All cherished the illusion, and were lured by the mirage: from society ladies, fleeing from Petrograd to the south with a single change of linen, to the omniscient Professor Milyukov, who awaited with supercilious smiles the issue of events which he had himself neatly arranged in historical perspective.
Some of the firmest believers in the consoling mirages were to be found in the
"League for the Protection of the Native Land and Freedom," established in the early spring of 1918 by Boris Savinkov, after the suicide of the elected Ataman Kaledin and the withdrawal of Kornilov's army from Rostov.
The League was a kind of secret organization of the Volunteer Army.
At its head was the elusive and skilfully disguised Savinkov, roaming Moscow with a dyed moustache, wearing an English shooting jacket, tan gaiters and a khaki-coloured coat.
The League was organized on military lines: staff, divisions, brigades, regiments, counterintelligence and various service units.
Staff work was entrusted to Colonel Perkhurov.
Recruiting for membership of the League was carried on with the strictest secrecy.
Each member could know only four others, so that in case of mishap only five at a time could be arrested, and clues would lead no further.
The address of its headquarters and the names of the leaders were kept a profound secret.
Anyone wishing to become a member would be visited in his home by a regimental or divisional commander, who interrogated him, gave him a sum of money, and entered his address in code on a card.
These cards, bearing circles signifying the number of members and their addresses, reached headquarters weekly.
Inspection of forces was carried on in the boulevards, members of organizations arriving either with their coats buttoned in a special manner, or with a ribbon on a prearranged place.
Intelligence officers were given a triangle cut from a visiting card, with two letters on them standing for their password, and the town they came from.
On presentation, the triangle was fitted into the card from which it had been cut.
The League had quite a considerable intelligence net at its disposal.
At the secret conference held in April it was resolved to stop- sabotaging and work at the Soviet offices.
In this way the members of the League wormed themselves into the very heart of the apparatus of State.
Some of them got into the Moscow militia.
They even had their own agent in the Kremlin.
They wormed themselves into the higher military bodies,' and even into the Supreme Military Council.
The Kremlin seemed to be firmly enmeshed in their web.
At that time the seizure of Moscow by Field Marshal Eichhorn's troops seemed inevitable.
And though there were' strong pro-German elements in the League, who believed in nothing but the might of German bayonets, the general tendency was on the side of the Allies.
The very day of the entry of the Germans into Moscow was appointed—the fifteenth of June.
It was therefore resolved to give up the idea of seizing, the Kremlin and Moscow, and lead the military units of the League to Kazan, blowing up bridges and reservoirs round Moscow on the way, raising rebellions in Nizhni, Kostroma, Rybinsk and Murom, joining forces with the Czechs, and forming an eastern front, to derive its supplies from the Urals and the rich Volga districts.
Dasha believed every word Kulichok told her: the Russian patriots, or, as he called them, the Knights of the Spirit, were fighting that there might be no more insolent Finns selling potatoes, that the streets of Petersburg might be brightly lit up, and thronged with gay, well-dressed people, that, in a moment of depression, one could simply put on a hat with a feather in it, and go off to Paris... that there should be no more "hoppers" in the Summer Park, that the autumn wind should no longer moan over the grave of Dasha's son.
All this Kulichok promised her over a cup of tea.
He was as hungry as a wolf and ate up half her stock of tinned food; he even ate raw flour with salt.
Then he disappeared unnoticeably in the dusk, taking the key of the door with him....
Dasha went to bed.
Drawing the curtain over the window, she lay down and, as often happens in the exhausting hours of sleeplessness, thoughts, images, reminiscences, sudden guesses, burning remorse, jostled one another in wild pursuit.... Dasha tossed and turned, slipped her hands under the pillow, lay now on her back, now on her stomach.... The blanket seemed to sear her flesh, the springs of the sofa forced themselves into her side, the sheets kept slipping off....
It was a bad night—as long as life itself.
The dark spot in Dasha's brain came to life again, sending poisonous shoots into its inmost convolutions.
But why these conscience pangs, this terrible feeling of guilt?
If one could only understand!
And much later, when daylight began to show blue through the curtains, Dasha, weary from turning in a fantastic maze of thought, grew weak and, quieting down, subjected herself with the utmost honesty and simplicity to a searching analysis—everything was wrong in her, she knew that.
Raising herself in bed, she twisted her hair into a knot, dropped her thin hands on to her knees, and gave herself up to thought.... She bade good riddance to the solitary, the dreamer, the cold woman who loved no one.... It was well that she had been frightened by the "hoppers" in the Summer Park—it was not enough—she should have been given a still worse fright. And now for flight.... Now, seized by the wind, fly my soul, where you are sent, do what you are told.... You have no more will of your own.... You are one of a million million.... What peace, what liberation!
Kulichok was away two whole days.
In his absence several men called, all of them tall, in worn jackets, somewhat embarrassed, but extremely well-bred.
Bending down to the keyhole, they would utter the password, and Dasha let them in.
On being told that
"Ivan Svishchev" was not in, they seemed in no hurry to go. One of them suddenly embarked upon a narration of his domestic misfortunes, another, asking permission to smoke, produced a monogrammed case filled with execrable Soviet cigarettes, and swore foully at the deputies of the "soldiery and rabble," trilling his r's in the French manner.
Yet another opened his heart to her, telling her of the motor launch in readiness for him at Krestovsky Island, just in front of the Beloselsky-Belozersky Palace, of the valuables he had managed to extricate from the safe... and then his children had caught the whooping cough... infernal luck!
They all seemed to be glad of the opportunity to chat with the charming thin young woman with the great eyes.
On leaving they kissed her hand.
Only one thing astonished Dasha—these were surely extremely naive conspirators, they were just like the characters in some silly play.... All of them inquired in cautiously-worded phrases, whether "Ivan Svishchev" had not brought money for current expenses.
They were all confident that "the idiotic Bolshevik game" would very soon be played out.
"After all, it won't cost the Germans much effort to take Petrograd."
At last Kulichok reappeared, once again famished, dirty and extremely preoccupied.