CHAPTER XV
A few weeks later Klimkov began to feel freer and more at ease. Every morning, warmly and comfortably dressed, with a box of small wares on his breast, he went to receive orders either at one of the cafés where the spies gathered, or at a police office, or at the lodging of one of the spies. The directions given him were simple and distinct.
"Go to such and such a house. Get acquainted with the servants. Find out how the masters live."
If he succeeded in penetrating to the kitchen of the given house, he would first try to bribe the servants by the cheap price of the goods and by little presents. Then he would carefully question them about what he had been ordered to learn. When he felt that the information gathered was insufficient, he filled up the deficiency from his own head, thinking it out according to the plan draughted for him by the old, fat, and sensual Solovyov.
"These men in whom we are interested," Solovyov once said in a smug, honey-sweet voice, "all have the same habits. They do not believe in God, they do not go to church, they dress poorly, but they are civil in their manners. They read many books, sit up late at night, often have gatherings of guests in their lodgings, but drink very little wine, and do not play cards. They speak about foreign countries, about systems of government, workingmen's socialism and full liberty for the people. Also about the poor masses, declaring it is necessary to stir them up to revolt against our Czar, to kill out the entire administration, take possession of the highest offices, and by means of socialism again introduce serfdom, in which they will have complete liberty." The warm voice of the spy broke off. He coughed and heaved a sentimental sigh. "Liberty – everybody likes and wants to have liberty. But if you give me liberty, maybe I'll become the first villain in the world. That's it. It is impossible to give even a child full liberty. The Church Fathers, God's saints, even they were subject to temptations of the flesh, and they sinned in the very highest. People's lives are held together, not by liberty but by fear. Submission to law is essential to man. But the revolutionists reject law. They form two parties. One wants to make quick work with the ministers and the faithful subjects of the Czar by means of bombs, etc. The other party is willing to wait a little; first they'll have a general uprising, then they'll kill off everybody at once." Solovyov raised his eyes pensively, and paused an instant. "It is difficult for us to comprehend their politics. Maybe they really understand something. But for us everything they propose is an obnoxious delusion. We fulfil the will of the Czar, the anointed sovereign of God. And he is responsible for us before God, so we ought to do what he bids us. In order to gain the confidence of the revolutionists you must complain, 'Life is very hard for the poor, the police insult them, and there's no sort of law.' Although they are people of villainous intent, yet they are credulous, and you can always catch them with that bait. Behave cannily toward their servants; for their servants aren't stupid, either. Whenever necessary, reduce the price of your goods, so that they will get used to you and value you. But guard against exciting suspicion. They will begin to think, 'What is it? He sells very cheap, and asks prying questions.' The best thing for you to do is to strike up friendships. Take a little dainty, hot, full-breasted thing, and you'll get all sorts of good information from her. She will sew shirts for you, and invite you to spend the night with her, and she will find out whatever you order her to. You know – a tiny, soft little mouse. You can stretch your arm a long distance through a woman."
This round man, hairy-handed, thick-lipped, and pock-marked, spoke about women more frequently than the others. He would lower his soft voice to a whisper, his neck would perspire, his feet would shuffle uneasily, and his eyes, minus eyebrows and eyelashes, would fill with warm, oily moisture. Yevsey with his sharp scent observed that Solovyov always smelt of hot, greasy, decayed meat.
In the chancery the spies had been spoken of as people who know everything, hold everything in their hands, and have friends and helpers everywhere. Though they could seize all the dangerous people at once, they were not doing so simply because they did not wish to deprive themselves of a position. On entering the Department of Safety everyone swore an oath to pity nobody, neither father, mother, nor brother, nor to speak a word to one another about the sacred and awful business which they vowed they would serve all their lives.
Consequently Yevsey had expected to find sullen personalities. He had pictured them as speaking little in words unintelligible to simple people, as possessing the miraculous perspicacity of a sorcerer, able to read a man's thoughts and divine all the secrets of his life.
Now from his sharp observation of them he clearly saw they were not unusual, nor for him either worse or more dangerous than others. In fact, they seemed to live in a more comradely fashion than was common. They frankly spoke of their mistakes and failures, even laughed over them. All without exception were equally fervent in swearing at their superiors, though with varying degrees of malice.
Conscious of a close bond uniting them they were solicitous for one another. When it happened that someone was late for a meeting or failed to appear at all, there was a general sense of uneasiness about the absentee, and Yevsey, Zarubin, or someone of the numerous group of "novices," or "assistants" was sent to look for the lost man at another gathering place.
A stranger observing them would have been instantly struck by the lack of greed for money among the majority and the readiness to share money with comrades who had gambled it away or squandered it in some other fashion. They all loved games of hazard, took a childish interest in card tricks, and envied the cleverness of the card-sharper.
They spoke to one another with ecstasy and acute envy of the revelries of the officials, described in detail the bodies of the lewd women known to them, and hotly discussed the various processes of the sexual relation. Most of them were unmarried, almost all were young, and for everyone of them a woman was something in the nature of whiskey – to give him ease and lull him to sleep. Women brought them relief from the anxiety of their dog's work. Almost all kept indecent photographs in their pockets, and looked at them with greed while talking obscenities. Such discussion roused in Yevsey a sharp, intoxicating curiosity, sometimes incredulity and nausea. He soon came to know that some of the spies practised pederasty and sodomy, and that very many were infected with secret diseases. All of them drank much, mixing wine with beer, and beer with cognac, in an effort to get drunk as quickly as possible.
Only a few of them put hot enthusiasm, the passion of the hunter, into their work. These boasted of their skill, swelling with pride as they described themselves as heroes. The majority, however, did their work wearily, with an air of being bored.
Their talks about the people whom they hunted down like beasts were seldom marked by the fierce hatred that boiled in Sasha's conversation like a seething hot-spring. One who was different from the rest was Melnikov, a heavy, hairy man with a thick, bellowing voice, who walked with oddly bent neck and spoke little. His dark eyes were always straining, as if in constant search. The man seemed to Yevsey ever to be thinking of something terrible. Krasavin and Solovyov also contrasted with the others, the one by his cold malice, the other by the complacent satisfaction with which he spoke about fights, blood-shed, and women.
Among the youth the most noticeable was Yakov Zarubin, who was constantly fidgetting about and constantly running up to the others with questions. When he listened to the conversations about the revolutionists he knitted his brows in anger and jotted down notes in his little note-book. He tried to be of service to all the important spies, though it was evident that no one liked him and that his book was regarded with suspicion.
The larger number spoke indifferently about the revolutionists, sometimes denouncing them as incomprehensible men of whom they were sick, sometimes referring to them in fun as to amusing cranks. Occasionally, too, they spoke in anger as one speaks of a child who deserves punishment for impudence. Yevsey began to imagine that all the revolutionists were empty people who were not serious, and did not themselves know what they wanted, but merely brought disturbance and disorder into life.
Once Yevsey asked Piotr:
"There, you said the revolutionists are being bribed by the Germans, and now they say differently."
"What do you mean by 'differently?'" Piotr demanded angrily.
"That they are poor and stupid, and nobody says anything about the Germans."
"Go to the devil, brother! Isn't it all the same to you? Do what you are told to do. Your color is the diamond, and you go with diamonds."
Matters of business were discussed in a lazy, unwilling way, and "You don't understand anything, brother," was a common rejoinder of one spy to another.
"And you?" would be the counter-retort.
"I keep quiet."
Klimkov tried to keep as far away as possible from Sasha. The ominous face of the sick man frightened him, and the smell of iodoform and the snuffling, cantankerous voice disgusted him.
"Villains!" cried Sasha swearing at the officials. "They are given millions, and toss us pennies. They squander hundreds of thousands on women and on various genteel folk, who, they want us to believe, work for the good of society. But it's not the gentry that make revolutions – you must know that, idiots, – the revolution grows underneath, in the ground, among the people. Give me five millions, and in one month I'll lift the revolution up above ground into the street. I'll carry it out of the dark corners into the light of day. Then – choke it!"
Sasha always contrived horrible schemes for the extermination of the noxious people. While devising them he stamped his feet, extended his trembling arms, and tore the air with his yellow fingers, while his face turned leaden, his red eyes grew strangely dim, and the spittle spurted from his mouth.
All, it was evident, looked upon him with aversion and feared him, though they were anxious to conceal the repulsion produced by his disease. Maklakov alone calmly avoided close intercourse with the sick man. He did not even give him his hand in greeting. Sasha, in his turn, who ridiculed everybody, who swore at all his comrades, setting them down as fools, plainly put Maklakov in a category by himself. He was always serious in his intercourse with the spy, and apparently spoke to him with greater will than to the rest. He did not abuse him even behind his back.
Once when Maklakov had walked out without, as usual, taking leave of him, he cried:
"The nobleman is squeamish. He doesn't want to come near me. He has the right to be, the devil take him! His ancestors lived in lofty rooms, they breathed rarefied air, ate healthful food, wore clean undergarments. He, too, for that matter. But I am a muzhik. I was born and brought up like an animal, in filth, among lice, on coarse black bread made of unbolted meal. His blood is better than mine, yes, indeed, both the blood and the brain; and the brain is the soul." After a pause he added in a lower voice, gloomily, without ridicule, "Idiots and impostors speak of the equality of man. The aristocrat preaches equality because he is an impudent scoundrel, and can't do anything himself. So of course he says, 'you are just as good a man as I am. Act so that I shall be able to live better.' This is the theory of equality."
Sasha's talks did not evoke a response from the other spies. They failed to be moved by his excitement, and listened to his growling in indifferent silence. He received sulky support, however, from one, the large Melnikov, who acted as a detective among workingmen.
"Yes," Melnikov would say, "they are all deceivers," and nod his dark unkempt head in confirmation while vigorously clenching his hairy fist.
"They ought to be killed, as the muzhiks kill horse thieves," screamed Sasha.
"To kill may be a little too much, but sometimes it would be delicious to give a gentleman a box on the ear," said Chashin, a celebrated billiard player, curly-haired, thin, and sharp-nosed. "Let's take this example. About a week ago I was playing in Kononov's hotel with a gentleman. I saw his face was familiar to me, but all chickens have feathers. He stared at me in his turn. 'Well,' thinks I, 'look. I don't change color.' I fixed him for three rubles and half a dozen beers, and while we were drinking he suddenly rose, and said, 'I recognize you. You are a spy. When I was in the university,' he said, 'thanks to you,' he said, 'I had to stick in prison four months. You are,' he said, 'a scoundrel.' At first I was frightened, but soon the insult gnawed at my heart. 'You sat in prison not at all thanks to me, but to your politics. And your politics do not concern me personally. But let me tell you that on your account I had to run about day and night hunting you in all sorts of weather. I had to stick in the hospital thirteen days.' That's the truth. The idea for him to jump on me! The pig, he ate himself fat as a priest, wore a gold watch, and had a diamond pin stuck in his tie."
Akim Grokhotov, a handsome fellow, with a face mobile as an actor's observed:
"I know men like that, too. When they are young, they walk on their heads; when the serious years come, they stay at home peacefully with their wives, and for the sake of a livelihood are even ready to enter our Department of Safety. The law of nature."
"Among them are some who can't do anything besides revolutionary work. Those are the most dangerous," said Melnikov.
"Yes, yes," shot from Krasavin, who greedily rolled his oblique eyes.
Once Piotr lost a great deal in cards. He asked in a wearied, exasperated tone:
"When will this dog's life of ours end?"
Solovyov looked at him, and chewed his thick lips.
"We are not called upon to judge of such matters. Our business is simple. All we have to do is to take note of a certain face pointed out by the officials, or to find it ourselves, gather information, make observations, give a report to the authorities, and let them do as they please. For all we care they may flay people alive. Politics do not concern us. Once there was an agent in our Department, Grisha Sokovnin, who also thought about such things, and ended his life in a prison hospital where he died of consumption."
Oftenest the conversation took some such course as the following:
Viekov, a wig-maker, always gaily and fashionably dressed, a modest, quiet person, announced:
"Three fellows were arrested yesterday."
"Great news!" someone responded indifferently.
But Viekov whether or no would tell his comrades all he knew. A spark of quiet stubbornness flared up in his small eyes as he continued in an inquisitive tone:
"The gentlemen revolutionists, it seems, are again hatching plots on Nikitskaya Street – great goings-on."
"Fools! All the janitors there are old hands in the service."
"Much help they are, the janitors!"
"Hmm, yes, indeed."
"However," said Viekov cautiously, "a janitor can be bribed."
"And you, too. Every man can be bribed – a mere matter of price."
"Did you hear, boys, Siekachev won seven hundred rubles in cards yesterday."
"How he smuggles the cards!"
"Yes, yes. He's no sharper, but a young wizard."
Viekov looked around, smiled in embarrassment, then silently and carefully smoothed his clothes.
"A new proclamation has appeared," he announced another time.
"There are lots of proclamations. The devil knows which of them is new."
"There's a great deal of evil in them."
"Did you read it?"
"No. Filip Filippovich says there's a new one, and he's mad."
"The authorities are always mad. Such is the law of nature," remarked Grokhotov with a smile.
"Who reads those proclamations?"
"They're read all right – very much so."
"Well, what of it? I have read them, too, yet I didn't turn black. I remained what I was, a red-haired fellow. It's not a matter of proclamations, it's a matter of bombs."
"Of course."
"A proclamation doesn't explode."
Evidently, however, the spies did not like to speak of bombs, for each time they were mentioned, all made a strenuous effort to change the subject.
"Forty thousand dollars' worth of gold articles were stolen in Kazan."
"There's something for you!"
"Forty thousand! Whew!"
"Did they catch the thieves?" someone asked in great excitement.
"They'll get caught," prophesied another sorrowfully.
"Well, before that happens they'll have a good time."
A mist of envy enveloped the spies, who sank in dreams of revelries, of big stakes, and costly women.
Melnikov was more interested than the others in the course of the war. Often he asked Maklakov, who read the newspapers carefully:
"Are they still licking us?"
"They are."
"But what's the cause?" Melnikov exclaimed in perplexity, rolling his eyes. "Aren't there people enough, or what?"
"Not enough sense," Maklakov retorted drily.
"The workingmen are dissatisfied. They do not understand. They say the generals have been bribed."
"That's certainly true," Krasavin broke in. "None of them are Russians," – he uttered an ugly oath – "what's our blood to them?"
"Blood is cheap," said Solovyov, and smiled strangely.
As a rule the spies spoke of the war unwillingly, as if constrained in one another's presence, and afraid of uttering some dangerous word. On the day of a defeat they all drank more whiskey than usual, and having gotten drunk quarreled over trifles.
On such days Yevsey trying to avoid possible brawls made his escape unnoticed to his empty room, and there thought about the life of the spies. All of them – and there were many, their numbers constantly increasing – all of them seemed unhappy. They were all solitary, and he pitied them with his colorless pity. Nevertheless he liked to be among them and listen to their talk.
At the meetings Sasha boiled over and swore:
"Monstrosities! You understand nothing. You can't understand the significance of the business. Monstrosities!"
In answer some smiled deprecatingly, others maintained sullen silence.
"For forty rubles a month you can't be expected to understand very much," one would sometimes mutter.
"You ought to be wiped off the face of the earth," shrieked Sasha.
Klimkov began to dislike Sasha more and more, strengthened in his ill-will by the fact that nobody else cared for the diseased man.
Many of the spies were actually sick from the constant dread of attacks and death. Fear drove some, as it had Yelizar Titov, into an insane asylum.
"I was playing in the club yesterday," said Piotr, in a disconcerted tone, "when I felt something pressing on the nape of my neck and a cold shiver running up and down my back-bone. I looked around. There in the corner stood a tall man looking at me as if he were measuring me inch by inch. I could not play. I rose from the table, and I saw him move. I backed out, and ran down the stairs into the yard and out into the street. I took a cab, sat in it sidewise, and looked back. Suddenly the man appeared from somewhere in front of me, and crossed the street under the horse's very nose. Maybe it wasn't he. But in such a case you can't think. How I yelled! He stopped, and I jumped out of the cab, and off I went at a gallop, the cabman after me. Well, how I did run, the devil take it!"
"Such things happen," said Grokhotov, smiling. "I once hid myself for a similar reason in the yard. But it was still more horrible there, so I climbed up to a roof, and sat there behind the chimney until daybreak. A man must guard himself against another man. Such is the law of nature."
Krasavin once entered pale and sweating with staring eyes.
"They were following me," he announced gloomily, pressing his temples.
"Who?"
"They."
Solovyov endeavored to calm him.
"Lots of people walk the streets, Gavrilo. What's that to you?"
"I could tell by the way they walked they were after me."
For more than two weeks Yevsey did not see Krasavin.
The spies treated Klimkov good-naturedly, and their occasional laughter at his expense did not offend him, for when he was grieved over his mistakes, they comforted him:
"You'll get used to the work."
He was puzzled as to when the spies did their work, and tried to unriddle the problem. They seemed to pass the greater part of their time in the cafés, sending novices and such insignificant fellows as himself out for observations.
He knew that besides all the spies with whom he was acquainted there were still others, desperate, fearless men, who mingled with the revolutionists, and were known by the name of provocators. There were only a few such men, but these few did most of the work, and directed it entirely. The authorities prized them very highly, while the street spies, envious of them, were unanimous in their dislike of the provocators because of their haughtiness.
Once in the street Grokhotov pointed out a provocator to Yevsey.
"Look, Klimkov, quick!"
A tall sturdy man was walking along the pavement. His fair hair combed back fell down beautifully from under his hat to his shoulders. His face was large and handsome, his mustache luxuriant. His soberly clad person produced the impression of that of an important, well-fed gentleman of the nobility.
"You see what a fellow?" said Grokhotov with pride. "Fine, isn't he? Our guard. He delivered up twenty men of the bomb. He helped them make the bombs himself. They wanted to blow up a minister. He taught them, then delivered them up. Clever piece of business, wasn't it?"
"Yes," said Yevsey, amazed at the man's stately appearance so unlike that of the busy, bustling street spies.
"That's the kind they are, the real ones," said Grokhotov. "Why, he would do for a minister; he has the face and figure for it. And we – what are we? Poverty-stricken dependents upon a hungry nobleman."
Yevsey sighed. The magnificent spy aroused his envy.
Ready to serve anybody and everybody for a good look or a kind word, he ran about the city obediently, searched, questioned, and informed. If he succeeded in pleasing, he rejoiced sincerely, and grew in his own estimation. He worked much, made himself very tired, and had no time to think.
Maklakov, reserved and serious, seemed better and purer to Yevsey than any person he had met up to that time. He always wanted to ask him about something, and tell him about himself – such an attractive and engaging face did this young spy have.
Once Yevsey actually put a question to him:
"Timofey Vesilyevich, how much do the revolutionists receive a month?"
A light shadow passed over Maklakov's bright eyes.
"You are talking nonsense," he answered, not in a loud voice, but angrily.
The days passed quickly, in a constant stir, one just like the other. At times Yevsey felt they would file on in the same way far into the future – vari-colored, boisterous