(_several pages missing_)
26
When I returned from the Princess, tired and worried about the absence
of news from Moscow and about the whole "organization" so badly and
unsystematically managed, I found a dark figure sitting on my bed. A
woman was attempting to light a candle. But even before I understood
who was on my bed, the odor of a woman, fine perfume, burned hair and
soap--struck me very strongly. I had quite forgotten during all
this time of hardships this side and these agreeable ingredients of
civilized life. I took my pistol, closed the door, and always sharply
following the movements of the dark figure, approached her, pointing
the Browning. She put her hands up.
When I finally saw the woman,--I almost fainted: it was the Baroness
B., friend or enemy, but she.
She did not recognize me at first. Then:
"For God's sake!" she muttered, as if to herself, and swallowing the
words, "you are Syvorotka? My God, what a horror!... How are you?"
"Madame," I said, kissing her hand,--"it certainly is a surprise,--I
hope for both of us! How can I explain your presence here? Who and
what brought you here?"
"It does not matter--they went away," she answered. She was looking at
me with wide-open eyes, in which I noticed the sincerest amazement, if
not stupefaction. "Syvorotka, you! How perfectly crazy you look with
this beard! If you only knew!" and silvery laughter unexpectedly
sounded in my poor quarters--in this place of mourning and sorrow--for
the first time since I have come here.
"Oh, you _must_ shave it!"
"Let my beard alone, pray," I said. "It really is not the time for any
personal remarks. Besides--look at yourself; there is more paint on
your cheeks than flesh. And this wig! To tell the truth I like your
own hair far better. Your wig is outrageous. You look like a bad
girl."
"Exactly. That's what I am now. Lucie de Clive, Monsieur, a vaudeville
actress. That's me."
"A nice party, isn't it?" she said. "Syvorotka and Lucie?" "But--tell
me before everything else, can I stay here?"
"Stay here? Pardon me, Baroness...."
"Call me Lucie, please...."
"Pardon me, Lucie, but really I don't quite comprehend. In these
times, of course, everything has changed; but still I wish I could
understand it correctly...."
"Oh, yes, you will not be bad to a poor girl, Alex, will you? I simply
have to stay here--I have no other place to go."
To show her resoluteness, she took off her shabby overcoat and started
to arrange her belongings, an impossible suitcase and something heavy
rolled in a yellow and red blanket, looking to me from time to time
with curiosity and doubt.
"Lucie de Clive! A woman certainly could not think of anything less
snobbish even in these circumstances. You look like a real Russian
Katka-Chort in this outfit."
"That's what is required. How did you happen to pick out _your name_?"
We both laughed. Indeed, if our meeting were compared to all the
luxury and brilliance of the Cote d'Azur, or Petrograd--it was
laughable. "Have _we_ anything to eat?" she asked.
"I came home for my supper," I said. "I have some trash in the
pantry."
While I was preparing in the so-called kitchen something nice out of
a piece of frozen pilmeni--hashed meat and an old can of sardines (my
pride) she began to arrange the room. She acted as if she were trying
to justify her presence, it was clear. But with all the pleasure of
seeing someone around my house, I simply could not think what had
happened to her. Baroness B.--a lady who would not hesitate in olden
times to play a thousand pounds on a horse or order ten dresses at
Pâquin's,--here, asking my hospitality! If she were a Russian--I could
understand it,--wives of Privy Counsellors and Ambassadors are selling
cheese in Petrograd now. But she--a Foreign Lady?... It was clear, she
was in some intrigue as usual, and it had led her too far.
Possibly she is after me.... And besides--her very presence would
affect my work, and endanger myself. "I must give her something to
eat, and then get out of here. The L. would keep me for a while,
and then I shall go away. Let her stay in this house with all of her
strange intrigues, for I cannot throw her out."
Thus trying to understand, I finished my cooking and asked her to the
_salle-à-manger_--the same little kitchen.
But no matter how proud I felt of my housekeeping, the Baroness found
fault with everything. "Don't _we_ have a table cloth? Or napkins?
What are these daggers for?"
"Good God, Syvorotka," she said, "_we_ cannot live in such a miserable
way. I'll have to change it. There are no reasons why _we_ should
revert to cannibalism!"
Talking in that manner, jumping from one subject to another and always
very nervously, she arranged the table more or less decently, and even
put the salt in the lid of a little powder box. "Now," she said, "I
want you to wash your hands, and comb your hair, and brush your khaki,
and ..." until I got almost civilized.
When we were through with the meal and a half of bottle of beer (they
call "beer" this indecent looking beverage in Tumen) I asked her what
brought her to Tumen?
She told me some story--of which I believed only the fact that she
was here, in my house, and that a great embarrassment had fallen on my
shoulders.
"I'm glad," I said, "you _did not_ change at all, Lucie. It is just
as true--all this story of yours, as the one you told me in Petrograd.
But I have no use for reforming you. Now--take me as an example of
sincerity: in me, my dear lady, you see now, nothing but a poor man
in hiding. All for me is in the past.... And you,--I see it--are still
plotting, nothing could persuade me that you and I are here by mere
coincidence. You come to me--have time to curl your hair--and you even
don't tell me whether your intrigue could reveal my existence to
those that persecute me. You wouldn't hesitate to pass over my dead
body--for the sake of your affairs.... Again,--please do not feel
offended,--there is another side. I am a working man. Tomorrow I
must be at my job early in the morning. The night is growing old. So,
regardless of other things,--what would you advise me to do now?"
"I have nothing to say," she answered sadly and in a low voice, "You
are the Lord here."
"What do you advise me to do?" I repeated growing angry.
"I'll do anything you say," she answered blushing and lowering her
head, "I am ready."
"Lucie," I said, "It is not a question _of that_. You see I cannot put
you out on the streets. A good master would not do it to his dog. But,
on the other hand they have not yet built the Ritz here."
"I am not asking you to go from your house, Alex. I had for a
moment,--when I saw who Syvorotka was--a little ray of sunshine. I see
I am mistaken. Could you take me to the depot, then?"
"I shall do nothing of the kind," I answered. "Nobody warned me you
might come here. I was not ready. So--please stay here for to-night.
I have a place where I can find an abode, and tomorrow we can decide
what to do. There is some frozen milk in the pantry and if I don't
return--right where you are sitting in the mattress there is some
money. Good night, Lucie."
"Alex, are you really going?" she asked taking me by the arm, "Are you
_really_ going out just not to be with me? Is it a pose? Or are you
serious? Please don't do it...."
"Good night," I said and went out.
27
A night in a small city of Siberia! One can see only because the snow
is white. No moon, no electricity.... Where is my new Peugeot now? Who
is driving it now? Where is Anton? Whose chauffer is he now, and is
he still a chauffer, or has the wheel of fortune turned and made him
Commissary of Arts, or Commissary of Public Health? Or, true to his
master, was he hanged defending my automobile? Kismet!...
There were only two blocks to the L.--but the snow was so deep and it
was so windy and cold, it seemed to me a good mile, till I reached the
house.
It was dark as usual. As usual it seemed dead. But, when I was quite
close to it, I heard some movement inside and I detected something in
the yard. This something materialized very soon into a couple of evil
faces and rifles with fixed bayonets. Inside of the house there were
muffled voices. Near the rear gate (I could see it due to the sloping
of the lot) three horses and a snow sledge were standing. A few
voices were raised in dispute in the barn, swearing a blue streak.
"Arrest"--it was clear. When I was trying to think of something to
help,--and what could I think of?--the double pane of the bedroom
window was suddenly broken by something heavy thrown from the inside
and a desperate piercing voice of Pasha--I immediately knew it was the
poor girl--shouted with all of the strength of her lungs: "Help, help!
In Christ's name, help...." The cry was broken off in the middle,
muffled by the palm of a hand, and became a mutter of despair and
horror: "M-p-p, maa...." Somebody stuffed a white pillow in the hole.
Again all became quiet.
Then the front door suddenly opened and a man jumped out into
the street; another,--a short fellow clad in a wild Siberian
overcoat,--appeared on the stairs, aimed a Mauser and fired at the
man's back. I scarcely had time to sit down behind the fence.
Ff ... ap ... Ff ... ap ...--sounded two dry, sharp shots. The first
man took two more steps--and rolled in the snow, feebly groaning from
pain. A black trickle of blood swiftly ran along the snow near my
knees. The Siberian overcoat looked at his victim and with "you,
damned carrion," slammed the door. Again all was dark and silent.
The man was indeed dead when I reached him. He had a package of
something wrapped in paper--so I took it,--I thought it might be
something belonging to Ls.
All that was pretty bad, and I did not know how to get away,--my
position being really a poor one in a strategic sense of the word.
I had to escape without attracting too much attention. When I was
thinking over how to do it--a voice called:
"Bist du dort, Swartz?"
"Ja wohl!" I answered as nonchalantly as I could, having covered my
mouth with my glove, "soll' ich noch warten?"
"We'll be through in a minute. Wait a while!"
I did not wait. Through wind and snow, crawling like an Indian, I
passed the dangerous spot near the gate where I could be seen, then
hurried home, almost crying for the poor Ls., and Pasha--such a sweet
girl, probably at that moment being nationalized--condemning all and
everything and especially the impossibility of helping my unfortunate
friends. All was frozen inside of me, due to the cold and this fear of
a helpless creature.
When I was about a score of yards from the house--shooting started
behind me--just as idiotic as in Petrograd or Moscow: in every
direction, bullets cracking the windows, the street lamps, the
passers-by,--on this occasion myself,--I got a bad one in the sleeve,
right near the elbow.
I did not have to knock at the door as I feared running home: the door
flew open, and Lucie dragged me in, closing the door behind me on the
lever.
"Oh, I am so glad you came! Silly man! Are you wounded? No? I heard it
all--I was so afraid that they had shot you! I am so glad, Alex dear!
Do stay here, I won't be in your way, honest. Please do stay!..."
(_pages missing_)
28
(_Second letter to M. Goroshkin_)
"I must bring to your attention the fact that a certain lady, whom I
knew in Petrograd in other days, came here quite unexpectedly, under
the name of Lucie de Clive. She was in the plot in June, and at that
time was very strongly protected by A.F. K-y, who released her from
jail. She is an Englishwoman, but knows Russia well, as in fact,
she knows all European countries. She came here the day the L's were
killed and Pasha taken away. She made me understand that she is in a
new plot to save the Emperor's family. Her task will be to stay here
for a while "and make some preparations" and then go farther on.
I must tell you that her arrival here is of great inconvenience to
me: in a city like Tumen it became known to the G-ns, and, though
the Princess thinks I am nothing much and _her_ morals are not for my
class of people, she is a little hypocrite and pulls a long face at
me.
I tried my best to avoid having this lady in my house; but the
president of the local soviet, who has a great respect for me as
Marchenko's protégé, allowed me a short stay for the lady; I explained
to him that she is my old affinity--"a civil wife." Therefore, he
found it a sufficient reason, but did not like it much, and I am
afraid his trust in me may diminish.
Now things have turned out in such a manner that I cannot possibly
throw the lady out of my home: but what I want you to do is to notify
me at once whether you know something about this arrival and whether
Lucie is working for the same purposes. I don't trust her much; she
feels it, and plays a strange game with me, the part of an enamored
woman. This does not interfere with her writing (and receiving) some
correspondence. She takes the letters out when I am busy, so I cannot
trail her. I'd rather go away from here, leaving her; I would not care
much to be obliged to watch her. There are certain ethics which would
prevent me from liking to trail this particular lady.
I was greatly surprised when I heard that Mr. Kerensky was living in
the Rossia Insurance Company Apartments, Pushkarskaya 59, Flat 10. If
so, why this game of the Smolny crowd? Why not take him? The man of
whom I wrote you in my last letter states that K-y is now planning to
go to Stockholm and that a passport will be given to him by the Smolny
Institute. Please communicate that to Marchenko. Schmelin says it is
not his business. The ring was taken from K-y. Nothing new in Tobolsk.
The Empress has been sick for the last ten days.
Yours,