МНОГО ЛИ ЧЕЛОВЕКУ ЗЕМЛИ НУЖНО

For my Russian friends: a Tolstoy story.

МНОГО ЛИ ЧЕЛОВЕКУ ЗЕМЛИ НУЖНО

I

Приехала из города старшая сестра к меньшей в деревню. Старшая за купцом была в городе, а меньшая за мужиком в деревне. Пьют чай сестры, разговаривают. Стала старшая сестра чваниться — свою жизнь в городе выхвалять: как она в городе просторно и чисто живет и ходит, как она детей наряжает, как она сладко ест и пьет и как на катанья, гулянья и в театры ездит.

Обидно стало меньшей сестре, и стала она купеческую жизнь унижать, а свою крестьянскую возвышать.

— Не променяю я,— говорит,— своего житья на твое. Даром что серо живем, да страху не знаем. Вы и почище живете, да либо много наторгуете, либо вовсе проторгуетесь. И пословица живет: барышу наклад — большой брат. Бывает и то: нынче богат, а завтра под окнами находишься. А наше мужицкое дело вернее: у мужика живот тонок, да долог, богаты не будем, да сыты будем.

Стала старшая сестра говорить:

— Сытость-то какая — со свиньями да с телятами! Ни убранства, ни обращенья! Как ни трудись твой хозяин, как живете в навозе, так и помрете, и детям то же будет.

— А что ж,— говорит меньшая, — наше дело такое. Зато твердо живем, никому не кланяемся, никого не боимся. А вы в городу все в соблазнах живете; нынче хорошо, а завтра подвернется нечистый — глядь, и соблазнит хозяина твоего либо на карты, либо на вино, либо на кралю какую. И пойдет все прахом. Разве не бывает?

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Слушал Пахом — хозяин — на печи, что бабы балакают.

— Правда это,— говорит,— истинная. Как наш брат сызмальства ее, землю-матушку, переворачивает, так дурь-то в голову и не пойдет. Одно горе — земли мало! А будь земли вволю, так я никого, и самого черта, не боюсь!

Отпили бабы чай, побалакали еще об нарядах, убрали посуду, полегли спать.

А черт за печкой сидел, все слышал. Обрадовался он, что крестьянская жена на похвальбу мужа навела: похваляется, что, была б у него земля, его и черт не возьмет.

«Ладно, думает, поспорим мы с тобой; я тебе земли много дам. Землей тебя и возьму».

II

Жила рядом с мужиками барынька небольшая. Было у ней сто двадцать десятин земли. И жила прежде с мужиками смирно — не обижала. Да нанялся к ней солдат отставной в приказчики и стал донимать мужиков штрафами. Как ни бережется Пахом, а либо лошадь в овсы забежит, либо корова в сад забредет, либо телята в луга уйдут — за всё штраф.

Расплачивается Пахом и домашних ругает и бьет. И много греха от этого приказчика принял за лето Пахом. Уж и рад был, что скотина на двор стала,— хоть и жалко корму, да страху нет.

Прошел зимой слух, что продает барыня землю и что ладит купить ее дворник с большой дороги. Услыхали мужики, ахнули. «Ну, думают, достанется земля дворнику, замучает штрафами хуже барыни. Нам без этой земли жить нельзя, мы все у ней в кругу». Пришли мужики к барыне миром, стали просить, чтоб не продавала дворнику, а им отдала. Обещали дороже заплатить. Согласилась барыня. Стали мужики ладить миром всю землю купить; сбирались и раз и два на сходки — не сошлось дело. Разбивает их нечистый, никак не могут согласиться. И порешили мужики порознь покупать, сколько кто осилит. Согласилась и на это барыня. Услыхал Пахом, что купил у барыни двадцать десятин сосед и она ему половину денег на года рассрочила. Завидно стало

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Пахому: «Раскупят, думает, всю землю, останусь я ни при чем». Стал с женой советовать.

— Люди покупают, надо,— говорит,— и нам купить десятин десяток. А то жить нельзя: одолел приказчик штрафами.

Обдумали, как купить. Было у них отложено сто рублей, да жеребенка продали, да пчел половину, да сына заложили в работники, да еще у свояка занял, и набралась половина денег.

Собрал Пахом деньги, облюбовал землю, пятнадцать десятин с лесочком, и пошел к барыне торговаться. Выторговал пятнадцать десятин, ударил по рукам и задаток дал. Поехали в город, купчую закрепили, деньги половину отдал, остальные в два года обязался выплатить.

И стал Пахом с землей. Занял Пахом семян, посеял покупную землю; родилось хорошо. В один год выплатил долг и барыне и свояку. И стал Пахом помещиком: свою землю пахал и сеял, на своей земле сено косил, со своей земли колья рубил и на своей земле скотину кормил. Выедет Пахом на свою вечную землю пахать или придет всходы и луга посмотреть — не нарадуется. И трава-то, ему кажется, растет, и цветы-то цветут на ней совсем иные. Бывало, проезжал по этой земле — земля как земля, а теперь совсем земля особенная стала.

III

Живет так Пахом, радуется. Все бы хорошо, только стали мужики у Пахома хлеб и луга травить. Честью просил, все не унимаются: то пастухи упустят коров в луга, то лошади из ночного на хлеба зайдут. И сгонял Пахом и прощал, все не судился, потом наскучило, стал в волостное жаловаться. И знает, что от тесноты, а не с умыслом делают мужики, а думает: «Нельзя же и спускать, этак они все вытравят. Надо поучить».

Поучил так судом раз, поучил другой, оштрафовали одного, другого. Стали мужики-соседи на Пахома сердце держать; стали другой раз и нарочно травить. Забрался какой-то ночью в лесок, десяток липок на лыки срезал. Проехал по лесу Пахом — глядь, белеется. Подъехал — лутошки брошены лежат, и пенушки торчат. Хоть бы из куста крайние срезал, одну оставил, а то подряд, злодей,

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все счистил. Обозлился Пахом: «Ах, думает, вызнать бы, кто это сделал; уж я бы ему выместил». Думал, думал, кто: «Больше некому, думает, как Семке». Пошел к Семке на двор искать, ничего не нашел, только поругались. И еще больше уверился Пахом, что Семен сделал. Подал прошение. Вызвали на суд. Судили, судили — оправдали мужика: улик нет. Еще пуще обиделся Пахом; с старшиной и с судьями разругался.

— Вы,— говорит,— воров руку тянете. Кабы сами по правде жили, не оправляли бы воров.

Поссорился Пахом и с судьями и с соседями. Стали ему и красным петухом грозиться. Стало Пахому в земле жить просторней, а в миру теснее.

И прошел в то время слух, что идет народ на новые места. И думает Пахом: «Самому мне от своей земли идти незачем, а вот кабы из наших кто пошли, у нас бы просторнее стало. Я бы их землю на себя взял, себе в круг пригнал; житье бы лучше стало. А то все теснота».

Сидит раз Пахом дома, заходит мужик прохожий. Пустили ночевать мужика, покормили, разговорились — откуда, мол, бог несет? Говорит мужик, что идет снизу, из-за Волги, там в работе был. Слово за слово, рассказывает мужик, как туда народ селиться идет. Рассказывает, поселились там ихние, приписались в общество, и нарезали им по десять десятин на душу.

— А земля такая,— говорит,— что посеяли ржи, так солома — лошади не видать, а густая, что горстей пять — и сноп. Один мужик,— говорит,— совсем бедный, с одними руками пришел, а теперь шесть лошадей, две коровы.

Разгорелось у Пахома сердце. Думает: «Что ж тут в тесноте бедствовать, коли можно хорошо жить. Продам здесь и землю и двор; там я на эти деньги выстроюсь и заведенье все заведу. А здесь в этой тесноте — грех один. Только самому все путем вызнать надо».

Собрался на лето, пошел. До Самары плыл по Волге вниз на пароходе, потом пеший верст четыреста прошел. Дошел до места. Все так точно. Живут мужики просторно, по десять десятин земли на душу нарезано, и принимают в общество с охотой. А коли кто с денежками, покупай, кроме надельной, в вечную, сколько хочешь, по три рубля самой первой земли; сколько хочешь, купить можно!

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Разузнал все Пахом, вернулся к осени домой, стал все распродавать. Продал землю с барышом, продал двор свой, продал скотину всю, выписался из общества, дождался весны и поехал с семьей на новые места.

IV

Приехал Пахом на новые места с семейством, приписался в большое село в общество. Попоил стариков, бумаги все выправил. Приняли Пахома, нарезали ему на пять душ надельной земли пятьдесят десятин в разных полях, кроме выгона. Построился Пахом, скотину завел. Земли у него одной душевой против прежнего втрое стало. И земля хлебородная. Житье против того, что на старине было, вдесятеро лучше. И пахотной земли и кормов вволю. Скотины сколько хочешь держи.

Сначала, покуда строился да заводился, хорошо показалось Пахому, да обжился — и на этой земле тесно показалось. Посеял первый год Пахом пшеницу на душевой — хороша уродилась. Разохотился он пшеницу сеять, а душевой земли мало. И какая есть — не годится. Пшеницу там на ковыльной или залежной земле сеют. Посеют год, два и запускают, пока опять ковылем прорастет. А на такую землю охотников много, на всех и не хватает. Тоже из-за нее споры; побогаче кто — хотят сами сеять, а бедняки отдают купцам за подати. Захотел Пахом побольше посеять. Поехал на другой год к купцу, купил земли на год. Посеял побольше — родилось хорошо; да далеко от села — верст за пятнадцать возить надо. Видит — в округе купцы-мужики хуторами живут, богатеют. «То ли дело,— думает Пахом,— коли бы тоже в вечность землицы купить да построить хутор. Все бы в кругу было». И стал подумывать Пахом, как бы земли в вечность купить.

Прожил так Пахом три года. Снимал землю, пшеницу сеял. Года вышли хорошие, и пшеница хороша рожалась, и деньги залежные завелись. Жить бы да жить, да скучно показалось Пахому каждый год в людях землю покупать, из-за земли воловодиться: где хорошенькая землица есть, сейчас налетят мужики, всю разберут; не поспел укупить, и не на чем сеять. А то купил на третий год с купцом пополам выгон у мужиков; и вспахали уж, да засудились

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мужики, так и пропала работа. «Кабы своя земля была, думает, никому бы не кланялся, и греха бы не было».

И стал Пахом разузнавать, где купить земли в вечность. И попал на мужика. Были куплены у мужика пять, сот десятин, да разорился он и продает задешево. Стал Пахом ладить с ним. Толковал, толковал — сладился за тысячу пятьсот рублей, половину денег обождать. Совсем уж было поладили, да заезжает раз к Пахому купец проезжий на двор покормить. Попили чайку, поговорили. Рассказывает купец, что едет он из дальних башкир. Там, рассказывает, купил у башкирцев земли тысяч пять десятин. И стало всего тысяча рублей. Стал расспрашивать Пахом. Рассказал купец.

— Только,— говорит,— стариков ублаготворил. Халатов, ковров раздарил рублей на сто, да цибик чаю, да попоил винцом, кто пьет. И по двадцать копеек за десятину взял. — Показывает купчую. — Земля,— говорит,— по речке, и степь вся ковыльная.

Стал расспрашивать Пахом, как и что.

— Земли,— говорит купец,— там не обойдешь и в год: все башкирская. А народ несмышленый, как бараны. Можно почти даром взять.

«Ну,— думает Пахом,— что ж мне за мои тысячу рублей пятьсот десятин купить да еще долг на шею забрать. А тут я за тысячу рублей чем завладаю!»

V

Расспросил Пахом, как проехать, и только проводил купца, собрался сам ехать. Оставил дом на жену, сам собрался с работником, поехал. Заехали в город, купили чаю цибик, подарков, вина — все, как купец сказал. Ехали, ехали, верст пятьсот отъехали. На седьмые сутки приехали на башкирскую кочевку. Все так, как купец говорил. Живут все в степи, над речкой, в кибитках войлочных. Сами не пашут и хлеба не едят. А в степи скотина ходит и лошади косяками. За кибитками жеребята привязаны, и к ним два раза в день маток пригоняют; кобылье молоко доят и из него кумыс делают. Бабы кумыс болтают и сыр делают, а мужики только и знают — кумыс и чай пьют, баранину едят да на дудках играют. Гладкие все,

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веселые, все лето празднуют. Народ совсем темный, и по-русски не знают, а ласковый.

Только увидали Пахома, повышли из кибиток башкирцы, обступили гостя. Нашелся переводчик. Сказал ему Пахом, что он об земле приехал. Обрадовались башкирцы, подхватили Пахома, свели его в кибитку хорошую, посадили на ковры, подложили под него подушек пуховых, сели кругом, стали угощать чаем, кумысом. Барана зарезали и бараниной накормили. Достал Пахом из тарантаса подарки, стал башкирцам раздавать. Одарил Пахом башкирцев подарками и чай разделил. Обрадовались башкирцы. Лопотали, лопотали промеж себя, потом велели переводчику говорить.

— Велят тебе сказать,— говорит переводчик,— что они полюбили тебя и что у нас обычай такой — гостю всякое удовольствие делать и за подарки отдаривать. Ты нас одарил; теперь скажи, что тебе из нашего полюбится, чтоб тебя отдарить?

— Полюбилась мне,— говорит Пахом,— больше всего у вас земля. У нас,— говорит,— в земле теснота, да и земля выпаханная, а у вас земли много и земля хороша. Я такой и не видывал.

Передал переводчик. Поговорили, поговорили башкирцы. Не понимает Пахом, что они говорят, а видит, что веселы, кричат что-то, смеются. Затихли потом, смотрят на Пахома, а переводчик говорит:

— Велят,— говорит,— они тебе сказать, что за твое добро рады тебе сколько хочешь земли отдать. Только рукой покажи какую — твоя будет.

Поговорили они еще и что-то спорить стали. И спросил Пахом, о чем спорят. И сказал переводчик:

— Говорят одни, что надо об земле старшину спросить, а без него нельзя. А другие говорят, и без него можно.

VI

Спорят башкирцы, вдруг идет человек в шапке лисьей. Замолчали все и встали. И говорит переводчик:

— Это старшина самый.

Сейчас достал Пахом лучший халат и поднес старшине и еще чаю пять фунтов. Принял старшина и сел на

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первое место. И сейчас стали говорить ему что-то башкирцы. Слушал, слушал старшина, кивнул головой, чтоб они замолчали, и стал говорить Пахому по-русски.

— Что ж,— говорит,— можно. Бери, где полюбится. Земли много.

«Как же я возьму, сколько хочу,— думает Пахом.— Надо же как ни есть закрепить. А то скажут твоя, а потом отнимут».

— Благодарим вас,— говорит,— на добром слове. Земли ведь у вас много, а мне немножко надо. Только бы мне знать, какая моя будет. Уж как-нибудь все-таки отмерять да закрепить за мной надо. А то в смерти-животе бог волен. Вы, добрые люди, даете, а придется — дети ваши отнимут.

— Правда твоя,— говорит старшина,— закрепить можно.

Стал Пахом говорить:

— Я вот слышал, у вас купец был. Вы ему тоже землицы подарили и купчую сделали; так и мне бы тоже.

Все понял старшина.

— Это все можно,— говорит. — У нас и писарь есть, и в город поедем, и все печати приложим.

— А цена какая будет? — говорит Пахом.

— Цена у нас одна: тысяча рублей за день.

Не понял Пахом.

— Какая же это мера — день? Сколько в ней десятин будет?

— Мы этого,— говорит,— не умеем считать. А мы за день продаем; сколько обойдешь в день, то и твое, а цена дню тысяча рублей.

Удивился Пахом.

— Да ведь это,— говорит,— в день обойти, земли много будет.

Засмеялся старшина.

— Вся твоя!— говорит. — Только один уговор: если назад не придешь в день к тому месту, с какого возьмешься, пропали твои деньги.

— А как же,— говорит Пахом,— отметить, где я пройду?

— А мы станем на место, где ты облюбуешь, мы стоять будем, а ты иди, делай круг; а с собой скребку возьми и, где надобно, замечай, на углах ямки рой, дернички клади, потом с ямки на ямку плугом проедем. Какой

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хочешь круг забирай, только до захода солнца приходи к тому месту, с какого взялся. Что обойдешь, все твое.

Обрадовался Пахом. Порешили наране выезжать. Потолковали, попили еще кумысу, баранины поели, еще чаю напились; стало дело к ночи. Уложили Пахома спать на пуховике, и разошлись башкирцы. Обещались завтра на зорьке собраться, до солнца на место выехать.

VII

Лег Пахом на пуховики, и не спится ему, все про землю думает. «Отхвачу, думает, палестину большую. Верст пятьдесят обойду в день-то. День-то нынче что год; в пятидесяти верстах земли-то что будет. Какую похуже — продам или мужиков пущу, а любенькую отберу, сам на ней сяду. Плуга два быков заведу, человека два работников принайму; десятинок полсотни пахать буду, а на остальной скотину нагуливать стану».

Не заснул всю ночь Пахом. Перед зарей только забылся. Только забылся — и видит он сон. Видит он, что лежит будто он в этой самой кибитке и слышит — наружу гогочет кто-то. И будто захотелось ему посмотреть, кто такой смеется, и встал он, вышел из кибитки и видит — сидит тот самый старшина башкирский перед кибиткой, за живот ухватился обеими руками, закатывается, гогочет на что-то. Подошел он и спросил: «Чему смеешься?» И видит он, будто это не старшина башкирский, а купец намеднишний, что к ним заезжал, об земле рассказывал. И только спросил у купца: «Ты давно ли тут?» — а это уж и не купец, а тот самый мужик, что на старине снизу заходил. И видит Пахом, что будто и не мужик это, а сам дьявол, с рогами и с копытами, сидит, хохочет, а перед ним лежит человек босиком, в рубахе и портках. И будто поглядел Пахом пристальней, что за человек такой? И видит, что человек мертвый и что это — он сам. Ужаснулся Пахом и проснулся. Проснулся. «Чего не приснится», — думает. Огляделся; видит в открытую дверь — уж бело становится, светать начинает. «Надо, думает, будить народ, пора ехать». Поднялся Пахом, разбудил работника в тарантасе, велел запрягать и пошел башкирцев будить.

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— Пора,— говорит,— на степь ехать, отмерять.

Повставали башкирцы, собрались все, и старшина пришел. Зачали башкирцы опять кумыс пить, хотели Пахома угостить чаем, да не стал он дожидаться.

— Коли ехать, так ехать,— говорит,— пора.

VIII

Собрались башкирцы, сели — кто верхами, кто в тарантасы, поехали. А Пахом с работником на своем тарантасике поехали и с собой скребку взяли. Приехали в степь, заря занимается. Въехали на бугорок, по-башкирски — на шихан. Вылезли из тарантасов, послезали с лошадей, сошлись в кучку. Подошел старшина к Пахому, показал рукой.

— Вот,— говорит,— вся наша, что глазом окинешь. Выбирай любую.

Разгорелись глаза у Пахома: земля вся ковыльная, ровная как ладонь, черная как мак, а где лощинка — так разнотравье, трава по груди.

Снял старшина шапку лисью, поставил на землю.

— Вот,— говорит,— метка будет. Отсюда пойди, сюда приходи. Что обойдешь, все твое будет.

Вынул Пахом деньги, положил на шапку, снял кафтан, в одной поддевке остался, перепоясался потуже под брюхо кушаком, подтянулся; сумочку с хлебом за пазуху положил, баклажку с водой к кушаку привязал, подтянул голенища, взял скребку у работника, собрался идти. Думал, думал, в какую сторону взять,— везде хорошо. Думает: «Все одно: пойду на восход солнца». Стал лицом к солнцу, размялся, ждет, чтобы показалось оно из-за края. Думает: «Ничего времени пропускать не стану. Холодком и идти легче». Только брызнуло из-за края солнце, вскинул Пахом скребку на плечо и пошел в степь.

Пошел Пахом ни тихо, ни скоро. Отошел с версту; остановился, вырыл ямку и дернички друг на дружку положил, чтоб приметней было. Пошел дальше. Стал разминаться, стал и шагу прибавлять. Отошел еще, вырыл еще другую ямку.

Оглянулся Пахом. На солнце хорошо видно шихан, и народ стоит, и у тарантасов на колесах шины блестят.

366

Угадывает Пахом, что верст пять прошел. Согреваться стал, снял поддевку, вскинул на плечо, пошел дальше. Отошел еще верст пять. Тепло стало. Взглянул на солнышко — уж время об завтраке.

«Одна упряжка прошла,— думает Пахом. — А их четыре в дню, рано еще заворачивать. Дай только разуюсь». Присел, разулся, сапоги за пояс, пошел дальше. Легко идти стало. Думает: «Дай пройду еще верст пяток, тогда влево загибать стану. Место-то хорошо очень, кидать жалко. Что дальше, то лучше». Пошел еще напрямик. Оглянулся — шихан уж чуть видно, и народ, как мураши, на нем чернеется, и чуть блестит что-то.

«Ну,— думает Пахом,— в эту сторону довольно забрал; надо загибать. Да и разопрел — пить хочется». Остановился, вырыл ямку побольше, положил дернички, отвязал баклажку, напился и загнул круто влево. Шел он, шел, трава пришла высокая, и жарко стало.

Стал Пахом уставать; поглядел он на солнышко, видит — самый обед. «Ну, думает, отдохнуть надо». Остановился Пахом, присел. Поел хлебца с водой, а ложиться не стал: думает — ляжешь, да и заснешь. Посидел немного, пошел дальше. Сначала легко пошел. От еды силы прибавилось. Да уж жарко очень стало, да и сон клонить стал; однако все идет, думает — час терпеть, а век жить.

Прошел еще и по этой стороне много, хотел уж загибать влево, да глядь — лощинка подошла сырая; жаль бросать. Думает: «Лен тут хорош уродится». Опять пошел прямо. Захватил лощинку, выкопал ямку за лощиной, загнул второй угол. Оглянулся Пахом на шихан: от тепла затуманилось, качается что-то в воздухе и сквозь мару чуть виднеются люди на шихане — верст пятнадцать до них будет. «Ну,— думает Пахом,— длинны стороны взял, надо эту покороче взять». Пошел третью сторону, стал шагу прибавлять. Посмотрел на солнце — уж оно к полднику подходит, а по третьей стороне всего версты две прошел. И до места все те же верст пятнадцать. «Нет, думает, хоть кривая дача будет, а надо прямиком поспевать. Не забрать бы лишнего. А земли и так уж много». Вырыл Пахом поскорее ямку и повернул прямиком к шихану.

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IX

Идет Пахом прямо на шихан, и тяжело уж ему стало. Разопрел и ноги босиком изрезал и отбил, да и подкашиваться стали. Отдохнуть хочется, а нельзя,— не поспеешь дойти до заката. Солнце не ждет, все спускается да спускается. «Ах, думает, не ошибся ли, не много ли забрал? Что, как не поспеешь?» Взглянет вперед на шихан, взглянет на солнце: до места далеко, а солнце уж недалеко от края.

Идет так Пахом, трудно ему, а все прибавляет да прибавляет шагу. Шел, шел — все еще далеко; побежал рысью. Бросил поддевку, сапоги, баклажку, шапку бросил, только скребку держит, ей попирается. «Ах, думает, позарился я, все дело погубил, не добегу до заката». И еще хуже ему от страха дух захватывает. Бежит Пахом, рубаха и портки от пота к телу липнут, во рту пересохло. В груди как мехи кузнечные раздуваются, а в сердце молотком бьет, и ноги как не свои — подламываются. Жутко стало Пахому, думает: «Как бы не помереть с натуги».

Помереть боится, а остановиться не может. «Столько, думает, пробежал, а теперь остановиться — дураком назовут». Бежал, бежал, подбегает уж близко и слышит: визжат, гайкают на него башкирцы, и от крика ихнего у него еще пуще сердце разгорается. Бежит Пахом из последних сил, а солнце уж к краю подходит, в туман зашло: большое, красное, кровяное стало. Вот-вот закатываться станет. Солнце близко, да и до места уж вовсе не далеко. Видит уж Пахом, и народ на шихане на него руками махает, его подгоняют. Видит шапку лисью на земле и деньги на ней видит; видит и старшину, как он на земле сидит, руками за пузо держится. И вспомнился Пахому сон. «Земли, думает, много, да приведет ли бог на ней жить. Ох, погубил я себя, думает, не добегу».

Взглянул Пахом на солнце, а оно до земли дошло, уж краюшком заходить стало и дугой к краю вырезалось. Наддал из последних сил Пахом, навалился наперед телом, насилу ноги поспевают подставляться, чтоб не упасть. Подбежал Пахом к шихану, вдруг темно стало. Оглянулся — уж зашло солнце. Ахнул Пахом. «Пропали, думает, мои труды». Хотел уж остановиться, да слышит, гайкают всё башкирцы, и вспомнил он, что снизу ему кажет, что

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зашло, а с шихана не зашло еще солнце. Надулся Пахом, взбежал на шихан. На шихане еще светло. Взбежал Пахом, видит — шапка. Перед шапкой сидит старшина, гогочет, руками за пузо держится. Вспомнил Пахом сон, ахнул, подкосились ноги, и упал он наперед, руками до шапки достал.

— Ай, молодец! — закричал старшина. — Много земли завладел!

Подбежал работник Пахомов, хотел поднять его, а у него изо рта кровь течет, и он мертвый лежит.

Пощелкали языками башкирцы, пожалели.

Поднял работник скребку, выкопал Пахому могилу, ровно насколько он от ног до головы захватил — три аршина, и закопал его.

369

How much land does one need?

I'm working on some new ideas and haven't had time to write something original so, I thought I'd share of my favorite stories by Russian author, Lev Tolstoy.

It examines the problem of greed and never having enough. This translation is by Constance Garnett and is in the public domain.

How Much Land Does a Man Need?

by Lev Tolstoy
translated by Constance Garnett

I

An elder sister came to visit her younger sister in the country.
The elder was married to a tradesman in town, the younger to a
peasant in the village. As the sisters sat over their tea talking,
the elder began to boast of the advantages of town life: saying how
comfortably they lived there, how well they dressed, what fine
clothes her children wore, what good things they ate and drank, and
how she went to the theatre, promenades, and entertainments.

The younger sister was piqued, and in turn disparaged the life of a
tradesman, and stood up for that of a peasant.

"I would not change my way of life for yours," said she. "We may
live roughly, but at least we are free from anxiety. You live in
better style than we do, but though you often earn more than you
need, you are very likely to lose all you have. You know the proverb,
'Loss and gain are brothers twain.' It often happens that people who
are wealthy one day are begging their bread the next. Our way is
safer. Though a peasant's life is not a fat one, it is a long one.
We shall never grow rich, but we shall always have enough to eat."

The elder sister said sneeringly:

"Enough? Yes, if you like to share with the pigs and the calves!
What do you know of elegance or manners! However much your good man
may slave, you will die as you are living-on a dung heap-and your
children the same."

"Well, what of that?" replied the younger. "Of course our work is
rough and coarse. But, on the other hand, it is sure; and we need
not bow to any one. But you, in your towns, are surrounded by
temptations; today all may be right, but tomorrow the Evil One may
tempt your husband with cards, wine, or women, and all will go to
ruin. Don't such things happen often enough?"

Pahom, the master of the house, was lying on the top of the oven,
and he listened to the women's chatter.

"It is perfectly true," thought he. "Busy as we are from childhood
tilling Mother Earth, we peasants have no time to let any nonsense
settle in our heads. Our only trouble is that we haven't land
enough. If I had plenty of land, I shouldn't fear the Devil himself!"

The women finished their tea, chatted a while about dress, and then
cleared away the tea-things and lay down to sleep.

But the Devil had been sitting behind the oven, and had heard all
that was said. He was pleased that the peasant's wife had led her
husband into boasting, and that he had said that if he had plenty of
land he would not fear the Devil himself.

"All right," thought the Devil. "We will have a tussle. I'll give you
land enough; and by means of that land I will get you into my power."

II

Close to the village there lived a lady, a small landowner, who had
an estate of about three hundred acres. She had always lived on
good terms with the peasants, until she engaged as her steward an
old soldier, who took to burdening the people with fines. However
careful Pahom tried to be, it happened again and again that now a
horse of his got among the lady's oats, now a cow strayed into her
garden, now his calves found their way into her meadows-and he
always had to pay a fine.

Pahom paid, but grumbled, and, going home in a temper, was rough
with his family. All through that summer Pahom had much trouble
because of this steward; and he was even glad when winter came and
the cattle had to be stabled. Though he grudged the fodder when
they could no longer graze on the pasture-land, at least he was free
from anxiety about them.

In the winter the news got about that the lady was going to sell her
land, and that the keeper of the inn on the high road was bargaining
for it. When the peasants heard this they were very much alarmed.

"Well," thought they, "if the innkeeper gets the land he will worry us
with fines worse than the lady's steward. We all depend on that estate."

So the peasants went on behalf of their Commune, and asked the lady
not to sell the land to the innkeeper; offering her a better price
for it themselves. The lady agreed to let them have it. Then the
peasants tried to arrange for the Commune to buy the whole estate,
so that it might be held by all in common. They met twice to
discuss it, but could not settle the matter; the Evil One sowed
discord among them, and they could not agree. So they decided to
buy the land individually, each according to his means; and the lady
agreed to this plan as she had to the other.

Presently Pahom heard that a neighbor of his was buying fifty acres,
and that the lady had consented to accept one half in cash and to
wait a year for the other half. Pahom felt envious.

"Look at that," thought he, "the land is all being sold, and I shall
get none of it." So he spoke to his wife.

"Other people are buying," said he, "and we must also buy twenty
acres or so. Life is becoming impossible. That steward is simply
crushing us with his fines."

So they put their heads together and considered how they could
manage to buy it. They had one hundred roubles laid by. They sold
a colt, and one half of their bees; hired out one of their sons as a
laborer, and took his wages in advance; borrowed the rest from a
brother-in-law, and so scraped together half the purchase money.

Having done this, Pahom chose out a farm of forty acres, some of it
wooded, and went to the lady to bargain for it. They came to an
agreement, and he shook hands with her upon it, and paid her a
deposit in advance. Then they went to town and signed the deeds; he
paying half the price down, and undertaking to pay the remainder
within two years.

So now Pahom had land of his own. He borrowed seed, and sowed it on
the land he had bought. The harvest was a good one, and within a
year he had managed to pay off his debts both to the lady and to his
brother-in-law. So he became a landowner, ploughing and sowing his
own land, making hay on his own land, cutting his own trees, and
feeding his cattle on his own pasture. When he went out to plough
his fields, or to look at his growing corn, or at his grass meadows,
his heart would fill with joy. The grass that grew and the flowers
that bloomed there, seemed to him unlike any that grew elsewhere.
Formerly, when he had passed by that land, it had appeared the same
as any other land, but now it seemed quite different.





III

So Pahom was well contented, and everything would have been right if
the neighboring peasants would only not have trespassed on his corn-
fields and meadows. He appealed to them most civilly, but they
still went on: now the Communal herdsmen would let the village cows
stray into his meadows; then horses from the night pasture would get
among his corn. Pahom turned them out again and again, and forgave
their owners, and for a long time he forbore from prosecuting any
one. But at last he lost patience and complained to the District
Court. He knew it was the peasants' want of land, and no evil
intent on their part, that caused the trouble; but he thought:

"I cannot go on overlooking it, or they will destroy all I have.
They must be taught a lesson."

So he had them up, gave them one lesson, and then another, and two
or three of the peasants were fined. After a time Pahom's
neighbours began to bear him a grudge for this, and would now and
then let their cattle on his land on purpose. One peasant even got
into Pahom's wood at night and cut down five young lime trees for
their bark. Pahom passing through the wood one day noticed
something white. He came nearer, and saw the stripped trunks lying
on the ground, and close by stood the stumps, where the tree had
been. Pahom was furious.

"If he had only cut one here and there it would have been bad enough,"
thought Pahom, "but the rascal has actually cut down a whole clump.
If I could only find out who did this, I would pay him out."

He racked his brains as to who it could be. Finally he decided: "It
must be Simon-no one else could have done it." Se he went to
Simon's homestead to have a look around, but he found nothing, and
only had an angry scene. However' he now felt more certain than
ever that Simon had done it, and he lodged a complaint. Simon was
summoned. The case was tried, and re-tried, and at the end of it
all Simon was acquitted, there being no evidence against him. Pahom
felt still more aggrieved, and let his anger loose upon the Elder
and the Judges.

"You let thieves grease your palms," said he. "If you were honest
folk yourselves, you would not let a thief go free."

So Pahom quarrelled with the Judges and with his neighbors. Threats
to burn his building began to be uttered. So though Pahom had more
land, his place in the Commune was much worse than before.

About this time a rumor got about that many people were moving to
new parts.

"There's no need for me to leave my land," thought Pahom. "But some
of the others might leave our village, and then there would be more
room for us. I would take over their land myself, and make my
estate a bit bigger. I could then live more at ease. As it is, I
am still too cramped to be comfortable."

One day Pahom was sitting at home, when a peasant passing through
the village, happened to call in. He was allowed to stay the night,
and supper was given him. Pahom had a talk with this peasant and
asked him where he came from. The stranger answered that he came
from beyond the Volga, where he had been working. One word led to
another, and the man went on to say that many people were settling
in those parts. He told how some people from his village had
settled there. They had joined the Commune, and had had twenty-five
acres per man granted them. The land was so good, he said, that the
rye sown on it grew as high as a horse, and so thick that five cuts
of a sickle made a sheaf. One peasant, he said, had brought nothing
with him but his bare hands, and now he had six horses and two cows
of his own.

Pahom's heart kindled with desire. He thought:

"Why should I suffer in this narrow hole, if one can live so well
elsewhere? I will sell my land and my homestead here, and with the
money I will start afresh over there and get everything new. In
this crowded place one is always having trouble. But I must first
go and find out all about it myself."

Towards summer he got ready and started. He went down the Volga on
a steamer to Samara, then walked another three hundred miles on
foot, and at last reached the place. It was just as the stranger
had said. The peasants had plenty of land: every man had twenty-
five acres of Communal land given him for his use, and any one who
had money could buy, besides, at fifty-cents an acre as much good
freehold land as he wanted.

Having found out all he wished to know, Pahom returned home as
autumn came on, and began selling off his belongings. He sold his
land at a profit, sold his homestead and all his cattle, and
withdrew from membership of the Commune. He only waited till the
spring, and then started with his family for the new settlement.


IV

As soon as Pahom and his family arrived at their new abode, he
applied for admission into the Commune of a large village. He stood
treat to the Elders, and obtained the necessary documents. Five
shares of Communal land were given him for his own and his sons'
use: that is to say--125 acres (not altogether, but in different
fields) besides the use of the Communal pasture. Pahom put up the
buildings he needed, and bought cattle. Of the Communal land alone
he had three times as much as at his former home, and the land was
good corn-land. He was ten times better off than he had been. He
had plenty of arable land and pasturage, and could keep as many head
of cattle as he liked.

At first, in the bustle of building and settling down, Pahom was
pleased with it all, but when he got used to it he began to think
that even here he had not enough land. The first year, he sowed
wheat on his share of the Communal land, and had a good crop. He
wanted to go on sowing wheat, but had not enough Communal land for
the purpose, and what he had already used was not available; for in
those parts wheat is only sown on virgin soil or on fallow land. It
is sown for one or two years, and then the land lies fallow till it
is again overgrown with prairie grass. There were many who wanted
such land, and there was not enough for all; so that people
quarrelled about it. Those who were better off, wanted it for
growing wheat, and those who were poor, wanted it to let to dealers,
so that they might raise money to pay their taxes. Pahom wanted to
sow more wheat; so he rented land from a dealer for a year. He
sowed much wheat and had a fine crop, but the land was too far from
the village--the wheat had to be carted more than ten miles. After
a time Pahom noticed that some peasant-dealers were living on
separate farms, and were growing wealthy; and he thought:

"If I were to buy some freehold land, and have a homestead on it, it
would be a different thing, altogether. Then it would all be nice
and compact."

The question of buying freehold land recurred to him again and again.

He went on in the same way for three years; renting land and sowing
wheat. The seasons turned out well and the crops were good, so that
he began to lay money by. He might have gone on living contentedly,
but he grew tired of having to rent other people's land every year,
and having to scramble for it. Wherever there was good land to be
had, the peasants would rush for it and it was taken up at once, so
that unless you were sharp about it you got none. It happened in
the third year that he and a dealer together rented a piece of
pasture land from some peasants; and they had already ploughed it
up, when there was some dispute, and the peasants went to law about
it, and things fell out so that the labor was all lost.
"If it were my own land," thought Pahom, "I should be independent,
and there would not be all this unpleasantness."

So Pahom began looking out for land which he could buy; and he came
across a peasant who had bought thirteen hundred acres, but having
got into difficulties was willing to sell again cheap. Pahom
bargained and haggled with him, and at last they settled the price
at 1,500 roubles, part in cash and part to be paid later. They had
all but clinched the matter, when a passing dealer happened to stop
at Pahom's one day to get a feed for his horse. He drank tea with
Pahom, and they had a talk. The dealer said that he was just
returning from the land of the Bashkirs, far away, where he had
bought thirteen thousand acres of land all for 1,000 roubles. Pahom
questioned him further, and the tradesman said:

"All one need do is to make friends with the chiefs. I gave away
about one hundred roubles' worth of dressing-gowns and carpets,
besides a case of tea, and I gave wine to those who would drink it;
and I got the land for less than two cents an acre. And he showed
Pahom the title-deeds, saying:

"The land lies near a river, and the whole prairie is virgin soil."

Pahom plied him with questions, and the tradesman said:

"There is more land there than you could cover if you walked a year,
and it all belongs to the Bashkirs. They are as simple as sheep,
and land can be got almost for nothing."

"There now," thought Pahom, "with my one thousand roubles, why
should I get only thirteen hundred acres, and saddle myself with a
debt besides. If I take it out there, I can get more than ten times
as much for the money."


V

Pahom inquired how to get to the place, and as soon as the tradesman
had left him, he prepared to go there himself. He left his wife to
look after the homestead, and started on his journey taking his man
with him. They stopped at a town on their way, and bought a case of
tea, some wine, and other presents, as the tradesman had advised.
On and on they went until they had gone more than three hundred
miles, and on the seventh day they came to a place where the
Bashkirs had pitched their tents. It was all just as the tradesman
had said. The people lived on the steppes, by a river, in felt-
covered tents. They neither tilled the ground, nor ate bread.
Their cattle and horses grazed in herds on the steppe. The colts
were tethered behind the tents, and the mares were driven to them
twice a day. The mares were milked, and from the milk kumiss was
made. It was the women who prepared kumiss, and they also made
cheese. As far as the men were concerned, drinking kumiss and tea,
eating mutton, and playing on their pipes, was all they cared about.
They were all stout and merry, and all the summer long they never
thought of doing any work. They were quite ignorant, and knew no
Russian, but were good-natured enough.

As soon as they saw Pahom, they came out of their tents and gathered
round their visitor. An interpreter was found, and Pahom told them
he had come about some land. The Bashkirs seemed very glad; they
took Pahom and led him into one of the best tents, where they made
him sit on some down cushions placed on a carpet, while they sat
round him. They gave him tea and kumiss, and had a sheep killed,
and gave him mutton to eat. Pahom took presents out of his cart and
distributed them among the Bashkirs, and divided amongst them the
tea. The Bashkirs were delighted. They talked a great deal among
themselves, and then told the interpreter to translate.

"They wish to tell you," said the interpreter, "that they like you,
and that it is our custom to do all we can to please a guest and to
repay him for his gifts. You have given us presents, now tell us
which of the things we possess please you best, that we may present
them to you."

"What pleases me best here," answered Pahom, "is your land. Our
land is crowded, and the soil is exhausted; but you have plenty of
land and it is good land. I never saw the like of it."

The interpreter translated. The Bashkirs talked among themselves
for a while. Pahom could not understand what they were saying, but
saw that they were much amused, and that they shouted and laughed.
Then they were silent and looked at Pahom while the interpreter said:

"They wish me to tell you that in return for your presents they will
gladly give you as much land as you want. You have only to point it
out with your hand and it is yours."

The Bashkirs talked again for a while and began to dispute. Pahom
asked what they were disputing about, and the interpreter told him
that some of them thought they ought to ask their Chief about the
land and not act in his absence, while others thought there was no
need to wait for his return.


VI

While the Bashkirs were disputing, a man in a large fox-fur cap
appeared on the scene. They all became silent and rose to their
feet. The interpreter said, "This is our Chief himself."

Pahom immediately fetched the best dressing-gown and five pounds of
tea, and offered these to the Chief. The Chief accepted them, and
seated himself in the place of honour. The Bashkirs at once began
telling him something. The Chief listened for a while, then made a
sign with his head for them to be silent, and addressing himself to
Pahom, said in Russian:

"Well, let it be so. Choose whatever piece of land you like; we
have plenty of it."

"How can I take as much as I like?" thought Pahom. "I must get a
deed to make it secure, or else they may say, 'It is yours,' and
afterwards may take it away again."

"Thank you for your kind words," he said aloud. "You have much
land, and I only want a little. But I should like to be sure which
bit is mine. Could it not be measured and made over to me? Life and
death are in God's hands. You good people give it to me, but your
children might wish to take it away again."

"You are quite right," said the Chief. "We will make it over to you."

"I heard that a dealer had been here," continued Pahom, "and that
you gave him a little land, too, and signed title-deeds to that
effect. I should like to have it done in the same way."

The Chief understood.

"Yes," replied he, "that can be done quite easily. We have a scribe,
and we will go to town with you and have the deed properly sealed."

"And what will be the price?" asked Pahom.

"Our price is always the same: one thousand roubles a day."

Pahom did not understand.

"A day? What measure is that? How many acres would that be?"

"We do not know how to reckon it out," said the Chief. "We sell it
by the day. As much as you can go round on your feet in a day is
yours, and the price is one thousand roubles a day."

Pahom was surprised.

"But in a day you can get round a large tract of land," he said.

The Chief laughed.

"It will all be yours!" said he. "But there is one condition: If
you don't return on the same day to the spot whence you started,
your money is lost."

"But how am I to mark the way that I have gone?"

"Why, we shall go to any spot you like, and stay there. You must
start from that spot and make your round, taking a spade with you.
Wherever you think necessary, make a mark. At every turning, dig a
hole and pile up the turf; then afterwards we will go round with a
plough from hole to hole. You may make as large a circuit as you
please, but before the sun sets you must return to the place you
started from. All the land you cover will be yours."

Pahom was delighted. It-was decided to start early next morning.
They talked a while, and after drinking some more kumiss and eating
some more mutton, they had tea again, and then the night came on.
They gave Pahom a feather-bed to sleep on, and the Bashkirs
dispersed for the night, promising to assemble the next morning at
daybreak and ride out before sunrise to the appointed spot.


VII

Pahom lay on the feather-bed, but could not sleep. He kept thinking
about the land.

"What a large tract I will mark off!" thought he. "I can easily go
thirty-five miles in a day. The days are long now, and within a
circuit of thirty-five miles what a lot of land there will be! I
will sell the poorer land, or let it to peasants, but I'll pick out
the best and farm it. I will buy two ox-teams, and hire two more
laborers. About a hundred and fifty acres shall be plough-land, and
I will pasture cattle on the rest."

Pahom lay awake all night, and dozed off only just before dawn.
Hardly were his eyes closed when he had a dream. He thought he was
lying in that same tent, and heard somebody chuckling outside. He
wondered who it could be, and rose and went out, and he saw the
Bashkir Chief sitting in front of the tent holding his side and
rolling about with laughter. Going nearer to the Chief, Pahom
asked: "What are you laughing at?" But he saw that it was no longer
the Chief, but the dealer who had recently stopped at his house and
had told him about the land. Just as Pahom was going to ask, "Have
you been here long?" he saw that it was not the dealer, but the
peasant who had come up from the Volga, long ago, to Pahom's old
home. Then he saw that it was not the peasant either, but the Devil
himself with hoofs and horns, sitting there and chuckling, and
before him lay a man barefoot, prostrate on the ground, with only
trousers and a shirt on. And Pahom dreamt that he looked more
attentively to see what sort of a man it was lying there, and he saw
that the man was dead, and that it was himself! He awoke horror-struck.

"What things one does dream," thought he.

Looking round he saw through the open door that the dawn was breaking.

"It's time to wake them up," thought he. "We ought to be starting."

He got up, roused his man (who was sleeping in his cart), bade him
harness; and went to call the Bashkirs.

"It's time to go to the steppe to measure the land," he said.

The Bashkirs rose and assembled, and the Chief came, too. Then they
began drinking kumiss again, and offered Pahom some tea, but he
would not wait.

"If we are to go, let us go. It is high time," said he.


VIII

The Bashkirs got ready and they all started: some mounted on horses,
and some in carts. Pahom drove in his own small cart with his
servant, and took a spade with him. When they reached the steppe,
the morning red was beginning to kindle. They ascended a hillock
(called by the Bashkirs a shikhan) and dismounting from their carts
and their horses, gathered in one spot. The Chief came up to Pahom
and stretched out his arm towards the plain:

"See," said he, "all this, as far as your eye can reach, is ours.
You may have any part of it you like."

Pahom's eyes glistened: it was all virgin soil, as flat as the palm
of your hand, as black as the seed of a poppy, and in the hollows
different kinds of grasses grew breast high.

The Chief took off his fox-fur cap, placed it on the ground and said:

"This will be the mark. Start from here, and return here again.
All the land you go round shall be yours."

Pahom took out his money and put it on the cap. Then he took off
his outer coat, remaining in his sleeveless under coat. He
unfastened his girdle and tied it tight below his stomach, put a
little bag of bread into the breast of his coat, and tying a flask
of water to his girdle, he drew up the tops of his boots, took the
spade from his man, and stood ready to start. He considered for
some moments which way he had better go--it was tempting everywhere.

"No matter," he concluded, "I will go towards the rising sun."

He turned his face to the east, stretched himself, and waited for
the sun to appear above the rim.

"I must lose no time," he thought, "and it is easier walking while
it is still cool."

The sun's rays had hardly flashed above the horizon, before Pahom,
carrying the spade over his shoulder, went down into the steppe.

Pahom started walking neither slowly nor quickly. After having gone
a thousand yards he stopped, dug a hole and placed pieces of turf
one on another to make it more visible. Then he went on; and now
that he had walked off his stiffness he quickened his pace. After a
while he dug another hole.

Pahom looked back. The hillock could be distinctly seen in the
sunlight, with the people on it, and the glittering tires of the
cartwheels. At a rough guess Pahom concluded that he had walked
three miles. It was growing warmer; he took off his under-coat,
flung it across his shoulder, and went on again. It had grown quite
warm now; he looked at the sun, it was time to think of breakfast.

"The first shift is done, but there are four in a day, and it is too
soon yet to turn. But I will just take off my boots," said he to himself.

He sat down, took off his boots, stuck them into his girdle, and went on.
It was easy walking now.

"I will go on for another three miles," thought he, "and then turn
to the left. The spot is so fine, that it would be a pity to lose
it. The further one goes, the better the land seems."

He went straight on a for a while, and when he looked round, the
hillock was scarcely visible and the people on it looked like black
ants, and he could just see something glistening there in the sun.

"Ah," thought Pahom, "I have gone far enough in this direction, it
is time to turn. Besides I am in a regular sweat, and very thirsty."

He stopped, dug a large hole, and heaped up pieces of turf. Next he
untied his flask, had a drink, and then turned sharply to the left.
He went on and on; the grass was high, and it was very hot.

Pahom began to grow tired: he looked at the sun and saw that it was noon.

"Well," he thought, "I must have a rest."

He sat down, and ate some bread and drank some water; but he did not
lie down, thinking that if he did he might fall asleep. After
sitting a little while, he went on again. At first he walked
easily: the food had strengthened him; but it had become terribly
hot, and he felt sleepy; still he went on, thinking: "An hour to
suffer, a life-time to live."

He went a long way in this direction also, and was about to turn to
the left again, when he perceived a damp hollow: "It would be a pity
to leave that out," he thought. "Flax would do well there." So he
went on past the hollow, and dug a hole on the other side of it
before he turned the corner. Pahom looked towards the hillock. The
heat made the air hazy: it seemed to be quivering, and through the
haze the people on the hillock could scarcely be seen.

"Ah!" thought Pahom, "I have made the sides too long; I must make
this one shorter." And he went along the third side, stepping
faster. He looked at the sun: it was nearly half way to the
horizon, and he had not yet done two miles of the third side of the
square. He was still ten miles from the goal.

"No," he thought, "though it will make my land lopsided, I must
hurry back in a straight line now. I might go too far, and as it is
I have a great deal of land."

So Pahom hurriedly dug a hole, and turned straight towards the hillock.


IX

Pahom went straight towards the hillock, but he now walked with
difficulty. He was done up with the heat, his bare feet were cut
and bruised, and his legs began to fail. He longed to rest, but it
was impossible if he meant to get back before sunset. The sun waits
for no man, and it was sinking lower and lower.

"Oh dear," he thought, "if only I have not blundered trying for too
much! What if I am too late?"

He looked towards the hillock and at the sun. He was still far from
his goal, and the sun was already near the rim. Pahom walked on and
on; it was very hard walking, but he went quicker and quicker. He
pressed on, but was still far from the place. He began running,
threw away his coat, his boots, his flask, and his cap, and kept
only the spade which he used as a support.

"What shall I do," he thought again, "I have grasped too much, and
ruined the whole affair. I can't get there before the sun sets."

And this fear made him still more breathless. Pahom went on
running, his soaking shirt and trousers stuck to him, and his mouth
was parched. His breast was working like a blacksmith's bellows,
his heart was beating like a hammer, and his legs were giving way as
if they did not belong to him. Pahom was seized with terror lest he
should die of the strain.

Though afraid of death, he could not stop. "After having run all
that way they will call me a fool if I stop now," thought he. And
he ran on and on, and drew near and heard the Bashkirs yelling and
shouting to him, and their cries inflamed his heart still more. He
gathered his last strength and ran on.

The sun was close to the rim, and cloaked in mist looked large, and
red as blood. Now, yes now, it was about to set! The sun was quite
low, but he was also quite near his aim. Pahom could already see
the people on the hillock waving their arms to hurry him up. He
could see the fox-fur cap on the ground, and the money on it, and
the Chief sitting on the ground holding his sides. And Pahom
remembered his dream.

"There is plenty of land," thought he, "but will God let me live on
it? I have lost my life, I have lost my life! I shall never reach
that spot!"

Pahom looked at the sun, which had reached the earth: one side of it
had already disappeared. With all his remaining strength he rushed
on, bending his body forward so that his legs could hardly follow
fast enough to keep him from falling. Just as he reached the
hillock it suddenly grew dark. He looked up--the sun had already
set. He gave a cry: "All my labor has been in vain," thought he,
and was about to stop, but he heard the Bashkirs still shouting, and
remembered that though to him, from below, the sun seemed to have
set, they on the hillock could still see it. He took a long breath
and ran up the hillock. It was still light there. He reached the
top and saw the cap. Before it sat the Chief laughing and holding
his sides. Again Pahom remembered his dream, and he uttered a cry:
his legs gave way beneath him, he fell forward and reached the cap
with his hands.

"Ah, what a fine fellow!" exclaimed the Chief. "He has gained
much land!"

Pahom's servant came running up and tried to raise him, but he saw
that blood was flowing from his mouth. Pahom was dead!

The Bashkirs clicked their tongues to show their pity.

His servant picked up the spade and dug a grave long enough for
Pahom to lie in, and buried him in it. Six feet from his head to
his heels was all he needed.

A World out of Balance

Rage Against the Machine

A simple desultory phillipic

Megacity in China

The 21st Century kali-yuga Necropolis knows no ideology. It is both machine and organism, but has no soul. The machine has absorbed human souls and feeds off them when needed. Humans supply the crucial algorithms to systems that control everything from financial markets to hospitals and border crossings. But the system that runs the mechanical necropolis of the 21st century knows no distinction between capitalism and communism, between Islam and the Judaeo-Christian ethic. It is out of control. The algorithms now rule other algorithms that run the robots that crank the machine. The city is no longer a metropolitan cosmos that thrives on human culture and ideas. It is a robotic entity with no regard for human values. As time advances the Necropolis takes on a cannibalistic character; the only thing that matters to the system is further growth. It has no ideology other than continued growth. This kind of unconcontrolled growth is cancerous. It tends towards the destruction of the organism, in this case, human society. As a consequence we have uncontrolled violence, anger, crime and drug addiction and war.

Megalopolis, Tyrannopolis, Necropolis: Greater Tokyo

When villages became towns and towns became cities, the human element was still important. Control was ceded to mechanisms run by technocrats as the cities became metropolis. Control was lost when cities became monstrous megalopolis or heartless Tyrannopolis. Now we are entering the last phase of urban desolation: the Necropolis, the City of the Dead. https://www.cnbc.com/2014/03/21/megacities-explosive-growth-poses-epic-challenges.html

The Necropolis knows no ideology: GuanZhou, China

The City of the Dead is no longer controlled by human intelligence. We have delegated control to machines that never sleep, networks, and electronic systems. You might ask, "Is Articial Intelligence upon us?" But the question is beyond academic; it is moot. The algorithms that control financial markets, currency conversion, and access to health control no longer need us and have already gone rogue. https://www.wired.com/story/tim-oreilly-algorithms-have-already-gone-rogue/amp

Map of Megalopolis

The tendency for uncontrolled growth and the acceptance of control algorithms in the City of the Dead doesn’t distinguish between religious persuasion, sexual preference, or racial identity; it feeds on all souls equally, rending sweat and blood into liquid gold and silver, boiling flesh and bone into Dollars and Euros, Deutschmarks and Drachma, and even smelting currency down into the ones and zeros of the digital combine.When Machines Rule

Mexico City, Aerial view

The Kali-yuga Necropolis is indiscriminate. The city of the dead uses the technology of metamorphosis to transform potatoes into potato chips, cows into hamburgers, pigs and horses into dog food, life into ashes and the human spirit into stone.

Bombay Kali-yuga Necropolis: the City of the Dead

Even Satan, the fallen angel of Paradise, had a soul. Necropolis has none. The human soul exists only to provide the city of the dead with the precious algorithms that fuel the robot culture. But the machine knows neither remorse nor contrition. Moloch, the golden calf, bloody god of child sacrifice, would run terrified from the kali-yuga monster that is the Necropolis.

Chicago Housing Projects

A frog in gradually heated water doesn’t notice that he is boiling. We may ask how we came to the boiling point, but again,  the point is moot. Cities became metropolis over the centuries. The metropolis became megacities and necrotic necropolis in my lifetime.  We were educated to believe that all growth is good. The cancer that is upon us is unstoppable. While millions self-medicate themselves with recreational drugs, there is no chemo-therapy that can stop the Necropolis.
With the world poised on the brink of nuclear destruction, lamentably perhaps only radiation therapy could halt the progress of the Necropolis, the city of the dead. But reducing the world to ashes in order to rebuild human civilization is unacceptable not only to us, but it is anathema to the prevailing algorithms as well. The machine must grow to survive; no apocalypse is permitted.  Only a gradual eclipse of human culture and life by speeding up the machine and grinding us into soul-less ashes. Thus we spin in an eccentric orbit. We are off balance.

The indigenous native American word for a "world is out balance" is koyaanisqatsi. As the unbalanced world of the Necropolis alters our priorities and values we don't notice since we are busy being forced to run faster and faster just to stay in the same place.

With the uncontrolled growth demanded by the urban evolutionary process, Metropolis must morph into Megalopolis; Megalopolis must morph into Necropolis. The laws of the machine, the algorithms of the corporations must be followed; they are encoded into the system. Human life just isn't as valuable as it used to be. Why should it? A human life is now only a cog in the machine.

It is not a question of being a Republican or a Democrat; Black or White; Catholic or Islam. We all subscribe to the same system. In order to operate we need to co-operate with the system. And now that we have ceded control to the algorithms that run the machine, we can't even question how the system works. You cannot defeat the system. The house always wins.

As Leonard Cohen observed:
Everybody knows that the dice are loaded

Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed

Everybody knows the war is over

Everybody knows the good guys lost

Everybody knows the fight was fixed

The poor stay poor, the rich get rich

That's how it goes Everybody knows.

whats up?

I owe my readers an apology for waxing so prolix. Sometimes I start riffing on ideas and just can't stop. I'll try to be more concise in future. A big shout out to all the folks on parikrama. Gaura hari bol.

Metropolis and Necropolis

Lewis Mumford’s analysis of civilization is hard to find. His Myth of the Machine is unavailable online, his Pentagon of Power has become a rare publication. He swam against the tide of 20th Century boosterism, the optimism of the technological society, and became unpopular.

Lews Mumford: not optimistic enough for the roaring twenties

However, many of his ideas have been adopted by those who value the idea of “Small is Beautiful,” such as economist E.F. Schumacher. Some of the ideas Mumford pioneered in the 1930s, for example, Appropriate technology and sustainable development have become watchwords of the post-modern industrial world.

Mumford’s analysis is worth looking at, since he was writing before the collapse of the economic system in the United States. He correctly predicted trends in urban development long before they happened. At the same time, he analyzed the problems that would arise with that development and questioned the ethos of the paradigm of absolute growth.

In the early part of the twentieth century the lack of development in “third world” countries was seen as the great human tragedy. The solution to the humanitarian disasters of the 1930s was seen in increasing agricultural and industrial production. Stalin’s policy of agrarian collectivization after the shortfalls in grain production is a notable example. While grain production was increased, Stalin’s policies had disastrous results. Stalin’s determination to grow wheat devastated the culture and spiritual growth of entire sectors of Russia and Ukraine where his growth policies were adapted.

Analogous to Stalin’s “growth” policies in the communist world the economic growth policies in the West have had similar devastating results.

While the 20th Century was a period of great economic growth and development, the focus on infrastructure and the creation of employment for people in urban centers has avoided more humanistic concerns, especially those of personal and spiritual development.

While many of the development programs undertaken in the twentieth century have certainly contributed to a more prosperous society in the material sense, the focus on economic concerns has impoverished the human spirit with disastrous results.

How would one explain the recent massacre in Las Vegas to a time traveler from the 1930s? One would need to explain how a small town in the desert became a mecca to gamblers and prostitutes and an entertainment venue for Frank Sinatra. For that matter, one would have to describe how Frank Sinatra became a star, how the mafia rose to prominence, and why hotels built in the middle of nowhere attract great crowds.

To our astonished listeners ground down by the poverty of the great depression of the 1920s this future would seem incredible indeed. That the mafia together with prostitutes, gamblers and movie stars had built a giant metropolis based only on sin, cheap alcohol, slot machines, prostitutes and strip shows would strain all belief. But to go further and report to our shocked listeners that in this decadent milieu of moral blight everyone is allowed to carry handguns would further strain belief and stagger the imagination. Perhaps some of our ancestors from the 1930s would remember the need for shotguns to scare off varmints. But they certainly knew better than to carry their shotguns into town or to church.

To learn that sophisticated fire-arms are not only legal but endorsed and encouraged, that shotguns are primitive compared to the light-weight and deadly machine guns that can be carried openly would certain surprise our grandfathers.

And to discover that an entire arsenal might be carried into a luxury hotel with no one raising an eyebrow would further baffle our ancestors. A traveler who ventured into 1930 from our own time would lose his audience if he began to describe the attack carried out on country fans by an enraged madman armed with machine guns.

That it would be possible and permissible for a millionaire to rent a luxury hotel room in Las Vegas with the purpose of murdering a large number of country fans would be dismissed as the worst kind of pulp fiction by any thinking intellectual of the 1930s.

No such city as Las Vegas could exist in the first place, since it would contradict all moral sense and decency to allow mafiosos and prostitutes to create a city with the express purpose of carrying out sinful activities. In the second place, even if such an atrocity as Las Vegas could exist in a weird science fiction story, the author of the story defies all common sense by setting his city in a desert with no water for the millions of residents. How could they possibly survive? Such a metropolis is obviously a fiction. In the third place, even if shotguns might be allowed on the ranch for self-protection in the Wild West, there is no way that any sane society would allow people to roam the streets of a town dedicated to alcohol, gambling, and prostitution armed with machine guns. All these premises of the science fiction story are unthinkable.

But Lewis Mumford saw this coming. An American social critic, he wrote about cities and the metropolis. As a public intellectual writing on architecture and society for the New Yorker in the 1930s he found that there were 6 levels of urban development. He describes the Culture of Cities from primitive tribal life to the decadence of the Nekropolis as follows:

1.Polis

Tribes and communities grow together into a town on the basis of a shared agricultural economy. From prehistoric times to the feudal townships of small nobles and princes.

2. Eopolis

The town grows gathering into it a collection of smaller villages whose tribes and communities have developed not only agricultural economies but small industries, trade, and commerce. The town gradually becomes a city. Ancient Eopolis include Cairo in Egypt and Hastinapura in India, Timbuktu in Africa and Macchu Picchu in Peru.

Towns and villages are gradually knitted together into larger communities coalescing around cities. In Europe, Rome was built as a number of settlements that began on seven hills and grew to include a Coliseum for games and a senate fore governing an empire that lasted 1000 years.

In Mexico, the Toltecs and Mayans, Aztecs and Mixtecs coalesced around Teotihuacan, forerunner of Mexico City where merchants would trade honey, feathers, obsidian glass, ceramic pots, weapons, women, slaves, avocados and tomatoes and thousands of other products, goods, and services in their vibrant markets in the shadow of the pyramids.

In Indochina the various peoples of the Khmer civilization created Angkor Wat and the city of Bayon around the Tonle Sap Lake and the Mekong River in land rich for rice cultivation. Ruled by Jayavarman VII this peaceful Buddhist Eopolis grew to a population of over 100,000 long before London and Paris figured in the imagination of the Western mind.

3. Metropolis

With the dawn of the machine age, technology is a blessing. The town is now a complete city, reaching full stature, its population dense with complex systems of water and energy. Mechanical energy abides. Electricity is introduced along with the exploitation of steam engines or petroleum products and heavy industry: This level of development begins in cities like London, Bombay, and Paris and continues well into the 20th Century. Small communities morph into cities, and soon achieve the status of metropolis. The metropolis is cosmopolitan; driven by a vibrating economy, it pulses with culture and absorbs peoples from all walks of life, all nations, all languages.

4. Megalopolis

A Megalopolis is an overgrown machine, a giant city. The city has snarled into a mass of urban blight and decadence over more than a century. Gardens and breathing spaces have disappeared. Since land must be developed and subdivided into apartments and commercial space it is too expensive to allow for green areas. Economy exists only to feed the machine. Growth is pursued as an end to itself. Since growth fuels the machine it is a virtue. Unbridled growth is cancer; but cancer is necessary for all growth is good, even mutation.

Cultural values are being lost; religion is subordinate to money and economics. Corruption is rampant. Crime becomes normal.

The Megalopolis can no longer breathe. Public Transportation is choked with human bodies struggling to arrive to work areas on time. The original residential areas are chopped into smaller spaces and further subdivided to allow for more shops and stores. Houses become apartments. The gentry disappear from urban centers and are replaced by low-income residents. Overcrowding and poverty breeds misery, epidemics, and violence.

A Megalopolis is a city bursting with its own capacity. Human culture is no longer the essential define feature of a city this large. Economy is the only common denominator.

Lewis Mumford: “Megalopolis ushers in an age of cultural aggrandizement: scholarship and science by tabulation: sterile research: elaborate fact-finding apparatus and refined technic with no reference to rational intellectual purpose or ultimate possibilities of social use: Alexandrianism. Belief in abstract quantity in every department of life: the biggest monuments, the highest buildings, the most expensive materials, the largest food supply, the greatest number of worshipers, the biggest population. Education becomes quantitative: domination of the cram-machine and the encyclopedia, and domination of megalopolis as concrete encyclopedia: all-containing. Knowledge divorced from life: industry divorced from life-utility: life itself compartmentalized, dis-specialized, finally disorganized and enfeebled.

“Over-investment in the material apparatus of bigness. Diversion of energy from the biological and social ends of life to the preparatory physical means. Outright exploitation of the proletariat and increasing conflict between organized workers and the master classes. Occasional attempts at insurance by philanthropy on the part of the possessing classes: justice in homeopathic doses. Occasional outbursts of savage repression on the part of frightened bourgeoisie, employing basest elements in the city. As conflict intensifies rise of a coalition between landed oligarchy, trained in combat, and a megalopolitan rabble of speculators, enterprisers, and financiers who furnish the sinews of war and profit by all the occasions for class-suppression, price-lifting, and looting that it gives. The city as a means of association, as a haven of culture, becomes a means of dissociation and a growing threat to real culture. Smaller cities are drawn into the megalopolitan network: they practice imitatively the megalopolitan vices, and even sink to lower levels because of lack of higher institutions of learning and culture that still persist in bigger centers. The threat of widespread barbarism arises. Now follow, with cumulative force and increasing volume, the remaining downward movements of the cycle.

When do we become machines?

5. Tyrannopolis

The next to last step in the downward movement of urban life is what Mumford calls “Tyrannopolis.” The City is in decline: it can no longer contain or control its inhabitants through culture, religion, common heritage or other normal restraints. Force and military control are necessary to maintain order. Citizens are registered and their movements monitored. The is Orwellian. Economies swing between boom and bust, between wild prosperity and bankruptcy. Inflation, monetary devaluation, and poverty are endemic. The machine is out of control. Culture has collapsed into popular entertainment. Traditions are cannibalized into trends and fashions. People do meaningless work just to feed the machine. Values have fallen. Morality is nil. Disorder is the new norm. As Orwell put it, Ignorance is Knowledge and War is Peace.

In the Culture of Cities, Lewis Mumford describes the Tyrannopolis as follows:

Extensions of parasitism throughout the economic and social scene: the function of spending paralyzes all the higher activities of culture and no act of culture can be justified that does not involve display and expense. Politics becomes competition for the exploitation of the municipal and state exchequer by this or that class or group. Extirpation of organs of communal and civic life other than “state.” Caesarism. Development of predatory means as a substitute for trade and give-and-take: naked exploitation of colonies and hinterland: intensification of the cycles of commercial depression, following overexpansion of industry and dubious speculative enterprise, heightened by wars and war-preparations. Failure of the economic and political rulers to maintain the bare decencies of administration: place-hunting, privilege-seeking, bonus-collecting, favor-currying, nepotism, grafting, tribute-exacting become rife both in government and business. Widespread moral apathy and failure of civic responsibility: each group, each individual, takes what it can get away with. Widening of the gap between producing classes and spending classes. Multiplication of a Lum pen proletariat demanding its share of bread and shows. Overstress of mass-sports. Parasitic love of sinecures in every department of life. Demand for “protection money” made made by armed thugs and debased soldiery: organized looting, organized blackmail are “normal” accompaniments of business and municipal “enterprise. Domination of respectable people who behave like criminals and of criminals whose activities do not debar them from respectability.

Imperialistic wars, internal and external, result in starvation, epidemics of disease, demoralization of life: uncertainty hangs over every prospect of the future: armed protection increases all the hazards of life. Municipal and state bankruptcy. Drain of local taxes to service increasing load of local debt. Necessity to appeal to the state for further aid in periods of economic disorganization: loss of autonomy. Drain of national taxes to support the growing military establishment of the state. This burden penalizes the remnants of honest industry and agriculture, and further disrupts the supply of elementary material goods. Decrease in agricultural production by soil-mining and erosion, through falling off in acreage, through the withholding of crops from the city by resentful husbandmen. Decline in rate of population-increase through birth control, abortion, mass slaughter, and suicide: eventual absolute decline in numbers. General loss of nerve. Attempt to create order by external military means: rise of gangster-dictators (Hitler, Mussolini) with active consent of the bourgeoisie and systematic terrorism by pretorian guards. Recrudescence of superstition and deliberate cult of savagery: barbarian invasions from “within and without. Beginnings of megalopolitan exodus. Material deficiencies and lapses of cultural continuity: repression and censorship. Cessation of productive work in the arts and sciences.”

6. Necropolis.

The last stage in the rise and decline of the metropolis is the necropolis. Mumford is prolix; his prose is dense and often difficult, but it is worth quoting him at length. Mumford applies the term Nekropolis to Babylon and Nineveh and the decadence of Rome.

But let’s see if the definition of Necropolis or “the dying city” may be applied to Detroit or Las Vegas, to Los Angeles or Mexico City, to Paris or London, Bombay or Moscow. Is this not a refined intellectual’s description of the final days of the age of Kali?:

“War and famine and disease rack both city and countryside. The physical towns become mere shells. Those who remain in them are unable to carry on the old municipal services or maintain the old civic life: what remains of that life is at best a clumsy caricature. The names persist; the reality vanishes. The monuments and books no longer convey meaning; the old routine of life involves too much effort to carry on: the streets fall into disrepair and grass grows in the cracks of the pavement: the viaducts break down, the water mains become empty; the rich shops, once looted, remain empty of goods by reason of the failure of trade or production. Relapse into the more primitive rural occupations.

“if at all, in the provinces and the remote villages, which share the collapse but are not completely carried down by it or submerged in the debris. First the megalopolis becomes a lair: then its occupants are either hunted out by some warrior band, seeking the last remnants of conquest in gold or women or random luxuries, or they gradually fall away of their own accord. The living forms of the ancient city become a tomb for dying: sand sweeps over the ruins: so Babylon, Nineveh, Rome. In short, Nekropolis, the city of the dead: flesh turned to ashes: life turned into a meaningless pillar of salt.”

Lewis Mumford’s critique was considered alarmist in his day. It was not optimistic enough for an American society recovering from the Gread Depression. In later life he had the audacity to criticize American involvement in the War in Vietnam. His writings were ostracized and forgotten. Americans like a more hopeful message.

Recently interviewed by late-night talk-show host Steven Colbert, another public intellectual, Ta-nehisi Coates waxed pessimistic about racism and the future. Colbert encouraged him to end his analysis on a note of hope. Coates refused, saying, “To answer your question in a positive way, I would have to make shit up.”

“So there’s no hope?” asked Colbert.

“No,” replied his guest.

Mumford’s critique is not meant to deprive us of hope, but to provide us with a realistic picture of what’s going on. The word “vision” may mean a dream or divine hallucination; it may also mean just seeing what is. Returning to my imaginary time traveler and his 1930 ancestors: if they had read Mumford’s analysis of the decline of cities they would not at all be surprised at a sin city in the desert where millionaire visitors rent hotel rooms to shoot country fans with machine guns. It would not be the stuff of fiction to discover that the President of the United States occupies his time by shooting rolls of toilet paper at hurricane victims while maniacally laughing about the “calm before the storm” and the prospect of nuclear war with hydrogen bombs. This is not the stuff of science fiction, but the reality of the nekropolis in Kali-yuga.

The great prophet Chaitanya Mahaprabhy appeared in the 16th Century in Bengal and advised that the best hope in the nekropolis of Kali-yuga is to take shelter of the holy name by vibrating the great chant for peace:

Hare Krishna Hare Krishna Krishna

Krishna Krishna Hare Hare

Hare Rama Hare Rama Rama

Rama Rama Hare Hare.

We would do well to take his advice.