in?  The organism is diseased this means, that the cells cease to perform their mysterious functions; some die, others become infected, others still remain in perfect condition, and work on by themselves.  But all of a sudden the moment comes when every living cell enters upon an independent and healthy activity: it crowds out the dead cells, encloses the infected ones in a living wall, it communicates life to that which was lifeless; and the body is restored, and lives with new life.

Why should we not think and expect that the cells of our society will acquire fresh life and re-invigorate the organism?  We know not in what the power of the cells consists, but we do know that our life is in our own power.  We can show forth the light that is in us, or we may extinguish it.

Let one man approach the Lyapinsky house in the dusk, when a thousand persons, naked and hungry, are waiting in the bitter cold for admission, and let that one man attempt to help, and his heart will ache till it bleeds, and he will flee thence with despair and anger against men; but let a thousand men approach that other thousand with a desire to help, and the task will prove easy and delightful.  Let the mechanicians invent a machine for lifting the weight that is crushing us—that is a good thing; but until they shall have invented it, let us bear down upon the people, like fools, like muzhiki, like peasants, like Christians, and see whether we cannot raise them.

And now, brothers, all together, and away it goes!

THOUGHTS EVOKED BY THE CENSUS OF MOSCOW.  [1884-1885.]

And the people asked him, saying, What shall we do then?

He answereth and saith unto them, He that hath two coats, let him impart to him that hath none; and he that hath meat, let him do likewise—Luke iii. 10. 11.

Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal:

But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal:

For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.

The light of the body is the eye: if therefore thine eye be single, thy whole body shall be full of light.

But if thine eye be evil, thy whole body shall be full of darkness.  If therefore the light that is in thee be darkness, how great is that darkness!

No man can serve two masters: for either he will hate the one, and love the other; or else he will hold to the one, and despise the other.  Ye cannot serve God and mammon.

Therefore I say unto you, Take no thought for your life, what ye shall eat, or what ye shall drink; nor yet for your body, what ye shall put on.  Is not the life more than meat, and the body than raiment?—Matt. vi. 19-25.

Therefore take no thought, saying, What shall we eat? or, What shall we drink?  Or, Wherewithal shall we be clothed?

(For after all these things do the Gentiles seek:) for your heavenly Father knoweth that ye have need of all these things.

But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you.

Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself.  Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.—Matt. vi. 31-34.

For it is easier for a camel to go through a needle’s eye, than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.—Matt. xix. 24; Mark x. 25; Luke xviii. 25.

CHAPTER I.

I had lived all my life out of town.  When, in 1881, I went to live in Moscow, the poverty of the town greatly surprised me.  I am familiar with poverty in the country; but city poverty was new and incomprehensible to me.  In Moscow it was impossible to pass along the street without encountering beggars, and especially beggars who are unlike those in the country.  These beggars do not go about with their pouches in the name of Christ, as country beggars are accustomed to do, but these beggars are without the pouch and the name of Christ.  The Moscow beggars carry no pouches, and do not ask for alms.  Generally, when they meet or pass you, they merely try to catch your eye; and, according to your look, they beg or refrain from it.  I know one such beggar who belongs to the gentry.  The old man walks slowly along, bending forward every time he sets his foot down.  When he meets you, he rests on one foot and makes you a kind of salute.  If you stop, he pulls off his hat with its cockade, and bows and begs: if you do not halt, he pretends that that is merely his way of walking, and he passes on, bending forward in like manner on the other foot.  He is a real Moscow beggar, a cultivated man.  At first I did not know why the Moscow beggars do not ask alms directly; afterwards I came to understand why they do not beg, but still I did not understand their position.

Once, as I was passing through Afanasievskaya Lane, I saw a policeman putting a ragged peasant, all swollen with dropsy, into a cab.  I inquired: “What is that for?”

The policeman answered: “For asking alms.”

“Is that forbidden?”

“Of course it is forbidden,” replied the policeman.

The sufferer from dropsy was driven off.  I took another cab, and followed him.  I wanted to know whether it was true that begging alms was prohibited and how it was prohibited.  I could in no wise understand how one man could be forbidden to ask alms of any other man; and besides, I did not believe that it was prohibited, when Moscow is full of beggars.  I went to the station-house whither the beggar had been taken.  At a table in the station-house sat a man with a sword and a pistol.  I inquired:

“For what was this peasant arrested?”

The man with the sword and pistol gazed sternly at me, and said:

“What business is it of yours?”

But feeling conscious that it was necessary to offer me some explanation, he added:

“The authorities have ordered that all such persons are to be arrested; of course it had to be done.”

I went out.  The policeman who had brought the beggar was seated on the window-sill in the ante-chamber, staring gloomily at a note-book.  I asked him:

“Is it true that the poor are forbidden to ask alms in Christ’s name?”

The policeman came to himself, stared at me, then did not exactly frown, but apparently fell into a doze again, and said, as he sat on the window-sill:—

“The authorities have so ordered, which shows that it is necessary,” and betook himself once more to his note-book.  I went out on the porch, to the cab.

“Well, how did it turn out?  Have they arrested him?” asked the cabman.  The man was evidently interested in this affair also.

“Yes,” I answered.  The cabman shook his head.  “Why is it forbidden here in Moscow to ask alms in Christ’s name?” I inquired.

“Who knows?” said the cabman.

“How is this?” said I, “he is Christ’s poor, and he is taken to the station-house.”

“A stop has been put to that now, it is not allowed,” said the cab-driver.

On several occasions afterwards, I saw policemen conducting beggars to the station house, and then to the Yusupoff house of correction.  Once I encountered on the Myasnitzkaya a company of these beggars, about thirty in number.  In front of them and behind them marched policemen.  I inquired: “What for?”—“For asking alms.”

It turned out that all these beggars, several of whom you meet with in every street in Moscow, and who stand in files near every church during services, and especially during funeral services, are forbidden to ask alms.

But why are some of them caught and locked up somewhere, while others are left