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本书版权归Oxford University Press所有
Pogroms
Pogroms
A Documentary History
Edited by
EUGENE M. AVRUTIN AND ELISSA BEMPORAD
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford.

It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research,
scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a
registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and
certain other countries.
Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press

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© Oxford University Press 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any
means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University
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Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above
should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at
the address above.
You must not circulate this work in any other form

and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.
Library of Congress Cataloging- in- Publication Data
Names: Avrutin, Eugene M., editor, author. | Bemporad, Elissa,

editor, author.
Title: Pogroms : a documentary history / Eugene M. Avrutin and

Elissa Bemporad.
Description: New York : Oxford University Press, [2021] |
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Identifiers: LCCN 2021015017 (print) | LCCN 2021015018 (ebook) |
ISBN 9780190060084 (hardback) | ISBN 9780190060091

(paperback) |
ISBN 9780190060114 (epub)
Subjects: LCSH: Pogroms—Russia—History—Sources. |
Pogroms—Europe, Eastern—History—Sources. |
Jews—Persecutions—Russia—History—Sources. |
Jews—Persecutions—Europe, Eastern—History—Sources. |
Antisemitism—Russia—History—Sources. |
Antisemitism—Europe, Eastern—History—Sources.
Classification: LCC DS134.84 .P64 2021 (print) | LCC DS134.84

(ebook) |
DDC 947/.004924—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021015017
LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021015018
DOI: 10.1093/ oso/ 9780190060084.001.0001
135798642
Paperback printed by LSC communications, United States of America

Hardback printed by Bridgeport National Bindery, Inc., United States
of America 本书版权归Oxford University Press所有
In memory of David Shneer
(1972– 2020)

Contents
Acknowledgments
xi
Pogroms: An Introduction
Eugene M. Avrutin and Elissa Bemporad
1. Pogroms in Russia’s Borderlands, 1881– 1884
23
Eugene M. Avrutin
Document 1.1 Pogrom in Smela, Kiev Province [1881]
30
Document 1.2 Leaflets Dropped around Kharkov Inviting
People to Commit Anti- Jewish Violence [1881] 36
Document 1.3 Telegram to the Minister of Internal Affairs from
Prince Donbukov, Odessa, May 5, 1881
36
Document 1.4 Telegram Sent to the Ministry of the Interior on
May 5, 1881, from the Rovno Jewish
Community, Volhynia Province
37
Document 1.5 Circular Distributed on May 6, 1881,
by E. I. Totleben, the Governor- General of Vilna,
to His Subordinates
38
Document 1.6 Observations Made by a Nameless Doctor
[1881 or 1882]
39
Document 1.7 Secret Memo by the Deputy Chief of the
Gendarme Department in Chernigov
Province [1881]
40
Document 1.8 Memo Written on June 9, 1881, by the
Ekaterinoslav Governor to the Ministry of the
Interior
41
Document 1.9 The Russo- Jewish Question: A Special
Correspondent of the Jewish World [1881]
43
2. The 1898 Anti- Jewish Violence in Habsburg Galicia
46
Daniel Unowsky
Document 2.1 Pamphlet Widely Disseminated in Western
Galicia: Jewish Secrets [1898]
51
Document 2.2 Election Campaign Promotion from
Wieniec Pszczółka [1898]
52
Document 2.3 Report from the Kalwaria Zebrzydowska
District Captain [1898]
53
Documents 2.4 and 2.5 Anti- Jewish Flyers [1898]
54
Document 2.6 The Lutcza Indictment [1899]
55
Documents 2.7 and 2.8 Three Trial Excerpts [1898]
57
Document 2.9 Second Stary Sącz Proceeding [1898]
61
Document 2.10 Parliamentary Debates on the Anti- Jewish
Riots [1898]
63
viii Contents
3. Kishinev Pogrom
70
Steven J. Zipperstein
Document 3.1 On Hayim Nahman Bialik’s “City of Killing”
[1935]
77
Document 3.2 Hayim Nahman Bialik, “City of Killing” [1903] 77
Document 3.3 Testimony of Israel Rossman [1903]
78
Document 3.4 The Kishinev Pogroms, Jacob Bernstein- Kogan
[1946]
80
Document 3.5 Solzhenitsyn on the Kishinev Pogrom [2001]
81
Document 3.6 Pavel Krushevan’s Description of Sordid Jewish
Economic Activity [1903]
82
Document 3.7 Pogroms and Lynching [1903]
83
4. 1905: Russia’s Encounter with Revolution and Pogroms
85
Robert Weinberg
Document 4.1 Government Inquiry Links Pogrom to Civil
Unrest [1906]
92
Document 4.2 Students, Workers, and Revolutionaries
Clash with Soldiers [1906]
93
Document 4.3 Calm before the Storm [1906]
94
Document 4.4 The Pogrom Begins [1906]
95
Document 4.5 Military Commander Describes the Outbreak
of Violence [1905]
97
Document 4.6 The Western Press Describes the
Pogrom [1905]
99
Document 4.7 Eyewitness Accounts of the Odessa Pogrom
[1906]
100
Document 4.8 Government Inquiry Accuses Jews of
Inciting the Violence [1906]
102
Document 4.9 Government Inquiry Accuses City
Governor of Malfeasance [1906]
103
Document 4.10 Testimony Given by Witness Teplitskii to
Senator Kuzminskii on November 25, 1905
105
5. Pogroms in World War I Russia
108
Pol y Zavadivker
Document 5.1 A Jewish Military Doctor’s Account from

Galicia [1915]
115
Document 5.2 S. An- sky Describes the Radivilov
Pogrom [1915]
116
Document 5.3 S. An- sky Witnesses the Aftermath of the
Sokal Pogrom and Flight of Jews from
Gorokhov, June 1915
116
Document 5.4 Causes of the Anti- German Pogrom in
Moscow, May 26– 29, 1915
118
Document 5.5 Russian Military Pogroms in Kovno, Vilna, and
Minsk Provinces [1915]
120
Document 5.6 The Rape of Jewish Women during Russian
Military Pogroms [1915]
125
Document 5.7 A Russian Jewish Politician Accuses the Russian
Government of Complicity in the Incitement of

Pogroms [1915]
127
Contents ix
Document 5.8 A Russian Nurse’s Notes from the Front
[1915 and 1916]
128
Document 5.9 The Kafafov Circular, January 9, 1916
128
Document 5.10 The First Jewish Pogrom in Siberia,
May 7, 1916
129
Document 5.11 A Jewish Soldier Witnesses a Pogrom in
Buczacz [1916]
131
6. Anti- Jewish Violence in the Russian Civil War
133
Jeffrey Veidlinger
Document 6.1 The Proskuriv Pogrom, February 15, 1919
139
7. The Female Dimension of Pogrom Violence, 1917– 1921
150
Elissa Bemporad
Document 7.1 Looting and Rape in Pechora [1919]
157
Document 7.2 Looting and Rape in Smila [1919]
157
Document 7.3 Denikin’s Forces Depart from Smila [1919]
159
Document 7.4 The Doctors Speak [1919]
162
Document 7.5 Malka Lee’s Through the Eyes of a Child [1919] 166
Document 7.6 A Writer’s Calling [1929]
169
Document 7.7 Chronicle of a Dead City [1921]
170
Document 7.8 Women as Agents of Violence [1919]

174
8. Documentary Fiction of the Pogroms of the Civil War
176
Harriet Murav
Document 8.1 Itsik Kipnis’s Months and Days [1926]
180
9. Pogroms in Modern Poland, 1918– 1946
193
Anna Cichopek- Gajraj and Glenn Dynner
Document 9.1 Police Report about the Incidents Involving
Policemen in Kraków on April 16, 1918
200
Document 9.2 “The Lemberg Horrors,” by Joseph Bendrow
[1918]
201
Document 9.3 Testimony from the Vilna Pogrom, 1919
205
Document 9.4 Report about the Incidents of March 9, 1936,
in Przytyk
206
Document 9.5 Prohibition against Making Arrests at Fairs,
Markets, and the Like Where the Crowd May
Prevent Them [1936]
209
Document 9.6 The Pogrom in Mińsk Mazowiecki [1936]
210
Document 9.7 Interpolation of Deputy Dr. Emil Sommerstein
after Brest on Bug [Brześć nad Bugiem]
Pogrom, May 13– 14, 1937
212
Document 9.8 Article from the Anticommunist Underground
Journal Honor and Fatherland, October 1946
217
Further Reading
219
Contributors
225
Index
227

Acknowledgments
The initial idea for this volume emerged from a series of

conversations between the editors about the relationship between
Jewish history and violence, and about the pogrom conundrum in
Russia and East Central Europe in modern times. These
conversations materialized into facts. In May 2019, we organized a
conference at the Center for Jewish History to commemorate the
centennial of the 1919 wave of anti- Jewish violence unleashed by
the Russian Civil War. A distinguished group of scholars came
together to discuss the pogroms through the lenses of the specific
geopolitical context where the violence erupted, as well as in a
comparative framework in relation to anti- Black violence. We also
explored the power of literary responses to anti- Jewish violence and
reassessed the role that pogroms play in Jewish memory and history.
The conference was followed by an inspiring workshop where we
discussed drafts of the chapters and our vision for the documentary
collection. We are truly grateful to the superb contributors, to Nancy
Toff of Oxford University Press (OUP), and to Julie Chervinsky and
Olga Golovanova of the Blavatnik Archive Foundation for their
wisdom, suggestions, and good humor.
The Blavatnik Archive Foundation, the Leonid Nevzlin Research
Center for Russian and East European Jewry at the Hebrew
University of Jerusalem, and the Center for Jewish History provided
financial and organizational resources without which we would not
have been able to convene the workshop.
We are indebted to David Mazower, bibliographer and editorial

director at the Yiddish Book Center, for knowing everything about
Yiddish sources, and to Chana Pol ack, archivist at the Forward, for
locating a precious image from the archives.
We thank the Forward for granting us permission to publish the

image in the book.
Our heartfelt thanks go out to Robert Weinberg, Valerie Kivelson,

and Samuel Kassow for offering insightful comments on our
introductory essay, as well as Kevin Mumford for his assistance with
the comparative dimension. We are grateful to Leyzer Burko, Anna
Cichopek- Gajraj, Glenn Dynner, Asia Lev, Harriet Murav, Eugenia
Tietz- Sokolskaya, Daniel Unowsky, and Pol y Zavadivker for
translating the primary sources. Diana Jaher, Diamond Dadej, and
Joshua Woolf- Senoff provided timely research assistance over a
span of many years. Therese Malhame skil -
ful y copyedited the volume. We would like to say a warm thank you
to Nancy Toff, our editor at OUP, for believing in this project,
handling the complicated administrative arrangements, and
answering our numerous queries. Thanks also to Nancy’s colleague
Isabelle Prince at OUP for guiding this book to publication.

xii Acknowledgments
The research and writing of this book have been made possible by
the generous support of different institutions. First of al , we are
delighted to express our appreciation to the Blavatnik Archive
Foundation for awarding us a generous grant to support the
publication of this documentary collection, as well as for granting us
permission to reprint the visual materials. Further financial support
came from the Tobor Family Endowment, the Research Board of the
University of Illinois, and the PSC- CUNY Research Award Program
and the Research Foundation of the City University of New York.
This book is dedicated to the memory of our colleague David Shneer,

whose un-timely passing in November 2020 has deprived the fields
of East European, Russian, and Jewish history of his wisdom and
creativity.
Pogroms
An Introduction
Eugene M. Avrutin and Elissa Bemporad
April 26, 1881, was a warm and pleasant Sunday afternoon in Kiev
(Kyiv). Crowds of people spent the day strolling around public
squares and bazaars when a skirmish broke out between Jewish and
Christian children. It took no time for a mob of youths and
neighborhood thugs, armed with hammers and bludgeons, to gather
around. Shouting, “Beat the Yids who killed our tsar,” the rioters
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from the castle hall to the courtyard below.
She climbed over the piles of rubbish, and at length found herself
on the flagged walk that led up to the west entrance of the new castle.
Not a soul was yet astir. It could not have been more than half-past
four o’clock, and the servants of the castle were not accustomed to
rise before six.
She went up the broad stone stairs and opened the door, which she
found, as she had left it at midnight, unfastened.
She passed in silently, quietly replaced all the fastenings, and
ascended noiselessly to her room. Her sister was still sleeping
soundly. She felt no disposition to sleep. She resumed her seat at the
west window, and looked out upon the morning view, as she had
looked on the night scene, trying to understand the adventure she
had passed through.
Was the old crone who had talked with her really mad? Had her
only child been ruined and murdered by the wicked earl? Had she,
Wynnette, really witnessed that wonderful vision in the dungeon
under the castle, or had she been so psychologized by the crone as to
have been the subject of an optical illusion?
She could not tell! She could make nothing of her night’s
experience. While she was musing over it all her thoughts grew
confused, her vision obscured, and perhaps she fell asleep; for she
was presently roused as from profound unconsciousness by the voice
of Odalite calling out to her:
“Wynnette! Wynnette! Child! you have never slept at that open
window all night? How imprudent!”
The girl roused herself and tried to recall her faculties.
“I believe I did fall asleep, Odalite,” she replied; but she shuddered
as she remembered her night’s adventure.
“And you are shivering now. And you are pale and heavy-eyed. Oh,
my dear, what an indiscreet thing to do—to sleep with your head on
the sill of an open window! You have caught cold.”
“Ah! if you only knew what I have caught,” thought Wynnette; but
she answered:
“Oh, no, I have not, Odalite. I am going to take a bath now and
dress for breakfast. I am all right. How could I take cold on such a
lovely night in June?”
“But you must not repeat this,” said Odalite.
“I don’t mean to!” significantly replied Wynnette.
An hour later they met the family at breakfast.
Wynnette was so unusually grave and silent that at length her
uncle noticed her manner and inquired:
“What is the matter with our Little Pickle this morning?”
“She sat in the chair at the open window all night, and fell asleep
there. That is the matter,” replied Odalite for her sister.
“Ah! ah! that will never do! We must put a stop to that sort of
practice!” replied the earl.
And then Mr. and Mrs. Force both fell upon their daughter with
rebuke and admonition, but were soothed and mollified when
Wynnette assured them not only that she had taken no harm on this
occasion, but that she never meant to repeat the last night’s
performance again so long as she should live.
When breakfast was over the family party adjourned to a pleasant
morning room looking out upon the sea, and occupied themselves
with opening and reading their letters, which had come in by the
morning’s mail.
Mr. Force had letters from his farm manager and from his
attorney, giving satisfactory accounts of affairs at Mondreer.
Leonidas had equally good news from Beeves concerning his little
estate of Greenbushes.
Mrs. Force received a short note, ill-spelled and worse written,
from her housekeeper, but it gave good account of domestic affairs.
Rosemary Hedge had a joint letter from her mother and aunt,
saying that they were both in good health, and giving their child
plenty of good counsel.
Wynnette received an old-fashioned letter from young Grandiere,
which she laughed over and refused to show to any one.
In the midst of this occupation they were interrupted by the
opening of the door, and the entrance of a footman, who touched his
forehead with a grave air and stood in silence.
“What is it?” inquired the earl.
“If you please, my lord, it is Old Silly,” solemnly replied the man.
“Old Zillah?”
“Yes, my lord.”
“What of her?”
“If you please, my lord, she is dead.”
“Dead!”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Old Zillah! Why—when did she die?”
“If you please, my lord, we don’t know. Kato, the under scullery
maid, who carried her some breakfast this morning, found her dead
on her bed.”
“It was to have been expected. She was nearly a century old. It is
well!”
CHAPTER XLVIII
OLD ZILLAH
“She has come to life,” said Wynnette, quoting the words of the
departed woman.
All looked at the girl in some surprise. With all her oddities,
Wynnette was not used to make such speeches as that. And now, for
the first time, they noticed that Wynnette’s face was very pale, with
dark circles under her eyes.
“What is the matter with you, my dear?” inquired her mother.
“Nothing at all, mamma,” answered the girl.
“She sat by the open window late last night and fell asleep there,
and slept until I woke her up this morning. That was quite enough to
make her ill,” Odalite explained.
“Nay, my dear; in such fine June weather as the present, and in
such pure air as ours, it would hardly have hurt her had she slept
outdoors,” said the earl. “But what do you mean, my dear, by saying
that our poor Old Zillah ‘has come to life’?” he inquired, as he turned
to the girl.
“Nothing heterodox, uncle. Nothing but what we hear from our
pulpits on every Easter Sunday morning,” she replied.
“Oh!” he exclaimed.
“Only in this case the truth seems to be very marked. A woman
nearly a hundred years old must have been nearly dead for many
years and now has certainly come to life.”
“Ah!”
“Nothing new, uncle, please. I never said anything new in my life.”
“Then you put old truths in a very new way.”
“Eternal truth, uncle, eternal truth; plain to gentle and simple, to
young and old; plain as the sunshine to all who can see; hidden only
from them who are blind, or who choose to keep their eyes shut.”
“Hum! Truth that neither the aged, the invalid nor the bereaved
can afford to disregard, at least. And now, my dear, I must leave you,
to inquire into the cause of Old Zillah’s sudden death. Will you come
with me, gentlemen?”
Mr. Force and Leonidas arose to attend him.
Le gave the invalid the support of his strong young arm.
And so the three men passed out of the room.
“Mamma, did you know anything about this wonderful old
woman?” inquired Wynnette.
“Very little, my dear. Only the years of my earliest childhood were
passed here. Old Zillah was an object of terror to me. Partly, perhaps,
because she wore a man’s coat over her skirt, and a man’s hat on her
head, and partly because she had the reputation of being a wise
woman or a witch. She never came to the castle, and I never saw her
except by chance, when I went with my nursery governess to walk or
ride. She never came near me or spoke to me. I think I should have
gone into fits if she had.”
“How old were you then, mamma?” she inquired.
“I do not know when I first began to hear of Old Zillah, or when I
first saw her. She was the shadow and the terror of my dawn of life. I
was but four years old when I lost my mother, and then my father left
this place, taking me with him; and he went to his estate in Ireland—
Weirdwaste, on the west coast.”
“‘Weirdwaste!’ What a name! Did you live long at Weirdwaste,
mamma, dear?”
“Yes, many years alone there with my governess. My father was
traveling on the continent.”
“What sort of a place was it, mamma?” inquired Wynnette. And
Rosemary and Elva drew their chairs nearer to the sofa on which
their mother sat to hear her answer.
“It was an old manor house on the inland end of a long, flat, dreary
point of land stretching into the Atlantic Ocean. At high tide the
entire cape, to within a few rods of the manor wall, was covered by
the sea, and day and night the swash of the sea was heard.”
“How lonely you must have been, mamma, with no one but your
governess and the servants,” said Elva. “But perhaps you had
neighbors,” she added.
“No; no neighbors at all. There was no one within miles of us but
the poorest Irish peasants, who were tenants of my father. The estate
was vast in extent of territory, but poor in soil. The land steward
lived in the manor house, to take care of it and of me. They kept two
old servants—a man and a woman—an old horse, and older jaunting
car. That is how I lived at Weirdwaste.”
“Oh! what a lonely life! How long did you live there, mamma?”
“Until I was nearly fifteen years of age, when my health failed, and
the surgeon from the nearest town was called to see me, and thought
my case so serious that he wrote to my father, who was in Paris. My
father then came to see me, took me and my governess to Brighton,
and established us in elegant lodgings on the King’s Road.”
“That must have been a most delightful change. How long did you
stay in Brighton, mamma? And where did you go next? Not back to
Weirdwaste, I hope,” said Wynnette.
“No, not back to Weirdwaste. I have never seen the dreary place
since I left it,” replied the lady, in a low voice, but with paling cheeks
and troubled brow.
“Mamma, love,” said Odalite, rising, “will you come with me into
the library now and help me to translate the passage in Camoëns we
were talking about yesterday?”
“Yes, dear,” replied the lady, rising to follow her eldest daughter.
“Well, I’m blest if that isn’t playing it rather too low down on a
fellow, Odalite—I mean it is very inconsiderate in you to carry off
mamma just as she is telling about the days of her youth, for the very
first time, too! Bah! bother! what a nuisance!”
But Mrs. Force and her eldest daughter had passed out of the
room.
The death of Old Zillah caused quite a commotion in the castle and
its neighborhood. Notwithstanding her age, or, perhaps, because of
her great age, her death came as a surprise, not to say as a shock, to
the community. She had lived so long that it almost seemed as if she
must always continue to live.
“Why, it’s like as if the old tower of the ruined castle itself had
fallen!” said one to another.
People came from far and near to see the remains of the
centenarian, and to get her real age, and hear some facts of her life.
And all the cruel old legends were raked up again, until the whole air
of the place was full of fetor, fire and brimstone. The people reveled
in the moral malaria.
The mortal body of the oldest retainer of the House of Enderby at
length found a peaceful resting place in Enderby churchyard.
No peeress of the realm ever had a larger funeral than this pauper,
at least so far as the number of followers went.
It was not until night on the day after the funeral that Wynnette
slipped away from the family circle and went to the housekeeper’s
room to hear the promised story.
“I will hear both sides,” she said to herself, “though I do believe
Old Zillah’s version to be the true one.”
She found the good woman seated at a small worktable and
engaged in knitting.
“Well, Mrs. Kelsy, how are you to-night?” inquired Wynnette, as
she took the offered seat beside the dame.
“Thanky’, miss, I’m none the better for the worriment of this
week,” replied the housekeeper.
“You mean the funeral?”
“The whole on’t, miss! The greatest crowd as ever was every day
this week, not even honoring the Sabbath itself, but coming more on
that day than any other! And the talk, and the gossip, and the raking
up of old scandals, until I was soul sick of it all. And all because a
wise woman, over a hundred years old, was found dead in her bed.
Warraloo! How else and where else should she ha’ been found dead,
I’d like to know!”
“But you have had a night and day of rest, and I hope you feel
recovered.”
“Rest, is it, miss? Recovered, is it? Not very much of either! It is
dead beat I am!”
“I am sorry to hear that. I was hoping that you would feel well to-
night and be inclined to tell me the story of the pretty maiden you
promised.”
“Oh, ay, well, there is not so much to tell. And now the old creature
as hung on so long is gone, I don’t mind telling it so much. The girl’s
soul may have rest now that her mither doesn’t harry it up.”
“Yes, I hope it will,” said Wynnette, in a conciliating tone. “You will
tell me the story now?”
“Yes! and whatever other story you may hear about it will be false,
for I know that you will hear other stories, if you haven’t heard ’em
already. There’s plenty of ’em going around, I tell you, and no two
alike. But only I have the truth, for I have it straight from my mother,
who had it from her’n! So it must be true! And no other story could
be!”
“But I suppose if Old Zillah were alive she also could give the real
facts,” ventured Wynnette.
“She? Least of all in this world could she tell it! For not only did
she fail to tell the truth, but she told a many mad fancies; for she was
about as mad as a March hare! Saw visions and talked with departed
spirits, prophesied future events, and all that, she did! Yes, miss. She
has been that a way ever since I knowed her, and as I have heard tell,
was that a way ever since she lost her daughter.”
“Tell me about her daughter.”
“I’m a-gwine to. Well, you see, it seems the feyther had been
undergardener, and he died, and then the widow was given the use of
a little hut in the outside of the old castle wall, on the lane. And there
she lived and brought up her only child, Phebe. They were both
employed in the poultry yard.
“Phebe grew up beautiful as an angel—so beautiful that everybody
who happened to meet her stopped to look at her—so beautiful, that
her beauty turned her own head, as well as her mother’s. While she
was yet a child all the gentry that met her gave her half crowns, and
even half guineas, for the love of her fair face. At least so ’twas said,
and so ’twas handed down. And people used to make such foolish
speeches about her as that she was lovely enough to turn the head of
a king.
“These speeches did turn her mother’s head, and her own as well.
All the young men were in love with her, but she scorned them all for
a poor little imp of a stableboy, an orphan as had been her playmate
all her life.”
“I did hear that it was for the sake of the young earl she flouted the
others,” said Wynnette.
“Oh, yes, I dare say—that was one of the stories that went round!
That was false. The young earl did come down to celebrate his
coming of age, and his mother and sisters came with him, and made
up their minds to stay with him, which they might do until he should
marry, in which case they would have to go to Kedge Hall, an old
manor house on the moors. So my lady seemed to think the longer
she could keep my lord, her son, from getting a wife, the better it
would be for her and her girls.
“Among the men staying at the castle was an artist. He was to
paint a picture of St. Cecelia for the countess, but he wanted a model.
One day my lady, out driving, happened to see Phebe, and had her up
to the castle to sit to the artist. And then the mischief began. My lord
fell in love with her. Fairly went out of his senses for love of this
beautiful creature, who didn’t even know how to read.
“And my lady encouraged the folly and wickedness. Eh, my dear,
gentlefolks were not particular in those days. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘was a
beauty right on his own land, the child of his tenant, one of his own
born slaves, bound to do his will, who might amuse his fancy and
keep him from marriage for many a year.’ She never feared such a
thing as my lord marrying the girl. Such folly was not to be thought,
and never was thought of by either of them.”
“But,” said Wynnette, “I heard that the earl had married her.”
“Stuff and nonsense! He never dreamed of such a thing! He was
the proudest man alive! And he was engaged to a duke’s daughter!
But the crazy old mother and the silly young girl fancied that he even
might do that for love of Phebe’s fair face. So the poor stableboy was
thrown over, and the young earl was received. The boy got madly
jealous, and so—months after, when the hapless girl was found dead
at the bottom of the shaft in the old castle—the stableboy was
arrested on suspicion of the murder.”
“I know,” said Wynnette, “and the guide to Enderby Castle says
that he was tried and convicted and hanged at Carlisle. But I have
heard that contradicted.”
“Yes, it is contradicted. I do not know the truth. It has been so long
ago that no living person can remember it, now that Old Zillah is
gone.”
“She could,” said Wynnette.
“Oh, yes! she could! But she got facts and fancies so mixed up in
her poor old brain that no one would dream of trusting to her stories.
If you could ever have had the chance to see her, miss, you would
have seen how very mad she was.”
Wynnette did not think it necessary to explain that she had seen
Old Zillah and heard her story.
To no one could the girl breathe one word of her terrible night in
the old castle. Sometimes she was half inclined to believe that she
had really fallen asleep on the window sill and dreamed it all—from
the moment of horror and amazement when the spectral eyes lighted
up the loopholes of the old wall, to the moment when she was
awakened by the voice of her sister.
Wynnette was more bewildered than she liked to own herself to be
—bewildered as to the dream, or the reality of her terrible night!
Bewildered as to the relative truth or falsehood of the two conflicting
stories she had heard of the beautiful peasant girl’s fate.
“What is dream and what is reality? What is fact and what is
fable?” she asked herself continually.
CHAPTER XLIX
BROTHER AND SISTER
Meanwhile there was another member of the family circle fully as

much perplexed as was Wynnette, though upon another subject.
The Earl of Enderby could not reconcile all his knowledge—his
lifelong knowledge of Angus Anglesea, his schoolmate at Harrow; his
classmate at Oxford, his brother-in-arms in India, the brave, tender,
faithful friend and comrade of many years and many lands—with this
thief, forger, bigamist, described under his name by Elfrida Force
and all her family.
“Elf,” he said to her one day, as the two sat tête-à-tête in the library
—all the other members of the family circle having gone out for a
stroll on the top of the cliffs—“Elf, my dear, I have had some trials in
my time—not the least among them, my inherited malady, dooming
me to an early death and barring me from marriage——”
“Oh, Francis, don’t say that! Medical science has reached such
perfection, you may be restored to health; and you are yet not
middle-aged—you may marry and be happy,” said the lady, almost in
tears.
“No, Elf! No, dear! It is impossible! But it is not of my infirmities I
wish to speak now. I would rather never mention them—much rather
forget them, if that were possible! I only meant to say that of all the
trials I have ever suffered, that of hearing such news of Anglesea as
you have told me is the most painful! I cannot forget it! I think of it
constantly, by day and by night.”
“I am very sorry that we had to tell you, Francis.”
“Elf! You knew Anglesea in those early days when we both came
down to spend our holidays at Brighton with you.”
“Yes; I remember.”
“You knew him then. Could you have believed such villainies of
him?”
“No, not then.”
“Nor could I then, nor can I now. I wish the man were in England.
I would go to him and make these charges face to face, and put him
on his defense. I shall never rest until I put him on his defense.”
“Do you not believe what we have told you and proved to you—that
this man is a thief, a forger and a bigamist, even on his own
showing?”
“I believe that you believe it, my dear. And I believe as much of it
as I can believe in the absence of the accused. And when a man is
accused of crime he should be present and be put upon his defense. I
wish to charge Anglesea to his face with these felonies and to hear
what he has to say.”
Elfrida Force looked so coldly on her brother in answer to these
words that he hastened to say:
“See here, my dear. Consider how I loved and trusted that man
from my youth up. He was older than myself. He was my mentor, my
guide, philosopher and friend. I could no more have doubted his
honor than I could have doubted yours.”
The lady winced.
“Think of it, my dear. Do you wonder that I am sorely perplexed at
what I hear of him? Or that I wish to hear what he has to say for
himself? Suppose any one—Anglesea, for instance, before I had
heard a word against him, when I loved and trusted him most—had
come to me and said: ‘Your sister, whom you love and honor so
much, has forfeited both love and honor——’ Elfrida! Heavens! What
is the matter?” suddenly exclaimed the earl, as the lady sank back
pallid and fainting in her chair.
“It is——Go on,” said the sister, recovering herself with an effort.
“Nothing is the matter. You were saying that if Anglesea had come to
you with slanders of your sister——What would you have done?”
“I should have knocked him down and kicked him out, first of all,
as a preliminary to challenging him. Be sure I should not have
believed his story told behind your back. And I am certain you would
not wish me to be less just to Anglesea than to you.”
“Very well. I do not believe he will ever dare to show his face in
England again; but if he should, and you should meet him, make the
charge that we have made and see how he will meet it. Of course he
will deny all and accuse his accusers of conspiracy.”
“It is all very painful and very perplexing, but do not think
otherwise than that I will stand by you and yours, Elfrida, under all
circumstances.”
“I am quite sure that you will, dear Francis,” replied the lady; and
their talk drifted to other topics.
“I shall miss you very much, sister, when you go abroad,” he said at
length.
“But I shall not go, Francis. I shall remain with you. I have been
over the continent so often that I do not care to see it again,” replied
the lady.
“What do you say, Elfrida? You will not go on this tour with your
husband and children? You will stay here with your invalid brother?
That is good news to me, but what will your husband say to such a
plan?”
“Of course I had a talk with Mr. Force before making up my mind.
We talked it over last night. He thinks just as I do—that it is best for
me to stay with you.”
“He is very kind; very, very kind. But you will both give up much
for the sake of a poor, sick man.”
“No, indeed. I really do not care for the continental tour, I have
made it so often.”
“But there are so many changes since you made it last.”
“Yes, there is gas instead of lamplight in all the cities; railway
trains instead of diligences on all the highways; and sons on the
thrones of their fathers. I am content to know of these things. I do
not care to see them.”
“But Mr. Force? He will miss you.”
“Dear brother, our honeymoon was passed twenty-two years ago.
Young love has matured to old love, or rather to love that never can
know age nor absence. It is not necessary that we should always be
looking into each other’s eyes to make sure that we are happy in our
union.”
“Yet I dare say you never tried it. I dare swear you were never
apart from each other for twenty-four hours in your married life.”
“No; we never were.”
“That is why you talk so glibly of a separation for months. You had
better not try it, Elfrida. You had better go with your husband and
party, or make them stay here with you.”
“Not so, Francis. I will not leave you, now that I have come to you
after so many years of separation. And, on the other hand, I will not
keep the other members of our family party from their travel. It is
necessary that young people should have the advantage of this
continental tour, and it is desirable that they should have the
protection of their father, as well as of their cousin. So I must stay
here, and they must go. If Mr. Force or myself should grow lonesome
during the season of separation he can come here to me. Neither
Abel nor myself should feel the slightest hesitation in leaving our
young girls in the care of their cousin, Leonidas.”
“My dear, you have some strange, new, and, I suppose, American
ideas of the liberty allowable to young people.”
“To our own young people, who certainly may be trusted with
liberty,” replied Elfrida Force, with a smile.
“Well, of course—of course. I am human and selfish enough to be
very glad that you are to stay with me instead of going with your
party.”
The brother and sister then talked of some details relating to the
intended tour, until the tête-à-tête was broken into by the return of
the walking party.
It was the first of July that the tourists, consisting of Abel,
Leonidas, Odalite, Wynnette and Elva Force and Rosemary Hedge,
set out from Enderby to London, en route for Dover and Paris.
They were to have a three months’ travel over the continent, and
were to return on the first of October, unless they should receive
advices from the earl to meet him and his sister at Baden-Baden,
where he often went in the autumn for the benefit of his health.
And with this understanding, and with the promise of an incessant
fire of letters from both sides, the friends parted.
Leonidas, it should have been explained, on account of his six
years active service at sea—serving double turns, as he put it—had
got a six months furlough, beginning from the first of May. He
would, therefore, not be due at the navy department to report for
orders until the first of November.
When the large party had left the castle, life at Enderby settled
down to the calmest, not to say the dullest, routine.
Elfrida Force spent her time in waiting on her invalid brother,
reading the old black-letter tomes in the library, and in writing
letters to her absent family and reading their letters to herself.
Sometimes she walked or rode abroad, but always in company with
her brother.
Sometimes the Vicar of Enderby came and dined with them, and
played a game of chess in the evening with the earl. Two or three
times a week the village doctor looked in to see his chronic patient,
and once, on his advice, a telegram to London brought down a titled
court physician to see the invalid.
Beyond these no company came to Enderby, and no visits were
made by the earl or his sister.
The castle was too remote and too difficult of approach for mere
visits of ceremony; and the sick earl was too much of a recluse to
encourage or enjoy the visits of his neighbors. So the lives of the
brother and sister, in the absence of their relatives, passed in almost
monastic seclusion.
And so July, August and half of September passed.
It was on the sixteenth of the last-mentioned month that the
village practitioner, after a long visit and talk with his patient, sent a
telegram to the London physician, who came to Enderby by the
night’s express.
The result of the consultation by the sofa of the invalid patient was
this—that the earl must depart for Baden-Baden as soon as possible.
Preparations were immediately made for departure.
Among other precautions, Elfrida Force did not forget Wynnette’s
dear dog. She made a visit to the kennels, where Joshua had found
friends among his canine as well as his human companions, and
there she spoke with the grooms and gave them some money in
advance and promised them more on her return if she should find
Joshua well and hearty.
“I think if anything were to happen to the dog my daughter
Wynnette would almost break her heart,” she said.
“Bless ’ee, my lady, nothing shall happen the brute but good
treatment. He’s a dog as any one might grow fond on; and as for we,
why, we fairly dotes on him, my lady. And so do him on we. Look, my
lady! Hi! Joshway!”
The dog came bounding from some distant spot and jumped upon
the groom with every demonstration of joy until he saw his mistress,
when the old love and loyalty immediately asserted itself, and he
sprang from the groom to the lady.
Elfrida Force caressed him to his heart’s content, and then to
divert his attention she emptied a small basket of cold meat that she
had brought for the purpose, and while he was busy with a well-
covered beef bone she patted his head and slipped away.
On the morning of the same day the earl sent off a telegram to Mr.
Force, at the Hotel d’Angleterre, St. Petersburg, merely saying: “We
leave to-morrow for Baden-Baden. Write to us at the Hotel
d’Amerique.”
Late in the evening he received the following answer:
“We shall join you at the Hotel d’Amerique.”
The earl handed the telegram to his sister, saying:
“I told you the bridegroom would be impatient. The bridal
honeymoon was sweet, no doubt. But what was that to be compared
to the honeymoon of the silver wedding, eh, Elf?”
She was about to retort by asking him what he could know about
it; but remembering in time the pathos of her brother’s life, and not
quite knowing what else to say, she remarked that the twenty-fifth
anniversary of her wedding was yet three years off. And then she
kissed her brother and bade him good-night.
Fraught with destiny, the Civil War brought great changes and
brought with misery final happiness to the Forces, as will be related
in the third and final volume of this series, under the title of “When
Shadows Die.” This is published in uniform style and price with this
volume.
THE END
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A series of romances containing several of the old favorites in the

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This romance of the “Tower of London” depicts the Tower as palace, prison and
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本书版权归Oxford University Press所有

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Library of Congress Cataloging- in- Publication Data

Names: Avrutin, Eugene M., editor, author. | Bemporad, Elissa,

Title: Pogroms : a documentary history / Eugene M. Avrutin and

Description: New York : Oxford University Press, [2021] |

Includes bibliographical references and index.

Identifiers: LCCN 2021015017 (print) | LCCN 2021015018 (ebook) |

ISBN 9780190060084 (hardback) | ISBN 9780190060091

ISBN 9780190060114 (epub)

Subjects: LCSH: Pogroms—Russia—History—Sources. |

Classification: LCC DS134.84 .P64 2021 (print) | LCC DS134.84

LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2021015018

DOI: 10.1093/ oso/ 9780190060084.001.0001

Paperback printed by LSC communications, United States of America

In memory of David Shneer

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Eugene M. Avrutin and Elissa Bemporad

1. Pogroms in Russia’s Borderlands, 1881– 1884

Document 1.1 Pogrom in Smela, Kiev Province [1881]

Document 1.2 Leaflets Dropped around Kharkov Inviting

People to Commit Anti- Jewish Violence [1881] 36

Document 1.3 Telegram to the Minister of Internal Affairs from

Prince Donbukov, Odessa, May 5, 1881

Document 1.4 Telegram Sent to the Ministry of the Interior on

May 5, 1881, from the Rovno Jewish

Community, Volhynia Province

by E. I. Totleben, the Governor- General of Vilna,

Document 1.6 Observations Made by a Nameless Doctor

Document 1.7 Secret Memo by the Deputy Chief of the

Gendarme Department in Chernigov

Document 1.8 Memo Written on June 9, 1881, by the

Ekaterinoslav Governor to the Ministry of the

Document 1.9 The Russo- Jewish Question: A Special

Correspondent of the Jewish World [1881]

2. The 1898 Anti- Jewish Violence in Habsburg Galicia

Document 2.1 Pamphlet Widely Disseminated in Western

Galicia: Jewish Secrets [1898]

Document 2.2 Election Campaign Promotion from

Wieniec Pszczółka [1898]

Document 2.3 Report from the Kalwaria Zebrzydowska

District Captain [1898]

Documents 2.4 and 2.5 Anti- Jewish Flyers [1898]

Document 2.6 The Lutcza Indictment [1899]

Documents 2.7 and 2.8 Three Trial Excerpts [1898]

Document 2.9 Second Stary Sącz Proceeding [1898]

Document 2.10 Parliamentary Debates on the Anti- Jewish