And, strange to say, though it might seem that to do good and to give money to those in want of it was a good deed, and ought to dispose men to universal love, it turned out quite the reverse; calling up in me bitter feelings and disposition2 to censure3 them. Even during our first tour a scene occurred similar to that in Liapin's house; but it failed to produce again the same effect and created a very different impression.
It began with my finding in one of the lodgings5 a miserable6 person who required immediate7 help,—a woman who had not eaten food for two days.
It happened thus: In one very large and almost empty night-lodging4, I asked an old woman whether there were any poor people who had nothing to eat. She hesitated a moment and then named two; then suddenly, as if recollecting8 herself, she said, “Yes, there lies one of them,” pointing to a pallet. “This one,” she added, “indeed, has nothing to eat.”
“You don't say so! Who is she?”
“She has been a lost woman; but as nobody takes her now, she can't earn anything. The landlady9 has had pity on her, but now she wants to turn her out.—Agafia! I say, Agafia!” cried the old woman.
We went a little nearer, and saw something rise from the pallet. This was a grey-haired, dishevelled woman, thin as a skeleton, in a dirty, torn chemise, and with peculiarly glittering, immovable eyes. She looked fixedly11 beyond us, tried to snatch up her jacket behind her in order to cover her bony chest, and growled12 out like a dog, “What? what?”
I asked her how she managed to live. For some time she was unable to see the drift of my words and said, “I don't know myself; they are going to turn me out.”
I asked again; and oh, how ashamed of myself I feel! my hand can scarcely write it! I asked her whether it was true that she was starving. She replied in the same feverish13, excited manner, “I had nothing to eat yesterday; I have had nothing to eat to-day.”
The miserable aspect of this woman impressed me deeply, but quite differently from those in Liapin's house:
there, out of pity for them, I felt embarrassed and ashamed of myself; but here, I rejoiced that I had at last found what I had been looking for,—a hungry being.
I gave her a ruble and I remember how glad I felt that the others had seen it.
The old woman forthwith asked me also for money. It was so pleasant to me to give that I handed her some also, without thinking whether it was necessary or not. She accompanied me to the door, and those who were in the corridor heard how she thanked me. Probably my questions about the poor provoked expectations, for some of the inmates14 began to follow us wherever we went.
Among those that begged, there were evidently drunkards, who gave me a most disagreeable impression; but having once given to the old woman I thought I had no right to refuse them, and I began to give away more. This only increased the number of applicants15, and there was a stir throughout the whole lodging-house.
On the stairs and in the galleries, people appeared dogging my steps. When I came out of the yard, a boy ran quickly down the stairs, pushing through the people. He did not notice me and said hurriedly,—
“He gave a ruble to Agafia!”
Having reached the ground, he, too, joined the crowd that was following me. I came out into the street. All sorts of people crowded round begging for money. Having given away all I had in coppers16, I entered a shop and asked the proprietor17 to give me change for ten rubles.
Here occurred a scene similar to that which took place in Liapin's house. A dreadful confusion ensued. Old women, seedy gentlefolk, peasants, children, all crowded about the shop, stretching out their hands; I gave, and asked some of them about their position and means, and entered all in my note-book. The shopkeeper, having turned up the fur collar of his great-coat, was sitting like a statue, glancing now and then at the crowd, and again staring beyond it. He apparently18 felt like everyone else, that all this was very foolish, but he dared not say so.
In Liapin's house the misery19 and humiliation20 of the people had overwhelmed me; and I felt myself to blame for it, and also the desire and the possibility of becoming a better man. But though the scene here was similar, it produced quite a different effect. In the first place, I felt angry with many of those who assailed21 me, and then anxious as to what the shopmen and the dvorniks might think of me. I returned home that day with a weight on my mind. I knew that what I had done was foolish
and inconsistent; but, as usual when my conscience was troubled, I talked the more about my projected plan, as if I had no doubt whatever as to its success.
The next day I went alone to those whom I had noted22 down, and who seemed the most miserable, thinking they could be more easily helped than others.
As I have already mentioned, I was not really able to help any of these people. It turned out that to do so was more difficult than I had imagined: in short, I only tormented23 these men and helped no one.
Before the last visiting-tour I went several times to Rzhanoff's house, and each time the same thing occurred: I was assailed by a crowd of men and women in the midst of whom I utterly24 lost my presence of mind.
I felt the impossibility of doing anything because there were so many of them; besides, each of them, taken separately, did not awaken25 any sympathy in me. I felt that every one lied, or at least prevaricated26, and regarded me only as a purse out of which money could be drawn27. It often seemed to me that the very money extorted28 from me did not improve their position but only made it worse.
The oftener I went to these houses, the closer the intercourse29 which I had with the inmates, the more apparent became the impossibility of doing anything; but notwithstanding this, I did not give up my plan until after the last night tour with the census-takers.
I feel more ashamed of this visit than of any other. Formerly30 I had gone alone, but now twenty of us went together. At seven o'clock all who wished to take part in this last tour began to assemble in my house. They were almost all strangers to me. Some students, an officer, and two of my fashionable acquaintances, who, after having repeated the usual phrase, “C'est très intéressant!” asked me to put them into the number of the census-takers.
These fashionable friends of mine had dressed themselves in shooting-jackets and tall travelling boots, which they thought more suited to the visit than their ordinary clothes. They carried with them peculiar10 pocket-books and extraordinary-looking pencils. They were in that agitated31 state of mind which one experiences just before going to a hunt, or to a duel32, or into a battle. The falseness and foolishness of our enterprise was now more apparent to me in looking at them; but were we not all in the same ridiculous position?
Before starting we had a conference, somewhat like a council of war, as to what we should begin with, how to divide ourselves, and so on. This conference was just
like all other official councils, meetings, and committees: each spoke33, not because he had anything to say, or to ask, but because every one tried to find something to say in order not to be behind the rest. But during the conversation no one alluded34 to the acts of benevolence35 to which I had so many times referred; and however much ashamed I felt, I found it was needful to remind them that we must carry out our charitable intentions by writing down, during the visiting-tour, the names of all whom we should find in a destitute36 condition.
I had always felt ashamed to speak about these matters; but here, in the midst of our hurried preparations for the expedition, I could scarcely utter a word about them. All listened to me and seemed touched, all agreed with me in words; but it was evident that each of them knew that it was folly37, and that it would lead to nothing, and so they began at once to talk about other subjects, and continued doing so until it was time for us to start.
We came to the dark tavern38, aroused the waiters, and began to sort out papers. When we were told that the people, having heard about this visiting-tour, had begun to leave their lodgings, we asked the landlord to shut the gate, and we ourselves went to the yard to persuade those to remain who wanted to escape, assuring them that no one would ask to see their passports.
I remember the strange and painful impression produced upon me by these frightened night-lodgers. Ragged39 and half-dressed, they all appeared tall by the light of the lantern in the dark court-yard. Frightened and horrible in their terror, they stood in a small knot round the pestilential out-house, listening to our persuasions40, but not believing us; and, evidently, like hunted animals, prepared to do anything to escape from us.
Gentlemen of all kinds, town and country policemen, public coroner and judges, had, all their lives, been hunting them in towns and villages, on the roads and in the streets, in the taverns41 and in the lodging-houses, and suddenly these gentlemen had come at night and shut the gate, only, forsooth, in order to count them! They found this as difficult to believe as it would be for hares to believe that the dogs had come out not to catch but to count them.
But the gates were shut, and the frightened night-lodgers returned to their places; and we, having separated into groups, began our visit. With me were my fashionable acquaintances and two students. Ványa, with a lantern, went before us in a great-coat and white trousers, and we followed. We entered lodgings well known to me.
The place was familiar, some of the persons also; but the majority were new to me, and the spectacle was also a new and dreadful one,—still more dreadful than that which I had seen at Liapin's house. All the lodgings were filled, all the pallets occupied, and not only by one, but often by two persons. The sight was dreadful, because of the closeness with which these people were huddled42 together, and because of the indiscriminate commingling43 of men and women. Such of the latter as were not dead-drunk were sleeping with men. Many women with children slept with strange men on narrow beds.
The spectacle was dreadful, owing to the misery, dirt, raggedness44, and terror of these people; and chiefly because there were so many of them. One lodging, then another, then a third, a tenth, a twentieth, and so on, without end. And everywhere the same fearful stench, the same suffocating45 exhalation, the same confusion of sexes, men and women, drunk, or in a state of insensibility; the same terror, submissiveness, and guilt46 stamped on all faces, so that I felt deeply ashamed and grieved, as I had before at Liapin's. At last I understood that what I was about to do was disgusting, foolish, and therefore impossible; so I left off writing down their names and questioning them, knowing now that nothing would come of it.
I felt deeply hurt.
At Liapin's I had been like a man who sees a horrible wound on the body of another. He feels sorry for the man, ashamed of not having relieved him before, yet he can still hope to help the sufferer; but now I was like a doctor who comes with his own medicines to the patient, uncovers his wound only to mangle47 it, and to confess to himself that all he has done has been done in vain, and that his remedy is ineffectual.
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1
compassion
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| n.同情，怜悯 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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censure
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| v./n.责备；非难；责难 | |
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4
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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6
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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7
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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8
recollecting
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| v.记起，想起( recollect的现在分词 ) | |
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9
landlady
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| n.女房东，女地主 | |
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10
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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fixedly
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| adv.固定地；不屈地，坚定不移地 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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13
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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14
inmates
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| n.囚犯( inmate的名词复数 ) | |
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15
applicants
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| 申请人，求职人( applicant的名词复数 ) | |
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16
coppers
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| 铜( copper的名词复数 )； 铜币 | |
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proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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18
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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19
misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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20
humiliation
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| n.羞辱 | |
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assailed
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| v.攻击( assail的过去式和过去分词 )；困扰；质问；毅然应对 | |
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noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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awaken
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| vi.醒，觉醒；vt.唤醒，使觉醒，唤起，激起 | |
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prevaricated
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| v.支吾( prevaricate的过去式和过去分词 )；搪塞；说谎 | |
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27
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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28
extorted
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| v.敲诈( extort的过去式和过去分词 )；曲解 | |
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intercourse
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| n.性交；交流，交往，交际 | |
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30
formerly
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| adv.从前，以前 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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32
duel
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| n./v.决斗；(双方的)斗争 | |
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33
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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34
alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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35
benevolence
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| n.慈悲，捐助 | |
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36
destitute
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| adj.缺乏的；穷困的 | |
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37
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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38
tavern
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| n.小旅馆，客栈；小酒店 | |
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ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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40
persuasions
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| n.劝说，说服（力）( persuasion的名词复数 )；信仰 | |
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41
taverns
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| n.小旅馆，客栈，酒馆( tavern的名词复数 ) | |
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42
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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43
commingling
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| v.混合，掺和，合并( commingle的现在分词 ) | |
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44
raggedness
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| 破烂，粗糙 | |
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45
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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46
guilt
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| n.犯罪；内疚；过失，罪责 | |
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47
mangle
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| vt.乱砍，撕裂，破坏，毁损，损坏，轧布 | |
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