The Red Reign: The True Story of an Adventurous Year in RussiaDurland, Kellogg
History
The Red Reign: The True Story of an Adventurous Year in Russia
Durland, Kellogg
Russia -- Politics and government -- 1894-1917
would await me in the carriage. It took considerable persistence to
persuade him to follow me. The general was asleep, we were told, but we
might wait for him if we chose. “Come to-morrow,” pleaded Ivan, but I
knew it would not be safe for me to retreat, having once got
successfully over the threshold of the official residence with him, for
I already realized that the sense of insecurity and fear which possessed
the entire population was taking fast hold on my interpreter, and as his
services were essential to the success of my interview I dared not risk
losing him. We took seats in the outer hall to abide the time when the
general should awake and be ready to receive us. Several times the outer
door was opened to officers of the household. As each drew off his
overcoat, he took from his right hand pocket a revolver, and usually,
with the revolver in his hand, disappeared through one of the three
doors leading from the main hall, or up-stairs.
The general’s nap proved a long one, for it was after seven when an
orderly appeared to announce the general as ready to attend to business.
I sent up my card. An aide-de-camp of the rank of colonel presently came
down to inquire the purport of my business. To him I explained carefully
my relations with the officers of the regiment with whom I had been
traveling and presented my letters and credentials. The colonel reported
to the general and returned to me with the message that four days from
then at three o’clock in the afternoon General Alikhanoff would receive
me for two hours. “I do not desire two hours of his time, but two
minutes,” I replied, “but it is most important that I have those two
minutes with him to-day.” It was only after considerable insistence that
the colonel consented to again intrude upon the general, but when he did
word was immediately brought back that I would be received at once.
During the second disappearance of the colonel a farcical scene was
enacted between Ivan and myself. The aide-de-camp had scarcely
disappeared up-stairs when Ivan, apparently overcome by the fear of
seeing General Alikhanoff face to face, started toward the door.
“Now that it is arranged, sir,” he said, “I will return to the hotel,
sir, and wait for you.”
“No, no, Ivan,” I said, “you must come with me, for if General
Alikhanoff speaks nothing but Russian and Tartar, I shall be in a
hopeless predicament with him.”
“You want me to go into the room with Alikhanoff, sir--‘Bloody
Alikhanoff!’ No, sir!”
“Yes, you must. I need you,” I replied.
He glowered at me in a fright palpably real and started doggedly toward
the door. I stepped in front of him so as to prevent his escape.
“No, sir!” he argued. “Not to Alikhanoff. I took Baron de Hirsch to the
top of Kazbek, sir, and I have hunted with the Duc d’Orléans for a month
in the high mountains, sir, and I was with the correspondent of the
London _Times_ in the bad days,--but I never had to do anything like
this, sir. I shall go back to Tiflis to-night.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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