Sister Pelagia and the White Bulldog (23 page)

On dignity

“But tell me, my son, in your opinion, what is the difference between pauperage and poverty?”

“Pauperage and poverty? Well, a poor man, as distinct from a complete pauper, has at least some sort of dwelling and food and he does not dress in rags, but respectably. Poverty can be noble, but pauperage is repulsive.”

“Or, as the author of a certain novel that has been too highly praised expresses it, pauperage is already a vice, for which they drive you out of society with a stick.”

“Pardon me, Your Grace, but do you really judge Crime and Punishment so harshly?”

“We will talk about literature, Anton Antonovich, another time, but at present I am addressing a different theme. To wit, that a hungry, homeless man with no clothes cannot be noble in his behavior, or elegant. And although in the Holy Writ we read a lot about holy fools and prophets who went around in rags and took no care at all for their sustenance and decent appearance, it is a fatal error for ordinary people to take their example from these holy saints, for it is frightening and unnatural to imagine a society composed entirely of individuals who mortify the flesh, are hung around with heavy chains, and proclaim prophecies. That is not what the Lord wishes from his children; he wishes them to conduct themselves with dignity.”

“I am entirely in agreement with that, although it is somehow not an entirely Russian point of view, but I would still like to take Mr. Dostoevsky’s part. What did you not like in the novel Crime and Punishment?”

“Ah, you and your Mr. Dostoevsky. Very well, so be it. I believe the author made his own task too easy when he had the proud Raskolnikov kill not only the repulsive old moneylender, but her meek, innocent sister as well. Mr. Dostoevsky took fright at the thought that his reader would not condemn the criminal for the moneylender alone. As if to say that a creature like that does not deserve any pity. But the Lord has no such creatures; all are equally dear to him. If the writer had managed to express how absolutely undignified murder is with just the old moneylender, that would be a different matter.”

“Surely you meant to say impermissible?”

“Undignified. To pick up an axe or some other object and smash another person’s skull is above all an act unworthy of being called human. After all, what is sin? It is an action through which a person betrays his dignity. Yes, yes, Anton Antonovich, I come back again to this theme, for the hundredth time, because the longer I live on this earth, the more convinced I become that a sense of dignity is the cornerstone of a just society and the very destiny of the human being. I have told you that dignity has three foundation stones, which are called legality, satiety, and education. Enough has already been said about observance of the law; you yourself have spoken most eloquently to me concerning the benefits of rational, God-inspired education, and I have nothing more to add. But these inspiring matters must not lead us to forget the most fundamental thing of all—the human belly, the word for which in our language also, most appropriately, means ‘life.’ If the belly is empty, that is already pauperage, and a pauper is like an animal, for he thinks only of how he can fill this belly, and he has no strength left for any other, higher aspirations.”

“But why are you telling me all this, father?”

“Because you are the powers that be, and your primary responsibility is to ensure that every inhabitant of this province has a piece of bread and a roof over his head, since without these basic necessities man cannot have any dignity, and a man without dignity is not a citizen. Not everyone can be rich, and there would be no point in it, but everyone must be fed. Not only for the sake of the destitute, but for everyone else’s sake as well, so that they do not have to hide away shamefacedly from the poor as they eat their fine white bread. Those who feast in the midst of wailing and misery will not be dignified.”

“That is indeed the case, Your Grace. I have been thinking about this and I have even calculated that it would not require any truly great amount of funds to support the genuinely needy. Can it all really be that easy? Simply feed the hungry and the people will immediately develop Selbstachtung
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?”

“No, my son, not immediately, and a full belly is only the beginning. One also needs to eradicate insulting behavior to the individual, which by ancient custom we here in Russia do not regard as important. As you know, in this country abuse is like water off a duck’s back, and the simple people regard punches and cuffs to the head from their superiors as fatherly reproofs. And flogging is also common everywhere. What Selbstachtung can there be if there is flogging? So let us agree that in our province nobody will ever be whipped for anything again, not even by a decision of the peasant assembly concerning its own people. Let it be forbidden once and for all. And I shall instruct the priests to preach in the churches that parents should not thrash their children, not even the absolutely wild ones who cannot understand a single rational word. Children who are thrashed do not grow up into citizens, but into serfs. It would be good to forbid bad language, too, but of course that is only a dream. I myself am guilty in that area.”

“And it would also be marvelous, Your Grace, if everyone started speaking politely to people of lower status and addressing them as ‘mister so-and-so.’ That is very important for Selbstachtung. If the first name and patronymic were used, that would be good, too.”

“It might be good, but is it not a little too soon? The peasants will take fright if everyone suddenly starts talking politely to them. They will suspect some sly trickery by their superiors, like the emancipation of the serfs in 1861. No, that will have to wait for a while, until a generation that has never been flogged grows up.”

“Ah, father, but just imagine what blessed times they will be when our ordinary people will not be given cranks like me for their governor, but will be able to hold an election of their own free will and choose the most worthy person from among themselves, someone they know and respect! That is when a true paradise will be established in the land of Russia!”

“Only it would be better not to be in too much of a hurry. First, let our ordinary people acquire some dignity and become citizens, and then they can have an election. Or else they’ll elect some tavern-keeper to be their governor if he rolls a couple of barrels of green wine out into the square for them.”

Commentary.
On the matter of dignity, we do not know what to add, because it is a subtle subject that is not easily reduced to figures, and the amount of time that has passed is not yet very great—the generation of which the bishop spoke, one that has never been whipped, has not yet left the school bench. Of late we have had fewer people lying blind drunk in the gutters. And when they leave their houses and go out, people have begun to dress more respectably. But perhaps that is because poverty has decreased due to the aforementioned development of trade and various industries. We really cannot say…although just last year there was an incident in which the policeman Shtukin called the tradesman Selyodkin a “pig.” Formerly Selyodkin would have taken such a form of address for a term of endearment, but this time he told the servant of the law: “It’s you who’s a pig.” And the justice of the peace found nothing culpable in that.

Well, perhaps the Zavolzhians really do have more dignity now.

CHAPTER 7

A Soirée
(CONTINUED)

…AND THE GENERAL consequence of all these conversations was that, little by little, year by year, life in Zavolzhie began to change for the better, so that people in neighboring provinces started to envy us. Perhaps they were the ones who put the jinx on us; in any case, the Evil One must have begun to feel jealous of our prosperity.

The day after Vladimir Lvovich returned to the town like some Roman general in triumph, bringing with him the captured Zyt elders and greeted by massed crowds who had gathered to see this unprecedented sight—two servants of Shishiga in irons and three dead bodies in a cart—Mitrofanii gathered his closest advisers in an extraordinary meeting at the see, which with morose humor he dubbed “the council at Fili,” and his introductory address began in a manner appropriate to this comparison.

“Field Marshal Kutuzov could abandon Moscow because he had territory into which he could fall back, but you and I, gentlemen, have nowhere to retreat. A capital city is not so much a local concentration of the life of society as a certain symbol of it, and a symbol may be abandoned temporarily. But you and I live in Zavolzhie; for us it is no abstract symbol, but our only home, and we do not have the right, nor even the opportunity, to allow it to be desecrated by the powers of evil.”

“That is undoubtedly so,” confirmed the agitated Anton Antonovich.

To which Matvei Bentsionovich Berdichevsky also added: “I cannot imagine myself living anywhere but in Zavolzhie, but if the practices that these inquisitors are introducing should prevail, then I shall not be able to go on living here.”

Mitrofanii nodded, as if he had expected no other answer.

“At various times each of us has been invited to serve in a more prominent capacity in the capital, but we did not go. Why? Because we understood that the capital is the kingdom of evil, and anyone who goes there loses himself and places his very soul in danger. But our world here is simple and good, for it is far closer to nature and to God. In our province, if you use your authority for serious work, you can keep your soul alive, but in Petersburg you cannot. The capital is a source of nothing but harm, nothing but violence against the natural life. And it is our duty to defend the region entrusted to our care against this onslaught. The devil is powerful, but his power is not secure, because it is founded not on human virtues but on human vices, that is to say, it is based not on strength but on weakness. Evil usually destroys even itself, crumbling from within. However, we have no right to wait for this to happen, because too much that is good, that we have built up with such great effort, will be destroyed even sooner than the evil. We have to act, and I have gathered you together, gentlemen, in order to draw up a plan.”

“Just imagine, Your Grace, I have been thinking about the same thing,” said the baron. “And this is what has occurred to me. As you know, my older brother Karl Antonovich holds the position of equerry, and once a month he is invited to a small supper attended by the emperor, where our sovereign converses informally with him and asks him about all manner of business. I shall write Karl a detailed letter and ask for his assistance. He has a wise head and will certainly be able to present the matter in a way that will not leave the emperor indifferent to our plight.”

“Unfortunately, my son, Konstantin Petrovich converses with the sovereign far more frequently than once a month,” the bishop sighed. “We must assume that His Majesty is biased in favor of Bubentsov and that changing his opinion will not be easy. Alas, our scandal has advantages for far too many important individuals in St. Petersburg. They can use it to flog the whole of Russia.”

“But we have to do something,” Anton Antonovich said wearily. “I even dream about this synodical spider at night. I am lying there and I cannot move, and he goes on and on winding his sticky web around me. He has me bound in tight from every side…”

There was an oppressive, but brief, pause that was broken by Matvei Bentsionovich’s declaring, pale-faced: “Gentlemen, I know what must be done. I shall challenge him to a duel, that’s what! If he refuses to exchange shots with me, he will be disgraced in the eyes of the whole of society, nobody will ever allow him across their threshold again, and all the ladies of Zavolzhsk, who are presently so eager to dance attention on him, will turn their backs on him. But if he agrees to a duel, then the chief procurator will dismiss him from his post. One way or the other, we win.”

The other two members of the council were dumbstruck by this original idea. The baron shook his head.

“But if he does accept, you really will have to exchange shots with him, and he will not forgive you for destroying his career. What will you do when you are standing on the deadline, Matvei Bentsionovich? I saw the way you shoot when we went hunting. You put a hole in my cap instead of in the gray hen. And think of your children.”

Berdichevsky turned even whiter, because he had a very vivid imagination and he immediately pictured his wife in mourning, and the children in little black dresses and little black suits, but still he did not renounce his idea: “Never mind—”

“Ah, this is all stupid nonsense,” the governor said dismissively. “You won’t be able to challenge him; he won’t give you any reason to.”

At this point Berdichevsky’s color suddenly changed from white to crimson and he confessed the shameful incident that had occurred some time before: “I have a reason. He tweaked my nose, and very painfully, too, so that it bled, but I did nothing. I was thinking of the children then as well…”

The baron explained matters to this titled gentleman of the personal nobility: “According to the rules of dueling, a challenge must be issued within twenty-four hours after the insult has been given, and not later. So I am afraid, Matvei Bentsionovich, that you are too late.”

“Then I shall tweak his nose, too, he will know what for!”

“He might well know, but nobody else will,” His Grace remarked. “And they’ll take you away to the madhouse as a raving lunatic. No, it won’t do. And a duel’s not a Christian way of doing things. I will not give my blessing to something like that.”