strong box to be brought, and sent the nurse out of the room. It
was a very handsome box of ebony, with beautiful inlaid work.
The key clicked in the lock, the spring lid sprang up, and the eyes
of the old princess became set in their sockets, full of
bewilderment and terror. Twenty-four thousand rubles in bills,
which she herself with her own hands had yesterday laid on the top
of the other securities, were no longer in the strong box. All the
unsigned bank securities were also gone. The securities in the
name of her daughter Anna had likewise disappeared. There remained
only the signed securities in the name of the old princess and her
son, and a few shares of stock. In the place of all that was gone,
there lay a note directed "to Princess Chechevinski."
The old lady's fingers trembled so that for a long time she could
not unfold this paper. Her staring eyes wandered hither and
thither as if she had lost her senses. At last she managed somehow
to unfold the note, and began to read:
"You cursed me, forced me to flee, and unjustly deprived me of my
inheritance. I am taking my money by force. You may inform the
police, but when you read this note, I myself and he who carried
out this act by my directions, will have left St. Petersburg
forever.
"Your daughter,
"PRINCESS ANNA CHECHEVINSKI."
The old lady's hands did not fall at her sides, but shifted about
on her lap as if they did not belong to her. Her wandering,
senseless eyes stopped their movements, and in them suddenly
appeared an expression of deep meaning. The old princess made a
terrible, superhuman effort to recover her presence of mind and
regain command over herself. A single faint groan broke from her
breast, and her teeth chattered. She began to look about the room
for a light, but the lamp had been extinguished; the dull gray
daylight filtering through the Venetian blinds sufficiently lit the
room. Then the old lady, with a strange, irregular movement,
crushed the note together in her hand, placed it in her mouth, and
with a convulsive movement of her jaws chewed it, trying to swallow
it as quickly as possible.
A minute passed, and the note had disappeared. The old princess
closed the strong box and rang for the day nurse. Giving her the
usual order in a quiet voice, she had still strength enough to
support herself on her elbow and watch the nurse closing the
wardrobe, and then to put the little bag with the keys back under
her pillow, in its accustomed place. Then she again ordered the
nurse to go.
When, two hours later, the doctor, coming for the third time,
wished to see his patient and entered her bedroom, he found only
the old woman's lifeless body. The blow had been too much--the
daughter of the ancient and ever honorable line of Chechevinski a
fugitive and a thief!
Natasha had had her revenge.
VII
BEYOND THE FRONTIER
On the morning of that same day, at nine o'clock, a well-dressed
lady presented at the Bank of Commerce a number of unsigned bank
shares. At the same time a young man, also elegantly dressed,
presented a series of signed shares, made out in the name of
"Princess Anna Chechevinski." They were properly indorsed, the
signature corresponding to that in the bank books.
After a short interval the cashier of the bank paid over to the
well-dressed lady a hundred and fifty thousand rubles in bills, and
to the elegantly dressed young man seventy thousand rubles. The
lady signed her receipt in French, Teresa Dore; the young man
signed his name, Ivan Afonasieff, son of a merchant of Kostroma.
A little later on the same day--namely, about two o'clock--a light
carriage carried two passengers along the Pargoloff road: a quietly
dressed young woman and a quietly dressed young man. Toward
evening these same young people were traveling in a Finnish coach
by the stony mountain road in the direction of Abo.
Four days later the old Princesss Chechevinski was buried in the
Nevski monastery.
On his return from the monastery, young Prince Chechevinski went
straight for the strong box, which he had hitherto seen only at a
distance, and even then only rarely. He expected to find a great
deal more money in it than he found--some hundred and fifty
thousand rubles; a hundred thousand in his late mother's name, and
fifty thousand in his own. This was the personal property of the
old princess, a part of her dowry. The young prince made a wry
face--the money might last him two or three years, not more.
During the lifetime of the old princess no one had known accurately
how much she possessed, so that it never even entered the young
prince's head to ask whether she had not had more. He was so
unmethodical that he never even looked into her account book,
deciding that it was uninteresting and not worth while.
That same day the janitor of one of the huge, dirty tenements in
Vosnesenski Prospekt brought to the police office notice of the
fact that the Pole, Kasimir Bodlevski, had left the city; and the
housekeeper of the late Princess Chechevinski informed the police
that the serf girl Natalia Pavlovna (Natasha) had disappeared
without leaving a trace, which the housekeeper now announced, as
the three days' limit had elapsed.
At that same hour the little ship of a certain Finnish captain was
gliding down the Gulf of Bothnia. The Finn stood at the helm and
his young son handled the sails. On the deck sat a young man and a
young woman. The young woman carried, in a little bag hung round
her neck, two hundred and forty-four thousand rubles in bills, and
she and her companion carried pistols in their pockets for use in
case of need. Their passports declared that the young woman
belonged to the noble class, and was the widow of a college
assessor, her name being Maria Solontseva, while the young man was
a Pole, Kasimir Bodlevski.
The little ship was crossing the Gulf of Bothnia toward the coast
of Sweden.
VIII
BACK TO RUSSIA
In the year 1858, in the month of September, the "Report of the St.
Petersburg City Police" among the names of "Arrivals" included the
following:
Baroness von Doring, Hanoverian subject.
Ian Vladislav Karozitch, Austrian subject.
The persons above described might have been recognized among the
fashionable crowds which thronged the St. Petersburg terminus of
the Warsaw railway a few days before: A lady who looked not more
than thirty, though she was really thirty-eight, dressed with
simple elegance, tall and slender, admirably developed, with
beautifully clear complexion, piercing, intelligent gray eyes,
under finely outlined brows, thick chestnut hair, and a firm mouth-
-almost a beauty, and with an expression of power, subtlety and
decision. "She is either a queen or a criminal," a physiognomist
would have said after observing her face. A gentleman with a red
beard, whom the lady addressed as "brother," not less elegantly
dressed, and with the same expression of subtlety and decision.
They left the station in a hired carriage, and drove to Demuth's
Hotel.
Before narrating the adventures of these distinguished persons, let
us go back twenty years, and ask what became of Natasha and
Bodlevski. When last we saw them the ship that carried them away
from Russia was gliding across the Gulf of Bothnia toward the
Swedish coast. Late in the evening it slipped into the port of
Stockholm, and the worthy Finn, winding in and out among the heavy
hulls in the harbor--he was well used to the job--landed his
passengers on the wharf at a lonely spot near a lonely inn, where
the customs officers rarely showed their noses. Bodlevski, who had
beforehand got ready the very modest sum to pay for their passage,
with pitiable looks and gestures and the few Russian phrases the
good Finn could understand, assured him that he was a very poor
man, and could not even pay the sum agreed on in full. The deficit
was inconsiderable, some two rubles in all, and the good Finn was
magnanimous; he slapped his passenger on the shoulder, called him a
"good comrade," declared that he would not press a poor man, and
would always be ready to do him a service. He even found quarters
for Bodlevski and Natasha in the inn, under his protection. The
Finn was indeed a very honest smuggler. On the next morning,
bidding a final farewell to their nautical friend, our couple made
their way to the office of the British Consul, and asked for an
opportunity to speak with him. At this point Natasha played the
principal role.
'My husband is a Pole," said the handsome girl, taking a seat
opposite the consul in his private office, "and I myself am Russian
on the father's side, but my mother was English. My husband is
involved in a political enterprise; he was liable to transportation
to Siberia, but a chance made it possible for us to escape while
the police were on their way to arrest him. We are now political
fugitives, and we intrust our lives to the protection of English
law. Be generous, protect us, and send us to England!"
The ruse, skillfully planned and admirably presented, was
completely successful, and two or three days later the first
passenger ship under the English flag carried the happy couple to
London.
Bodlevski destroyed his own passport and that of the college
assessor's widow, Maria Solontseva, which Natasha had needed as a
precaution while still on Russian soil. When they got to England,
it would be much handier to take new names. But with their new
position and these new names a great difficulty presented itself:
they could find no suitable outlet for their capital without
arousing very dangerous suspicions. The many-sided art of the
London rogues is known to all the world; in their club, Bodlevski,
who had lost no time in making certain pleasant and indispensable
acquaintances there, soon succeeded in getting for himself and
Natasha admirably counterfeited new passports, once more with new
names and occupations. With these, in a short time, they found
their way to the Continent. They both felt the full force of youth
and a passionate desire to live and enjoy life; in their hot heads
hummed many a golden hope and plan; they wished, to begin with, to
invest their main capital somewhere, and then to travel over
Europe, and to choose a quiet corner somewhere where they could
settle down to a happy life.
Perhaps all this might have happened if it had not been for cards
and roulette and the perpetual desire of increasing their capital--
for the worthy couple fell into the hands of a talented company,
whose agents robbed them at Frascati's in Paris, and again in
Hamburg and various health resorts, so that hardly a year had
passed when Bodlevski one fine night woke up to the fact that they
no longer possessed a ruble. But they had passed a brilliant year,
their arrival in the great cities had had its effect, and
especially since Natasha had become a person of title; in the
course of the year she succeeded in purchasing an Austrian barony
at a very reasonable figure--a barony which, of course, only
existed on paper.
When all his money was gone, there was nothing left for Bodlevski
but to enroll himself a member of the company which had so
successfully accomplished the transfer of his funds to their own
pockets. Natasha's beauty and Bodlevski's brains were such strong
arguments that the company willingly accepted them as new recruits.
The two paid dear for their knowledge, it is true, but their
knowledge presently began to bear fruit in considerable abundance.
Day followed day, and year succeeded year, a long series of
horribly anxious nights, violent feelings, mental perturbations,
crafty and subtle schemes, a complete cycle of rascalities, an
entire science of covering up tracks, and the perpetual shadow of
justice, prison, and perhaps the scaffold. Bodlevski, with his
obstinate, persistent, and concentrated character, reached the
highest skill in card-sharping and the allied wiles. All games of
"chance" were for him games of skill. At thirty he looked at least
ten years older. The life he led, with its ceaseless effort,
endless mental work, perpetual anxiety, had made of him a fanatical
worshiper at the shrine of trickery. He dried up visibly in body
and grew old in mind, mastering all the difficult arts of his
profession, and only gained confidence and serenity when he had
reached the highest possible skill in every branch of his "work."
From that moment he took a new lease of life; he grew younger, he
became gay and self-confident, his health even visibly improved,
and he assumed the air and manner of a perfect gentleman.
As for Natasha, her life and efforts in concert with Bodlevski by
no means had the same wearing effect on her as on him. Her proud,
decided nature received all these impressions quite differently.
She continued to blossom out, to grow handsomer, to enjoy life, to
take hearts captive. All the events which aroused so keen a mental
struggle in her companion she met with entire equanimity. The
reason was this: When she made up her mind to anything, she always
decided at once and with unusual completeness; a very short time
given to keen and accurate consideration, a rapid weighing of the
gains and losses of the matter in hand, and then she went forward
coldly and unswervingly on her chosen path. Her first aim in life
had been revenge, then a brilliant and luxurious life--and she knew
that they would cost dear. Therefore, once embarked on her
undertaking, Natasha remained calm and indifferent, brilliantly
distinguished, and ensnaring the just and the unjust alike. Her
intellect, education, skill, resource, and innate tact made it
possible for her everywhere to gain a footing in select
aristocratic society, and to play by no means the least role there.
Many beauties envied her, detested her, spoke evil of her, and yet
sought her friendship, because she almost always queened it in
society. Her friendship and sympathy always seemed so cordial, so
sincere and tender, and her epigrams were so pointed and poisonous,
that every hostile criticism seemed to shrivel up in that
glittering fire, and there seemed to be nothing left but to seek
her friendship and good will. For instance, if things went well in
Baden, one could confidently foretell that at the end of the summer
season Natasha would be found in Nice or Geneva, queen of the
winter season, the lioness of the day, and the arbiter of fashion.
She and Bodlevski always behaved with such propriety and watchful
care that not a shadow ever fell on Natasha's fame. It is true
that Bodlevski had to change his name once or twice and to seek a
new field for his talents, and to make sudden excursions to distant
corners of Europe--sometimes in pursuit of a promising "job,"
sometimes to evade the too persistent attentions of the police. So
far everything had turned out favorably, and his name "had remained
unstained," when suddenly a slight mishap befell. The matter was a
trifling one, but the misfortune was that it happened in Paris.
There was a chance that it might find issue in the courts and the
hulks, so that there ensued a more than ordinarily rapid change of
passports and a new excursion--this time to Russia, back to their
native land again, after an absence of twenty years. Thus it
happened that the papers announced the arrival in St. Petersburg of
Baroness von Doring and Ian Vladislav Karozitch.
IX
THE CONCERT OF THE POWERS
A few days after there was a brilliant reunion at Princess
Shadursky's. All the beauty and fashion of St. Petersburg were
invited, and few who were invited failed to come. It happened that
Prince Shadursky was an admirer of the fair sex, and also that he
had had the pleasure of meeting the brilliant Baroness von Doring
at Hamburg, and again in Paris. It was, therefore, to be expected
that Baroness von Doring should be found in the midst of an
admiring throng at Princess Shadursky's reception. Her brother,
Ian Karozitch, was also there, suave, alert, dignified, losing no
opportunity to make friends with the distinguished company that
thronged he prince's rooms.
Late in the evening the baroness and her brother might have been
seen engaged in a tete-a-tete, seated in two comfortable armchairs,
and anyone who was near enough might have heard the following
conversation:
"How goes it?" Karozitch asked in a low tone.
"As you see, I am making a bit," answered the baroness in the same
quiet tone. But her manner was so detached and indifferent that no
one could have guessed her remark was of the least significance.
It should be noted that this was her first official presentation to
St. Petersburg society. And in truth her beauty, united with her
lively intellect, her amiability, and her perfect taste in dress,
had produced a general and even remarkable effect. People talked
about her and became interested in her, and her first evening won
her several admirers among those well placed in society.
"I have been paying attention to the solid capitalists," replied
Karozitch; "we have made our debut in the role of practical actors.
Well, what about him?" he continued, indicating Prince Shadursky
with his eyes.
"In the web," she replied, with a subtle smile.
"Then we can soon suck his brains?"
"Soon--but he must be tied tighter first. But we must not talk
here." A moment later Karozitch and the baroness were in the midst
of the brilliant groups of guests.
A few late corners were still arriving. "Count Kallash!" announced
the footman, who stood at the chief entrance to the large hall.
At this new and almost unknown but high-sounding name, many eyes
were turned toward the door through which the newcomer must enter.
A hum of talk spread among the guests:
"Count Kallash--"
"Who is he--?"
"It is a Hungarian name--I think I heard of him somewhere."
"Is this his first appearance?"
"Who is this Kallash? Oh, yes, one of the old Hungarian families--"
"How interesting--"
Such questions and answers crossed each other in a running fire
among the various groups of guests who filled the hall, when a
young man appeared in the doorway.
He lingered a moment to glance round the rooms and the company;
then, as if conscious of the remarks and glances directed toward
him, but completely "ignoring" them, and without the least shyness
or awkwardness, he walked quietly through the hall to the host and
hostess of the evening.
People of experience, accustomed to society and the ways of the
great world, can often decide from the first minute the role which
anyone is likely to play among them. People of experience, at the
first view of this young man, at his first entrance, merely by the
way he entered the hall, decided that his role in society would be
brilliant--that more than one feminine heart would beat faster for
his presence, that more than one dandy's wrath would be kindled by
his successes.
"How handsome he is!" a whisper went round among the ladies. The
men for the most part remained silent. A few twisted the ends of
their mustache and made as though they had not noticed him. This
was already enough to foreshadow a brilliant career.
And indeed Count Kallash could not have passed unnoticed, even
among a thousand young men of his class. Tall and vigorous,
wonderfully well proportioned, he challenged comparison with
Antinous. His pale face, tanned by the sun, had an expression
almost of weariness. His high forehead, with clustering black hair
and sharply marked brows, bore the impress of passionate feeling
and turbulent thought strongly repressed. It was difficult to
define the color of his deep-set, somewhat sunken eyes, which now
flashed with southern fire, and were now veiled, so that one seemed
to be looking into an abyss. A slight mustache and pointed beard
partly concealed the ironical smile that played on his passionate
lips. The natural grace of good manners and quiet but admirably
cut clothes completed the young man's exterior, behind which, in
spite of all his reticence, could be divined a haughty and
exceptional nature. A more profound psychologist would have seen
in him an obstinately passionate, ungrateful nature, which takes
from others everything it desires, demanding it from them as a
right and without even a nod of acknowledgment. Such was Count
Nicholas Kallash.
A few days after the reception at Prince Shadursky's Baroness von
Doring was installed in a handsome apartment on Mokhovoi Street, at
which her "brother," Ian Karozitch, or, to give him his former
name, Bodlevski, was a frequent visitor. By a "lucky accident" he
had met on the day following the reception our old friend Sergei
Antonovitch Kovroff, the "captain of the Golden Band." Their
recognition was mutual, and, after a more or less faithful recital
of the events of the intervening years, they had entered into an
offensive and defensive alliance.
When Baroness von Doring was comfortably settled in her new
quarters, Sergei Antonovitch brought a visitor to Bodlevski: none
other than the Hungarian nobleman, Count Nicholas Kallash.
"Gentlemen, you are strangers; let me introduce you to each other,"
said Kovroff, presenting Count Kallash to Bodlevski.
"Very glad to know you," answered the Hungarian count, to
Bodlevski's astonishment in Russian; "very glad, indeed! I have
several times had the honor of hearing of you. Was it not you who
had some trouble about forged notes in Paris?"
"Oh, no! You are mistaken, dear count!" answered Bodlevski, with a
pleasant smile. "The matter was not of the slightest importance.
The amount was a trifle and I was unwilling even to appear in
court!"
"You preferred a little journey to Russia, didn't you?" Kovroff
remarked with a smile.
"Little vexations of that kind may happen to anyone," said
Bodlevski, ignoring Kovroff's interruption. "You yourself, dear
count, had some trouble about some bonds, if I am not mistaken?"
"You are mistaken," the count interrupted him sharply. "I have had
various troubles, but I prefer not to talk about them."
"Gentlemen," interrupted Kovroff, "we did not come here to quarrel,
but to talk business. Our good friend Count Kallash," he went on,
turning to Bodlevski, "wishes to have the pleasure of cooperating
in our common undertaking, and--I can recommend him very highly."
"Ah!" said Bodlevski, after a searching study of the count's face.
"I understand! the baroness will return in a few minutes and then
we can discuss matters at our leisure."
But in spite of this understanding it was evident that Bodlevski
and Count Kallash had not impressed each other very favorably.
This, however, did not prevent the concert of the powers from
working vigorously together.
X
AN UNEXPECTED REUNION
On the wharf of the Fontauka, not far from Simeonovski Bridge, a
crowd was gathered. In the midst of the crowd a dispute raged
between an old woman, tattered, disheveled, miserable, and an
impudent-looking youth. The old woman was evidently stupid from
misery and destitution.
While the quarrel raged a new observer approached the crowd. He
was walking leisurely, evidently without an aim and merely to pass
the time, so it is not to be wondered at that the loud dispute
arrested his attention.
"Who are you, anyway, you old hag? What is your name?" cried the
impudent youth.
"My name? My name?" muttered the old woman in confusion. "I am a--
I am a princess," and she blinked at the crowd.
Everyone burst out laughing. "Her Excellency, the Princess! Make
way for the Princess!" cried the youth.
The old woman burst into sudden anger.
"Yes, I tell you, I am a princess by birth!" and her eyes flashed
as she tried to draw herself up and impose on the bantering crowd.
"Princess What? Princess Which? Princess How?" cried the impudent
youth, and all laughed loudly.
"No! Not Princess How!" answered the old woman, losing the last
shred of self-restraint; but Princess Che-che-vin-ski! Princess
Anna Chechevinski!"
When he heard this name Count Kallash started and his whole
expression changed. He grew suddenly pale, and with a vigorous
effort pushed his way through the crowd to the miserable old
woman's side.
"Come!" he said, taking her by the arm. "Come with me! I have
something for you!"