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Of his last crime, since it was useless for him to deny anything, he spoke freely and in detail, but in answer to questions about his past, he merely gritted his teeth, whistled, and said: "Search for the wind of the fields!" When he was annoyed in cross-examination, Tsiganok assumed a serious and dignified air: "All of us from Oryol are thoroughbreds," he would say gravely and deliberately.
All such genuine, friendly people with no nonsense about you." "Where are you going to now?" asked Vera. "I am going now to my mother's at Oryol; I shall be a fortnight with her, and then back to Petersburg and work." "And then?" "And then? I shall work all the winter and in the spring go somewhere into the provinces again to collect material.
"Yes, an estate, that would be nice," said his wife, sitting down and dropping her hands in her lap. "Somewhere in the Tula or Oryol provinces.... In the first place we shouldn't need a summer villa, and besides, it would always bring in an income." And pictures came crowding on his imagination, each more gracious and poetical than the last.
"Oryol and Kroma are the homes of first-class thieves. Karachev and Livna are the breeding-places of thieves. And Yeletz is the parent of all thieves. Now what else is there to say?" He was black-haired, lean, with yellow spots on his prominent, "Tartar-like" cheek-bones.
In another letter there is a postscript: "When you are next in Oryol, buy me six-hundred weight of various ropes, reins, and traces," and on the same page: "'Tender art thou, and the whole thing is charming. You have never done anything better; it is all charming." The quotation is from Fet's poem: The lingering clouds' last throng flies over us.
The same council-chamber of the military district court which had condemned Yanson had also condemned to death a peasant of the Government of Oryol, of the District of Yeletzk, Mikhail Golubets, nicknamed Tsiganok, also Tatarin. His latest crime, proven beyond question, had been the murder of three people and armed robbery. Behind that, his dark past disappeared in a depth of mystery.
"And where are you going now? Home?" "No," answered the labourer. "I have no home." "But where were you born and brought up?" "In the province of Oryol. Till I went into the army I lived with my mother, in my step-father's house; my mother was the head of the house, and people looked up to her, and while she lived I was cared for.
Similar wholesale expulsions took place in Moscow, Oryol, and other places outside the Pale of Settlement. These persecutions constituted evidently an object-lesson in religious toleration, and the Russian masses which had but recently shown to what extent they respected the inviolability of Jewish life and property took the lesson to heart. One hope was still left to the Jews.
I say there is no establishment for teaching them to be very clever. . . . No, that's true a nice little lad, no harm in him. . . . He'll grow up and be a help to his father . . . . You, Yegory, are little now, but you'll grow big and will keep your father and mother. . . . So it is ordained of God, 'Honour your father and your mother. . . . I had children myself, but they were burnt. . . . My wife was burnt and my children, . . . that's true. . . . The hut caught fire on the night of Epiphany. . . . I was not at home, I was driving in Oryol.
"How are you?" he began, flushing crimson, and stuffing his big hands in his pockets. "Are you here? Are you here too?" "Yes, we are here too. . . ." "How did you get here?" "Why, how did you?" "I? It's a long story, a regular romance, my good friend! But don't put yourselves out eat your dinner! I've been living, you know, ever since then . . . in the Oryol province. I rented an estate.
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