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BORÍS. Can I be of any use?
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. Here no one can be of use to another. The evil is
too deeply rooted. Here we can only be of use to ourselves, by seeing on
what we build our happiness. Here is a family: five children, the wife
pregnant, the husband ill, nothing but potatoes to eat, and at this
moment the question is being decided whether they are to have enough to
eat next year or not. Help is not possible. How can one help? Suppose I
hire a labourer; who will he be? Just such another man: one who has
given up his farming, from drink or from want.
BORÍS. Excuse me, but if so, what are you doing here?
NICHOLAS IVÁNOVICH. I am learning my own position. Finding out who weeds
our gardens, builds our houses, makes our garments, and feeds and
clothes us. [Peasants with scythes and women with rakes pass by and bow.
Nicholas Ivánovich, stopping one of the Peasants] Ermíl, won't you take
on the job of carting for these people?
ERMÍL [shakes his head] I would with all my heart, but I can't possibly
do it. I haven't carted my own yet. We are off now to do some carting.
But is Iván dying?
ANOTHER PEASANT. Here's Sebastian, he may take on the job. I say, Daddy
Sebastian! They want a man to get the oats in.
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