The White Terror and The Red: A Novel of Revolutionary Russia
Page 26
CHAPTER XXV.
CLARA BECOMES "ILLEGAL."
Late the next afternoon Mme. Shubeyko called at the warden's house witha blue silk handkerchief round her face, apparently suffering from aswollen cheek or toothache.
An hour or more later, while she and Rodkevich were absorbed in a gameof cards in the parlour and a solitary star shone out of thesemi-obscurity of a colorless sky, Makar, clean-shaven and clad as awoman, with a blue handkerchief round his face, advanced toward thegate. Clara stood in the doorway of the warden's office, watching thescene. "Double Chin," the gateman, was still on duty, and as thedisguised prisoner approached him the impersonation struck her asabsurdly defective. Another second and all would be lost with a crash.Her heart stood still. She shut her eyes with a sick feeling, but thenext instant she sprang forward, bonnetless, addressing Makar by Mme.Shubeyko's name.
"You must not forget to let us know, dear," she said aloud, placingherself between him and the gateman and shutting the disguised man fromview. "A swollen gum is a dangerous thing to neglect, you know. Yes,figs and milk. I'll see you down the road, dear."
The heavy key groaned in the lock, the ponderous gate swung open andMakar and Clara walked out into the twilight of the street--he with arush of joy, she in a turmoil of triumph and despair. It seemed as if hehad never vividly hoped to see liberty, and now, suddenly, he had foundhimself breathing the very breath of it; while she who, a minute ago,could have walked freely through the streets, was now the quarry of thatterrible force called government.
As soon as they reached the ditch, a short distance from the prisonbuilding, Makar pulled off his feminine attire, threw it under thelittle foot-bridge, and put on a government official's cap. Masha, thegendarme officer's sister, was to await him round the corner; her housewas within easy reach from here, and Makar was to be taken there tochange his disguise and then to be driven to the Palace; but it had allcome about much sooner than they had expected, and she had not yetarrived.
"Never mind. Hire a cab to Cucumber Market," Clara said. "There you cancross some streets in the opposite direction and then take another cabdirect for Theatre Square. A very short walk will bring you to thePalace. Don't forget the names: First Cucumber Market and then TheatreSquare," she repeated, coolly.
He nodded with a reassuring smile, shook her hand warmly, and theyparted.
* * * * *
Double Chin was soon to be relieved. Had he left his post before theguards missed Makar, the connection existing between Mme. Shubeyko'stoothache and Makar's escape would never have been discovered, and Clarawould have come out uncompromised. But Clara was too slow in returning,and the fat gateman was an impressionable, suspicious man, so hepresently made inquiry. He found that Mme. Shubeyko was still in thewarden's parlour, nursing her cheek with one hand and holding her cardswith the other.
In the commotion that followed the discovery Rodkevich wept hystericallyand beat the gateman, while Mme. Shubeyko went about invokingimprecations upon the sly prisoner for stealing her new spring cloak,bonnet and parasol.
Meanwhile Clara stood at a point of vantage, watching developments. HadDouble Chin left the building at the usual hour, without the prisonbetraying any signs of disquiet, she would have returned to her room inthe warden's house at once, and thus saved her legal existence.Otherwise she would have been forced to escape and join the army of the"ne-legalny" (illegal), of political outlaws like the majority ofPavel's intimate friends in St. Petersburg. About twenty minutes hadelapsed from the time she had parted from Makar, when she saw humanfigures burst from the prison-gate, accompanied by the violent trill ofa police whistle. Her heart sank at the sound. From this minute onMiroslav would be forbidden ground to her. A _ne-legalny_ is somethingneither dead nor alive, the everlasting prey of gendarmes, policemen,spies--of the Czar himself, it seemed; a "cut-off slice;" an outcastwithout the right of being either an outcast or a member of thecommunity, a creature without name, home or identity. She wasappallingly forbidding to herself. But then in the underground world_ne-legalny_ is a title of indescribable distinction, and at this momentClara seemed to feel in her own person the sanctity which she had beenwont to associate with the word.
By ridding herself of her starched collar and ribbon and hastilyrearranging her hair into a coarse, dishevelled knot she wassufficiently transformed to look like a young woman of the masses tostrangers. She could not go to the Palace without a hat, however, andbuying one at this hour would have attracted undesirable attention. Soshe first went to the house of Beile, her uneducated sister. Herfather's address or full name being unknown at the prison, it would besome time before the police came to look for her at her sister's.
Beile was a little woman of thirty with glowing dark eyes and a greatcapacity for tears and nagging. She resembled her parents neither inlooks nor in character, and her mother often wondered "whence she cameinto the family." Her husband, a man learned in the Talmud, was absorbedday and night in an effort to build up a small business in hides. As aconsequence, the space under Beile's bed was usually occupied with rawskins and the two-room apartment which they shared with a tailor wasnever free from odours of putrefaction.
Clara entered the room with a smile. The first thing she did was to kissand slap Ruchele, her sister's little girl, and to tickle her babybrother under the chin.
"Why, where is your hat?" Beile screamed in amazement.
Her own hat was a matronly bonnet which she never wore except onSaturdays, when she would put it on over her wig, tying its two long,broad ribbons under her chin.
"It blew off into the river as I was crossing the bridge," Clarareplied. "That's what brings me here. I want you to get me a hat, Beile,but you must do it quickly."
"Are you crazy? Whatever is the matter with you, Clara? Whoever heard ofa girl taking so little care of her hat that it should drop into thewater? You don't think you are a daughter of Rothschild, do you? Did youever!"
"That's all right, Beile. We'll talk it all over some other time. Everyminute is of great value to me."
Beile thought her sister was in a hurry to attend a lesson, so shestarted. As she reached the door, with the baby in her arms, shecouldn't help facing about again.
"Didn't you go down the bank to look for it?" she asked.
"But I am telling you I have not a moment's time now."
The more irritation she betrayed, the more the other was tempted to nagher.
"But somebody must have picked it up. It cost you five rubles and you'venot worn it ten times."
"Beile! Beile!" Clara groaned.
"Tell me where it is. I'll go and look for it myself. Maybe it is notyet too late. Lord of the World, five rubles!"
Clara was left with Ruchele, but she changed her mind.
"I think I'll wait at Motl's house," she said, overtaking her sister,with the child by her side. "It's nearer to my lesson."
Motl, the trunk-finisher employed by their mother, lived a considerabledistance from here. Beile gave her a look full of amazement and dawningintelligence.
"At Motl's!" she whispered, sizing up Clara's dishevelled appearance."Where is your collar? A rend into my heart! What have you been doing toyourself? Anyhow, go to Motl's. Or, no, go to Feige's. That's muchbetter. I'll bring you a hat in ten minutes." Feige was a poor oldrelative of Beile's by marriage.
* * * * *
When Clara, in a large shepherdess hat and genteel looking, bade hersister a hurried good-bye and made for the open gate, Ruchele ran afterher, yelling so that her mother had to catch her in her arms and carryher gagged indoors. That was the only adventure Clara encountered on herway to the Palace.
Makar was not there.
She told Pavel of the rescue in general outline, explaining that anunexpected opportunity had presented itself and that there had been notime for sending word to him. He flew into a rage. So far from being thecentral figure in the affair for which he had been priming himself thesemany weeks he had bee
n left out of it altogether, left out like a ninnycaught napping. But this was no time for wounded pride. Clara hadunexpectedly become a _ne-legalny_ and--what was of more immediateconcern--what had become of Makar?
"I hope he was not taken in the street," he whispered.
"Masha might know. Could you send Onufri?"
Pavel disliked to use the old hussar for errands of this nature, but inthe present juncture there seemed to be no way out of it.
Onufri brought back a note in which the words were all but leaping withexcitement.
"No! No! No!" Masha wrote. "He has not been caught. My brother has notyet been home. Everybody is nearly crazy! But I can almost see mybrother chuckling--in his heart of course! Hurrah! Hurrah! Long live therevolution!"
"Thank God!" said Clara, shutting her eyes, in a daze of relief.
"He's a trump, after all. If they haven't caught him so far I don't seewhy he should be caught now. He may come in at any moment. But where canhe be?"
The next morning, at about ten o'clock, when the countess heard thedoorbell she declared, with intense agitation, that something told herit was the governor, and so it was. Clara went into her room.
"Don't leave me for a moment, Pasha," Anna Nicolayevna entreated herson. "I am afraid to face him alone. I should be sure to put my foot init, if I did."
"Just leave uncle to me," said Pavel.
The old man looked wan and haggard, and was blinking harder than ever.He began by joking Pasha on the rarity of his visits at thegubernatorial mansion, but the young man cut him short.
"By the way, uncle, is it true that that fellow, the Nihilist, hasescaped?" he asked.
"How did it reach you so soon?" the governor asked. "The town must befull of it."
"I heard it from a cab-driver last night. It's awful. But how did he getout? Say what you will, they are a clever set, those Nihilists."
"Clever nothing! Our gendarmes are the most stupid lot on God's earth.That's where the trouble comes in. There was a governess at the warden'shouse. It was she who seems to have managed the whole affair. Of course,the warden is a scoundrel, but what does he know of these things? It'sfor the gendarme office to scent a bird of that variety, but then thegendarme office is made up of rogues and blockheads. To clip one'swings, that's all they are good for. Wherever one turns, he bumps hishead against the 'independent power' of the gendarmerie. It's agovernment within a government, that's what it is. Else one would beable to show St. Petersburg that Miroslav was not the kind of place forNihilists and all sorts of ragamuffins to play the mischief with. Thoseswaggering gendarmes go around poking their noses everywhere, smellingnothing but their own grand epaulets, and yet they are beyond thecontrol of civil authorities. The consequence is that when somethinghappens somebody else is held responsible, because the prisons,forsooth, are under the Department of the Interior! To set an example ofidleness and stupidity is all they seem to be needed for, the gendarmes;that's all, that's all."
Pavel agreed with him.
* * * * *
Another week passed. The police and the gendarmes were still searchingfor Makar and the governess, as much in the dark as ever.
Yossl Parmet, Makar's father, was brought to Miroslav a prisoner, but hewas soon discharged. He was proud of his son. He now fully realised thathis Feivish belonged to a secret society made up of educated people whopreached economic equality and universal brotherhood as well aspolitical liberty, and that they were ready to go to prison for theirideas. This made a strong appeal to his imagination and sympathies, andthe fact that his Feivish had outwitted the authorities and escaped fromprison inclined him to shouts of triumphant laughter. He searched theTalmud for similar sentiments, and he found no stint of passages whichlent themselves to favourable interpretation. A new vista of thought andfeeling had opened itself to Yossl.