"... He insisted that there was NO treasure EXCEPT the JEWEL he apparently was exhibiting.... We could hear, quite distinctly, a sullen voice saying: 'I do not believe you; you are trying to steal the whole of it!... We'll give you ten minutes to produce ALL you have hid away, and if you don't do it, we'll fill your body so full of lead that your rotten carcass won't float in the Kolunda.'... The culprit replied: 'Let me explain. You remember that I was suspecting that interloper when I insisted on watching him; well, my suspicions were correct,—he was a TRAITOR to our cause. He was planning to steal away with his precious gang when I covered them with my pistol. Then when I had the drop on them I made them open all of their trunks and boxes. Nothing was found. I felt sure they were holding out on me, so I took a shot at the kid. The interloper made a dive at me. I knocked him down with that chair there.... then in my rage I emptied my pistol into the hearts of the whole gang.... that's all there's to it.'... 'He's lying!' 'Traitor!' 'Betrayer!' 'Down with the thief!' flew back and forth from one to another above our heads.... Then in a more subdued voice we heard 'Hist! Silence! Some one is coming!' A moment later I heard distinctly the unmistakable growl of my hero of Gallipoli overhead demanding, 'WHAT HAVE YOU CUTTHROATS DONE WITH OUR PRISONERS?' ... There was a silence that could be felt.... None offered an explanation that I could hear.... 'Why don't you answer?' thundered Gallipoli.... There was an unmistakable murmur.... 'Don't YOU try to slide out of this, you COWARD! I'll hold every one of you responsible for this! Where's my lieutenant?'... He means ME....

"'Out in the yard,' I heard one of them reply.... 'Go and tell him to report here AT ONCE!'... Poor devil! the humor of this whole situation is displayed in the tragic possibilities of criminal greed when crooks fall out!... 'Where are the others?' my Gallipoli hero demanded.... I heard no answer.... 'DO YOU HEAR ME?'... still no audible answer.... 'Crack!'.... the report of a revolver, then a scuffling and 'stand back! Another move and I'll blow you ALL to HELL,—line up there!.... Now I order you to explain the whereabouts of the PRISONERS.'

"... We could hear a voice boasting: 'Did you see that BLOOD in yonder? Well, that is our answer. We were suspicious of that Lieutenant of yours so we took the matter into our own hands.'... 'WHO DID THE KILLING?'... 'The Sergeant.'... 'And what did he DO with the bodies?'... 'Threw them into the well!'... 'The devil! you'll have to fish them out again!'... Then there was a long silence.... Finally we heard: 'Here, Sergeant!' from HE of Gallipoli; 'when will my lieutenant report?'... 'The Captain said to present his compliments and say that he is temporarily detained.'... My 'prisoner' poked me in the ribs impulsively and smiled.... 'Where are the BODIES?'... 'Burned!' said the Sergeant. 'WHAT?'... 'BURNED UP?... 'Who burned them?'... 'I did, Sir.'... 'Didn't throw them in the well?'... 'No, Sir.'... 'Well, I'll be damned!... FALL IN! Unless those prisoners are produced I'll court-martial every one of you!'

"... We could hear the measured tread of a squad overhead tramping away until the thump, thump, thumping sank into a faint indistinct vibration which was caught up by the beating of our hearts and the throbbing of our fascinated and incredulous ears.... 'Well!' ejaculated my amused 'prisoner'; 'It'll be exceedingly interesting to read the future accounts of my double execution. I am sure my family will read it with greater interest than they've ever manifested in any of London's or Gorky's fanciful novels!'... 'I assume that you will not be surprised to learn that you have some mighty good friends in that crowd outside,' I ventured.... 'Oh, not at all,' my prisoner returned, 'and I venture to say that your friend from Gallipoli will find it convenient to contribute to the general misunderstanding and confusion by allowing the suspected executioners to air their conflicting explanations of my disappearance.'

"'We haven't disappeared yet, my friend!' I grumbled, as we turned back in the direction of our underground camp.... 'If we had some shovels it would solve the problem; but the way we're fixed it looks like a case of starvation or surrender for the whole of us,—we can't stay down here indefinitely!'... 'Patience, courage, my friend,' my 'prisoner' replied whole-heartedly; 'this is the first time in my life I have been absolutely alone, the first moment in our lives we have been positively FREE!'... He took a few swift steps and swung around gracefully, like a figure in a dance.... 'I love the mazurka!' he exclaimed!... 'I'd like to have a real pillow fight again with the children!... We used to have such fun!... It was about the only time my wife would ever smile!... I used to tell her that she reminded me of the sad goddesses that stood on the dull red cornices of my Winter Palace looking coldly into space during any of the Court ceremonies.... Really that was true,—a woman like my wife, in a manteau de cour, a head flaming with the rays of her kokoshnik and supported by that long white veil, DOES resemble an icicle in the Winter Palace!... But when we are alone!... the Zaritsa is a motherly MOTHER!... You'll see.... We have always loved simplicity.... This is our chance.... I never did like the late suppers and high life indulged in by some of my relations.... My greatest dissipation was at the Marinsky when we'd sup between acts and go straight home to bed.... Grand Duke Alexis never wanted to go to bed.... After the theatre he was always primed for another party out at the Islands.... Our motto has always been, "Early to bed and early to rise."... Had to.... At work early after breakfast till eleven ... luncheon ... to work again at half past twelve until dinner ... back to work until very late at night.... NOW we are hearing of our misguided workmen and soldiers attempting to run the country on SIX HOURS WORK A DAY!... That would be delightful if they would only devote the remaining hours to recreation and STUDY.'... My 'prisoner' seemed positively boyish....

"His voice was in pleasant contrast to the shrill staccato accents I had heard in that gloomy underground room of the Foreign Office at Berlin.... I could see at a glance that his present attitude was not a pose,—his simplicity, like his courage and democracy, was GENUINE.... It explains the reason for his composure at THIS VERY MINUTE when a less courageous man would be excitedly running around in circles and making my life miserable by bemoaning our ill luck.... To show the morale of this family of cave dwellers I'll record this incident: 'Be careful about those electric lamps,' I requested of the ladies. 'If they give out we'll be in darkness.' ... 'Then we'll use our hands and dig ourselves out to daylight!' exclaimed Maria.... 'WHY can't we start doing THAT NOW?' exclaimed Tatiana.... 'Come on!' chorused Alexis and his four sisters as they fell to and are now pawing the dirt away from the embankment that impedes our escape.... I'll have to supervise that work a little, for if these girls continue to pile back the dirt the way they are doing it they may stop up the passage both ways and bury us all alive...."



X

ROMANCE IN SIGHT OF DEATH

28. The next page of the diary is badly blurred and torn, but the following can be made out:

"We are all about played out.... The boy is exhausted and lying over in a little excavation upon his sisters' wraps, his fingers bleeding and one eye blinded with the sand.... The passageway behind us is almost closed up.... In front of us we have hit a solid wall.... The exhausted mother is binding her boy's hands with a portion of her petticoat.... As she kneels there, with the faint flicker of a light falling on her finely chiseled profile, she resembles Botticelli's magnificent Madonna in the Uffizi Gallery at Florence.... The picture is completed by the dark background and the solicitous attitude of the girls as they cluster around the sufferer.... With a little imagination one can delineate the jeweled crown which the two girlish angels are holding above her head.... Pathos, resignation and a sort of recreating FAITH are painted against that threatening wall and overhanging dirt.... If that should fall WE ARE ALL BOUND TO SUFFOCATE before any help can come.... My 'prisoner' is not a bit discouraged, however.... He is using his jackknife against the concrete wall with great patience and whistling softly and slowly an air from 'The Blessing of the Waters.'... WATER!... I know those girls are CHOKING for a drink as I have been for the last ten hours myself.... Still, not one of them has murmured at our grief and Anastasie has become quite chummy in pretending to cheer ME up.... Aristocracy or Royalty, even, with Democracy in a tunnel, makes us ALL of one size! Under certain conditions a man of my education and family connections MIGHT be privileged to forget the veiled lady of Buckingham and accept these endearing little attentions with some guarantee of hope.... But WHAT IF WE ALL ARE BURIED HERE like the happy families of Herculaneum and Pompeii?... Future inquisitive scientists may find this diary with our bones and classify us as a species of an extinct Tartar tribe!... The wall my prisoner is gouging out seems to be getting wet...."

29. Then there follows the entry:

"Water has burst through the hole my prisoner has been making in that wall!..."

30. The next entry has been evidently water-soaked and is entirely blotted out.

31. This entry seems sufficiently distinct to make out what the writer has been through:

"I tried in the foregoing to jot down enough of what was happening to enable anyone who would find our bodies to make out how we had died.... What I forgot to record in the excitement I'll put down now.... When the wall caved in and the water burst down upon us it seemed that we would soon be drowned alive.... The small hole in the wall had allowed enough water to filter through at first to slake our thirst and make us all quite happy.... But gradually the ground beneath us became damp and sticky and the blue mud clung to our shoes like glue until we could hardly move.... The little air that crept in with the water, though, was a positive blessing to us all.... We should have stifled.... Finally the water ceased and our hearts began to sink....

"... It was Maria who brought on the FLOOD I have learned today.... With a stone she found uncovered by the filtering from the little opening she began pounding against the wall.... Suddenly the wall bulged inward.... There was a swish, and a roar, and a deadening GUSH,—and then a RUSHING FLOOD tore open the side of the wall and burst like a torrent into our muddy, narrow cell. Higher and higher it mounted, enveloping us to our arm pits.... My 'prisoner' moved calmly over to the stately woman, who was holding up the boy, and patted her gently on the head. 'It will be all right, darling,' he said.... Then he kissed all his children and impulsively dashed in the direction of the cataract.

"... Struggling hard against the flood he worked his way nearer and nearer toward the broken curbing and finally DOVE through the waterspout and clung grimly to the wall.... For a moment his body seemed to tremble.... Then with a supreme effort he pulled his body into the opening and for a moment checked the flood.... It seemed like a gallant sacrifice.... at the same time.... the girl, Maria, waded back toward the opening that was NOW completely SEALED BY THE STICKY CLAY and began to tear frantically at the bank....

"Little by little she seemed to make headway.... But it appeared like an eternity,—and I felt certain that the man in the wall using his body as a plug must presently give up the ghost and be hurled back into our cell.... I then noticed the water around us DROP quickly, and, turning in the direction of Maria I saw her body being caught up by the current and sucked painfully forward into the opening her delicate hands had made.... It was too horrible to endure!... Now, while there is no blood of martyrs in my veins, and while I had PROMISED the sombre figure in Berlin TO DO A CERTAIN THING which a martyr impulse might prevent if I tried to be a hero in this instance, I simply could not look at that girl's struggles without going to her rescue no matter what it cost...."

32. The following then appears:

"I have no recollection of what happened after I grasped Maria by the feet.... All I remember is that I felt myself being dragged along after her through a blinding sheet of muddy, gritty substance, head foremost like a drowning man.... I imagined myself in mid-ocean clinging to some broken shaft after my vessel had been torpedoed, and I clung to those slender ankles as the only hope of life!... When I did recover there was Maria bending over me and vigorously see-sawing my arms back and forth in an effort to resuscitate me.... If ever there were an excuse for the chivalry of the Middle Ages it must have crept out of those dark moments when some puissant knight opened his tired eyelids upon a vision such as I then beheld!... But there was no time for Don Quixoting in that damp and muddy tunnel.... We noticed that the waters neither rose nor fell.... So we plowed our way back to the other members of our party as speedily as we could.... On arriving at the wall again we found my 'prisoner' lying propped up against a large slab of concrete and breathing heavily while he held the Empress' hand and essayed a feeble smile...."

33. The following entry seems to dovetail in:

"The walls of this old cistern promise very little assurance for our escape.... Still the cistern has its uses in circumstances like these.... We KNOW, at least, that some kind of human beings are not beyond our voices if we decide to call for help.... But WHAT KIND of help?... That is the question.... Last night, as I stood on the floor of the cistern I heard an amusing conversation.... A voice overhead was growling; 'I'm as certain as I'm alive that the loan of $250,000,000 has been made by Japan to those fiends who have escaped,—and I KNOW they have the GOLD, for why have those trucks disappeared?... so it is worth while to keep up this revolution until we get our hands on some of it if we have to follow them all the way to Vladivostok.'... 'That rumor has been floating around for the past week,' another bass voice grumbled, 'and I'm inclined to think it is all a game of bunko to divert attention from the pile of 600,000,000 the gang have smuggled into Omsk.'... 'Nonsense,' grunted the other; 'haven't we a thousand eyes at Harbin who know about the Chinese Eastern deal?'... 'Well, the only thing to do is to keep this hell in a constant bubble until we get the stuff at Omsk or the coin Japan has sent to this CREMATED FAMILY here!'...

"... 'Cremated, Ha! Ha!... why, did you notice those stoves in the house?... They're not big enough to burn up a good-sized dog!... My judgment tells me that that whole squad of double-crossers are in league with that skunk of a "Captain" who pretended to be a friend of Comrade Trotsky.'... 'Well, we made a mistake when we endorsed that BURNING lie,—we are ALL in for it NOW, and the only way to get out of it is to STAY IN IT and lie it out to the end—'.... 'UNLESS—' 'Unless what?'... 'Unless the Lett who pretended to do the killing is taken out and SHOT!'... 'Oh, give him a little more rope and he'll hang himself!'... When I related this conversation to my 'prisoner' he was very much amused.... 'This is a real adventure!' he smiled. 'We're like Tennyson's Light Brigade, with cannons in front, and cannons behind us and brigands on every side of us, thirsting for our blood,—these fellows are certainly not Russians!'..."

34. Then we have this entry:

"I have noticed all day that the family is gradually succumbing to the ravages of hunger and thirst.... If we call for help it will mean a FIRING SQUAD for sure.... The criminal crew who have already reported our death will HAVE to KILL us to make good their boast.... So we must stay here and silently watch one another collapse from day to day....

"... My prisoner says he is willing to give himself up if his death will enable the rest of us to escape.... The girls will not listen to such a proposition,—they are all agreed that they would rather organize themselves into a little platoon and FIGHT IT OUT if we can ever get out of this cistern.... It indicates a mighty good spirit,—but that gang outside would have us strung up in the twinkling of an eye....

"... I KNOW that Marie expects ME to do something from the inquiring way she gazes in my eyes.... She says nothing, but any man of spirit who looks into such clear, unflinching eyes under conditions such as these, will understand instinctively what is written in their suggestive depths!... They literally SHAME me for the little I can do.... Some lounge lizards may speculate on the nature of the sentiments this grateful princess will reveal if I display sufficient ingenuity to save us all from this slowly approaching DEATH!... How dramatic!... How absurd!

"... I have lately laughed at those Italian poets who bewail the isolation of their Lauras, yet, recalling my Lady Buckingham's repeated rescues, I begin to recognize a reason for the existence of that poetic fervor which agitates the artistic heart when either its safety or its vanity is at stake."...

35. This entry offers a little encouragement:

"There is no such thing as physical exhaustion.... Hunger and thirst may weight us down, but with the right kind of inspiration a man can do miraculous things.... I began rolling up balls of mud from the tunnel and carrying them into the cistern until my tongue hung out of my mouth.... With those balls I started making a winding stairway around the wall of this cistern until I had a dozen steps completed ... then the girls began making the balls and bringing them in to me like muddy little hod-carriers.... My masonry took on proportions as the minutes dragged by.... Finally we have a stairway four feet wide and extending from the bottom to within four feet of the top as I write these lines with the girls sitting a few steps below me in the slowly hardening clay.... We can all hear plainly the tramping of feet on the planking overhead.... It is a kind of shuffling one hears when seated somewhere beneath the dancers in a ballroom, and it may mean that we are headed directly toward the LION'S DEN."...

36. In this entry the Emperor speaks of Rasputin, spooks and Jews:

"It became dark and spooky when our lights gave out.... and while we sat huddled together the subject of 'ghosts' came up.... 'Ghosts!' the 'prisoner' almost snarled; 'that reminds me of the Jewish propaganda against my Government.... There was hardly a Yiddish banker in the world who did not accuse ME personally of inspiring Sheglovitov to have the Jews executed for ritualistic murder; and I am sure their influence will be very strong with certain statesmen and opportunists to have my Empire dismembered when the time comes to settle the terms of peace, as poor Nilus predicted.... I wish I could show you a letter I received from a Jewish banker in New York threatening to kill my loan in America and have our existing treaties denounced unless I complied with certain Jewish demands.... I did not think it possible and ignored the letter, of course.... You may judge of my astonishment when the Jew's threat was made good by the American Government doing precisely what the threat implied.... These people have been persistent in accusing ME of having communication with the spirits and of engaging in all sorts of magic, like the infamous Papus; well, if that be so let me exercise my gifts to prophesy that the denationalized Jews will attempt to hereafter enthrone themselves as MASTERS of the civilized world by their mastery of its amusements, its money, its POLITICS and its industry,—and you will find them demanding and RECEIVING special privileges in many countries where, at present, they are suspected and abhorred.... I have not the slightest doubt but that Kerensky will be succeeded by some Jewish politician within a little while—and they will blacken his reputation as they have tried to blacken mine.... the methods may be different but the result will be none the less effectual.... Only the other day, I might say, WHEN WE WERE LEAVING TUMEN, a rabble of Yiddish suttlers began yelling at ME: "Rasputin! Rasputin! where is your Rasputin!" ... Now Grisha Rasputin was a friend of the Metropolitan Archbishop of Protopopov. He was seeking to redeem the reputation of a horse-stealing father if I remember right—'He was a friend of Stuermer, Niki, not a friend to you,' interrupted the ex-Empress... 'You are right, darling,' returned the 'prisoner,' 'quite right, I know.'... 'What kind of a mountebank was RASPUTIN?' I asked to feel my 'prisoner' out.... 'He was a worthless rasputnik at best,' the fallen Emperor answered.... And you think the Jews are responsible for your reported attachment to him?' I asked.... 'Undoubtedly,' he said bitterly with a sigh of resignation.... 'When we were being taken to the boat at Tobolsk did they not make faces at me and Alice and flout me with their cries: "Take him to the Criminal Court and let him read the record of his libertine, Rasputin! Let his Barnabas teach him how to sin for the joy of gaining absolution!"... How little do those enfranchised Jews understand the meaning of forgiveness!' lamented the ex-Czar.... 'May I ask your actual estimate of creatures like Rasputin?' I ventured.... 'Our Rasputin was a hardened criminal beyond a doubt until his conversion by Father Zaborovsky, the good Rector at the Theological Academy at Tomsk,' the ex-Czar replied.... 'He would have made an excellent subject for investigation by Lombroso, by Havelock Ellis or other eminent criminologists ... but I believed the man was sincere in his repentance and accepted him as a sort of text for other sinners to point a way toward regeneration.... The higher Rasputin rose, the greater his fame became, the more impressive would be his textual example to other aspiring souls,—even a criminal should not be denied the consolation of hope where crime is the result of ignorance or misdirected patriotism.... If I sinned in pardoning a sinner then sin must be an unpardonable crime!... Nathan treated David as I treated Rasputin, although both were guilty of the same offense.... He was grossly illiterate,—the only schooling he ever got was in the Monastery Abalaksky and what he acquired from the lips of monks while making his rounds as a barefoot pilgrim from place to place.... His claims of having visions I ascribed to his empty stomach, although others gave credence to the nonsense.... Alice at first abhorred him; finally she began to regard him as a rare specimen in self-hypnosis who was worth studying to learn how far the fascinations of self-delusion were capable of deluding and swaying stronger wills and more cultivated minds.... We both learned, by observing him, that an ignorant mujik, like an egotistical Minister, if granted the semblance of authority for any length of time, will demoralize the finest organization in the world.... That was the lesson both Alice and I acquired from Rasputin.... And I am accepting Rasputin as a standard to estimate what will happen when men of his type and origin attempt the government of the world.... Without education, with no experience in governing even the smallest unit of society, unfamiliar with the trend of history, ignorant of military and commercial strategy, building their philosophy of life and their science of administration upon some isolated text, they will overturn the whole structure of civilization by arrogating to themselves the supernatural privileges and persuasiveness of the Voice of God!... The prospects are not inviting.... There are Rasputins in all the chancellories of Europe.... You have them in North and South America,—some educated, others like Marat and Danton, while some are simple Cagliostros who deceive the people and themselves.... If they were only Gideons instead of Joshuas their strategy might be reassuring,—but they are merely Rasputins and Papuses, after all!... Against all laws of nature they will try to triumph by commanding the heavenly and mundane bodies to stand still until they readjust the motions of civilized society to some dissolving and ruinous invention of emotional insanity where everything runs wild!'"



XI

THE INVISIBLE DIPLOMAT APPEARS

37. This entry is mystifying:

"Last night I waited until there was not a sound overhead.... I knew it would be taking chances—but I HAD TO GET WATER.... We could no longer survive on MUD!... I began pushing against the planking overhead to see if there was anywhere an opening, but every plank I pressed against seemed as solid as a stone sidewalk.... Finally I began thumping with my clenched fist ... and this brought on the fracas.... I heard a heavy pair of feet bounding on the floor directly above my head.... Then there was a scraping and a sound like the tearing up of carpets.... Presently I heard an iron bolt crack back and the floor above my head began rising slowly until I found myself looking into the muzzle of a Mauser held in the clenched hands of a tall square-faced man with a jaw like a prize fighter....

"... Another pair of hands reached down and caught me by the collar and I was yanked like a squirming spaniel out of my hole into a large oblong room that was only slightly lighted by a blue student lamp upon a small roll-top desk.... Against the wall was a large steel engraving of King George of England, and I could see the Union Jack displayed upon another wall.... There were papers and documents and army tents in piles here and there round the room.... BUT THE IMPRESSION THAT FLASHED UPON ME was not at all reassuring for a man who had made his way into SUCH surroundings directly from the other underground corridor in Berlin!..."

38. Then this entry follows:

"From that very hour I AM STRONGLY FOR THE BRITISH.... I will not attempt to describe that MEAL.... It was all a King in Exile or any of his suite could ask for; and the silent men who prepared it will always be remembered for their discretion and manly hospitality.... Neither of them appeared to KNOW me NOR ANY OF OUR PARTY.... But those gallant fellows are adepts at dissimulation.... I'm certain that the tall, slender and soldierly bearing officer will remember the day we had our STRAWBERRIES at Carlton Terrace, and the slender, willowy Duchess who forgot her fan until he picked it up and brought it to her AT MY TABLE, where she paused for a moment to say to me, 'MY FATHER IS IN LONDON AND WISHES TO SEE YOU BADLY.'... I am certain he remembers what I told her about the Gordons and the Devons in that slaughter at the Somme,—when so few of those brave lads returned!... If we ever meet again I shall thank him for the robes and provisions and motor trucks he furnished to transport us safely rolled up in army tents for many rough miles across the country in the direction of CHANYI LAKE...."

39. We find this entry of the diarist next:

"I have never beheld a more beautiful landscape than the scene before me.... I am writing this on the banks of Altai Lake.... The balsam from the cone-like firs along the gorges surcharges the air with an intoxicating flavor and reflect their inverted gracefulness in the calm waters of the lake.... The mountains sloping up from either side are delineated in the mirroring surface and form an archway for the snow-capped and broken pinnacle that towers above the others like a sentinel brooding in his frosty and eternal isolation.... Far off in the distance I can see the black and white walls of the KATUN GLACIER and know that, throughout this region, gold and silver, as well as lead and copper, most certainly abound.... In our unending tramp today I have discovered many evidences of the presence of zinc and nickel and other minerals lying around.... My 'prisoner' tells me that there are mines already working in the upper part of the Talovsky River and that the copper runs very high in the vicinity of Chudak.... Alice wrote to Princess G—— today at T——.... I am NOT much impressed nor FAVORABLY by the attitude of these natives in the hills.... They seem to be a mongrel mixture of Tartar and Mongolian who are always ready, like the huge ungainly bears we have encountered in our pilgrimage, to grapple and devour one for the mere pleasure of seeing blood!... Maria seems quite interested in these notes,—today she insisted on giving me her impressions of how a NOVEL should be written.... She says that to make a story interesting it should be all movement from the opening line to the final wedding bells.... When I told her that I was writing HISTORY she pouted prettily and remarked: 'I never think of history without wondering WHO subsidized the writer of the misleading fairy tale.'

"... This girl has lived close enough to the source of history to know what PROPAGANDA is.... Still, I like her uncomplaining buoyancy of spirits in the trial we are going through.... We are headed SOUTH toward Kuria and Khotan, where arrangements have been made to receive us by some people who know our secret and will respect the rights of ASYLUM in a land where oblivion may mean liberty and love!..."

40. There seems to have been quite a skip in the notations of the diary. Evidently the diarist has become MORE INTERESTED in something else:

"The fact that we have been on FOREIGN SOIL during the last fifteen days has considerably relaxed our nerves.... Aside from the rumor constantly reaching us that the Mongolian mercenaries are in the employ of the Bolsheviki and offered BIG REWARDS for our capture, we have not been disturbed in mind or bodies.... Maria asked me today if I were any relation to CHARLES JAMES FOX, whose oratory she claims to greatly admire.... When I informed her that I had never met this gentleman her eyes grew very big....

"'What ARE you?' she inquired. 'Are you an Englishman, or a Russian,—you CAN NOT BE A GERMAN,—or ARE YOU AN AMERICAN? Oh, I just hope you ARE an AMERICAN!... When I informed her that my ancestors fought beside Kosciusko and Pulaski and that their names might be found on the muster rolls of the First Line Regiment of New York Colony and State, along with the names of Goose Van Schaick and Jeremiah Van Rensselaer, she burst her sides with laughter.... 'What a happy family you must have been!' she rippled. 'When a Fox and a Goose may dwell in peace and amity together there is nothing that is not possible for their race!'

"... This quick-witted girl, certainly, BELONGS in the UNITED STATES—the plains of Eastern Turkestan are NO place for her...."

41. There seems to be another skip in the neglected diary. Evidently the scenery has lost all its charms.... He merely notes:

"My 'prisoner' seems VERY MUCH interested in my family connections.... He seems jolly enough about it.... BUT I can see that something is DISTURBING him.... He is very obstinate in little things, lately.... When we get into Cashmere perhaps his mind will be diverted.... He loves the languid charm of scenic beauty nearly as much as the flattery of his wife.... Anyway, WHAT can I do?... There is a naturalness about this whole affair that one simply CAN'T get away from.... Danger has a generous way of bestowing blessings on the BOLD..."

42. Then we find the following critical entry: "I shall NEVER read 'Lalla Rookh' again!... The Vale of Cashmere may sound fine in poetry but it FEELS TOUGH beneath one's feet whenever one dismounts.... I might overlook the rough spots easily enough had not OLGA suddenly interested herself in my ANCESTRY while she found employment for Maria with her brother, who seems sadly out of breath.... My 'prisoner' has forgotten all about me in the absorbing interest he displays in what he declares to be EARLY MISSIONARY WORK OF JESUS in these very interesting stretches. It has been no easy matter for me to pilot this party outside the range of camel caravans and soldiers on their way from the Punjab Valley toward RAWAL PINDI.... The rattle of our tongas might be heard at any moment and then our little caravan, disguised as Buddhists, might spend some time in the GUARDHOUSE at Murree.... We will not regret the shade and comparative coolness of that pleasant Summer Resort,—but none of us are longing for any more confinement.... The road from Murree down the valley was gullied by the terrific rain we have been wading through.... I have never seen a blacker night nor a heavier rain than we have just come through... We were constantly in fear of the falling of those gigantic boulders that overhung our path behind the swishing trees that clung along the precipice.... The zigzag road that runs down this slope is like a spiral stair in crookedness and bumps.... We could catch a glimpse now and again of a light from the little bungalows that clung to the mountain sides.... But we dare not arouse the dwellers for many obvious reasons.... Finally we did encounter an abandoned inn or hut where we camped for the night.... Next morning in a fierce and searching sun we rambled into a village set upon a wonderful defile in the heart of the mountains, where we ate our frugal meal.... At night we reached the Jhelum coursing gracefully over rocky beds and through picturesque gorges that rise into the azure and serene skies of the Himalayan heavens.... It was a delightful place to camp for the night.... At nine the next morning we had reached the little hamlet strung along the river bank and known as Tongua.... Here the girls made a number of purchases and we replenished our commissary for the march before us into mystic dominions of the LAMA...."



XII

THE FLIGHT TO TIBET

43. Then we get this entry:

"I did not count the number of Hindu castes we encountered at the trading post of Tongua.... there were a hundred, at least, each bearing on his forehead the mani-colored mark of his particular caste,—while the stately Kashmirian in his snowy turban and long white tunic seemed carved out of the frozen snows of the towering mountain sides.... we were offered many cabriolets to assist us on our journey, but one look at one of those backless and circular TABLES between the wheels upon which one must sit like a Turkish mouker with his legs crossed to keep from rolling down the precipice was enough to convince us that the camel route was good enough for us.

"On the tramp to Horis, along the banks of the Jhelum with its wooded mountains on the right and its rocky precipices on the left, we met a number of pilgrims who had religious scruples against taking part in letting blood of any kind of bird or beast or whale.... They had evidently been to their Mecca.... Another thing we discovered that is not generally understood among the unelect.... On the way we came upon a Hindu squatting by the roadside with a pail of rich fresh milk.... Being thirsty I pointed at the pail and asked him for enough to give our party a drink.... The fellow became enraged and informed me that I had defiled his milk by pointing my finger at it.... I said I'd take it all, which was evidently what he wished.

"After we had all drunk our fill I took the half-filled pail, approached the grinning rascal and deliberately dashed the contents in his face!... My 'prisoner' was horrified, but Maria enjoyed it very much.... 'I had one experience in Japan,' my 'prisoner' confided, 'that has taught me never to oppose the local customs of a country no matter how absurd they may seem to others.... At that time one of my party poked fun at the peculiar art displayed in the statue of a Buddha.... The priest became enraged and attempted to split my head open when I was not looking.... Had it not been for my cousin I'm sure I would not be with you today!... You will please me much if you respect the ancient practices of these people.'...

"Then going to the dripping figure he laid a gold louis on the fellow's upturned palm,—HE SEEMED TO KNOW WHAT WAS COMING—which was proof to my mind that there is more in Yogi philosophy than has ever been let out....

"... Frankly, however, I suspect that my 'prisoner's' kindness has only whetted the appetite of that knave.... The way he looks at us would convict him in any court of justice that he meditates our murder...."

44. Then we have this entry:

"I am not at all mistaken in my estimate of that Hindu with the pail of defiled milk.... He is one of the renegade SPIES that hang on the brow of civilization and infest these retreats and mountain gorges in search of easy prey.... There are other POWERS above them that lounge in gilded palaces and seem always interested in the charms of lovely women who may suddenly DISAPPEAR.... I know the brood of vultures from Stamboul to the red lights of New York and the dens of Singapore!... The quicker we get down out of these mountains and into the populated valley on our way to Seranagur the SAFER I will feel.... It is all very pleasant to take a look at this silver ring that encircles the plateau with its eternal snows, to watch the sparkling waterfalls, the gardens and the dimpling lake with its little islands with cottages resting on them and to imagine one's self in the fairyland we used to read about as children,—BUT for a full-grown man, in my position and charged with an important mission, I prefer to be on my way.... There are too many places where one may be accounted for as having fallen down the mountain side in the event of some sudden DISAPPEARANCE!"

45. By the initiated the following entry will not be misunderstood:

"It was an unlucky piece of folly that sent us in this direction halfway round the earth to a destination we could have reached in fifteen days.... On our way to Bombay where arrangements had been made to slip us quietly across the Peninsula and on to our permanent retreat, we were confronted with the information that people of my prisoner's nationality were leaving Bombay by request,—and hence our unheralded appearance might attract too much attention to be entirely satisfactory to the interests I was serving ... How this information was conveyed to us I may jot down some later day.... But to make a note of it is sufficient for my purpose now ... There are other wild beasts in these mountains besides panthers to account for the death of a man WHO KNOWS TOO MUCH.

"... Were it not for a positive FEELING of dread that has followed me since I threw milk into that Hindu's eyes, I should like to describe the many fascinating spots encountered in the embrace of a squalid and picturesque degeneracy.... I should linger with my brush over the opalescent lake and the sweet, calm repose of Seranagur with its purling river scouring the festooned landings and retiring abodes of tranquillity and ease,—I should like to jot down the scenes of bathers at their twilight dips when both sexes mingle as innocent as our First Parents were of a bathing costume and as devoutly fervent in their ablutions as the fabled Peris of this Paradise themselves. But there is a feeling in the air that some one is pursuing us and which cuts these memorandums short...."

46. "For purposes of self-protection I shall no longer jot down exactly our location," the next entry reads. I note merely that we are somewhere in Little Thibet and that I have met the MAN IN YELLOW ROBES AND YELLOW TURBAN AT THE LOW WHITE MONASTERY as I was told to do in the Memorandum at Berlin.... And I approached him with the RIGHT FOOT first, my hands held in the appropriate position, until he asked me in excellent French: 'Whence come you?' Then I made the proper sign and whispered the name of the room adjacent to another room which satisfied the Lama that I was the bearer of a MESSAGE to the Exalted Dalai-Lama as well as the principal Khutuktus of the EAST.... My little audience was much mystified, BUT the MAN IN YELLOW ROBES understood.... He began whirling a brass prayer wheel as he advanced toward my 'prisoner' and salaamed.... Then laying his right hand on the 'prisoner's' shoulder the Lama said: 'Your credentials, sahib, are correct,—and it is well; as your misfortunes have been great, great will be the blessings that will fall upon thy family and thy name. Thy piety hath been known to all my brethren, likewise thy toleration,—although the INFIDEL hath been a thorn pressed evilly against thy side ... beware of that same infidel today! He is plotting evil HERE against thy very life,—he envieth the lives of thine!... A religious war now breweth in this land!... SPIES haunt thy footsteps from the rising to the setting sun.... BEWARE lest thy fair daughters and thy wife shall disappear!... Our prayers, sahib, shall attend thee; and our numerous eyes shall remain open to the PERILS as thou goest EAST where arms are open to receive thee,—but see thou, sahib, THAT THOU DOST WALK DILIGENTLY IN THE DIRECTION OF THOSE ARMS!...

"... The Lama backed away.... Never did he cease whirling the prayer wheel as he spoke ... this constitutes the perpetual prayer of Lamas, the theory being that the wheel communicates the petition to the air and, thus, mingled with the elements, it ascends naturally to the heaven of the blessed.... We were then conducted through a long row of very low rooms ornamented with a variety of Buddhist statues that have never been dusted nor apparently disturbed, to an open terrace which overlooked a dreary waste of gray rocks and broken ledges and offered to our view the slender roadway that lay like a ribbon across the plain until it faded into the golden glow of the Eastern horizon.... When I looked at that single road, and recalled the WARNING of the Lama so solemnly given to my 'prisoner' about the care to be given to his daughters, I REALIZED FULLY THE MEANING OF THE PRYING EYES that followed us everywhere after my encounter with the milk-fed MUSSULMAN disguised as a Hindu mendicant!..."



XIII

AN ENEMY IN PURSUIT

47. Local color is given in this note:

"We have had an exciting day.... The strategy one must sometimes employ in traveling through a hostile country is based upon the principle of deception.... It was the work of Maria too, who had evidently been reading up on certain occult works of the Eastern magicians and brought them into play at a moment when we were surrounded by a band of marauders in the company of my 'Hindu' friend.... To explain: There is a certain kind of little animal held sacred among these strolling outlaws.... The possession of one of these animals is supposed to be a guarantee of future happiness as well as a protection against all danger.... They are very hard to entrap and the Ladakian Islamites will spend a month endeavoring to ensnare one.... We were quite a distance from the convent at Saspoula, where the road runs around among the rocks and turns back upon itself like a horseshoe in the wooded hills.... At one of these bends the pursuers had encamped ready to dash down upon us as we turned the bend and make away with the girls in the direction of their camp in the secluded mountain passes.... Maria had secured a number of those little animals, and, twisting a fine hairpin around one of their hind legs, she let one by one escape.... The animals clambered toward the higher elevations where the banditti lay in waiting.... Their movements being impeded by the hair pins on their legs they offered an apparently easy PRIZE to the superstitious Islamites.... Abandoning their present enterprise against our party they dashed after the deceptive animals and disappeared over the hills in a mad scamper for GOOD LUCK.... This little ruse cleared our pathway and permitted us to reach Saspoula before the sun had set.... Here we passed a number of shrines besides the French and Thibetan convents.... Avoiding the convent with the tri-color floating from its mast we approached the other.... Here again were the dusty idols, banners and flags thrown into one corner, the floors littered with ugly masks and prayer wheels and books and rolls upon rolls of sacred papers mutely breathing their delegated prayers.

"... As we had been informed, the lamas here were ready to receive us, with meal and beds prepared and our own apartments all in order.... The Lama who greeted us was about five feet tall, low flat forehead, flat nose, full thick lips, rather round small head and with a sweep of black whiskers falling from his chin.... In fact, NONE of these lamas are GRAY,—the only thing that suggests AGE is their stooped and slender bodies and bent and bony fingers.... AND THEY ALLOW THE PRACTICE OF POLYANDRY in their diocese!... One woman has a dozen husbands ... and every THIRD man we meet with is a lama.

"... Still the women we see here are more attractive than those we encountered in Cashmere.

"... Before leaving the convent we were again cautioned against holding conversation with STRANGERS we might encounter in the numerous caravans along the road to LEH.... We punctiliously obeyed these instructions during the rest of our journey until we reached the PETAK convent, which stands upon an isolated rock beside an abandoned garrison or fort, with its two towers looking like ant hills beside the majestic mountain that rises ten thousand feet above our resting place.... This mountain is the sentinel that protects our entrance into Thibet.... Six miles away is LEH, elevated eleven thousand feet above the lowlands and around whose shadowy convents rise those immense granite pinnacles to an elevation of eighteen thousand feet, where their frosty crests are enshrouded in the fezzes of eternal snows!...

"... Leh, with its circlet of stubby aspen trees, its succession of terraces, its old fort and the palace of its forgotten Moguls, has its arms outstretched for us.... The mystic word has been passed along our route and BEHOLD we are encamped in a well-furnished three-story white bungalow with odors oozing from the kitchen that promise a night of security and content!..."

48. The next entry gives a glimpse of the country through which our party passed:

"Traveling toward the east we have passed through a number of villages of neat two-story houses in these narrow walled-in valleys.... The inhabitants are, clearly, of a Mongolian race,—the homeliest I have ever seen!... They cultivate but little patches of the land, sit around all day and gain their hollow cheeks and shrunken chests and wrinkled foreheads by squinting at the sun.... Even the women are tiny things with a perpetual smile that pushes up their high cheek bones into a horn-like prominence and apparently belies their apparent gaiety.... The belts of these men are perfect arsenals of curious-looking things.... With their cloth caps with ear flaps hanging down, their knee breeches and their linen shirts hung with a dozen prayer wheels, they characterize this country well....

"... If it were not apparently made compulsory by law these fellows would not wash their faces once a year.... They seem never to have changed their clothing until it is beginning to fall off their indolent frames.... They are so lazy that their hair falls off their heads.... And I have not yet seen a coat that does not carry the smear of their dirty hair.... That characterizes the MEN.... The WOMEN are altogether different.... They are perfect water rats and like to bathe many times a day.... Their gowns are red, worn like a shirt-waist over well-rounded shoulders, and tucked into green pantaloons at their waist line, over which is thrown an elaborately plaited skirt that reaches to their red embroidered shoes.... A lambskin is thrown over the back ... the hair dressed in Italian fashion ... the veil festooned with beads and coins and trinkets of all description ... an oriental pelisse touched with its fringe of gold.... That's the type of woman of these silent places we are traversing.... MARIA HAS DISCOVERED THE ORIGIN OF THE BOLSHEVIKI TENET OF FREE LOVE AND MARRIAGE.... Today she explained to her father that the idea was imported into Russia from this country together with the mercenary hordes from a region east of here.... 'These women,' she said, 'do not understand what one means by love.... They think it is too great a luxury to be tolerated among self-respecting people.... They believe NO MAN is good enough to monopolize a whole woman to himself.... That sort of MONOPOLY is contrary to the ethics of a first-class Communism everywhere and it must not be tolerated in this blessed Bolsheviki world!'... 'Tut-tut!' said her father. 'Please discontinue comments on subjects that no longer interest us.'... Manifestly my 'prisoner' is becoming bored by this unending and dreary pilgrimage along the camel route in the direction of the rising sun.... However, his gallantry to Alice is inexaustible, unflagging and unfailing. If she stubs her toe he wants to kiss the bruise.... Maria's comment has apparently aroused the hostility of certain personages in this camp.... If I were not positive that the thing could not be possible I'd swear the TALL square-shouldered lama is well known in Constantinople...."



XIV

WHERE THE PRISONERS DISAPPEARED

49. Then this entry reveals the sequence:

"We had been a number of days on the road,—our lives imperceptibly growing into a closer and more intimate companionship as the days ambled slowly away with the bleak snow-clad mountains that we left behind.... Descending down the slopes into a fertile valley, the hillsides terraced with a series of rice yards, and our paths softly shaded with the mulberry tree.... Behind us was the white-fringed mountain of the Lama, before us loomed the SACRED PINNACLE OF OMAY and off to the south spread an ancient walled city with steeples pointing heavenward surmounted by the CROSS.... Where the pagoda stood a thousand years ago now rise the hospital and the Christian missionary school.... Here the people walk on well-paved and broad sweeping streets and the tourists spend their afternoons promenading along the smooth and high and broad city wall.... As we approached this city a stream of 'rickshas came dashing in our direction commanded by the TALL slim 'lama' I had supposed we left behind!... The coolies appeared to understand their parts.... Quickly making a circle around us they pulled the women from their camels and tried to rope and bind my 'prisoner' and myself.

"Of course we were in full view of the consular flags of a dozen different nations; but that did not seem to bother the ringleader of this tatterdemalion mob.... My 'prisoner' fought like a demon.... He well remembered the lessons he received from Heath in the manly art of self-defense.... Right and left he boxed like a well-trained athlete delivering his dynamic punches well.... But finally the gang overpowered him and turned their undivided attention to me.... I was vainly attempting to reach the side of Maria and her sisters, whom the tall bully was forcing into a waiting 'ricksha manned by two barelegged men,—a dozen coolies pounced upon me, tore my clothing into fragments, furrowed my face with their infernal nails and actually attempted to bite me on the ears!..."

"I have no notion how well or hard I fought, but as I knocked one down another took his place as I fought my way to the side of the now bound and helpless girls.... Their hair was streaming down their backs, their faces flushed, their eyes filled with tears ... that sight maddened me!... I have been in many fights before, I have lain beside the dead in Flanders and among the Balkan highlands, I have seen blood flowing by me like a river,—and the thought of all these seemed to electrify my soul and fill my veins with steel.... I tore madly right and left.... I never struck such herculean blows before or since.

"I literally grabbed the tall man by the heels and whirled him round like a flail and tore into that gang of snarling hellhounds with cyclonic fury.... I literally mowed them down.... But finally a dull thud sounded in my ears.... A wave of light blinded both my eyes.... I knew nothing more until this morning when I awoke in a tent. Beside me was a loaf of bread and a canteen of cool water.... NOT ANOTHER SIGN OF A LIVING CREATURE IS IN SIGHT.... I am in a deep mountain gorge, leading to the south along a narrow roadway that has apparently witnessed the procession of unnumbered ages."

50. Then this entry:

"After tramping all day I finally emerged in the sight of a swift-flowing river on either bank of which, in the distance, appeared two walled-off cities of considerable size.... Foreign GUNBOATS were lying in the harbor in holiday attire.... As I approached the city a courier came running to meet me.... When he approached I drew back prepared to fight....

"But his friendliness disarmed me and I allowed him to draw near.... 'Li'l' ladee wantee see you quick; you cum foller me,' he said, and turned back from where he came.... I followed him with beating heart.... On the dock at the landing where the gunboat was steaming up MARIA met me with moistened eyes....

"She informed me in a low voice that the officer was ready to receive me and accept my orders.... And then she said,

"'Before you go I wish to thank you for all you have done for us.... If our paths should ever meet again I want you to know my heart will beat more quickly when I shall see you coming up the path.'... That said, she flung her slender arms around my neck, impulsively, and looked calmly in my eyes.... When, involuntarily, my arms showed signs of being prehensile, she sprang away quickly and flashed along the gangway to disappear, like a holy vision, behind that gray storm door!..."

51. The last entry reads:

"It has been a habit with me for many years to never be surprised.... When I appeared on deck to give the code to the commander of that vessel this habit was unmoored.... A tall, square-jawed man approached me with a twinkle in his clear blue eyes.... I looked at him inquiringly and a little reminiscently until I heard him speak.... 'I see the loaf of bread came in handy,' he said, extending me his bony hand.... 'I thought I left you at Ekaterinburg,' I exclaimed, recalling the moments we spent after our escape from the abandoned tunnel.... 'Oh,' he laughed, 'YOURS was not a one-man job; there are others in the world besides yourself intrusted with state secrets.... 'But what do you know about the bread, you just spoke of it?'

"'My company was following on behind,' he answered. 'When we came round the bend we saw you scrapping with that outlaw from Trebizond. You did quite well; you had all but three of them laid out in manly fashion when you got that clip on the back of the head. Then we stepped in and conducted your party to their present quarters ... thought it better for you to remain in the tent while the authorities here locked up those cutthroats for your disappearance.'

"'Have you the CODE WORD?' I asked.... He whispered it in my ear.... Then I lettered the order.... Finally he asked, 'Would you not like to meet my SISTER who has been so much interested in you?'

"His sister! I had never heard of her!... 'Of course!' I answered amiably enough for one completely stumped....

"He called a petty officer and said a few words in an undertone.... In a minute a radiant young woman with springing steps glided gracefully down the deck.... She was not, in her present attire, much different from Maria ... but as she drew near I noted the difference at a glance.... She came forward quickly and held out her hand. 'Congratulations, Mr. Fox!' she said smiling.... The Metropole!' I gasped,—'what brings YOU here?' 'Still asking questions!' she coquetted prettily. 'I merely called, of course, to inform you that the sapphire is in America!'... I thought hard for more than a minute.... Then it occurred to me that I had seen her in a dozen disguises shadowing me from Buckingham to the room upstairs on Downing Street,—to charm me later at The Hague—to disappear like a will-o'-the-wisp,—then to fascinate me at the Metropole.'...

"Well, the commander of the vessel tells me that it is fourteen hundred miles down stream to Woosung and that the voyage will take seven days from there.... With his code word still ringing in my ears to be repeated to one man at Berlin, to another man in England, another in Japan, and to a dignitary in Italy, the mission I have undertaken shall have been successfully discharged, so far as history and public policy is concerned.... But there is another mission that I shall, some day, undertake that will be enshrined in lovely memories and lively fancies until that day shall come."



PART TWO



RESCUING THE CZAR

INTRODUCTION

The daring reference by Fox, in the foregoing, to personages and events, to locations and the life incident thereto, that may easily be confuted are they false in any of their details, leads to but one conclusion.

Yet there are other incidents that reinforce that conclusion, that are only casually touched upon by Fox. The references to "the Performer at the Metropole" who "is a Baroness sure enough" and to the person named as "Syvorotka," in whom the Baroness is interested, display an unconscious connection between the mysterious underground diplomats and the Secret Agents who were acting independently in the rescue, and supplementing the activities of Fox, will be found to be fully authenticated in the vivid incidents recorded by the diarist of Part Two.

This diarist was doubtless a Russian gentleman of the official class, of elevated standing with the former Government, and of pronounced aristocratic sentiments. His previous official connections seem to have been with the High Administration, the Ministry of Finance, or with the Council of Ministers. Like many others of his class in the old regime, when the Revolution broke, he was forced to degrade himself and mingle with the evil elements that were bent on loot and rapine. By May, 1918, he appears to have been transformed into a perfect type of "Red" that deceived and terrorized the Russian population and gave credence to the Bolshevik assertion that "former officialdom is now acting with the proletariat." How well the diarist deceives the Bolsheviki and sustains this claim of Trotzky is fully revealed in the dramatic incidents recorded: nowhere in literature is found a better illustration of social metempsychosis,—of the abasement of moral and intellectual refinement to the elemental and unconscious vulgarity and irresponsibility of predatory Communism and mob indifference to shame! It is the devolution of Moral Responsibility into organized iniquity and characterizes primordial Passion released from sentiment and law,—and it was the necessary camouflage of the diarist in his struggle for life and in his efforts to promote the Czar's escape.

In translating Part Two, or the memoranda of this Imperial rescuer, from Russian into English, or the frequent French, to characterize the event recorded, there were found to be many situations, phrases and expressions that may shock the sensitive reader; in the conceptions of the diarist, however, in his cynicism and degradation he photographs Red Russia and reveals the characteristics necessary to visualize the horror that accompanied the event. A truthful picture of this unique segment of human history can be preserved only in a word-for-word translation of this document. Therefore, with the exception of a few letters involving the name of A.F. Kerensky, nothing has been withheld from the inspection of the reader to view the conduct of nobility subjected to privations, temptation and the fascinating power of sin.

TRANSLATOR.



I. PETROGRAD



1.

... and, post factum, everybody claims that "he (or more often she) predicted it long ago, but they would not listen." It is a lie; we all knew that the war has been conducted abominably, that Rasputin and Stuermer were plotting, that the administration was greatly inclined to graft,—all gossip of the town. But no one whom I had seen since the execution of the monk was aware of the real fact: the revolution was in the air. Rodzianko, to whom I spoke at the Club only a fortnight before the abdication, said that everything would turn out all right. In fact, the Court, and people around it,—were much better posted; perhaps they felt something growing instinctively, as they were too silly to crystallize their fears in some concrete conception. Maroossia was in Tsarskoye Selo not long before the old Admiral's death; they said that the danger was expected from the "Town and Country Union." But all these whispers and chatterings were always of the category of a "so-and-so, whose brother's friend knew a man who...."

With all my running around about the town I must confess I did not notice any movement; I always thought that the reason of the unrest—was the shortage of food, and a little provocation, to put Stuermer in a disagreeable position. The realization of the serious danger approaching all of us came to me only when the police fired on the mob on the Nevsky and the first real clash took place. I happened to cross the Liteinyi near Basseinaya Street, when I heard for the first time in my life the whistling of bullets and the peculiar drumming of the machine guns. I felt weak in the knees and around the waist and had to stand in a porte-cochere for a while. It was only for a few moments, and I felt ashamed of this disgusting feeling of fear. A crowd of cooks, or maids, passed near me shouting and screaming for help; they had disgustingly lost their self-control. I reached home in a hurry and found Maroossia pale and frightened. I had to tell her not to show her nose in the streets. Then Mikhalovsky called me up and asked how did I like the revolution. He did not like it: his cook had been shot in the knee; a very moderate cook, in fact.



2.

Committees, everywhere committees! Everywhere suspicions! No more cheerful faces! Permanent meetings of the new elements! Much conversation! Greetings! Wishes of prosperous free life! Hopes of the Allies that we will continue the war!

All this still characterizes our poor country.

Today—for the first time in my life (it is only the beginning!) I saw a real communist alive. He was a man of rather short size and dark complexion, if such could be detected under his greasy cheeks. He wore a small beard twisted at the end in a tin hook. His ears—transparent and pale—were unproportionately big. I stopped near the Elisseiev store to buy score cards for this evening's bridge, when a little group of men—civilians and soldiers—gathered near the communist. The usual crowd of nowadays loafers,—shabby looking, discussing something, casting around looks full of hostility, hatred and superiority. A boy brought a chair from a cigar counter, and the communist stepped on it, and started his talk. "Tovarishshi," he said, "the time has come."... They all applauded, though nobody knew what was going to be next, and the speaker could even have been a reactionary.

"This is he," shouted a sailor to me; a big chap with hair falling off of his cap.

"Who is he?" I questioned.

"You, burjooi," a soldier said to me, "no wonder you do not know him. This is Comrade Trotzky. He comes from America. You had better move on or I'll tell who you are,"—he continued staring at me very resolutely, and spat on the sidewalk right near my foot.

I moved on. What people!

I crossed Nevsky and stood on the other side. From there I could not hear Comrade Trotzky, but studied his movements and gesticulation, his manner of scratching his nose, of quickly turning his head in a derby, and the nervous shrugging of his shoulders. The mob applauded him after every phrase, making his speech a series of separate sentences and thus giving him the advantage of thinking of most radical ideas, while awaiting for the listeners to finish the applause.

I have finally decided to give in my resignation. What is the use? No work is being done. We only talk. The whole administration, the whole administrative machinery, stands still, evidently retrograding every day.

Many understand it. Rodzianko is going away south; a man whom they think too old and too much of a reactionary. He is quite depressed, I presume, but likes to look perfectly satisfied. When I asked him whether the war looked to him as though it were to be continued, he gazed at me, and not after hesitation sighed, and said:

"Yes, if the army will stand the effects of order number one."

And then, fearing the next question coming, he assumed the air of a busy man and shook hands—"as he had to go and see his relatives."

Nearing the house I saw Kerensky in the Emperor's car, proud, and smiling to left and right. His Excellency, the Minister of Justice!



3.

Everybody is sure and proud that he is building up the new Russia. Lawyers and doctors, engineers and priests, all run with busy faces,—they think a statesman of today must run,—everybody gives orders, counter-orders, nobody carries them out, nobody listens. There are about 200,000 Napoleons in Petrograd today; as they multiply by section, this number will be enormous before long. The situation, however, does not improve....

In the office there was quite a discussion of the probabilities, and I was listening to the younger people. Criticism and "my own opinion" are the main sicknesses. Perhaps the private initiative used to be so hardly oppressed, that it comes out at present in excess.

Why should lawyers be convinced, that their profession gives them the right, primo genio to be statesmen? I should suggest an archeologist, or a man in charge of a lighthouse.



4.

We all went to the "Farce," Maroossia and F., myself and Misha. Afterwards we had supper. At the next table to us were the M's., Alexander Ivanitsky and the Baroness B. Since her return she certainly looks much better. At first I did not see her, then before all she reprimanded me in her usual kind manner. She had grown a little thinner and has more jewelry I should say, and is as fascinating as before. When she speaks one can see that she thinks of far distant things.

"We all are busy these days," she said, when I asked her whether she came here from England just for curiosity to see all of us under the Provisional Government. "You did not change at all." Misha, who did not know B. before, did not like her very much,—in fact, they all think she is suspicious. Aren't these youngsters peculiar? Especially Misha who is so grouchy lately—all seems dangerous to him. I never think that a woman can be anything but pretty or hideous. There is no middle, and no suspicion about them. If a woman is, what they perhaps would call "suspicious"—then there is a man's influence behind her—so find the man (and it is easy) and she is as plain as a card on the table. Baroness B. is pretty. And if she likes to talk like a Pythia,—that's her way of making people interested in her.

Maroossia complained of a headache, so we left early. Baroness is in the Hotel d'Europe—she is so sorry that "her Astoria" became such a hole. Well—not only her Astoria.



5.

It certainly would be a wonder to expect anything but confusion from the men who recently became the leaders of 180 millions. The leaders are sure they can make wonders.

Prince Lvov! This old squeaking carriage, as Polenov says, is a man from whom I would not expect anything. It is enough to look at his beard, with remnants of yesterday's dinner on it, at his small blue foxy eyes always reddish and always dropping tears. Miliukov! Minister of Foreign Affairs! All his experience consists of a continuous chain of political breaks and a series of moderately paid, superficial articles on Balkan questions in a provincial newspaper. And, Monsieur Kerensky,—la fine fleur—the Minister of Justice, a little man with a single kidney and a double ambition. Insects!

These people would not be able to administer a small country community, and here they are confronted with three immense propositions: the Great War, the building up of a new state, and the fighting of an organized propaganda directed against the war, and against order.

It was enough for the ladies (and for Maroossia too) to see all of these people in power, in order to find interesting points, not only in their political activities, that would not be so bad—but in their private lives too. They all already know who these people are, what they eat, when and where they were born, what their wives and mistresses look like, etc., etc., up to the most intimate deeds and traits of their characters. The foreign ladies also take a very keen interest in those little tea-chats. All prefer to listen to them much rather than to the events at the front.

Vadbolsky wrote me a letter sent through the "Help the Soldiers" society. Of course he could not say much. They all realize that discipline is going down with tremendous speed, at least at the Northern front. The soldiers listen more to what the Council of Deputies say than to anything else. This treble power—the Council, the Government and the Army Authorities—must be united, but there is no one to realize it; and if there were, there would be no possibility of co-ordinating the different currents.



6.

Evening with the Ivanitskys.

After dinner we all went into the library and started as usual to speak of our very bad affairs, the high cost of living, even here, in a private home, reserved, not to be accused of reactionary tastes. The ladies looked at every one who would start to talk, as if he would be the man to solve all of our complicated problems and mishaps.

Baroness B., whom I had seen very much lately, talked to me for a while in a corner, to the ridiculous anger of Maroossia who went to bed tonight without kissing me. She (the Baroness) said that Sophie had already reached London after the stay in Copenhagen and Paris. "Her mission," she said,—as usual coquettishly and childishly looking around with a fear of being overheard,—"was a failure." In Copenhagen "they would not even listen", to Sophie, and she was told that the solution and the "demarches" must be made, if made, from London, as there people have every means to arrange with Berlin. I asked the Baroness to keep all of this news to herself, and not to drag me, or what would be worse, Maroossia, into any conspiracy. "Be just as you are and don't try to become more serious, it may spoil you"—. Heavens knows what the Baroness has become since her peculiar conduct with the Vassilchikov and her permanent whisperings to Madame Vyrubov and the rest of the gang. But still, there was already a movement about Tsarskoe Selo. If I were not so particular about avoiding silly conversations, I would have asked her what she meant by communicating Sophie's failure to me.

Finally, I am glad, I did not ask her questions. What is the use of the Emperor's release to me? A man who did not know how to pick his advisors, who did not know how to arrange his home affairs, his Alice von Hessen Darmstadt, his monks and his generals, does not deserve to be too much regretted, and certainly does not deserve too particular interest. Baroness B's. actions are strange. Is she paid? By whom? Cash? Promises?...

(a page missing)

... was stopped by me and slightly pursed her red lips, we joined the rest, where a British Major (I never can think of his name) was telling of his experiences in the research work for German propaganda in Petrograd. So sorry he had to speak French with his typical Anglo-Saxon struggles with "D" and "T," that makes French so perfectly ununderstandable in an English mouth. It is horrid that people like the Ivanitskys don't know English well enough, and now, when we all have to be among our British allies, we make ourselves, and the allies as well, simply ridiculous!

So the Major explained that their man was at several meetings of a body, which he called "Le conseil secret du parti bolchevique" (that must have been something very bad indeed), where a man by name Lenine was present, also communists Bronstein, Nakhamkes, Kohan, Schwarz and others, I forget. They all are conspiring. "Be no war with our brethren," "Be peace on earth," "Closer together peasants and soldiers, workingmen and poor," "To hell with the intelligentzia," "Long live the International," etc., etc., was all we saw on the banners lately. The queerest thing is that the British agent at the meeting saw amongst the anarchists several men from the police, and a fellow by name of Petrov, the same one that had the accident on the Moscow railway and was asked to leave the Foreign Office a couple of years ago. Now Petrov is with the communists. Again the agent reported the presence of the 1905 blackhundreds. They all are there, and instead the "Boje Tsaria Khrani," they shout the International. They all understand their people (the agent said) and they all are with the Lenine and others, to return to the sweet past by destroying the bitter present. Sir George, the Major continued, knew all about these significant political blocks, and reported them to London, but the Foreign Office and the Conseil de Guerre seem to be either ignorant (I would not be very much surprised), or know more than the Ambassador, so, as yet, our Cabinet has not been warned. Our Cabinet! It sounds majestic.... Since Miliukov left, and the mercantile Monsieur Tereshchenko took his hot seat—everything goes to the devil with our policy abroad. It is strange, for Mr. Tereshchenko must be well posted in foreign relations: both of his French twin mistresses gave him every possibility of becoming "bien verse."

But—oh, shades of Count Nesselrode and Prince Gorchakov! Inspire the newcomer, looking from the walls of the Foreign Office, at his struggles! Your illegitimate son needs your sense and help ...



7.

Since the scandalous discovery of the plot (Mr. Kerensky took personal care to make it scandalous)—perhaps it was not a plot, but just a few letters of the Gr. Duchess M.P., Tsarskoye Selo has become very difficult to reach and to visit. A few days ago Maroossia came home from A. very late and so tired that I thought she was ill. The communication seems completely stopped, and soldiers were looking in the automobile every five minutes. Once she thought they would arrest her. Sentinels not only around the Palace, but in the garden too, with a double chain of Reds on the streets! The General told Maroossia that some one explained to him that these difficulties and impediments were provoked by the successes of the Germans on the Riga front, and that they expect a serious drive on Petrograd, and twice insinuated about her going to Yalta, or Gurzoof, or Gagry,—as things there rapidly were becoming complicated. So said the Admiral too, in his peculiar way: "The rats before a shipwreck usually feel the coming wreck by instinct, and run on the decks." He said that was his impression in Tsarskoye. Every rat is exceedingly nervous and tries to disappear from the Palace under some pretext or other, and the Palace is deserted.

Kerensky is coming there very often, usually with his milk-fed A.D.C.... This man wants to be generous, he wants to be square, in fact,—he wants to be magnificent. He calls the Emperor "Colonel Romanov," or "Nikolai Alexandrovich." Never says, "Your Majesty." He feels sure that he is beloved in Tsarskoye, and that they speak of him with tears of gratitude, admiring his justice and his manners. I hardly think Kerensky realizes that they are simply frightened, and feel with their inborn appreciation of the man, that by playing on his exceedingly well developed self-veneration—they might be saved.

I have been told in the Club that the Government is planning to get rid somehow of the whole family. The foxy old Polenov explained to us after bridge that he would not be surprised if Kerensky would say to the Lenine crowd that the Emperor should be taken somewhere in the country on account of the German advance, and to Buchanan ... on account of the growing strength of Lenine. "Many more people are interested in this affair," he said, "than even Kerensky knows. If he knew, he would have a larger field for bargaining."

Devil knows who is who now! If police officers enlist in the communists,—what is next? Trotzky's going to a high mass?



8.

Dined with Buchanans and the Lazarevs. Ros. was wounded. We all enjoyed this little story:—

A German girl was asked:

"Koennen sie Ibsen?" To which she replied:

"Nein! Wie macht man das?"



9.

I suspected, and feared, that it could or might have happened,—and so it was!

Yesterday Mikhalovsky asked me to come to his office. He looked queer and worried, and when I stepped in, he closed the door and started to reproach me with every sign of excitement, so proper to him; spitting all over my face.

"I never expected that from you! I never expected! How is it? What is it!?..." and so on.

I stopped him and asked him to be more explicit, as I could not grasp all of the meaning of his eloquence. After he lit a cigarette (how many times this little thing has been a salvation!) Mikhalovsky became more comprehensible and told me that Misha phoned at one o'clock in the night and asked him to come immediately to the Intelligence in his private office. Mikhalovsky, who is now taking great care of himself, drinks some waters, takes green pills and goes to bed at nine, became enraged and refused, but Misha said he was an ass, and simply had to dress and go to the headquarters. So the old thing had to dress and appear. Misha showed him a short note from the French Agent which read something like this:—"Baroness B. evidently communicating with Copenhagen through Sharp and Starleit M. General Z. to be approached, also Quart.—General R. In one instance a package carried to Sestroretsk by a lady in a blue tailor suit with white fox fur. Trail lady, arrest Baroness B. Watch Finland Depot, radio to Generals Z. and R." No signature.

My astonishment was very great, and I said that "though I have known Baroness B. quite well since I met her in Paris and Monte Carlo and...."

(five lines scratched out from manuscript).... "Quit your damn jokes for a while," he exclaimed. "Do you realize, what you are talking about? The lady with the fox—is Maroossia!"

"Maroossia? Spying?" I said, becoming angry in my turn. "You will have to account for it, Boris Platonovich, as even an old friend and relative must think over those accusations."

Then Mikhalovsky explained that Misha's man followed the lady—up to the house, and that it was Maroossia. Another one "listened in," and understood from Maroossia's and Baroness B's. conversation, that my wife took the package to a certain Madame van der Huechts in Sestroretsk, on being told to do so by the Baroness, and that she did not know what there was in it, and even did not know who Madame van der Huechts was.

"You see, you boneheaded fool," Mikhalovsky continued, "what was the danger? If Misha had not succeeded in having his own man listen in, and do it quietly, all of this detective work, your Maroossia would be gone by this time." "But,"—he continued, "now the case is closed, as far as your wife is concerned, and the only thing I wish to insist upon,—is to get Maroossia out of here right now. Furthermore, you should give her a scolding."

I said it would not be omitted.



10.

Maroossia left for her father's. We certainly had some explanation! She cried and felt indignant, and finally understood why I was so angry when the evening papers came out with the news of Baroness B's arrest. Then—she understood that she never should do anything that was asked her "without her husband's knowledge." The case, as Mikhalovsky says, is closed.

The last two or three evenings I spent with both Mikhalovskys. They told me strange stories. I simply cannot believe them. First—that the German staff sent Lenine here with a special message to some people now in power. "We know all about it," said Misha, "but the time is not yet ripe to act." Second—that a certain person received a request not to touch Grimm, nor any of the communists. Third—the strangest—to get the Tsar's family out. "All of this news would have been much fuller if only we could decipher some of this,"—and Misha took out of his pocket and presented me with this strange slip of paper....

(missing)

...—all of these crossings of the lines are words, or ciphers, or phrases, God knows what, and they must mean something very important for they were taken from members of this web, and stand in direct connection with our present, or rather our future, attitude. But that is about as much as we know of it.



11.

I went to Cubat's for luncheon, as the cook had to go to a meeting,—how do you like that?—and I do not regret it, for I learned much.

When I think of Cubat's, Contant's or the Hotel de France's public before the war, and compare them with the present, I find the difference on the style of people simply enormous. They never were here before,—these types of men with eyes looking for quick money, for instantaneous riches, for some "affaires du ravitaillement militaire." Yesterday's poor chaps, that would not know the difference between a cotelette and a jigot are ordering and easily eating things that it would take me some time to think of. Democratisation of French cooking, or vulgarisation of exclusive tastes (?) which?

I met Frank at Cubat's.... Heaven knows how he got released from custody. I could not help it when he approached my table and greeted me; I asked him whether he had heard anything from Colonel Makevich. He asked me about Maroossia, so one thing led to another, and finally the waiter brought a chair. "Can I join you?" he asked. I growled something like "delighted" and so he sat down. The conversation at first was rather general, and then suddenly:

"Did you hear anything of the Baroness B's. case, and how is she now?" he said.

This unexpected question put Frank in a new light. I had to take several puffs of my cigarette to think over my answer. Frank gave me time to prepare the response in giving orders to the maitre d'hotel. Quite a bit of time elapsed after he questioned me. I hoped for an instant that he was going to forget about it, but, alas, when he was through with his orders (from which I understood that he either had become rich, or expected me to pay his check) he looked at me and repeated:

"Yes, sir, did you hear anything new of the poor Baroness?"

"Well," I replied, "the only thing that we all know: she is in jail."

"Your information," he smiled, "is quite old. They released her about a day or two after this misunderstanding was cleared up."

"What do you mean 'misunderstanding.' You would not call such a case so gently, I suppose?"

"Here we are!" Frank said, lowering his voice. "So you must know more than the average person. I, personally, knew only that there was an arrest, and a release (as I saw the Baroness) after they understood that there was no reason for holding a perfectly loyal lady. I think we should talk it over again, but not here. I read in the Town Activities column that your wife went to Tula. Couldn't you join me for dinner tonight at Contant, say at seven-thirty?"

My first impulse was to refuse him flat. Then I happened to think that my avoiding him would perhaps somehow reflect on Maroossia for her silly behavior with the package. Besides I was interested to know what Frank would talk about, and to know what happened to the B. And again it interested me to know what he was doing at present. So I hesitated.

"Please do, decide affirmatively," he begged. "I feel sure you will not regret a good dinner."

"Very well," I said, "at seven-thirty."

After luncheon I crossed the street to see Mikhalovsky, whom I was sure to find in the Club. He was going out with Polenov.

"Aha, dear boy!" Polenov said to me. "The wife is away, and here he runs around like—... (his comparisons are striking, but very rough!) Come on with me. There are no political parties or platforms at Nadejda Stepanovna. A little lawyer, and an old soldier are equally welcome. Nadejda Stepanovna just telephoned there are new ones."

The old fool! As if there was a single living being in the town that would not know that all his pleasures were reduced to kissing a new girl on the forehead and petting her behind the ears! Nadejda Stepanovna told me how they all laughed watching Polenov through the keyhole.... "Thanks," I said, "I am through with the Oficerskaya Street." So he went alone, trying to look younger and straighter.

When he left I asked Makhalovsky to explain to me what happened to the Baroness. He almost fainted.

"For heavens sake! Don't shout that damned name! There are ears everywhere," he whispered.

He took me by the arm and dragged me all along the Morskaya, giving me short and hard kicks as soon as I would open my mouth. And only when we reached his room and he verified as to whether or not the door was well shut, he said:

"Now what seems to be your question, and what in hell do you know about her? Who told you that something happened to her?"

As this is the time when "homo homini—lupus," I said that nobody ever told me of her, but having met Mikhalovsky at the Club I thought of the Baroness and asked.

"Well," he said, "she was released." And Mikhalovsky became sad and worried, looking humble and frightened.

"I am all tangled up, friend!" he said. "I think I am in mortal danger. Last Friday Kerensky asked me to come to his office and said she must be freed, and everything was a misunderstanding. He said he had received proof; her arrest was a mistake. He also said that we all must be careful about our arrests, "from the left, as well as from the right."

"Did the British Embassy intervene?"—"Not at all (it seems though they never had heared of it)."

—"and here," he continued, "we received a letter signed by Executive Committee, Department of Political Research, saying that unless the whole dossier of the Baroness B. was burned, the undersigned of the message reserved the privilege of knowing how to deal with it. Misha was so disgusted with the letter that he went to see Kerensky, and explained that a body of doubtful prerogatives and no official standing had no right to insult an official institution by threats. Kerensky read the letter, studied the attached signatures and said "that he would not pay any particular attention to the letter, that there was decidedly no reason to think that the authority of the Department was offended, or held in contempt." He took the letter from Misha saying that "as I see it affects you too much, I will make a private and personal investigation and let you know when I get some results."

"Now," Mikhalovsky continued, lowering his voice, "Misha has disappeared. He is not in the office. He has never come home since the morning he told me all of that. When I asked his chief whether he knew anything about Misha—I got an answer that he was looking for him all over the city and could find neither Misha nor a dossier which he needs more than Misha himself! I feel,—I know, Misha is dead. And surely, all that in connection....

"Look here, Boris Platonovich," I said, "You must not feel so terribly depressed about that story. Nothing happened to Misha ..." and I continued in that tone of consolation, though I knew how weak the words sounded.

Mikhalovsky shook his head. "Anyhow I won't let it pass so easily. I'll try to know, and I'll try to clear it out...."

I left him with his head down on his hands, in an agony of sorrow for Misha, and in an agony of fears for his own sake.

At about twenty to eight I entered the restaurant, having decided to keep silent, to give no chance to the man to understand me not only by questions, but even by the association of ideas: I decided to be like stone. He was talking to a chap in the hall, a tall, pimply young man of twenty-five, in the French style of blue khaki and with aviation insignia on his sleeve. Frank left his friend and we both went to the dining room.

When we were through with our soup, Frank said:

"I have touched today upon the case of the Baroness. In fact you know the story from many sources, especially from Mikholavsky.... Please, please!" he exclaimed, when I made a movement of protest,—"don't. So, if you are apt in making logical decisions and conclusions, you are in a position to understand all. Don't try to destroy anything by going around with your personal impressions, for it really would be bad. Just look!"

The telegram he showed me read: "Michael Mikhalovsky's body found on the track near Vyborg station four in the morning suicide presumed." "There is no need for explanations," he said, in putting the message back in his pocket, "nor sorrow—all is over. But it would be an excellent idea to appreciate this mere fact properly, don't you think so?"

"So," continued Frank, "to come closer to our own affairs, I must say that a young and charming lady is leaving for Stockholm on a special mission—I know not exactly what it is—and I must give her some information, some of which could be furnished by you. Before I ask you for this little information, however, I must clearly apprehend one thing: do you feel sufficiently interested in anything closely connected with the old regime? And if so,—how deep is your interest? You understand?"

"I understand," I said, after a second of thinking. "I also get your threat. Now—my answer will be clearer than your insinuations, as I fear nothing that I cannot see." (what a liar I am!)

Then I assumed my best poker face and calmly continued:

"I don't know, and do not care to know, what you are after, Frank. Personally—I cannot find anything in the old regime that I would regret to any important extent. On the other hand—I honestly do not see anything attractive, or particularly elegant, about the new regime. Practically there is no regime whatsoever in this present concoction of kuvaka and elevated ideas. So, finally, damn it all! I would be grateful to a friend who would advise me how to get out of any activity, and of course, would not consider any suggestion leading me into it. My decision is plain. I resign. Then I realize all I can and disappear from this rich field of political life. That's all, Frank."

He looked at me. He was very grave. And then suddenly his face changed and he again became the chap that amused Maroossia and myself in Marienbad a few years ago.

"So I feel, old man, exactly so," he laughed,—"aren't all of them the rottenest types one ever saw? Trash, my dear sir, trash. And I greet your decision."

The tension which I felt at the beginning of the dinner disappeared completely, and we began to talk about different things, remembering the time when we met, and recollecting our mutual impressions of 1912-1913, when things and people seemed to be so very different. I could not help, however, asking Frank at the end of our dinner:

"Are there any especial reasons to try and be foxy with me, or any reasons to frighten me with mysteries?"

He answered:...

(several lines scratched out)

..."no such things as mysteries. This is the commonest of all planets and everything is plain and entirely within the old three dimensions. Some very cautious persons do not see the matter clearly—or perhaps they are too stubborn to see it right,—and it makes them suspicious.... You'll kindly forgive me," he added, "if I'll have to be going?"...

After his departure—it was only about 9:30, as I had nothing to do, I went to the New Club. No Misha there. I saw Boris Vlad. drunk as a sailor in company with three or four other rascals; I think the short one was the man from the Red Cross. In the card room—a gloomy game of bridge, no word said unless for a real mistake....

So I came home and looked out of the window onto the deserted and neglected streets of my Northern Palmira....



12.

Millions of those who fell for their countries in Europe and Asia paved the way for a general depreciation of life; human existence has no more value. For years they were killing people on the battle fields. It is justified.... They were killing lately, in Russia, officers (for the reason that they were such.) It can be understood: the crazy mob is not responsible. But what can one think of murders? For reasons unknown to the murdered, and perhaps to the murderers. Here are the results of three years of war, the results of three hundred years of slavery.

Maroossia read the news of Mikhalovsky's accident in the papers in Tula, and came yesterday.

"Nothing could stop me," she said, crying bitterly, and leaning on me so that I would not be too angry. "Dearest, everything is so strange! Misha's death, and Boris Platonovich's death!... Please, let us go away somewhere, I cannot think of you, here alone...."

I told her that I had made arrangements to resign, and why it could not be done yet. "Then," I said, "we will go to Gurzoof, where our house is rotting without care". I succeeded in calming the poor girl, explaining with all of the eloquence that I had, that Misha's suicide and Mikhalovsky's accident in the lift had nothing in common, and that both deaths were not to be put in the same angle of view.

Later she showed me a postal card from Misha, from Vyborg. He did not sign it, but his characteristic handwriting spoke only too clearly. "Wanted to send you some fruit," he wrote, "but here there is no fruit, so you'll have to get some yourself from the South."

"Poor Misha, there was something strange about him before he killed himself," she said. "I never asked him for any fruit. He was very nervous, the poor boy, I see it! And to think that almost in his last hour he thought of us!..."

Fruit from the south.... I see Misha's dead hand pointing to us the way out of Petrograd. It is a warning, a cipher warning from the other side of the grave; one more inducement to leave this filthy place.



13.

I again hear that something is growing amongst the bolsheviki. There are indications that if everything passes well for them—Kerensky will join the movement, passing from the left social revolutionary party to the commune. Both parties deal with internationalism, and finally the only difference is that the bolsheviki act more energetically.