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

together with them, gasping air in which a burning candle looks as if it were in fog or behind a curtain. If lucky, they have a barrel with kvass tasting like vinegar and outside there is a bathhouse in which, when they do not steam in it, cattle sleep. A hempen shirt, footwear given by nature, leg wrappers and bast shoes to go out in.—Here is what is considered to be in all fairness the source of the state surplus, strength, power. But here also can be seen weakness, deficiencies and abuse of laws, and their, so to speak, rough side. Here can be seen the greed of the nobility, larceny, our tyranny, and the defenseless state of the poor.—Greedy beasts, insatiable bloodsuckers, what do we leave to the peasant? Just what we cannot take away: air. Yes, air alone. Often we deprive him not only of bread and water, a gift of Earth, but also of light itself.—The law forbids taking away his life.—Forbids only when it is done quickly. How many ways there are to take it away gradually! On the one side, you find near omnipotence; on the other side, defenseless vulnerability. For in relation to a peasant, the landlord is a lawgiver, judge, executor of his own decision, and, as suits him, plaintiff against whom the defendant dares not speak. This is the fate of someone in chains, this is the fate of someone locked in a fetid dungeon, this is the fate of a bullock in a yoke….

Cruel-hearted landowner, look at the children of the peasants subjected to you. They are almost naked. Why? Was it not you who imposed over and beyond fieldwork a quitrent on those who gave them birth into pain and sorrow? Is it not you who allocated for your own profit flax that was still unwoven? What do you care about the fetid rag which your hand, accustomed to luxury, loathes to lift? It is scarcely fit to use for wiping the beasts that serve you. You take even what you do not need despite the fact that the uncovered nakedness of your peasants will be a reproach to you. If in this world there is no judge over you—well, you will come before the Judge respecting no persons, who once gave even you conscience, a guide to the good that your dissolute reason, however, long ago ousted from its dwelling, your heart. But do not flatter yourself that you have impunity. This vigilant guardian of your actions will catch you when you are alone and you will feel His punishments. Oh! if only these were of any use to you and to your subordinates…. Oh! if only man could confess his deeds to an implacable judge, his conscience, by entering frequently his inner self. Changed into an immobile pillar by a thunderous voice, he would not permit himself secret malefactions; ruination, devastation would become rare … and so on, and so on, and so on.

* one and three-quarters inches.—Trans.

CHORNAYA GRYAZ

Here I saw another exceptional example of the tyranny of the nobility over the peasants. A wedding party was passing through. But instead of a happy procession and the tears of a timid bride, destined soon to be turned into rejoicing, on the face of those destined to enter into matrimony could be seen sadness and grief. They hate one another and are being dragged by the power of their master to an execution—to the altar of the Father of all blessings, the giver of tender sentiments and joys, the architect of true happiness, the creator of the universe. And His servitor will accept an oath coerced with force and will confirm a marriage! And this will be called a holy union! And this sacrilege will remain as an example to others! And this irregularity in the law will remain unpunished! … Why be surprised by this? A hired hand blesses the marriage. The town governor district commander, appointed to keep the law, is a nobleman. Each of the two has an interest in the matter. The first does it for the sake of receiving reward; the second so that, even if abolishing violence that shames mankind, will himself not forfeit the flattering advantage of despotically ruling over his equals.—O bitter fate of many millions! Your ultimate condition is still hidden from the gaze even of my grandchildren….

I forgot to tell you, reader, that the Parnassian judge with whom I dined at the inn in Tver made me a gift. His mind has already tested its powers on many things. How successful his attempts have been you can judge for yourself—but tell me in my little ear what you think. If while reading you should feel like a doze, then close the book and go to sleep. Save it for insomnia.

An Oration About Lomonosov

The loveliness of the evening after a hot summer’s day chased me from my cell. I directed my steps beyond the Nevsky Monastery and rambled for a long time in the grove that lies behind it.* The sun had already hidden its face, but the light curtain of the night was scarcely perceptible on the blue vault of the sky.† While returning home I walked past the Nevsky Cemetery. Its gates were open. I entered…. In this place of eternal silence, where the firmest brow will certainly frown at having thought that here must be the end of all brilliant exploits, in this place of unshakable tranquility and steadfast equanimity, it seems hardly possible that arrogance, vanity, and haughtiness can coexist. But the magnificent sepulchers? They are doubtless signs of human pridefulness, but also the signs of man’s desire to live forever. Is this, however, the eternity that man so desires? … It is not a column erected over your mortal coil that will preserve your memory for the most distant posterity. It is not a stone with a carving of your name that will advance your glory into the next