MY DECISION.
The news I heard from Prince Bilbassoff wrought me to a higher pitch of
excitement than anything that had ever happened in my life. I was in a
very highly strung condition, and my nerves were no doubt greatly
wrought upon as the result of the stirring events of the previous few
days. That may have rendered me unduly susceptible to this new
development.
Be that as it may, I went out of the Prince's presence filled with a
spurring desire to kill the man who as it seemed to me was planning my
ruin in this most treacherous manner.
The view I took was that this Grand Duke was moved by the double motive
of personal anger on the score of my affair with Alexandre Durescq and
of a feeling of insecurity on account of the knowledge I had of his
Nihilism. I knew too much to be trusted. The issues were so
tremendous, the decision I had to make so full of moment, and the time
for me to choose my course so short, that my wits had need to be at
their sharpest.
I had out my horse and went for a hard gallop--one of the best
prescriptions I know of to clear a tangled judgment. It acted now. As
I rode at hot speed my thoughts began to settle; and then gradually a
scheme occurred to me, wild, desperate, and hazardous at best, and
fraught with fearful risks to others beside myself; but yet if
successful, offering me what I wanted above all--complete deliverance
from the whole of my present difficulties.
My first thought in all was for myself. Not for the Emperor, nor the
army, nor Russia, nor any big interests--for myself and for my escape
from the country whose most unwilling guest and compulsory servant I
was. Had I been a Russian officer in reality, I could have taken but
one course--disclosed the Nihilist plot, or so much of it as I knew,
and thus have checkmated the whole devilish business at once. Had I
ever received any particular mark of favour at the hands of the
Government or the country, gratitude would have urged me to take the
same course.
But I owed nothing to a soul in all Russia. Everyone had tried to use
me as a tool. The Colonel of the regiment had begun by making use of
my quarrel with Durescq to humiliate Devinsky. The officers, almost
without exception, had swaggered over me contemptuously until my skill
as a swordsman shewed them the price of contempt might be death. The
Nihilists had first tried to assassinate me, and only when I had seemed
to serve their ends with more daring and secrecy than any other man
among them, had they turned with a demand for more sacrifices; while
this Grand Duke, apparently one of the chief of them, was even now
planning to get rid of me. Prince Bilbassoff was in the same list; and
without a doubt would have shut up both Olga and myself on Paula
Tueski's accusation, had he not wished to hire me as an assassin.
Everywhere I turned it was the same.
What then did I owe to Russia that I should think of any single
consideration except my own safety and welfare?
The question which I asked myself therefore, was whether I could plunge
my hand into this seething cauldron of intrigue and murder and pluck
out my own safety.
A word from me would foil the whole Nihilist plot, and the Czar would
make his entry into Moscow in due form and time. But how should I
profit? Supposing the Nihilist calculations were correct, and I was
appointed to the section of the line where the "accident" was to
happen, I should have to contrive obstacles and make difficulties which
would in all probability draw down on me the suspicions of the whole
Nihilist crew. Add that element of suspicion to the feeling which the
Grand Duke already entertained and was inculcating into others, and
what chance was there of my escaping either open ruin or assassination?
Assuming that I did escape even, what should I gain? I was tied to
Russia by the word I had passed to the Prince, and could not hope to be
set free from it until I had either fought the Grand Duke, or until the
Prince was convinced that the duel was impossible. But as the Duke
looked on me as nothing less than a pestilential traitor to the
Nihilist cause, was it likely that he would consent to meet me?
Certainly not. Even if we added the cause which the Prince had
suggested--the spurious betrothal to the Princess--I should get no
benefit. The Grand Duke would merely regard that as an additional
reason for having me removed secretly from his path.
All this meant therefore, that even if I thwarted the plot in this way,
I should be kept in Russia and apart from Olga, until the Grand Duke
consented to fight me; or, in other words, until his emissaries had
convinced themselves that they could not manage to assassinate me. Nor
was it probable that that conviction would come until they had made a
series of unsuccessful efforts.
A pleasant prospect, truly!
On the other hand, if I did nothing and allowed the infernal plot to be
carried through and the Emperor murdered, it would mean death to me;
certain death. As the officer placed in charge of the section of the
line where the deed would be done, who had allowed the murderers
disguised as soldiers to mix with my troops; who had actually posted
them at the very spot where the train was to be derailed; and who above
all was already suspected of Nihilist intrigue; I was certain of
conviction, even without the Grand Duke's special animosity. Add that,
however, and the result was as dead certain as that night alternates
with day.
If I was to escape, therefore, it must be by a shrewd stroke dealt by
myself alone and for myself alone. And such a stroke it was that
suggested itself in the course of that ride.
Briefly, it was to allow everything to go forward right to the very
supreme moment, and then by personal effort to save the Emperor's life
by my own hand in such a way as to draw the Imperial attention directly
on myself.
I thought I saw how it could be done: and when I turned my horse's head
homeward I rode at a slower pace, meditating all the details of the
plan with the closest attention. The Nihilists had told me enough to
shew me how to act; and my sense of fair play urged me to use the
knowledge for my sole advantage, and without involving a single
Nihilist in danger by open denunciation. I was a Nihilist against my
will; and though I had been forced into the plot, I was altogether
opposed to telling what had been told to me in this spirit of
confidence. At the same time I was a Russian officer, almost equally
against my own seeking, and so long as I preserved the Emperor's life I
need not regard other matters as a Russian officer would.
By the time I reached my rooms I had my plans shaped, and my scheme
developed; and my accustomed mood of calm, wary self-possession had
returned.
I changed and went to the club. The place was crammed with the
officers stationed in Moscow and their friends who had been sent into
the city on special duty in connection with the Czar's visit on the
following day. Everyone was in the noisiest spirits. Good news had
come of the prospects of war. All believed that on the next day the
Little Father would make a ringing war speech that would render peace
impossible; and many of the men were talking as though the sword had
already leapt from the scabbard, and a million men, tramping warwards,
were already driving the scared Turks before them, like husks before
the winnowing fan.
I lounged about the place, exchanging a word now and then with one or
another of my acquaintances, and I saw some of the youngsters stop
their war babble as I passed and whisper to their companions, and the
latter would turn and look in my direction. I was fool enough to be
pleased at these little indications of the changed feelings with which
in scarcely more than a month I had made my fellow-officers think and
speak of "that devil Alexis."
More than once I smiled to myself as I thought what a bomb-shell would
be exploded in the room if they were all told the hazardous secret
which filled my thoughts just at that moment.
"To hell with the Turk, Alexis," cried Essaieff, catching sight of me
and stopping me as I moved past.
"May the Sick Man never recover!" I returned, answering in the form
that was then in vogue with us all.
"Drink, man, drink," he cried, excitedly, thrusting a glass of some
kind of liquor to me. It was evident he had been toasting the war
pretty freely. "Sit here with us. Take it easy, man, now while we
can. We've a long march ahead before we catch a glimpse of the
minarets of Constantinople. Gentlemen, here is a Russian of whom you
will hear much when the war comes. Lieutenant Petrovitch of ours,
gentlemen, my particular friend, and as good a fellow as ever held a
commission. You can do anything with him, except quarrel; then, damme,
you must look out for yourself, for there isn't a man in Moscow, nor I
believe in Russia, can get through his guard; and as for shooting, God!
I believe if a single devil of a Turk shews only the shadow of an
eyelash round the corner of a fortification, he'll hit him with a
ricochet. 'That devil Alexis,' he is to us; and if the devil's only
half as good a fellow as this, I'll be content for one to serve him."
"I've heard of Lieutenant Petrovitch," said one of the men, as he bowed
to me ceremoniously and lifted his glass in response to Essaieff's
toast.
"Then you will know how to discount the exaggerations of my good friend
Essaieff," said I, quietly.
"On the contrary, I knew Durescq."
"Is Lieutenant Petrovitch the officer who was in that matter?" asked
another, shewing great interest in me at once.
"I should think he is," cried Essaieff, noisily enthusiastic. "It was
in this very room that the thing occurred. I'll tell you...."
"Essaieff, my dear fellow, I'd much rather not," I interrupted; and
turning to one of the officers I asked:--"Do you really think the war
will come now?" But Essaieff would not let me change the subject.
"War come? of course it will; but this is something much better than
war just now," he burst in. "Several of us thought there was mischief
in the air when we saw Devinsky and Durescq together, and I was
standing there, waiting for...."
"Excuse me," I interrupted, rising. "I wish to speak to a man I see
over there; and really I can't stand Essaieff when he gets on this
theme," and with that excuse I left.
Wherever I went there were the same signs of revelry, excitement and
pleasure. All were anticipating a really splendid gala day on the
morrow, with gaieties, festivities, balls, receptions, concerts,
levees, everything that society deems life worth living for to follow.
I went away very early. I had to keep my nerves as firm as cold steel,
and the noisy ruffled atmosphere of this place with its crowd of
gesticulating, laughing, excited men, and the drink that was
circulating so freely, formed the worst of all preparations for such a
day as the morrow would be for me and the task I had to perform.
Before going home I strolled through one or two of the broader streets;
and everywhere I went I could not fail to observe that while the
unusual throngs of people in the streets reflected the feelings of
rejoicing that had animated the officers whom I had just left, and that
all Moscow was slowly going mad with anticipative excitement, the
number of police agents was multiplied many times over. The leaven of
suspicion embittered everything; and, as no one knew better than I,
with what terrible cause. As I mingled with the great, jostling,
bantering crowd I found myself speculating how the majority of them
would decide such an issue as that which had been bewildering me; and
the wild task I had for the morrow made me feel like a thing apart from
everyone of them--an alien not only in race, but in every attribute and
aspiration.
The contact with the crowd helped in a way to strengthen the decision I
had made. I was one against all these thousands; fighting by myself
for my own hand against desperate odds, and with none to help me in a
single detail.
When I reached my rooms I went at once to bed, knowing that every
minute of rest had its value as a preparation for the work of the
following day. I had made my resolution, formed my plans, thought out
even the details. I had gauged the risk and knew full well that the
probabilities were all against my being alive on the following night.
But this at least was equally certain--if I lived and was free I would
have won my way out of Russia.
These were the thoughts that filled me; and so occupied was I with them
that it was not until I purposely put them away from me in order to get
to sleep, that I recalled how little I had thought of Olga during the
whole of that eventful day.
She was in my thoughts when I fell asleep, however: and her face
cheered me in my dreams.