The Man Who Found the Truth by Leonid Nikolayevich Andreyev

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Episode Transcript

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Chapter one of the Men Who Foundthe Truth. This is a LibriVox recording.
All LibriVox recordings are in the publicdomain. For more information not to
volunteer, please visit LibriVox dot org. Recording by Caroline The Man Who Found

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the Truth by Leonid Nikolayevitch Andreyev,translated by Hermann Bernstein. Chapter one.
I was twenty seven years old andhad just maintained my thesis for the degree
of Doctor of Mathematics with unusual success, when I was suddenly seized in the

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middle of the night and thrown intothis prison. I shall not narrate to
you the details of the monstrous crimeof which I was accused. There are
eva which people should neither remember noreven know. That they may not acquire

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a feeling of aversion for themselves.But no doubt there are many people among
the living who remember that terrible case, and the human brute, as the
newspapers called me at the time.They probably remember how the entire civilized society

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of the land unanimously demanded that thecriminal be put to death. And it
is due only to the inexplicable kindnessof the man at the head of the
government at the time that I amalive, and I now write these lines

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for the edification of the weak andthe wavering. I shall say briefly,
my father, my elder brother,and my sister were murdered brutally, and
I was supposed to have committed thecrime for the purpose of securing a really

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enormous inheritance. I am an oldman. Now I shall die soon.
And you have not the slightest groundfor doubting when I say that I was
entirely innocent of the monstrous and horriblecrime for which twelve honest and conscientious judges

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unanimously sentenced me to death. Thedeath sentence was finally commuted to imprisonment for
life in solitary confinement. It wasmerely a fatal linking of circumstances, of

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grave and insignificant events, of vaguesilence and indefinite words, which gave me
the appearance and likeness of the criminal, innocent though I was. But he
who would suspect me of being illdisposed towards my strict judges would be profoundly

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mistaken. They were perfectly right,perfectly right, as people who can judge
things and events only by their appearance, and who are deprived of the ability
to penetrate their own mysterious being,they could not act differently, nor should

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they have acted differently. It sohappened that, in the game of circumstances,
the truth concerning my actions, whichI alone knew, assumed all the
features of an insolent and shameless lie. And, however strange it may seem

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to my kind and serious reader,I could establish the truth of my innocence
only by falsehood, and not bythe truth. Later on, when I
was already in prison, in goingover in detail the story of the crime
and the trial, and picturing myselfin the place of one of my judges,

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I came to the inevitable conclusion eachtime that I was guilty. Then
I produced a very interesting and instructivework. Having set aside entirely the question
of truth and falsehood on general principles, I subjected the facts and the words

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to numerous combinations, erecting structures,even as small children built various structures with
their wooden blocks. And after persistentefforts, I finally succeeded in finding a
certain combination of facts, which,though strong in principle, seemed so plausible

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that my actual innocence became perfectly clear, exactly and positively established. To this
day, I remember the great feelingof astonishment mingled with fear, which I
experienced at my strange and unexpected discovery. By telling the truth, I lead

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people into error and thus deceive them, while by maintaining falsehood I lead them
on the contrary to the truth andto knowledge. I did not yet understand
at that time that, like Newtonand his famous apple, I discovered unexpectedly

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the great law upon which the entirehistory of human thought rests, which seeks
not the truth, but very similitudethe appearance of truth, that is,
the harmony between that which is seenand that which is conceived, based on

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the strict laws of logical reasoning.And instead of rejoicing, I exclaimed,
in an outburst of native juvenile despair, where then is the truth? Where
is the truth? In this worldof phantoms and falsehood? See My Diary

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of a Prisoner of June twenty nintheighteen. I know that at the present
time, when I have but fiveor six more years to live, I
could easily secure my pardon if Ibut asked for it. But aside from

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my being accustomed to the prison,and for several other important reasons of which
I shall speak later. I simplyhave no right to ask for pardon and
thus break the force and natural courseof the law and entirely justified verdict.

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Nor would I want to hear peopleapply to me the words a victim of
judicial error, as some of mygentle visitors expressed themselves to my sorrow.
I repeat, there was no error, nor could there be any error,

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in a case in which a combinationof definite circumstances inevitably lead normally constructed and
developed mind to the one and onlyconclusion. I was convicted justly, although
I did not commit the crime.Such is the simple and clear truth,

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and I live joyously and peacefully mylast few years on earth with a sense
of respect for this truth. Theonly purpose by which I was guided in
writing these modest notes is to showto my indulgent reader that under the most

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painful conditions, where it was seemthat there remains no room for hope or
life, a human being, abeing of the highest order, possessing a
mind and a will, finds bothhope and life. I want to show

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how a human being condemned to deathlooked with three eyes upon the world through
the grated windows of his prison,and discovered the great purpose, harmony and
beauty of the universe, to thedisgrace of those fools, who, being

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free, living a life of plentyand happiness, slender life. Disgustingly,
some of my visitors reproach me forbeing haughty. They ask me where I
secured the right to teach, andto preage cruel In their reasoning, they

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would like to drive away even thesmile from the face of the man who
has been imprisoned for life as amurderer. No, just as the kind
and bright smile will not leave mylips as an evidence of a clear and
unstained conscience, so my soul willnever be darkened, My soul which has

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passed firmly through the defiles of life, which has been carried by a mighty
will power across these terrible abysses andbottomless pits where so many daring people have
found their heroic but alas fruitless death. And if the tone of my confessions

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may sometimes seem too positive to myindulgent reader, it is not at all
due to the absence of modesty inme, but it is due to the
fact that I firmly believe that Iam right, and also to my firm
desire to be useful to my neighbor, as far as my faint powers permit.

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Here I must apologize for my frequentreferences to my Diary of a prisoner,
which is unknown to the reader.But the fact is that I consider
the complete publication of my diary toopremature and perhaps even dangerous. Begun during

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the remote period of cruel disillusions,of the shipwreck of all my beliefs and
hopes, breathing boundless despair, mynotebook bears evidence in places that its author
was, if not a state ofcomplete insanity, on the brink of insanity.

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And if we recall how contagious thatillness is, my caution in the
use of my diary will become entirelyclear, Oh, blooming youth, with
an involuntary tear in my eye,I recall your magnificent dreams, your daring

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visions and outbursts, your impetuous,seething power. But I should not want
your writurn, blooming Youth. Onlywith the grayness of the hair comes clear
wisdom and that great aptitude for unprejudicedreflection, which makes of all old men,

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philosophers, and often even sages.End of chapter one, chapter two
of The Man Who Found the Truthby Leonit Nikolayevitch Andreyev translated by Herman Bernstein.

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This LibriVox recording is in the publicdomain recording by Caroline. Those of
my kind visitors who honor me byexpressing their delight, and even may this
little indiscretion be forgiven me, eventheir adoration of my spiritual clearness, can

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hardly imagine what I was when Icame to this prison. The tens of
years which have passed over my headand which have whitened my hair, cannot
muffle the slight agitation which I experienceat the recollection of the first moments,
when, with the creaking of therusty hinges, the fatal prison doors opened

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and then closed behind me. Forevernot endowed with literary talent, which in
reality is an indomitable inclination to inventand to lie, I shall attempt to
introduce myself to my indulgent reader exactlyas I was at that remote time.

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I was a young man twenty sevenyears of age, as I had occasion
to mention before unrestrained, impetuous givento abrupt deviations, a certain dreaminess peculiar
to my age, a self respectwhich was easily offended and which revolted at

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the slightest insignificant provocation. A passionateimpetuosity in solving world problems, fits of
melancholy alternated by equally wild fits ofmerriment. All this gave the young mathematician
a character of extreme unsteadiness, ofsad and harsh discord. I must also

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mention the extreme pride, a familytrait which I inherited from my mother,
and which often hindered me from takingthe advice of a riper and more experienced
people than myself. Also, myextreme obstinacy in carrying out my purposes,

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a good quality in itself, whichbecomes dangerous, however, when the purpose
in question is not sufficiently well foundedand considered. Thus, during the first
days of my life confinement, Ibehaved like all other fools who are thrown
into prison. I shouted loudly andof course vainly, about my innocence.

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I demanded violently my immediate freedom,and even beat against the door and the
walls with my fists. The doorand the walls naturally remained mute, while
I caused myself a rather sharp pain. I remember I even beat my head

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against the wall, and for hoursI lay unconscious on the stone floor of
my cell. And for some time, when I had grown desperate, I
refused food until the persistent demands ofmy organism defeated my obstinacy. I cursed

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my judges and threatened them with mercilessvengeance. At last I commenced to regard
all human life, the whole world, even heaven, as an enormous injustice,
a derision, and a mockery.Forgetting that in my position I could

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hardly be unprejudiced. I came,with the self confidence of youth, with
the sickly pain of a prisoner,gradually to the complete negation of life and
its great meaning. Those were indeedterrible days and nights. When crushed by

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the walls, getting no answer toany of my questions, I paced my
cell endlessly and hurled one after anotherinto the dark, abyss all the great
valuables which life has bestowed upon us, friendship, love, reison, and

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justice. In some justification to myself, I may mention the fact that,
during the first and most painfully yearsof my imprisonment, a series of events
happened which reflected themselves rather painfully uponmy psychic nature. Thus I learned with

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the profoundest indignation that the girl,whose name I shall not mention, and
who was to become my wife,married another man. She was one of
the few who believed in my innocence. At the last parting, she swore

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to me to remain faithful to meunto death, and rather to die than
betray her love for me. Andwithin one year after that she married a
man I knew, who possessed certaingood qualities, but who was not at
all a sensible man. I didnot want to understand at that time that

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such a marriage was natural on thepart of a young, healthy and beautiful
girl. But alas we all forgetour natural science when we are deceived by
the woman we love, may thislittle jest be forgiven me. At the

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present time, Madame n is ahappy and respected mother, and this proves
better than anything else. How wiseand entirely in accordance with the demands of
nature and life was her marriage atthat time which vexed me so painfully.

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I must confess, however, thatat that time I was not at all
calm her exceedingly amiable and kind letterin which she notified me of her marriage,
expressing profound regret that changed circumstances andsuddenly awakened love compelled her to break

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her promise to me. That amiable, truthful letter, scented with perfume,
bearing the traces of her tender fingers, seemed to me a message from the
devil himself. The letters of fireburned my exhausted brains, and in a

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wild ecstasy, I shook the doorsof my cell and called violently, come,
Let me look into your lying eyes, let me hear your lying voice.
Let me but touch with my fingersyour tender throat, and pour into
your death rattle my last bitter love. From this quote, my indulgent reader

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will see how right were the judgeswho convicted me for murder. They had
really foreseen in me a murderer.My gloomy view of life at the time
was aggravated by several other events.Two years after the marriage of my fiancee.

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Consequently, three years after the firstday of my imprisonment, my mother
died. She died, as Ilearned, of profound grief for me.
However strange it may seem she remainedfully convinced to the end of her days

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that I had committed the monstrous crime. Evidently, this conviction was an inexhaustible
source of grief to her, thechief cause of the gloomy melancholy which fettered
her lips in silence and caused herdeath through paralysis of the heart. As

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I was told, she never mentionedmy name nor the names of those who
died so tragically, and she bequeathedthe entire enormous fortune which was supposed to
have served as the motive for themurder, to various charitable organizations. It

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is characteristic that even under such terribleconditions, her motherly instinct did not forsake
her altogether. In a PostScript tothe will, she left me a considerable
sum which secures my existence, whetherI am in prison or at large.

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Now I understand that, however greather grief may have been, that alone
was not enough to cause her death. The real cause was her advanced age
and a series of illnesses which hadundermined her once strong and sound organism.

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In the name of justice, Imust say that my father, a weak,
charactered man, was not at alla model husband and family man.
By numerous betrayals, by falsehood anddeception, he had led my mother to
despair, constantly offending her pride andher strict, unbribable truthfulness. But at

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that time I did not understand it. The death of my mother seemed to
me one of the most cruel manifestationsof universal injustice, and called forth a
new dream of useless and sacrilegious curses. I do not know whether I ought

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to tire the attention of the readerwith the story of other events of a
similar nature. I shall mention butbriefly, that one after another of my
friends, who remained my friends fromthe time when I was happy and free,
stopped visiting me. According to theirwords, they believed in my innocence,

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and at first warmly expressed to metheir sympathy. But our lives mine
in prison and their set liberty wereso different that, gradually, under the
pressure of perfectly natural causes such asforgetfulness, official and other duties, the

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absence of mutual interests, they visitedme ever more and more rarely, and
finally ceased to see me entirely.I cannot recall without a smile that even
the death of my mother even thebetrayal of the girl I loved did not

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arouse in me such a hopelessly bitterfeeling as these gentlemen, whose names I
remember but vaguely now succeeded in restingfrom my soul. What horror, what
pain? My friends? You haveleft me alone? My friends? Do

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you understand what you have done?You have left me alone. Can you
conceive of leaving a human being alone? Even a serpent has its mate,
even a spider has its comrade,And you have left a human being alone.
You have given him a soul andleft him him alone. You have

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given him a hard a mind,a hand for a handshake, lips for
a kiss, and you have lefthim alone. What shall he do now
that you have left him alone?Thus I exclaimed in my diary of a
prisoner, tormented by woeful perplexities,in my juvenile blindness, in the pain

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of my young, senseless heart,I still did not want to understand that
the solitude of which I complained sobitterly, like the mind, was an
advantage given to man over other creatures, in order to fence around the sacred
mysteries of his soul from the stranger'sgaze. Let my serious reader, consider

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what would have become of life ifman were robbed of his right of his
duty to be alone in the gatheringof idle chatterers, amid the dull collection
of transparent glass dolls that kill eachother with their sameness. In the wild

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city, where all doors are openand all windows are open, passers by
look warily through the glass walls andobserve the same evidences of the hearth and
the alcove. Only the creatures thatcan be alone possessive face, while those

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that know no solitude, the great, blissful, sacred solitude of the soul,
have snouts instead of faces. Andin calling my friends perfidious traitors,
I, poor youth that I was, could not understand the wise law of

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life, according to which neither friendship, nor love, nor even the tenderest
attachment of sister and mother is eternal. Deceived by the lies of the poets
who proclaimed eternal friendship and love,I did not want to see that which

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my indulgent reader observes from the windowsof his dwelling. How friends, relatives,
mother and wife, in apparent despairand in tears, follow their dead
to the cemetery, and after alapse of some time return from there.

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No one buries himself altogether with thedead. No one asks the dead to
make a room in the thin.And if the grief stricken wife exclaims,
in an outburst of tears, ohbury me together with him, she is
merely expressing symbolically the extreme degree ofher despair. One could easily convince himself

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of this by trying in jest topush her down into the grave. And
those who restrain her are merely expressingsymbolically their sympathy and understanding, thus lending
the necessary aspect of solemn grief tothe funeral custom. Man must subject himself

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to the laws of life, notof death, nor to the fiction of
the poets, however beautiful it maybe. But can the fictitious be beautiful?
Is there are no beauty in thestern truth of life, in the
mighty work of its wise laws,which subjects to itself with great disinterestedness the

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movements of the heavenly luminaries, aswell as the restless linking of the tiny
creatures called human beings. End ofchapter two, Chapter three of The Man

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Who Found the Truth by Leoniit Nikolayevitchch Andreyev, translated by Hermann Bernstein.
This LibriVox recording is in the publicdomain recording by Carolyn. Chapter three.
Thus, I lived sadly in myprison for five or six years. The

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first redeeming ray flushed upon me whenI least expected it. En doubt,
With the gift of imagination, Imade my former fiancee the object of all
my thoughts. She became my loveand my dream. Another circumstance which suddenly

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revealed to me the ground under myfeet, was strange, as it may
seem, the conviction that it wasimpossible to make my escape from prison.
During the first period of my imprisonment, I, as a youthful and enthusiastic

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dreamer, made all kinds of plansfor escape, and some of them seemed
to me entirely possible of realization.Cheering deceptive hopes, this thought naturally kept
me in a state of tense alarmand hindered my attention from concentrating itself on

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more important and substantial matters. Assoon as I despaired of one plan,
I created another. But of courseI did not make any progress. I
merely moved within a closed circle.It is hardly necessary to mention that each
transition from one plan to another wasaccompanied by cruel sufferings which tormented my soul,

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just as the eagle tortured the bodyof Prometheus. One day, while
staring with a weary look at thewalls of my cell, I suddenly began
to feel how irresistibly thick the stonewas, how strong the cement which kept

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it together, how skillfully and mathematicallythis severe fortress was constructed. It is
true my first sensation was extremely painful. It was perhaps a horror of hopelessness.
I cannot recall what I did andhow I felt during the two or

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three months that followed. The firstnote in my diary, after a long
period of silence, does not explainvery much. Briefly, I state only
that they made new clothes for me, and that I had grown stout.

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The fact is that, after allmy hopes had been abandoned, the consciousness
of the impossibility of my escape onceforeall extinguished, also my painful alarm,
and liberated my mind, which wasthen already in blind to lofty contemplation and

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the joys of mathematics. But thefollowing is the day I consider as the
first real day of my liberation.It was a beautiful spring morning, May
sixth, and the bawmy invigorating airwas pouring into the open window. While

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walking back and forth in my cell, I unconsciously glanced at each turn with
a vague interest, at the highwindow, where the iron grate outlined its
form sharply and distinctly against the background of the azure, cloudless sky.

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Why is the sky so beautiful throughthe bars, I reflected as I walked.
Is not this the effect of theesthetic law of contrasts, according to
which azure stands out prominently beside black? Or is it not perhaps a manifestation

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of some other higher law, accordingto which the infinite may be conceived by
the human mind only when it isbrought within certain boundaries, for instance,
when it is enclosed within a square. When I recalled that at the sight

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of a wide open window which wasnot protected by bars or of the sky,
I had usually experienced a desire tofly, which was painful because of
its uselessness and absurdity, I suddenlybegan to experience a feeling of tenderness for

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the bars, tense gratitude, evenlove forged by hand by the weak human
hand of some ignorant blacksmith who didnot even give himself an account of the
profound meaning of his creation. Placedin the wall by an equally ignorant mason,

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it suddenly represented in itself a modelof beauty, nobility, and power.
Having seized the infinite within its ironsquares, it became congealed in cold
and proud peace, frightening the ignorant, giving food for thought to the intelligent,

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and delighting the sage. End ofchapter three, chapter four of The
Man Who Found the Truth by LeoniT. Nikolayevitch Andreyev, translated by Hermann
Bernstein. This LibriVox recording is inthe public domain recording by Carolyn. Chapter

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four. In order to make thefurther narrative clearer to my indulgent reader,
I am compelled to say a fewwords about the exclusive quite flattering, and
I fear not entirely deserved position whichI occupy in our prison. On one

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hand, my spiritual clearness, myrare and perfect view of life, and
the nobility of my feelings, whichimpress all of those who speak to me.
And on the other hand, severalrather unimportant favors which I have done

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to the warden, have given mea series of privileges of which I avail
myself rather moderately, of course,not desiring to upset the general plan and
system of our prison. Thus,during the weekly visiting days, my visitors

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are not limited to any special timefor their interviews, and all those who
wish to see me are admitted,sometimes forming quite a large audience. Not
daring to accept altogether the assurances madesomewhat ironically by the Warden to the effect

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that I would be the pride ofany prison, I may say, nevertheless,
without any false modesty, that mywords are treated with proper respect,
and that among my visitors I numberquite a few warm and enthusiastic admirers,

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both me and and women. Ishall mention that the Warden himself and some
of his assistants honor me by theirvisits, drawing from me strength and courage
for the purpose of continuing their hardwork. Of course, I use the

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prison library freely, and even thearchives of the prison. And if the
Warden politely refused to grant my requestfor an exact plan of the prison,
it is not at all because ofhis lack of confidence in me, but
because such a plan is a statesecret Our Prison is a huge, five

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story building situated in the outskirts ofthe city, at the edge of a
deserted field overgrown with high grass.It attracts the attention of the wayfarer by
its rigid outlines, promising him peaceand rest after his endless wanderings. Not

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quite plastered, the building has retainedits natural dark red color of old brick,
and at close view, i amtold it produces a gloomy, even
threatening impression, especially on nervous people, to whom the red bricks recall blood

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and bloody lumps of human flesh.The small, dark, flat windows with
iron bars naturally complete the impression andlend to the whole character of gloomy harmony
or stern beauty. Even during goodweather, when the sun shines upon Our

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Prison, it does not lose anyof its darkened, grim importance, and
is constantly reminding the people that thereare laws in existence and that punishment awaits
those who break them. My cellis on the fifth story, and migrated

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window commands a splendid view of thedistant city and part of the deserted field
to the right. On the left, beyond the boundary of my vision are
the outskirts of the city, and, as I am told, the church
and the cemetery adjoining it. Ofthe existence of the church and even the

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cemetery I had known before from themournful tolling of the bells, which custom
requires during the burial of the dead. Quite in keeping with the external's style
of architecture, the interior arrangement ofour prison is also finished, harmoniously and

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properly constructed. For the purpose ofconveying to the reader a clearer idea of
the prison. I will take theliberty of giving the example of a fool
who might make up his mind torun away from our prison. Admitting that

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the brave fellow possessed supernatural herculean strengthand broke the lock of his room,
what would he find the corridor withnumerous grated doors, which could withstand cannonading
and armed keepers. Let us supposethat he kills all the keepers, breaks

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all the doors, and come outinto the yard. Perhaps he may think
that he is already free. Butwhat of the walls, the walls which
encircle our prison with three rings ofstone? I omitted the god advisedly.

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The God is indefatigable day and night, I hear behind my doors the footsteps
of the God day and night.His eye watches me through the little window
in my door, controlling my movements, reading on my face, my thoughts,
my intentions, and my dreams.In the daytime, I could deceive

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his attention with lies, assuming acheerful and carefree expression on my face.
But I have rarely met the manwho could lie even in his sleep.
No matter how much I would beon my guard during the day, at
night, I would betray myself byan involuntary moan, by a twitch of

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the face, by an expression offatigue or grave, or by other manifestations
of a guilty and uneasy conscience.Only very few people of unusual will power
are able to lie even in theirsleep, skillfully managing the features of their

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faces, sometimes even preserving a courteousand bright smile on their lips, when
their souls given over to dreams,are quivering from the horrors of a monstrous
nightmare. But as exceptions, thesecannot be taken into consideration. I am

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profoundly happy that I am not acriminal, that my conscience is clear and
calm. Read, my friend,Read, I say to the watchful eye
as I lay myself down to sleeppeacefully, you will not be able to
read anything on my face. Andit was I who invented the window in

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the prison door. I feel thatmy reader is astonished and smiles incredulously,
mentally calling me an old liar.But there are instances in which modesty is
superfluous and even dangerous. Yes,this simple and great invention belongs to me,

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just as Newton's system belongs to Newton, and as Kepler's laws of the
Revolution of the Planets belong to Kepler. Later on, encouraged by the success
of my invention, I devised andintroduced in our prison a series of little
innovations which were concerned only with detail. Thus the form of chains and locks

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used in our prison has been changed. The little window in the door was
my invention, and if anyone shoulddare deny this, I would call him
a liar and a scoundrel. Icame upon this invention under the following circumstances.

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One day, during the roll call, a certain prisoner killed with the
iron leg of his bed the inspectorwho entered his cell. Of course,
the rascal was hanged in the yardof our prison, and the administration light
mindedly grew calm, but I wasin despair. The great purpose of the

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prison proved to be wrong, sincesuch horrible deeds were possible. How is
it that no one had noticed thatthe prisoner had broken off the leg of
his bed? How is it thatno one had noticed the state of agitation
in which the prisoner must have beenbefore committing the murder. By taking up

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the question so directly, I thusapproached considerably the solution of the problem.
And indeed, after two or threeweeks had elapsed, I arrived simply and
even unexpectedly, at my great discovery. I confess frankly that before telling my

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discovery to the warden of the prison, I experienced moments of a certain hesitation,
which was quite natural in my positionof prisoner. To the reader,
who may still be surprised at thishesitation, knowing me to be a man
of clear, unstained conscience, Iwill answer by a quotation from my Diary

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of a prisoner relating to that period. How difficult is the position of the
man who is convicted, though innocentas I am, If he is sad,
if his lips are sealed in silenceand his eyes are lowered, people

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say of him. He is repenting, he is suffering from pangs of conscience.
If in the innocence of his hearthe smiles brightly and kindly, the
keeper thinks there by a false andfaint smile, he wishes to hide his
secret. No matter what he does, he seems guilty. Such is the

(48:46):
force of the prejudice against which itis necessary to struggle. But I am
innocent, and I shall be myselffirmly confident that my spiritual clearness will destroy
the malicious magic of prejudice. Andon the following day the warden of the

(49:07):
prison pressed my hand warmly, expressinghis gratitude to me. And a month
later little holes were made in alldoors in every prison in the land,
thus opening a field for wide andfruitful observation. The entire system of our

(49:30):
prison life gives me deep satisfaction.The hours for rising and going to bid
for meals and walks are arranged sorationally in accordance with the real requirements of
nature, that soon they lose theappearance of compulsion and become natural, even

(49:53):
dear habits. Only in this waycan I explain the interesting fact fact that
when I was free, I wasa nervous and weak young man, susceptible
to colds and illness, whereas inprison I have grown considerably stronger, and

(50:13):
that for my sixty years I amenjoying an enviable state of health. I
am not stout, but I amnot thin either. My lungs are in
good condition, and I have savedalmost all my teeth, with the exception
of two on the left side ofthe jaw. I am good natured,

(50:35):
even tempered. My sleep is sound, almost without any dreams, in figure
in which an expression of calm,power and self confidence predominates, and in
face I resemble somewhat Michelangelo's Moses.That is at least what some of my

(50:57):
friendly visitors have told me. Buteven more than by the regular and healthy
regime, the strengthening of my soulentbody was helped by the wonderful yet natural
peculiarity of our prison, which eliminatesentirely the accidental and the unexpected from its

(51:20):
life. Having neither a family norfriends, I am perfectly safe from the
shocks so injurious to life, whichare caused by treachery, by the illness
or death of relatives. Let myindulgent reader recall how many people have perished

(51:43):
before his eyes, not of theirown fault, but because capricious fate has
linked them to people unworthy of them, without changing my feeling of love and
trivial personal attachment. And I thusmake it foree for the broad and mighty

(52:04):
love for all mankind, and asmankind is immortal, not subjected to illness,
and as a harmonious whole, itis undoubtedly progressing towards perfection love,
for it becomes the surest guarantee ofspiritual and physical soundness. My days clear,

(52:30):
so are also my days of thefuture, which are coming toward me
in radiant and even order. Amurderer will not break into myself for the
purpose of robbing me. A madautomobile will not crush me. The illness
of a child will not torture me. Cruel treachery will not steal its way

(52:55):
to me from the darkness. Mymind is free, my heart is calm,
My soul is clear and bright.The clear and rigid rules of our
prison define everything that I must notdo, thus freeing me from those unbearable

(53:17):
hesitations, doubts, and errors withwhich practical life is filled. True,
sometimes there penetrates even into our prisonthrough its high walls, something which ignorant
people call chance or even fate,and which is only an inevitable reflection of

(53:42):
the general laws. But the lifeof the prison, agitated for a moment,
quickly goes back to its habitual rut, like a river after an overflow.
To this category of accidents belong theabove mentioned murder of the inspector,

(54:02):
the rare and all Away's unsuccessful attemptsat escape, and also the executions which
take place in one of the remotestyards of our prison. There is still
another peculiarity in the system of ourprison, which I consider most beneficial,

(54:27):
and which gives to the whole thinga character of stern and noble justice.
Left to himself and only to himself, the prisoner cannot count upon support,
or upon that spurious, wretched pitywhich so often falls to the lot of

(54:47):
weak people, disfiguring thereby the fundamentalpurposes of nature. I confess that I
think with a certain sense of pride, that if I am now enjoying general
respect and admiration, if my mindis strong, my will powerful, my

(55:10):
view of life clear and bright,I owe it only to myself. To
my power and my perseverance. Howmany weak people would have perished in my
place as victims of madness, despair, or grieve. But I have conquered

(55:30):
everything. I have changed the world. I gave to my soul the form
which my mind desired. In thedesert, working alone, exhausted with fatigue,
I have erected a stately structure inwhich I now live joyously and calmly

(55:53):
like a king. Destroy it,and tomorrow I shall begin to build a
news structure, and in my bloodysweat, I shall erect it, for
I must live. Forgive my involuntarypaths in the last lines, which is
so unbecoming to my balanced and calmnature. But it is hard to restrain

(56:17):
myself when I recall the road Ihave traveled. I hope, however,
that in the future I shall notdarken the mood of my reader with any
outbursts of agitated feelings. Only heshouts, who is not confident of the

(56:38):
truth of his words. Calm,firmness, and cold simplicity are becoming to
the truth. P s. Ido not remember whether I told you that
the criminal who murdered my father hasnot been found as yet. End of

(57:00):
Chapter four, Chapter five of TheMan Who Found the Truth by Leonit Nikolayevitch
Andreyev, translated by Hermann Bernstein.This LibriVox recording is in the public domain
recording by Carolyne. Chapter five.Deviating from time to time from the calm

(57:29):
form of a historical narrative, Imust pause on current events. Thus,
I will permit myself to acquaint myreaders in a few lines with a rather
interesting specimen of the human species,which I have found accidentally in our prison.

(57:52):
One afternoon a few days ago,the warden came to me for the
usual chat, and, among otherthings, told me there was a very
unfortunate man in prison at the timeupon whom I could exert a beneficent influence.
I expressed my willingness in the mostcordial manner, and for several days

(58:15):
in succession I have had long discussionswith the artist k by permission of the
Warden. The spirit of hostility,even of obstinacy, with which to my
regret he met me at his firstvisit, has now disappeared entirely. Under

(58:39):
the influence of my discussion. Listeningwillingly and with interest to my ever pacifying
words, he gradually told me hisrather unusual story after a series of persistent
questions. He is a man ofabout twenty six or twenty eight, of

(59:05):
pleasant appearance and rather good manners,which show that he is a well bred
man. A certain quite natural unrestraintin his speech, a passionate vehemence with
which he talks about himself occasionally,a bitter, even ironical laughter, followed

(59:28):
by painful pensiveness from which it isdifficult to arouse him even by a touch
of the hand. These complete themakeup of my new acquaintance. Personally to
me, he is not particularly sympathetic, and, however strange it may seem,

(59:51):
I am especially annoyed by his disgustinghabit of constantly moving his thin,
emaciated fingers and clutching helplessly the handof the person with whom he speaks.
Kay told me very little of hispast life. Well what is that tell?

(01:00:16):
I am an artist, That's all, he repeated with a sorrowful grimace,
and refused to talk about the immoralact for which he was condemned to
solitary confinement. I don't want tocorrupt you, Grandpa, live honestly,

(01:00:37):
he would jest, in a somewhatunbecoming familiar tone, which I tolerated simply
because I wished to please the wardenof the prison, having learned from the
prisoner the real cause of his sufferings, which sometimes assumed an acute form of

(01:00:59):
violent and threats. During one ofthese painful minutes, when Kay's willpower was
weak as a result of insomnia fromwhich he was suffering, I seated myself
on his bed and treated him ingeneral with fatherly kindness, and he blurted

(01:01:21):
out everything to me right there andthen. Not desiring to tire the reader
with an exact reproduction of his hystericaloutbursts, his laughter, and his tears,
I shall give only the facts ofhis story. Kay's grief, at

(01:01:45):
first, not quite clear to me, consists of the fact that instead of
paper or canvas for his drawings,he was given a large slate and a
slate pencil. By the way,the art with which he mastered the material,
which was new to him is remarkable. I have seen some of his

(01:02:08):
productions, and it seems to methat they could satisfy the taste of the
most fastidious expert of graphic arts.Personally, I am indifferent to the art
of painting, preferring life and truthfulnature, thus owing to the nature of

(01:02:30):
the material. Before commencing a newpicture, Kay had to destroy the previous
one by wiping it off his slate, and this seemed to lead him every
time to the ViRGE of madness.You cannot imagine what it means, he

(01:02:52):
would say, clutching my hands withhis thin, clinging fingers while I draw.
You know, I forget entirely thatit is useless. I am usually
very cheerful, and I even whistledsome tune, and once I was even
incarcerated for that, as it isforbidden to whistle in this curst prison.

(01:03:16):
But that is a trifle, forI had at least a good sleep there.
But when I finish my picture,no, even when I approach the
end of the picture, I amseized with a sensation so terrible that I
feel like tearing the brain from myhead and trampling it with my feet.

(01:03:39):
Do you understand me. I understandyou, my friend, I understand you
perfectly, and I sympathize with youreally well. Then listen, old man,
I make the last strokes with somuch pain, with such a sense

(01:04:00):
of sorrow and hopelessness, as thoughI were bidding goodbye to the person I
loved best of all. But hereI have finished it. Do you understand
what it means? It means thatit has assumed life, that it lives,
that there is a certain mysterious spiritin it. And yet it is

(01:04:21):
already doomed to death. It isdead, already dead like a herring.
Can you understand it at all?I do not understand it. And now
imagine I fool that I am.I nevertheless rejoice, I cry and rejoice.

(01:04:44):
No I think this picture I shallnot destroy. It is so good
that I shall not destroy. Yetlet it live. And it is a
fact that at such times I donot feel like drawing anything new. I
have not the slightest desire for it, And yet it is dreadful. Do

(01:05:09):
you understand me perfectly, my friend? No doubt the drawing ceases to please
you on the following day. Oh, what nonsense you are prating, old
man. That is exactly what hesaid. Nonsense. How can a dying
child cease to please you? Ofcourse, if he lived, he might

(01:05:33):
have become a scoundrel. But whenhe is dying, No, old man,
that isn't it. For I amkilling it myself. I do not
sleep all night long. I jumpup, I look at it, and
I love it so dearly that Ifeel like stealing it, stealing it from

(01:05:55):
whom? What do I know?But when morning sets in, I feel
that I cannot do without it,that I must take up that cursed pencil
again and create a new What's amockery to create? What am I a
galley slave? My friend? Youare in a prison, my dear old

(01:06:23):
man. When I begin to stealover to the slate with the sponge in
my hand, I feel like amurderer. It happens that I go around
it for a day or two.Do you know? One day I bit
off a finger of my right handso as not to draw any more.

(01:06:45):
But that, of course was onlya trifle, for I started to learn
drawing with my left hand. Whatis this necessity for creating? To create
by all means, create for suffering, Create with the knowledge that it will
all perish? Do you understand it? Finish it, my friend? Don't

(01:07:11):
be agitated. Then I will expoundto you my views. Unfortunately, my
advice hardly reached the ears of kayIn one of those paroxysms of despair which
frightened the woden of our prison.Kay began to throw himself about in his

(01:07:31):
bed, tear his clothes, shoutand sob, manifesting in general all the
symptoms of extreme mortification. I lookedat the sufferings of the unfortunate youth with
deep emotion. Compared with me,he was a youth vainly endeavoring to hold

(01:07:56):
his fingers, which were tearing hisclothes. I knew that for this breach
of discipline, new incarceration awaited him. Oh, impetuous youth, I thought,
when he had grown somewhat calmer,and I was tenderly unfolding his fine

(01:08:18):
hair, which had become entangled,how easily you fall into despair. A
bit of drawing, which may inthe end fall into the hands of a
dealer in old rags or a dealerin old bronze and cemented porcelain, can

(01:08:39):
cause you so much suffering. Butof course I did not tell this to
my youthful friend, striving as anyoneshould under similar circumstances, not to irritate
him by unnecessary contradictions. Thank you, old man, an, said Kay,

(01:09:01):
apparently calm now to tell the truth. You seemed very strange to me
at first, your face is sovenerable, but your eyes have you murdered
anybody? Old man? I deliberatelyquote the malicious and careless phrase to show

(01:09:25):
how, in the eyes of lightminded and shallow people, the stamp of
a terrible accusation is transformed into thestamp of the crime itself. Controlling my
feeling of bitterness, I remarked calmlyto the impertinent youth. You are an

(01:09:46):
artist, my child. To youare known the mysteries of the human face,
that flexible, mobile, and deceptivemask, which, like the sea
reflects the hurrying clouds and the azureether being green, the sea turns blue

(01:10:09):
under the clear sky, and blackwhen the sky is black, when the
heavy clouds are dark. What doyou want of my face over which hangs
an accusation of the most cruel crime? But occupied with his own thoughts,

(01:10:29):
the artist apparently paid no particular attentionto my words and continued, in a
broken voice, what am I todo? You saw my drawing? I
destroyed it, and it is alreadya whole week since I touched my pencil.
Of course, he resumed, thoughtfullyrubbing his brow. It would be

(01:10:55):
better to break the slate to punishme. They would not give me another
one. You had better return itto the authorities. Very well. I
may hold out another week, Butwhat then, I know myself, even
now that devil is pushing my hand, Take the pencil. Take the pencil.

(01:11:21):
At that moment, as my eyeswandered distractedly over his cell, I
suddenly noticed that some of the artist'sclothes hanging on the wall were unnaturally stretched,
and one end was skillfully fastened bythe back of the court. Assuming

(01:11:43):
an air that I was tired andthat I wanted to walk about in the
cell, I staggered, as froma quiver of senility in my legs,
and pushed the clothes aside. Theentire wall was covered with drawings. The
artist had already leaped from his court, and thus we stood facing each other

(01:12:10):
in silence. I said, ina tone of gentle reproach, how did
you allow yourself to do this?My friend? You know the rules of
the prison, according to which noinscriptions or drawings on the walls are permissible.
I know no rules, said Kmrose Lee, and then I continued

(01:12:38):
sternley. This time you lied tome, my friend. You said you
did not take the pencil into yourhand for a whole week. Of course
I didn't, said the artist,with a strange smile and even a challenge,
even when caught read handed. Buthe did not betray any signs of

(01:13:02):
repentance, and looked rather sarcastic thanguilty. Having examined more closely the drawings
on the wall, which represented humanfigures in various positions, I became interested
in the strange reddish yellow color ofan unknown pencil. Is this iodine?

(01:13:29):
You told me that you had apain and that you secured iodine. No,
it is blood blood. Yes,I must say frankly that I even
liked him at the moment. Howdid you get it from my hand?

(01:13:49):
From your hand? But how didyou manage to hide yourself from the eye
that is watching you? He smiledcunningly and even winked. Don't you know
that you can always deceive if onlyyou want to do it. My sympathies

(01:14:13):
for him were immediately dispersed. Isaw before me a man who was not
particularly clever, but in all probabilityterribly spoilt already, who did not even
admit the thought that there are peoplewho simply cannot lie. Recalling, however,

(01:14:34):
the promise I had made to thewarden. I assumed a calm air
of dignity and said to him tenderly, as only a mother could speak to
her child. Don't be surprised,and don't condemn me for being so strict,

(01:14:55):
My friend, I am an oldman. I have passed half of
my life in this prison. Ihave formed certain habits, like all old
people, and submitting to all therules. Myself, I am perhaps overdoing
it somewhat in demanding the same ofothers. You will, of course wipe

(01:15:19):
off these drawings yourself, although Ifeel sorry for them, for I admire
them sincerely, and I will notsay anything to the administration. We will
forget all this as if nothing hadhappened. Are you satisfied, he answered,

(01:15:44):
drowsily, Very well. In ourprison, where we have the sad
pleasure of being confined, everything isarranged in accordance with a most purposeful plan,
and is most strictly subjected to lawsand rules and the very strict order,

(01:16:06):
on account of which the existence ofyour creations is so short lived,
and I may say ephemeral, isfull of the profoundest wisdom, allowing you
to perfect yourself in your art itwisely guards other people against the perhaps injurious

(01:16:28):
influence of your productions. And inany case, it completes, logically,
finishes, enforces, and makes clearthe meaning of your solitary confinement. What
does solitary confinement in our prison mean? It means that the prisoner should be

(01:16:50):
alone. But would he be aloneif by his productions he would communicate in
some way or other with other people? Outsight by the expression of Kese face,
I noticed with a sense of profoundjoy that my words had produced on

(01:17:13):
him the proper impression, bringing himback from the realm of poetic inventions to
the land of stern but beautiful reality. And raising my voice, I continued,
as for the rule you have broken, which forbids any inscriptions or drawings

(01:17:34):
on the wall of our prison,it is not less logical. Years will
pass in your place. There maybe another prisoner like you, and he
may see that which you have drawn. Shall this be tolerated? Just think
of it? And what would becomeof the walls of our prison if everyone

(01:17:59):
who wished it were to leave uponthem his profane marks to the devil with
it. This is exactly how Kayexpressed himself. He said it loudly,
even with an air of calmness.What do you mean to say by this,

(01:18:20):
my youthful friend. I wish tosay that you may perish here,
my old friend, But I shallleave this place. You cannot escape from
our prison, I retorted, sternly. Have you tried? Yes, I

(01:18:43):
have tried. He looked at meincredulously and smiled. He smiled, You
are a coward, old man,You are simply a miserable coward. I
a cow Oh with that self satisfiedpuppy knew what a tempest of rage he

(01:19:06):
had aroused in my soul. Hewould have squealed for fright, and would
have hidden himself on the bed.Ah a coward. The world has crumbled
upon my head and has not crushedme, and out of its terrible fragments,

(01:19:26):
I have created a new world accordingto my own design and plan.
All the evil forces of life,solitude, imprisonment, treachery, and falsehood
all have taken up arms against me. But I have subjected them all to

(01:19:47):
my will. And I who havesubjected to myself even my dreams. I
am a coward, but I shallnot tire the attention of my indulgent reader
with these lyrical deviations which have nobearing on the matter. I continue,

(01:20:12):
after a pause, broken only byCay's loud breathing, I said to him,
sadly, I a coward, Andyou say this to the man who
came with the sole aim of helpingyou, of helping you, not only
in word, but also indeed youwish to help me in what? Why?

(01:20:40):
I will get you paper and pencil. The artist was silent, and
his voice was soft and timid whenhe asked, hesitatingly, and my drawings
will remain, Yes, they willremain. It is hard to describe the

(01:21:05):
vehement delight into which the exalted youngman was thrown. Naive and pure hearted
youth knows no bounds, either ingrief or enjoy. He pressed my hand
warmly, shook me, disturbing myold bones. He called me friend,

(01:21:30):
father, even dear old Fizz,and a thousand other endearing and somewhat naive
names. To my regret, ourconversation lasted too long, and nonwithstanding the
entreaties of the young man, whowould not part with me, I hurried

(01:21:51):
away to my cell. I didnot go to the warden of the prison,
as I felt somewhat agitated at thatremote time. I paced my cell
until late in the night, strivingto understand what means of escaping from our

(01:22:15):
praisin that rather foolish young man couldhave discovered. Was it possible to run
away from our praisin? No,I could not admit, and I must
not admit it. And gradually conjuringup in my memory everything I knew about
our prison, I understood that Kaymust have hit upon an old plan which

(01:22:42):
I had long discarded, and thathe would convince himself of its impracticability.
Even as I convinced myself it isimpossible to escape from our prisin. But
tormented I doubts. I measured mylonely cell for a long time, thinking

(01:23:05):
of various plans that might relieve Kayseposition and thus divert him from the idea
of making his escape. He mustnot run away from our prison under any
circumstances. Then I gave myself topeaceful and sound sleep, with which benevolent

(01:23:30):
nature has rewarded those who have aclear conscience and a pure soul. By
the way, lest I forget,I shall mention the fact that I destroyed
my diary of a prisoner that night. I had long wished to do it,
but the natural pity and faint heartedlove which we feel for our blunders

(01:23:58):
and our shortcomings restrained me. Besides, there was nothing in my diary that
could have compromised me in any way, and if I have destroyed it now,
it is due solely to my desireto throw my past into oblivion and

(01:24:19):
to save my reader from the tediousnessof long complaints and moans, from the
horror of sacrilegious cursings. May itrest in peace. End of chapter five,

(01:24:45):
Chapter six of The Man Who Foundthe Truth by Leonid Nikolayevitch Andreyev,
translated by Hermann Bernstein. This LibriVoxrecording is in the public domain recording by
Caroline. Chapter six. Having conveyedto the warden of our prison the contents

(01:25:08):
of my conversation with Kay, Iasked him not to punish the young man
for spoiling the walls, which wouldthus betray me, and I to save
the youth suggested the following plan,which was accepted by the warden after a

(01:25:29):
few purely formal objections. It isimportant for him, I said that his
drawings should be preserved, but itis apparently a material to him in whose
possession these drawings are, Let himthen avail himself of his art. Paint

(01:25:50):
your portrait, mister Warden, andafter that the portraits of the entire staff
of your officials, to say nothingof the honor you would show him by
this condescension, In honor which hewill surely know how to appreciate. The
painting may be useful to you asa very original ornament in your drawing room

(01:26:16):
or study. Besides, nothing willprevent us from destroying the drawings if we
should not care for them. Forthe naive and somewhat selfish young man apparently
does not even admit the thought thatanybody's hand would destroy his productions. Smiling,

(01:26:41):
the Warden suggested, with a politenessthat flattered me extremely, that the
series of portraits should commence with mine. I quote word for a word,
that which the Warden said to me, your face actually calls for reproduction on

(01:27:04):
canvas. We shall hang your portrayin the office the zeal of creativeness.
These are the only words I canapply to the passionate, silent agitation in
which k reproduced my features. Usuallytalkative, he now maintained silence for hours,

(01:27:30):
leaving an unset my jests and remarks. Be silent, old man,
Be silent. You are at yourbest when you are silent, he repeated,
persistently, calling forth an involuntary smile. By his zeal. As a
professional, my portray would remind you, my indulgent reader, of that mysterious

(01:27:59):
peculit ccliarity of artists, according towhich they very often transmit their own feelings,
even their external features, to thesubject upon which they are working,
thus reproducing with remarkable likeness. Thelower part of my face wear kindness and

(01:28:24):
the expression of authoritativeness and calm dignityare so harmoniously blended. Kay undoubtedly introduced
into my eyes his own suffering andeven his horror, their fixed immobile gaze,

(01:28:44):
madness, glimmering somewhere in their depth, the painful eloquence of a deep
and infinitely lonely soul. All thatwas not mine is this eye, I
exclaimed, laughing, when from thecanvas this terrible face, full of wild

(01:29:09):
contradictions stared at me, my friend. I do not congratulate you on this
portrait. I do not think itis successful. It is you, old
man. You, It is welldrawn. You criticize it wrongly. Where

(01:29:30):
will you hang it? He grewtalkative again, like a magpie, that
amiable young man, and all becausehis wretched painting was to be preserved for
some time. Oh impetuous, ohhappy youth. Here I could not restrain

(01:29:51):
myself from a little jest for thepurpose of teaching a lesson to the self
confident youngster. So I asked himwith a smile, Well, my artist,
what do you think am I murdereror not? The artist, closing

(01:30:12):
one eye, examined me and theportray critically. Then whistling a polka,
he answered recklessly, the devil knowsyou, old man. I smiled,
kay understood my jest at last burstout laughing, and then said, with

(01:30:35):
sudden seriousness, you are speaking ofthe human face. But do you know
that there is nothing worse in theworld than the human face. Even when
it tells the troth, when itshouts about the truth, it lies.
It lies, old man, forit speaks its own language. Do you

(01:31:00):
know, old man? A terribleincident happened to me. It was in
one of the picture galleries in Spain. I was examining a portrait of Christ
when suddenly Christ, you understand Christ, great eyes, dark terrible, suffering,

(01:31:21):
sorrow, grief, love, wellin a word Christ. Suddenly I
was struck with something. Suddenly itseemed to me that it was the face
of the greatest wrongdoer, tormented bythe greatest, unheard of woes of repentance?

(01:31:44):
Old man, why do you lookat me, so, old man?
Nearing my eyes to the very faceof the artist, I asked him
in a cautious whisper, as theoccasion required dividing each word from the other.

(01:32:04):
Don't you think that when the deviltempted him in the desert, he
did not renounce him, as hesaid later, but consented sold himself.
That he did not renounce the devil, but sold himself. Do you understand?

(01:32:27):
Does not that passage in the Gospelseem doubtful to you? Extreme fright
was expressed on the face of myyoung friend. Forcing the palms of his
hands against my chest as if topush me away. He ejaculated in a
voice so low that I could hardlyhear his indistinct words. What you say,

(01:32:56):
Jesus sold himself? What for?I explained softly that the people,
my child, that the people shouldbelieve him. Well, I smiled Kay's
eyes became round as if a newswas strangling him. Suddenly, with that

(01:33:23):
lack of respect for old age,which was one of his characteristics, he
threw me down on the bed witha sharp thrust and jumped away into a
corner. When I was slowly gettingup from the awkward position into which the
unrestraint of that young man had forcedme, I fell backward, with my

(01:33:49):
head between the pillow and the backof the bed. He cried to me
loudly, don't you dare, don'tyou dare, Get up, you devil.
But I did not think of risingto my feet. I simply sat

(01:34:09):
down on the bed and thus seated. With an involuntary smile. At the
passionate outburst of the youth, Ishook my head good natured glee, and
laughed, Oh young man, youngman, you yourself have drawn me into

(01:34:29):
this theological conversation. But he staredat me stubbornly, wide eyed, and
kept repeating, sit there, sitthere. I did not say this.
No, no, you said it, young man. You do you remember

(01:34:51):
Spain the picture gallery? You saidit, and now you deny it,
mocking my clumsy old age. OhKay, suddenly lowered his hands and admitted
in a low voice. Yes,I said it, but you, old

(01:35:13):
man, I do not remember whathe said after that. It is so
hard to recall all the childish chatterof this kind, But unfortunately too light
minded, young man, I rememberonly that we parted as friends, and

(01:35:34):
he pressed my hand warmly, expressingto me his sincere gratitude, even calling
me so far as I can remember, his savior. By the way I
succeeded in convincing the warden that theportrait of even such a man as I,

(01:35:56):
after all a prisoner, was outof place in such a solemn official
room as the office of our prison. And now the portrait hangs on the
wall of my cell, pleasantly breakingthe cold monotony of the pure white walls,
leaving for a time our artist,who is now carried away by the

(01:36:21):
portrait of the warden. I shallcontinue my story. End of chapter six.
Chapter seven of The Man Who Foundthe Truth by Leonit Nikolayevich Andreyev,

(01:36:42):
translated by Hermann Bernstein. This LibriVoxrecording is in the public domain recording by
Carolyn. Chapter seven. My spiritualclearness, as I had the pleasure of
informing the reader before, has builtup for me a considerable circle of men

(01:37:04):
and women admirers with self evident emotion. I shall tell of the pleasant hours
of our hearty conversations, which Imodestly call my talks. It is difficult
for me to explain how I deservedit, but the majority of those who

(01:37:26):
come to me regard me with afeeling of the profoundest respect, even adoration.
And only a few come for thepurpose of arguing with me. But
these arguments are usually of a moderateand proper character. I usually seat myself
in the middle of the rim,in a soft and deep armchair, which

(01:37:50):
is furnished me for this occasion bythe warden. My hearers surround me closely,
and some of them, the moreenthusiastic youths and maidens, seat themselves
at my feet. Having before mean audience more than half of which is

(01:38:11):
composed of women and entirely disposed inmy favor, I always appeal not so
much to the mind as to thesensitive and truthful heart. Fortunately, I
possess a certain oratorical power and thecustomary effects of the oratorical art, to

(01:38:33):
which all preachers, beginning in allprobability with Mohammed, have resorted and which
I can handle rather cleverly allow meto influence my hearers in the desired direction.
It is easily understood that to thedear ladies in my audience, I

(01:38:54):
am not so much the sage whohas solved the mystery of the iron gait,
as the great martyr of a righteouscause which they do not quite understand.
Shunning abstract discussions, they eagerly hangon every word of compassion and kindness

(01:39:15):
and respond with the same, allowingthem to love me and to believe in
my immutable knowledge of life. Ieffort them the happy opportunity to depart,
at least for a time, fromthe coldness of life, from its painful
doubts and questions. I say openlywithout any false modesty, which I despise,

(01:39:41):
even as I despise hypocrisy. Therewere lectures at which I, myself,
being in a state of exaltation,called forth in my audience, especially
in my nervous lady visitors, amood of intense agitation, which turned into
hysterical love and tears. Of course, I am not a prophet. I

(01:40:03):
am merely a modest thinker. Butno one would succeed in convincing my lady
admirers, that there is no propheticmeaning and significance in my speeches. I
remember one such lecture which took placetwo months ago. The night before I
could not sleep as soundly as Iusually slept. Perhaps it was simply because

(01:40:29):
of the full moon, which affectssleep, disturbing and interrupting it. I
vaguely remember the strange sensation which Iexperienced when the pale crescent of the moon
appeared in my window and the ironsquares cut it with ominous black lines into

(01:40:49):
small silver squares. When I startedfor the lecture, I felt exhausted and
rather inclined to silent lends, thento conversation. The vision of the night
before disturbed me. But when Isaw those dear faces, those eyes full

(01:41:11):
of hope and ardent and treity forfriendly advice, When I saw before me
that rich field already plowed, waitingonly for the good seat to be sown,
my heart began to burn with delight, pity, and love. Avoiding
the customary formalities which accompany the meetingsof people, declining the hands outstretched to

(01:41:39):
great me, I turned to theaudience, which was agitated at the very
sight of me, and gave themmy blessing with a gesture to which I
know how to lend a peculiar majesty. Come on to me, I exclaimed,
Come on to me, you whohave gone away from that life.

(01:42:02):
Here, in this quiet abode,under the sacred protection of the iron grate
at my heart, overflowing with love, you will find rest and comfort.
My beloved children, Give me yoursad soul, exhausted from suffering, and

(01:42:24):
I shall clothe it with light.I shall carry it to those blissful lands
where the sun of eternal truth andlove never sets. Many had begun to
cry already, but as it wastoo early for tears, I interrupted them

(01:42:45):
with a gesture of fatherly impatience,and continued, You, dear girl,
who came from the world which callsitself free? What gloomy shadows lie on
your charming and beautiful face? Andyou, my darling youth, why are
you so pale? Why do Isee, instead of the ecstasy of victory,

(01:43:11):
the fear of defeating your lowered eyes? And you, honest mother,
tell me what wind has made youreyes so red? What furious rain has
lashed your wizened face? What snowhas whitened your hair, for it used
to be dark. But the weepingand the sobs drowned the end of my

(01:43:39):
speech. And besides, I admitted, without feeling ashamed of it, I
myself brushed away more than one treacheroustear from my eyes, without allowing the
agitation to subside completely. I cooledin a voice of stern and truthful reproach.

(01:44:00):
Do not weep, because your soulis dark, stricken with misfortunes,
blinded by chaos, clipped off itswings by doubts. Give it to me,
and I shall direct it towards thelight, toward order and reason.
I know the truth. I haveconceived the world. I have discovered the

(01:44:27):
great principle of its purpose. Ihave solved the sacred formula of the iron
grate. I demand of you swearto me, by the cold iron of
its squares, that henceforth you willconfess to me, without shame or fear,
all your deeds, your errors anddoubts, all the secret thoughts of

(01:44:51):
your soul, and the dreams anddesires of your body. We swear,
we swear, we swear, saveus, reveal us the truth, Take
our sins upon yourself, save us, Save us, numerous exclamations resound it.

(01:45:14):
I must mention the sad incident whichoccurred during that same lecture. At
the moment when the excitement reached itsheight, and the hearts had already opened,
ready to unburden themselves, a certainyouth, looking more rose and embittered,
exclaimed loudly, evidently addressing himself tome, liar, do not listen

(01:45:43):
to him. He is lying.The indulgent reader will easily believe that it
was only by a great effort thatI succeeded in saving the incautious youth from
the fury of the audience, offendedin that which is most precious to a

(01:46:04):
human being, his faith in goodnessand the divine purpose of life. My
women admirers rushed upon the foolish youthin a mob and would have beaten him
cruelly. Remembering, however, thatthere was more joy to the pastor in

(01:46:26):
one sinner who repents than in tenrighteous men, I took the young man
aside where no one could hear us, and entered into a brave conversation with
him. Did you call me aliar? My child? Moved by my

(01:46:47):
kindness, the poor young man becameconfused and answered hesitatingly, pardon me for
my harshness, but it seems tome that you are not telling the truth.
I understand you, my friend.You must have been agitated by the
intense ecstasy of the women, andyou, as a sensible man not inclined

(01:47:13):
to mysticism, suspected me of fraud, of a hideous fraud. No,
no, don't excuse yourself. Iunderstand you, but I wish you would
understand me. Out of the mireof superstitions, out of the deep gulf
of prejudices and unfounded beliefs, Iwant to lead their straight thoughts and place

(01:47:40):
them upon the solid foundation of strictlylogical reasoning. The iron grate which I
mentioned is not a mystical sign.It is only a formula, a simple,
sober, honest, mathematical formulae.To you, as a sensible man,

(01:48:00):
I will willingly explain this formulae,the greatest, the scheme in which
are placed all the laws guiding theuniverse, which do away with chaos,
substituting in its place strict iron,inviolable order forgotten by mankind. As a

(01:48:24):
bright minded man, you will easilyunderstand. Pardon me, I did not
understand you, and if you willpermit me I, but why do you
make them swear? My friend?The soul of man, believing itself free
and constantly suffering from this spurious freedom, is demanding fetas for itself. To

(01:48:51):
some. These fetas are an oath, to others a vow. To still
others, simply a word of honor. You will give me your word of
honor, will you not? Iwill? And by this you are simply

(01:49:11):
striving to enter the harmony of theworld, where everything is subjected to a
law. Is not the falling ofa stone the fulfillment of a vow,
the vow called the law of gravitation. I shall not go into detail about
this conversation and the others that followed. The obstinate and unrestrained youth, who

(01:49:39):
had insulted me by calling me liar, became one of my warmest adherents.
I must return to the others.During the time that I talked with the
young man, their desire for penitenceamong my charming proselytes reached its h light.

(01:50:00):
Not patient enough to wait for me, they commenced, in a state
of intense ecstasy to confess to oneanother, giving to the rim an appearance
of a garden where dozens of birdsof paradise were twittering at the same time.

(01:50:21):
When I returned, each of themseparately unfolded her agitated soul to me.
I saw how, from day today, from hour to hour,
terrible chaos was struggling in their soulswith an eager inclination for harmony and order.

(01:50:45):
How in the bloody struggle between eternalfalsehood and immortal truth, falsehood,
through inconceivable ways, passed into truth, and truth became falsehood. I found
in the human soul all the forcesin the world, and none of them
was dormant. And in the madwhirlpool, each soul became like a fountain,

(01:51:13):
whose sources the abyss of the sea, and whose summit the sky.
And every human being, as Ihave learned and seen, is like the
rich and powerful Master who gave amasquerade ball at his castle and illuminated it
with many lights. And strange maskscame from everywhere, and the Master greeted

(01:51:41):
them, bowing courteously and vainly,asking them who they were, and knew
ever stranger, ever more terrible maskswere arriving, and the Master bowed to
them. Ever more courteously, staggeringfrom fatigue and fear, and they were

(01:52:01):
laughing and whispering strange words about theeternal chaos. Whence they came, obeying
the call of the Master, andlights were burning in the castle, and
in the distance, lighted windows werevisible, reminding him of the festival.
And the exhausted Master kept bowing everlower, ever more courteously, ever more

(01:52:29):
cheerfully. My indulgent reader will easilyunderstand that, in addition to a certain
sense of fear which I experienced,the greatest delight and even joyous emotion soon
came upon me, for I sawthat eternal chaos was defeated, and the

(01:52:50):
triumphant hymn of bright harmony was risingto the skies. Not without a sense
of pride, I shall mention themodest offerings by which my kind admirers were
striving to express to me their feelingsof love and adoration. I am not

(01:53:14):
afraid of calling out a smile onthe lips of my readers, for I
feel how comical it is. Iwill say that among the offerings brought me
at first were fruit cakes, allkinds of sweetmeats. But I am afraid,
however, that no one will believeme when I say that I have

(01:53:36):
actually declined these offerings, preferring theobservance of the prison regime and all its
rigidness. At the last lecture,a kind and honorable lady brought me a
basketful of life flowers. To myregret, I was compelled to declay line

(01:54:00):
this present to forgive me, madam, But flowers do not enter into the
system of our prison. I appreciatevery much your magnanimous attention. I kiss
your hands, Madam, I said, but I am compelled to decline the
flowers. Traveling along the thorny roadof self renunciation, I must not caress

(01:54:26):
my eyes with the ephemeral and illusionarybeauty of these charming lilies and roses.
All the flowers perish in our prison, Madam. Yesterday another lady brought me
a very valuable crucifix of ivory,a family heirloom. She said, not

(01:54:48):
afflicted with the sin of hypocrisy,I told my generous lady frankly that I
do not believe in miracles. Butat the same time, I said,
I regard with the profoundest respect himwho is justly called the savior of the

(01:55:12):
world. And I honor greatly hisservices to mankind. If I should tell
you, madam, that the Gospelhas long been my favorite book, that
there is not a day in mylife that I do not open this great
book, drawing from it strength andcourage to be able to continue my hard

(01:55:33):
course, you will understand that yourliberal gift could not have fallen into better
hands. Henceforth, thanks to you, the sad solitude of my cell will
vanish. I am not alone.I bless you, my daughter. I

(01:55:55):
cannot forego mentioning the strange thoughts broughtout by the crucifix as it hung there
besides my portray. It was twilightoutside the wall. The bell was tolling
heavily in the invisible church, callingthe believers together. In the distance,

(01:56:16):
over the deserted field overgrown with highgrass, an unknown wanderer was plodding along,
passing into the unknown distance like alittle black dot. It was as
quiet in our prison as in asepulcher. I looked long and attentively at

(01:56:39):
the features of Jesus, which wereso calm, so joyous, compared with
him who looked silently and dully fromthe wall beside him, and with my
habit formed during the long years ofsolitude of addressing inanimate things aloud, I

(01:57:01):
said to the motionless crucifix, goodevening, Jesus. I am glad to
welcome you in our prison. Thereare three of us here, you,
I and the one who is lookingfrom the wall, and I hope that
we three will manage to live inpeace and in harmony. He is looking

(01:57:25):
silently, and you are silent,and your eyes are closed. I shall
speak for the three of us,a sure sign that our peace will never
be broken. They were silent,and continuing, I addressed my speech to
the portray. Where are you lookingso intently and so strangely, my unknown

(01:57:53):
friend and room mate? In youreyes? I see mystery and reproach?
Is it possible that you dare reproachhim? An sir? And pretending that
the portray unswerd, I continued ina different voice, with an expression of

(01:58:14):
extreme sternness and boundless grief. Yes, I do reproach him, Jesus,
Jesus, Why is your face sopure, so blissful? You have passed
only over the brink of human sufferings, as over the brink of an abyss,

(01:58:35):
and only the foam of the bloodyand my ray waves have touched you.
Do you command me, a humanbeing to sink into the dark depth?
Great is your Gulgatha Jesus, Buttwo reverend and joyous, and one

(01:58:58):
small but interest stroke is missing thehorror of aimlessness Here I interrupted the speech
of the portrait with an expression ofanger. How dare you, I exclaimed,
how dare you speak of aimlessness inour prison? They were silent,

(01:59:24):
and suddenly Jesus, without opening hiseyes, he even seemed to close them
more tightly and said, who knowsthe mysteries of the heart of Jesus?
I burst into laughter, and myesteemed reader will easily understand this laughter.

(01:59:48):
It turned out that I, acool and sober mathematician, possessed a poetic
talent and could compose very interesting,sting comedies. I do not know how
all this would have ended, forI had already prepared a thundering answer for

(02:00:10):
my roommate when the appearance of thekeeper who brought me food suddenly interrupted me.
But apparently my face bore traces ofexcitement, for the man asked me
with stern sympathy, were you praying? I do not remember what I ansaid

(02:00:34):
end of chapter seven. Chapter eightof The Man Who Found the Truth by
Leonite Nikolayevitch and Rayev, translated byHermann Bernstein. This LibriVox recording is in
the public domain. Recording by Carolyn. Chapter eight, Last Sunday, A

(02:01:02):
great misfortune occurred in our prison.The artist Kay, whom the reader knows
already, ended his life in suicideby flinging himself from the table with his
head against the stone floor. Thefall and the force of the blow had

(02:01:25):
been so skillfully calculated by the unfortunateyoung man that his skull was split into
the grief of the warden was indescribable. Having called me to the office,
the warden, without shaking hands withme, reproached me in angry and harsh

(02:01:48):
terms for having deceived him, andhe regained his calm only after my hearty
apologies and promises that such accidents wouldnot happen again. I promised to prepare
a project for watching the criminals,which would render suicide impossible. The esteemed

(02:02:13):
wife of the warden, whose portraitremained unfinished, was also grieved by the
death of the artist. Of course, I had not expected this outcome either,
although a few days before committing suicide. Kay had provoked in me a
feeling of uneasiness. Upon entering hiscello one morning and greeting him, I

(02:02:41):
noticed with amazement that he was sittingbefore his slate once more drawing human figures.
What does this mean, my friend, I inquired cautiously, And how
about the portrait of the second assistant. The devil take it, but you,

(02:03:08):
the devil take it. After apause, I remarked, distractedly,
your portrait of the warden is meetingwith great success, although some of the
people who have seen it say thatthe right mustache is somewhat shorter than the
left. Shorter, yes, shorter, But in general they find that you

(02:03:33):
caught the lightness very successfully. Kayhad put aside his slate pencil and perfectly
calm said, tell your warden thatI'm not going to paint that prison referraf
anymore. After these words, therewas nothing left for me to do but

(02:03:58):
to leave him, which I decidedto do. But the artist, who
could not get along without giving ventto his effusions, seized me by the
hand and said, with his usualenthusiasm, just think of it, old
man, what a horror. Everyday, a new repulsive face appears before

(02:04:23):
me, they sit and stared atme with their frog like eyes. What
am I to do? At firstI laughed, I even liked it.
But when the frog like eyes staredat me every day, I was seized
with horror. I was afraid theymight start to quawk qua qua. Indeed,

(02:04:47):
there was a certain fear, evenmadness, in the eyes of the
artist, the madness which shortly ledhim to his untimely grave. Old man,
it is necessary to have something beautiful. Do you understand me? And

(02:05:10):
the wife of the warden, isshe not? I shall pass in silence
the unbecoming expressions with which he spokeof the lady in his excitement. I
must, however, admit that toa certain extent the artist was right in

(02:05:30):
his complaints. I had been presentseveral times at the sittings and noticed that
all who had posed for the artistbehaved rather unnaturally, sincere and naive,
conscious of the importance of their position. Convinced that the features of their faces,

(02:05:54):
perpetuated upon the converse, would godown to posterity, they exaggerated somewhat
the qualities which are so characteristic oftheir high and responsible office. In our
prison, A certain bombast of pose, an exaggerated expression of stern authority,

(02:06:16):
in obvious consciousness of their own importance, and a noticeable contempt for those on
whom their eyes were directed. Allof this disfigured their kind and affable faces.
But I cannot understand what horrible featuresthe artist found where there should have

(02:06:39):
been a smile. I was evenindignant at the superficial attitude with which an
artist who considered himself talented and sensiblepassed the people without noticing that a divine
spark was glimmering in each one ofthem. In the quest after some fun,

(02:07:00):
fantastic beauty, he light mindedly passedby the true beauties with which the
human soul is filled. I cannothelp feeling sorry for those unfortunate people who,
like K, because of a peculiarconstruction of their brains, always turned

(02:07:21):
their eyes towards the dark side,whereas there is so much joy and light
in our prison. When I saidthis to K, I heard, to
my regret, the same stereotyped andindecent answer, The devil take it.

(02:07:45):
All I could do was to shrugmy shoulders. Suddenly changing his tone and
bearing, the artist turned to meseriously with a question which, in my
opinion, was also indecent. Whydo you lie, old man? I

(02:08:09):
was astonished. Of course I lie. Well, let it be the truth
if you like. But why Iam looking at thinking, why did you
say that? Why? My indulgentreader, who knows well what the truth

(02:08:30):
has cost me, will readily understandmy profound indignation. I deliberately mention this
audacious and other calumnious phrases to showin what an atmosphere of malice, distrust,
and disrespect I have to plod alongthe hard road of suffering. He

(02:08:56):
insisted rudely, I have had enoughof your smiles. Tell me, plainly,
why do you speak so? Then? I admit I flared up.
You want to know why I speakthe truth and I committed to eternal anathema

(02:09:16):
because fate has made me a victimof injustice, and as a victim,
like him who took upon himself thegreat sin of the world and its great
sufferings, I wish to point outthe way to mankind. Wretched egoist,
you know only yourself and your miserableart. While I love mankind, my

(02:09:45):
anger grew. I felt the veinson my forehead swelling ful miserable, dauber,
unfortunate schoolboy, in love with colors. Human beings pass before you,
and you see only their frog likeeyes. How did your tongue turned to

(02:10:05):
say such a thing? Oh,if you only looked even once into the
human soul, what treasures of tenderness, love, humble faith, holy humility
you would have discovered there? Andto you, bold man, it would
have seemed as if you entered atemple, a bright, illuminated temple.

(02:10:30):
But it is said of people likeyou, do not cast your pearls before
swine. The artist was silent,crushed by my angry and unrestrained speech.
Finally he sighed and said, forgiveme, old man. I am talking

(02:10:52):
nonsense, of course, but Iam so unfortunate and so lonely. Of
course, my dear year old man, it is all true about the divine
spark and about beauty. But apolished boot is also beautiful. I cannot,
I cannot just think of it.How can a man have such mustaches

(02:11:16):
as he has, and yet heis complaining that the left mustache is shorter.
He laughed like a child, and, heaving a sigh, added,
I'll make another attempt. I willpaint the lady. There is really something

(02:11:37):
good in her, although she isafter all a cow. He laughed again,
and, fearing to brush away withhis sleeve the drawing on the slate,
he cautiously placed it in the corner. Here. I did that which
my duty compelled me to do.Seizing this slate, I smashed it to

(02:12:03):
pieces with a powerful blow. Ithought that the artist would rush upon me
furiously, but he did not.To his weak mind, my act seemed
so blasphemous, so supernaturally horrible,that his deathlike lips could not utter a

(02:12:26):
word. What have you done,he asked at last, in a low
voice. You have broken it?And raising my hand, I replied solemnly,
foolish youth, I have done thatwhich I would have done to my
heart if it wanted to jest andmock me. Unfortunate youth, Can you

(02:12:52):
not see that your art has longbeen mocking you, That from that slate
of yours, the devil himself wasmaking hideous faces at you, Yes,
the devil being far from your wonderfulart. I did not understand you at

(02:13:13):
first, nor your longing, yourhorror of aimlessness. But when I entered
yourself today and noticed you at yourruinous occupation, I said to myself,
it is better that he should notcreate at all than to create in this
manner. Listen to me. Ithen revealed for the first time to this

(02:13:39):
youth the sacred formula of the irongrate, which, dividing the infinite into
squares, thereby subjects it to itself. Kay listened to my words with emotion,
looking with the horror of an ignorantmanner, the figures which must have

(02:14:01):
seemed to him to be kabalistic,but which were nothing else than the ordinary
figures used in mathematics. I amyour slave, old man, he said,
at last, kissing my hand withhis cold lips. No, you

(02:14:22):
will be my favorite pupil, myson. I bless you, and it
seemed to me that the artist wassaved. True. He regarded me with
great joy, which could easily beexplained by the extreme respect with which I
inspired him. And he painted theportrait of the warden's wife with such zealand

(02:14:50):
enthusiasm that the esteemed lady was sincerelymoved, and strange to say, the
artist succeeded in making so strangely beautifulthe features of this woman, who was
stout and no longer young that thewarden, long accustomed to the face of

(02:15:13):
his wife, was greatly delighted byits new expression. Thus everything went on
smoothly, when suddenly this catastrophe occurred, the entire horror of which I alone
knew. Not desiring to call forthany unnecessary disputes, I concealed from the

(02:15:39):
warden the fact that, on theeve of his death, the artist had
thrown a letter into my cell,which I noticed only in the morning.
I did not preserve the note,nor do I remember all that the unfortunate
youth told me in his farewell message. I think it was a letter of

(02:16:03):
thanks for my effort to save him. He wrote that he regretted sincerely that
his failing strength did not permit himto avail himself of my instructions. But
one phrase impressed itself deeply in mymemory, and you will understand the reason

(02:16:26):
for it when I repeated, inall its terrifying simplicity, I am going
away from your prison. Thus readthe phrase, and he really did go
away. Here are the walls,here is the little window in the door.

(02:16:48):
Here is our prison. But heis not there. He has gone
away. Consequently, I too couldgo away instead of having ways did dozens
of years on a titanic struggle,Instead of being tormented by the throes of
despair, instead of growing and feebledby horror in the face of unsolved mysteries,

(02:17:13):
of striving to subject the world tomy mind and my will, I
could have climbed the table, andone instant of pain, I would be
free. I would be triumphant overthe lock and the walls, over truth
and falsehood, over joys and sufferings. I will not say that I had

(02:17:37):
not thought of suicide before as ameans of escaping from our prison. But
now, for the first time,it appeared before me in all its attractiveness,
In a fit of base faintheartedness whichI shall not conceal from my reader,
even as I do not conceal fromhim my good qualities. Perhaps even

(02:18:03):
in a fit of temporary insanity,I momentarily forgot all I knew about our
prison and its great purpose. Iforgot, I am ashamed to say,
even the great formula of the irongrate, which I conceived and mastered with
such difficulty. And I prepared anews made of my towel for the purpose

(02:18:30):
of strangling myself. But at thelast moment, when all was ready and
it was but necessary to push awaythe tabret, I asked myself, with
my habit of reasoning, which didnot forsake me even at that time,

(02:18:50):
But where am I going? Theanswer was, I am going to death.
But what is death? And theanswer was I do not know.
These brief reflections were enough for meto come to myself, and with a
bitter laugh at my cowardice, Iremoved the fatal news from my neck.

(02:19:16):
Just as I had been ready tosob for grief a minute before. So
now I laughed. I laughed likea madman, realizing that another trap placed
before me by derisive fate had sobrilliantly been evaded by me. Oh,

(02:19:37):
how many traps there are in thelife of man. Like a cunning fisherman,
Fate catches him, now with thealluring bait of some truth, Now
with the hairy little warm of darkfalsehood, Now with the phantom of life,

(02:19:58):
Now with the fact of death.My dear young man, my fascinating
fool, my charming, silly fellow, who told you that our prison ends
here, that from one prison youdid not fall into another prison from which

(02:20:18):
it will hardly be possible for youto run away. You were too hasty,
my friend. You forgot to askme something else. I would have
told it to you. I wouldhave told you that omnipotent law reigns over
that which you call nonexistence and death, just as it reigns over that which

(02:20:43):
you call life and existence. Onlythe fools dying believe that they have made
an end of themselves. They haveended but one form of themselves in order
to assume another form immediately. ThusI reflected, laughing at the foolish suicide,

(02:21:05):
the ridiculous destroyer of the fetters ofeternity. And this is what I
said, addressing myself to my twosilent roommates hanging motionlessly on the white wall
of my cell. I believe andconfess that our prison is immortal. What

(02:21:28):
do you say to this, myfriends? But they were silent, and
having burst into good natured laughter.What quiet roommates I have? I undressed
slowly and gave myself to peaceful sleep. In my dream I saw another majestic

(02:21:50):
prison, and wonderful jailers with whitewings on their backs, and the chief
warden of the prison himself. Ido not remember whether there were any little
windows in the doors or not,but I think there were. I recall
that something like an angel's eye wasfixed upon me with tender attention and love.

(02:22:18):
My indulgent reader will, of courseguess that I am jesting. I
did not dream at all. Iam not in the habit of dreaming without
hoping that the warden, occupied withpressing official affairs, would understand me thoroughly

(02:22:39):
and appreciate my idea concerning the impossibilityof escaping from our prison. I confined
myself in my report to an indicationof several ways in which suicides could be
averted with magnanimous short sightedness peculiar tobusy and trusting people. The warden failed

(02:23:05):
to notice the weak points of myproject, and clasped my hand warmly,
expressing to me his gratitude in thename of our entire prison. On that
day, I had the honor forthe first time to drink a glass of

(02:23:26):
tea at the home of the warden, in the presence of his kind wife
and charming children, who called megrand Pa. Tears of emotion, which
gathered in my eyes, could butfaintly express the feelings that came over me

(02:23:48):
at the request of the warden's wife, who took a deep interest in me,
I related in detail the story ofthe tragic murders which led me me
so unexpectedly and so terribly to theprison. I could not find expressions strong
enough. There are no expressions strongenough in the human language to brand adequately

(02:24:16):
the unknown criminal who not only murderedthree helpless people, but who mocked them
brutally in a fit of blind andsavage rage. As the investigation and the
autopsy showed, the murderer dealt thelast blows after the people had been dead.

(02:24:39):
It is very possible, however,even murderers should be given their due,
that the man, intoxicated by thesight of blood ceased to be a
human being and became a beast,the son of chaos, the child of
dark and terrible desires. It wascharacteristic that the murderer, after having committed

(02:25:07):
the crime, drank wine and atebiscuits. Some of these were left on
the table, together with the marksof his blood stained fingers. But there
was something so horrible that my mindcould neither understand nor explain. The murderer,

(02:25:28):
after lighting a cigar himself, apparentlymoved by a feeling of strange kindness
put a lighted cigar between the closedteeth of my father. I had not
recalled these details in many years.They had almost been erased by the hand

(02:25:50):
of time, And now, whilerelating them to my shocked listeners, who
would not believe that such horrors werewere possible, I felt my face turning
pale and my hair quivering on myhead. In an outburst of grief and
anger, I rose from my armchair, and straightening myself to my full height,

(02:26:18):
I exclaimed, justice on earth isoften powerless. But I implore heavenly
justice. I implore the justice oflife, which never forgives. I implore
all the higher laws under whose authorityman lives. May the guilty one not

(02:26:39):
escape his deserved punishment, his punishment. Moved by my sobs, my listeners
there and then expressed their zeal andreadiness to work for my liberation and thus
at least partly redeem the injustice heapedupon me. I apologized and returned to

(02:27:05):
my cell. Evidently, my oldorganism cannot bear such agitations any longer.
Besides, it is hard even fora strong man to picture in his imagination
certain images without risking the loss ofhis raisin only in this way can I

(02:27:26):
explain this strange hallucination which appeared beforemy fatigued eyes in the solitude of my
cell, As though benumbed. Igazed aimlessly at the tightly closed door,
when suddenly it seemed to me thatsomeone was standing behind me. I had

(02:27:48):
felt this deceptive sensation before, soI did not turn around for some time.
But when I turned around at last, I saw, in the distance
between the crucifix and my portray,about a quarter of a yard above the
floor, the body of my father, as though hanging in the air.

(02:28:13):
It is hard for me to givethe details, for twilight had long set
in, but I can say withcertainty that it was the image of a
corpse and not of a living being, although a cigar was smoking in its
mouth. To be more exact,there was no smoke from the cigar,

(02:28:37):
but a faintly reddish light was seen. It is characteristic that I did not
sense the odor of tobacco, eitherat that time or later. I had
long given up smoking. Here Imust confess my weakness, but the illusion
was striking. I commenced to speakto the hallucination, advancing as closely as

(02:29:05):
possible. The body did not retreatas I approached, but remained perfectly motionless.
I said to the ghost, Ithank you father. You know how
your son is suffering, and youhave come. You have come to testify
to my innocence. I thank youFather. Give me your hand, and

(02:29:31):
with a firm, filial hand claspI will respond to your unexpected visit.
Don't you want to let me haveyour hand? Give me your hand,
or I will call you a liar. I stretched out my hand, but
of course the hallucination did not deemit worth a while to respond, and

(02:29:56):
I was forever deprived of the opportunityof feeling the touch of a ghost.
The cry which I uttered, andwhich so upset my friend that jailer,
creating some confusion in the prison,was called forth by the sudden disappearance of
the phantom. It was so suddenthat the space and the place where the

(02:30:22):
corpse had been seemed to me moreterrible than the corpse itself. Such is
the power of human imagination. Whenexcited, it creates phantoms and visions,
peopling the bottomless and ever silent emptinesswith them. It is sad to admit

(02:30:46):
that there are people, however,who believe in ghosts and build upon this
belief nonsensical theories about certain relations betweenthe world of the living and the enigmatic
land inhabited by the dead. Iunderstand that the human ear and eye can

(02:31:07):
be deceived, But how can thegreat and lucid human mind fall into such
coarse and ridiculous deception? I askedthe jailer. I feel a strange sensation,
as though there were the odor ofcigar smoke in my cell. Don't

(02:31:31):
you smell it? The Jaala sniffedthe air conscientiously and replied, no,
I don't you only imagined it.If you need any confirmation, here is
a splendid proof that all I hadseen, if it existed at all,

(02:31:52):
existed only in the net of myeye. End of chapter eight, Chapter
nine of The Man Who Found theTruth by Leonit Nikolayevitch Andreyev translated by Hermann

(02:32:16):
Bernstein. This LibriVox recording is inthe public domain recording by Carolyn. Chapter
nine, something altogether unexpected has happened. The efforts of my friends, the
warden and his wife were crowned withsuccess, and for two months I have

(02:32:43):
been free out of prison. Iam happy to inform you that Immediately upon
my leaving the prison, I occupieda very honorable position to which I could
hardly have aspired. Conscious of myhumble qualities, the entire press met me

(02:33:05):
with unanimous enthusiasm. Numerous journalists,photographers, even caricaturists. The people of
our time are so fond of laughterand clever witticisms. In hundreds of articles
and drawings reproduced the story of myremarkable life with striking unanimity. The newspapers

(02:33:33):
assigned to me the name of Master, a highly flattering name, which I
accepted after some hesitation, with deepgratitude. I do not know whether it
is worth mentioning the few hostile noticescalled forth by irritation and envy, a

(02:33:58):
vice which so frequently stains the humansoul. In one of these notices,
which appeared, by the way,in a very filthy little newspaper, a
certain scamp, guided by richard gossipand baseless rumors about my chats in our

(02:34:20):
prison, called me a zealot andliar. Enraged by the insolence of the
miserable scribbeller, my friends wanted toprosecute him, but I persuaded them not
to do it. Vice is itsown proper punishment. The fortune which my

(02:34:46):
kind mother had left me, andwhich had grown considerably during the time I
was in prison, has enabled meto settle down to a life of luxury
in one one of the most aristocratichotels. I have a large retinue of
servants at my command, and anautomobile, a splendid invention with which I

(02:35:11):
now became acquainted for the first time, and I have skillfully arranged my financial
affairs. Life. Flowers, broughtto me in abundance by my charming lady
visitors, give to my nook theappearance of a flower garden, or even

(02:35:31):
a bit of tropical forest. Myservant, a very decent young man,
is in a state of despair.He says that he had never seen such
a variety of flowers, and hadnever smelt such a variety of odors.
At the same time, if notfor my advanced age and the strict and

(02:35:56):
serious propriety with which I trade myvisitors, I do not know how far
they would have gone in the expressionof their feelings. How many perfumed notes,
how many languid size and humbly imploringeyes. There was even a fascinating

(02:36:18):
stranger with a black veil. Threetimes she appeared mysteriously, and when she
learned that I had visitors, shedisappeared just as mysteriously. I will add
that at the present time I havehad the honor of being elected an honorary

(02:36:41):
member of numerous humanitarian organizations such asthe League of Peace, the League for
Combating Juvenile Criminality, the Society ofthe Friends of Man, and others.
Besides, at the request of theeditor of one of the most widely read

(02:37:03):
newspapers, I am to begin nextmonth a series of public lectures, for
which purpose I am going on atour together with my kind impresario. I
have already prepared my material for thefirst three lectures, and in the hope

(02:37:26):
that my reader may be interested,I shall give the synopsis of these lectures.
First lecture, Chaos or Order,The eternal struggle between chaos and order,
the eternal revolt and the defeat ofchaos, the rebel the triumph of

(02:37:48):
law and order. Second lecture Whatis the Soul of Man? The eternal
conflict in the soul of man betweenchaos whence it came? And harmony,
whether it strives irresistibly falsehood as theoffspring of chaos, and truth as the

(02:38:16):
child of harmony, the triumph oftruth and the downfall of falsehood. Thirty
lecture, the explanation of the sacredformula of the Iron Great. As my
indulgent reader will see, justice isafter all not an empty sound, and

(02:38:39):
I am getting a greater reward formy sufferings, but not daring to reproach
fate which was so merciful to me. I nevertheless do not feel that sense
of contentment which it would seem Iought to feel. True. At first

(02:39:01):
I was positively happy. But soonmy habit for strictly logical reasoning, the
clearness and honesty of my views gainedby contemplating the world through a mathematically correct
great have led me to a seriesof disillusions. I am afraid to say

(02:39:24):
it now with full certainty, butit seems to me that all their life,
of this so called freedom, isa continuous self deception and falsehood.
The life of each of these peoplewhom I have seen during these days is

(02:39:46):
moving in a strictly defined circle,which is just as solid as the corridors
of our prison, just as closedas the dial of the worl which they,
in the innocence of their mind liftevery minute to their eyes, not

(02:40:09):
understanding the fatal meaning of the eternallymoving hand, which is eternally returning to
its place. And each of themfeels this, even as the circus horse
probably feels it. But in astate of strange blindness, each one assures

(02:40:30):
us that he is perfectly free andmoving forward. Like the stupid bird which
is beating itself to exhaustion against thetransparent glass obstacle, without understanding what it
is that obstructs its way, thesepeople are helplessly beating against the walls of

(02:40:54):
their glass prison. I was greatlymistaken, it seems, also in the
significance of the greetings which fell tomy lot when I left the prison.
Of course, I was convinced thatin me they greeted the representative of our

(02:41:18):
prison, a leader hardened by experience, a master who came to them only
for the purpose of revealing to themthe great mystery of purpose. And when
they congratulated me upon the freedom grantedto me, I responded with thanks,

(02:41:39):
not suspecting what an idiotic meaning theyplaced on the word. May I be
forgiven this cause expression. But Iam powerless now to restrain my aversion for
their stupid life, for their thoughts, for their feelings, foolish hypocrites,

(02:42:01):
fearing to tell the truth even whenit adorns them. My hardened truthfulness was
cruelly taxed in the midst of thesefaults and trivial people. Not a single
person believed that I was never sohappy as in prison? Why then,

(02:42:24):
are they so surprised at me?And why do they print my portraits?
Are there so few idiots that areunhappy in prison? And the most remarkable
thing, which only my indulgent readerwill be able to appreciate, is this

(02:42:46):
often distrusting me completely, they neverthelesssincerely go into raptures over me, bowing
before me, clasping my hands,and mumbling at every step, Master,
Master, if they only profited bytheir constant lying. But no, they

(02:43:09):
are perfectly disinterested, and they lieas though by someone's higher order. They
lie in the fanatical conviction that falsehoodis in no way different from the truth.
Wretched actors, even incapable of adecent makeup, they write from morning

(02:43:31):
till night on the boards of thestage, and dying the most real death,
suffering the most real sufferings. Theybring into their deathly convulsions the cheap
art of the harlequin. Even theircrooks are not real. They only play

(02:43:56):
the roles of crooks while remaining honestpeople. And the role of honest people
is played by rogues, and playedpoorly, and the public sees it.
But in the name of the samefatal falsehood. It gives them wraths and

(02:44:16):
bouquets. And if there is reallya talented actor who can wipe away the
boundary between truth and deception so thateven they begin to believe, they go
into raptures, call him great,start a subscription for a monument, but

(02:44:37):
do not give any money. Desperatecowards, they fear themselves most of all,
and admiring delightedly the reflection of theirspuriously made up faces in the mirror.
They howl with fear and rage whensomeone in cause holds up the mirror

(02:45:01):
to their soul. My indulgent readershould accept all this relatively, not forgetting
that certain grumblings are natural in oldage. Of course, I have met
quite a number of most worthy people, absolutely truthful, sincere, and courageous.

(02:45:26):
I am proud to admit that Ifound among them also a proper estimate
of my personality, with the supportof these friends of mine. I hope
to complete successfully my struggle for truthand justice. I am sufficiently strong for
my sixty years, and it seemsthere is no power that could break my

(02:45:52):
iron will. At times I amseized with fatigue. Oh to their absurd
mode of life. I have notthe proper rest, even at night.
The consciousness that while going to bed, I may absent mindedly have forgotten to

(02:46:13):
lock my bedroom door compels me tojump from my bed dozens of times and
to fill the lock with a quiverof horror. Not long ago it happened
that I locked my door and hidthe key under my pillow, perfectly confident

(02:46:35):
that my room was locked, whensuddenly I heard a knock. Then the
door opened, and my servant enteredwith a smile on his face. You,
dear reader, will easily understand thehorror I experienced at this unexpected visit.

(02:46:56):
It seemed to me that someone hadentered my soul. And though I
have absolutely nothing to conceal, thisbreaking into my room seems to me indecent,
to say the least. I caughta cold a few days ago.

(02:47:16):
There is a terrible draft in thewindows, and I asked my servant to
watch me at night. In themorning, I asked him in jest,
well did I talk much in mysleep? No, you didn't talk at
all. I had a terrible dream, and I remember I even cried.

(02:47:39):
No, you smiled all the time, And I thought, what fine dreams
our master must see. The dearyouth must have been sincerely devoted to me,
and I am deeply moved by suchdevotion during these painful days. Tomorrow

(02:48:01):
I shall sit down to prepare mylectures. It is high time. End
of chapter nine, chapter ten ofThe Man Who Found the Truth by Leonid
Nikolayevitch Andreyev, translated by Herman Bernstein. This LibriVox recording is in the public

(02:48:26):
domain recording by Carolyn. Chapter ten. My God, what has happened to
me? I do not know howI shall tell my reader about it.
I was on the brink of theabyss. I almost perished. What cruel
temptation fate is sending me? Fools? We smile without suspecting anything, When

(02:48:54):
some murderous hand is already lifted toattacker, we smile, and the very
next instant we open our eyes widewith horror. I I cried, I
cried another moment, and deceived,I would have hurled myself down, thinking

(02:49:18):
that I was flying toward the sky. It turned out that the charming stranger
who wore a dark veil, andwho came to me so mysteriously three times,
was no one else than Madame nmy former fiancee, my love,

(02:49:41):
my dream, and my suffering.But order order, May my indulgent reader
forgive the involuntary incoherence of the precedinglines. But I am sixty years old,
and my strength is beginning to failme, and I am alone.
My unknown reader, be my friendat this moment, for I am not

(02:50:07):
of iron, and my strength isbeginning to fail me. Listen, my
friend, I shall endeavor to tellyou exactly and in detail, as objectively
as my cold and clear mind willbe able to do it. All that
has happened. You must understand thatwhich my tongue may omit. I was

(02:50:35):
sitting engaged upon the preparation of mylecture, seriously carried away by the absorbing
work, when my servant announced thatthe strange lady in the black veil was
there again, and that she wishedto see me. I confess. I

(02:50:56):
was irritated that I was ready todecline find to see her. But my
curiosity, coupled with my desire notto offend her, led me to receive
the unexpected guest, assuming the expressionof majestic nobleness with which I usually greet

(02:51:16):
my visitors, and softening that expressionsomewhat by a smile. In view of
the romantic character of the affair,I ordered my servant to open the door.
Please be seated, my dear guest, I said politely to the stranger,

(02:51:37):
who stood as dazed before me,still keeping the veil on her face.
She sat down. Although I respectall secrecy, I continued jestingly,
I would nevertheless ask you to removethis gloomy cover which disfigures you. Does

(02:52:01):
the human face need a mask,this strange visitor declined, in a state
of agitation. Very well, I'lltake it off, but not now.
Later. First, I want tosee you well. The pleasant voice of

(02:52:22):
the stranger did not call forth anyrecollections in me. Deeply interested and even
flattered, I submitted to my strangevisitor all the treasures of my mind,
experience, and talent. With enthusiasm, I related to her the edifying story

(02:52:43):
of my life, constantly illuminating everydetail with array of the great purpose.
In this I availed myself partly ofthe material on which I had just been
working preparing my lecture. The passionateattention with which the strange lady listened to

(02:53:05):
my words, the frequent deep sighs, the nervous quiver of her thin fingers
in her black gloves, her agitatedexclamations inspired me. Carried away by my
own narrative, I confess I didnot pay proper attention to the queer behavior

(02:53:26):
of my strange visitor. Having lostall restraint, she now clasped my hands,
now pushed them away, She cried, and availing herself of each pause
in my speech, she implored,don't, don't, don't stop speaking.

(02:53:48):
I can't listen to it. Andat the moment when I least expected it,
she tore the veil from her face, and before my eyes became before
my eyes appeared her face, theface of my love, of my dream,
of my bounteless and bitter sorrow.Perhaps because I lived all my life

(02:54:11):
dreaming of her alone, with heralone, I was young with her,
I had developed and grown old withher. I was advancing to the grave.
Her face seemed to me neither old, nor faded. It was exactly
as I had pictured it in mydreams. It seemed endlessly dear to me.

(02:54:39):
What has happened to me? Forthe first time in tens of years,
I forgot that I had a face. For the first time in tens
of years, I looked helplessly,like a youngster, like a criminal,
quarter red handed, waiting for somedeadly blow. You see, you see

(02:55:03):
it is I. It is I, My god, Why are you so
silent? Don't you recognize me?Did I recognize her? It were better
not to have known that face atall. It were better for me to
have grown blind rather than to seeher again? Why are you silent?

(02:55:30):
How terrible you are? You haveforgotten me? Madam? Of course I
should have continued in this manner.I saw how she staggered. I saw
how, with trembling fingers, allalmost falling, she was looking for her

(02:55:50):
veil. I saw that another wordof courageous truth and the terrible vision would
vanish, never to appear again.But some stranger within me not I not.
I uttered the following absurd, ridiculousphrase, in which, despite its

(02:56:13):
chilliness, rang so much jealousy andhopeless sorrow. Madam, you have deceived
me. I don't know you.Perhaps you entered the wrong door. I
suppose your husband and your children arewaiting for you. Please, my servant
will take you down to the carriage. Could I think that these words,

(02:56:39):
uttered in the same stern and coldvoice, would have such a strange effect
upon the woman's heart? With acry, all the bitter passion of which
I could not describe, she threwherself before me on her knees, exclaiming,

(02:57:01):
so you do love me. Forgettingthat our life had already been lived,
that we were old, that allhad been ruined and scattered like dust
by time, and that it cannever return again. Forgetting that I was
gray, that my shoulders were bent, that the voice of passion sounds strangely

(02:57:26):
when it comes from old lips.I burst into impetuous reproaches and complaints.
Yes, I did deceive you.Her deathly pale lips uttered. I knew
that you were innocent. Be silent, Be silent. Everybody laughed at me,

(02:57:50):
even your friends, your mother,whom I despised for it, all
betrayed you. Only I kept arepeating he is innocent. Oh, if
this woman knew what she was doingto me with her words. If the
trumpet of the Angel announcing the dayof judgment had resounded at my very ear,

(02:58:15):
I would not have been so frightenedas now. What is the blaring
of a trumpet calling to battle andstruggle to the ear of the brave.
It was as if an abyss hadopened at my feet. It was as
if an abyss had opened before me, And as though blinded by lightning,
as though dazed by a blow,I shouted, in an outburst of wild

(02:58:41):
and strange ecstasy. Be silent.I. If that woman were sent by
God, she would have become silent. If she were sent by the devil,
she would have become silent even then. But there was neither God nor

(02:59:03):
Devil in her, and interrupting me, not permitting me to finish the phrase,
she went on, No, Iwill not be silent. I must
tell you all. I have waitedfor you so many years. Listen,
listen. But suddenly she saw myface and she retreated, seized with horror.

(02:59:30):
What is it? What is thematter with you? Why do you
laugh? I am afraid of yourlaughter. Stop laughing, don't don't.
But I was not laughing at all. I only smiled softly, and then
I said, very seriously, withoutsmiling, I am smiling because I am

(02:59:54):
glad to see you tell me aboutyourself. And as in a dream,
I saw her face and I heardher soft, terrible whisper. You know
that I love you. You knowthat all my life I loved you alone.
I lived with another and was faithfulto him. I have children,

(03:00:18):
but you know they are all strangersto me, He and the children,
and I myself. Yes, Ideceived you. I am a criminal,
but I do not know how ithappened. He was so kind to me.
He made me believe that he wasconvinced of your innocence. Later I

(03:00:39):
learned that he did not tell thetruth. And with this, just think
of it. With this, hewon me. You lie, I swear
to you. For a whole year, he followed me and spoke only of
you. One day he even criedwhen I told him about you, about

(03:01:03):
your sufferings, about your love.But he was lying, of course,
he was lying, But at thattime he seemed so dear to me,
so kind that I kissed him onthe forehead. Then we used to bring
you flowers to the prison. Oneday, as we were returning from you.

(03:01:24):
Listen. He suddenly proposed that weshould go out driving. The evening
was so beautiful, and you went. How did you dare go out with
him? You had just seen myprison, you had just been near me,
and yet you dared to go withhim? How base be silent?

(03:01:48):
Be silent? I know I ama criminal, but I was so exhausted,
so tired, and you were sofar away. Understand me, she
began to cry, wringing her hands. Understand me. I was so exhausted,

(03:02:09):
and he he saw how I felt, and yet he dared kiss me.
He kissed you, and you allowedhim on the lips. No,
no, only on the cheek,you lie. No, No, I
swear to you. I began tolaugh. You responded, and you were

(03:02:35):
driving in the forest. You myfiancee, my love, my dream,
and all this for my sake.Tell me speak. In my rage,
I wrung her arms and wriggling likea snake, vainly trying to evade my
look. She whispered, forgive me, forgive me, How many children have

(03:03:01):
you forgive me? But my reasonforsook me, and in my growing rage,
I cried, stamping my foot.How many children have you? Speak?
Or I will kill you. Iactually said this. Evidently I was

(03:03:22):
losing my reason completely if I couldthreaten to kill a helpless woman, and
she, surmising apparently that my threatswere mere words, answered with faint readiness,
kill me. You have a rightto do it. I am a

(03:03:43):
criminal. I deceived you. Youare a martyr, a saint. When
you told me, is it truethat even in your thoughts? You never
deceived me? Even in your thoughts? And again an abyss opened be for
me. Everything trembled, everything fell, Everything became an absurd dream. And

(03:04:09):
in the last effort to save myextinguished reason, I shouted, but you
are happy. You cannot be unhappy. You have no right to be unhappy.
Otherwise I shall lose my mind.But she did not understand. With

(03:04:30):
a bitter laugh, with a senselesssmile in which her suffering mingled with bright,
heavenly joy, she said, Iam happy. I happy, Oh,
my dear friend. Only near youI can find happiness. From the
moment you left the prison, Ibegan to despise my home. I am

(03:04:54):
alone there. I am a strangerto all. If you only I knew
how I hate that scoundrel. Youare sensible, You must have felt that
you were not alone in prison,that I was always with you there,
and he be silent, Be silent, if you only heard with what delight.

(03:05:20):
I called him scoundrel. She burstinto laughter, frightening me by the
wild expression on her face. Justthink of it. All his life he
embraced only a lie, and whendeceived, happy, he fell asleep.
I looked at him with wide openeyes. I gnashed my teeth softly,

(03:05:45):
and I felt like pinching him,like sticking him with a pin. She
burst into laughter again. It seemedto me that she was driving wedges into
my brain, clasping my head.I cried, you lie, you lie

(03:06:05):
to me. Indeed, it waseasier for me to speak to the ghost
than to the woman. What couldI say to her? My mind was
growing dim, and how could Irepulse her? When she, full of
love and passion, kissed my hands, my eyes, my face. It

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was she my love, my dream, my bitter sorrow. I love you,
I love you, and I believedher. I believed her love.
I believed everything. And once moreI felt that my locks were black,

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and I saw mysel of young again, and I knelt before her and wept
for a long time, and whisperedto her about my solf for rings,
about the pain of solitude, abouta heart cruelly broken, about offended,
disfigured, mutilated thoughts, and laughingand crying. She stroked my hair.

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Suddenly she noticed that it was gray, and she cried strangely, what is
it? And life? I aman old woman? Already on leaving me,
she demanded that I escort her tothe threshold like a young man,

(03:07:39):
and I did. Before going,she said to me, I am coming
back tomorrow. I know my childrenwill deny me. My daughter is to
marry soon. You and I willgo away. Do you love me?
I do. We will go far, far away. My dear. You

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wanted to deliver some lectures. Youshould not do it. I don't like
what you say about that iron grate. You are exhausted. You need a
rest. Shall it be so?Yes? Oh, I forgot my veil.
Keep it, Keep it as aremembrance of this day, my dear.

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In the vestibule, in the presenceof the sleepy porter she kissed me,
there was the odor of some newperfume, unlike the perfume with which
her letter was sent. It andher coquettish laugh was like a sob as
she disappeared behind the glass door.That night, I aroused my servant,

(03:08:52):
ordered him to pack our things,and we went away. I shall not
say where I am at present,but the last night and tonight therees were
rustling over my head, and therain was beating against my windows. Here

(03:09:13):
the windows are small, and Ifeel much better. I wrote her a
rather long letter, the contents ofwhich I shall not reproduce. I shall
never see her again. But whatam I to do? May the reader
pardon these incoherent questions? They areso natural in a man in my condition.

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Besides, I caught an acute romatismwhile traveling, which is most painful
and even dangerous for a man ofmy age, and which does not permit
me to reason calmly. For somereason or another, I think very often
about my young friend Kay, whowent to an untimely grave. How does

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he feel in his new prison?Tomorrow morning, if my strength will permit
me, I intend to pay avisit to the warden of our prison and
to his esteemed wife our prison.End of chapter ten, Chapter eleven of

(03:10:35):
the Man who Found the Truth byLeonit Nikolayevich Andreyev, translated by Hermann Bernstein.
This LibriVox recording is in the publicdomain. Recording by Carolyn Chapter eleven.
I am profoundly happy to inform mydear reader that I have completely recovered

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my physical as well as my spiritualpowers. A long rest out in the
country emid nature's soothing beauties, thecontemplation of village life, which is so
simple and bright, the absence ofthe noise of the city, where hundreds

(03:11:20):
of windmills are stupidly flapping their longarms before your very nose. And finally,
the complete solitude undisturbed by anything.All these have restored to my unbalanced
view of the world, all itsformer steadiness and its iron irresistible firmness.

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I look upon my future calmly andconfidently, and although it promises me nothing
but a lonely grave and the lastjourneyed to an unknown distance, I am
ready to meet death just as courageouslyas I lived my life, drawing strength

(03:12:09):
from my solitude, from the consciousnessof my innocence and my uprightness. After
long hesitations which are not quite intelligibleto me, now I finally resolved to
establish for myself this system of ourprison in all its rigidness. For that

(03:12:33):
purpose. Finding a small house inthe outskirts of the city, which was
to be leased for a long termof years, I hired it. Then
with the kinder sistance of the wardenof our prison. I cannot express my
gratitude to him adequately enough. Inwords, I invited to the new place

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one of the most experienced jay Lass, who is still a young man,
but already hardened in the strict principlesof our prison. Availing myself of his
instruction and also of the suggestion ofthe obliging warden, I have engaged workmen

(03:13:20):
who transformed one of the rims intoa cell. The measurements, as well
as the foreman, all the detailsof my new and I hope my last
dwelling are strictly in accordance with myplan. My cell is eight by four

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yards four yards high. The wallsare painted gray at the bottom. The
upper parts of the walls and theceiling are white, and near the ceiling
there's a square window one and ahalf by one and a half yards with

(03:14:01):
a massive iron grate which has alreadybecome rusty with age. In the door
locked with a heavy and strong lock, which issues a loud crak at each
turn of the key. There isa small hole for observation, and below

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it a little window through which thefood is brought and received. The furnishing
of the cell a table, achair, and a cot fastened to the
wall. On the wall a crucifix, my portray and the rules concerning the

(03:14:43):
conduct of the prisoners in a blackframe, and in the corner a closet
filled with books, this last beinga violation of the strict harmony of my
dwelling, I was compared held todo by extreme and sad necessity. The

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jailer positively refused to be my librarianand to bring the books according to my
order, and to engage a speciallibrarian seemed to me to be an act
of unnecessary eccentricity. Aside from this, in elaborating my plans, I met

(03:15:28):
with strong opposition, not only fromthe local population, which simply declared me
to be insane, but even fromthe enlightened people. Even the warden endeavored
for some time to dissuade me,But finally he clasped my hand warmly with

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an expression of sincere regret at notbeing in a position to offer me a
place in our present. I cannotrecall the first day of my confinement without
a bitter smile. A mob ofimpertinent and ignorant idlers yelled from morning till

(03:16:11):
night at my window with their headslifted high. My cells situated in the
second story, and they heaped uponme senseless abuse. There were even efforts,
to the disgrace of my townspeople,to storm my dwelling, and one

(03:16:35):
heavy stone almost crushed my head.Only the police, which arrived in time,
succeeded in averting the catastrophe. Whenin the evening I went out for
a walk, hundreds of fools,adults and children followed me, shouting and

(03:16:58):
whistling, keeping abuse upon me,and even hurling mud at me. Thus,
like a persecuted prophet, I wendedmy way without fear, amidst the
maddened crowd, answering their blows andcurses with proud silence. What has stirred

(03:17:22):
these fools? In What way haveI offended their empty heads? When I
lied to them, they kissed myhands. Now, when I have re
established the sacred truth of my lifein all its strictness and purity, they

(03:17:43):
burst into curses. They branded mewith contempt. They hurled mud at me.
They were disturbed because I dared tolive alone, and because I did
not ask them for a place inthe common cell for rogues. How difficult

(03:18:05):
it is to be truthful in thisworld. True, My perseverance and firmness
finally defeated them with the naivete ofsavages who honor all they do not understand.
They commenced in the second year tobow to me, and they are

(03:18:30):
making ever lower bows to me becausetheir amazement is growing ever greater, their
fear of the inexplicable is growing everdeeper. And the fact that I never
respond to their greatings fills them withdelight. And the fact that I never

(03:18:52):
smile in response to their flattering smilesfills them with the firm assurance that they
are guilt before me for some gravewrong, and that I know their guilt.
Having lost confidence in their own andother people's words, they rever my

(03:19:15):
silence, even as people rever everysilence and every mystery. If I were
to start to speak suddenly, Iwould again become human to them, and
would disillusion them bitterly, no matterwhat I would say in my silence,
I am to them like their eternallysilent God. For these strange people would

(03:19:43):
cease believing their God as soon astheir God would commence to speak. Their
women are already regarding me as asaint, and the kneeling women and sick
ch children that I often find atthe threshold of my dwelling undoubtedly expect of

(03:20:05):
me a trifle to heal them toperform a miracle. Well, another year
or two will pass, and Ishall commence to perform miracles as well as
those of whom they speak with suchenthusiasm. Strange people. At times,

(03:20:28):
I feel sorry for them, andI begin to feel really angry at the
devil who so skillfully mixed the cardsin their game that only the cheat knows
the truth, his little cheating truthabout the marked queens and the marked kings.

(03:20:50):
They bow too low, however,and this hinders me from developing a
sense of mercy. Otherwise, smileat my jest, indulgent reader, I
would not restrain myself from the temptationof performing two or three small but effective

(03:21:11):
miracles. I must go back tothe description of my present. Having constructed
myself completely, I offered my jailerthe following alternative, he must observe with
regard to me the worlds of theprison regime in all its rigidness, And

(03:21:33):
in that case he would inherit allmy fortune according to my will, or
he would receive nothing if he failedto do his duty. It seemed that
in putting the matter before him soclearly, I would meet with no difficulties.

(03:21:54):
Yet at the very first instance,when I should have been incarcerated for
violating some prison regulation, this naiveand timid man absolutely refused to do it.
And only when I threatened to getanother man immediately a more conscientious jailer

(03:22:18):
was he compelled to perform his duty. Though he always locked the door punctually,
he at first neglected his duty ofwatching me through the peephole, And
when I tried to test his firmnessby suggesting a change in some rule or
other to the detriment of common sense, he yielded willingly and quickly. One

(03:22:46):
day, on trapping him in thisway, I said to him, my
friend, you are simply foolish.If you will not watch me and guard
me properly, I shall run awayto another prison, taking my legacy along
with me. What will you dothen I am happy to inform you that

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at the present time, all thesemisunderstandings have been removed. And if there's
anything I can complain of, itis rather excessive strictness than mildness. Now
that my Jaila has entered into thespirit of his position, this honest man

(03:23:33):
trades me with extreme sternness, notfor the sake of the prophet, but
for the sake of the principle.Thus, in the beginning of this week
he incarcerated me for twenty four hoursfor violating some rule of which it seemed
to me I was not guilty,and protesting against this seeming injustice, I

(03:24:01):
had the unpardonable weakness to say tohim. In the end, I will
drive you away from here. Youmust not forget that you are my servant.
Before you drive me away, Iwill incarcerate you, replied this worthy
man. But how about the money, I asked with astonishment. Don't you

(03:24:28):
know that you will be deprived ofit? Do I need your money?
I would give up all my ownmoney if I could stop being what I
am. But what can I doif you violate the rule and I must
punish you by incarcerating you? Iam powerless to describe the joyous emotion which

(03:24:52):
came over me at the thought thatthe consciousness of duty had at last entered
his dark mind, and that now, even if in a moment of weakness
I wanted to leave my prison,my conscientious Jaila would not permit me to
do it. The spark of firmnesswhich glittered in his round eyes showed me

(03:25:20):
clearly that no matter where I mightrun away, he would find me and
bring me back, and that therevolver, which he often forgot to take
before, and which he now cleansevery day, would do its work in
the event I decided to run away, And for the first time in all

(03:25:41):
these years, I fell asleep onthe stone floor of my dark cell with
a happy smile, realizing that myplan was crowned with complete success, passing
from the realm of eccentricity to thedomain of stern and austere reality. And

(03:26:05):
the fear which I felt while fallingasleep in the presence of my Jaila,
my fear of his resolute look,of his revolver, my timid desire to
hear a word of praise from him, or to call forth perhaps a smile
on his lips, re echoed inmy soul as the harmonious clanking of my

(03:26:31):
eternal and last chines. Thus Ipass my last years as before. My
health is sound and my free spiritis clear. Let some call me fool
and laugh at me in their pitifulblindness. Let others regard me as a

(03:26:58):
saint and expect me to perform miracles, an upright man to some people,
to others, a liar and adeceiver. I myself know who I am,
and I do not ask them tounderstand me. And if there are
people who will accuse me of deception, of baseness, even of the lack

(03:27:24):
of simple honor, for there arescoundrels who are convinced to this day that
I committed murder, no one willdare accuse me of cowardice. No one
will dare say that I could notperform my painful duty to the end.

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From the beginning till the end,I remained firm and unbribable. And though
a bugbear, a fanatic, adark horror to some people, I may
awaken an others a heroic dream ofthe infinite power of man. I have

(03:28:07):
long discontinued to receive visitors, andwith the death of the warden of our
prison, my only true friend,whom I visited occasionally. My last tie
with this world was broken. OnlyI and my ferocious Jayla, who watches

(03:28:31):
every movement of mine with mad suspicion. And the black grate which has caught
in its iron embrace and muzzled theinfinite. This is my life, silently
accepting the low bows, in mycold estrangement from the people. I am

(03:28:54):
passing my last road. I amthinking of death ever more frequently. But
even before death, I do notbend my fearless look. Whether it brings
me eternal arrest or a new,unknown and terrible struggle, I am humbly

(03:29:16):
prepared to accept it. Farewell,my dear reader, like a vague phantom,
you appeared before my eyes and past, leaving me alone before the face
of life and death. Do notbe angry, because at times I deceived
you and lied. You too wouldhave lied, perhaps in my place.

(03:29:43):
Nevertheless, I loved you sincerely andsincerely longed for your love, and the
thought of your sympathy for me wasquite a support to me in my movements
and days of hardship. I amsending you my last farewell and my sincere

(03:30:03):
advice forget about my existence, evenas I shall henceforth forgets about yours.
Forever. A deserted field, overgrownwith high grass, devoid of an echo,
extends like a deep carpet to thevery fence of our prison, whose

(03:30:28):
majestic outlines subdue my imagination and mymind. When the dying sun illumines it
with its last rays, and ourprison, all in red, stands like
a queen, like a martyr,with the dark wounds of its grated windows,

(03:30:52):
and the sun rises silently and proudlyover the plain with sorrow, Like
a lover, I send my complaintsand my sighs, and my tender reproach,
and vows to her, to mylove, to my dream, to

(03:31:13):
my bitter and last sorrow. Iwish I could forever remain near her.
But here I look back, andblack against the fiery frame of the sunset
stands my jailer, stands and waitswith a sigh. I go back in

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silence, and he moves behind me, noiselessly, about two steps away,
watching every move of mine. Ourprison is beautiful at sunset. End of
Chapter eleven and of the Man WhoFound the Truth by Leoni T. Nikolayevitch

(03:32:01):
Andreyev, translated by Hermann Bernstein,recorded by Carolyn in Groningen in the Netherlands
in May and June twenty fifteen.Thank you for listening.