_Tuesday, 3 a.m._--I reopen these pages to note an ironic climax to
this bitter day. Through the excitement of Paul's coming I had not
read my letters. After sitting here in a numb trance for hours, I
suddenly bethought me of them. One is from my business man, informing
me that he has just sold the South American stock, respecting which I
gave him _carte blanche_. I go to bed richer by five thousand roubles.
* * * * *
_Odessa, Wednesday Night._--Six months have passed. I am on the free
list of the _Novoe Vremia_. Almost every day brings me a fresh stab as
I read. But I am a "constant reader." It is my penance, and I bear it
as such. After a long silence, I have just had a letter from Nicholas
Alexandrovitch, and I reopen my diary to note it. He is about to marry
a prosperous widow, and is going over to Catholicism. He writes he is
very happy. Lucky, soulless being. He does not know he will be a
richer man when I die. Happily, I am ready, though it were to-day. My
peace is made, I hope, with God and man, though Paul knows nothing
even now. He could not fail to learn it, though, if he came to Odessa
again. I have bribed the spies and the clergy heavily. Thanks to their
silence, I am one of the most prominent Jews of the town, and nobody
dreams of connecting me with the trenchant editor of the _Novoe
Vremia_. I see now that I could have acted so all along, if I had not
been such a coward. But I keep Paul away. It is my last cowardice. In
a postscript Nicholas writes that Paul's articles are causing a great
sensation in the remotest parts of Russia. Alas, I know it. Are there
not anti-Jewish riots in all parts, encouraged by cruel Government
measures? Do not the local newspapers everywhere reproduce Paul's
printed firebrands? Have I not the pleasure of coming across them
again in our own Odessa papers, in the _Wiertnik_ and the _Listok_? I
should not wonder if we had an outbreak here. There was a little
affray yesterday in the _pereouloks_ of the Jewish quarter, though we
are quiet enough down this way.... Great God! What is that noise I
hear?... Yes! it is! it is! "Down with the _Zhits_! Down with the
_Zhits_!" There is red on the horizon. _Bozhe moi!_ It is flame!
_Voi!_ They are pillaging the Jewish quarter. The sun sinks in blood,
as on that unhappy day among the village hills.... _Ach!_ Paul, Paul!
Why did I not stop your murderous pen?... But if not you, another
would have written.... No, that is no excuse.... Forgive me, O God, I
have been weak. Ever weak and cowardly from the day I first deserted
Thee, even unto this day.... I am not worthy of my blood, of my
race.... They are coming this way. It goes through me like a knife.
"Down with the _Zhits_! Down with the _Zhits_!" And now I see them.
They are mad, drunk with the vodka they have stolen from the Jewish
inns. Great God! They have knives and guns. And their leader is
flourishing a newspaper and shouting out something from it. There are
soldiers among them, and sailors, native and foreign, and mad muzhiks.
Where are the police?... The mob is passing under my window. _God pity
me, it is Paul's words they are shouting._... They have passed. No
one thinks of me. Thank God, I am safe. I am safe from these demons.
What a narrow escape!... Ah, God, they have captured Rabbi Isaac and
are dragging him along by his white beard toward the barracks. My
place is by his side. I will rouse my brethren. We are not a few. We
will turn on these dogs and rend them. _Proshchai_, my loved diary.
Farewell! I go to proclaim the Unity.