It was five o’clock on a July afternoon. The heat was terrible. The
whole of the huge stone-built town breathed out heat like a glowing
furnace. The glare of the white-walled house was insufferable. The
asphalt pavements grew soft and burned the feet. The shadows of the
acacias spread over the cobbled road, pitiful and weary. They too
seemed hot. The sea, pale in the sunlight, lay heavy and immobile as
one dead. Over the streets hung a white dust.
In the foyer of one of the private theatres a small committee of local
barristers who had undertaken to conduct the cases of those who had
suffered in the last pogrom against the Jews was reaching the end
of its daily task. There were nineteen of them, all juniors, young,
progressive and conscientious men. The sitting was without formality,
and white ducks, flannels and white alpaca were in the majority. They
sat anywhere, at little marble tables, and the chairman stood in front
of an empty counter where chocolates were sold in the winter.
The barristers were quite exhausted by the heat which poured in through
the windows, with the dazzling sunlight and the noise of the streets.
The proceedings went lazily and with a certain irritation.
A tall young man with a fair moustache and thin hair was in the chair.
He was dreaming voluptuously how he would be off in an instant on his
new-bought bicycle to the bungalow. He would undress quickly, and
without waiting to cool, still bathed in sweat, would fling himself
into the clear, cold, sweet-smelling sea. His whole body was enervated
and tense, thrilled by the thought. Impatiently moving the papers
before him, he spoke in a drowsy voice.
‘So, Joseph Moritzovich will conduct the case of Rubinchik.... Perhaps
there is still a statement to be made on the order of the day?’
His youngest colleague, a short, stout Karaim, very black and lively,
said in a whisper so that every one could hear: ‘On the order of the
day, the best thing would be iced _kvass_....’
The chairman gave him a stern side-glance, but could not restrain a
smile. He sighed and put both his hands on the table to raise himself
and declare the meeting closed, when the doorkeeper, who stood at the
entrance to the theatre, suddenly moved forward and said: ‘There are
seven people outside, sir. They want to come in.’
The chairman looked impatiently round the company.
‘What is to be done, gentlemen?’
Voices were heard.
‘Next time. _Basta!_’
‘Let ’em put it in writing.’
‘If they’ll get it over quickly.... Decide it at once.’
‘Let ’em go to the devil. Phew! It’s like boiling pitch.’
‘Let them in.’ The chairman gave a sign with his head, annoyed. ‘Then
bring me a Vichy, please. But it must be cold.’
The porter opened the door and called down the corridor: ‘Come in. They
say you may.’
Then seven of the most surprising and unexpected individuals filed into
the foyer. First appeared a full-grown, confident man in a smart suit,
of the colour of dry sea-sand, in a magnificent pink shirt with white
stripes and a crimson rose in his buttonhole. From the front his head
looked like an upright bean, from the side like a horizontal bean. His
face was adorned with a strong, bushy, martial moustache. He wore dark
blue pince-nez on his nose, on his hands straw-coloured gloves. In his
left hand he held a black walking-stick with a silver mount, in his
right a light blue handkerchief.
The other six produced a strange, chaotic, incongruous impression,
exactly as though they had all hastily pooled not merely their clothes,
but their hands, feet and heads as well. There was a man with the
splendid profile of a Roman senator, dressed in rags and tatters.
Another wore an elegant dress waistcoat, from the deep opening of which
a dirty little-Russian shirt leapt to the eye. Here were the unbalanced
faces of the criminal type, but looking with a confidence that nothing
could shake. All these men, in spite of their apparent youth, evidently
possessed a large experience of life, an easy manner, a bold approach,
and some hidden, suspicious cunning.
The gentleman in the sandy suit bowed just his head, neatly and easily,
and said with a half-question in his voice: ‘Mr. Chairman?’
‘Yes. I am the chairman,’ said the latter. ‘What is your business?’
‘We--all whom you see before you,’ the gentleman began in a quiet voice
and turned round to indicate his companions, ‘we come as delegates from
the United Rostov-Kharkov-and-Odessa-Nicolaiev Association of Thieves.’
The barristers began to shift in their seats.
The chairman flung himself back and opened his eyes wide. ‘Association
of _what_?’ he said, perplexed.
‘The Association of Thieves,’ the gentleman in the sandy suit coolly
repeated. ‘As for myself, my comrades did me the signal honour of
electing me as the spokesman of the deputation.’
‘Very ... pleased,’ the chairman said uncertainly.
‘Thank you. All seven of us are ordinary thieves--naturally of
different departments. The Association has authorised us to put before
your esteemed Committee’--the gentleman again made an elegant bow--‘our
respectful demand for assistance.’
‘I don’t quite understand ... quite frankly ... what is the
connection....’ The chairman waved his hands helplessly. ‘However,
please go on.’
‘The matter about which we have the courage and the honour to apply to
you, gentlemen, is very clear, very simple, and very brief. It will
take only six or seven minutes. I consider it my duty to warn you of
this beforehand, in view of the late hour and the 115 degrees that
Fahrenheit marks in the shade.’ The orator expectorated slightly and
glanced at his superb gold watch. ‘You see, in the reports that have
lately appeared in the local papers of the melancholy and terrible
days of the last pogrom, there have very often been indications that
among the instigators of the pogrom who were paid and organised by
the police--the dregs of society, consisting of drunkards, tramps,
souteneurs, and hooligans from the slums--thieves were also to be
found. At first we were silent, but finally we considered ourselves
under the necessity of protesting against such an unjust and serious
accusation, before the face of the whole of intellectual society. I
know well that in the eye of the law we are offenders and enemies of
society. But imagine only for a moment, gentlemen, the situation of
this enemy of society when he is accused wholesale of an offence which
he not only never committed, but which he is ready to resist with the
whole strength of his soul. It goes without saying that he will feel
the outrage of such an injustice more keenly than a normal, average,
fortunate citizen. Now, we declare that the accusation brought
against us is utterly devoid of all basis, not merely of fact but even
of logic. I intend to prove this in a few words if the honourable
committee will kindly listen.’
‘Proceed,’ said the chairman.
‘Please do.... Please ...’ was heard from the barristers, now animated.
‘I offer you my sincere thanks in the name of all my comrades. Believe
me, you will never repent your attention to the representatives of our
... well, let us say, slippery, but nevertheless difficult, profession.
“So we begin,” as Giraldoni sings in the prologue to _Pagliacci_.
‘But first I would ask your permission, Mr. Chairman, to quench my
thirst a little.... Porter, bring me a lemonade and a glass of English
bitter, there’s a good fellow. Gentlemen, I will not speak of the moral
aspect of our profession nor of its social importance. Doubtless you
know better than I the striking and brilliant paradox of Proudhon:
_La propriété c’est le vol_--a paradox if you like, but one that has
never yet been refuted by the sermons of cowardly bourgeois or fat
priests. For instance: a father accumulates a million by energetic and
clever exploitation, and leaves to his son--a rickety, lazy, ignorant,
degenerate idiot, a brainless maggot, a true parasite. Potentially a
million roubles is a million working days, the absolutely irrational
right to labour, sweat, life, and blood of a terrible number of men.
Why? What is the ground or reason? Utterly unknown. Then why not
agree with the proposition, gentlemen, that our profession is to some
extent as it were a correction of the excessive accumulation of values
in the hands of individuals, and serves as a protest against all the
hardships, abominations, arbitrariness, violence, and negligence of
the human personality, against all the monstrosities created by the
bourgeois capitalistic organisation of modern society? Sooner or
later, this order of things will assuredly be overturned by the social
revolution. Property will pass away into the limbo of melancholy
memories and with it, alas! we will disappear from the face of the
earth, we, _les braves chevaliers d’industrie_.’
The orator paused to take the tray from the hands of the porter, and
placed it near to his hand on the table.
‘Excuse me, gentlemen.... Here, my good man, take this ... and by the
way, when you go out shut the door close behind you.’
‘Very good, your Excellency!’ the porter bawled in jest.
The orator drank off half a glass and continued: ‘However, let us
leave aside the philosophical, social, and economic aspects of the
question. I do not wish to fatigue your attention. I must nevertheless
point out that our profession very closely approaches the idea of that
which is called art. Into it enter all the elements which go to form
art--vocation, inspiration, fantasy, inventiveness, ambition, and a
long and arduous apprenticeship to the science. From it is absent
virtue alone, concerning which the great Karamzin wrote with such
stupendous and fiery fascination. Gentlemen, nothing is further from
my intention than to trifle with you and waste your precious time
with idle paradoxes; but I cannot avoid expounding my idea briefly.
To an outsider’s ear it sounds absurdly wild and ridiculous to speak
of the vocation of a thief. However, I venture to assure you that
this vocation is a reality. There are men who possess a peculiarly
strong visual memory, sharpness and accuracy of eye, presence of mind,
dexterity of hand, and above all a subtle sense of touch, who are as it
were born into God’s world for the sole and special purpose of becoming
distinguished card-sharpers. The pickpockets’ profession demands
extraordinary nimbleness and agility, a terrific certainty of movement,
not to mention a ready wit, a talent for observation and strained
attention. Some have a positive vocation for breaking open safes:
from their tenderest childhood they are attracted by the mysteries
of every kind of complicated mechanism--bicycles, sewing machines,
clock-work toys and watches. Finally, gentlemen, there are people
with an hereditary animus against private property. You may call this
phenomenon degeneracy. But I tell you that you cannot entice a true
thief, and thief by vocation, into the prose of honest vegetation by
any gingerbread reward, or by the offer of a secure position, or by the
gift of money, or by a woman’s love: because there is here a permanent
beauty of risk, a fascinating abyss of danger, the delightful sinking
of the heart, the impetuous pulsation of life, the ecstasy! You are
armed with the protection of the law, by locks, revolvers, telephones,
police and soldiery; but we only by our own dexterity, cunning and
fearlessness. We are the foxes, and society--is a chicken-run guarded
by dogs. Are you aware that the most artistic and gifted natures in
our villages become horse-thieves and poachers? What would you have?
Life has been so meagre, so insipid, so intolerably dull to eager and
high-spirited souls!
‘I pass on to inspiration. Gentlemen, doubtless you have had to read of
thefts that were supernatural in design and execution. In the headlines
of the newspapers they are called “An Amazing Robbery,” or “An
Ingenious Swindle,” or again “A Clever Ruse of the Mobsmen.” In such
cases our bourgeois pater-familias waves his hands and exclaims: “What
a terrible thing! If only their abilities were turned to good--their
inventiveness, their amazing knowledge of human psychology, their
self-possession, their fearlessness, their incomparable histrionic
powers! What extraordinary benefits they would bring to the country!”
But it is well known that the bourgeois pater-familias was specially
devised by Heaven to utter commonplaces and trivialities. I myself
sometimes--we thieves are sentimental people, I confess--I myself
sometimes admire a beautiful sunset in Alexandra Park or by the
sea-shore. And I am always certain beforehand that some one near me
will say with infallible _aplomb_: “Look at it. If it were put into a
picture no one would ever believe it!” I turn round and naturally I see
a self-satisfied, full-fed pater-familias, who delights in repeating
some one else’s silly statement as though it were his own. As for our
dear country, the bourgeois pater-familias looks upon it as though it
were a roast turkey. If you’ve managed to cut the best part of the
bird for yourself, eat it quietly in a comfortable corner and praise
God. But he’s not really the important person. I was led away by my
detestation of vulgarity and I apologise for the digression. The real
point is that genius and inspiration, even when they are not devoted to
the service of the Orthodox Church, remain rare and beautiful things.
Progress is a law--and theft too has its creation.
‘Finally, our profession is by no means as easy and pleasant as it
seems to the first glance. It demands long experience, constant
practice, slow and painful apprenticeship. It comprises in itself
hundreds of supple, skilful processes that the cleverest juggler
cannot compass. That I may not give you only empty words, gentlemen,
I will perform a few experiments before you, now. I ask you to have
every confidence in the demonstrators. We are all at present in the
enjoyment of legal freedom, and though we are usually watched, and
every one of us is known by face, and our photographs adorn the albums
of all detective departments, for the time being we are not under the
necessity of hiding ourselves from anybody. If any one of you should
recognise any of us in the future under different circumstances, we ask
you earnestly always to act in accordance with your professional duties
and your obligations as citizens. In grateful return for your kind
attention we have decided to declare your property inviolable, and to
invest it with a thieves’ taboo. However, I proceed to business.’
The orator turned round and gave an order: ‘Sesoi the Great, will you
come this way!’
An enormous fellow with a stoop, whose hands reached to his knees,
without a forehead or a neck, like a big, fair Hercules, came forward.
He grinned stupidly and rubbed his left eyebrow in his confusion.
‘Can’t do nothin’ here,’ he said hoarsely.
The gentleman in the sandy suit spoke for him, turning to the committee.
‘Gentlemen, before you stands a respected member of our association.
His speciality is breaking open safes, iron strong boxes, and other
receptacles for monetary tokens. In his night work he sometimes avails
himself of the electric current of the lighting installation for fusing
metals. Unfortunately he has nothing on which he can demonstrate the
best items of his repertoire. He will open the most elaborate lock
irreproachably.... By the way, this door here, it’s locked, is it not?’
Every one turned to look at the door, on which a printed notice hung:
‘Stage Door. Strictly Private.’
‘Yes, the door’s locked, evidently,’ the chairman agreed.
‘Admirable. Sesoi the Great, will you be so kind?’
‘’Tain’t nothin’ at all,’ said the giant leisurely.
He went close to the door, shook it cautiously with his hand, took out
of his pocket a small bright instrument, bent down to the keyhole,
made some almost imperceptible movements with the tool, suddenly
straightened and flung the door wide in silence. The chairman had his
watch in his hands. The whole affair took only ten seconds.
‘Thank you, Sesoi the Great,’ said the gentleman in the sandy suit
politely. ‘You may go back to your seat.’
But the chairman interrupted in some alarm: ‘Excuse me. This is all
very interesting and instructive, but ... is it included in your
esteemed colleague’s profession to be able to lock the door again?’
‘Ah, _mille pardons_.’ The gentleman bowed hurriedly. ‘It slipped my
mind. Sesoi the Great, would you oblige?’
The door was locked with the same adroitness and the same silence. The
esteemed colleague waddled back to his friends, grinning.
‘Now I will have the honour to show you the skill of one of our
comrades who is in the line of picking pockets in theatres and
railway-stations,’ continued the orator. ‘He is still very young, but
you may to some extent judge from the delicacy of his present work of
the heights he will attain by diligence. Yasha!’ A swarthy youth in a
blue silk blouse and long glacé boots, like a gipsy, came forward with
a swagger, fingering the tassels of his belt, and merrily screwing up
his big, impudent black eyes with yellow whites.
‘Gentlemen,’ said the gentleman in the sandy suit persuasively, ‘I must
ask if one of you would be kind enough to submit himself to a little
experiment. I assure you this will be an exhibition only, just a game.’
He looked round over the seated company.
The short plump Karaim, black as a beetle, came forward from his table.
‘At your service,’ he said amusingly.
‘Yasha!’ The orator signed with his head.
Yasha came close to the solicitor. On his left arm, which was bent,
hung a bright-coloured, figured scarf.
‘Suppose yer in church, or at a bar in one of the ’alls,--or watchin’
a circus,’ he began in a sugary, fluent voice. ‘I see straight
off--there’s a toff.... Excuse me, sir. Suppose you’re the toff.
There’s no offence--just means a rich gent, decent enough, but don’t
know his way about. First--what’s he likely to ’ave about ’im? All
sorts. Mostly, a ticker and a chain. Whereabouts does ’e keep ’em.
Somewhere in ’is top weskit pocket--’ere. Others ’ave ’em in the bottom
pocket. Just ’ere. Purse--most always in the trousers, except when a
greeny keeps it in ’is jacket. Cigar-case. ’Ave a look first what it
is--gold, silver--with a monogram. Leather--wot decent man ’d soil ’is
’ands? Cigar-case. Seven pockets: ’ere, ’ere ’ere, up there, there,
’ere and ’ere again. That’s right, ain’t it? That’s ’ow you go to work.’
As he spoke the young man smiled. His eyes shone straight into the
barrister’s. With a quick, dexterous movement of his right hand he
pointed to various portions of his clothes.
‘Then agen you might see a pin ’ere in the tie. ’Owever we do not
appropriate. Such _gents_ nowadays--they ’ardly ever wear a reel
stone. Then I comes up to ’im. I begin straight off to talk to ’im
like a gent: “Sir, would you be so kind as to give me a light from
your cigarette”--or something of the sort. At any rate, I enter into
conversation. Wot’s next? I look ’im straight in the peepers, just like
this. Only two of me fingers are at it--just this and this.’ Yasha
lifted two fingers of his right hand on a level with the solicitor’s
face, the forefinger and the middle finger and moved them about.
‘D’ you see? With these two fingers I run over the ’ole pianner.
Nothin’ wonderful in it: one, two, three--ready. Any man who wasn’t
stupid could learn easily. That’s all it is. Most ordinary business. I
thank you.’
The pickpocket swung on his heel as if to return to his seat.
‘Yasha!’ The gentleman in the sandy suit said with meaning weight.
‘Yasha!’ he repeated sternly.
Yasha stopped. His back was turned to the barrister, but he evidently
gave his representative an imploring look, because the latter frowned
and shook his head.
‘Yasha!’ he said for the third time, in a threatening tone.
‘Huh!’ The young thief grunted in vexation and turned to face the
solicitor. ‘Where’s your little watch, sir?’ he said in a piping voice.
‘Ach,’ the Karaim brought himself up sharp.
‘You see--now you say “Ach,”’ Yasha continued reproachfully. ‘All the
while you were admiring me right ‘and, I was operatin’ yer watch with
my left. Just with these two little fingers, under the scarf. That’s
why we carry a scarf. Since your chain’s not worth anything--a present
from some _mamselle_ and the watch is a gold one, I’ve left you the
chain as a keep-sake. Take it,’ he added with a sigh, holding out the
watch.
‘But.... That is clever,’ the barrister said in confusion. ‘I didn’t
notice it at all.’
‘That’s our business,’ Yasha said with pride.
He swaggered back to his comrades. Meantime the orator took a drink
from his glass and continued.
‘Now, gentlemen, our next collaborator will give you an exhibition of
some ordinary card tricks, which are worked at fairs, on steamboats
and railways. With three cards, for instance, an ace, a queen, and
a six, he can quite easily.... But perhaps you are tired of these
demonstrations, gentlemen.’ ...
‘Not at all. It’s extremely interesting,’ the chairman answered
affably. ‘I should like to ask one question--that is if it is not too
indiscreet--what is your own speciality?’
‘Mine.... H’m.... No, how could it be an indiscretion?... I work the
big diamond shops ... and my other business is banks,’ answered the
orator with a modest smile. ‘Don’t think this occupation is easier
than others. Enough that I know four European languages, German,
French, English, and Italian, without speaking of Polish, Ukrainian and
Yiddish. But shall I show you some more experiments, Mr. Chairman?’
The chairman looked at his watch.
‘Unfortunately the time is too short,’ he said. ‘Wouldn’t it be better
to pass on to the substance of your business? Besides the experiments
we have just seen have amply convinced us of the talent of your
esteemed associates.... Am I not right, Isaac Abramovich?’
‘Yes, yes ... absolutely,’ the Karaim barrister readily confirmed.
‘Admirable,’ the gentleman in the sandy suit kindly agreed. ‘My dear
Count’--he turned to a blonde, curly-haired man, with a face like a
billiard-maker on a bank-holiday--‘put your instruments away. They will
not be wanted. I have only a few words more to say, gentlemen. Now
that you have convinced yourselves that our art, although it does not
enjoy the patronage of high-placed individuals, is nevertheless an art;
and you have probably come to my opinion that this art is one which
demands many personal qualities besides constant labour, danger, and
unpleasant misunderstandings--you will also, I hope, believe that it is
possible to become attached to its practice and to love and esteem it,
however strange that may appear at first sight. Picture to yourselves
that a famous poet of talent, whose tales and poems adorn the pages
of our best magazines, is suddenly offered the chance of writing
verses at a penny a line, signed into the bargain, as an advertisement
for “Cigarettes Jasmine”--or that a slander was spread about one of
you distinguished barristers, accusing him of making a business of
concocting evidence for divorce cases, or of writing petitions from
the cabmen to the governor in public-houses! Certainly your relatives,
friends and acquaintances wouldn’t believe it. But the rumour has
already done its poisonous work, and you have to live through minutes
of torture. Now picture to yourselves that such a disgraceful and
vexatious slander, started by God knows whom, begins to threaten not
only your good name and your quiet digestion, but your freedom, your
health, and even your life!
‘This is the position of us thieves, now being slandered by the
newspapers. I must explain. There is in existence a class of
scum--_passez-moi le mot_--whom we call their “Mothers’ Darlings.”
With these we are unfortunately confused. They have neither shame
nor conscience, a dissipated riff-raff, mothers’ useless darlings,
idle, clumsy drones, shop assistants who commit unskilful thefts. He
thinks nothing of living on his mistress, a prostitute, like the
male mackerel, who always swims after the female and lives on her
excrements. He is capable of robbing a child with violence in a dark
alley, in order to get a penny: he will kill a man in his sleep and
torture an old woman. These men are the pests of our profession. For
them the beauties and the traditions of the art have no existence. They
watch us real, talented thieves like a pack of jackals after a lion.
Suppose I’ve managed to bring off an important job--we won’t mention
the fact that I have to leave two-thirds of what I get to the receivers
who sell the goods and discount the notes, or the customary subsidies
to our incorruptible police--I still have to share out something to
each one of these parasites, who have got wind of my job, by accident,
hearsay, or a casual glance.
‘So we call them _Motients_, which means “half,” a corruption of
_moitié_.... Original etymology. I pay him only because he knows and
may inform against me. And it mostly happens that even when he’s
got his share he runs off to the police in order to get another
half-sovereign. We, honest thieves.... Yes, you may laugh, gentlemen,
but I repeat it: we honest thieves detest these reptiles. We have
another name for them, a stigma of ignominy; but I dare not utter it
here out of respect for the place and for my audience. Oh, yes, they
would gladly accept an invitation to a pogrom. The thought that we may
be confused with them is a hundred times more insulting to us even
than the accusation of taking part in a pogrom.
‘Gentlemen! While I have been speaking, I have often noticed smiles on
your faces. I understand you: our presence here, our application for
your assistance, and above all the unexpectedness of such a phenomenon
as a systematic organisation of thieves, with delegates who are
thieves, and a leader of the deputation, also a thief by profession--it
is all so original that it must inevitably arouse a smile. But now I
will speak from the depth of my heart. Let us be rid of our outward
wrappings, gentlemen, let us speak as men to men.
‘Almost all of us are educated, and all love books. We don’t only read
the adventures of Roqueambole, as the realistic writers say of us. Do
you think our hearts did not bleed and our cheeks did not burn from
shame, as though we had been slapped in the face, all the time that
this unfortunate, disgraceful, accursed, cowardly war lasted. Do you
really think that our souls do not flame with anger when our country is
lashed with Cossack-whips, and trodden underfoot, shot and spit at by
mad, exasperated men? Will you not believe that we thieves meet every
step towards the liberation to come with a thrill of ecstasy?
‘We understand, every one of us--perhaps only a little less than you
barristers, gentlemen--the real sense of the pogroms. Every time
that some dastardly event or some ignominious failure has occurred,
after executing a martyr in a dark corner of a fortress, or after
deceiving public confidence, some one who is hidden and unapproachable
gets frightened of the people’s anger and diverts its vicious element
upon the heads of innocent Jews. Whose diabolical mind invents these
pogroms--these titanic blood-lettings, these cannibal amusements for
the dark, bestial souls?
‘We all see with certain clearness that the last convulsions of the
bureaucracy are at hand. Forgive me if I present it imaginatively.
There was a people that had a chief temple, wherein dwelt a
bloodthirsty deity, behind a curtain, guarded by priests. Once fearless
hands tore the curtain away. Then all the people saw, instead of a
god, a huge, shaggy, voracious spider, like a loathsome cuttlefish.
They beat it and shoot at it: it is dismembered already; but still in
the frenzy of its final agony it stretches over all the ancient temple
its disgusting, clawing tentacles. And the priests, themselves under
sentence of death, push into the monster’s grasp all whom they can
seize in their terrified, trembling fingers.
‘Forgive me. What I have said is probably wild and incoherent. But I
am somewhat agitated. Forgive me. I continue. We thieves by profession
know better than any one else how these pogroms were organised. We
wander everywhere: into public houses, markets, tea-shops, doss-houses,
public places, the harbour. We can swear before God and man and
posterity that we have seen how the police organise the massacres,
without shame and almost without concealment. We know them all by face,
in uniform or disguise. They invited many of us to take part; but there
was none so vile among us as to give even the outward consent that fear
might have extorted.
‘You know, of course, how the various strata of Russian society behave
towards the police? It is not even respected by those who avail
themselves of its dark services. But we despise and hate it three, ten
times more--not because many of us have been tortured in the detective
departments, which are just chambers of horror, beaten almost to
death, beaten with whips of ox-hide and of rubber in order to extort
a confession or to make us betray a comrade. Yes, we hate them for
that too. But we thieves, all of us who have been in prison, have a
mad passion for freedom. Therefore we despise our gaolers with all the
hatred that a human heart can feel. I will speak for myself. I have
been tortured three times by police detectives till I was half dead.
My lungs and liver have been shattered. In the mornings I spit blood
until I can breathe no more. But if I were told that I will be spared
a fourth flogging only by shaking hands with a chief of the detective
police, I would refuse to do it!
‘And then the newspapers say that we took from these hands Judas-money,
dripping with human blood. No, gentlemen, it is a slander which stabs
our very soul, and inflicts insufferable pain. Not money, nor threats,
nor promises will suffice to make us mercenary murderers of our
brethren, nor accomplices with them.’
‘Never.... No ..., No ...,’ his comrades standing behind him began to
murmur.
‘I will say more,’ the thief continued. ‘Many of us protected the
victims during this pogrom. Our friend, called Sesoi the Great--you
have just seen him, gentlemen--was then lodging with a Jewish
braid-maker on the Moldavanka. With a poker in his hands he defended
his landlord from a great horde of assassins. It is true, Sesoi the
Great is a man of enormous physical strength, and this is well known
to many of the inhabitants of the Moldavanka. But you must agree,
gentlemen, that in these moments Sesoi the Great looked straight
into the face of death. Our comrade Martin the Miner--this gentleman
here’--the orator pointed to a pale, bearded man with beautiful eyes
who was holding himself in the background--‘saved an old Jewess, whom
he had never seen before, who was being pursued by a crowd of these
_canaille_. They broke his head with a crowbar for his pains, smashed
his arm in two places and splintered a rib. He is only just out of
hospital. That is the way our most ardent and determined members acted.
The others trembled for anger and wept for their own impotence.
‘None of us will forget the horrors of those bloody days and bloody
nights lit up by the glare of fires, those sobbing women, those little
children’s bodies torn to pieces and left lying in the street. But for
all that not one of us thinks that the police and the mob are the real
origin of the evil. These tiny, stupid, loathsome vermin are only a
senseless fist that is governed by a vile, calculating mind, moved by a
diabolical will.
‘Yes, gentlemen,’ the orator continued, ‘we thieves have nevertheless
merited your legal contempt. But when you, noble gentlemen, need the
help of clever, brave, obedient men at the barricades, men who will
be ready to meet death with a song and a jest on their lips for the
most glorious word in the world--Freedom--will you cast us off then
and order us away because of an inveterate revulsion? Damn it all, the
first victim in the French Revolution was a prostitute. She jumped up
on to a barricade, with her skirt caught elegantly up into her hand and
called out: “Which of you soldiers will dare to shoot a woman?” Yes, by
God.’ The orator exclaimed aloud and brought down his fist on to the
marble table top: ‘They killed her, but her action was magnificent, and
the beauty of her words immortal.
‘If you should drive us away on the great day, we will turn to you and
say: “You spotless Cherubim--if human thoughts had the power to wound,
kill, and rob man of honour and property, then which of you innocent
doves would not deserve the knout and imprisonment for life?” Then
we will go away from you and build our own gay, sporting, desperate
thieves’ barricade, and will die with such united songs on our lips
that you will envy us, you who are whiter than snow!
‘But I have been once more carried away. Forgive me. I am at the end.
You now see, gentlemen, what feelings the newspaper slanders have
excited in us. Believe in our sincerity and do what you can to remove
the filthy stain which has so unjustly been cast upon us. I have
finished.’
He went away from the table and joined his comrades. The barristers
were whispering in an undertone, very much as the magistrates of the
bench at sessions. Then the chairman rose.
‘We trust you absolutely, and we will make every effort to clear
your association of this most grievous charge. At the same time my
colleagues have authorised me, gentlemen, to convey to you their deep
respect for your passionate feelings as citizens. And for my own part
I ask the leader of the deputation for permission to shake him by the
hand.’
The two men, both tall and serious, held each other’s hands in a
strong, masculine grip.
* * * * *
The barristers were leaving the theatre; but four of them hung back a
little by the clothes peg in the hall. Isaac Abramovich could not find
his new, smart grey hat anywhere. In its place on the wooden peg hung a
cloth cap jauntily flattened in on either side.
‘Yasha!’ The stern voice of the orator was suddenly heard from the
other side of the door. ‘Yasha! It’s the last time I’ll speak to you,
curse you!... Do you hear?’
The heavy door opened wide. The gentleman in the sandy suit entered.
In his hands he held Isaac Abramovich’s hat; on his face was a
well-bred smile.
‘Gentlemen, for Heaven’s sake forgive us--an odd little
misunderstanding. One of our comrades exchanged his hat quite by
accident.... Oh, it is yours! A thousand pardons. Doorkeeper! Why don’t
you keep an eye on things, my good fellow, eh? Just give me that cap,
there. Once more, I ask you to forgive me, gentlemen.’
With a pleasant bow and the same well-bred smile he made his way
quickly into the street.