I said (what I always say in such cases) that evil cannot be conquered by evil, but only by not doing evil.
"But it has become impossible to live so. We have no work and no land. What's to become of us?" said he, looking at me from under his brows.
"I am old enough to be your grandfather," said I, "and I won't argue with you; but I will say one thing to you as to a young man beginning life. If what the Government is doing is bad, what you are doing, or are preparing to do, is equally bad. You, as a young man forming your habits, should do one thing: you should live rightly, not sinning or resisting the will of God."
He shook his head, dissatisfied, and said,
"Every man has his own God. Millions of men—millions of Gods."
"All the same," said I, "I advise you to cease taking part in the Revolution."
"What's to be done?" replied he. "One can't go on enduring and enduring. What's to be done?"
I felt that no good would come of our talk and wished to ride away, but he stopped me.
"Won't you help me to subscribe for a newspaper?" said he. I refused and rode away from him, feeling sad.
He was not one of those factory unemployed of whom thousands are now roaming Russia; but he was a peasant agriculturist living in the village, and there are not hundreds nor thousands but millions of such peasants; and the infection of such a mood as his is spreading more and more.
On returning home, I found my family in the saddest frame of mind. They had just read the newspaper that had come (it was the 6th October, old style).
"Twenty-two more executions to-day! It is horrible," said my daughter.
"Not only horrible, but senseless," said I.
"But what's to be done? They cannot be allowed to rob and kill, and go unpunished," said one of those present.
