... I was sitting in a warm bath, while my brother was pacing up and
down the small room in a troubled manner, sitting down, getting up
again, catching hold of the soap and towel, bringing them close up to
his short-sighted eyes and again putting them back in their places. At
last he stood up with his face to the wall and picking at the plaster
with his finger, continued hotly.
"Judge for yourself: one cannot teach people mercy, sense, logic--teach
them to act consciously for tens and hundreds of years running with
impunity. And, in particular, to act consciously. One can become
merciless, lose all sensitiveness, get accustomed to blood and tears
and pain--for instance butchers, and some doctors and officers do,
but how can one renounce truth, after one has learnt to know it? In
my opinion it is impossible. I was taught from infancy not to torture
animals and be compassionate; all the books that I read told me the
same, and I am painfully sorry for all those that suffer at your cursed
war. But time passes, and I am beginning to get accustomed to all those
deaths, sufferings and all this blood; I feel that I am getting less
sensitive, less responsive in my everyday life and respond only to
great stimulants, but I cannot get accustomed to war; my brain refuses
to understand and explain a thing that is senseless in its basis.
Millions of people gather at one place and, giving their actions order
and regularity, kill each other, and it hurts everybody equally, and
all are unhappy--what is it if not madness?" My brother turned round
and looked at me inquiringly with his short-sighted, artless eyes.
"The red laugh," said I merrily, splashing about.
"I will tell you the truth," and my brother put his cold hand
trustingly on my shoulder, but quickly pulled it back, as if he was
frightened at its being naked and wet. "I will tell you the truth; I am
very much afraid of going mad. I cannot understand what is happening.
I cannot understand it, and it is dreadful. If only anybody could
explain it to me, but nobody can. You were at the front, you saw it
all--explain it to me."
"Deuce take you," answered I jokingly, splashing about.
"There, and you too," said my brother, sadly. "Nobody is capable of
helping me. It's dreadful. And I am beginning to lose all understanding
of what is permissible and what is not, what has sense and what is
senseless. If I were to seize you suddenly by the throat, at first
gently, as if caressing you, and then firmly, and strangle you, what
would that be?"
"You are talking nonsense. Nobody does such things."