Countess Petrovski

Introduction

I WILL cheerfully admit that the story I am about to tell in the following pages is most romantic and sensational, and has, at first sight, an air of improbability ; but it does not follow that, therefore, it is not true, nor must it be dismissed as idle fiction because the public has known nothing of it ; as will be shown, it was a profound secret, and it seemed imperative to our rulers that it should remain a profound secret. It will, I think, surprise those people who profess to believe that inter national politics and diplomacy have lost their sensational and romantic features in these days of the telegraph and the steam-engine, and should interest the general public who know nothing of the undercurrents of international dealing. The secret in its entirety is, as yet, known to less than a dozen of individuals, and those who partially know it were actors in the drama.

How I became possessed of the story I must not say, although it is almost as in teresting as the story itself. Hostilities have taken place on the high seas between a war-vessel of this country and another ship, and nobody, owing to very happy and fortuitous circumstances, guessed anything of it. That in itself is sensational ; but it is more sensational still to know that that en gagement was to prevent a disaster that might possibly have involved this country in a great war, and, as a sequence, all the other Great Powers of Europe. Public attention has lately been concentrated on Armenia and the dangers that surround the coercion of the Turkish tyrant, and little has been heard of that other Eastern Question,1 the problem of the Farther East, that rose to vex the souls of Western statesmen when Japan, springing fully armed like Minerva from the head of Jove, proved to the world that the effete and corrupt civiliza tion of China, myriad-peopled though it is, was no match for a nation endowed with the energy and enthusiasm of youth.

It will be remembered that this country declined to join in with the other European nations which, jealous and fearful of this sturdy Oriental youth, interposed to rob him of the fruits of victory. There 1 This was written in March, 1897. were many who cried out, and still cry out, against our rulers for their inaction, and would have had a different policy. But we have benefited from that policy, and benefited, as these pages will show, in a practical manner. In cases of aggression in the Farther East we have an active ally, and it is owing to a certain country's suspicions that this alliance is a fait accompli that it has declined to aid us in making an end of the Monster of Turkey. And yet, as will be seen, England was within an ace of having its Chamber of Secrets forced by daring conspirators, and it was only by an accident and much of that good luck which seems to favour this country at critical mo ments, and which makes some people inclined to believe that Providence has our destiny as His especial care, that we were enabled to defeat the machinations of the enemy whose success would at that time have been disastrous.

It was a cunningly devised plot and most craftily worked. Of course the plotters were not accredited agents of a foreign Government, so that in the event of a contretemps they would have been absolutely disowned. How that plot was defeated, and how skilfully and cun ningly, combined with happy chance, I refer the reader to the following pages. It was stated a short time ago as an absolute fact by various journalists that England's policy of non-intervention in the Chino-Japanese dispute, so far from earning the gratitude of Japan, has resulted in much less than nothing — that, indeed, Japan had concluded an alliance with Russia. I could not refrain from a smile when I read this, as the Foreign Secretary must have smiled. No doubt it suits Japan at the present moment to be on friendly terms with Russia, as nothing could be gained by going out of her way to earn the Bear's enmity.

But it is a friendship of covert glances, for, as I have said and shall show, Russia has her suspicions, and it pays her also in her uncertainty to pay court to the Land of the Morning. She fears what may happen if she and Japan shake their fists at each other. That Russia has her suspicions is proved by the report that reached England about Christmas that Russia had concluded a treaty with China with regard to her Trans- Siberian railway, a treaty which practically adds Manchuria to her territories. That treaty is her answer to England and Japan. Many have been surprised that she should have shown her hand so openly and acted in such feverish haste. It was simply because of her suspicions — suspicions that she tried so in sidiously to convert into actual knowledge, the account of which forms this story.

It may be objected by you, dear reader, when you come to the conclusion of this narrative, that I have done my country more than a dis-service by telling what I know, that I have only increased her difficulties and made the difficult path of international dealing harder for her statesmen to tread. To that I answer that it is for the public good that the nation should know what her statesmen have done and are doing, and in regard to the nation concerned, namely, Russia, nothing, in my opinion, is gained by seeking to conciliate her. When she wears a smile of welcome, when she professes to extend arms of brotherhood, her secret agents are still at work in never-ceasing efforts to undermine the fabric of this world-wide Empire. As I have said, she suspects, and with her suspicions are as certainties as regards seeking retaliation.

Should the Russian Government be so ill advised as to ask for explanations of what has occurred, she will lay herself open to the greatest snub a Government could experience. Imagine, if you can, M. de Staal going to the Foreign Office, producing this story, and demanding an explanation. I can see the arch ing of Lord Salisbury's eyebrows and the ex pressive shrug of his shoulders as he responds, "My dear De Staal, surely it is not possible that your Government attaches importance to the imaginings of a romancer's brain, however ingenious they may be ? You surely have not swallowed in good faith a fiction so wholly improbable ? " What reply could " mon cher Ambassadeur " make, if he were so foolish as to lay himself open to the snub and also to the effective counterquestion — " Is it possible, my dear De Staal, that your Embassy knew something of that charming lady, the Countess Petrovski, and the Baron, her uncle ? "

Chapter I There

could be no doubt that the Countess Anna Petrovski had become the social success of the London season. She came to this country early in the year with letters of introduction to the French Embassy ; and the Ambassador, falling captive before her, did all he could to make her stay pleasant, and with his aid she soon made her way in the highest niches of English society. It was not long before the society and evening papers were able to inform their readers, by accepting all gossip and rumour as solid fact, who and what the Countess was. It was under stood that she came of an old and aristocratic Spanish family, but had married a great Russian noble, the Count Petrovski. Wonderful stories were told of her vast estates and fabulous wealth, though the Countess was not respon sible for a fraction of what was written and told about her.

For building an imposing edifice of fiction on a small plot of truth the society journalist is unsurpassable. Still there was evidence that the Countess was well-to-do. She had for a suite a whole floor of the Langham Hotel, and soon after her arrival a beautiful and luxurious yacht belonging to her, named the Silver Swan, arrived in the Thames. But it was not the Countess's wealth, real or imaginary, that made her the most conspicuous woman in Society. Her beauty was dazzlingly unique, more an artist's dream than the face of a living woman. Of only medium height her slimness made her seem taller than she really was. Half the men in London were raving about her face and the adorable, unapproach able grace of her figure, though in her eyes lay her chief weapon. But why seek to describe her ?

Those who knew the Countess a year ago know that it is impossible, either by pen or brush, to give the faintest idea of a woman who was without a peer. Nor was this all. To a wondrous charm of manner was added intellect; and while younger men were ready to fall and adore her for her beauty, grave and reverend seigniors were as easily captivated by her mental powers. "A most remarkable woman," said the foremost of Englishmen, and no one felt bound to dispute his dictum. Before the height of the season she passed from one success to another. Her receptions were crowded, not by mere butterflies of fashion only, but by statesmen and the intellect of the land, and in a short time an invitation given or accepted by her was a social triumph. In a word, she was the lion of the season, and a lion who better deserved that distinction than most of those, from pinchbeck pretenders to circus proprietors, who have monopolized the admiration and worship of the upper circles of society for a time.

Strange to say the Countess was almost as popular with her own sex as with men, which speaks volumes for her tact and knowledge of human (feminine) nature. She showed a sur prising catholicity in her invitations ; and, as her hospitality was lavish, there were many of that most miserable of all classes, namely, those who are sighting desperately for another rung on the social ladder, and who are prepared to endure every humiliation and insult if only they can lift their foot an inch higher, who had reason to bless her. Much as the men adored her and paid court to her she did not arouse, as a less wise and less tactful woman would have done, black murder in the hearts of the girls. After a man had been round her some little time she would beam graciously upon him and say : " Mr. Blank, there is Miss Whitepage over yonder who wants some one amusing to talk to her.

As my very good and leal knight, pray go and talk as brilliantly to her as you have to me." Mr. Blank, loth as he might be, would obey, believing he was doing his queen a service by making some other girl happy. Moreover, she was lavish in praise of those of her own sex, discovering something to admire in the plainest and most awkward ; but with the supreme tact that never failed her, and was her chiefest weapon of conquest, her praise and ad miration were never outrageous nor grotesque. One evening, for instance, at Lady Dulvere's reception the Hon. Margot Sterling was present. Miss Margot, as every one knows, has a face that would only be a fortune in partibus injidelium and, moreover, preaches on all occasions what she calls the Higher Gospel, which is, that the male is an usurper, and by right Divine the overlordship belongs to Margot Sterlings.

And yet the Countess sent Beresford Topham to talk to her, and managed to show him that it was quite possible to admire her. "There is Miss Sterling yonder, Mr. Topham," said she. " I never see that girl but I envy her, while admiring her." " Envy her, Countess ? " said Topham, aghast. " You envy her, my dear Countess ? " " Yes," said the Countess, with a sigh. "There, Mr. Topham, did you ever see a more exquisitely moulded arm than hers ? Look at it ; only the Greek sculptors could have imagined anything so exquisitely lovely. It is an artist's dream." Topham looked up sharply at the Countess, as indeed we all did. But she was perfectly serious, and Topham rejoined, " Ya — as — indeed — er — lovely — as you say." " As a favour go and talk to her, Mr. Top ham. I don't agree with all her opinions, but I am deeply grateful to her for championing our sex so heartily and intelligently."

These little stories were of course repeated stib rosa, and the girls, who found her, besides, a sympathetic and helpful confidante for their wondrous love-affairs, spoke of her as " the dear Countess, but so unhappy, you know." Amiable as the Countess was, there was one subject, however, on which she could be really rancorous. Her hatred for Russian bureau cracy amounted almost to a monomania. No Russian who was a dutiful subject of the Czar, or Russian official, whatever his rank, ever received an invitation from her, and she never willingly met one. Soon after her advent in society she created a great sensation at a reception given by Her Grace the Duchess of Hampshire. As usual, her entrance into the room was the sensation of the evening, and a crowd of men gathered round her instantly.

Among others, the Russian Ambassador desired to be presented to her, and Her Grace the Duchess led him to the Countess, and in felici tous phrase made known his desire. Those who were standing round were amazed at the effect of the innocent request. The Countess became pale as death, and her eyes gleamed. She said something rapidly in the Russian tongue, which the bystanders did not under stand, but which caused the Ambassador to start as if he had been stung. The Countess did not wait, however, to see the effects of her speech, but turned her back on him. The Ambassador passed it off with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders, as though it were the eccentricity of a beautiful woman. But the onlookers were not deceived ; although they could not understand what was said, the Countess's action was unmistakable.

A minute or two later she went up to the Duchess, who had observed the incident in paralysed amazement, with the coaxing, fasci nating air of a child that seeks pardon for some slight fault. " Pardon my rudeness, my dear Duchess," she said. " I have insulted your guest, and consequently affronted you. Believe me, it was in the heat of the moment ; if I had seen him approaching I should have avoided him. Than a Russian official, Your Grace, I would sooner meet a pack of wolves on the steppe in mid-winter. You will pardon my rudeness ? " and she laid her hand softly on the Duchess's arm, and looked up in her face with tears of beseeching in her irresistible eyes. The Duchess was much moved. " I must ask pardon of you, my dear," she said tenderly. " I never dreamt it would be distasteful to you."

" Ah, if you knew my misery, my grief, dear friend, you would not wonder. I know that this country, great, just England, will never make friends with the Czar, and some day I hope she will crush him and his legions to powder — r — r." "My dear, you are distressing yourself. Let me take you to my boudoir for a little, that you may compose yourself." B " No, no," said the Countess, her beautiful eyes moist. " I thank you a thousand times, but I have composed myself already. I will talk, I will be gay. I will not trouble you now, dear friend. But I owe you some explanation for my behaviour, and, if I may, I will call on you to-morrow and tell you why Russia is hateful to me — Russia the Accursed." " My dear child, I should be pleased if you would. I should much like to hear it. I will call for you to-morrow at twelve and you shall spend the day with me."

" Oh, thank you, thank you," said the Coun tess, her eyes brimming again. " You English are so cold, they say in the South ; but no, no, it is not so. Not demonstrative, but hearts warm like the sun, that is it. Now I will go and speak to Lord Bere I see yonder. Such a dear old man ! " " Poor thing ! "said the Duchess, as the Coun tess walked towards the peer with a pitiful attempt at a gay smile. " She has known great sorrow I can see. We must make it pleasant for her." True to her word the Duchess called in her brougham for the " poor girl," at noon the next day. After a drive through the park and luncheon, Her Grace took her guest to her boudoir and was at home to no one, and the Countess, feeling she had found a friend in whose sympathetic heart she could confide, told her mournful story.

She was not a widow, as every one had supposed ; she had a husband who was enduring the worst horrors of that which no imaginative Englishman can think upon without a shudder — hard labour in the mines of Siberia. The story the Countess told was, the Duchess thought, the most painfully tragic she had ever heard or read of. Her parents, the Countess said, were Spanish, but she was born in Paris and had seen very little of Spain. She had met her husband Alexis, Count Petrovski, at Mentone. They had fallen in love with each other at once and were married after a brief but happy courtship. Alexis was the hand somest and best of men j oh, so noble, so cour teous, and the first months of their wedded life was a dream of bliss. They spent their honeymoon in the East, visiting Egypt, India, Burmah, and Ceylon, for it had always been a dream of hers to see the Orient in its sleepy grandeur and colour.

After their tour they took up their residence on the Count's great estate on the Volga. They were, oh, so happy together. Alexis was still like a devoted lover in the first flush of love and hardly left her side. But alas ! they were too happy. Fate was conspiring against them, and after one brief year they were struck down relentlessly. The Count's youngest brother, a student in the Kiev University, and a hot-headed, reckless boy, was arrested with seven others as Nihilists ; the whole of them were imprisoned, and there were dark rumours as to their fate. The Count was almost mad with grief ; he loved his brother dearly, and when weeks passed and he was not released he spoke bitterly and recklessly. " If I had my will, Czar Alexander himself should know what Siberia is like," he said. " To punish the foolish words of a mere boy with such rigour shows that we have tyranny, not government."

" It was natural, but it was not wise in such a hateful country, I will allow," continued the Countess in tearful indignation ; " but I could not blame my husband. Paul was nothing but a boy with a boy's frank, reckless enthusiasm, and yet that accursed Government treated him as a malefactor. And there were spies abroad — in Russia your very maids and valets are spies — and my dear husband's words were heard and reported — exaggerated and distorted, I do not doubt. And one evening — we had gone to St. Petersburg to see if something could not be done for Paul — one evening he was tapped on the shoulder as we were return ing home from the Opera — and I never saw him again, I never saw him again ! " " My dear ! my dear! don't distress yourself," said the Duchess greatly moved, as the Coun tess broke into a storm of weeping, and she seated herself on the couch beside the young wife, who, nevertheless, was a widow, and gently stroked her hair till the outburst had subsided.

" I made every enquiry," resumed the Coun tess, " I did everything I could, but it was weeks before I could hear anything, and then by heavily bribing one of the police I learnt that ten days previously he had begun the long dreary march to Siberia for hard labour in the mines. And so I was not allowed to see him ! I was not even allowed to say adieu to him. He will never return ; he had not the physique to stand the labour for a year. Oh, when I think of him on that awful march and labouring in those awful mines with a miserable hut to shelter his tortured bones, and the knout con tinually hanging over his head I fear I shall go mad! It is only by moving in society and by striving to forget that I keep sane. "My dear, my dear!" said the Duchess soothingly. " Can you wonder that I hate the Russian official, no matter what his rank ; that the repre sentative of the Czar is to me the most hateful creature on God's earth ?

They will lie, and spy, and grovel in the dust before their master ; they have neither consciences nor souls unless they are graciously accorded permission to wear such things as though they were the decorations of some foreign Power. Whenever I see a repre sentative of the Czar I see in him the betrayer of my husband, and his torturer, and, I fear, his executioner. I was very rude last night, but I should not have come if I had known the Czar's lacquey had been present. You must forgive me, but I am hardly responsible for myself when anything reminds me of Alexis, and even social requirements cannot overcome the feeling." " My dear child, how you have suffered ! One can lose a dear one by death and the wound will heal as the years pass by ; but for a loved one to be living in the hell you describe is awful, awful !

I cannot blame you, my child, for what took place last night. For your own sake I would advise you to avoid as much as possible any who remind you of the horrible fate of your husband." " Again I must ask your pardon for it," said the Countess, looking up in the Duchess's face. " It was unpardonable, but I shall control myself better on another occasion. You must understand I was taken by surprise. I never dreamt that he, knowing as he must have done, my tragedy, would have had the hardihood — I sincerely hope that his Excellency "■ — with a bitter sneer — "will not lay himself open to another rebuff." " What did you do after your husband was taken from you ? " asked the Duchess in an endeavour to turn the current of the young widow's thoughts. " I humbled and abased myself with petitions and prayers, and interviews," said the Countess, her eyes flashing fire.

" And knowing the cor ruption of Russian officials I spent thousands of roubles in bribes. But I might as well have begged for mercy and justice from a stone. I was insulted — insults too intolerable to repeat — and even threatened, until at last in despair I was compelled to agree with what friends had told me — that the Government of the Czar does not recognise either mercy or justice as coming within the sphere of Government. When I saw that all my efforts were barren I left the hateful country and joined my mother in Paris. We were wealthy, and we spent a year in travel. In New York my dear mother died and I was left alone. She was very wealthy, and I was the only child and she left all to me. With that sorrow added I again sought relief in travel, and after wandering over the East I came back to Europe, feeling drawn to this land where true freedom is.

I try to be gay and smiling ; it is a duty that I feel we owe to our fellow-creatures, that of bearing our own sorrows bravely and with a smile on our lips instead of carrying them with us for the world to share or make a mock of, as sometimes happens. And in this great city where are so many who have suffered at the hands of the Czar and his creatures I hope to hear news of Alexis, if — if he is still living." " And I hope you may, very soon, and that it may be good news, my dear child. What sufferings have been yours ! I shall explain to my friends who witnessed the incident what was the cause of it ; you will have the sympathy of all feeling persons, I know." " You are too kind, dear friend, to me who am almost a stranger. Nevertheless, I shall rejoice if friends, who have been kind to me, have it made known to them that there were reasons which explain, although they do not excuse, my outrageous behaviour.

And do you know, dear friend, what will happen when the world knows the story ? I will prophesy, and see if I am not right. The Russian Embassy will have three lies ready : one for immediate use, and the other two if the first should not be successful. Firstly, no such man as Count Alexis Petrovski is imprisoned; secondly, if he is, I am an impostor and not the Countess, his wife ; and thirdly, granted my poor Alexis is in Siberia, and I am his wife, his punishment was for some hideous crime against the person of the Czar. One of these lies, you will see, will be spread in a few days. But I shall not care. I know to what base duplicity and shameless mendacity the Government of the Czar can stoop." " But if you think it will cause you such annoyance I had better say nothing." " But it will not annoy me, madame.

In fact, I shall be rather amused to see my prophecy come true ; and then I owe an explanation to those who were standing near." " I can scarcely believe, my dear, that they would seek to discredit a poor defenceless woman by barefaced lying." The Countess laughed. " No, unless you have had practical experience of the Russian official, you cannot believe to what depths of trickery and meanness they will stoop. But we shall see. To-day is a blessed day : I have found a friend with a warm, generous heart. To the world I am a social butterfly," with a wan smile ; " only you, dear madame, know what a broken heart my gaiety hides." The Duchess not only informed her friends, but sent a paragraph to the World, and the Countess was a more interesting figure in society than ever. A few days later the Duchess made an early call on the Countess carrying with her a copy of the Times.

" My dear," she said, "you were quite right; here it is in the Times. It is scandalous." The Duchess referred to a short paragraph, ema nating from the Embassy, which declared that no Count Alexis Petrovski was in the mines of Siberia, and that the lady calling herself the Countess Petrovski was a rank impostor. But privileged circles of society had been told of the Countess's prophecy, and the warmest sym pathy was expressed with her. One of the evening papers — a violent Russophobe — got hold of the story, and had an article on the sub ject, deducing from it the fact that Russian diplomacy was as tortuous, mendacious, and unscrupulous as its worst enemies had ever asserted. It was a notable triumph for the poor, oppressed lady : her prophecy and its fulfilment was told in drawing-rooms and in the clubs, and the Embassy wisely refrained from inspiring more paragraphs on the character of the Countess Petrovski.

by courtesy Viscount Westingham, and the eldest son of His Grace the Duke of Corse, went about the world — which is principally that part of London west of Charing Cross — with the air of a man on whose shoulders rested solely the almost intolerable burden of a great and widely scattered empire. He lounged into the club with bent head and frown-vexed forehead, and threw himself into the nearest chair, and then would heave a great sigh, as if to say that at last he had thrown off for a moment the weary shackles of responsibility. In every other sentence you addressed to him he would in terrupt you with an apology accompanied with a wan smile. " Really, my dear fellow, you must forgive me, but I did not catch what you were saying. Very rude of me, but I was thinking of something else at the moment." -.'■■ He carried a dainty note-book in a solid silver case in his waistcoat pocket, and even in the middle of one of Hornsea's best stories he would pull it out and scribble something in it with a deepened frown.

It was understood that secrets for which the Chancelleries of the Continent would have given blank cheques re posed in that waistcoat pocket. I saw him take it out while talking to Lady Violet Magore at Lady Haddon's reception, and that young lady was visibly impressed. I verily believe that it gave him twenty yards' start in the great contest — in which there were nearly a score of competitors — for which the prize was her indis putable beauty and the sum of ,£1,125,362, recently left to her by her father. Truth obliges one to confess that people did not take the noble lord as seriously as he did himself; indeed, there were some irreverent persons who were intensely amused at the airs he assumed owing to his position. They were ready to admit that his post was an onerous and important one for a man with any ability, but those who knew the noble Viscount were agreed that his brains were insufficient to fill a place behind a counter or bar with credit, and it was generally admitted that the Foreign Secretary had taken him for Private Secretary (unpaid) because of the pressure put upon him by the Viscount's father, the Right Hon. the Earl of Corse, who fondly hoped that after the apprenticeship his son would be fitted for, and receive, office.