The Price of Power

The Emperor, smiling benignly upon her – for, after all, she was his favourite niece – slowly nodded in the affirmative.

Whereupon she turned to me, exclaiming:

“Oh! Uncle Colin. Dear old Uncle Colin! I’m so happy – so very happy! I must telegraph to Dick at once – at once!”

“No, no, little madcap,” interrupted the Emperor; “not from here. The Secret Police would quickly know all about it. Send someone to the German frontier with a telegram. One of our couriers shall start to-night. Drury will receive the good news to-morrow evening, and, Tattie,” – he added, taking both her little hands again, “I have known all along, from various reports, how deeply and devotedly you love this young Englishman. Therefore, if I give my consent and make your union possible, I only hope and trust that you will both enjoy every happiness.”

In her wild ecstasy of delight the girl raised her sweet face to his heavy-bearded countenance, that face worn by the cares of State, and kissed him fervently, thanking him profoundly, while I on my part craved for the immediate release of poor Luba de Rosen.

The Emperor at once scribbled something upon an official telegraph form, and touching a bell, the sentry carried it out.

“The young lady so cruelly wronged will be free and on her way back to Petersburg within three hours,” the Monarch said quietly, after the sentry had made his exit.

“Oh! Uncle Colin!” cried Her Highness excitedly to me, “what a red-letter day this is for me!”

“And for me also, Tattie,” remarked His Majesty in his deep, clear voice. “Owing to your efforts, I have learned some amazing but bitter truths; I have at last seen the reason why my people have so cruelly misjudged me, and why they hate me. I realise how I have, alas! been blinded and misled by a corrupt and unscrupulous Ministry who have exercised their power for their own self-advancement, their methods being the stirring-up of the people, the creation of dissatisfaction, unrest, and the actual manufacture of revolutionary plots directed against my own person. I now know the truth, and I intend to act – to act with a hand as strong and as relentless as they have used against my poor, innocent, long-suffering subjects.” Her Highness was all anxiety to send a telegram by courier over the frontier to Eydtkuhnen. If he left Petersburg by the night train at a quarter-past ten, he would, she reckoned, be at the frontier at six o’clock on the following evening. It was half an hour by train from Tzarskoie-Selo to Petersburg, and she was now eager to end the audience and be dismissed.

But His Majesty seemed in no hurry. He asked us both many questions concerning Markoff, and what we knew regarding his dealings with the bomb-throwers.

Natalia explained what had occurred in Brighton, and how she had been constantly watched by Danilovitch, while I described the visit of Hartwig and myself to that dingy house in Lower Clapton. That sinister, unscrupulous chief of Secret Police had been directly responsible for the death of Natalia’s father; and Her Highness was bitter in her invectives against him.

“Leave him to me,” said the Emperor, frowning darkly. “He is an assassin, and he shall be punished as such.”

Then, ringing his bell again, he ordered the next Imperial courier in waiting to be summoned, for at whatever palace His Majesty might be there were always half a dozen couriers ready at a moment’s notice to go to the furthermost end of the Empire.

“I know, Tattie, you are anxious to send your message. Write it at my table, and it shall be sent from the first German station. Here, in Russia, the Secret Police are furnished with copies of all messages sent abroad or received. We do not want your secret disclosed just yet!” he laughed.

So the girl seated herself in the Emperor’s chair, and after one or two attempts composed a telegram containing the good news, which she addressed to Richard Drury at his flat in Albemarle Street.

Presently the courier, a big, bearded man of gigantic stature, in drab uniform, was ushered into the Imperial presence, and saluted. To him, His Majesty gave the message, and ordered him to take it by the next train to Eydtkuhnen. Whereupon the man again saluted, backed out of the door, and started upon his errand. What, I wondered, would Dick Drury think when he received her reassuring message?

Natalia’s face beamed with supreme happiness, while the Emperor himself for the moment forgot his enemies in the pleasure which his niece’s delight gave to him.

Again His Majesty, with darkening brow, referred to the brutal murder of his favourite brother, the Grand Duke Peter, saying:

“You will recollect, Trewinnard, the curious conviction which one day so suddenly came upon me. I revealed it to you in strictest secrecy – the ghastly truth which seemed to have been forced upon me by some invisible agency. It was my secret, and the idea has haunted me ever since. And yet here to-day my suspicion that poor Peter was killed by some person who feared what secret he might reveal stands confirmed; and yet,” he cried, “how many times have I, in my ignorance, taken the hand of my brother’s murderer!”

Colonel Polivanoff, the Imperial Marshal; my old friend, Captain Stoyanovitch, equerry-in-waiting, both craved audience, one after the other, for they bore messages for His Majesty. Therefore they were received without ceremony and impatiently dismissed. The subject the Sovereign was discussing with us was of far more importance than reports from the great military camps at Yilna and at Smolensk, where manoeuvres were taking place.

The Emperor turned to his private telephone and was speaking with Trepoff, the Minister for Foreign Affairs in Petersburg, when the Marshal Polivanoff again entered, saying:

“His Excellency General Markoff petitions audience of Your Majesty.”

Natalia and I exchanged quick glances, and both of us rose.

For a second the Emperor hesitated. Then, turning to us, he commanded us to remain.

“I will see him at once,” he said very calmly, his face a trifle paler.

Next moment the man whose dismissal in disgrace was already lying upon the Emperor’s desk stood upon the threshold and bowed himself into the Imperial presence.

Chapter Thirty Five.

“From Our Own Correspondent.”

That moment was indeed a breathless one.

The Emperor’s countenance was grey with anger. Yet he remained quite calm and firm. He was about to deal with an enemy more bitter and more dangerous than the most relentless firebrand of the whole Revolutionary Party.

“I was not aware that Your Majesty was engaged with Her Imperial Highness,” the sinister-faced official began. “I have a confidential report to make – a matter of great urgency.”

“Well, I hope it is not another plot,” remarked the Sovereign with bitter, weary sarcasm. “But whatever report you wish to make, Markoff, may be made here – before my niece and Mr Trewinnard.”

He glanced at us suspiciously and then said:

“This afternoon the Moscow police have unearthed a most desperate plot to wreck Your Majesty’s train early to-morrow morning at Chimki. I furnished them with information, and twenty-eight arrests have been made.”

“Indeed,” remarked his Imperial Master, raising his eyebrows, quite unmoved. “Have you the list of names?”

In answer, the General produced a yellow official paper, which he placed upon His Majesty’s table. Then, with but a casual glance, the Emperor took up his quill and scribbled some words across the sheet and handed it back.

Markoff glanced at the words written, then, much puzzled, looked at His Majesty.

“Yes,” the latter said. “I order their immediate release. And, let me tell you, Serge Markoff, that this afternoon I have given audience to a very intimate friend of yours; your agent-provocateur, Danilo Danilovitch!”

The General’s countenance went white as paper. Such a reception was entirely unexpected.

“Ah!” exclaimed His Majesty, with a bitter smile, “I see what surprise and apprehension my talk with Danilovitch causes you. Well, I will not give utterance to the loathing I feel towards you – the man in whose hands I have placed such supreme power, and whom I have so implicitly trusted. Suffice it to say that he has revealed to me the ingenious manner in which plots have been formed in order to terrorise me, and your inhuman method of sending hundreds of innocent ones into exile, merely in order to obtain my favour.”

“I have never done such a thing!” cried the man in uniform, standing at attention as his master spoke. “The fellow lies.”

“Enough,” said the Emperor, in a loud, commanding voice. “Hear me! You are an assassin. You killed my brother the Grand Duke Peter with your own dastardly hand in order to hide your disgraceful tactics. You sent your own wife to her grave, and you paid your catspaw to kill the Grand Duke Nicholas. To-day there is a plot afoot to close the lips of my niece and my good friend Trewinnard! These are only a few of your disgraceful crimes. No; do not attempt to deny them, brute and liar that you are. Rather reflect upon the terrible fate of the thousands of poor wretches who have been sent to the Arctic settlements by your relentless, inhuman hand. The souls of all those who have been worn out by the journey and died like dogs upon the Great Post Road, or in other ways have fallen innocent victims of your plots, call loudly for vengeance. And I tell you, Serge Markoff,” he said, his dark, heavy brows narrowing in fierce anger, “I tell you that I shall find means by which adequate punishment will be awarded to you. Here is your dismissal!” he added, taking the document from his table. “It will be gazetted to-morrow. Go back to Petersburg at once and there remain. Do not attempt to leave Russia, or even to leave Petersburg, or you will at once be placed under arrest and sent to the fortress. Go home, place your affairs in order, and await until I send for you again.”

The Emperor had not yet decided what form his punishment should take.

“But – but surely Your Imperial Majesty will allow me to – ” he gasped with difficulty.

“I will allow you nothing – nothing! You are my enemy, Serge Markoff – a crafty, cunning enemy, who now stands revealed as a brutal assassin! Ah! I shall avenge my brother Peter’s death – depend upon it! Go! Get from my presence!” he commanded, and raising his hand, he pointed with his finger imperiously to the door. I had never before seen such a look upon His Majesty’s strong face.

And the man whose evil actions had spread terror into every corner and every home throughout the Russian Empire, thus receiving his sudden congé, slowly crossed the room, his head bowed, his face ashen.

He was unable to speak or to protest.

For a second he stood still, then, opening the door, he passed out in silence.

Extract from the second edition of The Times issued on the following day:

“From Our Own Correspondent.

“St. Petersburg, May 16th.

“A startling tragedy occurred just after seven o’clock last evening in front of the barracks in the Zagarodny Prospect in St. Petersburg, just outside the Tzarskoie-Selo Station. According to the journal Novosti, His Excellency General Serge Markoff, Chief of Secret Police, and one of the Emperor’s most trusted officials, who had been to Tzarskoie-Selo for audience with His Majesty, had arrived at the station unexpectedly on his return to Petersburg, and his carriage not being there, he resolved to walk down into the city. He had turned out of the station, when he was followed by an unknown man, who had, it seems, arrived by the same train. In front of the barracks the pair apparently recognised each other, and, according to a bystander, His Excellency drew a revolver and fired point-blank at the stranger, who next instant drew his own weapon and shot the General dead.

“All took place in the space of a few seconds, so suddenly, indeed, that the stranger, who certainly fired in self-protection, was able to get clear away before any of the passers-by could stop him. The General’s body was removed by the military ambulance to his residence facing the Summer Gardens, and the strange affair created the greatest sensation throughout the city.

“It is believed that the man so suddenly recognised by His Excellency must have been a prominent Terrorist from whom the General feared assassination; but it is proved by an onlooker – a butcher who was walking only a few feet from them – that His Excellency, who appeared seized by sudden anger, fired the first shot.

“The police are making every inquiry, and it is believed that the assassin of the well-known official will be arrested.

“Another curious feature in connection with the strange affair is that the same journal in another column publishes in the ‘Official Gazette’ the announcement that His Majesty the Emperor only two hours before the tragic occurrence dismissed his favourite official in disgrace. No reason is given, but it is rumoured in the diplomatic circle that certain grave administrative scandals have been discovered, and this dismissal is the first of several which are to follow. In fact, in certain usually well-informed quarters it is persistently declared that the whole Cabinet will be dismissed.

“The Emperor left with the Tzarina for Moscow last evening. The Grand Duchess Natalia accompanied them, and Mr Colin Trewinnard, of the British Embassy, travelled by the same train.”

Chapter Thirty Six.

Describes To-day

Three months later.

It was hot August in Russia – the month of drought and dust.

Luba de Rosen had returned to her mother’s house in Petersburg, where her property and her dead mother’s handsome income, which had been confiscated by the State, had been returned to her. Several times both Her Highness and myself had visited her, while one afternoon she had been received in private audience at Gatchina by the Emperor, who had sympathised with her and promised to make amends in every way for the injustice she had suffered.

The camarilla who had so long ruled Russia, placing the onus of their oppression upon the Emperor, had, thanks to Natalia, been broken up, and a new and honest Cabinet established in its place.

Danilo Danilovitch, on the day following Markoff’s assassination, had telegraphed openly from Germany to His Majesty, announcing that he had rid Russia of her worst enemy. And probably that message did not cause the Emperor much displeasure. It was the carrying out of the old Biblical law of an eye for an eye. And as the catspaw was beyond the frontier, and the crime a political one, its perpetrator was immune from arrest.

Five weeks later, however, the Supreme Council of the People’s Will, held in an upstairs room in Greek Street, Soho, and presided over by Danilovitch in person, heard from him a long and complete statement, in which he described his audience at Tzarskoie-Selo, and delivered the message sent by the Emperor to the Revolutionists.

Unanimously it was then decided to put an end to all militant measures, now that the Emperor knew the truth, and to trust the assurances given from the throne. A loyal reply was drafted to His Majesty’s message, and this was duly despatched by a confidential messenger to Russia and placed in the Emperor’s own hands – a declaration of loyalty which gave him the greatest gratification.

Diplomatic Europe, in ignorance of what was actually in progress, was surprised at the sudden turn of events in Russia, and on account of the unexpected dismissal of Ministers and the establishment of the Duma, felt that open revolution was imminent. From the official busybodies at the various Embassies the truth was carefully concealed. It was, of course, known that General Markoff had all along been the worst enemy of Russia, and in consequence the Revolutionary Party made open rejoicing at the news of his death. Yet the actual facts were ingeniously suppressed, both from the diplomatic corps and from the correspondents of the foreign newspapers.

The entire change in the Emperor’s policy and the granting of many much-needed reforms were regarded abroad as the natural reaction after the drastic autocracy. But nobody dreamed of the truth, how the Emperor, after all a humane man and a benign ruler, had at last learned the bitter truth, and had instantly acted for the welfare and safety of his beloved people.

Many of the London journals published leading articles upon what they termed “the new era in Russia,” attributing it to all causes except the right one, the popular opinion being that His Majesty had at last been terrorised into granting justice and a proper representation to the people. Exile of political prisoners to Siberia had been suddenly abolished by Imperial ukase, together with the major powers vested in the Secret Police. The safety and sanctity of the home was guaranteed, and no person could in future be consigned to a dungeon or exiled without fair and open trial.

All this, it was said, was a triumph of the Revolution. Journalists believed that the Emperor had been forced to accord the people their demand. Little, indeed, did the world dream the actual truth, the secret of which was so well kept that only the British Foreign Minister at Downing Street was aware of it, for by the Emperor’s express permission I was able to sit one day in that sombre private room in the Foreign Office and there in confidence relate the strange events, the shadows of a throne, which I have endeavoured to set down in the foregoing pages.

Since the day of the dismissal of Serge Markoff with five members of the Cabinet, and the breaking up of that disgraceful camarilla which had surrounded the Sovereign, suppressing the truth, preventing reforms, and ruling Holy Russia with a hand of iron, the nation had indeed entered upon an era of financial and social progress. Russia has become a nation of enlightenment, prosperity and industry, even, perhaps, against the will of her upper classes.

I was present on that August day in the handsome private church attached to the great Palace of Peterhof, and there witnessed the marriage of Her Imperial Highness the Grand Duchess Natalia to Richard Drury, Count of Ozerna, who had become a naturalised Russian subject and been ennobled by the Emperor.

It was a brilliant function, for all the Ministers, foreign Ambassadors and the whole Imperial Court, including the Emperor and Empress, were present. The Court now being out of mourning for the Grand Duke Nicholas, the display of smart gowns, uniforms and decorations was more striking than even at a State ball at the Winter Palace.

Standing beside Captain Stoyanovitch, I was near Natalia, the incorrigible little madcap of the Romanoffs, when with her husband she knelt before the altar while the priest, in his gorgeous robes, bestowed upon them his blessing. And when they rose and passed out, their handsome faces reflected the supreme joy of the triumph of their mutual love.

Some years have now passed.

His Imperial Majesty, alas! lies in his great sarcophagus in Moscow, and the Tzarevitch reigns in his stead. But in Russia the Revolutionary movement is no longer a militant one, for the people know well that their ruler’s aims and aspirations are those of his father, and patiently await the reforms which, though perhaps slow in progress, nevertheless do from time to time become law and bestow the greatest benefits upon the many millions of souls from the German frontier to the Sea of Japan.

Ivan Hartwig, the Anglo-Russian, still lives on the outskirts of Petersburg as Otto Schenk, and is still head of the Russian Sûreté, and from him I only recently heard that Danilo Danilovitch had been discovered in Chicago, leading the life of a highly-respected citizen. He had changed his name into Daniels, and was the proprietor of one of the largest boot factories in that progressive city. Miss West has been pensioned and remains in Brighton, but Davey, the English maid, is still in the Grand Duchess’s service.

As for myself – well, I am still a diplomat, and still a bachelor.

After service as Councillor of Embassy in Berlin, Washington and Paris, I was appointed by the late King Edward his Envoy extraordinaire et Ministre plénipotentiaire to a certain brilliant Court in the South of Europe, where I still reside in the great white Embassy as chief of a large and brilliant staff.

Sometimes when I go on leave, I manage to snatch a week or two with Count Drury and his pretty wife, at the Grand Ducal Palace in Petersburg, where they live together in perfect idyllic happiness, and where splendid receptions are given during the winter season. More than once, too, I have been guest at their great Castle of Ozerna, a gloomy mediaeval fortress, near Orel in Central Russia, to enjoy the excellent boar-hunting in the huge forests surrounding.

And often as I have sat at their table, waited on by the gorgeous flunkeys in the blue-and-gold Grand Ducal livery, headed by old Igor, I have looked into Natalia’s pretty face and reflected how Little the Russian people ever dream that for the liberty which has recently come to them they are indebted solely to a woman – to the girl who was once declared to be an incorrigible flirt, and who had scandalised the Imperial family – the little Grand Duchess, who, at the sacrifice of her own great love, boldly exposed and denounced that unscrupulous and powerful official, Markoff, the one-time Chief of Secret Police, the man who had sacrificed so many innocent lives as the Price of Power.

The End