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driven by a curiosity born of a cynical philosophy to discover what
it was that reenforced this fragile body against threats and thirst
and hunger。 He knew what he wanted of Gregor … the fiddler on his
knees begging for mercy。 And always Gregor faced him with that
silent calm which reminded him of the sea； aloof； impervious；
exasperating。 Only once since the day he had been locked in this
room had Gregor offered speech。 He； Karlov； had roared at him；
threatened； baited； but his reward generally had been a twisted
wintry smile。
He could not offer physical torture beyond the frequent omissions
of food and water； the body would have crumbled。 To have planned
this for months； and then to be balked by something as visible yet
as elusive as quicksilver！ Born in the same mudhole； and still
Boris Karlov the avenger could not understand Stefani Gregor the
fiddler。 Perhaps what baffled him was that so valiant a spirit
should be housed in so weak a body。 It was natural that he； Boris；
with the body of a Carpathian bear； should have a soul to match。
But that Stefani； with his paper body； should mock him！ The
damned bourgeoisie！
The quality of this unending calm was understandable： Gregor was
always ready to die。 What to do with a man to whom death was
release？ To hold the knout and to see it turn to water in the
hand！ In lying he had overreached。 Gregor； having accepted as
fact the reported death of Ivan； had nothing to live for。 Having
brought Gregor here to torture he had； blind fool； taken away the
fiddler's ability to feel。 The fog cleared。 He himself had given
his enemy this mysterious calm。 He had taken out Gregor's soul and
dissipated it。
No。 Not quite dissipated。 What held the body together was the iron
residue of the soul。 Venom and blood clogged Karlov's throat。 He
could kill only the body； as he had killed the fiddle； he could not
reach the mystery within。 Ah； but he had wrung Stefani's heart there。
There were pieces of the fiddle on the table where Gregor had placed
them； doubtless to weep over when he was alone。 Why hadn't he
thought to break the fiddle a little each day？
〃Stefani Gregor； sit up。 I have come to talk。〃 This was formula。
Karlov did not expect speech from Gregor。
Slowly the thin arms bore up the torso； slowly the legs swung to the
floor。 But the little gray man's eyes were bright and quick to…night。
〃Boris； what is it you want？〃
〃To talk〃 … surprised at this unexpected outburst。
〃No； no。 I mean； what is it all about … these killings； these
burnings？〃
Karlov was ready at all times to expound the theories that appealed
to his dark yet simple mind … humanity overturned as one overturned
the sod in the springtime to give it new life。
〃To give the proletariat what is his。〃
〃Ha！〃 said the little man on the cot。 〃What is his？〃
〃That which capitalism has taken away from him。〃
〃The proletariat。 The lowest in the human scale … and therefore
the most helpless。 They shall rule； say you。 My poor Russia！
Beaten and robbed for centuries； and now betrayed by a handful of
madmen … with brains atrophied on one side！ You are a fool； Boris。
Your feet are in strange quicksands and your head among chimeras。
You write some words on a piece of paper； and lo！ you say they are
facts。 Without first proving your theories correct you would ram
them down the throat of the world。 The world rejects you。〃
〃Wait and see； damned bourgeoisie！〃 thundered Karlov； not alive to
the fact that he was being baited。
〃Bourgeoisie？ Yes； I am of the middle class； the rogue on top and
the fool below。 I see。 The rogue and the fool cannot combine
unless the bourgeoisie is obliterated。 Go on。 I am interested。〃
〃Under the soviet the government shall be everything。〃
〃As it was in Prussia。〃
Karlov ignored this。 〃The individual shall never again become rich
by exploiting the poor。〃
Karlov strove to speak calmly。 Gregor's willingness to discuss the
aims of the proletariat confused him。 He suspected some ulterior
purpose behind this apparent amiability。 He must hold down his fury
until this purpose was in the open。
〃Well； that is good；〃 Gregor admitted。 〃But somehow it sounds
ancient on my ear。 Was there not a revolution in France？〃
〃Fool； it is the world that is revolting！〃 Karlov paused。 〃And no
man in the future shall see his sister or his daughter made into a
loose woman without redress。〃
〃Your proletariat's sister and daughter。 But the daughter of the
noble and the daughter of the
bourgeoisie … fair game！〃
Sometimes there enters a man's head what might be called a sick idea；
when the vitality is at low ebb and the future holds nothing。 Thus
there was a grim and sick idea behind Gregor's gibes。 It was in his
mind to die。 All the things he had loved had been destroyed。 So
then； to goad this madman into a physical frenzy。 Once those
gorilla…like hands reached out for him Stefani Gregor's neck would
break。
〃Be still； fiddler！ You know what I mean。 There will be no upper
class； which is idleness and wastefulness； no middle class； the
usurers； the gamblers of necessities； the war makers。 One great
body of equals shall issue forth。 All shall labour。〃
〃For what？〃
〃The common good。〃
〃Your Lenine offered peace； bread； and work for the overthrow of
Kerensky。 What you have given … murder and famine and idleness。 Can
there be common good that is based upon the blood of innocents？ Did
Ivan ever harm a soul？ Have I？〃
〃You！〃 Karlov trembled。 〃You … with your damned green stones！ Did
you not lure Anna to dishonour with the promise to show her the
drums； the sight of which would make all her dreams come true？ A
child； with a fairy story in her head！〃
〃You speak of Anna！ If you hadn't been spouting your twaddle in
taverns you would have had time to instruct Anna against
guilelessness and superstition。〃
〃How much did they pay you？ Did you fiddle for her to dance？ 。。。 But
I left their faces in the mud！〃
A madman； with two obsessions。 A pitiable Samson with his arms round
the pillars of society to drag it down upon his head because society
had defiled his sister！ Ah； how many thousands in Russia like him！
A great yearning filled Gregor's heart； because he understood； but he
suppressed expression of it because the sick idea was stronger。
〃Yes； yes！ I loved those green stones because it was born in me to
love beautiful things。 Have you forgotten； Boris； the old days in
Moscow； when we were students and I made you weep with my fiddle？
There was hope for you then。 You had not become a pothouse orator
on the rights of the proletariat … the red…combed rooster on the
smouldering dungheap！ Beauty； no matter in what form； I loved it。
Yes； I was mad about those emeralds。 I was always stealing in to
see them； to hold them to the light； simply because they were
beautiful。〃 Gregor's hands flew to his throat； which he bared。 〃I
lured her there！ Twas I； Boris！ 。。。 Those beautiful hands of yours；
fit for the butcher's block！ Kill me！ Kill me！〃
But Karlov shrank back； covering his eyes。 〃No！ I see now！ You
wish to die！ You shall live！〃 He r