The tutor's face,--one of those broad Russian faces,--gradually grew
purple and then grey. Slowly, and hypnotising Pashinsky, he approached
the scamp, took him by the collar and pulled him towards the fence.
Then, losing his breath, Derevenko said, "Leave the boy alone,
you scoundrel! You,--you call yourself a Russian sailor? You? Have
this...." and the slap on Pashinsky's face sounded to me like Chopin's
First Nocturne. What divine music!
I expected a clash. But no! The rifle fell out of Pashinsky's hands
and, silent and tamed, with half-closed eyes, he was waiting for
another smash. Then Derevenko saw me and thought I was going to shoot
him, but I made no such move. I slipped away and went innocently
towards the big gate. So, when Pashinsky came to me--he was sure I
had seen nothing, and when I asked how the teasing was going on, he
answered:
"Oh, I let this trash go. It annoys me."
The left side of his face was inflamed and tears were frozen on his
eyes. It was a good one, by God!
After this incident I turned to the quarters "for a drink of water"
and wrote a little note that "nothing bad could happen to the
Princesses when they were alone" and that, "I shall exert all in my
power to prevent any disagreeable happenings." I wrote that I knew
some people were working to save them. My letter, I thought, would
brace them up and would give them an idea that there was, amongst
these beasts--one, that would not be an enemy. In case of a struggle
this idea would keep them from losing hope and their power of
resistance. Then I added that I could be found in the hotel, and that
Dr. Botkin knew me.
Contemplating my scratchings, I went over to the window; somebody was
patiently waiting and looking around, for the voice said:
"I am so glad Derevenko slapped this awful man."
"I am too, your Highness. Now--there is a letter. I'll put it on the
bayonette and stay still; you take it."
Pashinsky passed near me talking with another Red. He felt badly I am
sure,--he did not look at me.
I rolled the piece of paper, stuck it on the edge of the sharp
bayonette and putting the rifle on my shoulder, directed it towards
the window. I felt when it was taken. Then I joined my fellow jailers.
48
Today I saw a man who resembled strikingly the Tumen Russian of the
profane language. And it reminded me very much of the Ls., of the
English officer, of the fellow with dark eyeglasses--and of Lucie. I
felt abandoned again. So I went to the Church, but then turned back:
I cannot go in, for it might spoil my reputation of a Red. However, I
stood for a bit near the doors and listened to the singers, and then
decided to go to the Catholic church, for only Russian Reds must not
pray; Polish Reds happen to have this privilege.
There is no difference in fact. I wanted to be closer to something
elevated.
The lights were so quiet and peaceful looking in the dark church
through high-colored windows. There were not many people in their
church, so I could concentrate. But instead of a Christian quiet, I
got something else. I guess the idea came to me when I thought that
Pashinsky was a Pole.
I began to think that I could not do very much here,--but still
something. They will try to annoy the Princesses, and I must protect
them. Thus--my staying here will be justified. If Pashinsky or the
Letts should do something that would be bad, I'll kill them,--or some
of them. When I thought of it, I looked at the Holy Faces; the sun
came out of the white clouds, the rays fell on the walls,--and
the Faces smiled at me. "Yes," I thought, "if my decision is not
agreeable,--the sun will hide behind the clouds again. I'll wait for
five minutes"--the sun did not hide,--so--this was accepted. Then I
tried to figure how to do it, and found a way. I'll get Pashinsky at
the first attempt.
My God, what nonsense I think of!...
49
Schtolz. Jackson. Vieren. The man with the wounded leg. Kitser.
Dutzman. Khokhriakov. Fost. Pashinsky. Kart. Fedor. Laksman. Vassiliev
(son). Kobylinsky. Perkel. Niestadt. Cymes. Leibner. Vert. Wang-Lee.
Frenkel. The fat Kister. Vygardt....
(_a few lines scratched out_)
50
The "Kitai" was at the pier when we--the detachment of twelve,
guarding a silent man and a hysterical woman--came there under the
cover of night; it was raining, though the air was warm. The Irtysh
stood fragrant with this odor of a big, noble river. The waters--in
which sank Yermak under his heavy corselet--the same waters were
carrying toward the unknown--the Imperial Family.
Though their departure was supposed to be made in secrecy, there was
a crowd of people on the pier--we tried to chase them away, but they
stood there. An ascetic figure was standing on the next pier, lit only
by a few lanterns. This black figure lifted a cross and blessed the
Emperor, who tenderly released his hand from the spasmatic grip of his
terrified wife and made the sign of the cross.
"Quit that, Reverend scoundrel," I heard Khokhriakov's voice. "Who
asked _you_ to come?"
The priest answered:
"Thou knowest not what thou art committing."
"Ah, shut up! To hell with your citations, you old idiot!
"Take him down over there. Isn't there anyone to choke him?"
continued Khokhriakov bending over the hand-rails. "This ass is
propagating,--don't you see, comrades?"
No one, however, moved. This crowd around the Bishop all answered.
Their answer,--a blunt roaring,--sounded like distant thunder and
there was such a frightening unity in this dull noise,--that I had the
shivers.
"You cowards!" bellowed the sailor, "I'll have to come back and finish
with the pope myself! It will not be the first one, anyhow. It's too
late now! Be damned you all! Go ahead!" The gangplanks dropped.
The steamer started to move.
The priest stood still blessing her passengers,--the Emperor, the
Empress, the bolsheviki,--the crew,--all, all of them. And, wet under
the rain, this figure vested in black, with a shiny cross lifted high
in the air, will for a long time remain in my memory.
The Mansion was black; not a light in the windows. The four girls,
left alone in this nest of rattlesnakes,--were probably sitting in
some far distant corner,--crying, trembling, praying,--and waiting for
the worst, which they feared was coming.
51
To kill a man? Nothing more agreeable if it is the right one,--I
should say! And in such country where the trial is impossible. I did
not know I ever could,--but...
Pashinsky started soon after the Emperor was taken. He and Fost asked
me for a conference behind the quarters, when we were waiting to
change the watchmen. Both had a confidential expression on their
faces.
"You see here, Syva,--what is planned. You and Fost stay under the
windows, and go around, just as you please. I'll go upstairs, and
listen. If there is no one around I'll call you up. I know that they
are all alone."
I consented, and when they left I wrote a note: "_Si, se soir, quelcun
tâche de forcer l'entrée de votre chambre, je vous implore de rester
calme et sûre que je suis avec Vous et Vos soeurs à vous protéger. Ne
craignez rien, né criez pas_!" I wrote it in French in order to assure
them of the faith in me--and prove my identity--and signed my real
name.
It looked funny to me; I think now I am Syvorotka,--honestly
Syvorotka, formerly of the 7th of Hussars!
I went out and looked around. The Pole and the Lett were talking
and gazing from time to time at the upper windows. Then the Pole
approached: "How much would you take from me not to go up at all, and
let me do it alone?" and then, becoming sweet and fawning--.
"You see, Syva," he said, "Fost consented. Why shouldn't you? I'll
give you just as much."
"Did you consent, Fost?" I asked.
"Yes," said the Lett, digging in his short nose, "I did. I have
grown-up daughters at home. I cannot. Besides he gives me money, so
why shouldn't I? I will stay in the corridor and won't let anybody
come in, on this side of the House. I know nothing of your business.
Go on, have your pleasure."
"No, Pashinsky," I said, "that will not do. I must be with you. I have
to protect you besides, you idiot; Fost can only see what is in the
house, but supposing someone comes from down here? You think they will
forget such an outrage to the Soviets? I will be with you somewhere
behind, and when you call me I will come out. Hope you won't forget
me."
Pashinsky thought over my proposition for a second,--thinking was
a strenuous effort for him. His obscene face wore a suffering and
preoccupied expression; then he said:
"I think you are right. We'll let Fost stay and watch the inner doors,
and you and I will be alone in this side of the house. Then the men on
the streets can't catch us, and we will be protected from the inside
too...."
Then he had some idea. A bad one, I am sure!
"All right, that's a good way, anyhow. Now I am going to take a
bath,--I need it. If somebody asks for me, say so."
The Lett and I remained. I stood for half an hour near my
window,--then it opened. I fixed the note on the bayonette and it went
to its destination.
After, a voice said:
"Mister * * *, we are afraid! What can we do? Do you think that you
can protect us? Please tell the truth, don't try to console us."
"I am sure, your Highness," I said, "please don't worry."
The voice continued: "They took out the keys from the doors. We
cannot even lock ourselves in, or hide. Can't you tell this to the
Budishchev's--perhaps they can do something?"
"You shouldn't try to hide, and there is no use to tell it to anybody,
believe me. Be in the room on the second floor and wait there. I will
be on the watch as I said."
--"You know better perhaps,--we believe you."
With a "Thank you so much" and "We are so frightened!" repeated with
despair and horror, the window closed.
I had to invent something, and invent quickly, for I had no plan as
yet.
The Browning was with me but I reserved it for the last chance, and I
decided to keep it loaded to finish some of the Reds--and myself--if
it should come to an open fight. With such thoughts I was desperately
rambling within the fence.
My vague plan was to come right after Pashinsky and knock him on
the head with something heavy,--then I rejected this project: the
scoundrel could yell and I would be discovered. I came to the quarters
and looked around. It was the office of Tanaevsky before occupied by
us. In the classic disorder, with an inch of cigarette butts and dust
on the floor, among the remnants of the Governor's House stored here,
I saw a gold metallic rope cord which in better times had been used to
support the heavy drapery of the reception room. The idea of a silent
strangulation came into my head with the picture of Jacolliot's Thugs.
I cut the tassel away and put it under somebody's pillow, and hid the
rope in my bosom.
At seven Pashinsky finally came back, surprisingly clean, shaven, and
smelling of some cheap and penetrating perfume. He was slightly drunk.
When clean,--he looked to me a thousand times worse.
Neither Pashinsky, nor I, could wait until the night came. He was
continually repeating what I should do, and continually asking me
whether I thought everything was safe. Finally night arrived. At nine
the lights in the Mansion were put out--all but in one window. I knew
how hearts were beating there: mine was echoing.
--"I am going, Syva," Pashinsky whispered. "I can't wait any
longer--all is burning inside of me."
He put his rifle behind the rain-pipe, straightened his belt, and
started towards the entrance door.
The door of the Mansion squeaked and swallowed him, and before I heard
him walking up the stairs I followed him.
All was dark inside, only a feeble light from the court penetrated
through the windows. We passed the corridor, then a large room, then
a small room. Here Pashinsky stopped--and I heard his heavy breathing.
Then he threw open the door.
I saw mattresses on the floor and in a far corner pale, trembling
figures, glued together by fear.
Pashinsky hesitated for a moment--to pick out the one he wanted--and
then with an outcry, suddenly rushed to this mass of helpless
panic-stricken bodies, and a struggle between a delirious man, feebled
by desire, and these ladies, began.
I jumped on him from behind; preoccupied, he did not feel when I put
the rope around his neck so that the collar wouldn't be in my way,
tightened my weapon in a deadlock and dragged him away--almost before
his carnal touch contaminated the Princesses--into the next room, and
shut the doors.
He was making some efforts to free himself, hitting my knees with his
heels, and growling from rage; then he bit me in the hand. But in a
minute I was already firmly sitting on his back, with my knees on his
awkwardly turned arms, twisting the rope with all of the strength I
had.
"Please, don't kill him," I heard a sobbing whispering voice say, and
other voices, too, repeated the "don't kill."
This Kerensky idea made me quite angry and I said as calmly as I could
under the circumstances:
"With all of my reverence for your order, your Highnesses, I refuse to
obey. Please shut the doors and don't wake up the others,--I have my
own accounts to settle." And when the doors closed, I kept tightening
and tightening the rope until his head turned and his tongue,--rough
and dry,--came way out and was touching my hands, and his face became
hot and wet. He made a few convulsive movements--and became still.
When his head fell with a dull sound on the floor, I took him out
under cover of the night, and threw his body into the well. I walked
out onto Tuliatskaya Street and chatted for a while with Leibner and
Vert.