III
"What sort of worries? Surely not these trifles?" He nodded towards the manifesto.
"I can bring you as many of them as you like; I made their acquaintance in X province."
"You mean at the time you were staying there?"
"Of course, it was not in my absence.
I remember there was a hatchet printed at the top of it.
Allow me." (He took up the manifesto.) "Yes, there's the hatchet here too; that's it, the very same."
"Yes, here's a hatchet.
You see, a hatchet."
"Well, is it the hatchet that scares you?"
"No, it's not... and I am not scared; but this business... it is a business; there are circumstances."
"What sort?
That it's come from the factory?
He he!
But do you know, at that factory the workpeople will soon be writing manifestoes for themselves."
"What do you mean?" Von Lembke stared at him severely.
"What I say.
You've only to look at them.
You are too soft, Andrey Antonovitch; you write novels.
But this has to be handled in the good old way."
"What do you mean by the good old way? What do you mean by advising me?
The factory has been cleaned; I gave the order and they've cleaned it."
"And the workmen are in rebellion.
They ought to be flogged, every one of them; that would be the end of it."
"In rebellion?
That's nonsense; I gave the order and they've cleaned it."
"Ech, you are soft, Andrey Antonovitch!"
"In the first place, I am not so soft as you think, and in the second place..." Von Lembke was piqued again.
He had exerted himself to keep up the conversation with the young man from curiosity, wondering if he would tell him anything new.
"Ha ha, an old acquaintance again," Pyotr Stepanovitch interrupted, pouncing on another document that lay under a paper-weight, something like a manifesto, obviously printed abroad and in verse.
"Oh, come, I know this one by heart,
'A Noble Personality.'
Let me have a look at it—yes,
'A Noble Personality' it is.
I made acquaintance with that personality abroad.
Where did you unearth it?"
"You say you've seen it abroad?" Von Lembke said eagerly.
"I should think so, four months ago, or may be five."
"You seem to have seen a great deal abroad." Von Lembke looked at him subtly.
Pyotr Stepanovitch, not heeding him, unfolded the document and read the poem aloud:
"A NOBLE PERSONALITY
"He was not of rank exalted, He was not of noble birth,
He was bred among the people In the breast of Mother Earth. But the malice of the nobles And the Tsar's revengeful wrath Drove him forth to grief and torture On the martyr's chosen path. He set out to teach the people Freedom, love, equality,
To exhort them to resistance; But to flee the penalty Of the prison, whip and gallows,
To a foreign land he went. While the people waited hoping From Smolensk to far Tashkent, Waited eager for his coming
To rebel against their fate, To arise and crush the Tsardom And the nobles' vicious hate, To share all the wealth in common, And the antiquated thrall Of the church, the home and marriage To abolish once for all."
"You got it from that officer, I suppose, eh?" asked Pyotr Stepanovitch.
"Why, do you know that officer, then, too?"
"I should think so.
I had a gay time with him there for two days; he was bound to go out of his mind."