Journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow by Irina Reyfman (top 10 novels of all time .txt) 📕

land grant would be useless for a youngster or an old man, for the weak, infirm, and lazy. The land would remain fallow and the wind would not rustle its corn. If it is useless to its cultivator it will be just as pointless to society: its cultivator will have no surplus to give to society since he will not have enough for himself. This is why at the origin of society the person able to work the field had a right to own it and had exclusive use by means of that work. But how far have we strayed from that primordial position of society in respect of ownership! With us, not only is the person who has a natural right to ownership completely excluded but, while cultivating someone else’s land, he sees his subsistence depend on the power of another! To your enlightened minds, these verities cannot be unfathomable; however, your actions in the implementation of these truths, as we already said, have been impeded by prejudices and greed. Can it be that your hearts, full of love for mankind, prefer greed to the sensations that delight your heart? What gain is there in this for you? Can a state in which two-thirds of the citizens are deprived of civic status and are in part dead in the eyes of the law be called blessed? Can the civic condition of the peasant in Russia be called blessed? Only the insatiably bloodthirsty would say that the peasant is blessed since he has no idea of a better situation.

We shall try now to refute these beastly rulers’ regulations, just as once upon a time our forerunners in their own actions sought unsuccessfully to refute them.

Civic welfare can appear in various forms. Blessed is the state, they say, when peace and order reign. Blessed it seems when its fields are not barren and when in its cities proud buildings soar. Blessed they call it when the power of its arms extends far and it reigns beyond itself not only through force but also through the power of the word over the opinions of others. But all these forms of welfare can be called superficial, momentary, ephemeral, partial, and theoretical.

Let us gaze upon the valley that spreads out before our eyes. What do we see? A vast military camp. Everywhere peace reigns there. All the warriors stand in their place. The greatest possible order is beheld in their ranks. A single command, a single wave of the hand of their leader, moves the entire camp and moves it harmoniously. But can we call the soldiers blessed? Turned into puppets by the accuracy of their martial regimentation, they forfeit even the freedom to move that is intrinsic to living matter. They know only the command of the leader, think only as he wishes, and move headlong where he directs. Such is the omnipotence of the scepter over the mightiest force of the state. Together they achieve all things. When divided and on their own, they graze like cattle where the shepherd bids. Order at the expense of freedom is as contrary to our welfare as are very chains.—A hundred prisoners, fixed to the benches of their ships, moved on its course by their oars, live in peace and order. But look into their heart and soul. Torment, grief, despair. Often would they want to exchange life for death; but even this they are refused. The end of suffering is bliss for them; but bliss and bondage are incompatible, and so they live. Let us then not be blinded by the superficial calm and order of the state and for these reasons alone consider it to be fortunate. Always look into the hearts of fellow citizens. If you find in them calm and peace then will you be able to say in truth: they are blessed.

The Europeans, having pillaged America, her fields fattened with the blood of her native inhabitants, ended their murders when there was a new form of gain. The barren fields of this hemisphere, renewed by strong shocks of nature, felt the plow tear up its entrails. Grass that grew on the rich meadows and dried out fruitlessly felt its stalks cut short by the blade of the scythe. Proud woods topple down on the hills whose heights they had shaded from time immemorial. Barren forests and bitter thickets develop into productive fields and grow covered by hundreds of crops unique to America or successfully transplanted there. Rich meadows are trampled on by many cattle destined for food and labor for man. Everywhere can be seen the creative hand of the maker, everywhere there is the appearance of prosperity and the outward sign of harmony. But who with a hand so mighty nudges scanty, lazy nature to yield its fruit in such abundance? Having slaughtered in one go the Indians, the enraged Europeans, those proponents of peace in the name of the True God, teachers of meekness and philanthropy, graft onto the root of furious murder the practice of the cold-blooded murder that is slavery through the purchase of captives. These unfortunate victims from the torrid banks of the Niger and Senegal, torn from their homes and families, transported to lands unknown to them, under the crushing scepter of orderliness within society, churn up the fertile lands of the America that despises their labor. And will we say of this land of devastation that it is blessed because its fields are not overgrown with weed and its tilled fields abound in various crops? How can we call a land blessed in which a hundred proud citizens wallow in luxury while thousands lack secure provision and their own shelter from heat and frost? Oh, if only these abundant lands could once again become desolate! If only weed and thistle, sinking deep their roots, could destroy all the expensive products of America! Tremble, my beloved ones, lest it be said of you: “Change your name and the story talks about you.”71

Even now we