SCENE--_A Bureau de Police at St. Petersburg. Present,
Russian Bigwig and Subordinate._
_Russian Bigwig_ (_reading letter_). "And they are to be received with
the greatest possible enthusiasm!" I can scarcely believe my eyes! The
Fleet of the French Republic!
_Subordinate_ (_using a Muscovite imprecation_). _Caviare droski!_
_Rus. Big._ (_severely_). Slave! (Sub. _cringes_.) Another word, and
I will have you knouted to death! It is the wish of our Little Father,
the Czar of the Universe.
[_They both fall on their knees, remove their hats, and sing
the National Hymn._
_Sub._ (_bowing to the ground_). And what are the Imperial wishes?
_Rus. Big._ That not only shall the "_Marseillaise_" be tolerated when
played by the French, but also be performed by our own bands. (_With a
burst of rage._) Oh, _Caviare droski!_
_Sub._ (_on his knees_). I would also add an oath, O Supreme
Protector-of-the-Spirit-of-my-dead-Grandmother, had you not forbidden
that extreme expression of opinion.
_Rus. Big._ You recall me to myself. O
Son-of-PETER-son-of-PETER-son-of-PETER-son-of-TOMMY. I was wrong. But
it makes my blood boil to think that our Master and his ancestors who
scorned LOUIS PHILIPPE and NAPOLEON III. should recognise a Republic!
_Sub._ (_aside_). Say you so--this to the CZAR--thou Nihilist!
(_Aloud._) My Lord-the-comforter-of-the-spirit-of-my-first-cousin-once-
removed-on-my-mother's-side, is indeed right! It is a painful sight!
_Rus. Big._ (_aside_). Say you so--this to the CZAR--thou Nihilist!
(_Aloud._) But perhaps we might improve matters. Supposing that the
"_Marseillaise_" were imperfectly performed?
_Sub._ (_with note-book_). Excellent, my Lord! excellent! It shall
be played out of tune on a score of regimental bands! Good, my Lord!
good!
_Rus. Big._ And could not a translation be furnished suggesting ideas
foreign to the original?
_Sub._ Again capital, my Lord. I will see that the troops have a
version that gives the old legend (stolen from us by the English)
of "The Song of Sixpence, or a pocketful of Rye-bread," as the real
translation.
_Rus. Big._ A happy thought! The moral is wholesome. The Monarchical
principle is advocated in the approved counting out of money and
consumption of bread and honey by their Majesties, and the right of
life and death is suggested by the pecking off of the nose of the
housemaid while employed in hanging out the clothes! And about the
troops--have they been warned that they might some day be expected to
give a hated alien an enthusiastic reception?
_Sub._ They have, my Lord. And in anticipation of such an occasion,
they have been taught for the last six months how to cheer in a
whisper.
_Rus. Big._ Good! And now to a pleasanter duty. Have you those hundred
thousand copies of _Punch_ that were yesterday seized at the frontier?
_Sub._ I have, my Lord!
_Rus. Big._ (_with fiendish glee_). To Siberia with them! Come, help
me to post them!
_Sub._ (_trembling_). But, my Lord, should _Punch_ be read by the
political prisoners who lie covered with chains in the secret mines
under the lowest mountain in the Czar's dominions? What then?
_Rus. Big._ (_in an awesome whisper_). Mark me well! In the present
pitiable state of the prisoners, such a feast of mirth-compelling
waggery would kill them--yes, _kill_ them--with laughter!
[_Exeunt stealthily to put this craftily-conceived plot into
guilty execution._
* * * * *