The Created Legend by Fyodor Sologub (ebook reader color screen TXT) 📕

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 cutthroat,” 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. Someone 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