The Secret City

by Sir Hugh Walpole

  XIII

  I have no idea at all what Lawrence did during the early days of thatweek. He has never told me, and I have never asked him. He never, withthe single exception of the afternoon at the Astoria, came near theMarkovitches, and I know that was because he had now reached a stagewhere he did not dare trust himself to see Vera--just as she at thattime did not trust herself to see him....

  I do not know what he thought of those first days of the Revolution. Ican imagine that he took it all very quietly, doing his duty and makingno comment. He had of course his own interest in it, but it would be, Iam sure, an entirely original interest, unlike any one else's. Iremember Dune once, in the long-dead days, saying to me, "It's never anyuse guessing what Lawrence is thinking. When you think it's footballit's Euripides, and when you think it's Euripides it's Marie Corelli."Of all the actors in this affair he remains to me to the last as themost mysterious. I know that he loved Vera with the endurance of therock, the heat of the flame, the ruthlessness of a torrent, but behindthat love there sat the man himself, invisible, silent, patient,watching.

  He may have had Semyonov's contempt for the Revolutionary idealist, hemay have had Wilderling's belief in the Czar's autocracy, he may havehad Boris Grogoff's enthusiasm for freedom and a general holiday. Idon't know. I know nothing at all about it. I don't think that he sawmuch of the Wilderlings during the earlier part of the week. He himselfwas a great deal with the English Military Mission, and Wilderling waswith _his_ party whatever that might be. He could see of course thatWilderling was disturbed, or perhaps indignant is the right word. "Asthough you know," he said, "some dirty little boy had been pullin'snooks at him." Nevertheless the Baroness was the human link. Lawrencewould see from the first--that is, from the morning of the Sunday--thatshe was in an agony of horror. She confided in nobody, but went about asthough she was watching for something, and at dinner her eyes never lefther husband's face for a moment. Those evening meals must have beenawful. I can imagine the dignity, the solemn heavy room with all thesilver, the ceremonious old man-servant and Wilderling himself behavingas though nothing at all were the matter. To do him all justice he wasas brave as a lion, and as proud as a gladiator, and as conceited as aPrussian. On the Wednesday evening he did not return home. He telephonedthat he was kept on important business.

  The Baroness and Lawrence had the long slow meal together. It was almostmore than Jerry could stand having, of course, his own private torturesto face. "It was as though the old lady felt that she had been deputedto support the honour of the family during her husband's absence. Shemust have been wild with anxiety, but she showed no sign except that herhand trembled when she raised her glass."

  "What did you talk about?" I asked him.

  "Oh, about anything! Theatres and her home, when she was a girl andEngland.... Awful, every minute of it!"

  There was a moment towards the end of the meal, when the good ladynearly broke down. The bell in the hall rang and there was a step; shethought it was her husband and half rose. It was, however, the Dvornikwith a message of no importance. She gave a little sigh. "Oh, I do wishhe would come!... I do wish he would come!" she murmured to herself.

  "Oh, he'll come," Lawrence reassured her, but she seemed indignant withhim for having overheard her. Afterwards, sitting together desolately inthe magnificent drawing-room, she became affectionately maternal. I havealways wondered why Lawrence confided to me the details of their veryintimate conversation. It was exactly the kind of thing he was mostreticent about.

  She asked him about his home, his people, his ambitions. She had askedhim about these things before, but to-night there was an appeal in herquestions, as though she said:

  "Take my mind off that other thing. Help me to forget, if it's only fora moment."

  "Have you ever been in love?" she asked.

  "Yes. Once," he said.

  "Was he in love now?"

  "Yes."

  "With some one in Russia?"

  "Yes."

  She hoped that he would be happy. He told her that he didn't thinkhappiness was quite the point in this particular case. There were otherthings more important--and, anyway, it was inevitable.

  "He had fallen in love at first sight?"

  "Yes. The very first moment."

  She sighed. So had she. It was, she thought, the only real way. Sheasked him whether it might not, after all, turn out better than heexpected.

  No, he did not think that it could. But he didn't mind how it turnedout--at least he couldn't look that far. The point was that he was init, up to the neck, and he was never going to be out of it again.

  There was something boyish about that that pleased her. She put herplump hand on his knee and told him how she had first met the Baron,down in the South, at Kieff, how grand he had looked; how, seeing heracross a room full of people, he had smiled at her before he had everspoken to her or knew her name. "I was quite pretty then," she added. "Ihave never regretted our marriage for a single moment," she said. "Nor,I know, has he."

  "We hoped there would he children...." She gave a pathetic littlegesture. "We will get away down to the South again as soon as thetroubles are over," she ended.

  I don't suppose he was thinking much of her--his mind was on Vera allthe time--but after he had left her and lay in bed, sleepless, his minddwelt on her affectionately, and he thought that he would like to helpher. He realised, quite clearly, that Wilderling was in a very dangerousposition, but I don't think that it ever occurred to him for a momentthat it would be wise for him to move to another flat.

  On the next day, Thursday, Lawrence did not return until the middle ofthe afternoon. The town was, by now, comparatively quiet again. Numbersof the police had been caught and imprisoned, some had been shot andothers were in hiding; most of the machine-guns shooting from the roofshad ceased. The abdication of the Czar had already produced the secondphase of the Revolution--the beginning of the struggle between theProvisional Government and the Council of Workmen and Soldiers'Deputies, and this was proceeding, for the moment, inside the walls ofthe Duma rather than in the streets and squares of the town. Lawrencereturned, therefore, that afternoon with a strange sense of quiet andsecurity.

  "It was almost, you know, as though this tommy-rot about a WhiteRevolution might be true after all--with this jolly old Duma and theirjolly old Kerensky runnin' the show. Of course I'd seen the nonsenseabout their not salutin' the officers and all that, but I didn't thinkany fellers alive would be such dam fools.... I might have knownbetter."

  He let himself into the flat and found there a death-like stillness--noone about and no sound except the tickings of the large clock in thedrawing-room.

  He wandered into that horribly impressive place and suddenly sat down onthe sofa with a realisation of extreme physical fatigue. He didn't knowwhy he was so tired, he had felt quite "bobbish" all the week; suddenlynow his limbs were like water, he had a bad ache down his spine and hislegs were as heavy as lead. He sat in a kind of trance on that sofa, hewas not asleep, but he was also, quite certainly, not awake. He wonderedwhy the place was so "beastly still" after all the noise there had beenall the week. There was no one left alive--every one dead--excepthimself and Vera... Vera... Vera.

  Then he was conscious that some one was looking at him through thedouble-doors. At first he didn't realise who it was, the face was sowhite and the figure so quiet, then, pulling himself together, he sawthat it was the old servant.

  "What is it, Andre?" he asked, sitting up.

  The old man didn't answer, but came into the room, carefully closing thedoor behind him. Lawrence saw that he was trembling with fright, but wasstill endeavouring to behave with dignity.

  "Barin! Barin!" he whispered, as though Lawrence were a long way fromhim. "Paul Konstantinovitch! (that was Wilderling). He's mad.... Hedoesn't know what he's doing. Oh, sir, stop him, stop him, or we shallall be murdered!"

  "What is he doing?" asked Lawrence, standing up.

  "In the little hack room," Andre whispered, as
though now he wereconfiding a terrible secret. "Come quickly...!"

  Lawrence followed him; when he had gone a few steps down the passage heheard suddenly a sharp, muffled report.

  "What's that?"

  Andre came close to him, his old, seamed face white like plaster.

  "He has a rifle in there..." he said. "He's shooting at them!" Then asLawrence stepped up to the door of the little room that was Wilderling'sdressing-room, Andre caught his arm--.

  "Be careful, Barin.... He doesn't know what he's about. He may notrecognise you."

  "Oh, that's all right!" said Lawrence. He pushed the door open andwalked in. To give for a moment his own account of it: "You know thatroom was the rummiest thing. I'd never been into it before. I knew theold fellow was a bit of a dandy, but I never expected to see all thepots and jars and glasses there were. You'd have thought one wouldn'thave noticed a thing at such a time, but you couldn't escape them,--hisdressing-table simply covered,--white round jars with pink tops,bottles of hair-oil with ribbons round the neck, manicure things, heapsof silver things, and boxes with Chinese patterns on them, and onething, open, with what was mighty like rouge in it. And clothes all overthe place--red silk dressing-gown with golden tassels, and red leatherslippers!

  "I don't remember noticing any of this at the moment, but it all comesback to me as soon as I begin to think of it--and the room stank ofscent!"

  But of course it was the old man in the corner who mattered. It was, Ithink, very significant of Lawrence's character and hisunEnglish-English tradition that the first thing that he felt was thepathos of it. No other Englishman in Petrograd would have seen that atall.

  Wilderling was crouched in the corner against a piece of gold Japaneseembroidery. He was in the shadow, away from the window, which was pushedopen sufficiently to allow the muzzle of the rifle to slip between thewoodwork and the pane. The old man, his white hair disordered, hisclothes dusty, and his hands grimy, crept forward just as Lawrenceentered, fired down into the side-street, then moved swiftly back intohis corner again. He muttered to himself without ceasing in French,"Chiens! Chiens!... Chiens!" He was very hot, and he stopped for amoment to wipe the sweat from his forehead, then he saw Lawrence.

  "What do you want?" he asked, as though he didn't recognize him.

  Lawrence moved down the side of the room, avoiding the window. Hetouched the little man's arm.

  "I say, you know," he said, "this won't do."

  Wilderling smelt of gunpowder, and he was breathing hard as though hehad been running desperately. He quivered when Lawrence touched him.

  "Go away!" he said, "you mustn't come here.... I'll get them yet--I tellyou I'll get them yet--I tell you I'll get them--Let them dare...Chiens... Chiens..." He jerked his rifle away from the window andbegan, with trembling fingers, to load it again.

  Lawrence gripped his arm. "When I did that," he said, "it felt as thoughthere wasn't an arm there at all, but just a bone which I could break ifI pressed a bit harder."

  "Come away!" he said. "You damn fool--don't you see that it's hopeless?"

  "And I'd always been so respectful to him...." he added in parenthesis.

  Wilderling hissed at him, saying no words, just drawing in his breath.

  "I've got two of them," he whispered suddenly. "I'll get them all."

  Then a bullet crashed through the window, burying itself in the oppositewall.

  After that things happened so quickly that it was impossible to say inwhat order they occurred. There was suddenly a tremendous noise in theflat.

  "It was just as though the whole place was going to tumble about ourears. All the pots and bottles began to jump about, and then anotherbullet came through, landed on the dressing-table, and smashedeverything. The looking-glass crashed, and the hair-oil was all over theplace. I rushed out to see what was happening in the hall...."

  What "was happening" was that the soldiers had broken the hall door in.Lawrence saw then a horrible thing. One of the men rushed forward andstuck Andre, who was standing, paralysed, by the drawing-room door, inthe stomach. The old man cried out "just like a shot rabbit," and stoodthere "for what seemed ages," with the blood pouring out of his middle.

  That finished Lawrence. He rushed forward, and they would certainly have"stuck" him too if someone hadn't cried out, "Look out, he's anEnglishman--an _Anglichanin_--I know him."

  After that, for a time, he was uncertain of anything. He struggled; hewas held. He heard noises around him--shouts or murmurs or sighs--thatdidn't seem to him to be connected with anything human. He could nothave said where he was nor what he was doing. Then, quite suddenly,everything cleared. He came to himself with a consciousness of thatutter weariness that he had felt before. He was able to visualise thescene, to take it all in, but as a distant spectator. "It was likenothing so much as watching a cinematograph," he told me. He could donothing; he was held by three soldiers, who apparently wished him to bea witness of the whole affair. Andre's body lay there, huddled up in apool of drying blood, that glistened under the electric light. One ofhis legs was bent crookedly under him, and Lawrence had a strange madimpulse to thrust his way forward and put it straight.

  It was then, with a horrible sickly feeling, exactly like a blow in thestomach, that he realised that the Baroness was there. She was standing,quite alone, at the entrance of the hall, looking at the soldiers, whowere about eight in number.

  He heard her say, "What's happened? Who are you?..." and then in asharper, more urgent voice, "Where's my husband?"

  Then she saw Andre.... She gave a sharp little cry, moved forwardtowards him, and stopped.

  "I don't know what she did then," said Lawrence. "I think she suddenlybegan to run down the passage. I know she was crying, 'Paul! Paul!Paul!'... I never saw her again."

  The officer--an elderly kindly-looking man like a doctor or a lawyer (Iam trying to give every possible detail, because I think itimportant)--then came up to Lawrence and asked him some questions:

  "What was his name?"

  "Jeremy Ralph Lawrence."

  "He was an Englishman."

  "Yes."

  "Working at the British Embassy?"

  "No, at the British Military Mission."

  "He was officer?"

  "Yes."

  "In the British Army?"

  "Yes. He had fought for two years in France."

  "He had been lodging with Baron Wilderling?"

  "Yes. Ever since he came to Russia."

  The officer nodded his head. They knew about him, had full information.A friend of his, a Mr. Boris Grogoff, had spoken of him.

  The officer was then very polite, told him that they regretted extremelythe inconvenience and discomfort to which he might be put, but that theymust detain him until this affair was concluded--"which will be verysoon" added the officer. He also added that he wished Lawrence to be awitness of what occurred so that he should see that, under the newregime in Russia, everything was just and straightforward.

  "I tried to tell him," said Lawrence to me, "that Wilderling was off hishead. I hadn't the least hope, of course.... It was all quite clear,and, at such a time, quite just. Wilderling had been shooting them outof his window.... The officer listened very politely, but when I hadfinished he only shook his head. That was their affair he said.

  "It was then that I realised Wilderling. He was standing quite close tome. He had obviously been struggling a bit, because his shirt was alltorn, and you could see his chest. He kept moving his hand and trying topull his shirt over; it was his only movement. He was as straight as adart, and except for the motion of his hand as still as a statue,standing between the soldiers, looking directly in front of him. He hadbeen mad in that other room, quite dotty.

  "He was as sane as anything now, grave and serious and rather ironical,just as he always looked. Well it was at that moment, when I saw himthere, that I thought of Vera. I had been thinking of her all the timeof course. I had been thinking of nothing else for weeks. But thatminute, there in the hal
l, settled me. Callous, wasn't it? I ought tohave been thinking only of Wilderling and his poor old wife. After all,they'd been awfully good to me. She'd been almost like a mother all thetime.... But there it was. It came over me like a storm. I'd beenfighting for nights and days and days and nights not to go toher--fighting like hell, trying to play the game the sentimentalistswould call it. I suppose seeing the old man there and knowing what theywere going to do to him settled it. It was a sudden conviction, like ablow, that all this thing was real, that they weren't playing at it,that any one in the town was as near death as winking.... And so thereit was! Vera! I'd got to get to her--at once--and never leave her againuntil she was safe. I'd got to get to her! I'd got to get to her! I'dgot to get to her!... Nothing else mattered. Not Wilderling's death normine either, except that if I was dead I'd be out of it and wouldn't beable to help her. They talk about men with one idea. From that moment Ihad only one idea in all the world--I don't know that I've had anyother one since. They talk about scruples, moralities, traditions.They're all right, but there just are moments in life when they simplydon't count at all.... Vera was in danger--Well, that was all thatmattered.

  "The officer said something to Wilderling. I heard Wilderling answer:"You're rebels against His Majesty.... I wish I'd shot more of you!"Fine old boy, you know, whatever way you look at it.

  "They moved him forward then. He went quite willingly, without any kindof resistance. They motioned to me to follow. We walked out of the flatdown the stairs, no one saying a word. We went out on to the Quay. Therewas no one there. They stood him up against the wall, facing the river.It was dark, and when he was against the wall he seemed to vanish,--onlyI got one kind of gesture, a sort of farewell, you know, his grey hairwaving in the breeze from the river.

  "There was a report, and it was as though a piece of the wall slowlyunsettled itself and fell forward. No sound except the report. Oh, hewas a fine old boy!

  "The officer came up to me and said very politely:

  "'You are free now, sir,' and something about regretting incivility, andsomething, I think, about them perhaps wanting me again to give somesort of evidence. Very polite he was.

  "I was mad, I suppose, I don't know. I believe I said something to himabout Vera, which of course he didn't understand.

  "I know I wanted to run like hell to Vera to see that she was safe.

  "But I didn't. I walked off as slowly as anything. It was awful. They'dbeen so good to me, and yet I wasn't thinking of Wilderling at all...."