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diff --git a/3541-0.txt b/3541-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..62810a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/3541-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4646 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Thoughts Evoked by the Census of Moscow, by +Lyof N. Tolstoi, Translated by Isabel F. Hapgood + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of +the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at +www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Thoughts Evoked by the Census of Moscow + + +Author: Lyof N. Tolstoi + + + +Release Date: July 30, 2019 [eBook #3541] +[This file was first posted 31 May 2001] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOUGHTS EVOKED BY THE CENSUS OF +MOSCOW*** + + +Transcribed from the 1887 Tomas Y. Crowell edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Public domain cover] + + + + + + WHAT TO DO? + THOUGHTS EVOKED BY THE CENSUS + OF MOSCOW + + + BY + COUNT LYOF N. TOLSTOÏ + + _TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN_ + BY ISABEL F. HAPGOOD + + NEW YORK + THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. + 13 ASTOR PLACE + 1887 + + COPYRIGHT, 1887, + BY THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. + + ELECTROTYPED AND PRINTED + BY RAND AVERY COMPANY, + BOSTON. + + + + +TRANSLATOR’S NOTE. + + +Books which are prohibited by the Russian Censor are not always +inaccessible. An enterprising publishing-house in Geneva makes a +specialty of supplying the natural craving of man for forbidden fruit, +under which heading some of Count L. N. Tolstoi’s essays belong. These +essays circulate in Russia in manuscript; and it is from one of these +manuscripts, which fell into the hands of the Geneva firm, that the first +half of the present translation has been made. It is thus that the +Censor’s omissions have been noted, even in cases where such omissions +are in no way indicated in the twelfth volume of Count Tolstoi’s +collected works, published in Moscow. As an interesting detail in this +connection, I may mention that this twelfth volume contains all that the +censor allows of “My Religion,” amounting to a very much abridged scrap +of Chapter X. in the last-named volume as known to the public outside of +Russia. The last half of the present book has not been published by the +Geneva house, and omissions cannot be marked. + + ISABEL F. HAPGOOD + +BOSTON, Sept. 1, 1887 + + + + +THOUGHTS EVOKED BY THE CENSUS OF MOSCOW. [1884–1885.] + + + And the people asked him, saying, What shall we do then? + + He answereth and saith unto them, He that hath two coats, let him + impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him do + likewise—LUKE iii. 10. 11. + + Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust + doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: + + But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor + rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: + + For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. + + The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, + thy whole body shall be full of light. + + But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness. + If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that + darkness! + + No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and + love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the + other. Ye cannot serve God and mammon. + + Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye + shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye + shall put on. Is not the life more than meat, and the body than + raiment?—MATT. vi. 19–25. + + Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall + we drink? Or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed? + + (For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly + Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things. + + But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all + these things shall be added unto you. + + Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take + thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the + evil thereof.—MATT. vi. 31–34. + + For it is easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye, than for a + rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.—MATT. xix. 24; MARK x. 25; + LUKE xviii. 25. + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +I had lived all my life out of town. When, in 1881, I went to live in +Moscow, the poverty of the town greatly surprised me. I am familiar with +poverty in the country; but city poverty was new and incomprehensible to +me. In Moscow it was impossible to pass along the street without +encountering beggars, and especially beggars who are unlike those in the +country. These beggars do not go about with their pouches in the name of +Christ, as country beggars are accustomed to do, but these beggars are +without the pouch and the name of Christ. The Moscow beggars carry no +pouches, and do not ask for alms. Generally, when they meet or pass you, +they merely try to catch your eye; and, according to your look, they beg +or refrain from it. I know one such beggar who belongs to the gentry. +The old man walks slowly along, bending forward every time he sets his +foot down. When he meets you, he rests on one foot and makes you a kind +of salute. If you stop, he pulls off his hat with its cockade, and bows +and begs: if you do not halt, he pretends that that is merely his way of +walking, and he passes on, bending forward in like manner on the other +foot. He is a real Moscow beggar, a cultivated man. At first I did not +know why the Moscow beggars do not ask alms directly; afterwards I came +to understand why they do not beg, but still I did not understand their +position. + +Once, as I was passing through Afanasievskaya Lane, I saw a policeman +putting a ragged peasant, all swollen with dropsy, into a cab. I +inquired: “What is that for?” + +The policeman answered: “For asking alms.” + +“Is that forbidden?” + +“Of course it is forbidden,” replied the policeman. + +The sufferer from dropsy was driven off. I took another cab, and +followed him. I wanted to know whether it was true that begging alms was +prohibited and how it was prohibited. I could in no wise understand how +one man could be forbidden to ask alms of any other man; and besides, I +did not believe that it was prohibited, when Moscow is full of beggars. +I went to the station-house whither the beggar had been taken. At a +table in the station-house sat a man with a sword and a pistol. I +inquired: + +“For what was this peasant arrested?” + +The man with the sword and pistol gazed sternly at me, and said: + +“What business is it of yours?” + +But feeling conscious that it was necessary to offer me some explanation, +he added: + +“The authorities have ordered that all such persons are to be arrested; +of course it had to be done.” + +I went out. The policeman who had brought the beggar was seated on the +window-sill in the ante-chamber, staring gloomily at a note-book. I +asked him: + +“Is it true that the poor are forbidden to ask alms in Christ’s name?” + +The policeman came to himself, stared at me, then did not exactly frown, +but apparently fell into a doze again, and said, as he sat on the +window-sill:— + +“The authorities have so ordered, which shows that it is necessary,” and +betook himself once more to his note-book. I went out on the porch, to +the cab. + +“Well, how did it turn out? Have they arrested him?” asked the cabman. +The man was evidently interested in this affair also. + +“Yes,” I answered. The cabman shook his head. “Why is it forbidden here +in Moscow to ask alms in Christ’s name?” I inquired. + +“Who knows?” said the cabman. + +“How is this?” said I, “he is Christ’s poor, and he is taken to the +station-house.” + +“A stop has been put to that now, it is not allowed,” said the +cab-driver. + +On several occasions afterwards, I saw policemen conducting beggars to +the station house, and then to the Yusupoff house of correction. Once I +encountered on the Myasnitzkaya a company of these beggars, about thirty +in number. In front of them and behind them marched policemen. I +inquired: “What for?”—“For asking alms.” + +It turned out that all these beggars, several of whom you meet with in +every street in Moscow, and who stand in files near every church during +services, and especially during funeral services, are forbidden to ask +alms. + +But why are some of them caught and locked up somewhere, while others are +left alone? + +This I could not understand. Either there are among them legal and +illegal beggars, or there are so many of them that it is impossible to +apprehend them all; or do others assemble afresh when some are removed? + +There are many varieties of beggars in Moscow: there are some who live by +this profession; there are also genuine poor people, who have chanced +upon Moscow in some manner or other, and who are really in want. + +Among these poor people, there are many simple, common peasants, and +women in their peasant costume. I often met such people. Some of them +have fallen ill here, and on leaving the hospital they can neither +support themselves here, nor get away from Moscow. Some of them, +moreover, have indulged in dissipation (such was probably the case of the +dropsical man); some have not been ill, but are people who have been +burnt out of their houses, or old people, or women with children; some, +too, were perfectly healthy and able to work. These perfectly healthy +peasants who were engaged in begging, particularly interested me. These +healthy, peasant beggars, who were fit for work, also interested me, +because, from the date of my arrival in Moscow, I had been in the habit +of going to the Sparrow Hills with two peasants, and sawing wood there +for the sake of exercise. These two peasants were just as poor as those +whom I encountered on the streets. One was Piotr, a soldier from Kaluga; +the other Semyon, a peasant from Vladimir. They possessed nothing except +the wages of their body and hands. And with these hands they earned, by +dint of very hard labor, from forty to forty-five kopeks a day, out of +which each of them was laying by savings, the Kaluga man for a fur coat, +the Vladimir man in order to get enough to return to his village. +Therefore, on meeting precisely such men in the streets, I took an +especial interest in them. + +Why did these men toil, while those others begged? + +On encountering a peasant of this stamp, I usually asked him how he had +come to that situation. Once I met a peasant with some gray in his +beard, but healthy. He begs. I ask him who is he, whence comes he? He +says that he came from Kaluga to get work. At first he found employment +chopping up old wood for use in stoves. He and his comrade finished all +the chopping which one householder had; then they sought other work, but +found none; his comrade had parted from him, and for two weeks he himself +had been struggling along; he had spent all his money, he had no saw, and +no axe, and no money to buy anything. I gave him money for a saw, and +told him of a place where he could find work. I had already made +arrangements with Piotr and Semyon, that they should take an assistant, +and they looked up a mate for him. + +“See that you come. There is a great deal of work there.” + +“I will come; why should I not come? Do you suppose I like to beg? I +can work.” + +The peasant declares that he will come, and it seems to me that he is not +deceiving me, and that he intents to come. + +On the following day I go to my peasants, and inquire whether that man +has arrived. He has not been there; and in this way several men deceived +me. And those also deceived me who said that they only required money +for a ticket in order to return home, and who chanced upon me again in +the street a week later. Many of these I recognized, and they recognized +me, and sometimes, having forgotten me, they repeated the same trick on +me; and others, on catching sight of me, beat a retreat. Thus I +perceived, that in the ranks of this class also deceivers existed. But +these cheats were very pitiable creatures: all of them were but +half-clad, poverty-stricken, gaunt, sickly men; they were the very people +who really freeze to death, or hang themselves, as we learn from the +newspapers. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +When I mentioned this poverty of the town to inhabitants of the town, +they always said to me: “Oh, all that you have seen is nothing. You +ought to see the Khitroff market-place, and the lodging-houses for the +night there. There you would see a regular ‘golden company.’” {21a} One +jester told me that this was no longer a company, but a _golden +regiment_: so greatly had their numbers increased. The jester was right, +but he would have been still more accurate if he had said that these +people now form in Moscow neither a company nor a regiment, but an entire +army, almost fifty thousand in number, I think. [The old inhabitants, +when they spoke to me about the poverty in town, always referred to it +with a certain satisfaction, as though pluming themselves over me, +because they knew it. I remember that when I was in London, the old +inhabitants there also rather boasted when they spoke of the poverty of +London. The case is the same with us.] {21b} + +And I wanted to have a sight of this poverty of which I had been told. +Several times I set out in the direction of the Khitroff market-place, +but on every occasion I began to feel uncomfortable and ashamed. “Why am +I going to gaze on the sufferings of people whom I cannot help?” said one +voice. “No, if you live here, and see all the charms of city life, go +and view this also,” said another voice. In December three years ago, +therefore, on a cold and windy day, I betook myself to that centre of +poverty, the Khitroff market-place. This was at four o’clock in the +afternoon of a week-day. As I passed through the Solyanka, I already +began to see more and more people in old garments which had not +originally belonged to them, and in still stranger foot-gear, people with +a peculiar, unhealthy hue of countenance, and especially with a singular +indifference to every thing around them, which was peculiar to them all. +A man in the strangest of all possible attire, which was utterly unlike +any thing else, walked along with perfect unconcern, evidently without a +thought of the appearance which he must present to the eyes of others. +All these people were making their way towards a single point. Without +inquiring the way, with which I was not acquainted, I followed them, and +came out on the Khitroff market-place. On the market-place, women both +old and young, of the same description, in tattered cloaks and jackets of +various shapes, in ragged shoes and overshoes, and equally unconcerned, +notwithstanding the hideousness of their attire, sat, bargained for +something, strolled about, and scolded. There were not many people in +the market itself. Evidently market-hours were over, and the majority of +the people were ascending the rise beyond the market and through the +place, all still proceeding in one direction. I followed them. The +farther I advanced, the greater in numbers were the people of this sort +who flowed together on one road. Passing through the market-place and +proceeding along the street, I overtook two women; one was old, the other +young. Both wore something ragged and gray. As they walked they were +discussing some matter. After every necessary word, they uttered one or +two unnecessary ones, of the most improper character. They were not +intoxicated, but merely troubled about something; and neither the men who +met them, nor those who walked in front of them and behind them, paid any +attention to the language which was so strange to me. In these quarters, +evidently, people always talked so. Ascending the rise, we reached a +large house on a corner. The greater part of the people who were walking +along with me halted at this house. They stood all over the sidewalk of +this house, and sat on the curbstone, and even the snow in the street was +thronged with the same kind of people. On the right side of the entrance +door were the women, on the left the men. I walked past the women, past +the men (there were several hundred of them in all) and halted where the +line came to an end. The house before which these people were waiting +was the Lyapinsky free lodging-house for the night. The throng of people +consisted of night lodgers, who were waiting to be let in. At five +o’clock in the afternoon, the house is opened, and the people permitted +to enter. Hither had come nearly all the people whom I had passed on my +way. + +I halted where the line of men ended. Those nearest me began to stare at +me, and attracted my attention to them by their glances. The fragments +of garments which covered these bodies were of the most varied sorts. +But the expression of all the glances directed towards me by these people +was identical. In all eyes the question was expressed: “Why have you, a +man from another world, halted here beside us? Who are you? Are you a +self-satisfied rich man who wants to enjoy our wretchedness, to get rid +of his tedium, and to torment us still more? or are you that thing which +does not and can not exist,—a man who pities us?” This query was on +every face. You glance about, encounter some one’s eye, and turn away. +I wished to talk with some one of them, but for a long time I could not +make up my mind to it. But our glances had drawn us together already +while our tongues remained silent. Greatly as our lives had separated +us, after the interchange of two or three glances we felt that we were +both men, and we ceased to fear each other. The nearest of all to me was +a peasant with a swollen face and a red beard, in a tattered caftan, and +patched overshoes on his bare feet. And the weather was eight degrees +below zero. {24a} For the third or fourth time I encountered his eyes, +and I felt so near to him that I was no longer ashamed to accost him, but +ashamed not to say something to him. I inquired where he came from? he +answered readily, and we began to talk; others approached. He was from +Smolensk, and had come to seek employment that he might earn his bread +and taxes. “There is no work,” said he: “the soldiers have taken it all +away. So now I am loafing about; as true as I believe in God, I have had +nothing to eat for two days.” He spoke modestly, with an effort at a +smile. A _sbiten_{24b}-seller, an old soldier, stood near by. I called +him up. He poured out his _sbiten_. The peasant took a boiling-hot +glassful in his hands, and as he tried before drinking not to let any of +the heat escape in vain, and warmed his hands over it, he related his +adventures to me. These adventures, or the histories of them, are almost +always identical: the man has been a laborer, then he has changed his +residence, then his purse containing his money and ticket has been stolen +from him in the night lodging-house; now it is impossible to get away +from Moscow. He told me that he kept himself warm by day in the +dram-shops; that he nourished himself on the bits of bread in these +drinking places, when they were given to him; and when he was driven out +of them, he came hither to the Lyapinsky house for a free lodging. He +was only waiting for the police to make their rounds, when, as he had no +passport, he would be taken to jail, and then despatched by stages to his +place of settlement. “They say that the inspection will be made on +Friday,” said he, “then they will arrest me. If I can only get along +until Friday.” (The jail, and the journey by stages, represent the +Promised Land to him.) + +As he told his story, three men from among the throng corroborated his +statements, and said that they were in the same predicament. A gaunt, +pale, long-nosed youth, with merely a shirt on the upper portion of his +body, and that torn on the shoulders, and a cap without a visor, forced +his way sidelong through the crowd. He shivered violently and +incessantly, but tried to smile disdainfully at the peasants’ remarks, +thinking by this means to adopt the proper tone with me, and he stared at +me. I offered him some _sbiten_; he also, on taking the glass, warmed +his hands over it; but no sooner had he begun to speak, than he was +thrust aside by a big, black, hook-nosed individual, in a chintz shirt +and waistcoat, without a hat. The hook-nosed man asked for some _sbiten_ +also. Then came a tall old man, with a mass of beard, clad in a +great-coat girded with a rope, and in bast shoes, who was drunk. Then a +small man with a swollen face and tearful eyes, in a brown nankeen +round-jacket, with his bare knees protruding from the holes in his summer +trousers, and knocking together with cold. He shivered so that he could +not hold his glass, and spilled it over himself. The men began to +reproach him. He only smiled in a woe-begone way, and went on shivering. +Then came a crooked monster in rags, with pattens on his bare feet; then +some sort of an officer; then something in the ecclesiastical line; then +something strange and nose-less,—all hungry and cold, beseeching and +submissive, thronged round me, and pressed close to the _sbiten_. They +drank up all the _sbiten_. One asked for money, and I gave it. Then +another asked, then a third, and the whole crowd besieged me. Confusion +and a press resulted. The porter of the adjoining house shouted to the +crowd to clear the sidewalk in front of his house, and the crowd +submissively obeyed his orders. Some managers stepped out of the throng, +and took me under their protection, and wanted to lead me forth out of +the press; but the crowd, which had at first been scattered over the +sidewalk, now became disorderly, and hustled me. All stared at me and +begged; and each face was more pitiful and suffering and humble than the +last. I distributed all that I had with me. I had not much money, +something like twenty rubles; and in company with the crowd, I entered +the Lyapinsky lodging-house. This house is huge. It consists of four +sections. In the upper stories are the men’s quarters; in the lower, the +women’s. I first entered the women’s place; a vast room all occupied +with bunks, resembling the third-class bunks on the railway. These bunks +were arranged in two rows, one above the other. The women, strange, +tattered creatures, both old and young, wearing nothing over their +dresses, entered and took their places, some below and some above. Some +of the old ones crossed themselves, and uttered a petition for the +founder of this refuge; some laughed and scolded. I went up-stairs. +There the men had installed themselves; among them I espied one of those +to whom I had given money. [On catching sight of him, I all at once felt +terribly abashed, and I made haste to leave the room. And it was with a +sense of absolute crime that I quitted that house and returned home. At +home I entered over the carpeted stairs into the ante-room, whose floor +was covered with cloth; and having removed my fur coat, I sat down to a +dinner of five courses, waited on by two lackeys in dress-coats, white +neckties, and white gloves. + +Thirty years ago I witnessed in Paris a man’s head cut off by the +guillotine in the presence of thousands of spectators. I knew that the +man was a horrible criminal. I was acquainted with all the arguments +which people have been devising for so many centuries, in order to +justify this sort of deed. I knew that they had done this expressly, +deliberately. But at the moment when head and body were severed, and +fell into the trough, I groaned, and apprehended, not with my mind, but +with my heart and my whole being, that all the arguments which I had +heard anent the death-penalty were arrant nonsense; that, no matter how +many people might assemble in order to perpetrate a murder, no matter +what they might call themselves, murder is murder, the vilest sin in the +world, and that that crime had been committed before my very eyes. By my +presence and non-interference, I had lent my approval to that crime, and +had taken part in it. So now, at the sight of this hunger, cold, and +degradation of thousands of persons, I understood not with my mind, but +with my heart and my whole being, that the existence of tens of thousands +of such people in Moscow, while I and other thousands dined on fillets +and sturgeon, and covered my horses and my floors with cloth and rugs,—no +matter what the wise ones of this world might say to me about its being a +necessity,—was a crime, not perpetrated a single time, but one which was +incessantly being perpetrated over and over again, and that I, in my +luxury, was not only an accessory, but a direct accomplice in the matter. +The difference for me between these two impressions was this, that I +might have shouted to the assassins who stood around the guillotine, and +perpetrated the murder, that they were committing a crime, and have tried +with all my might to prevent the murder. But while so doing I should +have known that my action would not prevent the murder. But here I might +not only have given _sbiten_ and the money which I had with me, but the +coat from my back, and every thing that was in my house. But this I had +not done; and therefore I felt, I feel, and shall never cease to feel, +myself an accomplice in this constantly repeated crime, so long as I have +superfluous food and any one else has none at all, so long as I have two +garments while any one else has not even one.] {28} + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +That very evening, on my return from the Lyapinsky house, I related my +impressions to a friend. The friend, an inhabitant of the city, began to +tell me, not without satisfaction, that this was the most natural +phenomenon of town life possible, that I only saw something extraordinary +in it because of my provincialism, that it had always been so, and always +would be so, and that such must be and is the inevitable condition of +civilization. In London it is even worse. Of course there is nothing +wrong about it, and it is impossible to be displeased with it. I began +to reply to my friend, but with so much heat and ill-temper, that my wife +ran in from the adjoining room to inquire what had happened. It appears +that, without being conscious of it myself, I had been shouting, with +tears in my voice, and flourishing my hands at my friend. I shouted: +“It’s impossible to live thus, impossible to live thus, impossible!” +They made me feel ashamed of my unnecessary warmth; they told me that I +could not talk quietly about any thing, that I got disagreeably excited; +and they proved to me, especially, that the existence of such +unfortunates could not possibly furnish any excuse for imbittering the +lives of those about me. + +I felt that this was perfectly just, and held my peace; but in the depths +of my soul I was conscious that I was in the right, and I could not +regain my composure. + +And the life of the city, which had, even before this, been so strange +and repellent to me, now disgusted me to such a degree, that all the +pleasures of a life of luxury, which had hitherto appeared to me as +pleasures, become tortures to me. And try as I would, to discover in my +own soul any justification whatever for our life, I could not, without +irritation, behold either my own or other people’s drawing-rooms, nor our +tables spread in the lordly style, nor our equipages and horses, nor +shops, theatres, and assemblies. I could not behold alongside these the +hungry, cold, and down-trodden inhabitants of the Lyapinsky house. And I +could not rid myself of the thought that these two things were bound up +together, that the one arose from the other. I remember, that, as this +feeling of my own guilt presented itself to me at the first blush, so it +persisted in me, but to this feeling a second was speedily added which +overshadowed it. + +When I mentioned my impressions of the Lyapinsky house to my nearest +friends and acquaintances, they all gave me the same answer as the first +friend at whom I had begun to shout; but, in addition to this, they +expressed their approbation of my kindness of heart and my sensibility, +and gave me to understand that this sight had so especially worked upon +me because I, Lyof Nikolaevitch, was very kind and good. And I willingly +believed this. And before I had time to look about me, instead of the +feeling of self-reproach and regret, which I had at first experienced, +there came a sense of satisfaction with my own kindliness, and a desire +to exhibit it to people. + +“It really must be,” I said to myself, “that I am not especially +responsible for this by the luxury of my life, but that it is the +indispensable conditions of existence that are to blame. In truth, a +change in my mode of life cannot rectify the evil which I have seen: by +altering my manner of life, I shall only make myself and those about me +unhappy, and the other miseries will remain the same as ever. And +therefore my problem lies not in a change of my own life, as it had first +seemed to me, but in aiding, so far as in me lies, in the amelioration of +the situation of those unfortunate beings who have called forth my +compassion. The whole point lies here,—that I am a very kind, amiable +man, and that I wish to do good to my neighbors.” And I began to think +out a plan of beneficent activity, in which I might exhibit my +benevolence. I must confess, however, that while devising this plan of +beneficent activity, I felt all the time, in the depths of my soul, that +that was not the thing; but, as often happens, activity of judgment and +imagination drowned that voice of conscience within me. At that +juncture, the census came up. This struck me as a means for instituting +that benevolence in which I proposed to exhibit my charitable +disposition. I knew of many charitable institutions and societies which +were in existence in Moscow, but all their activity seemed to me both +wrongly directed and insignificant in comparison with what I intended to +do. And I devised the following scheme: to arouse the sympathy of the +wealthy for the poverty of the city, to collect money, to get people +together who were desirous of assisting in this matter, and to visit all +the refuges of poverty in company with the census, and, in addition to +the work of the census, to enter into communion with the unfortunate, to +learn the particulars of their necessities, and to assist them with +money, with work, by sending them away from Moscow, by placing their +children in school, and the old people in hospitals and asylums. And not +only that, I thought, but these people who undertake this can be formed +into a permanent society, which, by dividing the quarters of Moscow among +its members, will be able to see to it that this poverty and beggary +shall not be bred; they will incessantly annihilate it at its very +inception; then they will fulfil their duty, not so much by healing as by +a course of hygiene for the wretchedness of the city. I fancied that +there would be no more simply needy, not to mention abjectly poor +persons, in the town, and that all of us wealthy individuals would +thereafter be able to sit in our drawing-rooms, and eat our five-course +dinners, and ride in our carriages to theatres and assemblies, and be no +longer annoyed with such sights as I had seen at the Lyapinsky house. + +Having concocted this plan, I wrote an article on the subject; and before +sending it to the printer, I went to some acquaintances, from whom I +hoped for sympathy. I said the same thing to every one whom I met that +day (and I applied chiefly to the rich), and nearly the same that I +afterwards printed in my memoir; proposed to take advantage of the census +to inquire into the wretchedness of Moscow, and to succor it, both by +deeds and money, and to do it in such a manner that there should be no +poor people in Moscow, and so that we rich ones might be able, with a +quiet conscience, to enjoy the blessings of life to which we were +accustomed. All listened to me attentively and seriously, but +nevertheless the same identical thing happened with every one of them +without exception. No sooner did my hearers comprehend the question, +than they seemed to feel awkward and somewhat mortified. They seemed to +be ashamed, and principally on my account, because I was talking +nonsense, and nonsense which it was impossible to openly characterize as +such. Some external cause appeared to compel my hearers to be forbearing +with this nonsense of mine. + +“Ah, yes! of course. That would be very good,” they said to me. “It is +a self-understood thing that it is impossible not to sympathize with +this. Yes, your idea is a capital one. I have thought of that myself, +but . . . we are so indifferent, as a rule, that you can hardly count on +much success . . . however, so far as I am concerned, I am, of course, +ready to assist.” + +They all said something of this sort to me. They all agreed, but agreed, +so it seemed to me, not in consequence of my convictions, and not in +consequence of their own wish, but as the result of some outward cause, +which did not permit them not to agree. I had already noticed this, and, +since not one of them stated the sum which he was willing to contribute, +I was obliged to fix it myself, and to ask: “So I may count on you for +three hundred, or two hundred, or one hundred, or twenty-five rubles?” +And not one of them gave me any money. I mention this because, when +people give money for that which they themselves desire, they generally +make haste to give it. For a box to see Sarah Bernhardt, they will +instantly place the money in your hand, to clinch the bargain. Here, +however, out of all those who agreed to contribute, and who expressed +their sympathy, not one of them proposed to give me the money on the +spot, but they merely assented in silence to the sum which I suggested. +In the last house which I visited on that day, in the evening, I +accidentally came upon a large company. The mistress of the house had +busied herself with charity for several years. Numerous carriages stood +at the door, several lackeys in rich liveries were sitting in the +ante-chamber. In the vast drawing-room, around two tables and lamps, sat +ladies and young girls, in costly garments, dressing small dolls; and +there were several young men there also, hovering about the ladies. The +dolls prepared by these ladies were to be drawn in a lottery for the +poor. + +The sight of this drawing-room, and of the people assembled in it, struck +me very unpleasantly. Not to mention the fact that the property of the +persons there congregated amounted to many millions, not to mention the +fact that the mere income from the capital here expended on dresses, +laces, bronzes, brooches, carriages, horses, liveries, and lackeys, was a +hundred-fold greater than all that these ladies could earn; not to +mention the outlay, the trip hither of all these ladies and gentlemen; +the gloves, linen, extra time, the candles, the tea, the sugar, and the +cakes had cost the hostess a hundred times more than what they were +engaged in making here. I saw all this, and therefore I could +understand, that precisely here I should find no sympathy with my +mission: but I had come in order to make my proposition, and, difficult +as this was for me, I said what I intended. (I said very nearly the same +thing that is contained in my printed article.) + +Out of all the persons there present, one individual offered me money, +saying that she did not feel equal to going among the poor herself on +account of her sensibility, but that she would give money; how much money +she would give, and when, she did not say. Another individual and a +young man offered their services in going about among the poor, but I did +not avail myself of their offer. The principal person to whom I +appealed, told me that it would be impossible to do much because means +were lacking. Means were lacking because all the rich people in Moscow +were already on the lists, and all of them were asked for all that they +could possibly give; because on all these benefactors rank, medals, and +other dignities were bestowed; because in order to secure financial +success, some new dignities must be secured from the authorities, and +that this was the only practical means, but this was extremely difficult. + +On my return home that night, I lay down to sleep not only with a +presentment that my idea would come to nothing, but with shame and a +consciousness that all day long I had been engaged in a very repulsive +and disgraceful business. But I did not give up this undertaking. In +the first place, the matter had been begun, and false shame would have +prevented my abandoning it; in the second place, not only the success of +this scheme, but the very fact that I was busying myself with it, +afforded me the possibility of continuing to live in the conditions under +which I was then living; failure entailed upon me the necessity of +renouncing my present existence and of seeking new paths of life. And +this I unconsciously dreaded, and I could not believe the inward voice, +and I went on with what I had begun. + +Having sent my article to the printer, I read the proof of it to the City +Council (_Dum_). I read it, stumbling, and blushing even to tears, I +felt so awkward. And I saw that it was equally awkward for all my +hearers. In answer to my question at the conclusion of my reading, as to +whether the superintendents of the census would accept my proposition to +retain their places with the object of becoming mediators between society +and the needy, an awkward silence ensued. Then two orators made +speeches. These speeches in some measure corrected the awkwardness of my +proposal; sympathy for me was expressed, but the impracticability of my +proposition, which all had approved, was demonstrated. Everybody +breathed more freely. But when, still desirous of gaining my object, I +afterwards asked the superintendents separately: Were they willing, while +taking the census, to inquire into the needs of the poor, and to retain +their posts, in order to serve as go-betweens between the poor and the +rich? they all grew uneasy again. They seemed to say to me with their +glances: “Why, we have just condoned your folly out of respect to you, +and here you are beginning it again!” Such was the expression of their +faces, but they assured me in words that they agreed; and two of them +said in the very same words, as though they had entered into a compact +together: “We consider ourselves _morally bound_ to do this.” The same +impression was produced by my communication to the student-census-takers, +when I said to them, that while taking our statistics, we should follow +up, in addition to the objects of the census, the object of benevolence. +When we discussed this, I observed that they were ashamed to look the +kind-hearted man, who was talking nonsense, in the eye. My article +produced the same impression on the editor of the newspaper, when I +handed it to him; on my son, on my wife, on the most widely different +persons. All felt awkward, for some reason or other; but all regarded it +as indispensable to applaud the idea itself, and all, immediately after +this expression of approbation, began to express their doubts as to its +success, and began for some reason (and all of them, too, without +exception) to condemn the indifference and coldness of our society and of +every one, apparently, except themselves. + +In the depths of my own soul, I still continued to feel that all this was +not at all what was needed, and that nothing would come of it; but the +article was printed, and I prepared to take part in the census; I had +contrived the matter, and now it was already carrying me a way with it. + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +At my request, there had been assigned to me for the census, a portion of +the Khamovnitchesky quarter, at the Smolensk market, along the Prototchny +cross-street, between Beregovoy Passage and Nikolsky Alley. In this +quarter are situated the houses generally called the Rzhanoff Houses, or +the Rzhanoff fortress. These houses once belonged to a merchant named +Rzhanoff, but now belong to the Zimins. I had long before heard of this +place as a haunt of the most terrible poverty and vice, and I had +accordingly requested the directors of the census to assign me to this +quarter. My desire was granted. + +On receiving the instructions of the City Council, I went alone, a few +days previous to the beginning of the census, to reconnoitre my section. +I found the Rzhanoff fortress at once, from the plan with which I had +been furnished. + +I approached from Nikolsky Alley. Nikolsky Alley ends on the left in a +gloomy house, without any gates on that side; I divined from its +appearance that this was the Rzhanoff fortress. + +Passing down Nikolsky Street, I overtook some lads of from ten to +fourteen years of age, clad in little caftans and great-coats, who were +sliding down hill, some on their feet, and some on one skate, along the +icy slope beside this house. The boys were ragged, and, like all city +lads, bold and impudent. I stopped to watch them. A ragged old woman, +with yellow, pendent cheeks, came round the corner. She was going to +town, to the Smolensk market, and she groaned terribly at every step, +like a foundered horse. As she came alongside me, she halted and drew a +hoarse sigh. In any other locality, this old woman would have asked +money of me, but here she merely addressed me. + +“Look there,” said she, pointing at the boys who were sliding, “all they +do is to play their pranks! They’ll turn out just such Rzhanoff fellows +as their fathers.” + +One of the boys clad in a great-coat and a visorless cap, heard her words +and halted: “What are you scolding about?” he shouted to the old woman. +“You’re an old Rzhanoff nanny-goat yourself!” + +I asked the boy: + +“And do you live here?” + +“Yes, and so does she. She stole boot-legs,” shouted the boy; and +raising his foot in front, he slid away. + +The old woman burst forth into injurious words, interrupted by a cough. +At that moment, an old man, all clad in rags, and as white as snow, came +down the hill in the middle of the street, flourishing his hands [in one +of them he held a bundle with one little _kalatch_ and _baranki_ {39}]. +This old man bore the appearance of a person who had just strengthened +himself with a dram. He had evidently heard the old woman’s insulting +words, and he took her part. + +“I’ll give it to you, you imps, that I will!” he screamed at the boys, +seeming to direct his course towards them, and taking a circuit round me, +he stepped on to the sidewalk. This old man creates surprise on the +Arbata by his great age, his weakness, and his indigence. Here he was a +cheery laboring-man returning from his daily toil. + +I followed the old man. He turned the corner to the left, into +Prototchny Alley, and passing by the whole length of the house and the +gate, he disappeared through the door of the tavern. + +Two gates and several doors open on Prototchny Alley: those belonging to +a tavern, a dram-shop, and several eating and other shops. This is the +Rzhanoff fortress itself. Every thing here is gray, dirty, and +malodorous—both buildings and locality, and court-yards and people. The +majority of the people whom I met here were ragged and half-clad. Some +were passing through, others were running from door to door. Two were +haggling over some rags. I made the circuit of the entire building from +Prototchny Alley and Beregovoy Passage, and returning I halted at the +gate of one of these houses. I wished to enter, and see what was going +on inside, but I felt that it would be awkward. What should I say when I +was asked what I wanted there? I hesitated, but went in nevertheless. +As soon as I entered the court-yard, I became conscious of a disgusting +odor. The yard was frightfully dirty. I turned a corner, and at the +same instant I heard to my left and overhead, on the wooden balcony, the +tramp of footsteps of people running, at first along the planks of the +balcony, and then on the steps of the staircase. There emerged, first a +gaunt woman, with her sleeves rolled up, in a faded pink gown, and little +boots on her stockingless feet. After her came a tattered man in a red +shirt and very full trousers, like a petticoat, and with overshoes. The +man caught the woman at the bottom of the steps. + +“You shall not escape,” he said laughing. + +“See here, you cock-eyed devil,” began the woman, evidently flattered by +this pursuit; but catching sight of me, she shrieked viciously, “What do +you want?” + +As I wanted nothing, I became confused and beat a retreat. There was +nothing remarkable about the place; but this incident, after what I had +witnessed on the other side of the yard, the cursing old woman, the jolly +old man, and the lads sliding, suddenly presented the business which I +had concocted from a totally different point of view. I then +comprehended for the first time, that all these unfortunates to whom I +was desirous of playing the part of benefactor, besides the time, when, +suffering from cold and hunger, they awaited admission into the house, +had still other time, which they employed to some other purpose, that +there were four and twenty hours in every day, that there was a whole +life of which I had never thought, up to that moment. Here, for the +first time, I understood, that all those people, in addition to their +desire to shelter themselves from the cold and to obtain a good meal, +must still, in some way, live out those four and twenty hours each day, +which they must pass as well as everybody else. I comprehended that +these people must lose their tempers, and get bored, show courage, and +grieve and be merry. Strange as this may seem, when put into words, I +understood clearly for the first time, that the business which I had +undertaken could not consist alone in feeding and clothing thousands of +people, as one would feed and drive under cover a thousand sheep, but +that it must consist in doing good to them. + +And then I understood that each one of those thousand people was exactly +such a man,—with precisely the same past, with the same passions, +temptations, failings, with the same thoughts, the same +perplexities,—exactly such a man as myself, and then the thing that I had +undertaken suddenly presented itself to me as so difficult that I felt my +powerlessness; but the thing had been begun, and I went on with it. + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +On the first appointed day, the student enumerators arrived in the +morning, and I, the benefactor, joined them at twelve o’clock. I could +not go earlier, because I had risen at ten o’clock, then I had drunk my +coffee and smoked, while waiting on digestion. At twelve o’clock I +reached the gates of the Rzhanoff house. A policeman pointed out to me +the tavern with a side entrance on Beregovoy Passage, where the +census-takers had ordered every one who asked for them to be directed. I +entered the tavern. It was very dark, ill-smelling, and dirty. Directly +opposite the entrance was the counter, on the left was a room with +tables, covered with soiled cloths, on the right a large apartment with +pillars, and the same sort of little tables at the windows and along the +walls. Here and there at the tables sat men both ragged and decently +clad, like laboring-men or petty tradesmen, and a few women drinking tea. +The tavern was very filthy, but it was instantly apparent that it had a +good trade. + +There was a business-like expression on the face of the clerk behind the +counter, and a clever readiness about the waiters. No sooner had I +entered, than one waiter prepared to remove my coat and bring me whatever +I should order. It was evident that they had been trained to brisk and +accurate service. I inquired for the enumerators. + +“Vanya!” shouted a small man, dressed in German fashion, who was engaged +in placing something in a cupboard behind the counter; this was the +landlord of the tavern, a Kaluga peasant, Ivan Fedotitch, who hired +one-half of the Zimins’ houses and sublet them to lodgers. The waiter, a +thin, hooked-nosed young fellow of eighteen, with a yellow complexion, +hastened up. + +“Conduct this gentleman to the census-takers; they went into the main +building over the well.” The young fellow threw down his napkin, and +donned a coat over his white jacket and white trousers, and a cap with a +large visor, and, tripping quickly along with his white feet, he led me +through the swinging door in the rear. In the dirty, malodorous kitchen, +in the out-building, we encountered an old woman who was carefully +carrying some very bad-smelling tripe, wrapped in a rag, off somewhere. +From the out-building we descended into a sloping court-yard, all +encumbered with small wooden buildings on lower stories of stone. The +odor in this whole yard was extremely powerful. The centre of this odor +was an out-house, round which people were thronging whenever I passed it. +It merely indicated the spot, but was not altogether used itself. It was +impossible, when passing through the yard, not to take note of this spot; +one always felt oppressed when one entered the penetrating atmosphere +which was emitted by this foul smell. + +The waiter, carefully guarding his white trousers, led me cautiously past +this place of frozen and unfrozen uncleanness to one of the buildings. +The people who were passing through the yard and along the balconies all +stopped to stare at me. It was evident that a respectably dressed man +was a curiosity in these localities. + +The young man asked a woman “whether she had seen the census-takers?” +And three men simultaneously answered his question: some said that they +were over the well, but others said that they had been there, but had +come out and gone to Nikita Ivanovitch. An old man dressed only in his +shirt, who was wandering about the centre of the yard, said that they +were in No. 30. The young man decided that this was the most probable +report, and conducted me to No. 30 through the basement entrance, and +darkness and bad smells, different from that which existed outside. We +went down-stairs, and proceeded along the earthen floor of a dark +corridor. As we were passing along the corridor, a door flew open +abruptly, and an old drunken man, in his shirt, probably not of the +peasant class, thrust himself out. A washerwoman, wringing her soapy +hands, was pursuing and hustling the old man with piercing screams. +Vanya, my guide, pushed the old man aside, and reproved him. + +“It’s not proper to make such a row,” said me, “and you an officer, too!” +and we went on to the door of No. 30. + +Vanya gave it a little pull. The door gave way with a smack, opened, and +we smelled soapy steam, and a sharp odor of spoilt food and tobacco, and +we entered into total darkness. The windows were on the opposite side; +but the corridors ran to right and left between board partitions, and +small doors opened, at various angles, into the rooms made of uneven +whitewashed boards. In a dark room, on the left, a woman could be seen +washing in a tub. An old woman was peeping from one of these small doors +on the right. Through another open door we could see a red-faced, hairy +peasant, in bast shoes, sitting on his wooden bunk; his hands rested on +his knees, and he was swinging his feet, shod in bast shoes, and gazing +gloomily at them. + +At the end of the corridor was a little door leading to the apartment +where the census-takers were. This was the chamber of the mistress of +the whole of No. 30; she rented the entire apartment from Ivan +Feodovitch, and let it out again to lodgers and as night-quarters. In +her tiny room, under the tinsel images, sat the student census-taker with +his charts; and, in his quality of investigator, he had just thoroughly +interrogated a peasant wearing a shirt and a vest. This latter was a +friend of the landlady, and had been answering questions for her. The +landlady herself, an elderly woman, was there also, and two of her +curious tenants. When I entered, the room was already packed full. I +pushed my way to the table. I exchanged greetings with the student, and +he proceeded with his inquiries. And I began to look about me, and to +interrogate the inhabitants of these quarters for my own purpose. + +It turned out, that in this first set of lodgings, I found not a single +person upon whom I could pour out my benevolence. The landlady, in spite +of the fact that the poverty, smallness and dirt of these quarters struck +me after the palatial house in which I dwell, lived in comfort, compared +with many of the poor inhabitants of the city, and in comparison with the +poverty in the country, with which I was thoroughly familiar, she lived +luxuriously. She had a feather-bed, a quilted coverlet, a samovar, a fur +cloak, and a dresser with crockery. The landlady’s friend had the same +comfortable appearance. He had a watch and a chain. Her lodgers were +not so well off, but there was not one of them who was in need of +immediate assistance: the woman who was washing linen in a tub, and who +had been abandoned by her husband and had children, an aged widow without +any means of livelihood, as she said, and that peasant in bast shoes, who +told me that he had nothing to eat that day. But on questioning them, it +appeared that none of these people were in special want, and that, in +order to help them, it would be necessary to become well acquainted with +them. + +When I proposed to the woman whose husband had abandoned her, to place +her children in an asylum, she became confused, fell into thought, +thanked me effusively, but evidently did not wish to do so; she would +have preferred pecuniary assistance. The eldest girl helped her in her +washing, and the younger took care of the little boy. The old woman +begged earnestly to be taken to the hospital, but on examining her nook I +found that the old woman was not particularly poor. She had a chest full +of effects, a teapot with a tin spout, two cups, and caramel boxes filled +with tea and sugar. She knitted stockings and gloves, and received +monthly aid from some benevolent lady. And it was evident that what the +peasant needed was not so much food as drink, and that whatever might be +given him would find its way to the dram-shop. In these quarters, +therefore, there were none of the sort of people whom I could render +happy by a present of money. But there were poor people who appeared to +me to be of a doubtful character. I noted down the old woman, the woman +with the children, and the peasant, and decided that they must be seen +to; but later on, as I was occupied with the peculiarly unfortunate whom +I expected to find in this house, I made up my mind that there must be +some order in the aid which we should bestow; first came the most +wretched, and then this kind. But in the next quarters, and in the next +after that, it was the same story, all the people had to be narrowly +investigated before they could be helped. But unfortunates of the sort +whom a gift of money would convert from unfortunate into fortunate +people, there were none. Mortifying as it is to me to avow this, I began +to get disenchanted, because I did not find among these people any thing +of the sort which I had expected. I had expected to find peculiar people +here; but, after making the round of all the apartments, I was convinced +that the inhabitants of these houses were not peculiar people at all, but +precisely such persons as those among whom I lived. As there are among +us, just so among them; there were here those who were more or less good, +more or less stupid, happy and unhappy. The unhappy were exactly such +unhappy beings as exist among us, that is, unhappy people whose +unhappiness lies not in their external conditions, but in themselves, a +sort of unhappiness which it is impossible to right by any sort of +bank-note whatever. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +The inhabitants of these houses constitute the lower class of the city, +which numbers in Moscow, probably, one hundred thousand. There, in that +house, are representatives of every description of this class. There are +petty employers, and master-artisans, bootmakers, brush-makers, +cabinet-makers, turners, shoemakers, tailors, blacksmiths; there are +cab-drivers, young women living alone, and female pedlers, laundresses, +old-clothes dealers, money-lenders, day-laborers, and people without any +definite employment; and also beggars and dissolute women. + +Here were many of the very people whom I had seen at the entrance to the +Lyapinsky house; but here these people were scattered about among the +working-people. And moreover, I had seen these people at their most +unfortunate time, when they had eaten and drunk up every thing, and when, +cold, hungry, and driven forth from the taverns, they were awaiting +admission into the free night lodging-house, and thence into the promised +prison for despatch to their places of residence, like heavenly manna; +but here I beheld them and a majority of workers, and at a time, when by +one means or another, they had procured three or five kopeks for a +lodging for the night, and sometimes a ruble for food and drink. + +And strange as the statement may seem, I here experienced nothing +resembling that sensation which I had felt in the Lyapinsky house; but, +on the contrary, during the first round, both I and the students +experienced an almost agreeable feeling,—yes, but why do I say “almost +agreeable”? This is not true; the feeling called forth by intercourse +with these people, strange as it may sound, was a distinctly agreeable +one. + +Our first impression was, that the greater part of the dwellers here were +working people and very good people at that. + +We found more than half the inhabitants at work: laundresses bending over +their tubs, cabinet-makers at their lathes, cobblers on their benches. +The narrow rooms were full of people, and cheerful and energetic labor +was in progress. There was an odor of toilsome sweat and leather at the +cobbler’s, of shavings at the cabinet-maker’s; songs were often to be +heard, and glimpses could be had of brawny arms with sleeves roiled high, +quickly and skilfully making their accustomed movements. Everywhere we +were received cheerfully and politely: hardly anywhere did our intrusion +into the every-day life of these people call forth that ambition, and +desire to exhibit their importance and to put us down, which the +appearance of the enumerators in the quarters of well-to-do people +evoked. It not only did not arouse this, but, on the contrary, they +answered all other questions properly, and without attributing any +special significance to them. Our questions merely served them as a +subject of mirth and jesting as to how such and such a one was to be set +down in the list, when he was to be reckoned as two, and when two were to +be reckoned as one, and so forth. + +We found many of them at dinner, or tea; and on every occasion to our +greeting: “bread and salt,” or “tea and sugar,” they replied: “we beg +that you will partake,” and even stepped aside to make room for us. +Instead of the den with a constantly changing population, which we had +expected to find here, it turned out, that there were a great many +apartments in the house where people had been living for a long time. +One cabinet-maker with his men, and a boot-maker with his journeymen, had +lived there for ten years. The boot-maker’s quarters were very dirty and +confined, but all the people at work were very cheerful. I tried to +enter into conversation with one of the workmen, being desirous of +inquiring into the wretchedness of his situation and his debt to his +master, but the man did not understand me and spoke of his master and his +life from the best point of view. + +In one apartment lived an old man and his old woman. They peddled +apples. Their little chamber was warm, clean, and full of goods. On the +floor were spread straw mats: they had got them at the apple-warehouse. +They had chests, a cupboard, a samovar, and crockery. In the corner +there were numerous images, and two lamps were burning before them; on +the wall hung fur coats covered with sheets. The old woman, who had +star-shaped wrinkles, and who was polite and talkative, evidently +delighted in her quiet, comfortable, existence. + +Ivan Fedotitch, the landlord of the tavern and of these quarters, left +his establishment and came with us. He jested in a friendly manner with +many of the landlords of apartments, addressing them all by their +Christian names and patronymics, and he gave us brief sketches of them. +All were ordinary people, like everybody else,—Martin Semyonovitches, +Piotr Piotrovitches, Marya Ivanovnas,—people who did not consider +themselves unhappy, but who regarded themselves, and who actually were, +just like the rest of mankind. + +We had been prepared to witness nothing except what was terrible. And, +all of a sudden, there was presented to us, not only nothing that was +terrible, but what was good,—things which involuntarily compelled our +respect. And there were so many of these good people, that the tattered, +corrupt, idle people whom we came across now and then among them, did not +destroy the principal impression. + +This was not so much of a surprise to the students as to me. They simply +went to fulfil a useful task, as they thought, in the interests of +science, and, at the same time, they made their own chance observations; +but I was a benefactor, I went for the purpose of aiding the unfortunate, +the corrupt, vicious people, whom I supposed that I should meet with in +this house. And, behold, instead of unfortunate, corrupt, and vicious +people, I saw that the majority were laborious, industrious, peaceable, +satisfied, contented, cheerful, polite, and very good folk indeed. + +I felt particularly conscious of this when, in these quarters, I +encountered that same crying want which I had undertaken to alleviate. + +When I encountered this want, I always found that it had already been +relieved, that the assistance which I had intended to render had already +been given. This assistance had been rendered before my advent, and +rendered by whom? By the very unfortunate, depraved creatures whom I had +undertaken to reclaim, and rendered in such a manner as I could not +compass. + +In one basement lay a solitary old man, ill with the typhus fever. There +was no one with the old man. A widow and her little daughter, strangers +to him, but his neighbors round the corner, looked after him, gave him +tea and purchased medicine for him out of their own means. In another +lodging lay a woman in puerperal fever. A woman who lived by vice was +rocking the baby, and giving her her bottle; and for two days, she had +been unremitting in her attention. The baby girl, on being left an +orphan, was adopted into the family of a tailor, who had three children +of his own. So there remained those unfortunate idle people, officials, +clerks, lackeys out of place, beggars, drunkards, dissolute women, and +children, who cannot be helped on the spot with money, but whom it is +necessary to know thoroughly, to be planned and arranged for. I had +simply sought unfortunate people, the unfortunates of poverty, those who +could be helped by sharing with them our superfluity, and, as it seemed +to me, through some signal ill-luck, none such were to be found; but I +hit upon unfortunates to whom I should be obliged to devote my time and +care. + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +The unfortunates whom I noted down, divided themselves, according to my +ideas, into three sections, namely: people who had lost their former +advantageous position, and who were awaiting a return to it (there were +people of this sort from both the lower and the higher class); next, +dissolute women, of whom there are a great many in these houses; and a +third division, children. More than all the rest, I found and noted down +people of the first division, who had forfeited their former advantageous +position, and who hoped to regain it. Of such persons, especially from +the governmental and official world, there are a very great number in +these houses. In almost all the lodgings which we entered, with the +landlord, Ivan Fedotitch, he said to us: “Here you need not write down +the lodger’s card yourself; there is a man here who can do it, if he only +happens not to be intoxicated to-day.” + +And Ivan Fedotitch called by name and patronymic this man, who was always +one of those persons who had fallen from a lofty position. At Ivan +Fedotitch’s call, there crawled forth from some dark corner, a former +wealthy member of the noble or official class, generally intoxicated and +always undressed. If he was not drunk, he always readily acceded to the +task proposed to him, nodded significantly, frowned, set down his remarks +in learned phraseology, held the card neatly printed on red paper in his +dirty, trembling hands, and glanced round at his fellow-lodgers with +pride and contempt, as though now triumphing in his education over those +who had so often humiliated him. He evidently enjoyed intercourse with +that world in which cards are printed on red paper, and with that world +of which he had once formed a part. Nearly always, in answer to my +inquiries about his life, the man began, not only willingly, but eagerly, +to relate the story of the misfortunes which he had undergone,—which he +had learned by rote like a prayer,—and particularly of his former +position, in which he ought still to be by right of his education. + +A great many such people were scattered over all the corners of the +Rzhanoff house. But one lodging was densely occupied by them alone—both +men and women. After we had already entered, Ivan Fedotitch said to us: +“Now, here are some of the nobility.” The lodging was perfectly crammed; +nearly all of the people, forty in number, were at home. More +demoralized countenances, unhappy, aged, and swollen, young, pallid, and +distracted, were not to be seen in the whole building. I conversed with +several of them. The story was nearly identical in all cases, only in +various stages of development. Every one of them had been rich, or his +father, his brother or his uncle was still wealthy, or his father or he +himself had had a very fine position. Then misfortune had overtaken him, +the blame for which rested either on envious people, or on his own +kind-heartedness, or some special chance, and so he had lost every thing, +and had been forced to condescend to these surroundings to which he was +not accustomed, and which were hateful to him—among lice, rags, among +drunkards and corrupt persons, and to nourish himself on bread and liver, +and to extend his hand in beggary. All the thoughts, desires, memories +of these people were directed exclusively to the past. The present +appeared to them something unreal, repulsive, and not worthy of +attention. Not one of them had any present. They had only memories of +the past, and expectations from the future, which might be realized at +any moment, and for the realization of which only a very little was +required; but this little they did not possess, it was nowhere to be +obtained, and this had been ruining their whole future life in vain, in +the case of one man, for a year, of a second for five years, and of a +third for thirty years. All one needed was merely to dress respectably, +so that he could present himself to a certain personage, who was +well-disposed towards him another only needed to be able to dress, pay +off his debts, and get to Orel; a third required to redeem a small +property which was mortgaged, for the continuation of a law-suit, which +must be decided in his favor, and then all would be well once more. They +all declare that they merely require something external, in order to +stand once more in the position which they regard as natural and happy in +their own case. + +Had my mind not been obscured by my pride as a benefactor, a glance at +their faces, both old and young, which were mostly weak and sensitive, +but amiable, would have given me to understand that their misfortunes +were irreparable by any external means, that they could not be happy in +any position whatever, if their views of life were to remain unchanged, +that they were in no wise remarkable people, in remarkably unfortunate +circumstances, but that they were the same people who surround us on all +sides, and just like ourselves. I remember that intercourse with this +sort of unfortunates was peculiarly difficult for me. I now understand +why this was so; in them I beheld myself, as in a mirror. If I had +reflected on my own life and on the life of the people in our circle, I +should have seen that no real difference existed between them. + +If those about me dwell in spacious quarters, and in their own houses on +the Sivtzevy Vrazhok and on the Dimitrovka, and not in the Rzhanoff +house, and still eat and drink dainties, and not liver and herrings with +bread, that does not prevent them from being exactly as unhappy. They +are just as dissatisfied with their own positions, they mourn over the +past, and pine for better things, and the improved position for which +they long is precisely the same as that which the inhabitants of the +Rzhanoff house long for; that is to say, one in which they may do as +little work as possible themselves, and derive the utmost advantage from +the labors of others. The difference is merely one of degrees and time. +If I had reflected at that time, I should have understood this; but I did +not reflect, and I questioned these people, and wrote them down, +supposing, that, having learned all the particulars of their various +conditions and necessities, I could aid them _later on_. I did not +understand that such a man can only be helped by changing his views of +the world. But in order to change the views of another, one must needs +have better views himself, and live in conformity with them; but mine +were precisely the same as theirs, and I lived in accordance with those +views, which must undergo a change, in order that these people might +cease to be unhappy. + +I did not see that these people were unhappy, not because they had not, +so to speak, nourishing food, but because their stomachs had been +spoiled, and because their appetites demanded not nourishing but +irritating viands; and I did not perceive that, in order to help them, it +was not necessary to give them food, but that it was necessary to heal +their disordered stomachs. Although I am anticipating by so doing, I +will mention here, that, out of all these persons whom I noted down, I +really did not help a single one, in spite of the fact that for some of +them, that was done which they desired, and that which, apparently, might +have raised them. Three of their number were particularly well known to +me. All three, after repeated rises and falls, are now in precisely the +same situation in which they were three years ago. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +The second class of unfortunates whom I also expected to assist later on, +were the dissolute women; there were a very great many of them, of all +sorts, in the Rzhanoff house—from those who were young and who resembled +women, to old ones, who were frightful and horrible, and who had lost +every semblance of humanity. The hope of being of assistance to these +women, which I had not at first entertained, occurred to me later. This +was in the middle of our rounds. We had already worked out several +mechanical tricks of procedure. + +When we entered a new establishment, we immediately questioned the +landlady of the apartment; one of us sat down, clearing some sort of a +place for himself where he could write, and another penetrated the +corners, and questioned each man in all the nooks of the apartment +separately, and reported the facts to the one who did the writing. + +On entering a set of rooms in the basement, a student went to hunt up the +landlady, while I began to interrogate all who remained in the place. +The apartment was thus arranged: in the centre was a room six _arshins_ +square, {59} and a small oven. From the oven radiated four partitions, +forming four tiny compartments. In the first, the entrance slip, which +had four bunks, there were two persons—an old man and a woman. +Immediately adjoining this, was a rather long slip of a room; in it was +the landlord, a young fellow, dressed in a sleeveless gray woollen +jacket, a good-looking, very pale citizen. {60} On the left of the first +corner, was a third tiny chamber; there was one person asleep there, +probably a drunken peasant, and a woman in a pink blouse which was loose +in front and close-fitting behind. The fourth chamber was behind the +partition; the entrance to it was from the landlord’s compartment. + +The student went into the landlord’s room, and I remained in the entrance +compartment, and questioned the old man and woman. The old man had been +a master-printer, but now had no means of livelihood. The woman was the +wife of a cook. I went to the third compartment, and questioned the +woman in the blouse about the sleeping man. She said that he was a +visitor. I asked the woman who she was. She replied that she was a +Moscow peasant. “What is your business?” She burst into a laugh, and +did not answer me. “What do you live on?” I repeated, thinking that she +had not understood my question. “I sit in the taverns,” she said. I did +not comprehend, and again I inquired: “What is your means of livelihood?” +She made no reply and laughed. Women’s voices in the fourth compartment +which we had not yet entered, joined in the laugh. The landlord emerged +from his cabin and stepped up to us. He had evidently heard my questions +and the woman’s replies. He cast a stern glance at the woman and turned +to me: “She is a prostitute,” said he, apparently pleased that he knew +the word in use in the language of the authorities, and that he could +pronounce it correctly. And having said this, with a respectful and +barely perceptible smile of satisfaction addressed to me, he turned to +the woman. And no sooner had he turned to her, than his whole face +altered. He said, in a peculiar, scornful, hasty tone, such as is +employed towards dogs: “What do you jabber in that careless way for? ‘I +sit in the taverns.’ You do sit in the taverns, and that means, to talk +business, that you are a prostitute,” and again he uttered the word. +“She does not know the name for herself.” This tone offended me. “It is +not our place to abuse her,” said I. “If all of us lived according to +the laws of God, there would be none of these women.” + +“That’s the very point,” said the landlord, with an awkward smile. + +“Therefore, we should not reproach but pity them. Are they to blame?” + +I do not recollect just what I said, but I do remember that I was vexed +by the scornful tone of the landlord of these quarters which were filled +with women, whom he called prostitutes, and that I felt compassion for +this woman, and that I gave expression to both feelings. No sooner had I +spoken thus, than the boards of the bed in the next compartment, whence +the laugh had proceeded, began to creak, and above the partition, which +did not reach to the ceiling, there appeared a woman’s curly and +dishevelled head, with small, swollen eyes, and a shining, red face, +followed by a second, and then by a third. They were evidently standing +on their beds, and all three were craning their necks, and holding their +breath with strained attention, and gazing silently at us. + +A troubled pause ensued. The student, who had been smiling up to this +time, became serious; the landlord grew confused and dropped his eyes. +All the women held their breath, stared at me, and waited. I was more +embarrassed than any of them. I had not, in the least, anticipated that +a chance remark would produce such an effect. Like Ezekiel’s field of +death, strewn with dead men’s bones, there was a quiver at the touch of +the spirit, and the dead bones stirred. I had uttered an unpremeditated +word of love and sympathy, and this word had acted on all as though they +had only been waiting for this very remark, in order that they might +cease to be corpses and might live. They all stared at me, and waited +for what would come next. They waited for me to utter those words, and +to perform those actions by reason of which these bones might draw +together, clothe themselves with flesh, and spring into life. But I felt +that I had no such words, no such actions, by means of which I could +continue what I had begun; I was conscious, in the depths of my soul, +that I had lied [that I was just like them], {62} and there was nothing +further for me to say; and I began to inscribe on the cards the names and +callings of all the persons in this set of apartments. + +This incident led me into a fresh dilemma, to the thought of how these +unfortunates also might be helped. In my self-delusion, I fancied that +this would be very easy. I said to myself: “Here, we will make a note of +all these women also, and _later on_ when we [I did not specify to myself +who “we” were] write every thing out, we will attend to these persons +too.” I imagined that we, the very ones who have brought and have been +bringing these women to this condition for several generations, would +take thought some fine day and reform all this. But, in the mean time, +if I had only recalled my conversation with the disreputable woman who +had been rocking the baby of the fever-stricken patient, I might have +comprehended the full extent of the folly of such a supposition. + +When we saw this woman with the baby, we thought that it was her child. +To the question, “Who was she?” she had replied in a straightforward way +that she was unmarried. She did not say—a prostitute. Only the master +of the apartment made use of that frightful word. The supposition that +she had a child suggested to me the idea of removing her from her +position. I inquired: + +“Is this your child?” + +“No, it belongs to that woman yonder.” + +“Why are you taking care of it?” + +“Because she asked me; she is dying.” + +Although my supposition proved to be erroneous, I continued my +conversation with her in the same spirit. I began to question her as to +who she was, and how she had come to such a state. She related her +history very readily and simply. She was a Moscow _myeshchanka_, the +daughter of a factory hand. She had been left an orphan, and had been +adopted by an aunt. From her aunt’s she had begun to frequent the +taverns. The aunt was now dead. When I asked her whether she did not +wish to alter her mode of life, my question, evidently, did not even +arouse her interest. How can one take an interest in the proposition of +a man, in regard to something absolutely impossible? She laughed, and +said: “And who would take me in with my yellow ticket?” + +“Well, but if a place could be found somewhere as cook?” said I. + +This thought occurred to me because she was a stout, ruddy woman, with a +kindly, round, and rather stupid face. Cooks are often like that. My +words evidently did not please her. She repeated: + +“A cook—but I don’t know how to make bread,” said she, and she laughed. +She said that she did not know how; but I saw from the expression of her +countenance that she did not wish to become a cook, that she regarded the +position and calling of a cook as low. + +This woman, who in the simplest possible manner was sacrificing every +thing that she had for the sick woman, like the widow in the Gospels, at +the same time, like many of her companions, regarded the position of a +person who works as low and deserving of scorn. She had been brought up +to live not by work, but by this life which was considered the natural +one for her by those about her. In that lay her misfortune. And she +fell in with this misfortune and clung to her position. This led her to +frequent the taverns. Which of us—man or woman—will correct her false +view of life? Where among us are the people to be found who are +convinced that every laborious life is more worthy of respect than an +idle life,—who are convinced of this, and who live in conformity with +this belief, and who in conformity with this conviction value and respect +people? If I had thought of this, I might have understood that neither +I, nor any other person among my acquaintances, could heal this +complaint. + +I might have understood that these amazed and affected heads thrust over +the partition indicated only surprise at the sympathy expressed for them, +but not in the least a hope of reclamation from their dissolute life. +They do not perceive the immorality of their life. They see that they +are despised and cursed, but for what they are thus despised they cannot +comprehend. Their life, from childhood, has been spent among just such +women, who, as they very well know, always have existed, and are +indispensable to society, and so indispensable that there are +governmental officials to attend to their legal existence. Moreover, +they know that they have power over men, and can bring them into +subjection, and rule them often more than other women. They see that +their position in society is recognized by women and men and the +authorities, in spite of their continual curses, and therefore, they +cannot understand why they should reform. + +In the course of one of the tours, one of the students told me that in a +certain lodging, there was a woman who was bargaining for her +thirteen-year-old daughter. Being desirous of rescuing this girl, I made +a trip to that lodging expressly. Mother and daughter were living in the +greatest poverty. The mother, a small, dark-complexioned, dissolute +woman of forty, was not only homely, but repulsively homely. The +daughter was equally disagreeable. To all my pointed questions about +their life, the mother responded curtly, suspiciously, and in a hostile +way, evidently feeling that I was an enemy, with evil intentions; the +daughter made no reply, did not look at her mother, and evidently trusted +the latter fully. They inspired me with no sincere pity, but rather with +disgust. But I made up my mind that the daughter must be rescued, and +that I would interest ladies who pitied the sad condition of these women, +and send them hither. But if I had reflected on the mother’s long life +in the past, of how she had given birth to, nursed and reared this +daughter in her situation, assuredly without the slightest assistance +from outsiders, and with heavy sacrifices—if I had reflected on the view +of life which this woman had formed, I should have understood that there +was, decidedly, nothing bad or immoral in the mother’s act: she had done +and was doing for her daughter all that she could, that is to say, what +she considered the best for herself. This daughter could be forcibly +removed from her mother; but it would be impossible to convince the +mother that she was doing wrong, in selling her daughter. If any one was +to be saved, then it must be this woman—the mother ought to have been +saved; [and that long before, from that view of life which is approved by +every one, according to which a woman may live unmarried, that is, +without bearing children and without work, and simply for the +satisfaction of the passions. If I had thought of this, I should have +understood that the majority of the ladies whom I intended to send +thither for the salvation of that little girl, not only live without +bearing children and without working, and serving only passion, but that +they deliberately rear their daughters for the same life; one mother +takes her daughter to the taverns, another takes hers to balls. But both +mothers hold the same view of the world, namely, that a woman must +satisfy man’s passions, and that for this she must be fed, dressed, and +cared for. Then how are our ladies to reform this woman and her +daughter? {66} ] + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +Still more remarkable were my relations to the children. In my _rôle_ of +benefactor, I turned my attention to the children also, being desirous to +save these innocent beings from perishing in that lair of vice, and +noting them down in order to attend to them _afterwards_. + +Among the children, I was especially struck with a twelve-year-old lad +named Serozha. I was heartily sorry for this bold, intelligent lad, who +had lived with a cobbler, and who had been left without a shelter because +his master had been put in jail, and I wanted to do good to him. + +I will here relate the upshot of my benevolence in his case, because my +experience with this child is best adapted to show my false position in +the _rôle_ of benefactor. I took the boy home with me and put him in the +kitchen. It was impossible, was it not, to take a child who had lived in +a den of iniquity in among my own children? And I considered myself very +kind and good, because he was a care, not to me, but to the servants in +the kitchen, and because not I but the cook fed him, and because I gave +him some cast-off clothing to wear. The boy staid a week. During that +week I said a few words to him as I passed on two occasions and in the +course of my strolls, I went to a shoemaker of my acquaintance, and +proposed that he should take the lad as an apprentice. A peasant who was +visiting me, invited him to go to the country, into his family, as a +laborer; the boy refused, and at the end of the week he disappeared. I +went to the Rzhanoff house to inquire after him. He had returned there, +but was not at home when I went thither. For two days already, he had +been going to the Pryesnensky ponds, where he had hired himself out at +thirty kopeks a day in some procession of savages in costume, who led +about elephants. Something was being presented to the public there. I +went a second time, but he was so ungrateful that he evidently avoided +me. Had I then reflected on the life of that boy and on my own, I should +have understood that this boy was spoiled because he had discovered the +possibility of a merry life without labor, and that he had grown unused +to work. And I, with the object of benefiting and reclaiming him, had +taken him to my house, where he saw—what? My children,—both older and +younger than himself, and of the same age,—who not only never did any +work for themselves, but who made work for others by every means in their +power, who soiled and spoiled every thing about them, who ate rich, +dainty, and sweet viands, broke china, and flung to the dogs food which +would have been a tidbit to this lad. If I had rescued him from the +_abyss_, and had taken him to that nice place, then he must acquire those +views which prevailed in the life of that nice place; but by these views, +he understood that in that fine place he must so live that he should not +toil, but eat and drink luxuriously, and lead a joyous life. It is true +that he did not know that my children bore heavy burdens in the +acquisition of the declensions of Latin and Greek grammar, and that he +could not have understood the object of these labors. But it is +impossible not to see that if he had understood this, the influence of my +children’s example on him would have been even stronger. He would then +have comprehended that my children were being educated in this manner, so +that, while doing no work now, they might be in a position hereafter, +also profiting by their diplomas, to work as little as possible, and to +enjoy the pleasures of life to as great an extent as possible. He did +understand this, and he would not go with the peasant to tend cattle, and +to eat potatoes and _kvas_ with him, but he went to the zoölogical garden +in the costume of a savage, to lead the elephant at thirty kopeks a day. + +I might have understood how clumsy I was, when I was rearing my children +in the most utter idleness and luxury, to reform other people and their +children, who were perishing from idleness in what I called the den of +the Rzhanoff house, where, nevertheless, three-fourths of the people toil +for themselves and for others. But I understood nothing of this. + +There were a great many children in the Rzhanoff house, who were in the +same pitiable plight; there were the children of dissolute women, there +were orphans, there were children who had been picked up in the streets +by beggars. They were all very wretched. But my experience with Serozha +showed me that I, living the life I did, was not in a position to help +them. + +While Serozha was living with us, I noticed in myself an effort to hide +our life from him, in particular the life of our children. I felt that +all my efforts to direct him towards a good, industrious life, were +counteracted by the examples of our lives and by that of our children. +It is very easy to take a child away from a disreputable woman, or from a +beggar. It is very easy, when one has the money, to wash, clean and +dress him in neat clothing, to support him, and even to teach him various +sciences; but it is not only difficult for us, who do not earn our own +bread, but quite the reverse, to teach him to work for his bread, but it +is impossible, because we, by our example, and even by those material and +valueless improvements of his life, inculcate the contrary. A puppy can +be taken, tended, fed, and taught to fetch and carry, and one may take +pleasure in him: but it is not enough to tend a man, to feed and teach +him Greek; we must teach the man how to live,—that is, to take as little +as possible from others, and to give as much as possible; and we cannot +help teaching him to do the contrary, if we take him into our houses, or +into an institution founded for this purpose. + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +This feeling of compassion for people, and of disgust with myself, which +I had experienced in the Lyapinsky house, I experienced no longer. I was +completely absorbed in the desire to carry out the scheme which I had +concocted,—to do good to those people whom I should meet here. And, +strange to say, it would appear, that, to do good—to give money to the +needy—is a very good deed, and one that should dispose me to love for the +people, but it turned out the reverse: this act produced in me ill-will +and an inclination to condemn people. But during our first evening tour, +a scene occurred exactly like that in the Lyapinsky house, and it called +forth a wholly different sentiment. + +It began by my finding in one set of apartments an unfortunate +individual, of precisely the sort who require immediate aid. I found a +hungry woman who had had nothing to eat for two days. + +It came about thus: in one very large and almost empty night-lodging, I +asked an old woman whether there were many poor people who had nothing to +eat? The old woman reflected, and then told me of two; and then, as +though she had just recollected, “Why, here is one of them,” said she, +glancing at one of the occupied bunks. “I think that woman has had no +food.” + +“Really? Who is she?” + +“She was a dissolute woman: no one wants any thing to do with her now, so +she has no way of getting any thing. The landlady has had compassion on +her, but now she means to turn her out . . . Agafya, hey there, Agafya!” +cried the woman. + +We approached, and something rose up in the bunk. It was a woman haggard +and dishevelled, whose hair was half gray, and who was as thin as a +skeleton, dressed in a ragged and dirty chemise, and with particularly +brilliant and staring eyes. She looked past us with her staring eyes, +clutched at her jacket with one thin hand, in order to cover her bony +breast which was disclosed by her tattered chemise, and oppressed, she +cried, “What is it? what is it?” I asked her about her means of +livelihood. For a long time she did not understand, and said, “I don’t +know myself; they persecute me.” I asked her,—it puts me to shame, my +hand refuses to write it,—I asked her whether it was true that she had +nothing to eat? She answered in the same hurried, feverish tone, staring +at me the while,—“No, I had nothing yesterday, and I have had nothing +to-day.” + +The sight of this woman touched me, but not at all as had been the case +in the Lyapinsky house; there, my pity for these people made me instantly +feel ashamed of myself: but here, I rejoiced because I had at last found +what I had been seeking,—a hungry person. + +I gave her a ruble, and I recollect being very glad that others saw it. +The old woman, on seeing this, immediately begged money of me also. It +afforded me such pleasure to give, that, without finding out whether it +was necessary to give or not, I gave something to the old woman too. The +old woman accompanied me to the door, and the people standing in the +corridor heard her blessing me. Probably the questions which I had put +with regard to poverty, had aroused expectation, and several persons +followed us. In the corridor also, they began to ask me for money. +Among those who begged were some drunken men, who aroused an unpleasant +feeling in me; but, having once given to the old woman, I had no might to +refuse these people, and I began to give. As long as I continued to +give, people kept coming up; and excitement ran through all the lodgings. +People made them appearance on the stairs and galleries, and followed me. +As I emerged into the court-yard, a little boy ran swiftly down one of +the staircases thrusting the people aside. He did not see me, and +exclaimed hastily: “He gave Agashka a ruble!” When he reached the +ground, the boy joined the crowd which was following me. I went out into +the street: various descriptions of people followed me, and asked for +money. I distributed all my small change, and entered an open shop with +the request that the shopkeeper would change a ten-ruble bill for me. +And then the same thing happened as at the Lyapinsky house. A terrible +confusion ensued. Old women, noblemen, peasants, and children crowded +into the shop with outstretched hands; I gave, and interrogated some of +them as to their lives, and took notes. The shopkeeper, turning up the +furred points of the collar of his coat, sat like a stuffed creature, +glancing at the crowd occasionally, and then fixing his eyes beyond them +again. He evidently, like every one else, felt that this was foolish, +but he could not say so. + +The poverty and beggary in the Lyapinsky house had horrified me, and I +felt myself guilty of it; I felt the desire and the possibility of +improvement. But now, precisely the same scene produced on me an +entirely different effect; I experienced, in the first place, a +malevolent feeling towards many of those who were besieging me; and in +the second place, uneasiness as to what the shopkeepers and porters would +think of me. + +On my return home that day, I was troubled in my soul. I felt that what +I had done was foolish and immoral. But, as is always the result of +inward confusion, I talked a great deal about the plan which I had +undertaken, as though I entertained not the slightest doubt of my +success. + +On the following day, I went to such of the people whom I had inscribed +on my list, as seemed to me the most wretched of all, and those who, as +it seemed to me, would be the easiest to help. As I have already said, I +did not help any of these people. It proved to be more difficult to help +them than I had thought. And either because I did not know how, or +because it was impossible, I merely imitated these people, and did not +help any one. I visited the Rzhanoff house several times before the +final tour, and on every occasion the very same thing occurred: I was +beset by a throng of beggars in whose mass I was completely lost. I felt +the impossibility of doing any thing, because there were too many of +them, and because I felt ill-disposed towards them because there were so +many of them; and in addition to this, each one separately did not +incline me in his favor. I was conscious that every one of them was +telling me an untruth, or less than the whole truth, and that he saw in +me merely a purse from which money might be drawn. And it very +frequently seemed to me, that the very money which they squeezed out of +me, rendered their condition worse instead of improving it. The oftener +I went to that house, the more I entered into intercourse with the people +there, the more apparent became to me the impossibility of doing any +thing; but still I did not give up any scheme until the last night tour. + +The remembrance of that last tour is particularly mortifying to me. On +other occasions I had gone thither alone, but twenty of us went there on +this occasion. At seven o’clock, all who wished to take part in this +final night round, began to assemble at my house. Nearly all of them +were strangers to me,—students, one officer, and two of my society +acquaintances, who, uttering the usual, “_C’est très intèressant_!” had +asked me to include them in the number of the census-takers. + +My worldly acquaintances had dressed up especially for this, in some sort +of hunting-jacket, and tall, travelling boots, in a costume in which they +rode and went hunting, and which, in their opinion, was appropriate for +an excursion to a night-lodging-house. They took with them special +note-books and remarkable pencils. They were in that peculiarly excited +state of mind in which men set off on a hunt, to a duel, or to the wars. +The most apparent thing about them was their folly and the falseness of +our position, but all the rest of us were in the same false position. +Before we set out, we held a consultation, after the fashion of a council +of war, as to how we should begin, how divide our party, and so on. + +This consultation was exactly such as takes place in councils, +assemblages, committees; that is to say, each person spoke, not because +he had any thing to say or to ask, but because each one cudgelled his +brain for something that he could say, so that he might not fall short of +the rest. But, among all these discussions, no one alluded to that +beneficence of which I had so often spoken to them all. Mortifying as +this was to me, I felt that it was indispensable that I should once more +remind them of benevolence, that is, of the point, that we were to +observe and take notes of all those in destitute circumstances whom we +should encounter in the course of our rounds. I had always felt ashamed +to speak of this; but now, in the midst of all our excited preparations +for our expedition, I could hardly utter the words. All listened to me, +as it seemed to me, with sorrow, and, at the same time, all agreed in +words; but it was evident that they all knew that it was folly, and that +nothing would come of it, and all immediately began again to talk about +something else. This went on until the time arrived for us to set out, +and we started. + +We reached the tavern, roused the waiters, and began to sort our papers. +When we were informed that the people had heard about this round, and +were leaving their quarters, we asked the landlord to lock the gates; and +we went ourselves into the yard to reason with the fleeing people, +assuring them that no one would demand their tickets. I remember the +strange and painful impression produced on me by these alarmed +night-lodgers: ragged, half-dressed, they all seemed tall to me by the +light of the lantern and the gloom of the court-yard. Frightened and +terrifying in their alarm, they stood in a group around the foul-smelling +out-house, and listened to our assurances, but they did not believe us, +and were evidently prepared for any thing, like hunted wild beasts, +provided only that they could escape from us. Gentlemen in divers +shapes—as policemen, both city and rural, and as examining judges, and +judges—hunt them all their lives, in town and country, on the highway and +in the streets, and in the taverns, and in night-lodging houses; and now, +all of a sudden, these gentlemen had come and locked the gates, merely in +order to count them: it was as difficult for them to believe this, as for +hares to believe that dogs have come, not to chase but to count them. +But the gates were locked, and the startled lodgers returned: and we, +breaking up into groups, entered also. With me were the two society men +and two students. In front of us, in the dark, went Vanya, in his coat +and white trousers, with a lantern, and we followed. We went to quarters +with which I was familiar. I knew all the establishments, and some of +the people; but the majority of the people were new, and the spectacle +was new, and more dreadful than the one which I had witnessed in the +Lyapinsky house. All the lodgings were full, all the bunks were +occupied, not by one person only, but often by two. The sight was +terrible in that narrow space into which the people were huddled, and men +and women were mixed together. All the women who were not dead drunk +slept with men; and women with two children did the same. The sight was +terrible, on account of the poverty, dirt, rags, and terror of the +people. And it was chiefly dreadful on account of the vast numbers of +people who were in this situation. One lodging, and then a second like +it, and a third, and a tenth, and a twentieth, and still there was no end +to them. And everywhere there was the same foul odor, the same close +atmosphere, the same crowding, the same mingling of the sexes, the same +men and women intoxicated to stupidity, and the same terror, submission +and guilt on all faces; and again I was overwhelmed with shame and pain, +as in the Lyapinsky house, and I understood that what I had undertaken +was abominable and foolish and therefore impracticable. And I no longer +took notes of anybody, and I asked no questions, knowing that nothing +would come of this. + +I was deeply pained. In the Lyapinsky house I had been like a man who +has seen a fearful wound, by chance, on the body of another man. He is +sorry for the other man, he is ashamed that he has not pitied the man +before, and he can still rise to the succor of the sufferer. But now I +was like a physician, who has come with his medicine to the sick man, has +uncovered his sore, and examined it, and who must confess to himself that +every thing that he has done has been in vain, and that his remedy is +good for nothing. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +This visit dealt the final blow to my self-delusion. It now appeared +indisputable to me, that what I had undertaken was not only foolish but +loathsome. + +But, in spite of the fact that I was aware of this, it seemed to me that +I could not abandon the whole thing on the spot. It seemed to me that I +was bound to carry out this enterprise, in the first place, because by my +article, by my visits and promises, I had aroused the expectations of the +poor; in the second, because by my article also, and by my talk, I had +aroused the sympathies of benevolent persons, many of whom had promised +me their co-operation both in personal labor and in money. And I +expected that both sets of people would turn to me for an answer to this. + +What happened to me, so far as the appeal of the needy to me is +concerned, was as follows: By letter and personal application I received +more than a hundred; these applications were all from the wealthy-poor, +if I may so express myself. I went to see some of them, and some of them +received no answer. Nowhere did I succeed in doing any thing. All +applications to me were from persons who had once occupied privileged +positions (I thus designate those in which people receive more from +others than they give), who had lost them, and who wished to occupy them +again. To one, two hundred rubles were indispensable, in order that he +might prop up a failing business, and complete the education of his +children which had been begun; another wanted a photographic outfit; a +third wanted his debts paid, and respectable clothing purchased for him; +a fourth needed a piano, in order to perfect himself and support his +family by giving lessons. But the majority did not stipulate for any +given sum of money, and simply asked for assistance; and when I came to +examine into what was required, it turned out that their demands grew in +proportion to the aid, and that there was not and could not be any way of +satisfying them. I repeat, that it is very possible that this arose from +the fact that I did not understand how; but I did not help any one, +although I sometimes endeavored to do so. + +A very strange and unexpected thing happened to me as regards the +co-operation of the benevolently disposed. Out of all the persons who +had promised me financial aid, and who had even stated the number of +rubles, not a single one handed to me for distribution among the poor one +solitary ruble. But according to the pledges which had been given me, I +could reckon on about three thousand rubles; and out of all these people, +not one remembered our former discussions, or gave me a single kopek. +Only the students gave the money which had been assigned to them for +their work on the census, twelve rubles, I think. So my whole scheme, +which was to have been expressed by tens of thousands of rubles +contributed by the wealthy, for hundreds and thousands of poor people who +were to be rescued from poverty and vice, dwindled down to this, that I +gave away, haphazard, a few scores of rubles to those people who asked me +for them, and that there remained in my hands twelve rubies contributed +by the students, and twenty-five sent to me by the City Council for my +labor as a superintendent, and I absolutely did not know to whom to give +them. + +The whole matter came to an end. And then, before my departure for the +country, on the Sunday before carnival, I went to the Rzhanoff house in +the morning, in order to get rid of those thirty-seven rubles before I +should leave Moscow, and to distribute them to the poor. I made the +round of the quarters with which I was familiar, and in them found only +one sick man, to whom I gave five rubles. There was no one else there to +give any to. Of course many began to beg of me. But as I had not known +them at first, so I did not know them now, and I made up my mind to take +counsel with Ivan Fedotitch, the landlord of the tavern, as to the +persons upon whom it would be proper to bestow the remaining thirty-two +rubies. + +It was the first day of the carnival. Everybody was dressed up, and +everybody was full-fed, and many were already intoxicated. In the +court-yard, close to the house, stood an old man, a rag-picker, in a +tattered smock and bast shoes, sorting over the booty in his basket, +tossing out leather, iron, and other stuff in piles, and breaking into a +merry song, with a fine, powerful voice. I entered into conversation +with him. He was seventy years old, he was alone in the world, and +supported himself by his calling of a rag-picker; and not only did he +utter no complaints, but he said that he had plenty to eat and drink. I +inquired of him as to especially needy persons. He flew into a rage, and +said plainly that there were no needy people, except drunkards and lazy +men; but, on learning my object, he asked me for a five-kopek piece to +buy a drink, and ran off to the tavern. I too entered the tavern to see +Ivan Fedotitch, and commission him to distribute the money which I had +left. The tavern was full; gayly-dressed, intoxicated girls were +flitting in and out; all the tables were occupied; there were already a +great many drunken people, and in the small room the harmonium was being +played, and two persons were dancing. Out of respect to me, Ivan +Fedotitch ordered that the dance should be stopped, and seated himself +with me at a vacant table. I said to him, that, as he knew his tenants, +would not he point out to me the most needy among them; that I had been +entrusted with the distribution of a little money, and, therefore, would +he indicate the proper persons? Good-natured Ivan Fedotitch (he died a +year later), although he was pressed with business, broke away from it +for a time, in order to serve me. He meditated, and was evidently +undecided. An elderly waiter heard us, and joined the conference. + +They began to discuss the claims of persons, some of whom I knew, but +still they could not come to any agreement. “The Paramonovna,” suggested +the waiter. “Yes, that would do. Sometimes she has nothing to eat. +Yes, but then she tipples.”—“Well, what of that? That makes no +difference.”—“Well, Sidoron Ivanovitch has children. He would do.” But +Ivan Fedotitch had his doubts about Sidoron Ivanovitch also. “Akulina +shall have some. There, now, give something to the blind.” To this I +responded. I saw him at once. He was a blind old man of eighty years, +without kith or kin. It seemed as though no condition could be more +painful, and I went immediately to see him. He was lying on a +feather-bed, on a high bedstead, drunk; and, as he did not see me, he was +scolding his comparatively youthful female companion in a frightful bass +voice, and in the very worst kind of language. They also summoned an +armless boy and his mother. I saw that Ivan Fedotitch was in great +straits, on account of his conscientiousness, for me knew that whatever +was given would immediately pass to his tavern. But I had to get rid of +my thirty-two rubles, so I insisted; and in one way and another, and half +wrongfully to boot, we assigned and distributed them. Those who received +them were mostly well dressed, and we had not far to go to find them, as +they were there in the tavern. The armless boy appeared in wrinkled +boots, and a red shirt and vest. With this my charitable career came to +an end, and I went off to the country; irritated at others, as is always +the case, because I myself had done a stupid and a bad thing. My +benevolence had ended in nothing, and it ceased altogether, but the +current of thoughts and feelings which it had called up with me not only +did not come to an end, but the inward work went on with redoubled force. + + + +CHAPTER XII. + + +What was its nature? + +I had lived in the country, and there I was connected with the rustic +poor. Not out of humility, which is worse than pride, but for the sake +of telling the truth, which is indispensable for the understanding of the +whole course of my thoughts and sentiments, I will say that in the +country I did very little for the poor, but the demands which were made +upon me were so modest that even this little was of use to the people, +and formed around me an atmosphere of affection and union with the +people, in which it was possible to soothe the gnawing sensation of +remorse at the independence of my life. On going to the city, I had +hoped to be able to live in the same manner. But here I encountered want +of an entirely different sort. City want was both less real, and more +exacting and cruel, than country poverty. But the principal point was, +that there was so much of it in one spot, that it produced on me a +frightful impression. The impression which I experienced in the +Lyapinsky house had, at the very first, made me conscious of the +deformity of my own life. This feeling was genuine and very powerful. +But, notwithstanding its genuineness and power, I was, at that time, so +weak that I feared the alteration in my life to which this feeling +commended me, and I resorted to a compromise. I believed what everybody +told me, and everybody has said, ever since the world was made,—that +there is nothing evil in wealth and luxury, that they are given by God, +that one may continue to live as a rich man, and yet help the needy. I +believed this, and I tried to do it. I wrote an essay, in which I +summoned all rich people to my assistance. The rich people all +acknowledged themselves morally bound to agree with me, but evidently +they either did not wish to do any thing, or they could not do any thing +or give any thing to the poor. I began to visit the poor, and I beheld +what I had not in the least expected. On the one hand, I beheld in those +dens, as I called them, people whom it was not conceivable that I should +help, because they were working people, accustomed to labor and +privation, and therefore standing much higher and having a much firmer +foothold in life than myself; on the other hand, I saw unfortunate people +whom I could not aid because they were exactly like myself. The majority +of the unfortunates whom I saw were unhappy only because they had lost +the capacity, desire, and habit of earning their own bread; that is to +say, their unhappiness consisted in the fact that they were precisely +such persons as myself. + +I found no unfortunates who were sick, hungry, or cold, to whom I could +render immediate assistance, with the solitary exception of hungry +Agafya. And I became convinced, that, on account of my remoteness from +the lives of those people whom I desired to help, it would be almost +impossible to find any such unfortunates, because all actual wants had +already been supplied by the very people among whom these unfortunates +live; and, most of all, I was convinced that money cannot effect any +change in the life led by these unhappy people. + +I was convinced of all this, but out of false shame at abandoning what I +had once undertaken, because of my self-delusion as a benefactor, I went +on with this matter for a tolerably long time,—and would have gone on +with it until it came to nothing of itself,—so that it was with the +greatest difficulty that, with the help of Ivan Fedotitch, I got rid, +after a fashion, as well as I could, in the tavern of the Rzhanoff house, +of the thirty-seven rubles which I did not regard as belonging to me. + +Of course I might have gone on with this business, and have made out of +it a semblance of benevolence; by urging the people who had promised me +money, I might have collected more, I might have distributed this money, +and consoled myself with my charity; but I perceived, on the one hand, +that we rich people neither wish nor are able to share a portion of our a +superfluity with the poor (we have so many wants of our own), and that +money should not be given to any one, if the object really be to do good +and not to give money itself at haphazard, as I had done in the Rzhanoff +tavern. And I gave up the whole thing, and went off to the country with +despair in my heart. + +In the country I tried to write an essay about all this that I had +experienced, and to tell why my undertaking had not succeeded. I wanted +to justify myself against the reproaches which had been made to me on the +score of my article on the census; I wanted to convict society of its in +difference, and to state the causes in which this city poverty has its +birth, and the necessity of combating it, and the means of doing so which +I saw. + +I began this essay at once, and it seemed to me that in it I was saying a +very great deal that was important. But toil as I would over it, and in +spite of the abundance of materials, in spite of the superfluity of them +even, I could not get though that essay; and so I did not finish it until +the present year, because of the irritation under the influence of which +I wrote, because I had not gone through all that was requisite in order +to bear myself properly in relation to this essay, because I did not +simply and clearly acknowledge the cause of all this,—a very simple +cause, which had its root in myself. + +In the domain of morals, one very remarkable and too little noted +phenomenon presents itself. + +If I tell a man who knows nothing about it, what I know about geology, +astronomy, history, physics, and mathematics, that man receives entirely +new information, and he never says to me: “Well, what is there new in +that? Everybody knows that, and I have known it this long while.” But +tell that same man the most lofty truth, expressed in the clearest, most +concise manner, as it has never before been expressed, and every ordinary +individual, especially one who takes no particular interest in moral +questions, or, even more, one to whom the moral truth stated by you is +displeasing, will infallibly say to you: “Well, who does not know that? +That was known and said long ago.” It really seems to him that this has +been said long ago and in just this way. Only those to whom moral truths +are dear and important know how important and precious they are, and with +what prolonged labor the elucidation, the simplification, of moral +truths, their transit from the state of a misty, indefinitely recognized +supposition, and desire, from indistinct, incoherent expressions, to a +firm and definite expression, unavoidably demanding corresponding +concessions, are attained. + +We have all become accustomed to think that moral instruction is a most +absurd and tiresome thing, in which there can be nothing new or +interesting; and yet all human life, together with all the varied and +complicated activities, apparently independent, of morality, both +governmental and scientific, and artistic and commercial, has no other +aim than the greater and greater elucidation, confirmation, +simplification, and accessibility of moral truth. + +I remember that I was once walking along the street in Moscow, and in +front of me I saw a man come out and gaze attentively at the stones of +the sidewalk, after which he selected one stone, seated himself on it, +and began to plane (as it seemed to me) or to rub it with the greatest +diligence and force. “What is he doing to the sidewalk?” I said to +myself. On going close to him, I saw what the man was doing. He was a +young fellow from a meat-shop; he was whetting his knife on the stone of +the pavement. He was not thinking at all of the stones when he +scrutinized them, still less was he thinking of them when he was +accomplishing his task: he was whetting his knife. He was obliged to +whet his knife so that he could cut the meat; but to me it seemed as +though he were doing something to the stones of the sidewalk. Just so it +appears as though humanity were occupied with commerce, conventions, +wars, sciences, arts; but only one business is of importance to it, and +with only one business is it occupied: it is elucidating to itself those +moral laws by which it lives. The moral laws are already in existence; +humanity is only elucidating them, and this elucidation seems unimportant +and imperceptible for any one who has no need of moral laws, who does not +wish to live by them. But this elucidation of the moral law is not only +weighty, but the only real business of all humanity. This elucidation is +imperceptible just as the difference between the dull and the sharp knife +is imperceptible. The knife is a knife all the same, and for a person +who is not obliged to cut any thing with this knife, the difference +between the dull and the sharp one is imperceptible. For the man who has +come to an understanding that his whole life depends on the greater or +less degree of sharpness in the knife,—for such a man, every whetting of +it is weighty, and that man knows that the knife is a knife only when it +is sharp, when it cuts that which needs cutting. + +This is what happened to me, when I began to write my essay. It seemed +to me that I knew all about it, that I understood every thing connected +with those questions which had produced on me the impressions of the +Lyapinsky house, and the census; but when I attempted to take account of +them and to demonstrate them, it turned out that the knife would not cut, +and that it must be whetted. And it is only now, after the lapse of +three years, that I have felt that my knife is sufficiently sharp, so +that I can cut what I choose. I have learned very little that is new. +My thoughts are all exactly the same, but they were duller then, and they +all scattered and would not unite on any thing; there was no edge to +them; they would not concentrate on one point, on the simplest and +clearest decision, as they have now concentrated themselves. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + + +I remember that during the entire period of my unsuccessful efforts at +helping the inhabitants of the city, I presented to myself the aspect of +a man who should attempt to drag another man out of a swamp while he +himself was standing on the same unstable ground. Every attempt of mine +had made me conscious of the untrustworthy character of the soil on which +I stood. I felt that I was in the swamp myself, but this consciousness +did not cause me to look more narrowly at my own feet, in order to learn +upon what I was standing; I kept on seeking some external means, outside +myself, of helping the existing evil. + +I then felt that my life was bad, and that it was impossible to live in +that manner. But from the fact that my life was bad, and that it was +impossible to live in that manner, I did not draw the very simple and +clear deduction that it was necessary to amend my life and to live +better, but I knew the terrible deduction that in order to live well +myself, I must needs reform the lives of others; and so I began to reform +the lives of others. I lived in the city, and I wished to reform the +lives of those who lived in the city; but I soon became convinced that +this I could not by any possibility accomplish, and I began to meditate +on the inherent characteristics of city life and city poverty. + +“What are city life and city poverty? Why, when I am living in the city, +cannot I help the city poor?” + +I asked myself. I answered myself that I could not do any thing for +them, in the first place, because there were too many of them here in one +spot; in the second place, because all the poor people here were entirely +different from the country poor. Why were there so many of them here? +and in what did their peculiarity, as opposed to the country poor, +consist? There was one and the same answer to both questions. There +were a great many of them here, because here all those people who have no +means of subsistence in the country collect around the rich; and their +peculiarity lies in this, that they are not people who have come from the +country to support themselves in the city (if there are any city paupers, +those who have been born here, and whose fathers and grandfathers were +born here, then those fathers and grandfathers came hither for the +purpose of earning their livelihood). What is the meaning of this: _to +earn one’s livelihood in the city_? In the words “to earn one’s +livelihood in the city,” there is something strange, resembling a jest, +when you reflect on their significance. How is it that people go from +the country,—that is to say, from the places where there are forests, +meadows, grain, and cattle, where all the wealth of the earth lies,—to +earn their livelihood in a place where there are neither trees, nor +grass, nor even land, and only stones and dust? What is the significance +of the words “to earn a livelihood in the city,” which are in such +constant use, both by those who earn the livelihood, and by those who +furnish it, as though it were something perfectly clear and +comprehensible? + +I recall the hundreds and thousands of city people, both those who live +well and the needy, with whom I have conversed on the reason why they +came hither: and all without exception said, that they had come from the +country to earn their living; that in Moscow, where people neither sow +nor reap,—that in Moscow there is plenty of every thing, and that, +therefore, it is only in Moscow that they can earn the money which they +require in the country for bread and a cottage and a horse, and articles +of prime necessity. But assuredly, in the country lies the source of all +riches; there only is real wealth,—bread, and forests, and horses, and +every thing. And why, above all, take away from the country that which +dwellers in the country need,—flour, oats, horses, and cattle? + +Hundreds of times did I discuss this matter with peasants living in town; +and from my discussions with them, and from my observations, it has been +made apparent to me, that the congregation of country people in the city +is partly indispensable because they cannot otherwise support themselves, +partly voluntary, and that they are attracted to the city by the +temptations of the city. + +It is true, that the position of the peasant is such that, for the +satisfaction of his demands made on him in the country, he cannot +extricate himself otherwise than by selling the grain and the cattle +which he knows will be indispensable to him; and he is forced, whether he +will or no, to go to the city in order there to win back his bread. But +it is also true, that the luxury of city life, and the comparative ease +with which money is there to be earned, attract him thither; and under +the pretext of gaining his living in the town, he betakes himself thither +in order that he may have lighter work, better food, and drink tea three +times a day, and dress well, and even lead a drunken and dissolute life. +The cause of both is identical,—the transfer of the riches of the +producers into the hands of non-producers, and the accumulation of wealth +in the cities. And, in point of fact, when autumn has come, all wealth +is collected in the country. And instantly there arise demands for +taxes, recruits, the temptations of vodka, weddings, festivals; petty +pedlers make their rounds through the villages, and all sorts of other +temptations crop up; and by this road, or, if not, by some other, wealth +of the most varied description—vegetables, calves, cows, horses, pigs, +chickens, eggs, butter, hemp, flax, rye, oats, buckwheat, pease, +hempseed, and flaxseed—all passes into the hands of strangers, is carried +off to the towns, and thence to the capitals. The countryman is obliged +to surrender all this to satisfy the demands that are made upon him, and +temptations; and, having parted with his wealth, he is left with an +insufficiency, and he is forced to go whither his wealth has been carried +and there he tries, in part, to obtain the money which he requires for +his first needs in the country, and in part, being himself led away by +the blandishments of the city, he enjoys, in company with others, the +wealth that has there accumulated. Everywhere, throughout the whole of +Russia,—yes, and not in Russia alone, I think, but throughout the whole +world,—the same thing goes on. The wealth of the rustic producers passes +into the hands of traders, landed proprietors, officials, and +factory-owners; and the people who receive this wealth wish to enjoy it. +But it is only in the city that they can derive full enjoyment from this +wealth. In the country, in the first place, it is difficult to satisfy +all the requirements of rich people, on account of the sparseness of the +population; banks, shops, hotels, every sort of artisan, and all sorts of +social diversions, do not exist there. In the second place, one of the +chief pleasures procured by wealth—vanity, the desire to astonish and +outshine other people—is difficult to satisfy in the country; and this, +again, on account of the lack of inhabitants. In the country, there is +no one to appreciate elegance, no one to be astonished. Whatever +adornments in the way of pictures and bronzes the dweller in the country +may procure for his house, whatever equipages and toilets he may provide, +there is no one to see them and envy them, and the peasants cannot judge +of them. [And, in the third place, luxury is even disagreeable and +dangerous in the country for the man possessed of a conscience and fear. +It is an awkward and delicate matter, in the country, to have baths of +milk, or to feed your puppies on it, when directly beside you there are +children who have no milk; it is an awkward and delicate matter to build +pavilions and gardens in the midst of people who live in cots banked up +with dung, which they have no means of warming. In the country there is +no one to keep the stupid peasants in order, and in their lack of +cultivation they might disarrange all this.] {94} + +And accordingly rich people congregate, and join themselves to other rich +people with similar requirements, in the city, where the gratification of +every luxurious taste is carefully protected by a numerous police force. +Well-rooted inhabitants of the city of this sort, are the governmental +officials; every description of artisan and professional man has sprung +up around them, and with them the wealthy join their forces. All that a +rich man has to do there is to take a fancy to a thing, and he can get +it. It is also more agreeable for a rich man to live there, because +there he can gratify his vanity; there is some one with whom he can vie +in luxury; there is some one to astonish, and there is some one to +outshine. But the principal reason why it is more comfortable in the +city for a rich man is that formerly, in the country, his luxury made him +awkward and uneasy; while now, on the contrary, it would be awkward for +him not to live luxuriously, not to live like all his peers around him. +That which seemed dreadful and awkward in the country, here appears to be +just as it should be. [Rich people congregate in the city; and there, +under the protection of the authorities, they calmly demand every thing +that is brought thither from the country. And the countryman is, in some +measure, compelled to go thither, where this uninterrupted festival of +the wealthy which demands all that is taken from him is in progress, in +order to feed upon the crumbs which fall from the tables of the rich; and +partly, also, because, when he beholds the care-free, luxurious life, +approved and protected by everybody, he himself becomes desirous of +regulating his life in such a way as to work as little as possible, and +to make as much use as possible of the labors of others. + +And so he betakes himself to the city, and finds employment about the +wealthy, endeavoring, by every means in his power, to entice from them +that which he is in need of, and conforming to all those conditions which +the wealthy impose upon him, he assists in the gratification of all their +whims; he serves the rich man in the bath and in the inn, and as +cab-driver and prostitute, and he makes for him equipages, toys, and +fashions; and he gradually learns from the rich man to live in the same +manner as the latter, not by labor, but by divers tricks, getting away +from others the wealth which they have heaped together; and he becomes +corrupt, and goes to destruction. And this colony, demoralized by city +wealth, constitutes that city pauperism which I desired to aid and could +not. + +All that is necessary, in fact, is for us to reflect on the condition of +these inhabitants of the country, who have removed to the city in order +to earn their bread or their taxes,—when they behold, everywhere around +them, thousands squandered madly, and hundreds won by the easiest +possible means; when they themselves are forced by heavy toil to earn +kopeks,—and we shall be amazed that all these people should remain +working people, and that they do not all of them take to an easier method +of getting gain,—by trading, peddling, acting as middlemen, begging, +vice, rascality, and even robbery. Why, we, the participants in that +never-ceasing orgy which goes on in town, can become so accustomed to our +life, that it seems to us perfectly natural to dwell alone in five huge +apartments, heated by a quantity of beech logs sufficient to cook the +food for and to warm twenty families; to drive half a verst with two +trotters and two men-servants; to cover the polished wood floor with +rugs; and to spend, I will not say, on a ball, five or ten thousand +rubles, and twenty-five thousand on a Christmas-tree. But a man who is +in need of ten rubles to buy bread for his family, or whose last sheep +has been seized for a tax-debt of seven rubles, and who cannot raise +those rubles by hard labor, cannot grow accustomed to this. We think +that all this appears natural to poor people there are even some +ingenuous persons who say in all seriousness, that the poor are very +grateful to us for supporting them by this luxury.] {96} + +But poor people are not devoid of human understanding simply because they +are poor, and they judge precisely as we do. As the first thought that +occurs to us on hearing that such and such a man has gambled away or +squandered ten or twenty thousand rubles, is: “What a foolish and +worthless fellow he is to uselessly squander so much money! and what a +good use I could have made of that money in a building which I have long +been in need of, for the improvement of my estate, and so forth!”—just so +do the poor judge when they behold the wealth which they need, not for +caprices, but for the satisfaction of their actual necessities, of which +they are frequently deprived, flung madly away before their eyes. We +make a very great mistake when we think that the poor can judge thus, +reason thus, and look on indifferently at the luxury which surrounds +them. + +They never have acknowledged, and they never will acknowledge, that it +can be just for some people to live always in idleness, and for other +people to fast and toil incessantly; but at first they are amazed and +insulted by this; then they scrutinize it more attentively, and, seeing +that these arrangements are recognized as legitimate, they endeavor to +free themselves from toil, and to take part in the idleness. Some +succeed in this, and they become just such carousers themselves; others +gradually prepare themselves for this state; others still fail, and do +not attain their goal, and, having lost the habit of work, they fill up +the disorderly houses and the night-lodging houses. + +Two years ago, we took from the country a peasant boy to wait on table. +For some reason, he did not get on well with the footman, and he was sent +away: he entered the service of a merchant, won the favor of his master, +and now he goes about with a vest and a watch-chain, and dandified boots. +In his place, we took another peasant, a married man: he became a +drunkard, and lost money. We took a third: he took to drunk, and, having +drank up every thing he had, he suffered for a long while from poverty in +the night-lodging house. An old man, the cook, took to drink and fell +sick. Last year a footman who had formerly been a hard drinker, but who +had refrained from liquor for five years in the country, while living in +Moscow without his wife who encouraged him, took to drink again, and +ruined his whole life. A young lad from our village lives with my +brother as a table-servant. His grandfather, a blind old man, came to me +during my sojourn in the country, and asked me to remind this grandson +that he was to send ten rubies for the taxes, otherwise it would be +necessary for him to sell his cow. “He keeps saying, I must dress +decently,” said the old man: “well, he has had some shoes made, and +that’s all right; but what does he want to set up a watch for?” said the +grandfather, expressing in these words the most senseless supposition +that it was possible to originate. The supposition really was senseless, +if we take into consideration that the old man throughout Lent had eaten +no butter, and that he had no split wood because he could not possibly +pay one ruble and twenty kopeks for it; but it turned out that the old +man’s senseless jest was an actual fact. The young fellow came to see me +in a fine black coat, and shoes for which he had paid eight rubles. He +had recently borrowed ten rubles from my brother, and had spent them on +these shoes. And my children, who have known the lad from childhood, +told me that he really considers it indispensable to fit himself out with +a watch. He is a very good boy, but he thinks that people will laugh at +him so long as he has no watch; and a watch is necessary. During the +present year, a chambermaid, a girl of eighteen, entered into a +connection with the coachman in our house. She was discharged. An old +woman, the nurse, with whom I spoke in regard to the unfortunate girl, +reminded me of a girl whom I had forgotten. She too, ten yeans ago, +during a brief stay of ours in Moscow, had become connected with a +footman. She too had been discharged, and she had ended in a disorderly +house, and had died in the hospital before reaching the age of twenty. +It is only necessary to glance about one, to be struck with terror at the +pest which we disseminate directly by our luxurious life among the people +whom we afterwards wish to help, not to mention the factories and +establishments which serve our luxurious tastes. + +[And thus, having penetrated into the peculiar character of city poverty, +which I was unable to remedy, I perceived that its prime cause is this, +that I take absolute necessaries from the dwellers in the country, and +carry them all to the city. The second cause is this, that by making use +here, in the city, of what I have collected in the country, I tempt and +lead astray, by my senseless luxury, those country people who come hither +because of me, in order in some way to get back what they have been +deprived of in the country.] {99} + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + + +I reached the same conclusion from a totally different point. On +recalling all my relations with the city poor during that time, I saw +that one of the reasons why I could not help the city poor was, that the +poor were disingenuous and untruthful with me. They all looked upon me, +not as a man, but as means. I could not get near them, and I thought +that perhaps I did not understand how to do it; but without uprightness, +no help was possible. How can one help a man who does not disclose his +whole condition? At first I blamed them for this (it is so natural to +blame some one else); but a remark from an observing man named Siutaeff, +who was visiting me at the time, explained this matter to me, and showed +me where the cause of my want of success lay. I remember that Siutaeff’s +remark struck me very forcibly at the time; but I only understood its +full significance later on. It was at the height of my self-delusion. I +was sitting with my sister, and Siutaeff was there also at her house; and +my sister was questioning me about my undertaking. I told her about it, +and, as always happens when you have no faith in your course, I talked to +her with great enthusiasm and warmth, and at great length, of what I had +done, and of what might possibly come of it. I told her every thing,—how +we were going to keep track of pauperism in Moscow, how we were going to +keep an eye on the orphans and old people, how we were going to send away +all country people who had grown poor here, how we were going to smooth +the pathway to reform for the depraved; how, if only the matter could be +managed, there would not be a man left in Moscow, who could not obtain +assistance. My sister sympathized with me, and we discussed it. In the +middle of our conversation, I glanced at Siutaeff. As I was acquainted +with his Christian life, and with the significance which he attached to +charity, I expected his sympathy, and spoke so that he understood this; I +talked to my sister, but directed my remarks more at him. He sat +immovable in his dark tanned sheepskin jacket,—which he wore, like all +peasants, both out of doors and in the house,—and as though he did not +hear us, but were thinking of his own affairs. His small eyes did not +twinkle, and seemed to be turned inwards. Having finished what I had to +say, I turned to him with a query as to what he thought of it. + +“It’s all a foolish business,” said he. + +“Why?” + +“Your whole society is foolish, and nothing good can come out of it,” he +repeated with conviction. + +“Why not? Why is it a stupid business to help thousands, at any rate +hundreds, of unfortunate beings? Is it a bad thing, according to the +Gospel, to clothe the naked, and feed the hungry?” + +“I know, I know, but that is not what you are doing. Is it necessary to +render assistance in that way? You are walking along, and a man asks you +for twenty kopeks. You give them to him. Is that alms? Do you give +spiritual alms,—teach him. But what is it that you have given? It was +only for the sake of getting rid of him.” + +“No; and, besides, that is not what we are talking about. We want to +know about this need, and then to help by both money and deeds; and to +find work.” + +“You can do nothing with those people in that way.” + +“So they are to be allowed to die of hunger and cold?” + +“Why should they die? Are there many of them there?” + +“What, many of them?” said I, thinking that he looked at the matter so +lightly because he was not aware how vast was the number of these people. + +“Why, do you know,” said I, “I believe that there are twenty thousand of +these cold and hungry people in Moscow. And how about Petersburg and the +other cities?” + +He smiled. + +“Twenty thousand! And how many households are there in Russia alone, do +you think? Are there a million?” + +“Well, what then?” + +“What then?” and his eyes flashed, and he grew animated. “Come, let us +divide them among ourselves. I am not rich, I will take two persons on +the spot. There is the lad whom you took into your kitchen; I invited +him to come to my house, and he did not come. Were there ten times as +many, let us divide them among us. Do you take some, and I will take +some. We will work together. He will see how I work, and he will learn. +He will see how I live, and we will sit down at the same table together, +and he will hear my words and yours. This charity society of yours is +nonsense.” + +These simple words impressed me. I could not but admit their justice; +but it seemed to me at that time, that, in spite of their truth, still +that which I had planned might possibly prove of service. But the +further I carried this business, the more I associated with the poor, the +more frequently did this remark recur to my mind, and the greater was the +significance which it acquired for me. + +I arrive in a costly fur coat, or with my horses; or the man who lacks +shoes sees my two-thousand-ruble apartments. He sees how, a little while +ago, I gave five rubles without begrudging them, merely because I took a +whim to do so. He surely knows that if I give away rubles in that +manner, it is only because I have hoarded up so many of them, that I have +a great many superfluous ones, which I not only have not given away, but +which I have easily taken from other people. [What else could he see in +me but one of those persons who have got possession of what belongs to +him? And what other feeling can he cherish towards me, than a desire to +obtain from me as many of those rubles, which have been stolen from him +and from others, as possible? I wish to get close to him, and I complain +that he is not frank; and here I am, afraid to sit down on his bed for +fear of getting lice, or catching something infectious; and I am afraid +to admit him to my room, and he, coming to me naked, waits, generally in +the vestibule, or, if very fortunate, in the ante-chamber. And yet I +declare that he is to blame because I cannot enter into intimate +relations with him, and because me is not frank. + +Let the sternest man try the experiment of eating a dinner of five +courses in the midst of people who have had very little or nothing but +black bread to eat. Not a man will have the spirit to eat, and to watch +how the hungry lick their chops around him. Hence, then, in order to eat +daintily amid the famishing, the first indispensable requisite is to hide +from them, in order that they may not see it. This is the very thing, +and the first thing, that we do. + +And I took a simpler view of our life, and perceived that an approach to +the poor is not difficult to us through accidental causes, but that we +deliberately arrange our lives in such a fashion so that this approach +may be rendered difficult. + +Not only this; but, on taking a survey of our life, of the life of the +wealthy, I saw that every thing which is considered desirable in that +life consists in, or is inseparably bound up with, the idea of getting as +far away from the poor as possible. In fact, all the efforts of our +well-endowed life, beginning with our food, dress, houses, our +cleanliness, and even down to our education,—every thing has for its +chief object, the separation of ourselves from the poor. In procuring +this seclusion of ourselves by impassable barriers, we spend, to put it +mildly, nine-tenths of our wealth. The first thing that a man who was +grown wealthy does is to stop eating out of one bowl, and he sets up +crockery, and fits himself out with a kitchen and servants. And he feeds +his servants high, too, so that their mouths may not water over his +dainty viands; and he eats alone; and as eating in solitude is wearisome, +he plans how he may improve his food and deck his table; and the very +manner of taking his food (dinner) becomes a matter for pride and vain +glory with him, and his manner of taking his food becomes for him a means +of sequestering himself from other men. A rich man cannot think of such +a thing as inviting a poor man to his table. A man must know how to +conduct ladies to table, how to bow, to sit down, to eat, to rinse out +the mouth; and only rich people know all these things. The same thing +occurs in the matter of clothing. If a rich man were to wear ordinary +clothing, simply for the purpose of protecting his body from the cold,—a +short jacket, a coat, felt and leather boots, an under-jacket, trousers, +shirt,—he would require but very little, and he would not be unable, when +he had two coats, to give one of them to a man who had none. But the +rich man begins by procuring for himself clothing which consists entirely +of separate pieces, and which is fit only for separate occasions, and +which is, therefore, unsuited to the poor man. He has frock-coats, +vests, pea-jackets, lacquered boots, cloaks, shoes with French heels, +garments that are chopped up into bits to conform with the fashion, +hunting-coats, travelling-coats, and so on, which can only be used under +conditions of existence far removed from poverty. And his clothing also +furnishes him with a means of keeping at a distance from the poor. The +same is the case, and even more clearly, with his dwelling. In order +that one may live alone in ten rooms, it is indispensable that those who +live ten in one room should not see it. The richer a man is, the more +difficult is he of access; the more porters there are between him and +people who are not rich, the more impossible is it to conduct a poor man +over rugs, and seat him in a satin chair. + +The case is the same with the means of locomotion. The peasant driving +in a cart, or a sledge, must be a very ill-tempered man when he will not +give a pedestrian a lift; and there is both room for this and a +possibility of doing it. But the richer the equipage, the farther is a +man from all possibility of giving a seat to any person whatsoever. It +is even said plainly, that the most stylish equipages are those meant to +hold only one person. + +It is precisely the same thing with the manner of life which is expressed +by the word cleanliness. + +Cleanliness! Who is there that does not know people, especially women, +who reckon this cleanliness in themselves as a great virtue? and who is +not acquainted with the devices of this cleanliness, which know no +bounds, when it can command the labor of others? Which of the people who +have become rich has not experienced in his own case, with what +difficulty he carefully trained himself to this cleanliness, which only +confirms the proverb, “Little white hands love other people’s work”? + +To-day cleanliness consists in changing your shirt once a day; to-morrow, +in changing it twice a day. To-day it means washing the face, and neck, +and hands daily; to-morrow, the feet; and day after to-morrow, washing +the whole body every day, and, in addition and in particular, a +rubbing-down. To-day the table-cloth is to serve for two days, to-morrow +there must be one each day, then two a day. To-day the footman’s hands +must be clean; to-morrow he must wear gloves, and in his clean gloves he +must present a letter on a clean salver. And there are no limits to this +cleanliness, which is useless to everybody, and objectless, except for +the purpose of separating oneself from others, and of rendering +impossible all intercourse with them, when this cleanliness is attained +by the labors of others. + +Moreover, when I studied the subject, I because convinced that even that +which is commonly called education is the very same thing. + +The tongue does not deceive; it calls by its real name that which men +understand under this name. What the people call culture is fashionable +clothing, political conversation, clean hands,—a certain sort of +cleanliness. Of such a man, it is said, in contradistinction to others, +that he is an educated man. In a little higher circle, what they call +education means the same thing as with the people; only to the conditions +of education are added playing on the pianoforte, a knowledge of French, +the writing of Russian without orthographical errors, and a still greater +degree of external cleanliness. In a still more elevated sphere, +education means all this with the addition of the English language, and a +diploma from the highest educational institution. But education is +precisely the same thing in the first, the second, and the third case. +Education consists of those forms and acquirements which are calculated +to separate a man from his fellows. And its object is identical with +that of cleanliness,—to seclude us from the herd of poor, in order that +they, the poor, may not see how we feast. But it is impossible to hide +ourselves, and they do see us. + +And accordingly I have become convinced that the cause of the inability +of us rich people to help the poor of the city lies in the impossibility +of our establishing intercourse with them; and that this impossibility of +intercourse is caused by ourselves, by the whole course of our lives, by +all the uses which we make of our wealth. I have become convinced that +between us, the rich and the poor, there rises a wall, reared by +ourselves out of that very cleanliness and education, and constructed of +our wealth; and that in order to be in a condition to help the poor, we +must needs, first of all, destroy this wall; and that in order to do +this, confrontation after Siutaeff’s method should be rendered possible, +and the poor distributed among us. And from another starting-point also +I came to the same conclusion to which the current of my discussions as +to the causes of the poverty in towns had led me: the cause was our +wealth.] {108} + + + +CHAPTER XV. + + +I began to examine the matter from a third and wholly personal point of +view. Among the phenomena which particularly impressed me, during the +period of my charitable activity, there was yet another, and a very +strange one, for which I could for a long time find no explanation. It +was this: every time that I chanced, either on the street on in the +house, to give some small coin to a poor man, without saying any thing to +him, I saw, or thought that I saw, contentment and gratitude on the +countenance of the poor man, and I myself experienced in this form of +benevolence an agreeable sensation. I saw that I had done what the man +wished and expected from me. But if I stopped the poor man, and +sympathetically questioned him about his former and his present life, I +felt that it was no longer possible to give three or twenty kopeks, and I +began to fumble in my purse for money, in doubt as to how much I ought to +give, and I always gave more; and I always noticed that the poor man left +me dissatisfied. But if I entered into still closer intercourse with the +poor man, then my doubts as to how much to give increased also; and, no +matter how much I gave, the poor man grew ever more sullen and +discontented. As a general rule, it always turned out thus, that if I +gave, after conversation with a poor man, three rubles or even more, I +almost always beheld gloom, displeasure, and even ill-will, on the +countenance of the poor man; and I have even known it to happen, that, +having received ten rubles, he went off without so much as saying “Thank +you,” exactly as though I had insulted him. + +And thereupon I felt awkward and ashamed, and almost guilty. But if I +followed up a poor man for weeks and months and years, and assisted him, +and explained my views to him, and associated with him, our relations +became a torment, and I perceived that the man despised me. And I felt +that he was in the right. + +If I go out into the street, and he, standing in that street, begs of me +among the number of the other passers-by, people who walk and ride past +him, and I give him money, I then am to him a passer-by, and a good, kind +passer-by, who bestows on him that thread from which a shirt is made for +the naked man; he expects nothing more than the thread, and if I give it +he thanks me sincerely. But if I stop him, and talk with him as man with +man, I thereby show him that I desire to be something more than a mere +passer-by. If, as often happens, he weeps while relating to me his woes, +then he sees in me no longer a passer-by, but that which I desire that he +should see: a good man. But if I am a good man, my goodness cannot pause +at a twenty-kopek piece, nor at ten rubles, nor at ten thousand; it is +impossible to be a little bit of a good man. Let us suppose that I have +given him a great deal, that I have fitted him out, dressed him, set him +on his feet so that the can live without outside assistance; but for some +reason or other, though misfortune or his own weakness or vices, he is +again without that coat, that linen, and that money which I have given +him; he is again cold and hungry, and he has come again to me,—how can I +refuse him? [For if the cause of my action consisted in the attainment +of a definite, material end, on giving him so many rubles or such and +such a coat I might be at ease after having bestowed them. But the cause +of my action is not this: the cause is, that I want to be a good man, +that is to say, I want to see myself in every other man. Every man +understands goodness thus, and in no other manner.] {111} And therefore, +if he should drink away every thing that you had given him twenty times, +and if he should again be cold and hungry, you cannot do otherwise than +give him more, if you are a good man; you can never cease giving to him, +if you have more than he has. And if you draw back, you will thereby +show that every thing that you have done, you have done not because you +are a good man, but because you wished to appear a good man in his sight, +and in the sight of men. + +And thus in the case with the men from whom I chanced to recede, to whom +I ceased to give, and, by this action, denied good, I experienced a +torturing sense of shame. + +What sort of shame was this? This shame I had experienced in the +Lyapinsky house, and both before and after that in the country, when I +happened to give money or any thing else to the poor, and in my +expeditions among the city poor. + +A mortifying incident that occurred to me not long ago vividly reminded +me of that shame, and led me to an explanation of that shame which I had +felt when bestowing money on the poor. + +[This happened in the country. I wanted twenty kopeks to give to a poor +pilgrim; I sent my son to borrow them from some one; he brought the +pilgrim a twenty-kopek piece, and told me that he had borrowed it from +the cook. A few days afterwards some more pilgrims arrived, and again I +was in want of a twenty-kopek piece. I had a ruble; I recollected that I +was in debt to the cook, and I went to the kitchen, hoping to get some +more small change from the cook. I said: “I borrowed a twenty-kopek +piece from you, so here is a ruble.” I had not finished speaking, when +the cook called in his wife from another room: “Take it, Parasha,” said +he. I, supposing that she understood what I wanted, handed her the +ruble. I must state that the cook had only lived with me a week, and, +though I had seen his wife, I had never spoken to her. I was just on the +point of saying to her that she was to give me some small coins, when she +bent swiftly down to my hand, and tried to kiss it, evidently imaging +that I had given her the ruble. I muttered something, and quitted the +kitchen. I was ashamed, ashamed to the verge of torture, as I had not +been for a long time. I shrank together; I was conscious that I was +making grimaces, and I groaned with shame as I fled from the kitchen. +This utterly unexpected, and, as it seemed to me, utterly undeserved +shame, made a special impression on me, because it was a long time since +I had been mortified, and because I, as an old man, had so lived, it +seemed to me, that I had not merited this shame. I was forcibly struck +by this. I told the members of my household about it, I told my +acquaintances, and they all agreed that they should have felt the same. +And I began to reflect: why had this caused me such shame? To this, +something which had happened to me in Moscow furnished me with an answer. + +I meditated on that incident, and the shame which I had experienced in +the presence of the cook’s wife was explained to me, and all those +sensations of mortification which I had undergone during the course of my +Moscow benevolence, and which I now feel incessantly when I have occasion +to give any one any thing except that petty alms to the poor and to +pilgrims, which I have become accustomed to bestow, and which I consider +a deed not of charity but of courtesy. If a man asks you for a light, +you must strike a match for him, if you have one. If a man asks for +three or for twenty kopeks, or even for several rubles, you must give +them if you have them. This is an act of courtesy and not of charity.] +{113} + +This was the case in question: I have already mentioned the two peasants +with whom I was in the habit of sawing wood three yeans ago. One +Saturday evening at dusk, I was returning to the city in their company. +They were going to their employer to receive their wages. As we were +crossing the Dragomilovsky bridge, we met an old man. He asked alms, and +I gave him twenty kopeks. I gave, and reflected on the good effect which +my charity would have on Semyon, with whom I had been conversing on +religious topics. Semyon, the Vladimir peasant, who had a wife and two +children in Moscow, halted also, pulled round the skirt of his kaftan, +and got out his purse, and from this slender purse he extracted, after +some fumbling, three kopeks, handed it to the old man, and asked for two +kopeks in change. The old man exhibited in his hand two three-kopek +pieces and one kopek. Semyon looked at them, was about to take the +kopek, but thought better of it, pulled off his hat, crossed himself, and +walked on, leaving the old man the three-kopek piece. + +I was fully acquainted with Semyon’s financial condition. He had no +property at home at all. The money which he had laid by on the day when +he gave three kopeks amounted to six rubles and fifty kopeks. +Accordingly, six rubles and twenty kopeks was the sum of his savings. My +reserve fund was in the neighborhood of six hundred thousand. I had a +wife and children, Semyon had a wife and children. He was younger than +I, and his children were fewer in number than mine; but his children were +small, and two of mine were of an age to work, so that our position, with +the exception of the savings, was on an equality; mine was somewhat the +more favorable, if any thing. He gave three kopeks, I gave twenty. What +did he really give, and what did I really give? What ought I to have +given, in order to do what Semyon had done? he had six hundred kopeks; +out of this he gave one, and afterwards two. I had six hundred thousand +rubles. In order to give what Semyon had given, I should have been +obliged to give three thousand rubles, and ask for two thousand in +change, and then leave the two thousand with the old man, cross myself, +and go my way, calmly conversing about life in the factories, and the +cost of liver in the Smolensk market. + +I thought of this at the time; but it was only long afterwards that I was +in a condition to draw from this incident that deduction which inevitably +results from it. This deduction is so uncommon and so singular, +apparently, that, in spite of its mathematical infallibility, one +requires time to grow used to it. It does seem as though there must be +some mistake, but mistake there is none. There is merely the fearful +mist of error in which we live. + +[This deduction, when I arrived at it, and when I recognized its +undoubted truth, furnished me with an explanation of my shame in the +presence of the cook’s wife, and of all the poor people to whom I had +given and to whom I still give money. + +What, in point of fact, is that money which I give to the poor, and which +the cook’s wife thought I was giving to her? In the majority of cases, +it is that portion of my substance which it is impossible even to express +in figures to Semyon and the cook’s wife,—it is generally one millionth +part or about that. I give so little that the bestowal of any money is +not and cannot be a deprivation to me; it is only a pleasure in which I +amuse myself when the whim seizes me. And it was thus that the cook’s +wife understood it. If I give to a man who steps in from the street one +ruble or twenty kopeks, why should not I give her a ruble also? In the +opinion of the cook’s wife, such a bestowal of money is precisely the +same as the flinging of honey-cakes to the people by gentlemen; it +furnishes the people who have a great deal of superfluous cash with +amusement. I was mortified because the mistake made by the cook’s wife +demonstrated to me distinctly the view which she, and all people who are +not rich, must take of me: “He is flinging away his folly, i.e., his +unearned money.” + +As a matter of fact, what is my money, and whence did it come into my +possession? A portion of it I accumulated from the land which I received +from my father. A peasant sold his last sheep or cow in order to give +the money to me. Another portion of my money is the money which I have +received for my writings, for my books. If my books are hurtful, I only +lead astray those who purchase them, and the money which I receive for +them is ill-earned money; but if my books are useful to people, then the +issue is still more disastrous. I do not give them to people: I say, +“Give me seventeen rubles, and I will give them to you.” And as the +peasant sells his last sheep, in this case the poor student or teacher, +or any other poor man, deprives himself of necessaries in order to give +me this money. And so I have accumulated a great deal of money in that +way, and what do I do with it? I take that money to the city, and bestow +it on the poor, only when they fulfil my caprices, and come hither to the +city to clean my sidewalk, lamps, and shoes; to work for me in factories. +And in return for this money, I force from them every thing that I can; +that is to say, I try to give them as little as possible, and to receive +as much as possible from them. And all at once I begin, quite +unexpectedly, to bestow this money as a simple gift, on these same poor +persons, not on all, but on those to whom I take a fancy. Why should not +every poor person expect that it is quite possible that the luck may fall +to him of being one of those with whom I shall amuse myself by +distributing my superfluous money? And so all look upon me as the cook’s +wife did. + +And I had gone so far astray that this taking of thousands from the poor +with one hand, and this flinging of kopeks with the other, to those to +whom the whim moved me to give, I called good. No wonder that I felt +ashamed.] {116} + +Yes, before doing good it was needful for me to stand outside of evil, in +such conditions that I might cease to do evil. But my whole life is +evil. I may give away a hundred thousand rubles, and still I shall not +be in a position to do good because I shall still have five hundred +thousand left. Only when I have nothing shall I be in a position to do +the least particle of good, even as much as the prostitute did which she +nursed the sick women and her child for three days. And that seemed so +little to me! And I dared to think of good myself! That which, on the +first occasion, told me, at the sight of the cold and hungry in the +Lyapinsky house, that I was to blame for this, and that to live as I live +is impossible, and impossible, and impossible,—that alone was true. + +What, then, was I to do? + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + + +It was hard for me to come to this confession, but when I had come to it +I was shocked at the error in which I had been living. I stood up to my +ears in the mud, and yet I wanted to drag others out of this mud. + +What is it that I wish in reality? I wish to do good to others. I wish +to do it so that other people may not be cold and hungry, so that others +may live as it is natural for people to live. + +[I wish this, and I see that in consequence of the violence, extortions, +and various tricks in which I take part, people who toil are deprived of +necessaries, and people who do not toil, in whose ranks I also belong, +enjoy in superabundance the toil of other people. + +I see that this enjoyment of the labors of others is so arranged, that +the more rascally and complicated the trickery which is employed by the +man himself, or which has been employed by the person from whom he +obtained his inheritance, the more does he enjoy of the labors of others, +and the less does he contribute of his own labor. + +First come the Shtiglitzy, Dervizy, Morozovy, the Demidoffs, the +Yusapoffs; then great bankers, merchants, officials, landed proprietors, +among whom I also belong; then the poor—very small traders, +dramshop-keepers, usurers, district judges, overseers, teachers, +sacristans, clerks; then house-porters, lackeys, coachmen, +watch-carriers, cab-drivers, peddlers; and last of all, the laboring +classes—factory-hands and peasants, whose numbers bear the relation to +the first named of ten to one. I see that the life of nine-tenths of the +working classes demands, by reason of its nature, application and toil, +as does every natural life; but that, in consequence of the sharp +practices which take from these people what is indispensable, and place +them in such oppressive conditions, this life becomes more difficult +every year, and more filled with deprivations; but our life, the life of +the non-laboring classes, thanks to the co-operation of the arts and +sciences which are directed to this object, becomes more filled with +superfluities, more attractive and careful, with every year. I see, +that, in our day, the life of the workingman, and, in particular, the +life of old men, of women, and of children of the working population, is +perishing directly from their food, which is utterly inadequate to their +fatiguing labor; and that this life of theirs is not free from care as to +its very first requirements; and that, alongside of this, the life of the +non-laboring classes, to which I belong, is filled more and more, every +year, with superfluities and luxury, and becomes more and more free from +anxiety, and has finally reached such a point of freedom from care, in +the case of its fortunate members, of whom I am one, as was only dreamed +of in olden times in fairy-tales,—the state of the owner of the purse +with the inexhaustible ruble, that is, a condition in which a man is not +only utterly released from the law of labor, but in which he possesses +the possibility of enjoying, without toil, all the blessings of life, and +of transferring to his children, or to any one whom he may see fit, this +purse with the inexhaustible ruble. + +I see that the products of the people’s toil are more and more +transformed from the mass of the working classes to those who do not +work; that the pyramid of the social edifice seems to be reconstructed in +such fashion that the foundation stones are carried to the apex, and the +swiftness of this transfer is increasing in a sort of geometrical ratio. +I see that the result of this is something like that which would take +place in an ant-heap if the community of ants were to lose their sense of +the common law, if some ants were to begin to draw the products of labor +from the bottom to the top of the heap, and should constantly contract +the foundations and broaden the apex, and should thereby also force the +remaining ants to betake themselves from the bottom to the summit. + +I see that the ideal of the Fortunatus’ purse has made its way among the +people, in the place of the ideal of a toilsome life. Rich people, +myself among the number, get possession of the inexhaustible ruble by +various devices, and for the purpose of enjoying it we go to the city, to +the place where nothing is produced and where every thing is swallowed +up. + +The industrious poor man, who is robbed in order that the rich may +possess this inexhaustible ruble, yearns for the city in his train; and +there he also takes to sharp practices, and either acquires for himself a +position in which he can work little and receive much, thereby rendering +still more oppressive the situation of the laboring classes, or, not +having attained to such a position, he goes to ruin, and falls into the +ranks of those cold and hungry inhabitants of the night-lodging houses, +which are being swelled with such remarkable rapidity. + +I belong to the class of those people, who, by divers tricks, take from +the toiling masses the necessaries of life, and who have acquired for +themselves these inexhaustible rubles, and who lead these unfortunates +astray. I desire to aid people, and therefore it is clear that, first of +all, I must cease to rob them as I am doing. But I, by the most +complicated, and cunning, and evil practices, which have been heaped up +for centuries, have acquired for myself the position of an owner of the +inexhaustible ruble, that is to say, one in which, never working myself, +I can make hundreds and thousands of people toil for me—which also I do; +and I imagine that I pity people, and I wish to assist them. I sit on a +man’s neck, I weigh him down, and I demand that he shall carry me; and +without descending from his shoulders I assure myself and others that I +am very sorry for him, and that I desire to ameliorate his condition by +all possible means, only not by getting off of him. + +Surely this is simple enough. If I want to help the poor, that is, to +make the poor no longer poor, I must not produce poor people. And I +give, at my own selection, to poor men who have gone astray from the path +of life, a ruble, or ten rubles, or a hundred; and I grasp hundreds from +people who have not yet left the path, and thereby I render them poor +also, and demoralize them to boot. + +This is very simple; but it was horribly hard for me to understand this +fully without compromises and reservations, which might serve to justify +my position; but it sufficed for me to confess my guilt, and every thing +which had before seemed to me strange and complicated, and lacking in +cleanness, became perfectly comprehensible and simple. But the chief +point was, that my way of life, arising from this interpretation, became +simple, clear and pleasant, instead of perplexed, inexplicable and full +of torture as before.] {122a} + +Who am I, that I should desire to help others? I desire to help people; +and I, rising at twelve o’clock after a game of _vint_ {122b} with four +candles, weak, exhausted, demanding the aid of hundreds of people,—I go +to the aid of whom? Of people who rise at five o’clock, who sleep on +planks, who nourish themselves on bread and cabbage, who know how to +plough, to reap, to wield the axe, to chop, to harness, to sew,—of people +who in strength and endurance, and skill and abstemiousness, are a +hundred times superior to me,—and I go to their succor! What except +shame could I feel, when I entered into communion with these people? The +very weakest of them, a drunkard, an inhabitant of the Rzhanoff house, +the one whom they call “the idler,” is a hundred-fold more industrious +than I; [his balance, so to speak, that is to say, the relation of what +he takes from people and that which they give him, stands on a thousand +times better footing than my balance, if I take into consideration what I +take from people and what I give to them.] {122c} + +And these are the people to whose assistance I go. I go to help the +poor. But who is the poor man? There is no one poorer than myself. I +am a thoroughly enervated, good-for-nothing parasite, who can only exist +under the most special conditions, who can only exist when thousands of +people toil at the preservation of this life which is utterly useless to +every one. And I, that plant-louse, which devours the foliage of trees, +wish to help the tree in its growth and health, and I wish to heal it. + +I have passed my whole life in this manner: I eat, I talk and I listen; I +eat, I write or read, that is to say, I talk and listen again; I eat, I +play, I eat, again I talk and listen, I eat, and again I go to bed; and +so each day I can do nothing else, and I understand how to do nothing +else. And in order that I may be able to do this, it is necessary that +the porter, the peasant, the cook, male or female, the footman, the +coachman, and the laundress, should toil from morning till night; I will +not refer to the labors of the people which are necessary in order that +coachman, cooks, male and female, footman, and the rest should have those +implements and articles with which, and over which, they toil for my +sake; axes, tubs, brushes, household utensils, furniture, wax, blacking, +kerosene, hay, wood, and beef. And all these people work hard all day +long and every day, so that I may be able to talk and eat and sleep. And +I, this cripple of a man, have imagined that I could help others, and +those the very people who support me! + +It is not remarkable that I could not help any one, and that I felt +ashamed; but the remarkable point is that such an absurd idea could have +occurred to me. The woman who served the sick old man, helped him; the +mistress of the house, who cut a slice from the bread which she had won +from the soil, helped the beggar; Semyon, who gave three kopeks which he +had earned, helped the beggar, because those three kopeks actually +represented his labor: but I served no one, I toiled for no one, and I +was well aware that my money did not represent my labor. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. {124} + + +Into the delusion that I could help others I was led by the fact that I +fancied that my money was of the same sort as Semyon’s. But this was not +the case. + +A general idea prevails, that money represents wealth; but wealth is the +product of labor; and, therefore, money represents labor. But this idea +is as just as that every governmental regulation is the result of a +compact (_contrat social_). + +Every one likes to think that money is only a medium of exchange for +labor. I have made shoes, you have raised grain, he has reared sheep: +here, in order that we may the more readily effect an exchange, we will +institute money, which represents a corresponding quantity of labor, and, +by means of it, we will barter our shoes for a breast of lamb and ten +pounds of flour. We will exchange our products through the medium of +money, and the money of each one of us represents our labor. + +This is perfectly true, but true only so long as, in the community where +this exchange is effected, the violence of one man over the rest has not +made its appearance; not only violence over the labors of others, as +happens in wars and slavery, but where he exercises no violence for the +protection of the products of their labor from others. This will be true +only in a community whose members fully carry out the Christian law, in a +community where men give to him who asks, and where he who takes is not +asked to make restitution. But just so soon as any violence whatever is +used in the community, the significance of money for its possessor loses +its significance as a representative of labor, and acquires the +significance of a right founded, not on labor, but on violence. + +As soon as there is war, and one man has taken any thing from any other +man, money can no longer be always the representative of labor; money +received by a warrior for the spoils of war, which he sells, even if he +is the commander of the warriors, is in no way a product of labor, and +possesses an entirely different meaning from money received for work on +shoes. As soon as there are slave-owners and slaves, as there always +have been throughout the whole world, it is utterly impossible to say +that money represents labor. + +Women have woven linen, sold it, and received money; serfs have woven for +their master, and the master has sold them and received the money. The +money is identical in both cases; but in the one case it is the product +of labor, in the other the product of violence. In exactly the same way, +a stranger or my own father has given me money; and my father, when he +gave me that money, knew, and I know, and everybody knows, that no one +can take this money away from me; but if it should occur to any one to +take it away from me, or even not to hand it over at the date when it was +promised, the law would intervene on my behalf, and would compel the +delivery to me of the money; and, again, it is evident that this money +can in no wise be called the equivalent of labor, on a level with the +money received by Semyon for chopping wood. So that in any community +where there is any thing that in any manner whatever controls the labor +of others, or where violence hedges in, by means of money, its +possessions from others, there money is no longer invariably the +representative of labor. In such a community, it is sometimes the +representative of labor, and sometimes of violence. + +Thus it would be where only one act of violence from one man against +others, in the midst of perfectly free relations, should have made its +appearance; but now, when centuries of the most varied deeds of violence +have passed for accumulations of money, when these deeds of violence are +incessant, and merely alter their forms; when, as every one admits, money +accumulated itself represents violence; when money, as a representative +of direct labor, forms but a very small portion of the money which is +derived from every sort of violence,—to say nowadays that money +represents the labor of the person who possesses it, is a self-evident +error or a deliberate lie. + +It may be said, that thus it should be; it may be said, that this is +desirable; but by no means can it be said, that thus it is. + +Money represents labor. Yes. Money does represent labor; but whose? In +our society only in the very rarest, rarest of instances, does money +represent the labor of its possessor, but it nearly always represents the +labor of other people, the past or future labor of men; it is a +representative of the obligation of others to labor, which has been +established by force. + +Money, in its most accurate and at the same the simple application, is +the conventional stamp which confers a right, or, more correctly, a +possibility, of taking advantage of the labors of other people. In its +ideal significance, money should confer this right, or this possibility, +only when it serves as the equivalent of labor, and such money might be +in a community in which no violence existed. But just as soon as +violence, that is to say, the possibility of profiting by the labors of +others without toil of one’s own, exists in a community, then that +profiting by the labors of other men is also expressed by money, without +any distinction of the persons on whom that violence is exercised. + +The landed proprietor has imposed upon his serfs natural debts, a certain +quantity of linen, grain, and cattle, or a corresponding amount of money. +One household has procured the cattle, but has paid money in lieu of +linen. The proprietor takes the money to a certain amount only, because +he knows that for that money they will make him the same quantity of +linen, (generally he takes a little more, in order to be sure that they +will make it for the same amount); and this money, evidently, represents +for the proprietor the obligation of other people to toil. + +The peasant gives the money as an obligation, to he knows not whom, but +to people, and there are many of them, who undertake for this money to +make so much linen. But the people who undertake to make the linen, do +so because they have not succeeded in raising sheep, and in place of the +sheep, they must pay money; but the peasant who takes money for his sheep +takes it because he must pay for grain which did not bear well this year. +The same thing goes on throughout this realm, and throughout the whole +world. + +A man sells the product of his labor, past, present or to come, sometimes +his food, and generally not because money constitutes for him a +convenient means of exchange. He could have effected the barter without +money, but he does so because money is exacted from him by violence as a +lien on his labor. + +When the sovereign of Egypt exacted labor from his slaves, the slaves +gave all their labor, but only their past and present labor, their future +labor they could not give. But with the dissemination of money tokens, +and the credit which had its rise in them, it became possible to sell +one’s future toil for money. Money, with co-existent violence in the +community, only represents the possibility of a new form of impersonal +slavery, which has taken the place of personal slavery. The slave-owner +has a right to the labor of Piotr, Ivan, and Sidor. But the owner of +money, in a place where money is demanded from all, has a right to the +toil of all those nameless people who are in need of money. Money has +set aside all the oppressive features of slavery, under which an owner +knows his right to Ivan, and with them it has set aside all humane +relations between the owner and the slave, which mitigated the burden of +personal thraldom. + +I will not allude to the fact, that such a condition of things is, +possibly, necessary for the development of mankind, for progress, and so +forth,—that I do not contest. I have merely tried to elucidate to myself +the idea of money, and that universal error into which I fell when I +accepted money as the representative of labor. I became convinced, after +experience, that money is not the representative of labor, but, in the +majority of cases, the representative of violence, or of especially +complicated sharp practices founded on violence. + +Money, in our day, has completely lost that significance which it is very +desirable that it should possess, as the representative of one’s own +labor; such a significance it has only as an exception, but, as a general +rule, it has been converted into a right or a possibility of profiting by +the toil of others. + +The dissemination of money, of credit, and of all sorts of money tokens, +confirms this significance of money ever more and more. Money is a new +form of slavery, which differs from the old form of slavery only in its +impersonality, its annihilation of all humane relations with the slave. + +Money—money, is a value which is always equal to itself, and is always +considered legal and righteous, and whose use is regarded as not immoral, +just as the right of slavery was regarded. + +In my young days, the game of loto was introduced into the clubs. +Everybody rushed to play it, and, as it was said, many ruined themselves, +rendered their families miserable, lost other people’s money, and +government funds, and committed suicide; and the game was prohibited, and +it remains prohibited to this day. + +I remember to have seen old and unsentimental gamblers, who told me that +this game was particularly pleasing because you did not see from whom you +were winning, as is the case in other games; a lackey brought, not money, +but chips; each man lost a little stake, and his disappointment was not +visible . . . It is the same with roulette, which is everywhere +prohibited, and not without reason. + +It is the same with money. I possess a magic, inexhaustible ruble; I cut +off my coupons, and have retired from all the business of the world. +Whom do I injure,—I, the most inoffensive and kindest of men? But this +is nothing more than playing at loto or roulette, where I do not see the +man who shoots himself, because of his losses, after procuring for me +those coupons which I cut off from the bonds so accurately with a +strictly right-angled corner. + +I have done nothing, I do nothing, and I shall do nothing, except cut off +those coupons; and I firmly believe that money is the representative of +labor! Surely, this is amazing! And people talk of madmen, after that! +Why, what degree of lunacy can be more frightful than this? A sensible, +educated, in all other respects sane man lives in a senseless manner, and +soothes himself for not uttering the word which it is indispensably +necessary that he should utter, with the idea that there is some sense in +his conclusions, and he considers himself a just man. Coupons—the +representatives of toil! Toil! Yes, but of whose toil? Evidently not +of the man who owns them, but of him who labors. + +Slavery is far from being suppressed. It has been suppressed in Rome and +in America, and among us: but only certain laws have been abrogated; only +the word, not the thing, has been put down. Slavery is the freeing of +ourselves alone from the toil which is necessary for the satisfaction of +our demands, by the transfer of this toil to others; and wherever there +exists a man who does not work, not because others work lovingly for him, +but where he possesses the power of not working, and forces others to +work for him, there slavery exists. There too, where, as in all European +societies, there are people who make use of the labor of thousands of +men, and regard this as their right,—there slavery exists in its broadest +measure. + +And money is the same thing as slavery. Its object and its consequences +are the same. Its object is—that one may rid one’s self of the first +born of all laws, as a profoundly thoughtful writer from the ranks of the +people has expressed it; from the natural law of life, as we have called +it; from the law of personal labor for the satisfaction of our own wants. +And the results of money are the same as the results of slavery, for the +proprietor; the creation, the invention of new and ever new and +never-ending demands, which can never be satisfied; the enervation of +poverty, vice, and for the slaves, the persecution of man and their +degradation to the level of the beasts. + +Money is a new and terrible form of slavery, and equally demoralizing +with the ancient form of slavery for both slave and slave-owner; only +much worse, because it frees the slave and the slave-owner from their +personal, humane relations.] + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + + +I am always surprised by the oft-repeated words: “Yes, this is so in +theory, but how is it in practice?” Just as though theory were fine +words, requisite for conversation, but not for the purpose of having all +practice, that is, all activity, indispensably founded on them. There +must be a fearful number of stupid theories current in the world, that +such an extraordinary idea should have become prevalent. Theory is what +a man thinks on a subject, but its practice is what he does. How can a +man think it necessary to do so and so, and then do the contrary? If the +theory of baking bread is, that it must first be mixed, and then set to +rise, no one except a lunatic, knowing this theory, would do the reverse. +But it has become the fashion with us to say, that “this is so in theory, +but how about the practice?” + +In the matter which interests me now, that has been confirmed which I +have always thought,—that practice infallibly flows from theory, and not +that it justifies it, but it cannot possibly be otherwise, for if I have +understood the thing of which I have been thinking, then I cannot carry +out this thing otherwise than as I have understood it. + +I wanted to help the unfortunate only because I had money, and I shared +the general belief that money was the representative of labor, or, on the +whole, something legal and good. But, having begun to give away this +money, I saw, when I gave the bills which I had accumulated from poor +people, that I was doing precisely that which was done by some landed +proprietors who made some of their serfs wait on others. I saw that +every use of money, whether for making purchases, or for giving away +without an equivalent to another, is handing over a note for extortion +from the poor, or its transfer to another man for extortion from the +poor. I saw that money in itself was not only not good, but evidently +evil, and that it deprives us of our highest good,—labor, and thereby of +the enjoyment of our labor, and that that blessing I was not in a +position to confer on any one, because I was myself deprived of it: I do +not work, and I take no pleasure in making use of the labor of others. + +It would appear that there is something peculiar in this abstract +argument as to the nature of money. But this argument which I have made +not for the sake of argument, but for the solution of the problem of my +life, of my sufferings, was for me an answer to my question: What is to +be done? + +As soon as I grasped the meaning of riches, and of money, it not only +became clear and indisputable to me, what I ought to do, but also clear +and indisputable what others ought to do, because they would infallibly +do it. I had only actually come to understand what I had known for a +long time previously, the theory which was given to men from the very +earliest times, both by Buddha, and Isaiah, and Lao-Tze, and Socrates, +and in a peculiarly clear and indisputable manner by Jesus Christ and his +forerunner, John the Baptist. John the Baptist, in answer to the +question of the people,—What were they to do? replied simply, briefly, +and clearly: “He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath +none; and he that hath meat, let him do likewise” (Luke iii. 10, 11). In +a similar manner, but with even greater clearness, and on many occasions, +Christ spoke. He said: “Blessed are the poor, and woe to the rich.” He +said that it is impossible to serve God and mammon. He forbade his +disciples to take not only money, but also two garments. He said to the +rich young man, that he could not enter into the kingdom of heaven +because he was rich, and that it was easier for a camel to go through the +eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God. He +said that he who should not leave every thing, houses and children and +lands, and follow him, could not be his disciple. He told the parable of +the rich man who did nothing bad, like our own rich men, but who only +arrayed himself in costly garments, and ate and drank daintily, and who +lost his soul thereby; and of poor Lazarus, who had done nothing good, +but who was saved merely because he was poor. + +This theory was sufficiently familiar to me, but the false teachings of +the world had so obscured it that it had become for me a theory in the +sense which people are fond of attributing to that term, that is to say, +empty words. But as soon as I had succeeded in destroying in my +consciousness the sophisms of worldly teaching, theory conformed to +practice, and the truth with regard to my life and to the life of the +people about me became its conclusion. + +I understood that man, besides life for his own personal good, is +unavoidably bound to serve the good of others also; that, if we take an +illustration from the animal kingdom,—as some people are fond of doing, +defending violence and conflict by the conflict for existence in the +animal kingdom,—the illustration must be taken from gregarious animals, +like bees; that consequently man, not to mention the love to his neighbor +incumbent on him, is called upon, both by reason and by his nature, to +serve other people and the common good of humanity. I comprehended that +the natural law of man is that according to which only he can fulfil +destiny, and therefore be happy. I understood that this law has been and +is broken hereby,—that people get rid of labor by force (like the robber +bees), make use of the toil of others, directing this toil, not to the +common weal, but to the private satisfaction of swift-growing desires; +and, precisely as in the case of the robber bees, they perish in +consequence. [I understood that the original form of this disinclination +for the law is the brutal violence against weaker individuals, against +women, wars and imprisonments, whose sequel is slavery, and also the +present reign of money. I understood that money is the impersonal and +concealed enslavement of the poor. And, once having perceived the +significance of money as slavery, I could not but hate it, nor refrain +from doing all in my power to free myself from it.] {135} + +When I was a slave-owner, and comprehended the immorality of my position, +I tried to escape from it. My escape consisted in this, that I, +regarding it as immoral, tried to exercise my rights as slave-owner as +little as possible, but to live, and to allow other people to live, as +though that right did not exist. And I cannot refrain from doing the +same thing now in reference to the present form of slavery,—exercising my +right to the labor of others as little as possible, i.e., hiring and +purchasing as little as possible. + +The root of every slavery is the use of the labor of others; and hence, +the compelling others to it is founded indifferently on my right to the +slave, or on my possession of money which is indispensable to him. If I +really do not approve, and if I regard as an evil, the employment of the +labor of others, then I shall use neither my right nor my money for that +purpose; I shall not compel others to toil for me, but I shall endeavor +to free them from the labor which they have performed for me, as far as +possible, either by doing without this labor or by performing it for +myself. + +And this very simple and unavoidable deduction enters into all the +details of my life, effects a total change in it, and at one blow +releases me from those moral sufferings which I have undergone at the +sight of the sufferings and the vice of the people, and instantly +annihilates all three causes of my inability to aid the poor, which I had +encountered while seeking the cause of my lack of success. + +The first cause was the herding of the people in towns, and the +absorption there of the wealth of the country. All that a man needs is +to understand how every hiring or purchase is a handle to extortion from +the poor, and that therefore he must abstain from them, and must try to +fulfil his own requirements; and not a single man will then quit the +country, where all wants can be satisfied without money, for the city, +where it is necessary to buy every thing: and in the country he will be +in a position to help the needy, as has been my own experience and the +experience of every one else. + +The second cause is the estrangement of the rich from the poor. A man +needs but to refrain from buying, from hiring, and, disdaining no sort of +work, to satisfy his requirements himself, and the former estrangement +will immediately be annihilated, and the man, having rejected luxury and +the services of others, will amalgamate with the mass of the working +people, and, standing shoulder to shoulder with the working people, he +can help them. + +The third cause was shame, founded on a consciousness of immorality in my +owning that money with which I desired to help people. All that is +required is: to understand the significance of money as impersonal +slavery, which it has acquired among us, in order to escape for the +future from falling into the error according to which money, though evil +in itself, can be an instrument of good, and in order to refrain from +acquiring money; and to rid one’s self of it in order to be in a position +to do good to people, that is, to bestow on them one’s labor, and not the +labor of another. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + + +[I saw that money is the cause of suffering and vice among the people, +and that, if I desired to help people, the first thing that was required +of me was not to create those unfortunates whom I wished to assist. + +I came to the conclusion that the man who does not love vice and the +suffering of the people should not make use of money, thus presenting an +inducement to extortion from the poor, by forcing them to work for him; +and that, in order not to make use of the toil of others, he must demand +as little from others as possible, and work as much as possible himself.] +{138} + +By dint of a long course of reasoning, I came to this inevitable +conclusion, which was drawn thousands of years ago by the Chinese in the +saying, “If there is one idle man, there is another dying with hunger to +offset him.” + +[Then what are we to do? John the Baptist gave the answer to this very +question two thousand years ago. And when the people asked him, “What +are we to do?” he said, “Let him that hath two garments impart to him +that hath none, and let him that hath meat do the same.” What is the +meaning of giving away one garment out of two, and half of one’s food? +It means giving to others every superfluity, and thenceforth taking +nothing superfluous from people. + +This expedient, which furnishes such perfect satisfaction to the moral +feelings, kept my eyes fast bound, and binds all our eyes; and we do not +see it, but gaze aside. + +This is precisely like a personage on the stage, who had entered a long +time since, and all the spectators see him, and it is obvious that the +actors cannot help seeing him, but the point on the stage lies in the +acting characters pretending not to see him, and in suffering from his +absence.] {139} + +Thus we, in our efforts to recover from our social diseases, search in +all quarters, governmental and anti-governmental, and in scientific and +in philanthropic superstitions; and we do not see what is perfectly +visible to every eye. + +For the man who really suffers from the sufferings of the people who +surround us, there exists the very plainest, simplest, and easiest means; +the only possible one for the cure of the evil about us, and for the +acquisition of a consciousness of the legitimacy of his life; the one +given by John the Baptist, and confirmed by Christ: not to have more than +one garment, and not to have money. And not to have any money, means, +not to employ the labor of others, and hence, first of all, to do with +our own hands every thing that we can possibly do. + +This is so clear and simple! But it is clear and simple when the +requirements are simple. I live in the country. I lie on the oven, and +I order my debtor, my neighbor, to chop wood and light my fire. It is +very clear that I am lazy, and that I tear my neighbor away from his +affairs, and I shall feel mortified, and I shall find it tiresome to lie +still all the time; and I shall go and split my wood for myself. + +But the delusion of slavery of all descriptions lies so far back, so much +of artificial exaction has sprung up upon it, so many people, accustomed +in different degrees to these habits, are interwoven with each other, +enervated people, spoiled for generations, and such complicated delusions +and justifications for their luxury and idleness have been devised by +people, that it is far from being so easy for a man who stands at the +summit of the ladder of idle people to understand his sin, as it is for +the peasant who has made his neighbor build his fire. + +It is terribly difficult for people at the top of this ladder to +understand what is required of them. [Their heads are turned by the +height of this ladder of lies, upon which they find themselves when a +place on the ground is offered to them, to which they must descend in +order to begin to live, not yet well, but no longer cruelly, inhumanly; +for this reason, this clear and simple truth appears strange to these +people. For the man with ten servants, liveries, coachmen, cooks, +pictures, pianofortes, that will infallibly appear strange, and even +ridiculous, which is the simplest, the first act of—I will not say every +good man—but of every man who is not wicked: to cut his own wood with +which his food is cooked, and with which he warms himself; to himself +clean those boots with which he has heedlessly stepped in the mire; to +himself fetch that water with which he preserves his cleanliness, and to +carry out that dirty water in which he has washed himself.] {140} + +But, besides the remoteness of people from the truth, there is another +cause which prevents people from seeing the obligation for them of the +simplest and most natural personal, physical labor for themselves: this +is the complication, the inextricability of the conditions, the advantage +of all the people who are bound together among themselves by money, in +which the rich man lives: “My luxurious life feeds people. What would +become of my old valet if I were to discharge him? What! we must all do +every thing necessary,—make our clothes and hew wood? . . . And how +about the division of labor?” + +[This morning I stepped out into the corridor where the fires were being +built. A peasant was making a fire in the stove which warms my son’s +room. I went in; the latter was asleep. It was eleven o’clock in the +morning. To-day is a holiday: there is some excuse, there are no +lessons. + +The smooth-skinned, eighteen-year-old youth, with a beard, who had eaten +his fill on the preceding evening, sleeps until eleven o’clock. But the +peasant of his age had been up at dawn, and had got through a quantity of +work, and was attending to his tenth stove, while the former slept. “The +peasant shall not make the fire in his stove to warm that smooth, lazy +body of his!” I thought. But I immediately recollected that this stove +also warmed the room of the housekeeper, a woman forty years of age, who, +on the evening before, had been making preparations up to three o’clock +in the morning for the supper which my son had eaten, and that she had +cleared the table, and risen at seven, nevertheless. The peasant was +building the fire for her also. And under her name the lazybones was +warming himself. + +It is true that the interests of all are interwoven; but, even without +any prolonged reckoning, the conscience of each man will say on whose +side lies labor, and on whose idleness. But although conscience says +this, the account-book, the cash-book, says it still more clearly. The +more money any one spends, the more idle he is, that is to say, the more +he makes others work for him. The less he spends, the more he works.] +{142a} But trade, but public undertakings, and, finally, the most +terrible of words, culture, the development of sciences, and the +arts,—what of them? + +[If I live I will make answer to those points, and in detail; and until +such answer I will narrate the following.] {142b} + + + +CHAPTER XX. + + +LIFE IN THE CITY. + + +Last year, in March, I was returning home late at night. As I turned +from the Zubova into Khamovnitchesky Lane, I saw some black spots on the +snow of the Dyevitchy Pole (field). Something was moving about in one +place. I should not have paid any attention to this, if the policeman +who was standing at the end of the street had not shouted in the +direction of the black spots,— + +“Vasily! why don’t you bring her in?” + +“She won’t come!” answered a voice, and then the spot moved towards the +policeman. + +I halted and asked the police-officer, “What is it?” + +He said,—“They are taking a girl from the Rzhanoff house to the +station-house; and she is hanging back, she won’t walk.” A house-porter +in a sheepskin coat was leading her. She was walking forward, and he was +pushing her from behind. All of us, I and the porter and the policeman, +were dressed in winter clothes, but she had nothing on over her dress. +In the darkness I could make out only her brown dress, and the kerchiefs +on her head and neck. She was short in stature, as is often the case +with the prematurely born, with small feet, and a comparatively broad and +awkward figure. + +“We’re waiting for you, you carrion. Get along, what do you mean by it? +I’ll give it to you!” shouted the policeman. He was evidently tired, and +he had had too much of her. She advanced a few paces, and again halted. + +The little old porter, a good-natured fellow (I know him), tugged at her +hand. “Here, I’ll teach you to stop! On with you!” he repeated, as +though in anger. She staggered, and began to talk in a discordant voice. +At every sound there was a false note, both hoarse and whining. + +“Come now, you’re shoving again. I’ll get there some time!” + +She stopped and then went on. I followed them. + +“You’ll freeze,” said the porters + +“The likes of us don’t freeze: I’m hot.” + +She tried to jest, but her words sounded like scolding. She halted again +under the lantern which stands not far from our house, and leaned +against, almost hung over, the fence, and began to fumble for something +among her skirts, with benumbed and awkward hands. Again they shouted at +her, but she muttered something and did something. In one hand she held +a cigarette bent into a bow, in the other a match. I paused behind her; +I was ashamed to pass her, and I was ashamed to stand and look on. But I +made up my mind, and stepped forward. Her shoulder was lying against the +fence, and against the fence it was that she vainly struck the match and +flung it away. I looked in her face. She was really a person +prematurely born; but, as it seemed to me, already an old woman. I +credited her with thirty years. A dirty hue of face; small, dull, tipsy +eyes; a button-like nose; curved moist lips with drooping corners, and a +short wisp of harsh hair escaping from beneath her kerchief; a long flat +figure, stumpy hands and feet. I paused opposite her. She stared at me, +and burst into a laugh, as though she knew all that was going on in my +mind. + +I felt that it was necessary to say something to her. I wanted to show +her that I pitied her. + +“Are your parents alive?” I inquired. + +She laughed hoarsely, with an expression which said, “he’s making up +queer things to ask.” + +“My mother is,” said she. “But what do you want?” + +“And how old are you?” + +“Sixteen,” said she, answering promptly to a question which was evidently +customary. + +“Come, march, you’ll freeze, you’ll perish entirely,” shouted the +policeman; and she swayed away from the fence, and, staggering along, she +went down Khamovnitchesky Lane to the police-station; and I turned to the +wicket, and entered the house, and inquired whether my daughters had +returned. I was told that they had been to an evening party, had had a +very merry time, had come home, and were in bed. + +Next morning I wanted to go to the station-house to learn what had been +done with this unfortunate woman, and I was preparing to go out very +early, when there came to see me one of those unlucky noblemen, who, +through weakness, have dropped from the gentlemanly life to which they +are accustomed, and who alternately rise and fall. I had been acquainted +with this man for three years. In the course of those three years, this +man had several times made way with every thing that he had, and even +with all his clothes; the same thing had just happened again, and he was +passing the nights temporarily in the Rzhanoff house, in the +night-lodging section, and he had come to me for the day. He met me as I +was going out, at the entrance, and without listening to me he began to +tell me what had taken place in the Rzhanoff house the night before. He +began his narrative, and did not half finish it; all at once (he is an +old man who has seen men under all sorts of aspects) he burst out +sobbing, and flooded has countenance with tears, and when he had become +silent, turned has face to the wall. This is what he told me. Every +thing that he related to me was absolutely true. I authenticated his +story on the spot, and learned fresh particulars which I will relate +separately. + +In that night-lodging house, on the lower floor, in No. 32, in which my +friend had spent the night, among the various, ever-changing lodgers, men +and women, who came together there for five kopeks, there was a +laundress, a woman thirty years of age, light-haired, peaceable and +pretty, but sickly. The mistress of the quarters had a boatman lover. +In the summer her lover kept a boat, and in the winter they lived by +letting accommodations to night-lodgers: three kopeks without a pillow, +five kopeks with a pillow. + +The laundress had lived there for several months, and was a quiet woman; +but latterly they had not liked her, because she coughed and prevented +the women from sleeping. An old half-crazy woman eighty years old, in +particular, also a regular lodger in these quarters, hated the laundress, +and imbittered the latter’s life because she prevented her sleeping, and +cleared her throat all night like a sheep. The laundress held her peace; +she was in debt for her lodgings, and was conscious of her guilt, and +therefore she was bound to be quiet. She began to go more and more +rarely to her work, as her strength failed her, and therefore she could +not pay her landlady; and for the last week she had not been out to work +at all, and had only poisoned the existence of every one, especially of +the old woman, who also did not go out, with her cough. Four days before +this, the landlady had given the laundress notice to leave the quarters: +the latter was already sixty kopeks in debt, and she neither paid them, +nor did the landlady foresee any possibility of getting them; and all the +bunks were occupied, and the women all complained of the laundress’s +cough. + +When the landlady gave the laundress notice, and told her that she must +leave the lodgings if she did not pay up, the old woman rejoiced and +thrust the laundress out of doors. The laundress departed, but returned +in an hour, and the landlady had not the heart to put her out again. And +the second and the third day, she did not turn her out. “Where am I to +go?” said the laundress. But on the third day, the landlady’s lover, a +Moscow man, who knew the regulations and how to manage, sent for the +police. A policeman with sword and pistol on a red cord came to the +lodgings, and with courteous words he led the laundress into the street. + +It was a clear, sunny, but freezing March day. The gutters were flowing, +the house-porters were picking at the ice. The cabman’s sleigh jolted +over the icy snow, and screeched over the stones. The laundress walked +up the street on the sunny side, went to the church, and seated herself +at the entrance, still on the sunny side. But when the sun began to sink +behind the houses, the puddles began to be skimmed over with a glass of +frost, and the laundress grew cold and wretched. She rose, and dragged +herself . . . whither? Home, to the only home where she had lived so +long. While she was on her way, resting at times, dusk descended. She +approached the gates, turned in, slipped, groaned and fell. + +One man came up, and then another. “She must be drunk.” Another man +came up, and stumbled over the laundress, and said to the potter: “What +drunken woman is this wallowing at your gate? I came near breaking my +head over her; take her away, won’t you?” + +The porter came. The laundress was dead. This is what my friend told +me. It may be thought that I have wilfully mixed up facts,—I encounter a +prostitute of fifteen, and the story of this laundress. But let no one +imagine this; it is exactly what happened in the course of one night +(only I do not remember which) in March, 1884. And so, after hearing my +friend’s tale, I went to the station-house, with the intention of +proceeding thence to the Rzhanoff house to inquire more minutely into the +history of the laundress. The weather was very beautiful and sunny; and +again, through the stars of the night-frost, water was to be seen +trickling in the shade, and in the glare of the sun on Khamovnitchesky +square every thing was melting, and the water was streaming. The river +emitted a humming noise. The trees of the Neskutchny garden looked blue +across the river; the reddish-brown sparrows, invisible in winter, +attracted attention by their sprightliness; people also seemed desirous +of being merry, but all of them had too many cares. The sound of the +bells was audible, and at the foundation of these mingling sounds, the +sounds of shots could be heard from the barracks, the whistle of +rifle-balls and their crack against the target. + +I entered the station-house. In the station some armed policemen +conducted me to their chief. He was similarly armed with sword and +pistol, and he was engaged in taking some measures with regard to a +tattered, trembling old man, who was standing before him, and who could +not answer the questions put to him, on account of his feebleness. +Having finished his business with the old man, he turned to me. I +inquired about the girl of the night before. At first he listened to me +attentively, but afterwards he began to smile, at my ignorance of the +regulations, in consequence of which she had been taken to the +station-house; and particularly at my surprise at her youth. + +“Why, there are plenty of them of twelve, thirteen, or fourteen years of +age,” he said cheerfully. + +But in answer to my question about the girl whom I had seen on the +preceding evening, he explained to me that she must have been sent to the +committee (so it appeared). To my question where she had passed the +night, he replied in an undecided manner. He did not recall the one to +whom I referred. There were so many of them every day. + +In No. 32 of the Rzhanoff house I found the sacristan already reading +prayers over the dead woman. They had taken her to the bunk which she +had formerly occupied; and the lodgers, all miserable beings, had +collected money for the masses for her soul, a coffin and a shroud, and +the old women had dressed her and laid her out. The sacristan was +reading something in the gloom; a woman in a long wadded cloak was +standing there with a wax candle; and a man (a gentleman, I must state) +in a clean coat with a lamb’s-skin collar, polished overshoes, and a +starched shirt, was holding one like it. This was her brother. They had +hunted him up. + +I went past the dead woman to the landlady’s nook, and questioned her +about the whole business. + +She was alarmed at my queries; she was evidently afraid that she would be +blamed for something; but afterwards she began to talk freely, and told +me every thing. As I passed back, I glanced at the dead woman. All dead +people are handsome, but this dead woman was particularly beautiful and +touching in her coffin; her pure, pale face, with closed swollen eyes, +sunken cheeks, and soft reddish hair above the lofty brow,—a weary and +kind and not a sad but a surprised face. And in fact, if the living do +not see, the dead are surprised. + +On the same day that I wrote the above, there was a great ball in Moscow. + +That night I left the house at nine o’clock. I live in a locality which +is surrounded by factories, and I left the house after the +factory-whistles had sounded, releasing the people for a day of freedom +after a week of unremitting toil. + +Factory-hands overtook me, and I overtook others of them, directing their +steps to the drinking-shops and taverns. Many were already intoxicated, +many were women. Every morning at five o’clock we can hear one whistle, +a second, a third, a tenth, and so forth, and so forth. That means that +the toil of women, children, and of old men has begun. At eight o’clock +another whistle, which signifies a breathing-spell of half an hour. At +twelve, a third: this means an hour for dinner. And a fourth at eight, +which denotes the end of the day. + +By an odd coincidence, all three of the factories which are situated near +me produce only articles which are in demand for balls. + +In one factory, the nearest, only stockings are made; in another +opposite, silken fabrics; in the third, perfumes and pomades. + +It is possible to listen to these whistles, and connect no other idea +with them than as denoting the time: “There’s the whistle already, it is +time to go to walk.” But one can also connect with those whistles that +which they signify in reality; that first whistle, at five o’clock, means +that people, often all without exception, both men and women, sleeping in +a damp cellar, must rise, and hasten to that building buzzing with +machines, and must take their places at their work, whose end and use for +themselves they do not see, and thus toil, often in heat and a stifling +atmosphere, in the midst of dirt, and with the very briefest +breathing-spells, an hour, two hours, three hours, twelve, and even more +hours in succession. They fall into a doze, and again they rise. And +this, for them, senseless work, to which they are driven only by +necessity, is continued over and over again. + +And thus one week succeeds another with the breaks of holidays; and I see +these work-people released on one of these holidays. They emerge into +the street. Everywhere there are drinking-shops, taverns, and loose +girls. And they, in their drunken state, drag by the hand each other, +and girls like the one whom I saw taken to the station-house; they drag +with them cabmen, and they ride and they walk from one tavern to another; +and they curse and stagger, and say they themselves know not what. I had +previously seen such unsteady gait on the part of factory-hands, and had +turned aside in disgust, and had been on the point of rebuking them; but +ever since I have been in the habit of hearing those whistles every day, +and understand their meaning, I am only amazed that they, all the men, do +not come to the condition of the “golden squad,” of which Moscow is full, +{152a} [and the women to the state of the one whom I had seen near my +house]. {152b} + +Thus I walked along, and scrutinized these factory-hands, as long as they +roamed the streets, which was until eleven o’clock. Then their movements +began to calm down. Some drunken men remained here and there, and here +and there I encountered men who were being taken to the station-house. +And then carriages began to make their appearance on all sides, directing +their course toward one point. + +On the box sits a coachman, sometimes in a sheepskin coat; and a footman, +a dandy, with a cockade. Well-fed horses in saddle-cloths fly through +the frost at the rate of twenty versts an hour; in the carriages sit +ladies muffled in round cloaks, and carefully tending their flowers and +head-dresses. Every thing from the horse-trappings, the carriages, the +gutta-percha wheels, the cloth of the coachman’s coat, to the stockings, +shoes, flowers, velvet, gloves, and perfumes,—every thing is made by +those people, some of whom often roll drunk into their dens or +sleeping-rooms, and some stay with disreputable women in the +night-lodging houses, while still others are put in jail. Thus past them +in all their work, and over them all, ride the frequenters of balls; and +it never enters their heads, that there is any connection between these +balls to which they make ready to go, and these drunkards at whom their +coachman shouts so roughly. + +These people enjoy themselves at the ball with the utmost composure of +spirit, and assurance that they are doing nothing wrong, but something +very good. Enjoy themselves! Enjoy themselves from eleven o’clock until +six in the morning, in the very dead of night, at the very hour when +people are tossing and turning with empty stomachs in the night-lodging +houses, and while some are dying, as did the laundress. + +Their enjoyment consists in this,—that the women and young girls, having +bared their necks and arms, and applied bustles behind, place themselves +in a situation in which no uncorrupted woman or maiden would care to +display herself to a man, on any consideration in the world; and in this +half-naked condition, with their uncovered bosoms exposed to view, with +arms bare to the shoulder, with a bustle behind and tightly swathed hips, +under the most brilliant light, women and maidens, whose chief virtue has +always been modesty, exhibit themselves in the midst of strange men, who +are also clad in improperly tight-fitting garments; and to the sound of +maddening music, they embrace and whirl. Old women, often as naked as +the young ones, sit and look on, and eat and drink savory things; old men +do the same. It is not to be wondered at that this should take place at +night, when all the common people are asleep, so that no one may see +them. But this is not done with the object of concealment: it seems to +them that there is nothing to conceal; that it is a very good thing; that +by this merry-making, in which the labor of thousands of toiling people +is destroyed, they not only do not injure any one, but that by this very +act they furnish the poor with the means of subsistence. Possibly it is +very merry at balls. But how does this come about? When we see that +there is a man in the community, in our midst, who has had no food, or +who is freezing, we regret our mirth, and we cannot be cheerful until he +is fed and warmed, not to mention the impossibility of imagining people +who can indulge in such mirth as causes suffering to others. The mirth +of wicked little boys, who pitch a dog’s tail in a split stick, and make +merry over it, is repulsive and incomprehensible to us. + +In the same manner here, in these diversions of ours, blindness has +fallen upon us, and we do not see the split stick with which we have +pitched all those people who suffer for our amusement. + +[We live as though there were no connection between the dying laundress, +the prostitute of fourteen, and our own life; and yet the connection +between them strikes us in the face. + +We may say: “But we personally have not pinched any tail in a stick;” but +we have no right, to deny that had the tail not been pitched, our +merry-making would not have taken place. We do not see what connection +exists between the laundress and our luxury; but that is not because no +such connection does exist, but because we have placed a screen in front +of us, so that we may not see. + +If there were no screen, we should see that which it is impossible not to +see.] {154} + +Surely all the women who attended that ball in dresses worth a hundred +and fifty rubles each were born not in a ballroom, or at Madame +Minanguoit’s; but they have lived in the country, and have seen the +peasants; they know their own nurse and maid, whose father and brother +are poor, for whom the earning of a hundred and fifty rubles for a +cottage is the object of a long, laborious life. Each woman knows this. +How could she enjoy herself, when she knew that she wore on her bared +body at that ball the cottage which is the dream of her good maid’s +father and brother? But let us suppose that she could not make this +reflection; but since velvet and silk and flowers and lace and dresses do +not grow of themselves, but are made by people, it would seem that she +could not help knowing what sort of people make all these things, and +under what conditions, and why they do it. She cannot fail to know that +the seamstress, with whom she has already quarrelled, did not make her +dress in the least out of love for her; therefore, she cannot help +knowing that all these things were made for her as a matter of necessity, +that her laces, flowers, and velvet have been made in the same way as her +dress. + +But possibly they are in such darkness that they do not consider this. +One thing she cannot fail to know,—that five or six elderly and +respectable, often sick, lackeys and maids have had no sleep, and have +been put to trouble on her account. She has seen their weary, gloomy +faces. She could not help knowing this also, that the cold that night +reached twenty-eight degrees below zero, {155} and that the old coachman +sat all night long in that temperature on his box. But I know that they +really do not see this. And if they, these young women and girls, do not +see this, on account of the hypnotic state superinduced in them by balls, +it is impossible to condemn them. They, poor things, have done what is +considered right by their elders; but how are their elders to explain +away this their cruelty to the people? + +The elders always offer the explanation: “I compel no one. I purchase my +things; I hire my men, my maid-servants, and my coachman. There is +nothing wrong in buying and hiring. I force no one’s inclination: I +hire, and what harm is there in that?” + +I recently went to see an acquaintance. As I passed through one of the +rooms, I was surprised to see two women seated at a table, as I knew that +my friend was a bachelor. A thin, yellow, old-fashioned woman, thirty +years of age, in a dress that had been carelessly thrown on, was doing +something with her hands and fingers on the table, with great speed, +trembling nervously the while, as though in a fit. Opposite her sat a +young girl, who was also engaged in something, and who trembled in the +same manner. Both women appeared to be afflicted with St. Vitus’ dance. +I stepped nearer to them, and looked to see what they were doing. They +raised their eyes to me, but went on with their work with the same +intentness. In front of them lay scattered tobacco and paper cases. +They were making cigarettes. The woman rubbed the tobacco between her +hands, pushed it into the machine, slipped on the cover, thrust the +tobacco through, then tossed it to the girl. The girl twisted the paper, +and, making it fast, threw it aside, and took up another. All thus was +done with such swiftness, with such intentness, as it is impossible to +describe to a man who has never seen it done. I expressed my surprise at +their quickness. + +“I have been doing nothing else for fourteen years,” said the woman. + +“Is it hard?” + +“Yes: it pains my chest, and makes my breathing hard.” + +It was not necessary for her to add this, however. A look at the girl +sufficed. She had worked at this for three years, but any one who had +not seen her at this occupation would have said that here was a strong +organism which was beginning to break down. + +My friend, a kind and liberal man, hires these women to fill his +cigarettes at two rubles fifty kopeks the thousand. He has money, and he +spends it for work. What harm is there in that? My friend rises at +twelve o’clock. He passes the evening, from six until two, at cards, or +at the piano. He eats and drinks savory things; others do all his work +for him. He has devised a new source of pleasure,—smoking. He has taken +up smoking within my memory. + +Here is a woman, and here is a girl, who can barely support themselves by +turning themselves into machines, and they pass their whole lives +inhaling tobacco, and thereby running their health. He has money which +he never earned, and he prefers to play at whist to making his own +cigarettes. He gives these women money on condition that they shall +continue to live in the same wretched manner in which they are now +living, that is to say, by making his cigarettes. + +I love cleanliness, and I give money only on the condition that the +laundress shall wash the shirt which I change twice a day; and that shirt +has destroyed the laundress’s last remaining strength, and she has died. +What is there wrong about that? People who buy and hire will continue to +force other people to make velvet and confections, and will purchase +them, without me; and no matter what I may do, they will hire cigarettes +made and shirts washed. Then why should I deprive myself of velvet and +confections and cigarettes and clean shirts, if things are definitively +settled thus? This is the argument which I often, almost always, hear. +This is the very argument which makes the mob which is destroying +something, lose its senses. This is the very argument by which dogs are +guided when one of them has flung himself on another dog, and overthrown +him, and the rest of the pack rush up also, and tear their comrade in +pieces. Other people have begun it, and have wrought mischief; then why +should not I take advantage of it? Well, what will happen if I wear a +soiled shirt, and make my own cigarettes? Will that make it easier for +anybody else? ask people who would like to justify their course. If it +were not so far from the truth, it would be a shame to answer such a +question, but we have become so entangled that this question seems very +natural to us; and hence, although it is a shame, it is necessary to +reply to it. + +What difference will it make if I wear one shirt a week, and make may own +cigarettes, or do not smoke at all? This difference, that some laundress +and some cigarette-maker will exert their strength less, and that what I +have spent for washing and for the making of cigarettes I can give to +that very laundress, or even to other laundresses and toilers who are +worn out with their labor, and who, instead of laboring beyond their +strength, will then be able to rest, and drink tea. But to this I hear +an objection. (It is so mortifying to rich and luxurious people to +understand their position.) To this they say: “If I go about in a dirty +shirt, and give up smoking, and hand over this money to the poor, the +poor will still be deprived of every thing, and that drop in the sea of +yours will help not at all.” + +Such an objection it is a shame to answer. It is such a common retort. +{158} + +If I had gone among savages, and they had regaled me with cutlets which +struck me as savory, and if I should learn on the following day that +these savory cutlets had been made from a prisoner whom they had slain +for the sake of the savory cutlets, if I do not admit that it is a good +thing to eat men, then, no matter how dainty the cutlets, no matter how +universal the practice of eating men may be among my fellows, however +insignificant the advantage to prisoners, prepared for consumption, may +be my refusal to eat of the cutlets, I will not and I can not eat any +more of them. I may, possibly, eat human flesh, when hunger compels me +to it; but I will not make a feast, and I will not take part in feasts, +of human flesh, and I will not seek out such feasts, and pride myself on +my share in them. + + +LIFE IN THE COUNTRY. + + +But what is to be done? Surely it is not we who have done this? And if +not we, who then? + +We say: “We have not done this, this has done itself;” as the children +say, when they break any thing, that it broke itself. We say, that, so +long as there is a city already in existence, we, by living in it, +support the people, by purchasing their labor and services. But this is +not so. And this is why. We only need to look ourselves, at the way we +have in the country, and at the manner in which we support people there. + +The winter passes in town. Easter Week passes. On the boulevards, in +the gardens in the parks, on the river, there is music. There are +theatres, water-trips, walks, all sorts of illuminations and fireworks. +But in the country there is something even better,—there are better air, +trees and meadows, and the flowers are fresher. One should go thither +where all these things have unfolded and blossomed forth. And the +majority of wealthy people do go to the country to breathe the superior +air, to survey these superior forests and meadows. And there the wealthy +settle down in the country, and the gray peasants, who nourish themselves +on bread and onions, who toil eighteen hours a day, who get no sound +sleep by night, and who are clad in blouses. Here no one has led these +people astray. There have been no factories nor industrial +establishments, and there are none of those idle hands, of which there +are so many in the city. Here the whole population never succeeds, all +summer long, in completing all their tasks in season; and not only are +there no idle hands, but a vast quantity of property is ruined for the +lack of hands, and a throng of people, children, old men, and women, will +perish through overstraining their powers in work which is beyond their +strength. How do the rich order their lives there? In this fashion:— + +If there is an old-fashioned house, built under the serf _régime_, that +house is repaired and embellished; if there is none, then a new one is +erected, of two or three stories. The rooms, of which there are from +twelve to twenty, and even more, are all six arshins in height. {161a} +Wood floors are laid down. The windows consist of one sheet of glass. +There are rich rugs and costly furniture. The roads around the house are +macadamized, the ground is levelled, flower-beds are laid out, +croquet-grounds are prepared, swinging-rings for gymnastics are erected, +reflecting globes, often orangeries, and hotbeds, and lofty stables +always with complicated scroll-work on the gables and ridges. + +And here, in the country, an honest educated official, or noble family +dwells. All the members of the family and their guests have assembled in +the middle of June, because up to June, that is to say, up to the +beginning of mowing-time, they have been studying and undergoing +examinations; and they live there until September, that is to say, until +harvest and sowing-time. The members of this family (as is the case with +nearly every one in that circle) have lived in the country from the +beginning of the press of work, the suffering time, not until the end of +the season of toil (for in September sowing is still in progress, as well +as the digging of potatoes), but until the strain of work has relaxed a +little. During the whole of their residence in the country, all around +them and beside them, that summer toil of the peasantry has been going +on, of whose fatigues, no matter how much we may have heard, no matter +how much we may have heard about it, no matter how much we may have gazed +upon it, we can form no idea, unless we have had personal experience of +it. And the members of this family, about ten in number, live exactly as +they do in the city. + +At St. Peter’s Day, {161b} a strict fast, when the people’s food consists +of kvas, bread, and onions, the mowing begins. + +The business which is effected in mowing is one of the most important in +the commune. Nearly every year, through the lack of hands and time, the +hay crop may be lost by rain; and more or less strain of toil decides the +question, as to whether twenty or more per cent of hay is to be added to +the wealth of the people, or whether it is to rot or die where it stands. +And additional hay means additional meat for the old, and additional milk +for the children. Thus, in general and in particular, the question of +bread for each one of the mowers, and of milk for himself and his +children, in the ensuing winter, is then decided. Every one of the +toilers, both male and female, knows this; even the children know that +this is an important matter, and that it is necessary to strain every +nerve to carry the jug of kvas to their father in the meadow at his +mowing, and, shifting the heavy pitcher from hand to hand, to run +barefooted as rapidly as possible, two versts from the village, in order +to get there in season for dinner, and so that their fathers may not +scold them. + +Every one knows, that, from the mowing season until the hay is got in, +there will be no break in the work, and that there will be no time to +breathe. And there is not the mowing alone. Every one of them has other +affairs to attend to besides the mowing: the ground must be turned up and +harrowed; and the women have linen and bread and washing to attend to; +and the peasants have to go to the mill, and to town, and there are +communal matters to attend to, and legal matters before the judge and the +commissary of police; and the wagons to see to, and the horses to feed at +night: and all, old and young, and sickly, labor to the last extent of +their powers. The peasants toil so, that on every occasion, the mowers, +before the end of the third stint, whether weak, young, or old, can +hardly walk as they totter past the last rows, and only with difficulty +are they able to rise after the breathing-spell; and the women, often +pregnant, or nursing infants, work in the same way. The toil is intense +and incessant. All work to the extreme bounds of their strength, and +expend in this toil, not only the entire stock of their scanty +nourishment, but all their previous stock. All of them—and they are not +fat to begin with—grow gaunt after the “suffering” season. + +Here a little association is working at the mowing; three peasants,—one +an old man, the second his nephew, a young married man, and a shoemaker, +a thin, sinewy man. This hay-harvest will decide the fate of all of them +for the winter. They have been laboring incessantly for two weeks, +without rest. The rain has delayed their work. After the rain, when the +hay has dried, they have decided to stack it, and, in order to accomplish +this as speedily as possible, that two women for each of them shall +follow their scythes. On the part of the old man go his wife, a woman of +fifty, who has become unfit for work, having borne eleven children, who +is deaf, but still a tolerably stout worker; and a thirteen-year-old +daughter, who is short of stature, but a strong and clever girl. On the +part of his nephew go his wife, a woman as strong and well-grown as a +sturdy peasant, and his daughter-in-law, a soldier’s wife, who is about +to become a mother. On the part of the shoemaker go his wife, a stout +laborer, and her aged mother, who has reached her eightieth year, and who +generally goes begging. They all stand in line, and labor from morning +till night, in the full fervor of the June sun. It is steaming hot, and +rain threatens. Every hour of work is precious. It is a pity to tear +one’s self from work to fetch water or kvas. A tiny boy, the old woman’s +grandson, brings them water. The old woman, evidently only anxious lest +she shall be driven away from her work, will not let the rake out of her +hand, though it is evident that she can barely move, and only with +difficulty. The little boy, all bent over, and stepping gently, with his +tiny bare feet, drags along a jug of water, shifting it from hand to +hand, for it is heavier than he. The young girl flings over her shoulder +a load of hay which is also heavier than herself, advances a few steps, +halts, and drops it, without the strength to carry it. The old woman of +fifty rakes away without stopping, and with her kerchief awry she drags +the hay, breathing heavily and tottering. The old woman of eighty only +rakes the hay, but even this is beyond her strength; she slowly drags +along her feet, shod with bast shoes, and, frowning, she gazes gloomily +before her, like a seriously ill or dying person. The old man has +intentionally sent her farther away than the rest, to rake near the cocks +of hay, so that she may not keep in line with the others; but she does +not fall in with this arrangement, and she toils on as long as the others +do, with the same death-like, gloomy countenance. The sun is already +setting behind the forest; but the cocks are not yet all heaped together, +and much still remains to do. All feel that it is time to stop, but no +one speaks, waiting until the others shall say it. Finally the +shoemaker, conscious that his strength is exhausted, proposes to the old +man, to leave the cocks until the morrow; and the old man consents, and +the women instantly run for the garments, jugs, pitchforks; and the old +woman immediately sits down just where she has been standings and then +lies back with the same death-like look, staring straight in front of +her. But the women are going; and she rises with a groan, and drags +herself after them. And this will go on in July also, when the peasants, +without obtaining sufficient sleep, reap the oats by night, lest it +should fall, and the women rise gloomily to thresh out the straw for the +bands to tie the sheaves; when this old woman, already utterly cramped by +the labor of mowing, and the woman with child, and the young children, +injure themselves overworking and over-drinking; and when neither hands, +nor horses, nor carts will suffice to bring to the ricks that grain with +which all men are nourished, and millions of poods {165} of which are +daily required in Russia to keep people from perishing. + +And we live as though there were no connection between the dying +laundress, the prostitute of fourteen years, the toilsome manufacture of +cigarettes by women, the strained, intolerable, insufficiently fed toil +of old women and children around us; we live as though there were no +connection between this and our own lives. + +It seems to us, that suffering stands apart by itself, and our life apart +by itself. We read the description of the life of the Romans, and we +marvel at the inhumanity of those soulless Luculli, who satiated +themselves on viands and wines while the populace were dying with hunger. +We shake our heads, and we marvel at the savagery of our grandfathers, +who were serf-owners, supporters of household orchestras and theatres, +and of whole villages devoted to the care of their gardens; and we +wonder, from the heights of our grandeur, at their inhumanity. We read +the words of Isa. v. 8: “Woe unto them that join house to house, that lay +field to field, till there be no place, that they may be placed alone in +the midst of the earth! (11.) Woe unto them that rise up early in the +morning, that they may follow strong drink; that continue until night, +till wine inflame them! (12.) And the harp and the viol, and tabret and +pipe, and wine are in their feasts; but they regard not the work of the +Lord, neither consider the operation of his hands. (18.) Woe unto them +that draw iniquity with cords of vanity, and sin as it were with a +cart-rope. (20.) Woe unto then that call evil good, and good evil; that +put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for +sweet, and sweet for bitter! (21.) Woe unto them that are wise in their +own eyes, and prudent in their own sight—(22.) Woe unto them that are +mighty to drink wine, and men of strength to mingle strong drink.” + +We read these words, and it seems to us that this has no reference to us. +We read in the Gospels (Matt. iii. 10): “And now also the axe is laid +unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which bringeth not forth +good fruit is hewn down and cast into the fire.” + +And we are fully convinced that the good tree which bringeth forth good +fruit is ourselves; and that these words are not spoken to us, but to +some other and wicked people. + +We read the words of Isa. vi. 10: “Make the heart of this people fat, and +make their ears heavy, and shut their eyes; lest they see with their +eyes, and hear with their ears, and understand with their heart, and +convert and be healed. (11.) Then said I: Lord, how long? And he +answered, Until the cities be wasted without inhabitant, and the houses +without man, and the land be utterly desolate.” + +We read, and are fully convinced that this marvellous deed is not +performed on us, but on some other people. And because we see nothing it +is, that this marvellous deed is performed, and has been performed, on +us. We hear not, we see not, and we understand not with our heart. How +has this happened? + +Whether that God, or that natural law by virtue of which men exist in the +world, has acted well or ill, yet the position of men in the world, ever +since we have known it, has been such, that naked people, without any +hair on their bodies, without lairs in which they could shelter +themselves, without food which they could find in the fields,—like +Robinson {167} on his island,—have all been reduced to the necessity of +constantly and unweariedly contending with nature in order to cover their +bodies, to make themselves clothing, to construct a roof over their +heads, and to earn their bread, that two or three times a day they may +satisfy their hunger and the hunger of their helpless children and of +their old people who cannot work. + +Wherever, at whatever time, in whatever numbers we may have observed +people, whether in Europe, in America, in China, or in Russia, whether we +regard all humanity, or any small portion of it, in ancient times, in a +nomad state, or in our own times, with steam-engines and sewing-machines, +perfected agriculture, and electric lighting, we behold always one and +the same thing,—that man, toiling intensely and incessantly, is not able +to earn for himself and his little ones and his old people clothing, +shelter, and food; and that a considerable portion of mankind, as in +former times, so at the present day, perish through insufficiency of the +necessaries of life, and intolerable toil in the effort to obtain them. + +Wherever we have, if we draw a circle round us of a hundred thousand, a +thousand, or ten versts, or of one verst, and examine into the lives of +the people comprehended within the limits of our circle, we shall see +within that circle prematurely-born children, old men, old women, women +in labor, sick and weak persons, who toil beyond their strength, and who +have not sufficient food and rest for life, and who therefore die before +their time. We shall see people in the flower of their age actually +slain by dangerous and injurious work. + +We see that people have been struggling, ever since the world has +endured, with fearful effort, privation, and suffering, against this +universal want, and that they cannot overcome it . . . {168} + + + + +Footnotes + + +{21a} The fine, tall members of a regiment, selected and placed together +to form a showy squad. + +{21b} [] Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition printed in +Russia, in the set of Count Tolstoï’s works. + +{24a} Réaumur. + +{24b} A drink made of water, honey, and laurel or salvia leaves, which +is drunk as tea, especially by the poorer classes. + +{28} [] Omitted by the censor from the authorized edition published in +Russia in the set of count Tolstoi’s works. The omission is indicated +thus . . . + +{39} _Kalatch_, a kind of roll: _baranki_, cracknels of fine flour. + +{59} An _arshin_ is twenty-eight inches. + +{60} A _myeshchanin_, or citizen, who pays only poll-tax and not a guild +tax. + +{62} Omitted in authorized edition. + +{66} Omitted by the censor in the authorized edition. + +{94} Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition. + +{96} Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition. + +{99} Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition. + +{108} Omitted by the Censor from the authorized edition. + +{111} Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition. + +{113} Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition + +{116} Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition. + +{122a} Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition. + +{122b} A very complicated sort of whist. + +{122c} Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition. + +{124} The whole of this chapter is omitted by the Censor in the +authorized edition, and is there represented by the following sentence: +“And I felt that in money, in money itself, in the possession of it, +there was something immoral; and I asked myself, What is money?” + +{135} Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition. + +{138} Omitted by the Censor in the authorized edition. + +{139} The above passage is omitted in the authorized edition, and the +following is added: “I came to the simple and natural conclusion, that, +if I pity the tortured horse upon which I am riding, the first thing for +me to do is to alight, and to walk on my own feet.” + +{140} Omitted in the authorized edition. + +{142a} Omitted in the authorized edition. + +{142b} Omitted in the authorized edition. + +{152a} “Into a worse state,” in the authorized edition. + +{152b} Omitted in the authorized edition. + +{154} Omitted in the authorized edition. + +{155} Réaumur. + +{158} In the Moscow edition (authorized by the Censor), the concluding +paragraph is replaced by the following:—“They say: The action of a single +man is but a drop in the sea. A drop in the sea! + +“There is an Indian legend relating how a man dropped a pearl into the +sea, and in order to recover it he took a bucket, and began to bail out, +and to pour the water on the shore. Thus he toiled without intermission, +and on the seventh day the spirit of the sea grew alarmed lest the man +should dip the sea dry, and so he brought him his pearl. If our social +evil of persecuting man were the sea, then that pearl which we have lost +is equivalent to devoting our lives to bailing out the sea of that evil. +The prince of this world will take fright, he will succumb more promptly +than did the spirit of the sea; but this social evil is not the sea, but +a foul cesspool, which we assiduously fill with our own uncleanness. All +that is required is for us to come to our senses, and to comprehend what +we are doing; to fall out of love with our own uncleanness,—in order that +that imaginary sea should dry away, and that we should come into +possession of that priceless pearl,—fraternal, humane life.” + +{161a} An arshin is twenty-eight inches. + +{161b} The fast extends from the 5th to the 30th of June, O.S. (June 27 +to July 12, N.S.) + +{165} A pood is thirty-six pounds. + +{167} Robinson Crusoe. + +{168} Here something has been omitted by the Censor, which I am unable +to supply.—TRANS. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THOUGHTS EVOKED BY THE CENSUS OF +MOSCOW*** + + +******* This file should be named 3541-0.txt or 3541-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/5/4/3541 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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