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diff --git a/39166-h/39166-h.htm b/39166-h/39166-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..643b3c3 --- /dev/null +++ b/39166-h/39166-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16868 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The White Terror and The Red, by A. Cahan—A Project Gutenberg eBook.</title> + <style type="text/css"> + +p { + text-align: justify; + text-indent: 2em;} + +p.cap:first-letter { /* text drop caps */ + float: left; + clear: left; + margin: -0.1em 0.1em 0em 0em; + padding: 0em; + line-height: 1em; + font-size: 400%;} + +h1,h2,h3 { /* all headings centered */ + text-align: center; + clear: both;} + +h3+p {text-indent: 0em;} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both;} + +hr.tb {width: 45%;} +hr.chap {width: 65%} + +hr.r65 { + width: 65%; + margin-top: 6em; + margin-bottom: 6em;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto;} + +ins { + text-decoration: none; + border-bottom: 1px dashed #add8e6;} + +.punct {border-bottom: 1px dashed #f08080;} + +.pagenum { + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + right: 3%; + font-size: smaller; + color: #a0a0a0; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 2em;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.right {text-align: right;} + +.right-less { + text-align: right; + margin-right: 5%;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.discrepancies { + list-style-type: none; + margin: 0em; + padding: 0em;} + +.correction {text-decoration: underline;} + +.corrections { + list-style-type: none; + margin: 0em; + padding: 0em;} + +.corrections li {margin: 0.5em 0.25em;} + +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center;} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes { + border: dashed 1px #808080; + background-color: #fafafa; + font-family: sans-serif, serif;} + +.footnote {margin: auto;} + +.label { + text-align: left; + font-size: 0.8em; + vertical-align: top;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: 0.6em; + text-decoration: none;} + +/* Transcriber's notes */ +.tnote { + margin: 6em auto;} + +.tnote, .tnote-end { + text-align: justify; + padding: 0em 0.75em; + font-family: sans-serif, serif;} + +.tnote p, .tnote-end p {text-indent: 0em;} + +#toc {margin: auto;} + +#toc td {padding: 0.25em 0em;} + +#toc td.chapter-no { + width: 5em; + text-align: right;} + +#toc td.chapter { + text-align: left; + text-indent: 2em;} + +#toc td.page {text-align: right;} + +@media screen { + body { + width: 80%; + max-width: 50em; + margin: auto;} + + p { + margin: 0.75em auto;} + + .tnote { + max-width: 26em;} + + .tnote, .tnote-end { + border: 1px dashed #808080; + background-color: #fafafa;}} + +@media screen, print { + #toc { + width: 60%;} + + .corrections, .discrepancies { + margin: 1em 10%;}} + +@media print, handheld { + p { + margin: 0;} + + ins { + border: none;} + + a:link, a:visited { + color: black;} + + .tnote p, .tnote-end p { + margin: 0.25em 0em;} + + .tnote, .tnote-end, h1, h2 { + page-break-before: always;}} + +@media handheld { + body { + margin: 0; + padding: 0; + width: 95%;} + + .corrections li { + margin: 0em;}} + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The White Terror and The Red, by Abraham Cahan + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: The White Terror and The Red + A novel of revolutionary Russia + +Author: Abraham Cahan + +Release Date: March 16, 2012 [EBook #39166] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE TERROR AND THE RED *** + + + + +Produced by Rosanna Murphy, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<div class="tnote"> +<p class="center"><b>Transcriber's Notes:</b></p> + +<p>Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully +as possible.</p> + +<p>Some corrections of spelling and punctuation have been made. +In the text they appear <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'likethis'">like +this</ins> for spelling corrections, while corrections to punctuation +are marked like <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added .">this.</ins> +The original text appears when hovering the cursor over the marked +text. A <a href="#tn-end">list of amendments</a> is at the +end of the text.</p> +</div> + + +<p><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i"><span class="pagenum"> </span></a></p> +<div class="center"><span style="font-size: x-large">THE WHITE TERROR AND THE RED</span></div> + +<p><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii"><span class="pagenum"> </span></a></p> + + + + +<hr class="r65" /><p><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii"><span class="pagenum"> </span></a></p> + +<h1>THE WHITE TERROR<br /> +AND<br /> +THE RED<br /><br /></h1> + +<h2>A Novel of Revolutionary Russia<br /><br /></h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> +<h2>A. CAHAN<br /></h2> +<div class="center">Author of “Yekl” and “The Imported Bridegroom.”<br /> +<br /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 100px;"> +<img src="images/tp.jpg" width="100" height="89" alt=""/> +</div><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">New York</span><br /> +A. S. BARNES & COMPANY<br /> +1905<br /><br /><br /> +<a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv"><span class="pagenum"> </span></a> + + + + + +Copyright, 1905<br /> +<span class="smcap">By A. S. Barnes & Company</span><br /> +<br /> +<i>All rights reserved</i><br /> +<br /> +<i>Published February, 1905</i><br /> +<i>Second Printing, February, 1905</i><br /> +<i>Third Printing, March, 1905</i><br /></div> + + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v"><span class="pagenum"> </span></a></p> + + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + +<div class="center"> +<table id="toc" border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Contents"> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">CHAPTER</td><td class="chapter"> </td><td class="page">PAGE</td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">I.</td><td class="chapter">An Affront to His Czar</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">II.</td><td class="chapter">The White Terror</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">III.</td><td class="chapter">Pievakin Pleads Guilty</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">IV.</td><td class="chapter">The “Demonstration”</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">V.</td><td class="chapter">Pavel’s First Step</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_40">40</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">VI.</td><td class="chapter">A Meeting on New Terms</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">VII.</td><td class="chapter">“Terrorism Without Violence”</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">VIII.</td><td class="chapter">Makar’s Canvass</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_76">76</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">IX.</td><td class="chapter">A Day Underground</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">X.</td><td class="chapter">The Czar’s Escape</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XI.</td><td class="chapter">A Mysterious Arrest</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XII.</td><td class="chapter">A Bewildering Encounter</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_103">103</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XIII.</td><td class="chapter">A Gendarme’s Sister</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_112">112</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XIV.</td><td class="chapter">Underground Miroslav</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XV.</td><td class="chapter">A Warning</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XVI.</td><td class="chapter">Clara at Home</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XVII.</td><td class="chapter">The Countess’ Discovery</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XVIII.</td><td class="chapter">Pavel at Boyko’s Court</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XIX.</td><td class="chapter">Strawberries</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_169">169</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XX.</td><td class="chapter">A “Conspiracy Trip”</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_178">178</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXI.</td><td class="chapter">Makar’s Father</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_187">187</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXII.</td><td class="chapter">From Cellar to Palace</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_196">196</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXIII.</td><td class="chapter">An Unforeseen Suggestion</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_205">205</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXIV.</td><td class="chapter">Vladimir Finds His Cause</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_211">211</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXV.</td><td class="chapter">Clara Becomes “Illegal”</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_227">227</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXVI.</td><td class="chapter">On Sacred Ground</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_235">235</a></td><td><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi"><span class="pagenum"> </span></a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXVII.</td><td class="chapter">A Postponed Wedding</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_244">244</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXVIII.</td><td class="chapter">A Second Courtship</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_252">252</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXIX.</td><td class="chapter">A Hunted Monarch</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_260">260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXX.</td><td class="chapter">The Mystery of a Shop</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXXI.</td><td class="chapter">A Reassuring Search</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_277">277</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXXII.</td><td class="chapter">The Red Terror</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_287">287</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXXIII.</td><td class="chapter">The Revelation</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_299">299</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXXIV.</td><td class="chapter">The Czar Takes Courage</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_310">310</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXXV.</td><td class="chapter">A Hunted People</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_319">319</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXXVI.</td><td class="chapter">A “Paper from the Czar”</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXXVII.</td><td class="chapter">The Defence Committee</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_339">339</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXXVIII.</td><td class="chapter">The Nihilist’s Guard</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_357">357</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XXXIX.</td><td class="chapter">The Riot</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_371">371</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XL.</td><td class="chapter">Light out of Darkness</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_389">389</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XLI.</td><td class="chapter">Pavel Becomes “Illegal”</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_401">401</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XLII.</td><td class="chapter">Ominous Footsteps</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_408">408</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class="chapter-no">XLIII.</td><td class="chapter">A Message Through the Wall</td><td class="page"><a href="#Page_423">423</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<p><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii"><span class="pagenum"> </span></a></p> +<p><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii"><span class="pagenum"> </span></a></p> + + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"><span class="pagenum">[1]</span></a></p> + +<h2>THE WHITE TERROR AND THE RED.</h2> + + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>AN AFFRONT TO HIS CZAR.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">ALEXANDER II. passed part of the summer of 1874 +in a German health-resort taking the mineral waters. +When not in the castle in which he was staying +with his train he affected the life of an ordinary citizen. +He did so as much from necessity as from choice. Czar or +subject, the same water must be drunk at the same spot and +hour by all who seek its cure. Nor can any distinction +be made in the matter of the walk which the patient is to +take after draining his two or three gobletsful.</p> + +<p>The promenade at a watering place is a great parade-ground +for the display of plumage, the gayest and costliest +gowns being reserved for the procession that follows the +taking of the remedy; but while the race is under way and +everybody is striving to throw everybody else into the shade, +the fact of their being there pierces each dress as with +“X” rays, showing their flesh to be of the same fragile +clay.</p> + +<p>So the Czar accepted the levelling effect of the place +good-naturedly and sought diversion in the unsustained +rôle of a common mortal. Unsustained, because he carried +his gigantic, beautiful form with a graceful self-importance +and a martial erectness that betrayed his incognito even<a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"><span class="pagenum">[2]</span></a> +in the open country stretches to which he would stroll off +in search of mild adventure and flirtation.</p> + +<p>It was a late afternoon in the valley. The river glittered +crimson. The hills on the other side of the summer town +were capped by a sultry haze. Donkeys used in ascending +these hills were trotting about impishly or standing in +stupid row awaiting custom. The sun blazed down upon +a parade of a hundred countries, including a jet black +prince from Africa, a rajah, a Chinaman in dazzling silks, +a wealthy Galician Jew in atlas, and a pasha with German +features.</p> + +<p>The Czar, his immense figure encased in a light frock +coat of excellent fit, was sauntering along apparently unaccompanied +except by his terrier and cane. When saluted +he would raise his straw hat and nod his enormous well-shaped +head with a cordiality that bordered on good-fellowship. +He seemed to relish this exchange of courtesies +with people who were not his subjects in this little +republic of physical malady. It was as though he felt +apart from his autocratic self without feeling out of that +pampering atmosphere of deference and attention which +was his second nature; and he gave an effect of inhaling +his freedom as one does the first whiffs of spring air.</p> + +<p>As to his fellow patients, they either discovered something +majestic in the very dog that followed him, or were +struck by the knuckles of his ungloved hands, for example, +as if it were remarkable that they should be the same sort +of knuckles as their own. He was strikingly well-built +and strikingly handsome. He wore thick close-cropped +side whiskers of the kind that is rarely becoming, but his +face they became very well indeed, adding majesty to a +cast of large, clear-cut features. It was the most monarchical +face of its time, and yet it was anything but a strong<a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"><span class="pagenum">[3]</span></a> +face. His imposing side whiskers and moustache left bare +a full sensuous mouth and a plump weak chin; his blueish +eyes gave forth suggestions of melancholy and anguish. +Interest in him was whetted by stories of his passion for +Princess Dolgoruki, lady in waiting to the Czarina; so the +women at the watering place tried to decipher the tale of +his liaison in those sad amative eyes of his.</p> + +<p>Two refined looking, middle-aged women attracted attention +by the bizarre simplicity with which one of them +was attired and coiffured. She was extremely pale and +made one think of an insane asylum or a convent. She +was grey, while her companion had auburn hair and was +shorter and flabbier of figure. They were conversing in +French, but it was not their native tongue. The one with +the grey hair was Pani Oginska, a Polish woman; the +other a Russian countess named Anna Nicolayevna Varova +(Varoff). They had first met, in this watering place, less +than a fortnight ago, when a chat, in the course of which +they warmed to each other, led to the discovery that their +estates lay in neighbouring provinces in Little Russia. +They were preceded by a slender youth of eighteen in a +broad-brimmed straw hat and a clean-shaven elderly little +man in one of soft grey felt. These were Prince Pavel +Alexeyevich Boulatoff, a son of the countess by a former +marriage, and Alexandre Alexandrovich Pievakin, his private +tutor, as well as one of his instructors at the gymnasium<a name="Anchor-A" id="Anchor-A"></a><a title="Go to footnote A" href="#Footnote-A" class="fnanchor">[A]</a> +of his native town. Pavel’s straw hat was too +sedate for his childish face and was pushed down so low +that a delicately sculptured chin and mouth and the +turned up tip of a rudely hewn Russian nose was all one +could see under its vast expanse of yellow brim. The old<a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"><span class="pagenum">[4]</span></a> +man knew no German and this was his first trip abroad, +so his high-born pupil, who had an advantage over him +in both these respects, was explaining things to him, with +an air at once patronising and respectful. Presently Pavel +interrupted himself.</p> + +<p>“The Czar!” he whispered, in a flutter. “The Czar!” +he repeated over his shoulder, addressing himself to his +mother.</p> + +<p>Pievakin raised his glance, paling as he did so, but was +so overawed by the sight that he forthwith dropped his +eyes, a sickly expression on his lips.</p> + +<p>When the men came face to face with their monarch +they made way and snatched off their hats as if they were +on fire. Countess Varoff, Pavel’s mother, curtseyed +deeply, her flaccid insignificant little body retreating +toward the side of the promenade and then sinking to the +ground; while the Polish woman proceeded on her way +stiffly without so much as a nod of her head. The Czar +returned the greeting of the Russian woman gallantly and +disappeared in the rear of them.</p> + +<p>The group walked on in nervous silence, the two women +now in the lead. When they reached a deserted spot the +youth suddenly flushed a violent red, and, thrusting out +his finely chiselled chin at his mother, he said, in quick +pugnacious full-toned accents as out of keeping with his +boyish figure as his hat:</p> + +<p>“Mother, you are not going to keep up acquaintance +with a person who has offered an insult to our Czar.”</p> + +<p>“Paul! What has come over you?” the countess stammered +out, colouring abjectly as she paused.</p> + +<p>“I mean just what I say, mother.”</p> + +<p>The elderly little man by his side looked on sheepishly, +the cold sweat standing in beads on his forehead.</p><p><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"><span class="pagenum">[5]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Don’t mind this wild boy, I beg of you,” Anna Nicolayevna +said to the Polish woman. “Don’t pay the least +attention to him. He imagines himself a full grown man, +but he is merely a silly boy and he gives me no end of +trouble. Don’t take it ill, <ins title="Transriber's Note: original reads 'ma chere'"><i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">ma chère</i></ins>.” She rattled it off +in a great flurry of embarrassment, straining the boy back +tenderly, while she was condemning him.</p> + +<p>“I don’t take it ill at all,” Pani Oginska answered +tremulously. “He’s perfectly right. Your acquaintance +has been a great pleasure to me, countess, but I can see +that my company at this place would be very inconvenient +to you. Adieu!”</p> + +<p>She walked off toward a row of new cottages, and Anna +Nicolayevna, the countess, stood gazing after her like one +petrified.</p> + +<p>“You are a savage, Pasha,” she whispered, in Russian.</p> + +<p>“Why am I? I have done what is right, and you feel +it as well as I do,” he returned hotly, in his sedate, compact, +combative voice, looking from her to his teacher. +When he was excited he sputtered out his sentences in +volleys, growling at his listener and seemingly about to +flounce off. This was the way he spoke now. “Why am +I a savage? Can you afford to associate with a woman +who will behave in this impudent, in this rebellious manner +toward the Czar? Can you, now?”</p> + +<p>“That’s neither here nor there,” she said, with irritation, +as they resumed their walk. “She is a very unhappy +creature. All that she holds dear has been taken from her. +Her husband was hanged during the Polish rebellion and +now her son, a college student, has been torn from her +and is dying in prison of consumption. If you were not so +heartless you would have some pity on her.”</p> + +<p>“Her husband was hanged and her son is in prison and<a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"><span class="pagenum">[6]</span></a> +you wish to associate with her! Do you really? What +do you think of it, Alexandre Alexandrovich?”</p> + +<p>“A very painful incident,” Pievakin murmured, wretchedly.</p> + +<p>“As if I were eager for her company,” she returned, +timidly. “As if one could help the chance acquaintances +that fall into one’s way while travelling. Besides, <i>she</i> is +no rebel. Indeed, she is one of the most charming women +I ever met, and to hear her story is enough to break a +heart of stone. You have no sympathy, Pasha.”</p> + +<p>“She is no rebel! Why, if she did in Russia what she +did here a minute ago she would be hustled off to Siberia +in short order, and it would serve her right, too. And +because I don’t want my mother to go with such a person +I have no sympathy.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, Anna Nicolayevna,” Pievakin interposed, +with embarrassed ardour, “but if I were you I should keep +out of her way. She is an unfortunate woman, but, God +bless her,—Pasha is right, I think.”</p> + +<p>“I should say I was,” the boy said, triumphantly. +“She wouldn’t dare do such a thing in Russia, would she? +But then in Russia a woman of that sort would have no +chance to do anything of the kind. Oh, I do hate the +Germans for exposing the Czar to these insults. It is +simply terrible, terrible. Couldn’t they arrange it so that +he should not have to rub shoulders with every Tom, Dick +and Harry and be exposed to every sort of affront? And +yet when I say so I am a savage and have no heart.” He +gnashed his teeth and burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“Hush, dear, I didn’t mean it. Don’t be excited, now.”</p> + +<p>“But you did mean it; you know you did.”</p> + +<p>“Sh, calm down, Pasha,” the old man besought him, +and Pavel’s features softened.</p><p><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"><span class="pagenum">[7]</span></a></p> + +<p>Alexandre Alexandrovich was the only teacher at the +high school of whom Pavel was fond. He was an old-fashioned +little man, with cravats of a former generation +and with features and movements which conveyed the impression +that he was forever making ready to bow. His +cackling good humour when the recitations were correct and +fluent, his distressed air when they were not; his mixed +timidity and quick temper—these things are recalled with +fond smiles in Miroslav. He was attached to both his +subjects and when put on his mettle by the attention of his +class he really knew how to put life into the dullest lesson. +On such occasions his timid manner would disappear, and +he would draw himself up, and go strutting back and forth +with long, defiant steps and hurling out his sentences like a +domineering rooster. It was only when a lesson of this +sort was suddenly disturbed by some sally from a scapegrace +of a pupil that Pievakin would fly into a passion +and then he would take to jumping about, tearing at his +own hair, and groaning as though with physical pain.</p> + +<p>Pavel was perhaps the most ardent friend Alexandre +Alexandrovich had in all Miroslav. The young prince +was in a singular position at the gymnasium. Somehow +things were always done in a way to make one remember +that he was Prince Boulatoff and a nephew of the governor +of the province of which Miroslav was the capital. He +was the only boy who usually came to school in a carriage +and it seemed as though the imposing vehicle had the effect +of isolating him from the other boys. As to his teachers, +they took a peculiar tone with him—one of ill-concealed +reverence which would betray itself with all the more emphasis +when they tried to take him to task. The upshot +was that most of the other pupils, including the only other +prince in the class (who was also the wildest boy in it)<a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"><span class="pagenum">[8]</span></a> +kept out of Pavel’s way, while those who did not treated +him with a servility that was even more offensive to him +than the aloofness of the rest. He had made several attempts +to get on terms of good fellowship with two or three +of the boys he liked, but his own effort to laugh and frolic +with them had jarred on him like a false note. He had +finally settled down to a manner of haughty reticence, keeping +an observant eye on his classmates and finding a +peculiar pleasure in these silent observations.</p> + +<p>The only two teachers who did not indulge him were +Pievakin and the teacher of mathematics, a cheerful hunchback +with a pale distended face lit by a pair of comical +blue eyes, whom the boys had dubbed “truncated cone.” +The teacher of mathematics made Pavel feel his exceptional +position by treating him with special harshness. As +to Pievakin, who had begun by addressing the aristocratic +youth with an embarrassed air, he had gradually adopted +toward him a manner of fatherly superiority that developed +in the boy’s heart a filial attachment for the old +pedagogue. In order to increase his income Pavel had +made him his private tutor, although he stood high in his +class and needed no such assistance, and this summer, when +the old man complained of rheumatism, he had caused his +mother to invite him to the German resort.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When they reached their hotel the countess unburdened +herself to her son’s tutor of certain memories which interested +her now far more than did her unexpected rupture +with the Polish woman. She described a court ball at St. +Petersburg at which the present Czar, then still <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Czarowitch'">Czarowitz</ins>, +conversed for five minutes with her. She treated +the gymnasium teacher partly as she would her priest, +partly as if he were her butler, and now, in her burst of<a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"><span class="pagenum">[9]</span></a> +reminiscence, she overhauled her past to him with the +whole-hearted, childlike abandon which is characteristic of +her race and which put the humble old teacher ill at ease. +“He told me to take good care of my ‘pretty eyes and +golden eyebrows,’” she said. “And yet it was for these +very eyebrows that Pavel’s father disliked me.”</p> + +<p>She had been the pet daughter of a wealthy nobleman, +high in the service of the ministry for foreign affairs, but +Pavel’s father, and her living husband, from whom she +was now practically separated, had almost convinced her +that to be disliked was her just share in life. Her parents +and sisters were dead. She had a little boy by her second +marriage, but she was still in love with the shadow of her +first husband, and the son he had left her was the one +passion of her life. Having spent her youth in the two +foreign countries to which her father’s diplomatic career +took the family, she deprecated, in a dim unformulated +way, many of the things that surrounded her in her native +land. She was unable to reconcile her luminous image of +the Emperor with the mediæval cruelties that were being +perpetrated by his order. She was at a loss to understand +how such a gentle-hearted man could send to the gallows +or to the living graves of Siberia people like the Polish +patriots. The compulsory religion of the Orthodox Russian +Church, too, with its iron-clad organisation and +grotesque uniforms, impressed her as a kind of spiritual +gendarmerie. Yet she accepted it all as part of that panorama +of things which whispered the magic word, +“Russia.” And now the sight of the Czar had rekindled +memories of her better days and stirred in her a submissive +sense of her cheerless fate.</p> + +<p>Pavel was meanwhile putting the case of the Polish +woman to Onufri, one of the two servants who accompanied<a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"><span class="pagenum">[10]</span></a> +them in their present travels—a retired hussar with a +formidable moustache in front of a pinched hollow-cheeked +face.</p> + +<p>“Her highness, your mother, is good as an angel, sir,” +was Onufri’s verdict.</p> + +<p>“And you are stupid as a cork,” Pavel snarled. His +sense of the desecration to which the person of his Czar +was being subjected by mingling with people like the widow +of a hanged rebel rankled in his heart. He worked himself +up to a state of mind in which the very similarity in +physical appearance between the untitled people with +whom the Czar and born aristocrats like himself and his +mother were compelled to mingle at a place like this resort +struck him as an impertinence on the part of the untitled +people.</p> + +<p>Later when he lay between two German featherbeds and +Onufri brought him his book and a candle he asked him +to take a seat by his bedside.</p> + +<p>“Why are you such a deuced fool, Onufri?”</p> + +<p>“If I am it is God’s business, not mine, nor your highness’.”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Onufri. How would you like to have all +common people black like those darkies?”</p> + +<p>The servant spat out in horror and made the sign of the +cross.</p> + +<p>“For shame, sir. What harm have the common people +done you that you should wish them a horrid thing like +that? And where does your highness get these cruel +thoughts? Surely not from your mother. For shame, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“Idiot that you are, it’s mere fancy, just for fun. +There ought to be some difference between noble people +and common. There is in some countries, you know.”<a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"><span class="pagenum">[11]</span></a> +He told him about castes, the slave trade in America and +passed to the days of chivalry, his favourite topic, until the +retired hussar’s head sank and a mighty snore rang out of +his bushy moustache. Pavel flew into a passion.</p> + +<p>“Ass!” he shouted, getting half out of bed and shaking +him fiercely. “Why don’t I fall asleep when you tell me +stories?”</p> + +<p>Onufri started and fell to rubbing one eye, while with +his other eye he looked about him, as though he had slept +a week. The stories he often told young Boulatoff mostly +related to the days of serfdom, which had been abolished +when Pavel was a boy of five. Onufri’s mother had been +flogged to death in the presence of her master, Pavel’s +grandfather, and the former hussar would tell the story +with a solemnity that reflected his veneration for the +“good old times” rather than grief over the fate of his +mother.</p> + +<p>That night Pavel dreamed of a pond full of calves that +were splashing about and laughing in the water. He carried +them all home and on his way there they were transformed +into one pair, and the two calves walked about and +talked just like Onufri and the transformation was no +transformation at all, the calves being real calves and +negroes at the same time. When he awoke, in the morning, +and it came over him that the dream had had something +to do with Onufri, he was seized with a feeling of +self-disgust. He thought of the Polish woman and his +treatment of her, and this, too, appeared in a new light to +him.</p> + +<p>Two or three hours later, when the countess returned +from her morning walk Pavel, dressed to go out, grave +and mysterious, solemnly handed her a sealed note from +himself.</p><p><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"><span class="pagenum">[12]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Don’t open it until I have left,” he said. “I am going +out for a stroll.”</p> + +<p>“What you said yesterday about my being hard-hearted +and incapable of sympathy,” the letter read, “left a deep +impression on me. I thought of it almost the first thing +this morning as I opened my eyes, and it kept me thinking +all the morning. I looked deep into my soul, I overhauled +my whole ego. I turned it inside out, and—well, +I must say I have come to the conclusion that what you +said was not devoid of foundation. Not that I am prepared +to imagine ourselves as having anything to do with a +woman whose family is a family of rebels and who has the +audacity to pass our emperor without bowing; but she +is a human being, too, and her sufferings should have +aroused some commiseration in me. I envy you, mother. +Compared to you I really am a hard-hearted, unfeeling +brute, and it makes me very, very unhappy to think of it. +My heart is so full at this moment that I am at a loss to +give expression to what I feel, but you will understand me, +darling little mother mine. I do <i>not</i> want to be hard and +cruel, and I want you to help me.</p> + +<div class="right-less"> +“Your struggling son,<br /> +<br /></div> +<div class="right">“<span class="smcap">Pavel</span>.”<br /> +</div> + +<p>When Anna Nicolayevna laid down the letter her large +meek grey eyes first grew red and then filled with tears. +She sat with her long slim arms loosely folded on a davenport, +weeping and smiling at once. There was much +charm in her smile, but, barring it and her mass of fine +auburn hair, she was certainly not good looking. She was +small, ungainly, flat-chested, with a large thin-lipped +mouth and, in spite of her beautiful gowns, with a general +effect of rustiness.</p><p><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"><span class="pagenum">[13]</span></a></p> + +<p>When Pavel and his mother met at dinner he felt so +embarrassed he could not bring himself to look her in the +face.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"><span class="pagenum">[14]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>THE WHITE TERROR.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">MIROSLAV was trisected longitudinally by a clear, +cheerful river and by Kasimir Street, its principal +thoroughfare, which contained most of its public +buildings and best shops. The middle one of the three +sections thus formed was the home of the higher nobility +and the official class; the district across the bridge from +here was inhabited by Christian burghers and workmen, +with here and there a clay hovel, the home of a peasant +family, gleaming white in the distant outskirts; while the +hilly quarter beyond Kasimir Street was the seat of Jewish +industry and Jewish poverty, part of this neighbourhood +being occupied by the market places and “the Paradise,” +as the slums of the town were called ironically. The governor’s +house, which faced Governor’s Prospect—a small +square with a fountain in the centre—and Anna Nicolayevna’s +were the two most imposing buildings in Miroslav.</p> + +<p>The countess’ residence was the only structure in town +that had a colonnaded front. The common people called +it the Palace and the section of Kasimir Street it faced +the Pillars. The sidewalk opposite was the favourite promenade +of the younger generation, and every afternoon, in +auspicious weather, it glittered with the uniforms of army +officers and gymnasium boys. The Palace was built by +her grandfather in the closing days of the previous century.<a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"><span class="pagenum">[15]</span></a> +It abutted on a long narrow lane formed on one +side by Anna Nicolayevna’s garden and leading to Theatre +Square, where stood the playhouse and the Nobles’ Club. +When the white rigidity of these buildings was relieved +by the grass of its lawns and the foliage of its trees the +spot was the joy of the town.</p> + +<p>During the winter of the year following the countess’ +sojourn at the German watering place, Miroslav was stirred +by a sensation, the central figure of which was Pavel’s +tutor, the instructor of geography and history in the local +gymnasium, Alexandre Alexandrovich Pievakin. Pavel +was then in the graduating class.</p> + +<p>Besides being connected with the male gymnasium Pievakin +taught at the female high school of Miroslav. The +town was fond of him and he was fond of the town and +upon the whole he was contented. One of the things that +galled him was the fact that his superior, the newly appointed +director of the school, was his inferior both in +years and in civil rank. Pievakin was a “councillor of +state,” while Novikoff, the head of the male gymnasium, +was only a “collegiate assessor.” Novikoff was a painstaking, +narrow-minded functionary, superciliously proud +of his office and slavishly loyal to the letter of the law. +He was a slender, dark-complexioned man of forty, but +he tried to look much older and heavier. He copied the +Czar’s side-whiskers, walked like a corpulent grandee, perpetually +pulling at his <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'waistcoast'">waistcoat</ins> as though he were burdened +by a voluminous paunch, and interlarded his speech +with aphorisms from the Latin Grammar.</p> + +<p>One day as the director strutted ponderously along one +of the two corridors, the word “parliament” fell on his +ear. It was Pievakin’s voice. The old man was explaining +something to his class with great ardour. Novikoff<a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"><span class="pagenum">[16]</span></a> +paused, his lordly walk congealing into the picture of dignified +attention. The next minute, however, his grandeur +melted away. His face expressed unfeigned horror. +Pievakin was drawing an effusive parallel between absolute +monarchies and limited. This was distinctly in violation +of the Circular of the Ministry of Public Enlightenment +enjoining teachers of geography, in cases of this kind, to +adhere strictly to the bare terminology of the approved +text-book without venturing into anything like an elucidation. +Not that Pievakin was betraying any partiality for +limited monarchies. Indeed, to him the distinction between +the two forms of government was neither of more +nor of less interest than the difference between a steppe +and a prairie or a simoon and a hurricane. It appealed +to him because it was geography, and in his <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'ecstacy'">ecstasy</ins> over +the lesson all thought of the Ministry and its Circulars +had escaped his mind.</p> + +<p>That afternoon he was summoned to the director’s office +on the floor below.</p> + +<p>Novikoff was at his large, flat-topped desk, studiously +absorbed in some papers. He silently motioned the teacher +of geography to a seat, and went on with his feigned work. +After a lapse of some minutes he straightened up, played +a few scales upon the brass buttons of his uniform, and +said:</p> + +<p>“It pains me to have to say it, Alexandre Alexandrovich, +but these are queer times and the passions of youth +should be moderated, held in check, suppressed, not +aroused. The imagination of one’s pupils is not to be +trifled with, Alexandre Alexandrovich.”</p> + +<p>He paused mournfully. The little old man, who had +not the least idea what he was driving at, waited in consternation. +The room was overheated, and the pause had<a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"><span class="pagenum">[17]</span></a> +an overpowering effect on him. He felt on the verge of +fainting.</p> + +<p>“The point is,” Novikoff resumed, with a sudden spurt +in his voice, “that in your class work you sometimes suffer +yourself to say things that cannot but be regarded as dangerous. +Dangerous particularly in view of the evil influences +at work among the young of our generation; in +view of the very sad fact that college students will disguise +themselves as peasants——”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, sir?” Pievakin burst out, reddening +violently. “How dare you liken me to those fellows? +I was serving the Czar while you were still a whippersnapper. +I’m a councillor of state, sir. How dare you +make these insinuations?”</p> + +<p>“I expected as much,” Novikoff answered, nervously +polishing his buttons. “Defying one’s superior is of a +piece with the views you’re trying to instill into the minds +of your scholars.”</p> + +<p>“What is of a piece with what? Speak out, sir,” Pievakin +shrieked.</p> + +<p>“Bridle your temper, sir. I can’t allow that.”</p> + +<p>“Then tell me what it’s all about,” the teacher of history +and geography said in a queer, half-beseeching, half-threatening +voice.</p> + +<p>“Well, this morning you were expatiating upon the +blessings of a constitutional government. Yes, sir. There +are no spies to eavesdrop on one in this building, but it +seems you never speak so loud nor with so much gusto as +when you get to the subject of constitutions and parliaments +and things of that kind.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t true. I merely said a word or two on the +various forms of government. It’s practically all in Smirnoff’s +Geography.”</p><p><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"><span class="pagenum">[18]</span></a></p> + +<p>“‘Practically’! It’s against the law. I am very sorry, +but it becomes my duty to report it to the curator.”</p> + +<p>Here Pievakin, losing control of himself, shouted +“Spy!” and “Scoundrel!” and darted out of the room.</p> + +<p>This happened at a time when the “peasantist” movement, +the peaceful, unresisting stage in the history of what +is commonly known as Nihilism, was at its height. The +educated young generation was in an ecstasy of altruism. +It was the period of “going to the people,” when hundreds +of well-bred men and women, children of the nobility, +would don peasant garb and go to share the life of the +tillers of the soil, teaching them to read, talking to them +of universal love, liberty and equality. The government +punished this “going to the people” with Asiatic severity. +Russia has no capital punishment for the slaying of common +mortals, the average penalty for murder being about +ten years of penal servitude in Siberia; and this penalty +the courts were often ordered to impose on absolutely +peaceable missionaries, on university students who practically +did the same kind of work as that pursued by the +“university settlements” in English-speaking countries. +There were about one thousand of these propagandists in +the political prisons of the empire, and their number was +growing. They were kept in solitary confinement in cold, +damp cells. Scores of them went insane or died of consumption, +scurvy or suicide before their cases came up for +trial.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Pievakin’s house was searched by gendarmes, but no +“underground” literature was discovered there. He was +not arrested, but spies shadowed his movements and about +a month after the domiciliary visit he was officially notified +by the curator’s office that he was to be transferred to the<a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"><span class="pagenum">[19]</span></a> +four-year “progymnasium” of a small town a considerable +distance off. This implied that his work was to be restricted +to boys of fourteen and less in a town out of the way +of “dangerous tendencies.” He grew thin and haggard +and a certain look of fright never left his eye. The other +instructors at the gymnasium, all except one, and many of +his private acquaintance plainly shunned him. He had become +one of those people with whom one could not come +in contact without attracting the undesirable attention of +the police. One of those who were not afraid to be seen +in his company was the “truncated cone.” “My crooked +back is the only one that does not bend,” the deformed man +would joke. The tacit philosophy of his attitude toward +the world seemed to be something like this: “You people +won’t consider me one of you. I am only a hunchback, +something like an elf, and you will take many an unwelcome +truth from me which you would resent in one like +yourselves. So let us proceed on this understanding.”</p> + +<p>When Boulatoff heard that his favourite teacher was to +be exiled to a small town “to render him harmless,” he +was shocked. Alexandre Alexandrovich Pievakin was the +last man in the world he would have suspected to be guilty +of seditious agitation. His only idol at school was thus +shattered. Pievakin had not the courage to visit the countess’ +house now, and Pavel, on his part, held aloof from +him. The old man was hateful to him, not only as a rebel, +but also as an impostor and a hypocrite. He felt duped. +His blood rankled with disgust and resentment. At the +same time the situation did not seem quite clear to him. +Something puzzled him, although he could not have put his +finger on it.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"><span class="pagenum">[20]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>PIEVAKIN PLEADS GUILTY.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">A LESSON in Latin was in progress. The teacher was +a blond Czech. Pavel looked at him intently, trying +to follow the exercises, but he only became +the more aware of the foreigner’s struggles with Russian +and made the discovery that his clumsy carriage, as he +walked up and down the room, was suggestive of a peasant +woman trying to catch a chicken. His thoughts passed to +Pievakin and almost at the same instant a question flashed +into his brain: If Pievakin was unreliable politically, why, +then, was he getting off so easily? How was it that instead +of being cut off from the living world, instead of being +thrown into a dungeon to waste and perish, as was done +with all fellows of that sort, he was merely transferred +to another school?</p> + +<p>The bell sounded. The Czech put his big flat record-book +under his arm and left the room. Most of the pupils +went out soon after. The two long corridors were bubbling +with boys in blue, a-glitter with nickel-plated buttons +and silver galloon, some laughing over their experience +with the lesson just disposed of, others eagerly reviewing +the one soon to be recited. Pievakin passed along. The +pupils bowed to him with curious sympathetic looks, and +he returned their salutes with an air of mixed timidity +and gratitude. Presently the teacher of mathematics<a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"><span class="pagenum">[21]</span></a> +emerged from one of the glass doors, his deformity bulging +through the blue broadcloth of his uniform.</p> + +<p>“Alexandre Alexandrovich!” he shouted demonstratively, +and catching up with him he threw his arm around his +waist.</p> + +<p>Pavel, who had been watching the scene, was about to +return to his class-room so as to avoid bowing to Pievakin, +when, by a sudden impulse, he saluted the two teachers, +and advancing to meet them, with that peculiar air of +politeness which reminded his classmates of his equipage +and the colonnade in front of his mother’s mansion, he +accosted the instructor of history and geography, turning +pale as he did so:</p> + +<p>“May I speak to you, Alexandre Alexandrovich?” +When the mathematician had withdrawn, he inquired in +a tone of pain and concern: “What has happened, Alexandre +Alexandrovich?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I’m in trouble, prince,” the old man faltered. He +had never addressed the youth by his title before, and there +was a note of abject supplication in his voice, as if the +boy could help him. His face had a pinched, cowed look.</p> + +<p>“But, Alexandre Alexandrovich, it’s a terrible thing +they are accusing you of. You’ve been so dear to me, +Alexandre Alexandrovich. I want to know all. I cannot +rest, Alexandre Alexandrovich.”</p> + +<p>“The story is easily told. A misfortune has befallen +me. While touching upon the constitutional form of government, +I was somewhat carried away. That I don’t +deny. I know it was wrong of me, but I assure you, +prince, I meant no harm.”</p> + +<p>It sounded as though he were a pleading pupil and the +boy before him his teacher.</p> + +<p>Pavel was touched and perplexed.</p><p><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"><span class="pagenum">[22]</span></a></p> + +<p>“But that’s in the text-book, Alexandre Alexandrovich.”</p> + +<p>“To be sure it is. Only the text-book merely uses the +term without explaining it, while I, absent-mindedly, proceeded +to do so, which is against the rules, and, as ill luck +would have it, I warmed up a bit. When I was first asked +about it I was not aware of having done any wrong. I +was so shocked, in fact, I lost my temper. That was the +worst of it. I am a ruined man, prince. Thirty-six years +have I served the Czar and there is not a blemish on my +record.”</p> + +<p>“But why should you call yourself a ruined man, Alexandre +Alexandrovich,” Pavel said impetuously. “I don’t +see why it should be too late to straighten it all out. I’m +going to see my uncle. Or, better still, my mother will +see him. We can’t let it go that way. We should all +be a lot of scoundrels if we did. I’m going to tell him so.”</p> + +<p>“Do it, prince, if you can,” the old man said with shamefaced +eagerness. “I shall never forget it.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When Pavel came home he found his mother’s sleigh in +front of the main entrance, her coachman in dazzling attire, +waiting with pompous stolidity. When the liveried +porter threw the door open to him and he entered the vestibule +he saw coming down the immense staircase his mother +and his five-year-old half-brother, Kostia, dressed for +their afternoon drive, Anna Nicolayevna in her furs and +the little fellow in the costume of a Caucasian horseman, +which became his grave little face charmingly. Following +at some distance, with a smile of admiration, half servile, +half sincere, on her fresh German face, was Kostia’s governess. +She was not dressed for a drive. She was merely +going to see her charge off.</p><p><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"><span class="pagenum">[23]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Mother, I am afraid I shall have to detain you,” Pavel +said, solemnly. “I wish to speak to you about Alexandre +Alexandrovich.”</p> + +<p>“Won’t it keep?” she asked, with a facetious gesture.</p> + +<p>“Don’t make fun of it, mother,” he reproached her. +“It’s a serious matter. My head is in a whirl.”</p> + +<p>Kostia was burning to show himself in public in his new +Circassian cap and when he saw his mother yield he +screwed up his face for a cry, but he forthwith straightened +it out again. He scarcely ever cried in Pavel’s presence +for fear of being called “damsel” by him—an appellation +he dreaded more than being locked up alone in +the schoolroom.</p> + +<p>They went into Anna Nicolayevna’s favorite sitting-room, +a square chamber furnished and decorated in tan, in +no particular style, but with an eye to the combined suggestions +of old-time solidity and latter-day elegance. It +was the embodiment of rest and silence, an effect to which +two life-sized bronze statues—a Diana and a Venus de +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Medicis'">Medici</ins>—and the drowsy ticking of an ancient clock +contributed not a little. It was known as the English +room because its former furnishings had been modelled +after London standards.</p> + +<p>Pavel painted Pievakin as a penitent, broken spirit till +Anna Nicolayevna’s eyes grew red.</p> + +<p>“Still, maybe he does hold dangerous views?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>“Dangerous nothing! It’s all nonsense. He’s more +loyal than Novikoff anyhow, for Novikoff is a soulless, attitudinising +nincompoop, while he is the kindliest, most +conscientious, most soulful man in the world.”</p> + +<p>“Unfortunately all this has nothing to do with loyalty,” +she said, sadly. “This is a very queer world, Pasha. It’s<a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"><span class="pagenum">[24]</span></a> +just like those wretches who would do away with czars to +be warm-hearted and good to everybody. They don’t believe +there ought to be rich and poor, either. When you +come across a man of this sort keep away from him, +Pasha.”</p> + +<p>“But what has that got to do with Pievakin?” he +shouted. “The very sight of a Nihilist would be enough +to frighten him out of his wits. I want you to tell it all to +uncle, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mamman</i>. Give him no peace until he promises +you to write to the curator about the poor old man.”</p> + +<p>The governor of Miroslav was a Boulatoff, being a cousin +of Pavel’s deceased father; but he was also related to the +young man by marriage to his mother’s sister, who had +died less than a year ago. Anna Nicolayevna promised to +see her brother-in-law the next morning, but Pavel would +not wait. He pleaded, he charged her with heartlessness, +tapping the thick rug with his foot and shaking all over +as he spoke, until she agreed to go at once.</p> + +<p>While she was gone Pavel and Kostia went into the ball +room and played “hunter and partridge,” a game of the +gymnasium boys’ inventing. They had not been many +minutes at it before Pavel had forgotten all about the +errand on which he had despatched his mother and the +vast ball room echoed with his voluminous laughter. His +great pleasure was to tease Kostia until the little boy’s +mouth would begin to twitch, and then to shake his finger +at him and say: “Better not cry, Kostia, or you know +what I am going to call you.” Whereupon Kostia would +make a desperate effort to look nonchalantly grave and +Pavel would burst into a new roar of merriment.</p> + +<p>Anna Nicolayevna came back converted to a rigorous +point of view, and although her son had no difficulty in +convincing her once again that Pievakin deserved mercy, he<a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"><span class="pagenum">[25]</span></a> +made up his mind to see his uncle himself, and he did so +the very next morning.</p> + +<p>Governor Boulatoff was a massive, worn, blinking old +satrap, shrewd, tight-fisted, and, what was quite unusual +for a man of his class, with an eye to business. His nose +was extremely broad and fleshy, his hair was elaborately +dressed, and altogether he looked like a successful old +comedian. Bribe-giving was as universal in Miroslav as +tipping was in its leading café. One could not turn round +without showing “gratitude.” The wheels of government +would not move in the desired direction unless they were +greased, the price of this “grease” or “gratitude” varying +all the way from a ten-copeck piece to ten or fifteen +thousand rubles. Governor Boulatoff, who had come to +Miroslav a ruined man, was now the largest land-owner in +the province. Whenever he was in need of ready cash he +would galvanize into a new lease of life some defunct piece +of anti-Jewish legislation. This was known among the +other officials as “pressing the spring”—the spring of +the Jewish pocketbook, that is, the invariable effect of the +proceeding being the appearance of a delegation with a +snug piece of Jewish “gratitude.” He was continually +sneering at the powers behind the throne, and mildly striving +for recognition; yet so comfortable did he feel in this +city of gardens, card-playing and “gratitude,” from which +“the Czar was too far off and God too high up,” that he +was in mortal fear lest the promotion which he coveted +should come in the form of a transfer to a more important +province.</p> + +<p>Pavel found him in his imposing “den.” The old +potentate was in his morning gown, freshly bathed, shaved +and coiffured and smelling of pomade and cigarette smoke.</p> + +<p>“Well, my little statesman,” he greeted him in French.<a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"><span class="pagenum">[26]</span></a> +“What brings you so early this morning? Aren’t you +going to school at all?” He called him statesman because +of his ambition to follow in the footsteps of his diplomatic +grandfather.</p> + +<p>“I shall stay away from the first three lessons,” Pavel +answered. “I cannot rest, uncle. I want to speak to you +about that unfortunate man.”</p> + +<p>The governor was very fond of Pavel, but he persisted +in treating him as a boy, and the only serious talk young +Boulatoff got out of him regarding Pievakin was an exhortation +to give “men of that sort a wide berth.”</p> + +<p>“But, uncle——”</p> + +<p>“Don’t argue,” the governor interrupted him, blinking +as he spoke. “This is not the kind of thing for a boy of +your station to get mixed up in.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s enough to drive one crazy. The poor man is +sincerely repentant, uncle. He’ll never do it again, +uncle.”</p> + +<p>“I see you’re quite excited over it. Just the kind of +effect fellows of that stamp will have on the mind of a boy. +This is just where the danger comes in. Don’t forget your +name, Pasha. Come, throw it all out of your clever little +head. There’s a good boy.”</p> + +<p>“Uncle darling, he’ll never do it again. Let him stay +where he is.”</p> + +<p>“You’re a foolish boy. Whether he’ll do it again or no, +his very presence in this town would be a source of danger. +Whoever sets his eyes on him will say to himself: ‘Here +is the man who once talked of the way people live under +a constitution.’ So you see he’ll be a reminder of unlawful +ideas. We have no use for fellows of this sort. They +are like living poison. Do you see the point? Let your +teacher thank his stars the case was not put in the hands<a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"><span class="pagenum">[27]</span></a> +of the gendarmes entirely, or he would be sent to a colder +place.”</p> + +<p>All this the governor said in the playful manner of one +conversing with a child and, by way of clinching the matter, +he explained that he had nothing to do with the case +and that it was under the jurisdiction of the “curator of +educational district.”</p> + +<p>Pavel was in despair and his being treated as a boy +threw him into a rage, but he held himself in check for +Pievakin’s sake.</p> + +<p>“Oh, the curator will do anything you ask of him, +uncle,” he said in a tone of entreaty and resentment at +once.</p> + +<p>“You don’t want your uncle to write letters begging for +a fellow who was foolish enough to get mixed up in such an +affair as that, do you? I used to think you really cared +for your uncle.”</p> + +<p>Pavel contracted his forehead and put out his chin +sullenly.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"><span class="pagenum">[28]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>THE “DEMONSTRATION.”</h3> + + +<p class="cap">AT the hour of Pievakin’s departure the Miroslav railway +station was crowded with gymnasium pupils +of both sexes, but Pavel was not among them. He +had not been informed that such a gathering was in contemplation +at all.</p> + +<p>Alexandre Alexandrovich, a satchel slung across his +breast, wan and haggard, but flushed with excitement, was +bustling about in a listless, mechanical way. He was accompanied +by his large family and the teacher of mathematics. +A number of gendarmes, stalwart, bewhiskered, +elaborately formidable, were pacing up and down the large +waiting room. The gendarmerie is the political police of +the Czar. It forms a special military organisation quite +distinct from the police proper. A detail of such gendarmes, +proportionate to the importance of the place, is to +be found in every railroad station of the country. On this +occasion, however, the presence of the gendarmes seemed +to have some special bearing upon the nature of the scene. +They were all big strapping fellows. Their jingling spurs, +red epaulets and icy silence belonged to the same category +of things as the terrible political prisons of Kharkoff and +St. Petersburg; as the clinking of convict-chains, as the +frozen wastes of Siberia.</p> + +<p>All at once most of the bespurred men disappeared.<a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"><span class="pagenum">[29]</span></a> +After an absence of two or three minutes they came back, +considerably re-enforced.</p> + +<p>“All gymnasium pupils, ladies and gentlemen, will +please leave the station,” they called out.</p> + +<p>About one-half of the throng struck out for the doors as +if the place were on fire. Some fifteen or twenty pupils +stood still, frowning upon the guardians of the Czar’s +safety, in timid defiance. The rest, a crowd of about two +hundred, made a lunge in the direction of the corner where +Alexandre Alexandrovich and his family were pottering +about some light baggage, when three lusty gendarmes +planted themselves in front of the little old man.</p> + +<p>“Go home, ladies and gentlemen, go home!” Pievakin +besought his friends, waving his hands and stamping his +feet desperately.</p> + +<p>“Have we no right to say good-bye to our own teacher?” +one boy ventured.</p> + +<p>“Not allowed!” a gendarme answered, sternly. “Get +out, get out!”</p> + +<p>The crowd surged back; but at this point a young +feminine voice, sonorous with indignation and distress, +rose above the din of the scramble:</p> + +<p>“Good heavens! Can it be that we shall leave without +saying good-bye to our dear teacher? All they say of him +is a lie, a malicious lie. They’re a lot of knaves, and he +is the best man in the world. Let them arrest us if they +will, let them kill us. It would be a shame if we went +away like traitors to our dear teacher.”</p> + +<p>The rest was lost in a hubbub of shouts and shrieks. In +their effort to get at the speaker, who was shielded by the +other pupils, the gendarmes were beating young women +with their sheathed swords or pulling them by the hair. +With the exception of a few who had skulked out through<a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"><span class="pagenum">[30]</span></a> +back doors, the young people now all stood their ground, +ready to fight.</p> + +<p>“Arrest us all!” they yelled. “We all say the same +thing.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Alexandre Alexandrovich is the best man in the +world. There!”</p> + +<p>“A better man than Novikoff!”</p> + +<p>“Novikoff is a hypocrite and a rogue!”</p> + +<p>In the commotion the gendarmes lost sight of the girl +they were about to arrest. She could not have left the +room, but then it was not easy to tell her from any of the +other girls. The gendarmes had seen her at a distance, +and all they could say was that she was blonde. In their +eagerness to pick her out, they were rudely scanning every +young woman in the waiting-room. Had she been arrested +it would have gone hard with her. As good luck would +have it, however, Major Safonoff, the officer in command +of the railroad gendarmes, was the brother of one of the +girls present. He was a plump, good-natured bachelor, +and his devotion to his sister, who had been under his +care since she was a year old, was a source of jests and +anecdotes. When it occurred to him that the conflict, +which was beginning to look like a serious affair, was likely +to cause trouble to his sister, he hastened to make light +of it.</p> + +<p>“Go home, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, in a remonstrative +amicable voice, taking the matter in his own +hands.</p> + +<p>His friendly tone and his smiling fat face, added to the +tacit understanding that the girl who had made the speech +was not to be persecuted, acted as a balm; but the flattering +notion that the gendarmes had surrendered kindled new +fighting blood.</p><p><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"><span class="pagenum">[31]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Your men have hit ladies. They’ve no right to hit anybody. +They’re a lot of brutes. All we wanted was to say +good-bye to Alexandre Alexandrovich.”</p> + +<p>“But that’s impossible, so what’s the use getting excited, +gentlemen? Better go home.”</p> + +<p>The pupils obeyed, in a leisurely way, as though leaving +of their own accord.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>During the following few weeks this “victory” over the +gendarmes was the great topic of discussion. The personality +of the girl who “started the demonstration” was +emblazoned with the halo of heroism. The curious part of +it was that only a minority of those who had participated +in the scene had any idea who she was. When the crowd +at the railroad station had dispersed, the handful that +knew her whispered her name to some of those who did +not, so that the number of pupils in the secret was by now +comparatively large, but it was a “revolutionary” secret, +so it was guarded most zealously against unreliable pupils +as well as against the authorities.</p> + +<p>One of the page-proofs of the <i>Miroslav Messenger</i> that +were sent to the censor at midnight contained the following +paragraph:</p> + +<p>“Alexandre Alexandrovich Pievakin, for many years instructor +of History and Geography at our male gymnasium, +left for his new place of service yesterday afternoon. A +large number of gymnasium pupils were at the railway +station.”</p> + +<p>The entire paragraph was stricken out, so that the <i>Messenger</i> +next morning contained not the remotest reference +to the departure of the old teacher.</p> + +<p>When Pasha heard what had happened at the railway +station his heart sank.</p><p><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"><span class="pagenum">[32]</span></a></p> + +<p>“I must speak to you, mother,” he gasped out, bursting +into her room, after school time. When her companion, a +dried-up little Frenchwoman with a thriving streak of +black moustache, had withdrawn, he said: “Mother, I am +a miserable egoist and a scoundrel.” He told her the story +of Pievakin’s departure. His dear old teacher was in +trouble, the victim of a cruel injustice, yet he, Pasha, had +not even thought of going to see him off. Everybody had +been there except him. But what tantalised him more +than anything else was the fact that a girl was the only +person who had taken a brave noble stand in the old man’s +behalf. This hurt his knightly sense of honour cruelly. +He should have been on the scene and done exactly what +that girl had done.</p> + +<p>“I’m an egoist and a coward, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mamman</i>. I hate myself. +Oh, I do hate myself!”</p> + +<p>Anna Nicolayevna’s eyes grew red. She had an impulse +to fold him in her arms and to offer to take him to Pievakin’s +new place so that he might protest his sympathy and +affection for the old man, but her instinct told her that +this would be improper. Oh, there were so many things +that made a strong appeal to one’s better feelings which +were considered improper. So she emitted a sigh of resignation +and said nothing.</p> + +<p>Pavel was pacing the floor so vehemently that he came +near running into and knocking down the life-sized Diana. +He walked with rapid heavy steps until his brain grew +dizzy and his despair was dulled as from the effect of +drink. Suddenly the situation rushed back upon him.</p> + +<p>“I tell you what, mother, he’s too good for them,” he +said, stopping in front of her. “He is better than uncle, +anyhow.”</p> + +<p>“Hush, you mustn’t say that.”</p><p><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"><span class="pagenum">[33]</span></a></p> + +<p>“The devil I mustn’t. It’s true.”</p> + +<p>“You are impossible, Pasha. Can’t you calm down?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you calmly, then: uncle is a bribe-taker and a +heartless egoist. There.”</p> + +<p>“Dear me,” she said, in consternation.</p> + +<p>“But you know he is, mother. And do you call that +loyalty to the Czar? Pievakin is pure as an infant. If +the Czar knew the real character of both, he would know +that the poor man could give uncle points in loyalty.”</p> + +<p>A few days after this conversation the governor dined at +“The Palace,” as Countess Varoff’s residence was known +among the common people of Miroslav. Pavel refused to +leave his room. When Anna Nicolayevna pleaded his +uncle’s affection for him, he said:</p> + +<p>“His affection be hanged. Who wants the affection of +a bribe-taker who will let an honest man perish? Look +here, mother, you have no business to tell him I have +a headache. I want him to know the truth. Tell him +it’s men like himself, bribe-takers, cowards, who spread +sedition, not men like Pievakin. ‘Living poison,’d! +Tell him he is a lump of living poison himself. Oh, I hate +him, I do hate him.”</p> + +<p>His brain was working feverishly. The image of Pievakin +with three gendarmes between him and a crowd of +pupils haunted him. Why could he not be pardoned? +Was there no mercy in this world? His sense of the +cruelty of the thing and of his own helplessness seized +him as with a violent clutch again and again.</p> + +<p>Once, as he was reviewing the situation for the thousandth +time, a voice in him exclaimed: “Pardoned? +What was Pievakin to be pardoned for? What had he +done? Why should it be wrong to dwell on the vital features +of parliamentary government? Such governments<a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"><span class="pagenum">[34]</span></a> +existed, didn’t they? And if they did, then why should +one be forbidden to explain their <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added "">essence?”</ins> For the first +time did his attention fix itself on this point, and questions +came crowding upon him. Where was the sense +of having such terms as “limited monarchy” in the text-book +at all, if the pupils were not to be told what this +meant? Above all, why should the government be afraid +of such explanations? There seemed to be something +cowardly, sneaking, about all this which jarred on Pavel’s +sense of the knightly magnificence of the Czar and left him +with a bad taste in the mouth, as the phrase is.</p> + +<p>Alexandre Alexandrovich, then, had done no wrong, +and yet he had been banished as “living poison,” treated +by everybody as a criminal, until he came to believe himself +one. Why, of course he was better than Novikoff. Novikoff +was a self-seeking, posing wretch, and all the other +teachers were cringing and crouching before him; and these +insects turned their backs upon Alexandre Alexandrovich! +Corruption passed for loyalty, and a really good man was +persecuted, hunted down like a wild beast, trampled upon. +“Trampled upon, trampled upon, trampled upon!” Pavel +whispered audibly, stamping his foot and gnashing his +teeth as he did so.</p> + +<p>The only gleam of light was the veiled figure of that +gymnasium girl. She alone had had sympathy and courage +enough to raise her voice for the poor man. “Why, +she is a perfect heroine,” he said in his aching heart.</p> + +<p>At the gymnasium he felt his loneliness more keenly +than ever. Wherever he saw a cluster of boys, he felt sure +they were whispering about the gendarmes and the girl +who had made the “speech” at the railroad station. His +pride was gone. He now saw himself an outcast, shut out +of the most important things life contained.</p><p><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"><span class="pagenum">[35]</span></a></p> + +<p>The leader of the “serious-minded” boys in Pavel’s class +was an underfed Jewish youth, with an anæmic chalky +face and a cold intelligent look, named Elkin. To Pavel +he had always been repugnant. Since Pievakin’s departure, +however, the aristocratic boy had looked at his classmates +in a new light, and Elkin now even inspired him +with respect.</p> + +<p>“Who is the girl that made that speech at the station?” +he asked simply. The two had scarcely ever +spoken before.</p> + +<p>Elkin gave Boulatoff a stare of freezing irony, as who +should say: “What do you think of the assurance of this +man?” and then, dropping his eyes, he asked:</p> + +<p>“What girl?” When he spoke his lips assumed the +form of two obtuse angles, exposing to view a glistening +lozenge of white teeth.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Elkin, I want to know who that girl is and +all about the whole affair, and if you think I ought not to +know it because—well, because I am a Boulatoff and my +uncle is the governor, I can assure you that if I had been +there I should have acted as she did. What’s more, I hate +myself for not having been there.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” replied Elkin. +“As to your hating yourself, that’s your own affair.”</p> + +<p>“Well, however I may feel toward myself, I certainly +have nothing but contempt for a man like you,” Pasha +snapped back, paling. “But if you think you can keep it +from me, you’re mistaken.”</p> + +<p>Elkin sized him up with a look full of venom, as he +said:</p> + +<p>“Pitiful wretch! How are you going to find it out? +Through the political spies?”</p> + +<p>Pavel turned red. It was with a great effort that he<a name="Page_36" id="Page_36"><span class="pagenum">[36]</span></a> +kept himself from striking Elkin. After a pause he said:</p> + +<p>“Now, I can tell you from the bottom of my heart that +you are a knave.”</p> + +<p>“Besides,” said Elkin, as though finishing an interrupted +remark, “most of the gymnasium girls who saw +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Alexander'">Alexandre</ins> Alexandrovich off are daughters of poor, humble +people, so of what interest would it have been to a man +in your position?”</p> + +<p>Boulatoff stood still for a few moments, and then said +under his breath:</p> + +<p>“Well, you’re a fool as well as a knave,” and turned +away.</p> + +<p>The heroine of the demonstration was hateful to him +now. She and Elkin seemed to stand at the head of the +untitled classes all arrayed against him. He retired into +himself deeper than ever. He abhorred her because she +had done the right thing, and each time his sympathy for +Pievakin welled up he hated himself for not having been +at the station, and her for having been there. He sought +relief in charging Elkin with cowardice. “What did <i>he</i> +do there?” he would say to himself. “To think of a lot +of fellows running away when they are told they can’t +say good-bye to their martyred teacher, and a girl being +the only one who has courage enough to act properly. And +now that she has done it this coward has the face to give +himself airs, as if he were entitled to credit for her courage. +If I had been there I should not have run away as Elkin +and his crew did.”</p> + +<p>This placed Elkin and his followers on one side of the +line and Pavel and the girl on the other. So what right +had that coward of a Jew to place himself between her +and him?</p> + +<p><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37"><span class="pagenum">[37]</span></a></p><hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Toward spring, some two months after the old teacher’s +departure, and when the incident was beginning to grow +dim in the public mind, the sensation was suddenly revived +and greatly intensified by an extraordinary piece of news +that came from the town to which Pievakin had been transferred: +The Third Section of His Majesty’s Own Office—the +central political detective bureau of the empire—had +taken up the case, with the result that the action of the +Department of Public Instruction had been repudiated as +dangerously inadequate. The idea of a man like Pievakin +participating in the education of children! Accordingly, +the poor old man was now under arrest, condemned to be +transported to Viatka, a thinly populated province in the +remote north, where he was to live under police surveillance, +as a political exile strictly debarred from teaching, +even in private families.</p> + +<p>Pavel was stunned. He received the news as something +elemental. He could find fault with his uncle, but the +government at St. Petersburg was a sublime abstract force, +bathed in the effulgence of the Czar’s personality. It was +no more open to condemnation than a thunderstorm or a +turbulent sea. But the incident made an ineffaceable impression +upon him. It left him with the general feeling +that there was something inherently cruel in the world. +And the picture of a pretty girl boldly raising her voice +for poor Pievakin in the teeth of formidable-looking gendarmes +and in the midst of a crowd of panic-stricken men +remained imbedded in his fancy as the emblem of brave +pity. An importunate sense of jealousy nagged him. He +often caught himself dreaming of situations in which he +appeared in a rôle similar to the one she had played at the +railroad station.</p> + +<p>His perceptions and sensibilities took a novel trend.</p><p><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38"><span class="pagenum">[38]</span></a></p> + +<p>One day, for example, as he walked through Theatre +Square, he paused to watch an apple-faced ensign, evidently +fresh from the military school, lecture a middle-aged sergeant. +The youthful officer sat on a bench, swaggeringly +leaning back, his new sword gleaming by his side, as he +questioned the soldier who stood at attention, the picture +of embarrassment and impotent rage. A young woman, +probably the sergeant’s wife, sweetheart, or daughter, stood +aside, looking on wretchedly. Seated on a bench directly +across the walk were two pretty gymnasium girls. It was +clear that the whole scene had been gotten up for their +sake, that the ensign had stopped the poor fellow, who +was old enough to be his father, and was now putting him +through this ordeal for the sole purpose of flaunting his +authority before them. When the sergeant had been allowed +to go his way, but before he was out of hearing, +Pavel walked up to the ensign and said aloud:</p> + +<p>“I wish to tell you, sir, that you tormented that poor +man merely to show off.”</p> + +<p>“Bravo!” said the two gymnasium girls, clapping their +hands with all their might; “bravo!”</p> + +<p>The ensign sprang to his feet, his apple-cheeks red as +fire. “What do you mean by interfering with an officer—in +the performance of his duty?” he faltered. He apparently +knew that the young man before him was a nephew +of the governor.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense! You were not performing any duties. +You were parading. That’s what you were doing.”</p> + +<p>The two girls burst into a ringing laugh, whereupon the +ensign stalked off, mumbling something about having the +gymnasium boy arrested.</p> + +<p>“Mother,” he said, when he came home. “The world +is divided into tormentors and victims.”</p><p><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39"><span class="pagenum">[39]</span></a></p> + +<p>Anna Nicolayevna gave a laugh that made her rusty +face interesting. “And what are you—a tormentor or +a victim?” she asked. “At any rate you had better throw +these thoughts out of your mind. They lead to no good, +Pasha.”</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40"><span class="pagenum">[40]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>PAVEL’S FIRST STEP.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">WHEN Pavel arrived in St. Petersburg, in the last +days of July, his recent tribulations seemed a +thing of the faded past. The capital was a fascinating +setting for the great university which he was soon +to enter and in which he was bent upon drinking deep of +the deepest mysteries of wisdom. His “certificate of maturity”—his +gymnasium diploma—was a solemn proclamation +of his passage from boyhood to manhood—a +change which seemed to assert itself in everything he did. +He ate maturely, talked maturely, walked maturely. He +felt like a girl on the eve of her wedding day.</p> + +<p>He had not been in the big city for six years, and so +marked was the distinction between it and the southern +town from which he hailed, that to his “mature” eyes it +seemed as if they were seeing it for the first time. The +multitude of large lusty men, heavily bearded and wearing +blouses of flaming red; the pink buildings; the melodious +hucksters; the cherry-peddlars, with their boards piled +with the succulent fruit on their shoulders; the pitchy odor +of the overheated streets; the soft, sibilant affectations in +the speech of the lower classes; the bustling little ferry-boats +on the Neva—all this, sanctified by the presence +of the university buildings across the gay river, made his +heart throb with a feeling as though Miroslav were a foreign<a name="Page_41" id="Page_41"><span class="pagenum">[41]</span></a> +town and he were treading the soil of real Russia at +last.</p> + +<p>He matriculated at the Section of Philology and History, +St. Petersburg. Before starting on his studies, however, +he went off on a savage debauch with some aristocratic +young relatives. The debauch lasted a fortnight, and cost +his mother a small fortune. When he came to the university +at last, weary of himself and his relatives, he settled +down to a winter of hard work. But the life at the +university disturbed his peace of mind. He found the +students divided into “crammers,” “parquette-scrapers” +and “radicals.” The last named seemed to be in the majority—a +bustling, whispering, preoccupied crowd with +an effect of being the masters of the situation. There was +a vast difference between Elkin and his followers and these +people. Pavel knew that the university was the hotbed +of the secret movement, of which he was now tempted to +know something. There was no telling who of his present +classmates might prove a candidate for the gallows. The +wide-awake, whispering, mysterious world about him reminded +him of the Miroslav girl and of his rebuff upon +trying to discover who she was. When he made an attempt +to break through the magic circle in which that world was +enclosed his well-cared-for appearance and high-born manner +went against him. A feeling of isolation weighed on +his soul that was much harder to bear than his ostracism +at the gymnasium had been. Harder to bear, because the +students who kept away from him here struck him as his +superiors, and because he had a humble feeling as though +it were natural that they should hold aloof from him. +And the image of that Miroslav girl seemed to float over +these whispering young men, at once luring and repulsing +him. He often went about with a lump in his throat.</p><p><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42"><span class="pagenum">[42]</span></a></p> + +<p>One day he met a girl named Sophia Perovskaya, the +daughter of a former governor of the Province of St. Petersburg +and the granddaughter of a celebrated cabinet minister. +She was a strong-featured, boyish-looking little creature, +with grave blue eyes beneath a very high forehead. +He had known her when he was a child. There was something +in her general appearance now and in the few words +she said to him which left a peculiar impression on Pavel. +As he thought of her later it dawned upon him that she +might belong to the same world as those preoccupied, whispering +fellow-students of his. He looked her up the same +day.</p> + +<p>“I should like to get something to read, Sophia +Lvovna,” he said, colouring. “Some of the proscribed +things, I mean.” Then he added, with an embarrassed +frown, “Something tells me you could get it for me. If +I am mistaken, you will have to excuse me.”</p> + +<p>The governor’s daughter fixed her blue eyes on him as +she said, simply:</p> + +<p>“All right. I’ll get you something.”</p> + +<p>She lent him a volume of the “underground” magazine +<i>Forward!</i> and some other prints. The tales of valour +and martyrdom which he found in these publications, added +to the editorials they contained calling upon the nobility +to pay the debt they owed to the peasantry by sacrificing +themselves for their welfare, literally intoxicated him.</p> + +<p>“Dear Mother and Comrade,” he wrote in a letter home, +“I have come to the conclusion that the so-called nobility +to which I belong has never done anything useful. For +centuries and centuries and centuries we have been living +at the expense of those good, honest, overworked people, the +peasantry. It is enough to drive one to suicide. Yes, +mamma darling, we are a race of drones and robbers. The<a name="Page_43" id="Page_43"><span class="pagenum">[43]</span></a> +ignorant, unkempt moujiks that we treat like beasts are +in reality angels compared to us. There is something in +them—in their traditions and in the inherent purity of +their souls—which should inspire us with reverence. Yet +they are literally starved and three-fourths of their toil +goes to maintain the army and the titled classes.”</p> + +<p>Further down in the same letter he said: “Every great +writer in the history of our literature has been in prison +or exiled. Our noblest thinker and critic, Chernyshevsky, +is languishing in Siberia. Why? Why? My hair stands +erect when I think of these things.”</p> + +<p>When it came to posting the letter, it dawned upon him +that such sentiments were not to be trusted to the mails, +and, feeling himself a conspirator, he committed the epistle +to the flames.</p> + +<p>He was touched by the spirit of that peasant worship—the +religion of the “penitent nobility”—which was the +spirit of the best unproscribed literature of the day as well +as of the “underground” movement. Turgeneff owed the +origin of his fame to the peasant portraits of his <i>Notes of +a Huntsman</i>. Nekrasoff, the leading poet of the period, +and a score of other writers were perpetually glorifying +the peasant, going into ecstasies over him, bewailing him. +The peasant they drew was a creature of flesh-and-blood +reality, but shed over him was the golden halo of idealism. +The central doctrine of the movement was a theory that +the survival of the communistic element in the Russian +village, was destined to become the basis of the country’s +economic and political salvation; that Russia would leap +into an ideal social arrangement without having to pass +through capitalism; that her semi-barbaric peasant, kindly +and innocent as a dove and the martyr of centuries, carried +in his person the future glory, moral as well as material,<a name="Page_44" id="Page_44"><span class="pagenum">[44]</span></a> +of his unhappy country. As to the living peasant, he had +no more knowledge of this adoration of himself (nor +capacity to grasp the meaning of the movement, if an attempt +had been made to explain it to him) than a squirrel +has of the presence of a “q” in the spelling of its name.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Sophia disappeared from St. Petersburg, and Pavel +found himself cut off from the “underground” world once +more. The prints she had left him only served to excite +his craving for others of the same character. The preoccupied, +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'myterious'">mysterious</ins> air of the “radicals” at the university +tantalised him. He was in a veritable fever of envy, resentment, +intellectual and spiritual thirst. He subscribed +liberally to the various revolutionary funds that were continually +being raised under the guise of charity, and otherwise +tried to manifest his sympathy with the movement, +all to no purpose. His contributions were accepted, but +his advances were repulsed. One day he approached a +student whom he had once given ten rubles “for a needy +family”—a thin fellow with a very long neck and the +face of a chicken.</p> + +<p>“I should like to get something to read,” he said, trying +to copy the tone of familiar simplicity which he had used +with Sophia. “I have read one number of <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added !"><i>Forward!</i></ins> and +another thing or two, but that’s all I have been able to +get.”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me,” the chicken-face answered, colouring, “I +really don’t know what you mean. Can’t you get those +books in the book-stores or in the public library?”</p> + +<p>Pavel was left with an acute pang of self-pity. He felt +like a pampered child undergoing ill-treatment at the +hands of strangers. His mother and all his relatives +thought so much of him, while these fellows, who would<a name="Page_45" id="Page_45"><span class="pagenum">[45]</span></a> +deem it a privilege to talk to any of them, were treating +him as a nobody and a spy. The tears came to his eyes. +But presently he clenched his fists and said to himself, “I +<i>will</i> be admitted to their set.”</p> + +<p>In his fidget he happened to think of Pani Oginska. As +the scene at the German watering-place came back to him, +he was seized with a desire to efface the affront he had +offered her. “How can I rest until I have seen her and +asked her pardon?” he said to himself. “If I were a real +man and not a mere phrase-monger I should start out on +the journey at once. But, of course, I won’t do anything +of the kind, and writing of such things is impossible. I +<i>am</i> a phrase-maker. That’s all I am.”</p> + +<p>But he soliloquized himself into the reflection that Pani +Oginska was likely to know some of her imprisoned son’s +friends, if, indeed, she was not in the “underground” +world herself, and the very next morning found him in a +railway car, bound for the south.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Pani Oginska’s estate was near the boundary line between +the province to which it belonged and the one whose +capital was Miroslav, a considerable distance from a railway +station. Pavel covered that distance in a post-sleigh +drawn by a troika. His way lay in the steppe region. It +was a very cold forenoon in mid-winter. The horses’ +manes were covered with frost; the postilion was bundled +up so heavily that he looked like an old woman. The sun +shone out of a blue, unconcerned sky upon a waste of eery +whiteness. There were ridges of drifts and there were +black patches of bare ground, but the general perspective +unfolded an unbroken plane of snow, a level expanse +stretching on either side of the smooth road, seemingly +endless and bottomless, destitute of any trace of life save<a name="Page_46" id="Page_46"><span class="pagenum">[46]</span></a> +for an occasional inn by the roadside or the snow-bound +hovel and outhouses of a shepherd in the distance—a +domain of silence and numb monotony. That this desert +of frozen sterility would four or five months later, be +transformed into a world of grass and birds seemed as +inconceivable as the sudden disappearance of the ocean.</p> + +<p>The last few versts were an eternity. Pavel’s heart +leaped with a foretaste of the exciting interview.</p> + +<p>“Lively, my man,” he pressed the postilion. “Can’t +your horses get a move on them?”</p> + +<p>The postilion nodded his muffled head and set up a +fierce yelp, for all the world like a wolf giving chase; +whereupon the animals, apparently scared to death, broke +into a desperate gallop, the scud flying, the sleigh dashing +along like an electric car in open country, its bell ringing +frostily.</p> + +<p>“That’s better,” Pavel shouted with a thrill of physical +pleasure and speaking with difficulty for the breakneck +speed that seemed to fling the breath out of his lungs. +“That’s better, my man. You shall get a good tip. But +where have you learned the trick?”</p> + +<p>The postilion gave a muffled grunt of appreciation and +went on howling with all his might.</p> + +<p>They passed through a small village. The chimneys of +some of the white clay hovels on either side of the road +poured out clouds of sweetish, nauseating smoke. Wood +being scarce in these parts, the peasantry made fuel of +manure.</p> + +<p>At last the sleigh swung into the great front yard of Pani +Oginska’s manor house. It was greeted by the curious eyes +of half a dozen servants. Pavel entered a warm vestibule +with a painted floor, where he found waiting to meet him +Pani Oginska and an aged man with hair as white as the<a name="Page_47" id="Page_47"><span class="pagenum">[47]</span></a> +snow without. He bowed politely and asked, in French, +with nervous timidity:</p> + +<p>“Do you remember me, Madame Oginska?”</p> + +<p>She screwed up her eyes as she scanned his flushed, +frozen face.</p> + +<p>“Prince Boulatoff!” she said in a perplexed whisper.</p> + +<p>“I have come all the way from St. Petersburg to beg +your pardon, Madame Oginska,” he fired out. “I acted +like a brute on that occasion. I was an idiotic boy. Forgive +me.”</p> + +<p>“Have you actually come all the way from St. Petersburg, +to tell me that?” she asked with a hearty peal of +laughter. She introduced him to the white-haired man, +her father, who first made a bow full of old-fashioned +dignity and then gave Pavel’s cold hand a doddering grasp.</p> + +<p>“So you have really come for that express purpose?” +Pani Oginska resumed, while a servant was relieving the +newcomer of his fur-lined coat, fur cap, heavy gloves, muffler +and storm shoes. “A case of compunction, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>Her father followed them as far as the open door of a +vast, plainly furnished parlour, and after looming on the +threshold for a minute or two, in an attitude of pained +dignity, he bowed himself away. Pani Oginska gently +pressed the young man into a huge, rusty easy-chair, she +herself remaining in a standing posture, her mind apparently +divided between hospitality and an important +errand upon which she seemed to have been bent when +he arrived. She wore a furred jacket, her head in a +grey shawl and her feet in heavy top-boots—a costume +jarringly out of accord with her pale, delicate, nunnish +<ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added .">face.</ins> She made quite a new impression on the young +prince.</p><p><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48"><span class="pagenum">[48]</span></a></p> + +<p>“I was blind then,” he began, when they were left alone. +“My eyes were closed.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you needn’t go into detail,” she rejoined with an +amused look. “I think I can guess how it has come about. +You have caught the contagion, haven’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Why call it ‘contagion?’ It’s the truth; it’s justice. +If I hadn’t been such a silly boy when I first had the pleasure +of meeting you, I should certainly not have acted the +way I did.”</p> + +<p>“A boy? And what are you now, pray? An old man +with the weight of experience on your shoulders?” she +asked with motherly gaiety. “Well, we’ll talk it over later +on, or, indeed, we’ll find better things to talk about; and +meanwhile I want you to excuse me, prince, and make +yourself comfortable without me. You are hungry, of +course?”</p> + +<p>“Not at all. I had luncheon at the station.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you shall have some refreshments at any rate, +and by and by I shall be back. I am a rather busy woman, +you see. I have to be my own manager, and there are +a thousand and one things to look after, and the snow is +rather deep”—pointing at her heavy boots. “Well, here +are some books and magazines. <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">Au revoir.</i>” She made +for the door, but faced about again. “By the way, prince, +does your mother know of this crazy trip of yours?”</p> + +<p>“I confess she does not,” he answered, feeling helplessly +like a boy. “Why?”</p> + +<p>“Why! Because she is the best woman in the world, +and because it’s too bad you did anything so foolish without +letting her know at least. By the way, this is anything +but a desirable place for a young man to visit. Since my +son got into trouble the police have tried to keep an eye +on us; but then the police are so stupid. Still, I am sorry<a name="Page_49" id="Page_49"><span class="pagenum">[49]</span></a> +you didn’t first consult your mother. If you boys would +only let yourselves be guided by your mothers you would +be spared many a trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Is that the prime object of life—to guard against +harm to oneself?” Pavel protested.</p> + +<p>She fixed him with a look of amusement, and then remarked +sadly: “You <i>have</i> caught the contagion, poor +thing. I’ll write your mother about it. Let her put a +stop to it if it isn’t too late.”</p> + +<p>He took fire. “I don’t know what you are hinting at, +Madame Oginska,” he said. Asking her to introduce him +to Nihilists seemed out of the question.</p> + +<p>“I am hinting at those ‘circles,’ prince. You probably +belong to one of them; that’s what I am hinting at. Don’t +you, now?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t belong to any circles. Nor do I know what +you mean, madame.”</p> + +<p>“Well, well. You have come to ask me not to be offended +with you, and now it seems to be my turn to ask +you not to be angry with me. Don’t be uneasy, prince. +I shan’t write to your mother. Indeed, she couldn’t afford +to be in correspondence with me at all. However, if you +really aren’t yet mixed up in those dreadful things”—there +was a dubious twinkle in her eye—“you had better +keep out of them in the future, too. Think of your charming +mother and take care of yourself, prince. Well, I have +got to go. It’s barbaric of me to leave you, but I’ll soon be +back. Here are some books and magazines. Or wait, I +have another occupation for you. I want you to meet +the best Jew in the world. I want you to examine him +in ‘Gentile lore,’ as his people would put it. They would +kill me, his people, if they knew he came to read my ‘Gentile +books.’”</p><p><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50"><span class="pagenum">[50]</span></a></p> + +<p>“He is a brainy fellow,” she went on, leading the way +through a labyrinth of rooms and corridors, “chockful of +that Talmud of theirs, don’t you know. Now that he is +married they are trying to make a business man of him, +but he prefers worldly wisdom and that sort of thing. I +let him use my library, the only place he has for his +‘unholy’ studies, in fact. He is supposed to come on business +here. He lives in a small town a mile from here.”</p> + +<p>She was speaking in Russian now, a language she had +perfect command of, but which she spoke with a strong +Polish accent, making it sound to Pavel as though she +was declaiming poetry. Twelve years ago, before she inherited +this estate, and when she still lived in Poland, her +birthplace, she could scarcely speak it at all.</p> + +<p>She took him into a room whose walls were lined with +books, mostly old and worn, and whose two windows looked +out upon a frozen pond in front of a snow-covered clump +of trees.</p> + +<p>“Monsieur Parmet, Prince Boulatoff,” she said, as a +man sprang to his feet with the air of one startled from +mental absorption. He was of strong, ungainly build, +with the peculiar stamp of rabbinical scholarship on a +plump, dark-bearded face. “See how much he knows, +prince. He thinks he can take the examination for a certificate +of maturity and enter the university. But then +he thinks he knows everything.” With this she left them +to themselves.</p> + +<p>Pavel was in a whirl of embarrassment and annoyance, +but the abashed smile of the other mollified him. “What +I need more than anything else is to be examined in Latin +and Greek,” Parmet said. “I haven’t had my exercises +looked over for a long time, and it may be all wrong for all +I know.” His Russian had a Yiddish accent. He spoke<a name="Page_51" id="Page_51"><span class="pagenum">[51]</span></a> +in low, purring tones that seemed to soften the heavy outline +of his figure. He was a lumbering mass of physical +strength, one of those bearlike giants whom village people +will describe as bending horseshoes like so many blades of +grass or driving nails into a wall with their bare knuckles +for a hammer. His dark-brown eyes shone meekly.</p> + +<p>“Have you learned it all by yourself?” Pavel asked.</p> + +<p>“Not altogether.”</p> + +<p>Pavel began with an air of lofty reluctance, but he was +soon carried away by the niceties of the ancient syntax, +and his stiffness melted into didactic animation. As to +Parmet, his plump, dark face was an image of religious +ecstasy. Pavel warmed to him. His Talmudic gestures +and intonation amused him.</p> + +<p>“There’s no trouble about your Latin,” he said, familiarly; +“no trouble whatever.”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t there? It was Pani Oginska’s son who gave me +the first start,” the other said, blissfully, uttering the name +in a lowered voice. “If it had not been for him I should +still be immersed in the depths of darkness.”</p> + +<p>“‘Immersed in the depths of darkness!’ There is a +phrase for you! Why should you use high-flown language +like that?”</p> + +<p>Parmet smiled, shrugging his shoulders bashfully. +“Will you kindly try me on Greek now?” he said.</p> + +<p>“One second. That must have been quite a little while +ago when Pani Oginska’s son taught you, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Parmet tiptoed over to the open door, closed it, tiptoed +back and said: “Not quite two years. If you knew what +a man of gold he was! They are slowly killing him, the +murderers. And why? What had he done? He could +not harm a fly. He is all goodness, an angel like his +mother. He was of delicate health when they took him,<a name="Page_52" id="Page_52"><span class="pagenum">[52]</span></a> +and now he is melting like a candle. Why, oh why, should +men like him have to perish that way?”</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it rather risky for you to be coming here?” Pavel +demanded, looking him over curiously.</p> + +<p>Parmet smiled, a queer, outlandish smile, at once naïve +and knowing, as he replied:</p> + +<p>“Risky? No. What does an old-fashioned Jew like +myself care about politics? I am supposed to come here +on business. Did you know Eugene?”</p> + +<p>“Who is Eugene? Pani Oginska’s son?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I thought you knew him.”</p> + +<p>“I wish I had. People like him are the only ones worth +knowing. Most of the others are scoundrels, humbugs, +cold-blooded egoists; that’s what they are.”</p> + +<p>So talking, they gradually confided to each other the +story of their respective conversions and tribulations. +Parmet followed the prince’s tale first with a look of childlike +curiosity and then with an air that betrayed emotion. +As he listened he kept rubbing his hand nervously. When +Pavel had concluded, the Jew took to tiptoeing up and +down the room, stopped in front of him and said, with great +ardour:</p> + +<p>“Don’t grieve, my dear man. I may be able to help you. +I know a friend of Eugene’s who could put you in touch +with the proper persons.”</p> + +<p>“Is he in St. Petersburg?”</p> + +<p>“No, but that’s no matter. He can arrange it. He +knows somebody there. I’ll see him as soon as I can, even +if I have to travel many miles for it.”</p> + +<p>Pavel grasped his hand silently.</p> + +<p>“Well,” the other said. “There was a time when I +thought every Christian hard-hearted and cruel. Now I +am ashamed of myself for having harboured such ideas in<a name="Page_53" id="Page_53"><span class="pagenum">[53]</span></a> +my mind. Every Christian whose acquaintance I happen +to make turns out to be an angel rather than a human +being.”</p> + +<p>“Why these compliments?” Pavel snarled. “Most of +the Christians I know are knaves. The whole world is +made up of knaves for that matter.”</p> + +<p>When Pani Oginska came home and saw them together, +she said:</p> + +<p>“I knew I should find you two making love to each +other.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>A month or two after Pavel’s return to St. Petersburg +a tall blond young man with typical Great-Russian features +looked him up at the university.</p> + +<p>“I have received word from the south about you,” he +said, without introducing himself.</p> + +<p>“I am pleased to meet you,” Pavel returned gruffly, +“but I hope I won’t be kept on probation and be subjected +to all sorts of humiliations.”</p> + +<p>“Why, why,” the other said, in confusion. “I’ll be glad +to let you have any kind of literature there is and to introduce +you to other comrades. That’s why I have been +looking for you. Why should you take it that way?”</p> + +<p>Pavel’s face broke into a smile. “Dashed if I know +why I should. Something possessed me to put on a harsh +front. It was mere parading, I suppose. Don’t mind it. +What shall I call you?”</p> + +<p>“Why—er—oh, call me anything,” the other answered, +colouring.</p> + +<p>“Very well, then. I’ll call you Peter; or no, will ‘godfather’ +do? That is, provided you are really going to be +one to me,” Pavel said, in a vain struggle to suppress his +exultation.</p><p><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54"><span class="pagenum">[54]</span></a></p> + +<p>“It’ll be all right,” his new acquaintance replied with +bashful ardour.</p> + +<p>“Godfather, then?”</p> + +<p>Godfather introduced him to several other “radicals,” +who gave him underground prints and a list of legitimate +books for a course of “serious” reading. He +would stay at home a whole week at a time without +dressing or going down for his meals, perusing volume +after volume, paper after paper. When he did dress and +go out it was to get more books or to seek answers to the +questions which disturbed his peace. He was in a state +of vernal agitation, in a fever of lofty impulses. And so +much like a conspirator did he feel by now, that he no +longer even thought of opening his mind to his mother. +Indeed, the change that had come over him was so complete +that she was not likely to understand him if he had. +To drive her to despair seemed to be the only result he +could expect of such a confession. The secret movement +appealed to him as a host of saints. He longed to be one +of them, to be martyred with them. It was clear to him +that some day he would die for the Russian people; die a +slow, a terrible death; and this slow, terrible death impressed +him as the highest pinnacle of happiness.</p> + +<p>When his mother came to see him, a year later, she +thought he was in love.</p> + +<p>He was in the thick of the movement by that time. He +was learning shoemaking with a view to settling in a village. +He would earn his livelihood in the sweat of his +brow, and he would carry the light of his lofty ideas into +the hovels of the suffering peasantry. But his plans in +this direction were never realized. The period of “going +to the people” soon came to an end.</p> + +<p>The mothlike self-immolation of university students continued,<a name="Page_55" id="Page_55"><span class="pagenum">[55]</span></a> +but the spirit of unresisting martyrdom could not +last. Violence was bound to result from it.</p> + +<p>The next year saw the celebrated “trial of 193,” mostly +college men and college women. They were charged with +political propaganda, and the bold stand they took thrilled +the country. The actual number tried was, indeed, much +less than 193, for of those who had been kept in prison in +connection with that case as many as seventy had perished +in their cold, damp cells while waiting to be arraigned. +Of those who were tried many were acquitted, but instead +of regaining their liberty a large number of these were +transported to Siberia “by administrative order.” Moreover, +hundreds of people were slowly killed in the dungeons +or exiled to Siberia without any process of law whatsoever. +School children were buried in these consumption breeding +cells; whole families were ruined because one of their members +was accused of reading a socialist pamphlet. Student +girls were subjected to indignities by dissolute officials—all +“by administrative order.”</p> + +<p>The Russian penal code imposes the same penalty for +disfiguring the eyes of an imperial portrait as it does for +blinding a live subject of the Czar. But political suspects +were tortured without regard even to this code.</p> + +<p>It gradually dawned upon the propagandists that instead +of being decimated in a fruitless attempt to get at the common +people they should first devote themselves to an effort +in the direction of free speech. By a series of bold attacks +it was expected to extort the desired reforms from the +government. Nothing was lawless, so it was argued, when +directed, in self-defence, against the representatives of a +system that was the embodiment of bloodthirsty lawlessness.</p> + +<p>Thus peaceful missionaries became Terrorists. The government +inaugurated a system of promiscuous executions;<a name="Page_56" id="Page_56"><span class="pagenum">[56]</span></a> +the once unresisting propagandists retaliated by assassination +after assassination. Socialists were hanged for disseminating +their ideas or for resisting arrest; high officials +were stabbed or shot down for the bloodthirsty cruelty with +which they fought the movement; and finally a series of +plots was inaugurated aiming at the life of the emperor +himself.</p> + +<p>The White Terror of the throne was met by the Red +Terror of the Revolution.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57"><span class="pagenum">[57]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>A MEETING ON NEW TERMS.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">IT was an evening in the spring, 1879. The parlour of +a wealthy young engineer in Kharkoff—a slender little +man with eyelids that looked swollen and a mouth that +was usually half-open, giving him a drowsy appearance—was +filled with Nihilists come to hear “an important man +from St. Petersburg.” The governor of the province had +recently been killed for the maltreatment of political prisoners +and students of the local university, while a month +later a bold attempt had been made on the life of the +Czar at the capital. The new phase of the movement +was asserting itself with greater and greater emphasis, and +the address by the stranger, who was no other than Pavel +Boulatoff, though he was known here as Nikolai, was +awaited with thrills of impatience.</p> + +<p>The room was fairly crowded and the speaker of the +evening was on hand, but the managers of the gathering +were waiting for several more listeners. When two of +these arrived, one of them proved to be Elkin. He and +Pavel had not met since their graduation from the Miroslav +gymnasium. Both wore scant growths of beard and +both looked considerably changed, though Pavel was still +slim and boyish of figure and Elkin’s face as anæmic +and chalk-coloured as it had been four years ago. Elkin +had been expelled from the University for signing some<a name="Page_58" id="Page_58"><span class="pagenum">[58]</span></a> +sort of petition. Since then he had nominally been engaged +in revolutionary business. In reality he spent his +nights in gossip and tea-drinking, and his days in sleep. +Too proud to sponge on his Nihilist friends for more than +tea and bread and an occasional cutlet, and too lazy to +give lessons, he was growing ever thinner and lazier. He +was a man of spotless honesty, overflowing with venom, +yet endowed with a certain kind of magnetism.</p> + +<p>When Elkin discovered who the important revolutionist +from St. Petersburg was the blood rushed to his face. +It was a most disagreeable surprise. But Pavel greeted +him with a cordiality so free from consciousness, and his +roaring laughter, as he compared the circumstances of their +last quarrel and those that surrounded their present meeting, +was so hearty that Elkin’s hostility gave way to a feeling +of elation at being so well received by the lion of the evening. +He was one of the rank and file of the local “Circles,” +and the prominence into which Pavel’s attention brought +him at this meeting, in the presence of several of his +chums, gave him a sense of promotion and triumph. He +wished he could whisper into the ear of everybody present +that this important revolutionist who was known to the +gathering as Nikolai was Prince Boulatoff.</p> + +<p>“I am still in the dark as to the identity of that girl,” +said Pavel.</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t keep it from you now,” the other returned, +exposing an exultant lozenge of white teeth. “Next time +we meet in Miroslav I shall look her up and introduce +you to her. I have not seen her for a long time. She is +quite an interesting specimen.”</p> + +<p>“I should like to meet her very much,” Pavel said earnestly. +“I have been wanting to know something about her +all along. You see, if there were a circle in that blessed<a name="Page_59" id="Page_59"><span class="pagenum">[59]</span></a> +out-of-the-way town of ours one might be able to find out +things, but if there is I have not seen anybody who knows +of its existence. I myself have not been there for two +years.”</p> + +<p>“I was there last summer. There is a small circle there. +At least there are several people who get things through +me, but that girl I have not seen for a long time.”</p> + +<p>“Is it possible? Can it be that you have not tried to +get her in? Really, a Miroslav circle without her seems +like Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she is a lass with some grit to her, and with brains +too.”</p> + +<p>“If she is, we ought to get her in. We ought to get +her in.”</p> + +<p>“She was only sixteen when that affair happened.”</p> + +<p>“Was she? Well, you wouldn’t believe it, but my curiosity +about that girl has been smouldering ever since. If it +were not for her and for poor Pievakin I might not be in +the movement now.”</p> + +<p>“I see. It needed a little girl to make a convert of a +great man like you. Well, well. That’s interesting,” Elkin +remarked, with a lozenge-shaped sneer; but he hastened +to atone for it by adding, ardently: “You’re right. She +should be in the circle. I’ll make it my business to see +her next time I am there. I’ll go there on purpose, in +fact.”</p> + +<p>He was always trying to be clever, for the most part with +venom in his attempts. Friend or foe, whatever humour +was his was habitually coloured by an impulse to sting. +“For the sake of a pretty word he would not spare his +own father,” as a Russian proverb phrases it, and his +pretty words or puns were usually tinctured with malice.</p> + +<p>He painted the Miroslav girl in the most attractive colours.<a name="Page_60" id="Page_60"><span class="pagenum">[60]</span></a> +It gave him a peculiar satisfaction to whet Pavel’s +curiosity and to be able to say mutely: “Indeed, she is +even more interesting than you suppose, yet while you are +so crazy to know her, I, who do know her, have not even +thought of getting her into my Circle.”</p> + +<p>When Pavel was making his speech Elkin, whose natural +inclination was to disapprove, listened with an air of +patronising concurrence. Pavel’s oratory was of the unsophisticated, +“hammer-and-tongs,” fiery type, yet its general +effect, especially when he assailed existing conditions, +was one of complaint. In spite of the full-throated buzz +of his voice and the ferocious rush of his words, he conveyed +the impression of a schoolboy laying his grievance before +his mother.</p> + +<p>Before he took leave from his former classmate the two +had another talk of the “heroine of the Pievakin demonstration.” +It was Elkin who brought up the subject, which +took them back to the time when, from a Nihilist point of +view, he was Pavel’s superior. He found him a ready +listener. The student girls of the secret movement, their +devotion to the cause, their pluck, the inhuman sufferings +which the government inflicted on those of them who fell +into its hands,—all this was the aureole of Pavel’s ecstasy. +His heart had remained spotless, the wild oats he had sown +during the first weeks of his stay in the capital notwithstanding. +The word Woman would fill him with tender +whisperings of a felicity hallowed by joint sacrifices, of love +crowned with martyrdom, and it was part of the soliloquies +which the sex would breathe into his soul to tell himself +that he owned his conversion to a girl. But these were +sentimentalities of which the Spartan traditions of the +underground movement had taught him to be ashamed. +Moreover, there was really no time for such things.</p><p><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61"><span class="pagenum">[61]</span></a></p> + +<p>During the following summer and fall mines were laid +in several places under railway tracks over which the +Emperor was expected to pass. The revolutionists missed +their aim, but the Czar’s narrow escape, coupled with the +gigantic scope of the manifold plot, with the skill and the +boldness it implied, and with the fact that the digging of +these subterranean passages had gone on for months without +attracting notice, made a profound impression. Such +a display of energy and dexterity on the part of natives +in a country where one was accustomed to trace every bit +of enterprise to some foreign agency, could not but produce +a fascinating effect. The gendarmes were apparently +no match for the Nihilists.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62"><span class="pagenum">[62]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>“TERRORISM WITHOUT VIOLENCE.”</h3> + + +<p class="cap">ONE afternoon, in December of the same year, Pavel +sat in a student restaurant, in the capital, eating +fried steak and watching the door for a man with +whom he had an appointment. He ate without appetite +and looked fatigued and overworked. He had been out +from an early hour, bustling about on perilous business and +dodging spies. It was extremely exhausting and enervating, +this prowling about under the perpetual strain of +danger. He was liable to be arrested at any moment. It +was like living continually under fire.</p> + +<p>The restaurant was full of cigarette smoke and noise. +Somebody in the rear of Pavel, who evidently had nothing +to say, was addressing somebody else in high-flown Russian +and with great gusto. His fine resonant voice, of which +he was apparently conscious, jarred on Pavel’s nerves, interfering +with what little relish he had for his meal. +He was eyeing the design on the frost-covered door-glass +and lashing himself into a fury over the invisible man’s +phrase-mongery, when he was accosted by a fair-complexioned +young woman:</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, but if I am not mistaken you are Prince +Boulatoff?”</p> + +<p>“That’s my name. And with whom have I the pleasure——?”</p><p><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63"><span class="pagenum">[63]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Oh, that would really be uninteresting to know. I’ll +tell you, though, that I belong to Miroslav.”</p> + +<p>He reluctantly invited her to a glass of tea, which she +accepted, saying: “It may look as if I were forcing myself +upon your acquaintance, prince, but I really could +not help it. Whatever comes from Miroslav is irresistible +to me.” And talking rapidly in effervescent, choking +sentences, she told him that her name was Maria Andreevna +Safonova (Safonoff), that she was a student at the Bestusheff +Women’s College and that her brother was a major +of gendarmes.</p> + +<p>Pavel had heard of there being a daughter or a sister +of a Miroslav gendarme officer at the Bestusheff College; +also that she made a favourable impression on her classmates; +but he had been too busy to give the information +more than passing notice.</p> + +<p>“Is your brother in Miroslav?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes, and I can assure you he is a gentleman, even if +he is in the gendarme service. Some day, I hope, he’ll +give it up. He is really too good to be in the business.”</p> + +<p>Pavel ascribed her ebullition to the nature of the subject, +but he soon found that she was in the same state of excitement +when a railroad ticket was the topic. She looked +twenty-three but she had the cheeks and eyes of a chubby +infant, while her arms and figure had the lank, immature +effect of a girl of thirteen.</p> + +<p>While they sat talking, a dark man in the military +uniform of the Medico-Surgical Academy entered the café. +It was Parmet, the man Pavel was waiting for. Finding +him engaged, the newcomer passed his table without greeting +him, took a seat in a remote corner and buried himself +in a book.</p> + +<p>Mlle. Safonoff did all the talking. She had not sat at<a name="Page_64" id="Page_64"><span class="pagenum">[64]</span></a> +Boulatoff’s table half an hour nor said much about Miroslav +before she had poured out some of her most intimate +thoughts to him.</p> + +<p>“If you think it a pleasure to be the sister of a gendarme +officer you are mistaken,” she said. “It is not agreeable +to be treated by everybody as though you had been put +at the college to spy upon the girls, is it? My brother +is a better man than the brothers and fathers and grandfathers +of all the other student-girls put together, I assure +you, prince. But then, of course, you may think I’m +trying to spy on you, too.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t,” said Boulatoff with a laugh, pricking up +his ears.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you, really?” And her eyes bubbled.</p> + +<p>“Of course, I don’t.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, if you knew how good he is, my brother. Do you +remember the time when poor Pievakin left Miroslav? +I know you do. You were in the eighth class then. Well, +I may as well tell you, prince”—she lowered her voice—“had +it not been for my brother there would have been +no end of arrests at the railroad station. He simply told +his men not to make a fuss. You see, I can confide in +you without hesitation, for who would suspect a Boulatoff +of—pardon the word—spying? But I, why, I am the +sister of a gendarme officer, so it is quite natural to suppose, +and so forth and so on, don’t you know.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know the girl who made that speech?”</p> + +<p>“There you are,” she said dolefully. “I happened to +be at the other end of the room just then. When I tried +to find out who she was everybody was mum. Fancy, my +best girl-friend said to me: 'If I were you, Masha, I +shouldn’t want to know her name if I could. Suppose +you utter it in sleep and your brother overhears you.’ The<a name="Page_65" id="Page_65"><span class="pagenum">[65]</span></a> +idiots! They didn’t know it was my brother who saved +that girl from being arrested. And, by the way, if she +had been arrested by some of his men, it would not have +been hard for her to escape. I know I am saying more +than I should, but I really can’t help it. You have no +idea how I feel about these things. And now, at the +sight of you, prince—a man from Miroslav—I seem +to be going to pieces altogether. Well, I don’t mean, +though, that my brother would have let her escape. But +then I have an aunt, who is related to the warden of the +Miroslav prison by marriage, so she can arrange things +there. Oh, she’s the greatest revolutionist you ever saw. +Of course, I don’t know whether you sympathise with these +things, prince, but I’ll tell you frankly, <i>I</i> do. It was +that aunt of mine who talked it into me. She is simply +crazy to do something. She is sorry there are no political +prisoners in Miroslav. If there were she would get them +out. She’s just itching for a chance to do something of +that sort. And yet she never met a revolutionist in her +life, nor saw a scrap of underground paper.”</p> + +<p>To question the ingenuousness of this gush seemed to be +the rankest absurdity. The Russian spies of the period +were poor actors. Pavel was seized by a desire to show +her that he, at least, did not suspect her of spying, and +quite forgetting to restrain the “<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'idotic'">idiotic</ins> breadth” of his +Russian nature for which he was often rebuked by a certain +member of the revolutionary Executive Committee who was +forever berating his comrades for their insufficient caution, +he slipped a crisp copy of the <i>Will of the People</i> into her +hand.</p> + +<p>“Put it into your muff,” he said.</p> + +<p>The colour surged into her chubby face. Her whole figure +seemed tense with sudden excitement, as though the fine<a name="Page_66" id="Page_66"><span class="pagenum">[66]</span></a> +glossy paper in her hand were charged with electricity.</p> + +<p>“How shall I thank you?” she gasped.</p> + +<p>Pavel saw a moist glitter in her eyes, and as he got up, +his slender erect little frame, too, seemed charged with +electricity. When she had gone he asked himself whether it +had not all been acting, after all. He cursed himself for +his imprudence, but he said: “Oh, well, what must be +will be,” and as usual the phrase acted like an effectual +incantation on his frame of mind.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Parmet had been dubbed Bismarck, because he bore considerable +resemblance to Gambetta. Another nickname, +one which he had invented himself, on a similar theory of +contrasts, was Makar. Makar was as typically Slavic as +his face was Semitic. His military uniform, which he +had to wear because his Academy was under the auspices +of the War Department, ill became him. Instead of concealing +the rabbinical expression of his face, it emphasised +it. When they came out of the restaurant, a man, shouldering +a stick, was running along the snow-covered pavement, +lighting the street-lamps, as though in dread of being +forestalled by somebody.</p> + +<p>“Guess who that girl is,” Pavel said.</p> + +<p>“Have I heard of her?”</p> + +<p>“No. Quite an amusing sort of a damsel. Seething +and steaming for all the world like a samovar. You should +have seen her calflike ecstasy when I handed her something +to read. I was afraid she was going to have a fit.”</p> + +<p>Makar trotted silently on, continually curling himself +in his wretched grey cloak and striking one foot against +the other, to knock the caked drab-coloured snow off his +boots. Pavel wore a new furred coat.</p> + +<p>“She may be useful though,” Pavel resumed, after a<a name="Page_67" id="Page_67"><span class="pagenum">[67]</span></a> +pause. “That is, provided she is all she seems to be. Her +brother is a gendarme major. What do you think of +that?”</p> + +<p>“Is he?” Makar asked, looking up at his companion in +beatific surprise.</p> + +<p>“Yes, and she says he’s a good fellow, too. Of course, +she’s quite a full-fledged ninny herself, and ought to be +taken with a carload of salt, but she referred to some +facts with which I happen to be familiar.” While he was +describing the girl’s aunt, a passing soldier saluted Makar, +mistaking him for an army officer. Makar, however, was +too absorbed in his companion’s talk to be aware of what +was going on about him. Pavel shrieked with laughter. +“He must be a pretty raw sort of recruit to take <i>you</i> +for a warrior,” he said. When he had finished his sketch +of the woman who was longing to set somebody free, the +medical student paused in the middle of the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>“Why, she’s a godsend, then,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Moderate your passions, Mr. Army Officer,” Pavel said +languidly, mocking his old gymnasium director. “If she +does not turn out to be a spy we’ll see what we can do with +her. She strikes me rather favourably, though.”</p> + +<p>“Why, you oughtn’t to neglect her, Pasha. If I were +you I would lose no time in making her brother’s acquaintance. +Think of the possibilities of it!”</p> + +<p>“Bridle your exuberance, young man. Her brother lives +many miles from here. He is on the hunt for sedition in +the most provincial of provinces. Want to make a Terrorist +of him? Go ahead. He lives in Miroslav. There.”</p> + +<p>“In Miroslav!” Makar echoed, with pride in the capital +of his native province.</p> + +<p>Presently they entered a courtyard and took to climbing +a steep stony staircase. Strong, inviting odours of cabbage<a name="Page_68" id="Page_68"><span class="pagenum">[68]</span></a> +soup and cooked meat greeted them at several of the landings. +Makar’s lodging was on the sixth floor. He had +moved in only a few days ago and the chief object of +Pavel’s visit was to make a mental note of its location.</p> + +<p>The first thing Makar did as he got into the room was +to put a pitcher on one of his two windows. The windows +commanded a little side street, and the pitcher was Makar’s +safety signal. When he had lit his lamp a sofa, freshly +covered with green oil-cloth, proved to be the best piece +of furniture in the room, the smell of the oil-cloth mingling +with the stale odours of tobacco smoke with which the very +walls seemed to be saturated.</p> + +<p>“Ugh, what a room!” Pavel said, sniffing. They talked +of a revolutionist who had recently been arrested and to +whom they referred as “Alexandre.” Special importance +was attached by the authorities to the capture of this man, +because among the things found at his lodgings was a diagram +of the Winter Palace with a pencil mark on the +imperial dining hall. As the prisoner was a conspicuous +member of the Terrorists’ Executive Committee, the natural +inference was that another bold plot was under way, one +which had something to do with the Czar’s dining room, +but which had apparently been frustrated by the discovery +of the diagram. The palace guard was strongly re-enforced +and every precaution was taken to insure the monarch’s +safety. Now, the Terrorists had their man in the very +heart of the enemy’s camp, and the result of the search of +Alexandre’s lodgings was no secret to them. This revolutionist, +whose gloomy face was out of keeping with his +carefully pomaded hair, kid gloves, silk hat, showy +clothes and carefully trimmed whiskers <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'a lá'">à la</ins> Alexander II., +was known to Makar as “the Dandy.” Less than a year +before he had obtained a position in the double capacity<a name="Page_69" id="Page_69"><span class="pagenum">[69]</span></a> +of spy and clerk, at the Third Section of his Majesty’s +Own Office, and so liked was he by his superiors that he +had soon been made private secretary to the head of the +secret service, every document of importance passing +through his hands. Since then he had been communicating +to the Executive Committee, now a list of new suspects, now +the details of a contemplated arrest, now a copy of some +secret circular to the gendarme offices of the empire.</p> + +<p>While they were thus conversing of Alexandre and the +Dandy, Pavel stretched himself full length on the sofa +and dozed off. When he opened his eyes, about two hours +later, he found Parmet tiptoeing awkwardly up and down +the room, his shadow a gigantic crab on the wall. Pavel +broke into a boisterous peal of laughter.</p> + +<p>“Here is a figure for you! All that is needed is an +artist to set to work and paint it.”</p> + +<p>“Are you awake? Look here, Pasha. Your gendarme’s +sister and her aunt are haunting my mind.”</p> + +<p>“Why, why, have you fallen in love with both of them +at once?” Pavel asked as he jumped to his feet and shot +his arms toward the ceiling. He looked refreshed and +full of animal spirits.</p> + +<p>“Stop joking, Pasha, pray,” Makar said in his purring, +mellifluous voice. “It irritates me. It’s a serious matter +I want to speak to you about, and here you are bent upon +fun.” Pavel’s story of the gendarme officer’s sister had +stirred in him visions of a mighty system of counter-espionage. +He had a definite scheme to propose.</p> + +<p>Pavel found it difficult to work himself out of his playful +mood until Makar fell silent and took to pacing the +floor resentfully. When he had desisted, with a final guffaw +over Makar’s forlorn air, the medical student, warming +up to fresh enthusiasm, said:</p> + +<p><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70"><span class="pagenum">[70]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Well, to let that prison stand idle would be criminal +negligence. That girl’s aunt must be given a chance.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” Pavel said, relapsing into horseplay. +“Do you want somebody nabbed on purpose to give a +bored lady something to excite her nerves?” He finished +the interrogation rather limply. It flashed upon him that +what Makar was really aiming at was that some revolutionist +should volunteer to be arrested on a denunciation from +the Dandy or some other member of the party with a +view to strengthening its position in the Third Section.</p> + +<p>Makar went on to plead for an organised effort to get +into the various gendarme offices.</p> + +<p>“It is a terrible struggle we are in, Pasha. Our best +men fall before they have time to turn round. If we had +more revolutionists on the other side, Alexandre might be +a free man now.”</p> + +<p>“Well, and sooner or later you and I will be where +he is now and be plunged into the sleep of the righteous, +and there won’t even be a goat to graze at our graves. +Let the dead bury the dead, Makashka. We want the living +for the firing line. We can’t afford to let fresh blood +turn sour in a damp cell, if we can help it.”</p> + +<p>“But this <i>is</i> ‘the firing line’,” Makar returned with +beseeching, almost with tearful emphasis. “If you only +gave me a chance to explain myself. What I want is to +have confusion carried into every branch of the government; +I want the Czar to be surrounded by a masquerade of +enemies, so that his henchmen will suspect each other of +being either agents of the Third Section or revolutionists. +Do you see the point? I want the Czar to be surrounded +by a babel of mistrust and espionage. I want him to be +dazed, staggered until he succumbs to this nightmare of +suspicion and hastens to convoke a popular assembly, as<a name="Page_71" id="Page_71"><span class="pagenum">[71]</span></a> +Louis XVI. was forced to do; I want the inhabitants of +our tear-drenched country to be treated like human beings +without delay. My scheme practically amounts to a system +or terrorism without violence, and I insist that one +good man in the enemy’s camp is of more value than the +death of ten spies.” His low, velvety voice rang clear, +tremulous with pleading fervour; his face gleamed with +an intellectual relish in his formula of the plan. As he +spoke, he was twisting his mighty fist, opening and closing +it again, Talmud-fashion, in unison with the rhythm of +his sentences.</p> + +<p>Ejaculations like “visionary!” “phrase-maker!” were +on the tip of Pavel’s tongue, but he had not the heart to +utter them. Aerial as the scheme was, Makar’s plea had +cast a certain spell over him. It was like listening to a +beautiful piece of mythology.</p> + +<p>“Let us form a special force of men ready to go to +prison, to be destroyed, if need be,” Makar went on. “The +loss of one man would mean, in each case, the saving of +twenty. Think how many important comrades a single +leak in the Third Section has saved us. It’s a matter of +plain arithmetic.”</p> + +<p>“Of plain insanity,” Pavel finally broke in.</p> + +<p>“Don’t get excited, Pasha, pray. Can’t you let me +finish? If I am wrong you’ll have plenty of time to prove +it.”</p> + +<p>His purring Talmudic voice and the smell of the fresh +oil-cloth were unbearable to Pavel now.</p> + +<p>“It’s like this,” Makar resumed. “In the first place +[he bent down his little finger] every honest man is sure +to be arrested some day, and what difference does it make +whether the end comes a few months sooner or a few months +later? In the second place [he bent down the next finger]<a name="Page_72" id="Page_72"><span class="pagenum">[72]</span></a> +there must be some more people like that girl’s aunt. It +is quite possible that most of those who would be arrested +on this plan would get out, and that itself would be a +good thing, for it would add to the prestige of the party. +Everything that reveals the weakness of the government +on the one hand, and the cleverness and daring of our +people on the other, is good for the cause. Every success +scored by the ‘Will of the People’ is a step in the direction +of that for which men like yourself are staking their lives, +Pasha. Don’t interrupt me, pray. I’ll go a step further. +I am of the opinion that under certain conditions, where +an escape is assured, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to let +one’s self be arrested just in order to add another name +to the list of political gaol-breakers, that is to say, to the +list of the government’s fiascos. Every little counts. Every +straw increases that weight which will finally break the +back of Russia’s despot.”</p> + +<p>“Do you really mean what you say, Makar? Do you +actually want to be arrested?” Pavel asked.</p> + +<p>“Not at all. All I want is that another good man should +gain the confidence of the Third Section and that another +political prisoner should escape.”</p> + +<p>“And what if all Mlle. Safonoff says turns out to be +as idiotic a dream as all this tommyrot of yours?”</p> + +<p>“‘If one is afraid of wolves one had better keep out +of the woods.’ You, yourself, have taken much greater +chances than that, Pasha. If I am arrested with papers +and the worst comes to the worst they won’t hang me.”</p> + +<p>“I see you take it seriously after all. Well, if you +think I’ll let you do anything of the kind you are a fool.”</p> + +<p>“You can’t prevent me from doing what I consider to +be right. Nor do I want anybody else to send the denunciation +which is to result in my arrest. I’ll send it<a name="Page_73" id="Page_73"><span class="pagenum">[73]</span></a> +myself. All I want is that somebody should claim credit +for it afterward, when I am in prison—on that very +day, if possible. The search and arrest will be ordered +from St. Petersburg, and then some of our men will say +at the Third Section that the anonymous letter was his, +adding some details about me. Details can be worked out +later. Where there is a will there is a way. At any rate, +I don’t expect anybody but myself to bear the moral responsibility +for my arrest.”</p> + +<p>He talked on in the same strain until Pavel sprang to +his feet, flushed with rage. “It’s all posing—that’s all +there’s to it!” he shouted. “On the surface it means +that you are willing to sacrifice yourself without even attracting +attention, but in reality this subtle modesty of +yours is only the most elaborate piece of parading that was +ever conceived. It’s love of applause all the way through, +and you are willing to stake your life on it. That’s all +there is about it.”</p> + +<p>Makar grew yellow in the face and sweat broke out on +his forehead. “In that case, there’s no use talking, of +course,” he said in a very low voice. “If I am a humbug +I am a humbug.”</p> + +<p>“And if you are a fool, you are a fool,” Pavel rejoined, +with a conciliatory growl.</p> + +<p>“You need not back out, Pasha. Maybe you are right,” +Makar rejoined. “Who is absolutely free from vanity? +Human nature is such a complex mechanism. One may +be governed by love of approbation and, perhaps, also, by +a certain adventuresome passion for the danger of the thing. +The great question is whether there is something besides +this. No, it is not all posing, Pasha. There are moments +when I ask myself why I should not live as most people +do, but I only have to realise all that is going on around<a name="Page_74" id="Page_74"><span class="pagenum">[74]</span></a> +us; the savage tyranny, the writhing millions, the hunger, +the bottomless darkness, the unuttered groans,—I only +have to think of this and of the dear comrades I have known +who have been strangled on the gallows or are wasting +away in the casemates; I need only picture all this, I say, +to feel that even if there be an alloy of selfishness in my +revolutionary interests, yet, in the main, it is this sense of +the Great Wrong which keeps me from nursing my own +safety. Do you know that the dangling corpses of our +comrades are never absent from my mind? I am not +without a heart, Pasha.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody says you are, only you are a confounded dreamer, +Makashka,” Pavel answered. “We have no time for +dreams and poetry. Our struggle is one of hard, terrible +prose.”</p> + +<p>“You are even more of a dreamer than I, Pasha,” +Makar retorted, blissfully.</p> + +<p>When Makar resumed speaking the last echo of resentment +was gone from his voice. “After all, one gets more +than one gives. When I think of the moments of joy the +movement affords me, of the ties of friendship with so many +good people—the cream of the generation, the salt of the +earth, the best children Russia ever gave birth to—when +I think of the glorious atmosphere that surrounds me, of +the divine ecstasy with which I view the future; when I +recall all this I feel that I get a sort of happiness which +no Rothschild could buy. To be kept in solitary confinement +is anything but a pleasure, to be sure, but is there +nothing to sweeten one’s life there? And how about the +thought that over yonder, outside, there are people who are +going on with the struggle and who think of you sometimes? +Sooner or later the government will yield. And +then, oh then somebody—some comrade of ours—will<a name="Page_75" id="Page_75"><span class="pagenum">[75]</span></a> +throw the cell-door open, and I’ll join in the celebration of +our triumph. Really, Pasha, I am strong as a bull, and +a few years of confinement would not kill me. While +some of our people may die by the hand of the hangman, +my life would be spared. Did you ever stop to think of +the time when the cells of Siberia and of Peter and Paul +are thrown open and one says to the immured comrades, +‘Out with you, brothers! You’re free! The nation is +free!’ Come, another year or two and this will be realised.”</p> + +<p>“You had better save your sentimentalities for novices,” +Pavel said. “And, by the way, your eloquence is certainly +of more use than your dreaming in a dungeon would be.”</p> + +<p>He was arguing with a rock of stiff-necked will-power.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76"><span class="pagenum">[76]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>MAKAR’S CANVASS.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">PARMET now gave most of his time to the secret movement, +making himself useful in a variety of ways. +His great unrealised ambition, however, was to work +in an underground printing office—an offence which at +the period was punished by a long term of penal servitude +in Siberia. He had a feeling as though nothing one did for +the movement could be regarded as a vital service to the +cause of free speech as long as it fell short of typesetting +in a secret printing establishment. He had applied for +work of this kind several times, but his proverbial absent-mindedness +stood in his way. Being in the habit of reading +some book or newspaper as he walked through the +streets, he would sometimes catch himself drinking in the +contents of some “underground” publication in this manner. +Once as he stood on a street corner intent upon +a revolutionary leaflet, he heard an infuriated whisper:</p> + +<p>“Imbecile! Scoundrel!”</p> + +<p>When he raised his eyes he saw the ample back of a +compactly built man dressed in citizen’s clothes except for +a broad military cap with a red band. This was “the +Janitor,” so nicknamed because he made it his business +to go the rounds of “conspiracy houses” every morning +and to pick a quarrel with those of their occupants who +had neglected to furnish their windows with safety signals<a name="Page_77" id="Page_77"><span class="pagenum">[77]</span></a> +or were guilty of some other manifestation of “Russian +breadth.” The episode antedated the above conversation +between Makar and Pavel by two months, and the medical +student had not seen the Janitor since. He dreaded to +meet him. At this minute, however, he was just the man +he wanted to see, for it was he who had taken the initiative +in getting the Dandy into the Third Section. Accordingly, +Pavel had no sooner left him than he betook himself to a +place at which he expected to find that revolutionist. The +place was the lodging of a man who was known in the +organisation as Purring Cat—a nickname based on his +shaggy eyebrows and moustache. His face was almost entirely +overgrown with hair. Short of stature, with a thick +dark beard that reached down to his knees and with blue +eyes that peered up from under his stern eyebrows, this +formidable looking little man, the nearest approach to the +wax-works version of a Russian Nihilist, was the gentlest +soul on the Executive Committee. Besides Purring Cat +and the Janitor, Makar found in the room Andrey, an extremely +tall man with Tartarian features.</p> + +<p>The Janitor greeted Makar with a volley of oaths, stuttering +as he spoke, as was usually the case when he was +angry.</p> + +<p>“You have no business to be here,” he fulminated. +“You are just the man to bring a spy in tow. I shouldn’t +be a bit surprised if you had one at your heels now.”</p> + +<p>“Come, don’t fume,” Makar pleaded, confusedly. “I +won’t be absent-minded any more. I have taken myself +in hand. Besides, my absent-mindedness is not without +its redeeming feature. You see, I am the last man to be +suspected of being on my guard; so the spies would +never bother me.”</p> + +<p>Andrey and Purring Cat smiled. The Janitor started<a name="Page_78" id="Page_78"><span class="pagenum">[78]</span></a> +to do the same, but changed his mind. Instead, he +broke into a more violent fit of temper and a more painful +stutter than before. His compact figure was of +medium height, his face very blond, with prominent +eyes and well-trimmed red beard. His military cap +matched the passport of a retired army officer under +which he was registered at the police station. He was +supposed to be employed at some civil tribunal, and +every morning, on the stroke of eleven he would leave +his lodgings, a portfolio under his arm, his military cap +slightly cocked—the very personification of the part he +acted. The name in his passport was Polivanoff. His +real name was Michailoff, and under that name he was +wanted by the gendarmes in prominent connection with +several attempts on the life of the Czar. He had once +escaped from under arrest and on another occasion he +had managed to disappear from a railroad train while +it was being searched for him. He was one of the +ablest and bravest men in the party. His un-Russian +punctuality and indefatigable attention to detail; his +practical turn of mind and the way he had of nagging +his friends for their lack of these qualities, were common +topics of banter among the Terrorists. He had made a +special study of every lane and court in the capital by +which one might “trash” one’s trail. He not only shadowed +his fellow revolutionists to see if they were aware of +being shadowed or whether they dressed in accordance +with the type implied by their false passports, but he also +made a practice of spying over the spies of the Third +Section. With this end in view, he had once rented a room +across the street from that office—an institution that +would have given millions for his head. Here he would +sit for hours at his window, scrutinising every new person<a name="Page_79" id="Page_79"><span class="pagenum">[79]</span></a> +who entered the building so as to be able to keep track of +their movements afterward. Having thus discovered a +boarding house in which lived an important officer of the +secret service he had sent the Dandy to hire a room there. +The desired appointment had then been obtained without +difficulty.</p> + +<p>When Makar had laid the practical part of his scheme +before the three men, the Janitor fixed his prominent +eyes on him and said, without stammering:</p> + +<p>“And you are just the chap to do it, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“And why not? It certainly doesn’t need much adroitness +and vigilance to get arrested.”</p> + +<p>“The devil it does not. A fellow like you would get ten +men arrested before he fooled the measliest cub spy in the +Third Section. Better keep your hands off.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, if the escape was really a sure thing, the matter +might be arranged,” Purring Cat interposed, charitably, +in a low, gentle voice. “Only this is scarcely the +time for it.” Whereupon Makar, feeling encouraged, +launched out to describe his far-reaching scheme in detail. +The look of the Janitor’s prominent eyes, however, disturbed +him, so that he expounded the plan in a rather +nerveless way; when he had finished, the Janitor declared:</p> + +<p>“He’s certainly crazy.”</p> + +<p>Purring Cat’s blue eyes looked up under their bushy +brows, as he said, gravely:</p> + +<p>“There may be something in it, though, theoretically at +least. In reality, however, I am afraid that general state +of chaos would rebound upon ourselves. The government +may get its spies into our circles until one does not know +who is who. It may become a double-edged weapon, this +‘babel of distrust.’ As to that prison scheme it might be +tried some day. Only don’t be in a hurry, Makar.”</p><p><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80"><span class="pagenum">[80]</span></a></p> + +<p>“And what is your opinion?” Makar addressed himself +to Andrey solicitously.</p> + +<p>Andrey who was a man of few words, and spoke with a +slight lisp, said he had no definite opinion to offer, but, +when Makar pressed him hard, he said:</p> + +<p>“Well, we have one man there” (meaning the Third +Section), “so let us not make the mistake of the woman +who cut her hen open in order to get at all her eggs at +once. Still, if the scheme could be worked in some of the +provinces, it might be worth while. It all depends on circumstances, +of course.”</p> + +<p>Makar longed to see Sophia, the daughter of the former +governor of St. Petersburg. She had taken an active part +in one of the most daring rescues and was celebrated for +the ingenuity and motherly devotion with which she gave +herself to the “Red Cross” work of the party, supplying +political prisoners with provisions and keeping them in +secret communication with their relatives. It was the +story of this young noblewoman’s life which afterwards +inspired Turgeneff’s prose poem, <i>The Threshold</i>. Makar +thought she might take an active interest in his scheme, +but she was overwhelmed with other work and inaccessible.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81"><span class="pagenum">[81]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>A DAY UNDERGROUND.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">ABOUT a week had elapsed, when Pavel read in his +morning paper of the hanging of three revolutionists +in Odessa: two Gentiles and a Jew. He had +never met these men, but he knew that two of them had not +been implicated in anything more violent than the diffusion +of socialist ideas. Also that the parents of the one who belonged +to the Jewish race were under arrest, condemned +to be exiled to Siberia for no other crime than their having +given birth to an enemy of the existing régime.</p> + +<p>Pavel moved about his room with a sob of helpless fury +in his throat. He found feverish satisfaction in the +thought that he had some chemicals in his overcoat which +he was to carry to the dynamite shop of the Terrorists. +The explosives to be made from it were intended for a new +attempt upon the life of the Emperor. Not being directly +connected with the contemplated attack, neither he nor the +dynamite makers of the organisation had any clear idea +about the plot, which was in the hands of a special sub-committee, +Alexandre’s place having been taken by another +man; but he did know that preparations were under way +in the Winter Palace.</p> + +<p>The dynamite shop was kept by a woman with a deep-chested, +almost masculine voice, and a man with a squeaky +feminine one. They were registered as man and wife.<a name="Page_82" id="Page_82"><span class="pagenum">[82]</span></a> +She was the daughter of a priest, but she looked like a +woman of the people and dressed like one—a thick-set +extremely blonde young woman with coarse yet pleasing +features. Her revolutionary name was Baska. Her fictitious +husband, who was one of the chemists of the party, +was addressed by the revolutionists as Grisha. He had a +scholarly face, yet the two had no difficulty in passing +among the neighbours for a tradesman or shop clerk and his +wife. For the greater reality of the impersonation and as +a special precaution against curiosity they made friends +with the porter of the house and his wife and with the +police roundsman of the neighbourhood, often inviting them +to a glass of vodka. The porter of St. Petersburg, like his +brother of Paris under the empire, is a political detective +“ex-officio.” The two spies and the police officer were +thus turned into unconscious witnesses of the young +couple’s political innocence, for in the first place they had +many an opportunity to convince themselves that their +dwelling was free from anything suspicious and, in the +second, people who drank vodka and went, moreover, on +sprees with the house porter, certainly did not look like +Nihilists.</p> + +<p>“Good morning, Pavel,” Baska greeted him vivaciously, +as she gave his hand a hearty squeeze, while her other hand +held a smoking cigarette. “Just in time! I hate to eat +my breakfast all alone. Grisha has another bad headache, +poor fellow. But I see you, too, have a long face. Where +did you get it?”</p> + +<p>Pavel smiled lugubriously as he handed her the package. +He had not the heart to disturb her good spirits, and she +went on chirping and laughing.</p> + +<p>Grisha came in, haggard, sickly and trying to smile. +The skin of both his hands was off. This, like his frequent<a name="Page_83" id="Page_83"><span class="pagenum">[83]</span></a> +headaches, was the effect of the work he did in these rooms—of +inhaling nitroglycerine and kneading dynamite with +his bare fists.</p> + +<p>Baska gayly told how the porter’s wife had offered her +a salve for her “husband,” and how the night before, as +Grisha was pouring nitroglycerine into some dynamite +“dough,” there was an explosion and the house filled with +smoke.</p> + +<p>“Our next door neighbour knew at once that our kerosene +stove exploded and set fire to a rag,” Baska said with +a deep-voiced titter. “She gave me quite a lecture on +negligence.”</p> + +<p>“She only wondered why there should be such a strange +smell to the smoke,” Grisha added, his hand to his head.</p> + +<p>As Pavel looked at Baska relishing her tea and her +muffin and talking merrily between gulps, a desire took +hold of him to spoil her vivacity. It jarred on him to see +her enjoy herself while the image of the three new gallows +was so vivid in his mind.</p> + +<p>“You people don’t seem to know what’s going on in +the world,” he said testily. “They have hanged Malinka, +Maidanski and Drobiazgin.”</p> + +<p>“Have they?” Baska asked paling. She had known two +of them personally.</p> + +<p>While Pavel took out his newspaper and read the brief +despatch, her head sank on the table. Her solid frame was +convulsed with sobbing.</p> + +<p>“Be calm, be calm,” Grisha entreated, offering her +a glass of water. In spite of her excellent physique she +was subject to violent hysterical fits which were apt to +occur at a time when the proffer of neighbourly sympathy +was least desirable.</p> + +<p>She told all she remembered of the executed men, whom<a name="Page_84" id="Page_84"><span class="pagenum">[84]</span></a> +she had met in the south. But that was not much; so +Pavel went to see Purring Cat who, being a southerner, +had detailed information to give him about the three +Nihilists. Boulatoff could talk of nothing else that day. +When he met Makar, in the afternoon, he said:</p> + +<p>“People are being strangled right and left and here you +are bent on that <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">idée fixe</i> of yours.”</p> + +<p>“Fine logic, that,” Makar replied. “If my <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">idée fixe</i> +had been realised a year ago these men would now be free. +But this is not the time to talk about things of that kind.” +Instead of mourning the loss of the three revolutionists +he was in a solemn, religious sort of mood at the thought +of the new human sacrifices offered on the altar of liberty. +He was panting to speak about the Jew who had been +executed. He was proud of the fact that two men of his +race had given their lives for the cause within five months. +The other Jewish revolutionist had been executed in Nicolayeff. +A letter which he had addressed to the revolutionists +a few days before his execution, exhorting them not to +waste any of the forces of the movement on attempts to +avenge his death, was enshrined in Makar’s heart as the +most sacred document in the entire literature of the struggle. +But race pride was contrary to the teachings of the +movement; so he not only kept these sentiments to himself, +but tried to suppress them in his own bosom.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>In the evening Pavel took two young cavalry officers of +his acquaintance to the house of a retired major where +a revolutionary meeting was to be held. They found +the major’s drawing room sparkling with military uniforms. +The gathering was made up of eight officers, two +men in citizen’s clothes, and one woman, the dark long-necked +hostess.</p><p><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85"><span class="pagenum">[85]</span></a></p> + +<p>Two cheap lithographs, one of General Suvoroff and +the other of the reigning monarch, occupied the centre of +the best wall, in jarring disharmony with the refined and +somewhat Bohemian character of the rest of the room. +The two portraits had been put there recently, to bear +witness to the political “reliability” of the house. The +hostess presided over a pile of yellow aromatic tobacco, +rolling cigarettes for her guests and smoking incessantly +herself. An idiotic-looking man-servant and a peasant +girl fresh from the country kept up a supply of tea, zwiebacks +and preserves. Every time they appeared the hostess, +whose seat commanded the door, would signal to the +company. She did it rather perfunctorily, however, the +revolutionary discussion proceeding undisturbed. The cultured, +bookish Russian of the assemblage was Greek to the +two servants. They talked of the three executions.</p> + +<p>Presently two other civilians were announced.</p> + +<p>“At last!” the hostess said, getting up from her pile +of tobacco in a flutter.</p> + +<p>The two newcomers were both above medium height, +of solid build and ruddy-faced; but here their similarity +of appearance ceased. One of them looked the image of +social refinement and elegance, while the clothes and general +aspect of the other bespoke a citified, prosperous +peasant. His rough top-boots, the red woolen belt round +his coat and the rather coarse tint of his florid complexion, +like his full Russian beard, proclaimed the son of the unenlightened +classes. He was taller than his companion +and remarkably well-built, with a shock of dark brown +hair thrown back from a high prominent forehead and +regular features. He was introduced to the gathering as +Zachar. He and the stylish-looking man by his side +whose revolutionary nickname was “My Lord,” conveyed<a name="Page_86" id="Page_86"><span class="pagenum">[86]</span></a> +the effect of a bright, shrewd tradesman and a high-class +lawyer bent on some legal business.</p> + +<p>“If we are late, blame this guide of mine, not me,” +Zachar said to the hostess, in a deep, rather harsh baritone, +pointing at his companion. “It turned out that he did +not know the place very well himself. There is a pilot for +you.” He accepted a glass of tea in a silver holder and +during the ensuing small talk the room rang with his +merriment. His jests were commonplace, but his Russian +and all he said betrayed the man of education. The tradesman’s +costume was his disguise, and if it became him so +well it was because his parents were moujiks. Born in +serfdom but brought up as a nobleman at the expense of +his former master, this university-bred peasant—a case of +extreme rarity—for whom the gendarmes were searching +in connection with a bold attempt to blow up an imperial +train, loomed in the minds of the revolutionists as the +most conspicuous figure of their movement.</p> + +<p>“And how is my young philosopher?” he said to Pavel. +“I was at your place this morning, but found you out, +Pasha.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll see you later on,” Pavel said dryly. “Philosopher” +referred to the nature of the studies which Pavel’s +mother thought him to be pursuing. There was a touch +of patronage in the way Zachar used the word, and Pavel +resented it.</p> + +<p>As the gathering began to lapse into a graver mood the +conversation was expectantly left to Zachar, who by degrees +accepted the rôle of the principal speaker of the evening. +That he relished this rôle and was fond of a well turned +phrase became apparent at once, but the impression soon +wore off. He compelled attention.</p> + +<p>“The practice of nations being inherited like furniture<a name="Page_87" id="Page_87"><span class="pagenum">[87]</span></a> +or chickens has been out of date for centuries,” he said in +the course of a ferocious attack on the existing adjustment +of things. “But our party does not demand full justice at +once. The Will of the People is not inconsiderate. We +are willing to project ourselves into the position of an +old chap with whom the love of power has been bred in +the bone. All our party does demand, as a first step, is +some regard for the rights of the individual; of those +rights without which the word civilisation is of a piece +with that puerile sort of hypocrisy as our late war with +Turkey, when the ambitious old fellow in his unquenchable +thirst for territory sent his subjects to die for the +liberty of Bulgarians so that their own children at home +might be plunged into more abject slavery than ever.</p> + +<p>“The government knows, of course, that its days are +numbered and that it is only cowardice and incapacity +for concerted action which make its brief respite possible. +To retreat honourably, before it is too late, to yield to the +stern voice of the revolution under some specious pretext—this +is the step indicated by the political situation, but +then this is not what the ambitious oldster is after. Is +there any wonder he has lost his head? So much the +better for the revolution. One or two decisive blows and +the government will topple over. Thanks to the splendid +army section of the Will of the People, on the one hand, +and to our powerful Workingmen’s Section, on the other, +one hundred resolute men will be enough to seize the Winter +Palace, to cut off all egress, arrest the new Czar and, +amid the general confusion following the death of the +old tyrant, proclaim a provisional government. What a +glorious opportunity to serve one’s country!”</p> + +<p>His speech lasted an hour and a half. Most of his +hearers were recent converts, and these the matter-of-fact<a name="Page_88" id="Page_88"><span class="pagenum">[88]</span></a> +tone of his utterances took by storm. The Third Section +had heard of him as an irresistible agitator. So he was, +and the chief secret of his success lay—despite an effect +of conscious floridity and bravado—in a sincere depth of +conviction manifested by a volcanic vehemence of delivery. +His speeches took it for granted that Russia was at the +threshold of a great historical change and that his organisation +was going to play a leading part in that change. +He gathered particular assurance from the fact that the +“army section” that had been formed by his efforts included +several officers of the court guard whose number he +hoped to increase. These court officers it was whom his +imagination pictured as “cutting off all egress” at the +Winter Palace. The funds of his party included contributions +from some high sources. Things seemed to be +coming the “Will of the People’s” way. As he spoke +his strong physique seemed to be aflame with contagious +passion, sweeping along audience and speaker. The harshness +of his mighty baritone was gone; his peasant face was +beautiful. Words like “party,” “citizen,” “National +Assembly,” are winged with the glamour of forbidden fruit +in Russia, and when Zachar uttered these words, in accents +implying that these things were as good as realised, his +audience was enravished. To all of which, in the present +instance, should be added the psychological effect of a +group of dashing army officers, all members of the nobility, +reverently listening to an address by a peasant. He struck +one as a giant of energy and courage, of nervous vitality +as well as of bodily strength. He had the stuff of a political +leader in him. Under favourable conditions he would +have left his mark as one of the strong men of the nineteenth +century. He carried people along current-fashion +rather than magnetised them.</p><p><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89"><span class="pagenum">[89]</span></a></p> + +<p>Pavel was the next speaker, but the outraged sense of +justice which was the keynote of his impassioned plea, +coming as it did upon the heels of Zachar’s peremptory +and matter-of-course declarations, sounded out of date.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it takes an idiot to talk after you, Zachar,” he +said, breaking off in the middle of a sentence. “One feels +like being up and doing things, not talking. I wonder +why we don’t start for the Winter Palace, at once.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the way I feel, too,” chimed in a very young +cavalry officer, while two older men in brilliant uniforms, +were grasping Zachar each by one hand. The long-necked +hostess was brushing the tears from her eyes and calling +herself “fool,” for joy.</p> + +<p>An artillery officer with bad teeth of whom Pavel could +not think without thinking of the rheumatism of which +that revolutionist had once complained to him, drew his +sword fiercely, the polished steel flaming in the bright light +of the room, as he said:</p> + +<p>“By Jove!”</p> + +<p>“Look at him! Look at him!” Zachar shouted.</p> + +<p>“Bridle your passions, old boy,” Pavel put in.</p> + +<p>A minute or two later he called the orator into the +next room and handed him what looked like a package of +tobacco.</p> + +<p>Zachar was in high feather over the success of his speech +and loath to leave the atmosphere of adoration that surrounded +him here; but an important engagement forced +him to take his departure.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>A quarter of an hour’s ride in a tramcar and a short +walk through the moonlit streets brought him to a deserted +corner in the vicinity of the Winter Palace, where +he was met by a man dressed like an artisan, as tall as<a name="Page_90" id="Page_90"><span class="pagenum">[90]</span></a> +himself, but slimmer of girth, and the two went on trudging +along the snow-encrusted sidewalk together. The +other man had an expressive sickly face which the pallid +glare of the moonlight gave a ghastly look.</p> + +<p>“How is your health?” Zachar asked.</p> + +<p>“Bad,” the sickly looking man answered, holding out +his hand into which Zachar put the package of tobacco, +saying:</p> + +<p>“See if it isn’t too heavy for a quarter of a pound.”</p> + +<p>“It is, rather, but it’ll pass,” the other replied, weighing +the package in his hand and then putting it into his +pocket. Buried in the tobacco was a small quantity of +dynamite.</p> + +<p>“It’s too bad you are not feeling well.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my nerves are playing the devil with me. The +worst of it is that I have got to keep the stuff under my +pillow when I sleep. That gives me headaches.”</p> + +<p>“I shouldn’t wonder. The evaporations of that stuff do +that as a rule. But can’t you find another place for it?”</p> + +<p>“Not for the night. They might go through my trunk +then. They are apt to come in at any time. Oh, those +surprise visits of theirs keep my wretched nerves on edge +all the time.”</p> + +<p>While the gendarmerie and the police knew him to be +a leader among the revolutionary workmen of the capital +and were hunting for him all over the city, this man, whose +name was Stepan Khaltourin, had for the past few months +been making his home, under the name of Batushkoff, in +the same building as the Czar, in the Winter Palace, where +his work as a varnisher was highly valued. He was a self-taught +mechanic, unusually well-read and clear-headed. +Of retiring disposition and a man of few words, with an +iron will under a bashful and extremely gentle manner,<a name="Page_91" id="Page_91"><span class="pagenum">[91]</span></a> +he was one of the prominent figures of the Will of the +People, having been driven to terrorism by the senseless +persecutions which he had met at the hands of the authorities +in his attempts to educate some of his fellow-workmen. +He now lodged, together with other mechanics, in the +basement of the Winter Palace, with only one room—the +guard-room—between the ceiling over his head and the +floor of the Imperial dining hall. Indeed, the frequent +raids which a colonel at the head of a group of gendarmes +had been making upon that basement since the seizure of +“Alexandre’s” diagram were largely a matter of display +and red tape. There was more jingling of spurs and +flaunting of formidable looking moustaches than actual +searching or watching. Nowhere was the incapacity of +Russian officialdom illustrated more glaringly than it was +in the very home of the Czar. The bold Terrorist for whom +the police were looking high and low had found little difficulty +in securing employment here, and one of the first +things that had attracted his attention in the place was +the prevailing state of anarchy and demoralisation he +found in it. Priceless gems and relics were scattered about +utterly unguarded; stealing was the common practice of +the court servants, and orgies at which these regaled their +friends from the outside world upon wines from the imperial +cellars were a nightly occurrence. Since Alexandre’s +arrest the vigilance of the court gendarmes had been greatly +increased, so that no servant could enter the palace without +being searched; yet Khaltourin contrived to smuggle in a +small piece of dynamite every evening, thus gradually accumulating +the supply that was needed for the terrible work +of destruction he was preparing.</p> + +<p>As to his position within the palace, he played his rôle +so well that he was the favourite of gendarmes and servants<a name="Page_92" id="Page_92"><span class="pagenum">[92]</span></a> +alike, often hearing from them stories of the Nihilists and +of the great plot to blow up the dining hall that was supposed +to have been nipped in the bud.</p> + +<p>“Well, how is that old gendarme of yours?” Zachar +inquired. “Still teaching you manners?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Khaltourin answered with a smile. “I am getting +sick of his attentions, though. But there is something +back of them, it appears. What do you think he’s +after? Why, he has a marriageable daughter, so he has +taken it into his head to make a son-in-law of me.”</p> + +<p>“Ho-ho-ho-ho!” Zachar exploded, restraining a guffaw.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93"><span class="pagenum">[93]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>THE CZAR’S ESCAPE.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">ON Tuesday, February 17th, at about six o’clock in +the evening, Pavel and Makar were sauntering +through the streets of the Vassili Island. Their +conversation languished. While indoors they had had another +discussion of Makar’s scheme, a heart-to-heart talk in +which Pavel showed signs of yielding; and now that they +were out in the snow-dappled night they were experiencing +that feeling of embarrassment which is the aftermath of +sentimental communion between two men. When they +reached the Neva, Pavel cast a glance across, in the direction +of the Winter Palace. The frozen river looked infinitely +wider than it was. Dotted with lamps and crossed by +streams of home-bound humanity, it lay vast, gorgeous, +uncanny—a white plain animated with mysterious brightness +and mysterious motion. The main part of the capital, +on the Palace side of the Neva, was a world of gloom +starred with myriads and myriads of lights, each so distinct +that one almost felt tempted to count them; all this +seemingly as far away as the gold-dotted sky overhead. +Makar was huddling himself in his grey military cloak, +his bare hands loosely thrust into its sleeves, looking at +nothing. Pavel, his furred coat unbuttoned, gazed across +the Neva.</p> + +<p>“Come on,” the medical student urged, knocking one<a name="Page_94" id="Page_94"><span class="pagenum">[94]</span></a> +foot against the other. “It’s too cold to be tramping +around like this.”</p> + +<p>“One moment,” Pavel responded, impatiently. He had +been visiting this point at the same hour every day for the +past week or two. Makar, who did not know of it, relapsed +into his revery.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there came a dull rolling crash. It burst +from the other side, and as Pavel and Makar looked across +the river they saw that the lights of the Winter Palace +which had been burning a minute ago, were out, leaving +a great patch of darkness. The human stream paused. +Then came a rush of feet on all sides.</p> + +<p>“It’s in the Palace,” Boulatoff whispered; and seizing +his companion’s hand at his side he pressed it with furious +strength.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The next day the newspapers were allowed to state that +the previous evening, as the Czar and a royal guest were +about to enter the dining hall through one door and the +other members of the imperial family through another, a +terrific explosion had occurred, making a hole in the floor +ten feet long and six wide; that eleven inmates of the +guard room, which was directly under the dining hall, were +killed and fifty-seven injured, the Czar’s narrow escape +having been due to an accidental delay of the dinner. The +explosion had shattered a number of windows and blown +out the gas, leaving the palace in complete darkness. +Traces of an improvised dynamite mine had been discovered +in the basement. Three artisans employed in the +palace were arrested, but their innocence was established, +while a fourth man, a varnisher named Batushkoff, had +disappeared. Now that Batushkoff was gone the Third +Section learned that he was no other than Stepan Khaltourin,<a name="Page_95" id="Page_95"><span class="pagenum">[95]</span></a> +one of the active revolutionists its agents were +looking for.</p> + +<p>One week after the explosion the Czar signed a decree +which practically placed the government in the hands of a +Supreme Executive Commission—a body especially +created to cope with the situation and whose head, Count +Loris-Melikoff, was invested with all but the powers of a +regent. Count Melikoff was neither a Slav nor of noble +birth. He was the son of an Armenian merchant. He +was a new figure in St. Petersburg, and when his carriage +passed along the Neva Prospect his swarthy face with its +striking Oriental features were pointed out with expressions +of perplexity. Although one of the two principal +heroes of the late war with Turkey and recently a governor-general +of Kharkoff, he was looked upon as an upstart. +The extraordinary powers so suddenly vested in him took +the country by surprise.</p> + +<p>He was known for the conciliatory policy toward the +Nihilists at which he had aimed while he was governor-general +of Kharkoff. Accordingly, his promotion to what +virtually amounted to dictatorship was universally interpreted +as a sign of weakening on the part of <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Alexandre'">Alexander</ins> +II. Indeed, Melikoff’s first pronunciamento from the +lofty altitude of his new office struck a note of startling +novelty. He spoke of the Czar as showing “increased +confidence in his people” and of “public coöperation” +as “the main force capable of assisting the government +in its effort to restore a normal flow of official life”—utterances +that were construed into a pledge of public +participation in affairs of state, into an unequivocal hint +at representative legislation.</p> + +<p>Loris-Melikoff was one of the ablest statesmen Russia +had ever produced. He was certainly the only high official<a name="Page_96" id="Page_96"><span class="pagenum">[96]</span></a> +of his time who did not try to prove his devotion +to the throne by following in the trodden path +of repression. He knew that Russia could not be kept +from joining in the march of Western civilisation and +he was not going to serve his personal interests by pretending +that it could. Instead, he hoped to strengthen +his position by winning the Czar over to his own moderate +liberalism, by reconciling him to the logic of history. +But the logic of history could best have been served +by prompt and vigorous action, while the chief of the +Supreme Executive Commission was rather slow to move. +Nor, indeed, was he free from interference. The Czar +was still susceptible to the influence of his unthinking +relatives and of his own vindictive nature.</p> + +<p>Chaos marked the situation. Loris-Melikoff’s first week +in office was signalised by the most cruel act in the +entire history of the government’s struggle against Nihilism. +A gymnasium boy, seventeen years old (a Jew), was +hanged in Kieff for carrying a revolutionary proclamation. +The dictator’s professions of liberalism were branded as +hypocrisy.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97"><span class="pagenum">[97]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>A MYSTERIOUS ARREST.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">A YOUNG man had been seized with seditious publications. +It was the first political arrest in Miroslav, +and the report was spreading in a maze of shifting +versions. This much seemed certain: the prisoner pretended +to be a deaf-mute and so far the gendarmes and the +procureur had failed to disclose his identity. The local +newspaper dared not publish the remotest allusion to the +matter.</p> + +<p>Countess Anna Nicolayevna Varova (Varoff) first heard +the news from her brother-in-law, the governor, and +although the two belonged to that exceptional minority +which usually discussed topics of this character in their +normal voices, yet it was in subdued tones that the satrap +broached the subject. Anna Nicolayevna offered to send +for Pavel, who had recently arrived from St. Petersburg, +after an absence of three years, but the governor checked +her.</p> + +<p>“Never mind, Annette,” he said, impatiently, “I’ve +dropped in for a minute or two, in passing, don’t you +know. He called on me yesterday, Pasha. Quite a man. +Tell him he must look in again and let me see how clever +he is. Quite a man. How time does fly!” Then sinking +his voice, he asked: “Have you heard of the fellow<a name="Page_98" id="Page_98"><span class="pagenum">[98]</span></a> +they’ve bagged? One of those youngsters who are scaring +St. Petersburg out of its wits, you know.”</p> + +<p>He gave a laugh and fell to blinking gravely.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, George? Did the gendarmes +catch a Nihilist?” she asked, in dismay. “Did they? +Bless me! That’s all that’s wanted. If there is one there +must be a whole nest of them.” She made a gesture of +horror—“But who is he, what is he?”</p> + +<p>“That I know no more than you do.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s too bad, it’s really too bad. I thought +Miroslav was immune from that plague at least.” And +seeing his worried look she added: “I hope it’s nothing +serious, George.”</p> + +<p>Governor Boulatoff shook his head. “I don’t think it +is. Although you never can tell nowadays. You never +can tell,” he repeated, blinking absently. “The Armenian +doesn’t seem to be cleaning those fellows out quite so +rapidly as one thought he would, does he? They are playing +the devil with things, that’s what they are doing.” +“One” and “they” referred to the Emperor and his +advisers.</p> + +<p>“Pooh, they’ll weary of that parvenu, it’s only a matter +of time,” she consoled him.</p> + +<p>The old man proceeded to quote from Loris-Melikoff’s +recent declarations, which the countess had heard him +satirise several times before. “‘In the coöperation of the +public,’” he declaimed theatrically, “‘lies the main force +capable of assisting the government in its effort to restore +a normal flow of official life.’ Do you understand what +all this jugglery means? That we are knuckling down to +a lot of ragamuffins. It means an official confession that +the ‘flow of official life’ has been checked by a gang of +rascally college boys. ‘The public is the main force capable<a name="Page_99" id="Page_99"><span class="pagenum">[99]</span></a> +of assisting the government!’ Charming, isn’t it? +Might as well invite ‘the public’ to be so kind and elect +representatives, deputies, or what you may call ’em, start a +parliament and have it over with.”</p> + +<p>Anna Nicolayevna made another attempt to bring the +conversation back to the political prisoner, but her visitor +was evidently fighting shy of the topic.</p> + +<p>“Birch-rods, a good, smart flogging, that’s what the +public needs,” he resumed, passionately gnashing his teeth, +in response to his own thoughts.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t say that, George. After all, one lives in the +nineteenth century.”</p> + +<p>But this only spurred him on.</p> + +<p>The arrest having been ordered from St. Petersburg, the +implication was that the presence of the revolutionist in +town had escaped the attention of the local authorities. +So Governor Boulatoff, who had had no experience in cases +of this kind, wondered whether the affair was not likely to +affect his own standing. Besides, the governor of Kharkoff +had recently been killed, and Boulatoff was asking +himself whether the arrest of the unknown man augured +the end of his own peace of mind. This he kept to himself, +however, and having found some relief in animadverting +upon the policy of Loris-Melikoff he took leave.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The countess was left with a pang of sympathy for her +brother-in-law. Not that she had any clear idea of the +political situation at which he was forever scoffing and +carping. She felt sure that his low spirits were traceable +to loneliness, and her compassion for him revived heart-wringing +memories of his dead wife, her sister.</p> + +<p>The young prince was out in the garden romping about +with Kostia, his half-brother, now a ten-year-old cadet on<a name="Page_100" id="Page_100"><span class="pagenum">[100]</span></a> +sick leave. Anna Nicolayevna went to take a look at them +through the open window of a rear room. The garden +was so jammed with fresh-tinted lilacs, so flooded with +their scent, that it seemed like an explosion of color and +fragrance. Two Germans were at work with picks and +spades. From an invisible spot where a new summer house +was being constructed came sounds of sawing and hammering, +while the air near the window rang with a multitudinous +twitter of sparrows. Pavel was trying to force +Kostia into a wheelbarrow, the boy kicking and struggling +silently, and a huge shaggy dog barking at Pavel ferociously.</p> + +<p>“Come in, Pasha. I want to speak to you,” said Anna +Nicolayevna.</p> + +<p>The return indoors was a race, in which the gigantic +dog took part. The convalescent little cadet was beaten.</p> + +<p>“Wait till I get well,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Wait nothing. Your excellency will be rolling along +like a water-melon all the same. Good-bye, Monsieur le +Water-melon!”</p> + +<p>Presently Pavel stood before his mother, mopping his +flushed, laughing face.</p> + +<p>“Do you remember his ‘express trains’ in the garden?” +he said. “Now it is beneath his dignity, to be sure.” He +was always trying to prove to himself that the present +Kostia and the five-year-old boy he used to fondle five +years ago were one and the same person.</p> + +<p>“He’s right,” said the countess. “He’s a baby no +longer. It’s you who are acting like one. Uncle has been +here. He was in a hurry, so I didn’t send for you.” Her +serious-minded, intellectual son inspired her with a certain +feeling of timidity. She had not the courage to bring up +the subject of the political arrest. Her mind was so vague<a name="Page_101" id="Page_101"><span class="pagenum">[101]</span></a> +on matters of this kind, while Pavel was apparently so well +informed and so profound, she was sure of making a poor +showing. So she told herself that it was not a proper +topic to discuss in a well-ordered family and kept her own +counsel.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know he was here,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Poor man! he seems to be feeling lonely.”</p> + +<p>Pavel made no reply.</p> + +<p>“Why, don’t you think he does?”</p> + +<p>“What matters it whether I do or not,” he said, lightly.</p> + +<p>“You haven’t a bit of heart, Pasha.”</p> + +<p>He would not be drawn into conversation, treating +everything she said with an inscrutable, somewhat patronising +flippancy that nettled her. At last he said he was +going out.</p> + +<p>“‘Looking up old chums’ again?” she asked. “And +does it mean that you are going to dine out once more?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll try not to, mother,” he answered, with a fond +smile in his bright, aggressive eyes.</p> + +<p>His small slender figure, beautifully erect, and his upward-tending, +frank features haunted her long after he +left. She felt like a jealous bride. Otherwise he kept +her thoughts tinged with sunshine. A great attachment +on quite new terms had sprung up between mother and son +since his arrival. At the same time he seemed to belong +to a world which she was at a loss to make out. Nor did +he appear disinclined to talk of his life in St. Petersburg—a +subject upon which she was continually plying him +with questions. The trouble was that the questions that +beset her mind could no more be formulated than a blind +man can formulate his curiosity as to colour. Moreover, all +these questions seemed to come crowding upon her when +Pavel was away and to vanish the moment she set eyes on<a name="Page_102" id="Page_102"><span class="pagenum">[102]</span></a> +him. She told herself that he belonged to a different +generation from hers, that it was the everlasting case of +“fathers and sons.” But this only quickened her jealousy +of the “sons” and her despair at being classed with the +discarded generation. And the keener her jealousy, the +deeper was her interest in Pasha.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103"><span class="pagenum">[103]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>A BEWILDERING ENCOUNTER.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">WHEN Pavel was in St. Petersburg Anna Nicolayevna +had missed him only occasionally. Now +that he was with her his absences were a continuous +torture to her. On the present occasion she sought +diversion in a visit to Princess Chertogoff where she expected +to hear something about the mysterious prisoner. +Princess Chertogoff was a lame, impoverished noblewoman +whose daughter was married to the assistant-procureur. +In higher circles she was looked down upon as a social outcast, +so that Anna Nicolayevna’s visits to her had a surreptitious +character and something of the charm of forbidden +fruit. Pavel’s mother was fond of the stir her +appearance produced in houses of this kind. The curious +part of it was that the impecunious princess was one of the +very few persons in the world whose presence irritated her. +It seemed as though this irritation had a peculiar attraction +for her.</p> + +<p>It was an early hour in the afternoon. She was received +in the vestibule by Hélène, the assistant-procureur’s wife, +with an outburst of kisses and caresses which had something +to do with the young woman’s expecting to become a +mother. Rising in the background was the hostess, Lydia +Grigorievna Chertogova (Chertogoff) and her gorgeous +crutches. She was large, dark, and in spite of her made-over<a name="Page_104" id="Page_104"><span class="pagenum">[104]</span></a> +gowns, imposingly handsome. Aware of the fantastic +majesty which these crutches gave her stalwart form, she +paraded her defect as she did her beautiful dark eyes. At +this moment it seemed as though the high-polished ebony +crutches joined her in beaming at <ins title="Transcriber's Note: 'the' missing in original">the</ins> sight of the distinguished +visitor. Hélène, a small woman of twenty-four, +usually compact as a billiard ball, was beginning to resemble +an over-ripe apple.</p> + +<p>When the three women found themselves in the drawing +room Lydia Grigorievna lost no time in turning the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'cosversation'">conversation</ins> +on the arrested Nihilist. Her son-in-law had +carefully abstained from opening his mouth on the subject, +yet she talked about it authoritatively, with an implication +of reserved knowledge of still graver import, but Hélène +gave her away.</p> + +<p>“Woldemar would not speak about it,” she complained, +reverently. “‘An affair of state,’ he said. You can’t +get a single word out of him.” She exulted in the part +he was playing as an exterminator of the enemies of the +Czar, and in the air-castles she was building as to the promotion +to which the present case was to pave his way.</p> + +<p>“But what do they want, those scamps?” Lydia Grigorievna +resumed, in soft, pampered accents. “Would they +have us live without a Czar? I should have them cut to +pieces, the rogues. Is it possible that the government +should be powerless to get rid of them? To think of a +handful of striplings keeping cabinet ministers in a perpetual +state of terror.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nobody is really afraid of them,” Hélène retorted, +holding her face to the breeze which came in through an +open window.</p> + +<p>“But your husband is not yet a cabinet minister, dear,” +her mother said with a smile toward the countess.</p><p><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105"><span class="pagenum">[105]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Oh, you’re always suspecting me of something or +other, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mamman</i>. I was not thinking of Woldemar at all.”</p> + +<p>The charm of her presence, the appealing charm of a +pretty young woman about to become a mother, added +itself to the tenderness and mystery of spring. Lydia +Grigorievna addressed another smile to the countess, but +Anna Nicolayevna dropped her glance. The princess went +on raging at the revolutionists. In reality, however, that +handful of striplings who “kept cabinet ministers in a +perpetual state of terror” had stirred up a curiosity in +her that sprang from anything but indignation or contempt. +She was hankering for a specimen of their literature, +of those publications the very handling of which was +apt to bring death. Her thirst in this direction was all +the keener because she felt sure that some of the Nihilist +papers that had been confiscated at the arrest of the unknown +man were upstairs in her son-in-law’s desk.</p> + +<p>“A constitution may be all very well in Germany or +France,” she said. “This is Russia, not Germany or +France or England, thank God. Yet those wretches will +go around stirring up discontent. On my way home from +Moscow last winter I heard a passenger say that if we +had less bribery and more liberty and popular education +we would be as good as any nation in Western Europe. +I knew at once he was a Nihilist. You can tell one by +the first word he utters. I confess I was afraid to sit near +him. He had grey side-whiskers, but maybe they were just +stuck on. Oh, I should show them no mercy.”</p> + +<p>She was all flushed and ill at ease. She received no +encouragement. Her sugared enunciation and the false +ring of what she said grated on her hearer’s nerves. Anna +Nicolayevna listened in silence. The lame princess was a +sincere woman coated with a layer of insincerity. But<a name="Page_106" id="Page_106"><span class="pagenum">[106]</span></a> +the countess thought her the embodiment of affectation +and hated her, bizarre beauty, enunciation, altered gowns, +crutches and all.</p> + +<p>Lydia Grigorievna was interrupted by the appearance +of the assistant-procureur himself. He was tall and frail +with a long straight straw-coloured mane and pontifical gestures. +His figure made one think of length in the abstract. +As you looked at him he seemed to be continually growing +in height. Hélène had fallen in love with him because he +resembled the baron in a play she had seen in Moscow.</p> + +<p>“I’ve just looked in to bid you good afternoon, countess,” +he said. “I saw your carriage through the window. But +unfortunately—<i>business before pleasure</i>.” It was one of +two or three English phrases which he kept for occasions +of this character and which he mispronounced with great +self-confidence.</p> + +<p>When Anna Nicolayevna got into the street she felt as +though she had emerged from the suffocating atmosphere +of some criminal den. In the May breeze, however, and +at sight of the river her spirits rose. She dismissed her +carriage. When she reached the macadamised bank and +caught the smell of the water it was borne in upon her +afresh that it was spring. She had passed this very spot, +in a sleigh only a short while ago, it seemed. Lawns and +trees had been covered with snow then; all had been stiff +with the stiffness of death; whereas now all was tenderly +alive with verdure and bloom, and wild-flowers smiled +upon her at every turn. Here it struck her as though +spring had just been born; born in full attire overnight. +Flushed and radiant, with her rusty chin in the air and +her flat chest slightly thrown out, spinning her parasol, +she was briskly marching along, a broad streak of water +to the right of her, a row of orchards to the left. The<a name="Page_107" id="Page_107"><span class="pagenum">[107]</span></a> +river beamed. From somewhere underneath she heard the +clanking of chains of lumber-horses, accompanied by the +yell of boys. The greased wooden screws of a receding +cable-ferry were squirming in the air like two erect snakes +of silver; the brass buttons of a soldier-passenger burned +like a column of flames. All this and the lilac-laden breeze +and Anna Nicolayevna’s soul were part of something vast, +swelling with light and joy. But the breath of spring is +not all joy. Nature’s season of love is a season of yearning. +One feels like frisking and weeping at once. Spring +was with us a year ago, but the interval seems many years. +It is like revisiting one’s home after a long absence: the +scenes of childhood are a source of delight and depression +at once. It is like hearing a long forgotten song: the +melody, however gay, has a dismal note in it. Anna Nicolayevna +had not been out many minutes when she began +to feel encompassed by an immense melancholy to which +her heart readily responded. There was a vague longing +in the clear blue sky, in the gleaming water, in the patches +of grass on either side of the public promenade, in the +distant outlines across the river, but above all in the overpowering +freshness of the afternoon air. The travail of +an unhappy soul seemed to be somewhere nearby. A look +of loneliness came into her eyes. She was burning to see +Pavel, to lay bare her soul to him.</p> + +<p>When a passing artisan in top-boots and with glass buttons +in his waistcoat reverently took off his flat cap she +returned the salute with motherly fervour and slackened +her pace to a more dignified gait. “I’m respected and +loved by the people,” she mentally boasted to Pavel.</p> + +<p>Arrived at the bridge, she paused to hand a twenty-copeck +piece to a blind beggar who sat on the ground by +the tollman’s booth. He apparently recognised her by the<a name="Page_108" id="Page_108"><span class="pagenum">[108]</span></a> +way her gloved hand put the coin in his hand. She had +given him alms as long as she could remember, and usually +he made no more impression on her than the lamp-posts +she passed. This time, however, it came back to her how +her mother used to send her out of their carriage with +some money for him. She paused to look at him and to +listen to his song. She recalled him as a man of thirty or +forty with thick flaxen hair. Now he was gray and bald. +“Great heavens! how time does fly!” she exclaimed in her +heart, feeling herself an old woman. The blind man +seemed to be absorbed in his song. All blind beggars look +alike and they all seem to be singing the same doleful +religious tune, yet this man, as he sat with his eyes sealed +and his head leaned against the parapet, gave her a novel +sensation. He was listening to his own tones, as if they +came from an invisible world, like his own, but one located +somewhere far away.</p> + +<p>Anna Nicolayevna gave him a ruble and passed on. +Followed by the beggar’s benedictions, she made to turn +into the street which formed the continuation of the +bridge, when an approaching flour truck brought her to a +halt. Besides several sacks of meal the waggon carried a +cheap old trunk, and seated between the trunk and the +driver was—Pavel; Pavel uncouthly dressed in the garb +of an artisan. His rudimentary beard was covered with +dust; his legs, encased in coarse grimy topboots, were +dangling in the air. The visor of his flat cap was pushed +down over his eyes, screening them from the red afternoon +sun which sparkled and glowed in the glass buttons +of his vest. It certainly was Pavel. Anna Nicolayevna +was panic-stricken. She dared not utter his name.</p> + +<p>The toll paid, the truck moved on. The countess followed +her son with her eyes, until a cab shut him out of<a name="Page_109" id="Page_109"><span class="pagenum">[109]</span></a> +view, and then she remained standing for some time, staring +at the cab. “What does it all mean?” she asked +herself with sickening curiosity. Finally her eye went +to the water below. She gazed at its rippling stretches +of black and masses of shattered silver; at a woman slapping +a heap of wash with a wash-beater, at a long raft +slowly gliding toward the bridge. “Is he disguised? +What does it all mean? Was it really Pasha?”</p> + +<p>Doubt dawned in her mind. In her eagerness to take +another look at the man on the truck she raised her eyes. +After waiting for some moments she saw the waggon with +the two men as it appeared and forthwith disappeared at +the other end of the bridge. The thought of the arrested +man stunned her. Was Pavel a Nihilist? The image of +her son had assumed a new, a forbidding expression.</p> + +<p>The revolutionists moved about on the verge of martyrdom, +and as the mere acquaintance with one of their number +meant destruction, the imagination painted them as +something akin to living shadows, as beings whose very +touch brought silence and darkness. People dared not +utter the word “Nihilist” or “revolutionist” aloud. +Anna Nicolayevna belonged to the privileged few, but at +this moment she dreaded so much as to think of her son by +these ghastly names. It now appeared to Anna Nicolayevna +that all through her call at Lydia Grigorievna’s +she had had a presentiment of an approaching calamity. +She took the first cab that came along.</p> + +<p>“As fast as you can drive,” she said.</p> + +<p>The moment Anna Nicolayevna got home she inquired +whether Pavel was in his room, and when the porter said +that his Highness had not been back since he had left, in the +morning, a fresh gust of terror smote her heart and brain. +She stole into his room. On the table lay a German<a name="Page_110" id="Page_110"><span class="pagenum">[110]</span></a> +pamphlet on Kant and a fresh number of the <i>Russian Messenger</i>, +the ultra-conservative magazine published in Moscow. +In several places the leaves were cut. A Nihilist +was the last person in the world one would expect to read +this organ of Panslavists. What Anna Nicolayevna did +not know was that the cut pages of the conservative magazine, +which Pavel had received from St. Petersburg the +day before, contained a hidden revolutionary message. +Here and there a phrase, word, or a single letter, was +marked, by means of an inkstain, abrasion or what looked +like the idle penciling of a reader, these forming half a +dozen consecutive sentences.</p> + +<p>Anna Nicolayevna was perplexed and her perplexity gave +her a new thrill of hope. She was in a quiver of impatience +to see her son and have it all out.</p> + +<p>The dinner hour came round and Pavel was not there. +She could not eat. Every little while she paused to listen +for a ring of the door bell. She sent a servant to his room +to see if he had not arrived unheard. He had not.</p> + +<p>The other people at table were Kostia, in huge red +shoulder-straps which made his well-fitting uniform look +too large for him; Kostia’s old tutor, a powerful looking +German with a bashful florid face, and the countess’ own +old governess, an aged Frenchwoman with a congealed +smile on her bloodless lips. This restlessness of the +countess when Pavel was slow in coming was no news to +them, but this time she seemed to feel particularly uneasy. +Silence hung over them. The Frenchwoman’s dried-up +smile turned to a gleam of compassion. The German ate +timidly. This man’s services had practically ceased when +Kostia entered the cadet corps, but Anna Nicolayevna +retained him in the house for his quiet piety. She had a +feeling that so far as the intelligent classes were concerned<a name="Page_111" id="Page_111"><span class="pagenum">[111]</span></a> +the simple forms of Protestantism were more compatible +with religious sincerity than were the iron-bound formalities +of her native church. So, with her heart thirsting +for spiritual interest, she found intense pleasure in her +theological conversations with this well-read, narrow-minded, +honest Lutheran, whose religious convictions she +envied.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112"><span class="pagenum">[112]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>A GENDARME’S SISTER.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">WHEN Pavel told his mother that he was going out +he expected to meet Makar, who had been in +Miroslav for the past four days. Once again he +was going to plead with him to give up his scheme. The +affair kept Pavel in bad humour, but that morning his mind +was occupied by the thought that there was an interesting +meeting in store for him. In the evening he was to make +the acquaintance of Clara Yavner, the heroine of the Pievakin +“demonstration.”</p> + +<p>On his way down the spacious corridor he was stopped +by Onufri, his cheeks still hollower and his drooping moustache +still longer and considerably greyer than of yore. +Pavel had once tried to make a convert of him, but found +him “too stupid for abstract reasoning.” Onufri was +polishing the floor. As Pavel came past he faced half +way about and gave him a stern look from under his bushy +eyebrows.</p> + +<p>“They’ve pinched a gentleman, the blood-guzzlers.” +Saying which he fell to dancing on his foot-cushions again.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?” Pavel asked, turning white as he +paused.</p> + +<p>“You know what I mean, sir. You know you do,” +answered Onufri, going on with his work.</p> + +<p>“Is it true? Who made the arrest? Gendarmes?”</p><p><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113"><span class="pagenum">[113]</span></a></p> + +<p>“That’s it. I wouldn’t bother your Highness if the +police’d nabbed a common crook, would I?”</p> + +<p>The servant bent on his young master a long look of +sympathetic reproach, adding under his breath:</p> + +<p>“You had better give it all up, sir. Better let it go +to the devil.”</p> + +<p>“Give up what? What on earth are you prating about, +Onufri?”</p> + +<p>A few minutes later, while Pavel was destroying some +papers in his room, the door swung open and in came +Onufri. The old man burst into tears and dropped to his +knees.</p> + +<p>“Take pity, sir,” he wailed, kissing Pavel’s fingers. +“You’ve played with fire long enough, sir. If they put +you in prison, the murderers, and sent you away it would +kill her Highness, your mother.”</p> + +<p>“Get up, Onufri. I have no patience with you just +now, really I haven’t.”</p> + +<p>“It’s bad enough when your Highness takes chances in +another town, but if you’re mixed up in this here thing, +sir——”</p> + +<p>“I’m not mixed up ‘in this here thing.’ Don’t bother +me. Come, get up. Up with you, now. There is a good +fellow!”</p> + +<p>The old hussar obeyed distressedly.</p> + +<p>Instead of going to the place where he expected to see +Makar, Pavel went to the house of Major Safonoff, the +gendarme officer, an uncomfortable-looking frame building +across the river. As he approached it, Masha, the major’s +sister, who stood at a second story window at that moment, +apparently waiting for somebody, burst out beckoning to +him and stamping her feet. Her excited gesticulations +drew the attention of a knife-grinder and two little girls.<a name="Page_114" id="Page_114"><span class="pagenum">[114]</span></a> +Pavel dropped his eyes. “She is a perfect idiot,” he said +to himself in a rage, “and I am another one. The idea +of taking up with such a creature!”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you torture me!” she greeted him on the staircase. +“I thought my heart was going to snap. Don’t be +uneasy. I have dismissed our servant. There is nobody +around.” When they reached the low-ceiled parlor, she +sank her voice and said solemnly, yet with a certain note +of triumph: “He was arrested at four o’clock yesterday +on the railway tracks. The gendarme office had information +that he was in the habit of taking walks there. I +happened to be away—think of it! At a time like that +I was away. Else I should have let you know at once, of +course. Anyhow, he’s there.”</p> + +<p>“You say it as if it was something to rejoice in,” Pavel +remarked, disguising his rage. “It’s quite a serious matter, +Maria Gavrilovna.”</p> + +<p>Mlle. Safonoff stared. “But we’ll get him out. Why, +are you afraid we mayn’t? I see you’re depressed and +that makes me miserable, too. Really it does.”</p> + +<p>“Do I look depressed? Well, I must confess I rather +am. It’s no laughing matter, Maria Gavrilovna,” he said, +flushing.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, if you are going to talk like that. That is +I myself haven’t the slightest doubt about it. Only you +frighten me so. If this thing is going to last another +week it will drive me mad.” Her childish eyes shone with +tears. “Why should you take such a gloomy view of it? +I must say it’s cruel of you, Pavel <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Vassilyevitch'">Vassilyevich</ins>. Everything +is just as I expected. He is as good as free, I assure +you.”</p> + +<p>Pavel answered, by way of consoling himself as well as +her: “Well, maybe I do take it too hard. Our chances<a name="Page_115" id="Page_115"><span class="pagenum">[115]</span></a> +seem to be good, and—well, we must get him out. That’s +all there is to it.”</p> + +<p>“Of course we must. Now I like you, Boulatoff. We +must and we will, and when the story is published—oh, +I do wish we could get out special proclamations!—anyhow, +won’t it make a stir!” She paused and then resumed, +in a new burst of frankness, “I know what makes +you uneasy about me. The great trouble with me is my +lack of tact, isn’t it? If I had that I would be all right. +That’s what worries you about me in this affair, isn’t it, +now? You’re afraid I may make a mess of the whole +business. I know you are. Well, and I don’t blame you, +either. The Safonoffs have never been distinguished for +their heads. When it happens to be a matter of hearts, +we hold our own, but brains, well—.” She gave a laugh. +“I tell you what, Boulatoff, I’m afraid of you, and I don’t +care to bear the brunt of this important affair. Anyhow, +I want you to keep an eye on me. I’ll do all you want +me to, but you must take the responsibility off my shoulders, +else I’ll go crazy. What makes you smile? You +think I’m crazy already, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t smiling at all. So far you have managed +things beautifully. I confess I’m getting impatient. +Well, I do feel wretched, Maria Gavrilovna.”</p> + +<p>She grasped his hand, shook it silently and whispered: +“Don’t be uneasy. We shall win.”</p> + +<p>When Safonoff came home at the lunch hour he told +of the excitement at the gendarme office. His manner +toward Boulatoff was a non-committal mixture which +seemed to say: “You and I understand each other perfectly, +don’t we? Still, if you think you can get me to +call a spade a spade or to help you you are mistaken.”</p> + +<p>His compact, well-fed figure had the shape of a plum.<a name="Page_116" id="Page_116"><span class="pagenum">[116]</span></a> +He was perpetually mimicking somebody or chuckling and +his speech was full of gaps, many of his sentences being +rendered in dumb show.</p> + +<p>“My chief may get in trouble for having ordered the +arrest too soon,” he said. “We were to let the prisoner—” +(he brandished his hand to represent a man going +around at large) “for some time, so as to let him show +us with whom he is acquainted. But my chief—” (he +struck an attitude meant to caricature a decrepit, coughing, +old fellow) “was all of a tremble for fear the canary-bird +might take wing. You see he had never arrested a +political before. You should have seen our men when +we took that chap on the railroad track. They were more +frightened than he, I assure you, prince. They thought +he was going to—” (he aimed an imaginary dagger at +Pavel and burst into laughter). “Monsieur Unknown is +certainly no coward whatever else he may be. You should +have seen the look of surprise and contempt he gave me!”</p> + +<p>Pavel beamed while Masha’s face wore a pained expression. +“It’s time you had left this nasty business of yours, +Andrusha,” she said.</p> + +<p>When Andrusha reached the assistant procureur’s part +in the case he sketched off a pompous imbecile. There +was no love lost between the public attorney and the +gendarme officers, so Safonoff described, with many a gurgle +of merriment, how, during the attempted examination +of the prisoner, Zendorf, the assistant procureur (he burlesqued +an obeisance as the epitome of snobbishness) had +tried to impress his uniformed rivals with his intellectual +and social superiority.</p> + +<p>“You see, my chief is a rough and ready sort of customer. +Whatever else he may be, frills and fakes are not +in his line. So he went right at it. ‘Speak up,’ he<a name="Page_117" id="Page_117"><span class="pagenum">[117]</span></a> +squeaked at the prisoner, ‘speak up, or I’ll have your +mouth opened for you.’ So Zendorf called him gently to +order and fixed his dignified peepers at the prisoner. He +expected to cast some sort of spell over him, I suppose, but +it was no go. As to me, I was just choking. As bad luck +would have it I took it into my head at that moment that +the best way to make that fellow talk would be to have +his armpits tickled till he roared. Well, I had to leave the +room to have my giggle out.”</p> + +<p>Safonoff was indifferent to his sister’s revolutionary +ventures because he never vividly realised the danger she +incurred. His mind retained the most lifelike impressions, +but its sensitiveness was of the photographic kind; +it was confined to actual experiences. He had no imagination +for the future. He was an easy-going man, incapable +of fear. People often arrived at the conclusion +that he was “a fool after all.” But then there are fools +who are endowed with a keen perception and a lively sense +of character.</p> + +<p>Speaking of the warden of the jail, Safonoff impersonated +a cringing, hand-kissing, crafty time-server. He had +never met a convert Jew or convert Pole who was not an +adventurer and an all-round knave, he said, and Rodkevitch +was the most typical convert Pole he had ever come +across. The sight of money took his breath away, gave +him the vertigo, made his eyes start from their sockets. +Rustle a crisp paper ruble in his ear and he will faint away.</p> + +<p>“He’s a candidate for Siberia anyhow and he needs +money to pull him out of some of the roguish schemes he +is tangled up in. The contractors who furnish his prisoners +sand for flour and garbage for potatoes are his partners +in some of his outside swindles also. Do you understand, +prince?” The question was put with special<a name="Page_118" id="Page_118"><span class="pagenum">[118]</span></a> +emphasis, which Pavel interpreted as a direct hint at the +possibility of bribing the warden.</p> + +<p>It occurred to Boulatoff that Makar’s luggage was quite +likely to contain some incriminating papers or other things +that might aggravate the case. To fear this in view of +Makar’s notorious absent-mindedness was quite reasonable. +But this was not all. He had been bent upon making his +arrest as important in the eyes of the Third Section as +possible, and Pavel was almost certain he had left something +in his lodgings on purpose. “You never know what +you are at with a crazy, obstinate bull-dog like that,” he +thought in a qualm of anxiety.</p> + +<p>When Safonoff had gone Pavel wrote a note to his imprisoned +friend asking for the address of his lodgings.</p> + +<p>“Can you get this to him, and an answer brought +back?” he demanded of Mlle. Safonoff in a peremptory +tone.</p> + +<p>“I think so. My aunt will probably get it through. I +am almost sure of it, in fact.”</p> + +<p>“There you are. You’re <i>almost</i> sure. Was this enough +to let a man put himself in the hands of the Third Section?”</p> + +<p>Mlle. Safonoff hurried out of the house in dumb dismay. +After an interval of less than an hour, which to Pavel +seemed a year, she burst into the parlour, accompanied by +an older woman, whom she introduced as her aunt, +Daria Stepanovna Shubeyko. Both were breathless with +excitement. They had the desired address, the sum Makar +owed his landlady and another note to the landlady. +Pavel’s heart swelled with joy and gratitude, but he did +not show it.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” he said, with a preoccupied scowl. “And +now for that trunk of his.”</p><p><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119"><span class="pagenum">[119]</span></a></p> + +<p>The two women went on to describe, continually interrupting +each other, their plans for setting Makar free, but +Pavel checked them.</p> + +<p>“We’ll discuss it all afterwards,” he said. “What we +need at this minute is a coarse suit of clothes, something +to make a fellow look like a workman or porter. We must +clear his room before his landlady has notified the police +of his disappearance.” The costume was brought by +Masha. When Pavel emerged from the major’s bedroom +transformed into a laborer, Masha’s aunt applauded so +violently that he could not resist gnashing his teeth at her.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, but I’ve never seen a real man of action +before,” she pleaded. “Now I feel newly born, really I +do. I tell you what, Boulatoff, I’ll go with you. In case +of trouble I may be of some use, you know. We can’t +afford to let an active man like you perish.”</p> + +<p>“But then if you perish,” Pavel answered gayly, “there +won’t be anybody to arrange that escape.”</p> + +<p>“That’s true,” she replied forlornly. She was a healthy, +good-looking woman with a smile so exultantly silly that +Pavel could not bear to look at it. Every time that smile +of hers brightened her full-blooded face, he dropped his +eyes.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>There was the risk of his being recognised by somebody +in the street. Then, too, Makar’s lodgings might have +been discovered by the police and made a trap of. The +errand was full of risks, but this only stimulated a feeling +in which Pavel’s passion for this sort of adventure was +coupled with a desire to vindicate himself before his own +conscience by sharing in Makar’s dangers.</p> + +<p>The trip was devoid of all adventure, however. Even +his meeting with his mother was lost on him. He was<a name="Page_120" id="Page_120"><span class="pagenum">[120]</span></a> +sincerely contemplating the blind beggar at that moment.</p> + +<p>Makar’s landlady was a garrulous Jewess. When she +learned that her lodger had been taken ill at the house +of a friend and that the workingman had been sent for +his things and to pay the bill, she launched out into an +effusion of bad Russian that taxed Pavel’s patience sorely. +She exacted the address of Makar’s friend, so as to send the +patient some of her marvellous preserves. The prince left +with the trunk on his shoulder—an excellent contrivance +for screening his face from view—but it proved too +heavy, and when he came across a truckman who agreed +to take him and his load part of the way to his destination +he was glad to be relieved of the burden.</p> + +<p>While he was in the next room, shedding his disguise, +Masha’s aunt bombarded him with impatient shouts and +giggles. When he had opened the trunk at last she insisted +upon helping him examine its contents, whereupon she +handled each article she lifted out as she might a holy +relic; and when the trunk proved to contain nothing of +a compromising quality even Pavel felt disappointed. +Mme. Shubeyko overwhelmed him with questions, one of +which was:</p> + +<p>“Look here, Boulatoff, why shouldn’t the people rise +and put an end to the rule of despotism at once? What +on earth are we waiting for?”</p> + +<p>“If the people were all like you they would have done +so long ago,” he answered, with a hearty laugh. He +warmed to her in an amused way and felt like calling her +auntie; only that smile of hers continued to annoy him.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121"><span class="pagenum">[121]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>UNDERGROUND MIROSLAV.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">PAVEL dined at the major’s house. He was in high +spirits, but the hour of his expected meeting with +the girl of the Pievakin demonstration was drawing +near, and his impatience was getting keener every minute. +He reached the place, a little house occupied by a government +clerk named Orlovsky and his mother, ahead of time.</p> + +<p>“Your name is Boulatoff, is it not?” asked the host, +his square Slavic nose curling up with the joy of his welcome. +Then, crouching before the absurdest looking samovar +Pavel had ever seen, he explained that his mother had +gone to his sister’s for the night, as she did very often +to avoid the noise of his gatherings. In the centre of a +bare round table lay an enormous loaf of rye bread and +a great wedge of sugar, near which stood an empty candy +box, apparently used as a sugar bowl. Pavel divined that +at least one-half of Orlovsky’s salary was spent on the tea, +bread and butter on which his guests regaled themselves +while they talked liberty.</p> + +<p>“I’m only a private of the revolution,” Orlovsky said, +trying to blow two charcoals into flame until his face +glowed like the coals and his eyes looked bleared. “But +if there is anything I can do command me.” At his instance +the two addressed each other in the familiar diminutives +of their Christian names—“Pasha” and “Aliosha.”<a name="Page_122" id="Page_122"><span class="pagenum">[122]</span></a> +While Aliosha was struggling with his smoking +samovar, Pasha set to work cutting up the sugar.</p> + +<p>“Wait till you have seen our crowd,” said Aliosha, +flicking the open side of an old top-boot at the samovar +by way of bellows. “I tell you Miroslav is destined to +play a prominent part in the liberation of Russia. We +have some tip-top fellows and girls. Of course, we’re +mere privates in the ranks of the revolution.”</p> + +<p>But Pavel’s mind was on the speaker’s sackcoat of +checkered grey, which was so tight on him that his prominent +thighs were bulging out and the garment seemed on +the point of bursting. The sight of it annoyed Pavel in +the same way as Mme. Shubeyko’s smile had done, and +he asked Orlovsky why he should not unbutton himself, +to which the other answered, half in jest, half in earnest, +that he was getting so fat that he was beginning to look +“like a veritable bourgeois, deuce take it.”</p> + +<p>“But it makes a fellow uncomfortable to look at you,” +Pavel shouted, irascibly.</p> + +<p>“Ah, but that’s a question of personal liberty, old +man,” Orlovsky returned in all seriousness. “What right +have you, for instance, to impose upon me rules as to how +I am to wear my coat?”</p> + +<p>“That right which limits the liberty of one man by the +liberty of other men. But this is all foolishness, Aliosha. +Upon my word it is. The days of hair-splitting are dead +and buried. There is plenty of work to do—living, practical +work.”</p> + +<p>Orlovsky leaped up from his samovar, a fishy look in his +eye, and grasping Pavel’s hand he pressed it hard and +long. Pavel felt in the presence of the most provincial +Nihilism he had ever come across.</p> + +<p>Other members of the Circle came. They all knew<a name="Page_123" id="Page_123"><span class="pagenum">[123]</span></a> +the governor’s nephew by sight. Also that he was “a +sympathiser,” yet his presence here was a stirring surprise +to most of them, although they strove to conceal it. One +man, Orlovsky’s immediate superior in office, shook Pavel’s +hand with a grimace which seemed to say: “You’re +Prince Boulatoff and I am only an ordinary government +official, but then all titles and ranks will soon go to +smash.” A Jewish gymnasium boy with two bubbling +beads for eyes made Pavel’s acquaintance with a preoccupied +air, as if in a hurry to get down to more important +business. His small, deep-seated eyes spurted either merriment +or gloom. Elkin had said there was not enough +of them to make one decent-sized eye, and dubbed him +“Cyclops,” which had since been the boy’s revolutionary +nickname.</p> + +<p>Orlovsky’s superior had a vast snow-white forehead that +gave his face a luminous, aureole-lit effect, but he was an +incurable liar. He was one of the most devoted members +of the Circle, however, and recently he had sold all his +real estate, turning over the proceeds to the party. As he +seated himself a telegraph operator in a dazzling uniform +sat down by his side, saying, in a whisper:</p> + +<p>“That was an affected look of yours a moment ago.”</p> + +<p>“When? What are you talking about?” the man with +the sainted forehead asked, colouring.</p> + +<p>“You know what. You made a face as if you were +not glad to see Boulatoff. You know you were, weren’t +you, now?”</p> + +<p>“I confess I was.”</p> + +<p>“Now I like you, old boy. All that is necessary is to +take one’s self in hand. Nothing like self-chastisement.”</p> + +<p>“Cyclops” bent over to an army captain with a pair +of grandiose side-whiskers and said something in order<a name="Page_124" id="Page_124"><span class="pagenum">[124]</span></a> +to hear himself address a Gentile and an army officer in +the familiar “thou.” Another young Jew, a red-headed +gymnasium boy named Ginsburg, sat close to the lamp, +reading a book with near-sighted eyes, the yellow light +playing on his short-clipped red hair. His father was a +notorious usurer and the chief go-between in the governor’s +bribe-taking and money-lending transactions. Young +Ginsburg robbed his father industriously, dedicating the +spoils to the socialist movement.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The expectation that that hazy, featureless image which +had resided in his mind for the past five years would soon +stand forth in the flesh and with the mist lifted made +Pavel restless. When a girl with short hair and very +sparse teeth told him that Clara Yavner was sure to be +around in less than fifteen minutes, his heart began to +throb. The girl’s name was Olga Alexandrovna Andronova +(Andronoff). She was accompanied by her fiancé, +a local judge—a middle-aged man with a mass of fluffy +hair. The judge was perceptibly near-sighted, like Ginsburg, +only when he screwed up his eyes he looked angry, +whereas the short-sightedness of the red-headed young +man had a beseeching effect. The two girls were great +friends, and Olga spoke of her chum in terms of persuasive +enthusiasm. That Boulatoff had special reasons to be +interested in Clara Yavner she was not aware.</p> + +<p>“What has become of her?” she said, looking at the door +impatiently.</p> + +<p>“You are adding fuel to my curiosity, Olga Alexandrovna,” +Pavel said. “I am beginning to feel somewhat +as I once did in the opera, when I was waiting to see Patti +for the first time.”</p> + +<p>“And when she came out you were not disappointed,<a name="Page_125" id="Page_125"><span class="pagenum">[125]</span></a> +were you?” Olga asked, exposing her sparse teeth in a +broad, honest smile.</p> + +<p>“No,” he laughed.</p> + +<p>“Well, neither will you be this time.”</p> + +<p>Pavel said to himself humorously: “I am so excited +I am afraid I shall fall in love with that girl. But then +predictions seldom come true.” Then he added: “And +now that I predict it won’t, it will.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When she came at last he said inwardly: “That’s what +she looks like, then! She certainly does not seem to be a +fool whatever else she may be.” That was what people +usually said upon their first meeting with her: “She +seems to be no fool.” She was a fair-complexioned Jewish +girl of good height. To those unfamiliar with the +many types of her race she might have looked Teutonic. +To her own people her face was characteristically Jewish, +of the blond, hazel-eyed variety. It was a rather small +face, round and with a slightly flattened effect between +eyes and mouth that aroused interest. Her good looks +were due to a peculiar impression of intelligence and +character to which this effect contributed and to the picturesqueness +of her colouring—healthy white flesh, clear +and firm, set off by an ample crown of fair hair and +illuminated by the brown light of intense hazel eyes. +She had with her a two-year-old little girl, her sister’s, +and accompanying the two was Elkin, from whose manner +as he entered the crowded room it was easy to see, first, +that he had told Mlle. Yavner of the revolutionary “general” +he was going to introduce her to; second, that he +was the leader of the Circle and the connecting link between +it and revolutionary generals.</p> + +<p>“I tried to steal away from her,” she said to Olga,<a name="Page_126" id="Page_126"><span class="pagenum">[126]</span></a> +meaning the little girl, “but she ran after us and filled +the streets with her cries.” She smiled—an embarrassed +smile which made her intelligent face look still more intelligent.</p> + +<p>When Boulatoff was introduced to her, by Elkin, she +blushed slightly. He watched her with keen curiosity. +At the same time the judge’s fiancée was watching him, in +the fond hope that he would indorse her opinion of her +friend. When Clara averted her face, while speaking to +somebody, her features became blurred in Pavel’s mind, +and he sought another look at her. Whether Elkin had +told her of the effect her “speech” during the Pievakin +scene had had on him he had no knowledge.</p> + +<p>Some of the men in the gathering made a point of ignoring +the little privileges of the sex, treating the girls +“as human beings, not as dolls,” but Clara and Olga +made a joke of it. When Orlovsky offered the judge’s +fiancée a chair next to Clara’s she thanked him much as an +“unemancipated” girl would have done; whereupon Mlle. +Yavner shook her finger at her, saying merrily:</p> + +<p>“You’re getting conservative, Olga. You had better +look out.”</p> + +<p>The Circle was a loose, informal organisation. There +were no fixed rules or ceremonies for the admission of +members nor anything like regularly elected officers. Nor, +indeed, did the members practise formal communism +among themselves, although the property of one was to a +considerable extent the property of all.</p> + +<p>The gathering to-night was naturally larger than usual, +owing to the great news of the day. No one except Pavel +knew anything about the arrested man, each wondering +whether the others did. To betray inquisitiveness, however, +would have been unconspiratorlike, so as they sat<a name="Page_127" id="Page_127"><span class="pagenum">[127]</span></a> +about, whispering, in twos or threes, they were at once +trying to suppress their curiosity and to draw each other +out.</p> + +<p>The telegraph operator and Orlovsky’s superior left +early in the evening, but there soon came two other members, +a sergeant of the captain’s command and a gawky +seminarist with a trick of drawing in his neck and throwing +out his Adam’s apple when he laughed.</p> + +<p>The sergeant took a seat beside his officer and the two +fell into conversation about their regiment, while the +theological student at once set to plying Pavel with questions. +Elkin, in an embroidered Little-Russian shirt, sat +smoking a pipe and smiling non-committally. Every little +while he would remove the pipe from his mouth, take +a grave look at the theologian and resume his pipe and +his smile.</p> + +<p>The little girl sat on the captain’s lap, quietly playing +with his sword until she fell asleep. When Clara beheld +the officer struggling to keep his luxurious side-whiskers +from waking the child, she took her niece in her arms and +carried her, with noiseless kisses, toward the door.</p> + +<p>“I’ll soon be back. It isn’t far,” she whispered to +Orlovsky, declining his assistance.</p> + +<p>The men followed her out of the room with fond glances. +More than half of them were in love with her.</p> + +<p>When she got back, somewhat short of breath, Boulatoff +was describing the general feeling in the universities and +among working people. His talk was vague. His rolling +baritone rang dry. And now his grip on the subject was +weakened still further by the reappearance of the girl in +whom, during the first few minutes, he instinctively felt +a rival centre of interest. No sooner, however, had the +seminarist attacked the party press than the prince became<a name="Page_128" id="Page_128"><span class="pagenum">[128]</span></a> +furious and made a favourable impression. Once or twice +he fell into Zachar’s manner and even used several of his +arguments. The seminarist urged his objections chiefly +because he wanted to prove to himself and to the others +that he was a man of convictions and not one to quail +before a revolutionary “general.” But Pavel took him +seriously. Once when the seminarist attempted to interrupt +him, Clara said, forlornly:</p> + +<p>“He’s bound to be right. He’s just bound to be right.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t cry,” said Cyclops. Several of the men laughed, +and when Clara joined them their eyes betrayed her power +over them. Nothing betrays your feelings toward another +person more surely than the way you take his merriment.</p> + +<p>The most important topic of the evening was a circular +letter from the Executive Committee of the Will of the +People, as Pavel’s party was called, as to the “preparatory +work” that was to pave the way to a final uprising. The +discussion was left to the judge, Elkin and Pavel. The +gawky seminarist was silent, with an angry air which implied +that the arguments one was compelled to follow here +were exasperatingly beneath one’s criticism. The others +listened spellbound, though some of them scarcely felt +convinced. Ingrained in the consciousness of these was +the idea of an abstract elemental giant, tremendous and +immutable as the northern winter, of which the blind +forces of the army were only a personified detail. That +this giant should some day, in the near future, cease to be +did not clearly appeal to their imagination. The boldness, +therefore, with which the judge and Pavel spoke of these +things greatly enhanced the fascination of their speeches.</p> + +<p>Cyclops, a huge slice of rye bread in his hand, evidently +had something to say, but did not know how. He was +quoting history, blushing, sputtering, swallowing his own<a name="Page_129" id="Page_129"><span class="pagenum">[129]</span></a> +tongue, and finally he lost himself in a jumble of words. +Elkin was just the reverse. He was so calm, so glib and so +lucid of phrase that as long as his speech lasted one was +involuntarily nodding assent; yet when it was over one +did not seem to know exactly what he had said or whether +he had had anything to say at all. At one point he and +the judge locked horns and fought long and hard without +clearly understanding each other, until they proved to be +arguing on the same side of the issue. Orlovsky, who took +it for granted that the theoretical discussion was beyond +his mental powers, looked on with stupid admiration. +“Here is a bunch of cracks for you!” his beaming face +seemed to say.</p> + +<p>In the course of a pause Clara whispered something to +Olga.</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you ask it then?” the short-haired girl +answered, aloud.</p> + +<p>Clara turned pale, as she began to speak. She went +straight to the point, however, and presently cast off all +restraint.</p> + +<p>“All this is very well,” she said, referring to a certain +passage in the circular letter, “provided the local authorities +really desert the throne. But suppose they don’t, +suppose they prove to be hardened conservatives, devoted +slaves of the crown? It seems to me as if we were inclined +to take things for granted—counting without the +host, as it were.”</p> + +<p>“Devoted to the crown!” said the gawky theologian. +“The fact is that the high officials are a mere lot of self-seeking +curs.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” Pavel thundered, bringing his hands together +enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>Elkin removed the pipe from his mouth and bawled<a name="Page_130" id="Page_130"><span class="pagenum">[130]</span></a> +out: “Rats rather than curs, I should say; rats that are +sure to forsake the ship of state the moment it shows +signs of danger.”</p> + +<p>The seminarist was annoyed at this attempt to steal the +applause from him, but Boulatoff did not like Elkin’s manner +and offered him no encouragement. This disarmed +the seminarist’s opposition. From this moment on he +listened to Pavel with friendly nods, as who should say: +“Now you are hitting it; now you are talking sense!”</p> + +<p>“Of course,” Pavel resumed, “the pamphlet means we +should keep agitating until we are sure of our ground. +There is a large liberal-minded class that does not stir +merely because it is made up of a lot of cowards. These +fellows will rally around our banner the moment the government +begins to totter. As to the bureaucracy, it is so +decayed, so worm-eaten, that all it knows at present is how +to bend double for an increase of salary or promotion in +rank. A lot of back-boneless flunkeys, that’s what they +are. You don’t actually think they serve the Czar from +principle?” he asked, addressing himself to Mlle. Yavner.</p> + +<p>“The only principle they care for,” Elkin interposed, +“is, ‘To the devil with all principles!’”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Paval'">Pavel</ins> assented, with some irritation.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” the seminarist chimed in, “and when they hear +the tocsin of Liberty, Equality and Fraternity—”</p> + +<p>“Liberty, Equality and Fiddlesticks!” Clara mimicked +him, mildly, signing to him not to interrupt the speaker.</p> + +<p>Pavel went on. He spoke at length, looking mostly at +her. He was making an effort to convince her that in the +event of a revolution the high officials would turn cowards, +and her face seemed to be saying: “He’s the nephew of a +governor, so he ought to know.”</p> + +<p>When the yard windows were thrown open the bewhiskered<a name="Page_131" id="Page_131"><span class="pagenum">[131]</span></a> +captain sat down to the piano and struck up an old +national tune, to the accompaniment of two male voices. +The others continued their talk under cover of the music. +Pavel made up his mind that the judge and Clara were +the most level-headed members of the Circle, and decided +to seek their coöperation in the business which had brought +him to Miroslav. Only the judge was the more reposeful +of the two, as well as incomparably the better informed. +As a rule he was absorbed in his own logic, while Mlle. +Yavner was jarred by every false note in others, nervously +sensitive to all that went on about her, so that when +Cyclops, for example, got tangled in his own verbosity +her eyes would cloud up with vexation and she would +come to his rescue, summing up his argument in a few +clear, unobtrusive sentences. There was a glow of enthusiasm +in her look which she was apparently struggling to +suppress. Indeed, she was struggling to suppress some +feeling or other most of the time. Her outward calm +seemed to cover an interior of restlessness.</p> + +<p>Pavel’s unbounded faith in the party instilled new faith +into her. The great point was that he was a member of +the aristocracy. If a man like him had his whole heart +in the struggle, the movement was certainly not without +foundation. Moreover, Boulatoff was close to the revolutionary +centre, and he obviously spoke from personal +knowledge. All sorts of questions worried her, many of +which were answered at the present gathering, partly by +herself, partly by others. The new era, when there would +be neither poverty nor oppression, the enchanted era which +had won her heart, loomed clearer than ever. At one +moment as she sat listening, her blond hair gleaming +golden in the lamplight, her face lit up by a look of keen +intelligence, Pavel said to himself: “And this Jewish<a name="Page_132" id="Page_132"><span class="pagenum">[132]</span></a> +girl is the one who had the feeling and the courage to make +that rumpus over Pievakin! If I became a revolutionist +it was the result of gradual development, through the help +of conditions, books, people; whereas this girl acted like +one, and in the teeth of grave danger, too, purely on the +spur of the moment and long before she knew there was any +such thing as a revolutionary movement; acted like one +while I was still a blind, hard-hearted milksop of a drone.” +In the capital he knew a number of girls who were continually +taking their lives in their hands and several of +whom were like so many saints to him, but then Mlle. +Yavner belonged to the realm of his home and his boyhood. +What he regarded as an act of heroism on her part was +hallowed by that sense of special familiarity and comprehensibility +which clings to things like the old well that +witnessed our childish games.</p> + +<p>She made a very favourable impression on him. If he +had been a formal candidate for her hand, come “bride-seeing,” +he could not have studied her more closely than +he did now. Indeed, so absorbed was he in her that once +while she was speaking to him laughingly her words fell on +a deaf ear because at that moment he was remarking to +himself: “She laughs in a little rising scale, breaking +off in a rocket.”</p> + +<p>“There must be something in her, then,” he thought +“which was the source of that noble feeling and of that +courage.” He took to scanning her afresh, as though +looking for a reflection of that something in her face, and +as he looked at her and thought of the Pievakin “demonstration” +it gave him pleasure to exaggerate her instrumentality +in his own political regeneration.</p> + +<p>Olga had relieved her fiancé at the piano, and later on +when she, too, rose from the keyboard, Clara eagerly took<a name="Page_133" id="Page_133"><span class="pagenum">[133]</span></a> +her place. There was no life in Mlle. Yavner’s tones, but +the impassioned sway of her head and form as she played +told of a soul touched with ecstasy; told of the music +which her fingers failed to evoke from the instrument. +And the eyes of half a dozen love-stricken men added their +rapture to the sounds.</p> + +<p>Pavel listened to her melody and breathed the scented +night air that came in from the little garden in the yard. +He reflected that Clara might visit the warden’s house as +a piano teacher. At this it came home to him that Makar +was in prison, and that unless he escaped he was a lost +man. He was seized with terror. The piano sang of a +lonely ship, blue waves, and a starlit night, but to Pavel it +spoke of his imprisoned friend and his own anguish. He +joined in the chorus with ferocious ardour. His heart was +crying for Makar’s liberation and for a thousand other +things. When she left the piano stool he leaped up to her.</p> + +<p>“Allow me to grasp your hand, Clara Rodionovna,” he +said, as though thanking her for the merit of her playing. +And then, all unmindful of comment, he drew her into a +secluded corner and said vehemently:</p> + +<p>“I wish also to tell you, Clara Rodionovna, that I have +a special reason to be glad of knowing you; for if I have +a right to be among good people it is you whom I have to +thank for it.” A thick splash of crimson came into her +face; but before she had time to put her surprise into +words, he poured forth the story of his awakening and +how he had all these five years been looking forward to a +meeting with her. As he spoke his face bore an expression +of ecstatic, almost amorous grimness. The girl was taken +by storm. She was literally dazed. An overwhelming, +unspoken intimacy established itself between them on the +spot.</p><p><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134"><span class="pagenum">[134]</span></a></p> + +<p>Olga’s face was a blend of beaming triumph and tense +perplexity. The men were making an effort to treat +Boulatoff’s sally with discretion, as if it were a bit of revolutionary +conspiracy and they knew enough to mind their +own business.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135"><span class="pagenum">[135]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>A WARNING.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">IT was one o’clock when the assemblage broke up. They +scattered over various sections of the town, Pavel going +to his home in the Palace, while Clara, accompanied +by Elkin and Orlovsky, set off in the direction of Paradise +Town. But whatever the character of the district +one was bound for, in their hearts there was the same +feeling that they belonged to a higher life than did those +who slept behind the closed shutters they were passing. +This feeling made them think of their group as a world +within a world. Their Circle was a magic one. Somewhere +in St. Petersburg, Moscow, Kieff, Odessa, Siberia, men and +women were being slowly tortured, dying on the gallows; +a group of brave people still at large—the mysterious +Executive Committee—was doing things that thrilled +the empire; and they, members of the Miroslav Circle, were +the kin of those heroes. As they dispersed through the +sleeping town each unconsciously remembered the organisation +as so many superior beings dotting a population of +human prose.</p> + +<p>“He must be quite close to the Centre,” Orlovsky said.</p> + +<p>The other two made no answer. It struck Clara as sacrilege +to talk of Boulatoff, whose fervent face was vivid +before her at this minute. Particularly unbearable was +the allusion to the prince to her because it was Orlovsky<a name="Page_136" id="Page_136"><span class="pagenum">[136]</span></a> +who made it. The stout government clerk was one of the +men in love with her, while she often disliked him to abhorrence. +She felt a sincere friendship for him, yet sometimes +when he spoke she would be tempted to shut her +ears and to gnash her teeth as people do when they hear +a window pane scratched. This was one of her causeless +hatreds with which she was perpetually struggling.</p> + +<p>Orlovsky construed their irresponsiveness as a rebuke +for his speaking of the revolutionary “centre” in the +street; so he started to tell them about his mother. With +Clara by his side his tongue would not rest. Not so Elkin, +who nursed his love in morose silence. When they +heard the whistle of a distant policeman and the answer +of a watchman’s rattle by way of showing that he had not +fallen asleep on his post, Orlovsky raised his voice.</p> + +<p>“She is getting more pious every day,” he said, as +though defying the invisible policeman to find anything +seditious in his words.</p> + +<p>Clara’s mind was on Boulatoff. The strange avowal of +the man whom she had never seen before save through the +window of a princely carriage tingled through her veins +in a medley of new-born exaltations. Boulatoff did seem +to be close to the Executive Committee, and the sentiments +of that wonderful body, voiced by this high-born +young man, the nephew of the governor of Miroslav, had +lit stirring images in her consciousness. Pavel stood out +amid the other revolutionists of her acquaintance even as +the whole Miroslav Circle did in the midst of the rest of +her native town.</p> + +<p>The interchange of signals between policeman and +watchman which now and then sounded through the stillness +of the night reminded her of the unknown man the +gendarmes had arrested, of the hard glint of chains,<a name="Page_137" id="Page_137"><span class="pagenum">[137]</span></a> +of gallows. She wondered whether Elkin or Boulatoff +knew anything about that man. She saw herself rapidly +marching toward something at once terrible and divine. +She was not the only one who followed this course—that +was the great point. The kindest and best people in +Miroslav, the best and the wisest in the land, and among +them children of governors, of noblemen, were consecrated +to that same something which was both terrible and luring. +Her heart went out to her comrades known and unknown, +and as she beheld a sleepy watchman curled up in +the recess of his gateway, she exclaimed without words: +“I’m going to die for you—for you and all the other +poor and oppressed people in the world.”</p> + +<p>Here and there they passed an illuminated window or +an open street door, through which they saw Jewish artisans +at work. They saw the bent forms of Jewish tailors, +they heard the hammer sounds of Jewish carpenters, tinsmiths, +blacksmiths, silversmiths; yet all these made no +impression upon her. There were about 50,000 Jews in +Miroslav and as many as <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added -">three-fourths</ins> of them were +pinched, half-starved mechanics, working fourteen hours +a day, and once or twice a week all night, to live on rye +bread and oatmeal soup; yet they made no appeal to her +sympathies, while the Gentiles who were huddled up in +front of the gates she was passing did. The great Russian +writers whose stories and songs had laid the foundation +to her love of the masses dealt in Gentiles, not in +Jews. Nekrasoff bewailed the misery of the Russian moujik, +not of the common people of her own race. Turgeneff’s +sketches breathe forth the poetry of suffering in a +Great-Russian village, not the tragedy and spiritual beauty +of life among the toiling men and women of her own +blood. She had never been in Great Russia, in fact; she<a name="Page_138" id="Page_138"><span class="pagenum">[138]</span></a> +had never seen those moujiks in the flesh. Those she had +seen were the Little-Russian peasants, who came to Miroslav +from the neighbouring villages. Her peasants, therefore, +were so many literary images, each with the glamour +which radiates from the pages of an adored author. This +was the kind of “people” she had in mind when she +thought of the <i>Will of the People</i>. The Jewish realities +of which her own home was a part had nothing to do with +this imaginary world of hers.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Clara’s home was on a small square which was partly +used as a cart-stand and in one corner of which, a short +distance from Cucumber Market, squatted a policeman’s +hut. This was the district of a certain class of +artisans and small tradesmen; of harness-makers, trunk-makers, +wheelwrights; of dealers in tar, salt, herring, leaf +tobacco, pipes, accordions, cheap finery. The air was pungent +with a thousand strong odours. The peasants who +brought their produce to market were here supplied with +necessaries and trinkets. The name of the big market-place +extended to the entire locality, and Paradise Town +was just beyond the confines of that locality.</p> + +<p>The square for which Clara was bound was called Little +Market. A gate in the centre of one of its four sides, +flanked by goose-yards on one side and by a row of feed-shops +and harness-shops on the other, led into a deep and +narrow court, known as Boyko’s. At this moment the +gate was closed, its wicket, held ajar by a chain, showing +black amid the grey gloom of the square.</p> + +<p>As Clara and her two escorts came in sight of the spot +they saw a man sitting on a low wooden bench near the +gate.</p> + +<p>“Somebody is waiting for me,” she said gravely. She<a name="Page_139" id="Page_139"><span class="pagenum">[139]</span></a> +thanked them and bade them good-bye and they went their +several ways.</p> + +<p>The man on the bench rose and went to meet her. As +he walked toward her he leaned heavily on his stout, +knotty cane—a pose which she knew to be the result of +embarrassment. He was a tall, athletic fellow in a long +spring overcoat, a broad-brimmed felt hat sloping backward +on his head. He bore striking resemblance to Clara; +the same picturesque flatness in the middle part of the +face, the same expression. Only his hair was dark, and +his eyes and mouth were milder than hers. They looked +like brother and sister and, indeed, had been brought up +almost as such, but they were only cousins. His name +was Vladimir Vigdoroff. His family was the better-to-do +and the worldlier of the two. When he was a boy of four +and he envied certain other two boys because each of them +had a little sister, and he had not, he had made one of his +cousin. It was his father who subsequently paid for +Clara’s education.</p> + +<p>“You here?” Clara said quietly.</p> + +<p>He nodded, to say yes, with playful chivalry. They +reached the bench in silence, and then he said in a decisive, +business-like voice which she knew to be studied:</p> + +<p>“I expected to have a talk with you, Clara. That’s +why I waited so long. But it’s too late. Can I see you +to-morrow?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. Will you drop in in the afternoon?”</p> + +<p>He had evidently expected to be detained. He lingered +in silence, and she had not the heart to say good-bye. +From a neighbouring lane came the buzz-buzz of a candlestick-maker’s +lathe. They were both agitated. She had +been looking forward to this explanation for some time. +They divined each other perfectly. As they now stood<a name="Page_140" id="Page_140"><span class="pagenum">[140]</span></a> +awkwardly without being able either to speak or to part, +their minds were in reality saying a good deal to each +other.</p> + +<p>Until recently she had made her home in her uncle’s +house more than she had in her father’s. Her piano stood +there, her uncle’s gift, for which there was no room in +the basement occupied by her parents. She had kept her +books there, received her girl friends and often slept there. +But since her initiation into the secret society she had +gradually removed her headquarters to her parents’ house, +and her visits at Vladimir’s home had become few and +far between. Clara had once offered him an underground +leaflet, whereupon he had nearly fainted with fright at +sight of it. He had burned the paper in terror and indignation, +and then, speaking partly like an older brother and +partly like the master of the house which she was compromising, +he had commanded her never again to go near +people who handled literature of that sort. Accustomed +to look up to him as her intellectual guide and authority, +as the most brilliant man within her horizon, she had +listened to his attack upon Nihilism and Nihilists with +meek reserve, but the new influences she had fallen under +had proven far stronger than his power over her. To +relieve him from the hazards of her presence in the house +she had little by little removed her books and practically +discontinued her visits. In the event of her getting into +trouble with the gendarmes her own family was too old-fashioned +and uneducated, in a modern sense, to be suspected +of complicity. As to Vladimir, he missed her +keenly, as did everybody else in the house, but her estrangement +had a special sting to it, too, one unconnected with +their mutual attachment as cousins who had grown up +together. Clara’s consideration for his safety, implying<a name="Page_141" id="Page_141"><span class="pagenum">[141]</span></a> +as it did that he was too timid and too jealous for his personal +security to work for the revolution, an inferior being +uninitiated into the world of pluck and self-sacrifice to +which she, until recently his pupil, belonged, galled him +inordinately.</p> + +<p>At last he lost control over himself.</p> + +<p>“You are playing with fire, Clara,” he said, lingering +by the bench.</p> + +<p>“I suppose that’s what you want to speak to me about,” +she answered with calm earnestness, “but this is hardly +the place for a discussion of this sort, Volodia.”<a name="Anchor-B" id="Anchor-B"></a><a title="Go to footnote B" href="#Footnote-B" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></p> + +<p>“If you want me to go home you had better say so in +so many words. The high-minded interests you are cultivating +are scarcely compatible with shyness or lack of +frankness, Clara.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be foolish, Volodia. You know you will make +fun of yourself for having spoken like that.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t mean to say anything harsh, Clara. But this +thing is scarcely ever out of my mind. It’s a terrible fate +you have chosen.”</p> + +<p>“How do you know I have?” she asked in a meditative +tone that implied assent.</p> + +<p>“How do I know? Can’t we have a frank, honest talk +for once, Clara? Let us go somewhere.”</p> + +<p>“We can talk here. To be on the safe side of it, let us +talk in Yiddish.”</p> + +<p>He made a grimace of repugnance, and seating himself +on the bench he went on in nervous Russian.</p> + +<p>“You have fallen into company that will do you no +good, Clara. If you are arrested it will break the heart of +two families. Is there no soul left in you?”</p> + +<p>“What put it into your mind that I should be arrested?”<a name="Page_142" id="Page_142"><span class="pagenum">[142]</span></a> +she returned, lugubriously. “And is that all +one ought to be concerned about? All Russia is in prison.”</p> + +<p>“I expected something of that sort. Alluring phrases +have made you deaf and blind. It is my duty to try to +save you before it is too late.”</p> + +<p>He had come for friendly remonstrance, for an open-hearted +explanation, but that mood had been shattered the +moment he saw her approaching with two of her new +friends. He persisted in using the didactic tone he had +been in the habit of taking with her, and he could not +help feeling how ridiculously out of place it had become. +He chafed under a sense of his lost authority, and the impotent +superiority of his own manner impelled him to bitterness.</p> + +<p>“Is that what you have come for—to rescue me from +empty phrases and bad company?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, to rescue you from the intoxication of bombast +and dangerous company, whether you are in a sarcastic +mood or not.”</p> + +<p>“And how are you going to do it, pray?” she asked +with rather good-natured gaiety.</p> + +<p>“Laugh away. Laugh away. Since you took up with +those scamps——”</p> + +<p>“Scamps! I can’t let you speak like that, Volodia. I +don’t know what you mean by ‘taking’ up with them, but +if by ‘scamps’ you mean people who are sacrificing themselves——”</p> + +<p>“You misunderstand me——”</p> + +<p>“If by scamps you mean people who will be tortured or +hanged for opposing the tyranny that is crushing us all +rather than feather their own nests, then it is useless for +us to continue this talk.”</p> + +<p>“Be calm, Clara. You don’t wish to misjudge me, do<a name="Page_143" id="Page_143"><span class="pagenum">[143]</span></a> +you? Of course, I needn’t tell you that what you say +about sacrificing oneself and all that sort of business +is no news to me. Some other time, when you are not +excited, I may have something to say about these +things——”</p> + +<p>“That everlasting ‘something to say!’ People are being +throttled, butchered and you—you have ‘something +to say.’ We are speaking in two different languages, Volodia.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe we are. And I must say you have picked up +that new language of yours rather quickly. I am not +going to enter into a lengthy discussion with you to-night. +All I will say now is this: You know that four Jewish +revolutionists have been hanged within the last few +months—in Odessa, Nicolayeff, Kieff and St. Petersburg. +If you think that does the Jewish people any good +I am very sorry.”</p> + +<p>“What else would you have Jews do? Roll on feather-beds +and collect usury? Would that do ‘the Jewish people’ good?”</p> + +<p>“You talk like an anti-Semite, Clara.”</p> + +<p>“There is no accounting for tastes. You may call it +anti-Semitism. You may be ashamed of four men who +die bravely in a terrible struggle against despotism.”</p> + +<p>He cast an uneasy look in the direction of the police +booth, but his courage failed him to urge her to lower her +voice.</p> + +<p>“As for me,” she went on, “I certainly am proud of +them. I hold their names sacred, yes, sacred, sacred, +sacred, do you understand? And if you intend to continue +calling such people scamps then there is nothing left for us +to say to each other. And, by the way, since when have +<i>you</i> been a champion of ‘the Jewish people’—you who<a name="Page_144" id="Page_144"><span class="pagenum">[144]</span></a> +have taught me to keep away from everything Jewish; you +who are shocked by the very sound of Yiddish, by the very +sight of a wig or a pair of side-locks; you who are continually +boasting of the Gentiles you are chumming with; +you who would give all the Jews in the world for one +handshake of a Christian?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I am prepared to take abuse, too, to-night. As +to my hatred of Yiddish and side-locks, that does no harm +to anybody. If all Jews dropped their antediluvian ways +and became assimilated with the Russian population half +of the unfortunate Jewish question would be solved.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, this kind of talk is really enough to drive one +mad. The whole country is choking for breath, and here +you are worrying over the Jewish question. But then—since +when have <i>you</i> been interested in the Jews and their +‘question?’”</p> + +<p>“Whether I have or not, I never helped to aggravate it +as those ‘heroes’ of yours do. If there are some few +rights which the Jew still enjoys, they, too, will be taken +away from him on account of that new-fangled heroism +which has turned your head.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody has any ‘rights.’ Everybody is trampled +upon, everybody. That’s what those ‘scamps’ are struggling +to do away with.”</p> + +<p>“Everybody has to die for that matter, yet who +cares to die an unnatural death? If the Jews were oppressed +like all others and no more, it would be another +matter, but they are not. Theirs is an unnatural oppression.”</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s what those ‘scamps’ are struggling for: +to do away with every sort of oppression. Would you +have the Jews keep out of that struggle? Would you have +them take care of their own precious skins, and later on,<a name="Page_145" id="Page_145"><span class="pagenum">[145]</span></a> +when life becomes possible in Russia, to come in for a +share of the fruit of a terrible fight that they carefully +stayed away from?”</p> + +<p>“Those are dreams, Clara. Dreams and phrases, +phrases and dreams. That’s all you have learned of your +new friends. Do you deny the existence of a Jewish question?”</p> + +<p>She scrutinised his face in the grey half-tones of the +gathering dawn and said calmly:</p> + +<p>“Look here, Volodia, you know you are seizing at this +‘Jewish question’ as a drowning man does at a straw. +You know you have no more interest in it than I have.”</p> + +<p>“I am certainly not delighted to see it exist, if that’s +what you mean.”</p> + +<p>“May I be frank with you, Volodia? All the Jews of +the world might cease to exist, for all you care.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t true. All I want is that they should become +Russians, cultured Russians.”</p> + +<p>“Well, as for me there is only one question—the +question of plain common justice and plain elementary +liberty. When this has been achieved there won’t be any +such thing as a Jewish, Polish or Hottentot question. +Yes, those ‘scamps’ are the only real friends the Jews +have.”</p> + +<p>“But one cannot live on the golden mist of that glorious +future of yours, Clara. It takes a saint to do that. +Every-day mortals cannot help thinking of equal rights +before the law in the sordid present.”</p> + +<p>“Think away! Much good will it do the Jews. The +only kind of equal rights possible to-day is for Jew and +Gentile to die on the same gallows for liberty. That’s +the ‘scamps’’ view of <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added "">it.”</ins> At this the word struck her +in conjunction with the images of Boulatoff, Olga, the<a name="Page_146" id="Page_146"><span class="pagenum">[146]</span></a> +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Judge'">judge</ins>, and the other members of the Circle, whereupon +she burst out, with a stifled sob in her voice: “How +dare you abuse those people?”</p> + +<p>Not only had she broken loose from his tutelage, but +he had found himself on the defensive. They had changed +rôles. The pugnacious tone of conviction, almost of inspiration, +with which she parried his jibes nonplussed +him. Usually a bright talker, he was now colourless and +floundering. And the more he tried to work himself +back to his old-time mastery the more helplessly at a +disadvantage he appeared.</p> + +<p>“I don’t recognise you, Clara,” he said. “They have +mesmerised you, those phrase-makers.”</p> + +<p>She leaped to her feet. “I don’t intend to hear any +more of this abuse,” she said. “And the idea of you +finding fault with phrase-makers! you of all men, you to +whom a well-turned phrase is dearer than all else in the +world! If they make phrases they are willing to suffer +for them at least.”</p> + +<p>“Oh well, they have made a perfect savage of you,” he +retorted under his breath. “Good night.”</p> + +<p>She was left with a sharp twinge of compunction, but +she had barely dived under the wicket chain when her +thoughts reverted to Boulatoff and what he had said to +her.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147"><span class="pagenum">[147]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>CLARA AT HOME.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">AT Boyko’s Court the chilly dawn lit up a barricade +of wheels, axles, and bodies of peasant waggons. +Through wide cracks of a fence came the shifting +light of a lantern and the sleepy cackling of geese. At the +far end of the deep narrow court hung the pulley chains +and bucket of a roofed well. Clara went through a spacious +subterranean passage, dark as a pocket and filled +with the odour of paint. It was crowded with stacks of +trunks, finished and unfinished, but she steered clear of +them without having to feel her way.</p> + +<p>A door swung open, revealing a dimly lighted low-ceiled +interior. The odour of sleep mingled with the +odours of paint and putty.</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Tamara?” asked a tall, erect, half-naked +old woman in Yiddish, Tamara being the Jewish name +which had been arbitrarily transformed, at Vladimir’s +instance, into Clara.</p> + +<p>“Yes, mamma darling,” Clara replied.</p> + +<p>“Master of the universe! You get no sleep at all.”</p> + +<p>The girl kissed her mother gayly. “You know what +papa says,” she rejoined, “‘sleep is one sixtieth of death.’ +Life is better, mamma dear.”</p> + +<p>“I have not studied any of your Gentile books, yet +I know enough to understand that to be alive is better<a name="Page_148" id="Page_148"><span class="pagenum">[148]</span></a> +than to be dead,” the tall, erect old woman said without +smiling. “But if you want to be alive you must sleep. +Go to bed, go to bed.”</p> + +<p>There were between them relations of quizzical comradeship, +implying that each treated the interests of the +other with patronising levity, with the reservation of a +common ground upon which they met on terms of equality +and ardent friendship.</p> + +<p>“By the way,” the old woman added, yawning, “Volodia +was here. He wants to see you.”</p> + +<p>“I know. I found him at the gate.”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then, go to bed, go to bed.”</p> + +<p>“Is father asleep?”</p> + +<p>At this a red-bearded little man in yellow drawers +and a white shirt open at the neck and exposing a hairy +breast, burst from an open side door.</p> + +<p>“How can one sleep when one is not allowed to?” he +fired out. “May she sink into the earth, her ungodly +books and all. I’ll break every unclean bone in you. +Who ever heard of a girl roaming around as late as that?”</p> + +<p>“Hush,” his wife said with a faint smile, as she urged +him back to their bed-room, much as she would a child.</p> + +<p>The family occupied one large basement room, the +better part of which was used as a trunk-maker’s shop +and a kitchen, two narrow strips of its space having been +partitioned off for bed-rooms. It was Hannah, Clara’s +mother, who conducted the trunk business. The bare +wooden boxes came from a carpenter’s shop and she had +them transformed into trunks at her house. Clara’s +father spent his days and evenings in a synagogue, studying +the Talmud “for its own sake.” There were other +such scholars in Miroslav, the wife in each case supporting +the family by engaging in earthly business, while<a name="Page_149" id="Page_149"><span class="pagenum">[149]</span></a> +her husband was looking after their common spiritual +welfare in the house of God. Clara’s mother was generally +known as “Hannah the trunk-maker,” or “Hannah +the Devil.” In her very humble way she was a +shrewd business woman, tireless, scheming, and not over-scrupulous, +but her nickname had originated long before +she was old enough to be a devil on Cucumber Market. She +was a little girl when there appeared in the neighbourhood +what Anglo-Saxons would call “Jack the Window-Smasher.” +Window-pane after window-pane was cracked +without there being the remotest clue to the source of the +mischief. The bewigged old women said it was an evil +spirit, and engaged a “master of the name” to exorcise +it from the community; but the number of broken windows +continued to grow. The devil proved to be Hannah, +and the most startling thing about the matter, according +to the bewigged women of the neighbourhood, was this, +that when caught in the act, she did not even cry, but +just lowered her eyes and frowned saucily.</p> + +<p>Rabbi Rachmiel, as Clara’s father was addressed by +strangers, was innocent of “things of the world” as an +infant—a hot-tempered, simple-minded scholar, with the +eyes and manner of a tiger and the heart of a dove. +His wife tied his shirt-strings, helped him on with his +socks and boots, and generally took care of him as she +might of a baby. When he spoke of worldly things to +her, she paid no heed to his talk. When he happened to +drop a saying from the Talmud she would listen reverently +for more, without understanding a word of what +he said.</p> + +<p>Had Clara been a boy her father would have sooner +allowed her to be burned alive than to be taught “Gentile +wisdom.” But woman is out of the count in the Jewish<a name="Page_150" id="Page_150"><span class="pagenum">[150]</span></a> +church, so he neither interfered nor tried to understand +the effect that Gentile education was having on her.</p> + +<p>Father, mother and daughter represented three distinct +worlds, Clara being as deeply engrossed in her +“Gentile wisdom” as Rabbi Rachmiel was in his Talmud, +or as her mother in her trunks. That the girl belonged +to a society that was plotting against the Czar the old +people had not the remotest idea, of course.</p> + +<p>Besides Clara and her married sister the old couple +had two sons, one of them a rabbi in a small town and +the other a merchant in the same place.</p> + +<p>Clara put out the smoky light of a crude chimneyless +little lamp (with a piece of wire to work the wick up +and down), which had been left burning for her. A +few streaks of raw daylight crept in through the shutters, +falling on a pair of big rusty shears fastened to the top +of a wooden block, on a heap of sheet-iron, and on +several rows of old Talmudic folios which lined the +stretch of wall between Clara’s partition and one of the +two windows.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151"><span class="pagenum">[151]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>THE COUNTESS’ DISCOVERY.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">AS Pavel mounted the majestic staircase of his +mother’s residence he became aware that an abstract +facial expression was all his memory retained +of Mlle. Yavner’s likeness. He coveted another +glance at her much as a man covets to hear again a new +song that seems to be singing itself in his mind without +his being able to reproduce it.</p> + +<p>He found his mother sitting up for him, on the verge +of a nervous collapse. She took him to a large, secluded +room, the best in the vast house for <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'tête-a-tête'"><i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">tête-à-tête</i></ins> purposes. +It was filled with mementoes, the trophies of her father’s +diplomatic career, with his proud collection of rare and +costly inkstands, and with odds and ends of ancient furniture, +each with a proud history as clear-cut as the pedigree +of a high-born race-horse.</p> + +<p>Anna Nicolayevna had planned to lead up to the main +question diplomatically, but she was scarcely seated on +a huge, venerable couch (which made her look smaller than +ever) than she turned pale and blurted out in a whisper:</p> + +<p>“Did you cross the bridge this afternoon?”</p> + +<p>“No. Why?” He said this with fatigued curiosity +and looking her full in the face.</p> + +<p>She dropped her glance. “I thought I saw you there.”</p> + +<p>“You were mistaken, then, but what makes you look so<a name="Page_152" id="Page_152"><span class="pagenum">[152]</span></a> +uneasy? I did not go in that direction at all, but suppose +I did. Why, what has happened?”</p> + +<p>She cowed before the insistence of his interrogations and +beat a retreat.</p> + +<p>“I am not uneasy at all. I must have been mistaken, +then. It is about Kostia I have been wanting to speak +to you. It is quite a serious matter. You see he is too +delicate for the military schools. So I was thinking of +putting him in the gymnasium, but then many of the boys +there are children of undesirable people. One can’t be +too careful these days.” She was now speaking according +to her carefully considered program, and growing pale +once more, she fixed him with a searching glance, as she +asked: “You must have heard of the man the gendarmes +caught, haven’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you mean the fellow who would not open his +mouth,” he said with a smile. “Quite a sensation for a +town like this. In St. Petersburg or Moscow they catch +them so often it has ceased to be news.”</p> + +<p>She went on to speak of the evil of Nihilism, Pavel +listening with growing interest, like a man who had given +the matter some consideration. Poor Anna Nicolayevna! +She was no match for him.</p> + +<p>Finally he got up. “Well, I don’t really know,” he +said. “It seems to me the trouble lies much deeper than +that, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mamman</i>. Those fellows, the Nihilists, don’t amount +to anything in themselves. If it were not for that everlasting +Russian helplessness of ours they could do no more +harm than a group of flies. Our factories and successful +farms are all run by Germans; we simply can’t take care +of the least thing.”</p> + +<p>“But what have factories and farms to do with the +pranks of demoralised boys?”</p><p><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153"><span class="pagenum">[153]</span></a></p> + +<p>He smiled. “But if we were not a helpless, shiftless +nation a handful of boys couldn’t frighten us, could they?”</p> + +<p>“Very well. Let us suppose you are a minister. What +would you do?”</p> + +<p>“What would I do? I shouldn’t let things come to such +a pass, to begin with.”</p> + +<p>He was tempted to cast circumspection to the winds and +to thunder out his real impeachment of existing conditions. +This, however, he could not afford; so he felt like a boat +that is being rowed across stream with a strong current to +tempt her downward. He was sailing in a diagonal direction. +Every now and then he would let himself drift +along, only presently to take up his oars and strike out +for the bank again. He spoke in his loud rapid way. +Every now and again he would break off, fall to pacing +the floor silently and listening to the sound of his own +voice which continued to ring in his ears, as though his +words remained suspended in the air.</p> + +<p>Anna Nicolayevna—a curled-up little heap capped by +an enormous pile of glossy auburn hair, in the corner of +a huge couch—followed him intently. Once or twice she +nodded approval to a severe attack upon the government, +without realising that he was speaking against the Czar. +She was at a loss to infer whether he was opposed to the +new advisers of the Emperor in the same way in which +her brother-in-law and the ultra-conservative Slavophiles +were opposed to them or whether he was some kind of +liberal. He certainly seemed to tend toward the Slavophiles +in his apparent hatred of foreigners.</p> + +<p>“They’ll kill him, those murderous youngsters, they are +sure to kill him,” he shouted at one point, speaking of +the Czar. “And who is to blame? Is such a state of +things possible anywhere in Western Europe?”</p><p><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154"><span class="pagenum">[154]</span></a></p> + +<p>Anna Nicolayevna’s eyes grew red and then filled with +tears, as she shrank deeper into the corner of the couch.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>She was left in a frame of mind that was a novel experience +to her. Her pity was lingering about a stalwart +military figure with the gloom and glint of martyrdom on +his face—the face of Alexander II. Quite apart from +this was the sense of having been initiated into a strange +ecstasy of thought and feeling—of bold ideas and broad +human sympathies. She was in an unwonted state of +mental excitement. Pavel seemed to be a weightier personage +than ever. The haze that enveloped him was thickening. +Nevertheless his strictures upon Russia’s incapacity +left her rankling with a desire to refute them. That +national self-conceit which breeds in every child the conviction +that his is the greatest country in the world and +that its superiority is cheerfully conceded by all other nations, +reasserted itself in the countess with resentful emphasis. +To be sure, all the skill, ingenuity and taste of +the refined world came from abroad, but this did not lessen +her contempt for foreigners any more than did the fact +that all acrobats and hair-dressers were Germans or Frenchmen. +Her childhood had been spent in foreign countries +and she knew their languages as well as she did her own; +nevertheless her abstraction of a foreigner was a man who +spoke broken Russian—a lisping, stammering, cringing +imbecile. She revolted to think of Russia as being inferior +to wretches of this sort, and when the bridge incident swept +back upon her in all the clearness of fact, her blood ran +chill again. “He is the man I saw in the waggon after +all,” she said to herself, in dismay.</p> + +<p>She went to bed, but tossed about in an agony of restlessness. +When the darkness of her room began to thin<a name="Page_155" id="Page_155"><span class="pagenum">[155]</span></a> +and the brighter objects loomed into view, she slipped on +a wrapper and seated herself at a window, courting composure +in the blossom-scented air that came up from the +garden; but all to no purpose. Ever and anon, after a +respite of tranquillity she would be seized with a new rush +of consternation. Pasha was the man she had seen on the +bridge, disguised as an artisan; he was a Nihilist.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>While Anna Nicolayevna was thus harrowed with doubt, +Pavel was pacing his room, his heart on the point of bursting +with a desire to see his mother again and to make a +clean breast of it. The notion of her being outwitted and +made sport of touched him with pity. Come what might, +his poor noble-hearted mother must be kept in the dark +no longer. She would appreciate his feelings. He would +plead with her, with tears in his eyes he would implore +her to open her eyes to the appalling inhumanity of the +prevailing adjustment of things. And as he visioned himself +making this plea to her, his own sense of the barbarity +of the existing regime set his blood simmering in him, +and quickened his desire to lay it all before his mother.</p> + +<p>Presently somebody rapped on his door. It was Anna +Nicolayevna.</p> + +<p>“I must speak to you, Pasha; I can’t get any sleep,” +she said.</p> + +<p>They went into a newly-built summer house. The +jumble of colour and redolence was invaded with light that +asserted its presence like a great living spirit. The orchard +seemed to be worlds away from itself.</p> + +<p>As a precaution, they spoke in French.</p> + +<p>“Pasha, you are the man I saw on the bridge,” she said. +“You are a Nihilist.”</p> + +<p>“Sh-h, don’t be agitated, mother dear, I beg of you,”<a name="Page_156" id="Page_156"><span class="pagenum">[156]</span></a> +he replied with tender emphasis. “I am going to tell you +all. Only first compose yourself, mamma darling, and hear +me out. Yes, I’m what you call a Nihilist, but I am not +the man you saw.”</p> + +<p>“You a Nihilist, Pasha!” she whispered, staring at him, +as though a great physical change had suddenly come over +him. “Anyhow, you have nothing to do with the man they +have arrested?”</p> + +<p>He shook his head and she felt relieved. His avowal of +being a Nihilist was so startling a confession to make, that +she believed all he said. He was a Nihilist, then—a Nihilist +in the abstract; something shocking, no doubt, but +remote, indefinite, vague. The concrete Nihilism contained +in the picture of a man disguised as a laborer and +having some thing to do with the fellow under arrest—that +would have been quite another matter. He told her the +story of his conversion in simple, heart-felt eloquence; he +pictured the reign of police terror, the slow massacre of +school-children in the political dungeons, the brutal fleecing +and maltreatment of a starving peasantry.</p> + +<p>“I found myself in a new world, mother,” he said. “It +was a world in which the children of refined, well-bred +families fervently believed that he who did not work for +the good of the common people was not a man of real +honour. Indeed, of what use has the nobility been to the +world? They are a lot of idlers, <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">mamman</i>, a lot of good-for-nothings. +For centuries we have been living on the fat +of the earth, luxuriating in the toil, misery and ignorance +of the peasants. It is to their drudgery and squalor that +we owe our material and mental well-being. We ought to +feel ashamed for living at the expense of these degraded, +literally starving creatures; yet we go on living off their +wretchedness and even pride ourselves upon doing so. Let<a name="Page_157" id="Page_157"><span class="pagenum">[157]</span></a> +us repay our debt to them by working for their real emancipation. +We have grown fat on serfdom, so we must give +our blood to undo it, to bring about the reign of liberty. +This is the sum and substance of our creed, mother. This +is the faith that has taken hold of me. It is my religion +and will be as long as I live.”</p> + +<p>In his entire experience as a revolutionary speaker he +had never felt as he did at the present moment.</p> + +<p>A host of sparrows burst into song and activity, all +together, as though at the stroke of a conductor’s baton; +and at this it seemed as if the flood of perfume had taken +a spurt and the sunlight had begun to smile and speak. +He went on in the same strain, and she listened as she +would to a magic tale that had no bearing upon the personality +of her son. His voice, sharp and irascible as it +often sounded, was yet melodious in its undercurrent tone +of filial devotion. The vital point, indeed, was that at last +he was uncovering his soul to her. She was not shocked +by what she heard. Rather, she was proud of his readiness +to sacrifice himself for an ideal, and what is more, she felt +that his world lured her heart also.</p> + +<p>“But the Emperor is a noble soul, Pasha,” she said. +“He has emancipated the serfs. If there ever was a friend +of the common people the present Czar is one.”</p> + +<p>Her objections found him ready. He had gone over +these questions hundreds of times before, and he gave +her the benefit of all his former discussions and reading. +At times he would borrow a point or two from Zachar’s +speeches. Touching upon the emancipation of the serfs, he +contended that Alexander II. had been forced to the measure +by the disastrous results of the Crimean War; and +that the peasants, having been defrauded of their land, +were now worse off than ever.</p><p><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158"><span class="pagenum">[158]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Oh, mother,” he suddenly exclaimed, “whenever you +think of the abolition of serfdom think also of the row +of gallows he had erected about that very time for noble-minded +Polish patriots. Do you remember Mme. Oginska, +that unfortunate Polish woman we met at the health-resort? +Gallows, gallows, nothing but gallows in his +reign.”</p> + +<p>When she referred to the late war “in behalf of the +oppressed Slavonic races of the Balkans,” Pavel asked her +why the Czar had not first thought of his own oppressed +Russians, and whether it was not hypocrisy to send one’s +slaves to die for somebody else’s freedom. The Emperor +had secured a constitution for Bulgaria, had he? Why, +then, was he hanging those who were striving for one in +his own land? A war of emancipation indeed! It was +the old Romanoff greed for territory, for conquest, for +bloodshed.</p> + +<p>He literally bore her down by a gush of arguments, +facts, images. Now and again he would pause, sit looking +at the grass in grim silence, and then, burst into another +torrent of oratory. It was said of Zachar that a single +speech of his was enough to make a convert of the most +hopeless conservative. Pavel was far from possessing any +such powers of pleading eloquence, when his audience was +made up of strangers, but he certainly scored a similar victory +by the appeal which he was now addressing to his +mother.</p> + +<p>He went to order coffee. When he returned, reveille +was sounding in the barracks.</p> + +<p>“There you have it!” he said. “Do you know what +that sound means? It means that the youngest, the best +forces of the country are turned into weapons of human +butchery.”</p><p><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159"><span class="pagenum">[159]</span></a></p> + +<p>The brass notes continued, somewhat cracked at times, +but loud and vibrant with imperious solemnity.</p> + +<p>“It means, too, that people are forced to keep themselves +in chains at the point of their own bayonets,” he added.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The next few days were spent by the countess in reading +“underground” literature. She was devouring paper +after paper and pamphlet after pamphlet with tremulous +absorption. The little pile before her included scientific +treatises, poetry and articles of a polemical nature, and she +read it all; but she was chiefly interested in the hair-breadth +escapes, pluck and martyrdom of the revolutionists. +The effect this reading had on her was something +like the thrilling experience she had gone through many +years ago when she was engrossed in the Lives of Saints.</p> + +<p>“It makes one feel twenty years younger,” she said to +Pavel, bashfully, as she laid down a revolutionary print and +took the glasses off her tired eyes one forenoon.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160"><span class="pagenum">[160]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>PAVEL AT BOYKO’S COURT.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">CLARA was introduced to Mme. Shubeyko, the warden’s +sister-in-law, and to her niece, the gendarme +officer’s sister. At first communication with Makar +was held by means of notes concealed in cigarettes and +carried to and fro by one of the warders, who received half +a ruble per errand; but Clara was soon installed in the +warden’s house. Once or twice Pavel spoke with Makar directly, +by means of handkerchief signals based on the same +code as the telegraph language which political prisoners rap +out to each other through their cell walls. These signals +Pavel sent from the top of a hill across the river from Makar’s +cell window. To allay suspicion he would wave his +handkerchief toward Masha or Clara, who stood for the purpose +on a neighbouring hill, giving the whole proceeding +the appearance of a flirtation. As to Makar, his cell was in +an isolated part of the prison, facing the outer wall. Still, +this mode of communication was exasperatingly slow and +attended by some risks after all, and Pavel had recourse +to it only in case of extreme necessity, although to the +prisoner it was a welcome diversion.</p> + +<p>One day, when Clara, Masha and Pavel were together, +he said to the gendarme officer’s sister, with mystifying +gaiety:</p> + +<p>“Well, have you discovered the heroine of the Pievakin<a name="Page_161" id="Page_161"><span class="pagenum">[161]</span></a> +demonstration?” He regretted the question before it had +left his lips. Clara was annoyed.</p> + +<p>“No, why?” Masha asked, looking from him to her.</p> + +<p>“I have the honour to introduce—” he said, colouring. +For some reason Masha did not seem to be agreeably impressed +by the announcement, and Clara did not fail to +notice it.</p> + +<p>As it was rather inconvenient for the son of Countess +Varoff to be seen at the house of a major of gendarmes, +Clara was to report to him at the residence of her parents. +In the depth of the markets and the Jewish quarter his +identity was unlikely to be known. Clara had lived at +the warden’s house about a fortnight when Pavel’s first visit +at the trunk shop took place. She offered him a rude +chair in the small space between the partition of her bed-room +and the window by the wall that was lined with +the worn folios of her father’s meagre library. The room +was pervaded by odours of freshly planed wood, putty and +rusty tin which the breath of spring seemed to intensify +rather than to abate.</p> + +<p>Motl, Hannah’s sole employe, was hammering away at +his bindings and courting attention by all sorts of vocal +quirks and trills. During the Days of Awe, the solemn +festivals of autumn, he sang in a synagogue choir; so he +never ceased asserting his musical talents. As Clara’s +visitor took no heed of his flourishes he proceeded to imitate +domestic animals, church bells, a street organ +playing a selection from Il Trovatore, and a portly captain +drilling his men, but all to no purpose. As the noise +he was making was a good cover for their talk, she did +not stop him. At any rate, Motl scarcely understood any +Russian.</p> + +<p>“I have only seen him at a distance,” Clara said,<a name="Page_162" id="Page_162"><span class="pagenum">[162]</span></a> +meaning the prisoner. “But I know that he eats and +sleeps well, and looks comfortable.”</p> + +<p>“He would look comfortable if you tied him up in a +sack. Is he still ‘dumb’?”</p> + +<p>She portrayed the warden’s bed-ridden and voiceless wife +who suffered from a disease of the spinal and vocal +chords, and the disorder at his house and in the prison. +She had always wondered at the frequent cases of political +gaol-breaking, but if every gaol were conducted as this one +was the number would be much larger, she thought. That +vodka was quite openly sold and bought in every common +gaol in the empire was no news to her, but this was a trifle +compared to what she had heard of Rodkevich’s administration. +One of his gaolers had told her of imprisoned thieves +whom he would give leave of absence in order that he +might confiscate part of their booty when they came back.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think he is a man who would go into any kind +of scheme that offered money, or—excitement,” she said, +gravely; and she added with a smile: “He might even become +a man of principle if there were money in it.”</p> + +<p>“He won’t give ‘a political’ ‘leave of absence,’ though, +will he?” Pavel joked. “Still, upon the whole, it looks +rather encouraging.”</p> + +<p>“I think it does.”</p> + +<p>“Do you?” And his eyes implored her for a more +enthusiastic prediction of success.</p> + +<p>“Indeed I do,” she answered soberly. “But whether +I do or not, we must go to work and get him out.”</p> + +<p>“This damsel is certainly not without backbone,” he +said to himself.</p> + +<p>He had familiarised himself with the details in the case +of almost every revolutionist who had escaped or attempted +to escape from prison. Some of these had made their<a name="Page_163" id="Page_163"><span class="pagenum">[163]</span></a> +way through an underground passage; others had passed +the gateman in the disguise of a soldier or policeman; still +others had been wrenched from their convoy, while being +taken to the gendarme office or a photograph gallery. +Prince Kropotkin had simply made a desperate break for +liberty while the gates of the prison hospital in which he +was confined stood open, a cab outside bearing him off to +a place of safety. Another political prisoner regained his +freedom by knocking down a sentinel with brass knuckles, +while still another, who was awaiting death in Odessa, +would have made his escape by means of planks laid from +his cell window to the top of the prison fence, had not these +planks proved to be too flimsy. In one place an imprisoned +army <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: removed ,">officer</ins> slipped away under cover of a flirtation +in which a girl prisoner had engaged the warden. A revolutionist +named Myshkin had tried to liberate Chernishevsky, +the celebrated critic, by appearing at the place of his +banishment, in far-away Siberia, in the guise of a gendarme +officer with an order for the distinguished exile, +and a similar scheme had been tried on the warden of a +prison in European Russia. Both these attempts had failed, +but then in the case in hand there was the hope of Rodkevich, +the warden, acting as a willing victim. Pavel +said he would impersonate one of the gendarmes.</p> + +<p>“Some of the gaolers may know you,” Mlle. Yavner objected.</p> + +<p>“That’s quite unlikely, I was away so long. Besides, +the thing would have to be done in the evening anyhow. +I must be on hand. It will be necessary.”</p> + +<p>“You might be recognised after all,” she insisted, shyly.</p> + +<p>Another project was to have a rope thrown over the +prison fence, in a secluded corner of the yard. This was +to be done at a signal from within, while Makar was out<a name="Page_164" id="Page_164"><span class="pagenum">[164]</span></a> +for exercise, in the charge of a bribed guard. The guard +was to raise an alarm when it was too late, telling how his +prisoner knocked him down and was hoisted out of sight. +Or Makar might be smuggled out in a barrel on some provision +waggon, the prescribed examination of the vehicle +being performed by a friendly gaoler. Whatever plan they +took up, Pavel insisted on playing the leading part in it. +He was for taking Makar away in a closed carriage, if need +be under cover of pistol shots. Clara urged that in the +event the equipage had to wait for some time, its presence +about the prison was sure to arouse dangerous curiosity. +Altogether she was in favour of a quiet and simple proceeding. +Safonoff’s house was within easy distance from the +prison, so if Masha could undertake to keep her brother +away from home, Clara would prefer to have Makar walk +quietly to that place, as a first resort, thence to be taken, +thoroughly disguised, to the “conspiracy house” of the +Circle. But Pavel picked the proposition to pieces.</p> + +<p>Since her initiation into the warden’s house Clara had +been in a peculiarly elevated state of mind, her whole attention +being absorbed in her mission in which she took +great pride. This uplifted mood of hers she strove to suppress, +and the clear-headed, matter-of-fact way in which +she faced the grave dangers of her task animated Pavel +with a feeling of intimate comradeship as well as admiration.</p> + +<p>As they now sat in the cleanest and brightest corner of +the trunk shop he was vaguely sensible of a change in her +appearance. Then he noticed that instead of the dark +woolen dress she had worn at the time of their previous +meetings she had on a fresh blouse of a light-coloured +fabric. To be seen in a new colour is in itself becoming +to a woman, but this blouse of Clara’s was evidently a<a name="Page_165" id="Page_165"><span class="pagenum">[165]</span></a> +tribute to spring. Her face seemed to be suffused with +the freshness of the month.</p> + +<p>While they sat talking, her mother came in, an elderly +Jewess, tall and stately, with a shrewd, careworn look, her +hair carefully hidden beneath a strip of black satin.</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Tamara?” she asked without taking +notice of the stranger. She said something to Motl, made +for the door, but suddenly returned, addressing herself to +her daughter again. She wanted to know something about +the law of chattel-mortgages, but neither Clara nor her visitor +could furnish her the desired information.</p> + +<p>“Always at those books of theirs, yet when it comes to +the point they don’t know anything,” she said, with a smile, +as she bustled out of the room.</p> + +<p>“Are these Talmud books?” Pavel asked, pointing at +Rabbi Rachmiel’s library.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Clara nodded with an implied smile in her voice.</p> + +<p>“Can you read them?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” she answered, smiling.</p> + +<p>He told her that Makar was a deep Talmudic scholar +and talked of the Jewish religion, but she offered him no +encouragement. She was brimful of questions herself. +Her inquiries were concerned with the future destinies of +the human race. With all her practical common sense, +she had a notion that the era of undimmed equality and +universal love would dawn almost immediately after the +overthrow of Russian tyranny. This, as she had been +taught by revolutionary publications, was to come as the +logical continuation of Russia’s village communes, once +the development of this survival of prehistoric communism +received free scope. What she wanted was a clear and +detailed account of life in Future Society.</p> + +<p>Her questions and his answers had the character of a<a name="Page_166" id="Page_166"><span class="pagenum">[166]</span></a> +theoretical discussion. Gradually, however, he mounted +to a more animated tone, portraying the future with quiet +fervour. She listened gravely, her eyes full upon his, and +this absorbed look spurred him on. But presently her +mother came in again, this time with a peasant customer, +and they went out to continue their talk in the open air. +There were plenty of deserted lanes and bits of open country +a short distance off. There was a vague gentle understanding +between them that it was the golden idealism +of their talk which had set them yearning for the unhidden +sky and the aromatic breezes of spring. This upheld their +lofty mood while they silently trudged through the outskirts +of the market place. They could not as yet continue +their interrupted conversation, and to speak of something +else would have seemed profanation. At last they emerged +on a lonely square, formed by an orchard, some houses +and barns and the ruin of an old barrack. The air was +excellent and there was nobody to overhear them. Nevertheless +when Pavel was about to resume he felt that he +was not in the mood for it. Nor did she urge him on with +any further questions.</p> + +<p>From the old barracks they passed into a dusty side +lane and thence into a country road which led to a suburb +and ran parallel to the railway tracks.</p> + +<p>The sun was burning by fits and starts, as it were. +In those spots where masses of lilacs and fruit blossoms +gave way to a broader outlook, the road was so flooded +with light that Clara had to shield her eyes with her hand. +Now and again a clump of trees in the distance would fall +apart to show the snow-crested top of a distant hill and the +blueish haze of the horizon-line.</p> + +<p>Their immediate <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'surrounding'">surroundings</ins> were a scrawny, frowzy +landscape. The lawns in front of the huts they passed,<a name="Page_167" id="Page_167"><span class="pagenum">[167]</span></a> +the homes of washerwomen, were overspread with drying +linen.</p> + +<p>“Delightful, isn’t it?” Pavel said, inhaling a long +draught of the rich, animating air and glancing down a +ravine choked with nettle. The remark was merely a +spoken sigh of joy. She made no reply.</p> + +<p>They were both hungry, and presently they began to +feel tired as well. Yet neither of them was disposed to +halt or to break silence except by an occasional word or +two that meant nothing.</p> + +<p>At last he said:</p> + +<p>“You must be quite fatigued. It’s cruel of me.”</p> + +<p>“I am, but it isn’t cruel of you,” she answered, stopping +short, and drawing a deep, smiling breath.</p> + +<p>He ran into a washerwoman’s hovel, startling a brood +of ducklings on his way, and soon came back with the +information that milk was to be had in a trackman’s +hut beyond a sparse grove to the right.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later they sat at a rude table in a +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'minature'">miniature</ins> garden between the shining steel rails of the +track and a red-painted cabin. It was the fourth track-house +from the Miroslav railroad station and was generally +known as the Fourth Hut. Besides milk and eggs and +coarse rye bread they found sour soup. They ate heartily, +but an echo of their exalted dream was still on them. To +Pavel this feeling was embodied in an atmosphere of femininity +that pervaded his consciousness at this moment. +He was sensible of sitting in front of a pretty, healthy +girl full of modest courage and undemonstrative inspiration. +The lingering solemnity of his mood seemed to have +something to do with the shimmering little hairs which +the breeze was stirring on Clara’s neck, as she bent over +her earthen bowl, with the warm colouring of her ear,<a name="Page_168" id="Page_168"><span class="pagenum">[168]</span></a> +with the elastic firmness of her cheek, with the airiness +of her blouse.</p> + +<p>A desire stirred in him to speak once more of the part +she had unconsciously played in his conversion, and at this +he felt that if he told her the story he would find a peculiar +pleasure in exaggerating the importance of the effect +which her “speech” had produced on his mind. But it +came over him that Makar was still behind the prison +gate and that this was not the time to enjoy oneself.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169"><span class="pagenum">[169]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>STRAWBERRIES.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">THAT walk to the trackman’s hut had kindled a new +light in Pavel’s soul. He often found himself craving +for a repetition of the experience—not merely +for Clara’s companionship, but for another occasion to walk +through the fields with her, to sit by her side in the breeze, +and, above all, for the intimacy of seeing her fatigued and +eating heartily. She dwelt in his mind as a girl comrade, +self-possessed and plucky, gifted with grit, tact and spirit; +at the same time she lingered in his consciousness as a +responsive pupil, glowing with restrained enthusiasm over +his talk, eagerly following him through an ecstasy of +lofty dreams. These two aspects of her were merged in +the sight and odour of healthy, magnificently complexioned +girlhood between the glint of steel rails and the dusty +geranium in a trackman’s window.</p> + +<p>They had another appointment. When he called at the +trunkmaker’s shop Clara greeted him with a hearty handshake. +He blushed. His love seemed to be gaining on +him by leaps and bounds.</p> + +<p>“How are things?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“First rate, Pavel Vassilyevich. The vegetable man will +do it. He’s a trump, I tell you.” She went into details. +She was in unusually good spirits. They talked business +and of the adjustment of things under socialism. Pavel,<a name="Page_170" id="Page_170"><span class="pagenum">[170]</span></a> +too, was in good humour, yet floating in his mind was the +same old question: And what if all fails and Makar is +removed to St. Petersburg?</p> + +<p>They met again and again. One day, after they had +arrived at certain conclusions regarding Makar, Pavel said:</p> + +<p>“Shall we take a walk?”</p> + +<p>She nodded assent.</p> + +<p>“I am again full of questions.”</p> + +<p>“Again worrying about the future fate of humanity?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I seem to have no end of questions about it. I +wonder whether I shall remember all those that have occurred +to me since I last saw you. I ought to have jotted +them down.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t want to pump me dry in one day, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, if the truth must be told, I rather do. You will +soon be leaving us, I suppose, so I am anxious to strike the +iron while it is hot.”</p> + +<p>The personal question as to the length of his stay +sent a little wave of warmth through his blood. They +set out in the direction of the trackman’s hut as a matter +of course. Instead of following their former route, however, +they chose, upon a motion from Clara, who was +more familiar with these suburbs than Pavel, a meandering, +hilly course that offered them a far better view as well +as greater privacy. A stretch of rising ground took them +to the Beak, a promontory so called for the shape of a +cliff growing out of its breast. The common people had +some pretty stories to tell of a gigantic bird of which +the rocky beak was a part and whose petrified body was +now asleep in the bosom of the hill that had once been +its nest.</p> + +<p>Pavel and Clara sat down to rest on the freshly carpeted +slope. The town clustered before them in a huddle of red,<a name="Page_171" id="Page_171"><span class="pagenum">[171]</span></a> +white, green and grey, shot with the glitter of a golden-domed +cathedral, the river flashing at one end like the +fragment of an immense sabre. It was warm and quiet. +There was not a human soul for a considerable distance +around. Now and again the breeze would gently stir the +weeds and the wild-flowers, lingering just long enough to +scent the hillside with pine odours and then withdrawing, +on tiptoe, as it were, like a thoughtful friend taking care +that the two young people were kept supplied with the +bracing aroma without being disturbed more than was +necessary. Once or twice Clara held out her chin, sniffing +the enchanted air.</p> + +<p>“Isn’t it delightful!” she said.</p> + +<p>“It’s a specimen of what life under Society of the +Future will feel like,” Pavel jested, with a wistful smile.</p> + +<p>At one point when she addressed him as Pavel Vassilyevich, +as she usually did, he was tempted to ask her to +dispense with his patronymic. In the light of the hearty +simplicity of manners which prevailed in the revolutionary +movement they were well enough acquainted to address +each other by their first names only. Yet when he was +about to propose the change the courage failed him to do +so. Whereupon he said to himself, with a deep inward +blushing, that the cause of this hesitancy and confusion of +his was no secret to him.</p> + +<p>“Hello there! A strawberry!” she called out, with a +childish glee which he had not yet seen in her. And +flinging herself forward she reached out her white girlish +hand toward a spot of vivid red. The berry, of that tiny +oblong delicious variety one saucerful of which would +be enough to fill a fair-sized room with fragrance, lay +ensconced in a bed of sun-lit leaves—a pearl of succulent, +flaming colour in a setting of green gold.</p><p><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172"><span class="pagenum">[172]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Oh, I haven’t the heart to pick it,” she said, staying +her hand and cooing to the strawberry as she would to a +baby: “Won’t touch you, berry darling. Won’t touch +you, sweetie.”</p> + +<p>“Spare its life then,” he answered, “I’ll see if I can’t +find others.”</p> + +<p>And sure enough, after some seeking and peeping and +climbing, Pavel came upon a spot that was fairly jewelled +with strawberries.</p> + +<p>“Quite a haul,” he shouted down.</p> + +<p>She joined him and they went on picking together, each +with a thistle leaf for a saucer.</p> + +<p>“Why, it’s literally teeming with them,” she said, in +a preoccupied voice, deeply absorbed in her work. “One, +two, three, and four, and—seven; why, bless me,—and +eight and nine. What a pity we have nothing with us. +We could get enough to treat the crowd at Orlovsky’s.”</p> + +<p>Pavel made no reply. Whenever he came across a berry +that looked particularly tempting he would offer it to her +silently and resume his work. He was oppressively aware +of his embarrassment in her presence and the consciousness +of it made him feel all the more so. He was distinctly +conscious of a sensation of unrest, both stimulating and +numbing, which had settled in him since he made her +acquaintance. It was at once torture and joy, yet when +he asked himself which of the two it was, it seemed to be +neither the one nor the other. Her absence was darkness; +her presence was light, but pain and pleasure mingled +in both. It made him feel like a wounded bird, like a +mutely suffering child. At this moment it blent with +the flavour and ruddiness of the berries they were both picking, +with the pine-breeze that was waiting on them, with +the subdued lyrics of spring.</p><p><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173"><span class="pagenum">[173]</span></a></p> + +<p>And he knew that he was in love.</p> + +<p>He had never been touched by more than a first +timid whisper of that feeling before. It was Sophia, the +daughter of the former governor of St. Petersburg, whose +image had formerly—quite recently, in fact—invaded +his soul. He had learned immediately that she belonged +to Zachar and his dawning love had been frightened away. +Otherwise his life during these five years had been one +continuous infatuation of quite another kind—the infatuation +of moral awakening, of a political religion, of the +battlefield.</p> + +<p>From the Beak they proceeded by the railroad track, +now walking over the cross-ties, now balancing along the +polished top of one rail. She was mostly ahead of him, +he following her with melting heart. By the time they +reached the trackman’s place, the shadows had grown long +and solemn. Pavel had no appetite. He ate because Clara +did. “Here I am watching her eat again,” he thought. +But the spectacle was devoid of the interest he had expected +to find in it.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless the next morning, upon waking, it burst +upon him once more that seated within him was something +which had not been there about a month ago. When he +reflected that he had no appointment with Clara for these +two days, that disquieting force which was both delicious +and tantalising, the force which enlivened and palsied +at once, swelled in his throat like a malady. But no, far +from having such a bodily quality, it had spiritualised his +whole being. He seemed unreal to himself, while the outside +world appeared to him strangely remote, agonisingly +beautiful, and agonisingly sad—a heart-rending elegy on +an unknown theme. The disquieting feeling clamoured for +the girl’s presence—for a visit to the scene of their<a name="Page_174" id="Page_174"><span class="pagenum">[174]</span></a> +yesterday’s berry-picking, at least. He struggled, but he +had to submit.</p> + +<p>To the Beak, then, he betook himself, and for an hour +he lay on the grass, brooding. Everything around him +was in a subdued agitation of longing. The welter of +gold-cups and clover; the breeze, the fragrance and the +droning of a nearby grasshopper; the sky overhead and +the town at his feet—all was dreaming of Clara, yearning +for Clara, sighing for Clara. Seen in profile the grass +and the wild-flowers acquired a new charm. When he +lay at full length gazing up, the sky seemed perfectly flat, +like a vast blue ceiling, and the light thin wisps of pearl +looked like painted cloudlets upon that ceiling. There +were moments in this reverie of his when the Will of the +People was an echo from a dim past, when the world’s +whole struggle, whether for good or for evil, was an odd, +incomprehensible performance. But then there were +others when everything was listening for the sound of a +heavenly bugle-call; when all nature was thirsting for noble +deeds and the very stridulation of the grasshopper was part +of a vast ecstasy.</p> + +<p>“That won’t do,” he said in his heart. “I am making +a perfect fool of myself, and it may cost us Makar’s freedom.” +As he pictured the Janitor, Zachar and his other +comrades, and what they would say, if they knew of his +present frame of mind, he sprang to his feet in a fury of +determination. “I must get that idiot out of the confounded +hole he put himself into and get back to work +in St. Petersburg. This girl is not going to stand in my +way any longer.” He felt like smashing palaces and fortresses. +But whatever he was going to do in his freedom +from Clara, Clara was invariably a looker-on. When he +staked his life to liberate Makar she was going to be present;<a name="Page_175" id="Page_175"><span class="pagenum">[175]</span></a> +after the final blow had been struck at despotism, she +would read in the newspapers of his prominent part in the +fight.</p> + +<p>The next time he saw her he felt completely in her +power.</p> + +<p>Clara was in a hurry, but an hour after they had parted +he found an honest excuse for seeing her again that very +day. The appointment was made through Mme. Shubeyko, +and in the afternoon he called at the trunk shop once +more.</p> + +<p>“We have been ignoring a very important point, Clara +Rodionovna,” he said solicitously. “Since the explosion at +the Winter Palace the spies have been turning St. Petersburg +upside down. They literally don’t leave a stone +unturned. Now, Makar went away before the examinations +at the Medical Academy and he disappeared from +his lodgings without filing notice of removal at the police +station.”</p> + +<p>“And if they become curious about his whereabouts the +name of the Miroslav Province in his papers may put the +authorities in mind of their Miroslav prisoner,” Clara put +in, with quick intelligence.</p> + +<p>He nodded gloomily and both grew thoughtful.</p> + +<p>“They would first send word to Zorki, his native town, +though,” Pavel then said, “to have his people questioned, +and I shouldn’t be surprised if they brought his father over +here to be confronted with him.”</p> + +<p>“That would be the end of it,” Clara remarked, in dismay.</p> + +<p>The next day Pavel telegraphed it all over to Makar, +by means of his handkerchief, from the hill which commanded +the prisoner’s window.</p> + +<p>“I have a scheme,” Makar’s handkerchief flashed back.</p><p><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176"><span class="pagenum">[176]</span></a></p> + +<p>“For God’s sake don’t run away with yourself,” Pavel +returned. “It’s a serious matter. Consider it maturely.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know anybody in Paris or any other foreign +city you could write to at once?”</p> + +<p>“I do. Why?” Pavel replied.</p> + +<p>“Get me some foreign paper. I shall write two letters, +one to my father and one to my wife, both dated at that +place. If these letters were sent there and that man then +sent them to my people at Zorki, it would mean I am in +Paris. Understand?”</p> + +<p>“I do. You are crazy.”</p> + +<p>“Why? Father will let bygones be bygones. I should +tell him the whole truth. He is all right.”</p> + +<p>“He won’t fool the gendarmes.”</p> + +<p>“He will!” the white speck behind the iron bars flicked +out vehemently. “He’ll do it. Provided he is prepared +for it.”</p> + +<p>“You are impossible. If an order came from St. +Petersburg your Zorki gendarmes would not dare think +for themselves. They would just hustle him off to Miroslav.”</p> + +<p>“Then get father away from there.”</p> + +<p>“They would take your wife, anybody who could identify +you.”</p> + +<p>“Father is better after all. He would look me in the +face and say he does not know me. He could do it.”</p> + +<p>“And later go to Siberia for it?”</p> + +<p>“You are right. But I don’t think the order will be to +take him here at once. They’ll first examine him there. +He’ll have a chance to fool them.”</p> + +<p>Clara offered to go to Zorki at once, but Makar was for +a postponement of her “conspiracy trip.” Saturday of<a name="Page_177" id="Page_177"><span class="pagenum">[177]</span></a> +Comfort was near at hand, and then the little Jewish town +would be crowded with strangers, so that Mlle. Yavner +might come and go without attracting attention even in the +event the local gendarmes had already been put on the case.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178"><span class="pagenum">[178]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3>A “CONSPIRACY TRIP.”</h3> + + +<p class="cap">ZORKI was in a state of joyous excitement. The +“Good Jew” of Gornovo, accompanied by a retinue +of beadles, secretaries, “reciters,” attendants, scribes +and hangers on, was pleased to grace the little community +with his annual visit; so the Pietists had left their workshops +and places of business to drink in religious ecstasy +and to scramble for advice, miracles and the blessed leavings +from the holy man’s table. The population of the little +town was rapidly increasing by an influx of Pietists from +neighbouring hamlets.</p> + +<p>Clara, with a kerchief round her head, which gave her +the appearance of an uneducated “daughter of Israel,” +was watching a group of men and boys who stood chattering +and joking in front of one of the best houses in town, +at the edge of the market place. It was in this house +where the Good Jew made his headquarters every time he +came to Zorki and where he was now resting from his +journey. The sun stood high. A peasant woman was +nursing her baby in a waggon, patiently waiting for her +husband. Two elderly peasants in coarse, broad-brimmed +straw-hats, one of them with an interminable drooping +moustache, were leaning against the weight-house, smoking +silently. For the rest, the market place, enclosed by four +broken rows of shops, dwellings and two or three government<a name="Page_179" id="Page_179"><span class="pagenum">[179]</span></a> +offices—squatting one-story frame structures—was +almost deserted; but one of the two streets bounding it, the +one on which we find Clara at this minute, was quite alive +with people. An opening at one side of the square showed +a sloping stretch of road and a rectangular section of the +river, the same as that which gleamed in Miroslav. The +knot of men which Clara was watching all wore broad +flat-topped caps, and, most of them, long-skirted coats. A +man of fifty-five, short and stocky, with massive head and +swarthy face, the image of Makar, was the centre of the +crowd.</p> + +<p>“If you were a Pietist and a decent man,” he said, +in subdued accents, to a red-bearded “oppositionist” with +gloomy features, “you would not wear that long face of +yours. Come, cheer up and don’t be a kill-joy!” And he +slapped him on the back with all his might.</p> + +<p>“Stop!” the Oppositionist said, reddening from the +blow. “What’s got into you? What reason have you to +be so jolly anyhow?” And addressing himself to the +bystanders: “He has not had a drop of vodka, yet he will +make believe he’s in his cups.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” the swarthy man protested in a soft, +mellow basso, “Can’t a fellow be jolly without filling himself +full of vodka? If you were a respectable man and a +Pietist and not a confounded seek-sorrow of an Oppositionist +you would not think so. Drink! Why, open the +Pentateuch, and wherever your eye falls there is drink to +make you happy. ‘In the beginning God created heaven +and earth!’ Isn’t that reason enough for a fellow to be +jolly?”</p> + +<p>The bystanders smiled, some in partisan approbation, +others with amused superiority, still others with diplomatic +ambiguity.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180"><span class="pagenum">[180]</span></a></p> + +<p>The heavy-set, swarthy man was Makar’s father, Yossl +Parmet. He bore striking resemblance to his son. Clara +stood aghast. If he were confronted with the Miroslav +prisoner, the identity of the Nihilist would be betrayed, +whether the old man admitted the relationship or not. The +only way out of it was to avoid such a confrontation by getting +Yossl away for a few months. But then, once the +Miroslav gendarmerie learned that a man named Parmet +whose home was at Zorki was missing, the secret could not +last for any length of time. In compliance with Makar’s +wish, Clara decided to take him into her secret. Accordingly, +she mingled with the men, took part in the joking, +and by the time the crowd dispersed she and Yossl were +talking on terms of partial familiarity. Finding an opportune +moment, she said to him, with intentional mysteriousness:</p> + +<p>“There is something I want to speak to you about, Reb +Yossl. I have seen your son.”</p> + +<p>The old man gave her a startled, scrutinising glance. +Then, his face hardening into a preoccupied business-like +expression, he said aloud:</p> + +<p>“Where are you stopping?”</p> + +<p>She named her inn, and the two started thither together. +There were so many strangers in town, each in quest of an +audience with the “Good Jew,” and Yossl was so close to +the holy man, or to those near him, that their conversation +attracted scarcely any notice.</p> + +<p>“It’s a very serious matter, Reb Yossl,” she said, as +they crossed the market place. “Nobody is to know anything +about it, or it may be bad for your son.”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead,” he snarled, turning pale. “Never mind +spending time on a woman’s prefaces. What is up?”</p> + +<p>“You know how the educated young people of these days<a name="Page_181" id="Page_181"><span class="pagenum">[181]</span></a> +are. There is nothing, in fact, the matter. It’ll soon be +over. But for the present it would do him good if the +gendarmes knew he was in Paris.”</p> + +<p>“Why, isn’t he in Paris?” Yossl asked morosely. “I +received a letter from him from there.”</p> + +<p>“Of course he is. Only, the gendarmes, in case they +look for him, and they may do so sooner or later, you know, +the gendarmes may not believe he is there. So it would be +a good thing if you could convince them of it. Your son +would be benefited by it very much.”</p> + +<p>Yossl took fire.</p> + +<p>“On my part let him go to all the black ghosts!” he +burst out. “‘The educated people of these days,’ indeed! +First he will play with fire and then he wants me to fight +his battles! Would he have his old father go to prison on +account of him? He is not in Paris, then? I am as +clever as you, young woman. I, too, understand a thing +or two, though I am not of ‘the educated people of these +days!’ It is not enough that he has got in trouble himself; +he wants to drag me in, too. Is that the kind of +‘education’ he has got? Is that what he has broken with +his wife and father for? The ghost take him!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t be excited, Reb Yossl,” Clara pleaded, earnestly. +“It’s a treasure of a son you have and you know it. As +to the education he has acquired, it is the kind that +teaches one to struggle against injustice and oppression, +things which I know you hate as deeply as your son +does.” A tremour came into her voice, and a slight +blush into her cheeks, as she added: “Your son is one +of those remarkable men who are willing to die for the +suffering people.”</p> + +<p>“But who are you?” he asked with a frown, “How did +you get here? If you, too, are one of those people you had<a name="Page_182" id="Page_182"><span class="pagenum">[182]</span></a> +better leave this town at once. I don’t want to get in +trouble on account of you.”</p> + +<p>They reached the inn, and he paused in front of it, +leaning against a waggon.</p> + +<p>“Never mind who I am,” she returned.</p> + +<p>“But where is he? Has he been arrested? Good God, +what has he been doing to himself? What does he want +of my old bones? Is he sorry his father is still alive?”</p> + +<p>“You don’t want your son to perish, do you?” she said +rather pugnaciously. “If you don’t, you had better get +the gendarmes off his track.”</p> + +<p>She went on arguing with renewed ardour. As he listened, +a questioning look came into his face. Instead of +following her plea he scrutinised her suspiciously.</p> + +<p>“But why should you pray for him so fervently,” he +asked significantly. “Why should you run risks for his +sake? What do you get out of it?”</p> + +<p>“Must one get something ‘out of it’ to do what is +right?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, may the ghost take the whole lot of you!” Yossl +said, with a wave of his hand, and walked away. He felt +sure that this young woman and his son were in love, and +he was shocked for the sake of Miriam, Makar’s divorced +wife, as well as for his own.</p> + +<p>He made for a slushy narrow lane, but turned back, +retracing his steps in the direction of the house which was +the Good Jew’s headquarters, as also the home of Miriam. +It was the house of her uncle, Arye Weinstein, the richest +Pietist in Zorki.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The Good Jew occupied two expensively furnished rooms +which were always kept sacred to his use. They were +known as “the rabbi’s chambers” and although the<a name="Page_183" id="Page_183"><span class="pagenum">[183]</span></a> +Righteous Man visited Zorki only once a year, nobody was +ever allowed so much as to sit down in his easy chair. +One day, when Weinstein caught his little girl playing in +the “rabbi’s bed room” with a skull-cap which the holy +man had left there, he flew into one of the savage fits of +temper for which he was dreaded, and slapped the child’s +face till it bled. The rabbi’s chambers were never swept +or dusted until a day or two before his arrival, and then +half a dozen people worked day and night to make things +worthy of the exalted guest. The “rabbi’s parlour” opened +into a vast room, by far the largest in the house, which +on Saturdays was usually turned into a synagogue, and was +known in town as “Weinstein’s salon.”</p> + +<p>Miriam was a very bright, quick-witted little woman, +but she was not pretty—a pale, sickly, defenceless-looking +creature of the kind who have no enemies even among their +own sex. Her separation from Makar was only a nominal +affair, in fact, the divorce having been brought about +against the will of the young couple by her iron-willed +uncle, who had succeeded in embroiling Yossl with his son +as well as with himself soon after the true character of +Makar’s visits to Pani Oginska’s house had been discovered; +but Makar and Miriam had become reconciled, +through a letter from him, and they had been in secret +correspondence ever since. Yossl never lost hope of seeing +them remarried, and, in order to keep the memory of his +son fresh in Miriam’s mind, he had obeyed the Good Jew +and made peace with the wealthy Pietist.</p> + +<p>Yossl was in charge of the town’s weight-house and was +commonly known as “Yossl the weight-house man.” +When Feivish (Makar’s real first name) was old enough +to be started on the Talmud, he left the weight-house to +his wife, devoting himself to the spiritual education of the<a name="Page_184" id="Page_184"><span class="pagenum">[184]</span></a> +boy. Every time they sat down to the huge book he would +pin the edge of Feivish’s shirt to his collar, leaving the +child’s back bare to the strap in his hand. Whenever his +wife protested he would bring her to terms by threatening +to tell the Good Jew that she would have her son brought +up as a dunce. He was going to make a “fattened +scholar” of him. He was going to fatten him on +divine Law by main force, even as his wife fattened her +geese for Passover. He was going to show those fish-blooded, +sneering Oppositionists that they had no monopoly +of the Talmud. Often during his lesson a distracted look +would come into Feivish’s dark little eyes, and Yossl’s +words fell on deaf ears. Then it was that the thong would +descend on the bare back. Feivish never cried. As the +blow fell, he would curl himself up with a startled look, +that haunted Yossl for hours after. Feivish turned out +to be a most ardent Pietist. Once, for example, in a very +cold wintry night, after the Good Jew had crossed a snow-covered +lawn, Feivish, in a burst of devotion, took off his +boots and “followed in the foot-steps of the man of +righteousness” barefoot.</p> + +<p>For four years the young couple lived happily, their +only woe being the death of both children that had been +born to them. But the Good Jew said “God will have +mercy,” and Feivish “served his Lord with gladness.” +But this did not last. Feivish was initiated into the world +of free thought, and gradually the fervent Pietist was +transformed into a fervent atheist. It was during that +period that he first met Pavel and that his wife’s despotic +uncle extorted a divorce from him.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>While Yossl was twitting the red-headed Oppositionist +in front of Weinstein’s house, Bathsheba, a daughter-in-law<a name="Page_185" id="Page_185"><span class="pagenum">[185]</span></a> +of the man of substance, a plump, black-eyed beauty +of the kind one’s mind associates with a Turkish harem, +beckoned Miriam aside, in one of the rooms within, offering +her a piece of cake.</p> + +<p>“It’s from a chunk the Good Jew has tasted,” she said, +triumphantly. “Eat it, and your heart will be lighter.”</p> + +<p>“It will help me as much as blood-letting helps a dead +man,” Miriam answered with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Eat it, I say. You’ll get letters more often if you +do.” For a woman to exchange love letters with the man +from whom she has been divorced is quite a grave sin for +a daughter of Israel to commit. The remedy Bathsheba +recommended was therefore something like the prayer of +a thief that the Lord may bless his business. But then +Miriam questioned the power of the rabbi’s “leavings” to +bring a blessing upon any business. She smiled.</p> + +<p>“How do you know it is nonsense? Maybe it isn’t, +after all,” Bathsheba urged.</p> + +<p>“You’re a foolish little dear.”</p> + +<p>“If I were you I should eat it. What can you lose by +it?”</p> + +<p>Maria, a Gentile servant who had been longer in the +house than Bathsheba, came in. She spoke Yiddish excellently +and was almost like a member of the family.</p> + +<p>“Take a bite and you will be blessed, Maria,” Miriam +joked, holding out the cake to her. “It’s from a piece the +Good Jew has tasted.”</p> + +<p>“If I was a Jewess I would,” Maria retorted reproachfully. +“It’s a sin to make mock of a Good Jew.”</p> + +<p>The other two burst into a laugh.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Miriam was about to throw the cake away, +but had not the heart to do so. She sat eyeing it for some +minutes and then, making fun of herself, she bit off a<a name="Page_186" id="Page_186"><span class="pagenum">[186]</span></a> +morsel. She acted like the Jewess of the anecdote, who, +to be on the safe side, would kiss the cross and the Hebrew +prayer book at once.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>An hour later Yossl was flaunting his son’s Paris letter +and cursing him to a new crowd in front of the Good +Jew’s headquarters.</p> + +<p>“The ghost take him!” he said. “Indeed, the ghost is +a well-travelled <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added .">fellow.</ins> He can get to Paris just as readily +as he does to Zorki.”</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187"><span class="pagenum">[187]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3>MAKAR’S FATHER.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">ON Saturday morning Weinstein’s salon was crowded +with worshippers, all married men in their praying +shawls and skull-caps. A Good Jew is exempt +from praying with the congregation, his transports of religious +fervour being too sacred a proceeding for common +mortals to intrude upon. Accordingly, the Man of Righteousness +was making his devotions in the seclusion of the +adjoining parlour.</p> + +<p>To a stranger unfamiliar with Pietist prayer meetings +the crowd here gathered would have looked for all the +world like the inmates of the violent ward in an insane +asylum. Most of the worshippers were snapping their +fingers; the others were clapping their hands, clenching +their fists with all their might or otherwise gesticulating +savagely. They were running or jumping about, shrieking, +sighing or intoning merrily, while here and there a +man seemed to be straining every bit of his strength to +shut his eyes as tightly as possible or to distort his face +into some painful or grotesque expression. The Gentiles +of the province called the Pietists Jumping Jacks.</p> + +<p>Some of the worshippers gesticulated merely because +it was “correct form”; others did so from force of habit, +or by way of fighting off the intrusion of worldly thoughts; +still others for the same reason for which one yawns when<a name="Page_188" id="Page_188"><span class="pagenum">[188]</span></a> +others do. But all these formed a small minority. The +bulk of the Pietists present, including several people of +questionable honesty in business matters, were honestly +convulsed with a contagion of religious rapture. The invisible +proximity of the Man of Righteousness, the sight +of the door that concealed his holy presence, keyed them +up to the highest pitch of exaltation. Their ears followed +the “master of prayers” at the Stand, but their minds +beheld the Good Jew of Gornovo. All hearts converged +at the mysterious spot behind that door. That which +sounded and looked like a pandemonium of voices and +gestures was in reality a chorus of uplifted souls with the +soul of the concealed man of God for a “master of prayers.”</p> + +<p>Weinstein was slapping the wall with both hands. His +large figure was enveloped in the costliest praying-shawl +in the room. All that was seen of him were two wrists +overgrown with red hair. Now and then he would face +about and fall to striding up and down meditatively. He +was a well-fed, ruddy-necked Jew of fifty with a sharp +hooked nose sandwiched in between two plump florid +cheeks, and a small red beard. His unbuttoned coat of a +rich broadcloth reached down to his heels; his trousers +were tucked into the tops of well-polished boots. Once +or twice an unkempt, underfed little man in a tattered +shawl and with a figure and gait which left no doubt that +he was a tailor by trade, barred Weinstein’s way, snapping +his fingers at him; then the two took to pacing the room +together, shouting and chuckling in rapturous duet as +they moved along, as is written: “Serve the Lord with +gladness, come before His presence with singing,” or “Because +thou servedst not thy God with joyfulness and with +gladness of heart, for the abundance of all things; therefore<a name="Page_189" id="Page_189"><span class="pagenum">[189]</span></a> +shalt thou serve thine enemies.” That the little +tailor did not enjoy an “abundance of all things” was +evident from his pinched face and broken shoes. He did +not rank high enough in his trade to have even Weinstein’s +clerk for a customer, yet at the Pietist gatherings he +addressed Weinstein himself by the familiar diminutive +of his first name and sometimes helped to spank him or +to pelt him with burrs out of his “gladness of heart.”</p> + +<p>Yossl Parmet—Makar’s father—was tiptoeing about +the crowded room, smiling and whispering fondly, as +though confiding glad news to himself, but his heart was +not in his prayer. He was thinking of his son and the +young woman who had come to plead for him. Indeed, +Yossl’s piety had deserted him long since. He clung to +the Pietists for the sake of the emotional atmosphere that +enveloped it and from his sincere admiration of the Good +Jew’s personality rather than from faith. He was fond +of Miriam and his heart was now torn between jealousy +in her behalf and anxiety about his son.</p> + +<p>The services over, silence fell upon the congregation. +The Pietists were folding up their shawls, or eyeing the +floor expectantly. The minutes were passing slowly. The +stillness seemed to be growing in intensity. Presently a +song broke from somebody in a corner. It was a song +without words, a new tune especially composed for the +occasion. Like most “Gornovo melodies” it was meant +to be gay, and like all of them it was pervaded by the +mixed sadness of the Exiled People and the brooding, +far-away plaint of their Slavic neighbours. There is a +mingling of fire and tears in the Pietist “hop.” It isn’t +without reason that the most rabid Oppositionist of Lithuania +will sing them on the Rejoicing of the Law.</p> + +<p>The others in the room had never heard the song before,<a name="Page_190" id="Page_190"><span class="pagenum">[190]</span></a> +yet several of them fell to at once, seizing the tune by +intuition. The rest joined in gradually, until the whole +assemblage was united in chorus. The import of this kind +of singing while the Good Jew is in the privacy of his +room is a plea that he may issue forth and grace the crowd +with his presence and “some law.” They went through +the tune again and again, gathering zest as they mastered +its few simple bars. The melody seemed to be climbing +up and down, or diving in and out; expostulating with +somebody as it did so, bewailing somebody or something, +appealing in the name of some dear event in the past or +future. Unable to tell definitely what their tune was saying +or doing, the singers craved to see the speechless song, +to make out the words it seemed to be uttering, and because +that was impossible their hearts were agitated with objectless +sympathy and longing, and the rabbi was forgotten +for awhile. They pitied the unknown man who seemed +to be climbing or diving all the more because it was in +their own voices that his incomprehensible words were +concealed.</p> + +<p>Little by little, however, as the novelty of the air wore +off, the consciousness that they were beseeching the Man +of Righteousness to come out to them blent with their +yearning sympathy for their melody. They ardently believed +that the Good Jew’s soul had ascended on the wings +of his ecstasy to the Divine Presence. All eyes were on +his door. An indescribable ring of solemnity, of awe, of +love and of prayer came into their voices. Their faces +were transfixed with it. The melody was pouring out its +very heart to the holy man.</p> + +<p>Suddenly it all died away. The door flew open and, +preceded by a stout “supervisor,” appeared an elderly man +with a flabby-lipped mouth and a hooked little nose. He<a name="Page_191" id="Page_191"><span class="pagenum">[191]</span></a> +wore a long-skirted coat of black silk with a belt of the +same material wound several times round his waist, and +a round cap of sable and velvet. The crowd fell apart in +breathless excitement. As he advanced through the lane +thus formed he was flushed and trying to conceal his embarrassment +in a look of grief. He seated himself at a +long table and shut his eyes. Now and then he heaved a +sigh, swaying his head silently, with absorbed mien. He +was supposed to be in a trance of lofty meditation, abandoned +to thoughts and feelings which were to bear his +soul to heaven.</p> + +<p>The crowd was literally spellbound. Yossl Parmet was +pale with unuttered sobs. He was perhaps the only man +in the room who perceived that the holy man was ill at +ease, and this gave him a sense of the Good Jew’s childlike +purity which threw him into a veritable frenzy of reverence. +More than thirty years the master of multitudes +and still blushing! When Yossl was a young man he had +changed his Good Jews several times. He had adored +them all, but he had not liked them. His soul had found +no rest until he moved to Zorki and met this Good Jew of +Gornovo. Then he felt himself in the presence of absolute +sincerity, of unsophisticated warmth of heart. This +Good Jew was a naïve man, timid and unassertive. He +had an unfeigned sense of his own supernatural powers, +and was somewhat in awe of them. He felt as though +there was another, a holier being within him and he feared +that being in the same way as one possessed fears the +unholy tenant of his soul.</p> + +<p>Finally the Good Jew opened his eyes and began to +speak. It was a simple sermon on a text taken at random +from the Bible before him, but his listeners sought a hidden +meaning, a mystical allusion, in the plainest of his<a name="Page_192" id="Page_192"><span class="pagenum">[192]</span></a> +words or gestures. Yossl could have instructed him in +every branch of holy lore, yet he seized upon the exposition +thirstily. In the first place, he had seen Good Jews who +were even less at home in the Law than the Good Jew of +Gornovo was, so that he felt grateful to him for not being +a downright ignoramus. In the second place, he knew +that he actually believed his own words to be inspired.</p> + +<p>A few minutes after the sermon the Good Jew beckoned +Yossl to a seat by his side. Makar’s father accepted the +invitation in a quiver of obsequious gratitude.</p> + +<p>“How are you, Yossl? Any news of Feivish?”</p> + +<p>“He’s in Paris now,” Yossl answered with a gesture of +disrelish and speaking aloud, so that the entire crowd +might hear him. He hated to tell the holy man a lie, yet +he did so readily, the occasion being his best opportunity +for giving the story wide circulation.</p> + +<p>“In Paris!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he has been there since the beginning of summer. +I have letters from him.”</p> + +<p>“Letters from Feivish!”</p> + +<p>“He wanted to show off I suppose. Wanted his father +to see he’s in Paris. On my part he may go to perdition.”</p> + +<p>“What is he doing there? Studying medicine in +French?”</p> + +<p>“That’s what he says in his letter. Yes, he has quite +broken with Judaism, rabbi, quite a Gentile. All that is +required to make the transformation complete is that he +should extort bribes from Jews for allowing them to +breathe. One Jew he prevents from breathing already”—pointing +at himself.</p> + +<p>The rabbi swayed his head sympathetically.</p> + +<p>“What a misfortune! What a misfortune! Men like +him could not be had for the picking.”</p> + +<p><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193"><span class="pagenum">[193]</span></a></p> + +<p>“He has left a wound in my heart and it will not heal, +rabbi. If this is the kind of doctor he is going to be, he +won’t make much headway. ‘I had a vineyard,’ rabbi,” +he went on in a lugubrious sing-song, quoting from Isaiah, +“‘I fenced it and gathered out the stones thereof and +planted it with the choicest vine. What could have been +done more to my vineyard that I have not done in it? +Wherefore, when I looked that it should bring forth +grapes, brought it forth wild grapes?’”</p> + +<p>“Don’t grieve, my son, I forbid you, do you hear?” the +Good Jew said, limply. He was deeply touched. “Better +give us a song, boys!”</p> + +<p>The song burst forth and was taken up by the glad +crowd on the lawn, some Gentiles, standing at a respectful +distance, listening reverently.</p> + +<p>Yossl had uncovered to the rabbi only part of his heart’s +wound. Since his son’s compulsory divorce Weinstein had +personified the cruelties and injustices of the whole world +to him. When a couple applies for a writ of divorcement +it is the duty of the rabbi to persuade them from the step. +God wants no severance of the marriage bond. “When a +man divorces his first wife, the altar weeps,” says the Talmud. +Yet Weinstein, who had so brutally extorted such +a divorce from Feivish, continued to be looked upon as a +pillar of the faith. All this had stirred a novel feeling, +a novel trend of thought in Yossl.</p> + +<p>The next morning Weinstein’s salon was jammed with +people begging for admission to the Good Jew, who was in +the next room.</p> + +<p>The scribes were busy writing applications, praying the +rabbi to “awaken the great mercy of the Master of +Mercies.”</p> + +<p>“My wife is ill, her name is Sarah, daughter of Tevye,”<a name="Page_194" id="Page_194"><span class="pagenum">[194]</span></a> +one man besought. “Do be so kind. If I don’t get in at +once it may be too late.”</p> + +<p>Another applicant, with a crippled boy in his arms, +sought a blessing for the child and himself. One father, +whose son had been declared a blockhead by his teachers, +wanted the Good Jew to pray that the boy might get “a +good head.” A white-haired man was picking a quarrel +with two other Pietists who were trying to get in front +of him. The old man’s married daughter was childless +and her husband did not care for her, so he wanted the +rabbi to “give her children and grace in the eyes of her +spouse.” Several others wanted dowries for their marriageable +daughters. That the Master of Mercies would +grant the Good Jew’s prayer in their daughters’ behalf was +all the more probable because in cases of this sort either +the Good Jew himself or some of his well-to-do followers +usually came to the poor man’s assistance.</p> + +<p>Yossl sat at the corner of the table watching the scene +pensively when Clara entered the room. The blood rushed +to his face as he recognised her, and he hastened to take +her out into the road.</p> + +<p>“What are you doing in this town so long?” he then +asked, in a rage. “I thought you had left long since. +What do you want of us all? Do you want to get everybody +in trouble?”</p> + +<p>“How will I get you in trouble? Am I the only Jewish +woman who has come to Zorki these few days? Have +I no right to be here like everybody else? Besides, it’s to +bid you good-bye that I want to see you now. I am going +away.”</p> + +<p>Her few words, uttered with simple earnestness, had a +softening effect on him.</p> + +<p>“You look like a good girl,” he said, frowning at her<a name="Page_195" id="Page_195"><span class="pagenum">[195]</span></a> +amicably. “Tell me frankly: are you and my son having +a love affair?”</p> + +<p>Clara coloured literally to the roots of her brown hair. +She paused to regain her self-possession and then said, +with a smile at once shamefaced and amused:</p> + +<p>“It is not true, Reb Yossl. What is more, your son and +I are not even acquainted.”</p> + +<p>“Can that be possible!”</p> + +<p>“It’s the absolute truth I am telling you, Reb Yossl.”</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulder and proceeded to question her +on his son’s case, on his mode of life before he was arrested, +on the meaning of the struggle to which he had dedicated +himself.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196"><span class="pagenum">[196]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h3>FROM CELLAR TO PALACE.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">MEANWHILE Pavel, Mme. Shubeyko, Masha, Mlle. +Andronoff and her fiancé, the near-sighted judge +with the fluffy hair, went on with their plot. A +considerable sum was needed to bribe the warden, the head +keeper (a bustling little man who was known in the conspiracy +as the Sparrow), and others. The plotters had five +thousand rubles, and in order to obtain the rest without delay +Pavel went so far as to take his mother into the secret. +The countess received his story with a thrill of gratitude +and of a sense of adventure. After a visit to the bank, she +handed him ten thousand rubles in crisp rainbow-coloured +one hundred ruble notes. She was pale with emotion as +she did so. Her heart was deeper in his movement than +he supposed. It was as if every barrier standing between +her and her son had been removed. She was a comrade of +his now.</p> + +<p>“The only thing that worries me,” she said for something +to say, “is uncle’s visits. He has not been here for +some time, but if he comes, I shan’t be able to look him +in the face. He is a very good man at heart, Pasha.”</p> + +<p>“Still, you had better make no haste about trying to +convert him,” Pavel answered, with a smile, struggling +with the pile of notes.</p> + +<p>The bulk of the sum—eight thousand rubles—was to<a name="Page_197" id="Page_197"><span class="pagenum">[197]</span></a> +be paid by Mme. Shubeyko to the warden, half of it in advance +and the other half upon the carrying out of the +project. Rodkevich pretended to receive the four thousand +rubles as a loan. He barred all frank discussion of the +scheme, hinting that he was scarcely a master in his own +prison and that all he could do was to “overlook things +under pressure of business at times.” As a matter of fact, +he scarcely incurred any risks.</p> + +<p>Pavel missed Clara keenly. A feverish yearning feeling +had settled in him, often moving him to tears, but he +fought it bravely. Once or twice he went to the Beak +and indulged in a feast of self-torture, but otherwise he +worked literally day and night, seeing people, deliberating, +scheming. The only manifestation of his nervousness was +an exaggerated air of composure, and as this was lost on +his fellow plotters, nothing was farther from their thoughts +than that he experienced a sensation as though his heart +were withering within his breast and that the cause of it +was Clara Yavner.</p> + +<p>When he received word of her return he said to himself, +in a turmoil of joy, terror and impatience, that he could +not bear it any longer and that he would tell her all the +next time they were alone.</p> + +<p>He saw her the very next day, at the trunk shop. Both +blushed violently. The first minutes of their conversation +were punctuated with nervous pauses, like the first talk +of people who have been reconciled after a long estrangement. +He said to himself: “Now is the time,” and +vaguely felt confident of success, yet he was still in awe +of her and all he managed to do was to turn the conversation +upon his mother.</p> + +<p>“I should like you to meet her,” he said. “She has +heard of you.”</p><p><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198"><span class="pagenum">[198]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Your mother?” she asked in shamefaced astonishment.</p> + +<p>“She is a very good woman,” Pavel observed, gravely. +“She is in sympathy with the movement, you know, +although it was only the other day I brought her the first +few things to read. If it isn’t asking too much I should +like to introduce you to her, Clara Rodionovna. She would +be delighted.”</p> + +<p>He paused, but she maintained her air of respectful +curiosity, so he went on. “She is very enthusiastic. She +would like to know some of the Miroslav radicals, and I +took the liberty of telling her about you. I need not tell +you that I spoke in a very, very general way about you.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One afternoon the Palace, which the trunk-dealer’s +daughter had known all her life as a mysterious, awe-inspiring +world whose threshold people of her class could +never dream of crossing, the Palace threw open its imposing +doors to her, and she was escorted by Pavel up the +immense staircase and into the favorite room of Countess +Anna Nicolayevna Varoff. As it was an unheard-of thing +for a Jewish girl to visit the Palace, it was agreed, as a +safeguard against the inquisitiveness of the servants, that +she should be known to them by such a typically Russian +name as Daria Ivanovna Morosoff (Morosova).</p> + +<p>Barring the two great statues and an ancient cabinet +inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl, the room was rather +below her undefined anticipations. Her preconceived notion +of the place soon wore off, however, under a growing +sense of venerable solidity, of a quiet magnificence that +was a revelation to her.</p> + +<p>“I’m awfully glad to know you, Clara Rodionovna, +awfully,” the countess said when the first formalities of<a name="Page_199" id="Page_199"><span class="pagenum">[199]</span></a> +greeting were over, and they were all seated. This Jewish +girl was the first Nihilist she had ever met (indeed, Pavel +was only “Pasha” after all), and she identified her in +her mind with every revolutionary assassination and plot +she had read about. She was flushed with excitement and +so put out that she was playing with Pavel’s fingers as she +spoke, as a mother will do with those of her little boy. +As to Clara, she had an oppressive feeling as though the +pair of big musty statues, graceful, silent, imposing, were +haughtily frowning on her presence under this roof. +Pavel seemed to be a different young man. She scarcely +seemed to be acquainted with him. Only the sight of +Anna Nicolayevna fondling his fingers warmed her heart +to both. On the other hand, her own smile won the +hostess.</p> + +<p>The countess released Pavel’s hand, moved over to the +other end of the sofa and huddled herself into the corner, +thrusting out her graceful elbows and great pile of auburn +hair. The presence of Pavel kept her ill at ease. Finally +she said: “I think you had better leave us two women to +ourselves, Pasha. We shall understand each other much +better then, won’t we, Clara Rodionovna?”</p> + +<p>“I hope so,” Clara answered, awkwardly.</p> + +<p>Pavel withdrew. In his absence their embarrassment +only increased.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The next time Clara and Pavel met, in the trunk-shop, +he asked her when she would call on his mother again.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. The point is I don’t know what +to do with my hands there,” she said, with a laugh. “I +can’t seem to shake off the feeling that I am in the house +of—in ‘the Palace,’ don’t you know.”</p> + +<p>It was a hot day, but the air in the basement was quite<a name="Page_200" id="Page_200"><span class="pagenum">[200]</span></a> +cool. Motl was silently painting a trunk, and Pavel was +conscious of the oppressive smell of the paint and of the +impact of the brush against the wood as he answered, with +pained stress in his voice.</p> + +<p>“But my mother does not feel like a countess. She is +above and beyond all such things.”</p> + +<p>“I know she is. Only I somehow don’t manage to feel +at home there.”</p> + +<p>“But it’s only a matter of habit I am sure. You’ll get +over it. You won’t feel that way next time. You must +promise me to call to-morrow.” It was as if Clara’s was a +superior position in life and as if that superiority lay in +this, that her home was a squalid trunk-shop, while his was +a palace.</p> + +<p>“If I do, my mind will be in a whirl again,” she +laughed.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it isn’t as bad as all that. You must promise me +to call on her.”</p> + +<p>“Can’t we put it off—indefinitely?”</p> + +<p>“Clara Rodionovna!”</p> + +<p>His imploring voice threatened to draw from him the +great yearning plea that was waiting to be heard, but this +same entreating voice of his thrilled her so that she hastened +to yield.</p> + +<p>“Very well,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Will you come? Oh, it’s so kind of you. I am ever +so much obliged to you—but I declare I am raving like a +maniac,” he interrupted himself with a queer smile that +forthwith lapsed into an expression of rage. “What I +really want to say is that I love you.”</p> + +<p>The lines of her face hardened. Her rich complexion +burst into flame. She looked gravely at nothing, as he +proceeded:</p><p><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201"><span class="pagenum">[201]</span></a></p> + +<p>“It seems to me as though I had felt that way ever +since that Pievakin episode, Clara Rodionovna. I owe so +much to you. If it had not been for you I might still be +leading the life of a knave and an idiot. What you did +on that occasion served to open my eyes and showed me the +difference between light and darkness. And now it seems +to me that if you were mine, it would infuse great energy +and courage into me. I have got so used to seeing you, I +hate to think of being apart from you for a single moment. +Oh, you are so dear to me, I am so happy to sit by your +side, to be allowed to say all this to you.”</p> + +<p>“You are dear to me, too,” she said in great embarrassment.</p> + +<p>He grasped her hand in silence, his face a burning +amorous red.</p> + +<p>On their way to the Beak, after another outburst from +him, she spoke in measured accents, firm and sad, like the +voice of fate.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know where this will lead us, for either of us +or both may be arrested at any time, and then this happiness +would add so much poison to the horrors of prison +life. Besides, even if we are not arrested, as long as present +conditions prevail our love would have to remain hidden +underground, like our dear movement——”</p> + +<p>“My mother will know it. I want her to know it; and +if it is possible to tell your parents, too——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, it would kill them. Theirs is an entirely different +world.”</p> + +<p>“Then, for the present, let them be none the wiser for +it. As to my mother, she likes you very, very much +already and when she hears of it she will love you to distraction, +Clara Rodionovna. My friends of the party will +know it, too, of course, and what do we care for the rest<a name="Page_202" id="Page_202"><span class="pagenum">[202]</span></a> +of this wretched world? But oh, I do wish you could tell +your mother, or could I speak to her?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s absolutely impossible,” she said in a voice +vibrant with a suggestion of tears and the music of love +at once. “Your mother may understand me. We can +speak in the same language at least, but my poor parents—one +might as well tell them I am dead. Well, when +the Will of the People has scored its great victory and +Russia is free, then, if we are alive, we shall announce it +to my poor parents.”</p> + +<p>He picked up a stone and flung it with all his might. +He was in a fidget of suppressed exultation. Now that +his suspense was over, they changed parts, as it were. +The gnawing gloom which had tantalised him during the +past few weeks had suddenly burst forth in torrents of +sunshine; whereas in her case the quiet light-hearted happiness +which had been the colour of her love had given +way to an infatuated heart filled with anguish.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>He told his mother the news the very next morning. +The explanation took place in the immense ball-room. It +was a windy morning outside, and they were marching up +and down the parquette of polished light oak, arm in arm. +Presently they paused at one of the windows facing the +garden. They could faintly hear the soughing of the +wind in the trees. They stood gazing at the fluttering +leaves, when he said, musingly:</p> + +<p>“I have something to tell you, mother. I told Mlle. +Yavner I loved her and I want you to congratulate me.”</p> + +<p>“Mlle. Yavner?” she asked, with a look of consternation.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mamma dear, I love her and she loves me and +she is the dearest woman in the world and you are not +going to look upon it in a manner unworthy of yourself,<a name="Page_203" id="Page_203"><span class="pagenum">[203]</span></a> +are you, dear little mamma mine?” He seized her fingers +and fell to kissing them and murmuring: “My dear little +mamma, my dear little mamma.” His endearments were +too much for her.</p> + +<p>“Pasha, Pasha! What are you doing with yourself,” +she sobbed bitterly.</p> + +<p>“Mamma darling! Mamma darling!” he shouted +fiercely. “You are not going to give way to idiotic, brutal, +Asiatic notions that are not really yours. Another year +or two, perhaps less, and all Russia will be free from them +and from all her chains, and then one won’t have to be +shocked to hear that a man and a woman who love each +other and belong to each other are going to marry. +Mamma dear, my darling little mamma! You are the +noblest woman to be found. You are not going to go back +on your son because he is trying to live like a real human +being and not like a hypocrite and a brute.”</p> + +<p>She dared not cry any more.</p> + +<p>When Clara came, the countess, turning pale, clasped +her vehemently, as though pleading for mercy. Clara felt +bewildered and terror-stricken, and after some perfunctory +kisses she loosened her arms, but the Gentile +woman detained her in an impetuous embrace, as she said: +“Be good to me, both of you. He is all I have in the +world.” As she saw an embarrassed smile on Clara’s +beautifully coloured face, she bent forward with a sudden +impulse and drew her to her bosom again, as though +she had just made the discovery that the Jewish girl was +not unlike other girls after all, that there was nothing +preternatural about her person or speech. Whereupon +Clara kissed her passionately and burst into tears.</p> + +<p>The countess caressed her, poured out the innermost +secrets of her heart to her. This Jewish girl whom she<a name="Page_204" id="Page_204"><span class="pagenum">[204]</span></a> +had only seen once before heard from her the story of +her past life, of her childhood, of her two unhappy marriages, +of her thirst for comradeship with her son, of her +conversion. The two women became intimate friends, +although Clara spoke comparatively little.</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, that night Anna Nicolayevna vainly +courted sleep. Her heart was in her mouth. She wished +she could implore her son to break the engagement, to +sever connection with the movement, to abandon all his +perilous and unconventional pursuits. But she knew that +she would never have the courage to do so.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205"><span class="pagenum">[205]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h3>AN UNFORESEEN SUGGESTION.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">PAVEL’S prediction concerning Yossl came true, but +the identity of the province to which the missing +medical student belonged and the one in which the +unknown Nihilist had been arrested escaped the notice of +the secret service, and the Zorki gendarme officer contented +himself with appropriating the Paris letter. Chance, however, +soon solved the riddle for the authorities: a prisoner +from Zorki, a drunkard charged with petty larceny, recognised +Makar in the prison yard.</p> + +<p>It was Masha who brought the news to Pavel and Clara.</p> + +<p>“The general of gendarmes was there, the assistant procureur, +my brother and the warden,” she said, describing +the scene when Parmet was first addressed by his name in +prison. “It was in the office. When he was brought in, +my brother says his heart—my brother’s heart, I mean—began +to beat fast. The assistant procureur offered him a +chair.” She paused, with an appealing smile, her hand +to her bosom. “My heart, too, is beating fearfully at this +minute, as I picture the scene. I am too imaginative, I +am afraid. Well, he pulled up a chair, the assistant procureur +and said: ‘Be seated, Monsieur Parmet.’ The +prisoner started a little, just a little, don’t you know, and +then he smiled and began to rub his eyes, as if he had +just been awakened. The general got angry and said now<a name="Page_206" id="Page_206"><span class="pagenum">[206]</span></a> +there was no use for him to make believe and to keep his +mouth shut and the assistant procureur said very politely +he might as well tell them a little more about himself and +the people he knew in Miroslav, as they were well known +to the gendarmes anyhow. They coaxed him and coaxed +him and coaxed him until he shouted: ‘As to myself I have +the honour of being a member of the Party of the Will of +the People. As to those I know in Miroslav, I assure you +I don’t know anybody here.’ But didn’t he tease them! +'I hoped to form some connections here,’ he said, 'but +then you were foolish enough to arrest me without giving +me a chance. The St. Petersburg gendarmes will laugh +at you when they hear of the kind of job you have made +of it.’”</p> + +<p>Pavel roared. He thought Makar’s taunting answer +would induce the local gendarme office to detain him in +the hope of discovering his prospective “connections.”</p> + +<p>“Only why should he have said he was a member of the +Party of the Will of the People? That will aggravate his +case,” Clara said.</p> + +<p>“That was the dream of his life—to say that, and to +say it triumphantly, to some gendarme officers. At any +rate, we have no time to lose.”</p> + +<p>That afternoon Pavel had a talk with Makar from the +top of the hill overlooking the prison yard.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah!” Makar’s handkerchief flashed back in answer +to his first “hello.” “They know my name. I had +some fun with them.”</p> + +<p>“It was all right, only for the sake of everything that +is noble, don’t aggravate your case. Otherwise everything +looks bright. Answer no more of their questions.”</p> + +<p>“Crazy to wag my tongue. Have not spoken so long. +I am trying to make a convert of my guard. Pastime.”</p><p><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207"><span class="pagenum">[207]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Don’t, for God’s sake don’t, or you’ll ruin it all. +Promise to keep silent. Do you?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t get angry. I can see your handkerchief gnashing +its teeth. Only one thing more. May I?”</p> + +<p>“Hurry up.”</p> + +<p>“Here, in prison I am openly a citizen of the Social +Republic, and the Czar is powerless to subdue me. I am +in a cell. What more can he do with me? But here, in +this cell, where his power is most complete, I openly defy +him, all his gendarmes and army notwithstanding.”</p> + +<p>Pavel went away, cursing and laughing.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Every scheme of the conspirators turned out to be beset +with insurmountable difficulties. Clara did not tell Pavel +all she knew and made light of those obstacles with which +he was acquainted, but in her own heart she was extremely +uneasy.</p> + +<p>One evening Pavel sat on a bench in front of a public +house, smoking a cheap pipe. He had a loaded pistol in +his pocket and a dagger under his vest. The prison was +a short distance round the third corner. When one of the +customers of the public house seated himself by his side +Pavel engaged him in conversation, talking garrulously in +the manner of a humble, careworn government clerk.</p> + +<p>At last a way had been found for the provision man to +take Makar out of the prison yard. This was what kept +Pavel in this out-of-the-way spot. In the near vicinity +of the inn stood a droshky. The appearance of the provision +waggon, full of empty sacks and some barrels, at a +corner diagonally across the street was to serve as a signal +for Pavel to walk up to a deserted ditch-bridge, where the +runaway was expected to emerge from under the sacks and +to put on a military cap. Then Makar and Boulatoff<a name="Page_208" id="Page_208"><span class="pagenum">[208]</span></a> +would gain the droshky, mount it, and be driven to the +Palace—the best hiding place one could find in all Miroslav.</p> + +<p>Pavel was calm, determined, ready to shoot and to be +shot at. By degrees he grew fidgety. Presently Clara +passed along. He rose to his feet and went off in the +opposite direction, the two meeting in the next street.</p> + +<p>“It was a fizzle to-day, but it’ll be all right, Pasha,” +she said in a cheery, matter-of-fact voice. “As ill luck +would have it, there were some people about.”</p> + +<p>Pavel’s brows contracted. “He’ll try again, of course.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. He will be there in four days.”</p> + +<p>“Four days! Couldn’t he make it sooner?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll let you know.”</p> + +<p>“Wait, dearest. Are you sure the people in the prison +are not getting suspicious about you?” He had asked +the question and she had answered it more than once +before.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think they are. Mme. Shubeyko and the +Sparrow are the only ones who know all about it. As to +Rodkevitch, he understands it all, of course, but he pretends +not to. The Sparrow has his ‘bosom friend’ among +the keepers, but that man does not know anything about +me. I am quite sure of it.”</p> + +<p>“The fewer who know what you are doing there the +better, of course. Don’t be foolhardy, my charming one. +Oh, I do wish it was all over. Mother wants you to go to +the country with her, and I should join you two for some +time.”</p> + +<p>With a passionate handshake they parted, Clara directing +her steps to the prison building. The tremulous solicitude +of his warning, his tender concern for her safety left +a glow of happiness and devotion in her. She visioned<a name="Page_209" id="Page_209"><span class="pagenum">[209]</span></a> +him with his pistol and dagger and her heart was crushed +with anxiety. With his hot-blooded temerity he was apt +to act rashly, to use violence and stake his own life and +Makar’s before it was necessary. Pavel’s mode of taking +away the prisoner had never appealed to her strongly, and +now the idea was growing on her of stealing a march on +Pavel, of bringing about Makar’s liberation when her +lover was not on hand. And the more she thought of thus +repaying his loving care for herself the keener became her +joy in the plan.</p> + +<p>Still, the general situation looked so discouraging, that +with all her thrills of amorous delight, she was in a state +of black despair. The truth of the matter was that the +provision man, who was eager to earn a few hundred rubles +and to be plucky, had proved to be a most unreliable, +boastful coward. Clara was cudgelling her brain for some +new scheme, for some new line of action, when an important +suggestion came from an unforeseen quarter. Mme. +Shubeyko arrived at the prison, all in a flutter with a discovery: +Father Michail, the prison priest, bore considerable +resemblance to Makar.</p> + +<p>“That’s so, but what of it?” Clara said between irritation +and agreeable surprise.</p> + +<p>“What of it! Why,—I have thought it all out, you +may be sure of that. It all occurred to me only an hour +ago. Even less,” she said with that silly smile of hers +which usually so annoyed Pavel and which at this moment +exasperated Clara even more than it would her quick-tempered +lover.</p> + +<p>“What did occur to you?” Clara asked, with the least +bit of venom on the “did.”</p> + +<p>Mme. Shubeyko started to explain, but her listener +divined the rest herself: Makar might pass out in the disguise<a name="Page_210" id="Page_210"><span class="pagenum">[210]</span></a> +of a priest, while Father Michail was with the +prisoners.</p> + +<p>“It’s an excellent idea!” she murmured gravely. She +could scarcely bring herself to believe that the plan had +emanated from an absurd brain like that of the woman +before her.</p> + +<p>“Someone could detain Father Michail until it was all +safely over,” Mme. Shubeyko went on. “He’s awfully +fond of card-playing, and if a pretty young lady like yourself +was his partner he would never have the heart to get +up from the table, I know he wouldn’t.”</p> + +<p>The Sparrow, however, overruled the whole plan. +Father Michail had been connected with the prison for +twenty years and the two gatemen knew him as they did +their own wives. What was more, the day gateman and +the priest were particularly fond of each other and often +exchanged jokes.</p> + +<p>Clara’s hands dropped to her sides. Then she clenched +a fist and said: “Oh, nonsense. He’ll never know. If +Father Michail did not speak to him he wouldn’t think it +strange, would he?”</p> + +<p>“No, but the gateman might speak to him. Besides, +you’ll have to get up early to fool him, lady.” Every +officer in the prison building had his nickname, and this +vigilant gateman who was a very fat man was known as +Double Chin. He seemed to be dozing half the time; +but the Sparrow assured Clara that when his little eyes +were shut they saw even better than when they were open.</p> + +<p>“Nonsense. Your imagination carries you too far. +Anyhow, nothing venture, nothing have. We must get +that man out.”</p> + +<p>“Ready to serve you, young lady, only if I may say so, +I don’t like the plan at all, young lady.”</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211"><span class="pagenum">[211]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV.</h2> + +<h3>VLADIMIR FINDS HIS CAUSE.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">THE next morning, as Clara walked along Kasimir +Street, she saw Volodia Vigdoroff, her cousin, talking +and laughing exuberantly to two elderly men in +front of the flashy window of a drug store. One of his listeners +wore a military uniform. It was Dr. Lipnitzky (Jewish +physicians had not yet been proscribed from the Russian +army)—a grey-haired, smooth-shaven, pudgy little man +with three medals across his breast. It was at the Turkish +war that he had won these decorations. Clara could +never look at him without feeling a taste of sickness in +her mouth like the one she had felt one day shortly after +the war, when she was sick in bed and the little doctor, +bending over, shouted to her to open her mouth wider. +The best physician in town, he was the terror of his uneducated +co-religionists. When a Jewish housewife paid +him his fee in copper instead of silver, or neglected to wrap +it up in paper, he would make an ugly scene, asking the +poor woman at the top of his voice when she and others +like her would learn to live like human beings. Sometimes, +when a family failed to pay him altogether, pleading +poverty, he would call them a lot of prevaricating +knaves with a snug little hoard in the old woman’s stocking, +and carry off a copper pan or brass candlestick. In every +case of this sort, however, the pan or the brass candlestick<a name="Page_212" id="Page_212"><span class="pagenum">[212]</span></a> +was sure to come back, sometimes with a ruble or two into +the bargain.</p> + +<p>The other man to whom Vigdoroff was speaking was +Paul Zundel, the musical autocrat of the province. He +was as small of stature and as irascible as Dr. Lipnitzky—a +grey-haired dandy with a Mexican complexion and a pair +of long black side whiskers tipped with white. He was a +graduate of a German conservatory and spoke several languages +with illiterate fluency.</p> + +<p>They were both bachelors and both were frequent visitors +at the governor’s house, where they were liked as much +for the money they usually lost in cards (although in other +houses they were known as sharp players) as for their +professional services. They spent large sums on the education +of Jewish children and were particularly interested +in the spread of modern culture among their people. In +other words, they advocated and worked for the assimilation +of their people with the “deep-rooted” population. +When a Talmud boy was ambitious to give up his divine +studies for “Gentile books” and his old-fashioned garb +for a gymnasium uniform, the two eccentric bachelors were +his two stars of hope.</p> + +<p>Vigdoroff overtook Clara as she turned the next corner. +They had not met since the night when they quarrelled in +front of Boyko’s court.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t see you until I happened to turn round,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“He is trying to prove that he is not afraid of being +seen in my company,” she thought to herself, as she said +aloud: “I saw you talking to Dr. Lipnitzky and Zundel.”</p> + +<p>They walked in silence a few steps. Then he uttered +with a smile:</p> + +<p>“Have you taken a vow to give us a wide berth?”</p><p><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213"><span class="pagenum">[213]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Not at all.”</p> + +<p>“Father and mother are always at me for it. They +think I am to blame for your sudden estrangement.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody is to blame, and there is no estrangement. +Why use such words?”</p> + +<p>“Is it only a matter of words? They are accustomed +to look upon you and me as brother and sister. Do you +deny that our roads have parted?”</p> + +<p>“If they have, then, what need is there of writing at +the bottom of the picture: ‘This is a lion?’” she asked +testily. “If it’s a lion it’s a lion.”</p> + +<p>“Would it be better to shut one’s eyes to the truth? +As for me, common ordinary mortal that I am, I try to +call a spade a spade.”</p> + +<p>He spoke with venom, but it was all perfunctory and +they were both aware of it. Then he described, with +exaggerated ardour, the successes achieved by the Pupils’ +Aid Society in which he was now actively interested.</p> + +<p>Since their talk on the bench in front of Boyko’s Court +he had been longing for some humanitarian cause, for one +unassociated with the hazards of the revolutionary movement. +He would prove to Clara that he was no inferior +creature. Her taunt that he had seized upon the Jewish +question, in the course of their debate, merely as a drowning +man seizes at a straw, and the implication that no +phase of the problem of human suffering made the slightest +appeal to him had left a cruel sting in his heart. Since +then his thoughts had often turned upon the Jewish question, +until he found his “cause” in the dissemination +of Russian culture among his people. Formerly he had +been contented with being “assimilated” himself. Now +he was going to dedicate his best energies to the work +of lessening that distance between Jew and Gentile, which<a name="Page_214" id="Page_214"><span class="pagenum">[214]</span></a> +was, so he argued, the source of all the woes of his race. +As good luck would have it, there was such a thing as difference +of opinion. “It is not anxiety about my ‘precious +skin,’” he would picture himself saying to Clara, “that +keeps me from reading underground prints. Did I believe +in them I should do as you do. But if you think +I live for myself only you don’t know me. I have another +cause, one to which my convictions call me and to which I +am going to give all that is in me.”</p> + +<p>“And you?” he asked. “Still planting a paradise on +earth?”</p> + +<p>She smiled.</p> + +<p>“Well, as for me, I content myself with working on +such a humble beginning as a little bridge across the gap +between Jew and Gentile.”</p> + +<p>He consciously led the way past a Gentile of enormous +bulk, who stood in the doorway of a furrier’s shop. It +was Rasgadayeff, the landlord of the Vigdoroffs’ residence, +he himself occupying the inner building on the same courtyard. +He was a wealthy merchant with the figure of a +barrel and arms that looked as though they had been +hung up to dry, an impetuous Great-Russian, illiterate +and good-hearted, shrewd in making money, but with no +sense of its value when it came to spending it. Every +other week he went off on a hideous spree, and then, besides +smashing costly mirrors, which is the classical sport +of the drunken Great-Russian merchant, he would indulge +in such pastimes as offering a prize to every ten-year-old +boy who would drain a tumbler of vodka, setting fire +to live horses or wrecking the furniture in his own +house. On such days his wife often sought shelter +with the Vigdoroffs for fear of being beaten to death. +Until a few years ago he had stood at the head of the fur<a name="Page_215" id="Page_215"><span class="pagenum">[215]</span></a> +trade. Since then a Jewish dealer, who went off on no +sprees, had been a formidable competitor to him. Rasgadayeff +now hated Jews in general as he had never done +before. The Vigdoroffs were an exception. He was sincerely +fond of the whole family, and entrusted the old man +with some of his most important business secrets.</p> + +<p>“Our humblest regards to Clara Rodionovna!” he said, +with gay suavity, taking off his hat. “As also to Vladimir +Alexandrovich!”</p> + +<p>They returned the salute, and were about to pass on, +but he checked them.</p> + +<p>“A rose of a girl, I tell you that,” he went on, addressing +himself to Vladimir, while he looked at the girl with +rather offensive admiration. “Young men are fools nowadays. +If I were one of them I should take no chances +with a lassie like that. A plum, a bouquet, a song-bird of +a mademoiselle. I should propose and get her and waste +no time, or—one, two, three, and the lovey-dovey may +be snapped up by some other fellow.”</p> + +<p>Clara, who was accustomed to this sort of pleasantry +from him, scarcely heard what he said. She was smilingly +making ready to bow herself away, when her cousin asked +of the Great-Russian:</p> + +<p>“And how is her Illustriousness? Have you seen her +lately?”</p> + +<p>“She was here yesterday. Quite stuck on you, Vladimir +Alexandrovich. Sends humblest regards. ‘When is +your learned young friend going to call,’ she says. <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: deleted "">You</ins> +have a sage of a cousin, Clara Rodionovna, an eagle of a +fellow, a cabinet minister!”</p> + +<p>“All right,” Vladimir returned, with an amused smile, +yet reddening with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Clara remarked to herself that her cousin was flaunting<a name="Page_216" id="Page_216"><span class="pagenum">[216]</span></a> +his successes with Gentiles before her. When they resumed +their walk she inquired reluctantly:</p> + +<p>“Who is ‘her Illustriousness’?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s that lame tramp of a woman, Princess +Chertogoff,” he rejoined, with gestures of contempt and +amusement, yet inwardly tingling with vanity at his acquaintance +with her impecunious “Illustriousness.” The +wealthy Great-Russian was a large holder of Princess +Chertogoff’s promissory notes, and it was at his house +where Vladimir had met her on several occasions. The +lame noblewoman knew that Rasgadayeff was fond of the +Vigdoroffs. When she saw the young man last she had, +by way of currying favour with her creditor, asked the +educated son of his “favourite Jew” to call on her whenever +he was in the mood for it, and to “let her hear what +was going on among wise men and authors.”</p> + +<p>Vladimir and Clara passed on. He spoke of Rasgadayeff’s +latest escapades and Clara listened with little +bursts of merriment, but their voices did not ring true. +Presently they exchanged greetings with Ginsburg, the notorious +money-lender of Miroslav, a small, red-headed man +with crumpled cheeks and big bulging eyes.</p> + +<p>“Here is another treat for you!” Vladimir said, in +high spirits. “Another specimen of moral perfection. +Some gigantic hand must have grabbed him by the head, +squeezing it like a paper ball till the eyes started from +their sockets, and then thrown him into a waste basket. +That’s the way he looks.” She smiled awkwardly.</p> + +<p>He then called her attention to two bewigged old women, +both of them apparently deaf, who were talking +into each other’s ear, and then to the picturesque figure +of a dumpy little shoemaker with a new, carefully-shined +pair of topboots in his hand. Clara had never been interested<a name="Page_217" id="Page_217"><span class="pagenum">[217]</span></a> +in things of this sort, but this time, in her eagerness +to get away, added to a growing sense of awkwardness, +his observations literally grated on her nerves. At +last, when they reached a crossing, she stopped, putting +out her hand.</p> + +<p>“Somebody is waiting for me,” she said. “Remember +me to uncle and aunt, will you?”</p> + +<p>“I will. Won’t you look in at all?” As she turned +to take the side street, he added: “Our roads do part, +then.”</p> + +<p>Her appointment was with Orlovsky. She had not attended +the gatherings of the Circle at his house for a considerable +time. He conjectured that she was engaged in +some revolutionary undertaking of importance. He had +missed her so abjectly that he had finally decided to avow +his love. This was what he had made the appointment +for. When she came, however, he cowed before her rich +complexion and intelligent eyes and talked of the affairs +of the Circle. A similar attempt at a love declaration +was made that evening by Elkin, with similar results. By +way of opening the conversation he indulged in a series +of virulent taunts upon her long absence and the great +revolutionary secrets that he said were written on her +face, after which his efforts to turn the conversation into +romantic channels proved futile. He came away agonised +with jealousy. He was jealous of the girl and he was +jealous of the mysterious conspiracy in which she seemed +to be engaged and into which he, her revolutionary sponsor, +had not been initiated.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>As to Vigdoroff, he was seized with a desire to avail +himself of Princess Chertogoff’s invitation, not merely to +gratify his personal ambition, but also, so he assured himself,<a name="Page_218" id="Page_218"><span class="pagenum">[218]</span></a> +as part of his “cause.” On his way thither he paused +once or twice in front of shop windows to ascertain whether +his face was not strikingly Semitic. “Not offensively so, +anyhow,” he concluded before a mirror at the entrance to a +furniture store. The mirror reflected a well-made, athletic-looking +young man one could have told for a college +man through a veil. The picturesque irregularity of his +features, somewhat flat in the middle of the face, drew an +image of culture, of intellectual interest. He felt on his +mettle. He would make a favourable impression, and that +impression was to be another step across the distance not +only between Gentile society and himself, but between all +Jews and all Gentiles. His visit to the noblewoman was +a mission. He was in an exalted mood.</p> + +<p>At the house of Princess Chertogoff he found a cavalry +officer and an officer of the imperial guards. He was received +with patronising urbanity. The hostess introduced +the two young officers as her sons, come from St. Petersburg +to take a glimpse at their old mother, and Vigdoroff +as “one of the brilliant young intellects of our town.” +This was her excuse before her sons for having invited a +Jew to the house and Vigdoroff was not unaware of it. The +cavalryman’s face was round and stern, while his brother’s +was oblong and smiling. When they were drunk, which +happened quite often, their faces would swap expressions. +It was chiefly owing to their expensive escapades that +their mother’s fortune had passed into the coffers of usurers. +The two uniformed men left almost immediately, +pleading a pressing engagement.</p> + +<p>The welcome Vladimir found at this house was one extended +by a patroness of the fine arts to a devotee of letters. +It was not long before Vigdoroff found himself +fully launched on a favourite subject. Russia’s supremacy<a name="Page_219" id="Page_219"><span class="pagenum">[219]</span></a> +in modern literature and her false modesty became clearer +to him with every new work of fiction that came from the +foreign masters. The best models of the German, French +or English novel were tainted with artificiality. Russia +alone produced stories that were absolutely free from +powder and rouge. He dwelt on Zola’s <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'L'Assomoir'"><i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">L’Assommoir</i></ins> and +Daudet’s <i>Nabob</i>, both of which had appeared a short time +before, and each of which was looked upon as its author’s +masterpiece. He saw that his hostess neither understood +nor cared for these things; that he was making a fool of +himself; yet, being too ill at ease to stop, he went sliding +down hill. He spoke by heart as it were, the sound of his +own voice increasing his embarrassment.</p> + +<p>The princess was listening with an air of pompous +assent, barely following the general drift of his talk. Her +majestic crutches terrified him.</p> + +<p>A man servant brought in a silver samovar and a tray +of Little-Russian cookies. As Vigdoroff took up his glass +of tea the princess said:</p> + +<p>“I did not know you were so much of a Russian patriot. +Quite an unusual thing in an educated young man these +days. I certainly agree with you that Turgeneff is a good +writer. He is perfectly charming.”</p> + +<p>Later on she asked, with lazy curiosity and in her pampered +enunciation:</p> + +<p>“Do you really think our novelists greater than the +great writers of France?”</p> + +<p>“I certainly do.”</p> + +<p>“That’s interesting,” she said, preparing to get rid of +him.</p> + +<p>“You see, the average Russian represents a remarkable +duality. He is simple-hearted and frank, like a child, yet +he is possessed of an intuitive sense of human nature that<a name="Page_220" id="Page_220"><span class="pagenum">[220]</span></a> +would be considered marvellous in a sage. In addition, +he is the most soulful fellow in the world, and to turn his +soul inside out, to himself as well as to others, is one of +his ruling passions. That accounts for the inimitable +naturalness and the ardent human interest of our literature. +Whether Russia knows how to construct machinery or +not, she certainly knows how to write.”</p> + +<p>“You do love Russia, and literature, too”—yawning +demonstratively. “I had an idea Hebrews were only interested +in money matters.” She smiled, an embarrassed +smile in which there was as much malice as apology, and +dismissed him quite unceremoniously.</p> + +<p>He got into the street with his face on fire. It was +as if he had been subjected to some brutal physical indignities. +“‘I didn’t know you were so much of a Russian +patriot,’” he recalled in his agony. “Of course, I’m only +a Jew, not a Russian. It makes no difference how many +centuries my people have lived and suffered here. And I, +idiot that I am, make a display of my love for Gogol, Turgeneff, +Dostoyevski, as if I, ‘a mere Jew,’ had a right to +them! She must have thought it was all affectation, Jewish +cunning. As if a Jew could care for anything but +‘money matters.’ The idea of one of my race caring for +books, and for Gentile books, too!”</p> + +<p>He was as innocent of the world of money as was Clara’s +father. As to the great Russian writers, they were not +merely favourite authors with him. They were saints, apostles, +of a religion of which he was a fervent devotee. This, +in fact, was the real “cause” which he had mutely served +for the past six or seven years. Their images, the swing +and rhythm of their sentences, the flavour of their style, +the odour of the pages as he had first read them—all this +was a sanctuary to him. Yet he had always felt as if he<a name="Page_221" id="Page_221"><span class="pagenum">[221]</span></a> +had no right to this devotion, as if he were an intruder. +This was the unspoken tragedy of his life.</p> + +<p>Since a boy of ten, when he entered the gymnasium, he +had been crying out to Russia, his country, to recognise +a child in him—not a step-child merely. And just because +he was looked upon as a step-child he loved his native +land even more passionately than did his fellow-countrymen +of Slavic blood.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Alexander, or Sender, Vigdoroff, Vladimir’s father, was +known among his co-religionists as Sender the Arbitrator. +His chief source of income was petition-writing and sundry +legal business, but the Jews of Miroslav often submitted +their differences to him. These he settled by the +force of an imperturbable and magnetic disposition rather +than through any special gift of judgment and insight. +He was full of anecdotes and inaggressive humour. It was +said of him that people who came to his house obdurate +and bitter “melted like wax” in his sunny presence. As +a rule, indeed, it was the contending parties themselves +who then found a way to an amicable solution of the point +at issue, but the credit for it was invariably given to +Sender the Arbitrator, and his reputation for wisdom +brought him some Gentile patrons in addition to his Jewish +clientele. His iron safe always contained large sums +in cash or valuables entrusted to him by others. When a +young couple were engaged to be married the girl’s marriage-portion +was usually deposited with Sender the +Arbitrator. When security was agreed upon in connection +with some contract the sum was placed in the hands +of Sender the Arbitrator.</p> + +<p>His stalwart figure, blond, curling locks and toothless +smile; his frilled shirt-front, everlasting brown frock-coat<a name="Page_222" id="Page_222"><span class="pagenum">[222]</span></a> +and huge meerschaum cigar-holder—all this was as familiar +to the Jews of Miroslav as the public buildings of +their town. The business of petition-writing was gradually +passing into the hands of younger and better educated +men, graduated lawyers regularly admitted to the +bar, and his income was dwindling. “I could arbitrate +any misunderstanding under the sun except the one between +Luck and myself,” he used to say, smiling toothlessly. +Still, he made a comfortable income, and money +was spent freely not only on his household but on all sorts +of hangers-on. Vladimir’s education cost him more than +his means warranted. Besides keeping him at the +gymnasium and then at the university he had hired +him private teachers of French, German and music. +“There are a thousand Gentiles to every Jew,” was one +of his sayings. “That’s why every Jew should possess +as much intelligence as a thousand Gentiles. Else we +shall be crushed.” He was something like a connecting +link between the old world and the new. He had a large +library, mostly made up of German and Hebrew books. +His house was the haunt of “men of wisdom,” that is, +people who wrote or thought upon modern topics in the +language of Isaiah and Jeremiah, free-thinkers whose +source of inspiration were atheistic ideas expounded in +the Holy Tongue; yet on Saturday nights his neighbours +would gather in his drawing room to discuss foreign politics +and to chant psalms in the dark. He had the head of +an agnostic and the heart of an orthodox Jew.</p> + +<p>It was late in the afternoon when Vladimir reached +home. His father was in the library, which was also his +office, conversing with his copyist—a dapper little man +whom his employer described as “an artistic penman and +an artistic fool.” The windows were open. The room<a name="Page_223" id="Page_223"><span class="pagenum">[223]</span></a> +was filled with twilight and with warm air that seemed to +be growing softer and more genial every minute.</p> + +<p>“Is that you, Volodia?” the old man asked.</p> + +<p>Volodia only nodded. It was easy to see that he was +dejected. His father became interested and dismissed the +clerk.</p> + +<p>“Anything the matter, Volodia?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Nothing is the matter.” An answer of this sort usually +indicated that the young man was burning to unbosom +himself of something or other and that he needed some +coaxing to do so. Intellectually the mutual relations of +father and son were of a rather peculiar nature. Each +looked up to the other and courted his approbation without +the other being aware of it. Their discussions often had +the character of an epigram-match.</p> + +<p>When Volodia had told his father of his experience at +the house of the lame princess, the old man said:</p> + +<p>“I see you are quite excited over it. As for me, that +penniless spendthrift reminds me of the pig that mistook +the nobleman’s backyard for the interior of his mansion. +The backyard was all the pig had seen of the place, and +money-lenders are the only kind of Jews that lame drone +has ever had an occasion to know. That she should mistake +a handful of usurers for the whole Jewish people is +the most natural thing in the world.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but they are all like that, father. Unfortunately +the Jewish people are just the opposite of women in this +respect. Women have a knack of flaunting all that is prepossessing +and of concealing that which is unattractive +in them. If the Gentiles see none but the worst Jews there +are we have ourselves to blame.”</p> + +<p>“But they don’t care to see any other Jews. As a rule, +the good Jew has no money to lend. They have no use<a name="Page_224" id="Page_224"><span class="pagenum">[224]</span></a> +for him. More than half of our people are hard-working +mechanics on the verge of starvation. Do you expect an +ornament like your Princess Chertogoff and her precious +sons to make <i>their</i> acquaintance? Of the rest the great +majority are starving tradesmen, teachers, Talmudists, +dreamers. Would you have a Gentile reprobate go to these +for a loan?”</p> + +<p>Vladimir sat silent awhile, gazing through the open window +at the thickening dusk. Then he said, listlessly at +first, but gathering ardour from the relish he took in his +own point:</p> + +<p>“You are as unjust to the good Gentiles as they are +to the good Jews. What is needed is more understanding +between the two. If the dreamers and scholars you refer +to could speak Russian and looked less antediluvian than +they do the prejudice that every Jew is a money-lender +would gradually disappear. As it is, Jew and Gentile +are like two apples that come in mutual contact at a point +where they are both rotten.”</p> + +<p>“The Jewish apple was originally sound, Volodia. It’s +through association with their Gentile neighbours that they +have been demoralised—at the point of contact; our faults +are theirs; our virtues are our own.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, this is a very one-sided view to take of it, father,” +Volodia rejoined, resentfully. What he coveted was consolation, +not an attack on everything that he held dear, +that was the soul of his best years and ambitions. His +father’s light-hearted derision of the entire Russian people +irritated him. “If some Jews become demoralised through +contact with Gentile knaves, other Jews are uplifted, ennobled, +sanctified by coming under the influence of the +great Russian thinkers, poets, friends of the people,” he +went on, emphasising his words with something like a<a name="Page_225" id="Page_225"><span class="pagenum">[225]</span></a> +feeling of spite. “Yours is an extremely one-sided view +to take, father.”</p> + +<p>The elder Vigdoroff was cowed. He felt himself convicted +of narrow-mindedness, of retrogression, of fogyism, +and by way of disproving the charge he put up a defence +that was disguised in the form of an attack. Vladimir +replied bitterly, venting his misery on his father. The +two found themselves on the verge of one of those feuds +which sometimes divided them for days without either +having the courage to take the first step toward a reconciliation, +but their discussion was broken by the appearance +of a servant carrying a lamp. She was followed by Vladimir’s +mother, a mountain of shapeless, trembling flesh with +a torpid, wide-eyed look. In the yellow light the family +likeness between father and son came pleasingly into view. +Only the face of the one had a touch of oriental quaintness +in it, while the other’s was at once mellowed and intensified +by the tinge of modern culture. Clara’s mother was +a sister of the elder Vigdoroff, but she resembled him +only slightly. The girl’s features suggested her uncle far +more than they did her mother.</p> + +<p>“Never mind the lamp,” the Arbitrator said somewhat +irately.</p> + +<p>“Never mind the lamp!” his wife said, fixing her +torpid eyes on him. “Are you crazy? Don’t mind +him”—to the servant girl. The servant girl set the +lamp down on the table and withdrew, her big fleshy mistress +taking a seat by her son’s side.</p> + +<p>“Go about your business,” her husband said, good-naturedly. +“You are disturbing our discussion. I was +just getting started when you came in and spoiled the job. +Go. There may be some beggar-woman waiting for you in +the kitchen.”</p><p><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226"><span class="pagenum">[226]</span></a></p> + +<p>She made a mocking gesture without stirring, and her +husband resumed his argument.</p> + +<p>She was one of a very small number of Jewish women +who attended divine service on week-days. She was the +game of every woman pedlar and beggar in town, with +whom she usually communed when her husband was out. +When not thus occupied, buying useless bargains or listening +to some poor woman’s tale of woe, she would spend +much of her time in her big easy chair, dozing over a +portly psalter. Her husband was perpetually quizzing her +on her piety and her surreptitious bargains. On Fridays, +when beggars came in troops for their pennies, the Arbitrator +would sometimes divert himself by encouraging +some of them to fall into line more than once.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227"><span class="pagenum">[227]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXV.</h2> + +<h3>CLARA BECOMES “ILLEGAL.”</h3> + + +<p class="cap">LATE the next afternoon Mme. Shubeyko called at the +warden’s house with a blue silk handkerchief round +her face, apparently suffering from a swollen cheek +or toothache.</p> + +<p>An hour or more later, while she and Rodkevich were +absorbed in a game of cards in the parlour and a solitary +star shone out of the semi-obscurity of a colorless sky, +Makar, clean-shaven and clad as a woman, with a blue handkerchief +round his face, advanced toward the gate. Clara +stood in the doorway of the warden’s office, watching the +scene. “Double Chin,” the gateman, was still on duty, +and as the disguised prisoner approached him the impersonation +struck her as absurdly defective. Another second +and all would be lost with a crash. Her heart stood still. +She shut her eyes with a sick feeling, but the next instant +she sprang forward, bonnetless, addressing Makar by Mme. +Shubeyko’s name.</p> + +<p>“You must not forget to let us know, dear,” she said +aloud, placing herself between him and the gateman and +shutting the disguised man from view. “A swollen gum +is a dangerous thing to neglect, you know. Yes, figs and +milk. I’ll see you down the road, dear.”</p> + +<p>The heavy key groaned in the lock, the ponderous gate +swung open and Makar and Clara walked out into the twilight<a name="Page_228" id="Page_228"><span class="pagenum">[228]</span></a> +of the street—he with a rush of joy, she in a turmoil +of triumph and despair. It seemed as if he had +never vividly hoped to see liberty, and now, suddenly, he +had found himself breathing the very breath of it; while +she who, a minute ago, could have walked freely through +the streets, was now the quarry of that terrible force called +government.</p> + +<p>As soon as they reached the ditch, a short distance from +the prison building, Makar pulled off his feminine attire, +threw it under the little foot-bridge, and put on a government +official’s cap. Masha, the gendarme officer’s sister, +was to await him round the corner; her house was within +easy reach from here, and Makar was to be taken there +to change his disguise and then to be driven to the Palace; +but it had all come about much sooner than they had +expected, and she had not yet arrived.</p> + +<p>“Never mind. Hire a cab to Cucumber Market,” Clara +said. “There you can cross some streets in the opposite +direction and then take another cab direct for Theatre +Square. A very short walk will bring you to the Palace. +Don’t forget the names: First Cucumber Market and +then Theatre Square,” she repeated, coolly.</p> + +<p>He nodded with a reassuring smile, shook her hand +warmly, and they parted.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Double Chin was soon to be relieved. Had he left his +post before the guards missed Makar, the connection existing +between Mme. Shubeyko’s toothache and Makar’s escape +would never have been discovered, and Clara would +have come out uncompromised. But Clara was too slow +in returning, and the fat gateman was an impressionable, +suspicious man, so he presently made inquiry. He found +that Mme. Shubeyko was still in the warden’s parlour,<a name="Page_229" id="Page_229"><span class="pagenum">[229]</span></a> +nursing her cheek with one hand and holding her cards +with the other.</p> + +<p>In the commotion that followed the discovery Rodkevich +wept hysterically and beat the gateman, while Mme. +Shubeyko went about invoking imprecations upon the sly +prisoner for stealing her new spring cloak, bonnet and +parasol.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Clara stood at a point of vantage, watching +developments. Had Double Chin left the building at the +usual hour, without the prison betraying any signs of disquiet, +she would have returned to her room in the warden’s +house at once, and thus saved her legal existence. Otherwise +she would have been forced to escape and join the +army of the “ne-legalny” (illegal), of political outlaws +like the majority of Pavel’s intimate friends in St. Petersburg. +About twenty minutes had elapsed from the time +she had parted from Makar, when she saw human figures +burst from the prison-gate, accompanied by the violent +trill of a police whistle. Her heart sank at the sound. +From this minute on Miroslav would be forbidden ground +to her. A <i>ne-legalny</i> is something neither dead nor alive, +the everlasting prey of gendarmes, policemen, spies—of +the Czar himself, it seemed; a “cut-off slice;” an outcast +without the right of being either an outcast or a member +of the community, a creature without name, home or identity. +She was appallingly forbidding to herself. But +then in the underground world <i>ne-legalny</i> is a title of +indescribable distinction, and at this moment Clara seemed +to feel in her own person the sanctity which she had been +wont to associate with the word.</p> + +<p>By ridding herself of her starched collar and ribbon and +hastily rearranging her hair into a coarse, dishevelled knot +she was sufficiently transformed to look like a young woman<a name="Page_230" id="Page_230"><span class="pagenum">[230]</span></a> +of the masses to strangers. She could not go to the +Palace without a hat, however, and buying one at this +hour would have attracted undesirable attention. So she +first went to the house of Beile, her uneducated sister. +Her father’s address or full name being unknown at the +prison, it would be some time before the police came to +look for her at her sister’s.</p> + +<p>Beile was a little woman of thirty with glowing dark +eyes and a great capacity for tears and nagging. She +resembled her parents neither in looks nor in character, +and her mother often wondered “whence she came into +the family.” Her husband, a man learned in the Talmud, +was absorbed day and night in an effort to build up a small +business in hides. As a consequence, the space under +Beile’s bed was usually occupied with raw skins and the +two-room apartment which they shared with a tailor was +never free from odours of putrefaction.</p> + +<p>Clara entered the room with a smile. The first thing +she did was to kiss and slap Ruchele, her sister’s little girl, +and to tickle her baby brother under the chin.</p> + +<p>“Why, where is your hat?” Beile screamed in amazement.</p> + +<p>Her own hat was a matronly bonnet which she never +wore except on Saturdays, when she would put it on over +her wig, tying its two long, broad ribbons under her chin.</p> + +<p>“It blew off into the river as I was crossing the bridge,” +Clara replied. “That’s what brings me here. I want +you to get me a hat, Beile, but you must do it quickly.”</p> + +<p>“Are you crazy? Whatever is the matter with you, +Clara? Whoever heard of a girl taking so little care of her +hat that it should drop into the water? You don’t think +you are a daughter of Rothschild, do you? Did you +ever!”</p><p><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231"><span class="pagenum">[231]</span></a></p> + +<p>“That’s all right, Beile. We’ll talk it all over some +other time. Every minute is of great value to me.”</p> + +<p>Beile thought her sister was in a hurry to attend a lesson, +so she started. As she reached the door, with the +baby in her arms, she couldn’t help facing about again.</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you go down the bank to look for it?” she +asked.</p> + +<p>“But I am telling you I have not a moment’s time +now.”</p> + +<p>The more irritation she betrayed, the more the other +was tempted to nag her.</p> + +<p>“But somebody must have picked it up. It cost you +five rubles and you’ve not worn it ten times.”</p> + +<p>“Beile! Beile!” Clara groaned.</p> + +<p>“Tell me where it is. I’ll go and look for it myself. +Maybe it is not yet too late. Lord of the World, five +rubles!”</p> + +<p>Clara was left with Ruchele, but she changed her mind.</p> + +<p>“I think I’ll wait at Motl’s house,” she said, overtaking +her sister, with the child by her side. “It’s nearer to +my lesson.”</p> + +<p>Motl, the trunk-finisher employed by their mother, +lived a considerable distance from here. Beile gave her +a look full of amazement and dawning intelligence.</p> + +<p>“At Motl’s!” she whispered, sizing up Clara’s dishevelled +appearance. “Where is your collar? A rend into +my heart! What have you been doing to yourself? Anyhow, +go to Motl’s. Or, no, go to Feige’s. That’s much +better. I’ll bring you a hat in ten minutes.” Feige was +a poor old relative of Beile’s by marriage.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When Clara, in a large shepherdess hat and genteel +looking, bade her sister a hurried <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'bood-bye'">good-bye</ins> and made for<a name="Page_232" id="Page_232"><span class="pagenum">[232]</span></a> +the open gate, Ruchele ran after her, yelling so that her +mother had to catch her in her arms and carry her gagged +indoors. That was the only adventure Clara encountered +on her way to the Palace.</p> + +<p>Makar was not there.</p> + +<p>She told Pavel of the rescue in general outline, explaining +that an unexpected opportunity had presented itself +and that there had been no time for sending word to him. +He flew into a rage. So far from being the central figure +in the affair for which he had been priming himself these +many weeks he had been left out of it altogether, left out +like a ninny caught napping. But this was no time for +wounded pride. Clara had unexpectedly become a <i>ne-legalny</i> +and—what was of more immediate concern—what +had become of Makar?</p> + +<p>“I hope he was not taken in the street,” he whispered.</p> + +<p>“Masha might know. Could you send Onufri?”</p> + +<p>Pavel disliked to use the old hussar for errands of this +nature, but in the present juncture there seemed to be no +way out of it.</p> + +<p>Onufri brought back a note in which the words were all +but leaping with excitement.</p> + +<p>“No! No! No!” Masha wrote. “He has not been +caught. My brother has not yet been home. Everybody +is nearly crazy! But I can almost see my brother chuckling—in +his heart of course! Hurrah! Hurrah! Long +live the revolution!”</p> + +<p>“Thank God!” said Clara, shutting her eyes, in a daze +of relief.</p> + +<p>“He’s a trump, after all. If they haven’t caught him +so far I don’t see why he should be caught now. He may +come in at any moment. But where can he be?”</p> + +<p>The next morning, at about ten o’clock, when the countess<a name="Page_233" id="Page_233"><span class="pagenum">[233]</span></a> +heard the doorbell she declared, with intense agitation, +that something told her it was the governor, and so it was. +Clara went into her room.</p> + +<p>“Don’t leave me for a moment, Pasha,” Anna Nicolayevna +entreated her son. “I am afraid to face him alone. +I should be sure to put my foot in it, if I did.”</p> + +<p>“Just leave uncle to me,” said Pavel.</p> + +<p>The old man looked wan and haggard, and was blinking +harder than ever. He began by joking Pasha on the rarity +of his visits at the gubernatorial mansion, but the young +man cut him short.</p> + +<p>“By the way, uncle, is it true that that fellow, the Nihilist, +has escaped?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“How did it reach you so soon?” the governor asked. +“The town must be full of it.”</p> + +<p>“I heard it from a cab-driver last night. It’s awful. +But how did he get out? Say what you will, they are a +clever set, those Nihilists.”</p> + +<p>“Clever nothing! Our gendarmes are the most stupid +lot on God’s earth. That’s where the trouble comes in. +There was a governess at the warden’s house. It was she +who seems to have managed the whole affair. Of course, +the warden is a scoundrel, but what does he know of these +things? It’s for the gendarme office to scent a bird of +that variety, but then the gendarme office is made up of +rogues and blockheads. To clip one’s wings, that’s all +they are good for. Wherever one turns, he bumps his head +against the ‘independent power’ of the gendarmerie. It’s +a government within a government, that’s what it is. +Else one would be able to show St. Petersburg that Miroslav +was not the kind of place for Nihilists and all sorts +of ragamuffins to play the mischief with. Those swaggering +gendarmes go around poking their noses everywhere, smelling<a name="Page_234" id="Page_234"><span class="pagenum">[234]</span></a> +nothing but their own grand epaulets, and yet they are +beyond the control of civil authorities. The consequence +is that when something happens somebody else is held responsible, +because the prisons, forsooth, are under the Department +of the Interior! To set an example of idleness +and stupidity is all they seem to be needed for, the gendarmes; +that’s all, that’s all.”</p> + +<p>Pavel agreed with him.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Another week passed. The police and the gendarmes +were still searching for Makar and the governess, as much +in the dark as ever.</p> + +<p>Yossl Parmet, Makar’s father, was brought to Miroslav +a prisoner, but he was soon discharged. He was proud +of his son. He now fully realised that his Feivish belonged +to a secret society made up of educated people who +preached economic equality and universal brotherhood as +well as political liberty, and that they were ready to go to +prison for their ideas. This made a strong appeal +to his imagination and sympathies, and the fact that his +Feivish had outwitted the authorities and escaped from +prison inclined him to shouts of triumphant laughter. He +searched the Talmud for similar sentiments, and he found +no stint of passages which lent themselves to favourable +interpretation. A new vista of thought and feeling had +opened itself to Yossl.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235"><span class="pagenum">[235]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI.</h2> + +<h3>ON SACRED GROUND.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">IN 1648, when Chmyelnicki’s Cossacks slaughtered 40,000 +Jews, Miroslav was among the cities that fell into their +blood-dripping hands. It was a small town then; +the Jewish population did not exceed eight hundred, but +these unanimously decided to be slain rather than abandon +their faith. Not a man, woman or child was spared. The +scene of the slaughter, a small square in the vicinity of +Cucumber Market, is sacred ground to the Jews of Miroslav. +The Bloody Spot they call it reverently. A synagogue +stands there and ten recluses find shelter under its +roof, so that the Word of God may be heard with unbroken +continuity within its walls. If this house of prayer and +divine study were to fall silent for a single minute, say the +children of the town, the blood of the slain Jews would +burst into a roar of sobbing that could be heard for seven +miles.</p> + +<p>But the ten recluses were not the only Talmudists in +the place. The Old Synagogue, as it was generally called, +was the favourite haunt of scholars. It was here where +Rabbi Rachmiel, Clara’s father, spent every day and evening +in the week except Saturdays and holidays.</p> + +<p>It was about eight o’clock of a warm evening, several +days after the disappearance of the political prisoner. +The Old Synagogue was filled with people. The evening<a name="Page_236" id="Page_236"><span class="pagenum">[236]</span></a> +service was over. Candles flickered on gaunt, tallow-stained +reading-desks and blazing oil-lamps dangled from +the ceiling. The recluses were freely gossiping or snoozing; +there were so many others to do the holy work—a +medley of voices and melodies—from the enthusiastic soprano +of the schoolboy to the dignified drone of the +elderly merchant; from the conscious, over-elaborate intonation +of the newly-married young man to the absorbed +murmur of the tattered old scholar. As to the Talmudists +themselves, they found stimulating harmony in this chaos. +To them it was as if the synagogue itself were singing in +a hundred voices, an inspired choir that quickened one’s +intellectual passions and poured fire into one’s gesticulations.</p> + +<p>One of the younger men in the crowd was Makar. +Seated in a snug corner, with his reading-desk tilted +against his breast, he was sincerely absorbed in a passage +on the slaying of cattle. The treatise is one of the most +intricate in the Talmud, and he had taken it up as he +might a game of chess. The lower part of his face was +buried in the sloping surface of a huge long book, the +handle of a tin candlestick hooked to the top of the folio. +The flame of a guttering candle threw a stream of light +upon his dusky high forehead and heavy black eyebrows. +Slightly rocking the desk, he intoned the Chaldaic text +and the Yiddish interpretations, listening to his own sing-song +as one listens, at some distance, to a familiar voice.</p> + +<p>Rabbi Rachmiel, Clara’s father, was studying quietly in +a corner, in peaceful ignorance of the mad hunt that was +going on for his daughter at this moment. That this red-bearded +little man was the father of the Nihilist girl who +had brought about his escape Makar had not the least idea.</p> + +<p>After bidding Clara good-bye on the evening of his rescue,<a name="Page_237" id="Page_237"><span class="pagenum">[237]</span></a> +he had taken the first cab he came across, getting off +at Cucumber Market, as directed. After zig-zagging about +for five minutes, he was going to hail another cab, but +checked himself because the man proved to be the same +who had brought him to Cucumber Market. A boy stopped +to look at him, whereupon he made up his mind that the +official cap which he wore (and which had been expected +to give him the appearance of a teacher in a government +school for Jews) scarcely went well with his face, and +that it must be this cap of his which had attracted the +boy’s attention. He therefore went to a capmaker’s shop +and bought an ordinary cap, such as is worn by the average +old-fashioned Jew, explaining to the artisan that it +was for his father, who had his size. This part of the +town he knew well, for it was in the centre of the Jewish +quarter, not many minutes’ walk from his former lodgings. +The Old Synagogue was in the same neighbourhood, and +it flashed upon him to seek temporary refuge in the celebrated +house of worship and learning. Living in such a +place was like hiding in the depths of the Fourth Century—the +age of the Talmud, which was still the soul of +the Ghetto, still the fountain-head of the spiritual and intellectual +life of the orthodox Jew. He would be in his +native element there, at any rate, and would certainly feel +more comfortable than amid the imposing interiors of a +noblewoman’s mansion. On his way to the synagogue he +twisted the hair at his temples till he looked as he used +to, before he left Zorki. As to his shave, he prepared an +explanation: he was subject to a species of skin disease +that made shaving unavoidable.</p> + +<p>The assistant beadle at the Old Synagogue was a man +with a luxurious white beard. He was not learned in the +Talmud himself, but he had served in the great “house<a name="Page_238" id="Page_238"><span class="pagenum">[238]</span></a> +of study” so long that he was familiar with the titles of +the various volumes and sections in the same way as an +old servant at a medical college is familiar with anatomical +nomenclature. He danced attendance on every diligent +scholar, and was the terror of every boy who romped or +talked “words of daily life” over his holy book. He +was in charge of the synagogue library and the candle +supply. His salary was no larger than that of a street +labourer, yet he had the appearance of a stern, prosperous +merchant.</p> + +<p>When Makar first applied for a book and a candle the +assistant beadle cast a knowing look at his smooth-shaven +face, and then, handing him the volume, said:</p> + +<p>“You are in the army, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“How do you know, by my shaved face?” Makar asked, +sadly.</p> + +<p>The assistant beadle smiled assent. The skin-disease +story proved unnecessary.</p> + +<p>“There is many a Talmudist among soldiers nowadays,” +the old man said. “To think of a Child of Law having +to live in military bondage, to wear a uniform, to shave +and to handle a gun!” He regarded Makar as a martyr. +When he saw him reading his book in a pleasing, absorbed +sing-song, he paused and watched him with a look of paternal +admiration.</p> + +<p>“Do you belong here?” he asked later.</p> + +<p>“No.” He named the first town that came to his +tongue.</p> + +<p>“Have you relatives here?”</p> + +<p>“No. But I have obtained a furlough and am going +home. I am waiting for a letter and some money. I have +left my uniform with a friend.”</p> + +<p>The assistant beadle asked Makar for news—whether<a name="Page_239" id="Page_239"><span class="pagenum">[239]</span></a> +there were any rumours of some new war, or of some fresh +legislation affecting the condition of Jews. The query +was made on the supposition that Makar, as a member of +the Czar’s army and one who saw so many officers, could +not be unfamiliar with what was going on “up above”; +and Makar appeased the old man’s curiosity with some +suitable bits of information. The assistant beadle was +particularly interested in the story of a certain colonel, +a bitter anti-Semite, who used to beat the Jews in his regiment +because a Jewish money-lender had him under his +thumb. Now this “Jews’ enemy” lay in bed, stricken +with paralysis—a clear case of divine reckoning. Did +Makar know him? Makar said he did.</p> + +<p>The discussion was interrupted by the appearance of a +bewigged woman with a pound of candles, in commemoration +of the anniversary of a death. She wanted to make +sure that they were going to be used for diligent study +and not to be thrown away on loafers, and the assistant +beadle told her that it would be all right and that she had +better go home and put the children to bed. Another +woman, whose boy was studying in a corner, was watching +his gesticulations with beaming reverence. She had an +apple for him and a copper coin for the assistant beadle, +and when she saw Makar looking at her son, she said, nodding +her head blissfully:</p> + +<p>“Praised be the Master of the World. It is not in +vain that I am toiling. The boy will be an adornment to +my old age.”</p> + +<p>Later in the evening a woman burst into the synagogue, +lamenting and wringing her hands. She besought the +recluses to pray for her newly-married daughter, who was +on her death-bed. Makar was deeply touched. He felt +like a foreigner amid these scenes that had once been his<a name="Page_240" id="Page_240"><span class="pagenum">[240]</span></a> +own world, and the consciousness of it filled him with melancholy.</p> + +<p>He slept at the synagogue. After the service next morning +he sent out a boy for some bread, butter and pot cheese, +and at two o’clock a devout widow brought him, at the assistant +beadle’s recommendation, a pot of soup and boiled +meat. He ate his dinner with Talmudistic bashfulness, +the woman looking on piously, and mutely praying to +heaven that her dinner might agree with the holy man +and give him strength for the study of God’s laws.</p> + +<p>Toward evening he ventured out on a stroll through the +spacious courtyard which lay between the Old Synagogue +and several other houses of worship. In this yard was a +great octagonal basin, celebrated for its excellent tea +water, with moss-grown spouts and chained wooden dippers. +He watched the water-bearers with their pails and +the girls with their jugs—a scene that seemed to have +sprung to life from certain passages in the Talmud—until +he came within a hair’s breadth of being recognised +by his former landlady.</p> + +<p>Rabbi Rachmiel was absent from the synagogue that +day. When Makar returned to the house of study he noticed +signs of excitement. The recluses and other students +were absorbed in whispered, panic-stricken conversation. +They dared not discuss the news in groups, some +even pretending to be engrossed in their books, as much +as to say: “In case it comes to the knowledge of the +police that you people are talking about it, I want you to +remember that I took no part in your gossip.” The meaning +of Clara’s disappearance was not quite clear to +them. They knew in a very dim way that there were +people, for the most part educated people, who wanted to +do away with czars in general, and now it appeared that<a name="Page_241" id="Page_241"><span class="pagenum">[241]</span></a> +Rabbi Rachmiel’s daughter was one of those mysterious +persons. Those of the Talmudists who knew Clara were +trying to imagine her as something weird, preternatural, +and when her familiar face came back to them they uttered +subdued exclamations of amazement.</p> + +<p>When the news reached Makar he wondered whether it +would not be advisable for him to decamp at once. But +he was so snugly established in his present berth that he +was loath to abandon it.</p> + +<p>Some of the worshippers who dropped in to read a page +or two of an evening would gather in groups, bandying +gossip or talking foreign politics, of which, indeed, they +had the most grotesque conceptions. Here Makar picked +up many a side-splitting story illustrative of the corruption, +intemperance and childlike ineptitude of government +officials. His attention seized with special eagerness +upon a description of the demoralised state of things in +the printing shop connected with the governor’s office. +There is not an article of merchandise over which the Russian +authorities maintain a more rigorous control than +they do over type, every pound, almost every letter of it, +used in the empire being registered and supposedly kept +track of; yet the foreman of that shop often offered some +of the Czar’s own supply for sale, and in default of buyers +(the licensed private printers of the town being too timid +to handle this most dangerous species of stolen goods) he +had once molten a large quantity of new type and sold it +for scrap lead. Makar could not help picturing the revolutionists +in regular communication with this man. Nor +did his fancy stop there. Gradually all the typesetters +under that foreman would be supplanted by revolutionists, +and the Czar’s printing office would print the <i>Will of the +People</i>!</p><p><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242"><span class="pagenum">[242]</span></a></p> + +<p>Two days elapsed before Rabbi Rachmiel returned. +When he did he scarcely spoke to anybody. Naturally a +man of few words, he now spent every minute reading his +book with ferocious absorption.</p> + +<p>The next day was Friday. In the evening the turmoil of +Talmudic accents gave way to an ancient chant, at once +light-hearted and solemn—the song of welcome to Sabbath +the Bride. The brass chandeliers, brightly burnished, +were filled with blazing candles. About half of the seats +were occupied by worshippers, freshly bathed and most of +them in their Sabbath clothes. Rabbi Rachmiel wore a +beaming face, “in honour of the Sabbath,” that was plainly +the result of effort. As Maker watched him chant his Sabbath-eve +psalms, the heart of the escaped Nihilist was contracted +with sympathy and something like a sense of guilt.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Meanwhile Count <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added -">Loris-Melikoff</ins> had abolished the Third +Section, transferring the secret service to the Interior Department, +and while the change had not displaced the +Dandy from office, yet it materially impaired his usefulness +to his party.</p> + +<p>When Makar returned to St. Petersburg Pavel met him +with kisses and hugs and punches. The Janitor, whom he +saw the next day, shook his hand heartily.</p> + +<p>“It’s all right,” he said, looking Makar over with an +amused air.</p> + +<p>“What are you smiling at?” Parmet demanded, colouring.</p> + +<p>“At you. I can’t get myself to believe it was really +you who made such a neat job of it.”</p> + +<p>“I!” Makar protested, exultingly. “Any idiot would +know how to be arrested. It’s Clara that carried the +scheme through.”</p> + +<p><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243"><span class="pagenum">[243]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Still, there is better stuff in you than I gave you credit +for.”</p> + +<p>Makar was quivering to know something of the use that +had been made of his arrest, but conspirators ask no questions. +Indeed, to try to know as little as possible, to avoid +information upon anything except that in which one was +personally participating was (or was supposed to be) an +iron law of the movement; and now Makar was more +jealous of his reputation as a conspirator than ever.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s all right,” the Janitor said, reading his +thoughts. “Something has been done and it’s all right; +only under the new system it’s rather slow work.”</p> + +<p>Makar did not understand. The abolition of the Third +Section had taken place while he was in prison. When +he heard of the change he said in dismay: “Will that +affect my scheme?”</p> + +<p>“Your scheme? I don’t think it will,” the Janitor +answered mysteriously. “Of course, we’ll first have to +see how the new system works. We must do some sounding +and watching and studying before we know how to go +about things. Can’t you wait a month or two?”</p> + +<p>Makar was silent, then his face broke into a roguish +smile.</p> + +<p>“I will if you get me into an underground printing +office for the interval,” he returned.</p> + +<p>The Janitor took fire. “What has that got to do with +your cursed scheme?” he said with a slight stutter. “As +if I had printing jobs to give away!”</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244"><span class="pagenum">[244]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII.</h2> + +<h3>A POSTPONED WEDDING.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">IN June of that year, shortly before Makar escaped +from prison, the unhappy Empress of Russia died after +a long illness that was generally ascribed to her many +years of jealousy and anguish. The Czar signified his intention +to enter into morganatic wedlock with Princess Dolgoruki +at once. His sons and brothers remonstrated with him, +pleading for a postponement of the marriage until the end +of a year’s mourning; but he was passionately devoted to +the princess, with whom he had been on terms of intimacy +for the past few years; he was determined to have these +relations legitimatised, and, in view of the unrelenting +campaign of the Terrorists, he felt that he could not do so +too soon. Several members of the imperial family then +went on a foreign tour, and the wedding was quietly solemnised +on July 31 in Livadia, Crimea, where the Czar +and his bride remained for a long honeymoon.</p> + +<p>Pavel’s and Clara’s wedding was to take place in the +early part of October. The relations of the sexes among the +Nihilists were based upon the highest ideals of purity, and +the marriage bond was sacred in the best sense of the word, +but they were not given to celebrating their weddings. +When a couple became man and wife the fact was recognised +as tacitly as it was made known, the adoption by the +bride of her husband’s name being out of the question in<a name="Page_245" id="Page_245"><span class="pagenum">[245]</span></a> +a world in which passports and names were apt to be +changed every day. Still, there were exceptions, and Pavel +insisted upon being one of these. In his overflowing bliss +he often cast the spartanism of the movement to the winds, +and now he was bent upon indulging himself in the “romanticism” +of having his wedding proclaimed at a gathering +of his most intimate friends. This was to be done at +the close of an important revolutionary meeting, at the +same lodgings where we once saw Pavel, Zachar and My +Lord at a gathering of military officers. A high government +official who occupied the first floor of the same building +was giving an elaborate reception which kept the house +porters busy and the street in front crowded with carriages +and idlers; so the central organisation of the Party of the +Will of the People took advantage of the occasion and held +one of its general meetings under cover of the excitement. +The assemblage, which was made up of about sixty or seventy +persons of both sexes, comprised nearly every member +of the Executive Committee in town, and some candidates +for admission to the Executive who were allowed to participate +in its deliberations without a vote. Most of the +revolutionists present had taken part in attempts on the +life of the Czar, as also in some of the recent assassinations. +One man, a southerner, was the hero of the most +sensational rescue during the past few years, having +snatched from the Kieff prison, in which he had contrived +to obtain the position of head keeper, three leaders of an +extensive revolutionary plot. This man, the Janitor and +Purring Cat now constituted the Governing Board (a sub-committee +clothed with dictatorial powers) of the Terrorists’ Executive.</p> + +<p>The police were hunting for the people here gathered +throughout the empire. Had the present meeting been<a name="Page_246" id="Page_246"><span class="pagenum">[246]</span></a> +discovered by spies the whole movement would have been +seriously crippled for a considerable time. Indeed, the +complex conspiracies of the Will of the People were an +element of fatal weakness as well as a manifestation of +fascinating strength. The Terror absorbed the best resources +of the party, necessitating highly centralised organisation, +with the threads of a scattered national propaganda +in the hands of a few “illegals” who were liable to +be seized at any moment.</p> + +<p>The street was full of police, but these had all they +could do to salute the distinguished guests of the first +floor and to take care of the carriages and the crowd of +curiosity seekers.</p> + +<p>Partly through Pavel’s influence and partly because she +was an “illegal” and had produced a very favourable impression, +Clara had made the acquaintance of many of the +revolutionary leaders and been admitted as a probationary +member of the Executive Committee. The present gathering +was the first general meeting of the central body she +had attended.</p> + +<p>“So this is the Executive Committee!” she was saying +to herself. This, then, was the mysterious force that people +were talking about in timid whispers; that the Czar +dreaded; that was going to make everybody free and good +and happy. This was it, and she was attending its meeting. +She could scarcely believe her senses that she +actually was there. She knew many of the members, but +she had never seen several of them together. The present +meeting almost benumbed her with a feeling of reverence, +awe, and gratitude. Even those she had met often since +her arrival in St. Petersburg seemed different beings now, +as though spiritualised into that mysterious force that +seemed mightier than the Czar and holier than divinity.<a name="Page_247" id="Page_247"><span class="pagenum">[247]</span></a> +An overpowering state of exaltation, of something akin +to the ecstasy of a woman upon taking the veil, came over +her. Pavel was dearer than ever to her, but in her present +mood their love impressed her as a jarring note. Self-sacrifice, +not personal happiness, was what appealed to +her, and by degrees she keyed herself up to a frame of +mind in which her prospective married life seemed a gross +profanation of the sanctuary to which she had been admitted.</p> + +<p>“Let us postpone it, Pasha dear,” she whispered to +him, with a thrilling sense of sacrificing her happiness to +the cause.</p> + +<p>“Why?” he demanded in perplexity.</p> + +<p>They went into the adjoining room. “What is the +trouble? What’s the trouble?” he demanded, light-heartedly.</p> + +<p>“No trouble at all, dearest,” she answered affectionately. +“You are dearer than ever to me, but pray let us postpone it.”</p> + +<p>“But there must be some reason for it,” he said with +irritation.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be vexed, Pashenka. There is really no special +reason. I simply don’t feel like being married—yet. +I want to give my life to the movement, Pasha. I am +enjoying too much happiness as it is.” She uttered it in +grave, measured, matter-of-fact accents, but her hazel +eyes reflected the uplifted state of her soul.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” he exclaimed with a mixed sense of relief and +adoration. “If that’s what you mean, all I can say is +that I am not worthy of you, Clara; but of course, the +question of giving our lives to the cause has nothing to +do with the question of our belonging to each other. Or, +rather, it’s one and the same thing.”</p><p><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248"><span class="pagenum">[248]</span></a></p> + +<p>She made no reply. The very discussion of the subject +jarred on her.</p> + +<p>“You are in a peculiar mood now, and you are an +angel, anyhow, but to-morrow you’ll see the matter in a +different light.”</p> + +<p>“At any rate, let us postpone it, Pashenka.” And she +led the way back to the meeting room.</p> + +<p>Many of the company knew of the expected announcement, +and when they heard that it was not to take place +they felt sorely disappointed. When the business of the +meeting had been disposed of, a Terrorist named Sablin +waggishly drank the health of Mlle. Yavner and the social +revolution, to the accompaniment of the rapturous band +of the first floor, and then he began to improvise burlesque +verses on her as a newcomer, with allusions to her +power over Pavel. This revolutionist was one of the +“twin poets” of the party, his muse, which had a weakness +for satire, being the gayer of the two. The “grave +bard,” whose name was Morosoff, was in Switzerland now. +The two were great chums. As always, Sablin was the +great convivial spirit of the company. When he was +not versifying, he was making jokes, telling anecdotes or +trying to speak <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Littlie'">Little</ins>-Russian to Purring Cat, who, being +from <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Littlie'">Little</ins> Russia, answered his questions with smiling +passivity. Some of his rhymes related to Purring Cat’s +interminable side-whiskers, Zachar’s habit of throwing +out his chest as he walked, the reticence of the tall man +with the Tartarian face, and, above all, the Janitor’s +explosions of wrath when one “was not continually leering +around for spies.”</p> + +<p>The Janitor cursed him good-humouredly, without stuttering, +and resumed his discussion with a man who looked +like the conventional image of Christ, and with Urie, the<a name="Page_249" id="Page_249"><span class="pagenum">[249]</span></a> +tall blond man with typical Great-Russian features who +had introduced Pavel to the Nihilist world and whom he +still called “Godfather.” The gay poet then took to +versifying on the “three blond beards” of this trio.</p> + +<p>Zachar made the most noise, dancing cossack hops till +the floor shook under his feet, singing at the top of his +lungs, filling the large room with deafening guffaws. +Baska, the light complexioned “housewife” of the dynamite +shop, who looked like a peasant woman, was the +greatest giggler of all the women present. Grisha, her +passport husband at that shop, and her real husband—a +thin man with Teutonic features, known among the +revolutionists as “the German”—were also there.</p> + +<p>Sophia, the daughter of the former governor of St. +Petersburg, sat by Clara’s side, smiling her hearty good +wishes upon her. She looked like a happy little girl, +Sophia, her prominent cheeks aglow, and her clear blue +self-possessed eyes full of affection and sweet-spirited penetration. +She was engaged to Zachar, and Pavel’s courtship +had enlisted her tender interest. There were several +other women at the gathering, two or three of them decidedly +good-looking.</p> + +<p>There was an unpublished poem, “Virgin Soil,” <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'by the the'">by the</ins> +“gay bard,” which Clara had heard him recite and +which portrayed, among other things, a Nihilist woman +becoming a mother in her isolated cell. Her child is +wrested from her arms to perish, and she goes insane. +The episode, which is part of a bitter satire on a certain +official, is based on fact. As Clara now thought of it and +beheld the demented woman nursing a rag, a shudder +passed through her frame.</p> + +<p>“Cheer up, Clara! Cheer up!” Zachar thundered. +“We don’t want any long faces to-night.”</p> + +<p><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250"><span class="pagenum">[250]</span></a></p> + +<p>Clara smiled, a sorry smile, and Zachar went on hopping +and laughing. But when Sophia stroked her hand, +smilingly, Clara buried her face in her bosom and gave +way to a quick sob.</p> + +<p>“What does it mean?” Pavel asked.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” Clara answered, gleaming through her tears.</p> + +<p>There were four or five Jews in the assemblage, but +Makar was not among them. His cherished dream had +been realised at last. He was working in a secret printing +office. Establishments of this sort were guarded with +special solicitude, so in view of his absent-mindedness, +Makar never left the place for fear of bringing back some +spy. The other revolutionists who worked in the same +printing shop and who were registered at the police station +as residents of the house had each his or her day +off. Makar alone was not registered. The porters of +the house had never seen him, and the composing room +was his prison.</p> + +<p>The only other Jewess in the room was a dark insignificant +looking woman named Hessia Helfman. She was +touchingly bashful, so that at one time Clara had offered +to befriend her. She had soon discovered, however, that +the dark little Jewess was in charge of a most important +conspiracy station. On closer acquaintance Hessia had +proved to be quite talkative and of an extremely affectionate +nature. Clara’s attachment to her had become +greater still when she had learned that Purring Cat was +her husband. The great thing was that he was a Gentile +and a nobleman, although not a prince. Clara had told +herself that the equality of Jew and Gentile and their +intermarriage among socialists was a matter of course +and that the circumstance attracted no special attention +on her part, but she knew that it did.</p><p><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251"><span class="pagenum">[251]</span></a></p> + +<p>As she now looked at Hessia and her husband, she said +to herself, with a great sense of relief: “She is as good +as I, anyhow. If she could marry the man she loves I +can.”</p> + +<p>But her joy in this absolution from her self-imposed +injunction soon faded away. To sacrifice her happiness +seemed to her the highest happiness this evening. She +would surpass Hessia. If there was a world in which +platonic relations were called for theirs was that world. +The image of a demented woman fondling a rag in her +prison cell came back to her.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252"><span class="pagenum">[252]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>A SECOND COURTSHIP.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">THE Czar was still in <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Lavadia'">Livadia</ins> with his bride, abandoning +himself to his second youth with a passion that +was tinged with the pathos of imminent tragedy, +when Count Loris-Melikoff telegraphed to him a plea for the +lives of two revolutionists who had been sentenced to death, +one of these being Alexandre, the man in whose lodgings the +gendarmes had found a diagram of the Imperial dining +hall. The distinguished Armenian was contemplating reforms +which he expected to leave no room for terrorism, +and it was for the sake of these measures as well as of +the Emperor himself, that he was averse to having the +bitterness of the revolutionists quickened by new executions. +If they only let the Czar live until those projects +had been carried out, he thought, their conspiracies would +lose all reason of existence; at any rate, the surreptitious +support which they received from men of high +social position would be withdrawn.</p> + +<p>But his despatch was followed by one from the Czarowitz, +who, echoing the views of the anti-Melikoff party +at court, urged his father not to show signs of weakness, +and the sentence was allowed to stand.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At about nine o’clock in the morning of a cold autumn +day, a fortnight after the meeting of the Executive Committee<a name="Page_253" id="Page_253"><span class="pagenum">[253]</span></a> +which Clara attended, Pavel stood on a chair +nailing a clothes rack to the wall. The room was Clara’s. +It was on the fifth floor of a house near a corner, with +windows commanding the two intersecting streets, where +her window signals could be seen at a considerable distance. +She rented it furnished, with samovar service, but +the curtains and some bits of bric-à-brac had been bought +by Pavel who took more interest in these things and was +handier about the house than she. He himself lived in +the house of a distant relative, an elderly widow, who took +great pride in him and had no doubt that he led the life +of the average young man of his class, that is to say, +he spent his nights and his mamma’s rubles on an endless +crop of wild oats. To Clara’s landlady he was known +as a brother of hers. On the present occasion he had +found his fiancée out, but a mark on the door had told +him that she would soon be back. Presently she came in. +She wore a tall fur cap and her cheeks gleamed, exhaling +the freshness of girlish health and of the cold weather +of the street, but she looked grave. Pavel threw away his +hammer and pounced down upon her with open arms. +She repulsed him gently.</p> + +<p>“Stop,” she whispered, drearily, unbuttoning her cloak +and drawing a newspaper from its inner pocket. “There +is terrible news this morning.”</p> + +<p>The execution of Alexandre and the other revolutionist +had taken place the day before, and the newspapers were +allowed to print a very brief account of it—how they +bade each other good-bye on the scaffold and how, when +Alexandre saw the death-shroud on his friend, his eyes +filled with tears. The two condemned men had been great +chums for several years, Alexandre having once wrested +the other from a convoy. Now they died together.</p><p><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254"><span class="pagenum">[254]</span></a></p> + +<p>As Pavel read the account of the double execution, +standing by the window, a flush of overpowering despair +shot into his chest and diffused itself through his legs.</p> + +<p>“They have choked them after all,” he gasped out.</p> + +<p>Clara, who sat at a table watching him, dropped her +head on her folded arms, in a paroxysm of quick, bitter +sobbing.</p> + +<p>The few details in the newspaper report gave vividness +to the grewsome scene. The two executed men had been +among Pavel’s most intimate friends. The image of Alexandre, +his arms pinioned, looking on with tears while a +white shroud was being slipped over his fellow-prisoner, +was tearing at his heart with cruel <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'insistance'">insistence</ins>.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it’s terrible, Clarochka!” he moaned, dropping +by her side, nestling to her, and bursting into tears in +her bosom. Then, getting up, he took to walking back +and forth, vehemently. “They have choked them, the +blood-drinkers,” he muttered. “They have done it after +all.” He fell silent, pacing the floor in despair, and then +burst out once again: “They have choked them, the vampires.”</p> + +<p>“But war is war,” she said, for something to say to +him, her own face distorted with her struggle against a +flow of tears.</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. All I do know is that they have +been murdered, that they are no more.” A minute or +two later he turned upon her with a look full of ghastly +malice. “War did you say? The government can’t have +enough of it, can it? Well, it shall have all the war it +wants. The party has only shown it the blossoms; the +berries are still to come.”</p> + +<p>The world seemed to be divided into those who had +known the two executed men personally and those who<a name="Page_255" id="Page_255"><span class="pagenum">[255]</span></a> +had not. For the moment there seemed to be little in +common between him and Clara. She strained him to +a seat by her side on the sofa again, clasping one of his +hands in both of hers, and kissed him on the cheek, wetting +his temple with her tears.</p> + +<p>“Do you know, dearest, I really had a lurking hope +they would be spared,” he said. “I was ashamed to say +so, but I did. But no! they choked them. They choked +them. Idiots that they are. They imagine they can hang +every honest man in the country.”</p> + +<p>“Loris-Melikoff is even worse than the Czar. His liberalism +is nothing but hypocrisy. There can no longer +be any question about it.”</p> + +<p>“He is a rogue of the deepest dye. He is a bungling +hypocrite, an abominable liar and a mangy coward, that’s +what he is. But to the devil with him! This is not the +point. Oh, nothing is the point. Nothing except that +they have been murdered.”</p> + +<p>He went to see some of the revolutionists with whom +he had shared the intimacy of the dead men.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Clara began to pace the floor slowly. Not +having known either Alexandre or the man who had died +with him, she was exempt from that acute agony of grief +which was her lover’s; but there was the image of two men +in death-shrouds, a stirring image of martyrdom, before +her vision. Pity, the hunger of revenge and a loftier +feeling—the thirst of self-sacrifice to the cause of liberty—swelled +her heart. Back and forth she walked, +slowly, solemnly, her hands gently clasped behind her, +her soul in a state of excitement that was coupled with +a peculiar state of physical tranquillity, her mind apparently +seeing things with a perspicacity the like of which +it had never enjoyed before. Her future, her duties, her<a name="Page_256" id="Page_256"><span class="pagenum">[256]</span></a> +relation to the rest of the world, her whole life—all was +wonderfully clear to her, and in spite of her anguish +over the death of the two men she felt singularly happy. +It seemed to be a matter of course that her party would +now undertake some new plot, one exceeding in boldness +and magnitude all its predecessors. Many lives would +have to be staked. She would offer hers. Matrimony was +out of the question at a time like this. She conjured that +image of the insane woman clasping a rag to her bosom +in support of her position. She longed to be near Pavel +again. In her mind she embraced him tenderly, argued +with him, opened her soul to him. It was all so clear. +Her mind was so firmly made up. She fondly hoped she +would make Pavel see it all in the same light.</p> + +<p>The explanation took place the next time he called on +her, a few days later.</p> + +<p>“Oh, we shall all have to offer our lives,” he replied. +“But for God’s sake love me, Clanya. It will drive me +crazy if you don’t.”</p> + +<p>“But I do, I do. I love you with every fibre of my +being, Pasha. What has put it in your head to doubt it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I don’t know. All I do know is that as long as +my life is mine I cannot exist without you. I am frightfully +lonely and that stands in the way of my work. +Dash it, I feel just as I did last summer before I took +courage to tell you that I was insanely in love with you.”</p> + +<p>She drew him to her, with a smile at once of happiness +and amusement.</p> + +<p>“Poor boy! It’s enough to break one’s heart. Poor +little dear!” she joked affectionately.</p> + +<p>“I knew you would be making fun of me,” he said, +yearning upon her. “Love me, Clanya, do love me, with +all your heart. I cannot live apart from you, I cannot,<a name="Page_257" id="Page_257"><span class="pagenum">[257]</span></a> +upon my word I cannot,” he concluded piteously, like +a child.</p> + +<p>“Do you imagine it’s easy for me to be away from +you?” she retorted earnestly. “I can’t be a single hour +without you without missing you, without feverishly waiting +to see you again. As if you did not know it! But +what can we do? Is this the only sacrifice we are ready +to make?”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>A fortnight had passed. Unknown to her lover, Clara +had spoken to the Janitor, intimating her readiness to +offer her life, and asking for one of the most dangerous +assignments the Governing Board could give her. She +was waiting for an answer, when the startling news spread +among the revolutionists that the Janitor was in the +hands of the enemy and that the capture of that maniac of +caution had been the result of a most insane piece of +recklessness.</p> + +<p>His arrest was one of the heaviest losses the party had +yet sustained. At the same time the government found +a new source of uneasiness in it. A large quantity of +dynamite and some other things confiscated at his lodgings +pointed to a vigorous renewal of terroristic activity. +Another plot on the life of the Emperor seemed to be +hatching in the capital, yet all efforts of the police and +the gendarmes in this connection were futile. Indeed, the +circumstances of the Janitor’s arrest only furnished new +proof of the ineptitude and shiftlessness of those whose +business it was to ferret out Nihilism.</p> + +<p>A few days before the Janitor was taken the police +received word about two portraits which had been left +for reproduction at a well-known photograph gallery and +in which the photographer had recognised the two Nihilists<a name="Page_258" id="Page_258"><span class="pagenum">[258]</span></a> +who had recently been hanged. Instead of a detective +being detailed, however, to lie in wait for the unknown +man, the proprietor of the gallery was simply ordered +to notify the police when he came for his pictures. The +unknown man was the Janitor. When he called for +the photographs, an awkward attempt was made to detain +him which aroused his suspicion. He pleaded haste and +made for the door. When a porter barred his way he +scared him off by thrusting his hand into an empty +pistol-pocket. A similar order for photographs of the +two executed Terrorists had been given by him to another +well-known photographer next door to the former place, +and it was when he called there, a day or two after his +narrow escape at the adjoining gallery, that he was seized +by detectives.</p> + +<p>When his landlady heard that her “star” lodger, the +punctilious government official and retired army officer, +was neither an official nor a retired officer, but a leading +Nihilist, she fainted. The gendarmes had been hunting +for him since he broke away from his captors on his +way to prison one evening more than two years before. +They had heard that it was he who subsequently organised +the railroad plot near Moscow; also that he had been +connected with the assassination of the chief of gendarmes +and with the shooting at the Czar in front of the +Winter Palace. Yet he had freely moved about the streets +of St. Petersburg these two years, the busiest agitator and +conspirator in the city, until, in a moment of morbid +foolhardiness, he practically surrendered himself to the +police.</p> + +<p>When Clara heard of his arrest, she clapped her hands +together, Yiddish fashion. “If the Janitor has been +arrested as a result of carelessness,” she exclaimed, “then<a name="Page_259" id="Page_259"><span class="pagenum">[259]</span></a> +everyone of us ought to hold himself in readiness to be +taken at any moment.”</p> + +<p>She repeated the remark the next time she saw Pavel, +adding:</p> + +<p>“The idea of being a married woman under such conditions!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s an <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">idée fixe</i> of yours,” he said, testily.</p> + +<p>She gave him a look and dropped her eyes, resentfully.</p> + +<p>The peace-offering came from him.</p> + +<p>“Whew, what a cloud!” he said, pointing at her glum +face. “Won’t there be a single rift in it? Not a wee bit +of a one for a single ray to come through?”</p> + +<p>She smiled, heartily.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260"><span class="pagenum">[260]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX.</h2> + +<h3>A HUNTED MONARCH.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">THE ministers were reporting to the Czar who had recently +returned from Livadia. They were admitted +one at a time. As they sat chatting under breath in +the blue waiting room, with the white reflection of the snow +that was falling outside, upon their faces, these elderly +men, whose names were associated in millions of minds +with the notion of infinite dignity and power, looked like +a group of anxious petitioners in the vestibule of some +official.</p> + +<p>An exception was made for Count Loris-Melikoff, who +was with the Czar during the audiences of all his colleagues. +The Supreme Executive Commission over which +he had presided had been abolished some four months +before. Nominally he was now simply in charge of the +Department of the Interior, but in reality he continued +to play the part of premier, a position he partly owed to +Princess Dolgoruki, the Czar’s young wife, who set great +store by his liberal policy. She was said to be a woman +of a rather progressive turn of mind, but whether she was +or not, her fate hung on the life of her imperial husband +and every measure that was calculated to pacify the Nihilists +found a ready advocate in her. Indeed, she and the +Count were united by a community of personal interests; +for he had as many enemies at court as she, and his position<a name="Page_261" id="Page_261"><span class="pagenum">[261]</span></a> +depended upon the life of Alexander II. as much as +hers.</p> + +<p>The Czar was receiving the ministers in a chamber of +moderate size, finished in sombre colours, with engaged +columns of malachite, book-cases of ebony and silver, with +carvings representing scenes from Russian history, and a +large writing table to match. Statues of bronze and ivory +stood between the book-cases and a striking life-size watercolour +of Nicholas I. hung on the wall to the right of the +Czar’s chair. The falling snow outside was like a great +impenetrable veil without beginning or end, descending +from some unknown source and disappearing into some +equally mysterious region. The room, whose high walls, +dismally imposing, were supposed to hold the destinies +of a hundred millions of human beings, was filled with +lustreless wintry light. The Emperor, tall, erect, broad-shouldered, +the image of easy dignity, but pale and with +a touch of weariness in his large oval face, wore the undress +uniform of a general of infantry. He was sixty-two +and he was beginning to look it. He listened to the +ministers with constrained attention. He showed exaggerated +interest in the affairs of their respective departments, +but they could see that his heart was not in their +talk, and with unuttered maledictions for the upstart vice-Emperor, +they made short work of their errands. They +knew that the Interior Department was the only one that +commanded the Czar’s interest in those days.</p> + +<p>At last the Emperor and his chief adviser were left +alone. Both were silent. Loris-Melikoff was as strikingly +oriental of feature as Alexander II. was European. Notwithstanding +his splendid military career and uniform +he had the appearance of a sharp-witted scientist rather +than of a warrior. His swarthy complexion, shrewd oriental<a name="Page_262" id="Page_262"><span class="pagenum">[262]</span></a> +eyes and huge energetic oriental nose, flanked by +greyer and longer side-whiskers than the Czar’s, made +him look like a representative of some foreign power.</p> + +<p>There was pathos in both. Alexander II. had that +passion for life which comes to an old man upon marrying +a pretty young woman. Yet foreigners who saw +him during this period said that he looked like a hunted +man. As to Count Melikoff, his advance had been so +rapid, he was surrounded by so many enemies at court, +and the changes by which he was trying to save the Czar’s +life and his own power, were beset by so many obstacles, +that he could not help feeling like the peasant of the story +who was made king for one day.</p> + +<p>Naturally talkative and genially expansive, the Czar’s +manner toward people who were admitted to his intimacy +was one of amiable informality. The chief pathos of his +fate sprang from the discrepancy between the Czar and +the man in him, between a vindictive ruthlessness born of +a blind sense of his autocratic honour and an affectionate, +emotional nature with less grit than pride. Had he been +a common mortal he would have made far more friends +than enemies.</p> + +<p>Count Loris-Melikoff had become accustomed to feel at +home in his presence. At this minute, however, as the +Czar was watching the snow flakes, with an air of idle +curiosity, the Armenian had an overbearing sense of the +distance between them. He knew that the Czar was +anxious to talk about the revolutionists and that he hated +to do so. His heart contracted with common human pity, +yet in the silence that divided them it came over him that +the man in front of him was the Czar, and a feeling of +awe seized him like the one he used to experience at sight +of the Emperor long before he was raised to his present<a name="Page_263" id="Page_263"><span class="pagenum">[263]</span></a> +position. This feeling passed, however, the moment the +Czar began to speak.</p> + +<p>“Well?” he said, with sudden directness. “Anything +new about that Michailoff fellow?” Alexandre Michailoff +was the real name of the Janitor.</p> + +<p>“Nothing new so far, your Majesty,” Loris-Melikoff +answered obsequiously, yet with something like triumph, +as if the powerlessness of the police were only too natural +and substantiated his views on the general state of things. +“He is one of their chief ringleaders.”</p> + +<p>“And this has been known all along,” the Emperor +remarked with sad irony. “Such a thing would be inconceivable +in any other capital in Europe.”</p> + +<p>“Quite so. But I feel that in other countries, the +capture of miscreants like ours would be due less to the +efficiency of the police than to the cordial coöperation of +the public. The trouble is that our police is thrown on +its own resources, Sire. It is practically fighting those +wretches single-handed.”</p> + +<p>The Czar had a fit of coughing, the result of asthma. +When it had subsided, he said with an air of suffering:</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s your theory. But then their public is +not ours. The average Russian is not wide-awake enough +to coöperate with the authorities.” He had in mind his +own address at Moscow in which he had appealed to the +community at large for this very assistance in ferreting +out sedition. The Will of the People had come into +existence since then.</p> + +<p>“Still, if our public were drawn into active coöperation +with the Government, if it became habituated to a sense +of the monarch’s confidence in itself, it seems reasonable to +suppose that the indolence of the community would then +disappear. No people is capable of greater loyalty to the<a name="Page_264" id="Page_264"><span class="pagenum">[264]</span></a> +throne than your Majesty’s. All that is needed is to lend +to this devotion tangibility. This and this alone would +enable your Majesty to cure the evil. What the body +politic needs is judicious internal treatment. Surgical +operations have proven futile. These are my sincerest +convictions, your Majesty.”</p> + +<p>“I know they are,” the Czar answered musingly.</p> + +<p>“And the great point is, that with the intelligent +classes actively interested in the preservation of law and +order, criminal societies of any sort would find themselves +without any ground to stand upon.”</p> + +<p>The Czar had another cough, and then he said, flushing:</p> + +<p>“There is a simpler way to leave them without ground +to stand upon, surgical operations or no surgical operations. +Call it what you will. There is no sense in pampering +them, Melikoff. Why, in western Europe they +execute common murderers. As to a gang of assassins +like that, death would be regarded a mild punishment.” +He lighted a cigarette, but forthwith extinguished it and +went on with emphasis: “We handle them with kid gloves, +Melikoff. That’s why they take chances.”</p> + +<p>He spoke with subdued anger, citing the republican uprising +led by aristocratic army officers in 1825, which his +father (the man whose portrait was on the right wall) +quelled by means of field guns. Loris-Melikoff demurred +to the comparison, tactfully hinting that there would be +no betrayal of weakness in inviting the public to participate +in the extermination of crime by showing it signs of +increased imperial confidence, and the Czar softened again. +He felt that the Armenian knew how to save him and he +willingly submitted to his and Princess Dolgoruki’s influence. +But Fate was bent on tragedy.</p> + +<p>Alexander II. lacked anything but courage. Still, this<a name="Page_265" id="Page_265"><span class="pagenum">[265]</span></a> +continuous living under fire had gradually unnerved him. +The soldier on the battlefield finds moral support in the +presence of thousands of comrades, all facing the same +fate as he; whereas he was like a lone man on top of a +dynamite pile. And if his perils were shared by those +about him, this only added the agonising consciousness +that his person carried the shadow of destruction with it, +endangering the life of every living being that came near +him. He knew, for example, that when he was at the +theatre candles were kept ready, in case the lights were +blown out by an explosion; that many people stayed away +from the playhouse on such occasions for fear of being +destroyed along with their sovereign. His pride would not +let him feel low-spirited. He very often forced himself +to disdain caution, to act with reckless courage. Nevertheless +he had a dreary, jaded look. The notion that he, +the most powerful of men, the image of grandeur and +human omnipotence, should tremble at every sound, +wounded his common human pride acutely. The consequence +was that this mightiest monarch in the world, +the gigantic man of sixty-two, every bit of him an Emperor, +was at heart a terror-stricken infant mutely imploring +for help. He continued to appear in the streets +of the capital, accompanied by his usual escort and to +return the salutes of passers-by with his usual air of +majestic ease. Now and then he went to the theatre, and +occasionally even beyond the scenes for a flirtation with +the actresses. But the public knew that besides his large +uniformed escort, his carriage was watched by hordes of +detectives in citizen’s clothes, and that every inch of the +ground which he was to traverse was all but turned inside +out for possible signs of danger. And those who were +admitted to his presence knew that underneath his grand,<a name="Page_266" id="Page_266"><span class="pagenum">[266]</span></a> +free-and-easy bearing was a sick heart and a crushed spirit. +That the enemy was an unknown quantity was one of the +sources of his growing disquiet. The organised movement +might be very large and it might be ridiculously +small, but with a latent half-Nihilist in the heart of every +subject. He was beginning to realise at last that he knew +his people scarcely better than he did the French or the +English. He was anxious to make peace with that invisible +enemy of his, provided it did not look as if he did.</p> + +<p>He was willing to be deceived, and Loris-Melikoff was +about to help him deceive himself. But destiny was +against them both. He was an honest man, Loris-Melikoff, +serious-minded, public-spirited, one of the few able statesmen +Russia ever had; but his path was strewn with thorns.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267"><span class="pagenum">[267]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXX.</h2> + +<h3>THE MYSTERY OF A SHOP.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">A TALL man with a reddish beard called at one of the +police stations of the capital about a cheese store +which he was going to open on Little Garden Street. +He gave his name as Koboseff. When he had gone the Captain +of the station said to one of his roundsmen:</p> + +<p>“That fellow doesn’t talk like a tradesman. I asked +him a few questions, and his answers were rather too +polished for a cheese dealer.” And taking up his pen, he +added, with a preoccupied air, “Keep an eye on him, +will you?”</p> + +<p>Little Garden Street was part of a route which the +Emperor often took on his way to or from his niece’s +residence, the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Michail'">Michaïl</ins> Palace, and received the special +attention of the police.</p> + +<p>The roundsman spoke to the agent of the house where +Koboseff had rented a basement for his projected shop +and dwelling room; whereupon the agent recalled that +cheesemonger’s handwriting had struck him as being too +good for a man of his class. Inquiry at the town at which +Koboseff’s passport was dated brought the information +that a document corresponding in every detail to the one +in question had actually been issued by the local authorities. +Koboseff was thus no invented name, and as the +description in the passport agreed with the appearance of<a name="Page_268" id="Page_268"><span class="pagenum">[268]</span></a> +the man who had rented the basement, the St. Petersburg +police saw no ground for further suspicion.</p> + +<p>The cheese shop was opened in the early part of January, +Koboseff having moved in with a fair-complexioned +woman whom he introduced as his wife. Some three or +four weeks later the head porter of the house notified the +police that Koboseff had boasted of the flourishing state +of his business, whereas in reality his shop attracted but +very scant custom. At the same time it was pointed out +that there was a well-established and prosperous cheese +store close by, that the basement occupied by the Koboseffs +was scarcely the place one would naturally select for the +purpose, and that the rent was strikingly too high for the +amount of business Koboseff could expect to do there. To +cap the climax, there was some lively gossip among the +neighbours about Mme. Koboseff, who had been seen smoking +cigarettes—a habit quite unusual for a woman of the +lower classes—and who often stayed out all night.</p> + +<p>“Koboseff” was Uric Bogdanovich, Pavel’s “Godfather,” +and “Mme. Koboseff” was Baska, formerly +“housewife” of the dynamite shop and a year previous to +that in charge of a house in the south near which Zachar +and others attempted to blow up an imperial train.</p> + +<p>The cheese shop was often visited by Zachar, Purring +Cat, the reticent stalwart man with the Tartarian features, +Pavel and other revolutionists. The police kept close +watch on the place, but, according to all reports, no suspicious +persons were ever seen to enter it. Upon the whole +the Koboseffs seemed to be real tradesmen, and as the +information concerning their passport was satisfactory, +they were not disturbed. A slim little man named Kurilloff +who had played the part of errand boy at the cheese +shop had been arrested, but his detention had nothing to<a name="Page_269" id="Page_269"><span class="pagenum">[269]</span></a> +do with the Koboseffs, and the police of Little Garden +Street had no idea of the arrest, while the officers who +had made it were unaware of the prisoner’s connection +with a suspicious shop.</p> + +<p>“If I were you I’d make missus behave,” the head porter +of the house once said to Koboseff, speaking of his “wife.”</p> + +<p>“Right you are,” the cheesemonger replied. “Only my +old woman is a tough customer to handle, you know. I +do tell her she had better mind the house and ought to be +ashamed of herself to smoke cigarettes, but she doesn’t +care a rap, not she.”</p> + +<p>“I would teach her if she was <i>my</i> wife.”</p> + +<p>The cheesemonger made a gesture of despair, and the +porter said to himself that there was nothing suspicious +about him; that he was simply a fellow without backbone +and a fool, qualities which seemed to account for Koboseff’s +incompetence as a business man.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>“Well, Clanya,” Pavel said to Mlle. Yavner, lazily addressing +her in the diminutive of his own coining. “I am +afraid I shall have to exile you for some time.”</p> + +<p>“Exile me?” she asked absently without lifting her +eyes from a heap of type she was sorting and putting up +in packages. She sat across the table from the sofa upon +which he was cuddling himself drowsily as a cat does +before a fireside.</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s what I’ll have to do—pack you off, put you +in a box, nail you up tight, stick a label on it and ship +you somewhere. ‘To places not so very distant,’” he +added, mocking the official phrase used in transporting +people to eastern Siberia.</p> + +<p>She raised her eyes from her work, her fingers stiff and +black with lead dust. “What are you driving at, Pasha?<a name="Page_270" id="Page_270"><span class="pagenum">[270]</span></a> +Anything up? Or is it merely one of those jokes under +which one must write in big letters: ‘This is a joke?’”</p> + +<p>“Is <i>that</i> a joke?” he asked, and burst into laughter.</p> + +<p>She resumed her work. The type she was sorting was +intended for a revolutionary printing office, having been +sent to St. Petersburg by Masha Safonoff, who had bought +it of the foreman of the government’s printing office in +Miroslav.</p> + +<p>“Oh, to all the diabolical devils with that type of +yours, Clanya. Can’t you sit down by a fellow’s side for +a minute or two?”</p> + +<p>She got up, washed her hands and complied with his +wish. As she played with his hand she noticed the trace +of blisters on his palm. Her face darkened; but she +asked no questions. After a little she demanded: “What +did you mean by ‘exiling’ me?”</p> + +<p>“Oh dash it all, Clanya. It’s something serious. I’ll +tell it to you some other time. I’m too lazy to be serious.” +He would have preferred to be sprawling like this with +her hands in his; luxuriating in the gleam of her intelligent +blue eyes and in the feminine atmosphere of her +person; but his excuse that it was “too serious” only +sharpened her determination to know what it was without +delay.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Pasha?”</p> + +<p>“There you are,” he said peevishly. “One can’t have +a minute’s rest from business, not a minute’s rest.”</p> + +<p>“Why did you hasten to speak of ‘exiling’ me, then?” +she retorted tartly. “Why didn’t you keep it to yourself +until you were again in a mood for ‘business’?”</p> + +<p>He had not kept it to himself simply because it was not +easy for him to keep anything from her. He was more +apt to fly into a temper with her than she with him, but<a name="Page_271" id="Page_271"><span class="pagenum">[271]</span></a> +in their mutual relations she was the stronger vessel of +the two and, in an imperceptible, unformulated way, he +was considerably under her thumb. When he heard or +saw something new, received some new impression, his +first impulse was to share it with her. If an opinion was +formed in his mind he wondered, sometimes timidly, +whether she would concur with it. Timidly, because in +many instances, when he came bubbling over with enthusiasm +over some scheme of his own, she had cruelly dampened +his fervour by merely extricating the vital point of +his argument from a surrounding tangle of roseate phraseology. +His great intellectual feast was to be in her room, +discussing theories, books, people with her. These discussions, +which sometimes lasted for hours, often called +forth a snappish, bitter tone on both sides, but they were +at once an expression and a fostering agency of that +spiritual unity which was one of the chief sources of their +happiness in one another.</p> + +<p>“Well, there is very little to tell about,” he said at +last. “Something is under way, and it has been decided +to notify all illegals not in it to vacate St. Petersburg +until it’s all over.”</p> + +<p>The lines of her fresh-tinted face hardened into an +expression of extreme gravity and her fingers grew limp +in his grasp. She withdrew them.</p> + +<p>“Look at her!” he squeaked in a burst of merriment.</p> + +<p>“There is nothing to look at. I am not going.” She +dropped her glance. She divined that his blisters had +something to do with the digging of a mine in which he +took part.</p> + +<p>“Is it all settled?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Pasha! Your jesting is so out of place,” she +returned sullenly. “I am not going.”</p><p><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272"><span class="pagenum">[272]</span></a></p> + +<p>“But the air is getting hot in St. Petersburg. Whew! +The police are suspicious, of course; they won’t leave a +stone unturned.”</p> + +<p>He took hold of her tender girlish hand, but she withdrew +it again, with a gesture of impatience.</p> + +<p>“There will be something to do for you too later on,” +he comforted her, guiltily. “It’s going to be a big thing, +the biggest of all. You’ll come back in a month or so.”</p> + +<p>She made no answer.</p> + +<p>The two intersecting streets outside reeked and creaked +and glittered with the crispness of a typical St. Petersburg +frost. It was about ten in the morning, in the early part +of January. The little parlour was delightfully warm, +with a dim consciousness of sleigh-furs, hack drivers in +absurd winter caps, pedestrians huddling themselves and +wriggling and grunting for an effeminating background to +one’s sense of shelter. The even heat of the white glazed +oven seemed to be gleaming and stirring over the surface +of the tiles like something animate, giving them an effect +of creamy mellowness that went to one’s heart together +with the delicious warmth they radiated. Ever and anon +a sleigh bell would tinkle past and sink into Pavel’s mood. +There was a rhythm to the warm stillness of the room. +But Clara’s silence tormented him.</p> + +<p>“We’ll discuss it later on, Clanya. I’m too tired +now. My brain won’t work. Let us play school,” he +pleaded fawningly, in burlesque Russian, mimicking the +accent of the Czech who taught Latin at the Miroslav +gymnasium.</p> + +<p>“Stop that, pray.”</p> + +<p>He made a sorry effort to obey her, and finally she +yielded, with a smile and a Jewish shrug. He played a +gymnasium teacher and she a pupil. He made her conjugate<a name="Page_273" id="Page_273"><span class="pagenum">[273]</span></a> +his name as she would a verb; made puns on +Clanya, which is an unfinished Russian word meaning to +bow, to greet, to convey one’s regards; mocked and +laughed at her enunciation till his eyes watered. Gradually +he drifted into an impersonation of old Pievakin +and flew into a passion because her hearty laughter marred +the illusion of the performance.</p> + +<p>“You do need rest, poor thing,” she said, looking at +his haggard, worn face.</p> + +<p>“Well, another few weeks and we shall be able to get +all the rest we want, if not in a cell, or in a quieter place +still, in some foreign resort, perhaps. I really feel confident +we are going to win this time.”</p> + +<p>“It’s about time the party did.”</p> + +<p>“It will this time, you may be sure of it. And then—by +George, the very sky will feel hot. Everything seems +ready for a general uprising. All that is needed is the +signal. I can see the barricades going up in the streets.” +He gnashed his teeth and shook her by the shoulders +exultantly. “Yes, ma’am. And then, Clanya, why, then +we won’t have to go abroad for our vacation. One will +be able to breathe in Russia then. Won’t we give ourselves +a spree, eh? But whether here or abroad, I must +take you for a rest somewhere. Will you marry your love-lorn +Pashka then? I dare you to say no.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t want to say no,” she answered radiantly.</p> + +<p>They went to dinner together and then they parted. +As they shook hands he peered into her face with a rush +of tenderness, as though trying to inhale as deep an impression +of her as possible in case either of them was +arrested before they met again. And, indeed, there was +quite an eventful day in store for her.</p> + +<p>One of the persons she was to see later in the afternoon<a name="Page_274" id="Page_274"><span class="pagenum">[274]</span></a> +was a man with a Greek name. As she approached the +house in which he had his lodgings, she recognised in the +gas-lit distance the high forehead and the boyish face of +Sophia, the ex-Governor’s daughter. Sophia, or Sonia, +as she was fondly called, was bearing down upon her at a +brisk, preoccupied walk. As she swept past Clara, without +greeting her, she whispered:</p> + +<p>“A trap.”</p> + +<p>The lodging of the man with the queer name had been +raided, then, and was now held by officers in the hope of +ensnaring some of his friends. Clara had been at the +place several times and she was afraid that the porter of +the house, in case he stood at his post in the gateway at +this minute, might recognise her.</p> + +<p>The dim opening of the gate loomed as a sickly quadrangular +hole exhaling nightmare and ruin. Turning +sharply back, however, might have attracted notice; so +Clara entered the first gate on her way, four or five houses +this side of her destination, and when she reappeared a +minute or two later, she took the opposite direction. As +she turned the next corner she found herself abreast of a +man she had noticed in the streets before. He was fixed +in her mind by his height and carriage. Extremely tall +and narrow-shouldered, he walked like a man with a sore +neck, swinging one of his long arms to and fro as he moved +stiffly along. The look he gave her made a very unpleasant +impression on her. He let her gain on him a little +and then she heard his soft rubber-shod footsteps behind +her.</p> + +<p>It is a terrible experience, this sense of being dogged +as you walk along. It is tantalising enough when your +desire to take a look at the man at your heels is only a +matter of curiosity which for some reason or other you<a name="Page_275" id="Page_275"><span class="pagenum">[275]</span></a> +cannot gratify. Imagine, then, the mental condition of +an “illegal” shadowed by a spy or by a man he suspects +of being one. He tingles with a desire to quicken pace, +yet he must walk on with the same even, calm step; every +minute or two he is seized with an impulse to turn on the +fellow behind him, yet he must not show the least sign +of consciousness as to his existence. It is the highest +form of torture, yet it was the daily experience of every +active man or woman of the secret organisation; for if the +political detectives were spying upon pedestrians right and +left, the revolutionists, on their part, were apt to be suspicious +with equal promiscuity. Small wonder that some +of them, upon being arrested, hailed their prison cell as a +welcome place of rest, as a relief from the enervating +strain of liberty under the harrowing conditions of underground +life. As a matter of fact this wholesale shadowing +seldom results in the arrest of a revolutionist. Thousands +of innocent people were snuffed to one Nihilist, +and the Nihilists profited by the triviality of suspicion. +Most arrests were the result of accident.</p> + +<p>At the corner of the next large thoroughfare she paused +and looked up the street for a tram-car. While doing so +Clara glanced around her. The tall man had disappeared. +A tram-car came along shortly and she was about to board +it when she heard Sonia’s voice once more.</p> + +<p>“You’re being shadowed. Follow me.”</p> + +<p>Sonia entered a crowded sausage shop, and led the way +to the far end of it in the rear of an impatient throng. +Pending her turn to be waited on, she took off her broad-brimmed +hat, asking Clara to hold it for her, while she +adjusted her hair.</p> + +<p>“Put it on, and let me have your fur <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added ,">cap,”</ins> she gestured.</p> + +<p>The homely broad-brimmed hat transformed Clara’s<a name="Page_276" id="Page_276"><span class="pagenum">[276]</span></a> +appearance considerably. It made her look shorter and +her face seemed larger and older.</p> + +<p>“I saw a tall fellow turn you over to one with a ruddy +mug. The red man is waiting for you outside now, but +I don’t think he had a good look at your face. There is +a back door over there.”</p> + +<p>Clara regained the street through the yard, and sure +enough, a man with a florid face was leisurely smoking a +cigarette at the gate post. He only gave her a superficial +glance and went on watching the street door of the shop. +She took a public sleigh, ordered the driver to take her to +the Liteyny Bridge, changed her destination in the middle +of the journey, and soon after she got off she took another +sleigh for quite another section of the city. In short, she +was “circling,” and when she thought her trail completely +“swept away,” she went home on foot.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277"><span class="pagenum">[277]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXI.</h2> + +<h3>A REASSURING SEARCH.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">THE capture of the man with the Greek name proved +disastrous to the Executive Committee. It was the +first link in a chain of most important arrests. The +trap set at his house caught the very tall man with the Tartarian +features; this led to the arrest of Purring Cat, and +the residence of Purring Cat, in its turn, ensnared a pretentiously +dressed man, in whom the superior gendarme +officers were amazed to find their own trusted secretary, +the man whom Makar knew as “the Dandy.” Makar’s +arrest at Miroslav had tended to strengthen the Dandy’s +position somewhat, but now that he was in the hands of +the enemy himself, it seemed as if the medical student’s +sweeping system of “counter-espionage” had burst like a +bubble. Makar was in despair. He spoke of new plans, +of new sacrifices, until Zachar silenced him.</p> + +<p>“All in due time, my dear romanticist,” he said to him. +“A month or two later I shall be delighted to be entertained +with the fruit of your rich fancy; not now, my boy.”</p> + +<p>The four arrests were a severe blow to the undertaking +of which Zachar had been placed in charge. He was overworked, +dejected, yet thrilling with nervous activity. But +his own days were numbered. An air of impending doom +hung over the Czar and his “internal enemies” alike.</p> + +<p>Good fortune seemed to attend the state police. While<a name="Page_278" id="Page_278"><span class="pagenum">[278]</span></a> +the gendarmes of the capital were celebrating their unexpected +haul an intellectual looking man was locked up +in a frontier town as a “vagrant,” that is, as a man without +a passport, who subsequently proved to be one of the active +Terrorists the detectives had long been looking for. He +was the “grave bard,” one of the twin poets of the party. +Shortly after his arrest the Russian government received +word from the police of the German capital that a prominent +Russian Nihilist known among his friends as “My +Lord,” a sobriquet due to his elegance of personal appearance +and address, had spent some time in Berlin and was +now on his way to St. Petersburg. A German detective +followed the man to the frontier and then, shadowed by +Russian spies, he was tracked to a house on the Neva +Prospect, the leading street of St. Petersburg. There it +was decided to arrest him Friday, March 23.</p> + +<p>A little after 4 o’clock of that day Zachar and the ex-Governor’s +daughter left their home, where they were registered +as brother and sister, and took a sleigh, alighting in +front of the Public Library, in the very heart of the city. +Instead of entering the library, however, which the sleigh-driver +thought to be their destination, they parted, continuing +their several journeys on foot.</p> + +<p>It was an extremely cold afternoon. The beards of +pedestrians and sleigh-drivers and the manes of horses +were glued with frost; their breath came in short painful +puffs. It was getting dark. The sky was a spotless, almost +a warm blue. To look at it you would have wondered +where this sharp, all-benumbing cold came from. +There was an air of insincerity about the crimson clearness +of the afternoon light.</p> + +<p>Zachar wore a tall cap of Persian lamb, flattened at the +top, and a tight-fitting fur coat. He walked briskly, his<a name="Page_279" id="Page_279"><span class="pagenum">[279]</span></a> +chest thrown out, his full pointed beard hoary with frost, +his cheeks red with the biting cold.</p> + +<p>Presently he found himself shadowed by a man in civilian +clothes whom he knew to be a gendarme in disguise. +It was evident, however, that the spy was following him +merely as a suspicious person without having any idea +what sort of man his quarry was, and Zachar, with whom a +hunt of this kind was a daily occurrence, had no difficulty +in “thrashing his trail.” He was bound for the cheese +shop on Little Garden Street. This was within a short +walk from the Public Library, yet on this occasion it took +him an hour’s “circling” to reach the place.</p> + +<p>About ten minutes after Zachar entered the cheesemonger’s +basement, the head porter of the house met two +police officers round the corner. One of them was the +captain of the precinct and the other, one of his roundsmen. +The Czar was expected to pass through this street +in two days, so one could not be too watchful over a suspicious +place like this.</p> + +<p>“There is somebody down there now,” the head porter +said to the captain, with servile eagerness. “A big fellow +with a long pointed beard. I have seen him go down several +times before. He looks like a business man, but +before he started to go down he stopped to look round.”</p> + +<p>This stopping to look round was, according to a printed +police circular, one of the symptoms of Nihilism, so the +roundsman was ordered to watch until the suspicious man +should re-emerge from the cheese shop.</p> + +<p>When the captain had gone the roundsman brushed out +his icicled moustache with his finger nails, and said with +an air of authority:</p> + +<p>“Well, you take your post at the gate and I’ll just go +and change my uniform for citizen’s clothes in case it’s<a name="Page_280" id="Page_280"><span class="pagenum">[280]</span></a> +necessary to see where that fellow is going. Keep a sharp +lookout on that cursed basement until I get back, will +you?”</p> + +<p>When he returned, in citizen’s clothes, he found that +the suspicious man had left the store and that the head +porter had set out after him, leaving his assistant in his +place.</p> + +<p>“There is another man down there now,” the assistant +porter whispered. Presently the new visitor came out of +the basement. As he mounted the few steps and then +crossed over, through the snow, to a sleigh standing near +by, he kept mopping his face with a handkerchief, thus preventing +the two spies from getting a look at his features. +Seeing that he boarded a hackney-sleigh, the roundsman +did the same, ordering the driver to follow along as +closely as possible, but at this he lost time in persuading +the hackman that he was a policeman in disguise. The +two sleighs were flying through the snow as fast as their +horses could run. The policeman was far in the rear. +For some ten minutes his eyes were riveted to the suspicious +man. Presently, however, the vehicle he was shadowing +turned a corner, and by the time he reached that +point it was gone. All sorts of sleighs, their bells jingling, +were gliding along in every direction, but the one he +wanted was not among them.</p> + +<p>The head porter, who had started after the first man, +in the absence of the roundsman, had met with a similar +defeat. After awhile the hackman who had driven the +second suspicious man returned to his stand. In answer +to inquiry he told how his fare had twice changed his +destination, finally alighted on a street corner, and turned +into a narrow alley.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Zachar had called on My Lord. It was about<a name="Page_281" id="Page_281"><span class="pagenum">[281]</span></a> +seven o’clock. The two revolutionists sat chatting in a +cheerful gas-lit room, when the host was called out into +the corridor. As he was long in coming back, Zachar went +to the door, prepared for the worst. He found the corridor +full of gendarmes and police. It was evident that +they had fought shy of raiding My Lord’s apartments for +fear of violence, and had been patiently waiting until his +visitor should come out of his own accord. Several of the +gendarmes made a dash at Zachar, seizing him by both +arms. One of these was the spy from whom he had “circled” +away near the Public Library, soon after he had +taken leave from the ex-Governor’s daughter three hours +ago. Zachar’s presence here was a surprise to this gendarme, +but the full importance of the man was still unknown +to him. The officer in command, however, knew +who his prisoner was.</p> + +<p>“What is your name?” he addressed himself to Zachar, +with the exaltation of a man come upon a precious find. +He knew but too well how anxious the government was to +capture him, but he had come here to arrest My Lord +without the remotest idea of finding this revolutionary +giant in the place.</p> + +<p>“Krasnoff,” Zachar answered with dignity, in his deep-chested +voice.</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon,” the officer returned, with a twinkle +in his eye. “I once had the pleasure of arresting +you. Your name is Andrey Ivanovitch Jeliaboff.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, in that case I am pleased to meet you,” the prisoner +said with playful chivalry.</p> + +<p>Jeliaboff’s arrest made a joyous stir not only in the +gendarmerie, but also at court. Apart from the attempt +to blow up an imperial train in the south, in which he had +played the leading part, he had been described to the<a name="Page_282" id="Page_282"><span class="pagenum">[282]</span></a> +authorities as the most gifted and effective agitator in the +movement.</p> + +<p>The police at Little Garden Street were unaware of all +this, but the conduct of the two men who had visited the +cheese shop that afternoon seemed decidedly suspicious +and lent a glare of colour to the irrelevancies that seemed +to enfold the place.</p> + +<p>The next morning Pavel called on the Koboseffs. As +he entered the cheese store he saw that the adjoining +room was crowded with police officers. In his first shock +he was only conscious of the gleam of uniforms, of Urie’s +and somebody else’s voice and of his own sick despair. +But the sick feeling ebbed away, leaving him in a state +of desperate, pugnacious tranquillity, his mind on the +revolver in his pocket.</p> + +<p>“Hello there!” he shouted, with the self-satisfied disrespect +of a man of the better classes addressing one of +the lower, and at this he surveyed the store with an air +of contempt, as much as to say: “What a den I did +strike!”</p> + +<p>“Wife,” he heard Urie’s voice, “there is a gentleman +in the shop.”</p> + +<p>Baska, who had been calmly emptying a barrel of +cheese into some boxes, wiped her hands upon her apron +and stepped behind the counter.</p> + +<p>“Is your Holland cheese any good?” Pavel asked, +sniffing. “Are you sure you can give me a pound of +decent stuff?”</p> + +<p>She waited on him, simply, and after some more sniffing, +at the wrapping paper as well as the cheese, he let +her make up the package. As he walked toward the door +his heart stood still for an instant.</p> + +<p>He was allowed to go. Whether he was followed by<a name="Page_283" id="Page_283"><span class="pagenum">[283]</span></a> +spies he did not know. At all events, when he approached +his “legal” residence at the house of his high-born relative, +after an hour’s “circling,” he felt perfectly free +from shadowing. He was greatly perplexed to think of +the way Urie and Baska had been allowed to continue in +their rôle of a cheesemonger couple; but, at all events, +even if the true character of their shop had not yet been +discovered by the police officers he had seen there, it +seemed to be a matter of minutes when it would be.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>In the morning of that day, a few hours before Pavel +called on the Koboseffs, the police captain of the Little +Garden <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'street'">Street</ins> precinct had asked the prefect of St. Petersburg +to have the cheese shop examined under the guise +of a sanitary inspection. He was still uninformed of the +arrest of the big fellow with the pointed beard, much less +of the fact that he had proved to be one of the chieftains +of the revolutionary organisation, but the story of the +two suspicious-looking visitors at the cheese shop and +their “circling” had made him uneasy. The Czar was +expected to pass through Little Garden Street on Sunday, +which was the next day, and one could not ascertain the +real character of the Koboseffs and their business too soon. +Nevertheless the prefect was slow to appreciate the situation. +Indeed, it is quite characteristic of the despotic +chaos of a regime like Russia’s that on the one hand people +are thrown into jail to perish there on the merest +whim of some gendarme, and, on the other, action is often +prevented by an excess of red tape and indolence in cases +where there is ground for the gravest suspicion. While +hundreds of schoolboys and schoolgirls were wasting +away in damp, solitary cells because they had been suspected +of reading some revolutionary leaflet, the occupants<a name="Page_284" id="Page_284"><span class="pagenum">[284]</span></a> +of this basement, in whose case suspicion was associated +with the idea of a plot on the life of the Czar, had not +even been subjected to the summary search and questioning +to which every resident in Russia is ever liable.</p> + +<p>Finally, after considerable pleading on the part of the +police captain, General Mrovinsky, a civil engineer of the +Health Department, an elderly man with a kindly, genial +face, was assigned to make the feigned inspection.</p> + +<p>“Your Excellency will please see if they are not digging +a mine there,” the police captain said to him, respectfully. +“The Emperor often passes that shop when he goes to the +Riding Schools or to the Michaïl Palace, and that cheese +dealer and his wife are quite a suspicious-looking couple. +His Majesty is expected to pass the place to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>The general entered the cheese shop accompanied by +the police captain, the captain’s lieutenant and the head +porter of the house. Koboseff came out of the inner +rooms to meet them. He turned pale, but this seemed +natural.</p> + +<p>“His Excellency represents the Health Department,” +said the captain. “There is dampness in the next house, +and His Excellency wishes to see if your place is all +right.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to trouble you,” said General Mrovinsky, +kindly. “But dampness is a bad thing to have in one’s +house, you know.”</p> + +<p>“There is none here that I know of, sir,” Koboseff +replied deferentially, “but, of course, a fellow must not +be too sure, sir.”</p> + +<p>Baska stood in a corner of the shop, bending over a +barrel. While the officers talked to Urie she threw a +glance at the visitors over her shoulder and resumed her +work.</p><p><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285"><span class="pagenum">[285]</span></a></p> + +<p>The uniformed civil engineer made a close examination +of the walls. The one facing the street was covered with +planking, and Koboseff explained that he had had it done +as a safeguard against dampness, but that there was +none.</p> + +<p>“But then cheese crumbs are apt to get into the +cracks,” urged General Mrovinsky, taking hold of one of +the shelves along that wall. “They would decay there, +don’t you know, and that would be almost as bad as dampness, +wouldn’t it?” He then inspected the two living +rooms. In the second of these he found a pile of hay.</p> + +<p>“It’s from our cheese barrels,” Koboseff explained; +and pointing at another pile he added: “And that’s +coke, sir.”</p> + +<p>General Mrovinsky picked up a coal, examined it, threw +it back and wiped his fingers with some of the hay.</p> + +<p>“Everything is all right,” he said to the police officers, +with a look of intelligence. He led the way back to the +store and then back again to the middle room. Here he +took a firm hold of the planking that lined the wall under +the street window. He tried to wrench it off, but it would +not yield, and he let it go.</p> + +<p>“Everything is all right,” he said to the captain, seating +himself on a sofa. A trunk and some pieces of furniture +were moved from their places and then put back. The +general knew a merchant by the name of Koboseff, so he +asked the cheese dealer if he was a relative of his. Urie +said no, and after some conversation about the cheese +business in general the officials went away.</p> + +<p>“There is no mine in that place. You can make yourself +perfectly easy about it,” Mrovinsky said to the captain, +as they made their way to the adjoining basement.</p> + +<p>It was while they were conversing leisurely, the old general<a name="Page_286" id="Page_286"><span class="pagenum">[286]</span></a> +seated on the lounge, that Pavel came in. He was +watched narrowly, but he played his part well, and as the +engineer had already intimated to the police officers that +there was nothing suspicious about the premises he was not +even shadowed.</p> + +<p>Thus reassured, the police of the locality set to work +preparing Little Garden <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'street'">Street</ins> for the Czar’s drive to the +Riding School. This included an investigation as to the +character of the occupants of all the other shops and residences +facing the street, as well as getting the pavement +in good repair.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287"><span class="pagenum">[287]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXII.</h2> + +<h3>THE RED TERROR.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">MEANWHILE a reform measure which subsequently +became known as “the constitution of Loris-Melikoff” +had been framed and submitted to the Czar +by the Minister of the Interior. The project called for the +convocation of a semi-representative assembly to be clothed +with consultative powers. It was framed in guarded language, +great pains having been taken to keep out anything +like an allusion to parliamentary government.</p> + +<p>“But it looks like the States-General,” the Czar said +to Loris-Melikoff. The resemblance which the measure +bore to the opening chapter in the history of the French +revolution, where representatives of the three estates are +convened in consultative parliament, made a disagreeable +impression on him. Still, the project was ingeniously +worded as a measure tending to “enhance the confidence +of the monarch in his loyal subjects”; so, upon a closer +reading, the Czar warmed to it, and returned the draft to +Loris-Melikoff with his hearty approval. This took place +at 12 o’clock on Sunday, March 13, 1881, one day after +the search at the cheese store. It was decided to have the +document read before the cabinet on Wednesday, after +which it was to be published over the imperial signature +in the <i>Official Messenger</i>.</p> + +<p>The Czar was dressed in the uniform of the Sappers of<a name="Page_288" id="Page_288"><span class="pagenum">[288]</span></a> +the Guards, whose review he was about to attend at the +Michaïl Riding Schools.</p> + +<p>“I pray your Majesty to forego the trip,” Loris-Melikoff +said, solicitously.</p> + +<p>The Czar smiled. Princess Dolgoruki had made a similar +request, and by accentuating his danger they both +only succeeded in challenging his courage. He felt as if +in the light of their appeal staying at home would mean +hiding. Instead of pleading with him for caution Loris-Melikoff +should have made an effort to secure a suspension +of hostilities in the enemy’s camp. Had the revolutionists +been aware of what was coming a truce on their part +would have been assured. And then, little as the project +to be divulged resembled a constitution in the western +sense of the word, it was yet the first approach to representative +legislation in the history of modern Russia. +The Nihilists were pledged to abandon their Terror the +moment free speech had been granted, and although no +reference to questions of this character was made in the +“constitution,” certain liberties in that direction might +have followed as a matter of course, as an offspring of +the new spirit which the measure was expected to inaugurate. +A <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'distinquished'">distinguished</ins> revolutionary writer has pointed out +how easy it would have been for Loris-Melikoff to bring +his expectations to the knowledge of the Executive Committee +of the Nihilists by setting a rumour on foot among +the professional and intellectual classes, many of whose +representatives, as the Vice-Emperor knew but too well, +were in touch with the central organization of the Will +of the People. Perhaps this method of communicating +with the revolutionists had not occurred to Loris-Melikoff; +perhaps the iron-clad secrecy that enclosed his project +was a necessary protection against the enemies of reform<a name="Page_289" id="Page_289"><span class="pagenum">[289]</span></a> +at court. However it may have been, neither the revolutionists +nor their liberal allies had any inkling as to the +document about to be published in the <i>Official Messenger</i>. +Instead, they saw the police and the gendarmerie continuing +their riot of administrative violence; instead, they +heard of an order by virtue of which a number of revolutionists +who had served their term within prison walls at +Kara, Siberia, and been admitted to partial freedom in the +penal colony outside, had suddenly been put in irons and +thrown back into their cells; whereupon some of them had +committed suicide rather than return to the tortures of +their former life. All of which had added gall to the +bitterness of the revolutionists at large and whetted their +distrust of the “crafty Armenian,” as they called Loris-Melikoff.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The Czar’s favourite coachman, a stalwart, handsome +fellow, with a thick blond beard and clear blue eyes, sat +on the box of the closed imperial carriage, waiting in the +vast courtyard of the Winter Palace. An escort of six +lusty Cossacks, two gendarme officers and one of the several +chiefs of police of the capital held themselves in +readiness near by, the Cossacks on their mounts, the other +three in their open sleighs. Presently a great door flew +open and the Emperor appeared, accompanied by an adjutant +and a sergeant of the page corps. He wore a military +cape-cloak and a helmet. While the page held the +carriage door open, the Czar said to the coachman:</p> + +<p>“By Songsters’ Bridge!”</p> + +<p>This was not his habitual route to the Riding Schools. +Not that he was aware of the suspicions which the cheese +shop on Little Garden <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'street'">Street</ins> had aroused. He had not +the least idea of the existence of such a shop. He had<a name="Page_290" id="Page_290"><span class="pagenum">[290]</span></a> +decided on the new route merely as a matter of general +precaution, in case there was a mine somewhere. As to +pistol shots he was sufficiently screened by the walls of +his carriage as well as by the bodies of his cossacks and +their horses.</p> + +<p>That calm feeling of reverent affection with which the +average Englishman hails his sovereign is unknown in Russia. +But whether with reverence or mute imprecations, +the coach of a Czar disseminates thrills of fright as it proceeds. +The cavalcade of horsemen and sleighs, with the +great lacquered carriage in the centre, was sailing and galloping +along like a grim alien force, diffusing an atmosphere +of terror. To those who saw it approaching the fiery +cossacks on their fiery horses looked like a ferocious +band of invaders, their every fibre spoiling for violence, +rushing onward on an errand of conquest and bloody +reckoning.</p> + +<p>It was a cloudy day. The streets were covered with +discoloured, brownish snow; the snow on the roofs, window-sills, +cornices, gate-posts, was of immaculate whiteness, +apparently devoid of weight, smooth and neat, as though +trimmed by some instrument. There were few people +along the route followed by the little procession and most +of these were in their Sunday clothes. Now a civilian +snatched off his cap spasmodically, now a soldier drew +himself up with all his might, as though trying to lift +himself off his feet. Here and there a drunken citizen was +staggering along. Every person the carriage passed was +scrutinised by every member of the escort, by the cossacks +as well as by the chief of police and the gendarme +officers. The Riding Schools were soon reached.</p> + +<p>The Emperor left the building less than an hour later. +He was accompanied by Grand Duke Michaïl, his brother,<a name="Page_291" id="Page_291"><span class="pagenum">[291]</span></a> +the two going to the Michaïl Palace, where they were to +have lunch with the Czar’s niece.</p> + +<p>Sophia, the ex-governor’s daughter, was watching the +imperial carriage from a point of vantage. Presently she +turned into a neighbouring street, and passing a fair-complexioned +young man in a dark overcoat, who held a white +package in his hand, she raised her handkerchief to her +nose. The young man then hurried away toward Catharine +Canal. Three other men, one of them a gigantic +looking fellow, stood at so many different points, and +at sight of Sophia with her handkerchief to her nose, +they all started in the same direction as the first man, +while the young woman walked over to the Neva Prospect +from which she crossed a bridge to the opposite +side of Catharine Canal.</p> + +<p>It was half past two when the imperial carriage, +surrounded by the six cossacks and followed by the gendarme +officers and the chief of police, set out on their +homebound journey. The handsome coachman let out +his horses. The group was scudding along at top speed. +The chief of police stood up in his sleigh, one of his +gloved hands on the shoulder of his driver, as he strained +his eyes now to the right now to the left, after the manner +of the human figure on the face of a certain kind of +clocks. The carriage turned to the right, passing a detachment +of marines who saluted the Czar by presenting +arms. The carriage was now on one of the banks of +the Catharine Canal, an iron railing to the right, a row +of buildings to the left. An employe of a horse-car +company, who was levelling off a ridge of caked snow +at this moment, hastily rested his crowbar against the +iron railing and bared his head. Some distance in front +of him a young man in a dark overcoat, and with a white<a name="Page_292" id="Page_292"><span class="pagenum">[292]</span></a> +package in his hand, was trudging along the canal side of +the street. He was passed and left in the rear by a +man in the uniform of a hospital nurse of the guards. +On the sidewalk to the left of the Czar, another man, +also in military uniform, was moving rapidly along, while +from the opposite direction, in the middle of the snow-covered +street, came a boy pulling a little sled with a +basket of meat on it. Sophia was looking on from the +other side of the canal.</p> + +<p>Colonel Dvorzhitzky (the chief of police) was scanning +the sidewalk to the left, when a terrific crash went +up from under the Czar’s carriage. It was as if a mass +of deafening sound had lain dormant there, in the form +of a vast closed fan, and the fan had suddenly flown +open. The colonel’s horses reared violently, hurling him +over the shoulder of his coachman. While he was surveying +the left side of the street, the employe of the +tramway company and several military people, coming +up alongside the railing, had seen the young man in the +dark overcoat lift his white package and throw it under +the Czar’s carriage. The carriage came to a sudden halt +amid a cloud of smoke and snow dust. A second or +two passed before any of them could realise what it all +meant. The young man turned about and broke into a +run.</p> + +<p>“Catch him! Hold him!” the pedestrians shrieked +frantically, dashing after the running man.</p> + +<p>He had reached a point some thirty feet back of the +imperial carriage when he was hemmed in. One of the +cossacks and the boy lay in the snow shrieking. One +of the rear corners of the carriage was badly shattered. +The rest of it was uninjured, but during the first minute +or two its doors remained closed, so that the bystanders<a name="Page_293" id="Page_293"><span class="pagenum">[293]</span></a> +could not tell whether the Czar was hurt or not. Then +the chief of police rushed up to the vehicle and flung +the right door open. The Czar was unhurt, but ghastly +pale. He sat bending slightly forward, his feet on the +bearskin covering the floor, a gilt ash receiver on a shelf +in front of him.</p> + +<p>“The guilty man has been caught, your Imperial +Majesty!” Colonel Dvorzhitzky burst out.</p> + +<p>“Has he?” the Emperor asked, in intense agitation.</p> + +<p>“He has, your Imperial Majesty. They are holding +him. May I offer you to finish the journey in my +sleigh?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but I first want to see the prisoner.”</p> + +<p>Pervaded by the conviction that another plot on +his life had failed, the Czar stepped out of the carriage, +and accompanied by a group of officers, some from his +escort and others from among the passers-by, he crossed +over to the sidewalk that ran along the canal railing, +erect and majestic as usual, but extremely pale with excitement, +and then turning to the right he walked toward +where a group of uniformed men were holding a fair-complexioned +beardless young fellow against the railing. +People, mostly in military uniforms, came running from +every direction.</p> + +<p>Somebody asked: “How is the Emperor?”</p> + +<p>“Thank God,” answered the Czar, “I have escaped, +but——” and he pointed at the wounded cossack and boy.</p> + +<p>“It may be too soon to thank God,” said the prisoner.</p> + +<p>“Is this the man who did it?” the Czar asked, advancing +toward him. “Who are you?”</p> + +<p>“My name is Glazoff.”</p> + +<p>The Czar turned back. He had made a few steps, when +a man who stood no more than three feet from him raised<a name="Page_294" id="Page_294"><span class="pagenum">[294]</span></a> +a white object high over his head and dashed it to the +ground, between the Emperor and himself.</p> + +<p>There was another explosion, still more violent and +deafening than the first. The air was a turmoil of smoke, +snow-dust and shreds of uniforms, concealing everything +else from view. Sophia hurried away.</p> + +<p>More than half a minute later, when the chaos had +partly cleared away, the Czar was seen in a sitting posture +on the snow-covered sidewalk, leaning against the railing, +his large oval head bare, his cape-cloak gone. He was +breathing hard. His face was in blood, the flesh of +his bared legs lacerated, the blood gushing from them +over the snow. A heap of singed, smoking tatters nearby +was all that had been left of his cloak.</p> + +<p>With cries of horror and of overpowering pity the bystanders +rushed forward. Among them was a man with +a bomb under his coat like the two which had just +exploded. He was one of the four men who had shifted +their posts when they saw Sophia raising her handkerchief +to her nose. Had the second bomb failed to do its +bloody work, this Terrorist would have thrown his missile +when the imperial carriage came by his corner. As he +beheld the Czar on the ground and bleeding, however, he +instinctively flung himself forward to offer help to the +suffering man.</p> + +<p>At sight of the prostrated Czar the men who held the +author of the first explosion, began to shower blows on +him.</p> + +<p>“<ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added ,">Don’t,</ins>” he begged them, shielding his head and face. +“I meant the good of the people.”</p> + +<p>Two yards from the Czar lay bleeding the unconscious +figure of a civilian. Further away were several other +prostrated men, in all sorts of uniforms.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295"><span class="pagenum">[295]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Help!” the Czar uttered in a faint voice.</p> + +<p>Somebody handed him a handkerchief, which he put +to his face, muttering “Cold, cold.” Several of the marines +who had saluted him a few minutes ago and two +guardsmen placed him on Colonel Dvorzhitzky’s sleigh.</p> + +<p>When Grand Duke Michaïl appeared on the scene he +found his brother rapidly sinking.</p> + +<p>“Sasha,<a name="Anchor-C" id="Anchor-C"></a><a title="Go to footnote C" href="#Footnote-C" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> do you hear me?” he asked him, with tears +in his eyes.</p> + +<p>The bystanders, who had never before heard their Czar +addressed in the form of affectionate familiarity, were +thrilled with a feeling of heart-tearing pity and of the +most fervent devotion. Most of them had sobs in their +throats.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” the Czar answered faintly.</p> + +<p>“How do you feel, Sasha?”</p> + +<p>“To the Palace—quick,” the Czar whispered. And +upon hearing somebody’s suggestion that he be taken to +the nearest house for immediate relief, he uttered:</p> + +<p>“Bear me to the palace—there—die——.”</p> + +<p>He reclined between two cossacks, with a gendarme +officer facing him and supporting his legs. This is the +way he returned home. Pedestrians met him with gestures +of horrified perplexity and acute commiseration now.</p> + +<p>The crowd at one corner of Catharine Canal was a +babel of excitement and violence. In their mad rush +for the man who threw the second bomb, the bystanders +were accusing each other, grabbing at each other, quarrelling, +fighting. As Nihilists were for the most part people +of education, every man who looked college-bred was +in danger of his life. Among those who were beaten to +a pulp in this wild mêlée were two political spies who had<a name="Page_296" id="Page_296"><span class="pagenum">[296]</span></a> +the appearance of university students. A shout went up +that the thrower of the fatal bomb had vaulted over the +fence of the Michaïl gardens nearby, and then the mob +broke down part of that fence, and ruined the gardens +in a wild but vain search for the Terrorist. People were +seized and hustled off to the station houses by the hundred.</p> + +<p>The heir apparent, a fair-complexioned Hercules, was +on his way to the Winter Palace surrounded by a strong +escort of mounted men. It was the first time he had +appeared in the streets so accompanied. The cluster of +horsemen and sleighs that had left the palace three hours +before never returned; this one was coming in its place; +but the effect of grim detachment, of fierce challenge +was the same.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>An hour had elapsed. The flag over the Winter Palace +which denotes Imperial presence was put at half-mast. +Church bells were tolling the death of Alexander II. and +the accession of Alexander III.</p> + +<p>The new Czar was by his father’s bedside. He was +even more powerfully built than he, but he lacked his +grace and the light of his intelligent eyes—a physical +giant with a look of obtuse honesty on a fair, bearded +round face. An English diplomatist who understood him +well has said that “he had a mind not only commonplace, +but incapable of receiving new ideas.” When he saw his +father breathe his last, he exclaimed: “This is what we +have come to!”—a celebrated ejaculation which an archbishop +uttered at the funeral of Peter the Great in 1725. +This was his first utterance as Emperor of Russia. Its +puerile lack of originality was characteristic of the man.</p> + +<p>Princess Dolgoruki fainted, and she had no sooner been<a name="Page_297" id="Page_297"><span class="pagenum">[297]</span></a> +brought to than the packing of her trunks was ordered +by the sons of her dead husband.</p> + +<p>The palace was surrounded by a strong cordon of +cossacks. Palace Square was thronged, the neighbouring +streets were tremulous with subdued excitement. Some +people were sincerely overcome with grief and horror; +others were struggling to conceal their exultation. There +were such as wept and cursed the Nihilists by way of +displaying their own loyalty, and there were such as burst +into tears from the sheer solemnity and nervousness of the +moment. But the great predominating feeling that pervaded +these crowds, eclipsing every other sentiment or +thought, was curiosity. “What is going to happen next?”—this +was the question that was uppermost in the +minds of these people in their present fever of excitement. +Had a republic been proclaimed with the Executive +Committee of the Nihilists as a provisional government, +they would have sworn their allegiance to the bomb-throwers +as readily as they did, on the morrow, to the son +of the assassinated Emperor. Had the Terrorists succeeded, +the same bearded bishops who blessed and sounded +the praises of the new Czar would have blessed and sounded +the praises of those who had killed his father.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Pavel was in a suburb of the capital, when he first +heard the melancholy tolling of the church bells.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” he asked an elderly man who +was walking with a sleigh-load of bricks, the reins in +his hands.</p> + +<p>“They say our little father, the Czar, has been killed,” +the other answered, making the sign of the cross with +his free hand. “People say the Czarowitz is going to +cut down the term of military service. Is it true, sir?”</p> + +<p><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298"><span class="pagenum">[298]</span></a></p> + +<p>“What is true?” Pavel asked. He was literally dazed +with excitement.</p> + +<p>“A son of mine is in the army, sir,” the other explained +reverently. “So I wonder if the new Czar will be easier +on the soldiers, sir.”</p> + +<p>Pavel hailed the first hackman he came across. He +was burning to know the details of the assassination and +to tell Clara that the first man he accosted on the great +news of the hour had shown indifference to the death of the +monarch.</p> + +<p>When his sleigh reached the Neva Prospect, he saw +the new Czar, surrounded by a cohort of officers in dazzling +uniform, passing along the thoroughfare. The +crowds were greeting him with wild cheers. They cheered +their own emotions at sight of the man whose father had +come to so tragic a death, and they cheered their own +servility to the master of the situation.</p> + +<p>These shouts filled Pavel with a mixed sense of defeat +and triumph. The gloomier feeling predominated. The +world looked as usual. It did not look as if this cheering, +servile, stolid mob would ever rise against anything.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>That evening placards bearing the name of the Executive +Committee appeared on the walls of public buildings. +They announced the death of Alexander II. and admonished +his successor to adopt a liberal policy.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299"><span class="pagenum">[299]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE REVELATION.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">EVERY resident in the capital was being scanned and +spied after, and every house-porter was kept peeking +and seeking and reporting at the police station +of his precinct. The railway stations were teeming with +spies and a system was introduced by which every hack-driver +was expected to spy on his fare. The effect of it all +was that the great majority of St. Petersburg’s population +was in a state of unspeakable terror. Curiosity, pity and +everything else had given way to a nervous feeling of self-preservation. +People walked through the streets hastily. +The sight of a policeman was enough to send a twinge of +fright into the heart of the most loyal government clerk; +everybody was afraid of everybody else. One avoided to +utter such words as “Czar,” “police,” “government.” As +to the Nihilists, one literally dreaded to think of them. +People who had never had a liberal thought in their brain +were tremulous with distrust of their own souls.</p> + +<p>And through all this all-pervading panic Clara was busy +posting revolutionary proclamations in the streets, distributing +tracts among students and working-people, keeping +“business” appointments with her “illegal” friends. +Pavel, in his turn, had all he could do to attend to the +needs of some of the out-of-town “circles.” The revolutionists +throughout the country were clamouring for information,<a name="Page_300" id="Page_300"><span class="pagenum">[300]</span></a> +for proclamations, for speakers; so that the +seventy or eighty men and women who formed the innermost +organisation were as feverishly busy in their way as +the police and the gendarmes were in theirs.</p> + +<p>The authorities were ransacking the capital for Nihilists +in general and for the cheesemonger couple in particular, +but during the first few hours following the two explosions +their eagerness was centered on the man who had +thrown the fatal bomb. The search for that man soon +proved superfluous, however.</p> + +<p>The civilian who was picked up unconscious near where +the Czar was stricken down had been taken to a hospital. +Late in the evening he had a brief interval of +consciousness.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?” an officer then asked him.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know,” he answered. He had a relapse from +which he never awoke. The front of his body, particularly +the inner side of one arm, was covered with ghastly +wounds, from which experts inferred that at the time of +the explosion he could not have stood more than three +feet from the Czar. This, according to some eye-witnesses +of the catastrophe, was the distance between the deceased +monarch and the man who threw the second bomb. After +two days of searching and sniffing the police discovered +the unknown man’s lodging, where they found some revolutionary +literature and other evidence that pointed to him +as the author of the fatal explosion. He had stood so +close to the Czar that it was impossible for him to make +a target of his victim without making one of himself. +His real name still remained unknown.</p> + +<p>As to the first bomb-thrower, he proved to be a college +student named Rysakoff. In the hands of the gendarme +officers and the procureur he broke down and told all he<a name="Page_301" id="Page_301"><span class="pagenum">[301]</span></a> +knew; but it appeared that he knew very little. He had +been one of a number of volunteers who offered to attack +the Emperor under the command of Zachar. When Zachar’s +arrest became known to the Executive Committee +things had begun to be rushed. Sophia Perovskaya, the +ex-governor’s daughter, had taken his place, and it was +decided to make the assault without delay. Zachar had +been arrested on Friday evening. As it was known to +Sophia that the Czar would visit the Riding Schools on +the next Sunday, the attempt was fixed for that occasion. +The Terrorists immediately connected with the plot held +their gatherings at a “conspiracy lodgings” kept by a +man and woman Rysakoff did not know. There the volunteers +met Sophia and one of the inventors of the self-igniting +shell (the man with the priestly face whom we +saw at the meeting of the Executive Committee at which +Clara’s wedding was to be celebrated). On Sunday morning +(the day of the assassination) the volunteers—three +college men and an artisan—called at the same gathering +place. They found two finished bombs there and soon +Sophia arrived with two more. Where the bomb factory +was Rysakoff did not know. Sophia explained that it +took a whole night to make the four portable machines +and that more than four volunteers could not be accommodated. +She then drew a rough map of the Czar’s expected +route, with four dots for the posts of the four bomb-throwers. +There were two sets of dots on the diagram. +In case the Czar failed to include Little Garden Street in +his route, the Terrorists were to shift their positions to +Catharine Canal and two neighbouring streets.</p> + +<p>That afternoon, as Rysakoff stood on his post near Little +Garden Street, Sophia passed by him, her handkerchief +to her nose (the same sort of signal which the same young<a name="Page_302" id="Page_302"><span class="pagenum">[302]</span></a> +woman had given a year and a half before to the man +who fired the mine which blew up the imperial train near +Moscow). That meant that the Czar was not passing +through Little Garden Street. Accordingly, Rysakoff hastened +over to Catherine Canal. There, after he had thrown +the bomb and while the Czar was speaking to him, he saw +the three other volunteers each on his post.</p> + +<p>The second bomb-thrower was known to Rysakoff under +the name of “the Kitten.” His real name he did not +know.</p> + +<p>He also gave the police the address of the “conspiracy +lodgings,” which were located on the sixth floor of +a house on Waggon Street, and an hour or two later, at +midnight, two days after the killing of the Czar, the procureur, +accompanied by gendarmes and police, knocked at +one of the doors of that apartment.</p> + +<p>“Who is there?” a masculine voice asked from within.</p> + +<p>“Police and the procureur.”</p> + +<p>“What do you want?”</p> + +<p>“Open the door at once or we’ll break it down.”</p> + +<p>While they were raining blows on the door, a succession +of pistol shots was heard within. Another door flew +open, at the end of the corridor, and a woman made her +appearance.</p> + +<p>“We surrender,” she said. “Pray send for a doctor. +Look out, don’t pass through this door. There are explosives +there.”</p> + +<p>Inside they found the fresh corpse of a man lying in a +pool of blood. It was the gay poet; and the woman was +Hessia Helfman, the dark little Jewess with the frizzled +hair who was married to Purring Cat. It was she and the +man now lying dead from his own pistol shots who had +been in charge of this “conspiracy lodgings.” Among<a name="Page_303" id="Page_303"><span class="pagenum">[303]</span></a> +the things found in the apartment were the two bombs +which had been brought back from the scene of the assassination; +the rough map made by Sophia on the morning +before the attack and a large quantity of revolutionary +literature.</p> + +<p>The former “conspiracy lodgings” were now a police +trap, and on the very next morning it caught a big burly +man whom Rysakoff identified as Timothy Michailoff, the +one mechanic among the four men who had been armed +with bombs on the fatal morning. Michailoff’s memorandum +book furnished the police some important addresses, +but the great surprise of that eventful week did not come +until the following day, March 17th, and when it did it +was anything but a source of self-congratulation to the +authorities.</p> + +<p>About ten o’clock in the morning of that day the porters +of the house on Little Garden Street where the Koboseffs +kept their shop reported to the roundsman that the cheese +dealer and his wife had not been home since the previous +evening, and that their shop was still closed. The roundsman, +who, like every member of the St. Petersburg police +during those days, was overworked and badly in need of +rest, made no reply. An hour later the porter accosted +him again:</p> + +<p>“The shop is still closed. Customers have been around +and there is nobody in.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I have no time to bother about it.”</p> + +<p>“But I think I saw something in that store, some strange +looking tools,” pleaded the porter.</p> + +<p>“The devil you did,” the roundsman said, as much with +irritation as with amazement.</p> + +<p>The statement was reported to the captain, who communicated +it to his superiors, until finally an order was<a name="Page_304" id="Page_304"><span class="pagenum">[304]</span></a> +obtained to raid the shop. A search was made, more +thorough than the first, and with quite different results. +The lounge in the living room upon which General Mrovinsky +had sat while speaking to Koboseff was found to +contain a heap of earth, and when the planks under the +window of the middle room were removed—the very ones +which General Mrovinsky had made a feeble attempt to +detach in the presence of Koboseff and the police—a +large yawning hole presented itself to view. When this +part of the wall had been torn down, the aperture proved +to be the mouth of a subterranean passage enclosed in +wood. Seven feet from the shop began a charge of a +hundred pounds of dynamite with an electric battery near +by and wires running along the gallery back to the middle +room. Everything was in complete readiness. All that +was necessary to explode the mine was to connect the wires.</p> + +<p>As was learned subsequently, this mine had been the +leading feature of the plot, the bombs having been added +in case the Czar left Little Garden Street out of his route +or the mine failed of its deadly purpose for some other +reason. Of the existence of such a mine Rysakoff had +not the remotest idea until he heard of it at the trial.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>On the Friday afternoon immediately preceding the +arrest of Jeliaboff (Zachar) the porter of the house where +he and Sophia were registered as brother and sister met +them at the gate as they were leaving the house together; +and later, at 9 o’clock in the evening, he saw Sophia return +alone. The next morning, after Jeliaboff had spent his +first night in prison, the police, in their effort to discover +his residence, ordered every porter in the city to ascertain +who of his tenants had been absent from home that night. +When the porter rang Sophia’s bell that morning there<a name="Page_305" id="Page_305"><span class="pagenum">[305]</span></a> +was no response. He reported it at the police station +where he was told to try again. At 2 o’clock he saw +Sophia.</p> + +<p>“I have received some blanks from the police,” he said. +“Every tenant must state his occupation and place of business.”</p> + +<p>“My brother is working now,” Sophia answered. “When +he comes home I’ll tell him about it.”</p> + +<p>Two hours later she went out again, and in order to +avoid passing the porter at the gate, she gained the street +through a little dry goods shop that had a rear door into +that yard, buying something for a pretext. She came +back, by way of the same dry goods shop, at 9 o’clock in +the evening and that was the last that was ever seen of +her in that neighbourhood. The next morning the porter +reported the disappearance of the couple.</p> + +<p>When the police searched the deserted apartment they +found a number of revolutionary publications, several tin +boxes like those which formed the shells of the two exploding +machines seized at the “conspiracy house” kept +by Hessia and the “gay poet,” and several cheeses bearing +the same trade-mark as those in Koboseff’s shop.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Jeliaboff had heard the solemn tolling of the +bells in his prison cell. In the excitement of the hour a +gendarme on duty in the prison <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: removed ,">corridor</ins> answered his +questions through the peep-hole, in violation of regulations. +Jeliaboff at once sent word to the procureur, assuming +responsibility for the entire plot, as an agent of +the Executive Committee.</p> + +<p>Sophia knew through a certain high official all that +transpired between Jeliaboff and the procureur. She +knew that the authorities were turning the capital inside +out in their search for the woman who had lived with<a name="Page_306" id="Page_306"><span class="pagenum">[306]</span></a> +Jeliaboff as his sister and for the Koboseff couple, yet in +spite of all the pressure the Nihilists brought to bear on +her, persuading her to seek temporary retirement, she, like +Urie and Baska, remained in the heart of St. Petersburg, in +the very thick of her party’s activity. Clara saw her at a +meeting during that week.</p> + +<p>“You need rest, Sonia. You look tired.”</p> + +<p>“Do I?” Sophia answered with a smile. “So do you. +Everybody does these days.”</p> + +<p>Her smile was on her lips only. Her blue eyes were +inscrutably grave, but Clara saw a blend of lofty exaltation +and corroding anguish in them. She knew how dear +Jeliaboff was to her. She had been craving to speak to +her of him, of Hessia and of the “gay poet,” who had +committed suicide at the time of Hessia’s arrest; but at +this moment it was Sophia herself who filled her mind.</p> + +<p>“Sonia!” Clara said, huskily.</p> + +<p>“What is it, child?” the other asked, kindly.</p> + +<p>For an answer Clara looked her in the face, smiling +shame-facedly. She did feel like an infant in her presence, +although Sophia, with her small stature and fresh +boyish face, looked the younger of the two. She did not +know herself what she wanted to say. She was burning +to cover her with kisses and to break into sobs on her +breast, but Sophia was graver and more taciturn than usual +to-day, so she held herself in check. Her passion for tears +was subdued. She sat by Sophia’s side absorbed in her +presence without looking her in the face, tingling with +something like the feeling of people in a graveyard, in +a moment of solemn ecstasy.</p> + +<p>Clara came away burdened with unvoiced emotion. She +said to herself that when she saw Pavel she would find +relief in telling him how she adored Sophia and how<a name="Page_307" id="Page_307"><span class="pagenum">[307]</span></a> +thirsty her heart was because she had not unbosomed herself +of these feelings to her; but when she and Pavel +were alone she said nothing.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The porters of the house from which Sophia had vanished +were asked at the police station whether they would +be able to single her out in a street crowd. They had to +admit that they were not sure whether they would. She +had lived under their eye for eight months, but she had +always managed to pass through the gate, where they were +usually on duty, so as to leave no clear impression of her +features on their minds. Finally, on the sixth day, it +was discovered that the proprietress of the little dry goods +store had a clear recollection of her face. This woman, +accompanied by a police officer, then spent hours driving +about through the busiest streets, until, with a shout of +mixed joy and fright, she pointed out Sophia in a public +sleigh.</p> + +<p>It was not many days before Kibalchich, the man with +the Christlike face, who was one of the inventors and +makers of the four bombs, and another revolutionist were +arrested in a café, through an address found in Timothy +Michailoff’s note-book.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The trial of the six regicides so far captured, Jeliaboff, +Sophia, Kibalchich, Hessia, Rysakoff, and Timothy Michailoff, +was begun by a special Court of the Governing +Senate for Political Cases, on April 8. That Purring +Cat and the man with the Tartarian face, both of whom +were in prison now, had taken part in the digging of the +Koboseff mine, was still unknown to the police. Nor +had the authorities as yet been informed of the fact that +another “political” in their hands—the undersized man<a name="Page_308" id="Page_308"><span class="pagenum">[308]</span></a> +who had played the part of shop-boy to the cheese-dealer—had +had something to do with the same conspiracy.</p> + +<p>Complete reports of the trial appeared in the newspapers, +and the testimony and speeches of the accused +were read and read again.</p> + +<p>Jeliaboff (“Zachar”) declined a lawyer, taking his defence +in his own hands. His legal battles with the presiding +judge, his resource, his tact and his eloquence, made +him the central figure of the proceedings. He began by +challenging the court’s jurisdiction in the case. “This +court represents the crown, one of the two parties concerned,” +he said, “and I submit that in a contention between +the government and the revolutionary party there +could be only one judge—the people; the people either by +means of a popular vote, or through its rightful representatives +in parliament assembled, or, at least, a jury representing +public conscience.” Declarations of this kind, +Kibalchich’s narrative as to how the blind brutality of the +government had transformed peaceful social workers into +Terrorists, and the effect of simple, dignified sincerity which +marked the conduct of all the prisoners produced such a +profound impression, that at the time of the next important +political trial scarcely any reports were allowed to be +published.</p> + +<p>The six regicides were sentenced to death, the execution +of Hessia Helfman, who was about to become a mother, +being postponed and later commuted. When the parents +of Kolotkevich (Purring Cat) asked to be allowed to +bring up their son’s child, the request was refused on the +ground that it was the child of two regicides and should +be brought up under special care. The result of this +special care was that the child, like its pardoned mother, +soon died.</p><p><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309"><span class="pagenum">[309]</span></a></p> + +<p>Sophia and the four condemned men died on the gallows, +on a public square. They were taken to their death on +two “shame waggons,” dressed in convict clothes, each +with a board inscribed with the words “criminal of state” +across his or her breast. The procession was accompanied +by a force of military large enough to conquer a country +like Belgium. Sophia was the first woman executed on +Russian soil since 1719.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310"><span class="pagenum">[310]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIV.</h2> + +<h3>THE CZAR TAKES COURAGE.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">ALEXANDER III. and his court moved to the long-deserted +imperial palace at Gatchina, a village 28 +English miles from St. Petersburg. The young +Czar and his entourage were in a state of nervous tension. +Economically, the country was in the throes of hard times. +Districts rich in the potentialities of industry and prosperity +were in the grip of famine. Driven by bad crops +and extortionate taxes, thousands of village families were +abandoning their homes to go begging. Cities were +crowded with such mendicants from surrounding villages, +and the industrial centres were full of workmen out of employment. +Politically, a demoralising feeling of suspense +hung over the empire. The masses had seen one Czar—the +ward of a vigilant guardian angel—prostrated. The +crown’s prestige was shaken, and the Czar’s seeking refuge +in a secluded village did anything but retrieve it. The +number of <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">lèse majesté</i> cases had suddenly grown so large +that by a special imperial ukase these offences were transferred +from the publicity of the courts to the obscure +depths of “justice by administrative order.” From several +places came reports of riots against the police, while the +universities manifested their hostility to the throne quite +openly. Subscription lists for a monument to the assassinated +Czar were torn to pieces and those who circulated<a name="Page_311" id="Page_311"><span class="pagenum">[311]</span></a> +them were publicly hissed and insulted. The portents of +turbulence were in the air.</p> + +<p>Loris-Melikoff submitted to the new Czar the “constitution” +of which Alexander II. had approved an hour +before his violent death. Alexander III. read it and +wrote on the margin of the paper: “Very well conceived”; +and two days later, after the project had been +carried at a cabinet meeting by a vote of eight against +five, the Czar, while conversing with his brother, Grand +Duke Vladimir, on the measure to be introduced, said, +joyfully:</p> + +<p>“I feel as though a mountain had rolled off my shoulders.”</p> + +<p>But the conservative party at court had the support of +a new power behind the throne. M. Pobiedonostzeff, formerly +tutor of the present Czar and now his favourite adviser, +was a man of much stronger purpose than Loris-Melikoff. +He fought against the innovation tooth and nail, and +the publication of it in the <i>Official Messenger</i> was postponed +from day to day. The leader of the Panslavists was +invited from Moscow; every conservative influence was +brought to bear upon a Czar who was absolutely incapable +of forming his own opinion. All this was done in the +strictest secrecy from Loris-Melikoff.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Meanwhile, during Easter week, seven days after the +approval of the “constitution” by a majority of the ministers +and twelve days subsequent to the execution of the +regicides, a furious anti-Jewish riot broke out in Elisavetgrad, +a prosperous city in the south. A frenzied drink-crazed +mob had possession of the town during two days, +demolishing and pillaging hundreds of houses and shops, +covering whole streets with debris and reducing thousands<a name="Page_312" id="Page_312"><span class="pagenum">[312]</span></a> +of people to beggary. And neighbouring towns and villages +followed the example of the larger city.</p> + +<p>The Czar took alarm. It looked like the prelude to a +popular upheaval.</p> + +<p>“It’s only an anti-Semitic disturbance, your Imperial +Majesty,” Pobiedonostzeff reassured him. “There was one +like that ten years ago, in Odessa.”</p> + +<p>The Elisavetgrad outbreak was, indeed, a purely local +affair, but it happened at a time that was highly favourable +to occurrences of that nature. Originally organised +by some high-born profligates, victims of a gang of Jewish +usurers, it had nothing to do with the general situation +save in so far as there was in the hungry masses a blind +disposition to attack somebody; a disposition coupled with +a feeling that the usual ties of law and order had been +loosened. When, in addition, the target of assault happened +to be the stepchild in Russia’s family of peoples, the +one forever kicked and cuffed by the government itself, +the rioters’ sense of security was complete. Moreover, +among the victims of Jewish usurers were hundreds of +army officers and civil officials who lived beyond their +means, and from these came a direct hint at impunity. +The attack had been carefully planned, but the imbruted +mob acted on its own logic, with the result that thousands +of artisans, labourers, poor tradesmen, teachers, rabbis, +dreamers, were plundered and ill-treated while the handful +of usurers escaped.</p> + +<p>The promise of impunity was fulfilled. Neighbouring +towns and villages followed the example of Elisavetgrad, +and ten days later, May 8-9, similar atrocities, but with a +far greater display of fury and bestiality, occurred in Kieff, +where a dozen murders and an enormous list of wounded +and of outraged women was added to the work of devastation<a name="Page_313" id="Page_313"><span class="pagenum">[313]</span></a> +and plunder. The Kieff authorities encouraged +all this in a thousand ways, while individual officers and +men took part in the pandemonium of havoc and rape.</p> + +<p>“Easy, boys,” said the governor of the province, with +an amused smile, as he drove past the busy rioters at the +head of a procession of fashionable spectators.</p> + +<p>Loris-Melikoff was scarcely to be held responsible for +these occurrences. He had his own cares to worry him. +The reins were fast slipping out of his hands. Indeed, +the attitude of governors, chiefs of police, military officers, +toward the spreading campaign against the Jews was +a matter of instinct. The “spirit of the moment,” as it +had become customary to denote the epidemic of anti-Jewish +feeling in official circles, gleamed forth clear and +unequivocal, and local authorities acted upon it on their +own hook. The real meaning of this “spirit of the moment” +lay in the idea that if there was a state of general +unrest threatening the safety of the throne, it was spending +itself on anti-Semitic ferocity; that if a storm-cloud +was gathering over the crown, an electric rod had been +found in the Chosen People.</p> + +<p>The Czar took courage.</p> + +<p>Two days after the Kieff riot he promulgated a manifesto, +framed by Pobiedonostzeff, and proclaiming the +continuance of unqualified iron-handed absolutism. The +“constitution” went into the archives. Loris-Melikoff’s +public career had come to a close. General Ignatyeff, a +corrupt time-server, was appointed Minister of the Interior +and a policy of restriction and repression was adopted +that brought back the days of Nicholas I.</p> + +<p>Ignatyeff encouraged the “spirit of the moment” with +all the means at his command. One of the very first +things he did was to order the expulsion of thousands of<a name="Page_314" id="Page_314"><span class="pagenum">[314]</span></a> +Jews from Kieff. At the trial of some of the rioters +the state attorney unceremoniously acted as advocate for +the defendants.</p> + +<p>The effect of all this upon the public mind was a foregone +conclusion. The general inference was that anti-Jewish +riots met with the government’s approval. The +outrages passed from Kieff to neighbouring cities; from +there to Odessa; from Odessa to other sections of the +south. They were spreading throughout the region in +which Miroslav is located with the continuity of a regular +crusade and with a uniformity of detail that was eloquent +of a common guiding force.</p> + +<p>It was a new phase of White Terrorism.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>To Pavel the crusade against Clara’s race was a source +of mixed encouragement and anxiety.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah, old fellow,” he said to Godfather one morning. +“It does look as though the Russian people could +kick, doesn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if they can attack Jewish usurers, I don’t see why +they could not turn upon the government some day.”</p> + +<p>“And, while they are at it, upon the land-plundering +nobility, upon fellows like you and me, eh?” He poked +Urie in the ribs gleefully.</p> + +<p>In his conversations with Clara, however, the subject +was never broached, and this gave him a sense of guilt and +uneasiness. He could not help being aware that instead of +usurers the chief target of attack in every riot, without a +single exception, were Jewish artisans, labourers, teachers +and the poorest tradesmen. And this, so far as Clara was +concerned, meant that the common people of Pavel’s race, +for whose sake she was facing the solitary cell and the +gallows, that these Christian people were brutally assaulting<a name="Page_315" id="Page_315"><span class="pagenum">[315]</span></a> +and pillaging, reducing to beggary and murdering poor +honest, innocent people of her own blood, Jews like her +father, mother, sister, like herself.</p> + +<p>But this bare fact did not fit in with Nihilist theory. +That golden halo which had been painted about the common +Christian people by the ecstasies of the anti-serfdom +movement of twenty years ago had not yet faded. The +Gentile masses were still deified by the Nihilists. Whatever +the peasant or workman of Slavic blood did was still +sacred,—an instinctive step in the direction of liberty and +universal happiness. The Russian masses were rioting; +could there be a better indication of a revolutionary +awakening? And if the victims of these riots happened +to be Jews, then the Jews were evidently enemies of the +people.</p> + +<p>That the crusade was part and parcel of the “white +terror” of the throne had not yet dawned upon the revolutionists.</p> + +<p>As to Clara, she was so completely abandoned to her +grief over the death of Sophia and the four men that +so far the riots (no unheard-of thing in the history of the +Jews by any means) had made but a feeble appeal to her +imagination. Centuries seemed to divide her from her +race and her past. The outbreaks seemed to be taking +place in some strange, distant country.</p> + +<p>The execution of the five regicides had been described +quite fully in the <i>Official Messenger</i> and the account had +been copied in all other newspapers. Clara kept the issue +of the <i>Voice</i> containing the report in a book, and although +she knew its salient passages by heart, she often consulted +the paper, now for this paragraph, now for that. There +was a sacred mystery in the letters in which the description +was printed.</p><p><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316"><span class="pagenum">[316]</span></a></p> + +<p>“The five prisoners approached the priests almost at +the same moment and kissed the cross; after which they +were taken by the hangmen each to his or her rope.” +Clara beheld the ropes dangling and Sophia placed under +one of them, but her aching heart coveted more vividness. +Her imagination was making desperate efforts to reproduce +the scene with the tangibility of life. Each time she read +how the hangman, dressed in a red shirt, slipped the noose +about Sophia’s neck amid the roll of drums, and how he +wrenched the stool from under her feet, so that she +plunged with a jerk, and how the next instant her body +hung motionless in the air, each time Clara read this she +was smitten with an overpowering pang of pity and of +helpless, aimless, heart-tearing affection. Sometimes she +would fancy Sophia and her four comrades rescued from +the hangman’s hands a second before their execution, and +carried triumphantly through the streets by an army of +victorious revolutionists, but the next moment it would +come back to her that this had not been the case, and then +the re-awakening to reality was even more painful than +the original shock. If a rescuing force were now ready +to attack the hangman and the thousand-bayoneted guard +around him, it would be too late. Sophia was dead, irretrievably +dead; there was nobody to rescue. And Clara’s +heart sank in despair. At such moments she would seek +relief in those passages of the report where the calmness +of the condemned revolutionists was depicted. “Jeliaboff +whispered to his priest, fervently kissed the cross, shook his +hair and smiled. Fortitude did not forsake Jeliaboff, +Sophia and particularly Kibalchich (the man with the +face of Christ) to the very moment of donning the white-hooded +death-gown”—these passages gave Clara thrills of +religious bliss.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317"><span class="pagenum">[317]</span></a></p> + +<p>Pavel often talked to her about the execution, raved, +cursed the government; but Clara usually remained gloomily +taciturn. The wound in her soul was something too +sacred to be talked about. Words seemed to her like sacrilege. +Their hearts understood each other well enough, +why, then, allow language to intrude upon their speechless +communion? Some of his effusions and outbursts jarred +on her. On the other hand, her silences made him restless.</p> + +<p>“You’ll go insane if you keep this up,” he once said, +irascibly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care if I do,” she answered. “Don’t nag me, +Pashenka, pray.”</p> + +<p>“But the thing is becoming an <i lang="fr" xml:lang="fr">idée fixe</i> in your mind, +upon my word it is. Can’t you try and get back to your +senses? What is death after all? Absolute freedom +from suffering, that’s all. There is nothing to go crazy +over anyhow. There is nothing but a dear, a glorious, +a beautiful memory of them, and that will live as long as +there is such a thing as history in the world.”</p> + +<p>She made no reply. She tried to picture Sophia free +from suffering, but this only sharpened her pain. Sophia +not existing? The formula was even more terrible than +death. In reality, however, her atheism was powerless +to obliterate her visions. Sophia existed somewhere, only +she was solemnly remote, as though estranged from her. +Clara could have almost cried to her, imploring for recognition.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>But this mood of hers could not last forever. Sooner +or later she would awaken to the full extent of the riots +and to the fact that they were raging in the vicinity of Miroslav, +threatening the safety of her nearest relatives. How<a name="Page_318" id="Page_318"><span class="pagenum">[318]</span></a> +would she take it then? The question intruded upon +Pavel’s peace of mind again and again.</p> + +<p>For the present, however, she was taken up with her +thoughts of Sophia, Zachar or Hessia. Poor Hessia! +They had robbed her of her baby, the thugs, even as they +had that woman of the “gay bard’s” poem. “To lead a +married life under conditions such as ours <i>is</i> pure madness,” +she said to herself.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, as she and her lover sat on the lounge, +embracing and kissing deliriously, she suddenly sprang to +her feet, her cheeks burning, kissed Pavel on his forehead +and crossed over to the window.</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders resentfully.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319"><span class="pagenum">[319]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXV.</h2> + +<h3>A HUNTED PEOPLE.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">IT was Friday night at the Old Synagogue, but the cheery +voices of Sabbath Eve were not there. The air of +having cast one’s cares aside was missing. Instead +of a light-hearted turmoil of melody there was a hushed +murmur that betrayed suspense and timidity. Ever and +anon some worshipper would break off his hymn and strain +his ears for a fancied sound outside. The half hour spent +away from home seemed many hours. Very few people +were present and none of these wore their Sabbath clothes. +Most of the other synagogues were closed altogether. Rabbi +Rachmiel, Clara’s father, and several others were abandoned +to an ecstasy of devotion, but their subdued tones +had in them the fervent plea of Atonement Day, the tearful +plea for an enrolment in the Book of Life rather than +the joyous solemnity that proclaims the advent of the +Higher Soul. The illumination in honour of Sabbath the +Bride was a sorry spectacle. The jumble of brass chandeliers +hung unburnished and most of them were empty. +The synagogue had a troubled, a cowed look. It dared +not shine brightly, nor burst into song merrily lest it +should irritate the Gentiles. Here and there a man sat +at his prayer book weeping quietly.</p> + +<p>Members of the congregation who had not been on speaking +terms for years had made peace, as a matter of course.<a name="Page_320" id="Page_320"><span class="pagenum">[320]</span></a> +The spreading frenzy of the Gentile population impressed +them as an impersonal, elemental force. They were clinging +to each other with the taciturnity of ship-passengers +when the vessel shudders in the grip of danger. And not +only did they nestle to each other, but the entire present +generation felt drawn to all the former generations of +their hunted race. The terrors of the Inquisition, the +massacres, the exiles, the humiliations, of which one usually +thought as something belonging to the province of +books exclusively, had suddenly become realities. The +Bloody Spot, the site of the present synagogue, where 800 +Jews had been slain more than two centuries ago, gleamed +redder than ever in every mind. It was both terrifying +and a spiritual relief to beseech the souls of those eight +hundred martyrs to pray for their panic-stricken descendants. +The Russian Jews of 1881 felt themselves a living +continuation of the entire tearful history of their people.</p> + +<p>When the service was over, at last, the usual “Good Sabbath! +Good Sabbath!” always so full of festivity, was +uttered in lugubrious whispers, which really meant: “May +God take pity upon us.” Nor was there a rush for the +door. Quick, noisy movements were carefully avoided in +these days.</p> + +<p>Some of the worshippers had slowly filed out, when there +was a stir, and the crowd scrambled back with terrified +faces.</p> + +<p>“Two Gentiles are coming, an army officer and a man +in civilian clothes,” said some of those who came running +back.</p> + +<p>The look of terror gave way to one of eager curiosity. +The appearance of two refined Gentiles was not the way +an anti-Jewish riot was usually ushered in.</p> + +<p>The “two Gentiles” turned out to be Dr. Lipnitzky<a name="Page_321" id="Page_321"><span class="pagenum">[321]</span></a> +and Vladimir Vigdoroff, the one in his military uniform, +and the other in a summer suit of rough duck. When +they were recognised they were greeted with looks of affection +and expectancy. The pious old-fashioned people who +had hitherto regarded Dr. Lipnitzky despairingly as more +Gentile than Jew, now thought of him tenderly as an +advocate of Israel in the enemy’s camp.</p> + +<p>“Don’t be so scared,” the little doctor said with friendly +acerbity, as he paused in the centre of the synagogue. +“We are Jews like yourselves—the same kind of Jews all +of us. We were passing by, so we thought we would look +in. We saw the synagogue was almost dark, though it is +still so early. The lights could not yet have gone out. +It’s enough to break one’s heart.” He was choking with +embarrassment and emotion and his words produced a +profound effect. People of his class were not in the habit +of attending divine service. The doctor’s military uniform, +in fact, had never been seen in a synagogue before. +But the great point was that instead of Russian or Germanised +Yiddish which he habitually affected with uneducated +Jews he was now speaking in the plain, unembellished +vernacular of the Ghetto. His listeners knew +that he was the son of a poor illiterate brick-maker, a plain +“Yiddish Jew” like themselves, yet they could scarcely +trust their ears. They eyed his shoulder-straps and sword-hilt, +and it seemed incredible that the man who wore +these things was the man who was speaking this fluent, +robust Yiddish. His halo of inaccessible superiority had +suddenly faded away. Everybody warmed to him.</p> + +<p>“We’ll be here to-morrow, we’ll attend the service. And +next Saturday, too. Every Saturday. We’re Jews.” He +could not go on. Some of his listeners had tears in their +eyes. Vladimir was biting his lips nervously.</p><p><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322"><span class="pagenum">[322]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Still, it is not to see you cry that we have come to +you,” the doctor resumed: but he was interrupted by +Clara’s father, who, advancing toward him with glaring +eyes, said, in a voice shrill with rage:</p> + +<p>“Now that Jewish blood is flowing in rivers you people +come to do penance! It is too late. It is the sins of men +like yourselves that have brought this punishment upon us. +A Gentile Jew is even worse than a born Gentile.” He +put up his fists to his temples and gasped: “Better become +Christians! Better become Christians!”</p> + +<p>The crowd had listened with bated breath, but at last +somebody said: “Oh shut up!” and similar shouts burst +from forty or fifty other men.</p> + +<p>“We are all Jews, all brethren.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll settle old scores some other time.”</p> + +<p>“A good heart is as good as piety.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but why don’t you give the doctor a chance to +speak?” Vladimir stepped up to his uncle and pleaded with +him.</p> + +<p>“Who is he?” said Dr. Lipnitzky with a smile. “Is +he crazy?” And flying into a passion, he was about to +address Rabbi Rachmiel, but held himself in check. A +feeble old man of eighty with a very white beard was +arguing from the Talmud with Clara’s father.</p> + +<p>“‘The sinner who returns to God may stand upon +ground upon which the righteous are not allowed to +stand,’” he quoted. “Again, ‘Through penance even +one’s sins are turned to good deeds.’”</p> + +<p>When Rabbi Rachmiel tried to reply, he was shouted +down by the crowd. They were yelling and gesticulating +at him, when somebody mounted a bench and fell to swishing +his arms violently. “Hush!” he said in a ferocious +whisper. “Do you want to attract a mob?” His words<a name="Page_323" id="Page_323"><span class="pagenum">[323]</span></a> +had an immediate effect, and then Rabbi Rachmiel said to +his nephew, in much milder but deeply grieved accents:</p> + +<p>“Do you know what the Talmud says? ‘As long as +you shall do the will of God no strange people shall +domineer over you, but if you don’t do the will of God, +God will hand you over to a low people, and not merely +to a low people, but to the beasts of a low people.’”</p> + +<p>“All right, rabbi. This is not the time for argument,” +the doctor said, kindly. “I have some important information +for you all, for all of us. There won’t be any +rioting in this town. You may be sure of it. That’s +what my young friend and I have dropped in to tell you. +I have seen the governor”—his listeners pressed eagerly +forward—“there will be plenty of protection. The main +point is that you should not tempt the Gentiles to start a +riot by showing them that you dread one. Don’t hide, +nor keep your shops closed, as that would only whet one’s +appetite for mischief. Do you understand what I say to +you? This is the governor’s opinion and mine too. Everybody’s.”</p> + +<p>His auditors nodded vigorous and beaming assent.</p> + +<p>“He particularly warns the Jews not to undertake anything +in the way of self-defence. That would only arouse +ill-feeling. Besides, it’s against the law. It could not be +tolerated. Do you understand what I am saying or do +you not? Every precaution has been taken and there is +really no danger. Do you understand? There is no +danger, and if you go about your business and make no +fuss it will be all right. I have spoken to several officers +of my regiment, too. Of course, you wouldn’t have to +look hard to find a Jew-hater among them, but they spoke +in a friendly way and some of them are really good-natured +fellows. They assured me that if the troops were<a name="Page_324" id="Page_324"><span class="pagenum">[324]</span></a> +called out they would protect our people with all their +hearts.”</p> + +<p>Every man in the group looked like a prisoner when the +jury announces an acquittal. Some, in a flutter of joy, +hastened to carry the news to their wives and children. +The majority hung about the uniformed man, as if ready +to stay all night in his salutary presence, while one man +even ventured to say quite familiarly: “May you live long +for this, doctor. Why, you have put new souls into us.” +Whereupon he was told by another man, through clenched +teeth, that it was just like him to push himself forward.</p> + +<p>Each man had his own tale of woe to tell, his own questions +to ask. One man, whose appearance and manner +indicated that he was a tin-smith, had a son at the gymnasium +and a Gentile neighbour whose wife became green +with envy as often as she saw the Jewish boy in his handsome +uniform. She was much better off than the tin-smith +yet her children were receiving no education.</p> + +<p>“But why should you pay any attention to her?” Dr. +Lipnitzky asked.</p> + +<p>“I don’t, but my wife does. You know how women +are, doctor. They take everything hard. Last week the +Gentile woman said aloud that it was impudent on the +part of Jews to dress their boys up in gymnasium uniforms, +as if they were noblemen, and that it was time +Miroslav did like all God-fearing towns and started a riot +against the Jews. So my wife is afraid to let the boy +wear the uniform, and I think she is right, too. Let the +eyes of that Gentile woman creep out of their sockets +without looking at the child’s uniform. It is vacation +time anyhow. But the boy, he cried all day and made a +rumpus and said the school authorities would punish him +if he was seen in the street without his uniform. Is it<a name="Page_325" id="Page_325"><span class="pagenum">[325]</span></a> +true, doctor? I am only an ignorant workman. What do +I know?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, it is true, and tell your wife not to mind that +woman,” answered Dr. Lipnitzky, exchanging a woebegone +look with Vladimir.</p> + +<p>“I have some goods lying at the railroad station for +me,” said a little man with a puckered forehead. “It +has been there about a month. ‘Shall I take it to the +shop so that the rioters may have some more goods to +pillage?’ I thought to myself. Would you really advise +me to receive it, doctor?”</p> + +<p>Dr. Lipnitzky took fire. “Do you want me to sign a +guarantee for it?” he said. “Do you want me to be +responsible for the goods? You people are an awful lot.”</p> + +<p>“I was merely asking your advice, doctor,” the man +with the puckered forehead answered, wretchedly. “You +can’t do much business these days, anyhow. The best +Gentiles won’t pay. One has nothing but a book full of +debts. Besides, when the door flies open one’s soul sinks. +And when a Gentile customer comes in you pray God that +he may leave your shop as soon as possible. For who +knows but his visit may be a put-up job and that all he +wants is to pick a quarrel as a signal for a lot of other +rowdies to break in?”</p> + +<p>“And the Gentile sees your cowardice,” the doctor cut +in with an effect of continuing the man’s story, “and becomes +arrogant, and this is the way a riot is hatched.” By +degrees he resumed his superior manner and his Germanised +Yiddish, but his tone remained warm.</p> + +<p>“Arrogant!” said a tall, stooped, neatly-dressed jeweller. +“You have told us of some honest officers, doctor. Well, +the other day an army officer came into my place with a +lady. He selected a ring for her, and when I said it was<a name="Page_326" id="Page_326"><span class="pagenum">[326]</span></a> +forty rubles, he made no answer, but sent the lady away +with the ring, and then—you should have seen him break +out at me. I had put him to shame before a lady, he said. +He was good for forty times forty dollars, and all the +Jews were a lot of cut-throats and blood-suckers; that all +we were good for was to ask officers to protect us against +rioters, and that my shop was made up of ill-gotten wealth +anyhow. I had never seen the man before and I insisted +upon being paid; but he made such a noise, I was afraid +a crowd might gather. So I let him go, but I sent out +my salesman after him and he found out his name. Then +I went before his colonel” (the jeweller named the regiment), +“but what do you think the colonel said: ‘He’s a +nice fellow. I shall never believe it of him. And if he +owes you some money, he’ll pay you. At a time like this +you Jews oughtn’t to press your claims too hard.’ That’s +what the colonel said.”</p> + +<p>When a shabby cap-maker with thick bloodless lips told +how he had let a rough-looking Gentile leave his shop in +a new cap without paying for it, the doctor flew into a +passion.</p> + +<p>“Why did you? Why did you?” he growled, stamping +his feet, just as he would when the relatives of a patient +neglected to comply with his orders. “It is just like you +people. I would have you flayed for this.”</p> + +<p>This only encouraged the cap-maker to go into the +humour of the episode.</p> + +<p>“I was poking around the market place, with a high +pile of caps on either hand,” he said, “when I saw a +Gentile with a face like a carrot covered full of warts. +‘Aren’t you ashamed to wear such a <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: changed " to '">cap?’</ins> says I. +‘Aren't you ashamed to spoil a handsome face like yours +by that rusty, horrid old thing on your head?’”</p><p><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327"><span class="pagenum">[327]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Oh, I would have you spanked,” the little doctor +snarled smilingly. Whereupon several of the bystanders +also smiled.</p> + +<p>“Hold on, doctor. I spanked myself. Well, the Gentile +was not hard to persuade, though when we got at my +place he was rather hard to please. He kept me plucking +caps from the ceiling until the very pole in my hand got +tired of the job. At last he was suited. I thought he +would ask how much. He didn’t. He did say something, +but that was about anti-Jewish riots. ‘This cap will do,’ +he then said, ‘Good-bye old man,’ and made for the door. +And when I rushed after him and asked for the money +he turned on me and stuck the biggest fig<a name="Anchor-D" id="Anchor-D"></a><a title="Go to footnote D" href="#Footnote-D" class="fnanchor">[D]</a> you ever saw +into my face. Since then when I see the good looks of a +Gentile spoiled by a horrid old cap I try not to take it to +heart.”</p> + +<p>The doctor laughed. “And you let him go without paying?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>“I should say I did. I was glad he didn’t ask for +the change.”</p> + +<p>Another man confessed to having had an experience of +this kind, a customer having exacted from him change +from a ruble which he had never paid him.</p> + +<p>“He was a tough looking customer, and he made a +rumpus, so I thought to myself, ‘Is this the first time I +have been out of some cash? Let him go hang himself.’ +And the scoundrel, he gave me a laugh, called me accursed +Jew into the bargain and went his way.”</p> + +<p>“Did you ask him to call again?” the cap-maker demanded, +and noticing Clara’s father by his side, he added: +“This is not the way Rabbi Rachmiel’s wife does business,<a name="Page_328" id="Page_328"><span class="pagenum">[328]</span></a> +is it? She would make him pay her the dollar and the +change, too.”</p> + +<p>The doctor burst into laughter, the others echoing it +noisily. Only Vladimir’s face wore a look of restless +gravity. It was the restlessness of a man who is trying to +nerve himself up to a first public speech. His heart was +full of something which he was aching to say to these +people, to unburden himself of, but his courage failed +him to take the word. Presently a man too timid to seek +information in the centre of the assembly addressed a +whispered inquiry to Vladimir and Vladimir’s answer +attracted the attention of two or three bystanders. Gradually +a little colony branched off from the main body. +He was telling them what he knew from the newspapers +about the latest anti-Jewish outbreaks in various towns; +and speaking in a very low voice and in the simplest +conversational accents, he gradually passed to what weighed +on his heart. He knew Yiddish very well indeed, yet he +had considerable difficulty in speaking it, his chief impediment +lying in his inability to render the cultured language +in which he thought into primitive speech. His Yiddish +was full of Russian and German therefore, but some of +his listeners understood it all, while the rest missed but +an occasional phrase.</p> + +<p>“People like myself—those who have studied at the +gymnasia and universities”—he went on in a brooding, +plaintive undertone, “feel the misery of it all the more +keenly because we have been foolish enough to imagine +ourselves Russians, and to keep aloof from our own people. +Many of us feel like apologising to every poor suffering +Jew in Russia, to beg his forgiveness, to implore him to +take us back. We were ashamed to speak Yiddish. We +thought we were Russians. We speak the language of<a name="Page_329" id="Page_329"><span class="pagenum">[329]</span></a> +the Gentiles, and we love it so dearly; we have adopted +their ways and customs; we love their literature; everything +Russian is so dear to us; why should it not be? Is +not this our birthplace? But the more we love it, the +more we try to be like Russians, the more they hate us. +My uncle, Rabbi Rachmiel, says it is too late to do penance. +Well, I do feel like a man who comes to confess his sins +and to do penance. It is the blood and the tears of our +brothers and sisters that are calling to us to return to our +people. And now we see how vain our efforts are to be +Russians. There was a great Jew whose name was Heinrich +Heine.” (Two of the men manifested their acquaintance +with the name by a nod.) “He was a great writer +of poetry. So he once wrote about his mother—how he +had abandoned her and sought the love of other women. +But he failed to find love anywhere, until ultimately he +came to the conclusion that the only woman in whom he +was sure of love was his own dear mother. This is the +way I feel now. I scarcely ever saw the inside of a synagogue +before, but now I, like the doctor, belong here. It +is not a question of religion. I am not religious and cannot +be. But I am a Jew and we all belong together. +And when a synagogue happens to stand on a site like +this——”</p> + +<p>He broke off in the middle of the sentence. His allusion +to the massacre of two centuries before inspired him +with an appalling sense of the continuity of Jewish suffering. +The others stood about gazing solemnly at him, +until the scholarly old man of eighty with the very white +beard broke silence. He raised his veined aged little +hands over Vladimir’s head and said in a nervous treble:</p> + +<p>“May God bless you, my son. That’s all I have to say.”</p> + +<p>Vladimir was literally electrified by his words.</p> + +<p><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330"><span class="pagenum">[330]</span></a></p> + +<p>“But what do they want of us?” asked a man with a +blueish complexion. “You say they are good-natured. Do +you call it good-natured when one acts like a wild beast, +bathing in the blood of innocent people?”</p> + +<p>“Well, this is the Gentile way of being good-natured,” +somebody put in, with a sneer, before Vladimir had time +to answer.</p> + +<p>“They have been turned into savages,” Vigdoroff then +said. He maintained the low, mournful voice, though he +now put a didactic tone into it. “They are blind, ignorant +people. They are easily made a catspaw of.”</p> + +<p>The man with the blueish complexion interrupted him. +He spoke of Gentile cruelty, of the Inquisition, the Crusades, +massacres, and almost with tears of rage in his eyes +he defied Vladimir to tell him that Jews were capable of +any such brutalities. Vladimir said no, Jews were not +capable of any bloodshed, and went on defending the Russian +people. The man with the sneer was beginning to +annoy him. He was an insignificant looking fellow with +very thin lips and a very thin flat blond beard. Even +when his face was grave it had a sneering effect. He said +very little. Only occasionally he would utter a word or +two of which nobody else took notice. Yet it was chiefly +to him that Vladimir was addressing himself. But the +assembly was soon broken up. Rabbi Rachmiel’s wife +came in at the head of several other women who were not +afraid to walk through the streets after sundown in these +days. They had grown uneasy about their husbands’ +delay.</p> + +<p>Vladimir saluted his aunt warmly. They exchanged a +few words, but nothing was said of Clara. An “illegal” +person like her could not be mentioned in public.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331"><span class="pagenum">[331]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVI.</h2> + +<h3>A PAPER FROM THE CZAR.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">A LARGE crowd of peasants, in tall straw hats, many +of them with their whips in their hands, congregated +in front of the bailiff’s office at Zorki. It +was a sultry afternoon in August. A single shirt of +coarse white linen and a pair of trousers of the same material +were all the clothes the men wore. The trousers +were very wide and baggy but drawn tight at the bottom +by means of strings, so that they dropped at the ankles +blouse-fashion, and the loose-fitting shirt fell over +the trousers with a similar effect. Most of the shirts were +embroidered in red and blue. Sometimes, as a result of +special rivalry among the young women, one village will +affect gaudier embroidery and more of it than its neighbours. +This could be seen now at one corner of the crowd +where a group of peasants, all from the same place, defined +itself by the flaming red on the upper part of their sleeves. +There were women, too, in the crowd, the girls in wreaths +of artificial flowers and all of them in ribbons and coral +beads, though some of them were barefoot.</p> + +<p>A strong smell of primitive toil emanated from their +bodies; primitive ideas and primitive interests looked out +of their eyes. The northern moujik—the Great, or +“real,” Russian—who speaks the language of Turgeneff +and Tolstoy, has less poetry than the Little-Russian, but<a name="Page_332" id="Page_332"><span class="pagenum">[332]</span></a> +he also has less cunning and more abandon. To be sure, +the cunning of the Zorki peasant is as primitive as his +whole mind. Very few men in the crowd now standing +in front of the bailiff’s office could have managed to add +such two numbers as six and nineteen, or to subtract the +weight of an empty pail from the weight of a pail of honey. +Their book-keeping consists of notches on the door-jamb, +and their armour in the battle of life is a cast-iron distrustfulness.</p> + +<p>At last the bailiff made his appearance, adjusted the +straps of his sword across his breast, and asked what they +wanted. A tall old fellow with a drooping steel-grey +moustache came out of the crowd, hat in hand, and bowed +deeply, as he said:</p> + +<p>“It’s like this, your nobleness. We wish to know when +that paper from the Czar about the Jews will be read to +us?”</p> + +<p>“What paper from the Czar?” the bailiff asked. “What +are you talking about?” He was a dry-boned man, but +ruddy-faced and with very narrow almond-shaped eyes. +As he now looked at the crowd through the sharp afternoon +glare his eyes glistened like two tiny strips of burnished +metal.</p> + +<p>“Your nobleness need not be told what paper. It’s +about beating the Jews and taking away their goods.”</p> + +<p>The scene was being watched by several Jews, plucky +fellows who had come in the interests of their people at +the risk of being the first victims of mob fury. Among +these was Yossl, Makar’s father, at once the most intellectual +and strongest looking man in the delegation. In +the meantime the other Jews, stupefied and sick with +fear, had closed their shops and dwellings and were hiding +in cellars and in garrets, in the ruins of an old church<a name="Page_333" id="Page_333"><span class="pagenum">[333]</span></a> +and in the woods. Two women gave birth to stillborn +children during the commotion, one of these at the bedside +of her little boy who was too sick to be moved.</p> + +<p>“You are a fool,” the bailiff said to the spokesman, +with a smile, as he raised his narrow eyes in quest of some +Gentile with whom he might share the fun. “You are a +lot of fools. Better go home. There is no such paper in +the world. Whoever told you there was?”</p> + +<p>“Why, everybody says so. In most places they finished +the job long ago. Only we are a lot of slow coaches, people +say. And then, when the higher authorities find out about +it, who will be fined or put in jail? We, poor peasants. +As if we did not have troubles enough as it is.”</p> + +<p>“What will you be put in jail for?” asked the bailiff, +chuckling to himself.</p> + +<p>Here a younger peasant whispered in the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'spokeman's'">spokesman’s</ins> +ear not to let himself be bamboozled.</p> + +<p>Speaking with unwonted boldness, born of the conviction +that the bailiff was suppressing a document of the Czar, +the tall fellow said:</p> + +<p>“You can’t fool us, your nobleness. We are only +peasants, but what we know we know.” And he went on +to enumerate villages where, according to rumour, the paper +had already been read and acted upon. “Although uneducated, +yet we are not such fools as your nobleness takes +us for. If it is a ukase direct from the Czar we aren’t +going to take chances, sir. Not we, sir. Better read it to +us and let’s be done with it. We have no time to waste, +sir.”</p> + +<p>One of the Jews was going to make a suggestion, but +he was shouted down and waved aside.</p> + +<p>The bailiff made a gesture of amused despair and turned +to go back, when the peasants stepped forward, and chattering<a name="Page_334" id="Page_334"><span class="pagenum">[334]</span></a> +excitedly, they gave him to understand that they +would not let him go until he had shown them the imperial +ukase. The purport of their remonstrance was to the +effect that the Jews had bribed him to suppress the document. +The bailiff took it all good-naturedly. In his +heart of hearts he was looking forward to the sport of an +anti-Jewish outbreak with delight; but the noise brought +the local priest upon the scene—a kindly elderly man +with the face of a whimpering peasant girl. He was a +victim of official injustice himself and he implored the +crowd to listen to reason. His face, at once comic and +piteous, was the main cause of his failures. He was a +well-educated priest, yet he was kept in this obscure town. +His sacerdotal locks, meant to be long and silken, hung in +stiff, wretched little clumps. Nevertheless, as he now stood +in his purple broad-sleeved gown, appealing to the multitude +of white figures, his cross sparkling in the sun, the +spectacle was like a scene of the early days of Christianity.</p> + +<p>“It is a great sin to circulate wicked falsehoods like +that and it is just as much of a sin to credit them,” he +said in a pained heartfelt voice. “Ours is a good Czar. +He does not command his children to do violence to human +beings.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well, little father,” one peasant broke in. “You +don’t seem to have heard of it. That’s all. If the Czar +has not ordered it, then why do they beat the Jews everywhere +else and the police and soldiers stand by and see to +it that they do the work well?”</p> + +<p>The bailiff burst into a horse-laugh and slapped his +knees violently. The priest’s face bore a look of despair.</p> + +<p>“Can it be that you believe such foolishness?” he said.</p> + +<p>“What do we know? We are only common people. All +we do know is that whatever happens it is our skin that is<a name="Page_335" id="Page_335"><span class="pagenum">[335]</span></a> +peeled off. If we can’t get the paper we’ll do our duty +without it.”</p> + +<p>“That’s it, without it!” the others chimed in in excited +chorus.</p> + +<p>Further parleying made it clear that many of them +had no inclination to do any personal harm to the Jews or +to their property. They were on friendly terms with their +Jewish neighbours, and all they wanted was to get rid of +a disagreeable duty. The rest, about half of the entire +crowd, had had their heads turned with stories of lakes of +vodka and fabulous piles of loot, but even these proved +susceptible to argument.</p> + +<p>“Here,” Yossl shouted at the top of his voice and with +great fervour. “I have a scheme, and what will you lose +by it if you hear me out? If you don’t like it, I’ll take +it back and it won’t cost you a cent.” The intensity of +his manner took them by storm. He was allowed to finish. +“My scheme amounts to this: The Jews will sign a paper +taking upon themselves all responsibility for your failure +to smash their shops and houses, so that if the authorities +call you to account for violating the imperial ukase, we will +answer and you will come out clear.”</p> + +<p>First there was perplexed stillness, then a murmur of +distrust, and finally a tumult of rejection.</p> + +<p>“Crafty Jew! There must be some trick in it!” they +yelled sneeringly.</p> + +<p>The priest was wiping the perspiration from his forehead. +Finally he shouted <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: changed . to :">huskily:</ins></p> + +<p>“Very well, I’ll sign such a paper.”</p> + +<p>After some more arguing, the plan, in its amended form, +was adopted. The older men flaunted their experience by +insisting upon a formal “certificate” bearing the priest’s +official seal and signature, so that when the Czar’s inspectors<a name="Page_336" id="Page_336"><span class="pagenum">[336]</span></a> +arrived the peasants might have something tangible +to present. When all this had been complied with, +there was some portentous talk about the Jews sprinkling +the bargain with vodka; but having followed the “little +father’s” advice in the main point the peasants were now +in a yielding mood toward him generally, and the vodka +shops being closed, he had no difficulty in getting them to +go home sober.</p> + +<p>A large number of them had to cross the river. To +occupy their minds while they were waiting for the ferry—a +small antediluvian affair which could only accommodate +about one-fifth of the crowd at a time—the priest +asked them for a song. And then the quiet evening air +resounded with those pensive, soulful strains which for +depth of melancholy have scarcely an equal in the entire +range of folk-music. Thus the men who might now have +been frenzied with the work of pillage, devastation and, +perhaps, murder, stood transfixed with the poetry of +anguish and pity. Race distinctions and ukases—how +alien and unintelligible these things were to the world in +which their souls dwelt at this minute! The glint of the +water grew darker every second. The men on the ferry +continued their singing. Then somebody on the other +side joined in and the melody spread in all directions. +The fresh ringing treble of a peasant girl, peculiarly doleful +in its high notes, came from across the water. A choir +of invisible choirs, scattered along both banks, sang to the +night of the sadness of human existence.</p> + +<p>The Jews returned from their hiding-places, but very +few of them went to bed that night. The tragedy in many +houses was intensified by the circumstance that the heads +of these families were absent from the town, having gone +to the Good Jew for prayer and advice as to the spreading<a name="Page_337" id="Page_337"><span class="pagenum">[337]</span></a> +calamity. Weinstein’s spacious rooms were full of neighbours +and their families. The presence of the man whom +one had been accustomed to regard as a monument of +worldly power had a special attraction for the poorer Pietists +this evening. Besides, one dreaded the hallucinations +of solitude and in Weinstein’s house one was sure to find +company. Most of them sat in the large prayer room, +keeping close to each other, conversing in subdued, melancholy +voices, comfortable in the community of their woe, +as though content to remain in this huddle until the end +of time. Yossl was curling his black side-locks morosely. +The other people in the room importuned him for details +of the scene in front of the bailiff’s office, but he was not +in the mood for speaking. Weinstein was snapping his +fingers at his own florid neck, as he walked backward and +forward. Presently Maria, his Gentile servant, who spoke +good Yiddish, addressed him, with sad, sympathetic mien:</p> + +<p>“Master dear,” she said in Yiddish. “Will you let me +break a couple of windows?”</p> + +<p>He did not understand.</p> + +<p>“You see,” she explained bursting into tears. “If they +get at me because I did not smash things in your house, +I’ll be able to swear that I did.” For an instant he stood +surveying her, then, in a spasm of rage and misery, he +shrieked out:</p> + +<p>“Why, certainly! Go ahead! Break, smash, everything +you set your eye on. You are the princess, we are +only Jews. Go smash the whole house.” And in his +frenzy he went breaking windows and chairs, shrieking as +he did so:</p> + +<p>“Here! Look and let your heart rejoice.”</p> + +<p>“Madman,” Yossl said calmly, “you’ll alarm the town. +They’ll think it’s a riot and the Gentiles will join in.”</p><p><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338"><span class="pagenum">[338]</span></a></p> + +<p>Weinstein sat down pale and panting. “Go and tell +your people to come and delight in the sight of a Jew’s +broken windows,” he said to the Gentile woman.</p> + +<p>She put her hands to her face and left the room sobbing.</p> + +<hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339"><span class="pagenum">[339]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVII.</h2> + +<h3>THE DEFENCE COMMITTEE.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">THE little man who played the part of errand boy at +the cheese shop and who was arrested before the +work on the mine was well advanced had ultimately +turned state’s evidence. Among the revolutionists he betrayed +was Pavel, but the prince was known to him under +a false name. Still, the information furnished by his +man, added to some addresses found on other captured +Nihilists, led to a series of new arrests. The ranks of the +Will of the People were being rapidly decimated. +Grisha, the dynamiter, and several other members of +the innermost circle were seized shortly after the killing of +the Czar. The few surviving leaders withdrew to the +provinces, in some cases only immediately to fall into the +hands of the police there. Thus in April, after a Jewish +student girl was arrested in Kieff, the “trap” at her +lodgings caught a woman and a man who proved to be +Baska, the “wife” of the “cheesemonger” couple, and her +real husband, “the German.” Urie (the “cheesemonger”), +Makar and several other active revolutionists +were in Moscow.</p> + +<p>One late afternoon Clara was slowly pacing the painted +floor of her room, her hands clasped behind her, while her +lover lay on the lounge, watching her through the gathering +dusk.</p><p><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340"><span class="pagenum">[340]</span></a></p> + +<p>“St. Petersburg <i>is</i> too hot now,” he said, breaking a +long silence. “Everybody is going away.”</p> + +<p>“There is really no use staying here just at present,” +she assented, sadly, without pausing.</p> + +<p>They grew silent again. The gloom of the little parlour +was thickening so rapidly that it seemed as though the outline +of Clara’s face, as she walked back and forth, became +vaguer every time she turned in Pavel’s direction.</p> + +<p>Presently, with a burst of amorous tenderness, he got up, +saying:</p> + +<p>“Clanya! Let us go for a rest somewhere. You know +you need it.”</p> + +<p>“You need it even more than I do, poor boy,” she +replied, stepping up close to him. “I do wish you would +go home for a month or two—or somewhere else. As to +myself, I should first like to see my parents. The riots +may strike Miroslav at any moment. If any harm came +to them, I should never forgive myself. I must get them +away from there. That’s all I can think of.” There was +an obvious blank in her words. She left something unsaid, +and the consciousness of it made him uncomfortable.</p> + +<p>“But that’s easily arranged,” he urged. “You can +send them money and invite them to some safe place.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what I have been thinking of. I am so restless +I wish I could start to-morrow. It couldn’t be arranged +too soon. There are persistent rumors that a riot is coming +there. I shan’t be gone long, dearest.”</p> + +<p>He had it at the tip of his tongue to force a discussion +of their party’s attitude toward the riots and to have it +out once for all. In his imagined debates with her on the +subject he had often exclaimed: “I happen to belong to +a class of land-robbers and profligates; now, suppose the +revolution breaks out and my class is attacked by the<a name="Page_341" id="Page_341"><span class="pagenum">[341]</span></a> +people, will that affect me? A nice revolutionist I should +be if it did!” This and other arguments were all ready; +what he lacked, however, was the courage to bring up the +topic. As to her promise to marry him when the great +conspiracy was out of the way, her redeeming it now, while +she was so tremulously absorbed in the question of her +parents’ safety, could not be thought of.</p> + +<p>He gathered her to him and kissed her, at once sympathetically +and appealingly.</p> + +<p>“Go home, Pasha,” she besought. “But not to Miroslav. +You won’t rest there. Go to some of your mother’s +country places, or, perhaps some other place would be safer +for you. Go and take good care of yourself. It would be +too terrible if I found you arrested when I got back.”</p> + +<p>“Will you marry me then?” he asked, impersonating +a pampered child.</p> + +<p>She nodded, in the same playful spirit, and again her +reticence brought disquiet to his heart. “Something tells +me she’ll never be mine,” he thought with a sigh.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>While the government was actively fomenting the riots, +making an electric rod of the Jews, the Nihilists persisted +in mistaking them for revolutionary kindling wood. +While the “Chronicle of Arrests” in the revolutionary +organ included a large number of Jewish names, several +of them of persons conspicuous in the movement and noted +for their pluck, another page of the same issue contained +a letter from the riot-ridden district that was strongly +flavoured with anti-Semitism. Moreover, a proclamation, +addressed to the peasantry, was printed on an “underground” +press, naming the Czar, the landlords and the +Jews as enemies of the people. This proclamation met +with a storm of disapproval, however, on the part of Gentiles<a name="Page_342" id="Page_342"><span class="pagenum">[342]</span></a> +and Jews alike, and was withdrawn from circulation. +Chaos reigned in the minds of the Nihilists. Their party +was disorganised, their thinkers for the most part buried, +dead or alive, the editorial management of their publications +in the hands of the weakest man on the Executive +Committee, of one who several years later sent, from Paris, +a most servile petition to the Czar, abjuring his former +views and begging permission to return home as an advocate +of unqualified absolutism and panslavism.</p> + +<p>The attitude of the Nihilists toward the Jewish population +in general was thus anything but sympathetic; and +yet, so far as the higher strata of the movement were concerned, +the personal relations between Jew and Gentile +were not affected by this circumstance in the slightest +degree. The feeling of intimate comradeship and mutual +devotion between the two elements was left unmarred, as +if one’s views on the Jewish question were purely a matter +of abstract reasoning without any bearing on the Jew of +flesh and blood one happened to know.</p> + +<p>More than this, in their blind theorising according to +preconceived formulas, most of the active Jewish Nihilists +shut their eyes to the actual state of things and joined +their Gentile comrades in applauding the riots as an encouraging +sign of the times, as “a popular revolutionary +protest.”</p> + +<p>Pavel longed to discuss the riots with Makar. When he +saw him, however, he found him far more interested in the +“new revolutionary program” upon which he was engaged +than in the anti-Semitic crusade.</p> + +<p>“As if it was the first time Jewish blood had been shed,” +he said, answering a question from Pavel, half-heartedly. +“The entire history of the Jews is one continuous riot. +Indeed, the present outbreaks are a mere flea-bite to what<a name="Page_343" id="Page_343"><span class="pagenum">[343]</span></a> +they have undergone before. So, what has happened to +make one revise one’s views on the movement? One might +as well stay away from the <i>Will of the People</i> because, +forsooth, Jews were burned by Gentiles in the 15th century. +Nonsense.”</p> + +<p>“Clara doesn’t seem to take it quite so easy,” Pavel +thought to himself.</p> + +<p>“Clara has gone to meet her parents,” he said, thirsting +to talk of her.</p> + +<p>“Has she? There may be a riot in Miroslav at any time. +I wonder how Zorki is getting along. But then my father +will be able to take care of himself,—and of Miriam, +too,” he added, lukewarmly. The only thing of which he +could have spoken with enthusiasm in these days was his +program.</p> + +<p>Pavel came away hankering for more conversation about +his fiancée and about the riots. Instead of seeking rest +and safety, as he had promised Clara to do, he coveted a +new sort of excitement and danger. He felt that there +was something wrong about that crusade, and he had a +sportsmanlike craving to see it for himself. Lacking the +courage to criticise his party, he accused himself of allowing +his revolutionary convictions to be affected by the interests +of his love; yet he continued to pray in his heart that the +Jews of Miroslav, at least, might be spared. He read all +he found in the newspapers about the atrocities, and on +taking up a paper he would tremble lest it should contain +news of a riot in his birthplace.</p> + +<p>When he read of the Miroslav panic he went there at +once.</p> + +<p>“If it’s really a riot she’ll never come back to me,” he +brooded, wretchedly.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /><p><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344"><span class="pagenum">[344]</span></a></p> + +<p>The rumours of an impending catastrophe were assuming +definite outline in Miroslav. A date was mentioned +and tall Great-Russians in red shirts—specialists at the +business—were said to have been seen about town. Great-Russia +is and has always been strictly without the pale of +Jewish settlement, it being one of the characteristic features +of the anti-Semitic riots of the period that their +leaders were imported from the rabble in those districts +in which very few people had an idea what a Jew looked +like.</p> + +<p>The Jews of Miroslav sent a snug bribe to Pavel’s uncle, +but their agent came back with the money. The governor +had commissioned him to assure them that everything +would be done to make an outbreak impossible, but “gratitude” +he would not accept. The Jews took alarm. “If +he doesn’t eat honey,” they said, in the phrase of a current +proverb, “then it looks bad indeed.” When a deputation +of representative men called on him he lost his temper.</p> + +<p>“You Jews are too intense, that’s what’s the trouble +with you,” he said, blinking his eyes. “I have let you +know twice that there is no cause for alarm, yet it seems +that it is not enough for you.” When he had softened +down he talked quite at length, although in a haughty tone +of authority and immeasurable aloofness, of the steps he +had taken. The main point was that the Jews should not +tempt people to lawlessness by betraying anxiety. He +delivered quite a lecture on the point. The deputation +came away greatly encouraged. They knew of the extensive +business relations which the managers of his estates +had with Jewish merchants, and they argued, among themselves, +that a riot, involving as it usually did the wholesale +destruction of Jewish property and a general demoralisation +of business, could not but entail serious financial losses<a name="Page_345" id="Page_345"><span class="pagenum">[345]</span></a> +upon himself. This was in keeping with declarations +made by the boards of trade at Moscow, Warsaw and +Kharkoff, the three chief centres of Russian commerce, +regarding the anti-Jewish crusade. These bodies had +pointed out the importance of the Jews of the south as +the prime movers of local industry, as almost the exclusive +connecting link between the south of Russia and the world +markets of Germany and England; accordingly, they had +protested against the anti-Semitic campaign as a source +of ruin to the economic interests of the whole empire. All +this the members of the deputation were aware of, so they +saw no reason to doubt the sincerity of the governor’s +pledges. His advice not to put the thought of a riot in +the popular mind by a demonstration of timidity produced +a strong impression.</p> + +<p>The upshot was that the Jews of Miroslav were afraid +to be afraid. A singular mood took hold of them. Everybody +made an effort to act upon the presumption that +Miroslav was immune, that it was in an exceptional position, +and at the same time everyone read suspense and +mortal fear in the eyes of everyone else. It was like walking +in one’s stocking feet with a spectacular effect of making +a noise. Jewish women still avoided the proximity of +Christian men, and a Jewish face that did not look Jewish +was still eyed enviously as a shield against violence. The +only tangible manifestation of the spirit advocated by the +governor was a slight lengthening of business hours. Since +the beginning of the panic Jewish tradesmen had been +closing their shops before it was quite dark—three or +four hours earlier than usual. Now they compromised on +keeping them open until the street lamps were lit. Nevertheless +those of them who depended on Christian trade +continued to treat their customers with a gentleness and<a name="Page_346" id="Page_346"><span class="pagenum">[346]</span></a> +a fawning attention that had nothing to do with the ordinary +blandishments of the counter. Inveterate rogues +among Jewish tradesmen became honest men. On the +other hand a most respectable Gentile often yielded to +temptation that amounted to downright robbery, while the +license of “shady Christian characters” was asserting +itself more portentously every day.</p> + +<p>A queer story came from one of the suburbs. When +three Gentiles wearing red shirts entered an out-of-the-way +house to inquire the road, their appearance frightened +the two Jewish women they found there out of the place, +whereupon one of these, in a frenzy of terror, jumped into +a well and was drowned. Meanwhile the three strangers, +finding themselves alone, stripped the house of its valuables—a +finale which struck the fancy of a notorious thief +and his gang, who then put on red shirts and made a practice +of plundering Jewish houses after scaring away their +occupants. The thief was known as Petroucha Sivoucha, +which, foregoing the rhyme, may be rendered as Cheap +Vodka Pete. When he was arrested at last he said, impersonating +a simple-minded peasant:</p> + +<p>“But it was only Jewish stuff and everybody says a +Gentile is welcome to it nowadays, that such is the will +of our little father, the Czar.”</p> + +<p>The riots continued to spread, and while they did, +General Ignatyeff, the new Minister of the Interior, announced +measure after measure against the Jews. In a +country where every official is perpetually craning his neck +toward the capital, it was only natural that an attitude +like this on the part of the Minister of the Interior should +create an atmosphere of anti-Semitic partiality amid which +justice to the Jew became impossible. Ignatyeff knew of +the widespread rumour as to the existence of an imperial<a name="Page_347" id="Page_347"><span class="pagenum">[347]</span></a> +ukase ordering the peasantry to plunder and commit violence +upon the Jews. Apart from his official sources of +information, the newspapers were full of instances showing +the effect of that rumour, yet he did nothing to stop +it or to disabuse the minds of the peasantry in that connection. +This was interpreted by the officials as a sign +that the rumour was not meant to be stopped, and it was +not.</p> + +<p>Governor Boulatoff’s encouraging answers to the Jews +of his province brought to Miroslav hundreds of people from +other towns. Some of these were victims of former atrocities, +left without shelter in their native places; others had +not yet been through an anti-Semitic outbreak, but dreaded +one.</p> + +<p>While people from other provinces were flocking to Miroslav +in quest of safety the leading Miroslav families were +quietly sending their wives and children abroad and taking +their valuables to the government bank. The offices of +Dr. Lipnitzky and of Sender the Arbitrator, Vladimir’s +father, were visited by scores of panic-stricken people daily.</p> + +<p>“The rich people put their money and their plate in the +bank,” said a teamster’s wife to Vladimir and his father, +“but what shall we do with our traps?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t worry, my dear woman, there will be no riot in +Miroslav,” the Arbitrator reassured her.</p> + +<p>“It’s all very well to say don’t worry,” the woman retorted +sharply. “You people can afford to say it, because +your house is safe. But if they kill my husband’s horse +and destroy his truck, we’ll have to go begging. It did +not come easy, I can assure you.” She burst into tears. +“The years that it has taken to save it all up, the pinching, +the scrimping—all in order that a thousand ghosts might +have something to grab. And what are we going to do<a name="Page_348" id="Page_348"><span class="pagenum">[348]</span></a> +with ourselves? Where shall we hide? As to my husband +and myself, well, all they can do is to kill us, but how +about the children?” And again she burst into sobs.</p> + +<p>When an old woman who had two unmarried daughters, +“both as handsome as a tree,” described her despair concerning +them, Vladimir’s mother invited the girls to stay +with her until the storm was over. And then scores of +other mothers begged her, with heart-breaking lamentations +and kisses, to take pity on their daughters also; which she +could not do for sheer lack of room.</p> + +<p>The Vigdoroffs felt reasonably safe because Rasgadayeff, +their Gentile landlord and friend, was sure to keep the +marauders away. Indeed, the example of all previous outbreaks +had shown that in most cases it was enough for +any Gentile to tell the rioters that he was the proprietor +of the house and that there were no Jews on his premises +for them to pass cordially on, and Rasgadayeff was one +of the conspicuous and popular figures in the Gentile community +of the town. It is true that he was looking forward +to an anti-Semitic upheaval with joy himself, but his +liking for the Vigdoroffs was sincere.</p> + +<p>Vladimir’s father went about among his depositors asking +to be relieved of their money, jewelry or silver spoons. +They refused to accept it. Finally he moved his iron safe +to Rasgadayeff’s apartment.</p> + +<p>Vladimir was in despair. He felt it quite likely that +the panic should be father to a catastrophe, as the governor +had said. Once when he spoke in this strain at his father’s +table, his mother remarked with light irony:</p> + +<p>“Look at the brave man. Look at the Cossack of +straw.”</p> + +<p>The retort struck cruelly home. He knew that his +heart grew faint every time the anti-Semitic mobs pictured<a name="Page_349" id="Page_349"><span class="pagenum">[349]</span></a> +themselves vividly in his brain, although often, indeed, he +had a queer feeling as if it would be disappointing to see +Miroslav left out of the list of towns that were sharing in +the tragic notoriety of the year, and visioned himself going +through the experiences of a most brutal outbreak without +facing its dangers. The tragedy of his people filled his +heart. He watched them in their terror, in their misery, +in their clinging despairing love of their children; he +studied their frightened look, their shrinking, tremulous +attitudes. Every Jewish woman he met struck him as a +hunted bird, on the alert for the faintest sound, trembling +over the fate of her nest. He saw many of them packing +their things to flee, they did not know whither. Indeed, +the whole historical life of his race seemed to have been +spent in packing, in moving, in fleeing without knowing +whither. “Oh, my poor, my unhappy people!” Vladimir +said to himself, in a spasm of agony, yet with a glow of +pleasure in calling them his people. In his heart of +hearts he knew that while he told everybody to take courage +his own mind was barren of conviction as to what was +the best thing to do. He felt crushed. He lost his head.</p> + +<p>One day, as Vladimir walked along the street, his attention +was arrested by a rough-looking young man who was +circling round him, and scrutinising him now on this side, +now on that. He felt annoyed. He was not sure that +the young man was a Jew, and as he asked him sternly, +“What are you looking at?” he was conscious of a little +qualm of timidity.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, sir,” the other answered, in Yiddish. “I +saw you at the synagogue that Friday night. Do you +remember?”</p> + +<p>They paused. The young man had the manner of a +Jewish horse-driver or blacksmith. He was robust and<a name="Page_350" id="Page_350"><span class="pagenum">[350]</span></a> +broad-shouldered with small very sparse teeth, somewhat +bow-legged and somewhat cross-eyed. His coat was literally +in tatters and gave off a strong smell of herring.</p> + +<p>“Well?” asked Vladimir.</p> + +<p>“I have been wanting to see you, sir, only I have been +too bashful.” He gave a smile, his tongue showing between +his sparse teeth.</p> + +<p>Vigdoroff rather liked his manner and invited him to +his father’s house. On their way thither the young man +said that his name was Zelig and that he was a cooper by +trade, making a specialty of herring barrels. When they +found themselves alone in Vladimir’s room, Zelig grew +still more bashful, and after surveying the room, to make +sure that they were not overheard, he said:</p> + +<p>“I want to belong to the committee.”</p> + +<p>“What committee?”</p> + +<p>“You need not be on the lookout with me, sir; I am +no babbler.”</p> + +<p>It appeared that there was a defence committee in town, +with educated young men at the head, and that in case +of a riot it was expected to fight “to the last drop of a +fellow’s blood,” as Zelig phrased it. That there should be +such a thing in Miroslav without him being so much as +aware of its existence hurt Vladimir keenly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know anything about it,” he said, blankly.</p> + +<p>“Don’t you really?” said Zelig. “I was sure you were +in it and that you could get me in, too. Why, everybody +knows about it. Only the committee is strict, because if +the police hears of it, they’ll all be arrested. It’s against +the law.” As he offered him more detail of the matter +he became patronisingly enthusiastic and confided to him +the names of Elkin and of several university students now +on their vacation as the organisers and leaders of the<a name="Page_351" id="Page_351"><span class="pagenum">[351]</span></a> +movement. Vladimir knew these young men and his pain +became sharper still.</p> + +<p>“But what good will it do?” he said, drily. “It will +only lead to trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Trouble! The idea of an educated man speaking like +that! Can there be more trouble than the Jews are in +now? I don’t see why we should sell ourselves so cheap. +Once we are going to be licked, why act like a lot of +sticks? Let us pay them for their bother at least. +Come what may, when they attack us, let us go to work +and crack their skulls at least—with lumps of iron, clubs +or even pistols. Let us fondle them so that a ghost +may get into every bone of theirs.” His words were +accompanied with mighty swings of his shoulders and +arms and these gesticulations of his had a peculiar effect +on Vladimir. They stirred his blood, they hypnotised him. +“What is the danger? They’ll kill us? Let them. As +if the life of a Jew were worth living! Besides, aren’t they +killing and maiming us anyhow?”</p> + +<p>“But look here,” Vigdoroff said seriously. “The governor +has promised us protection and he is perfectly sincere +about it. Now if he learns that our people take the +law in their own hands, it may do us great harm. It is a +very serious matter.”</p> + +<p>“Spit upon him, sir! I’m an uneducated man, but the +governor—a ghost into his father’s father!—may all he +wishes the Jews befall his own head.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all true enough, but now he has promised us +protection, and an organisation of that kind is against the +law and may lead to trouble,” Vigdoroff said with perfunctory +irritation.</p> + +<p>“And an organisation of rioters is not against the +law? And robbing and killing innocent people is not<a name="Page_352" id="Page_352"><span class="pagenum">[352]</span></a> +against the law? Long life to you, sir; you’re so wise, +so educated and yet you are speaking like a baby. Look +here, sir! If the governor—a plague take him—is as +good as his word, and he does not allow the riot to get +started, well and good. Then we’ll call the bargain off. +But suppose he proves to be neither better nor worse than +all governors?”</p> + +<p>Zelig knew of a number of other Jewish artisans who +were anxious to join the “committee,” and he urged +Vigdoroff to visit their gathering and to give them a talk +like the one Zelig had heard from him at the Synagogue +on that Friday night. “Oh, that was sweet as sugar,” he +said, kissing two of his dirty fingers. “You see, when +it comes to striking a scoundrel’s snout such a blow as +will set his eyes raining sparks, we want no help. That +we can manage ourselves, but we are only common people, +and when a smart man like you says a couple of words, +they simply go melting in a fellow’s bones.”</p> + +<p>“But I don’t know anything about the ‘committee.’”</p> + +<p>Zelig laughed familiarly. “Sender-the-Arbitrator’s +son doesn’t know! If you only had the desire, you could +belong to it yourself and introduce us fellows, too.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. I’ll consider it. And I should advise you +men to do the same.”</p> + +<p>“Consider it! We are only plain uneducated people, +but we aren’t going to do any considering. I have a +sister, sir, and if a Gentile lays a finger on her he’ll be a +dead man, I can tell you that. Jewish blood is being +spilled by the bucket and here you are talking of ‘considering.’” +He insisted that Vladimir should attend the +meeting of his informal society, and Vladimir, completely +in his power, promised to do so.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /><p><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353"><span class="pagenum">[353]</span></a></p> + +<p>That evening, in a spacious barn, half of which was +crowded with barrels of herring, Vladimir found Zelig +and some fifteen chums of his. Zelig was playing with a +huge iron key. He was employed here and the meeting +was held by his employer’s permission. For more than +nine persons to assemble without a police permit is a crime; +so it gave Vigdoroff satisfaction to reflect that he was now +incurring risks similar to those incurred by Clara and her +friends. The gathering seemed to be made up of mechanics +and labourers exclusively. One of the men present +was the sneering fellow whom Vigdoroff had seen at the +synagogue. Of the others Vladimir’s attention was attracted +by two big burly young butchers with dried-up blood +about their finger-nails, a chimney-sweep, who looked like +a jet-black negro, with white teeth and red lips, and three +men with medals from the late war which they apparently +expected to act as an amulet against Gentile rowdies. The +chimney-sweep sat apart, cracking sunflower seeds. Now +and again he made as though to throw his sooty arms +round somebody’s neck and then burst into laughter over +his own joke. All the others looked grave. They showed +Vigdoroff much respect and attention. Even the sneering +man made a favourable impression on him to-night. Only +he himself was so ill at ease he could scarcely take part in +the conversation. Other men came. When one of these +proved to be Motl, the trunk-maker in his aunt’s employ, +Vigdoroff felt somewhat more at home.</p> + +<p>One of the retired soldiers took to bragging of the courage +he and his two comrades had shown at the taking of +Plevna, and when one of the other two signed to him to +stop boasting, he said, with a blush:</p> + +<p>“I am saying all this because—because—what good +did it do us? Does the Czar pat us on the head for it?<a name="Page_354" id="Page_354"><span class="pagenum">[354]</span></a> +We risked our lives and many of our people died under +Plevna, and yet if we tried to settle in Great-Russia we +would be kicked out neck and crop, wouldn’t we?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed we would, war record, medal and all,” one of +the other two chimed in.</p> + +<p>“And why? Because we are Jews. We were not chased +home from the firing line because we were Jews, were we?”</p> + +<p>“Talk of Great-Russia,” somebody put in. “As if in +a place like Miroslav we were allowed to live in peace.”</p> + +<p>Another man assented with a sigh, adding: “If a thousandth +part of the courage shown by the Jews in the war +was shown in our self-defence against Gentiles, the Gentiles +would have more respect for us.”</p> + +<p>The conversation turned on the subject of pistols, but the +proposition was overruled.</p> + +<p>“Before we get pistols and learn to use them we’ll be +asleep under a quilt of earth,” said Zelig. “Why, what +ails my cooper’s hatchet, or a hammer, or a plain crowbar?”</p> + +<p>Every time Vigdoroff opened his mouth the faces of the +others would become tense with expectation. But he had +nothing to say except to ask an occasional question, and +every time Zelig, playing with his enormous iron key, +pressed him for a speech, he would adjure him, in a flutter +of embarrassment, to let it go this time.</p> + +<p>They talked of the prospective fight in phrases like +“forwarding a remittance to one’s snout” or “pulling up +sharp under a fellow’s peeper,” which amused and jarred +on him at once. For the rest, there was a remarkable +flow of common sense, humour and feeling. The gathering +cast a spell over him. He had come with the partial intention +of speaking against their scheme, yet now he felt +that he could much more readily face a gang of armed<a name="Page_355" id="Page_355"><span class="pagenum">[355]</span></a> +Gentiles than betray a faint heart to these Jewish artisans. +Moreover—and this was the great point with him at the +present moment—he felt that with these men by his side +he could fling himself into the very thick of the hottest +fight. A peculiar sense of solemnity and of gratification +came over him. He followed their talk reverentially. He +humbly offered to call on one of the leaders of the Defence +Committee and to apply for the admission of this group +with himself as one of its members.</p> + +<p>His first dawn of consciousness as he opened his eyes +next morning was of something exceedingly important and +solemn which somehow had the flavour of herring. The +active participation of a man like Elkin in the work of +the Defence Committee was a source of disappointment to +him. He usually kept out of Elkin’s way, as much for his +venomous pleasantry as for his revolutionary affiliations +which he divined from his friendship with Clara. He +wondered whether he meant to give the affair a revolutionary +character. “He must have warned the other members +against me as a silk stocking and a coward,” Vigdoroff +said to himself bitterly. “That’s probably the way Clara +describes me.”</p> + +<p>The next morning he was surprised by a visit from Elkin +himself. The revolutionist frowned as he spoke, but this +was clearly a disguise for his embarrassment.</p> + +<p>“Look here, Vigdoroff,” he said. “There has not been +much love lost between you and me, but that’s foolish—at +a time like this anyhow. We must all work together. +We are all Jews. I understand you have organised a +number of good fellows. Let them join the others.”</p> + +<p>Vigdoroff’s heart beat fast, with emotion as well as with +a sense of flattered pride. He would never have expected +Elkin capable of such soulful talk. Moreover his speaking<a name="Page_356" id="Page_356"><span class="pagenum">[356]</span></a> +of himself as a Jew seemed to imply that he had abandoned +Nihilism. “So we ‘cowards’ were not so very +wrong after all,” he thought to himself triumphantly.</p> + +<p>“In the first place,” he answered, “it wasn’t I who +organised them. It was just the other way, in fact.”</p> + +<p>“Well, anyhow, let them join the rest.”</p> + +<p>“Of course we will. Only look here, Elkin. You have +been frank with me——”</p> + +<p>“I know what you mean, but you need not worry. I +won’t get you in trouble,” Elkin replied with his usual +venom in his lozenge-shaped sneer. And then, kindly: +“It is not as a Russian revolutionist that I have gone into +this thing. I am one, as much as ever; I have not changed +my views a bit, in fact. But that’s another matter. All I +want to say is that in this thing I am as a Jew, as a child +of our unhappy, outraged, mud-bespattered people.”</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357"><span class="pagenum">[357]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXVIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE NIHILISTS’ GUARD.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">PAVEL’S mother, the countess, had not been in Miroslav +since March. She lived in retirement on one +of her estates in another province, in a constant +tremour of fear and compunction. The image of Alexander +II. bleeding in the snow literally haunted her. She +took it for granted that Pavel had had a hand in the bloody +plot, and she felt as though she, too, had been a party to it.</p> + +<p>To ascertain the situation with regard to the riot rumours +Pavel called on his uncle, the governor. He found him +dozing on a bench in his orchard, a stout cane in one hand +and a French newspaper in the other. The old satrap was +dressed in a fresh summer suit of Caucasian silk, which +somehow emphasised the uncouth fleshiness of his broad +nose. He was overjoyed to see his nephew, and he plunged +into the subject of the riots at once and of his own accord. +It was evidently one of those situations upon which he +usually had to unburden his mind to somebody.</p> + +<p>“Can you tell me what they are up to in that great city +of yours?” he said, referring to St. Petersburg and the +higher government circles and blinking as he spoke. +“There is an administration for you! Perhaps you +younger fellows are smarter than we oldsters. Perhaps, +perhaps.” He took out a golden cigarette case, lit a cigarette +and went on blinking, sneeringly.</p><p><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358"><span class="pagenum">[358]</span></a></p> + +<p>His words implied that Pavel, being one of the younger +generation, was, morally at least, identified with the administration +of the young Czar.</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, uncle?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“What do I mean? Why, I mean that they don’t want +those riots stopped. That’s plain enough, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>This was a slap at the doctrine of Pavel’s party concerning +the outrages, and he resented it as well as he could.</p> + +<p>“But you have no evidence for such an accusation, +uncle,” he said. “That’s a mere theory of yours.”</p> + +<p>“I knew you would stick up for your generation. Ha, +ha, ha! Quite commendable in a young chap, too. Ha, +ha, ha!”</p> + +<p>“But where is your evidence?”</p> + +<p>“You want to know too much, Pasha. Too young for +that. If they wanted the riots stopped, it would be a case +of one, two, three, and there she goes! That’s as much +as I can tell you, and if you are really clever you can understand +the rest yourself.”</p> + +<p>“He is in league with his fellow fleecers, the Jewish +usurers,” Pavel remarked inwardly. “He simply cannot +afford an anti-Jewish demonstration, the old bribe-taker.”</p> + +<p>“Neither can you,” a voice retorted from Pavel’s heart, +“though for quite different reasons.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Prince Boulatoff called on Orlovsky, the government +clerk in whose house the local revolutionists held their +meetings. The first thing that struck him was Orlovsky’s +loss of girth.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Aliosha,” he said heartily, meeting him at the +gate.</p> + +<p>“Why, Pasha!” The clerk flung himself upon him, +and they exchanged three prolonged kisses.</p><p><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359"><span class="pagenum">[359]</span></a></p> + +<p>“By Jove,” Pavel went on, “you are so changed I came +near letting you pass. Why, what has become of your +bulk, old boy? Have you been ill?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly,” the other answered, leading the way indoors; +then, as his face broke into an expression of wan +joy, he added: “Been in love, devil wrench it. I take +these things rather too hard, I suppose, but that’s a small +matter. How have you been? Climbing upward in the +service of the revolution, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>The room was the same. The huge tin samovar stood on +the floor.</p> + +<p>“Well, and how is your Circle? First-rate fellows all +of them,” Pavel said.</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed. Only we miss Clara now more than +ever.”</p> + +<p>“Anything specially the matter?” Pavel asked, colouring +slightly.</p> + +<p>“Well, it really used to be a splendid circle—in our +humble way, that is—but those riots have had a bad +effect on us, deuce take it. Remember Elkin? It was he +who got us together, and now it’s he who has brought discord +into our ranks. He is organising people who want +to go to America. This is his hobby now.”</p> + +<p>“Why, have the riots knocked all his socialism out of +him?” Pavel asked, grimly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, no,” Orlovsky answered with something like dismay. +“I wouldn’t say that. It’s as an organiser of communistic +colonies that he is going to emigrate. Only he +says the Jewish people have a more direct claim upon +him than Russia.”</p> + +<p>“There is a revolutionist for you!” Pavel roared, bitterly. +“I never did attach much importance to that fellow. +The sooner he goes the better. God speed him.”</p><p><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360"><span class="pagenum">[360]</span></a></p> + +<p>“You’re too hard on him, Pasha. He’s a good fellow. +If we had Clara here she would straighten it all out. We +miss her very much. As a matter of fact, it was she—indeed, +I don’t see why I shouldn’t tell it to you—it was +she with whom I was in love.”</p> + +<p>“Was it?” Pavel asked, colouring.</p> + +<p>He paused, in utter confusion, and resumed, without +looking at him. “Well, you must excuse me, Aliosha, but +I fear your frankness goes a bit too far. Such things are +not meant to be published that way.”</p> + +<p>“Why? Why? What a funny view you do take of it, +Pasha! Suppose a fellow’s heart is full and he meets an +intimate old friend of his, is it an indiscretion on his part +if he opens his mind to him?”</p> + +<p>“I certainly am a friend of yours, and a warm one, too, +old boy,” Pavel replied with a smile. “But still, things +of that sort are usually kept to oneself.”</p> + +<p>Several other members came in. The gigantic samovar, +the improvised sugar bowl, a huge loaf of rye bread, some +butter and a lamp made their appearance on the table. +Elkin dropped in later in the evening. He and Pavel +had not been conversing five minutes when they quarrelled.</p> + +<p>“What you are trying to do is to blend the unblendable—to +mix socialism with Jewish chauvinism,” Boulatoff +said in an ill-concealed rage.</p> + +<p>“Am I?” the other retorted with one of the most virulent +of his sneers. “Can socialism be mixed with the welfare +of the Russian people only?—the welfare of the Russian +people with a pailful or two of Jewish blood thrown +in; in plainer language, socialism can only be mixed with +anti-Semitism. Is that it?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nonsense!” Pavel hissed. “There are other Jews +in the movement, lots of them, and one does not hear that<a name="Page_361" id="Page_361"><span class="pagenum">[361]</span></a> +kind of stuff from them. They have not sickened of the +bargain on account of the riots.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know whom you mean. Perhaps some of them +are still under the spell of the fact that a Gentile or two +will speak to them or even call them by their first names.”</p> + +<p>“Calm down, Elkin,” the judge with the fluffy hair and +the near-sighted eyes interposed. “Come, you won’t say +that of Clara, for instance?”</p> + +<p>“No, not of Clara. But, then, you have not yet heard +from her. Sooner or later she, too, will open her eyes and +come to the conclusion that it is wiser to be a socialist for +her own people than for those who will slaughter and +trample upon them. I am sure she will give it all up and +join the emigration—sooner or later.”</p> + +<p>“The devil she will,” Pavel said quietly, but trembling +with fury.</p> + +<p>“Yes, she will,” Elkin jeered.</p> + +<p>Pavel felt like strangling him.</p> + +<p>“She is too good a revolutionist to sneak away from the +battlefield,” snapped Ginsburg, the red-headed son of the +usurer, without raising his eyes from the table. “Of +course, America is a safer place to be a socialist in. There +are no gendarmes there.”</p> + +<p>Elkin chuckled. “You had better save your courage +for the time the riot breaks out in this town,” he said. +“You know it is coming. It may burst out at any moment, +and when it does we’ll have a chance to see how a +hero like you behaves himself when the ‘revolutionary +instincts of the people are aroused.’”</p> + +<p>“Very well, then, let him go back to the synagogue,” +Pavel shouted to the others, losing all his self-control. +“But in that case, what’s the sense of his hanging around +a place like this?”</p><p><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362"><span class="pagenum">[362]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Oh, I see, you are afraid I’ll send spies to this house, +are you? Well, there is less danger of that than that you +should take a hand in the slaughter of Jewish shoemakers, +blacksmiths or water-bearers as a bit of practical ‘equality +and fraternity,’ I can assure you. But then, after all, you +may be right. Good-bye, comrades! Don’t judge me +hard.”</p> + +<p>Tears stood in Orlovsky’s eyes. He, the judge, and Mlle. +Andronoff, the judge’s fiancée, were for running after him, +but the others stopped them.</p> + +<p>Left to themselves, the group of Nihilists began to discuss +the coming outbreak. Everyone felt, in view of Elkin’s +charge, that whatever else was done, no effort should +be spared to keep the mob from attacking the Jewish poor. +Much was said about “directing the popular fury into revolutionary +channels,” and “setting the masses upon the +government,” but most of those who said these things +knew in their hearts that they might as well talk of directing +the ocean into revolutionary channels or of setting a +tornado upon the Russian government. Orlovsky alone +took it seriously:</p> + +<p>“It begins to look something like, by Jove,” he said +beamingly. “We’ll go out, and when the mob gets going, +when the revolutionary fighting blood is up in them, we’ll +call out to them that Jewish usurers are not the only enemies +of the toiling people; that the Czar is at the head of +all the enemies of the nation. And then, by Jove, Miroslav +may set the pace to all Russia. See if it doesn’t.”</p> + +<p>The son of the usurer called attention to the extreme +smallness of their number, but he thought it enough to +keep the mob from assaulting working people. He knew +that his own relatives were all safe personally. As to his +father’s property, he said he would be glad if it was all<a name="Page_363" id="Page_363"><span class="pagenum">[363]</span></a> +destroyed by the “revolutionary conflagration,” and he +meant it.</p> + +<p>Pavel took no hand in the discussion. Instead, he was +pacing to and fro mopingly.</p> + +<p>At last, after some more speeches, including one by the +gawky seminarist, who came late and who disagreed with +everybody else, it was decided that in case of a riot every +Gentile member of the Circle should be out in the streets, +“on picket duty,” watching the mob, studying its mood +and “doing everything possible to lend the disturbance a +revolutionary character.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Eight Jewish women, including three little girls, were +brought to the Jewish hospital of Miroslav from a neighbouring +town, where they had been outraged in the course +of an anti-Semitic outbreak. The little girls and the prettiest +of the other five died soon after they arrived. The +next day the Gentile district bubbled with obscenity. To +be sure, there were expressions of horror and pity, too, but +the bulk of the Christian population, including many an +educated and tender-hearted woman, treated the matter as +a joke. Where a Jew was concerned the moral and human +point of view had become a reeling blur. The joke had an +appalling effect. While the stories of pillaged shops kindled +the popular fancy with the image of staved vodka barrels +and pavements strewn with costly fabrics, the case of +the eight Jewish women gave rise to a hideous epidemic +of lust. There were thousands of Gentiles for whom it became +no more possible to pass a pretty Jewish woman than +to look into the display window of a Jewish shop without +thinking of an anti-Semitic outbreak.</p> + +<p>The storm was gathering. The mutterings of an approaching +riot were becoming louder and louder. Many<a name="Page_364" id="Page_364"><span class="pagenum">[364]</span></a> +Jewish shops were closed. Taverns serving as stations for +stage lines were crowded with people begging to be taken +away from the city before it was too late.</p> + +<p>The Defence Committee did not rest. The volunteers +of the several Jewish districts were organised into so many +sections, and a signal system was perfected by which the +various sections were to communicate with each other. +The raiders were sure to be drunk, it was argued, while +the Defence Guard would be sober and acting according to +a well-considered plan. The Guard was spoiling for a +fight.</p> + +<p>The Nihilists “on picket duty” were strolling around +the streets.</p> + +<p>Troops were held in readiness and placards had been +posted forbidding people to assemble in the streets. Having +ordered this, Governor Boulatoff announced himself ill +and in need of a fortnight’s leave of absence. When a +delegation implored him to postpone the journey, he replied +curtly that all had been done to insure order. He +was in bad spirits and treated them with unusual rudeness.</p> + +<p>He left Miroslav in the morning. At about noontime +of the same day the town was full of sinister rumours. +One of these was about the poisoning of twelve Christian +wells by Jews.</p> + +<p>A few yards off a retired government clerk, in dilapidated +though carefully shined boots and with a red nose, +stood in front of one of the governor’s placards forbidding +people to congregate in the streets, with a crowd of illiterate +Gentiles about him.</p> + +<p>“‘So by an All High ukase,’” he pretended to read, +“‘all people of the orthodox Christian faith are hereby +ordered to attack the Jews, destroy their homes and shops, +tear their pillows and drink their vodka and wine,<a name="Page_365" id="Page_365"><span class="pagenum">[365]</span></a> +take from them all they have plundered from Christians +and administer a drubbing to them.’”</p> + +<p>As he proceeded he worked himself up to a tone of maudlin +solemnity.</p> + +<p>“Aye, the day of reckoning hath come,” he went on. +“Let not a man of that unchristian tribe escape. Let the +blood of Jesus and of his followers be avenged.” Here, +however, he spoiled it all by suddenly breaking off with a +grin of inebriate roguishness.</p> + +<p>The revolutionary seminarist was watching this man +philosophically.</p> + +<p>Similar scenes occurred in other neighbourhoods. When +in one instance they had led to an attack upon a rabbinical +looking old man who was left bleeding and unconscious +on the pavement, the troops were ordered out. Then there +was a scramble for rooms in Gentile hotels. Twenty-five +rubles a day was charged for a ruble room, and there were +a dozen applicants for each room. Still, those who had +money contrived to find shelter. Much greater difficulty +was encountered in many cases in getting a Christian +cabman to take a Jew to a place of refuge. Many a Gentile +rented part of his dwelling to Jews at an enormous price, +a guarantee of safety being included in the bargain. Then, +too, there was a considerable number of Gentiles who received +some of their prosperous Jewish neighbours into +their houses without accepting any offer of payment. Prosperous, +because the poorer Jews for the most part lived +huddled together in the Ghetto and were far removed from +the Gentile population. At Pavel’s instance Orlovsky +went to take Clara’s sister and her family to the house +of a relative of his, but he found their door locked. They +were taking refuge with the Vigdoroffs.</p> + +<p>Toward five o’clock, when the crimson sunlight was playing<a name="Page_366" id="Page_366"><span class="pagenum">[366]</span></a> +on the gold steeple of the Church of Our Saviour and +the dazzling blue and white of hussars’ uniforms, a small +crowd of men and boys came running to the square in +front of the sacred structure.</p> + +<p>“We want to carry out the holy vessels and banners,” +said a spokesman to an officer. “We hear the Jews have +decided to set fire to God’s temple.”</p> + +<p>“We won’t let them, you may be sure of that,” the +hussar officer answered. “You can safely go home.”</p> + +<p>The crowd was slowly dispersing, when a man in a red +shirt shouted:</p> + +<p>“Boys, I know a Jewish cellar where twenty-five Christian +corpses are kept in empty vodka casks. Come on!”</p> + +<p>The officer did not interfere, and the crowd followed the +red-shirt round the corner to a closed drink-shop. Half +an hour later the streets in that locality rang with a +drunken sing-song: “Death to the Jews! Death to the +Christ-killers!”</p> + +<p>The shop was the property of a Jew, who was hiding +with his family somewhere, but the street was inhabited +by Gentiles. Meanwhile on a little square near Nicholas +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'street'">Street</ins>, the best street running through the Jewish quarter, +a mob of five hundred men and boys, mostly from the scum +of the population, had seemingly dropped from the sky. +A savage “Hee-hee-hee!” broke loose, scattered itself, +died away, and was taken up again with redoubled energy. +All over the district Jews, men and women, most of them +with children clasped in their arms, were running along +the middle of the streets as people run at the sound of +a volcano. Some were fleeing from their shops to their +homes and some from their homes to the hiding places +which they had prepared for themselves. The eyes of +most of them had the hollow look of mortal fear.<a name="Page_367" id="Page_367"><span class="pagenum">[367]</span></a> +They ran in family groups, holding close to each other. +Here and there a man, his feet giving way under him, +sick and dizzy with fright, would slacken pace for a +minute, as if giving himself up for lost; then, wiping +the cold sweat from his face, he would break into a fresh +run, more desperate than before. Some simply walked +quickly, a look of grim determination on their faces. +Here and there an aged man or woman, too feeble to run, +were making a pitiful effort to keep up with the younger +members of their families, who were urging them on with +a look of ghastly impatience. Often a frail little woman +with two or three children in her arms could be seen running +as she might down a steep hill.</p> + +<p>Christians stood on the sidewalks, jeering and mimicking +their fright and making jokes.</p> + +<p>Pavel watched the spectacle in a singular state of mental +agitation. His heart leaped at sight of that chaotic mob +as it paraded through the streets. Visions of the French +Revolution floated through his brain, quickening his pulse. +“So our people are <i>not</i> incapable of rising!” he felt like +exclaiming. “The idea of a revolution is <i>not</i> incompatible +with the idea of Russia!” It was as if all the sacrifices +he had been making during the past few years had finally +been indorsed by life itself, as if they were once for all +insured against proving to be the senseless sacrifices of a +modern Don Quixote. He could have embraced this mass +of human dregs. And while his mind was in this state, +the panic-stricken men, women and children with oriental +features who were running past him were stranger than +ever to him. He simply could not rouse himself to a +sense of their being human creatures like himself at this +moment. It was like a scene on a canvas. Clara did +not seem to belong to these people; and when it came<a name="Page_368" id="Page_368"><span class="pagenum">[368]</span></a> +fully home to him that she did, and how these scenes were +apt to stand between him and her, his heart grew faint +within him; whereupon he felt like a traitor to his cause, +and at the same time he was overcome with a sense of his +inward anarchy and helplessness.</p> + +<p>Within the Jewish houses and on their courtyards there +was a rush for sub-cellars, garrets, barrels. As they ran, +clambered, tiptoed, scrambled, they smothered the cries of +their frightened babies with several cases of unconscious +infanticide as a result. Christians hastened to assert the +immunity of their houses by placing the image of the +Virgin (a Jewess!) in their windows; and so did many +a Jew who had procured such images for the purpose. +Some smashed their own windows and piled up fragments +of furniture in front of their doors, to give their homes +or shops the appearance of having already been visited +by mob fury. Here and there a man was chalking crosses +on his gate or shutters.</p> + +<p>While this was in progress several hundred Jews burst +from gateways on and about Nicholas <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'street'">Street</ins> and bore down +on the enemy with frantic yells in Russian and in Yiddish. +They were armed with crowbars, axes, hammers, +brass knuckles, clubs and what-not. As to the rioters +they were mostly unarmed. Following the established +practice of the crusade, they had expected to begin with +some hardware store and there to arm themselves with +battering rams and implements of devastation—an intention +which they had not yet had time to carry out. At +sight of this armed multitude, therefore, they were taken +aback. Resistance was not what they had anticipated. +Indeed, for some seconds many of them were under the +impression that the crowd now descending on them was +but another horde of hoodlums. They wavered. A crowd<a name="Page_369" id="Page_369"><span class="pagenum">[369]</span></a> +of Jewish butchers, lumberers, blacksmiths, truck-drivers—the +advance guard of the Defence—made a dash at +them, jeering and howling at the top of their lungs, in +Yiddish:</p> + +<p>“Let’s hack them to pieces! Lively boys! Let’s drive +right into their lungs and livers! Let’s make carrot-pudding +of them! Bravely, fellows, they’re drunk as swine!”</p> + +<p>At this point Orlovsky and the seminarist instinctively +joined the rioters. Elkin and Vigdoroff were on the other +side. Pavel was looking on from the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>The Defence was mistaken. The rioters were almost as +sober as they, for, indeed, it was another part of the stereotyped +program of anti-Semitic riots that drink-shops should +be among the very first targets of attack, so that the invaders +might fit themselves for the real work of the riot +by filling themselves full of Jewish vodka. But the Jews, +as we have seen, descended upon them before they had torn +down a single door. What the outcome would have been +had the two opposing crowds been left to themselves is +unknown, for a troop of hussars whose commander had +been watching the scene charged on both when they were +a few inches apart, and dispersed them both. Some fifty +arrests were made, more than two-thirds of the prisoners +being Jews. The arrested Gentiles went to police headquarters +singing an anti-Semitic refrain and mimicking +the frightened cry of Jewish women. Bystanders, some of +the Nihilist “pickets” among them, shouted:</p> + +<p>“Don’t fear, boys. You’ll soon go home.” And the +answer was:</p> + +<p>“Sure we will, and then we’ll give them a shaking-up, +the scurvy Jews, won’t we?”</p> + +<p>On another business street some boys threw a few +tentative stones at a shop window. There being no interference<a name="Page_370" id="Page_370"><span class="pagenum">[370]</span></a> +on the part of the military, a mob of grown men +sprang up. Doors were burst in and rolls of silk and +woollen stuffs came shooting to the pavement.</p> + +<p>“Don’t, boys; you had better go home,” said a handsome +young lieutenant, affecting the basso of a general.</p> + +<p>The raiders did not desist. While some went on emptying +the shop into the street others were slashing, tearing or +biting at the goods. They did it without zest and somewhat +nervously, as if still in doubt as to the attitude of +the authorities. A servant girl unrolled a piece of blue +velvet over a filthy spot on the cobblestones before a lieutenant +of the hussars, saying:</p> + +<p>“Here, sir! Why dirty the dear little feet of your +horse? Here is Jewish velvet for them.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, my dear girl, but you had better go home,” +the lieutenant answered, smiling. A crumpled mass of +unrolled fabrics, silk, woollen, velvet, satin, cotton, lay in +many-coloured heaps on the pavement and in the gutter. +The rioters, whose movements were still amateurish and +lacked snap, soon wearied of the job. Several of them +then broke into a grocery store and brought forth a barrel +of kerosene.</p> + +<p>“What are you going to do?” asked the lieutenant.</p> + +<p>“We’ll pour it over the stuff and set fire to it, your +high nobleness.”</p> + +<p>“That you can’t do,” the officer returned decisively. +“You’ll have to go home now.”</p> + +<p>The rioters obeyed at once, many of them taking rolls +of silk or velvet along.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371"><span class="pagenum">[371]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XXXIX.</h2> + +<h3>THE RIOT.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">THE next morning the Police Master, “in order +to avoid bloodshed,” issued a proclamation forbidding +Jews to leave their houses. The order was +copied from one that had been issued in other riot-ridden +towns where, as the Miroslav Police Master knew +but too well, it meant that the Jews were prevented from +uniting for their self-defence and forced to await the +arrival of the mob, each family in its own isolated lodgings. +At the same time every soldier of the Jewish faith +was called back to barracks, none of their number being +included in the patrol, “for fear of embittering the Christian +population.”</p> + +<p>A peculiar air hung about the city, an air at once of +festive idleness and suppressed bustle. It looked as it +might on the eve of some great fair. Gentile workmen, +staying away from their shops, were parading the streets, +many of them shouldering axes, sledge-hammers, bores, +chisels—their tools of useful toil to be turned to weapons +of demolition and pillage; peasants from neighbouring +villages were arriving with sacks, pails, tubs, spades, axes, +pitchforks, their waggons otherwise empty and ready to be +laden with booty. Among the people in the streets were +gangs of trained rioters, come from towns where their +work was at an end. The Jews were in their hiding places<a name="Page_372" id="Page_372"><span class="pagenum">[372]</span></a> +where they had passed the night. Pavel went about alone, +avoiding company, asking himself questions to which his +mind had no answer. He was filled with the excitement +of a sportsman a few minutes before the beginning of a +great race; with mental chaos and anxiety.</p> + +<p>At one corner of Cucumber Market a group of peasants +took off their coarse straw hats and bowed to two policemen.</p> + +<p>“We are only ignorant peasants,” they said. “Will +your High Nobleness tell us when his Excellency the Police +Master will give the order to start in?”</p> + +<p>“There won’t be any order to start in,” answered one +of the policemen. “Move along, move along.”</p> + +<p>The large market place became white with country people. +They were getting restive. Their sacks and tubs +were hungry for the goods of “Christ-killers.” Four years +ago many of these very people, dressed like soldiers, had +been driven to the Balkans by a force known to them as +the Czar, to fire at Turks without having the least idea +what sort of creatures those people called Turks were or +what they had done to be fired at. Now they had come +here, in obedience to the same force, to rob and do violence +to Jews. Among the out-of-town looters were two tramps +who had it whispered about that they were two well-known +generals in disguise, personal emissaries of the Emperor +sent to direct the attack upon the Jews. These two were +soon put in gaol, but that which they personified, the idea +that the anti-Jewish riots met with the Czar’s approval, was +left at large. It seized upon soldier and civilian alike. +People who usually kept at a timid distance from everything +in the shape of a uniform, were now bandying jests +with army lieutenants and police captains. The question +this morning was not whether one wore the Czar’s uniform<a name="Page_373" id="Page_373"><span class="pagenum">[373]</span></a> +or citizen’s clothes, but whether one was a Jew or not. An +unusual feeling of kinship linked them all together, and +the source of that feeling was the consciousness that they +were not Jews.</p> + +<p>It was about nine o’clock when a large seedy-looking +man with a bloated, sodden face, stepped out of a vast +crowd on Cucumber <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'market'">Market</ins>, and walked jauntily up to a +deserted fruit stand. Snatching a handful of hickory nuts, +he flung it high in the air, then thrust his two index fingers +into his mouth and blew a loud piercing blast, puffing himself +up violently as he did so. The sound was echoed by +similar sounds in many parts of the crowded market place.</p> + +<p>“Hee-ee-eeee!” came from a thousand frantic throats.</p> + +<p>A long stick was raised with a battered hat for a flag, a +hundred human swarms rushed in all directions, rending +the air with their yells, and pandemonium was loose.</p> + +<p>There was a scramble for hardware shops, vodka shops +and places where Jewish women were said to be secreted. +Another few minutes and the streets were streaming with +spirits. The air was filled with the odour of alcohol, with +the din of broken glass, with the clatter of feet, with the +impact of battering rams against doors; and coming +through this general clang, thud and crash of destruction, +were smothered groans of agony, shrieks of horror and +despair, the terror-stricken cry of children, the jeers of +triumph and lust. Here a row of shops, their doors burst +in, was sending forth a shower of sugar, kerosene, flour, +spices, coats, bonnets, wigs, dry goods, crockery, cutlery, +toys; there a bevy of men were tearing up the street, piling +up the cobble-stones which others were hurling at shop +windows. Some men and women were carrying away +bucketsful of vodka. Others were bending over casks, +scooping out the liquid with their caps, hands or even<a name="Page_374" id="Page_374"><span class="pagenum">[374]</span></a> +boots; others were greedily crouching before barrels, their +mouths to the bungholes. Here and there a man leaning +over a broken cask was guzzling at its contents in a torpor +of drunkenness. One rioter, holding a sealed bottle in +his hand and too impatient to look for a corkscrew, +smashed its neck against the sidewalk, while another man, +by his side, broke two similar bottles against each other, +and then cursed the Jews as he licked wine mixed with +his own blood off his fingers. Nearby a woman carrying +a shoe full of vodka toward a four-year-old boy who was +seated on a pile of logs, yelled frantically:</p> + +<p>“Here, my darling! Taste it, precious one, so that +when you grow up you may say you remember the day +when the ill-gotten wealth of Jews was smashed by people +of the True Faith.”</p> + +<p>Women and children were serving vodka to the soldiers +in cans, teapots, saucers, ladles, paper boxes.</p> + +<p>Orlovsky mounted a cask and began to shout, wildly:</p> + +<p>“Don’t drink too much, boys! Don’t befog your minds! +For this is a great historical moment! Only why attack +Jews alone? Behold, the Czar is at the head of all the +blood-suckers in the land!”</p> + +<p>Scarcely anybody listened to him. The crowd was too +deeply absorbed in its orgy. His voice was drowned by a +thousand other sounds; his flashing eyes and his air-pounding +fists were part of a nightmare of brutalised +faces, attitudes of greed, gesticulations of primitive humanity +<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'ran'">run</ins> amuck. Presently, however, a group of belated +rowdies came along in search of drink. They stopped +in front of Orlovsky, eyeing the cask under his feet hopefully, +the appearance of the bung showing that its contents +were still intact.</p> + +<p>“Who are you, anyhow?” one of them said to the<a name="Page_375" id="Page_375"><span class="pagenum">[375]</span></a> +speaker. “It must be the Jews who sent you here to talk +like that to good Christian people.”</p> + +<p>“It isn’t true. You’re mistaken, old boy,” Orlovsky +answered hoarsely and breathing hard, but with a kindly, +familiar smile on his flushed, perspiring face. “I am one +of the best friends you and all the people ever had, I mean +the good of all of you fellows. What’s the use attacking +Jews only, I say. We had better turn upon the authorities, +the flunkeys of the Czar——”</p> + +<p>“Do you hear what he says?” one of his listeners said, +in perplexity, nudging the fellow by his side.</p> + +<p>“He wants to get us in trouble, the sly fox that he is,” +somebody remarked.</p> + +<p>“Sure, he does. And it was by the Jews he was hired +to come here. I know what I am talking about,” growled +the man who had spoken first. “Down with him, boys!”</p> + +<p>“Down with him!” the others echoed, thirstily.</p> + +<p>Orlovsky was pulled off and the group of belated rioters, +re-enforced by some others, rushed at the cask savagely.</p> + +<p>Pavel was in another section of the same street. An +old little Jewess whom he saw run out of a gate struck +him as the most pathetic figure he had seen that day. Her +fright gave her pinched little face something like a pout, +an air of childlike resentment, as it were. A Gentile boy +snatched off her wig and held it up, jeering to some bystanders, +whereupon she covered her gray head with her +bony hands, her faith forbidding her to expose her hair, +and ran on with the same childlike pout. A sob of pity +caught Pavel in the throat. He was about to offer to take +her to a place of safety, when an elderly rowdy, apparently +provoked by her outlandish anxiety about her bare hair, +struck her a vicious blow on the head, accompanying it +with profanity.</p><p><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376"><span class="pagenum">[376]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Cur!” Pavel shrieked, springing up to him and landing +a smart whack in his face.</p> + +<p>The rioter looked round with surprise, muttered something +and joined the looters.</p> + +<p>“Come with me, don’t be afraid of the scoundrels,” Pavel +said, taking her by the hand. His heart was melting with +pity for all the Jews at this moment. He felt a rush of +yearning tenderness for Clara, and he wished she could +see him taking care of this woman of her race.</p> + +<p>When he saw two marauders hand out gold and silver +watches—the spoils of a raid—to the patrol, his blood +was up again.</p> + +<p>“Is that what you are here for, thieves, vermin that you +are?” he shouted.</p> + +<p>“Who is that fellow? Run him in!” somebody said.</p> + +<p>He fought desperately, cursing the authorities and calling +to the mob to turn upon the soldiers, but he was overpowered +and carried away half dead. When his identity +was discovered at Police Headquarters, it caused a panic +among the officials of the place. He was reverently placed +in a carriage and taken to the Palace.</p> + +<p>The Defence Guard gave the rioters fight in two places, +and a desperate encounter it was, but it was not to last long. +Troops fell upon them, beat them with the butts of their +rifles and hurled execrations at them for violating the +police ordinance. Every Jew who was armed and every +Jew who looked educated, Elkin among them, was arrested. +The others were driven indoors. Vladimir was brought to +police headquarters unconscious, with blood gushing from +his head.</p> + +<p>When the first stack of bedding was pitched out on the +sidewalk at Nicholas <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'street'">Street</ins>, from a residence over a tobacco +shop, a man with watery eyes and a beautiful Great-Russian<a name="Page_377" id="Page_377"><span class="pagenum">[377]</span></a> +beard, one of the leaders, selected a big, plump, +tempting feather-bed, and opened his pocket-knife with +dignified deliberation. A crowd of about one thousand +stood about in breathless silence, as though attending a +religious ceremony of great solemnity. In order to prolong +the spell, the man with the golden beard played with +the feather-bed awhile, kneading, patting, punching it, +brandishing his knife over it, like a barbaric high priest +performing some mystic rite over a captive about to be +sacrificed. Then, grasping it with sudden ferocity, his +teeth a-glitter amid his enormous whiskers, his watery eyes +flashing murder, he cut a quick, long gash, rent the pillow-case +apart and hurled its snow-white entrails to the breeze.</p> + +<p>“Hurrah! Hurrah!” the mob yelled savagely, as the +breeze seized the down and flung it in a thousand directions. +“Hurrah! Hurrah!”</p> + +<p>The other feather-beds and pillows were ripped up, disemboweled +and emptied by some of the other rioters. The +summer-baked street seemed to be in the grasp of a snow-storm.</p> + +<p>It is one of the characteristics of the housewife of the +Ghetto that she will put up with a poor meal rather than +with an uncomfortable bed. The destruction of pillows +and featherbeds is therefore the most typical scene of anti-Semitic +riots in Russia. An Anglo-Saxon crowd viewing a +prize-fight is not thrilled more deeply at sight of “first-blood” +than were the rioters of Miroslav at sight of the +first cloud of Jewish down. Now the outbreak was in +full swing. Some of the men came out in fashionable +clothes, their pockets bulging with plunder. The same +work of devastation and pillage was going on in many +places at once. About ten thousand raiders, most of them +covered with down, were skirmishing about in groups of<a name="Page_378" id="Page_378"><span class="pagenum">[378]</span></a> +fifty to one hundred, preceded by one or two leaders and +accompanied, in some cases, with a band of toy-drums and +whistles. They went from street to street reconnoitering +for houses or shops that had not yet been visited. Now it +looked like a real anti-Jewish riot. Hurrah! Hurrah!</p> + +<p>After the pillows came the furniture and other household +goods, every bit of it either shivered to flinders or carried +off. While some were busy smashing things or throwing +them out of the windows, others were stripping off their own +clothes and arraying themselves in the best coats, trousers, +dresses, bonnets, the raided houses contained. A frowzy +drunken scrub-woman emerged in a gorgeous ball dress, a +costly fur cap on her head, with two gold watches dangling +from her neck. One of these gangs was led by a man who +wore a woman’s jacket of brown plush and a high hat. +Another leader was decked out in a fashionable summer +suit and a new straw hat, but his feet were bare and encrusted +with dirt. A third gang was preceded by a flag +consisting of the torn skirt of an outraged Jewish woman, +the flag-bearer celebrating the exploit as he marched along.</p> + +<p>Following the looters were dense crowds of spectators, +many of them well dressed and with the stamp of education +and refinement on their faces. These included some well +known families, members of the aristocracy, who watched +the scenes of the day from their fashionable equipages. +Officials, merchants, people of the middle class were out in +their best clothes. Miroslav made a great gala day of it. +The aristocracy was in a complacent, race-track mood. +Occupants of carriages were exchanging greetings and +pleasantries. Cavaliers were interpreting to their ladies the +bedlam of sound, odour and colour. The appearance of a +drunken jade in a ball dress, strutting with her arms akimbo, +in besotted imitation of a lady, brought forth bursts of<a name="Page_379" id="Page_379"><span class="pagenum">[379]</span></a> +facetious applause. The well-dressed spectators tried to +steer clear of down and feathers, but that was almost impossible. +Many streets were so thickly covered with it +that it deadened the sound of traffic. But then to catch +some of the Jewish down on one’s dress or bonnet or coat +was part of the carnival. Where the street was strewn with +jewelry, silverware or knicknacks, costly carpets, fabrics, +many a noblewoman scanned the ground with the haze of +temptation in her eye. “Isn’t that cameo perfectly +lovely!” And in many, many instances the cameo, or the +silver tray, or the piece of tapestry found its way into the +lady’s carriage. This was during the early stage of the +riot. Later on, when all restraint had been cast off, +phaetons with crests on their sides were filled with plunder. +The lame princess took home one carriage-load and hurried +back for more. At every turn one saw a cavalier +offering his lady some piece of finery as he might a rose +or a carnation, and in most cases it was accepted, on the +cogent ground that if left on the pavement it would be +destroyed. On the other hand many of the rioters themselves +disdained to appropriate anything that was not +theirs. Very often when a Jew offered his assailants all +the money he had about him as a ransom the paper money +was torn to pieces and silver or coppers was flung out into +the street, whereupon the crowd outside would fall over +each other in a wild scramble for shreds of the paper or +the metal. In one place a man offered the mob all he had +in the world as a ransom for his daughter’s honour, but +his money was destroyed, his daughter assaulted and he +himself mortally wounded. When a peasant woman was +seen carrying an armful of linen and ribbons out of a small +shop, she was stopped by one of the rioters.</p> + +<p>“Drop that, you old hag,” he shouted. “We are no<a name="Page_380" id="Page_380"><span class="pagenum">[380]</span></a> +robbers, are we?” He added a torrent of unprintable +Russian and kicked the woman into a swamp of syrup, +whisky and flour. A short distance from this spot other +peasant women were stuffing their sacks lustily, whereupon +some of them preferred loud linen to black silk and cheap +spoons to silver ones. In several places large sums of +money were plundered. As the bank and check system +was (and still is) in its very infancy in Miroslav, this +meant in most cases that people of means were literally +reduced to beggary. One family was saved from personal +violence as well as from the loss of its fortune by an iron +safe which the looters spent the whole day in vainly trying +to open. But then, while they were at work on the safe, +the mother of the family went insane with fright.</p> + +<p>Marching side by side with the leaders of the various +bands were the competitors of Jewish tradesmen or mechanics +who acted as guides, each pointing out the stores or +workshops of his rivals. Thus Rasgadayeff, after instructing +his wife and servants to see to it that no harm was done +to his tenants, the Vigdoroffs, had gone to the scene of the +outbreak, where he directed a crowd of rowdies to the store +of his most formidable business opponent. The place was +raided. A wealth of costly furs was cut to pieces and +flung into the street, where cans of kerosene and pails of +tar were emptied over the pile, while more than half as +much again was carried off intact.</p> + +<p>“Boys, no stealing,” Rasgadayeff said, in a drunken +gibberish, when it was too late. All he could save from +the <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'maurauders'">marauders</ins> for the slashers was a sable muff over +which two women rioters were fighting desperately.</p> + +<p>In the meantime Rasgadayeff’s tenants and the people +who sought shelter in their house,—the family of Clara’s +sister and the two or three strangers—had had a narrow<a name="Page_381" id="Page_381"><span class="pagenum">[381]</span></a> +escape from coming face to face with an infuriated band +of hoodlums. Their presence had been indicated by a +Gentile woman across the street. Mme. Rasgadayeff had +tearfully begged the rioters to desist and after some parleying +it had been agreed that the Vigdoroffs and their guests +should be allowed to escape to their landlord’s apartments +before the mob invaded their rooms. From an attic window +commanding the street Vladimir’s parents then saw +their household effects and their celebrated library—the +accumulations of thirty years—flung out on the pavement +where it was hacked, torn, slashed, trampled upon, flooded +with water, mixed with a stream of preserves, brine, kerosene, +vinegar, until the contents of eight rooms and cellar, +all that for the past thirty years had been their home, +were turned into two mounds of pulp. The Vigdoroffs +watched it all with a peculiar sense of remoteness, with a +sort of lethargic indifference. When old Vigdoroff saw +the rioters struggling with the locked drawer of his desk, +he remarked to his wife:</p> + +<p>“Idiots! Why don’t they knock out the bottom?” +When one of the mob hurt his fingers trying to rend an +old parchment-bound folio, he emitted a mock sigh, quoting +the Yiddish proverb: “Too much hurry brings nothing +but evil.” Only when Clara’s little niece began to shake +and cry in a paroxysm of childish anguish, upon seeing her +doll in the hands of a little girl from across the street, did +the whole family burst into tears.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to kill them. Let them kill me!” the old +man said, leaping to his feet. But his wife and daughters +hung to him, and held him back.</p> + +<p>Later on, when the rioters had gone, the family returned +to their nest. The eight rooms were absolutely +empty, as though their occupants had moved out.</p><p><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382"><span class="pagenum">[382]</span></a></p> + +<p>Gradually the various bands of rioters got into the swing +of their work and did it with the system and method of +an established trade. First the pavement was torn up, +the cobblestones being piled up and then crashed into the +windows; the padlocks were then knocked off by means of +crowbars, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'banners'">hammers</ins> or axes and the doors battered down or +broken in. Next the contents of pillows were cast to the +wind, after which, the street having thus received its baptism +of Jewish down, the real business of the rioters was +begun by the wreckers and the looters. If the shop raided +was a clothier’s and the freebooters had not yet prinked +themselves they would do so to begin with, some of them +returning to the streets in two pairs of trousers, two coats +and even two hats. After a house or a shop had +been gutted and its contents wrecked or plundered it would +be left to children who would then proceed to play riot on +its ruins. Here and there a committee followed in the +wake of some band, ascertaining whether some Jewish +dwelling or shop had not been passed over, or whether a +roll of woollen or a piece of furniture had not been left +undestroyed. Not a chair, not a pound of candles was +allowed to remain unshattered. Kerosene was poured over +sugar, honey was mixed with varnish, ink or milk. It was +hard, slow work, this slashing and rending, smashing and +grinding. Some raiders toiled over a single article till +they panted for breath. A common sight was a man or a +woman tearing at a piece of stuff with broken finger-nails +and bleeding fingers, accompanying their efforts with volleys +of profanity at the expense of the Jews whose wares +seemed as hard to destroy as their owners. In one place +the mob was blaspheming demoniacally because a heap of +ground pepper from a wrecked grocery store had thrown +them into a convulsion of sneezing.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /><p><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383"><span class="pagenum">[383]</span></a></p> + +<p>The most hideous delirium of brutality was visited upon +Paradise,—upon that district of narrow streets and lanes +in the vicinity of Cucumber Market which was the seat of +the hardest toil and the blackest need, the home of the +poorest mechanics, labourers and tradesmen. As though +enraged by the dearth of things worth destroying, the rioters +in this section took it out of the Jews in the most +bestial forms of cruelty and fiendishness their besotted +minds could invent. The debris here was made up of the +cheapest articles of furniture and mechanics’ tools. It +was here that several Jewish women were dragged out into +the street and victimised, while drunken women and children +aided their husbands and fathers in their crimes. +One woman was caught running through a gale of feathers +and down, her child clasped in her arms. Another +woman was chuckling aloud in a fit of insanity, as she +passed through the district in a cab, when she was pulled +off the vehicle. A good-looking girl tried to elude the +rioters by disguising herself as a man, but she was recognised +and the only thing that saved her was a savage fight +among her assailants. A middle-aged woman came out +of a house with shrieks of horror, imploring an intoxicated +army officer to go to the rescue of her daughter. The +officer followed her indoors, but instead of rescuing the +younger woman the only thing that saved her own honour +was his drunken condition. One woman who broke away +from two invaders and was about to jump out of her +window, was driven back at the point of the bayonet by +one of the soldiers in front of the house.</p> + +<p>“We are under orders not to allow any Jews to get +out,” he explained to her, good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>“Take pity, oh, do take pity,” she was pleading, when +her voice was choked off by somebody within.</p><p><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384"><span class="pagenum">[384]</span></a></p> + +<p>Every synagogue in town was sacked, the holy ark in +many cases being desecrated in the most revolting manner; +while the Scrolls of the Law were everywhere cut +to ribbons, some of which were wound around cats and +dogs. One woman met her awful fate upon scrolls from +the Old Synagogue at the hands of a ruffian who had +once heard it said that that was the way Titus, the Roman +emperor, desecrated the Temple upon taking Jerusalem. +Two strong Jews who risked their lives in an attempt to +rescue some of the scrolls were seen running through the +streets, their precious and rather heavy burden hugged to +their hearts. The mob gave chase.</p> + +<p>“‘Hear, O Israel!’” one of the two men shrieked, +“‘God is God. God is one.’”</p> + +<p>But the verse, which will keep evil spirits at a respectful +distance from every Jew who utters it, failed to exercise +its powers on the rioters. The two men were overtaken +and beaten black and blue and the scrolls were cut +to pieces.</p> + +<p>A white-haired musician, venturing out of his hiding +place, begged the mob to spare his violin which he said +was older than he; whereupon the instrument was shattered +against the old man’s head. On another street in +the same section of the city another Jewish fiddler was +made to play while his tormentors danced, and when they +had finished he had to break the violin with his own +hands. Pillows were wrenched from under invalids to be +ripped up and thrown into the street. In one tailoring +shop a consumptive old man, too feeble to be moved, was +found with a bottle of milk in his trembling hands, his +only food until his children should find it safe to crawl +back to the house.</p> + +<p>“You have drunk enough of our milk, you scabby<a name="Page_385" id="Page_385"><span class="pagenum">[385]</span></a> +Christ-killer!” yelled a rioter as he knocked the bottle +out of the tailor’s hand and hit his head with a flat-iron.</p> + +<p>Little Market in front of Boyko’s Court, the home of +Clara’s father and mother, glistened with puddles of +vodka, in which cats and dogs, overcome by the alcoholic +evaporations, lay dead or half-dead. Now and then a +drunken rioter would crouch before one of these puddles, +dip up a handful of the muddy stuff with his hands and +gulp it thirstily, with an inebriate smile of apology to +the bystanders. The corner of a lane nearby was piled +with brass dust and with broken candle-stick moulds. +A horse trough in the rear of the police booth was full of +yolks and egg-shells. When the goose market next door +to Boyko’s Court was raided some of the fowls were +stabbed or had their necks wrung on the spot, while others +were driven into the vodka ponds on the square. A hundred +geese and ducks went splashing through the intoxicating +liquid, fluttering and cackling. A number of rioters +formed a cordon preventing them from waddling out +and then fell to stabbing them with knives and pitchforks, +till every pool of vodka was red.</p> + +<p>“Jewish geese, curse them! Jewish geese, curse them!” +they snarled.</p> + +<p>Not very far off, hard by a wall, a Jewish woman was +giving birth to a child. Presently a Gentile woman with +a basket half filled with loot took pity on the child and +took it home, giving the policeman her address, while the +mother was left bleeding to death.</p> + +<p>It was also in this district of toil and squalor where +the most desperate fighting was done by the Jews. One +lane was held by five of them against a mob of fifty for +more than half an hour until the five men were lugged off +to jail, and then the remaining inhabitants of the lane became<a name="Page_386" id="Page_386"><span class="pagenum">[386]</span></a> +the victims of the most atrocious vengeance in the +history of the day. A mother defended a garret against +a crowd of rioters by brandishing a heavy crowbar in front +of them. The maddened Gentiles then scaled the wall +and charged the roof with axes and sledge-hammers. +Part of the roof gave way. The woman continued to +swing the crowbar until she fell in a swoon.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The houses of the richest Jews were closely guarded by +the soldiery and, barring one exception, rioters were kept +at a safe distance from them. Even the house of Ginsburg, +the most repugnant usurer in town, was taken care of. +Some army officers, indeed, directed various bands of roughs +to the place on the chance of having their promissory +notes destroyed, but the roughs failed to get near it. There +was an instinct in official circles that the wrecking of +wealthy Jewish homes was apt to develop in the masses a +taste for playing havoc with “seats of the mighty.” For +after all a man like Ginsburg and a titled plunderer of +peasant lands are not without their bonds of affinity. The +great point was that in dealing with Jewish magnates +Popular Fury was liable to confuse the Jew with the magnate, +the question of race with the question of class.</p> + +<p>As to the Gentile magnates their attitude toward the +rioters was one which seemed to say: “You fellows and +we are brothers, are we not?” And their mansions were +safe. Members of the gentry openly joined the rioters, +some out of sheer hatred of the race, others for the sport +of the thing, still others honestly succumbing to the contagion +of beastliness. In the horrid saturnalia of pillage, +destruction and rapine many a peaceful citizen was drawn +into the vortex. A man stands looking on curiously, +perhaps even with some horror, and gradually he becomes<a name="Page_387" id="Page_387"><span class="pagenum">[387]</span></a> +restless as do the legs of a dancer when the floor creaks +under a medley of sliding feet. But then there was a +large number of Gentiles who acted like human beings. +Among these were members of the priesthood, although +there were holy “little fathers” who pointed out the +houses of their Jewish neighbours to the mob.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The best friend of the Jews during that day of horrors +was Vodka. The sons of Israel were made a safety valve +of by the government and Vodka rendered a similar service +to the sons of Israel. It saved scores of lives and +the honour of scores of women. Hundreds of the fiercest +rioters were so many tottering wrecks before the atrocities +were three hours old, while by sundown the number of +dead and wounded looters was as large as the number of +murdered and maimed Jews. Two men were found +drowned in casks of spirits into which they had apparently +let their heads sink in a daze of intoxication. A handsome +young rioter in a crimson blouse staggered over the +balustrade of a balcony, hugging a Jewish vase, and was +killed on the spot. One man was killed in a struggle +over a Jewish woman and several others had simply drunk +themselves to death, while a countless number were bruised +and disabled in the general mêlée, falling, fighting, injuring +themselves with their own weapons of destruction.</p> + +<p>Toward evening some of the streets had the appearance +of a battlefield after action. Hundreds of men and +women, swollen, bleeding, were wallowing in the gutters, +in puddles, on the sidewalks, between piles of debris, in a +revolting <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'stupour'">stupor</ins> of inebriety. Some of them slept several +hours in this condition and then struggled to their +feet to resume drinking. The trained rioters had thoughtfully +seen to it that some casks of vodka, as also some<a name="Page_388" id="Page_388"><span class="pagenum">[388]</span></a> +accordions, should be reserved for the closing scenes of +the bacchanalia.</p> + +<p>The moon came out. Her soft mysterious light +streamed through the rugged holes of shattered unlit windows; +over muddy pavements carpeted with silks, velvets, +satins; over rows and rows of debris-mounds on streets +snowed under with down; over peasants driving home with +waggons laden with plunder; over the ghastly figures of +sprawling drunkards and the beautiful uniforms of patrolling +hussars. Silence had settled over most of the streets. +For blocks and blocks, east and west, north and south, +there was not an unbroken window pane to be seen, not a +light to glitter in the distance. The Jewish district, the +liveliest district in town, had been turned into a “city of +death.” In other places one often saw a single illuminated +house on a whole street of darkness and ruin. +The illuminated house was invariably the abode of Christians. +Officers on horseback were moving about musingly, +the hoofs of their horses silenced by thick layers of down. +Most streets were impassable for the debris. Here and +there the jaded sounds of revelry were heard, but there +were some peasants who had come out of the day’s rioting +in full control of their voices.</p> + +<p>Seated on empty boxes and barrels, their fingers gripping +new accordions, their eyes raised to the moon, a company +of rioters on Little Market were playing and singing +a melancholy, doleful tune. The Jews were in their hiding +places.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389"><span class="pagenum">[389]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XL.</h2> + +<h3>LIGHT OUT OF DARKNESS.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">CLARA was with her parents in a White-Russian +town. The inn at which they were stopping was +entered through a vast yard, partly occupied by +fruit-barns. It was the height of the fruit season. The +barns and part of the yard were lined with straw upon +which rose great heaps of apples and pears of all sizes and +colours. Applewomen, armed with baskets, were coming +and going, squatting by the juicy mounds, sampling them, +haggling, quarrelling mildly. Now and then a peasant +waggon laden with fruit would come creaking through the +open gate, attracting general attention. A secluded corner +of the yard was Clara’s and her mother’s favourite spot +for their interminable confidences, a pile of large bulky +logs serving them as a sofa. The people they saw here +and in the streets were much shabbier and more insignificant-looking +than those of their native town and the +south in general. The Yavners lived here unregistered, +as did most of the guests at the inn, the local police being +too lazy and too “friendly” with the proprietor to trouble +his patrons about having their passports vised at the station +house.</p> + +<p>The town was a stronghold of Talmudic learning, and +Rabbi Rachmiel felt as a passionate art student does on +his first visit to Italy. When the first excitement of the<a name="Page_390" id="Page_390"><span class="pagenum">[390]</span></a> +meeting was over the local scholars were of more interest +to him than his daughter. His joy was marred by his +fear of being sent to Siberia in case Clara’s (to her +parents she was still Tamara) identity was discovered by +the local police; but he had a rather muddled idea of the +situation and his wife assured him that there was no +danger. As to Hannah, she was not the woman to flee +from her daughter for fear of the police. She could not +see enough of Clara. She catechised her on her political +career and her personal life, and Clara, completely under +the spell of the meeting and in her mother’s power, told +her more than she had a mind to. What she told her was, +indeed, as foreign to Hannah’s brain as it was to her +husband’s; but then, in her practical old-fashioned way, +she realised that her daughter was working in the interests +of the poor and the oppressed, though she never listened +to Clara’s expositions without a sad, patronising smile.</p> + +<p>One day, during one of their intimate talks on the wood-pile, +the old woman demanded:</p> + +<p>“Tell me, Clara, are you married?”</p> + +<p>“What has put such an idea in your mind?” Clara +returned, reddening. “If I were I would have told you +long ago.”</p> + +<p>“Tamara, you are a married woman,” Hannah insisted, +looking hard at her daughter.</p> + +<p>“I tell you I am not,” Clara said testily.</p> + +<p>“Then why did you get red in the face when I said +you were? People don’t get red without reason, do they?”</p> + +<p>The young woman’s will power seemed to have completely +deserted her. “I am engaged,” she said, “but I +am not married, and—let me alone, mamma, will you?”</p> + +<p>“If you are engaged, then why were you afraid to say +so? Is it anything to be ashamed of to be engaged? Foolish<a name="Page_391" id="Page_391"><span class="pagenum">[391]</span></a> +girl that you are, am I a stranger to you? Why don’t +you tell me who he is, what he is?”</p> + +<p>“He is a nice man and that’s all I can tell you now, +and pray don’t ask me any more questions, mamma darling.”</p> + +<p>After a pause the old woman gave her daughter a sharp +look and said in a whisper: “He must be a Christian, +then. Else you wouldn’t be afraid to tell me who he is.”</p> + +<p>“He is not,” Clara answered lamely, her eyes on a heap +of yellow apples in the distance.</p> + +<p>“He <i>is</i> a Christian, then,” Hannah said in consternation. +“May the blackest ill-luck strike you both.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t! Don’t!” Clara entreated her, clapping her +hand over her mother’s mouth, childishly.</p> + +<p>“What! You <i>are</i> going to marry a Christian? You +<i>are</i> a convert-Jewess?” Hannah said in a ghastly whisper.</p> + +<p>“No, no, mamma! I have not become a Christian, and +I never will. I swear I won’t. As to him, he is the best +man in the world. That’s all I can tell you for the present. +Oh, the young generation is so different from the +old, mamma!” she snuggled to her, nursing her cheek +against hers and finding intense pleasure in a conscious +imitation of the ways of her own childhood; but she was +soon repulsed.</p> + +<p>“Away from my eyes! May the Black Year understand +you. I don’t,” the old woman said. Her face +wore an expression of horrified curiosity. Had Clara +faced her fury with a pugnacious front, it might have +led to an irretrievable rupture; but she did not. While +her mother continued to curse, she went on fawning and +pleading with filial self-abasement, although not without +an effect of trying to <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'sooth'">soothe</ins> an angry baby. Hannah’s +curses were an accompaniment to further interrogations<a name="Page_392" id="Page_392"><span class="pagenum">[392]</span></a> +and gradually became few and far between. Her daughter’s +engagement and her whole mysterious life appealed +to an old-fashioned sense of romance and adventure in +the elderly Jewess; also to a vague idea of a higher altruism. +Her motherly pride sought satisfaction in the fact +that her daughter was so kind-hearted as to stake her life +for the poor and the suffering, and so plucky that she +braved the Czar and all his soldiers. “It’s from me she +got all that benevolence and grit,” Hannah said to herself. +As to Rabbi Rachmiel, he asked no questions and his wife +was not going to disturb his peace of mind.</p> + +<p>“There is no distinction between Jew and Gentile +among us,” Clara said in the course of her plea.</p> + +<p>“No, there is not,” her mother returned. “Only the +Gentiles tear the Jews to pieces.” And at this Clara +remembered that circumstance which lay like a revolting +blemish on her conscience—the attitude of the revolutionists +toward the riots.</p> + +<p>However, these matters got but little consideration +from her now. She was taken up with her parents. The +peculiar intonation with which her father chanted grace +interested her more than all the “politics” of the world. +She recognised these trifles with little thrills of joy, as +though she had been away from home a quarter of a century. +When her mother took out a pair of brass-rimmed +spectacles on making ready to read her prayers, Clara +exclaimed, with a gasp of unfeigned anguish:</p> + +<p>“Spectacles! Since when, mamma darling, since +when?”</p> + +<p>“Since about six months ago. One gets older, foolish +girl, not younger. When you are of my age you’ll have +to use spectacles, too, all your Gentile wisdom notwithstanding.”</p><p><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393"><span class="pagenum">[393]</span></a></p> + +<p>Another day or two and her communions with her +mother and the odour of apples and pears began to pall +on her. She missed Pavel. Her mind was more frequently +given over to musings upon that atmosphere amid +which he and she were a pair of lovers than to the fascination +of being with her father and mother again. She felt +the centuries that divided her world from theirs more +keenly every day. Once, after a long muse by the side of +her mother, who sat darning stockings in her spectacles, +she roused herself, with surprise, to the fact that Sophia +was no more, that she had been hanged. It seemed incredible. +And then it seemed incredible that she, Clara, +was by her mother’s side at this moment. She took solitary +walks, she sought seclusion indoors, she was growing +fidgety. The change that had come over her was not lost +upon her mother.</p> + +<p>“You have been rather quick to get tired of your father +and mother, haven’t you?” Hannah said to her one day. +“Grieving for your Christian fellow? A break into your +bones, Tamara!”</p> + +<p>Clara blushed all over her face. She was more than +grieving for Pavel. She pictured him in the hands of +the gendarmes or shot in a desperate fray with them; +she imagined him the victim of the ghastliest catastrophes +known to the movement, her heart was torn by the wildest +misgivings.</p> + +<p>One afternoon, when her mother was speaking to her +and she was making feeble efforts to disguise her abstraction, +Hannah, losing patience, flamed out:</p> + +<p>“But what’s the use talking to a woman whose mind +has been bedeviled by a Gentile!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t, then,” Clara snapped back, with great irritation.</p><p><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394"><span class="pagenum">[394]</span></a></p> + +<p>“The Black Year has asked you to arrange this meeting. +Why don’t you go back to your Gentile? Go at +once to him or your heart will burst.”</p> + +<p>Clara was cut to the quick, but she mastered herself.</p> + +<p>When she read in the newspapers and in a letter from +her sister accounts of the Miroslav outbreak, her agony +was far keener than that of her father and mother. The +most conspicuous circumstance in every report of the riot +was the bestial ferocity with which the mob had let itself +loose on the homes of the poorest and hardest working +population in those districts of Miroslav known as Paradise +and Cucumber Market. She knew that neighbourhood +as she knew herself. She had been born and bred +in it. The dearest scenes of her childhood were there. +Tears of homesickness and of a sense of guilt were choking +her.</p> + +<p>For the first time it came home to her that these +thousands of Jewish tailors, blacksmiths, tinsmiths, +lumber-drivers, capmakers, coopers, labourers, who toiled +from fourteen to fifteen hours a day and lived literally +on the verge of starvation, were as much at least entitled +to that hallowed name, “The People,” as the demonised +Russians who were now committing those unspeakable +atrocities upon them. Yet the organ of her party had not +a word of sympathy for them! Nay, it treated all Jews, +without distinction, as a race of fleecers, of human leeches! +Russian literature of the period was teeming with “fists,” +or village usurers, types of the great Russian provinces in +which Jews were not allowed to dwell. Drunkenness in +these districts was far worse than in those in which the +liquor traffic was in Jewish hands. And the nobility—was +it not a caste of spongers and land-robbers? Yet +who would dare call the entire Russian people a people of<a name="Page_395" id="Page_395"><span class="pagenum">[395]</span></a> +human sharks, liquor-dealers and usurers, as it was customary +to do in the case of the Jews? A Russian peasant +or labourer was part of the People, while a Jewish tailor, +blacksmith or carpenter was only a Jew, one of a race of +profit-mongers, sharpers, parasites.</p> + +<p>And this “People,” for whose sake she was staking her +liberty and her life, was wreaking havoc on Jews because +they were Jews like her father, like her mother, like +herself.</p> + +<p>People at the inn were talking of the large numbers of +Jews that were going to America. “America or Palestine?” +was the great subject of discussion in the three +Russian weeklies dedicated to Jewish interests. One day +Hannah said, <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: changed . to :">gravely:</ins></p> + +<p>“I tell you what, Tamara. Drop your Gentile and the +foolish work you are doing and let us all go to America.”</p> + +<p>Clara smiled.</p> + +<p>“Will it be better if you are caught and put in a black +hole?”</p> + +<p>Clara smiled again. There was temptation in what her +mother said. Being in Russia she was liable to be arrested +at any moment; almost sure to perish in a solitary cell or +to be transported to the Siberian mines for twenty years. +And were not the riots enough to acquit her before her +own conscience in case she chose to retire from a movement +that was primarily dedicated to the interests of an +anti-Semitic people; from a movement that rejoiced in +the rioters and had not a word of sympathy for their victims?</p> + +<p>But an excuse for getting out of the perils of underground +life was not what she wanted. Rather did +she wish for a vindication of her conduct in remaining +in the Party of the Will of the People in spite of all “the<a name="Page_396" id="Page_396"><span class="pagenum">[396]</span></a> +People” did against her race. She was under the sway of +two forces, each of them far mightier than any temptation +to be free from danger. One of these two forces was +Pavel. The other was Public Opinion—the public +opinion of underground Russia. According to the moral +standard of that Russia every one who did not share in +the hazards of the revolutionary movement was a “careerist,” +a self-seeker absorbed exclusively in the feathering +of his own nest; the Jew who took the special interests +of his race specially to heart was a narrow-minded nationalist, +and the Nihilist who withdrew from the movement +was a renegade. The power which this “underground” +public opinion exerted over her was all the +greater because of the close ties of affection which, owing +to the community of the dangers they faced, bound the +active revolutionists to each other. Pavel and Clara were +linked by the bonds of love, but she would have staked her +life for every other member of the inner circle as readily +as she would for him.</p> + +<p>They were all particularly dear to her because they were +a handful of survivors of an epidemic of arrests that had +swept away so many of their prominent comrades. The +notion of these people thinking of her as a renegade was +too horrible to be indulged in for a single moment. Besides, +who would have had the heart to desert the party now +that its ranks had been so decimated and each member was +of so much value? Still more revolting was such an idea +to Clara when she thought of the Nihilists who had died on +the scaffold or were dying of consumption or scurvy or +going insane in solitary confinement. Sophia, strangled on +the gallows, was in her grave. Would she, Clara, abandon +the cause to which that noble woman had given her life?</p> + +<p>The long and short of it is that it would have required<a name="Page_397" id="Page_397"><span class="pagenum">[397]</span></a> +far more courage on her part to go to America and be safe +from the Russian gendarmes than to live under constant +fire as an active “illegal” in her native country.</p> + +<p>This was the kind of thoughts that were occupying her +mind at this minute. While her mother was urging her +to go to America, she exclaimed mutely: “No, Sophia, +I shan’t desert the cause for which they have strangled you. +I, too, will die for it.” It seemed easy and the height of +happiness to end one’s life as Sophia had done. She saw +her dead friend vividly, and as her mind scanned the mysterious, +far-away image, the dear, familiar image, her +bosom began to heave and her hand clutched her mother’s +arm in a paroxysm of suppressed tears.</p> + +<p>“Water! Water!” Hannah cried into the open doorway. +When the water had been brought and Clara had +gulped down a mouthful of it and fixed a faint, wistful +smile on her mother, Hannah remarked fiercely:</p> + +<p>“The ghost knows what she is thinking of while people +talk to her.”</p> + +<p>Clara went out for a long walk over the old macadamised +road that ran through the White-Russian town on its way +to St. Petersburg. She loved to watch the peasant wagons, +and, early in the morning and late in the evening, the +incoming and outgoing stage-coaches. She knew that she +was going to stay in the thick of the struggle, come what +might. Yet the riots—more definitely the one of Miroslav—lay +like a ruthless living reproach in her heart. +She wanted to be alone with this Reproach, to plead with it, +to argue with it, to pick it to pieces. She walked through +the shabby, narrow streets and along the St. Petersburg +highway, thinking a thousand thoughts, but she neither +pleaded with that Reproach, nor argued with it, nor tried +to pick it to pieces. Her mind was full of Pavel and of<a name="Page_398" id="Page_398"><span class="pagenum">[398]</span></a> +Sophia and of her other comrades, living or dead. “It is +all very well for me to think of going to America and be +free from danger,” she said to herself. “But can Sophia +go there? or Hessia?”</p> + +<p>At one moment it flashed through her brain that to be +true to the people was to work for it in spite of all its injustices, +even as a mother did for her child, notwithstanding +all the cruelties it might heap on her. The highest +bliss of martyrdom was to be mobbed by the very crowd +for whose welfare you sacrificed yourself. To be sure, these +thoughts were merely a reassertion of the conflict which +she sought to settle. They offered no answer to the question, +Why should she, a Jewess, stake her life for a people +that was given to pillaging and outraging, to mutilating +and murdering innocent Jews? They merely made a new +statement of the fact that she was bent upon doing so. Yet +she seized upon the new formulation of the problem as if +it were the solution she was craving for. “I shall bear +the cross of the Social Revolution even if the Russian people +trample upon me and everybody who is dear to me,” +she exclaimed in her heart, feeling at peace with the shade +of Sophia.</p> + +<p>She walked home in a peculiar state of religious beatitude, +as though she had made a great discovery, found a +golden key to the gravest problem of her personal life. +Then, being in this uplifted frame of mind, she saw light +breaking about her. Arguments were offering themselves +in support of her position. When Russia was free and the +reign of fraternity and equality had been established the +maltreatment of man by man in any form would be impossible. +Surely there would be no question of race or faith +then. Anti-Jewish riots were now raging? All the more +reason, then, to work for Russia’s liberty. Indeed, was not<a name="Page_399" id="Page_399"><span class="pagenum">[399]</span></a> +the condition of the Jews better in free countries than in +despotic ones? And the Russian peasant, would he in his +blind fury run amuck the way he did if it were not for the +misery and darkness in which he was kept by his tyrants? +Her heart went out to the mob that was so ignorant as to +attack people who had done them no harm. And then, +once the great Reproach had been appeased in her mind, +the entire Jewish question, riots, legal discriminations and +all, appeared a mere trifle compared to the great Human +Question, the solution of which constituted the chief problem +of her cause.</p> + +<p>The next time her mother indulged in an attack upon +Gentiles in general and Clara’s “Gentile friends” in particular +the young woman begged her, with tears in her +voice, to desist:</p> + +<p>“Look at her! I have touched the honour of the Impurity,” +the old woman said, sneering.</p> + +<p>“Oh, they are not the Impurity, mamma darling,” Clara +returned ardently. “They are saints; they live and die +for the happiness of others. If you only knew what kind +of people they were!”</p> + +<p>“She has actually been bedeviled, as true as I am a +daughter of Israel. Jews are being torn to pieces by the +Gentiles; a Jew isn’t allowed to breathe, yet she——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, they are a different kind of Gentiles, mamma. +When that for which they struggle has been realised the +Jew will breathe freely. Our people have no trouble in a +country like England. Why? Because the whole country +has more freedom there. Besides, when the demands of my +‘Gentile friends’ have been realised the Christian mobs +won’t be so uneducated, so blind. They will know who is +who, and Jew and Gentile will live in peace. All will live +in peace, like brothers, mamma.”</p><p><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400"><span class="pagenum">[400]</span></a></p> + +<p>Hannah listened attentively, so that Clara, elated by the +apparent effect of her plea, went on, going over aloud the +answer that she gave her own conscience. When she +paused, however, Hannah said with a shrug of her shoulders +and a mournful nod of her head:</p> + +<p>“So you are bound to rot away in prison, aren’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Don’t talk like that, mamma, dear, pray.”</p> + +<p>“Why shouldn’t I? Has somebody else given birth to +you? Has somebody else brought you up?”</p> + +<p>“But why should you make yourself uneasy about me? +I <i>won’t</i> rot away in prison, and if I do, better people than +I have met with a fate of that kind. I wish I were as good +as they were and died as they did.”</p> + +<p>“A rather peculiar taste,” Hannah said with another +shrug which seemed to add: “She has gone clear daft on +those Gentile books of hers, as true as I live.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Clara remained in the White-Russian town two days +longer than her parents. At the moment of parting her +mother clung to her desperately.</p> + +<p>“Will I ever see you again?” Hannah sobbed. “Daughter +mine, daughter mine! Will my eyes ever see you +again?”</p> + +<p>The old Talmudist was weeping into a blue bandanna.</p> + +<p>As Clara walked back to her lodging alone the streets of +the strange town gave her an excruciating sense of desolation.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401"><span class="pagenum">[401]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XLI.</h2> + +<h3>PAVEL BECOMES “ILLEGAL.”</h3> + + +<p class="cap">A MONTH had elapsed. Clara was in a train, bound +for Moscow, where her lover was awaiting her arrival. +The nearer she drew to her destination the +more vivid grew his features in her mind and the more +violent was her fidget. “I am madly in love with him,” +she said to herself, and the very sound of these words in her +mind were sweet to her. The few weeks of separation +seemed to have convinced her that the power of his love +over her was far greater than she had supposed. Things +that had preyed upon her mind before now glanced off her +imagination. She wept over the fate of Hessia and her +prison-born child, yet she felt that if Pavel asked her to +marry him at once she would not have the strength to resist +him. Nay, to marry him was what her heart coveted above +all else in the world.</p> + +<p>Being an “illegal,” she had to slip into the big ancient +city quietly. As she passed through the streets, alone on a +droshky, she made a mental note of the difference in general +pictorial effect between Moscow and St. Petersburg, +but she was too excited to give her mind to anything in +particular.</p> + +<p>Her first meeting with Pavel took place in a large café, +built something like a theatre, with two tiers of stalls, a +gigantic music box sending up great waves of subdued<a name="Page_402" id="Page_402"><span class="pagenum">[402]</span></a> +sound from the main floor below. He waited for her in +front of the building. When she came they just shook +hands smilingly, and he led the way up one flight of stairs +to one of the stalls—a fair-sized, oblong private room, its +walls covered with red plush, with upholstered benching to +match.</p> + +<p>“I am simply crazy, Clanya!” he whispered, pressing +her to him tremulously.</p> + +<p>At first they both experienced a sense of desuetude and +awkwardness, so that in spite of his stormy demonstrations +he could not look her full in the face. But this soon wore +off. They were overflowing with joy in one another.</p> + +<p>A waiter, all in white, suave and hearty as only Great-Russian +waiters know how to be, brought in “a portion of +tea,” served in attractive teapots of silver, with a glass for +the man and a cup for the lady, and retired, shutting the +door behind him, which subdued the metallic melody that +filled the room still further and added to the sense of mystery +that came from it. They talked desultorily and +brokenly, of her parents and of the revolutionists gathered +in Moscow. The subject of the Miroslav riot was tactfully +broached by Clara herself, but she strove to give this part +of their incoherent conversation the tone in which people +usually discuss some sad but long-forgotten event, and she +passed to some other topic as quickly and imperceptibly as +she could. That he had seen that riot he did not tell her, +though he once caught himself on the point of blurting it +all out.</p> + +<p>When she asked him about the general state of the movement +he gradually warmed up. The outlook was brilliant, +he said.</p> + +<p>Urie, the tall blond nobleman with the strikingly Great-Russian +features, who had played the part of cheesemonger<a name="Page_403" id="Page_403"><span class="pagenum">[403]</span></a> +on Little Garden <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'street'">Street</ins>, St. Petersburg, was in Moscow +now, mending the shattered organisation. He was the centre +of a busy group of revolutionists, Jews as well as Slavs. +Several well-known veterans of both nationalities, who had +been living in foreign countries during the past year or +two, were expected to return to Russia. Everybody was +bubbling with enthusiasm and activity.</p> + +<p>“And your fiery imagination is not inclined to view +things in a rather roseate light, is it?” she asked, beaming +amorously.</p> + +<p>“Not a bit,” he replied irascibly. “Wait till you have +seen it all for yourself. The reports from the provinces +are all of the most cheerful character. New men are +springing up everywhere. The revolution <i>is</i> a hydra-headed +giant, Clanya.”</p> + +<p>“But who says it isn’t?” she asked, with a laugh.</p> + +<p>She got up, shot out her arms, saying:</p> + +<p>“Now for something to do. I feel like turning mountains +upside down. Indeed, the revolution is a hydra-headed +giant, indeed it is. And you are a little dear,” she +added, bending over him and pressing her cheek against +his.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>They had been married less than a month when he +learned from a ciphered letter from Masha Safonoff that +the gendarmes were looking for him.</p> + +<p>“Well, Clanya,” he said facetiously, as he entered their +apartment one afternoon, “you are a princess no longer.”</p> + +<p>Her face fell.</p> + +<p>“Look at her! Look at her! She is grieving over the +loss of her title.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, do stop those silly jokes of yours, Pasha. Must +you become illegal?”</p><p><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404"><span class="pagenum">[404]</span></a></p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am. I am of the same rank as you. That +puts a stop to the airs you have been giving yourself.” It +was in the course of the same conversation that he told her +of his trip to Miroslav and of all that had happened to him +there.</p> + +<p>They were known here as brother and sister, his legal +residence being in another place, but now both these residences +were abandoned, and they moved into a new apartment, +in another section of the town, which he took great +pains to put in tasteful shape. Indeed, so elaborately +fitted up was it that he fought shy of letting any of his fellow +Nihilists know their new address. A table against one +wall was piled with drawings, while standing in a conspicuous +corner on the floor were a drawing-board and a huge +portfolio—accessories of the rôle of a russified German +artist which he played before the janitor of the house. Before +he let her see it he had put a vase of fresh roses in the +centre of the table.</p> + +<p>When he and Clara entered their new home, he said in +French, with a gallant gesture:</p> + +<p>“Madame, permit me to introduce you.”</p> + +<p>He helped her off with her things and slid into the next +room, where he busied himself with the samovar. She +had with her a fresh copy of the <i>Will of the People</i>—a sixteen +page publication of the size of the average weekly +printed on fine, smooth paper; so she took it up eagerly. +Its front page was in mourning for President Garfield. An +editorial notice signed by the revolutionary executive committee +tendered an expression of grief and sympathy to the +bereaved republic, condemning in vigorous language acts +of violence in a land “where the free will of the people +determines not only the law but also the person of the +ruler.” “In such a land,” the Nihilist Executive Committee<a name="Page_405" id="Page_405"><span class="pagenum">[405]</span></a> +went on to explain, “a deed of this sort is a manifestation +of that spirit of despotism the effacement of which in +Russia is the aim of our movement. Violence is not to be +justified unless it be directed against violence.”</p> + +<p>The declaration made an exceedingly pleasant impression +on Clara.</p> + +<p>“Bravo! Bravo!” she called out to her husband, as she +peered into the inside pages of the paper.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” he asked her from the next room, +distractedly, choking with the smoke of his freshly lit +samovar.</p> + +<p>She made no answer. The same issue of her party’s +organ devoted several columns to the anti-Jewish riots. +She began to read these with acute misgivings, and, sure +enough, they were permeated by a spirit of anti-Semitism +as puerile as it was heartless. A bitter sense of resentment +filled her heart. “As long as it does not concern the Jews +they have all the human sympathy and tact in the world,” +she thought. “The moment there is a Jew in the case they +become cruel, short-sighted and stupid—everything that is +bad and ridiculous.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that you said, Clanya?” Pavel demanded again.</p> + +<p>She had difficulty in answering him. “He is a Gentile +after all,” she said to herself. “There is a strain of anti-Semitism +in the best of them.” She was in despair. +“What is to be done, then?” she asked herself. “Is there +no way out of it?” The answer was: “I will bear the +cross,” and once again the formula had a soothing effect +on her frame of mind. And because it had, the cross gradually +ceased to be a cross.</p> + +<p>She warmed to her husband with a sense of her own forgiveness, +of the sacrifices she was making. She felt a new +glow of tenderness for him. And then, by degrees, things<a name="Page_406" id="Page_406"><span class="pagenum">[406]</span></a> +appeared in milder light. Pavel’s rapture over her was so +genuine, his devotion so profound, and the general relations +between Jew and Gentile in the movement +were marked by intimacies and attachments so sincere, +that the anti-Semitic article could not have +sprung from any personal taste or sentiment in +the author. It was evidently a mere matter of revolutionary +theory. Justly or unjustly, the fact was there: in +the popular mind the Jews represented the idea of economic +oppression. Now, if the masses had risen in arms +against them, did not that mean that they were beginning +to attack those they considered their enemies? In the +depth of her heart there had always lurked some doubt as +to whether the submissive, stolid Russian masses had it in +them ever to rise against anybody. Yet here they had! +Misguided or not, they had risen against an element of the +population which they were accustomed to regard as parasites. +Was not that the sign of revolutionary awakening +she had fervently been praying for?</p> + +<p>She went so far as to charge herself with relapsing +into racial predilections, with letting her feelings as a +Jewess get the better of her devotion to the cause of +humanity. She was rapidly arguing herself into the absurd, +inhuman position into which her party had been put +by the editor of its official organ.</p> + +<p>And to prove to herself that her views were deep-rooted +and unshakable, she said to herself: “If they think in +Miroslav I am the only person who could restore harmony +to their circle, I ought to go there and try to persuade +Elkin to give up those foolish notions of his.” What they +were saying about her in that town flattered her vanity. +The thought of appearing in her revolutionary alma mater, +in the teeth of the local gendarmes and police, an “illegal”<a name="Page_407" id="Page_407"><span class="pagenum">[407]</span></a> +known to underground fame, was irresistible. Her thirst +of adventure in this connection was aroused to the highest +pitch.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>At eight o’clock the next morning she sat in a chair, +looking at her husband, who was still in bed, sleeping +peacefully. He had an early appointment, but she could +not bring herself to wake him. She was going to do so +a minute or two later, she pleaded with herself, and then +they would have tea together. The samovar was singing +softly in the next room. It was of her love and of her +happiness it seemed to be singing. Her joy in her honeymoon +swelled her heart and rose to her throat. “I am too +happy,” she thought. As she remembered her determination +to go to her native place, she added: “Yes, I am +too happy, while Sophia is in her grave and Hessia is +pining away in her cell. I may be arrested at any moment +in Miroslav, but I am going to do my duty. I must keep +Elkin and the others from abandoning the revolution.”</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408"><span class="pagenum">[408]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XLII.</h2> + +<h3>OMINOUS FOOTSTEPS.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">CLARA alighted from the train at a station immediately +preceding Miroslav. She was met by Olga, +the girl with the short hair and sparse teeth who +was engaged to the judge, the two reaching the city partly +on a peasant’s waggon, partly on foot. At sight of the familiar +landscape Clara seemed weird to herself. It was +her own Miroslav, yet she was worse than a stranger in it. +She felt like a ghost visiting what was once his home. On +the other hand, the unmistakable evidences of the recent +riot contracted her heart with pain and brought back that +Reproach.</p> + +<p>Olga took her to a “conspiracy house.” This was a +basement in the outskirts of the town, whose squatty windows +faced the guardhouse of military stores and commanded +a distant view of the river. The only other +tenants of that courtyard were three sisters, all of them +deaf and in a state of semi-idiocy. The basement had been +rented soon after Clara’s flight. It consisted of three +rooms, all very meagrely furnished. Lying under the sofa +of the middle room was a wooden roller, which had once +been intended for a secret printing office. One of the walls +was hung with a disorderly pile of clothes of both sexes—the +shed disguises of passing conspirators.</p> + +<p>But very few members were allowed to visit her. Those<a name="Page_409" id="Page_409"><span class="pagenum">[409]</span></a> +who were saluted her with admiring looks and generally +treated her as a heroine, which caressed her vanity most +pleasantly. With a temerity born of an acquired habit of +danger, not unmixed with some bravado, Clara was burning +to visit her parents, her sister and her mother-in-law, and +to take a look at her native neighbourhood. Her friends +made an effort to keep her indoors. She would not be +restrained, assuring them that she was going to take good +care of herself, but she finally offered to compromise on a +meeting with her sister, provided she brought her little girl +with her.</p> + +<p>“I am crazy to see her,” she said, meaning the child.</p> + +<p>“See little Ruchele! Why you <i>are</i> crazy, Clara!” +Olga declared. “If you do all Miroslav will know the +very next day that ‘Aunt Clara’ is in town.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense. She won’t know me. She has not seen me +for more than a year. Besides, I’ll wear my veil. Oh, I +must see her; don’t oppose me, Olga, dear.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The meeting took place on a secluded bit of lawn under +a sky suffused with the lingering gold of a dying sunset. +And sure enough, Ruchele was extremely shy of the lady in +black. When Clara caught her in her arms passionately +she set up a scream so loud that her mother wrenched her +from her aunt’s embrace for fear of attracting a crowd +from a neighboring lane.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>A debate between Clara and Elkin was to take place in +Orlovsky’s house the next evening. A few hours before +the time set for the gathering Clara received an unexpected +call from Elkin. This was their first meeting since her +arrival, and she welcomed him with sincere cordiality. +She respected him as her first teacher of socialism. As to<a name="Page_410" id="Page_410"><span class="pagenum">[410]</span></a> +his love for her, which could still be read in his eyes, it +flattered her now.</p> + +<p>“Well,” he said, trying to take a light tone, but betraying +agitation. “There is some news in town. Clara Yavner +has been seen about.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>“I mean that Clara Yavner has been seen about,” he +repeated with sarcastic articulation. And by way of putting +a period to the sentence, he opened his lips into a +lozenge-shaped sneer and leaned his head against the mass +of hung-up clothes under which he sat on an oblong stool.</p> + +<p>She was seated on another tabouret, with her back to the +low window. His manner exasperated her. “But I have +been out only once,” she retorted calmly, controlling her +anger, “and then I was heavily veiled.”</p> + +<p>“Well, could not some people have recognised you by +your figure and carriage? I am sure I could. At any rate +your cousin, Vigdoroff, was to see me a little while ago, for +the express purpose of conveying this message to you, Clara. +The gossips of Cucumber Market are whispering about your +having been seen in town, ‘and in addition to truths no end +of fibs are being told.’ Your mother is quite uneasy about +it, and—well, Clara, at the risk of having it set down to a +desire on my part to slip out of the debate, I should suggest +that you take no further chances and leave Miroslav at +once.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, nonsense. Am I not safe in this basement at +least?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I think you are, but if the police should get wind +of your presence in town, why, they would not leave a stone +unturned. They have been itching for a chance to tone +down their reputation for stupidity ever since your disappearance.”</p><p><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411"><span class="pagenum">[411]</span></a></p> + +<p>She smiled and frowned at once.</p> + +<p>“Besides,” he went on, leaning back against the clothes +and gazing at the ceiling, “if that debate is your chief +mission here I am willing to capitulate in advance. You +know I cannot debate with you, Clara. I am still in your +power. My brain is in a whirl in your presence. It is at +this moment. If that debate took place I should simply +not know what I was talking about. You would not wish +me to make an exhibition of the abject helplessness that +comes over me when I see you, would you?”</p> + +<p>His words, uttered in monotonous accents, contrasted so +sharply with the air of mockery that had attended his +former attempts at an avowal; they sounded so forlornly +simple, his spirit was so piteously broken that he seemed +a changed man. She was touched.</p> + +<p>“Don’t speak like that,” she said kindly. “I’ll do as +you say. I’ll leave Miroslav at once.”</p> + +<p>“Is there absolutely no hope for me, Clara?”</p> + +<p>“I am no longer free, Elkin. I am a married woman,” +she said, flushing violently. “Let us change the subject. +Tell me something about your Americans.”</p> + +<p>He dropped his eyes, and after a rather long pause he +said, blankly:</p> + +<p>“Well, pardon me, then. You have my best wishes, +Clara. I say it from my heart. I shall be your warmest +friend as long as I live. I confess I dreamed of your joining +our party, so that I might be near you, and hoped that +some day you would become mine.”</p> + +<p>“The right place for a revolutionist is here, in Russia, +Elkin.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody is going to try to persuade you to leave the +movement,” he said, levelling a meek, longing look at her. +“The Russian people act like wild beasts toward our poor<a name="Page_412" id="Page_412"><span class="pagenum">[412]</span></a> +Jews, Clara; yet they and the Russian revolution will ever +be dear to our hearts. We appreciate that it is their blindness +which makes such brutes of them. We shall always +think of those who are in the fight here; we shall adore +you; we shall worship you, Clara; and perhaps, too, we shall +be able to do something for Russian liberty from there. +But if you condemn us for joining the emigrants, I wish to +say this, that if you had been in Miroslav during the riot +you would perhaps take a more indulgent view of our step. +So many Jewish revolutionists have sacrificed their lives by +‘going to the people’—to the Russian people. It’s about +time some of us at least went to our own people. They +need us, Clara.”</p> + +<p>“Look here, Elkin,” she said with ardent emphasis, +striving to deaden the consciousness of his love-lorn look +that was breaking her heart, “you must not think I am so +soulless as to take no interest in the victims of those horrors, +for I do. I do. I can assure you I do. I have been +continually discussing this question in my mind. I have +studied it. My heart is bleeding for our poor Jews, but +even if it were solely a question of saving the Jews, even +then one’s duty would be to work for the revolution. How +many Russian Jews could you transport to America and +Palestine? Surely not all the five million there are. The +great majority of them will stay here and be baited, and +the only hope of these is a liberated Russia. All history +tells us that the salvation of the Jews lies in liberty and in +liberty only. England was the first country to grant them +the right to breathe because she was the first country where +the common people wrested rights for themselves. The +French revolution emancipated the Jews, and so it goes. +If there were no parliamentary governments in Western +Europe, the Jews of Germany, Austria, or Belgium would<a name="Page_413" id="Page_413"><span class="pagenum">[413]</span></a> +still be treated as they are in Russia. When Russia has +some freedom at least, her Jews, too, will be treated like +human beings.”</p> + +<p>“But we are not like the Palestinians, Clara. We don’t +propose to estrange ourselves from the revolutionary movement. +We shall support it with American money, and we +hope to fit out expeditions to rescue important prisoners +from Siberia, and to take them across the Pacific Ocean to +our commune.”</p> + +<p>“Dreams!” she said, laughing good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>The discussion lasted about an hour longer. He had +not the strength to get up, and she had not the heart to cut +him short. They listened to each other’s arguments with +rapt attention, yet they were both aware of the unspoken +other discussion—on the pathos of his love—that went +on between them all the while they talked of the great +exodus.</p> + +<p>And while she commiserated Elkin and felt flattered by +her power over him, her heart was full of yearning tenderness +for her husband, of joy in him and in her honeymoon +with him.</p> + +<p>When Elkin rose from his seat at last he said:</p> + +<p>“By the way, I came near forgetting it—your cousin +wants to see you.”</p> + +<p>“Volodia? Volodia Vigdoroff? I thought he would +dread to come near me.”</p> + +<p>Time being short, the meeting was set for an early hour +the very next morning. Elkin had made his adieux, but +he still lingered. There was an extremely awkward stillness +which was broken by the appearance of Olga. Then +he left.</p> + +<p>Disclosing the location, or, indeed, the existence, of a +“conspiracy house” to one uninitiated into underground<a name="Page_414" id="Page_414"><span class="pagenum">[414]</span></a> +life was impossible. Accordingly, Vladimir was to meet +Clara in a scanty pine grove near the Nihilists’ basement. +On his way thither Vladimir was continually +looking over his shoulder, lest he was being followed by +spies. He was flurried and the sight of every policeman he +met gave him a moment or two of abject terror. But the +part he had taken in the fight of the Defence Guard +had left him with a sense of his own potential courage; +so he was trying to live up to it by keeping this appointment +with his “illegal” cousin, whom he was so +thirsting to see. That she was married he did not know. +He was going to persuade her to join his American party. +At this minute, in the high-strung state of his mind, the +result of recent experiences, he felt as though she were not +merely his “second sister,” which is Russian for cousin, +but a real one. His chief object for seeking this interview, +however, had been to celebrate his own vindication. By +her enthusiasm for the revolutionary movement from which +he stayed away she had formerly made him feel like a +coward and a nonentity; now, however, that in his judgment +the riots plainly meant the moral bankruptcy of that +movement, so far at least as it concerned revolutionists of +Jewish blood, he mentally triumphed over her.</p> + +<p>The meeting had been fixed for an early hour. The air +in the woods was cold and piquant with the exhalations of +young evergreens. The grass, considerably yellowed +and strewn with cones, was still beaded with dew, save for +a small outlet of the clearing which was being rapidly +invaded by the sun.</p> + +<p>They met with warm embraces and kisses.</p> + +<p>“Clara, my sister! If you only knew what we have +gone through!” he said, with the passion of heartfelt tragedy +in his subdued voice.</p><p><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415"><span class="pagenum">[415]</span></a></p> + +<p>“How is uncle? How is auntie?” she asked with similar +emotion.</p> + +<p>His kiss and embrace had left an odd sensation in him. +He had never had an occasion to kiss her before; and now +that he had not seen her for about a year the contact of his +lips with the firm, though somewhat faded, cheek of this +interesting young woman had revealed to him what seemed +to be an unnatural and illicit fact that she was not a sister +to him, but—a woman.</p> + +<p>They seated themselves in a sunny <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added .">spot.</ins></p> + +<p>“Are you really going to America, Volodia?” she inquired +with a familiar smile, carefully hiding her grief.</p> + +<p>“I certainly am, and what is more, I want you to come +along with us,” he answered, admiring her figure and the +expression of her face as he had never done before. “Oh, +I am quite in earnest about it, Clara. You see, the fist +of the rioter has driven it home to me that I am a Jew. I +must go where my people go. Come, Clara, you have +staked your life for the Russians long enough, and how have +they repaid you? Come and let us do something for our +own poor unfortunate Jews.”</p> + +<p>She listened with the attention of one good-naturedly +waiving a discussion.</p> + +<p>“And what has become of that bridge you were building?” +she asked.</p> + +<p>“And what has become of that gallows, of the martyr’s +scaffold, which you said united Jew and Gentile? Has <i>that</i> +done anybody any good? As to the bridge I was building +across the chasm that divides us from the Christians, I +admit that it has been wrecked to splinters; wrecked unmercifully +by that same fist of the rioter. I dreamed of +the brotherhood of Jew and Gentile and that fist woke me. +The only point of contact between Jew and Gentile possible<a name="Page_416" id="Page_416"><span class="pagenum">[416]</span></a> +to-day is this”—pointing at a scar slightly back of his ear, +his badge of active service as a member of the Defence +Committee.</p> + +<p>“Why, did you get it in the riot?” she asked with a gesture +of horror.</p> + +<p>“It’s a trifle, of course. Others have been crippled for +life, but such as this bit of a scar is it will stand me in +good stead as a reminder that I am a Jew. The fact is now +everlastingly engraven on my flesh. There is no effacing it +now. But joking aside, Clara, I love the Russian people +as much as I ever did. My heart breaks at the thought +of leaving Russia. I don’t think the Russians themselves +are capable of loving their people as I do. But it can’t +be helped. There is an impassable chasm between us.”</p> + +<p>He was conscious of being on his mettle, as though the +fiascoes he had sustained in his last year’s talks with her +were being retrieved. As to her, there was a look of curiosity +and subtle condescension in her eye as she listened. +But she was thoroughly friendly and warm-hearted, so for +the moment he saw nothing but encouragement to his flow +of conversation. From time to time he would be seized +with mortal fear lest they should be pounced upon by gendarmes, +but he never betrayed it.</p> + +<p>At one point, when he had put a question to her and +paused, she said, instead of answering it:</p> + +<p>“Really, Volodia, I somehow can’t get it into my head +that you are actually going to America.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am, I am. I am going to that land ‘where one’s +wounded feelings are sure of shelter.’ Come along, Clara. +Haven’t you taken risks enough in Russia? Come and +serve your own people, your poor, trodden people. Have +not the riots been enough to open your eyes, Clara?”</p> + +<p>“As if those were the only riots there were,” she returned,<a name="Page_417" id="Page_417"><span class="pagenum">[417]</span></a> +pensively. “All humanity is in the hands of rioters.”</p> + +<p>“But our homes are being destroyed, Clara,” he urged +in an impassioned undertone. “Our people are being +plundered, maimed, their every feeling is outraged, their +daughters are assaulted.”</p> + +<p>“Is there anything new in that?” she asked, in the +same pensive tone. “Are not the masses robbed of the +fruit of their toil? Are they not maimed in the workshops +or in the army? Are not their daughters reduced to dishonour +by their own misery and by the lust of the mighty? +Are not the cities full of human beings without a home? +All Russia is riot-ridden. The whole world, for that +matter. The riots that you are dwelling upon are only +a detail. Do away with <i>the</i> riot and all the others will +disappear of themselves.”</p> + +<p>A note of animation came into her melancholy voice.</p> + +<p>“What you ‘Americans’ propose to do,” she continued, +“is to clasp a handful of victims in your arms and to flee +to America with them. Well, I have no fault to find with +you, Volodia. I wish you and your party success. But the +great, great bulk of victims, Gentiles as well as Jews, remain +here, and the rioters—the throne, the bureaucracy, +the drones—remain with them.”</p> + +<p>She struck him as amazingly beautiful this morning and +she seemed to speak as one inspired. He listened to her +with a feeling of reverence.</p> + +<p>“But you have done enough, Clara,” he said when she +finished. “You have faced dangers enough. Sooner or +later you will be taken, and then—” (he threw up his +hands sadly). “You have a perfect right to save your life +and liberty now.”</p> + +<p>She shook her head.</p><p><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418"><span class="pagenum">[418]</span></a></p> + +<p>“You are a wonderful woman, Clara. By George, you +are! Therefore, if you are arrested, it will be a great loss +not only to your relatives, but to all the Jews. Haven’t +the Gentiles robbed us enough?”</p> + +<p>“Would you have them rob us of our sacred principles, +too?” she retorted, with a faint smile. “Indeed, the right +to die for liberty is the only right the government cannot +take away from the Jew.”</p> + +<p>“Come to America, Clara.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that’s utterly impossible, Volodia,” she answered, +gazing at the cones.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>The discovery that Prince Boulatoff was prominently +connected with the underground movement, which originated +in the confession of one of his revolutionary pupils, +had created considerable excitement in St. Petersburg. +The secret service had no difficulty in securing his photograph, +and when it was shown to the little man who had +acted as an errand boy at the celebrated cheese-shop he at +once identified him as one of those who dug the mine. That +Pavel had recently been in Miroslav was known to the +whole town. Accordingly, the central political detective +office at St. Petersburg despatched several picked men +there to scent for his underground trail. These practically +took the matter out of the hands of the local gendarmes, +whom they treated with professional contempt. +They gradually learned that Pavel had been a frequent visitor +at Orlovsky’s house, and then they took to shadowing +Orlovsky and those in whose company he was seen. They +made discovery after discovery.</p> + +<p>One of these imported spies was the fellow who once +shadowed Clara in St. Petersburg—the tall man with the +swinging arm and the stiff-looking neck whom she met<a name="Page_419" id="Page_419"><span class="pagenum">[419]</span></a> +on the day when the revolutionist with the Greek name +was arrested.</p> + +<p>It was about 8 o’clock in the evening, some ten minutes +before train time, when this spy saw an uneducated Jewish +woman in blue spectacles crossing the square in front +of the station. She seemed familiar to him, yet not enough +so to attract serious attention.</p> + +<p>It was Clara. Her disguise, in addition to the blue +spectacles, consisted of a heavy Jewish wig, partly covered +by a black kerchief, and an old-fashioned cloak. To spare +her the risk of facing the gendarmes of the station, her +ticket had been bought for her by somebody else, her intention +being to slip into her car at the last moment. Having +reached the place too early, however, she was now trying +to kill the interval by sauntering about. This time the +spy escaped her notice, but a little later, less than a minute +before the third bell was sounded and while she was +scurrying through the third class restaurant, she caught +sight of him, as he stood half leaning against the counter +drowsily.</p> + +<p>Here he had a much better look at her. She certainly +was familiar to him, but he was still unable to locate her, +and before he knew his own mind he let her pass. It was +not until the train had pulled out, and its rear lights were +rapidly sinking into the vast gloom of the night, that it +dawned upon him that she looked like the girl he used to +spy upon in St. Petersburg. Blue spectacles as a means of +concealing one’s identity are quite a commonplace article, +so he called himself names for not having thought of it in +time and hastened to telegraph to the gendarmes at the +next station to arrest the young woman, giving a description +of Clara’s disguise and general appearance.</p> + +<p>Some three quarters of an hour later an answer came<a name="Page_420" id="Page_420"><span class="pagenum">[420]</span></a> +from the next station that the train had been detained for +a careful search, but that no such woman could be found on +it.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>While that search was in progress Clara, her disguise +removed, entered the “conspiracy house,” where Olga had +been waiting for her, in case she should have found it +inconvenient to board the train.</p> + +<p>“There you are!” Olga said, in despair, as she beheld +her friend’s smiling face in the doorway. “What has happened?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a fizzle, that’s all. But it might have been worse +than that. There is a <ins class="punct" title="Transcriber's Note: added .">St.</ins> Petersburg fellow at the station. +He knows me.”</p> + +<p>“Did he see you?” Olga demanded breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“I should say he did,” Clara replied with another smile. +“Well, I thought it was all up. Gracious! didn’t my feet +grow weak under me. But my star has not gone back on +me yet, it seems. I got into one of the cars just as the +third bell was heard. I was sure he was close behind me, +but, when I turned around, looking for a seat, I saw he was +not there. He must have gone to another car for the moment, +or something. Anyhow, I tried to get out again. +I thought I had nothing to lose, and—here I am. But +look here, Olya<a name="Anchor-E" id="Anchor-E"></a><a title="Go to footnote E" href="#Footnote-E" class="fnanchor">[E]</a>, are you sure there is nobody outside?”</p> + +<p>“I think I am,” Olga answered firmly. “Why?”</p> + +<p>“I thought I saw a queer looking individual as I turned +into this street. I must have been mistaken. Still, I confess, +the presence of that fellow in this town is anything +but a pleasant surprise to me. I don’t like it at all. I +wonder why we have not heard from Masha about him.”</p> + +<p>The reason they had not heard from her was simply this,<a name="Page_421" id="Page_421"><span class="pagenum">[421]</span></a> +that the invasion of the St. Petersburg detectives had had +such an overbearing effect on everybody in the local gendarmerie +that her brother had become unusually reticent +on the affairs of his office even at home.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>Two or three hours had passed, when Clara and Olga +heard an ominous confusion of footsteps in the vestibule. +The next moment the room was crowded with men, some +in uniforms, others in citizens’ clothes. One of the St. +Petersburg officers rushed to a window where a blue medicine +bottle—Clara’s “window signal”—stood on the sill, +to prevent either of the two Nihilist girls from removing it +by way of warning to their friends.</p> + +<p>“You here!” the tall, baronial-looking procureur, Princess +Chertogoff’s son-in-law, said to Olga, in amazement. +He bowed to her most chivalrously, but she turned away +from him with a contemptuous gesture.</p> + +<p>“And may I ask for <i>your</i> name, Miss,” a gendarme officer +accosted Clara.</p> + +<p>“I decline to answer,” she returned, simply. Her eyes +were on a pistol which she saw in the hand of one of the +gendarmes.</p> + +<p>“You live in Miroslav, don’t you?”</p> + +<p>Instead of answering this question she sprang at the +man who held the pistol, seized it from him and began firing +at the wall. This was her substitute for a removal of +the safety signal from the window.</p> + +<p>The weapon was instantly knocked out of her hand by a +blow with the flat of a gleaming sword, and she was +forced into a seat, two men holding her tightly by the +arms, while a third was tying a handkerchief around her +bleeding hand.</p> + +<p>“I merely wanted to alarm the neighbourhood,” she said<a name="Page_422" id="Page_422"><span class="pagenum">[422]</span></a> +calmly. “But, of course, you people will turn it into a +case of armed resistance.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>When Orlovsky learned of Clara’s and Olga’s arrest, +one of his first thoughts was about notifying Pavel, of whose +relations toward Clara he had by this time been informed. +It appeared that the only man he knew who had “underground” +connections in the two capitals and was in a position +to communicate with Boulatoff was the former leader +of the Miroslav Circle, Elkin. This, however, did not stop +Orlovsky. To Elkin he went and explained the situation to +him.</p> + +<p>“Elkin, darling, you know you are a soul of a fellow,” +he implored him. “Pavel is either in St. Petersburg or in +Moscow, and you are the only man who could get at him.”</p> + +<p>Elkin stood, thinking glumly, at the window for a few +minutes, and then said:</p> + +<p>“Very well, I am going.”</p> + +<p>He started on the same day, accompanied by a spy. That +evening Orlovsky, the judge and several other members +of the Miroslav Circle, were arrested at Orlovsky’s house, +and a few days later news came from Moscow that Pavel +and Elkin had been taken in a café, while Makar had fallen +into a “trap” at the house of an old friend of Elkin’s, +who had been seized several hours before.</p><hr class="chap" /><p><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423"><span class="pagenum">[423]</span></a></p> + + + + +<h2>CHAPTER XLIII.</h2> + +<h3>A MESSAGE THROUGH THE WALL.</h3> + + +<p class="cap">MONTHS had passed. Spring was three or four +weeks old, but cell No. — on the first floor of the +Trubetzkoy Bastion, Fortress of Peter and Paul, +had not yet tasted its caressing breath. It was a rather +spacious, high-ceiled vault, but being quite close to the +stone fence outside, it was practically without the range of +sunshine and breeze. Its window, which was high overhead, +at the top of a sloping stretch of sill, sent down twilight +at noonday and left it in the grip of night two or three +hours after. The chill, damp air was laden with a stifling +odour of must. The lower part of the walls was covered +with a thick layer of mould which looked like a broad band +of heavy tapestry of a dark-greenish hue.</p> + +<p>The solitary inmate of this pit was walking back and +forth diagonally, from corner to corner. He wore a loose, +shapeless cloak of coarse but flimsy material, which he was +continually wrapping about his slim, emaciated figure. He +was shivering. As he walked to and fro, his head was for +the most part thrown back, his eyes raised to the window, +whose sloping sill he could have scarcely touched with the +tips of his fingers. Now and then he paused and turned +toward one of the walls, as though listening for some +sounds, and then, with an air of nerveless disappointment, +he would resume his walk.</p><p><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424"><span class="pagenum">[424]</span></a></p> + +<p>It was Pavel.</p> + +<p>The spy who accompanied Elkin from Miroslav to Moscow +had shadowed him in the ancient city until he saw him with +Prince Boulatoff and then with Makar and a university +student, in whose room the four revolutionists were arrested, +shortly after, in the course of a heated debate between +Makar and Elkin on the riots and the question of +emigration to America.</p> + +<p>During the first few weeks of Pavel’s stay in the fortress +the guards, who had been converted to revolutionary sympathies +by a celebrated political prisoner named Nechayeff, +had carried communications not only from prisoner to prisoner, +but also from them to the revolutionists at large; so +that the <i>Will of the People</i> was at one time partly edited +from this fortress, and a bold plot was even planned by +Nechayeff to have the Czar locked up in a cell while he +visited its cathedral. But these relations between the +guards and the revolutionists, which lasted about a year, +had finally been disclosed, and since then Pavel and the +inmates of the other cells had been treated with brutal +stringency.</p> + +<p>Pavel’s trial was not likely to take place for another year +or two, but his fate was clear to him: death, probably commuted +to life-imprisonment, which actually amounted to +slow death in a spacious grave like this vault, or in the +mines of Siberia, was the usual doom of men charged with +“crimes” like his. His future yawned before him in the +form of a black, boundless cavern charged with dull, gnawing +pain, like the pain that was choking him at this moment. +The worst part of his torture was his solitude. The +most inhuman physical suffering seemed easier to bear than +this speechless, endless, excruciatingly monotonous solitude +of his. “Oath-men” as the sworn-in attendants of the<a name="Page_425" id="Page_425"><span class="pagenum">[425]</span></a> +prison were called (under-sized, comical looking fellows, +most of them) came into his cell three or four times a day—with +food, or to put things to rights hastily—but neither +they nor the gendarmes who invariably accompanied them +ever answered his questions. One morning, in an <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'access'">excess</ins> +of self-commiseration and resentment at their stolid taciturnity, +he had spat in the face of a gendarme. He had +done so, at the peril of being flogged, in the hope of hearing +him curse, at least; but the gendarme merely wiped his +bewhiskered face and went on watching the “oath-man” +silently.</p> + +<p>Whenever Pavel was taken out for his 15-minute walk +in a secluded little yard, which was once in two days, the +sentinels he met would turn their backs on him, lest he +should see more faces than was absolutely necessary. The +warden and the prison doctor were the only human beings +whose voices he could hear, and these were brutally laconic +and brutally rude or ironical with him. To be taken to the +prison office for an examination by the procureur was the +one diversion which the near future held out to him; but +then his near future might be a matter of weeks and might +be a matter of months.</p> + +<p>Back and forth he walked, at a spiritless, even pace, as +monotonous as his days of gloom and misery, as that dull +pain which was ceaselessly choking his throat and gnawing +at his heart. At one moment he paused and felt his gums +with his fingers. Were they swollen? Was he developing +scurvy? Or was it mere imagination? He also passed his +hand over his cheeks, and it seemed to him that they were +sunken a little more than they had been the day before. +But the great subject of his thoughts to-day was his mother, +and tantalising, heart-crushing thoughts they were. Where +was she? How was she? Was she alive at all? He pictured<a name="Page_426" id="Page_426"><span class="pagenum">[426]</span></a> +her committing suicide because of his doom, and the cruel +vision persisted. And if she was not dead, her life was little +better than death. He tried to think of something else, but +no, the appealing, reproachful image of his mother, of his +poor dear mother who had scarcely had a day of happiness +since she married, would not leave his mind. As a matter +of fact, his efforts to think of something else were scarcely +sincere. He would not shake that image out of his brain +if he could. It was tearing his heart to pieces, yet he would +rather stand all these tortures than shut his mother out of +his thoughts. To talk to somebody was the only thing that +could have saved him from the terrible pang that was harrowing +him at this moment; but the chimes of the cathedral, +which played the quarter-hours as well as the hours, +and the crash of iron bolts at the opening of cells at meal-time +were the only sounds that he could expect to hear to-day. +His heart was writhing within him. Something was +clutching at his brain. He seemed to feel himself going +mad. He was tempted to cry at the top of his voice; to +cry like a wild beast; but, of course, he was not going to +give such satisfaction to the enemy.</p> + +<p>He gazed at the sloping window-sill. For the thousandth +time a desire took hold of him to mount it and take a look +through the glass; and for the thousandth time he cast a +hopeless glance at his bed, at the table, the chair, the wash-stand: +they were all nailed to the floor, a large earthen +water-cup and a salt-cellar made of lead being the only +movable things in his room.</p> + +<p>Four months ago there had been a prisoner in the adjoining +cell with whom he carried on long conversations by rapping +out his words on the wall, but one day their talk had +been interrupted in the middle of a sentence, after which +that man had been removed. The cell had long remained<a name="Page_427" id="Page_427"><span class="pagenum">[427]</span></a> +empty, as could be inferred from the fact that Pavel never +heard its door opened at meal-time. Since a week ago it +had been tenanted again, but all his attempts at conversation +with his new neighbour had so far been futile. His +taps on the wall had been left unanswered.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as he was now pacing his floor, his heart melting +with homesickness and anguish at the thought of his +mother, he heard a rapid succession of fine, dry sounds on +the right wall. He started, and, breathless and flushed with +excitement, he listened. “Who are you?” the mould-grown +wall demanded.</p> + +<p>Pavel cast a look at the peephole in the heavy door, and +seeing no eye in it, he took a turn or two up and down the +room and stopped hard by the wall, upon which he rapped +out his reply:</p> + +<p>“Boulatoff. Who are you?”</p> + +<p>“The Emperor of all Africa,” came the answer.</p> + +<p>“What?” Pavel asked in perplexity. “You have not +finished your sentence, what were you saying?”</p> + +<p>“Begone!” the wall returned. “How dare you doubt my +title? I am the Emperor of all Africa. How dare you +speak to me? Away with you!”</p> + +<p>Pavel’s heart sank. It was apparently some political +prisoner who had gone insane in a damp, cold, isolated cell.</p> + +<p>“Dear friend, dear comrade!” he implored. “Can’t you +try and remember your name?”</p> + +<p>“Begone, or I’ll order your arrest, mean slave that you +are!” This was followed by some incoherencies. Pavel +went away from the wall with tears in his eyes.</p> + +<p>In the afternoon of the third day he was striding to and +fro, in excellent spirits. He had been in this mood since he +opened his eyes that morning. Nothing but the most encouraging +moments in the history of his connection with<a name="Page_428" id="Page_428"><span class="pagenum">[428]</span></a> +the movement would come to his mind to-day. He felt as +though he and all his revolutionary friends were looking +at each other, and conversing mentally, all as cheerful and +happy as he was now. Everything pointed toward the +speedy triumph of their cause. He beheld barricades in +the streets of St. Petersburg, Moscow, Odessa; he saw the +red flag waving; he heard the Marseillaise. He recalled +Makar’s vision of the time when victorious revolutionists +would break into the fortress of Peter and Paul and take +its prisoners out to celebrate the advent of liberty with the +people. He thought of Clara, and his heart went out to +her and to their interrupted honeymoon; he imagined her +on his arm marching with others, he did not know whither, +and whispering words of love and exultation to her, and +once more his heart leaped with joy. He recalled jokes, +comical situations. He felt like bursting into a roar of +merriment, when there came a shower of taps on the wall.</p> + +<p>“Who are you?”</p> + +<p>“Boulatoff,” Pavel answered, with sadness in his heart. +He expected other absurdities from his insane neighbour. +“And you?”</p> + +<p>“Bieliayeff. I am not well. But I feel much better to-day. +My lucid interval, perhaps. I remember everything.”</p> + +<p>Pavel had met him two years before. They talked of +themselves, of their mutual friends, of the last news that +had reached Bieliayeff through his other wall. It appeared +that Bieliayeff’s neighbour on that side of his cell was +Elkin.</p> + +<p>Pavel received the information with a thrill of pleasure. +He was going to ask Bieliayeff to convey a message to his +fellow townsman; but at this he had an instinctive feeling +that there was an eye at the peephole and he dropped his +hand to his side, pretending to be absorbed in thought.</p><p><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429"><span class="pagenum">[429]</span></a></p> + +<p>They resumed their conversation a quarter of an hour +later.</p> + +<p>“Tell Elkin I love him; he is dear to me,” Pavel tapped +out. “I feel guilty and miserable. If it were not for me +he would be in America now. Besides, I have been unjust +to him. This oppresses me more than anything else.”</p> + +<p>These communications through the wall are the most +precious things life has to offer in living graves like those +of the fortress of Peter and Paul. The inmate of such a +grave will listen to the messages of his neighbours with the +most strenuous attention, with every faculty in his possession, +with every fibre of his being; and he will convey every +word of a long message as if reading it from a written +memorandum.</p> + +<p>After a lapse of five or ten minutes Bieliayeff came back +with Elkin’s answer.</p> + +<p>“He says he loves you,” the tap-tap said, “and that it +is he who ought to apologise. It was he who was unjust. +As to his American scheme, he is happy to be here. It is +sweet to be suffering for liberty, he says.”</p> + +<p>Makar was at the other end of the same corridor, and a +message from him reached Pavel by way of a dozen walls.</p> + +<p>“Hello, old boy!” it said. “At last I have completed the +revolutionary programme I have been so long engaged upon. +It’s a dandy! It is not the same I spoke to you about in +Moscow. It covers every point beautifully. It would save +the party from every mistake it has ever made or is liable +to make.”</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>One day Pavel learned that Clara had arrived in the fortress, +after a long confinement and no end of examinations<a name="Page_430" id="Page_430"><span class="pagenum">[430]</span></a> +in Miroslav. She was in another part of the building and +communicating with her was impossible. Pavel scarcely +ever thought of anything else. Could it be true that she +was in the building and he would not even have a chance +to see her? He was fidgeting and writhing like a bird in +a cage.</p> + +<p>At last, on a morning, the wall brought him a message +from her. It had come through walls, floors and ceilings.</p> + +<p>“Clanya sends her love,” it ran, “and tells him to keep +away from the damp walls as much as possible.”</p> + +<p>“Tell Clanya I think of her day and night,” he rapped +back.</p> + +<p>Then a footstep sounded at his door, and with a heart +swelling with emotion he threw himself upon his bed and +buried his face in his hands.</p> + + +<div class="center"><br /> +THE END. +</div> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote-A" id="Footnote-A"></a><a href="#Anchor-A" title="Return to text."><span class="label">[A]</span></a> A classical Russian high school modelled after its German namesake.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote-B" id="Footnote-B"></a><a href="#Anchor-B" title="Return to text."><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Affectionate diminutive of Vladimir.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote-C" id="Footnote-C"></a><a href="#Anchor-C" title="Return to text."><span class="label">[C]</span></a> Diminutive of Alexander.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote-D" id="Footnote-D"></a><a href="#Anchor-D" title="Return to text."><span class="label">[D]</span></a> A sign of contempt and defiance consisting in the thumb being put +between the next two fingers.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote-E" id="Footnote-E"></a><a href="#Anchor-E" title="Return to text."><span class="label">[E]</span></a> Diminutive of Olga.</p></div> + +</div> + + +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="tnote-end"> + +<p class="center"><a name="tn-end" id="tn-end"><b>Transcriber's Note:</b></a></p> + + <p>Most inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation found in the original text were retained, including:</p> + +<ul class="discrepancies"><li>"assistant procureur" and "assistant-procureur"</li> +<li>"ball-room" and "ball room"</li> +<li>"bedroom" and "bed-room"</li> +<li>"candlestick" and "candle-stick"</li> +<li>"capmaker" and "cap-maker"</li> +<li>"Catherine" and "Catharine"</li> +<li>"Chernishevsky" and "Chernyshevsky"</li> +<li>"cobblestones" and "cobble-stones"</li> +<li>"colour" and "color"</li> +<li>"drily" and "dryly"</li> +<li>"favourite" and "favorite"</li> +<li>"featherbeds" and "feather-beds"</li> +<li>"fiascos" and "fiascoes"</li> +<li>"footsteps" and "foot-steps"</li> +<li>"grey" and "gray"</li> +<li>"heartfelt" and "heart-felt"</li> +<li>"homebound" and "home-bound"</li> +<li>"laborer" and "labourer"</li> +<li>"market place" and "market-place"</li> +<li>"neighbour" and "neighbor"</li> +<li>"odour" and "odor"</li> +<li>"organisation" and "organization"</li> +<li>"parlour" and "parlor"</li> +<li>"pedlar" and "peddlar"</li> +<li>"peephole" and "peep-hole"</li> +<li>"realise" and "realize"</li> +<li>"regime" and "régime"</li> +<li>"reverie" and "revery"</li> +<li>"Rodkevitch" and "Rodkevich"</li> +<li>"rumour" and "rumor"</li> +<li>"side whiskers" and "side-whiskers"</li> +<li>"stepchild" and "step-child"</li> +<li>"topboots" and "top-boots"</li> +<li>"tramcar" and "tram-car"</li> +<li>"trunkmaker" and "trunk-maker"</li> +<li>"undersized" and "under-sized"</li> +<li>"Vice-Emperor" and "vice-Emperor"</li> +<li>"wagons" and "waggons"</li> +<li>"waiting room" and "waiting-room"</li> +<li>"woolen" and "woollen"</li></ul> + +<p>The following is a list of corrections made to the original. The + +first passage is the original passage, the second the corrected one.</p> + + +<ul class="corrections"> + +<li><a href="#Page_5">Page 5</a>:<br/> + +Don’t take it ill, <span class="correction">ma chere</span>.” She<br/> + +Don’t take it ill, <span class="correction">ma chère</span>.” She + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_8">Page 8</a>:<br/> + +the present Czar, then still <span class="correction">Czarowitch,</span><br/> + +the present Czar, then still <span class="correction">Czarowitz,</span> + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_15">Page 15</a>:<br/> + +pulling at his <span class="correction">waistcoast</span> as though<br/> + +pulling at his <span class="correction">waistcoat</span> as though + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_16">Page 16</a>:<br/> + +and in his <span class="correction">ecstacy</span> over<br/> + +and in his <span class="correction">ecstasy</span> over + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_23">Page 23</a>:<br/> + +Venus de <span class="correction">Medicis</span>—and the<br/> + +Venus de <span class="correction">Medici</span>—and the + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_34">Page 34</a>:<br/> + +their <span class="correction">essence?</span> For the<br/> + +their <span class="correction">essence?”</span> For the + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_36">Page 36</a>:<br/> + +who saw <span class="correction">Alexander</span> Alexandrovich off<br/> + +who saw <span class="correction">Alexandre</span> Alexandrovich off + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_44">Page 44</a>:<br/> + +<span class="correction">myterious</span> air of the “radicals”<br/> + +<span class="correction">mysterious</span> air of the “radicals” + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_44">Page 44</a>:<br/> + +one number of <span class="correction"><i>Forward</i></span> and another<br/> + +one number of <span class="correction"><i>Forward!</i></span> and another + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_47">Page 47</a>:<br/> + +nunnish <span class="correction">face</span> She made quite<br/> + +nunnish <span class="correction">face.</span> She made quite + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_65">Page 65</a>:<br/> + +restrain the “<span class="correction">idotic</span> breadth” of his<br/> + +restrain the “<span class="correction">idiotic</span> breadth” of his + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_68">Page 68</a>:<br/> + +trimmed whiskers <span class="correction">a lá</span> Alexander II.,<br/> + +trimmed whiskers <span class="correction">à la</span> Alexander II., + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_95">Page 95</a>:<br/> + +on the part of <span class="correction">Alexandre</span> II.<br/> + +on the part of <span class="correction">Alexander</span> II. + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_104">Page 104</a>:<br/> + +beaming <span class="correction">at sight</span> of the<br/> + +beaming <span class="correction">at the sight</span> of the + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_104">Page 104</a>:<br/> + +in turning the <span class="correction">cosversation</span><br/> + +in turning the <span class="correction">conversation</span> + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_114">Page 114</a>:<br/> + +Pavel <span class="correction">Vassilyevitch</span>. Everything<br/> + +Pavel <span class="correction">Vassilyevich</span>. Everything + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_130">Page 130</a>:<br/> + +“Exactly,” <span class="correction">Paval</span> assented,<br/> + +“Exactly,” <span class="correction">Pavel</span> assented, + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_137">Page 137</a>:<br/> + +as many as <span class="correction">three fourths</span> of them<br/> + +as many as <span class="correction">three-fourths</span> of them + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_145">Page 145</a>:<br/> + +view of <span class="correction">it.</span> At this<br/> + +view of <span class="correction">it.”</span> At this + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_146">Page 146</a>:<br/> + +Olga, the <span class="correction">Judge</span>, and the<br/> + +Olga, the <span class="correction">judge</span>, and the + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_151">Page 151</a>:<br/> + +house for <span class="correction">tête-a-tête</span> purposes.<br/> + +house for <span class="correction">tête-à-tête</span> purposes. + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_163">Page 163</a>:<br/> + +imprisoned army <span class="correction">officer,</span> slipped away<br/> + +imprisoned army <span class="correction">officer</span> slipped away + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_166">Page 166</a>:<br/> + +Their immediate <span class="correction">surrounding</span> were<br/> + +Their immediate <span class="correction">surroundings</span> were + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_167">Page 167</a>:<br/> + +<span class="correction">minature</span> garden between<br/> + +<span class="correction">miniature</span> garden between + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_186">Page 186</a>:<br/> + +well-travelled <span class="correction">fellow</span> He can<br/> + +well-travelled <span class="correction">fellow.</span> He can + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_215">Page 215</a>:<br/> + +she says. <span class="correction">“You</span> have a<br/> + +she says. <span class="correction">You</span> have a + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_219">Page 219</a>:<br/> + +dwelt on Zola’s <span class="correction">L’Assomoir</span> and<br/> + +dwelt on Zola’s <span class="correction">L’Assommoir</span> and + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_231">Page 231</a>:<br/> + +a hurried <span class="correction">bood-bye</span> and made for<br/> + +a hurried <span class="correction">good-bye</span> and made for + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_242">Page 242</a>:<br/> + +Meanwhile Count <span class="correction">Loris Melikoff</span> had<br/> + +Meanwhile Count <span class="correction">Loris-Melikoff</span> had + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_248">Page 248</a>:<br/> + +speak <span class="correction">Littlie</span>-Russian to Purring Cat,<br/> + +speak <span class="correction">Little</span>-Russian to Purring Cat, + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_248">Page 248</a>:<br/> + +from <span class="correction">Littlie</span> Russia, answered<br/> + +from <span class="correction">Little</span> Russia, answered + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_249">Page 249</a>:<br/> + +<span class="correction">by the the “gay</span> bard,” which Clara<br/> + +<span class="correction">by the “gay</span> bard,” which Clara + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_252">Page 252</a>:<br/> + +still in <span class="correction">Lavadia</span> with his bride,<br/> + +still in <span class="correction">Livadia</span> with his bride, + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_254">Page 254</a>:<br/> + +his heart with cruel <span class="correction">insistance</span>.<br/> + +his heart with cruel <span class="correction">insistence</span>. + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_267">Page 267</a>:<br/> + +residence, the <span class="correction">Michail</span> Palace,<br/> + +residence, the <span class="correction">Michaïl</span> Palace, + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_275">Page 275</a>:<br/> + +your fur <span class="correction">cap”</span> she gestured.<br/> + +your fur <span class="correction">cap,”</span> she gestured. + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_283">Page 283</a>:<br/> + +the Little Garden <span class="correction">street</span> precinct<br/> + +the Little Garden <span class="correction">Street</span> precinct + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_286">Page 286</a>:<br/> + +Garden <span class="correction">street</span> for the Czar's<br/> + +Garden <span class="correction">Street</span> for the Czar's + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_288">Page 288</a>:<br/> + +A <span class="correction">distinquished</span> revolutionary writer<br/> + +A <span class="correction">distinguished</span> revolutionary writer + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_289">Page 289</a>:<br/> + +cheese shop on Little Garden <span class="correction">street</span><br/> + +cheese shop on Little Garden <span class="correction">Street</span> + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_294">Page 294</a>:<br/> + +<span class="correction">“Don’t”</span> he begged them,<br/> + +<span class="correction">“Don’t,”</span> he begged them, + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_305">Page 305</a>:<br/> + +the prison <span class="correction">corridor,</span> answered his<br/> + +the prison <span class="correction">corridor</span> answered his + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_326">Page 326</a>:<br/> + +such a <span class="correction">cap?”</span> says I.<br/> + +such a <span class="correction">cap?’</span> says I. + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_333">Page 333</a>:<br/> + +whispered in the <span class="correction">spokeman’s</span> ear<br/> + +whispered in the <span class="correction">spokesman’s</span> ear + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_335">Page 335</a>:<br/> + +Finally he shouted <span class="correction">huskily.</span><br/> + +Finally he shouted <span class="correction">huskily:</span> + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_366">Page 366</a>:<br/> + +near Nicholas <span class="correction">street</span>, the best<br/> + +near Nicholas <span class="correction">Street</span>, the best + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_368">Page 368</a>:<br/> + +about Nicholas <span class="correction">street</span> and bore down<br/> + +about Nicholas <span class="correction">Street</span> and bore down + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_373">Page 373</a>:<br/> + +crowd on Cucumber <span class="correction">market</span>, and<br/> + +crowd on Cucumber <span class="correction">Market</span>, and + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_374">Page 374</a>:<br/> + +primitive humanity <span class="correction">ran</span> amuck<br/> + +primitive humanity <span class="correction">run</span> amuck + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_376">Page 376</a>:<br/> + +Nicholas <span class="correction">street</span>, from a residence<br/> + +Nicholas <span class="correction">Street</span>, from a residence + +</li> + + +<li><a href="#Page_380">Page 380</a>:<br/> + +the <span class="correction">maurauders</span> for the slashers<br/> + +the <span class="correction">marauders</span> for the slashers + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_382">Page 382</a>:<br/> + +crowbars, <span class="correction">banners</span> or axes<br/> + +crowbars, <span class="correction">hammers</span> or axes + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_387">Page 387</a>:<br/> + +revolting <span class="correction">stupour</span> of inebriety.<br/> + +revolting <span class="correction">stupor</span> of inebriety. + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_391">Page 391</a>:<br/> + +trying to <span class="correction">sooth</span> an angry baby.<br/> + +trying to <span class="correction">soothe</span> an angry baby. + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_395">Page 395</a>:<br/> + +One day Hannah said, <span class="correction">gravely.</span><br/> + +One day Hannah said, <span class="correction">gravely:</span> + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_403">Page 403</a>:<br/> + +<span class="correction">street</span>, St. Petersburg, was<br/> + +<span class="correction">Street</span>, St. Petersburg, was + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_415">Page 415</a>:<br/> + +in a sunny <span class="correction">spot</span><br/> + +in a sunny <span class="correction">spot.</span> + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_420">Page 420</a>:<br/> + +There is a <span class="correction">St</span> Petersburg<br/> + +There is a <span class="correction">St.</span> Petersburg + +</li> + +<li><a href="#Page_425">Page 425</a>:<br/> + +in an <span class="correction">access</span> of self-commiseration<br/> + +in an <span class="correction">excess</span> of self-commiseration + +</li> +</ul> + +</div> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The White Terror and The Red, by Abraham Cahan + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE TERROR AND THE RED *** + +***** This file should be named 39166-h.htm or 39166-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/9/1/6/39166/ + +Produced by Rosanna Murphy, Suzanne Shell and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works 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