f a hundred and fifty rubles for a
cottage is the object of a long, laborious life. Each woman knows this.
How could she enjoy herself, when she knew that she wore on her bared
body at that ball the cottage which is the dream of her good maid's
father and brother? But let us suppose that she could not make this
reflection; but since velvet and silk and flowers and lace and dresses do
not grow of themselves, but are made by people, it would seem that she
could not help knowing what sort of people make all these things, and
under what conditions, and why they do it. She cannot fail to know that
the seamstress, with whom she has already quarrelled, did not make her
dress in the least out of love for her; therefore, she cannot help
knowing that all these things were made for her as a matter of necessity,
that her laces, flowers, and velvet have been made in the same way as her
dress.

But possibly they are in such darkness that they do not consider this.
One thing she cannot fail to know,--that five or six elderly and
respectable, often sick, lackeys and maids have had no sleep, and have
been put to trouble on her account. She has seen their weary, gloomy
faces. She could not help knowing this also, that the cold that night
reached twenty-eight degrees below zero, {155} and that the old coachman
sat all night long in that temperature on his box. But I know that they
really do not see this. And if they, these young women and girls, do not
see this, on account of the hypnotic state superinduced in them by balls,
it is impossible to condemn them. They, poor things, have done what is
considered right by their elders; but how are their elders to explain
away this their cruelty to the people?

The elders always offer the explanation: "I compel no one. I purchase my
things; I hire my men, my maid-servants, and my coachman. There is
nothing wrong in buying and hiring. I force no one's inclination: I
hire, and what harm is there in that?"

I recently went to see an acquaintance. As I passed through one of the
rooms, I was surprised to see two women seated at a table, as I knew that
my friend was a bachelor. A thin, yellow, old-fashioned woman, thirty
years of age, in a dress that had been carelessly thrown on, was doing
something with her hands and fingers on the table, with great speed,
trembling nervously the while, as though in a fit. Opposite her sat a
young girl, who was also engaged in something, and who trembl