Short Fiction by Leonid Andreyev (fastest ebook reader TXT) 📕

signed “A Labourer.” Apart from the signature, however, nothing in the letter denoted the brawny craftsman⁠—miserable and uneducated⁠—which was the Governor’s conception of “labourer.”

“Here in the works, and in town, they say that you are to be killed soon. I don’t know precisely who will do it, but I think it will not be the agents of any organisation; but rather a volunteer from among the citizens, who are roused by your brutal proceedings against the workmen on August 17th. I frankly say that I and some of my party are against this resolution, not because we pity you⁠—had you yourself any pity on the women and the children that day?⁠—and I think that no one in the place has any pity for you!⁠ ⁠… but simply because I am opposed in principle to any violent death. I am against War, Capital Punishment, Political Execution⁠ ⁠… and against murder in general!

“In the battle for our ideals⁠—Liberty, Fraternity and Equality⁠—we should make use only of such weapons as do not contradict these ideals. Death is a weapon of that evil, old-world order whose device is Slavery, Privilege and Enmity. Good can never come from evil, and in the battle where force is the weapon, the victor can never be ‘the Right,’ but ‘Might’; that is, the one is more pitiless, more inhuman⁠ ⁠… no respecter of persons, and not above using any weapons⁠—in one word, a Jesuit!

“If a scrupulous man were forced to shoot, he would certainly either shoot in the air, or else commit some folly that would get him into trouble; because his soul would revolt at the work of his own hands. I hold that many of the well-known unsuccessful political assassinations have been wrecked on this point, because the victims have been rogues capable of taking every advantage, while the instruments have been men of honour, who have perished for the cause. You may be sure, my Lord Governor, that if all the people who attempt the lives of your kind were rascals, they would surely find such loopholes and methods as would not enter into an honest man’s head, and you would all long since have been dispatched.

“From my point of view the Revolution can merely be a propaganda of ideas⁠—in the sense in which the Christian Martyrs were revolutionists. For even if the labourers did win a battle, the Rascals would only pretend to be beaten to gain time for new trickery, and to get back at their foe. We must conquer with our heads, not with our fists; for as regards the head, the Rascals are rather weak! For this reason they even hide books from the poor man, condemning him to darkness of ignorance because they fear for their existence. Do you know why they won’t allow the workmen the eight-hour labouring day? Do you think the gentlemen did not know themselves that in eight hours of intelligent work the production would be no less than in eleven now? But the thing is this⁠—that with the eight-hour law, the men would have time to learn as much as their masters, and would take the work out of their hands. These people only think they are wise, because they have made all the others stupid⁠—against a really clever man they would not be worth a sou!

“I have gone so deeply into the discussion of these questions, in order that you should not misunderstand my first words against your assassination, and consider me a traitor to the common cause of all other honourable men. I must furthermore add that I and my mates who share my convictions were not in the Square on the 17th, because we knew very well what the end would be, and did not care to stand there like the fools who believed that Justice was to be had from one of your kind!

“Now, naturally the others agree with us and say: ‘If we go there again we won’t ask, we’ll strike!’ According to my mind that’s equally foolish⁠ ⁠… because, as I say: why go there at all? You yourself will come to us soon enough with friendly words and bows⁠—and then we’ll show you!⁠ ⁠…

“Honoured Sir, Forgive my boldness, that I should have come to you with my workingman’s talk⁠—for I have learned by myself all I know out of books⁠—but it seems strange to me that an educated man who is not such a rascal as all the rest, could act so to the miserable working men who trusted him⁠ ⁠… that he could order them shot!⁠ ⁠… Maybe you will have a guard of Cossacks, a detachment of the Secret Service, or take a trip somewhere⁠—and so save your life; and then my words may be of some use, and point out to you the right way to serve the true interests of the nation.

“They say here in the works that you were bought by Capital!⁠ ⁠… but I don’t believe that, for our employers aren’t so stupid as to throw away their money⁠ ⁠… and besides that, I know you can’t be bribed⁠ ⁠… and are no thief either, like the others in the service who need the money for their chorus-girls and champagne and truffles. I might even say that in the main you are a man of honour.⁠ ⁠…”

The Governor laid the letter carefully upon the table, triumphantly took his moist spectacles from off his nose, polished them ceremoniously with the corner of his handkerchief, and said, with stately deference:

“I thank you, young man.”

Slowly he walked down the room and turned to the cold tile stove, saying impressively: “You may take my life, it belongs to you.⁠ ⁠… But my honour⁠—”

He did not end the phrase, but held his head high, and stalked back to the writing-table, a trifle absurd in his ponderous dignity.⁠ ⁠…

“I might even say that in the main you are a man of honour⁠ ⁠… in the main a man of honour⁠ ⁠… in the main a man of honour⁠—who wouldn’t hurt a chicken without cause, but how could you, an honourable