[1]"Love a Mingrelian hut."—Trans.
[1]"Love a Mingrelian hut."—Trans.
[2]The Little Russians speak a dialect of the language in which the Russian sound for "y" is pronounced "oo."
[2]The Little Russians speak a dialect of the language in which the Russian sound for "y" is pronounced "oo."
There once lived a nobleman who liked to back up his statements by quoting history. Whenever he wanted to tell a lie, he went to a likely man and gave him the order:
"Egorka,[1]go and find me facts from history to prove that such-and-such a thing does not repeat itself, and vice versa."
Egorka was a smart fellow, and readily found what was wanted. The nobleman armed himself with these facts as occasion required and contrived to prove everything that was necessary. In fact, he was invincible.
He was, moreover, a plotter against the Government. At one time everyone thought it necessary to conspire against the Government. They were not afraid even to say to one another:
"The English have habeas corpus, but we have ukases."
And they made mock at these differences between nations.
Having done that, they would forget the Government oppression under which they suffered, and sit down and play whist till the cocks crew for the third time.
When the cocks announced the approach of mom the nobleman commanded:
"Egorka, sing something inspiring, and suitable to the hour."
Egorka stood up and, lifting his finger, reminded them in a manner full of meaning:
"In Holy Russia the cocks crow,It will soon be day in Holy Russia."
"Quite true," said the nobleman; "it will soon be day."
And they retired to rest.
So far so good; but suddenly the people began to get agitated. The nobleman noticed this and asked:
"Egorka, why are the people restless?"
The latter looked pleased as he reported:
"The people want to live like human beings."
"Well, who taught them that? I did. For fifty years I and my ancestors have fostered in them the idea that it was time for them to live like human beings; haven't we?"
He began to get excited and pressed Egorka eagerly.
"Find me facts from history about the agrarian movement in Europe. Texts from the Gospels about equality, and from the history of civilisation about the origin of property. Be quick about it."
Egorka was pleased. He perspired freely as he hurried hither and thither. He tore all the leaves out of the books, so that only the bindings were left. He carried big bundles of all kinds of convincing proofs to the nobleman, who still kept urging him on.
"Stick to it! When we have a constitution I will make you editor of a large Liberal paper."
And becoming quite bold at last he began himself to speak to the more moderate of the peasants.
"Besides," said he, "there were the brothers Gracchus in Rome; then in England, in Germany, in France.... And all this is historically necessary. Egorka, get me facts."
Thereupon he proved, by facts, that every nation is bound to desire liberty, even against the wish of the authorities.
The peasants of course were pleased and cried:
"We thank you humbly."
Everything went very well, harmoniously, in Christian love and mutual confidence, till suddenly the peasants began to ask:
"When are you going to clear out?"
"Clear out? Where?"
"Away."
"Where from?"
"Off the land."
And they laughed, saying:
"What a funny fellow. He understands everything, but he has ceased to understand what is simplest of all." They laughed, but the nobleman became angry.
"But listen to me," he said. "Why should I go if the land is mine?"
But the peasants did not heed him.
"How can it be yours when you have said yourself that it is the Lord's, and that even before the time of Jesus Christ there were some just men who knew it?" He did not understand them, and they did not understand him. So he went again to Egorka.
"Egorka, look up the ancient histories and find me ..."
But the latter replied in a perfectly independent spirit:
"All the histories were pulled to pieces to prove the contrary."
"You are lying, you plotter."
He rushed to the library and saw that it was true. Only the empty covers of the books remained. The surprise was so great that it threw him into a perspiration, and he began to appeal to his ancestors, saying sorrowfully:
"And who taught you to write history in such a one-sided manner? Look what you have done. Alas! what kind of history is it? To the devil with it!" But the peasants kept repeating the same thing:
"You have proved it all to us very clearly," they said. "Get away as quickly as you can, or else we shall drive you away."
Egorka had gone completely over to the peasants. When he met the nobleman he turned up his nose and laughed sneeringly:
"O you Liberal! Habeas corpus!"
Things went from bad to worse. The peasants sang songs and were in such high spirits that they carried off to their homes a stack of the nobleman's hay.
Suddenly the nobleman remembered that he had another card to play. In the entresol sat his great-grandmother, awaiting an inevitable death. She was so old that she had forgotten all human words; she could only remember one thing:
"Don't give ..."
Since the year 1861[2]she had not been able to say anything else.
He hastened to her, his feelings greatly agitated. He fell at her feet affectionately and appealed to her:
"Mother of mothers, you are a living history...."
But she only mumbled:
"Don't give..
"But what is to be done?"
"Don't give..."
"But they want to drown me—to plunder me."
"Don't give..."
"But should I give full play to my desire not to let the Governor know?"
"Don't give..."
He obeyed the voice of this living history, and sent in the name of his greatgrandmother a telegram containing an irresistible appeal. Then he went out to the peasants and informed them:
"You have so frightened the old lady that she has sent for the soldiers. Be calm, nothing will happen, I shall not let the soldiers harm you."
Fierce-looking warriors galloped up on horseback. It was winter-time, and the horses, which had sweated freely on the way, began to shiver as the hoar-frost settled on them. The nobleman pitied the horses and stabled them on his estate, saying to the peasants:
"You carted away some hay to which you had no right; please send it back for these horses. They are animals, guilty of nothing; don't you understand?"
The soldiers were hungry; they caught and ate all the cocks in the village, and everything became peaceful in the nobleman's district. Egorka, of course, went over to the nobleman's side and, as before, the nobleman used his services in matters of history: he bought new copies of all the books and ordered all those facts to be erased which are apt to incline one towards Liberalism; and into those which could not be erased he ordered new sense to be put.
As for Egorka, he was equal to anything. To prove his versatility he turned his hand to pornography. Nevertheless a bright spot remained in his soul, and while he was busy blotting out historical facts his heart misgave him, and to appease his conscience he wrote verses and printed them under thenom de plume, "V. W."—i.e."Vanquished Warrior."
"O chanticler, thou harbinger of morn,How comes it that thy proud call has been stilled?How comes it that thy place of t'other dayBy yonder gloomy barn-owl now is filled?The nobleman he needs no future now,And all of us live each day like the last;Poor chanticler has long since ceased to crowAnd giv'n his drumsticks to a last repast.When shall we waken unto life once more?And who will call us when the dawn is nigh?If chanticler, poor chanticler, is dead,Pray who will wake and turn us out of bed?"
And the peasants of course calmed down; they now live in peace, and, as they have nothing else to do, spend their time making ribald verse:
"O honest Mother!The Spring is nighWhen we shall groanAnd, starving, die!"
The Russians are a happy people.
[1]By Egorka is meant the ordinary type of the Russian "intellectual" who has no backbone or principle, and is always at the beck and call of the landed proprietor, capitalist or the authorities.
[1]By Egorka is meant the ordinary type of the Russian "intellectual" who has no backbone or principle, and is always at the beck and call of the landed proprietor, capitalist or the authorities.
[2]The year in which the serfs were liberated.
[2]The year in which the serfs were liberated.
Once upon a time, in a certain country, lived some Jews. They were ordinary Jews, fit for pogroms, for being slandered, or any other state requirements.
For example.
Whenever the native population began to show signs of being dissatisfied with life, the authorities removed certain clauses from the state regulations and sounded the following hope-awakening call:
"Draw near, you people; approach the seat of power."
The people drew near; and the authorities began to remonstrate with them:
"What is the cause of the agitation?"
"Your Honours, we have nothing to eat."
"Have you any teeth left?"
"Yes, a few."
"You see, you always manage to conceal something from the authorities."
When the local authorities found that the agitation could be suppressed by knocking out the remaining teeth, they immediately resorted to that remedy. But if they saw that harmonious relations could not be established by this means they began to ask tempting questions:
"What do you want?"
"Some land."
Some of them who were so deep sunken in ignorance that they were not able to understand what was in the interest of the state, went further and kept repeating:
"We want reforms of some kind in order that our teeth and ribs and insides, at least, may be regarded as our own property, and not be touched without cause."
The authorities reasoned with them:
"Oh, friends, why should you have these idle dreams? It is said that man liveth not by bread alone, also that one person that has been beaten is worth two that have not."
"And do they agree?"
"Who?"
"Those who have not been beaten?"
"Of course, dear friends. Did not the English ask us not very many years ago: 'Exile,' they said, 'all your own people to Siberia, and put us in their place. We,' they said, 'will pay the taxes punctually, and will drink twelve gallons of vodka per person per year, and, generally speaking..' 'No,' we said, 'why should we? Our people are all right, they are humble and obedient, they are not going to give us any trouble.' So now, you good fellows, instead of getting excited like this, don't you think you had better go and shake up the Jews a bit? What do you say to that? What else are they for?"
The people pondered and pondered; they saw that they could get no redress, so they decided to act upon the suggestion of the authorities.
"Well, fellows," they said, "with God's blessing we will smash them."
They ransacked fifty houses and killed a few Jews. But they soon tired of their labours, and, their desire for reforms being satisfied, everything went on as before.
Besides the authorities, the native population and the Jews, there lived some kind-hearted people in the state. Their function was to divert agitation into other channels and to quiet passions. After each pogrom their whole number came together, eighteen men in all, and sent forth to the world their written protest, thus:
"Although we know the Jews are Russian subjects, we are nevertheless convinced that they ought not to be utterly exterminated, and, therefore, taking all considerations into account, we hereby express our condemnation of this extreme persecution of living people. (Signed) High-Brow, Narrow-Chin, Long-Hair, Biting-Lip, Yea and Nay, Big Bellows, Joseph Three-Ear, Noisy-One, Know-All, Cyril Just-So, Flow-of-Words, Look-Wise, Quill-Driver, Lieutenant-Colonel (retired) Drink-no-Beer, Narym (solicitor), Busybody, On-All-Fours and Grisha In-the-Future, seven years old, a boy."
These protests appeared after each pogrom with the only difference that the age of Grisha kept changing and that Quill-Driver signed on behalf of Narym,[1]who was suddenly exiled to a town bearing the same name.
Sometimes the provinces responded to these protests:
"We sympathise and add our signatures," Pull-Apart telegraphed from Sleepy-Town, and Featherbrain from Daft Town; Samogryzoff "and others" from Okuroff also joined in. It was clear to everybody that "the others" were an invention, to make the message look more formidable, for there were no others in Okuroff.
The Jews were greatly distressed when they read these protests, and on one occasion one of them, who was a very shrewd man, made the following proposal:—
"Do you know what? You don't? Well, let us hide all the pens and ink and paper before the next pogrom, and see what these eighteen people, including Grisha, will do then."
These Jews knew how to act together. Once decided, they bought up and hid all the paper and pens and poured all the ink into the Black Sea. Then they quietly awaited the result.
They had not long to wait: the necessary permission was received from the authorities, a pogrom took place, the hospitals were full of Jews—and the humanitarians were running about St Petersburg looking for pens and paper. They could find none anywhere except in the offices of the authorities. And the latter would not give them any.
"What do you take us for?" they said. "We know what you want it for. No, you must do without it this time."
"But how can we?" Mr Busybody entreated them.
"Well," they answered, "you ought to realise by now that we have given you plenty of chances to protest."
Grisha, who was already forty-three years old, cried:
"I want to protest."
But there was nothing to protest on. A happy thought struck Know-All:
"Shall we write something on the fence at least?"
There were no fences in St Petersburg, only iron railings.
But they proceeded to the outskirts of the town, where, near the slaughterhouses, they came upon an old fence. No sooner, however, had Mr High-Brow made the first letter in chalk than, suddenly, as if dropping from the skies came a policeman and began to expostulate with him:
"What does this mean? When boys do this sort of thing they are whipped, but you, staid gentlemen, what are you doing?"
Of course he could not understand them, taking them for writers old enough to be writing their thousand and first article. They were nonplussed, and, scattering literally in all directions, went home.
So that one pogrom was not protested against, and the humanitarians were deprived of a pleasure.
People who understand the psychology of races say rightly: "The Jews are a shrewd people."
[1]A well-known place of exile in Siberia.
[1]A well-known place of exile in Siberia.
Tired of their struggle with those who had opinions of their own, the authorities, wishing at last to rest on their laurels, once issued the following stringent order:—
"Hereby you are commanded to drag out into the light of day all those who have opinions of their own, to drag them out unceremoniously from their hiding-places, and to exterminate them by any measures that may seem necessary."
The execution of this order was entrusted to Oronty Strevenko, who had volunteered to exterminate living human beings of both sexes and of all ages. He was an ex-captain in the service of his Highness the King of the Fuegians, and an important personage in Terra del Fuego. For his services Oronty was allowed sixteen thousand roubles.
Oronty obtained the commission not because others could not be found as base, but because he looked unnaturally fierce, and was covered with an abundant growth of hair, which enabled him to go naked in all climates. Besides, he had four rows of teeth, sixty-four in all, a circumstance that won for him the special confidence of the authorities.
But in spite of all these advantages even he was confronted by the thought:
"How are they to be unearthed? They keep so quiet."
And in truth the inhabitants of this town were remarkably well trained. They went in fear of one another, seeing in everyone an agent-provocateur, and never asserted anything. Even in their talks with their mothers they spoke in a form agreed upon, and in a foreign language:
"N'est ce pas?"
"Maman, it is time to dine, n'est ce pas?'
"Maman, we ought to go to the cinema show to-night, n'est ce pas?"
However, after much thought, Strevenko devised a plan for unearthing secret plots. He washed his hair with peroxide of hydrogen, shaved himself where necessary, and became a fairhaired individual of gloomy appearance. Then he put on a sad-coloured suit so that no one could recognise him.
At night he went out into the street, and walked about as if deep in thought. Noticing a citizen stealing along, he pounced upon him from the left and whispered in a provocative manner:
"Comrade, are you really satisfied with your existence?"
The citizen slackened his pace, as if considering the question; but as soon as a policeman appeared in the distance he shouted in accordance with his invariable practice:
"Policeman, hold him."
Strevenko sprang over the fence like a tiger, and as he sat in the stinging nettles thought to himself:
"You cannot get hold of them like this; they act in a perfectly legal manner, the devils."
In the meantime the money allowed him was disappearing. He put on a less dismal-looking suit, and tried another way of trapping people. Boldly approaching a citizen he would ask him:
"Would you like to become an agent-provocateur, sir?"
And the citizen would reply coolly:
"What is the salary?"
Others declined politely:
"No, thank you, I am already engaged."
"Well," thought Oronty, "how am I to catch them?"
In the meantime the money allowed him was gradually melting away.
In the course of his search he looked in at the headquarters of the Society for the Many-Sided Use of Empty Egg-Shells, but discovered that the society enjoys the exalted patronage of three bishops, and of a general of gendarmerie; that it meets once a year and gets a special permit each time from St Petersburg. Oronty still failed to catch plotters and the money allowed him seemed to him to have galloping consumption.
Oronty was thoroughly annoyed:
"I'll soon show them!"
And he began to act quite openly. He would go up to a citizen and ask him straight out:
"Are you satisfied with your existence?"
"Quite satisfied."
"Well, but the authorities are dissatisfied. Please come along."
And if anyone said that he was not satisfied, the result was, of course, the same:
"Take him along!" said Strevenko.
"But, excuse me."
"What?"
"But I am dissatisfied because their measures are not sufficiently rigorous."
"Indeed? Take him."
Thus, in the course of three weeks, he had gathered together ten thousand men and women of one sort and another. At first he imprisoned them where he could; then he began to hang them; but for the sake of economy he did it at the expense of the citizens themselves.
Everything went very well till, one day, a superior official, who chanced to be out beagling in the outskirts of the town, saw unusual animation in the fields; a picture of the peaceful activity of citizens presented itself to him. They were reviling one another, hanging and burying one another, whilst Strevenko walked amongst them staff in hand, barking out words of encouragement:
"Hurry up, you melancholy owl, and be more cheerful about it! And you reverend-looking old man, there, why do you look so stupefied? The noose is ready; get into it; don't keep the others waiting. Whoa, lad; why do you get into the noose before your father? Gentlemen, don't be in such a hurry; your turn will come right enough. You have been patient for years, awaiting pacification by the Government; you can afford to wait a few minutes. You, peasant, where are you going? You ignoramus!"
The superior official, mounted on a handsome horse, looked on and thought:
"Anyway, he has got hold of a good many. He is a fine fellow! That is why all the windows in the town are boarded up."
But suddenly, to his utter astonishment, he saw his own aunt hanging by the neck, her feet dangling above the ground:
"Who gave the order?"
Strevenko was on the spot and said:
"I, your Excellency."
"Well, brother, you are a fool. You are simply wasting money belonging to the Treasury. Let me see your account."
Strevenko produced his account, wherein it was stated:
"In execution of the order concerning the extermination of those who have opinions of their own I have unearthed and imprisoned 10,107 persons of both sexes. Of this number:
"729 persons of both sexes have been killed; 541 persons of both sexes have been hanged; 937 persons of both sexes have been crippled for life; 317 persons of both sexes have died prematurely; 63 persons of both sexes have committed suicide; total number exterminated, 1876.
"Total Cost: Roubles 16,884—i.e.at the rate of 7 roubles per person.
"Deficit: Roubles 884."
The superior official, was staggered. He muttered in a fury:
"A deficit! You Fuegian! The whole of your Terra Del Fuego, together with the king and you yourself, is not worth eight hundred roubles. Just think of it! If you are going to steal money like that what am I to do?—I, who occupy a rank ten times higher? If we have such appetites Russia won't last us three years. There are many others besides you who want to live. Can't you understand that? And besides, you have wrongly included three hundred and eighty persons, for three hundred and seventeen 'died prematurely' and sixty-three committed suicide. You swindler, you have included them as well."
"Your Excellency," Oronty tried to justify himself, "but I drove them into such a state of mind that they loathed their life."
"And seven roubles a head for that? Besides, no doubt a lot of those included were not concerned in the matter at all. The total population of the town is only twelve thousand. No, my friend, I will bring you before the court."
A very strict investigation was accordingly made into the activity of the Fuegian, and he was found guilty of having misappropriated nine hundred and sixteen roubles belonging to the Treasury.
The court that tried Oronty was a just one; he was sentenced to three months' imprisonment, and his career was spoilt. The Fuegian was out of sight for three months.
It is no easy matter to please the authorities.
A kind-hearted man debated what was best to do and finally decided:
"I will cease to resist evil by violence. I will overcome it by patience."
This man was not of a weak character. Having decided, he waited patiently.
Igemon's assistants, hearing of this, reported:
"Amongst the citizens who are under supervision there is one who has suddenly begun to conduct himself in a strange manner. He does not move about or say anything: evidently he is trying to deceive the authorities, pretending not to exist at all."
Igemon flew into a rage:
"How, who does not exist? Bring him into my presence."
The citizen was brought and Igemon commanded: "Search him."
They searched him, deprived him of everything about him that was of value, such as his watch and gold wedding ring.
They scraped the fillings out of his teeth, for they were gold. They took off his new braces, cut off his buttons and reported:
"Ready, Igemon."
"Well, anything found?"
"Nothing but what was superfluous about him; we have rid him of it all."
"And in his head?"
"There seems to be nothing in his head."
"Let him in."
The citizen came into Igemon's presence, and from the way he held up his trousers Igemon saw and understood his complete readiness for all kinds of contingencies in life. But Igemon desired to make an impression upon him which would crush his soul, so he roared ferociously:
"Oh, citizen, you have come!"
And the citizen admitted quietly:
"Yes, I have brought the whole of me."
"What is it you are doing?"
"I, Igemon, am doing nothing, I have simply decided to conquer by patience." Igemon bristled with anger and roared: "Again? To conquer again?"
"Yes, to overcome evil."
"Be silent!"
"I did not mean you."
Igemon did not believe him and said:
"If not me then whom do you mean?"
"Myself."
Igemon was surprised.
"Wait a minute. What evil do you mean?"
"Resistance."
"You are lying."
"Heaven knows I am not."
Igemon broke into a perspiration.
"What is the matter with him?" he thought, looking at the man; and, after pondering for some moments, he asked him:
"What is it you want?"
"I don't want anything."
"Really nothing at all?"
"Nothing. Merely permit me to teach the people patience by my own example." Igemon pondered again, biting his moustache. He was possessed of a soul which took delight in daydreams. He liked to steam himself in a Turkish bath, giving forth voluptuous sounds of pleasure. Generally speaking, he was in favour of enjoying the pleasures of life. There was only one thing he could not stand, and that was rudeness and opposition, against which he acted in a manner that rendered everything soft, reducing to a pulp the bones and gristle of the resisters. But when not busy enjoying life or crushing citizens he liked to indulge in daydreams about universal peace, and in the salvation of the soul.
He looked with embarrassment at the citizen and said:
"Not long since you thought the reverse, and now?"
Then, overcome by more tender feelings, he asked with a sigh: "How did it come about?"
The citizen replied:
"Evolution."
"Well, brother, such is our life. First it is one thing, then another. There is failure in everything. We sway from side to side, but we do not know on which side to lie down, we cannot choose."
And Igemon sighed again, for he knew that the man loved the fatherland which had nurtured him. All kinds of dangerous thoughts were running through Igemon's head:
"True, it is pleasant to see a citizen yielding and peaceful. But if everybody ceased to resist, would it not cut off our daily allowance and our travelling expenses? We might lose our bonuses too.... No, it cannot be that there is no resistance left in him. The rogue is pretending; he must be put to the test. To what use shall I put him? Make of him an agent-provocateur? The expression of his face is indefinite, his lack of personality could not be hidden by any mask. Besides, his powers of oratory are evidently not great. Make him a hangman? He has not strength enough."
At last a thought struck him and he said to his subordinates:
"Put this happy man in the third section of the fire brigade to clean the stables."
It was done. The citizen strenuously cleaned the stables without saying a word, while Igemon looked on, touched by his patience; his confidence in the man was steadily increasing.
"But if everybody behaved like that?"
After a short trial he promoted him into his own office and asked him to copy a false report which he himself had written about the income and expenditure of various sums. The citizen copied it and kept silence.
Igemon was touched to such an extent that he shed tears.
"No, he is a useful man, although literate."
He called the citizen to him and said:
"I believe in you! Go and preach your truth, but keep your eyes open."
The citizen went to market-places, to fairs, through large towns, through small towns, saying everywhere:
"What are you doing?"
The people saw that he was unusually meek and this, together with his personality, caused them to confide in him. They confessed to him all of which they were guilty, and even revealed to him their inmost thoughts. One of them wanted to steal something and to evade being punished for it, another wanted to cheat somebody, a third simply wanted to slander somebody. All of them, like genuine Russians, wanted to get out of having any duties in life, and to forget all their obligations.
He said to them:
"Oh, give up all this, because it is said: 'All existence is suffering, but it becomes suffering through desire; hence, in order to destroy suffering, you must destroy desire.' Let us cease to desire and all evil will disappear of its own accord; truly it will."
The people, of course, were glad. It seemed reasonable and was very simple. Where they happened to stand they lay down. They all felt relieved.
After what interval is not recorded, but there came a time when Igemon noticed that all was peace around him, and he was struck by fear. Still he tried to put on a brave face:
"The rogues are pretending."
Meanwhile, the insects, continuing to fulfil their natural obligations, were beginning to multiply in an unnatural way, and becoming more and more arrogant in their actions.
"What silence," thought Igemon, wriggling and scratching himself all over.
He called a willing citizen to him:
"Come, free me from the superfluous."
He answered:
"I cannot."
"What?"
"I cannot, because even if they do annoy you, they are living things, and——"
"I will make a corpse of you this minute."
"As you will."
And so in everything; they all answered him with one voice:
"As you will."
But as soon as he asked them to fulfil his will he found it a most tedious task. Igemon's palace was falling to pieces; it was overrun with rats, which ate up the deeds, and died of the resultant poisoning. Igemon himself was sinking deeper and deeper into inaction. He lay on the sofa daydreaming about the past. How good life was in those days! The inhabitants tried to resist his orders in all kinds of ways. Some of them had to be executed, which meant obituary feasts with pancakes and free drinks. Or a citizen would embark upon some new enterprise; it was necessary to go and stop him, which meant travelling expenses. When he reported to the proper quarter that in the district entrusted to him all the inhabitants had been exterminated he used to receive a special bonus and a fresh batch was sent into the district.
Igemon was daydreaming about the past, but his neighbours, the Igemons of other tribes, lived as they had lived before, on the old basis. The inhabitants opposed them on every occasion, and as vigorously as they could. All was noise and disorder. The Igemons rushed hither and thither, without any special object. They found it profitable and, in a general way, interesting.
And the thought struck Igemon:
"By Jove! the citizen has fooled me."
He jumped up, rushed through the whole district, shaking people, pummelling them, and shouting:
"Get up! Wake up! Arise!"
It was no good. He seized them by their collars, but the collars were rotten and broke away.
"The devils," shouted Igemon, greatly agitated. "What are you doing? Look at your neighbours—even China——"
The inhabitants were silent as they clung to the soil.
"O Lord!" said Igemon in disgust, "what is to be done?"
And he resorted to deception; he bent over an inhabitant and whispered into his ear:
"Oh, citizen, the fatherland is in danger. It is, I swear. By all that's holy! it is in great danger. Get up; it is necessary to resist. They say that all kinds of activities will be allowed. Citizen!" But the dying citizen only murmured: "My fatherland is in God."
The others were simply silent, like offended corpses.
"The cursed fatalists!" shouted Igemon in despair. "Get up! All kinds of resistance is allowed."
One who had been a jolly fellow, and had distinguished himself by knocking out people's teeth, raised himself a little, looked round and said:
"What shall we resist? There is nothing to resist."
"But the vermin?"
"We are used to it."
Igemon's reason received the last shock. He got up and roared in awe-inspiring tones:
"I permit you everything, fellows; save yourselves; do what you like; everything is permitted—eat each other."
The calm and quiet were delightful! Igemon saw that all was over.
He started to cry aloud; hot tears ran down his cheeks; he tore his hair and roared, calling upon them:
"Citizens, dear fellows, what am I to do? Must I make a revolution myself? Bethink yourselves; it is historically necessary; it is nationally inevitable. You see that it is impossible for me alone to make a revolution. I have not even police for that, the vermin have eaten them."
The citizens only blinked their eyes; even if they had been pierced by a stake they would not have uttered a sound.
So they all died in silence, and Igemon, in utter despair, last of all.
From this it follows that even in patience we must observe a certain amount of moderation.
The wisest of the citizens pondered the following problem:—
"What does it mean? Wherever one looks everything is at sixes and sevens."
And after much thought they concluded:
"It is because we have no personality. It is necessary for us to create a central thinking organ which shall be quite free from any sort of bias, which shall be capable of raising itself above everything, which shall stand out from everything and everybody—in the same way as a goat from amongst a flock of sheep." Somebody said:
"Brothers, have we not already suffered enough from central personalities?" They did not like this.
"That seems to savour of politics, and even of civic sorrow."
Somebody insisted:
"But how can we ignore politics if politics penetrate everything? The facts are that the prisons are overcrowded, that in the hard labour prisons it is impossible to turn round; and to remedy this we must enlarge the scope of our rights."
But they answered him sternly:
"This, sir, is idealism, and it is time you left it alone. A new man is wanted, and nothing else."
After this they set to work to create a man according to the methods referred to in the traditions of the holy fathers: they spat on the ground, and began to mix the spittle with earth. Then they smeared themselves up to the ears with the mixture, but the results were poor. In their eagerness they trampled rare flowers into the ground, and destroyed useful cereals. They tried hard, they sweated in the earnestness of their efforts; but there was no result—nothing but a waste of words and mutual accusations of creative incapacity. They even put the elements out of patience by their zeal: whirlwinds began to blow, the heat became intense, it thundered, and the rain poured down in torrents; the ground became sodden, and the whole atmosphere saturated with heavy odours, so that it was difficult to breathe.
However, from time to time this wrestling with the elements seemed to come to an end, and a new personality came into God's world.
There was general rejoicing everywhere, but it was short-lived, and soon turned into oppressive embarrassment. For, if a new personality arose out of the peasant soil, it became forthwith a polished merchant, and, starting business at once, began to sell the fatherland piecemeal to foreigners—first of all at forty-five copecks[1]a plot, and afterwards going to such lengths that it wanted to sell a whole district, with all its live stock and thinking machines.
If they stirred up a new man on merchant soil he either was born a degenerate or at once became a bureaucrat. If they did it on a nobleman's estate, beings arose, as they had done before, who seemed intent upon swallowing up the whole revenue of the state. On the soil of the middle class and petty property-owners all sorts of wild thistles grew: agents-provocateurs, Nihilists, pacifists, and goodness knows what.
"But we already have all these in a sufficient quantity," the wise citizens confessed to each other.
And they were sadly puzzled.
"We have made some kind of mistake in the technique of creation," they said.
"But what was the mistake?"
They sat in the mud and thought very hard.
Then they began to upbraid one another:
"You, Selderey Lavrovich, you spit too much, and in all directions."
"And you, Kornishon Lukich, are too faint-hearted to do likewise."
The newly born Nihilists, pretending to be Vaska Buslayeffs, looked at everything with contempt and shouted:
"Oh, you vegetables, try and think what place is best, and we will help you to spit on it."
And they spat and spat.
They all seemed bored and irritable with one another; and they were covered with mud.
Just at that time Mitya Korofyshkin, nicknamed "Steel Claw," who was playing truant from school, passed by. He was a pupil in the second class of the Miamlin Gymnasium, and was known as a collector of foreign stamps. As he passed he saw the people sitting in a puddle and spitting, deep in thought.
"Grown-ups, and they bespatter themselves like that!" thought Mitya contemptuously; which was natural in one of his tender years.
He peeped to see if there was not a teacher in their midst, and not noticing one he inquired:
"What are you doing in the puddle, uncles?"
One of the citizens, resenting the question, immediately began to argue:
"Where do you see a puddle? It is simply a reflection of the primordial chaos."
"And what are you doing?"
"We are trying to create a new man. We are sick of people like you."
Mitya became interested.
"After whose likeness?"
"What do you mean? We want to create somebody unlike anyone else. Go away."
As Mitya was a child, and not yet versed in the secrets of nature, he, of course, was glad of the opportunity to be present at such an important affair, and he asked them simply:
"Will you make him with three legs?"
"What are you saying?"
"How funnily he will run!"
"Go away, boy."
"Or with wings! What a fine thing it would be! Make him with wings, by Jove! and let him kidnap teachers, like the condor did in 'The Children of Captain Grant.' There, of course, the condor does not kidnap a teacher, but it would be better if he did kidnap the teacher."
"Boy, you are talking nonsense, and it is sinful nonsense. Remember your prayers before and after your lessons."
But Mitya was a boy with a fertile imagination, and he became very excited.
"As the teacher is going to the gymnasium it will grab him by the collar and carry him away to somewhere in the air, it makes no difference where. The teacher will simply kick and drop all his books—I hope the books will never be found."
"Boy, have reverence for your elders."
"And the teacher shouts to his wife from above: 'Good-bye, I am going to heaven like Elijah and Enoch,' And his wife kneels in the middle of the road and whimpers: 'My school teacher! Oh, my school teacher!'"
They got quite angry with him.
"Get away, you are jabbering nonsense. There are many who can do that. You are beginning too soon."
They drove him away, but he stopped before he had gone far, thought a while, and asked:
"Do you really mean it?"
"Of course."
"And it won't work?"
They sighed sullenly and said:
"No; leave us alone."
Then Mitya moved a little farther away, put out his tongue and mocked them:
"I know why! I know why!"
He ran away, but they chased him, and as they were used to changing the scene of their operations and running from place to place they soon caught him. Then they began to beat him.
"Oh, you scamp ... cheeking your elders."
Mitya cried and implored:
"Uncles, I will give you a Soudanese stamp—I have a duplicate.... I will make you a present of my penknife——"
But they tried to frighten him with the headmaster's name.
"Uncles, really and truly, I will never tease you again. Now I have really guessed why a new man cannot be created."
"Speak!"
"Don't hold me so tight!"
They released him all but his hands, and he said to them:
"Uncles, it is not the proper soil. The soil is no good, on my word of honour. You may spit as much as you like, nothing will come of it. For, when God created Adam in his image, the land belonged to nobody. Now it all belongs to someone or other; therefore man now belongs to somebody. Spitting makes no difference whatever."
They were so dumbfounded that they dropped their hands; Mitya rushed away from them, and making a trumpet of his hands shouted:
"You red-skinned Comanches! Iroquois!"
But they all went back to the puddle, and the wisest of them said:
"Colleagues, let us resume our occupation. Let us forget this boy, for he is very likely a socialist in disguise."
Oh, Mitya, Mitya!