“And if death did not mean extinction then he thought that he might snatch and secure for himself something which in life had eluded him. So he coveted death. But he was too proud to reach it by suicide. That seemed to him a contemptible and cowardly evasion, and such an easy solution would have denied the purpose of all his life. So he looked about him and discovered amongst his friends a man whose character he knew well, a man idealistic and foolish and romantic, like yourself, Ivan Andreievitch, only caring more for ideas, more impulsive and more reckless. He found this man and made him his friend. He played with him as a cat does with a mouse. He enjoyed life for about a year and then he was murdered. …”
“Murdered!” I exclaimed.
“Yes—shot by his idealistic friend. I envy him that year. He must have experienced many breathless sensations. When the murderer was tried his only explanation was that he had been irritated and disappointed.
“ ‘Disappointed of what?’ asked the judge.
“ ‘Of everything in which he believed. …’ said the man.
“It seemed a poor excuse for a murder; he is still, I have no doubt, in Siberia.
“But I envy my friend. That was a delightful death to die. … Good night, Ivan Andreievitch.”
He waved his hand at me and was gone. I was quite alone in the long black street, engulfed by the high, overhanging flats.
XXI
Late on the afternoon of Nina’s birthday, when I was on the point of setting out for the English Prospect, the Rat appeared. I had not seen him for several weeks; but there he was, stepping suddenly out of the shadows of my room, dirty and disreputable and cheerful. He had been, I perceived, drinking furniture polish.
“Good evening, barin.”
“Good evening,” I said sternly. “I told you not to come here when you were drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” he said, offended, “only a little. It’s not much that you can get these days. I want some money, barin.”
“I’ve none for you,” I answered.
“It’s only a little—God knows that I wouldn’t ask you for much, but I’m going to be very busy these next days, and it’s work that won’t bring pay quickly. There’ll be pay later, and then I will return it to you.”
“There’s nothing for you tonight,” I said.
He laughed. “You’re a fine man, barin. A foreigner is fine—that’s where the poor Russian is unhappy. I love you, barin, and I will look after you, and if, as you say, there isn’t any money here, one must pray to God and he will show one the way.”
“What’s this work you’re going to do?” I asked him.
“There’s going to be trouble the other side of the river in a day or two,” he answered, “and I’m going to help.”
“Help what?” I asked.
“Help the trouble,” he answered, smiling.
“Behave like a blackguard, in fact.”
“Ah, blackguard, barin!” he protested, using a Russian word that is worse than blackguard. “Why these names? … I’m not a good man, God have mercy on my soul, but then I pretend nothing. I am what you see. … If there’s going to be trouble in the town I may as well be there. Why not I as well as another? And it is to your advantage, barin, that I should be.”
“Why to my advantage?” I asked him.
“Because I am your friend, and we’ll protect you,” he answered.
“I wouldn’t trust you a yard,” I told him.
“Well, perhaps you’re right,” he said. “We are as God made us—I am no better than the rest.”
“No, indeed you’re not,” I answered him. “Why do you think there’ll be trouble?”
“I know. … Perhaps a lot of trouble, perhaps only a little. But it will be a fine time for those of us who have nothing to lose. … So you have no money for me?”
“Nothing.”
“A mere rouble or so?”
“Nothing.”
“Well, I must be off. … I am your friend. Don’t forget,” and he was gone.
It had been arranged that Nina and Vera, Lawrence and Bohun and I should meet outside the Giniselli at five minutes to eight. I left my little silver box at the flat, paid some other calls, and just as eight o’clock was striking arrived outside the Giniselli. This is Petrograd’s apology for a music-hall—in other words, it is nothing but the good old-fashioned circus.
Then, again, it is not quite the circus of one’s English youth, because it has a very distinct Russian atmosphere of its own. The point really is the enthusiasm of the audience, because it is an enthusiasm that in these sophisticated, twentieth-century days is simply not to be found in any other country in Europe. I am an old-fashioned man and, quite frankly, I adore a circus; and when I can find one with the right sawdust smell, the right clown, and the right enthusiasm, I am happy. The smart night is a Saturday, and then, if you go, you will see, in the little horseboxes close to the arena, beautiful women in jewellery and powder, and young officers, and fat merchants in priceless shubas. But tonight was not a Saturday, and therefore the audience was very democratic, screaming catcalls from the misty distances of the gallery, and showering sunflower seeds upon the heads of the bourgeoisie, who were, for the most part, of the smaller shopkeeper kind.
Nina, tonight, was looking very pretty and excited. She was wearing a white silk dress with blue bows, and all her hair was piled on the top of her head in imitation of Vera—but this only had the effect of making her seem incredibly young and naive, as though she had put her hair
