Journey from St. Petersburg to Moscow Irina Reyfman (snow like ashes .TXT) 📖

Is it possible, said I to myself, that in our age, in Europe, near the capital, in sight of a great ruler such inhumanity has occurred? I recalled the Englishmen incarcerated in the jail of the Bengal Subedar.*23

“I groaned in the depths of my soul.—In the meantime, we arrived at S… I thought that the superior officer, once up, would punish his sergeant and grant respite at least to those who had suffered on the water. This was my hope when I went straight to see him at home. But I was so exasperated by the action of his deputy that I was unable to moderate my words. When I saw him, I said, ‘Sir! Have you been informed that several hours previously twenty men were in danger of losing their lives at sea and requested help from you?’ He responded to me with the greatest indifference as he smoked tobacco: ‘I was told about this just now, but I was sleeping at the time.’ Thereupon I began to tremble in a humanity-incensed rage. ‘If your sleep is so sound you should have given the order to be roused with a hammer to the head when people are drowning and in need of your aid.’ Guess, my friend, what his reply was. I thought I was going to have a stroke when I heard it. He said to me, ‘That is not my duty.’ I lost patience: ‘As if it were your duty to kill people, wretch. And you wear decorations, you are in charge of others! …’ I was unable to finish my speech, practically spat in his mug, and walked right out. I tore my hair from indignation. I was devising a hundred schemes for taking revenge on this beastly superior officer not for myself but on behalf of humanity. When I regained control, by rehearsing in my memory many examples I grew convinced that my vengeance would be fruitless; that I would then get the reputation for being either mad or an evil person. I became resigned.

“Meanwhile, my people called on a priest who greeted us gladly, warmed and fed us, gave repose. We spent an entire twenty-four hours with him, benefitting from his hospitality and refreshment. The next day, after finding a large sloop, we arrived safely in Oranienbaum.24 In Petersburg, I recounted this to one person and another. All empathized with the danger I had been in, all disparaged the hard-heartedness of the superior officer; no one wanted to broach the matter with him. If we had drowned then he would have been our murderer. But someone said: ‘It was not prescribed as his duty to save you.’ Now I shall part with the city forever. There is no way I shall return to this den of tigers. Their only enjoyment is to maul one another; their joy is to torment the weak till they croak and to kowtow to power. And you wanted me to settle in the city! No, my friend,” said my storyteller, jumping up from his seat, “I shall go where people do not go, where they do not know what man is, where his name is unknown. Farewell.” He got into his carriage and galloped off.

* two and two-thirds miles—Trans.

* one mile—Trans.

* two hundred yards—Trans.

* one and one-third miles—Trans.

* The English took under their protection in Calcutta a Bengal official who defected to them when liable to execution for taking bribes. The Subedar was offended, rightly so, gathered a force, attacked the city and took it. He ordered the English prisoners of war to be thrown into a crowded dungeon in which they expired in half a day. Of their total only twenty-three people remained. These unfortunate ones promised great sums of money to their guards to get them to tell the ruler of their plight. Their cries, their groans reached the people who felt anguished for them, but nobody wished to tell the ruler. “He is resting” was the answer given to the dying Englishmen; and not a single person in Bengal thought he must disturb momentarily the sleep of this tyrant to save the lives of one hundred fifty unfortunate men.

What is a tyrant? Or rather what sort of people is it that has become accustomed to the yoke of tyranny? Is it reverence or fear that keeps them bowed down? If it is fear then the tyrant is worse than the gods to whom man sends either a prayer or a lament during the night or in the hours of day. If it is reverence, then one can induce man to respect the contributors to his woes: a miracle that is possible only because of superstition. What is there to wonder at more, the ferocity of the sleeping nabob or the cravenness of him who does not dare to wake him?—Raynal, Histoire des Indes, vol. 2.

SPASSKAYA POLEST

I galloped in pursuit of my friend at such speed that I reached him while he was still at the next postal station. I attempted to persuade him to return to Petersburg, attempted to demonstrate to him that the small and partial flaws of a society will not destroy its bonds, just as a speck that falls into the expanse of the sea is unable to trouble the surface of the water. But he answered me brusquely: “If I, a small speck, sank to the bottom, it is of course clear that no storm would occur in the Bay of Finland. I’d be off to swim with seals, though.” Taking his leave of me with obvious indignation, he sat in his carriage and departed hastily.

The horses were already harnessed, I had already lifted my leg to climb into the carriage when it suddenly began to rain. “Not a terrible misfortune,” I thought, “I shall take cover under a piece of coarse fabric and stay dry.” No sooner had this thought flown into my brain than I felt like I was plunged into an ice hole. Without asking my