it. I entered the service in Petersburg and took fright; I came
here to work on the land, and here, too, I am frightened. . . . I
see that we know very little and so make mistakes every day. We are
unjust, we slander one another and spoil each other's lives, we
waste all our powers on trash which we do not need and which hinders
us from living; and that frightens me, because I don't understand
why and for whom it is necessary. I don't understand men, my dear
fellow, and I am afraid of them. It frightens me to look at the
peasants, and I don't know for what higher objects they are suffering
and what they are living for. If life is an enjoyment, then they
are unnecessary, superfluous people; if the object and meaning of
life is to be found in poverty and unending, hopeless ignorance, I
can't understand for whom and what this torture is necessary. I
understand no one and nothing. Kindly try to understand this specimen,
for instance," said Dmitri Petrovitch, pointing to Forty Martyrs.
"Think of him!"

Noticing that we were looking at him, Forty Martyrs coughed
deferentially into his fist and said:

"I was always a faithful servant with good masters, but the great
trouble has been spirituous liquor. If a poor fellow like me were
shown consideration and given a place, I would kiss the ikon. My
word's my bond."

The sexton walked by, looked at us in amazement, and began pulling
the rope. The bell, abruptly breaking upon the stillness of the
evening, struck ten with a slow and prolonged note.

"It's ten o'clock, though," said Dmitri Petrovitch. "It's time we