“And that’s a representative of the people!” thought Mezhenétsky, as he left the old man. “And he is one of the best of them—and such ignorance! … They say” (he was thinking of Román and his friends) “that with the people as they are now, nothing can be done.”
At one time Mezhenétsky had carried on his Revolutionary activity among the peasants, and was therefore aware of the “inertia,” as he called it, of the Russian folk. He had met soldiers, some in service and some discharged, and knew their tenacious, obtuse belief in the validity of oaths and the necessity of submission; as well as the impossibility of influencing them by arguments. He knew all this, but had never arrived at the conclusion which should have been the evident outcome of that knowledge.
His talk with the Revolutionists had troubled and irritated him. “They say that all we have done—what Haltoúrin, Kibáltchitch, Sophie Peróvsky did—was unnecessary, and even harmful; and that we caused the reaction of Alexander III ’s time … that, thanks to us, the people are convinced that the whole Revolutionary movement comes from landlords, who killed the Tsar because he took the serfs from them! What rubbish! What a want of understanding, and what insolence to imagine it!” he thought, continuing to pace the corridor. All the cells had now been closed, except the one where the new Revolutionists were. As he drew near he heard the laughter of the dark woman who was so antipathetic to him, and the rasping, determined sound of Román’s voice. Román was saying:
“… unable to understand the laws of economy, they took no account of what they were doing. And in a great measure it was …”