AN ORGY OVER A VOLCANO
It needed a well-seasoned head to keep his wits about him when, on
entering Zeneida's palace, a man found himself suddenly plunged into the
fairy-like pell-mell, such as is usually only to be seen at a masked
ball at the opera.
Hundreds of guests, invited and uninvited, thronged the brilliantly
lighted reception-rooms. Zeneida to-night had been acting in the last
scene of _Semiramide_, and it suited her mood to carry on the part of
the all-conquering queen off the stage; to see her admirers, her
slaves, and those she fooled, at her feet.
The whole _corps de ballet_ were here assembled in the dresses in which
they had appeared on the stage; the chorus and singers wearing their
rich costumes of Persian and Median nobles. The male aristocracy of St.
Petersburg, young and old, were there assembled. As the hostess appeared
in the ballroom, leaning on Chevalier Galban's arm, the band, concealed
behind the balcony of the gallery, struck up a welcoming overture; the
guests cheered, and those nearest pressed round to kiss her hands.
However, things were not long destined to proceed so smoothly.
In the middle of the ballroom was standing a police-agent in full
uniform, his helmet on his head. Going forward to meet the hostess and
her cavalier, and bowing stiffly, he made a hissing sound which was
supposed to stand for _Sudar_ and _Sudarinja_ ("Monsieur" and "Madame").
"His Excellency the President of Police bids you take notice that at the
stroke of twelve to-night the great fast has begun, and all dancing,
music, and entertainments of every description are in consequence
prohibited. Such being the case, monsieur and madame's guests are to
return forthwith to their own houses, and monsieur and madame, the host
and hostess, to retire to their apartments. Monsieur and madame--"
Here Zeneida burst into a merry laugh; while Galban inwardly cursed the
Minister of Police, who by his clumsy zeal was in danger of spoiling the
excellent plan he and Araktseieff had together made out.
Zeneida drawing three golden-shaped arrows from her hair, handed them to
the sergeant of police.
"Go back to your chief and show him these symbols. From them he will
recognize that Assyria's queen challenges the Prince of Sarmatia to
combat."
The words were over the head of the agent of police, but he took the
golden arrows.
"Then I shall be compelled to take your names. Yours, sir, is--"
"Caracalla," replied Galban, readily, "and this lady is my wife."
The police-agent duly entered in his book, "Herr Caracallus and Madame
Caracalla"; then turned to a gentleman who had just entered, Prince
Ghedimin. "And what is your name?"
"Rainbow. Here is my card."
It may be mentioned that hundred-ruble notes are called "rainbows" on
account of their gay coloring. The name pleased the agent of police so
well that he evinced no further curiosity. With obsequious bow he wished
the company a pleasant evening, drank a bottle of champagne on his way
out, pinched the cheek of a pretty ballet-girl, then hastened back to
make his truthful report to the President of Police that all was quiet
and dark at Palace Ilmarinen as in a church, and not a soul waking save
the house porter.
But this was not the sole interruption that night. Scarce had the agent
of police taken his departure before the organist and chaplain of the
Protestant church appeared. The chaplain began a honeyed speech,
probably to the effect that he hoped the lady of the house, as a good
Protestant, would not give cause of offence to the faithful of the State
religion by desecrating the first night of so holy a fast by
entertaining so motley a crew of the worshippers of Baal.
But Zeneida did not suffer him to proceed.
"Go back and tell your superintendent, my dear sir," said Zeneida, "that
I am holding the rehearsal of a grand concert, which I intended to give
during Lent in aid of the building of the Protestant church-tower."
Chaplain and organist were fully pacified. Going back they announced
that the zealous and religious lady had begun the great fast with a good
work for the benefit of the Church.
And now, at length, the doors could be shut; now there would be no
further interruptions from without, and those present would not be
leaving until to-morrow night had set in.
Chevalier Galban judged it advisable to resign the lady of the house to
Prince Ghedimin.
"Allow me to introduce myself, Prince--Chevalier Galban."
"A name world-renowned. And one all-powerful among the ladies."
"I may perhaps claim in that respect to have kept up my reputation
to-day. See, Prince, the bracelet round this bouquet. Do you not
recognize it? And this?" And he drew forth from his waistcoat-pocket the
silver whistle which had formed the handle of Princess Ghedimin's
riding-whip.
Ivan recognized his own crest upon it.
"These are the two conflicting _souvenirs_ of this morning's stag-hunt
and to-night's triumph."
"And it is you who have formed the connecting link."
Prince Ghedimin was on the point of shaking hands with the Chevalier for
having made conquest of his wife, and thus enabling his beloved to go
scot-free; but in this he was prevented by the young man we have heard
called Pushkin, who, pressing in between the Prince and Galban,
intercepted the intended hand-shake by a demonstrative embrace.
"Zdravtvujtjé Galban! I am Pushkin!"
"Ah, Pushkin! Bravo! I have heard of you. You are a Russian edition of a
perfected Paris _bon vivant_."
"Proud of the title!" None the less, he was anything but proud of it.
You cannot offer a poet a worse insult than to credit him with a quality
which has no relation to Parnassus. Still, Galban was no censor; he
could not know how many of the bard's great works were lying low,
massacred under the murderous red pencil. "Proud, my dear fellow, to act
Rinaldo to the St. Petersburg dare-devils, and in that capacity your
modest Epigon. Permit me, without delay, to make you known to some of
the prettiest girls of our party to-night."
So saying, he passed his arm under that of Galban, and in rollicking
fashion led him into the thick of the throng.
The Chevalier was content. It was his immediate task to make as many
acquaintances as possible among the malcontents here assembled. To this
end the guidance of so open-hearted and loquacious a comrade was highly
acceptable. All the same, he soon had reason to find he had been a
little mistaken in him.
The first individual with whom Pushkin made Chevalier Galban acquainted
was the English ambassador, Mr. Black.
Mr. Black had only one leg; his other was an artificial one, which,
however, in no wise prevented his taking part in every country dance to
the very end of the programme. Moreover, all his movements were as
automatic as if head and arms were on springs, and as if he took himself
to pieces every night before going to bed.
"Mr. Black, the best fellow in the world! He neither understands
French, German, Greek, nor Russian. In fact, he only speaks English; and
that we none of us know, so he is dumb to us. All the same, he is jolly
as a sand-boy. A year or two ago he had one man about him with whom he
could converse, his secretary. Unfortunately he took the poor devil with
him one day in December, when it was atrociously cold, to the Alexander
Nevski church-yard, to see the fine show of tombstones. A granite
obelisk took the secretary's fancy uncommonly. On the way home my fine
fellow partook somewhat too plentifully of brandy, to keep the cold out,
and froze to death. Mr. Black carted him off to the stone-mason, then
and there, and bought for him an obelisk like the one he had admired so
much."
The ambassador, guessing that his praises were being sung, duly put in
motion that part of his mechanism necessary for bringing a smile to his
face; then shook the Chevalier's hand violently, and without more ado
took possession of Galban's other arm. And now both men towed their
victim along, until they came face to face with a third man, whom
Pushkin introduced to the Chevalier with the words--
"Sergius Sumikoff Alexievitsch."
"Ah, the renowned conjuror! I have heard of your fame far and wide."
The very word "conjuring," and, above all, the notion of befooling
others for the general amusement, had just then become the fashion, in
Paris especially--of course to be readily imitated in St. Petersburg.
"But you have not heard his latest," broke in Pushkin, "the story about
the negro? I must tell it you; it is such a joke. Sumikoff painted his
face jet black, and gave himself out to be Prince Milinkoff's black
slave. We were all in the fun, save Count Petroniefsky; he was to be
fooled. Mungo played the piano and guitar, spoke Greek, Latin, declaimed
Schiller, uncommonly rare acquirements in a negro slave. Moreover, he
had all kinds of interesting details to tell, among others, how, when
king in his native land, he had had his prime-minister, convicted of
theft, crushed to death in a mortar. Petroniefsky, awfully taken with
the fellow, goes to Milinkoff, and offers to purchase him. Milinkoff at
first refuses; he is his favorite slave, can't part with him, etc. At
length they settle the matter for six thousand rubles. On receiving the
purchase-money Milinkoff gives his friend a hint to keep a sharp eye on
the fellow, as he is deucedly fond of giving his owner the slip. The
count answers, he'll see to that. Of course, the very first night
Sumikoff washes off his Chinese black, and quietly takes himself off,
without any concealment, through the open palace gates. We ordered a
jolly supper for the six thousand rubles, and Petroniefsky has no idea
to this day that it was he who paid the piper. He still daily routs up
the unlucky police officials to bring him back his negro."
Every one laughed, Galban, with the others, all the time thinking, "Does
my new friend really think with such worn-out anecdotes to keep me in
pawn, and prevent my seeing that for which I came?"
And he did see it. He was an adept in the art of recognizing people from
description, and amidst the noisiest surroundings to find that of which
he was in search.
First among the crowded rooms, he made out the man described to him as
Krizsanowski, and soon after the man called Pestel. He seemed to be all
eyes for the conjuror's clever doings, the while he was closely watching
the two men to see if they accosted each other. Would they approach
Prince Ghedimin and Zeneida? Neither of these things took place. Did
they accidentally come across each other, they simply passed each other
by without even a look; on the whole, they seemed rather to avoid
Zeneida. In between the crowd of merry, noisy dancers he perceived many
a striking face, yet none of them seemed to have anything in common one
with another. Now Pushkin made a proposition.
"Why should not we four have a game of _ombre_?"
Chevalier Galban saw through it. Not a bad dodge to pin him to a
card-table in some dark corner for the remainder of the night.
"Thanks. I only play hazard."
"Humph! Strictly forbidden here."
"As is ball-giving in Lent," returned Galban, laughing.
Now a fresh procession riveted the general attention. "The gypsies!"
went from mouth to mouth.
In Russia, as in Hungary, the gypsy is the minstrel of national song. It
is curious that in Hungary instrumental music is the gypsies' art, while
in Russia it is singing. Troops of them go from town to town as choral
societies, and never fail at entertainments given at the houses of the
great.
The group of some four-and-twenty men and women, clad in their
picturesque Oriental costume, formed themselves into a circle in the
ballroom, and began their songs of wood and valley, while one of them, a
girl, represented in her dance the subject of their song.
"By Jove! come and look at our black pearl," said Pushkin, by the aid of
his friend drawing Galban into the circle. "Bravo, Diabolka! Show
yourself worthy of your name. Look how supple she is! she is a very
devil! Every one of her gestures is enticement. See how her eyes
sparkle! All the fires of hell are burning in them! Enviable they who do
penance there. And when, with downcast eyes, she casts you a melancholy
glance from beneath those long silken lashes, you think she must be on
the verge of swooning. But, beware, the tiger can bite."
The wild gypsy girl, suddenly starting from her lifeless statuesque
posture, here sprang upon Chevalier Galban, and threw her arms around
him.
"By Jove! the comedy is well planned," thought Chevalier Galban to
himself. "Here am I fast bound in the arms of this gypsy. My friends,
the conspirators, know how to set about things."
"Bravo, Diabolka!" applauded Pushkin; and in a trice the three gentlemen
had disappeared from Galban's side; it was unnecessary to watch him
longer. Once Diabolka's net was spun about him, he was caught and
meshed.
Chevalier Galban saw through this also. Yet he was too much a man of the
world, and appreciated pretty women too keenly, to turn from the offered
cup. Accepting the situation, he led her to the buffet, to the ballroom,
to the palm-grove, everywhere, in fact, as faithful cavalier, keeping
the two men, however, always in sight. He began to observe that they
whom he thus watched were also watching him, and to feel convinced that
they would not leave the noisy, overflowing reception-rooms as long as
they saw him there. He planned a stratagem.
As he made the tour of the rooms for the second time with Diabolka he
promised to marry her, and in sign of the betrothal drew off a ring and
placed it on her finger. The girl forgot to ask him his name; but she
well knew the name of the stone that flashed in the ring. It was a
diamond.
"And when you are my husband will you come with me to our encampment
where we mend pots and kettles, and feast on the sheep we have stolen?"
"Not so. When you are my wife you shall come with me into my castle.
There you shall dress yourself in new dresses five times a day, and eat
off silver dishes as if every day were our wedding-day."
"I will tell your fortune with cards; then we will see which is the true
prophecy. Come! Let us hide away in some corner, where no one can see
us."
Diabolka, it appeared, was perfectly at home. She knew exactly where to
press the spring in the wainscot which should open a secret door. Within
this door was a tempting hiding-place, roomy enough for a cooing pair.
The door closed after them. In the crowded rooms one couple was not
missed. In the middle of the little retreat was a round table. On giving
this table a twist it sank, to come up again spread with a tempting
refection, among which champagne, cooled in ice, was not wanting.
Chevalier Galban smiled. So this was the idea. And to make it more
secure they had shut the cat in with the mouse. Poor fools! They think
to catch a serpent in a mouse-trap! Meanwhile, why not amuse himself?
The enemy must be allowed time to get into battle-array. They believe
him disposed of already. And now, safe from his sharp eyes, the
initiated will be betaking themselves to the place of meeting. But where
is this place of meeting? In what hidden portion of this mysterious
building? These and like thoughts rush through his brain. Tschirr! a
sound of shattered glass falling in a thousand pieces on the table.
"When I am by your side, I forbid you to think of anything else. When
you can look into my eyes, do not stare out into the wide world. Or are
you afraid of me? Don't you drink?"
Galban soon proved to her that he was not afraid of her, and that he did
drink. Seizing the bottle, he drank. He may have had his reasons for
thus drinking direct out of the bottle. No sleeping potion can be mixed
with a bottle of champagne, for, once opened, it forces its way out;
while a drug can be easily conveyed into a glass.
Chevalier Galban's suspicion that they might seek to disarm him by means
of a narcotic is the more easily explained in that he himself was
carrying a similar medium in his waistcoat-pocket, with the idea of
ridding himself of any inconvenient obstacle did it come in his way.
But one cannot listen to two things at a time, the beating of one's
heart and the tick of the clock. Galban knew this from experience. He
must rid himself betimes of the dark beauty. They were drinking by turns
from the bottle. One such bottle must do the work for her. Four-fifths
of a champagne bottle standing in ice is frozen; the sleeping powder
shaken into it can only mix with that which remains fluid. The first who
drinks receives the opiate; the next one, drinking the wine as it melts,
takes no harm.
Diabolka's wild abandonment suddenly seemed to give place to a certain
exhaustion; her arms sank wearily to her side; she began to yawn; her
head fell back. For an instant she pulled herself together as though
shaking off the inertia. She must not sleep now when some great danger
might be threatening without. She reached out her hand for the
water-jug. But the potion had been too powerful. Going a step or two,
she staggered; in the act of pressing her hand to her head she fell
into a deep sleep. "Chain up the bear," she stammered. She was already
dreaming of the forest. Then she fell full length on to the ground.
Galban, lifting her on to the couch, pressed the spring. The secret door
opened to his touch, and he found himself once more in the palm-grove.
This was an amphitheatre, some six fathoms high, massed with the rarest
palms from India and Senegal, which in an atmosphere of artificial heat
and sunshine were being coaxed into flourishing in a land where winter
reigns nine months in the year.
Hidden behind a giant cactus, Chevalier Galban peered into the adjacent
apartment, intent upon discovering whether the men he had previously
marked were taking part in the Eleusinian mysteries. None were visible.
It was in truth a _masked_ ball; the ball was the mask, and they who
wore the mask were no longer present.
Where were they then?
All had disappeared, even Pushkin, the head and front of the revels.
He resolved to go in search of them. It was a difficult and dangerous
undertaking. It meant beginning a search in a vast place, utterly
strange to him, to which he had no clew; it meant avoiding any he might
meet, deceiving those who noticed him by simulated intoxication--a
drunken man, not knowing whither he was going; it meant the risk of
being kicked out from intrusive disturbance of flirting couples. And
even if at length he find the spot whither the conspirators had retired,
it is only too probable that some watch would be kept to warn them of
the approach of a suspected person. This watchman he must murder, his
pistol at his breast; for where a guard is necessary, a conspiracy
lurks behind the portal. Then to force his way in. If the doors be
closed, suspicion is well founded. Then is the palace doomed; if need
be, razed to the last stone. If the doors stand open, then to enter with
the words, "In the name of the Czar, you are my prisoners!" Possible
that they may overpower him, but far more likely that they will not. A
detected conspiracy is demoralizing; to say, "If I do not return to
Araktseieff by to-morrow morning, all who are here to-night will fall
into the hands of justice," will be to lame them and bring them to his
feet. Moreover, it is his profession. One man dies in one way, one in
another. The soldier knows the enemy will fire upon him, yet he goes
forward; the sailor knows the sea is treacherous, yet he trusts himself
to it. One man bows his head to the executioner's axe, another bares his
breast to the dagger. In both it is heroism.
And suppose he should find the missing guests round the board of green
cloth, instead of round "the green book," staking their money at the
prohibited roulette-table? _Eh bien!_ then he would join them, and say
nothing to Araktseieff. It would not be a gentleman-like thing to tell
upon them.
In his search he had, in a measure, an Ariadne clew, like that strewn
sand which, according to the fable, served to guide the lost child out
of the wood.
Zeneida had returned from the opera in her costume as Semiramide, her
wealth of reddish golden hair interwoven with real pearls. When
Chevalier Galban, on her triumphal return to the palace, had assisted
the _diva_ to remove the bashlik from her head, he had, unseen and
purposely, severed one of the strings of pearls in her hair. For a time
the thick masses of hair might hold them together, but it was unlikely
that in moving hither and thither one should not occasionally fall to
the ground.
He had already picked up one in the palm-grove; she had, therefore,
passed through there. The second he found in a corridor; a third
betrayed to him the threshold of the apartments into which she had
disappeared. Where she is, there must the others be.