The Most Interesting Stories of All Nations

J >> Julian Hawthorne >> The Most Interesting Stories of All Nations

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When all his money was gone, there was nothing left for Bodlevski
but to enroll himself a member of the company which had so
successfully accomplished the transfer of his funds to their own
pockets. Natasha's beauty and Bodlevski's brains were such strong
arguments that the company willingly accepted them as new recruits.
The two paid dear for their knowledge, it is true, but their
knowledge presently began to bear fruit in considerable abundance.
Day followed day, and year succeeded year, a long series of
horribly anxious nights, violent feelings, mental perturbations,
crafty and subtle schemes, a complete cycle of rascalities, an
entire science of covering up tracks, and the perpetual shadow of
justice, prison, and perhaps the scaffold. Bodlevski, with his
obstinate, persistent, and concentrated character, reached the
highest skill in card-sharping and the allied wiles. All games of
"chance" were for him games of skill. At thirty he looked at least
ten years older. The life he led, with its ceaseless effort,
endless mental work, perpetual anxiety, had made of him a fanatical
worshiper at the shrine of trickery. He dried up visibly in body
and grew old in mind, mastering all the difficult arts of his
profession, and only gained confidence and serenity when he had
reached the highest possible skill in every branch of his "work."
From that moment he took a new lease of life; he grew younger, he
became gay and self-confident, his health even visibly improved,
and he assumed the air and manner of a perfect gentleman.

As for Natasha, her life and efforts in concert with Bodlevski by
no means had the same wearing effect on her as on him. Her proud,
decided nature received all these impressions quite differently.
She continued to blossom out, to grow handsomer, to enjoy life, to
take hearts captive. All the events which aroused so keen a mental
struggle in her companion she met with entire equanimity. The
reason was this: When she made up her mind to anything, she always
decided at once and with unusual completeness; a very short time
given to keen and accurate consideration, a rapid weighing of the
gains and losses of the matter in hand, and then she went forward
coldly and unswervingly on her chosen path. Her first aim in life
had been revenge, then a brilliant and luxurious life--and she knew
that they would cost dear. Therefore, once embarked on her
undertaking, Natasha remained calm and indifferent, brilliantly
distinguished, and ensnaring the just and the unjust alike. Her
intellect, education, skill, resource, and innate tact made it
possible for her everywhere to gain a footing in select
aristocratic society, and to play by no means the least role there.
Many beauties envied her, detested her, spoke evil of her, and yet
sought her friendship, because she almost always queened it in
society. Her friendship and sympathy always seemed so cordial, so
sincere and tender, and her epigrams were so pointed and poisonous,
that every hostile criticism seemed to shrivel up in that
glittering fire, and there seemed to be nothing left but to seek
her friendship and good will. For instance, if things went well in
Baden, one could confidently foretell that at the end of the summer
season Natasha would be found in Nice or Geneva, queen of the
winter season, the lioness of the day, and the arbiter of fashion.
She and Bodlevski always behaved with such propriety and watchful
care that not a shadow ever fell on Natasha's fame. It is true
that Bodlevski had to change his name once or twice and to seek a
new field for his talents, and to make sudden excursions to distant
corners of Europe--sometimes in pursuit of a promising "job,"
sometimes to evade the too persistent attentions of the police. So
far everything had turned out favorably, and his name "had remained
unstained," when suddenly a slight mishap befell. The matter was a
trifling one, but the misfortune was that it happened in Paris.
There was a chance that it might find issue in the courts and the
hulks, so that there ensued a more than ordinarily rapid change of
passports and a new excursion--this time to Russia, back to their
native land again, after an absence of twenty years. Thus it
happened that the papers announced the arrival in St. Petersburg of
Baroness von Doring and Ian Vladislav Karozitch.

IX

THE CONCERT OF THE POWERS

A few days after there was a brilliant reunion at Princess
Shadursky's. All the beauty and fashion of St. Petersburg were
invited, and few who were invited failed to come. It happened that
Prince Shadursky was an admirer of the fair sex, and also that he
had had the pleasure of meeting the brilliant Baroness von Doring
at Hamburg, and again in Paris. It was, therefore, to be expected
that Baroness von Doring should be found in the midst of an
admiring throng at Princess Shadursky's reception. Her brother,
Ian Karozitch, was also there, suave, alert, dignified, losing no
opportunity to make friends with the distinguished company that
thronged he prince's rooms.

Late in the evening the baroness and her brother might have been
seen engaged in a tete-a-tete, seated in two comfortable armchairs,
and anyone who was near enough might have heard the following
conversation:

"How goes it?" Karozitch asked in a low tone.

"As you see, I am making a bit," answered the baroness in the same
quiet tone. But her manner was so detached and indifferent that no
one could have guessed her remark was of the least significance.
It should be noted that this was her first official presentation to
St. Petersburg society. And in truth her beauty, united with her
lively intellect, her amiability, and her perfect taste in dress,
had produced a general and even remarkable effect. People talked
about her and became interested in her, and her first evening won
her several admirers among those well placed in society.

"I have been paying attention to the solid capitalists," replied
Karozitch; "we have made our debut in the role of practical actors.
Well, what about him?" he continued, indicating Prince Shadursky
with his eyes.

"In the web," she replied, with a subtle smile.

"Then we can soon suck his brains?"

"Soon--but he must be tied tighter first. But we must not talk
here." A moment later Karozitch and the baroness were in the midst
of the brilliant groups of guests.

A few late corners were still arriving. "Count Kallash!" announced
the footman, who stood at the chief entrance to the large hall.

At this new and almost unknown but high-sounding name, many eyes
were turned toward the door through which the newcomer must enter.
A hum of talk spread among the guests:

"Count Kallash--"

"Who is he--?"

"It is a Hungarian name--I think I heard of him somewhere."

"Is this his first appearance?"

"Who is this Kallash? Oh, yes, one of the old Hungarian families--"

"How interesting--"

Such questions and answers crossed each other in a running fire
among the various groups of guests who filled the hall, when a
young man appeared in the doorway.

He lingered a moment to glance round the rooms and the company;
then, as if conscious of the remarks and glances directed toward
him, but completely "ignoring" them, and without the least shyness
or awkwardness, he walked quietly through the hall to the host and
hostess of the evening.

People of experience, accustomed to society and the ways of the
great world, can often decide from the first minute the role which
anyone is likely to play among them. People of experience, at the
first view of this young man, at his first entrance, merely by the
way he entered the hall, decided that his role in society would be
brilliant--that more than one feminine heart would beat faster for
his presence, that more than one dandy's wrath would be kindled by
his successes.

"How handsome he is!" a whisper went round among the ladies. The
men for the most part remained silent. A few twisted the ends of
their mustache and made as though they had not noticed him. This
was already enough to foreshadow a brilliant career.

And indeed Count Kallash could not have passed unnoticed, even
among a thousand young men of his class. Tall and vigorous,
wonderfully well proportioned, he challenged comparison with
Antinous. His pale face, tanned by the sun, had an expression
almost of weariness. His high forehead, with clustering black hair
and sharply marked brows, bore the impress of passionate feeling
and turbulent thought strongly repressed. It was difficult to
define the color of his deep-set, somewhat sunken eyes, which now
flashed with southern fire, and were now veiled, so that one seemed
to be looking into an abyss. A slight mustache and pointed beard
partly concealed the ironical smile that played on his passionate
lips. The natural grace of good manners and quiet but admirably
cut clothes completed the young man's exterior, behind which, in
spite of all his reticence, could be divined a haughty and
exceptional nature. A more profound psychologist would have seen
in him an obstinately passionate, ungrateful nature, which takes
from others everything it desires, demanding it from them as a
right and without even a nod of acknowledgment. Such was Count
Nicholas Kallash.

A few days after the reception at Prince Shadursky's Baroness von
Doring was installed in a handsome apartment on Mokhovoi Street, at
which her "brother," Ian Karozitch, or, to give him his former
name, Bodlevski, was a frequent visitor. By a "lucky accident" he
had met on the day following the reception our old friend Sergei
Antonovitch Kovroff, the "captain of the Golden Band." Their
recognition was mutual, and, after a more or less faithful recital
of the events of the intervening years, they had entered into an
offensive and defensive alliance.

When Baroness von Doring was comfortably settled in her new
quarters, Sergei Antonovitch brought a visitor to Bodlevski: none
other than the Hungarian nobleman, Count Nicholas Kallash.

"Gentlemen, you are strangers; let me introduce you to each other,"
said Kovroff, presenting Count Kallash to Bodlevski.

"Very glad to know you," answered the Hungarian count, to
Bodlevski's astonishment in Russian; "very glad, indeed! I have
several times had the honor of hearing of you. Was it not you who
had some trouble about forged notes in Paris?"

"Oh, no! You are mistaken, dear count!" answered Bodlevski, with a
pleasant smile. "The matter was not of the slightest importance.
The amount was a trifle and I was unwilling even to appear in
court!"

"You preferred a little journey to Russia, didn't you?" Kovroff
remarked with a smile.

"Little vexations of that kind may happen to anyone," said
Bodlevski, ignoring Kovroff's interruption. "You yourself, dear
count, had some trouble about some bonds, if I am not mistaken?"

"You are mistaken," the count interrupted him sharply. "I have had
various troubles, but I prefer not to talk about them."

"Gentlemen," interrupted Kovroff, "we did not come here to quarrel,
but to talk business. Our good friend Count Kallash," he went on,
turning to Bodlevski, "wishes to have the pleasure of cooperating
in our common undertaking, and--I can recommend him very highly."

"Ah!" said Bodlevski, after a searching study of the count's face.
"I understand! the baroness will return in a few minutes and then
we can discuss matters at our leisure."

But in spite of this understanding it was evident that Bodlevski
and Count Kallash had not impressed each other very favorably.
This, however, did not prevent the concert of the powers from
working vigorously together.

X

AN UNEXPECTED REUNION

On the wharf of the Fontauka, not far from Simeonovski Bridge, a
crowd was gathered. In the midst of the crowd a dispute raged
between an old woman, tattered, disheveled, miserable, and an
impudent-looking youth. The old woman was evidently stupid from
misery and destitution.

While the quarrel raged a new observer approached the crowd. He
was walking leisurely, evidently without an aim and merely to pass
the time, so it is not to be wondered at that the loud dispute
arrested his attention.

"Who are you, anyway, you old hag? What is your name?" cried the
impudent youth.

"My name? My name?" muttered the old woman in confusion. "I am a--
I am a princess," and she blinked at the crowd.

Everyone burst out laughing. "Her Excellency, the Princess! Make
way for the Princess!" cried the youth.

The old woman burst into sudden anger.

"Yes, I tell you, I am a princess by birth!" and her eyes flashed
as she tried to draw herself up and impose on the bantering crowd.

"Princess What? Princess Which? Princess How?" cried the impudent
youth, and all laughed loudly.

"No! Not Princess How!" answered the old woman, losing the last
shred of self-restraint; but Princess Che-che-vin-ski! Princess
Anna Chechevinski!"

When he heard this name Count Kallash started and his whole
expression changed. He grew suddenly pale, and with a vigorous
effort pushed his way through the crowd to the miserable old
woman's side.

"Come!" he said, taking her by the arm. "Come with me! I have
something for you!"

"Something for me?" answered the old woman, looking up with stupid
inquiry and already forgetting the existence of the impudent youth.
"Yes, I'll come! What have you got for me?"

Count Kallash led her by the arm out of the crowd, which began to
disperse, abashed by his appearance and air of determination.
Presently he hailed a carriage, and putting the old woman in,
ordered the coachman to drive to his rooms.

There he did his best to make the miserable old woman comfortable,
and his housekeeper presently saw that she was washed and fed, and
soon the old woman was sleeping in the housekeeper's room.

To explain this extraordinary event we must go back twenty years.

In 1838 Princess Anna Chechevinski, then in her twenty-sixth year,
had defied her parents, thrown to the winds the traditions of her
princely race, and fled with the man of her choice, followed by her
mother's curses and the ironical congratulations of her brother,
who thus became sole heir.

After a year or two she was left alone by the death of her
companion, and step by step she learned all the lessons of sorrow.
From one stage of misfortune to another she gradually fell into the
deepest misery, and had become a poor old beggar in the streets
when Count Kallash came so unexpectedly to her rescue.

It will be remembered that, as a result of Natasha's act of
vengeance, the elder Princess Chechevinski left behind her only a
fraction of the money her son expected to inherit. And this
fraction he by no means hoarded, but with cynical disregard of the
future he poured money out like water, gambling, drinking, plunging
into every form of dissipation. Within a few months his entire
inheritance was squandered.

Several years earlier Prince Chechevinski had taken a deep interest
in conjuring and had devoted time and care to the study of various
forms of parlor magic. He had even paid considerable sums to
traveling conjurers in exchange for their secrets. Naturally
gifted, he had mastered some of the most difficult tricks, and his
skill in card conjuring would not have done discredit even to a
professional magician.

The evening when his capital had almost melted away and the shadow
of ruin lay heavy upon him, he happened to be present at a
reception where card play was going on and considerable sums were
staked.

A vacancy at one of the tables could not be filled, and, in spite
of his weak protest of unwillingness, Prince Chechevinski was
pressed into service. He won for the first few rounds, and then
began to lose, till the amount of his losses far exceeded the
slender remainder of his capital. A chance occurred where, by the
simple expedient of neutralizing the cut, mere child's play for one
so skilled in conjuring, he was able to turn the scale in his
favor, winning back in a single game all that he had already lost.
He had hesitated for a moment, feeling the abyss yawning beneath
him; then he had falsed, made the pass, and won the game. That
night he swore to himself that he would never cheat again, never
again be tempted to dishonor his birth; and he kept his oath till
his next run of bad luck, when he once more neutralized the cut and
turned the "luck" in his direction.

The result was almost a certainty from the outset, Prince
Chechevinski became a habitual card sharper.

For a long time fortune favored him. His mother's reputation for
wealth, the knowledge that he was her sole heir, the high position
of the family, shielded him from suspicion. Then came the
thunderclap. He was caught in the act of "dealing a second" in the
English Club, and driven from the club as a blackleg. Other
reverses followed: a public refusal on the part of an officer to
play cards with him, followed by a like refusal to give him
satisfaction in a duel; a second occasion in which he was caught
redhanded; a criminal trial; six years in Siberia. After two years
he escaped by way of the Chinese frontier, and months after
returned to Europe. For two years he practiced his skill at
Constantinople. Then he made his way to Buda-Pesth, then to
Vienna. While in the dual monarchy, he had come across a poverty-
stricken Magyar noble, named Kallash, whom he had sheltered in a
fit of generous pity, and who had died in his room at the Golden
Eagle Inn. Prince Chechevinski, who had already borne many
aliases, showed his grief at the old Magyar's death by adopting his
name and title; hence it was that he presented himself in St.
Petersburg in the season of 1858 under the high-sounding title of
Count Kallash.

An extraordinary coincidence, already described, had brought him
face to face with his sister Anna, whom he had never even heard of
in all the years since her flight. He found her now, poverty-
stricken, prematurely old, almost demented, and, though he had
hated her cordially in days gone by, his pity was aroused by her
wretchedness, and he took her to his home, clothed and fed her, and
surrounded her with such comforts as his bachelor apartment
offered.

In the days that followed, every doubt he might have had as to her
identity was dispelled. She talked freely of their early
childhood, of their father's death, of their mother; she even spoke
of her brother's coldness and hostility in terms which drove away
the last shadow of doubt whether she was really his sister. But at
first he made no corresponding revelations, remaining for her only
Count Kallash.

XI

THE PHOTOGRAPH ALBUM

Little by little, however, as the poor old woman recovered
something of health and strength, his heart went out toward her.
Telling her only certain incidents of his life, he gradually
brought the narrative back to the period, twenty years before,
immediately after their mother's death, and at last revealed
himself to his sister, after making her promise secrecy as to his
true name. Thus matters went on for nearly two years.

The broken-down old woman lived in his rooms in something like
comfort, and took pleasure in dusting and arranging his things.
One day, when she was tidying the sitting room, her brother was
startled by a sudden exclamation, almost a cry, which broke from
his sister's lips.

"Oh, heaven, it is she!" she cried, her eyes fixed on a page of the
photograph album she had been dusting. "Brother, come here; for
heaven's sake, who is this?"

"Baroness von Doring," curtly answered Kallash, glancing quickly at
the photograph. "What do you find interesting in her?"

"It is either she or her double! Do you know who she looks like?"

"Lord only knows! Herself, perhaps!"

"No, she has a double! I am sure of it! Do you remember, at
mother's, my maid Natasha?"

"Natasha?" the count considered, knitting his brows in the effort
to recollect.

"Yes, Natasha, my maid. A tall, fair girl. A thick tress of
chestnut hair. She had such beautiful hair! And her lips had just
the same proud expression. Her eyes were piercing and intelligent,
her brows were clearly marked and joined together--in a word, the
very original of this photograph!"

"Ah," slowly and quietly commented the count, pressing his hand to
his brow. "Exactly. Now I remember! Yes, it is a striking
likeness."

"But look closely," cried the old woman excitedly; "it is the
living image of Natasha! Of course she is more matured, completely
developed. How old is the baroness?"

"She must be approaching forty. But she doesn't look her age; you
would imagine her to be about thirty-two from her appearance.

"There! And Natasha would be just forty by now!"

"The ages correspond," answered her brother.

"Yes." Princess Anna sighed sadly. "Twenty-two years have passed
since then. But if I met her face to face I think I would
recognize her at once. Tell me, who is she?"

"The baroness? How shall I tell you? She has been abroad for
twenty years, and for the last two years she has lived here. In
society she says she is a foreigner, but with me she is franker,
and I know that she speaks Russian perfectly. She declares that
her husband is somewhere in Germany, and that she lives here with
her brother."

"Who is the 'brother'?" asked the old princess curiously.

"The deuce knows! He is also a bit shady. Oh, yes! Sergei
Kovroff knows him; he told me something about their history; he
came here with a forged passport, under the name of Vladislav
Karozitch, but his real name is Kasimir Bodlevski."

"Kasimir Bodlevski," muttered the old woman, knitting her brows.
"Was he not once a lithographer or an engraver, or something of the
sort?"

"I think he was. I think Kovroff said something about it. He is a
fine engraver still."

"He was? Well, there you are!" and Princess Anna rose quickly from
her seat. "It is she--it is Natasha! She used to tell me she had
a sweetheart, a Polish hero, Bodlevski. And I think his name was
Kasimir. She often got my permission to slip out to visit him; she
said he worked for a lithographer, and always begged me to persuade
mother to liberate her from serfdom, so that she could marry him."

This unexpected discovery meant much to Kallash. Circumstances,
hitherto slight and isolated, suddenly gained a new meaning, and
were lit up in a way that made him almost certain of the truth. He
now remembered that Kovroff had once told him of his first
acquaintance with Bodlevski, when he came on the Pole at the Cave,
arranging for a false passport; he remembered that Natasha had
disappeared immediately before the death of the elder Princess
Chechevinski, and he also remembered how, returning from the
cemetery, he had been cruelly disappointed in his expectations when
he had found in the strong box a sum very much smaller than he had
always counted on, and with some foundation; and before him, with
almost complete certainty, appeared the conclusion that the maid's
disappearance was connected with the theft of his mother's money,
and especially of the securities in his sister's name, and that all
this was nothing but the doing of Natasha and her companion
Bodlevski.

"Very good! Perhaps this information will come in handy!" he said
to himself, thinking over his future measures and plans. "Let us
see--let us feel our way--perhaps it is really so! But I must go
carefully and keep on my guard, and the whole thing is in my hands,
dear baroness! We will spin a thread from you before all is over."

XII

THE BARONESS AT HOME

Every Wednesday Baroness von Doring received her intimate friends.
She did not care for rivals, and therefore ladies were not invited
to these evenings. The intimate circle of the baroness consisted
of our Knights of Industry and the "pigeons" of the bureaucracy,
the world of finance, the aristocracy, which were the objects of
the knights' desires. It often happened, however, that the number
of guests at these intimate evenings went as high as fifty, and
sometimes even more.

The baroness was passionately fond of games of chance, and always
sat down to the card table with enthusiasm. But as this was done
conspicuously, in sight of all her guests, the latter could not
fail to note that fortune obstinately turned away from the
baroness. She almost never won on the green cloth; sometimes
Kovroff won, sometimes Kallash, sometimes Karozitch, but with the
slight difference that the last won more seldom and less than the
other two.

Thus every Wednesday a considerable sum found its way from the
pocketbook of the baroness into that of one of her colleagues, to
find its way back again the next morning. The purpose of this
clever scheme was that the "pigeons" who visited the luxurious
salons of the baroness, and whose money paid the expenses of these
salons, should not have the smallest grounds for suspicion that the
dear baroness's apartment was nothing but a den of sharpers. Her
guests all considered her charming, to begin with, and also rich
and independent and passionate by nature. This explained her love
of play and the excitement it brought, and which she would not give
up, in spite of her repeated heavy losses.

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