THE DENOUEMENT.
I noticed that the traktir, in settling accounts with his customers,
made use of a peculiar instrument commonly seen in the shops and
market-places throughout the city. Behind a sort of bar or counter at
the head of the room he kept what is called a _schot_, upon which he
made his calculations. This is a frame about a foot square, across
which run numerous wires. On each wire is a string of colored pieces
of wood somewhat resembling billiard-counters, only smaller. The
merchant, trader, traktir, or craftsman engaged in pecuniary
transactions uses this instrument with wonderful dexterity in making
his calculations. He believes it to be the only thing in the world
that will not lie or steal. If you have purchased to the amount of
thirty kopeks, you would naturally conclude that out of a ruble (one
hundred kopeks) your change would amount to seventy. Not so the
sagacious and wary Russian. He takes nothing for granted in the way of
trade. Your calculations may be erroneous--figures obtained through
the medium of mental arithmetic may lie, but the schot never. The
experience of a lifetime goes for nothing. He must have proof
positive. Taking his schot between his knees, he counts off thirty
balls out of a hundred. Of course there is no mistake about that.
Neither you nor he can dispute it. Then he counts the remainder, and
finds that it amounts to seventy--therefore your change is seventy
kopeks! Do you dispute it? Then you can count for yourself. You might
cover pages with written calculations, or demonstrate the problem by
the four cardinal rules of arithmetic; you might express the numbers
by sticks, stones, beans, or grains of coffee, but it would be all
the same to this astute and cautious calculator--facts can only reach
his understanding through the colored balls of his beloved schot. I
don't think he would rely with certainty upon the loose verbal
statement that two and two make four without resorting to the schot
for a verification. But to proceed:
A few of the guests, too far gone with "little water" to get up and
perform their devotions, rolled over on the floor and went to sleep.
The lights grew dim. A gloomy silence began to settle over the room,
interrupted only by the occasional grunting or snoring of the
sleepers. The ruffians who sat at the table with me had been nodding
for some time; but, roused by the cessation of noises, they called to
the man of the house, and in a low voice gave him some orders. He got
a light and opened a small door in a recess at one side of the room. I
was then lifted up by the others and carried into an adjoining
passage, and thence up a narrow stairway. In a large dingy room
overhead I could see by the flickering rays of the lamp a bed in one
corner. It was not very clean--none of the Russian beds are--but they
laid me in it, nevertheless, for I could offer no remonstrance. What
they had hitherto done was bad enough, but this capped the climax of
outrages. Were the cowardly villains afraid to murder me, and was this
their plan of getting it done, and at the same time getting rid of the
body? Great heavens! was I to be devoured piecemeal by a rapacious
horde of the wild beasts that are said to infest the Russian beds! And
utterly helpless, too, without the power to grapple with as much as a
single flea--the least formidable, perhaps, of the entire gang! It was
absolutely fearful to contemplate such an act of premeditated
barbarity; yet what could I do, unable to speak a word or move a limb.
I am reminded by this that the Russians derive the most striking
features of their civilization from the French and Germans. Their
fashions, their tailors, their confectioners, their perfumeries, their
barbers, are nearly all French or Germans; but their baths are a
national institution, derived originally, perhaps, from the Orientals.
We hear a good deal of Russian baths, especially from enthusiastic
travelers, and are apt to suppose that where such a thorough system of
scrubbing and boiling prevails, the human cuticle must present a very
extraordinary aspect of cleanliness. Perhaps this is so in certain
cases, but it is not a national characteristic. A Russian bath, in the
genuine style, is rather a costly luxury. There are, to be sure, in
St. Petersburg and Moscow, public bath-houses for the rabble, where
the filthiest beggar can be boiled out and scrubbed for a few kopeks;
but people who wear a coating of dirt habitually must become attached
to it in the course of time, and hate very much to dispose of it at
any price. At least there seemed to be a prejudice of this kind in
Moscow, where the affection with which this sort of overlining is
preserved is quite equal to that with which the Germans adhere to
their old household furniture. It may be, perhaps, that the few summer
months which they enjoy are insufficient for the removal of all the
strange things that accumulate upon the body during the long winters.
The poorer classes seldom remove their furs or change their clothing
till warm weather and the natural wear and tear of all perishable
things cause them to drop off of their own accord. I have seen on a
scorching hot day men wrapped in long woolen coats, doubled over the
breast and securely fastened around the waist, and great boots,
capacious enough and thick enough for fire-buckets, in which they were
half buried, strolling lazily along in the sun, as if they absolutely
enjoyed its warmth; and yet these very articles of clothing, with but
little addition, must have borne the piercing winds of midwinter. A
suspicion crossed my mind that they were trying in this way to bag a
little heat for winter use, as the old burghers of Schilda bagged the
light to put in their town hall because they had no windows. These
strange habits must have something to do with the number of ferocious
little animals--I will not degrade their breed and variety by calling
them, vermin--which infest the rooms and beds. But the Russian skin is
like Russian leather--the best and toughest in the world. Something in
the climate is good for the production of thick and lasting cuticles.
It is doubtless a wise provision of nature, based upon the extremes of
heat and cold to which these people are exposed. There is no good
reason why animals with four feet should be more favored in this
respect than bipeds. I doubt if an ordinary Russian would suffer the
slightest inconvenience if a needle were run into the small of his
back. All those physical torments which disturb thin-skinned people
from other countries are no torments at all to him; and I incline to
the opinion that it is the constant experience he enjoys in a small
way that enables him to endure the wounds received in battle with such
wonderful stoicism. A man can carry a bull if he only commences when
the animal is young. Why not, on the same principle, accustom himself
to being stabbed every night till he can quietly endure to be run
through with a bayonet? The Russian soldiers possess wonderful powers
of passive endurance. Being stabbed or cut to pieces is second nature
to them--they have been accustomed to it, in a degree, from early
infancy. Who does not remember how they were hewed and hacked down in
the Crimean War, and yet came to life again by thousands after they
were given up for dead? Perhaps no other soldiers in the world possess
such stoicism under the inflictions of pain. They stand an enormous
amount of killing; more so, I think, than any other people, unless it
may be the Irish, who, at the battle of Vinegar Hill, in the rebellion
of '98, were nearly all cut to pieces and left for dead on the field,
but got up in a day or two after and went at it again as lively as
ever. This, however, was not owing to the same early experience, but
to the healthy blood made of potatoes, with a slight sprinkling of
Irish whisky. In fine, I don't think a genuine Muscovite could sleep
without a bountiful supply of vermin to titillate his skin any more
than a miller bereft of the customary noise of his hoppers.
Which brings me back again to the adventure. On that filthy bed the
ruffians laid me down to be devoured by the wild beasts by which it
was infested. Then they turned about to a shrine that stood in a
corner of the room, and each one bowed down before it three times and
crossed himself, after which they all left the room and quietly closed
the door behind them. I was penetrated with horror at the thought of
the terrible death before me, but not so much as to avoid noticing
that the chief furniture of the room consisted of a stove in one
corner, of cylindrical form, made of terra-cotta or burnt clay, and
glazed outside. It was colored in rather a fanciful way, like
queensware, and made a conspicuous appearance, reaching from the floor
to the ceiling. This was the genuine Russian stove, with which these
people no doubt kept themselves warm during the winter. The windows
are composed of double glasses, and between the sashes the space is
filled with sand to keep out the air, so that to be hermetically
sealed up is one of necessities of existence in this rigorous climate.
While I was pondering over the marvelous fact that people can live by
breathing so many thousand gallons of air over and over so many
thousand times, a whole legion of fleas, chinches, and other animals
of a still more forbidding aspect commenced their horrid work, and
would probably soon have made an end of me but for a new turn in this
most extraordinary affair. The door gently opened. A figure glided in
on tiptoe. It was that of a female, I knew by the grace and elegance
of her motions, even before I could see her face or trace the
undulating outline of her form in the dim light that pervaded the
room. My senses were acutely alive to every movement, yet I was
utterly unable to move, owing to the infernal drug with which they had
dosed me. The woman, or rather girl--for she could not have been over
eighteen or nineteen--cautiously approached the bed, with her finger
to her lips, as if warning me not to speak. She was very beautiful--I
was not insensible to that fact. Her features were wonderfully
aristocratic for one in her position, and there was something in the
expression of her dark, gleaming eyes peculiarly earnest and pathetic.
Her hair was tossed wildly and carelessly back over her shoulders--she
had evidently just risen from bed, for her costume consisted of
nothing more than a loose night-wrapper, which fell in graceful folds
around her limbs, revealing to great advantage the exquisite symmetry
of her form. I was certain she did not belong to the house.
Approaching timidly, yet with a certain air of determination, she bent
down and gazed a moment in my face, and then hurriedly whispered in
French, "Now is the time--let us escape! They lie sleeping by the
door. A servant whom I bribed has disclosed the fact of your capture
to me; I also am a prisoner in this horrid den. Will you save me? Oh,
will you fly with me?" Of course, being unable to move a muscle,
except those of my eyes, I could not open my mouth to utter a word in
reply. The unhappy young woman looked profoundly distressed that I
should thus gaze at her in silence. "Oh, what am I to do? Who will
save me?" she cried, wringing her hands in the deepest anguish: "I
have not a friend upon earth!" Then, clasping me by the hand, she
looked in my face appealingly, and said, "Monsieur, I know you are a
Frenchman. I see it in the chivalrous lines of your countenance. Ah!
have pity on a friendless young girl, and do not gaze at her with such
chilling indifference. I also am French. These wretches have waylaid
and imprisoned me, and they hope to obtain a ransom by my detention.
My friends are ignorant of my miserable fate. What can I do, monsieur,
unless you assist me?"
Utterly helpless--drugged--yet perfectly conscious of all the lovely
creature was saying, I was truly in a most deplorable situation. Again
and again she begged me, if there was a spark of French chivalry left
in my nature, not to respond to her appeals by such a look of
unutterable disdain. She was thrillingly beautiful; and beauty in
tears is enough to melt the hardest heart that ever was put in the
breast of man. I could feel her balmy breath upon my face, and the
warmth of her delicate hand in mine, as she struggled to arouse me;
and I declare it is my honest conviction that, had I been simply a
corpse, life would have come back to my assistance; but this
diabolical drug possessed some extraordinary power against which not
even the fascinations of beauty could successfully contend. Under
other circumstances, indeed, there is no telling--but why talk of
other circumstances? There I lay like a log, completely paralyzed from
head to foot. At length, unable to elicit an answer, a flush of
mingled indignation and scorn illuminated her beautiful features, and,
drawing herself back with a haughty air, she said, "If this be the
boasted chivalry of my countrymen, then the sooner it meets with a
merited reward the better. Allow me to say, monsieur, that while I
admire your prudence, I scorn the spirit that prompts it!" and, with a
glance of fierce disdain, she swept with queenly strides out of the
room. A moment after I heard some voices in the passage, and scarcely
five minutes had elapsed before the door was opened again. To my
horror I saw the ruffian who had first followed me enter stealthily
with a darkened lantern, and approach toward my bed. He carried in his
right hand a heavy bar of iron. Stopping a moment opposite a shrine on
one side of the room, he laid down his lamp and bar, and, bowing down
three times, crossed himself devoutly, and then proceeded to
accomplish his fiendish work. No conception can be formed of the agony
with which I now regarded my fate. Crouching low as he approached, the
wretch soon reached my bedside, peered a moment into my face with his
hideous white eyes, laid down the lamp, then grasped the bar of iron
firmly in both hands, and raised himself up to his full height. I made
a desperate effort to cry out for help. My voice was utterly gone. I
could not even move my lips. But why prolong the dreadful scene? One
more glance with the fierce white eyes, a deep grating malediction,
and the ruffian braced himself for his deadly job. He tightened his
grip upon the bar, swung it high over his head, and with one fell
blow--DASHED MY BRAINS OUT!!
* * * * *
Don't believe it, eh?
Well, sir, you would insist upon my telling you the adventure, and now
I stand by it! If it be your deliberate opinion that my statement is
not to be relied upon, nothing remains between us but to arrange the
preliminaries. I have no disposition to deprive my publishers of a
valuable contributor, or society of an ornament; but, sir, the great
principles of truth must be maintained. As it will not be convenient
for me to attend to this matter in person, you will be pleased to
select any friend of mine in California who may desire to stand up for
my honor; place him before you at the usual distance of ten paces;
then name any friend of yours at present in Europe as a similar
substitute for yourself--the principals only to use pistols--notify me
by the Icelandic telegraph when you are ready, and then, upon return
of signal, pop away at my friend. But, since it is not my wish to
proceed to such an extremity unnecessarily, if you will admit that I
may possibly have been deceived--that there may have been some
hallucination about the adventure--that strong tea and nervous
excitement may have had something to do with it, then, sir, I am
willing to leave the matter open to future negotiation.
It is true I found myself in my room at the _Hotel de Venise_ when I
recovered from the stunning effects of the blow; also, that the door
was locked on the inside; but I am by no means prepared to give up the
point on such flimsy evidence as that. Should the physiological fact
be developed in the course of these sketches that there is still any
portion of the brain left, and that it performs its legitimate
functions, of course I shall be forced to admit that the case is at
least doubtful; yet even then it can not be regarded in the light of a
pure fabrication. Has not Dickens given us, in his "Dreams of Venice,"
the most vivid and truthful description of the City of the Sea ever
written; and what have I done, at the worst, but try in my humble way
to give you a general idea of Moscow in the pleasing form of a
midnight adventure, ending in an assassination? You have seen the
Kremlin and the Church of St. Basil, and the by-streets and alleys,
and the interior of a low traktir, and the cats, and the Russian beds,
and many other interesting features of this wonderful city, in a
striking and peculiar point of view, and I hold that you have no right
to complain because, like Louis Philippe, I sacrificed my crown for
the benefit of my subject. Besides, has not my friend Bayard Taylor
given to the world his wonderful experiences of the Hasheesh of
Damascus; his varied and extraordinary hallucinations of intellect
during the progress of its operations? And why should not I my humble
experiences of the tchai of Moscow?
_Reader._ Slightly sprinkled with _vodka_, or "the little water."
Oh, that was just thrown in to give additional effect to the tea!
_Reader._ It won't do, sir--it won't do! The deception was too
transparent throughout.
Well, then, since you saw through it from the beginning, there is no
harm done, and you can readily afford to make an apology for impugning
my voracity.
_Lady Reader._ But who was the heroine? What became of her?
Ah! my dear madam, there you have me! I suspect she was a French
countess, or more likely an actress engaged in the line of tragedy.
Her style, at all events, was tragical.
_Lady Reader_ (elevating her lovely eyebrows superciliously). She was
rather demonstrative, it must be admitted. You brought her in
apparently to fulfill your promise, but sent her off the stage very
suddenly. You should, at least, have restored her to her friends, and
not left her in that den of robbers.
That, dear madam, was my natural inclination; but the fact is, d'ye
see, I was drugged--
_Lady Reader_ (sarcastically). It won't do, Mr. Butterfield--your
heroine was a failure! In future you had better confine yourself to
facts--or fresh water.
Madam, I'd confine myself to the Rock of Gibraltar or an iceberg to
oblige you; therefore, with your permission, I shall proceed to give
you, in my next, a reliable description of the Kremlin.