The White Terror and The Red Part 37

"I don't care if I do," she answered. "Don't nag me, Pashenka, pray."

"But the thing is becoming an _idee fixe_ 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."

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.

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 would she take it then? The question intruded upon Pavel's peace of mind again and again.

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 is pure madness," she said to herself.

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.

He shrugged his shoulders resentfully.

CHAPTER x.x.xV.

A HUNTED PEOPLE.

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 bra.s.s 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.

Members of the congregation who had not been on speaking terms for years had made peace, as a matter of course. 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-pa.s.sengers 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 ma.s.sacres, the exiles, the humiliations, of which one usually thought as something belonging to the province of books exclusively, had suddenly become realities. The b.l.o.o.d.y 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.

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 G.o.d take pity upon us." Nor was there a rush for the door. Quick, noisy movements were carefully avoided in these days.

Some of the worshippers had slowly filed out, when there was a stir, and the crowd scrambled back with terrified faces.

"Two Gentiles are coming, an army officer and a man in civilian clothes," said some of those who came running back.

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.

The "two Gentiles" turned out to be Dr. Lipnitzky 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.

"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 pa.s.sing 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 embarra.s.sment and emotion and his words produced a profound effect. People of his cla.s.s 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.

"We'll be here to-morrow, we'll attend the service. And next Sat.u.r.day, too. Every Sat.u.r.day. We're Jews." He could not go on. Some of his listeners had tears in their eyes. Vladimir was biting his lips nervously.

"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:

"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!"

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.

"We are all Jews, all brethren."

"We'll settle old scores some other time."

"A good heart is as good as piety."

"Yes, but why don't you give the doctor a chance to speak?" Vladimir stepped up to his uncle and pleaded with him.

"Who is he?" said Dr. Lipnitzky with a smile. "Is he crazy?" And flying into a pa.s.sion, 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.

"'The sinner who returns to G.o.d 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.'"

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 had an immediate effect, and then Rabbi Rachmiel said to his nephew, in much milder but deeply grieved accents:

"Do you know what the Talmud says? 'As long as you shall do the will of G.o.d no strange people shall domineer over you, but if you don't do the will of G.o.d, G.o.d will hand you over to a low people, and not merely to a low people, but to the beasts of a low people.'"

"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 appet.i.te for mischief.

Do you understand what I say to you? This is the governor's opinion and mine too. Everybody's."

His auditors nodded vigorous and beaming a.s.sent.

"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 a.s.sured me that if the troops were called out they would protect our people with all their hearts."

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.

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.

"But why should you pay any attention to her?" Dr. Lipnitzky asked.

"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 n.o.blemen, and that it was time Miroslav did like all G.o.d-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 true, doctor? I am only an ignorant workman. What do I know?"

"Yes, it is true, and tell your wife not to mind that woman," answered Dr. Lipnitzky, exchanging a woebegone look with Vladimir.

"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?"

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."

"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 G.o.d 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?"

"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.

"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 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.