The White Terror and The Red Part 40

"As if it was the first time Jewish blood had been shed," he said, answering a question from Pavel, half-heartedly. "The entire history of the Jews is one continuous riot. Indeed, the present outbreaks are a mere flea-bite to what they have undergone before. So, what has happened to make one revise one's views on the movement? One might as well stay away from the _Will of the People_ because, forsooth, Jews were burned by Gentiles in the 15th century. Nonsense."

"Clara doesn't seem to take it quite so easy," Pavel thought to himself.

"Clara has gone to meet her parents," he said, thirsting to talk of her.

"Has she? There may be a riot in Miroslav at any time. I wonder how Zorki is getting along. But then my father will be able to take care of himself,--and of Miriam, too," he added, lukewarmly. The only thing of which he could have spoken with enthusiasm in these days was his program.

Pavel came away hankering for more conversation about his fiancee and about the riots. Instead of seeking rest and safety, as he had promised Clara to do, he coveted a new sort of excitement and danger. He felt that there was something wrong about that crusade, and he had a sportsmanlike craving to see it for himself. Lacking the courage to criticise his party, he accused himself of allowing his revolutionary convictions to be affected by the interests of his love; yet he continued to pray in his heart that the Jews of Miroslav, at least, might be spared. He read all he found in the newspapers about the atrocities, and on taking up a paper he would tremble lest it should contain news of a riot in his birthplace.

When he read of the Miroslav panic he went there at once.

"If it's really a riot she'll never come back to me," he brooded, wretchedly.

The rumours of an impending catastrophe were a.s.suming definite outline in Miroslav. A date was mentioned and tall Great-Russians in red shirts--specialists at the business--were said to have been seen about town. Great-Russia is and has always been strictly without the pale of Jewish settlement, it being one of the characteristic features of the anti-Semitic riots of the period that their leaders were imported from the rabble in those districts in which very few people had an idea what a Jew looked like.

The Jews of Miroslav sent a snug bribe to Pavel's uncle, but their agent came back with the money. The governor had commissioned him to a.s.sure them that everything would be done to make an outbreak impossible, but "grat.i.tude" he would not accept. The Jews took alarm. "If he doesn't eat honey," they said, in the phrase of a current proverb, "then it looks bad indeed." When a deputation of representative men called on him he lost his temper.

"You Jews are too intense, that's what's the trouble with you," he said, blinking his eyes. "I have let you know twice that there is no cause for alarm, yet it seems that it is not enough for you." When he had softened down he talked quite at length, although in a haughty tone of authority and immeasurable aloofness, of the steps he had taken. The main point was that the Jews should not tempt people to lawlessness by betraying anxiety. He delivered quite a lecture on the point. The deputation came away greatly encouraged. They knew of the extensive business relations which the managers of his estates had with Jewish merchants, and they argued, among themselves, that a riot, involving as it usually did the wholesale destruction of Jewish property and a general demoralisation of business, could not but entail serious financial losses upon himself.

This was in keeping with declarations made by the boards of trade at Moscow, Warsaw and Kharkoff, the three chief centres of Russian commerce, regarding the anti-Jewish crusade. These bodies had pointed out the importance of the Jews of the south as the prime movers of local industry, as almost the exclusive connecting link between the south of Russia and the world markets of Germany and England; accordingly, they had protested against the anti-Semitic campaign as a source of ruin to the economic interests of the whole empire. All this the members of the deputation were aware of, so they saw no reason to doubt the sincerity of the governor's pledges. His advice not to put the thought of a riot in the popular mind by a demonstration of timidity produced a strong impression.

The upshot was that the Jews of Miroslav were afraid to be afraid. A singular mood took hold of them. Everybody made an effort to act upon the presumption that Miroslav was immune, that it was in an exceptional position, and at the same time everyone read suspense and mortal fear in the eyes of everyone else. It was like walking in one's stocking feet with a spectacular effect of making a noise. Jewish women still avoided the proximity of Christian men, and a Jewish face that did not look Jewish was still eyed enviously as a shield against violence. The only tangible manifestation of the spirit advocated by the governor was a slight lengthening of business hours. Since the beginning of the panic Jewish tradesmen had been closing their shops before it was quite dark--three or four hours earlier than usual. Now they compromised on keeping them open until the street lamps were lit. Nevertheless those of them who depended on Christian trade continued to treat their customers with a gentleness and a fawning attention that had nothing to do with the ordinary blandishments of the counter. Inveterate rogues among Jewish tradesmen became honest men. On the other hand a most respectable Gentile often yielded to temptation that amounted to downright robbery, while the license of "shady Christian characters" was a.s.serting itself more portentously every day.

A queer story came from one of the suburbs. When three Gentiles wearing red shirts entered an out-of-the-way house to inquire the road, their appearance frightened the two Jewish women they found there out of the place, whereupon one of these, in a frenzy of terror, jumped into a well and was drowned. Meanwhile the three strangers, finding themselves alone, stripped the house of its valuables--a finale which struck the fancy of a notorious thief and his gang, who then put on red shirts and made a practice of plundering Jewish houses after scaring away their occupants. The thief was known as Petroucha Sivoucha, which, foregoing the rhyme, may be rendered as Cheap Vodka Pete. When he was arrested at last he said, impersonating a simple-minded peasant:

"But it was only Jewish stuff and everybody says a Gentile is welcome to it nowadays, that such is the will of our little father, the Czar."

The riots continued to spread, and while they did, General Ignatyeff, the new Minister of the Interior, announced measure after measure against the Jews. In a country where every official is perpetually craning his neck toward the capital, it was only natural that an att.i.tude like this on the part of the Minister of the Interior should create an atmosphere of anti-Semitic partiality amid which justice to the Jew became impossible. Ignatyeff knew of the widespread rumour as to the existence of an imperial ukase ordering the peasantry to plunder and commit violence upon the Jews. Apart from his official sources of information, the newspapers were full of instances showing the effect of that rumour, yet he did nothing to stop it or to disabuse the minds of the peasantry in that connection. This was interpreted by the officials as a sign that the rumour was not meant to be stopped, and it was not.

Governor Boulatoff's encouraging answers to the Jews of his province brought to Miroslav hundreds of people from other towns. Some of these were victims of former atrocities, left without shelter in their native places; others had not yet been through an anti-Semitic outbreak, but dreaded one.

While people from other provinces were flocking to Miroslav in quest of safety the leading Miroslav families were quietly sending their wives and children abroad and taking their valuables to the government bank.

The offices of Dr. Lipnitzky and of Sender the Arbitrator, Vladimir's father, were visited by scores of panic-stricken people daily.

"The rich people put their money and their plate in the bank," said a teamster's wife to Vladimir and his father, "but what shall we do with our traps?"

"Don't worry, my dear woman, there will be no riot in Miroslav," the Arbitrator rea.s.sured her.

"It's all very well to say don't worry," the woman retorted sharply.

"You people can afford to say it, because your house is safe. But if they kill my husband's horse and destroy his truck, we'll have to go begging. It did not come easy, I can a.s.sure you." She burst into tears.

"The years that it has taken to save it all up, the pinching, the scrimping--all in order that a thousand ghosts might have something to grab. And what are we going to do with ourselves? Where shall we hide?

As to my husband and myself, well, all they can do is to kill us, but how about the children?" And again she burst into sobs.

When an old woman who had two unmarried daughters, "both as handsome as a tree," described her despair concerning them, Vladimir's mother invited the girls to stay with her until the storm was over. And then scores of other mothers begged her, with heart-breaking lamentations and kisses, to take pity on their daughters also; which she could not do for sheer lack of room.

The Vigdoroffs felt reasonably safe because Rasgadayeff, their Gentile landlord and friend, was sure to keep the marauders away. Indeed, the example of all previous outbreaks had shown that in most cases it was enough for any Gentile to tell the rioters that he was the proprietor of the house and that there were no Jews on his premises for them to pa.s.s cordially on, and Rasgadayeff was one of the conspicuous and popular figures in the Gentile community of the town. It is true that he was looking forward to an anti-Semitic upheaval with joy himself, but his liking for the Vigdoroffs was sincere.

Vladimir's father went about among his depositors asking to be relieved of their money, jewelry or silver spoons. They refused to accept it.

Finally he moved his iron safe to Rasgadayeff's apartment.

Vladimir was in despair. He felt it quite likely that the panic should be father to a catastrophe, as the governor had said. Once when he spoke in this strain at his father's table, his mother remarked with light irony:

"Look at the brave man. Look at the Cossack of straw."

The retort struck cruelly home. He knew that his heart grew faint every time the anti-Semitic mobs pictured themselves vividly in his brain, although often, indeed, he had a queer feeling as if it would be disappointing to see Miroslav left out of the list of towns that were sharing in the tragic notoriety of the year, and visioned himself going through the experiences of a most brutal outbreak without facing its dangers. The tragedy of his people filled his heart. He watched them in their terror, in their misery, in their clinging despairing love of their children; he studied their frightened look, their shrinking, tremulous att.i.tudes. Every Jewish woman he met struck him as a hunted bird, on the alert for the faintest sound, trembling over the fate of her nest. He saw many of them packing their things to flee, they did not know whither. Indeed, the whole historical life of his race seemed to have been spent in packing, in moving, in fleeing without knowing whither. "Oh, my poor, my unhappy people!" Vladimir said to himself, in a spasm of agony, yet with a glow of pleasure in calling them his people. In his heart of hearts he knew that while he told everybody to take courage his own mind was barren of conviction as to what was the best thing to do. He felt crushed. He lost his head.

One day, as Vladimir walked along the street, his attention was arrested by a rough-looking young man who was circling round him, and scrutinising him now on this side, now on that. He felt annoyed. He was not sure that the young man was a Jew, and as he asked him sternly, "What are you looking at?" he was conscious of a little qualm of timidity.

"Excuse me, sir," the other answered, in Yiddish. "I saw you at the synagogue that Friday night. Do you remember?"

They paused. The young man had the manner of a Jewish horse-driver or blacksmith. He was robust and broad-shouldered with small very spa.r.s.e teeth, somewhat bow-legged and somewhat cross-eyed. His coat was literally in tatters and gave off a strong smell of herring.

"Well?" asked Vladimir.

"I have been wanting to see you, sir, only I have been too bashful." He gave a smile, his tongue showing between his spa.r.s.e teeth.

Vigdoroff rather liked his manner and invited him to his father's house.

On their way thither the young man said that his name was Zelig and that he was a cooper by trade, making a specialty of herring barrels. When they found themselves alone in Vladimir's room, Zelig grew still more bashful, and after surveying the room, to make sure that they were not overheard, he said:

"I want to belong to the committee."

"What committee?"

"You need not be on the lookout with me, sir; I am no babbler."

It appeared that there was a defence committee in town, with educated young men at the head, and that in case of a riot it was expected to fight "to the last drop of a fellow's blood," as Zelig phrased it. That there should be such a thing in Miroslav without him being so much as aware of its existence hurt Vladimir keenly.

"I don't know anything about it," he said, blankly.

"Don't you really?" said Zelig. "I was sure you were in it and that you could get me in, too. Why, everybody knows about it. Only the committee is strict, because if the police hears of it, they'll all be arrested.

It's against the law." As he offered him more detail of the matter he became patronisingly enthusiastic and confided to him the names of Elkin and of several university students now on their vacation as the organisers and leaders of the movement. Vladimir knew these young men and his pain became sharper still.

"But what good will it do?" he said, drily. "It will only lead to trouble."

"Trouble! The idea of an educated man speaking like that! Can there be more trouble than the Jews are in now? I don't see why we should sell ourselves so cheap. Once we are going to be licked, why act like a lot of sticks? Let us pay them for their bother at least. Come what may, when they attack us, let us go to work and crack their skulls at least--with lumps of iron, clubs or even pistols. Let us fondle them so that a ghost may get into every bone of theirs." His words were accompanied with mighty swings of his shoulders and arms and these gesticulations of his had a peculiar effect on Vladimir. They stirred his blood, they hypnotised him. "What is the danger? They'll kill us?

Let them. As if the life of a Jew were worth living! Besides, aren't they killing and maiming us anyhow?"

"But look here," Vigdoroff said seriously. "The governor has promised us protection and he is perfectly sincere about it. Now if he learns that our people take the law in their own hands, it may do us great harm. It is a very serious matter."

"Spit upon him, sir! I'm an uneducated man, but the governor--a ghost into his father's father!--may all he wishes the Jews befall his own head."

"That's all true enough, but now he has promised us protection, and an organisation of that kind is against the law and may lead to trouble,"

Vigdoroff said with perfunctory irritation.

"And an organisation of rioters is not against the law? And robbing and killing innocent people is not against the law? Long life to you, sir; you're so wise, so educated and yet you are speaking like a baby. Look here, sir! If the governor--a plague take him--is as good as his word, and he does not allow the riot to get started, well and good. Then we'll call the bargain off. But suppose he proves to be neither better nor worse than all governors?"

Zelig knew of a number of other Jewish artisans who were anxious to join the "committee," and he urged Vigdoroff to visit their gathering and to give them a talk like the one Zelig had heard from him at the Synagogue on that Friday night. "Oh, that was sweet as sugar," he said, kissing two of his dirty fingers. "You see, when it comes to striking a scoundrel's snout such a blow as will set his eyes raining sparks, we want no help. That we can manage ourselves, but we are only common people, and when a smart man like you says a couple of words, they simply go melting in a fellow's bones."