. In the land of Tolstoi; experiences of famine and misrule in Russia . t the house I see at the door of my room a group of23easant men and women who have clearly been waiting sometime, as some of them have sat down on stones outside. Withhumiliation I detect in myself a feeling of antipathy to thesepeople who come and spoil my plans of rest. I have nocourage to turn them away, and begin mechanically to inquireinto their needs. I do not succeed, and begin to get or fifteen peasants stand before me, each with one ormore requests. Either because there are too many
. In the land of Tolstoi; experiences of famine and misrule in Russia . t the house I see at the door of my room a group of23easant men and women who have clearly been waiting sometime, as some of them have sat down on stones outside. Withhumiliation I detect in myself a feeling of antipathy to thesepeople who come and spoil my plans of rest. I have nocourage to turn them away, and begin mechanically to inquireinto their needs. I do not succeed, and begin to get or fifteen peasants stand before me, each with one ormore requests. Either because there are too many of them,or because I am tired out, I am no longer able to recognise ineach a human being with his or her own personal dignity ; Isee only numhers of men who are expecting something fromme that is either difficult or unpleasant. According to my habit of trying to meet the requests of myfellows, I will not at once send them away, but choose a middlecourse—something absurd, in the usefulness of which I do notmyself believe. I begin to make out a lisb, write down their. A Day in a Famine-Stkicken Village. 139 names and those of their families, jot down some remarks anddismiss them, dissatisfied, of course. Yet they bow, thank mefor my sympathy, make some further requests and finally breathe more freely. But suddenly a woman leaves theretreating group, comes back to me, bows low, and with sobsand cries begins a long story about the misfortune that hasovertaken them. I try to listen, but soon lose my patience,and ask^ in a stern tone, What do you want ? She tells then find that it is already written down. With a sharpanswer I show my displeasure, turn from her impatiently, goout and slam the door behind me. I am ashamed of walk to and fro, sit down and get up and sit down again;look vaguely at the papers on the table, and with much troublecompose my excited nerves. I go to my landlady ; she has the boiling samovar all ready,and the sight of it soothes my disturbe
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