THE OLD JEW
We halted for the night at a small town, with some five or six thousand
inhabitants as I judged, of whom three-fourths appeared to be Jews.
Compared with the villages we had passed, the place was a flourishing
one; and seemed quiet enough, though here again, as at Wilna and Riga,
there was something ominous in the air. Nearly all the business was in
the hands of the Jews; and their shops and houses, poor enough,
according to civilized notions, were far and away more prosperous
looking than those of their Russian neighbors; while their synagogue was
the most imposing block in the town, which is not saying much, perhaps.
We put up at the best inn in the place, where we found fresh horses
waiting us, as we had done at a village half-way on our day's march,
under the care of a couple of men in uniform. There was a telegraph wire
to Zostrov, and Mishka had sent word of our coming. I learned later
that, when the Grand Duke was in residence, a constant line of
communication was maintained with relays of horses for carriages or
riders between the Castle and the railroad.
I had wondered, when Mishka told me the arrangements for the journey,
why on earth motor cars weren't used over this last stage, but when I
found what the roads were like, when there were any roads at all, I
guessed it was wise to rely on horses, and on the light and strong
Russian travelling carriages that go gayly over the roughest track,
rather than on the best built motor procurable.
The landlord of the inn was a Jew, of course,--a lean old man with
greasy ear locks and a long beard, above which his hooked nose looked
like the beak of a dejected eagle. He welcomed us with cringing
effusion, and gave us of his best. I'd have thought the place filthy, if
I hadn't seen and smelt those Russian villages; but it was well
appointed in a way. The dinner-table, set in the one bedroom which we
were to share, so that we might dine privately and in state, was spread
with a cloth, which, though grimy to a degree, was of fine damask, and
displayed forks, spoons, and candlesticks of solid silver. The frowsy
sheets and coverlids on the three beds were of linen and silk. Evidently
Moses Barzinsky was a wealthy man; and his wife,--a fat dame, with beady
eyes and a preposterous black wig,--served us up as good a meal as I've
ever tasted. I complimented her on it when she brought in the samovar;
for here, in the wilds, it didn't seem to matter about keeping up my
pretended ignorance of the language. She was flattered, and assumed
quite a motherly air towards me; she didn't cringe like her husband. As
I sat there, sipping my tea, and chatting with her, I little guessed
what would befall the comfortable, homely, good-tempered old lady a very
few days hence. Mishka listened in disapproving silence to our
interchange of badinage, and, when our hostess retreated, he entered on
a grumbling protest.
"You are very indiscreet," he grunted. "Why do you want to chatter with
a thing like that?"
He jerked his pipe towards the doorway; Mishka despised the cigarette
which, to every other Russian I have met, seems as necessary to life as
the air he breathes; and when he hadn't a cigar fell back on a
distinctly malodorous briar.
"Why in thunder shouldn't I talk to her?" I demanded. "She's the only
creature I've heard laugh since I got back into Holy Russia; it cheers
one up a bit, even to look at her!"
"You are a fool," was his complimentary retort. "And she is
another--like all women--or she would know these are no days for
laughter. But, I tell you once more, you cannot be too cautious. You
must remember that you know no Russian. You are only an American who has
come to help the prince while away his time of exile by trying to turn
the Zostrov _moujiks_ into good farmers. That, in itself, is a form of
madness, of course, but doubtless they think it may keep him out of more
dangerous mischief."
"Who are 'they'? I wish you'd be a bit more explicit," I remonstrated.
He did make me angry sometimes.
"That is not my business," he answered stolidly. "My business is to obey
orders, and one of those is to bring you safely to Zostrov."
I could not see how my innocent conversation with the fat Jewish
housewife could endanger the safety of either of us; but I had already
learned that it was quite useless to argue with Mishka; so, adopting
Brer Fox's tactics, "I lay low and said nuffin." We smoked in silence
for some minutes, while I mused over the strangeness of my position. I
had determined to return to Russia in search of Anne; had hailed
Mishka's intervention, seized on the opportunity provided by the Grand
Duke's invitation, as if they were God-sent. And yet here I was,
seemingly even farther from news of her than I had been in England,
playing my part as a helpless pawn in a game that I did not understand
in the least.
The landlord entered presently, and obsequiously beckoned Mishka to the
far end of the room, where they held a whispered conversation, which I
tried not to listen to, though I could not help overhearing frequent
references to the _starosta_ (mayor), an important functionary in a town
of this size, and the commandant of the garrison. From my post of
observation by the window I had already noticed a great number of
soldiers about; though whether there was anything unusual in the
presence of such a strong military force I, of course, did not know.
Mishka crossed over to me.
"I am going out for a time. You will remain here?"
"I'll see. Perhaps I'll go for a stroll later," I replied. It had
occurred to me that he regarded me almost as a prisoner, and I wanted to
make sure on that point.
"Please yourself," he returned in his sullen manner. "But if you go,
remember my warning, and observe caution. If there should be any
disturbance in the streets, keep out of it; or, if you should be within
here, close the shutters and put the lights out."
"All right. I guess I'm fairly well able to take care of myself," I said
imperturbably; though I thought he might have given me credit for the
possession of average common sense, anyhow!
I went out soon after he did, more as a kind of assertion of my
independence than because I was inclined for a walk. It was some time
since I'd been so many hours in the saddle as I had that day, and I was
dead tired.
It was a glorious autumn evening, clear and still, with the glow of the
sunset still lingering in the western sky, though the moon was rising,
and putting to shame the squalid lights of the streets and shops. The
sidewalks--a trifle cleaner and more level than the rutted roadway
between them--were thronged with passers; many of them were soldiers
swaggering in their disreputably slovenly uniforms, and leering at every
heavy-visaged Russian woman they met. I did not see one woman abroad
that evening who looked like a Jewess; though there were Jews in plenty,
slinking along unobtrusively, and eying the Russian soldiers and
townsmen askance, with glances compounded of fear and hatred.
I attracted a good deal of attention; a foreigner was evidently an
unusual object in that town. But I was not really molested; and, acting
on Mishka's advice, I affected ignorance of the many and free remarks
passed on my personal appearance.
I walked on, almost to the outskirts of the little town, and turned to
retrace my steps, when I was waylaid by a pedler, who had passed me a
minute or so before. He looked just like scores of others I had seen
within the last few minutes, except that he carried a small but heavy
pack, and walked heavily, leaning on his thick staff like a man wearied
with a long day's tramp.
Now I found he had halted, and as I came abreast with him, he held out
one skinny hand with an arresting gesture. For a moment I thought he was
merely begging, but his first words dispelled that notion.
"Is it wise of the English excellency to walk abroad alone,--here?" he
asked earnestly, in a voice and patois that sounded queerly familiar. I
stopped short and stared at him, and then, in a flash, I knew him,
though as yet he had not recognized me, save as a foreigner.
He was the old Jew who had come to my flat on the night of Cassavetti's
murder!
[Illustration: _Then, in a flash, I knew him._ Page 228]