“What,” said Koupriane, “do you know Pere Alexis?”
They were in the midst of a curious litter. Clusters of dried herbs hung from the ceiling, and all among them were clumps7 of old boots, shriveled skins, battered8 pans, scrap-iron, sheep-skins, useless touloupes, and on the floor musty old clothes, moth-eaten furs, and sheep-skin coats that even a moujik of the swamps would not have deigned9 to wear. Here and there were old teeth, ragged10 finery, dilapidated hats, and jars of strange herbs ranged upon some rickety shelving. Between the set of scales on the counter and a heap of little blocks of wood used for figuring the accounts of this singular business were ungilded ikons, oxidized silver crosses, and Byzantine pictures representing scenes from the Old and New Testaments11. Jars of alcohol with what seemed to be the skeletons of frogs swimming in them filled what space was left. In a corner of this large, murky12 room, under the vault13 of mossed stone, a small altar stood and the light burned in a hanging glass of oil before the holy images. A man was praying before the altar. He wore the costume of old Russia, the caftan of green cloth, buttoned at the shoulder and tucked in at the waist by a narrow belt. He had a bushy beard and his hair fell to his shoulders. When he had finished his prayer he rose, perceived Rouletabille and came over to take his hand. He spoke French to the reporter:
“Well, here you are again, lad. Do you bring poison again to-day? This will end by being found out, and the police . . . ”
Just then he discerned Koupriane’s form in the shadow, drew close to make out who it was, and fell to his knees as he saw who it was. Rouletabille tried to raise him, but he insisted on prostrating14 himself. He was sure the Prefect of Police had come to his house to hang him. Finally he was reassured15 by Rouletabile’s positive assertions and the great chief’s robust16 laugh. The Prefect wished to know how the young man came to be acquainted with the “alchemist” of the police. Rouletabille told him in a few words.
Maitre Alexis, in his youth, went to France afoot, to study pharmacy17, because of his enthusiasm for chemistry. But he always remained countrified, very much a Russian peasant, a semi-Oriental bear, and did not achieve his degree. He took some certificates, but the examinations were too much for him. For fifty years he lived miserably18 as a pharmacist’s assistant in the back of a disreputable shop in the Notre Dame19 quarter. The proprietor20 of the place was implicated21 in the famous affair of the gold ingots, which started Rouletabille’s reputation, and was arrested along with his assistant, Alexis. It was Rouletabille who proved, clear as day, that poor Alexis was innocent, and that he had never been cognizant of his master’s evil ways, being absorbed in the depths of his laboratory in trying to work out a naive23 alchemy which fascinated him, though the world of chemistry had passed it by centuries ago. At the trial Alexis was acquitted24, but found himself in the street. He shed what tears remained in his body upon the neck of the reporter, assuring him of paradise if he got him back to his own country, because he desired only the one thing more of life, that he might see his birth-land before he died. Rouletabille advanced the necessary means and sent him to St. Petersburg. There he was picked up at the end of two days by the police, in a petty gambling-game, and thrown into prison, where he promptly25 had a chance to show his talents. He cured some of his companions in misery26, and even some of the guards. A guard who had an injured leg, whose healing he had despaired of, was cured by Alexis. Then there was found to be no actual charge against him. They set him free and, moreover, they interested themselves in him. They found meager27 employment for him in the Stchoukine-dvor, an immense popular bazaar28. He accumulated a few roubles and installed himself on his own account at the back of a court in the Aptiekarski-Pereoulok, where he gradually piled up a heap of old odds29 and ends that no one wanted even in the Stchoukine-dvor. But he was happy, because behind his shop he had installed a little laboratory where he continued for his pleasure his experiments in alchemy and his study of plants. He still proposed to write a book that he had already spoken of in France to Rouletabille, to prove the truth of “Empiric Treatment of Medicinal Herbs, the Science of Alchemy, and the Ancient Experiments in Sorcery.” Between times he continued to cure anyone who applied31 to him, and the police in particular. The police guards protected him and used him. He had splendid plasters for them after “the scandal,” as they called the October riots. So when the doctors of the quarter tried to prosecute32 him for illegal practice, a deputation of police-guards went to Koupriane, who took the responsibility and discontinued proceedings33 against him. They regarded him as under protection of the saints, and Alexis soon came to be regarded himself as something of a holy man. He never failed every Christmas and Easter to send his finest images to Rouletabille, wishing him all prosperity and saying that if ever he came to St. Petersburg he should be happy to receive him at Aptiekarski-Pereoulok, where he was established in honest labor22. Pere Alexis, like all the true saints, was a modest man.
When Alexis had recovered a little from his emotion Rouletabille said to him:
“Pere Alexis, I do bring you poison again, but you have nothing to fear, for His Excellency the Chief of Police is with me. Here is what we want you to do. You must tell us what poison these four glasses have held, and what poison is still in this flask and this little phial.”
“What is that little phial?” demanded Koupriane, as he saw Rouletabille pull a small, stoppered bottle out of his pocket.
The reporter replied, “I have put into this bottle the vodka that was poured into Natacha’s glass and mine and that we barely touched.”
“Someone has tried to poison you!” exclaimed Pere Alexis.
“No, not me,” replied Rouletabille, in bored fashion. “Don’t think about that. Simply do what I tell you. Then analyze34 these two napkins, as well.”
And he drew from his coat two soiled napkins.
“Well,” said Koupriane, “you have thought of everything.”
“They are the napkins the general and his wife used.”
“Yes, yes, I understand that,” said the Chief of Police.
“And you, Alexis, do you understand?” asked the reporter. “When can we have the result of your analysis?
“In an hour, at the latest.”
“Very well,” said Koupriane. “Now I need not tell you to hold your tongue. I am going to leave one of my men here. You will write us a note that you will seal, and he will bring it to head-quarters. Sure you understand? In an hour?”
“In an hour, Excellency.”
They went out, and Alexis followed them, bowing to the floor. Koupriane had Rouletabille get into his carriage. The young man did as he was told. One would have said he did not know where he was or what he did. He made no reply to the chief’s questions.
“This Pere Alexander,” resumed Koupriane, “is a character, really quite a figure. And a bit of a schemer, I should say. He has seen how Father John of Cronstadt succeeded, and he says to himself, ‘Since the sailors had their Father John of Cronstadt, why shouldn’t the police-guard have their Father Alexis of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok?’”
But Rouletabille did not reply at all, and Koupriane wound up by demanding what was the matter with him.
“The matter is,” replied Rouletabille, unable longer to conceal35 his anguish36, “that the poison continues.”
“Does that astonish you?” returned Koupriane. “It doesn’t me.”
Rouletabille looked at him and shook his head. His lips trembled as he said, “I know what you think. It is abominable37. But the thing I have done certainly is more abominable still.”
“What have you done, then, Monsieur Rouletabille?”
“Perhaps I have caused the death of an innocent man.”
“So long as you aren’t sure of it, you would better not fret38 about it, my dear friend.”
“It is enough that the doubt has arisen,” said the reporter, “almost to kill me;” and he heaved so gloomy a sigh that the excellent Monsieur Koupriane felt pity for the lad. He tapped him on the knee.
“Come, come, young man, you ought to know one thing by this time —‘you can’t make omelettes without breaking eggs,’ as they say, I think, in Paris.”
Rouletabille turned away from him with horror in his heart. If there should be another, someone besides Michael! If it was another hand than his that appeared to Matrena and him in the mysterious night! If Michael Nikolaievitch had been innocent! Well, he would kill himself, that was all. And those horrible words that he had exchanged with Natacha rose in his memory, singing in his ears as though they would deafen39 him.
“Do you doubt still?” he had asked her, “that Michael tried to poison your father?”
And Natacha had replied, “I wish to believe it! I wish to believe it, for your sake, my poor boy.” And then he recalled her other words, still more frightful40 now! “Couldn’t someone have tried to poison my father and not have come by the window?” He had faced such a hypothesis with assurance then — but now, now that the poison continued, continued within the house, where he believed himself so fully41 aware of all people and things — continued now that Michael Nikolaievitch was dead — ah, where did it come from, this poison? — and what was it? Pere Alexis would hurry his analysis if he had any regard for poor Rouletabille.
For Rouletabille to doubt, and in an affair where already there was one man dead through his agency, was torment42 worse than death.
When they arrived at police-headquarters, Rouletabille jumped from Koupriane’s carriage and without saying a word hailed an empty isvotchick that was passing. He had himself driven back to Pere Alexis. His doubt mastered his will; he could not bear to wait away. Under the arch of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok he saw once more the man Koupriane had placed there with the order to bring him Alexis’s message. The man looked at him in astonishment43. Rouletabille crossed the court and entered the dingy44 old room once more. Pere Alexis was not there, naturally, engaged as he was in his laboratory. But a person whom he did not recognize at first sight attracted the reporter’s attention. In the half-light of the shop a melancholy45 shadow leaned over the ikons on the counter. It was only when he straightened up, with a deep sigh, and a little light, deflected46 and yellow from passing through window-panes that had known no touch of cleaning since they were placed there, fell faintly on the face, that Rouletabille ascertained47 he was face to face with Boris Mourazoff. It was indeed he, the erstwhile brilliant officer whose elegance48 and charm the reporter had admired as he saw him at beautiful Natacha’s feet in the datcha at Eliaguine. Now, no more in uniform, he had thrown over his bowed shoulders a wretched coat, whose sleeves swayed listlessly at his sides, in accord with his mood of languid desperation, a felt hat with the rim30 turned down hid a little the misery in his face in these few days, these not-many hours, how he was changed! But, even as he was, he still concerned Rouletabille. What was he doing there? Was he not going to go away, perhaps? He had picked up an ikon from the counter and carried it over to the window to examine its oxidized silver, giving such close attention to it that the reporter hoped he might reach the door of the laboratory without being noticed. He already had his hand on the knob of that door, which was behind the counter, when he heard his name called.
“It is you, Monsieur Rouletabille,” said the low, sad voice of Boris. “What has brought you here, then?”
“Well, well, Monsieur Boris Mourazoff, unless I’m mistaken? I certainly didn’t expect to find you here in Pere Alexis’s place.”
“Why not, Monsieur Rouletabille? One can find anything here in Pere Alexis’s stock. See; here are two old ikons in wood, carved with sculptures, which came direct from Athos, and can’t be equaled, I assure you, either at Gastini-Dvor nor even at Stchoukine-Dvor.”
“Yes, yes, that is possible,” said Rouletabille, impatiently. “Are you an amateur of such things?” he added, in order to say something.
“Oh, like anybody else. But I was going to tell you, Monsieur Rouletabille, I have resigned my commission. I have resolved to retire from the world; I am going on a long voyage.” (Rouletabille thought: ‘Why not have gone at once?’) “And before going, I have come here to supply myself with some little gifts to send those of my friends I particularly care for, although now, my dear Monsieur Rouletabille, I don’t care much for anything.”
“You look desolate49 enough, monsieur.”
Boris sighed like a child.
“How could it be otherwise?” he said. “I loved and believed myself beloved. But it proved to be — nothing, alas50!”
“Sometimes one only imagines things,” said Rouletabille, keeping his hand on the door.
“Oh, yes,” said the other, growing more and more melancholy. “So a man suffers. He is his own tormentor51; he himself makes the wheel on which, like his own executioner, he binds52 himself.”
“It is not necessary, monsieur; it is not necessary,” counseled the reporter.
“Listen,” implored53 Boris in a voice that showed tears were not far away. “You are still a child, but still you can see things. Do you believe Natacha loves me?”
“I am sure of it, Monsieur Boris; I am sure of it.”
“I am sure of it, too. But I don’t know what to think now. She has let me go, without trying to detain me, without a word of hope.”
“And where are you going like that?”
“I am returning to the Orel country, where I first saw her.”
“That is good, very good, Monsieur Boris. At least there you are sure to see her again. She goes there every year with her parents for a few weeks. It is a detail you haven’t overlooked, doubtless.”
“Certainly I haven’t. I will tell you that that prospect54 decided55 my place of retreat.”
“See!”
“God gives me nothing, but He opens His treasures, and each takes what he can.”
“Yes, yes; and Mademoiselle Natacha, does she know it is to Orel you have decided to retire?”
“I have no reason for concealing56 it from her, Monsieur Rouletabille.”
“So far so good. You needn’t feel so desolate, my dear Monsieur Boris. All is not lost. I will say even that I see a future for you full of hope.”
“Ah, if you are able to say that truthfully, I am happy indeed to have met you. I will never forget this rope you have flung me when all the waters seemed closing over my head. ‘What do you advise, then?”
“I advise you to go to Orel, monsieur, and as quickly as possible.”
“Very well. You must have reasons for saying that. I obey you, monsieur, and go.”
As Boris started towards the entrance-arch, Rouletabille slipped into the laboratory. Old Alexis was bent57 over his retorts. A wretched lamp barely lighted his obscure work. He turned at the noise the reporter made.
“Ah!-you, lad!”
“‘Well?”
“Oh, nothing so quick. Still, I have already analyzed58 the two napkins, you know.”
“Yes? The stains? Tell me, for the love of God!”
“Well, my boy, it is arsenate of soda59 again.”
Rouletabille, stricken to the heart, uttered a low cry and everything seemed to dance around him. Pere Alexis in the midst of all the strange laboratory instruments seemed Satan himself, and he repulsed60 the kindly61 arms stretched forth62 to sustain him; in the gloom, where danced here and there the little blue flames from the crucibles63, lively as flickering64 tongues, he believed he saw Michael Nikolaievitch’s ghost come to cry, “The arsenate of soda continues, and I am dead.” He fell against the door, which swung open, and he rolled as far as the counter, and struck his face against it. The shock, that might well have been fatal, brought him out of his intense nightmare and made him instantly himself again. He rose, jumped over the heap of boots and fol-de-rols, and leaped to the court. There Boris grabbed him by his coat. Rouletabille turned, furious:
“What do you want? You haven’t started for the Orel yet?”
“Monsieur, I am going, but I will be very grateful if you will take these things yourself to — to Natacha.” He showed him, still with despairing mien65, the two ikons from Mount Athos, and Rouletabille took them from him, thrust them in his pocket, and hurried on, crying, “I understand.”
Outside, Rouletabille tried to get hold of himself, to recover his coolness a little. Was it possible that he had made a mortal error? Alas, alas, how could he doubt it now! The arsenate of soda continued. He made, a superhuman effort to ward1 off the horror of that, even momentarily — the death of innocent Michael Nikolaievitch — and to think of nothing except the immediate66 consequences, which must be carefully considered if he wished to avoid some new catastrophe67. Ah, the assassin was not discouraged. And that time, what a piece of work he had tried! What a hecatomb if he had succeeded! The general, Matrena Petrovna, Natacha and Rouletabille himself (who almost regretted, so far as he was concerned, that it had not succeeded)— and Koupriane! Koupriane, who should have been there for luncheon68. What a bag for the Nihilists! That was it, that was it. Rouletabille understood now why they had not hesitated to poison everybody at once: Koupriane was among them.
Michael Nikolaievitch would have been avenged69!
The attempt had failed this time, but what might they not expect now! From the moment he believed Michael Nikolaievitch no longer guilty, as he had imagined, Rouletabille fell into a bottomless abyss.
Where should he go? After a few moments he made the circuit of the Rotunda70, which serves as the market for this quarter and is the finest ornament71 of Aptiekarski-Pereoulok. He made the circuit without knowing it, without stopping for anything, without seeing or understanding anything. As a broken-winded horse makes its way in the treadmill72, so he walked around with the thought that he also was lost in a treadmill that led him nowhere. Rouletabille was no longer Rouletabille.
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1
ward
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| n.守卫，监护，病房，行政区，由监护人或法院保护的人（尤指儿童）；vt.守护，躲开 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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conveyance
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| n.(不动产等的)转让，让与；转让证书；传送；运送；表达；（正）运输工具 | |
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clattered
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| 发出咔哒声（clatter的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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flask
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| n.瓶，火药筒，砂箱 | |
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clumps
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| n.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的名词复数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声v.（树、灌木、植物等的）丛、簇( clump的第三人称单数 )；（土、泥等）团；块；笨重的脚步声 | |
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battered
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| adj.磨损的；v.连续猛击；磨损 | |
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deigned
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| v.屈尊，俯就( deign的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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testaments
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| n.遗嘱( testament的名词复数 )；实际的证明 | |
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murky
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| adj.黑暗的，朦胧的；adv.阴暗地，混浊地；n.阴暗；昏暗 | |
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vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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prostrating
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| v.使俯伏，使拜倒( prostrate的现在分词 )；（指疾病、天气等）使某人无能为力 | |
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reassured
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| adj.使消除疑虑的；使放心的v.再保证，恢复信心( reassure的过去式和过去分词) | |
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robust
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| adj.强壮的，强健的，粗野的，需要体力的，浓的 | |
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pharmacy
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| n.药房，药剂学，制药业，配药业，一批备用药品 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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dame
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| n.女士 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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implicated
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| adj.密切关联的；牵涉其中的 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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naive
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| adj.幼稚的，轻信的；天真的 | |
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acquitted
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| 宣判…无罪( acquit的过去式和过去分词 )； 使（自己）作出某种表现 | |
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promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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meager
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| adj.缺乏的，不足的，瘦的 | |
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bazaar
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| n.集市，商店集中区 | |
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odds
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| n.让步，机率，可能性，比率；胜败优劣之别 | |
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rim
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| n.(圆物的)边，轮缘；边界 | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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prosecute
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| vt.告发；进行；vi.告发，起诉，作检察官 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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analyze
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| vt.分析，解析 (=analyse) | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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36
anguish
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| n.(尤指心灵上的)极度痛苦，烦恼 | |
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abominable
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| adj.可厌的，令人憎恶的 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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deafen
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| vt.震耳欲聋；使听不清楚 | |
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frightful
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| adj.可怕的；讨厌的 | |
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41
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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42
torment
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| n.折磨；令人痛苦的东西(人)；vt.折磨；纠缠 | |
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43
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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dingy
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| adj.昏暗的，肮脏的 | |
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melancholy
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| n.忧郁，愁思；adj.令人感伤（沮丧）的，忧郁的 | |
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deflected
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| 偏离的 | |
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47
ascertained
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| v.弄清，确定，查明( ascertain的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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elegance
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| n.优雅；优美，雅致；精致，巧妙 | |
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49
desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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50
alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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51
tormentor
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| n. 使苦痛之人, 使苦恼之物, 侧幕 =tormenter | |
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52
binds
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| v.约束( bind的第三人称单数 )；装订；捆绑；（用长布条）缠绕 | |
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implored
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| 恳求或乞求（某人）( implore的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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56
concealing
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，遮住( conceal的现在分词 ) | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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58
analyzed
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| v.分析( analyze的过去式和过去分词 )；分解；解释；对…进行心理分析 | |
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59
soda
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| n.苏打水；汽水 | |
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60
repulsed
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| v.击退( repulse的过去式和过去分词 )；驳斥；拒绝 | |
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61
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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63
crucibles
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| n.坩埚，严酷的考验（ crucible的名词复数 ） | |
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64
flickering
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| adj.闪烁的，摇曳的，一闪一闪的 | |
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mien
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| n.风采；态度 | |
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66
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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67
catastrophe
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| n.大灾难，大祸 | |
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68
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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69
avenged
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| v.为…复仇，报…之仇( avenge的过去式和过去分词 )；为…报复 | |
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70
rotunda
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| n.圆形建筑物；圆厅 | |
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71
ornament
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| v.装饰，美化；n.装饰，装饰物 | |
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treadmill
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| n.踏车；单调的工作 | |
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