But Maître le Bastien was inclined to support him, if only to thwart me, and my temper was rising when—happily for all—the dwarf, Maluta, suddenly appeared in the gateway, and, at the sight of me, came pattering in, and ’twas he, as usual, who found a way to cut the knot. In fact, in those five bloody days of the insurrection, it was these little creatures—these playthings of the court—who wrought much good and evil. Homyak, the dwarf, betrayed the czarina’s brother to his death; Komar, the dwarf, saved the son of the Chancellor Matveief and Feodor Naryshkin; and Maluta, the dwarf, was my true friend and ally. Yet they were the veriest waifs of fortune, the most miserable toys of tyrants, the outcasts of society—and its spies. Misery and secret power, degradation and triumph, merriment and despair, these things made up the sum of their short lives, but love and happiness and honour passed them by and left them to perish by the wayside.
XXVI: MALUTA BUYS TWO SOULS
NO sooner was Michaud’s information explained to the dwarf than the latter fell into a reverie, rubbing his chin with his forefinger and puckering up his forehead in that monkey-fashion which never failed him in time of thought, when it always seemed to me that his ears moved also. For my part, I was not inclined to reflections, but to action; if the Princess Daria was in the Kremlin, I would be there too. But there was a difficulty to be surmounted first; my Streltsi captors had relieved me of all the money I had upon my person, and I had only put three roubles and a few kopecks in my pocket when I visited our quarters; it would, therefore, be necessary for me to go there, not only for more money, but for a stock of ammunition, before I attempted to pass the gates of the Kremlin. Meanwhile Maluta had evidently reached a conclusion, and asked me the name of the soldier who knew Michaud, for the dwarf and the apprentice could only communicate by signs, neither understanding the other’s language. I repeated the question to our knave and he shrugged his shoulders sullenly.
“I know not, monsieur,” he replied; “’tis one of their villainous names that make a man sneeze and then forget them.”
This I did not translate, but told Maluta that he did not know the Streltsi’s name.
“Ask him if it is Grotsky?” said the dwarf shrewdly.
Michaud was not sure, but thought it might be. He described the man, however, as tall, black-haired, and with a cast in the left eye. Maluta nodded when this was translated to him; and held out his small, claw-like hand.
“Give me money, O excellency,” he said in his shrill voice, “for ’tis for money that men sell their souls—and for drink, their understanding.”
I put the rouble and the few kopecks that I had left in his hand, but he was by no means satisfied.
“Prebavit!” he cried shrilly, stamping his foot, “prebavit! Can thy servant buy a soul for a rouble or twenty kopecks?”