Читать книгу The Red Reign. The True Story of an Adventurous Year in Russia онлайн

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“Now the time is not quite ripe,” they said. “Not to-day, but soon. The Duma? There will be no Duma. There cannot be a Duma. The government has not the money, and even if it had it could never be. Russia will be aflame before the Duma meets.”

The student was a very intense fellow. His voice fairly rang with the determination of a man consecrated to a cause.

“My word,” said the officer to me, “these two will be arrested this very hour if the gendarme appears. That student chap cares not whether he dies to-day or to-morrow.”

“Bravo!” I cried, curious for the officer’s reply. Instantly his face sobered.

“Hush, man! Do you forget you are now in Russia?”

I laughed unbelievingly, and the attaché who was sitting next to me and who had been listening said: “Let me tell you a little story. Once I was in a village church when an old woman suddenly made a scene in the gallery. She was carried down-stairs and into the air, where a crowd gathered about her. ‘What is it?’ ‘What is the matter?’ we all asked her. Amid her tears and with shortened breath she said: ‘I was in the gallery. I had no prayer-book, so I asked the sexton to give me one. He went down-stairs and handed one up to me from below.’ ‘Well?’ ‘He stood on the floor and handed me the book—and I was in the gallery.’