The Secret of the Night
“At your pleasure, Boris Alexandrovitch.”
They had exchanged these latter words tranquilly continuing their walk
and negligently smoking their yellow tobacco. Rouletabille was between
them. He did not regard them; he paid no attention even to their
quarrel; he had eyes only for Natacha, who just now quit her place
beside her father’s wheel-chair and passed by them with a little nod of
the head, seeming in haste to retrace the way back to the villa.
“Are you leaving us?” Boris demanded of her.
“Oh, I will rejoin you immediately. I have forgotten my umbrella.”
“But I will go and get it for you,” proposed Michael.
“No, no. I have to go to the villa; I will return right away.”
She was already past them. Rouletabille, during this, looked at Matrena
Petrovna, who looked at him also, turning toward the young man a visage
pale as wax. But no one else noted the emotion of the good Matrena, who
resumed pushing the general’s wheel-chair.
Rouletabille asked the officers, “Was this arrangement because the first
wife of the general, Natacha’s mother, was rich?”
“No. The general, who always had his heart in his hand,” said Boris,
“married her for her great beauty. She was a beautiful girl of the
Caucasus, of excellent family besides, that Feodor Feodorovitch had
known when he was in garrison at Tiflis.”
“In short,” said Rouletabille, “the day that General Trebassof dies
Madame Trebassof, who now possesses everything, will have nothing, and
the daughter, who now has nothing, will have everything.”
“Exactly that,” said Michael.
“That doesn’t keep Matrena Petrovna and Natacha Feodorovna from deeply
loving each other,” observed Boris.
The little party drew near the “Point.” So far the promenade had been
along pleasant open country, among the low meadows traversed by fresh
streams, across which tiny bridges had been built, among bright gardens
guarded by porcelain dwarfs, or in the shade of small weeds from the
feet of whose trees the newly-cut grass gave a seasonal fragrance. All
was reflected in the pools--which lay like glass whereon a scene-painter
had cut the green hearts of the pond-lily leaves. An adorable country
glimpse which seemed to have been created centuries back for the
amusement of a queen and preserved, immaculately trimmed and cleaned,
from generation to generation, for the eternal charm of such an hour as
this on the banks of the Gulf of Finland.
Now they had reached the bank of the Gulf, and the waves rippled to the
prows of the light ships, which dipped gracefully like huge and rapid
sea-gulls, under the pressure of their great white sails.
Along the roadway, broader now, glided, silently and at walking pace,
the double file of luxurious equipages with impatient horses, the open
carriages in which the great personages of the court saw the view and
let themselves be seen. Enormous coachmen held the reins high. Lively
young women, negligently reclining against the cushions, displayed their
new Paris toilettes, and kept young officers on horseback busy with
salutes. There were all kinds of uniforms. No talking was heard.
Everyone was kept busy looking. There rang in the pure, thin air only
the noise of the champing bits and the tintinnabulation of the bells
attached to the hairy Finnish ponies’ collars. And all that, so
beautiful, fresh, charming and clear, and silent, it all seemed more
a dream than even that which hung in the pools, suspended between the
crystal of the air and the crystal of the water. The transparence of the
sky and the transparence of the gulf blended their two unrealities so
that one could not note where the horizons met.
Rouletabille looked at the view and looked at the general, and in all
his young vibrating soul there was a sense of infinite sadness, for he
recalled those terrible words in the night: “They have gone into all the
corners of the Russian land, and they have not found a single corner of
that land where there are not moanings.” “Well,” thought he, “they have
not come into this corner, apparently. I don’t know anything lovelier or
happier in the world.” No, no, Rouletabille, they have not come here.
In every country there is a corner of happy life, which the poor are
ashamed to approach, which they know nothing of, and of which merely the
sight would turn famished mothers enraged, with their thin bosoms, and,
if it is not more beautiful than that, certainly no part of the earth
is made so atrocious to live in for some, nor so happy for others as in
this Scythian country, the boreal country of the world.
Meanwhile the little group about the general’s rolling-chair had
attracted attention. Some passers-by saluted, and the news spread
quickly that General Trebassof had come for a promenade to “the Point.”
Heads turned as carriages passed; the general, noticing how much
excitement his presence produced, begged Matrena Petrovna to push his
chair into an adjacent by-path, behind a shield of trees where he would
be able to enjoy the spectacle in peace.
He was found, nevertheless, by Koupriane, the Chief of Police, who was
looking for him. He had gone to the datcha and been told there that the
general, accompanied by his friends and the young Frenchman, had gone
for a turn along the gulf. Koupriane had left his carriage at the
datcha, and taken the shortest route after them.
He was a fine man, large, solid, clear-eyed. His uniform showed his fine
build to advantage. He was generally liked in St. Petersburg, where
his martial bearing and his well-known bravery had given him a sort of
popularity in society, which, on the other hand, had great disdain for
Gounsovski, the head of the Secret Police, who was known to be capable
of anything underhanded and had been accused of sometimes playing into
the hands of the Nihilists, whom he disguised as agents-provocateurs,
without anybody really doubting it, and he had to fight against these
widespread political suspicions.
Well-informed men declared that the death of the previous “prime
minister,” who had been blown up before Varsovie station when he was on
his way to the Tsar at Peterhof, was Gounsovski’s work and that in this
he was the instrument of the party at court which had sworn the death
of the minister which inconvenienced it.* On the other hand, everyone
regarded Koupriane as incapable of participating in any such horrors and
that he contented himself with honest performance of his obvious duties,
confining himself to ridding the streets of its troublesome elements,
and sending to Siberia as many as he could of the hot-heads, without
lowering himself to the compromises which, more than once, had given
grounds for the enemies of the empire to maintain that it was difficult
to say whether the chiefs of the Russian police played the part of the
law or that of the revolutionary party, even that the police had been at
the end of a certain time of such mixed procedure hardly able to
decide themselves which they did.
* Rumored cause of Plehve’s assassination.
This afternoon Koupriane appeared very nervous. He paid his compliments
to the general, grumbled at his imprudence, praised him for his bravery,
and then at once picked out Rouletabille, whom he took aside to talk to.
“You have sent my men back to me,” said he to the young reporter.
“You understand that I do not allow that. They are furious, and quite
rightly. You have given publicly as explanation of their departure--a
departure which has naturally astonished, stupefied the general’s
friends--the suspicion of their possible participation in the last
attack. That is abominable, and I will not permit it. My men have not
been trained in the methods of Gounsovski, and it does them a cruel
injury, which I resent, for that matter, personally, to treat them this
way. But let that go, as a matter of sentiment, and return to the simple
fact itself, which proves your excessive imprudence, not to say more,
and which involves you, you alone, in a responsibility of which you
certainly have not measured the importance. All in all, I consider that
you have strangely abused the complete authority that I gave you upon
the Emperor’s orders. When I learned what you had done I went to find
the Tsar, as was my duty, and told him the whole thing. He was more
astonished than can be expressed. He directed me to go myself to find
out just how things were and to furnish the general the guard you had
removed. I arrive at the isles and not only find the villa open like a
mill where anyone may enter, but I am informed, and then I see, that the
general is promenading in the midst of the crowd, at the mercy of the
first miserable venturer. Monsieur Rouletabille, I am not satisfied. The
Tsar is not satisfied. And, within an hour, my men will return to assume
their guard at the datcha.”
Rouletabille listened to the end. No one ever had spoken to him in that
tone. He was red, and as ready to burst as a child’s balloon blown too
hard. He said:
“And I will take the train this evening.”
“You will go?”
“Yes, and you can guard your general all alone. I have had enough of it.
Ah, you are not satisfied! Ah, the Tsar is not satisfied! It is too
bad. No more of it for me. Monsieur, I am not satisfied, and I say
Good-evening to you. Only do not forget to send me from here every three
or four days a letter which will keep me informed of the health of the
general, whom I love dearly. I will offer up a little prayer for him.”
Thereupon he was silent, for he caught the glance of Matrena Petrovna,
a glance so desolated, so imploring, so desperate, that the poor woman
inspired him anew with great pity. Natacha had not returned. What was
the young girl doing at that moment? If Matrena really loved Natacha
she must be suffering atrociously. Koupriane spoke; Rouletabille did
not hear him, and he had already forgotten his own anger. His spirit was
wrapped in the mystery.
“Monsieur,” Koupriane finished by saying, tugging his sleeve, “do you
hear me? I pray you at least reply to me. I offer all possible excuses
for speaking to you in that tone. I reiterate them. I ask your pardon.
I pray you to explain your conduct, which appeared imprudent to me but
which, after all, should have some reason. I have to explain to the
Emperor. Will you tell me? What ought I to say to the Emperor?”
“Nothing at all,” said Rouletabille. “I have no explanation to give you
or the Emperor, or to anyone. You can offer him my utmost homage and do
me the kindness to vise my passport for this evening.”
And he sighed:
“It is too bad, for we were just about to see something interesting.”
Koupriane looked at him. Rouletabille had not quitted Matrena Petrovna’s
eyes, and her pallor struck Koupriane.
“Just a minute,” continued the young man. “I’m sure there is someone
who will miss me--that brave woman there. Ask her which she prefers, all
your police, or her dear little domovoi. We are good friends already.
And--don’t forget to present my condolences to her when the terrible
moment has come.”
It was Koupriane’s turn to be troubled.
He coughed and said:
“You believe, then, that the general runs a great immediate danger?”
“I do not only believe it, monsieur, I am sure of it. His death is a
matter of hours for the poor dear man. Before I go I shall not fail
to tell him, so that he can prepare himself comfortably for the great
journey and ask pardon of the Lord for the rather heavy hand he has laid
on these poor men of Presnia.”
“Monsieur Rouletabille, have you discovered something?”
“Good Lord, yes, I have discovered something, Monsieur Koupriane. You
don’t suppose I have come so far to waste my time, do you?”
“Something no one else knows?”
“Yes, Monsieur Koupriane, otherwise I shouldn’t have troubled to feel