A RUSSIAN COMRADE
Hermann Heideck lived in a dak bungalow, one of those hotels kept going by the Government, which afford travellers shelter, but neither bed nor food. On returning home from the camp he found his servant, Morar Gopal, standing at the door ready to receive his master, and was informed that a newcomer had arrived with two attendants. As this dak bungalow was more roomy than most of the others, the new arrivals were able to find accommodation, and Heideck was not obliged, as is usual, to make way as the earlier guest for a later arrival.
“What countryman is the gentleman?” he inquired.
“An Englishman, sahib!”
Heideck entered his room and sat down at the table, upon which, besides the two dim candles, stood a bottle of whisky, a few bottles of soda-water and the inevitable box of cigarettes. He was moody and in a bad humour. The exciting scene in the officers’ mess had affected him greatly, not on account of Captain Irwin, who, from the first moment of their acquaintance, was quite unsympathetic to him, but solely on account of the beautiful young wife of the frivolous officer, of whom he had a lively recollection from their repeated meetings in social circles. None of the other officers’ wives—and there were many beautiful and amiable women among them—had made such a deep and abiding impression upon him as Edith Irwin, whose personal charms had fascinated him as much as her extraordinary intellectual powers had astonished him. The reflection that this graceful creature was fettered with indissoluble bonds to a brutal and dissolute fellow of Irwin’s stamp, and that her husband would perhaps one day drag her down with him into inevitable ruin, awoke in him most painful feelings. He would so gladly have done something for the unhappy wife. But he was obliged to admit that there was no possibility for him, a stranger, who was nothing to her but a superficial acquaintance, to achieve anything in the way he most desired. The Captain would be completely justified in rejecting every uncalled-for interference with his affairs as a piece of monstrous impudence; and then, too, in what way could he hope to be of any assistance?
A sudden noise in the next room aroused Heideck from his sad reverie. He heard loud scolding and a clapping sound, as if blows from a whip were falling upon a bare human body. A minute later and the door between the rooms flew open and an Indian, dressed only in cummerbund and turban, burst into the room, as if intending to seek here protection from his tormentor. A tall European, dressed entirely in white flannel, followed at the man’s heels and brought his riding-whip down mercilessly upon the naked back of the howling wretch. Heideck’s presence did not, evidently, disturb him in the least.
At the first glance the young German perceived that his neighbour could not be an Englishman, as his servant had told him he was. His strikingly thin, finely-cut features, and his peculiarly oval, black eyes and soft, dark beard betrayed much more the Sarmatic than the characteristic Anglo-Saxon type.
The man’s appearance did not make an unfavourable impression, but he could not possibly overlook his behaviour. Stepping between him and his victim he demanded, energetically, what this scene meant. The other, laughing, let drop the arm which had been again raised to strike.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” he said with a foreign accent, “a very good boy, but he steals like a crow, and must have the whip occasionally. I am sure that he has concealed somewhere about him the five rupees which have been stolen from me again to-day.” On saying this, as if he considered this information quite sufficient explanation, he again caught hold of the black fellow, and with a single wrench tore the turban from his head. From the white, red-bordered cloth a few pieces of silver fell and rolled jingling over the tiles; and at the same time a larger object fell at Heideck’s feet. He picked it up and held in his hand a gold cigarette-case, the lid of which was engraved with a prince’s coronet. On handing it to the stranger, the latter bowed his thanks and made his apologies like a man of good breeding. The Indian the while took the opportunity, in a few monkey-like bounds, to make good his escape. The sight of the coat-of-arms on the cigarette-case aroused in Heideck the desire to make nearer acquaintance with his impetuous neighbour. As though he had quite forgotten the extraordinary manner of his entrance into the room, he asked, blandly, if he might invite his neighbour, whom accident had thus thrust upon him, to a cigar and a “nightcap.”
The other accepted the invitation with amiable alacrity. “You are also a commercial traveller, sir?” inquired Heideck; and on receiving an affirmative answer, continued, “we are then colleagues. Are you satisfied with your results here?”
“Oh, things might be better. There is too much competition.”
“Cotton?”
“No. Bronze goods and silk. Have brought some marvellous gold ornaments from Delhi.”
“Then probably your cigarette-case comes from Delhi also?” The oval eyes of the other shot over him in an inquiring glance.
“My cigarette-case? No—are you travelling perhaps in skins, colleague? Do you deal in Cashmir goats?”
“I have everything. My house trades in everything.”
“You do not come from Calcutta?”
“No! not from Calcutta.”
“Bad weather down there. All my leather is spoilt.”
“Is it so damp there?”
“Vapour bath, I tell you; a real vapour bath!”
Heideck had long since made up his mind that he had a Russian before him. But, in order to be quite on the safe side, he made a jocular remark in Russian. His new acquaintance looked up astonished.
“You speak Russian, sir?”
“A little.”
“But you are no Russian?”
“No; I am a German, who, during a temporary stay in Russia, have picked up a little knowledge of languages. We merchants go about a lot.”
The gentleman who, according to his statement, travelled in bronze and silk was evidently delighted to hear in a place where he had least expected it the familiar tones of his mother tongue, and Heideck did his utmost, with almost an excess of zeal, to keep him in good humour. He called his servant and bade him get some hot water.
“It’s quite chilly to-night,” he said, turning to his guest. “A hot brandy-and-water is not to be despised.”
“Ah,” said the Russian, “stop a moment; better chuck the water away and let something more palatable take its place.”
He went into his room and returned immediately with a bottle of sherry and two bottles of champagne.
“I will, with your permission, brew in this kettle a bowl in Russian fashion. Sugar must go in too; for this champagne, prepared for English taste, is too dry, and must be sweetened to make it palatable for us.” He poured the bottle of cognac, which the servant had brought, together with the sherry into the champagne and filled the glasses.
In German fashion the two gentlemen touched glasses. As they did so, Heideck once more attentively observed his new acquaintance. The lurking expression with which he felt that the eyes of the other were fixed upon him made him start for a moment. What if the Russian perhaps only had the same intention as himself, and only wanted to make his tongue wag with the champagne? At all events, he was now on his guard.
“May I ask you to try one of my Havannah cigars?” asked the Russian in passing his cigar-case. “The Indian cigars are not bad and very cheap. The Beaconsfield is my favourite brand. But now and then one must smoke something else for a change.”
Heideck accepted with thanks, and now began a fairly good booze, in which the Russian set the example. He was, however, evidently not so proof against the effects of the tasty and strong drink as was the German. With each minute he became more loquacious, and soon began to address his new friend as “Dear old chap,” and to narrate all manner of more or less compromising stories. He also, induced by several adroit questions on the part of Heideck, began to prate of his family affairs. He mocked at an old aunt of his, who was wont to cover her hair with roses the better to conceal bald spots, and added that this aunt was a great favourite at the Court of the Tsar, on account of her incomparable gossiping stories. It apparently never occurred to him that such intimate family relations were a rather strange subject for conversation in a commercial traveller.
In the course of his conversation he mentioned that not long before he had been in China.
“We are too slow, dear chap, much too slow,” he declared; “with fifty thousand men we could take all that we want, and we ought to have attacked those Japanese long since.”
“Tell me, then,” said Heideck, with apparent indifference, “how strong really is the army of the Governor-General of Turkestan?”
The Russian looked up, but it was not because he was thinking what answer to give; for, after having tossed off a glass of soda-water, he replied—
“If you want to live well, my dear fellow, you must go to Manchuria. Salmon, I tell you—ah! and they cost next to nothing—and pretty girls in abundance! You can buy furs, too, for next to nothing at all. What costs in St. Petersburg ten thousand rubles, you can get in China, up there in the north, for a hundred.”
“Then of course you have brought some beautiful furs with you?”
“Furs in India? they would be eaten by the ants in a second. For my own personal use, I have certainly brought one with me, which in St. Petersburg would be worth, at the least, five thousand rubles. I shall have use enough for it later on, in the mountains. You can smell it a mile away, it has been pickled so well.”
Again there was a short pause, and then after gazing intently at his vis-a-vis, Heideck suddenly said—
“You are an officer?”
Without being able to collect himself the Russian stared into his face.
“Let us be candid with each other,” he rejoined, after long reflection. “You are also a soldier, sir?”
“I need not deny it in reply to a comrade. My name is Captain Hermann Heideck of the Prussian General Staff.”
The Russian rose and made a correct bow. “And my name is Prince Fedor Andreievitch Tchajawadse, Captain in the Preobraschensky regiment of the Guards.”
They then once more touched glasses: “To ourselves as good comrades” rang their mutual toast.
“Comrade, I will tell you something,” said the Russian. “General Ivanov is on the march towards the Indian frontier. The Tsar has given up his theosophy; he intends to declare war upon England.”
Heideck would have wished to learn more, but the Prince had addressed himself to the good liquor somewhat more than his head could stand, and he began to sing indecent French chansons, only to pass of a sudden to melancholy Russian popular songs. In his present condition it was impossible to think of continuing a sensible conversation with him further.
Heideck already found himself somewhat perplexed what to do with his intoxicated guest, when a new surprise was sprung upon him. The door to the next room opened and a tall, handsome young fellow, of at most eighteen years, appeared on the threshold.
He was garbed in a sort of fantastic page’s dress, which in any other country but that of rainbow-hued picturesque India would have looked like that of a masquerader. The blue gold-embroidered jacket was girded with a red silk scarf, and the loose red trousers disappeared at the knees in patent leather topboots, the elegant shape of which showed the contour of the smallest of feet. Thick golden locks fell like waves almost down to the shoulders of the boyish youth. The handsome oval face had the complexion of a blushing rose; the great, blue eyes, however, showed the energy of a strong will.
As soon as the Prince had set eyes on the young visitor, he stopped singing.
“Ah! Georgi?” he stammered.
Without uttering a syllable, the page had advanced towards him, and had quickly raised the intoxicated man from the chair. Prince Tchajawadse flung his arm round the boy’s shoulders, and without bidding his German comrade as much as “good night,” allowed himself to be led away.
Heideck did not doubt for a moment that this slender page was a girl in disguise. The splendid build and the strange expression of untamed energy in the admirably regular features were the unmistakable characteristics of the Circassian type. This so-called Georgi could be none other but a child of the Caucasian Mountains; and Tchajawadse also, as his name showed, was a scion of those old Caucasian dynastic houses which in days of yore had played a role in that mountain land, which Russia had so slowly, and with such difficulty, finally subjugated.