e like. They taught him to read and write in
prison, and expounded the Gospel to him. They exhorted him, worked upon
him, drummed at him incessantly, till at last he solemnly confessed his
crime. He was converted. He wrote to the court himself that he was a
monster, but that in the end God had vouchsafed him light and shown grace.
All Geneva was in excitement about him--all philanthropic and religious
Geneva. All the aristocratic and well-bred society of the town rushed to
the prison, kissed Richard and embraced him; 'You are our brother, you
have found grace.' And Richard does nothing but weep with emotion, 'Yes,
I've found grace! All my youth and childhood I was glad of pigs' food, but
now even I have found grace. I am dying in the Lord.' 'Yes, Richard, die
in the Lord; you have shed blood and must die. Though it's not your fault
that you knew not the Lord, when you coveted the pigs' food and were
beaten for stealing it (which was very wrong of you, for stealing is
forbidden); but you've shed blood and you must die.' And on the last day,
Richard, perfectly limp, did nothing but cry and repeat every minute:
'This is my happiest day. I am going to the Lord.' 'Yes,' cry the pastors
and the judges and philanthropic ladies. 'This is the happiest day of your
life, for you are going to the Lord!' They all walk or drive to the
scaffold in procession behind the prison van. At the scaffold they call to
Richard: 'Die, brother, die in the Lord, for even thou hast found grace!'
And so, covered with his brothers' kisses, Richard is dragged on to the
scaffold, and led to the guillotine. And they chopped off his head in
brotherly fashion, because he had found grace. Yes, that's characteristic.
That pamphlet is translated into Russian by some Russian philanthropists
of aristocratic rank and evangelical aspirations, and has been distributed
gratis for the enlightenment of the people. The case of Richard is
interesting because it's national. Though to us it's absurd to cut off a
man's head, because he has become our brother and has found grace, yet we
have our own speciality, which is all but worse. Our historical pastime is
the direct satisfaction of inflicting pain. There are lines in Nekrassov
describing how a peasant lashes a horse on the eyes, 'on its meek eyes,'
every one must have seen it. It's peculiarly Russian. He describes how a
feeble little nag has foundered under too heavy a load and cannot move.
The peasant beats it, beats i