The Secret City

by Sir Hugh Walpole

  XXI

  Late on the afternoon of Nina's birthday, when I was on the point ofsetting out for the English Prospect, the Rat appeared. I had not seenhim for several weeks; but there he was, stepping suddenly out of theshadows of my room, dirty and disreputable and cheerful. He had been, Iperceived, drinking furniture polish.

  "Good-evening, Barin."

  "Good-evening," I said sternly. "I told you not to come here when youwere drunk."

  "I'm not drunk," he said, offended, "only a little. It's not much thatyou can get these days. I want some money, Barin."

  "I've none for you," I answered.

  "It's only a little--God knows that I wouldn't ask you for much, but I'mgoing to be very busy these next days, and it's work that won't bringpay quickly. There'll be pay later, and then I will return it to you."

  "There's nothing for you to-night," I said.

  He laughed. "You're a fine man, Barin. A foreigner is fine--that'swhere the poor Russian is unhappy. I love you, Barin, and I will lookafter you, and if, as you say, there isn't any money here, one mustpray to God and he will show one the way."

  "What's this work you're going to do?" I asked him.

  "There's going to be trouble the other side of the river in a day ortwo," he answered, "and I'm going to help."

  "Help what?" I asked.

  "Help the trouble," he answered, smiling.

  "Behave like a blackguard, in fact."

  "Ah, blackguard, Barin!" he protested, using a Russian word that isworse than blackguard. "Why these names?... I'm not a good man, God havemercy on my soul, but then I pretend nothing. I am what you see.... Ifthere's going to be trouble in the town I may as well be there. Why notI as well as another? And it is to your advantage, Barin, that I shouldbe."

  "Why to my advantage?" I asked him.

  "Because I am your friend, and we'll protect you," he answered.

  "I wouldn't trust you a yard," I told him.

  "Well, perhaps you're right," he said. "We are as God made us--I am nobetter than the rest."

  "No, indeed you're not," I answered him. "Why do you think there'll betrouble?"

  "I know.... Perhaps a lot of trouble, perhaps only a little. But itwill be a fine time for those of us who have nothing to lose.... So youhave no money for me?"

  "Nothing."

  "A mere rouble or so?"

  "Nothing."

  "Well, I must be off.... I am your friend. Don't forget," and he wasgone.

  It had been arranged that Nina and Vera, Lawrence and Bohun and I shouldmeet outside the Giniselli at five minutes to eight. I left my littlesilver box at the flat, paid some other calls, and just as eight o'clockwas striking arrived outside the Giniselli. This is Petrograd's apologyfor a music-hall--in other words, it is nothing but the goodold-fashioned circus.

  Then, again, it is not quite the circus of one's English youth, becauseit has a very distinct Russian atmosphere of its own. The point reallyis the enthusiasm of the audience, because it is an enthusiasm that inthese sophisticated, twentieth-century days is simply not to be found inany other country in Europe. I am an old-fashioned man and, quitefrankly, I adore a circus; and when I can find one with the rightsawdust smell, the right clown, and the right enthusiasm, I am happy.The smart night is a Saturday, and then, if you go, you will see, in thelittle horse-boxes close to the arena, beautiful women in jewellery andpowder, and young officers, and fat merchants in priceless Shubas. Butto-night was not a Saturday, and therefore the audience was verydemocratic, screaming cat-calls from the misty distances of the gallery,and showering sunflower seeds upon the heads of the bourgeoisie, whowere, for the most part, of the smaller shopkeeper kind.

  Nina, to-night, was looking very pretty and excited. She was wearing awhite silk dress with blue bows, and all her hair was piled on the topof her head in imitation of Vera--but this only had the effect of makingher seem incredibly young and naive, as though she had put her hair upjust for the evening because there was to be a party. It was explainedthat Markovitch was working but would be present at supper. Vera wasquiet, but looked happier, I thought, than I had seen her for a longtime. Bohun was looking after her, and Lawrence was with Nina. I satbehind the four of them, in the back of the little box, like a presidingBenevolence.

  Mostly I thought of how lovely Vera was to-night, and why it was, too,that more people did not care for her. I knew that she was not popular,that she was considered proud and reserved and cold. As she sat therenow, motionless, her hands on her lap, her whole being seemed to me toradiate goodness and gentleness and a loving heart. I knew that shecould be impatient with stupid people, and irritated by sentimentality,and infuriated by meanness and cruelty, but the whole size and grandeurof her nobility seemed to me to shine all about her and set her apartfrom the rest of human beings. She was not a woman whom I ever couldhave loved--she had not the weaknesses and naiveties and appealinghelplessness that drew love from one's heart. Nor could I have everdared to face the depth and splendour of the passion that there was inher--I was not built on that heroic scale. God forgive me if, as Iwatched them, I felt a sudden glow of almost eager triumph at thethought of Lawrence as her lover! I checked it. My heart was suddenlyheavy.

  Such a development could only mean tragedy, and I knew it. I had evensworn to Semyonov that I would prevent it. I looked at them and felt myhelpless weakness. Who was I to prevent anything? And who was there now,in the whole world, who would be guided by my opinion? They might haveme as a confidant because they trusted me, but after that... no, I hadno illusions. I was pushed off the edge of the world, hanging on stillwith one quivering hand--soon my grip would loosen--and, God help me, Idid not want to go.

  Nina turned back to me and, with a little excited clap of her hands,drew my attention to the gallant Madame Gineselli, who, although by nomeans a chicken, arrayed in silver tights and a large black picture-hat,stood on one foot on the back of her white horse and bowed to thealready hysterical gallery. Mr. Gineselli cracked his whip, and thewhite horse ambled along and the sawdust flew up into our eyes, andMadame bent her knees first in and then out, and the bourgeoisie clappedtheir hands and the gallery shouted "Brava." Gineselli cracked his whipand there was the clown "Jackomeno, beloved of his Russian public," asit was put on the programme; and indeed so he seemed to be, for he wasgreeted with roars of applause. There was nothing very especiallyRussian about him, however, and when he had taken his coat off andbrushed a place on which to put it and then flung it on the ground andstamped on it, I felt quite at home with him and ready for anything.

  He called up one of the attendants and asked him whether he had everplayed the guitar. I don't know what it was that the attendant answered,because something else suddenly transfixed my attention--the vision ofNina's little white-gloved hand resting on Lawrence's broad knee. I sawat once, as though she had told me, that she had committed herself to amost desperate venture. I could fancy the resolution that she hadsummoned to take the step, the way that now her heart would be furiouslybeating, and the excited chatter with which she would try to cover upher action. Vera and Bohun could not, from where they were sitting, seewhat she had done; Lawrence did not move, his back was set like a rock;he stared steadfastly at the arena. Nina never ceased talking, herribbons fluttering and her other hand gesticulating.

  I could not take my eyes from that little white hand. I should havebeen, I suppose, ashamed of her, indignant for her, but I could onlyfeel that she was, poor child, in for the most desperate rebuff. I couldsee from where I sat her cheek, hot and crimson, and her shrill voicenever stopped.

  The interval arrived, to my intense relief, and we all went out into thedark passage that smelt of sawdust and horses. Almost at once Ninadetached me from the others and walked off with me towards the lightedhall.

  "You saw," she said.

  "Saw what?" I asked.

  "Saw what I was doing."

  I felt that she was quivering all over, and she looked so ridiculouslyyoung, with her trembling lip and blue hat on
one side and burningcheeks, that I felt that I wanted to take her into my arms and kiss andpet her.

  "I saw that you had your hand on his knee," I said. "That was silly ofyou, Nina."

  "Why shouldn't I?" she answered furiously. "Why shouldn't I enjoy lifelike every one else? Why should Vera, have everything?"

  "Vera!" I cried. "What has it to do with Vera?"

  She didn't answer my question. She put her hand on my arm, pressingclose up to me as though she wanted my protection.

  "Durdles, I want him for my friend. I do--I do. When I look at him andthink of Boris and the others I don't want to speak to any one of themagain. I only want him for my friend. I'm getting old now, and theycan't treat me as a child any longer. I'll show them. I know what I'lldo if I can't have the friends I want and if Vera is always managingme--I'll go off to Boris."

  "My dear Nina," I said, "you mustn't do that. You don't care for him."

  "No, I know I don't--but I will go if everybody thinks me a baby. AndDurdles--Durdles, please--make him like me--your Mr. Lawrence."

  She said his name with the funniest little accent.

  "Nina, dear," I said, "will you take a little piece of advice from me?"

  "What is it?" she asked doubtfully.

  "Well, this.... Don't you make any move yourself. Just wait and you'llsee he'll like you. You'll make him shy if you--"

  But she interrupted me furiously in one of her famous tempers.

  "Oh, you Englishmen with your shyness and your waiting and yourcoldness! I hate you all, and I wish we were fighting with the Germansagainst you. Yes, I do--and I hope the Germans win. You never have anyblood. You're all cold as ice.... And what do you mean spying on me?Yes, you were--sitting behind and spying! You're always finding out whatwe're doing, and putting it all down in a book. I hate you, and I won'tever ask your advice again."

  She rushed off, and I was following her when the bell rang for thebeginning of the second part. We all went in, Nina chattering andlaughing with Bohun just as though she had never been in a temper in herlife.

  Then a dreadful thing happened. We arrived at the box, and Vera, Bohun,and Nina sat in the seats they had occupied before. I waited forLawrence to sit down, but he turned round to me.

  "I say, Durward--you sit next to Nina Michailovna this time. She'll bebored having me all the while."

  "No, no!" I began to protest, but Nina, her voice shaking, cried:

  "Yes, Durdles, you sit down next to me--please."

  I don't think that Lawrence perceived anything. He said very cheerfully,"That's right--and I'll sit behind and see that you all behave."

  I sat down and the second part began. The second part was wrestling. Thebell rang, the curtains parted, and instead of the splendid horses anddogs there appeared a procession of some of the most obese and monstroustypes of humanity. Almost naked, they wandered round the arena,mountains of flesh glistening in the electric light. A little man, allpuffed up like a poulter pigeon, then advanced into the middle of thearena, and was greeted with wild applause from the gallery. To this hebowed and then announced in a terrific voice, "Gentlemen, you are aboutto see some of the most magnificent wrestling in the world. Allow me tointroduce to you the combatants." He then shouted out the names: "IvanStrogoff of Kiev--Paul Rosing of Odessa--Jacob Smyerioff ofPetrograd--John Meriss from Africa (this the most hideous ofnegroes)--Karl Tubiloff of Helsingfors...." and so on. The gentlemennamed smirked and bowed. They all marched off, and then, in a moment,one couple returned, shook hands, and, under the breathless attentionof the whole house, began to wrestle.

  They did not, however, command my attention. I could think of nothingbut the little crushed figure next to me. I stole a look at her and sawthat a large tear was hanging on one eyelash ready to fall. I lookedhurriedly away. Poor child! And her birthday! I cursed Lawrence for hisclumsiness. What did it matter if she had put her hand on his knee? Heought to have taken it and patted it. But it was more than likely, as Iknew very well, that he had never even noticed her action. He wasmarvellously unaware of all kinds of things, and it was only toopossible that Nina scarcely existed for him. I longed to comfort her,and I did then a foolish thing. I put out my hand and let it rest for amoment on her dress.

  Instantly she moved away with a sharp little gesture.

  Five minutes later I heard a little whisper: "Durdles, it's so hothere--and I hate these naked men. Shall we go? Ask Vera--"

  The first bout had just come to an end. The little man with the swellingchest was alone, strutting up and down, and answering questions hurledat him from the gallery.

  "Uncle Vanya, where's Michael of Odessa?"

  "Ah, he's a soldier in the army now."

  "Uncle Vanya... Uncle Vanya... Uncle Vanya..."

  "Well, well, what is it?"

  "Why isn't _Chornaya Maska_, wrestling to-night?"

  "Ah, he's busy."

  "What's he busy with?"

  "Never mind, he's busy."

  "What's he busy with?... Uncle Vanya... Uncle Vanya..."

  "_Shto?_"

  "Isn't it true that Michael's dead now?"

  "So they say."

  "Is it true?"

  "Uncle Vanya... Uncle Vanya...."

  The message had passed along that Nina was tired and wanted to go. Weall moved out through the passage and into the cold fresh air.

  "It was quite time," said Vera. "I was going to suggest it myself."

  "I hope you liked it," said Lawrence politely to Nina.

  "No, I hated it," she answered furiously, and turned her back on him.

  It could not be said that the birthday party was promising very well.