_ CHAPTER VIII. THE PRINCESS' ORIENTAL GARDEN
In order better to carry out the plans I had made it was necessary that I should depart from the palace and I secured apartments in a respectable but quiet section of the city, where I established myself under the name of Dubravnik; and it was generally understood by those who came in contact with me that I was a pardoned exile who had been permitted to return under stipulated conditions, as such men are sometimes, though rarely, allowed to do. In the mean time I had gathered around me several certain individuals whom I had known and employed in the past, and whom I knew from experience that I could trust; and there was not one Russian among them. The Russian may be trusted always wherever his heart is involved and his political conscience is at rest, but never unless those forces are working in sympathy with the employment of his hands and head.
I sent to Paris for Michael O'Malley whose long residence there had outwardly transformed him from an Irishman to a Frenchman, and who for convenience spelled his name Malet, thus retaining the sound without the substance. He opened a cafe, which because of its excellence speedily became the resort of the higher officers of the Russian army stationed at St. Petersburg. Every one of the waiters in his establishment were spies in his employ brought with him from Paris, and not one of them knew of my existence. Thus they did their work in the dark, but they did it well. Another Irishman, Tom Coyle, who looked like a Russian, established a cab stand on the English plan, and he had a small army of men under him who worked in the same way as Malet's servants. A Frenchman and his wife--their names were St. Cyr--ran a high class intelligence office, and furnished valets, maids, cooks, coachmen, etc., for the best families at the Russian capitol. I had one assistant who taught singing to the nobility, and another who was a master at arms and gave lessons in the science of handling all kinds of weapons. In the less pretentious quarters of the city I had proprietors of fourth rate cafes on my list; also loungers, loafers, seeming drunkards, laborers. But more important than these I succeeded in securing for one of my best men--an American--the management of the city Messenger Service; and one by one he contrived to replace the messengers by others of his own selection, until many of them were unknowingly members of my staff. Unknowingly, mind you, for therein existed much of the secret of my power. My workers did not know what they did. Canfield really did great work for me while he held that position, and I must not neglect to give him credit for it.
O'Malley, Coyle, the St. Cyrs and Canfield were really therefore the several component parts of my immediate staff and those five were the only persons among all my hundreds of workers who knew Dubravnik to be their chief; and it is a perfectly safe statement to say that in all St. Petersburg, nay in all the world at that time, there were but nine persons living who had the least knowledge or even suspicion of my business; the nine were the czar, Prince Michael, the five already named, myself and Moret now in solitary confinement although in a comfortably appointed room in one of the prisons.
It is well that I should say a word or two in reference to these assistants of mine, in passing.
O'Malley was an Irishman of the finest type of bluff and honest manhood. I have known him and tried him through many a difficulty where his sterling qualities of character, his rugged honesty of purpose, his unfailing loyalty and devotion to me and his uncanny qualities as an investigator had endeared him to me both professionally and personally beyond the expression of mere words to describe it. I knew that I could rely upon him absolutely in all emergencies and that he was utterly fearless in the face of any danger that might present itself. By opening the cafe described, patronized by the elite of the Russian capital he merely followed out a plan long before undertaken in Paris for a like purpose and through the workings of his waiters and other employees he possessed sources of information and facilities for investigation unprecedented in their far reaching possibilities. There is many a whispered word and undertoned conversation carried on at a supper table over the coffee or a bottle of wine which finds its way into the ears of servitors and O'Malley's duties consisted not alone in piecing together after they were supplied to him these scraps of conversation, but in having his workers spy upon certain personages when they appeared at the cafe and so anticipate secrets which they might have to unfold. Even he had lesser men in authority under him and many of those who were almost directly under his employ believed that they were allied to the regular secret police and did not know of their employer's official capacity.
Tom Coyle, a huge rough bearded Irishman who in outward appearance might have passed anywhere for a Russian, was not less efficient or less loved and trusted by me than O'Malley. As a proprietor of a cab stand every driver was a minion of his and served him precisely as O'Malley's waiters did their chief; and it may readily be determined that the power thus exerted for making reports, for knowing the distinction and the engagements of certain individuals was far reaching indeed. Coyle also had served me in the execution of many delicate missions of the past and I could depend upon him almost as absolutely as I could upon myself.
The two St. Cyrs, husband and wife, were equally important factors in my work; indeed they provided the most far reaching assistance I had, for if you will stop to consider a moment and will realize how absolutely at the mercy of house servants the ordinary citizen is compelled to be, you will understand how an employment agency operated for the purposes of espionage can discover and reveal secrets which otherwise might never find their way outside the family circle. There is no written document, no locked bureau drawer, no hidden pocket, no secret hiding place into which the prying eyes and fingers of maid or valet, house maid and general servitor cannot penetrate. These people did their work for the St. Cyrs and reported to them, knowing nothing whatever of why they made those reports or to whom they ultimately found their way.
Canfield was also invaluable. As managing director of the Messenger Service with many of his employees working as spies, it was a comparatively easy matter to intercept letters and messages and to obtain a knowledge of the contents of documents through their skilled efforts.
I have given this resume of conditions as I established them to avoid going into detail respecting the sources of the information I made use of, but it will be understood now how thorough was my knowledge whenever I chose to exert it.
During the time that passed as I have described, I became a factor in St. Petersburg society. Supposed to possess unlimited wealth (accumulated, by the way, in Mexican mines, for it sounded well), with the crest of a noble family then extinct and half forgotten ornamenting my cards and stationery, and introduced by Prince Michael, who was known to be high in favor with the czar, palace doors were thrown wide open to receive me. I was young then, and women said that I was handsome, while men found me genial, companionable, and their master at most games and with every sort of weapon; things which men respect even if they do resent them.
The regular police systems, even to the mysterious Third Section which has no equivalent or parallel in the world, were entirely ignorant of the existence of my espionage, and many times during the months that followed I fell under suspicion. My power was so much greater than theirs that I possessed one abundant advantage, that of knowing their spies; and many of these, from time to time, I purposely allowed to become inmates of my house, from which they inevitably carried away the precise information that I wished them to obtain.
By the time the organization of the fraternity was completed, I had information in my possession which if it had gone to the emperor, would have created a social upheaval such as has never been witnessed in history. But many of the most anarchistic and irrepressible leaders of the nihilists were quietly arrested and sent where they would be rendered harmless, and others who were less violent, I left undisturbed and in seeming security, knowing that they would ultimately lead me to the point I wished to attain, the very root of the evil which I had determined to eradicate; but it was six months after my arrival in St. Petersburg when I met with the adventure which I regarded as the most remarkable of my experience, and which is really the reason for this story.
"Well, Derrington," the prince said to me one night shortly after our return from a function of more than ordinary prominence. He had stopped at my rooms for a smoke and a chat before retiring. "Have you received an invitation from the princess?"
"What princess?" I asked.
"Zara de Echeveria, the most beautiful woman in Europe." He was smiling now, and seemed to take it for granted that I should know to whom he referred.
"The name is Spanish," I said; and I vaguely recalled having heard it somewhere before that day. But evidently it had made only slight impression upon my memory.
"Yes; her father was a Spaniard, but she is a Russian of the Russians. Her title is given her by courtesy, from her mother's family. Is it possible that you do not know about her?"
"Quite."
"It is not remarkable, after all, for she left the city shortly after your arrival and has only just returned. I paid my respects to her yesterday, and took the liberty of suggesting that she add your name to her list. Look among your cards, and see if she has not sent you one."
It was among the first that my hand lighted upon and naturally we fell to discussing her. The rhapsodies concerning her in which the prince indulged led me to interpose a remark, for which I was instantly sorry.
"One would think that you were in love with her," I said.
His face fell instantly, and for a moment he was visibly confused, but at last, with a conscious smile, he said, boldly:
"Well, why not? I do not know that it is necessary to deny it since she is aware of it herself; and so, I think, is the whole city. I am a bachelor, and not turned fifty. Twenty-five years is not an impassable gulf, is it?"
"Certainly not, my dear prince. My remark was an ill timed pleasantry which you must pardon. Is she, then, so young?"
"Twenty-five."
"Let me see; her ball is for to-morrow--or rather, to-night, since it is now morning."
"Yes. Will you go with me? I will then have the pleasure of presenting you."
"Thank you; yes."
I did not see the prince again until he called for me on his way to the house of the princess where we found the parlors thronged, so that it was with difficulty that we presently made our way among the massed guests to the point where Zara de Echeveria was receiving her friends. On our way to greet her, Prince Michael encountered many acquaintances who claimed a word with him, so at last he drew me aside and we waited until there was a lull in the efforts of the crush around her; then he led me forward.
"So glad to know you, Mr. Dubravnik," she said, in my own language. "The prince has told me that you have spent a long time abroad, and prefer to speak English. I am also fond of conversing in that tongue. Will you be seated?" She made a place for me beside her, and we were soon engaged in conversation.
The Princess Zara!
It is frequently the case that we meet people who antagonize us the moment a glance or a handshake is exchanged, while our inner consciousness offers no explanation for the reasonless antipathy; on the other hand Fate brings us sometimes in contact with personalities which at once appeal to a sixth sense which is unexplainable and indefinable, but which seems to comprehend more than the combined five educated and trained sensibilities. What is that sixth sense? Who can tell? I only know that in one moment I felt as if I had known the princess all my life, and I knew instinctively that the same influences were affecting her.
I will not attempt to describe her, more than to afford a mere outline for something that was indescribable, for the charm which pervaded the atmosphere around her was felt rather than seen. It would be unfair to call her beautiful, as the prince had done, for that word comprehends merely an outward and visible sign, and with the Princess Zara, although her beauty was striking, it was the least of her attractions. I had thought that I was born and had lived, devoid of that form of self consciousness which is called diffidence, although it is only an expression of egotism; but for the first time in my life I found myself ill at ease, and wondering if I was appearing to advantage. I was conscious of myself; and what was stranger still I realized that this trained society beauty, the undoubted heroine of unnumbered conquests, was as restless as I was.
Princess Zara!
The expression as I write it brings vividly back to me the moment when I stood beside her that night amid the throng of guests surrounding us, but nevertheless conscious only of her presence. There are some occasions in the lives of men which they are not inclined to dwell upon or even to speak about; which they preserve jealously, as secrets in their own hearts, selfishly indisposed to acquaint others with them lest some of the magic of the actual moment, reinduced by retrospection, may be lost in the telling. But I could not recite the history of my experiences in St. Petersburg at that time without uncovering my innermost soul, as it was affected and influenced by Zara de Echeveria, whose charm of manner, whose redundant beauty and powers of fascination, were beyond all effort at description.
Her eyes were like stars, and yet were not too brilliant. Glowing in their depths somewhere beyond visible ken, was the assurance of unspeakable promise; and there seemed to emanate from her personality a glowing enthusiasm which thrilled whomever came into her presence.
The mere outward description of personal beauty will be forever inadequate to describe the emotions that influence a man, when he sees for the first time, the feminine perfection of creation which he is destined to adore. One may be fascinated, attracted, by any one of many qualities, or by all of them combined; one may discover perfection of form or feature, and may accept these suggestions as comprising all that is necessary to engender that quality within us which we call love; but nearly always one finds that the imitation has been accepted for the real, and that it has been so accepted and claimed only because the genuine has never appeared.
But whenever a man finds the real one, whenever it is his good fortune to encounter the genuine article, there remains no doubt in his soul of its reality. He sees and feels and knows. There is no denying the absoluteness of it. It is a perfect knowledge brought home to him with an absoluteness, which for the moment, is almost paralyzing in its effect, and the immediate consequences of which are utterly beyond comprehension.
Standing there in the presence of Zara de Echeveria, surrounded as we were by throngs of guests, interrupted frequently as it was quite natural we should be, we two were yet as utterly alone as if we had been standing upon a solitary rock in the midst of a waste of waters beyond which the vision could not penetrate.
We were utterly alone in a world by ourselves; and the strange part of it was that we both seemed to realize the truth, although neither of us at that moment could contemplate the understanding of the other.
Until I drove with the prince to that house where she received, my whole mind and intelligence had been centered upon the work I had to do at the Russian capitol; but having passed the portals of Zara's palace, and being taken into her presence, made the whole world appear suddenly small indeed, and left all that was great, and good, and worth attaining, encompassed in the very small space in which she stood.
There was a sense of completeness to it all which is inexplicable; there was a compelling force emanating from her, like the energy of radium, unseen but all powerful, which dominated me as surely, though nonetheless subtly, as the sun dominates the planets.
I have never remembered the words that passed between us at that first interview, for the reason that whatever I said, was uttered subconsciously, and became a mere incident in the great event. The meeting itself was the event. We had come together from different parts of the world. We were born of different nationalities. We had been nurtured differently, and every impulse of our respective lives had been trained in different grooves, and for different motives; and yet out of that chaos of differences had happened the wonderful thing of our meeting.
I suppose we talked as other people talk, who meet and part for the first time as we met and parted then, if we were to be judged from the standpoint and observation of others. To me it was an epoch, focused into a moment of time. To her I now know that it was the same.
I was suddenly conscious that there were many others who were waiting to claim her attention, and I got upon my feet.
"So soon, Mr. Dubravnik?" she said.
"Necessarily," I replied. "I cannot take to myself all the delight of the evening."
"You will return?"
"If I may--when you are less occupied."
I was acquainted with nearly all the guests and was stopped a dozen times on my way across the salon to where the prince was conversing with a knot of men, and as I glanced backward towards the princess with each pause I made, I always met her eyes fixed upon me--unconsciously until they met my gaze--even though she was engaged with the people who formed the group around her.
I did not seek the prince, after all. I turned aside realizing that I would rather be alone with the pleasurable thrill which still pulsed in my veins, than to crush it out with society talk, which was my particular aversion. I wandered on through the rooms, pausing for a moment here and there to exchange greetings with acquaintances, and at last emerged upon the glass-covered garden which was a miniature forest of shrubbery, palms and floral miracles. It was a spacious place dimly lighted by lamps that were shaded by red and green and yellow globes, and it was traversed by paths that were carpeted with Eastern rugs, and bordered by alluring nooks so daintily arranged and so suggestive of all things sentimental as to be indescribable. The garden was an Oriental paradise, blooming in the midst of a Russian winter; and I thought with a smile, a dangerous place for a bachelor even though he were alone--for it set him to thinking. As if to render the contrast even greater there was a furious snowstorm raging outside, and I could hear the wind howling and shrieking past the house, and the rattle of the snow as it hurled itself into fragments against the glass covering of the enclosure. I wandered on down the path I had taken as far as the extremity of the garden, and then turned into other paths. I paused once to light a cigar, and went on again, hither and thither, unheedingly; but at last I entered one of the Turkish nooks and composed myself comfortably among the cushions. There I gave myself up to the deliciousness of the hour, for no other word can describe it. There had seemed not to be another soul in the garden when I entered it, and I felt all that bliss which solitude lends to perfect surroundings. There might have been a thousand persons traversing the paths, and I could not have heard them, but I was presently startled out of my reveries by hearing my own name--or rather the one by which I was known--pronounced in a voice which I had learned, in a few brief moments, to recognize.
"Dubravnik," said the princess, evidently in reply to a question concerning me. She uttered my name in a manner that thrilled me, too. Her companion, a man, responded:
"Bah! A friend of Prince Michael's, and therefore a friend of the czar's. It would be a dangerous experiment to sound him, princess."
"Perhaps; we will discuss it another time, Ivan. Shall we go in here?"
They had paused directly in front of the place where I was concealed, or rather, only half concealed, for they could have seen me if either had chanced to look in my direction. I could see them plainly. As it was, I nestled closer among the cushions and closed my eyes, expecting discovery; but for some reason--fate impelled, doubtless--they passed on a few steps, and entered another of the Turkish bowers which was the counterpart of the one that concealed me, and they seated themselves so near to me that I could have reached out one hand and touched them had it not been for the intervening screen of tapestry which partitioned the two enclosures. The few words I had overheard convinced me that I was not to listen to confidences of a sentimental nature; otherwise I should have made my presence known, and escaped. The sentence that had reached me, uttered by the man, suggested another reason for the tryst, and I therefore listened, convinced that it was my duty to do so. _