XII
About four o'clock on Christmas afternoon I took some flowers to VeraMichailovna. I found that the long sitting-room had been cleared of allfurniture save the big table and the chairs round it. About a dozenmiddle-aged ladies were sitting about the table and solemnly playing"Lotto." So serious were they that they scarcely looked up when I camein. Vera Michailovna said my name and they smiled and some of thembowed, but their eyes never left the numbered cards. "_Dvar...Peedecat... Cheteeriy... Zurock Tree... Semdecet Voisim_"... came from astout and good-natured lady reading the numbers as she took them fromthe box. Most of the ladies were healthy, perspiring, and of a mostamiable appearance. They might, many of them, have been the wives ofEnglish country clergymen, so domestic and unalarmed were they. Irecognised two Markovitch aunts and a Semyonov cousin.
There was a hush and a solemnity about the proceedings. Vera Michailovnawas very busy in the kitchen, her face flushed and her sleeves rolledup; Sacha, the servant, malevolently assisting her and scoldingcontinually the stout and agitated country girl who had been called infor the occasion.
"All goes well," Vera smilingly assured me. "Half-past six it is--don'tbe late."
"I will be in time," I said.
"Do you know, I've asked your English friend. The big one."
"Lawrence?... Is he coming?"
"Yes. At least I understood so on the telephone, but he soundedconfused. Do you think he will want to come?"
"I'm sure he will," I answered.
"Afterwards I wasn't sure. I thought he might think it impertinent whenwe know him so little. But he could easily have said if he didn't wantto come, couldn't he?"
There seemed to me something unusual in the way that she asked me thesequestions. She did not usually care whether people were offended or no.She had not time to consider that, and in any case she despised peoplewho took offence easily.
I would perhaps have said something, but the country girl dropped aplate and Sacha leapt upon the opportunity. "Drunk!... What did I say,having such a girl? Is it not better to do things for yourself? Butno--of course no one cares for my advice, as though last year the samething...." And so on.
I left them and went home to prepare for the feast.
I returned punctually at half-past six and found every one there. Manyof the ladies had gone, but the aunts remained, and there were otheruncles and some cousins. We must have been in all between twenty andthirty people. The table was now magnificently spread. There was a fineglittering Father Christmas in the middle, a Father Christmas of Germanmake, I am afraid. Ribbons and frosted strips of coloured paper ran inlines up and down the cloth. The "Zakuska" were on a side-table nearthe door--herrings and ham and smoked fish and radishes and mushroomsand tongue and caviare and, most unusual of all in those days, adecanter of vodka.
No one had begun yet; every one stood about, a little uneasy andawkward, with continuous glances flung at the "Zakuska" table. Of thecompany Markovitch first caught my eye. I had never seen him so cleanand smart before. His high, piercing collar was of course the firstthing that one saw; then one perceived that his hair was brushed, hisbeard trimmed, and that he wore a very decent suit of rather shinyblack. This washing and scouring of him gave him a curiously subdued andimprisoned air; I felt sympathetic towards him; I could see that he wasanxious to please, happy at the prospect of being a successful host,and, to-night, most desperately in love with his wife. That last stoodout and beyond all else. His eyes continually sought her face; he hadthe eyes of a dog watching and waiting for its master's appreciativeword.
I had never before seen Vera Michailovna so fine and independent and, atthe same time, so kind and gracious. She was dressed in white, veryplain and simple, her shining black hair piled high on her head, herkind, good eyes watching every one and everything to see that all werepleased. She, too, was happy to-night, but happy also in a strange,subdued, quiescent way, and I felt, as I always did about her, that hersoul was still asleep and untouched, and that much of her reliance andindependence came from that. Uncle Ivan was in his smart clothes, hisround face very red and he wore his air of rather ladylike butinoffensive superiority. He stood near the table with the "Zakuska," andhis eyes rested there. I do not now remember many of the Markovitch andSemyonov relations. There was a tall thin young man, rather bald, with ashort black moustache; he was nervous and self-assertive, and he had ahigh, shrill voice. He talked incessantly. There were severaldelightful, middle-aged women, quiet and ready to be pleased witheverything--the best Russian type of all perhaps, women who knew life,who were generously tolerant, kind-hearted, with a quiet sense of humourand no nonsense about them. There was one fat red-faced man in a verytight black coat, who gave his opinion always about food and drink. Hewas from Moscow--his name Paul Leontievitch Rozanov--and I met him on alater occasion of which I shall have to tell in its place. Then therewere two young girls who giggled a great deal and whispered together.They hung around Nina and stroked her hair and admired her dress, andlaughed at Boris Grogoff and any one else who was near them.
Nina was immensely happy. She loved parties of course, and especiallyparties in which she was the hostess. She was like a young kitten orpuppy in a white frock, with her hair tumbling over her eyes. She wasgreatly excited, and as joyous as though there were no war, and noafflicted Russia, and nothing serious in all the world. This was thefirst occasion on which I suspected that Grogoff cared for her.Outwardly he did nothing but chaff and tease her, and she responded inthat quick rather sharp and very often crudely personal way at whichforeigners for the first time in Russian company so often wonder.Badinage with Russians so quickly passes to lively and noisyquarrelling, which in its turn so suddenly fades into quiet contentedamiability that it is little wonder that the observer feels ratherbreathless at it all. Grogoff was a striking figure, with his fineheight and handsome head and bold eyes, but there was something abouthim that I did not like. Immensely self-confident, he neverthelessseldom opened his mouth without betraying great ignorance about almosteverything. He was hopelessly ill-educated, and was the more abletherefore from the very little knowledge that he had to construct a verysimple Socialist creed in which the main statutes were that everythingshould be taken from the rich and given to the poor, the peasantsshould have all the land, and the rulers of the world be beheaded. Hehad no knowledge of other countries, although he talked very freely ofwhat he called his "International Principles." I could not respect himas I could many Russian revolutionaries, because he had never on anyoccasion put himself out or suffered any inconvenience for hisprinciples, living as he did, comfortably, with all the food and clothesthat he needed. At the same time he was, on the other hand, kindly andwarm-hearted, and professed friendship for me, although he despised whathe called my "Capitalistic tendencies." Had he only known, he was farricher and more autocratic than I!
In the midst of this company Henry Bohun was rather shy anduncomfortable. He was suspicious always that they would laugh at hisRussian (what mattered it if they did?), and he was distressed by thenoise and boisterous friendliness of every one. I could not help smilingto myself as I watched him. He was learning very fast. He would not tellany one now that "he really thought that he did understand Russia," norwould he offer to put his friends right about Russian characteristicsand behaviour. He watched the young giggling girls, and the fat Rozanov,and the shrill young man with ill-concealed distress. Very far thesefrom the Lizas and Natachas of his literary imagination--and yet not sofar either, had he only known.
He pinned all his faith, as I could see, to Vera Michailovna, who didgloriously fulfil his self-instituted standards. And yet he did not knowher at all! He was to suffer pain there too.
At dinner he was unfortunately seated between one of the giggling girlsand a very deaf old lady who was the great-aunt of Nina and Vera. Thisold lady trembled like an aspen leaf, and was continually droppingbeneath the table a little black bag that she carried. She could makenothing of Bohun's Russian, even if she heard it, and was under the
impression that he was a Frenchman. She began a long quivering storyabout Paris to which she had once been, how she had lost herself, andhow a delightful Frenchman had put her on her right path again.... "Achivalrous people, your countrymen".... she repeated, nodding her headso that her long silver earrings rattled again--"gay and chivalrous!"Bohun was not, I am afraid, as chivalrous as he might have been, becausehe knew that the girl on his other side was laughing at his attempts toexplain that he was not a Frenchman. "Stupid old woman!" he said to meafterwards. "She dropped her bag under the table at least twenty times!"
Meanwhile the astonishing fact was that the success of the dinner wasJerry Lawrence. He was placed on Vera Michailovna's left hand, Rozanov,the Moscow merchant near to him, and I did not hear him say anythingvery bright or illuminating, but every one felt, I think, that he was acheerful and dependable person. I always felt, when I observed him, thathe understood the Russian character far better than any of us. He hadnone of the self-assertion of the average Englishman and, at the sametime, he had his opinions and his preferences. He took every kind ofchaff with good-humoured indifference, but I think it was aboveeverything else his tolerance that pleased the Russians. Nothing shockedhim, which did not at all mean that he had no code of honour or morals.His code was severe and stern, but his sense of human fallibility, andthe fine fight that human nature was always making against stupendousodds stirred him to a fine and comprehending clarity. He had manyfaults. He was obstinate, often dull and lethargic, in many ways grosslyill-educated and sometimes wilfully obtuse--but he was a fine friend, anoble enemy, and a chivalrous lover. There was nothing mean nor petty inhim, and his views of life and the human soul were wider and moreall-embracing than in any Englishman I have ever known. You may say ofcourse that it is sentimental nonsense to suppose at all that the humansoul is making a fine fight against odds. Even I, at this period, wastempted to think that it might be nonsense, but it is a view as good asanother, after all, and so ignorant are all of us that no one has aright to say that anything is impossible!
After drinking the vodka and eating the "Zakuska," we sat down to tableand devoured crayfish soup. Every one became lively. Politics of course,were discussed.
I heard Rozanov say, "Ah, you in Petrograd! What do you know of things?Don't let me hurt any one's feelings, pray.... Most excellent soup, VeraMichailovna--I congratulate you.... But you just wait until Moscow takesthings in hand. Why only the other day Maklakoff said to a friend ofmine--'It's all nonsense,' he said."
And the shrill-voiced young man told a story--"But it wasn't the sameman at all. She was so confused when she saw what she'd done, that Igive you my word she was on the point of crying. I could see tears...just trembling--on the edge. 'Oh, I beg your pardon,' she said, and theman was such a fool...."
Markovitch was busy about the drinks. There was some sherry and somelight red wine. Markovitch was proud of having been able to secure it.He was beaming with pride. He explained to everybody how it had beendone. He walked round the table and stood, for an instant, with his handon Vera Michailovna's shoulder. The pies with fish and cabbage in themwere handed round. He jested with the old great-aunt. He shouted in herear:
"Now, Aunt Isabella... some wine. Good for you, you know--keep youyoung...."
"No, no, no..." she protested, laughing and shaking her earrings, withtears in her eyes. But he filled her glass and she drank it and coughed,still protesting.
"Thank you, thank you," she chattered as Bohun dived under the table andfound her bag for her. I saw that he did not like the crayfish soup,and was distressed because he had so large a helping.
He blushed and looked at his plate, then began again to eat and stopped.
"Don't you like it?" one of the giggling girls asked him. "But it's verygood. Have another 'Pie!'"
The meal continued. There were little suckling pigs with "Kasha," a kindof brown buckwheat. Every one was gayer and gayer. Now all talked atonce, and no one listened to anything that any one else said. Of themall, Nina was by far the gayest. She had drunk no wine--she always saidthat she could not bear the nasty stuff, and although every one tried topersuade her, telling her that now when you could not get it anywhere,it was wicked not to drink it, she would not change her mind. It wassimply youth and happiness that radiated from her, and also perhaps someother excitement for which I could not account. Grogoff tried to makeher drink. She defied him. He came over to her chair, but she pushed himaway, and then lightly slapped his cheek. Every one laughed. Then hewhispered something to her. For an instant the gaiety left her eyes."You shouldn't say that!" she answered almost angrily. He went back tohis seat. I was sitting next to her, and she was very charming to me,seeing that I had all that I needed and showing that she liked me. "Youmustn't be gloomy and ill and miserable," she whispered to me. "Oh! I'veseen you! There's no need. Come to us and we'll make you as happy as wecan--Vera and I.... We both love you."
"My dear, I'm much too old and stupid for you to bother about!"
She put her hand on my arm. "I know that I'm wicked and care only forpleasure.... Vera's always saying so. But I can be better if you want meto be."
This was flattering, but I knew that it was only her general happinessthat made her talk like that. And at once she was after something else."Your Englishman," she said, looking across the table at Lawrence, "Ilike his face. I should be frightened of him, though."
"Oh no, you wouldn't," I answered. "He wouldn't hurt any one."
She continued to look at him and he, glancing up, their eyes met. Shesmiled and he smiled. Then he raised his glass and drank.
"I mustn't drink," she called across the table. "It's only water andthat's bad luck."
"Oh, you can challenge any amount of bad luck--I'm sure," he calledback to her.
I fancied that Grogoff did not like this. He was drinking a great deal.He roughly called Nina's attention.
"Nina... Ah--Nina!"
But she, although I am certain that she heard him, paid no attention.
He called again more loudly:
"Nina... Nina!"
"Well?" She turned towards him, her eyes laughing at him.
"Drink my health."
"I can't. I have only water."
"Then you must drink wine."
"I won't. I detest it."
"But you must."
He came over to her and poured a little red wine into her water. Sheturned and emptied the glass over his hand. For an instant his face wasdark with rage.
"I'll pay you for that," I heard him whisper.
She shrugged her shoulders. "He's tiresome, Boris...." she said, "I likeyour Englishman better."
We were ever gayer and gayer. There were now of course no cakes norbiscuits, but there was jam with our tea, and there were even somechocolates. I noticed that Vera and Lawrence were getting on togetherfamously. They talked and laughed, and her eyes were full of pleasure.
Markovitch came up and stood behind them, watching them. His eyesdevoured his wife.
"Vera!" he said suddenly.
"Yes!" she cried. She had not known that he was behind her; she wasstartled. She turned round and he came forward and kissed her hand. Shelet him do this, as she let him do everything, with the indulgence thatone allows a child. He stood, afterwards, half in the shadow, watchingher.
And now the moment for the event of the evening had arrived. The doorsof Markovitch's little work-room were suddenly opened, andthere--instead of the shabby untidy dark little hole--there was asplendid Christmas Tree blazing with a hundred candles. Coloured ballsand frosted silver and wooden figures of red and blue hung all about thetree--it was most beautifully done. On a table close at hand werepresents. We all clapped our hands. We were childishly delighted. Theold great-aunt cried with pleasure. Boris Grogoff suddenly looked like ahappy boy of ten. Happiest and proudest of them all was Markovitch. Hestood there, a large pair of scissors in his hand, waiting to cut thestring round the parcels. We said again and again, "Marvellous!""Wonderful!" "Splendid!"... "B
ut this year--however did you find it,Vera Michailovna?" "To take such trouble!..." "Splendid! Splendid!" Thenwe were given our presents. Vera, it was obvious had chosen them, forthere was taste and discrimination in the choice of every one. Mine wasa little old religious figure in beaten silver--Lawrence had a silversnuff-box.... Every one was delighted. We clapped our hands. We shouted.Some one cried "Cheers for our host and hostess!"
We gave them, and in no half measure. We shouted. Boris Grogoff cried,"More cheers!"
It was then that I saw Markovitch's face that had been puckered withpleasure like the face of a delighted child suddenly stiffen, his handmoved forward, then dropped. I turned and found, standing in thedoorway, quietly watching us, Alexei Petrovitch Semyonov.
The Secret City Page 12
