“Yes,” said the mathematician, “that’s a good description of the man. I remember I liked to look at him,—he seemed rather attractive.”
“Spiritual poise is always beautiful, and he did his duty without speculating about his relation to his master.... And that was a fine thing, you know,—their mutual relations. One used his muscles admirably. The other gave reason and rational meaning to it.... He saw that the time was not all filled ... and he found a new occupation.... There was a sort of balancing of interests, almost an idyl.... Almost before dawn Gavrilo was at work. M. Budnikov also got up early. They said good morning with a manifestly pleasant feeling. Then M. Budnikov either went to work in his garden or went around his ‘estate’ scattered through the city. Poverty gets up early, and he went mornings to poverty’s quarters.... Then he’d come back and say:
“‘Now harness up, Gavrilo, and I’ll finish cleaning up.... The officials are just going to their offices. You may meet some one....’
“At this time he considered himself neither a Tolstoyan nor a deliberate simplifier.... He often spoke of the abnormality of our lives, of the necessity of paying our debt to the laboring man, of the advantages of physical labor. ‘See, I’m working,’ he’d say to any one who caught him busied with axe or spade. ‘I’m helping my neighbor, my porter, with his work.’ It was hard to tell whether he was talking ironically or seriously.... At noon Gavrilo’d come back and put his horse in the stable, and M. Budnikov would go of on business and make polite remarks to his tenants about a broken fence or a piece of plaster knocked down by children’s balls.... He often came back with one or two beggars. They had asked him for alms on the street and he’d offered ‘assistance through toil.’ ... Of course, the rogues ran off shamefully, but M. Budnikov took especial pleasure in working, either alone or with Gavrilo. All the beggars in the city soon got to know him and bowed with a friendly smile, but did not ask for money. ‘Why can’t you see what’s good for you, my friends?’ he’d say meaningly. I must say that a ‘life of toil’ did bring him manifest personal benefits; his ruddy color was absolutely evident, even, and healthy. His face was always quiet and placid, and almost like Gavrilo’s.... It had nothing malicious or strange in it.”
“I see, you’re back on your old theme!” said the mathematician, standing up and striking his companion’s shoulder. “Of course, nothing terrible.... I’m going out here.... Eight minutes’ wait.”
The train slowed down and stopped.
III
Pavel Semenovich, thus left without an audience, looked around in despair. Soon his gray eyes met mine. In his gaze I noticed an obstinate idea like that of a maniac....
“You ... understand?” he said frankly, wholly undisturbed by the fact that he was talking to a stranger.
“I think so,” I answered.