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139 A Day in a Famine-Stricken Village.
names ancl those of their families, jot down some remarks and
dismiss them, dissatisfied, of course. Yet they bow, thank me
for my sympathy, make some further requests and finally go.
I breathe more freely. But suddenly a woman leaves the
retreating group, comes back to me, bows low, and with sobs
and cries begins a long story about the misfortune that has
overtaken them. I try to listen, but soon lose my patience,
and ask, in a stern tone, " What do you want ? " She tells me.
I then find that it is already written down. With a sharp
answer I show my displeasure, turn from her impatiently, go
out and slam the door behind me. I am ashamed of myself.
I walk to and fro, sit down and get up and sit down again;
look vaguely at the papers on the table, and with much trouble
compose my excited nerves.
I go to my landlady ; she has the boiling samovar all ready,
and the sight of it soothes my disturbed mind, but the same
thoughts haunt me all through the meal, and afterwards, when,
alone in my room, I put my papers in order and prepare for
rest. The same thoughts, sometimes bright, sometimes
gloomy, but always the same subject. What must be done ?
How help, and what will be the result? Will there be another
year like this ? Sometimes, as if in the magic-lantern, the
pictures change; my thoughts wander off to my faraway home,
and I begin to converse with my dear ones; these images vanish,
and again my brain is busy with the questions of the day.
Before retiring to rest I again go out. It is dark and
bitingly cold. The village is asleep, and overhead the dark
blue heavens sparkle with myriads of stars; all is quiet,
harmonious, majestic, beautiful. Where are all the sufferings?
Why is it not on earth as it is up yonder ? We are only an
insignificant part of this beautiful, harmonious nature. Can
all the parts be of one nature ? How can such a crowd of
sufferings come from out a beautiful whole? Or are there,
perhaps, no sufferings ? Do they exist only in our
consciousness ?
I return to my room, throw myselt on my bed, and deep and
heavy sleep breaks off the current of my thoughts.
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