The White Terror and The Red: A Novel of Revolutionary Russia by Abraham Cahan

  CHAPTER XI.

  A MYSTERIOUS ARREST.

  A young man had been seized with seditious publications. It was thefirst political arrest in Miroslav, and the report was spreading in amaze of shifting versions. This much seemed certain: the prisonerpretended to be a deaf-mute and so far the gendarmes and the procureurhad failed to disclose his identity. The local newspaper dared notpublish the remotest allusion to the matter.

  Countess Anna Nicolayevna Varova (Varoff) first heard the news from herbrother-in-law, the governor, and although the two belonged to thatexceptional minority which usually discussed topics of this character intheir normal voices, yet it was in subdued tones that the satrapbroached the subject. Anna Nicolayevna offered to send for Pavel, whohad recently arrived from St. Petersburg, after an absence of threeyears, but the governor checked her.

  "Never mind, Annette," he said, impatiently, "I've dropped in for aminute or two, in passing, don't you know. He called on me yesterday,Pasha. Quite a man. Tell him he must look in again and let me see howclever he is. Quite a man. How time does fly!" Then sinking his voice,he asked: "Have you heard of the fellow they've bagged? One of thoseyoungsters who are scaring St. Petersburg out of its wits, you know."

  He gave a laugh and fell to blinking gravely.

  "What do you mean, George? Did the gendarmes catch a Nihilist?" sheasked, in dismay. "Did they? Bless me! That's all that's wanted. Ifthere is one there must be a whole nest of them." She made a gesture ofhorror--"But who is he, what is he?"

  "That I know no more than you do."

  "Well, it's too bad, it's really too bad. I thought Miroslav was immunefrom that plague at least." And seeing his worried look she added: "Ihope it's nothing serious, George."

  Governor Boulatoff shook his head. "I don't think it is. Although younever can tell nowadays. You never can tell," he repeated, blinkingabsently. "The Armenian doesn't seem to be cleaning those fellows outquite so rapidly as one thought he would, does he? They are playing thedevil with things, that's what they are doing." "One" and "they"referred to the Emperor and his advisers.

  "Pooh, they'll weary of that parvenu, it's only a matter of time," sheconsoled him.

  The old man proceeded to quote from Loris-Melikoff's recentdeclarations, which the countess had heard him satirise several timesbefore. "'In the cooperation of the public,'" he declaimed theatrically,"'lies the main force capable of assisting the government in its effortto restore a normal flow of official life.' Do you understand what allthis jugglery means? That we are knuckling down to a lot of ragamuffins.It means an official confession that the 'flow of official life' hasbeen checked by a gang of rascally college boys. 'The public is the mainforce capable of assisting the government!' Charming, isn't it? Mightas well invite 'the public' to be so kind and elect representatives,deputies, or what you may call 'em, start a parliament and have it overwith."

  Anna Nicolayevna made another attempt to bring the conversation back tothe political prisoner, but her visitor was evidently fighting shy ofthe topic.

  "Birch-rods, a good, smart flogging, that's what the public needs," heresumed, passionately gnashing his teeth, in response to his ownthoughts.

  "Oh, don't say that, George. After all, one lives in the nineteenthcentury."

  But this only spurred him on.

  The arrest having been ordered from St. Petersburg, the implication wasthat the presence of the revolutionist in town had escaped the attentionof the local authorities. So Governor Boulatoff, who had had noexperience in cases of this kind, wondered whether the affair was notlikely to affect his own standing. Besides, the governor of Kharkoff hadrecently been killed, and Boulatoff was asking himself whether thearrest of the unknown man augured the end of his own peace of mind. Thishe kept to himself, however, and having found some relief inanimadverting upon the policy of Loris-Melikoff he took leave.

  * * * * *

  The countess was left with a pang of sympathy for her brother-in-law.Not that she had any clear idea of the political situation at which hewas forever scoffing and carping. She felt sure that his low spiritswere traceable to loneliness, and her compassion for him revivedheart-wringing memories of his dead wife, her sister.

  The young prince was out in the garden romping about with Kostia, hishalf-brother, now a ten-year-old cadet on sick leave. Anna Nicolayevnawent to take a look at them through the open window of a rear room. Thegarden was so jammed with fresh-tinted lilacs, so flooded with theirscent, that it seemed like an explosion of color and fragrance. TwoGermans were at work with picks and spades. From an invisible spot wherea new summer house was being constructed came sounds of sawing andhammering, while the air near the window rang with a multitudinoustwitter of sparrows. Pavel was trying to force Kostia into awheelbarrow, the boy kicking and struggling silently, and a huge shaggydog barking at Pavel ferociously.

  "Come in, Pasha. I want to speak to you," said Anna Nicolayevna.

  The return indoors was a race, in which the gigantic dog took part. Theconvalescent little cadet was beaten.

  "Wait till I get well," he said.

  "Wait nothing. Your excellency will be rolling along like a water-melonall the same. Good-bye, Monsieur le Water-melon!"

  Presently Pavel stood before his mother, mopping his flushed, laughingface.

  "Do you remember his 'express trains' in the garden?" he said. "Now itis beneath his dignity, to be sure." He was always trying to prove tohimself that the present Kostia and the five-year-old boy he used tofondle five years ago were one and the same person.

  "He's right," said the countess. "He's a baby no longer. It's you whoare acting like one. Uncle has been here. He was in a hurry, so I didn'tsend for you." Her serious-minded, intellectual son inspired her with acertain feeling of timidity. She had not the courage to bring up thesubject of the political arrest. Her mind was so vague on matters ofthis kind, while Pavel was apparently so well informed and so profound,she was sure of making a poor showing. So she told herself that it wasnot a proper topic to discuss in a well-ordered family and kept her owncounsel.

  "I didn't know he was here," he said.

  "Poor man! he seems to be feeling lonely."

  Pavel made no reply.

  "Why, don't you think he does?"

  "What matters it whether I do or not," he said, lightly.

  "You haven't a bit of heart, Pasha."

  He would not be drawn into conversation, treating everything she saidwith an inscrutable, somewhat patronising flippancy that nettled her. Atlast he said he was going out.

  "'Looking up old chums' again?" she asked. "And does it mean that youare going to dine out once more?"

  "I'll try not to, mother," he answered, with a fond smile in his bright,aggressive eyes.

  His small slender figure, beautifully erect, and his upward-tending,frank features haunted her long after he left. She felt like a jealousbride. Otherwise he kept her thoughts tinged with sunshine. A greatattachment on quite new terms had sprung up between mother and son sincehis arrival. At the same time he seemed to belong to a world which shewas at a loss to make out. Nor did he appear disinclined to talk of hislife in St. Petersburg--a subject upon which she was continually plyinghim with questions. The trouble was that the questions that beset hermind could no more be formulated than a blind man can formulate hiscuriosity as to colour. Moreover, all these questions seemed to comecrowding upon her when Pavel was away and to vanish the moment she seteyes on him. She told herself that he belonged to a differentgeneration from hers, that it was the everlasting case of "fathers andsons." But this only quickened her jealousy of the "sons" and herdespair at being classed with the discarded generation. And the keenerher jealousy, the deeper was her interest in Pasha.