§4
V. was not at home. He had gone to Moscow the evening before, for an interview with the Governor; his valet said that he would certainly return within two hours. I waited for him.
The country-house which he occupied was charming. The study where I waited was a high spacious room on the ground-floor, with a large door leading to a terrace and garden. It was a hot day; the scent of trees and flowers came from the garden; and some children were playing in front of the house and laughing loudly. Wealth, ease, space, sun and shade, flowers and verdure—what a contrast to the confinement and close air and darkness of a prison! I don’t know how long I sat there, absorbed in bitter thoughts; but suddenly the valet who was on the terrace called out to me with an odd kind of excitement.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Please come here and look.”
Not wishing to annoy the man, I walked out to the terrace, and stood still in horror. All round a number of houses were burning; it seemed as if they had all caught fire at once. The fire was spreading with incredible speed.
I stayed on the terrace. The man watched the fire with a kind of uneasy satisfaction, and he said, “It’s spreading grandly; that house on the right is certain to be burnt.”
There is something revolutionary about a fire: fire mocks at property and equalises fortunes. The valet felt this instinctively.
Within half an hour, a whole quarter of the sky was covered with smoke, red below and greyish black above. It was the beginning of those fires which went on for five months, and of which we shall hear more in the sequel.
At last V. arrived. He was in good spirits, very cordial and friendly, talking of the fires past which he had come and of the common report that they were due to arson. Then he added, half in jest: “It’s Pugatchóv[[63]] over again. Just look out, or you and I will be caught by the rebels and impaled.”
[63]. The leader of a famous rebellion in Catherine’s reign. Many nobles were murdered with brutal cruelty.
“I am more afraid that the authorities will lay us by the heels,” I answered. “Do you know that Ogaryóv was arrested last night by the police?”
“The police! Good heavens!”
“That is why I came. Something must be done. You must go to the Governor and find out what the charge is; and you must ask leave for me to see him.”
No answer came, and I looked at V. I saw a face that might have belonged to his elder brother—the pleasant colour and features were changed; he groaned aloud and was obviously disturbed.
“What’s the matter?” I asked.
“You know I told you, I always told you, how it would end. Yes, yes, it was bound to happen. It’s likely enough they will shut me up too, though I am perfectly innocent. I know what the inside of a fortress is like, and it’s no joke, I can tell you.”
“Will you go to the Governor?”
“My dear fellow, what good would it do? Let me give you a piece of friendly advice: don’t say a word about Ogaryóv; keep as quiet as you can, or harm will come of it. You don’t know how dangerous affairs like this are. I frankly advise you to keep out of it. Make what stir you like, you will do Ogaryóv no good and you will get caught yourself. That is what autocracy means—Russian subjects have no rights and no means of defence, no advocates and no judges.”
But his brave words and trenchant criticisms had no attractions for me on this occasion: I took my hat and departed.