IT happened like this.

Sitting down beside Pavel in the cart, Nejdanov fell into a state of great excitement. As soon as they rolled out of the courtyard onto the high road leading to T. he began shouting out the most absurd things to the peasants he met on the way. “Why are you asleep? Rouse yourself! The time has come! Down with the taxes! Down with the landlords!”

Some of the peasants stared at him in amazement, others passed on without taking any notice of him, thinking that he was drunk; one even said when he got home that he had met a Frenchman on the way who was jabbering away at something he did not understand. Nejdanov had common sense enough to know that what he was doing was unutterably stupid and absurd had he not got himself up to such a pitch of excitement that he was no longer able to discriminate between sense and nonsense. Pavel tried to quiet him, saying that it was impossible to go on like that; that they were quite near a large village, the first on the borders of T., and that there they could look around. . . . But Nejdanov would not calm down, and at the same time his face bore a sad, almost despairing, expression. Their horse was an energetic, round little thing, with a clipped mane on its scraggy neck. It tugged at the reins, and its strong little legs flew as fast as they could, just as if it were conscious of bearing important people to the scene of action. Just before they reached the village, Nejdanov saw a group of about eight peasants standing by the side of the road at the closed doors of a granary. He instantly jumped out of the cart, rushed up to them, and began shouting at them, thumping his fists and gesticulating for about five minutes. The words “For Freedom! March on! Put the shoulder to the wheel!” could be distinguished from among the rest of his confused words.

The peasants, who had met before the granary for the purpose of discussing how to fill it once more — if only to show that they were doing something (it was the communal granary and consequently empty)— fixed their eyes on Nejdanov and seemed to listen to him with the greatest attention, but they had evidently not understood a word he had said, for no sooner was his back turned, shouting for the last time “Freedom!” as he rushed away, when one of them, the most sagacious of the lot, shook his head saying, “What a severe one!” “He must be an officer,” another remarked, to which the wise one said: “We know all about that — he doesn’t talk for nothing. We’ll have to pay the piper.”

“Heavens! what nonsense this all is! “ Nejdanov thought to himself, as he sat down next to Pavel in the cart. “But then none of us know how to get at the people — perhaps this is the right way after all! Who knows? Go on! Does your heart ache? Let it!”

They found themselves in the main street of the village in the middle of which a number of people were gathered together before a tavern. Nejdanov, paying no heed to Pavel, who was trying to hold him back, leapt down from the cart with a cry of “Brothers!” The crowd made way for him and he again began preaching, looking neither to right nor left, as if furious and weeping at the same time. But things turned out quite differently than with his former attempt at the barn. An enormous fellow with a clean- shaven, vicious face, in a short greasy coat, high boots, and a sheepskin cap, came up to him and clapped him on the shoulder.

“All right! my fine fellow!” he bawled out in a wheezy voice; “but wait a bit! good deeds must be rewarded. Come along in here. It’ll be much better talking in there.” He pulled Nejdanov into the tavern, the others streamed in after them. “Michaitch!” the fellow shouted, “twopennyworth! My favourite drink! I want to treat a friend. Who he is, what’s his family, and where he’s from, only the devil knows! Drink!” he said, turning to Nejdanov and handing him a heavy, full glass, wet all over on the outside, as though perspiring, “drink, if you really have any feeling for us!” “Drink!” came a chorus of voices. Nejdanov, who seemed as if in a fever, seized the glass and with a cry of “ I drink to you, children!” drank it off at a gulp. Ugh! He drank it off with the same desperate heroism with which he would have flung himself in storming a battery or on a line of bayonets. But what was happening to him? Something seemed to have struck his spine, his legs, burned his throat, his chest, his stomach, made the tears come into his eyes. A shudder of disgust passed all over him. He began shouting at the top of his voice to drown the throbbing in his head. The dark tavern room suddenly became hot and thick and suffocating — and people, people everywhere! Nejdanov began talking, talking incessantly, shouting furiously, in exasperation, shaking broad rough hands, kissing prickly beards. . . . The enormous fellow in the greasy coat kissed him too, nearly breaking his ribs. This fellow turned out to be a perfect fiend. “I’ll wring the neck,” he shouted, “I’ll wring the neck of anyone who dares to offend our brother! And what’s more, I’ll make mincemeat of him too . . . I’ll make him cry out! That’s nothing to me. I was a butcher and know how to do such jobs!” At this he held up an enormous fist covered with freckles. Someone again shouted, “Drink!” and Nejdanov again swallowed a glass of the filthy poison. But this second time was truly awful! Blunt hooks seemed to be tearing him to pieces inside. His head was in a whirl, green circles swam before his eyes. A hubbub arose . . . 0h horror! a third glass. Was it possible he emptied that too? He seemed to be surrounded by purple noses, dusty heads of hair, tanned necks covered with nets of wrinkles. Rough hands seized him. “Go on!” they bawled out in angry voices, “talk away! The day before yesterday another stranger talked like that. Go on.” The earth seemed reeling under Nejdanov’s feet, his voice sound............