“Long Live the People!”
I was rested and refreshed by my long sleep, and was glad to find that
the events of the night had had no ill effect upon my health. The room
in which I found myself opened into a smaller one, fitted up as a
bedroom, and in this place, greatly to my astonishment, I saw all the
luggage I had taken with me to the hotel, which, for many reasons, had
better be nameless. How Sergius had managed things so cleverly I could
not tell. But I was delighted to be able to remove my disfiguring
disguise, and make the most of my natural appearance.
Now that I was no longer a solitary damsel, whose movements might
attract undesirable notice, I ceased to feel the need of appearing of
such mature age, and I actually felt glad at the sight of my own homely
presentment, after I had attired myself in a frock which I knew Sergius
would like. While I was still busy touching up my toilet, an elderly
woman, of serious but pleasing appearance, entered the room, and asked
if I would take my breakfast, or rather lunch.
On first seeing me, she looked rather surprised, as if she had still
expected to be confronted by a becurled and bespectacled old lady. I was
able to understand her, and to reply to her, but was relieved to find
that she relapsed into German. As I knew that language much better than
Russian, it was possible to get on very well with my visitor, who told
me that her name was Marie Ivanovitch, that she was the nominal lessee
of this house, and that she had seen me on the previous evening.
“Then there were women, as well as men, in the assembly?” I exclaimed.
“Certainly,” was the reply. “We women are as much alive to the griefs of
our country as the men are, and the sexes are nearly equally balanced in
our Society. Our usefulness is sometimes of a different nature to
theirs, but, upon the whole, we have as much work to our hands as the
men have.”
“And your work just now is to prevent me from leaving this house?”
“Even so. But I trust that you will not find your detention very
irksome, since it is only the consequence of necessary precautions for
the safety of your husband and others. And I cannot impress upon you
sufficiently the danger of attempting to elude the vigilance of those
whose judgment ordered your stay here.”
“I am not likely to do anything that will run counter to the wishes of
the Society, provided Count Volkhoffsky approves of them.”
“What! Taking my name in vain?” cried another voice at this juncture,
and Sergius put in an appearance.
“I was just telling Madame Ivanovitch that I would obey any orders of
the Society that are indorsed by yourself,” I explained, while I smiled
a glad welcome upon the face I loved.
“And the particular command in question?”
“That I do not attempt to leave these quarters.”
“I hope you will not. You are safer here than elsewhere. And this is the
only place in which we could see much of each other.”
“Say no more, my dearest. Wild horses shall not drag me away without
your approval.”
“There, what do you say to that, Sister Ivanovitch?” asked Sergius. “You
see, my wife has pledged her word to me to be obedient. In fact, you
need be under no apprehension of indiscretion on her part. We both give
you our word of honor.”
“And yours is too well known to be doubted, Brother Volkhoffsky.”
“Sergius,” I said, as the worthy woman went to see after our lunch, “I
feel thoroughly ashamed of myself for causing you so much trouble and
anxiety. I shall—”
“Not another word, my darling. It does me good to see you looking
something like your own bright self again. I ought never to have left
you behind, for I might have known that you would have preferred to
share danger with me, rather than live a life of suspense and inactivity
at home.”
“My life promises to be inactive enough even here now.”
“But at least you know where I am and what I am doing, and that is
something.”
“To me it is everything. Life away from you would be such a blank that I
do not care to picture anything so dreary.”
Does the reader wonder at our ability to take things so quietly, even
with an awful tragedy ever looming before us? I sometimes feel surprise
thereat myself, until I remember that, in spite of our experiences, we
were both still gifted with the elastic spirits of youth, and that the
mere joy of being reunited was enough to make us temporarily forgetful
of painful subjects.
Of course we had many confidences to exchange, and Sergius removed my
mystification concerning several things. It seems that the man with whom
I had seen him walking on the previous evening was Ivan Vassoffskoy, the
husband of the handsome young woman I had seen at Hyde Park Corner, and
the individual who would have had to officiate as my husband’s
substitute in the event of his failure to respond to the injunction to
repair to Moscow at once. Ivan Vassoffskoy had even more reason to dread
recognition by government spies than had Sergius, for it was in Moscow
itself that he had been denounced, and, but for the injunction of the
Society, would ere now have sought safety in flight. His wife was
already in England, having been deputed to carry out some plans for the
Fraternity, of which she also was a member.
“Ivan has wonderful powers of contortion, which have saved him from
discovery more than once,” said Sergius, when speaking of his colleague.
“It would take his dearest friend all his time to recognize his
naturally handsome face in the twisted and distorted visage which he
presents to the public gaze. I have only heard of three people who could
equal him in this direction. These were an English actor, a Japanese
contortionist, and an English murderer. All three used their peculiar
talent to good purpose, and were able to mystify whom they liked. The
murderer even went so far as to masquerade in your Scotland Yard,
although he knew that detectives were on the lookout for him. If Ivan’s
powers of contortion serve him as well as they served the English
malefactor he will have cause to be thankful for them.”
“I thought he looked very singular,” I said. “But I would never have
dreamed that he could by any possibility be regarded as a handsome man.
But tell me, where were you going when I saw you together?”
“We were going to visit and take pecuniary help to the wife of a man who
has fallen a victim to official rancor. He had the misfortune to have a
pretty daughter, who was beloved by a youth in every way worthy of her.
Now, although both Olga and her father and mother favored this young
suitor, he had several rivals for her hand. Olga is a very nice girl,
but I fancy that the good pecuniary position of the family had something
to do with the love of at least one of those who proposed for her hand.
Be this as it may, on finding himself rejected, he swore to be revenged
both upon his rival and upon the girl who had had the temerity to award
a man of his standing the insult of a refusal.”
“His threats were heard with dread, for he was in a position of some
importance, in which he had facilities for dealing underhand blows at
those who were unfortunate enough to offend him. A large proportion of
the denunciations, which result in death, imprisonment or banishment,
are the outcome of personal malice; and when once a man or woman is in
the position of an accused prisoner, there is small hope of delivery,
especially if there is property to confiscate.”
“And did this bad man fulfill his threats?”
“Indeed he did. You shall judge what difference this enmity made to Olga
and her parents when I tell you that her father and brother have been
sent to Siberia as political exiles. The mother and daughter are reduced
to poverty, and have found it impossible to support the younger children
without help from friendly sympathizers, who have to exercise the
greatest precautions in visiting them, lest they, too, fall into the
power of iniquitous officialism.”
“And Olga’s lover—what of him? Can he not help them in their emergency?”
“Poor Paul! I fear there is little doubt that he languishes in that
living grave—the fortress on the Neva.”
“How horrible! It makes me shudder to think of it. Oh, Sergius, for
Heaven’s sake take care of yourself! What shall I do if evil befalls
you, and how can you escape it in this dreadful country? I hardly dare
hope that you will reach England alive. How thankful I would be if we
could leave at once.”
“My dear girl, there are many things worse than death. _That_ I must
risk. But you could not retain your respect for a man whose oath has
been broken, and whose word of honor is worthless. I will be as careful
as is consistent with my duty. More I cannot promise, even to you.”
Was it true that I would rather welcome the death of my hero than that
which he conceived to be dishonor? I think not. But I had not the
temerity to argue the question with him, and, rather than distress him
again, I tried to put the ghastly picture of his so-called duty from my
mind.
“Tell me, if you may,” I said, “what special information it was that
produced such a sensation at the meeting last night?”
“There is no reason why I should not tell you. Some members of our St.
Petersburg branch have been denounced and tracked by informers in the
pay of Count Karenieff and his myrmidons. Six of them have been
arrested, and it is not likely that they will ever recover their liberty
again. One lady, who was arrested some weeks ago, and who was really
innocent of conspiracy, has been so monstrously treated that she has
died in prison. The circumstance of her death would be regarded as an
opportune release from a life that could never again become tolerable to
her, were not the predisposing details so horrible. She was grossly
insulted by the governor of the jail in which she was immured, but
refused to forget that she was an honorable wife and mother. Nothing
daunted by her indignant rebuff, the scoundrel again insulted her. This
time the unhappy lady slapped her tormentor’s face, and aroused in him
the demon of revenge. She was accused of attempting to take the
governor’s life, and was ordered to be subjected to the frightful
indignity of the knout. In spite of her alternate prayers for mercy and
screams of resistance, she was dragged to the place of punishment,
forcibly stripped, and mercilessly beaten.
“The physical pain was something terrible to endure, but one survives
even worse things than that. It was the moral degradation that ate into
her soul, and induced her to end her unhappy life. How she obtained it
no one knows. But it is certain that she had poison in her possession,
and that she used it to good purpose.”
“How can such iniquities be permitted! You make even me feel a longing
to take part in the downfall of a government that can sanction such
atrocities! To think that a noble woman’s end should be so sad!”
“Her end? That has not come. She lives in our souls, and cries aloud
from the grave for vengeance! Her death has revived the ardor of both
the enthusiasts and the lukewarm adherents of the cause of the people,
and will do freedom more service than her life has done.”
We had much more conversation in the same strain, for I fully
sympathized with my husband’s accounts of the cruelties inflicted upon
his compatriots. But all subjects come to an end some time, and our talk
varied itself by excursions to Greenby and to Courtney Grange, not to
speak of all we hoped to do when we were once more at liberty to return
to England and take possession of the handsome house intended for our
reception.
“And I have already written to the Michaelows,” said Sergius. “Of
course, neither their name nor ours appeared in the letter. But they
will receive it indirectly, and they will understand that we are
together. This will allay their anxiety about you, and all the
particulars of our adventures can be related when we see them.”
“I wonder if such an event will really come to pass?”
“To be sure it will. I can’t have you always imagining the worst. You
must look at the bright side of things.”
“Do you know what I would do if I had the power?”
“Something wonderful, no doubt.”
“I would give you a drug, if such were obtainable, that would make you
oblivious of everything but my presence and my wishes. Then I would take
you far away from Russia, and would keep you there until there was no
longer any danger of your being recalled.”
“Ah! Dora, I’m afraid I shall never make a patriot of you.—But, whatever
can be the matter! Do you hear the commotion?”
“Sergius! for Heaven’s sake, fly! Some one has betrayed you! Those are
government men who are rushing upstairs! Oh, what shall we do? How can
you escape?”
But my husband appeared much more astonished than frightened, and hardly
seemed to notice what I was saying, for all his attention was apparently
concentrated upon the hurrying footsteps without.
In another moment our room door was flung open without ceremony, and
half a dozen people entered, among them being Madame Ivanovitch.
“The country is saved! Hurrah! Death to the tyrant!”
These and other exclamations became mixed in an inextricable jumble, so
excited were all the speakers. Sergius saw that some great news had
arrived, and became as excited as the rest.
“Silence, some of you,” he cried, “until I know what has happened! You,
Vassoffskoy, what is it?”
“We have been anticipated. The czar will never come to Moscow now! Our
St. Petersburg contingent has achieved the great deed. The tyrant has
been assassinated! Long live the people!
----------