The town was in a state of unrest: strikes were in the air, patriotic demonstrations were held. Its outer environs were visited by suspicious-looking characters; these distributed proclamations, mostly of an illiterate nature, in the villages. The proclamations threatened incendiarism if the peasants did not revolt. The incendiaries were to be “students,” discharged from the factories on account of the strikes. The peasants believed the announcement. In some of the villages watchmen were engaged to catch the incendiaries at night.

Ostrov began to play a noticeable rÔle in town. He quickly squandered the money he received from Trirodov in drink and in other ways. He did not dare as yet to visit Trirodov again, but appeared to be in an expectant mood, and remained in town.

It was here that Ostrov met his old friend Yakov Poltinin.

Yakov Poltinin and two other members of the Black Hundred were sent from the capital at the request of Kerbakh and Zherbenev. The apparent purpose of this request was to establish a connexion between the local section of the All-Russian Black Hundred union—organized by Kerbakh, Zherbenev, and Konopatskaya, the wife of a general—with the central office of the organization. The actual purpose, however, as understood by all these respected folk, though they ventured to do little more than hint of it to one another, was to establish—with the help of the trio—a patriotic movement; in short, to strike a blow at the intelligentsia.

Yakov Poltinin took Ostrov with him to visit the families of the patriots. A company of suspicious characters was in town—ready to do anything they were bidden. Yakov Poltinin led Ostrov also among this company.

In the course of the company’s friendly carouse at Poltinin’s apartments in a dirty little house on the outskirts of the town, the idea of stealing the sacred ikon came into some one’s mind. Poltinin said:

“There’s no end of precious stones on it of all sorts—diamonds, sapphires, and rubies. It took hundred of years to collect them. Little Mother Russia, orthodox Russia, has done her best.”

The thief Potseluytchikov affirmed:

“It’s certainly worth not less than two million.”

“You’re putting it on rather thick,” declared Ostrov incredulously.

“Not at all,” said Poltinin with a knowing look. “Two million is putting it mildly—it’s more likely worth three.”

“And how are you going to dispose of it?” asked Ostrov.

“I know how,” said Poltinin confidently. “Of course you’d get a trifle compared with its real value—still we ought to get a half-million out of it.”

This was followed by blasphemous jests.

Yakov Poltinin had for some time entertained the secret ambition of accomplishing something on a grand scale, something that would cause a lot of talk. It is true the murder of the Chief of Police created a deep impression. Still, it was hardly as important as the affair he had in mind. To steal and destroy the miracle-working ikon—that would be something to crow about! Poltinin said:

“The Socialist Revolutionaries are certain to be blamed for it. Expropriation for party purposes—why not? As for us, no one will even suspect us.”

“The priests will never get over it,” declared Molin, a former instructor, who was a drunkard and a thief—a jail-bird deprived of his legal rights.

The friends began preparations for the projected theft. Now one of them, now another, developed the habit of frequenting the monastery. Ostrov especially received an eager welcome there. He pleased, by his external piety, the older monks who were in authority. There were a number of convivial monks who were especially fond of Ostrov. The monks advised him to join the local union of the Black Hundred. They said that it would be pleasing to God. They engaged him in religious and patriotic conversations and invited him to drink with them.

Poltinin and Potseluychikov were also well received in the monastery.

Strange threads are woven into the relations of people at times. Although Piotr Matov met Ostrov under unfriendly circumstances, Ostrov managed to scrape up an acquaintance even with him. It reached a point when Piotr even agreed to make a journey with Ostrov to the monastery.

Glafira Pavlovna Konopatskaya, the rich widow of a general, was an energetic, power-loving woman, and enjoyed considerable influence in town. She was a most generous contributor to the various enterprises of the Black Hundred. Her house served as the meeting-place of the local branch of this All-Russian organization as well as of another secret society, which bore the elaborate name of “The Union of Active Combat with Revolution and Anarchy.”

The initiation ceremony of the union was very elaborately exulting. Especial efforts were made to attract working men. Each new member was presented with a badge, a Browning revolver, and a little money.

The local patriots used to say about Glafira Pavlovna’s house:

“Here dwells the Russian spirit, here it smells of Russia!”21

After the meeting it usually smelt of vodka and shag.

Some of the working men joined these unions for material reasons, others from ignorance. The Black Hundred had but a few members from among the working class by conviction. The Union of Active Combat attracted people who served now one side, now the other, people like Yakov Poltinin, and even two or three confirmed revolutionaries. They accepted the Brownings and handed them over to members of revolutionary organizations. Members of the union did not find this out until quite late.

Kerbakh and Zherbenev were the most frequent guests at Glafira Pavlovna’s cosy, hospitable house. Evil tongues made slander of this, and associated her name now with Kerbakh, now with Zherbenev. But this was a calumny. Her heart had only a place for a young official who served as a private secretary to the Governor.

Once after dinner at Konopatskaya’s, Kerbakh and Zherbenev were telling Glafira Pavlovna about Ostrov. Kerbakh was the first to broach the subject:

“I have in view a man whom I should like to call to your attention.”

“I too know a lively chap,” said Zherbenev.

Kerbakh, annoyed at the interruption, looked none too amiably at Zherbenev, and went on:

“He didn’t at all please me at first.”

“My friend also did not appeal to me at the beginning,” said Zherbenev, who would not stay repressed.

“To look at him you might think that he’s a cut-throat,” said Kerbakh.

“That describes my man too,” announced Zherbenev, as if he were announcing something gay and pleasant.

“But at heart,” went on Kerbakh, “he is an ingenuous infant and an enthusiastic patriot.”

“Well, well, and mine’s like that too,” chimed in Zherbenev.

Glafira Pavlovna smiled graciously at both of them.

“Whom are you talking about?” asked Kerbakh at last, rather annoyed at his companion.

Zherbenev replied:

“There is a chap here—what’s his name? You remember we met him at the pier some time ago. He was rather interested in Trirodov.”

“You mean Ostrov?” ventured Kerbakh.

“That’s the fellow,” said Zherbenev.

“I also meant him,” said Kerbakh.

“Excellent!” exclaimed Zherbenev. “We seem to agree about him. So you see, Glafira Pavlovna, we ought to invite him into our union. He would be a most useful man. Once mention Jews to him and he begins to howl like a dog on a chain.”

“Of course we ought to have him,” decided Glafira Pavlovna. “It is just such people that we want.”

That was how Ostrov came to be admitted into the union. He worked very zealously on its behalf.

One of the chief functions of the Black Hundred was to lodge information against certain people. They informed the Governor and the head of the District Schools that Trirodov’s wards had been at the funeral of the working men killed in the woods.

The colony established by Trirodov had for some time been a source of great annoyance and scandal to the townsfolk. Complaints had been lodged with the authorities even earlier. Ostrov communicated considerable information, mostly invented by himself or by the alert townsmen. The head of the schools sent an order to the Headmaster of the National Schools to make an investigation. The Governor took other measures. Clouds were beginning to gather over Trirodov’s colony.

The union also made no little effort to arouse the hooligan part of the population against the Jews and against the intelligentsia.

The town was in a state of ferment. The Cossacks often paraded the streets. The working men eyed them with hostility. Some one spread rumours about town that preparations were being made for an armed revolt. Trifling causes led to tragic collisions.

One evening the Summer Garden was full of people; they were strolling or else listening to the music and to the songs in the open-air theatre. The evening was quiet and the sky still red. Just outside the rail-fence the dust was flying before the wind, and settled now on the pointed leaves of the acacia-trees, now on the small, light purple flowers near the road.

There was a rose-red glow in the sky; the road stretched towards it; and the grey of the dust mingling with the red glow produced a play of colour very agreeable to the eye.

A red giant genie broke his vessel with its Solomon’s seal, freed himself, and stood on the edge of the town; he laughed soundlessly yet repugnantly. His breath was like the smoky breath of a forest fire. But he made sentimental grimaces, tore white petals from gigantic marguerites, and whispered in a hoarse voice which stirred the blood of the young:

“He loves me—he loves me not; he will cut me up—he will hang me.”

But the people did not see him. They were looking at the sky and saying:

“How superb! I love nature! And do you love nature?”

Others looked on indifferently and thought that it did not matter. The lovers of nature bragged before these because they admired the splendid sunset and were able to enjoy nature. They said to the others:

“You, old chap, are a dry stick. I suppose you’d rather go to a stuffy room and play cards.”

The promenaders strolled on, crowding and jostling each other; they were flaunting their gaiety. There was a cheerful hum, and young girls, amused by schoolboys and officials, giggled. Grey devilkins mingled with the crowd, and when the little jokers-pokers hopped on the girls’ shoulders and poked their shaggy and ticklish little paws into the corsage under the chemise the girls raised piercing screams. They were dressed prettily and lightly, in holiday order. Their high breasts outlined under their coloured textures taunted the youths.

An officer of the Cossacks was among those on the promenade. He had had a drop too much, which made his face red. He was in a gay mood, and he began to boast:

“We’ll cut their heads off, yes, of all of them!”

The petty tradesmen treated him to drinks, embraced him, and said to him:

“Cut their throats. Do us the favour. Make a good job of it. It will serve these anathemas right too! As for the women and the girls, give them a hiding—the hotter the better.”

There was a continuous change of amusements, each noisier and duller than the one before. Now in the theatre, now in the open, they played a stupid but obscene vaudeville piece, and vicious topical songs were sung (a thunder of applause); an animated chansonnette-singer screeched and pulled about with her naked, excessively whitened shoulders, and winked with her exaggeratedly painted eyes; a woman acrobat, raising her legs, attired in pink tights, above her head, was dancing on her hands.

Everything was as if the town were not under guard and as if the Cossacks were not riding about in the streets.

Suddenly some one in the depth of the garden raised a cry.

A frightful confusion spread among the crowd. Many darted impetuously towards the exit. Others jumped over the fence. Suddenly the crowd, with frenzied cries, came sweeping in retreat from the exits back into the depth of the garden.

Cossacks darted in from somewhere and, crying savagely, made their way along the garden paths. Their sudden appearance gave the impression that they were waiting somewhere near by for the command. Their knouts began to work rapidly. The thin textures upon the girls’ shoulders were rent apart and delicate bodies were unbared, and beautiful blue-and-red spots showed themselves on the white-pink skin like quickly ripened flowers. Drops of blood, large like bilberries, splattered into the air, which had already quenched its thirst on the evening coolness, on the odour of the foliage and the aroma of artificial scents. Delicately shrill, loud sobs were the accompaniment to the dull, flat lashings of whips across the bodies.

They threw themselves this way and that way, they ran where they could. Several were caught—ragged young men and girls with short hair. Two or three of the girls were caught and beaten in error: they were from the most peaceful, even respected, families in town. These were afterwards permitted to go free.

The hooligans were making merry in a dirty, ill-smelling beerhouse. They were celebrating something or another, were jingling their money, discussing future earnings, and laughing uproariously. One table was especially absorbed in its noisy gaiety. There sat the celebrated town-rowdy Nil Krasavtsev with three of his friends. They drank, and sang hooligan songs, then paid their bill and went out. One could hear their savage outbursts:

“The Jew dogs are rebels, they are against the Tsar.”

“The Jews want to get hold of everything for themselves.”

“It wouldn’t be a bad thing to cut up a Jewess!”

“The Jews want to take over the whole earth.”

It had grown dark. The hooligans went into the main street, the Sretenka. It was very quiet, and only a few passers-by were to be met with; people stood here and there at their gates and talked. A Jewish widow sat at the gate of a house and chatted with her neighbour, a Jewish tailor. Her children, a whole throng of them, one smaller than the other, played about here, deeply wrapt in their own affairs.

Nil walked up to the Jewess and shouted:

“You dog of a Jew, pray to God for the orthodox Tsar!”

“What do you want of me?” cried the Jewess. “I’m not touching you; you had better go away!”

“What’s that you say?” shouted the hooligan.

A broad knife was lifted in the darkness and, gleaming, came down in a swoop, piercing the old woman. She gave a quick, shrill cry—and fell back dead. The Jew, terrified, ran away, filling the night air with his piteous wails. The children began to whimper. The hooligans marched off, laughing uproariously.