The town was in a state of unrest: strikes were in the air, patriotic
demonstrations were held. Its outer environs were visited by
suspicious-looking characters; these distributed proclamations, mostly
of an illiterate nature, in the villages. The proclamations threatened
incendiarism if the peasants did not revolt. The incendiaries were to
be “students,” discharged from the factories on account of the
strikes. The peasants believed the announcement. In some of the
villages watchmen were engaged to catch the incendiaries at night.
Ostrov began to play a noticeable rôle in town. He quickly squandered
the money he received from Trirodov in drink and in other ways. He did
not dare as yet to visit Trirodov again, but appeared to be in an
expectant mood, and remained in town.
It was here that Ostrov met his old friend Yakov Poltinin.
Yakov Poltinin and two other members of the Black Hundred were sent
from the capital at the request of Kerbakh and Zherbenev. The apparent
purpose of this request was to establish a connexion between the local
section of the All-Russian Black Hundred union--organized by Kerbakh,
Zherbenev, and Konopatskaya, the wife of a general--with the central
office of the organization. The actual purpose, however, as understood
by all these respected folk, though they ventured to do little more
than hint of it to one another, was to establish--with the help of the
trio--a patriotic movement; in short, to strike a blow at the
_intelligentsia_.
Yakov Poltinin took Ostrov with him to visit the families of the
patriots. A company of suspicious characters was in town--ready to do
anything they were bidden. Yakov Poltinin led Ostrov also among this
company.
In the course of the company’s friendly carouse at Poltinin’s
apartments in a dirty little house on the outskirts of the town, the
idea of stealing the sacred ikon came into some one’s mind. Poltinin
said:
“There’s no end of precious stones on it of all sorts--diamonds,
sapphires, and rubies. It took hundred of years to collect them.
Little Mother Russia, orthodox Russia, has done her best.”
The thief Potseluytchikov affirmed:
“It’s certainly worth not less than two million.”
“You’re putting it on rather thick,” declared Ostrov incredulously.
“Not at all,” said Poltinin with a knowing look. “Two million is
putting it mildly--it’s more likely worth three.”
“And how are you going to dispose of it?” asked Ostrov.
“I know how,” said Poltinin confidently. “Of course you’d get a trifle
compared with its real value--still we ought to get a half-million out
of it.”
This was followed by blasphemous jests.
Yakov Poltinin had for some time entertained the secret ambition of
accomplishing something on a grand scale, something that would cause a
lot of talk. It is true the murder of the Chief of Police created a
deep impression. Still, it was hardly as important as the affair he
had in mind. To steal and destroy the miracle-working ikon--that would
be something to crow about! Poltinin said:
“The Socialist Revolutionaries are certain to be blamed for it.
Expropriation for party purposes--why not? As for us, no one will even
suspect us.”
“The priests will never get over it,” declared Molin, a former
instructor, who was a drunkard and a thief--a jail-bird deprived of
his legal rights.
The friends began preparations for the projected theft. Now one of
them, now another, developed the habit of frequenting the monastery.
Ostrov especially received an eager welcome there. He pleased, by his
external piety, the older monks who were in authority. There were a
number of convivial monks who were especially fond of Ostrov. The
monks advised him to join the local union of the Black Hundred. They
said that it would be pleasing to God. They engaged him in religious
and patriotic conversations and invited him to drink with them.
Poltinin and Potseluychikov were also well received in the monastery.
Strange threads are woven into the relations of people at times.
Although Piotr Matov met Ostrov under unfriendly circumstances, Ostrov
managed to scrape up an acquaintance even with him. It reached a point
when Piotr even agreed to make a journey with Ostrov to the monastery.
Glafira Pavlovna Konopatskaya, the rich widow of a general, was an
energetic, power-loving woman, and enjoyed considerable influence in
town. She was a most generous contributor to the various enterprises
of the Black Hundred. Her house served as the meeting-place of the
local branch of this All-Russian organization as well as of another
secret society, which bore the elaborate name of “The Union of Active
Combat with Revolution and Anarchy.”
The initiation ceremony of the union was very elaborately exulting.
Especial efforts were made to attract working men. Each new member was
presented with a badge, a Browning revolver, and a little money.
The local patriots used to say about Glafira Pavlovna’s house:
“Here dwells the Russian spirit, here it smells of Russia!”[21]
After the meeting it usually smelt of vodka and shag.
Some of the working men joined these unions for material reasons,
others from ignorance. The Black Hundred had but a few members from
among the working class by conviction. The Union of Active Combat
attracted people who served now one side, now the other, people like
Yakov Poltinin, and even two or three confirmed revolutionaries. They
accepted the Brownings and handed them over to members of
revolutionary organizations. Members of the union did not find this
out until quite late.
Kerbakh and Zherbenev were the most frequent guests at Glafira
Pavlovna’s cosy, hospitable house. Evil tongues made slander of this,
and associated her name now with Kerbakh, now with Zherbenev. But this
was a calumny. Her heart had only a place for a young official who
served as a private secretary to the Governor.
Once after dinner at Konopatskaya’s, Kerbakh and Zherbenev were
telling Glafira Pavlovna about Ostrov. Kerbakh was the first to broach
the subject:
“I have in view a man whom I should like to call to your attention.”
“I too know a lively chap,” said Zherbenev.
Kerbakh, annoyed at the interruption, looked none too amiably at
Zherbenev, and went on:
“He didn’t at all please me at first.”
“My friend also did not appeal to me at the beginning,” said
Zherbenev, who would not stay repressed.
“To look at him you might think that he’s a cut-throat,” said Kerbakh.
“That describes my man too,” announced Zherbenev, as if he were
announcing something gay and pleasant.
“But at heart,” went on Kerbakh, “he is an ingenuous infant and an
enthusiastic patriot.”
“Well, well, and mine’s like that too,” chimed in Zherbenev.
Glafira Pavlovna smiled graciously at both of them.
“Whom are you talking about?” asked Kerbakh at last, rather annoyed at
his companion.
Zherbenev replied:
“There is a chap here--what’s his name? You remember we met him at the
pier some time ago. He was rather interested in Trirodov.”
“You mean Ostrov?” ventured Kerbakh.
“That’s the fellow,” said Zherbenev.
“I also meant him,” said Kerbakh.
“Excellent!” exclaimed Zherbenev. “We seem to agree about him. So you
see, Glafira Pavlovna, we ought to invite him into our union. He would
be a most useful man. Once mention Jews to him and he begins to howl
like a dog on a chain.”
“Of course we ought to have him,” decided Glafira Pavlovna. “It is
just such people that we want.”
That was how Ostrov came to be admitted into the union. He worked very
zealously on its behalf.
One of the chief functions of the Black Hundred was to lodge
information against certain people. They informed the Governor and the
head of the District Schools that Trirodov’s wards had been at the
funeral of the working men killed in the woods.
The colony established by Trirodov had for some time been a source of
great annoyance and scandal to the townsfolk. Complaints had been
lodged with the authorities even earlier. Ostrov communicated
considerable information, mostly invented by himself or by the alert
townsmen. The head of the schools sent an order to the Headmaster of
the National Schools to make an investigation. The Governor took other
measures. Clouds were beginning to gather over Trirodov’s colony.
The union also made no little effort to arouse the hooligan part of
the population against the Jews and against the _intelligentsia_.
The town was in a state of ferment. The Cossacks often paraded the
streets. The working men eyed them with hostility. Some one spread
rumours about town that preparations were being made for an armed
revolt. Trifling causes led to tragic collisions.
One evening the Summer Garden was full of people; they were strolling
or else listening to the music and to the songs in the open-air
theatre. The evening was quiet and the sky still red. Just outside the
rail-fence the dust was flying before the wind, and settled now on the
pointed leaves of the acacia-trees, now on the small, light purple
flowers near the road.
There was a rose-red glow in the sky; the road stretched towards it;
and the grey of the dust mingling with the red glow produced a play of
colour very agreeable to the eye.
A red giant genie broke his vessel with its Solomon’s seal, freed
himself, and stood on the edge of the town; he laughed soundlessly yet
repugnantly. His breath was like the smoky breath of a forest fire.
But he made sentimental grimaces, tore white petals from gigantic
marguerites, and whispered in a hoarse voice which stirred the blood
of the young:
“He loves me--he loves me not; he will cut me up--he will hang me.”
But the people did not see him. They were looking at the sky and
saying:
“How superb! I love nature! And do you love nature?”
Others looked on indifferently and thought that it did not matter. The
lovers of nature bragged before these because they admired the
splendid sunset and were able to enjoy nature. They said to the
others:
“You, old chap, are a dry stick. I suppose you’d rather go to a stuffy
room and play cards.”
The promenaders strolled on, crowding and jostling each other; they
were flaunting their gaiety. There was a cheerful hum, and young
girls, amused by schoolboys and officials, giggled. Grey devilkins
mingled with the crowd, and when the little jokers-pokers hopped on
the girls’ shoulders and poked their shaggy and ticklish little paws
into the corsage under the chemise the girls raised piercing screams.
They were dressed prettily and lightly, in holiday order. Their high
breasts outlined under their coloured textures taunted the youths.
An officer of the Cossacks was among those on the promenade. He had
had a drop too much, which made his face red. He was in a gay mood,
and he began to boast:
“We’ll cut their heads off, yes, of all of them!”
The petty tradesmen treated him to drinks, embraced him, and said to
him:
“Cut their throats. Do us the favour. Make a good job of it. It will
serve these anathemas right too! As for the women and the girls, give
them a hiding--the hotter the better.”
There was a continuous change of amusements, each noisier and duller
than the one before. Now in the theatre, now in the open, they played
a stupid but obscene vaudeville piece, and vicious topical songs were
sung (a thunder of applause); an animated chansonnette-singer
screeched and pulled about with her naked, excessively whitened
shoulders, and winked with her exaggeratedly painted eyes; a woman
acrobat, raising her legs, attired in pink tights, above her head, was
dancing on her hands.
Everything was as if the town were not under guard and as if the
Cossacks were not riding about in the streets.
Suddenly some one in the depth of the garden raised a cry.
A frightful confusion spread among the crowd. Many darted impetuously
towards the exit. Others jumped over the fence. Suddenly the crowd,
with frenzied cries, came sweeping in retreat from the exits back into
the depth of the garden.
Cossacks darted in from somewhere and, crying savagely, made their way
along the garden paths. Their sudden appearance gave the impression
that they were waiting somewhere near by for the command. Their knouts
began to work rapidly. The thin textures upon the girls’ shoulders
were rent apart and delicate bodies were unbared, and beautiful
blue-and-red spots showed themselves on the white-pink skin like
quickly ripened flowers. Drops of blood, large like bilberries,
splattered into the air, which had already quenched its thirst on the
evening coolness, on the odour of the foliage and the aroma of
artificial scents. Delicately shrill, loud sobs were the accompaniment
to the dull, flat lashings of whips across the bodies.
They threw themselves this way and that way, they ran where they
could. Several were caught--ragged young men and girls with short
hair. Two or three of the girls were caught and beaten in error: they
were from the most peaceful, even respected, families in town. These
were afterwards permitted to go free.
The hooligans were making merry in a dirty, ill-smelling beerhouse.
They were celebrating something or another, were jingling their money,
discussing future earnings, and laughing uproariously. One table was
especially absorbed in its noisy gaiety. There sat the celebrated
town-rowdy Nil Krasavtsev with three of his friends. They drank, and
sang hooligan songs, then paid their bill and went out. One could hear
their savage outbursts:
“The Jew dogs are rebels, they are against the Tsar.”
“The Jews want to get hold of everything for themselves.”
“It wouldn’t be a bad thing to cut up a Jewess!”
“The Jews want to take over the whole earth.”
It had grown dark. The hooligans went into the main street, the
Sretenka. It was very quiet, and only a few passers-by were to be met
with; people stood here and there at their gates and talked. A Jewish
widow sat at the gate of a house and chatted with her neighbour, a
Jewish tailor. Her children, a whole throng of them, one smaller than
the other, played about here, deeply wrapt in their own affairs.
Nil walked up to the Jewess and shouted:
“You dog of a Jew, pray to God for the orthodox Tsar!”
“What do you want of me?” cried the Jewess. “I’m not touching you; you
had better go away!”
“What’s that you say?” shouted the hooligan.
A broad knife was lifted in the darkness and, gleaming, came down in a
swoop, piercing the old woman. She gave a quick, shrill cry--and fell
back dead. The Jew, terrified, ran away, filling the night air with
his piteous wails. The children began to whimper. The hooligans
marched off, laughing uproariously.