I could never have believed what inexpressible happiness can be found in tears. Crying used to make my head ache, bring a bitter taste to my mouth, and a leaden feeling to my heart, but now I find it as pleasant and easy to cry as to love. I realised this particularly during the two days of my wandering through the streets of Petrograd with a collecting box in my hand. Each contribution, every mark of sympathy for the wounded, filled me with deep emotion. How kind people were! How many hearts of gold passed before my happy eyes!
As an assistant I had a lively little schoolboy, of untiring energy, who made my long legs serve me in good stead. Together we went to the Ochta district, and there, amongst poor workers and labourers, we spent many hours of exultation.
“Don’t they give!” Fedia the schoolboy said to me. “Don’t they give! All you’ve got to do is to take it!”
“Yes, Fedia, all you’ve got to do is to take it!” I laughed at his naive words with humid eyes. And when I saw an old, long-bearded carter who turned with difficulty to give me his copper, I loved the sight of his hand and his beard, I loved everything about him as the most precious of human realities that no war can eclipse. I like, too, the way they are not the least ashamed that their contributions are smaller than those on the Nevsky or Morskaya. Some asked me if Fedia was my son.
“No, we are friends,” Fedia hastened to assure them. He always seemed hurt on these occasions; he probably felt too big to be anybody’s son. He would insist on carrying the heavy box until he was fagged out, making me pin on the badges, and altogether ordering me about in the most dignified way.
Twice the boxful of coins changed hands between us. Carried away by our enthusiasm, we walked until we could scarcely drag ourselves along; Fedia was particularly tired. It was getting dark when we emerged from a little street facing a cotton-mill with smoking chimneys, and sat down on a beam to rest. For a long time we sat there enjoying the glorious, tranquil evening, the barges and ships on the broad Neva, the sunset’s glow on the misty clouds. I shall never forget that evening. Disturbed by a passing tug, the water rippled against the flat bank, the Ochta children paddled quietly in the shadows of the large barges that crept along the bank, playing their evening games; blue lights began to appear on the bank opposite. My soul was as innocent as though I had turned into a little child. It was Fedia who talked; I was silent. He talked about the Germans for a while, then he, too, grew quiet and pensive. Some soldiers passed over the Ochta Bridge, and above the din of the traffic we caught fragments of their song.
“The soldiers are singing,” Fedia started. “Where are they?”
“On the bridge. Listen, listen!”
How nice it is that our soldiers sing in their natural voices, unspoiled by training! Their voices speak of their youth, their country, their people, of Russia herself. The song died away; it began to get dark; on the bank opposite lights appeared in windows and streets, and still I thought of our soldiers and Russia. Russia! Wondrous word! As in a dream I could see an Autumn country road, lights twinkling in the peasant cottages, a peasant standing at his cart. The very horse was dear to me. I thought of its eternal toil with gratitude; I thought of other horses, other villages, other towns. … I had dozed off, it turned out, and Fedia had fallen fast asleep. It was a good thing the nights were still warm. I picked up his cap that had slipped from his head, and had great difficulty in rousing him; I simply had to force him to open his eyes.
“I can’t go on!” he muttered.
“I would carry you if I had the strength. Let’s go as far as the steamer, and then we can take a tram.”
“Very well,” Fedia agreed. My little chum had a great partiality for steamers.
Thus we worked together for two days. It rained yesterday, unfortunately, and we were obliged to stop our collecting, but the feeling of gladness remains as before. Brightly does man illumine the Autumn mud and bad weather.
I am going to get a place at the front, it seems.