WOKTHLEt UNDERWOOD 
 
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 UBRAftY 
 
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 presented to the 
 
 LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA SAN DIF.GO 
 
 by 
 FRIENDS OF 11 IF, LIBRARY 
 
 MR. JOHN C. ROSE 
 
 donor
 
 THE WHIRLWIND
 
 "We must not be serious, you and I, 
 We must be only happy." 
 
 See page V5
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 WITH A FRONTISPIECE 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM A. KIRKPATRICK 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 SMALL, MAYNARD AND COMPANY 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 Copyright, 1918 
 BY SMALL, MAYNARD & COMPANY 
 
 (INCORPORATED)
 
 DEDICATED TO MY MOTHER 
 ALICE HOWARD WORTHLEY
 
 ". . . ye live on ye mighty ones, 
 Upon rebellion fed and bitter wars, 
 Ye heroes great of heart of Catherine." 
 
 PUSHKIN, 
 "Memories of Czarskoe Selo." 
 
 "Fortunate the one who shall tell within a century the story of Cath- 
 erine the Great." 
 
 VOLTAIRE.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I THE CONCERT i 
 
 II THE INTERVIEW 24 
 
 III NICHOLAS MURIEVICH, GREEK MUSICIAN AND PA- 
 
 TRIOT, AND CATHERINE ALEXEVNA, GRAND 
 DUCHESS OF RUSSIA THEIR LETTERS ... 34 
 
 IV NICHOLAS MURIEVICH, GREEK MUSICIAN AND PA- 
 
 TRIOT, AND CATHERINE ALEXEVNA, GRAND 
 DUCHESS OF RUSSIA MORE LETTERS ... 76 
 
 V NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON THE IVORY 
 
 VENUS ' 91 
 
 VI ORLOV 114 
 
 VII THE FATAL NIGHT AT ORANIENBAUM . . . .140 
 
 VIII THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 154 
 
 IX THE MASKED BALL 187 
 
 X MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 219 
 
 XI CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 242 
 
 XII THE LAST DAYS OF AN EMPEROR 261 
 
 XIII "THE UNDERTAKING OF MONSIEUR ORLOV" . . 275 
 
 XIV THE LAST NIGHT 283
 
 THE WHIRLWIND
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE CONCERT 
 
 The old wooden Anicza Palace stood in a pale, faded 
 garden which occupied the space where later rose the 
 Alexander Theater and the Public Library. On one side a 
 little river bordered it and the Czernisev Pond, both exten- 
 sions of the far Finnish Gulf and the dull, sluggish Arctic 
 waters. The Grand Duke was giving a concert in honor 
 of the departure of the famous violinist, Nicholas Murie- 
 vich, in order to gratify his own passion for music in per- 
 mitting himself the pleasure of listening to him again. 
 And he was killing two birds with one stone, so to speak, 
 by celebrating at the same time, on this November eve- 
 ning, the twentieth anniversary of the accession to the 
 throne of his aunt, the blessed Empress, Elizabeth Pe- 
 trovna. By his express order, inspired by the frail health 
 of her Majesty, the guests and members of the court 
 had assembled early. And among the guests, by some 
 strange, fleeting caprice of the unstable imperial host, who 
 was moved merely by willfulness, there were a goodly 
 number of Russians and commoners present, as if the 
 belated idea had come to the Grand Duke to conciliate 
 opponents and win friends. 
 
 When the guests were assembled, the voice of a silver 
 trumpet suddenly spread silence among them, announcing
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 the approach of her Majesty, the Empress. At the south 
 end of the room folding doors were rolled back, and, 
 across the polished floor of the great salon beyond, a 
 vision drew near. Accompanied on each side by three 
 lackies in gorgeous, glittering uniforms, each upholding a 
 lighted silver candle the height of his own body, walked 
 Elizabeth Petrovna, a woman of such extraordinary 
 beauty that at first sight it struck the observer with some- 
 thing akin to surprise. Because of illness, she was not 
 wearing the tightly corseted gown of the day. White 
 satin, like a church stole, hung evenly from corsage to 
 floor, unmarred by a circling line. Her arms and shoul- 
 ders were bare. Inset in the thick satin, as if in resisting 
 metal, were huge sapphires, huge emeralds, each with a 
 tiny rim of gold about it. 
 
 This encrustation of gems reached far down the skirt, 
 front and back, and finished in a point. Fabulous pink 
 pearls swung from her ears, circled her neck, and hung 
 in long ropes from her shoulders. Elizabeth Petrovna 
 was tall and of an undreamed of perfection of line. She 
 had large, deep, blue eyes lighted by an enchanting ex- 
 pression of love, sweetness, and languor. She had thick, 
 curling brown hair so beautiful that a court hairdresser 
 could teach it no new grace; a mouth whose endearing 
 sweetness made even bitter commands seem just; hands 
 and arms of unexampled perfection, and a sort of daz- 
 zling pallor to emphasize eyes and hair. Old courtiers, 
 who had seen her in her girlhood, said she was what her 
 father's, Peter the Great's, dream of a perfect woman 
 might have been in the days of his own youth. To ac- 
 company all, a charm of voice was hers, of personality, 
 movement that might not be resisted. She was not 
 only the loveliest woman in Europe, but probably the 
 loveliest that ever graced a throne. She was only in the 
 
 2
 
 THE CONCERT 
 
 early forties now. Age had set no mark upon her. But 
 an illness, which assured speedy death, and which might 
 not be mentioned, had heightened her beauty and lent it 
 a sort of pitiful and tragic power. 
 
 She slowly crossed the great glittering room of the 
 reflecting floor to the north side, where a thronelike seat 
 had been prepared for her. As she walked along, with- 
 out a trace of self-consciousness or personal superiority, 
 glances of love and admiration followed her, and a sort 
 of frightened hush, which was the tribute always paid by 
 the public to the superlative physical perfection of Eliza- 
 beth Petrovna. 
 
 The Grand Duke hastened to pay his respects to her. 
 
 " My dear Aunt," bowing and kissing her hand, " I am 
 flattered that you should honor my poor concert by your 
 presence. I never saw you look in better health than to- 
 night I rejoice to say." 
 
 She looked down from her regal height with a smile 
 that was half pity, half contempt, but altogether tender, 
 upon the poor, thin, ugly body and almost imp-like face 
 that bent before her. She inclined her charming head 
 with its glistening gems near his ear and said in a low voice 
 meant only for him to hear: 
 
 '' We are pleased, my dear Nephew, that you should 
 remember that November night so long ago, when we 
 did something which we hope you will recall often in the 
 years to come; something that will be of benefit to you 
 if you happen to rule wisely." 
 
 When she straightened up and regained her former 
 position, there were white dots on the smooth brow and 
 throat, and the jewelled hands were unsteady. It was 
 evident what an effort the least motion cost her. In 
 the deep blue eyes for a moment there was a 
 hunted look of fear and death.
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 The Grand Duke made way for the Grand Duchess, 
 whom he did not feel inclined to meet face to face or to 
 speak with just now. 
 
 The handsome Greek-Russian violinist, Nicholas Mu- 
 rievich, who was watching the scene from the other end 
 of the room, was surprised to find that the Grand Duchess, 
 whom he had thought a tall woman, was really short 
 when she drew near Elizabeth Petrovna. 
 
 Then he saw that she was not even majestic, but that 
 she gave the impression of both height and majesty be- 
 cause she was upheld by an inflexible will. 
 
 The new favorite, Count Ivan Shuvalov, who accom- 
 panied Elizabeth Petrovna everywhere, drew nearer as 
 he saw the Grand Duchess. She bent low before the 
 Empress and kissed her hand. 
 
 " Most Gracious Majesty, I cannot tell you what pleas- 
 ure it gives me to see you again ! It is months since I 
 have had that pleasure. Will your Gracious Majesty 
 not permit me to see you in private in a few days where 
 we can converse as we used to? Believe me, not to see 
 you oftener is my greatest grief." 
 
 Elizabeth Petrovna became white as the satin of her 
 stole. She looked at Count Shuvalov as if to beg his in- 
 tercession and smiled that smile of indescribable and 
 caressing sweetness. 
 
 " Your Royal Highness," explained Count Shuvalov, 
 " the November night is peculiarly oppressive, as you your- 
 self have just remarked, and the heat of all these 
 candles and the crowd make her Majesty feel faint. 
 At another time in the evening she will answer you." 
 
 When Nicholas Murievich saw her move away unac- 
 companied by any of the courtiers, he knew that the 
 Empress had refused again her request for an interview. 
 
 " Do you see that handsome, black Greek down there 
 
 4
 
 THE CONCERT 
 
 the famous violinist your Majesty? " whispered the 
 ever mischief-making Shuvalov, hastily. 
 
 The Empress looked as he directed. 
 
 " There is a report, your Majesty, that the Grand 
 Duchess is in love with him. Not a thing is known defi- 
 nitely no fact but I've heard it hinted. They say 
 
 they say he is her lover." 
 
 Elizabeth Petrovna paid no attention to his words. 
 The sins of love were never very important sins to her. 
 A sin, in her opinion, was something altogether different. 
 It was an intrigue, a plotted act of malice against the reign 
 and command of her all-powerful self. Besides, in the 
 crowd that was constantly swaying and increasing in 
 front of her, she saw, making his way toward her, her 
 morganatic husband and former favorite, Count Alexis 
 Razumovsky. He still lived in the white house, which 
 she had given him, adjoining the palace, in the Anicza 
 Garden. This turned her thoughts in a quite different 
 direction. At a sign from her, Count Ivan Shuvalov 
 drew back. The man who approached was tall, slender, 
 and as supple and dark as an Oriental. He had the 
 appearance of great age, but he was really only in the 
 early fifties. He still showed the marks of a rich, semi- 
 oriental beauty, which in the past must have equalled that 
 of Elizabeth Petrovna herself. His face was furrowed 
 now and marked with dissipation and uncontrolled emo- 
 tions. His dull, black eyes were so weary that they had 
 become sad and indifferent. They looked out upon a 
 world that for him had died. Indian sapphires hung 
 from his ears. Purple-black sapphires marked his thin, 
 long, fingered hands, and all the orders of Russia blazed 
 upon his breast. Count Alexis Razumovsky kissed her 
 hand with an emotion so deep he could not speak. Then, 
 he took his place proudly beside her with his back turned 
 
 5
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 toward Count Shuvalov who had wisely retreated some 
 distance. Side by side under the crystal chandelier they 
 stood, towering above the other guests, the two finest 
 physical specimens of that old Muscovite Russia that 
 had passed away. 
 
 " This day, each year, your Majesty, I keep like a holy 
 day." His voice trembled. Elizabeth Petrovna's mind 
 turned swiftly back toward the past. And what a past 
 it was that swept like a whirlwind through her brain, at 
 sound of that weary voice, that had once whispered pas- 
 sionate words of love to her ! The eyes of all the guests 
 were taking frequent and surreptitious glances at the 
 pair, and enjoying the 'evident discomfiture of Count 
 Shuvalov. It needed only a word, only a gesture from 
 one to the other, between these two, to recall dramatic 
 incidents of their glowing years of life together, when the 
 income of half the world had been theirs to squander. 
 
 " Do you remember the golden cross we placed on 
 the top of the Cathedral of the Resurrection in Mos- 
 cow?" he whispered, when controlled emotion and a 
 little white lozenge he had swallowed permitted calmer 
 speech. 
 
 "And the little white house in the Pokrova Street?" 
 
 Elizabeth Petrovna did remember very well. In that 
 little house she had married morganatically Count 
 Alexis Razumovsky. And in honor of the event she 
 had placed a crown of gold upon the Church of the 
 Resurrection, where Razumovsky had once been a choir 
 boy. 
 
 " And the little village, Alexandrovsky the church 
 there Alexis Gregorovich ? " she replied, with a gayer 
 smile than was customary now. In this little village she 
 had dressed as a boy and had sung in the boys' choir 
 with Razumovsky. This was the way that they first met. 
 
 6
 
 THE CONCERT 
 
 Ah ! what a life followed this ! She drew a long breath 
 of regret and remembered joy. When they first looked 
 into each other's eyes in that little village, Alexandrov- 
 sky one day after the church service was over and they 
 were alone, it was just as if they had always known 
 each other, even from the beginning of time. It was 
 as if there were no barriers between them, no obstacles. 
 It was as if they rushed each to the other, like waves that 
 the winds drive, which have no will. 
 
 "And the fairs, Alexis Gregorovich? " the voice was 
 strong and vibrant now as the voice of her youth. 
 
 " That was life," he sighed, as his thin hands, on which 
 the huge sapphires shone like the purple midnights of 
 the past, sought again the lozenge box. 
 
 In those days Elizabeth Petrovna was in hiding from 
 the envious wrath of Anna Leopoldovna who was reign- 
 ing Empress. She wore her brown, thick curls short 
 like a boy. She was slender and tall as a pine tree. In 
 boy's disguise no one knew her. She and Alexis Ra- 
 zumovsky went about to the great fairs of central Russia 
 singing and dancing and gayly taking the money they 
 earned. Her dancing had been a marvel of grace and 
 skill. 
 
 Then, came Little Russia and the south. They lived 
 among the peasants. She could ride the wildest steed of 
 the steppe as well as any Cossack from the Dnieper. 
 Or, she played the balalaika for his singing if the 
 weather was warm, and they wandered on foot from 
 village to village and the peasants feted them. 
 
 " Power can never equal a life like that ! " she ex- 
 claimed with conviction, in the old voice he used to know, 
 without troubling however to communicate to him di- 
 rectly the thought that prompted what she said. Her 
 words and voice, and something in the quick turn of her 
 
 7
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 head, recalled then to him their life in the barracks, 
 in Moscow, and, later, in Petersburg, when they had 
 lived as boon companions with the soldiers. And what 
 a fine appearing soldier she had been! Everyone had 
 been in love with her. When she looked at him, it was 
 almost with surprise at not finding beside her the fiery 
 hearted boy. The eyes that looked back at her were 
 weary and exhausted. The old blaze, thatliad swept her 
 into oblivious depths of passionate and emotional living, 
 and made the forgetful years swirl about them both 
 unheeding, like dizzy tops, was no more. 
 
 " Our conversation must not delay the Grand Duke's 
 concert? " he questioned, in the silence that followed that 
 last look of hers. 
 
 She did not dismiss him at once. She faced with 
 a supreme indifference the stolen glances of interest and 
 curiosity turned upon them from moment to moment by 
 the curious crowd. She noticed that Count Shuvalov 
 was talking with Lomonossov, the poet, and his young 
 protege, Von-Visin, across the room, and that the court 
 was enjoying the temporary displacement of Count 
 Shuvalov. She saw Count Bestushev-Rjumin, the prime 
 minister, enter late, a thin, black, ominous shadow. She 
 thought how she disliked him. She intercepted a look 
 between him and the Grand Duchess, which surprised 
 her. 
 
 " I wish, Alexis Gregorovich," she exclaimed in the 
 voice he used to love, " that it was not a concert of court 
 violinists which we were going to listen to to-night to- 
 gether, you and I, but instead a concert of nightingales 
 Do you not remember? in the meadows of the 
 Ukraine in that old scented garden of the south? " 
 
 The last words were said with an underlying meaning 
 intended only for him. 
 
 8
 
 THE CONCERT 
 
 He was not able to reply immediately. The years 
 that lay between the nightingales and the violinists marked 
 that thing most worthy of regret the vanishing of 
 youth. 
 
 " I have brought your Majesty a little gift for to-night, 
 to mark the anniversary of your reign," he said, ab- 
 ruptly; then paused as if unable to go on. He was grop- 
 ing in the inside pocket of his satin court coat, groping 
 with the shaking fingers of an old man. At length he 
 found it. It was a miniature of a slender young girl, 
 in a frame of plain, beveled gold. Elizabeth Petrovna 
 took it in the safe shelter of her lace handkerchief. It 
 showed a girl of some eighteen years. She had pale 
 gray eyes, golden hair, and white, fine, patrician features. 
 The picture resembled the Empress herself, only it lacked 
 her fire, vividness, her deep rich coloring. It was a pale, 
 dull copy. 
 
 " I sent to Florence to-night to be given to her in 
 honor of you, (It was worthy of remark that here he said 
 not your Majesty, but you) a little brooch of gold, a 
 reproduction in miniature of the crown which you placed 
 upon the Cathedral of the Resurrection in Moscow. 
 But I did not tell her! " he added in a significant whisper. 
 Count Alexis Razumovsky bowed reverently and moved 
 away. Elizabeth Petrovna scarcely heeded him. She 
 was looking within the safe shelter of her lace hand- 
 kerchief at the first picture she had ever seen of the 
 daughter born so long ago to her and Alexis Razumov- 
 sky. She seated herself unsteadily upon the raised dais, 
 which was the signal for the concert to begin and for 
 no one else to be presented to her. Count Shuvalov did 
 not return to his former position by her side. His subtle 
 courtier's instinct told him that it would be best not to. 
 Her ladies-in-waiting took his place. 
 
 9
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Nicholas Murievich, slender, dark and young, wearing 
 a court suit of oyster-white satin, the decorations bestowed 
 by kings for his music glittering upon his breast, stepped 
 forth to open the concert. By order of the Grand Duke 
 he played a selection from an old Italian master. And 
 like a master he played himself, nobly, vigorously, sure of 
 technique. To-night he was less absorbed in his music 
 and its success than usual. The thought passed through 
 his mind repeatedly of the futility of playing to this crowd 
 of bored and blase beings. They had arranged them- 
 selves in little friendly and agreeable groups to listen 
 to the music. He saw the Grand Duchess with her 
 friend, Princess Dashkov, and Count Shuvalov, and Leo 
 Narishkin, the court merrymaker. Ah ! he thought 
 Shuvalov knew the Empress could not live long and 
 he would not mind being the favorite of the Grand Duch- 
 ess when she became the new Empress ! 
 
 Elizabeth Petrovna was distrait and did not pay at- 
 tention to what was being played. Her thoughts were 
 turned inward upon herself. Her eyes seemed to be 
 riveted upon the lace handkerchief which she held in her 
 lap. Count Alexis Razumovsky, who was a musician 
 himself and a most appreciative listener, had gone. He 
 never stayed long enough to be numbered among the 
 servile, bowing crowd that paid respect to the with- 
 drawal of Elizabeth Petrovna and the new favorite. Old 
 Lomonossov had a crowd of young Russian men about 
 him, officers and scholars. He saw the tall, thin-legged 
 Dershawin, boyish Von-Visin, and the black eyed, melan- 
 choly face of young Novikov, both incipient poets. Su- 
 banski, who was nicknamed Adonis, handsome Gregory 
 Orlov, and his giant brother, Alexis, whose face showed 
 a saber wound from chin to ear, were frankly bored. 
 
 The Grand Duke and Elizabeth Woronzov, who had 
 
 10
 
 THE CONCERT 
 
 already usurped the place of the Grand Duchess in the 
 heart of the Grand Duke, the heir apparent to the throne, 
 were at a distance from the others and alone. Murie- 
 vich saw the Grand Duke signal imperatively to her to 
 keep still, and he saw his ugly insipid face change from 
 moment to moment and become almost fine at times, as 
 emotion induced by the music moulded it. For a second 
 number, Nicholas Murievich played a composition of 
 his own. As he began it, he fixed his eyes upon the 
 Grand Duchess as much as to say tnat this was his fare- 
 well to Russia, and to her. Elizabeth Petrovna felt 
 some fresh emotion in the music, and looked up quickly. 
 Who in all Europe was so fitted to judge of the things 
 of love as she? She saw the look in the eyes of Nicholas 
 Murievich as they rested upon Catherine Alexevna, and 
 the whispered words of Count Shuvalov occurred to her. 
 Her eyes rested rovingly a moment upon the bent, nar- 
 row shouldered, somewhat helpless figure of her 
 nephew, and a flitting sense of pity and premonition of 
 future possibilities touched her. 
 
 Nicholas Murievich still held his eyes turned in the 
 direction of Catherine Alexevna, and it occurred to him 
 that her face resembled strangely another face that he 
 had seen once in court surroundings just like this. Where 
 was it? Where was it? And whose was the face? 
 Ah ! he knew now ! A happy musical phrase had 
 found it. She resembled Frederick the Great. If Fred- 
 erick the Great and she were of the same age, the re- 
 semblance would be truly wonderful. Here was the same 
 somewhat long chin, a similar color and expression of 
 the eyes. And the thin noses were very similar. In 
 short, there was that peculiar likeness which usually means 
 kinship of blood. 
 
 But Catherine Alexevna was not moved by his music. 
 
 II
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 She was less moved than any one else who was present. 
 She could not feel it. She could understand only the 
 things of the head, not the heart. She did not know 
 that he was playing to her. For a moment he was sad; 
 he sensed that she could never feel any purely beautiful 
 thing. Then he remembered, as if by magic, that she 
 could not learn to quote correctly a single line of poetry 
 because she had no ear for rhythm. What was it then 
 that fascinated him so, who loved music above every- 
 thing? It was the force of opposites. It was some 
 power purely physical, the attraction of antagonistic en- 
 tities. It was something related to superabundant vital- 
 ity and the cold, alien powers of the mind. 
 
 But the Grand Duke understood what she did not. 
 This puzzling man, in the awkward, unlovely body, whom 
 he himself was betraying and plotting against, was the 
 only one present who listened to great music like a con- 
 noisseur. In musical comprehension he rose head and 
 shoulders above them all. This complex and doubtful 
 self-questioning was audible in the last minor notes of 
 his playing which did not bring the quick and vigorous 
 applause which was usually his. He sat down with a 
 futile sense of falsity and failure. 
 
 When the Grand Duke, who came next, lifted the 
 violin to his chin, he became firm-bodied and commanding. 
 The shifting gray eyes, that looked as if they were flecked 
 with fretful tears, were stern and dominant. With a 
 strong arm of hate he cut the strings, with a dash of fiery 
 tone that cut his hearer's hearts. Again, again, that 
 wound of sound, until the room was emotionally subdued. 
 He wielded the fiddle bow as his imperial grandfathers, 
 Peter the Great of Russia and Charles XII of Sweden, 
 had wielded the baton of death over conquering and 
 triumphant armies. That struggling, timid, shifting na- 
 
 12
 
 THE CONCERT 
 
 ture of his, which could not express itself in words, be- 
 cause there was no tongue he could speak well, French, 
 German, Swedish or Russian, and call his own, poured 
 itself out through the medium of his violin in a torrent of 
 rage and revenge. He had forgotten all about his audi- 
 ence. What did they matter? From the height upon 
 which he was standing they were small and insignificant. 
 
 The blase courtiers became uncomfortable. Even fat, 
 phlegmatic Panin, who never arose from his bed before 
 five in the afternoon, he who in that talkative, sentimental, 
 self-expressive age was always silent, looked up with a 
 show of interest. Old, black-clad Count Bestushev- 
 Rjumin, of the deep set, cruel eyes, realized that there was 
 a world where even he of the astute and wily brain would 
 not dare measure himself with the Grand Duke whom he 
 did not hesitate to call a fool. There were evidently 
 other worlds besides the one over which he ruled superbly. 
 But it all ended with the last stroke of the bow. Before 
 them stood, then, a one-sided, narrow-chested, crumpled 
 little figure, in blue coat, white trousers, and a wig too 
 large by half for the head it covered. The wig shaded 
 a sharp little nose that stuck out like the snout of a 
 weasel. 
 
 The Empress arose. There was a rush toward well 
 known courtiers of people who wished to be presented 
 to her. Count Bestushev-Rjumin hastily and briefly paid 
 his respects to her and moved away. Lomonossov of 
 the great burly body and uncourtly voice besieged Count 
 Ivan Shuvalov to present to her his two young friends, 
 Von-Visin and Dershawin, and ask her Majesty that 
 they might have some appointment to help support them. 
 Lomonossov assured him that they would be writers of 
 whom Russia would one day be proud. Count Shuvalov 
 would not even listen, and old Lomonossov turned away 
 
 13
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 grumbling as usual, declaring that everyone had a chance 
 in Russia except the Russians. 
 
 The ladies-in-waiting signified that her Majesty would 
 permit no one else to be presented to her. The Grand 
 Duchess started toward her to wish her good night, and 
 again to ask for the desired interview. When she was a 
 few feet from her, Count Shuvalov intercepted her. But 
 for an instant's space these two women, around whom 
 at this moment the Slavic world revolved, stood facing 
 each other separated by only a few feet in space, in a sort 
 of imperial isolation. 
 
 The scornful Esterhazy, who had the subtle, time-reg- 
 istering eye of an historian, who saw them across the shin- 
 ing, smooth-floored salon, whispered hastily to the French 
 Ambassador, Marquis de 1'Hopital: "Look see the 
 two of them now! One represents Byzantium and the 
 East; the other a prosaic, modern world soon to come." 
 
 " Observe Lomonossov, and that awkward, brown- 
 eyed, moon-faced boy with him Von-Visin," whispered 
 back Marquis de 1'Hopital, delightedly. " Are they not 
 two polar bears? Do you know, Esterhazy, that in the 
 souls of these Russians who are trying so hard to French- 
 ify themselves to be of our world of the west there 
 is something vast and lonely, and that can not be dis- 
 ciplined?" 
 
 The Empress was passing them now on her way to 
 her apartments, followed by her ladies-in-waiting and 
 Count Ivan Shuvalov and there was silence and reverently 
 bowed heads as she moved along. After the great south 
 doors closed upon the departure of her Majesty, a dif- 
 ferent temper was felt in the rooms. The Grand Duke 
 moved about nimbly from group to group. He was in 
 one of his scornful, tantalizing moods. His sharp, harsh,
 
 nasal voice was heard everywhere, riding upon the sur- 
 faces of other voices with which it did not blend. He 
 stuck the sharp prick of his tongue into every one he hated. 
 And in the words he uttered there was a peculiar min- 
 gling of pure foolishness, inanity, and shrewd penetration. 
 Sometimes this unexpected penetration laid bare facts so 
 carefully concealed that no one had suspected them. 
 
 Gregory Orlov, tall, handsome, with masses of golden, 
 curling hair, his superb athletic figure buttoned into a 
 tight fitting, braided uniform, was talking with the Grand 
 Duchess. He was trying to penetrate beneath the jest- 
 ing surface of her conversation. He was trying to make 
 her see him, the man. 
 
 " Your Royal Highness," called Gregory Orlov to the 
 Grand Duke who happened to be passing near, " cannot 
 the Grand Duchess ever be serious? " 
 
 "Very serious, Orlov!" was the quick reply. "She 
 is seriously deceiving you and me, and our famous violin- 
 ist over there, all at one time. What is that but seri- 
 ous?" 
 
 On past them his one-sided body hopped, like a petu- 
 lant bird, to Lomonossov and the Russians. Into them 
 he stuck his hateful tongue and promised to import some 
 Prussians who would teach them how to write poetry. 
 
 " How are you, Subanski? How are you? " his harsh 
 voice called unexpectedly from another part of the room. 
 " I've passed you two or three times to-night, Subanski, 
 but I did not speak because I thought that you were just 
 one of the statues brought in to help decorate the rooms." 
 
 " Good evening, Princess Dashkov ! Good evening. 
 We seldom see you among our personal friends. I sup- 
 pose we are not clever enough for you." 
 
 " Good evening, Count Bestushev-Rjumin," appearing 
 
 15
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 as if by magic beside the Great Chancellor. " Where is 
 our faded beau and beauty, Razumovsky, Count Bestu- 
 shev?" 
 
 " He has gone, your Royal Highness." 
 
 " Ah ! Count Bestushev that must so often be said 
 about old men," not attempting to veil the hatred that 
 rang in his voice, which this time was accompanied by a 
 burst of shrill and foolish laughter. 
 
 The Great Chancellor regarded him in silent disdain, 
 making no attempt to measure words with him. 
 
 " Ah-h-ha! our silent Panin, who plots and plans 
 and smiles and says nothing." 
 
 As Catherine Alexevna watched him flutter about the 
 gorgeous room, so busily devoted to creating discomfort 
 and displeasure, she thought that in just this way he 
 moved across the gorgeous pageant of the age like a 
 gray, ungainly phantom of unstable smoke, wavering, 
 uncertain, and so badly fitted into his visible clothes of 
 flesh. 
 
 The guests were leaving. They were eager to escape 
 from the ill-tempered mood of their capricious host. 
 
 The Petersburg that met their eyes outside on this sad 
 November midnight was a veritable ghost of a city, be- 
 cause street after street of dwellings was covered with 
 raw, unpainted scaffolding where building was rapidly go- 
 ing on. White scaffolding covered the entire outside of 
 the new Winter Palace which was nearly finished, and the 
 great Isaac's Cathedral which was being rebuilt. From 
 the soul-submerging, semi-oriental splendor of the in- 
 terior of the palace, they were confronted as soon as they 
 stepped outside the door, by a sad, sullen, sub-Arctic 
 landscape, where nature had muted her joy, and which 
 touched them to silent dismay. Not yet did the streets 
 of this pet city of Peter own any of the mysterious, com- 
 
 16
 
 THE CONCERT 
 
 plex charm of other world-cities, which made life here 
 altogether an indoor affair. 
 
 Count Bestushev-Rjumin seized the moment of con- 
 fusion caused by the departure of the guests to speak a 
 few words with Catherine Alexevna. They exchanged at 
 first the usual commonplaces. Then he became silent 
 and fixed his deep-set glowing eyes upon her. Slowly 
 there was borne in upon her mind a conviction, a thought, 
 that he knew that later in the night she was to keep an 
 appointment with Nicholas Murievich. She felt that 
 the knowledge displeased him. She had become increas- 
 ingly conscious of some inexplicable power he possessed 
 of divining the thoughts of other people. Over that cold 
 mind of hers he had some influence that no one else had 
 ever had, and which she herself could not explain or 
 understand. There was something about him that had 
 the power to negative her other impulses. 
 
 " It is said, Catherine Alexevna," he began in a tone 
 of cold displeasure, " that November is an unlucky month 
 a month in which especially to avoid doing unwise 
 things." He looked at her sidewise, his thin, witch-like 
 arms folded high. 
 
 She did not reply. And he did not speak again at 
 once ; when he did, it was to remark apparently apropos 
 of nothing: 
 
 " By marriage if not by blood you are a Roman- 
 off, you must remember." 
 
 Evidently he was following a line of thought known 
 only to himself, of which only the upper edge would be 
 made visible. Here he sighed and drew a deep breath, 
 and then seemed to make an effective frame out of the 
 silence that followed for his next words, to which he was 
 slow to give utterance. 
 
 " November ! Ah ! what have they not done the
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 nights of late autumn, to the fate-haunted Romanoffs! 
 Consider! " 
 
 The word fell like a weight of lead. 
 
 '* Consider ! Peter, Catherine the First, Anna Leo- 
 poldovna, poor Ivan now in prison in Schliisselberg 
 and her Majesty, Elizabeth Petrovna. Good and evil! 
 Good and evil ! But always something important. The 
 Romanoffs surely have cause to remember them the 
 fateful nights of autumn." He did not wait for her 
 reply. He kissed her hand and was gone. 
 
 After the guests had all left, Catherine Alexevna saw 
 the Grand Duke cross the far end of the room where 
 the musicians had been stationed. He was walking rap- 
 idly, but he was bent almost double, his nose sticking out 
 sharply, and his mind so intent upon something known 
 only to himself that he made an impression that was 
 uncanny. 
 
 In the apartments of her Majesty, they were dining, 
 Elizabeth Petrovna and Count Ivan Shuvalov. This 
 was the regular dinner hour, some time after midnight 
 or in the early morning. Count Shuvalov found the 
 imperial woman who had honored him with her prefer- 
 ence peculiarly difficult to-night. Was it possible, he 
 questioned himself, that in that long conversation which 
 she had had with Alexis Razumovsky and which he had 
 not been able to overhear, the former favorite had scored 
 so heavily that he was going to be reinstated? And 
 what was it that he had given her which had affected her 
 so deeply? He had not been able to see at the time. 
 Then, he envied the past that had been theirs together. 
 Surely, Razumovsky had had all the best of it. Noth- 
 ing but the ashes of love had been left for him. He was 
 really only the lover of the dead, he thought, as he glanced 
 at the passionless, gemmed idol of a woman who sat 
 
 18
 
 opposite him, without seeming to know that he was there. 
 What was it that Razumovsky gave her that she put 
 hastily under lock and key as soon as they entered her 
 apartments? Elizabeth Petrovna was distrait and could 
 not eat. With that caressing smile and voice which had 
 certain notes that struck the heart and which no one 
 could resist, she dismissed him as soon as dinner was 
 over, and called for her women. After they had dis- 
 robed her for the night, she unwrapped a prayer-book 
 and read from it. Then she took an icon, placed it upon 
 a little stand and knelt reverently in front of it. When 
 she arose from her nightly prayer, she dismissed her 
 women. She waited expectantly, with inclined and listen- 
 ing head, until she heard the fast foot-fall fade into si- 
 lence. Then she crossed the room and lifted a curtain 
 that hung against the wall. This curtain concealed an- 
 other room that adjoined her sleeping chamber. In this 
 room which was small there was no furniture, no 
 ornaments. At one end of it there was a raised platform 
 of white marble. Upon this platform stood the marble 
 Venus which her father, Peter the Great, had had 
 brought from Greece and placed at Gatschina in his 
 pleasure garden which he called his Isle of Love. 
 
 Elizabeth Petrovna prostrated herself upon the floor 
 before it, and her lips moved in inspired prayer for the 
 marble figure to give back to her the things of the past, 
 the things over which she had reigned superbly love, 
 youth, beauty, and adventure and joy. She gave her- 
 self over freely to that pagan idolatry which so scandal- 
 ized her attendants and which was now whispered freely 
 about the court. 
 
 When at length she went to bed, the old manservant, 
 who had guarded her since her accession to the throne, 
 took his accustomed place upon the bare floor in front of 
 
 19
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 her bed, where he slept. But to-night Elizabeth Petrovna 
 herself could not sleep. At length, when the dull, 
 Arctic day was painting ghastly lines around the windows, 
 she reached out and touched him. 
 
 " Get up I Go to the market corner and bring me the 
 woman who tells stories. You know the one I mean 1 
 Tell her I cannot sleep ! I want her to tell me of her 
 Cossack people of the gardens of the Ukraine in spring 
 and the nightingales. Be quick!" 
 
 Count Alexis Razumovsky, in the little wooden house 
 in the faded Anicza Garden, adjoining the palace, who 
 spent the evening alone, regretting the rival who had sup- 
 planted him, did not know how successfully he had scored 
 that night. 
 
 As soon as Catherine Alexevna reached her own rooms, 
 she hastily took down a long, white cloak-like cape of 
 wool, provided with an enveloping hood for the head, 
 called barbare, and under it concealed herself and her 
 court dress. She took two bags from a chest, bags so 
 heavy that none but a muscular woman like her could 
 carry them, and called Dsiemba, her faithful Calmuck. 
 They set out together as fast as they could walk for the 
 Admiralty Meadow. When they reached the edge of it, 
 Nicholas Murievich, in a black cloak, was awaiting them. 
 The old Calmuck seated himself on the ground at a re- 
 spectful distance, out of range of hearing. 
 
 With an almost boyish enthusiasm Nicholas Murievich 
 flung his arms about Catherine Alexevna, without speak- 
 ing, and held her close. She was the first to sever the 
 embrace. It occurred to him upon the moment that she 
 was always the first to do this. Was it because love was 
 less necessary to her, he wondered? 
 
 " I have brought the money," were her first words, 
 placing the heavy bags upon the ground beside them. 
 
 20
 
 THE CONCERT 
 
 Again, paying no attention to the money, as to a thing 
 inconsequential, he put his young, impassioned arms about 
 her and drew her toward him. His mind forecasted 
 sadly the future, the long months to come when he could 
 not see her. Then he realized how powerful was the 
 physical body of this woman whom he held in his arms. 
 He could feel it now. He could feel the steady nerves 
 of steel. It was this combination that gave her power, 
 not the delicacy of esthetic sensibility. Then, he won- 
 dered that these qualities continued to attract him. But 
 he forgot this soon in the fact that the woman in his arms 
 was young and good to look upon, and that they were 
 alone in the night, and he loved her. 
 
 " This is what I wish you to do for me, Nicholas 
 Murievich," she replied, in answer to his repeated ques- 
 tions. " I wish you to find out what is the opinion of the 
 foreign courts about me. How strong I am? Am I 
 more popular than the Grand Duke? I wish to know the 
 truth the exact truth. It is necessary for me to know 
 it. And you are the only person in the world upon whom 
 I can depend to find out and to tell me. Now do not 
 spare my feelings in reporting. When the final struggle 
 comes I wish to know just what part the different ministers 
 who are accredited here are to play. An exact knowledge 
 of how I really stand with foreign courts will strengthen 
 me. I must have it! 
 
 " In addition I cannot get out of Russia, to travel, to 
 see the world to learn I wish you to be eyes for me I 
 I wish you to see everything ! I wish you to tell me every- 
 thing! There is nothing too insignificant for me to be 
 interested in ! 
 
 " It is enough to make me a dolt, an idiot, to be shut 
 up in one country, like a prisoner. I wish to be better 
 informed about Paris than the French ambassador him- 
 
 21
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 self. Do not spare couriers and, therefore, expense. 
 Here is gold ! With it you can line the road from Peters- 
 burg to Paris with them to satisfy my curiosity." She 
 touched one of the heavy bags with a blue, satin slippered 
 foot. " In addition, I must know the truth about my 
 mother, her affairs, her health. They keep the true 
 conditions from me. Is she provided with money? 
 Does Elizabeth Petrovna still continue her allowance 
 from the crown? Or is she penniless? " 
 
 " Now that the war with Prussia has commenced, and 
 the usual highway is not accessible, your Royal Highness, 
 I am going direct from here to Warsaw. That is the 
 safest road now, and quickest, too, to Paris. And you 
 may be assured that I shall perform your commissions 
 faithfully." 
 
 " I hate to have you go, Nicholas Murievich ! " she 
 exclaimed, with an unaccustomed burst of emotion. 
 " We are making history here now so fast, no one can 
 predict what will have happened before your return. 
 Life will be increasingly difficult, too, for me." 
 
 He forgot his discontent over the futile concert and his 
 own part in it which had displeased him. He thought 
 only of her. That tremendous physical power which was 
 hers had swept him into forgetfulness of self and estab- 
 lished her greater claim to his life and pleasure. Now he 
 thought only of her. How many times this same thing 
 had happened when they had met! An emotion passed 
 over him that made him tremble at the thought that he 
 must leave her, that this night would be the last for 
 months. 
 
 The four rows of leafless lindens along the Nevsky 
 Prospect were beginning to show against the sky. The 
 gold, pointed tower of the Admiralty looked like a new 
 constellation swinging up into sight out of the unknown. 
 
 22
 
 THE CONCERT 
 
 " The horses are awaiting me, Catherine Alexevna ! 
 There is no more time. Day will soon be here. 
 Good-by! Good-by! Be careful there is much to 
 fear ! " catching her in his arms and kissing her again and 
 again. 
 
 On her way back to the Anicza Palace in order to 
 shorten the distance she walked along the edge of the 
 pond, and the river, and saw, just before she turned the 
 corner to the palace entrance, far, gleaming patches of 
 cold, sleeping water, to which in an hour, day would 
 bring the disconcerting blaze of steel.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 THE INTERVIEW 
 
 " Your Royal Highness," exclaimed Catherine 
 Ivanovna Shargorodskaia, the favorite lady-in-waiting, 
 "you must take some rest! You have paced the floor 
 the entire day! You have eaten.no food! You cannot 
 go on like this ! It will kill you !" 
 
 " I know it, Catherine Ivanovna. But one cannot 
 always do what is wise. Sometimes one does not know 
 what to do." 
 
 ' You are losing flesh every day. You will die if you 
 do not put an end to this worry." 
 
 " But if I cannot succeed in seeing her Majesty and in 
 talking with her, there is no knowing what will happen. 
 The faction against me is increasing in number and 
 strength. If I cannot put a stop to it soon, I may be im- 
 prisoned. It may even be worse than that. Who 
 knows? Terrible things happen here " 
 
 " Let me consult my uncle, the confessor of your Royal 
 Highness, Feodor Jakovlovich Dubansky. I will talk 
 with him. I will explain everything. I will tell him 
 what you wish. In this way a reconciliation may be ef- 
 fected and very soon, too." 
 
 " Perhaps, Catherine Ivanovna, that is best. I con- 
 fess I do not know what to do myself. Almost all my 
 friends and my servants have been sent to Siberia, 
 except you. Go, see your uncle. It can do no harm." 
 
 Catherine Ivanovna hastily bowed, casting a sympa- 
 thetic look toward her mistress, and left the room. 
 
 24
 
 THE INTERVIEW 
 
 The Grand Duchess continued her nervous pacing of 
 the room, pausing occasionally at a window to look out 
 upon the early winter night, and tap with her fingers 
 upon the cold pane. At eleven o'clock Catherine Ivan- 
 ovna returned and the expression of her face showed that 
 she did not consider that her journey had been a failure. 
 
 " My uncle says, Your Royal Highness, for you to un- 
 dress, get into bed and feign illness. Then, ask for a 
 priest, and send for him. He will be dressed and waiting 
 for the message. He will come immediately. Then he 
 will go directly from you to her Majesty and give your 
 message to her. He cannot be forbidden entrance to her 
 Majesty by Count Shuvalov, because he is a priest, and he 
 would not dare forbid him." 
 
 The Grand Duchess took the advice of her favorite 
 lady-in-waiting, Catherine Ivanovna. She undressed and 
 went to bed. 
 
 As soon as the news of her illness spread abroad there 
 was consternation in the palace. Feet could be heard run- 
 ning in all directions. There was a murmur of voices 
 like buzzing of bees. These were always the busiest 
 hours of life under the reign of Elizabeth Petrovna, the 
 small black hours of the early morning, here where the 
 marking of time was so upset that no one seemed ever to 
 go to bed. 
 
 The news of the illness spread like wildfire. Lackies, 
 attendants, ladies- and gentlemen-in-waiting, were flying 
 about through the long chill corridors. When the Grand 
 Duke and Elizabeth Woronzov heard it, they could not 
 conceal their satisfaction. Elizabeth Woronzov was 
 congratulated. She hastened to send word of the serious 
 illness by one of her personal attendants to her uncle, the 
 vice-chancellor. She at once took on the airs of an 
 Empress. 
 
 25
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 The palace was shaken with excitement, and the priest 
 was obliged to make his way through a greedy-eyed, gos- 
 siping, constantly increasing crowd, to the door of the 
 apartments occupied by the Grand Duchess. When the 
 crowd in the corridors found that the priest had been 
 with the Grand Duchess for an hour, they were sure that 
 she was going to die and the opposing faction was elated. 
 
 " Feodor Jakovlovich Dubansky," began Catherine 
 Alexevna, " I wish you to go to her Majesty to-night and 
 tell her that I sent you. I wish you to beg her to permit 
 me to return forever to my home in Prussia. After you 
 have communicated this to her, judge of its effect upon 
 her, and then try to arrange for me to be admitted to 
 see her to-night. If I wait until to-morrow or another 
 night, for the interview, it may be too late and I may be 
 imprisoned, or publicly divorced, and Elizabeth Woron- 
 zov put in my place. Be sure to impress upon her mind 
 that I am eager to return to my country and my home." 
 
 The priest went directly to the apartments of her 
 Majesty. In a few moments he returned with the good 
 news that her Majesty had graciously consented to the 
 interview. Catherine Alexevna expressed her gratitude 
 to the priest for what he had done for her, and directed 
 Catherine Ivanovna to call her women and tell them to 
 bring a court robe and her jewels. 
 
 " I must dress to please her Majesty. That is impor- 
 tant, Catherine Ivanovna. Every one who approaches 
 her Majesty now that she is so ill, must be dressed in the 
 latest fashion of France. This living up to the frivolities 
 gives her courage and the illusion that she is not going to 
 die. She feels that they keep death off. Bring me the 
 pink-flowered brocade the one with interwoven gold 
 figures, and my turquoises. Bring also my powdered, 
 high court-wig, as if for a presentation." 
 
 26
 
 THE INTERVIEW 
 
 At two o'clock in the morning Count Alexis Shuvalov 
 called for her and announced that her Majesty would 
 graciously see her, at once. 
 
 The spacious apartments of her Majesty, in which gold 
 glittered everywhere, were empty and lonely. It seemed 
 to Catherine Alexevna, as she entered, that it was sadder 
 to die amid splendor than amid poverty. One felt more 
 the last triumphant sting of material things. There was 
 not a soul in the great anteroom, which in former days of 
 health was filled with a jostling, noisy throng of courtiers. 
 Catherine Alexevna had never seen it empty before. It 
 made her realize afresh how serious was the condition of 
 her Majesty, and how near the end must be when she, who 
 had loved gayety and dissipation, was neglected and alone. 
 She could hear the bleak December wind beating against 
 the windows and the stinging rainfall. She shivered at 
 thought of the versts of blackness that lay outside. 
 
 As she approached the passage that led to the room in 
 which her Majesty was awaiting her, she saw the Grand 
 Duke, standing in court attire in an opposite door. She 
 thought: " He has gone in ahead of me. It was Count 
 Shuvalov, of course, who arranged for that." 
 
 Her Majesty was standing to receive her. Catherine 
 Alexevna threw herself upon the floor at her feet. 
 
 " I have come to implore your Majesty to send me 
 back to my home ! This is not affectation on my part. 
 I assure you that I am sick of it all. It is dwarfing my 
 heart. It is dwarfing my soul. I am sick of living in a 
 gilded prison. It is killing my normal self. It is devel- 
 oping in me terrible powers. I can see it now. But if I 
 stay here, the time will come when I cannot see it." 
 
 Elizabeth Petrovna, who seemed more grieved than 
 angry, motioned her to arise. But she still remained at 
 her feet. 
 
 27
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 "How can I let you go?" she replied in a voice in 
 which there was only kindness. " Have you forgotten 
 that you have children? " 
 
 " My children are in your Majesty's hands. They 
 could not be in better ones." 
 
 " But what excuse shall I give to the world? " 
 
 " If your Majesty should find it best, tell the real causes 
 that have given rise to the displeasure of your Majesty, 
 and that of the Grand Duke, your nephew." 
 
 " But where will you find the means to live upon with 
 your family? " 
 
 " I shall accommodate myself to the life I knew before 
 your Majesty did me the honor to bring me to Russia." 
 
 " But your mother is in exile. She had to flee from 
 Prussia. She is in Paris." 
 
 " I know that, your Majesty. She was so devoted to 
 your interests and to mine, that she drew upon herself the 
 displeasure of Frederick the Great ! " Again Elizabeth 
 Petrovna commanded the Grand Duchess to arise. This 
 time she obeyed. 
 
 Elizabeth Petrovna became meditative and walked 
 about the floor. They were in a long, narrow room with 
 three windows in a row, against which they could hear the 
 black rain beating. Between the windows, all along that 
 side of the room, stood small mahogany tables littered 
 with the gold gem-studded toilet articles of her Majesty. 
 The fretful candles struck from them points of vari-tinted 
 flame. 
 
 Besides Catherine Alexevna and her Majesty, 
 Count Alexis Shuvalov and the Grand Duke were present. 
 In one corner of the room a huge, green silk umbrella was 
 spread to conceal a small Turkish divan, and here Count 
 Ivan Shuvalov was hidden so that he could listen, unseen, 
 to the conversation. 
 
 28
 
 THE INTERVIEW 
 
 Catherine Alexevna was shocked by the appearance of 
 Elizabeth Petrovna. Her face was eloquent with beauty 
 and with death. And she was ablaze with gems. She 
 wore a plain gown of bright blue silk velvet, with a long 
 court train. From it her arms and shoulders shone 
 white and fine. Over her shoulders and falling to the 
 floor, hung an oriental scarf of white gauze embroidered 
 thickly with diamonds. The mass of shaking curls on the 
 top of her head was twined and held in place by a rope of 
 diamonds. It was as if from their fictitious fire she 
 longed to draw back to herself the old mad passion of 
 life which she felt to be slipping away. Catherine Alex- 
 evna knew that there was not another figure in Europe 
 to compare in beauty and majesty with Elizabeth Pe- 
 trovna. And now the approach of death had given her 
 face a splendor that was almost terrifying. In her heart 
 she had always loved her, her beauty and her charm. 
 
 Catherine Alexevna walked across to the toilet table 
 which stood nearest to the door by which she had entered. 
 Upon it was a tall vase of silver chiseled by that accom- 
 plished artist in metals, Paul Lamerie. In this vase were 
 letters. The Empress came over to where she was stand- 
 ing. 
 
 " God is my witness, Catherine Alexevna, that at the 
 time of your illness, when you first came to Russia, I wept 
 a good deal. If I had not loved you, I should not have 
 kept you." 
 
 " I thank your Majesty for all that you have done for 
 me. I shall never forget your kindness. Your dis- 
 pleasure is the misfortune of my life." Her Majesty 
 came nearer. 
 
 " You are amazing proud. Do you remember how 
 once in the Summer Garden I asked you if you had a pain 
 in your neck because you did not greet me ? " 
 
 29
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 "Ah! my God, your Majesty, how could you believe 
 that I could be proud to you ? I swear that I never sus- 
 pected for a moment what that question meant four years 
 ago." 
 
 All the time the Empress was talking with Catherine 
 Alexevna, the Grand Duke was whispering with Count 
 Alexis Shuvalov. They were standing in the center of the 
 room so no one could hear distinctly what they said 
 because the room was so large. At last the Grand Duke 
 lost his temper and exclaimed in a loud and angry voice: 
 
 " She is just as ugly tempered as she can be ! And she 
 is stubborn, too ! " 
 
 Then Catherine Alexevna knew that they were talking 
 of her. 
 
 " I rejoice to have an opportunity to say in the presence 
 of her Majesty, that I am only angry at them who advise 
 you to be unjust to me. And that I am stubborn because 
 I have found that yielding to you makes you hate me." 
 
 The Grand Duke listened and then addressed her 
 Majesty: 
 
 " Now, .your Majesty can see ! Now, your Majesty 
 can hear from her own words how ugly tempered she is 1 
 That is not all, your Majesty. She is carrying on all 
 kinds of intrigues. And she is so clever that no one finds 
 her out. She has been plotting with Count Bestushev for 
 a year to be made regent and displace me. Your Majesty 
 cannot guess the things that she is up to! The night I 
 gave my concert in November she met Nicholas 
 Murievich after the concert was over, in the Admiralty 
 Meadow. They were together there a long time 
 alone. She is paying his expenses this winter in Paris 
 as a spy and in other cities. I do not suppose that 
 your Majesty will believe this, because none of you ever 
 believe anything I say. But it is a fact and I know it. 
 
 30
 
 I tell you she is plotting with that old fox, Count 
 Bestushev right along and the plotting is not for any- 
 one's good but her own. Your Majesty may be sure of 
 that! " he exclaimed in a fresh burst of anger. 
 
 Upon the Empress, who was a clever woman, the words 
 had a different impression from that which the Grand 
 Duke intended them to have. Although she had made 
 up her mind to be stern with the Grand Duchess, and 
 although she had been urged by others to be stern with 
 her, she was becoming gentler and gentler. 
 
 " But you do meddle in affairs that do not concern you," 
 continued the Empress, ignoring the indiscreet disclosures 
 of the Grand Duke in regard to Count Bestushev and 
 Nicholas Murievich. 
 
 " How did you dare send a command to Field Marshal 
 Aprakin?" 
 
 "I? I never dreamed of doing such a thing! " 
 
 " How can you deny that you have written to him? 
 Your letter is in that vase," pointing with her finger to the 
 superb piece of metal work of Paul Lamerie. 
 
 "You know that I have forbidden you to write letters 
 of any kind." 
 
 " That is true, your Majesty. I overstepped your com- 
 mand. I humbly beg your Majesty's pardon. Since my 
 letter is there, your Majesty can see that I sent him no 
 command. I merely said how people in Petersburg were 
 judging his actions." 
 
 " But why did you write to him? " 
 
 " Because I like him and have an interest in him. I 
 begged him to fulfill your Majesty's commands." 
 
 " Count Bestushev says that there were many letters." 
 
 " If Count Bestushev says that, he lies." 
 
 " Good ! Then I will put him to the torture ! " 
 
 Count Alexis Shuvalov and the Grand Duke looked up
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 with delight. They stopped whispering and listened. 
 Their eyes shone with malice and anticipated pleasure. 
 
 With this threat the Empress thought to terrify Cath- 
 erine Alexevna into foolish speaking. She was mistaken. 
 Although her heart shook within her, she made herself 
 appear calm and indifferent. She knew that it was the 
 only way to save him. She replied carelessly: 
 
 " That is as your Majesty wishes. It is in your 
 Majesty's power to do whatever is right." 
 
 At this Elizabeth Petrovna became silent and medita- 
 tive and walked about the room again. Then she began 
 to talk upon indifferent subjects, now to the Grand Duke, 
 now to Count Alexis Shuvalov. Her anger was gone. 
 She was only grieved now. It was evident that she be- 
 lieved that the Grand Duke wished to pick a quarrel, 
 which was a favorite amusement with him. She under- 
 stood his unstable nature. At length she walked close 
 to Catherine Alexevna and whispered to her: 
 
 " I have much to say to you. But I cannot say it now," 
 looking about to indicate the presence of the others and 
 that she did not wish to speak more before them. Cath- 
 erine Alexevna replied likewise in a whisper: " I, too, 
 cannot speak before them, although I desire to speak 
 with you greatly. I wish to show you all my heart." 
 
 These words impressed her. They brought the tears 
 to her eyes. In order to conceal her emotion Elizabeth 
 Petrovna sent her away: 
 
 " It is getting late, Catherine Alexevna. It is four 
 o'clock a good half hour ago. I am hungry. This is 
 my dinner hour." 
 
 She held out her hand for Catherine Alexevna to kiss, 
 and patted her head tenderly as she bent in homage before 
 her. 
 
 After the Grand Duchess reached her own apartments, 
 
 32
 
 THE INTERVIEW 
 
 Count Alexis Shuvalov entered and said that her Majesty 
 graciously sent a goodnight greeting. 
 
 " Tell her Majesty," was the reply, " that I thank her 
 for her kindness. Tell her I await with eagerness the 
 privilege of seeing her again." 
 
 Catherine Alexevna knew that for to-night she had 
 conquered. But she also knew that it could not last. 
 Her Majesty was ill. Her Majesty had no will of her 
 own. She was surrounded by envious, self-seeking 
 courtiers. Another palace revolution was on the way. 
 There was no one who could not see it coming. 
 
 33
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 NICHOLAS MURIEVICH, GREEK MUSICIAN AND PATRIOT, 
 AND CATHERINE ALEXEVNA, GRAND DUCHESS OF 
 RUSSIA THEIR LETTERS 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 I am sensible of the great honor your Royal Highness 
 has done me by commissioning me, an humble musician 
 and artist, unskilled in diplomacy and the speech of courts, 
 to feel the pulse of the European capitals, and to keep you 
 informed of their attitude toward yourself in this present 
 crisis. 
 
 If you could be in my position but one day you would 
 be as firmly convinced of the need of such service (toward 
 which your own sure intelligence guided you) as you may 
 be of my faithfulness and devotion in performing it. 
 
 The court of Russia holds the eyes of the world. It 
 is the stage upon which the drama is being enacted which 
 will remake the boundaries of the continent, and in time 
 create a new and a different civilization. And the two 
 people whom Europe is watching in this world-struggle, 
 the two who will make the decisive throw in the game, 
 are your Royal Highness and the Russian Chancellor, 
 Count Bestushev-Rjumin. You two decide the fate of 
 Russia and of Europe. 
 
 Your Royal Highness cannot imagine from your iso- 
 lated city by the banks of the Neva, how determined are 
 the powers to keep Russia out of the struggle, to push her 
 back into Asia, to direct her energy toward the East. 
 
 34
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 In order to do this the efforts of the diplomats is to con- 
 trol you and banish Count Bestushev-Rjumin. Then, it 
 would be easy. The Empress, Elizabeth Petrovna, is 
 ill and cannot live. The Grand Duke Peter is regarded 
 as little better than an idiot. In addition, he hates Rus- 
 sia. His sympathies are Prussian. If you and Count 
 Bestushev-Rjumin could be disposed of, victory would 
 come. Russia would be forced to give up her new capital, 
 Petersburg. She would turn back toward Asia from 
 which she has emerged with so much difficulty. 
 
 Count Bestushev cannot, of course, keep his policy 
 secret. He is in a position where he must act, and, from 
 time to time, expose his hand. But you are under no such 
 necessity. You can keep them in doubt as to where you 
 stand so no one will dare openly to act against you. 
 
 I am grateful to your Royal Highness for giving me 
 an opportunity to see life from another viewpoint than 
 that of musician and entertainer. This game of politics, 
 in which men place life against the game, is setting its 
 fascination upon me. I realize now the difficulty of your 
 position and how prudent you must be. There can be 
 no false steps. Not every one has opportunity to play 
 for a crown ! 
 
 The only thing that contributes to mar my happiness 
 in a measure, of course, compensated by the fact that I 
 still serve you is that our old life of pleasant compan- 
 ionship is interrupted. The thought that sustains me is 
 that it will be taken up again later, when you are free of 
 this complicating political tangle and mistress of yourself 
 and Russia. -^ *, 
 
 PETERSBURG. 
 My dearest Nicholas : 
 (Ah! I wish now that you were not named for a 
 
 35
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Russian saint, you, who resemble a Greek faun, or some 
 younger brother of Pan!) You do not? But you cer- 
 tainly do I The lines of your face are slanting and 
 pointed I Amber colored, slantwise eyes. Brown skin. 
 And I verily believe pointed ears ! I must make sure of 
 that when I see you. 
 
 It is a pleasure for me to write to you, to say anything 
 I wish, I who am surrounded by etiquette and restraint, 
 and to feel that my words are falling into the forgetful 
 ears of a faun of long ago, who hates affairs, politics and 
 intrigue, and loves only life and love. 
 
 We are having the gayest of winters balls, masks, 
 theaters. The Empress wishes to die to the tune of 
 gayety to which she has lived. Therefore, her illness is 
 not mentioned and things move on as if it were not. We 
 dance night after night until day. There is not another 
 woman at court who can dance so long as I. Last week 
 there was a wager as to which could dance longer, the 
 wife of the ambassador from Holland or I. I won, of 
 course, and danced on after she was exhausted. Yet my 
 heart is not in this merriment although I enjoy it. It 
 is as if there were two women within me living two sep- 
 arate lives. And they take turn about in watching the 
 other. You remember we have spoken of this before. 
 And neither of these women feels at home in the life she 
 is leading. Then again, it is as if it were a play upon 
 a stage and did not matter. I am surprised at the im- 
 portance people attach to life. I should be unhappy in- 
 deed if I thought anything mattered, or that we could help 
 ourselves. I could not watch the picture then with such 
 interest and such indifference. 
 
 During the long nights of this winter when I have been 
 dancing gayly, perhaps in the arms of some one who, for 
 the moment, pleased me, what do you suppose it was that 
 
 36
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 was giving me pleasure? Not the man? No ! Nor the 
 music! I hate music. It was the thought of how the 
 light was streaming from our windows and streaking 
 snows that reach unbroken to the Pole. The contrast bit 
 my soul with pleasure. The nearness of our frivolity to 
 the silent, deadly things, the presence of the Polar night, 
 are among the influences that make us live with such un- 
 reckoning madness. 
 
 The houses are so frail, too, against this torrent of 
 cold! Just wooden structures, so loosely built the wind 
 blows through them, and sometimes the rain. The stoves 
 fill the rooms with smoke. There are holes in the floor 
 one can look through. There is no raison in Russia. 
 The lack of it affects every one. It is bringing about a 
 change in me. I can see it! It is making me lose sense 
 of reality. I am unable to get the certainty of anything. 
 It tortures me that I cannot make real this life that flits 
 past me. I fear because of this, Nicholas Murievich, as 
 time goes on, that I may do things that will make my 
 other self and the world shudder. And the things I do 
 will not be evil. It will only be saying B after one has 
 said A. 
 
 The upper classes have lived gayly this winter. That 
 is because they feel danger near. They act like children 
 showing off at school. And we have had such a passion 
 for fruit and flowers ! To go into the home of any of my 
 friends is like entering a tropic wilderness. Some have 
 had tfye stairways covered with growing ivy; orchids hang- 
 ing from the walls, and roses, lilies, azaleas, hyacinths, 
 until the wet, hot air was unbreatheable. You cannot pic- 
 ture such profusion of flowers outside the southern seas. 
 Every one has prided himself upon having in bloom the 
 most fragile flowers of the south ! Think of it ! In this 
 Arctic wilderness ! In this Finnish village ! 
 
 37
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 We have been growing grapes and strawberries in our 
 cellars. What do you think of that? I tell it to you 
 that you may wish sometime to spend a winter in Russia, 
 for winter is the time to visit us. It is our belle saison. 
 And the strawberries are white like snowballs ! And so 
 are the grapes. They are like Russian beauties hot- 
 house growths that do not see the sun. I go out-of-doors 
 every day, but the Russian belles do not except Princess 
 Dashkov. And they look like Dresden figurines. But 
 the poor have suffered this winter in Russia, Nicholas 
 Murievich. Food has never been so high. A pound of 
 tea of the cheapest costs two and a half rubles; a bunch of 
 wood, one ruble and sixty copecks; and a pud of meal 
 twenty-six copecks. It costs a fortune for a doctor to 
 make a visit. Her Majesty pays fifteen thousand rubles 
 a year just to heat her curling iron ! And forty thousand 
 rubles for her samovar ! How can the poor be expected 
 to live or to keep warm ? 
 
 My dearest Nicholas Murievich, your letters are a com- 
 fort to me, just as you yourself are. As I write, I can see 
 your slanting amber eyes and red, red mouth, as I have 
 seen them beside me in the dusk. May their sweet 
 warmth continue to be the one reality in this barren land 
 where nothing else is real save the shadow of immensity. 
 
 C. A. 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 Yesterday, in my capacity of musician and artist, I 
 played at Madame Geofrin's, where, as you know, may 
 be met the brains and beauty of Paris. Russia was on 
 every tongue. No one paid attention to me. They 
 talked freely, although they knew I spent the summers of 
 several years in Russia. It did not occur to them a 
 musician could know anything about anything save music. 
 
 38
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 I enjoyed hearing these frivolous French women with 
 their fragile graces, in their blue and gold salons, talk 
 of your tragic country of cold and cruelty. The contrast 
 pleased me. Your Highness will be amused at the idea 
 these petted dolls of fashion have of your Russia ; an idea 
 in which, to be sure, there is truth - as there is in every- 
 thing but which, on the whole, is exaggerated. Yet 
 the conversation was merry even brilliant and 
 worth repeating. French women's tongues hit the heart 
 of truth. But then one always hears good things at 
 Madame Geofrin's. 
 
 Russia they agreed breeds monsters (your Royal 
 Highness will understand that these are not opinions of 
 my own. I am quoting, more or less verbatim, these 
 Parisian gossipers), a race whose natures are as abnor- 
 mal as the Holstein giants, so out of the range of the 
 European model that we cannot judge them. We have 
 no standard suitable to apply. As an example, of course, 
 they gave Ivan the Terrible, who prayed at the feet of the 
 statues of the saints one day when he happened to be 
 playing the ascetic the next day, he kissed the white 
 shoulders of his mistress. One day, he was the humble 
 follower of the Christ, dreaming of a cloister beside the 
 White Sea; the next, an intolerant despot. No other 
 race has embraced such extremes of mind without disin- 
 tegrating madness, and begging the pardon of your 
 Royal Highness (You have commanded me to tell 
 you the truth, to conceal nothing, knowing as you do that 
 only they who can confront facts can succeed) have not 
 all the Romanoffs been mad? Sometimes, they have pos- 
 sessed a peculiar genius, I grant you. But still have they 
 not been mad? Only one has died a natural death. 
 Here, a gay doll-lady interrupted excitedly, waving her 
 painted fan: " And history will repeat itself ! None of 
 
 39
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 them will die a natural death! Mark my words! 
 There is something about them that attracts destruction." 
 
 Then another they call her the Princess Conti (by 
 courtesy 1 She is beautiful enough to be a princess by 
 blood) said: "Yes, and there was Peter the 
 Great! Do you desire a better example of genius and 
 madness? " 
 
 Your Royal Highness, have you heard that it is whis- 
 pered (outside Russia, of course!) that the Empress Cath- 
 erine poisoned him because his caprices were becoming 
 dangerous for her? (That is well to remember ! There 
 is a Catherine and a Peter to-day! I recall now what I 
 said to you once of history repeating itself.) You can- 
 not imagine how these petted Parisian dolls enjoy toying 
 with your fabulous Russia. The contrast delights me. 
 
 The Due de Broglie is considered somewhat of an 
 authority on things Slav, as you know. He said at once : 
 " Look at Elizabeth, his daughter ! Her amours, her 
 beauty, have been the talk of Europe." Some one 
 quoted an old French diplomat who had seen her in her 
 girlhood as saying that her beauty was so unusual that at 
 first sight it struck terror to the soul. And then some one 
 quoted a French letter of your mother's, who, as you 
 know, is in Paris now. (I must tell you more about this 
 letter later!) " Enfin jamais figure ne ressembla a la 
 sienne. Jamais si belles couleurs, ni gorge, ni mains, 
 n'ont ete vues." 
 
 And what a life has been hers! She has known the 
 pleasures of a woman, the adventures of a boy and the 
 honors of an Empress. But she, too, has been mad like 
 all the Romanoffs. She has known no bounds. Her 
 debaucheries have grown with the years. It is because of 
 them that she is dying, exhausted and prematurely old. 
 She has tried to push further and further the limits of 
 
 40
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 pleasure. And these last few years (as your Royal High- 
 ness knows well), she has seldom seen the day. Night 
 has been her day. Dinner has been served at four in 
 the morning. Her Majesty retired to sleep at dawn. So 
 much for the Due de Broglie. 
 
 They continued by saying these gay French people 
 that his Royal Highness, your husband, the Grand 
 Duke Peter, has inherited the madness of his race, with- 
 out its beauty, and its vivid vitality. 
 
 The quality that has made the Romanoffs successful is 
 joy. They who had it succeeded. They who had it not 
 failed. Peter the Great and Elizabeth were of the race 
 of Venus. They loved life. They dared to live it. 
 Your Royal Highness, too, is of the race pf Venus, and 
 the only one in Russia, aye ! perhaps in the world 
 to-day. How do I know, you would ask? Apropos of 
 this word Venus, I have something to tell you. But that, 
 too, must wait for another time. 
 
 As illustrative of this monstrous Russia of which 
 all were talking, the Princess Conti mentioned the 
 difficulty of accrediting ambassadors there, since it is 
 imperative that they be young. In agreement, an 
 Englishman recalled how a few years ago the am- 
 bassador from his country, Sir Guy Dickens, had asked 
 for recall on the ground of age. He said the King of 
 England must see to it that only strong men, in the flower 
 of youth, be sent to Russia. No one else could attend the 
 courts, masks, theaters. " I am not capable of doing 
 it because of my years. In addition, I am tired of work- 
 ing against plots and intrigues." Nothing, of course, 
 was said to me although I have lived in Russia since 
 I am only an humble musician. People forget that music 
 cultivates the brain as well as the senses. 
 
 If your Highness will permit me an independent opin-
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 ion and a digression , I have noticed in my wander- 
 ing life that the great possess certain physical character- 
 istics of the land in which they were born. The physical 
 characteristics of Russia are monstrous and unusual. 
 One can ride for months upon a single road. Think of 
 the central plains whose extent is so great they make the 
 mind dizzy; the lonely seas which winter dominates; the 
 mountains whose peaks are the highest in Europe; the 
 rivers whose breadth is that of seas. There are swamps 
 in the north that stretch to the Polar ocean. There are 
 plains in the south as great as seas. Burning winds from 
 the deserts of Asia sweep across it and icy blasts from 
 an Arctic wilderness. This different climate, Catherine 
 Alexevna, has bred a different race, whose men and 
 women of genius have been monsters. 
 
 N. M. 
 
 PETERSBURG. 
 
 Mon cher Nicholas: You warn me against merri- 
 ment, lest I forget ! That is the tragedy of it. There is 
 no opportunity to forget. If you were here, if you could 
 see the life that is mine, the hours of loneliness (I am 
 not permitted to write or to receive letters. Work of 
 all kinds is forbidden. Reading would be, too, if they 
 knew I cared for it), you would advise me to keep my 
 mind sane by any means. When the Grand Duke is 
 with me, I am lonelier than when he is away, or, worse 
 still, bored. Dissipation is the only relief. If it were 
 not for that, I could not go on with this life. 
 
 Perhaps, the Grand Duke might have been good for 
 something somewhere else. He has been taken and 
 placed in a position where he does not belong, for which 
 he has neither ability nor ambition. In doing this they 
 destroyed what good there was in him. He is like an 
 oarless boat in the current of a river sure of destruc- 
 
 42
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 tion. The poor fellow has not even a tongue to call 
 his own. He cannot speak well any language. One 
 would think he had no ideas. But sometimes these short, 
 dark, winter days, when he walks up and down the room 
 and plays upon his violin, I find that he can think in music. 
 That is the way that struggling soul finds outlet. That 
 is the only time when he has the power or the dominance 
 of a man. 
 
 I remember once, some summers ago, we were at 
 Oranienbaum on the Gulf of Finland. He had been 
 particularly wild and unmanageable, so much so, indeed, 
 that he won a reprimand from her Majesty. At night 
 it was midsummer and darkness comes only for an 
 hour or two after midnight he took his violin and went 
 upon the terrace that overhangs the sea. There, he 
 played for a time, improvised wonderfully. I learned 
 to know him a little that night; his longing for the home 
 of his childhood in Sweden, for the life of an artist 
 musician. I found that he is as lonely and heart-sick of 
 Russia as I. When he came in from the terrace with 
 the joy and the softness of the music in his eyes, I tried 
 to talk with him. I felt I understood. But he snapped 
 at me just like a surly dog. No one can do anything 
 with him with words. They wound his sensibilities. 
 Sometimes I pity him. And sometimes I abhor him. 
 Besides music, he loves gems and cards and Hungarian 
 wine. He loves playing with dolls, his negro dwarf 
 Narcissus, his dog Mopsinka. He loves his can of 
 " Knaster," his German Bible, Sterne's Tristram Shandy 
 in French, and his mistress, Elizabeth Woronzov, who 
 is almost as stupid as he. 
 
 Here in Russia they have taken away from me every 
 employment of the life of a woman. And they expect 
 me to develop normally. They were right, those clever 
 
 43
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 French people of whom you wrote. They make mon- 
 sters in Russia. I live under the same roof with my son 
 but I seldom see him never alone. The Grand Duke, 
 my husband, is a stranger who seldom speaks. Access 
 to her Majesty is well nigh impossible. I have no rela- 
 tives no one. I am surrounded by spies. I am alone 
 save for Count Bestushev. How can I help but lose 
 womanly charm in this development of wits to ensure the 
 safety of my head? If I have any left now, it is you 
 whom I have to thank, your warmer temperament, your 
 youth, your southern charm. 
 
 How I would like to throw off this life and rush away 
 to Paris where you are ! But we would not stay in Paris ! 
 No, no, my Nicholas ! We would leave for Spain, Egypt, 
 Greece, where I could live as other women live freely. 
 There in your arms I could win back that womanhood 
 which I feel to be dying within me. It is a strange thing 
 to stand off and watch the death of a part of yourself 
 and be unable to prevent it. That is what I am doing. 
 I am being fitted for the life I am to lead. And if I win 
 in the end and there is nothing to do but win I shall 
 be a machine that wears the dress of a woman. In those 
 days of empty power, when I sit perked up in state I shall 
 play for love (which I shall never have!) more bitterly 
 than I played for a crown. The world will look on with 
 evil comments, not understanding that it is the last at- 
 tempt of a lonely woman to find her heart and bring it 
 back to life. 
 
 Ah! my Nicholas, when you come back we will be 
 happy together for a while, just a little while (nothing 
 lasts long here, not even happiness!) before that cold, 
 desert splendor men call kingship begins. 
 
 C. A. 
 
 44
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 There is a new beauty in Paris ! Is it not meet that I 
 leave off serious subjects occasionally and chat with you 
 of folly in a city where folly rules? What is her name, 
 you ask? How does she look? Her name is the " Little 
 Murphy " and she is a model of Boucher. He con- 
 siders her the most beautiful woman he .has painted. 
 And she is an Irish peasant! The King is interested in 
 her, too, and the Pompadour does not care. She loves 
 power now better than love. 
 
 I had the privilege of seeing her in his studio the other 
 day. Boucher, you know, great artist that he is, is the 
 kindest of men. The " Little Murphy " is just such a 
 blond beauty among women as Gregory Orlov is among 
 men. She reminded me of him. Her hair is the color 
 of ripe grain; not gold nor bronze but a commingling of 
 the two. Her eyes seem brimming with tears and 
 laughter. And she has that pink and white skin of island 
 women where sea fogs are heavy. Boucher will make her 
 famous. He posed her for us that we might understand 
 his delight in her. First, with her hair unbound, against 
 a drapery of blue velvet, beautifully dull, as if it had 
 been bathed in tears " bleu malade des mauves " and 
 edged with faded pink. Next, against a satin surfaced, 
 mahogany wardrobe, her hair in a twisted eight upon her 
 neck, that it might not cloud the outlines. Her body 
 was reflected in a wonderful pink within the rich wood, 
 and, strangely enough, as if it were a foot beneath the 
 surface. This gave Boucher pleasure. Shades, tints, 
 are more important to him than the war which the great 
 Frederick is carrying on which is drawing Europe into 
 the whirlpool. Frederick is a man of genius in a terri- 
 tory so small it makes him uncomfortable. He is deter- 
 mined to get out or make other nations suffer. It is the 
 
 45
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 opinion of everyone that his future and that of his 
 country, depend upon what he can do with Russia and 
 you. When Russia enters with its armies, it will tip the 
 balance. He might possibly hold his own against the 
 rest of Europe with the help of England but Rus- 
 sia he knows is too much for him. 
 
 Elizabeth hates him. She would spend the last ruble 
 to ruin him. But Elizabeth cannot live. The Grand 
 Duke adores him. But he is unfit to reign. Then it 
 depends upon you ! You are Prussian. He is count- 
 ing upon that. You are a woman and, therefore, to be 
 intimidated. You remember the Russian proverb: 
 " Women have long hair and short thoughts." If he 
 cannot win you to his side so that his ambassadors rule 
 Russia, he will destroy you. Distrust everything, every- 
 one except the Great Chancellor! Your interests and 
 his are one. Frederick has been told of your friendship 
 with General Aprakin. In case he enters the war against 
 Prussia at the head of an army, he counts on bribing or 
 in some way inducing you to influence General Aprakin, 
 to stay the Russian arms, or to give victory to Prussia. 
 Just this week the king sent a messenger to your mother 
 here in Paris to find out how great is her influence over 
 you, and to urge the breaking of your friendship with 
 Count Bestushev. You must tell your mother to keep 
 out of the game. She was not made for affairs. With 
 her, politics descend to personalities. Her viewpoint is 
 that of wife of a petty officer. She hates the Great 
 Chancellor just as she did when she first went with you 
 to Russia. That was fifteen years ago or more. When 
 she started upon that journey, Frederick the Great gave 
 her as motto of conduct " Bestushev-Rjumin must be 
 destroyed." And Bestushev-Rjumin is still minister of 
 Russia and foremost diplomat of the world. For fifteen 
 
 46
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 years every court of Europe has instructed its ambassa- 
 dors to bring about his fall. With the Great Chancellor 
 out of the way, Europe need no longer fear Russia. It 
 would fall back toward the Orient, cease to be aggressive, 
 and give up its dream of domination. Think what a 
 man is he, your Royal Highness, whom the combined 
 brains of Europe cannot outwit! Remember he holds 
 Russia in the palm of his hand to give to you, just as 
 Peter the Great gave it to him. Do not let anything 
 make you lose sight of this ! Your life depends upon itl 
 
 Your mother cannot see as you can that the man 
 she hates represents a principle, that he incorporates a 
 political ideal. To her he is just an enemy. Is she 
 not foolish to combat a person whom Europe obeys? 
 He is old and feeble; and if he is human, he is weary 
 of struggle. But he is the one to consider ! 
 
 In regard to the quotation from your mother in my 
 last letter about the Empress, it will be difficult for you 
 to believe her guilty of such indiscretion. That extract 
 is from a letter which she wrote M. de Pouilly. He is 
 planning to make a history of Russia. She is helping 
 him by writing down what she knows from her two 
 years' residence there and her correspondence with you. 
 
 Now that I have arranged for you to write to your 
 mother again (after the prohibition of her Majesty) 
 you must be careful, as this proves. Any correspond- 
 ence (except the letters to me, which go by a channel 
 through which you send no others) may be intrusted to 
 d'Olilio, first violinist to the Grand Duke. I vouch for 
 his trustworthiness! 
 
 N. M. 
 
 PETERSBURG. 
 
 We have had a great ball, my Nicholas, to mark the 
 high tide of the holidays. You can imagine what a great 
 
 47
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 ball means in Russia. It is the custom to change costume 
 once or twice in the course of a night. When the ball 
 was announced, I was in despair. I did not know what 
 to wear. I have exhausted the art of the robe makers 
 of Paris. There is nothing left that is new and expensive. 
 What do you suppose I did? Coquetry of dress at our 
 court can go no further. Everyone tries to outdo the 
 other in elegance and novelty. 
 
 I wore a perfectly plain gown of white gros de Tours. 
 You know how slender I am. There was no trimming 
 upon it. My long hair was brushed smoothly back and 
 done in a fox's tail. I put a white rose in my hair and 
 another in my corsage, flung a gauze scarf about my shoul- 
 ders, and put on a white gauze apron. When I entered, 
 every eye was turned toward me. I was merry that 
 night and my cheeks were red. I never danced so well ! 
 That was because I was happy and knew I pleased. I 
 cannot remember having so many compliments as I had 
 that night. They said I was beautiful as day. We like 
 to dream of day here in these six-month Arctic mid- 
 nights. But to tell you the truth, I have never con- 
 sidered myself beautiful. I please people. Therein lies 
 my power. And they the people cannot distin- 
 guish. 
 
 I had a great time in getting my hair done as I wished. 
 My old hairdresser protested against the simplicity. 
 What do you suppose I did? You will never be able to 
 believe it when I tell you. Or, if you do, you will under- 
 stand how Russianized I am. I slapped him roundly in 
 the face ! First with one hand and then with the other. 
 I felt better afterward. Yet I was not angry in earnest. 
 I was playing the part while my other self looked on. 
 I am an actor in life instead of upon a stage. I am 
 becoming Russianized, my Nicholas. Or, better, I am 
 
 48
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 wearing draped about me, when I wish, the Russian 
 soul. One proof of it is the way I am piling up debts. 
 Thousands upon thousands of rubles ! I am drawing 
 upon the Bank of England ! Think of it ! In very truth, 
 Nicholas. No jest! There are days when the only 
 thing that gives me pleasure is to spend money. I do not 
 care a copeck for the things I buy. I just long to spend 
 money, make gold flow, the way Ivan the Terrible made 
 blood flow, to open the veins of nature where the yellow 
 ruin lies. I love danger, then ! This land of excess 
 makes me want excess too. It is in the air. 
 
 About four o'clock in the morning I slipped away 
 from the ball with Princess Dashkov and Gregory and 
 Alexis Orlov. We put on sable cloaks, boots and hoods, 
 right on over our bare shoulders. A sledge was waiting. 
 We drove like mad through those ghostly hours that pre- 
 cede the day. First, upon the Neva. Along the shore 
 were blocks of ice like the ruins of a dead world. Their 
 edges winked back the stars. From holes cut in the river 
 mist arose. Then, for the open country! We longed 
 to hear the wolves howl all of us. Buried in each 
 other's arms, with the memory of that languorous dance 
 music in our ears, and the sickenly sweet smell of a myriad 
 of tropic flowers in our nostrils, we longed for some- 
 thing brutal, untamed. And we did drive each con- 
 scious of the same desire to where we could hear 
 wolves howling across the monotonous magnificence of 
 snow. And I loved it! I clenched my teeth and loved 
 it, and the thin, pale wind that stung my face. I felt 
 arise in me for the first time the power and the de- 
 sire to destroy. When we drove back to Petersburg, 
 did we go home? No, no not we! What did we 
 do? We drove to a Russian bath. We turned out the 
 inmates. We took the building by storm. After the 
 
 49
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 bath was over, we plunged into the snow into the sting- 
 ing snow that softly covered us. And we loved it! Its 
 cold shock was good and sense calming! We did not 
 go home until night. We went on to Princess Dashkov's. 
 There we reveled in Russian fashion. I did not go to 
 bed for two days and a night. And when I did, I slept 
 that sleep of exhaustion which has neither dreams nor 
 remembrance. When I awoke, it was as if the dissipa- 
 tion had not been, time had pushed it so far away from 
 me. That is why I am telling it to you, as I do every- 
 thing, because understanding, you will not care. Noth- 
 ing leaves an impression upon me save an unreal shadow 
 of memory. After it is over, it is the same as if it had 
 not been. Every yesterday slips away into nothingness. 
 Sometimes, I think there is really nothing but to-day. 
 
 Gregory Orlov is a splendid example of physical per- 
 fection, a tawny, supple tiger, in this new jungle which 
 is Eighteenth Century Russia. You need not grieve or 
 be jealous! There is no cause. If you were here, I 
 should prefer you. But you are away ! Life goes on and 
 I must live ; not because I wish to, but because I have to. 
 The cold of the north brings with it the need of things that 
 heat the blood. What more can I say than this; that 
 when you are away I dream of you, long for you, despite 
 the attractions and the demands of the present. 
 
 Adieu. 
 
 C. A. 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 A Greek friend of mine has just reached Paris. He 
 is not a Greek with a surname from Little Russia. He 
 boasts a pure patronymic. He has been traveling in 
 Russia and is homeward bound with the pleasant plan 
 of stirring up a political party in Greece to drive the 
 
 50 
 
 '
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 Turks out of Europe. Greece and Russia have one 
 religion. In addition, the shores of Greece are the nat- 
 ural southern boundary of Russia. He said it ought to 
 be the dream of the next Empress who, of course, will 
 be your Royal Highness ! to seat herself upon the 
 throne of Constantine. 
 
 He was delighted with the architecture of Russian cities, 
 Moscow in particular. When he first saw doves flying 
 over its Graeco-Oriental domes the thought came to 
 him that there should be a Venus to complete the pic- 
 ture a Venus of the North. Later, in Petersburg, one 
 night of winter, when the people were amusing themselves 
 upon the Neva with their ice mountains, he saw you. 
 The scene impressed him. The people at their pastime 
 were silent as you have told me was their habit. There 
 was little talking and no laughing. And the night was 
 so windless the torches stood motionless like little red 
 tulips made of flame. Looking up from their dazzle 
 the sky was black, as if it were dotted with silver 
 nails. The earth beneath its robe of snow was opaquely 
 white. The ice mountains glowed darkly green in the 
 shadow and glittered with a nameless brightness where 
 the torches streaked them. Suddenly, a thrill of nerv- 
 ous response shocked the crowd into attention. Your 
 Royal Highness and some of the courtiers had come. 
 You went to the top of the nearest mountain. Gregory 
 Orlov was with you. You passed so near my friend he 
 saw your eyes. You were cloaked in white fur. White 
 fur, whereon diamond dotted stars sparkled, was on your 
 head. 
 
 The silence and mystery of the Arctic midnight 
 wrapped you about with awe and imposed upon you a 
 somber majesty. As Gregory Orlov reached his hand 
 to conduct you to the sledge for the descent, the north- 
 
 51
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 ern lights flamed up the sky, unfolding a transparent, cold, 
 swaying fan of phosphorescent green, deepening toward 
 the center. As its unreal light touched you it glorified 
 you, and he exclaimed : " The Venus of the North ! A 
 Venus born of the ice and snow, with its blue-green fury 
 in her eyes and about her person, something primeval, 
 splendid, that recalls the coldly opalescent waters that 
 stretch from the White Sea to the Pole ! The cold, the 
 silence, of the nights of winter, the brief dazzle of day 
 
 all are there, and, besides, something intangible, un- 
 conquerable, dominant." 
 
 Leaving Petersburg, he traveled over northern Russia 
 before returning to Paris by way of Vienna. On this 
 journey he was impressed by the granite strewn across 
 the land with no apparent reason. It is a country of 
 swamps with few rocks. It looked like the ruins of a 
 world. It impressed him unpleasantly. And Peters- 
 burg, the city of frail wood a Finnish village after 
 the marble castles of Europe, made him feel that noth- 
 ing was substantial there nothing real that it was im- 
 provised for the moment. This seems to have affected 
 its inhabitants. They live there like people camping out 
 
 riotously, madly as if at night it might end and be 
 over, as if nothing mattered for more than a moment. 
 He said he did not dream that any race was capable 
 of such dissipation. That is the way it is in new lands 
 where there is no past and all is future. 
 
 He saw Count Bestushev-Rjumin, too, that night. He 
 looked feeble and frail. He had eyes for no one but 
 your Royal Highness. Under the ghastly green glow of 
 the borealis the concentrated power of his wrinkled old 
 face was frightful. It was that of an enchanter. 
 
 N. M.
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 PETERSBURG. 
 
 Is it not strange, my Nicholas, that a person who can- 
 not grasp the reality of pleasure, can feel pity? All this 
 is apropos of the Grand Duke, who the past few days 
 has been obsessed by a vision. It may, of course, be the 
 result of drink. He is drinking heavily, and of those 
 fiery wines of Hungary. Think of their red fury in 
 that pale body of his! 
 
 Whenever he walks upon the street he told this to 
 one of the men of the court, not to me suddenly a 
 muffled figure slips from a building's shadow and walks 
 beside him. One day a friend was with him, and he kept 
 saying to the friend: " Step over a little! Make room 
 for him! " The friend turned to look! There was no 
 one to be seen, nothing but the creaking snow. He 
 thought he was mad. Well he might ! Then he learned 
 not to say anything, but kept walking closer and closer 
 to his companion, as if to make room for an invisible 
 third. 
 
 From these excursions he comes in white, with fright- 
 ened, pitiful eyes. One day he plucked up sufficient cour- 
 age to look at the phantom. It was Peter the Great! 
 But so changed pale, sad. When he left the Grand 
 Duke that day, he turned and spoke to him saying: 
 "Poor Peter! Poor Peter!'' Since his own name is 
 Peter, he takes it as a premonition of death. Now he 
 dislikes to leave the palace, he is so afraid the phantom 
 will walk beside him. Even the phantom of the mighty 
 Peter is more powerful than the living presence of his 
 feeble grandson. 
 
 Now the Grand Duke is trying to forget the vision at 
 his old pastime, playing with dolls. He has had a multi- 
 tude of leaden soldier dolls sent by some ambassador's 
 wife. He has had them dressed in Prussian military 
 costume and he busies himself playing with them. They 
 
 53
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 cover the floor of one room. He trains and manoeuvers 
 them as if they were alive. None of the discipline is 
 neglected. Sometimes, he is not seen for days when 
 he is particularly busy drilling his soldiers. He has 
 always had the greatest penchant for dolls. 
 
 The other day I heard the sound of a commotion com- 
 ing from his room. What do you suppose it was? A 
 dog was barking. The Grand Duke was cursing. I 
 could hear the hiss of a whip. He had a live rat sus- 
 pended from the ceiling by its tail! He explained that 
 the rat had committed treason. His terrier was leaping 
 and barking and the Grand Duke was lashing the rat 
 to death with a jewelled knout, his face distorted with 
 emotion until it did not resemble anything human. He 
 cut the helpless rat into pieces stroke by stroke. 
 
 He is so unlike other people that he cannot get on 
 with them. They hurt him. Therefore, he takes to 
 their visible images dolls. He has a passion for gems, 
 too. I do not know that there is anything else that he 
 loves so well, except his violin, or that gives him so much 
 pleasure. He plays with them, unset, for hours. They 
 satisfy some longing of his nature. It is as if he wished 
 to draw near to life, to warm his heart. But he does 
 not know how. He is too timid. People hurt him. In 
 gems he feels the stored up passion of life, the rever- 
 berating reflection of things he desires, and he loves them 
 accordingly. They have no tongues, no mocking laugh- 
 ter. They cannot wound him. It is pitiful to see him 
 sit and fondle them, with an -unutterable look within his 
 eyes. It is as if they were prisoned souls which he divines 
 like his own. He is not an imbecile, although the 
 world says he is. He might have been an artist musician. 
 I alone divine this power in him. I perhaps understand 
 him better than any one else. And yet it is I whom he 
 
 54
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 hates ! He makes no concealment of his intention to set 
 me aside the instant her majesty dies for Elizabeth 
 Woronzov. He says he will do with me what Peter I 
 did with his wife confine me in a convent. He offers 
 me every insult. And yet I pity him ! To understand 
 is always to pity. C. A. 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 How I wish you could be here freed from restraint of 
 your exalted position, wearing that boy's suit that be- 
 came you so well on the nights we made merry at the 
 house of Leo Narishkin ! 
 
 Where would we go first? To the shops, of course! 
 Are you not a woman? To Magimal, the jeweller, at 
 the sign of the Golden Vase in the Rue Dauphin, or 
 to Petit Dunkerque on the Quai Conti. They, as you 
 know, are the best in Paris. Then, making believe we 
 were servants in pay of your Russian Highness, we would 
 visit Bourbon in the Rue des Vieux Augustins where 
 shoes are made for great ladies of France; and to Bertin, 
 designer of robes, and Legros, the hair dresser. And 
 then, perhaps, to see the cosmetics of Madame Martin 
 who can give youth to age. But why tell you this when 
 Petersburg is more French than Paris! Besides, it sets 
 the fashions, too. It is the most luxuriously gowned city 
 in the world. 
 
 It is amazing how Petersburg changes nationality. 
 Under Anna Ivanovna it was a German city where Ger- 
 man was spoken. Now it is a French city. The Russian 
 has a faculty for taking on the character of other races. 
 He has mental suppleness. That is why he is such 
 a charming companion. He can be anything at will. 
 The upper classes have no racial characteristics. At 
 least, they impress me that way ! Their knowledge, their 
 
 55
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 manners, even their vices are borrowed. They are bril- 
 liant, spoiled children. But they are charming 1 
 
 If you reproduce French fashions in Petersburg, you 
 cannot reproduce French art no, nor imitate it. This 
 is apropos of Greuze whom I visited the other day. I 
 knew him when I was in Paris before. He said he was 
 eager to paint you. I told him the time had gone by for 
 that for his art. He should have painted you when 
 you first went to Russia, fifteen years ago, when you were 
 a yellow haired jonquil-maiden, with the pink freshness of 
 spring in your cheeks. Now you are better suited for 
 the art of Boucher its sumptuous soullessness. That 
 is what Russia has done. 
 
 Art is a wonderful thing, Catherine Alexevna. They 
 who love it can put up better with loss of everything else. 
 Perhaps art was made so that when we are weary of life 
 we can keep its beautiful moments. Speaking of beauty 
 recalls to me Gregory Orlov. And that reminds me that 
 it was reported in the dispatches of the French ambassa- 
 dor that Gregory Orlov is enamored of your Russian 
 Highness. I knew it would come sooner or later! It 
 could not help it! Like draws like. And that reminds 
 me, too, of something else. Prince Poniatovsky was 
 chosen to go to Russia with the English ambassador, be- 
 cause of his social graces, with the hope that he might 
 make an impression upon you and thus be helpful to 
 England. I know, of course, that you are fond of him. 
 But you are fonder still of Russia. This suggestion will 
 be all that will be necessary. Poniatovsky is handsome, 
 too. But cultivation has made him effeminate. Al- 
 though he is of noble birth, you will not like him as I fear 
 that you will Gregory Orlov, who has neither wealth, 
 position, nor nobility of blood to boast of. But in giv- 
 ing him nothing nature gave him all. 
 
 56
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 A witty Frenchman said something the other day which 
 I must repeat to you. He said the sharpness of Freder- 
 ick the Great's tongue was more responsible for his 
 troubles than the sharpness of his sword. When Vol- 
 taire's History of Peter the Great was shown to him 
 he exclaimed, " Why should any one wish to write a 
 history of Siberian wolves and bears! " He has said 
 sharper things than that about the morals of her Majesty. 
 They have been repeated to her. That is why she is 
 determined to destroy him. If he would bridle his 
 tongue, other people would sheathe their swords. 
 
 I am convinced from a thousand things individually 
 too insignificant to repeat that the position of your High- 
 ness is most dangerous. Do not neglect anything that 
 can make for safety! Life can be lost but once. 
 
 Your mother is saying unwise and doing foolish things 
 just as usual, and, incidentally, piling up thousands of 
 rubles of debts since the Empress cut off her allowance 
 from the crown. 
 
 N. M. 
 
 PETERSBURG. 
 
 My dear Nicholas: Yesterday, fate kindly permitting 
 in the absence from the city of the Grand Duke, and the 
 occupation of the vice-chancellor with her Majesty, Count 
 Bestushev spent two hours of the dark winter day with 
 me. This old man is almost a mother to me. In one 
 way he is in truth. It is he who has trained me. He 
 took me in hand when I was fifteen. And he has the 
 strangest influence over me ! I wish I could explain. I 
 do not know how. I have tried and tried. 
 
 If it were possible to love with the spirit, with the soul, 
 leaving the body, its desires, its caresses, out of the ques- 
 tion, I should say that I loved him. But how could that 
 
 57
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 be, so strange, so unnatural ! It is nature's impossibility. 
 And I feel I think that he loves me in that same in- 
 explicable way. And there is not a page of my life that 
 is hidden from him. It would be useless if I wished to 
 try to conceal anything from that penetrating intelligence. 
 And he is old! He belongs to the age of Peter the 
 Great! 
 
 Can it be that he loves me for my mind, my soul, and 
 reckons of no consequence the sins of the body? Could 
 a man be great enough for that? I have told you of my 
 growing difficulty in grasping the physical certainty of 
 facts; how realities are slipping from me. His pres- 
 ence counteracts this. Or, better, it gives the substitute 
 of mental stability. The instant he enters a room I am 
 more dominant, fearless, than nature made me. I feel 
 that there are no impossibilities for me. And he, he 
 grows perceptibly younger. He enters into the youth 
 of me. My Nicholas, I have really seen this marvelous 
 man throw off age like a garment and become young. 
 And I have seen him grow shriveled and old as at the 
 waving of a magician's wand, until it seemed that he 
 might have been born at the time of the building of the 
 Pyramids. When he is with me I lose this pitiful feeling 
 for suffering and weakness which is characteristic of me. 
 I see with his eyes. I feel as he feels. I love, then, the 
 pomp of armies. I love the picturesqueness of cruelty 
 and the splendor of blood. And yet I know that it is 
 not really I who love any of these things. It is another 
 influence thrown over my clear and personless mind, 
 where unknown souls rise and set like mysterious 
 moons. 
 
 I wish you could have been there to have heard him 
 talk, you who are interested in different phases of life! 
 He says Count Bestushev that this is the last great 
 
 58
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 age of the world; great in the sense of the past. They 
 who come after us will not see life like this. They will 
 not dare to live. Personality will be a crime. They 
 will be fettered by conventions. But now is the day of 
 the individual! Never has its sway been so far reach- 
 ing. Religions have lost their primitive power. Kings 
 and emperors are no longer divine. But after us here 
 he became emphatic in his earnestness and his deep set 
 eyes glowed sternly after us, all sorts of mental fads 
 and culture schemes, and theories for soul-development 
 will rush in and cover up personality. In accordance 
 with these theories each one will try to force himself 
 into a ridiculous ideal of commonplace perfection. The 
 natures of men will lose range. Everyone will be com- 
 monplace. But now ! what grace I France has made 
 folly an art ! What love ! What hate ! In short, what 
 a range of life ! In the after time people will be as much 
 alike as if they had been cut out with the same cake 
 cutter. Never again will there be such daring, such 
 fancy, such repartee ! We use our tongues to keep our 
 heads on. They must be nimble and fine. 
 
 " I wish you to remember, Catherine Alexevna (if I 
 should die and not have the chance to tell you again) , 
 that this is a choice period of time, and that after us will 
 come a spirit of commercialism that will make life dull, 
 and people commonplace. 
 
 " Louis XV has said it, ' Apres nous le deluge' And 
 this is what he meant. Now we would laugh in the face 
 of a king if he were stupid, even if his blood were the 
 bluest Bourbon. But then then in this after time 
 they will pet a pig if he have a penny. The time that 
 comes after us will be like a play I read when I was in 
 England, in the service of good King George, a play by 
 an English playwright called Shakespeare. The name 
 
 59
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 of it is Midsummer Night's Dream. It tells how a 
 woman, whose eyes were blinded by love, lost her heart 
 to a donkey. Yes, your Royal Highness ! he ex- 
 claimed to me that is true ! The world that comes 
 after us will have its true, normal eyes blinded by fads 
 and theories of reform, until it falls down and worships 
 the donkey of commonplaceness." (There is no transla- 
 tion of this play into our language. I am answering your 
 question in advance, you see.) 
 
 Whenever he leaves me, Nicholas, after a conversa- 
 tion like this, it is as if I walk on air. I am triumphant, 
 dominant, joyous! That unconquered soul of him en- 
 tered into me. It must be that he loves me. How can 
 it be otherwise when in return for all he gives, he asks 
 nothing? Could such a thing be, think you, Nicholas, 
 that people could love each other with their brains, a 
 man and a woman? Did he caress me with his mind as 
 he sat there those dark winter hours, and I did not know 
 it? His devotion is unshakable. For me he does things 
 that jeopardize the fulfillment of his ambition. 
 
 And yet, is it good? Is it good? Is it he who is 
 making the monster out of me whom Europe gossips of 
 and condemns, but does not understand? Has he sepa- 
 rated, so I can not reunite them, the heart and the head? 
 Has he made me two separate women, one of whom 
 nothing can take away from him nothing, nothing; 
 his so thoroughly he can laugh at my lovers in scorn? 
 Sometimes for days, Nicholas, after he leaves me I live 
 on in this mad frenzy of the brain. I dominate every- 
 thing with which I come in contact. And then then 
 I find that I am weary, a peculiar weariness that is not 
 exactly physical. Then I desire another kind of life. 
 But when I get it, I cannot enjoy it. There is his revenge. 
 I cannot make it real. That is why I need you so, 
 
 60
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 Nicholas, long for you, you who in face and soul belong 
 to the race who have seen life clearest. There are days 
 when I try to keep your face before me in my mind. Its 
 passionate warmth in this misty north warms me as a fire 
 warms the body when one is chilly. I long to hear again 
 your joyous laughter! Surely, it will not be long now 
 before you return to Russia and to me! 
 
 C. A. 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 I have played for the Minister of Foreign Affairs, 
 Abbe Bernis, a number of times lately. And for him 
 alone ! He is one of the first courtiers, with the stamp of 
 the ancien regime. He is fond of music and more capa- 
 ble of judging it than most men of affairs. He is really 
 un pen connaisseur. 
 
 The last time I was there he talked with me after the 
 playing was over and we spent an hour together happily 
 enough. We talked of Russia because it is a subject 
 of which every one talks. His ideas are original. He 
 says that Russia became civilized so quickly that she is 
 suffering from vertigo. She has done in a few years 
 what it took Europe centuries to do since the Dark 
 Ages, in fact. This quick change from barbarism to 
 civilization has destroyed the normal. As a result, in 
 Russia to-day, we see excess a debauch of immensity. 
 Nothing is done in moderation. Its royal palace the 
 one which is just being finished is the largest in Europe. 
 Its furnishings are the most costly. They put Versailles 
 to shame. Its drawing rooms are twice the height and 
 length of Parisian drawing rooms. Its banquets are the 
 most sumptuous; its gems the largest and most numer- 
 ous. Nowhere has man lived in such reasonless mag- 
 nificence. Nowhere can be found such astonishing volup- 
 
 61
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 tuaries. Nowhere have they been so prodigal of gold. 
 Nowhere has man so disregarded law. 
 
 Then he gave expression to his pet theory which is 
 justified by fact that the great Russians of this cen- 
 tury (those of pure Russian blood), live but a little 
 while. 
 
 Peter the Great was only fifty-three when he died. 
 But he was an old man, wornout and exhausted. He did 
 not permit himself but three hours' sleep a night. The 
 Empress Elizabeth is in the forties. A young woman 
 as years count ! Yet she is dying of premature old age. 
 Count Alexis Razumovsky, her morganatic husband, that 
 exquisite rococo Russian courtier, with his faded, pastel 
 graces (of whom returning travelers tell), cannot be far 
 in the fifties. But he is as feeble as if he carried a cen- 
 tury upon his shoulders. He is swaddled in furs in 
 the summer time. Yet he shivers, he is so old. Count 
 Bestushev is still active despite his years, I grant. That 
 is because of his English blood, a calmer shall I say 
 duller? stock. 
 
 But look at General Aprakin! He impresses one as 
 utterly burnt out. He is white and waxen. He has 
 not strength to laugh or talk. That is the way they are 
 in Russia to-day, if they happen to live past forty 
 premature old age or death. 
 
 The reason he gives is interesting. Your Royal High- 
 ness will appreciate it. He says, for example, whenever 
 you cut down the primeval forests of the north, at once 
 there spring up to take their places, fields of flaming 
 flowers in some places called fire-flowers. They grow 
 to unusual height. They bloom richly. They are of 
 brilliant magenta color. They possess charm. They 
 possess beauty. But they do not last! They have soft 
 stalks. They lack strength resistance. They wilt. 
 
 62
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 They wither. That is what the Russian of to-day is 
 an exotic of life. The atmosphere is exhausting. 
 Neither brain nor body can withstand it. That is why 
 life is poured out like driven rain. But they are beau- 
 tiful and brilliant while they last these fine flowers of 
 your Russian race. We like them ! They appeal to our 
 artistic sense. 
 
 Then, he spoke of you, your different race, and a 
 quality which he termed sphinxlike that has puzzled the 
 diplomats. None of them knows where to place you. 
 That is well! Keep them in the dark until you step to 
 the front and fight for your rights. My impression is 
 that he does not like you. You are an unknown quantity 
 which he fears. I hear he is making efforts for the 
 French ambassador to lend you money instead of Eng- 
 land. You see he hopes to influence you through your 
 debts. 
 
 In every salon of Paris your name is coupled with that 
 of Orlov. Whenever I hear it, it is as if a dagger en- 
 tered my heart. Yet I knew from the first it must be ! 
 It has grieved me inexpressibly to be away from you, be- 
 cause I felt this must happen. But perhaps along with 
 happy memories of the past, you will preserve a sort of 
 gratitude to me because I have tried to serve you. You 
 will estimate the folly in the heart of a man when I tell 
 you that despite the new star that has arisen upon the 
 horizon of Russia, I am counting the days that must 
 pass before I can set out for Petersburg. There are 
 days when I think only of the past and the present has 
 no value. 
 
 One of the things that attracts you in Orlov, besides his 
 beauty, is one of the things that attracts you in the race 
 that mysterious Russian soul, which you understand 
 better than anyone else in the world. But I do not be- 
 
 63
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 lieve pardon me this, your Highness ! let its sin- 
 cerity be its excuse for being and my proven devotion to 
 yourself that he can love and understand you, the 
 woman, as I do. I will tell you why when I reach 
 Russia. I will prove it to your Highness ! 
 
 No matter how Fate may heap honors, there is love 
 simple, human love the heart must have. To be able to 
 love is proof of genius. The heart has title to nobility. 
 Herein lies my hope that you cannot forget me while I 
 am away from you, dreaming, as I do daily, of the first 
 gay moment of joy when we shall be alone together. 
 
 N. M. 
 
 PETERSBURG. 
 
 Dear Nicholas Murievich: Although I have not 
 acknowledged it, I am mindful of your memento. 
 
 Things grow perceptibly worse as regards my posi- 
 tion, more dangerous, and less easy to maintain with- 
 out giving hint that I am aware of danger. My servants, 
 my friends, except Princess Dashkov and Count Bes- 
 tushev, are being exiled. Count Bestushev owes his per- 
 manency as indeed he has always to the fact that 
 amid her caprices and hysteria, her Majesty knows that 
 he is good for Russia. But she has never liked him! 
 And just now I am in great disfavor. The only thing 
 that can help me materially is a personal interview with 
 her Majesty, who, at heart, has always liked me. You 
 know how difficult it is to see her alone at any time, and 
 more especially now since her illness. 
 
 I must tell you what happened last night. Leo Narish- 
 kin has taken up the habit of pausing before my door and 
 meowing like a cat. When I meow back, he comes in. 
 
 Last night between six and seven he meowed. I let 
 him in. He brought a greeting from the wife of his 
 
 64
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 elder brother, said that she was ill and added, " You 
 ought to pay her a visit." 
 
 " But how can I? 'I may not go out without permis- 
 sion." 
 
 " I will take you there if you wish." 
 
 " You are crazy ! You would be thrown into a dun- 
 geon and I would suffer all the unpleasantnesses in the 
 world." 
 
 " No one shall know a thing about it." 
 
 " What do you mean? " 
 
 " I will be back in an hour after you. The Grand 
 Duke will be at supper." 
 
 For some time I have remained in my room at this hour 
 under pretext that I did not care to eat. The Grand 
 Duke sits at table until midnight, gets drunk and falls 
 asleep. (Since the birth of Paul Petrovich we have not 
 slept in the same room.) 
 
 Leo Narishkin departed. I called my old Calmuck. 
 I told him to bring me a suit of men's clothes. This 
 Calmuck of mine never opens his mouth. It is harder to 
 make him talk than to make other people keep silence. 
 At the appointed hour Leo Narishkin was back and 
 meowed at my door. I let him in. Through the little 
 entrance salon we reached the exit and were not seen by 
 any one. There we got into a carriage. We surprised 
 Anna Nikitishna who had not expected us. Gregory and 
 Alexis Orlov were there and Princess Dashkov. She, 
 too, in men's clothes. She looked just like a sixteen- 
 year-old boy. She is not much older. 
 
 We had the gayest evening ! When it was time to go, 
 Gregory Orlov sent for his sledge. We got into it and 
 drove to the Dresden Woman's, who, as you know, keeps 
 a gambling resort for men of the upper class and women 
 of the theater. All the Orlov brothers were there to 
 
 65
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 protect me in case anyone should penetrate my disguise. 
 They looked like an army of Holstein giants. Alexis 
 Orlov, who is the strongest and the tallest man in Russia, 
 stood beside me. It was at this same Dresden Woman's 
 where he got that gash across the cheek and took the 
 name every one gives him le balafre. 
 
 We played biribis with a crowd of young bloods. 
 Gregory and I won thousands of rubles. I had the touch 
 of Midas. Everything turned to gold. That put Greg- 
 ory in great spirits. He always needs money. 
 
 I heard myself and the Grand Duke discussed. All 
 are on my side because of my devotion to the Orthodox 
 Church. What else do you suppose I heard? That they 
 like me because my sins are Russian ! I laughed and said 
 to Gregory, " By their sins ye shall know them the 
 Russians." 
 
 There was a dancing girl there from Little Russia 
 called Maschuta, who was so wildly beautiful I could not 
 take my eyes from her face. I hear a good deal of talk 
 of her. I saw Gregory Orlov look at her again and 
 again. She is very small not larger than a child 
 and round and muscular. But so exquisite are her pro- 
 portions one does not realize she is below normal in size. 
 She does not wear stays but her body is as perfectly 
 formed as if she did. Her eyes are pale gray I 
 think but they blacken and dilate and sometimes turn 
 green like a cat's. Her skin is so dark it reminds one of 
 the negro races; but it is underflushed with red. The 
 remarkable thing about her, however, is her teeth. They 
 are more brilliantly white than any I ever saw. They 
 are a perpetual lure. And the light runs across them in a 
 hard, cruel way. She moves as if she were shod with 
 velvet. The tones of her voice are soft and strange like 
 her movements. Never could one forget her teeth or 
 
 66
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 the vigorous litheness of her body. For an instant I hated 
 her. I would rather be an irresistible woman, Nicholas 
 Murievich, than Empress ! She is like an exotic fruit, 
 but not the pale kind we grow here under glass. 
 
 She sang to her own accompaniment on the balalaika, 
 one of the songs of the Cossacks, full of plaintive minors 
 that floated indistinctly as smoke. Then, she danced a 
 dance of Little Russia, a dance of quick pauses that al- 
 most stop the breath, and crisp, startling movement. 
 When she finished, I saw a look in Gregory Orlov's face 
 that I never saw there before. She stared at me so in- 
 tently it was as if she suspected something. These gipsies 
 have the divining power of animals, some sensitiveness 
 that we who live in houses have lost. 
 
 There was danger, too, that night at the Dresden 
 Woman's! The spies of all nations were there. 
 
 From the Dresden Woman's we went on to Gregory 
 Orlov's rooms. He wished to find out how I am pro- 
 gressing with my fencing. I showed him! I have 
 learned the coup de Jesuit. Once I twisted the sword 
 from his hand. There is some glory in that! Gregory 
 is no mean swordsman. 
 
 I reached the palace in time for breakfast. My old 
 Calmuck was waiting for me, and the Grand Duke was 
 so drunk he could not get up. So everything turned out 
 well. Or, as Count Bestushev says he learned this in 
 England, " All's well that ends well." That is better, 
 is it not? We can safely have these parties twice a week 
 now, since everything is at sixes and sevens because of 
 her Majesty. 
 
 I hope you will be here soon to be with us. 
 
 C. A.
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 A new fear has taken possession of me. I feel that 
 you do not appreciate the nearness of the danger that 
 threatens, that you do not realize life is at stake; that 
 if you do not win, there is death or prison or the convent 
 ahead. Do not devote too much time to amusements. 
 Do not let them make you forget the noose is drawing 
 closer. Do not let easy pleasures of the moment lead 
 you into carelessness. 
 
 I know it is your belief practice to make life al- 
 ways the same, to turn toward it the bright face of hap- 
 piness, to live it up gayly to the last moment, without 
 worry or fret for the things we cannot change. That is 
 brave. But this is time when you must be two women. 
 While living as usual so that no one can see a change 
 in your conduct, you must be on the alert, making each 
 day some helpful addition to the plans that will give 
 you victory. You have against you in the Prussian ruler 
 unless you yield to his demands one of the most 
 unscrupulous of men. My heart fears for you and trem- 
 bles, because so many long miles separate me from you 
 whom I would gladly shield with my life. 
 
 Love can make us do wonderful things, Catherine 
 Alexevna, things that surprise ourselves. I am glad 
 now that Orlov is with you, because for the furtherance 
 of his own selfish ends he will shield you. 
 
 Your letters, which are filled with accounts of merry- 
 making and the diversions of court, make me fear lest 
 you are forgetting, and need me near to keep whispering 
 memento! Not every one has an opportunity to try for 
 a crown and that opportunity but once. 
 
 N. M. 
 
 68
 
 PETERSBURG. 
 
 One day, or rather evening, last week, I held court for 
 her Majesty. This does not mean that I am reinstated 
 to favor. Not by any means ! But merely that court 
 had to be held since life and its duties go on, and legally 
 the responsibility fell on me. 
 
 That day I spent the last hour or two of the limited 
 light out-of-doors, driving. I felt need of space, quiet. 
 I am learning to love the winters in Russia, Nicholas 
 Murievich, and to enjoy the cold. It gives me a sense 
 of well-being. It makes me feel that the strength of my 
 body is inexhaustible. I crave physical exertions that 
 are wearying. I have a desire to put my mind to sleep 
 and let my body live on like a Titan. It is exhilarating, 
 this sense of physical power. I must make the most of 
 it. Winter is now slipping toward the verge of spring. 
 
 When it is at its height and the cold intensifies day by 
 day, the light grows brighter, thinner, sharper, harder, 
 more diamond-like, until midday is the color of steel. 
 Above, in the air, as far as one can see, there are moving 
 substances like frost, glittering points of ice spiculae 
 that weave and weave. Winter is a splendid tragedy 
 that bears death upon its wings. And the silence of these 
 winters, Nicholas Murievich, is appalling. I love that, 
 too! It makes me feel that I am the only one alive. 
 The silence is so great it makes sound unthinkable. Even 
 the wind is still. It is afraid of its own voice. It is so 
 silent, Nicholas Murievich, it is as if sound perished 
 ages ago. The cold is like silver. But the snow does 
 not even shine. It grows whiter, whiter, more dead, 
 more opaque. It is like the dream of an Arctic dawn 
 before color was. I feel so very far away here, Nicholas 
 Murievich, far from European life and civilization; so 
 far it does not seem that a crime would be a crime as it 
 
 69
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 would be in other places. When the cold is great, one 
 cannot feel a wound. One cannot feel blood flow. The 
 fury of the north dulls the sensibility of pain. Some- 
 times, it makes one desire it to satisfy some unnatural 
 longing of the soul. The winter makes me feel that I 
 am living upon an uninhabited earth. If I do not get 
 rid of this sensation, I shall do some dreadful thing some 
 day, Nicholas Murievich, and never know it, because 
 I shall be so far away from it. 
 
 As you know, there is nothing interesting in the coun- 
 try adjacent to Petersburg except monotony. That is so 
 great under the snow that it is magnificent. Petersburg, 
 that day while the light lasted, was a mass of smoky 
 violet, heightened by the gold tower points of the Admir- 
 alty and the gold lace crosses of the church of Our Lady 
 of Kasan. When I glimpsed it first coming back, after 
 the day had dropped, it was an ugly blot upon the snow. 
 But when I entered it under the faint moon when the 
 streets were deserted and the night had come, it was a 
 fairy city of faded silver, of free, fine, splendid lines, and 
 silent streets. 
 
 I enjoyed the court that day because of something you 
 said to me once; that a court scene in Russia was like 
 a comic opera in Paris. I thought of it just that way 
 that day, a comic opera in a Louis XV setting. I played 
 my part, too, as if I were upon the stage in Paris, and 
 you were looking on applauding. If it had been real, I 
 could not have done it so well. But it was not! So I 
 had the best time in the world trying to make it so. 
 
 Everyone came, even old Count Alexis Razumovsky, 
 the life-long lover of her Majesty. His eyes are like 
 sad, dull, black satin that is worn and old. And they 
 never smile. But he has faded remnants of beauty of a 
 languid, tropic kind. Subanski, the Adonis of the Hus- 
 
 70
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 sars, was a golden beauty, and at the same time a walking 
 fashion-plate. He carried an enormous muff of sable and 
 wore massive gems in his ears. He is a relative of Prince 
 Carl Radziwill, " Panni Kochanku," and he is interested 
 that every one should know it. Count Bestushev was 
 there dressed in black without a jewel or a decoration. 
 He hovered silently in one corner like a black and omi- 
 nous raven. He is so thin, he is like a spirit draped in 
 flesh. But you can feel his presence ! He does not need 
 to speak, this old man whom Europe obeys. Count 
 Esterhazy was present with a sneer upon his lips, and 
 Marquis de 1'Hopital with his soft, insinuating gallan- 
 tries. I hate them both! Leo Narishkin was smiles 
 and merriment. I know he longed to whisper in my ear 
 and ask when we could have another little party. 
 
 There were beauties from southern Russia whom you 
 would have enjoyed, pale and sweet looking. They have 
 not smelled fresh air for months. Imagine ! They 
 wore the latest gauzes from Paris and their French was 
 perfect. But in their eyes the Occident and the Orient 
 met. 
 
 There was a Finnish woman who gave me pleasure. 
 She had faded blue-enamel eyes and corn-silk hair. 
 Elizabeth Woronzov looked fatter and shorter and 
 darker than usual, and more stupid, too. Countess Bruce 
 was with her. Her cheeks were very red and her bright 
 eyes were dancing with malice. 
 
 There were little round, fat-bellied, full-bearded mer- 
 chants from Great Novgorod with thick golden rings 
 dangling from their ears. (The Empress is mother of 
 the people. On court days all can come.) 
 
 There were men from Kishinev in coarse, white woolen 
 caftans; grumbling Finlanders; a Khan in saffron yellow; 
 Lithuanian religionists; white faced people from the Bal-
 
 tic provinces ; great farmers from villages by the Volga ; 
 broad, felt hatted Moldavians; melancholy Poles wear- 
 ing the zupan; Hungarians in short, braided coats; brown 
 and wiry Tartars; Cossacks from the Don and the prov- 
 ince of Orenburg, with their rich beauty in which there is 
 almost a reminiscence of Greece; yellow-faced, slant-eyed 
 Calmucks; turbanned Mussulmans; Turkish Janizzaries; 
 soft-eyed Syrians; soldiers in corn-flower blue mantles; 
 Circassians, Siberians; black robed Jesuits; sober coated 
 Englishmen; in short, two hemispheres were represented. 
 There were dandies with the corrupt exquisiteness of 
 the ancien regime; our old noblesse, showing the blend- 
 ing of the Russian and the Asiatic, wearing upon their 
 breasts all the orders of Russia, noticeable among which 
 were the Order of Saint Andrew upon a ribbon of blue, 
 and the circular, diamond star of Alexander Nevsky. 
 There were a few women of old Russia, genuine Mus- 
 covites, who can remember the terem which the great 
 Peter abolished. Modernite has not affected them. 
 They have the monumental calm of marble. I never 
 saw the Grand Duke look uglier or more pitiful. He 
 wore a three-pointed Prussian hat with a Spanish feather 
 stuck in the side of it; bottes fortes; and trousers as tight 
 as his skin, so his poor little legs looked thinner than 
 ever. He seemed more flat chested and insignificant in 
 size than usual. His smallpox scars were prominent. 
 That old twitching of the facial muscles, which he in- 
 herited from Peter the Great, made him look one mo- 
 ment as if he were giggling inanely, and the next as if 
 he were ready to cry. His little round gray, foolish eyes 
 were dashed with fretful tears. He did not have any 
 memory nor any presence of mind, but just teetered aim- 
 lessly about on those twisting legs. I could have cried 
 for sheer pity. And he is the descendant of Charles XII 
 
 72
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 of Sweden and Peter the Great of Russia, two of the 
 world's most daring imperial generals. What a jest! 
 What a pitiful jest! 
 
 There were plenty of suave and insinuating courtiers. 
 There were statesmen whom all the courts of Europe had 
 trained, and gray, battle-scarred warriors who learned 
 their trade in the school of Aprakin and Marshal Miin- 
 nich. We need not be ashamed of our statesmen at our 
 entry among the nations. 
 
 Our young bloods are carrying dress to extremes just 
 now. The expenditure of the court set is fabulous. The 
 young men paint their faces, load themselves with gems 
 like women, and keep their hands protected by muffs. 
 They remind one of the courtiers of decadent Rome whom 
 luxury had weakened. Many parallels indeed might be 
 drawn between this Russia of ours and Rome of the 
 decadence. It was Count Bestushev who said this after 
 the court was over. The comparison pleases him. He 
 toys with it frequently. There is the same disconcerting 
 combination of the important and the unimportant; the 
 same unreckoning luxury; the same breaking of custom- 
 ary barriers; and the same trembling presentiment of 
 change to come. He likes it. He enjoys the shadows 
 that are flitting over the age. He is glad he has lived 
 to see them. He wishes he could see the end. 
 
 He said, as he stood in his corner watching the crowd, 
 he amused himself by comparing me with the rulers of 
 Russia. They of the past were superstitious and fanat- 
 ical, while I am serene, pleasure loving, pagan. I am 
 what he has made me. There was pride in his voice 
 as he said this. 
 
 After the crowd had gone we were alone together for 
 a while in the spacious room where a myriad of dying 
 candles were fretting the floor with shadows. 
 
 73
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " It will not be long, Catherine Alexevna, before you 
 and I will be alone in Russia just as we are in this 
 room to-night and a myriad of faiths " here he 
 waved his. frail hands toward the fluttering candles 
 " will try to fetter us with the fading superstitions of 
 the Muscovite. Ah ! Catherine Alexevna " 
 
 He did not finish the sentence, but stood beside me 
 in silence. For those moments of silence, Nicholas 
 Murievich, I felt the greatest sensation I have felt in 
 my life. It was as if something bound the soul of me 
 to the soul of him. Of what use are words? I cannot 
 explain ! Good night, dear Nicholas Murievich. 
 
 C. A. 
 
 PARIS. 
 
 I am leaving Paris in the morning for the seat of war. 
 Half the young noblemen of France are in the train of 
 the armies, watching the game of death, just as one would 
 watch a stage play at Les Italiens. I hear that the 
 army of Russia is marching westward under Aprakin, 
 an army so tremendous the earth trembles. The report 
 here is that one hundred and ten thousand regulars and 
 seventy thousand Cossacks are on the borders of Livonia 
 marching toward Prussia, and that Orlov is with them 
 commanding the artillery. No one talks of anything but 
 the war and the advance of Russia. Gossip is laid aside. 
 We all felt that it must come with the spring the army 
 of Russia. I go at once to the seat of war. My next 
 letter will be from there. 
 
 I am worried that Orlov is no longer in Petersburg to 
 watch over you. There is no one now but Count Bes- 
 tushev. He is so overwhelmed, of course, with the added 
 demands the war puts upon him and the enemies who are 
 
 74
 
 NICHOLAS AND CATHERINE 
 
 trying to depose him, that there will be little time left 
 for you. 
 
 My hope and consolation now must rest with you and 
 your own ability. I know, of course, that you are more 
 daring than other women, that the weariness of the 
 decadent centuries has not touched you, and that you 
 will always find courage in your heart. 
 
 N. M. 
 
 75
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 NICHOLAS MURIEVICH, GREEK MUSICIAN AND PATRIOT, 
 AND CATHERINE ALEXEVNA, GRAND DUCHESS OF 
 RUSSIA MORE LETTERS 
 
 ORANIENBAUM ON THE GULF OF FINLAND. 
 Dear Nicholas Murievich: 
 
 The coming of spring in these Arctic regions is noth- 
 ing short of magic. It is as if an enchanter waved his 
 wand one day and said, " Let there be winter ! " The 
 next day he waved it again and said, " Let there be 
 spring! " And it is of the most exquisite and fragile 
 fairness. 
 
 I am at Oranienbaum. I came down last week driv- 
 ing along the sandy road that borders the river. Spring 
 was in its glory. The air was warm and sweet. The 
 birches, the lindens, the dwarf willows, the mountain 
 ash were covered with transparent green flames. It will 
 not be long now before the syringa will be in flower. 
 
 The pale nights are filled with the voices of wild ducks 
 that are coming back to visit the swamps and the marshes 
 of the Gulf of Finland. And by day, too, their high, 
 black shadows streak the sky. I am glad to be away 
 from the court and its intrigues. Glad to rest! Yet, 
 soon I shall need its excitement again. Its atmosphere 
 has been my life too long to be dispensed with perma- 
 nently. But I am happy away from it now. I am glad 
 I am here.
 
 MUSICIAN AND GRAND DUCHESS 
 
 I had an interview with her Majesty before I left for 
 Oranienbaum. Before it took place she sent both Count 
 Ivan Shuvalov and Vice-Chancellor Woronzov to dis- 
 suade me from my desire to return to Prussia. I per- 
 sisted in the determination. Then, she sent for me to 
 come to her apartments. This, of course, was what I 
 wanted. I found her Majesty alone. The silk umbrella 
 was not spread behind the French couch, so I knew that 
 we were really alone. I began by thanking her Majesty 
 for her graciousness in granting an interview and said 
 that the mere announcement had made me live again. 
 She replied, " Now you must tell me the truth ! " 
 
 I assured her that from me she would hear nothing 
 but truth. Thereupon she demanded how many letters 
 I had written to Field-Marshal Aprakin. I told her. 
 She believed me and the question was settled. And yet 
 that was not really what settled it. It was the under- 
 standing of each other of two women whom Fate has 
 assigned the same places to fill. It was the inexplicable 
 sympathy of like to like. 
 
 She was grown noticeably thinner. In her eyes there 
 is a light which only approaching death can light. One 
 of her wishes is to live long enough to destroy the Prus- 
 sian king. Tenacity of purpose makes her great. She 
 is not a woman to be measured by the petty German 
 standard. I took leave of her with tears. 
 
 This interview insures a certain amount of peace 
 for the present Yet, here in the quiet of Oranienbaum, 
 by this pale and placid Gulf, which is scarcely marked 
 by the tides which do not rise and fall as they do in 
 the German Ocean I am losing faster than ever, 
 Nicholas Murievich, the sense of reality. I cannot get 
 the mental certainty of a thing when I have the physical 
 certainty of it. Nor indeed do I think I grasp any cer- 
 
 77
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 tainty. Perhaps this is what happens to people who are 
 led to a place in life where they do terrible things. If 
 I could get away now, I could recover, because I see what 
 is happening. But if I cannot get away and I know 
 that I cannot the day will come when I cannot see. 
 The day will come when I shall do terrible things, 
 Nicholas Murievich, when the destruction which is going 
 on within me shall be complete. 
 
 The day of the Court when I was driving outside 
 Petersburg where the snow wastes are, I thought how 
 like them is the soul of me, bleak and brilliantly reflecting. 
 Within me are the same wastes of cold and silence. As 
 I drove along that day, I saw miniature whirlwinds of 
 frost dust rise up and dance across the levels. Or, I 
 saw dark, soft-footed, furry creatures with furtive eyes 
 dart over it. It showed both brilliantly. But the waste 
 itself was motionless and felt nothing. It was a mirror 
 that gave back the motion of life. I am becoming like 
 it, Nicholas Murievich. No one escapes his surround- 
 ings. Destiny stamps each of us. 
 
 I cannot tell you how eagerly I am looking forward 
 to your return, which must be in a short time now. I 
 want you to warm me back to life, to the normal life that 
 other people know. I want your love to make of me a 
 woman. 
 
 My brown faun, you belong to the glad tender things 
 of nature where the heart is kind. I want you to kill 
 within me the passionless fury of the north. I want you 
 to counteract its numbing and destructive cold. 
 
 I sit for hours alone upon the high terrace that over- 
 hangs the sea, looking up from time to time at the stars 
 of our Russian night, and they are just as real to me, 
 winking in space, as I, or the life that is mine. That 
 is why I am so brave. I said to Count Esterhazy at a 
 
 78
 
 MUSICIAN AND GRAND DUCHESS 
 
 dinner before I left Petersburg, " There is no other 
 woman so brave as I ! " I could stand in front of a 
 loaded cannon as calmly as I sit upon this terrace, because 
 I could not realize the danger. If I could, I might be 
 a coward. 
 
 Yesterday, Count Bestushev came down. After sup- 
 per he sat with me upon the terrace. Summer mist hid 
 the land. It was as if he and I were alone in space. 
 I have never seen the world more unreal. We sat for 
 an hour, I should think, in silence. It seems that that 
 is the way we converse best. Suddenly, he turned to me 
 with that quick movement of the head and hand: " You 
 must kill the Grand Duke! There is no way to get 
 around it. You must kill him ! Not to-day nor to-mor- 
 row but when the crash comes." 
 
 Nicholas Murievich, it was just as if he said to me, 
 ' You must wear your silver embroidered ball gown." 
 The fact behind the words was aeons away and I could 
 not feel it. The water kept singing against the shore. 
 The stars kept on shining in space. Yet, he had said, 
 " You must kill the Grand Duke ! " You see, Nicholas 
 Murievich, I am like the stars and the sea. They keep on 
 their appointed way. And so shall I. When he got 
 ready to go, he stood and looked thoughtfully down at 
 the pale Gulf that spread at his feet. 
 
 " Some day, Catherine Alexevna, if you are true to 
 me and you cannot help being you and I will stand 
 upon the crest of the world, just as we are standing upon 
 this terrace." His thin old voice grew strong and full 
 with the joy of dominance. I thought I could hear it 
 going out over the sea. Then, he left me without even 
 shaking hands. But, after he had gone, his presence 
 lingered on far into the night. Sometimes for days it 
 is beside me all the time like a person I cannot see. 
 
 79
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 I am alone a good deal at Oranienbaum. The Grand 
 Duke is at Peterhof part of the time, coming down only 
 occasionally for the duck shooting. Elizabeth Woron- 
 zov is with him; and so is Countess Bruce, I hear. She 
 is just as wicked hearted as that wizard grandfather of 
 hers whom they nicknamed the " Russian Faust." 
 
 The Empress stays on at the Winter Palace. She is 
 too ill to make the summer journey. Besides, it is more 
 like home to her than any other place now that the 
 palace of her childhood in Moscow is burned. And she 
 has no liking for the new one. 
 
 I am expecting that every letter from you will an- 
 nounce your speedy departure for Russia. Do come 
 while the summer is here and I am at Oranienbaum I 
 
 C. A. 
 
 BY THE BANKS OF THE PREGEL. 
 
 I arrived just in time. The journey was short, thanks 
 to relays of horses. The couriers I met on the road 
 talked of nothing but the army of Russia. It has filled 
 a continent with terror. One would think it was an- 
 other incursion of the Huns. They speak of it as of an 
 army of savages whose depredations will make Europe 
 shudder. I hear Austria made the commander-in-chief, 
 Aprakin, sign a pledge that his Cossacks should not pil- 
 lage nor murder. Really, it is as if the tread of your 
 army shook the earth, it has been awaited with such 
 apprehension. 
 
 How Frederick the Great fears it ! He is in consterna- 
 tion. The end may be near for him and he knows it. 
 I heard on good authority that he has decided to kill 
 himself in case the ruin of his country cannot be avoided. 
 He has written an apology for suicide. How contact 
 
 80
 
 MUSICIAN AND GRAND DUCHESS 
 
 with Russia makes even great men dream of death! 
 When he heard the Russian army was on the way, he 
 wrote to his brother Prince Henry, " How happy are 
 the dead!" 
 
 Now I have seen this army all are discussing I do 
 not wonder. I saw it first under the sullen fog of an 
 August morning stretching away through the wet corn 
 fields that border the Pregel. It was like the on-rolling 
 wave of a Polar ocean. The resourcefulness of genius 
 cannot avert it. Even though the first wave be shat- 
 tered, others will come, and still others, crushing what- 
 ever is in their path. 
 
 General Aprakin did not intend to give battle here. 
 He was pushing on to Konigsberg, which, as you know, 
 is a Russian city of which Suvarov is now governor. 
 This was his desired objective point. But the Prussian 
 king had given orders to his commanding general, Mar- 
 shal Lehwaldt, to attack. So you see our attitude was 
 purely defensive. That usually means defeat. 
 
 They met near Gross-Jagersdorf. I saw the battle. 
 It was terrible. And there was something pitiful in the 
 great age and indifference to death of the commanding 
 generals. The Prussians were literally cut into pieces. 
 But their bravery in meeting death was marvelous. 
 There is nothing in Europe to equal it, except Gregory 
 Orlov. History does not tell of men braver than he. 
 His indifference to death won the admiration of both 
 armies. Imagine, your Royal Highness, that tall figure 
 of his towering neck and shoulders above ordinary men, 
 bare of head, with streaming hair shining like a flame, 
 wherever death was nearest; laughing deliriously when 
 the bullets hissed past him, as if he were playing with 
 them, just as a boy plays with tossing marbles. He was 
 a splendid and inspired figure, radiant with youth and
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 vigor, a veritable Apollo, such as the poets of my coun- 
 try have sung of. 
 
 I wonder what it was he held clasped in his heart 
 that gave him such courage! I kept saying to myself, 
 " Is it her Royal Highness? " Pardon me this I will 
 explain it later. 
 
 " No," I said. " It is not that. It is ambition. It 
 is belief in his star of destiny. It is belief that he is the 
 favorite of the gods whom nothing can destroy." 
 
 After the battle he was as fresh as if he had arisen from 
 his morning sleep. He was the only Russian who gave 
 evidence of a feeling greater than interest. 
 
 They were dull, apathetic; a cold, unfeeling mass. I 
 am hastening to get this off by the courier, who is wait- 
 ing while I write, that you may have the first news of 
 victory. And I am wishing more bitterly than usual, 
 while I send it, that my body could be in Russia to-night 
 where my heart is. 
 
 N. M. 
 
 ORANIENBAUM ON THE GULF OF FINLAND. 
 Dearest Nicholas: 
 
 The Grand Duke is sending news of everything that 
 goes on to the King. Did anyone ever hear of such 
 folly! Betraying his birthright! Bartering a Russian 
 realm for a Holstein duchy! Poor fool! The King 
 has sent him a ring in acknowledgment. He swears by 
 it as if it were the Holy Mother of God of Kasan. He 
 sees everything in just such disjointed perspective. He 
 is just as wrong-headed as that. 
 
 You remember Maschuta the gipsy dancer, of whom 
 I wrote? She is staying in Petersburg for the summer in- 
 stead of taking up her accustomed vagabondage to south- 
 ern Russia. She has met the Grand Duke. They say 
 
 82
 
 MUSICIAN AND GRAND DUCHESS 
 
 she has influence over him. I do not like their growing 
 intimacy. I would stop it if I could. 
 
 The Grand Duke is at Oranienbaum for a few days 
 now for the duck shooting. I am enjoying the duck 
 shooting, too. Yet it is not really that that I care for. 
 It is need of exercise which I crave more and more. I 
 crave it as greatly now as I did in the winter. I arise 
 at three and dress in men's clothes. An old hunter 
 awaits me with guns and a boat. We row through the 
 Oranienbaum Canal which is two versts wide here where 
 it meets the Gulf. On both banks are water grasses 
 which are full of ducks and splashing water fowl. At 
 this time of year it is day in this latitude. The sun sets 
 only for a little while after midnight. The witchlike 
 daylight night upon this Arctic water with the iris necked 
 ducks flying about us is exquisite. The backs and the 
 heads of the ducks are the color of summer and flowers. 
 But their white, mottled breasts are the color of flower- 
 less winter. 
 
 Whenever I see them rising directly above me, I see 
 the snow fields. Even now, in midsummer, Nicholas 
 Murievich, there are cold, white clouds sailing across 
 the sky, that have the chill of winter. Just beyond the 
 smiling blue horizon of this sea the icebergs rest. Win- 
 ter is never far away from here. 
 
 The Grand Duke does not join us until two or three 
 hours later. When he does come, it is with a retinue of 
 servants and a breakfast of many courses. Everything 
 has to stop for this! He cannot do anything without 
 hindering annoyances. There is no surer mark of in- 
 ability. 
 
 After the shooting is over, when the Grand Duke has 
 gone back to Oranienbaum, the old hunter and I drift 
 down the canal as far as the sea. Sometimes, we go out 
 
 83
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 upon it. This is dangerous. That is the reason I like 
 it. For the moment it gives me the sting of life. 
 
 Last week, one day when we were coming back, in 
 about the center of the canal, I got out for another try 
 at the ducks. There, hidden in the swamp grass and 
 rushes, whom do you suppose I met? Maschuta! She 
 divined who I was. She must have known me that night 
 at the Dresden Woman's. When she met me on a sud- 
 den in the swamp, her gray eyes became black with 
 hatred. I felt the emotion that swept her. She was 
 disguised as a gipsy. She was worth looking at! I 
 thought of those pictures of youth your French friend 
 Greuze paints. But could he paint a tigress and a woman 
 at the same time? The charm of the one, the muscular 
 beauty of the other? The Grand Duke has hired her as 
 a spy I I feel sure of it. That is the reason she is stay- 
 ing in Petersburg. That is the reason she was by the 
 Oranienbaum Canal. I do not fear her although I know 
 how dangerous she is. When I looked into her eyes, I 
 felt I was the power that some day would pass over and 
 crush her. I feel that no misfortune can touch me. All 
 the time I was hunting that day, Nicholas Murievich, 
 I heard ringing in my heart like a bell, so loudly it 
 seemed to me the world must hear it, what Count Bes- 
 tushev said, " You must kill the Grand Duke! " I did 
 not feel surprise or grief, or any emotion, except a wish 
 that the bell would stop ringing. At the same time I 
 knew that nothing could stop it. 
 
 Taken all in all that was an eventful day. Hear what 
 happened next! That night Count Poniatovsky came 
 down in the disguise of a coiffeur to make merry for an 
 hour. We have had fun out of this piece of nonsense. 
 He comes through the rear of the palace like a servant. 
 He plays the part so perfectly you could not tell him 
 
 84
 
 MUSICIAN AND GRAND DUCHESS 
 
 from a professional hairdresser. He really comes into 
 my room and dresses my hair ! My maids who are 
 in the secret and I, laugh ourselves breathless. Im- 
 agine, Nicholas Murievich, that Polish dandy playing 
 hairdresser ! 
 
 Well, that evening as usual, before supper, he came in 
 by way of the garden. He had not crossed it in truth 
 I think he had only started to do so when the Grand 
 Duke ran up and stopped him and said: 'Yes, yes! 
 I see that our most indispensable French hairdresser is 
 none other than Count Poniatovsky our Polish ex- 
 quisite ! What are you doing here in this disguise? " 
 
 " I come to pay my respects to your Royal Highness 
 and the Grand Duchess." 
 
 " It looks like it, Count Poniatovsky, sneaking in by the 
 garden! " 
 
 (You see, Nicholas Murievich, he was so frightened he 
 lost his wits.) 
 
 " You came to see the Grand Duchess without my 
 permission or that of her Majesty." 
 
 A violent quarrel followed. The Grand Duke called 
 his men. I do not know how serious the result would 
 have been for Count Poniatovsky, had not a Polish friend 
 of the Grand Duke, Count Branitzky, in order, perhaps, 
 to save his countryman's life, come forward. He threw 
 Count Poniatovsky out of the garden, administering ad- 
 monitory kicks by the way. 
 
 Just then a woman's laughter rang out, stabbing the 
 night like a dagger. It was Maschuta ! I looked at 
 the Grand Duke. The Grand Duke looked at me. Not 
 a word did we say! But he understands that I know 
 it was Maschuta who learned of Count Poniatovsky's 
 disguise and betrayed the fact to the Grand Duke. That 
 laughter was her challenge to me. 
 
 85
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Count Poniatovsky has been ordered to leave Russia. 
 That means another loss for Count Bestushev and my- 
 self. Daily some friend is exiled. 
 
 Despite such unpleasantly dramatic incidents and the 
 uncertainty of my position, I am enjoying the Russian 
 summer which is fiercely hot. Here, snow falls heaviest 
 in winter and the summer heat is most unbearable. Mid- 
 day is dull and sullen. Bluish haze hangs over the land. 
 In it the sun rolls about like a red ball. As late as mid- 
 night flaming streamers streak the sky and leave faint 
 furrows upon this placid Gulf. Every night the Grand 
 Duke is here; he sits upon the terrace and plays upon his 
 violin. But the past few nights he breaks his playing off 
 to look longingly across the water. Night before last 
 I asked him what he was thinking of after he had sat 
 silent for some time. 
 
 " I am thinking how I want to go back to Sweden. It 
 was so peaceful there. I could play upon my violin and 
 be happy. In Russia there is nothing but revolution. 
 The Russians are just a pack of wolves." 
 
 He is frail and helpless in this awful Russia. He is 
 as ineffective as a fly upon the horns of an ox. I am 
 sorry he hates me. I am the only one who pities him and 
 understands. I, too, long to get away from Russia. 
 
 Ah ! dear Nicholas Murievich, it will take a great deal 
 of love's deep forgetfulness in your encircling arms to 
 drive from me, for even a little while, the terror of Rus- 
 sia ! You will be on the wing as quickly as this reaches 
 you. I shall count the days until I can look out over the 
 Gulf and fancy that every passing ship bears you back to 
 Petersburg. I shall wonder if you are passing me in the 
 day or in the night. I shall wonder if the breeze that 
 touches my face has first billowed the sails of the ship 
 that is bearing you back to me. Come quickly. Come 
 
 86
 
 MUSICIAN AND GRAND DUCHESS 
 
 quickly while the sun of summer is smiling over Rus- 
 sia. Come quickly, because you know the storms are 
 never far away from here. 
 
 C. A. 
 
 BY THE BANKS OF THE PREGEL. 
 
 Your Highness, what do you think has happened? 
 The most astonishing, the most foolish, the most pitiful, 
 the most ridiculous thing in the world! The Russians 
 are retreating! You do not believe it? Of course you 
 do not! Who could? But it is true. Retreating! 
 They are giving up the rewards of victory. Why? No 
 one knows ! No one can hazard a guess ! And they 
 could march on to-night and take Berlin. 
 
 Of course, there are all kinds of reports. Some say 
 there is a plot to bring about your ruin and that of the 
 Great Chancellor. Court couriers are going post haste to 
 Russia. By this judge of the news they bear. They 
 say that is gossip of the camps I tremble to tell 
 you they say that you and the Great Chancellor have 
 secretly recalled the army that you may have their help 
 with which to seize the throne. I know, of , course, this 
 is false ! But false as it is, it is to be told the Empress 
 to procure your ruin and Count Bestushev's banishment. 
 I believe it is the Grand Duke, by means of some trick 
 put up, of course, by the Prussian King who has 
 procured cessation of hostilities. I have not been able to 
 see General Aprakin. They say he looks like a man 
 condemned to death. Death will be his reward for this ! 
 The air is as full of rumors and thick flying reports as 
 your Arctic nights of winter of falling snow. I can 
 write no more. This must go. 
 
 N. M. 
 
 87
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 BY THE BANKS OF THE PREGEL. 
 
 What do you suppose I have to tell you now, your 
 Highness, by this courier departing hot upon the heels of 
 his fellow? Something most astonishing ! Frederick of 
 Prussia has some secret which, when it is divulged, will 
 make you his obedient vassal. It is something that not 
 even your tried strength of will and fortified courage can 
 resist. But no one has had a hint of what it is. Do you 
 know? Can you form a conjecture? It has something 
 to do with your birth, your youth. Now do you know 
 any better than before? 
 
 The life, the freedom, the property of no one is safe 
 here in the neighborhood of the Prussian army. The 
 King has everyone arrested and examined every once in 
 awhile, just to satisfy that insatiable curiosity of his. I 
 am going about as a strolling musician. I look the part. 
 All sorts of vagabonds are in the train of the armies. I 
 take my place among them and escape attention. 
 
 I could not stay away from you, m'Amie, longer even 
 if I would. Daily now my heart flies away from me 
 toward Russia. If I stayed on, some day it would not 
 come back. I am beginning to believe that it is only by 
 the heart that one lives. Any other life is not worthy 
 the name. 
 
 N. M. 
 
 BY THE BANKS OF THE PREGEL. 
 
 What do you think I am bringing to Russia with me, 
 your Highness? It is a gift the like of which you never 
 had you who have had so many. It is a statuette 
 carven of ivory and set with gems. With it there is a 
 manuscript in Greek. The statuette was found wrapped 
 
 88
 
 MUSICIAN AND GRAND DUCHESS 
 
 in the manuscript. What does it represent? Love! 
 Our Greek Queen of Love, of long ago. 
 
 Where did it come from? One of the followers of 
 the army found it in southern Russia where were once 
 Greek cities. You will be astonished when you see the 
 statuette because of a certain resemblance Of that 
 I will tell you when I see you ! 
 
 I can hardly wait to give it to you, and to translate the 
 papyrus in which it was wrapped. For this grant one 
 of our old evenings ! I shall be in Russia now as speed- 
 ily as the feet of horses can bear me. Then, for one 
 evening, let us forget intrigue, the burden of living, and 
 your royal state for one evening for one evening! 
 You will grant this, I know. You are great enough to 
 pause in the midst of encircling dangers and pluck the 
 fleeting flowers of joy. It is brave to be able to laugh in 
 the face of fate. Perhaps, it is this in you that I have 
 admired more than anything else. 
 
 Now I can hear you saying: " Do not admire me! 
 But love me, love me just as you would a peasant 
 woman ! Admiration stands in the road of love." Per- 
 haps it is possible for a woman to be jealous even of her- 
 self, of the other woman within her, who has possibilities 
 of brain and soul, and who in time kills utterly that primi- 
 tive woman who loves only love. 
 
 My thoughts, my desires, are flying out to you to-day 
 like a flock of doves, just such doves as in a happier age 
 fluttered about the shoulders of the gay goddess whom we 
 Greeks have loved the best. 
 
 N. M. 
 
 P. S. Orlov is departing to-day for Russia. In the 
 morning I set out. It is peculiar how I come after him. 
 To-day and yesterday, too, I had a presentiment of ill 
 
 89
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 luck. Now, you who have no superstitions are laughing. 
 I feel as if I were setting out to meet both love and 
 death. The too strenuous life of the past weeks, and 
 weariness, bring these sad thoughts. Banish them, my 
 love! 
 
 N. M. 
 
 90
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON THE IVORY VENUS 
 
 Nicholas Murievich returned to Russia with Gregory 
 Orlov and some of the men of the court, the last week of 
 September. And that year, as it happened, summer was 
 prolonged into the autumn. If its leaves were gone and 
 its warmer sun, a peculiarly soft, windless interim pre- 
 ceded the winter, a sort of breathing space before its 
 desolation and its storms. 
 
 The Grand Duchess, Catherine Alexevna, stayed on 
 at Oranienbaum. Here, on an evening during the last of 
 September, she awaited Nicholas Murievich, in the pal- 
 ace so picturesquely situated upon its terraces above the 
 Gulf of Finland. The Palace of Oranienbaum had been 
 given to herself and the Grand Duke by her Majesty at 
 the time of their wedding. This palace, indeed, had fre- 
 quently been an imperial gift. Peter the Great built it 
 as a distinguishing mark of favor for his " eaglet," the 
 friend he loved, Alexander Mentchikov, the peasant's 
 son, of whom he made a prince. He placed it upon a 
 terrace just as he had done with his own home, Peterhof, 
 with a splendid and commanding view. And as Peterhof 
 had rooms whose walls were made of malachite and 
 amber, Oranienbaum had rooms of pearl and gold and 
 black lacquer. Viewed at this time from the exterior, it 
 was not a pretentious palace. It was built of wood and 
 was only two stories high. United to the central building 
 
 91
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 were wooden wings attached by light and graceful colon- 
 nades. This made it look as if it were made to be situ- 
 ated beside a sea of Greece, instead of this pale, mysteri- 
 ous water of the north. One of these wings was furnished 
 for a chapel. The other, which all but opened into the 
 Gulf itself, it was so near, contained two salons. The one 
 nearest the water was walled in painted plaques of Sevres. 
 The other opening out of it was a Chinese room in black 
 lacquer. and dull gold. About the entrance, and indeed 
 throughout the grounds now that autumn was come, were 
 placed marble urns which were filled from the hot houses 
 with the rarest of flowers to give as long as possible the il- 
 lusion of summer and prolific spring. 
 
 It was here at Oranienbaum that Catherine Alexevna 
 was her own mistress, because Elizabeth Petrovna did 
 not come here since a tragic occurrence of her youth. 
 And it was here, during the last months of the dying 
 Empress, that she gave some of those sumptuous enter- 
 tainments which for wasteful extravagance paralleled the 
 pleasures of the Empresses of Rome. It was here on a 
 warm, windless night when the earth had breathed out all 
 its energy upon the sea, that she received Nicholas Murie- 
 vich. The Porcelain Salon was lighted by tall candles 
 placed in the corners, but not so brightly as to destroy the 
 up-flung reflection of the restless water which slipped its 
 wave-light across the walls. Catherine Alexevna wore 
 one of the gowns of perishable gauze of the period, caught 
 up with fleurs fines, real lilies of the valley, moss rose 
 buds and violets. Of jewels she had none. Nicholas 
 Murievich was sitting facing her at a table by the open 
 doors that gave upon the Gulf. Here, they had been din- 
 ing together, served by Calmucks who were dressed in 
 red and gold, with bright curving knives stuck into their 
 sashes. Now that the dinner was over, they were sipping 
 
 92
 
 NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON 
 
 wine from carved glasses of Siberian crystal. With the 
 wine and the dessert, came the dinner's divertissement. 
 From the Chinese Salon, stepping softly to the music of 
 the torgane and the balalaika, played by soft-eyed Don 
 Cossacks, who reclined in a corner upon the floor, floated 
 a ballet of young girls. They wore transparent shirts 
 reaching to the knees, made of gold and silver net. These 
 were girdled at the waist. From the girdles hung bouf- 
 fant petticoats of strung flowers, below which their bare 
 legs showed. They, who wore gold gauze, had petticoats 
 of the yellow crocus. They, who wore silver gauze, had 
 petticoats of the purple iris. Upon their heads were 
 crowns of the same exquisite flowers of the early far off 
 spring of the south. To the sad music of the Cossacks 
 they danced the dances of Greece. 
 
 ' This is in compliment to me ! " exclaimed Nicholas 
 Murievich, pleasure and appreciation alternating upon 
 his sensitive face. 
 
 4 The flowers of my Greece! The ones we love best! 
 And the dances, too. Did you know, Catherine Alexevna, 
 that in the songs of your Cossacks, in the melodies of the 
 Ukraine, there is some of the lost music of the Greeks? " 
 Another self had risen over Catherine Alexevna like a 
 moon of Saturn. Its light was that of the radiant present 
 with its imperious pleasures. She was no longer the royal 
 intrigante. Her blue eyes were dewy with love and ten- 
 derness. Under the thin covering of her gauzes her body 
 seemed to be more graciously curved. Nor did the con- 
 ventional court dress prevent the gay faun from dominat- 
 ing the presence of her companion. 
 
 ' You have made me see that and many things, Nicho- 
 las Murievich," she replied in French, the language of 
 their hours of intimacy. 
 
 " Many things in Russia have as foundation the long- 
 
 93
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 ing for beauty of the Greek. Russia, you see, has no self. 
 She has a divided soul." 
 
 " But yours shall be divided no longer," he interrupted 
 gayly, catching up impetuously the drooping inflection of 
 her voice. " Love is going to make it whole." 
 
 " Who can tell? It may not be possible." But, while 
 she answered doubtfully, the joy of a child was shining 
 in her eyes. 
 
 For a while they were both silent, each buried in his 
 dream, while the slender dancers wove their paces about 
 them, and the faint, vanishing music of the Cossacks, with 
 its pauses like the sighs of unsatisfied desire, shivered 
 upon the sea, as the sea's light upon the swaying dancers. 
 The silence was prolonged until it seemed that Greece 
 with its fabled joy was throbbing back to life again within 
 the room beside the mysterious water of the north. And 
 between the two, like a veiled goddess which might sym- 
 bolize the unknown ways of life, there rose up to domi- 
 nate, love and desirous youth. 
 
 Catherine Alexevna made a gesture of command. The 
 dancers paused. They took off their crocus and iris skirts 
 and flung them upon the floor until the long salon was car- 
 peted with the flowers of spring. There was a shiver of 
 light in the air. They pulled off their tingling vests of 
 gauze net and swung them above their heads, and stood 
 naked save for silken trunks the color of their bodies. 
 The music arose commandingly. They scampered away 
 into the black and gold Chinese Salon beyond, which 
 was unlighted where monstrous grinning heads peered 
 out uncomprehendingly upon their white joy. There they 
 were swallowed up in its yellow twilight just as the Greek 
 cities of Scythia were swallowed up long ago in the grow- 
 ing night of Russia. The Calmucks bore away the table 
 
 94
 
 NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON 
 
 upon which they had dined. She signalled for the Cossack 
 musicians to follow. 
 
 " Now, at last, we are alone, my faun ! I am so glad 
 that you have come !" 
 
 He went up to where she was standing, when she sig- 
 nalled the tables to be removed, and took her in his arms, 
 running his lips lovingly along the edge of her shoulders. 
 
 " Your face, Nicholas Murievich, is like my dream of 
 that south I have longed to see. I wish I could get away 
 and go there with you ! I am tired of pomp. I am tired 
 of this stupid, barren magnificence. I want to live dif- 
 ferently. I want to get away from Russia ! 
 
 "Am I changed? Look in my eyes! Tell we what 
 you see there. Is there something dreadful in them, 
 something How shall I say it ? something mephitic 
 septemtrional " 
 
 " To me your eyes are just pools of love." 
 
 " We must not be serious, you and I. We must be 
 only happy, must we not? " 
 
 " Of course, only happy. We must make up for the 
 separation." 
 
 " What did you mean when you said in your letter that 
 you had a premonition of ill in coming back to Russia? " 
 
 " I told you not to think of that to pay no attention 
 to it. It was because I was worn out with traveling. 
 When one is weary, one is sad." 
 
 " That is true. We will not talk of it. We will not 
 have any blot of unpleasant memory upon our meeting." 
 
 " That is best ! " Again he folded her in his arms, and 
 the spectral twilight of the sea looked in upon their love. 
 When she lifted her face again it was merry with expecta- 
 tion. 
 
 " You are a faun, are you not? Let me see your ears I 
 
 95
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Are they pointed? I knew they were! But your gift 
 where is it? " suddenly remembering his last letter from 
 the banks of the Pregel, and its secret. " You must not 
 forget that. Show it to me ! I have thought of it every 
 day since you wrote. It is a Venus, you say. We will be 
 happy as befits your goddess." 
 
 " I will show it to you," he answered, merrily. 
 
 He went into the adjoining Chinese Salon and took an 
 oblong parcel from a teakwood table by the door, where 
 he had placed it for concealment when he entered. 
 
 " I am going to translate into French for you the Greek 
 manuscript in which the statue came wrapped. Let us sit 
 upon this sofa near the sea-doors," he continued, as he 
 came back with the package in his hand. " Here the 
 light of a corner candle will fall directly upon us." 
 
 " How wonderful ! " exclaimed Catherine Alexevna, 
 delightedly, as he held out toward her an ivory Venus. 
 
 u It is a work of art, Catherine Alexevna, despite its 
 diminutiveness. It must have been made by one of the 
 masters of Greece." 
 
 She held it in her hands and turned it around and 
 around delightedly, the better to admire its loveliness. 
 
 "Where did you say it was found? " she questioned, 
 at length. 
 
 " At Chersonesus, in the south of Russia, which was 
 once a Greek city. It must have been founded by them 
 before Cleopatra was Queen of Egypt," he explained, 
 unfolding the papyrus wrapping. 
 
 " Look at the manuscript ! You must not neglect that. 
 It is a work of art, too, and written by a master." 
 
 " I wish that I could read the manuscript for myself! " 
 
 " But you cannot ! What I wish you to notice is how 
 peculiarly the statuette resembles you. Not with exacti- 
 tude, but a stranger, stronger resemblance, as of spirit 
 
 96
 
 NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON 
 
 or unmoulded substance made to shelter the same self. 
 Is it not remarkable when one considers how long ago it 
 was made? " he said, touching the shining statuette as he 
 bent to kiss her. " The statuette is for you a gift. 
 Sweets to the sweet! The manuscript is mine, to keep 
 in remembrance of to-night. Now I will read it to 
 you." 
 
 THE GREEK MANUSCRIPT. 
 
 I, Greek Chloris, of Alexandria, servant in the Temple 
 of Aphrodite, write this, in the third year of the Great 
 Queen's reign. 
 
 I write it as I was taught, in the characters of our 
 Greek tongue, with a stylus of gold, on a tablet of wax, 
 which Gracchus, the scholar, will inscribe for me upon 
 lasting papyrus, and in ink of two colors. 
 
 The Queen sent to the Isles of Greece for an artist to 
 make her portrait in marble or ivory. 
 
 The artist roaming through the streets of our city, saw 
 a woman of extraordinary appearance. She was unlike 
 other women. Nor could he name her nationality. 
 
 The desire came to him to reproduce her. But before 
 he could reach her she had disappeared in the market 
 crowd. Thereafter, he sought her, but without success, 
 until one evening when he had given over the chase 
 he chanced upon her walking alone outside the city. He 
 stopped and requested permission to portray her. She 
 refused. Angered at seeing his plan slip away, and with- 
 out pausing to consider, he picked her up and bore her 
 to his dwelling. Fearing lest she escape, he took her to 
 a workroom which no one entered save himself. Here 
 he chained her to a column of marble telling her that the 
 way to win freedom was to pose as he directed. He 
 determined to make a portrait of her and make the Queen 
 believe it was a portrait of herself. 
 
 97
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 He shut himself within his room and set to work. He 
 was not seen upon the streets of Alexandria. As he 
 worked he planned. He would copy her body, some care- 
 less gesture of head or hand, and thus produce a statue 
 novel and true. 
 
 The next time he went to the palace he told the Queen 
 her portrait was begun. He was representing her as 
 Queen of Love. Her beauty had been revealed to him 
 in a vision of the night. 
 
 On his way home he pondered over the mystery of his 
 model. Who was she? No information could be 
 obtained by questioning. She had persisted in silence. 
 Then he began to dream fondly of the material he would 
 use in building his masterpiece. At length he decided to 
 make it of that ivory which, in Sidon, they color the hue 
 of flesh, and mount it upon a pedestal of jade. The jade 
 should be set upon a block of amethyst of wine-red purple. 
 The eyes should be sapphires; the points of the breasts 
 coral of palest tint. In the hands and about the feet there 
 should be ropes of pearls. When this jewelled marvel 
 was finished, he took it to the Queen. Beneath her pleas- 
 ure in the exquisite trifle, and the implied flattery, there 
 was suspicion and jealousy. She could not believe that 
 she looked like this. Was there another woman in Egypt 
 more lovely? As she looked at the statuette upon its 
 pedestal of jade and amethyst, her suspicions crystallized 
 into certainty. It was the portrait of a living woman. If 
 it were not it could not possess such persistent life. In 
 vain did she try to divert her mind with affairs of state. 
 In vain did she drift down the Nile in her cangia, with 
 her there went the thought of the other woman who was 
 fairer. 
 
 She ordered slaves to bring mirrors of bronze and to 
 uphold them around her. She found she fell short of the 
 excellence she desired. Beside such linear perfection she 
 was an ordinary woman. 
 
 98
 
 NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON 
 
 Thereupon, she gave orders that every pale Greek 
 beauty be brought within the palace. 
 
 The model, meantime, was dreaming of means to effect 
 her freedom. She had thought it would be easy. No one 
 had resisted her. A Greek sculptor should be the least 
 difficult of men. But she had reckoned without knowledge 
 of facts. She realized that she had met a new man. He 
 did not see her, the woman. Nor, as time passed, did his 
 attitude change. He merely desired to steal her beauty 
 and fix it in marble to assure his fame. She was material 
 with which he was to buy success. 
 
 Whenever he left the house, he chained her securely to 
 a pillar of marble and forbade his slaves to enter. 
 
 One day he had been working in a part of the dwelling 
 that overlooked the Nile. The Queen summoned him 
 hastily and he forgot to take his model back to the former 
 room. After he had gone, she began to call for help. A 
 pearl diver heard her. He made haste to find where she 
 was concealed. But he was unprepared for the sight that 
 met his eyes. A white woman, who did not belong to any 
 of the captive races, chained to a pillar of stone. 
 
 The pearl diver was not an unworthy companion. He 
 was slender. He was graceful as the reeds. The sun 
 and wind had polished his body to the brilliancy of the 
 black basalt stone. His face was stern and pale, charac- 
 teristics of the perishing races of the south. 
 
 He wrenched the chain asunder, almost pulling down 
 the column and the roof it supported. With a like impul- 
 siveness he bore her to where his boat was concealed. He 
 rowed to the center of the river. They floated until on 
 the right shore they saw a ruined tower of terra cotta, 
 surmounted by a giant lotus hewn of stone. Here he took 
 the oars and pulled ashore. When he reached it, his com- 
 panion was asleep. To his surprise she wore the robe of 
 Isis. When he awoke her to go to the tower which was 
 his dwelling, she met two wonderful eyes looking into her 
 
 99
 
 / THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 own. They were fathomless worlds of blackness. In 
 looking into them she recalled the past. It was a world 
 of remembered nights lighted by the moons of love. 
 
 The pearl diver forgot his curiosity as to the nationality 
 of his companion. She spoke his language. But he knew 
 that there was no Egyptian blood in her. They lived hap- 
 pily enough together in the terra cotta tower. At night 
 they wandered through the bazaars, past the Theater, the 
 Hippodrome, and the rose-marble facade of the temple 
 of Serapis. They wandered through the sailors' quarter, 
 by the booths of the merchants, or watched the palace 
 entrance for a glimpse of the Queen. 
 
 The sculptor had become accustomed to the loss of his 
 model. He had given over the search. He was translat- 
 ing into marble a plaster sketch he had made. He called 
 it Aphrodite. When it was finished, it was placed in the 
 temple in which, I, Greek Chloris, am a servant. 
 
 Again, the rumor spread that the Queen was the model. 
 Again, the rumor pleased her until she viewed the statue. 
 Then she saw that it was another portrait of the same 
 woman of whom the ivory statuette had been the first. 
 Jealousy came back. She knew that a trick had been 
 played upon her. 
 
 Criers went through the streets of Alexandria to 
 announce that on the first night when the moon was full, 
 there would be a fete upon the river to celebrate the 
 betrothal of the sculptor and the Queen. 
 
 News of this the pearl diver brought back to the lotus- 
 topped tower. With it he brought gossip of the Egyptian 
 quarter that the sculptor would be crowned because of a 
 portrait which he had made of the Queen. The people 
 of Alexandria declared that the statue was lovelier than 
 the Goddess of Love herself. 
 
 To this his companion listened in silence. 
 
 On the night of the fete a yellow moon rose over the 
 mysterious Egyptian land. Palm trees were penciled like 
 plumes. Palaces flung upon the sand shadows faintly pink 
 
 100
 
 NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON 
 
 like the pale cornelian stone, across which figures moved, 
 white and clear lined. Night transformed the river into 
 a royal road. 
 
 In the center of the craft-cortege, where the light fell 
 unimpeded, stood a cangia larger than the rest. In the 
 center of this, upon a dais, reclined side by side, the sculp- 
 tor and the Queen. The face of the sculptor was pale 
 and stern. His body absorbed the purple night and gave 
 it back again. 
 
 The Queen arose. She lifted her arms. There was 
 silence. Thereupon she announced the choice of a future 
 ruler. 
 
 There were cries, " Long live the Queen! " The scene 
 was blotted beneath flowers. Then, suddenly, the eyes 
 of her subjects were averted. Silence fell upon them. 
 Surprised at the change, she was turning to follow the 
 direction of their eyes, when she happened to notice the 
 expression upon the face of the sculptor. What was writ- 
 ten there? His body was rigid. In his eyes there was a 
 look she did not dare to probe. 
 
 Beyond, where he was looking, beyond the crowd, 
 where the smooth river shone, a boat floated. Within it, 
 standing upon a green cushion, was a woman whose body 
 was wildly white. Her hair, from which the stars struck 
 light, extended to her heels. Her hands and feet were 
 bound with ropes of pearls. And her eyes were sapphires 
 of sweetest hue. At her feet lay a purple cloak. At the 
 other end of the boat stood a young Egyptian, motion- 
 less. 
 
 Here was the duplicate of the statuette. The Queen 
 was stricken dumb. Slowly at length from the surprise 
 that disabled her, thoughts detached themselves. And the 
 silence of the people? It meant they, too, understood. 
 The courtiers had seen the statuette in the palace. The 
 people had seen the statue in the temple. And her own 
 name coupled with that other woman's beauty had circled 
 the Inland Sea. These facts she understood. 
 
 101
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " Soldiers ! " she called, " bring to me within the palace 
 that white Greek woman! " 
 
 The command had been heard by the occupants of the 
 distant boat. The diver swept the oars. The boat swung 
 southward and disappeared. 
 
 That night the Queen paced her chamber and medi- 
 tated revenge. At dawn the idea came appropriate to the 
 crime and commensurate in cruelty. There was no use in 
 approaching the sculptor for information. She would 
 have no satisfaction from him. Summoning her council- 
 lors she addressed them: 
 
 " Men of Egypt, I have decided that the sculptor be 
 buried alive beneath the marble pedestal of the statue 
 which is the portrait of the woman he loved." 
 
 In silence the sculptor heard his doom, but in his eyes 
 there was no fear. 
 
 After the sculptor's death the Queen was still in a fever 
 of unrest. Months later, to make her subjects believe that 
 the subject was forgotten, she gave a masked fete upon the 
 Nile. In this way she might find the woman she sought. 
 
 Again the diver brought word of the fete to the terra 
 cotta tower. Again they decided to be present. This 
 time the model wore the robe and veil of Isis. The diver 
 rented in a mercantile street of the Egyptian quarter a 
 long sleeved, bordered robe of the red of Sardis, such as 
 are worn by Lydian men. They hired a pleasure boat 
 and reached the place of the fete. The Queen discovered 
 them. She ordered an official to arrest them and take 
 them captive. She called to her soldiers to surround them. 
 The crowd was breathless with expectation, when, moved 
 by a power which only the gods may possess, the woman 
 rose above their heads. The robe fluttered down. It 
 vanished. At a distance she unwound for an instant the 
 mysterious veil. The frightened Egyptians glimpsed for 
 the first time the stern features of Isis. The boat of the 
 diver became invisible upon the water. The divine face 
 
 102
 
 NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON 
 
 melted into the night. The frightened people lifted 
 hands of prayer. The Queen had incurred the dis- 
 pleasure of the gods. She had been unkind to Love. 
 
 Some months later the diver was wandering through 
 the Greek quarter of our city when he happened to pass 
 the Temple where the sculptor had met his death. He 
 entered the garden that surrounds it because of the cool- 
 ness of its ten thousand palm trees. He walked on and 
 crossed the portal. He penetrated to the sanctuary. 
 Here, surprise and joy overwhelmed him. He saw again 
 his companion of the lotus tower, whom he had once 
 found chained to a column of marble. 
 
 I, Greek Chloris, who was watching concealed behind 
 an incense burner carved of the tiger colored marble of 
 Numidia, saw the statue take fire and step down from its 
 pedestal. I heard, then, kisses. And I, who have always 
 served in the Temples of Aphrodite, heard never such 
 words of love. When the rosy mist had vanished and I 
 could see, there in the center of the room were two statues. 
 The statue of Aphrodite was flushed pink. Beside it stood 
 a statue of youth such as the Egyptians carve out of their 
 black basalt stone, and which held above the head of Aph- 
 rodite, our Goddess, pearls of magnificent luster. 
 
 I, Greek Chloris, servant in the Temple of Aphrodite, 
 saw this, in the third year of the Great Queen's reign. I 
 write it down as I^was taught in the characters of our 
 Greek tongue, with a stylus of gold upon a tablet of wax. 
 
 " Remember, Catherine Alexevna, that in the fable the 
 statuette caused the death of the giver. In that respect I 
 trust that history will not repeat itself. And I wish you 
 to remember, too, that Venus is a goddess who is always 
 being born again. Does not the statue prove it? Every 
 period of time that reaches a high point of vitality gives 
 birth to a Venus. She is an indestructible goddess. Men 
 have given her, who is always the same, various names. 
 
 103
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 She was Ishtar in Babylon, Ashtaroth in Assyria, Isis in 
 Egypt, Aphrodite in Greece, Venus in Rome, and now 
 she is Catherine Alexevna in Eighteenth Century Russia. 
 I bow to la Venus muscovitef " he exclaimed, merrily, jest 
 and pleasure ringing in his voice. 
 
 " This fable does please me, Nicholas Murievich. But 
 jest aside, the figure has a certain resemblance to me. 
 Only, there is something about the face that is cold and 
 a little cruel. It is, perhaps, the expression of the soul of 
 an earlier and a different age." 
 
 " Of course it resembles you ! The men in the army by 
 the Pregel saw it. They spoke of it at once. So did 
 others. It gives them faith in you." 
 
 " It makes them think that I am unconquerable. I have 
 thought that, too, sometimes myself," she added, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " And I have been recreated again after the centuries 
 to love you. Do I not look as if I belonged to the fable? 
 Am I not a diver for pearls? Do you not remember me 
 now? In the fable love brought the marble Venus back 
 to life. I will bring the Muscovite Venus back to life, 
 give her the sense of reality and the warmth of joy. Why 
 should not that be true, Catherine Alexevna ? Is not my 
 heart wholly yours? Is it not true that I love you for 
 yourself and not for any other reason ? Nothing is impos- 
 sible in Russia! " 
 
 She started at the word Russia. It recalled her to 
 necessity. It recalled the present. But the happy dream 
 lent its softness to her face and its pleasant unreality to a 
 future that each day brought threateningly near. Still, 
 there was a little margin of time left over in which to 
 dream and be happy. Nicholas Murievich continued: 
 
 " What Count Bestushev said in your letter to me 
 must be done, must be done. The Grand Duke must die." 
 
 104
 
 NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON 
 
 She was glad for that margin of time. She wished it 
 might be prolonged into an eternity that would shut off 
 the need of action. 
 
 " The Grand Duke must die ! You will reign alone. 
 You will be supreme. Then will you not place me beside 
 you? It is you I love, not your position." 
 
 She felt the tugging undertow of the sea of intrigue 
 that surrounded her and which would now increase rap- 
 idly with the days and which she could not always resist. 
 Soon, it would be sweeping her onward from space to 
 unknown space. She saw this clearly. Yet she could not 
 resist it nor could she grieve. The voice continued : 
 
 ' To-day men of every position are standing close by 
 the thrones of Europe. Why should not Nicholas Murie- 
 vich?" 
 
 " Why not? " she replied, in a voice she did not recog- 
 nize, and feeling that nothing was real but the present. 
 Suppose she should take a stand at once and fight for the 
 things she personally desired, the things that were best 
 for her? And yet would it be possible with any show of 
 success as goal? Would anyone have the physical or 
 mental resistance to do it? And if she did do it, was it 
 not true that in the general bouleversement there would 
 be no counting upon anything, and greater insecurity 
 would result? Might she not lose what she now had with 
 a possible nothing gained? And what was the use of 
 struggling with the question just at present, anyway? 
 Still, there was a little margin of time. She would talk 
 of something else and forget. She would talk of some- 
 thing else. 
 
 ' What did you mean, Nicholas Murievich, by saying 
 that Gregory Orlov was like the false hero in the fable? " 
 
 " Do you not know yourself? " 
 
 "No; how could I?" 
 
 105
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " He of the fable was false to love and he 
 failed." 
 
 " What has that to do with Orlov? " 
 
 "Does he not love another?" he questioned, signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 " I do not know what you mean now. What is it? " 
 
 " Is it possible you have not heard? " 
 
 11 1 have heard nothing." 
 
 The desired change of subject was not promising to be 
 too happily forgetful. 
 
 " Gregory Orlov is in love with Maschuta. He has 
 been mad over her for a longer time than I can tell." 
 
 "Gregory!" 
 
 1 Yes, Gregory." 
 
 " Ah ! now I recall his face that night at the Dres- 
 den Woman's, when he looked at her. I wrote you about 
 it at the time." 
 
 " For her, Catherine Alexevna, he has committed all 
 the follies a man can commit for a woman. He insisted 
 upon taking her away to the army with him. He felt he 
 could not be separated from her. They have been the 
 talk of the clubs and the salons of Petersburg." 
 
 " But I have heard nothing of it! " declared Catherine 
 Alexevna. " Why has it been withheld from me? " she 
 thought, her mind reviewing the subject swiftly. 
 
 " Is it because of the liking of women for Orlov? Is 
 it because they wish to see me pay for his attentions ? Or, 
 is it malicious pleasure in seeing me duped? " 
 
 Then, she realized more forcibly than usual the skill 
 that a person placed like herself must have who is required 
 to go ahead with blindfolded eyes. 
 
 " But why has not Count Bestushev told me, Nicholas 
 Murievich? He knows it, of course, since there is noth- 
 ing he does not know." 
 
 106
 
 " Count Bestushev helped it for a time. He prefers 
 Orlov for several reasons. First, because he is Russian. 
 In addition, he is the idol of the army. And he is ambi- 
 tious for pleasure, money, not for political power. But 
 most important of all, he knows that Orlov does not love 
 you. For him you would not do extravagant or unreason- 
 able things." 
 
 Intrigue ! Intrigue ! It was an entangling web of infi- 
 nite extent that smothered and bound her. And there was 
 no way to escape it. 
 
 * That is why Maschuta hates me ! " 
 
 " No, not wholly, Catherine Alexevna. Maschuta 
 does not love Orlov. She is ambitious to take a hand in 
 affairs. She is greedy for power. She hates everyone 
 who has it. She would throw Orlov over to-day for the 
 Grand Duke, if she could get him away from Elizabeth 
 Woronzov." 
 
 The words of Nicholas Murievich made an impression 
 upon Catherine Alexevna. As he spoke, a vision touched 
 the surface of her mind, fleeting as a skimming bird's 
 wing, a vision of a cliff by the sea, eaten by angry water 
 into perilous traps and holes, slippery, sometimes of sharp 
 declivity, uncertain ; and upon this she was forced to walk 
 under darkness and fog. Then, the vision reduced itself 
 to one of the component parts of which it was composed. 
 The general became the individual and she reviewed 
 quickly the intimacy of Orlov and herself the past winter, 
 their revelries, his devotion. And it had all been feigned! 
 She saw the destructive and humiliating truth. And she 
 saw as plainly as that night at the Dresden Woman's the 
 evil flash of Maschuta's white teeth. She was beginning 
 to see what after years would force her to see time and 
 again, that, despite her beauty and her position, no man 
 would love her for herself. 
 
 107
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Gregory Orlov did not love her! His interest in her 
 was self interest. She represented success. When Greg- 
 ory Orlov was with her, it was not because he wished to 
 be. It was because there, beside her, was the chance of 
 life for him. And yet the game must go on. Always a 
 game! She appreciated at the same time the humor of 
 the situation which made her, the Grand Duchess, depend- 
 ent upon an officer of the guards, without birth or for- 
 tune. Each fact that living taught helped to isolate her, 
 to make her alone. It put into her heart the unuttered 
 desire for love. This clairvoyant vision, that went as 
 directly to basic matter as a burning acid, was tragic. It 
 was not pleasant for her. It was not attractive to others. 
 Where it gained in power, it lost in charm. Each fact of 
 life was like the chisel stroke of a sculptor. Each stroke 
 was cruel and enlightening, and lopped off kindly illusions 
 which were in the habit of sheltering happiness. Each 
 stroke gave distinctness to unpleasant facts that otherwise 
 might have been disregarded. 
 
 The pleasant voice of Nicholas Murievich was contin- 
 uing its murmured accompaniment to her meditation. 
 
 " I am telling you this as a proof of my love. I am 
 the only one in the world who tells you the truth freed of 
 selfish interests." 
 
 That was a little sentence; but what a world of bitter 
 meaning it held. 
 
 " And just as soon as they who are in power find it 
 out, they will try to bring about my destruction." 
 
 Was there nothing for them who loved her but death 
 and destruction? Upon her face there was no trace of 
 emotion. Did she feel any? She wished sincerely that 
 it was not so. She would have changed it if she could. 
 But the listening gave her pleasure. The voice went on: 
 ' The eyes of love are sharp, Catherine Alexevna. 
 
 108
 
 NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON 
 
 They have a vision that equals that of the winged brain 
 of Count Bestushev. Nothing can escape them. Noth- 
 ing can deceive them." 
 
 Catherine Alexevna felt the sincerity of the words. 
 They rang true. She felt the security of a love that noth- 
 ing could change. 
 
 " I believe you, Nicholas Murievich," she replied, find- 
 ing relief from that torturing vision. Why should she 
 not make this real and permanent, this possibility of love 
 and peace? Why should she not bow to happiness when 
 it presented its smiling face? The tender voice was con- 
 tinuing its accompaniment to her thoughts. 
 
 " See ! Catherine Alexevna," indicating the pearl-like 
 walls and the sea. " This must be like the places where 
 we met before in that earlier day. Do you remem- 
 ber?" 
 
 The candles were all but burned to their sockets. A 
 cold phosphorescence from the water sent an eerie motion 
 over the porcelain walls until in the colorless light which 
 was neither day nor night, the room resembled the inside 
 of a pearl in some subterranean cavern of the sea. For 
 the moment, it was as if they were generations away from 
 Russia and its turbulent life. 
 
 " And you are still clad in the foam of your old sea- 
 birth ! " he added, gayly. 
 
 Who could resist such infectious happiness? Her heart 
 grew warm in the gracious contact of love and youth. 
 When he spoke again, it was to revert to the difficult 
 present. 
 
 " I feel, Catherine Alexevna, that I must impress upon 
 you what will await me, when it is known you love me. 
 My life will be at stake. The ambitious men of Russia 
 will pursue me. It must be kept secret! If it should be 
 known, the only person who could ensure my safety would 
 
 109
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 be yourself. My life will depend upon you, until you are 
 at the head of affairs." 
 
 "You do not think I would fail you, do you? How 
 could you think such a thing? " 
 
 " No, not willingly," he answered. " But suppose your 
 hand were forced? Suppose some compelling situation 
 presented itself? " 
 
 " I should be equal to it." 
 
 " I do not know why, Catherine Alexevna, but I feel 
 impelled to insist upon this. Something tells me that we 
 shall not have in the present rush of affairs such 
 another opportunity to be together. Something tells me 
 that there is danger ahead which only you can avert." 
 
 Nicholas Murievich put his impetuous young arms 
 about her and together they stood in silence by the open 
 sea-doors, while night silvered softly into a dawn that was 
 as pale as the night had been. He forgot his momentary 
 fear. The old, buoyant happiness reasserted itself. 
 
 " Just a little while now, Catherine Alexevna ! Just a 
 little while, and we shall not have to part in the dawn like 
 this! Soon, her Majesty will die. The Grand Duke will 
 will well, we all know what. It does not take pro- 
 phetic power to know that. You will reign. And then for 
 love's sake you will put me beside you." 
 
 She nodded a happy acquiescence in his arms. And 
 again silence followed. 
 
 Suddenly, Catherine Alexevna lifted her head from his 
 shoulder. Her face had changed. It had hardened. It 
 had grown less lovely and perceptibly older. It was not 
 tender with emotion. Her body seemed likewise to have 
 changed, and become less gently lined. 
 
 "What is the matter?" queried Nicholas Murievich, 
 looking anxiously into her eyes which were turned toward 
 the doorway that led into the Chinese Salon. 
 
 no
 
 NIGHT IN THE PORCELAIN SALON 
 
 " If you would look, you would see it, too," she replied, 
 disengaging herself speedily from his arms. 
 
 " What is it, dear one? " he murmured. 
 
 " A black phantom dancing over the flowers there by 
 the Chinese Salon. And it is // is Count Bestushev! " 
 
 " It is an optical illusion. That is all." 
 
 " No, that is not all. It is taller than he is, Count Bes- 
 tushev, to be sure. And its legs, like his, are long and 
 thin! They melt into feet, black and thin! They are 
 dancing toward me. And they do not come nearer. They 
 stand in the same place. The arms are as long as the 
 legs. And the face is white and deathlike, yet grinning 
 with the merciless merriment of anger. Not only do I 
 see him, but I feel his presence. I feel his presence! " 
 
 " Dearest, that is just one of the Chinese figures in the 
 adjoining room to which the uncertain light gives transient 
 life. The candle smoke is suspended there. Light gives 
 it semblance of motion. Let me kiss away the memory. 
 But what is the matter with you ? You, too, have changed. 
 Your face has another expression." 
 
 " Nothing at all, Nicholas Murievich. I have just 
 thought again of what you wrote me about the Prussian 
 King, the mysterious something that is going to have such 
 effect upon me that it will bend me to his will. Did you 
 not find out more about it? Do you not know anything 
 definite?" 
 
 " No, it was something hinted of, but not explained. 
 His spies will divulge it. They will use it as their last 
 card in stopping the war." 
 
 " But now I am prepared for it, no matter how surpris- 
 ing it may be. Is it known that he has this something 
 which will change everything? " 
 
 " Yes I think so It was the gossip of the army. 
 The soldiers were on the qui vive to find out about it." 
 
 in
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Again, Catherine Alexevna had become the vigilant 
 woman of affairs. 
 
 The mystic love-moons of Saturn had set. In their 
 place was rising the cold, gray dawn of Russia. 
 
 " He does not know how I am Russianized King 
 Frederick!" 
 
 " Catherine Alexevna, you seem as far away as if I 
 were by the banks of the Pregel. You are changed." 
 
 " No, Nicholas Murievich, I am not changed. Day is 
 near. Worry of affairs is claiming me. I must think of 
 them. It is only by thinking of them that a future is pos- 
 sible." 
 
 " But suppose, Catherine Alexevna, in these changing 
 moods that claim you, that something should happen that 
 would separate us. Suppose Suppose You know 
 that nothing is impossible here." 
 
 " It is impossible ! I understand that you love me for 
 myself alone. I hold fast to that." 
 
 "In a time like this, of course, no one can guess what 
 the combinations of fate may be." 
 
 Then his happy, careless artist's nature reasserted it- 
 self and his heart became lyric with happiness. 
 
 " What things we will do together, you and I, Cath- 
 erine Alexevna ! Peter the Great worked for the north 
 and the west for the Baltic. You and I will work for 
 the south. We will conquer Greece and Turkey. Our 
 winter capital shall be Byzantium, which we will rechris- 
 ten Czarograd, the City of the Czars." 
 
 For the moment she was swept away by the fervor of 
 his youthful dream, forgetting the folly of it and the dif- 
 ference in rank between them. 
 
 " Yes, yes when you and I are in power ! Peter the 
 Great dreamed of making the Baltic the Mediterranean 
 of the north. You and I will go back to the old, blue Med- 
 
 112
 
 iterranean of the south," added Catherine Alexevna, trail- 
 ing her billowing gauzes across the piled iris and crocus 
 blossoms upon the floor. 
 
 " That is what we will do you and 1 1 When the 
 white flies swarm in the autumn, we will rush away to our 
 palace by the Bosporus. And when the crocus and the 
 iris call the spring, we will come back to Petersburg. My 
 ambitious dreams will fly to the ends of the earth. I will 
 make Russia a world power." 
 
 " But remember, Catherine Alexevna, if it should be 
 known our love they will kill me. That is why I 
 brought this ivory Love to shield you, to keep whispering 
 to you, memento! " he said, kissing her good-by. 
 
 Catherine Alexevna stood by the sea-doors after Nicho- 
 las Murievich had gone, watching the spectral dawn upon 
 the wilting tropic flowers within the urns beside the 
 entrance, and the bleached, metallic surface of the Gulf. 
 It seemed to her, after a time, that those delightful, 
 happy hours with Nicholas Murievich were something 
 that happened ages ago. She was not sure that they had 
 really happened anywhere. The only thing that told that 
 they had was the ivory Venus upon the sofa by the doors. 
 As she looked, it, too, looked different. It had the domi- 
 nant whiteness of a fact, of something' too real to take its 
 pleasant place among dreaming uncertainties. Everything 
 else had taken on its customary unreality. Her heart felt 
 dry and hard. It was as if she were living somewhere 
 outside herself. She had no desire for rest. She felt the 
 old craving for the things that exhaust the body. Slowly, 
 she made her way to her apartments, down the long Chi- 
 nese Salon whose black lacquer was dulled, and whose gold 
 showed eerily the shifting foam of her gauzes, and whose 
 monsters seized upon her with their greedy, uncompre- 
 hending eyes.
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 ORLOV 
 
 Gregory Orlov moved among the picturesque person- 
 alities of Petersburg, a figure at once daring, blond, beau- 
 tiful and young, and above all the darling of Fortune, 
 who, despite her fickleness, was faithful to him. If he 
 had been given to thought and philosophizing, he would 
 have wondered why, without even desire on his part, he 
 had been lifted from an obscure place among the people to 
 be made the companion of princes. But he did not think 
 very much and he philosophized less. In a life so suc- 
 cessfully arranged for him, there was no need. When- 
 ever he wished for anything, he held up his handsome 
 hands and it dropped down upon them. 
 
 Gregory Orlov was tall, muscular and lithe, with merry 
 brown eyes, dimples, thick curling hair of gold, and the 
 fair complexion of a child. Years did not change this 
 beautiful fairness; nor did dissipation, nor exposure in 
 the army. He might have been a marble man so little did 
 living mar him. None of the hardships of life touched 
 him. He did not know the want of anything. His wishes 
 were gratified. But in the slow course of time, as the 
 years piled up, he suffered from the overfeeding of pros- 
 perity. 
 
 There were five of the brothers Orlov. The three 
 youngest were guardsmen, while Alexis, who was the 
 strongest man in Russia and one of the tallest, and Greg- 
 ory had reached the rank of officers. They were of 
 
 114
 
 ORLOV 
 
 obscure birth. They did not possess wealth. The pat- 
 rimony left by their father they squandered with careless 
 merriment. After that, wealth fell so richly to the share 
 of Gregory and Alexis that they tossed on gold to their 
 greedy brothers. Their beauty and fine figures advanced 
 them in the army. Generals prefer handsome officers. 
 The brothers Orlov were in demand. In addition, they 
 were fearless to a degree that was unequalled. They had 
 nothing but life to lose. If they did not win, they could 
 not be greatly the worse. So they set life gayly on any 
 venture. 
 
 Neither Gregory Orlov nor his brother Alexis were 
 men of ability either as politicians or men of affairs, as 
 such things are counted. Nor did they possess cultivation 
 or the refinement of learning. Their rise to world promi- 
 nence is one of those exhibitions of fact which must be 
 surveyed with wonder. After the death of their father 
 and the squandering of their patrimony, there was a time 
 although but brief when they did not possess a 
 copeck. Then they developed a passion for gambling 
 in which they were as reckless as they were successful. 
 Their fame at cards was phenomenal. Luck never 
 deserted them. There were weeks when gold flowed like 
 a river Into their rapacious pockets. They became men 
 of fashion, Russian exquisites, whose amours furnished 
 subject of conversation in drawing rooms of Moscow, 
 Kiev and Petersburg. Since his intimacy with the Grand 
 Duchess, the fame of Gregory Orlov had spread abroad. 
 His name was known to the gamins and the boulevardiers 
 of Paris. Jests were told at his expense in provincial 
 cities. Allusions to the Russian Apollo were heard upon 
 the stage throughout a continent. 
 
 To France he had become the beau ideal of Slavic 
 beauty. Physically he was in truth the fine flower of an
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 extravagant age. He was gossiped of at the courts of 
 Dresden, Vienna, Berlin, Versailles. Court ladies asked 
 returning ambassadors to tell them of Gregory Orlov. 
 Romantic and impossible stories were circulated at his 
 expense and the fame of a professional beauty had become 
 his. 
 
 He possessed a talent for luxurious living which was 
 beginning to express itself in a liking for fine furs, horses 
 and pearls. Since his return from the war, he had been 
 made treasurer of the artillery, and his arms were deep 
 in the gold of Russia. It was since his return, too, that 
 his ambition had begun to take a bolder rise. Nothing 
 was impossible in Russia. No one had better reason 
 to know this than he. Had he not seen old Count 
 Alexis Razumovsky, who was once a church singer in 
 Little Russia, spend his days by the throne? Biron had 
 been a stable boy. And he had ruled ! Why should not 
 he? Yet, with him it was not really ambition propelled 
 by reason and expressed in words, it was the blind follow- 
 ing of an instinct. He was feeling the electric thrill of 
 the wave of fortune which in years to come was to make 
 him although an uneducated man of the people set 
 a pace in extravagant living for a world. 
 
 There was just one thing that stood in the way of Greg- 
 ory Orlov's advancement, and that was his love for Mas- 
 chuta. Through his amours and adventures he had 
 remained true to this. And this was something to be proud 
 of which Maschuta did not appreciate. Maschuta was 
 dangerous, and difficult to manage. To him she was as 
 fascinating as she was dangerous. She was at once a 
 lure and a menace, which he could not resist. And at 
 present not to resist her was an important hindrance to 
 him. He and his brothers were leading the conspiracy 
 in the army which was to put Catherine Alexevna upon 
 
 116
 
 ORLOV 
 
 the throne. When he put her there everything depended 
 for his brothers and himself upon putting himself 
 beside her. The presence of Maschuta unbalanced the 
 equation. And yet, it was Maschuta he loved. He had 
 heard floating reports of late, too, of Maschuta's friend- 
 ship with the Grand Duke. He knew that she hated Cath- 
 erine Alexevna. He knew that he could not be sure of his 
 control of her. 
 
 His attachment for Maschuta was something of years' 
 standing. Now, it had for him the endearing tenderness 
 of the passions that belong to youth. It began when he 
 entered the army, when he was not even a subordinate 
 officer, but merely the petted beauty of superiors. It was 
 in Nishni-Novgorod at the great yearly fair of central 
 Russia. Here he saw her dancing. The first glance bound 
 his fickle heart to her. This was her first attempt to force 
 a way northward toward the dazzling city of her desire 
 Petersburg. Every day he was in the crowd that watched 
 her. A few years later he found her in Kiev and the cities 
 of the Ukraine, likewise at the fairs dancing. She had not 
 been able to continue her progress northward and had 
 slipped back toward the older cities of the south. It was 
 in Kiev that he became acquainted with her. He too had 
 begun his upward climb and he was wearing the decora- 
 tions of an officer. In imitation of his superiors whose 
 affairs of the heart were known to him, he determined 
 to have Maschuta. He always had everything he wished, 
 why should he not have her? But to his surprise Mas- 
 chuta would have nothing to do with him beyond the lim- 
 its of merry friendship. Even then, young as she was, the 
 gipsy had seen ambition and the flattery of power in the 
 distance, made possible by her dancing, and her personal 
 charm which she was learning to understand and to esti- 
 mate. Greater than love and its gratification with the 
 
 117
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 beauty of the Russian army, was her greed for these 
 things. In addition, there was a peculiar hatred in her 
 heart for those who were more fortunate than herself. 
 It was not love or the flattery of a moment which she was 
 eager for, but something better, position and security of 
 living. This happened five years before the time of which 
 we are writing. And now Maschuta, although she still 
 affected largely the dress of a gipsy, was the first dancer 
 of Petersburg and, as regards her relations with men, a 
 woman of unblemished reputation. 
 
 On the afternoon on which this chapter opens she had 
 come to Gregory Orlov's rooms to demand that he keep 
 the promise of marriage which he had made when he 
 brought her to Petersburg and procured her admission to 
 the Imperial Ballet School. 
 
 Gregory Orlov had just rented and moved into the 
 pretentious wooden house of the court banker, Krulsen. 
 on the corner of the Great Morskoi and the Nevsky Pros- 
 pect, nearly opposite the Winter Palace. Here he had 
 been living with his brothers in a characteristic confusion 
 of luxury, bad taste and discomfort, since he had been 
 made treasurer of the artillery and wealth had been added 
 to his fame. 
 
 When Maschuta entered, he was examining some 
 pearls which a traveling Syrian merchant had left for his 
 inspection, and of which he was becoming an acknowl- 
 edged judge. He was in the happiest of moods. His face 
 was like a gloom dispelling sun. But a glance at Mas- 
 chuta's face as she entered told him that the interview 
 was not to be an altogether pleasant one. That day, for 
 the first time, had come to him a sharp impression that 
 she did not belong to the world in which he was moving, 
 that life was placing between them unbridgeable distances 
 of prosperity. Maschuta's dress was somewhat at fault 
 
 118
 
 ORLOV 
 
 for this. She did not affect the fashions. She wore her 
 own hair in its natural color. Her costume was still so 
 much that of her race that she was a marked figure upon 
 the streets of Petersburg. This was to her advantage 
 had an artist been the judge. She was something good to 
 look upon. The severe training in the ballet had disci- 
 plined her native suppleness and made her the perfection 
 of grace. Her dark beauty showed in brilliant contrast 
 to the powdered, pale women of the court. 
 
 " Come over here and see these pearls ! " began Greg- 
 ory Orlov, in that caressing voice which was always his 
 whether he were making love to a pretty woman or buying 
 a horse. 
 
 " No; I do not wish to. I am not interested in pearls 
 to-day." 
 
 ' You are not? I supposed that pretty women always 
 were." 
 
 " You have supposed lots of things about women that 
 were wrong, Gregory." 
 
 " Now what in the devil is the matter, Maschuta? " 
 
 " I should think it was my place to ask that question, 
 Gregory Orlov, instead of you." 
 
 " Well, then, ask it if you wish, dear," he replied, in 
 the same tender voice which it took so much to change. 
 
 " Well, then I ask it. What is the matter? " taking a 
 chair in a corner of the room and folding her arms and 
 looking at him sidewise with eyes that were limpidly 
 green. 
 
 " Matter with what? " 
 
 " I suppose you have forgotten." 
 
 " If there is anything wrong, I have forgotten or 
 else I never knew." 
 
 " Of course you have forgotten, Gregory! You always 
 forget everything in life which you do not wish to recall. 
 
 119
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Or, if you do not forget it, you smile it out of sight in that 
 triumphant way of yours and talk of something else." 
 
 " Honestly, Maschuta, I haven't the least idea what 
 you are talking about! I saw you day before yesterday 
 and everything was as usual. What has happened? If 
 anything has in the meantime, I am sure I haven't an idea 
 what it is." 
 
 His handsome face beneath its crown of curls looked 
 sweetly puzzled. 
 
 " It did not happen day before yesterday, Gregory. 
 You know very well that it did not. It has been hap- 
 pening for five years ever since I came to Peters- 
 burg." 
 
 " Now, Maschuta, you are not going over that old 
 affair again to-day, are you? " moving toward her with a 
 gesture of caress. 
 
 " I did not come here to-day, Gregory, to be petted into 
 forgetfulness. If you love me as you say you do, why do 
 you not keep your promise and marry me? " 
 
 " Think of the condition of things now, Maschuta, the 
 excitement, the uncertainty and the expected change in the 
 government." 
 
 " A year ago, before you had this present position, it 
 was lack of money. Now it is something else. It will 
 probably always be something else." 
 
 " If you have my love and my devotion what more can 
 you ask? What more can you wish for? " 
 
 " A position beside you in the world. I am tired of 
 being a dancer, a mountebank. I want something that 
 will last. When my beauty and my youth are gone, where 
 shall I be? I want a position beside you in the world." 
 
 He looked at her, and then he thought of the great 
 ladies with whom he was upon intimate terms. Position 
 was just the thing that he had learned to understand and 
 
 120
 
 ORLOV 
 
 value. And that position which she coveted was placing 
 daily a wider abyss between himself and a dancer. 
 
 " If I should marry now, it would be fatal for my 
 advancement and my brothers. My career would be at 
 an end. We have no fortune. Have I not done a great 
 deal for you as it is? I have paid for your education. 
 You are the first dancer of Petersburg. You owe that to 
 me! That is something. You are no longer obscure. If 
 you really love me, if you believe in me, why can you not 
 give yourself to me without a ceremony that would wreck 
 my future and that of my brothers ? You ought to have 
 some care for my future after all that I have done for you. 
 Of course in a year, even I may be able to marry 
 you. You can have a home. I will pay for it. Surely 
 you can trust me to care for you." 
 
 " Ah, yes ! and trust you to forget me, too, just as 
 you have done with the others if you once got things 
 your way ! " she added, 50/0 voce. 
 
 " Come, Maschuta, that is not the way to talk ! You 
 know that you are the only woman I have loved. There 
 are plenty of women in Petersburg who would be proud 
 of that ! Whatever I have done my heart has been yours. 
 In all these years it has never faltered in its devotion to 
 you. Is not that something worth while? There is no 
 other woman who can boast of the love of Orlov." 
 
 " Then you refuse ? Is that what I am to understand? " 
 
 " No; I do not refuse. I merely defer and only for 
 the present. I do not do that because I wish to, but 
 because I am compelled to. Just as soon as I have a firmer 
 hold upon my future I will do as you wish and as I 
 wish, too. It is just as great a grief for me as it is for you. 
 And it seems to me, Maschuta, that the nature that is 
 moved always by ambition and never by love, or any 
 unselfish instinct, can be found fault with, too." 
 
 121
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Green sparks darted from Maschuta's eyes. 
 
 '' That is just like you ! You criticize me for the 
 instincts of self-preservation. While you sacrifice me 
 daily to all your caprices and those of your family." 
 
 Maschuta's eyes narrowed to a green and baleful line 
 of light. Before Gregory Orlov could find time to reply, 
 the Grand Duke's pockmarked negro dwarf, Narcissus, 
 followed by his dog, Mopsinka, appeared upon the 
 threshold with the lack of ceremony permitted to fools 
 and jesters. 
 
 " Hello, Narcis! What did you come to wheedle me 
 out of to-day? " exclaimed Orlov in a voice that welcomed 
 the interruption. Narcissus, grinning like a hideous 
 pumpkin lantern, seated himself upon a little gilt chair 
 beside the inlaid table whereon the pearls were piled 
 before replying. 
 
 " Nothing, sir. Nothing at all ! Unless you really 
 wish to give me something." 
 
 "Well, then, what did you come for?" 
 
 " I bring a message to you. Her Highness, the Grand 
 Duchess, is moving back to Petersburg the night after 
 tomorrow night for the winter. She wishes you to come 
 down to Oranienbaum late and drive back with her by 
 the river*road." 
 
 " Tell her Highness that I obey with pleasure." 
 
 The black, shapeless head of Narcissus rolled around 
 upon his neck in stupid acquiescence. But there was a 
 malicious glint in his eyes the while. In his heart, which 
 one would hesitate to think was as unlovely as his body, 
 he hated everyone except the Grand Duke, his master. 
 For him he had a dog's devotion. For Maschuta he 
 had a feeling that was a little warmer than toleration, 
 principally because he reckoned her in the same class as 
 himself and not at all his superior. She received ap- 
 
 122
 
 ORLOV 
 
 plause in the Imperial Ballet for her dancing; he re- 
 ceived applause in the imperial palace for his antics. 
 Were they not, therefore, in the same class? 
 
 Still, he sat there watching for an opening to make 
 some undesirable remark. When he could stand the 
 silence no longer, the vicious little dwarf piped up in his 
 shrill and nasal treble, " Here's a new puzzle or mebbe 
 it's a new conundrum ! " 
 
 The remark did not meet with encouragement. Orlov 
 had had a few memorable encounters before with the ugly 
 tempered little creature. He did not care to renew 
 or enlarge them. But Narcissus was not to be discour- 
 aged so easily. 
 
 " Perhaps you could guess it better than anyone else, 
 Gregory Orlov! I expect there are people who think 
 you can." 
 
 "Well, out with it then, Narcis!" 
 
 " Where do you suppose the Grand Duke is going to 
 go to spend the winter? " looking maliciously at Orlov. 
 
 Maschuta's eyes opened, sparkling like those of a wary 
 animal. . 
 
 " I am sure I do not know, Narcis." 
 
 " They say you do, Gregory Orlov." 
 
 " Come, come, Narcis ! Don't be a real foal just be- 
 cause that happens to be your profession." 
 
 " I can guess, Narcis ! Try me ! " interrupted Mas- 
 chuta. 
 
 " Go ahead." 
 
 " It is a country to which a short broad road leads 
 but from which there is not any road to lead back " 
 
 The face of Narcissus changed with anger. 
 
 " Lots of people travel that road and some of them 
 unexpectedly, Mademoiselle ! " 
 
 " You do not understand me, Narcissus. Tell your 
 
 123
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 master that Maschuta says for him to be careful." 
 
 The dwarf's expression changed to one of quick cun- 
 ning, followed by a flash of animal-like gratitude. 
 
 14 This is one of the times, Narcis," said Orlov, sternly, 
 " when, if you do not disappear quickly, you will get 
 something near where your pockets are situated that is 
 a good deal heavier than gold." 
 
 Narcissus slid down clumsily from the gilt chair, his 
 huge head almost overbalancing him and shuffled away, 
 a leering, cruel smile twisting his hideous face, while 
 Mopsinka trotted gently after. 
 
 " You should know better than to interfere in a con- 
 versation of that kind, Maschuta. If you had lived in 
 court circles as long as I have, you would have learned 
 to control your tongue or lose your head." 
 
 "Are words worse than deeds, Gregory Orlov? " she 
 flung back, in a voice that was like the sobering thrust 
 of a dagger. 
 
 " They are the wicked seed from which unaccountable 
 deeds grow, Maschuta, when they are thrown about as 
 you throw them. You know our Russian proverb, ' It 
 is foolish to set the bear upon the shepherd or the swine 
 upon the gardener.' ' 
 
 " I can recall another Russian proverb to you, too, 
 Gregory Orlov, and an excellent one for you to remem- 
 ber, * A woman is not a harp to be played upon and 
 then hung upon a wall to rust.' ' 
 
 " There is no use in quarreling, Maschuta. You may 
 as well give it up. I can do what I can and I cannot do 
 anything else," his face growing sullen and determined. 
 
 The autumn afternoon was paling as it sloped toward 
 the early dusk. The harshly gilt furniture in the too 
 ornate room was glinting softer, and the pearls upon the 
 table had lost their gay sea-luster and were just little dull 
 
 124
 
 ORLOV 
 
 drops of shimmerless snow. In this drooping light the 
 eyes of Maschuta, startlingly pale by contrast with her 
 dark, gipsy face, were like angry water under the rest- 
 less changes of a sky at night, greenly malevolent and 
 somber. 
 
 " Well, it is all right, I suppose. Everything is, if you 
 happen to be able to see around it." 
 
 " What do you mean by that? " 
 
 " I mean that the Grand Duchess will do to you just 
 exactly what you are doing to me. She will use you 
 for her purposes, fool you, and then throw you over " 
 
 " You mean " 
 
 " That when you kill the Grand Duke " 
 
 c< Maschuta! " thundered the horrified voice of Orlov. 
 
 " I mean just what I began and I am going to finish 
 it. You will kill him." 
 
 " Maschuta, by the Holy Mother of God of Kasan, if 
 you say that again, I will knout you as much as I love 
 you " he added, his voice shaking with passion. 
 
 " No, you will not, Gregory Orlov. And I shall say 
 what I wish you think you will marry the Grand 
 Duchess, that sometime you will be Emperor of Rus- 
 sia " 
 
 " You are jealous. A jealous woman has not a grain 
 of sense." 
 
 " No; I am not jealous. You do not love the Grand 
 Duchess. I know that. So how could I be jealous?" 
 
 "Love her? Of course I do not! I never dreamed 
 of loving her. She is a part of prosperity my future. 
 That is all she is to me. That is all she has ever been. 
 I hate bookish women! I love only women like you. 
 And there is no other you." 
 
 " She will not marry you. She will use you your 
 popularity, your influence in the army, to help herself 
 
 125
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 to the throne. And then she will toss you over for a man 
 who does love her. Believe me, Gregory Orlov, she is 
 not spending all her time in hunting ducks or in dream- 
 ing over books." 
 
 " Of whom are you talking? " 
 
 " If you were not such a conceited fool, you would not 
 have to ask Nicholas Murievich, of course 1 " 
 
 44 Nonsense ! He is only a musician." 
 
 " All right! Call it nonsense if you wish. Biron was 
 only a stable boy. It is no affair of mine. You are the 
 handsomest man in Russia, but you will never wear 
 its crown. You may have everything else, but that you 
 will never have. It will always elude you, and for rea- 
 sons that you will find as unreasonable as I find yours." 
 
 44 What do you know about Nicholas Murievich? He 
 has played for her once or twice and you have jumped 
 at conclusions, wildly, I suppose, as usual." 
 
 " There is no one who knows the Grand Duchess less 
 than you do, Gregory Orlov." 
 
 Surprise for an instant made almost brilliant the sensu- 
 ous face, until it passed into a look of sudden fear. 
 
 44 How can you tell?" 
 
 " No one can judge a woman but a woman." 
 
 He faltered in his pacing up and down the room. 
 What if this were true? There is always a chance for 
 error. 
 
 " There are corners of their souls that only a woman's 
 eye can scan." 
 
 What if this were true and the sun of fortune were 
 rising upon a new favorite ! But he replied as boldly 
 as ever : 
 
 " That is one of your notions, Maschuta. If you were 
 a gipsy fortune teller, such foolish sayings would be in 
 place when you talked to a pack of old women " 
 
 126
 
 ORLOV 
 
 " The Grand Duchess is not like other women, Greg- 
 ory Orlov. There is something about her that is out of 
 the ordinary. I felt it that night at the Dresden 
 Woman's. I have felt it at other times, too. I have 
 seen her soul. I know. We gipsies have an instinct that 
 other people do not have. Besides, she is cleverer than 
 you are, Gregory Orlov. And she knows enough to 
 conceal her cleverness. It is a woman to be reckoned 
 with who knows enough to do that! You and I cannot 
 tell what she has learned out of those books that we know 
 nothing about. I cannot read at all. And you might 
 as well not know how for all the good it does you. She 
 does not value you for your brains. She does not love 
 you for your beauty. You are useful to her because 
 you are of pure Russian blood, and because you are the 
 darling of the army, and the army she must have." 
 
 " Enough, Maschuta. Words ! Just words " 
 
 " Time will prove or disprove it, Gregory Orlov. I 
 can wait. There is a road made for everyone to travel." 
 
 Silence fell between them with the falling of her 
 prophetic voice. Silence fell upon the world outside, too, 
 with the falling of the autumn dusk. Gregory Orlov 
 paced the floor abstractedly, a new and unsuspected fear 
 fermenting within his brain, while Maschuta sat catlike in 
 her corner with baleful, concentrated eyes and watched 
 him. At length he paused before her and looked sternly 
 down: 
 
 " Just what is it you know, Maschuta, what fact? Tell 
 me!" 
 
 " If I did, you would say ' Words. Just words! ' 
 
 " Tell me. I will judge for myself." 
 
 " The girls of the Imperial Ballet School danced for 
 her and Nicholas Murievich the other night at Oranien- 
 baum in the Porcelain Salon. She was celebrating his 
 
 127
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 return from France and Prussia. They were alone to- 
 gether there a good part of the night " 
 
 " How do you know? " 
 
 " I was there, too, outside listening. In addition 
 the girls of the ballet told me." 
 
 'What did you hear?" 
 
 " Not everything, of course. But enough to tell me 
 that she loves him. They are planning for a future to- 
 gether." 
 
 As Maschuta repeated the last words slowly, she saw 
 the face of Orlov grow white. But for her there was 
 little triumph in this. The revenge reacted upon her- 
 self. She realized upon the instant that the man beside 
 her would sacrifice everything even the woman he 
 loved for this newborn dream of a throne. And the 
 face that looked up at him was as white as his own. At 
 that moment it was as if Death, a white figure made of 
 the rising mist outside, floated between them sweetly 
 and coldly wearing the face of the goddess of Love. 
 Into Maschuta's eyes there leaped that look of fated 
 intelligence that comes when the heart is pierced. She 
 recovered poise quickly. Determination hardened her 
 face. 
 
 " She, too, is planning for the Grand Duke's death." 
 
 These limpidly spoken syllables with their scornfully 
 allusive accent upon the two first words were a challenge. 
 
 '* They planned it that night. I heard them I Count 
 Bestushev has planned it too and " 
 
 " And you sent word to the Grand Duke from my 
 rooms by that vicious dwarf, Narcissus! You warned 
 him. Only a mad woman would do a thing like that! 
 What do you suppose that may do to me ? That tongue 
 of yours will be the death of us ! " commencing again his 
 worried pacing of the floor. 
 
 128
 
 ORLOV 
 
 " I did not send word to the Grand Duke to get even 
 with you. There is no need of doing it. A cleverer 
 woman than I will see to that." 
 
 He paused and faced her. 
 
 " You will kill the Grand Duke." 
 
 " Maschuta, I have warned you." 
 
 " She will lure you on to do it with promises which she 
 has no intention of keeping. You will commit a crime 
 and Nicholas Murievich will gain a crown." 
 
 " Maschuta ! There are spies everywhere. The 
 walls of our houses have ears. The Empress still lives, 
 you must remember, and you and I might be sent to 
 Siberia within the hour or, which is worse, thrown 
 into a dungeon." 
 
 " You will kill the Grand Duke " 
 
 " By the body of Holy Isaac I will knout you if you 
 persist." 
 
 " And then you will keep putting me off with this ex- 
 cuse and that excuse. If you should marry the Grand 
 Duchess, you would send me away to France or Italy to 
 live, with a few thousand rubles, as the acknowledged 
 prima ballerina of their Imperial Russian Majesties. 
 You know that you are planning to kill him, and for that 
 very purpose. You cannot lie to me " 
 
 " Maschuta! " thundered a voice that was not recog- 
 nizable in its terrified cruelty, as he snatched a jewelled 
 knout from the wall. 
 
 " Strike me if you dare ! If you do, I will kill you ! " 
 leaping like a cat to the center of the room and defy- 
 ing him with astonishing audacity. 
 
 " Orlovf " with the word that vibrated sharply across 
 the tawdry room, the form of Count Bestushev-Rjumin 
 towered in the doorway, in the dim light appearing gro- 
 tesquely exaggerated in height and thinness. 
 
 129
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " Orlov, hang up that knout." 
 
 Surprise held the arm suspended. Surprise, likewise, 
 and anger held the tongue bound. At length, finding 
 relief for arrested motion in words, 
 
 " Am I not master in my own house? " 
 'Yes! And I am master in Russia." 
 
 Eyes looked into eyes. .The one who commanded was 
 so frail and so old that the lightest blow could crush 
 him. But there was something within him that was 
 greater than physical strength. He possessed a power 
 that muscle might not resist. Not many had withstood 
 that glance of command. And Gregory Orlov had rea- 
 sons for obeying. 
 
 " Maschuta here, of the Imperial Ballet, is the prop- 
 erty of the crown. Over her I throw its protection," 
 making a gesture with the witchlike arms. In the silence 
 that followed, so taut were nerves strained, one could 
 hear the falling of the mist outside. Then, as usually 
 happens in the first moment of relaxation, each material 
 object became more harshly visible: the clear green eyes 
 of Maschuta like hard translucent gems; the cold white 
 scattered pearls, the pallid Sevres plaques that rimmed 
 the table; the ghostly old man with the sunken eyes of 
 fire; and the sullen, wet autumn night that was shutting 
 down with cold, floating mists that dazzled with their 
 mystery, as if the Polar waters were closing in upon them. 
 Each felt in his heart a premonitory shiver of days that 
 were soon to be. 
 
 " Come, come Orlov ! " in a changed voice, as he en- 
 tered the room. " Hang up that knout. And you, 
 Maschuta, put away that little piece of steel you are con- 
 cealing." 
 
 In the sullen face of Maschuta there was no gleam of 
 gratitude. Gratitude was not a mental equipment which 
 
 130
 
 ORLOV 
 
 she considered worth while. Besides, this old man had 
 the secret powers of mind which she herself possessed. 
 In addition, she recognized in him the effective spring 
 that moved everything, and in ways which were fatal 
 to her. 
 
 The afternoon had been disastrous. She felt the ful- 
 fillment of her desires slipping away from her. And 
 she felt dimly that these two men represented something 
 great and epochmaking that was approaching, something 
 which she had not suspected and which she hated and 
 feared accordingly. The animal instinct to wound in 
 return rose up within her. With a bravery that was re- 
 flected in the heart of each in unspoken admiration, she 
 made erect the childish figure and looked them unflinch- 
 ingly in the eye, just as she did her audience when she 
 responded to applause in the Imperial Theater. 
 
 " Have a good time, you two, who rule Russia now ! 
 Have a good time ! Your day is short like mine. 
 Fate is doing to you the same thing she is doing to me. 
 But you who are highest have farthest to fall." 
 
 The face of Count Bestushev-Rjumin took on the ex- 
 pression that had given him the nickname of the " Rus- 
 sian Fox." He knew that she had been the paid spy 
 of the Grand Duke. He knew that she could divulge im- 
 portant secrets, and that now she was in the mood to do 
 it, if the mood were not changed. And his opinion of 
 her beauty was a good deal higher than his opinion of her 
 intelligence. Lest he jostle her and discontinue the 
 course of her thinking, he annihilated for the moment the 
 pulse of thought within himself. 
 
 " When the great secret is out, what will you do you 
 two? The great secret! The great secret!" 
 
 Emotion lifted her to the edge of the precipice. She 
 could not resist the call. She would take the plunge and
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 tell. The iron will of the Great Chancellor was beat- 
 ing her steadily toward it. He stood with high folded 
 arms and thin concentrated lips looking at her. The 
 silence was to her brain what suffocation is to the lungs. 
 It gave her the impulse to shriek, to utter wild words. 
 His silent figure seemed to grow taller, more command- 
 ing, an awful figure of vengeance and doom. And his 
 will was beating her out from under the safe shelter of 
 prudence and wisdom, just as the gamekeeper beats the 
 pheasants out into the open to be shot. She could not 
 resist the force longer. It was unendurable. It was 
 as full of suffering as physical pain. In the strained 
 silence the mist outside was loud as rustling gauzes, and 
 now, occasionally, it showed a silver dagger of rain, the 
 threatening weapon of the storm. 
 
 The pressure of the moment was more than she could 
 bear. The last rag of resistance had been whipped away 
 like the last tattered rag of a sail in a storm. With 
 defiance and joy ringing in her voice she said: 
 
 " The Grand Duchess of Russia is the natural daughter 
 of Frederick the Great! Petersburg is filled with his 
 spies. Some of them are commissioned to tell her. 
 When she knows this when she knows this, and gives 
 him a voice in affairs, what will become of you, Count 
 Bestushev-Rjumin? Then who will be supreme? Then 
 who will rule Russia? 
 
 " And when the Grand Duke dies as you two know 
 very well that he will and soon what will become of 
 your ambitious dreams, Gregory Orlov? When the 
 Grand Duke dies and the Duchess marries Nicholas 
 Murievich ! " 
 
 The face of Count Bestushev-Rjumin did not change a 
 muscle. He had found out what he wished to know. 
 This, then, was to be the card played by the wily Fred- 
 
 132 

 
 ORLOV 
 
 erick to stop the war against Prussia, save Berlin from 
 the plundering of a foreign army, and depose himself. 
 If this failed, what then? He must find out. This, 
 evidently, was the secret of which Catherine Alexevna 
 had hinted. This was the secret brought back by the 
 soldiers from the banks of the Pregel. But Frederick 
 of Prussia always kept a safe alternative on hand in case 
 of a first failure. What was that? He did not need 
 to question. Maschuta stood before them foaming with 
 words of wrath : 
 
 " You think, both of you, that the Grand Duchess is 
 the only person in the world! Did it never occur to you 
 that she can die just as well as the Grand Duke? Is 
 she not flesh like the rest of us? Why have you 
 not thought of this? The masked ball is coming, 
 Count Bestushev-Rjumin ! The masked ball is coming I 
 Strange things happen then. People have disappeared at 
 the masked ball and never been found again. Wait un- 
 til the masked ball comes ! " 
 
 Count Bestushev-Rjumin had now found out more than 
 he wished to know, but his face was as impassive as 
 before. The astonishing disclosure vanished into the 
 depths of that secretive intelligence as pebbles vanish 
 into the sea. It left not a ripple upon the surface. 
 
 "And Nicholas Murievich? " he thought. "Well, 
 well ! Well, well ! " 
 
 The impression made upon Gregory Orlov was differ- 
 ent. He had forgotten his anger of a little while ago. 
 Another emotion had taken its place. He was filled with 
 pity for this beautiful creature who was stung to futile 
 rage that meant death, perhaps, to herself, while its 
 foolish speaking was giving the means of salvation to 
 the others. Poor little Maschuta ! Grief was heavy 
 within him and a feeling that she was swinging out beyond 
 
 133 

 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 his power to save. Poor little Maschuta! Why had 
 he not given her a present and sent her home, instead 
 of quarreling with her? Pity awoke to fresh life the 
 love he had always had for her. Again, she seemed to 
 him some helpless strayed creature of the forest that had 
 wandered into the city where it was futilely trying to 
 preserve its life from carriages and crowds. Poor little 
 Maschuta ! By force of contrast he thought of Cather- 
 ine Alexevna and the self-control that the training of 
 years had .given. For an instant he felt a shiver of re- 
 pulsion for that cold, selfish intelligence. 
 
 When she had finished, Count Bestushev-Rjumin, with 
 a gentle and forgetful smile that banished the words she 
 had said as if they were as inconsequential as current 
 society phrases, turned to her pleasantly. His air of 
 command had vanished. He was just a frail old man now 
 with a face of gentle, almost senile, kindness. In his 
 voice, as he spoke to her, there was a note of fatherly 
 consideration. 
 
 " You should have been an actress, and a great tragic 
 actress, Maschuta, instead of a dancer ! " 
 
 Relief was evident upon her face, now that she had 
 paused for breath and realized with what audacity she 
 had been addressing the Great Chancellor, whose word 
 Europe obeyed, and the most terrible man in Russia. 
 Instantly, her mind went over the stories she had heard 
 of him and his uncanny powers. She drew a breath of 
 thankfulness that he did not seem disturbed at the news. 
 It must be that he knew it before, she meditated, or else 
 deemed it of slight importance. She pulled herself to- 
 gether from fright of realization of what she had said, 
 while her anger subsided. 
 
 " You might have been like the actresses I heard in 
 England. The stage is a great institution there." 
 
 134
 
 ORLOV 
 
 His manner was kind. It put Maschuta's little fears 
 to sleep. The Calmuck servant came in bringing candles. 
 By their light the Great Chancellor looked older, and 
 frail, and pitiful, as their uncertain flames painted black 
 shadows beneath his eyes, and his purple veined hands, 
 which were spotted with age, began to tremble weakly. 
 Maschuta was rapidly reversing her judgment of him. 
 Her hatred was fading away. 
 
 " I do not know but we shall have to give you some 
 dramatic schooling abroad somewhere. We cannot have 
 Russian genius going to waste like this." 
 
 Oh ! they certainly were mistaken who told such stories 
 of him. Perhaps the Grand Duke, too, is wrong, 
 she thought. The Grand Duke is none too intelligent. 
 Perhaps he is not the terrible man they picture 
 him. 
 
 Gregory Orlov was of a different opinion. He knew 
 that the " Russian Fox " was never so dangerous as when 
 he was in this gentle voiced mood. It meant that he had 
 found out by accident something that he was eager to 
 learn, something of great importance, and that he had 
 come to some inexorable decision. It meant that he 
 would strike quickly and without warning, and that no 
 one would know whence the blow came. The mood was 
 the result of self-satisfaction, and determination to act 
 quickly and under cover. 
 
 Poor little Maschuta ! How he pitied her ! She was 
 smiling up at him now quite trustfully. How could she 
 be expected to understand the man whom the diplomats 
 of Europe could neither measure nor forestall? And 
 how eager he was for them both to forget! The news 
 was too precious to be touched by the tongue of conversa- 
 tion. Therefore, he was quick to change the subject to 
 something personally interesting to her. Count Bes- 
 
 135
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 tushev-Rjumin believed that all women have long hair 
 and short thoughts. 
 
 " Now, my pretty little Gipsy, if Gregory Orlov should 
 have another attack of ill temper, you will know whom 
 to send for, will you not? " 
 
 Maschuta nodded amicably, her face becoming merry 
 and natural. And what an unprecedented honor, to be 
 addressed as an equal by the Great Chancellor! " Per- 
 haps," she thought, " he is going to fall in love with me 
 just like Gregory Orlov." 
 
 l< It takes us to straighten Orlov out, does it not? " 
 
 " Sometimes, Count Bestushev, Gregory acts just as 
 if he thought the world were coming to an end." 
 
 ' Well, well, Little One, you and I can manage him ! 
 You can depend on me." 
 
 He looked at them intently for a moment. His voice 
 changed and faltered : 
 
 " How old I feel beside you two gay flowers of youth ! 
 How old! How old!" 
 
 As he said this in a sad and wistful manner, he ap- 
 peared to shrivel to such tenuity of body that it seemed as 
 if he must float about like the shadows of the wavering 
 candles. He was like a spirit that had lived forever 
 and could not be released. The black, measureless 
 weight of uncounted centuries hovered over him. His 
 hearers felt the sadness of death and time upon them. 
 The present, with its grief and intrigue, was trivial in 
 comparison with the prodigious past that he must know. 
 
 And this was part of his magic, to disarm before he 
 struck. It was safer for him. And it was so much 
 surer. He never played with a possible margin for loss. 
 That margin had gone long ago to swell the wealth of his 
 resourcefulness. 
 
 136
 
 ORLOV 
 
 " Good night, my pretty little Gipsy. Good night, 
 Orlov. I am very tired. I must go." 
 
 " Good night, Count Bestushev-Rjumin," replied 
 Gregory Orlov, bowing, obsequiously polite, as the thin 
 old figure, that had entered like a whirlwind of wrath, 
 tottered weakly through the lighted doorway. 
 
 Maschuta caught a glimpse in the hallway outside of 
 the yellow, ugly face of the old man's Calmuck servant 
 who was waiting to attend him home. 
 
 " What would I not give to know what is in his mind 
 now," thought Orlov, as he watched him disappear into 
 the outer hall. " Whatever it is, it will not affect me 
 personally my life. That is safe enough. I am use- 
 ful to him. But the others ! The Grand Duke, Nicholas 
 Murievich, Maschuta! " He caught his breath in fear. 
 
 Clearly he saw her danger. Poor little Maschuta, 
 what did she know of this game in which a human life is 
 of no more account than the dust that the wind blows 1 
 Again, he saw her a helpless creature darting about among 
 the crowding carriages of Petersburg, seeking a place of 
 safety. 
 
 " Maschuta, you must leave Petersburg for a few 
 months and leave at once ! " 
 
 ' You wish me out of the way, do you? " 
 
 " Listen to me, Little Sweetheart, and put away your 
 anger. It is for your good, not for any object of my own 
 I wish you to go. You must feign illness, get leave of 
 absence from the Imperial Theater, and go south for 
 your health perhaps to Moscow, or Kiev, whatever 
 place suits you best." 
 
 " And be forgotten and never come back to Peters- 
 burg? " 
 
 ' You do not understand and I cannot explain to you." 
 
 137
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " And then, in that length of time, Count Bestushev- 
 Rjumin will forget about me and the dramatic school to 
 which he is going to send me. You make me lose every- 
 thing that is worth while. My interests are of no conse- 
 quence." 
 
 " Dearest One, listen to me. I am trying to save your 
 life. I know this world of court and intrigue better 
 than you do. For you to try to tell me about it would 
 be like my telling you how to dance. I love you, 
 Maschuta ! The things that I have done that have made 
 you angry I have been forced to do. You have judged 
 them wrongly. You must listen to me. When you are 
 traveling in a land you know nothing of, you must let 
 them who live there guide you. It would be impossible 
 to know the way. It is folly to be wise unwisely. Just 
 this time, do as I wish, Dear One ! 
 
 " I will never ask you to do anything that you do not 
 wish to do again. You must go ! And to-night! There 
 is not a minute to lose. I will see her Majesty for you 
 myself in the morning." 
 
 "Why should I do such a foolish thing? I will not! 
 If you are tired of helping me, if you are losing interest, 
 I will see what Count Bestushev-Rjumin will do. You 
 heard what he said I " 
 
 " You do not understand Count Bestushev, Little Love 
 Count Bestushev is is " He did not dare to say 
 it. Not even for the woman he loved. He dared not 
 risk one explanatory word against the Great Chancellor. 
 There was only one way. He had tried it and failed. 
 
 " Maschuta, if you will leave Petersburg for three 
 months, get leave of absence on pretext of illness, I will 
 marry you at the end of that time. I will marry you. 
 I swear it by all the saints of Russia ! What more could 
 
 138
 
 ORLOV 
 
 a man say to a woman to guarantee his good faith than 
 I am saying to you ? " 
 
 " But I will not go, Gregory Orlov ! I will stay right 
 here. I will be a great actress in the English manner. 
 I will have Russia at my feet." 
 
 " Can you not care for anything but ambition, Mas- 
 chuta? Is there no love in your heart? " he said, in a 
 dull, saddened voice, seeing afresh the emptiness of her 
 nature, yet feeling for her the same old pitying love. 
 
 " Come, dear Little Sweetheart, be guided by me 
 this once just this once ! " folding her within his arms 
 and kissing the angry eyes. 
 
 " No, I will not, Gregory Orlov ! This once I will do 
 just as I please. And one of the things I please is to 
 go back to my apartments now." 
 
 ;< Wait a moment, Dearest!" 
 
 He summoned a servant. 
 
 " Have Mademoiselle Maschuta driven to her apart- 
 ments by the Fontanka." 
 
 " Do not feel bad, Gregory! You will be glad that 
 I am not going away. You know you will ! How could 
 you get along without me ? You could not ! See, Greg- 
 ory To show you I am forgiving you, I am kissing 
 you. Lift me up higher there! Right on the end 
 of your nose ! Good night, Gregory ! Good night." 
 
 139
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 THE FATAL NIGHT AT ORANIENBAUM 
 
 There was something besides the petted caprice of a 
 pretty woman in Maschuta's resistance to the pleading 
 of Orlov. She had made up her mind to listen once 
 more at night by the doors of the Porcelain Salon that 
 gave upon the Gulf of Finland. She would know from 
 the testimony of her own ears and eyes just the sort of 
 thing that Gregory Orlov meant to Catherine Alexevna, 
 and just what were the plans which she believed that he 
 was concealing from her. 
 
 Oranienbaum was wearing no longer the air of sum- 
 mer festivity that had distinguished it on the night when 
 Catherine Alexevna had celebrated the return of Nicholas 
 Murievich from the war by the Pregel. The flowers 
 were gone, and the mellow moon, and the thrill of sum- 
 mer. Dried and shriveled stalks hung dismally over the 
 marble urns. The gardens were dim and dismantled. 
 Dirty fishing boats did not dot the deep, nor the gay 
 sails of merrymakers. The earth was a faded yellow 
 that was losing its gold; that tragic yellow which is the 
 color of regret. The Gulf was gray and blurred by 
 ripples that shivered. The sky was a dull monochrome 
 that bent over the earth, against which, from time to time, 
 were etched the thin, black lines of frightened birds has- 
 tening to the south. But underneath this dismal hollow 
 there was quiet. The winds were still. It was as if the 
 cloud-wall held at bay the winter, its swirling snows and 
 
 140
 
 THE FATAL NIGHT 
 
 bitter nights. Over the fields and the Gulf and the 
 marshy road by which the pale moss lay, over the wooden 
 Finnish village, which the founder had called Peters- 
 burg, lay that unearthly and terrifying silence which in 
 Russia precedes the first falling of the snow. In the 
 soul of Catherine Alexevna, who was standing by the 
 open doors that looked upon the Gulf, there was the same 
 terrifying silence, which she, likewise, knew to be the 
 silence that precedes the storm. But she neither feared 
 it nor regretted its necessity. She felt as if the same force 
 had passed over the mind and the heart of her that had 
 passed over the world of nature, killing the flowers. 
 
 The occasional sensation of old, that she was a mirror 
 that reflected life but could not feel it, was becoming 
 permanent. Life was a pageant floating across the mir- 
 ror surface of her heart. She no longer felt the old 
 grief of the impetuous letters to Nicholas Murievich, 
 the longing to put a stop to the peculiar death that was 
 creeping upon her. Instead, her intellect merely kept 
 record of it coldly. 
 
 The change in the mind and the nature of Catherine 
 Alexevna had brought about a similar change in her 
 body. It had grown thinner. It had hardened. It had 
 lost flexibility. It resembled marble. As she stood by 
 the doors, dressed in the traveling gown in which later 
 that evening she was going to drive back to Petersburg 
 with Gregory Orlov, a faint breeze like a sigh from the 
 sea slipped drily across the faded flowers that swung 
 from the urns. With it the thought slipped across her 
 mind that like these flowers had become her youth. 
 
 Oranienbaum was lonely now, especially at this hour. 
 The Gulf was just such a monotony as life is without 
 love. In Petersburg, at least there would be window 
 lights. There would be people. There would be voices 
 
 141
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 and laughter. The next night, too, was the masked ball, 
 she reflected, which meant the opening of the court sea- 
 son. It was the first revelry of the Russian winter. At 
 this masked ball strange things had happened. Who 
 could tell what to-morrow night might bring forth? 
 Petersburg was filled with the spies of all nations. The 
 city was in a ferment. Everywhere was restlessness, dis- 
 satisfaction. Court factions would be busy with their 
 plots. They would not let such an opportunity go un- 
 used. Danger would be an unbidden guest. 
 
 She had received a note that morning from Nicholas 
 Murievich telling her that something was on foot against 
 both herself and him, but that he could not find out what. 
 She must be on the alert. Perhaps, the lives of both 
 were the issue. She must not falter ! She must be equal 
 to the occasion. He knew, of course, that she would be. 
 He had no fear. The letter was pitiful in its deep and 
 trusting love, and in the understanding that his life de- 
 pended upon her. 
 
 This letter was followed by another from Count Bes- 
 tushev-Rjumin, a letter of unexplained command to the 
 point that she must wear a plain, black domino to the 
 masked ball, and one several sizes too large so that it 
 would effectively conceal the figure. With this she must 
 wear a black hood, likewise large, and a black mask. 
 And the costume was to be kept secret from everyone, 
 not excepting Gregory Orlov and her maid, Mafra Sav- 
 ischna, until she was ready to dress for the ball. In 
 addition, there was a postscript which said, " Do not in- 
 terfere with the command I have given to my Calmuck 
 slave for to-night." 
 
 The importance of this letter she estimated from the 
 fact that it was written in his secret cipher. It con- 
 tained no other information. But she knew that behind 
 
 142
 
 THE FATAL NIGHT 
 
 it lay a plot. She knew that it was the small hinge upon 
 which some great door turned. With the knowledge 
 came no emotion. It was an unchangeable thing, like the 
 rising of the stars. 
 
 The gaunt reeds by the Oranienbaum canal shivered. 
 She heard them with a thrill of memory. There was 
 the sound of dried grass trodden stealthily, and the form 
 of Maschuta crept up over the terrace. Upon the in- 
 stant Catherine Alexevna was alert and watching. 
 
 " How is this, Maschuta? I thought that your posi- 
 tion as spy for the Grand Duke lasted only for the 
 summer. Has he re-engaged you?" 
 
 There was no anger in the tone. It was calm and 
 equable and scarcely tinged with mockery. 
 
 Maschuta walked straight toward the Grand Duchess, 
 just as if she had come to make a call upon her. She 
 did not take the trouble to reply immediately. Catherine 
 Alexevna admired her audacity and daring. 
 
 " Narcissus told me that you were in Gregory Orlov's 
 rooms, when my message was delivered. Would you 
 like him to be banished from Russia, the way your last 
 act of spying brought about the banishment of Count 
 Poniatovsky? " 
 
 " No, indeed, your Royal Highness. That would be 
 inconvenient for me, because in three months Gregory 
 Orlov is going to marry me." 
 
 Maschuta had made up her mind that her departure 
 from Petersburg would be wise. She almost wished she 
 had gone the night before. There was something in the 
 heavy air of night that oppressed her like the shadow 
 of fear. 
 
 " Men of the court, my Little Dancer, may not marry 
 without royal permission." 
 
 " But no one can tell, your Royal Highness, who will
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 be the one to give out royal permission in three months 
 from now." 
 
 This unwise rejoinder brought forth no change of ex- 
 pression upon the well trained face of Catherine Alexevna. 
 But it sent defensive thoughts flying swiftly across the 
 surface of her brain. 
 
 " Suppose I give out royal permission? " 
 
 " All things are possible I " 
 
 How she hated this woman's assurance of power, her 
 possession of the desirable things of life! 
 
 " I suppose I could refuse, my Little Dancer if I 
 wished." 
 
 The words " little dancer " emphasized the breadth of 
 the social chasm that lay between them. 
 
 " You could refuse, of course. What use would there 
 be in holding a man's body, when you could not hold 
 his heart?" 
 
 "Could I not?" 
 
 " You are of the great world. I am humble and of the 
 people. But I can boast the love of the handsomest man 
 in Russia." 
 
 Maschuta had made up her mind that she would tell 
 Gregory Orlov the instant she reached Petersburg that 
 she saw his advice was good and she was ready to set out 
 for Moscow. But, in the meantime, she would revenge 
 herself upon this woman whom she had hated long be- 
 fore she saw her, in those obscure days of vagabondage 
 in Little Russia. 
 
 " He will marry me for love. He is glad to give in- 
 stead of receive." Catherine Alexevna smiled decep- 
 tively. 
 
 Now was the opportunity Maschuta had longed for. 
 Without waiting for an invitation she followed the Grand 
 Duchess into the Porcelain Salon. How she longed 
 
 144
 
 THE FATAL NIGHT 
 
 to wound this woman whom she envied, who had the 
 things she herself desired! How she hated her assump- 
 tion of superiority! Again the torrent of words was 
 carrying her away: 
 
 " You may smile upon me scornfully, if you wish. But 
 I do not feel your scorn. I would rather be Maschuta, 
 the dancer, than the woman, even if she wore a crown 
 whom the world calls " 
 
 " Maschuta enough! It will be well for you to re- 
 member to whom you are speaking." 
 
 ' There are other brands of nobility, your Royal High- 
 ness, besides the one you wear. The heart, nobility of 
 living, are titles which the world recognizes as well as 
 yours." 
 
 " You foolish little dancer, what right have you in 
 your ignorance to judge a woman like me? Do you not 
 know that it is only by my forbearance that you are 
 speaking? The more insignificant a woman is the more 
 highly she values herself! You foolish child! And I 
 am foolish, too, to talk to you who have not the ability 
 to understand. I have rights which you do not have. 
 I have the rights that ability gives and far reaching 
 plans for my country. Peter the Regenerator gave Rus- 
 sia a body. I will give it a soul. 
 
 " But you do not understand ! What folly it is for 
 me to talk to you ! Grief and blood went to the making 
 of physical Russia. But only joy can go to its refining, 
 its soul-regeneration. That is what I am for. It is joy 
 that must be the soul of a race and the art of a race. 
 You foolish little dancer, there are other views of life 
 than yours of the bargaining shopkeeper! What right 
 have you to judge a woman like me? " 
 
 " None, perhaps ! But the world has a right. And 
 it will use it. Perhaps, your Royal Highness will respect
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 the world's judgment if you do not respect mine. It is 
 not I who am speaking now, it is the world. It says that 
 you are very little a woman, that you are becoming a 
 monster." 
 
 The face of Catherine Alexevna changed visibly. At 
 last, Maschuta had struck home. 
 
 Was the world seeing the death that was going on 
 within her? Could one not even hide one's soul? 
 Hatred hardened her face. 
 
 " It says the world that Count Bestushev-Rjumin 
 is making a monster out of you; that he is pouring his 
 dying soul into you. In this way he will live on while 
 you live. In this way he hopes to reign through you. In 
 this way The world says many things, your Royal 
 Highness ! " This, then, was the construction put upon 
 it. This was something to hear. " His black magic 
 will be yours. But no man will love you for yourself 
 alone. Not even you can have everything ! " added that 
 triumphant voice that was so glad to wound. 
 
 Catherine Alexevna glanced instinctively toward the 
 black and gold Chinese Salon. She recalled with a thrill 
 of semi-physical intelligence how she had seen him, the 
 night but one before, come out of the bodies of those 
 Chinese monsters in that pallid dawn at Oranienbaum. 
 Perhaps, he was really something terrible and incompre- 
 hensible that had lived forever; some monster that had 
 come wandering down across the fabulous plains of the 
 East to this chaotic land of contrasts, Russia, where any- 
 thing could be. " A monster! " repeated the cruel voice, 
 triumphantly, while her eyes blazed with the Orient's an- 
 cient hatred of the West. Catherine Alexevna was not a 
 Slav. This Maschuta could not forgive. What right 
 had this foreign woman in her Holy Russia? The na- 
 tures of both women were primitive and elemental. But 
 
 146
 
 THE FATAL NIGHT 
 
 to Catherine Alexevna there had been added the disci- 
 plined brain of Europe that could counsel, control, and 
 that could wait until the moment came. This put an un- 
 equal weight into the scales. " A monster ! " This had 
 struck home. This had brought back sensation. She 
 was finding that there was another emotion that checked 
 effectively the emotionless death. It was rage. She felt 
 it rising within her. She felt it expanding the powers 
 of her body. She felt it flooding the inlets and recesses 
 of her nature. She saw its dizzy swinging eddies that 
 rose and rose. She saw its increasing depth. 
 
 Just at this moment Narcissus came ambling awkwardly 
 across the Porcelain Salon, resplendent in red and yellow 
 satin, which he had put on to celebrate his return to 
 Petersburg that night, and the court. When he saw 
 the expression upon the face of the Grand Duchess, he 
 dropped limply down upon a sofa by the doors without 
 any jests or capers. There was one person of whom 
 Narcissus stood in respectful fear, and upon whom he 
 never exercised his evil wit, and that was the Grand 
 Duchess. 
 
 Maschuta saw her advantage and pushed it. Now, 
 she had the upper hand. She did not interpret rightly 
 the manner of the Grand Duchess. She was used to 
 the anger of another class of women. She did not know 
 how dangerous were these moments of silence. She 
 thought they were caused by fear. Accordingly, she con- 
 tinued as wildly as before, 
 
 " Yes, and there are other things that you do not know, 
 too!" 
 
 Through the rage that was filling her brain there 
 darted the intelligence that now was coming the disclos- 
 ure that Nicholas Murievich had hinted of, the secret of 
 the Pregel. 
 
 147
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " Perhaps you will not be so proud when you learn that 
 you are a bastard." 
 
 Not a muscle of the face trembled despite the rage 
 that was pounding for release within her brain. 
 
 Emboldened by relief in her victory, Maschuta con- 
 tinued : " Yes, a bastard ! You are the natural daugh- 
 ter of Frederick the Great. Now, how do you feel? 
 Now are you any better than I ? " 
 
 She made no answer. Still she stood there motionless. 
 This was it the secret! If it were true, the disgrace 
 was covered up in glory. Faith in herself strengthened. 
 Courage invigorated her. Never before had she so real- 
 ized her own possibilities. She was of the race of that 
 iron-hearted warrior. 
 
 But Maschuta had no part in this quick meditation. 
 Anger had caused her to lose temporarily the divining 
 power of her race. She still misunderstood the silence 
 and took it for triumph for herself. 
 
 ' They call you a monster! They call you a bastard! 
 They will call you " 
 
 " Maschuta! " the voice had deepened and roughened. 
 Rage was diffused over it. Such a voice from that marble 
 woman ! 
 
 Answering anger sprang up within Maschuta. She 
 would crush that angry voice into silence. She had done 
 it once. She would do it again. She would subdue her 
 while she was about it. 
 
 * Yes, the people say these things all of them. And 
 it will not be long before they will call you something 
 else something worse ! " 
 
 The fateful silence that followed was not broken by the 
 tinkling of the fool's bells. Narcissus was rigid and 
 motionless. Even his great pumpkin head was twisted 
 into an attitude of attention. 
 
 148
 
 THE FATAL NIGHT 
 
 Two candles had been placed in the far corners of the 
 Porcelain Salon. Their flames stretched out hungrily 
 toward the two women like pointing fingers. 
 
 " They will call you a murderess ! They will call you a 
 murderess because you will kill the Grand Duke 1 " 
 
 Rage was pounding in her ears now as loudly as a sea 
 against granite breakers. Louder and louder grew its 
 roar, and more sense destroying. At the same time, 
 there was a part of the brain that was active and clear 
 and that thought with lucidity. Especially, did it recall 
 facts of the past that bore upon the present. This 
 heightened power of memory she was unable to shut off. 
 She did not control it. 
 
 She heard Esterhazy remarking, sneeringly, " She will 
 be the Tzaritza of an empire of blood and horror." 
 Some one else was it Marquis de 1'Hopital? Any- 
 way, it was some foreigner whom she hated, and whose 
 impressions of the country were sharp and clear, had 
 declared that the air of Petersburg was electric with 
 crime. And she remembered now just what Count 
 Bestushev had whispered by these very sea-doors. Her 
 brain worked like a steel spring that was polished and 
 bright. Everything that could in anyway relate to the 
 present it recalled distinctly. Anger had given impetus 
 to brain and nerve centers. But not much longer could 
 she restrain that ocean that was pounding within her. 
 Then, there rose up within Catherine Alexevna the desire 
 to destroy which she had first felt on the night of the 
 ball when they had driven away from the flowers and the 
 music to hear the wolves howl across the snow. The 
 rage ocean could no longer be controlled. It was chok- 
 ing, blinding her. Then, it found an exit and its dis- 
 cordant roar subsided. At this moment she felt the pres- 
 ence of the Ghostly Chancellor just as she had felt it 
 
 149
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 i 
 
 when she had bidden farewell to Nicholas Murievich 
 one morning in the dawn. Again, it seemed to her that 
 he came from the grotesque bodies of those Chinese mon- 
 sters and inhabited the adjoining black and gold salon. 
 She glanced toward it apprehensively. There in the 
 dim light she saw the yellow, leering face of the Great 
 Chancellor's Calmuck slave. She recalled at once the 
 postscript to his cipher letter, " Do not hinder the com- 
 mand I have given to my Calmuck slave for to-night! " 
 
 Now she understood. He advanced softly into the 
 room on tip-toe, and seized Maschuta by the throat. For 
 a few seconds the two figures swayed silently back and 
 forth by the lighted doorway, their bodies casting dis- 
 torted shadows upon the floor. Maschuta freed herself 
 for the space of a second. 
 
 " Narcissus," she gasped, " run and tell your master 
 to come here quickly. I tried to save his life. Let 
 him save mine ! Tell him " 
 
 The hands were upon her throat again. When 
 Narcissus arose to go, two eyes of blazing anger burned 
 a command into his brain. He dropped down limp and 
 helpless, with foolish, staring eyes and loose hanging 
 lips. His own petty malice and mischief were dwarfed 
 into insignificance. 
 
 "Narcissus for the love of God!" 
 
 The only answer was the shivering of his frightened 
 fool's bells. Again, the two struggling figures were one 
 and their shadows slipped along the floor. As Cather- 
 ine Alexevna watched them, mindful of the Chancellor's 
 command not to interfere, scarlet banners floated before 
 her eyes. Faster and faster they floated, as she saw the 
 body of Maschuta grow weak and falter. They fell to 
 the floor. Neither moved for a little time. Then she 
 saw that life was gone. 
 
 150
 
 THE FATAL NIGHT 
 
 She was aroused from her fascinated contemplation of 
 the dead face upon the floor by little elfin bells that 
 tingled. Narcissus was sitting in his chair and shaking 
 as if he had a fever, his shapeless head rolling about 
 upon his shoulders. She looked up. The candles now 
 stood stiff and tall, their sensitive flames white and straight 
 above them. They held the attitude of aspiring prayer. 
 
 The Calmuck picked up the little childish body of 
 Maschuta as lightly as if it had been a doll, ran down 
 the terrace with it and dropped it into the Gulf. Then, 
 he disappeared as silently as he had come. She knew 
 that her own life had been saved by the watchful care 
 of the Great Chancellor. Yet she felt fresh horror for 
 the crime. And in a way she had been made a party to 
 it. It was almost as if she had committed it. She had 
 looked on without an effort to hinder. Narcissus with 
 his shivering fool's bells still sat upon the sofa. She 
 drew up a little gilt chair and sat down opposite him 
 and looked out over the Gulf, over which the blackness 
 of night now lay heavily. 
 
 The candles had burned considerably lower and were 
 slipping more fretfully along the floor their ribboned 
 light, when Gregory Orlov's handsome figure came sway- 
 ing across the Chinese Salon. 
 
 " Good evening, your Royal Highness." 
 
 " Good evening, Gregory Orlov." 
 
 "Hello, Narcis! How are you?" 
 
 For answer Narcissus's teeth began to chatter like 
 castanets and his bells to jangle madly. 
 
 "What's the matter with you, Narcis? Have you 
 lost your wits? I never knew that vicious tongue of 
 yours to miss an opportunity of exercise before ! " 
 
 " Narcissus" said the Grand Duchess, in a voice that 
 did not brook disobedience, " stop shaking! "
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Instantly, he was rigid, his silver fool's bells silent, 
 looking up at her with terrified, unintelligent eyes. 
 
 " Get up ! Go bring me two lighted torches. Do it 
 at once ! " 
 
 He slid awkwardly from his seat, looking up at her 
 out of the corners of big eyes, that were as white as 
 moons, and then shuffled away. 
 
 " I suppose that I may as well tell you now as at any 
 time, Gregory Orlov." 
 
 ; 'What?" 
 
 'Wait, wait! Do not be in a hurry to know. You 
 will know soon enough. Wait until Narcissus gets 
 back." 
 
 " It seemed a long time before Narcissus, looking both 
 pitiful and grotesque, appeared at the sea-doors, holding 
 painfully with his small hands two torches of pine. 
 
 " Come, Gregory." 
 
 " Light us down the terrace, Narcissus." 
 
 The shapeless little figure in its gala court suit stag- 
 gered on ahead upholding one of the torches, while Orlov 
 carried the other. 
 
 Gregory walked along wondering. When they 
 reached the Gulf, the Grand Duchess commanded Narcis- 
 sus to take hold of the end of the torch and hold it out 
 over the water. Gregory Orlov took the heavy wood 
 from the ineffective, trembling hands and its red light 
 shot out over the Gulf. 
 
 " Gregory, see " 
 
 He looked down. There, nearly at his feet, where 
 the water was not deep and the light of his torch fell 
 without obstruction, was the white, childish face of 
 Maschuta. 
 
 " Who did this, Catherine Alexevna, and why? " 
 
 " No matter who did it ! It is too late now to inquire. 
 
 152
 
 THE FATAL NIGHT 
 
 If it had not been done, you and I would both be to- 
 morrow night just where she is now. If she had gone 
 back to Petersburg, the storm would have broken over 
 our heads within twenty-four hours." 
 
 For some time in silence Gregory Orlov stood looking 
 pityingly down at the face of the only woman he had ever 
 loved, floating under the restless torches. Then, his 
 own torch began to burn low and turn black, and the 
 dark face of Maschuta faded away out of time and 
 vision, as if it had never been. 
 
 ' You drive back by yourself to Petersburg, Gregory 
 Orlov, and I will follow. To-morrow night come to 
 my apartments in the Winter Palace before it is time to 
 dress for the ball." 
 
 He made silent obeisance and walked away. 
 
 At top speed he drove back to Petersburg, saying to 
 himself: " This is the first sacrifice to the Slavic Venus! 
 But it shall not be the last ! " 
 
 He drove straight to the palace of Count Bestushev- 
 Rjumin, the Great Chancellor. Their interview lasted 
 until the dawn. 
 
 Later, through that damp autumn night, whose silence 
 was interrupted by an occasional wind that had the sup- 
 pressed wail of winter in its voice, Catherine Alexevna 
 drove back to the Finnish village, accompanied only by 
 Narcissus. She felt strangely cold that night and she 
 wrapped herself up in a sable pelisse. Narcissus, poor 
 little fool, was cold too, but he shivered on beside her, 
 unnoticed, in his red and yellow satin with its tingling 
 bells. 
 
 153
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 The hour was half past six of the afternoon of the 
 following day. The apartments of the Grand Duchess 
 in the unfinished Winter Palace were open for occupancy. 
 They consisted of a spacious sleeping room, on the right 
 of which an archway led to a boudoir, and, beyond, a 
 dressing room. In the upper left hand corner of the 
 sitting room there was a bed, a square of gilded wood 
 whose corners were upheld by statues of marble. The 
 bed's canopy was of white and trailing ostrich plumes 
 held together in the center by an apple of gold on top 
 of which was the Greek cross made of diamonds. The 
 coverlet was of white velvet upon which was embroid- 
 ered in raised silk the double-headed eagle of Russia. 
 Steps of mahogany were in front of the bed. On either 
 end of these steps were massive vases of gold repousse 
 filled with pink roses. 
 
 A mahogany table with gilt mounts designed by Caf- 
 fieri served for a washstand. Upon it rested a gold 
 washbasin studded with cabuchon gems, the trophy of a 
 Turkish war. The pitcher of cracked, discolored stone- 
 ware was on the floor. Court wigs were thrown care- 
 lessly on one end of the table. In the back of the room 
 and in the center, equidistant from two small, deep set, 
 gilt doors, stood a combination desk and table littered 
 with books and papers. 
 
 This desk might have belonged to a scholar instead of 
 a woman of fashion. Among the books were " Letters 
 
 154
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 of Madame de Sevigne," " Memoirs of Brantome," 
 Montesquieu, Voltaire, Beaumarchais, and a worn vol- 
 ume of Tacitus. Two small, stiff chairs, representatives 
 of different French periods, over one of which the 
 sable pelisse of the night before hung like a shadow 
 and a small but elaborate chaise longue, carved perhaps 
 by that master craftsman, Jean Goujon, completed the 
 furnishing. 
 
 The floor was of unfinished wood. The walls were 
 undecorated and bare. Half the ceiling was painted 
 elaborately in the prevailing ostentatious Louis XV style, 
 with pink cupids, flowers, and the blue ribands of Ver- 
 sailles. The other half was covered with a dirty canvas. 
 One of the doors in the rear of the sleeping room was 
 hidden beneath a Persian rug of a marvelous pink, that 
 set one to dreaming of the roses of Shiraz. The rug 
 was frayed and hung by one corner. There was evident 
 a luxury that was well nigh savage, with dirt and need of 
 the commonest articles of living. 
 
 If we might be permitted a glance outside at this hour 
 of the day, which was that of morning, to these northern 
 children of the night, and which was likewise that of the 
 fashionable drive, we should see a muddy road parallel- 
 ing the palace, along which were passing gilded coaches 
 decorated in butterflies, bowknots, and amoretti. There 
 were gorgeously painted carriages designed by foreign 
 artists, curtained with oriental textiles, windows of Vene- 
 tian glass, hung with ivory laces from Spain and Flanders. 
 Some of these coaches contained card tables, toilet tables, 
 and stoves made of Saxon porcelain that resembled price- 
 less vases from old China. The famous coach of Leo 
 Narishkin, who was a leader of fashion, was made of 
 plate glass mirrors. The outriders were in blue and 
 silver. Subanski, the Adonis of the Hussars, rode in an 
 
 155
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 open berlin. There were coaches colored like the rain- 
 bow; glass and silver coaches, with monograms and coats 
 of arms upon the doors. Occasionally, too, there was 
 an English calechc, a Viennese phaeton, or a wooden ox- 
 cart from Finland, with two creaking wheels, drawn by 
 a small pony. In winter, upon the Neva, there were 
 sledges drawn by slim-legged reindeer. Variety was not 
 lacking in Petersburg. 
 
 On either side of this drive there was a free space 
 where men and women got out of their carriages and 
 moved about for awhile. Walking was not fashionable 
 in Petersburg. Indeed, walking elsewhere than here was 
 only for the moujik. The women were conspicuous by 
 wasp waists, flowered paniers, and trains upheld by 
 negroes and hideous drawfs. The dwarf was as greatly 
 in evidence in Russia as at the more ancient court of 
 Spain. 
 
 Despite the cold, wet autumn the necks of these great 
 ladies' dresses were cut to a low, square, dccolletage. 
 They wore cameos about their throats and wrists, and 
 carried medallion snuff-boxes. Over the shoulder hung 
 a curl. The hair was powdered and piled high to rep- 
 resent castles, ships in sail roped with gems, Chinese 
 pagodas, or baskets filled with flowers. Sometimes, a 
 coiffeur exceeded a foot and a half in height. Their 
 rouged and powdered cheeks were decorated with as- 
 sasins. Some were accompanied by pages in dazzling 
 livery whose duty it was to carry the long pearl-handled 
 parasols which were useless. To contrast with the trains, 
 the skirts in front were cut short in order to show the 
 latest Parisian fad in footwear shoes a la belle poule. 
 These excesses in fashion were suited to this land of excess 
 in living where they were displayed. Indeed, these ex- 
 travagances were specially designed in Paris for the Court 
 
 156
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 of Russia and the prices attached to them were fabulous. 
 The men wore velvet coats, satin waistcoats, knee breaches 
 of soft leather or silk, and sometimes bottes fortes. 
 They carried muffs of priceless fur to protect their deli- 
 cate hands. 
 
 In the distance there were rows of dilapidated huts 
 and the cold waters of the Neva, which, at this period, 
 was not protected by granite quais. Along the streets 
 were heaps of evil smelling refuse where mangy dogs 
 played and fought. From time to time the procession of 
 carriages was interrupted by a slow moving ox-cart from 
 the Ukraine driven by a peasant in pointed sheep wool 
 cap, or an ancient family carryall from the southern prov- 
 inces, a padded coachman on the seat. 
 
 Petersburg, at this time, was not a large place. It had 
 been built hastily by a race who had to learn to like a 
 fixed place of residence. The primeval swamp had been 
 made over in a trice into a semi-civilized place of living 
 by the brutal will of the Great Peter, with no considera- 
 tion for comfort or for human life, because this was the 
 point where he could come nearest to Europe. Nature 
 did not intend that a city should be built here, on this 
 cold, unfriendly, mist-covered plain where the pale cran- 
 berries grew and the faded mosses. It was meant merely 
 to prelude the desolation of an Arctic water. And at 
 this time there were only about one hundred thousand in- 
 habitants. The houses were of wood. The streets, 
 which were either dusty or muddy, had neither pavements 
 nor sidewalks. They were infested by hungry dogs that 
 sometimes attacked people on foot. It bore almost no 
 resemblance, architecturally, to a Russian city. It re- 
 called a Finnish village. At night parts of the city were 
 still barricaded like the turbulent ducal towns of old 
 Tuscany, and it was unsafe to walk alone, unarmed.
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Only the lowest classes were seen on foot upon the 
 street, except at this hour of fashionable promenade along 
 the Nevsky Prospect. And at this hour it was not un- 
 common to see a man lying upon the walk covered with 
 blood and dying. 
 
 It was now that the royal gardens were made open to 
 the people. But her Majesty added to the generous 
 proclamation, " to well dressed people only." Never 
 was such store set by good clothes as by Elizabeth Pe- 
 trovna and her court. It was her intention to civilize, 
 externally at least, her Asian province. Petersburg, not- 
 withstanding, was a sad and dismal city. Who could 
 calculate the amount of blood and suffering that had gone 
 to its making! Poor and humble workmen had been 
 taken from all the provinces of the nation for this pur- 
 pose Tartars, Cossacks, Finns. They had not had 
 sufficient food or clothes. They had had few tools with 
 which to work. They took off their coats and shirts and 
 used them to carry the dirt which filled up this Finnish 
 marsh. They were not sheltered from the cold of win- 
 ter, or the rain, or the heat of summer. They were not 
 cared for in any way. The first year one hundred thou- 
 sand men died, as many as the inhabitants of Petersburg 
 at this time. The suffering of those who survived was 
 so great that it was reported that a statue of the Virgin 
 wept. Such was this newborn capital of an empire in 
 the middle of the Great Century. 
 
 Mafra Savischna, in regulation peasant costume, had 
 just entered the bed chamber of the Grand Duchess, 
 carrying a black domino, a petticoat, a mask and a hood. 
 She threw the domino and the petticoat over the foot of 
 the great bed, and hung the mask strings and the hood 
 over an arm of one of the marble statues. She was not 
 
 158
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 in an amiable mood. She had no liking for her sphinx- 
 like mistress whom she could not cajole. 
 
 " I wonder why the Grand Duke is so crazy to know 
 what she is going to wear to-night? Well, it is not this 
 black cotton domino I know. She's having me bring 
 this in for a blind. I know her! When she says she 
 is going south, I am always pretty certain that she is go- 
 ing north. So she isn't quite so clever as she thinks she 
 is." 
 
 She sat down and began to dress one of the wigs. 
 
 " There's something up to-night something out of 
 the ordinary. The palm of my left hand has itched all 
 day. I never knew that sign to fail! Everyone in the 
 palace is excited. I never saw such goings on. I won- 
 der what it is. It would not do the Grand Duke any 
 good to know what she is going to wear. I should 
 say not! Nothing can do him any good. Poor 
 fool! 
 
 " I wonder why all the Grand Duke's friends are so 
 crazy to know what she is going to wear to-night, too ! 
 I just sent word to him that she had ordered a black 
 domino brought to her room. One of his Prussian 
 friends gave me a ruble for the information. It must be 
 important. I wonder if she is really going to disguise 
 herself this way to-night? Nobody can tell why she does 
 anything." 
 
 The Grand Duchess, wearing a white silk petticoat of 
 the latest Parisian cut and stays, entered the room. Her 
 arms and shoulders were bare. Her unbound hair fell 
 almost to her knees. In this deshabille there was evi- 
 dent that distinguishing characteristic of women of birth 
 of the Eighteenth Century extreme slenderness com- 
 bined with strength. The expression of her face was 
 
 159
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 cold and controlled. One noticed that the lips looked 
 thinner and less red. She was followed by Dsiemba, her 
 Calmuck slave, who carried a pink saut de lit, two books, 
 and a bronze mirror. She lay down upon the day-bed in 
 order that Mafra Savischna might brush her hair. Upon 
 the face of her maid there was an expression of malice 
 mixed with fear. 
 
 " Throw the saut de lit over the end there," she com- 
 manded, indicating the foot of the day-bed. 
 
 " Now give me my mirror and Montesquieu. No, 
 the other book ! The one in brown and gold ! Are you 
 color blind, Dsiemba? Put the other on the floor where 
 I can reach it. Now take off my slippers." 
 
 He took off the gilt slippers. She wore stockings of 
 coarse, openwork design, upon the insteps of which were 
 embroidered the arms of Russia. The Grand Duchess 
 at this time was famous throughout Europe for the beauty 
 of her feet. 
 
 " Now, go. Mafra Savischna, are my wigs in or- 
 der? " 
 
 " They are, Little Mother." 
 
 " Very well. Braid my hair in two braids and fasten 
 it smoothly about my head." 
 
 She alternately read, examined herself critically in the 
 mirror, and looked straight ahead gloomily and medita- 
 tively without seeming to see anything. 
 
 ' The Little Mother's hair is very beautiful," mur- 
 mured Mafra Savischna, eager for conversation. 
 
 " How it would hold up a crown, now would it not, 
 Little Mother?" 
 
 " It takes something more than hair to hold up a 
 crown, Mafra Savischna ! " 
 
 " Lift up your mirror, Little Mother, a little, just a 
 little and see! Now am I not right? " 
 
 1 60
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 "Why do you chatter so, Mafra Savischna? Be 
 still." 
 
 After a pause which weighed heavily upon her, Mafra 
 Savischna returned bravely to her questioning. 
 
 '' What will your friend, the Princess Dashkov, wear 
 to-night to the masked ball, Little Mother?" 
 
 The Grand Duchess shook her head and refused to 
 answer. 
 
 "You do not know? Why is that, Little Mother?" 
 
 Again the Grand Duchess shook her head. 
 
 " And you what are you going to wear? " 
 
 The question was evidently lost upon ears that did not 
 hear. 
 
 " And her sister, Elizabeth Woronzov, what will she 
 wear?" 
 
 A somewhat prolonged pause followed this, while she 
 fastened up the long braids of hair. 
 
 " She has fine hair, too." 
 
 " Do you think that it would hold up a crown as well 
 as mine, Mafra Savischna?" 
 
 "What Little Mother?" stammered Mafra Sav- 
 ischna, greatly confused. 
 
 " I say, do you think that it would hold up a crown 
 as well as mine? " 
 
 " Of course not ! Of course not, Little Mother ! 
 Who could think such a thing? Not I ! The saints for- 
 bid!" 
 
 " Why can you not keep still a minute, Mafra Sav- 
 ischna? " 
 
 She turned to her reading and a pause followed, while 
 the maid put the last touches to her hair. 
 
 " Now, look, Little Mother! Does it please you? I 
 am your devoted slave, Little Mother. I wish always 
 to please you 1 " 
 
 161
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 The Grand Duchess lifted the mirror and looked at it 
 indifferently. 
 
 " Yes, yes. That will do. That will do ! " 
 
 As she put down the bronze mirror, Gregory Orlov 
 came in hurriedly and excitedly, flinging aside the Persian 
 rug across the door. Upon his face there was no trace of 
 the grief and anger of the night before. He had bor- 
 rowed the courtier's weapon a smiling face. But in 
 his heart he was none the less determined upon revenge. 
 And that revenge should help his future. If he had a 
 right to risk his own interests, he had no right to risk 
 his brothers'. 
 
 Loneliness of a kind he had not felt before had come 
 upon him, and he felt dimly that it would not lift at 
 once. The sensuous face looked harder and more self- 
 controlled. The tenderness of youth was less evident. 
 He was beginning to feel that death of the heart which 
 the passion for power brings. 
 
 But he was looking particularly handsome even for 
 him. To-night he resembled more a Greek of the Classic 
 Age than an Eighteenth Century Russian. He was wear- 
 ing the conventional court dress. An Asiatic touch, how- 
 ever, was given to his appearance by the great blue gems 
 dangling from his ears. From a buttonhole hung an 
 ivory miniature of the Grand Duchess, concealed from 
 observation by a blue and heart shaped diamond which 
 was one of the fabulous treasures of Russia. 
 
 " Catherine Alexevna, are you dreaming over a book 
 and now! " he exclaimed as he entered, quite in his 
 old voice, just as if nothing had happened. He made 
 a mock gesture of salute to her monogrammed ankles. 
 
 " This is what the world will be doing soon." 
 
 The Grand Duchess yawned indifferently and closed the 
 book, keeping one finger in it. 
 
 162
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 " Do you not think that the head is a better place for 
 a crown than the feet, Gregory Orlov? " 
 
 " Why will you insist upon talking nonsense? " 
 
 The Grand Duchess yawned again. 
 
 " What difference does it make what one talks? All 
 things are nonsense more or less." 
 
 " But you insist upon not understanding not car- 
 ing." 
 
 " I do not. You said in compliment what the world 
 says: that my feet, because they are beautiful, become a 
 crown better than my head." 
 
 " I said nothing of the kind." 
 
 "How impatient you are, Gregory Orlov! What 
 folly it is to dispute 1 " 
 
 " Is it not greater folly to be dreaming over a book 
 as I find you and forget your responsibilities, especially 
 now when " 
 
 The Grand Duchess interrupted him, impatiently. 
 
 " Do not be cross, Gregory. It is not worth while, 
 when I see you so seldom." 
 
 u It is your own fault that you do not see me. You 
 are busy. You do not wish to be disturbed." 
 
 She took her fingers reluctantly out of the book and 
 closed it. 
 
 '* What are you reading, Catherine Alexevna? " 
 
 " Montesquieu. ' Esprit des Lois.' " 
 
 " A wise thing to be doing at this crisis." 
 
 " I am taking your advice." 
 
 " Yes, yes I see. This is the way you always take 
 it." 
 
 ;t When you saluted that crown there upon my ankle 
 did you not say that all the world would be doing it 
 soon? That is why I read Montesquieu. He is a writer 
 for sovereigns." 
 
 163
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 "What is this, Catherine Alexevna?" picking up a 
 book from the floor. " Beaumarchais? " 
 
 "Yes; a charming book. I should like to commend 
 that book to Alexander. He would appreciate it." 
 
 " Let him ! I do not envy him. I would rather be 
 a live Orlov now than a dead emperor. However, my 
 dear Duchess, if you persist in devoting too much time 
 to him you may have an opportunity to die and commend 
 that book to Alexander somewhat sooner than you may 
 wish. Unexpected death may befall the great as well as 
 the obscure," he said, with an intonation meant only for 
 her ears, which aroused unpleasant memories. " Books! 
 Stuff and nonsense ! Proper things to talk of now, are 
 they not? Have you no sense of the importance of the 
 present? Do you not know or are you just acting 
 for your pleasure and my discomfort do you not know 
 the fate of " 
 
 The Grand Duchess interrupted him hurriedly, looking 
 narrowly toward Mafra Savischna. 
 
 " What do I care for the fate of anything? " 
 
 " I have noticed that your Highness had an unique 
 forgetfulness in that respect." 
 
 She took no notice of the insinuation. 
 
 " I, Gregory Orlov, would rather be a pretty woman 
 than anything in the world. I would rather have one 
 moment of love than a century of immortality." 
 
 " These fine ideas of yours, Catherine Alexevna, are 
 the fault of those French philosophers. I do not know 
 anything about books thank God ! And I have no- 
 ticed that people who do are queer. But I do know that 
 they have given you new and unwise notions. Since 
 Voltaire a curse upon his soul wrote you, ' My heart 
 is a magnet that turns toward the north,' you have thought 
 of nothing else. What are book-men good for any- 
 
 164
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 way? They are simply nothing, nothing at all, in com- 
 parison with a man of action. A pack of old women 
 that is what they are ! Bah ! I detest them. Book- 
 men are cowards. They live with their brains, because 
 they do not dare to live with their bodies." 
 
 " Of course, Gregory ! No philosopher would be fool- 
 ish enough to follow his own teachings, any more than 
 a doctor would take his own medicine. They would both 
 rather be miserable according to somebody else's prescrip- 
 tion. Philosophy is a mental toy made to play with, not 
 to live by. No philosopher takes himself seriously. He 
 lets other people do that." 
 
 " What is a philosopher anyway? " 
 
 " A blind man who offers to a dim world the light of 
 his tallow candle ! " 
 
 " This is not play, your Royal Highness." 
 
 " You are unreasonable, hasty, in your judgments, 
 Orlov always. Why should you take it into your 
 head that bread must be cake in a minute, because you 
 wish it? Why can you not consider distinctions, differ- 
 ences value each according to his kind? " 
 
 " I am not going to waste time in arguing with your 
 Royal Highness. The Empress may not live two days. 
 Then, when the Grand Duke puts you aside and marries 
 Elizabeth Woronzov, Voltaire will find that there is 
 another and a stronger magnet in the north." 
 
 "Hush! Hush! What nonsense you talk! I re- 
 peat what I said to you, learn to value each person ac- 
 cording to his kind. Do as I do ! Now for pleasure 
 I read French philosophers and your friend Voltaire. 
 For conversation I prefer a diplomat or a witty courtier. 
 But for love an officer of the guards will do if he 
 happens to look like you," glancing up at the handsome 
 figure to whose charm no woman could be indifferent. 
 
 165
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " That is what the world says, your Royal Highness." 
 
 "What world?" 
 
 " Petersburg, Versailles, Berlin, Dresden, Vienna 1 
 What other world is there ? " 
 
 "Well, what does it say, Orlov?" 
 
 '* That to you a dog, a lover, a poet and a hero are 
 all one." 
 
 The Grand Duchess laughed. 
 
 ll That is a compliment, Gregory Orlov ! They mean, 
 I iuppose, that I am the best judge in the world of each. 
 You are proof of it! You are the handsomest man in 
 Russia." 
 
 " Do you suppose that that is what I came here to hear, 
 Catherine Alexevna ? " 
 
 * You do not usually come to hear anything, Gregory." 
 
 " I will ignore that insinuation also. Answer me this. 
 Do you know what night to-night is, Catherine Alex- 
 enva?" 
 
 " Of course I do ! It is the night of the masked ball 
 and the tableaux." 
 
 " Can it be that you do not know? To-night the fate 
 of Europe hangs in the balance ! To-night " 
 
 She interrupted him sharply and in a voice in which 
 there was a trace of fear. For greater caution she 
 spoke in French. 
 
 " Hush ! Hush Gregoire! " 
 
 Gregory Orlov took the cue and replied in French. 
 At this period the court language of Petersburg was a 
 mixture of French and German interspersed with occa- 
 sional Russian words. 
 
 " Can you not count upon this maid of yours? " 
 
 " I do not think so, Gregoire. She is a spy. I am 
 sure of it! She is in the pay of the Grand Duke and the 
 Woronzov." After a pause, she continued, " I have it 
 
 166
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 now ! " Going to the desk she wrote and folded a note. 
 
 " Mafra Savischna, take this to Princess Dashkov. 
 Wait for an answer. Tell Dsiemba, my Calmuck, to 
 wait for my commands outside the door." 
 
 Mafra Savischna departed regretfully. 
 
 " Now I suppose I may be permitted to speak with 
 you, Catherine Alexevna, and perhaps have an answer in 
 reply. Do you not realize that to-night is one of the 
 great nights in the history of Europe? Do you not 
 realize that to-night this little hand of yours holds the 
 future of the western world? And you sit here not car- 
 ing, dreaming over a book, and letting the precious hours 
 slip by!" 
 
 Catherine Alexevna looked down at the little hand. 
 
 " Do you not remember, Catherine Alexevna," con- 
 tinued Gregory Orlov, inspired by her indifference and in- 
 attention, in his enthusiasm pacing about the chamber, 
 " do you not remember how the battles of the Greeks kept 
 the hordes of Persia from overrunning Europe? To- 
 night decides whether Russia, which rose like the dream 
 of an Indian magician at the word of the Regenerator, 
 makes Petersburg the ruling city or goes back again to 
 its sleep by the Syrian deserts. To-night will be fought 
 the last battle between the tools of Frederick the Great 
 and Count Bestushev-Rjumin, our Russian Richelieu. 
 And you will be the battle ground ! " Catherine Alexevna 
 put aside her air of indifference. She stuck her feet into 
 her slippers and jumped up, throwing the saut de lit about 
 her, " What, is there something new tell me ! " 
 
 " It is time your Royal Highness showed interest. 
 You know how long it has been the dream of the Prussian 
 King to dominate the north, to be the one power, make 
 Berlin the one city! For this he has worked and plot- 
 ted. He knew that there was only one way to realize that 
 
 167
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 dream, and that was to get the upper hand of Russia, to 
 make her give up her northern capital Petersburg, to go 
 back to Moscow or Kiev. In Russia he recognized his 
 greatest obstacle. How many times in these years has 
 he thought to conquer! When our blessed Empress, 
 Elizabeth Petrovna, came to the throne he exclaimed, 
 ' Relying upon the Sybaritic nature of the new Empress, 
 I think / hope that when the court moves to Mos- 
 cow for the coronation it will lose sight of Europe and 
 Petersburg.' How greatly was he disappointed! He 
 found out that he had a new foe. The Empress was 
 dominated by Count Bestushev-Rjumin, our Great Chan- 
 cellor. For a quarter of a century Frederick of Prussia's 
 plans and those of the rest of Europe for that matter 
 have been checked by him. Has it not been thrilling, 
 Catherine Alexevna, this diplomatic battle that has lasted 
 throughout the years? It goes back to my childhood. 
 I heard it from my father. We have been the stage, 
 and Europe the interested audience. The victories, they 
 have been many, and often on our side. It has been 
 thrilling to watch ! I can remember now just how my 
 father's voice used to tremble with pride when he told 
 us children of the Ghostly Chancellor. 
 
 " Old Count Bestushev has fought and ruined 
 Tscherkassov. He put down that fool of fortune, Biron. 
 He tricked that trickster La Chetardie. And he has 
 had enemies in his own family, too, who envied him and 
 helped play him into hands that would destroy him! 
 His own brother worked against him. He met betrayal 
 on every side. But he did not give up. Now he is dis- 
 posing of 1'Hopital and the subtle Esterhazy. The two 
 cannot match him ! Think, Catherine Alexevna, for fif- 
 teen years Petersburg has been Europe's field of diplo- 
 macy. Here, diplomats won their spurs. If accredited 
 
 168
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 and successful, there was nothing more to be desired. 
 We have seen the best that training can produce. From 
 France we have had La Chetardie, 1'Hopital, Segur, de 
 Broglie; from Prussia, Baron Mardefeld not to men- 
 tion others. And all sent for one purpose to work the 
 downfall of the Great Chancellor. To see him now one 
 would say that it was really a ghost fighting with the 
 living, a phantom whom some unexplained force makes 
 intermittently visible. 
 
 " And what has he done with them, Catherine Alex- 
 evna ? What has he done with them these enemies of 
 his ? Brushed them aside lightly and easily ! Splendid ! 
 Splendid ! Ah I it has been interesting to watch 
 this duel of the two ablest men in Europe ! And one is 
 a man of the people. And one is the most arrogant of 
 kings. Splendid ! Splendid ! 
 
 " How they have fought ! How they have plotted ! 
 How they have schemed! How they have watched for 
 an unprotected place ! With each, death meant not 
 merely annihilation of self, but the annihilation of a 
 kingdom." 
 
 " And now, Orlov? " 
 
 " Her Majesty is at death's door. Now the last round 
 the most perilous round of the duel is at hand. 
 Now, if the fall of the Ghostly Chancellor can be accom- 
 plished to-night, and you gained for Prussia, the Prussian 
 king has won his point. New Russia will be no more." 
 
 "But the Grand Duke?" 
 
 " He is Prussian to the core. You know he is! He 
 cannot even speak the Russian language. It was he who 
 sent the plans of our army to Prussia in the present 
 war." 
 
 Gregory Orlov was well informed, she thought. But 
 it was her habit to receive information, not to give it. 
 
 169
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " To-night, Catherine Alexevna, the Prussian king 
 is in the sorest of straits. This you have not heard. 
 Our arms are again victorious. They only await the 
 orders of Count Bestushev-Rjumin to-night to storm Ber- 
 lin. A special detachment of Cossacks and Croatians un- 
 der General Panin are awaiting that order now. When 
 that order comes it will be to-night, if the Russian 
 party at court wins the upper hand they are going to 
 demand one hundred thousand rubles to feast our soldiers. 
 
 '* Think what that means to Berlin ! The city is poor. 
 The war has exhausted it. It is all the Prussians can do 
 to feed their army. Already Suvarov has been made 
 governor of Konigsberg. They are going to prepare a 
 Russian law system for the city and set up a mint. The 
 wily Frederick cannot fight the allied powers. He knows 
 it. He knows likewise that it is Russia that will turn 
 the balance for defeat or victory. He knows that the 
 destruction of his dynasty is at stake, his home, his coun- 
 try. Defeat means ruin.*' 
 
 " Go on, go on, Orlov " 
 
 " If he can gain a little time, Catherine Alexevna, until 
 her Majesty dies, it is agreed that if the Grand Duke 
 Peter rule, only for one day, that day he will depose the 
 Great Chancellor. Then, if he can gain you he knows 
 as do we all that the Grand Duke cannot reign he is 
 saved, is he not? " 
 
 "And to-night, Orlov?" 
 
 " To-night Petersburg is filled with the spies and the 
 secret messengers of Prussia. To-night Frederick the 
 Great will offer the half of his kingdom in coined gold 
 to you and to Count Bestushev to call off the besieging 
 army. On my way to the palace I have been offered a 
 duchy. To-night there is no one who will not be ap- 
 proached." 
 
 170
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 "Just now you heard this, Orlov?" 
 " Yes. But court intrigues grow like mushrooms. 
 Who can tell what has happened since I came? And 
 here is another point you must take under consideration. 
 If Frederick the Great could keep the Grand Duke, your 
 husband, upon the throne, since he is feeble of mind and 
 will and devoted to him, he would rule Russia. Then 
 now listen, Catherine Alexevna then, in case he can- 
 not gain you and still fears you " 
 
 " Then he would cause me to be put aside for Eliza- 
 beth Woronzov. She could be amused with gems of 
 which she is greedy and " 
 
 " Then, Catherine Alexevna, you would disappear. 
 You would not be seen again. Then, there would hap- 
 pen one of those mysterious deaths of Russia. Try to 
 realize this ! Try to realize the danger ! 
 
 " But Frederick the Great has one more card to play 
 before he attempts anything so serious, one card which he 
 thinks will win. It is something held in abeyance for 
 years for a crisis like this." 
 
 Catherine Alexevna, with the duplicity which the train- 
 ing of years had given, did not disclose the information 
 which she had had from Maschuta. Nor did Gregory 
 Orlov disclose the information which he had had from 
 the same source. He was counting upon the surprise 
 when it was told her by the spies at some critical mo- 
 ment later in the night. 
 
 ;< The wily Frederick is playing as usual a double 
 game. He will offer to the Grand Duke and to myself, 
 each separately, his support in obtaining the crown. 
 Then he will plot to destroy the one who refuses his con- 
 ditions, or who promises to be least useful to his plans. 
 
 A knock was heard at the door. 
 
 " Come," commanded the Grand Duchess. 
 
 171
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Dsiemba, the Calmuck slave, entered. 
 
 " Your Royal Highness, a messenger waits from Count 
 Bestushev-Rjumin." 
 
 " Bring him in." 
 
 The messenger entered and gave her a sealed letter. 
 
 " Dsiemba, the candles." 
 
 Dsiemba brought in the candles which he lighted after 
 placing two at the foot of the great bed, two at the head 
 of the day-bed, and one on either side of the desk. By 
 their light she read the letter and then destroyed it. 
 
 " Tell Count Bestushev-Rjumin that I read and obey." 
 
 Dsiemba and the messenger made obeisance and left 
 the room. 
 
 " Is the letter important? " queried Orlov, who knew 
 that it was from Count Bestushev. 
 
 " He commands me to disguise myself in the uniform 
 of the Preobrashensky regiment and go to Muhr's Coffee 
 House on the Morskoi, and remain there until after the 
 masking at the ball is over. There, I shall find the Grand 
 Duke, Prussian and French spies, and Elizabeth Woron- 
 zov and Countess Bruce, disguised as men. He says that 
 it is necessary that I myself hear what they say." 
 
 " Go ! Dress at once." 
 
 "But how can I?" 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " The ball ! I am commanded to be there by her 
 Majesty. Besides I am in disfavor. I should not dare 
 disobey." 
 
 " Luckily, Catherine Alexevna, the first part is a masked 
 ball. That helps you out of the difficulty. Someone can 
 take your place until the masking is over." 
 
 "But who?" 
 
 " Who can you trust? " 
 
 "That is just it 1 Who can I?" 
 
 172
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 " The Empress would not forgive disobedience. I sup- 
 pose it has leaked out everything does at court that 
 I am to wear a black domino." 
 
 " Whoever takes your place will learn dangerous 
 secrets. And to-night of all nights ! It must be someone 
 who is devoted to you." 
 
 " I cannot announce that it is not 1 1 " 
 
 " Your double will learn dangerous secrets." 
 
 "Of course!" 
 
 " There will be no way to safeguard your friends. 
 They need to be protected as well as yourself. They 
 would be imprisoned." 
 
 " That is just it." 
 
 " You must have a double whom you can trust." 
 
 "Yes, yes!" 
 
 "Ah! I have it!" 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " Nicholas Murievich." 
 
 The Grand Duchess became silent. Something snapped 
 the chain of her thoughts. For the instant she became an 
 automaton. But upon her face there was no trace of the 
 effect of his words. He stood scrutinizing her with eager 
 eyes. But even he who knew her well could read nothing 
 upon that mask of marble. Slowly, destructively, an idea 
 burrowed its way through her brain. It moved in many 
 a crossed and zigzag line, just as a worm burrows through 
 the heart of an apple. She understood now the command 
 to procure a black domino and one some sizes too large. 
 She linked fact with fact with nimble precision. She saw 
 what was coming. And it had come so swiftly, so unex- 
 pectedly, that she was powerless to avert it. The plot 
 was so compounded that to fight against it meant the 
 destruction of herself. Plainly stated, it meant a choice 
 between her own life and the life of Nicholas Murievich. 
 
 173
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 What ironical justice that the news should be brought 
 by Gregory ! But it was not Gregory who was behind it. 
 It was the Great Chancellor. Only he could so imitate 
 the blind cruelty of Fate. She felt no anger toward either 
 of them. They had merely checkmated her in the game 
 which is life, at a point where she thought she was pro- 
 tected and, therefore, not looking. She had been out- 
 played. But she did not mean to yield. She would save 
 him. She would outplay them in the end. And they 
 should not know that she had understood. She would 
 not show anger or any opposition. That would mean 
 death to him. And if she did avert the blow to-night, he 
 should leave Russia at dawn, guided across the border 
 by trusty servants of her own, and put out of the way of 
 danger. How she regretted that she had importuned 
 him to return to Russia ! 
 
 But she would save him! She would save him by 
 apparently acquiescing. She would impress upon him 
 that he must not leave the ball room of the Winter Palace 
 until she returned at the time of unmasking. Then, there 
 would be no danger. She understood that the plan was 
 to lure him away. All this she had thought rapidly. 
 
 " Is he not the one, your Highness? " persisted Orlov. 
 " He has mimicked you for the amusement of your 
 friends. When he wishes, he can be your other self." 
 
 " I am not so sure, Orlov, that he is the one. Do you 
 really think so? " 
 
 " Well, then, think of someone else ! Is there anyone 
 else whom you can trust with secrets whose disclosure 
 would cost your life? " 
 
 Ah ! he had said it, Orlov ! It was her life against 
 his! That was a diplomatic error on his part. He 
 should not have said that. 
 
 Silence fell between them heavy and ominous. The
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 eyes of the Grand Duchess were riveted upon the brutal 
 gold of the Turkish washbasin which was the trophy of 
 bloody wars. The candles had found there the hearts 
 of sullen rubies that hid their secrets from the day, just 
 as skilfully as she did. As she looked at the Turkish 
 trophy, she thought how everything in Russia even 
 life must be the prize of battle. 
 
 The face of Orlov was white and determined. She 
 paused to criticize him in her thoughts for fighting too 
 openly for revenge. Her mind was a diamond of multi- 
 ple facets that reflected each slightest shadow of thought. 
 
 " Are you not going to be game, Catherine Alex- 
 evna ? " 
 
 There was no answer. There was no change of expres- 
 sion upon the impassive face. She was thinking of that 
 pitiful letter of the morning before and its trusting love. 
 She was thinking, too, of that other letter from the banks 
 of the Pregel with its premonition of death if he returned. 
 She recalled the night at Oranienbaum when he left her 
 in the dawn, telling her that his life depended upon her, 
 that she must not falter. But who could have foreseen a 
 combination like this! A combination that placed her 
 life, and Russia, in the balance against his! There was 
 just one man who could foresee such things and put them 
 into execution. That was Count Bestushev. But she did 
 not feel anger toward him nor Orlov. It was merely a 
 clever play in a game. She admired its cleverness. She 
 would have admired it just the same if it had cost her 
 own life. Her nature had become so complex that it re- 
 sponded to many and varied emotions at the same time. 
 Perhaps, she would have sacrificed her own life. 
 
 But she could not sacrifice Russia! The cunning fox 
 had calculated upon just this. Her devotion to Russia 
 was great as his own. His love for her was dependent
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 upon this. She walked across to the desk, wrote a note 
 and called Dsiemba. 
 
 " Dsiemba, send this by Kusma to Nicholas Murievich. 
 Tell him to answer in person. Then, take my uniform of 
 the Preobrashensky regiment into my dressing room off 
 the boudoir." 
 
 "Shall I go with you to Muhr's on the Morskoi?" 
 asked Orlov, as indifferently as if no discussion had taken 
 place between them. She was grateful to him for not 
 showing the triumph of a person who has won. 
 
 " No; go on to the ball. In the intermission, or when- 
 ever you can slip away, join me at Muhr's and we will 
 return to the palace together." 
 
 " Are you going as you are? " 
 
 " Yes, with exception of an eye-mask. To-night I 
 cannot afford the danger of disguise." 
 
 Dsiemba knocked and was admitted. 
 
 " The order of your Royal Highness has been obeyed." 
 
 Dsiemba returned to his place of duty outside the door. 
 
 " I will be back in a few moments," said the Grand 
 Duchess, starting toward her boudoir to put on the sol- 
 dier's suit. 
 
 " Have you a fidibus? " called Orlov, as she neared the 
 archway of the boudoir. 
 
 " Yes; somewhere there. On my study table, I think," 
 disappearing through the door. 
 
 Orlov walked across to the desk where he found a 
 package of the small cigarette shaped Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury cigars then in vogue. He lighted one from a candle 
 at the foot of the bed and walked up and down the room 
 smoking. 
 
 "She took it coolly! With little or no resistance. 
 Does that mean that she does not care or that she yields? 
 Or does it mean that she is reserving her energy for a 
 
 176
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 struggle? Or does it mean that she will outwit us with- 
 out apparent effort? 
 
 " What a night this will be for me ! It will permit me 
 to perform the last service for Maschuta revenge. 
 And, if things go well, it will find me a humble officer of 
 the guards, and leave me on the threshold of the throne. 
 If Prussia loses, and the Empress Elizabeth dies as 
 soon she must the Grand Duke will seek immortality 
 in the only way that he, poor fool, will find it death. 
 That has been an ancient and well established glory for 
 unpopular rulers of Russia. To procure glory by dying 
 is a good way. It precludes the disillusioning element of 
 change. Catherine Alexevna will reign. And then 
 and then when Murievich is safely out of the way! 
 This time he will have the honor of preceding a Grand 
 Duke to the fields of glory. And then and then I 
 have looked fortune bravely in the eye and she has 
 favored me. 
 
 "It is good for me but then all things have been 
 good for me ! that in Holy Russia it is not necessary 
 to have been born to the purple. Here one may be any- 
 thing. It is only the present that counts. Each has an 
 opportunity. Brain and nerve determine events and 
 when women rule beauty." 
 
 "Gregory! Gregory!" called the Grand Duchess 
 from her boudoir. 
 
 The clear merriment of the voice displeased him. If 
 he were to die to-night, would she care as little ? 
 
 " You will not know me ! But you never saw anything 
 so becoming!" 
 
 She came into the chamber wearing the uniform of the 
 Preobrashensky regiment. She had on a black, curling 
 wig. Her skin was darkened to harmonize with her hair. 
 She bowed, laughing, and took off her cap. 
 
 177
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " Semen Savelish, at your service, Sir, from near Jassy, 
 in Little Russia." 
 
 " By the body of holy Isaac ! They will really think 
 you are a Little Russian. What if they should put it to 
 the test? What if they should ask you to dance the stork 
 dance?" 
 
 " Do you think that I could not or that I could not 
 speak their dialect? I would dance it this way." 
 
 She placed her arms akimbo, tilted over her cap, and 
 began the dance, singing the song that accompanied it, 
 
 " Oh I the eagles have put the doves to flight ! " 
 
 Dsiemba entered and announced Nicholas Murievich. 
 
 She paused in her dancing. 
 
 " Good evening, Orlov. The Grand Duchess sent for 
 me. Is she not here? " 
 
 For the space of a second the two men stood side by 
 side presenting an interesting contrast. 
 
 " She just went into her dressing room, Murievich. 
 She wished you to see this Little Russian a protege of 
 hers dance the stork dance." 
 
 " Come, begin again ! " 
 
 This time Orlov sang the song while the Grand Duchess 
 danced. When she had finished, she turned to him 
 laughing. 
 
 "I fooled you, did I not?" 
 
 " Is it you? Is it possible, Catherine Alexevna? " 
 
 " If I can fool you, I can fool anyone ! Now that is 
 just what I sent to you for 1 I wish you to fool me ! " 
 
 " That is it, Murievich." 
 
 " I do not understand," stammered Nicholas Murievich. 
 
 " I mean just what I say. I wish you to be me to-night." 
 
 11 Be serious, your Highness ! What is it that you 
 wish?" 
 
 178
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 " Count Bestushev has commanded me to put on this 
 disguise and go to Muhr's on the Morskoi. It is impera- 
 tive. It is likewise imperative that I go to the ball. It is 
 the command of her Majesty. I represent her to-night. 
 Now I cannot be two persons, can I, at one and the same 
 time ? What shall I do ? This : You will have to be my 
 other self." 
 
 " There is no other way out of it, Murievich," broke 
 in Orlov. " You are the only one who can do it." 
 
 " Besides, Nicholas Murievich, I am in displeasure 
 with her Majesty. I dare not disobey. It would be ruin- 
 ous. I will return in court dress for the unmasking, when 
 the ladies change costumes. No one will be the wiser 
 save you and I, and Orlov here and Count Bestushev." 
 
 He became attentive at name of the Great Chancellor. 
 
 " Whatever Count Bestushev commands, you must do. 
 He has your welfare at heart. That is the thing to be con- 
 sidered." 
 
 She saw again the nobility of his nature. 
 
 " But, Nicholas Murievich, you must promise me one 
 thing solemnly before you go. If you do not, you 
 shall not go. You must promise me not to leave the ball- 
 room of the Winter Palace under any consideration what- 
 soever." 
 
 " But why this earnestness? " 
 
 " It is important ! I cannot tell you why now. But if 
 you keep the promise, all will be well. No matter what 
 the pretext may be, do not go outside the palace. I will 
 tell Dsiemba to wait for you in the corridor to the right 
 of the ballroom. When the order for unmasking comes, 
 if I have not returned, you go to him. He will take you 
 to a dressing room to which your court suit will be 
 brought." 
 
 " Of course, I promise, if it pleases you," he replied, in 
 
 179
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 the dull voice of one who yields to a caprice. " But your 
 disguise, can I wear it?" 
 
 " Of course ! Here it is." 
 
 " Is it not fortunate she chose a domino, Murievich? " 
 
 " Is it known that your Royal Highness is to wear 
 this to-night? If it is, it will make it harder for me." 
 
 " Very likely it is known. But I have tried to keep it 
 secret." 
 
 " But what secret was ever kept at court? " questioned 
 Orlov, insolently. 
 
 " The Grand Duke may know it, Nicholas Murievich. 
 Mafra Savischna may have told him." 
 
 " If the Grand Duke knows it, Murievich, other people 
 know it. His way of keeping a secret is to give it over 
 to the keeping of his friends." 
 
 " Where is Mafra Savischna? " asked Nicholas Murie- 
 vich, looking about. 
 
 " Out of the way for once ! " exclaimed Orlov. 
 
 " I sent her with a note to Princess Dashkov. She will 
 understand what that means and have her locked up for 
 to-night. So you see no one but you two and Count Bes- 
 tushev will know that I am at Muhr's. The Dashkov 
 will be ravishing to-night in her fancy dress." 
 
 " What is it? " questioned the two in concert. 
 
 " A Moldavian peasant's gala costume. By the way, 
 Nicholas Murievich, if you have an opportunity, you tell 
 her as soon as you can where I am. I count upon herl 
 Come, Gregory, let us dress Nicholas Murievich," the 
 pleasure audible in her voice of his given promise not to 
 leave the ballroom. 
 
 " Off with your wig ! Gregory, bring the black petti- 
 coat that goes under the domino." 
 
 They pulled it over his head and the Grand Duchess 
 fastened it in the back and pulled it down into place. 
 
 180
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 "Wait! Wait!" commanded Nicholas Murievich, 
 waving them away, while he picked up one of the Grand 
 Duchess's wigs from the washstand and her sable pelisse 
 and put them on. 
 
 " Now permit me to give you an imitation of the Grand 
 Duchess of Russia ! Now this is the way the Grand 
 Duchess walks when she goes to confess to the very 
 saintly Feodor Jakovlevitch Dubjansky. Demurely. 
 Modestly. Her eyes upon her shoes. So! So! The 
 Grand Duchess is devout. She does not neglect her reli- 
 gious duties. 
 
 ' This is the way the Grand Duchess walks when she 
 goes to give an unwelcome account of adventures to her 
 Majesty. With dignity and an air of aggrieved inno- 
 cence." 
 
 The Grand Duchess laughed merrily and a happy light 
 came into her eyes. 
 
 " Enough ! Enough ! " she called, jestingly. " You 
 shall not mimic me like this." 
 
 " Famosf Famos! " declared Orlov, ready as ever to 
 be amused. 
 
 " But this is the way the Grand Duchess walks when at 
 night she goes to the house of Leo Narishkin in a gay 
 disguise to meet our Slavic Apollo. Boldly. With her 
 head in the air. So! So!" 
 
 " Enough ! Enough ! I will stand no more." 
 
 " Famos! Famos! " reiterated Orlov. 
 
 " Now, Gregory, you bring the domino." They put it 
 on. " Now the mask," called the Grand Duchess, taking 
 it from the marble statue. 
 
 " And the hood." 
 
 " No one would ever know you, Murievich! " 
 
 " Never in the world ! " 
 
 " Is there anything else to put on? Or is this all? " 
 
 181
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " Yes, yes I These black gloves. And under them my 
 signet ring to be used in case of need. This will prove 
 that you really are the Grand Duchess of Russia. Now 
 you must go. The time is up. But remember your prom- 
 ise ! Do not leave the ballroom of the Winter Palace 
 until I return. Remember! God be with you ! " 
 
 "Be all ears, good friend Murievich ! " called out 
 Orlov. " The saints protect you ! " 
 
 After the door had closed, Catherine Alexevna and 
 Gregory Orlov avoided each other's eyes. She broke the 
 silence, " Give me a fidibus, Gregory." 
 
 He held out the case. She took one and lighted it from 
 a candle and walked about the room. 
 
 ' You ought to be going, too, Gregory. You cannot 
 afford to be absent when the ball opens. Join me at 
 Muhr's in the intermission, anyway! And before, if you 
 can get off." 
 
 ' There may be a rough crowd at Muhr's to-night, 
 m'Amie. Be careful ! " 
 
 " No one would know me in this disguise. Besides, I 
 have my sword." 
 
 ' Then au revoir," he called, as his handsome figure 
 disappeared beneath the Persian curtain. 
 
 " Au revoir, Gregoire! " she answered, but without 
 looking up at him, waving her cigarette. 
 
 No sooner was she alone than her expression changed 
 to one of worry and annoyance. She smoked on gloom- 
 ily. Phantoms of fear chased themselves across her brain. 
 
 " Life seems to demand of me murder after murder. 
 And it demands it in such a way that the alternative is my 
 own life." 
 
 ' Yes," she said aloud, in a changed voice, " they forced 
 my hand cleverly, Orlov and Count Bestushev. I acqui- 
 esced. That was the only way to save him. But I will 
 
 182
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 checkmate them yet, if he obeys me. And to-morrow 
 Nicholas Murievich shall leave Russia and not return 
 until I am in power. Will it ever be over the suspense, 
 the dissimulation, the making believe that I am indiffer- 
 ent when I am often worn with anxiety? But it is best! 
 Results prove it. My friends think that it is, they who 
 are doing it, they who are pushing me to the throne. If 
 they knew I was ambitious, they would fear me and cease. 
 All but Orlov! His fortune is bound up with mine. 
 Self-interest would keep him true." 
 
 She called Dsiemba and sent him to find out if the 
 Grand Duke and Elizabeth Woronzov had left the palace. 
 He brought word that they were still in their apartments. 
 
 " It is not time for me to go there then," she thought. 
 " I must not reach Muhr's until they have been in the 
 house some time and are busy amusing themselves." 
 
 She threw away the cigarette and walked restlessly 
 about the room. 
 
 " I wonder if to-night will end it? It will be a change 
 to face," she said to herself, with slow conviction. 
 
 She consulted her watch. Time moved slowly. She 
 picked up and then threw down three books upon her 
 desk. She could not concentrate her mind sufficiently to 
 read. The present was not pleasant to consider. In its 
 place memories of the past swept through her brain in 
 that hour of anxiety, while she paced her chamber in soli- 
 tude and waited for Dsiemba to come to tell her that the 
 others had started for the Coffee House on the Morskoi. 
 
 She recalled sharply, without effort of direction on her 
 own part, perhaps because it was the point of parting 
 forever from the past, how she used to dream in childhood 
 of that unknown Slavic land whose people lived amid 
 gold. She remembered well that first glimpse of awful 
 Russia. It was at Riga. She could not forget that. She 
 
 183
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 had just come through the silent pine forests of Lithuania. 
 It was winter. When the sleigh emerged from the black 
 trees, on all sides the snow fields spread with the impos- 
 ing, glittering splendor of a Polar ocean. Next came 
 Petersburg. Here, they paused just long enough for the 
 horses to be changed. Then, on again the long sleigh 
 journey went for days and days, across interminable 
 whitenesses, to the heart of old Russia, to Holy Moscow, 
 where the court was. She recalled, as if it had been but 
 yesterday, the great country houses along the way, the 
 nights of feasting, the wild revelry. Men with bearded 
 faces looked across the wine cups. They wore flashing 
 gems in their ears. 
 
 By night flaming pine trees lighted the way. The lux- 
 urious sledges were covered with ermine and gold bro- 
 cade. This reasonless luxury had made her think that it 
 was all a dream. She aroused herself from her picture 
 revery sufficiently to realize sharply that perhaps she had 
 never awakened from that dream. It had stupefied her. 
 
 It was at Riga that she received the first present from 
 her Russian Majesty: a cloak and boots of sable, lined 
 with cloth of gold. There were twenty or thirty sleighs 
 in the cortege then. When they approached Moscow, 
 they stopped long enough to put on court dress for pres- 
 entation to her Majesty. When again the sleighs went 
 on, there were sixteen horses attached to each sleigh. 
 Out across the snow they could hear the wolves howling 
 always howling across the snow. Death waited on the 
 horizon. That made it Russia. 
 
 A late spring came after that first Russian winter. She 
 recalled how she accompanied the Empress on the annual 
 pilgrimage to the Troitsko Sergius Cloister to pray for 
 the soul of her father, Peter the Great. This building 
 
 184
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE BALL 
 
 was filled with treasures. The iconostase was of gold. 
 Bursting upon one suddenly within the dim interior of the 
 church it was like a great sun rising unexpectedly out of 
 darkness. There were pictures of saints framed in dia- 
 monds, emeralds, topazes, black and white pearls, the 
 baroque, the brutal gemming of Asia. There were books 
 of the Gospel with covers of beaten gold, the clasps made 
 of Grecian cameos. There were oriental hangings upon 
 which prayers were written in pearls. There were piles 
 of uncut gems, the dream of Solomon's treasure house 
 come true. 
 
 Then the music ! She recalled how it terrified her. It 
 was unlike any that she had heard before. It burst forth 
 like a storm with its thunders. They were chanting the 
 responses of the liturgy. For the first time she heard her 
 own name that strange, new, Russian name roll 
 forth upon the tide of the music. 
 
 " Pray for the soul of the promised bride of his 
 Imperial Highness, the orthodox Great Princess of Rus- 
 sia, Catherine Alexevna ! " 
 
 And to-night, too, they had prayed for the soul of 
 Catherine Alexevna. 
 
 Best of all she remembered the journey to Kiev, across 
 the fields of the Ukraine in spring. There she and the 
 Grand Duke had made their vows to the saints of the 
 Petshersky Cloister. She loved Little Russia. She had 
 always loved it since, and the great grass meadows of 
 the Don. This journey took all summer. It was her 
 first glimpse of interior Russia old Muscovite Russia. 
 
 She recalled the endless ways that wound across the 
 fields, the infinite fields of Little Russia. The measure- 
 less land ! Wherever one looked there was something 
 vast whose beginning and end one might not know. And 
 
 185
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 the far, shining horizon that stretched eastward to the 
 ancient deserts. Everywhere the brooding wonder of 
 immensity whose nearness made one mad. 
 
 At the gates of Kiev, the old capital city of the Ukraine, 
 a procession of holy men came to meet them, bearing the 
 emblems of the city. Among these there were heathen 
 statues, and a tiny figure of gold and ivory representing 
 the pagan Venus. This recalled her sharply to the pres- 
 ent. 
 
 It resembled the gift which Nicholas Murievich had 
 brought her from the banks of the Pregel. Elizabeth 
 Petrovna regarded the diminutive statue with reverence. 
 But the Grand Duke regarded it with terror. He trem- 
 bled and turned white. Then, the Empress told how her 
 father had revered and loved it. He declared that the 
 Venus of the Greeks was still alive, and that she had 
 come to the north and there changed and grown cruel. A 
 lady of the court interrupted her, exclaiming, " See how 
 the Grand Duchess resembles the pagan statue ! " 
 
 And, as she looked at it, she trembled, because the face 
 of this ancient goddess seemed to have borrowed the cruel 
 pallor of snow. 
 
 A knock interrupted her meditation. 
 
 " Come in." 
 
 Dsiemba entered. 
 
 " The valet of the Grand Duke, your Royal Highness, 
 just told me that his master left the palace more than an 
 hour ago. He left by a private exit." 
 
 Dsiemba bowed and disappeared. 
 
 Catherine Alexevna tightened the sword strap about 
 her waist, adjusted the small cap carefully upon her head, 
 and followed Dsiemba nimbly out the door. 
 
 186
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 The splendid George Salon of the Winter Palace was 
 one of the rooms which Rastrelli, the architect, had fin- 
 ished at this time. Like the royal homes of France and 
 England, it was modeled after the renowned and luxuri- 
 ous palaces which Medieval Italy designed for the re- 
 mainder of the world to copy. The Salon opened into 
 the Winter Garden which was to the front of it. In the 
 rear stood a movable stage whose drop curtain of blue 
 velvet bore in black embroidery the double-headed eagle 
 of Slavic sovereignty. 
 
 Around this room, at regular intervals, were small, 
 somewhat deeply set, gilt doors; between the doors mar- 
 ble statues, and above the statues candles which rose in 
 clusters forming multiple long, fine, white, decorative 
 lines. To the right and the left of the George Salon, arch- 
 ways led to invisible promenades. In the foreground, in 
 the Winter Garden, there were symmetrically arranged 
 lemon, orange and oleander trees, white and heavy with 
 flowers. About them brilliantly plumaged tropical birds 
 fluttered. In the center a fountain spouted Hungarian 
 wine. Small ebon black negroes, naked save for blue 
 velvet loin cloths, knelt about the fountain upholding 
 golden cups with which to serve the guests. The garden 
 was fitfully lighted by candles and flaring torches of pine, 
 which, because of the heavy air, flung out wavering, spec- 
 tral ribbons of smoke, giving to the garden an unreal, 
 
 187
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 fairylike appearance. The scene recalled at once the set- 
 ting of the garden revelries of Nero and the delicately 
 rococo and gallant fetes of the reigning Louis. As with 
 them, here, too, was felt the feverish merriment of a 
 condition that was hastening to the end. Over it hung 
 the wet, brooding silence of the declining hours of sub- 
 Arctic autumn. It was the last regretful hour of a summer 
 that had been too brief. 
 
 The Princess Dashkov and Subanski opened the ball 
 by dancing a Moldavian czarda. After this dance the 
 maskers dispersed, some to promenade or chat in groups 
 in the George Salon; others turned toward the invisible 
 galleries on either side, while others, noticeable among 
 whom was a group of young men, entered the Winter 
 Garden. The young men were dressed in French court 
 costume, their easily penetrated disguise being the more 
 or less unusual shape of their silken eye-masks. The 
 Russians were distinguishable by the profusion of heavy 
 gems they wore. As Subanski joined the young men, this 
 Polish exquisite exclaimed, in disgust: ; ' What a ridicu- 
 lous dance ! It was not made for gentlemen ! It was 
 made for the hay field! How i hate these vulgar peasant 
 dances ! See I am dripping with perspiration ! " 
 
 He pulled out a handkerchief of flowered foulard, one 
 yard square, and dried his face and wrists, making dis- 
 play of the handkerchief the while. 
 
 " What a beautiful handkerchief ! " piped up old Count 
 Alexis Razumovsky, in his weak and senile treble. 
 
 " Is it new? Is it the fashion? Tell me." 
 
 " Does not Subanski, our Polish friend here," inter-, 
 rupted a French spy, " set the fashion for Petersburg? 
 If he carried a handkerchief three yards square, it would 
 be the thing." 
 
 " True, Razumovsky." 
 
 188
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 " That is what I used to do when I was young," sighed 
 the decrepit old beau. " I set the fashion 1 I was called 
 then the Adonis of Russia I " 
 
 "This is the latest thing! " declared Subanski, boast- 
 fully. " Fresh from Paris. They are the rage in Dres- 
 den and Vienna, too. But I am the only man in Peters- 
 burg to carry one." 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Subanski, but I have a dozen of 
 assorted colors," taking out a handkerchief of the same 
 size, but adorned with larger and more brilliant flowers. 
 
 " You! Where did you get them, Orlov? That mer- 
 chant shall have ten lashes. To disgrace me like this ! " 
 
 " Did you ever know an Orlov to get left, Subanski ? 
 And now, especially." 
 
 The French spies nudged each other and whispered, 
 " See, he dares to boast! " 
 
 " He thinks some day he will be Emperor," murmured 
 a Prussian spy in a low voice to his neighbor. 
 
 ;< Where did you get them, Orlov? " 
 
 " Count Poniatovsky sent them to me from Paris as a 
 gift." 
 
 " Sell me one, Orlov! " pleaded Alexis Razumovsky. 
 " Just one please ! I will pay any price. I will let 
 you have that trained saddle horse of mine for the dozen. 
 Or, I will give you those twin Siberian amethysts. Think, 
 how it would look for me, Alexis Razumovsky, the favor- 
 ite of two Empresses, to carry an old-fashioned handker- 
 chief !" 
 
 " Shut up, old man ! Your time is past," observed 
 Orlov, brutally. 
 
 With a pitiful attempt at dignity Razumovsky defended 
 himself: " The Empress still lives. And just so long as 
 she does I am the first gentleman of Russia ! " 
 
 " We have had enough of that," continued Orlov, still 
 
 189
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 brutally. " You have ruled two Empresses. Some of 
 the rest of us will take a turn at the next one." 
 
 "You will let we have one, Subanski, will you not? 
 Think how it would grieve her Majesty especially now 
 upon her death bed to know I failed to carry the latest 
 handkerchief. I should weep if I were not so ashamed 
 of the one I carry." 
 
 " Orlov! " called Subanski, " if Poniatovsky sent you 
 the handkerchiefs, he has not written you how to use 
 them, has he? That is very important. There are all 
 kinds of discussion over it in Versailles." 
 
 " No," replied the Prussian spy. " We are old-fash- 
 ioned there. We are not much on display." 
 
 " Now some say in Paris," continued Subanski, 
 " that you should take them out like this, by one corner, 
 daintily So ! Let their silken length float gracefully 
 upon the air like an unfolding banner. So ! Then, on a 
 sudden But, mind ! with a scarcely perceptible ges- 
 ture gather it into your hand. So ! And then softly dust 
 your nose. It is not easy. I practised two hours before 
 I could do it. Would you believe that I could not appear 
 at parade to-day, just on that account? " 
 
 " Beautiful ! Beautiful ! Is it not, Gregory Orlov? " 
 quavered the falsetto of old Alexis Razumovsky. 
 
 " But in Dresden there is another way." 
 
 "Very good court Dresden " murmured the 
 French spy, reminiscently. " Next to Petersburg and Ver- 
 sailles." 
 
 ' Tell us, Subanski. And slowly, so that I may learn," 
 pleaded Alexis Razumovsky. 
 
 " Now there in Dresden," proceeded Subanski, 
 with delight at being permitted to inaugurate a fashion. 
 " There, you must catch it exactly by the center. So ! 
 (This is the Donhoffs' idea.) Then let the four corners 
 
 190
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 fall softly down like rose petals. So ! And then, unclasp 
 your fingers where you hold it in the center. See ! 
 This way! And display a diamond snuffbox whereon is 
 set a lady's picture. That is the way the Donhoff has 
 made August the Strong display his a dozen times a day 
 at the court of Dresden." 
 
 "Beautiful! Beautiful! Is it not, Gregory Orlov? 
 Alas, that I did not know how to do that for the blessed 
 Empress ! How it would have shown off my hands ! " 
 
 " Ah! what a perfume was that! " exclaimed the Prus- 
 sian spy, snuffing audibly. " Ah! Ah! " 
 
 "Fine! Fine!" admitted the French spy. "What 
 is it?" 
 
 " You have been too long out of Paris, my French 
 friend," said Subanski, patronizingly. 
 
 "New is it new? Do you think that it is new, 
 Gregory Orlov? " questioned Alexis Razumovsky, with 
 one hand behind his ear, alert as usual whenever fashion 
 was under discussion. 
 
 " Of course it is new! " declared Subanski, disdainfully. 
 " The correct perfume is a matter of grave importance. 
 I would as lief wear clothes yes a month old as 
 to use a perfume that is out of fashion ! This is the latest 
 thing. Smell ! Smell ! All of you ! It was made espe- 
 cially for these foulard handkerchiefs. Do you know 
 what it is? I will bet that you do not. Rosa cino- 
 momeaf " 
 
 " You are wrong again there, Subanski ! " contradicted 
 Orlov, in an irritating tone of dominance that had never 
 been noticeable in him before. " That is for ladies' lace 
 handkerchiefs only. And out of fashion for them now." 
 
 " My importer assured me, Orlov, that this is what 
 they are using in Paris." 
 
 " Count Poniatovsky wrote me, Subanski, direct from 
 
 191
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Paris, that that went out at least ten days before he wrote. 
 Now, everyone in the court set uses parfum a la reine. 
 How do you like it? " taking out his handkerchief and 
 passing it around. 
 
 "Good!" admitted the French spy. "The better, 
 yes I think so Yes ! Let me smell again. Yes, 
 yes" 
 
 " But there is something at the court of Dresden that 
 beats them all," added the Prussian spy. " The Donhoff 
 uses nothing else." 
 
 " What is it? What is it? " questioned Subanski and 
 Razumovsky in a breath. 
 
 " Parfum de la reine d'Hongrie! The Donhoff revived 
 its use. It was first made three hundred years ago." 
 
 " Come, Orlov," suggested Subanski, " let us introduce 
 that into Paris ! It is high time we began setting fashions 
 instead of following them." 
 
 " Right you are, Subanski ! We will do it. Paris can- 
 not refuse us anything. She lives off the Russian Court." 
 
 " And the very best we can do, Orlov not sparing 
 money or time we are at least six weeks behind Paris ! " 
 
 " Very sad yes, indeed ! Is it not, Gregory Or- 
 lov? " complained the faded beau. 
 
 " Better be in Prussia than out of the fash- 
 ion!" laughed Gregory Orlov, with that new note of 
 scorn ringing in his voice. " I beg your pardon," bowing 
 to the Prussian spy. " That is a sort of complimentary 
 jest that we have here in Russia." 
 
 " I am glad that you told me. I have never been able 
 to understand Russian jests," retorted the spy. 
 
 ' You ought to go to England, my good Prussian," 
 said Gregory Orlov, in that condescending voice he was 
 learning so rapidly to use. " They are famous for jests 
 there. They are the kind that you would understand." 
 
 192
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 The French spy was becoming nervous, and he hastened 
 to turn the conversation to another question of dress which 
 was sure to find favor with these frivolous Sybarites of the 
 north. 
 
 " Orlov, what do you say is the proper lace for a gen- 
 tleman to wear, point d'alenqon, or point de champagne? " 
 
 " Point d'alenqon decidedly. It is thinner. It falls 
 over the hands better. It shows off rings brilliantly, as if 
 through a veil of mist." 
 
 He held up his own hand to illustrate. Upon it were 
 rings with jingling, pendant gems. 
 
 ' Yet, Orlov," objected Subanski, " if a man has a good 
 wrist round, white, well turned point de cham- 
 pagne, turned back, is becoming; shows it off as, pour 
 exemple, on my wrist." 
 
 " Yes, or mine, Subanski. See ! " insisted Razumovsky, 
 holding up a wrinkled trembling hand. 
 
 " Our friend Razumovsky, Subanski, would insist upon 
 playing Adonis if he were a hundred." 
 
 " If there are two kinds of perfume, Orlov, there is 
 only one kind of hat for a gentleman to wear. My impor- 
 ter just told me. The three-cornered felt has completely 
 supplanted the black wax-cloth! " 
 
 Razumovsky put his hand to his deaf ear excitedly. 
 
 " What What? Did he say something about clothes, 
 Gregory Orlov? " 
 
 " Do not worry, Razumovsky. Do not worry," advised 
 Subanski. " You will soon be too old to wear clothes." 
 
 " You cannot guess, Subanski, what a rich thing Ponia- 
 tovsky wrote me when he sent the handkerchiefs. True, 
 too ! Every bit of it ! I think that it sjiows a good deal 
 of penetration on his part. He said the very instant you 
 cross the Russian frontier you can tell which party is in 
 power at court by the card games the soldiers play. What 
 
 193
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 do you think of that, Subanski? I call that clever, do 
 not you ? You know that he is always running back and 
 forth between Paris, Warsaw and Petersburg." 
 
 " And he has been running somewhat faster of late 
 than usual, has he not? " put in the Prussian, insolently. 
 Orlov seemingly was deaf to this allusion to the Grand 
 Duchess, and continued with undisturbed serenity. 
 
 " In the days of Anna Leopoldovna, and during the 
 youth and health of our blessed Empress, Elizabeth 
 Petrovna, when Russia was being Frenchified, everyone 
 played La Mouche. It did not make any difference in 
 what remote place the soldiers were garrisoned; in the 
 Ural, in the Caucasus, or by the sea of Azov. They all 
 played La Mouche. This proves how far reaching is the 
 influence of the court. It is like the rain or God's 
 blessing it falls evenly over Russia. Now, since her 
 Majesty is old and ill, and the Grand Duke Peter, who 
 is Prussian to the core, is gaining the upper hand, they 
 play Kampis." 
 
 " Disgusting game that," sighed Subanski, reminis- 
 cently. " Holstein game, fit only for Holstein stable 
 boys. Ugh ! But if the Grand Duchess comes into power, 
 then there will be a gay change of games for you. Then, 
 they will play biribis." 
 
 "What kind of game is that?" questioned the Prus- 
 sian. 
 
 " Russian, my good friend! Russian! " 
 
 " How can that be?" insisted the spy. " She is not 
 Russian." 
 
 " You will see ! You will see ! " boasted Subanski. 
 " And we will not speak a bad mixture of French and 
 German then as we do now. We will speak Russian 
 pure Russian." 
 
 194
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 " Do you not think it will be bad for the Grand Duke's 
 tongue? " queried the Prussian, insolently. 
 
 " Not half so bad, my good Prussian, as for his head," 
 retorted the witty Pole. 
 
 " You dare " 
 
 " A jest, Sir! A Russian jest, which you say that you 
 are unable to understand." 
 
 The Prussian spy had had enough of this subject and 
 inquired suavely: 
 
 ' Which is the Grand Duchess? Point her out to me-." 
 
 Gregory Orlov hastened to make reply, " The slender 
 figure there in the black domino." 
 
 ' The black domino? " echoed the quavering voice of 
 Razumovsky. " Handsome woman ! But not the equal 
 of Elizabeth Petrovna at her age. You should have seen 
 her ! She was the handsomest woman in Europe. And 
 I I was not " 
 
 " Introduce me," begged the Prussian spy. 
 
 " An introduction is not necessary until after the mask- 
 ing," explained Orlov, with suspicious haste. 
 
 " Go up and ask her for a dance." 
 
 " I am more eager to see her face than anything else ! " 
 broke in the French spy. " Then, I can judge if the 
 things they say of her are true." 
 
 " What things? " inquired Subanski with feigned inno- 
 cence. 
 
 " Oh ! those fairy tales that are going the round of the 
 courts," explained the Prussian. 
 
 " What does he mean, Orlov? " 
 
 Orlov shook his head and toyed indifferently with his 
 pendant rings. 
 
 The French spy was so interested in the subject that he 
 could not refrain from pursuing it. 
 
 195
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 1 They say at the other courts that she is as 
 dangerous and as diplomatic as that old snake Bestushev- 
 Rjumin; that she has completely fooled the Grand Duke, 
 who really believes that she is not ambitious, and that 
 she cares only for the church, and her books." 
 
 ' What do you say to that, Gregory Orlov? " piped up 
 the senile treble of Razumovsky. 
 
 " Nothing at all, Razumovsky." 
 
 " Good for you, Gregory Orlov ! That is the pace I 
 set ! When they came to me a few days ago thinking that 
 the blessed Empress was dying and asked me if I had not 
 been married to her secretly, if I did not have a marriage 
 contract some document of the kind, I replied, ' I have 
 never been anything to the blessed Empress but a humble 
 servant.' Then I got up right while they were watch- 
 ing me and took a written document she gave me long 
 ago, and walked across the room and placed it upon the 
 burning logs of the grate. You know that even in summer 
 I am so cold that I have to have a fire." He paused for a 
 moment, saddened by the splendor of memories that could 
 never be renewed. 
 
 For that moment some of the former beauty that had 
 made him famous flashed from his faded, weary face. 
 
 * You see I am old. I may not live long." 
 
 u But I would like to recall to you," said the Prussian, 
 sharply, annoyed at the old man's interruption, " that the 
 Grand Duchess is Prussian." 
 
 " Even in Prussia, my good fellow, one berry is not 
 always just like another," retorted Subanski, with Polish 
 wit. 
 
 " It is possible, Subanski, that you do not know the 
 things they say of her in Dresden, Vienna, and at my own 
 court, Versailles," explained the French spy, hastening to 
 take the other's part. 
 
 196
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 " They say that for his own evil ends your Russian 
 Richelieu has made a strange woman out of her; that his 
 black magic has taught her how to be two women in one, 
 a woman of the heart and a woman of the head, who led 
 two separate lives. He has taught her how to divide her 
 life into parts which have no connection with each other; 
 one for love and self-gratification ; and one for power and 
 fame." 
 
 He looked attentively at his listeners to learn the effect 
 of his words before continuing: 
 
 " Just the very day I left Paris I read a letter from the 
 Due de Broglie, who is in Warsaw now, but who had 
 known her in Petersburg. He admired her. And at the 
 same time he feared her. He wrote not long ago. These 
 are his very words : ' She is the most marvelous woman 
 in Russia and one of the most beautiful. God has given 
 her graces both of body and mind. But at the same time 
 she is dangerous and not to be trusted. She is cold 
 blooded. She is hard. She has a soul as unyielding as 
 adamant. And strangest of contrasts a tempera- 
 ment of fire. She unites the grace, the nobility of a verita- 
 ble queen of romance with the morals of a market woman. 
 She is equally at her ease parrying verbal thrusts with Vol- 
 taire, discussing questions of state with Frederick the 
 Great, leading a squadron, or taking part in an orgie that 
 would dazzle a Caesar.' But there is no chance for any- 
 one be he never so handsome " glancing maliciously 
 at Orlov, who was listening with weary indiffer- 
 ence, " because the best of her belongs to Count Bestu- 
 shev-Rjumin. Yes, old as he is to that ghost of a 
 man." 
 
 The mental attitude of Orlov changed. 
 
 " He said that, did he? " replied Orlov, in a voice that 
 
 197
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 resembled the temper of steel, while for a moment his 
 .pendant gems stopped their quivering play. 
 
 " Yes, he said that and more I " 
 
 " I'd give my head to see her ! " declared the French 
 spy. 
 
 'Wait! Wait!" admonished the scornful Pole. 
 " You need not be in such a hurry. If the blessed Em- 
 press dies to-night and the Grand Duchess comes into 
 power, many of you foreign spies will have a chance to 
 give your heads to her." 
 
 While this conversation was going on, the Black Dom- 
 ino and the Daschkov, in the costume of a Moldavian 
 peasant, entered the Garden and paused by the fountain 
 where they remained talking earnestly. 
 
 From the invisible galleries on either side of the George 
 Salon, two heralds entered carrying small, gilt trumpets 
 wreathed with flowers. They advanced to the center of 
 the George Salon and then marched side by side into the 
 Winter Garden where they announced : 
 
 " Choose your partners for Leo Narishkin's ' Grand- 
 father's Dance ! ' Choose your partners ! " 
 
 The coterie of young men separated, the Russians going 
 into the George Salon. The Prussian spy took advantage 
 of the opportunity to address the Black Domino, " May 
 I have the pleasure of this dance? " 
 
 " I am tired. I prefer to rest." 
 'Then may I rest beside you?" The Domino 
 assented. 
 
 The French spy addressed the Moldavian peasant, 
 " And you will you not dance with me? " 
 
 " I, too, am tired. That czarda exhausted me. Let 
 us stand here by the Salon and watch the others." 
 
 They moved away toward the George Salon and 
 paused by the entrance. The Black Domino and the Prus- 
 
 198
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 sian spy walked along under the flowering trees to the 
 front of the garden where soon their figures were shel- 
 tered from the general view. 
 
 Leo Narishkin, out of enthusiasm for the dance which 
 he invented and which bore his name, took off his mask 
 and stood near the entrance of the garden, calling off 
 merrily the order of the dance in imitation of peasant 
 fashion. 
 
 " Have I the honor to address the Grand Duchess of 
 Russia ? " ventured the Prussian spy, under the fragrant 
 shelter of an orange tree. 
 
 " Does not a question of that kind infringe upon the 
 rules of the game ? " 
 
 " If it does it is to play, perhaps, a greater game." 
 
 " But it takes two to play a game, does it not? I may 
 not wish to play." 
 
 ' We have not time to waste the night in parleying. It 
 is imperative that I know." 
 
 "Imperative! Why?" 
 
 " I have a message to deliver a verbal message to 
 her alone." 
 
 " I am listening." 
 
 ' Then that means that you are the Grand Duchess of 
 Russia, does it not? " 
 
 " Did I not say that I listened? " 
 
 " But that may be an evasion. I cannot trust to doubt- 
 ful evidence. The cause is too urgent. Give me proof." 
 
 The Domino turned back the glove and showed the 
 ring. 
 
 " Is not this proof? See the crest! " 
 ' Yes that is proof of a certain kind. But I must 
 be sure. Lift your mask for the space of an instant." 
 
 * That I may not do." 
 
 " We are hidden by the trees. No one could see. Lift 
 
 199
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 your mask just a little ! I dare not risk the possibility of 
 a mistake." 
 
 " Have I not told you that that I may not do? " 
 
 Leo Narishkin's voice sang merrily and clearly. 
 
 ' Tournez a gauche! Tournez a droite! " 
 
 "Parole d'honneur, your Royal Highness?" ques- 
 tioned the spy, seeing that further insistence was use- 
 less. 
 
 " Parole d'honneur" replied an even voice, whose tone 
 was covered by the music of the dance. 
 
 " First, I am instructed by my royal master to extend 
 to you his sympathy in the present strained relations that 
 are known to exist between yourself and her Majesty, and 
 between yourself and the Grand Duke." 
 
 He wishes, thought Nicholas Murievich quickly, to 
 impress upon me, first his understanding of the insecurity 
 of my position, and secondly my need of help. 
 
 " You are a Prussian. Therefore, he sympathizes 
 with" 
 
 ' There you are wrong. And so is your royal master. 
 I am the very best Russian of them all." 
 
 Leo Narishkin sang gayly, enjoying the popularity of 
 the dance he designed. 
 
 " Balancez! Balancez! " 
 
 " And, further, my royal master wishes me to express 
 to you his surprise more, his grief, that in the pres- 
 ent war you should have written to General Aprakin: 
 1 Go on ! Teach Frederick the Great a lesson ! Confine 
 him within his old boundaries.' That is not patriotic. 
 That is not grateful." 
 
 "How could he expect anything else?" 
 
 " But, your Royal Highness, who can look with pleas- 
 ure upon the destruction of his home? " 
 
 ' You must remember that I am now a Russian the 
 
 200
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 Crown Princess of all the Russias. I did as I shall do 
 again." 
 
 "Wait! Wait! Do not say that!" exclaimed the 
 spy, in a voice in which anger was audible. 
 
 " But before you were the Crown Princess of Russia, 
 do you know who you were? You do not! If you did, 
 you would not be so foolish. Yes foolish! You will 
 never wear the crown unless you change your present 
 attitude. You are the natural daughter of Frederick the 
 Great!" 
 
 This statement, which Nicholas Murievich sensed at 
 once to be the fateful secret, came like a stroke of the 
 lightning, laming and disorganizing his mind. 
 
 "It is your own father, your own country which you 
 help to destroy. With you as with other people, blood 
 must be thicker than water. In the depths of the heart 
 there must be love for one's own. Beyond personal aims, 
 there is duty to humanity and a more intelligent living. 
 What is the crown of this barbarous Russia in comparison 
 with the crown of that country where you were born? 
 And there if you should return, there is no telling what 
 power might in time be yours." 
 
 " But I am not so easily convinced, my good Prussian. 
 I must have proofs," replied Nicholas Murievich, in a 
 voice that trembled slightly and whose trembling was not 
 lost upon the subtle spy. 
 
 " I must have proofs ! " 
 
 " I will give them, your Royal Highness but, on 
 conditions. They are worth purchasing. They are great 
 enough, important enough. The first condition is that you 
 use your influence with Count Bestushev-Rjumin to-night 
 to call off the army which is encamped by Berlin. The ef- 
 fort need not be known. Your quick wits can find ways 
 that will not lead to discovery. You can have a secret 
 
 201
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 courier set out for there at once. Secondly, if the Em- 
 press dies and the Grand Duke, your husband, reigns even 
 for a day " 
 
 Here the spy's voice dropped to an irritating whisper 
 and he looked at his vis-a-vis cunningly, a leer upon his 
 smooth and evil face. 
 
 " He is ill, is he not? He cannot live long? " 
 
 'Yes, he is ill " 
 
 " Is he in your opinion very ill? " 
 
 " I have no opinion." 
 
 4 That is what they say, is it not, your Royal High- 
 ness?" 
 
 " It is." 
 
 " Very well, then. One of the important conditions is 
 that, should you come to the throne, you will depose Count 
 Bestushev-Rjumin and give up new Russia." 
 
 " I am not to be dictated to." 
 
 ' Very well. These are the conditions." 
 
 " But time does many things. Give me time," parried 
 Nicholas Murievich, hoping that in some way which he 
 could not think out just now, he could send the news to 
 Catherine Alexevna. 
 
 "Time?" 
 
 " To consider." 
 
 11 1 must have my answer to-night." 
 
 " Very well. Have it so, then," was the reply, catch- 
 ing at a possible expedient of thought. 
 
 " I will give my answer to your king, to you and to all 
 Russia to-night, in the tableau in which I take part at 
 the close of the ball. Now give me your proofs." 
 
 " But how do I know that your answer will be favor- 
 able to me and to my cause? How can I give you the 
 proofs? " 
 
 " If you do not give them to me, they may be valueless 
 
 202
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 after to-night. If you do give them to me and they 
 are what you say they are, there is, at least, a possibility 
 of success for you. You ought to be able to rely upon their 
 power. I, at least, can agree to no other conditions." 
 " Is that fair? The advantage is all with you." 
 " The advantage is always with the person who is 
 strong enough to take it. You, of course, know what the 
 proofs are. You are the only one who can estimate their 
 power. At least you ought to be able to estimate 
 them." 
 
 " I can ! Here are some of them. But this is no place 
 to display written documents of great importance. To 
 do so would be to attract attention. We must go else- 
 where. What do you say to going on to the Dresden 
 Woman's? There would not be many there to-night. 
 The court set are here. Now here is a letter written by 
 Frederick the Great to your mother. But read this pas- 
 sage in this other letter first, * You know I have always 
 wanted to arrange a brilliant marriage for your daughter.' 
 Does your Royal Highness know that he put aside his 
 own sister to make you the Empress of Russia ? Do you 
 suppose that he would have done that, if you had not been 
 nearer and dearer to him? He helped defray your 
 expenses and your mother's on that first memorable jour- 
 ney to Russia out of his own pocket. You know what 
 that means to a man as miserly as he. He took all the 
 pains in the world to protect you on that journey, from 
 wolves and from bandits. He sent his couriers ahead to 
 make the way safe. Your mother was visiting in the 
 neighborhood of his father's castle, when he was just a 
 boy. She was with him every day. It was to her that he 
 told the story of his stern father's hard dealing with him- 
 self, and arrogant ways. Then, unexpectedly, came com- 
 mand for your mother to marry the Prince of Anhalt, a 
 
 203
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 man years her senior. She complied with the command. 
 In a few months you were born, and you were named 
 Sophie Friedericka. The instant Frederick became king 
 he loaded your father with unmerited honors, advanced 
 him from one command in the army to another. And for 
 no apparent reason whatever, because he did not possess 
 ability in military affairs. 
 
 " Did you ever hear what Frederick the Great said to 
 the Prince de Ligne one day in speaking of your brother 
 
 who is evidently your real brother ? This is what 
 he said : ' I believe that it is sometimes necessary to cross 
 les races en empire. I adore the children of love ! Look 
 at the Marechal de Saxe and my Anhalt, a man full 
 of talent.' Just the other day before I left Prussia 
 he wrote about your Royal Highness, ' Surely a Grand 
 Duchess of Russia, raised and educated in the Prussian 
 land and owing to its sovereign all her future, must be 
 upon the Prussian side.' ' 
 
 Leo Narishkin's merry voice rose above the music, 
 and the rhythm of the dancing feet, calling out : " Chaine 
 
 Chaine Tournez a gauche! Tournez a droite! " 
 
 " And I have other proofs which I can show you : 
 stories of your mother's youth and her love affair with 
 Frederick of Prussia when he was not yet king, and his 
 father was living. I can tell you details of her forced 
 and hurried marriage to the man upon whom the present 
 king heaped so many unmerited honors. Your mother 
 was little more than a child. She was barely fifteen. 
 I can tell you how the king instructed his diplomats not 
 to spare gold to bribe the diplomats of other nations 
 to use their influence in selecting you for the Russian mar- 
 riage. Surely, you cannot be ungrateful now that you 
 know. Surely you cannot strike the hand that created 
 you!" 
 
 204
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 Nicholas Murievich was overwhelmed with the dis- 
 closure. It drove from his mind the warning of the 
 Grand Duchess, and the multiform dangers of the fateful 
 night. Of such a disclosure he had not dreamed. What 
 would the result be when it was made known to Catherine 
 Alexevna? Who could estimate its effect upon her? 
 Would it be the death blow to his own hopes? Would 
 it make her forget her dream of conquering the south? 
 Would the result be the making of a union in the future 
 between Russia and Prussia? Would it put an end to 
 his hope of a free Greece? Would the result be that 
 Russia would make no more plans for the south, and 
 would he be obliged to give up his ambition of being 
 humbly instrumental in wresting Greece from Turkey, and 
 in restoring the glory which was the desire of his race? 
 And yet, perhaps, it was not true. Ah blessed 
 thought! Perhaps it was not true! But he must find 
 out. He must find out everything that it was possible 
 to find out, before the secret reached the ears of Cather- 
 ine Alexevna. It was ridiculous improbable. And 
 yet he must learn all there was to learn about it and be 
 able to combat it at every turn. It did not occur to 
 him to connect this story with the plot he had caught 
 wind of against the Grand Duchess and himself, and of 
 which he had warned her. He had never seen the game 
 of politics played at close quarters as the great play it, 
 where death is the potent joker. His heart was filled 
 with the pleasant dream of doing something great for 
 her. 
 
 " We are attracting attention, your R'oyal Highness." 
 The suave, insinuating voice of the spy interrupted his 
 thinking. " Can we not leave the ball for a little while, 
 that I may have a better opportunity to show you the 
 
 205
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 proofs? I have important documents and letters to put 
 before you." 
 
 The surprise of the communication had erased from 
 the mind of Nicholas Murievich the command of Cath- 
 erine Alexevna on no account to leave the ball until she 
 returned. 
 
 " Can we not go to some place where we can have more 
 freedom and not fear inquisitive eyes?" 
 
 1 Yes, I think so." 
 
 " Then let us go straight to the Dresden Woman's. 
 It is near. We can be back within the hour. There 
 will not be a crowd there to-night. We can be by our- 
 selves. Let us join the dance and slip out by one of the 
 little gilt doors beside the stage in the rear of the 
 George Salon." 
 
 They waited until the dance again assumed the form of 
 a grand march, when they slipped in. In the grand right 
 and left or the " chaine " that followed, they danced 
 until they reached the rear of the room, where the uniform 
 gilt doors were, when they disappeared without causing 
 comment. 
 
 After they had crossed the hall outside they could still 
 hear the music, and the merry voice of Leo Narishkin 
 singing vigorously: " Tournez a gauche! Tournez a 
 droite! Balancezf Balancez! Chaine Chaine " 
 With Nicholas Murievich it was tournez a gauche for- 
 ever, and the road led out of life. He never reached 
 the Dresden Woman's. The plot, which had been form- 
 ing for weeks against the life of the Grand Duchess, 
 broke over him. They hurried him into a closed car- 
 riage where he was bound and gagged. The driver took 
 the river road that led to the Gulf of Finland by Oranien- 
 baum. Not many hours later the dead body of Nicholas 
 
 206
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 Murievich lay just where Maschuta's had lain the night 
 before. 
 
 The Prussian spy, who committed the crime, was rowed 
 out to a black ship that was waiting sullenly in the misty 
 darkness to bear back to the protection of Prussia the 
 trusted servant who had been successful in putting an 
 end to that Russian princess who had thwarted the plans 
 of Frederick the King. As for the Russian driver, he 
 bore back to Petersburg enough Prussian gold to buy for 
 himself a meierhof amid the rich meadows of the Don. 
 
 In the meanwhile, at the ball, just as Leo Narishkin's 
 " Grandfather's Dance " was ending with a flourish of 
 noise and laughter, one of the gilt doors in the rear of 
 the George Salon opened and Count Bestushev-Rjumin, 
 unmasked, appeared. He looked exceedingly tall as he 
 entered, stooped of shoulder, and thin and fragile to a 
 degree to excite wonderment. But his look belied his 
 spirit. He was in great good humor. The inspired 
 light of victory was upon his face. He had just dem- 
 onstrated his strategical superiority. He had set in mo- 
 tion one of his far reaching and cruel plans which he 
 knew had succeeded. Like a scattered skyrocket, it had 
 burst and its dropping, golden sparks had dealt death 
 to those whom he desired to die. In addition to being 
 successful, the plan had been artistic. And no one could 
 connect him with it ! At the same time he had played a 
 gay trick upon his enemy, Frederick of Prussia. It was 
 the thought of Frederick in particular that lighted the 
 fire of joy and triumph in his sunken eyes. 
 
 " In a well planned, diplomatically managed disappear- 
 ance," he was meditating pleasantly as he entered among 
 the youthful merrymakers, " there should be humor and 
 some of the heightening accessories of art." No one 
 
 207
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 would have regretted a vulgar and inartistic disappear- 
 ance of an enemy more than he. Anyone could succeed 
 awkwardly. But not everyone could succeed gracefully, 
 with opposing obstacles reduced to invisibility. Not 
 everyone could wrap crime within the glory of genius. 
 
 " And what a splendid joke on Frederick of Prussia 
 to have abducted the wrong person ! The poorest crea- 
 ture who had been trained under me would not have 
 blundered like that. When Frederick finds out what has 
 happened, he will know who has done it. He will rec- 
 ognize my handiwork. He has seen it before. It may 
 occur to him to compare it with the lightning, coming 
 swiftly and he knows not whence. I think that I remem- 
 ber that he compared me once with the subterranean 
 forger of fire but less politely. . One of the faults of 
 Frederick is," he meditated, " that he lacks humor. He 
 forgets the joy of the situation in the black anger of his 
 heart. There is nothing that can succeed without joy 
 not even crime. Frederick has never been able to 
 jest with death. 
 
 " Well, Murievich is out of the way. He had a good 
 time here in Russia while he lived grew several crops 
 of fond and pleasant delusions. People who devote 
 themselves exclusively to farming delusions seldom live 
 long. There is something about that crop that interferes 
 with length of days. Well, well He had a good 
 time in Russia! I let him have it. He was a toy with 
 which to amuse her Highness. Love is a pleasant toy 
 with which to amuse a woman. He owes me gratitude 
 for having lived so long. If he had happened to have 
 planted a few facts among his follie*s, I should have let 
 him live on I think 
 
 " Maschuta is comfortably disposed of, too, which 
 leaves Orlov free for my use. And my good friend 
 
 208
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 Frederick, over the border, will rest and relax that in- 
 quisitive mind of his just as soon as the spy tells him that 
 the Grand Duchess is dead. 
 
 " How very comfortable and happy he will be, while 
 I send my armies to storm the walls of Berlin ! " 
 
 It was no wonder that the " Russian Fox " showed his 
 grinning teeth. To-night one saw more clearly than 
 usual his lack of resemblance to the Slavic race. One 
 saw his English blood. There was nothing of the " stock 
 Russian " evident. Genius and cosmopolitan living had 
 removed every trace of nationality. 
 
 The discerning eye of the Great Peter found this dip- 
 lomatic genius, took him from the masses and educated 
 him. He was fifteen when his royal patron sent him to 
 Europe to be trained into a government servant. He 
 wandered through north European cities : Utrecht, Han- 
 over, London, Hamburg, the Hague, Copenhagen. He 
 spoke French, German, Latin, English, Russian. In 
 Copenhagen he had compounded his " Elixir of Life," 
 sometimes called " Bestushev's Drops," which was in 
 use throughout the continent. When George I was made 
 King of England, it was Count Bestushev-Rjumin whom 
 that monarch sent to announce his coronation to Peters- 
 burg. He would have preferred the medical to the 
 diplomatic profession. It was necessity that made him 
 master of intrigue instead of a master of science. 
 
 Even when Elizabeth, the Empress, was present the 
 cringing courtiers did reverence to the Great Chancellor 
 just as if he had been her superior in rank. Yet there 
 was not one of them all who liked him. They hated him. 
 They feared him. At the same time, they were proud 
 of him. And he looked down upon them all with a 
 measureless contempt for their weakness or their inabil- 
 ity. To-night, as he entered the George Salon, he pre- 
 209
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 sented a picture fit for the cold, thin, eloquent brush of 
 Goya. What a pity that Goya could not have painted 
 him ! All the courts of Europe had helped to make this 
 man of impressive power. He had stolen their worldly 
 finish, their wisdom, their diplomatic ease. 
 
 In the wandering days of his youth the cultivation of 
 the continent had touched him. It had left upon him its 
 power and its richness of learning. 
 
 Dressed uniformly in black, without the brightening of 
 white ruffles, he was sharply contrasted with the maskers. 
 His only ornament was a diamond framed medallion 
 portrait of Peter the Great suspended from his neck by 
 a chain of jet. His hands were so remarkable that they 
 could not escape notice. They were beautiful and aristo- 
 cratic, and so thin that they were wellnigh transparent. 
 But they were hands better suited to commands of cruelty 
 than to caresses or kindness. In conversation they were 
 as eloquent as his tongue. 
 
 His face was refined and alert, and moulded sensi- 
 tively by thought. The instant he entered the George 
 Salon there was a hush. Fear and submission were ap- 
 parent. The maskers separated and left an unimpeded 
 pathway for him. He walked haughtily along without 
 looking either to right or left, nor did he take notice of 
 any individual until he had crossed the Salon and reached 
 the edge of the Winter Garden, where he turned toward 
 Gregory Orlov, who, with two spies, was resting from 
 the dance. 
 
 " I wish you a good evening, Count Bestushev-Rjumin," 
 said Orlov, stepping forward and bowing humbly. 
 
 The dancers listened eagerly to the conversation and 
 showed their interest by vivid pantomime behind their 
 backs. 
 
 210
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 " I need not return that wish to you, Sir, since we all 
 know that it is a good evening for the Orlovs." 
 
 The spies, emboldened by their belief that the Grand 
 Duchess was.dead, since they had seen her leave the hall 
 with one of their number, nudged each other triumphantly. 
 It was evident that the words had made impression upon 
 the listening crowd. The French spy, believing the op- 
 position had triumphed, became insolent and tried his 
 wit upon the Great Chancellor, 
 
 " It seems likewise to be a good evening for Prussia, 
 Count Bestushev-Rjumin, else why are there so many 
 Holstein uniforms present?" 
 
 ' The season, my young friend, the season ! Win- 
 ter is near. Cabbages and turnips are not sprouting in 
 the gardens. Therefore, Holstein uniforms take their 
 place. A cabbage is a very good substitute for a Hol- 
 steiner." 
 
 The listening dancers laughed aloud and a breath of 
 merriment swept the crowd. Every Slav was proud of 
 the old bear whose snarling teeth could hold a world at 
 bay. 
 
 The French spy could not put up with defeat and tried 
 again for victory. 
 
 " I met the Grand Duke to-night, Count Bestushev- 
 Rjumin, who may I suppose at any moment be Em- 
 peror," glancing triumphantly at the Prussian spy, beside 
 him. " He wore a Holstein uniform." 
 
 'Very likely very likely my young friend. He 
 wears it for his health. He is chilly has thin blood. 
 He thinks the collar protects his neck. You have heard 
 our Russian proverb, have you not? 'The green apple 
 is not sweet; the young man not strong.' ' 
 
 " With your permission, Great Chancellor, I would 
 
 211
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 suggest that time is a cure for both. It ripens the apple 
 and strengthens the man." 
 
 " Time ! young man ! " flung back a voice as cruel 
 as the blast of an Arctic winter. " What have we to do 
 with that? Pray to your God for that! " 
 
 He walked angrily away into the Winter Garden and 
 the Prussian spy followed him, 
 
 " Great Chancellor, may I have the honor of a few 
 moments' conversation ? " 
 
 " I do not know of anything to prevent you. The 
 freedom of the ball is yours, I suppose, as much as any- 
 one's." 
 
 " I do not wish to bore you, Great Chancellor, to an- 
 noy you, but " 
 
 " Come, come ! I am not a courtier. Do not ex- 
 pect me to say I am delighted. The pleasure is all 
 mine." 
 
 " May I beg you humbly, Great Chancellor, to come a 
 little nearer a little farther this way, I mean? I do 
 not wish the others to hear." 
 
 " I regret greatly that I am not one of the others." 
 
 " Not all duties are pleasant to me " 
 
 "Enough!" Again it was as if a blast of ice struck 
 his hearers with a burning and a bitter cruelty. 
 
 When they reached the front of the Winter Garden, 
 Count Bestushev-Rjumin suddenly became forgetful of 
 the spy and walked to and fro, his hands folded behind 
 his back, talking to himself as was his habit. 
 
 " The French ought to give up diplomacy ! All they 
 can do is to scrape and bow. They are a race of danc- 
 ing masters." 
 
 The Prussian spy. confused, coughed awkwardly in an 
 attempt to attract the attention of the Chancellor. 
 
 212
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 " You here still ! You seem to resemble God's poor 
 Well, what do you want? " 
 
 " I have a " 
 
 Again the Great Chancellor was plunged in medita- 
 tion and forgetful of the spy. 
 
 " And the Prussians ought to give up diplomacy and 
 grow vegetables. That is what they were made for 
 How are they different from us? The Little Russians 
 they are musicians, artists, dreamers the Great Rus- 
 sians subtler yes, than the devil himself." 
 
 " Pardon, Great Chancellor, the interruption. The 
 cause is urgent and the night is passing. Even God, 
 whom you told my French friend to ask for time, will 
 not make a night eternal save that long one whose 
 approach may He forfend." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " My message is a pitiful one." 
 
 ; ' Well." 
 
 " I beg you to listen, Great Chancellor, with sym- 
 pathy." 
 
 "Well!" 
 
 " My royal master, Frederick of Prussia, authorizes 
 me to acknowledge his defeat, his complete overthrow, 
 in the long battle of diplomacy which has been waged be- 
 tween him and you, and to sue you, not as an opponent, but 
 as a suppliant." 
 
 "Well-" 
 
 " No personal good can come to you now that he has 
 acknowledged your superiority, by further pushing his 
 ruin and that of Berlin. Your pride is satisfied, your 
 revenge. And Russia is great enough." 
 
 " Well, well ! Time and I we can defeat anyone." 
 
 At these words there flitted through the mind of the 
 
 213
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Prussian the foolish fables of the people, and the gossip 
 of the peasants that this old man had lived forever. 
 
 ' Your devotion to Russia has lasted long enough. 
 Besides, this country cannot possibly be to you what 
 Prussia is to my master. It is his birthplace, his in- 
 herited possession. You cannot love it the same way. 
 You cannot be expected to. You are fighting for glory. 
 He is fighting for home and country. 
 
 ' When he entered this battle with you, Count Bes- 
 tushev-Rjumin, he was a young man. See what you have 
 done to him ! He is feeble and old now, and broken in 
 health. You have stolen away his youth. Why, in Ber- 
 lin to-day they call him c Old Fritz ' ! What greater has 
 a man to give than his health and his youth! You have 
 stolen them all away. 
 
 " There are other things, too, Great Chancellor, that 
 you should consider. He is the child of Prussia, the 
 descendent of its kings, the keeper of its honor. You 
 are only the paid servant here. You do not come of a 
 knightly race. You cannot love as he can. You cannot 
 grieve as he can. Consider this, Great Chancellor, the 
 difference, and call back the Russian army! You have 
 gained your end ! Surely you are satisfied ! " 
 
 " Well, well ! Who lives learns. And the world says 
 that I have lived a good deal. I do not love this coun- 
 try as he loves Prussia ! Then what is it that I have 
 worked for? Is it reasonable to suppose that a brain 
 great enough to outwit your wily Frederick and check the 
 ambitious schemes of Europe would work for, or be sat- 
 isfied with, a petty personal revenge? If that had been 
 my object, I should have failed. Is there no one great 
 enough to take my measure? Has no one understood? 
 What is it, think you, that I have worked for? Am I 
 rich ? I am the poorest man in Russia. Even the house 
 
 214
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 I live in is not my own. As every one knows, it was 
 purchased with money which I borrowed from England. 
 I have nothing to call my own. Where are the orders, 
 the insignia of rank which your kings have offered? Do 
 you see them? Do I wear them? Have I titles, land, 
 gold? What is it then?" 
 
 " Fame perhaps " 
 
 "Fame! What is that? It is the idlest caprice of 
 nature ! It is the fool's cap which Life places upon the 
 head of them who are unworthy." 
 
 " Then what reward? For reward there must be " 
 
 " Silence! God and my conscience will reward me. 
 There is only one thing that can make a man forget 
 self; that can make illness and old age as if they were 
 not; that can make him deaf to the allurement of gold 
 and that is love. That is what I have worked for I 
 Love for Russia and for my blessed master, Peter the 
 Great. Your Frederick is a cipher to his country in 
 comparison with what I am to Russia. It was thrust 
 upon him. He had neither desire nor ambition. I have 
 made Russia! It is the child of my brain. Consider 
 for a moment. What it took Rome centuries to do, 
 Peter the Great and I did in one brief life. Death called 
 him. I am alone now! I am alone." 
 
 The proud spirit had vanished. The erect flamelike 
 figure was bent. He was just a weak and feeble old 
 man with trembling, transparent hands upon which were 
 the purple, knotted veins of age. His face looked as 
 white and as unearthly as if it were ready to crumble. 
 
 The Prussian spy continued speaking to ears that were 
 apparently deaf: 
 
 " But to continue, Great Chancellor, life is necessary. 
 In addition to what I said before, Frederick the King 
 comes to you as a friend. He knows, as do we all, that 
 
 215
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 your present position is precarious. You have never 
 been able to win the affection of Elizabeth Petrovna. 
 Now, you share with the Grand Duchess her disfavor. If 
 she recovers, you will be exiled Siberia death there, 
 perhaps If she does not recover and the Grand 
 Dukes reigns, your fate will be the same." 
 
 "Death? No, no! I think not," laughing a thin, 
 cold laugh that made his hearer shudder, and recall afresh 
 the foolish stories of the Ghostly Chancellor's indestructi- 
 bility. 
 
 "Exile? Yes; perhaps for a time. But what of 
 that? The Grand Duke cannot reign. But the 
 Grand Duchess can." 
 
 " Do not count upon the Grand Duchess," replied the 
 Prussian spy with the joyous secret of her supposed death, 
 which he himself had helped to plan, trembling upon his 
 tongue. " She is the natural daughter of Frederick the 
 Great." 
 
 " Do you suppose, young man, that you are in a posi- 
 tion to tell things to me of which I never heard? " 
 
 The ring of steel had crept gradually back into the 
 voice again and its cruel inflexibility had stiffened the 
 frail figure. 
 
 Oh ! how he wished that he dared to tell him that she 
 was dead! 
 
 " Frederick the Great made her body so the gossips 
 say what of that ? I made her mind. She is my other 
 self." 
 
 " But you cannot know what she can do, Great Chan- 
 cellor. She may die. Death comes to all. Then, why 
 suffer a temporary disgrace when it can be avoided so 
 easily? " 
 
 ' What do you mean? Speak out." 
 
 " This ! Retire for a time from power in order, later, 
 
 216
 
 THE MASKED BALL 
 
 to rule uninterruptedly. In return for a slight favor, 
 Frederick the Great will make you Duke of Courland 
 or Hospodar of Moldavia " 
 
 " With that you could not lure a dog from the oven ! " 
 
 " Wait. Wait. Let me finish. And in gold you may 
 name your own figure even to the half of the revenues 
 of Prussia. By the greatness of his offer measure his 
 respect, his admiration " 
 
 " Aye, aye ! And his fear ! Do you suppose I do 
 not understand? While I live, he knows that he will 
 never be master of the north. He knows that in me he 
 has a rival who works unceasingly. Do I not know that 
 to each of his ambassadors, until it was my pleasure that 
 he should send no more, he has given these instructions, 
 ' Bestushev-Rjumin must be destroyed '? He knows that 
 I am the only one living who understands the ambitious 
 dream of Peter the Great. He knows that I am the only 
 one who can train its youthful rulers to carry out that 
 dream. 
 
 " Suppose, for the sake of argument, that the offer 
 tempted me. Should I have the right to sell? More! 
 should I have the power to sell ? Would it come 
 within my jurisdiction to change the decrees of nature? 
 No, it would not ! Besides, it is not a question of myself, 
 or of which one shall be the one to rule, that is at stake. 
 It is a question of the progress of a race and a nation. 
 It is the question of Russia as a European power. 
 
 ' Your king is eager for Europe to lose sight of us. 
 He wishes to change our rulers back again into Eastern 
 princelings. He wishes to make us give up our new 
 capital, Petersburg." 
 
 ''Would not that please your people? That is what 
 they wish. Is not their welfare a ruler's first care? 
 Your people are, for the most part, Muscovites of the old 
 
 217
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 school. They hate your new city. They have no sym- 
 pathy with your plans for conquest and civilization. 
 What do they care for the provinces you have wrested 
 from Sweden? What do they care for your new sea 
 power, or the Baltic lands? Nothing! Nothing at all! 
 They want to go back to their great, princely estates upon 
 the plains of central Russia where they can live just as 
 their ancestors lived untouched by foreign influence. 
 They love Moscow and Kiev." 
 
 " It is their duty to follow, not to lead." 
 * You have recalled me to my own duty, Great Chan- 
 cellor. It is mine to follow.' Name your conditions. 
 The King, my royal master, will grant them." 
 
 ' You misunderstand me. So does your royal master. 
 I am not a Prussian shopkeeper. I do not know how to 
 bargain." 
 
 " What answer shall I take to my master, Great Chan- 
 cellor?" 
 
 " What you wish." 
 
 " But what answer from you? " 
 
 14 It is unimportant." 
 
 " Must I return emptyhanded? " 
 
 " You might recall to his mind if it is your pleasure 
 that when Peter the Great told me to choose a motto 
 for my family, I chose these words: 'Semper idem.'" 
 
 " But surely you will send him some other word, some- 
 thing in keeping with his generous kindness? " 
 
 " Well, well then Yes. Yes ! Since you in- 
 sist. Tell your royal master that Bestushev-Rjumin says 
 that he is too merry with his purse." 
 
 218
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 Muhr's Coffee House on the Morskoi shared with the 
 Dresden Woman's popularity and patronage in Peters- 
 burg in the middle of the Great Century. It was a bril- 
 liant, Bohemian place of rendezvous such as France was 
 rapidly making fashionable. It was, likewise, a gambling 
 resort for men and women of the upper class, where that 
 engrossing passion of the race might be seen in its per- 
 fection. Here, the latest delicacies in food might be had 
 and the newest papers. And here, too, fashion sheets 
 were passed around free of charge just as they were in 
 the Imperial Theater between the acts. At either end of 
 the oblong large room which served as restaurant, were 
 doors, low, square, and provided with bolts made of 
 wood. The door on the left opened into the kitchen and 
 was the waiters' place of entrance. The one on the right 
 was the street door. The walls were bare save for an 
 occasional icon beneath which burned a candle, and long, 
 slanting holders of iron into which torches were stuck, 
 which splashed the room with shadows. 
 
 At one of the uncovered wooden tables were the Grand 
 Duke Peter, his negro dwarf, Narcissus, crouching at his 
 feet; Elizabeth Woronzov and Countess Bruce in men's 
 attire; and a Prussian and a French spy. 
 
 The Grand Duke's face looked pinched and pitiful. 
 His eyes were vague and seemed to be dashed with fretful 
 tears. He looked more slender than usual, and sickly. 
 
 219 

 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 His loose hung, awkward body seemed to be held together 
 by his Holstein uniform. To-night two expressions 
 changed constantly upon his face, as if from the depths 
 of that unmeasured sea of the soul, called self, two dif- 
 ferent persons took turn about in floating up to the plane 
 of visibility. One, the inspired face of a dreamer, with 
 eyes that saw above and beyond; the other, the face of a 
 trembling, capricious idiot, disfigured by smallpox and 
 disease. Upon his weak, slender hand there was a 
 medallion portrait of Frederick the Great set in a large 
 awkward ring. Elizabeth Woronzov was young, fat, 
 short, dark haired, and of a rather pure Slav type of 
 central Russia. Her eyes were green and set a trifle 
 aslant, opening widest, Calmuck-wise, at the outer cor- 
 ners; her nose was retrousse and a little short; her lips 
 were too red. The face had little intelligence and no 
 nobility. The Countess Bruce had round, merry, brown 
 eyes that sparkled with malice; reddish brown hair, a lit- 
 tle moustache, and round red cheeks. They were playing 
 kampis, the game beloved of Holstein. In front of the 
 ladies and the Grand Duke were small, richly chased 
 saucers of solid gold filled with unset gems that flamed 
 savagely under the torches. Beside each saucer was a 
 diminutive spoon of gold with which to lift the gems. 
 These luxurious gambling accessories were made in 
 France especially for the court of Russia. 
 
 The Grand Duke was bending over the table eagerly, 
 his nervous face quivering with excitement. 
 
 " Play, Elizabeth Woronzov. Play. Play. How 
 can you keep me waiting like this? " 
 
 " Your Highness, why should I risk a gem that I love 
 for a paper card that is worthless? I think I will 
 not." 
 
 "Play, play! Do you not see that I am waiting? 
 
 220
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 Why do you do things like this? Why do you all annoy 
 me all you can? " 
 
 Narcissus cuddled up to him closely and leaned his 
 black, foolish head against his leg. 
 
 Elizabeth Woronzov put down the card slowly and 
 reluctantly. 
 
 " Mine ! Still mine ! Now, Countess Bruce, it is your 
 turn. Put down your card." 
 
 " Not until I am ready. I am not Elizabeth Woron- 
 zov. I do as I please. Now guess, your Highness. Do 
 you think that you have won? Can you not wait a mo- 
 ment? What is the matter with you that you are so rest- 
 less and impatient? " 
 
 " Do not act like that! Put it down, I say Put It 
 down!" trembling with diseased nerves that nothing 
 could control. 
 
 She played. 
 
 " Mine ! All mine ! You, Countess Bruce, owe me a 
 sapphire." 
 
 " Here it is," lifting one with the tiny spoon and de- 
 positing it in the Grand Duke's saucer. 
 
 " And you, Elizabeth Woronzov, a ruby." 
 
 " I haven't any." 
 
 "Come, pay! Do not be a baby ! You always op- 
 pose me and make things difficult. Why do you do it? 
 Narcissus here is the only one who loves me and tries to 
 make me happy," patting the head whose eyes glanced 
 up at him with the devotion of a dog. 
 
 " I cannot give you something that I do not own, can I ? 
 Look for yourself if you do not believe it! You are al- 
 ways just so unreasonable. I have piled them into pyra- 
 mids. See! There are the diamonds, there the emer- 
 alds, here the sapphires. Do you see them?" 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Plenty of them ! Lean over here ! " 
 
 221
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 yielding to one of his lovable, unreasoning inclinations, 
 he kissed her. " The lips of Elizabeth Woronzov are 
 dearer than the rubies of Russia." 
 
 " That is not fair," cried Countess Bruce. " She loses 
 and still wins." 
 
 ' When you play with a Grand Duke of Russia," throw- 
 ing off easily his moment of ill humor, " qui perd gagne 
 toujours. Now we will cut for the deal. I stake these 
 three diamonds on the cut. Look at them! Are they 
 not beautiful? Who beats me gets them. Now is your 
 chance, Countess Bruce. High wins." 
 
 The cards were dealt and placed upon the table. 
 
 " Narcis, fill the goblets with Hungarian wine. First, 
 Elizabeth Woronzov, you begin. Cut. Cut, I say I 
 Why are you so slow ! " 
 
 1 Two of diamonds." 
 
 " Not enough ! " exclaimed Countess Bruce. 
 
 " Go on, Countess ! Cut first. I am sure to win." 
 
 Countess Bruce cuts. 
 
 " King of spades." 
 
 " Now why did you do that? You know that that is 
 bad luck for me. Spades mean death. You could just 
 as well have cut something else, if.you had tried." 
 
 " Cut yourself, then ! See if you do better. The 
 aces are out." 
 
 The Grand Duke cut. 
 
 " Five of hearts ! Lost! By the body of Holy Isaac! 
 Here are your diamonds." 
 
 " I call these better than the rubies of Elizabeth 
 Woronzov." 
 
 The Grand Duke picked up the cards and threw them 
 across the room in anger. 
 
 " Accursed luck ! That means that something is going 
 to happen to me." 
 
 222
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 " Nonsense ! " interrupted the Prussian spy. " Brace 
 up ! Nerve and steadiness of purpose are what you need. 
 Unlucky at cards, lucky at love." 
 
 " That may be true with you, but it isn't with us. Here 
 in Russia we say, ' Lucky in love, unlucky in life.' ' 
 
 " How can that be, your Highness ? Love and life are 
 one." 
 
 " I am not going to argue. We will deal again. I 
 will not stand for this. Pick up those cards, Narcis. 
 Pick them up ! Quickly, you black devil ! Good, Nar- 
 cis 1 Now drink some of my wine." He held the goblet 
 down with a tenderness that was almost loving toward 
 the black hideous mouth. 
 
 " Is not this enough to-night, your Royal Highness? " 
 questioned Elizabeth Woronzov. " Please do not play 
 more to-night. We are wasting time." 
 
 " To-night there are more important things to attend 
 to, your Royal Highness," pleaded the Prussian spy. 
 
 " Yes, that is right," affirmed the French spy. " An- 
 other time is best." 
 
 "Quickly hand me those cards, Narcis," his face 
 twitching painfully. 
 
 " You are a fool, Narcis and they say that I am not 
 much better. But I'd give everything in the world for 
 you and one year of peace in Sweden. Just one year of 
 peace again among the mountain farms where I used 
 to live when I was a child. They were so green, and 
 the night came down with such peace. There is nothing 
 in Russia I want. There is nothing that can make me 
 happy. There is nothing here but blood and death. If 
 one does not die, then there is fear and worry. I think I 
 would rather die and have it over with. 
 
 " The scent of blood the blood of battles and the 
 blood of the poor people who died in building this fateful 
 
 223
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 city is in the air. I smell it all the time. Lcannot get 
 away from it. There are not perfumes enough in Peters- 
 burg to dull it. That is why they love flowers here so. 
 It is a secret we guard carefully. We love them to shut 
 out the smell of blood ! 
 
 " But the flowers cannot keep it away from me. Noth- 
 ing can. I smell it all the time. No matter where I go 
 or what I do, I can smell it. I can smell it in my sleep. 
 The blood of battles is in this air, where for so many 
 generations the armies of Sweden, Prussia and Poland 
 have fought, and the Cossacks of the Don." 
 
 He had become forgetful of his audience and their 
 fears, and the fate of the futile crown that was trembling 
 above his head. The twitching of his face had stopped, 
 and his eyes, temporarily strong and dominant, were look- 
 ing ahead and beyond into a land that none but he could 
 see. 
 
 " Come, come, your Highness," begged Countess 
 Bruce, " play no more to-night." 
 
 He dropped speedily from his splendid land of dreams 
 and visions where even he sometimes could rule, and the 
 old fretfulness reasserted itself. 
 
 " Of course ! Of course ! Just so sure as I am enjoy- 
 ing myself some one says ' Don't! ' It has always 
 been that way. I have never done anything I wanted 
 to." 
 
 " Do not be unreasonable, and grieve and disappoint us 
 again to-night," insisted Elizabeth Woronzov, in an im- 
 patient voice. 
 
 " Again! you say. I suppose I am in the habit of 
 grieving and disappointing people? I suppose I do it 
 right along, do I not? " 
 
 4 You do not wish to waste the most precious night of 
 your life, do you ? " 
 
 224
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 " Give me the counters then ! Keep what you have 
 won both of you." 
 
 He gathered up the saucers and spoons sulkily, fitting 
 one into the other and handed them to Narcissus, who put 
 them into a velvet bag that hung suspended from his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Then, the Grand Duke placed a glass box upon the 
 table to receive the gems which he had emptied into his 
 hands where he passed them back and forth from one 
 hand to the other admiringly. The two ladies placed 
 theirs in similar glass boxes which they put into their 
 pockets. 
 
 "Are they not lovely?" he exclaimed, dazzled by a 
 wavering flash of torchlight that enlivened them an,d 
 called out their sleeping splendor. 
 
 " Are they not lovely? I have never loved but three 
 things music and cards and gems and you, Narcis," 
 patting tenderly the shapeless head. " Nothing else can 
 make me happy. Look ! Look ! " dropping them 
 slowly from hand to hand so that the torches might strike 
 through them. 
 
 " If I only had the fire that is in their cold hearts, 
 you would not need to admonish me. Oh ! I know, 
 I know You need not look at each other like thatl 
 I know what they all say of me and you, too 1 All but 
 Narcis, here. He is the only person in the world who is 
 true to me. He is the only person in the world who loves 
 me the only one. And he ought to envy me poor 
 devil! I am capable of stealing his profession. Just 
 wait, Narcis, you shall have your chance yet! Just 
 wait! When I am Emperor we will change places for a 
 day you and I. You shall be Emperor and I will be 
 fool." 
 
 " Come, come, do not waste more time," pleaded 
 
 225
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Countess Bruce. " Put up the gems and sit down here." 
 
 But the Grand Duke did not hear a word that was 
 said to him. He was absorbed in forgetful contempla- 
 tion of the gems he loved. He poured them delightedly 
 through his hands for the torches to pierce them with their 
 flames. Or, again, he held them singly, one by one, in 
 order to peer intently into their shivering hearts. " Ru- 
 bies I They are warrior gems, triumphant, despotic, 
 glowing with a savage splendor. See ! the red hate in 
 that one's heart ! Sapphires ! They are ecstatic saints 
 sanctified by the sight of God. I could pray to them. 
 Emeralds! " Here his voice faltered and the old, quick 
 tears veiled his eyes. " Emeralds ! They are the color 
 of the peaceful, wet, green meadows of Sweden I saw 
 when I was a child; meadows under the edge of ancient 
 forests." 
 
 He paused to choke back a sob that shook his voice : 
 
 " If I had my violin, I could tell you all about them. 
 Diamonds! The joy of death when it speeds shining 
 from the steel the joy of death ! " 
 
 For the inspired fervor of the instant a ghostly, fleeting 
 likeness to that imperial general, his grandfather, Charles 
 XII, of Sweden, flashed from his person and then faded 
 softly away. 
 
 " Your Highness," persisted the trained, expressionless 
 voice of the French spy, " let us begin the subject we came 
 here to discuss. The night is no longer young. We are 
 wasting it." 
 
 " You all try to make me unhappy. Why did I not 
 stay at home and play with my dolls? " 
 
 At this point in their conversation Catherine Alexevna 
 entered in her disguise as a soldier. She seated herself 
 at one of the little tables, but within hearing distance, 
 
 226
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 with her back toward the royal party. Narcissus looked 
 at her attentively and uneasily. Something compelling 
 touched his senses, which he could not understand; some- 
 thing vague, tantalizing, and in a slight degree unpleasant. 
 Suddenly, that instinct of penetration belonging to fools 
 and animals forced the truth upon him. His face con- 
 vulsed in a spasm of helpless fear and his teeth began their 
 old-time chattering. He had heard them say that she 
 was dead. And here was the dead come back to life. 
 How he hated and feared her, this woman with the eyes 
 of sapphire, that could burn their will into his brain! 
 Nothing had struck such terror to his soul as her cold and 
 dominating presence. Slowly, then, a thought detached 
 itself from his piled up fear, just as a coil of smoke de- 
 taches itself from the piled up faggots of a bonfire and 
 curls slowly aloft. He could be the instrument of her 
 death! He could bring about the end of this woman 
 whom he feared. He could now square accounts and 
 revenge himself upon her. She was alone ! He would 
 tell it to the Grand Duke and the spies. They would put 
 her out of the way. The reason that the Grand Duke 
 and his friends were at Muhr's, he knew, was to be able 
 to prove an alibi in the abducting of the Grand Duchess. 
 But the others at the palace had failed! And he the 
 fool was the only one who knew it. The fate of Rus- 
 sia and his beloved master rested with him. He tried to 
 speak and tell him. He tried to whisper to him. He 
 tried to whisper to the spies and Elizabeth Woronzov. 
 But something lamed his will so that he could not. Some- 
 thing prevented him from sending the command from 
 brain to mouth. He sat there futile and silent with the 
 terrifying secret whirling helplessly in his brain. And she 
 would hear all his master said. He knew it, but he could 
 
 227
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 not prevent it, because his mouth and his tongue refused 
 obedience. Some paralyzing mental fluid crippled his 
 will. 
 
 ' With what can I serve you? " he heard the waiter 
 address the question to Catherine Alexevna, while the 
 Grand Duke and his friends were chatting foolishly on. 
 
 "What have you?" came the calm answer. The 
 waiter repeated the bill of fare, adding the following deli- 
 cacies which were not printed upon it: " Yellow honey 
 from the Ural Mountains; flavored kraut from Serpu- 
 chov; moose berries from the Ukraine; young radishes 
 from Mjasnov; eierspeise with cheese; caviare from As- 
 trakan and the mouth of the Volga; bear's ham; roast 
 moor fowl; smoked moose; reindeer tongues; stuffed 
 boar's head." 
 
 "Caviare, and sbiten to drink. Wait! First bring 
 me the papers. The Petersburg News and The Free 
 Hamburg Correspondent." 
 
 The waiter brought the papers and she became ab- 
 sorbed in reading, while the frightened dwarf stared at 
 her with uncomprehending eyes. The calm, indifferent 
 voice sent fresh terror to the soul of Narcissus because 
 of its contrast with the unrestrainable tumult of his own 
 soul. 
 
 It was this combination of savage and disciplined seren- 
 ity that had made her such an object of fear and hatred 
 to him. The prickly arrows of his malicious wit had 
 been powerless to wound her. Like pebbles they rattled 
 vainly against the impenetrable wall of her will. 
 
 ' You must listen, your Royal Highness," Elizabeth 
 Woronzov was declaring, but in a voice in which there 
 was too much sweetness. " In case they have not been 
 successful in making way with her to-night and she still 
 lives, we must think out every possible precaution." 
 
 228
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 This jostled the dwarf's trembling tongue into foolish, 
 misdirected speech. 
 
 " My master, do not talk of that here ! My mas- 
 ter " began Narcissus, when the memory of two eyes of 
 sapphire paralyzed his will, and his heavy head dropped 
 back against the Grand Duke's leg, while his chin trembled 
 with the weight of the words he longed to utter. 
 
 " Be still, you fool ! Stop shaking ! " giving him a mas- 
 terful and admonitory kick. Narcissus made a mighty 
 effort to break through the something that restrained him 
 and speak. This was followed by the sickening sensa- 
 tion that this peculiar kind of mental impotence sent 
 through his limbs. Greater and greater grew his realiza- 
 tion of the importance of the discovery to his beloved 
 master. 
 
 " We dare not leave a loophole of escape for her, your 
 Highness," Countess Bruce was declaring. u Every day 
 her power grows." 
 
 " Besides," continued Elizabeth Woronzov, " Orlov 
 and my sister, the Princess Dashkov, are stirring up the 
 people against you. Orlov is working in the army; 
 Princess Dashkov among the courtiers and the scholars." 
 
 " But your sister I look for you to take care of." 
 
 "What can I do with her, your Highness? The 
 Grand Duchess has promised to found some institution 
 and make her the president. She does not care a fig about 
 you or any one else. She cares about herself! If you 
 cared as much about yourself, you would be better 
 off." 
 
 ' Your Royal Highness, if you do not do as the ladies 
 suggest, you will be destroyed as completely as were your 
 Swedish ancestors at Pultava." 
 
 " Stop shaking, Narcis, or I will knout you," he com- 
 manded, with an oath that made his hearers shudder. 
 
 229
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " What is the matter with you I Your teeth are louder 
 than the castanets of a Spanish dancer." 
 
 At these words the soldier figure at the next table that 
 had been so absorbed in the papers felt carefully for the 
 buckled sword. This furtive movement, too, the sensi- 
 tive dwarf saw and understood. 
 
 "Right!" exclaimed the French spy. "The Grand 
 Duchess is becoming the fashion. People are talking of 
 her. I have heard that story about the fortune teller at 
 least one dozen times the past week." 
 
 " What story is that? " inquired the Grand Duke. " I 
 have not heard it" 
 
 The French spy wondered at the Russian manner of 
 breaking up and distributing news so that the fragments 
 fell just where the distributors wished them to fall. 
 
 " In Stettin, when she was a child, a fortune teller told 
 her mother one day that he could see three crowns floating 
 above her daughter's head. And the Russian marriage 
 had not even been thought of then." 
 
 The waiter entered with the order of the Grand 
 Duchess and arranged it carefully upon the table. 
 
 "And do you know what crowns they were? " asked 
 Elizabeth Woronzov. " The crowns of Astrakan, Kasan 
 and Moscow." 
 
 " Besides," added Countess Bruce, vivaciously and 
 maliciously, " she deceives you. If for no other reason in 
 the world, you ought to put her out of the way." 
 
 " I suppose she does deceive me," he agreed, medita- 
 tively, but without any anger. " But what is the use of 
 all this conversation if she is dead, as you say she is? If 
 she is dead and drowned in the Gulf of Finland, what is 
 the use of this conversation? We might as well have 
 kept on playing kampisf By the living God, Narcis, I 
 will knout you to death, if you do not sit still ! " 
 
 230
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 " But suppose she is not dead? " they chorused. 
 " Suppose the spies failed? " 
 
 " But suppose she is? " 
 
 " Is it not best to be on the safe side ? " 
 
 " Of course ! Of course ! And waste time in being 
 miserable ! That is what you call wisdom being mis- 
 erable. If you are not, you work hard to see if you can 
 find something to make you miserable. I would rather 
 be a happy fool than so full of the two " 
 
 " But your Royal Highness, you do not seem to under- 
 stand how dangerous she will be in case my Prussian allies 
 have failed to-night ! The best diplomats in Europe who 
 have lived at the court of Russia say that no woman of 
 the day can compete with her." 
 
 " Be guided by their judgment," pleaded the French 
 spy. " You know all that is needed at any time to over- 
 throw the government here and bring about a change 
 of rulers, is a few soldiers, two or three kegs of brandy, 
 and a sack of gold." 
 
 " Stuff and nonsense ! The next government of Russia 
 will find me at the head. I shall be Peter III ! " 
 
 ' This is no time for boasting. But now be guided by 
 the judgment of your friends," pleaded the French spy. 
 " I have heard all sorts of things about her that you have 
 not heard; heard them with my own ears which I can 
 trust and so can you. You do not understand what 
 sort of woman she is. You do not comprehend her. 
 And, since you do not, you must listen to and follow those 
 who do. They say that nothing but the extravagance of a 
 Csesar can compare with her entertainments this past 
 summer and autumn at Oranienbaum. What have you 
 known of them? Nothing! Is not this proof that you 
 should first listen and then obey? 
 
 " Esterhazy said to me only yesterday you know 
 
 231
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 what a philosophical student of character he is! * Have 
 you observed how the Grand Duchess * typifies Russia of 
 the Eighteenth Century? ' Then he explained. ' She has 
 its primitive, undeveloped power; its splendor of soul, its 
 daring, inquisitive and analyzing brain, and its luxurious, 
 feline cruelty. Her temperament unites the richness, the 
 elasticity, the fury of the Orient, with all that is most 
 perniciously subtle in cultivated Europe. And, withal, 
 she is still German; calm, clear headed and methodical.' 
 Count Esterhazy is worth listening to, your Royal High- 
 ness." 
 
 " Besides, your Majesty," added Countess Bruce, 
 " there is nothing that can affect her. She is a woman of 
 iron. Did you ever see her grieved? Did you ever see 
 her forget herself and say unwise things? Did you ever 
 see her gratify her temper at expense to herself? " 
 
 " You are right," strengthened the French spy. 
 " Nothing affects her. The ideas of the day amuse her, 
 but they do not influence her. They are no more effec- 
 tive than the light of our winter moon upon the frozen 
 wastes of this Finnish marsh." 
 
 ' Yes, your Highness," chimed in Elizabeth Woronzov, 
 " and she hears one thing and thinks something else. She 
 is not swayed by what any one says. And she has no 
 heart ! There is not anything she cares for." 
 
 ' The ladies are right, your Highness. Her power 
 and popularity are growing. The clergy, the army, the 
 people are becoming more and more fond of her." 
 
 " And the scholars, too and the poets " the ladies 
 hastened to all. 
 
 "Well, suppose that it is true, what you have said? 
 The world is at liberty to think anything it wishes now that 
 she is dead. That cannot affect me. I cannot see how 
 
 1 Quoted from a letter by Count Esterhazy. 
 
 232
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 what they thought of her before my Prussian friends dis- 
 posed of her is going to injure me. Narcissus, my fool 
 here, has really more sense than any of you. Here, we 
 have broken up a good game of kampis to quarrel about 
 what the world thinks of a dead woman, because to do so 
 is what you call wisdom. Why, Narcis here would never 
 be guilty of a thing like that ! I wish now I had put her 
 in a convent the way Peter the Great did with his wife." 
 
 " You do not seem to realize," said Elizabeth Woron- 
 zov, angrily, " that the plot against you is matured, that 
 the parts are assigned, everything arranged " 
 
 " No, I do not, because I cannot understand how a plot 
 without a head is any more powerful or important than 
 a person without a head. You just wait all of you ! 
 I will show you a thing or two when I am Emperor. 
 Then, they will see that I know something as well as she. 
 One of the first things I am going to do is to make my 
 wig-maker overseer of the Gobelin tapestry factory. 
 Does it not stand to reason that a man who can make a 
 good wig can make a good tapestry? " 
 
 " That is commendable," agreed the spies. " But we 
 can decide that later. If you are to do this, and other 
 things equally important and commendable, among 
 which is to hold your position in Russia, you must have the 
 active support of the Prussian King. You might be set 
 aside for your own son. That has happened before! 
 You know the fate of Anna Leopoldovna. You have 
 heard what became of the son of Peter the Great " 
 
 The Grand Duke had paid no attention to the words of 
 the spy, and broke out irrelevantly : 
 
 " I just cannot wait until the time comes for me to 
 marry Elizabeth Woronzov. I will depose Bestushev- 
 Rjumin and make your father head in everything. See if 
 I do not! " turning toward her gayly. 
 
 233
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " My royal master of Prussia will see that you do 
 everything you wish to do if you grant him now a slight 
 favor. The siege of Berlin must be stopped " 
 
 "Is that what they are after those Russian dogs? 
 Well, I think that I will stop that! " 
 
 " My royal master's capital is in danger. The Em- 
 press is too ill to think or care. When Bestushev-Rjumin 
 learns the Grand Duchess is dead, he will curry favor with 
 you. What he wants to do is reign, it does not matter 
 through whom. You can bend him to your will. You 
 can stop the siege." 
 
 The Grand Duke broke out into shrill and idiotic laugh- 
 ter: 
 
 " What a good joke on her ! Te-he-he-he What 
 a good joke to kidnap your own wife ! Te-he-he-he 
 And yet how is that possible? How can one steal from 
 one's self? There is something wrong about this ! You 
 have blundered. How am I going to tell her what a good 
 joke I have played upon her if you have killed her? 
 Why did you not think of that? I wish now that you 
 had not done that! You see I wanted a chance to tell 
 her!" 
 
 " Will it not give you just as much pleasure to send 
 Bestushev-Rjumin to Siberia when the power is in your 
 hands? That is a more important thing to do. Fred- 
 erick the Great will help and stand by you." 
 
 "Will he? Did he say he would?" 
 
 " He did." 
 
 " Good ! For me the will of Frederick the Great is 
 the will of God! " He kissed the ring on his finger, that 
 was so large that it was threatening to fall off. 
 
 " I suppose," he continued, " that we might have bribed 
 the Grand Duchess instead of killing her. It would not 
 
 234
 
 have been so wicked and it might have done just as well. 
 I might have enjoyed it better." 
 
 " I think, perhaps, bribing might have been possible," 
 agreed the French spy. " They say she borrowed fabu- 
 lous sums from England. That shows money would have 
 been acceptable. France could be her banker just as well. 
 I knew her mother in Paris. She is a good deal like 
 her in double dealing. ' An apple never falls far from 
 the tree.' " 
 
 ; ' The French gentleman is right," laughed Countess 
 Bruce, with her malicious tingling laughter. " There are 
 not many doors that shut so tightly a golden hammer 
 cannot open them." 
 
 " I agree with you, Countess." 
 
 " And Count Bestushev, could he not be bribed, too? " 
 
 " Could he! " exclaimed the Prussian, angrily. " He 
 would sell the body of the Empress, if he could make 
 up his mind how much to ask for it." 
 
 " I do not agree with you there," objected the French- 
 man. 
 
 " Where his duty is concerned the Ghostly Chancellor 
 is unapproachable. Among the men who are intriguing 
 for fame and gold, he is the only one who works with an 
 honest heart." 
 
 'You are wrong! " indignantly replied the Prussian. 
 " Bestushev-Rjumin has the nature of a criminal. He 
 will stop at nothing to gain an end " 
 
 ' Yes, yes, my good friend ! But that end must be for 
 Russia." 
 
 " Of course it would have been less work to bribe 
 her," interrupted the Grand Duke, with his idiotic laugh- 
 ter, having paid no attention to the conversation. " But 
 it would not have been so much fun. Te-he-he-he 
 
 235
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Think of kidnapping your own wife and she did not 
 know it ! Te-he-he-he How disappointed I am that 
 I cannot tell her about it ! I do not see why you did not 
 arrange it so that I could tell her about it ! What in the 
 name of all the devils at once are your teeth chattering 
 like that for, Narcissus, you fool? Stop it. Stop it, I 
 say." 
 
 ' You would not care anything about the joke you 
 played upon her, if you knew what I saw a few nights 
 ago." 
 
 "What did you see, Elizabeth Woronzov?" 
 
 " In the lightning that came with an autumn storm, I 
 twice saw the Slavic Venus I That means change of 
 rulers." 
 
 The Grand Duke began to tremble pitifully and turn 
 white. 
 
 " The Slavic Venus ! The Slavic Venus ! " 
 
 "What is the matter? What are you afraid of?'* 
 inquired the French spy, in great surprise. 
 
 " Yes," joined in Countess Bruce, ready as ever to 
 affect a situation unpleasantly, with her unrestrainable 
 propensity for mischief making. 
 
 " And Elizabeth Petrovna has fallen into the strangest 
 of superstitions ! She remains for hours in contemplation 
 before the statue of a heathen divinity which she has had 
 brought from Kiev. It is that ancient Venus which her 
 father, Peter the Great, loved. You cannot imagine her 
 devotion I She talks to it. The ladies of her entourage 
 are horror stricken. It is pagan idolatry! " 
 
 " You told me that just to frighten me, to make me un- 
 happy. You know you did ! That is the way you all do. 
 I enjoy my enemies as well as I do my friends. They 
 have this advantage, anyway: I can get away from them. 
 But my friends are always with me." 
 
 236
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 "What is the matter with him? What does he 
 mean? " 
 
 " He cannot help it," explained Elizabeth Woronzov. 
 " It is in his blood. It comes from Peter the Great. 
 He said that no one would rule Russia except a favorite 
 of Venus. Was he not right? Think of him ! The life 
 he led! And our blessed Empress, Elizabeth Petrovna, 
 was fabulously lovely in her youth. And what a life has 
 been hers 1 " 
 
 The Prussian spy, mindful of his courtly training, 
 bowed gallantly to Elizabeth Woronzov. 
 
 " I understand now how worthy you are to be the next 
 Empress." 
 
 Her foolish little heart had already believed that it 
 held a throne. The round eyes of Countess Bruce 
 twinkled with malice. 
 
 " Cheer up, your Royal Highness ! " urged the French- 
 man. " The vision of Venus means that all will go well 
 with you and your goddess of love Mademoiselle 
 Woronzov! " 
 
 " We must not waste time like this, in courtly speaking, 
 my French friend. We must make plans for the possibil- 
 ity that our companions did not succeed in making way 
 with the Grand Duchess." 
 
 " You seem to forget all of you, " interrupted the 
 Grand Duke, pettishly, " that she has sins as well as other 
 people." 
 
 " But there is no use in discussing sins, unless they are 
 sins that are disapproved of. Hers, my dear Duke, your 
 Russian people love." 
 
 " That's just the way you talk ! Who could be ex- 
 pected to understand it? When she does wrong it's right. 
 And when I do right it's wrong. How can any one be 
 expected to keep his senses in a country where all things 
 
 237
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 are upside down? And the ridiculous part about this 
 unpleasant discussion is that she is dead. Narcis, if you 
 do not stop shaking and chattering like an ape, I will give 
 you something to shake for! " 
 
 Again, the hand of the silent soldier sought the sword. 
 A pause in the conversation followed, to be broken by 
 shrill idiotic laughter, that made his hearers shudder, just 
 as his helpless oath had done. 
 
 " Te-he-he-he Is it not a good joke on her? To 
 kidnap her ! And when she did not know it. To abduct 
 one's own wife! Not many men have done that! 
 Te-he-he-he-he But, if she is dead, you see I cannot 
 tell her how I got the best of her. That is a mean shame, 
 because she thinks that she is cleverer than I am. You 
 did it on purpose to keep me from telling her about it." 
 
 " Come, come," urged Elizabeth Woronzov. ' We 
 must go back to the palace and dress for the second part 
 of the ball. 
 
 " Oh! Oh! is it not a good joke on her! Te-he- 
 he-he Come, Narcis, you shivering idiot we are 
 going now." 
 
 When they were outside and had come in sight of the 
 palace, the Grand Duke paused without speaking and 
 looked up at the great dark mass with the angry, flaring 
 lights that deepened into blackness the space that sur- 
 rounded it, making the serene stars farther away and 
 fainter. He hesitated to enter it. He was frightened 
 and trembling. As they approached a side door which 
 connected directly with the private apartments of Eliza- 
 beth Woronzov, the frightened fool managed to find his 
 tongue. 
 
 " My good master," he pleaded, " let me speak a word 
 to you before we enter." 
 
 The Grand Duke looked at him questioningly. 
 
 238
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 " Wait a minute ! Wait just a minute ! " He paused 
 again helplessly as if for breath, and then gasped, " The 
 Grand Duchess is not dead! " 
 
 "What you fool? How do you know?" they 
 called in chorus. 
 
 " That young soldier who came into Muhr's and whom 
 we left sitting there the one with the papers was the 
 Grand Duchess." 
 
 " Can you trust him? " queried the surprised spies. 
 
 " Perfectly ! In a matter of this kind he could not be 
 deceived. Then, that's what you were shaking for 
 and couldn't find your tongue ! Now, my friends, do you 
 not see how superior is the fool to the wise man? The 
 fool finds of his own will what the wise man seeks for 
 a lifetime. My French friend here and my Prussian 
 friend were sent to Russia because of their wisdom. 
 But only you Narcissus, my fool found out what 
 they were sent to find." 
 
 " Shall we go back, your Highness? " 
 
 " What a question ! " he thundered with an oath. 
 " She must not elude me to-night. Go back ! Go back 
 at once ! It will be easy. As soon as you enter bolt the 
 door so that no one can come to her assistance." 
 
 " But we two cannot return," replied the spies. " It 
 would cause suspicion for us to be seen there so quickly. 
 There would be no apparent cause for such conduct." 
 
 " But she must be made way with to-night," insisted 
 the Grand Duke. 
 
 " Never fear, your Highness," they answered. " You 
 go on to the palace ! We will go straight to the Dresden 
 Woman's where our confederates are waiting. We will 
 send two men from there to dispatch her quickly. We 
 pledge you our word that within an hour she shall be 
 beneath the water of the Neva." 
 
 239
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " Do not blunder again ! I warn you that it will not 
 be well for you ! " 
 
 During this conversation there was some of the tone 
 of command in the voice of the Grand Duke that his 
 elders had known in his imperial grandparent of Russia. 
 But it was only for a pitiful instant, like a trembling 
 shadow flung upon a wall. 
 
 ' When your Highness enters the ballroom for the 
 tableaux, do it with the assurance that things are as you 
 wish." 
 
 No sooner had the Grand Duke and his party left the 
 Coffee House than the Princess Dashkov entered. She 
 was breathless and excited. The gold coins of her peas- 
 ant's head dress jingled discordantly. 
 
 " How did you get away to come here?" questioned 
 Catherine Alexevna. 
 
 " I did not. I just came." 
 
 "How are things outside? What is going on?" 
 
 "Excitement! Confusion! The machinery of in- 
 trigue is in full swing. The city is filled with spies and 
 secret messengers of all nations." 
 
 " How is my double, Nicholas Murievich? " 
 
 Princess Dashkov paused a moment to weigh her 
 words before replying. 
 
 ' That is what I came to tell you. Two spies lured 
 him from the ball by promising to give him proofs 
 which of course they did not have that you are the 
 daughter of Frederick the Great. I suppose by this time 
 that he is is " 
 
 "Dead!" 
 
 " I suppose so. I could not save him. If I had, it 
 would have meant death and disclosure for you. I did 
 not give him your message. But there is no time to 
 grieve, your Highness! We must get away at once. 
 
 240
 
 MUHR'S ON THE MORSKOI 
 
 The Prussians plan to kill you to-night here. There 
 is not a moment to lose. Orlov is waiting with a carriage 
 on the other side of this building. We drove here with a 
 speed that surpassed the wind. We must return as 
 quickly. We must be in the palace and dressed for the 
 last part of the ball, before the Prussian party can find 
 out that they have abducted the wrong person. Then 
 only will you be safe. They may be back here any mo- 
 ment to search for you. Come ! Come ! " 
 
 They left hurriedly by the little door on the left, which 
 was the waiters' place of entrance, and made their way 
 through the dim kitchen to the rear of the building where 
 Orlov waited. They drove to the palace by a round- 
 about road, went in by a secret entrance, and made their 
 way unseen by any one to the apartments of the Grand 
 Duchess. 
 
 241
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 The women of the court had gone to change their cos- 
 tumes and the men to smoke, so the gilded spacious salon 
 of the slim white candles and the garden of the tropic 
 flowers were empty. Count Bestushev-Rjumin alone was 
 in the great garden, dimmed slightly, but made more 
 like a scene from fairyland by the floating smoke of 
 candles, and fluttered over by gorgeous winged birds. 
 
 His face still wore its expression of triumph and ela- 
 tion and his sunken old eyes glowed cruelly. He walked 
 about like a specter beneath the flowering trees, enjoying 
 with fine appreciation the beauty of the setting, and the 
 contrast which he himself presented in this vision of 
 spring. He talked to himself according to his habit and 
 enjoyed in solitude the first fruit of his triumph. 
 
 " How I have enjoyed life, delicately, sensitively, as a 
 gourmand sips his wine! There is nothing that has not 
 given me pleasure. I have loved clouds and flowers and 
 the perfume of fruit. I have even found beauty in the 
 vague, soft sadness of the north. For it is true that sad- 
 ness permeates the north, just as prayer permeates the 
 Orient. Sadness falls softly with its soft falling snows. 
 It rises softly with the pale and gentle mists from its mys- 
 terious waters. It touches one fleetingly, intangibly, re- 
 gretfully, with the wind of summer. It floats over its 
 murmuring waters like a spirit trying to manifest itself 
 again. It drops down from high, slow-circling bird 
 wings. It vibrates from its dim, mist-laden moon. It 
 
 242
 
 CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 shivers upon its sparce, gray-green grasses. Even its 
 flowers are pearled over with tears. The rain, too, I 
 have thought is sa-d'der here than elsewhere. And yet in 
 it all I have found beauty. 
 
 " I wish that I could have lived many lives ! One life 
 is not enough for any man. I might have been a creative 
 artist, I have loved beauty so. ' 
 
 " * My heart beats with greater violence than the 
 hearts of the Corybantes,' says Plato in The Banquet. 
 Just so has my own heart beaten at the outspread beauty 
 of nature. But I have hidden my joy from the world to 
 ward off its hatred. The world does not persecute the 
 weak, or the poor, or the humble with such bitter pleasure 
 as it persecutes the joyous. There are rooms within my 
 heart that are furnished for me alone. No one has seen 
 within them. The eyes of the world are death dealing. 
 Never let them look within your heart! I am old and 
 bent and unlovely. No one would think to look at this 
 dried up, ugly old man that the copper-colored moons 
 of spring sway within his heart like lilies in some Syrian 
 garden. No one would think that the pale, mist-floating 
 moons of late autumn rise there, like the gray iris, that 
 ghost of a perished joy. In my heart there are bits of the 
 beauty of all the world. It is a kaleidoscope of joyous 
 memory, turning and showing me changing pictures at 
 my will. 
 
 ' There are mornings when I was young long, long 
 ago ! in the sweet, fresh English country, when dew 
 glistened on the roses and the skylark sang. There are 
 nights in dim, Flemish cities, whose souls are mysterious 
 bells that call across mysterious waters. There are 
 autumns at the vintage season in merry villages of the 
 Rhine, and dance and laughter. There are moonlight 
 nights in Little Russia when the nightingale made music 
 
 243
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 and the steppe was a silver sea. There are black and 
 lonely midnights in a cloister that looks down upon the 
 White Sea's frozen waves, paling slowly to the pallid des- 
 olation of a polar dawn, in that cloister where Ivan the 
 Terrible went to pray. A man is just as great as the 
 stored-up joy of his heart. As the miner separates gold 
 from the dirt, so should man separate joy from the dirt 
 of memory and of living, and preserve to make rich his 
 soul. It is joy that painted the wings of these tropic 
 birds that flutter above my head. It is joy that made 
 lovely the blossoms of these oleander and orange trees. 
 And it is joy that created this luxurious atmosphere of 
 pleasure where the petted children of Russia are playing 
 to-night. Joy is God's greatest gift. 
 
 " I am old. I am hideous to look upon. I am shriv- 
 eled and twisted by the years. I often wonder what this 
 soul of mine can be doing in this old man's body. I feel 
 as if I ought to look like the picture of an old man in his 
 youth ! But there is something of the spring still dwell- 
 ing in my heart. 
 
 " I have loved beauty and science and art and power 
 instead of women. I have found them better worth the 
 loving. Beauty and power and knowledge are perfected 
 things. While women Indeed I have agreed often 
 with Mahomet, who said that they had no soul. But 
 Mahomet did not love them any better than I. It may 
 be that love when it is great and genuine is a philosopher's 
 stone that possesses the power of turning common things 
 to gold. To love them, perhaps, would mean to find 
 them divine. Love is a great maker of divinity." 
 
 He paused in his walk and his monologue and the spec- 
 tral candle smoke focussed its center of mystic whirling 
 motion about him. Thus might he look if he were dis- 
 embodied. 
 
 244
 
 CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 " Life ! Life ! It is as beautiful and as wonderful 
 and as unstable as the smoke." 
 
 He began again his restless wandering beneath the 
 flowering trees and his mood changed to one of contem- 
 plation of the present and its demands. His eyes lost 
 the inspired look of the dreamer and became subtle and 
 cruel and sharp pointed. 
 
 ' To-night, I hope, will mark the last of Great Prussia ! 
 If Frederick and I could live long enough, I would teach 
 him to enjoy the safety of insignificance. He will not 
 try again to bait the Russian bear. Not so bad, Bestu- 
 shev ! Not so bad ! 
 
 "It is his own daughter (So they say! But I have 
 never believed it) who will give the signal for his retire- 
 ment. Through her I will send him my final word. Not 
 so bad, Bestushev! Not so bad! But I shall miss him! 
 He has been a satisfactory enemy. An enemy worthy 
 of me! He has appreciated what I have done; its sub- 
 tlety, its artistry. Not many could do that! Next to 
 being able to create one's self is the ability to appreciate 
 the things that other people create. I almost love mine 
 enemy as Holy Writ commands. 
 
 " Ought I not? He is the only man in Europe who can 
 measure me. I should love him as a coquette loves 
 her mirror. Is he not the mirror of my success? Per- 
 haps, God made him merely to mirror my greatness. I 
 can truthfully say that he has been a delightful enemy! 
 Appreciative, firm, ready, dangerous, daring! He has 
 been an ideal background for my genius. 
 
 ' Yes, yes, he has been a delightful enemy. If I only 
 could have taught him to jest with death to mix humor 
 with crime, he would almost have equalled me. Almost ! 
 As it is, I shall miss him. Well, well Some people 
 
 245
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 live and some people philosophize about life. Frederick 
 has philosophized too greatly. Well, well 
 
 " He ought to see his so-called daughter, ought he not? 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! He thinks that she is still just a little 
 German girl. Well, well not exactly. I should say 
 not exactly. Well, well between the little Sophie of 
 Zerbst whom he used to know and the Grand Duchess of 
 Russia, Catherine Alexevna, there is a difference which 
 even Frederick, my friend, could see. Well, well and 
 I am the cause of it! I educated her. I made her as 
 I wished. Good material though. Well, well 
 
 " Frederick thought that if diplomacy and gold failed 
 he would use force, did he not? He thought he would 
 make things as he wished them being the earthly rep- 
 resentative of God. What a fool I made of him ! Ha ! 
 ha 1 ha ! I would exile to Siberia the greenest fledgeling 
 under me who dared to bungle. That is why I sent her 
 to Muhr's on the Morskoi. The old Russian bear only 
 shuts one eye when he goes to sleep. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I 
 shall have to jest gently very gently with Frederick 
 about that. I shall tell him not to despair. The only 
 time to do that with reason is when one is dead, because 
 life is a thing of change. I shall suggest to him that there 
 is really no cause for disappointment, because expecta- 
 tion and realization are seldom on speaking terms. 
 
 " Yet," and for a moment his face bleached with the 
 quick pallor of fear "what if she should fail me? 
 Ah ! my blessed master," looking at the medallion por- 
 trait of Peter the Great that hung suspended from its 
 chain of jet, " to-night the future of the country you 
 loved depends upon the fickle will of a woman and a frail 
 old man. I feel very old to-night. I am old 
 
 " But sKe will not fail me ! " The battle tempered 
 will that had never met failure reasserted itself. " She 
 
 246
 
 CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 is not fickle. She is not changeable. Her mind is cold 
 and critical. Besides, she has the cunning and the de- 
 pendable calm of women who have no imagination." 
 
 In a few moments the Grand Duchess entered the 
 Winter Garden and crossed to where Count Bestushev- 
 Rjumin was standing. She wore a white silk coat that 
 covered and concealed her body. A white veil was wound 
 about her face and throat. 
 
 " Did you call me, Count Bestushev? " 
 
 " No, not exactly, Catherine Alexevna. I merely 
 wished that you were here. But you must retire before 
 the others come. I do not wish anyone to see you before 
 the tableaux. The Prussian party must think that they 
 succeeded and that you are dead. I am counting upon 
 the disabling effect of surprise upon them." 
 
 He looked at her fixedly before continuing. It was 
 evident that he had some influence over her of long stand- 
 ing that might not be explained. 
 
 " I am glad that you have come, Catherine Alexevna. 
 We have need of each other to-night you and I. I 
 need your support." 
 
 " Have I ever refused it?" 
 
 "No no of course not! And I know that you 
 paid no attention to those silly stories of Frederick the 
 Great." 
 
 "What of them? Are they true?" 
 
 " Hm ! Hm ! Well Well ! It was the gos- 
 sip of the courts when you were a baby. But of whom do 
 they not gossip? Everyone brought up at court has sev- 
 eral fathers. Should not a Grand Duchess of Russia 
 have just as many as the rest? " 
 
 " You jest, Count Bestushev." 
 
 247
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " That you should be influenced by such silly stories is 
 subject for jest." 
 
 " But my support? What do you mean? " 
 
 " This. If her Majesty lives the week out, I shall be 
 sent into exile. If she does not live the week out and 
 the Grand Duke comes into power for even a little 
 while my fate is the same exile. The Grand Duke 
 cannot must not reign. If he did, your life and 
 mine would be at stake. There would be no talk, then, 
 of exile. You must seize the power and put him out of 
 the way. Put him in a safe place where there is no 
 return ! Then, recall me ! When I am gone, the fate of 
 Russia will depend on you. I give it into your hands just 
 as Peter the Great gave it into mine." 
 
 " But the crime, Count Bestushev the awful crime 
 that will be upon my soul ! " 
 
 " There will be no crime ! Self-preservation is a law 
 of nature. It is your life against the Grand Duke's. 
 Choose ! Your visit to Muhr's to-night proved that to 
 you." 
 
 " Why is it necessary so often that crime should 
 be the accessory of power? " 
 
 " A law of nature with which you and I have nothing 
 to do, Catherine Alexevna. A law for whose continuance 
 our approval is not necessary. 
 
 ' The individual is of no consequence to nature. 
 
 " Use your mind 1 Use your mind 1 That is the thing 
 to do. 
 
 " To go to an excess of virtue is just as blameworthy 
 as to go to an excess of evil, because in either case bal- 
 ance which is the power of importance is upset. 
 Thought, Catherine Alexevna, is frequently successful in 
 banishing the fears of fancy. You would really be a 
 
 248
 
 CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 greater murderess if you did not kill him. Do you un- 
 derstand? " 
 
 Catherine Alexevna looked up at him with fascinated 
 eyes. The old mental magic had reasserted its power 
 over her. 
 
 " Yes, Count Bestushev, I understand." 
 
 " Great virtues, Catherine Alexevna, carried to excess 
 in a sovereign are really dangerous. A sovereign must 
 be impersonal and live for universal goals. The impor- 
 tant thing is to know what is best for the people, and then 
 pursue it relentlessly." 
 
 " No woman is more brave than I. It seems to me 
 now, when I hear your voice again, that I have never 
 feared." 
 
 " That is what I like to hear. You see the unde- 
 veloped possibilities of Russia. I have taught you to see. 
 I have given you the power to project yourself imper- 
 sonally. We are living in a difficult age, Catherine 
 Alexevna. The classic world is dying. Its beliefs, its 
 ideals are breaking up like the ice in our Russian rivers in 
 spring. A new and a very different civilization where 
 all things will change is right at hand just over the 
 crest of the century. I feel the instability of the time 
 in which we live. I can catch faintly the roar of that 
 new, modern world which will destroy all that I have 
 known and loved. And yet I wish that I could live to 
 see it. 
 
 " Ah ! Catherine Alexevna, that I were young with 
 you that I could live on and on, not for myself alone, 
 but for Russia and for you ! That I could live to be 
 a part of the great Russia of the days to come ! 
 
 " Perhaps death is not what we think it after all. 
 Perhaps we go on and on, and cast off body after body 
 
 249
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 and are young again. That is the great tragedy to 
 have to die the great tragedy, just when one has 
 learned enough to live. That I could live on! That I 
 could throw off age like a garment and be young again 
 with you ! " 
 
 The glowing salon beyond ached with the sad emptiness 
 of regret. The tropic birds looked at them with their 
 jewel-bright, penetrating eyes. The vibrant silence 
 weighed heavily upon the flowers. But the mood van- 
 ished as quickly as it came, and happiness swept back again 
 to vitalize the silence. 
 
 ' You will live on, Great Chancellor, in me. Are not 
 the souls of us as one? Besides, who knows what death 
 is? It may be an ever present and more powerful ex- 
 istence not made visible in flesh." 
 
 ' Yours will be a great life, my love ! And I may 
 be living it with you in the double life of the soul. You 
 embrace in yourself the world that is passing and the 
 modern world that is at hand. You have the physical 
 strength of antique races, and the trained and discriminat- 
 ing senses of to-day. I will make you superior to dis- 
 integrating change by something that I possess here," 
 tapping his brow significantly with his finger. " You 
 will be the last of the great past that had the daring and 
 the inclination to live. And in living you will symbolize 
 Russia." 
 
 He paused to measure the effect of his words upon her, 
 and to enjoy critically the moment's triumph, and the 
 night with its fairy setting. And he thought, too, how 
 characteristic it was, that neither love nor youth with its 
 seductive charm, nor pity or kindness, could move her 
 like the cold things of the intellect. 
 
 " But to-night, Catherine Alexevna, you must give your 
 
 250
 
 CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 pledge to the people. It cannot be deferred ! The mo- 
 ment has come. Your costume and Princess Dashkov's 
 are in your dressing room. Everything is ready! " 
 
 As he watched her walk away, he noticed that her 
 figure had that appearance of dominance that his pres- 
 ence seldom failed to give. 
 
 The others reentered gayly in court costume. The 
 George Salon filled rapidly with a brilliant and eager 
 assemblage which overflowed into the Winter Garden. 
 
 Count Bestushev-Rjumin stood silent and motionless, 
 alone in one corner, like a black and ominous bird of 
 prey, looking scornfully on. 
 
 Count Ivan Shuvalov, marshal of the court, entered 
 and inspected carefully the dress and the coat of the 
 Russians. Subanski, Razumovsky, two spies and Greg- 
 ory Orlov were to the front of the Garden. 
 
 ; ' What in the world is he doing, the marshal of the 
 court?" queried the Prussian spy, with ill-restrained 
 eagerness. 
 
 'Yes, what is he doing?" echoed the French spy. 
 " Whatever it is, it seems to concern the Russians alone." 
 
 " He is finding out," explained Subanski, " if their 
 costumes are new or old." 
 
 "How can he? What do you mean?" urged the 
 Prussian. 
 
 " Is not that one of your Russian jests, which you say 
 no one can understand? " the Frenchman remembered 
 to retaliate. 
 
 " Our blessed Empress," explained Orlov, " in order 
 that her court may be the most splendid in Christendom, 
 issued an ukase that each costume worn at court be 
 stamped with the date of its make. They are permitted 
 to be worn only a certain number of times." 
 
 251
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 "Extraordinary! Most extraordinary!" 
 
 " It is not extraordinary, my French friends." 
 
 ' You do not really mean it, do you? " 
 
 " Of course I mean it! " affirmed Subanski. " In this 
 way, you see, no one can wear anything that is old. We 
 are sure to be in fashion. Very important I consider 
 it." 
 
 " It would be a good thing," broke in Orlov, " for you 
 Prussians to imitate." 
 
 " I should think it would," agreed Subanski. ' They 
 say your Emperor never owned but one state costume in 
 his life, and that he is wearing it now." 
 
 " What was it he said about clothes, Gregory Orlov? 
 Tell me ! " begged Razumovsky, one trembling old hand 
 behind his ear. 
 
 The marshal of the court approached Razumovsky 
 and began to make ready for inspection. 
 
 " Do you wish to insult me? I will not permit it. I 
 never wore a suit more than thrice. It makes me weep." 
 
 The foolish, supersensitive old beau pulled out one of 
 the new foulard handkerchiefs and put it to his eyes 
 affectedly. 
 
 " You did get one, did you not, Razumovsky? " 
 
 " I went to your importer, Subanski ! Think what an 
 honor for him to be visited by the first gentleman of 
 Russia! I drove there and back just as fast as I could. 
 I put the subject before him this way. I said : ' The 
 blessed Empress may die at any moment. Therefore, 
 I have driven from court to visit you and at this hour. 
 I would be the chief mourner, would I not? How would 
 it look for a man occupying an exalted position like mine 
 to weep upon an old-fashioned handkerchief? The 
 court would be disgraced.' He was touched, of course. 
 Anyone would have been ! In addition, he was so moved 
 
 252
 
 CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 by my eloquence that he gave me enough to last through 
 to-night and the funeral." 
 
 "Good for him!" 
 
 " A ball and a funeral are, Razumovsky, the two most 
 important state events in Russia." 
 
 " Of course ! And they both ought to be well dressed, 
 ought they not, Gregory Orlov? I knew that Gregory 
 Orlov would agree with me." 
 
 The Grand Duke entered with Elizabeth Woronzov, 
 followed by Countess Bruce. Their faces wore expres- 
 sions of triumph. The bearing of the Grand Duke was 
 almost regal. He felt sure he was rid of Catherine 
 Alexevna, and within reach of the freedom he desired. 
 The news had secretly made its way among the guests 
 that favored Prussia and Peter the Duke, that the Grand 
 Duchess had been spirited away and that she would 
 never return. The air was electric with suppression of 
 the secret. The Grand Duke and Elizabeth Woronzov 
 took commanding positions and the guests made obeisance 
 to her as they entered, just as if she were the reigning 
 Empress. They stood purposely near Count Bestushev- 
 Rjumin that he might be forced to hear and see. Eliza- 
 beth Woronzov was eager to have revenge upon this 
 old man whom she hated not only on her own account, 
 but because he stood in the way of her uncle's political 
 advancement. She could not resist the pleasure of an 
 irritating remark in this supposed hour of her triumph. 
 
 " How handsome these Holstein uniforms are to-night, 
 Count Bestushev-Rjumin ! Their bright colors look like 
 a flower garden, do they not? " 
 
 "Greatly! Just like spring flowers, which, unfor- 
 tunately, wither quickly." 
 
 " What do you suppose he meant by that? " whispered 
 a Prussian spy, quick to take alarm. 
 
 253
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 " Hush ! Keep still ! " whispered back his comrade. 
 " Nothing probably." 
 
 " Permit me to congratulate you upon your appearance 
 to-night, Countess Woronzov," flattered Razumovsky, 
 bowing low. " You are lovely enough to be an Em- 
 press," continued the old beau, reckless of truth. " Is 
 she not, Subanski ? " 
 
 " None of us are such a good judge of Empresses as 
 you are, Razumovsky." 
 
 The Grand Duke attempted an air of dignity, " I 
 consider myself to be ! " 
 
 " I congratulate you, Duke, upon your taste ! " re- 
 torted the witty Pole, bowing low with mock humility. 
 
 " But where is the Grand Duchess? " 
 
 The question exploded a bomb of silence. No one 
 dared to lift an eye for fear it might betray the intelligence 
 within. Count Bestushev-Rjumin alone surveyed the 
 scene indifferently, with a white and malevolent face. At 
 length, the Grand Duke broke the silence whose weight 
 he could not bear. But his voice was unsteady and they 
 knew his words were false. 
 
 " The Empress summoned her. She will not return 
 to the ball." 
 
 This foolish statement betrayed his complicity to the 
 opposing party. 
 
 " And my sister, the Princess Dashkov, where is she? " 
 questioned Elizabeth Woronzov, with something like 
 terror in her voice, and an equal lack of insight. 
 
 " Let me see," said Count Bestushev-Rjumin, seeing an 
 opportunity to vex and confuse her. " Your sister, the 
 Princess Dashkov, wore a black domino for the masking, 
 did she not?" 
 
 "Black domino!" Elizabeth Woronzov turned pale 
 and tears sprang to her little round eyes. 
 
 254
 
 CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 " A black domino ! Did you hear that, your Royal 
 Highness?" 
 
 Subanski, who enjoyed the discomfiture of other people, 
 caught the drift of the conversation and helped the Chan- 
 cellor. 
 
 " I think she went away with the Grand Duchess. I 
 remember seeing her. They entered the grand march 
 together and slipped out by one of the little gilt doors 
 at the end of the George Salon." 
 
 Elizabeth Woronzov's little fat face looked more than 
 frightened. 
 
 " Did you hear that? " she whispered in a voice that 
 everyone could hear. She had never seen any point in 
 her life. 
 
 "Keep still! Keep still, can you not?" admonished 
 Countess Bruce, with the canny Scotch wit which she had 
 inherited from a canny Scotch ancestor. 
 
 " See my handkerchief, Elizabeth Woronzov," chatted 
 Razumovsky, irrelevantly. " It is the latest thing from 
 Paris. This is the way to display it," explained the 
 foolish old beau, forgetting his years. 
 
 Elizabeth Woronzov pulled herself together and tried 
 to forget her fear. 
 
 " And my shoes, too, Count Alexis Razumovsky! " re- 
 plied Elizabeth Woronzov, taking the cue and making a 
 fresh effort to conceal her emotion. 
 
 " The very latest from Paris ! Are not the feathers 
 beautiful?" 
 
 "Beautiful! Beautiful! Are they not, Gregory 
 Orlov? They make me weep for joy. That is the way 
 that beauty always affects me." 
 
 " And mine, too 1 See ! " exclaimed Countess Bruce, 
 thinking the subject both fortunate and safe. 
 
 "What do you think of them, Chancellor?" asked 
 
 255
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Elizabeth Woronzov, with a brave effort to be gay and 
 natural. 
 
 " Well, well they do become you. And yet I have 
 always connected feathers with a certain bird which I 
 will not name." 
 
 "The insolence!" 
 
 ' The insolence ! " chimed the fawning spies, trying to 
 pierce with angry looks that mask of death, that had 
 again resumed its white rigidity. 
 
 ''What do you mean, sir?" demanded the Grand 
 Duke, remembering his newly acquired power, and that 
 his position was no longer secondary. 
 
 " I thought, your Highness, that my answer was clear. 
 People seldom ask for a second one. Do you? " 
 
 " I will teach you to have respect for my opinion, 
 Count Bestushev " 
 
 "Wait! Wait!" whispered Elizabeth Woronzov. 
 " In a few hours he will be glad enough to apologize to 
 you and to me, too, for that matter." 
 
 "Is his power so great?" asked a startled spy, in a 
 low voice, to his neighbor. " Is he the ruler here? " 
 
 " Did you ever ! " exclaimed the cracked and senile 
 treble of Razumovsky. 
 
 " Did you ever ! I never said things like that, even 
 when the blessed Empress was perfectly well. And think 
 what a position I held! " 
 
 "What do you think of his assurance? What can 
 it mean? " whispered the uneasy Prussian spy again, who 
 felt that all was not well. " Do you suppose he has 
 tricked me at the last? Do you suppose he could be 
 brave and insolent like this, if he knew the end would 
 come within the hour? " 
 
 They glanced timidly sidewise at that sphinxlike, ter- 
 
 256
 
 CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 rible face which they felt would determine their fate. 
 There was nothing to be read upon it. The Ghostly 
 Chancellor resembled a slender statue of ivory and jet. 
 
 Two heralds entered with gilt, flower-wreathed trum- 
 pets. They advanced side by side to the center of the 
 George Salon, where they paused and lifted their trum- 
 pets. 
 
 " Ladies and Gentlemen. Members of the court. 
 The tableaux! The tableaux! The Garden will now 
 be made open to the people." 
 
 The front of the Garden was flung back, showing 
 more freely now the streets beyond, and the breathless 
 autumn night with its high, pale, scattered stars, and the 
 frosty glitter of the Milky Way. A crowd of indis- 
 tinguishable, dark, moving bodies were seen,, with now 
 and then the accented whiteness of a face or a garment. 
 As far as the eye could carry there swayed a black, 
 murmuring mass of humanity, trying to push forward 
 eagerly for a better view of this royal revelry. 
 
 The movable stage was brought to the front of the 
 George Salon. The people pressed forward to catch 
 glimpses of the setting and the gorgeous costumes of 
 this first masked ball of the Russian winter. The cur- 
 tain went up on the tableau. It disclosed the Princess 
 Dashkov representing Herodias. She held out toward 
 the people a silver tray. But upon this tray the head 
 was missing. 
 
 A murmur rippled across the courtier crowd. The 
 stupidest among them felt the approaching crisis. The 
 air was electric with suppressed emotion. Even the un- 
 disciplined crowd instinctively turned frightened eyes in 
 search of that well known figure of jet and ivory, which 
 they felt had turned loose one of his mysterious, death 
 
 257
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 dealing plots, which no one was skilful enough to check. 
 After a silence which was louder and more ominous than 
 sound, they shouted: 
 
 " A head she wants. She wants a head. Down with 
 the royal supporter of Prussia ! Down with him I 
 Down with him 1 " 
 
 Terrified silence followed this first explosion of senti- 
 ment. Little by little, into the minds behind all the eager, 
 shining eyes there had filtered the comprehension that the 
 Ghostly Chancellor was telling his faithful Russian fol- 
 lowers telling them emphatically, artistically but with- 
 out incriminating words, that the Grand Duke must die. 
 
 Before they could recover the power of speech, his 
 thin, cruel, old voice was heard saying to Subanski, the 
 Polish Adonis, " You were right, Subanski. A ball and 
 a funeral are the most important state events in Russia. 
 Especially, if the funeral happen to be a royal one." 
 
 " The second tableau ! " announced the sweet, youth- 
 ful voices of the heralds through their flower-wreathed 
 trumpets. Again, the curtain went up. This time it 
 disclosed Catherine Alexevna representing the Slavic 
 Venus, who was likewise goddess of the avenging light- 
 ning. But what a change had taken place in her ! Her 
 face was of marble, pallid and stern. The eyes were 
 not the beautiful tender eyes of a woman in her youth. 
 They were hard, bright gems. The mouth was a faint 
 line of red. The body had lost womanly grace and 
 softness, and attained the rigidity of stone. The fea- 
 tures were thinner and more sharply lined. The re- 
 semblance to the statuette that had been brought back 
 from the Pregel was startling in its vividness. It was 
 the face of a woman whose heart some destructive thought 
 had killed. It was the face of cruelty ! 
 
 Her unbound hair fell over her shoulders in rich dis- 
 
 258
 
 CLOSE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 order. Upon her head, rising evenly from ear to ear like 
 a half-moon, was a blazing disk of blue gems a foot in 
 height. Her body was covered smoothly with a tight 
 sheath of silver upon which were raised figures represent- 
 ing animals after the manner of old Russian embroidery. 
 The garment left the shoulders and arms uncovered, and 
 billowed at the feet into a piled up whiteness that re- 
 sembled the foam of the sea. In one hand, upraised in 
 the attitude of one who delivers a curse, was a disk of 
 blazing light. 
 
 In the hush that followed the curtain's going up, Count 
 Bestushev-Rjumin stepped forward and announced: 
 
 " The Slavic Venus ! The faithful and ancient pro- 
 tectress of Russia ! " 
 
 The crowd yelled excitedly: " Russia for the Rus- 
 sians ! Long live the Grand Duchess ! " 
 
 The condition of the Grand Duke was truly pitiful. 
 Surprise and fear overwhelmed him alternately. As his 
 little timid eyes glanced toward the great, black, swaying 
 mass outside for a possible hope of escape, he saw a 
 bright, falling star go speeding to its death down the 
 northern night. He knew that it was all over with him. 
 It would not come to-day nor to-morrow. But come it 
 would. It was just a question of time. And he knew 
 that he would not have either the energy or the courage 
 to escape. The decree had gone forth. And that 
 bright falling star made him feel that fate had signed it 
 across the night. 
 
 In his pitiful, little heart he regretted not power, or 
 fame, or the glittering throne. None of these! They 
 were ages away from him now that the end had come. 
 Instead, he regretted with an inexpressibly childish love, 
 the peaceful mountain farms of Sweden and the little wet 
 valleys that were green as an emerald. 
 
 259
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 The frightened spies were unable to guess how the 
 tables had been turned upon them. They escaped among 
 the crowd as best they could, knowing that to be found in 
 Petersburg meant death. Some of them succeeded and 
 hired themselves driven speedily to where a black ship 
 still waited upon the tideless Gulf. With the same mys- 
 terious and inexplainable rapidity the bright flower garden 
 of Holstein uniforms faded away. Subanski, who en- 
 joyed the situation, waved his elegant, jewelled hands 
 triumphantly and called with boyish glee, 
 
 " Down with the enemies of Russia ! " 
 
 The crowd took up the call and varied it to suit them- 
 selves. A forest of black arms was lifted toward the 
 frosty pallor of the sky. 
 
 " Hail to the Slavic Venus ! Hail to the restorer of 
 old Russia ! Hail ! Hail ! " 
 
 Count Bestushev-Rjumin signaled to Orlov. Orlov ad- 
 vanced to the foot of the stage and offered his hand to 
 the Grand Duchess. Together they walked into the Win- 
 ter Garden, while the members of the court and the 
 crowd fell upon their knees in attitudes of superstitious 
 worship and adoration. When they approached the 
 edge of the Garden the crowd shouted excitedly: " Hail 
 to the Slavic Venus ! Hail to the restorer of old Russia. 
 Hail! Hail!" 
 
 Here, Count Bestushev-Rjumin met them, bowed rever- 
 ently, and then put up one thin, old, trembling hand to 
 command silence. 
 
 " Gentlemen, members of the court, and men of Rus- 
 sia, within the hour I send command to our conquering 
 army to begin the siege of Berlin ! " 
 
 " Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! " cried the crowd. 
 
 " Long live the Slavic Venus ! " 
 
 260
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN EMPEROR 
 
 " It looks like the resurrection, doesn't it? " laughed 
 Peter III, genuinely pleased. " Come here, Elizabeth 
 Woronzov, and see ! " he called gayly. With old Mar- 
 shal Miinnich, who had just returned from Siberia, they 
 were standing by a window of the Diamond Salon in the 
 New Palace. 
 
 " I have resurrected the exiled dead of Siberia and 
 the mines, too to have them here to celebrate to-day 
 
 the big day the signing of peace with Prussia. It 
 is a shame a miserable shame the way the Rus- 
 sians plundered and destroyed Berlin ! But I'll make up 
 for it the best I can. 
 
 " Look at old Biron there ! the Courlander ! He 
 resembles a sick dog, doesn't he? Big head and old shak- 
 ing feet? He has been in Siberia twenty years. And 
 when he went he was an Emperor or just the same as 
 one. A change that ! " shaking his head thoughtfully. 
 
 " And there's old L'Estoque that old French devil 
 
 the physician of my blessed aunt, Elizabeth Petrovna. 
 Look at him, Elizabeth Woronzov! My how the 
 torture deformed him! He can hardly walk! Watch 
 his legs twist and jerk! " he exclaimed, with energy, al- 
 together absorbed in the sight. Elizabeth Woronzov 
 had no interest in the scene outside the window. What 
 did anything mattet but herself? She could not turn 
 
 261
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 her mind from her increasing honors, her ladies-in-wait- 
 ing in short, her future. 
 
 " I'll tell you what they look like, Miinnich ! " con- 
 tinued the Emperor, still intent upon his fancy " these 
 people I've brought back. They look like the wrecked 
 fragments of some earlier polar world. I like to look 
 at them. But no one else ever wants to do anything I 
 want to do. I've a fondness for graveyards and the 
 dead." He paused, turned from the window, and began 
 to limp about the room in his peculiar manner. 
 
 He was intent as usual upon some inner thought. 
 
 " The reason I like the dead, Munnich, is because I've 
 lived so long on good terms with them," he went on 
 meditatively, pulling out his short, white, German pipe 
 and lighting it. " I've got accustomed to them. When 
 I lived in Sweden,'Ame day one of the courtiers threw a 
 big, red apple into the room where I sat with my tutor. 
 It rolled to my feet. I bent to get it to eat. My tutor 
 got ahead of me. He threw it to my dog to play with. 
 The dog stuck his teeth into it, and in an hour he died. 
 I have always thought it was wise for me to keep on 
 good terms with them the dead. What do you 
 think?" 
 
 There was no answer to this strange and uncanny 
 soliloquy. It was not within the present range of Eliza- 
 beth Woronzov's thinking. And what may have passed 
 through old Marshal Miinnich's mind he deemed best 
 not to express. The Emperor went back to the window. 
 
 " There's that old bear, Lomonossov, and his satellites, 
 Von-Visin and Dershawin, and the young lieutenant of 
 the Ismailov Guards, Novikov. My, how they hate this 
 celebration in honor of Prussia ! He ! he ! he ! How 
 they hate it. He ! he ! he ! But they have got to pretend 
 they like it. I'll bet when I came to the throne they tore 
 
 262
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN EMPEROR 
 
 up patriotic poems in honor of plundering Berlin." 
 
 " I think, your Majesty," ventured old Marshal Miin- 
 nich, " that this celebration in honor of Prussia was not 
 wise. It displeases the army. It displeases the people. 
 You know how the cost of living has increased. The 
 poor are starving." 
 
 " Who is Emperor, if I am not? " 
 
 " I know your Majesty. It is only six months since 
 that Christmas day Elizabeth Petrovna died. You are 
 still young to the throne. It is wisest to conciliate the 
 people first and win their good will. Make yourself pop- 
 ular, instead of going against them like this. Do not 
 oppose their will. You always lose by doing it. I was 
 one of the councillors of your grandfather. I am de- 
 voted to the Romanoffs. You know from me you hear 
 only that which is for your good; so --you can bear with 
 me because I am an old man." 
 
 " That's what I brought you back for, Miinnich. In 
 my heart I know you are the only one in the lot I can 
 trust," he explained, impulsively, giving words to one of 
 those shrewd apercus that from time to time brightened 
 his folly. 
 
 " I, for my part, do not see what difference anybody's 
 opinion makes," declared Elizabeth Woronzov, with her 
 usual hauteur. She had grown noticeably stout and some- 
 what coarse. On her short unlovely body shone the 
 gems of that imperial beauty, Elizabeth Petrovna. 
 
 Peter III had changed physically, too, since the de- 
 mise of the Empress. Six months of unrestrained dis- 
 sipation had made fearful inroads upon his frail body. 
 He was hollow cheeked. His skin looked gray and 
 shriveled. He had aged as if by magic. More than 
 ever he had the appearance of a dressed up ghost. To- 
 day he was wearing a heavily braided uniform of blue, 
 
 263
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 tight breeches of white leather, and long, shining black 
 boots. Around his neck hung the decoration of the Black 
 Eagle, recently bestowed by the Prussian king. His 
 small, thin, fragile hands were all but hidden beneath 
 gems. The manner of this bizarre combination of mad- 
 man, dreamer, artist, and penetrator of hidden thoughts, 
 who sat upon a throne, had likewise changed. As a child 
 he had been sick, and abused. As a man he had been 
 dwarfed by restraint and depraved by evil companions. 
 Now, as autocrat of the Russians, he saw a world bow- 
 ing at his feet. The change was too great. Few could 
 withstand it. 
 
 We can scarcely conceive to-day of the grandiose self- 
 glorification of the Czars in that city, hastily improvised 
 for their European debut, young in the world, and so 
 far removed from the cities of cultivated Europe that 
 recognized standards were unfelt and disregarded. The 
 age, the conditions, conspired to magnify them, until they 
 looked like figures on lonely hill tops seen through fog. 
 And the great, untamed spaces of their scarcely mapped 
 Muscovy, made eye and mind dizzy and incompetent to 
 judge, swayed always by the vertigo of distance. 
 
 " I'll make the world take notice of me ! I'll make the 
 world open it eyes ! " his sharp, nasal voice was heard 
 saying, while he hopped about nervously in his peculiar 
 birdlike manner. 
 
 Outside the window the streets were crowded with 
 people who were celebrating, by his order, the three days' 
 holiday beginning June the ninth. 
 
 " But first I'm going to enjoy myself for a month ! 
 I've worked hard lately. I'm tired. I'm going to throw 
 off care and be happy. Haven't I the same right to rest 
 as other people, I'd like to know? I want to finish, for 
 one thing, the second volume of Sterne's Tristram Shandy. 
 
 264
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN EMPEROR 
 
 My new violin is coming from Italy and some music 
 with it. I want to enjoy them. They may be here to- 
 day." 
 
 " Your Majesty," began Marshal Mimnich, " take my 
 advice and arrange time for enjoyment later. The thing 
 for your Majesty to do is to go to Moscow and be 
 crowned. That assures your throne with the people. 
 Nothing is safe until then." 
 
 " Do you suppose, Miinnich, that I'm going to have 
 that wife of mine, Madame La Ressource, crowned? " 
 he questioned in a voice of anger. " Well, I guess not. 
 It's the last thing in the world I'd think of doing." 
 
 Elizabeth Woronzov looked up at him and smiled. 
 
 u Make your throne secure," advised the old man. 
 * Then you can do as you like. Everything will come, if 
 you see to that." 
 
 " No I've got a lot of other things to do first," 
 stubbornly insisted Peter III, upon whom reason and 
 argument made no impression. " I'll make Russia look 
 up ! You watch me. Here's what I've given orders for 
 already this week. I'm going to confiscate the lands 
 of the Greek church. I'll show the priests they are not 
 such a power ! " He chuckled in pleased anticipation. 
 
 " Then I'll take the pictures out of the cathedrals and 
 put up good-looking German pictures, which I will select 
 myself. I am going to erect a Lutheran church in Peters- 
 burg, and a Lutheran chapel in Oranienbaum. The 
 Greek chapel there I'll tear down. You ought to see 
 the letters of protest I received. One from the Metro- 
 politan of Moscow. I'll teach him to protest to me ! " 
 
 ' That is not wise, your Majesty. Let the faith of 
 your people alone. That is something no monarch can 
 change. There are other things more important, your 
 Majesty," he added significantly. 
 
 265
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 ' What's more important than religion, I'd like to 
 know?" he retorted, ready for an unpleasant argument. 
 
 Elizabeth Woronzov looked pleased at what she con- 
 sidered the imperial will. 
 
 " Besides, Miinnich, I'm going to issue an ukase doing 
 away with church of state. In my land religion shall 
 be free." 
 
 He paused by one of the windows to smell pleasurably 
 the sweet air of spring. Fragrant birch tree leaves shook 
 outside in the light. Blue mist hung over the distant 
 water. 
 
 The joy at recall from exile was changing to sadness in 
 the mind of the old Marshal at this interview with the 
 new Emperor. He realized the unbridgeable chasm that 
 lay between the mind of this irresponsible man and the 
 glorious destiny to which he was born. 
 
 Involuntarily his eyes swept the gorgeous walls of the 
 Diamond Salon where they were sitting, glittering walls, 
 which framed incongruously this ungainly phantom who 
 was ruler. 
 
 " These Russian soldiers who put on airs, I'm teaching 
 to mend their manners," he went on to explain to the re- 
 cently returned Miinnich. " I'm going to dress the 
 Preobrashensky Regiment and the Ismailov Guard in 
 German uniforms and send them into the interior to 
 stay. My! how they will hate to leave Petersburg! 
 In their place I will put my Holstein Guard. My cousin, 
 Prince George, who has just arrived, I have made com- 
 mander-in-chief of the army." 
 
 " Oh your Majesty don't do a thing like that ! " 
 begged the old man, his voice trembling. " The army 
 is already angry over war with Denmark. They say 
 it is no war of theirs. The Russian army you must 
 remember has never been the servile mass other armies 
 
 266
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN EMPEROR 
 
 have been. They have exerted a mind and will of their 
 own. They have had independent influence upon the des- 
 tiny of the nation. They will mutiny 1 " 
 
 " The order has gone, Miinnich. They know it now. 
 You will see how they bow their heads. I'll make them 
 suffer for the way they treated me and their airs! " 
 
 " Your Majesty, there is not any place in life for 
 revenge. Believe me ! I learned this in a quarter of a 
 century of exile. And, especially, your Majesty, there 
 is no place for revenge for you of all men. Conciliate 
 is what you must do. Conciliate everyone everyone. 
 Times are bad now. Your people are maddened by 
 scarcity of money and food. They are murmuring every 
 day against the extravagance of the court. In the article 
 in the last Petersburg Gazette which described the food 
 situation, the high price, the suffering of the people, there 
 was another article followed it placed by the side of 
 it for the sake of effectiveness. It said the blessed Em- 
 press your aunt left sixteen hundred royal robes, 
 and hundreds of pairs of boots and shoes. It said the 
 vegetables for her table cost fifty-six thousand rubles 
 yearly, and the fowls fifty thousand rubles. That was 
 printed to make trouble, your Majesty! Believe me, the 
 army will mutiny before it will go to Denmark and there 
 fight under the Prussian King, who is hated by your en- 
 tire country." 
 
 Peter III, as was his habit, paid no heed to the wise 
 words of the old man. As usual, he progressed wildly 
 with his fixed idea. 
 
 " And I am going to throw Russian books out of the 
 library. I'll show these Russians who made so much fun 
 of me what I'll do! That old fool Lomonosov I just 
 saw go by the window here thinks I will give money for 
 his mosaic glass factory. He'll see ! I'll have the thing 
 
 267
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 burned. He ! he ! he ! " His foolish laughter glittered 
 sharply across the splendid room, as a fresh thought of 
 revenge touched his brain. 
 
 " I've decreed that Russian priests take off robes and 
 wear short black coats and top hats . How they 
 will look! O my! O my! " bending double with laugh- 
 ter. " And I'm going to change the name of every regi- 
 ment. I'm going to give them German names. How 
 that will hurt them ! He ! he ! he ! 
 
 " You know how I used to dress my lead dolls, Miin- 
 nich? No, you do not! You were not here. Well, 
 that's the way I am going to dress and undress the Rus- 
 sian people for my amusement. I'll be Emperor with 
 a will!" 
 
 "Your Majesty your Majesty " replied Marshal 
 Miinnich, rising to his feet and trembling with complex 
 emotions. " I beg your Majesty to be guided by me. 
 You are new to the throne. You are inexperienced in 
 ruling. I was one of the valued friends of your grand- 
 father. Listen to me ! " 
 
 There was a note in the old man's voice that touched 
 Elizabeth Woronzov, dull as she was, and made her for 
 a moment fear there was danger ahead. Could it be 
 that that, which seemed so near it was practically within 
 reach, might elude her? 
 
 " Your Majesty there is without doubt a plot on 
 foot to dethrone you. You have deliberately angered 
 the army, the church two powerful political bodies." 
 
 " What difference does anybody make? Am I not Em- 
 peror? " 
 
 " But Emperors have been dethroned." In the grav- 
 ity of the danger that threatened, the old man was for- 
 getting the servility due his august listener. 
 
 ' Your Majesty, only yesterday the French ambassa- 
 
 268
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN EMPEROR 
 
 dor, M. de Breteuil, received a personal letter from his 
 sovereign from the King of France himself. I paid to 
 find out what was in that letter! Listen, your Majesty, 
 and hear 1 This is what he wrote, Louis XV, ' The 
 silence of the Empress, and the power that is known to 
 be in her, give us reason to believe that Peter III will not 
 stay long upon the throne.' ' 
 
 The old man repeated the last words in a voice that 
 shook, while his face was white as chalk, because of the 
 temerity with which he had addressed his sovereign. 
 
 Elizabeth Woronzov comprehended. But Peter III 
 did not. 
 
 " Breteuil is a fool ! Don't you worry, Munnich, 
 my friend ! I'm cleverer than all of them. I've got the 
 head that can outwit them. Why, I keep them so busy in 
 my peculiar way and have such an eye upon them 
 they don't have time to plot. Don't you worry, Mun- 
 nich I " He hopped about merrily, bragging and bluster- 
 ing. 
 
 " But, your Majesty, this proves that word of a plot 
 must have been sent by Breteuil, to Louis XV. Do you 
 not see it proves it? Do you not see your danger? You 
 must give up everything for the present and hasten to 
 Moscow to be crowned." 
 
 The magic word crowned made Elizabeth Woronzov 
 forget again the danger that impended. She wished to 
 put off that crowning until she herself would be the woman 
 to be crowned. 
 
 " You are not the first, Munnich, to warn me. Just 
 yesterday I received a letter from my faithful friend, 
 Frederick of Prussia. He warned me, too. He told 
 me to have the Orlovs and others he named 
 watched. He told me to keep an eye upon them day and 
 night. I sent him a letter to-day. I told him he need 
 
 269
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 not worry, because I was too shrewd for the Orlovs, 
 Madame La Ressource, and Panin, put together. Why, 
 Miinnich, he has warned me every week since her Majesty 
 died. So don't worry, good old Miinnich ! " patting him 
 affectionately on the back, drawing a chair beside him 
 and seating himself. Elizabeth Woronzov reluctantly 
 left her position by the window where she was showing 
 herself to the crowd outside, and joined them. 
 
 " The plan is made, Miinnich. This is my opportunity 
 to unfold it. I'm going to begin war with Denmark 
 on account of my Holstein Duchy. Frederick of Prussia 
 will help me join me. I command the army myself. 
 I intended to start for Denmark the last of the second 
 week in June. To-day is the eleventh, the last day of the 
 celebration. But now, I've changed my mind. I'm not 
 going to start until the day after my birthday, which is 
 June twenty-ninth, Peter and Paul's day. 
 
 " I'm going to Oranienbaum to-morrow and you, 
 too, dear Miinnich, to enjoy myself, without a care. For 
 a long time I could not make up my mind what to do with 
 Elizabeth Romanovna here. First I thought I'd take 
 her with me You see I didn't want to be separated 
 from her. I'm lonesome and unhappy without her. And 
 then I thought it would be too hard for her to go 
 so far. This is what I plan to do. On the noon of my 
 birthday, we are to drive from Oranienbaum to Peterhof 
 
 where I am sending Madame La Ressource and 
 where she gives a midday dinner in my honor. While 
 we are dining, and she doesn't know a thing about it, my 
 German guards will surround Peterhof. When she arises 
 from the table, after drinking my health, they will arrest 
 her. They will take her and that son of hers who 
 is no son of mine to Schliisselberg and imprison them 
 
 for life in the prison where Ivan Antonovicz, the 
 
 270
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN EMPEROR 
 
 Romanoff prince, is imprisoned. Ivan Antonovicz they 
 will bring to Petersburg. I will declare him my heir. 
 I shall never have any children of my own. He is only 
 twenty-three now and of the blood of the Romanoffs, like 
 myself. I will marry him to my German niece. I had 
 her come with Prince George for that purpose. Then I 
 will have Elizabeth Woronzov appointed regent, while I 
 am at war in Denmark. Thus, you see, the present and 
 the future will be assured. When I come back, I will 
 have my divorce from Madame La Ressource proclaimed 
 and I will marry Elizabeth Woronzov. Then, we two 
 will go to Moscow together to be crowned. I will exile 
 imprison all the Orlovs, and that fop, Subanski, or 
 else I'll put them to hard labor in the mines. Count 
 Bestushev, whom my blessed aunt, Elizabeth Petrovna, 
 sent to Siberia just before she died, I will behead. What 
 do you think of that for a plan, hey Miinnich? Now 
 do you think I haven't a head on my shoulders? Do 
 you think I need any one's advice?" 
 
 ' The plan is good, your Majesty. But put it into 
 execution to-morrow. Do not wait. Do not wait a 
 single day." 
 
 " Take the advice of Marshal Miinnich, your Maj- 
 esty! He is devoted to you. He is old and wise. He, 
 perhaps, knows something we do not. Take his advice, 
 your Majesty," begged Elizabeth Woronzov, nervously. 
 
 ' That is just where I am going to prove I am cleverer 
 and braver than all of you. I am going to show you 
 I can defy danger and win. I'm going to snap my 
 fingers in the face of them and their plots. 
 
 " From now until my birthday I am going to rest and 
 amuse myself. I am going to be free happy. I am 
 not going to think of affairs. To-morrow I and the 
 courtiers whom I care to invite go to Oranienbaum 
 
 271
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 for a good time. I have commanded that Panin and the 
 Grand Duke Paul remain in Petersburg, in the Summer 
 Palace. The Empress Madame La Ressource is 
 not going to be of the party. She is to go to Peterhof 
 any time she wishes. I do not care when. But she will 
 understand she must be in Peterhof for my birthday din- 
 ner. The foreign ambassadors, the prime minister, and 
 the head of the army are to accompany me and my new 
 Holstein Guard but not a single Russian soldier or 
 officer. I have selected the seventeen prettiest women in 
 Russia to go as ladies-in-waiting to Elizabeth Woronzov. 
 I tell you, Miinnich, it will be a sight when we set out to- 
 morrow ! I hope the sun will shine ! Everyone will put 
 on court attire. We ride in open carriages, with liveried 
 outriders. Narcissus, my fool, and Mopsinka, my dog, 
 have a carriage to themselves. You'll see how they will 
 be decorated ! Narcissus will shine like a sun." 
 
 " That is the most dangerous thing your Majesty could 
 do. You will leave her Majesty, Catherine Alexevna, in 
 Petersburg with her friends, with the Russian army, the 
 officers, the men of the navy and Panin who are 
 unfriendly to you. You give them a free hand to perfect 
 their plans. I beg your Majesty to give it up. You 
 could not do a more unwise thing! " 
 
 "What can they do to me? I have my Holstein 
 Guard ! " 
 
 " What, your Majesty, are three hundred Holsteiners 
 in comparison with the Russian army? Do not go 
 I beg you ! If you wish to set out to-morrow, let it be to 
 Moscow to be crowned." 
 
 At this suggestion Elizabeth Woronzov shook her head 
 at him. 
 
 272
 
 THE LAST DAYS OF AN EMPEROR 
 
 " Don't oppose me any more, good Miinnich ! It will 
 not do any good. I've set my heart upon it, I tell you. 
 This procession of the court to-morrow to Oranienbaum 
 in this fine spring weather will be as famous in his- 
 tory as the triumph of a Caesar. It will be just as gor- 
 geous. You be ready for the carriage. It will call for you. 
 At Oranienbaum we will revel as the Caesars reveled. 
 Am I not the Russian Caesar? Nero played and im- 
 provised beside the sea of Greece; I will play beside the 
 Finnish sea. There will be parades of Prussian soldiers. 
 There will be pantomimes. There will be uproarious 
 banquets, genuine bacchanalian revels, when my seventeen 
 beauties and Elizabeth Woronzov will plunge their arms 
 into baskets of red Russian gold and fling handfuls to 
 the crowd, to the servants, to the guard in the grounds. 
 There will be dinners prolonged until day. We will 
 drink to the midnight sun as it circles round the pole and 
 does not set. Under the inspiration of pleasure and hap- 
 piness I will perfect my plan for Russia to lead the na- 
 tions of the earth in music. I will invite composers here. 
 They will discover new harmonies. They will write 
 noble compositions. I will civilize and enlighten Russia 
 through music." 
 
 Marshal Miinnich, with a white and worried face, 
 bowed sadly and left. Elizabeth Woronzov looked at 
 the old man with a combination of triumph and scorn upon 
 her round, fat face, as he went through the door bow- 
 ing reverently. She was thinking of the costly gown 
 she would wear on the morrow, of the sensation she 
 would create, when she headed the procession of car- 
 riages with the Emperor by her side. 
 
 The next day, as soon as this procession started for 
 
 273
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Oranienbaum, Catherine Alexevna, dressed from head 
 to foot in mourning, without a jewel or sign of rank, 
 holding by the hand her small son, the Grand Duke Paul, 
 walked through the streets of Petersburg, unattended, to 
 the Cathedral of Kasan, where for an hour, she knelt in 
 prayer. 
 
 274
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 " J THE UNDERTAKING OF MONSIEUR ORLOV " 
 
 On the night of the twenty-seventh, it occurred to 
 Peter III to drive to Peterhof to pay a friendly call upon 
 the Empress and to make sure that preparations were go- 
 ing forward properly for the dinner which she was to 
 give to himself and the court on the anniversary of his 
 birth, and to find out just how badly she felt because 
 she had not been invited to his fete. He found Catherine 
 Alexevna no more silent than usual and apparently sub- 
 missive. Everything seemed to be as he wished. The 
 Grand Duke Paul had been left behind. The Empress 
 was without guests. She was dressed in mourning for 
 Elizabeth Petrovna. The general appearance satisfied 
 him and put whatever suspicions he may have had to rest. 
 When he was taking leave, he said, in a tone of con- 
 descending hauteur: " After my birthday dinner I shall 
 stay a while after the guests are gone to talk over some 
 questions of importance, before I leave for the war. It 
 will be necessary to get rid of illusions. We have had 
 too many you and I. We must begin to look at things 
 sensibly." 
 
 She made no reply. She did not wish to open an un- 
 welcome discussion. As he entered his carriage to re- 
 turn, Catherine Alexevna saw Narcissus on the back 
 seat awaiting him. He was dressed in cloth of gold and 
 
 1 The title " The Undertaking of Monsieur Orlov " is the name given 
 to this night's happenings by an old chronicler of Moscow. E. W. U. 
 
 275
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 grinning like a Chinese idol. She understood that this 
 vas the first announcement of the coming divorce. 
 
 While Peter III was talking with the Empress in 
 Peterhof, there was multiform activity in Petersburg. 
 An empire was being born which was to influence might- 
 ily a new modern world which was just at hand. A young 
 soldier of the Ismailov Guard whispered to another 
 soldier in the silence of night, 
 
 " Do you suppose it is true? " 
 
 "What?" questioned the other. 
 
 " That after the dinner to his Majesty, the Empress 
 and her son are to be arrested by the German Guard 
 and murdered?" 
 
 The second soldier was a hanger on of the increasingly 
 powerful Orlovs. The news was of moment to him. 
 He was staking his future upon their favor. He left 
 his talkative companion, as soon as he could without 
 arousing suspicion, and carried the word to one of the 
 Orlovs. The Orlov in question communicated it to his 
 brothers, who saw to it that the information reached every 
 one taking sides with Catherine Alexevna. Word was 
 sent to Princess Dashkov. She borrowed a soldier's 
 suit from boyish Lieutenant Pushkin of the Preobrashen- 
 sky Regiment and drove to the house of the Orlovs on 
 the corner of the Great Morskoi. She found the two 
 blond giants, Gregory and Alexis, alone. On the way 
 her woman's wit had been busy. 
 
 " Take a carriage, Alexis Orlov quickly as you can ! 
 Drive to Peterhof. Bring Catherine Alexevna here." 
 
 " Right, Princess," agreed Gregory Orlov. " They 
 are forcing our hand. There is nothing else to do. We 
 must get ahead of the plot and ruin them, or they will 
 ruin us." 
 
 Alexis Orlov's deep bass thundered across the room, 
 
 276
 
 " If Peter III comes back to Petersburg, we shall be 
 imprisoned or beheaded." 
 
 " The list is made out, I've heard," added Gregory. 
 " We've got to get ahead of him to save our necks." 
 
 " Bring Catherine Alexevna here. Have her conse- 
 crated to-morrow morning. That will settle things. 
 That will save our heads." 
 
 " It is the only hope for us now and her, too," de- 
 clared Princess Dashkov with emphasis. 
 
 " She's right, Alexis I You go after her. Order a 
 carriage with fast horses. Take off your officer's coat 
 and hat so no one will recognize you. Start at once." 
 
 " Go, go, Gregory," urged Princess Dashkov. " I 
 will go to Catherine Alexevna's apartments in the Winter 
 Palace and await her coming. In the meantime, I will 
 see Panin, and have him and the Grand Duke Paul pre- 
 pare for the consecration in the morning. Panin already 
 has written a proclamation. You, Gregory Orlov, make 
 the round of the barracks to-night. Tell Subanski to 
 arouse the Hussars. Tell Count Alexis Razumovsky to 
 inform his brother, the hetman. Warn the Archbishop 
 of Novgorod to be prepared to administer the oath of 
 office. Another thing, Gregory," laughed Princess Dash- 
 kov, who was beginning to enjoy the dramatic situation. 
 " Whisper to the army men to have their old green uni- 
 forms, the kind they wore under Elizabeth Petrovna, 
 where they can get them. To-morrow we'll Russianize 
 Petersburg in the twinkling of an eye and banish the 
 influence of Germany just as speedily." 
 
 Alexis Orlov was not the only one who set out with 
 speed on the road toward the gulf on this momentous 
 night. A young soldier heard of the conspiracy and 
 started alone to warn Peter III. 
 
 Alexis Orlov, telling the driver not to spare the horses, 
 
 277
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 left Petersburg, rattled over the long bridge, out across 
 a space of level garden land, on through the little villages 
 Rothkabatschki and Goreli; then on through more level 
 garden land. They were asleep in the village of Ligov. 
 No curious heads looked through the windows although 
 the Arctic summer night was light. After he left Ligov, 
 the fields broadened. They began to be interspersed with 
 forests of pine and birch. He was just on the point of 
 descending the little hill at the foot of which, a short 
 stretch of road ahead, he could see the red roofs of 
 Peterhof and the summer pavilion, Mon Plaisir, that ad- 
 joined it, when a horseman clattered past riding madly. 
 It was a soldier. He recognized the uniform. But the 
 rider he did not know. He was a soldier in the ranks. 
 But he did know that there could be only one reason why 
 a soldier was riding at such speed in this direction to- 
 night. The soldier recognized the huge Orlov. He saw 
 the deep saber wound across his face. He, too, knew 
 what must be Orlov 1 s mission. He knew that he must 
 not fail. He knew that others beside him were on the 
 alert. But Orlov had the best of it. Peterhof, where 
 Catherine Alexevna was staying, was a few hundred yards 
 away. It was within sight. But Oranienbaum, where 
 Peter III was staying, was a distance beyond, by the shore 
 of the Finnish Gulf. Orlov would reach his destination 
 first. 
 
 It was ten o'clock when the lonely rider, with no one to 
 help or recommend him, succeeded in forcing his way 
 past the Holstein Guards and into a palace waiting room. 
 He begged to be taken to the Emperor. He said he had 
 something of such vital importance to tell that it could 
 not wait. He was informed that the emperor was asleep. 
 The night before he had given a fete upon the royal 
 yacht. It had lasted until morning. Now the Emperor 
 
 278
 
 UNDERTAKING OF MONSIEUR ORLOV 
 
 was weary. He could not be disturbed. The soldier 
 went out into the garden. He tried to explain to the 
 Holstein Guards the nature of his errand. They laughed 
 at him. They swaggered and swore in German. They 
 mimicked him. " How could anything of importance 
 happen in Petersburg," they retorted, " when his Majesty, 
 the prime minister, Woronzov, the field marshal, Prince 
 George, and the foreign ambassadors are here? Who of 
 importance is left in Petersburg? " 
 
 Again he went into one of the waiting rooms. He ap- 
 proached every servant who passed and begged them to 
 take a message to the Emperor. 
 
 " It is important," he pleaded. " His throne, his life, 
 are in danger ! Let me speak with him ! Let me tell him 
 what I know ! " 
 
 The servants were cross. They were tired from the 
 two weeks' debauchery of the court. They refused. 
 They would not talk. Again, he went into the garden. 
 This time he met Narcissus, who was trying to adjust 
 a blue satin cape with purple fringe to his ridiculous, 
 shapeless body. It was the new garment which he was 
 to wear in honor of the Emperor's birthday. The soldier 
 approached him as a last resort. 
 
 " Narcissus, I have a message for your royal master." 
 The soldier was white and trembling. " I rode all night 
 from Petersburg. Can't you take me to him? Can't 
 you do something? " 
 
 Narcissus's devotion to his master and his subtle mind 
 reading instinct told him something was happening. He 
 sensed danger. 
 
 11 Wait a minute ! I'll get you paper and pencil. You 
 write it down. Then I'll take the message to him my- 
 self." 
 
 The young soldier told what he knew of the conspiracy, 
 
 279
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 sealed it, and wrote upon the outside, " Very Important" 
 Then he remounted his weary horse and turned toward 
 Petersburg, feeling his ride had been useless. He was 
 hungry, thirsty, and worn out with loss of sleep. 
 
 Narcissus went to his master's sleeping room and 
 awoke him. Peter III was half drunk, as was usual in 
 the morning. This morning, in addition, he was in a 
 bad temper. His hands were unsteady. His head 
 ached. His eyes were blurred by the unnatural, heavy 
 sleep of a few hours. 
 
 " By the body of Holy Isaac, I will have you knouted 
 for waking me, Narcis! I'll order it done right now! " 
 stretching out one skeleton hand for a yellow silk bell- 
 rope. 
 
 " My blessed master, a messenger brought this letter 
 from Petersburg. I don't know who he was. He rode 
 all night to get it here. It is important. Open it now." 
 
 " I told you you could be Emperor, here in Oranien- 
 baum, yesterday, while I was on the yacht! To-day I'm 
 Emperor myself and I am going to do as I please. Put 
 it on that silver tray there with the other letters which 
 I have not read." 
 
 " Please, Master, open it now! " 
 
 "Get out!" reaching toward the yellow bell-rope 
 again. " Get out, I say! " 
 
 Narcissus saw the mood his master was in. He knew 
 there was no use in argument. He sadly left the room. 
 He went down stairs and out upon the level, stone en- 
 trance and sat down beside one of the marble urns and 
 looked out over the Gulf. 
 
 The summer day was oppressive. Moveless, leaden 
 haze veiled the water. The hot sun steeped the spruce 
 and pine woods and scented the heavy air. An unex- 
 plained fear oppressed Narcissus. He divined what was 
 
 280
 
 UNDERTAKING OF MONSIEUR ORLOV 
 
 going on. In his anxiety he had forgotten his breakfast. 
 He had forgotten, too, his new costume for the birthday. 
 When he could endure the silence and inaction no longer, 
 he determined to make another effort to awaken the 
 drunken court. He made his way into Elizabeth Wor- 
 onzov's room. That luxurious lady was awake. The 
 thought of triumph did not permit rest. But she was 
 exhausted from the two weeks' dissipation, and the conse- 
 quent loss of sleep. 
 
 " I beg your Highness to go at once to the Emperor 
 and get him to read the letter a soldier rode last night 
 from Petersburg to bring! " 
 
 " Nonsense, Narcis ! Of what importance are letters 
 from Petersburg, or from anywhere else when the 
 court is here? There aren't any people left to write 
 letters," she continued, haughtily. 
 
 " Get out, Narcis ! I've sent for my breakfast. I 
 have affairs of my own to think about." 
 
 She lay indolently back among the pillows and dreamed 
 of the morrow, of Friday, June the twenty-ninth. After 
 the midday dinner on that day, Catherine Alexevna was to 
 be made way with. She, Elizabeth Woronzov, would be 
 regent. The Emperor would depart for the war. She 
 would rule alone. How could she waste time upon the 
 fool, Narcissus? Until her breakfast came she tried 
 to enumerate from memory some of the fabulous gems 
 that had belonged to Elizabeth Petrovna. 
 
 About four o'clock in the afternoon Peter III arose. 
 He breakfasted alone and sat down to smoke. He was 
 weary and worn out. He denied admittance to every 
 one. He felt need of quiet and recuperation. After 
 awhile he walked about the room a little, in order to 
 strengthen and stretch his weak legs and increase his 
 circulation. Then, he remembered the letter which 
 
 281
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Narcissus had brought. He paused by the table and 
 looked down. An oblong silver tray, littered with un- 
 read letters, lay upon it. He picked up the top letter. 
 ' That must be the one," he thought. He saw " Very 
 Important " written across it. A wave of fretful emo- 
 tion swept him. 
 
 " I said I would have nothing to do with business until 
 after my birthday. It's an Emperor's pride to keep his 
 word. I'll keep mine," and he dropped the letter back 
 upon the tray. 
 
 About midnight, when the sun dropped below the 
 horizon for a little while and a cooling wind sprang up 
 and sang blithely in the tops of the tall pine trees, he 
 went out-of-doors and walked slowly down to the edge of 
 the Gulf. Elizabeth Woronzov came out and joined 
 him, but he sent her away again. He told Narcissus to 
 bring the new violin that had come from Italy. A vague 
 questioning touched his mind for a moment as to why no 
 messengers from Petersburg had reached Oranienbaum 
 that day. He dismissed the thought, however, lifted 
 the violin to his chin, looked out across the pallid water 
 toward the old home of his childhood in Sweden, and 
 alone in the night played himself back to peace and calm 
 of soul. 
 
 282
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE LAST NIGHT 
 
 On the morning of June the twenty-ninth the cavalcade 
 that set out from Oranienbaum toward Peterhof for the 
 birthday resembled in glittering color and general gayety, 
 a circus procession, or the first rising of the curtain upon 
 a new comic opera. Elizabeth Woronzov and Peter III 
 came first in a crystal and gold carriage, with six out- 
 riders in yellow. Elizabeth Woronzov was wearing the 
 jewels and the decorations of an Empress. The Order 
 of Catherine blazed across her breast. The flowers upon 
 her head duplicated the Russian crown. Pink pearls 
 circled her throat. Next, came Narcissus in purple and 
 blue satin, and golden bells. Then, the seventeen court 
 beauties, crowned with flowers, and in gorgeous brocades. 
 They carried long, pearl-handled parasols of bright silk. 
 The carriage wheels and the necks of the horses were 
 twined with flowers. Prime Minister Woronzov, Prince 
 George, the foreign ambassadors, were in gala attire and 
 riding in carriages of state. 
 
 The summer residents of the neighboring villas, and 
 peasants from the fields, lined the road to see this long- 
 talked-of procession. And the procession moved slowly 
 along the sandy highway, enjoying its own appearance, 
 in the June weather, and the sensation it created. There 
 was laughter. There was merriment and gay song. 
 There was a constant expression of homage to Elizabeth 
 
 283
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 Woronzov. Each seemed to vie with the other in flat- 
 tery to this young Empress to be. Peter III was in a 
 radiant mood. He was having his own way, and demon- 
 strating publicly that he was right and other people 
 wrong, which was something that pleased his peculiar 
 temperament. Elizabeth Woronzov was haughty and 
 condescending. She treated every one with the disdain 
 which her great position seemed to her to warrant. She 
 looked out upon the Gulf, tilled fields and forests, indeed 
 upon the outspread landscape of Russia that unrolled 
 beside them, with a pleased air of possession. 
 
 Old Marshal Miinnich rode with Prime Minister Wor- 
 onzov. He was silent and distrait. Peterhof and 
 Oranienbaum recalled his youth and Peter the Great, 
 whom he had visited in both these palaces under different 
 conditions. He recalled sadly the great peasant's son 
 Mentchikov of whom Peter had made a prince, and 
 had built Oranienbaum for him as a gift. He contrasted 
 sadly the present with the past, and especially the Great 
 Peter with this grandson who bore so many marks of 
 physical and mental degeneration. 
 
 " No one will ever rule Russia successfully," he medi- 
 tated, " who is not powerful and defiant, and loves the 
 joy of life. Any less vivid personality will be swallowed 
 up by its complex immensity and destroyed." 
 
 Narcissus was unhappy in spite of his attire and the 
 honor of a carriage to himself. His heart was filled with 
 foreboding and fear. He felt dumbly that the end had 
 come. His soul was inarticulate and he suffered. Not 
 once did he shake his shining bells nor describe his antics. 
 He sat a doleful, dumpy figure in blue satin and purple, 
 with loose, down hanging lips. 
 
 When they reached Peterhof, there was no one to 
 greet them and no sign of life. The only sound was the 
 
 284
 
 THE LAST NIGHT 
 
 prolonged, powerful baying of English hounds chained 
 within the palace. The cavalcade halted and waited. 
 No one appeared. Peter III sent an equerry to find why 
 no one came to meet them. The equerry returned with 
 the startling information that the palace was empty. Al- 
 though the doors and windows were open, there was no 
 one within. Peter III did not know what to do. Every- 
 one was astonished. There was no precedent for an 
 affront like this. Nothing of this kind had happened 
 before. They dismounted and distributed themselves 
 throughout the empty palace and the gardens. Elizabeth 
 Woronzov was the only one who was happy. She felt 
 the Empress did not dare meet her and had fled. Flat- 
 tered pride kept her happy. 
 
 Dinner time approached. There was nothing to eat 
 in Peterhof. The distance to Oranienbaum was consid- 
 erable. They began to suffer from hunger. Peter III 
 had forgotten his can of German smoking tobacco, his 
 can of Knaster, which occasioned his chief discomfort. 
 He began to curse and swear and abuse every one. 
 
 "I'll have her beheaded for this see if I don't!" 
 he blustered. "I'll teach her to play a trick on me ! " 
 
 Narcissus had fled to a remote part of the garden 
 where he hid himself where no one could find him. The 
 foreign ambassadors took their note books, distributed 
 themselves comfortably in sheltered places and calmly 
 recorded the happenings for their courts at home. Mar- 
 shal Miinnich and Premier Woronzov avoided each oth- 
 er's eyes. Neither wished to read what he saw in the 
 eyes of the other. Both had premonition of what had 
 occurred. The court beauties flirted gayly with their 
 admirers in the arbors and the summer pavilions. They 
 spread resplendent trains of gold and silver brocade 
 across the smooth, green lawns. The sharp stilettos of 
 
 285
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 their laughter shone from moment to moment among the 
 blossoming syringa bushes and the beeches. 
 
 " My dear Uncle," queried Elizabeth Woronzov of 
 the Prime Minister, " what do you suppose is the cause of 
 this ridiculous insult from Madame La Ressource? " 
 
 " I am afraid it is something serious, Elizabeth 
 Romanovna." 
 
 " How can it be serious, dear Uncle, when the people 
 of Russia of consequence are here? " 
 
 " Yes, we are here ! " he sighed. " But the army, 
 the officers, some of the men of the navy, Catherine 
 Alexevna and Panin are in Petersburg." 
 
 ; ' What difference do they make? Is not the Em- 
 peror here? " 
 
 " Emperors have been dethroned," he replied, with 
 slow and disagreeable significance. 
 
 Fear bleached her face to a peculiar pallor. 
 
 " If it was not wise, dear Uncle, to leave Petersburg, 
 why did you not say so to his Majesty? " 
 
 " Did you ever know, Elizabeth Romanovna, that 
 madman to listen to any one especially if it was for his 
 good?" 
 
 The voice was stern. The premier believed he had 
 cast lot with the wrong party, led on by hope of his niece 
 becoming regent, and belief that he would make millions 
 out of army equipment in the war with Denmark. Eliza- 
 beth Woronzov fell from her height of happiness. 
 
 " Do you not recall, Elizabeth Romanovna, that for 
 two days no messengers from Petersburg have come to 
 Oranienbaum? Do you not recall that no daily word 
 has come from Kronstadt? What can that mean? " 
 
 " But is not the Emperor the Emperor?" 
 
 "He is! But suppose he is a fool, too? Whatever 
 Madame La Ressource may or may not be, she certainly 
 
 286
 
 THE LAST NIGHT 
 
 is not a fool," he explained, with no consideration for his 
 listener's feelings. In the twinkling of an eye the at- 
 titude of the world had changed. Everything was wrong, 
 where, just a second before, everything was right. 
 
 Peter III came out the front door of the palace. 
 
 " I cannot find a single can of Knaster anywhere. I 
 keep a supply always! She's thrown them out to annoy 
 me. Do you know where my cousin, Prince George, is? 
 He probably has some German smoking tobacco with 
 him." He passed hurriedly by the premier and his niece 
 in search of his cousin. 
 
 The day had been intensely hot. Late afternoon came. 
 Everyone suffered from hunger. They had arisen early. 
 They had taken the long drive. They were worn out, 
 hungry, ill tempered. The flowers that crowned the 
 court beauties and Elizabeth Woronzov were withered. 
 Their gowns looked crushed and soiled. Peter III de- 
 cided to return to Oranienbaum speedily. They were 
 seated in the carriages and ready, when soldiers rode up 
 and told him he was under arrest. Peter III was so sur- 
 prised he could not speak. Elizabeth Woronzov an- 
 swered. 
 
 "He is Emperor! Who can arrest him?" 
 
 " The new Empress ! She was consecrated this morn- 
 ing in the Cathedral of Kasan. The army, the navy, 
 the people have sworn allegiance." 
 
 Elizabeth Woronzov's dream of glory was over. She 
 sank back in the carriage a dull, frightened figure. The 
 entire court, excepting only old Marshal Miinnich and 
 Peter III, were sent back to Oranienbaum. Marshal 
 Miinnich and Peter III dismounted and reentered Peter- 
 hof. 
 
 In the splendid, empty palace with its walls of mala- 
 
 287
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 chite and amber, which bore his name, and which his all- 
 conquering grandfather had built, the unworthy descend- 
 ant, pitiful and trembling, with Marshal Miinnich by 
 his side, read the demand for abdication sent by Cather- 
 ine Alexevna. 
 
 " What shall I do, Miinnich? What shall I do ? " 
 
 "Fight!" 
 
 "How can I?" 
 
 " You have friends ! With your Holstein Guard from 
 Oranienbaum, and five thousand other Germans upon 
 whom you can depend, we will march to Petersburg. 
 When the people know you are there, they will come over 
 to you, because you are a Romanoff. I will command 
 myself ! " declared the battle-hearted old man. " In the 
 meantime, we will send word to the army at Schliissel- 
 berg and to the navy at Kronstadt. They may join you. 
 I think myself they will ! In twenty-four hours the city 
 and the throne will be yours. Why, this does not amount 
 to anything, this demand that you abdicate. It is merely 
 a piece of paper. Look at it. What is that worth? 
 Refuse. That's the thing to do. Then fight." 
 
 " If I were not so hungry, Miinnich and if I had my 
 can of Knaster, perhaps I would. But I don't feel like 
 doing anything just now." 
 
 "This is no time for feelings, your Majesty! Tell 
 the messengers to return to Petersburg. Tell them you 
 will answer in person with the army. Wait! 
 I'll tell the messengers for you." 
 
 Peter III sat a shivering, shrunken, helpless figure be- 
 side a little gilt table, in the luxurious malachite salon. 
 His tiny face with the pale, gray, restless eyes seemed to 
 have faded merely to the ghost of a face. His thin, 
 birdlike hands, on which great Kashmiri sapphires rc- 
 
 288
 
 THE LAST NIGHT 
 
 sponded sweetly to the divine blue splendor of the walls, 
 clutched the table edge for support and trembled. Be- 
 side him the iron-faced old man stood, who belonged to a 
 sterner age, and who tried to inspirit and to re-invigorate 
 him. 
 
 " I tell you what to do, Munnich," he said at last. 
 " Tell them to come to Oranienbaum. Tell them I will 
 decide to-morrow. I have not eaten since morning. 
 Can a man decide important things when his stomach is 
 empty? I'm exhausted. Besides, when I get my can 
 of Knaster, it will steady my nerves. Why couldn't she 
 have waited a day? It was a shame to spoil my party I " 
 
 The next morning in Oranienbaum the discussion be- 
 gan again between Peter III and the old man. They sat 
 upon the terrace beside the sea which was pallid and pet- 
 ulant. There was no sun. A storm impended. The 
 atmosphere was orange-tinted and threatening. 
 
 " But what if I do not want to be Emperor? What 
 if I'd rather go back home and be Duke of Holstein? 
 I'd rather live quietly there with my music. I could be 
 happy! There's nothing here I want. The Russians 
 are a pack of hyenas. I'd be glad to get away." 
 
 " But there is no question of getting away, your Maj- 
 esty! They would not let you go no matter what they 
 promise. If you are not upon the throne, your existence 
 it does not matter where upon the face of the earth 
 it may be would be a source of danger to Catherine 
 Alexevna and the Orlovs. They could not sleep, if you 
 lived. If you do not do as I tell you, take your men and 
 fight, they will murder you." 
 
 " But suppose I promise I would never cause trouble? " 
 
 "What difference would that make? They are not 
 relying upon promises. They are playing a sure game. 
 
 289
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 No matter what you promise, can't .you see the people 
 would think of you, know you are alive, and speak of 
 you? That would be a menace to them." 
 
 " I suppose you know best, Miinnich ! But I cannot 
 make myself something I am not. I cannot be a states- 
 man or a warrior, all in a minute because some one tells 
 me to, any more than I could be a bird of paradise. I'm 
 miscast in life. That's what's the matter with me, Miin- 
 nich ! I was made for an artist musician, not a warrior. 
 There's no use, dear old Miinnich ! You cannot make a 
 man out of me. I'm going to sign and get out of Russia. 
 I've had twenty years of misery here. It is worth risking 
 life to get away." 
 
 " But your pride? Your duty to your name, to the 
 great destiny to which your Majesty was born? " 
 
 " I am honestly more sorry for you, Miinnich, than I 
 am for myself! You will grieve over the dethronement 
 of my race. You have the big and noble soul that com- 
 prehends. Dear old Miinnich! I am not a heroic, 
 battle-tempered conqueror like you. Mine is the soul 
 of a vagabond artist. These royal clothes, these decora- 
 tions, are an accident I could not help. God knows I 
 would have helped if I could ! ' 
 
 Marshal Miinnich bent his head and wept. 
 
 Two weeks later the long, gray, sub- Arctic twilight, 
 which was a prolongation of the Polar day, set in with 
 rain. Peter III and Narcissus were alone in the Castle 
 of Ropsha. They sat in the long, narrow, gloomy din- 
 ing room. Trees and shrubs crowded close about the 
 windows. Sometimes, their long branches tapped upon 
 them like ghosts that tried to warn. The room did not 
 look like the dining room of a royal dwelling. There 
 was no joy in it. Its walls were hung with weapons and 
 sacred icons. Over one end of the table a pictured head 
 
 290
 
 THE LAST NIGHT 
 
 of the Crucified One lifted a pale face adown which tears 
 were discernible. Two tall candles, placed on either end 
 of the table, lighted the room. In that strange rain- 
 filtered pallor, which was neither day nor night, the flames 
 fluttered as if frightened and lost their lustrous gold. 
 They were waiting for dinner to be served. Peter III 
 was hoping for a visit that night from Elizabeth Woron- 
 zov and Marshal Miinnich, whom he had not seen since 
 he had come here to await the promised return to Sweden. 
 He was hopping about the room restlessly in his peculiar, 
 birdlike manner. His mind was full of plans as usual. 
 He was not discontented nor unhappy. Narcissus sat 
 upon the floor. He was wearing the worn blue satin 
 suit he had put on for the birthday dinner. He sat so 
 motionless his little joy bells did not tingle. From time 
 to time he rolled his great white eyes toward the win- 
 dows, when the black branches tapped too heavily upon 
 them. While his body was motionless, his mind was in- 
 tensely alert. 
 
 " Dinner is late, Narcis ! Go see what's the matter." 
 
 Narcissus walked obediently away. But apparently 
 he had no interest in the order. He was gone a long 
 time. His master became restless, stopped pacing the 
 floor and listened for his coming. 
 
 4 There is no one in the castle, my Master. It is 
 empty. Even the cooks are gone." 
 
 Narcissus dropped limply down upon the floor and 
 stared up at him. 
 
 "Empty!" The word made Peter III recall that 
 other day when the equerry had brought him word that 
 Peterhof was empty. He began repeating the surprising 
 word to himself as if he did not comprehend its meaning. 
 He rang sharply to make sure. There was no answer. 
 Peter III did not know what to think. Fear began to 
 
 291
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 tap busily against the sensitive brain of Narcissus. He 
 inclined his head toward the door that led at one end 
 of the room into the outer hall. 
 
 " My Master take off your uniform ! Put on a 
 servant's suit, take what money and jewels you have, and 
 escape through the kitchen entrance ! " 
 
 "Escape? What from?" 
 
 " Don't wait to ask, my Master. Go, while there is 
 time. Something terrible is going to happen. Always, 
 my blessed Master, I have warned you. You have never 
 heeded. Do not question to-night. Go ! " 
 
 " Nonsense, Narcis ! You have an ague. That's 
 what's the matter with you. Elizabeth Woronzov and 
 Marshal Miinnich are coming to se me to-night." 
 
 " Do not believe it! Take what gold you have, dis- 
 guise yourself, and leave the castle. Perhaps you could 
 buy your way back to Sweden. There you would be 
 safe." 
 
 The gray, spectral rain beat upon the windows and 
 the black trees bent to touch them. 
 
 Then, upon a sudden, it was as if the room were 
 strangely lighted, and by something evil. Two glowing, 
 golden figures, diffusing light like suns, stood in the 
 doorway Gregory and Alexis Orlov. They were in 
 full regalia. They had just come from the first court 
 which Catherine Alexevna was holding. Its atmosphere 
 and its glitter were still upon them. For a few moments 
 no one spoke. Narcissus crouched nearer and nearer to 
 the floor as if he would gladly fade into it. The Grand 
 Duke broke the silence. 
 
 " You two have taken my throne away and my fam- 
 ily and now I suppose you are after my life." 
 
 Gregory Orlov felt for his sword. 
 
 Like lightning Narcissus darted under the long table, 
 
 292
 
 THE LAST NIGHT 
 
 climbed upon a divan on the other side, snatched a sword 
 from the wall and gave it to the Grand Duke. With a 
 like nimbleness he knocked over the two candles and left 
 the room in perplexing dimness. In this gray, Arctic 
 prolongation of day into night, the Grand Duke looked 
 more like a spirit than a man of flesh and blood. Even 
 Gregory Orlov, as insensitive to impressions as he usually 
 was, felt it. Something almost like fear passed over him. 
 He turned to his brother Alexis. 
 
 " Take that vicious little black devil out and put an 
 end to him! " 
 
 Two white moon eyes of horror looked up at the burly 
 Alexis. Alexis took a twist in the blue-purple doublet 
 of Narcissus at the back of the neck band, shut off his 
 breath deftly, and carried him out through the door. 
 The two men, who faced each other in the game of 
 death in the long, dim dining room, heard a savage 
 shiver of little bells. Then, silence. Then, once again 
 that discordant shrilling, after which a weight that fell 
 dully dropped among the syringa bushes beneath the 
 window. 
 
 Alexis Orlov did not reenter to see what was happen- 
 ing. He understood that Gregory did not wish even a 
 brother's eyes upon the work of to-night. The steel- 
 like suppleness and thinness of Peter III, who fought with 
 the desperation of a demon, kept the huge Orlov at bay. 
 Orlov could not meet this dazzling agility. But he ex- 
 celled in strength and powers of resistance. At first, 
 there was something uncanny about the silence of Peter 
 III, his fearlessness, and his ghastly appearance in the 
 uncertain light, that lamed the skill of Orlov. Surely 
 this strange, thin figure with the wild and swaying arms, 
 twitching face and dim eyes that fought opposite him, 
 was a spirit and not a man. And the figure did not 
 
 293
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 speak. It did not reproach. It did not beg for life. It 
 evidently felt neither anger nor grief. A sensation new 
 to Gregory Orlov arose within him. It was shame. He 
 was ashamed of the great hulking body that fought for 
 the death of this helpless, trembling phantom. He de- 
 termined not to kill him with the sword. At least he 
 would spare himself the crime of shedding blood. That 
 he would not do. He fought now to disarm him. This 
 was merely a question of successfully countering and 
 wearing his opponent out. When at length he succeeded 
 in doing this, twisted the sword from his hand and it 
 hissed across the room, he saw, with a fresh pang of 
 shame and discomfort, that the white, gemmed hand 
 that had held that sword, was the size of the hand of a 
 woman. He could do no more. He called his brother 
 Alexis and turned and left the room. 
 
 It was a good hour later when the rough, echoing 
 voice of Alexis called to him and told him to reenter. 
 On the floor beside the dining table lay the dead body of 
 Peter III. A napkin was stuffed in his mouth, and an- 
 other tied tightly about his throat. After death came 
 the face seemed to have caved in and shrunken, until it 
 looked no larger than the face of a child. The same 
 thing was true of the body. It was merely a thin mask 
 of flesh, ready at any time to crumble, that had held this 
 phantom of a ruler. The two stalwart men of the people, 
 who stood and looked down at him where he lay dead 
 upon the floor, symbolized the rising might of the masses, 
 which in time would overthrow the frail and fading de- 
 lusions of kings and kingly power. 
 
 " I'll go and bring Narcis," declared Alexis, brusquely, 
 without any hesitation or compassion. He opened the 
 long French window, searched among the wet syringa 
 bushes, and then came back. 
 
 294
 
 THE LAST NIGHT 
 
 " There ! let the two fools rest together ! " he de- 
 clared in disgust, as he flung the body brutally upon the 
 floor beside his master. 
 
 They reentered the palace long after the members of 
 the court had gone. When Catherine Alexevna came 
 forward to meet them, robed royally in white satin and 
 diamonds, which she had put on to receive the first hom- 
 age of the nobility, she was as cold and brilliantly re- 
 flecting to look upon as snow wastes beneath the sun. 
 
 Gregory Orlov bowed in his invariably graceful man- 
 ner, but he did not hasten to speak. Alexis bent his tall 
 body with courtly reverence and declared, " His Majesty, 
 Peter III, has just died in the Castle of Ropsha of an 
 attack of colic." 
 
 " Have the body taken to the Cathedral where it is 
 my pleasure that it should lie in state," was the calm 
 reply. 
 
 The voice, that announced to Catherine Alexevna the 
 death of Peter III, announced at the same time the pass- 
 ing of the Romanoffs. 
 
 In the small hours of the morning, they dined together, 
 amid the laugh of crystal and of candles, the three re- 
 splendent new colossi who bestrode the Slavic world, 
 Catherine Alexevna, and Gregory and Alexis Orlov. 
 Russia was theirs. A greater or a less important future 
 depended upon their adherence to each other. They 
 could not hesitate now. The die was cast. Whatever 
 occasion demanded must be done. 
 
 " A crime is not really a crime in a sovereign, the way 
 it is in an individual," declared Gregory Orlov in argu- 
 ment, smiling luxuriously across the wine, and toying 
 idly with a glass of Siberian crystal which was tinted 
 slightly gray like a moth's wing. 
 
 295
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 4 What would be a crime in an individual, is in a 
 sovereign an impersonal act of political necessity," added 
 the bass of Alexis. " Great virtues are for little, unim- 
 portant people. They are the only things they are able 
 to own. They do not cost expenditure of either enter- 
 prise or daring." 
 
 Catherine Alexevna knew what was corning. Her own 
 clear mind had looked ahead and seen, just as theirs had 
 done. She could not turn back. There was no way. 
 She was confronted again with the old complication which 
 Count Bestushev-Rjumin had first presented to her in 
 her youth the choice between giving up her own life, 
 or taking the life of another. 
 
 " Besides," declared Gregory Orlov, " outside the 
 realm of politics, one is justified always in acts of 
 self-preservation." 
 
 " Out with it, Orlov," she demanded. 
 
 " You have succeeded so far your Majesty. But 
 to make success permanent, there are two who stand in 
 your way. As long as they live neither your life nor 
 your throne are safe." 
 
 Alexis Orlov was glad his brother had struck at the 
 heart of the matter. He looked at him gratefully. He 
 had reason to be proud of Gregory. 
 
 " They are Prince Ivan Antonovicz, and the daughter 
 of Elizabeth Petrovna and Alexis R'azumovsky. She is 
 living in Florence with a Russian family. These two are 
 the last of the race. Each has a right to the throne 
 greater than your own." 
 
 Catherine Alexevna remembered with a vividness that 
 was painful the miniature in a plain frame of beveled 
 gold, which she herself had taken from the dead fingers 
 of Elizabeth Petrovna. Alexis Razumovsky had begged 
 for it to be given to him. She recalled how he had wept 
 
 296
 
 THE LAST NIGHT 
 
 and kissed it. This seemed most terrible of all. And 
 worst was her own ingratitude toward that royal 
 woman whom she had loved. 
 
 " She the girl in Florence - does not know who she 
 is," Alexis Orlov was explaining. " It will be easy to 
 lure her to Russia, and then " 
 
 Catherine Alexevna held up a hand to stop the ex- 
 planation. She could not listen to it now. But she 
 knew that it would not be long before she would be forced 
 not only to listen, but to agree to that unsaid plan of 
 Alexis Orlov. She had heard that Ivan Antonovicz was 
 an idiot. And the girl in Florence she avoided defi- 
 nite thought of her. 
 
 When the two Orlovs arose from the table and said 
 good night, they said good night, not to Catherine 
 Alexevna whom they had known in the past, their old 
 merry companion of the gentle heart and gay disguises, 
 but to Catherine the Great, who would hesitate at noth- 
 ing. And the handsome Orlovs understood this. They 
 knew that she would not oppose their plans for the two, 
 which made life safe for her, and smoothed the way for 
 that ambitious future they dreamed for themselves. 
 
 It was as the Ghostly Chancellor had predicted, she 
 stood upon the crest of the world alone. And as she 
 herself had predicted, the destruction within her had 
 become complete. Father, mother, husband, friends, 
 favorites, lovers, they were all gone, and their going 
 had made free the path of progress for her. She could 
 think very clearly, but she could not feel. She was 
 merely a machine of state, now, that wore the gems of a 
 woman. 
 
 In her own room she did not call her women to dis- 
 robe her. She stood alone by the window, a white glit- 
 tering figure like the statuette of ivory of the cold 
 
 297
 
 THE WHIRLWIND 
 
 and cruel face watching the. spectral dawn creep over 
 the dead, sleeping city. And as this wan, gray dawn was 
 not the joyous, golden sunrise of more fortunately situ- 
 ated lands, she knew that like it here was not the warmth 
 of life. And the dead, sleeping city lying so inert and 
 silent under the new dawn seemed to be conscious of 
 her who watched it, who one day would lash it into life 
 and renewed vigor, and whom, in return, the world would 
 call " the Monster of the North." 
 
 THE END 
 
 NOTE. The Grand Duke Paul, who came after Catherine the Great, 
 was not the son of Peter the Third, who never had any children of his 
 own. He was the son of Catherine and her first lover, Saltikov. For 
 proof of this see any authoritative writer on the history of the Russian 
 Eighteenth Century. 
 
 NOTE. Lomonossov, Michail Vassilevich ( 1711-1765), was the father 
 of Russian poetry. He wrote a grammar of the language and arranged 
 the rules of verse. He was also a scientist and his work in this field is 
 considered of value to-day. 
 
 Dershawin, Gavril Romanovich (1743-1816), was a poet, scholar, sol- 
 dier and courtier. He is the greatest Russian poet of the Eighteenth 
 Century. He was a friend of Pushkin, who admired him greatly. He 
 first won recognition by the poem Felitsa, under which title he sang the 
 praises of Catherine the Great. He is celebrated for his Ode to God, 
 which is perhaps the most widely translated poem in literature. He was 
 a lifelong favorite of the Empress. 
 
 Novikov, Nikolay Ivanovich, (1744-181). A Russion writer of the 
 reign of Catherine the Great, was a journalist, satirical writer and 
 editor of The Drone. At one time the Empress collaborated with him 
 in a publication. He was a philanthropist and eager for the study and 
 advancement of science among his people. 
 
 He was imprisoned for his advanced views. It was the Grand Duke 
 Paul who gave him freedom again, when he came to the throne. 
 
 Von-Visin, Denis Ivanovich (1744-1792), was a satirical writer. 
 His best comedies are The Brigadier and The Minor. We are indebted 
 to his letters for information about the life of Catherine herself, and 
 conditions during the early years of her reign. 
 
 When Catherine Alexevna recalled Count Bestushev-Rjumin from exile 
 she had deputations meet him at the large cities along the way, and each 
 deputation presented to him a new gift and a new honor. 
 
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