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Updated: May 10, 2025
It was dated August 10th, from the Castle of Zostrov, and it conveyed merely an invitation to visit the writer, and the assurance that the bearer would give me all necessary information. "I can offer you very little in the way of entertainment, unless you happen to be a sportsman, which I think is probable. There is game in abundance, from bear downwards," was the last sentence.
You are only an American who has come to help the prince while away his time of exile by trying to turn the Zostrov moujiks into good farmers. That, in itself, is a form of madness, of course, but doubtless they think it may keep him out of more dangerous mischief." "Who are 'they'? I wish you'd be a bit more explicit," I remonstrated. He did make me angry sometimes.
We rode swiftly, and for the most part in silence, as my companion was even less communicative than usual. I noticed, as we drew near to Zostrov, a change for the better in the aspect of the country and the people.
Within half an hour the bookcase swung back and the Duke entered quickly; his face was sternly exultant, his blue eyes sparkling. "Dine well, my friend, but retire early; make what excuse you like, but be here by ten at the latest. You will manage that well, if you do not attend the reception," he exclaimed. "We ride from Zostrov to-night; perhaps forever!
I exclaimed, startled for the moment out of the inertness that paralyzed my brain. "He was murdered a week after he returned to Zostrov. There was trouble with the moujiks, as I knew there would be. The garrison at the castle was helpless, and there was trouble there also, first about my little bomb that covered our retreat. You knew I planned that, hein?" "No, but I suspected it."
What could I have done to aid? And later, I made my way to a place of safety; and thence, in due time, to Zostrov, where I joined my master. It is one of his estates, and he is banished there, for how long? Who can say? Till those about the Tzar alter their minds, or till he himself sees reason to go elsewhere! It is not much, this banishment, to him at least. It might have been worse.
If I do not, I, too, shall make for the frontier when he no longer has need of me. Where is the good of staying? What should I do here? I would like to see peace yes, but there will be no peace within this generation " "But your father?" I asked, thinking of the stanch old man, who had gone back to his duty at Zostrov. "My father is dead." "Dead!"
"That is not my business," he answered stolidly. "My business is to obey orders, and one of those is to bring you safely to Zostrov." I could not see how my innocent conversation with the fat Jewish housewife could endanger the safety of either of us; but I had already learned that it was quite useless to argue with Mishka; so, adopting Brer Fox's tactics, "I lay low and said nuffin."
I still wore the uniform in which I had left Zostrov; it was in tatters after this frenzied half-hour, but it stood me in good stead once again, and prevented my being shot down. There was Anne, still alive, thank God; she was kneeling beside the woman; and Natalya, also unhurt, stood by her, trying to raise her, and seemingly urging her to seek shelter.
I discerned the same ominous state of things the calm before the storm at Dunaburg and Wilna, but it was not until we had left the railroad and were well on our two days' cross-country ride to Zostrov that I became acquainted with two important ingredients in that "seething pot" of Russian affairs, to use Mishka's apt simile. Those two ingredients were the peasantry and the Jews.
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