By my request I was appointed to make the census of the section of
Khamovnitchesky police district, near the Smolensky Market in the
Prototchni Lane between the Shore Drive and Nicolsky Lane. In this
district are the houses known under the name of Rzhanoff House or
Rzhanoff Fortress. In bygone times these houses belonged to the merchant
Rzhanoff, and are now the property of the merchants Zeemin. I had long
before heard that this was considered the lowest circle of poverty and
vice, which was the reason why I asked the officers of the census to
assign this district to me.
My desire was gratified.
Having received the appointment from the Town Council, I went alone, a
few days before the census, to inspect my district. With the help of a
plan I soon found the Rzhanoff Houses,--approached by a street which
terminated on the left-hand side of Nicolsky Lane--a gloomy building
without any apparent entrance. From the aspect of this house I guessed
it was the one I was in search of. Descending the street, I came across
some boys, from ten to fourteen years old, in short coats, who were
sliding down the frozen gutter, some on their feet, others upon a single
skate.
The boys were ragged, and, like all town boys, sharp and bold. I stopped
to look at them. An old woman in torn clothes, with hanging yellow
cheeks, came round the corner. She was going up-hill to Smolensky
Market, gasping painfully at every step, like a horse out of wind; and
when abreast of me, stopped with hoarse, choking breath. In any other
place, this old woman would have asked alms, but here she only began to
talk.
"Just look at them!" she said, pointing to the sliding boys; "always at
mischief! They will become the same Rzhanoff good-for-nothings as their
fathers." One boy, in an overcoat and cap without a peak, overhearing
her words, stopped. "You shut up!" he shouted. "You're only an old
Rzhanoff goat yourself!"
I asked the boy if he lived here. "Yes, and so does she. She stole some
boots," he called out, and, pushing himself off, slid on.
The old woman began a torrent of abuse, interrupted by coughs. During
the squabble an old white-haired man, all in rags, came down the middle
of the street, brandishing his arms, and carrying in one hand a bundle
of small rusk rings. He seemed to have just fortified himself with a
glass of liquor. He had evidently heard the old woman's abuse and took
her side.
"I'll give it you, you little devils!" he shouted, pretending to rush
after them; and, passing behind me, he stepped on the pavement. If you
saw this old man in the Artat, a fashionable street, you would be struck
with his air of decrepitude, feebleness, and poverty. Here he appeared
as a merry workman returning from his day's labor.
I followed him. He turned round the corner to the left into Prototchni, an
alley, passed the front of the house and the gate, and disappeared through
the door of an inn. Into this alley opened the doors of the latter,
a public-house, and several small eating-houses. It was the Rzhanoff
Houses. Every thing was gray, dirty, and foul-smelling,--buildings,
lodgings, courts, and people. Most of those I met here were in tattered
clothes, half naked. Some were passing along, others were running from
one door to another. Two were bargaining about some rags. I went round
the whole building, down another lane and a court, and, having returned,
stopped at the archway of the Rzhanoff Houses.
I wanted to go in and see what was going on inside, but the idea made me
feel painfully awkward. If they asked me what I had come for, what
should I say?
However after a little hesitation I went in. The moment I entered the
court I was conscious of a most revolting stench. The court was
dreadfully dirty. I turned round the corner, and at the same instant
heard steps running along the boards of the gallery and down the stairs.
First a gaunt-looking woman, with tucked-up sleeves, a faded pink dress,
and shoes on her stockingless feet, rushed out; after her, a
rough-haired man in a red shirt, and extremely wide trousers, like a
petticoat, and goloshes on his feet. The man caught her under the
stairs: "You sha'n't escape me," he said, laughing.
"Just listen to the squint-eyed devil!" began the woman, who was
evidently not averse to his attentions; but, having caught sight of me,
she exclaimed angrily, "Who are you looking for?" As I did not want
anyone in particular, I felt somewhat confused, and went away.
This little incident, though by no means remarkable in itself, suddenly
showed me the work I was about to undertake in an entirely new light,
especially after what I had seen on the other side of the
courtyard,--the scolding woman, the light-hearted old man, and the
sliding boys. I had meditated doing good to these people by the help of
the rich men of Moscow. I now realized, for the first time, that all
these poor unfortunates, whom I had been wishing to help, had, besides
the time they spent suffering from cold and hunger in waiting to get a
lodging, several hours daily to get through, and that they must somehow
fill up the rest of the twenty-four hours of every day,--a whole life,
of which I had never thought before. I realized now, for the first time,
that all these people, besides the mere effort to find food and shelter
from the cold, must live through the rest of every day of their life as
other people have to do, must get angry at times, and be dull, and try
to appear light-hearted, and be sad or merry. Now, for the first time
(however strange the confession may sound), I was fully aware that the
task which I was undertaking could not simply consist in feeding and
clothing a thousand people (just as one might feed a thousand head of
sheep, and drive them into shelter), but must develop some more
essential help. When I considered that each one of these individuals was
just another man like myself, possessing also a past history, with the
same passions, temptations, and errors, the same thoughts, the same
questions to be answered, then suddenly the work before me appeared
stupendous and I felt my own utter helplessness;--but it had begun and I
was resolved to go on.