n any one asks
you where you've come from and why you've come, you don't know what to
say. But, however, even that is not so important. You've only to stand a
drink and lie as much as you like."

"And you? Did you lie?"

"Of course I did, as much as I could. And then I've discovered that
absolutely everyone you come across is discontented, only no one cares
to find out the remedy for this discontent. I made a very poor show at
propaganda, only succeeded in leaving a couple of pamphlets in a room
and shoving a third into a cart. What may come of them the Lord only
knows! I ran across four men whom I offered some pamphlets. The first
asked if it was a religious book and refused to take it; the second
could not read, but took it home to his children for the sake of the
picture on the cover; the third seemed hopeful at first, but ended by
abusing me soundly and also not taking it; the fourth took a little
book, thanked me very much, but I doubt if he understood a single word I
said to him. Besides that, a dog bit my leg, a peasant woman threatened
me with a poker from the door of her hut, shouting, 'Ugh! you pig! You
Moscow rascals! There's no end to you!' and then a soldier shouted after
me, 'Hi, there! We'll make mince-meat of you!' and he got drunk at my
expense!"

"Well, and what else?

"What else? I've got a blister on my foot; one of my boots is horribly
large. And now I'm as hungry as a wolf and my head is splitting from the
vodka."

"Why, did you drink much?"

"No, only a little to set the example, but I've been in five
public-houses. I can't endure this beastliness, vodka. Goodness knows
why our people drink it. If one must drink this stuff in order to become
simplified, then I had rather be excused!"

"And so no one suspected you?"

"No one, with the exception, perhaps, of a bar-man, a stout individual
with pale eyes, who did look at me somewhat suspiciously. I overheard
him saying to his wife, 'Keep an eye on that carroty-haired one with
the squint.' (I was not aware until that moment that I had a squint.)
'There's something wrong about him. See how he's sticking over his
vodka.' What he meant by 'sticking' exactly, I didn't understand, but it
could hardly have been to my credit. It reminded me of the mauvais ton
in Gogol's "Revisor", do you remember? Perhaps because I tried to pour
my vodka under the table. Oh dear! It is difficult for an aesthetic
creature like me to come in contact with real life."