ritish were stockpiling so much militarv
material when their war was over. Kemal Pasha was continuing his successful
campaign against the Greeks but the English had remained neutral in that
conflict.
About a month after I arrived, we were ordered to unload cases of heavy
artillery shells. Four men could hardly lift the cases. Since I spoke
English, my comrades designated me to inform the sergeant that we could not
and would not. The cases were unwieldy and if one fell, we would be blown to
bits. The sergeant was well aware of this and kept his distance. I
approached him, but instead of listening to our complaint, he started to
curse at me as only an English sergeant can. "You have no right to insult
me," I said. "I am not a prisoner or a slave."
He went wild, and dragged me by the arm to the major in charge. I took
off my cap. The major put his on. He sentenced me to a hundred and
sixty-eight hours (why a hundred and sixty-eight hours instead of a week?)
in prison for disobedience. I was not permitted to utter one word. They
locked me in a barbed wire enclosure with two tents where there were three
other Russians, who were being punished for refusing to eat corned beef
every day.
It was the first time I had ever been locked up. At the crack of dawn
we were rousted out with yelling and swearing. All day, with only a short
break for lunch, we were made to run on the double to the beach, fill a
fifty-kilo bag with sand, run back to the prison with it, and empty it onto
a pile. When the pile was large enough, we took the sand back bag by bag to
where we'd gotten it. When we slowed down, the English soldiers threatened
us with long clubs.
One night after it had rained for twenty-four hours the tents were
flooded up to our knees. We complained to the guards but all they would
allow us to do was fill some sacks with sand and pile them up so we could
squat on them. We were trembling with the cold, our teeth chattering so that
we could barely talk.
The next day I told my companion, a sublieutenant, that I had decided
to break out and that he was welcome to come with me. He agreed. I had
noticed that by lifting the barbed wire where we gathered the sand you could
dig a ditch deep enough to slip under. The next night the rain stopped but
there came a very strong wind, almost of hurricane force. Our tents were
almost blown away but fortunately it was a dark, starless night. We waited
until very late and then slipped out of the tent. We filled some sacks with
damp sand and slipped them one by one under the wire. This opened up a
narrow passageway. It took a long time and we were very nervous. The guards,
who slept in a small wooden barracks at the far end of the compound, could
emerge at any moment and they would almost certainly shoot us. Our hands
were bleeding from the barbed wire. My companion was smaller than I and
slipped out easily. I had some trouble but I finally managed to squeeze
through.
We took the road that ran along the strait to Gallipoli. Late in the
morning, when were some distance from the camp, my companion suddenly
shouted, "Watch out. They're after us." Sure enough, there were two British
soldiers on bicycles with dogs about a kilometer away and moving toward us.
There was nowhere to retreat to. On the right was the water, and on the
left a steep rise covered with thick underbrush. Ahead about three hundred
yards away there was a small bay, where four men were unloading stone blocks
onto the bank. Without stopping to think, we 'dashed toward them. They were
Turks. I explained that the English were after us because we didn't want to
work for them and as soon as they heard the magic word ourousse they said,
"Jump into the felucca."
When the English soldiers got there five minutes later, we were one
hundred yards from the shore. The dogs were barking angrily at having lost
their trail and the English soldiers concluded that we must be underwater.
They waited around for an hour or two before returning to base. In the
evening, the Turks reentered the cove. It was too late to work so they
dropped anchor about fifty meters from shore and invited us to spend the
night. We accepted gratefully. They gave us tincture of iodine for our hands
and a meal of grilled fish and sour milk. Our hosts began to sing and again,
over and over, we heard the name Kemal Pasha. The night passed uneventfully
and early the next morning, we thanked our rescuers and pressed on to
Gallipoli.
The appearance of the city, which was empty and abandoned, was
sinister. It was bizarre to see a good-sized city inhabited by nothing but
wild cats, who would run when we approached, and by pigs darting in every
direction. Finally we found a few French soldiers who were
^
guarding the lighthouse, and four Russians -- the sole survivors of
General Koutiepov's army, which had been evacuated into Bulgaria and
Yugoslavia. A single trace of their encampment remained -- a pyramid of
stones. Every soldier and officer had brought one stone to build it, the
inscription read. This moving monument was all that testified to the fate of
an "army of chevaliers," as one French writer called it.
The Russians told us that the Greek population had abandoned the city,
when Kemal Pasha's army reached the opposite shore of the Sea of Marmara. It
was better to be a refugee in Greece than face the Turkish soldiers, who did
not treat Greeks gently.
When I got back to Constantinople, I faced the same problems as before:
I was a penniless refugee in a city where there was no work to be found.
There was a three-or four-month waiting list to emigrate to America and even
then I would have had to have at least twenty-five Turkish pounds, which I
had no way of getting.
Once again, a solution presented itself -- to enlist in the Foreign
Legion. My companion and I went to the recruitment office and were
interviewed by a French officer. "Formal swearing in," he informed us "will
take place at Fort Saint-Jean in Marseilles. In the meantime, you will be
lodged and fed at the post here."
He gave us a note for the commanding officer. The post was a formidable
building surrounded by high walls that looked more like a prison than an
army camp. We arrived at mealtime, and for the first time in three days ate
all we wanted. It wasn't very good, but as the saying goes, we didn't look a
gift horse in the mouth. However, we realized immediately that we were
trapped. Once inside there was no getting out. The next day, a transport
ship arrived from Marseilles. Some legionnaires who were being demobilized
for illness or wounds stopped at the post on their way back home. There were
Serbs, Bulgarians, and Rumanians. Needless to say, we asked them about life
in the legion.
Their response was unanimous: "The legion is living hell. You work on
the roads twelve hours a day in the broiling sun. At night, as often as not,
you have to fight , since Morocco is in open revolt. The discipline is cruel
and punishment is brutal. The only relief, when you get your lousy pay, is
to get drunk enough to forget."
All we could think of was to escape. In two days the transport would
leave for Marseilles and formal enlistment, which would mean five years of
hell. But we didn't know how escape would be possible. We had noticed that
certain trusties went out in the evening, and there were also some civilian
employees, mostly Greeks, who left for the night. They had to show their
exit permits to a noncommissioned officer. On alternate days, the officer in
charge was a Sengalese who did not even read the papers, just waved the men
on. My comrade and I did have Russian military identity papers. We waited
for the Sengalese noncom to come on duty and got in line. We flashed our
papers at him and he let us pass. Once outside, we ran as fast as we could.
The next day I remembered that the owner of the Russian newspaper in
Constantinople, a man named Maxi-mov, had known my father. I went to ask him
for work. By chance, the man who had distributed the papers to the retail
dealers had just left for America, so I inherited his menial job. It paid
just enough to feed me and allow me to feed my blood to the bedbugs that
infested the quarters reserved for Russian refugees. I couldn't go on like
this. I had to find a way to get out.
One day I read in one of the newspapers I distributed that a ship
headed for Marseilles with a French regiment would also take Russian
refugees who had French visas. I was off that day, so I went up to the
Galata port. Maybe I would have a chance to say good-bye to someone I knew.
And I did meet a lieutenant I had known. He had studied at the conservatory
and now led a Russian orchestra and had a three-month engagement in a
nightclub in* Nice. Out of the blue, he said: "Do you want to go to France?"
"Of course. What a question! But how? I have no money and no visa."
"But it's very simple, my friend. Get your bags, get on board, and I'll
tell the boarding officer that your name is on the group passport."
I ran home, grabbed my two bags, ran back and up the long gangplank
right into the arms of the boarding officer "Passport?" he asked. From below
the orchestra leader yelled up, "He's with us. His name is on the group pass
port.
After a bit he came on board and hid me with their baggage. I waited
there for six or seven hours, scared to death. Then I heard the most
beautiful sound imaginable, the ship's whistle; we were under way.
Eventually, my friend came to rescue me. "You can come out now. Even if they
find you out, there's nothing they can do. You're on your way to
Marseilles."
The crossing took five days. The French soldiers fed me from their
rations.
10. France in the Twenties
so, FOR THE FOURTH TIME, I was fleeing, leaving behind what little I
possessed. What would become of me in Marseilles? The thought tormented me.
But when we arrived, it turned out that there were about twenty of my
compatriots on board in the same fix I was in, with no passport or visas.
"These damned Russians," the commissioner of the port police said with a
tolerant smile, "they keep arriving from all sides." They let us in and
ordered us to go to the Russian consulate to get proper papers and then to
report to the local employment office.
It was September 24, 1923. Everything was odd in this land of my dreams
that I now saw for the first time . . . both strange and enchanting. After
four years of nightmare, the French were living life to the hilt. There was
a lot of construction and workers were needed everywhere. Things were cheap
and one could actually live on one's salary. In their effort to forget
hardship and bereavement, the French were living as if there were no
tormorrow.
All of us were offered work in the Departement of the Aisne in a metal
factory near Soissons, not far from Laon. We were issued tickets for the
train and set out, hungry and somewhat bewildered. None of us had a penny in
his pocket and we were happy Just to get where we were going. Our good humor
was short-lived. We disembarked, not even at a station, but at a makeshift
wooden barrack. The surroundings looked like a picture of the moon --
completely barren, not a tree, nothing but trenches and excavations. We
asked a railroad clerk where the metal factory was. He gazed back at us with
an ironic expression. "The factory? Well, you see the road that goes up the
hill over there? When you reach the top, you will see your factory." He
smiled. In spite of our hunger, we formed a small military detachment and
marched off, singing. We got to the top of the hill. There was no factory.
There were about twenty barracks and long rows of something we could not
make out. (They turned out to be piles of shells and shrapnel.) A youngster
came along on a bicycle and I asked where the factory was. "What factory?"
he asked. I showed him the paper that had been given us in Marseilles with
the name of the factory. "There is no factory here. Look at your papers. You
see, it's in Alsace. All we do here is to gather the shells from the fields,
defuse them, and send them to the factory."
We had been tricked once again. Now we were under contract for a year
and we had been lied to about the nature of the work, and not told anything
of the dangers involved. We agreed that we could not accept it and that we
would announce our decision as soon as we arrived at the barracks. As we
drew closer, we could see that one of the barracks flew the banner of the
Red Cross. I asked to speak to whoever was in charge, and a man came out
immediately to greet us. When we told him our decision, he blew up. "How
dare you? Do you think I'm an idiot? You signed for a year's work, your trip
was paid for, and now you refuse to work. You are asking to be put in jail.
I'll telephone the police to come and arrest you."
"You are the one who should be under arrest, monsieur," I replied.
"Look at my papers. It says in black and white that we are supposed to work
in a metal factory. Where is the factory? We've been lied to and we're not
such idiots that we're going to get killed for a few francs. There is a Red
Cross barrack full of injured men. We're the ones who are going to
complain."
He changed his tune. "Listen, the work really isn't dangerous and I'll
raise your salary if that's the problem." We laughed at him and went off to
find the mayor.
"This is not the first time," he told us, "that these people have
deceived their workers. You are absolutely correct to refuse. My advice to
you is to go to Laon and apply for work at the labor office."
We had eaten nothing for two days and I felt as if my legs were about
to cave in. I had made friends with a lieutenant about my age and we had
decided to hang in together. The others had left before us, so by the time
we arrived at the employment office, they had already been hired by a
threshing factory. The only jobs left were on a farm in the village of
Chalandry -- it was called the Chateau-Chalandry and was about seven miles
away. We must have looked pretty sour at the prospect of such a long walk
because the office manager finally asked us when we had last eaten. When he
heard, he gave us some bread and butter.
We walked to the farm by fields of sugar beets. We ate one of them and
felt a little better. I remember that we arrived at the farm at suppertime.
We had expected something grand because it was called a "chateau," but it
was only a mediocre farm with a silly-looking tower, from which it must have
gotten its name.
The farmhouse was in the middle of a large courtyard surrounded by
barns. We saw an old man, one of the owners. He ran the farm with his
brother-in-law. "Do you know how to do farm work?" he asked. My companion
did not speak French so I answered for both: "Yes, sir. We know all about
farms. We used to be farm workers." He looked at us skeptically. "I don't
really believe you were farmers, but we'll see about that." He looked over
our papers and then invited us into the kitchen for something to eat. "If
you work as well as you eat," he said, "I have made a good bargain."
After supper, he took us over to a ladder. "Climb up there," he told
us. "There are blankets and someone will wake you in the morning."
I was so exhausted that when someone waked me up I felt as if I had
slept for only an hour. After a measly breakfast, we went out to pick beets.
We had arrived at the hardest work season of the year. We used huge
pitchforks to load the beets onto horse-drawn wagons. The beets were deep in
the earth and it took tremendous effort to pry them loose. We were weak from
malnutrition, and by noon of the first day our hands were bleeding. My
friend was in better shape than I was, and not nearly so done in. "You do
what you like," I told him as we walked back to the farmhouse for lunch,
"but I can't manage. Look at my hands."
"I'm still okay," he said, "but if you have to quit, I'm going too."
Just then the other owner came over to me. "From now on you'll be in
charge of the cows. You'll be told what to do." I accepted this new
assignment gladly, and slept contentedly in the barn with my cows for the
next eight months.
I took care of the cows and the whole dairy as well. Usually, I had to
get the hay ready and load it. I was badly exploited, working twelve hours a
day for a few dollars a month and lousy food. The older brother was at least
agreeable, but the younger one was plain mean, stu-. pid and brutal. I used
to fantasize about punching him in the nose, but I never did it. I had to
earn enough money to get away and find something better.
I don't really regret those eight months. Working on the land is
healthy and satisfying and I had never worked with my hands before. I got
back some measure of physical strength and even acquired a bit of patience.
When I had saved about two hundred and fifty dollars I left. My
companion had already quit. I went to the Employment Office in Laon and
found a better-paying and safer job in Resigny as a wagon driver at one of
the processing plants of a huge dairy company. Each morning I drove a wagon
all around the neighborhood, collecting about two thousand gallons of milk.
I got back to the plant about noon. The milk was processed, and in the
afternoon it was loaded onto trucks in cans and early the next morning sold
in Paris. It was pleasant work, especially in the summer. The Ardennes
forest reminded me a little of my native Caucasus. I planned to stay long
enough to save five hundred dollars and then try my luck in Paris.
I used to subscribe to a Paris newspaper to keep up with what was going
on in the rest of the world. And since I was absorbed by the affairs of the
Russian emigres, I also took the two most important Russian-language papers
that were published in Paris. Rut all this time I was thinking more and more
seriously about "my" treasure . . . the treasure of the White Army.
It was crucial for me to understand the interconnections between the
various groups of emigres to figure out whom I could eventually go to for
help to recover at least part of the treasure. I had already made one firm
decision:
I would not offer the treasure, or any part of it, to the exiled
Russian military organizations. These organizations had sprung up
everywhere, under the leadership of General Wrangel. Later, after his death
in 1928, General Koutiepov assumed the role of leader. Rut the Civil War was
over. We were defeated and in exile. All we could do now was to adjust to
our new circumstances and understand that there was no possibility of
overthrowing the Soviet regime from abroad. General Koutiepov and all the
exiled class of officers dreamed of nothing else; I shared their passions,
needless to say, but I had come to terms with reality. Many Russians,
blinded by their hatred of Rolshevism, could not understand that aggressive
action against the communist government from abroad would only reinforce the
regime. The White organizations were riddled with provocateurs and double
agents; even General Skoblin, who had commanded one of the most brilliant of
the White regiments, had betrayed us. General Koutiepov and his successor,
General Miller, were both kidnapped, to the consternation of the French
press. What kind of organizations were these, whose leaders could be
kidnapped in broad daylight in the middle of Paris? I was not going to share
a single kopek with any of them. I would go after a part of the treasure and
try to recover enough to finance a full-scale expedition. Then I would share
it with the Russian schools, our disabled veterans and the Russian churches.
In the meantime, there I was at Resigny and the drudgery at the dairy
plant. The manager was a bastard. He paid us eighty dollars a month, though
we got enough to eat and a decent place to sleep. Rut I noticed that he
preferred non-French-speaking employees and I soon discovered why. He was
cheating us. Each month as we received our pay, we signed for it on a list.
I noticed that he kept his finger over the place next to each name. Finally,
one day, I had had enough, and I pushed his hand out of my way. He was
cheating each of us' out of one hundred francs. Eleven of us at one hundred
francs apiece each month . . . not bad! I went to the manager and told him,
"Monsieur, either you pay us what you owe us, or I'm going to write to your
superiors in Paris."
The next day, he called me into his office. "Okay, I'll pay you but not
the Polaks."
"No, either you pay everybody or I'm going to report you."
I realized, of course, that after this I could not stay on under any
circumstances. Finally, he gave me my missing back pay for seven months. The
Polish workers were afraid of losing their jobs so they settled for the one
hundred francs that had been "omitted" from their last wages. I said
good-bye and went on my way.
I knew that a former Russian soldier was the manager of a plant about
twelve miles from Laon that rented farm equipment out to the local farmers.
I got a job as a tractor driver and worked at harvesting the wheat near
Vervins. It was summer and the life was so pleasant that I didn't give a
thought to the treasure. When the harvesting was finished, I worked at
plowing with the same machine.
By now I had saved what I had planned on, but I decided to accumulate a
bit more. I didn't know Paris, and I was both attracted and intimidated. How
would I manage in that vast city with no friends or acquaintances? So when
the plowing was finished, I took a job in a nearby sugar-processing plant.
Toward the end of November, as I was going about my work one day, I saw two
foremen and two policemen approaching.
"Are you Sergei Orel? Do you have an identity card?" I gave him my
card. "Okay, get your belongings and come along."
"But why?"
"We have a warrant from Laon for your arrest. You are accused of
stealing." I was terrified.
"But there must be some mistake. I've stolen nothing."
"You can tell that to the judge. We are only carrying out our
instructions."
The gendarmes were riding bicycles, so I had to trot along between
them. They didn't handcuff me; they were quite decent to me, in fact.
It was a Saturday, so I had to spend two days in the police station
before I could be transferred to the Laon jail. The jail was in an ancient
monastery, with thick walls and long corridors. I was outraged at being held
as a suspect without trial, much less a sentence. According to the law, work
in prison is optional, but I was put to work as soon as I arrived. The
building was freezing cold-it hadn't been heated in centuries -- and was
almost unbearable once the sun had gone down. We were made to get into our
nightclothes and march double time over the cold stone floors to our
dormitory. Once we were inside, the doors were locked and nothing could move
the guards to open them. After several days, I was at last called before the
judge for a preliminary hearing. Before he said a word, I demanded to know
why I was being held.
He replied, "I have issued a warrant against you on a complaint that
you robbed a worker at the Maggi Dairy at Resigny."
The theft had supposedly occurred on a Sunday, over a month before; a
suitcase belonging to one of the workers had disappeared. I asked how I came
to be accused and the Judge informed me that the manager had suggested that
I was the guilty party.
I explained to the judge why the manager might wish to get even with
me, and that at the time of the theft I had been forty miles away from the
scene. To be absolutely sure of my alibi, I asked for a day so that I could
figure out exactly where I had been that Sunday. I sat up all night doping
it out, and by morning I had it all fitted together. At the time of the
alleged crime, I had been playing billiards with Cassart, a former military
policeman. I reported back to the judge and he promised to call Cassart.
Cassart backed me up, and twenty days after I had been arrested, the judge
let me go.
I was released just before Christmas. After that experience, with more
than twenty-five hundred francs in my pocket, life looked rosy. I took the
train for Paris and settled into a hotel near the Gare du Nord. I was
fascinated by Paris. For the first three days I hardly slept. I wanted to
see everything.
Then it was time to think about finding work and lodgings. I had the
address of a Russian who had worked at the Resigny dairy and was now working
at Joinville-le-Pont and lived on the Quai de la Marne. I moved into a small
hotel near him. I still had twenty-two hundred francs left after my Parisian
"extravagances." Instead of looking for a job right away, I decided to get a
driver's license. That way I would have a skill to sell instead of having to
apply as an unskilled worker.
In a month I had obtained my license both for pleasure driving and for
trucks and I found a job as a truck driver at a mill near Troyes. The pay
was good, although the work was hard. I had to load and unload hundred-pound
sacks of flour. I intended to keep the job for only a few months, as all I
needed was enough money to work out a scheme to get at the treasure. I would
spend everything I had, my money and my strength, to get my hands on that
treasure. I had had enough deprivation.
When I got back to Paris, I had almost five thousand francs, a good
suit and overcoat. I was quite presentable. Again I settled in
Joinville-le-Pont, which was then a charming little town. Since automobiles
were rare in those days, most Parisians spent Sundays and holidays in the
towns around Paris, especially Nogent-sur-Marne and ! Joinville,
where there were plenty of nice restaurants and [ taverns. I moved into a
little hotel and the man who a owned it became a good friend. He
only charged me sixteen francs a day for a very nice room and full board,
including wine.
I began to look up people I had known in Russia who were now living in
Paris, preferably civilians or acquaintances of my family. That took some
time, as there were an enormous number of Russians spread all over Paris. I
finally met the former district attorney of St. Petersburg, who had known
both my father and grandfather. He was almost fifty years older than I but
he seemed to enjoy my company. We met regularly to have dinner and to
gossip.
I began to realize that my friend knew many important Parisians. I
decided to tell him about the treasure after swearing him to reveal not a
word about it to anyone, even if he decided not to help me.
"I believe I can help you, though," he told me. "But, before
introducing you to the person I have in mind, I want you to understand that
he is a very important man and won't get mixed up in anything that could
hurt his reputation. But I have known him for a long time and he is very
pro-Russian, and I think he will help."
After I had given it some thought, I told him: "I don't think it is
necessary to tell him where the treasure came from. It would be wiser to
tell him that it had belonged to my family."
I saw him a few days later. "Everything is okay," he told me. "The
person I was telling you about is the Marquis de Navailles, chief of the
European department of the French Foreign Ministry. He will receive you in a
few days. If he agrees to help, under no circumstances offer him any reward.
He would kick you out."
A few days later I was ushered into the office of M. de Navailles. He
was a big man, with a ruddy complexion and exquisite manners, an
eighteenth-century aristocrat. I told him my tale. He agreed to help me "on
condition that your story is true." I assured him that no embarrassment
would come to him. He gave me a personal letter to the French ambassador at
Sofia, asking him to accept a package from me and to forward it to him. He
also gave me a letter to the police requesting a French passport for me.
That very day I received my passport and a visa for Bulgaria. The only
problem that remained was money, and somehow the former prosecutor found
another five thousand francs for me. I was on my way to the treasure.
11. The Treasure Stays Where It Was
i TOOK THE ORIENT EXPRESS for Bulgaria in January 1927. The winter had
been severe in France, and I was hoping it would be warmer in southern
Europe. But it was even colder there.
Hoping the weather would warm up, I delayed a few days in Sofia. But it
did not change and I had to keep moving to avoid arousing the suspicions of
the Bulgarian police, who took careful note of the arrival of every
foreigner. I couldn't stay in my hotel just doing nothing. So I told the
desk clerk, who was undoubtedly a police agent, that I had to go to Plovdiv,
the second most important city in the country, to look into the tobacco
market there. Plovdiv is on the railroad line to Burgas. I spent a day
purchasing my digging tools and work clothes and then continued on to
Burgas. I could definitely not spend more than twenty-four hours in Burgas
without arousing suspicion. Why would a foreigner come to such a small city,
where there was nothing to do, in the dead of winter?
I arrived in Burgas in the morning and spent almost the whole day
looking for a place to change my clothes. That night I went to the public
park near the beach, which was deserted at that hour. In an icy wind, I
changed into my work clothes, hopping up and down to keep from freezing. I
checked my street clothes at the railroad station, drank some hot coffee,
then set off to the first hiding place. It was growing colder and colder. In
spite of my warm clothing, I was trembling like a leaf. A strong wind bit my
face and slowed me down. I didn't reach even the nearest cache until nearly
midnight, and then it took me a half hour to locate it with a flashlight.
Everything was in order; no one had discovered our secret. I tested the
ground. It was frozen hard as a rock. I tried to dig, not at the actual
site, so as not to betray it, but a little distance away. Useless. It would
take dynamite to break the ground. I was furious that all my effort, my long
trip, had been in vain. I would return to Paris empty-handed.
In the morning, half-frozen, I returned to Burgas and took the train to
Sofia. Before returning to my hotel, I went to the public baths to change my
clothes. The frigid weather continued; there was no way of knowing when it
would end and I couldn't stay where I was. I returned to Paris.
My friend, the former prosecutor, was disappointed with me. I gave him
my passport and M. de Navailles' letter and asked him to explain to
Navailles why I had failed. I was worried about the money he had loaned me.
I did not know whether he had borrowed it from someone else. One night, as I
tossed and turned in bed trying to find a solution, I decided to go see my
former commander, General Postovsky, who was a great gambler. The next day I
went around and asked him to take me to his gambling club that evening. I
needed to make some profit on my last thousand francs.
"You've come at a bad time," he said. "I've had a losing streak for a
week and I've lost more than fifty thousand francs. All I have left is three
thousand. But if you wish, come along. I'll try, but I make no promises."
I gave him my wallet and he played baccarat for both of us. By 2 A.M.
he had won seventy thousand francs for himself and more than twenty thousand
for me. I practically had to drag him away from the table.
I returned the money I had borrowed and went to Join-ville to rest. I
regretted that I had been so precipitate. I should have waited for spring to
go to Bulgaria. The next expedition time I would plan more carefully. And I
would need a companion.
After a few days of relaxation, I decided to get started doing
something. I knew that Lieutenant General Rafalo-vitch, who was a former
commander of the Cossack cavalry and a good friend of my family, was living
in Brussels, He was a man of absolute integrity and loyalty. I went to see
him. He was very glad to see me but I did not tell him about the treasure
right away. I waited for about a month and then I told him the whole story.
He listened to me carefully.
"I have been expecting you to speak to me about this business. I've
heard some rumors about a war treasure taken out of Russia by General
Pokrovsky. They say that you know where it is. Some people even claim that
it has been in your possession since Pokrovsky's death. I am glad that you
have told me the true story. You must realize that you are in a very
delicate and dangerous position. If either the Reds or Whites ever become
convinced that you know where the treasure is, your life will be in danger.
They will kidnap you, torture you to obtain the secret, and then they will
kill you."
"I've thought of all that," I replied. "But that still wouldn't give
them any chance at all of finding the treasure. Even if I gave someone a
detailed description of the general location, they still couldn't find the
exact spot without digging up the entire area, about twelve square miles.
Once I was dead, no one could find it."
"All right," he said, "I'm convinced. But what are you going to do?" I
explained in detail my plan to recover the treasure and what I intended to
do with it afterward. He asked for a few days to think it over.
When I returned, he said, "I have concluded that you are right. I agree
that it would not be wise to talk to the Russian authorities in Paris. In
the first place, they couldn't do anything without your help. And once they
got their hands on it, it would disappear. Like you, I am against any
attempt to attack the Bolsheviks from abroad. Furthermore, I believe you
have demonstrated a right to the treasure. Keep me advised. I will try to
help. But you must be careful; you will be in bad trouble if word gets
around."
It was the spring of 1927 and it was to be two years before I found
just the right man. During those two years in Brussels I became
administrative director of the famous Russian chorus, the Cossacks of Kuban.
One day in Brussels I saw a man on the street dressed in the costume of the
Kuban Cossacks. I could not believe my eyes -- for as he came closer, I
recognized George Vinnikov, a great old pal who had been in my regiment. We
went into a cafe and he told me his story. Because he had had musical
training, in Yugoslavia the ataman of the Kuban Cossacks, General Naoumenko,
had commissioned him to form a Cossack choir. For several years the choir
had remained in Yugoslavia but eventually it began to receive invitations to
perform abroad. They were in Brussels to give three concerts. Naturally, I
attended the opening night. The next day at lunch, Vinnikov remarked: "It
would be so much more convenient if we had someone who knew this part of
Europe and could speak the languages. I know only a bit of French and the
rest speak nothing but Russian. We always have to find a translator." Then
out of the blue, he said: "We need someone exactly like you. How about being
our director?" I was taken by surprise and told him that I didn't know
anything about that sort of business. "And," I said, "right now I don't have
the kind of money to do a lot of traveling, and that would be necessary,
wouldn't it?"
"Yes," he replied, "you would have to be our advance man, make all the
arrangements, sign contracts, and so forth. But, naturally, you would be
paid the same salary as I, and your expenses would be taken care of." I
explained my difficulties with the police. "Listen, Nicholas," he replied,
"I have known you for a long time and I know that you are incapable of
dishonesty. We would be honored to have you." I agreed on condition that
General Naoumenko give his approval, and I wrote him explaining my
situation. Two weeks later I received a letter from the general confirming
my appointment. I contacted all the great impresarios of Europe and arranged
manv appearances. The choir was a great success everywhere.
In 1929, a construction engineer of Russian descent, a man named Arian,
introduced me to a Belgian diplomat, Baron K., a counselor at the Belgian
embassy in a neighboring country. He had been stationed in St. Petersburg as
a young man and had married a Russian woman. He agreed to help me get the
treasure out of Bulgaria.
Arian knew only the bare outlines of the plan and I assured his silence
by promising him a generous commission. Unfortunately, I did not realize
that his business was in trouble and that he was deeply in debt. Our plan
was for the baron to go to Bulgaria after me, receive a suitcase from me
containing part of the treasure, and take it out of the country in the
diplomatic pouch. In a few days he had obtained a passport and a Bulgarian
visa for me under the name of Nansen. I was to leave first. We would
register at different hotels in Sofia. I would proceed to Burgas, return to
Sofia, meet the baron at the Belgian legation, and give him my suitcase.
I arrived in Sofia and waited four days, but there was no sign of the
baron. I was frantic. At the legation I finally found a message. He had
fallen ill en route and was in Belgrade. He asked me to wait in Sofia, as he
hoped the doctor would allow him to move in two or three days. Four days
later, another message arrived: he was worse and had to return to Brussels.
He promised to continue our business when he had recovered.
This was a terrible blow. I went back immediately and visited the
baron's bedside. He was very upset that he had been unable to complete his
voyage. He promised again that we would resume our mission as soon as
possible. I went to see Arian, who was very cool to me. I could not
understand until he finally blurted out: "You know I don't believe a word of
this story of the baron's sickness. I think this was a diplomatic illness. I
think you carried off the affair and are keeping it from me so that you
won't have to pay me my share."
"You are out of your mind," I told him. "Even if you don't believe me,
do you really think the baron would risk his reputation and career for a few
pennies? Go ask him yourself."
I learned later that he had indeed gone to the baron, who had thrown
him out of the house.
A week later I was arrested on a charge of suspicion of swindling.
Arian had brought an accusation against me to the Belgian police. The story
was all over the papers.
I protested, of course, but I was held for thirty days. Six months
later, the case was dismissed for lack of evidence, but my reputation was
ruined. No end of false stories had appeared in the Belgian press and the
police had sent inquiries about me to a number of other countries. There was
nothing on the books against me anywhere, but I was labeled undesirable and
effectively barred from several countries forever. This was a ghastly
situation for a stateless person.
I had not a cent, no means of leaving the country much less reaching
Bulgaria. I was near the end of my rope when I found a jeweler who was
willing to lend me the twenty thousand francs I needed for my next
expedition. I put it in a bank while I made my preparations and waited for
my chance to go back to Bulgaria.
Then one morning I received a summons to appear before the police. I
was accused once again of swindli