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VERA BARANTZOVA
VERA BARANTZOVA

FROM THE RUSSIAN OF

SOPHIA KOVALEVSKY

WITH AN INTRODUCTION
AND A MEMOIR OF THE AUTHOR

BY
SERGIUS STEPNIAK
AND
WILLIAM WESTALL

WARD AND DOWNEY

LIMITED
12 YORK BUILDINGS, ADELPHI
LONDON, W.C.
1895
uc
PG
HoT]
K 8a V4

HD IAGIVE

Edinburgh: T. and A. ConsratLz, Printers to Her Majesty
INTRODUCTION
SOPHIA KOVALEVSKY

Mapame Soputa ‘KovaLevsky, whose
posthumous little story we have the
honour of introducing to English readers,
became known to the Russian public as
a rarely gifted writer only six months
before her untimely death, yet for years
she had been among the foremost of
the many distinguished women whom
Russia has produced during the last two
generations. This distinction, which
soon grew into European celebrity, was
acquired by proficiency in a line that
seemed incompatible with a capacity to

win renown in the realm of fiction. At

b
vi INTRODUCTION

the outset of her career she made her
mark as a mathematician. In 1874,
being then only twenty-three years of
age, she was elected by the Stock-
holm University Professor of Higher
Mathematics.

Her first work was an elucidation of
Laplace’s mathematical theory of the
form of Saturn’s rings. In 1888 her
‘Essay on the Rotations of a Solid Body
round an Immovable Point,’ won her, at
the competition invited by the Paris
Academy, the Prix Bordin, which, in
view of the exceptional merits of her
treatise, was increased to five thousand
francs.

‘This study,’ said the judges, ‘is not
only an addition of the highest im-

portance to the treatises of Euler and
INTRODUCTION Vil

Lagrange on the same subject, but an
exhaustive investigation of a problem
in which all the resources of the modern
theory of functions are utilised.’

In 1889 she obtained for two other
works a prize at the Stockholm Academy,
and in December of the same year was
elected a member of the St. Petersburg
Academy of Science.

This would have been a _ brilliant
beginning fora man. For a woman it
was almost, if not altogether, un-
precedented.

At the session of the Moscow Mathe-
matical Society, Professor P. A. Neirasoff,
after making a searching and impartial
review of Madame Kovalevsky’s work
as a mathematician, said, ‘She was

undoubtedly the equal of some of the
vill INTRODUCTION

most gifted mathematicians of this
generation and unsurpassed by none,
as touching the extent of her erudition,
thorough comprehension of modern
methods, ability to turn them to the
best account, make original and brilliant
discoveries, and master with ease
enormous difficulties.’

According to the statement of the
same competent authority, the history
of mathematics shows only one woman
who can be compared with Sophia Ko-
valevsky—the famous Signorina Maria
Agnesi, an Italian girl, who preceded
her by two centuries.

Nor was this all, for it soon became
evident that Sophia Kovalevsky pos-
sessed literary talents as remarkable as

her scientific acquirements.
INTRODUCTION ix

This interesting, I may say unique,
combination of gifts was first revealed
in her Recollections, which some time
ago appeared in a Russian magazine,
and was the literary event of the day.

But before the impression produced
by her first work had time to subside,
the reading world of Russia was plunged
into gloom by the news of her sudden
and premature death.

Men are best able to appreciate highly
what they have irremediably lost, and
the beginning of a brilliant career always
encourages the brightest hopes.

With Sophia Kovalevsky both these
tendencies were merged into one. None
of our great writers have been more
generally admired or more sincerely

mourned. After her death Russian
x INTRODUCTION

literature was flooded with articles on
her life, her personality, and her work,
both as scientist and authoress.

Very soon the strong liberal, or rather
radical opinions, which she had held be-
came known. Moreover, was not all her
activity an ever-living protest against
the yoke of convention and tradition ?
Her name became a reanimating watch-
word for the liberal party, and an ex-
pression of sympathy with her work a
declaration of liberal aspirations.

So roundabout a way of proclaiming
opinions may appear strange to English
people. But so it was, and to such an
extent that the Government deemed it
expedient to issue a secret order to the
press forbidding any further mention of

Madame Kovalevsky’s name.
INTRODUCTION Xi

Yet many articles had been published
about her in the meanwhile. From
those I have gathered the particulars
here set down.

Sophia Kovalevskaia belonged to the
Russian aristocracy, her family, as she
humorously mentions in her Memoirs,
claiming kingly descent.

Her father, a general of artillery, held
a high position in the military service,
and her childhood was spent on their
estate at Polsbim, in one of the western
provinces of Russia. She was a very
precocious child, and her autobiography
reminds us occasionally of another
famous representative of Russian wo-
manhood — Marie Bashkirtseff, whose
name is so familiar to English readers.

The Sclavonic race, being the youngest
Xl INTRODUCTION

of the Indo-European family, seems to
have preserved many of the peculiarities
which we are wont to associate with
more southern races; but the little
Sophia was trained in a severer school,
and saw none of the examples of
frivolity, cynical egotism, and vanity
which surrounded the childhood of
the gifted young artist.

She grew up amid the simple and pa-
triarchal surroundings of a rich Russian
nobleman’s household, and under the
eye of a stern, hard-working father,
who, albeit not free from aristocratic
prejudices, was amenable to reason, and
possessed a rare sense of justice. She
had also the advantages of a careful
domestic education directed by a com-

petent Russian tutor, who trained her
INTRODUCTION xii

intelligence, and a conscientious, orderly
and energetic English governess who
steadied and regulated her ardent
unruly impulses.

Her turn for mathematics was to some
extent hereditary, and the child’s in-
terest in the abstruse science was
awakened in a rather amusing fashion.
The house in Polsbim had to be re-
papered, but as the quantity of paper
ordered from Moscow proved insufficient,
and the obtaining of a further supply
would have involved considerable trouble,
one of the nurseries was covered with
the detached sheets of a treatise on
mathematics, and the little Sophia would
stand for hours gazing at the queer
figures and formulas, and wonder what

on earth they meant.
XIV INTRODUCTION

Nobody in the house could read the
riddle. Yet the attempt to solve it made
so deep an impression on her mind that
later on she surprised her teachers by the
quickness with which she apprehended
some of the most difficult problems ‘as
though she knew them already.’ These
were none other than those which she
had so often contemplated in mute
amazement on the walls of her nursery.

The Russian tutor gave her lessons
in arithmetic and algebra. But it was
geometry which most took her fancy,
and showed her natural bent. At the
early age of ten she was able to offer
her own solution of several geometrical
propositions, and her youthful efforts
were warmly encouraged as well by her

tutor as her father.
INTRODUCTION XV

But the schoolroom was not the only
place where little Sophia’s mind re-
ceived its inspirations. At the old
family mansion there was a big library
whither the girl was sent to take walk-
ing exercise in bad weather. It con-
tained a particular bookcase filled with
novels, which she was absolutely for-
bidden to open. Needless to say that
she read them all the same, and that
they nourished and stimulated the ima-
ginative part of her many-sided mind.

But, as we have just seen, the novel-
ist was for many a year effaced by the
cold and severe discipline of science,
just as a lively spring is effaced by the
ices of a glacier.

Until her thirty-fifth year Sophia

Kovalevsky never allowed herself to in-
XV1 INTRODUCTION

dulge in mere literary work, which her
fellow-scientists would have considered
frivolous.

Her first feuilleton, soon followed by
short stories, appeared in the Swedish
language in 1888 and 1889. In the
following year she published in the
Messenger of Europe a portion of her
memoirs. It attracted general atten-
tion, and there can be no two opinions as
to the sympathetic and vigorous talent
which they displayed. The ungrudging
praises of the Russian press greatly en-
couraged the author. She gave herself
more assiduously to literature. An exa-
mination of her papers after her death
resulted in the discovery of a number
of manuscripts, some containing de-

tached scenes, others the opening chap-
INTRODUCTION XVil

ters of embryonic novels. One of these
manuscripts differed from the rest by
reason of its completeness and maturity.
It is the story which lies before the
reader.

It is a living page, giving from the
inside the spirit of some of the most
interesting episodes of modern Russian
history—the emancipation of the serfs,
on the one hand, and the beginning of
‘the Russian revolutionary movement on
the other. The work, although com-
pleted by the author, was evidently not
revised, and it appears just as it came
from the furnace of the novelist’s brain,
with all the roughness of surface and
seaminess of texture which bespeak ab-
sence of polish and finish.

Even the names of some of the char-
XViil INTRODUCTION

acters vary, the author having changed
them on second thought, and failed, for
lack of time, to fit the end to the begin-
ning. The construction of the story is
defective, showing complete inexperience
in novel-writing. But its very faults
render all the more striking the mani-
festation of fresh, spontaneous, lively
talent which the book displays.

Of the beauties of the descriptive
pages we need not speak. For delicacy,
truthfulness, and exquisite sincerity,
they can compare with the productions
of our great masters. English readers
will surely appreciate the dramatic
power latent in the second part of the
story, imperfect though it be—that
which relates the heroine’s experiences

and mental struggles as the martyr-
INTRODUCTION xix

bride of the condemned Nihilist. But
to us the more homely earlier chapters
seem the most fascinating and sugges-
tive. They are so vivid and convincing,
and so full of the glow of real life, as
to produce an impression analogous to
that produced by the autobiographies
at which beginners so often try their
hands.

Yet that is not the case here, the
heroines differing as vividly from the
author as their family surroundings.
These chapters belong to that category
of inspired fiction which has a life of its
own; and they reveal a talent that
would some day have attained the
summit of art. Vera and Vazilitzeff’s
love-story, with its quaint humour and

deep pathos, is one of the most original
xx INTRODUCTION

and thrilling in recent Russian fiction
of which I have knowledge.

In one of her literary sketches, ‘ Recol-
lections of George Eliot,’ Madame Kova-
levsky tells of a conversation she once
had with the great English novelist, in
the course of which the former accused
her of making in her stories too frequent
a use of death as a means of removing
obnoxious people and solving difficulties.

Against this charge George Eliot pro-
tested, urging that there is more logic
in death than people generally admit.
‘When a position becomes too painful
and strained, when there is no visible
issue anywhere, when the most sacred
duties are set one against the other,
then suddenly death would come, open-

ing new possibilities which nobody could
INTRODUCTION XX1

have foreseen, and reconciling what
seemed irreconcilable. How many times,’
she concluded, ‘has the certainty of
death given me the courage to live !’

Sophia Kovalevsky, who was much
impressed by these words, said that she
often repeated them to herself.

Yet how bitterly ironical they seem
when applied to her own fate!

S. STEPNIAK.
CHAPTER I

I was twenty-two years old when I
settled in St. Petersburg. Some three
months previously I had graduated in
a foreign university, and returned with
my diplomas and certificates to my
native land. After three years of quiet
living in a small German university
town, I found myself in all the hurry
and bustle of a great capital, and incon-
tinently succumbed to its intoxicating
influence.

Forgetting for a while the higher
mathematics and philosophical specula-

tion which had lately occupied my mind,
A
2 VERA BARANTZOVA

I became a willing captive to the genus
loci, made acquaintances right and left,
and investigated with eager curiosity
the manifestations of that complex
organism so fascinating in appearance,
yet so empty in reality, which people
call ‘life in St. Petersburg.’ Every-
thing interested and delighted me—the
theatres, concerts, entertainments, and,
above all, the literary societies, with
their endless, albeit aimless, discussions
on all sorts of abstract subjects, which,
whatever they may have been for the
habitual frequenters of these reunions,
were for me full of novelty.

In a word, I was in the best of
humours, enjoyed to satiety the honey-
moon of my independence, and felt that
everything was for the best in the best
VERA BARANTZOVA 3

of possible worlds. One day my spirits
were exceptionally high, and with good
reason. I attended a meeting at the
house of the editor of a new magazine,
and received a flattering invitation to
become one of his contributors. The
enterprise was interesting for all con-
cerned, and the editor’s ‘at homes’ were
both lively and brilliant.

On the occasion in question, I did not
get home till nearly three o’clock in the
morning, and, as was natural in the
circumstances, lay abed till nearly noon.
As I lingered over my late breakfast,
glancing in a desultory fashion at a
morning paper, I observed an advertise-
ment offering for sale a carved bookcase.
As I needed an article of the sort, I

went to the place where it was to be
4 VERA BARANTZOVA

seen. On my way thither, in an
omnibus, I fell in with a lady friend,
who, like myself, was a member of the
committee for the higher education of
women. We had a talk about our
common work, and, after inspecting the
desk and making two other calls, I
returned home, and settling myself in
an easy chair before a good fire, looked
round my cosy room, thinking how for-
tunate I was to have such comfortable
quarters. After living for five years in
German lodging-houses, and suffering
many things at the hands of German
landladies, it was, indeed, pleasant to
have a home and fireside of my own.

As I thus thought, the hall door bell
rang.

‘Who can it be?’ I asked myself.
VERA BARANTZOVA 3

I ran over in my mind the names of
those of my friends who were likely to
call at that hour, and gave a hasty
glance at the looking-glass, to see
whether my hair and attire were in
‘order.

While I was thus engaged there came
a knock at my door, presently followed
by a tall young woman, whose principal
outer garment was a plain woollen
mantle. Being short-sighted, I could
not for the moment tell whether I knew
the lady or not, the more so as the
black hood on her head partly covered
her face, leaving visible only a small,
well shapen nose, slightly reddened by
the frost.

Politely, albeit with some perplexity

in my mind, and, I dare say, embarrass-
6 VERA BARANTZOVA

ment in my manner, I rose to greet my
mysterious guest.

‘I must beg your pardon for this
intrusion, and for coming to you without
an introduction,’ said she. ‘I am Vera
Barantzova. But I doubt whether you
remember my name, though, as your
father and mine owned contiguous
estates in the country, they were in some
sort neighbours; and when I saw your
name in the papers a few days ago, I
thought you would perhaps kindly help
me with your advice.’

All this the lady spoke hurriedly and
rapidly, yet in a sweet voice withal.
As for myself, I must admit that I
found this proof of my popularity both
flattering and exciting. It was the first
time that a stranger had paid me the
VERA BARANTZOVA 7

compliment of asking for my advice, and
the sensation was agreeable.

‘I am delighted to make your ac-
quaintance. Pray take off your mantle,
and allow me to offer you a chair, I
answered with embarrassment.

Whereupon the lady doffed her mantle
and removed her hood, which had
hidden one of the most beautiful faces
it was ever my good fortune to behold.

‘IT am all alone in the world,’ she
began in her silvery voice, ‘all alone,
and beholden to nobody. My individual
life is finished, and now my sole object,
my burning desire, is to work for the
cause. Tell me, teach me what to
do.’

Such an appeal as this, so strange

and unexpected an exordium from any
8 VERA BARANTZOVA

one else, I should have ascribed to
affectation or a desire to pose, but Vera
spoke so naturally, simply, and earnestly,
that it did not occur to me to question
her sincerity. This tall, graceful girl,
with her pale face and dreamy blue
eyes, won my sympathy at once. I
took her to my heart. My only fear
was that I might be unable to justify
the trust she wished to repose in me,
by giving her the counsel of which she
stood in need.

And as I looked on her intent plead-
ing face, and thought of my own trivial
life during the past three or four
months, my conscience smote me. The
interests and pursuits which had lately
filled my mind and taken my time
faded into insignificance. I felt acutely
VERA BARANTZOVA 9

my own unworthiness. What could I
say ? how help her ?

‘Not knowing how to begin, and
wanting time for reflection, I asked
Vera to have some tea,—for in Russia
no intimate conversation can be carried
on without the samovar.

In the talk that ensued, what most
struck me was Vera’s unconventionality
and indifference to appearances. She
was like a clairvoyant whose mental
vision is concentrated on one object to
the exclusion of all others.

I inquired how long she had been in
St. Petersburg, what she thought of it,
how she liked her hotel, and so forth.
But she answered these commonplace
queries absently and carelessly. The
petty details of everyday life did not
10 VERA BARANTZOVA

interest her. Though she had never
been in the capital before, it neither im-
pressed nor suprised her. She was ab-
sorbed by one idea, and had only one
wish—to find and address herself to the
work of her life.

As for myself, I was greatly attracted
by this young girl, so unlike any other
whom I had known, and I resolved to
do my utmost to deserve her confidence
and understand her character. But as
I told her, it was impossible to advise
her until I knew more of her, and to
that end asked her to visit me often and
tell me all about herself.

Vera desired nothing better. She
responded readily to my invitation, and
then and afterwards answered my ques-

tions with perfect frankness. Before
VERA BARANTZOVA 11

many weeks had passed I understood
her thoroughly, and read her heart as
clearly as it is given to one woman to
read the heart of another.
CHAPTER II

Tue family of the Princes Barantzov
was highly aristocratic, albeit of no great
antiquity. Its recorded lineage reaches
almost as far back as Rourik, but the
authenticity of the document is open to
doubt. The known, indisputable facts
are that a certain Ivaslika (Johnny)
Barantzov served as a private soldier in
the guard of Catherine 11., and being a
tall good-looking fellow attracted her
amorous yet inconstant Majesty’s at-
tention, and won her favour to such pur-
pose that she made him a noble and

gave him an estate with five hundred
VERA BARANTZOVA 13

serfs and an income of a thousand
roubles. Human beings were cheap in
those days and money was _ scarce.
Thenceforth the Barantzovs prospered
greatly. The title of Prince was con-
ferred on them by Alexander 1, at
whose court the beautiful Princess
Barantzova played a leading part.

From the beginning of their courtly
career the Barantzovs were remarkable
for their good looks. The women were
nothing less than beautiful, the men
nothing less than handsome, probably
because the men of the race, either being
unusually appreciative of female beauty,
or foreseeing the Darwinian theory, in-
variably mated with comely girls. After
a while the distinguishing points of the
family type became so well established
14 VERA BARANTZOVA

as to give rise toa proverb. When a
member of the Russian aristocracy men-
tioned that so-and-so had a ‘ Barantzov
face’ everybody knew what it meant—
a tall graceful figure, a pale oval coun-
tenance, the cheeks faintly tinged with
red, a low wide brow, with fine blue
veins showing at the temples, raven-
black hair and dark-blue eyes with long
black lashes.

Prince Michael Ivanoitch Barantzov
was a worthy scion of this splendid race.
It was his good fortune to come into the
world early in the reign of the Tzar
Nicholas, a time when the Imperial
Guards were at the height of their re-
nown. After serving several years in
the cuirassier regiment of the Guards,

breaking many tender hearts and earn-
VERA BARANTZOVA 15

ing among his comrades the soubriquet
of ‘husband’s terror,’ he himself fell a
victim to the rosy god. The object of his
passion, Maria Dmitrievna Koudriavzeva,
was a distant relative, and as ‘ beautiful
asa Barantzov.’ They married, and had
it not been for his hereditary hot temper,
and an untoward event which befell in
the beginning of the reign of Alexander
11., her husband would probably have
risen to high rank in the army. He be-
came jealous of a brother officer, chal-
lenged and killed him. The affair was
hushed up, but as it was impossible for
the young man to remain in the regi-
ment, he sent in his resignation and
retired to the country seat which he in-
herited from his father, who a short time

previously had opportunely died.
16 VERA BARANTZOVA

In 1857 it began to be rumoured in
St. Petersburg that a measure was in
preparation for the emancipation of the
serfs, but as yet the rumour had not
reached Borki, the Barantzovs’ country
place, where things went on as usual, as
they had gone on in the good old times.

The house, an ancient stone building
with walls some five feet thick, might be
likened to a huge square box, and was
ornamented, God only knows why, with
all sorts of balconies and stucco lanterns.

Among the inmates of the mansion
were three young girls, whose education
was superintended by two governesses.
One of the latter was Mademoiselle Julie,
a tall, lively, talkative brunette, age
uncertain; the other, Mrs. Knight, a
highly respectable English widow, with
VERA BARANTZOVA 17

a severe, statuesque face framed in pro-
fuse grey locks. The children, moreover,
disposed of the services of an old nurse,
a maid, and an errand-girl.

In a word, everything was ordered as
it ought to be in a nobleman’s country
house. All three girls were tall for
their age, all had beautiful black hair,
which in the morning they wore in a
plait, but in the evening, when they
dressed for dinner, was allowed to fall
over their shoulders; and all three
bade fair to be as comely as their
foremothers.

Lena and Liza, the two elder ones,
were already, so to speak, on the thresh-
old of the nursery and would soon
flutter into the drawing-room, towards

which they cast longing glances, and
B
18 VERA BARANTZOVA

looked forward eagerly to the time when
they were to exchange their short frocks
for flowing gowns.

The third, Vera, was still a little girl,
eight years old, with a round rosy face,
and the strange contemplative look
characteristic of children who are given
to introspection. As yet, she had no
fault to find with the narrow world in
which she dwelt. Like all young people
whose lives are uneventful and happy,
her conservative instincts were fully
developed. She loved her home and
its surroundings with the instinctive
affection of a domestic animal, believed
that everything was what it seemed to
be, and knew naught either of doubts or
misgivings. Her mamma was of course

the best of mothers, her nursery the
VERA BARANTZOVA 19

best of nurseries, her home the best of
homes.

And indeed all went well at Borki.
The household was admirably organised,
everybody knew his place and all lived
quietly and peacefully. Every ordinary
contingency was foreseen and provided
for, and the future of the family settled
to the satisfaction of everybody con-
cerned. Even the girls’ destinies were
fixed beforehand. The village of Mitine
was to be Lena’s portion, Stepine was
assigned to Liza, and the Borki property
was to be settled on Vera.

The Prince and Princess foresaw that
in three or four years some young
guardsman or hussar would carry off
Lena; a little later another officer

would take to himself Liza. Then
20 VERA BARANTZOVA

would come Vera’s turn. Yet all these
plans and calculations were thwarted
by an unexpected event, if that which
has been talked about and feared for a
period of twenty years can be called un-
expected. But the emancipation of the
serfs, like many other great historic
events, happened at last quite sud-
denly, and greatly to the surprise and
consternation of those who had hoped
and believed against hope that it
would never come to pass.

The first shadow forecast by the ap-
proaching catastrophe came under Vera’s
notice in this wise. In the last month
of 1860 the Barantzovs gave a family
party at which, in addition to the usual
aunts, uncles, and neighbours, was pre-

sent a rare and most respected guest—
VERA BARANTZOVA 21

an uncle from St. Petersburg who held
high office in the administration. He
had arrived only in the morning, was
naturally the principal talker at the
dinner, and full of the great project on
which the government was resolved,
though, as yet, it had not been com-
municated to the newspapers.

But whenever the conversation be-
came animated the Princess would in-
terrupt him, saying in French—

‘Take care, Stepan!’ and glancing
significantly at the servants, albeit they
preserved their usual stolid demeanour,
making as though they neither heard
nor understood.

Dessert over, aunts, uncles, and neigh-
bours trooped into the drawing-room,

whereupon the Prince, after seeing that
22 VERA BARANTZOVA
all the doors were closed, observed
gravely in French—

‘Now you may speak, Stepan.’

Vera was nestling up to her newly-
arrived uncle, with whom she had al-
ready struck up a warm friendship. She
was considered too young to be a hin-
drance to confidential conversation. It
did not occur to her elders that she
understood French as well as themselves,
and they forgot that some children are
abnormally observant.

‘It is done! The Emperor has signed
the project presented to him by the
commission,’ said Stepan solemnly.

The Princess, who was just then
pouring out coffee, upset the cup and
spilt some of the liquid on the costly
table-cloth.

‘Mon Dieu! mon Dieu!’ she ex-
VERA BARANTZOVA 23

claimed, and sinking into an arm-chair
covered her face with her hands.

For a minute or two the others re-
mained silent, their feelings being too
big for utterance. The Prince was the
first to break silence.

‘Is it really quite decided ?’ he asked
in a low, unnaturally quiet voice.

‘Quite, and for ever. [arly in
February copies of the proclamation
will be sent to all the churches in the
land, and on the nineteenth of the same
month read by the priests to their
congregations, answered the uncle as
he stirred his coffee.

‘So there is nothing for it but to
resign ourselves to God’s will!’

Then followed another spell of amazed
and painful silence.

‘But I say—look here—this is rob-
24 VERA BARANTZOVA

bery, downright robbery—nothing else,’
shouted Uncle Semen Ivanovitch, rising
impetuously from his chair, hitting the
table with his fist, and tossing his head
and shaking his long white hair round
his anger-inflamed face.

‘Not so loud! for Heaven’s sake
not so loud! Les domestiques peuvent
entendre, implored the Princess an-
xiously.

‘But what is going to happen; what
will be the end of it all? Does it mean
that the servants will no longer do what
they are told?’ demanded Aunt Arina
Ivanovna testily.

‘Don’t talk nonsense, sister. Let us
hear all that Stepan can tell us of the
matter,’ said the Prince impatiently.

The men crowded round Stepan
VERA BARANTZOVA 25

Michaelovitch, who, however, had hardly
begun to speak when a footman came
in to remove the coffee things, where-
upon Stepan stopped short and did not
resume his observations until the ser-
vant had quitted the room.

A little while afterwards Vera said
good-night and was taken away to the
nursery.

‘My little darling, you were in the
drawing-room after dinner; did you hear
what the gentlemen were saying?’ in-
quired Amisia, the nursemaid, as she
was putting the child to bed.

Vera had gathered distinctly from
what she had heard that some great
misfortune was impending over the
family ; yet though nobody had thought

of enjoining secrecy as touching the
26 VERA BARANTZOVA

matter in question, the sense of caste
was so strong in the child that she
replied with dignity—

‘T heard nothing, Amisia.’

At this time, or soon afterwards, it
was a matter of common knowledge that
the Emperor had signed the proclama-
tion for freeing the serfs, and that it
would presently be made public and
enforced; nevertheless, serf-owners were
afraid to the last moment that their
servants would learn the news, and
spoke of it, even to each other, with
bated breath.

The servants, on their part, made as
though they were as ignorant as they
were supposed to be; and though they
were always discussing the subject

among themselves, dropped it incontin-
VERA BARANTZOVA 27

ently whenever a member of the family
came within earshot, just as did their
betters in the drawing-room whenever
a servant appeared on the scene.

At length came the long-looked-for,
long-dreaded nineteenth of February, a
day so epoch-making in Russian history,
and so rich in results. All the Barant-
zovs went to church, for after the ser-
vice the portentous proclamation was
to be officially read before the people.

At nine o'clock all were ready. The
members of the family went about in a
state of feverish expectation, yet seri-
ously and solemnly withal. Like guests
at a funeral they spoke in whispers, and
everybody seemed afraid to say a word

more than was necessary.
Even the children, albeit they under-
28 VERA BARANTZOVA

stood little, if anything, of the issues
that were at stake, felt instinctively the
gravity and solemnity of the occasion.
They behaved quietly, and did not dare
to ask questions.

Two carriages were drawn up ‘at the
front door. They were scrupulously
clean, the bright parts carefully polished,
the horses in their state harness, the
coachmen in their new caftans. The
Prince wore his full-dress uniform, with
all his badges, decorations, and crosses
of honour; the Princess a splendid
velvet cloak, the girls their smartest
frocks.

The first carriages were reserved for
the Prince, Princess, and the young
ladies ; the second was occupied by the

governesses, housekeeper, and steward.
VERA BARANTZOVA 29

The other members of the household
went on foot. Only the cook and the
half-crazy old Matvei were left at home.

During the drive to the church, which
was two miles from the house, the
Princess often covered her eyes with
her handkerchief, sighing deeply. The
Prince was gloomily silent.

The wide space before the church was
thronged with a dense mass of human
beings—two thousand peasants of both
sexes from neighbouring villages en-
compassed the building. From a dis-
tance they looked like a collection of
grey coats, diversified here and there
by the scarlet kerchiefs on the women’s
heads.

‘The sight makes me ill. I cannot
’ help thinking of the French Revolution
30 VERA BARANTZOVA

of eighty-nine,’ murmured the Princess
hysterically.

‘For goodness’ sake, dear, compose
yourself and keep quiet,’ whispered the
Prince, who was hardly less agitated
than his wife. The church-keeper, ac-
cording to his wont on holidays, was
watching from the tower for the gentle-
folk, and so soon as their carriages
appeared in the near distance the bells
began to ring.

The church was already thronged to
suffocation. It seemed as though there
was not room for an apple to fall; but
old habit asserted itself; the crowd of
common people made way and let the
gentle-folks pass to their usual places
at the right of the choir.

‘Let us join in prayer to the Lord!’
VERA BARANTZOVA 31

says the priest, coming out from the
chancel in full canonicals.

‘And to the Holy Spirit!’ responds
the choir.

‘All that dense grey innocent mass
prays to-day with one accord, prays
earnestly, passionately. The peasants
continually cross themselves and bow
their heads almost to the ground. Their
swarthy rugged faces are contracted by
religious fervour and highly-wrought
expectation.

‘O Lord God! wilt Thou take pity
on us? Our sufferings are great and
of long standing. Shall we be better
off now ?’

What would the proclamation tell
them? So far, even the gentry knew

little more than its general purport, and
32 VERA BARANTZOVA

that only by hearsay. As yet, nobody
was acquainted with its precise terms,
for the copies received by the clergy
were sealed with the imperial seal, which
could not be broken until after the con-
clusion of the service.

The large congregation and the many
lighted candles rendered the atmosphere
of the little church close and oppressive.
The odour of perspiring humanity and
tar-besmeared boots mingled with the
smell of burning wax and the scent of
the incense. The smoke of the censer
went up in dark clouds. The air grew
stifling, breathing painful and difficult ;
and this suffering, intensified by excite-
ment, religious exaltation and suspense,
became at last almost unbearable. To

strained expectancy was added fear.
VERA BARANTZOVA 33

‘ How soon, how soon?’ whispered the
Princess, as she presses her husband’s
hand.

The priest brings in the crucifix, and
for a full half-hour the members of the
congregation file past, each one in turn
touching the sacred emblem with re-
verent lips. Then he passes into the
vestry, and presently appears in the
tribune, holding in his hands a roll
of paper, from which depends a large
seal.

A long deep sigh is heard throughout
the church, as though it came from one
breast.

And then a strange thing happens.
The greater part of the people, unable
to find places in the church, had re-

mained outside, in and about the porch,
Cc
384 VERA BARANTZOVA

and now, losing patience and unspeak-
ably anxious to hear the reading of the
proclamation, they push their way into
the already overcrowded church. A
scene of indescribable confusion follows.
Those in front fall in heaps on the steps
of the tribune, men shout and swear,
women shriek, and children scream.

‘My God! my God! take pity on
us!’ cries the Princess, though being in
the choir she suffers no inconvenience.
The children, too, are half out of their
wits with fear.

But in a few minutes order is re-
stored, and again a silent, intense and
reverent stillness reigns in the sacred
edifice. Only from time to time is
heard the hard breathing of an asthma-

tical peasant, or the startled cry of a
VERA BARANTZOVA 35

young child, quieted on the instant by
the passionate yet suppressed chiding of
its terrified and excited mother.

The priest reads the portentous docu-
ment slowly and at great length, in the
habitual drawl he uses when: reading
the gospel.

The proclamation is written in a
heavy official style, and though the
peasants listen breathlessly they under-
stand only an occasional sentence of the
paper which decides their fate. Its
general sense remains dark to them, and
the intense expression of their faces
gradually changes to a look of dull
disappointment.

Even when the reading is finished,
the hearers know not for certain whether

they are free, or how is solved the
36 VERA BARANTZOVA

burning question, and for them the
most momentous—

‘To whom shall belong the land ?’

Silently and with drooping heads
they begin to disperse.

The Prince’s carriage moves slowly
through the throng of peasants. They
open their ranks to let it pass, respect-
fully doffing their hats, but bowing less
humbly than of yore, and preserving for
the most part an ominous silence.

‘Your excellency! We are yours,
you are ours!’ shouts a thick guttural
voice, and a tipsy peasant, in a ragged
sheepskin, pushes his way to the car-
riage and tries to kiss the Prince’s hand.

‘Get off!’ says fiercely a tall man
with a sullen mournful face, at the same

time thrusting the drunkard aside.
VERA BARANTZOVA 37

In the evening the Barantzovs
gathered in the Princess's boudoir.
Besides the family and Mademoiselle
Julie there were present Aunt Arina
Ivanovna and Uncle Semen Ivanovitch.
These two generally spent the evening
in their own apartments, but to-day the
sense of a common misfortune had
brought them together for mutual
sympathy and support.

The Princess, who has a bad head-
ache, is reposing on a sofa, while
Mademoiselle Julie applies cold water
compresses to her throbbing temples.
The Prince with his hands behind him
paces to and fro, gloomy and pensive.
The uncle sits in a corner snoring
thoughtfully. The aunt as she works at
her embroidery sighs deeply and often.
38 VERA BARANTZOVA

Presently a great snowstorm sets in,
and the wind moans and groans in the
chimney like a human being in dire
distress.

It rises higher and higher, and now
and again a more than usually violent
gust slams the shutters and rattles the
iron sheet on the roof, to the great
alarm of the Princess, who shudders and
springs trembling from the sofa. The
room gets darker and darker. The
lamps burn dim and begin to smoke.
They evidently need more oil. But this
is a detail to which none give heed.
All the servants are below, and nobody
cares to ring for them.

‘ Leskoff’s peasants burnt theirmaster’s
house the other day, didn’t they?’ asks

Aunt Arina, breaking an oppressive
VERA BARANTZOVA 39

silence with an ill-omened observa-
tion.

‘And they will burn something else
soon,’ croaks the uncle waking up from
his nap.

“Yes, it was a bad business,’ he
added a few minutes later, in the fore-
boding tone of a prophet of evil. ‘A
very bad business. I wonder what
they will do next? She can tell us’
(pointing to Mademoiselle Julie) ‘ how it
was with them in eighty-nine ?’

‘My God, my God, what a frightful
future is before us!’ moans the Princess.

‘Nonsense! Russian peasants are not
revolutionists ; there is nothing to fear,’
says her husband encouragingly, but
it is easy to see that he is ill at ease

and apprehensive of evil.
40 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘No, Michael, our people are brutes ;
they are worse than the French,’ re-
turns the Princess with emotion as she
raises herself on her elbow. ‘They
are beasts, and you know very well that
they hate us.’

Here the door creaks, whereupon
everybody shudders and looks round
fearfully. The Princess screams. But
it is only the butler coming to announce
that tea is served.

Meanwhile Vera is alone in the nur-
sery; and as, when bed-time comes,
nobody appears to remind her of the
fact she opens the door, slips into the
hall, and listens. The servants are at
supper downstairs, and, as might seem,
enjoying themselves, for she can hear
the clash of knives and forks, the clink-
VERA BARANTZOVA 41

ing of glasses, and the sound of jovial
voices, which now and then break into
peals of laughter.

Vera was never allowed to go into
the servants’ hall; but to-day she has
been forgotten, there is nobody to look
after her, and she can do as she pleases.
Though rather frightened, she wonders
what is going on, and after a few
minutes’ hesitation curiosity prevails
over fear and she descends rapidly into
the basement.

The servants were having a good
time, eating, drinking, and making
merry. In the morning they had borne
themselves soberly; they were even
doubtful and discouraged. They had
not dared to believe the good news of

their emancipation. But as the day
42 VERA BARANTZOVA

waned their doubts dispersed and their
spirits revived. Reserve had given
place to hilarity. There was whisky
on the table, and the bottle passed freely
round, which probably accounted for
the fact that the feasters’ faces were all
aglow, their eyes moist and their hair
tousled.

The odours of cabbage soup and rye
bread mingled with the fumes of strong
drink and the smoke of tobacco; and
the din of drunken voices and snatches
of bacchanalian song strove for mastery
with the discordant strains of an inhar-
monious harmonica.

This is what Vera sees and hears, but
on the child’s appearance the noises
cease and the roisterers resume for a
minute the wonted humility of their
VERA BARANTZOVA 43

bearing in the presence of their betters.
But for a minute only. Soon, the din
begins anew. ‘Young lady, come
hither! don’t be afraid!’ hiccups the
coachman. ‘I suppose they are all cry-
ing upstairs, aren’t they? Crying be-
cause they will not be allowed to
torture us any longer.’

‘It is not true, it is not true. You
were never tortured. Father and
mother have always been good to you,
always,’ cries Vera imperiously, and
with an indignant stamp of her foot.
The coachman’s insulting questions have
roused the Barentzov temper. Wrath
and wounded pride have obliterated all
sense of fear. She would like to strike
the shameless serfs to the ground.

‘Never tortured, indeed! Do you
44 VERA BARANTZOVA

know how many of us your grandfather
maimed and maltreated in his lifetime ?
Why did he send Andriouslika, the car-
penter, to military service? Why did
he drive the girl Askima to the cattle-
shed 2’

These and other questions are hurled
at the child from every side, and then
the harmonica stops again and the
servants begin to tell tales of the good
old times, tales of cruelty and oppres-
sion, more terrible and revolting than
Vera had dreamt of, even in nightmares.

‘That was in grandfather’s time; but
mother and father are kind, you know
they are,’ she pleads in a voice tremu-
lous with humiliation and pain.

‘Shame on you, ungodly people ! have
you no pity on a child? Shame, I say!’
VERA BARANTZOVA 45

The indignant speaker is the nurse,
who, after seeking for her charge all
over the house, finds her in the very
last place where she had expected to
find her.

Vera is promptly put to bed, but it
is long before she sleeps. A tumult of
new, horrible, and depressing thoughts
rage in her breast. She cannot under-
stand why she feels so bitterly ashamed,
so full of pity and compassion. All she
can do is to be still and cry, ery until
she falls fast asleep.

And still from the basement come
sounds of rude revelry, the stamping of
heavy feet, and the discordant music of

the untuneful harmonica.
CHAPTER III

OnE of the results of liberating the
serfs was to render Prince Michael Bar-
antzov a comparatively poor man, and
turn his establishment topsy-turvy.
His income was so portentously reduced
that it became necessary to put the
household on an altogether different
footing, and practise a rigid economy.
The starosta (steward), who beforetime
had been a ‘brave boy’ and a diligent
man of business, grew lazy and insolent,
and was continually behind with his
collection of rents and dues. So the

Prince dismissed him. But this was
VERA BARANTZOVA 47

out of the frying-pan into the fire, the
new steward proving more inefficient
than his predecessor. Also, creditors
became disagreeably clamorous. It
seemed to the impecunious Prince that
the sky rained bills, bonds, and claims
without surcease; some of date so
ancient that he had forgotten their
existence, and in his anger protested
that they were forgeries. Nevertheless,
he had to pay them, and to this end
was forced to sell Metine and Stepine,
and the meadows and the forests. Only
Borki and a remnant of adjacent land
were left intact and unencumbered.
Moreover buyers were so few that land
and villages fetched little more than
half their value.

In these circumstances there was
48 VERA BARANTZOVA

nothing for it but to send away the
greater part of the house servants ; and
those who were left, having been accus-
tomed to easy lives, grumbled continu-
ally because they were expected to work.
The master and mistress became chroni-
cally cross and low-spirited. And they
often quarrelled. They had occasionally
fallen out in former times, but their
present differed from their former quar-
rels as widely as the cold rain of autumn
differs from the genial showers of spring.
They quarrelled, not as of old, about
trifles or out of caprice, but about
money, always money. When the Prin-
cess asked for money for household pur-
poses her husband would accuse her of
extravagance and bad management;

and the buying of a new gown for her
VERA BARANTZOVA 49

daughters or herself, and every request
for money for household expenses, in-
variably caused a scene,

Nor were the Barantzovs alone in
their misfortunes. Their neighbours of
the ‘nobility and gentry’ were all in
the same plight. They felt as though
the ground were: sinking under their
feet, and in their helpless bewilderment
knew not which way to turn or what
to do. They took no pleasure in life,
and seemed to have lost the capacity
for enjoyment.

When two or three of the landown-
ing class came together they did nothing
but revile the Government and abuse
the peasants. The younger and more
energetic of them abandoned the coun-

try, and went to St. Petersburg and
D
50 VERA BARANTZOVA

elsewhere to look for work or salaried
places in the Civil Service. Only the
elders, the women folk, and the young
people stayed at home.

By this time Lena and Liza Barant-
zova Were grown up young women, both
of them bored to death, bitterly discon-
tented, and continually complaining of
their lot. In truth, fortune had served
them ill. Their hopes were disappointed,
their erstwhile bright prospects van-
ished. All their childhood, all their
education, had been a preparation for
the happy time when they should put
on long frocks, go out to parties, and
make brilliant marriages. And now the
time was come, bringing with it only
dust and ashes, dulness and disappoint-

ment.
VERA BARANTZOVA 51

Neither was Vera particularly happy.
One of the first measures of economy
ordained by her parents was the dis-
missal of Mrs. Knight, whereupon
Mademoiselle Julie, feeling lonely, dis-
missed herself; and as the Prince and
Princess did not think they could afford
to keep a governess for Vera’s special
behoof, they ordered Lena and Liza to
continue and complete their sister’s edu-
cation.

But this did not please the young
ladies at all.

‘Are we to become mere governesses ?’
they asked each other; and as they set
themselves to the task unwillingly and
sulkily, it was not surprising that they
found Vera stupid and lazy, and that
she found them peevish and unkind.
52 VERA BARANTZOVA

Not a lesson was got through without
tears, and both teachers and pupil were
fertile in expedients for shortening and
evading the ordeal. The parents, on
their part, were too much absorbed in
sordid cares to give much thought to
their youngest daughter’s education,
wherefore the lessons, so painful to all
concerned, became briefer and fewer,
and finally ceased altogether. Hence
it came to pass that by the time she
reached her fifteenth year Vera was left
entirely to her own resources.

In summer she did not fare badly,
spending her days for the most part out
of doors, rambling in the park, the
forest, and the fields. But in winter,
and Russian winters are long, she was

not gay. Forced to remain indoors, she
VERA BARANTZOVA 538

could find nothing to do but wander
from room to room, and time hung
heavily on her hands.

The worst of it was that all the people
in the house were quarrelsome and ill-
tempered, a fact of which, whenever
Vera appeared among them, she was in-
variably reminded by some unpleasant-
ness. She hardly ever entered her
sisters’ room that they were not falling
out. If by a happy accident they
chanced to be on friendly terms, they
would abuse their parents, and bewail
the fate that condemned them, after
being cradled in the lap of luxury and
brought up to great expectations, td
pine away in a dismally lonesome coun-
try-house.

If Vera went to her mother she
54 VERA BARANTZOVA

would find her scolding her maid or
the housekeeper, and if in despair she
betook herself to the basement she
would find the servants quarrelling even
more bitterly than their betters.

In a word, it appeared as though
the Barantzovs and their dependants
lived merely for the purpose of tor-
menting each other. The only person
in the house who neither complained
nor showed discontent was the old
nurse. She had but one care in life:
that the lamp before the ikon (image)
should never go out. If she got a
few coppers wherewith to buy oil she
was content. By the other mates of
the house the existence of the infirm
half-blind old body was almost ignored.
Seldom did any of them look into the
VERA BARANTZOVA 55

garret where she passed nearly all her
time. Now and then a housemaid
would think of her and take her some-
thing to eat, or her old favourite, Vera,
would look in of an evening. When-
ever the young girl went up into the
old woman’s room, which was pervaded
with an odour of incense, oil, and cam-
phor, a strange sense of restfulness
would come over her.

‘I am so weary, nurse, she would
say, sitting down on a low stool and
leaning her head on the little table,
‘so weary !’

‘Why are you weary, child? You
must pray,’ would answer the nurse,
in the same quiet soothing voice in
which she had been wont to speak to
Vera when the latter was.a little child.
56 VERA BARANTZOVA

And Vera did pray, warmly, passion-
ately, rapturously. Little by little re-
ligion took fast hold of her and filled’
the poor child’s heart to overflowing.

Three weeks before Christmas she
began a rigorous fast, and on Christmas
Eve no food passed her lips until the
first star appeared in the heavens. And
when at twilight the priest came as
usual to perform evening service before
the temporary altar in the drawing-
room, she experienced a pleasant sense
of weakness in all her limbs, almost as
though she were without body and
could at any moment raise herself from
the earth.

The blue smoke of the incense filled
the room with a thick haze, amid which

gleamed faintly the flames of wax
VERA BARANTZOVA 57

candles. The powerful odour of the .
incense made Vera feel giddy ; and the
voices of the choristers seemed to come
from afar.

‘IT want nothing in the world but
to serve my God,’ she said ecstatically.

Her soul was so elevated and filled
with rapture that she felt quite over-
come and shed quiet tears of happiness.

On the same day there came to pass
what she regarded as nothing less than
a miracle, a divine direction vouchsafed
to herself.

Albeit the old nurse was quite illi-
terate. She had a small collection of
religious books, out of which Vera
occasionally read to her aloud. In one
of them was related the lives of forty

men martyrs and forty women martyrs.
58 VERA BARANTZOVA

Having once begun this book she read
it rapturously to the end, pored over
it for hours, and then read it again
and again.

‘Why was I not born in those times ?’
she often asked herself with keen re-
gret.

During the service on Christmas Eve
Vera made a vow to consecrate her life
to God, and being shortly afterwards
in the nursery, which had become her
own room, her eye chanced to fall on
an odd number of a magazine entitled
Child's Reading. Taking it up, she
opened it at random, when lo! the first
thing she saw was a touching account
of the burning of three English mis-
sionaries in China ‘ for righteousness’

sake.’
VERA BARANTZOVA. 59

And this had befallen only five or
six years previously !

‘Even at present there are heathens
in China. Even now one may win a
martyr’s crown. Lord, Thyself guide
me; show me the way, and let me die
in Thy service !’

And Vera threw herself on her knees.

The fact of the magazine falling into
her hands on that very day seemed a
direct answer to her prayers, and she
saw in it, beyond all question, the
working of God’s providence.

Thenceforth the young girl’s destiny
was decided—in her own mind. All
her thoughts and aspirations took a
definite shape and direction. Every-
thing concerning China interested her

deeply. Whenever that country was
60 VERA BARANTZOVA

casually mentioned in conversation she
blushed. She had only one fear—that
China might be converted to Christi-
anity before she was old enough to be

a martyr.
CHAPTER IV

Prince MicHaEL Barantzov’s house
stood on a gentle eminence, overlooking
a piece of ornamental water, which owed
its existence to the unpaid Jabour of his
predecessor's serfs.

There was also a garden in the style
of Versailles, with straight gravelled
walks, clipped shrubs, flower-beds of
formal cut, and many arbours and
summer-houses, covered with lilac and
jasmine, and shaded by lime-trees. It
was a garden which in its palmy days
would have delighted admirers of nature

when trimmed and fashioned into fan-
62 VERA BARANTZOVA

tastic shapes. But to the landscape
gardener, with his host of helpers, who
once looked after the place with loving
care, had succeeded a self-taught rustic
and two lads, and its present aspect
was woebegone and forlorn.

The lake, covered with slime and
ooze, served as the breeding-place for
unnumbered millions of mosquitoes.
The summer-houses and arbours were
shabby and shattered, the paths over-
grown with grass, the flower-beds rank
with weeds. Nothing looks so wretched
or suggests more melancholy thoughts
than a neglected show garden.

But the back garden, where nature
had been left a good deal to herself,
was lovely even yet. Above it rose
abruptly the height on which stood the
VERA BARANTZOVA 63

mansion, while hard by was a brook,
noisy and turbulent in the rains, but in
time of drought a tiny and almost in-
visible stream trickling between bare
and sandy banks. The hill was covered
with bushes that in spring were white
with blossom, in summer resonant with
the songs of birds, among which could
sometimes be heard the ravishing notes
of the nightingale. In autumn it was
full of nuts and raspberries, in winter a
wilderness of snow, pierced here and
there by a few blackened twigs.

The brook formed the boundary of
Count Michael’s estate on this side of
the house. It divided his property from
that of another landowner, a certain
Stepan Michaelovitch Vazilitzev. This

gentleman was an absentee. For long
64 VERA BARANTZOVA

years his little wooden house had been
silent and deserted, its outer doors
locked, its shutters nailed up. The
neglected garden had become a leafy
and lonely wilderness, where under the
shade of the ancient lime-trees the
burdock grew to an abnormal size, and
bluebells, carnations, and columbines
flourished side by side.

Vazilitzev had a reputation for high
learning. He spent his winters at St.
Petersburg, where he lectured at the
Institute of Technology, his summers
for the most part abroad. As for the
little estate which he had inherited from
his father, it seemed as though he had
utterly forgotten its existence.

But one day in that winter so memor-

able in the lives of the Barantzovs, a
VERA BARANTZOVA 65

post-sledge, with tinkling bells, stopped
before Vazilitzev’s garden gate. In the
sledge were two gendarmes and between
them sat the owner of the estate. The
cause of his arrival in company so ques-
tionable was sufficiently simple and
easily explained. Being regarded as a
liberal he was in bad odour with the
higher authorities of the capital, who
were on the outlook for any overt act
on his part which might afford them an
excuse for sending him elsewhere. Now,
it came to pass, that a short time pre-
viously the students and professors of
the Institute organised a banquet which
was to be graced by the presence of one
of the Imperial Princes. But it so
happened that His Imperial Highness,

having heard of Vazilitzev’s opinions,
E
66 VERA BARANTZOVA

objected to meet him, and made his
objections known to the organisers of
the entertainment, by whom it was
communicated to the gentleman in
question, who made answer that, though
he should of course bow to an official
order forbidding him to be present, he
could not comply with a mere wish to
that effect informally conveyed. So he
took part with his colleagues both in
the reception-room and at the banquet.
Two days afterwards Vazilitzev re-
ceived a letter from the chief of the
secret police, courteously advising him
to send in his resignation and betake
himself to his place in the country, there
to remain until further orders. This
advice being equivalent to a command,

he accepted it with the best grace he
VERA BARANTZOVA 67

could muster, and in order to insure
prompt obedience, the chief gave him
an escort of gendarmes, who were en-
joined not to lose sight of their charge
until he reached his destination.

These were the circumstances in which
Stepan Michaelovitch Vazilitzev re-
turned to the home of his fathers.

As may be supposed, the event caused
a great sensation in the neighbourhood,
and gave rise to divers rumours, each
more portentous and incredible than
the other. Some people set him down
as a desperate and dangerous con-
spirator, but the quality thus ascribed
to Vazilitzev, though it terrified the
timid, rather attracted than repelled
the majority of his neighbours ; because

in Russia, even conservatives, unless
68 VERA BARANTZOVA

they belong to the secret police, cannot
help regarding political delinquents with
a certain measure of respect. His near-
est neighbours being the Barantzovs, it
was only in the nature of things that
the two elder daughters of the house
should take great interest in the new-
comer and look upon him as in some
sense a godsend. ‘True, he was past
forty, and even in the heyday of his
youth had never been mistaken for an
Adonis, but he was at least a bachelor,
and in the prevailing dearth of marriage-
able men might be regarded as an
eligible parti.

Vazilitzev would doubtless have been
vastly suprised had he known what a
leading part he played in the conver-

sation and plans of the two young
VERA BARANTZOVA 69

women. Nevertheless, and despite his
innate modesty, he could not help re-
marking that he seldom went outside
his gates without seeing either Lena or
Liza. Stranger still, he always found
them on these occasions fancifully attired
and posing in picturesque attitudes.
One day he would discover the playful
Lena, who could climb like a squirrel,
reclining among the branches of a great
tree; another time he would come across
the languid Liza, leaning, Ophelia-like,
over the lake with a bunch of forget-
me-nots in her hand, or dropping flowers
into the water. When thus surprised
they would scream prettily and look as
frightened and graceful as startled fawns.

Unfortunately, however, these man-

ceuvres led to nothing. Whenever
70 VERA BARANTZOVA

Vazilitzev met the young ladies he
would bow, somewhat awkwardly and
drily, and there the rencontre ended.
Never a word was exchanged between
them. No wonder that the young
Princesses finally came to the conclusion
that the world did not contain such
another rude, unpolished bear as their
taciturn neighbour.

The acquaintance so much desired by
Lena and Liza was made by Vera with-
out effort or intention, and in a fashion
as simple as it was unromantic.

The summer was drawing to a close,
and wet and muddy autumn with its
long evenings was beginning to cast
its dark shadow over the land, and
Vazilitzev, oppressed by the unwonted

dulness of his surroundings, often took
VERA BARANTZOVA 71

long walks in the fields. But like most
people who have been unused to a
country life, and never lived in a
Russian village, he sometimes met with
difficulties, occasionally, as he thought,
with dangers.

None of his associates at the Techni-
cal College had ever suspected him of
cowardice. Rather did they hold him
to be over rash, and were in continual
fear lest his inconsiderate boldness
should get them all into trouble. When
his professional career was so abruptly
terminated, even the least timid of his
friends sorrowfully agreed among them-
selves that Stepan Michailovitch was
brave to temerity, and that it was im-
possible for so hot-headed a man to live

peacefully in Russia.
72 VERA BARANTZOVA

In his own mind, moreover, Vazilitzev
considered himself courageous to a fault.
In his innermost dreams, dreams which
a man does not confess, even to his
closest friends, he had figured in many
strange and perilous-encounters. Often,
when sitting in his study, had he led
a forlorn hope, or defended a barricade
against desperate odds. Yet, despite
these valorous imaginings and the
courage for which everybody gave him
credit, Vazilitzev had a great respect
for the village dogs which, as was
rumoured, had torn an old woman to
pieces some time previously; also, he
had a decided objection to meeting the
village bull, an ugly customer which
had thrice tossed the herdsman on

his horns.
VERA BARANTZOVA 73

One day he wandered further from
home than usual, and on his way back
took a short cut across the fields, walk-
ing, as his habit was, with his hands
behind him, deep in thought and philo-
sophically unobservant. But presently
he found himself in a terrible predica-
ment. He was brought up by a brook
which there seemed to be no means of
crossing, and as, like the footpath he
had just traversed, it was bordered by
a swamp, he could not, without the risk
of being engulphed, turn either to the
right or the left. There seemed nothing
for it but to retrace his steps, and this
he was about to do when he heard
behind him the lowing of a herd of cows
and the hoarse bellowing of the homi-
cidal bull.
74 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘Drive them back!’ he shouted to
the attendant cowboy.

But the boy, who was weak and
stupid, qualities to which he owed his
post, merely said something which
Vazilitzev did not catch, and laughed
idiotically.

‘Jump! Why don’t you jump? The
brook is neither deep nor wide,’ cried a
clear young voice, in which there was
just a suspicion of laughter.

Vazilitzev, looking thitherward, saw
standing on a hillock near the opposite
side, a young girl in a straw hat, bound
with a faded ribbon, and wearing a
short plain cotton gown, tight round
the chest, with sleeves which aie had
outgrown.

It was Vera, wandering like Vazilitzev
VERA BARANTZOVA 75

from the intolerable dulness of home.
She watched with amusement this tall
man who did not know how to cross a
brook.

‘Jump!’ she shouted again. ‘Jump
boldly. You can do it easily.’

But the ex-professor, who had not
jumped since he was a boy, and not
much then, still hesitated. It was all
very well to say the brook was not deep,
but if he jumped short the result might
be disastrous.

Whereupon the young girl ran down
the hillock, heedless of the mud, fetched
a plank from somewhere, and threw it
across the stream, splashing the mire
over her white stockings and his grey
trousers.

Vazilitzev ‘walked the plank’ hur-
76 VERA BARANTZOVA

riedly, and when he reached the other
side felt quite ashamed of himself and
stood before his rescuer abashed, thank-
ing her awkwardly, and smiling a con-
strained smile.

To go away at once would not be
courteous, and he naturally desired to
remove the unfavourable impression
which it was obvious he had made. On
the other hand, he was at a loss how to
begin a conversation with this young
girl, who stared at him with the un-
sophisticated curiosity of innocence and
youth,

‘What is that book you have under
your arm? May I look at it?’ he said
at length, by way of breaking the
ice.

It was the Lives of the Martyrs,
VERA BARANTZOVA TE

which Vera was always reading and
made the companion of her walks. She
answered the question by handing him
the volume, which Vazilitzev opened at
random and lighted on the following
passage :—

‘The anger of the Emperor Diocletian
being kindled against the saintly
martyr Isidor, he ordered the guard to
take him to the Capitol . . .’

‘What nonsense!’ exclaimed Vazi-
litzev involuntarily.

Vera’s dark blue eyes flashed indig-
nantly, and snatching the book from
the blasphemer’s hand she hurried home
without once looking back.

During the remainder of the day
Vazilitzev often recalled his comical

adventure of the morning, and it always
78 VERA BARANTZOVA

provoked him to laughter, not, how-
ever, unmingled with vexation at the
sorry part he had played in the
comedy.

On the following day, while taking
another objectless stroll, he rambled,
without deliberate intent, to the scene
of his discomfiture, and there, to his
surprise, found the young lady whom
he had rewarded for her kindness by
grievously offending. Her charming
face was pensive almost to sadness, and
she stood by the brook as though she
were waiting for him.

‘Good-morning! How are you?’ he
said, offering her his hand.

On this, without returning his greet-
ing, she asked hurriedly, at the same
time holding up her book—
VERA BARANTZOVA 79

‘Is it possible that all this can be
untrue?’ And she looked at him im-
ploringly with troubled eyes.

On first hearing her favourite book
derided Vera had felt unspeakably in-
dignant, but as her anger waned doubts
began to trouble her mind.

Everybody says that our neighbour
is a clever and learned man, she re-
flected. He is sure to know all about
it, and he spoke so positively—called
the book nonsense. What if these his-
tories of the blessed martyrs are as
unreal as fairy tales ?

To put an end to these painful mis-
givings it was absolutely necessary to
see Vazilitzev again, and have a full
explanation. With this intent she re-

visited the scene of their first encounter,
80 VERA BARANTZOVA

and her hope of finding him there was
fulfilled.

‘About the book you mean?’ he
answered laughing. ‘Well, you can
judge of its truthfulness yourself. The
Emperor Diocletian reigned in Visantia
(Constantinople) and the Capitol was
in Rome. How then could he order
his guards to lead thither Isidor the
martyr ?’

‘And that is all! You mean that
only this particular part is nonsense.’

‘Only? It seems to me quite enough.’

‘But it is true that there were mar-
tyrs in those days ?’

‘Of course there were.’

‘And they were hacked with knives,
burnt at the stake, torn by wild

beasts 2’
VERA BARANTZOVA 81

‘ Certainly.’

‘Thank God!’ said Vera fervently
and with a sigh of relief.

‘You are thankful to God that these
people were tortured?’ asked Vazilitzev
smiling. The girl’s childlike simplicity
amused him.

For a moment the question seemed
to stagger her. Then she exclaimed
eagerly :—

‘No, no, not for that. I want only
to thank God because in those days, at
least, there lived good people, saints,
martyrs, and heroes.’

‘There are martyrs in these, days,
young lady,’ said Vazilitzev gravely.

Vera gave him a long wondering look.

‘ Oh, you mean in China,’ she observed
after a moment’s thought.

F
82 VERA BARANTZOVA

Vazilitzev laughed again.

‘Why go so far for martyrs when you
can find them so much nearer home ?’
he asked.

This time Vera had nothing to say,
but she looked still more puzzled than
before, as though he had spoken to her
in an unknown tongue.

‘Have you never heard that here in
Russia people are thrown into prison,
sent to Siberia, sometimes put to
death ?’

‘But only bad people, criminals—
And then Vera, remembering that the
ex-professor was in some sort under a
ban, blushed deeply and stopped ab-
ruptly.

‘It is not only criminals who are pun-

ished,’ he said in a low significant voice.
VERA BARANTZOVA 83

They walked on for a while in silence,
she, with bent head, nervously pulling
the ends of her neckerchief, for Vera was
deeply moved, and strange incoherent
thoughts were thronging into her mind.
But she hesitated to speak, lest she
should say something offensive or stupid.
On the other hand, she was dying to ask
a question, a question so vital and impor-
tant that no consideration of prudence
or propriety could be allowed to stand in
the way.

‘Why were you sent here?’ she
demanded abruptly and with averted
face.

‘Would you like to know ?’ inquired
Vazilitzev playfully, as though he were
minded to tease her.

Vera made a gesture of assent, which
84 VERA BARANTZOVA

was emphasised by the eagerness of her
expressive face.

‘ Also, you would like to know some-
thing of our present day martyrs ?’

Vera’s eyes glistened.

‘Shall I tell you? But I must warn
you that I shall have to speak about
other things as well.’

Again Vera answered with an affirma-
tive smile.

‘And about Diocletian and the Capi-
tol. Will you listen ?’

‘T will, I will.’
CHAPTER V

THE next day Vazilitzev made his first
formal call at Borki, and in due course
Prince Barantzov returned the call. The
acquaintance thus formed ripened rapid-
ly, and after a while the ex-professor, on
the plea that time hung heavily on his
hands, and that he desired nothing so
much as to be usefully employed, offered
to become Vera’s unpaid tutor. The offer
was gratefully accepted, all the more
readily that the Prince was becoming
painfully alive to the fact: that his

youngest daughter was growing up as
86 VERA BARANTZOVA

lightly equipped with knowledge as any
peasant girl in the village.

Pretending to see in this arrangement
sure and certain proof that Vera had
won their neighbour’s heart, the sisters
congratulated the girl mockingly on her
victory, and thenceforth were continually
teasing her about her admirer.

At first these flouts and gibes annoyed
and confounded Vera beyond measure,
but she gradually got used to them, and
ended by liking them; since, say what
we may, it is always pleasant for a young
girl to be told that somebody is in love
with her. Moreover, to think she had an
admirer gratified her self-esteem, and
gave her a sense of being quite grown up.

The sisters were never done asking

her questions.
VERA BARANTZOVA 87

‘Well, how did you go on to-day?
Did he propose? Don’t keep anything
back, if you please. Tell us all about it,’
they would say after every lesson; and
Vera had lessons nearly every day.

So it fell out that Vera, almost against
her will, had to make a full report, and
perhaps unwittingly exaggerated some-
what, deceiving both them and herself.
But God knows how little she was to
blame. Lena and Liza were so quick at
making false deductions, and miscon-
struing harmless expressions that they
succeeded in persuading their guileless
sister that though Vazilitzev had really
said nothing worth repeating, he meant
everything, and before long would de-
clare his intentions.

Meanwhile, Vera herself did not realise
88 VERA BARANTZOVA

how much the gentleman in question
occupied her thoughts, and how greatly
he had risen in her estimation, especially
as touching his personal appearance.

‘A lanky, ugly, oldish gentleman with
a freckled face and sandy hair, and so
short-sighted that even when he puts his
spectacles on he appears to see nothing.’

This was her description of Vazilitzev
the day after the encounter by the brook.
But now that he had become her ac-
knowledged admirer she longed so ar-
dently to transform him into a hero that
she discovered in him traits and qualities
which were obvious to nobody else.

One day she perceived that he had a
charming smile, then she found that,
when he laughed, the skin about his eyes

puckered into nice little wrinkles which,
VERA BARANTZOVA 89

as she thought, made him quite good-
looking. The foolish child lived in a
state of chronic expectation and sus-
pense. Hvery lesson was an event which
she anticipated with heart flutterings
and anxious self-questions. As it went
on her excitement would increase and
she would ask herself a hundred times :
‘Will it be. to-day ?’

But this could not go on for ever.
After a while matters came to a crisis.
One afternoon teacher and pupil were in
the school-room. The lesson was over,
but Vazilitzev tarried. He sat leaning
his head on his hand, deep in thought.
Vera sat near him still, silent and ap-
prehensive. She felt awkward and em-
barrassed, and feared to move. Her

tutor’s long thin hand hung over the
90 VERA BARANTZOVA

side of his chair, and her eyes automati-
cally traced the course of a large blue
vein which, starting at the wrist mean-
dered through a thicket of dark hair and
finally lost itself at the end of the middle
finger.

It is twilight, and as the gloom
deepens, the outlines of the furniture,
as also the face and figure of Vazilitzev,
become more and more indistinct. Still
Vera watches him with strained atten-
tion, until, at length, she falls into a
semi-hypnotic condition, and feels as
though she could not move, even if she
wished. She can hear the beating of
her heart, and in her ears there is a
sound as of running water afar off.

Suddenly Vazilitzev rouses himself

from his reverie.
VERA BARANTZOVA 91

‘My dear Verotchka,’ he begins in a
soft voice, as if he were following up
me train of thought, at the same time
laying his hand tenderly on hers.

At last! The proposal!

Something goes through Vera’s head.
She trembles like a leaf. Her chest
contracts, she feels like to choke. One
word more and she will lose her senses.

‘Please—please—don’t! Don’t say
it! I know very well. I know,’ she
gasps, and, springing from her chair,
runs to the other corner of the room.

Vazilitzev, quite bewildered by this
proceeding, looked at her for a minute
without speaking. Then he said
kindly :—

‘Vera, what on earth is the matter

with you?’
92 VERA BARANTZOVA

The sound of his voice sobered the
girl at once, and it dawned on her mind
that she had been making a fool of
herself.

What should she do, how explain
her emotion and her words ?

‘IT thought—it seemed to me,’ she
muttered, and then stopped short.

Meanwhile Vazilitzev had kept his
eyes on her; and his surprised, puzzled
look changed to one of disagreeable
suspicion.

‘What did you think?) What seemed
to you? I want to know; I request
you to tell me, Vera.’

He takes both her hands in his. His
voice has a harsh, metallic sound. His
short-sighted eyes, gleaming through
his glasses, are fixed on her face, and
VERA BARANTZOVA 93

seem to read her through and through.
The power of that look weakens Vera’s
will and paralyses her self-control. The
confession she has to make will be
awful, but whatever may be the con-
sequences, even though it were a matter
of life and death, she cannot say aught
save the truth.

‘I—I thought you were in love with
me,’ she answered in a broken, scarcely
audible whisper.

‘Ah, you are no better than the
others, after all. You are merely a
frivolous girl, and without adding
another word Vazilitzev abruptly left
the room.

Vera was left alone, crushed, miser-
able, and desperate.

‘My God, what a shameful thing!
94 VERA BARANTZOVA

How shall I live after this humilia-
tion 2’

These were her first thoughts on
wakening the next morning, after a few
hours of feverish, dream-haunted sleep.

The deep, regular breathing of her
sisters, who occupied the same room,
showed that they were still asleep. As
yet, they had, fortunately, neither
noticed her preoccupation nor asked
any awkward questions. But what
would they say when they knew. To
imagine yourself for a whole month the
heroine of a romantic love story, and
then to find that you are only a foolish,
arrogant little girl !

‘O what a shame, what a shame!’

Vera hid her head under the bed-

clothes and cried bitterly, convulsively,
VERA BARANTZOVA 95

biting her pillow in order to suppress
her sobs.

Presently Lena and Liza begin to
turn in their beds, then they yawn and
soon will be wide awake.

If only she could prevent them from
suspecting anything !

The thought dried Vera’s tears on the
instant. She got up and dressed, and
during the day behaved, talked, and
even laughed, as though nothing had
happened. Now and then she contrived
to forget for a moment the humiliation
of the day before; but her heart was
always full, and the sense of pain was
never absent.

On the morrow there was to be
another lesson. ‘What will happen?’
thought Vera, and her blood ran cold
96 VERA BARANTZOVA

at the mere idea of meeting Vazilitzev
again. But at three o'clock there came
a letter from him, saying that he was
not well and should be unable to give
her a lesson.

‘Thank God!’ she thought, with a
deep sense of relief.

The dull, empty life she had endured
before she made friends with Vazilitzev
recommenced. She rambled aimlessly
about the house as she had used to do,
and, albeit, she kept her secret, and
endeavoured to hide her feelings under
a mask of listlessness and indifference,
Lena and Liza surmised that something
was wrong, and worried her with
questions, which she found it difficult
to answer, and therefore kept as much

as possible out of their way.
VERA BARANTZOVA 97

A week passed, and Vazilitzev made
no sign. ‘He will not come, I shall
never see him again, thought Vera
angrily. But one day, when she was in
the old nursery, now her study, turning
over the leaves of a much-read book,
the sound of her tutor’s well-known
footsteps fell on her ear.

The blood rushed to Vera’s head,
and for a moment her heart seemed to
stand still. Her first impulse was to
run away, but before she could carry
out her intention Vazilitzev was with
her.

He looked quiet and composed, just
as though nothing particular had oc-
curred, and the last horrible ten days
had never been.

And Vera? During that time there
G
98 VERA BARANTZOVA

had been moments when she hated him
with unspeakable intensity, but now
her whole being seemed to overflow
with unspeakable happiness, and yet
she was ashamed of herself for being
happy.

‘Vera, my dear little friend, we can-
not go on in this way,’ said Vazilitzev
kindly, yet somewhat condescendingly,
as if he were talking to a child. ‘We
had a misunderstanding the other day
—a very unpleasant misunderstanding.
But now let us clear it up once for all,
and then forget it for ever, and be the
same good friends we used to be. I
am forty-three years old, dear Vera,
considerably more than twice your age,
old enough to be your father. To fall

in love with you would not only be
VERA BARANTZOVA 99

sheer stupidity, it would be mean to
a degree. But, thank God, I never
dreamt of such a thing. True, I am
very fond of you, and it is my earnest
desire that you should become a good
noble woman. Only silly girls fancy
the first man they meet is going to
fall in love with them. You are not
one of those silly girls.’

Vera stood before him with bowed
head, big tears trembling on her long
eyelashes, but she neither resented his
words nor felt aggrieved at his plain
speaking,

‘ Listen, my friend,’ he continued,
taking her hand. ‘To show you how
greatly I value your friendship, I will
tell you about something of which I
have not spoken to anybody for many,
100 VERA BARANTZOVA

many years. Once in my life I really
loved a girl; a better, a nobler, and a
kinder never lived. But she had a
terrible misfortune. It befell shortly
after Karakosoff’s attempt on the Tzar’s
life. At that time nobody was safe.
A single imprudent word was enough
to consign the utterer of it to prison.
She was arrested and spent six months
in a damp dark dungeon, which was
often flooded with water, and the
poor girl was not strong. When at
length the case was investigated, it ap-
peared that there was no case against
her. But in that damp cell she had
contracted a terrible disease —one of
the worst known—caries in the face—
‘prison caries’ it is sometimes called.

The bones of her face decayed. During
VERA BARANTZOVA 101

the following years, Vera, she died a
slow horrible death. I scarcely ever
left her. Every day I had to watch
the ravages of that’ pitiless malady
which ate her up alive. She suffered
so much that even I, to whom she
was more precious than aught else in
the world, thanked the death which
delivered her from her torments. Now
you may understand, dear Vera, that
a man who has undergone so terrible an
ordeal cannot lightly give his thoughts
to love. But to confess the truth, in
a country like ours where these things
are possible, none of us has a right to
think of love and happiness . . .’
His voice was faint with emotion, he
could say no more, and Vera, who was

already in tears, sobbed bitterly.
102 VERA BARANTZOVA

A little later Vazilitzev showed her
the poor girl’s portrait, taken before
her imprisonment. It was a beautiful
intelligent face, with dark dreamy eyes.
Vera thought she had never seen a
sweeter face. She kissed the miniature
with awe, as a worshipper kisses the
emblem of Christ, and mentally repeated
her vow to deserve a martyr’s crown.
But it was not to China she would go,
for now she knew beyond a doubt that
the guerdon she coveted might be won
without leaving the dominions of the
Tzar.

From this time forth there were no
more misunderstandings between Vera
and Vazilitzev, their friendship ripened

and grew stronger with time.
CHAPTER VI

Ir was the end of April, the spring
that year came more suddenly than
usual. The breaking up of the rivers
and the melting of the snow had been
followed by warmer weather. Vegeta-
tion was at a standstill, or rather, for
every step it made in advance it went
back two steps. The grass seemed re-
luctant to show itself, as though it
wanted entreating to come forth. The
true spring, in all its brightness and
beauty, had not yet cast its magic spell
over the shivering land.

But at length there fell one night a
104 VERA BARANTZOVA

soft and gracious rain which wrought a
wondrous change. Everything moved,
everything seemed instinct with a de-
sire to thrive, as though the raindrops
had poured into the ground the princi-
pal of life, or wakened it from a long
sleep. Every green thing thrust itself
forward and pressed against its neigh-
bour, as if it were afraid of being too
late.

When the inhabitants of Borki got
up the next morning they beheld an-
other world.

Gardens, fields, meadows, woods were
changed beyond recognition. Overnight
the earth had been nude and dark, the
trees gaunt and bare, now they were
covered with delicate verdure and tender

new born buds.
VERA BARANTZOVA 105

The transformation continued. Soon
the birch trees put forth their tender,
transparent, lace-like foliage. The pop-
lars shed their resinous little scales,
filling the air with a delicious spicy
aroma. New sprouts shot up high and
straight, in vivid contrast with the
withered survivors of last year’s leaves.
Every day new guests came up from
the south. A week previously three
cranes had flown over the house. Wood-
peckers began to peck in the hollow
trunk of an old beech tree. Swallows
were darting about under the eaves of
the balcony in quest of their former
nests, and fighting the sparrows who
during the winter had taken possession
of their deserted domiciles.

Warm mists are rising from the soil
106 VERA BARANTZOVA

as though deep down in the earth were
going on some strange monstrous work.
Young life is everywhere, birds are
billing and cooing among the trees and
in the air; insects buzzing in the
bushes, millions of tiny creatures
swarming in every pool of water ; love-
songs are heard on the lake and uni-
versal nature proclaims the glory of
the glad spring-time.

In one of the rooms of Prince Bar-
antzov’s house, known as the study,
sits a young girl of some eighteen
summers, tall and graceful with a finely
chiselled profile, and dreamy dark blue
eyes, edged with long black lashes.
On the table before her lies a volume
of Dobrolinbov, to which, though she

occasionally looks at it and sometimes
VERA BARANTZOVA 107

turns over a page, she is evidently not
giving her attention. Every now and
then she raises her head and leans back
in her chair, toying with a paper knife.
Moreover, her face wears a look of eager
expectancy, as though she were listening
for something, or waiting for somebody
whose failure to appear would be a bitter
disappointment.

It is difficult to recognise in this
charming young woman the slender
Vera of former days. Three years have
gone by since the memorable explanation
with Vazilitzev, three quiet uneventful
years, yet for her rich in moral growth
and mental development. Her friend-
ship with Vazilitzev has waxed stronger
and closer, but her relations with her

own people have become less intimate
108 VERA BARANTZOVA

and familiar. Her sisters no longer
tease her, they let her go her own way.
Her parents, careless and unobservant,
as parents too often are, and regarding
her as a child, see nothing objectionable
in her intimacy with the ex-professor
and don’t interfere.

On the other hand, Vazilitzev’s re-
putation has lately suffered somewhat
in the estimation of his land-owning
neighbours. He is deemed guilty of
certain grave derelictions of duty.
Firstly, he made his peasants a free
gift of their allotments, not exacting
the price of them as others did, thereby
not only making a hole in his pocket
but giving a bad example to the whole
district. Secondly, he was suspected of
meddling with other people’s affairs, and
VERA BARANTZOVA 109

being unduly friendly and familiar with
his inferiors. He was accused, further,
of frustrating divers ingenious combina-
tions contrived by some of his neigh-
bours for getting the better of their
former thralls in the division of the
land, which the decree of emancipation
had rendered necessary.

Albeit these were not illegalities, and
quite within his right, it was generally
agreed that, considering his peculiar
position, it behoved Vazilitzev to mind
his p’s and q’s. He was evidently ob-
livious to the fact that a man who has
incurred the displeasure of the police,
and been relegated to his estate for a
political offence, cannot be too prudent—
if he would avoid further unpleasant

attentions from the same quarter.
110 VERA BARANTZOVA

Two or three of his friends had dropped
hints in this sense; he had even been
told that the governor of the province
had his eye on him, yet either out of
heedlessness or incredulity he gave
no heed to these well-meant warn-
ings.

But though Vazilitzev had incurred
the ill-will of some of his well-to-do
neighbours he had gained the good-will
of the poor and lowly. The peasants
simply adored him, and knew not how
to be sufficiently thankful for his coming
amongst them. ‘True, they did not
understand him at the outset, and re-
garded his refusal of payment for the
allotments with distrust, fearing that
it concealed some deep-laid design to

take them in.
VERA BARANTZOVA 111

After a while—when their first sur-
prise was over—they concluded that he
was stupid. But as time went on they
discovered that he treated them gener-
ously because he meant kindly. When-
ever they consulted him on any matter
affecting their interests he gave them
sensible advice. Thenceforth they never
let him alone. Whether it was settling
some delicate family question, drawing
up a petition to the authorities, or what
not, they always craved his help and
took his advice.

In their leisure moments Vera and
Vazilitzev are occupied with study and
conversation, the latter endless and
generally on abstract and lofty themes ;
never about themselves. As they did

three years past they sometimes speak
112 VERA BARANTZOVA

of present day martyrs, in whose foot-
steps Vera is more than ever resolved to
tread.

But the martyr’s crown to which she
aspires, though, as she thinks, looming
in the future is still a long way off, and
her present life is calm and pleasant and
becomes every day fuller and better.
Only the last few days have seemed
dull and long. Vazilitzev has been
away a fortnight on business connected
with his beloved peasants. Time drags
when the friend whom you have been
accustomed to see nearly every day
intermits his accustomed visits. Read-
ing becomes a bore ; you do not care to
do anything, in fact. But this trial is
nearly past. Only a little while since a
boy messenger brought word that his
VERA BARANTZOVA 113

master was returned and would presently
appear in person.

‘Tn half an hour or so he will be here,’
was her thought.

The thought brought with it so strong
a flood of happiness that Vera, unable to
sit still, threw down her book, and going
to the window looked towards the set-
ting sun, whose resplendent brightness
forced her for a moment to close her
eyes.

‘How glorious it is outside! Never
was there a spring so beautiful, a time
so joyous. And how everything grows!
This morning that hill was bare and
bleak, now the snowdrops are so thick
you might gather them by handfuls.
They seem to have sprung full-grown

from the earth. It recalls the fairy tale
H
114 VERA BARANTZOVA

of the man whose eyes were so sharp
that he. could see the grass grow. I
almost think I could if I were to look
long enough. ... There! What’s that ?
A cuckoo! The first this year. It is
really delightful. My heart is so full
that I could cry with happiness.’

When Vazilitzev presently arrived,
Vera greeted him so effusively that he
was surprised out of his habitual re-
serve, and taking both her hands in his
looked tenderly into her eyes.

“What has happened, Vera? Do you
know that at first I almost failed to
recognise you? A fortnight ago I left
you a mere girl and now I find -—’

He did not finish, but his face revealed
his thoughts. Vera blushed, and her
eyes drooped. She felt so pleased and
VERA BARANTZOVA 115

happy. The two weeks of Vazilitzev’s
absence had wrought a momentous
change in her. Never before in his
company had her hands been so cold,
her cheeks so bright. By way of hiding
her excitement and confusion she began
to arrange the books on the table.

‘We won’t do any lessons to-day,
Vera. Let us have a quiet talk.’

And with that Vazilitzev lighted a
cigarette and sat down by the open
window. Vera took a place near him,
her heart fluttering violently, like a
newly caught bird in its captor’s
hand.

The twilight deepens. High over-
head the sky is dark blue, but westward
it gradually pales, and just above the

horizon is fringed with a broad band of
116 VERA BARANTZOVA

amber-coloured cloud. The frogs in
the lake are lifting up their liquid voices
in harmonious concert. In the corners
of the room, and near the ceiling, an
ominous humming announces the arrival
of the first mosquitoes. The may-bug
flies heavily past the open window,
filling the air with his deep-toried
buzzing.

Among the bushes between the
kitchen garden and the pleasure
grounds something light flits,. and a
woman with a kerchief on her head
stops irresolutely, and, after looking
round, as though to assure herself. that
the coast is clear, runs tripplingly to a
neighbouring grove, where a moment
later are heard whispers in two voices
and the soft laughter of happy lovers,
From the farm-building come the
VERA BARANTZOVA 117

melancholy strains of the shepherd’s
pipe, the virtuoso of the village.

‘Tell me how you are going on with
the peasants, I have heard so much
since you went away. People blame
you; only this morning at breakfast
they were saying all sorts of dreadful
things against you,’ said Vera suddenly,
and @ propos of nothing particular, in a
voice that even to herself sounded
forced and unnatural.

Vazilitzev started as though he were
wakening from a dream.

‘Yes, I believe they blame me,’ he
answered running his hand through his
hair. ‘But I don’t despair. I hope,
before I have done, to enlist public
opinion on the side of these poor people.
... I will tell you all about it later.

Now, I cannot.’
118 VERA BARANTZOVA

Again, an interval of silence, broken
only by the singing of the mosquitoes
and the melancholy strains of the
shepherd’s pipe.

‘Vera, do you remember our talk of
three years ago?’ resumed Vazilitzev.
‘I was then so sure. I did not believe
such a thing could be.. .. But now ..
Tell me, Vera, am Ia very old man in
your eyes?’

This question was asked in a broken,
hardly audible whisper. Vera wanted
to say something, but her voice refused
obedience to the call.

Vazilitzev laid his hand quietly on
hers; the touch seemed to electrify
them both, the words they would have
spoken were unuttered, and they were

afraid to move.
VERA BARANTZOVA 119

‘Stepan Michaelovich! Vera! Where
are you?’ It was the voice of Liza,
shouting from the hall.

‘Till to-morrow, Vera!’ exclaimed
Vazilitzev, and springing through the
low window which opened on to the
garden he disappeared in the darkness.

The spring night, the ecstatic, intoxi-
cating night, so fresh and fragrant, so
full of mysterious charm, and poetry,
and love, is floating in the sky. The
village lights are out. Nearly every
sound is hushed. The shepherd has
put away his flute and gone to rest.
The frogs have ceased their mellifluous
croaking, even the mosquitoes are buzz-
ing less loudly. Only now and then
there is a wild rush among the shrubs

and bushes, followed by a splash in the
120 VERA BARANTZOVA

lake, and at long intervals the dying
breeze brings from a distant village the
pitiful howl of a chained hound, lament-
ing his lost liberty.

Vera cannot sleep. Even in the large
airy bedroom which she has all to herself
she feels as though she were suffocating.
She gets up, half opens the window, and
presses her cheek against the cool glass.
But the contact brings no relief, her
face burns and her heart is faint—for
with her happiness mingle vague fore-
bodings of impending calamity.

But outside reigns the peace of a
windless May night. The grove looms
large and deep. The trees stand high
and still, looking as though they were
gathered togetherfor a solemn conference.

But what is that faint, far-away tink-
VERA BARANTZOVA 121

ling which every moment changes its
cadence? The bells of a post chaise on
the high road ; and the air is so pure,
the night so calm, that the carriage
may be two miles off. For a minute the
tinkling stops, probably because the
chaise is mounting a hill which deadens
the sound. Then the bells tinkle again,
nearer, clearer, and more distinctly than
before. Evidently the horses are being
driven at full speed; and soon can be
heard the crack of the coachman’s whip,
and the tramp of the horses’ hoofs on
the hard dry road.

Now, the sounds are dying away
again. How strange! What can it
mean? The chaise must have stopped
altogether, doubtless at some house in

the neighhourhood.
122 VERA BARANTZOVA

It is really surprising how much
excitement may be caused by the tink-
ling of bells at night, even when you
know that they presage naught of in-
terest. The chaise is probably bringing
the’ stanovot or a tchinovnik (government
officer) to investigate a claim for damage
caused by somebody’s cattle trespassing
in somebody else’s cornfield. Yet, when
you hear that familiar tinkling of
bells on the highway your heart beats
faster, and your thoughts travel into
far countries, whither you long to follow
them.

‘ How beautiful is life!’ and Vera in-
voluntarily folds her hands as for prayer.

Vazilitzev calls himself a materialist,
and Vera, who is conversant with all
the latest theories, really thinks that
VERA BARANTZOVA 123

she does not believe in God. Neverthe-
less, at this moment her soul is filled
with passionate gratitude to the Being
who has bestowed on her so great a
happiness. Old habit constrains her to
turn with ardent prayer to the God
whose existence she denies.

‘Lord, I know what suffering, and
injustice, and poverty, there are in the
world! I desire to serve mankind. I
am ready to give my life for my fellow-
creatures. But not yet, my God! Only
after a while. Now, I yearn after
happiness.’

And then she returns to her bed.

‘Till to-morrow !’

Vazilitzev’s parting words flash across
her mind as she lays her head on her

pillow, and again begins for her the
124 VERA BARANTZOVA

feverish exciting sense of her new
joy:

Daylight begins to appear. The cocks
have crowed twice, the sparrows are
chirping noisily under her window, but
Vera has not slept; she is still tossing
about with hot face and cold hands;
and not until after sunrise does she sink
into a deep, heavy slumber.

She slept long. It was nearly noon
when she opened her eyes and recalled
the. delicious sensations of yesterday’s
memorablé evening, experienced the
delight of wakening on the morrow of
a great unexpected joy, and felt once
more the rapture of knowing that she
loved and was loved.

Vera did not feel disposed to get up ;

it was so pleasant to lie abed thinking
VERA BARANTZOVA 125

of her happiness and building castles in
the air. And then she remembered
something, a duty she had to fulfil.

‘My children! What am I thinking
of?’ she mentally exclaimed, looking at
her watch. But finding that the time
fixed for the lesson was past, she con-
cluded that there was no need to hurry,
and lying down again closed her eyes,
and went on with her day dreams and
her castle building.

Presently entered a maid on tip-toe
to see whether her young mistress was
awake.

‘Why didn’t you come sooner, Anisia?’
asked Vera quietly.

‘T have been in at least five times,
but you were sleeping so soundly that I
had not the heart to waken you.’
126 VERA BARANTZOVA

Vera saw by the maid’s manner and
her face that she had something impor-
tant to say and was dying to say it.

‘Any news this morning, Anisia ?’
she asked.

‘Yes, a great misfortune has hap-
pened,’ returned the maid in that
excited yet pleased voice with which
servants are wont to communicate im-
portant tidings, whatever they may be,
whether evil or good.

‘What is it, what has happened ?’
demanded Vera with a sinking heart,
for she remembered her late forebodings
and the tinkling of the bells, and feared
that something terrible had befallen,

‘Last night the police came to the
house of Stepan Michaelovich, and are

there now, answered Anisia.
CHAPTER VII

THE portentous news spread through
the neighbourhood like wildfire.

Later in the day there had arrived at
Vazilitzev’s house a carriage, in which
were a colonel of gendarmes and two
other guardian angels of a lower order.
The colonel showed Vazilitzev a docu-
ment ‘legalised’ with an official signa-
ture and seal, wherein it was set forth
that he, Vazilitzev, being a dangerous
man, the governor of the province, out
of regard for the general weal and by
virtue of the administrative powers
vested in him by the higher authorities,
128 VERA BARANTZOVA

invited the gentleman in question to
change his present abode for the plea-
sant, albeit somewhat distant town of
Viatka.

Three days and three nights were
allowed for the settlement of his affairs.
At the expiration of this time of grace
he was to be taken, under guard, to his
place of exile and there left—for an
indefinite period.

This incident naturally caused great
consternation in the Barantzov house-
hold. The Prince was especially nervous
and alarmed, for though, like a good
many other people in Russia, he pro-
fessed to hold liberal views, and among
his intimates and in the seclusion of his
own house was in the habit of denounc-

ing the government and its measures in
VERA BARANTZOVA 129

vigorous terms, he stood in great awe
of the powers that be, and the moment
one of its emissaries appeared on the
horizon became the Tzar’s abject servant
and most loyal subject.

In the present instance the Prince’s
natural moral cowardice was intensified
by the well-deserved reproaches of his
conscience. Why, he asked himself
bitterly, why had he allowed so close
an intimacy to grow up between his
daughter and a man so dangerous as
Vazilitzev? Where had his eyes been
allthe time? Yesterday Vazilitzev had
been a respectable landowner in easy
circumstances and a good match; to-
day he was a political ‘suspect,’ a
homeless wanderer, a man with whom

it were dangerous to acknowledge ac-
I
130 VERA BARANTZOVA

quaintance. Now, of course, a marriage
between him and Vera was out of the
question ; and the girl was hopelessly
compromised and disgraced.

As was usual with the Prince when
he got into trouble, he tried to excul-
pate himself by blaming others.

Also, as usual, his wife had to bear
the brunt of his ill-humour.

“You are so much occupied with your
nerves that you have no time to look
after your daughter,’ he said testily.

The Princess admitted that it was a
very unpleasant business, and heard in
anticipation and with the reverse, of
delight the seemingly sympathetic, yet
maliciously meant questions, which
would be asked by the ladies of her

acquaintance the first time they met at
VERA BARANTZOVA 131

some social gathering in the neighbour-
ing town.

All in the house, even the servants,
were panic struck and in a fever of
apprehension and excitement, as Rus-
sians generally are when the police
appear on the scene.

‘The police! The police are coming
here!’ cried a girl who fancied she
heard the jangling of bells on the road.
Whereupon everybody went half mad
with fear. The Princess withdrew to
her room and took to her bed, which
she regarded as the surest refuge. The
Prince rushed into Vera’s room, and seiz-
ing all the books and papers he could lay
his hands on, threw them into the fire.

As for the servants, they simply dis-
appeared.
132 VERA BARANTZOVA

Fortunately, the alarm proved to be
false. It was only an excise officer
driving past in his carriage. But it was
a long time before the inmates of the
house got over their scare.

As for Vera, the blow which had
fallen on her was so sudden and crush-
ing that she felt quite dazed, and for a
while could neither understand its full
significance nor foresee its consequences.
Vazilitzev was to be sent away, never
to return. It seemed dreadful, in-
credible. A thought so terrible was
beyond her capacity to realise. What
would become of her after his departure
was a question past answering. That
‘after’ appeared to her as a black, un-
fathomable abyss into which it was im-

possible to look and yet keep her senses.
VERA BARANTZOVA 133

For the moment her chief care and most
urgent thought was how to contrive an
interview with him. Let her see Vazi-
litzev once more, for an hour, even for
a minute—and then the deluge.

At times it seemed to her that if she
could but see him the trouble might
be conjured away, and all would be
well.

The more she pondered the more re-
solute she became to carry out this
design. But it would not be easy. Vazi-
litzev was a prisoner in his own house,
strictly guarded by the gendarmes.

A strict watch was also kept over
Vera. As everybody in the house feared
she might do something desperate, she
was kept under a sort of domiciliary

duress. During the day her mother and
134 VERA BARANTZOVA

sisters never lost sight of her, while at
night the duty of watching her was
undertaken by Anisia.

Two days went by, and though Vera
was continually on the outlook, she
found no way of accomplishing her pur-
pose. Not a single chance had occurred
of leaving the house unobserved. More-
over, she was without news either of or
from Vazilitzev. His house being re-
garded as a sort of plague-spot, Prince
Barantzov’s servants were strictly en-
joined to hold no communication what-
ever with any of his neighbour's people,
whether servants or tenants.

One night only remained. Early next
morning Stepan Michaelovitch was to
be driven away, and then there would

be an end to everything.
VERA BARANTZOVA 135

Vera felt as though she would lose
her reason.

‘Anisia, dear; my own! Let me go
to him! Only for an hour, one hour!
Nobody shall know,’ she besought the
maid passionately.

‘Heaven forbid! You must not think
of such a thing,’ cried the frightened
woman. ‘I dare not. It is impossible.’

‘ Anisia, think of the time when you
were young! You have often told me
how hard it was during the serfdom.
Think! It is for you, for the peasants,
that Stepan Michaelovitch is suffering.’

‘Oh, my darling; don’t speak of it.
I know very well what a kind. gentle-
man he is. We servants pity him with
all our hearts. And you, too, my dear.
We thought it such a good match, and
136 VERA BARANTZOVA

that you would be very happy. But
what can we do? It is God’s will... .
My dear child, what are you thinking
of? Are you in your senses? You,
kneeling at my feet !’

Vera in her despair took Anisia’s
hands and kissed them.

‘Anisia, Anisia; if you don’t let me
go you will be responsible before God
for my life. If I don’t see him this
night, I shall put an end to myself.’

Anisia’s heart was not of stone. With
many sighs, lamentations, and misgiv-
ings, she ended by yielding, and pro-
mised to let Vera out as soon as every-
body had gone to bed and all was
quiet.

It was nearly midnight when Vera,

wearing one of Anisia’s gowns, and with
VERA BARANTZOVA 137

her head enveloped in a shabby old
shawl, left her father’s house. During
the last few days the weather had
grown colder, and though the sun was
gaining power the night had brought
with it a sharp frost. The puddles in
the road were covered with thin ice,
and as it broke under Vera’s feet a cold
shiver ran through her body.

As the brook between the two estates
had overflown its banks and could not
be crossed, she had to make a long
détour. Never before had she been out
in the fields after dark and alone. The
path was sometimes hard to find, and
the country so changed by the prevail-
ing gloom as to be hardly recognisable.
Yet Vera went on without turning her

head, and, strange to say, feeling neither
138 VERA BARANTZOVA

fear nor excitement. Even her grief
for Vazilitzev began to be less acute,
and a slight giddiness, far from dis-
agreeable, clouded her thoughts. After
a time, too, her feet grew so light that
she scarcely felt the ground; she lost
the sense of her physical personality,
and went on like one in a dream until
she found herself at Vazilitzev’s gate.
Then she awoke once more to the reality
of things.

All was in darkness. Everybody had
gone to bed. From one window alone
gleamed a faint ray of light.

Vera knocked at the gate, faintly and
irresolutely. Nobody answered.

Then she knocked again and yet again,
each time louder and more vigorously

than before. The dogs rushed from
VERA BARANTZOVA 139

under the gate, barking furiously. But
Vera, undismayed, kept her ground and
renewed her knocks. At last steps
were heard, and a sleepy gendarme—
his bare feet thrust into his heavy shoes,
his coat thrown carelessly over his
shoulders—came out with a lantern and
opened the gate.

“Who the deuce? What do you
want at this time of night ?’ he growled.
And then his annoyance changing to
surprise : ‘God bless me, a wench !’

‘I want to see the—gentleman,’ said
Vera in a hardly audible voice. But
though cold and shivering she had no
sense of fear.

The policeman turned the light of
his lantern on Vera’s face, which he

examined closely and unceremoniously.
140 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘Ah, to be sure, a servant lass,’ he
thought, and began to feel more amused
than vexed.

‘Well, look here, my little beauty,
you no doubt know your way quite well
to the gentleman’s room—been there
before, I guess,’ he said with a smile.
‘But things have changed. You won't
find it so easy to get to him to-night,
don’t yousee?’ This sternly, as though
the request could not be granted.

‘Oh, do let me see him, for Christ’s
sake let me see him!’ cried Vera in a
voice so pathetic and imploring that the
gendarme, who had a soft place in his
heart, and had never been able to resist
a woman’s pleading, gave in.

‘Well, well, don’t cry, and I will see
what I can do,’ he said kindly. ‘But I
VERA BARANTZOVA 141

shall be obliged to report your request
to the colonel.’

On this he let Vera in, followed her
across the yard, and when they were in
the hall bade her wait there until he
returned. Then he went behind a par-
tition to the colonel, who, like himself,
had been wakened by the knocking at
the gate.

The same strange torpor and indiffer-
ence to everything external which Vera
had experienced on her way through
the fields came over her again. Nothing
seemed to affect her. She felt neither
shocked or offended when the gendarme
informed his chief that Vazilitzev’s ‘ girl’
had come to see him, not even when the
colonel made a coarse remark and inquired

whether the ‘lass was good-looking.’
142 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘All right, let her go in!’ said he.
‘They won’t have another chance for a
long time, poor beggars.’

The gendarme opened the door lead-
ing to the inner rooms and Vera darted
in.

‘You are in a hurry,’ laughed the
man. ‘What is your name, darling?
I say, don’t forget us when your sweet-
heart is gone,’ he shouted after her.

But Vera, making as though she
heard nothing, ran on till she reached a
door through the crannies of which a
few fitful gleams of light were breaking.

Vazilitzev sat in his bedroom, which
was also his study, overhauling and
arranging books and papers. The room,
which was lofty and spacious, presented .

that disorderly appearance which is
VERA BARANTZOVA 143

generally associated with an impending
removal or departure. Ona narrow iron
bedstead were bundles of linen, and
several portfolios and manuscript books.
The floor was littered with papers, old
bills, and fragments of letters. Two
large boxes were filled with books, and
the bare shelves round the walls looked
like so many black skeletons. In the
middle of the floor stood an open half-
packed travelling-trunk into which
boots, linen, and clothes had been thrown
higgledy piggledy.

When Vera opened the door she lost
her self-possession—for the first time
since leaving home. For a moment it
seemed as though her heart stopped
beating, and she stood on the threshold

unable either to move or speak.
144 VERA BARANTZOVA

Vazilitzev, with his back towards her
was bending over the writing-table, and,
so taken up with his work that he had
heard neither the sound of her footsteps
nor the creaking of the door. But when,
on accidentally turning round he saw
the tall figure and pale face of Vera
Barantzova, his own bespoke not so
much astonishment as boundless joy.
He might have:been expecting her and
counting with certainty on her coming.
He ran to her and for a few seconds
they stood face to face and hand in
hand without a word, both being too
full for utterance.

Vera was the first to break silence—
with a suppressed sob. Just then a
sound as of stealthy footsteps was heard
outside the door, and both felt that
VERA BARANTZOVA 145

there was a third albeit unseen presence
in the room. Vera's whole body shivered
with indignation and disgust.

‘Calm yourself, darling, we are not
alone. Somebody is listening and,
perhaps, looking. Don’t give those
scoundrels a chance of gloating over our
sorrow, whispered Vazilitzev between
his set teeth.

Then, recovering his presence of mind,
he led Vera to a sofa and clearing away
the books with which it was littered,
sat down beside her. His face was very
pale, the corners of his mouth were
twitching convulsively, and the blue
veins on his temples stood out like
cords. Nevertheless, he spoke in a
quiet, composed voice about irrelevant

matters.
146 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘In this box, Vera, you will find
several books which I leave for you. We
began some time ago to read Herbert
Spencer. Here are some of his works
which I have annotated specially for
you.’

She sat on the sofa as still and motion-
less as though she had been turned into
stone; her hands so tightly pressed to-
gether that the nails ran into her flesh.
Vazilitzev’s words sounded like a far-
away meaningless murmuring. To his
questions she responded only with a nod
or a faint pitiful smile, fearing that if
she tried to speak she should break into
sobs and tears.

The clock on the mantel-piece went on
ticking with automatic regularity and

precision; a big blue-bottle fly was
VERA BARANTZOVA 147

flying about the room; now, it would
rest for a second and then, beginning
again, soar impetuously towards the
ceiling or dash itself against the window
panes.

Vera felt as acutely as though it were
a physical sensation that time was oozing
away like liquid from a leaky vessel, drop
by drop. Soon, the last drop would be
gone. The moment of parting grew
nearer and nearer, a parting that
would probably last for years and might
be eternal. And not one word of heart-
felt. love, not a single caress had they
exchanged. They sat like mere
strangers, face to face, hearing every
now and then the stealthy movement
outside, which told them that the eaves-
dropper was still at the door.
148 VERA BARANTZOVA

The flame of the candle grew yellow,
the window, with the drawn blind which
had looked like a black spot, became
purple. The cocks crowed in the farm
yard, the sparrows twittered in the
trees, the cows lowed in the fields, all
heralding the coming morn.

A cold blunt sense of despair took
possession of Vera. For the first time
the parting, now so near, appeared to
her in all its stern, hopeless reality.
Till that moment there lay between her
and despair the hope of a brief interlude
of happiness. A wild vague belief that
something would happen to prevent
Vazilitzev from being taken away had
sustained her courage. But now it was
all over. There was an end to every-

thing.
VERA BARANTZOVA 149

Vazilitzev opened the window, and
the first rays of the glorious spring
morning flooded the room with bright-
ness. The light, the sounds, the spring
scent of flowers, the songs of birds, all
came with a joyous rush, as though
mocking their misery.

Moved by a sudden unaccountable
impulse Vazilitzev shut the window
and let down the blind. ‘Then he
threw himself on the sofa, sobbing
bitterly, and trembling like one palsy
stricken. Vera laid her hand on his‘
head and bent lovingly over him.

“My dear, my own! Don’t go away
alone, my life. Take me with you.’

Vazilitzev thought no more of con-
soling her. He took her in his arms

and pressed her to his heart and their
150 VERA BARANTZOVA

lips met in a first passionate kiss. Then
he pushed her away abruptly, almost
rudely, and began to pace about the
room, while she, kneeling before the
vacant sofa, wept silently bitter tears.

After a while Vazilitzev returned to
her, and she, looking up at him, saw that
his face was as much changed as though
he had undergone a long illness.

‘Vera, my own, forgive me,’ he
said gently. ‘Forgive me, darling, for
causing you so much unhappiness. How
can I take you with me? How can I
let you, so fresh and young, chain your-
self to a withered life? But even if I
wished it, would they give you up?
Your parents would fetch you away,
force you to leave me.’

His voice was choked and broken,
VERA BARANTZOVA 151

and Vera ceased to weep, for she knew
now beyond a doubt what would be the
end.

By this time it was quite light, and
there presently came a knock at the
door, and the gendarme entering, in-
formed the prisoner that in an hour he
must be ready to start on his long
journey.

‘Vera, would it not be well for you to
go now ?’ whispered Vazilitzev, but she
answered him with a resolute shake of
the head, and a look which signified
that she had made up her mind to stay
with him to the last. A sense of the
unreality of things again stole over her ;
and Vazilitzev himself spoke and acted
like one in a dream.

Presently came all the members of
152 VERA BARANTZOVA

his household, the old cook, the steward,
and his peasant friends, one after another
to bid him farewell.

After entering the house they crossed
themselves before the ikon and then,
turning to Stepan Michaelovitch and
wiping their moustaches, kissed him
thrice with a reverence befitting the
gravity of the occasion, and the fulfil-
ment of a religious duty.

A few women with babies in their
arms stood at the gate wéeping and
wailing as though they were sorrowing
for one dead.

Vera looked on with dry eyes. These
people, as they came in sighing and
lamenting, seemed to her so many
automatons going through a complicated

performance.
VERA BARANTZOVA 153

The colonel was at breakfast in a
room hard by, from which he could see
all that went on, drinking freely of a
beverage more potent than tea.

‘You had better take something,’ he
said good-naturedly to Vazilitzev.

Through the half-open door he glanced
furtively at Vera, but did not address
her, guessing probably that she was
something better than a servant.

Soon, a carriage, to which were har-
nessed three horses, was driven up to
the front door. On a sign from the
colonel Vazilitzev got in; the former
took the next seat, one of the gen-
darmes mounted the box next the
driver. His comrade remained behind
in charge of the house.

‘Forward, with God’s help!’ cried
154 VERA BARANTZOVA

the colonel. The driver cracked his
whip, the horses responded with a will,
and the carriage, swinging from one side
to the other, rattled over the road, and
sweeping round the birch grove, quickly
disappeared. The tinkling of the bells
grew fainter and fainter, and at last
was heard no more; and there followed
a mournful silence broken only by the
intermittent harmonies of a fine spring
morning.

With bent head Vera wended slowly
homeward. The blackberry bushes,
which were now in flower, covered her
with their petals. Big drops of per-
fumed dew fell on her from the branches
of the pine trees. A leveret sprang out
of the field and sitting up on an ant-hill

drummed with his forepaws a call to
VERA BARANTZOVA 155

his kinsfolk, but as the young girl drew
near he darted into a thicket. The sky
sparkled and shone as though the sun-
light, blending with the azure air, had
flooded the heavens with brightness,
while from a dark almost imperceptible
spot, soaring high overhead, came a joy-

ous song of happiness and love.
CHAPTER VIII
Time dragged. One uneventful day

followed another with monotonous regu-
larity, all laden with the same dead
weight of hopeless sorrow.

Yet for a while after Vazilitzev’s de-
parture Vera's nervous system was so
blunted and benumbed that her grief
was neither passionate nor acute. She
seemed no longer susceptible of the
commoner emotions of life. Her pre-
dominant feeling was an abiding sense
of deep unutterable weariness. For
many days she was like one asleep, un-
able to think coherently or realise what
VERA BARANTZOVA 157

had befallen her. Sometimes she would
actually fall asleep in the middle of a
conversation. Nevertheless, there were
lucid intervals, moments when she
could recall vividly the final interview
with Vazilitzev, hear his low sweet
voice and feel on her lips his first and
last kiss. And then would follow a
strange unwonted calm and a gleam of
hope, a hope that slowly crystalised into
an assured conviction that the end was
not yet and that, sooner or later, they
should meet again. As time went on
her physical strength returned and with
it her normal sensitiveness to external
impressions and capacity to suffer.

She missed Vazilitzev every moment,
for, though he had only become her de-

clared lover on the eve of his arrest he
158 VERA BARANTZOVA

had been her guide, companion, and.
friend, and almost daily visitor for three
years. Incidents were continually hap-
pening which called to mind his fate
and her loss, and thoughts of the past
provoked passionate outbursts of de-
spair.

Her worst time was early morning,
when on wakening from her sleep she re-
alised to the full her bitter loneliness ;
and sometimes her imagination became
so excited that she felt as though she
actually beheld Vazilitzev in the flesh.

Vera said nothing of this to her rela-
tives ; and her sisters, with their gossip
and small talk, and inquisitiveness, had
become so unbearable that she kept
away from them and for the most part

dwelt alone with her own thoughts.
VERA BARANTZOVA 159

Her imagination ran riot. She built
castles in the air and formed projects,
each wilder than the other, for leaving
home and joming her lover. But re-
flection shattered them into fragments.
The idea was utterly impracticable.
Viatka was three thousand miles away,
a long, long journey, a journey of many
days; and she had neither money nor
papers; and without a passport travelling
in Russia is impossible. She would be
arrested at the first post-station and
brought back under arrest. And then
the dream would melt away and leave
her in the bitterness of disappointed
hope.

But just when Vera was losing all
the courage that remained to her a ray

of joy lighted up the darkness, and hope
160 VERA BARANTZOVA

replaced despair. She heard from
Vazilitzev. Not by post, for any letter
coming in the ordinary way would have
been intercepted either by the police or
her parents. It was transmitted to her
by the kind offices of a merchant who
had business relations with Viatka.

It was a short letter, cautiously ex-
pressed and without any outpourings,
just such a missive, in fact, as one
friend might write to another, and ob-
viously written by Vazilitzev on the
assumption that it might fall into un-
friendly hands. Yet never did the
longest, most passionate ballet doux
penned by a passionate lover bring more
joy to a tender yearning soul than that
tiny uneffusive missive brought to Vera.

So violent was the reaction, so great her
VERA BARANTZOVA 161

elation, that she almost lost her senses ;
and as is often the case with the heavy-
laden, when their burden is moment-
arily lightened, she felt as though all
her troubles were past.

She had news from him. She knew
that he was alive and well, and would
write to her again; and their separation
was just an ordinary separation, not a
separation for ever. Instead of a cala-
mity it was merely a disappointment.

Though after the first reading Vera
knew the letter by heart, she read and
re-read it every day. Fora whole week
it made her happy, and afterwards she
was buoyed up and encouraged by the
_ hope of receiving another.

Like all who are preoccupied by a

single thought, have only one interest
L
162 VERA BARANTZOVA

in life, and are forced by circumstances
to play a passive part, Vera grew super-
stitious. In every trifling event she saw
anomen. Did Anisia, on entering the
room, straightway bid her good-morning,
she regarded it as signifying that all
was well and that she should soon have
another letter from Viatka; but it was
a bad sign when the maid, without say-
ing a word, went at once to the window
and drew up the blind. In her heart
Vera well knew that this was foolishness,
yet despite common sense and her better
judgment she always anticipated her
attendant’s matutinal visits with an-
xiety, wondering what she would do
and for the rest of the day being either
full of hope or apprehensive of evil,
according to her reading of the portent.
VERA BARANTZOVA 163

Notwithstanding police regulations
and other impediments to correspond-
ence, Vazilitzev contrived during the
following summer and autumn to send
Vera three more letters. She also wrote
to him, and when he heard that his let-
ters reached their destination he threw
aside restraint and wrote all that was in
his heart. The last letter of the three
was especially tender and hopeful. True,
he mentioned a tiresome cough which he
found it difficult to shake off, but other-
wise his health was fairly good and
himself neither despondent nor un-
happy. Also, he spoke of plans for the
future.

‘I have reason to believe that my
exile will not be for long,’ he wrote.

‘But even should my hope in this regard
164 VERA BARANTZOVA

be not fulfilled you will be of full age in
little over two years and able to dispose
of your life as you like. My darling
child! if you could only know in what
wild dreams your old friend, so madly
in love with you, sometimes indulges !’

This letter lifted Vera to the seventh
heaven of delight ; her doubts were dis-
pelled. A bright rose-coloured future
lay before her. Two years and a half,
though long, much too long, were not
an eternity. They would come to an
end, and then, then, nothing in the
world should keep her away from her
faithful lover and friend.

But alas for poor Vera! that joy-
bringing letter had no successors; the
radiant future of her daydreams never

came to pass.
VERA BARANTZOVA 165

About this time, as ill-luck would have
it, the kind-hearted merchant, who had
acted the part of love’s messenger, was
called by his business to another part of
the country. True, he promised that his
clerk should continue to forward Vazilit-
zev’s letters to Vera; yet week after week
went by and no letters came. Never-
theless, she felt so sure of all being well
with him that, for a while, the absence
of letters gave her little concern. There
were so many ways of accounting for it.
As Vazilitzev was under police super-
vision he might have had no opportunity
either of writing or despatching further
letters. It might even have happened
that a letter had miscarried or been in-
tercepted, or that the merchant’s clerk

was either wilfully or inadvertently
166 VERA BARANTZOVA

neglecting to implement his master’s
promise.

But after a time these excuses lost
their potency. Doubts began to assail
Vera’s mind once more, and it was again
her fate to feel the torture of suspense
and the bitterness of disappointed hope.
She could think of naught but the miss-
ing letter. All day long and every day she
listened and watched for the merchant's
messenger; her nights were haunted
with a dream in which she always saw an
envelope addressed to herself in the well-
known handwriting of her dear friend.

The agony of this fruitless waiting and
gnawing suspense grew at length so in-
tolerable, that Vera rebelled against the
destiny which imposed on her so much

suffering. There were even times when
VERA BARANTZOVA 167

her anger was kindled against Vazilitzev
himself.

‘If I had never met him I should be
leading a quiet life like my sisters,’ she
would think during these paroxysms of
anxiety and despair.

Once, in a fit of frantic excitement,
she took out Vazilitzev’s last letter, the
letter that had so long been her solace
and delight, tore it into a hundred pieces
and trampled them under her feet. But
when she saw the fragments spread over
.the floor like the first snow of winter,
anger was succeeded by remorse, and feel-
ing as though she had laid her hand on
something sacred, something that was
dearer to her than aught else in the
world, she rued her rashness with tears.

Kneeling on the floor she carefully
168 VERA BARANTZOVA

gathered up the precious fragments,
joined them together, and pasted them
on a sheet of clean white paper.

Time rolled on, day followed day,
winter went by, spring came round
again, yet still no news; and Vera sank
once more into the condition of hopeless
gloom which her lover's letters had
chased away. When the weather was
fine she would go to a hilltop which
commanded a view of his house and sit
hour after hour on a broken bench, dull,
listless, and apathetic.

One day, as she sat thus in joyless
meditation, a post-chaise turned from
the high-road, and was presently seen
driving towards Vazilitzev’s house, be-
yond which lay the village. The sight.

roused Vera from her reverie.
VERA BARANTZOVA 169

‘What does it mean? Where is the
carriage going?’ she asked herself with
beating heart. ‘To the village? No,
it is crossing the old bridge . .... Now
it is turning into the avenue. ‘There is
no other road. It must be going
there .. . My God, who can it be?’

She rose from the broken bench, but
so great was her excitement that her
knees bent under her and she could
scarcely move. A foreboding of evil
swept over her soul ; yet she experienced.
a sense of relief.

‘I shall know all now. Better
calamity than suspense,’ she murmured.

Then, mustering up her courage and
throwing her shawl over her shoulders,
she runs towards Vazilitzev’s place.

But as she draws near the house her
170 VERA BARANTZOVA

feet grow heavy, the run becomes a
walk, and a spasm of agonised expecta-
‘ tion compresses her heart with a vice-
like grip. .

In the grass-grown court of Vazilit-
zev’s house stands the post-chaise. The
driver is wiping the sweat from his face
and adjusting the harness. The front
door, which was boarded up on the
master’s departure, is wide open.

Vera steps into the hall, then into
the drawing-room. It is empty and
smells damp and earthy, and the sun-
light is struggling in feebly through the
half-open shutters. The furniture—
chairs, table, and sofas—look as if they
had been untouched since the master’s
departure. They stand in the same

order as they stood when he went away.
VERA BARANTZOVA 171

The memory of that terrible morning
lays hold of Vera, body and soul.

Hearing the sound of voices in his study
she goes thither with faltering footsteps.
The old caretaker is trying to undo the
shutters, which, owing to the rustiness
of the bolts, do not yield readily to his
efforts. The old cook, who holds in her
hand a big bunch of keys, is wiping her
eyes with her apron. Near Vazilitzev’s
table are three other figures, but the
light in the room is so dim that Vera
can only just distinguish them. When
the shutters are at length opened she
recognises in one of the three a local
ispravnik (police inspector). But the
other two—a man and a woman in
travelling dress—are quite unknown to

her. She has never seen them before.
172 VERA BARANTZOVA

As soon as the ispravmik sees Vera
he greets her with marked respect.

‘Allow me to introduce to you Mr
and Mrs. Golubinsky, relatives of our
poor Stepan Michaelovitch,’ he says. ‘A
few days ago they received news of
their cousin’s death. He died of con-
sumption at Viatka. They came to
town yesterday, and asked me to put
them in possession of the estate, which
is entailed on them.’

This time nature came to Vera’s
relief. She fainted, and when, on re-
gaining consciousness, she was taken
home, fell ill and became delirious, and
so remained for several weeks, and her
convalescence was long and tedious.

As she slowly recovered her strength,

she experienced in a high degree, like
VERA BARANTZOVA 1738

all convalescents who have been at
death’s door, the physical delight of
living. She was incapable of serious
thought, and instinctively avoided pain-
ful subjects. Her mind was solely in-
tent on the trivial joys and sorrows of
an invalid’s life, and she invested trifles
with a strange and exaggerated import-
ance. Everything possessed for her the
charm of novelty, as though she had
been a child. She was happy when her
beef-tea was well made, and shed tears
when her pillow was not arranged to
her satisfaction. It was a great event
for her and the household when ste
could take a little soup and eat the
wing of a chicken.

When, at length, Vera became fully

convalescent and life began to resume
174 VERA BARANTZOVA

its ordinary course, the past seemed a
great way off and indistinct, as though
it were half hidden behind a dark veil.
About this time, as she sat up one day
in bed, her father brought her some
papers to sign.

Without asking what they were or
why she had to sign—for she feared
they were connected with something
portentous, something which her father
dared not impart to her—she took the
proffered pen and wrote her name with
trembling fingers.

But a few weeks later, when she was
fully recovered, he told her that Vazilit-
zev had bequeathed to her a portion of
his property, and that the papers she
had signed referred to the bequest. And
then the Prince, who thought his neigh-
VERA BARANTZOVA 175

bour had behaved very well, and that,
considering the circumstances, it would
not be right to keep back the letter
which Vazilitzev had written for Vera
shortly before his death, gave it to her.

‘Here is something for you, Vera,’
said he, handing her the missive, and
then left her to herself.

‘You have been both my daughter
and my love,’ the letter ran, ‘and now,
being on my death-bed, I think only of
you, dear Vera. You will, so to speak,
be the continuation of myself. During
my sojourn in the world I have accom-
plished nothing. All my life long I
have been an idle useless dreamer.
When I am gone there will be no more
trace of me than of the grass of the field,

which, as the folksong says, is cut down
176 VERA BARANTZOVA

and dried and the place whereon it
grew cannot be found. But you, my
dear Vera, you are young and strong.
I know and feel that you have a high
and noble mission before you. It is
for you to realise my dreams; all that
which with me has been only a vague
yearning you will accomplish.’

Vera read with deep emotion thése
lines, written by a hand now cold for
ever. It was as though a voice from
another world had spoken to her. The
passionate, indignant despair which had
once raged in her soul was gone; but
she knew that a dark shadow rested on
her life and cut her off for ever from
the hopes and possibility of everyday,
selfish happiness.

Her illness, which had naturally been
VERA BARANTZOVA 177

a cause of great anxiety to her parents
and sisters, seemed to have terminated
for a time the dulness and stagnation
that had. so long prevailed in the family.
Changes took place in quick succession.
The first change was propitious, and the
occasion of much pleasant excitement in
the family. Lena became engaged. The
happy man was an officer in a regiment
which had lately arrived in a neigh-
bouring town ; and the regiment being
under orders to proceed to the other
end of Russia, they were married after
an unusually short courtship. With the
newly married pair went Liza, probably
in the hope that she might find a
husband among her brother-in-law’s
comrades.

In this way were the Barantzov girls
M
178 VERA BARANTZOVA

dispersed, and after the bustle of the
wedding and the departure of the bride
and bridegroom the family mansion re-
lapsed into its wonted dulness and
seemed even more lifeless than before.
And then there occurred an event
altogether unexpected, which was far
from agreeable, and proved to be the
precursor of an entire break-up of the
household. The Prince had a paralytic
stroke. But this time death was con-
tent to give his destined victim a
warning, though it left him only just
alive, for albeit the Prince grew better
he had lost the power of walking and
his memory was impaired. He fell into
a second childhood, and spent all his
waking time in a deep armchair. If

his whims were not instantly gratified
VERA BARANTZOVA 179

he would storm and weep in turn, and
had to be nursed and amused like a
child.

But for those about him his most
trying infirmity was a mania for telling
endless stories. Though he talked, or
rather mumbled, with difficulty, and
forgot one moment what he had said the
moment before, he would go on, hour
after hour, repeating a hundred times
the same anecdote, and showing great
irritation when nobody attended to him.
Vera was the only person in the house
who had the patience to listen to the
poor gentleman’s interminable tales, or
took pains to understand his increas-
ingly incoherent talk.

The Princess, who had been rejoiced

by Lena’s marriage, was now more dis-
y
180 VERA BARANTZOVA

couraged than ever. She became
devout, surrounded herself with monks
and all sorts of queer people, was very
anxious about her soul, yet gave little
thought and less time to her invalid
husband. He was left entirely to Vera,
and the charge took so much of her
time and proved so onerous that she
had to give up indefinitely all idea of
engaging in active social work. Her
mental condition may be described as
submissively and almost hopelessly
apathetic ; for though her father seemed
to be slowly dying and his faculties
daily deteriorating, the doctors declared
that he might, and probably would, live
a long time—perhaps ten years.

But this prognosis was not verified

by the event—fortunately, as well for
VERA BARANTZOVA 181

Prince Barantzov as his daughter. One
fine summer day, some three years after
his seizure, death appeared unexpectedly
and in his gentlest guise. The Prince
fell quietly asleep in his armchair, and
when Vera, surprised by his unusual
quiet, looked in her father’s face, she
saw that it was the sleep that knows no
wakening.

Lena and Liza (who had also found a
soldier husband) came to the funeral,
and the sisters and their mother met for
the last time. The Princess had decided
to go into a convent, and after the sale
of the Prince’s property the proceeds
were divided according to his will, the
daughters’ portion amounting to some
twenty thousand roubles each.

The married sisters returned to their
182 VERA BARANTZOVA

husbands, and Vera, now left homeless,
and her own mistress, resolved to go
forthwith to St. Petersburg and there
look out for some cause or calling worth

living for—and, if the need should arise,

worth dying for.
CHAPTER Ix

VERA was disappointed with St. Peters-
burg, and during the early part of her
sojourn there experienced nothing but
disappointment. In the first place, she
found it much harder to be useful than
she expected, usefulness, in her opinion,
meaning only one thing—either actively
warring against despotism and tyranny,
or giving help and encouragement to
those who were foremost in the struggle.
It did not, as yet, occur to her that she
might be useful in other and simpler ways.
But to whom should she apply, how find

work suited to her ideas and capacity ?
184 VERA BARANTZOVA

To this all-important question she was
continually trying to find an answer.

Vera’s conversations with Vazilitzev
had ill prepared her for the work which
she sought. They were high toned, and
dealing for the most part with abstract
themes, but not practical. Her mentor
had lent her many revolutionary books,
which she read eagerly; and he often
gave her vivid descriptions of the
wrongs from which humanity suffers,
explaining that the cause of these
sufferings lies in the fact that contem-
porary life is based on oppression and
competition, and not, as it ought to be,
on freedom and co-operation. °

Also, he spoke to her about the
martyrs and heroes of liberty, who

sacrifice happiness and life in the cause
VERA BARANTZOVA. 185

of humanity. And she deeply admired
and dearly loved these ideal heroes and
martyrs. She wept for them and
longed to follow their example. Yet
not once in their conversations did her
lover instruct her in this regard, or
advise her how she might realise her
aspirations. After Vazilitzev’s arrest,
during the long years of lonely con-
templation which she was compelled to
pass, the subject did not recur to her.
She was always taken up with more
pressing and immediate matters—
Vazilitzev’s exile and death, Lena’s
marriage, her father’s illness, the break-
up of the family, her departure from
home. So great was her ignorance of
real life, that she thought the Nihilists
were a single secret society, highly
186 VERA BARANTZOVA

organised, with clearly defined aims,
and working on a pre-arranged plan.

Wherefore she had no doubt that so
soon as she reached St. Petersburg, that
centre of revolutionary activity, she
should have no difficulty in finding the
chiefs of the great underground army
and obtaining a place, how humble
soever, in its ranks.

This had been her dream for years.
And now came the reality. She was in
the Russian capital, mistress of her own
destiny, free to live her own life. And
yet her ambition was ungratified, her
purpose, to all appearance, as far from
fulfilment as ever. She knew not to
whom she should address herself, or how
to find these militant Nihilists.

This was why she applied to me,
VERA BARANTZOVA 187

thinking I might help her in her quest,
and was greatly disappointed to find
that I neither knew a single Nihilist
nor believed in the existence of a great
revolutionary organisation. My answers
to her eager queries did not please her
at all. She expected something better
from me.

Yet, though I could not give her the
information she desired, I gave her
good advice. The courses of higher
education for women were just then
beginning at St. Petersburg, and I
advised Vera to attend a series of
lectures on natural history, pending the
discovery of the underground revolu-
tionary army of her dreams.

She took my advice, but natural

history was not her forte; she neither
188 VERA BARANTZOVA

cared for science nor got on with her
fellow-students, with whom she had
nothing in common. The greater part
of them were young women who had
definite aims, and worked with a will.
Their great object was to pass their
examinations as quickly as possible, in
order to obtain posts as teachers and
schoolmistresses, and be independent.
Meanwhile, all their interests were
centred in their studies. They thought
of naught else, and their talk was always
of professors, lectures, practical work,
and the rest. The world’s wrongs and
afflictions did not touch them; and
when they had an evening free, these
young women liked to have a social
gathering, with music and dancing. All
this harmonised ill with the melancholy
VERA BARANTZOVA 189

exaltation of Vera’s character, or, rather,
did not harmonise with it at all; and
though she was always willing to be-
friend her fellow-students, and did so
with kindness and tact, she looked upon
them as children, and kept aloof from
them.

I observed, with concern, that she got
from study neither solace nor satisfac-
tion.

‘There will be time for this sort of
thing afterwards,’ she would argue. ‘It
is necessary, first of all, to solve the
social problem. That done, we shall be
able to attend to other matters.’

In these words, or in this sense, she
answered all my urgings to devote
herself to science.

‘It passes my comprehension,’ she
190 VERA BARANTZOVA

said one day, ‘how, when we are
surrounded by so much misery, when
so many of our fellow-creatures are
perishing under the weight of sorrow
and affliction, anybody can calmly con-
template under a microscope a fly’s leg
or a wasp’s wing.’

Once, she and J, and one of our
professors, discussed this suggestive
theme for a whole hour.

Seeing that Vera had no taste for
natural science, I advised her to take up
political economy, which she did—with
the same barren result as before. The
books she read merely wearied her,
neither changing her views nor making
the least impression on her mind. The
facts and arguments adduced by the

authors left her of the same opinion still
VERA BARANTZOVA 191

—that human happiness could only be
insured by an equal division of goods,
and that when one person had no more
than another, property and oppression
would perish together.

These being sacred self-evident truths,
demonstrable without argument, why
should we muddle our brains and waste
our time in discussions about wages,
percentages, credit, and the like, started
with no other object than to confuse
people’s minds and divert them from
active work? In these times honest
men and women have no right to con-
sider their personal happiness. Their
sole duty is to find out the best way of
bringing about the welfare of all. In
Russia, this way lies through a political

and social revolution. But with these
192 VERA BARANTZOVA

and kindred questions political econo-
mists have no concern. Why then
should we read their books ?

These were Vera’s views as explained
by herself; and yet, however strange
it may seem, we became fast friends.
We saw each other frequently, and
despite our divergent opinions our re-
lations were pleasant and our conver-
sation was sympathetic, a circumstance
which I attribute to the indescribable
charm of my friend’s personality. Her
features were so refined, her movements
so graceful and harmonious, and, what
was still more important, her manner
was so unassuming and sincere, that I
always felt ‘happy in her company.
Nevertheless, it was impossible—and

would have been useless—to go on
VERA BARANTZOVA 193

arguing with her; I could only regret
that her mind was not sufficiently de-
veloped to understand the advantages
and appreciate the blessings of modern
civilisation and the existing social order.

Although Vera had no sympathy
with my devotion to mathematics,
which, moreover, passed her compre-
hension, she gave me the preference
over all her other acquaintances. In
her eyes a mathematician was an
eccentric being who spent his time in
the solution of charades, represented by
ciphers. She could forgive so innocent
a mania, but it excited in her mind a
feeling of pity and, perhaps, contempt
for its victims.

So it came to pass that each of us
looked on the other with a certain con-

N
194 VERA BARANTZOVA

descension, which did not, however,
impair our friendship.

Meanwhile the days went on, anil
Vera, not finding herself an inch nearer
to the realisation of her hopes, became
restless and impatient. The impossi-
bility of gratifying the strange desire to
‘sacrifice herself to the cause’ preyed
on her mind and injured her health.
She lost her brilliant complexion, and
her dark blue eyes grew every day more
pensive and sad.

I remember how, one fine winter
morning, we were walking in the
Nevski Prospect. The sky was blue
and clear, and everything above-ground
was bathed in brilliant sunshine. It
almost seemed as if we had been trans-

ported by some good fairy into one of
VERA BARANTZOVA 195

the shining worlds of our popular stories.
Silver shone in the shop windows, silver
glistened under our feet and sparkled
on the house-tops. The pure winter
air was so invigorating that life seemed
to have gathered new charms. The
wide side-walks were crowded with
pedestrians. Men, women, and children
with red cheeks, and chins hidden in
furs, made up a charming picture of
health and joy.

‘And to think,’ said Vera, suddenly
turning to me, ‘to think that in this
crowd may be the very people whom I
have so long sought! Some of them
could doubtless tell me all that I have
been vainly trying to learn. Do you
know that I never meet a good kind-

looking man without wanting to stop
196 VERA BARANTZOVA

him, look straight in his eyes, and ask
whether he is one of them.’

‘Very well, you need not mind me,’
I answered quietly. ‘See that kind-
looking officer, with his gold epaulettes,
and that dandified lawyer, who is con-
templating you through his eye-glass !
Why not begin by questioning them ?
Their appearance is promising.’

Vera bowed her head, sighing deeply,
and the subject dropped.

But before the winter was over some-
thing befell that put an end to Vera’s
torments and gave her the opportunity
for which she had yearned so long and
so ardently.

Early in January the rumour ran that
important arrests had been effected in

various parts of Russia, and that the
VERA BARANTZOVA 197

Government had unearthed a cleverly
organised Socialist conspiracy. These
rumours were speedily confirmed. The
official gazette presently published a
report in which the Tzar’s subjects were
informed that his ministers had dis-
covered an association of political
criminals comprising seventy-five in-
dividuals.

It may be well here to explain that
after the suppression of the Polish
insurrection, Karakasov’s attempt to
assassinate the Tzar, and the banishment
of Tchernyshevsky, there followed a
period of political calm. True, there
were still many ‘suspects’ (there always
are in Russia), and isolated arrests
never entirely ceased; but there was

no general or even partial political
198 VERA BARANTZOVA

movement. Meanwhile, the character
of the revolutionary propaganda under-
went a distinct change. Instead of
being purely political it became mainly
socialistic. The idea gained ground that
so long as the people remained inert and
indifferent little good could come of a
change of government, and that in order
to influence and enlighten the masses,
it was necessary to live amongst them,
and win their confidence and friendship.

To these harmless dreamers and theo-
rists belonged the seventy-five prisoners
whom the Government organ stigma-
tised, even before their trial, as ‘ crimin-
als. Their methods were altogether
peaceful. They neither carried weapons
nor used dynamite. The majority of

them belonged to good families. Their
VERA BARANTZOVA 199

sole offence was going among peasants
and work-people, preaching the social-
istic gospel. They laboured on the land,
wrought in factories and workshops,
disseminating their doctrine in season
and out of season. They frequented
public-houses and market-places, where
they sometimes made speeches and dis-
tributed pamphlets. But owing to in-
experience and ignorance of the ways
and prejudice of the working classes,
the efforts of these protonihilists to
influence the masses miscarried, they
were denounced by those whom they
were trying to benefit, and fell into
the clutches of the police; whereupon
the Government resolved to punish them
severely by way, as they hoped, of

stamping out the contagion. Orders
200 VERA BARANTZOVA

were issued to take into custody every
suspected person. The mere wearing
of a peasant’s dress was enough to in-
sure arrest. The prisoners were rele-
gated to St. Petersburg for trial, and
though the greater part of them did
not know each other even by sight,
all were declared to belong to one and
the same society.

The idea of the authorities was to
impress the popular imagination and
awe the disaffected by a great parade
of justice, and an imposing state trial.
To this end a special commission was
appointed ; the accused were to be al-
lowed counsel, and the public admitted
within the court-house and its precincts,
and the proceedings published in the
official gazette.
VERA BARANTZOVA 201

In taking this course the authorities
forgot that in a country with a fettered
press sensational state trials are the
surest way of spreading revolutionary
ideas and bringing new recruits to the re-
volutionary ranks. They enabled young
people like Vera to find the real Nihil-
ists whom they sought. For though
outsiders might not be able to enter
into direct relations with the accused,
it was easy to do so through their
friends and relatives. Hence, it came
to pass that after each trial, as in
Russian fairy tales, every fallen giant
was replaced by ten other giants.

Of this truth Vera was herself a
striking instance. After she had news
of the forthcoming trial, she thought
of nothing else. Every number of the
202 VERA BARANTZOVA

gazette was carefully read and deeply
studied. She learnt by heart not only
the names of the prisoners, but of their
advocates, and so found a way of mak-
ing acquaintance with the prisoners’
kinsfolk.

Thus opened before her the wide
field of activity which had been the
dream of her life. Seventy-five families
thrown into despair, some into poverty,
by the arrest of relatives, were in need
of help! She could help, she, too, could
work for the cause, and console and
encourage those whose convictions she
shared and with whom she so warmly
sympathised.

In these circumstances, as it is hardly
necessary to say, she was seldom seen

in the lecture-room, and her visits to
VERA BARANTZOVA 203

me became few and far between. Her
new friends monopolised nearly all her
time. Ifshe looked in for a few minutes
it was to bespeak my interest for some
of the prisoners or their connections.
One day I had to get up a subscription
for a family left penniless by the arrest
of its breadwinner; another, to find a
home for the motherless child of a
Nihilist father, or persuade an advocate
of my acquaintance to undertake the
defence of one of the prisoners.

By the end of April the preliminary
inquiry was completed, and soon after-
wards the sitting of the special com-
mission began.

As early as six in the morning the
court-house was beset by a great crowd.

But only those who had tickets were
204 VERA BARANTZOVA

admitted. The others had to hang
about the doors and passages where,
as they hoped, they might get wind
of what was going on inside and learn
the verdict at the earliest possible
moment.

At half-past nine the doors were
thrown open, and those of us who had
the right of admission passed into the
great hall, between two rows of gen-
darmes who eyed us suspiciously and
carefully examined our tickets.

A fleeting glance was enough to show
that the people present were of two
sorts. Some had come out of curiosity,
as to a spectacle. Of these the greater
part belonged to good society, and so
had found it easy to obtain tickets.

Among them were many fine ladies,
VERA BARANTZOVA 205

dressed in black, as befitted the occa-
sion, and provided with opera-glasses.
They had evidently made up their
minds not to miss a single detail of
the forthcoming drama. So great was
their curiosity, indeed, that to gratify
it they had sacrificed several hours of
sleep and overcome their repugnance
to mix with a crowd. The men who
were with them looked very imposing,
some wore brilliant uniforms and several
were decorated.

After a short spell of silence people
began to recognise each other and ex-
change greetings. The gentlemen who
had secured good places politely offered
them to the ladies of their acquaintance.
Then they conversed, at first seriously

and in whispers, but when they grew
206 VERA BARANTZOVA

accustomed to their unwonted surround-
ings they talked more loudly, made
jokes, and’ laughed without restraint.
If the time had not been so early, the
seats so plain, and the room so bare, I
could have fancied myself at a con-
versazione.

But besides people of fashion there
were others—men and women with sad
thin faces, some shabbily dressed—who
preserved a mournful silence, and from
time to time glanced anxiously towards
the door by which the prisoners were
expected to enter. Their looks told a
tale of past anxiety and suffering, and
presaged an impending catastrophe.

At the stroke of ten the officers of the
court announce that the judges (members

of the special commission) are coming,
VERA BARANTZOVA 207

and a moment afterwards twelve old
senators file into the room. Some of
these gentlemen have more decorations
on their breasts than hairs on their
heads ; and among them may be recog-
nised members of every grade of the
higher Russian hierarchy. Next to the
proud, self-conscious statesman, swelling
with importance and at the height of
his fortunes, walks a decrepit old man
whose active career is finished and
whose life is drawing to a close.

Slowly, and with a certain solemnity,
the twelve senators take their seats
in the twelve armchairs provided for
them. :

And now a second door opens and
the seventy-five prisoners troop into

court. They have a strange appearance,
208 VERA BARANTZOVA

these criminals. Their worn faces are in
striking contrast with their actual youth.
The eldest of them is under thirty,
the youngest barely eighteen. All
have put on their best attire, and they
bear themselves bravely. Amongst them
are several good-looking young women.
Their cheeks are red with a hectic flush,
their eyes bright with excitement.
Some of these young people have been
separated from their kindred and living
and working among the lowly for years.
And now, when they recognise friends
and relatives in the crowd, they show
an almost childish joy, forgetting for a
moment the peril of their position, and
that the judgment about to be pro-
nounced may doom them to a yet longer

separation from those they love. They
VERA BARANTZOVA 209

hold out their hands, and their friends,
breaking through the cordon of gen-
darmes, rush forward to press their
hands and exchange with them heart-
felt. words.

Even the aristocratic and official
sections of the audience, whose emotions
are generally under strict control, are
visibly touched. Later, perhaps, when
they return to their homes and reflect
on the events of the day, they will feel
ashamed of having let themselves be
carried away by the excitement of the
moment. Now, however, they wave
their handkerchiefs with the rest and
make no effort to conceal their sympathy
with the people, whom hitherto they
have regarded as firebrands and male-

factors.
210 VERA BARANTZOVA

But this lasts only for a minute or
two; the gendarmes assert their autho-
rity, the prisoners take their seats, and
the proceedings begin.

The reading of the long and porten-
tous indictment is followed by a power-
ful speech from the public prosecutor,
full of point and invective. But the
prisoners seem little affected by his
eloquence ; they look at each other more
than at him, and try to exchange their
impressions, either in whispers or by
signs. For though their past sufferings
have been great, and still greater may be
in store for them, they seem now quite
happy, and bear themselves as‘ though
they were assured of victory.

The public prosecutor, a young man

eager for promotion and distinction, in
VERA BARANTZOVA 211

his two hours’ speech drew a terrible
picture of the revolutionary movement
in Russia. He divided the prisoners
into groups, and the groups into sections,
as the botanist divides his collection of
plants into species and families. He
classified each group and section accord-
ing to its supposed characteristics and
aims, and while he brought grave charges
against all the prisoners, singled out five
of them as being exceptionally malig-
nant, and therefore especially deserving
of severe punishment. Two of these were
women, one young, and little more than
a girl, with a pale oval face and dreamy
grey eyes. Her father was a great
dignitary, and among her comrades she
was known as the ‘saint.’ The other

young woman was a few years older,
212 VERA BARANTZOVA

and of stronger physique. She had a
broad flat face, and features which be-
tokened obstinacy and fanaticism.

Of the others, one was an intelligent
artisan, the second a schoolmaster far
gone in consumption, the third a medical
student and a Jew of the name of
Pavlenkov. The mere mention of this
name seemed to excite the public pro-
secutor to fury. He denounced him
with all the energy of hatred and all
the resources of a copious vocabulary
of abuse; the other prisoners were bad
enough, and it was necessary, in the
interest of order and society, to sentence
them to long terms of seclusion, yet it
might be urged in their favour, and as
some extenuation of their offence, that

they were sincere, that, however mis-
VERA BARANTZOVA 213

chievous their theories might be, they
at least believed in them. But for Pav-
lenkov not even so much as this could
be said. His companions were perhaps
more stupid than vicious. He was the
reverse, naturally clever and deliberately
wicked. For him the revolutionary
propaganda was merely a means of
gratifying his vanity and love of power,
and dragging others into the mud.
Nature had endowed him with great
intelligence, a precious gift which he had
used to corrupt his associates, and for
other equally reprehensible purposes.
And the public prosecutor gave a
sketch of Pavlenkov’s career from his
youth upwards. He described the
prisoner as the ambitious son of poor

and worthless parents. Being them-
214 VERA BARANTZOVA

selves destitute of moral sense, they
could not imbue their child with correct
principles, and without principles it was
impossible to combat a bad disposition.
A rich Jewish merchant, struck by the
youth’s exceptional intelligence, sent
him to school, where he was highly suc-
cessful ; but mere education cannot de-
velop the higher instincts, and it failed
to do so in this instance. After passing
several examinations young Pavlenkov
entered a medical college, which was a
great rise in life for a poor Jewish youth,
whose brothers and sisters were running
about the streets barefooted and ragged.
But instead of showing gratitude to God
and his benefactor, Pavlenkov gave a full
rein to the malignity which the poverty
and humiliations of his childhood had
VERA BARANTZOVA. 215

nurtured in his soul. He hated all
above him, and spared no effort to obtain
an influence over his comrades, especi-
ally those who were his superiors in
station, in order that he might entangle
them in criminal conspiracies, and en-
gulf them in his own ruin.

In this strain the speaker went on for
a long time, and ended by beseeching
the court, when they considered this
prisoner’s case, to put out of their minds
all feeling of pity and give him the
severest sentence which it was in their
power to award.

While the Tzar’s advocate was thun-
dering against Pavlenkov, I was care-
fully scrutinising the victim’s face. In
a certain sense he interested me more

than any of his seventy-four companions.
216 VERA BARANTZOVA

Neither in manner nor appearance did
he show the slightest trace of that
childishness which was their most
marked characteristic. His skin and
hair were dark, his features distinctly
Jewish. His eyes were full of intelli-
gence and fire, but a bitter sarcastic
smile disfigured his somewhat sensual
mouth. His thick red lips contrasted
unpleasantly with a broad intellectual
forehead and fine expressive eyes. The
twitching of his facial muscles, and the
quick movements of his hands, bespoke
a nervous temperament and a sensitive
nature. He alone among the accused
showed no joy on seeing his comrades ;
nobody came forward to greet him, and
no moist eyes met his when he was led

into the dock. Pavlenkov listened at-
VERA BARANTZOVA 217

tentively to his enemy’s discourse, yet
seemed in nowise affected by his denun-
ciations, and save for the nervous twitch-
ing of his lips he might have been taken
for an observant yet personally uninter-
ested looker-on.

On the conclusion of the public pro-
secutor’s speech the prisoners were
removed and the court adjourned for
luncheon, an example which the specta-
tors were by no means reluctant to
follow.

When proceedings were resumed the
case for the defence was opened by the
advocates who had been retained on the
prisoners’ behalf. .

It is no light thing for a Russian
lawyer to undertake the defence of

prisoners charged with offences against
218 VERA BARANTZOVA

the state, for though there is no surer.
way of bringing a man to the front, i
puts him in an awkward predicament,
and may even imperil his own liberty.
If he be lukewarm and negligent he
suffers in his professional reputation and,
probably, in his conscience; if, on the
other hand, he identifies himself with his
client and defends him with zeal, his
name is entered in the black books of
the police as ‘ politically untrustworthy,’
which means that he is thenceforth
liable to be sent to Siberia by ‘ adminis-
trative’ order. Nevertheless, there are
always to be found barristers ready and
willing to take this risk, and even plead
the cause of impecunious clients without
asking or expecting a fee.

It was so in the present instance.
VERA BARANTZOVA 219

Several barristers undertook the arduous
and hazardous task of defending pri-
soners who were too poor to reward them
with aught but thanks, and whom the
higher authorities had condemned in
advance. Nor did they attempt to
whitewash their clients or secure their
acquittal by legal quibbles. They ex-
alted their motives and justified their
views, unfolded the most advanced
theories, and delivered speeches which
would have been tolerated nowhere but
in a court of justice during a political
trial.

The presiding judge made several at-
tempts to stop them—in vain. The
next moment they would return to the
charge and carry the war into the enemy’s

camp more vigorously than before.
220 VERA BARANTZOVA

It was obvious that the accused had
the hearty sympathy of the audience.
The society people who had come to
while away an idle hour, listened with
frank curiosity to things of which they
had never previously heard, or of which
they had never seriously thought. Their
intelligence was as little developed in
one direction as Vera Barantzova’s in
another. As she believed that Socialism
was a sure and certain cure for all the
ills of humanity, so they believed that
all Nihilistic notions were either obvious
fallacies or sheer insanity.

It is therefore not surprising that
when they found the revolutionary
monsters of their imaginations to be

merely young men and women with
VERA BARANTZOVA 221

for self-sacrifice, who really wanted to
hurt nobody, these people of fashion
became, for the moment at least, warm
admirers of those whom a little while
before they had abhorred and despised.

Only the judges (who were also the
jury) were unsympathetic and unmoved.
Having received their instructions they
knew what the verdict would be, and
doubtless regarded the speeches as so
much surplusage and waste of time.
Moreover, it was evident from their
faces and their manner that they took
the least possible interest in the pro-
ceedings.

When night came the sitting was
closed; but on the following morning
the debates were resumed and lasted

for a whole week, and every day the
222 VERA BARANTZOVA

excitement grew both among the on-
lookers in court and the general public.

The most notable and, perhaps, the
most brilliant defence was made by
Pavlenkov, who though represented by
counsel reserved the right of speaking
on his own behalf and offering his
apologia pro vita sua. From a techni-
cal point of view it was doubtless
inferior to the speeches delivered by
the lawyers. What gave his plea its
power and significance, and kindled the
enthusiasm of the audience were its art-
lessness and sincerity. He wound up
with the following words :—

‘The public prosecutor has told you
that I am a poor Jew. He spoke the
truth. And just because I know what

poverty is—just because I belong to a
VERA BARANTZOVA 223

despised and oppressed people, I sym-
pathise with all who suffer and are
heavy-laden. When I saw that it
was impossible to help the helpless by
ordinary methods, I resolved to try
extraordinary methods, without con-
cerning myself as to their perfect legal-
ity. The public prosecutor says, further,
that my origin and my poverty add to
my offence, that because I am poor I
deserve the greater condemnation. Let
it be so. I don’t ask for compassion,
and I belong to a people who have been
trained by long ages of oppression to
suffer and endure.’

When the debates were over the
members of the commission withdrew
to draw up their judgment. They were

absent two hours, the public meanwhile
224 VERA BARANTZOVA

remaining in court. On their return
the president read the verdict, slowly
and impressively, and in a distinct voice.

Five of the prisoners were doomed to
hard labour for terms varying from five
years to twenty. Pavlenkov, being re-
garded as the chief delinquent, received
the severest sentence.

I heard afterwards that it was con-
sidered in official circles that the court
erred on the side of mercy and‘let the
prisoners off easily. But this was not
the opinion of the public either inside
or outside, and the reading of the judg-
ment was followed by mournful silence,
broken only by suppressed sobs.

I turned to Vera. She was leaning
against the balustrade, deadly pale,
with wide-open eyes and the rapt
VERA BARANTZOVA 225

expression which painters give to the
faces of Christian martyrs.

The crowd dispersed slowly and
silently.

The time was early spring. A south-
erly wind was melting the snow, water
ran down the roofs and coursed in rapid
brooklets through the streets. To the
miasmatic fogs of winter had succeeded
the pure fresh air of the year’s gladdest
season. But the scene we had just
witnessed weighed on our minds and
depressed our spirits. We saw the
twelve senators as in a cloud, twelve
malignant, maleficent beings, who,
having lived long and pleasant lives,
and enjoyed all the advantages of
exalted station, had rendered a judg-

ment which destroyed the happiness
P
226 VERA BARANTZOVA

and blasted the prospects of seventy-
five young people, whose sole fault
was devotion to their country and
humanity.

It was the irony of fate and the
mockery of hope.
CHAPTER X

For several weeks after the trial Vera
neither gave me a call nor wrote me a
line, and my engagements prevented
me from paying her the visit which
nearly every day I promised myself to
make.

One evening towards the end of May,
when I had been having a few friends
to dinner, my drawing-room door opened,
and in she came. But, good heavens!
how changed. I was quite startled.
All through the winter she had worn a
shapeless black gown, which I had

jocularly called a nun’s cassock. But
228 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘ now she wore a bright blue dress in
the latest fashion, with a silver Cir-
cassian belt round her slender waist.
The costume became my friend to
admiration, and made‘her look at least
six years younger. But what surprised
me still more, the change in her face
matched the change in her dress. She
looked bright and happy—I might
almost say triumphant. Her cheeks
were rosy, her eyes sparkling. I had
always known that Vera was comely,
but I had never before realised how
rare was her type of beauty, and how
well she looked when suitably attired.
Her appearance caused a veritable
sensation, the greater part of my visitors
not having seen her before, and when

Vera's name was whispered among
VERA BARANTZOVA 229

them their interest in my unexpected
yet most welcome guest increased. The
women as well as the men were struck
by her beauty; and she was hardly
seated when they were all round her,
either greeting her as an old friend or
wanting to be introduced to her as new
acquaintances.

On previous occasions, when Vera
made one of her unexpected calls and
found me with friends, she always tried
to efface herself, retiring to a. corner
of the room and being with difficulty
beguiled into conversation. Naturally
shy, she kept instinctively aloof from
new acquaintances, especially when she
suspected that they might not be in
sympathy with her ideas. But to-day
everything was quite different. Vera
230 VERA BARANTZOVA

was in a genial and gracious mood, and
so bright and lively withal that I felt
sure something very pleasant had hap-
pened, and wondered what it could be.

Her very character seemed to have
changed. Instead of showing a dislike
to compliments and badinage, as she
had been wont to do, she accepted the
homage of the men with a certain
haughty grace, and answered so much
to the point and was so ready with her
repartees that I could not tell what to
make of it at all.

‘It is the Barantzov blood,’ I thought.
‘The Barantzovs were almost as much
renowned for wit as good looks. The
Nihilist Princess is a society lady and a
born flirt, after all.’

But this phenomenal mood proved
VERA BARANTZOVA 231

of short duration. Soon Vera’s excite-
ment wore itself out ; she grew taciturn,
gave short answers, her eyes became
troubled, and her high spirits vanished.

‘Are your guests likely to stay long ?
I want to speak to you about something
very important,’ she whispered in my
ear.

Fortunately my friends went away
early.

‘What has happened, Vera? I
never knew you like this before. When
you came in I hardly recognised you,’ I
said so soon as we were alone.

For answer Vera showed me the
fourth finger of her left hand, on which,
to my utter surprise, there was a plain
gold ring.

‘Good heavens, Vera! are you going
232 VERA BARANTZOVA

to be married ?’ I exclaimed as soon as
I could speak.

‘I am married already. This is my
wedding-day, dear,’ she said quietly.

On this I felt more bewildered than
before.

‘But how—where—and who is your
husband ?’ I gasped.

Vera’s face suddenly brightened, and
a happy rapturous smile hovered on her
lips.

‘My husband is in the fortress of
St. Peter and St. Paul. His name is
Pavlenkov.’

‘You are married to Pavlenkov!
You knew him before then. I never
heard—— Where did you make his
acquaintance ?’

‘No, I did not know him before.
VERA BARANTZOVA 233

The first time I saw him was in court
on the opening day of the trial, and I
made his acquaintance exactly a quarter
of an hour before I became his wife.’
‘Oh, but this is sheer madness! Are
you in earnest? What does it mean?
Did you fall in love with the man at
first sight, as Juliet did with Romeo?
Or was it when the public prosecutor
was reviling and denouncing him, or—?’
‘Please don’t talk nonsense,’ inter-
rupted Vera impatiently. ‘Love is out
of the question in our case. I married
Pavlenkov simply because I considered
it my duty, because it was the only way
of saving him from a horrible death.’
I looked at Vera for a minute or two
in silence, and then I asked again —
‘What does it all mean, Vera?’
234 VERA BARANTZOVA

And then in a quiet matter-of-fact
way, as though she were relating an
everyday experience, she told me all
that had befallen her since we last met.

‘You know how great is the interest
I have taken in the cause, how desirous
I was to participate actively in the
movement, she began. ‘Well, after
the trial and the judgment I had an
interview with the advocates who were
concerned for the defence. All con-
curred in the opinion that, except in
the case of Pavlenkov, the prisoners
had got off better than might have been
expected. The schoolmaster, who is in
the last stage of consumption, cannot
live more than two or three months;
and as he would have died in any case

the sentence cannot hurt him much.
VERA BARANTZOVA 235

All the others will be sent to Siberia,
and those of them who outlive the term
of their banishment will be able to
return to Russia and resume their inter-
rupted work.

‘But this did not apply to Pavlenkov.
Better were it for him to be shot or
hung out of hand than undergo the
punishment to which those merciless
senators doomed him. That, at least,
would have been an end to everything.
But to pine for twenty years !’

‘Yet many are sentenced to twenty
years’ penal servitude and survive it.
It may not be so terrible as you think,
Vera, I observed, for it seemed to me
that she was rather making the worst
of it.

‘That is true. But you don’t know
236 VERA BARANTZOVA

all. There are different sorts of penal
servitude. Were Pavlenkov a common
criminal—a, murderer, a swindler, or a
thief—or had the public prosecutor
denounced him less violently and: de-
manded a less severe sentence, it would
have been quite another thing. He
would go to Siberia, and that alone, as
you know, is not so very terrible.
People can live in Siberia, and there are
so many “politicals” in the country
that they have a certain influence ; even
the authorities have to take them into
account. When a man is sentenced to
a long term of penal servitude in Siberia
he does not repine. He knows that
though life may be hard for him he will
meet with sympathisers and friends.
He will not be quite cut off from the
VERA BARANTZOVA 237

world and bereft of hope. He may
even escape. Many have escaped from
Siberia. Yes, there are worse fates than
penal servitude in‘ Siberia. Imprison-
ment in the Alexeevsky Ravelin of St.
Peter and St. Paul is worse, a thousand
times worse. It is death by inches.
When the Government want to get rid
of a political offender without hanging
or shooting him, a method which would
create an unpleasant impression abroad,
they put him in the Ravelin. Whoever
enters there may abandon hope. Soli-
tary confinement in all its rigour
is his doom. He is buried alive—
denied books and writing materials, or
any occupation whatever wherewith to
lighten the leaden hours of his intermin-
able days; sees nobody but his gaolers
238 VERA BARANTZOVA

and is cut off from communication with
his friends and the world. How many
“‘politicals” have in this way been tor-
tured to death nobody knows. What
we do know is that not one has survived
the ordeal. In a few months, or at
most in three years, the victim’s rela-
tives hear that he has either died of
disease, gone mad, or committed suicide.
That is the invariable end, and Pavlen-
kov was condemned to remain in the
Ravelin until he, too, should perish by
slow degrees or lose his senses.’

Here Vera’s voice failed her ; she was
pale with excitement, and tears glis-
tened on her long eyelashes.

‘But to what purpose do you tell
me these terrible things? How could
you save him ?’ I asked her impatiently.
VERA BARANTZOVA 239

‘Wait a moment and I will tell you
all,’ she went on more quietly. ‘When
T heard of the fate in store for Pavlen-
kov I pitied him more than I can tell
you—with all my heart, yes, with all
my heart. J thought of him day and
night ; and at last I went to his lawyer
and asked whether there was no possi-
bility of saving him.’

‘None! I can see none whatever,’
said he. ‘Were Pavlenkov married
there would be some hope, for married
men are not sent to the fortress, and
according to law a wife may—on per-
mission being granted—and it is seldom
refused — follow her husband to his
place of punishment. So you see that
if Pavlenkov had a wife she could peti-
tion the Tzar, and I dare say— But
240 VERA BARANTZOVA

this is idle talk. He has no wife, and
we can do nothing, nothing. It is
utterly beyond our power to save him.’

‘You will easily understand,’ said
Vera in a calm matter-of-fact way,—
‘You will easily understand, that when
T heard this I saw what it behoved me
to do. My course was clear. I must
petition the Czar for permission to
marry Pavlenkov.’

‘But good heavens, Vera!’ I ex-
claimed; ‘did you think—do you
know what this involves? You don’t
know what kind of man Pavlenkov is—
whether he is worthy of so great a
sacrifice.’

She looked at me in pained surprise,
as though I had said something outra-

geous.
VERA BARANTZOVA 241

‘Are you in earnest?’ she asked.
‘Don’t you see that unless I had done
everything in my power to save him I
should have been responsible for his
ruin! Tell me, in truth now, if you
were not married wouldn't you be ready
to do the same ?’

“No, Vera, I don’t think I should,’ I
answered frankly.

This time the look was sorrowful, as
though she pitied me, and she said so.

‘I am sorry for you,’ she answered.
‘We don’t see the matter in the same
light. As for me, I had not the least
doubt that it was my duty to marry
him. But how should I get leave?
That was the question. When I men-
tioned the idea to the lawyer he began
by protesting that it could not be

Q
242 VERA BARANTZOVA

done, that it would be impossible to
approach the Tzar with so strange a
request. Neither did I see how it was
to be done until I bethought me of a
man who might be able to help me.
You have heard of Count Ralov ?’

‘The ex-minister? Of course, who
has not? They say that though he is
no longer in office he is still in power
and has great influence with the Tzar.
But what are your relations with Count
Ralov ?’

‘Well, heis a distant relative of ours.
But what is still more to the point he
was once a great admirer of my mother.
They say that before she married my
father he was seriously in love with her.
And when I was a little thing he used

to bring me sweetmeats and take me on
VERA BARANTZOVA 243

hisknee. Ofcourse I had never thought
of reminding him of my existence.
What had I to do with such people?
But now, seeing that he might be use-
ful, I wrote to him asking for an inter-
view. Heanswered quickly and court-
eously, and named a time at which he
said he should be pleased to see me.’
‘And did you call on the old gentle-
man?’ I asked. ‘He must have been
both surprised and pleased to see his
old favourite.’ And then recalling all
I had heard about Count Ralov, that
though gay in his youth he had become
quite a reformed character, and very
religious, spending all his time fasting
and praying, and thinking what a
curious interview it must have been, I

could not help laughing.
244 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘There is nothing to laugh at,’ said
Vera in a slightly offended tone. ‘I
think I managed very well, and the idea
of seeing the Count was really a brilliant
one, you know. And don’t suppose I
went to see him as a Nihilist. I know,
or at least I have been told, that in
spite of their prayers and fastings these
reformed rakes have no aversion to a
pretty face. As soon as one of them is
en téte-a-téte with a nice-looking girl he
melts, and can refuse her nothing.
Knowing this, I got myself up carefully
for the part I had to play, bought this
gown (pointing to her new dress), and
did my best to look playful and unso-
phisticated.

‘The time fixed by the Count was

nine o'clock in the morning, and exactly
VERA BARANTZOVA 245

at that hour I knocked at the door of
his mansion, which struck me as being
much too magnificent an abode for a
humble ascetic repenting of his sins.
The door was opened by a tall porter
with a staff as long as himself, who
could not have looked more important
had all St. Petersburg belonged to him.
At first he was not for letting me in;
but when I showed him the Count’s
letter he became extremely obliging
and struck a brass plate on the wall
with his stick, whereon there appeared,
as suddenly and mysteriously as though
he had come from the lower regions, a
tall footman in a gorgeous livery, who
led me up a marble staircase between
two rows of exotic plants, which filled

the air with a pleasant odour. On the
246 VERA BARANTZOVA

landing we were met by another ser-
vant, whom I followed through several
drawing-rooms, and was presently handed
over to a third servant, who took me
through more rooms, all spacious and
splendidly furnished. The floors were
inlaid with different sorts of wood, and
so highly polished that it was difficult to
keep one’s footing. The ceilings were
painted, the walls covered with pictures
and mirrors and gilded frames. The
chairs and tables were also gilt, and
upholstered in silk. Yet nowhere did
we meet a soul, and my guide was as
solemn and silent as an owl.

‘At last we reached the Count’s
study, where I was received by the
Count’s valet, a little old, ill-looking
and shabbily-clad man, but with keen
VERA BARANTZOVA 247

grey eyes and the intelligent foxy
face of an ideal diplomatist. He
scrutinised me from head to foot as
though he would read my inmost
thoughts. When he had finished his
inspection, he observed quietly and
deferentially—

*** Will you be good enough to wait
here a while, madam? His Excellency
the Count has just risen, and is saying
his prayers.”

‘Then he left me alone in the study,
a vast room, and so long withal, that
when you are at one end you can only
just see what is going on at the other.
But everything is very plain. No signs
of luxury here, no mirrors and pictures
in gilded frames; the furniture is plain

oak, the window draperies and portiéres
248 VERA BARANTZOVA

are of sombre hue and the blinds only
partially raised, so that there reigns in
the room a dim religious light. One
corner is occupied with a large image
case, before which are burning several
lamps, that seem to deepen the gloom
of the silent chamber.

‘Here I waited for a long time,
waited till I was quite tired, and began
to wonder whether I had been forgotten,
and think what I had better do.

‘At length, when my patience is quite
exhausted, I hear what sounds like a
low incoherent mumbling behind one of
the portiéres. Going on tiptoe I draw
it slightly aside and look in. It is
another room, lined with black cloth,
like a Catholic chapel in mourning. All

round it are images, crucifixes and
VERA BARANTZOVA 249

lamps. In one of the corners I see an
old, miserable-looking man with a face
like an Egyptian mummy’s. He is con-
tinually whispering, crossing himself,
and making low bows, helped by two
stalwart menservants, who stand on
either side of the venerable worshipper,
and with their hands under his arms
let him go up and down like a spring
doll, while one of them counts aloud
the number of His Excellency’s genu-
flexions.

‘I was so much amused by this scene
that I quite forgot my timidity and
could scarcely keep from laughing.

‘When the servant had counted forty
His Excellency was released. That
number, I supposed, was considered

enough for the day, and I had no sooner
250 VERA BARANTZOVA

slipped away from the portiére, taken
a back seat, and composed my counten-
ance than he came into the study.

‘“ My God, this is Aline (my mother’s
name)!” he exclaimed as soon as he
saw me. “Her very image,” and his
eyes filled with tears.

‘Then he blessed me with great
fervour, and made the sign of the cross
over me, while I kissed his hands and
also tried to shed a few tears.

‘ After this the old gentleman began
to recall the past and soon became quite
sentimental. I did my best to keep him
in this humour, for the moment making
no reference to the purpose of my visit.
I spoke of the time, long ago, when I
used to sit on his lap, of my mother,

saying that she always remembered him
VERA BARANTZOVA 251

in her prayers and often saw him in
her dreams. How all this came into
my head I have no idea. Even now
I cannot understand it.

‘Presently His Excellency became
quite gentle and as pleased as an old
cat when you tickle him behind the
ears. He made all sorts of promises,
planned my future, and wanted to pre-
sent me at court. Finally, he proposed
to adopt me as his daughter. He was
childless, and his wife had been dead
many years.

‘Then I saw that my opportunity
was come, and bursting into tears, I said
I was in love, and unless I could marry
the man on whom I had set my heart I
cared not what became of me—without

him life would not be worth living.’
252 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘Well, and how did the Count receive
your confession ?’ I asked, half laughing.

‘Not unkindly. At first he even
showed a good deal of sympathy, tried
to console me, and offered to help me.
But when I told him who the man was
on whom I had set my heart, it was
quite another thing. He fell into a rage.
From being fatherly and cordial he be-
came formal and icily distant, called me
“you” instead of “ thou,” and addressed
me as ‘‘madam” instead of “little
angel” and “ dear child.”

‘«Tf,” said he, “‘a young lady falls in
love with somebody unworthy of her, all
that her friends can do is to pray that
God may enlighten her mind, and bring
her to see the enormity of her conduct.”

‘Then I perceived that I had nothing
VERA BARANTZOVA 253

to hope from Count Ralov—unless I
could produce some more effective argu-
ment than my supposed love for Pav-
lenkov—’

Here Vera hesitated, as though she
were minded to keep something back.

‘What happened next? Did you
produce some more effective arguments,’
IT asked. ‘Go on, please!’

Vera reddened, and again hesitated,
and again I urged her to proceed.

‘Well, you see,’ she said slowly, and
as it seemed reluctantly. ‘You see—I
don’t know how it happened or how
the idea came into my head, but I let
His Excellency understand that I must
marry Pavlenkov—to save my honour.’

‘O Vera, weren't you ashamed of

yourself to befool the poor old gentle-
254 VERA BARANTZOVA

man in that way?’ I asked reproach-
fully.

She looked at me with unaffected
surprise.

‘Ashamed of myself for befooling
the poor old gentleman!’ she repeated
bitterly. ‘Why? I should like to know.
Just think of it. Think how rich he is,
how great his influence with the Tzar,
and what good he might do in the world.
Yes, think how useful he might be, and
yet he is always thinking of himself,
saying prayers and grovelling before
images in the hope that he may be as
well off in the next world as he has
been in this. For others he cares not a
bit, never gives them a thought. True,
he was kind to me. But why? Because

my face pleased him, reminded him of
VERA BARANTZOVA 255

his old love, and excited him. Did I
owe him any gratitude for that? And
we know what his feelings are towards
our friends who are suffering and perish-
ing in Siberia. He is a senator. How
many sentences has he signed, I should
like to know? Do you think I should
have deceived him had there been a
possibility of appealing to his better
feelings, or of talking to him as one
human being to another? But this
was out of the question. IfI had said
to him frankly, ‘‘I want to save Pav-
lenkov. Pray help me,” he would have
answered brutally, “Mind your own
business, madam.” ’ All this was uttered
rapidly, and in a white heat of excite-
ment.

‘Go on, what next?’ I urged.
256 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘Oh, at first the Count was very cross.
He paced hurriedly up and down the
room, muttering to himself and thinking
aloud, as some old people, when angry,
are in the habit of doing.

‘“ Unfortunate girl, unhappy child!”
he went on. “To forget herself to such
an extent. Dear, dear! Such a dis-
tinguished family, too! She deserves
neither sympathy nor help; and if it
were not for the sake of her mother and
the family... . Yes, we must hush it
up somehow, else there will be a terrible
scandal— Wretched girl! Miserable
infatuation! Dear, dear!”

‘ And so he ran on for a long time, and
though I had much ado to keep from
laughing I did not forget the part I had
to .play, and with my head bent, my
VERA BARANTZOVA 257

eyes drooping, and my arms hanging
loose by my side, I think I must have
looked the very picture of a sorrowful
and penitent Gretchen.

‘At length he stopped before me,
eyed me sternly, and bade me sit down.

«« Sit down at that. table, Vera,” he
said severely. “Sit down and write to
the Emperor that you fall at his feet,
and implore him to let you marry the
wretched man who has led you astray.
I shall present the petition to His
Majesty myself, beseech him to grant
its prayer, and afterwards do my best
to hush the affair up.”

‘I would have thanked him, but he
stopped me, observing impatiently —

*“T do this for the sake of your

mother and the family, not for yours.”
R
258 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘Whereupon I followed the Count’s
bidding, and sitting down at the table
began to write at his dictation. But as
he proceeded I found there was some
misunderstanding. The Count said not
a word about Siberia.

‘But what of Siberia?” I asked.
‘When my husband goes there I want
to follow him.”

‘On this the old gentleman gave me
a knowing look, and laughed cynically.

‘«Follow your husband?” he said.
“Why should you do anything so ab-
surd? All that is necessary is to save
the honour of the family and your
own. After the marriage you may live
wherever you like; Pavlenkov being a
political criminal you will be considered

a widow.”
VERA BARANTZOVA 259

‘This frightened me dreadfully. But
what was I to do? If I insisted on
going to Siberia, the Count, who, de-
spite his years and his piety, is both
sharp and suspicious, might detect my
stratagem and refuse his help. But
just when I was at my wits’ end a
happy thought got me out of my diffi-
culty.

«« Your Excellency,” I said, in a tone
of deep contrition, “I want to expiate
my sin. I shall follow my husband to
Siberia, not by inclination or out of
any mistaken sense of duty, but as a
penance.”

‘This the old gentleman appreciated
at once. It was quite in his line. In-
deed, he seemed quite touched.

‘« That being your motive,” he ob-
260 VERA BARANTZOVA

served kindly, “I shall certainly put
no obstacles in your way.”

‘Then he blessed me, hung an image
round my neck, and said that the jour-
ney to Siberia would bea “ godly deed.”

‘After this all went smoothly. I
returned to my lodgings, but did not
mention to a soul where I had been or
what I proposed to do.

‘A few days later, however, a strange
thing happened, quite a bit of comedy,
which amused me greatly.

‘One morning my landlady came rush-
inginto my room in a state of frantic
excitement, and announced that a gene-
ral was below, and craved an interview
with me.

‘« Here is his card,” quoth she. “He

has sent his manservant with it to in-
VERA BARANTZOVA 261

quire whether you are at home, and
will be good enough to receive him. He
is outside in his carriage.”

‘The card bore the words, “Son
Excellence le Prince Golobitsky ;” and
lower down was written in pencil, “De
la part du Comte Ralov.”

‘Having no doubt that the visit had
to do with Pavlenkov, I requested the
landlady to show His Excellency in.

“* Goodness gracious! What shall I
do?” she exclaimed, in great consterna-
tion. ‘A general coming here, and my
house so untidy. And, to make matters
worse, we are having cabbage soup for
dinner, and the house smells horribly of
cabbage! It is really too bad.”

‘«“ Never mind,” I said. ‘ What

though* he does know we are having
262 VERA BARANTZOVA

cabbage soup for dinner? Show him
up all the same.”

‘A minute or two afterwards I heard
my distinguished visitor climbing up
the narrow, ramshackle old staircase,
which creaked under his weight. Every
now and then his sword caught on the
balustrade, and he exclaimed impa-
tiently. All the children in the house
rushed out of their rooms and stared at
him with their fingers in their mouths,
as though my visitor were a wild
animal.

‘He entered my room, which looked
smaller and dingier by contrast with his
brilliant uniform and portly presence.
Prince Golobitsky was a middle-aged,
highly perfumed dandy, whose hair was
just beginning to turn grey. His long
VERA BARANTZOVA 263

moustaches were well waxed, and their
turned-up points gave him a formidable
and warlike appearance.

‘I doubt whether His Excellency had
ever before found himself in so humble
a domicile; but, being a man of the
world and the pink of politeness, he
showed neither gaucherie nor surprise.
When the landlady offered him a wooden
armchair with a broken back, he bowed
graciously, and sat down as nonchalantly
as though he were in the drawing-room
of a society lady. Then, putting his
helmet on his lap, he said, with a
charming smile—

«« C’est bien a la Princesse Vera Bar-
antzova que jai l’honneur de parler?”

‘T answered in the affirmative, where-

upon he made signs to the landlady to
264 VERA BARANTZOVA

leave us, and when she was gone as-
sumed a more familiar and confidential
manner, and said that he had been sent
by the Tzar himself to inquire whether
it was really true that I wanted to
marry the political criminal Pavlenkov,
and follow him to Siberia.

‘Tt is really true,” I said.

‘Then he tried to dissuade me. “How
was it possible,” he asked, “that so
charming a young lady should act so
foolishly ?”

‘Have you seriously thought, my
dear Princess, what you are doing?
You, the daughter of a great noble, to
marry a Jew who is also a political
criminal, a convicted Nihilist! Your
children will have no name, no title.
And for that, when they grow up, they
VERA BARANTZOVA 265

will reproach you, and you will yourself
regret it.”

‘“T have thought of all this, Prince ;
and my decision to marry Pavlenkov is
unalterable.”

‘On this the General (that being his
rank in the army) tried another line,
smiled urbanely, looked very knowing,
and giving me a significant wink, took
both my hands in his, and said, not
unkindly—

‘“T am not as young as I look. I
have children of my own. Let me speak
to you as a father to his daughter, as
your own father might speak to you if
he were still alive. Many things—mis-
fortunes and the like—may happen to
young girls. You are not the first, nor

will you be the last. Don’t, I entreat
266 VERA BARANTZOVA

you, wreck your whole life because of
one thoughtless action. And there is
no need. The Tzar is merciful, and
Count Ralov is well disposed towards
you, and most anxious to get you out
of this trouble. Your affair can be
managed by getting you a suitable hus-
band. What do you say?”

‘But I pretended not to understand
him, and kept repeating—

‘“My mind is made up. I want to
marry Pavlenkov and follow him to
Siberia.”

‘When the Prince saw that he could
not prevail on me to follow his advice,
he made his adieu ; and later in the day
I called on Pavlenkov’s counsel, told
him what had occurred, and requested

him to inform his client as soon as
VERA BARANTZOVA 267

possible of all that had been done on his
behalf, and the success of our device for
saving him.

‘A few days afterwards, I received
a document, in which it was set forth
that leave had been granted to the
Princess Vera Barantzova to contract
a marriage with the political criminal
Pavlenkov, at present a prisoner in the
fortress of St. Peter and St. Paul, on
condition that Pavlenkov first became
a Christian. The marriage was to be
solemnised in the prison church.’

‘Vera, you threw yourself headlong
into an abyss. The thing is done and
cannot be helped. But tell me how it
was, Vera,’ I proceeded, ‘tell me how it
was that you did not inform me, one

of your oldest friends in St. Peters-
268 VERA BARANTZOVA

burg, that you were going to be mar-
ried 2’

Vera kissed me and laughed.

‘If you expected that, you expected
a great deal too much,’ she said archly.
‘Did you ever hear of people throwing
themselves into an abyss otherwise than
headlong? What would you have done?
Or put it in this way. Suppose you
had made up your mind to hang yourself,
would you, before putting your head
into the noose, go round to your friends,
tell them what you were about to do,
and ask for their blessing ?’

‘You admit, then, that what you
have done may properly be likened to
throwing yourself into an abyss, or
committing suicide ?’ I asked.

‘Don’t imagine that I have any illu-
VERA BARANTZOVA 269

sions, answered Vera, after a moment’s
thought. ‘I know what I have done,
and I am going neither to pose nor play
a part. I admit frankly that at the
very moment of victory, when I received
the permission which I had sought so
ardently, my heart misgave me, my
courage waned. All the week pre-
ceding the marriage my mind was much
perturbed. I tried to work, to occupy
myself with this and that—anything to
avoid thinking. In the daytime I did
pretty well, and contrived to keep up
my spirits. But when night came I
was wretched. I suffered horribly, and
there were times—but I had put my
hand to the plough and could not turn
back.

‘This morning I went to the prison.
270 VERA BARANTZOVA

They let me in, and as the heavy iron-
bound door clanged portentously after
me, I could not help shuddering. The
day was warm and bright, but within
those sombre walls the damp air chilled
me to the bone, and the grim aspect of
the buildings, and the funereal gloom of
the place, frightened me. It seemed to
me that on the other side of that iron-
bound door I had left youth, happiness
and freedom—everything that makes
life pleasant. There was a buzzing
sound in my ears, and I felt as though
I were falling into a dark, bottomless
pit.

‘After I had explained my business
and shown my papers to one of the
janitors, I was led through endless

passages by two gendarmes, one of
VERA BARANTZOVA 271

whom marched before, the other after
me. As we went on side doors opened,
and men in uniform coming into the
corridor stared at me boldly and im-
pertinently. It was evident that the
whole prison knew of the forthcoming
marriage, and everybody wanted to
see the Nihilist’s bride. They made
remarks to each other on my appearance.
I heard one officer call out to another—

‘Ces sacrés nihilistes ne sont pas
dégottés, ma for! Cest vraiment dom-
mage d’accoupler un beau brin de fillette
a un brigand de forgat. Passe encore,
st on avait le droit du seigneur !”

‘His comrade gave an answer which
I did not understand, but as they all
laughed loudly, it was probably some-

thing coarse; and one or two of them
272 VERA BARANTZOVA

peered into my face so closely that they
almost touched me with their horrid
moustaches.

‘At every step my courage sank, my
heart grew fainter; and if I had been
given the chance—if Count Ralov or
Prince Golobitsky had appeared on the
scene, again advised me to give up the
marriage, and offered to take me away,
I should have done so without hesita-
tion and gone back gladly.

‘At length we came to a bare, gaunt
room with painted walls, and containing
only two chairs. On one of these I was
told to seat myself and wait.

‘How long I waited I have no idea.
The time seemed endless. My mind
was full of doubt and misgiving.

‘“Am I acting rightly?” I asked
VERA BARANTZOVA 273

myself. ‘Am I not rather committing
a hideous stupidity ?”

‘And I dreaded unspeakably the
meeting with Pavlenkov. I feared I
might not recognise him. And what
would he say to me? Had he under-
stood me? Would he appreciate my
motives? I tried to evoke his image as .
he had appeared at the trial; but the
attempt failed, my imagination refused
to answer to the call.

‘Presently I heard the sound of
approaching footsteps, the door opened,
and he I was thinking of came in
between two gendarmes. How he
looked, what kind of a face he had,
I cannot tell you. All I remember
is that he was clad in a suit of prison

grey and that his hair was cut short.
s
274 VERA BARANTZOVA

‘For a few moments we were left
alone; the gendarmes withdrew to a
corner and turned their backs to us.

‘What occurred then I can recall,
though only vaguely, and as one recalls
a half-forgotten dream.

‘I think Pavlenkov took both my hands
in his, and said in a low intense voice—

‘“T thank you, Vera. With all my
heart I thank you.”

I knew not what to say ; I could not
answer. Yet—would you believe it ?—
from the moment he entered the room
and opened his lips my sufferings ceased,
my brain cleared, my doubts vanished.
I knew then that I had acted for the
best, and be that as it might, I could
not have acted otherwise.

‘We went to the church and stood
VERA BARANTZOVA 275

side by side, and the priest, taking our
hands, led us round the chancel. All
this I saw as through a mist, and when
the choir struck up “ Isaia rejoice,” and -
the smoke of the incense filled the
church, I felt like one in a trance. It
seemed as though Pavlenkov had been
transformed into Vazilitzev, and that
I could distinctly hear his beloved
voice. I know that he would approve
of what I have done.

‘And then I came out of my trance
and the mist melted away, and I saw
my future life before me as on a map.
I should go to Siberia and live among
the exiles, and comfort, console, and
help them, minister to their needs, and
become the intermediary of their corre-

spondence.’
276 VERA BARANTZOVA

For a minute or two Vera wept
silently ; but, quickly composing herself,
she went on, brightly and cheerfully—

‘And to think that all the winter I
was wearing out my strength in a
profitless search for work into which I
could put my heart and to which I
might give my life! The work was at
hand, though I knew it not, and the
right sort of work. I could not have
desired aught more suitable, or to
which I could devote myself with the
same hope of success. For the more
heroic kinds of work, such as revolu-
tionary propaganda and conspiracies, I
do not think Iam adapted. For this one

‘needs great intelligence, eloquence, the
capacity of dominating and influencing

others, qualities which I lack. More~-
VERA BARANTZOVA 277

over, the thought that I might get
others into trouble would make me
miserable and impair my zeal. But
this objection does not apply to my
work in Siberia. Yes, that is my true
vocation. And how strangely, yet
simply, it has all come about. I am so
happy, dear, so happy.’

Vera threw her arms round me, and

we kissed each other and wept.

Six weeks later I went to the Nico-
laevsky railway station to take leave of .
Vera and see her off on her long journey.
Shortly after the wedding ceremony
Pavlenkov had started for Siberia as
one of a gang of convicts, and, like:
them, he would require to do the
greater part of the journey on foot.
278 VERA BARANTZOVA

The time was now come for Vera to set
out in order that she might join her
husband on his arrival at the place of
exile. She was accompanied by two
other women who were going on a
similar errand to the same destination.
They travelled third-class, of course,
but this was a luxurious method of con-
veyance compared with what awaited
them later on, since at that time the
trains ran no further than the frontier
of European Russia, beyond which point
the exiles would have to travel in
sledges and carts. Under the most
favourable circumstances, and provided
they encountered no extraordinary ob-
stacles, the travellers could not hope to
reach their destination in less than ten

or twelve weeks.
VERA BARANTZOVA 279

And what would be their lives after-
wards? But of this none of these
women seemed to think, or, if they
did, the thought did not trouble them.
They were in a serious yet quietly happy
frame of mind.

The unwonted excitement which had
affected Vera between the close of the
trial and the day of her marriage had
subsided, her moods had become normal,
and she was again the quiet self-con-
tained girl I had known at the begin-
ning of our acquaintance, the only out-
ward difference being that she looked
a little thinner, and, perhaps, a little
older. Yet her blue eyes were full of
courage and hope, and it was touching
to see with what kind consideration she

treated her two companions, especially
280 VERA BARANTZOVA

the elder of them. All three were
evidently already united in the bonds
of a close friendship, such a friendship
as exists only under the stress of a
common misfortune.

Many besides myself were at the
station to see them off, some out of
sympathy or curiosity, others, who had
friends or relatives in Siberia, to send
them, through the travellers, news and
greetings.

The police were, of course, much in
evidence.

Vera being surrounded by friends all
as anxious to speak to her as myself, I
could not exchange many words with
her. But when the last bell rang and
the train was beginning to move, she

gave me her hand through the carriage
VERA BARANTZOVA 281

window. As I held it and looked in
my dear friend’s face, the sad fate that
awaited her sent a pang to my heart,
the tears rolled down my cheeks, and I
could scarcely get out a word.

‘Are you weeping for me?’ she said,
with a cheerful smile. ‘If you only
knew how I pity those who remain
behind !’

These were Vera’s last words.

THE END.

 

Printed by T. and A. ConstaBix, Printers to Her Majesty
at the Edinburgh University Press

T
 
 

Cornell University Library
| PG 3467.K88V4

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