CHAPTER XXXVI.
A PAPER FROM THE CZAR.
A large crowd of peasants, in tall straw hats, many of them with theirwhips in their hands, congregated in front of the bailiff's office atZorki. It was a sultry afternoon in August. A single shirt of coarsewhite linen and a pair of trousers of the same material were all theclothes the men wore. The trousers were very wide and baggy but drawntight at the bottom by means of strings, so that they dropped at theankles blouse-fashion, and the loose-fitting shirt fell over thetrousers with a similar effect. Most of the shirts were embroidered inred and blue. Sometimes, as a result of special rivalry among the youngwomen, one village will affect gaudier embroidery and more of it thanits neighbours. This could be seen now at one corner of the crowd wherea group of peasants, all from the same place, defined itself by theflaming red on the upper part of their sleeves. There were women, too,in the crowd, the girls in wreaths of artificial flowers and all of themin ribbons and coral beads, though some of them were barefoot.
A strong smell of primitive toil emanated from their bodies; primitiveideas and primitive interests looked out of their eyes. The northernmoujik--the Great, or "real," Russian--who speaks the language ofTurgeneff and Tolstoy, has less poetry than the Little-Russian, but healso has less cunning and more abandon. To be sure, the cunning of theZorki peasant is as primitive as his whole mind. Very few men in thecrowd now standing in front of the bailiff's office could have managedto add such two numbers as six and nineteen, or to subtract the weightof an empty pail from the weight of a pail of honey. Their book-keepingconsists of notches on the door-jamb, and their armour in the battle oflife is a cast-iron distrustfulness.
At last the bailiff made his appearance, adjusted the straps of hissword across his breast, and asked what they wanted. A tall old fellowwith a drooping steel-grey moustache came out of the crowd, hat in hand,and bowed deeply, as he said:
"It's like this, your nobleness. We wish to know when that paper fromthe Czar about the Jews will be read to us?"
"What paper from the Czar?" the bailiff asked. "What are you talkingabout?" He was a dry-boned man, but ruddy-faced and with very narrowalmond-shaped eyes. As he now looked at the crowd through the sharpafternoon glare his eyes glistened like two tiny strips of burnishedmetal.
"Your nobleness need not be told what paper. It's about beating the Jewsand taking away their goods."
The scene was being watched by several Jews, plucky fellows who had comein the interests of their people at the risk of being the first victimsof mob fury. Among these was Yossl, Makar's father, at once the mostintellectual and strongest looking man in the delegation. In themeantime the other Jews, stupefied and sick with fear, had closed theirshops and dwellings and were hiding in cellars and in garrets, in theruins of an old church and in the woods. Two women gave birth tostillborn children during the commotion, one of these at the bedside ofher little boy who was too sick to be moved.
"You are a fool," the bailiff said to the spokesman, with a smile, as heraised his narrow eyes in quest of some Gentile with whom he might sharethe fun. "You are a lot of fools. Better go home. There is no such paperin the world. Whoever told you there was?"
"Why, everybody says so. In most places they finished the job long ago.Only we are a lot of slow coaches, people say. And then, when the higherauthorities find out about it, who will be fined or put in jail? We,poor peasants. As if we did not have troubles enough as it is."
"What will you be put in jail for?" asked the bailiff, chuckling tohimself.
Here a younger peasant whispered in the spokesman's ear not to lethimself be bamboozled.
Speaking with unwonted boldness, born of the conviction that the bailiffwas suppressing a document of the Czar, the tall fellow said:
"You can't fool us, your nobleness. We are only peasants, but what weknow we know." And he went on to enumerate villages where, according torumour, the paper had already been read and acted upon. "Althoughuneducated, yet we are not such fools as your nobleness takes us for. Ifit is a ukase direct from the Czar we aren't going to take chances, sir.Not we, sir. Better read it to us and let's be done with it. We have notime to waste, sir."
One of the Jews was going to make a suggestion, but he was shouted downand waved aside.
The bailiff made a gesture of amused despair and turned to go back, whenthe peasants stepped forward, and chattering excitedly, they gave himto understand that they would not let him go until he had shown them theimperial ukase. The purport of their remonstrance was to the effect thatthe Jews had bribed him to suppress the document. The bailiff took itall good-naturedly. In his heart of hearts he was looking forward to thesport of an anti-Jewish outbreak with delight; but the noise brought thelocal priest upon the scene--a kindly elderly man with the face of awhimpering peasant girl. He was a victim of official injustice himselfand he implored the crowd to listen to reason. His face, at once comicand piteous, was the main cause of his failures. He was a well-educatedpriest, yet he was kept in this obscure town. His sacerdotal locks,meant to be long and silken, hung in stiff, wretched little clumps.Nevertheless, as he now stood in his purple broad-sleeved gown,appealing to the multitude of white figures, his cross sparkling in thesun, the spectacle was like a scene of the early days of Christianity.
"It is a great sin to circulate wicked falsehoods like that and it isjust as much of a sin to credit them," he said in a pained heartfeltvoice. "Ours is a good Czar. He does not command his children to doviolence to human beings."
"Oh, well, little father," one peasant broke in. "You don't seem to haveheard of it. That's all. If the Czar has not ordered it, then why dothey beat the Jews everywhere else and the police and soldiers stand byand see to it that they do the work well?"
The bailiff burst into a horse-laugh and slapped his knees violently.The priest's face bore a look of despair.
"Can it be that you believe such foolishness?" he said.
"What do we know? We are only common people. All we do know is thatwhatever happens it is our skin that is peeled off. If we can't get thepaper we'll do our duty without it."
"That's it, without it!" the others chimed in in excited chorus.
Further parleying made it clear that many of them had no inclination todo any personal harm to the Jews or to their property. They were onfriendly terms with their Jewish neighbours, and all they wanted was toget rid of a disagreeable duty. The rest, about half of the entirecrowd, had had their heads turned with stories of lakes of vodka andfabulous piles of loot, but even these proved susceptible to argument.
"Here," Yossl shouted at the top of his voice and with great fervour. "Ihave a scheme, and what will you lose by it if you hear me out? If youdon't like it, I'll take it back and it won't cost you a cent." Theintensity of his manner took them by storm. He was allowed to finish."My scheme amounts to this: The Jews will sign a paper taking uponthemselves all responsibility for your failure to smash their shops andhouses, so that if the authorities call you to account for violating theimperial ukase, we will answer and you will come out clear."
First there was perplexed stillness, then a murmur of distrust, andfinally a tumult of rejection.
"Crafty Jew! There must be some trick in it!" they yelled sneeringly.
The priest was wiping the perspiration from his forehead. Finally heshouted huskily:
"Very well, I'll sign such a paper."
After some more arguing, the plan, in its amended form, was adopted. Theolder men flaunted their experience by insisting upon a formal"certificate" bearing the priest's official seal and signature, so thatwhen the Czar's inspectors arrived the peasants might have somethingtangible to present. When all this had been complied with, there wassome portentous talk about the Jews sprinkling the bargain with vodka;but having followed the "little father's" advice in the main point thepeasants were now in a yielding mood toward him generally, and the vodkashops being closed, he had no difficulty in getting them to go homesober.
A large number of them had to cross
the river. To occupy their mindswhile they were waiting for the ferry--a small antediluvian affair whichcould only accommodate about one-fifth of the crowd at a time--thepriest asked them for a song. And then the quiet evening air resoundedwith those pensive, soulful strains which for depth of melancholy havescarcely an equal in the entire range of folk-music. Thus the men whomight now have been frenzied with the work of pillage, devastation and,perhaps, murder, stood transfixed with the poetry of anguish and pity.Race distinctions and ukases--how alien and unintelligible these thingswere to the world in which their souls dwelt at this minute! The glintof the water grew darker every second. The men on the ferry continuedtheir singing. Then somebody on the other side joined in and the melodyspread in all directions. The fresh ringing treble of a peasant girl,peculiarly doleful in its high notes, came from across the water. Achoir of invisible choirs, scattered along both banks, sang to the nightof the sadness of human existence.
The Jews returned from their hiding-places, but very few of them went tobed that night. The tragedy in many houses was intensified by thecircumstance that the heads of these families were absent from the town,having gone to the Good Jew for prayer and advice as to the spreadingcalamity. Weinstein's spacious rooms were full of neighbours and theirfamilies. The presence of the man whom one had been accustomed to regardas a monument of worldly power had a special attraction for the poorerPietists this evening. Besides, one dreaded the hallucinations ofsolitude and in Weinstein's house one was sure to find company. Most ofthem sat in the large prayer room, keeping close to each other,conversing in subdued, melancholy voices, comfortable in the communityof their woe, as though content to remain in this huddle until the endof time. Yossl was curling his black side-locks morosely. The otherpeople in the room importuned him for details of the scene in front ofthe bailiff's office, but he was not in the mood for speaking. Weinsteinwas snapping his fingers at his own florid neck, as he walked backwardand forward. Presently Maria, his Gentile servant, who spoke goodYiddish, addressed him, with sad, sympathetic mien:
"Master dear," she said in Yiddish. "Will you let me break a couple ofwindows?"
He did not understand.
"You see," she explained bursting into tears. "If they get at me becauseI did not smash things in your house, I'll be able to swear that I did."For an instant he stood surveying her, then, in a spasm of rage andmisery, he shrieked out:
"Why, certainly! Go ahead! Break, smash, everything you set your eye on.You are the princess, we are only Jews. Go smash the whole house." Andin his frenzy he went breaking windows and chairs, shrieking as he didso:
"Here! Look and let your heart rejoice."
"Madman," Yossl said calmly, "you'll alarm the town. They'll think it'sa riot and the Gentiles will join in."
Weinstein sat down pale and panting. "Go and tell your people to comeand delight in the sight of a Jew's broken windows," he said to theGentile woman.
She put her hands to her face and left the room sobbing.
The White Terror and The Red: A Novel of Revolutionary Russia Page 37