Why need I refer further to the terribly wearisome journey across
Prussia, Poland and Western Russia? Those of my readers who have
accomplished it know well how dull, tedious and tiring it is, travelling
hour after hour, day after day, through a flat, uninteresting country.
Suffice it to say, that on the fifth day after leaving London, the train
came to a standstill in the spacious station of the Russian capital.
After some difficulty I discovered the whereabouts of the Hotel
Michaeli, and entering a _likhac_ was driven to a small, and rather
uninviting hotel under the shadow of the gilded dome of the Izak Church.
The proprietor, a tall, black-bearded Russian, greeted me warmly in
French, exclaiming:
"M'sieur Burgoyne, _n'est ce pas_?"
"That is my name," I replied.
"The apartments ordered for you are in readiness."
"Who ordered them?" I asked.
"M'sieur must be aware that a gentleman secured his rooms a week ago?"
"No, I did not know that arrangements had been made for my reception," I
said.
"Will m'sieur have the kindness to sign the register before ascending?"
he said, politely handing me a book and pen.
Those who have not travelled in the dominions of the Czar know nothing
of the strict police regulations, the many formalities the foreigner has
to undergo, and the questions he must answer before he is allowed to
take up even a temporary residence in the Venice of the North.
I wrote replies to the printed questions in the book, and, signing my
name, handed it back to him, and was shown to my rooms.
Though anxious to complete my mission and return, I confess I found much
of interest. St Petersburg externally is the finest city in the world,
but internally the dirtiest and most enthralled, struggling as it does
under a police _regime_ so harsh that one can scarcely walk the streets
without infringing some law, and attracting the attention of the spies,
who everywhere abound.
I remained waiting several days for the appearance of the man to whom I
was to deliver the diamonds, but he did not present himself, so I
occupied myself inspecting the sights of the city. Through the churches
of Kazan, St Nicholas, and the Intercession I wandered, astounded at
their magnificence; saw a comedy at the Bolshoi, admired the statues of
Peter the Great and Souvaroff, and, perhaps the greatest novelty of all,
visited that most magnificent of imperial residences, the Winter Palace.
Here occurred an incident of which at the time I thought nothing, though
afterwards I had much cause to remember it.
Following one of the gorgeously attired servants through a labyrinth of
picture galleries and apartments, we entered the Salle Blanche, the most
luxurious chamber of this splendid palace, with its wonderful
decorations of white and gold, from which it derives its name. In this
chamber are held those court fetes which eclipse all others in the
world, for it is here the nobility assemble to pay homage to the
Autocrat of all the Russias.
Standing in the centre of the apartment, I gazed in wonderment upon its
marvellous gilding and glittering magnificence, while the servant
described graphically, but parrot-like, how the receptions were
conducted, the blazing of the priceless jewels worn by the Empress, and
how the Emperor himself, the most quietly dressed amongst the gay
assemblage, walked and talked with his guests.
The whiteness of the walls I was unable to understand, and being of a
somewhat inquisitive nature, and desirous of ascertaining whether they
were marble or wood-panel, I rapped upon it sharply with my knuckles.
In an instant a sentry, who had been standing motionless at the door,
and several servants in the Imperial livery, were at my side.
"For what reason did you tap that wall?" demanded one of the men in
French.
I was thoroughly taken by surprise, and stammered out an apology, urging
that I was not aware of committing any offence.
"It is an offence, and a grave one," exclaimed the servant, whom I
afterwards found was a police spy. "Visitors must not touch the walls
in that manner, and we have orders to eject those who break the law."
"Oh, very well," I replied, rather ruffled at the man's impertinence, "I
have no desire to do anything contrary to this strange law of yours;
and, moreover, I'll leave the Palace."
With these words, I turned and retraced my steps to the entrance, being
closely followed by the sentry and the guide.
It was a very small matter and soon passed out of my mind, though it
afterwards proved more serious than one would have imagined.
Life in St Petersburg was so different from any to be found in Western
Europe, that during the few days I awaited the arrival of the man to
whom I was to deliver the jewels, I thoroughly enjoyed myself.
In the daytime, perhaps the place which has most attraction for the
foreigner is the Nevskoi Prospekt. It is the principal thoroughfare, a
fine broad street four versts long, with imposing houses and handsome
shops, the favourite promenade of the _haut ton_. The bustle and throng
is as great as in Regent Street or the Strand on a sunny day, for the
endless line of well-appointed equipages, with servants in splendid
liveries, and mostly drawn by four horses, roll noiselessly over the
asphalte, while upon the pavement stroll princes and generals in
uniform, aides-de-camp and staff officers, merchants, mujiks, Greeks,
Circassians--indeed, that heterogeneous assortment of sects and races
which combine to make up the population of a great city. Russian women,
as a rule, are the reverse of prepossessing; but the ladies who shop in
the Nevskoi, and afterwards promenade on the English Quay, are even more
remarkable for their elegance and beauty than those one sees in the Row
or on Parisian boulevards.
As it is not my intention, however, to dilate upon Russian manners and
customs, except for the purpose of presenting this strange drama in
which I played a leading part, I must refrain from commenting on the
thousand and one show places, the coffin shops, in the windows of which
the grim receptacles for the dead are ticketed, and many other things
which strike the stranger as ludicrous and curious.
I saw them merely _pour passer le temps_, and they can be of but little
interest in the present narrative.
Exactly three weeks had passed since I bade farewell to Vera. I had
breakfasted, and was standing before the window looking out upon the
Izak Platz, that broad square in the centre of which the column of
Alexander stands out in bold relief. Not having made up my mind whither
I should repair in search of pleasure, I was idly watching the busy,
ever-changing crowd of pedestrians and vehicles, when I heard the door
behind me open, and, turning, confronted a tall, fair-bearded man, who
had entered unannounced. He was well-dressed, and as I turned and
looked inquiringly at him, he bowed and removed his hat.
"Is it to M'sieur Frank Burgoyne I have the pleasure of speaking?" he
asked politely, in very fair English.
"Quite correct," I replied.
"Allow me to present to you the _carte_ of Mademoiselle Vera Seroff, and
to introduce myself. Paul Volkhovski is my name, and--er--need I tell
you the object of my visit?" he inquired, showing an even set of white
teeth as he smiled.
"It is unnecessary," I replied, glancing at the card he took from his
wallet and handed to me. "The jewels are quite safe in that box upon
the ottoman. The seals, you will notice, are untouched."
"_Merci_," he replied, a grin of satisfaction lighting up his
countenance as he repeated, "The jewels--ah!"
Crossing quickly to where the box lay, he took it up and examined it
minutely.
"_Ha! harosho_!" he exclaimed confidently, replacing it with care.
There was something peculiar in his manner which I could not fail to
notice.
To tell the truth, I was rather disappointed in Vera's friend. I had
imagined that any friends of hers must be men with whom I could readily
associate, whereas there was nothing beyond mere bourgeois
respectability in Monsieur Volkhovski.
Somehow a feeling of suspicion crept over me.
It was possible some one had personated the man whom I was awaiting! At
that moment it occurred to me that the means at my disposal to recognise
him were exceedingly slight.
This man might be an impostor.
"How do I know, m'sieur--if you will pardon my interrogation--that you
are the person you represent yourself?" I said, regarding him keenly.
With an exclamation in Russian which I did not understand, he said, "It
is not for you to doubt! Mademoiselle Seroff asked you to bring the
diamonds to me. Your commission is ended."
"I had conceived." I replied rather warmly, "that Mademoiselle's
friends were mine. Apparently I am mistaken."
"It matters not--a mere trifle."
"At least you will give me a receipt to show that my promise has been
carried out."
"She said nothing of any receipt, and I will give none."
Evidently he was alarmed.
"Then I shall not give up the jewels--"
"Not another word! You have safely delivered them, and your commission
is ended. Go back to Mademoiselle as quickly as possible. She is
expecting you, and will explain all. You have rendered her a great
service, and she owes you a debt of gratitude."
Walking to the door, with the sealed jewel-case carefully placed in the
pocket of his fashionable dust-coat, he simply paused to add, with a
severe air:
"You have been mistaken, m'sieur; you deceived yourself. I wish you
adieu and a safe return." Before I could utter another word he had left
the room.