An authorized translation by Herman Bernstein.
s he who had so much power, that his body was but an ordinary plain human body that must have perished terribly in the flame and roar of a monstrous explosion. Without dressing himself and not feeling the cold, he sat down in the first armchair he found, stroking his disheveled beard, and fixed his eyes in deep, calm thoughtfulness upon the unfamiliar plaster figures of the ceiling.
So that was the trouble! That was why he had trembled in fear and had become so agitated! That was why Death seemed to stand in the corner and would not go away, could not go away!
"Fools!" he said emphatically, with contempt.
"Fools!" he repeated more loudly, and turned his head slightly toward the door that those to whom he was referring might hear it. He was referring to those whom he had praised hut a moment before, who in the excess of their zeal had told him of the plot against his life.
"Of course," he thought deeply, an easy, convincing idea arising in his mind. "Now that they have told me, I kn
A wry, mediocre story full of pathos, on the 'plight' of those innocent revolutionaries who in real life eventually destroyed Russia and half of Europe. Hanging was too good for them! If only the Tsar of those times was as tough on them as he should have been, the world would still be normal.