A YOUNG man had been seized with seditious publications. It was the first political arrest in Miroslav, and the report was spreading in a maze of shifting versions. This much seemed certain: the prisoner pretended to be a deaf-mute and so far the gendarmes and the procureur had failed to disclose his identity. The local newspaper dared not publish the remotest allusion to the matter.
Countess Anna Nicolayevna Varova (Varoff) first heard the news from her brother-in-law, the governor, and although the two belonged to that exceptional minority which usually discussed topics of this character in their normal voices, yet it was in subdued tones that the satrap broached the subject. Anna Nicolayevna offered to send for Pavel, who had recently arrived from St. Petersburg, after an absence of three years, but the governor checked her.
“Never mind, Annette,” he said, impatiently, “I’ve dropped in for a minute 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 how clever 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 those youngsters 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?” she asked, in dismay. “Did they? Bless me! That’s all that’s wanted. If there is one there must be a whole nest of them.” She made a gesture of horror—“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 immune from that plague at least.” And seeing his worried look she added: “I hope it’s nothing serious, George.”
Governor Boulatoff shook his head. “I don’t think it is. Although you never can tell nowadays. You never can tell,” he repeated, blinking absently. “The Armenian doesn’t seem to be cleaning those fellows out quite so rapidly as one thought he would, does he? They are playing the devil 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,” she consoled him.
The old man proceeded to quote from Loris-Melikoff’s recent declarations, which the countess had heard him satirise several times before. “‘In the coöperation of the public,’” he declaimed theatrically, “‘lies the main force capable of assisting the government in its effort to restore a normal flow of official life.’ Do you understand what all this jugglery means? That we are knuckling down to a lot of ragamuffins. It means an official confession that the ‘flow of official life’ has been checked by a gang of rascally college boys. ‘The public is the main force capable of assisting the government!’ Charming, isn’t it? Might as well invite ‘the public’ to be so kind and elect representatives, deputies, or what you may call ’em, start a parliament and have it over with.”