_MRS. BROWNE._
It was a boarding house, kept by a Mrs. Browne, an English woman, who
had seen better days, as she constantly reminded her boarders, whom she
preferred to call guests. She was particular to impress upon her guests
that she spelled her name with a final “e.” That was more aristocratic!
Many of her boarders were away, and for this reason, perhaps, I was
offered as a sitting room the one where madame had received us and we
had played whist with Sophie. I could almost have sworn that some of the
furniture was the same, especially the chair in which madame had sat,
clutching the arms so tightly, with a look of terror on her face which I
could see so plainly, and a kind of creepy feeling came over me, as if
the place were haunted.
“Yes, this is very nice,” I said; “but have you no other rooms I can
look at?”
Mrs. Browne was a woman with a square jaw, and it fell at once, as she
repeated, “Other rooms? Yes; but the likes of you don’t want them. Ain’t
you an American, and don’t they always want the best? What ails the
room? It has been occupied by nobility!”
I saw that she must be conciliated, and hastened to assure her that the
room was all that could be desired by nobility or Americans.
“In Heaven’s name! what’s the matter, then?” she asked; and I replied
that to me it seemed haunted by the people whom I once knew.
Her shriek might have been heard on the Nevsky, as she fell against an
old serving woman, who was just entering the room, and kept her mistress
from falling.
“Haunted? Explain! What do you mean? What do you know of the people who
once lived here? I was told by the proprietor, of whom I rented it a
year ago, that it was perfectly respectable every way. There isn’t a
more first-class house in St. Petersburg. Do you think I would have
anything that was not first-class—I, who wasn’t brought up to keep
boarders?”
“Of course not,” I said, taking a chair and removing my hat, for the day
was very warm.
The woman’s manner was so offensive that I resolved to tell her the
truth about her first-class house, and was rather anxious to see the
effect, especially as her first question to us, after learning that we
were Americans, was to ask if we sympathized with the anarchists, of
whom America was full, and who were always killing a President or
somebody, just like the nihilists. She detested them, she said, and
would not have one in her house, if she knew it. She did have one, as
she found after he had left, and she burned sulphur candles in his room
for two days, to remove the taint. Her servants were all loyal to the
government, such as it was. She thought it might be improved, but it was
the duty of its citizens to stand by it. All this she had said, and
more, and I was wondering if she knew that nihilists had occupied her
house, and were now in Siberia.
“Did you ever hear of the Scholaskies?” I asked, when I could get in a
word.
“Scholaskies?” she repeated. “The name sounds familiar. Alex!” and she
turned to the old woman, against whom she was still propped, and who
seemed to be her prime factor. “Alex,” she screamed, saying,
apologetically to us, “She is deaf as a post,” “Alex, did you ever hear
of the Scholaskies?”
The old woman shook her head, and Mrs. Browne continued, in Russian,
which she had no idea I understood: “This American woman speaks as if
the Scholaskies had something to do with this house—this room. Think
hard!”
The old woman looked at my friend, Mrs. Whitney, and myself curiously,
as if we were some rare specimens, while she seemed to be thinking, and
her tan-colored face wrinkled up into folds; then she shook her head
again, and Mrs. Browne said to me: “Alex never heard of them; but, then,
she has only been a year here from Moscow, have you, Alex?”
Alex didn’t answer, and the question was screamed into her ear.
“Faith of my fathers!” she exclaimed, backing away from her mistress.
“Madame needn’t yell like that. Take my good ear,” and she turned her
right toward Mrs. Browne, “and I hear fairly well. I don’t know the
Scholaskies. Shall I dust now? I see some on the furniture.”
Mrs. Browne nodded, and the old woman began her dusting, moving very
slowly, and not letting a particle escape her, I was sure. Addressing us
again, but watching her servant narrowly, to see that she was doing her
duty, Mrs. Browne continued:
“These Scholaskies could not be disreputable, or Alex would have heard
of them. She knows everything, deaf as she is. She was highly
recommended by a titled English family, who had her for a short time,
but long enough to know her value. She is old, to be sure, though not as
old as she looks, I imagine. I have never asked her age. She was worked
to death as a serf on a farm when young—was abused, I believe, though
she never talks about it. She does not talk much, anyway, and is true as
steel to her friends, poor thing! She has had so few. I asked her once
if she had seen a great deal of trouble, and she replied, ‘I have been
in hell; don’t ask me any more.’ Dreadful, wasn’t it? I dare say they
beat her on the farm. They used to, before the emancipation, you know.”
I began to think I should never get the Scholaskies in, if Mrs. Browne
kept on with her eulogy of Alex, when there came a little break, as Mrs.
Browne went forward to show Alex a spot of dust she had missed.
“I know the Scholaskies,” I said. “They once lived here. They were
nihilists, all of them—father, mother, son and daughter!”
As Alex was not near enough to lean upon, Mrs. Browne fell back into her
chair, with a scream which Alex’s good ear must have heard, for she came
at once to her mistress, asking what she could do for her, and fanning
her with the feather duster she had been using, the effect of which was
to make the lady sneeze vigorously.
“Go ‘way—go ‘way!” she said, pushing Alex aside; then, turning to me,
she continued: “You must excuse me, I have such delicate nerves. It is
in our family. But tell me what you know of the Scholaskies.”
I told her of meeting Sophie on the train; of all she was to us as a
friend; of the evening when, with my nephew and niece, I sat in that
room, playing whist, and a gendarme came in——
“In here? In this room?” and there was a gurgling sound in her throat,
as she called for Alex, whose good ear was at the end of the room, and
did not hear. “Go on,” she said, at last. “I shall throw up the lease.
Gendarmes and nihilists both in this room!”
I went on and told her the whole story, in which she at last became
greatly interested, especially in the arrest on the Neva.
“Dreadful! Horrible!” she exclaimed. “Didn’t you die with fright and
shame?”
“Oh, no,” I replied. “I was shocked and astonished, but not ashamed. I
would have saved Ivan, if I could.”
“You would!” she exclaimed. “Are you a nihilist, or an anarchist?”
“Neither,” I answered her. “Ivan was my friend, and I was sorry for
him—a young man in his prime, to be banished from all that made life
worth living for. But suppose we come to business about the rooms? I’ve
told you why they seemed haunted, but sitting here as long as I have,
that feeling has vanished, and I rather think I’d like them, for the
sake of old times, if my friend is agreeable,” and I turned to Mrs.
Whitney, a frail little body, who had been an amused listener to the
conversation, and who left everything to me.
She was quite willing, she said, but what was it about giving up the
lease because the house had been contaminated by nihilists? She would
not like to get settled and then have to move.
Mrs. Browne was taken by surprise. She had made a good bargain with the
landlord. The house was well situated for boarders. Those she had had in
the last winter were to return the coming winter. She could not afford
to throw up the lease, as half her rent was paid in advance. This she
explained, and added: “I’m in a tight place.”
I think it is in my nature to give advice, whether asked for or not, and
I said to her: “If you burned sulphur candles two days for one nihilist,
burn them eight days for four—Monsieur and Madame Scholaskie, Ivan and
Sophie. That, surely, would clear the atmosphere.”
I felt nearly certain that I heard a chuckle from Alex, who was wiping a
window, but, as her bad ear was toward me, I might have been mistaken.
For a moment Mrs. Browne’s gray eyes shone angrily; then she laughed,
and said: “It is so long since those people were here that I think I’ll
risk the house without the candles. Will you take the rooms?”
She was coming to business, which was settled at once, although I
thought her price rather exorbitant, but Mrs. Whitney paid the bills
without a murmur. Indeed, I don’t know that I should have dared protest,
under any circumstances. I was somewhat cowed by Mrs. Browne, with her
blue blood and the “e” at the end of her name. She was a wiry little
woman, with a tongue; and, after we had agreed upon the rooms—to her
evident satisfaction and surprise that we had not tried to beat her
down—she began very volubly to descant upon the great privileges we
enjoyed as her guests—the best the market could produce, the cleanest
house and most attentive servants, especially Alex, whose virtues she
began again to extol. Incidentally, she called our attention to the fact
that Alex never went out but once a week, and not always that.
[Illustration: “FANNING HER WITH THE FEATHER DUSTER SHE HAD BEEN USING,
THE EFFECT OF WHICH WAS TO MAKE THE LADY SNEEZE VIGOROUSLY.”]
“To-night happens to be her evening out,” she said. “Where she goes I
don’t know. She is never late, and when she comes in she takes off her
shoes, so as not to make a noise. She will not disturb you. Come, Alex,
you have dusted this room enough.”
With a bow, she left us, followed by Alex, who was a little lame, and
limped as she walked.
“Broke her leg at hard work, and it was not set right,” Mrs. Browne
explained, as she saw us looking after her. “Poor thing, she has been
through fire and water, but is strong as an ox. Can pick me up as if I
were a little child. Good-morning!”
I was glad when she was gone, with her enumeration of Alex’s virtues. I
had taken a prejudice against the old woman, and believed she could hear
more than she pretended. That afternoon we moved into our new quarters,
and took our first dinner with Mrs. Browne. Everything was homelike,
well cooked and well served. The linen was spotless, the china pretty,
and the silver real—as Mrs. Browne took pains to inform us, saying she
would have no shams about her house, if she knew it.
That night was warm and bright, with a full moon, but I could not sleep
for the thoughts crowding so fast upon my brain. Where were Madame
Scholaskie and Ivan? And where was Michel Seguin, and should I see him
again? I would not ask Mrs. Browne if she knew anything of him. I would
wait and let him find me. Attracted by the beauty of the night, I arose
at last and went to a window, where I stood looking out, when, just as a
clock struck twelve, I saw Alex stealing softly up to the house, and
taking off her shoes, as her mistress had said.
“She is not a very early bird, with all her virtues,” I thought; but I
heard no sound as she entered the house; and, going to bed, I fell
asleep at last, and dreamed of M. Seguin and his dog.