The black cross

The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Black Cross, by Olive M Briggs This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org Title: The Black Cross Author: Olive M Briggs Release Date: April 30, 2007 [EBook #21259] Language: English *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE BLACK CROSS *** Produced by Al Haines "Ah, mein Gott!" he cried, "It is Kaya!" "Ah, mein Gott!" he cried, "It is Kaya!" THE BLACK CROSS BY OLIVE M BRIGGS Frontispiece by SIGISMOND DE IVANOWSKI NEW YORK MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY 1909 Copyright, 1909, by MOFFAT, YARD AND COMPANY NEW YORK Published, February, 1909 to YAPHAH CONTENTS PART I CHAPTER I CHAPTER VIII CHAPTER II CHAPTER IX CHAPTER III CHAPTER X CHAPTER IV CHAPTER XI CHAPTER V CHAPTER XII CHAPTER VI CHAPTER XIII CHAPTER VII PART II CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XX CHAPTER XV CHAPTER XXI CHAPTER XVI CHAPTER XXII CHAPTER XVII CHAPTER XXIII CHAPTER XVIII CHAPTER XXIV CHAPTER XIX THE BLACK CROSS PART I CHAPTER I It was night in St Petersburg The moon was high in the heavens, and the domes, crowned with a fresh diadem of snow, glittered with a dazzling whiteness In the side streets the shadows were heavy, the faỗades of the great palaces casting strange and dark reflections upon the pavement; but the main thoroughfares were streaked as with silver, while along the quay all was bright and luminous as at noontide, the Neva asleep like a frozen Princess under a breast-plate of shimmering ice The wind was cold, the air frosty and gay with tinkling sleigh-bells A constant stream of people in sledges and on foot filled the Morskaïa, hurrying in the one direction The great Square of the Mariínski was alive with a moving, jostling throng, surging backwards and forwards before the steps of the Theatre like waves on a rock; a gay, well-dressed, chattering multitude, eager to present their tickets, or buy them as the case might be, and enter the gaping doors into the brilliantly lighted foyer beyond It was ballet night, but for the first time in the memory of the Theatre no ballet was to be given Instead of the "Première Danseuse," the idol of Russian society, a new star had appeared, suddenly, miraculously almost, dropped from a Polish Province, and had played himself into the innermost heart of St Petersburg The four strings of his Stradivarius, so fragile, so delicate and slim, were as four chains to bind the people to him; four living wires over which the sound of his fame sped from city to city, from province to province, until there was no musician in all the Russias who could play as Velasco, no instrument like his with the gift of tears and of laughter as well, all the range of human emotions hidden within its slender, resinous body So the people said as they gossiped together on the steps: "The great Velasco! The wonderful Velasco!" And now he was on his way to Germany It was his last concert, his "farewell." The announcement had been blazoned about on red and yellow handbills for weeks One Salle after the other had offered itself, each more commodious than the last; but they were as nothing to the demands of the box-office The list grew longer, the clamourings louder; and at last the unprecedented happened At the request of a titled committee under the signature of the Grand-Duke Stepan himself, the Mariínski, largest and most beautiful of theatres, had opened its doors to the young god; and the price of tickets went up in leaps like a barometer after a storm;—fifteen roubles for a seat, twenty—twenty-five—and finally no seat at all, not even standing-room The crowd melted away gradually; the doors of the foyer closed; the harsh cries of the speculators died in the distance Behind the Theatre the ice on the canal glimmered and sparkled The moon climbed higher and the bells of the Nikolski Church rang out clearly, resonantly above the tree-tops Scarcely had the last stroke sounded when a black sleigh, drawn by a pair of splendid bays, dashed out of a side street and crossed the Pozeluïef bridge at a gallop At the same moment a troïka, with three horses abreast, turned sharply into the Glinki and the two collided with a crash, the occupants flung out on the snow, the frightened animals plunging and rearing in a tangled, inextricable heap The drivers rushed to the horses' heads "A pest on you, son of a goat!" screamed the one, "Have you eyes in the back of your head that you can't see a yard in front of you?" "Viper!" retorted the other furiously, "Damnation on you and your bad driving! Call the police! Arrest the shark of an anarchist!" Meanwhile the master of the black sleigh, a heavily built, elderly man, had picked himself out of a drift with the assistance of his lackey and was brushing the snow from his long fur cloak A fur cap, pulled down over his eyes, hid his face, but his gestures were angry, and his voice was high and rasping "Where is the fellow?" he snarled, "Let me see him; let me see his face Away, Pierre, I tell you, go to the horses! A mercy indeed if their legs are not broken A pretty pass this, that one can't drive through the streets of the capital, not even incognito!—Call the police!" The other gentleman, who seemed little more than a boy, stood by the overturned troïka wringing his hands: "Is it hurt, my little one, my treasure, is it scratched? Keep their hoofs away, Bobo, hold them still a moment while I raise one end." He knelt in the snow and peered eagerly beneath the sleigh "Sacre—ment!" cried the older man, "What is he after? Quick, on him, Pierre! Don't let him escape." The lackey moved cautiously forward, and then gave a sudden leap back as the boyish figure sprang to his feet, clasping a dark, oblong object in his arms "A bomb, a bomb! In the name of all the saints! If he should drop it they were doomed, they were dead men!" The eyes of the lackey were bulging with terror and he stood riveted to the spot In the meantime the young man had snatched out his watch and was holding it up into a patch of moonlight "Twenty past the hour!" he exclaimed, "and old Galitsin fuming, I'll be bound! I'll have to make a run for it Hey, Bobo!" As he spoke, an iron hand came down on his shoulder and he looked up amazed into a pair of eyes, small and black and crossed, flashing with fury "Drop it," hissed a voice, "and I'll throttle you as you stand! Traitor! Assassin! Your driver obeyed orders, did he? You knew? Vermin, you ran us down! How did you know? Who betrayed me?—Who?" The youth stood motionless for a moment in astonishment He was helpless as a girl in that vicious grasp that was bearing him under slowly, relentlessly "For the love of heaven," he cried, "Let go my arm, you brute, you'll sprain a muscle! Be careful!" "Drop it, and I swear by all that is holy—" "You old fool, you curmudgeon, you coward of an old blatherskite!" cried the boy, "I wouldn't drop it for all the world, not if you went on your bended knees Bobo, yell for the police! Don't you touch my wrist! Look out now! Of all unpleasant things—! "Bobo, come here Never mind the horses I tell you he is ruining my arm!— Hey! Help! You're an anarchist yourself, you fool! Shout, Bobo, shout!" In the struggle the two had passed from the shadow into the moonlight and they now confronted one another The master of the black sleigh was still enveloped in his cloak, only the gleam of his eyes, small and black and crossed, was visible under the cap, his beaked nose and the upward twist of his grey mustache The youth stood erect and angry; his head was bare, thrown back as a young lion at bay, his dark hair falling like a mane, clustered in waves about his broad, overhanging brows; strange brows and strange eyes underneath The mouth was sensitive, the chin short and rather full, the whole aspect as of some one distinguished and out of the ordinary They stared at one another for a moment and then the hand of the older man dropped to his side "I beg your pardon," he said, with some show of apology in his tone, "Surely I must have made a mistake Where have I seen you before? You are no anarchist; pray, pardon me." The young man was feeling his arm ruefully: "Good gracious, sir," he said, "but you are hasty!—I never felt such a grip The muscles are quite sore already, but luckily it is the left arm, otherwise, Bózhe moi[1], I vow I'd sue you!—If it were the fingers now, or the wrist—" He took off his fur gloves and examined both hands carefully, one after the other A scornful look came over the older man's face: "There was no excuse, my friend, for the way your trọka rounded that corner Such driving is criminal in a public street It's a mercy we weren't all killed! Still, you really must pardon me, these anarchist devils are everywhere nowadays and one has to take precautions I was hurrying to the Mariínski." Hardly were the words out of his mouth, when there came the snapping of two watch lids almost simultaneously, and both gentlemen gave a cry of ... The bier was empty The twelve other masks turned towards the Cross, reading the name, and they made a sign with the hands in unison, a rapid crisscross motion over the breast, the forehead, the eyes, ending in the low murmur of a word, unintelligible, like a... seat at all, not even standing-room The crowd melted away gradually; the doors of the foyer closed; the harsh cries of the speculators died in the distance Behind the Theatre the ice on the canal glimmered and sparkled The. .. gleaming Otherwise the nave, the chancel, the transepts were as one vast blackness stretching before them They fled on in silence; their goal was the candles At first the space before the altar seemed empty, deserted, like the rest of the