in the meantime, into a man. He did not seem afraid + any more. I saw that he had power over the men to whom he was speaking.... + I couldn’t hear what he said, but through the dust and heat he + seemed to grow and grow until it was only him whom I saw there. + </p> + <p> + “‘He will carry off Nina’ was my next thought—ludicrous + there at such a time, in such a crowd, but it is exactly like that that + life shifts and shifts until it has formed a pattern. I was frightened by + Grogoff. I could not believe that the new freedom, the new Russia, the new + world would be made by such men. He waved his arms, he pushed back his + hair, the men shouted. Grogoff was triumphant: ‘The New World... <i>Novaya + Jezn, Novaya Jezn</i>!’ (New Life!) I heard him shout. + </p> + <p> + “The sun before it set flooded the hall with light. What a scene + through the dust! The red flags, the women and the soldiers and the + shouting! + </p> + <p> + “I was suddenly dismayed. ‘How can order come out of this?’ + I thought. ‘They are all mad.... Terrible things are going to happen.’ + I was dirty and tired and exhausted. I fought my way through the mob, + found the door. For a moment I looked back, to that sea of men lit by the + last light of the sun. Then I pushed out, was thrown, it seemed to me, + from man to man, and was at last in the air.... Quiet, fires burning in + the courtyard, a sky of the palest blue, a few stars, and the people + singing the ‘Marseillaise.’ + </p> + <p> + “It was like drinking great draughts of cold water after an + intolerable thirst.... + </p> + <p> + “...Hasn’t Tchekov said somewhere that Russians have nostalgia + but no patriotism? That was never true of me—can’t remember + how young I was when I remember my father talking to me about the idea of + Russia. I’ve told you that he was by any kind of standard a bad man. + He had, I think, no redeeming points at all—but he had, all the + same, that sense of Russia. I don’t suppose that he put it to any + practical use, or that he even tried to teach it to his pupils, but it + would suddenly seize him and he would let himself go, and for an hour he + would be a fine master—of words. And what Russian is ever more than + that at the end? + </p> + <p> + “He spoke to me and gave me a picture of a world inside a world, and + this inside world was complete in itself. It had everything in it—beauty, + wealth, force, power; it could be anything, it could do anything. But it + was held by an evil enchantment as though a wicked magician had it in + thrall, and everything slept as in Tchaikowsky’s Ballet. But one + day, he told me, the Prince would come and kill the Enchanter, and this + great world would come into its own. I remember that I was so excited that + I couldn’t bear to wait, but prayed that I might be allowed to go + out and find the Enchanter... but my father laughed and said that there + were no Enchanter now, and then I cried. All the same I never lost my + hope. I talked to people about Russia, but it was never Russia itself they + seemed to care for—it was women or drink or perhaps freedom and + socialism, or perhaps some part of Russia, Siberia, or the Caucasus—but + my world they none of them believed in. It didn’t exist they said. + It was simply my imagination that had painted it, and they laughed at me + and said it was held together by the lashes of the knout, and when those + went Russia would go too. As I grew up some of them thought that I was + revolutionary, and they tried to make me join their clubs and societies. + But those were no use to me. They couldn’t give me what I wanted. + They wanted to destroy, to assassinate some one, or to blow up a building. + They had no thought beyond destruction, and that to me seemed only the + first step. And they never think of Russia, our revolutionaries. You will + have noticed that yourself, Ivan Andreievitch. Nothing so small and + trivial as Russia! It must be the whole world or nothing at all. + Democracy... Freedom... the Brotherhood of Man! Oh, the terrible harm that + words have done to Russia! Had the Russians of the last fifty years been + born without the gift of speech we would be now the greatest people on the + earth! + </p> + <p> + “But I loved Russia from end to end. The farthest villages in + Siberia, the remotest hut beyond Archangel, from the shops in the Sadovaya + to the Lavra at Kieff, from the little villages on the bank of the Volga + to the woods round Tarnopol—all, all one country, one people, one + world within a world. The old man to whom I was secretary discovered this + secret hope of mine. I talked one night when I was drunk and told him + everything. I mentioned even the Enchanter and the Sleeping Beauty! How he + laughed at me! He would never leave me alone. ‘Nicolai Leontievitch + believes in Holy Russia!’ he would say. ‘Not so much Holy, you + understand, as Bewitched. A Fairy Garden, ladies, with a sleeping beauty + in the middle of it. Dear me, Nicolai Leontievitch, no wonder you are + heart-free!’ + </p> + <p> + “How I hated him and his yellow face and his ugly stomach! I would + have stamped on it with delight. But that made me shy. I was afraid to + speak of it to any one, and I kept to myself. Then Vera came and she didn’t + laugh at me. The two ideas grew together in my head. Vera and Russia! The + two things in my life by which I stood—because man must have + something in life round which he may nestle as a cat curls up by the fire. + </p> + <p> + “But even Vera did not seem to care for Russia as Russia. ‘What + can Siberia be to me?’ she would say. ‘Why, Nicholas, it is no + more than China.’ + </p> + <p> + “But it was more than China; when I looked at it on the map I + recognised it as though it were my own country. Then the war came and I + thought the desire of my heart was fulfilled. At last men talked about + Russia as though she truly existed. For a moment all Russia was united, + all classes, rich and poor, high and low. Men were patriotic together as + though one heart beat through all the land. But only for a moment. + Divisions came, and quickly things were worse than before. There came + Tannenburg and afterwards Warsaw. + </p> + <p> + “All was lost.... Russia was betrayed, and I was a sentimental fool. + You know yourself how cynical even the most sentimental Russians are—that + is because if you stick to facts you know where you are, but ideas are + always betraying you. Life simply isn’t long enough to test them, + that’s all, and man is certainly not a patient animal. + </p> + <p> + “At first I watched the war going from bad to worse, and then I shut + myself in and refused to look any longer. I thought only of Vera and my + work. I would make a great discovery and be rich, and then Vera at last + would love me. Idiot! As though I had not known that Vera would not love + for that kind of reason.... I determined that I would think no more of + Russia, that I would be a man of no country. Then during those last weeks + before the Revolution I began to be suspicious of Vera and to watch her. I + did things of which I was ashamed, and then I despised myself for being + ashamed. + </p> + <p> + “I am a man, I can do what I wish. Even though I am imprisoned I am + free.... I am my own master. But all the same, to be a spy is a mean + thing, Ivan Andreievitch. You Englishmen, although you are stupid, you are + not mean. It was that day when your young friend, Bohun, found me looking + in your room for letters, that in spite of myself I was ashamed. + </p> + <p> + “He looked at me in a sort of way as though, down to his very soul + he was astonished at what I had done. Well, why should I mind that he + should be astonished? He was very young and all wrong in his ideas of + life. Nevertheless that look of his influenced me. I thought about it + afterwards. Then came Alexei Petrovitch. I’ve told you already. He + was always hinting at something. He was always there as though he were + waiting for something to happen. He hinted things about Vera. It’s + strange, Ivan Andreievitch, but there was a day just a week before the + Revolution, when I was very nearly jumping up and striking him. Just to + get rid of him so that he shouldn’t be watching me....Why even when + I wasn’t there he.... + </p> + <p> + “But what’s that got to do with my walk? Nothing perhaps. All + the same, it was all these little things that made me, when I walked out + of the Duma that evening so queer. You see I’d been getting + desperate. All that I had left was being taken from me, and then suddenly + this Revolution had come and given me back Russia again. I forgot Alexei + Petrovitch and your Englishman Lawrence and the failure of my work—I + remembered, once again, just as I had those first days of the war, Vera + and Russia. + </p> + <p> + “There, in the clear evening air, I forgot all the talk there had + been inside the Duma, the mess and the noise and the dust. I was suddenly + happy again, and excited, and hopeful.... The Enchanter had come after + all, and Russia was to awake. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, what a wonderful evening that was! You know that there have + been times—very, very rare occasions in one’s life—when + places that one knows well, streets and houses so common and customary as + to be like one’s very skin—are suddenly for a wonderful + half-hour places of magic, the trees are gold, the houses silver, the + bricks jewelled, the pavement of amber. Or simply perhaps they are + different, a new country of new colour and mystery... when one is just in + love or has won some prize, or finished at last some difficult work. + Petrograd was like that to me that night; I swear to you, Ivan + Andreievitch, I did not know where I was. I seem now on looking back to + have been in places that night, magical places, that by the morning had + flown away. I could not tell you where I went. I know that I must have + walked for miles. I walked with a great many people who were all my + brothers. I had drunk nothing, not even water, and yet the effect on me + was exactly as though I were drunk, drunk with happiness, Ivan + Andreievitch, and with the possibility of all the things that might now + be. + </p> + <p> + “We, many of us, marched along, singing the ‘Marseillaise’ + I suppose. There was firing I think in some of the streets, because I can + remember now on looking back that once or twice I heard a machine-gun + quite close to me and didn’t care at all, and even laughed.... Not + that I’ve ever cared for that. Bullets aren’t the sort of + things that frighten me. There are other terrors....All the same it was + curious that we should all march along as though there were no danger and + the peace of the world had come. There were women with us—quite a + number of them I think—and, I believe, some children. I remember + that some of the way I carried a child, fast asleep in my arms. How + ludicrous it would be now if I, of all men in the world, carried a baby + down the Nevski! But it was quite natural that night. The town seemed to + me blazing with light. Of course that it cannot have been; there can have + only been the stars and some bonfires. And perhaps we stopped at the + police-courts which were crackling away. I don’t remember that, but + I know that somewhere there were clouds of golden sparks opening into the + sky and mingling with the stars—a wonderful sight, flocks of golden + birds and behind them a roar of sound like a torrent of water... I know + that, most of the night, I had one man especially for my companion. I can + see him quite clearly now, although, whether it is all my imagination or + not I can’t say. Certainly I’ve never seen him since and never + will again. He was a peasant, a bigly made man, very neatly and decently + dressed in a workman’s blouse and black trousers. He had a long + black beard and was grave and serious, speaking very little but watching + everything. Kindly, our best type of peasant—perhaps the type that + will one day give Russia her real freedom... one day... a thousand years + from now.... + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know why it is that I can still see him so clearly, + because I can remember no one else of that night, and even this fellow may + have been my imagination. But I think that, as we walked along, I talked + to him about Russia and how the whole land now from Archangel to + Vladivostock might be free and be one great country of peace and plenty, + first in all the world. + </p> + <p> + “It seemed to me that every one was singing, men and women and + children.... + </p> + <p> + “We must, at last, have parted from most of the company. I had come + with my friend into the quieter streets of the city. Then it was that I + suddenly smelt the sea. You must have noticed how Petrograd is mixed up + with the sea, how suddenly, where you never would expect it, you see the + masts of ships all clustered together against the sky. I smelt the sea, + the wind blew fresh and strong and there we were on the banks of the Neva. + Everywhere there was perfect silence. The Neva lay, tranquil, bound under + its ice. The black hulks of the ships lay against the white shadows like + sleeping animals. The curve of the sky, with its multitude of stars, was + infinite. + </p> + <p> + “My friend embraced me and left me and I stayed alone, so happy, so + sure of the peace of the world that I did what I had not done for years, + sent up a prayer of gratitude to God. Then with my head on my hands, + looking down at the masts of the ships, feeling Petrograd behind me with + its lights as though it were the City of God, I burst into tears—tears + of happiness and joy and humble gratitude.... I have no memory of anything + further.” + </p> + <h3> + XII + </h3> + <p> + So much for the way that one Russian saw it. There were others. For + instance Vera.... + </p> + <p> + I suppose that the motive of Vera’s life was her pride. Quite early, + I should imagine, she had adopted that as the sort of talisman that would + save her from every kind of ill. She told me once that when she was a + little girl, the story of the witch who lured two children into the wood + and then roasted them in her oven had terrified her beyond all control, + and she would lie awake and shiver for hours because of it. It became a + symbol of life to her—the Forest was there and the Oven and the + Witch—and so clever and subtle was the Witch that the only way to + outwit her was by pride. Then there was also her maternal tenderness; it + was through that that Markovitch won her. She had not of course loved him—she + had never pretended to herself that she had—but she had seen that he + wanted caring for, and then, having taken the decisive step, her pride had + come to her aid, had shown her a glimpse of the Witch waiting in the + Forest darkness, and had proved to her that here was her great + opportunity. She had then, with the easy superiority of a young girl, + ignorant of life, dismissed love as of something that others might care + for but that would, in no case, concern herself. Did Love for a moment + smile at her or beckon to her Pride came to her and showed her Nina and + Nicholas, and that was enough. + </p> + <p> + But Love knows its power. He suddenly put forth his strength and Vera was + utterly helpless—far more helpless than a Western girl with her + conventional code and traditional training would have been. Vera had no + convention and no tradition. She had only her pride and her maternal + instinct and these, for a time, fought a battle for her... then they + suddenly deserted her. + </p> + <p> + I imagine that they really deserted her on the night of Nina’s + birthday-party, but she would not admit defeat so readily, and fought on + for a little. On this eventful week when the world, as we knew it, was + tumbling about our ears, she had told herself that the only thing to which + she must give a thought was her fixed loyalty to Nina and Nicholas. She + would not think of Lawrence....She would not think of him. And so + resolving, thought of him all the more. + </p> + <p> + By Wednesday morning her nerves were exhausted. The excitements of this + week came as a climax to many months of strain. With the exception of her + visit to the Astoria she had been out scarcely at all and, although the + view from her flat was peaceful enough she could imagine every kind of + horror beyond the boundaries of the Prospect—and in every horror + Lawrence figured. + </p> + <p> + There occurred that morning a strange little conversation between Vera, + Semyonov, Nicholas Markovitch, and myself. I arrived about ten o’clock + to see how they were and to hear the news. I found Vera sitting quietly at + the table sewing. Markovitch stood near to her, his anxious eyes and + trembling mouth perched on the top of his sharp peaky collar and his hands + rubbing nervously one within another. He was obviously in a state of very + great excitement. Semyonov sat opposite Vera, leaning his thick body on + his arms, his eyes watching his niece and every once and again his firm + pale hand stroking his beard. + </p> + <p> + When I joined them he said to me: + </p> + <p> + “Well, Ivan Andreievitch, what’s the latest news of your + splendid Revolution?” + </p> + <p> + “Why my Revolution?” I asked. I felt an especial dislike this + morning of his sneering eyes and his thick pale honey-coloured beard. + “Whose ever it was he should be proud of it. To see thousands of + people who’ve been hungry for months wandering about as I’ve + seen them this morning and none of them touching a thing—it’s + stupendous!” + </p> + <p> + Semyonov smiled but said nothing. His smile irritated me. “Oh, of + course you sneer at the whole thing, Alexei Petrovitch!” I said. + “Anything fine in human nature excites your contempt as I know of + old.” + </p> + <p> + I think that that was the first time that Vera had heard me speak to him + in that way, and she looked up at me with sudden surprise and I think + gratitude. + </p> + <p> + Semyonov treated me with complete contempt. He answered me slowly: “No, + Ivan Andreievitch, I don’t wish to deprive you of any kind of + happiness. I wouldn’t for worlds. But do you know our people, that’s + the question? You haven’t been here very long; you came loaded up + with romantic notions, some of which you’ve discarded but only that + you may pick up others....I don’t want to insult you at all, but you + simply don’t know that the Christian virtues that you are admiring + just now so extravagantly are simply cowardice and apathy....Wait a + little! Wait a little! and then tell me whether I’ve not been right.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment’s pause like the hush before the storm, and then + Markovitch broke in upon us. I can see and hear him now, standing there + behind Vera with his ridiculous collar and his anxious eyes. The words + simply pouring from him in a torrent, his voice now rising into a shrill + scream, now sinking into a funny broken bass like the growl of a young + baby tiger. And yet he was never ridiculous. I’ve known other + mortals, and myself one of the foremost, who, under the impulse of some + sudden anger, enthusiasm, or regret, have been simply figures of fun.... + Markovitch was never that. He was like a dying man fighting for possession + of the last plank. I can’t at this distance of time remember all + that he said. He talked a great deal about Russia; while he spoke I + noticed that he avoided Semyonov’s eyes, which never for a single + instant left his face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, don’t you see, don’t you see?” he cried. + “Russia’s chance has come back to her? We can fight now a + holy, patriotic war. We can fight, not because we are told to by our + masters, but because we, of our own free will, wish to defend the soil of + our sacred country. <i>Our</i> country! No one has thought of Russia for + the last two years—we have thought only of ourselves, our + privations, our losses—but now—now. O God! the world may be + set free again because Russia is at last free!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Semyonov quietly (his eyes covered Markovitch’s + face as a searchlight finds out the running figure of a man). “And + who has spoken of Russia during the last few days? Russia! Why, I haven’t + heard the word mentioned once. I may have been unlucky, I don’t + know. I’ve been out and about the streets a good deal... I’ve + listened to a great many conversations.... Democracy, yes, and Brotherhood + and Equality and Fraternity and Bread and Land and Peace and Idleness—but + Russia! Not a sound....” + </p> + <p> + “It will come! It will come!” Markovitch urged. “It <i>must</i> + come! You didn’t walk, Alexei, as I did last night, through the + streets, and see the people and hear their voices and see their faces.... + Oh! I believe that at last that good has come to the world, and happiness + and peace; and it is Russia who will lead the way.... Thank God! Thank + God!” Even as he spoke some instinct in me urged me to try and + prevent him. I felt that Semyonov would not forget a word of this, and + would make his own use of it in the time to come. I could see the purpose + in Semyonov’s eyes. I almost called out to Nicholas, “Look + out! Look out!” just as though a man were standing behind him with a + raised weapon.... + </p> + <p> + “You really mean this?” asked Semyonov. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I mean it!” cried Markovitch. “Do I not sound + as though I did?” + </p> + <p> + “I will remind you of it one day,” said Semyonov. + </p> + <p> + I saw that Markovitch was trembling with excitement from head to foot. He + sat down at the table near Vera and put one hand on the tablecloth to + steady himself. Vera suddenly covered his hand with hers as though she + were protecting him. His excitement seemed to stream away from him, as + though Semyonov were drawing it out of him. + </p> + <p> + He suddenly said: + </p> + <p> + “You’d like to take my happiness away from me if you could, + Alexei. You don’t want me to be happy.” + </p> + <p> + “What nonsense!” Semyonov said, laughing. “Only I like + the truth—I simply don’t see the thing as you do. I have my + view of us Russians. I have watched since the beginning of the war. I + think our people lazy and selfish—think you must drive them with a + whip to make them do anything. I think they would be ideal under German + rule, which is what they’ll get if their Revolution lasts long + enough... that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + I saw that Markovitch wanted to reply, but he was trembling so that he + could not. + </p> + <p> + He said at last: “You leave me alone, Alexei; let me go my own way.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never tried to prevent you,” said Semyonov. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment’s silence. + </p> + <p> + Then, in quite another tone, he remarked to me: “By the way, Ivan + Andreievitch, what about your friend Mr. Lawrence? He’s in a + position of very considerable danger where he is with Wilderling. They + tell me Wilderling may be murdered at any moment.” + </p> + <p> + Some force stronger than my will drove me to look at Vera. I saw that + Nicolai Leontievitch also was looking at her. She raised her eyes for an + instant, her lips moved as though she were going to speak, then she looked + down again at her sewing. + </p> + <p> + Semyonov watched us all. “Oh, he’ll be all right,” I + answered. “If any one in the world can look after himself it’s + Lawrence.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all very well,” said Semyonov, still looking at + Markovitch. “But to be in Wilderling’s company this week is a + very unhealthy thing for any one. And that type of Englishman is not noted + for cowardice.” + </p> + <p> + “I tell you that Lawrence can look after himself,” I insisted + angrily. + </p> + <p> + Semyonov knew and Markovitch knew that I was speaking to Vera. No one then + said a word. There was a long pause. At last Semyonov saw fit to go. + </p> + <p> + “I’m off to the Duma,” he said. “There’s a + split, I believe. And I want to hear whether it’s true that the Czar’s + abdicated.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you’d rather he hadn’t, Alexei Petrovitch,” + Markovitch broke in fiercely. + </p> + <p> + He laughed at us all and said, “Whose interests am I studying? My + own?... Holy Russia’s?... Yours?... When will you learn, Nicholas my + friend, that I am a spectator, not a participator?” + </p> + <p> + Vera was alone during most of that day; and even now, after the time that + has passed, I cannot bear to think of what she suffered. She realised + quite definitely and now, with no chance whatever of self-deception, that + she loved Lawrence with a force that no denial or sacrifice on her part + could alter. She told me afterwards that she walked up and down that room + for hours, telling herself again and again that she must not go and see + whether he were safe. She did not dare even to leave the room. She felt + that if she entered her bedroom the sight of her hat and coat there would + break down her resolution, that if she went to the head of the stairs and + listened she must then go farther and then farther again. She knew quite + well that to go to him now would mean complete surrender. She had no + illusions about that. The whole of her body was quivering with desire for + his embrace, for the warm strength of his body, for the kindness in his + eyes, and the compelling mastery of his hands. + </p> + <p> + She had never loved a man before; but it seemed to her now that she had + known all these sensations always, and that she was now, at last, her real + self, and that the earlier Vera had been a ghost. And what ghosts were + Nina and Markovitch! + </p> + <p> + She told me afterwards that, on looking back, this seemed to her the most + horrible part of the horrible afternoon. These two, who had been for so + many years the very centre of her life, whom she had forced to hold up, as + it were, the whole foundation of her existence, now simply were not real + at all. She might call to them, and their voices were like far echoes or + the wind. She gazed at them, and the colours of the room and the street + seemed to shine through them.... She fought for their reality. She forced + herself to recall all the many things that they had done together, Nina’s + little ways, the quarrels with Nicholas, the reconciliations, the times + when he had been ill, the times when they had gone to the country, to the + theatre... and through it all she heard Semyonov’s voice, “By + the way, what about your friend Lawrence?... He’s in a position of + very considerable danger... considerable danger... considerable danger...” + </p> + <p> + By the evening she was almost frantic. Nina had been with a girl friend in + the Vassily Ostrov all day. She would perhaps stay there all night if + there were any signs of trouble. No one returned. Only the clock ticked + on. Old Sacha asked whether she might go out for an hour. Vera nodded her + head. She was then quite alone in the flat. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly, about seven o’clock, Nina came in. She was tired, nervous, + and unhappy. The Revolution had not come to <i>her</i> as anything but a + sudden crumbling of all the life that she had known and believed in. She + had had, that afternoon, to run down a side street to avoid a machine-gun, + and afterwards on the Morskaia she had come upon a dead man huddled up in + the snow like a piece of offal. These things terrified her and she did not + care about the larger issues. Her life had been always intensely personal—not + selfish so much as vividly egoistic through her vitality. And now she was + miserable, not because she was afraid for her own safety, but because she + was face to face, for the first time, with the unknown and the uncertain. + </p> + <p> + She came in, sat down at the table, put her head into her arms and burst + into tears. She must have looked a very pathetic figure with her little + fur hat askew, her hair tumbled—like a child whose doll is suddenly + broken. + </p> + <p> + Vera was at her side in a moment. She put her arms around her. + </p> + <p> + “Nina, dear, what is it?... Has somebody hurt you? Has something + happened? Is anybody—killed?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” Nina sobbed. “Nobody—nothing—only—I’m + frightened. It all looks so strange. The streets are so funny, and—there + was—a dead man on the Morskaia.” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn’t have gone out, dear. I oughtn’t to have + let you. But now we can just be cosy together. Sacha’s gone out. + There’s no one here but ourselves. We’ll have supper and make + ourselves comfortable.” + </p> + <p> + Nina looked up, staring about her. “Has Sacha gone out? Oh, I wish + she hadn’t!... Supposing somebody came.” + </p> + <p> + “No one will come. Who could? No one wants to hurt <i>us!</i> I’ve + been here all the afternoon, and no one’s come near the flat. If + anybody did come we’ve only got to telephone to Nicholas. He’s + with Rozanov all the afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Nicholas!” Nina repeated scornfully. “As though he + could help anybody.” She looked up. Vera told me afterwards that it + was at that moment, when Nina looked such a baby with her tumbled hair and + her flushed cheeks stained with tears, that she realised her love for her + with a fierceness that for a moment seemed to drown even her love for + Lawrence. She caught her to her and hugged her, kissing her again and + again. + </p> + <p> + But Nina was suspicious. There were many things that had to be settled + between Vera and herself. She did not respond, and Vera let her go. She + went into her room, to take off her things. + </p> + <p> + Afterwards they lit the samovar and boiled some eggs and put the caviare + and sausage and salt fish and jam on the table. At first they were silent, + and then Nina began to recover a little. + </p> + <p> + “You know, Vera, I’ve had an extraordinary day. There were no + trams running, of course, and I had to walk all the distance. When I got + there I found Katerina Ivanovna in a terrible way because their Masha—whom + they’ve had for years, you know—went to a Revolutionary + meeting last evening, and was out all night, and she came in this morning + and said she wasn’t going to work for them any more, that every one + was equal now, and that they must do things for themselves. Just fancy! + When she’s been with them for years and they’ve been so good + to her. It upset Katerina Ivanovna terribly, because of course they couldn’t + get any one else, and there was no food in the house.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps Sacha won’t come back again.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, she must! <i>She’s</i> not like that... and we’ve + been so good to her. <i>Nu... Patom</i>, some soldiers came early in the + afternoon and they said that some policeman had been firing from Katya’s + windows and they must search the flat. They were very polite—quite a + young student was in charge of them, he was rather like Boris—and + they went all over everything. They were very polite, but it wasn’t + nice seeing them stand there with their rifles in the middle of the + dining-room. Katya offered them some wine. But they wouldn’t touch + it. They said they had been told not to, and they looked quite angry with + her for offering it. They couldn’t find the policeman anywhere of + course, but they told Katya they might have to burn the house down if they + didn’t find him. I think they just said it to amuse themselves. But + Katya believed it, and was in a terrible way and began collecting all her + china in the middle of the floor, and then Ivan came in and told her not + to be silly.” + </p> + <p> + “Weren’t you frightened to come home?” asked Vera. + </p> + <p> + “Ivan wanted to come with me but I wouldn’t let him. I felt + quite brave in the flat, as though I’d face anybody. And then every + step I took outside I got more and more frightened. It was so strange, so + quiet with the trams not running and the shops all shut. The streets are + quite deserted except that in the distance you see crowds, and sometimes + there were shots and people running.... Then suddenly I began to run. I + felt as though there were animals in the canals and things crawling about + on the ships. And then, just as I thought I was getting home, I saw a man, + dead on the snow.... I’m not going out alone again until it’s + over. I’m so glad I’m back, Vera darling. We’ll have a + lovely evening.” + </p> + <p> + They both discovered then how hungry they were, and they had an enormous + meal. It was very cosy with the curtains drawn and the wood crackling in + the stove and the samovar chuckling. There was a plateful of chocolates, + and Nina ate them all. She was quite happy now, and sang and danced about + as they cleared away most of the supper, leaving the samovar and the bread + and the jam and the sausage for Nicholas and Bohun when they came in. + </p> + <p> + At last Vera sat down in the old red arm-chair that had the holes and the + places where it suddenly went flat, and Nina piled up some cushions and + sat at her feet. For a time they were happy, saying very little, Vera + softly stroking Nina’s hair. Then, as Vera afterwards described it + to me, “Some fright or sudden dread of loneliness came into the + room. It was exactly as though the door had opened and some one had joined + us... and, do you know, I looked up and expected to see Uncle Alexei.” + </p> + <p> + However, of course, there was no one there; but Nina moved away a little, + and then Vera, wanting to comfort her, tried to draw her closer, and then + of course, Nina (because she was like that) with a little peevish shrug of + the shoulders drew even farther away. There was, after that, silence + between them, an awkward ugly silence, piling up and up with discomfort + until the whole room seemed to be eloquent with it. + </p> + <p> + Both their minds were, of course, occupied in the same direction, and + suddenly Nina, who moved always on impulse and had no restraint, burst + out: + </p> + <p> + “I must know how Andrey Stepanovitch (their name for Lawrence, + because Jeremy had no Russian equivalent) is—I’m going to + telephone.” + </p> + <p> + “You can’t,” Vera said quietly. “It isn’t + working—I tried an hour ago to get on to Nicholas.” + </p> + <p> + “Well then, I shall go off and find out,” said Nina, knowing + very well that she would not. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Nina, of course you mustn’t.... You know you can’t. + Perhaps when Nicholas comes in he will have some news for us.” + </p> + <p> + “Why shouldn’t I?” + </p> + <p> + “You know why not. What would he think? Besides, you’re not + going out into the town again to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, aren’t I? And who’s going to stop me?” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” said Vera. + </p> + <p> + Nina sprang to her feet. In her later account to me of this quarrel she + said, “You know, Durdles, I don’t believe I ever loved Vera + more than I did just then. In spite of her gravity she looked so helpless + and as though she wanted loving so terribly. I could just have flung my + arms round her and hugged her to death at the very moment that I was + screaming at her. Why are we like that?” + </p> + <p> + At any rate Nina stood up there and stamped her foot, her hair hanging all + about her face and her body quivering. “Oh, you’re going to + keep me, are you? What right have you got over me? Can’t I go and + leave the flat at any moment if I wish, or am I to consider myself your + prisoner?... <i>Tzuineeto, pajalueesta</i>... I didn’t know. I can + only eat my meals with your permission, I suppose. I have to ask your + leave before going to see my friends.... Thank you, I know now. But I’m + not going to stand it. I shall do just as I please. I’m grown up. No + one can stop me....” + </p> + <p> + Vera, her eyes full of distress looked helplessly about her. She never + could deal with Nina when she was in these storms of rage, and to-day she + felt especially helpless. + </p> + <p> + “Nina, dear... don’t.... You know that it isn’t so. You + can go where you please, do what you please.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you,” said Nina, tossing her head. “I’m + glad to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “I know I’m tiresome very often. I’m slow and stupid. If + I try you sometimes you must forgive me and be patient.... Sit down again + and let’s be happy. You know how I love you. Nina, darling... come + again.” + </p> + <p> + But Nina stood there pouting. She was loving Vera so intensely that it was + all that she could do to hold herself back, but her very love made her + want to hurt.... “It’s all very well to say you love me, but + you don’t act as though you do. You’re always trying to keep + me in. I want to be free. And Andrey Stepanovitch....” + </p> + <p> + They both paused at Lawrence’s name. They knew that that was at the + root of the matter between them, that it had been so for a long time, and + that any other pretence would be false. + </p> + <p> + “You know I love him—” said Nina, “and I’m + going to marry him.” + </p> + <p> + I can see then Vera taking a tremendous pull upon herself as though she + suddenly saw in front of her a gulf into whose depths, in another moment, + she would fall. But my vision of the story, from this point, is Nina’s. + </p> + <p> + Vera told me no more until she came to the final adventure of the evening. + This part of the scene then is witnessed with Nina’s eyes, and I can + only fill in details which, from my knowledge of them both, I believe to + have occurred. Nina, knew, of course, what the effect of her announcement + would be upon Vera, but she had not expected the sudden thin pallor which + stole like a film over her sister’s face, the withdrawal, the + silence. She was frightened, so she went on recklessly. “Oh, I know + that he doesn’t care for me yet.... I can see that of course. But he + will. He must. He’s seen nothing of me yet. But I am stronger than + he, I can make him do as I wish. I <i>will</i> make him. You don’t + want me to marry him and I know why.” + </p> + <p> + She flung that out as a challenge, tossing her head scornfully, but + nevertheless watching with frightened eyes her sister’s face. + Suddenly Vera spoke, and it was in a voice so stern that it was to Nina a + new voice, as though she had suddenly to deal with some new figure whom + she had never seen before. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t discuss that with you, Nina. You can’t marry + because, as you say, he doesn’t care for you—in that way. Also + if he did it would be a very unhappy marriage. You would soon despise him. + He is not clever in the way that you want a man to be clever. You’d + think him slow and dull after a month with him.... And then he ought to + beat you and he wouldn’t. He’d be kind to you and then you’d + be ruined. I can see now that I’ve always been too kind to you—indeed, + every one has—and the result is, that you’re spoilt and know + nothing about life at all—or men. You are right. I’ve treated + you as a child too long. I will do so no longer.” + </p> + <p> + Nina turned like a little fury, standing back from Vera as though she were + going to spring upon her. “That’s it, is it?” she cried. + “And all because you want to keep him for yourself. I understand. I + have eyes. You love him. You are hoping for an intrigue with him.... You + love him! You love him! You love him!... and he doesn’t love you and + you are so miserable....” + </p> + <p> + Vera looked at Nina, then suddenly turned and burying her head in her + hands sobbed, crouching in her chair. Then slipping from the chair, knelt + catching Nina’s knees, her head against her dress. + </p> + <p> + Nina was aghast, terrified—then in a moment overwhelmed by a surging + flood of love so that she caught Vera to her, caressing her hair, calling + her by her little name, kissing her again and again and again. + </p> + <p> + “Verotchka—Verotchka—I didn’t mean anything. I + didn’t indeed. I love you. I love you. You know that I do. I was + only angry and wicked. Oh, I’ll never forgive myself. Verotchka—get + up—don’t kneel to me like that...!” + </p> + <p> + She was interrupted by a knock on the outer hall door. To both of them + that sound must have been terribly alarming. Vera said afterwards, that + “at once we realised that it was the knock of some one more + frightened than we were.” + </p> + <p> + In the first place, no one ever knocked, they always rang the rather + rickety electric bell—and then the sound was furtive and hurried, + and even frantic; “as though,” said Vera, “some one on + the other side of the door was breathless.” + </p> + <p> + The sisters stood, close together, for quite a long time without moving. + The knocking ceased and the room was doubly silent. Then suddenly it began + again, very rapid and eager, but muffled, almost as though some one were + knocking with a gloved hand. + </p> + <p> + Vera went then. She paused for a moment in the little hall, for again + there was silence and she fancied that perhaps the intruder had given up + the matter in despair. But, no—there it was again—and this + third time seemed to her, perhaps because she was so close to it, the most + urgent and eager of all. She went to the door and opened it. There was no + light in the passage save the dim reflection from the lamp on the lower + floor, and in the shadow she saw a figure cowering back into the corner + behind the door. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” she asked. The figure pushed past her, slipping + into their own little hall. + </p> + <p> + “But you can’t come in like that,” she said, turning + round on him. + </p> + <p> + “Shut the door!” he whispered. “<i>Bozhe moi! Bozhe moi</i>.... + Shut the door.” + </p> + <p> + She recognised him then. He was the policeman from the corner of their + street, a man whom they knew well. He had always been a pompous little + man, stout and short of figure, kindly so far as they knew, although they + had heard of him as cruel in the pursuit of his official duties. They had + once talked to him a little and he explained: “I wouldn’t hurt + a fly, God knows,” he had said, “of myself, but a man likes to + do his work efficiently—and there are so many lazy fellows about + here.” + </p> + <p> + He prided himself, they saw, on a punctilious attention to duty. When he + had to come there for some paper or other he was always extremely polite, + and if they were going away he helped them about their passports. He told + them on another occasion that “he was pleased with life—although + one never knew of course when it might come down upon one—” + </p> + <p> + Well, it had come down on him now. A more pitiful object Vera had never + seen. He was dressed in a dirty black suit and wore a shabby fur cap, his + padded overcoat was torn. + </p> + <p> + But the overwhelming effect of him was terror. Vera had never before seen + such terror, and at once, as though the thing were an infectious disease, + her own heart began to beat furiously. He was shaking so that the fur cap, + which was too large for his head, waggled up and down over his eye in a + ludicrous manner. + </p> + <p> + His face was dirty as though he had been crying, and a horrid pallid grey + in colour. + </p> + <p> + His collar was torn, showing his neck between the folds of his overcoat. + </p> + <p> + Vera looked out down the stairs as though she expected to see something. + The flat was perfectly still. There was not a sound anywhere. She turned + back to the man again, he was crouching against the wall. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t come in here,” she repeated. “My sister + and I are alone. What do you want?... What’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + “Shut the door!... Shut the door!... Shut the door!...” he + repeated. + </p> + <p> + She closed it. “Now what is it?” she asked, and then, hearing + a sound, turned to find that Nina was standing with wide eyes, watching. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” Nina asked in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Vera, also whispering. “He + won’t tell me.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed past them then into the dining-room, looked about him for a + moment, then sank into a chair as though his legs would no longer support + him, holding on to the cloth with both hands. + </p> + <p> + The sisters followed him into the dining-room. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t shiver like that!” said Vera, “tell us why + you’ve come in here?”... + </p> + <p> + His eyes looked past them, never still, wandering from wall to wall, from + door to door. + </p> + <p> + “They’re after me...” he said. “That’s it—I + was hiding in our cupboard all last night and this morning. They were + round there all the time breaking up our things.... I heard them shouting. + They were going to kill me. I’ve done nothing—O God! what’s + that?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no one here,” said Vera, “except + ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw a chance to get away and I crept out. But I couldn’t + get far.... I knew you would be good-hearted... good-hearted. Hide me + somewhere—anywhere!... and they won’t come in here. Only until + the evening. I’ve done no one any harm.... Only my duty....” + </p> + <p> + He began to snivel, taking out from his coat a very dirty + pocket-handkerchief and dabbing his face with it. + </p> + <p> + The odd thing that they felt, as they looked at him, was the incredible + intermingling of public and private affairs. Five minutes before they had + been passing through a tremendous crisis in their personal relationship. + The whole history of their lives together, flowing through how many years, + through how many phases, how many quarrels, and happiness and adventures + had reached here a climax whose issue was so important that life between + them could never be the same again. + </p> + <p> + So urgent had been the affair that during that hour they had forgotten the + Revolution, Russia, the war. Moreover, always in the past, they had + assumed that public life was no affair of theirs. The Russo-Japanese War, + even the spasmodic revolt in 1905, had not touched them except as a wind + of ideas which blew so swiftly through their private lives that they were + scarcely affected by it. + </p> + <p> + Now in the person of that trembling, shaking figure at their table, the + Revolution had come to them, and not only the Revolution, but the strange + new secret city that Petrograd was... the whole ground was quaking beneath + them. + </p> + <p> + And in the eyes of the fugitive they saw what terror of death really was. + It was no tale read in a story-book, no recounting of an adventure by some + romantic traveller, it was <i>here</i> with them in the flat and at any + moment.... + </p> + <p> + It was then that Vera realised that there was no time to lose—something + must be done at once. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s pursuing you?” she asked, quickly. “Where + are they?” + </p> + <p> + He got up and was moving about the room as though he was looking for a + hiding-place. + </p> + <p> + “All the people.... Everybody!” He turned round upon them, + suddenly striking, what seemed to them, a ludicrously grand attitude. + “Abominable! That’s what it is. I heard them shouting that I + had a machine-gun on the roof and was killing people. I had no + machine-gun. Of course not. I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I + had one. But there they were. That’s what they were shouting! And I’ve + always done my duty. What’s one to do? Obey one’s superior + officer? Of course, what he says one does. What’s life for?... and + then naturally one expects a reward. Things were going well with me, very + well indeed—and then this comes. It’s a degrading thing for a + man to hide for a day and a night in a cupboard.” His teeth began to + chatter then so that he could scarcely speak. He seemed to be shaking with + ague. + </p> + <p> + He caught Vera’s hand. “Save me—save me!” he said. + “Put me somewhere.... I’ve done nothing disgraceful. They’ll + shoot me like a dog—” + </p> + <p> + The sisters consulted. + </p> + <p> + “What are we to do?” asked Nina. “We can’t let him + go out to be killed.” + </p> + <p> + “No. But if we keep him here and they come in and find him, we shall + all be involved.... It isn’t fair to Nicholas or Uncle Ivan....” + </p> + <p> + “We can’t let him go out.” + </p> + <p> + “No, we can’t,” Vera replied. She saw at once how + impossible that was. Were he caught outside and shot they would feel that + they had his death for ever on their souls. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the linen cupboard,” she said. + </p> + <p> + She turned round to Nina. “I’m afraid,” she said, + “if you hide here, you’ll have to go into another cupboard. + And it can only be for an hour or two. We couldn’t keep you here all + night.” + </p> + <p> + He said nothing except “Quick. Take me.” Vera led him into her + bedroom and showed him the place. Without another word he pressed in + amongst the clothes. It was a deep cupboard, and, although he was a fat + man, the door closed quite evenly. + </p> + <p> + It was suddenly as though he had never been, Vera went back to Nina. + </p> + <p> + They stood close to one another in the middle of the room, and talked in + whispers. + </p> + <p> + “What are we going to do?” + </p> + <p> + “We can only wait!” + </p> + <p> + “They’ll never dare to search your room, Vera.” + </p> + <p> + “One doesn’t know now... everything’s so different.” + </p> + <p> + “Vera, you <i>are</i> brave. Forgive me what I said just now.... I’ll + help you if you want—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, Nina dear. Not that now. We’ve got to think—what’s + best....” + </p> + <p> + They kissed very quietly, and then they sat down by the table and waited. + There was simply nothing else to do. + </p> + <p> + Vera said that, during that pause, she could see the little policeman + everywhere. In every part of the room she found him, with his fat legs and + dirty, streaky face and open collar. The flat was heavy, portentous with + his presence, as though it stood with a self-important finger on its lips + saying, “I’ve got a secret in here. <i>Such</i> a secret. You + don’t know what <i>I’ve</i> got....” + </p> + <p> + They discussed in whispers as to who would come in first. Nicholas or + Uncle Ivan or Bohun or Sacha? And supposing one of them came in while the + soldiers were there? Who would be the most dangerous? Sacha? She would + scream and give everything away. Suppose they had seen him enter and were + simply waiting, on the cat-and-mouse plan, to catch him? That was an + intolerable thought. + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said Nina, “I must go and see whether there’s + any one outside.” + </p> + <p> + But there was no need for her to do that. Even as she spoke they heard the + steps on the stairs; and instantly afterwards there came the loud knocking + on their door. Vera pressed Nina’s hand and went into the hall. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Kto tam</i>... Who’s there?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Open the door!... The Workmen and Soldiers’ Committee demand + entrance in the name of the Revolution.” + </p> + <p> + She opened the door at once. During those first days of the Revolution + they cherished certain melodramatic displays. + </p> + <p> + Whether consciously or no they built on all the old French Revolution + traditions, or perhaps it is that every Revolution produces of necessity + the same clothing with which to cover its nakedness. A strange mixture of + farce and terror were those detachments of so-called justice. At their + head there was, as a rule, a student, often smiling and bespectacled. The + soldiers themselves, from one of the Petrograd regiments, were frankly out + for a good time and enjoyed themselves thoroughly, but, as is the Slavonic + way, playfulness could pass with surprising suddenness to dead earnest—with, + indeed, so dramatic a precipitance that the actors themselves were + afterwards amazed. Of these “little, regrettable mistakes” + there had already, during the week, been several examples. To Vera, with + the knowledge of the contents of her linen-cupboard, the men seemed + terrifying enough. Their leader was a fat and beaming student—quite + a boy. He was very polite, saying “<i>Zdrastvuite,”</i> and + taking off his cap. The men behind him—hulking men from one of the + Guards regiments—pushed about in the little hall like a lot of + puppies, joking with one another, holding their rifles upside down, and + making sudden efforts at a seriousness that they could not possibly + sustain. + </p> + <p> + Only one of them, an older man with a thick black beard, was intensely + grave, and looked at Vera with beseeching eyes, as though he longed to + tell her the secret of his life. + </p> + <p> + “What can I do for you?” she asked the student. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Prosteete</i>... Forgive us.” He smiled and blinked at + her, then put on his cap, clicked his heels, gave a salute, and took his + cap off again. “We wish to be in no way an inconvenience to you. We + are simply obeying orders. We have instructions that a policeman is hiding + in one of these flats.... We know, of course, that he cannot possibly be + here. Nevertheless we are compelled... <i>Prosteete</i>.... What nice + pictures you have!” he ended suddenly. It was then that Vera + discovered that they were by this time in the dining-room, crowded + together near the door and gazing at Nina with interested eyes. + </p> + <p> + “There’s no one here, of course,” said Vera, very + quietly. “No one at all.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Tak Tochno</i> (quite so),” said the black-bearded + soldier, for no particular reason, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “You will allow me to sit down?” said the student, very + politely. “I must, I am afraid, ask a few questions.” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly,” said Vera quietly. “Anything you like.” + </p> + <p> + She had moved over to Nina, and they stood side by side. But she could not + think of Nina, she could not think even of the policeman in the + cupboard.... She could think only of that other house on the Quay where, + perhaps even now, this same scene was being enacted. They had found + Wilderling.... They had dragged him out.... Lawrence was beside him.... + They were condemned together.... Oh! love had come to her at last in a + wild, surging flood! Of all the steps she had been led until at last, only + half an hour before in that scene with Nina, the curtains had been flung + aside and the whole view revealed to her. She felt such a strength, such a + pride, such a defiance, as she had not known belonged to human power. She + had, for many weeks, been hesitating before the gates. Now, suddenly, she + had swept through. His death now was not the terror that it had been only + an hour before. Nina’s accusation had shown her, as a flash of + lightning flings the mountains into view, that now she could never lose + him, were he with her or no, and that beside that truth nothing mattered. + </p> + <p> + Something of her bravery and grandeur and beauty must have been felt by + them all at that moment. Nina realised it.... She told me that her own + fear left her altogether when she saw how Vera was facing them. She was + suddenly calm and quiet and very amused. + </p> + <p> + The student officer seemed now to be quite at home. He had taken a great + many notes down in a little book, and looked very important as he did so. + His chubby face expressed great self-satisfaction. He talked half to + himself and half to Vera. “Yes... Yes... quite so. Exactly. And your + husband is not yet at home, Madame Markovitch.... <i>Nu da....</i> Of + course these are very troublesome times, and as you say things have to + move in a hurry. + </p> + <p> + “You’ve heard perhaps that Nicholas Romanoff has abdicated + entirely—and refused to allow his son to succeed. Makes things + simpler.... Yes.... Very pleasant pictures you have—and Ostroffsky—six + volumes. Very agreeable. I have myself acted in Ostroffsky at different + times. I find his plays very enjoyable. I am sure you will forgive us, + Madame, if we walk through your charming flat.” + </p> + <p> + But indeed by this time the soldiers themselves had begun to roam about on + their own account. Nina remembers one soldier in especial—a large + dirty fellow with ragged moustache—who quite frankly terrified her. + He seemed to regard her with particular satisfaction, staring at her, and, + as it were, licking his lips over her. He wandered about the room + fingering things, and seemed to be immensely interested in Nicholas’s + little den, peering through the glass window that there was in the door + and rubbing the glass with his finger. He presently pushed the door open + and soon they were all in there. + </p> + <p> + Then a characteristic thing occurred. Apparently Nicholas’s + inventions—his little pieces of wood and bark and cloth, his glass + bottles, and tubes—seemed to them highly suspicious. There was + laughter at first, and then sudden silence. Nina could see part of the + room through the open door and she watched them as they gathered round the + little table, talking together in excited whispers. The tall, + rough-looking fellow who had frightened her before picked up one of the + tubes, and then, whether by accident or intention, let it fall, and the + tinkling smash of the glass frightened them all so precipitately that they + came tumbling out into the larger room. The big fellow whispered something + to the student, who at once became more self-important than ever, and said + very seriously to Vera: + </p> + <p> + “That is your husband’s room, Madame, I understand?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Vera quietly, “he does his work in there.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of work?” + </p> + <p> + “He is an inventor.” + </p> + <p> + “An inventor of what?” + </p> + <p> + “Various things.... He is working at present on something to do with + the making of cloth.” + </p> + <p> + Unfortunately this serious view of Nicholas’s inventions suddenly + seemed to Nina so ridiculous that she tittered. She could have done + nothing more regrettable. The student obviously felt that his dignity was + threatened. He looked at her very severely: + </p> + <p> + “This is no laughing matter,” he said. He himself then got up + and went into the inner room. He was there for some time, and they could + hear him fingering the tubes and treading on the broken glass. He came out + again at last. + </p> + <p> + He was seriously offended. + </p> + <p> + “You should have told us your husband was an inventor.” + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t think it was of importance,” said Vera. + </p> + <p> + “Everything is of importance,” he answered. The atmosphere was + now entirely changed. The soldiers were angry—they had, it seemed, + been deceived and treated like children. The melancholy fellow with the + black beard looked at Vera with eyes of deep reproach. + </p> + <p> + “When will your husband return?” asked the student. + </p> + <p> + “I am afraid I don’t know,” said Vera. She realised that + the situation was now serious, but she could not keep her mind upon it. In + that house on the Quay what was happening? What had, perhaps, already + happened?... + </p> + <p> + “Where has he gone?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + “Why didn’t he tell you where he was going?” + </p> + <p> + “He often does not tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, that is wrong. In these days one should always say where one is + going.” + </p> + <p> + He stood up very stiff and straight. “Search the house,” he + said to his men. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly then Vera’s mind concentrated. It was as though, she told + me “I came back into the room and saw for the first time what was + happening.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no one in the rest of the flat,” she said, “and + nothing that can interest you.” + </p> + <p> + “That is for me to judge,” said the little officer grimly. + </p> + <p> + “But I assure you there is nothing,” she went on eagerly. + “There is only the kitchen and the bath-room and the five bedrooms.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose bedrooms?” said the officer. + </p> + <p> + “My husband’s, my own, my sister’s, my uncle’s, + and an Englishman’s,” she answered, colouring a little. + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless we must do our duty.... Search the house,” he + repeated. + </p> + <p> + “But you must not go into our bedrooms,” she said, her voice + rising. “There is nothing for you there. I am sure you will respect + our privacy.” + </p> + <p> + “Our orders must be obeyed,” he answered angrily. + </p> + <p> + “But—” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Silence, Madame,” he said, furiously, staring at her as + though she were his personal, deadly enemy. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” said Vera proudly. “Please do as you wish.” + </p> + <p> + The officer walked past her with his head up, and the soldiers followed + him, their eyes malicious and inquisitive and excited. The sisters stood + together waiting. Of course the end had come. They simply stood there + fastening their resolution to the extreme moment. + </p> + <p> + “I must go with them,” said Vera. She followed them into her + bedroom. It was a very little place and they filled it, they looked rather + sheepish now, whispering to one another. + </p> + <p> + “What’s in there?” said the officer, tapping the + cupboard. + </p> + <p> + “Only some clothes,” said Vera. + </p> + <p> + “Open it!” he ordered. + </p> + <p> + Then the world did indeed stand still. The clock ceased to tick, the + little rumble in the stove was silenced, the shuffling feet of one of the + soldiers stayed, the movement of some rustle in the wall paper was held. + The world was frozen. + </p> + <p> + “Now I suppose we shall all be shot,” was Vera’s + thought, repeated over and over again with a ludicrous monotony. Then she + could see nothing but the little policeman, tumbling out of the cupboard, + dishevelled and terrified. Terrified! what that look in his eyes would be! + That at any rate she could not face and she turned her head away from + them, looking out through the door into the dark little passage. + </p> + <p> + She heard as though from an infinite distance the words: + </p> + <p> + “Well, there’s nobody there.” + </p> + <p> + She did not believe him of course. He said that whoever he was, to test + her, to tempt her to give herself away. But she was too clever for them. + She turned back and faced them, and then saw, to the accompaniment of an + amazement that seemed like thunder in her ears, that the cupboard was + indeed empty. + </p> + <p> + “There is nobody,” said the black-bearded soldier. + </p> + <p> + The student looked rather ashamed of himself. The white clothes, the + skirts, and the blouses in the cupboard reproached him. + </p> + <p> + “You will of course understand, Madame,” he said stiffly, + “that the search was inevitable. Regrettable but necessary. I’m + sure you will see that for your own satisfaction....” + </p> + <p> + “You are assured now that there is no one here?” Vera + interrupted him coldly. + </p> + <p> + “Assured,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + But where was the man? She felt as though she were in some fantastic + nightmare in which nothing was as it seemed. The cupboard was not a + cupboard, the policeman not a policeman.... + </p> + <p> + “There is the kitchen,” she said. + </p> + <p> + In the kitchen of course they found nothing. There was a large cupboard in + one corner but they did not look there. They had had enough. They returned + into the dining-room and there, looking very surprised, his head very high + above his collar was Markovitch. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I regret extremely,” said the officer pompously. “I + have been compelled to make a search. Duty only... I regret. But no one is + here. Your flat is at liberty. I wish you good-afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + Before Markovitch could ask further questions the room was emptied of them + all. They tramped out, laughing and joking, children again, the hall door + closed behind them. + </p> + <p> + Nina clutched Vera’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “Vera.... Vera, where is he?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” said Vera. + </p> + <p> + “What’s all this?” asked Nicholas. + </p> + <p> + They explained to him but he scarcely seemed to hear. He was radiant—smiling + in a kind of ecstasy. + </p> + <p> + “They have gone? I am safe?” + </p> + <p> + In the doorway was the little policeman, black with grime and dust, so + comical a figure that in reaction from the crisis of ten minutes before, + they laughed hysterically. + </p> + <p> + “Oh look! look!...” cried Nina. “How dirty he is!” + </p> + <p> + “Where have you been?” asked Vera. “Why weren’t + you in the cupboard?” + </p> + <p> + The little man’s teeth were chattering, so that he could scarcely + speak.... + </p> + <p> + “I heard them in the other room. I knew that the cupboard would be + the first place. I slipped into the kitchen and hid in the fireplace.” + </p> + <p> + “You’re not angry, Nicholas?” Vera asked. “We + couldn’t send him out to be shot.” + </p> + <p> + “What does that matter?” he almost impatiently brushed it + aside. “There are other things more important.” He looked at + the trembling dirty figure. “Only you’d better go back and + hide again until it’s dark. They might come back....” + </p> + <p> + He caught Vera by the arm. His eyes were flames. He drew her with him back + into her little room. He closed the door. + </p> + <p> + “The Revolution has come—it has really come,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered, “it has come into this very house. + The world has changed.” + </p> + <p> + “The Czar has abdicated.... The old world has gone, the old wicked + world! Russia is born again!” + </p> + <p> + His eyes were the eyes of a fanatic. + </p> + <p> + Her eyes, too, were alight. She gazed past him. + </p> + <p> + “I know—I know,” she whispered as though to herself. + </p> + <p> + “Russia—Russia,” he went on coming closer and closer, + “Russia and you. We will build a new world. We will forget our old + troubles. Oh, Vera, my darling, my darling, we’re going to be happy + now! I love you so. And now I can hope again. All our love will be clean + in this new world. We’re going to be happy at last!” + </p> + <p> + But she did not hear him. She saw into space. A great exultation ran + through her body. All lost for love! At last she was awakened, at last she + lived, at last, at last, she knew what love was. + </p> + <p> + “I love him! I love him... him,” her soul whispered. “And + nothing now in this world or the next can separate us.” + </p> + <p> + “Vera—Vera,” Nicholas cried, “we are together at + last—as we have never been. And now we’ll work together again—for + Russia.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at the man whom she had never loved, with a great compassion + and pity. She put her arms around him and kissed him, her whole maternal + spirit suddenly aware of him and seeking to comfort him. + </p> + <p> + At the touch of her lips his body trembled with happiness. But he did not + know that it was a kiss of farewell.... + </p> + <h3> + XIII + </h3> + <p> + I have no idea at all what Lawrence did during the early days of that + week. He has never told me, and I have never asked him. He never, with the + single exception of the afternoon at the Astoria, came near the + Markovitches, and I know that was because he had now reached a stage where + he did not dare trust himself to see Vera—just as she at that time + did not trust herself to see him.... + </p> + <p> + I do not know what he thought of those first days of the Revolution. I can + imagine that he took it all very quietly, doing his duty and making no + comment. He had of course his own interest in it, but it would be, I am + sure, an entirely original interest, unlike any one else’s. I + remember Dune once, in the long-dead days, saying to me, “It’s + never any use guessing what Lawrence is thinking. When you think it’s + football it’s Euripides, and when you think it’s Euripides it’s + Marie Corelli.” Of all the actors in this affair he remains to me to + the last as the most mysterious. I know that he loved Vera with the + endurance of the rock, the heat of the flame, the ruthlessness of a + torrent, but behind that love there sat the man himself, invisible, + silent, patient, watching. + </p> + <p> + He may have had Semyonov’s contempt for the Revolutionary idealist, + he may have had Wilderling’s belief in the Czar’s autocracy, + he may have had Boris Grogoff’s enthusiasm for freedom and a general + holiday. I don’t know. I know nothing at all about it. I don’t + think that he saw much of the Wilderlings during the earlier part of the + week. He himself was a great deal with the English Military Mission, and + Wilderling was with <i>his</i> party whatever that might be. He could see + of course that Wilderling was disturbed, or perhaps indignant is the right + word. “As though you know,” he said, “some dirty little + boy had been pullin’ snooks at him.” Nevertheless the Baroness + was the human link. Lawrence would see from the first—that is, from + the morning of the Sunday—that she was in an agony of horror. She + confided in nobody, but went about as though she was watching for + something, and at dinner her eyes never left her husband’s face for + a moment. Those evening meals must have been awful. I can imagine the + dignity, the solemn heavy room with all the silver, the ceremonious old + man-servant and Wilderling himself behaving as though nothing at all were + the matter. To do him all justice he was as brave as a lion, and as proud + as a gladiator, and as conceited as a Prussian. On the Wednesday evening + he did not return home. He telephoned that he was kept on important + business. + </p> + <p> + The Baroness and Lawrence had the long slow meal together. It was almost + more than Jerry could stand having, of course, his own private tortures to + face. “It was as though the old lady felt that she had been deputed + to support the honour of the family during her husband’s absence. + She must have been wild with anxiety, but she showed no sign except that + her hand trembled when she raised her glass.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you talk about?” I asked him. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, about anything! Theatres and her home, when she was a girl and + England.... Awful, every minute of it!” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment towards the end of the meal, when the good lady nearly + broke down. The bell in the hall rang and there was a step; she thought it + was her husband and half rose. It was, however, the Dvornik with a message + of no importance. She gave a little sigh. “Oh, I do wish he would + come!... I do wish he would come!” she murmured to herself. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he’ll come,” Lawrence reassured her, but she seemed + indignant with him for having overheard her. Afterwards, sitting together + desolately in the magnificent drawing-room, she became affectionately + maternal. I have always wondered why Lawrence confided to me the details + of their very intimate conversation. It was exactly the kind of thing he + was most reticent about. + </p> + <p> + She asked him about his home, his people, his ambitions. She had asked him + about these things before, but to-night there was an appeal in her + questions, as though she said: + </p> + <p> + “Take my mind off that other thing. Help me to forget, if it’s + only for a moment.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever been in love?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Once,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Was he in love now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “With some one in Russia?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + She hoped that he would be happy. He told her that he didn’t think + happiness was quite the point in this particular case. There were other + things more important—and, anyway, it was inevitable. + </p> + <p> + “He had fallen in love at first sight?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. The very first moment.” + </p> + <p> + She sighed. So had she. It was, she thought, the only real way. She asked + him whether it might not, after all, turn out better than he expected. + </p> + <p> + No, he did not think that it could. But he didn’t mind how it turned + out—at least he couldn’t look that far. The point was that he + was in it, up to the neck, and he was never going to be out of it again. + </p> + <p> + There was something boyish about that that pleased her. She put her plump + hand on his knee and told him how she had first met the Baron, down in the + South, at Kieff, how grand he had looked; how, seeing her across a room + full of people, he had smiled at her before he had ever spoken to her or + knew her name. “I was quite pretty then,” she added. “I + have never regretted our marriage for a single moment,” she said. + “Nor, I know, has he.” + </p> + <p> + “We hoped there would he children....” She gave a pathetic + little gesture. “We will get away down to the South again as soon as + the troubles are over,” she ended. + </p> + <p> + I don’t suppose he was thinking much of her—his mind was on + Vera all the time—but after he had left her and lay in bed, + sleepless, his mind dwelt on her affectionately, and he thought that he + would like to help her. He realised, quite clearly, that Wilderling was in + a very dangerous position, but I don’t think that it ever occurred + to him for a moment that it would be wise for him to move to another flat. + </p> + <p> + On the next day, Thursday, Lawrence did not return until the middle of the + afternoon. The town was, by now, comparatively quiet again. Numbers of the + police had been caught and imprisoned, some had been shot and others were + in hiding; most of the machine-guns shooting from the roofs had ceased. + The abdication of the Czar had already produced the second phase of the + Revolution—the beginning of the struggle between the Provisional + Government and the Council of Workmen and Soldiers’ Deputies, and + this was proceeding, for the moment, inside the walls of the Duma rather + than in the streets and squares of the town. Lawrence returned, therefore, + that afternoon with a strange sense of quiet and security. + </p> + <p> + “It was almost, you know, as though this tommy-rot about a White + Revolution might be true after all—with this jolly old Duma and + their jolly old Kerensky runnin’ the show. Of course I’d seen + the nonsense about their not salutin’ the officers and all that, but + I didn’t think any fellers alive would be such dam fools.... I might + have known better.” + </p> + <p> + He let himself into the flat and found there a death-like stillness—no + one about and no sound except the tickings of the large clock in the + drawing-room. + </p> + <p> + He wandered into that horribly impressive place and suddenly sat down on + the sofa with a realisation of extreme physical fatigue. He didn’t + know why he was so tired, he had felt quite “bobbish” all the + week; suddenly now his limbs were like water, he had a bad ache down his + spine and his legs were as heavy as lead. He sat in a kind of trance on + that sofa, he was not asleep, but he was also, quite certainly, not awake. + He wondered why the place was so “beastly still” after all the + noise there had been all the week. There was no one left alive—every + one dead—except himself and Vera... Vera... Vera. + </p> + <p> + Then he was conscious that some one was looking at him through the + double-doors. At first he didn’t realise who it was, the face was so + white and the figure so quiet, then, pulling himself together, he saw that + it was the old servant. + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Andre?” he asked, sitting up. + </p> + <p> + The old man didn’t answer, but came into the room, carefully closing + the door behind him. Lawrence saw that he was trembling with fright, but + was still endeavouring to behave with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “Barin! Barin!” he whispered, as though Lawrence were a long + way from him. “Paul Konstantinovitch! (that was Wilderling). He’s + mad.... He doesn’t know what he’s doing. Oh, sir, stop him, + stop him, or we shall all be murdered!” + </p> + <p> + “What is he doing?” asked Lawrence, standing up. + </p> + <p> + “In the little hack room,” Andre whispered, as though now he + were confiding a terrible secret. “Come quickly...!” + </p> + <p> + Lawrence followed him; when he had gone a few steps down the passage he + heard suddenly a sharp, muffled report. + </p> + <p> + “What’s that?” + </p> + <p> + Andre came close to him, his old, seamed face white like plaster. + </p> + <p> + “He has a rifle in there...” he said. “He’s + shooting at them!” Then as Lawrence stepped up to the door of the + little room that was Wilderling’s dressing-room, Andre caught his + arm—. + </p> + <p> + “Be careful, Barin.... He doesn’t know what he’s about. + He may not recognise you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that’s all right!” said Lawrence. He pushed the + door open and walked in. To give for a moment his own account of it: + “You know that room was the rummiest thing. I’d never been + into it before. I knew the old fellow was a bit of a dandy, but I never + expected to see all the pots and jars and glasses there were. You’d + have thought one wouldn’t have noticed a thing at such a time, but + you couldn’t escape them,—his dressing-table simply covered,—white + round jars with pink tops, bottles of hair-oil with ribbons round the + neck, manicure things, heaps of silver things, and boxes with Chinese + patterns on them, and one thing, open, with what was mighty like rouge in + it. And clothes all over the place—red silk dressing-gown with + golden tassels, and red leather slippers! + </p> + <p> + “I don’t remember noticing any of this at the moment, but it + all comes back to me as soon as I begin to think of it—and the room + stank of scent!” + </p> + <p> + But of course it was the old man in the corner who mattered. It was, I + think, very significant of Lawrence’s character and his + unEnglish-English tradition that the first thing that he felt was the + pathos of it. No other Englishman in Petrograd would have seen that at + all. + </p> + <p> + Wilderling was crouched in the corner against a piece of gold Japanese + embroidery. He was in the shadow, away from the window, which was pushed + open sufficiently to allow the muzzle of the rifle to slip between the + woodwork and the pane. The old man, his white hair disordered, his clothes + dusty, and his hands grimy, crept forward just as Lawrence entered, fired + down into the side-street, then moved swiftly back into his corner again. + He muttered to himself without ceasing in French, “Chiens! + Chiens!... Chiens!” He was very hot, and he stopped for a moment to + wipe the sweat from his forehead, then he saw Lawrence. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” he asked, as though he didn’t + recognize him. + </p> + <p> + Lawrence moved down the side of the room, avoiding the window. He touched + the little man’s arm. + </p> + <p> + “I say, you know,” he said, “this won’t do.” + </p> + <p> + Wilderling smelt of gunpowder, and he was breathing hard as though he had + been running desperately. He quivered when Lawrence touched him. + </p> + <p> + “Go away!” he said, “you mustn’t come here.... I’ll + get them yet—I tell you I’ll get them yet—I tell you I’ll + get them—Let them dare... Chiens... Chiens...” He jerked his + rifle away from the window and began, with trembling fingers, to load it + again. + </p> + <p> + Lawrence gripped his arm. “When I did that,” he said, “it + felt as though there wasn’t an arm there at all, but just a bone + which I could break if I pressed a bit harder.” + </p> + <p> + “Come away!” he said. “You damn fool—don’t + you see that it’s hopeless?” + </p> + <p> + “And I’d always been so respectful to him....” he added + in parenthesis. + </p> + <p> + Wilderling hissed at him, saying no words, just drawing in his breath. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got two of them,” he whispered suddenly. “I’ll + get them all.” + </p> + <p> + Then a bullet crashed through the window, burying itself in the opposite + wall. + </p> + <p> + After that things happened so quickly that it was impossible to say in + what order they occurred. There was suddenly a tremendous noise in the + flat. + </p> + <p> + “It was just as though the whole place was going to tumble about our + ears. All the pots and bottles began to jump about, and then another + bullet came through, landed on the dressing-table, and smashed everything. + The looking-glass crashed, and the hair-oil was all over the place. I + rushed out to see what was happening in the hall....” + </p> + <p> + What “was happening” was that the soldiers had broken the hall + door in. Lawrence saw then a horrible thing. One of the men rushed forward + and stuck Andre, who was standing, paralysed, by the drawing-room door, in + the stomach. The old man cried out “just like a shot rabbit,” + and stood there “for what seemed ages,” with the blood pouring + out of his middle. + </p> + <p> + That finished Lawrence. He rushed forward, and they would certainly have + “stuck” him too if someone hadn’t cried out, “Look + out, he’s an Englishman—an <i>Anglichanin</i>—I know + him.” + </p> + <p> + After that, for a time, he was uncertain of anything. He struggled; he was + held. He heard noises around him—shouts or murmurs or sighs—that + didn’t seem to him to be connected with anything human. He could not + have said where he was nor what he was doing. Then, quite suddenly, + everything cleared. He came to himself with a consciousness of that utter + weariness that he had felt before. He was able to visualise the scene, to + take it all in, but as a distant spectator. “It was like nothing so + much as watching a cinematograph,” he told me. He could do nothing; + he was held by three soldiers, who apparently wished him to be a witness + of the whole affair. Andre’s body lay there, huddled up in a pool of + drying blood, that glistened under the electric light. One of his legs was + bent crookedly under him, and Lawrence had a strange mad impulse to thrust + his way forward and put it straight. + </p> + <p> + It was then, with a horrible sickly feeling, exactly like a blow in the + stomach, that he realised that the Baroness was there. She was standing, + quite alone, at the entrance of the hall, looking at the soldiers, who + were about eight in number. + </p> + <p> + He heard her say, “What’s happened? Who are you?...” and + then in a sharper, more urgent voice, “Where’s my husband?” + </p> + <p> + Then she saw Andre.... She gave a sharp little cry, moved forward towards + him, and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what she did then,” said Lawrence. “I + think she suddenly began to run down the passage. I know she was crying, + ‘Paul! Paul! Paul!’... I never saw her again.” + </p> + <p> + The officer—an elderly kindly-looking man like a doctor or a lawyer + (I am trying to give every possible detail, because I think it important)—then + came up to Lawrence and asked him some questions: + </p> + <p> + “What was his name?” + </p> + <p> + “Jeremy Ralph Lawrence.” + </p> + <p> + “He was an Englishman.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Working at the British Embassy?” + </p> + <p> + “No, at the British Military Mission.” + </p> + <p> + “He was officer?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “In the British Army?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He had fought for two years in France.” + </p> + <p> + “He had been lodging with Baron Wilderling?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Ever since he came to Russia.” + </p> + <p> + The officer nodded his head. They knew about him, had full information. A + friend of his, a Mr. Boris Grogoff, had spoken of him. + </p> + <p> + The officer was then very polite, told him that they regretted extremely + the inconvenience and discomfort to which he might be put, but that they + must detain him until this affair was concluded—“which will be + very soon” added the officer. He also added that he wished Lawrence + to be a witness of what occurred so that he should see that, under the new + regime in Russia, everything was just and straightforward. + </p> + <p> + “I tried to tell him,” said Lawrence to me, “that + Wilderling was off his head. I hadn’t the least hope, of course.... + It was all quite clear, and, at such a time, quite just. Wilderling had + been shooting them out of his window.... The officer listened very + politely, but when I had finished he only shook his head. That was their + affair he said. + </p> + <p> + “It was then that I realised Wilderling. He was standing quite close + to me. He had obviously been struggling a bit, because his shirt was all + torn, and you could see his chest. He kept moving his hand and trying to + pull his shirt over; it was his only movement. He was as straight as a + dart, and except for the motion of his hand as still as a statue, standing + between the soldiers, looking directly in front of him. He had been mad in + that other room, quite dotty. + </p> + <p> + “He was as sane as anything now, grave and serious and rather + ironical, just as he always looked. Well it was at that moment, when I saw + him there, that I thought of Vera. I had been thinking of her all the time + of course. I had been thinking of nothing else for weeks. But that minute, + there in the hall, settled me. Callous, wasn’t it? I ought to have + been thinking only of Wilderling and his poor old wife. After all, they’d + been awfully good to me. She’d been almost like a mother all the + time.... But there it was. It came over me like a storm. I’d been + fighting for nights and days and days and nights not to go to her—fighting + like hell, trying to play the game the sentimentalists would call it. I + suppose seeing the old man there and knowing what they were going to do to + him settled it. It was a sudden conviction, like a blow, that all this + thing was real, that they weren’t playing at it, that any one in the + town was as near death as winking.... And so there it was! Vera! I’d + got to get to her—at once—and never leave her again until she + was safe. I’d got to get to her! I’d got to get to her! I’d + got to get to her!... Nothing else mattered. Not Wilderling’s death + nor mine either, except that if I was dead I’d be out of it and + wouldn’t be able to help her. They talk about men with one idea. + From that moment I had only one idea in all the world—I don’t + know that I’ve had any other one since. They talk about scruples, + moralities, traditions. They’re all right, but there just are + moments in life when they simply don’t count at all.... Vera was in + danger—Well, that was all that mattered. + </p> + <p> + “The officer said something to Wilderling. I heard Wilderling + answer: “You’re rebels against His Majesty.... I wish I’d + shot more of you!” Fine old boy, you know, whatever way you look at + it. + </p> + <p> + “They moved him forward then. He went quite willingly, without any + kind of resistance. They motioned to me to follow. We walked out of the + flat down the stairs, no one saying a word. We went out on to the Quay. + There was no one there. They stood him up against the wall, facing the + river. It was dark, and when he was against the wall he seemed to vanish,—only + I got one kind of gesture, a sort of farewell, you know, his grey hair + waving in the breeze from the river. + </p> + <p> + “There was a report, and it was as though a piece of the wall slowly + unsettled itself and fell forward. No sound except the report. Oh, he was + a fine old boy! + </p> + <p> + “The officer came up to me and said very politely: + </p> + <p> + “‘You are free now, sir,’ and something about regretting + incivility, and something, I think, about them perhaps wanting me again to + give some sort of evidence. Very polite he was. + </p> + <p> + “I was mad, I suppose, I don’t know. I believe I said + something to him about Vera, which of course he didn’t understand. + </p> + <p> + “I know I wanted to run like hell to Vera to see that she was safe. + </p> + <p> + “But I didn’t. I walked off as slowly as anything. It was + awful. They’d been so good to me, and yet I wasn’t thinking of + Wilderling at all....” + </p> + <h3> + XIV + </h3> + <p> + Markovitch on that same afternoon came back to the flat early. He also, + like Lawrence, felt the strange peace and tranquillity of the town, and it + seemed inevitably like the confirmation of all his dearest hopes. The Czar + was gone, the Old Regime was gone, the people, smiling and friendly, were + maintaining their own discipline—above all, Vera had kissed him. + </p> + <p> + He did not go deeper into his heart and see how strained all their recent + relations must have been for this now to give him such joy. He left that—it + simply was that at last he and Vera understood one another, she had found + that she cared for him after all, and that he was necessary to her + happiness. What that must mean for their future life together he simply + dared not think.... It would change the world for him. He felt like the + man in the story from whom the curse is suddenly lifted.... + </p> + <p> + He walked home through the quiet town, humming to himself. He fancied that + there was a warmth in the air, a strange kindly omen of spring, although + the snow was still thick on the ground, and the Neva a grey carpet of ice. + </p> + <p> + He came into the flat and found it empty. He went into his little room and + started on his inventions. He was so happy that he hummed to himself as he + worked and cut slices off his pieces of wood, and soaked flannel in + bottles, and wrote funny little sentences in his abominable handwriting in + a red notebook. + </p> + <p> + One need not grudge it him, poor Markovitch. It was the last happy + half-hour of his life. + </p> + <p> + He did not turn on his green-shaded lamp, but sat there in the gathering + dusk, chipping up the wood and sometimes stopping, idly lost in happy + thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Some one came in. He peered through his little glass window and saw that + it was Nina. She passed quickly through the dining-room, beyond, towards + her bedroom, without stopping to switch on the light. + </p> + <p> + Nina had broken the spell. He went back to his table, but he couldn’t + work now, and he felt vaguely uneasy and cold. He was just going to leave + his work and find the <i>Retch</i> and settle down to a comfortable read, + when he heard the hall door close. He stood behind his little glass window + and watched; it was Vera, perhaps... it must be... his heart began eagerly + to beat. + </p> + <p> + It <i>was</i> Vera. At once he saw that she was strangely agitated. Before + she had switched on the light he realised it. With a click the light was + on. Markovitch had intended to open his door and go out to her, smiling. + He saw at once that she was waiting for some one.... He stood, trembling, + on tiptoe, his face pressed against the glass of the pane. + </p> + <p> + Lawrence came in. He had the face, Markovitch told me many weeks + afterwards, “of a triumphant man.” + </p> + <p> + They had obviously met outside, because Vera said, as though continuing a + conversation: + </p> + <p> + “And it’s only just happened?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve come straight from there,” Lawrence answered. + </p> + <p> + Then he went up to her. She let herself at once go to him and he half + carried her to a chair near the table and exactly opposite Markovitch’s + window. + </p> + <p> + They kissed “like people who had been starving all their lives.” + Markovitch was trembling so that he was afraid lest he should tumble or + make some noise. The two figures in the chair were like statues in their + immobile, relentless, unswerving embrace. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he saw that Nina was standing in the opposite doorway “like + a ghost.” She was there for so brief a moment that he could not be + sure that she had been there at all. Only her white, frightened face + remained with him. + </p> + <p> + One of his thoughts was: + </p> + <p> + “This is the end of my life.” + </p> + <p> + Another was: + </p> + <p> + “How could they be so careless, with the light on, and perhaps + people in the flat!” + </p> + <p> + And after that: + </p> + <p> + “They need it so much that they don’t care who sees—Starved + people....” + </p> + <p> + And after that: + </p> + <p> + “I’m starved too.” + </p> + <p> + He was so cold that his teeth were chattering, and he crept back from his + window, crept into the farthest farthest corner of his little room, and + crouched there on the floor, staring and staring, but seeing nothing at + all. + </p> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART III — MARKOVITCH AND SEMYONOV + </h2> + <h3> + I + </h3> + <p> + On the evening of that very afternoon, Thursday, I again collapsed. I was + coming home in the dusk through a whispering world. All over the streets, + everywhere on the broad shining snow, under a blaze of stars so sharp and + piercing that the sky seemed strangely close and intimate, the talk went + on. Groups everywhere and groups irrespective of all class distinction—a + well-to-do woman in rich furs, a peasant woman with a shawl over her head, + a wild, bearded soldier, a stout, important officer, a maid-servant, a + cab-driver, a shopman—talking, talking, talking, talking.... The + eagerness, the ignorance, the odd fairy-tale world spun about those + groups, so that the coloured domes of the churches, the silver network of + the stars, the wooden booths, the mist of candles before the Ikons, the + rough painted pictures on the shops advertising the goods sold within—all + these things shared in that crude idealistic, cynical ignorance, in that + fairy-tale of brutality, goodness, cowardice, and bravery, malice and + generosity, superstition and devotion that was so shortly to be offered to + a materialistic, hard-fighting, brave and unthinking Europe!... + </p> + <p> + That, however, was not now my immediate business—enough of that + presently. My immediate business, as I very quickly discovered, was to + pluck up enough strength to drag my wretched body home. The events of the + week had, I suppose, carried me along. I was to suffer now the inevitable + reaction. I felt exactly as though I had been shot from a gun and landed, + suddenly, without breath, without any strength in any of my limbs in a new + and strange world. I was standing, when I first realised my weakness, + beside the wooden booths in the Sadovaya. They were all closed of course, + but along the pavement women and old men had baskets containing sweets and + notepaper and red paper tulips offered in memory of the glorious + Revolution. Right across the Square the groups of people scattered in + little dusky pools against the snow, until they touched the very doors of + the church.... I saw all this, was conscious that the stars and the church + candles mingled... then suddenly I had to clutch the side of the booth + behind me to prevent myself from falling. My head swam, my limbs were as + water, and my old so well-remembered friend struck me in the middle of the + spine as though he had cut me in two with his knife. How was I ever to get + home? No one noticed me—indeed they seemed to my sick eyes to have + ceased to be human. Ghosts in a ghostly world, the snow gleaming through + them so that they only moved like a thin diaphanous veil against the wall + of the sky... I clutched my booth. In a moment I should be down. The pain + in my back was agony, my legs had ceased to exist, and I was falling into + a dark, dark pool of clear jet-black water, at the bottom of which lay a + star.... + </p> + <p> + The strange thing is that I do not know who it was who rescued me. I know + that some one came. I know that to my own dim surprise an Isvostchick was + there and that very feebly I got into it. Some one was with me. Was it my + black-bearded peasant? I fancy now that it was. I can even, on looking + back, see him sitting up, very large and still, one thick arm holding me. + I fancy that I can still smell the stuff of his clothes. I fancy that he + talked to me, very quietly, reassuring me about something. But, upon my + word, I don’t know. One can so easily imagine what one wants to be + true, and now I want, more than I would then ever have believed to be + possible, to have had actual contact with him. It is the only conversation + between us that can ever have existed: never, before or after, was there + another opportunity. And in any case there can scarcely have been a + conversation, because I certainly said nothing, and I cannot remember + anything that he said, if indeed he said anything at all. At any rate I + was there in the Sadovaya, I was in a cab, I was in my bed. The truth of + the rest of it any one may decide for himself.... + </p> + <h3> + II + </h3> + <p> + That Thursday was March 15. I was conscious of my existence again on + Sunday, April 1st. I opened my eyes and saw that there was a thaw. That + was the first thing of which I was aware—that water was apparently + dripping on every side of me. It is a strange sensation to lie on your bed + very weak, and very indifferent, and to feel the world turning to moisture + all about you.... My ramshackle habitation had never been a very strong + defence against the outside world. It seemed now to have definitely + decided to abandon the struggle. The water streamed down the panes of my + window opposite my bed. One patch of my ceiling (just above my only + bookcase, confound it!) was coloured a mouldy grey, and from this huge + drops like elephant’s tears, splashed monotonously. (Already <i>The + Spirit of Man</i> was disfigured by a long grey streak, and the green back + of Galleon’s <i>Roads</i> was splotched with stains.) Some one had + placed a bucket near the door to catch a perpetual stream flowing from the + corner of the room. Down into the bucket it pattered with a hasty, + giggling, hysterical jiggle. I rather liked the companionship of it. I + didn’t mind it at all. I really minded nothing whatever.... I sighed + my appreciation of my return to life. My sigh brought some one from the + corner of my room and that some one was, of course, the inevitable Eat. He + came up to my bed in his stealthy, furtive fashion, and looked at me + reproachfully. I asked him, my voice sounding to myself strange and very + far away, what he was doing there. He answered that if it had not been for + him I should be dead. He had come early one morning and found me lying in + my bed and no one in the place at all. No one—because the old woman + had vanished. Yes, the neighbours had told him. Apparently on that very + Thursday she had decided that the Revolution had given her her freedom, + and that she was never going to work for anybody ever again. She had told + a woman-neighbour that she heard that the land now was going to be given + back to everybody, and she was returning therefore to her village + somewhere in the Moscow Province. She had not been back there for twenty + years. And first, to celebrate her liberty, she would get magnificently + drunk on furniture polish. + </p> + <p> + “I did not see her of course,” said the Rat. “No. When I + came, early in the morning, no one was here. I thought that you were dead, + Barin, and I began collecting your property, so that no one else should + take it. Then you made a movement, and I saw that you were alive—so + I got some cabbage soup and gave it you. That certainly saved you.... I’m + going to stay with you now.” + </p> + <p> + I did not care in the least whether he went or stayed. He chattered on. By + staying with me he would inevitably neglect his public duties. Perhaps I + didn’t know that he had public duties? Yes, he was now an Anarchist, + and I should be astonished very shortly, by the things the Anarchists + would do. All the same, they had their own discipline. They had their own + processions, too, like any one else. Only four days ago he had marched all + over Petrograd carrying a black flag. He must confess that he was rather + sick of it. But they must have processions.... Even the prostitutes had + marched down the Nevski the other day demanding shorter hours. + </p> + <p> + But of course I cannot remember all that he said. During the next few days + I slowly pulled myself out of the misty dead world in which I had been + lying. Pain came back to me, leaping upon me and then receding, finally, + on the third day suddenly leaving me altogether. The Rat fed me on cabbage + soup and glasses of tea and caviare and biscuits. During those three days + he never left me, and indeed tended me like a woman. He would sit by my + bed and with his rough hand stroke my hair, while he poured into my ears + ghastly stories of the many crimes that he had committed. I noticed that + he was cleaner and more civilised. His beard was clipped and he smelt of + cabbage and straw—a rather healthy smell. One morning he suddenly + took the pail, filled it with water and washed himself in front of my + windows. He scrubbed himself until I should have thought that he had no + skin left. + </p> + <p> + “You’re a fine big man, Rat,” I said. + </p> + <p> + He was delighted with that, and came quite near my bed, stretching his + naked body, his arms and legs and chest, like a pleased animal. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’m a fine man, Barin,” he said; “many women + have loved me, and many will again...” Then he went back, and + producing clean drawers and vest from somewhere (I suspect that they were + mine but I was too weak to care), put them on. + </p> + <p> + On the second and third days I felt much better. The thaw was less + violent, the wood crackled in my stove. On the morning of Wednesday April + 14 I got up, dressed, and sat in front of my window. The ice was still + there, but over it lay a faint, a very faint, filmy sheen of water. It was + a day of gleams, the sun flashing in and out of the clouds. Just beneath + my window a tree was pushing into bud. Pools of water lay thick on the + dirty melting snow. I got the Rat to bring a little table and put some + books on it. I had near me <i>The Spirit of Man</i>, Keats’s <i>Letters</i>, + <i>The Roads</i>, Beddoes, and <i>Pride and Prejudice</i>. A consciousness + of the outer world crept, like warmth, through my bones. + </p> + <p> + “Rat,” I said, “who’s been to see me?” + </p> + <p> + “No one,” said he. + </p> + <p> + I felt suddenly a ridiculous affront. + </p> + <p> + “No one?” I asked, incredulous. + </p> + <p> + “No one,” he answered. “They’ve all forgotten you, + Barin,” he added maliciously, knowing that that would hurt me. + </p> + <p> + It was strange how deeply I cared. Here was I who, only a short while + before, had declared myself done with the world for ever, and now I was + almost crying because no one had been to see me! Indeed, I believe in my + weakness and distress I actually did cry. No one at all? Not Vera nor Nina + nor Jeremy nor Bohun? Not young Bohun even...? And then slowly my brain + realised that there was now a new world. None of the old conditions held + any longer. + </p> + <p> + We had been the victims of an earthquake. Now it was—every man for + himself! Quickly then there came upon me an eager desire to know what had + happened in the Markovitch family. What of Jerry and Vera? What of + Nicholas? What of Semyonov...? + </p> + <p> + “Rat,” I said, “this afternoon I am going out!” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, Barin,” he said, “I, too, have an + engagement.” + </p> + <p> + In the afternoon I crept out like an old sick man. I felt strangely shy + and nervous. When I reached the corner of Ekateringofsky Canal and the + English Prospect I decided not to go in and see the Markovitches. For one + thing I shrank from the thought of their compassion. I had not shaved for + many days. I was that dull sickly yellow colour that offends the taste of + all healthy vigorous people. I did not want their pity. No.... I would + wait until I was stronger. + </p> + <p> + My interest in life was reviving with every step that I took. I don’t + know what I had expected the outside world to be. This was April 14. It + was nearly a month since the outburst of the Revolution, and surely there + should be signs in the streets of the results of such a cataclysm. There + were, on the surface, no signs. There was the same little cinema on the + canal with its gaudy coloured posters, there was the old woman sitting at + the foot of the little bridge with her basket of apples and bootlaces, + there was the same wooden hut with the sweets and the fruit, the same + figures of peasant women, soldiers, boys hurrying across the bridge, the + same slow, sleepy Isvostchick stumbling along carelessly. One sign there + was. Exactly opposite the little cinema, on the other side of the canal, + was a high grey block of flats. This now was starred and sprayed with the + white marks of bullets. It was like a man marked for life with smallpox. + That building alone was witness to me that I had not dreamt the events of + that week. + </p> + <p> + The thaw made walking very difficult. The water poured down the sides of + the houses and gurgled in floods through the pipes. The snow was slippery + under the film of gleaming wet, and there were huge pools at every step. + Across the middle of the English Prospect, near the Baths, there was quite + a deep lake.... + </p> + <p> + I wandered slowly along, enjoying the chill warmth of the soft spring sun. + The winter was nearly over! Thank God for that! What had happened during + my month of illness? Perhaps a great Revolutionary army had been formed, + and a mighty, free, and united Russia was going out to save the world! Oh, + I did hope that it was so! Surely that wonderful white week was a good + omen. No Revolution in history had started so well as this one.... + </p> + <p> + I found my way at last very slowly to the end of the Quay, and the sight + of the round towers of my favourite church was like the reassuring smile + of an old friend. The sun was dropping low over the Neva. The whole vast + expanse of the river was coloured very faintly pink. Here, too, there was + the film of the water above the ice; the water caught the colour, but the + ice below it was grey and still. Clouds of crimson and orange and faint + gold streamed away in great waves of light from the sun. The long line of + buildings and towers on the farther side was jet-black; the masts of the + ships clustering against the Quay were touched at their tips with bright + gold. It was all utterly still, not a sound nor a movement anywhere; only + one figure, that of a woman, was coming slowly towards me. I felt, as one + always does at the beginning of a Russian spring, a strange sense of + expectation. Spring in Russia is so sudden and so swift that it gives an + overwhelming impression of a powerful organising Power behind it. Suddenly + the shutters are pulled back and the sun floods the world! Upon this + afternoon one could feel the urgent business of preparation pushing + forward, arrogantly, ruthlessly. I don’t think that I had ever + before realised the power of the Neva at such close quarters. I was almost + ashamed at the contrast of its struggle with my own feebleness. + </p> + <p> + I saw then that the figure coming towards me was Nina. + </p> + <h3> + III + </h3> + <p> + As she came nearer I saw that she was intensely preoccupied. She was + looking straight in front of her but seeing nothing. It was only when she + was quite close to me that I saw that she was crying. She was making no + sound. Her mouth was closed; the tears were slowly, helplessly, rolling + down her cheeks. + </p> + <p> + She was very near to me indeed before she saw me; then she looked at me + closely before she recognised me. When she saw that it was I, she stopped, + fumbled for her handkerchief, which she found, wiped her eyes, then turned + away from me and looked out over the river. + </p> + <p> + “Nina, dear,” I said, “what’s the matter?” + </p> + <p> + She didn’t answer; at length she turned round and said: + </p> + <p> + “You’ve been ill again, haven’t you?” + </p> + <p> + One cheek had a dirty tear-stain on it, which made her inexpressibly young + and pathetic and helpless. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “I have.” + </p> + <p> + She caught her breath, put out her hand, and touched my arm. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you <i>do</i> look ill!... Vera went to ask, and there was a + rough-looking man there who said that no one could see you, but that you + were all right.... One of us ought to have forced a way in—M. Bohun + wanted to—but we’ve all been thinking of ourselves.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter, Nina?” I asked. “You’ve + been crying.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing’s the matter. I’m all right.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you’re not. You ought to tell me. You trusted me once.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t trust any one,” she answered fiercely. “Especially + not Englishmen.” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the matter?” I asked again. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.... We’re just as we were. Except,” she + suddenly looked up at me, “Uncle Alexei’s living with us now.” + </p> + <p> + “Semyonov!” I cried out sharply, “living with you!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she went on, “in the room where Nicholas had his + inventions is Uncle Alexei’s bedroom.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, in Heaven’s name?” I cried. + </p> + <p> + “Uncle Alexei wanted it. He said he was lonely, and then he just + came. I don’t know whether Nicholas likes it or not. Vera hates it, + but she agreed at once.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you like it?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I like Uncle Alexei,” she answered. “We have long + talks. He shows me how silly I’ve been.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” I said... “and what about Nicholas’ + inventions?” + </p> + <p> + “He’s given them up for ever.” She looked at me + doubtfully, as though she were wondering whether she could trust me. + “He’s so funny now—Nicholas, I mean. You know he was so + happy when the Revolution came. Now he’s in a different mood every + minute. Something’s happened to him that we don’t know about.” + </p> + <p> + “What kind of thing?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. He’s seen something or heard something. + It’s some secret he’s got. But Uncle Alexei knows.” + </p> + <p> + “How can you tell?” + </p> + <p> + “Because he’s always saying things that make Nicholas angry, + and we can’t see anything in them at all.... Uncle Alexei’s + very clever.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he is,” I agreed. “But you haven’t told me + why you were crying just now.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at me. She gave a little shiver. “Oh, you do look ill!... + Everything’s going wrong together, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + And with that she suddenly left me, hurrying away from me, leaving me + miserable and apprehensive of some great trouble in store for all of us. + </p> + <h3> + IV + </h3> + <p> + It is impossible to explain how disturbed I was by Nina’s news. + Semyonov living in the flat! He must have some very strong reason for + this, to leave his big comfortable flat for the pokiness of the + Markovitches’! + </p> + <p> + And then that the Markovitches should have him! There were already + inhabitants enough—Nicholas, Vera, Nina, Uncle Ivan, Bohun. Then the + inconvenience and discomfort of Nicholas’s little hole as a bedroom! + How Semyonov must loathe it! + </p> + <p> + From that moment the Markovitches’ flat became for me the centre of + my drama. Looking back I could see now how all the growing development of + the story had centred round those rooms. I did not of course know at this + time of that final drama of the Thursday afternoon, but I knew of the + adventure with the policeman, and it seemed to me that the flat was a cup + into which the ingredients were being poured one after another until at + last the preparation would be complete, and then.... + </p> + <p> + Oh, but I cared for Nina and Vera and Nicholas—yes, and Jerry too! I + wanted to see them happy and at peace before I left them—in especial + Nicholas. + </p> + <p> + And Semyonov came closer to them and closer, following some plan of his + own and yet, after all, finally like a man driven by a power, constructed + it might be, out of his own very irony. + </p> + <p> + I made a kind of bet with fate that by Easter Day every one should be + happy by then. + </p> + <p> + Next day, the 15th of April, was the great funeral for the victims of the + Revolution. I believe, although of course at that time I had heard + nothing, that there had been great speculation about the day, many people + thinking that it would be an excuse for further trouble, the Monarchists + rising, or the “Soviet” attacking the Provisional Government, + or Milyukoff and his followers attacking the Soviet. They need not have + been alarmed. No one had as yet realised the lengths that Slavonic apathy + may permit itself.... + </p> + <p> + I went down about half-past ten to the Square at the end of the Sadovaya + and found it filled with a vast concourse of peasants, not only the Square + was filled, but the Sadovaya as far as the eye could see. They were + arranged in perfect order, about eight in a row, arm in arm. Every group + carried its banner, and far away into the distance one could see the words + “Freedom,” “Brotherhood,” “The Land for All,” + “Peace of the World,” floating on the breeze. Nevertheless, in + spite of these fine words, it was not a very cheering sight. The day was + wretched—no actual rain, but a cold damp wind blowing and the dirty + snow, half ice and half water; the people themselves were not inspiring. + They were all, it seemed, peasants. I saw very few workmen, although I + believe that multitudes were actually in the procession. Those strange, + pale, Eastern faces, passive, apathetic, ignorant, childish, unreasoning, + stretched in a great cloud under the grey overhanging canopy of the sky. + They raised if once and again a melancholy little tune that was more wail + than anything else. They had stood there, I was told, in pools of frozen + water for hours, and were perfectly ready to stand thus for many hours + more if they were ordered to do so. As I regarded their ignorance and + apathy I realised for the first time something of what the Revolution had + already done. + </p> + <p> + A hundred million of these children—ignorant, greedy, pathetic, + helpless, revengeful—let loose upon the world! Where were their + leaders? Who, indeed, would their leaders be? The sun sometimes broke + through for a moment, but the light that it threw on their faces only made + them more pallid, more death-like. They did not laugh nor joke as our + people at home would have done.... I believe that very few of them had any + idea why they were there.... + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the word came down the lines to move forward. Very slowly, + wailing their little tune, they advanced. + </p> + <p> + But the morning was growing old and I must at once see Vera. I had made up + my mind, during the night, to do anything that lay in my power to persuade + Vera and Nina to leave their flat. The flat was the root of all their + trouble, there was something in its atmosphere, something gloomy and + ominous. They would be better at the other end of the town, or, perhaps, + over on the Vassily Ostrov. I would show Vera that it was a fatal plan to + have Semyonov to live with them (as in all probability she herself knew + well enough), and their leaving the flat was a very good excuse for + getting rid of him. I had all this in my head as I went along. I was still + feeling ill and feeble, and my half-hour’s stand in the market-place + had seriously exhausted me. I had to lean against the walls of the houses + every now and then; it seemed to me that, in the pale watery air, the + whole world was a dream, the high forbiding flats looking down on to the + dirty ice of the canals, the water dripping, dripping, dripping.... No one + was about. Every one had gone to join in the procession. I could see it, + with my mind’s eye, unwinding its huge tails through the + watery-oozing channels of the town, like some pale-coloured snake, + crawling through the misty labyrinths of a marsh. + </p> + <p> + In the flat I found only Uncle Ivan sitting very happily by himself at the + table playing patience. He was dressed very smartly in his English black + suit and a black bow tie. He behaved with his usual elaborate courtesy to + me but, to my relief, on this occasion, he spoke Russian. + </p> + <p> + It appeared that the Revolution had not upset him in the least. He took, + he assured me, no interest whatever in politics. The great thing was + “to live inside oneself,” and by living inside oneself he + meant, I gathered, that one should be entirely selfish. Clothes were + important, and food and courteous manners, but he must say that he could + not see that one would be very much worse off even though one were ruled + by the Germans—one might, indeed, be a great deal more comfortable. + And as to this Revolution he couldn’t really understand why people + made such a fuss. One class or another class what did it matter? (As to + this he was, I fear, to be sadly undeceived. He little knew that, before + the year was out, he would be shovelling snow in the Morskaia for a rouble + an hour.) So centred was he upon himself that he did not notice that I + looked ill. He offered me a chair, indeed, but that was simply his + courteous manners. Very ridiculous, he thought, the fuss that Nicholas + made about the Revolution—very ridiculous the fuss that he made + about everything.... + </p> + <p> + Alexei had been showing Nicholas how ridiculous he was. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, has he?” said I. “How’s he been doing that?” + </p> + <p> + Laughing at him, apparently. They all laughed at him. It was his own + fault. + </p> + <p> + “Alexei’s living with us now, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know,” I said, “what’s he doing that for?” + </p> + <p> + “He wanted to,” said Uncle Ivan simply. “He’s + always done what he’s wanted to, all his life.” + </p> + <p> + “It makes it a great many of you in one small flat.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doesn’t it?” said Uncle Ivan amiably. “Very + pleasant—although, Ivan Andreievitch, I will admit to you quite + frankly that I’ve always been frightened of Alexei. He has such a + very sharp tongue. He discovers one’s weak spots in a marvellous + manner.... We all have weak spots you know,” he added + apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we have,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Then, to my relief, Vera came in. She was very sweet to me, expressing + much concern about my illness, asking me to stay and have my meal with + them.... She suddenly broke off. There was a letter lying on the table + addressed to her. I saw at once that it was in Nina’s handwriting. + </p> + <p> + “Nina! Writing to <i>me</i>!” She picked it up, stood back + looking at the envelope before she opened it. She read it, then turned on + me with a cry. + </p> + <p> + “Nina!... She’s gone!” + </p> + <p> + “Gone!” I repeated, starting at once. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.... Read!” She thrust it into my hand. + </p> + <p> + In Nina’s sprawling schoolgirl hand I read: + </p> + <p> + Dear Vera—I’ve left you and Nicholas for ever.... I have been + thinking of this for a long time, and now Uncle Alexei has shown me how + foolish I’ve been, wanting something I can’t have. But I’m + not a child any longer. I must lead my own life.... I’m going to + live with Boris who will take care of me. It’s no use you or any one + trying to prevent me. I will not come back. I must lead my own life now. + Nina. + </p> + <p> + Vera was beside herself. + </p> + <p> + “Quick! Quick! Some one must go after her. She must be brought back + at once. Quick! <i>Scora! Scora</i>!... I must go. No, she is angry with + me. She won’t listen to me. Ivan Andreievitch, you must go. At once! + You must bring her back with you. Darling, darling Nina!... Oh, my God, + what shall I do if anything happens to her!” + </p> + <p> + She clutched my arm. Even as she spoke, she had got my hat and stick. + </p> + <p> + “This is Alexei Petrovitch,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind who it is,” she answered. “She must be + brought back at once. She is so young. She doesn’t know.... Boris—Oh! + it’s impossible. Don’t leave without bringing her back with + you.” + </p> + <p> + Even old Uncle Ivan seemed distressed. + </p> + <p> + “Dear, dear...” he kept repeating, “dear, dear.... Poor + little Nina. Poor little Nina—” + </p> + <p> + “Where does Grogoff live?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “16 Gagarinskaya.... Flat 3. Quick. You must bring her back with + you. Promise me.” + </p> + <p> + “I will do my best,” I said. + </p> + <p> + I found by a miracle of good fortune an Isvostchick in the street outside. + We plunged along through the pools of water in the direction of the + Gagarinskaya. That was a horrible drive. In the Sadovaya we met the slow, + winding funeral procession. + </p> + <p> + On they went, arm in arm, the same little wailing tune, monotonously + repeating, but sounding like nothing human, rather exuding from the very + cobbles of the road and the waters of the stagnant canals. + </p> + <p> + The march of the peasants upon Petrograd! I could see them from all the + quarters of the town, converging upon the Marsovoie Pole, stubborn, + silent, wraiths of earlier civilisation, omens of later dominations. I + thought of Boris Grogoff. What did he, with all his vehemence and conceit, + intend to do with these? First he would flatter them—I saw that + clearly enough. But then when his flatteries failed, what then? Could he + control them? Would they obey him? Would they obey anybody until education + had shown them the necessities for co-ordination and self-discipline? The + river at last was overflowing its banks—would not the savage force + of its power be greater than any one could calculate? The stream flowed + on.... My Isvostchick took his cab down a side street, and then again met + the strange sorrowful company. From this point I could see several further + bridges and streets, and over them all I saw the same stream flowing, the + same banners blowing—and all so still, so dumb, so patient. + </p> + <p> + The delay was maddening. My thoughts were all now on Nina. I saw her + always before me as I had beheld her yesterday, walking slowly along, her + eyes fixed on space, the tears trickling down her face. “Life,” + Nikitin once said to me, “I sometimes think is like a dark room, the + door closed, the windows bolted and your enemy shut in with you. Whether + your enemy or yourself is the stronger who knows?... Nor does it matter, + as the issue is always decided outside.... Knowing that you can at least + afford to despise him.” + </p> + <p> + I felt something of that impotence now. I cursed the Isvostchick, but + wherever he went this slow endless stream seemed to impede our way. Poor + Nina! Such a baby! What was it that had driven her to this? She did not + love the man, and she knew quite well that she did not. No, it was an act + of defiance. But defiance to whom—to Vera? to Lawrence?... and what + had Semyonov said to her? + </p> + <p> + Then, thank Heaven, we crossed the Nevski, and our way was clear. The old + cabman whipped up his horse and, in a minute or two we were outside 16 + Gagarinskaya. I will confess to very real fears and hesitations as I + climbed the dark stairs (the lift was, of course, not working). I was not + the kind of man for this kind of job. In the first place I hated quarrels, + and knowing Grogoff’s hot temper I had every reason to expect a + tempestuous interview. Then I was ill, aching in every limb and seeing + everything, as I always did when I was unwell, mistily and with + uncertainty. Then I had a very shrewd suspicion that there was + considerable truth in what Semyonov had said, that I was interfering in + what only remotely concerned me. At any rate, that was certainly the view + that Grogoff would take, and Nina, perhaps also. I felt, as I rang the + bell of No. 3, that unpleasant pain in the pit of the stomach that tells + you that you’re going to make a fool of yourself. + </p> + <p> + Well, it would not be for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “Boris Nicolaievitch, <i>doma</i>?” I asked the cross-looking + old woman who opened the door. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Doma</i>,” she answered, holding it open to let me pass. + </p> + <p> + I was shown into a dark, untidy sitting-room. It seemed at first sight to + be littered with papers, newspapers, Revolutionary sheets and + proclamations, the <i>Pravda</i>, the <i>Novaya Jezn</i>, the <i>Soldatskaya + Mwyssl</i>.... On the dirty wall-paper there were enormous dark + photographs, in faded gilt frames, of family groups; on one wall there was + a large garishly coloured picture of Grogoff himself in student’s + dress. The stove was unlighted and the room was very cold. My heart ached + for Nina. + </p> + <p> + A moment after Grogoff came in. He came forward to me very amiably, + holding out his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Nu, Ivan Andreievitch.... What can I do for you?” he asked, + smiling. + </p> + <p> + And how he had changed! He was positively swollen with self-satisfaction. + He had never been famous for personal modesty, but he seemed now to be + physically twice his normal size. He was fat, his cheeks puffed, his + stomach swelling beneath the belt that bound it. His fair hair was long, + and rolled in large curls on one side of his head and over his forehead. + He spoke in a loud, overbearing voice. + </p> + <p> + “Nu, Ivan Andreievitch, what can I do for you?” he repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Can I see Nina?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nina?...” he repeated as though surprised. “Certainly—but + what do you want to say to her?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t see that that’s your business,” I + answered. “I have a message for her from her family.” + </p> + <p> + “But of course it’s my business,” he answered. “I’m + looking after her now.” + </p> + <p> + “Since when?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “What does that matter?... She is going to live with me.” + </p> + <p> + “We’ll see about that,” I said. + </p> + <p> + I knew that it was foolish to take this kind of tone. It could do no good, + and I was not the sort of man to carry it through. + </p> + <p> + But he was not at all annoyed. + </p> + <p> + “See, Ivan Andreievitch,” he said, smiling. “What is + there to discuss? Nina and I have long considered living together. She is + a grown-up woman. It’s no one’s affair but her own.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to marry her?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly not,” he answered; “that would not suit + either of us. It’s no good your bringing your English ideas here, + Ivan Andreievitch. We belong to the new world, Nina and I.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I want to speak to her,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “So you shall, certainly. But if you hope to influence her at all + you are wasting your time, I assure you. Nina has acted very rightly. She + found the home life impossible. I’m sure I don’t wonder. She + will assist me in my work. The most important work, perhaps, that man has + ever been called on to perform....” + </p> + <p> + He raised his voice here as though he were going to begin a speech. But at + that moment Nina came in. She stood in the doorway looking across at me + with a childish mixture of hesitation and boldness, of anger and goodwill + in her face. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes heavy. Her hair was done in + two long plaits. She looked about fourteen. + </p> + <p> + She came up to me, but she didn’t offer me her hand. Boris said: + </p> + <p> + “Nina dear, Ivan Andreievitch has come to give you a message from + your family.” There was a note of scorn in his voice as he repeated + my earlier sentence. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” she asked, looking at me defiantly. + </p> + <p> + “I’d like to give it you alone,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever you say to me it is right that Boris should hear,” + she answered. + </p> + <p> + I tried to forget that Grogoff was there. I went on: + </p> + <p> + “Well then, Nina, you must know what I want to say. They are + heartbroken at your leaving them. You know of course that they are. They + beg you to come back.... Vera and Nicholas too. They simply won’t + know what to do without you. Vera says that you have been angry with her. + She doesn’t know why, but she says that she will do her very best if + you come back, so that you won’t be angry any more.... Nina, dear, + you know that it is they whom you really love. You never can be happy + here. You know that you cannot.... Come back to them! Come back! I don’t + know what it was that Alexei Petrovitch said to you, but whatever it was + you should not listen to it. He is a bad man and only means harm to your + family. He does indeed....” + </p> + <p> + I paused. She had never moved whilst I was speaking. Now she only said, + shaking her head, “It’s no good, Ivan Andreievitch.... It’s + no good.” + </p> + <p> + “But why? Why?” I asked. “Give me your reasons, Nina.” + </p> + <p> + She answered proudly, “I don’t see why I should give you any + reasons, Ivan Andreievitch. I am free. I can do as I wish.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s something behind this that I don’t know,” + I said. “I ought to know.... It isn’t fair not to tell me. + What did Alexei Petrovitch say to you?” + </p> + <p> + But she only shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “He had nothing to do with this. It is my affair, Ivan Andreievitch. + I couldn’t live with Vera and Nicholas any longer.” + </p> + <p> + Grogoff then interfered. + </p> + <p> + “I think this is about enough....” he said. “I have + given you your opportunity. Nina has been quite clear in what she has + said. She does not wish to return. There is your answer.” He cleared + his voice and went on in rather a higher tone: “I think you forget, + Ivan Andreievitch, another aspect of this affair. It is not only a + question of our private family disputes. Nina has come here to assist me + in my national work. As a member of the Soviet I may, without + exaggeration, claim to have an opportunity in my hands that has been + offered in the past to few human beings. You are an Englishman, and so + hidebound with prejudices and conventions. You may not be aware that there + has opened this week the greatest war the world has ever seen—the + war of the proletariats against the bourgeoisies and capitalists of the + world.” I tried to interrupt him, but he went on, his voice ever + rising and rising: “What is your wretched German war? What but a + struggle between the capitalists of the different countries to secure + greater robberies and extortions, to set their feet more firmly than ever + on the broad necks of the wretched People! Yes, you English, with your + natural hypocrisy, pretend that you are fighting for the freedom of the + world. What about Ireland? What about India? What about South Africa?... + No, you are all alike. Germany, England, Italy, France, and our own + wretched Government that has, at last, been destroyed by the brave will of + the People. We declare a People’s War!... We cry aloud to the People + to throw down their arms! And the People will hear us!” + </p> + <p> + He paused for breath. His arms were raised, his eyes on fire, his cheeks + crimson. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said, “that is all very well. But suppose the + German people are the only ones who refuse to listen to you. Suppose that + all the other nations, save Germany, have thrown down their arms—a + nice chance then for German militarism!” + </p> + <p> + “But the German people will listen!” he screamed, almost + frothing at the mouth. “They are ready at any moment to follow our + example. William and your George and the rest of them—they are + doomed, I tell you!” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless,” I went on, “if you desert us now by + making peace and Germany wins this war you will have played only a traitor’s + part, and all the world will judge you.” + </p> + <p> + “Traitor! Traitor!” The word seemed to madden him. “Traitor + to whom, pray? Traitor to our Czar and your English king? Yes, and thank + God for it! Did the Russian people make the war? They were led like lambs + to the slaughter. Like lambs, I tell you. But now they will have their + revenge. On all the Bourgeoisie of the world. The Bourgeoisie of the + world!...” + </p> + <p> + He suddenly broke off, flinging himself down on the dirty sofa. “Pheugh. + Talking makes one hot!... Have a drink, Ivan Andreievitch.... Nina, fetch + a drink.” + </p> + <p> + Through all this my eyes had never left her for a moment. I had hoped that + this empty tub-thumping to which we had been listening would have affected + her. But she had not moved nor stirred. + </p> + <p> + “Nina!” I said softly. “Nina. Come with me!” + </p> + <p> + But she only shook her head. Grogoff, quite silent now, lolled on the + sofa, watching us. I went up to her and put my hand on her sleeve. + </p> + <p> + “Dear Nina,” I said, “come back to us.” + </p> + <p> + I saw her lip tremble. There was unshed tears in her eyes. But again she + shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “What have they done,” I asked, “to make you take this + step?” + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened....” she said slowly. “I can’t + tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Just come and talk to Vera.” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s hopeless... I can’t see her again. But, + Durdles... tell her it’s not her fault.” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of my pet name I took courage again. + </p> + <p> + “But tell me, Nina.... Do you love this man?” + </p> + <p> + She turned round and looked at Grogoff as though she were seeing him for + the first time. + </p> + <p> + “Love?... Oh no, not love! But he will be kind to me, I think. And I + must be myself, be a woman, not a child any longer.” + </p> + <p> + Then, suddenly clearing her voice, speaking very firmly, looking me full + in the face, she said: + </p> + <p> + “Tell Vera... that I saw... what happened that Thursday afternoon—the + Thursday of the Revolution week. Tell her that—when you’re + alone with her. Tell her that—then she’ll understand.” + </p> + <p> + She turned and almost ran out of the room. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see,” said Grogoff smiling lazily from the sofa. + </p> + <p> + “That settles it.” + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t settle it,” I answered. “We shall + never rest until we have got her back.” + </p> + <p> + But, I had to go. There was nothing more just then to be done. + </p> + <h3> + V + </h3> + <p> + On my return I found Vera alone waiting for me with restless impatience. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said eagerly. Then when she saw that I was alone + her face clouded. + </p> + <p> + “I trusted you—” she began. + </p> + <p> + “It’s no good,” I said at once. “Not for the + moment. She’s made up her mind. It’s not because she loved him + nor, I think, for anything very much that her uncle said. She’s got + some idea in her head. Perhaps you can explain it.” + </p> + <p> + “I?” said Vera, looking at me. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. She gave me a message for you.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it?” But even as she asked the question she seemed + to fear the answer, because she turned away from me. + </p> + <p> + “She told me to tell you that she saw what happened on the afternoon + of the Thursday in Revolution week. She said that then you would + understand.” + </p> + <p> + Vera looked at me with the strangest expression of defiance, fear, + triumph. + </p> + <p> + “What did she see?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. That’s what she told me.” + </p> + <p> + Vera did a strange thing. She laughed. + </p> + <p> + “They can all know. I don’t care. I want them to know. Nina + can tell them all.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell them what?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you’ll hear with the rest. Uncle Alexei has done this. He + told Nina because he hates me. He won’t rest until he ruins us all. + But I don’t care. He can’t take from me what I’ve got. + He can’t take from me what I’ve got.... But we must get her + back, Ivan Andreievitch. She <i>must</i> come back—” + </p> + <p> + Nicholas came in and then Semyonov and then Bohun. + </p> + <p> + Bohun, drawing me aside, whispered to me: “Can I come and see you? I + must ask your advice—” + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow evening,” I told him, and left. + </p> + <p> + Next day I was ill again. I had I suppose done too much the day before. I + was in bed alone all day. My old woman had suddenly returned without a + word of explanation or excuse. She had not, I am sure, even got so far as + the Moscow Province. I doubt whether she had even left Petrograd. I asked + her no questions. I could tell of course that she had been drinking. She + was a funny old creature, wrinkled and yellow and hideous, very little + different in any way from a native in the wilds of Central Africa. The + savage in her liked gay colours and trinkets, and she would stick flowers + in her hair and wear a tinkling necklace of bright red and blue beads. She + had a mangy dog, hairless in places and rheumy at the eyes, who was all + her passion, and this creature she would adore, taking it to sleep with + her, talking to it by the hour together, pulling its tail and twisting its + neck so that it growled with rage—and then, when it growled, she, + too, would make strange noises as though sympathising with it. + </p> + <p> + She returned to me from no sort of sense of duty, but simply because, I + think, she did not know where else to go. She scowled on me and informed + me that now that there had been the Revolution everything was different; + nevertheless the sight of my sick yellow face moved her as sickness and + misfortune always move every Russian, however old and debased he may be. + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn’t have gone out walking,” she said crossly. + “That man’s been here again?” referring to the Rat, whom + she hated. + </p> + <p> + “If it hadn’t been for him,” I said, “I would have + died.” + </p> + <p> + But she made the flat as cheerful as she could, lighting the stove, + putting some yellow flowers into a glass, dusting the Benois water-colour, + putting my favourite books beside my bed. + </p> + <p> + When Henry Bohun came in he was surprised at the brightness of everything. + </p> + <p> + “Why, how cosy you are!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Ah, ha,” I said, “I told you it wasn’t so bad + here.” + </p> + <p> + He picked up my books, looked at Galleon’s <i>Roads</i> and then <i>Pride + and Prejudice</i>. + </p> + <p> + “It’s the simplest things that last,” he said. “Galleon’s + jolly good, but he’s not simple enough. <i>Tess</i> is the thing, + you know, and <i>Tono-Bungay,</i> and <i>The Nigger of the Narcissus</i>... + I usen’t to think so. I’ve grown older, haven’t I?” + </p> + <p> + He had. + </p> + <p> + “What do you think of <i>Discipline</i> now?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Lord!” he blushed, “I was a young cuckoo.” + </p> + <p> + “And what about knowing all about Russia after a week?” + </p> + <p> + “No—and that reminds me!” He drew his chair closer to my + bed. “That’s what I’ve come to talk about. Do you mind + if I gas a lot?” + </p> + <p> + “Gas as much as you like,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I can’t explain things unless I do.... You’re + sure you’re not too seedy to listen?” + </p> + <p> + “Not a bit. It does me good,” I told him. + </p> + <p> + “You see in a way you’re really responsible. You remember, + long ago, telling me to look after Markovitch when I talked all that rot + about caring for Vera?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I remember very well indeed.” + </p> + <p> + “In a way it all started from that. You put me on to seeing + Markovitch in quite a different light. I’d always thought of him as + an awfully dull dog with very little to say for himself, and a bit loose + in the top-story too. I thought it a terrible shame a ripping woman like + Vera having married him, and I used to feel sick with him about it. Then + sometimes he’d look like the devil himself, as wicked as sin, poring + over his inventions, and you’d fancy that to stick a knife in his + back might be perhaps the best thing for everybody. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you explained him to me and I saw him different—not + that I’ve ever got very much out of him. I don’t think that he + either likes me or trusts me, and anyway he thinks me too young and + foolish to be of any importance—which I daresay I am. He told me, by + the way, the other day, that the only Englishman he thought anything of + was yourself—” + </p> + <p> + “Very nice of him,” I murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but not very flattering to me when I’ve spent months + trying to be fascinating to him. Anyhow, although I may be said to have + failed in one way, I’ve got rather keen on the pursuit. If I can’t + make him like me I can at least study him and learn something. That’s + a leaf out of your book, Durward. You’re always studying people, + aren’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t know,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, of course you are. Well, I’ll tell you frankly I’ve + got fond of the old bird. I don’t believe you could live at close + quarters with any Russian, however nasty, and not get a kind of affection + for him. They’re so damned childish.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh yes, you could,” I said. “Try Semyonov.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m coming to him in a minute,” said Bohun. “Well, + Markovitch was most awfully unhappy. That’s one thing one saw about + him at once—unhappy of course because Vera didn’t love him and + he adored her. But there was more in it than that. He let himself go one + night to me—the only time he’s ever talked to me really. He + was drunk a bit, and he wanted to borrow money off me. But there was more + in it than that. He talked to me about Russia. That seemed to have been + his great idea when the war began that it was going to lead to the most + marvellous patriotism all through Russia. It seemed to begin like that, + and do you know, Durward, as he talked I saw that patriotism <i>was</i> at + the bottom of everything, that you could talk about Internationalism until + you were blue in the face, and that it only began to mean anything when + you’d learnt first what nationality was—that you couldn’t + really love all mankind until you’d first learnt to love one or two + people close to you. And that you couldn’t love the world as a vast + democratic state until you’d learnt to love your own little bit of + ground, your own fields, your own river, your own church tower. Markovitch + had it all as plain as plain. ‘Make your own house secure and + beautiful. Then it is ready to take its place in the general scheme. We + Russians always begin at the wrong end,’ he said. ‘We jump all + the intermediate stages. I’m as bad as the rest.’ I know you’ll + say I’m so easily impressed, Durward, but he was wonderful that + night—and so <i>right</i>. So that as he talked I just longed to + rush back and see that my village—Topright in Wiltshire—was + safe and sound with the highgate at the end of the village street, and the + village stores with the lollipop windows, and the green with the sheep on + it, and the ruddy stream with the small trout and the high Down beyond.... + Oh well, you know what I mean—” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said I. + </p> + <p> + “I saw that the point of Markovitch was that he must have some ideal + to live up to. If he couldn’t have Vera he’d have Russia, and + if he couldn’t have Russia he’d have his inventions. When we + first came along a month or two ago he’d lost Russia, he was losing + Vera, and he wasn’t very sure about his inventions. A bad time for + the old boy, and you were quite right to tell me to look after him. Then + came the Revolution, and he thought that everything was saved. Vera and + Russia and everything. Wasn’t he wonderful that week? Like a child + who has suddenly found Paradise.... Could any Englishman ever be cheated + like that by anything? Why a fellow would be locked up for a loony if he + looked as happy as Markovitch looked that week. It wouldn’t be + decent.... Well, then....” He paused dramatically. “What’s + happened to him since, Durward?” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean? What’s happened to him since?” I + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I mean just what I say. Something happened to him at the end of + that week. I can put my finger almost exactly on the day—the + Thursday of that week. What was it? That’s one of the things I’ve + come to ask you about?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I was ill,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No, but has nobody told you anything?” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t heard a word,” I said. + </p> + <p> + His face fell. “I felt sure you’d help me?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Tell me the rest and perhaps I can put things together,” I + suggested. + </p> + <p> + “The rest is really Semyonov. The queerest things have been + happening. Of course, the thing is to get rid of all one’s English + ideas, isn’t it? and that’s so damned difficult. It’s no + use saying an English fellow wouldn’t do this or that. Of course he + wouldn’t.... Oh, they <i>are</i> queer!” + </p> + <p> + He sighed, poor boy, with the difficulty of the whole affair. + </p> + <p> + “Giving them up in despair, Bohun, is as bad as thinking you + understand them completely. Just take what comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, ‘what came’ was this. On that Thursday evening + Markovitch was as though he’d been struck in the face. You never saw + such a change. Of course we all noticed it. White and sickly, saying + nothing to anybody. Next morning, quite early, Semyonov came over and + proposed lodging with us. + </p> + <p> + “It absolutely took my breath away, but no one else seemed very + astonished. What on earth did he want to leave his comfortable flat and + come to us for? We were packed tight enough as it was. I never liked the + feller, but upon my word I simply hated him as he sat there, so quiet, + stroking his beard and smiling at us in his sarcastic way. + </p> + <p> + “To my amazement Markovitch seemed quite keen about it. Not only + agreed, but offered his own room as a bedroom. ‘What about your + inventions?’ some one asked him. + </p> + <p> + “‘I’ve given them up,’ he said, looking at us all + just like a caged animal—‘for ever.’ + </p> + <p> + “I would have offered to retire myself if I hadn’t been so + interested, but this was all so curious that I was determined to see it + out to the end. And you’d told me to look after Markovitch. If ever + he’d wanted looking after it was now! I could see that Vera hated + the idea of Semyonov coming, but after Markovitch had spoken she never + said a word. So then it was all settled.” + </p> + <p> + “What did Nina do?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nina? She never said anything either. At the end she went up to + Semyonov and took his hand and said, ‘I’m so glad you’re + coming, Uncle Alexei,’ and looked at Vera. Oh! they’re all as + queer as they can be, I tell you!” + </p> + <p> + “What happened next?” I asked eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Everything’s happened and nothing’s happened,” he + replied. “Nina’s run away. Of course you know that. What she + did it for I can’t imagine. Fancy going to a fellow like Grogoff! + Lawrence has been coming every day and just sitting there, not saying + anything. Semyonov’s amiable to everybody—especially amiable + to Markovitch. But he’s laughing at him all the time I think. Anyway + he makes him mad sometimes, so that I think Markovitch is going to strike + him. But of course he never does.... Now here’s a funny thing. This + is really what I want to ask you most about.” + </p> + <p> + He drew his chair closer to my bed and dropped his voice as though he were + going to whisper a secret to me. + </p> + <p> + “The other night I was awake—about two in the morning it was—and + wanted a book—so I went into the dining-room. I’d only got + bedroom slippers on and I was stopped at the door by a sound. It was + Semyonov sitting over by the further window, in his shirt and trousers, + his beard in his hands, and sobbing as though his heart would break. I’d + never heard a man cry like that. I hate hearing a man cry anyway. I’ve + heard fellers at the Front when they’re off their heads or + something... but Semyonov was worse than that. It was a strong man crying, + with all his wits about him.... Then I heard some words. He kept repeating + again and again. ‘Oh, my dear, my dear, my dear!... Wait for me!... + Wait for me! Wait for me!...’ over and over again—awful! I + crept back to my room frightened out of my life. I’ve never known + anything so awful. And Semyonov of all people! + </p> + <p> + “It was like that man in <i>Wuthering Heights</i>. What’s his + name? Heathcliffe! I always thought that was a bit of an exaggeration when + he dashed his head against a tree and all that. But, by Jove, you never + know!... Now, Durward, you’ve got to tell me. You’ve known + Semyonov for years. You can explain. What’s it all about, and what’s + he trying to do to Markovitch?” + </p> + <p> + “I can scarcely think what to tell you,” I said at last. + “I don’t really know much about Semyonov, and my guesses will + probably strike you as insane.” + </p> + <p> + “No, they won’t,” said Bohun. “I’ve learnt a + bit lately.” + </p> + <p> + “Semyonov,” I said, “is a deep-dyed sensualist. All his + life he’s thought about nothing but gratifying his appetites. That’s + simple enough—there are plenty of that type everywhere. But + unfortunately for him he’s a very clever man, and like every Russian + both a cynic and an idealist—a cynic in facts <i>because</i> he’s + an idealist. He got everything so easily all through his life that his + cynicism grew and grew. He had wealth and women and position. He was as + strong as a horse. Every ‘one gave way to him and he despised + everybody. He went to the Front, and one day came across a woman different + from any other whom he had ever known.” + </p> + <p> + “How different?” asked Bohun, because I paused. + </p> + <p> + “Different in that she was simpler and naïver and honester and + better and more beautiful—” + </p> + <p> + “Better than Vera?” Bohun asked. + </p> + <p> + “Different,” I said. “She was younger, less + strong-willed, less clever, less passionate perhaps. But alone—alone, + in all the world. Every one must love her—No one could help it....” + </p> + <p> + I broke off again. Bohun waited. + </p> + <p> + I went on. “Semyonov saw her and snatched her from the Englishman to + whom she was engaged. I don’t think she ever really loved the + Englishman, but she loved Semyonov.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “She was killed. A stray shot, when she was giving tea to the men in + the trenches.... It meant a lot... to all of us. The Englishman was killed + too, so he was all right. I think Semyonov would have liked that same end; + but he didn’t get it, so he’s remained desolate. Really + desolate, in a way that only your thorough sensualist can be. A beautiful + fruit just within his grasp, something at last that can tempt his jaded + appetite. He’s just going to taste it, when whisk! it’s gone, + and gone, perhaps, into some one else’s hands. How does he know? How + does he know anything? There may be another life—who can really + prove there isn’t? and when you’ve seen something in the very + thick and glow of existence, something more alive than life itself, and, + click! it’s gone—well, it <i>must</i> have gone somewhere, + mustn’t it? Not the body only, but that soul, that spirit, that + individual personal expression of beauty and purity and loveliness? Oh, it + must be somewhere yet!... It <i>must</i> be!... At any rate <i>he</i> didn’t + know. And he didn’t know either that she might not have proved his + idealism right after all. Ah! to your cynic there’s nothing more + maddening! Do you think your cynic loves his cynicism? Not a bit of it! + Not he! But he won’t be taken in by sham any more. That he + swears.... + </p> + <p> + “So it was with Semyonov. This girl might have proved the one real + exception; she might have lasted, she might have grown even more beautiful + and more wonderful, and so proved his idealism true after all. He doesn’t + know, and I don’t know. But there it is. He’s haunted by the + possibility of it all his days. He’s a man now ruled by an + obsession. He thinks of one thing and one thing only, day and night. His + sensuality has fallen away from him because women are dull—sterile + to him beside that perfect picture of the woman lost. Lost! he may recover + her! He doesn’t know. The thought of death obsesses him. What is + there in it? Is she behind there or no? Is she behind there, maddening + thought, with her Englishman? + </p> + <p> + “He must know. He <i>must</i> know. He calls to her—she won’t + come to him. What is he to do? Suicide? No, to a proud man like Semyonov + that’s a miserable confession of weakness. How they’d laugh at + him, these other despicable human beings, if he did that! He’d prove + himself as weak as they. No, that’s not for him. What then? + </p> + <p> + “This is a fantastic world, Bohun, and nothing is impossible for it. + Suppose he were to select some one, some weak and irritable and + sentimental and disappointed man, some one whose every foible and weakness + he knew, suppose he were to place himself near him and so irritate and + confuse and madden him that at last one day, in a fury of rage and + despair, that man were to do for him what he is too proud to do for + himself! Think of the excitement, the interest, the food for his cynicism, + the food for his conceit such a game would be to Semyonov. Is this going + to do it? Or this? Or this? Now I’ve got him far enough? Another + five minutes!... Think of the hairbreadth escapes, the check and counter + check, the sense, above all, that to a man like Semyonov is almost + everything, that he is master of human emotions, that he can direct + wretched, weak human beings whither he will. + </p> + <p> + “And the other—the weak, disappointed, excitable man—can’t + you see that Semyonov has him close to his hand, that he has only to + stretch a finger—” + </p> + <p> + “Markovitch!” cried Bohun. + </p> + <p> + “Now you know,” I said, “why you’ve got to stay on + in that flat.” + </p> + <h3> + VI + </h3> + <p> + I have said already, I think, that the instinctive motive of Vera’s + life was her independent pride. Cling to that, and however the world might + rock and toss around her she could not be wrecked. Imagine, then, what she + must have suffered during the weeks that followed her surrender to + Lawrence. Not that for a moment she intended to go back on her surrender, + which was, indeed, the proudest moment of her whole life. She never looked + back for one second after that embrace, she never doubted herself or him + or the supreme importance of love itself; but the rest of her—her + tenderness, her fidelity, her loyalty, her self-respect—this was all + tortured now by the things that she seemed compelled to do. It must have + appeared to her as though Fate, having watched that complete abandonment, + intended to deprive her of everything upon which she had depended. She + was, I think, a woman of very simple instincts. The things that had been + in her life—her love for Nina, her maternal tenderness for Nicholas, + her sense of duty—remained with her as strongly after that + tremendous Thursday afternoon as they had been before it. She did not see + why they need be changed. She did not love Nina any the less because she + loved Lawrence; indeed, she had never loved Nina so intensely as on the + night when she had realised her love for Lawrence to the full, that night + when they had sheltered the policeman. And she had never pretended to love + Nicholas. She had always told him that she did not love him. She had been + absolutely honest with him always, and he had often said to her, “If + ever real love comes into your life, Vera, you will leave me,” and + she had always answered him, “No, Nicholas, why should I? I will + never change. Why should I?” + </p> + <p> + She honestly thought that her love for Lawrence need not alter things. She + would tell Nicholas, of course, and then she would act as he wished. If + she were not to see Lawrence she would not see him—that would make + no difference to her love for him. What she did not realise—and that + was strange after living with him for so long—was that he was always + hoping that her tender kindliness towards him would, one day, change into + something more passionate. I think that, subconsciously, she did realise + it, and that was why she was, during those weeks before the Revolution, so + often uneasy and unhappy. But I am sure that definitely she never admitted + it. + </p> + <p> + The great fact was that, as soon as possible, she must tell Nicholas all + about it. And the days went by, and she did not. She did not, partly + because she had now some one else as well as herself to consider. I + believe that in those weeks between that Thursday and Easter Day she never + had one moment alone with Lawrence. He came, as Bohun had told me, to see + them; he sat there and looked at her, and listened and waited. She + herself, I expect, prevented their being alone. She was waiting for + something to happen. Then Nina’s flight overwhelmed everything. That + must have been the most awful thing. She never liked Grogoff, never + trusted him, and had a very clear idea of his character. But more awful to + her than his weakness was her knowledge that Nina did not love him. What + could have driven her to do such a thing? She knew of her affection for + Lawrence, but she had, perhaps, never taken that seriously. How could Nina + really love Lawrence when he, so obviously, cared nothing at all for her? + She reasoned then, as every one always does, on the lines of her own + character. She herself could never have cared seriously for any one had + there been no return. Her pride would not have allowed her.... + </p> + <p> + But Nina had been the charge of her life. Before Nicholas, before her own + life, before everything. Nina was her duty, her sacred cause—and now + she was betraying her trust! Something must be done—but what? but + what? She knew Nina well enough to realise that a false step would only + plunge her farther than ever into the business. It must have seemed to her + indeed that because of her own initial disloyalty the whole world was + falling away from her. + </p> + <p> + Then there came Semyonov; I did not at this time at all sufficiently + realise that her hatred of her uncle—for it <i>was</i> hatred, more, + much more than mere dislike—had been with her all her life. Many + months afterwards she told me that she could never remember a time when + she had not hated him. He had teased her when she was a very little girl, + laughing at her naïve honesty, throwing doubts on her independence, + cynically ridiculing her loyalty. There had been one horrible winter month + (then ten or eleven years of age) when she had been sent to stay with him + in Moscow. + </p> + <p> + He had a fine house near the Arbat, and he was living (although she did + not of course know anything about that at the time) with one of his + gaudiest mistresses. Her mother and father being dead she had no + protection. She was defenceless. I don’t think that he in any way + perverted her innocence. I except that he was especially careful to shield + her from his own manner of life (he had always his own queer tradition of + honour which he effected indeed to despise), but she felt more than she + perceived. The house was garish, over-scented and over-lighted. There were + many gilt chairs and large pictures of naked women and numbers of coloured + cushions. She was desperately lonely. She hated the woman of the house, + who tried, I have no doubt, to be kind to her, and after the first week + she was left to herself. + </p> + <p> + One night, long after she had gone to bed there was a row downstairs, one + of the scenes common enough between Semyonov and his women. Terrified, she + went to the head of the stairs and heard the smash of falling glass and + her uncle’s voice raised in a scream of rage and vituperation. A + great naked woman in a gold frame swung and leered at her in the lighted + passage. She fled back to her dark room and lay, for the rest of that + night, trembling and quivering with her head beneath the bed-clothes. + </p> + <p> + From that moment she feared her uncle as much as she hated him. Long + afterwards came his influence over Nicholas. No one had so much influence + over Nicholas as he. Nicholas himself admitted it. He was alternately + charmed and frightened, beguiled and disgusted, attracted and repulsed. + Before the war Semyonov had, for a time, seen a good deal of them, and + Nicholas steadily degenerated. Then Semyonov was bored with it all and + went off after other game more worthy of his doughty spear. Then came the + war, and Vera devoutedly hoped that her dear uncle would meet his death at + the hands of some patriotic Austrian. He did indeed for a time disappear + from their lives, and it seemed that he might never come back again. Then + on that fateful Christmas Day he did return, and Vera’s worst fears + were realised. She hated him all the more because of her impotence. She + could do nothing against him at all. She was never very subtle in her + dealings with people, and her own natural honesty made her often stupid + about men’s motives. But the thing for which she feared her uncle + most was his, as it seemed to her, supernatural penetration into the + thoughts of others. + </p> + <p> + She of course greatly exaggerated his gifts in that direction simply + because they were in no way her gifts, and he, equally of course, + discovered very early in their acquaintance that this was the way to + impress her. He played tricks with her exactly as a conjurer produces a + rabbit out of a hat.... + </p> + <p> + When he announced his intention of coming to live in the flat she was + literally paralyzed with fright. Had it been any one else she would have + fought, but in her uncle’s drawing gradually nearer and nearer to + the centre of all their lives, coming as it seemed to her so silently and + mysteriously, without obvious motive, and yet with so stealthy a plan, + against this man she could do nothing.... + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless she determined to fight for Nicholas to the last—to + fight for Nicholas, to bring back Nina, these were now the two great aims + of her life; and whilst they were being realised her love for Lawrence + must be passive, passive as a deep passionate flame beats with unwavering + force in the heart of the lamp.... + </p> + <p> + They had made me promise long before that I would spend Easter Eve with + them and go with them to our church on the Quay. I wondered now whether + all the troubles of the last weeks would not negative that invitation, and + I had privately determined that if I did not hear from them again I would + slip off with Lawrence somewhere. But on Good Friday Markovitch, meeting + me in the Morskaia, reminded me that I was coming. + </p> + <p> + It is very difficult to give any clear picture of the atmosphere of the + town between Revolution week and this Easter Eve, and yet all the seeds of + the later crop of horrors were sewn during that period. Its spiritual + mentality corresponded almost exactly with the physical thaw that + accompanied it—mist, then vapour dripping of rain, the fading away + of one clear world into another that was indistinct, ghostly, ominous. I + find written in my Diary of Easter Day—exactly five weeks after the + outbreak of the Revolution—these words: “From long talks with + K. and others I see quite clearly that Russians have gone mad for the time + being. It’s heartbreaking to see them holding meetings everywhere, + arguing at every street corner as to how they intend to arrange a + democratic peace for Europe, when meanwhile the Germans are gathering + every moment force upon the frontiers.” + </p> + <p> + Pretty quick, isn’t it, to change from Utopia to threatenings of the + worst sort of Communism? But the great point for us in all this—the + great point for our private personal histories as well as the public one—was + that it was during these weeks that the real gulf between Russia and the + Western world showed itself! Yes, for more than three years we had been + pretending that a week’s sentiment and a hurriedly proclaimed + Idealism could bridge a separation which centuries of magic and blood and + bones had gone to build. For three years we tricked ourselves (I am not + sure that the Russians were ever really deceived) ... but we liked the + ballet, we liked Tolstoi and Dostoieffsky (we translated their inborn + mysticism into the weakest kind of sentimentality), we liked the theory of + inexhaustible numbers, we liked the picture of their pounding, + steam-roller like, to Berlin... we tricked ourselves, and in the space of + a night our trick was exposed. + </p> + <p> + Plain enough the reasons for these mistakes that we in England have made + over that same Revolution, mistakes made by none more emphatically than by + our own Social Democrats. Those who hailed the Revolution as the + fulfilment of all their dearest hopes, those who cursed it as the + beginning of the damnation of the world—all equally in the wrong. + The Revolution had no thought for <i>them</i>. Russian extremists might + shout as they pleased about their leading the fight for the democracies of + the world—they never even began to understand the other democracies. + Whatever Russia may do, through repercussion, for the rest of the world, + she remains finally alone—isolated in her Government, in her ideals, + in her ambitions, in her abnegations. For a moment the world-politics of + her foreign rulers seemed to draw her into the Western whirlpool. For a + moment only she remained there. She has slipped back again behind her veil + of mist and shadow. We may trade with her, plunge into her politics, steal + from her Art, emphasise her religion—she remains alone, apart, + mysterious.... + </p> + <p> + I think it was with a kind of gulping surprise, as after a sudden plunge + into icy cold water, that we English became conscious of this. It came to + us first in the form that to us the war was everything—to the + Russian, by the side of an idea the war was nothing at all. How was I, for + instance, to recognise the men who took a leading part in the events of + this extraordinary year as the same men who fought with bare hands, with + fanatical bravery through all the Galician campaign of two years before? + </p> + <p> + Had I not realised sufficiently at that time that Russia moves always + according to the Idea that governs her—and that when that Idea + changes the world, <i>his</i> world changes with it.... + </p> + <p> + Well, to return to Markovitch.... + </p> + <h3> + VII + </h3> + <p> + I was on the point of setting out for the English Prospect on Saturday + evening when there was a knock on my door, and to my surprise Nicholas + Markovitch came in. He was in evening dress—rather quaint it seemed + to me, with his pointed collar so high, his tail-coat so much too small, + and his large-brimmed bowler hat. He explained to me confusedly that he + wished to walk with me alone to the church... that he had things to tell + me... that we should meet the others there. I saw at once two things, that + he was very miserable, that he was a little drunk. His misery showed + itself in his strange, pathetic, gleaming eyes, that looked so often as + though they held unshed tears (this gave him an unfortunate ridiculous + aspect), in his hollow pale cheeks and the droop of his mouth, not + petulant nor peevish, simply unhappy in the way that animals or very young + children express unhappiness. His drunkenness showed itself in quite + another way. He was unsteady a little on his feet, and his hands trembled, + his forehead was flushed, and he spoke thickly, sometimes running his + words together. At the same time he was not very drunk, and was quite in + control of his thoughts and intentions. + </p> + <p> + We went out together. It could not have been called a fine night—it + was too cold, and there was a hint of rain in the air—and yet there + is beauty, I believe, in every Russian Easter Eve. The day comes so + wonderfully at the end of the long heavy winter. The white nights with + their incredible, almost terrifying beauty are at hand, the ice is broken, + the new world of sun and flowers is ready, at an instant’s magic + word, to be born. Nevertheless this year there was an incredible pathos in + the wind. The soul of Petrograd was indeed stirring, but mournfully, + ominously. There were not, for one thing, the rows of little fairy lamps + that on this night always make the streets so gay. They hang in chains and + clusters of light from street to street, blazing in the square, reflected + star-like in the canals, misty and golden-veiled in distance. To-night + only the churches had their lights; for the rest, the streets were black + chasms of windy desolation, the canals burdened with the breaking ice + which moved restlessly against the dead barges. Very strong in the air was + the smell of the sea; the heavy clouds that moved in a strange kind of + ordered procession overhead seemed to carry that scent with them, and in + the dim pale shadows of the evening glow one seemed to see at the end of + every street mysterious clusters of masts, and to hear the clank of chains + and the creak of restless boards. There were few people about and a great + silence everywhere. The air was damp and thick, and smelt of rotten soil, + as though dank grass was everywhere pushing its way up through the cobbles + and paving-stones. + </p> + <p> + As we walked Markovitch talked incessantly. It was only a very little the + talk of a drunken man, scarcely disconnected at all, but every now and + again running into sudden little wildnesses and extravagances. I cannot + remember nearly all that he said. He came suddenly, as I expected him to + do, to the subject of Semyonov. + </p> + <p> + “You know of course that Alexei Petrovitch is living with us now?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I know that.” + </p> + <p> + “You can understand, Ivan Andreievitch, that when he came first and + proposed it to me I was startled. I had other things—very serious + things to think of just then. We weren’t—we aren’t—very + happy at home just now... you know that... I didn’t think he’d + be very gay with us. I told him that. He said he didn’t expect to be + gay anywhere at this time, but that he was lonely in his flat all by + himself, and he thought for a week or two he’d like company. He didn’t + expect it would be for very long. No.... He said he was expecting ‘something + to happen.’ Something to himself, he said, that would alter his + affairs. So, as it was only for a little time, well, it didn’t seem + to matter. Besides, he’s a powerful man. He’s difficult to + resist—very difficult to resist....” + </p> + <p> + “Why have you given up your inventions, Nicolai Leontievitch?” + I said to him, suddenly turning round upon him. + </p> + <p> + “My inventions?” he repeated, seeming very startled at that. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, your inventions.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no.... Understand, I have no more use for them. There are other + things now to think about—more important things.” + </p> + <p> + “But you were getting on with them so well?” + </p> + <p> + “No—not really. I was deceiving myself as I have often + deceived myself before. Alexei showed me that. He told me that they were + no good—” + </p> + <p> + “But I thought that he encouraged you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—at first—only at first. Afterwards he saw into them + more clearly; he changed his mind. I think he was only intending to be + kind. A strange man... a strange man....” + </p> + <p> + “A very strange man. Don’t you let him influence you, Nicholas + Markovitch.” + </p> + <p> + “Influence me? Do you think he does that?” He suddenly came + close to me, catching my arm. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. I haven’t seen you often together.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he does... <i>Mojet bweet</i>... You may be right. I don’t + know—I don’t know what I feel about him at all. Sometimes he + seems to me very kind; sometimes I’m frightened of him, sometimes”—here + he dropped his voice—“he makes me very angry, so angry that I + lose control of myself—a despicable thing... a despicable thing... + just as I used to feel about the old man to whom I was secretary. I nearly + murdered him once. In the middle of the night I thought suddenly of his + stomach, all round and white and shining. It was an irresistible + temptation to plunge a knife into it. I was awake for hours thinking of + it. Every man has such hours.... At the same time Alexei can be very kind.” + </p> + <p> + “How do you mean—kind?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “For instance he has some very good wine—fifty bottles at + least—he has given it all to us. Then he insists on paying us for + his food. He is a generous-spirited man. Money is nothing to us—” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you drink his wine,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Nicholas was instantly offended. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Ivan Andreievitch? Not drink his wine? Am I an + infant? Can I not look after myself?—<i>Blagadaryoo Vas</i>.... I am + more than ten years old.” He took his hand away from my arm. + </p> + <p> + “No, I didn’t mean that at all,” I assured him. “Of + course not—only you told me not long ago that you had given up wine + altogether. That’s why I said what I did.” + </p> + <p> + “So I have! So I have!” he eagerly assured me. “But + Easter’s a time for rejoicing... Rejoicing!”—his voice + rose suddenly shrill and scornful—“rejoicing with the world in + the state that it is. Truly, Ivan Andreievitch, I don’t wonder at + Alexei’s cynicism. I don’t indeed. The world is a sad + spectacle for an observant man.” He suddenly put his hand through my + arm, so close to me now that I could feel his beating heart. “But + you believe, don’t you, Ivan Andreievitch, that Russia now has found + herself?” His voice became desperately urgent and beseeching. + “You must believe that. You don’t agree with those fools who + don’t believe that she will make the best of all this? Fools? + Scoundrels! Scoundrels! That’s what they are. I must believe in + Russia now or I shall die. And so with all of us. If she does not rise now + as one great country and lead the world, she will never do so. Our hearts + must break. But she will... she will! No one who is watching events can + doubt it. Only cynics like Alexei doubt—he doubts everything. And he + cannot leave anything alone. He must smear everything with his dirty + finger. But he must leave Russia alone... I tell him....” + </p> + <p> + He broke off. “If Russia fails now,” he spoke very quietly, + “my life is over. I have nothing left. I will die.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Nicolai Leontievitch,” I said, “you mustn’t + let yourself go like that. Life isn’t over because one is + disappointed in one’s country. And even though one is disappointed + one does not love the less. What’s friendship worth if every + disappointment chills one’s affection? One loves one’s country + because she is one’s country, not because she’s + disappointing....” And so I went on with a number of amiable + platitudes, struggling to comfort him somewhere, and knowing that I was + not even beginning to touch the trouble of his soul. + </p> + <p> + He drew very close to me, his fingers gripping my sleeve—“I’ll + tell you, Ivan Andreievitch—but you mustn’t tell anybody else. + I’m afraid. Yes, I am. Afraid of myself, afraid of this town, afraid + of Alexei, although that must seem strange to you. Things are very bad + with me, Ivan Andreievitch. Very bad, indeed. Oh! I have been + disappointed! yes, I have. Not that I expected anything else. But now it + has come at last, the blow that I have always feared has fallen—a + very heavy blow. My own fault, perhaps, I don’t know. But I’m + afraid of myself. I don’t know what I may do. I have such strange + dreams—Why has Alexei come to stay with us?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know,” I said. + </p> + <p> + Then, thank God, we reached the church. It was only as we went up the + steps that I realised that he had never once mentioned Vera. + </p> + <h3> + VIII + </h3> + <p> + And yet with all our worries thick upon us it was quite impossible to + resist the sweetness and charm and mystery of that service. + </p> + <p> + I think that perhaps it is true, as many have said, that people did not + crowd to the churches on that Easter as they had earlier ones, but our + church was a small one, and it seemed to us to be crammed. We stumbled up + the dark steps, and found ourselves at the far end of the very narrow + nave. At the other end there was a pool of soft golden light in which dark + figures were bathed mysteriously. At the very moment of our entering, the + procession was passing down the nave on its way round the outside of the + church to look for the Body of Our Lord. Down the nave they came, the + people standing on either side to let them pass, and then, many of them, + falling in behind. Every one carried a lighted candle. First there were + the singers, then men carrying the coloured banners, then the priest in + stiff gorgeous raiment, then officials and dignitaries, finally the crowd. + The singing, the forest of lighted candles, the sudden opening of the + black door and the blowing in of the cold night wind, the passing of the + voices out into the air, the soft, dying away of the singing and then the + hushed expectation of the waiting for the return—all this had in it + something so elemental, so simple, and so true to the very heart of the + mystery of life that all trouble and sorrow fell away and one was at + peace. + </p> + <p> + How strange was that expectation! We knew so well what the word must be; + we could tell exactly the moment of the knock of the door, the deep sound + of the priest’s voice, the embracings and dropping of wax over every + one’s clothes that would follow it—and yet every year it was + the same! There <i>was</i> truth in it, there was some deep response to + the human dependence, some whispered promise of a future good. We waited + there, our hearts beating, crowded against the dark walls. It was a very + democratic assembly, bourgeoisie, workmen, soldiers, officers, women in + evening dress and peasant women with shawls over their heads. No one spoke + or whispered. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly there was a knock. The door was opened. The priest stood there, + in his crimson and gold. “Christ is risen!” he cried, his + voice vibrating as though he had indeed but just now, out there in the + dark and wind, made the great discovery. + </p> + <p> + “He is risen indeed!” came the reply from us all. Markovitch + embraced me. “Let us go,” he whispered, “I can’t + bear it somehow to-night.” + </p> + <p> + We went out. Everywhere the bells were ringing—the wonderful deep + boom of St. Isaac’s, and then all the other bells, jangling, + singing, crying, chattering, answering from all over Petrograd. From the + other side of the Neva came the report of the guns and the fainter, more + distant echo of the guns near the sea. I could hear behind it all the + incessant “chuck-chuck, chuck-chuck,” of the ice colliding on + the river. + </p> + <p> + It was very cold, and we hurried back to Anglisky Prospect. Markovitch was + quite silent all the way. + </p> + <p> + When we arrived we found Vera and Uncle Ivan and Semyonov waiting for us + (Bohun was with friends). On the table was the <i>paskha</i>, a sweet + paste made of eggs and cream, curds and sugar, a huge ham, a large cake or + rather, sweet bread called <i>kulich</i>, and a big bowl full of Easter + eggs, as many-coloured as the rainbow. This would be the fare during the + whole week, as there was to be no cooking until the following Saturday—and + very tired of the ham and the eggs one became before that day. There was + also wine—some of Semyonov’s gift, I supposed—and a tiny + bottle of vodka. + </p> + <p> + We were not a very cheerful company. Uncle Ivan, who was really + distinguished by his complete inability to perceive what was going on + under his nose, was happy, and ate a great deal of the ham and certainly + more of the <i>paskha</i> than was good for him. + </p> + <p> + I do not know who was responsible for the final incident—Semyonov + perhaps—but I have often wondered whether some word or other of mine + precipitated it. We had finished our meal and were sitting quietly + together, each occupied with his own thoughts. I had noticed that + Markovitch had been drinking a great deal. + </p> + <p> + I was just thinking it was time for me to go when I heard Semyonov say: + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do you think of your Revolution now, Nicholas?” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean—my Revolution?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + (The strange thing on looking back is that the whole of this scene seems + to me to have passed in a whisper, as though we were all terrified of + somebody.) + </p> + <p> + “Well—do you remember how you talked to me?... about the + saving of the world and all the rest of it that this was going to be? + Doesn’t seem to be quite turning out that way, does it, from all one + hears? A good deal of quarrelling, isn’t there? And what about the + army—breaking up a bit, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, Uncle Alexei,” I heard Vera whisper. + </p> + <p> + “What I said I still believe,” Nicholas answered very quietly. + “Leave Russia alone, Alexei—and leave me alone, too.” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not touching you, Nicholas,” Semyonov answered, + laughing softly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes you are—you know that you are. I’m not angry—not + yet. But it’s unwise of you—unwise....” + </p> + <p> + “Unwise—how?” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind. ‘Below the silent pools there lie hidden many + devils.’ Leave me alone. You are our guest.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, Nicholas,” said Semyonov, still laughing, “I + mean you no harm. Ask our friend Durward here whether I ever mean any one + any harm. He will, I’m sure, give me the best of characters.” + </p> + <p> + “No—no harm perhaps—but still you tease me.... I’m + a fool to mind.... But then I am a fool—every one knows it.” + </p> + <p> + All the time he was looking with his pathetic eyes and his pale face at + Vera. + </p> + <p> + Vera said again, very low, almost in a whisper: “Uncle Alexei... + please.” + </p> + <p> + “But really, Nicholas,” Semyonov went on, “you + under-rate yourself. You do indeed. Nobody thinks you a fool. I think you + a very lucky man. With your talents—” + </p> + <p> + “Talents!” said Nicholas softly, looking at Vera. “I + have no talents.” + </p> + <p> + “—And Vera’s love for you,” went on Semyonov— + </p> + <p> + “Ah! that is over!” Nicholas said, so low that I scarcely + heard it. I do not know what then exactly happened. I think that Vera put + out her hand to cover Nicholas’. At any rate I saw him draw his + away, very gently. It lay on the table, and the only sound beside the + voices was the tiny rattle of his nails as his hand trembled against the + woodwork. + </p> + <p> + Vera said something that I did not catch. + </p> + <p> + “No...” Nicholas said. “No... We must be true with one + another, Vera. I have been drinking too much wine. My head is aching, and + perhaps my words are not very clear. But it gives me courage to say what I + have in my mind. I haven’t thought out yet what we must do. Perhaps + you can help me. But I must tell you that I saw everything that happened + here on that Thursday afternoon in the week of the Revolution—” + </p> + <p> + Vera made a little movement of distress + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you didn’t know—but I was in my room—where + Alexei sleeps now, you know. I couldn’t help seeing. I’m very + sorry.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Nicholas, I’m very glad,” Vera answered quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I would have told you in any case. I should have told you before. I + love him and he loves me, just as you saw. I would like Ivan Andreievitch + and Uncle Ivan and every one to know. There is nothing to conceal. I have + never loved any one before, and I’m not ashamed of loving some one + now.... It doesn’t alter our life, Nicholas. I care for you just as + I did care, and I will do just as you tell me. I will never see him again + if that’s what you wish, but I shall always love him.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, Vera—you are cruel.” Nicholas gave a little cry + like a hurt animal, then he went away from us, standing for a moment + looking at us. + </p> + <p> + “We’ll have to consider what we must do. I don’t know. I + can’t think to-night.... And you, Alexei, you leave me alone....” + </p> + <p> + He went stumbling away towards his bedroom. + </p> + <p> + Vera said nothing to any of us. She got up slowly, looked about her for a + moment as though she were bewildered by the light and then went after + Nicholas. I turned to Semyonov. + </p> + <p> + “You’d better go back to your own place,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet, thank you,” he answered, smiling. + </p> + <h3> + IX + </h3> + <p> + On the afternoon of Easter Monday I was reminded by Bohun of an engagement + that I had made some weeks before to go that evening to a party at the + house of a rich merchant, Rozanov by name. I have, I think, mentioned him + earlier in this book. I cannot conceive why I had ever made the promise, + and in the afternoon, meeting Bohun at Watkins’ bookshop in the + Morskaia, I told him that I couldn’t go. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, come along!” he said. “It’s your duty.” + </p> + <p> + “Why my duty?” + </p> + <p> + “They’re all talking as hard as they can about saving the + world by turning the other cheek, and so on; and a few practical facts + about Germany from you will do a world of good.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, your propaganda!” I said. + </p> + <p> + “No, it isn’t my propaganda,” he answered. “It’s + a matter of life and death to get these people to go on with the war, and + every little helps.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’ll come,” I said, shaking my head at the + book-seller, who was anxious that I should buy the latest works of Mrs. + Elinor Glyn and Miss Ethel Dell. I had in fact reflected that a short + excursion into other worlds would be good for me. During these weeks I had + been living in the very heart of the Markovitches, and it would be healthy + to escape for a moment. + </p> + <p> + But I was not to escape. + </p> + <p> + I met Bohun at the top of the English Prospect, and we decided to walk. + Rozanov lived in the street behind the Kazan Cathedral. I did not know + very much about him except that he was a very wealthy merchant, who had + made his money by selling cheap sweets to the peasant. He lived, I knew, + an immoral and self-indulgent life, and his hobby was the quite + indiscriminate collection of modern Russian paintings, his walls being + plastered with innumerable works by Benois, Somoff, Dobeijinsky, + Yakofflyeff, and Lançeray. He had also two Serovs, a fine Vrubel, and + several Ryepins. He had also a fine private collection of indecent + drawings. + </p> + <p> + “I really don’t know what on earth we’re going to this + man for,” I said discontentedly. “I was weak this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “No, you weren’t,” said Bohun. “And I’ll + tell you frankly that I’m jolly glad not to be having a meal at home + to-night. Do you know, I don’t believe I can stick that flat much + longer!” + </p> + <p> + “Why, are things worse?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “It’s getting so jolly creepy,” Bohun said. “Everything + goes on normally enough outwardly, but I suppose there’s been some + tremendous row. Of course I don’t knew any-thing about that. After + what you told me the other night though, I seem to see everything twice + its natural size.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” I asked him. + </p> + <p> + “You know when something queer’s going on inside a house you + seem to notice the furniture of the rooms much more than you ordinarily + do. I remember once a fellow’s piano making me quite sick whenever I + looked at it. I didn’t know why; I don’t know why now, but the + funny thing is that another man who knew him once said exactly the same + thing to me about it. He felt it too. Of course we’re none of us + quite normal just now. The whole town seems to be turning upside down. I’m + always imagining there are animals in the canals; and don’t you + notice what lots of queer fellows there are in the Nevski now, and Chinese + and Japs—all sorts of wild men. And last night I had a dream that + all the lumps of ice in the Nevski turned into griffins and went marching + through the Red Square eating every one up on their way....” Bohun + laughed. “That’s because <i>I’d</i> eaten something of + course—too much <i>paskha</i> probably. + </p> + <p> + “But, seriously, I came in this evening at five o’clock, and + the first thing I noticed was that little red lacquer musical box of + Semyonov’s. You know it. The one with a sports-man in a top hat and + a horse and a dog on the lid. He brought it with some other little things + when he moved in. It’s a jolly thing to look at, but it’s got + two most irritating tunes. One’s like ‘The Blue Bells of + Scotland.’ You said yourself the other day it would drive you mad if + you heard it often. Well, there it was, jangling away in its + self-sufficient wheezy voice. Semyonov was sitting in the armchair reading + the newspaper, Markovitch was standing behind the chair with the strangest + look on his face. Suddenly, just as I came in he bent down and I heard him + say: ‘Won’t you stop the beastly thing?’ ‘Certainly,’ + said Semyonov, and he went across in his heavy plodding kind of way and + stopped it. I went off to my room and then, upon my word, five minutes + after I heard it begin again, thin and reedy through the walls. But when I + came back into the dining-room there was no one there. You can’t + think how that tune irritated me, and I tried to stop it. I went up to it, + but I couldn’t find the hinge or the key. So on it went, over and + over again. Then there’s another thing. Have you ever noticed how + some chairs will creak in a room, just as though some one were sitting + down or getting up? It always, in ordinary times, makes you jump, but when + you’re strung up about something—! There’s a chair in + the Markovitches’ dining-room just like that. It creaks more like a + human being than anything you ever heard, and to-night I could have sworn + Semyonov got up out of it. It was just like his heavy slow movement. + However, there wasn’t any one there. Do you think all this silly?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, indeed I don’t,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Then there’s a picture. You know that awful painting of a + mid-Victorian ancestor of Vera’s—a horrible old man with bushy + eyebrows and a high, rather dirty-looking stock?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know it,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “It’s one of those pictures with eyes that follow you all + round the room. At least it has now. I usen’t to notice them. Now + they stare at you as though they’d eat you, and I know that + Markovitch feels them because he keeps looking up at the beastly thing. + Then there’s—But no, I’m not going to talk any more + about it. It isn’t any good. One gets thinking of anything these + days. One’s nerves are all on edge. And that flat’s too full + of people any way.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it is,” I agreed. + </p> + <p> + We arrived at Rozanov’s house, and went up in a very elegant + heavily-gilt lift. Once in the flat we were enveloped in a cloud of men + and women, tobacco smoke, and so many pictures that it was like tumbling + into an art-dealer’s. Where there weren’t pictures there was + gilt, and where there wasn’t gilt there was naked statuary, and + where there wasn’t naked statuary there was Rozanov, very red and + stout and smiling, gay in a tightly fitting black-tail coat, white + waistcoat and black trousers. Who all the people were I haven’t the + least idea. There was a great many. A number of Jews and Jewesses, + amiable, prosperous, and kindly, an artist or two, a novelist, a lady + pianist, two or three actors. I noticed these. Then there was an old maid, + a Mlle. Finisterre, famous in Petrograd society for her bitterness and + acrimony, and in appearance an exact copy of Balzac’s Sophie Gamond. + </p> + <p> + I noticed several of those charming, quiet, wise women of whom Russia is + so prodigal, a man or two whom I had met at different times, especially + one officer, one of the finest, bravest, and truest men I have ever known; + some of the inevitable giggling girls—and then suddenly, standing + quite alone, Nina! + </p> + <p> + Her loneliness was the first thing that struck me. She stood back against + the wall underneath the shining frames, looking about her with a nervous, + timid smile. Her hair was piled up on top of her head in the old way that + she used to do when she was trying to imitate Vera, and I don’t know + why but that seemed to me a good omen, as though she were already on her + way back to us. She was wearing a very simple white frock. + </p> + <p> + In spite of her smile she looked unhappy, and I could see that during this + last week experience had not been kind to her, because there was an air of + shyness and uncertainty which had never been there before. I was just + going over to speak to her when two of the giggling girls surrounded her + and carried her off. + </p> + <p> + I carried the little picture of her in my mind all through the noisy, + strident meal that followed. I couldn’t see her from where I sat, + nor did I once catch the tones of her voice, although I listened. Only a + month ago there would have been no party at which Nina was present where + her voice would not have risen above all others. + </p> + <p> + No one watching us would have believed any stories about food shortage in + Petrograd. I daresay at this very moment in Berlin they are having just + such meals. Until the last echo of the last Trump has died away in the + fastnesses of the advancing mountains the rich will be getting from + somewhere the things that they desire! I have no memory of what we had to + eat that night, but I know that it was all very magnificent and noisy, + kind-hearted and generous and vulgar. A great deal of wine was drunk, and + by the end of the meal every one was talking as loudly as possible. I had + for companion the beautiful Mlle. Finisterre. She had lived all her life + in Petrograd, and she had a contempt for the citizens of that fine town + worthy of Semyonov himself. Opposite us sat a stout, good-natured Jewess, + who was very happily enjoying her food. She was certainly the most + harmless being in creation, and was probably guilty of a thousand + generosities and kindnesses in her private life. Nevertheless, Mlle. + Finisterre had for her a dark and sinister hatred, and the remarks that + she made about her, in her bitter and piercing voice, must have reached + their victim. She also abused her host very roundly, beginning to tell me + in the fullest detail the history of an especially unpleasant scandal in + which he had notoriously figured. I stopped her at last. + </p> + <p> + “It seems to me,” I said, “that it would be better not + to say these things about him while you’re eating his bread and + salt.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed shrilly, and tapped me on the arm with a bony finger. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you English!... always so moral and strict about the + proprieties... and always so hypercritical too. Oh, you amuse me! I’m + French, you see—not Russian at all; these poor people see through + nothing—but we French!” + </p> + <p> + After dinner there was a strange scene. We all moved into the long, + over-decorated drawing-room. We sat about, admired the pictures (a + beautiful one by Somoff I especially remember—an autumn scene with + eighteenth-century figures and colours so soft and deep that the effect + was inexpressibly delicate and mysterious), talked and then fell into one + of those Russian silences that haunt every Russian party. I call those + silences “Russian,” because I know nothing like them in any + other part of the world. It is as though the souls of the whole company + suddenly vanished through the windows, leaving only the bodies and + clothes. Every one sits, eyes half closed, mouths shut, hands motionless, + host and hostess, desperately abandoning every attempt at rescue, gaze + about them in despair. + </p> + <p> + The mood may easily last well into the morning, when the guests, still + silent, will depart, assuring everybody that they have enjoyed themselves + immensely, and really believing that they have; or it may happen that some + remark will suddenly be made, and instantly back through the windows the + souls will come, eagerly catching up their bodies again, and a babel will + arise, deafening, baffling, stupefying. Or it may happen that a Russian + will speak with sudden authority, almost like a prophet, and will continue + for half an hour and more, pouring out his soul, and no one will dream of + thinking it an improper exhibition. + </p> + <p> + In fine, anything can happen at a Russian party. What happened on this + occasion was this. The silence had lasted for some minutes, and I was + wondering for how much longer I could endure it (I had one eye on Nina + somewhere in the background, and the other on Bohun restlessly kicking his + patent-leather shoes one against the other), when suddenly a quiet, + ordinary little woman seated near me said: + </p> + <p> + “The thing for Russia to do now is to abandon all resistance and so + shame the world.” She was a mild, pleasant-looking woman, with the + eyes of a very gentle cow, and spoke exactly as though she were still + pursuing her own private thoughts. It was enough; the windows flew open, + the souls came flooding in, and such a torrent of sound poured over the + carpet that the naked statuary itself seemed to shiver at the threatened + deluge. Every one talked; every one, even, shouted. Just as, during the + last weeks, the streets had echoed to the words “Liberty,” + “Democracy,” “Socialism,” “Brotherhood,” + “Anti-annexation,” “Peace of the world,” so now + the art gallery echoed. The very pictures shook in their frames. + </p> + <p> + One old man in a white beard continued to cry, over and over again, + “Firearms are not our weapons... bullets are not our weapons. It’s + the Peace of God, the Peace of God that we need.” + </p> + <p> + One lady (a handsome Jewess) jumped up from her chair, and standing before + us all recited a kind of chant, of which I only caught sentences once, and + again: + </p> + <p> + “Russia must redeem the world from its sin... this slaughter must be + slayed... Russia the Saviour of the world... this slaughter must be + slayed.” + </p> + <p> + I had for some time been watching Bohun. He had travelled a long journey + since that original departure from England in December; but I was not sure + whether he had travelled far enough to forget his English terror of making + a fool of himself. Apparently he had.... He said, his voice shaking a + little, blushing as he spoke: + </p> + <p> + “What about Germany?” + </p> + <p> + The lady in the middle of the floor turned upon him furiously: + </p> + <p> + “Germany! Germany will learn her lesson from us. When we lay down + our arms her people, too, will lay down theirs.” + </p> + <p> + “Supposing she doesn’t?” + </p> + <p> + The interest of the room was now centred on him, and every one else was + silent. + </p> + <p> + “That is not our fault. We shall have made our example.” + </p> + <p> + A little hum of applause followed this reply, and that irritated Bohun. He + raised his voice: + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and what about your allies, England and France, are you going + to betray them?” + </p> + <p> + Several voices took him up now. A man continued: + </p> + <p> + “It is not betrayal. We are not betraying the proletariat of England + and France. They are our friends. But the alliance with the French and + English Capitalistic Governments was made not by us but by our own + Capitalistic Government, which is now destroyed.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well, then,” said Bohun. “But when the war began + did you not—all of you, not only your Government, but you people now + sitting in this room—did you not all beg and pray England to come + in? During those days before England’s intervention, did you not + threaten to call us cowards and traitors if we did not come in? <i>Pomnite</i>?” + </p> + <p> + There was a storm of answers to this. I could not distinguish much of what + it was. I was fixed by Mlle. Finisterre’s eagle eye, gleaming at the + thought of the storm that was rising. + </p> + <p> + “That’s not our affair.... That’s not our affair,” + I heard voices crying. “We did support you. For years we supported + you. We lost millions of men in your service.... Now this terrible + slaughter must cease, and Russia show the way to peace.” + </p> + <p> + Bohun’s moment then came upon him. He sprang to his feet, his face + crimson, his body quivering; so desperate was his voice, so urgent his + distress that the whole room was held. + </p> + <p> + “What has happened to you all? Don’t you see, don’t you + see what you are doing? What has come to you, you who were the most modest + people in Europe and are now suddenly the most conceited? What do you hope + to do by this surrender? + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, in the first place, what you will do? You will deliver + the peoples of three-quarters of the globe into hopeless slavery; you will + lose, perhaps for ever, the opportunity of democracy; you will establish + the grossest kind of militarism for all time. Why do you think Germany is + going to listen to you? What sign has she ever shown that she would? When + have her people ever turned away or shown horror at any of the beastly + things her rulers have been doing in this war?... What about your own + Revolution? Do you believe in it? Do you treasure it? Do you want it to + last? Do you suppose for a moment that, if you bow to Germany, she won’t + instantly trample out your Revolution and give you hack your monarchy? How + can she afford to have a revolutionary republic close to her own gates? + What is she doing at this moment? Piling up armies with which to invade + you, and conquer you, and lead you into slavery. What have you done so far + by your Revolutionary orders? What have you done by relaxing discipline in + the army? What good have you done to any one or anything? Is any one the + happier? Isn’t there disorder everywhere—aren’t all your + works stopping and your industries failing? What about the eighty million + peasants who have been liberated in the course of a night? Who’s + going to lead them if you are not? This thing has happened by its own + force, and you are sitting down under it, doing nothing. Why did it + succeed? Simply because there was nothing to oppose it. Authority depended + on the army, not on the Czar, and the army was the people. So it is with + the other armies of the world. Do you think that the other armies couldn’t + do just as you did if they wished. They could, in half an hour. They hate + the war as much as you do, but they have also patriotism. They see that + their country must be made strong first before other countries will listen + to its ideas. But where is your patriotism? Has the word Russia been + mentioned once by you since the Revolution? Never once.... ‘Democracy,’ + ‘Brotherhood’—but how are Democracy and Brotherhood to + be secured unless other countries respect you.... Oh, I tell you it’s + absurd!... It’s more than absurd, it’s wicked, it’s + rotten....” + </p> + <p> + Poor boy, he was very near tears. He sat down suddenly, staring blankly in + front of him, his hands clenched. + </p> + <p> + Rozanov answered him, Rozanov flushed, his fat body swollen with food and + drink, a little unsteady on his legs, and the light of the true mystic in + his pig-like eyes. He came forward into the middle of the circle. + </p> + <p> + “That’s perhaps true what you say,” he cried; “it’s + very English, very honest, and, if you will forgive me, young man, very + simple. You say that we Russians are conceited. No, we are not conceited, + but we see farther than the rest of the world. Is that our curse? Perhaps + it is, but equally, perhaps, we may save the world by it. Now look at me! + Am I a fine man? No, I am not. Every one knows I am not. No man could look + at my face and say that I am a fine man. I have done disgraceful things + all my life. All present know some of the things I have done, and there + are some worse things which nobody knows save myself. Well, then.... Am I + going to stop doing such things? Am I now, at fifty-five, about to become + instantly a saint? Indeed not. I shall continue to do the things that I + have already done, and I shall drop into a beastly old age. I know it. + </p> + <p> + “So, young man, I am a fair witness. You may trust me to speak the + truth as I see it. I believe in Christ. I believe in the Christ-life, the + Christ-soul. If I could, I would stop my beastliness and become + Christlike. I have tried on several occasions, and failed, because I have + no character. But does that mean that I do not believe in it when I see + it? Not at all. I believe in it more than ever. And so with Russia—you + don’t see far enough, young man, neither you nor any of your + countrymen. It is one of your greatest failings that you do not care for + ideas. How is this war going to end? By the victory of Germany? + Perhaps.... Perhaps even it may be that Russia by her weakness will help + to that victory. But is that the end? No.... If Russia has an Idea and + because of her faith in that Idea, she will sacrifice everything, will be + buffeted on both cheeks, will be led into slavery, will deliver up her + land and her people, will be mocked at by all the world... perhaps that is + her destiny.... She will endure all that in order that her Idea may + persist. And her Idea will persist. Are not the Germans and Austrians + human like ourselves? Slowly, perhaps very slowly, they will say to + themselves: ‘There is Russia who believes in the peace of the world, + in the brotherhood of man, and she will sacrifice everything for it, she + will go out, as Christ did, and be tortured and be crucified—and + then on the third day she will rise again.’ Is not that the history + of every triumphant Idea?... You say that meanwhile Germany will triumph. + Perhaps for a time she may, but our Idea will not die. + </p> + <p> + “The further Germany goes, the deeper will that Idea penetrate into + her heart. At the end she will die of it, and a new Germany will be born + into a new world.... I tell you I am an evil man, but I believe in God and + in the righteousness of God.” + </p> + <p> + What do I remember after those words of Rozanov? It was like a voice + speaking to me across a great gulf of waters—but that voice was + honest. I do not know what happened after his speech. I think there was a + lot of talk. I cannot remember. + </p> + <p> + Only just before I was going I was near Nina for a moment. + </p> + <p> + She looked up at me just as she used to do. + </p> + <p> + “Durdles—is Vera all right?” + </p> + <p> + “She’s miserable, Nina, because you’re not there. Come + back to us.” + </p> + <p> + But she shook her head. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I can’t. Give her my—” Then she stopped. + “No, tell her nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I tell her you’re happy?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I’m all right,” she answered roughly, turning away + from me. + </p> + <h3> + X + </h3> + <p> + But the adventures of that Easter Monday night were not yet over. I had + walked away with Bohun; he was very silent, depressed, poor boy, and shy + with the reaction of his outburst. + </p> + <p> + “I made the most awful fool of myself,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No, you didn’t,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “The trouble of it is,” he said slowly, “that neither + you nor I see the humorous side of it all strongly enough. We take it too + seriously. It’s got a funny side all right.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you’re right,” I said. “But you must + remember that the Markovitch situation isn’t exactly funny just now—and + we’re both in the middle of it. Oh! if only I could find Nina back + home and Semyonov away, I believe the strain would lift. But I’m + frightened that something’s going to happen. I’ve grown very + fond of these people, you know, Bohun—Vera and Nina and Nicholas. + Isn’t it odd how one gets to love Russians—more than one’s + own people? The more stupid things they do the more you love them—whereas + with one’s own people it’s quite the other way. Oh, I do <i>want</i> + Vera and Nina and Nicholas to be happy!” + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t the town queer to-night?” said Bohun, suddenly + stopping. (We were just at the entrance to the Mariensky Square.) + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. “I think these days between the thaw and + the white nights are in some ways the strangest of all. There seems to be + so much going on that one can’t quite see.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—over there—at the other end of the Square—there’s + a kind of mist—a sort of water-mist. It comes from the Canal.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you see a figure like an old bent man with a red lantern? Do + you see what I mean—that red light?” + </p> + <p> + “And those shadows on the further wall like riders passing with + silver-tipped spears? Isn’t it...? There they go—ten, eleven, + twelve, thirteen....” + </p> + <p> + “How still the Square is? Do you see those three windows all alight? + Isn’t there a dance going on? Don’t you hear the music?” + </p> + <p> + “No, it’s the wind.” + </p> + <p> + “No, surely.... That’s a flute—and then violins. Listen! + Those are fiddles for certain!” + </p> + <p> + “How still, how still it is!” + </p> + <p> + We stood and listened whilst the white mist gathered and grew over the + cobbles. Certainly there was a strain of music, very faint and dim, + threading through the air. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I must go on,” said Bohun. “You go up to the + left, don’t you? Good-night.” I watched Bohun’s figure + cross the Square. The light was wonderful, like fold on fold of gauze, but + opaque, so that buildings showed with sharp outline behind it. The moon + was full and quite red. I turned to go home and ran straight into + Lawrence. + </p> + <p> + “Good heavens!” I cried. “Are you a ghost too?” + </p> + <p> + He didn’t seem to feel any surprise at meeting me. He was plainly in + a state of tremendous excitement. He spoke breathlessly. + </p> + <p> + “You’re exactly the man. You must come back with me. My + diggings now are only a yard away from here.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s very late,” I began, “and—” + </p> + <p> + “Things are desperate,” he said. “I don’t know—” + he broke off. “Oh! come and help me, Durward, for God’s sake!” + </p> + <p> + I went with him, and we did not exchange another word until we were in his + rooms. + </p> + <p> + He began hurriedly taking off his clothes. “There! Sit on the bed. + Different from Wilderling’s, isn’t it? Poor devil.... I’m + going to have a bath if you don’t mind—I’ve got to clear + my head.” + </p> + <p> + He dragged out a tin bath from under his bed, then a big can of water from + a corner. Stripped, he looked so thick and so strong, with his short neck + and his bull-dog build, that I couldn’t help saying, + </p> + <p> + “You don’t look a day older than the last time you played + Rugger for Cambridge.” + </p> + <p> + “I am, though.” He sluiced the cold water over his head, + grunting. “Not near so fit—gettin’ fat too.... Rugger + days are over. Wish all my other days were over too.” + </p> + <p> + He got out of the bath, wiped himself, put on pyjamas, brushed his teeth, + then his hair, took out a pipe, and then sat beside me on the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Durward,” he said. “I’m desperate, old + man.” (He said “desprite.”) “We’re all in a + hell of a mess.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” I said. + </p> + <p> + He puffed furiously at his pipe. + </p> + <p> + “You know, if I’m not careful I shall go a bit queer in the + head. Get so angry, you know,” he added simply. + </p> + <p> + “Angry with whom?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “With myself mostly for bein’ such a bloody fool. But not only + myself—with Civilisation, Durward, old cock!—and also with + that swine Semyonov.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, I thought you’d come to him,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Now the points are these,” he went on, counting on his thick + stubbly fingers. “First, I love Vera—and when I say love I + mean love. Never been in love before, you know—honest Injun, + never.... Never had affairs with tobacconists’ daughters at + Cambridge—never had an affair with a woman in my life—no, + never. Used to wonder what was the matter with me, why I wasn’t like + other chaps. Now I know. I was waitin’ for Vera. Quite simple. I + shall never love any one again—never. I’m not a kid, you know, + like young Bohun—I love Vera once and for all, and that’s + that...” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. “And the next point?” + </p> + <p> + “The next point is that Vera loves me. No need to go into that—but + she does.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, she does,” I said. + </p> + <p> + “Third point, she’s married, and although she don’t love + her man she’s sorry for him. Fourth point, he loves her. Fifth + point, there’s a damned swine hangin’ round called Alexei + Petrovitch Semyonov.... Well, then, there you have it.” + </p> + <p> + He considered, scratching his head. I waited. Then he went on: + </p> + <p> + “Now it would be simpler if she didn’t want to be kind to + Nicholas, if Nicholas didn’t love her, if—a thousand things + were different. But they must be as they are, I suppose. I’ve just + been with her. She’s nearly out of her mind with worry.” + </p> + <p> + He paused, puffing furiously at his pipe. Then he went on: + </p> + <p> + “She’s worrying about me, about Nina, and about Nicholas. And + especially about Nicholas. There’s something wrong with him. He + knows about my kissing her in the flat. Well, that’s all right. I + meant him to know. Everything’s just got to be above-board. But + Semyonov knows too, and that devil’s been raggin’ him about + it, and Nicholas is just like a bloomin’ kid. That’s got to + stop. I’ll wring that feller’s neck. But even that wouldn’t + help matters much. Vera says Nicholas is not to be hurt whatever happens. + ‘Never mind us,’ she says, ‘we’re strong and can + stand it.’ But he can’t. He’s weak. And she says he’s + just goin’ off his dot. And it’s got to be stopped—it’s + just got to be stopped. There’s only one way to stop it.” + </p> + <p> + He stayed: suddenly he put his heavy hand on my knee. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve got to clear out. That’s what I mean. Right away + out. Back to England.” + </p> + <p> + I didn’t speak. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it,” he went on, but now as though he were + talking to himself. “That’s what you’ve got to do, old + son.... She says so, and she’s right. Can’t alter our love, + you know. Nothing changes that. We’ve got to hold on... Ought to + have cleared out before....” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he turned. He almost flung himself upon me. He gripped my arms so + that I would have cried out if the agony in his eyes hadn’t held me. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” he muttered, “let me alone for a moment. I must + hold on. I’m pretty well beat. I’m just about done.” + </p> + <p> + For what seemed hours we sat there. I believe it was, in reality, only a + few minutes. He sat facing me, his eyes staring at me but not seeing me, + his body close against me, and I could see the sweat glistening on his + chest through the open pyjamas. He was rigid as though he had been struck + into stone. + </p> + <p> + He suddenly relaxed. + </p> + <p> + “That’s right,” he said; “thanks, old man. I’m + better now. It’s a bit late, I expect, but stay on a while.” + </p> + <p> + He got into bed. I sat beside him, gripped his hand, and ten minutes later + he was asleep. + </p> + <h3> + XI + </h3> + <p> + The next day, Tuesday, was stormy with wind and rain. It was strange to + see from my window the whirlpool of ice-encumbered waters. The rain fell + in slanting, hissing sheets upon the ice, and the ice, in lumps and sheets + and blocks, tossed and heaved and spun. At times it was as though all the + ice was driven by some strong movement in one direction, then it was like + the whole pavement of the world slipping down the side of the firmament + into space. Suddenly it would be checked and, with a kind of quiver, + station itself and hang chattering and clutching until the sweep would + begin in the opposite direction! + </p> + <p> + I could see only dimly through the mist, but it was not difficult to + imagine that, in very truth, the days of the flood had returned. Nothing + could be seen but the tossing, heaving welter of waters with the ice, grim + and grey through the shadows, like “ships and monsters, sea-serpents + and mermaids,” to quote Galleon’s <i>Spanish Nights</i>. + </p> + <p> + Of course the water came in through my own roof, and it was on that very + afternoon that I decided, once and for all, to leave this abode of mine. + Romantic it might be; I felt it was time for a little comfortable realism. + My old woman brought me the usual cutlets, macaroni, and tea for lunch; + then I wrote to a friend in England; and finally, about four o’clock, + after one more look at the hissing waters, drew my curtains, lit my + candles, and sat down near my stove to finish that favourite of mine, + already mentioned in these pages, De la Mare’s <i>The Return</i>. + </p> + <p> + I read on with absorbed attention. I did not hear the dripping on the + roof, nor the patter-patter of the drops from the ceiling, nor the beating + of the storm against the glass. My candles blew in the draught, and + shadows crossed and recrossed the page. Do you remember the book’s + closing words?— + </p> + <p> + “Once, like Lawford in the darkness at Widderstone, he glanced up + sharply across the lamplight at his phantasmagorical shadowy companion, + heard the steady surge of multitudinous rain-drops, like the roar of Time’s + winged chariot hurrying near, then he too, with spectacles awry, bobbed on + in his chair, a weary old sentinel on the outskirts of his friend’s + denuded battlefield.” + </p> + <p> + “Shadowy companion,” “multitudinous rain-drops,” + “a weary old sentinel,” “his friend’s denuded + battlefield”... the words echoed like little muffled bells in my + brain, and it was, I suppose, to their chiming that I fell into dreamless + sleep. + </p> + <p> + From this I was suddenly roused by the sharp noise of knocking, and + starting up, my book clattering to the floor, I saw facing me, in the + doorway, Semyonov. Twice before he had come to me just like this—out + of the heart of a dreamless sleep. Once in the orchard near Buchatch, on a + hot summer afternoon; once in this same room on a moonlit night. Some + strange consciousness, rising, it seemed, deep out of my sleep, told me + that this would be the last time that I would so receive him. + </p> + <p> + “May I come in?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “If you must, you must,” I answered. “I am not + physically strong enough to prevent you.” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. He was dripping wet. He took off his hat and overcoat, sat + down near the stove, bending forward, holding his cloak in his hands and + watching the steam rise from it. + </p> + <p> + I moved away and stood watching. I was not going to give him any possible + illusion as to my welcoming him. He turned round and looked at me. + </p> + <p> + “Truly, Ivan Andreievitch,” he said, “you are a fine + host. This is a miserable greeting.” + </p> + <p> + “There can be no greetings between us ever again,” I answered + him. “You are a blackguard. I hope that this is our last meeting.” + </p> + <p> + “But it is,” he answered, looking at me with friendliness; + “that is precisely why I’ve come. I’ve come to say + good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye?” I repeated with astonishment. This chimed in so + strangely with my premonition. “I never was more delighted to hear + it. I hope you’re going a long distance from us all.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s as may be,” he answered. “I can’t + tell you definitely.” + </p> + <p> + “When are you going?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “That I can’t tell you either. But I have a premonition that + it will be soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, a premonition,” I said, disappointed. “Is nothing + settled?” + </p> + <p> + “No, not definitely. It depends on others.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you told Vera and Nicholas?” + </p> + <p> + “No—in fact, only last night Vera begged me to go away, and I + told her that I would love to do anything to oblige her, but this time I + was afraid that I couldn’t help her. I would be compelled, alas, to + stay on indefinitely.” + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Semyonov,” I said, “stop that eternal + fooling. Tell me honestly—are you going or not?” + </p> + <p> + “Going away from where?” he asked, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “From the Markovitches, from all of us, from Petrograd?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I’ve told you already,” he answered. “I’ve + come to say good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what did you mean by telling Vera—” + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind, Ivan Andreievitch. Don’t worry your poor old + head with things that are too complicated for you—a habit of yours, + I’m afraid. Just believe me when I say that I’ve come to say + good-bye. I have an intuition that we shall never talk together again. I + may be wrong. But my intuitions are generally correct.” + </p> + <p> + I noticed then that his face was haggard, his eyes dark, the light in them + exhausted as though he had not slept.... I had never before seen him show + positive physical distress. Let his soul be what it might, his body seemed + always triumphant. + </p> + <p> + “Whether your intuition is right or no,” I said, “this + <i>is</i> the last time. I never intend to speak to you again if I can + help it. The day that I hear that you have really left us, never to + return, will be one of the happiest days of my life.” + </p> + <p> + Semyonov gave me a strange look, humorous, ironical, and, upon my word, + almost affectionate: “That’s very sad what you say, Ivan + Andreievitch—if you mean it. And I suppose you mean it, because you + English always do mean what you say.... But it’s sad because, truly, + I have friendly feelings towards you, and you’re almost the only man + in the world of whom I could say that.” + </p> + <p> + “You speak as though your friendship were an honour,” I said + hotly. “It’s a degradation.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled. “Now that’s melodrama, straight out of your worst + English plays. <i>And</i> how bad they can be!... But you hadn’t + always this vehement hatred. What’s changed your mind?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know that I <i>have</i> changed my mind,” I + answered. “I think I’ve always disliked you. But there at the + Front and in the Forest you were brave and extraordinarily competent. You + treated Trenchard abominably, of course—but he rather asked for it + in some ways. Here you’ve been nothing but the meanest skunk and + sneak. You’ve set out deliberately to poison the lives of some of + the best-hearted and most helpless people on this earth.... You deserve + hanging, if any murderer ever did!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at me so mildly and with such genuine interest that I was + compelled to feel my indignation a whit melodramatic. + </p> + <p> + “If you are going,” I said more calmly, “for Heaven’s + sake go! It <i>can’t</i> be any pleasure to you, clever and talented + as you are, to bait such harmless people as Vera and Nicholas. You’ve + done harm enough. Leave them, and I forgive you everything.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, of course your forgiveness is of the first importance to me,” + he said, with ironic gravity. “But it’s true enough. You’re + going to be bothered with me—I <i>do</i> seem a worry to you, don’t + I?—for only a few days more. And how’s it going to end, do you + think? Who’s going to finish me off? Nicholas or Vera? Or perhaps + our English Byron, Lawrence? Or even yourself? Have you your revolver with + you? I shall offer no resistance, I promise you.” + </p> + <p> + Suddenly he changed. He came closer to me. His weary, exhausted eyes gazed + straight into mine: “Ivan Andreievitch, never mind about the rest—never + mind whether you do or don’t hate me, that matters to nobody. What I + tell you is the truth. I have come to you, as I have always come to you, + like the moth to the flame. Why am I always pursuing you? Is it for the + charm and fascination of your society? Your wit? Your beauty? I won’t + flatter you—no, no, it’s because you alone, of all these fools + here, knew her. You knew her as no one else alive knew her. She liked you—God + knows why! At least I do know why—it was because of her youth and + innocence and simplicity, because she didn’t know a wise man from a + fool, and trusted all alike.... But you knew her, you knew her. You + remember her and can talk of her. Ah, how I’ve hungered, hungered, + to talk to you about her! Sometimes I’ve come all this way and then + turned back at the door. How I’ve prayed that it might have been + some other who knew her, some real man, not a sentimental, gloomy old + woman like yourself, Ivan Andreievitch. And yet you have your points. You + have in you the things that she saw—you are honest, you are + brave.... You are like a good English clergyman. But she!... I should have + had some one with wit, with humour, with a sense of life about her. All + the things, all the little things—the way she walked, her clothes, + her smile—when she was cross! Ah, she was divine when she was + cross!... Ivan Andreievitch, be kind to me! Think for a moment less of + your morals, less of your principles—and talk to me of her! Talk to + me of her!” + </p> + <p> + He had drawn quite close to me; he looked like a madman—I have no + doubt that, at that moment, he was one. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t!... I won’t!” I answered, drawing away. + “She is the most sacred memory I have in my life. I hate to think of + her with you. And that because you smirch everything you touch. I have no + feeling of jealousy....” + </p> + <p> + “You? Jealousy!” he said, looking at me scornfully. “Why + should you be jealous?” + </p> + <p> + “I loved her too,” I said. + </p> + <p> + He looked at me. In spite of myself the colour flooded my face. He looked + at me from head to foot—my plainness, my miserable physique, my + lameness, my feeble frame—everything was comprehended in the scorn + of that glance. + </p> + <p> + “No,” I said, “you need not suppose that she ever + realised. She did not. I would have died rather than have spoken of it. + But I will not talk about her. I will not.” + </p> + <p> + He drew away from me. His face was grave; the mockery had left it. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you English, how strange you are!... In trusting, yes.... But + the things you miss! I understand now many things. I give up my desire. + You shan’t smirch your precious memories.... And you, too, must + understand that there has been all this time a link that has bound us.... + Well, that link has snapped. I must go. Meanwhile, after I am gone, + remember that there is more in life, Ivan Andreievitch, than you will ever + understand. Who am I?... Rather ask, what am I? I am a Desire, a Purpose, + a Pursuit—what you like. If another suffer for that I cannot help + it, and if human nature is so weak, so stupid, it is right that it should + suffer. But perhaps I am not myself at all, Ivan Andreievitch. Perhaps + this is a ghost that you see.... What if the town has changed in the night + and strange souls have slipped into our old bodies? + </p> + <p> + “Isn’t there a stir about the town? Is it I that pursue + Nicholas, or is it my ghost that pursues myself? Is it Nicholas that I + pursue? Is not Nicholas dead, and is it not my hope of release that I + follow?... Don’t be so sure of your ground, Ivan Andreievitch. You + know the proverb: ‘There’s a secret city in every man’s heart. + It is at that city’s altars that the true prayers are offered.’ + There has been more than one Revolution in the last two months.” + </p> + <p> + He came up to me: + </p> + <p> + “Do not think too badly of me, Ivan Andreievitch, afterwards. I’m + a haunted man, you know.” + </p> + <p> + He bent forward and kissed me on the lips. A moment later he was gone. + </p> + <h3> + XII + </h3> + <p> + That Tuesday night poor young Bohun will remember to his grave—and + beyond it, I expect. + </p> + <p> + He came in from his work about six in the evening and found Markovitch and + Semyonov sitting in the dining-room. Everything was ordinary enough. + Semyonov was in the armchair reading a newspaper; Markovitch was walking + very quietly up and down the farther end of the room. He wore faded blue + carpet slippers; he had taken to them lately. Everything was the same as + it had always been. The storm that had raged all day had now died down, + and a very pale evening sun struck little patches of colour on the big + table with the fading table-cloth, on the old brown carpet, on the picture + of the old gentleman with bushy eyebrows, on Semyonov’s musical-box, + on the old knick-knacks and the untidy shelf of books. (Bohun looked + especially to see whether the musical-box were still there. It was there + on a little side-table.) Bohun, tired with his long day’s efforts to + shove the glories of the British Empire down the reluctant throats of the + indifferent Russians, dropped into the other armchair with a tattered copy + of Turgenieff’s <i>House of Gentle-folks</i>, and soon sank into a + state of half-slumber. + </p> + <p> + He roused himself from this to hear Semyonov reading extracts from the + newspaper. He caught, at first, only portions of sentences. I am writing + this, of course, from Bohun’s account of it, and I cannot therefore + quote the actual words, but they were incidents of disorder at the Front. + </p> + <p> + “There!” Semyonov would say, pausing. “Now, Nicholas... + What do you say to that? A nice state of things. The Colonel was murdered, + of course, although our friend the <i>Retch</i> doesn’t put it quite + so bluntly. The <i>Novaya Jezn</i> of course highly approves. Here’s + another....” This went on for some ten minutes, and the only sound + beside Semyonov’s voice was Markovitch’s padding steps. + “Ah! here’s another bit!... Now what about that, my fine + upholder of the Russian Revolution? See what they’ve been doing near + Riga! It says....” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you leave it alone, Alexei? Keep your paper to + yourself!” + </p> + <p> + These words came in so strange a note, a tone so different from Markovitch’s + ordinary voice, that they were, to Bohun, like a warning blow on the + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “There’s gratitude—when I’m trying to interest + you! How childish, too, not to face the real situation! Do you think you’re + going to improve things by pretending that anarchy doesn’t exist? So + soon, too, after your beautiful Revolution! How long is it? Let me see... + March, April... yes, just about six weeks.... Well, well!” + </p> + <p> + “Leave me alone, Alexei!... Leave me alone!” + </p> + <p> + Bohun had with that such a sense of a superhuman effort at control behind + the words that the pain of it was almost intolerable. He wanted, there and + then, to have left the room. It would have been better for him had he done + so. But some force held him in his chair, and, as the scene developed, be + felt as though his sudden departure would have laid too emphatic a stress + on the discomfort of it. + </p> + <p> + He hoped that in a moment Vera or Uncle Ivan would come and the scene + would end. + </p> + <p> + Semyonov, meanwhile, continued: “What were those words you used to + me not so long ago? Something about free Russia, I think—Russia + moving like one man to save the world—Russia with an unbroken + front.... Too optimistic, weren’t you?” + </p> + <p> + The padding feet stopped. In a whisper that seemed to Bohun to fill the + room with echoing sound Markovitch said: + </p> + <p> + “You have tempted me for weeks now, Alexei.... I don’t know + why you hate me so, nor why you pursue me. Go back to your own place. If I + am an unfortunate man, and by my own fault, that should be nothing to you + who are more fortunate.” + </p> + <p> + “Torment you! I?... My dear Nicholas, never! But you are so childish + in your ideas—and are you unfortunate? I didn’t know it. Is it + about your inventions that you are speaking? Well, they were never very + happy, were they?” + </p> + <p> + “You praised them to me!” + </p> + <p> + “Did I?... My foolish kindness of heart, I’m afraid. To tell + the truth, I was thankful when you saw things as they were...” + </p> + <p> + “You took them away from me.” + </p> + <p> + “I took them away? What nonsense! It was your own wish—Vera’s + wish too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you persuaded both Vera and Nina that they were no good. They + believed in them before you came.” + </p> + <p> + “You flatter me, Nicholas. I haven’t such power over Vera’s + opinions, I’m afraid. If I tell her anything she believes at once + the opposite. You must have seen that yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “You took her belief away from me. You took her love away from me.” + </p> + <p> + Semyonov laughed. That laugh seemed to rouse Markovitch to frenzy. He + screamed out. “You have taken everything from me!... You will not + leave me alone! You must be careful. You are in danger, I tell you.” + </p> + <p> + Semyonov sprang up from his chair, and the two men, advancing towards one + another, came into Bohun’s vision. + </p> + <p> + Markovitch was like a madman, his hands raised, his eyes staring from his + head, his body trembling. Semyonov was quiet, motionless, smiling, + standing very close to the other. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what are you going to do?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Markovitch stood for a moment, his hands raised, then his whole body + seemed to collapse. He moved away, muttering something which Bohun could + not hear. With shuffling feet, his head lowered, he went out of the room. + Semyonov returned to his seat. + </p> + <p> + To Bohun, an innocent youth with very simple and amiable ideas about life, + the whole thing seemed “beastly beyond words.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw a man torture a dog once,” he told me. “He didn’t + do much to it really. Tied it up to a tree and dug into it with a + pen-knife. I went home and was sick.... Well, I felt sick this time, too.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless his own “sickness” was not the principal affair. + The point was the sense of danger that seemed now to tinge with its own + faint stain every article in the room. Bohun’s hatred of Semyonov + was so strong that he felt as though he would never be able to speak to + him again; but it was not really of Semyonov that he was thinking. His + thoughts were all centred round Markovitch. You must remember that for a + long time now he had considered himself Markovitch’s protector. This + sense of his protection had developed in him an affection for the man that + he would not otherwise have felt. He did not, of course, know of any of + Markovitch’s deepest troubles. He could only guess at his relations + with Vera, and he did not understand the passionate importance that he + attached to his Russian idea. But he knew enough to be aware of his + childishness, his simplicity, his <i>naïveté</i>, and his essential + goodness. “He’s an awfully decent sort, really,” he used + to say in a kind of apologetic defence. The very fact of Semyonov’s + strength made his brutality seem now the more revolting. “Like + hitting a fellow half your size”.... + </p> + <p> + He saw that things in that flat were approaching a climax, and he knew + enough now of Russian impetuosity to realise that climaxes in that country + are, very often, no ordinary affairs. It was just as though there were an + evil smell in the flat, he explained to me. “It seemed to hang over + everything. Things looked the same and yet they weren’t the same at + all.” + </p> + <p> + His main impression that “something would very soon happen if he + didn’t look out,” drove everything else from his mind—but + he didn’t quite see what to do. Speak to Vera? To Nicholas? To + Semyonov?... He didn’t feel qualified to do any of these things. + </p> + <p> + He went to bed that night early, about ten o’clock. He couldn’t + sleep. His door was not quite closed and he could hear first Vera, then + Uncle Ivan, lastly Markovitch go to bed. He lay awake then, with that + exaggerated sense of hearing that one has in the middle of the night, when + one is compelled, as it were, against one’s will, to listen for + sounds. He heard the dripping of the tap in the bathroom, the creaking of + some door in the wind (the storm had risen again) and all the thousand and + one little uncertainties, like the agitated beating of innumerable hearts + that penetrate the folds and curtains of the night. As he lay there he + thought of what he would do did Markovitch really go off his head. He had + a revolver, he knew. He had seen it in his hand. And then what was + Semyonov after? My explanation had seemed, at first, so fantastic and + impossible that Bohun had dismissed it, but now, after the conversation + that he had just overheard, it did not seem impossible at all—especially + in the middle of the night. His mind travelled back to his own first + arrival in Petrograd, that first sleep at the “France” with + the dripping water and the crawling rats, the plunge into the Kazan + Cathedral, and everything that followed. + </p> + <p> + He did not see, of course, his own progress since that day, or the many + things that Russia had already done for him, but he did feel that such + situations as the one he was now sharing were, to-day, much more in the + natural order of things than they would have been four months before.... + </p> + <p> + He dozed off and then was awakened, sharply, abruptly, by the sound of + Markovitch’s padded feet. There could be no mistaking them; very + softly they went past Bohun’s door, down the passage towards the + dining-room. He sat up in bed, and all the other sounds of the night + seemed suddenly to be accentuated—the dripping of the tap, the + blowing of the wind, and even the heavy breathing of old Sacha, who always + slept in a sort of cupboard near the kitchen, with her legs hanging out + into the passage. Suddenly no sound! The house was still, and, with that, + the sense of danger and peril was redoubled, as though the house were + holding its breath as it watched.... + </p> + <p> + Bohun could endure it no longer; he got up, put on his dressing-gown and + bedroom slippers, and went out. When he got as far as the dining-room door + he saw that Markovitch was standing in the middle of the room with a + lighted candle in his hand. The glimmer of the candle flung a circle, + outside which all was dusk. Within the glimmer there was Markovitch, his + hair rough and strangely like a wig, his face pale yellow, and wearing an + old quilted bed-jacket of a purple green colour. He was in a night-dress, + and his naked legs were like sticks of tallow. + </p> + <p> + He stood there, the candle shaking in his hand, as though he were + uncertain as to what he would do next. He was saying something to himself, + Bohun thought. + </p> + <p> + At any rate his lips were moving. Then he put his hand into the pocket of + his bed-coat and took out a revolver. Bohun saw it gleam in the + candle-light. He held it up close to his eyes as though he were + short-sighted and seemed to sniff at it. Then, clumsily, Bohun said, he + opened it, to see whether it were loaded, I suppose, and closed it again. + After that, very softly indeed, he shuffled off towards the door of + Semyonov’s room, the room that had once been the sanctuary of his + inventions. + </p> + <p> + All this time young Bohun was paralysed. He said that all his life now, in + spite of his having done quite decently in France, he would doubt his + capacity in a crisis because, during the whole of this affair, he never + stirred. But that was because it was all exactly like a dream. “I + was in the dream, you know, as well as the other fellows. You know those + dreams when you’re doing your very damnedest to wake up—when + you struggle and sweat and know you’ll die if something doesn’t + happen—well, it was like that, except that I didn’t struggle + and swear, but just stood there, like a painted picture, watching....” + </p> + <p> + Markovitch had nearly reached Semyonov’s door (you remember that + there was a little square window of glass in the upper part of it) when he + did a funny thing. He stopped dead as though some one had rapped him on + the shoulder. He stopped and looked round, then, very slowly, as though he + were compelled, gazed with his nervous blinking eyes up at the portrait of + the old gentleman with the bushy eyebrows. Bohun looked up too and saw (it + was probably a trick of the faltering candle-light) that the old man was + not looking at him at all, but steadfastly, and, of course, ironically at + Markovitch. The two regarded one another for a while, then Markovitch, + still moving with the greatest caution, slipped the revolver back into his + pocket, got a chair, climbed on to it and lifted the picture down from its + nail. He looked at it for a moment, staring into the cracked and roughened + paint, then hung it deliberately back on its nail again, but with its face + to the wall. As he did this his bare, skinny legs were trembling so on the + chair that, at every moment, he threatened to topple over. He climbed down + at last, put the chair back in its place, and then once more turned + towards Semyonov’s door. + </p> + <p> + When he reached it he stopped and again took out the revolver, opened it, + looked into it, and closed it. Then he put his hand on the door-knob. + </p> + <p> + It was then that Bohun had, as one has in dreams, a sudden impulse to + scream: “Look out! Look out! Look out!” although, Heaven + knows, he had no desire to protect Semyonov from anything. But it was just + then that the oddest conviction came over him, namely, an assurance that + Semyonov was standing on the other side of the door, looking through the + little window and waiting. He could not have told, any more than one can + ever tell in dreams, how he was so certain of this. He could only see the + little window as the dimmest and darkest square of shadow behind + Markovitch’s candle, but he was sure that this was so. He could even + see Semyonov standing there, in his shirt, with his thick legs, his head a + little raised, listening... + </p> + <p> + For what seemed an endless time Markovitch did not move. He also seemed to + be listening. Was it possible that he heard Semyonov’s breathing?... + But, of course, I have never had any actual knowledge that Semyonov was + there. That was simply Bohun’s idea.... + </p> + <p> + Then Markovitch began very slowly, bending a little, as though it were + stiff and difficult, to turn the handle. I don’t know what then + Bohun would have done. He must, I think, have moved, shouted, screamed, + done something or other. There was another interruption. He heard a quick, + soft step behind him. He moved into the shadow. + </p> + <p> + It was Vera, in her night-dress, her hair down her back. + </p> + <p> + She came forward into the room and whispered very quietly: “Nicholas!” + </p> + <p> + He turned at once. He did not seem to be startled or surprised; he had + dropped the revolver at once back into his pocket. He came up to her, she + bent down and kissed him, then put her arm round him and led him away. + </p> + <p> + When they had gone Bohun also went back to bed. The house was very still + and peaceful. Suddenly he remembered the picture. It would never do, he + thought, if in the morning it were found by Sacha or Uncle Ivan with its + face to the wall. After hesitating he lit his own candle, got out of bed + again, and went down the passage. + </p> + <p> + “The funny thing was,” he said, “that I really expected + to find it just as it always was, face outwards.... as though the whole + thing really had been a dream. But it wasn’t. It had its face to the + wall all right. I got a chair, turned it round, and went back to bed + again.” + </p> + <h3> + XIII + </h3> + <p> + That night, whether as a result of my interview with Semyonov I do not + know, my old enemy leapt upon me once again. I had, during the next three + days, one of the worst bouts of pain that it has ever been my fortune to + experience. For twenty-four hours I thought it more than any man could + bear, and I hid my head and prayed for death; during the next twenty-four + I slowly rose, with a dim far-away sense of deliverance; on the third day + I could hear, in the veiled distance, the growls of my defeated foe.... + </p> + <p> + Through it all, behind the wall of pain, my thoughts knocked and thudded, + urging me to do something. It was not until the Friday or the Saturday + that I could think consecutively. My first thought was driven in on me by + the old curmudgeon of a doctor, as his deliberate opinion that it was + simply insanity to stay on in those damp rooms when I suffered from my + complaint, that I was only asking for what I got, and that he, on his + part, had no sympathy for me. I told him that I entirely agreed with him, + that I had determined several weeks ago to leave these rooms, and that I + thought that I had found some others in a different, more populated part + of the town. He grunted his approval, and, forbidding me to go out for at + least a week, left me. At least a week!... No, I must be out long before + that. Now that the pain had left me, weak though I was, I was wildly + impatient to return to the Markovitches. Through all these last days’ + torments I had been conscious of Semyonov, seen his hair and his mouth and + his beard and his square solidity and his tired, exhausted eyes, and + strangely, at the end of it all, felt the touch of his lips on mine. + Oddly, I did not hate Semyonov; I saw quite clearly that I had never hated + him—something too impersonal about him, some sense, too, of an + outside power driving him. No, I did not hate him, but God! how I feared + him—feared him not for my own sake, but for the sake of those who + had—was this too arrogant?—been given as it seemed to me,—into + my charge. + </p> + <p> + I remembered that Monday was the 30th of April, and that, on that evening, + there was to be a big Allied meeting at the Bourse, at which our + Ambassador, Sir George Buchanan, the Belgian Consul, and others, were to + speak. I had promised to take Vera to this. Tuesday the 1st of May was to + see a great demonstration by all the workmen’s and soldiers’ + committees. It was to correspond with the Labour demonstrations arranged + to take place on that day all over Europe, and the Russian date had been + altered to the new style in order to provide for this. Many people + considered that the day would be the cause of much rioting, of definite + hostility to the Provisional Government, of anti-foreign demonstrations, + and so on; others, idealistic Russians, believed that all the soldiers, + the world over, would on that day throw down their arms and proclaim a + universal peace.... + </p> + <p> + I for my part believed that it would mark the ending of the first phase of + the Revolution and the beginning of the second, and that for Russia at any + rate it would mean the changing from a war of nations into a war of class—in + other words, that it would mean the rising up of the Russian peasant as a + definite positive factor in the world’s affairs. + </p> + <p> + But all that political business was only remotely, at that moment, my + concern. What I wanted to know was what was happening to Nicholas, to + Vera, to Lawrence, and the others. Even whilst I was restlessly wondering + what I could do to put myself into touch with them, my old woman entered + with a letter which she said had been brought by hand. + </p> + <p> + The letter was from Markovitch. + </p> + <p> + I give this odd document here exactly as I received it. I do not attempt + to emphasise or explain or comment in any way. I would only add that no + Russian is so mad as he seems to any Englishman, and no Englishman so + foolish as he seems to any Russian. + </p> + <p> + I must have received this letter, I think, late on Sunday afternoon, + because I was, I remember, up and dressed, and walking about my room. It + was written on flimsy grey paper in pencil, which made it difficult to + read. There were sentences unfinished, words misspelt, and the whole of it + in the worst of Russian handwritings. Certain passages, I am, even now, + quite unable to interpret: + </p> + <p> + It ran as follows: + </p> + <p> + Dear Ivan Andreievitch—Vera tells me that you are ill again. She has + been round to enquire, I think. I did not come because I knew that if I + did I should only talk about my own troubles, the same as you’ve + always listened to, and what kind of food is that for a sick man? All the + same, that is just what I am doing now, but reading a letter is not like + talking to a man; you can always stop and tear the paper when perhaps it + would not be polite to ask a man to go. But I hope, nevertheless, that you + won’t do that with this—not because of any desire I may have + to interest you in myself, but because of something of much more + importance than either of us, something I want you to believe—something + you <i>must</i> believe.... Don’t think me mad. I am quite sane + sitting here in my room writing.... Every one is asleep. Every one but not + everything. I’ve been queer, now and again, lately... off and on. Do + you know how it comes? When the inside of the world goes further and + further within dragging you after it, until at last you are in the bowels + of darkness choking. I’ve known such moods all my life. Haven’t + you known them? Lately, of course, I’ve been drinking again. I tell + you, but I wouldn’t own it to most people. But they all know, I + suppose.... Alexei made me start again, but it’s foolish to put + everything on to him. If I weren’t a weak man he wouldn’t be + able to do anything with me, would he? Do you believe in God, and don’t + you think that He intended the weak to have some compensation somewhere, + because it isn’t their fault that they’re weak, is it! They + can struggle and struggle, but it’s like being in a net. Well, one + must just make a hole in the net large enough to get out of, that’s + all. And now, ever since two days ago, when I resolved to make that hole, + I’ve been quite calm. I’m as calm as anything now writing to + you. Two days ago Vera told me that he was going back to England.... Oh, + she was so good to me that day, Ivan Andreievitch. We sat together all + alone in the flat, and she had her hand in mine, just as we used to do in + the old days when I pretended to myself that she loved me. Now I know that + she did not, but the warmer and more marvellous was her kindness to me, + her goodness, and nobility. Do you not think, Ivan Andreievitch, that if + you go deep enough in every human heart, there is this kernel of goodness, + this fidelity to some ideal. Do you know we have a proverb: “In each + man’s heart there is a secret town at whose altars the true prayers + are offered!” Even perhaps with Alexei it is so, only there you must + go very deep, and there is no time. + </p> + <p> + But I must tell you about Vera. She told me so kindly that he was going to + England, and that now her whole life would be led in Nina and myself. I + held her hand very close in mine and asked her, Was it really true that + she loved him. And she said, yes she did, but that that she could not + help. She said that she had spoken with him, and that they had decided + that it would be best for him to go away. Then she begged my forgiveness + for many things, because she had been harsh or cross,—I don’t + know what things.... Oh, Ivan Andreievitch, <i>she</i> to beg forgiveness + of <i>me!</i> + </p> + <p> + But I held her hand closer and closer, because I knew that it was the last + time that I would be able so truly to hold it. How could she not see that + now everything was over—everything—quite everything! Am I one + to hold her, to chain her down, to keep her when she has already escaped? + Is that the way to prove my fidelity to her? + </p> + <p> + Of course I did not speak to her of this, but for the first time in all + our years together, I felt older than her and wiser. But of course Alexei + saw it. How he heard I do not know, but that same day he came to me and he + seemed to be very kind. + </p> + <p> + I don’t know what he said, but he explained that Vera would always + be unhappy now, always, longing and waiting and hoping.... “Keep him + here in Russia!” he whispered to me. “She will get tired of + him then—they will tire of one another; but if you send him away....” + Oh! he is a devil, Ivan Andreievitch, and why has he persecuted me so? + What have I ever done to him? Nothing... but for weeks now he has pursued + me and destroyed my inventions, and flung Russia in my face and made Nina, + dear Nina, laugh at me, and now, when the other things are finished, he + shows me that Vera will be unhappy so long as I am alive. What have I ever + done, Ivan Andreievitch? I am so unimportant, why has he taken such a + trouble? To-day I gave him his last chance... or last night... it is four + in the morning now, and the bells are already ringing for the early Mass. + I said to him: + </p> + <p> + “Will you go away? Leave us all for ever? Will you promise never to + return?” + </p> + <p> + He said in that dreadful quiet sure way of his: “No, I will never go + away until you make me.” + </p> + <p> + Vera hates him. I cannot leave her alone with him, can I? I (here there + are three lines of illegible writing)... so I will think again and again + of that last time when we sat together and all the good things that she + said. What greatness of soul, what goodness, what splendour! And perhaps + after all I am a fortunate man to be allowed to be faithful to so fine a + grandeur! Many men have poor ambitions, and God bestows His gifts with + strange blindness, I often think. But I am tired, and you too will be + tired. Perhaps you have not got so far. I must thank you for your + friendship to me. I am very grateful for it. And you, if afterwards you + ever think of me, think that I always wished to... no, why should you + think of me at all? But think of Russia! That is why I write this. You + love Russia, and I believe that you will continue to love Russia whatever + she will do. Never forget that it is because she cares so passionately for + the good of the world that she makes so many mistakes. She sees farther + than other countries, and she cares more. But she is also more ignorant. + She has never been allowed to learn anything or to try to do anything for + herself. + </p> + <p> + You are all too impatient, too strongly aware of your own conditions, too + ignorant of hers! Of course there are wicked men here and many idle men, + but every country has such. You must not judge her by that nor by all the + talk you hear. We talk like blind men on a dark road.... Do you believe + that there are no patriots here? Ah! how bitterly I have been disappointed + during these last weeks! It has broken my heart... but do not let your + heart be broken. You can wait. You are young. Believe in Russian + patriotism, believe in Russian future, believe in Russian soul.... Try to + be patient and understand that she is blindfolded, ignorant, stumbling... + but the glory will come; I can see it shining far away!... It is not for + me, but for you—and for Vera... for Vera... Vera.... + </p> + <p> + Here the letter ended; only scrawled very roughly across the paper the + letters N.M.... + </p> + <h3> + XIV + </h3> + <p> + As soon as I had finished reading the letter I went to the telephone and + rang up the Markovitches’ flat. Bohun spoke to me. I asked him + whether Nicholas was there, he said, “Yes, fast asleep in the + arm-chair,” Was Semyonov there? “No, he was dining out that + night.” I asked him to remind Vera that I was expecting to take her + to the meeting next day, and rang off. There was nothing more to be done + just then. Two minutes later there was a knock on my door and Vera came + in. + </p> + <p> + “Why!” I cried. “I’ve just been ringing up to tell + you that, of course, I was coming on Monday.” + </p> + <p> + “That is partly what I wanted to know,” she said, smiling. + “And also I thought that you’d fancied we’d all deserted + you.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” I answered. “I don’t expect you round here + every time I’m ill. That would be absurd. You’ll be glad to + know at any rate that I’ve decided to give up these ridiculous + rooms. I deserve all the illness I get so long as I’m here.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that’s good,” she answered. “How you could + have stayed so long—” She dropped into a chair, closed her + eyes and lay back. “Oh, Ivan Andreievitch, but I’m tired!” + </p> + <p> + She looked, lying there, white-faced, her eyelids like grey shadows, + utterly exhausted. I waited in silence. After a time she opened her eyes + and said, suddenly: + </p> + <p> + “We all come and talk to you, don’t we? I, Nina, Nicholas, + Sherry (she meant Lawrence), even Uncle Alexei. I wonder why we do, + because we never take your advice, you know.... Perhaps it’s because + you seem right outside everything.” + </p> + <p> + I coloured a little at that. + </p> + <p> + “Did I hurt you?... I’m sorry. No, I don’t know that I + am. I don’t mind now whether I hurt any one. You know that he’s + going back to England?” + </p> + <p> + I nodded my head. + </p> + <p> + “He told you himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I said. + </p> + <p> + She lay back in her chair and was silent for a long time. + </p> + <p> + “You think I’m a noble woman, don’t you. Oh yes, you do! + I can see you just thirsting for my nobility. It’s what Uncle Alexei + always says about you, that you’ve learnt from Dostoieffsky how to + be noble, and it’s become a habit with you.” + </p> + <p> + “If you’re going to believe—” I began angrily. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I hate him! I listen to nothing that he says. All the same, + Durdles, this passion for nobility on your part is very irritating. I can + see you now making up the most magnificent picture of my nobility. I’m + sure if you were ever to write a book about us all, you’d write of + me something like this: ‘Vera Michailovna had won her victory. She + had achieved her destiny.... Having surrendered her lover she was as fine + as a Greek statue!’ Something like that.... Oh, I can see you at it!” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t understand—” I began. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but I do!” she answered. “I’ve watched your + attitude to me from the first. You wanted to make poor Nina noble, and + then Nicholas, and then, because they wouldn’t either of them do, + you had to fall back upon me: memories of that marvellous woman at the + Front, Marie some one or other, have stirred up your romantic soul until + it’s all whipped cream and jam—mulberry jam, you know, so as + to have the proper dark colour.” + </p> + <p> + “Why all this attack on me?” I asked. “What have I done?” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve done nothing,” she cried. “We all love + you, Durdles, because you’re such a baby, because you dream such + dreams, see nothing as it is.... And perhaps after all you’re right—your + vision is as good as another. But this time you’ve made me restless. + You’re never to see me as a noble woman again, Ivan Andreievitch. + See me as I am, just for five minutes! I haven’t a drop of noble + feeling in my soul!” + </p> + <p> + “You’ve just given him up,” I said. “You’ve + sent him back to England, although you adore him, because your duty’s + with your husband. You’re breaking your heart—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am breaking my heart,” she said quietly. “I’m + a dead woman without him. And it’s my weakness, my cowardice, that + is sending him away. What would a French woman or an English woman have + done? Given up the world for their lover. Given up a thousand Nicholases, + sacrificed a hundred Ninas—that’s real life. That’s + real, I tell you. What feeling is there in my soul that counts for a + moment beside my feeling for Sherry? I say and I feel and I know that I + would die for him, die with him, happily, gladly. Those are no empty + words. + </p> + <p> + “I who have never been in love before, I am devoured by it now until + there is nothing left of me—nothing.... And yet I remain. It is our + weakness, our national idleness. I haven’t the strength to leave + Nicholas. I am soft, sentimental, about his unhappiness. Pah! how I + despise myself.... I am capable of living on here for years with husband + and lover, going from one to another, weeping for both of them. Already I + am pleading with Sherry that he should remain here. We will see what will + happen. We will see what will happen! Ah, my contempt for myself! Without + bones, without energy, without character. + </p> + <p> + “But this is life, Ivan Andreievitch! I stay here, I send him away + because I cannot bear to see Nicholas suffer. And I do not care for + Nicholas. Do you understand that? I never loved him, and now I have a + contempt for him—in spite of myself. Uncle Alexei has done that. Oh + yes! He has made a fool of Nicholas for months, and although I have hated + him for doing that, I have seen, also, what a fool Nicholas is! But he is + a hero, too. Make <i>him</i> as noble as you like, Ivan Andreievitch. You + cannot colour it too high. He is the real thing and I am the sham.... But + oh! I do not want to live with him any more, I am tired of him, his + experiments, his lamentations, his weakness, his lack of humour—tired + of him, sick of him. And yet I cannot leave him, because I am soft, soft + without bones, like my country, Ivan Andreievitch.... My lover is strong. + Nothing can change his will. He will go, will leave me, until he knows + that I am free. Then he will never leave me again. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps I will get tired of his strength one day—it may be—just + as now I am tired of Nicholas’s weakness. Everything has its end. + </p> + <p> + “But no! he has humour, and he sees life as it is. I shall be able + always to tell him the truth. With Nicholas it is always lies....” + </p> + <p> + She suddenly sprang up and stood before me. + </p> + <p> + “Now, do you think me noble?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” I answered. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you are incorrigible! You have drunk Dostoieffsky until you can + see nothing but God and the moujik! But I am alive, Ivan Andreievitch, not + a heroine in a book! Alive, alive, alive! Not one of your Lisas or Annas + or Natashas. I’m alive enough to shoot Uncle Alexei and poison + Nicholas—but I’m soft too, soft so that I cannot bear to see a + rabbit killed... and yet I love Sherry so that I am blind for him and deaf + for him and dead for him—when he is not there. My love—the + only one of my life—the first and the last—” + </p> + <p> + She flung out her arms: + </p> + <p> + “Life! Now! Before it is too late! I want it, I want him, I want + happiness!” + </p> + <p> + She stood thus for a moment, staring out to the sea. Then her arms + dropped, she laughed, fastening her cloak— + </p> + <p> + “There’s your nobility, Ivan Andreievitch—theatrical, + all of it. I know what I am, and I know what I shall do. Nicholas will + live to eighty; I also. I shall hate him, but I shall he in an agony when + he cuts his finger. I shall never see Sherry again. Later, he will marry a + fresh English girl like an apple.... I, because I am weak, soft putty—I + have made it so.” + </p> + <p> + She turned away from me, staring desperately at the wall. When she looked + back to me her face was grey. + </p> + <p> + She smiled. “What a baby you are!... But take care of yourself. Don’t + come on Monday if it’s bad weather. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + She went. + </p> + <p> + After a bad, sleepless night, and a morning during which I dozed in a + nightmareish kind of way, I got up early in the afternoon, had some tea, + and about six o’clock started out. + </p> + <p> + It was a lovely evening; the spring light was in the air, the tufted trees + beside the canal were pink against the pale sky, and thin layers of ice, + like fragments of jade, broke the soft blue of the water. How pleasant to + feel the cobbles firm beneath one’s feet, to know that the snow was + gone for many months, and that light now would flood the streets and + squares! Nevertheless, my foreboding was not raised, and the veils of + colour hung from house to house and from street to street could not change + the realities of the scene. + </p> + <p> + I climbed the stairs to the flat and found Vera waiting for me. She was + with Uncle Ivan, who, I found to my disappointment, was coming with us. + </p> + <p> + We started off. + </p> + <p> + “We can walk across to the Bourse,” she said. “It’s + such a lovely evening, and we’re a little early.” + </p> + <p> + We talked of nothing but the most ordinary things; Uncle Ivan’s + company prevented anything else. To say that I cursed him is to put it + very mildly. He had been, I believe, oblivious of all the scenes that had + occurred during the last weeks. If the Last Judgement occurred under his + very nose, and he had had a cosy meal in front of him, he would have + noticed nothing. The Revolution had had no effect on him at all; it did + not seem strange to him that Semyonov should come to live with them; he + had indeed fancied that Nicholas had not “been very well” + lately, but then Nicholas had always been an odd and cantankerous fellow, + and he, as he told me, never paid too much attention to his moods. His one + anxiety was lest Sacha should be hindered from her usual shopping on the + morrow, it being May Day, when there would be processions and other + tiresome things. He hoped that there was enough food in the house. + </p> + <p> + “There will be cold cutlets and cheese,” Vera said. + </p> + <p> + He told me that he really did not know why he was going to this meeting. + He took no interest in politics, and he hated speeches, but he would like + to see our Ambassador. He had heard that he was always excellently + dressed.... + </p> + <p> + Vera said very little. Her troubles that evening must have been + accumulating upon her with terrible force—I did not know, at that + time, about her night-scene with Nicholas. She was very quiet, and just as + we entered the building she whispered to me: + </p> + <p> + “Once over to-morrow—” + </p> + <p> + I did not catch the rest. People pressed behind us, and for a moment we + were separated; we were not alone again. I have wondered since what she + meant by that, whether she had a foreboding or some more definite warning, + or whether she simply referred to the danger of riots and general + lawlessness. I shall never know now. + </p> + <p> + I had expected a crowded meeting, but I was not prepared for the multitude + that I found. We entered by a side-door, and then passed up a narrow + passage, which led us to the reserved seats at the side of the platform. I + had secured these some days before. In the dark passage one could realise + nothing; important gentlemen in frock-coats, officers, and one or two + soldiers, were hurrying to and fro, with an air of having a great deal to + do, and not knowing at all how to do it. Beyond the darkness there was a + steady hum, like the distant whirr of a great machine. There was a very + faint smell in the air of boots and human flesh. A stout gentleman with a + rosette in his buttonhole showed us to our seats. Vera sat between Uncle + Ivan and myself. When I looked about me I was amazed. The huge hall was + packed so tightly with human beings that one could see nothing but wave on + wave of faces, or, rather, the same face, repeated again and again and + again, the face of a baby, of a child, of a credulous, cynical dreamer, a + face the kindest, the naïvest, the cruellest, the most friendly, the most + human, the most savage, the most Eastern, and the most Western in the + world. + </p> + <p> + That vast presentation of that reiterated visage seemed suddenly to + explain everything to me. I felt at once the stupidity of any appeal, and + the instant necessity for every kind of appeal. I felt the negation, the + sudden slipping into insignificant unimportance of the whole of the + Western world—and, at the same time, the dismissal of the East. + “No longer my masters” a voice seemed to cry from the very + heart of that multitude. “No longer will we halt at your command, no + longer will your words be wisdom to us, no longer shall we smile with + pleasure at your stories, and cringe with fear at your displeasure; you + may hate our defection, you may lament our disloyalty, you may bribe us + and smile upon us, you may preach to us and bewail our sins. We are no + longer yours—WE ARE OUR OWN—Salute a new world, for it is + nothing less that you see before you!...” + </p> + <p> + And yet never were there forces more unconscious of their destiny—utterly + unselfconscious as animals, babies, the flowers of the field. Still there + to be driven, perhaps to be persuaded, to be whipped, to be cajoled, to be + blinded, to be tricked and deceived, drugged and deafened—but not + for long! The end of that old world had come—the new world was at + hand—“Life begins to-morrow!” + </p> + <p> + The dignitaries came upon the platform, and, beyond them all, in + distinction, nobility, wisdom was our own Ambassador. This is no place for + a record of the discretion and tact and forbearance that he had shown + during those last two years. To him had fallen perhaps the most difficult + work of all in the war. It might seem that on broad grounds the Allies had + failed with Russia, but the end was not yet, and in years to come, when + England reaps unexpected fruit from her Russian alliance, let her remember + to whom she owed it. No one could see him there that night without + realising that there stood before Russia, as England’s + representative, not only a great courtier and statesman, but a great + gentleman, who had bonds of courage and endurance that linked him to the + meanest soldier there. + </p> + <p> + I have emphasised this because he gave the note to the whole meeting. + Again and again one’s eyes came back to him and always that high + brow, that unflinching carriage of the head, the nobility and breeding of + every movement gave one reassurance and courage. One’s own troubles + seemed small beside that example, and the tangled morality of that vexed + time seemed to be tested by a simpler and higher standard. + </p> + <p> + It was altogether a strange affair. At first it lacked interest, some + member of the Italian Embassy spoke, I think, and then some one from + Serbia. The audience was apathetic. All those bodies, so tightly wedged + together that arms and legs were held in an iron vice, stayed motionless, + and once and again there would be a short burst of applause or a sibilant + whisper, but it would be something mechanical and uninspired. I could see + one soldier, in the front row behind the barrier, a stout fellow with a + face of supreme good humour, down whose forehead the sweat began to + trickle; he was patient for a while, then he tried to raise his hand. He + could not move without sending a ripple down the whole front line. Heads + were turned indignantly in his direction. He submitted; then the sweat + trickled into his eyes. He made a superhuman effort and half raised his + arm; the crowd pushed again and his arm fell. His face wore an expression + of ludicrous despair.... + </p> + <p> + The hall got hotter and hotter. Soldiers seemed to be still pressing in at + the back. The Italian gentleman screamed and waved his arms, but the faces + turned up to his were blank and amiably expressionless. + </p> + <p> + “It is indeed terribly hot,” said Uncle Ivan. + </p> + <p> + Then came a sailor from the Black Sea Fleet who had made himself famous + during these weeks by his impassioned oratory. He was a thin dark-eyed + fellow, and he obviously knew his business. He threw himself at once into + the thick of it all, paying no attention to the stout frock-coated + gentlemen who sat on the platform, dealing out no compliments, whether to + the audience or the speakers, wasting no time at all. He told them all + that they had debts to pay, that their honour was at stake, and that + Europe was watching them. I don’t know that that Face that stared at + him cared very greatly for Europe, but it is certain that a breath of + emotion passed across it, that there was a stir, a movement, a + response.... + </p> + <p> + He sat down, there was a roar of applause; he regarded them + contemptuously. At that moment I caught sight of Boris Grogoff. I had been + on the watch for him. I had thought it very likely that he would be there. + Well, there he was, at the back of the crowd, listening with a + contemptuous sneer on his face, and a long golden curl poking out from + under his cap. + </p> + <p> + And then something else occurred—something really strange. I was + conscious, as one sometimes is in a crowd, that I was being stared at by + some one deliberately. I looked about me, and then, led by the attraction + of the other’s gaze, I saw quite close to me, on the edge of the + crowd nearest to the platform, the Rat. + </p> + <p> + He was dressed rather jauntily in a dark suit with his cup set on one + side, and his hair shining and curled. His face glittered with soap, and + he was smiling in his usual friendly way. He gazed at me quite steadily. + My lips moved very slightly in recognition. He smiled and, I fancy, + winked. + </p> + <p> + Then, as though he had actually spoken to me, I seemed to hear him say: + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye.... I’m never coming to you again. Good-bye, + good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + It was as definite a farewell as you can have from a man, more definite + than you will have from most, as though, further, he said: “I’m + gone for good and all. I have other company and more profitable plunder. + On the back of our glorious Revolution I rise from crime to crime.... + Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + I was, in sober truth, never to speak to him again. I cannot but regret + that on the last occasion when I should have a real opportunity of looking + him full in the face, he was to offer me a countenance of friendly + good-humour and amiable rascality. + </p> + <p> + I shall have, until I die, a feeling of tenderness.... + </p> + <p> + I was recalled from my observation of Grogoff and the Rat by the sensation + that the waters of emotion were rising higher around me. I raised my eyes + and saw that the Belgian Consul was addressing the meeting. He was a stout + little man, with eye-glasses and a face of no importance, but it was quite + obvious at once that he was most terribly in earnest. Because he did not + know the Russian language he was under the unhappy necessity of having a + translator, a thin and amiable Russian, who suffered from short sight and + a nervous stammer. + </p> + <p> + He could not therefore have spoken under heavier disadvantages, and my + heart ached for him. It need not have done so. He started in a low voice, + and they shouted to him to speak up. At the end of his first paragraph the + amiable Russian began his translation, sticking his nose into the paper, + losing the place and stuttering over his sentences. There was a restless + movement in the hall, and the poor Belgian Consul seemed lost. He was + made, however, of no mean stuff. Before the Russian had finished his + translation the little man had begun again. This time he had stepped + forward, waving his glasses and his head and his hand, bending forward and + backward, his voice rising and rising. At the end of his next paragraph he + paused and, because the Russian was slow and stammering once again, went + forward on ids own account. Soon he forgot himself, his audience, his + translator, everything except his own dear Belgium. His voice rose and + rose; he pleaded with a marvellous rhythm of eloquence her history, her + fate, her shameful devastation. He appealed on behalf of her murdered + children, her ravished women, her slaughtered men. + </p> + <p> + He appealed on behalf of her Arts, her Cathedrals, and libraries ruined, + her towns plundered. He told a story, very quietly, of an old grandfather + and grandmother murdered and their daughter ravished before the eyes of + her tiny children. Here he himself began to shed tears. He tried to brush + them back. He paused and wiped his eyes.... Finally, breaking down + altogether, he turned away and hid his face.... + </p> + <p> + I do not suppose that there were more than a dozen persons in that hall + who understood anything of the language in which he spoke. Certainly it + was the merest gibberish to that whole army of listening men. + Nevertheless, with every word that he uttered the emotion grew tenser. + Cries—little sharp cries like the bark of a puppy—broke out + here and there. “<i>Verrno! Verrno! Verrno</i>! (True! True! True!)” + Movements, like the swift finger of the wind on the sea, hovered, wavered, + and vanished.... + </p> + <p> + He turned back to them, his voice broken with sobs, and he could only cry + the one word “Belgia... Belgia... Belgia”... To that they + responded. They began to shout, to cry aloud. The screams of “<i>Verrno... + Verrno</i>” rose until it seemed that the roof would rise with them. + The air was filled with shouts, “Bravo for the Allies.” + “<i>Soyousniki! Soyousniki</i>!” Men raised their caps and + waved them, smiled upon one another as though they had suddenly heard + wonderful news, shouted and shouted and shouted... and in the midst of it + all the little rotund Belgian Consul stood bowing and wiping his eyes. + </p> + <p> + How pleased we all were! I whispered to Vera: “You see! They do + care! Their hearts are touched. We can do anything with them now!” + </p> + <p> + Even Uncle Ivan was moved, and murmured to himself “Poor Belgium! + Poor Belgium!” + </p> + <p> + How delighted, too, were the gentlemen on the platform. Smiling, they + whispered to one another, and I saw several shake hands. A great moment. + The little Consul bowed finally and sat down. + </p> + <p> + Never shall I forget the applause that followed. Like one man the + thousands shouted, tears raining down their cheeks, shaking hands, even + embracing! A vast movement, as though the wind had caught them and driven + them forward, rose, lifted them, so that they swayed like bending corn + towards the platform, for an instant we were all caught up together. There + was one great cry: “Belgium!” + </p> + <p> + The sound rose, fell, sunk into a muttering whisper, died to give way to + the breathless attention that awaited the next speaker. + </p> + <p> + I whispered to Vera: “I shall never forget that. I’m going to + leave on that. It’s good enough for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “we’ll go.” + </p> + <p> + “What a pity,” whispered Uncle Ivan, “that they didn’t + understand what they were shouting about.” + </p> + <p> + We slipped out behind the platform; turned down the dark long passage, + hearing the new speaker’s voice like a bell ringing beyond thick + walls, and found our way into the open. + </p> + <p> + The evening was wonderfully fresh and clear. The Neva lay before us like a + blue scarf, and the air faded into colourless beauty above the dark purple + of the towers and domes. Vera caught my arm: “Look!” she + whispered. “There’s Boris!” I knew that she had on + several occasions tried to force her way into his flat, that she had + written every day to Nina (letters as it afterwards appeared, that Boris + kept from her). I was afraid that she would do something violent. + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” I whispered, “perhaps Nina is here somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + Grogoff was standing with another man on a small improvised platform just + outside the gates of the Bourse. + </p> + <p> + As the soldiers came out (many of them were leaving now on the full tide + of their recent emotions) Grogoff and his friend caught them, held them, + and proceeded to instruct their minds. + </p> + <p> + I caught some of Grogoff’s sentences: “<i>Tovaristchi</i>!” + I heard him cry, “Comrades! Listen to me. Don’t allow your + feelings to carry you away! You have serious responsibilities now, and the + thing for you to do is not to permit sentiment to make you foolish. Who + brought you into this war? Your leaders? No, your old masters. They bled + you and robbed you and slaughtered you to fill their own pockets. Who is + ruling the world now? The people to whom the world truly belongs? No, the + Capitalists, the money-grubbers, the old thieves like Nicholas who is now + under lock and key... Capitalists... England, France... Thieves, + Robbers.... + </p> + <p> + “Belgium? What is Belgium to you? Did you swear to protect her + people? Does England, who pretends such loving care for Belgium, does she + look after Ireland? What about her persecution of South Africa? Belgium? + Have you heard what she did in the Congo?...” + </p> + <p> + As the men came, talking, smiling, wiping their eyes, they were caught by + Grogoff’s voice. They stood there and listened. Soon they began to + nod their heads. I heard them muttering that good old word “<i>Verrno! + Verrno</i>!” again. The crowd grew. The men began to shout their + approval. “Aye! it’s true,” I heard a solder near me + mutter. “The English are thieves”; and another “Belgium?... + After all I could not understand a word of what that little fat man said.” + </p> + <p> + I heard no more, but I did not wonder now at the floods that were rising + and rising, soon to engulf the whole of this great country. The end of + this stage of our story was approaching for all of us. + </p> + <p> + We three had stood back, a little in the shadow, gazing about to see + whether we could hail a cab. + </p> + <p> + As we waited I took my last look at Grogoff, his stout figure against the + purple sky, the masts of the ships, the pale tumbling river, the black + line of the farther shore. He stood, his arms waving, his mouth open, the + personification of the disease from which Russia was suffering. + </p> + <p> + A cab arrived. I turned, said as it were, my farewell to Grogoff and + everything for which he stood, and went. + </p> + <p> + We drove home almost in silence. Vera, staring in front of her, her face + proud and reserved, building up a wall of her own thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “Come in for a moment, won’t you?” she asked me, rather + reluctantly I thought. But I accepted, climbed the stairs and followed + Uncle Ivan’s stubby and self-satisfied progress into the flat. + </p> + <p> + I heard Vera cry. I hurried after her and found, standing close together, + in the middle of the room Henry Bohun and Nina! + </p> + <p> + With a little sob of joy and shame too, Nina was locked in Vera’s + arms. + </p> + <h3> + XV + </h3> + <p> + This is obviously the place for the story, based, of course, on the very + modest and slender account given me by the hero of it, of young Bohun’s + knightly adventure. In its inception the whole affair is still mysterious + to me. Looking back from this distance of time I see that he was engaged + on one knightly adventure after another—first Vera, then Markovitch, + lastly Nina. The first I caught at the very beginning, the second I may be + said to have inspired, but to the third I was completely blind. I was + blind, I suppose, because, in the first place, Nina had, from the + beginning, laughed at Bohun, and in the second, she had been entirely + occupied with Lawrence. + </p> + <p> + Bohun’s knight-errantry came upon her with, I am sure, as great a + shock of surprise as it did upon me. And yet, when you come to think of + it, it was the most natural thing. They were the only two of our party who + had any claim to real youth, and they were still so young that they could + believe in one ideal after another as quick as you can catch goldfish in a + bowl of water. Bohun would, of course, have indignantly denied that he was + out to help anybody, but that, nevertheless, was the direction in which + his character led him; and once Russia had stripped from him that thin + coat of self-satisfaction, he had nothing to do but mount his white + charger and enter the tournament. + </p> + <p> + I’ve no idea when he first thought of Nina. He did not, of course, + like her at the beginning, and I doubt whether she caused him any real + concern, too, until her flight to Grogoff. That shocked him terribly. He + confessed as much to me. She had always been so happy and easy about life. + Nothing was serious to her. I remember once telling her she ought to take + the war more deeply. I was a bit of a prig about it, I suppose. At any + rate she thought me one.... And then to go off to a fellow like Grogoff! + </p> + <p> + He thought of it the more seriously when he saw the agony Vera was in. She + did not ask him to help her, and so he did nothing; but he watched her + efforts, the letters that she wrote, the eagerness with which she ravished + the post, her fruitless visits to Grogoff’s flat, her dejected + misery over her failure. He began himself to form plans, not, I am + convinced, from any especial affection for Nina, but simply because he had + the soul of a knight, although, thank God, he didn’t know it. I + expect, too, that he was pretty dissatisfied with his knight-errantries. + His impassioned devotion to Vera had led to nothing at all, his enthusiasm + for Russia had led to a most unsatisfactory Revolution, and his fatherly + protection of Markovitch had inspired apparently nothing more fruitful + than distrust. I would like to emphasise that it was in no way from any + desire to interfere in other people’s affairs that young Bohun + undertook these Quests. He had none of my own meddlesome quality. He had, + I think, very little curiosity and no psychological self-satisfaction, but + he had a kind heart, an adventurous spirit, and a hatred for the wrong and + injustice which seemed just now to be creeping about the world; but all + this, again thank God, was entirely subconscious. He knew nothing whatever + about himself. + </p> + <p> + The thought of Nina worried him more and more. After he went to bed at + night, he would hear her laugh and see her mocking smile and listen to her + shrill imitations of his own absurdities. She had been the one happy + person amongst them all, and now—! Well, he had seen enough of Boris + Grogoff to know what sort of fellow he was. He came at last to the + conclusion that, after a week or two she would be “sick to death of + it,” and longing to get away, but then “her pride would keep + her at it. She’d got a devil of a lot of pride.” He waited, + then, for a while, and hoped, I suppose, that some of Vera’s appeals + would succeed. They did not; and then it struck him that Vera was the very + last person to whom Nina would yield—just because she wanted to + yield to her most, which was pretty subtle of him and very near the truth. + </p> + <p> + No one else seemed to be making any very active efforts, and at last he + decided that he must do something himself. He discovered Grogoff’s + address, went to the Gagarinskaya and looked up at the flat, hung about a + bit in the hope of seeing Nina. Then he did see her at Rozanov’s + party, and this, although he said nothing to me about it at the time, had + a tremendous effect on him. He thought she looked “awful.” All + the joy had gone from her; she was years older, miserable, and defiant. He + didn’t speak to her, but from that night he made up his mind. + Rozanov’s party may be said to have been really the turning-point of + his life. It was the night that he came out of his shell, grew up, faced + the world—and it was the night that he discovered that he cared + about Nina. + </p> + <p> + The vision of her poor little tired face, her “rather dirty white + dress,” her “grown-up” hair, her timidity and her + loneliness, never left him for a moment. All the time that I thought he + was occupied only with the problem of Markovitch and Semyonov, he was much + more deeply occupied with Nina. So unnaturally secretive can young men be! + </p> + <p> + At last he decided on a plan. He chose the Monday, the day of the Bourse + meeting, because he fancied that Grogoff would be present at that and he + might therefore catch Nina alone, and because he and his + fellow-propagandists would be expected also at the meeting and he would + therefore be free of his office earlier on that afternoon. He had no idea + at all how he would get into the flat, but he thought that fortune would + be certain to favour him. He always thought that. + </p> + <p> + Well, fortune did. He left the office and arrived in the Gagarinskaya + about half-past five in the evening. He walked about a little, and then + saw a bearded tall fellow drive up in an Isvostchick. He recognised this + man as Lenin, the soul of the anti-Government party, and a man who was + afterwards to figure very prominently in Russia’s politics. This + fellow argued very hotly with the Isvostchick about his fare, then + vanished through the double doors. Bohun followed him. Outside Grogoff’s + flat Lenin waited and rang the bell. Bohun waited on the floor below; + then, when he heard the door open, he noiselessly slipped up the stairs, + and, as Lenin entered, followed behind him whilst the old servant’s + back was turned helping Lenin with his coat. He found, as he had hoped, a + crowd of cloaks and a Shuba hanging beside the door in the dark corner of + the wall. He crept behind these. He heard Lenin say to the servant that, + after all, he would not take off his coat, as he was leaving again + immediately. Then directly afterwards Grogoff came into the hall. + </p> + <p> + That was the moment of crisis. Did Grogoff go to the rack for his coat and + all was over; a very unpleasant scene must follow—a ludicrous + expulsion, a fling or two at the amiable habits of thieving and deceit on + the part of the British nation, and any hope of seeing Nina ruined perhaps + for ever. Worst of all, the ignominy of it! No young man likes to be + discovered hidden behind a coat-rack, however honest his original + intentions! + </p> + <p> + His heart beat to suffocation as he peeped between the coats.... Grogoff + was already wearing his own overcoat. It was, thank God, too warm an + evening for a Shuba. The men shook hands, and Grogoff saying something + rather deferentially about the meeting, Lenin, in short, brusque tones, + put him immediately in his place. Then they went out together, the door + closed behind them, and the flat was as silent as an aquarium. He waited + for a while, and then, hearing nothing, crept into the hall. Perhaps Nina + was out. If the old servant saw him she would think him a burglar and + would certainly scream. He pushed back the door in front of him, stepped + forward, and almost stepped upon Nina! + </p> + <p> + She gave a little cry, not seeing whom it was. She was looking very + untidy, her hair loose down her back, and a rough apron over her dress. + She looked ill, and there were heavy black lines under her eyes as though + she had not slept for weeks. + </p> + <p> + Then she saw who it was and, in spite of herself, smiled. + </p> + <p> + “Genry!” she exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said in a whisper, closing the door very softly + behind him. “Look here, don’t scream or do anything foolish. I + don’t want that old woman to catch me.” + </p> + <p> + He has no very clear memory of the conversation that followed. She stood + with her back to the wall, storing at him, and every now and again taking + up a corner of her pinafore and biting it. He remembered that action of + hers especially as being absurdly childish. But the overwhelming + impression that he had of her was of her terror—terror of everything + and of everybody, of everybody apparently except himself. (She told him + afterwards that he was the only person in the world who could have rescued + her just then because she simply couldn’t be frightened of some one + at whom she’d laughed so often.) She was terrified, of course, of + Grogoff—she couldn’t mention his name without trembling—but + she was terrified also of the old servant, of the flat, of the room, of + the clock, of every sound or hint of a sound that there was in the world. + She to be so frightened! She of whom he would have said that she was equal + to any one or anything! What she must have been through during those weeks + to have brought her to this!... But she told him very little. He urged her + at once that she must come away with him, there and then, just as she was. + She simply shook her head at that. “No... No... No...” she + kept repeating. “You don’t understand.” + </p> + <p> + “I do understand,” he answered, always whispering, and with + one ear on the door lest the old woman should hear and come in. “We’ve + got very little time,” he said. “Grogoff will never let you go + if he’s here. I know why you don’t come back—you think + we’ll all look down on you for having gone. But that’s + nonsense. We are all simply miserable without you.” + </p> + <p> + But she simply continued to repeat “No... No...” Then, as he + urged her still further, she begged him to go away. She said that he + simply didn’t know what Grogoff would do if he returned and found + him, and although he’d gone to a meeting he might return at any + moment. Then, as though to urge upon him Grogoff’s ferocity, in + little hoarse whispers she let him see some of the things that during + these weeks she’d endured. He’d beaten her, thrown things at + her, kept her awake hour after hour at night making her sing to him... + and, of course, worst things, things far, far worse that she would never + tell to anybody, not even to Vera! Poor Nina, she had indeed been punished + for her innocent impetuosities. She was broken in body and soul; she had + faced reality at last and been beaten by it. She suddenly turned away from + him, buried her head in her arm, as a tiny child does, and cried.... + </p> + <p> + It was then that he discovered he loved her. He went to her, put his arm + round her, kissed her, stroked her hair, whispering little consoling + things to her. She suddenly collapsed, burying her head in his breast and + watering his waistcoat with her tears.... + </p> + <p> + After that he seemed to be able to do anything with her that he pleased. + He whispered to her to go and get her hat, then her coat, then to hurry up + and come along.... As he gave these last commands he heard the door open, + turned and saw Masha, Grogoff’s old witch of a servant, facing him. + </p> + <p> + The scene that followed must have had its ludicrous side. The old woman + didn’t scream or make any kind of noise, she simply asked him what + he was doing there; he answered that he was going out for a walk with the + mistress of the house. She said that he should do nothing of the kind. He + told her to stand away from the door. She refused to move. He then rushed + at her, caught her round the waist, and a most impossible struggle ensued + up and down the middle of the room. He called to Nina to run, and had the + satisfaction of seeing her dart through the door like a frightened hare. + The old woman bit and scratched and kicked, making sounds all the time + like a kettle just on the boil. Suddenly, when he thought that Nina had + had time to get well away, he gave the old woman a very unceremonious push + which sent her back against Grogoff’s chief cabinet, and he had the + comfort to hear the whole of this crash to the ground as he closed the + door behind him. Out in the street he found Nina, and soon afterwards an + Isvostchick. She crouched up close against him, staring in front of her, + saying nothing, shivering and shivering.... As he felt her hot hand shake + inside his, he vowed that he would never leave her again. I don’t + believe that he ever will. + </p> + <p> + So he took her home, and his Knight Errantry was justified at last. + </p> + <h3> + XVI + </h3> + <p> + These events had for a moment distracted my mind, but as soon as I was + alone I felt the ever-increasing burden of my duty towards Markovitch. + </p> + <p> + The sensation was absolutely dream-like in its insistence on the one hand + that I should take some kind of action, and its preventing me, on the + other, from taking any action at all. I felt the strange inertia of the + spectator in the nightmare, who sees the house tumbling about his head and + cannot move. Besides, what action could I take? I couldn’t stand + over Markovitch, forbid him to stir from the flat, or imprison Semyonov in + his room, or warn the police... besides, there were now no police. + Moreover, Vera and Bohun and the others were surely capable of watching + Markovitch. Nevertheless something in my heart insisted that it was I who + was to figure in this.... Through the dusk of the streets, in the pale + ghostly shadows that prelude the coming of the white nights, I seemed to + see three pursuing figures, Semyonov, Markovitch, and myself. I was + pursuing, and yet held. + </p> + <p> + I went back to my flat, but all that night I could not sleep. Already the + first music of the May Day processions could be heard, distant trumpets + and drums, before I sank into uneasy, bewildered slumber. + </p> + <p> + I dreamt then dreams so fantastic and irresolute that I cannot now + disentangle them. I remember that I was standing beside the banks of the + Neva. The river was rising, flinging on its course in the great + tempestuous way that it always has during the first days of its release + from the ice. The sky grew darker—the water rose. I sought refuge in + the top gallery of a church with light green domes, and from here I + watched the flood, first as it covered the quays, tumbling in cascades of + glittering water over the high parapet, trickling in little lines and + pools, then rising into sheeted levels, then billowing in waves against + the walls of the house, flooding the doors and the windows, until so far + as the eye could reach there were only high towers remaining above its + grasp. I do not know what happened to my security, and saw at length the + waters stretch from sky to sky, one dark, tossing ocean. + </p> + <p> + The sun rose, a dead yellow; slowly the waters sank again, islands + appeared, stretches of mud and waste. Heaving their huge bodies out of the + ocean, vast monsters crawled through the mud, scaled and horned, lying + like logs beneath the dead sun. The waters sank—forests rose. The + sun sank and there was black night, then a faint dawn, and in the early + light of a lovely morning a man appeared standing on the beach, shading + his eyes, gazing out to sea. I fancied that in that strong bearded figure + I recognised my peasant, who had seemed to haunt my steps so often. + Gravely he looked round him, then turned back into the forest.... + </p> + <p> + Was my dream thus? Frankly I do not know—too neat an allegory to be + true, perhaps—and yet there was something of this in it. I know that + I saw Boris, and the Rat, and Vera, and Semyonov, and Markovitch, + appearing, vanishing, reappearing, and that I was strongly conscious that + the submerged and ruined world did not <i>touch</i> them, and was only a + background to their own individual activities.... I know that Markovitch + seemed to come to me again and cry, “Be patient... be patient.... + Have faith... be faithful!” + </p> + <p> + I know that I woke struggling to keep him with me, crying out that he was + not to leave me, that that way was danger.... I woke to find my room + flooded with sunshine, and my old woman looking at me with disapproval. + </p> + <p> + “Wake up, Barin,” she was saying, “it’s three o’clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Three o’clock?” I muttered, trying to pull myself + together. + </p> + <p> + “Three in the afternoon... I have some tea for you.” + </p> + <p> + When I realised the time I had the sensation of the wildest panic. I + jumped from my bed, pushing the old woman out of the room. I had betrayed + my trust! I had betrayed my trust! I felt assured ‘that some awful + catastrophe had occurred, something that I might have prevented. When I + was dressed, disregarding my housekeeper’s cries, I rushed out into + the street. At my end of the Ekaterinsgofsky Canal I was stopped by great + throngs of men and women returning homewards from the procession. They + were marching, most of them, in ordered lines across the street, arm in + arm, singing the “Marseillaise.” + </p> + <p> + Very different from the procession a few weeks before. That had been dumb, + cowed, bewildered. This was the movement of a people conscious of their + freedom, sure of themselves, disdaining the world. Everywhere bands were + playing, banners were glittering, and from the very heart of the soil, as + it seemed, the “Marseillaise” was rising. + </p> + <p> + Although the sun only shone at brief intervals, there was a sense of + spring warmth in the air. For some time I could not cross the street, then + I broke through and almost ran down the deserted stretch of the Canal. I + arrived almost breathless at the door in the English Prospect. There I + found Sacha watching the people and listening to the distant bands. + </p> + <p> + “Sacha!” I cried, “is Alexei Petrovitch at home?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Barin,” she answered, looking at me in some surprise. + “He went out about a quarter of an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + “And Nicholas Markovitch?” + </p> + <p> + “He went out just now.” + </p> + <p> + “Did he tell you where he was going?” + </p> + <p> + “No, Barin, but I heard Alexei Petrovitch tell him, an hour back, + that he was going to Katerinhof.” + </p> + <p> + I did not listen to more. I turned and went. Katerinhof was a park, ten + minutes distant from my island; it was so called because there was there + the wooden palace of Katherine the Great. She had once made it her place + of summer residence, but it was now given over to the people and was, + during the spring and summer, used by them as a kind of fair and + pleasure-garden. The place had always been to me romantic and melancholy, + with the old faded wooden palace, the deserted ponds, and the desolate + trees. I had never been there in the summer. I don’t know with what + idea I hurried there. I can only say that I had no choice but to go, and + that I went as though I were still continuing my dream of the morning. + </p> + <p> + Great numbers of people were hurrying there also. The road was thronged, + and many of them sang as they went. + </p> + <p> + Looking back now it has entirely a dream-like colour. I stepped from the + road under the trees, and was at once in a world of incredible fantasy. So + far as the eye could see there were peasants; the air was filled with an + indescribable din. As I stepped deeper into the shelter of the leafless + trees the colour seemed, like fluttering banners, to mingle and spread and + sway before my eyes. Near to me were the tub-thumpers now so common to us + all in Petrograd—men of the Grogoff kind stamping and shouting on + their platforms, surrounded by open-mouthed soldiers and peasants. + </p> + <p> + Here, too, were the quacks such as you might see at any fair in Europe—quack + dentists, quack medicine-men, men with ointments for healing sores, men + with pills, and little bottles of bright liquid, and tricks for ruptures + and broken legs and arms. A little way beyond them were the pedlars. Here + were the wildest men in the world. Tartars and Letts and Indians, Asiatics + with long yellow faces, and strange fellows from Northern Russia. They had + everything to sell, bright beads and looking-glasses and little lacquered + trays, coloured boxes, red and green and yellow, lace and silk and cloths + of every colour, purple and crimson and gold. From all these men there + rose a deafening gabble. + </p> + <p> + I pressed farther, although the crowd now around me was immense, and so I + reached the heart of the fair. Here were enormous merry-go-rounds, and I + had never seen such glittering things. They were from China, Japan, where + you will. They were hung in shining, gleaming colours, covered with tinsel + and silver, and, as they went tossing round, emitting from their hearts a + wild barbaric wail that may have been, in some far Eastern city, the great + song of all the lovers of the world for all I know, the colours flashed + and wheeled and dazzled, and the light glittered from stem to stem of the + brown silent trees. Here was the very soul of the East. Near me a + Chinaman, squatting on his haunches, was showing before a gaping crowd the + exploits of his trained mice, who walked up and down little crimson + ladders, poked their trembling noses through holes of purple silk, and ran + shivering down precipices of golden embroidery. Near to him two Japanese + were catching swords in their mouths, and beyond them again a great number + of Chinese were tumbling and wrestling, and near to them again some + Japanese children did little tricks, catching coloured balls in wooden + cups and turning somersaults. + </p> + <p> + Around all these a vast mass of peasants pushed and struggled. Like + children they watched and smiled and laughed, and always, like the flood + of the dream, their numbers seemed to increase and increase.... + </p> + <p> + The noise was deafening, but always above the merry-go-rounds and the + cheap-jacks and the shrill screams of the Japanese and the cries of the + pedlars I heard the chant of the “Marseillaise” carried on + high through the brown leafless park. I was bewildered and dazzled by the + noise and the light. I turned desperately, pushing with my hands as one + does in a dream. + </p> + <p> + Then I saw Markovitch and Semyonov. + </p> + <p> + I had no doubt at all that the moment had at last arrived. It was as + though I had seen it all somewhere before. Semyonov was standing a little + apart leaning against a tree, watching with his sarcastic smile the + movements of the crowd. Markovitch was a little way off. I could see his + eyes fixed absolutely on Semyonov. He did not move nor notice the people + who jostled him. Semyonov made a movement with his hand as though he had + suddenly come to some decision. He walked slowly away in the direction of + the palace. Markovitch, keeping a considerable distance from him, + followed. For a moment I was held by the crowd around me, and when at last + I got free Semyonov had disappeared, and I could just see Markovitch + turning the corner of the palace. + </p> + <p> + I ran across the grass, trying to call out, but I could not hear my own + voice. I turned the corner, and instantly I was in a strange place of + peace. The old building with its wooden lattices and pillars stood + melancholy guard over the dead pond on whose surface some fragments of ice + still lay. There was no sun, only a heavy, oppressive air. All the noise + was muffled as though a heavy door had swung to. + </p> + <p> + They were standing quite close to me. Semyonov had turned and faced us + both. I saw him smile, and his lips moved. A moment later I saw Markovitch + fling his hand forward, and in the air the light on the revolver twinkled. + I heard no sound, but I saw Semyonov raise his arm, as though in + self-defence. His face, lifted strangely to the bare branches, was + triumphant, and I heard quite clearly the words, like a cry of joy and + welcome: + </p> + <p> + “At last!... At last!” + </p> + <p> + He tumbled forward on his face. + </p> + <p> + I saw Markovitch turn the revolver on himself, and then heard a report, + sharp and deafening, as though we had been in a small room. I saw + Markovitch put his hand to his side, and his mouth, open as though in + astonishment, was suddenly filled with blood. I ran to him, caught him in + my arms; he turned on me a face full of puzzled wonder, I caught the word + “Vera,” and he crumpled up against my heart. + </p> + <p> + Even as I held him, I heard coming closer and closer the rough triumphant + notes of the “Marseillaise.” + </p> + <h3> + THE END + </h3> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12349 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |