The lamps burned dimly in the suffocating atmosphere of the crowded
rail way-carriage, shedding their fitful light on grimy, ragged
passengers wedged tightly together, and wreathed in smoke. Sanine sat
next to three peasants. As he got in, they were engaged in talk, and
one half-hidden by the gloom, said: "Things are bad, you say?"
"Couldn't be worse," replied Sanine's neighbour, an old grey-haired
moujik, in a high, feeble voice. "They only think of themselves; they
don't trouble about us. You may say what you like, but when it comes to
fighting for your skin, the stronger always gets the best of it."
"Then, why make a fuss?" asked Sanine, who had guessed what was the
subject of their grumbling.
The old man turned to him with a questioning wave of the hand.
"What else can we do?"
Sanine got up and changed his seat. He knew these peasants only too
well, who lived like beasts, unable either to cope with their
oppression or to destroy their oppressors. Vaguely hoping that some
miracle might occur, in waiting for which millions and millions of
their fellow-slaves had perished, they continued to lead their brutish
existence.
Night had come. All were asleep except a little tradesman sitting
opposite to Sanine, who was bullying his wife. She said nothing, but
looked about her with fear in her eyes.
"Wait a bit, you cow, I'll soon show you!" he hissed.
Sanine had fallen asleep when a cry from the woman awoke him. The
fellow quickly removed his hand, but not before Sanine could see that
he had been maltreating his wife.
"What a brute you are!" exclaimed Sanine, angrily.
The man started backwards in alarm, as he blinked his small, wicked
eyes, and grinned.
Sanine in disgust went out on to the platform at the rear of the train.
As he passed through the corridor-carriages he saw crowds of passengers
lying prostrate across each other. It was daybreak and their weary
faces looked livid in the grey dawn-light which gave them a helpless,
pained expression.
Standing on the platform Sanine drank in draughts of the cool morning
air.
"What a vile thing man is!" he thought. To get away, if only for a
short while, from all his fellow-men, from the train, with its foul
air, and smoke, and din--it was for that he longed.
Eastward the dawn flamed red. Night's last pale, sickly shadows were
merged and lost in the grey-blue horizon-line beyond the steppe. Sanine
did not waste time in reflection, but, leaving his valise behind him,
jumped off the foot-board.