It is possible, I thought, that the
theorists may increase the misery of the many by trying to force them
into actions contrary to their primeval instincts, but I could not
believe that happiness was to be brought to them by a gospel of
industrialism and forced labour.
Nevertheless, when morning came I resumed the interminable discussions
of the materialistic conception of history and the merits of a truly
popular government. Those with whom I discussed had not seen the
sleeping wanderers, and would not have been interested if they had seen
them, since they were not material for propaganda. But something of that
patient silence had communicated itself to me, something lonely and
unspoken remained in my heart throughout all the comfortable familiar
intellectual talk. And at last I began to feel that all politics are
inspired by a grinning devil, teaching the energetic and quickwitted to
torture submissive populations for the profit of pocket or power or
theory. As we journeyed on, fed by food extracted from the peasants,
protected by an army recruited from among their sons, I wondered what we
had to give them in return. But I found no answer. From time to time I
heard their sad songs or the haunting music of the balalaika; but the
sound mingled with the great silence of the steppes, and left me with a
terrible questioning pain in which Occidental hopefulness grew pale.
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