The Price of Things by Elinor Glyn
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Elinor Glyn >> The Price of Things
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He bowed once more and appeared to kiss her hand:
"Good-bye, Harietta! Sleep well."
Then he re-entered the car and was whirled away.
She staggered for a second and then moved forward to the lift. But as she
went in, two tall men who had been waiting stepped forward and joined
her, and all three were carried aloft, and as she walked to her salon she
saw that they were following her.
"There will be no more kicks for thee, my Angel!" the maid, peeping
from a door, whispered exultingly to Fou-Chow! "Thy Marie has saved
thee at last!"
* * * * *
When Verisschenzko again reached his own sitting room he paced up and
down for half an hour. He was horribly agitated, and angry with himself
for being so.
Denzil had been right; when it came to the point, it was a ghastly thing
to have to do, to give a woman up to death--even though her crimes amply
justified such action.
And what was death?
To such a one as Harietta what would death mean?
A sinking into oblivion for a period, and then a rebirth in some sphere
of suffering where the first lessons of the meanings of things might be
learned? That would seem to be the probable working of the law--so that
she might eventually obtain a soul.
He must not speculate further about her though, he must keep his nerve.
And his own life--what would it now become? Would the spirit of freedom,
stirring in his beloved country, arrive at any good? Or would the red
current of revolution, once let loose, swamp all reason and flow in
rivers of blood?
He would be powerless to help if he let weakness overmaster him now.
The immediate picture looked black and hopeless to his far-seeing eyes.
But his place must be in Petrograd now, until the end. His activities,
which had obliged him to be away from Russia, were finished, and new ones
had begun which he must direct, there in the heart of things.
"The world is aching for freedom, God," his stormy thoughts ran, "but we
cannot hope to receive it until we have paid the price of the aeons of
greed and self-seeking which have held us, the ignorance, the low
material gain. We must now reap that sowing. The divine Christ--one
man--was enough as a sacrifice in that old period of the world's day--but
now there must be a holocaust of the bravest and best for our
purification."
He threw himself into his chair and gazed into the glowing embers. What
pictures were forming themselves there? Nations arising glorified by a
new religion of common sense, education universally enjoyed, the great
forces studied, and Nature's fundamental principles reckoned with and
understood.
To hunt his food.
To recreate his species.
_And to kill his enemy._
A bright blade sheathed but ready, a clear judgment trained and used,
ideals nobly striven for, and Wisdom the High Priest of God.
These were the visions he saw in the fire, and he started to his feet and
stretched out his arms.
"Strength, God! Strength!" that was his prayer.
"That we may go--
Armoured and militant,
New-pithed, new-souled, new-visioned, up the steeps
To those great altitudes whereat the weak
Live not, but only the strong
Have leave to strive, and suffer, and achieve."
Then he sat down and wrote to Denzil.
"I have all the needed proofs, my friend. Marry my soul's lady in peace
and make her happy. There come some phases in a man's life which require
all his will to face. I hope I am no weakling. I return to Russia
immediately. Events there will enable me to blot out some disturbing
memories.
"The end is not yet. Indeed, I feel that my real life is only just
beginning.
"Ferdinand Ardayre is deeply incriminated with Harietta; it is only a
question of a little time and he will be taken too. Then, Denzil, you, in
the natural course of events, would have been the Head of the Family. You
will need all your philosophy never to feel any jar in the situation with
your son as the years go on. You will have to look at it squarely, dear
old friend, and know that it is impossible to have interfered with
destiny and to have gone scott free. Then you will be able to accept
title affair with common sense and prize what you have obtained, without
spoiling it with futile regrets. You have paid most of your score with
wounds and suffering, and now can expect what happiness the agony of the
world can let a man enjoy.
"My blessings to you both and to the Ardayre son.
"And now adieu for a long time."
He had hardly written the last line when the telephone rang, and the
frantic voice of Stanislass, his ancient friend, called to him!
Harietta had been taken away to St. Lazare--her maid had denounced her.
What could be done?
A great wave of relief swept over Stepan. So he was not to be the
instrument of justice after all!
How profoundly he thanked God!
But the irony of the thing shook him.
Harietta would pay with her life for having maltreated a dog!
Truly the workings of fate were marvellous.
CHAPTER XXIII
The days in prison for Harietta, before and after her trial, were days of
frenzied terror, alternating with incredulity. She would not believe that
she was to die.
Stanislass and Ferdinand, and even Verisschenzko, would save her!
She loathed the hard bed at St. Lazare, and the discomfort, and the
ugliness, and the Sister of Charity!
She spent hours tramping her cell like a wild beast in a cage. She would
roar with inarticulate fury, and cry aloud to her husband, and her
lovers, one after another, and then she would cower in a corner, shaking
with fear.
The greatest pain of all was the thought that Stepan and Amaryllis would
marry and be happy. Once or twice foam gathered at the corners of her
lips when she thought of this.
If she could have reached Marie, that would have given her some
satisfaction--to tear out her eyes! For Ferdinand Ardayre had told her
how Marie had given her up, working quietly until she had all necessary
proofs, and then denouncing her.
When Stanislass had returned from the Club, whither she had despatched
him for the evening, so that she might be free to dine with
Verisschenzko, he found that she had already been taken away.
The shock, when he discovered that nothing could be done, had nearly
killed him--he now lay dangerously ill in a Maison de Sante, happily
unconscious of events.
For Ferdinand Ardayre the blow had fallen with crushing force. The one
strong thing in his weak nature was his passion for Harietta--and to be
robbed of her in such a way!
He battled impotently against fate, unable even to try to use any means
in his possession to get the death sentence commuted, because he was too
deeply implicated himself to make any stir.
He saw her in the prison after the trial, with the bars between and the
warders near. And the awful change in Tier paralysed him with grief. On
the morrow she was to die--the usual death of a spy.
Her hair was wild and her face without rouge was haggard and wan.
She implored him to save her.
The frightful pain of knowing that he could do nothing made Ferdinand
desperate, and then suddenly he became inspired with an idea.
He could at all events remove some of the agony of terror from her, and
enable her to go to her death without a hideous scene. He remembered "La
Tosca"--the same method might serve again!
He managed to whisper to her in broken sentences that she would certainly
be saved. The plan was all prepared, he assured her. The rifles would
contain blank cartridges, and she must pretend to fall--and afterwards he
would come, having bribed every one and made the path smooth.
He lied so fervently that Harietta was convinced, her material brain
catching at any straw. She must dress herself and look her best, he told
her, so as to make an impression upon all the men concerned; and then,
when he had to leave her, he arranged with the prison doctor that she
might receive a strong _piqure_ of morphine, so that she would be
serene. She spent the night dreaming quite happily and at four o'clock
was awakened and began to dress.
The drug had calmed all her terrors and her dramatic instinct held
full sway.
She arranged her toilet with the utmost care, using all her arts to
beautify herself. In her ears were Stanislass' ruby earrings and she wore
Stepan's ring and brooch.
Death to her was an impossibility--she had never seen any one die.
It was a wonderfully fine part she would have to play, with Ferdinand
there really going to save her! That was all! She must even be sweet at
last to the poor sister, whom she had snarled at hitherto.
If she could only have seen Stepan once more! Stanislass and his broken
life and fond devotion never gave her a thought or troubled her at all.
After she was free, she would find some means to pay out Hans! She hated
him. If it had not been for Hans and his tiresome old higher command
with their stupid intrigues, she would still be free. That she had
betrayed countries--that she was guilty in any way never presented
itself to her mind.
All Verisschenzko's passionate indictment had fallen upon unheeding ears.
The morphine now left her only sufficiently conscious for fundamental
instincts to act.
She felt that she was a beautiful woman going to be the chief figure in a
wonderfully dramatic scene. Nothing solemn had touched her. Her brain was
light and now only filled with cunning and _coqueterie_; she meant to
charm her guards and executioners to the last man! And ready at length,
she walked nonchalantly out of the prison and into the waiting car which
was to carry her to Vincennes.
Now the end of all this is best told in the words of a young French
soldier who was an eye witness and wrote the whole thing down. To pen the
hideous horror I find too difficult a task.
"Sunday--11 in the evening.
"We had only returned at that moment from our day's leave, when the
Lieutenant came to us to announce that we should be of the _piquet_
to-morrow morning for the execution of Madame Boleski, the spy.
"He said this to us in his monotonous voice as though he had been saying
'To-morrow--_Revue d'Armes_'--but for us, after a whole day passed far
from barracks, it was a rather brusque return to military realities!
"At once it became necessary that we look through our accountrements for
the show. No small affair! and for more than an hour there was brushing
and polishing of straps and buckles. It was nearly two o'clock in the
morning before we could turn in.
"Many of us could not sleep--we are all between eighteen and nineteen
years old, and the idea to see a woman killed agitated us. But little by
little the whole band dozed."
"Monday morning.
"At four o'clock--reveille. We dress in haste in the dark. Ten minutes
later we all find ourselves in the courtyard.
"'_A droit alignement couvres sur deux_.'
"The Lieutenant made the call."
* * * * *
"The detachment moves off in the night, marching in slow cadence--that
step which so peculiarly gives the impression of restrained force and
condensed power.
"We leave the fort and gain the artillery butts--true landscape of the
front! Trenches, stripped trees, abandoned wagons!
"And in the middle of all that--our silhouettes of carbines,
casques and sacs.
"Absolute silence.
"We stop--we advance--and suddenly in the dawn which has begun, we arrive
at our destination--the execution ground.
"'_Cannoniers--halte! Couvres sur deux. A droite alignement_.'"
"A rattle of arms. And there in front of us, at hardly fifteen yards, we
catch sight of the post.
"Up till now we had scarcely felt anything--just startled impressions,
almost of curiosity, but now I begin to experience the first strong
sensation.
"The post! Symbol of all this sinister ceremony. A short post--not higher
than one's shoulder! There it stands in front of the shooting butts. And
to think that nearly every Monday--"
* * * * *
"Now the troops from the Square, which is in reality rectangular, the
shooting butt constituting one of its sides. Then in the grim dawn we
wait quietly for what is to come. One after another, we see several
automobiles approach, and each time we ask ourselves, 'Is not this the
condemned?'
"No--they are journalists--officers--_avocats_--and presently a hearse,
out of which is lifted the coffin.
"The undertakers' men, who presently will proceed to the business of
placing the body there, laugh and talk together as they sit and smoke.
They are old _habitues!_"
"One was cold standing still! It begins to be quite light. The condemned
one may arrive at any moment, because the execution has been fixed for
exactly at the rising of the sun.
"The men of the platoon load their rifles. The number of them is
twelve--four sergeants, four corporals, four soldiers.
"And then there are the _Chasseurs a pied_."
"All of a sudden, two more cars appear, escorted by a company of
dragoons.
"This time it is She.
"They stop--out of the first one, officers descend. The Commissaire of
the Government who has, condemned Madame Boleski to death and who had
gone a little more than an hour ago to awake her in her cell. The
Captain, reporter, and two other Captains. The door of the second auto
opens, two gendarmes get out--a Sister of St. Lazare (what a terrible
_metier_ for her!)--and then Harietta Boleski!
"And at once, accompanied by the nun and followed by the gendarmes, she
penetrates into the square of men.
"Until now we have been enduring a period of waiting, we have been asking
ourselves if it will have an effect upon us--but now we have no more
doubt. The effect has begun!
"'Present arms!'
"All together we render honour to the dead woman--for one considers a
person condemned as already dead. And the bugles begin to play the
March--_Do sol do do Sol do do, Mi mi mi_--
"They play slowly--very softly and in the minor key.
"Harietta Boleski walks quickly, the sister can hardly keep by her side.
She is tall, beautiful, very elegant. A large hat with floating lace veil
thrown back and splendid earrings. A dark dress--pretty shoes.
"She looks at the troops and the _piquet d'execution_ a little
disdainfully, and then she smiles gaily--it is almost a titter. The
sister taps her gently on the shoulder, as if to recall her to a sense of
order, but she makes one careless gesture and walks up to the post.
"The bugles are sounding plaintively, slowly and more slowly all the
time.
"She pauses in front of us--and with us it is now, 'Does this make us
feel something?' We must hold ourselves not to grow faint.
"To see this woman go by with the trumpets sounding ever. To say to
ourselves that in sixty seconds she will be no more. There will be no
life in that beautiful body. Ah! that is an emotion, believe me!
"Never has the great problem been brought more forcibly before my spirit.
"It is during the second when she passes before me that I receive
the most profound impression, more even than at the actual moment of
the firing."
* * * * *
"Harietta Boleski is beside the post. The bugles stop their mournful
sound. They tie her to it, but not tightly, only so that her fall may not
be too hard. A gendarme presents her with a bandeau for her eyes, which
she pushes aside with scorn.
"And when an officer reads the sentence, Harietta Boleski smiles."
* * * * *
"At twelve yards the platoon is lined up. The sentence has been read.
"Madame Boleski embraces the Sister of Charity, who is very overcome.
She even whispers a few words to comfort her. They stand back from the
post. The adjutant who commands the platoon raises his sword--the rifles
come in into position--two seconds--and the sword falls!"
* * * * *
"A salute!"
* * * * *
"Harietta Boleski is no more.
"The fair body drops to earth and immediately an Adjutant of
Dragoons goes swiftly to the post, revolver pointed, and gives the
_coup de grace_.
"_'Arme sur l'epaule--Droit. A droit. En avant. Marche!'_
"And we file past the corpse while the trumpets recommence to sound.
"Harietta Boleski is lying down. She seems to be only reposing, so
beautiful she looks.
"The ball had entered her heart (we knew this later) so that her death
has been instantaneous.
"All the troops have defiled before her now.
"We regain our quarters.
"But as we file into the courtyard the sun gilds the highest window of
the fortress. The day has begun."
* * * * *
Thus perished Harietta Boleski in the thirty-seventh year of her age--in
the midst of the zest of life. The times are to strenuous for sentiment.
So perish all spies!
THE END
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