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Updated: May 7, 2025
Even though I am imprisoned I am free.... I am my own master. But all the same, to be a spy is a mean thing, Ivan Andreievitch. You Englishmen, although you are stupid, you are not mean. It was that day when your young friend, Bohun, found me looking in your room for letters, that in spite of myself I was ashamed.
"You see, Ivan Andreievitch," he said, looking at me with the eyes of an unnaturally wise baby, "that I cannot help wishing that my wife were here to advise Marie Ivanovna. She would have loved my wife very much, as every one did, and would have confided in her. That would have helped a girl who, like Marie Ivanovna, is ignorant of the world and the loves of men." "You miss your wife very much?"
I had fine ideals but in practice it was only that that I always was selfish. Now, for the first time ever, I care for some one more than myself and suddenly I am afraid of death no longer. It is true, Ivan Andreievitch, I do not believe that death can separate Alexei from me; I have more reason now to wish to live than I have ever had, but now I am not afraid.
"You are also a soldier, sir?" "I need not deny it in reply to a comrade. My name is Captain Hermann Heideck of the Prussian General Staff." The Russian rose and made a correct bow. "And my name is Prince Fedor Andreievitch Tchajawadse, Captain in the Preobraschensky regiment of the Guards." They then once more touched glasses: "To ourselves as good comrades" rang their mutual toast.
"Hullo, Nicolai Leontievitch," Bohun said, trying to be unconcerned. "What are you doing here?" "Came to see Ivan Andreievitch," he said. "Wasn't here; I was going to write to him." Bohun then lit a candle and discovered that the place was in a very considerable mess. Some one had been sifting my desk, and papers and letters were lying about the floor.
"Well, there it is, Ivan Andreievitch.... You must leave Vera and Nina alone. It isn't your affair." We continued the discussion then in a strange and friendly way. "I believe it to be my affair," I answered quietly, "simply because they care for me and have asked me to help them if they were in trouble.
One loves one's country because she is one's country, not because she's disappointing...." And so I went on with a number of amiable platitudes, struggling to comfort him somewhere, and knowing that I was not even beginning to touch the trouble of his soul. He drew very close to me, his fingers gripping my sleeve "I'll tell you, Ivan Andreievitch but you mustn't tell anybody else. I'm afraid.
He had a strain of fantasy that continually surprised one. He liked fairy tales. He would say to me: "There's a tale? Ivan Andreievitch, about a princess who lived on a lake of glass. There was a forest, you know, round the lake and all the trees were of gold. The pond was guarded by three dwarfs.
I never needed her as he did, No more dreams...." We were interrupted by Semyonov, who, carrying a lantern, passed us. He saw us and turned back. "We must be ready by seven," he said sharply. "A general retirement. Ivan Andreievitch, do you know whether Mr. had friends or relations to whom we can write?" "I heard of nobody," I answered. "Nobody?" "Nobody." Just before he turned my eyes met his.
Of course he was exaggerated in expressions of pleasure: "Why, Ivan Andreievitch, this is delightful!" he cried. "If I only had known we might have walked here together!" We sat down on the stone seat. "You don't think it will rain?" he asked anxiously. "No, those clouds are going away, I see. Well ... this is delightful ..." and then sat there gloomily looking in front of him.
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