He rubbed his head with one
hand and his chest with the other, and spoke looking at the floor:
"You know, sometimes you have a wonderful feeling living in your
heart. It seems to you that wherever you go, all men are comrades;
all burn with one and the same fire; all are merry; all are good.
Without words they all understand one another; and no one wants to
hinder or insult the other. No one feels the need of it. All live
in unison, but each heart sings its own song. And the songs flow
like brooks into one stream, swelling into a huge river of bright
joys, rolling free and wide down its course. And when you think
that this will be--that it cannot help being if we so wish it--then
the wonderstruck heart melts with joy. You feel like weeping--you
feel so happy."
He spoke and looked as if he were searching something within
himself. The mother listened and tried not to stir, so as not to
disturb him and interrupt his speech. She always listened to him
with more attention than to anybody else. He spoke more simply
than all the rest, and his words gripped her heart more powerfully.
Pavel, too, was probably looking to the future. How could it be
otherwise, when one is following such a course of life? But when
he looked into the remote future it was always by himself; he never
spoke of what he saw.
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