Yevsey often entered a house occupied by a physician and a journalist
upon whom he was assigned to spy. The physician employed a wet-nurse
named Masha, a full, round little woman with merry sky-blue eyes, who
was always neat and clean, and wore a white or blue sarafan with a
string of beads around her bare neck. Her full-breasted figure gave the
impression of a luscious, healthy creature, and won the fancy of Yevsey,
who imagined that a strong savory odor, as of hot rye-bread, emanated
from her. She was an affectionate little person. He loved to question
her about the village and hear her replies in a rapid sing-song. He soon
came to know all her relatives, where each one lived, what was the
occupation of each, and what the wages.
He paid her one of his visits five days later after Sasha had explained
the cause of the uprising. He found her sitting on the bed in the cook's
room adjoining the kitchen. Her face was swollen, her eyes were red, and
her lower lip stuck out comically.
"Good morning," she said sullenly. "We don't want anything. Go. We don't
want anything."
"Did the master insult you?" Yevsey asked. Though he knew the master had
not insulted her, he regarded it as his professional duty to ask just
such questions. His next duty was to sigh and add, "That's the way they
always are. You've got to work for them your whole life long."
Anfisa Petrovna, the cook, a thin, ill-tempered body, suddenly cried
out:
"Her brother-in-law was killed, and her sister was knouted. She had to
be taken to the hospital."
"In St. Petersburg?" Yevsey inquired quietly.
"Yes."
Masha drew in a full breast of air, and groaned, holding her head in her
hands.
"What for?" asked Yevsey.
"Who knows them? A curse upon them!" shrieked the cook, rattling the
dishes in her exasperation. "Why did they kill all those people? That's
what I would like to know."
"It wasn't his fault," Masha sobbed. "I know him. Oh, God! He was a
book-binder, a peaceful fellow. He didn't drink. He made forty rubles a
month. Oh, God! They beat Tania, and she's soon to have a child. It will
be her second child. 'If it's a boy,' she said, 'I'll christen him Foma
in honor of my husband's friend.' And she wanted the friend to be the
child's god-father, too. But they put a bullet through his leg, and
broke his head open, the cursed monsters! May they have neither sleep
nor rest! May they be torn with anguish and with shame! May they choke
in blood, the infernal devils!"
Her words and tears flowed in tempestuous streams. Dishevelled and
pitiful she screamed in desperate rage and scratched her shoulders and
her breast with her nails. Then she flung herself on the bed and buried
her head in the pillow, moaning and trembling convulsively.
"Her uncle sent her a letter from there," said the cook, running about
in the kitchen from the table to the stove and back again. "You ought to
see what he writes! The whole street is reading the letter. Nobody can
understand it. The people marched with ikons, with their holy man, they
had priests--everything was done in a Christian fashion. They went to
the Czar to tell him: 'Father, our Emperor, reduce the number of
officials a little. We cannot live with so many officers and such
burdensome taxes on our shoulders, we haven't enough to pay their
salaries, and they take such liberties with us--the very extreme of
liberties. They squeeze everything out of us they want.' Everything was
honest and open. They had been preparing for this a long time, a whole
month. The police knew of it, yet no one interfered. They went out and
marched along the streets, when suddenly off the soldiers go shooting at
them! The soldiers surrounded them on all sides and shot at them! Hacked
them and trampled them down with their horses--everybody, even the
little children! They kept up the massacre for two days. Think of it!
What does it mean? That the people are not wanted any more? That they
have decided to exterminate them?"
Anfisa's cutting, unpleasant voice sank into a whisper, above which
could now be heard the sputtering of the butter on the stove, the angry
gurgle of the boiling water in the kettle, the dull roaring of the fire,
and Masha's groans. Yevsey felt obliged to answer the sharp questions of
the cook, and he wanted to soothe Masha. He coughed carefully, and said
without looking at anybody:
"They say the Japs arranged the affair."
"S-s-s-o?" the cook cried ironically. "The Japs, the Japs, of course! We
know the Japs. They keep to themselves, they stick in their own home.
Our master explained to us who they are. You just tell my brother about
the Japs. He knows all about them, too. It was scoundrels, not Japs!"
From what Melnikov had said Yevsey knew that the cook's brother Matvey
Zimin worked in a furniture factory, and read prohibited books. Now, all
of a sudden, he was seized with the desire to tell her that the police
knew about Zimin's infidelity to the Czar. But at that minute Masha
jumped down from the bed, and cried out while arranging her hair:
"Of course, they have no way of justifying themselves, so they hit upon
the Japs as an excuse."
"The blackguards!" drawled the cook. "Yesterday in the market somebody
also made a speech about the Japs. Evidently he had been bribed to
justify the officials. One old man was listening, and then you should
have heard what he said about the generals, about the ministers, and
even about the Czar himself. How he could do it without putting the
least check upon himself--no, you can't fool the people. They'll catch
the truth, no matter into what corner you drive it."
Klimkov looked at the floor, and was silent. The desire to tell the cook
that watch was being kept upon her brother now left him. He
involuntarily thought that every person killed had relatives, who were
now just as puzzled as Masha and Anfisa, and asked one another "Why?" He
realized that they were crying and grieving in dark perplexity, with
hatred secretly springing up in their hearts, hatred of the murderers
and of those who endeavored to justify the crime. He sighed and said:
"A horrible deed has been done." At the same time he thought: "But I,
too, am compelled to protect the officials."
Masha giving the door to the kitchen a push with her foot, Yevsey
remained alone with the cook, who looked at the door sidewise, and
grumbled:
"The woman is killing herself. Even her milk is spoiled. This is the
third day she hasn't given nourishment. See here, Thursday next week is
her birthday, and I'll celebrate my birthday then, too. Suppose you come
here as a guest, and make her a present, say, of a good string of beads.
You must comfort a person some way or other."
"Very well. I'll come."
"All right."
Klimkov walked off slowly, revolving in his mind what the women had said
to him. The cook's talk was too noisy, too forward, instantly creating
the impression that she did not speak her own sentiments, but echoed
those of another. As for Masha, her grief did not touch him. He had no
relatives, moreover he rarely experienced pity for people. Nevertheless
he felt that the general revolt everywhere noticeable was reflected in
the outcries of these women, and--the main thing--that such talk was
unusual, inhumanly brave. Yevsey had his own explanation of the event:
fear pushed people one against the other. Then those who were armed and
had lost their senses exterminated those who were unarmed and foolish.
But this explanation did not stand firm in Yevsey's mind, and failed to
calm his soul. He clearly realized from what he had seen and heard that
the people were beginning to free themselves from the thralldom of fear,
and were insistently and fearlessly seeking the guilty, whom they found
and judged. Everywhere large quantities of leaflets appeared, in which
the revolutionists described the bloody days in St. Petersburg, and
cursed the Czar, and urged the people not to believe in the
administration. Yevsey read a few such leaflets. Though their language
was unintelligible to him, he sensed something dangerous in them,
something that irresistibly made its way into his heart, and filled him
with fresh alarm. He resolved not to read any leaflets again.
Strict orders were given to find the printing office in which the
leaflets were printed, and to catch the persons who distributed them.
Sasha swore, and even gave Viekov a slap in the face for something he
had done. Filip Filippovich invited the agents to come to him in the
evenings, in order to deliver speeches to them. He usually sat in the
middle of the room behind his desk, resting the lower half of his arms
upon it, and keeping his long fingers engaged in quietly toying with the
pencils, pens, and papers. The various gems on his hands sparkled in
different colors. From under his black beard gleamed a large yellow
medal. He moved his short neck slowly, and his blue spectacles rested in
turn upon the faces of all present, who meekly and silently sat against
the wall. He scarcely ever rose from his armchair. Nothing but his
fingers and his neck moved. His heavy face, bloated and white, looked
like a face in a portrait; the hairs of his beard seemed glued together.
When silent, he was calm and staid, but the instant he spoke in his thin
voice, which screeched like an iron saw while being filed, everything
about him, the black frockcoat and the order, the gems, and the beard,
seemed to be stuck upon somebody else. Sometimes Yevsey fancied that an
artificial puppet sat in front of him, inside of which was hidden a
little shrivelled-up fellow, resembling a little red devil. If someone
were to shout at the puppet, he imagined, the little devil would be
frightened, and would jump out with a squeak, and leap through the
window.
Nevertheless Yevsey was afraid of Filip Filippovich. In order not to
attract to himself the gobbling look of his blue glasses, he sat as far
as possible from him, trying the entire time not to move.
"Gentlemen," the thin voice trembled in the air. It drove against
Yevsey's breast unpleasantly and coldly, like a gleaming steel rod.
"Gentlemen, you must listen to me carefully. You must remember my words.
In these days everyone of you should put your entire mind, your entire
soul, into the war with the secret and cunning enemy. You should listen
to your orders and fulfil them strictly, though you may act on your own
initiative, too. In the secret war for the life of your mother Russia,
you must know, all means are permissible. The revolutionists are not
squeamish as to the means they employ; they do not stop at murder.
Remember how many of your comrades have perished at their hands. I do
not tell you to kill. No, of course not. I cannot advise such measures.
To kill a man requires no cleverness. Every fool can kill. Yet the law
is with you. You go against the lawless. It would be criminal to be
merciful toward them. They must be rooted out like noxious weeds. I say,
you must for yourselves find out what is the best way to stifle the
rising revolution. It isn't I who demand this of you; it is the Czar and
the country." After a pause during which he examined his rings, he went
on. "You, gentlemen, have too little energy, too little love for your
honest calling. For instance, you have let the old revolutionist
Saydakov slip. I now know that he lived in our city for three and a half
months. Secondly, up to this time you have failed to find the printing
office."
"Without provocators it is hard," someone ventured in an offended tone.
"Don't interrupt, if you please. I myself know what is hard, and what is
easy. Up to this time you have not been able to gather serious evidence
against a whole lot of people known for their seditious tendencies, and
you cannot give me any grounds for their arrest."
"Arrest them without grounds," said Piotr with a laugh.
"What is the object of your facetiousness? I am speaking seriously. If
you were to arrest them without grounds, we should simply have to let
them go again. That's all. And to you personally, Piotr Petrovich, I
want to remark that you promised something a long time ago. Do you
remember? You likewise, Krasavin. You said you had succeeded in becoming
acquainted with a man who might lead you to the Terrorists. Well, and
what has come of it?"
"He turned out to be a cheat. You just wait. I'll do my business,"
Krasavin answered calmly.
"I have no doubt of it whatsoever, but I beg all of you to understand
that we must work more energetically, we must hurry matters up."
Filip Filippovich discoursed a long time, sometimes a whole hour,
without taking breath, calmly, in the same level tone. The only words
that varied the monotonous flow were "You must." The "you" came out
resonantly like a long-drawn hammer-blow, the "must," in a drawled hiss.
He embraced everybody in his glassy blue look. His words fairly choked
Yevsey.
Once at the end of a meeting, when Sasha and Yevsey were the only ones
who remained with Filip Filippovich, Yevsey heard the following
colloquy:
Filip Filippovich (glumly, dejectedly): What idiots they are, though!
Sasha (snuffling): Aha!
Filip Filippovich: Yes, yes, what _can_ they do?
Sasha: It seems that now you are going to learn the value of decent
people.
Filip Filippovich: Well, give them to me. Give them to me.
Sasha: Ah, they cost dear!
Klimkov was neither surprised nor offended. This was not the first time
he had heard the authorities swear at their subordinates. He counted it
in the regular order of life.
The spies after the meetings spoke to one another thus:
"Um, yes, a converted Jew, and just look at him!"
"They say he got a raise of 600 rubles the first of the year."
"The value of our labor is growing."
Sometimes a handsome, richly dressed gentleman by the name of Leontyev
addressed the spies in place of Filip Filippovich. He did not remain
seated, but walked up and down the room holding his hands in his
pockets, politely stepping out of everybody's way. His smooth face,
always drawn in a frown, was cold and repellant, his thin lips moved
reluctantly, and his eyes were veiled.
Another man named Yasnogursky came from St. Petersburg for the same
purpose. He was a low, broad-shouldered, bald man with an order on his
breast. He had a large mouth, a wizened face, heavy eyes, like two
little stones, and long hands. He spoke in a loud voice, smacking his
lips, and pouring out streams of strong oaths. One sentence of his
particularly impressed itself on Yevsey's memory:
"They say to the people, 'You can arrange another, an easy life for
yourselves.' They lie, my children. The Emperor our Czar and our Holy
Church arrange life, while the people can change nothing, nothing."
All the speakers said the same thing: the political agents must serve
more zealously, must work more, must be cleverer, because the
revolutionists were growing more and more powerful. Sometimes they told
about the Czars, how good and wise they were, how the foreigners feared
them and envied them because they had liberated various nations from the
foreign yoke. They had freed the Bulgarians and the Servians from the
oppression of the Turkish Sultan, the Khivans, the Bokharans, and the
Turkomans from the Persian Shah, and the Manchurians from the Chinese
Emperor. As a result, the Germans and the English along with the
Japanese, who were bribed by them, were dissatisfied. They would like to
get the nations Russia had liberated into their own power. But they knew
the Czar would not permit this, and that was why they hated him, why
they wished him all evil, and endeavored to bring about the revolution
in Russia.
Yevsey listened to these speeches with interest, waiting for the moment
when the speakers would begin to tell about the Russian people, and
explain why all of them were unpleasant and cruel, why they loved to
torture one another, and lived such a restless, uncomfortable life. He
wanted to hear what the cause was of such poverty, of the universal
fear, and the angry groans heard on all sides. But of such things no one
spoke.
After one of the meetings Viekov said to Yevsey as the two were walking
in the street:
"So it means that they are getting into power. Did you hear? It's
impossible to understand what it signifies. Just see--here you have
secret people who live hidden, and suddenly they cause general alarm,
and shake everything up. It's very hard to comprehend. From where, I'd
like to know, do they get their power?"
Melnikov, now even more morose and taciturn, grown thin and all
dishevelled, once hit his fist on his knee, and shouted:
"I want to know where the truth is!"
"What's the matter?" asked Maklakov angrily.
"What's the matter? This is the matter: I understand it this way: One
class of officials has grown weak, our class. Now another class gets the
power over the people, that's all."
"And the result is--fiddlesticks!" said Maklakov, laughing.
Melnikov looked at him, and sighed:
"Don't lie, Timofey Vasilyevich. You lie out and out. You are a wise
man, and you lie. I understand."
Thoughts instinctively arose in the dark depths of Yevsey's soul. He did
not realize how they formed themselves, did not feel their secret
growth. They appeared suddenly, in perfect array, and frightened him by
their unexpected apparition. He endeavored to hide them, to extinguish
them for a time, but unsuccessfully. They quietly flashed up again, and
shone more clearly, though their light only cast life into still greater
obscurity. The frequent conversations about the revolutionists blocked
themselves up in his head, creating an insensible sediment in his mind,
a thin strata of fresh soil for the growth of puny thoughts. These
thoughts disquieted him, and drew him gently to something unknown.