"There are no dreams too fine for them to answer," he whispered. "They are pure—they come from the North like all invaders—glacially pure! We'll warm their hearts—lead them home to God—teach them how to live!"
He was silent suddenly. I asked him to go on and then saw the queerest look instead. Varsieff was torn by the thought, that now as a leader of revolutionists he must teach his peasants how to die as well.... A civilian, I repeat, does not realise this quite the same. In the Capitol, we had worked for a Cause that meant the death of men, but now we were the officers called upon to charge live troops to the fork and the grill. I knew Varsieff to be more imaginative and tender than I, yet I would not have mentioned my qualms, had I known how terribly he was suffering. He caught my hands, whispering:
"You have it, too?"
It was the single hour of weakness that Varsieff had ever revealed to me. I studied his face without speaking.
"I brought them to this," he muttered. "I have always thought of the spirit of things. I was always pure enough, following that dream.... But, Lange, we're a little mad—we who dream.... I had to come here. I had to see this fighting end. Perhaps Christonal knew what he was doing."
I put my arm around his shoulder. We Russians are allowed that.
"I have always thought of the spirit of things," he added, "until I met Paula Mantone. I would have forgotten everything for her beauty, but she remembered our souls.... And now, because I would have forgotten the bodies of these men Christonal sent me here to learn that. We are spirits and bodies, too, Lange. It takes a crowned head to hold to the two ends at once—God, hear 'em sing——"
The ruffians always hushed and choked us when they sang. Something new about it this time, for Varsieff was seeing them across a red stream of their own blood.
"I can't drive 'em into the fire-pits," he muttered. "Why, I'd rather wash and dress 'em. They've got the idea that I am to lead them home. I can't betray that—not even for the Cause!... I never saw it before. They are not herds, not groups—but monads—each a man——"
"We've got to put through the big story," I said quietly. "Thirty thousand is cheap—our little planting out here is cheap, if we can give Russia the new heaven and the new earth—Russia—then America—then the world——"