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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/13415-0.txt b/13415-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..338a43d --- /dev/null +++ b/13415-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7924 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13415 *** + +THE TALES OF CHEKHOV + +VOLUME 3 + +THE LADY WITH THE DOG AND OTHER STORIES + +BY + +ANTON TCHEKHOV + +Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE LADY WITH THE DOG + +A DOCTOR'S VISIT + +AN UPHEAVAL + +IONITCH + +THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY + +THE BLACK MONK + +VOLODYA + +AN ANONYMOUS STORY + +THE HUSBAND + + + + +THE LADY WITH THE DOG + + +I + +IT was said that a new person had appeared on the sea-front: a lady with +a little dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had by then been a fortnight +at Yalta, and so was fairly at home there, had begun to take an interest +in new arrivals. Sitting in Verney's pavilion, he saw, walking on the +sea-front, a fair-haired young lady of medium height, wearing a _béret_; +a white Pomeranian dog was running behind her. + +And afterwards he met her in the public gardens and in the square +several times a day. She was walking alone, always wearing the same +_béret_, and always with the same white dog; no one knew who she was, +and every one called her simply "the lady with the dog." + +"If she is here alone without a husband or friends, it wouldn't be amiss +to make her acquaintance," Gurov reflected. + +He was under forty, but he had a daughter already twelve years old, and +two sons at school. He had been married young, when he was a student in +his second year, and by now his wife seemed half as old again as he. She +was a tall, erect woman with dark eyebrows, staid and dignified, and, as +she said of herself, intellectual. She read a great deal, used phonetic +spelling, called her husband, not Dmitri, but Dimitri, and he secretly +considered her unintelligent, narrow, inelegant, was afraid of her, and +did not like to be at home. He had begun being unfaithful to her long +ago--had been unfaithful to her often, and, probably on that account, +almost always spoke ill of women, and when they were talked about in his +presence, used to call them "the lower race." + +It seemed to him that he had been so schooled by bitter experience that +he might call them what he liked, and yet he could not get on for two +days together without "the lower race." In the society of men he was +bored and not himself, with them he was cold and uncommunicative; but +when he was in the company of women he felt free, and knew what to say +to them and how to behave; and he was at ease with them even when he was +silent. In his appearance, in his character, in his whole nature, there +was something attractive and elusive which allured women and disposed +them in his favour; he knew that, and some force seemed to draw him, +too, to them. + +Experience often repeated, truly bitter experience, had taught him long +ago that with decent people, especially Moscow people--always slow to +move and irresolute--every intimacy, which at first so agreeably +diversifies life and appears a light and charming adventure, inevitably +grows into a regular problem of extreme intricacy, and in the long run +the situation becomes unbearable. But at every fresh meeting with an +interesting woman this experience seemed to slip out of his memory, and +he was eager for life, and everything seemed simple and amusing. + +One evening he was dining in the gardens, and the lady in the _béret_ +came up slowly to take the next table. Her expression, her gait, her +dress, and the way she did her hair told him that she was a lady, that +she was married, that she was in Yalta for the first time and alone, and +that she was dull there.... The stories told of the immorality in such +places as Yalta are to a great extent untrue; he despised them, and knew +that such stories were for the most part made up by persons who would +themselves have been glad to sin if they had been able; but when the +lady sat down at the next table three paces from him, he remembered +these tales of easy conquests, of trips to the mountains, and the +tempting thought of a swift, fleeting love affair, a romance with an +unknown woman, whose name he did not know, suddenly took possession of +him. + +He beckoned coaxingly to the Pomeranian, and when the dog came up to him +he shook his finger at it. The Pomeranian growled: Gurov shook his +finger at it again. + +The lady looked at him and at once dropped her eyes. + +"He doesn't bite," she said, and blushed. + +"May I give him a bone?" he asked; and when she nodded he asked +courteously, "Have you been long in Yalta?" + +"Five days." + +"And I have already dragged out a fortnight here." + +There was a brief silence. + +"Time goes fast, and yet it is so dull here!" she said, not looking at +him. + +"That's only the fashion to say it is dull here. A provincial will live +in Belyov or Zhidra and not be dull, and when he comes here it's 'Oh, +the dulness! Oh, the dust!' One would think he came from Grenada." + +She laughed. Then both continued eating in silence, like strangers, but +after dinner they walked side by side; and there sprang up between them +the light jesting conversation of people who are free and satisfied, to +whom it does not matter where they go or what they talk about. They +walked and talked of the strange light on the sea: the water was of a +soft warm lilac hue, and there was a golden streak from the moon upon +it. They talked of how sultry it was after a hot day. Gurov told her +that he came from Moscow, that he had taken his degree in Arts, but had +a post in a bank; that he had trained as an opera-singer, but had given +it up, that he owned two houses in Moscow.... And from her he learnt +that she had grown up in Petersburg, but had lived in S---- since her +marriage two years before, that she was staying another month in Yalta, +and that her husband, who needed a holiday too, might perhaps come and +fetch her. She was not sure whether her husband had a post in a Crown +Department or under the Provincial Council--and was amused by her own +ignorance. And Gurov learnt, too, that she was called Anna Sergeyevna. + +Afterwards he thought about her in his room at the hotel--thought she +would certainly meet him next day; it would be sure to happen. As he got +into bed he thought how lately she had been a girl at school, doing +lessons like his own daughter; he recalled the diffidence, the +angularity, that was still manifest in her laugh and her manner of +talking with a stranger. This must have been the first time in her life +she had been alone in surroundings in which she was followed, looked at, +and spoken to merely from a secret motive which she could hardly fail to +guess. He recalled her slender, delicate neck, her lovely grey eyes. + +"There's something pathetic about her, anyway," he thought, and fell +asleep. + + +II + +A week had passed since they had made acquaintance. It was a holiday. It +was sultry indoors, while in the street the wind whirled the dust round +and round, and blew people's hats off. It was a thirsty day, and Gurov +often went into the pavilion, and pressed Anna Sergeyevna to have syrup +and water or an ice. One did not know what to do with oneself. + +In the evening when the wind had dropped a little, they went out on the +groyne to see the steamer come in. There were a great many people +walking about the harbour; they had gathered to welcome some one, +bringing bouquets. And two peculiarities of a well-dressed Yalta crowd +were very conspicuous: the elderly ladies were dressed like young ones, +and there were great numbers of generals. + +Owing to the roughness of the sea, the steamer arrived late, after the +sun had set, and it was a long time turning about before it reached the +groyne. Anna Sergeyevna looked through her lorgnette at the steamer and +the passengers as though looking for acquaintances, and when she turned +to Gurov her eyes were shining. She talked a great deal and asked +disconnected questions, forgetting next moment what she had asked; then +she dropped her lorgnette in the crush. + +The festive crowd began to disperse; it was too dark to see people's +faces. The wind had completely dropped, but Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna +still stood as though waiting to see some one else come from the +steamer. Anna Sergeyevna was silent now, and sniffed the flowers without +looking at Gurov. + +"The weather is better this evening," he said. "Where shall we go now? +Shall we drive somewhere?" + +She made no answer. + +Then he looked at her intently, and all at once put his arm round her +and kissed her on the lips, and breathed in the moisture and the +fragrance of the flowers; and he immediately looked round him, anxiously +wondering whether any one had seen them. + +"Let us go to your hotel," he said softly. And both walked quickly. + +The room was close and smelt of the scent she had bought at the Japanese +shop. Gurov looked at her and thought: "What different people one meets +in the world!" From the past he preserved memories of careless, +good-natured women, who loved cheerfully and were grateful to him for +the happiness he gave them, however brief it might be; and of women like +his wife who loved without any genuine feeling, with superfluous +phrases, affectedly, hysterically, with an expression that suggested +that it was not love nor passion, but something more significant; and of +two or three others, very beautiful, cold women, on whose faces he had +caught a glimpse of a rapacious expression--an obstinate desire to +snatch from life more than it could give, and these were capricious, +unreflecting, domineering, unintelligent women not in their first youth, +and when Gurov grew cold to them their beauty excited his hatred, and +the lace on their linen seemed to him like scales. + +But in this case there was still the diffidence, the angularity of +inexperienced youth, an awkward feeling; and there was a sense of +consternation as though some one had suddenly knocked at the door. The +attitude of Anna Sergeyevna--"the lady with the dog"--to what had +happened was somehow peculiar, very grave, as though it were her +fall--so it seemed, and it was strange and inappropriate. Her face +dropped and faded, and on both sides of it her long hair hung down +mournfully; she mused in a dejected attitude like "the woman who was a +sinner" in an old-fashioned picture. + +"It's wrong," she said. "You will be the first to despise me now." + +There was a water-melon on the table. Gurov cut himself a slice and +began eating it without haste. There followed at least half an hour of +silence. + +Anna Sergeyevna was touching; there was about her the purity of a good, +simple woman who had seen little of life. The solitary candle burning on +the table threw a faint light on her face, yet it was clear that she was +very unhappy. + +"How could I despise you?" asked Gurov. "You don't know what you are +saying." + +"God forgive me," she said, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's +awful." + +"You seem to feel you need to be forgiven." + +"Forgiven? No. I am a bad, low woman; I despise myself and don't attempt +to justify myself. It's not my husband but myself I have deceived. And +not only just now; I have been deceiving myself for a long time. My +husband may be a good, honest man, but he is a flunkey! I don't know +what he does there, what his work is, but I know he is a flunkey! I was +twenty when I was married to him. I have been tormented by curiosity; I +wanted something better. 'There must be a different sort of life,' I +said to myself. I wanted to live! To live, to live!... I was fired by +curiosity ... you don't understand it, but, I swear to God, I could not +control myself; something happened to me: I could not be restrained. I +told my husband I was ill, and came here.... And here I have been +walking about as though I were dazed, like a mad creature; ... and now I +have become a vulgar, contemptible woman whom any one may despise." + +Gurov felt bored already, listening to her. He was irritated by the +naïve tone, by this remorse, so unexpected and inopportune; but for the +tears in her eyes, he might have thought she was jesting or playing a +part. + +"I don't understand," he said softly. "What is it you want?" + +She hid her face on his breast and pressed close to him. + +"Believe me, believe me, I beseech you ..." she said. "I love a pure, +honest life, and sin is loathsome to me. I don't know what I am doing. +Simple people say: 'The Evil One has beguiled me.' And I may say of +myself now that the Evil One has beguiled me." + +"Hush, hush!..." he muttered. + +He looked at her fixed, scared eyes, kissed her, talked softly and +affectionately, and by degrees she was comforted, and her gaiety +returned; they both began laughing. + +Afterwards when they went out there was not a soul on the sea-front. The +town with its cypresses had quite a deathlike air, but the sea still +broke noisily on the shore; a single barge was rocking on the waves, and +a lantern was blinking sleepily on it. + +They found a cab and drove to Oreanda. + +"I found out your surname in the hall just now: it was written on the +board--Von Diderits," said Gurov. "Is your husband a German?" + +"No; I believe his grandfather was a German, but he is an Orthodox +Russian himself." + +At Oreanda they sat on a seat not far from the church, looked down at +the sea, and were silent. Yalta was hardly visible through the morning +mist; white clouds stood motionless on the mountain-tops. The leaves did +not stir on the trees, grasshoppers chirruped, and the monotonous hollow +sound of the sea rising up from below, spoke of the peace, of the +eternal sleep awaiting us. So it must have sounded when there was no +Yalta, no Oreanda here; so it sounds now, and it will sound as +indifferently and monotonously when we are all no more. And in this +constancy, in this complete indifference to the life and death of each +of us, there lies hid, perhaps, a pledge of our eternal salvation, of +the unceasing movement of life upon earth, of unceasing progress towards +perfection. Sitting beside a young woman who in the dawn seemed so +lovely, soothed and spellbound in these magical surroundings--the sea, +mountains, clouds, the open sky--Gurov thought how in reality everything +is beautiful in this world when one reflects: everything except what we +think or do ourselves when we forget our human dignity and the higher +aims of our existence. + +A man walked up to them--probably a keeper--looked at them and walked +away. And this detail seemed mysterious and beautiful, too. They saw a +steamer come from Theodosia, with its lights out in the glow of dawn. + +"There is dew on the grass," said Anna Sergeyevna, after a silence. + +"Yes. It's time to go home." + +They went back to the town. + +Then they met every day at twelve o'clock on the sea-front, lunched and +dined together, went for walks, admired the sea. She complained that she +slept badly, that her heart throbbed violently; asked the same +questions, troubled now by jealousy and now by the fear that he did not +respect her sufficiently. And often in the square or gardens, when there +was no one near them, he suddenly drew her to him and kissed her +passionately. Complete idleness, these kisses in broad daylight while he +looked round in dread of some one's seeing them, the heat, the smell of +the sea, and the continual passing to and fro before him of idle, +well-dressed, well-fed people, made a new man of him; he told Anna +Sergeyevna how beautiful she was, how fascinating. He was impatiently +passionate, he would not move a step away from her, while she was often +pensive and continually urged him to confess that he did not respect +her, did not love her in the least, and thought of her as nothing but a +common woman. Rather late almost every evening they drove somewhere out +of town, to Oreanda or to the waterfall; and the expedition was always a +success, the scenery invariably impressed them as grand and beautiful. + +They were expecting her husband to come, but a letter came from him, +saying that there was something wrong with his eyes, and he entreated +his wife to come home as quickly as possible. Anna Sergeyevna made haste +to go. + +"It's a good thing I am going away," she said to Gurov. "It's the finger +of destiny!" + +She went by coach and he went with her. They were driving the whole day. +When she had got into a compartment of the express, and when the second +bell had rung, she said: + +"Let me look at you once more ... look at you once again. That's right." + +She did not shed tears, but was so sad that she seemed ill, and her face +was quivering. + +"I shall remember you ... think of you," she said. "God be with you; be +happy. Don't remember evil against me. We are parting forever--it must +be so, for we ought never to have met. Well, God be with you." + +The train moved off rapidly, its lights soon vanished from sight, and a +minute later there was no sound of it, as though everything had +conspired together to end as quickly as possible that sweet delirium, +that madness. Left alone on the platform, and gazing into the dark +distance, Gurov listened to the chirrup of the grasshoppers and the hum +of the telegraph wires, feeling as though he had only just waked up. And +he thought, musing, that there had been another episode or adventure in +his life, and it, too, was at an end, and nothing was left of it but a +memory.... He was moved, sad, and conscious of a slight remorse. This +young woman whom he would never meet again had not been happy with him; +he was genuinely warm and affectionate with her, but yet in his manner, +his tone, and his caresses there had been a shade of light irony, the +coarse condescension of a happy man who was, besides, almost twice her +age. All the time she had called him kind, exceptional, lofty; obviously +he had seemed to her different from what he really was, so he had +unintentionally deceived her.... + +Here at the station was already a scent of autumn; it was a cold +evening. + +"It's time for me to go north," thought Gurov as he left the platform. +"High time!" + + +III + +At home in Moscow everything was in its winter routine; the stoves were +heated, and in the morning it was still dark when the children were +having breakfast and getting ready for school, and the nurse would light +the lamp for a short time. The frosts had begun already. When the first +snow has fallen, on the first day of sledge-driving it is pleasant to +see the white earth, the white roofs, to draw soft, delicious breath, +and the season brings back the days of one's youth. The old limes and +birches, white with hoar-frost, have a good-natured expression; they are +nearer to one's heart than cypresses and palms, and near them one +doesn't want to be thinking of the sea and the mountains. + +Gurov was Moscow born; he arrived in Moscow on a fine frosty day, and +when he put on his fur coat and warm gloves, and walked along Petrovka, +and when on Saturday evening he heard the ringing of the bells, his +recent trip and the places he had seen lost all charm for him. Little by +little he became absorbed in Moscow life, greedily read three newspapers +a day, and declared he did not read the Moscow papers on principle! He +already felt a longing to go to restaurants, clubs, dinner-parties, +anniversary celebrations, and he felt flattered at entertaining +distinguished lawyers and artists, and at playing cards with a professor +at the doctors' club. He could already eat a whole plateful of salt fish +and cabbage. + +In another month, he fancied, the image of Anna Sergeyevna would be +shrouded in a mist in his memory, and only from time to time would visit +him in his dreams with a touching smile as others did. But more than a +month passed, real winter had come, and everything was still clear in +his memory as though he had parted with Anna Sergeyevna only the day +before. And his memories glowed more and more vividly. When in the +evening stillness he heard from his study the voices of his children, +preparing their lessons, or when he listened to a song or the organ at +the restaurant, or the storm howled in the chimney, suddenly everything +would rise up in his memory: what had happened on the groyne, and the +early morning with the mist on the mountains, and the steamer coming +from Theodosia, and the kisses. He would pace a long time about his +room, remembering it all and smiling; then his memories passed into +dreams, and in his fancy the past was mingled with what was to come. +Anna Sergeyevna did not visit him in dreams, but followed him about +everywhere like a shadow and haunted him. When he shut his eyes he saw +her as though she were living before him, and she seemed to him +lovelier, younger, tenderer than she was; and he imagined himself finer +than he had been in Yalta. In the evenings she peeped out at him from +the bookcase, from the fireplace, from the corner--he heard her +breathing, the caressing rustle of her dress. In the street he watched +the women, looking for some one like her. + +He was tormented by an intense desire to confide his memories to some +one. But in his home it was impossible to talk of his love, and he had +no one outside; he could not talk to his tenants nor to any one at the +bank. And what had he to talk of? Had he been in love, then? Had there +been anything beautiful, poetical, or edifying or simply interesting in +his relations with Anna Sergeyevna? And there was nothing for him but to +talk vaguely of love, of woman, and no one guessed what it meant; only +his wife twitched her black eyebrows, and said: + +"The part of a lady-killer does not suit you at all, Dimitri." + +One evening, coming out of the doctors' club with an official with whom +he had been playing cards, he could not resist saying: + +"If only you knew what a fascinating woman I made the acquaintance of in +Yalta!" + +The official got into his sledge and was driving away, but turned +suddenly and shouted: + +"Dmitri Dmitritch!" + +"What?" + +"You were right this evening: the sturgeon was a bit too strong!" + +These words, so ordinary, for some reason moved Gurov to indignation, +and struck him as degrading and unclean. What savage manners, what +people! What senseless nights, what uninteresting, uneventful days! The +rage for card-playing, the gluttony, the drunkenness, the continual talk +always about the same thing. Useless pursuits and conversations always +about the same things absorb the better part of one's time, the better +part of one's strength, and in the end there is left a life grovelling +and curtailed, worthless and trivial, and there is no escaping or +getting away from it--just as though one were in a madhouse or a prison. + +Gurov did not sleep all night, and was filled with indignation. And he +had a headache all next day. And the next night he slept badly; he sat +up in bed, thinking, or paced up and down his room. He was sick of his +children, sick of the bank; he had no desire to go anywhere or to talk +of anything. + +In the holidays in December he prepared for a journey, and told his wife +he was going to Petersburg to do something in the interests of a young +friend--and he set off for S----. What for? He did not very well know +himself. He wanted to see Anna Sergeyevna and to talk with her--to +arrange a meeting, if possible. + +He reached S---- in the morning, and took the best room at the hotel, in +which the floor was covered with grey army cloth, and on the table was +an inkstand, grey with dust and adorned with a figure on horseback, with +its hat in its hand and its head broken off. The hotel porter gave him +the necessary information; Von Diderits lived in a house of his own in +Old Gontcharny Street--it was not far from the hotel: he was rich and +lived in good style, and had his own horses; every one in the town knew +him. The porter pronounced the name "Dridirits." + +Gurov went without haste to Old Gontcharny Street and found the house. +Just opposite the house stretched a long grey fence adorned with nails. + +"One would run away from a fence like that," thought Gurov, looking from +the fence to the windows of the house and back again. + +He considered: to-day was a holiday, and the husband would probably be +at home. And in any case it would be tactless to go into the house and +upset her. If he were to send her a note it might fall into her +husband's hands, and then it might ruin everything. The best thing was +to trust to chance. And he kept walking up and down the street by the +fence, waiting for the chance. He saw a beggar go in at the gate and +dogs fly at him; then an hour later he heard a piano, and the sounds +were faint and indistinct. Probably it was Anna Sergeyevna playing. The +front door suddenly opened, and an old woman came out, followed by the +familiar white Pomeranian. Gurov was on the point of calling to the dog, +but his heart began beating violently, and in his excitement he could +not remember the dog's name. + +He walked up and down, and loathed the grey fence more and more, and by +now he thought irritably that Anna Sergeyevna had forgotten him, and was +perhaps already amusing herself with some one else, and that that was +very natural in a young woman who had nothing to look at from morning +till night but that confounded fence. He went back to his hotel room and +sat for a long while on the sofa, not knowing what to do, then he had +dinner and a long nap. + +"How stupid and worrying it is!" he thought when he woke and looked at +the dark windows: it was already evening. "Here I've had a good sleep +for some reason. What shall I do in the night?" + +He sat on the bed, which was covered by a cheap grey blanket, such as +one sees in hospitals, and he taunted himself in his vexation: + +"So much for the lady with the dog ... so much for the adventure.... +You're in a nice fix...." + +That morning at the station a poster in large letters had caught his +eye. "The Geisha" was to be performed for the first time. He thought of +this and went to the theatre. + +"It's quite possible she may go to the first performance," he thought. + +The theatre was full. As in all provincial theatres, there was a fog +above the chandelier, the gallery was noisy and restless; in the front +row the local dandies were standing up before the beginning of the +performance, with their hands behind them; in the Governor's box the +Governor's daughter, wearing a boa, was sitting in the front seat, while +the Governor himself lurked modestly behind the curtain with only his +hands visible; the orchestra was a long time tuning up; the stage +curtain swayed. All the time the audience were coming in and taking +their seats Gurov looked at them eagerly. + +Anna Sergeyevna, too, came in. She sat down in the third row, and when +Gurov looked at her his heart contracted, and he understood clearly that +for him there was in the whole world no creature so near, so precious, +and so important to him; she, this little woman, in no way remarkable, +lost in a provincial crowd, with a vulgar lorgnette in her hand, filled +his whole life now, was his sorrow and his joy, the one happiness that +he now desired for himself, and to the sounds of the inferior orchestra, +of the wretched provincial violins, he thought how lovely she was. He +thought and dreamed. + +A young man with small side-whiskers, tall and stooping, came in with +Anna Sergeyevna and sat down beside her; he bent his head at every step +and seemed to be continually bowing. Most likely this was the husband +whom at Yalta, in a rush of bitter feeling, she had called a flunkey. +And there really was in his long figure, his side-whiskers, and the +small bald patch on his head, something of the flunkey's obsequiousness; +his smile was sugary, and in his buttonhole there was some badge of +distinction like the number on a waiter. + +During the first interval the husband went away to smoke; she remained +alone in her stall. Gurov, who was sitting in the stalls, too, went up +to her and said in a trembling voice, with a forced smile: + +"Good-evening." + +She glanced at him and turned pale, then glanced again with horror, +unable to believe her eyes, and tightly gripped the fan and the +lorgnette in her hands, evidently struggling with herself not to faint. +Both were silent. She was sitting, he was standing, frightened by her +confusion and not venturing to sit down beside her. The violins and the +flute began tuning up. He felt suddenly frightened; it seemed as though +all the people in the boxes were looking at them. She got up and went +quickly to the door; he followed her, and both walked senselessly along +passages, and up and down stairs, and figures in legal, scholastic, and +civil service uniforms, all wearing badges, flitted before their eyes. +They caught glimpses of ladies, of fur coats hanging on pegs; the +draughts blew on them, bringing a smell of stale tobacco. And Gurov, +whose heart was beating violently, thought: + +"Oh, heavens! Why are these people here and this orchestra!..." + +And at that instant he recalled how when he had seen Anna Sergeyevna off +at the station he had thought that everything was over and they would +never meet again. But how far they were still from the end! + +On the narrow, gloomy staircase over which was written "To the +Amphitheatre," she stopped. + +"How you have frightened me!" she said, breathing hard, still pale and +overwhelmed. "Oh, how you have frightened me! I am half dead. Why have +you come? Why?" + +"But do understand, Anna, do understand ..." he said hastily in a low +voice. "I entreat you to understand...." + +She looked at him with dread, with entreaty, with love; she looked at +him intently, to keep his features more distinctly in her memory. + +"I am so unhappy," she went on, not heeding him. "I have thought of +nothing but you all the time; I live only in the thought of you. And I +wanted to forget, to forget you; but why, oh, why, have you come?" + +On the landing above them two schoolboys were smoking and looking down, +but that was nothing to Gurov; he drew Anna Sergeyevna to him, and began +kissing her face, her cheeks, and her hands. + +"What are you doing, what are you doing!" she cried in horror, pushing +him away. "We are mad. Go away to-day; go away at once.... I beseech you +by all that is sacred, I implore you.... There are people coming this +way!" + +Some one was coming up the stairs. + +"You must go away," Anna Sergeyevna went on in a whisper. "Do you hear, +Dmitri Dmitritch? I will come and see you in Moscow. I have never been +happy; I am miserable now, and I never, never shall be happy, never! +Don't make me suffer still more! I swear I'll come to Moscow. But now +let us part. My precious, good, dear one, we must part!" + +She pressed his hand and began rapidly going downstairs, looking round +at him, and from her eyes he could see that she really was unhappy. +Gurov stood for a little while, listened, then, when all sound had died +away, he found his coat and left the theatre. + + +IV + +And Anna Sergeyevna began coming to see him in Moscow. Once in two or +three months she left S----, telling her husband that she was going to +consult a doctor about an internal complaint--and her husband believed +her, and did not believe her. In Moscow she stayed at the Slaviansky +Bazaar hotel, and at once sent a man in a red cap to Gurov. Gurov went +to see her, and no one in Moscow knew of it. + +Once he was going to see her in this way on a winter morning (the +messenger had come the evening before when he was out). With him walked +his daughter, whom he wanted to take to school: it was on the way. Snow +was falling in big wet flakes. + +"It's three degrees above freezing-point, and yet it is snowing," said +Gurov to his daughter. "The thaw is only on the surface of the earth; +there is quite a different temperature at a greater height in the +atmosphere." + +"And why are there no thunderstorms in the winter, father?" + +He explained that, too. He talked, thinking all the while that he was +going to see her, and no living soul knew of it, and probably never +would know. He had two lives: one, open, seen and known by all who cared +to know, full of relative truth and of relative falsehood, exactly like +the lives of his friends and acquaintances; and another life running its +course in secret. And through some strange, perhaps accidental, +conjunction of circumstances, everything that was essential, of interest +and of value to him, everything in which he was sincere and did not +deceive himself, everything that made the kernel of his life, was hidden +from other people; and all that was false in him, the sheath in which he +hid himself to conceal the truth--such, for instance, as his work in the +bank, his discussions at the club, his "lower race," his presence with +his wife at anniversary festivities--all that was open. And he judged of +others by himself, not believing in what he saw, and always believing +that every man had his real, most interesting life under the cover of +secrecy and under the cover of night. All personal life rested on +secrecy, and possibly it was partly on that account that civilised man +was so nervously anxious that personal privacy should be respected. + +After leaving his daughter at school, Gurov went on to the Slaviansky +Bazaar. He took off his fur coat below, went upstairs, and softly +knocked at the door. Anna Sergeyevna, wearing his favourite grey dress, +exhausted by the journey and the suspense, had been expecting him since +the evening before. She was pale; she looked at him, and did not smile, +and he had hardly come in when she fell on his breast. Their kiss was +slow and prolonged, as though they had not met for two years. + +"Well, how are you getting on there?" he asked. "What news?" + +"Wait; I'll tell you directly.... I can't talk." + +She could not speak; she was crying. She turned away from him, and +pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. + +"Let her have her cry out. I'll sit down and wait," he thought, and he +sat down in an arm-chair. + +Then he rang and asked for tea to be brought him, and while he drank his +tea she remained standing at the window with her back to him. She was +crying from emotion, from the miserable consciousness that their life +was so hard for them; they could only meet in secret, hiding themselves +from people, like thieves! Was not their life shattered? + +"Come, do stop!" he said. + +It was evident to him that this love of theirs would not soon be over, +that he could not see the end of it. Anna Sergeyevna grew more and more +attached to him. She adored him, and it was unthinkable to say to her +that it was bound to have an end some day; besides, she would not have +believed it! + +He went up to her and took her by the shoulders to say something +affectionate and cheering, and at that moment he saw himself in the +looking-glass. + +His hair was already beginning to turn grey. And it seemed strange to +him that he had grown so much older, so much plainer during the last few +years. The shoulders on which his hands rested were warm and quivering. +He felt compassion for this life, still so warm and lovely, but probably +already not far from beginning to fade and wither like his own. Why did +she love him so much? He always seemed to women different from what he +was, and they loved in him not himself, but the man created by their +imagination, whom they had been eagerly seeking all their lives; and +afterwards, when they noticed their mistake, they loved him all the +same. And not one of them had been happy with him. Time passed, he had +made their acquaintance, got on with them, parted, but he had never once +loved; it was anything you like, but not love. + +And only now when his head was grey he had fallen properly, really in +love--for the first time in his life. + +Anna Sergeyevna and he loved each other like people very close and akin, +like husband and wife, like tender friends; it seemed to them that fate +itself had meant them for one another, and they could not understand why +he had a wife and she a husband; and it was as though they were a pair +of birds of passage, caught and forced to live in different cages. They +forgave each other for what they were ashamed of in their past, they +forgave everything in the present, and felt that this love of theirs had +changed them both. + +In moments of depression in the past he had comforted himself with any +arguments that came into his mind, but now he no longer cared for +arguments; he felt profound compassion, he wanted to be sincere and +tender.... + +"Don't cry, my darling," he said. "You've had your cry; that's +enough.... Let us talk now, let us think of some plan." + +Then they spent a long while taking counsel together, talked of how to +avoid the necessity for secrecy, for deception, for living in different +towns and not seeing each other for long at a time. How could they be +free from this intolerable bondage? + +"How? How?" he asked, clutching his head. "How?" + +And it seemed as though in a little while the solution would be found, +and then a new and splendid life would begin; and it was clear to both +of them that they had still a long, long road before them, and that the +most complicated and difficult part of it was only just beginning. + + + + +A DOCTOR'S VISIT + + +THE Professor received a telegram from the Lyalikovs' factory; he was +asked to come as quickly as possible. The daughter of some Madame +Lyalikov, apparently the owner of the factory, was ill, and that was all +that one could make out of the long, incoherent telegram. And the +Professor did not go himself, but sent instead his assistant, Korolyov. + +It was two stations from Moscow, and there was a drive of three miles +from the station. A carriage with three horses had been sent to the +station to meet Korolyov; the coachman wore a hat with a peacock's +feather on it, and answered every question in a loud voice like a +soldier: "No, sir!" "Certainly, sir!" + +It was Saturday evening; the sun was setting, the workpeople were coming +in crowds from the factory to the station, and they bowed to the +carriage in which Korolyov was driving. And he was charmed with the +evening, the farmhouses and villas on the road, and the birch-trees, and +the quiet atmosphere all around, when the fields and woods and the sun +seemed preparing, like the workpeople now on the eve of the holiday, to +rest, and perhaps to pray.... + +He was born and had grown up in Moscow; he did not know the country, and +he had never taken any interest in factories, or been inside one, but he +had happened to read about factories, and had been in the houses of +manufacturers and had talked to them; and whenever he saw a factory far +or near, he always thought how quiet and peaceable it was outside, but +within there was always sure to be impenetrable ignorance and dull +egoism on the side of the owners, wearisome, unhealthy toil on the side +of the workpeople, squabbling, vermin, vodka. And now when the +workpeople timidly and respectfully made way for the carriage, in their +faces, their caps, their walk, he read physical impurity, drunkenness, +nervous exhaustion, bewilderment. + +They drove in at the factory gates. On each side he caught glimpses of +the little houses of workpeople, of the faces of women, of quilts and +linen on the railings. "Look out!" shouted the coachman, not pulling up +the horses. It was a wide courtyard without grass, with five immense +blocks of buildings with tall chimneys a little distance one from +another, warehouses and barracks, and over everything a sort of grey +powder as though from dust. Here and there, like oases in the desert, +there were pitiful gardens, and the green and red roofs of the houses in +which the managers and clerks lived. The coachman suddenly pulled up the +horses, and the carriage stopped at the house, which had been newly +painted grey; here was a flower garden, with a lilac bush covered with +dust, and on the yellow steps at the front door there was a strong smell +of paint. + +"Please come in, doctor," said women's voices in the passage and the +entry, and at the same time he heard sighs and whisperings. "Pray walk +in.... We've been expecting you so long ... we're in real trouble. Here, +this way." + +Madame Lyalikov--a stout elderly lady wearing a black silk dress with +fashionable sleeves, but, judging from her face, a simple uneducated +woman--looked at the doctor in a flutter, and could not bring herself to +hold out her hand to him; she did not dare. Beside her stood a personage +with short hair and a pince-nez; she was wearing a blouse of many +colours, and was very thin and no longer young. The servants called her +Christina Dmitryevna, and Korolyov guessed that this was the governess. +Probably, as the person of most education in the house, she had been +charged to meet and receive the doctor, for she began immediately, in +great haste, stating the causes of the illness, giving trivial and +tiresome details, but without saying who was ill or what was the matter. + +The doctor and the governess were sitting talking while the lady of the +house stood motionless at the door, waiting. From the conversation +Korolyov learned that the patient was Madame Lyalikov's only daughter +and heiress, a girl of twenty, called Liza; she had been ill for a long +time, and had consulted various doctors, and the previous night she had +suffered till morning from such violent palpitations of the heart, that +no one in the house had slept, and they had been afraid she might die. + +"She has been, one may say, ailing from a child," said Christina +Dmitryevna in a sing-song voice, continually wiping her lips with her +hand. "The doctors say it is nerves; when she was a little girl she was +scrofulous, and the doctors drove it inwards, so I think it may be due +to that." + +They went to see the invalid. Fully grown up, big and tall, but ugly +like her mother, with the same little eyes and disproportionate breadth +of the lower part of the face, lying with her hair in disorder, muffled +up to the chin, she made upon Korolyov at the first minute the +impression of a poor, destitute creature, sheltered and cared for here +out of charity, and he could hardly believe that this was the heiress of +the five huge buildings. + +"I am the doctor come to see you," said Korolyov. "Good evening." + +He mentioned his name and pressed her hand, a large, cold, ugly hand; +she sat up, and, evidently accustomed to doctors, let herself be +sounded, without showing the least concern that her shoulders and chest +were uncovered. + +"I have palpitations of the heart," she said, "It was so awful all +night.... I almost died of fright! Do give me something." + +"I will, I will; don't worry yourself." + +Korolyov examined her and shrugged his shoulders. + +"The heart is all right," he said; "it's all going on satisfactorily; +everything is in good order. Your nerves must have been playing pranks a +little, but that's so common. The attack is over by now, one must +suppose; lie down and go to sleep." + +At that moment a lamp was brought into the bed-room. The patient screwed +up her eyes at the light, then suddenly put her hands to her head and +broke into sobs. And the impression of a destitute, ugly creature +vanished, and Korolyov no longer noticed the little eyes or the heavy +development of the lower part of the face. He saw a soft, suffering +expression which was intelligent and touching: she seemed to him +altogether graceful, feminine, and simple; and he longed to soothe her, +not with drugs, not with advice, but with simple, kindly words. Her +mother put her arms round her head and hugged her. What despair, what +grief was in the old woman's face! She, her mother, had reared her and +brought her up, spared nothing, and devoted her whole life to having her +daughter taught French, dancing, music: had engaged a dozen teachers for +her; had consulted the best doctors, kept a governess. And now she could +not make out the reason of these tears, why there was all this misery, +she could not understand, and was bewildered; and she had a guilty, +agitated, despairing expression, as though she had omitted something +very important, had left something undone, had neglected to call in +somebody--and whom, she did not know. + +"Lizanka, you are crying again ... again," she said, hugging her +daughter to her. "My own, my darling, my child, tell me what it is! Have +pity on me! Tell me." + +Both wept bitterly. Korolyov sat down on the side of the bed and took +Liza's hand. + +"Come, give over; it's no use crying," he said kindly. "Why, there is +nothing in the world that is worth those tears. Come, we won't cry; +that's no good...." + +And inwardly he thought: + +"It's high time she was married...." + +"Our doctor at the factory gave her kalibromati," said the governess, +"but I notice it only makes her worse. I should have thought that if she +is given anything for the heart it ought to be drops.... I forget the +name.... Convallaria, isn't it?" + +And there followed all sorts of details. She interrupted the doctor, +preventing his speaking, and there was a look of effort on her face, as +though she supposed that, as the woman of most education in the house, +she was duty bound to keep up a conversation with the doctor, and on no +other subject but medicine. + +Korolyov felt bored. + +"I find nothing special the matter," he said, addressing the mother as +he went out of the bedroom. "If your daughter is being attended by the +factory doctor, let him go on attending her. The treatment so far has +been perfectly correct, and I see no reason for changing your doctor. +Why change? It's such an ordinary trouble; there's nothing seriously +wrong." + +He spoke deliberately as he put on his gloves, while Madame Lyalikov +stood without moving, and looked at him with her tearful eyes. + +"I have half an hour to catch the ten o'clock train," he said. "I hope I +am not too late." + +"And can't you stay?" she asked, and tears trickled down her cheeks +again. "I am ashamed to trouble you, but if you would be so good.... For +God's sake," she went on in an undertone, glancing towards the door, "do +stay to-night with us! She is all I have ... my only daughter.... She +frightened me last night; I can't get over it.... Don't go away, for +goodness' sake!..." + +He wanted to tell her that he had a great deal of work in Moscow, that +his family were expecting him home; it was disagreeable to him to spend +the evening and the whole night in a strange house quite needlessly; but +he looked at her face, heaved a sigh, and began taking off his gloves +without a word. + +All the lamps and candles were lighted in his honour in the drawing-room +and the dining-room. He sat down at the piano and began turning over the +music. Then he looked at the pictures on the walls, at the portraits. +The pictures, oil-paintings in gold frames, were views of the Crimea--a +stormy sea with a ship, a Catholic monk with a wineglass; they were all +dull, smooth daubs, with no trace of talent in them. There was not a +single good-looking face among the portraits, nothing but broad +cheekbones and astonished-looking eyes. Lyalikov, Liza's father, had a +low forehead and a self-satisfied expression; his uniform sat like a +sack on his bulky plebeian figure; on his breast was a medal and a Red +Cross Badge. There was little sign of culture, and the luxury was +senseless and haphazard, and was as ill fitting as that uniform. The +floors irritated him with their brilliant polish, the lustres on the +chandelier irritated him, and he was reminded for some reason of the +story of the merchant who used to go to the baths with a medal on his +neck.... + +He heard a whispering in the entry; some one was softly snoring. And +suddenly from outside came harsh, abrupt, metallic sounds, such as +Korolyov had never heard before, and which he did not understand now; +they roused strange, unpleasant echoes in his soul. + +"I believe nothing would induce me to remain here to live ..." he +thought, and went back to the music-books again. + +"Doctor, please come to supper!" the governess called him in a low +voice. + +He went into supper. The table was large and laid with a vast number of +dishes and wines, but there were only two to supper: himself and +Christina Dmitryevna. She drank Madeira, ate rapidly, and talked, +looking at him through her pince-nez: + +"Our workpeople are very contented. We have performances at the factory +every winter; the workpeople act themselves. They have lectures with a +magic lantern, a splendid tea-room, and everything they want. They are +very much attached to us, and when they heard that Lizanka was worse +they had a service sung for her. Though they have no education, they +have their feelings, too." + +"It looks as though you have no man in the house at all," said Korolyov. + +"Not one. Pyotr Nikanoritch died a year and a half ago, and left us +alone. And so there are the three of us. In the summer we live here, and +in winter we live in Moscow, in Polianka. I have been living with them +for eleven years--as one of the family." + +At supper they served sterlet, chicken rissoles, and stewed fruit; the +wines were expensive French wines. + +"Please don't stand on ceremony, doctor," said Christina Dmitryevna, +eating and wiping her mouth with her fist, and it was evident she found +her life here exceedingly pleasant. "Please have some more." + +After supper the doctor was shown to his room, where a bed had been made +up for him, but he did not feel sleepy. The room was stuffy and it smelt +of paint; he put on his coat and went out. + +It was cool in the open air; there was already a glimmer of dawn, and +all the five blocks of buildings, with their tall chimneys, barracks, +and warehouses, were distinctly outlined against the damp air. As it was +a holiday, they were not working, and the windows were dark, and in only +one of the buildings was there a furnace burning; two windows were +crimson, and fire mixed with smoke came from time to time from the +chimney. Far away beyond the yard the frogs were croaking and the +nightingales singing. + +Looking at the factory buildings and the barracks, where the workpeople +were asleep, he thought again what he always thought when he saw a +factory. They may have performances for the workpeople, magic lanterns, +factory doctors, and improvements of all sorts, but, all the same, the +workpeople he had met that day on his way from the station did not look +in any way different from those he had known long ago in his childhood, +before there were factory performances and improvements. As a doctor +accustomed to judging correctly of chronic complaints, the radical cause +of which was incomprehensible and incurable, he looked upon factories as +something baffling, the cause of which also was obscure and not +removable, and all the improvements in the life of the factory hands he +looked upon not as superfluous, but as comparable with the treatment of +incurable illnesses. + +"There is something baffling in it, of course ..." he thought, looking +at the crimson windows. "Fifteen hundred or two thousand workpeople are +working without rest in unhealthy surroundings, making bad cotton goods, +living on the verge of starvation, and only waking from this nightmare +at rare intervals in the tavern; a hundred people act as overseers, and +the whole life of that hundred is spent in imposing fines, in abuse, in +injustice, and only two or three so-called owners enjoy the profits, +though they don't work at all, and despise the wretched cotton. But what +are the profits, and how do they enjoy them? Madame Lyalikov and her +daughter are unhappy--it makes one wretched to look at them; the only +one who enjoys her life is Christina Dmitryevna, a stupid, middle-aged +maiden lady in pince-nez. And so it appears that all these five blocks +of buildings are at work, and inferior cotton is sold in the Eastern +markets, simply that Christina Dmitryevna may eat sterlet and drink +Madeira." + +Suddenly there came a strange noise, the same sound Korolyov had heard +before supper. Some one was striking on a sheet of metal near one of the +buildings; he struck a note, and then at once checked the vibrations, so +that short, abrupt, discordant sounds were produced, rather like "Dair +... dair ... dair...." Then there was half a minute of stillness, and +from another building there came sounds equally abrupt and unpleasant, +lower bass notes: "Drin ... drin ... drin ..." Eleven times. Evidently +it was the watchman striking the hour. Near the third building he heard: +"Zhuk ... zhuk ... zhuk...." And so near all the buildings, and then +behind the barracks and beyond the gates. And in the stillness of the +night it seemed as though these sounds were uttered by a monster with +crimson eyes--the devil himself, who controlled the owners and the +work-people alike, and was deceiving both. + +Korolyov went out of the yard into the open country. + +"Who goes there?" some one called to him at the gates in an abrupt +voice. + +"It's just like being in prison," he thought, and made no answer. + +Here the nightingales and the frogs could be heard more distinctly, and +one could feel it was a night in May. From the station came the noise of +a train; somewhere in the distance drowsy cocks were crowing; but, all +the same, the night was still, the world was sleeping tranquilly. In a +field not far from the factory there could be seen the framework of a +house and heaps of building material. + +Korolyov sat down on the planks and went on thinking. + +"The only person who feels happy here is the governess, and the factory +hands are working for her gratification. But that's only apparent: she +is only the figurehead. The real person, for whom everything is being +done, is the devil." + +And he thought about the devil, in whom he did not believe, and he +looked round at the two windows where the fires were gleaming. It seemed +to him that out of those crimson eyes the devil himself was looking at +him--that unknown force that had created the mutual relation of the +strong and the weak, that coarse blunder which one could never correct. +The strong must hinder the weak from living--such was the law of +Nature; but only in a newspaper article or in a school book was that +intelligible and easily accepted. In the hotchpotch which was everyday +life, in the tangle of trivialities out of which human relations were +woven, it was no longer a law, but a logical absurdity, when the strong +and the weak were both equally victims of their mutual relations, +unwillingly submitting to some directing force, unknown, standing +outside life, apart from man. + +So thought Korolyov, sitting on the planks, and little by little he was +possessed by a feeling that this unknown and mysterious force was really +close by and looking at him. Meanwhile the east was growing paler, time +passed rapidly; when there was not a soul anywhere near, as though +everything were dead, the five buildings and their chimneys against the +grey background of the dawn had a peculiar look--not the same as by day; +one forgot altogether that inside there were steam motors, electricity, +telephones, and kept thinking of lake-dwellings, of the Stone Age, +feeling the presence of a crude, unconscious force.... + +And again there came the sound: "Dair ... dair ... dair ... dair ..." +twelve times. Then there was stillness, stillness for half a minute, and +at the other end of the yard there rang out. + +"Drin ... drin ... drin...." + +"Horribly disagreeable," thought Korolyov. + +"Zhuk ... zhuk ..." there resounded from a third place, abruptly, +sharply, as though with annoyance--"Zhuk ... zhuk...." + +And it took four minutes to strike twelve. Then there was a hush; and +again it seemed as though everything were dead. + +Korolyov sat a little longer, then went to the house, but sat up for a +good while longer. In the adjoining rooms there was whispering, there +was a sound of shuffling slippers and bare feet. + +"Is she having another attack?" thought Korolyov. + +He went out to have a look at the patient. By now it was quite light in +the rooms, and a faint glimmer of sunlight, piercing through the morning +mist, quivered on the floor and on the wall of the drawing-room. The +door of Liza's room was open, and she was sitting in a low chair beside +her bed, with her hair down, wearing a dressing-gown and wrapped in a +shawl. The blinds were down on the windows. + +"How do you feel?" asked Korolyov. + +"Well, thank you." + +He touched her pulse, then straightened her hair, that had fallen over +her forehead. + +"You are not asleep," he said. "It's beautiful weather outside. It's +spring. The nightingales are singing, and you sit in the dark and think +of something." + +She listened and looked into his face; her eyes were sorrowful and +intelligent, and it was evident she wanted to say something to him. + +"Does this happen to you often?" he said. + +She moved her lips, and answered: + +"Often, I feel wretched almost every night." + +At that moment the watchman in the yard began striking two o'clock. They +heard: "Dair ... dair ..." and she shuddered. + +"Do those knockings worry you?" he asked. + +"I don't know. Everything here worries me," she answered, and pondered. +"Everything worries me. I hear sympathy in your voice; it seemed to me +as soon as I saw you that I could tell you all about it." + +"Tell me, I beg you." + +"I want to tell you of my opinion. It seems to me that I have no +illness, but that I am weary and frightened, because it is bound to be +so and cannot be otherwise. Even the healthiest person can't help being +uneasy if, for instance, a robber is moving about under his window. I am +constantly being doctored," she went on, looking at her knees, and she +gave a shy smile. "I am very grateful, of course, and I do not deny that +the treatment is a benefit; but I should like to talk, not with a +doctor, but with some intimate friend who would understand me and would +convince me that I was right or wrong." + +"Have you no friends?" asked Korolyov. + +"I am lonely. I have a mother; I love her, but, all the same, I am +lonely. That's how it happens to be.... Lonely people read a great deal, +but say little and hear little. Life for them is mysterious; they are +mystics and often see the devil where he is not. Lermontov's Tamara was +lonely and she saw the devil." + +"Do you read a great deal?" + +"Yes. You see, my whole time is free from morning till night. I read by +day, and by night my head is empty; instead of thoughts there are +shadows in it." + +"Do you see anything at night?" asked Korolyov. + +"No, but I feel...." + +She smiled again, raised her eyes to the doctor, and looked at him so +sorrowfully, so intelligently; and it seemed to him that she trusted +him, and that she wanted to speak frankly to him, and that she thought +the same as he did. But she was silent, perhaps waiting for him to +speak. + +And he knew what to say to her. It was clear to him that she needed as +quickly as possible to give up the five buildings and the million if she +had it--to leave that devil that looked out at night; it was clear to +him, too, that she thought so herself, and was only waiting for some one +she trusted to confirm her. + +But he did not know how to say it. How? One is shy of asking men under +sentence what they have been sentenced for; and in the same way it is +awkward to ask very rich people what they want so much money for, why +they make such a poor use of their wealth, why they don't give it up, +even when they see in it their unhappiness; and if they begin a +conversation about it themselves, it is usually embarrassing, awkward, +and long. + +"How is one to say it?" Korolyov wondered. "And is it necessary to +speak?" + +And he said what he meant in a roundabout way: + +"You in the position of a factory owner and a wealthy heiress are +dissatisfied; you don't believe in your right to it; and here now you +can't sleep. That, of course, is better than if you were satisfied, +slept soundly, and thought everything was satisfactory. Your +sleeplessness does you credit; in any case, it is a good sign. In +reality, such a conversation as this between us now would have been +unthinkable for our parents. At night they did not talk, but slept +sound; we, our generation, sleep badly, are restless, but talk a great +deal, and are always trying to settle whether we are right or not. For +our children or grandchildren that question--whether they are right or +not--will have been settled. Things will be clearer for them than for +us. Life will be good in fifty years' time; it's only a pity we shall +not last out till then. It would be interesting to have a peep at it." + +"What will our children and grandchildren do?" asked Liza. + +"I don't know.... I suppose they will throw it all up and go away." + +"Go where?" + +"Where?... Why, where they like," said Korolyov; and he laughed. "There +are lots of places a good, intelligent person can go to." + +He glanced at his watch. + +"The sun has risen, though," he said. "It is time you were asleep. +Undress and sleep soundly. Very glad to have made your acquaintance," he +went on, pressing her hand. "You are a good, interesting woman. +Good-night!" + +He went to his room and went to bed. + +In the morning when the carriage was brought round they all came out on +to the steps to see him off. Liza, pale and exhausted, was in a white +dress as though for a holiday, with a flower in her hair; she looked at +him, as yesterday, sorrowfully and intelligently, smiled and talked, and +all with an expression as though she wanted to tell him something +special, important--him alone. They could hear the larks trilling and +the church bells pealing. The windows in the factory buildings were +sparkling gaily, and, driving across the yard and afterwards along the +road to the station, Korolyov thought neither of the workpeople nor of +lake dwellings, nor of the devil, but thought of the time, perhaps close +at hand, when life would be as bright and joyous as that still Sunday +morning; and he thought how pleasant it was on such a morning in the +spring to drive with three horses in a good carriage, and to bask in the +sunshine. + + + + +AN UPHEAVAL + + +MASHENKA PAVLETSKY, a young girl who had only just finished her studies +at a boarding school, returning from a walk to the house of the +Kushkins, with whom she was living as a governess, found the household +in a terrible turmoil. Mihailo, the porter who opened the door to her, +was excited and red as a crab. + +Loud voices were heard from upstairs. + +"Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely, or else she has quarrelled +with her husband," thought Mashenka. + +In the hall and in the corridor she met maid-servants. One of them was +crying. Then Mashenka saw, running out of her room, the master of the +house himself, Nikolay Sergeitch, a little man with a flabby face and a +bald head, though he was not old. He was red in the face and twitching +all over. He passed the governess without noticing her, and throwing up +his arms, exclaimed: + +"Oh, how horrible it is! How tactless! How stupid! How barbarous! +Abominable!" + +Mashenka went into her room, and then, for the first time in her life, +it was her lot to experience in all its acuteness the feeling that is so +familiar to persons in dependent positions, who eat the bread of the +rich and powerful, and cannot speak their minds. There was a search +going on in her room. The lady of the house, Fedosya Vassilyevna, a +stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth woman with thick black eyebrows, a +faintly perceptible moustache, and red hands, who was exactly like a +plain, illiterate cook in face and manners, was standing, without her +cap on, at the table, putting back into Mashenka's workbag balls of +wool, scraps of materials, and bits of paper.... Evidently the +governess's arrival took her by surprise, since, on looking round and +seeing the girl's pale and astonished face, she was a little taken +aback, and muttered: + +"_Pardon_. I ... I upset it accidentally.... My sleeve caught in it ..." + +And saying something more, Madame Kushkin rustled her long skirts and +went out. Mashenka looked round her room with wondering eyes, and, +unable to understand it, not knowing what to think, shrugged her +shoulders, and turned cold with dismay. What had Fedosya Vassilyevna +been looking for in her work-bag? If she really had, as she said, caught +her sleeve in it and upset everything, why had Nikolay Sergeitch dashed +out of her room so excited and red in the face? Why was one drawer of +the table pulled out a little way? The money-box, in which the governess +put away ten kopeck pieces and old stamps, was open. They had opened it, +but did not know how to shut it, though they had scratched the lock all +over. The whatnot with her books on it, the things on the table, the +bed--all bore fresh traces of a search. Her linen-basket, too. The linen +had been carefully folded, but it was not in the same order as Mashenka +had left it when she went out. So the search had been thorough, most +thorough. But what was it for? Why? What had happened? Mashenka +remembered the excited porter, the general turmoil which was still going +on, the weeping servant-girl; had it not all some connection with the +search that had just been made in her room? Was not she mixed up in +something dreadful? Mashenka turned pale, and feeling cold all over, +sank on to her linen-basket. + +A maid-servant came into the room. + +"Liza, you don't know why they have been rummaging in my room?" the +governess asked her. + +"Mistress has lost a brooch worth two thousand," said Liza. + +"Yes, but why have they been rummaging in my room?" + +"They've been searching every one, miss. They've searched all my things, +too. They stripped us all naked and searched us.... God knows, miss, I +never went near her toilet-table, let alone touching the brooch. I shall +say the same at the police-station." + +"But ... why have they been rummaging here?" the governess still +wondered. + +"A brooch has been stolen, I tell you. The mistress has been rummaging +in everything with her own hands. She even searched Mihailo, the porter, +herself. It's a perfect disgrace! Nikolay Sergeitch simply looks on and +cackles like a hen. But you've no need to tremble like that, miss. They +found nothing here. You've nothing to be afraid of if you didn't take +the brooch." + +"But, Liza, it's vile ... it's insulting," said Mashenka, breathless +with indignation. "It's so mean, so low! What right had she to suspect +me and to rummage in my things?" + +"You are living with strangers, miss," sighed Liza. "Though you are a +young lady, still you are ... as it were ... a servant.... It's not like +living with your papa and mamma." + +Mashenka threw herself on the bed and sobbed bitterly. Never in her life +had she been subjected to such an outrage, never had she been so deeply +insulted.... She, well-educated, refined, the daughter of a teacher, was +suspected of theft; she had been searched like a street-walker! She +could not imagine a greater insult. And to this feeling of resentment +was added an oppressive dread of what would come next. All sorts of +absurd ideas came into her mind. If they could suspect her of theft, +then they might arrest her, strip her naked, and search her, then lead +her through the street with an escort of soldiers, cast her into a cold, +dark cell with mice and woodlice, exactly like the dungeon in which +Princess Tarakanov was imprisoned. Who would stand up for her? Her +parents lived far away in the provinces; they had not the money to come +to her. In the capital she was as solitary as in a desert, without +friends or kindred. They could do what they liked with her. + +"I will go to all the courts and all the lawyers," Mashenka thought, +trembling. "I will explain to them, I will take an oath.... They will +believe that I could not be a thief!" + +Mashenka remembered that under the sheets in her basket she had some +sweetmeats, which, following the habits of her schooldays, she had put +in her pocket at dinner and carried off to her room. She felt hot all +over, and was ashamed at the thought that her little secret was known to +the lady of the house; and all this terror, shame, resentment, brought +on an attack of palpitation of the heart, which set up a throbbing in +her temples, in her heart, and deep down in her stomach. + +"Dinner is ready," the servant summoned Mashenka. + +"Shall I go, or not?" + +Mashenka brushed her hair, wiped her face with a wet towel, and went +into the dining-room. There they had already begun dinner. At one end of +the table sat Fedosya Vassilyevna with a stupid, solemn, serious face; +at the other end Nikolay Sergeitch. At the sides there were the visitors +and the children. The dishes were handed by two footmen in swallowtails +and white gloves. Every one knew that there was an upset in the house, +that Madame Kushkin was in trouble, and every one was silent. Nothing +was heard but the sound of munching and the rattle of spoons on the +plates. + +The lady of the house, herself, was the first to speak. + +"What is the third course?" she asked the footman in a weary, injured +voice. + +"_Esturgeon à la russe_," answered the footman. + +"I ordered that, Fenya," Nikolay Sergeitch hastened to observe. "I +wanted some fish. If you don't like it, _ma chère_, don't let them serve +it. I just ordered it...." + +Fedosya Vassilyevna did not like dishes that she had not ordered +herself, and now her eyes filled with tears. + +"Come, don't let us agitate ourselves," Mamikov, her household doctor, +observed in a honeyed voice, just touching her arm, with a smile as +honeyed. "We are nervous enough as it is. Let us forget the brooch! +Health is worth more than two thousand roubles!" + +"It's not the two thousand I regret," answered the lady, and a big tear +rolled down her cheek. "It's the fact itself that revolts me! I cannot +put up with thieves in my house. I don't regret it--I regret nothing; +but to steal from me is such ingratitude! That's how they repay me for +my kindness...." + +They all looked into their plates, but Mashenka fancied after the lady's +words that every one was looking at her. A lump rose in her throat; she +began crying and put her handkerchief to her lips. + +"_Pardon_," she muttered. "I can't help it. My head aches. I'll go +away." + +And she got up from the table, scraping her chair awkwardly, and went +out quickly, still more overcome with confusion. + +"It's beyond everything!" said Nikolay Sergeitch, frowning. "What need +was there to search her room? How out of place it was!" + +"I don't say she took the brooch," said Fedosya Vassilyevna, "but can +you answer for her? To tell the truth, I haven't much confidence in +these learned paupers." + +"It really was unsuitable, Fenya.... Excuse me, Fenya, but you've no +kind of legal right to make a search." + +"I know nothing about your laws. All I know is that I've lost my brooch. +And I will find the brooch!" She brought her fork down on the plate with +a clatter, and her eyes flashed angrily. "And you eat your dinner, and +don't interfere in what doesn't concern you!" + +Nikolay Sergeitch dropped his eyes mildly and sighed. Meanwhile +Mashenka, reaching her room, flung herself on her bed. She felt now +neither alarm nor shame, but she felt an intense longing to go and slap +the cheeks of this hard, arrogant, dull-witted, prosperous woman. + +Lying on her bed she breathed into her pillow and dreamed of how nice it +would be to go and buy the most expensive brooch and fling it into the +face of this bullying woman. If only it were God's will that Fedosya +Vassilyevna should come to ruin and wander about begging, and should +taste all the horrors of poverty and dependence, and that Mashenka, whom +she had insulted, might give her alms! Oh, if only she could come in for +a big fortune, could buy a carriage, and could drive noisily past the +windows so as to be envied by that woman! + +But all these were only dreams, in reality there was only one thing left +to do--to get away as quickly as possible, not to stay another hour in +this place. It was true it was terrible to lose her place, to go back to +her parents, who had nothing; but what could she do? Mashenka could not +bear the sight of the lady of the house nor of her little room; she felt +stifled and wretched here. She was so disgusted with Fedosya +Vassilyevna, who was so obsessed by her illnesses and her supposed +aristocratic rank, that everything in the world seemed to have become +coarse and unattractive because this woman was living in it. Mashenka +jumped up from the bed and began packing. + +"May I come in?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch at the door; he had come up +noiselessly to the door, and spoke in a soft, subdued voice. "May I?" + +"Come in." + +He came in and stood still near the door. His eyes looked dim and his +red little nose was shiny. After dinner he used to drink beer, and the +fact was perceptible in his walk, in his feeble, flabby hands. + +"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the basket. + +"I am packing. Forgive me, Nikolay Sergeitch, but I cannot remain in +your house. I feel deeply insulted by this search!" + +"I understand.... Only you are wrong to go. Why should you? They've +searched your things, but you ... what does it matter to you? You will +be none the worse for it." + +Mashenka was silent and went on packing. Nikolay Sergeitch pinched his +moustache, as though wondering what he should say next, and went on in +an ingratiating voice: + +"I understand, of course, but you must make allowances. You know my wife +is nervous, headstrong; you mustn't judge her too harshly." + +Mashenka did not speak. + +"If you are so offended," Nikolay Sergeitch went on, "well, if you like, +I'm ready to apologise. I ask your pardon." + +Mashenka made no answer, but only bent lower over her box. This +exhausted, irresolute man was of absolutely no significance in the +household. He stood in the pitiful position of a dependent and +hanger-on, even with the servants, and his apology meant nothing either. + +"H'm!... You say nothing! That's not enough for you. In that case, I +will apologise for my wife. In my wife's name.... She behaved +tactlessly, I admit it as a gentleman...." + +Nikolay Sergeitch walked about the room, heaved a sigh, and went on: + +"Then you want me to have it rankling here, under my heart.... You want +my conscience to torment me...." + +"I know it's not your fault, Nikolay Sergeitch," said Mashenka, looking +him full in the face with her big tear-stained eyes. "Why should you +worry yourself?" + +"Of course, no.... But still, don't you ... go away. I entreat you." + +Mashenka shook her head. Nikolay Sergeitch stopped at the window and +drummed on the pane with his finger-tips. + +"Such misunderstandings are simply torture to me," he said. "Why, do you +want me to go down on my knees to you, or what? Your pride is wounded, +and here you've been crying and packing up to go; but I have pride, too, +and you do not spare it! Or do you want me to tell you what I would not +tell as Confession? Do you? Listen; you want me to tell you what I won't +tell the priest on my deathbed?" + +Mashenka made no answer. + +"I took my wife's brooch," Nikolay Sergeitch said quickly. "Is that +enough now? Are you satisfied? Yes, I ... took it.... But, of course, I +count on your discretion.... For God's sake, not a word, not half a hint +to any one!" + +Mashenka, amazed and frightened, went on packing; she snatched her +things, crumpled them up, and thrust them anyhow into the box and the +basket. Now, after this candid avowal on the part of Nikolay Sergeitch, +she could not remain another minute, and could not understand how she +could have gone on living in the house before. + +"And it's nothing to wonder at," Nikolay Sergeitch went on after a +pause. "It's an everyday story! I need money, and she ... won't give it +to me. It was my father's money that bought this house and everything, +you know! It's all mine, and the brooch belonged to my mother, and ... +it's all mine! And she took it, took possession of everything.... I +can't go to law with her, you'll admit.... I beg you most earnestly, +overlook it ... stay on. _Tout comprendre, tout pardonner._ Will you +stay?" + +"No!" said Mashenka resolutely, beginning to tremble. "Let me alone, I +entreat you!" + +"Well, God bless you!" sighed Nikolay Sergeitch, sitting down on the +stool near the box. "I must own I like people who still can feel +resentment, contempt, and so on. I could sit here forever and look at +your indignant face.... So you won't stay, then? I understand.... It's +bound to be so ... Yes, of course.... It's all right for you, but for +me--wo-o-o-o!... I can't stir a step out of this cellar. I'd go off to +one of our estates, but in every one of them there are some of my wife's +rascals ... stewards, experts, damn them all! They mortgage and +remortgage.... You mustn't catch fish, must keep off the grass, mustn't +break the trees." + +"Nikolay Sergeitch!" his wife's voice called from the drawing-room. +"Agnia, call your master!" + +"Then you won't stay?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch, getting up quickly and +going towards the door. "You might as well stay, really. In the evenings +I could come and have a talk with you. Eh? Stay! If you go, there won't +be a human face left in the house. It's awful!" + +Nikolay Sergeitch's pale, exhausted face besought her, but Mashenka +shook her head, and with a wave of his hand he went out. + +Half an hour later she was on her way. + + + + +IONITCH + + +I + +WHEN visitors to the provincial town S---- complained of the dreariness +and monotony of life, the inhabitants of the town, as though defending +themselves, declared that it was very nice in S----, that there was a +library, a theatre, a club; that they had balls; and, finally, that +there were clever, agreeable, and interesting families with whom one +could make acquaintance. And they used to point to the family of the +Turkins as the most highly cultivated and talented. + +This family lived in their own house in the principal street, near the +Governor's. Ivan Petrovitch Turkin himself--a stout, handsome, dark man +with whiskers--used to get up amateur performances for benevolent +objects, and used to take the part of an elderly general and cough very +amusingly. He knew a number of anecdotes, charades, proverbs, and was +fond of being humorous and witty, and he always wore an expression from +which it was impossible to tell whether he were joking or in earnest. +His wife, Vera Iosifovna--a thin, nice-looking lady who wore a +pince-nez--used to write novels and stories, and was very fond of +reading them aloud to her visitors. The daughter, Ekaterina Ivanovna, a +young girl, used to play on the piano. In short, every member of the +family had a special talent. The Turkins welcomed visitors, and +good-humouredly displayed their talents with genuine simplicity. Their +stone house was roomy and cool in summer; half of the windows looked +into a shady old garden, where nightingales used to sing in the spring. +When there were visitors in the house, there was a clatter of knives in +the kitchen and a smell of fried onions in the yard--and that was always +a sure sign of a plentiful and savoury supper to follow. + +And as soon as Dmitri Ionitch Startsev was appointed the district +doctor, and took up his abode at Dyalizh, six miles from S----, he, too, +was told that as a cultivated man it was essential for him to make the +acquaintance of the Turkins. In the winter he was introduced to Ivan +Petrovitch in the street; they talked about the weather, about the +theatre, about the cholera; an invitation followed. On a holiday in the +spring--it was Ascension Day--after seeing his patients, Startsev set +off for town in search of a little recreation and to make some +purchases. He walked in a leisurely way (he had not yet set up his +carriage), humming all the time: + + "'Before I'd drunk the tears from life's goblet....'" + +In town he dined, went for a walk in the gardens, then Ivan +Petrovitch's invitation came into his mind, as it were of itself, +and he decided to call on the Turkins and see what sort of people +they were. + +"How do you do, if you please?" said Ivan Petrovitch, meeting him +on the steps. "Delighted, delighted to see such an agreeable visitor. +Come along; I will introduce you to my better half. I tell him, +Verotchka," he went on, as he presented the doctor to his wife--"I +tell him that he has no human right to sit at home in a hospital; +he ought to devote his leisure to society. Oughtn't he, darling?" + +"Sit here," said Vera Iosifovna, making her visitor sit down beside +her. "You can dance attendance on me. My husband is jealous--he +is an Othello; but we will try and behave so well that he will +notice nothing." + +"Ah, you spoilt chicken!" Ivan Petrovitch muttered tenderly, and +he kissed her on the forehead. "You have come just in the nick of +time," he said, addressing the doctor again. "My better half has +written a 'hugeous' novel, and she is going to read it aloud to-day." + +"Petit Jean," said Vera Iosifovna to her husband, "dites que l'on +nous donne du thé." + +Startsev was introduced to Ekaterina Ivanovna, a girl of eighteen, +very much like her mother, thin and pretty. Her expression was still +childish and her figure was soft and slim; and her developed girlish +bosom, healthy and beautiful, was suggestive of spring, real spring. + +Then they drank tea with jam, honey, and sweetmeats, and with very +nice cakes, which melted in the mouth. As the evening came on, other +visitors gradually arrived, and Ivan Petrovitch fixed his laughing +eyes on each of them and said: + +"How do you do, if you please?" + +Then they all sat down in the drawing-room with very serious faces, +and Vera Iosifovna read her novel. It began like this: "The frost +was intense...." The windows were wide open; from the kitchen +came the clatter of knives and the smell of fried onions.... It +was comfortable in the soft deep arm-chair; the lights had such a +friendly twinkle in the twilight of the drawing-room, and at the +moment on a summer evening when sounds of voices and laughter floated +in from the street and whiffs of lilac from the yard, it was difficult +to grasp that the frost was intense, and that the setting sun was +lighting with its chilly rays a solitary wayfarer on the snowy +plain. Vera Iosifovna read how a beautiful young countess founded +a school, a hospital, a library, in her village, and fell in love +with a wandering artist; she read of what never happens in real +life, and yet it was pleasant to listen--it was comfortable, and +such agreeable, serene thoughts kept coming into the mind, one had +no desire to get up. + +"Not badsome ..." Ivan Petrovitch said softly. + +And one of the visitors hearing, with his thoughts far away, said +hardly audibly: + +"Yes ... truly...." + +One hour passed, another. In the town gardens close by a band was +playing and a chorus was singing. When Vera Iosifovna shut her +manuscript book, the company was silent for five minutes, listening +to "Lutchina" being sung by the chorus, and the song gave what was +not in the novel and is in real life. + +"Do you publish your stories in magazines?" Startsev asked Vera +Iosifovna. + +"No," she answered. "I never publish. I write it and put it away +in my cupboard. Why publish?" she explained. "We have enough to +live on." + +And for some reason every one sighed. + +"And now, Kitten, you play something," Ivan Petrovitch said to his +daughter. + +The lid of the piano was raised and the music lying ready was opened. +Ekaterina Ivanovna sat down and banged on the piano with both hands, +and then banged again with all her might, and then again and again; +her shoulders and bosom shook. She obstinately banged on the same +notes, and it sounded as if she would not leave off until she had +hammered the keys into the piano. The drawing-room was filled with +the din; everything was resounding; the floor, the ceiling, the +furniture.... Ekaterina Ivanovna was playing a difficult passage, +interesting simply on account of its difficulty, long and monotonous, +and Startsev, listening, pictured stones dropping down a steep hill +and going on dropping, and he wished they would leave off dropping; +and at the same time Ekaterina Ivanovna, rosy from the violent +exercise, strong and vigorous, with a lock of hair falling over her +forehead, attracted him very much. After the winter spent at Dyalizh +among patients and peasants, to sit in a drawing-room, to watch +this young, elegant, and, in all probability, pure creature, and +to listen to these noisy, tedious but still cultured sounds, was +so pleasant, so novel.... + +"Well, Kitten, you have played as never before," said Ivan Petrovitch, +with tears in his eyes, when his daughter had finished and stood +up. "Die, Denis; you won't write anything better." + +All flocked round her, congratulated her, expressed astonishment, +declared that it was long since they had heard such music, and she +listened in silence with a faint smile, and her whole figure was +expressive of triumph. + +"Splendid, superb!" + +"Splendid," said Startsev, too, carried away by the general enthusiasm. +"Where have you studied?" he asked Ekaterina Ivanovna. "At the +Conservatoire?" + +"No, I am only preparing for the Conservatoire, and till now have +been working with Madame Zavlovsky." + +"Have you finished at the high school here?" + +"Oh, no," Vera Iosifovna answered for her, "We have teachers for +her at home; there might be bad influences at the high school or a +boarding school, you know. While a young girl is growing up, she +ought to be under no influence but her mother's." + +"All the same, I'm going to the Conservatoire," said Ekaterina +Ivanovna. + +"No. Kitten loves her mamma. Kitten won't grieve papa and mamma." + +"No, I'm going, I'm going," said Ekaterina Ivanovna, with playful +caprice and stamping her foot. + +And at supper it was Ivan Petrovitch who displayed his talents. +Laughing only with his eyes, he told anecdotes, made epigrams, asked +ridiculous riddles and answered them himself, talking the whole +time in his extraordinary language, evolved in the course of prolonged +practice in witticism and evidently now become a habit: "Badsome," +"Hugeous," "Thank you most dumbly," and so on. + +But that was not all. When the guests, replete and satisfied, trooped +into the hall, looking for their coats and sticks, there bustled +about them the footman Pavlusha, or, as he was called in the family, +Pava--a lad of fourteen with shaven head and chubby cheeks. + +"Come, Pava, perform!" Ivan Petrovitch said to him. + +Pava struck an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic +tone: "Unhappy woman, die!" + +And every one roared with laughter. + +"It's entertaining," thought Startsev, as he went out into the +street. + +He went to a restaurant and drank some beer, then set off to walk +home to Dyalizh; he walked all the way singing: + + "'Thy voice to me so languid and caressing....'" + +On going to bed, he felt not the slightest fatigue after the six miles' +walk. On the contrary, he felt as though he could with pleasure have +walked another twenty. + +"Not badsome," he thought, and laughed as he fell asleep. + + +II + +Startsev kept meaning to go to the Turkins' again, but there was a great +deal of work in the hospital, and he was unable to find free time. In +this way more than a year passed in work and solitude. But one day a +letter in a light blue envelope was brought him from the town. + +Vera Iosifovna had been suffering for some time from migraine, but now +since Kitten frightened her every day by saying that she was going away +to the Conservatoire, the attacks began to be more frequent. All the +doctors of the town had been at the Turkins'; at last it was the +district doctor's turn. Vera Iosifovna wrote him a touching letter in +which she begged him to come and relieve her sufferings. Startsev went, +and after that he began to be often, very often at the Turkins'.... He +really did something for Vera Iosifovna, and she was already telling all +her visitors that he was a wonderful and exceptional doctor. But it was +not for the sake of her migraine that he visited the Turkins' now.... + +It was a holiday. Ekaterina Ivanovna finished her long, wearisome +exercises on the piano. Then they sat a long time in the dining-room, +drinking tea, and Ivan Petrovitch told some amusing story. Then there +was a ring and he had to go into the hall to welcome a guest; Startsev +took advantage of the momentary commotion, and whispered to Ekaterina +Ivanovna in great agitation: + +"For God's sake, I entreat you, don't torment me; let us go into the +garden!" + +She shrugged her shoulders, as though perplexed and not knowing what he +wanted of her, but she got up and went. + +"You play the piano for three or four hours," he said, following her; +"then you sit with your mother, and there is no possibility of speaking +to you. Give me a quarter of an hour at least, I beseech you." + +Autumn was approaching, and it was quiet and melancholy in the old +garden; the dark leaves lay thick in the walks. It was already beginning +to get dark early. + +"I haven't seen you for a whole week," Startsev went on, "and if you +only knew what suffering it is! Let us sit down. Listen to me." + +They had a favourite place in the garden; a seat under an old spreading +maple. And now they sat down on this seat. + +"What do you want?" said Ekaterina Ivanovna drily, in a matter-of-fact +tone. + +"I have not seen you for a whole week; I have not heard you for so long. +I long passionately, I thirst for your voice. Speak." + +She fascinated him by her freshness, the naïve expression of her eyes +and cheeks. Even in the way her dress hung on her, he saw something +extraordinarily charming, touching in its simplicity and naïve grace; +and at the same time, in spite of this naïveté, she seemed to him +intelligent and developed beyond her years. He could talk with her about +literature, about art, about anything he liked; could complain to her of +life, of people, though it sometimes happened in the middle of serious +conversation she would laugh inappropriately or run away into the house. +Like almost all girls of her neighbourhood, she had read a great deal +(as a rule, people read very little in S----, and at the lending library +they said if it were not for the girls and the young Jews, they might as +well shut up the library). This afforded Startsev infinite delight; he +used to ask her eagerly every time what she had been reading the last +few days, and listened enthralled while she told him. + +"What have you been reading this week since I saw you last?" he asked +now. "Do please tell me." + +"I have been reading Pisemsky." + +"What exactly?" + +"'A Thousand Souls,'" answered Kitten. "And what a funny name Pisemsky +had--Alexey Feofilaktitch!" + +"Where are you going?" cried Startsev in horror, as she suddenly got up +and walked towards the house. "I must talk to you; I want to explain +myself.... Stay with me just five minutes, I supplicate you!" + +She stopped as though she wanted to say something, then awkwardly thrust +a note into his hand, ran home and sat down to the piano again. + +"Be in the cemetery," Startsev read, "at eleven o'clock to-night, near +the tomb of Demetti." + +"Well, that's not at all clever," he thought, coming to himself. "Why +the cemetery? What for?" + +It was clear: Kitten was playing a prank. Who would seriously dream of +making an appointment at night in the cemetery far out of the town, when +it might have been arranged in the street or in the town gardens? And +was it in keeping with him--a district doctor, an intelligent, staid +man--to be sighing, receiving notes, to hang about cemeteries, to do +silly things that even schoolboys think ridiculous nowadays? What would +this romance lead to? What would his colleagues say when they heard of +it? Such were Startsev's reflections as he wandered round the tables at +the club, and at half-past ten he suddenly set off for the cemetery. + +By now he had his own pair of horses, and a coachman called Panteleimon, +in a velvet waistcoat. The moon was shining. It was still warm, warm as +it is in autumn. Dogs were howling in the suburb near the +slaughter-house. Startsev left his horses in one of the side-streets at +the end of the town, and walked on foot to the cemetery. + +"We all have our oddities," he thought. "Kitten is odd, too; and--who +knows?--perhaps she is not joking, perhaps she will come"; and he +abandoned himself to this faint, vain hope, and it intoxicated him. + +He walked for half a mile through the fields; the cemetery showed as a +dark streak in the distance, like a forest or a big garden. The wall of +white stone came into sight, the gate.... In the moonlight he could read +on the gate: "The hour cometh." Startsev went in at the little gate, and +before anything else he saw the white crosses and monuments on both +sides of the broad avenue, and the black shadows of them and the +poplars; and for a long way round it was all white and black, and the +slumbering trees bowed their branches over the white stones. It seemed +as though it were lighter here than in the fields; the maple-leaves +stood out sharply like paws on the yellow sand of the avenue and on the +stones, and the inscriptions on the tombs could be clearly read. For the +first moments Startsev was struck now by what he saw for the first time +in his life, and what he would probably never see again; a world not +like anything else, a world in which the moonlight was as soft and +beautiful, as though slumbering here in its cradle, where there was no +life, none whatever; but in every dark poplar, in every tomb, there was +felt the presence of a mystery that promised a life peaceful, beautiful, +eternal. The stones and faded flowers, together with the autumn scent of +the leaves, all told of forgiveness, melancholy, and peace. + +All was silence around; the stars looked down from the sky in the +profound stillness, and Startsev's footsteps sounded loud and out of +place, and only when the church clock began striking and he imagined +himself dead, buried there for ever, he felt as though some one were +looking at him, and for a moment he thought that it was not peace and +tranquillity, but stifled despair, the dumb dreariness of +non-existence.... + +Demetti's tomb was in the form of a shrine with an angel at the top. The +Italian opera had once visited S---- and one of the singers had died; +she had been buried here, and this monument put up to her. No one in the +town remembered her, but the lamp at the entrance reflected the +moonlight, and looked as though it were burning. + +There was no one, and, indeed, who would come here at midnight? But +Startsev waited, and as though the moonlight warmed his passion, he +waited passionately, and, in imagination, pictured kisses and embraces. +He sat near the monument for half an hour, then paced up and down the +side avenues, with his hat in his hand, waiting and thinking of the many +women and girls buried in these tombs who had been beautiful and +fascinating, who had loved, at night burned with passion, yielding +themselves to caresses. How wickedly Mother Nature jested at man's +expense, after all! How humiliating it was to recognise it! + +Startsev thought this, and at the same time he wanted to cry out that he +wanted love, that he was eager for it at all costs. To his eyes they +were not slabs of marble, but fair white bodies in the moonlight; he saw +shapes hiding bashfully in the shadows of the trees, felt their warmth, +and the languor was oppressive.... + +And as though a curtain were lowered, the moon went behind a cloud, and +suddenly all was darkness. Startsev could scarcely find the gate--by now +it was as dark as it is on an autumn night. Then he wandered about for +an hour and a half, looking for the side-street in which he had left his +horses. + +"I am tired; I can scarcely stand on my legs," he said to Panteleimon. + +And settling himself with relief in his carriage, he thought: "Och! I +ought not to get fat!" + + +III + +The following evening he went to the Turkins' to make an offer. But it +turned out to be an inconvenient moment, as Ekaterina Ivanovna was in +her own room having her hair done by a hair-dresser. She was getting +ready to go to a dance at the club. + +He had to sit a long time again in the dining-room drinking tea. Ivan +Petrovitch, seeing that his visitor was bored and preoccupied, drew some +notes out of his waistcoat pocket, read a funny letter from a German +steward, saying that all the ironmongery was ruined and the plasticity +was peeling off the walls. + +"I expect they will give a decent dowry," thought Startsev, listening +absent-mindedly. + +After a sleepless night, he found himself in a state of stupefaction, as +though he had been given something sweet and soporific to drink; there +was fog in his soul, but joy and warmth, and at the same time a sort of +cold, heavy fragment of his brain was reflecting: + +"Stop before it is too late! Is she the match for you? She is spoilt, +whimsical, sleeps till two o'clock in the afternoon, while you are a +deacon's son, a district doctor...." + +"What of it?" he thought. "I don't care." + +"Besides, if you marry her," the fragment went on, "then her relations +will make you give up the district work and live in the town." + +"After all," he thought, "if it must be the town, the town it must be. +They will give a dowry; we can establish ourselves suitably." + +At last Ekaterina Ivanovna came in, dressed for the ball, with a low +neck, looking fresh and pretty; and Startsev admired her so much, and +went into such ecstasies, that he could say nothing, but simply stared +at her and laughed. + +She began saying good-bye, and he--he had no reason for staying now--got +up, saying that it was time for him to go home; his patients were +waiting for him. + +"Well, there's no help for that," said Ivan Petrovitch. "Go, and you +might take Kitten to the club on the way." + +It was spotting with rain; it was very dark, and they could only tell +where the horses were by Panteleimon's husky cough. The hood of the +carriage was put up. + +"I stand upright; you lie down right; he lies all right," said Ivan +Petrovitch as he put his daughter into the carriage. + +They drove off. + +"I was at the cemetery yesterday," Startsev began. "How ungenerous and +merciless it was on your part!..." + +"You went to the cemetery?" + +"Yes, I went there and waited almost till two o'clock. I suffered...." + +"Well, suffer, if you cannot understand a joke." + +Ekaterina Ivanovna, pleased at having so cleverly taken in a man who was +in love with her, and at being the object of such intense love, burst +out laughing and suddenly uttered a shriek of terror, for, at that very +minute, the horses turned sharply in at the gate of the club, and the +carriage almost tilted over. Startsev put his arm round Ekaterina +Ivanovna's waist; in her fright she nestled up to him, and he could not +restrain himself, and passionately kissed her on the lips and on the +chin, and hugged her more tightly. + +"That's enough," she said drily. + +And a minute later she was not in the carriage, and a policeman near the +lighted entrance of the club shouted in a detestable voice to +Panteleimon: + +"What are you stopping for, you crow? Drive on." + +Startsev drove home, but soon afterwards returned. Attired in another +man's dress suit and a stiff white tie which kept sawing at his neck and +trying to slip away from the collar, he was sitting at midnight in the +club drawing-room, and was saying with enthusiasm to Ekaterina Ivanovna. + +"Ah, how little people know who have never loved! It seems to me that no +one has ever yet written of love truly, and I doubt whether this tender, +joyful, agonising feeling can be described, and any one who has once +experienced it would not attempt to put it into words. What is the use +of preliminaries and introductions? What is the use of unnecessary fine +words? My love is immeasurable. I beg, I beseech you," Startsev brought +out at last, "be my wife!" + +"Dmitri Ionitch," said Ekaterina Ivanovna, with a very grave face, after +a moment's thought--"Dmitri Ionitch, I am very grateful to you for the +honour. I respect you, but ..." she got up and continued standing, "but, +forgive me, I cannot be your wife. Let us talk seriously. Dmitri +Ionitch, you know I love art beyond everything in life. I adore music; I +love it frantically; I have dedicated my whole life to it. I want to be +an artist; I want fame, success, freedom, and you want me to go on +living in this town, to go on living this empty, useless life, which has +become insufferable to me. To become a wife--oh, no, forgive me! One +must strive towards a lofty, glorious goal, and married life would put +me in bondage for ever. Dmitri Ionitch" (she faintly smiled as she +pronounced his name; she thought of "Alexey Feofilaktitch")--"Dmitri +Ionitch, you are a good, clever, honourable man; you are better than any +one...." Tears came into her eyes. "I feel for you with my whole heart, +but ... but you will understand...." + +And she turned away and went out of the drawing-room to prevent herself +from crying. + +Startsev's heart left off throbbing uneasily. Going out of the club into +the street, he first of all tore off the stiff tie and drew a deep +breath. He was a little ashamed and his vanity was wounded--he had not +expected a refusal--and could not believe that all his dreams, his hopes +and yearnings, had led him up to such a stupid end, just as in some +little play at an amateur performance, and he was sorry for his feeling, +for that love of his, so sorry that he felt as though he could have +burst into sobs or have violently belaboured Panteleimon's broad back +with his umbrella. + +For three days he could not get on with anything, he could not eat nor +sleep; but when the news reached him that Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone +away to Moscow to enter the Conservatoire, he grew calmer and lived as +before. + +Afterwards, remembering sometimes how he had wandered about the cemetery +or how he had driven all over the town to get a dress suit, he stretched +lazily and said: + +"What a lot of trouble, though!" + + +IV + +Four years had passed. Startsev already had a large practice in the +town. Every morning he hurriedly saw his patients at Dyalizh, then he +drove in to see his town patients. By now he drove, not with a pair, but +with a team of three with bells on them, and he returned home late at +night. He had grown broader and stouter, and was not very fond of +walking, as he was somewhat asthmatic. And Panteleimon had grown stout, +too, and the broader he grew, the more mournfully he sighed and +complained of his hard luck: he was sick of driving! Startsev used to +visit various households and met many people, but did not become +intimate with any one. The inhabitants irritated him by their +conversation, their views of life, and even their appearance. Experience +taught him by degrees that while he played cards or lunched with one of +these people, the man was a peaceable, friendly, and even intelligent +human being; that as soon as one talked of anything not eatable, for +instance, of politics or science, he would be completely at a loss, or +would expound a philosophy so stupid and ill-natured that there was +nothing else to do but wave one's hand in despair and go away. Even when +Startsev tried to talk to liberal citizens, saying, for instance, that +humanity, thank God, was progressing, and that one day it would be +possible to dispense with passports and capital punishment, the liberal +citizen would look at him askance and ask him mistrustfully: "Then any +one could murder any one he chose in the open street?" And when, at tea +or supper, Startsev observed in company that one should work, and that +one ought not to live without working, every one took this as a +reproach, and began to get angry and argue aggressively. With all that, +the inhabitants did nothing, absolutely nothing, and took no interest in +anything, and it was quite impossible to think of anything to say. And +Startsev avoided conversation, and confined himself to eating and +playing _vint_; and when there was a family festivity in some household +and he was invited to a meal, then he sat and ate in silence, looking at +his plate. + +And everything that was said at the time was uninteresting, unjust, and +stupid; he felt irritated and disturbed, but held his tongue, and, +because he sat glumly silent and looked at his plate, he was nicknamed +in the town "the haughty Pole," though he never had been a Pole. + +All such entertainments as theatres and concerts he declined, but he +played _vint_ every evening for three hours with enjoyment. He had +another diversion to which he took imperceptibly, little by little: in +the evening he would take out of his pockets the notes he had gained by +his practice, and sometimes there were stuffed in his pockets +notes--yellow and green, and smelling of scent and vinegar and incense +and fish oil--up to the value of seventy roubles; and when they amounted +to some hundreds he took them to the Mutual Credit Bank and deposited +the money there to his account. + +He was only twice at the Turkins' in the course of the four years after +Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone away, on each occasion at the invitation of +Vera Iosifovna, who was still undergoing treatment for migraine. Every +summer Ekaterina Ivanovna came to stay with her parents, but he did not +once see her; it somehow never happened. + +But now four years had passed. One still, warm morning a letter was +brought to the hospital. Vera Iosifovna wrote to Dmitri Ionitch that she +was missing him very much, and begged him to come and see them, and to +relieve her sufferings; and, by the way, it was her birthday. Below was +a postscript: "I join in mother's request.--K." + +Startsev considered, and in the evening he went to the Turkins'. + +"How do you do, if you please?" Ivan Petrovitch met him, smiling with +his eyes only. "Bongjour." + +Vera Iosifovna, white-haired and looking much older, shook Startsev's +hand, sighed affectedly, and said: + +"You don't care to pay attentions to me, doctor. You never come and see +us; I am too old for you. But now some one young has come; perhaps she +will be more fortunate." + +And Kitten? She had grown thinner, paler, had grown handsomer and more +graceful; but now she was Ekaterina Ivanovna, not Kitten; she had lost +the freshness and look of childish naïveté. And in her expression and +manners there was something new--guilty and diffident, as though she did +not feel herself at home here in the Turkins' house. + +"How many summers, how many winters!" she said, giving Startsev her +hand, and he could see that her heart was beating with excitement; and +looking at him intently and curiously, she went on: "How much stouter +you are! You look sunburnt and more manly, but on the whole you have +changed very little." + +Now, too, he thought her attractive, very attractive, but there was +something lacking in her, or else something superfluous--he could not +himself have said exactly what it was, but something prevented him from +feeling as before. He did not like her pallor, her new expression, her +faint smile, her voice, and soon afterwards he disliked her clothes, +too, the low chair in which she was sitting; he disliked something in +the past when he had almost married her. He thought of his love, of the +dreams and the hopes which had troubled him four years before--and he +felt awkward. + +They had tea with cakes. Then Vera Iosifovna read aloud a novel; she +read of things that never happen in real life, and Startsev listened, +looked at her handsome grey head, and waited for her to finish. + +"People are not stupid because they can't write novels, but because they +can't conceal it when they do," he thought. + +"Not badsome," said Ivan Petrovitch. + +Then Ekaterina Ivanovna played long and noisily on the piano, and when +she finished she was profusely thanked and warmly praised. + +"It's a good thing I did not marry her," thought Startsev. + +She looked at him, and evidently expected him to ask her to go into the +garden, but he remained silent. + +"Let us have a talk," she said, going up to him. "How are you getting +on? What are you doing? How are things? I have been thinking about you +all these days," she went on nervously. "I wanted to write to you, +wanted to come myself to see you at Dyalizh. I quite made up my mind to +go, but afterwards I thought better of it. God knows what your attitude +is towards me now; I have been looking forward to seeing you to-day with +such emotion. For goodness' sake let us go into the garden." + +They went into the garden and sat down on the seat under the old maple, +just as they had done four years before. It was dark. + +"How are you getting on?" asked Ekaterina Ivanovna. + +"Oh, all right; I am jogging along," answered Startsev. + +And he could think of nothing more. They were silent. + +"I feel so excited!" said Ekaterina Ivanovna, and she hid her face in +her hands. "But don't pay attention to it. I am so happy to be at home; +I am so glad to see every one. I can't get used to it. So many memories! +I thought we should talk without stopping till morning." + +Now he saw her face near, her shining eyes, and in the darkness she +looked younger than in the room, and even her old childish expression +seemed to have come back to her. And indeed she was looking at him with +naïve curiosity, as though she wanted to get a closer view and +understanding of the man who had loved her so ardently, with such +tenderness, and so unsuccessfully; her eyes thanked him for that love. +And he remembered all that had been, every minute detail; how he had +wandered about the cemetery, how he had returned home in the morning +exhausted, and he suddenly felt sad and regretted the past. A warmth +began glowing in his heart. + +"Do you remember how I took you to the dance at the club?" he asked. "It +was dark and rainy then ..." + +The warmth was glowing now in his heart, and he longed to talk, to rail +at life.... + +"Ech!" he said with a sigh. "You ask how I am living. How do we live +here? Why, not at all. We grow old, we grow stout, we grow slack. Day +after day passes; life slips by without colour, without expressions, +without thoughts.... In the daytime working for gain, and in the evening +the club, the company of card-players, alcoholic, raucous-voiced +gentlemen whom I can't endure. What is there nice in it?" + +"Well, you have work--a noble object in life. You used to be so fond of +talking of your hospital. I was such a queer girl then; I imagined +myself such a great pianist. Nowadays all young ladies play the piano, +and I played, too, like everybody else, and there was nothing special +about me. I am just such a pianist as my mother is an authoress. And of +course I didn't understand you then, but afterwards in Moscow I often +thought of you. I thought of no one but you. What happiness to be a +district doctor; to help the suffering; to be serving the people! What +happiness!" Ekaterina Ivanovna repeated with enthusiasm. "When I thought +of you in Moscow, you seemed to me so ideal, so lofty...." + +Startsev thought of the notes he used to take out of his pockets in the +evening with such pleasure, and the glow in his heart was quenched. + +He got up to go into the house. She took his arm. + +"You are the best man I've known in my life," she went on. "We will see +each other and talk, won't we? Promise me. I am not a pianist; I am not +in error about myself now, and I will not play before you or talk of +music." + +When they had gone into the house, and when Startsev saw in the +lamplight her face, and her sad, grateful, searching eyes fixed upon +him, he felt uneasy and thought again: + +"It's a good thing I did not marry her then." + +He began taking leave. + +"You have no human right to go before supper," said Ivan Petrovitch as +he saw him off. "It's extremely perpendicular on your part. Well, now, +perform!" he added, addressing Pava in the hall. + +Pava, no longer a boy, but a young man with moustaches, threw himself +into an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic voice: + +"Unhappy woman, die!" + +All this irritated Startsev. Getting into his carriage, and looking at +the dark house and garden which had once been so precious and so dear, +he thought of everything at once--Vera Iosifovna's novels and Kitten's +noisy playing, and Ivan Petrovitch's jokes and Pava's tragic posturing, +and thought if the most talented people in the town were so futile, what +must the town be? + +Three days later Pava brought a letter from Ekaterina Ivanovna. + +"You don't come and see us--why?" she wrote to him. "I am afraid that +you have changed towards us. I am afraid, and I am terrified at the very +thought of it. Reassure me; come and tell me that everything is well. + + "I must talk to you.--Your E. I." + + * * * * * + +He read this letter, thought a moment, and said to Pava: + +"Tell them, my good fellow, that I can't come to-day; I am very busy. +Say I will come in three days or so." + +But three days passed, a week passed; he still did not go. Happening +once to drive past the Turkins' house, he thought he must go in, if only +for a moment, but on second thoughts ... did not go in. + +And he never went to the Turkins' again. + + +V + +Several more years have passed. Startsev has grown stouter still, has +grown corpulent, breathes heavily, and already walks with his head +thrown back. When stout and red in the face, he drives with his bells +and his team of three horses, and Panteleimon, also stout and red in the +face with his thick beefy neck, sits on the box, holding his arms +stiffly out before him as though they were made of wood, and shouts to +those he meets: "Keep to the ri-i-ight!" it is an impressive picture; +one might think it was not a mortal, but some heathen deity in his +chariot. He has an immense practice in the town, no time to breathe, and +already has an estate and two houses in the town, and he is looking out +for a third more profitable; and when at the Mutual Credit Bank he is +told of a house that is for sale, he goes to the house without ceremony, +and, marching through all the rooms, regardless of half-dressed women +and children who gaze at him in amazement and alarm, he prods at the +doors with his stick, and says: + +"Is that the study? Is that a bedroom? And what's here?" + +And as he does so he breathes heavily and wipes the sweat from his brow. + +He has a great deal to do, but still he does not give up his work as +district doctor; he is greedy for gain, and he tries to be in all places +at once. At Dyalizh and in the town he is called simply "Ionitch": +"Where is Ionitch off to?" or "Should not we call in Ionitch to a +consultation?" + +Probably because his throat is covered with rolls of fat, his voice has +changed; it has become thin and sharp. His temper has changed, too: he +has grown ill-humoured and irritable. When he sees his patients he is +usually out of temper; he impatiently taps the floor with his stick, and +shouts in his disagreeable voice: + +"Be so good as to confine yourself to answering my questions! Don't talk +so much!" + +He is solitary. He leads a dreary life; nothing interests him. + +During all the years he had lived at Dyalizh his love for Kitten had +been his one joy, and probably his last. In the evenings he plays _vint_ +at the club, and then sits alone at a big table and has supper. Ivan, +the oldest and most respectable of the waiters, serves him, hands him +Lafitte No. 17, and every one at the club--the members of the committee, +the cook and waiters--know what he likes and what he doesn't like and do +their very utmost to satisfy him, or else he is sure to fly into a rage +and bang on the floor with his stick. + +As he eats his supper, he turns round from time to time and puts in his +spoke in some conversation: + +"What are you talking about? Eh? Whom?" + +And when at a neighbouring table there is talk of the Turkins, he asks: + +"What Turkins are you speaking of? Do you mean the people whose daughter +plays on the piano?" + +That is all that can be said about him. + +And the Turkins? Ivan Petrovitch has grown no older; he is not changed +in the least, and still makes jokes and tells anecdotes as of old. Vera +Iosifovna still reads her novels aloud to her visitors with eagerness +and touching simplicity. And Kitten plays the piano for four hours every +day. She has grown visibly older, is constantly ailing, and every autumn +goes to the Crimea with her mother. When Ivan Petrovitch sees them off +at the station, he wipes his tears as the train starts, and shouts: + +"Good-bye, if you please." + +And he waves his handkerchief. + + + + +THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY + + +IT is, as a rule, after losing heavily at cards or after a drinking-bout +when an attack of dyspepsia is setting in that Stepan Stepanitch Zhilin +wakes up in an exceptionally gloomy frame of mind. He looks sour, +rumpled, and dishevelled; there is an expression of displeasure on his +grey face, as though he were offended or disgusted by something. He +dresses slowly, sips his Vichy water deliberately, and begins walking +about the rooms. + +"I should like to know what b-b-beast comes in here and does not shut +the door!" he grumbles angrily, wrapping his dressing-gown about him and +spitting loudly. "Take away that paper! Why is it lying about here? We +keep twenty servants, and the place is more untidy than a pot-house. Who +was that ringing? Who the devil is that?" + +"That's Anfissa, the midwife who brought our Fedya into the world," +answers his wife. + +"Always hanging about ... these cadging toadies!" + +"There's no making you out, Stepan Stepanitch. You asked her yourself, +and now you scold." + +"I am not scolding; I am speaking. You might find something to do, my +dear, instead of sitting with your hands in your lap trying to pick a +quarrel. Upon my word, women are beyond my comprehension! Beyond my +comprehension! How can they waste whole days doing nothing? A man works +like an ox, like a b-beast, while his wife, the partner of his life, +sits like a pretty doll, sits and does nothing but watch for an +opportunity to quarrel with her husband by way of diversion. It's time +to drop these schoolgirlish ways, my dear. You are not a schoolgirl, not +a young lady; you are a wife and mother! You turn away? Aha! It's not +agreeable to listen to the bitter truth!" + +"It's strange that you only speak the bitter truth when your liver is +out of order." + +"That's right; get up a scene." + +"Have you been out late? Or playing cards?" + +"What if I have? Is that anybody's business? Am I obliged to give an +account of my doings to any one? It's my own money I lose, I suppose? +What I spend as well as what is spent in this house belongs to me--me. +Do you hear? To me!" + +And so on, all in the same style. But at no other time is Stepan +Stepanitch so reasonable, virtuous, stern or just as at dinner, when all +his household are sitting about him. It usually begins with the soup. +After swallowing the first spoonful Zhilin suddenly frowns and puts down +his spoon. + +"Damn it all!" he mutters; "I shall have to dine at a restaurant, I +suppose." + +"What's wrong?" asks his wife anxiously. "Isn't the soup good?" + +"One must have the taste of a pig to eat hogwash like that! There's too +much salt in it; it smells of dirty rags ... more like bugs than +onions.... It's simply revolting, Anfissa Ivanovna," he says, addressing +the midwife. "Every day I give no end of money for housekeeping.... I +deny myself everything, and this is what they provide for my dinner! I +suppose they want me to give up the office and go into the kitchen to do +the cooking myself." + +"The soup is very good to-day," the governess ventures timidly. + +"Oh, you think so?" says Zhilin, looking at her angrily from under his +eyelids. "Every one to his taste, of course. It must be confessed our +tastes are very different, Varvara Vassilyevna. You, for instance, are +satisfied with the behaviour of this boy" (Zhilin with a tragic gesture +points to his son Fedya); "you are delighted with him, while I ... I am +disgusted. Yes!" + +Fedya, a boy of seven with a pale, sickly face, leaves off eating and +drops his eyes. His face grows paler still. + +"Yes, you are delighted, and I am disgusted. Which of us is right, I +cannot say, but I venture to think as his father, I know my own son +better than you do. Look how he is sitting! Is that the way decently +brought up children sit? Sit properly." + +Fedya tilts his chin up, cranes his neck, and fancies that he is holding +himself better. Tears come into his eyes. + +"Eat your dinner! Hold your spoon properly! You wait. I'll show you, you +horrid boy! Don't dare to whimper! Look straight at me!" + +Fedya tries to look straight at him, but his face is quivering and his +eyes fill with tears. + +"A-ah!... you cry? You are naughty and then you cry? Go and stand in the +corner, you beast!" + +"But ... let him have his dinner first," his wife intervenes. + +"No dinner for him! Such bla ... such rascals don't deserve dinner!" + +Fedya, wincing and quivering all over, creeps down from his chair and +goes into the corner. + +"You won't get off with that!" his parent persists. "If nobody else +cares to look after your bringing up, so be it; I must begin.... I won't +let you be naughty and cry at dinner, my lad! Idiot! You must do your +duty! Do you understand? Do your duty! Your father works and you must +work, too! No one must eat the bread of idleness! You must be a man! A +m-man!" + +"For God's sake, leave off," says his wife in French. "Don't nag at us +before outsiders, at least.... The old woman is all ears; and now, +thanks to her, all the town will hear of it." + +"I am not afraid of outsiders," answers Zhilin in Russian. "Anfissa +Ivanovna sees that I am speaking the truth. Why, do you think I ought to +be pleased with the boy? Do you know what he costs me? Do you know, you +nasty boy, what you cost me? Or do you imagine that I coin money, that I +get it for nothing? Don't howl! Hold your tongue! Do you hear what I +say? Do you want me to whip you, you young ruffian?" + +Fedya wails aloud and begins to sob. + +"This is insufferable," says his mother, getting up from the table and +flinging down her dinner-napkin. "You never let us have dinner in peace! +Your bread sticks in my throat." + +And putting her handkerchief to her eyes, she walks out of the +dining-room. + +"Now she is offended," grumbles Zhilin, with a forced smile. "She's been +spoilt.... That's how it is, Anfissa Ivanovna; no one likes to hear the +truth nowadays.... It's all my fault, it seems." + +Several minutes of silence follow. Zhilin looks round at the plates, and +noticing that no one has yet touched their soup, heaves a deep sigh, and +stares at the flushed and uneasy face of the governess. + +"Why don't you eat, Varvara Vassilyevna?" he asks. "Offended, I suppose? +I see.... You don't like to be told the truth. You must forgive me, it's +my nature; I can't be a hypocrite.... I always blurt out the plain +truth" (a sigh). "But I notice that my presence is unwelcome. No one can +eat or talk while I am here.... Well, you should have told me, and I +would have gone away.... I will go." + +Zhilin gets up and walks with dignity to the door. As he passes the +weeping Fedya he stops. + +"After all that has passed here, you are free," he says to Fedya, +throwing back his head with dignity. "I won't meddle in your bringing up +again. I wash my hands of it! I humbly apologise that as a father, from +a sincere desire for your welfare, I have disturbed you and your +mentors. At the same time, once for all I disclaim all responsibility +for your future...." + +Fedya wails and sobs more loudly than ever. Zhilin turns with dignity to +the door and departs to his bedroom. + +When he wakes from his after-dinner nap he begins to feel the stings of +conscience. He is ashamed to face his wife, his son, Anfissa Ivanovna, +and even feels very wretched when he recalls the scene at dinner, but +his amour-propre is too much for him; he has not the manliness to be +frank, and he goes on sulking and grumbling. + +Waking up next morning, he feels in excellent spirits, and whistles +gaily as he washes. Going into the dining-room to breakfast, he finds +there Fedya, who, at the sight of his father, gets up and looks at him +helplessly. + +"Well, young man?" Zhilin greets him good-humouredly, sitting down to +the table. "What have you got to tell me, young man? Are you all right? +Well, come, chubby; give your father a kiss." + +With a pale, grave face Fedya goes up to his father and touches his +cheek with his quivering lips, then walks away and sits down in his +place without a word. + + + + +THE BLACK MONK + + +I + +ANDREY VASSILITCH KOVRIN, who held a master's degree at the University, +had exhausted himself, and had upset his nerves. He did not send for a +doctor, but casually, over a bottle of wine, he spoke to a friend who +was a doctor, and the latter advised him to spend the spring and summer +in the country. Very opportunely a long letter came from Tanya Pesotsky, +who asked him to come and stay with them at Borissovka. And he made up +his mind that he really must go. + +To begin with--that was in April--he went to his own home, Kovrinka, and +there spent three weeks in solitude; then, as soon as the roads were in +good condition, he set off, driving in a carriage, to visit Pesotsky, +his former guardian, who had brought him up, and was a horticulturist +well known all over Russia. The distance from Kovrinka to Borissovka was +reckoned only a little over fifty miles. To drive along a soft road in +May in a comfortable carriage with springs was a real pleasure. + +Pesotsky had an immense house with columns and lions, off which the +stucco was peeling, and with a footman in swallow-tails at the entrance. +The old park, laid out in the English style, gloomy and severe, +stretched for almost three-quarters of a mile to the river, and there +ended in a steep, precipitous clay bank, where pines grew with bare +roots that looked like shaggy paws; the water shone below with an +unfriendly gleam, and the peewits flew up with a plaintive cry, and +there one always felt that one must sit down and write a ballad. But +near the house itself, in the courtyard and orchard, which together with +the nurseries covered ninety acres, it was all life and gaiety even in +bad weather. Such marvellous roses, lilies, camellias; such tulips of +all possible shades, from glistening white to sooty black--such a wealth +of flowers, in fact, Kovrin had never seen anywhere as at Pesotsky's. It +was only the beginning of spring, and the real glory of the flower-beds +was still hidden away in the hot-houses. But even the flowers along the +avenues, and here and there in the flower-beds, were enough to make one +feel, as one walked about the garden, as though one were in a realm of +tender colours, especially in the early morning when the dew was +glistening on every petal. + +What was the decorative part of the garden, and what Pesotsky +contemptuously spoke of as rubbish, had at one time in his childhood +given Kovrin an impression of fairyland. + +Every sort of caprice, of elaborate monstrosity and mockery at Nature +was here. There were espaliers of fruit-trees, a pear-tree in the shape +of a pyramidal poplar, spherical oaks and lime-trees, an apple-tree in +the shape of an umbrella, plum-trees trained into arches, crests, +candelabra, and even into the number 1862--the year when Pesotsky first +took up horticulture. One came across, too, lovely, graceful trees with +strong, straight stems like palms, and it was only by looking intently +that one could recognise these trees as gooseberries or currants. But +what made the garden most cheerful and gave it a lively air, was the +continual coming and going in it, from early morning till evening; +people with wheelbarrows, shovels, and watering-cans swarmed round the +trees and bushes, in the avenues and the flower-beds, like ants.... + +Kovrin arrived at Pesotsky's at ten o'clock in the evening. He found +Tanya and her father, Yegor Semyonitch, in great anxiety. The clear +starlight sky and the thermometer foretold a frost towards morning, and +meanwhile Ivan Karlovitch, the gardener, had gone to the town, and they +had no one to rely upon. At supper they talked of nothing but the +morning frost, and it was settled that Tanya should not go to bed, and +between twelve and one should walk through the garden, and see that +everything was done properly, and Yegor Semyonitch should get up at +three o'clock or even earlier. + +Kovrin sat with Tanya all the evening, and after midnight went out with +her into the garden. It was cold. There was a strong smell of burning +already in the garden. In the big orchard, which was called the +commercial garden, and which brought Yegor Semyonitch several thousand +clear profit, a thick, black, acrid smoke was creeping over the ground +and, curling around the trees, was saving those thousands from the +frost. Here the trees were arranged as on a chessboard, in straight and +regular rows like ranks of soldiers, and this severe pedantic +regularity, and the fact that all the trees were of the same size, and +had tops and trunks all exactly alike, made them look monotonous and +even dreary. Kovrin and Tanya walked along the rows where fires of dung, +straw, and all sorts of refuse were smouldering, and from time to time +they were met by labourers who wandered in the smoke like shadows. The +only trees in flower were the cherries, plums, and certain sorts of +apples, but the whole garden was plunged in smoke, and it was only near +the nurseries that Kovrin could breathe freely. + +"Even as a child I used to sneeze from the smoke here," he said, +shrugging his shoulders, "but to this day I don't understand how smoke +can keep off frost." + +"Smoke takes the place of clouds when there are none ..." answered +Tanya. + +"And what do you want clouds for?" + +"In overcast and cloudy weather there is no frost." + +"You don't say so." + +He laughed and took her arm. Her broad, very earnest face, chilled with +the frost, with her delicate black eyebrows, the turned-up collar of her +coat, which prevented her moving her head freely, and the whole of her +thin, graceful figure, with her skirts tucked up on account of the dew, +touched him. + +"Good heavens! she is grown up," he said. "When I went away from here +last, five years ago, you were still a child. You were such a thin, +longlegged creature, with your hair hanging on your shoulders; you used +to wear short frocks, and I used to tease you, calling you a heron.... +What time does!" + +"Yes, five years!" sighed Tanya. "Much water has flowed since then. Tell +me, Andryusha, honestly," she began eagerly, looking him in the face: +"do you feel strange with us now? But why do I ask you? You are a man, +you live your own interesting life, you are somebody.... To grow apart +is so natural! But however that may be, Andryusha, I want you to think +of us as your people. We have a right to that." + +"I do, Tanya." + +"On your word of honour?" + +"Yes, on my word of honour." + +"You were surprised this evening that we have so many of your +photographs. You know my father adores you. Sometimes it seems to me +that he loves you more than he does me. He is proud of you. You are a +clever, extraordinary man, you have made a brilliant career for +yourself, and he is persuaded that you have turned out like this because +he brought you up. I don't try to prevent him from thinking so. Let +him." + +Dawn was already beginning, and that was especially perceptible from the +distinctness with which the coils of smoke and the tops of the trees +began to stand out in the air. + +"It's time we were asleep, though," said Tanya, "and it's cold, too." +She took his arm. "Thank you for coming, Andryusha. We have only +uninteresting acquaintances, and not many of them. We have only the +garden, the garden, the garden, and nothing else. Standards, +half-standards," she laughed. "Aports, Reinettes, Borovinkas, budded +stocks, grafted stocks.... All, all our life has gone into the garden. I +never even dream of anything but apples and pears. Of course, it is very +nice and useful, but sometimes one longs for something else for variety. +I remember that when you used to come to us for the summer holidays, or +simply a visit, it always seemed to be fresher and brighter in the +house, as though the covers had been taken off the lustres and the +furniture. I was only a little girl then, but yet I understood it." + +She talked a long while and with great feeling. For some reason the idea +came into his head that in the course of the summer he might grow fond +of this little, weak, talkative creature, might be carried away and fall +in love; in their position it was so possible and natural! This thought +touched and amused him; he bent down to her sweet, preoccupied face and +hummed softly: + + "'Onyegin, I won't conceal it; + I madly love Tatiana....'" + +By the time they reached the house, Yegor Semyonitch had got up. Kovrin +did not feel sleepy; he talked to the old man and went to the garden +with him. Yegor Semyonitch was a tall, broad-shouldered, corpulent man, +and he suffered from asthma, yet he walked so fast that it was hard work +to hurry after him. He had an extremely preoccupied air; he was always +hurrying somewhere, with an expression that suggested that if he were +one minute late all would be ruined! + +"Here is a business, brother ..." he began, standing still to take +breath. "On the surface of the ground, as you see, is frost; but if you +raise the thermometer on a stick fourteen feet above the ground, there +it is warm.... Why is that?" + +"I really don't know," said Kovrin, and he laughed. + +"H'm!... One can't know everything, of course.... However large the +intellect may be, you can't find room for everything in it. I suppose +you still go in chiefly for philosophy?" + +"Yes, I lecture in psychology; I am working at philosophy in general." + +"And it does not bore you?" + +"On the contrary, it's all I live for." + +"Well, God bless you!..." said Yegor Semyonitch, meditatively stroking +his grey whiskers. "God bless you!... I am delighted about you ... +delighted, my boy...." + +But suddenly he listened, and, with a terrible face, ran off and quickly +disappeared behind the trees in a cloud of smoke. + +"Who tied this horse to an apple-tree?" Kovrin heard his despairing, +heart-rending cry. "Who is the low scoundrel who has dared to tie this +horse to an apple-tree? My God, my God! They have ruined everything; +they have spoilt everything; they have done everything filthy, horrible, +and abominable. The orchard's done for, the orchard's ruined. My God!" + +When he came back to Kovrin, his face looked exhausted and mortified. + +"What is one to do with these accursed people?" he said in a tearful +voice, flinging up his hands. "Styopka was carting dung at night, and +tied the horse to an apple-tree! He twisted the reins round it, the +rascal, as tightly as he could, so that the bark is rubbed off in three +places. What do you think of that! I spoke to him and he stands like a +post and only blinks his eyes. Hanging is too good for him." + +Growing calmer, he embraced Kovrin and kissed him on the cheek. + +"Well, God bless you!... God bless you!..." he muttered. "I am very glad +you have come. Unutterably glad.... Thank you." + +Then, with the same rapid step and preoccupied face, he made the round +of the whole garden, and showed his former ward all his greenhouses and +hot-houses, his covered-in garden, and two apiaries which he called the +marvel of our century. + +While they were walking the sun rose, flooding the garden with brilliant +light. It grew warm. Foreseeing a long, bright, cheerful day, Kovrin +recollected that it was only the beginning of May, and that he had +before him a whole summer as bright, cheerful, and long; and suddenly +there stirred in his bosom a joyous, youthful feeling, such as he used +to experience in his childhood, running about in that garden. And he +hugged the old man and kissed him affectionately. Both of them, feeling +touched, went indoors and drank tea out of old-fashioned china cups, +with cream and satisfying krendels made with milk and eggs; and these +trifles reminded Kovrin again of his childhood and boyhood. The +delightful present was blended with the impressions of the past that +stirred within him; there was a tightness at his heart; yet he was +happy. + +He waited till Tanya was awake and had coffee with her, went for a walk, +then went to his room and sat down to work. He read attentively, making +notes, and from time to time raised his eyes to look out at the open +windows or at the fresh, still dewy flowers in the vases on the table; +and again he dropped his eyes to his book, and it seemed to him as +though every vein in his body was quivering and fluttering with +pleasure. + + +II + +In the country he led just as nervous and restless a life as in town. He +read and wrote a great deal, he studied Italian, and when he was out for +a walk, thought with pleasure that he would soon sit down to work again. +He slept so little that every one wondered at him; if he accidentally +dozed for half an hour in the daytime, he would lie awake all night, +and, after a sleepless night, would feel cheerful and vigorous as though +nothing had happened. + +He talked a great deal, drank wine, and smoked expensive cigars. Very +often, almost every day, young ladies of neighbouring families would +come to the Pesotskys', and would sing and play the piano with Tanya; +sometimes a young neighbour who was a good violinist would come, too. +Kovrin listened with eagerness to the music and singing, and was +exhausted by it, and this showed itself by his eyes closing and his head +falling to one side. + +One day he was sitting on the balcony after evening tea, reading. At the +same time, in the drawing-room, Tanya taking soprano, one of the young +ladies a contralto, and the young man with his violin, were practising a +well-known serenade of Braga's. Kovrin listened to the words--they were +Russian--and could not understand their meaning. At last, leaving his +book and listening attentively, he understood: a maiden, full of sick +fancies, heard one night in her garden mysterious sounds, so strange and +lovely that she was obliged to recognise them as a holy harmony which is +unintelligible to us mortals, and so flies back to heaven. Kovrin's eyes +began to close. He got up, and in exhaustion walked up and down the +drawing-room, and then the dining-room. When the singing was over he +took Tanya's arm, and with her went out on the balcony. + +"I have been all day thinking of a legend," he said. "I don't remember +whether I have read it somewhere or heard it, but it is a strange and +almost grotesque legend. To begin with, it is somewhat obscure. A +thousand years ago a monk, dressed in black, wandered about the desert, +somewhere in Syria or Arabia.... Some miles from where he was, some +fisherman saw another black monk, who was moving slowly over the surface +of a lake. This second monk was a mirage. Now forget all the laws of +optics, which the legend does not recognise, and listen to the rest. +From that mirage there was cast another mirage, then from that other a +third, so that the image of the black monk began to be repeated +endlessly from one layer of the atmosphere to another. So that he was +seen at one time in Africa, at another in Spain, then in Italy, then in +the Far North.... Then he passed out of the atmosphere of the earth, and +now he is wandering all over the universe, still never coming into +conditions in which he might disappear. Possibly he may be seen now in +Mars or in some star of the Southern Cross. But, my dear, the real point +on which the whole legend hangs lies in the fact that, exactly a +thousand years from the day when the monk walked in the desert, the +mirage will return to the atmosphere of the earth again and will appear +to men. And it seems that the thousand years is almost up.... According +to the legend, we may look out for the black monk to-day or to-morrow." + +"A queer mirage," said Tanya, who did not like the legend. + +"But the most wonderful part of it all," laughed Kovrin, "is that I +simply cannot recall where I got this legend from. Have I read it +somewhere? Have I heard it? Or perhaps I dreamed of the black monk. I +swear I don't remember. But the legend interests me. I have been +thinking about it all day." + +Letting Tanya go back to her visitors, he went out of the house, and, +lost in meditation, walked by the flower-beds. The sun was already +setting. The flowers, having just been watered, gave forth a damp, +irritating fragrance. Indoors they began singing again, and in the +distance the violin had the effect of a human voice. Kovrin, racking his +brains to remember where he had read or heard the legend, turned slowly +towards the park, and unconsciously went as far as the river. By a +little path that ran along the steep bank, between the bare roots, he +went down to the water, disturbed the peewits there and frightened two +ducks. The last rays of the setting sun still threw light here and there +on the gloomy pines, but it was quite dark on the surface of the river. +Kovrin crossed to the other side by the narrow bridge. Before him lay a +wide field covered with young rye not yet in blossom. There was no +living habitation, no living soul in the distance, and it seemed as +though the little path, if one went along it, would take one to the +unknown, mysterious place where the sun had just gone down, and where +the evening glow was flaming in immensity and splendour. + +"How open, how free, how still it is here!" thought Kovrin, walking +along the path. "And it feels as though all the world were watching me, +hiding and waiting for me to understand it...." + +But then waves began running across the rye, and a light evening breeze +softly touched his uncovered head. A minute later there was another gust +of wind, but stronger--the rye began rustling, and he heard behind him +the hollow murmur of the pines. Kovrin stood still in amazement. From +the horizon there rose up to the sky, like a whirlwind or a waterspout, +a tall black column. Its outline was indistinct, but from the first +instant it could be seen that it was not standing still, but moving with +fearful rapidity, moving straight towards Kovrin, and the nearer it came +the smaller and the more distinct it was. Kovrin moved aside into the +rye to make way for it, and only just had time to do so. + +A monk, dressed in black, with a grey head and black eyebrows, his arms +crossed over his breast, floated by him.... His bare feet did not touch +the earth. After he had floated twenty feet beyond him, he looked round +at Kovrin, and nodded to him with a friendly but sly smile. But what a +pale, fearfully pale, thin face! Beginning to grow larger again, he flew +across the river, collided noiselessly with the clay bank and pines, and +passing through them, vanished like smoke. + +"Why, you see," muttered Kovrin, "there must be truth in the legend." + +Without trying to explain to himself the strange apparition, glad that +he had succeeded in seeing so near and so distinctly, not only the +monk's black garments, but even his face and eyes, agreeably excited, he +went back to the house. + +In the park and in the garden people were moving about quietly, in the +house they were playing--so he alone had seen the monk. He had an +intense desire to tell Tanya and Yegor Semyonitch, but he reflected that +they would certainly think his words the ravings of delirium, and that +would frighten them; he had better say nothing. + +He laughed aloud, sang, and danced the mazurka; he was in high spirits, +and all of them, the visitors and Tanya, thought he had a peculiar look, +radiant and inspired, and that he was very interesting. + + +III + +After supper, when the visitors had gone, he went to his room and lay +down on the sofa: he wanted to think about the monk. But a minute later +Tanya came in. + +"Here, Andryusha; read father's articles," she said, giving him a bundle +of pamphlets and proofs. "They are splendid articles. He writes +capitally." + +"Capitally, indeed!" said Yegor Semyonitch, following her and smiling +constrainedly; he was ashamed. "Don't listen to her, please; don't read +them! Though, if you want to go to sleep, read them by all means; they +are a fine soporific." + +"I think they are splendid articles," said Tanya, with deep conviction. +"You read them, Andryusha, and persuade father to write oftener. He +could write a complete manual of horticulture." + +Yegor Semyonitch gave a forced laugh, blushed, and began uttering the +phrases usually made use of by an embarrassed author. At last he began +to give way. + +"In that case, begin with Gaucher's article and these Russian articles," +he muttered, turning over the pamphlets with a trembling hand, "or else +you won't understand. Before you read my objections, you must know what +I am objecting to. But it's all nonsense ... tiresome stuff. Besides, I +believe it's bedtime." + +Tanya went away. Yegor Semyonitch sat down on the sofa by Kovrin and +heaved a deep sigh. + +"Yes, my boy ..." he began after a pause. "That's how it is, my dear +lecturer. Here I write articles, and take part in exhibitions, and +receive medals.... Pesotsky, they say, has apples the size of a head, +and Pesotsky, they say, has made his fortune with his garden. In short, +'Kotcheby is rich and glorious.' But one asks oneself: what is it all +for? The garden is certainly fine, a model. It's not really a garden, +but a regular institution, which is of the greatest public importance +because it marks, so to say, a new era in Russian agriculture and +Russian industry. But, what's it for? What's the object of it?" + +"The fact speaks for itself." + +"I do not mean in that sense. I meant to ask: what will happen to the +garden when I die? In the condition in which you see it now, it would +not be maintained for one month without me. The whole secret of success +lies not in its being a big garden or a great number of labourers being +employed in it, but in the fact that I love the work. Do you understand? +I love it perhaps more than myself. Look at me; I do everything myself. +I work from morning to night: I do all the grafting myself, the pruning +myself, the planting myself. I do it all myself: when any one helps me I +am jealous and irritable till I am rude. The whole secret lies in loving +it--that is, in the sharp eye of the master; yes, and in the master's +hands, and in the feeling that makes one, when one goes anywhere for an +hour's visit, sit, ill at ease, with one's heart far away, afraid that +something may have happened in the garden. But when I die, who will look +after it? Who will work? The gardener? The labourers? Yes? But I will +tell you, my dear fellow, the worst enemy in the garden is not a hare, +not a cockchafer, and not the frost, but any outside person." + +"And Tanya?" asked Kovrin, laughing. "She can't be more harmful than a +hare? She loves the work and understands it." + +"Yes, she loves it and understands it. If after my death the garden goes +to her and she is the mistress, of course nothing better could be +wished. But if, which God forbid, she should marry," Yegor Semyonitch +whispered, and looked with a frightened look at Kovrin, "that's just it. +If she marries and children come, she will have no time to think about +the garden. What I fear most is: she will marry some fine gentleman, and +he will be greedy, and he will let the garden to people who will run it +for profit, and everything will go to the devil the very first year! In +our work females are the scourge of God!" + +Yegor Semyonitch sighed and paused for a while. + +"Perhaps it is egoism, but I tell you frankly: I don't want Tanya to get +married. I am afraid of it! There is one young dandy comes to see us, +bringing his violin and scraping on it; I know Tanya will not marry him, +I know it quite well; but I can't bear to see him! Altogether, my boy, I +am very queer. I know that." + +Yegor Semyonitch got up and walked about the room in excitement, and it +was evident that he wanted to say something very important, but could +not bring himself to it. + +"I am very fond of you, and so I am going to speak to you openly," he +decided at last, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I deal plainly +with certain delicate questions, and say exactly what I think, and I +cannot endure so-called hidden thoughts. I will speak plainly: you are +the only man to whom I should not be afraid to marry my daughter. You +are a clever man with a good heart, and would not let my beloved work go +to ruin; and the chief reason is that I love you as a son, and I am +proud of you. If Tanya and you could get up a romance somehow, +then--well! I should be very glad and even happy. I tell you this +plainly, without mincing matters, like an honest man." + +Kovrin laughed. Yegor Semyonitch opened the door to go out, and stood in +the doorway. + +"If Tanya and you had a son, I would make a horticulturist of him," he +said, after a moment's thought. "However, this is idle dreaming. +Goodnight." + +Left alone, Kovrin settled himself more comfortably on the sofa and took +up the articles. The title of one was "On Intercropping"; of another, "A +few Words on the Remarks of Monsieur Z. concerning the Trenching of the +Soil for a New Garden"; a third, "Additional Matter concerning Grafting +with a Dormant Bud"; and they were all of the same sort. But what a +restless, jerky tone! What nervous, almost hysterical passion! Here was +an article, one would have thought, with most peaceable and impersonal +contents: the subject of it was the Russian Antonovsky Apple. But Yegor +Semyonitch began it with "Audiatur altera pars," and finished it with +"Sapienti sat"; and between these two quotations a perfect torrent of +venomous phrases directed "at the learned ignorance of our recognised +horticultural authorities, who observe Nature from the height of their +university chairs," or at Monsieur Gaucher, "whose success has been the +work of the vulgar and the dilettanti." And then followed an +inappropriate, affected, and insincere regret that peasants who stole +fruit and broke the branches could not nowadays be flogged. + +"It is beautiful, charming, healthy work, but even in this there is +strife and passion," thought Kovrin, "I suppose that everywhere and in +all careers men of ideas are nervous, and marked by exaggerated +sensitiveness. Most likely it must be so." + +He thought of Tanya, who was so pleased with Yegor Semyonitch's +articles. Small, pale, and so thin that her shoulder-blades stuck out, +her eyes, wide and open, dark and intelligent, had an intent gaze, as +though looking for something. She walked like her father with a little +hurried step. She talked a great deal and was fond of arguing, +accompanying every phrase, however insignificant, with expressive +mimicry and gesticulation. No doubt she was nervous in the extreme. + +Kovrin went on reading the articles, but he understood nothing of them, +and flung them aside. The same pleasant excitement with which he had +earlier in the evening danced the mazurka and listened to the music was +now mastering him again and rousing a multitude of thoughts. He got up +and began walking about the room, thinking about the black monk. It +occurred to him that if this strange, supernatural monk had appeared to +him only, that meant that he was ill and had reached the point of having +hallucinations. This reflection frightened him, but not for long. + +"But I am all right, and I am doing no harm to any one; so there is no +harm in my hallucinations," he thought; and he felt happy again. + +He sat down on the sofa and clasped his hands round his head. +Restraining the unaccountable joy which filled his whole being, he then +paced up and down again, and sat down to his work. But the thought that +he read in the book did not satisfy him. He wanted something gigantic, +unfathomable, stupendous. Towards morning he undressed and reluctantly +went to bed: he ought to sleep. + +When he heard the footsteps of Yegor Semyonitch going out into the +garden, Kovrin rang the bell and asked the footman to bring him some +wine. He drank several glasses of Lafitte, then wrapped himself up, head +and all; his consciousness grew clouded and he fell asleep. + + +IV + +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya often quarrelled and said nasty things to +each other. + +They quarrelled about something that morning. Tanya burst out crying and +went to her room. She would not come down to dinner nor to tea. At first +Yegor Semyonitch went about looking sulky and dignified, as though to +give every one to understand that for him the claims of justice and good +order were more important than anything else in the world; but he could +not keep it up for long, and soon sank into depression. He walked about +the park dejectedly, continually sighing: "Oh, my God! My God!" and at +dinner did not eat a morsel. At last, guilty and conscience-stricken, he +knocked at the locked door and called timidly: + +"Tanya! Tanya!" + +And from behind the door came a faint voice, weak with crying but still +determined: + +"Leave me alone, if you please." + +The depression of the master and mistress was reflected in the whole +household, even in the labourers working in the garden. Kovrin was +absorbed in his interesting work, but at last he, too, felt dreary and +uncomfortable. To dissipate the general ill-humour in some way, he made +up his mind to intervene, and towards evening he knocked at Tanya's +door. He was admitted. + +"Fie, fie, for shame!" he began playfully, looking with surprise at +Tanya's tear-stained, woebegone face, flushed in patches with crying. +"Is it really so serious? Fie, fie!" + +"But if you knew how he tortures me!" she said, and floods of scalding +tears streamed from her big eyes. "He torments me to death," she went +on, wringing her hands. "I said nothing to him ... nothing ... I only +said that there was no need to keep ... too many labourers ... if we +could hire them by the day when we wanted them. You know ... you know +the labourers have been doing nothing for a whole week.... I ... I ... +only said that, and he shouted and ... said ... a lot of horrible +insulting things to me. What for?" + +"There, there," said Kovrin, smoothing her hair. "You've quarrelled with +each other, you've cried, and that's enough. You must not be angry for +long--that's wrong ... all the more as he loves you beyond everything." + +"He has ... has spoiled my whole life," Tanya went on, sobbing. "I hear +nothing but abuse and ... insults. He thinks I am of no use in the +house. Well! He is right. I shall go away to-morrow; I shall become a +telegraph clerk.... I don't care...." + +"Come, come, come.... You mustn't cry, Tanya. You mustn't, dear.... You +are both hot-tempered and irritable, and you are both to blame. Come +along; I will reconcile you." + +Kovrin talked affectionately and persuasively, while she went on crying, +twitching her shoulders and wringing her hands, as though some terrible +misfortune had really befallen her. He felt all the sorrier for her +because her grief was not a serious one, yet she suffered extremely. +What trivialities were enough to make this little creature miserable for +a whole day, perhaps for her whole life! Comforting Tanya, Kovrin +thought that, apart from this girl and her father, he might hunt the +world over and would not find people who would love him as one of +themselves, as one of their kindred. If it had not been for those two he +might very likely, having lost his father and mother in early childhood, +never to the day of his death have known what was meant by genuine +affection and that naïve, uncritical love which is only lavished on very +close blood relations; and he felt that the nerves of this weeping, +shaking girl responded to his half-sick, overstrained nerves like iron +to a magnet. He never could have loved a healthy, strong, rosy-cheeked +woman, but pale, weak, unhappy Tanya attracted him. + +And he liked stroking her hair and her shoulders, pressing her hand and +wiping away her tears.... At last she left off crying. She went on for a +long time complaining of her father and her hard, insufferable life in +that house, entreating Kovrin to put himself in her place; then she +began, little by little, smiling, and sighing that God had given her +such a bad temper. At last, laughing aloud, she called herself a fool, +and ran out of the room. + +When a little later Kovrin went into the garden, Yegor Semyonitch and +Tanya were walking side by side along an avenue as though nothing had +happened, and both were eating rye bread with salt on it, as both were +hungry. + + +V + +Glad that he had been so successful in the part of peacemaker, Kovrin +went into the park. Sitting on a garden seat, thinking, he heard the +rattle of a carriage and a feminine laugh--visitors were arriving. When +the shades of evening began falling on the garden, the sounds of the +violin and singing voices reached him indistinctly, and that reminded +him of the black monk. Where, in what land or in what planet, was that +optical absurdity moving now? + +Hardly had he recalled the legend and pictured in his imagination the +dark apparition he had seen in the rye-field, when, from behind a +pine-tree exactly opposite, there came out noiselessly, without the +slightest rustle, a man of medium height with uncovered grey head, all +in black, and barefooted like a beggar, and his black eyebrows stood out +conspicuously on his pale, death-like face. Nodding his head graciously, +this beggar or pilgrim came noiselessly to the seat and sat down, and +Kovrin recognised him as the black monk. + +For a minute they looked at one another, Kovrin with amazement, and the +monk with friendliness, and, just as before, a little slyness, as though +he were thinking something to himself. + +"But you are a mirage," said Kovrin. "Why are you here and sitting +still? That does not fit in with the legend." + +"That does not matter," the monk answered in a low voice, not +immediately turning his face towards him. "The legend, the mirage, and I +are all the products of your excited imagination. I am a phantom." + +"Then you don't exist?" said Kovrin. + +"You can think as you like," said the monk, with a faint smile. "I exist +in your imagination, and your imagination is part of nature, so I exist +in nature." + +"You have a very old, wise, and extremely expressive face, as though you +really had lived more than a thousand years," said Kovrin. "I did not +know that my imagination was capable of creating such phenomena. But why +do you look at me with such enthusiasm? Do you like me?" + +"Yes, you are one of those few who are justly called the chosen of God. +You do the service of eternal truth. Your thoughts, your designs, the +marvellous studies you are engaged in, and all your life, bear the +Divine, the heavenly stamp, seeing that they are consecrated to the +rational and the beautiful--that is, to what is eternal." + +"You said 'eternal truth.' ... But is eternal truth of use to man and +within his reach, if there is no eternal life?" + +"There is eternal life," said the monk. + +"Do you believe in the immortality of man?" + +"Yes, of course. A grand, brilliant future is in store for you men. And +the more there are like you on earth, the sooner will this future be +realised. Without you who serve the higher principle and live in full +understanding and freedom, mankind would be of little account; +developing in a natural way, it would have to wait a long time for the +end of its earthly history. You will lead it some thousands of years +earlier into the kingdom of eternal truth--and therein lies your supreme +service. You are the incarnation of the blessing of God, which rests +upon men." + +"And what is the object of eternal life?" asked Kovrin. + +"As of all life--enjoyment. True enjoyment lies in knowledge, and +eternal life provides innumerable and inexhaustible sources of +knowledge, and in that sense it has been said: 'In My Father's house +there are many mansions.'" + +"If only you knew how pleasant it is to hear you!" said Kovrin, rubbing +his hands with satisfaction. + +"I am very glad." + +"But I know that when you go away I shall be worried by the question of +your reality. You are a phantom, an hallucination. So I am mentally +deranged, not normal?" + +"What if you are? Why trouble yourself? You are ill because you have +overworked and exhausted yourself, and that means that you have +sacrificed your health to the idea, and the time is near at hand when +you will give up life itself to it. What could be better? That is the +goal towards which all divinely endowed, noble natures strive." + +"If I know I am mentally affected, can I trust myself?" + +"And are you sure that the men of genius, whom all men trust, did not +see phantoms, too? The learned say now that genius is allied to madness. +My friend, healthy and normal people are only the common herd. +Reflections upon the neurasthenia of the age, nervous exhaustion and +degeneracy, et cetera, can only seriously agitate those who place the +object of life in the present--that is, the common herd." + +"The Romans used to say: _Mens sana in corpore sano._" + +"Not everything the Greeks and the Romans said is true. Exaltation, +enthusiasm, ecstasy--all that distinguishes prophets, poets, martyrs for +the idea, from the common folk--is repellent to the animal side of +man--that is, his physical health. I repeat, if you want to be healthy +and normal, go to the common herd." + +"Strange that you repeat what often comes into my mind," said Kovrin. +"It is as though you had seen and overheard my secret thoughts. But +don't let us talk about me. What do you mean by 'eternal truth'?" + +The monk did not answer. Kovrin looked at him and could not distinguish +his face. His features grew blurred and misty. Then the monk's head and +arms disappeared; his body seemed merged into the seat and the evening +twilight, and he vanished altogether. + +"The hallucination is over," said Kovrin; and he laughed. "It's a pity." + +He went back to the house, light-hearted and happy. The little the monk +had said to him had flattered, not his vanity, but his whole soul, his +whole being. To be one of the chosen, to serve eternal truth, to stand +in the ranks of those who could make mankind worthy of the kingdom of +God some thousands of years sooner--that is, to free men from some +thousands of years of unnecessary struggle, sin, and suffering; to +sacrifice to the idea everything--youth, strength, health; to be ready +to die for the common weal--what an exalted, what a happy lot! He +recalled his past--pure, chaste, laborious; he remembered what he had +learned himself and what he had taught to others, and decided that there +was no exaggeration in the monk's words. + +Tanya came to meet him in the park: she was by now wearing a different +dress. + +"Are you here?" she said. "And we have been looking and looking for +you.... But what is the matter with you?" she asked in wonder, glancing +at his radiant, ecstatic face and eyes full of tears. "How strange you +are, Andryusha!" + +"I am pleased, Tanya," said Kovrin, laying his hand on her shoulders. "I +am more than pleased: I am happy. Tanya, darling Tanya, you are an +extraordinary, nice creature. Dear Tanya, I am so glad, I am so glad!" + +He kissed both her hands ardently, and went on: + +"I have just passed through an exalted, wonderful, unearthly moment. But +I can't tell you all about it or you would call me mad and not believe +me. Let us talk of you. Dear, delightful Tanya! I love you, and am used +to loving you. To have you near me, to meet you a dozen times a day, has +become a necessity of my existence; I don't know how I shall get on +without you when I go back home." + +"Oh," laughed Tanya, "you will forget about us in two days. We are +humble people and you are a great man." + +"No; let us talk in earnest!" he said. "I shall take you with me, Tanya. +Yes? Will you come with me? Will you be mine?" + +"Come," said Tanya, and tried to laugh again, but the laugh would not +come, and patches of colour came into her face. + +She began breathing quickly and walked very quickly, but not to the +house, but further into the park. + +"I was not thinking of it ... I was not thinking of it," she said, +wringing her hands in despair. + +And Kovrin followed her and went on talking, with the same radiant, +enthusiastic face: + +"I want a love that will dominate me altogether; and that love only you, +Tanya, can give me. I am happy! I am happy!" + +She was overwhelmed, and huddling and shrinking together, seemed ten +years older all at once, while he thought her beautiful and expressed +his rapture aloud: + +"How lovely she is!" + + +VI + +Learning from Kovrin that not only a romance had been got up, but that +there would even be a wedding, Yegor Semyonitch spent a long time in +pacing from one corner of the room to the other, trying to conceal his +agitation. His hands began trembling, his neck swelled and turned +purple, he ordered his racing droshky and drove off somewhere. Tanya, +seeing how he lashed the horse, and seeing how he pulled his cap over +his ears, understood what he was feeling, shut herself up in her room, +and cried the whole day. + +In the hot-houses the peaches and plums were already ripe; the packing +and sending off of these tender and fragile goods to Moscow took a great +deal of care, work, and trouble. Owing to the fact that the summer was +very hot and dry, it was necessary to water every tree, and a great deal +of time and labour was spent on doing it. Numbers of caterpillars made +their appearance, which, to Kovrin's disgust, the labourers and even +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya squashed with their fingers. In spite of all +that, they had already to book autumn orders for fruit and trees, and to +carry on a great deal of correspondence. And at the very busiest time, +when no one seemed to have a free moment, the work of the fields carried +off more than half their labourers from the garden. Yegor Semyonitch, +sunburnt, exhausted, ill-humoured, galloped from the fields to the +garden and back again; cried that he was being torn to pieces, and that +he should put a bullet through his brains. + +Then came the fuss and worry of the trousseau, to which the Pesotskys +attached a good deal of importance. Every one's head was in a whirl from +the snipping of the scissors, the rattle of the sewing-machine, the +smell of hot irons, and the caprices of the dressmaker, a huffy and +nervous lady. And, as ill-luck would have it, visitors came every day, +who had to be entertained, fed, and even put up for the night. But all +this hard labour passed unnoticed as though in a fog. Tanya felt that +love and happiness had taken her unawares, though she had, since she was +fourteen, for some reason been convinced that Kovrin would marry her and +no one else. She was bewildered, could not grasp it, could not believe +herself.... At one minute such joy would swoop down upon her that she +longed to fly away to the clouds and there pray to God, at another +moment she would remember that in August she would have to part from her +home and leave her father; or, goodness knows why, the idea would occur +to her that she was worthless--insignificant and unworthy of a great man +like Kovrin--and she would go to her room, lock herself in, and cry +bitterly for several hours. When there were visitors, she would suddenly +fancy that Kovrin looked extraordinarily handsome, and that all the +women were in love with him and envying her, and her soul was filled +with pride and rapture, as though she had vanquished the whole world; +but he had only to smile politely at any young lady for her to be +trembling with jealousy, to retreat to her room--and tears again. These +new sensations mastered her completely; she helped her father +mechanically, without noticing peaches, caterpillars or labourers, or +how rapidly the time was passing. + +It was almost the same with Yegor Semyonitch. He worked from morning +till night, was always in a hurry, was irritable, and flew into rages, +but all of this was in a sort of spellbound dream. It seemed as though +there were two men in him: one was the real Yegor Semyonitch, who was +moved to indignation, and clutched his head in despair when he heard of +some irregularity from Ivan Karlovitch the gardener; and another--not +the real one--who seemed as though he were half drunk, would interrupt a +business conversation at half a word, touch the gardener on the +shoulder, and begin muttering: + +"Say what you like, there is a great deal in blood. His mother was a +wonderful woman, most high-minded and intelligent. It was a pleasure to +look at her good, candid, pure face; it was like the face of an angel. +She drew splendidly, wrote verses, spoke five foreign languages, +sang.... Poor thing! she died of consumption. The Kingdom of Heaven be +hers." + +The unreal Yegor Semyonitch sighed, and after a pause went on: + +"When he was a boy and growing up in my house, he had the same angelic +face, good and candid. The way he looks and talks and moves is as soft +and elegant as his mother's. And his intellect! We were always struck +with his intelligence. To be sure, it's not for nothing he's a Master of +Arts! It's not for nothing! And wait a bit, Ivan Karlovitch, what will +he be in ten years' time? He will be far above us!" + +But at this point the real Yegor Semyonitch, suddenly coming to himself, +would make a terrible face, would clutch his head and cry: + +"The devils! They have spoilt everything! They have ruined everything! +They have spoilt everything! The garden's done for, the garden's +ruined!" + +Kovrin, meanwhile, worked with the same ardour as before, and did not +notice the general commotion. Love only added fuel to the flames. After +every talk with Tanya he went to his room, happy and triumphant, took up +his book or his manuscript with the same passion with which he had just +kissed Tanya and told her of his love. What the black monk had told him +of the chosen of God, of eternal truth, of the brilliant future of +mankind and so on, gave peculiar and extraordinary significance to his +work, and filled his soul with pride and the consciousness of his own +exalted consequence. Once or twice a week, in the park or in the house, +he met the black monk and had long conversations with him, but this did +not alarm him, but, on the contrary, delighted him, as he was now firmly +persuaded that such apparitions only visited the elect few who rise up +above their fellows and devote themselves to the service of the idea. + +One day the monk appeared at dinner-time and sat in the dining-room +window. Kovrin was delighted, and very adroitly began a conversation +with Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya of what might be of interest to the +monk; the black-robed visitor listened and nodded his head graciously, +and Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya listened, too, and smiled gaily without +suspecting that Kovrin was not talking to them but to his hallucination. + +Imperceptibly the fast of the Assumption was approaching, and soon after +came the wedding, which, at Yegor Semyonitch's urgent desire, was +celebrated with "a flourish"--that is, with senseless festivities that +lasted for two whole days and nights. Three thousand roubles' worth of +food and drink was consumed, but the music of the wretched hired band, +the noisy toasts, the scurrying to and fro of the footmen, the uproar +and crowding, prevented them from appreciating the taste of the +expensive wines and wonderful delicacies ordered from Moscow. + + +VII + +One long winter night Kovrin was lying in bed, reading a French novel. +Poor Tanya, who had headaches in the evenings from living in town, to +which she was not accustomed, had been asleep a long while, and, from +time to time, articulated some incoherent phrase in her restless dreams. + +It struck three o'clock. Kovrin put out the light and lay down to sleep, +lay for a long time with his eyes closed, but could not get to sleep +because, as he fancied, the room was very hot and Tanya talked in her +sleep. At half-past four he lighted the candle again, and this time he +saw the black monk sitting in an arm-chair near the bed. + +"Good-morning," said the monk, and after a brief pause he asked: "What +are you thinking of now?" + +"Of fame," answered Kovrin. "In the French novel I have just been +reading, there is a description of a young _savant_, who does silly +things and pines away through worrying about fame. I can't understand +such anxiety." + +"Because you are wise. Your attitude towards fame is one of +indifference, as towards a toy which no longer interests you." + +"Yes, that is true." + +"Renown does not allure you now. What is there flattering, amusing, or +edifying in their carving your name on a tombstone, then time rubbing +off the inscription together with the gilding? Moreover, happily there +are too many of you for the weak memory of mankind to be able to retain +your names." + +"Of course," assented Kovrin. "Besides, why should they be remembered? +But let us talk of something else. Of happiness, for instance. What is +happiness?" + +When the clock struck five, he was sitting on the bed, dangling his feet +to the carpet, talking to the monk: + +"In ancient times a happy man grew at last frightened of his happiness +--it was so great!--and to propitiate the gods he brought as a sacrifice +his favourite ring. Do you know, I, too, like Polykrates, begin to be +uneasy of my happiness. It seems strange to me that from morning to +night I feel nothing but joy; it fills my whole being and smothers all +other feelings. I don't know what sadness, grief, or boredom is. Here I +am not asleep; I suffer from sleeplessness, but I am not dull. I say it +in earnest; I begin to feel perplexed." + +"But why?" the monk asked in wonder. "Is joy a supernatural feeling? +Ought it not to be the normal state of man? The more highly a man is +developed on the intellectual and moral side, the more independent he +is, the more pleasure life gives him. Socrates, Diogenes, and Marcus +Aurelius, were joyful, not sorrowful. And the Apostle tells us: 'Rejoice +continually'; 'Rejoice and be glad.'" + +"But will the gods be suddenly wrathful?" Kovrin jested; and he laughed. +"If they take from me comfort and make me go cold and hungry, it won't +be very much to my taste." + +Meanwhile Tanya woke up and looked with amazement and horror at her +husband. He was talking, addressing the arm-chair, laughing and +gesticulating; his eyes were gleaming, and there was something strange +in his laugh. + +"Andryusha, whom are you talking to?" she asked, clutching the hand he +stretched out to the monk. "Andryusha! Whom?" + +"Oh! Whom?" said Kovrin in confusion. "Why, to him.... He is sitting +here," he said, pointing to the black monk. + +"There is no one here ... no one! Andryusha, you are ill!" + +Tanya put her arm round her husband and held him tight, as though +protecting him from the apparition, and put her hand over his eyes. + +"You are ill!" she sobbed, trembling all over. "Forgive me, my precious, +my dear one, but I have noticed for a long time that your mind is +clouded in some way.... You are mentally ill, Andryusha...." + +Her trembling infected him, too. He glanced once more at the arm-chair, +which was now empty, felt a sudden weakness in his arms and legs, was +frightened, and began dressing. + +"It's nothing, Tanya; it's nothing," he muttered, shivering. "I really +am not quite well ... it's time to admit that." + +"I have noticed it for a long time ... and father has noticed it," she +said, trying to suppress her sobs. "You talk to yourself, smile somehow +strangely ... and can't sleep. Oh, my God, my God, save us!" she said in +terror. "But don't be frightened, Andryusha; for God's sake don't be +frightened...." + +She began dressing, too. Only now, looking at her, Kovrin realised the +danger of his position--realised the meaning of the black monk and his +conversations with him. It was clear to him now that he was mad. + +Neither of them knew why they dressed and went into the dining-room: she +in front and he following her. There they found Yegor Semyonitch +standing in his dressing-gown and with a candle in his hand. He was +staying with them, and had been awakened by Tanya's sobs. + +"Don't be frightened, Andryusha," Tanya was saying, shivering as though +in a fever; "don't be frightened.... Father, it will all pass over ... +it will all pass over...." + +Kovrin was too much agitated to speak. He wanted to say to his +father-in-law in a playful tone: "Congratulate me; it appears I have +gone out of my mind"; but he could only move his lips and smile +bitterly. + +At nine o'clock in the morning they put on his jacket and fur coat, +wrapped him up in a shawl, and took him in a carriage to a doctor. + + +VIII + +Summer had come again, and the doctor advised their going into the +country. Kovrin had recovered; he had left off seeing the black monk, +and he had only to get up his strength. Staying at his father-in-law's, +he drank a great deal of milk, worked for only two hours out of the +twenty-four, and neither smoked nor drank wine. + +On the evening before Elijah's Day they had an evening service in the +house. When the deacon was handing the priest the censer the immense old +room smelt like a graveyard, and Kovrin felt bored. He went out into the +garden. Without noticing the gorgeous flowers, he walked about the +garden, sat down on a seat, then strolled about the park; reaching the +river, he went down and then stood lost in thought, looking at the +water. The sullen pines with their shaggy roots, which had seen him a +year before so young, so joyful and confident, were not whispering now, +but standing mute and motionless, as though they did not recognise him. +And, indeed, his head was closely cropped, his beautiful long hair was +gone, his step was lagging, his face was fuller and paler than last +summer. + +He crossed by the footbridge to the other side. Where the year before +there had been rye the oats stood, reaped, and lay in rows. The sun had +set and there was a broad stretch of glowing red on the horizon, a sign +of windy weather next day. It was still. Looking in the direction from +which the year before the black monk had first appeared, Kovrin stood +for twenty minutes, till the evening glow had begun to fade.... + +When, listless and dissatisfied, he returned home the service was over. +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya were sitting on the steps of the verandah, +drinking tea. They were talking of something, but, seeing Kovrin, ceased +at once, and he concluded from their faces that their talk had been +about him. + +"I believe it is time for you to have your milk," Tanya said to her +husband. + +"No, it is not time yet ..." he said, sitting down on the bottom step. +"Drink it yourself; I don't want it." + +Tanya exchanged a troubled glance with her father, and said in a guilty +voice: + +"You notice yourself that milk does you good." + +"Yes, a great deal of good!" Kovrin laughed. "I congratulate you: I have +gained a pound in weight since Friday." He pressed his head tightly in +his hands and said miserably: "Why, why have you cured me? Preparations +of bromide, idleness, hot baths, supervision, cowardly consternation at +every mouthful, at every step--all this will reduce me at last to +idiocy. I went out of my mind, I had megalomania; but then I was +cheerful, confident, and even happy; I was interesting and original. Now +I have become more sensible and stolid, but I am just like every one +else: I am--mediocrity; I am weary of life.... Oh, how cruelly you have +treated me!... I saw hallucinations, but what harm did that do to any +one? I ask, what harm did that do any one?" + +"Goodness knows what you are saying!" sighed Yegor Semyonitch. "It's +positively wearisome to listen to it." + +"Then don't listen." + +The presence of other people, especially Yegor Semyonitch, irritated +Kovrin now; he answered him drily, coldly, and even rudely, never looked +at him but with irony and hatred, while Yegor Semyonitch was overcome +with confusion and cleared his throat guiltily, though he was not +conscious of any fault in himself. At a loss to understand why their +charming and affectionate relations had changed so abruptly, Tanya +huddled up to her father and looked anxiously in his face; she wanted to +understand and could not understand, and all that was clear to her was +that their relations were growing worse and worse every day, that of +late her father had begun to look much older, and her husband had grown +irritable, capricious, quarrelsome and uninteresting. She could not +laugh or sing; at dinner she ate nothing; did not sleep for nights +together, expecting something awful, and was so worn out that on one +occasion she lay in a dead faint from dinner-time till evening. During +the service she thought her father was crying, and now while the three +of them were sitting together on the terrace she made an effort not to +think of it. + +"How fortunate Buddha, Mahomed, and Shakespeare were that their kind +relations and doctors did not cure them of their ecstasy and their +inspiration," said Kovrin. "If Mahomed had taken bromide for his nerves, +had worked only two hours out of the twenty-four, and had drunk milk, +that remarkable man would have left no more trace after him than his +dog. Doctors and kind relations will succeed in stupefying mankind, in +making mediocrity pass for genius and in bringing civilisation to ruin. +If only you knew," Kovrin said with annoyance, "how grateful I am to +you." + +He felt intense irritation, and to avoid saying too much, he got up +quickly and went into the house. It was still, and the fragrance of the +tobacco plant and the marvel of Peru floated in at the open window. The +moonlight lay in green patches on the floor and on the piano in the big +dark dining-room. Kovrin remembered the raptures of the previous summer +when there had been the same scent of the marvel of Peru and the moon +had shone in at the window. To bring back the mood of last year he went +quickly to his study, lighted a strong cigar, and told the footman to +bring him some wine. But the cigar left a bitter and disgusting taste in +his mouth, and the wine had not the same flavour as it had the year +before. And so great is the effect of giving up a habit, the cigar and +the two gulps of wine made him giddy, and brought on palpitations of the +heart, so that he was obliged to take bromide. + +Before going to bed, Tanya said to him: + +"Father adores you. You are cross with him about something, and it is +killing him. Look at him; he is ageing, not from day to day, but from +hour to hour. I entreat you, Andryusha, for God's sake, for the sake of +your dead father, for the sake of my peace of mind, be affectionate to +him." + +"I can't, I don't want to." + +"But why?" asked Tanya, beginning to tremble all over. "Explain why." + +"Because he is antipathetic to me, that's all," said Kovrin carelessly; +and he shrugged his shoulders. "But we won't talk about him: he is your +father." + +"I can't understand, I can't," said Tanya, pressing her hands to her +temples and staring at a fixed point. "Something incomprehensible, +awful, is going on in the house. You have changed, grown unlike +yourself.... You, clever, extraordinary man as you are, are irritated +over trifles, meddle in paltry nonsense.... Such trivial things excite +you, that sometimes one is simply amazed and can't believe that it is +you. Come, come, don't be angry, don't be angry," she went on, kissing +his hands, frightened of her own words. "You are clever, kind, noble. +You will be just to father. He is so good." + +"He is not good; he is just good-natured. Burlesque old uncles like your +father, with well-fed, good-natured faces, extraordinarily hospitable +and queer, at one time used to touch me and amuse me in novels and in +farces and in life; now I dislike them. They are egoists to the marrow +of their bones. What disgusts me most of all is their being so well-fed, +and that purely bovine, purely hoggish optimism of a full stomach." + +Tanya sat down on the bed and laid her head on the pillow. + +"This is torture," she said, and from her voice it was evident that she +was utterly exhausted, and that it was hard for her to speak. "Not one +moment of peace since the winter.... Why, it's awful! My God! I am +wretched." + +"Oh, of course, I am Herod, and you and your father are the innocents. +Of course." + +His face seemed to Tanya ugly and unpleasant. Hatred and an ironical +expression did not suit him. And, indeed, she had noticed before that +there was something lacking in his face, as though ever since his hair +had been cut his face had changed, too. She wanted to say something +wounding to him, but immediately she caught herself in this antagonistic +feeling, she was frightened and went out of the bedroom. + + +IX + +Kovrin received a professorship at the University. The inaugural address +was fixed for the second of December, and a notice to that effect was +hung up in the corridor at the University. But on the day appointed he +informed the students' inspector, by telegram, that he was prevented by +illness from giving the lecture. + +He had hæmorrhage from the throat. He was often spitting blood, but it +happened two or three times a month that there was a considerable loss +of blood, and then he grew extremely weak and sank into a drowsy +condition. This illness did not particularly frighten him, as he knew +that his mother had lived for ten years or longer suffering from the +same disease, and the doctors assured him that there was no danger, and +had only advised him to avoid excitement, to lead a regular life, and to +speak as little as possible. + +In January again his lecture did not take place owing to the same +reason, and in February it was too late to begin the course. It had to +be postponed to the following year. + +By now he was living not with Tanya, but with another woman, who was two +years older than he was, and who looked after him as though he were a +baby. He was in a calm and tranquil state of mind; he readily gave in to +her, and when Varvara Nikolaevna--that was the name of his +friend--decided to take him to the Crimea, he agreed, though he had a +presentiment that no good would come of the trip. + +They reached Sevastopol in the evening and stopped at an hotel to rest +and go on the next day to Yalta. They were both exhausted by the +journey. Varvara Nikolaevna had some tea, went to bed and was soon +asleep. But Kovrin did not go to bed. An hour before starting for the +station, he had received a letter from Tanya, and had not brought +himself to open it, and now it was lying in his coat pocket, and the +thought of it excited him disagreeably. At the bottom of his heart he +genuinely considered now that his marriage to Tanya had been a mistake. +He was glad that their separation was final, and the thought of that +woman who in the end had turned into a living relic, still walking about +though everything seemed dead in her except her big, staring, +intelligent eyes--the thought of her roused in him nothing but pity and +disgust with himself. The handwriting on the envelope reminded him how +cruel and unjust he had been two years before, how he had worked off his +anger at his spiritual emptiness, his boredom, his loneliness, and his +dissatisfaction with life by revenging himself on people in no way to +blame. He remembered, also, how he had torn up his dissertation and all +the articles he had written during his illness, and how he had thrown +them out of window, and the bits of paper had fluttered in the wind and +caught on the trees and flowers. In every line of them he saw strange, +utterly groundless pretension, shallow defiance, arrogance, megalomania; +and they made him feel as though he were reading a description of his +vices. But when the last manuscript had been torn up and sent flying out +of window, he felt, for some reason, suddenly bitter and angry; he went +to his wife and said a great many unpleasant things to her. My God, how +he had tormented her! One day, wanting to cause her pain, he told her +that her father had played a very unattractive part in their romance, +that he had asked him to marry her. Yegor Semyonitch accidentally +overheard this, ran into the room, and, in his despair, could not utter +a word, could only stamp and make a strange, bellowing sound as though +he had lost the power of speech, and Tanya, looking at her father, had +uttered a heart-rending shriek and had fallen into a swoon. It was +hideous. + +All this came back into his memory as he looked at the familiar writing. +Kovrin went out on to the balcony; it was still warm weather and there +was a smell of the sea. The wonderful bay reflected the moonshine and +the lights, and was of a colour for which it was difficult to find a +name. It was a soft and tender blending of dark blue and green; in +places the water was like blue vitriol, and in places it seemed as +though the moonlight were liquefied and filling the bay instead of +water. And what harmony of colours, what an atmosphere of peace, calm, +and sublimity! + +In the lower storey under the balcony the windows were probably open, +for women's voices and laughter could be heard distinctly. Apparently +there was an evening party. + +Kovrin made an effort, tore open the envelope, and, going back into his +room, read: + +"My father is just dead. I owe that to you, for you have killed him. Our +garden is being ruined; strangers are managing it already--that is, the +very thing is happening that poor father dreaded. That, too, I owe to +you. I hate you with my whole soul, and I hope you may soon perish. Oh, +how wretched I am! Insufferable anguish is burning my soul.... My curses +on you. I took you for an extraordinary man, a genius; I loved you, and +you have turned out a madman...." + +Kovrin could read no more, he tore up the letter and threw it away. He +was overcome by an uneasiness that was akin to terror. Varvara +Nikolaevna was asleep behind the screen, and he could hear her +breathing. From the lower storey came the sounds of laughter and women's +voices, but he felt as though in the whole hotel there were no living +soul but him. Because Tanya, unhappy, broken by sorrow, had cursed him +in her letter and hoped for his perdition, he felt eerie and kept +glancing hurriedly at the door, as though he were afraid that the +uncomprehended force which two years before had wrought such havoc in +his life and in the life of those near him might come into the room and +master him once more. + +He knew by experience that when his nerves were out of hand the best +thing for him to do was to work. He must sit down to the table and force +himself, at all costs, to concentrate his mind on some one thought. He +took from his red portfolio a manuscript containing a sketch of a small +work of the nature of a compilation, which he had planned in case he +should find it dull in the Crimea without work. He sat down to the table +and began working at this plan, and it seemed to him that his calm, +peaceful, indifferent mood was coming back. The manuscript with the +sketch even led him to meditation on the vanity of the world. He thought +how much life exacts for the worthless or very commonplace blessings it +can give a man. For instance, to gain, before forty, a university chair, +to be an ordinary professor, to expound ordinary and second-hand +thoughts in dull, heavy, insipid language--in fact, to gain the position +of a mediocre learned man, he, Kovrin, had had to study for fifteen +years, to work day and night, to endure a terrible mental illness, to +experience an unhappy marriage, and to do a great number of stupid and +unjust things which it would have been pleasant not to remember. Kovrin +recognised clearly, now, that he was a mediocrity, and readily resigned +himself to it, as he considered that every man ought to be satisfied +with what he is. + +The plan of the volume would have soothed him completely, but the torn +letter showed white on the floor and prevented him from concentrating +his attention. He got up from the table, picked up the pieces of the +letter and threw them out of window, but there was a light wind blowing +from the sea, and the bits of paper were scattered on the windowsill. +Again he was overcome by uneasiness akin to terror, and he felt as +though in the whole hotel there were no living soul but himself.... He +went out on the balcony. The bay, like a living thing, looked at him +with its multitude of light blue, dark blue, turquoise and fiery eyes, +and seemed beckoning to him. And it really was hot and oppressive, and +it would not have been amiss to have a bathe. + +Suddenly in the lower storey under the balcony a violin began playing, +and two soft feminine voices began singing. It was something familiar. +The song was about a maiden, full of sick fancies, who heard one night +in her garden mysterious sounds, so strange and lovely that she was +obliged to recognise them as a holy harmony which is unintelligible to +us mortals, and so flies back to heaven.... Kovrin caught his breath and +there was a pang of sadness at his heart, and a thrill of the sweet, +exquisite delight he had so long forgotten began to stir in his breast. + +A tall black column, like a whirlwind or a waterspout, appeared on the +further side of the bay. It moved with fearful rapidity across the bay, +towards the hotel, growing smaller and darker as it came, and Kovrin +only just had time to get out of the way to let it pass.... The monk +with bare grey head, black eyebrows, barefoot, his arms crossed over his +breast, floated by him, and stood still in the middle of the room. + +"Why did you not believe me?" he asked reproachfully, looking +affectionately at Kovrin. "If you had believed me then, that you were a +genius, you would not have spent these two years so gloomily and so +wretchedly." + +Kovrin already believed that he was one of God's chosen and a genius; he +vividly recalled his conversations with the monk in the past and tried +to speak, but the blood flowed from his throat on to his breast, and not +knowing what he was doing, he passed his hands over his breast, and his +cuffs were soaked with blood. He tried to call Varvara Nikolaevna, who +was asleep behind the screen; he made an effort and said: + +"Tanya!" + +He fell on the floor, and propping himself on his arms, called again: + +"Tanya!" + +He called Tanya, called to the great garden with the gorgeous flowers +sprinkled with dew, called to the park, the pines with their shaggy +roots, the rye-field, his marvellous learning, his youth, courage, +joy--called to life, which was so lovely. He saw on the floor near his +face a great pool of blood, and was too weak to utter a word, but an +unspeakable, infinite happiness flooded his whole being. Below, under +the balcony, they were playing the serenade, and the black monk +whispered to him that he was a genius, and that he was dying only +because his frail human body had lost its balance and could no longer +serve as the mortal garb of genius. + +When Varvara Nikolaevna woke up and came out from behind the screen, +Kovrin was dead, and a blissful smile was set upon his face. + + + + +VOLODYA + + +AT five o'clock one Sunday afternoon in summer, Volodya, a plain, shy, +sickly-looking lad of seventeen, was sitting in the arbour of the +Shumihins' country villa, feeling dreary. His despondent thought flowed +in three directions. In the first place, he had next day, Monday, an +examination in mathematics; he knew that if he did not get through the +written examination on the morrow, he would be expelled, for he had +already been two years in the sixth form and had two and three-quarter +marks for algebra in his annual report. In the second place, his +presence at the villa of the Shumihins, a wealthy family with +aristocratic pretensions, was a continual source of mortification to his +_amour-propre_. It seemed to him that Madame Shumihin looked upon him +and his maman as poor relations and dependents, that they laughed at his +_maman_ and did not respect her. He had on one occasion accidently +overheard Madame Shumihin, in the verandah, telling her cousin Anna +Fyodorovna that his _maman_ still tried to look young and got herself +up, that she never paid her losses at cards, and had a partiality for +other people's shoes and tobacco. Every day Volodya besought his _maman_ +not to go to the Shumihins', and drew a picture of the humiliating part +she played with these gentlefolk. He tried to persuade her, said rude +things, but she--a frivolous, pampered woman, who had run through two +fortunes, her own and her husband's, in her time, and always gravitated +towards acquaintances of high rank--did not understand him, and twice a +week Volodya had to accompany her to the villa he hated. + +In the third place, the youth could not for one instant get rid of a +strange, unpleasant feeling which was absolutely new to him.... It +seemed to him that he was in love with Anna Fyodorovna, the Shumihins' +cousin, who was staying with them. She was a vivacious, loud-voiced, +laughter-loving, healthy, and vigorous lady of thirty, with rosy cheeks, +plump shoulders, a plump round chin and a continual smile on her thin +lips. She was neither young nor beautiful--Volodya knew that perfectly +well; but for some reason he could not help thinking of her, looking at +her while she shrugged her plump shoulders and moved her flat back as +she played croquet, or after prolonged laughter and running up and down +stairs, sank into a low chair, and, half closing her eyes and gasping +for breath, pretended that she was stifling and could not breathe. She +was married. Her husband, a staid and dignified architect, came once a +week to the villa, slept soundly, and returned to town. Volodya's +strange feeling had begun with his conceiving an unaccountable hatred +for the architect, and feeling relieved every time he went back to town. + +Now, sitting in the arbour, thinking of his examination next day, and of +his _maman_, at whom they laughed, he felt an intense desire to see +Nyuta (that was what the Shumihins called Anna Fyodorovna), to hear her +laughter and the rustle of her dress.... This desire was not like the +pure, poetic love of which he read in novels and about which he dreamed +every night when he went to bed; it was strange, incomprehensible; he +was ashamed of it, and afraid of it as of something very wrong and +impure, something which it was disagreeable to confess even to himself. + +"It's not love," he said to himself. "One can't fall in love with women +of thirty who are married. It is only a little intrigue.... Yes, an +intrigue...." + +Pondering on the "intrigue," he thought of his uncontrollable shyness, +his lack of moustache, his freckles, his narrow eyes, and put himself in +his imagination side by side with Nyuta, and the juxtaposition seemed to +him impossible; then he made haste to imagine himself bold, handsome, +witty, dressed in the latest fashion. + +When his dreams were at their height, as he sat huddled together and +looking at the ground in a dark corner of the arbour, he heard the sound +of light footsteps. Some one was coming slowly along the avenue. Soon +the steps stopped and something white gleamed in the entrance. + +"Is there any one here?" asked a woman's voice. + +Volodya recognised the voice, and raised his head in a fright. + +"Who is here?" asked Nyuta, going into the arbour. "Ah, it is you, +Volodya? What are you doing here? Thinking? And how can you go on +thinking, thinking, thinking?... That's the way to go out of your mind!" + +Volodya got up and looked in a dazed way at Nyuta. She had only just +come back from bathing. Over her shoulder there was hanging a sheet and +a rough towel, and from under the white silk kerchief on her head he +could see the wet hair sticking to her forehead. There was the cool damp +smell of the bath-house and of almond soap still hanging about her. She +was out of breath from running quickly. The top button of her blouse was +undone, so that the boy saw her throat and bosom. + +"Why don't you say something?" said Nyuta, looking Volodya up and down. +"It's not polite to be silent when a lady talks to you. What a clumsy +seal you are though, Volodya! You always sit, saying nothing, thinking +like some philosopher. There's not a spark of life or fire in you! You +are really horrid!... At your age you ought to be living, skipping, and +jumping, chattering, flirting, falling in love." + +Volodya looked at the sheet that was held by a plump white hand, and +thought.... + +"He's mute," said Nyuta, with wonder; "it is strange, really.... Listen! +Be a man! Come, you might smile at least! Phew, the horrid philosopher!" +she laughed. "But do you know, Volodya, why you are such a clumsy seal? +Because you don't devote yourself to the ladies. Why don't you? It's +true there are no girls here, but there is nothing to prevent your +flirting with the married ladies! Why don't you flirt with me, for +instance?" + +Volodya listened and scratched his forehead in acute and painful +irresolution. + +"It's only very proud people who are silent and love solitude," Nyuta +went on, pulling his hand away from his forehead. "You are proud, +Volodya. Why do you look at me like that from under your brows? Look me +straight in the face, if you please! Yes, now then, clumsy seal!" + +Volodya made up his mind to speak. Wanting to smile, he twitched his +lower lip, blinked, and again put his hand to his forehead. + +"I ... I love you," he said. + +Nyuta raised her eyebrows in surprise, and laughed. + +"What do I hear?" she sang, as prima-donnas sing at the opera when they +hear something awful. "What? What did you say? Say it again, say it +again...." + +"I ... I love you!" repeated Volodya. + +And without his will's having any part in his action, without reflection +or understanding, he took half a step towards Nyuta and clutched her by +the arm. Everything was dark before his eyes, and tears came into them. +The whole world was turned into one big, rough towel which smelt of the +bathhouse. + +"Bravo, bravo!" he heard a merry laugh. "Why don't you speak? I want you +to speak! Well?" + +Seeing that he was not prevented from holding her arm, Volodya glanced +at Nyuta's laughing face, and clumsily, awkwardly, put both arms round +her waist, his hands meeting behind her back. He held her round the +waist with both arms, while, putting her hands up to her head, showing +the dimples in her elbows, she set her hair straight under the kerchief +and said in a calm voice: + +"You must be tactful, polite, charming, and you can only become that +under feminine influence. But what a wicked, angry face you have! You +must talk, laugh.... Yes, Volodya, don't be surly; you are young and +will have plenty of time for philosophising. Come, let go of me; I am +going. Let go." + +Without effort she released her waist, and, humming something, walked +out of the arbour. Volodya was left alone. He smoothed his hair, smiled, +and walked three times to and fro across the arbour, then he sat down on +the bench and smiled again. He felt insufferably ashamed, so much so +that he wondered that human shame could reach such a pitch of acuteness +and intensity. Shame made him smile, gesticulate, and whisper some +disconnected words. + +He was ashamed that he had been treated like a small boy, ashamed of his +shyness, and, most of all, that he had had the audacity to put his arms +round the waist of a respectable married woman, though, as it seemed to +him, he had neither through age nor by external quality, nor by social +position any right to do so. + +He jumped up, went out of the arbour, and, without looking round, walked +into the recesses of the garden furthest from the house. + +"Ah! only to get away from here as soon as possible," he thought, +clutching his head. "My God! as soon as possible." + +The train by which Volodya was to go back with his _maman_ was at +eight-forty. There were three hours before the train started, but he +would with pleasure have gone to the station at once without waiting for +his _maman_. + +At eight o'clock he went to the house. His whole figure was expressive +of determination: what would be, would be! He made up his mind to go in +boldly, to look them straight in the face, to speak in a loud voice, +regardless of everything. + +He crossed the terrace, the big hall and the drawing-room, and there +stopped to take breath. He could hear them in the dining-room, drinking +tea. Madame Shumihin, _maman_, and Nyuta were talking and laughing about +something. + +Volodya listened. + +"I assure you!" said Nyuta. "I could not believe my eyes! When he began +declaring his passion and--just imagine!--put his arms round my waist, I +should not have recognised him. And you know he has a way with him! When +he told me he was in love with me, there was something brutal in his +face, like a Circassian." + +"Really!" gasped _maman_, going off into a peal of laughter. "Really! +How he does remind me of his father!" + +Volodya ran back and dashed out into the open air. + +"How could they talk of it aloud!" he wondered in agony, clasping his +hands and looking up to the sky in horror. "They talk aloud in cold +blood ... and _maman_ laughed!... _Maman!_ My God, why didst Thou give +me such a mother? Why?" + +But he had to go to the house, come what might. He walked three times up +and down the avenue, grew a little calmer, and went into the house. + +"Why didn't you come in in time for tea?" Madame Shumihin asked sternly. + +"I am sorry, it's ... it's time for me to go," he muttered, not raising +his eyes. "_Maman_, it's eight o'clock!" + +"You go alone, my dear," said his _maman_ languidly. "I am staying the +night with Lili. Goodbye, my dear.... Let me make the sign of the cross +over you." + +She made the sign of the cross over her son, and said in French, turning +to Nyuta: + +"He's rather like Lermontov ... isn't he?" + +Saying good-bye after a fashion, without looking any one in the face, +Volodya went out of the dining-room. Ten minutes later he was walking +along the road to the station, and was glad of it. Now he felt neither +frightened nor ashamed; he breathed freely and easily. + +About half a mile from the station, he sat down on a stone by the side +of the road, and gazed at the sun, which was half hidden behind a +barrow. There were lights already here and there at the station, and one +green light glimmered dimly, but the train was not yet in sight. It was +pleasant to Volodya to sit still without moving, and to watch the +evening coming little by little. The darkness of the arbour, the +footsteps, the smell of the bath-house, the laughter, and the waist--all +these rose with amazing vividness before his imagination, and all this +was no longer so terrible and important as before. + +"It's of no consequence.... She did not pull her hand away, and laughed +when I held her by the waist," he thought. "So she must have liked it. +If she had disliked it she would have been angry...." + +And now Volodya felt sorry that he had not had more boldness there in +the arbour. He felt sorry that he was so stupidly going away, and he was +by now persuaded that if the same thing happened again he would be +bolder and look at it more simply. + +And it would not be difficult for the opportunity to occur again. They +used to stroll about for a long time after supper at the Shumihins'. If +Volodya went for a walk with Nyuta in the dark garden, there would be an +opportunity! + +"I will go back," he thought, "and will go by the morning train +to-morrow.... I will say I have missed the train." + +And he turned back.... Madame Shumihin, _Maman_, Nyuta, and one of the +nieces were sitting on the verandah, playing _vint_. When Volodya told +them the lie that he had missed the train, they were uneasy that he +might be late for the examination day, and advised him to get up early. +All the while they were playing he sat on one side, greedily watching +Nyuta and waiting.... He already had a plan prepared in his mind: he +would go up to Nyuta in the dark, would take her by the hand, then would +embrace her; there would be no need to say anything, as both of them +would understand without words. + +But after supper the ladies did not go for a walk in the garden, but +went on playing cards. They played till one o'clock at night, and then +broke up to go to bed. + +"How stupid it all is!" Volodya thought with vexation as he got into +bed. "But never mind; I'll wait till to-morrow ... to-morrow in the +arbour. It doesn't matter...." + +He did not attempt to go to sleep, but sat in bed, hugging his knees and +thinking. All thought of the examination was hateful to him. He had +already made up his mind that they would expel him, and that there was +nothing terrible about his being expelled. On the contrary, it was a +good thing--a very good thing, in fact. Next day he would be as free as +a bird; he would put on ordinary clothes instead of his school uniform, +would smoke openly, come out here, and make love to Nyuta when he liked; +and he would not be a schoolboy but "a young man." And as for the rest +of it, what is called a career, a future, that was clear; Volodya would +go into the army or the telegraph service, or he would go into a +chemist's shop and work his way up till he was a dispenser.... There +were lots of callings. An hour or two passed, and he was still sitting +and thinking.... + +Towards three o'clock, when it was beginning to get light, the door +creaked cautiously and his _maman_ came into the room. + +"Aren't you asleep?" she asked, yawning. "Go to sleep; I have only come +in for a minute.... I am only fetching the drops...." + +"What for?" + +"Poor Lili has got spasms again. Go to sleep, my child, your +examination's to-morrow...." + +She took a bottle of something out of the cupboard, went to the window, +read the label, and went away. + +"Marya Leontyevna, those are not the drops!" Volodya heard a woman's +voice, a minute later. "That's convallaria, and Lili wants morphine. Is +your son asleep? Ask him to look for it...." + +It was Nyuta's voice. Volodya turned cold. He hurriedly put on his +trousers, flung his coat over his shoulders, and went to the door. + +"Do you understand? Morphine," Nyuta explained in a whisper. "There must +be a label in Latin. Wake Volodya; he will find it." + +_Maman_ opened the door and Volodya caught sight of Nyuta. She was +wearing the same loose wrapper in which she had gone to bathe. Her hair +hung loose and disordered on her shoulders, her face looked sleepy and +dark in the half-light.... + +"Why, Volodya is not asleep," she said. "Volodya, look in the cupboard +for the morphine, there's a dear! What a nuisance Lili is! She has +always something the matter." + +_Maman_ muttered something, yawned, and went away. + +"Look for it," said Nyuta. "Why are you standing still?" + +Volodya went to the cupboard, knelt down, and began looking through the +bottles and boxes of medicine. His hands were trembling, and he had a +feeling in his chest and stomach as though cold waves were running all +over his inside. He felt suffocated and giddy from the smell of ether, +carbolic acid, and various drugs, which he quite unnecessarily snatched +up with his trembling fingers and spilled in so doing. + +"I believe _maman_ has gone," he thought. "That's a good thing ... a +good thing...." + +"Will you be quick?" said Nyuta, drawling. + +"In a minute.... Here, I believe this is morphine," said Volodya, +reading on one of the labels the word "morph...." "Here it is!" + +Nyuta was standing in the doorway in such a way that one foot was in his +room and one was in the passage. She was tidying her hair, which was +difficult to put in order because it was so thick and long, and looked +absent-mindedly at Volodya. In her loose wrap, with her sleepy face and +her hair down, in the dim light that came into the white sky not yet lit +by the sun, she seemed to Volodya captivating, magnificent.... +Fascinated, trembling all over, and remembering with relish how he had +held that exquisite body in his arms in the arbour, he handed her the +bottle and said: + +"How wonderful you are!" + +"What?" + +She came into the room. + +"What?" she asked, smiling. + +He was silent and looked at her, then, just as in the arbour, he took +her hand, and she looked at him with a smile and waited for what would +happen next. + +"I love you," he whispered. + +She left off smiling, thought a minute, and said: + +"Wait a little; I think somebody is coming. Oh, these schoolboys!" she +said in an undertone, going to the door and peeping out into the +passage. "No, there is no one to be seen...." + +She came back. + +Then it seemed to Volodya that the room, Nyuta, the sunrise and +himself--all melted together in one sensation of acute, extraordinary, +incredible bliss, for which one might give up one's whole life and face +eternal torments.... But half a minute passed and all that vanished. +Volodya saw only a fat, plain face, distorted by an expression of +repulsion, and he himself suddenly felt a loathing for what had +happened. + +"I must go away, though," said Nyuta, looking at Volodya with disgust. +"What a wretched, ugly ... fie, ugly duckling!" + +How unseemly her long hair, her loose wrap, her steps, her voice seemed +to Volodya now!... + +"'Ugly duckling' ..." he thought after she had gone away. "I really am +ugly ... everything is ugly." + +The sun was rising, the birds were singing loudly; he could hear the +gardener walking in the garden and the creaking of his wheelbarrow ... +and soon afterwards he heard the lowing of the cows and the sounds of +the shepherd's pipe. The sunlight and the sounds told him that somewhere +in this world there is a pure, refined, poetical life. But where was it? +Volodya had never heard a word of it from his _maman_ or any of the +people round about him. + +When the footman came to wake him for the morning train, he pretended to +be asleep.... + +"Bother it! Damn it all!" he thought. + +He got up between ten and eleven. + +Combing his hair before the looking-glass, and looking at his ugly face, +pale from his sleepless night, he thought: + +"It's perfectly true ... an ugly duckling!" + +When _maman_ saw him and was horrified that he was not at his +examination, Volodya said: + +"I overslept myself, _maman_.... But don't worry, I will get a medical +certificate." + +Madame Shumihin and Nyuta waked up at one o'clock. Volodya heard Madame +Shumihin open her window with a bang, heard Nyuta go off into a peal of +laughter in reply to her coarse voice. He saw the door open and a string +of nieces and other toadies (among the latter was his _maman_) file into +lunch, caught a glimpse of Nyuta's freshly washed laughing face, and, +beside her, the black brows and beard of her husband the architect, who +had just arrived. + +Nyuta was wearing a Little Russian dress which did not suit her at all, +and made her look clumsy; the architect was making dull and vulgar +jokes. The rissoles served at lunch had too much onion in them--so it +seemed to Volodya. It also seemed to him that Nyuta laughed loudly on +purpose, and kept glancing in his direction to give him to understand +that the memory of the night did not trouble her in the least, and that +she was not aware of the presence at table of the "ugly duckling." + +At four o'clock Volodya drove to the station with his _maman_. Foul +memories, the sleepless night, the prospect of expulsion from school, +the stings of conscience--all roused in him now an oppressive, gloomy +anger. He looked at _maman_'s sharp profile, at her little nose, and at +the raincoat which was a present from Nyuta, and muttered: + +"Why do you powder? It's not becoming at your age! You make yourself up, +don't pay your debts at cards, smoke other people's tobacco.... It's +hateful! I don't love you ... I don't love you!" + +He was insulting her, and she moved her little eyes about in alarm, +flung up her hands, and whispered in horror: + +"What are you saying, my dear! Good gracious! the coachman will hear! Be +quiet or the coachman will hear! He can overhear everything." + +"I don't love you ... I don't love you!" he went on breathlessly. +"You've no soul and no morals.... Don't dare to wear that raincoat! Do +you hear? Or else I will tear it into rags...." + +"Control yourself, my child," _maman_ wept; "the coachman can hear!" + +"And where is my father's fortune? Where is your money? You have wasted +it all. I am not ashamed of being poor, but I am ashamed of having such +a mother.... When my schoolfellows ask questions about you, I always +blush." + +In the train they had to pass two stations before they reached the town. +Volodya spent all the time on the little platform between two carriages +and shivered all over. He did not want to go into the compartment +because there the mother he hated was sitting. He hated himself, hated +the ticket collectors, the smoke from the engine, the cold to which he +attributed his shivering. And the heavier the weight on his heart, the +more strongly he felt that somewhere in the world, among some people, +there was a pure, honourable, warm, refined life, full of love, +affection, gaiety, and serenity.... He felt this and was so intensely +miserable that one of the passengers, after looking in his face +attentively, actually asked: + +"You have the toothache, I suppose?" + +In the town _maman_ and Volodya lived with Marya Petrovna, a lady of +noble rank, who had a large flat and let rooms to boarders. _Maman_ had +two rooms, one with windows and two pictures in gold frames hanging on +the walls, in which her bed stood and in which she lived, and a little +dark room opening out of it in which Volodya lived. Here there was a +sofa on which he slept, and, except that sofa, there was no other +furniture; the rest of the room was entirely filled up with wicker +baskets full of clothes, cardboard hat-boxes, and all sorts of rubbish, +which _maman_ preserved for some reason or other. Volodya prepared his +lessons either in his mother's room or in the "general room," as the +large room in which the boarders assembled at dinner-time and in the +evening was called. + +On reaching home he lay down on his sofa and put the quilt over him to +stop his shivering. The cardboard hat-boxes, the wicker baskets, and the +other rubbish, reminded him that he had not a room of his own, that he +had no refuge in which he could get away from his mother, from her +visitors, and from the voices that were floating up from the "general +room." The satchel and the books lying about in the corners reminded him +of the examination he had missed.... For some reason there came into his +mind, quite inappropriately, Mentone, where he had lived with his father +when he was seven years old; he thought of Biarritz and two little +English girls with whom he ran about on the sand.... He tried to recall +to his memory the colour of the sky, the sea, the height of the waves, +and his mood at the time, but he could not succeed. The English girls +flitted before his imagination as though they were living; all the rest +was a medley of images that floated away in confusion.... + +"No; it's cold here," thought Volodya. He got up, put on his overcoat, +and went into the "general room." + +There they were drinking tea. There were three people at the samovar: +_maman_; an old lady with tortoiseshell pince-nez, who gave music +lessons; and Avgustin Mihalitch, an elderly and very stout Frenchman, +who was employed at a perfumery factory. + +"I have had no dinner to-day," said _maman_. "I ought to send the maid +to buy some bread." + +"Dunyasha!" shouted the Frenchman. + +It appeared that the maid had been sent out somewhere by the lady of the +house. + +"Oh, that's of no consequence," said the Frenchman, with a broad smile. +"I will go for some bread myself at once. Oh, it's nothing." + +He laid his strong, pungent cigar in a conspicuous place, put on his hat +and went out. After he had gone away _maman_ began telling the music +teacher how she had been staying at the Shumihins', and how warmly they +welcomed her. + +"Lili Shumihin is a relation of mine, you know," she said. "Her late +husband, General Shumihin, was a cousin of my husband. And she was a +Baroness Kolb by birth...." + +"_Maman_, that's false!" said Volodya irritably. "Why tell lies?" + +He knew perfectly well that what his mother said was true; in what she +was saying about General Shumihin and about Baroness Kolb there was not +a word of lying, but nevertheless he felt that she was lying. There was +a suggestion of falsehood in her manner of speaking, in the expression +of her face, in her eyes, in everything. + +"You are lying," repeated Volodya; and he brought his fist down on the +table with such force that all the crockery shook and _maman_'s tea was +spilt over. "Why do you talk about generals and baronesses? It's all +lies!" + +The music teacher was disconcerted, and coughed into her handkerchief, +affecting to sneeze, and _maman_ began to cry. + +"Where can I go?" thought Volodya. + +He had been in the street already; he was ashamed to go to his +schoolfellows. Again, quite incongruously, he remembered the two little +English girls.... He paced up and down the "general room," and went into +Avgustin Mihalitch's room. Here there was a strong smell of ethereal +oils and glycerine soap. On the table, in the window, and even on the +chairs, there were a number of bottles, glasses, and wineglasses +containing fluids of various colours. Volodya took up from the table a +newspaper, opened it and read the title _Figaro_ ... There was a strong +and pleasant scent about the paper. Then he took a revolver from the +table.... + +"There, there! Don't take any notice of it." The music teacher was +comforting _maman_ in the next room. "He is young! Young people of his +age never restrain themselves. One must resign oneself to that." + +"No, Yevgenya Andreyevna; he's too spoilt," said _maman_ in a singsong +voice. "He has no one in authority over him, and I am weak and can do +nothing. Oh, I am unhappy!" + +Volodya put the muzzle of the revolver to his mouth, felt something like +a trigger or spring, and pressed it with his finger.... Then felt +something else projecting, and once more pressed it. Taking the muzzle +out of his mouth, he wiped it with the lapel of his coat, looked at the +lock. He had never in his life taken a weapon in his hand before.... + +"I believe one ought to raise this ..." he reflected. "Yes, it seems +so." + +Avgustin Mihalitch went into the "general room," and with a laugh began +telling them about something. Volodya put the muzzle in his mouth again, +pressed it with his teeth, and pressed something with his fingers. There +was a sound of a shot.... Something hit Volodya in the back of his head +with terrible violence, and he fell on the table with his face downwards +among the bottles and glasses. Then he saw his father, as in Mentone, in +a top-hat with a wide black band on it, wearing mourning for some lady, +suddenly seize him by both hands, and they fell headlong into a very +deep, dark pit. + +Then everything was blurred and vanished. + + + + +AN ANONYMOUS STORY + + +I + +THROUGH causes which it is not the time to go into in detail, I had to +enter the service of a Petersburg official called Orlov, in the capacity +of a footman. He was about five and thirty, and was called Georgy* +Ivanitch. + +*Both _g's_ hard, as in "Gorgon"; _e_ like _ai_ in _rain_. + +I entered this Orlov's service on account of his father, a prominent +political man, whom I looked upon as a serious enemy of my cause. I +reckoned that, living with the son, I should--from the conversations I +should hear, and from the letters and papers I should find on the +table--learn every detail of the father's plans and intentions. + +As a rule at eleven o'clock in the morning the electric bell rang in my +footman's quarters to let me know that my master was awake. When I went +into the bedroom with his polished shoes and brushed clothes, Georgy +Ivanitch would be sitting in his bed with a face that looked, not +drowsy, but rather exhausted by sleep, and he would gaze off in one +direction without any sign of satisfaction at having waked. I helped him +to dress, and he let me do it with an air of reluctance without speaking +or noticing my presence; then with his head wet with washing, smelling +of fresh scent, he used to go into the dining-room to drink his coffee. +He used to sit at the table, sipping his coffee and glancing through the +newspapers, while the maid Polya and I stood respectfully at the door +gazing at him. Two grown-up persons had to stand watching with the +gravest attention a third drinking coffee and munching rusks. It was +probably ludicrous and grotesque, but I saw nothing humiliating in +having to stand near the door, though I was quite as well born and well +educated as Orlov himself. + +I was in the first stage of consumption, and was suffering from +something else, possibly even more serious than consumption. I don't +know whether it was the effect of my illness or of an incipient change +in my philosophy of life of which I was not conscious at the time, but I +was, day by day, more possessed by a passionate, irritating longing for +ordinary everyday life. I yearned for mental tranquillity, health, fresh +air, good food. I was becoming a dreamer, and, like a dreamer, I did not +know exactly what I wanted. Sometimes I felt inclined to go into a +monastery, to sit there for days together by the window and gaze at the +trees and the fields; sometimes I fancied I would buy fifteen acres of +land and settle down as a country gentleman; sometimes I inwardly vowed +to take up science and become a professor at some provincial university. +I was a retired navy lieutenant; I dreamed of the sea, of our squadron, +and of the corvette in which I had made the cruise round the world. I +longed to experience again the indescribable feeling when, walking in +the tropical forest or looking at the sunset in the Bay of Bengal, one +is thrilled with ecstasy and at the same time homesick. I dreamed of +mountains, women, music, and, with the curiosity of a child, I looked +into people's faces, listened to their voices. And when I stood at the +door and watched Orlov sipping his coffee, I felt not a footman, but a +man interested in everything in the world, even in Orlov. + +In appearance Orlov was a typical Petersburger, with narrow shoulders, a +long waist, sunken temples, eyes of an indefinite colour, and scanty, +dingy-coloured hair, beard and moustaches. His face had a stale, +unpleasant look, though it was studiously cared for. It was particularly +unpleasant when he was asleep or lost in thought. It is not worth while +describing a quite ordinary appearance; besides, Petersburg is not +Spain, and a man's appearance is not of much consequence even in love +affairs, and is only of value to a handsome footman or coachman. I have +spoken of Orlov's face and hair only because there was something in his +appearance worth mentioning. When Orlov took a newspaper or book, +whatever it might be, or met people, whoever they be, an ironical smile +began to come into his eyes, and his whole countenance assumed an +expression of light mockery in which there was no malice. Before reading +or hearing anything he always had his irony in readiness, as a savage +has his shield. It was an habitual irony, like some old liquor brewed +years ago, and now it came into his face probably without any +participation of his will, as it were by reflex action. But of that +later. + +Soon after midday he took his portfolio, full of papers, and drove to +his office. He dined away from home and returned after eight o'clock. I +used to light the lamp and candles in his study, and he would sit down +in a low chair with his legs stretched out on another chair, and, +reclining in that position, would begin reading. Almost every day he +brought in new books with him or received parcels of them from the +shops, and there were heaps of books in three languages, to say nothing +of Russian, which he had read and thrown away, in the corners of my room +and under my bed. He read with extraordinary rapidity. They say: "Tell +me what you read, and I'll tell you who you are." That may be true, but +it was absolutely impossible to judge of Orlov by what he read. It was a +regular hotchpotch. Philosophy, French novels, political economy, +finance, new poets, and publications of the firm _Posrednik_*--and he +read it all with the same rapidity and with the same ironical expression +in his eyes. + +* I.e., Tchertkov and others, publishers of Tolstoy, who issued good +literature for peasants' reading. + +After ten o'clock he carefully dressed, often in evening dress, very +rarely in his _kammer-junker_'s uniform, and went out, returning in the +morning. + +Our relations were quiet and peaceful, and we never had any +misunderstanding. As a rule he did not notice my presence, and when he +talked to me there was no expression of irony on his face--he evidently +did not look upon me as a human being. + +I only once saw him angry. One day--it was a week after I had entered +his service--he came back from some dinner at nine o'clock; his face +looked ill-humoured and exhausted. When I followed him into his study to +light the candles, he said to me: + +"There's a nasty smell in the flat." + +"No, the air is fresh," I answered. + +"I tell you, there's a bad smell," he answered irritably. + +"I open the movable panes every day." + +"Don't argue, blockhead!" he shouted. + +I was offended, and was on the point of answering, and goodness knows +how it would have ended if Polya, who knew her master better than I did, +had not intervened. + +"There really is a disagreeable smell," she said, raising her eyebrows. +"What can it be from? Stepan, open the pane in the drawing-room, and +light the fire." + +With much bustle and many exclamations, she went through all the rooms, +rustling her skirts and squeezing the sprayer with a hissing sound. And +Orlov was still out of humour; he was obviously restraining himself not +to vent his ill-temper aloud. He was sitting at the table and rapidly +writing a letter. After writing a few lines he snorted angrily and tore +it up, then he began writing again. + +"Damn them all!" he muttered. "They expect me to have an abnormal +memory!" + +At last the letter was written; he got up from the table and said, +turning to me: + +"Go to Znamensky Street and deliver this letter to Zinaida Fyodorovna +Krasnovsky in person. But first ask the porter whether her husband +--that is, Mr. Krasnovsky--has returned yet. If he has returned, don't +deliver the letter, but come back. Wait a minute!... If she asks whether +I have any one here, tell her that there have been two gentlemen here +since eight o'clock, writing something." + +I drove to Znamensky Street. The porter told me that Mr. Krasnovsky had +not yet come in, and I made my way up to the third storey. The door was +opened by a tall, stout, drab-coloured flunkey with black whiskers, who +in a sleepy, churlish, and apathetic voice, such as only flunkeys use in +addressing other flunkeys, asked me what I wanted. Before I had time to +answer, a lady dressed in black came hurriedly into the hall. She +screwed up her eyes and looked at me. + +"Is Zinaida Fyodorovna at home?" I asked. + +"That is me," said the lady. + +"A letter from Georgy Ivanitch." + +She tore the letter open impatiently, and holding it in both hands, so +that I saw her sparkling diamond rings, she began reading. I made out a +pale face with soft lines, a prominent chin, and long dark lashes. From +her appearance I should not have judged the lady to be more than five +and twenty. + +"Give him my thanks and my greetings," she said when she had finished +the letter. "Is there any one with Georgy Ivanitch?" she asked softly, +joyfully, and as though ashamed of her mistrust. + +"Two gentlemen," I answered. "They're writing something." + +"Give him my greetings and thanks," she repeated, bending her head +sideways, and, reading the letter as she walked, she went noiselessly +out. I saw few women at that time, and this lady of whom I had a passing +glimpse made an impression on me. As I walked home I recalled her face +and the delicate fragrance about her, and fell to dreaming. By the time +I got home Orlov had gone out. + + +II + +And so my relations with my employer were quiet and peaceful, but still +the unclean and degrading element which I so dreaded on becoming a +footman was conspicuous and made itself felt every day. I did not get on +with Polya. She was a well-fed and pampered hussy who adored Orlov +because he was a gentleman and despised me because I was a footman. +Probably, from the point of view of a real flunkey or cook, she was +fascinating, with her red cheeks, her turned-up nose, her coquettish +glances, and the plumpness, one might almost say fatness, of her person. +She powdered her face, coloured her lips and eyebrows, laced herself in, +and wore a bustle, and a bangle made of coins. She walked with little +ripping steps; as she walked she swayed, or, as they say, wriggled her +shoulders and back. The rustle of her skirts, the creaking of her stays, +the jingle her bangle and the vulgar smell of lip salve, toilet vinegar, +and scent stolen from her master, aroused in me whilst I was doing the +rooms with her in the morning a sensation as though I were taking part +with her in some abomination. + +Either because I did not steal as she did, or because I displayed no +desire to become her lover, which she probably looked upon as an insult, +or perhaps because she felt that I was a man of a different order, she +hated me from the first day. My inexperience, my appearance--so unlike +a flunkey--and my illness, seemed to her pitiful and excited her +disgust. I had a bad cough at that time, and sometimes at night I +prevented her from sleeping, as our rooms were only divided by a wooden +partition, and every morning she said to me: + +"Again you didn't let me sleep. You ought to be in hospital instead of +in service." + +She so genuinely believed that I was hardly a human being, but something +infinitely below her, that, like the Roman matrons who were not ashamed +to bathe before their slaves, she sometimes went about in my presence in +nothing but her chemise. + +Once when I was in a happy, dreamy mood, I asked her at dinner (we had +soup and roast meat sent in from a restaurant every day): + +"Polya, do you believe in God?" + +"Why, of course!" + +"Then," I went on, "you believe there will be a day of judgment, and +that we shall have to answer to God for every evil action?" + +She gave me no reply, but simply made a contemptuous grimace, and, +looking that time at her cold eyes and over-fed expression, I realised +that for her complete and finished personality no God, no conscience, no +laws existed, and that if I had had to set fire to the house, to murder +or to rob, I could not have hired a better accomplice. + +In my novel surroundings I felt very uncomfortable for the first week at +Orlov's before I got used to being addressed as "thou," and being +constantly obliged to tell lies (saying "My master is not at home" when +he was). In my flunkey's swallow-tail I felt as though I were in armour. +But I grew accustomed to it in time. Like a genuine footman, I waited at +table, tidied the rooms, ran and drove about on errands of all sorts. +When Orlov did not want to keep an appointment with Zinaida Fyodorovna, +or when he forgot that he had promised to go and see her, I drove to +Znamensky Street, put a letter into her hands and told a lie. And the +result of it all was quite different from what I had expected when I +became a footman. Every day of this new life of mine was wasted for me +and my cause, as Orlov never spoke of his father, nor did his visitors, +and all I could learn of the stateman's doings was, as before, what I +could glean from the newspapers or from correspondence with my comrades. +The hundreds of notes and papers I used to find in the study and read +had not the remotest connection with what I was looking for. Orlov was +absolutely uninterested in his father's political work, and looked as +though he had never heard of it, or as though his father had long been +dead. + + +III + +Every Thursday we had visitors. + +I ordered a piece of roast beef from the restaurant and telephoned to +Eliseyev's to send us caviare, cheese, oysters, and so on. I bought +playing-cards. Polya was busy all day getting ready the tea-things and +the dinner service. To tell the truth, this spurt of activity came as a +pleasant change in our idle life, and Thursdays were for us the most +interesting days. + +Only three visitors used to come. The most important and perhaps the +most interesting was the one called Pekarsky--a tall, lean man of five +and forty, with a long hooked nose, with a big black beard, and a bald +patch on his head. His eyes were large and prominent, and his expression +was grave and thoughtful like that of a Greek philosopher. He was on the +board of management of some railway, and also had some post in a bank; +he was a consulting lawyer in some important Government institution, and +had business relations with a large number of private persons as a +trustee, chairman of committees, and so on. He was of quite a low grade +in the service, and modestly spoke of himself as a lawyer, but he had a +vast influence. A note or card from him was enough to make a celebrated +doctor, a director of a railway, or a great dignitary see any one +without waiting; and it was said that through his protection one might +obtain even a post of the Fourth Class, and get any sort of unpleasant +business hushed up. He was looked upon as a very intelligent man, but +his was a strange, peculiar intelligence. He was able to multiply 213 by +373 in his head instantaneously, or turn English pounds into German +marks without help of pencil or paper; he understood finance and railway +business thoroughly, and the machinery of Russian administration had no +secrets for him; he was a most skilful pleader in civil suits, and it +was not easy to get the better of him at law. But that exceptional +intelligence could not grasp many things which are understood even by +some stupid people. For instance, he was absolutely unable to understand +why people are depressed, why they weep, shoot themselves, and even kill +others; why they fret about things that do not affect them personally, +and why they laugh when they read Gogol or Shtchedrin.... Everything +abstract, everything belonging to the domain of thought and feeling, was +to him boring and incomprehensible, like music to one who has no ear. He +looked at people simply from the business point of view, and divided +them into competent and incompetent. No other classification existed for +him. Honesty and rectitude were only signs of competence. Drinking, +gambling, and debauchery were permissible, but must not be allowed to +interfere with business. Believing in God was rather stupid, but +religion ought be safeguarded, as the common people must have some +principle to restrain them, otherwise they would not work. Punishment is +only necessary as deterrent. There was no need to go away for holidays, +as it was just as nice in town. And so on. He was a widower and had no +children, but lived on a large scale, as though he had a family, and +paid three thousand roubles a year for his flat. + +The second visitor, Kukushkin, an actual civil councillor though a young +man, was short, and was conspicuous for his extremely unpleasant +appearance, which was due to the disproportion between his fat, puffy +body and his lean little face. His lips were puckered up suavely, and +his little trimmed moustaches looked as though they had been fixed on +with glue. He was a man with the manners of a lizard. He did not walk, +but, as it were, crept along with tiny steps, squirming and sniggering, +and when he laughed he showed his teeth. He was a clerk on special +commissions, and did nothing, though he received a good salary, +especially in the summer, when special and lucrative jobs were found for +him. He was a man of personal ambition, not only to the marrow of his +bones, but more fundamentally--to the last drop of his blood; but even +in his ambitions he was petty and did not rely on himself, but was +building his career on the chance favour flung him by his superiors. For +the sake of obtaining some foreign decoration, or for the sake of having +his name mentioned in the newspapers as having been present at some +special service in the company of other great personages, he was ready +to submit to any kind of humiliation, to beg, to flatter, to promise. He +flattered Orlov and Pekarsky from cowardice, because he thought they +were powerful; he flattered Polya and me because we were in the service +of a powerful man. Whenever I took off his fur coat he tittered and +asked me: "Stepan, are you married?" and then unseemly vulgarities +followed--by way of showing me special attention. Kukushkin flattered +Orlov's weaknesses, humoured his corrupted and blasé ways; to please him +he affected malicious raillery and atheism, in his company criticised +persons before whom in other places he would slavishly grovel. When at +supper they talked of love and women, he pretended to be a subtle and +perverse voluptuary. As a rule, one may say, Petersburg rakes are fond +of talking of their abnormal tastes. Some young actual civil councillor +is perfectly satisfied with the embraces of his cook or of some unhappy +street-walker on the Nevsky Prospect, but to listen to him you would +think he was contaminated by all the vices of East and West combined, +that he was an honourary member of a dozen iniquitous secret societies +and was already marked by the police. Kukushkin lied about himself in an +unconscionable way, and they did not exactly disbelieve him, but paid +little heed to his incredible stories. + +The third guest was Gruzin, the son of a worthy and learned general; a +man of Orlov's age, with long hair, short-sighted eyes, and gold +spectacles. I remember his long white fingers, that looked like a +pianist's; and, indeed, there was something of a musician, of a +virtuoso, about his whole figure. The first violins in orchestras look +just like that. He used to cough, suffered from migraine, and seemed +invalidish and delicate. Probably at home he was dressed and undressed +like a baby. He had finished at the College of Jurisprudence, and had at +first served in the Department of Justice, then he was transferred to +the Senate; he left that, and through patronage had received a post in +the Department of Crown Estates, and had soon afterwards given that up. +In my time he was serving in Orlov's department; he was his head-clerk, +but he said that he should soon exchange into the Department of Justice +again. He took his duties and his shifting about from one post to +another with exceptional levity, and when people talked before him +seriously of grades in the service, decorations, salaries, he smiled +good-naturedly and repeated Prutkov's aphorism: "It's only in the +Government service you learn the truth." He had a little wife with a +wrinkled face, who was very jealous of him, and five weedy-looking +children. He was unfaithful to his wife, he was only fond of his +children when he saw them, and on the whole was rather indifferent to +his family, and made fun of them. He and his family existed on credit, +borrowing wherever they could at every opportunity, even from his +superiors in the office and porters in people's houses. His was a flabby +nature; he was so lazy that he did not care what became of himself, and +drifted along heedless where or why he was going. He went where he was +taken. If he was taken to some low haunt, he went; if wine was set +before him, he drank--if it were not put before him, he abstained; if +wives were abused in his presence, he abused his wife, declaring she had +ruined his life--when wives were praised, he praised his and said quite +sincerely: "I am very fond of her, poor thing!" He had no fur coat and +always wore a rug which smelt of the nursery. When at supper he rolled +balls of bread and drank a great deal of red wine, absorbed in thought, +strange to say, I used to feel almost certain that there was something +in him of which perhaps he had a vague sense, though in the bustle and +vulgarity of his daily life he had not time to understand and appreciate +it. He played a little on the piano. Sometimes he would sit down at the +piano, play a chord or two, and begin singing softly: + + "What does the coming day bring to me?" + +But at once, as though afraid, he would get up and walk from the piano. + +The visitors usually arrived about ten o'clock. They played cards in +Orlov's study, and Polya and I handed them tea. It was only on these +occasions that I could gauge the full sweetness of a flunkey's life. +Standing for four or five hours at the door, watching that no one's +glass should be empty, changing the ash-trays, running to the table to +pick up the chalk or a card when it was dropped, and, above all, +standing, waiting, being attentive without venturing to speak, to cough, +to smile--is harder, I assure you, is harder than the hardest of field +labour. I have stood on watch at sea for four hours at a stretch on +stormy winter nights, and to my thinking it is an infinitely easier +duty. + +They used to play cards till two, sometimes till three o'clock at night, +and then, stretching, they would go into the dining-room to supper, or, +as Orlov said, for a snack of something. At supper there was +conversation. It usually began by Orlov's speaking with laughing eyes of +some acquaintance, of some book he had lately been reading, of a new +appointment or Government scheme. Kukushkin, always ingratiating, would +fall into his tone, and what followed was to me, in my mood at that +time, a revolting exhibition. The irony of Orlov and his friends knew no +bounds, and spared no one and nothing. If they spoke of religion, it was +with irony; they spoke of philosophy, of the significance and object of +life--irony again, if any one began about the peasantry, it was with +irony. + +There is in Petersburg a species of men whose specialty it is to jeer at +every aspect of life; they cannot even pass by a starving man or a +suicide without saying something vulgar. But Orlov and his friends did +not jeer or make jokes, they talked ironically. They used to say that +there was no God, and personality was completely lost at death; the +immortals only existed in the French Academy. Real good did not and +could not possibly exist, as its existence was conditional upon human +perfection, which was a logical absurdity. Russia was a country as poor +and dull as Persia. The intellectual class was hopeless; in Pekarsky's +opinion the overwhelming majority in it were incompetent persons, good +for nothing. The people were drunken, lazy, thievish, and degenerate. We +had no science, our literature was uncouth, our commerce rested on +swindling--"No selling without cheating." And everything was in that +style, and everything was a subject for laughter. + +Towards the end of supper the wine made them more good-humoured, and +they passed to more lively conversation. They laughed over Gruzin's +family life, over Kukushkin's conquests, or at Pekarsky, who had, they +said, in his account book one page headed _Charity_ and another +_Physiological Necessities_. They said that no wife was faithful; that +there was no wife from whom one could not, with practice, obtain +caresses without leaving her drawing-room while her husband was sitting +in his study close by; that girls in their teens were perverted and knew +everything. Orlov had preserved a letter of a schoolgirl of fourteen: on +her way home from school she had "hooked an officer on the Nevsky," who +had, it appears, taken her home with him, and had only let her go late +in the evening; and she hastened to write about this to her school +friend to share her joy with her. They maintained that there was not and +never had been such a thing as moral purity, and that evidently it was +unnecessary; mankind had so far done very well without it. The harm done +by so-called vice was undoubtedly exaggerated. Vices which are punished +by our legal code had not prevented Diogenes from being a philosopher +and a teacher. Cæsar and Cicero were profligates and at the same time +great men. Cato in his old age married a young girl, and yet he was +regarded as a great ascetic and a pillar of morality. + +At three or four o'clock the party broke up or they went off together +out of town, or to Officers' Street, to the house of a certain Varvara +Ossipovna, while I retired to my quarters, and was kept awake a long +while by coughing and headache. + + +IV + +Three weeks after I entered Orlov's service--it was Sunday morning, I +remember--somebody rang the bell. It was not yet eleven, and Orlov was +still asleep. I went to open the door. You can imagine my astonishment +when I found a lady in a veil standing at the door on the landing. + +"Is Georgy Ivanitch up?" she asked. + +From her voice I recognised Zinaida Fyodorovna, to whom I had taken +letters in Znamensky Street. I don't remember whether I had time or +self-possession to answer her--I was taken aback at seeing her. And, +indeed, she did not need my answer. In a flash she had darted by me, +and, filling the hall with the fragrance of her perfume, which I +remember to this day, she went on, and her footsteps died away. For at +least half an hour afterwards I heard nothing. But again some one rang. +This time it was a smartly dressed girl, who looked like a maid in a +wealthy family, accompanied by our house porter. Both were out of +breath, carrying two trunks and a dress-basket. + +"These are for Zinaida Fyodorovna," said the girl. + +And she went down without saying another word. All this was mysterious, +and made Polya, who had a deep admiration for the pranks of her betters, +smile slyly to herself; she looked as though she would like to say, "So +that's what we're up to," and she walked about the whole time on tiptoe. +At last we heard footsteps; Zinaida Fyodorovna came quickly into the +hall, and seeing me at the door of my room, said: + +"Stepan, take Georgy Ivanitch his things." + +When I went in to Orlov with his clothes and his boots, he was sitting +on the bed with his feet on the bearskin rug. There was an air of +embarrassment about his whole figure. He did not notice me, and my +menial opinion did not interest him; he was evidently perturbed and +embarrassed before himself, before his inner eye. He dressed, washed, +and used his combs and brushes silently and deliberately, as though +allowing himself time to think over his position and to reflect, and +even from his back one could see he was troubled and dissatisfied with +himself. + +They drank coffee together. Zinaida Fyodorovna poured out coffee for +herself and for Orlov, then she put her elbows on the table and laughed. + +"I still can't believe it," she said. "When one has been a long while on +one's travels and reaches a hotel at last, it's difficult to believe +that one hasn't to go on. It is pleasant to breathe freely." + +With the expression of a child who very much wants to be mischievous, +she sighed with relief and laughed again. + +"You will excuse me," said Orlov, nodding towards the coffee. "Reading +at breakfast is a habit I can't get over. But I can do two things at +once--read and listen." + +"Read away.... You shall keep your habits and your freedom. But why do +you look so solemn? Are you always like that in the morning, or is it +only to-day? Aren't you glad?" + +"Yes, I am. But I must own I am a little overwhelmed." + +"Why? You had plenty of time to prepare yourself for my descent upon +you. I've been threatening to come every day." + +"Yes, but I didn't expect you to carry out your threat to-day." + +"I didn't expect it myself, but that's all the better. It's all the +better, my dear. It's best to have an aching tooth out and have done +with it." + +"Yes, of course." + +"Oh, my dear," she said, closing her eyes, "all is well that ends well; +but before this happy ending, what suffering there has been! My laughing +means nothing; I am glad, I am happy, but I feel more like crying than +laughing. Yesterday I had to fight a regular battle," she went on in +French. "God alone knows how wretched I was. But I laugh because I can't +believe in it. I keep fancying that my sitting here drinking coffee with +you is not real, but a dream." + +Then, still speaking French, she described how she had broken with her +husband the day before and her eyes were alternately full of tears and +of laughter while she gazed with rapture at Orlov. She told him her +husband had long suspected her, but had avoided explanations; they had +frequent quarrels, and usually at the most heated moment he would +suddenly subside into silence and depart to his study for fear that in +his exasperation he might give utterance to his suspicions or she might +herself begin to speak openly. And she had felt guilty, worthless, +incapable of taking a bold and serious step, and that had made her hate +herself and her husband more every day, and she had suffered the +torments of hell. But the day before, when during a quarrel he had cried +out in a tearful voice, "My God, when will it end?" and had walked off +to his study, she had run after him like a cat after a mouse, and, +preventing him from shutting the door, she had cried that she hated him +with her whole soul. Then he let her come into the study and she had +told him everything, had confessed that she loved some one else, that +that some one else was her real, most lawful husband, and that she +thought it her true duty to go away to him that very day, whatever might +happen, if she were to be shot for it. + +"There's a very romantic streak in you," Orlov interrupted, keeping his +eyes fixed on the newspaper. + +She laughed and went on talking without touching her coffee. Her cheeks +glowed and she was a little embarrassed by it, and she looked in +confusion at Polya and me. From what she went on to say I learnt that +her husband had answered her with threats, reproaches, and finally +tears, and that it would have been more accurate to say that she, and +not he, had been the attacking party. + +"Yes, my dear, so long as I was worked up, everything went all right," +she told Orlov; "but as night came on, my spirits sank. You don't +believe in God, _George_, but I do believe a little, and I fear +retribution. God requires of us patience, magnanimity, self-sacrifice, +and here I am refusing to be patient and want to remodel my life to suit +myself. Is that right? What if from the point of view of God it's wrong? +At two o'clock in the night my husband came to me and said: 'You dare +not go away. I'll fetch you back through the police and make a scandal.' +And soon afterwards I saw him like a shadow at my door. 'Have mercy on +me! Your elopement may injure me in the service.' Those words had a +coarse effect upon me and made me feel stiff all over. I felt as though +the retribution were beginning already; I began crying and trembling +with terror. I felt as though the ceiling would fall upon me, that I +should be dragged off to the police-station at once, that you would grow +cold to me--all sorts of things, in fact! I thought I would go into a +nunnery or become a nurse, and give up all thought of happiness, but +then I remembered that you loved me, and that I had no right to dispose +of myself without your knowledge; and everything in my mind was in a +tangle--I was in despair and did not know what to do or think. But the +sun rose and I grew happier. As soon as it was morning I dashed off to +you. Ah, what I've been through, dear one! I haven't slept for two +nights!" + +She was tired out and excited. She was sleepy, and at the same time she +wanted to talk endlessly, to laugh and to cry, and to go to a restaurant +to lunch that she might feel her freedom. + +"You have a cosy flat, but I am afraid it may be small for the two of +us," she said, walking rapidly through all the rooms when they had +finished breakfast. "What room will you give me? I like this one because +it is next to your study." + +At one o'clock she changed her dress in the room next to the study, +which from that time she called hers, and she went off with Orlov to +lunch. They dined, too, at a restaurant, and spent the long interval +between lunch and dinner in shopping. Till late at night I was opening +the door to messengers and errand-boys from the shops. They bought, +among other things, a splendid pier-glass, a dressing-table, a bedstead, +and a gorgeous tea service which we did not need. They bought a regular +collection of copper saucepans, which we set in a row on the shelf in +our cold, empty kitchen. As we were unpacking the tea service Polya's +eyes gleamed, and she looked at me two or three times with hatred and +fear that I, not she, would be the first to steal one of these charming +cups. A lady's writing-table, very expensive and inconvenient, came too. +It was evident that Zinaida Fyodorovna contemplated settling with us for +good, and meant to make the flat her home. + +She came back with Orlov between nine and ten. Full of proud +consciousness that she had done something bold and out of the common, +passionately in love, and, as she imagined, passionately loved, +exhausted, looking forward to a sweet sound sleep, Zinaida Fyodorovna +was revelling in her new life. She squeezed her hands together in the +excess of her joy, declared that everything was delightful, and swore +that she would love Orlov for ever; and these vows, and the naïve, +almost childish confidence that she too was deeply loved and would be +loved forever, made her at least five years younger. She talked charming +nonsense and laughed at herself. + +"There's no other blessing greater than freedom!" she said, forcing +herself to say something serious and edifying. "How absurd it is when +you think of it! We attach no value to our own opinion even when it is +wise, but tremble before the opinion of all sorts of stupid people. Up +to the last minute I was afraid of what other people would say, but as +soon as I followed my own instinct and made up my mind to go my own way, +my eyes were opened, I overcame my silly fears, and now I am happy and +wish every one could be as happy!" + +But her thoughts immediately took another turn, and she began talking of +another flat, of wallpapers, horses, a trip to Switzerland and Italy. +Orlov was tired by the restaurants and the shops, and was still +suffering from the same uneasiness that I had noticed in the morning. He +smiled, but more from politeness than pleasure, and when she spoke of +anything seriously, he agreed ironically: "Oh, yes." + +"Stepan, make haste and find us a good cook," she said to me. + +"There's no need to be in a hurry over the kitchen arrangements," said +Orlov, looking at me coldly. "We must first move into another flat." + +We had never had cooking done at home nor kept horses, because, as he +said, "he did not like disorder about him," and only put up with having +Polya and me in his flat from necessity. The so-called domestic hearth +with its everyday joys and its petty cares offended his taste as +vulgarity; to be with child, or to have children and talk about them, +was bad form, like a petty bourgeois. And I began to feel very curious +to see how these two creatures would get on together in one flat--she, +domestic and home-loving with her copper saucepans and her dreams of a +good cook and horses; and he, fond of saying to his friends that a +decent and orderly man's flat ought, like a warship, to have nothing in +it superfluous--no women, no children, no rags, no kitchen utensils. + + +V + +Then I will tell you what happened the following Thursday. That day +Zinaida Fyodorovna dined at Content's or Donon's. Orlov returned home +alone, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, as I learnt afterwards, went to the +Petersburg Side to spend with her old governess the time visitors were +with us. Orlov did not care to show her to his friends. I realised that +at breakfast, when he began assuring her that for the sake of her peace +of mind it was essential to give up his Thursday evenings. + +As usual the visitors arrived at almost the same time. + +"Is your mistress at home, too?" Kukushkin asked me in a whisper. + +"No, sir," I answered. + +He went in with a sly, oily look in his eyes, smiling mysteriously, +rubbing his hands, which were cold from the frost. + +"I have the honour to congratulate you," he said to Orlov, shaking all +over with ingratiating, obsequious laughter. "May you increase and +multiply like the cedars of Lebanon." + +The visitors went into the bedroom, and were extremely jocose on the +subject of a pair of feminine slippers, the rug that had been put down +between the two beds, and a grey dressing-jacket that hung at the foot +of the bedstead. They were amused that the obstinate man who despised +all the common place details of love had been caught in feminine snares +in such a simple and ordinary way. + +"He who pointed the finger of scorn is bowing the knee in homage," +Kukushkin repeated several times. He had, I may say in parenthesis, an +unpleasant habit of adorning his conversation with texts in Church +Slavonic. "Sh-sh!" he said as they went from the bedroom into the room +next to the study. "Sh-sh! Here Gretchen is dreaming of her Faust." + +He went off into a peal of laughter as though he had said something very +amusing. I watched Gruzin, expecting that his musical soul would not +endure this laughter, but I was mistaken. His thin, good-natured face +beamed with pleasure. When they sat down to play cards, he, lisping and +choking with laughter, said that all that "dear _George_" wanted to +complete his domestic felicity was a cherry-wood pipe and a guitar. +Pekarsky laughed sedately, but from his serious expression one could see +that Orlov's new love affair was distasteful to him. He did not +understand what had happened exactly. + +"But how about the husband?" he asked in perplexity, after they had +played three rubbers. + +"I don't know," answered Orlov. + +Pekarsky combed his big beard with his fingers and sank into thought, +and he did not speak again till supper-time. When they were seated at +supper, he began deliberately, drawling every word: + +"Altogether, excuse my saying so, I don't understand either of you. You +might love each other and break the seventh commandment to your heart's +content--that I understand. Yes, that's comprehensible. But why make the +husband a party to your secrets? Was there any need for that?" + +"But does it make any difference?" + +"Hm!...." Pekarsky mused. "Well, then, let me tell you this, my friend," +he went on, evidently thinking hard: "if I ever marry again and you take +it into your head to seduce my wife, please do it so that I don't notice +it. It's much more honest to deceive a man than to break up his family +life and injure his reputation. I understand. You both imagine that in +living together openly you are doing something exceptionally honourable +and advanced, but I can't agree with that ... what shall I call it?... +romantic attitude?" + +Orlov made no reply. He was out of humour and disinclined to talk. +Pekarsky, still perplexed, drummed on the table with his fingers, +thought a little, and said: + +"I don't understand you, all the same. You are not a student and she is +not a dressmaker. You are both of you people with means. I should have +thought you might have arranged a separate flat for her." + +"No, I couldn't. Read Turgenev." + +"Why should I read him? I have read him already." + +"Turgenev teaches us in his novels that every exalted, noble-minded girl +should follow the man she loves to the ends of the earth, and should +serve his idea," said Orlov, screwing up his eyes ironically. "The ends +of the earth are poetic license; the earth and all its ends can be +reduced to the flat of the man she loves.... And so not to live in the +same flat with the woman who loves you is to deny her her exalted +vocation and to refuse to share her ideals. Yes, my dear fellow, +Turgenev wrote, and I have to suffer for it." + +"What Turgenev has got to do with it I don't understand," said Gruzin +softly, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Do you remember, _George_, how +in 'Three Meetings' he is walking late in the evening somewhere in +Italy, and suddenly hears, _'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'_" Gruzin +hummed. "It's fine." + +"But she hasn't come to settle with you by force," said Pekarsky. "It +was your own wish." + +"What next! Far from wishing it, I never imagined that this would ever +happen. When she said she was coming to live with me, I thought it was a +charming joke on her part." + +Everybody laughed. + +"I couldn't have wished for such a thing," said Orlov in the tone of a +man compelled to justify himself. "I am not a Turgenev hero, and if I +ever wanted to free Bulgaria I shouldn't need a lady's company. I look +upon love primarily as a necessity of my physical nature, degrading and +antagonistic to my spirit; it must either be satisfied with discretion +or renounced altogether, otherwise it will bring into one's life +elements as unclean as itself. For it to be an enjoyment and not a +torment, I will try to make it beautiful and to surround it with a mass +of illusions. I should never go and see a woman unless I were sure +beforehand that she would be beautiful and fascinating; and I should +never go unless I were in the mood. And it is only in that way that we +succeed in deceiving one another, and fancying that we are in love and +happy. But can I wish for copper saucepans and untidy hair, or like to +be seen myself when I am unwashed or out of humour? Zinaida Fyodorovna +in the simplicity of her heart wants me to love what I have been +shunning all my life. She wants my flat to smell of cooking and washing +up; she wants all the fuss of moving into another flat, of driving about +with her own horses; she wants to count over my linen and to look after +my health; she wants to meddle in my personal life at every instant, and +to watch over every step; and at the same time she assures me genuinely +that my habits and my freedom will be untouched. She is persuaded that, +like a young couple, we shall very soon go for a honeymoon--that is, +she wants to be with me all the time in trains and hotels, while I like +to read on the journey and cannot endure talking in trains." + +"You should give her a talking to," said Pekarsky. + +"What! Do you suppose she would understand me? Why, we think so +differently. In her opinion, to leave one's papa and mamma or one's +husband for the sake of the man one loves is the height of civic virtue, +while I look upon it as childish. To fall in love and run away with a +man to her means beginning a new life, while to my mind it means nothing +at all. Love and man constitute the chief interest of her life, and +possibly it is the philosophy of the unconscious at work in her. Try and +make her believe that love is only a simple physical need, like the need +of food or clothes; that it doesn't mean the end of the world if wives +and husbands are unsatisfactory; that a man may be a profligate and a +libertine, and yet a man of honour and a genius; and that, on the other +hand, one may abstain from the pleasures of love and at the same time be +a stupid, vicious animal! The civilised man of to-day, even among the +lower classes--for instance, the French workman--spends ten _sous_ on +dinner, five _sous_ on his wine, and five or ten _sous_ on woman, and +devotes his brain and nerves entirely to his work. But Zinaida +Fyodorovna assigns to love not so many _sous_, but her whole soul. I +might give her a talking to, but she would raise a wail in answer, and +declare in all sincerity that I had ruined her, that she had nothing +left to live for." + +"Don't say anything to her," said Pekarsky, "but simply take a separate +flat for her, that's all." + +"That's easy to say." + +There was a brief silence. + +"But she is charming," said Kukushkin. "She is exquisite. Such women +imagine that they will be in love for ever, and abandon themselves with +tragic intensity." + +"But one must keep a head on one's shoulders," said Orlov; "one must be +reasonable. All experience gained from everyday life and handed down in +innumerable novels and plays, uniformly confirms the fact that adultery +and cohabitation of any sort between decent people never lasts longer +than two or at most three years, however great the love may have been at +the beginning. That she ought to know. And so all this business of +moving, of saucepans, hopes of eternal love and harmony, are nothing but +a desire to delude herself and me. She is charming and exquisite--who +denies it? But she has turned my life upside down; what I have regarded +as trivial and nonsensical till now she has forced me to raise to the +level of a serious problem; I serve an idol whom I have never looked +upon as God. She is charming--exquisite, but for some reason now when I +am going home, I feel uneasy, as though I expected to meet with +something inconvenient at home, such as workmen pulling the stove to +pieces and blocking up the place with heaps of bricks. In fact, I am no +longer giving up to love a _sous_, but part of my peace of mind and my +nerves. And that's bad." + +"And she doesn't hear this villain!" sighed Kukushkin. "My dear sir," he +said theatrically, "I will relieve you from the burdensome obligation to +love that adorable creature! I will wrest Zinaida Fyodorovna from you!" + +"You may ..." said Orlov carelessly. + +For half a minute Kukushkin laughed a shrill little laugh, shaking all +over, then he said: + +"Look out; I am in earnest! Don't you play the Othello afterwards!" + +They all began talking of Kukushkin's indefatigable energy in love +affairs, how irresistible he was to women, and what a danger he was to +husbands; and how the devil would roast him in the other world for his +immorality in this. He screwed up his eyes and remained silent, and when +the names of ladies of their acquaintance were mentioned, he held up his +little finger--as though to say they mustn't give away other people's +secrets. + +Orlov suddenly looked at his watch. + +His friends understood, and began to take their leave. I remember that +Gruzin, who was a little drunk, was wearisomely long in getting off. He +put on his coat, which was cut like children's coats in poor families, +pulled up the collar, and began telling some long-winded story; then, +seeing he was not listened to, he flung the rug that smelt of the +nursery over one shoulder, and with a guilty and imploring face begged +me to find his hat. + +"_George_, my angel," he said tenderly. "Do as I ask you, dear boy; come +out of town with us!" + +"You can go, but I can't. I am in the position of a married man now." + +"She is a dear, she won't be angry. My dear chief, come along! It's +glorious weather; there's snow and frost.... Upon my word, you want +shaking up a bit; you are out of humour. I don't know what the devil is +the matter with you...." + +Orlov stretched, yawned, and looked at Pekarsky. + +"Are you going?" he said, hesitating. + +"I don't know. Perhaps." + +"Shall I get drunk? All right, I'll come," said Orlov after some +hesitation. "Wait a minute; I'll get some money." + +He went into the study, and Gruzin slouched in, too, dragging his rug +after him. A minute later both came back into the hall. Gruzin, a little +drunk and very pleased, was crumpling a ten-rouble note in his hands. + +"We'll settle up to-morrow," he said. "And she is kind, she won't be +cross.... She is my Lisotchka's godmother; I am fond of her, poor thing! +Ah, my dear fellow!" he laughed joyfully, and pressing his forehead on +Pekarsky's back. "Ah, Pekarsky, my dear soul! Advocatissimus--as dry as +a biscuit, but you bet he is fond of women...." + +"Fat ones," said Orlov, putting on his fur coat. "But let us get off, or +we shall be meeting her on the doorstep." + +"_'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'_" hummed Gruzin. + +At last they drove off: Orlov did not sleep at home, and returned next +day at dinner-time. + + +VI + +Zinaida Fyodorovna had lost her gold watch, a present from her father. +This loss surprised and alarmed her. She spent half a day going through +the rooms, looking helplessly on all the tables and on all the windows. +But the watch had disappeared completely. + +Only three days afterwards Zinaida Fyodorovna, on coming in, left her +purse in the hall. Luckily for me, on that occasion it was not I but +Polya who helped her off with her coat. When the purse was missed, it +could not be found in the hall. + +"Strange," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in bewilderment. "I distinctly +remember taking it out of my pocket to pay the cabman ... and then I put +it here near the looking-glass. It's very odd!" + +I had not stolen it, but I felt as though I had stolen it and had been +caught in the theft. Tears actually came into my eyes. When they were +seated at dinner, Zinaida Fyodorovna said to Orlov in French: + +"There seem to be spirits in the flat. I lost my purse in the hall +to-day, and now, lo and behold, it is on my table. But it's not quite a +disinterested trick of the spirits. They took out a gold coin and twenty +roubles in notes." + +"You are always losing something; first it's your watch and then it's +your money ..." said Orlov. "Why is it nothing of the sort ever happens +to me?" + +A minute later Zinaida Fyodorovna had forgotten the trick played by the +spirits, and was telling with a laugh how the week before she had +ordered some notepaper and had forgotten to give her new address, and +the shop had sent the paper to her old home at her husband's, who had to +pay twelve roubles for it. And suddenly she turned her eyes on Polya and +looked at her intently. She blushed as she did so, and was so confused +that she began talking of something else. + +When I took in the coffee to the study, Orlov was standing with his back +to the fire and she was sitting in an arm-chair facing him. + +"I am not in a bad temper at all," she was saying in French. "But I have +been putting things together, and now I see it clearly. I can give you +the day and the hour when she stole my watch. And the purse? There can +be no doubt about it. Oh!" she laughed as she took the coffee from me. +"Now I understand why I am always losing my handkerchiefs and gloves. +Whatever you say, I shall dismiss the magpie to-morrow and send Stepan +for my Sofya. She is not a thief and has not got such a repulsive +appearance." + +"You are out of humour. To-morrow you will feel differently, and will +realise that you can't discharge people simply because you suspect +them." + +"It's not suspicion; it's certainty," said Zinaida Fyodorovna. "So long +as I suspected that unhappy-faced, poor-looking valet of yours, I said +nothing. It's too bad of you not to believe me, _George_." + +"If we think differently about anything, it doesn't follow that I don't +believe you. You may be right," said Orlov, turning round and flinging +his cigarette-end into the fire, "but there is no need to be excited +about it, anyway. In fact, I must say, I never expected my humble +establishment would cause you so much serious worry and agitation. +You've lost a gold coin: never mind--you may have a hundred of mine; but +to change my habits, to pick up a new housemaid, to wait till she is +used to the place--all that's a tedious, tiring business and does not +suit me. Our present maid certainly is fat, and has, perhaps, a weakness +for gloves and handkerchiefs, but she is perfectly well behaved, well +trained, and does not shriek when Kukushkin pinches her." + +"You mean that you can't part with her?... Why don't you say so?" + +"Are you jealous?" + +"Yes, I am," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, decidedly. + +"Thank you." + +"Yes, I am jealous," she repeated, and tears glistened in her eyes. "No, +it's something worse ... which I find it difficult to find a name for." +She pressed her hands on her temples, and went on impulsively. "You men +are so disgusting! It's horrible!" + +"I see nothing horrible about it." + +"I've not seen it; I don't know; but they say that you men begin with +housemaids as boys, and get so used to it that you feel no repugnance. I +don't know, I don't know, but I have actually read.... _George_, of +course you are right," she said, going up to Orlov and changing to a +caressing and imploring tone. "I really am out of humour to-day. But, +you must understand, I can't help it. She disgusts me and I am afraid of +her. It makes me miserable to see her." + +"Surely you can rise above such paltriness?" said Orlov, shrugging his +shoulders in perplexity, and walking away from the fire. "Nothing could +be simpler: take no notice of her, and then she won't disgust you, and +you won't need to make a regular tragedy out of a trifle." + +I went out of the study, and I don't know what answer Orlov received. +Whatever it was, Polya remained. After that Zinaida Fyodorovna never +applied to her for anything, and evidently tried to dispense with her +services. When Polya handed her anything or even passed by her, jingling +her bangle and rustling her skirts, she shuddered. + +I believe that if Gruzin or Pekarsky had asked Orlov to dismiss Polya he +would have done so without the slightest hesitation, without troubling +about any explanations. He was easily persuaded, like all indifferent +people. But in his relations with Zinaida Fyodorovna he displayed for +some reason, even in trifles, an obstinacy which sometimes was almost +irrational. I knew beforehand that if Zinaida Fyodorovna liked anything, +it would be certain not to please Orlov. When on coming in from shopping +she made haste to show him with pride some new purchase, he would glance +at it and say coldly that the more unnecessary objects they had in the +flat, the less airy it would be. It sometimes happened that after +putting on his dress clothes to go out somewhere, and after saying +good-bye to Zinaida Fyodorovna, he would suddenly change his mind and +remain at home from sheer perversity. I used to think that he remained +at home then simply in order to feel injured. + +"Why are you staying?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a show of vexation, +though at the same time she was radiant with delight. "Why do you? You +are not accustomed to spending your evenings at home, and I don't want +you to alter your habits on my account. Do go out as usual, if you don't +want me to feel guilty." + +"No one is blaming you," said Orlov. + +With the air of a victim he stretched himself in his easy-chair in the +study, and shading his eyes with his hand, took up a book. But soon the +book dropped from his hand, he turned heavily in his chair, and again +screened his eyes as though from the sun. Now he felt annoyed that he +had not gone out. + +"May I come in?" Zinaida Fyodorovna would say, coming irresolutely into +the study. "Are you reading? I felt dull by myself, and have come just +for a minute ... to have a peep at you." + +I remember one evening she went in like that, irresolutely and +inappropriately, and sank on the rug at Orlov's feet, and from her soft, +timid movements one could see that she did not understand his mood and +was afraid. + +"You are always reading ..." she said cajolingly, evidently wishing to +flatter him. "Do you know, _George_, what is one of the secrets of your +success? You are very clever and well-read. What book have you there?" + +Orlov answered. A silence followed for some minutes which seemed to me +very long. I was standing in the drawing-room, from which I could watch +them, and was afraid of coughing. + +"There is something I wanted to tell you," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, and +she laughed; "shall I? Very likely you'll laugh and say that I flatter +myself. You know I want, I want horribly to believe that you are staying +at home to-night for my sake ... that we might spend the evening +together. Yes? May I think so?" + +"Do," he said, screening his eyes. "The really happy man is he who +thinks not only of what is, but of what is not." + +"That was a long sentence which I did not quite understand. You mean +happy people live in their imagination. Yes, that's true. I love to sit +in your study in the evening and let my thoughts carry me far, far +away.... It's pleasant sometimes to dream. Let us dream aloud, +_George_." + +"I've never been at a girls' boarding-school; I never learnt the art." + +"You are out of humour?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, taking Orlov's hand. +"Tell me why. When you are like that, I'm afraid. I don't know whether +your head aches or whether you are angry with me...." + +Again there was a silence lasting several long minutes. + +"Why have you changed?" she said softly. "Why are you never so tender or +so gay as you used to be at Znamensky Street? I've been with you almost +a month, but it seems to me as though we had not yet begun to live, and +have not yet talked of anything as we ought to. You always answer me +with jokes or else with a long cold lecture like a teacher. And there is +something cold in your jokes.... Why have you given up talking to me +seriously?" + +"I always talk seriously." + +"Well, then, let us talk. For God's sake, _George_.... Shall we?" + +"Certainly, but about what?" + +"Let us talk of our life, of our future," said Zinaida Fyodorovna +dreamily. "I keep making plans for our life, plans and plans--and I +enjoy doing it so! _George_, I'll begin with the question, when are you +going to give up your post?" + +"What for?" asked Orlov, taking his hand from his forehead. + +"With your views you cannot remain in the service. You are out of place +there." + +"My views?" Orlov repeated. "My views? In conviction and temperament I +am an ordinary official, one of Shtchedrin's heroes. You take me for +something different, I venture to assure you." + +"Joking again, _George_!" + +"Not in the least. The service does not satisfy me, perhaps; but, +anyway, it is better for me than anything else. I am used to it, and in +it I meet men of my own sort; I am in my place there and find it +tolerable." + +"You hate the service and it revolts you." + +"Indeed? If I resign my post, take to dreaming aloud and letting myself +be carried away into another world, do you suppose that that world would +be less hateful to me than the service?" + +"You are ready to libel yourself in order to contradict me." Zinaida +Fyodorovna was offended and got up. "I am sorry I began this talk." + +"Why are you angry? I am not angry with you for not being an official. +Every one lives as he likes best." + +"Why, do you live as you like best? Are you free? To spend your life +writing documents that are opposed to your own ideas," Zinaida +Fyodorovna went on, clasping her hands in despair: "to submit to +authority, congratulate your superiors at the New Year, and then cards +and nothing but cards: worst of all, to be working for a system which +must be distasteful to you--no, _George_, no! You should not make such +horrid jokes. It's dreadful. You are a man of ideas, and you ought to be +working for your ideas and nothing else." + +"You really take me for quite a different person from what I am," sighed +Orlov. + +"Say simply that you don't want to talk to me. You dislike me, that's +all," said Zinaida Fyodorovna through her tears. + +"Look here, my dear," said Orlov admonishingly, sitting up in his chair. +"You were pleased to observe yourself that I am a clever, well-read man, +and to teach one who knows does nothing but harm. I know very well all +the ideas, great and small, which you mean when you call me a man of +ideas. So if I prefer the service and cards to those ideas, you may be +sure I have good grounds for it. That's one thing. Secondly, you have, +so far as I know, never been in the service, and can only have drawn +your ideas of Government service from anecdotes and indifferent novels. +So it would not be amiss for us to make a compact, once for all, not to +talk of things we know already or of things about which we are not +competent to speak." + +"Why do you speak to me like that?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, stepping +back as though in horror. "What for? _George_, for God's sake, think +what you are saying!" + +Her voice quivered and broke; she was evidently trying to restrain her +tears, but she suddenly broke into sobs. + +"_George_, my darling, I am perishing!" she said in French, dropping +down before Orlov, and laying her head on his knees. "I am miserable, I +am exhausted. I can't bear it, I can't bear it.... In my childhood my +hateful, depraved stepmother, then my husband, now you ... you!... You +meet my mad love with coldness and irony.... And that horrible, insolent +servant," she went on, sobbing. "Yes, yes, I see: I am not your wife nor +your friend, but a woman you don't respect because she has become your +mistress.... I shall kill myself!" + +I had not expected that her words and her tears would make such an +impression on Orlov. He flushed, moved uneasily in his chair, and +instead of irony, his face wore a look of stupid, schoolboyish dismay. + +"My darling, you misunderstood me," he muttered helplessly, touching her +hair and her shoulders. "Forgive me, I entreat you. I was unjust and I +hate myself." + +"I insult you with my whining and complaints. You are a true, generous +... rare man--I am conscious of it every minute; but I've been horribly +depressed for the last few days ..." + +Zinaida Fyodorovna impulsively embraced Orlov and kissed him on the +cheek. + +"Only please don't cry," he said. + +"No, no.... I've had my cry, and now I am better." + +"As for the servant, she shall be gone to-morrow," he said, still moving +uneasily in his chair. + +"No, she must stay, _George!_ Do you hear? I am not afraid of her +now.... One must rise above trifles and not imagine silly things. You +are right! You are a wonderful, rare person!" + +She soon left off crying. With tears glistening on her eyelashes, +sitting on Orlov's knee, she told him in a low voice something touching, +something like a reminiscence of childhood and youth. She stroked his +face, kissed him, and carefully examined his hands with the rings on +them and the charms on his watch-chain. She was carried away by what she +was saying, and by being near the man she loved, and probably because +her tears had cleared and refreshed her soul, there was a note of +wonderful candour and sincerity in her voice. And Orlov played with her +chestnut hair and kissed her hands, noiselessly pressing them to his +lips. + +Then they had tea in the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna read aloud some +letters. Soon after midnight they went to bed. I had a fearful pain in +my side that night, and I could not get warm or go to sleep till +morning. I could hear Orlov go from the bedroom into his study. After +sitting there about an hour, he rang the bell. In my pain and exhaustion +I forgot all the rules and conventions, and went to his study in my +night attire, barefooted. Orlov, in his dressing-gown and cap, was +standing in the doorway, waiting for me. + +"When you are sent for you should come dressed," he said sternly. "Bring +some fresh candles." + +I was about to apologise, but suddenly broke into a violent cough, and +clutched at the side of the door to save myself from falling. + +"Are you ill?" said Orlov. + +I believe it was the first time of our acquaintance that he addressed me +not in the singular--goodness knows why. Most likely, in my night +clothes and with my face distorted by coughing, I played my part poorly, +and was very little like a flunkey. + +"If you are ill, why do you take a place?" he said. + +"That I may not die of starvation," I answered. + +"How disgusting it all is, really!" he said softly, going up to his +table. + +While hurriedly getting into my coat, I put up and lighted fresh +candles. He was sitting at the table, with feet stretched out on a low +chair, cutting a book. + +I left him deeply engrossed, and the book did not drop out of his hands +as it had done in the evening. + + +VII + +Now that I am writing these lines I am restrained by that dread of +appearing sentimental and ridiculous, in which I have been trained from +childhood; when I want to be affectionate or to say anything tender, I +don't know how to be natural. And it is that dread, together with lack +of practice, that prevents me from being able to express with perfect +clearness what was passing in my soul at that time. + +I was not in love with Zinaida Fyodorovna, but in the ordinary human +feeling I had for her, there was far more youth, freshness, and +joyousness than in Orlov's love. + +As I worked in the morning, cleaning boots or sweeping the rooms, I +waited with a thrill at my heart for the moment when I should hear her +voice and her footsteps. To stand watching her as she drank her coffee +in the morning or ate her lunch, to hold her fur coat for her in the +hall, and to put the goloshes on her little feet while she rested her +hand on my shoulder; then to wait till the hall porter rang up for me, +to meet her at the door, cold, and rosy, powdered with the snow, to +listen to her brief exclamations about the frost or the cabman--if only +you knew how much all that meant to me! I longed to be in love, to have +a wife and child of my own. I wanted my future wife to have just such a +face, such a voice. I dreamed of it at dinner, and in the street when I +was sent on some errand, and when I lay awake at night. Orlov rejected +with disgust children, cooking, copper saucepans, and feminine +knicknacks and I gathered them all up, tenderly cherished them in my +dreams, loved them, and begged them of destiny. I had visions of a wife, +a nursery, a little house with garden paths.... + +I knew that if I did love her I could never dare hope for the miracle of +her returning my love, but that reflection did not worry me. In my +quiet, modest feeling akin to ordinary affection, there was no jealousy +of Orlov or even envy of him, since I realised that for a wreck like me +happiness was only to be found in dreams. + +When Zinaida Fyodorovna sat up night after night for her _George_, +looking immovably at a book of which she never turned a page, or when +she shuddered and turned pale at Polya's crossing the room, I suffered +with her, and the idea occurred to me to lance this festering wound as +quickly as possible by letting her know what was said here at supper on +Thursdays; but--how was it to be done? More and more often I saw her +tears. For the first weeks she laughed and sang to herself, even when +Orlov was not at home, but by the second month there was a mournful +stillness in our flat broken only on Thursday evenings. + +She flattered Orlov, and to wring from him a counterfeit smile or kiss, +was ready to go on her knees to him, to fawn on him like a dog. Even +when her heart was heaviest, she could not resist glancing into a +looking-glass if she passed one and straightening her hair. It seemed +strange to me that she could still take an interest in clothes and go +into ecstasies over her purchases. It did not seem in keeping with her +genuine grief. She paid attention to the fashions and ordered expensive +dresses. What for? On whose account? I particularly remember one dress +which cost four hundred roubles. To give four hundred roubles for an +unnecessary, useless dress while women for their hard day's work get +only twenty kopecks a day without food, and the makers of Venice and +Brussels lace are only paid half a franc a day on the supposition that +they can earn the rest by immorality! And it seemed strange to me that +Zinaida Fyodorovna was not conscious of it; it vexed me. But she had +only to go out of the house for me to find excuses and explanations for +everything, and to be waiting eagerly for the hall porter to ring for +me. + +She treated me as a flunkey, a being of a lower order. One may pat a +dog, and yet not notice it; I was given orders and asked questions, but +my presence was not observed. My master and mistress thought it unseemly +to say more to me than is usually said to servants; if when waiting at +dinner I had laughed or put in my word in the conversation, they would +certainly have thought I was mad and have dismissed me. Zinaida +Fyodorovna was favourably disposed to me, all the same. When she was +sending me on some errand or explaining to me the working of a new lamp +or anything of that sort, her face was extraordinarily kind, frank, and +cordial, and her eyes looked me straight in the face. At such moments I +always fancied she remembered with gratitude how I used to bring her +letters to Znamensky Street. When she rang the bell, Polya, who +considered me her favourite and hated me for it, used to say with a +jeering smile: + +"Go along, _your_ mistress wants you." + +Zinaida Fyodorovna considered me as a being of a lower order, and did +not suspect that if any one in the house were in a humiliating position +it was she. She did not know that I, a footman, was unhappy on her +account, and used to ask myself twenty times a day what was in store for +her and how it would all end. Things were growing visibly worse day by +day. After the evening on which they had talked of his official work, +Orlov, who could not endure tears, unmistakably began to avoid +conversation with her; whenever Zinaida Fyodorovna began to argue, or to +beseech him, or seemed on the point of crying, he seized some plausible +excuse for retreating to his study or going out. He more and more rarely +slept at home, and still more rarely dined there: on Thursdays he was +the one to suggest some expedition to his friends. Zinaida Fyodorovna +was still dreaming of having the cooking done at home, of moving to a +new flat, of travelling abroad, but her dreams remained dreams. Dinner +was sent in from the restaurant. Orlov asked her not to broach the +question of moving until after they had come back from abroad, and +apropos of their foreign tour, declared that they could not go till his +hair had grown long, as one could not go trailing from hotel to hotel +and serving the idea without long hair. + +To crown it all, in Orlov's absence, Kukushkin began calling at the flat +in the evening. There was nothing exceptional in his behaviour, but I +could never forget the conversation in which he had offered to cut Orlov +out. He was regaled with tea and red wine, and he used to titter and, +anxious to say something pleasant, would declare that a free union was +superior in every respect to legal marriage, and that all decent people +ought really to come to Zinaida Fyodorovna and fall at her feet. + + +VIII + +Christmas was spent drearily in vague anticipations of calamity. On New +Year's Eve Orlov unexpectedly announced at breakfast that he was being +sent to assist a senator who was on a revising commission in a certain +province. + +"I don't want to go, but I can't find an excuse to get off," he said +with vexation. "I must go; there's nothing for it." + +Such news instantly made Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes look red. "Is it for +long?" she asked. + +"Five days or so." + +"I am glad, really, you are going," she said after a moment's thought. +"It will be a change for you. You will fall in love with some one on the +way, and tell me about it afterwards." + +At every opportunity she tried to make Orlov feel that she did not +restrict his liberty in any way, and that he could do exactly as he +liked, and this artless, transparent strategy deceived no one, and only +unnecessarily reminded Orlov that he was not free. + +"I am going this evening," he said, and began reading the paper. + +Zinaida Fyodorovna wanted to see him off at the station, but he +dissuaded her, saying that he was not going to America, and not going to +be away five years, but only five days--possibly less. + +The parting took place between seven and eight. He put one arm round +her, and kissed her on the lips and on the forehead. + +"Be a good girl, and don't be depressed while I am away," he said in a +warm, affectionate tone which touched even me. "God keep you!" + +She looked greedily into his face, to stamp his dear features on her +memory, then she put her arms gracefully round his neck and laid her +head on his breast. + +"Forgive me our misunderstandings," she said in French. "Husband and +wife cannot help quarrelling if they love each other, and I love you +madly. Don't forget me.... Wire to me often and fully." + +Orlov kissed her once more, and, without saying a word, went out in +confusion. When he heard the click of the lock as the door closed, he +stood still in the middle of the staircase in hesitation and glanced +upwards. It seemed to me that if a sound had reached him at that moment +from above, he would have turned back. But all was quiet. He +straightened his coat and went downstairs irresolutely. + +The sledges had been waiting a long while at the door. Orlov got into +one, I got into the other with two portmanteaus. It was a hard frost and +there were fires smoking at the cross-roads. The cold wind nipped my +face and hands, and took my breath away as we drove rapidly along; and, +closing my eyes, I thought what a splendid woman she was. How she loved +him! Even useless rubbish is collected in the courtyards nowadays and +used for some purpose, even broken glass is considered a useful +commodity, but something so precious, so rare, as the love of a refined, +young, intelligent, and good woman is utterly thrown away and wasted. +One of the early sociologists regarded every evil passion as a force +which might by judicious management be turned to good, while among us +even a fine, noble passion springs up and dies away in impotence, turned +to no account, misunderstood or vulgarised. Why is it? + +The sledges stopped unexpectedly. I opened my eyes and I saw that we had +come to a standstill in Sergievsky Street, near a big house where +Pekarsky lived. Orlov got out of the sledge and vanished into the entry. +Five minutes later Pekarsky's footman came out, bareheaded, and, angry +with the frost, shouted to me: + +"Are you deaf? Pay the cabmen and go upstairs. You are wanted!" + +At a complete loss, I went to the first storey. I had been to Pekarsky's +flat before--that is, I had stood in the hall and looked into the +drawing-room, and, after the damp, gloomy street, it always struck me by +the brilliance of its picture-frames, its bronzes and expensive +furniture. To-day in the midst of this splendour I saw Gruzin, +Kukushkin, and, after a minute, Orlov. + +"Look here, Stepan," he said, coming up to me. "I shall be staying here +till Friday or Saturday. If any letters or telegrams come, you must +bring them here every day. At home, of course you will say that I have +gone, and send my greetings. Now you can go." + +When I reached home Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the sofa in the +drawing-room, eating a pear. There was only one candle burning in the +candelabra. + +"Did you catch the train?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna. + +"Yes, madam. His honour sends his greetings." + +I went into my room and I, too, lay down. I had nothing to do, and I did +not want to read. I was not surprised and I was not indignant. I only +racked my brains to think why this deception was necessary. It is only +boys in their teens who deceive their mistresses like that. How was it +that a man who had thought and read so much could not imagine anything +more sensible? I must confess I had by no means a poor opinion of his +intelligence. I believe if he had had to deceive his minister or any +other influential person he would have put a great deal of skill and +energy into doing so; but to deceive a woman, the first idea that +occurred to him was evidently good enough. If it succeeded--well and +good; if it did not, there would be no harm done--he could tell some +other lie just as quickly and simply, with no mental effort. + +At midnight when the people on the floor overhead were moving their +chairs and shouting hurrah to welcome the New Year, Zinaida Fyodorovna +rang for me from the room next to the study. Languid from lying down so +long, she was sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap of +paper. + +"I must send a telegram," she said, with a smile. "Go to the station as +quick as you can and ask them to send it after him." + +Going out into the street, I read on the scrap of paper: + +"May the New Year bring new happiness. Make haste and telegraph; I miss +you dreadfully. It seems an eternity. I am only sorry I can't send a +thousand kisses and my very heart by telegraph. Enjoy yourself, my +darling.--ZINA." + +I sent the telegram, and next morning I gave her the receipt. + + +IX + +The worst of it was that Orlov had thoughtlessly let Polya, too, into +the secret of his deception, telling her to bring his shirts to +Sergievsky Street. After that, she looked at Zinaida Fyodorovna with a +malignant joy and hatred I could not understand, and was never tired of +snorting with delight to herself in her own room and in the hall. + +"She's outstayed her welcome; it's time she took herself off!" she would +say with zest. "She ought to realise that herself...." + +She already divined by instinct that Zinaida Fyodorovna would not be +with us much longer, and, not to let the chance slip, carried off +everything she set her eyes on--smelling-bottles, tortoise-shell +hairpins, handkerchiefs, shoes! On the day after New Year's Day, Zinaida +Fyodorovna summoned me to her room and told me in a low voice that she +missed her black dress. And then she walked through all the rooms, with +a pale, frightened, and indignant face, talking to herself: + +"It's too much! It's beyond everything. Why, it's unheard-of insolence!" + +At dinner she tried to help herself to soup, but could not--her hands +were trembling. Her lips were trembling, too. She looked helplessly at +the soup and at the little pies, waiting for the trembling to pass off, +and suddenly she could not resist looking at Polya. + +"You can go, Polya," she said. "Stepan is enough by himself." + +"I'll stay; I don't mind," answered Polya. + +"There's no need for you to stay. You go away altogether," Zinaida +Fyodorovna went on, getting up in great agitation. "You may look out for +another place. You can go at once." + +"I can't go away without the master's orders. He engaged me. It must be +as he orders." + +"You can take orders from me, too! I am mistress here!" said Zinaida +Fyodorovna, and she flushed crimson. + +"You may be the mistress, but only the master can dismiss me. It was he +engaged me." + +"You dare not stay here another minute!" cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, and +she struck the plate with her knife. "You are a thief! Do you hear?" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna flung her dinner-napkin on the table, and with a +pitiful, suffering face, went quickly out of the room. Loudly sobbing +and wailing something indistinct, Polya, too, went away. The soup and +the grouse got cold. And for some reason all the restaurant dainties on +the table struck me as poor, thievish, like Polya. Two pies on a plate +had a particularly miserable and guilty air. "We shall be taken back to +the restaurant to-day," they seemed to be saying, "and to-morrow we +shall be put on the table again for some official or celebrated singer." + +"She is a fine lady, indeed," I heard uttered in Polya's room. "I could +have been a lady like that long ago, but I have some self-respect! We'll +see which of us will be the first to go!" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna rang the bell. She was sitting in her room, in the +corner, looking as though she had been put in the corner as a +punishment. + +"No telegram has come?" she asked. + +"No, madam." + +"Ask the porter; perhaps there is a telegram. And don't leave the +house," she called after me. "I am afraid to be left alone." + +After that I had to run down almost every hour to ask the porter whether +a telegram had come. I must own it was a dreadful time! To avoid seeing +Polya, Zinaida Fyodorovna dined and had tea in her own room; it was here +that she slept, too, on a short sofa like a half-moon, and she made her +own bed. For the first days I took the telegrams; but, getting no +answer, she lost her faith in me and began telegraphing herself. Looking +at her, I, too, began impatiently hoping for a telegram. I hoped he +would contrive some deception, would make arrangements, for instance, +that a telegram should be sent to her from some station. If he were too +much engrossed with cards or had been attracted by some other woman, I +thought that both Gruzin and Kukushkin would remind him of us. But our +expectations were vain. Five times a day I would go in to Zinaida +Fyodorovna, intending to tell her the truth. But her eyes looked piteous +as a fawn's, her shoulders seemed to droop, her lips were moving, and I +went away again without saying a word. Pity and sympathy seemed to rob +me of all manliness. Polya, as cheerful and well satisfied with herself +as though nothing had happened, was tidying the master's study and the +bedroom, rummaging in the cupboards, and making the crockery jingle, and +when she passed Zinaida Fyodorovna's door, she hummed something and +coughed. She was pleased that her mistress was hiding from her. In the +evening she would go out somewhere, and rang at two or three o'clock in +the morning, and I had to open the door to her and listen to remarks +about my cough. Immediately afterwards I would hear another ring; I +would run to the room next to the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, putting +her head out of the door, would ask, "Who was it rung?" while she looked +at my hands to see whether I had a telegram. + +When at last on Saturday the bell rang below and she heard the familiar +voice on the stairs, she was so delighted that she broke into sobs. She +rushed to meet him, embraced him, kissed him on the breast and sleeves, +said something one could not understand. The hall porter brought up the +portmanteaus; Polya's cheerful voice was heard. It was as though some +one had come home for the holidays. + +"Why didn't you wire?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna, breathless with joy. +"Why was it? I have been in misery; I don't know how I've lived through +it.... Oh, my God!" + +"It was very simple! I returned with the senator to Moscow the very +first day, and didn't get your telegrams," said Orlov. "After dinner, my +love, I'll give you a full account of my doings, but now I must sleep +and sleep.... I am worn out with the journey." + +It was evident that he had not slept all night; he had probably been +playing cards and drinking freely. Zinaida Fyodorovna put him to bed, +and we all walked about on tiptoe all that day. The dinner went off +quite satisfactorily, but when they went into the study and had coffee +the explanation began. Zinaida Fyodorovna began talking of something +rapidly in a low voice; she spoke in French, and her words flowed like a +stream. Then I heard a loud sigh from Orlov, and his voice. + +"My God!" he said in French. "Have you really nothing fresher to tell me +than this everlasting tale of your servant's misdeeds?" + +"But, my dear, she robbed me and said insulting things to me." + +"But why is it she doesn't rob me or say insulting things to me? Why is +it I never notice the maids nor the porters nor the footmen? My dear, +you are simply capricious and refuse to know your own mind.... I really +begin to suspect that you must be in a certain condition. When I offered +to let her go, you insisted on her remaining, and now you want me to +turn her away. I can be obstinate, too, in such cases. You want her to +go, but I want her to remain. That's the only way to cure you of your +nerves." + +"Oh, very well, very well," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in alarm. "Let us +say no more about that.... Let us put it off till to-morrow.... Now tell +me about Moscow.... What is going on in Moscow?" + + +X + +After lunch next day--it was the seventh of January, St. John the +Baptist's Day--Orlov put on his black dress coat and his decoration to +go to visit his father and congratulate him on his name day. He had to +go at two o'clock, and it was only half-past one when he had finished +dressing. What was he to do for that half-hour? He walked about the +drawing-room, declaiming some congratulatory verses which he had recited +as a child to his father and mother. + +Zinaida Fyodorovna, who was just going out to a dressmaker's or to the +shops, was sitting, listening to him with a smile. I don't know how +their conversation began, but when I took Orlov his gloves, he was +standing before her with a capricious, beseeching face, saying: + +"For God's sake, in the name of everything that's holy, don't talk of +things that everybody knows! What an unfortunate gift our intellectual +thoughtful ladies have for talking with enthusiasm and an air of +profundity of things that every schoolboy is sick to death of! Ah, if +only you would exclude from our conjugal programme all these serious +questions! How grateful I should be to you!" + +"We women may not dare, it seems, to have views of our own." + +"I give you full liberty to be as liberal as you like, and quote from +any authors you choose, but make me one concession: don't hold forth in +my presence on either of two subjects: the corruption of the upper +classes and the evils of the marriage system. Do understand me, at last. +The upper class is always abused in contrast with the world of +tradesmen, priests, workmen and peasants, Sidors and Nikitas of all +sorts. I detest both classes, but if I had honestly to choose between +the two, I should without hesitation, prefer the upper class, and there +would be no falsity or affectation about it, since all my tastes are in +that direction. Our world is trivial and empty, but at any rate we speak +French decently, read something, and don't punch each other in the ribs +even in our most violent quarrels, while the Sidors and the Nikitas and +their worships in trade talk about 'being quite agreeable,' 'in a +jiffy,' 'blast your eyes,' and display the utmost license of pothouse +manners and the most degrading superstition." + +"The peasant and the tradesman feed you." + +"Yes, but what of it? That's not only to my discredit, but to theirs +too. They feed me and take off their caps to me, so it seems they have +not the intelligence and honesty to do otherwise. I don't blame or +praise any one: I only mean that the upper class and the lower are as +bad as one another. My feelings and my intelligence are opposed to both, +but my tastes lie more in the direction of the former. Well, now for the +evils of marriage," Orlov went on, glancing at his watch. "It's high +time for you to understand that there are no evils in the system itself; +what is the matter is that you don't know yourselves what you want from +marriage. What is it you want? In legal and illegal cohabitation, in +every sort of union and cohabitation, good or bad, the underlying +reality is the same. You ladies live for that underlying reality alone: +for you it's everything; your existence would have no meaning for you +without it. You want nothing but that, and you get it; but since you've +taken to reading novels you are ashamed of it: you rush from pillar to +post, you recklessly change your men, and to justify this turmoil you +have begun talking of the evils of marriage. So long as you can't and +won't renounce what underlies it all, your chief foe, your devil--so +long as you serve that slavishly, what use is there in discussing the +matter seriously? Everything you may say to me will be falsity and +affectation. I shall not believe you." + +I went to find out from the hall porter whether the sledge was at the +door, and when I came back I found it had become a quarrel. As sailors +say, a squall had blown up. + +"I see you want to shock me by your cynicism today," said Zinaida +Fyodorovna, walking about the drawing-room in great emotion. "It revolts +me to listen to you. I am pure before God and man, and have nothing to +repent of. I left my husband and came to you, and am proud of it. I +swear, on my honour, I am proud of it!" + +"Well, that's all right, then!" + +"If you are a decent, honest man, you, too, ought to be proud of what I +did. It raises you and me above thousands of people who would like to do +as we have done, but do not venture through cowardice or petty prudence. +But you are not a decent man. You are afraid of freedom, and you mock +the promptings of genuine feeling, from fear that some ignoramus may +suspect you of being sincere. You are afraid to show me to your friends; +there's no greater infliction for you than to go about with me in the +street.... Isn't that true? Why haven't you introduced me to your father +or your cousin all this time? Why is it? No, I am sick of it at last," +cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, stamping. "I demand what is mine by right. You +must present me to your father." + +"If you want to know him, go and present yourself. He receives visitors +every morning from ten till half-past." + +"How base you are!" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, wringing her hands in +despair. "Even if you are not sincere, and are not saying what you +think, I might hate you for your cruelty. Oh, how base you are!" + +"We keep going round and round and never reach the real point. The real +point is that you made a mistake, and you won't acknowledge it aloud. +You imagined that I was a hero, and that I had some extraordinary ideas +and ideals, and it has turned out that I am a most ordinary official, a +cardplayer, and have no partiality for ideas of any sort. I am a worthy +representative of the rotten world from which you have run away because +you were revolted with its triviality and emptiness. Recognise it and be +just: don't be indignant with me, but with yourself, as it is your +mistake, and not mine." + +"Yes, I admit I was mistaken." + +"Well, that's all right, then. We've reached that point at last, thank +God. Now hear something more, if you please: I can't rise to your +level--I am too depraved; you can't descend to my level, either, for you +are too exalted. So there is only one thing left to do...." + +"What?" Zinaida Fyodorovna asked quickly, holding her breath and turning +suddenly as white as a sheet of paper. + +"To call logic to our aid...." + +"Georgy, why are you torturing me?" Zinaida Fyodorovna said suddenly in +Russian in a breaking voice. "What is it for? Think of my misery...." + +Orlov, afraid of tears, went quickly into his study, and I don't know +why--whether it was that he wished to cause her extra pain, or whether +he remembered it was usually done in such cases--he locked the door +after him. She cried out and ran after him with a rustle of her skirt. + +"What does this mean?" she cried, knocking at his door. "What ... what +does this mean?" she repeated in a shrill voice breaking with +indignation. "Ah, so this is what you do! Then let me tell you I hate +you, I despise you! Everything is over between us now." + +I heard hysterical weeping mingled with laughter. Something small in the +drawing-room fell off the table and was broken. Orlov went out into the +hall by another door, and, looking round him nervously, he hurriedly put +on his great-coat and went out. + +Half an hour passed, an hour, and she was still weeping. I remembered +that she had no father or mother, no relations, and here she was living +between a man who hated her and Polya, who robbed her--and how desolate +her life seemed to me! I do not know why, but I went into the +drawing-room to her. Weak and helpless, looking with her lovely hair +like an embodiment of tenderness and grace, she was in anguish, as +though she were ill; she was lying on a couch, hiding her face, and +quivering all over. + +"Madam, shouldn't I fetch a doctor?" I asked gently. + +"No, there's no need ... it's nothing," she said, and she looked at me +with her tear-stained eyes. "I have a little headache.... Thank you." + +I went out, and in the evening she was writing letter after letter, and +sent me out first to Pekarsky, then to Gruzin, then to Kukushkin, and +finally anywhere I chose, if only I could find Orlov and give him the +letter. Every time I came back with the letter she scolded me, entreated +me, thrust money into my hand--as though she were in a fever. And all +the night she did not sleep, but sat in the drawing-room, talking to +herself. + +Orlov returned to dinner next day, and they were reconciled. + +The first Thursday afterwards Orlov complained to his friends of the +intolerable life he led; he smoked a great deal, and said with +irritation: + +"It is no life at all; it's the rack. Tears, wailing, intellectual +conversations, begging for forgiveness, again tears and wailing; and the +long and the short of it is that I have no flat of my own now. I am +wretched, and I make her wretched. Surely I haven't to live another +month or two like this? How can I? But yet I may have to." + +"Why don't you speak, then?" said Pekarsky. + +"I've tried, but I can't. One can boldly tell the truth, whatever it may +be, to an independent, rational man; but in this case one has to do with +a creature who has no will, no strength of character, and no logic. I +cannot endure tears; they disarm me. When she cries, I am ready to swear +eternal love and cry myself." + +Pekarsky did not understand; he scratched his broad forehead in +perplexity and said: + +"You really had better take another flat for her. It's so simple!" + +"She wants me, not the flat. But what's the good of talking?" sighed +Orlov. "I only hear endless conversations, but no way out of my +position. It certainly is a case of 'being guilty without guilt.' I +don't claim to be a mushroom, but it seems I've got to go into the +basket. The last thing I've ever set out to be is a hero. I never could +endure Turgenev's novels; and now, all of a sudden, as though to spite +me, I've heroism forced upon me. I assure her on my honour that I'm not +a hero at all, I adduce irrefutable proofs of the same, but she doesn't +believe me. Why doesn't she believe me? I suppose I really must have +something of the appearance of a hero." + +"You go off on a tour of inspection in the provinces," said Kukushkin, +laughing. + +"Yes, that's the only thing left for me." + +A week after this conversation Orlov announced that he was again ordered +to attend the senator, and the same evening he went off with his +portmanteaus to Pekarsky. + + +XI + +An old man of sixty, in a long fur coat reaching to the ground, and a +beaver cap, was standing at the door. + +"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he asked. + +At first I thought it was one of the moneylenders, Gruzin's creditors, +who sometimes used to come to Orlov for small payments on account; but +when he came into the hall and flung open his coat, I saw the thick +brows and the characteristically compressed lips which I knew so well +from the photographs, and two rows of stars on the uniform. I recognised +him: it was Orlov's father, the distinguished statesman. + +I answered that Georgy Ivanitch was not at home. The old man pursed up +his lips tightly and looked into space, reflecting, showing me his +dried-up, toothless profile. + +"I'll leave a note," he said; "show me in." + +He left his goloshes in the hall, and, without taking off his long, +heavy fur coat, went into the study. There he sat down before the table, +and, before taking up the pen, for three minutes he pondered, shading +his eyes with his hand as though from the sun--exactly as his son did +when he was out of humour. His face was sad, thoughtful, with that look +of resignation which I have only seen on the faces of the old and +religious. I stood behind him, gazed at his bald head and at the hollow +at the nape of his neck, and it was clear as daylight to me that this +weak old man was now in my power. There was not a soul in the flat +except my enemy and me. I had only to use a little physical violence, +then snatch his watch to disguise the object of the crime, and to get +off by the back way, and I should have gained infinitely more than I +could have imagined possible when I took up the part of a footman. I +thought that I could hardly get a better opportunity. But instead of +acting, I looked quite unconcernedly, first at his bald patch and then +at his fur, and calmly meditated on this man's relation to his only son, +and on the fact that people spoiled by power and wealth probably don't +want to die.... + +"Have you been long in my son's service?" he asked, writing a large hand +on the paper. + +"Three months, your High Excellency." + +He finished the letter and stood up. I still had time. I urged myself on +and clenched my fists, trying to wring out of my soul some trace of my +former hatred; I recalled what a passionate, implacable, obstinate hate +I had felt for him only a little while before.... But it is difficult to +strike a match against a crumbling stone. The sad old face and the cold +glitter of his stars roused in me nothing but petty, cheap, unnecessary +thoughts of the transitoriness of everything earthly, of the nearness of +death.... + +"Good-day, brother," said the old man. He put on his cap and went out. + +There could be no doubt about it: I had undergone a change; I had become +different. To convince myself, I began to recall the past, but at once I +felt uneasy, as though I had accidentally peeped into a dark, damp +corner. I remembered my comrades and friends, and my first thought was +how I should blush in confusion if ever I met any of them. What was I +now? What had I to think of and to do? Where was I to go? What was I +living for? + +I could make nothing of it. I only knew one thing--that I must make +haste to pack my things and be off. Before the old man's visit my +position as a flunkey had a meaning; now it was absurd. Tears dropped +into my open portmanteau; I felt insufferably sad; but how I longed to +live! I was ready to embrace and include in my short life every +possibility open to man. I wanted to speak, to read, and to hammer in +some big factory, and to stand on watch, and to plough. I yearned for +the Nevsky Prospect, for the sea and the fields--for every place to +which my imagination travelled. When Zinaida Fyodorovna came in, I +rushed to open the door for her, and with peculiar tenderness took off +her fur coat. The last time! + +We had two other visitors that day besides the old man. In the evening +when it was quite dark, Gruzin came to fetch some papers for Orlov. He +opened the table-drawer, took the necessary papers, and, rolling them +up, told me to put them in the hall beside his cap while he went in to +see Zinaida Fyodorovna. She was lying on the sofa in the drawing-room, +with her arms behind her head. Five or six days had already passed since +Orlov went on his tour of inspection, and no one knew when he would be +back, but this time she did not send telegrams and did not expect them. +She did not seem to notice the presence of Polya, who was still living +with us. "So be it, then," was what I read on her passionless and very +pale face. Like Orlov, she wanted to be unhappy out of obstinacy. To +spite herself and everything in the world, she lay for days together on +the sofa, desiring and expecting nothing but evil for herself. Probably +she was picturing to herself Orlov's return and the inevitable quarrels +with him; then his growing indifference to her, his infidelities; then +how they would separate; and perhaps these agonising thoughts gave her +satisfaction. But what would she have said if she found out the actual +truth? + +"I love you, Godmother," said Gruzin, greeting her and kissing her hand. +"You are so kind! And so dear _George_ has gone away," he lied. "He has +gone away, the rascal!" + +He sat down with a sigh and tenderly stroked her hand. + +"Let me spend an hour with you, my dear," he said. "I don't want to go +home, and it's too early to go to the Birshovs'. The Birshovs are +keeping their Katya's birthday to-day. She is a nice child!" + +I brought him a glass of tea and a decanter of brandy. He slowly and +with obvious reluctance drank the tea, and returning the glass to me, +asked timidly: + +"Can you give me ... something to eat, my friend? I have had no dinner." + +We had nothing in the flat. I went to the restaurant and brought him the +ordinary rouble dinner. + +"To your health, my dear," he said to Zinaida Fyodorovna, and he tossed +off a glass of vodka. "My little girl, your godchild, sends you her +love. Poor child! she's rickety. Ah, children, children!" he sighed. +"Whatever you may say, Godmother, it is nice to be a father. Dear +_George_ can't understand that feeling." + +He drank some more. Pale and lean, with his dinner-napkin over his chest +like a little pinafore, he ate greedily, and raising his eyebrows, kept +looking guiltily, like a little boy, first at Zinaida Fyodorovna and +then at me. It seemed as though he would have begun crying if I had not +given him the grouse or the jelly. When he had satisfied his hunger he +grew more lively, and began laughingly telling some story about the +Birshov household, but perceiving that it was tiresome and that Zinaida +Fyodorovna was not laughing, he ceased. And there was a sudden feeling +of dreariness. After he had finished his dinner they sat in the +drawing-room by the light of a single lamp, and did not speak; it was +painful to him to lie to her, and she wanted to ask him something, but +could not make up her mind to. So passed half an hour. Gruzin glanced at +his watch. + +"I suppose it's time for me to go." + +"No, stay a little.... We must have a talk." + +Again they were silent. He sat down to the piano, struck one chord, then +began playing, and sang softly, "What does the coming day bring me?" but +as usual he got up suddenly and tossed his head. + +"Play something," Zinaida Fyodorovna asked him. + +"What shall I play?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "I have +forgotten everything. I've given it up long ago." + +Looking at the ceiling as though trying to remember, he played two +pieces of Tchaikovsky with exquisite expression, with such warmth, such +insight! His face was just as usual--neither stupid nor intelligent--and +it seemed to me a perfect marvel that a man whom I was accustomed to see +in the midst of the most degrading, impure surroundings, was capable of +such purity, of rising to a feeling so lofty, so far beyond my reach. +Zinaida Fyodorovna's face glowed, and she walked about the drawing-room +in emotion. + +"Wait a bit, Godmother; if I can remember it, I will play you +something," he said; "I heard it played on the violoncello." + +Beginning timidly and picking out the notes, and then gathering +confidence, he played Saint-Saëns's "Swan Song." He played it through, +and then played it a second time. + +"It's nice, isn't it?" he said. + +Moved by the music, Zinaida Fyodorovna stood beside him and asked: + +"Tell me honestly, as a friend, what do you think about me?" + +"What am I to say?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "I love you and think +nothing but good of you. But if you wish that I should speak generally +about the question that interests you," he went on, rubbing his sleeve +near the elbow and frowning, "then, my dear, you know.... To follow +freely the promptings of the heart does not always give good people +happiness. To feel free and at the same time to be happy, it seems to +me, one must not conceal from oneself that life is coarse, cruel, and +merciless in its conservatism, and one must retaliate with what it +deserves--that is, be as coarse and as merciless in one's striving for +freedom. That's what I think." + +"That's beyond me," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a mournful smile. "I +am exhausted already. I am so exhausted that I wouldn't stir a finger +for my own salvation." + +"Go into a nunnery." + +He said this in jest, but after he had said it, tears glistened in +Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes and then in his. + +"Well," he said, "we've been sitting and sitting, and now we must go. +Good-bye, dear Godmother. God give you health." + +He kissed both her hands, and stroking them tenderly, said that he +should certainly come to see her again in a day or two. In the hall, as +he was putting on his overcoat, that was so like a child's pelisse, he +fumbled long in his pockets to find a tip for me, but found nothing +there. + +"Good-bye, my dear fellow," he said sadly, and went away. + +I shall never forget the feeling that this man left behind him. + +Zinaida Fyodorovna still walked about the room in her excitement. That +she was walking about and not still lying down was so much to the good. +I wanted to take advantage of this mood to speak to her openly and then +to go away, but I had hardly seen Gruzin out when I heard a ring. It was +Kukushkin. + +"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he said. "Has he come back? You say no? +What a pity! In that case, I'll go in and kiss your mistress's hand, and +so away. Zinaida Fyodorovna, may I come in?" he cried. "I want to kiss +your hand. Excuse my being so late." + +He was not long in the drawing-room, not more than ten minutes, but I +felt as though he were staying a long while and would never go away. I +bit my lips from indignation and annoyance, and already hated Zinaida +Fyodorovna. "Why does she not turn him out?" I thought indignantly, +though it was evident that she was bored by his company. + +When I held his fur coat for him he asked me, as a mark of special +good-will, how I managed to get on without a wife. + +"But I don't suppose you waste your time," he said, laughingly. "I've no +doubt Polya and you are as thick as thieves.... You rascal!" + +In spite of my experience of life, I knew very little of mankind at that +time, and it is very likely that I often exaggerated what was of little +consequence and failed to observe what was important. It seemed to me it +was not without motive that Kukushkin tittered and flattered me. Could +it be that he was hoping that I, like a flunkey, would gossip in other +kitchens and servants' quarters of his coming to see us in the evenings +when Orlov was away, and staying with Zinaida Fyodorovna till late at +night? And when my tittle-tattle came to the ears of his acquaintance, +he would drop his eyes in confusion and shake his little finger. And +would not he, I thought, looking at his little honeyed face, this very +evening at cards pretend and perhaps declare that he had already won +Zinaida Fyodorovna from Orlov? + +That hatred which failed me at midday when the old father had come, took +possession of me now. Kukushkin went away at last, and as I listened to +the shuffle of his leather goloshes, I felt greatly tempted to fling +after him, as a parting shot, some coarse word of abuse, but I +restrained myself. And when the steps had died away on the stairs, I +went back to the hall, and, hardly conscious of what I was doing, took +up the roll of papers that Gruzin had left behind, and ran headlong +downstairs. Without cap or overcoat, I ran down into the street. It was +not cold, but big flakes of snow were falling and it was windy. + +"Your Excellency!" I cried, catching up Kukushkin. "Your Excellency!" + +He stopped under a lamp-post and looked round with surprise. "Your +Excellency!" I said breathless, "your Excellency!" + +And not able to think of anything to say, I hit him two or three times +on the face with the roll of paper. Completely at a loss, and hardly +wondering--I had so completely taken him by surprise--he leaned his back +against the lamp-post and put up his hands to protect his face. At that +moment an army doctor passed, and saw how I was beating the man, but he +merely looked at us in astonishment and went on. I felt ashamed and I +ran back to the house. + + +XII + +With my head wet from the snow, and gasping for breath, I ran to my +room, and immediately flung off my swallow-tails, put on a reefer jacket +and an overcoat, and carried my portmanteau out into the passage; I must +get away! But before going I hurriedly sat down and began writing to +Orlov: + +"I leave you my false passport," I began. "I beg you to keep it as a +memento, you false man, you Petersburg official! + +"To steal into another man's house under a false name, to watch under +the mask of a flunkey this person's intimate life, to hear everything, +to see everything in order later on, unasked, to accuse a man of +lying--all this, you will say, is on a level with theft. Yes, but I care +nothing for fine feelings now. I have endured dozens of your dinners and +suppers when you said and did what you liked, and I had to hear, to look +on, and be silent. I don't want to make you a present of my silence. +Besides, if there is not a living soul at hand who dares to tell you the +truth without flattery, let your flunkey Stepan wash your magnificent +countenance for you." + +I did not like this beginning, but I did not care to alter it. Besides, +what did it matter? + +The big windows with their dark curtains, the bed, the crumpled dress +coat on the floor, and my wet footprints, looked gloomy and forbidding. +And there was a peculiar stillness. + +Possibly because I had run out into the street without my cap and +goloshes I was in a high fever. My face burned, my legs ached.... My +heavy head drooped over the table, and there was that kind of division +in my thought when every idea in the brain seemed dogged by its shadow. + +"I am ill, weak, morally cast down," I went on; "I cannot write to you +as I should like to. From the first moment I desired to insult and +humiliate you, but now I do not feel that I have the right to do so. You +and I have both fallen, and neither of us will ever rise up again; and +even if my letter were eloquent, terrible, and passionate, it would +still seem like beating on the lid of a coffin: however one knocks upon +it, one will not wake up the dead! No efforts could warm your accursed +cold blood, and you know that better than I do. Why write? But my mind +and heart are burning, and I go on writing; for some reason I am moved +as though this letter still might save you and me. I am so feverish that +my thoughts are disconnected, and my pen scratches the paper without +meaning; but the question I want to put to you stands before me as clear +as though in letters of flame. + +"Why I am prematurely weak and fallen is not hard to explain. Like +Samson of old, I have taken the gates of Gaza on my shoulders to carry +them to the top of the mountain, and only when I was exhausted, when +youth and health were quenched in me forever, I noticed that that burden +was not for my shoulders, and that I had deceived myself. I have been, +moreover, in cruel and continual pain. I have endured cold, hunger, +illness, and loss of liberty. Of personal happiness I know and have +known nothing. I have no home; my memories are bitter, and my conscience +is often in dread of them. But why have you fallen--you? What fatal, +diabolical causes hindered your life from blossoming into full flower? +Why, almost before beginning life, were you in such haste to cast off +the image and likeness of God, and to become a cowardly beast who backs +and scares others because he is afraid himself? You are afraid of +life--as afraid of it as an Oriental who sits all day on a cushion +smoking his hookah. Yes, you read a great deal, and a European coat fits +you well, but yet with what tender, purely Oriental, pasha-like care you +protect yourself from hunger, cold, physical effort, from pain and +uneasiness! How early your soul has taken to its dressing-gown! What a +cowardly part you have played towards real life and nature, with which +every healthy and normal man struggles! How soft, how snug, how warm, +how comfortable--and how bored you are! Yes, it is deathly boredom, +unrelieved by one ray of light, as in solitary confinement; but you try +to hide from that enemy, too, you play cards eight hours out of +twenty-four. + +"And your irony? Oh, but how well I understand it! Free, bold, living +thought is searching and dominating; for an indolent, sluggish mind it +is intolerable. That it may not disturb your peace, like thousands of +your contemporaries, you made haste in youth to put it under bar and +bolt. Your ironical attitude to life, or whatever you like to call it, +is your armour; and your thought, fettered and frightened, dare not leap +over the fence you have put round it; and when you jeer at ideas which +you pretend to know all about, you are like the deserter fleeing from +the field of battle, and, to stifle his shame, sneering at war and at +valour. Cynicism stifles pain. In some novel of Dostoevsky's an old man +tramples underfoot the portrait of his dearly loved daughter because he +had been unjust to her, and you vent your foul and vulgar jeers upon the +ideas of goodness and truth because you have not the strength to follow +them. You are frightened of every honest and truthful hint at your +degradation, and you purposely surround yourself with people who do +nothing but flatter your weaknesses. And you may well, you may well +dread the sight of tears! + +"By the way, your attitude to women. Shamelessness has been handed down +to us in our flesh and blood, and we are trained to shamelessness; but +that is what we are men for--to subdue the beast in us. When you reached +manhood and _all_ ideas became known to you, you could not have failed +to see the truth; you knew it, but you did not follow it; you were +afraid of it, and to deceive your conscience you began loudly assuring +yourself that it was not you but woman that was to blame, that she was +as degraded as your attitude to her. Your cold, scabrous anecdotes, your +coarse laughter, all your innumerable theories concerning the underlying +reality of marriage and the definite demands made upon it, concerning +the ten _sous_ the French workman pays his woman; your everlasting +attacks on female logic, lying, weakness and so on--doesn't it all look +like a desire at all costs to force woman down into the mud that she may +be on the same level as your attitude to her? You are a weak, unhappy, +unpleasant person!" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna began playing the piano in the drawing-room, trying +to recall the song of Saint Saëns that Gruzin had played. I went and lay +on my bed, but remembering that it was time for me to go, I got up with +an effort and with a heavy, burning head went to the table again. + +"But this is the question," I went on. "Why are we worn out? Why are we, +at first so passionate, so bold, so noble, and so full of faith, complete +bankrupts at thirty or thirty-five? Why does one waste in consumption, +another put a bullet through his brains, a third seeks forgetfulness in +vodka and cards, while the fourth tries to stifle his fear and misery by +cynically trampling underfoot the pure image of his fair youth? Why is +it that, having once fallen, we do not try to rise up again, and, losing +one thing, do not seek something else? Why is it? + +"The thief hanging on the Cross could bring back the joy of life and the +courage of confident hope, though perhaps he had not more than an hour +to live. You have long years before you, and I shall probably not die so +soon as one might suppose. What if by a miracle the present turned out +to be a dream, a horrible nightmare, and we should wake up renewed, +pure, strong, proud of our righteousness? Sweet visions fire me, and I +am almost breathless with emotion. I have a terrible longing to live. I +long for our life to be holy, lofty, and majestic as the heavens above. +Let us live! The sun doesn't rise twice a day, and life is not given us +again--clutch at what is left of your life and save it...." + +I did not write another word. I had a multitude of thoughts in my mind, +but I could not connect them and get them on to paper. Without finishing +the letter, I signed it with my name and rank, and went into the study. +It was dark. I felt for the table and put the letter on it. I must have +stumbled against the furniture in the dark and made a noise. + +"Who is there?" I heard an alarmed voice in the drawing-room. + +And the clock on the table softly struck one at the moment. + + +XIII + +For at least half a minute I fumbled at the door in the dark, feeling +for the handle; then I slowly opened it and walked into the +drawing-room. Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the couch, and raising +herself on her elbow, she looked towards me. Unable to bring myself to +speak, I walked slowly by, and she followed me with her eyes. I stood +for a little time in the dining-room and then walked by her again, and +she looked at me intently and with perplexity, even with alarm. At last +I stood still and said with an effort: + +"He is not coming back." + +She quickly got on to her feet, and looked at me without understanding. + +"He is not coming back," I repeated, and my heart beat violently. "He +will not come back, for he has not left Petersburg. He is staying at +Pekarsky's." + +She understood and believed me--I saw that from her sudden pallor, and +from the way she laid her arms upon her bosom in terror and entreaty. In +one instant all that had happened of late flashed through her mind; she +reflected, and with pitiless clarity she saw the whole truth. But at the +same time she remembered that I was a flunkey, a being of a lower +order.... A casual stranger, with hair ruffled, with face flushed with +fever, perhaps drunk, in a common overcoat, was coarsely intruding into +her intimate life, and that offended her. She said to me sternly: + +"It's not your business: go away." + +"Oh, believe me!" I cried impetuously, holding out my hands to her. "I +am not a footman; I am as free as you." + +I mentioned my name, and, speaking very rapidly that she might not +interrupt me or go away, explained to her who I was and why I was living +there. This new discovery struck her more than the first. Till then she +had hoped that her footman had lied or made a mistake or been silly, but +now after my confession she had no doubts left. From the expression of +her unhappy eyes and face, which suddenly lost its softness and beauty +and looked old, I saw that she was insufferably miserable, and that the +conversation would lead to no good; but I went on impetuously: + +"The senator and the tour of inspection were invented to deceive you. In +January, just as now, he did not go away, but stayed at Pekarsky's, and +I saw him every day and took part in the deception. He was weary of you, +he hated your presence here, he mocked at you.... If you could have +heard how he and his friends here jeered at you and your love, you would +not have remained here one minute! Go away from here! Go away." + +"Well," she said in a shaking voice, and moved her hand over her hair. +"Well, so be it." + +Her eyes were full of tears, her lips were quivering, and her whole face +was strikingly pale and distorted with anger. Orlov's coarse, petty +lying revolted her and seemed to her contemptible, ridiculous: she +smiled and I did not like that smile. + +"Well," she repeated, passing her hand over her hair again, "so be it. +He imagines that I shall die of humiliation, and instead of that I am +... amused by it. There's no need for him to hide." She walked away from +the piano and said, shrugging her shoulders: "There's no need.... It +would have been simpler to have it out with me instead of keeping in +hiding in other people's flats. I have eyes; I saw it myself long +ago.... I was only waiting for him to come back to have things out once +for all." + +Then she sat down on a low chair by the table, and, leaning her head on +the arm of the sofa, wept bitterly. In the drawing-room there was only +one candle burning in the candelabra, and the chair where she was +sitting was in darkness; but I saw how her head and shoulders were +quivering, and how her hair, escaping from her combs, covered her neck, +her face, her arms.... Her quiet, steady weeping, which was not +hysterical but a woman's ordinary weeping, expressed a sense of insult, +of wounded pride, of injury, and of something helpless, hopeless, which +one could not set right and to which one could not get used. Her tears +stirred an echo in my troubled and suffering heart; I forgot my illness +and everything else in the world; I walked about the drawing-room and +muttered distractedly: + +"Is this life?... Oh, one can't go on living like this, one can't.... +Oh, it's madness, wickedness, not life." + +"What humiliation!" she said through her tears. "To live together, to +smile at me at the very time when I was burdensome to him, ridiculous in +his eyes! Oh, how humiliating!" + +She lifted up her head, and looking at me with tear-stained eyes through +her hair, wet with her tears, and pushing it back as it prevented her +seeing me, she asked: + +"They laughed at me?" + +"To these men you were laughable--you and your love and Turgenev; they +said your head was full of him. And if we both die at once in despair, +that will amuse them, too; they will make a funny anecdote of it and +tell it at your requiem service. But why talk of them?" I said +impatiently. "We must get away from here--I cannot stay here one minute +longer." + +She began crying again, while I walked to the piano and sat down. + +"What are we waiting for?" I asked dejectedly. "It's two o'clock." + +"I am not waiting for anything," she said. "I am utterly lost." + +"Why do you talk like that? We had better consider together what we are +to do. Neither you nor I can stay here. Where do you intend to go?" + +Suddenly there was a ring at the bell. My heart stood still. Could it be +Orlov, to whom perhaps Kukushkin had complained of me? How should we +meet? I went to open the door. It was Polya. She came in shaking the +snow off her pelisse, and went into her room without saying a word to +me. When I went back to the drawing-room, Zinaida Fyodorovna, pale as +death, was standing in the middle of the room, looking towards me with +big eyes. + +"Who was it?" she asked softly. + +"Polya," I answered. + +She passed her hand over her hair and closed her eyes wearily. + +"I will go away at once," she said. "Will you be kind and take me to the +Petersburg Side? What time is it now?" + +"A quarter to three." + + +XIV + +When, a little afterwards, we went out of the house, it was dark and +deserted in the street. Wet snow was falling and a damp wind lashed in +one's face. I remember it was the beginning of March; a thaw had set in, +and for some days past the cabmen had been driving on wheels. Under the +impression of the back stairs, of the cold, of the midnight darkness, +and the porter in his sheepskin who had questioned us before letting us +out of the gate, Zinaida Fyodorovna was utterly cast down and +dispirited. When we got into the cab and the hood was put up, trembling +all over, she began hurriedly saying how grateful she was to me. + +"I do not doubt your good-will, but I am ashamed that you should be +troubled," she muttered. "Oh, I understand, I understand.... When Gruzin +was here to-day, I felt that he was lying and concealing something. +Well, so be it. But I am ashamed, anyway, that you should be troubled." + +She still had her doubts. To dispel them finally, I asked the cabman to +drive through Sergievsky Street; stopping him at Pekarsky's door, I got +out of the cab and rang. When the porter came to the door, I asked +aloud, that Zinaida Fyodorovna might hear, whether Georgy Ivanitch was +at home. + +"Yes," was the answer, "he came in half an hour ago. He must be in bed +by now. What do you want?" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna could not refrain from putting her head out. + +"Has Georgy Ivanitch been staying here long?" she asked. + +"Going on for three weeks." + +"And he's not been away?" + +"No," answered the porter, looking at me with surprise. + +"Tell him, early to-morrow," I said, "that his sister has arrived from +Warsaw. Good-bye." + +Then we drove on. The cab had no apron, the snow fell on us in big +flakes, and the wind, especially on the Neva, pierced us through and +through. I began to feel as though we had been driving for a long time, +that for ages we had been suffering, and that for ages I had been +listening to Zinaida Fyodorovna's shuddering breath. In semi-delirium, +as though half asleep, I looked back upon my strange, incoherent life, +and for some reason recalled a melodrama, "The Parisian Beggars," which +I had seen once or twice in my childhood. And when to shake off that +semi-delirium I peeped out from the hood and saw the dawn, all the +images of the past, all my misty thoughts, for some reason, blended in +me into one distinct, overpowering thought: everything was irrevocably +over for Zinaida Fyodorovna and for me. This was as certain a conviction +as though the cold blue sky contained a prophecy, but a minute later I +was already thinking of something else and believed differently. + +"What am I now?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, in a voice husky with the cold +and the damp. "Where am I to go? What am I to do? Gruzin told me to go +into a nunnery. Oh, I would! I would change my dress, my face, my name, +my thoughts ... everything--everything, and would hide myself for ever. +But they will not take me into a nunnery. I am with child." + +"We will go abroad together to-morrow," I said. + +"That's impossible. My husband won't give me a passport." + +"I will take you without a passport." + +The cabman stopped at a wooden house of two storeys, painted a dark +colour. I rang. Taking from me her small light basket--the only luggage +we had brought with us--Zinaida Fyodorovna gave a wry smile and said: + +"These are my _bijoux_." + +But she was so weak that she could not carry these _bijoux_. + +It was a long while before the door was opened. After the third or +fourth ring a light gleamed in the windows, and there was a sound of +steps, coughing and whispering; at last the key grated in the lock, and +a stout peasant woman with a frightened red face appeared at the door. +Some distance behind her stood a thin little old woman with short grey +hair, carrying a candle in her hand. Zinaida Fyodorovna ran into the +passage and flung her arms round the old woman's neck. + +"Nina, I've been deceived," she sobbed loudly. "I've been coarsely, +foully deceived! Nina, Nina!" + +I handed the basket to the peasant woman. The door was closed, but still +I heard her sobs and the cry "Nina!" + +I got into the cab and told the man to drive slowly to the Nevsky +Prospect. I had to think of a night's lodging for myself. + +Next day towards evening I went to see Zinaida Fyodorovna. She was +terribly changed. There were no traces of tears on her pale, terribly +sunken face, and her expression was different. I don't know whether it +was that I saw her now in different surroundings, far from luxurious, +and that our relations were by now different, or perhaps that intense +grief had already set its mark upon her; she did not strike me as so +elegant and well dressed as before. Her figure seemed smaller; there was +an abruptness and excessive nervousness about her as though she were in +a hurry, and there was not the same softness even in her smile. I was +dressed in an expensive suit which I had bought during the day. She +looked first of all at that suit and at the hat in my hand, then turned +an impatient, searching glance upon my face as though studying it. + +"Your transformation still seems to me a sort of miracle," she said. +"Forgive me for looking at you with such curiosity. You are an +extraordinary man, you know." + +I told her again who I was, and why I was living at Orlov's, and I told +her at greater length and in more detail than the day before. She +listened with great attention, and said without letting me finish: + +"Everything there is over for me. You know, I could not refrain from +writing a letter. Here is the answer." + +On the sheet which she gave there was written in Orlov's hand: + +"I am not going to justify myself. But you must own that it was your +mistake, not mine. I wish you happiness, and beg you to make haste and +forget. + +"Yours sincerely, + +"G. O. + +"P. S.--I am sending on your things." + +The trunks and baskets despatched by Orlov were standing in the passage, +and my poor little portmanteau was there beside them. + +"So ..." Zinaida Fyodorovna began, but she did not finish. + +We were silent. She took the note and held it for a couple of minutes +before her eyes, and during that time her face wore the same haughty, +contemptuous, proud, and harsh expression as the day before at the +beginning of our explanation; tears came into her eyes--not timid, +bitter tears, but proud, angry tears. + +"Listen," she said, getting up abruptly and moving away to the window +that I might not see her face. "I have made up my mind to go abroad with +you tomorrow." + +"I am very glad. I am ready to go to-day." + +"Accept me as a recruit. Have you read Balzac?" she asked suddenly, +turning round. "Have you? At the end of his novel 'Père Goriot' the hero +looks down upon Paris from the top of a hill and threatens the town: +'Now we shall settle our account,' and after this he begins a new life. +So when I look out of the train window at Petersburg for the last time, +I shall say, 'Now we shall settle our account!'" + +Saying this, she smiled at her jest, and for some reason shuddered all +over. + + +XV + +At Venice I had an attack of pleurisy. Probably I had caught cold in the +evening when we were rowing from the station to the Hotel Bauer. I had +to take to my bed and stay there for a fortnight. Every morning while I +was ill Zinaida Fyodorovna came from her room to drink coffee with me, +and afterwards read aloud to me French and Russian books, of which we +had bought a number at Vienna. These books were either long, long +familiar to me or else had no interest for me, but I had the sound of a +sweet, kind voice beside me, so that the meaning of all of them was +summed up for me in the one thing--I was not alone. She would go out for +a walk, come back in her light grey dress, her light straw hat, gay, +warmed by the spring sun; and sitting by my bed, bending low down over +me, would tell me something about Venice or read me those books--and I +was happy. + +At night I was cold, ill, and dreary, but by day I revelled in life--I +can find no better expression for it. The brilliant warm sunshine +beating in at the open windows and at the door upon the balcony, the +shouts below, the splash of oars, the tinkle of bells, the prolonged +boom of the cannon at midday, and the feeling of perfect, perfect +freedom, did wonders with me; I felt as though I were growing strong, +broad wings which were bearing me God knows whither. And what charm, +what joy at times at the thought that another life was so close to mine! +that I was the servant, the guardian, the friend, the indispensable +fellow-traveller of a creature, young, beautiful, wealthy, but weak, +lonely, and insulted! It is pleasant even to be ill when you know that +there are people who are looking forward to your convalescence as to a +holiday. One day I heard her whispering behind the door with my doctor, +and then she came in to me with tear-stained eyes. It was a bad sign, +but I was touched, and there was a wonderful lightness in my heart. + +But at last they allowed me to go out on the balcony. The sunshine and +the breeze from the sea caressed and fondled my sick body. I looked down +at the familiar gondolas, which glide with feminine grace smoothly and +majestically as though they were alive, and felt all the luxury of this +original, fascinating civilisation. There was a smell of the sea. Some +one was playing a stringed instrument and two voices were singing. How +delightful it was! How unlike it was to that Petersburg night when the +wet snow was falling and beating so rudely on our faces. If one looks +straight across the canal, one sees the sea, and on the wide expanse +towards the horizon the sun glittered on the water so dazzlingly that it +hurt one's eyes to look at it. My soul yearned towards that lovely sea, +which was so akin to me and to which I had given up my youth. I longed +to live--to live--and nothing more. + +A fortnight later I began walking freely. I loved to sit in the sun, and +to listen to the gondoliers without understanding them, and for hours +together to gaze at the little house where, they said, Desdemona +lived--a naïve, mournful little house with a demure expression, as light +as lace, so light that it looked as though one could lift it from its +place with one hand. I stood for a long time by the tomb of Canova, and +could not take my eyes off the melancholy lion. And in the Palace of the +Doges I was always drawn to the corner where the portrait of the unhappy +Marino Faliero was painted over with black. "It is fine to be an artist, +a poet, a dramatist," I thought, "but since that is not vouchsafed to +me, if only I could go in for mysticism! If only I had a grain of some +faith to add to the unruffled peace and serenity that fills the soul!" + +In the evening we ate oysters, drank wine, and went out in a gondola. I +remember our black gondola swayed softly in the same place while the +water faintly gurgled under it. Here and there the reflection of the +stars and the lights on the bank quivered and trembled. Not far from us +in a gondola, hung with coloured lanterns which were reflected in the +water, there were people singing. The sounds of guitars, of violins, of +mandolins, of men's and women's voices, were audible in the dark. +Zinaida Fyodorovna, pale, with a grave, almost stern face, was sitting +beside me, compressing her lips and clenching her hands. She was +thinking about something; she did not stir an eyelash, nor hear me. Her +face, her attitude, and her fixed, expressionless gaze, and her +incredibly miserable, dreadful, and icy-cold memories, and around her +the gondolas, the lights, the music, the song with its vigorous +passionate cry of "_Jam-mo! Jam-mo!_"--what contrasts in life! When she +sat like that, with tightly clasped hands, stony, mournful, I used to +feel as though we were both characters in some novel in the +old-fashioned style called "The Ill-fated," "The Abandoned," or +something of the sort. Both of us: she--the ill-fated, the abandoned; +and I--the faithful, devoted friend, the dreamer, and, if you like it, a +superfluous man, a failure capable of nothing but coughing and dreaming, +and perhaps sacrificing myself. + +But who and what needed my sacrifices now? And what had I to sacrifice, +indeed? + +When we came in in the evening we always drank tea in her room and +talked. We did not shrink from touching on old, unhealed wounds--on the +contrary, for some reason I felt a positive pleasure in telling her +about my life at Orlov's, or referring openly to relations which I knew +and which could not have been concealed from me. + +"At moments I hated you," I said to her. "When he was capricious, +condescending, told you lies, I marvelled how it was you did not see, +did not understand, when it was all so clear! You kissed his hands, you +knelt to him, you flattered him ..." + +"When I ... kissed his hands and knelt to him, I loved him ..." she +said, blushing crimson. + +"Can it have been so difficult to see through him? A fine sphinx! A +sphinx indeed--a _kammer-junker!_ I reproach you for nothing, God +forbid," I went on, feeling I was coarse, that I had not the tact, the +delicacy which are so essential when you have to do with a +fellow-creature's soul; in early days before I knew her I had not +noticed this defect in myself. "But how could you fail to see what he +was," I went on, speaking more softly and more diffidently, however. + +"You mean to say you despise my past, and you are right," she said, +deeply stirred. "You belong to a special class of men who cannot be +judged by ordinary standards; your moral requirements are exceptionally +rigorous, and I understand you can't forgive things. I understand you, +and if sometimes I say the opposite, it doesn't mean that I look at +things differently from you; I speak the same old nonsense simply +because I haven't had time yet to wear out my old clothes and +prejudices. I, too, hate and despise my past, and Orlov and my love.... +What was that love? It's positively absurd now," she said, going to the +window and looking down at the canal. "All this love only clouds the +conscience and confuses the mind. The meaning of life is to be found +only in one thing--fighting. To get one's heel on the vile head of the +serpent and to crush it! That's the meaning of life. In that alone or in +nothing." + +I told her long stories of my past, and described my really astounding +adventures. But of the change that had taken place in me I did not say +one word. She always listened to me with great attention, and at +interesting places she rubbed her hands as though vexed that it had not +yet been her lot to experience such adventures, such joys and terrors. +Then she would suddenly fall to musing and retreat into herself, and I +could see from her face that she was not attending to me. + +I closed the windows that looked out on the canal and asked whether we +should not have the fire lighted. + +"No, never mind. I am not cold," she said, smiling listlessly. "I only +feel weak. Do you know, I fancy I have grown much wiser lately. I have +extraordinary, original ideas now. When I think of my past, of my life +then ... people in general, in fact, it is all summed up for me in the +image of my stepmother. Coarse, insolent, soulless, false, depraved, and +a morphia maniac too. My father, who was feeble and weak-willed, married +my mother for her money and drove her into consumption; but his second +wife, my stepmother, he loved passionately, insanely.... What I had to +put up with! But what is the use of talking! And so, as I say, it is all +summed up in her image.... And it vexes me that my stepmother is dead. I +should like to meet her now!" + +"Why?" + +"I don't know," she answered with a laugh and a graceful movement of her +head. "Good-night. You must get well. As soon as you are well, we'll +take up our work ... It's time to begin." + +After I had said good-night and had my hand on the door-handle, she +said: + +"What do you think? Is Polya still living there?" + +"Probably." + +And I went off to my room. So we spent a whole month. One grey morning +when we both stood at my window, looking at the clouds which were moving +up from the sea, and at the darkening canal, expecting every minute that +it would pour with rain, and when a thick, narrow streak of rain covered +the sea as though with a muslin veil, we both felt suddenly dreary. The +same day we both set off for Florence. + + +XVI + +It was autumn, at Nice. One morning when I went into her room she was +sitting on a low chair, bent together and huddled up, with her legs +crossed and her face hidden in her hands. She was weeping bitterly, with +sobs, and her long, unbrushed hair fell on her knees. The impression of +the exquisite marvellous sea which I had only just seen and of which I +wanted to tell her, left me all at once, and my heart ached. + +"What is it?" I asked; she took one hand from her face and motioned me +to go away. "What is it?" I repeated, and for the first time during our +acquaintance I kissed her hand. + +"No, it's nothing, nothing," she said quickly. "Oh, it's nothing, +nothing.... Go away.... You see, I am not dressed." + +I went out overwhelmed. The calm and serene mood in which I had been for +so long was poisoned by compassion. I had a passionate longing to fall +at her feet, to entreat her not to weep in solitude, but to share her +grief with me, and the monotonous murmur of the sea already sounded a +gloomy prophecy in my ears, and I foresaw fresh tears, fresh troubles, +and fresh losses in the future. "What is she crying about? What is it?" +I wondered, recalling her face and her agonised look. I remembered she +was with child. She tried to conceal her condition from other people, +and also from herself. At home she went about in a loose wrapper or in a +blouse with extremely full folds over the bosom, and when she went out +anywhere she laced herself in so tightly that on two occasions she +fainted when we were out. She never spoke to me of her condition, and +when I hinted that it might be as well to see a doctor, she flushed +crimson and said not a word. + +When I went to see her next time she was already dressed and had her +hair done. + +"There, there," I said, seeing that she was ready to cry again. "We had +better go to the sea and have a talk." + +"I can't talk. Forgive me, I am in the mood now when one wants to be +alone. And, if you please, Vladimir Ivanitch, another time you want to +come into my room, be so good as to give a knock at the door." + +That "be so good" had a peculiar, unfeminine sound. I went away. My +accursed Petersburg mood came back, and all my dreams were crushed and +crumpled up like leaves by the heat. I felt I was alone again and there +was no nearness between us. I was no more to her than that cobweb to +that palm-tree, which hangs on it by chance and which will be torn off +and carried away by the wind. I walked about the square where the band +was playing, went into the Casino; there I looked at overdressed and +heavily perfumed women, and every one of them glanced at me as though +she would say: "You are alone; that's all right." Then I went out on the +terrace and looked for a long time at the sea. There was not one sail on +the horizon. On the left bank, in the lilac-coloured mist, there were +mountains, gardens, towers, and houses, the sun was sparkling over it +all, but it was all alien, indifferent, an incomprehensible tangle. + + +XVII + +She used as before to come into my room in the morning to coffee, but we +no longer dined together, as she said she was not hungry; and she lived +only on coffee, tea, and various trifles such as oranges and caramels. + +And we no longer had conversations in the evening. I don't know why it +was like this. Ever since the day when I had found her in tears she had +treated me somehow lightly, at times casually, even ironically, and for +some reason called me "My good sir." What had before seemed to her +terrible, heroic, marvellous, and had stirred her envy and enthusiasm, +did not touch her now at all, and usually after listening to me, she +stretched and said: + +"Yes, 'great things were done in days of yore,' my good sir." + +It sometimes happened even that I did not see her for days together. I +would knock timidly and guiltily at her door and get no answer; I would +knock again--still silence.... I would stand near the door and listen; +then the chambermaid would pass and say coldly, "_Madame est partie._" +Then I would walk about the passages of the hotel, walk and walk.... +English people, full-bosomed ladies, waiters in swallow-tails.... And as +I keep gazing at the long striped rug that stretches the whole length of +the corridor, the idea occurs to me that I am playing in the life of +this woman a strange, probably false part, and that it is beyond my +power to alter that part. I run to my room and fall on my bed, and think +and think, and can come to no conclusion; and all that is clear to me is +that I want to live, and that the plainer and the colder and the harder +her face grows, the nearer she is to me, and the more intensely and +painfully I feel our kinship. Never mind "My good sir," never mind her +light careless tone, never mind anything you like, only don't leave me, +my treasure. I am afraid to be alone. + +Then I go out into the corridor again, listen in a tremor.... I have no +dinner; I don't notice the approach of evening. At last about eleven I +hear the familiar footstep, and at the turn near the stairs Zinaida +Fyodorovna comes into sight. + +"Are you taking a walk?" she would ask as she passes me. "You had better +go out into the air.... Good-night!" + +"But shall we not meet again to-day?" + +"I think it's late. But as you like." + +"Tell me, where have you been?" I would ask, following her into the +room. + +"Where? To Monte Carlo." She took ten gold coins out of her pocket and +said: "Look, my good sir; I have won. That's at roulette." + +"Nonsense! As though you would gamble." + +"Why not? I am going again to-morrow." + +I imagined her with a sick and morbid face, in her condition, tightly +laced, standing near the gaming-table in a crowd of cocottes, of old +women in their dotage who swarm round the gold like flies round the +honey. I remembered she had gone off to Monte Carlo for some reason in +secret from me. + +"I don't believe you," I said one day. "You wouldn't go there." + +"Don't agitate yourself. I can't lose much." + +"It's not the question of what you lose," I said with annoyance. "Has it +never occurred to you while you were playing there that the glitter of +gold, all these women, young and old, the croupiers, all the +surroundings--that it is all a vile, loathsome mockery at the toiler's +labour, at his bloody sweat?" + +"If one doesn't play, what is one to do here?" she asked. "The toiler's +labour and his bloody sweat--all that eloquence you can put off till +another time; but now, since you have begun, let me go on. Let me ask +you bluntly, what is there for me to do here, and what am I to do?" + +"What are you to do?" I said, shrugging my shoulders. "That's a question +that can't be answered straight off." + +"I beg you to answer me honestly, Vladimir Ivanitch," she said, and her +face looked angry. "Once I have brought myself to ask you this question, +I am not going to listen to stock phrases. I am asking you," she went +on, beating her hand on the table, as though marking time, "what ought I +to do here? And not only here at Nice, but in general?" + +I did not speak, but looked out of window to the sea. My heart was +beating terribly. + +"Vladimir Ivanitch," she said softly and breathlessly; it was hard for +her to speak--"Vladimir Ivanitch, if you do not believe in the cause +yourself, if you no longer think of going back to it, why ... why did +you drag me out of Petersburg? Why did you make me promises, why did you +rouse mad hopes? Your convictions have changed; you have become a +different man, and nobody blames you for it--our convictions are not +always in our power. But ... but, Vladimir Ivanitch, for God's sake, why +are you not sincere?" she went on softly, coming up to me. "All these +months when I have been dreaming aloud, raving, going into raptures over +my plans, remodelling my life on a new pattern, why didn't you tell me +the truth? Why were you silent or encouraged me by your stories, and +behaved as though you were in complete sympathy with me? Why was it? Why +was it necessary?" + +"It's difficult to acknowledge one's bankruptcy," I said, turning round, +but not looking at her. "Yes, I have no faith; I am worn out. I have +lost heart.... It is difficult to be truthful--very difficult, and I +held my tongue. God forbid that any one should have to go through what I +have been through." + +I felt that I was on the point of tears, and ceased speaking. + +"Vladimir Ivanitch," she said, and took me by both hands, "you have been +through so much and seen so much of life, you know more than I do; think +seriously, and tell me, what am I to do? Teach me! If you haven't the +strength to go forward yourself and take others with you, at least show +me where to go. After all, I am a living, feeling, thinking being. To +sink into a false position ... to play an absurd part ... is painful to +me. I don't reproach you, I don't blame you; I only ask you." + +Tea was brought in. + +"Well?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, giving me a glass. "What do you say to +me?" + +"There is more light in the world than you see through your window," I +answered. "And there are other people besides me, Zinaida Fyodorovna." + +"Then tell me who they are," she said eagerly. "That's all I ask of +you." + +"And I want to say, too," I went on, "one can serve an idea in more than +one calling. If one has made a mistake and lost faith in one, one may +find another. The world of ideas is large and cannot be exhausted." + +"The world of ideas!" she said, and she looked into my face +sarcastically. "Then we had better leave off talking. What's the +use?..." + +She flushed. + +"The world of ideas!" she repeated. She threw her dinner-napkin aside, +and an expression of indignation and contempt came into her face. "All +your fine ideas, I see, lead up to one inevitable, essential step: I +ought to become your mistress. That's what's wanted. To be taken up with +ideas without being the mistress of an honourable, progressive man, is +as good as not understanding the ideas. One has to begin with that ... +that is, with being your mistress, and the rest will come of itself." + +"You are irritated, Zinaida Fyodorovna," I said. + +"No, I am sincere!" she cried, breathing hard. "I am sincere!" + +"You are sincere, perhaps, but you are in error, and it hurts me to hear +you." + +"I am in error?" she laughed. "Any one else might say that, but not you, +my dear sir! I may seem to you indelicate, cruel, but I don't care: you +love me? You love me, don't you?" + +I shrugged my shoulders. + +"Yes, shrug your shoulders!" she went on sarcastically. "When you were +ill I heard you in your delirium, and ever since these adoring eyes, +these sighs, and edifying conversations about friendship, about +spiritual kinship.... But the point is, why haven't you been sincere? +Why have you concealed what is and talked about what isn't? Had you said +from the beginning what ideas exactly led you to drag me from +Petersburg, I should have known. I should have poisoned myself then as I +meant to, and there would have been none of this tedious farce.... But +what's the use of talking!" + +With a wave of the hand she sat down. + +"You speak to me as though you suspected me of dishonourable +intentions," I said, offended. + +"Oh, very well. What's the use of talking! I don't suspect you of +intentions, but of having no intentions. If you had any, I should have +known them by now. You had nothing but ideas and love. For the +present--ideas and love, and in prospect--me as your mistress. That's in +the order of things both in life and in novels.... Here you abused him," +she said, and she slapped the table with her hand, "but one can't help +agreeing with him. He has good reasons for despising these ideas." + +"He does not despise ideas; he is afraid of them," I cried. "He is a +coward and a liar." + +"Oh, very well. He is a coward and a liar, and deceived me. And you? +Excuse my frankness; what are you? He deceived me and left me to take my +chance in Petersburg, and you have deceived me and abandoned me here. +But he did not mix up ideas with his deceit, and you ..." + +"For goodness' sake, why are you saying this?" I cried in horror, +wringing my hands and going up to her quickly. "No, Zinaida Fyodorovna, +this is cynicism. You must not be so despairing; listen to me," I went +on, catching at a thought which flashed dimly upon me, and which seemed +to me might still save us both. "Listen. I have passed through so many +experiences in my time that my head goes round at the thought of them, +and I have realised with my mind, with my racked soul, that man finds +his true destiny in nothing if not in self-sacrificing love for his +neighbour. It is towards that we must strive, and that is our +destination! That is my faith!" + +I wanted to go on to speak of mercy, of forgiveness, but there was an +insincere note in my voice, and I was embarrassed. + +"I want to live!" I said genuinely. "To live, to live! I want peace, +tranquillity; I want warmth--this sea here--to have you near. Oh, how I +wish I could rouse in you the same thirst for life! You spoke just now +of love, but it would be enough for me to have you near, to hear your +voice, to watch the look in your face ...!" + +She flushed crimson, and to hinder my speaking, said quickly: + +"You love life, and I hate it. So our ways lie apart." + +She poured herself out some tea, but did not touch it, went into the +bedroom, and lay down. + +"I imagine it is better to cut short this conversation," she said to me +from within. "Everything is over for me, and I want nothing.... What +more is there to say?" + +"No, it's not all over!" + +"Oh, very well!... I know! I am sick of it.... That's enough." + +I got up, took a turn from one end of the room to the other, and went +out into the corridor. When late at night I went to her door and +listened, I distinctly heard her crying. + +Next morning the waiter, handing me my clothes, informed me, with a +smile, that the lady in number thirteen was confined. I dressed somehow, +and almost fainting with terror ran to Zinaida Fyodorovna. In her room I +found a doctor, a midwife, and an elderly Russian lady from Harkov, +called Darya Milhailovna. There was a smell of ether. I had scarcely +crossed the threshold when from the room where she was lying I heard a +low, plaintive moan, and, as though it had been wafted me by the wind +from Russia, I thought of Orlov, his irony, Polya, the Neva, the +drifting snow, then the cab without an apron, the prediction I had read +in the cold morning sky, and the despairing cry "Nina! Nina!" + +"Go in to her," said the lady. + +I went in to see Zinaida Fyodorovna, feeling as though I were the father +of the child. She was lying with her eyes closed, looking thin and pale, +wearing a white cap edged with lace. I remember there were two +expressions on her face: one--cold, indifferent, apathetic; the other--a +look of childish helplessness given her by the white cap. She did not +hear me come in, or heard, perhaps, but did not pay attention. I stood, +looked at her, and waited. + +But her face was contorted with pain; she opened her eyes and gazed at +the ceiling, as though wondering what was happening to her.... There was +a look of loathing on her face. + +"It's horrible ..." she whispered. + +"Zinaida Fyodorovna." I spoke her name softly. She looked at me +indifferently, listlessly, and closed her eyes. I stood there a little +while, then went away. + +At night, Darya Mihailovna informed me that the child, a girl, was born, +but that the mother was in a dangerous condition. Then I heard noise and +bustle in the passage. Darya Mihailovna came to me again and with a face +of despair, wringing her hands, said: + +"Oh, this is awful! The doctor suspects that she has taken poison! Oh, +how badly Russians do behave here!" + +And at twelve o'clock the next day Zinaida Fyodorovna died. + + +XVIII + +Two years had passed. Circumstances had changed; I had come to +Petersburg again and could live here openly. I was no longer afraid of +being and seeming sentimental, and gave myself up entirely to the +fatherly, or rather idolatrous feeling roused in me by Sonya, Zinaida +Fyodorovna's child. I fed her with my own hands, gave her her bath, put +her to bed, never took my eyes off her for nights together, and screamed +when it seemed to me that the nurse was just going to drop her. My +thirst for normal ordinary life became stronger and more acute as time +went on, but wider visions stopped short at Sonya, as though I had found +in her at last just what I needed. I loved the child madly. In her I saw +the continuation of my life, and it was not exactly that I fancied, but +I felt, I almost believed, that when I had cast off at last my long, +bony, bearded frame, I should go on living in those little blue eyes, +that silky flaxen hair, those dimpled pink hands which stroked my face +so lovingly and were clasped round my neck. + +Sonya's future made me anxious. Orlov was her father; in her birth +certificate she was called Krasnovsky, and the only person who knew of +her existence, and took interest in her--that is, I--was at death's +door. I had to think about her seriously. + +The day after I arrived in Petersburg I went to see Orlov. The door was +opened to me by a stout old fellow with red whiskers and no moustache, +who looked like a German. Polya, who was tidying the drawing-room, did +not recognise me, but Orlov knew me at once. + +"Ah, Mr. Revolutionist!" he said, looking at me with curiosity, and +laughing. "What fate has brought you?" + +He was not changed in the least: the same well-groomed, unpleasant face, +the same irony. And a new book was lying on the table just as of old, +with an ivory paper-knife thrust in it. He had evidently been reading +before I came in. He made me sit down, offered me a cigar, and with a +delicacy only found in well-bred people, concealing the unpleasant +feeling aroused by my face and my wasted figure, observed casually that +I was not in the least changed, and that he would have known me anywhere +in spite of my having grown a beard. We talked of the weather, of Paris. +To dispose as quickly as possible of the oppressive, inevitable +question, which weighed upon him and me, he asked: + +"Zinaida Fyodorovna is dead?" + +"Yes," I answered. + +"In childbirth?" + +"Yes, in childbirth. The doctor suspected another cause of death, but +... it is more comforting for you and for me to think that she died in +childbirth." + +He sighed decorously and was silent. The angel of silence passed over +us, as they say. + +"Yes. And here everything is as it used to be--no changes," he said +briskly, seeing that I was looking about the room. "My father, as you +know, has left the service and is living in retirement; I am still in +the same department. Do you remember Pekarsky? He is just the same as +ever. Gruzin died of diphtheria a year ago.... Kukushkin is alive, and +often speaks of you. By the way," said Orlov, dropping his eyes with an +air of reserve, "when Kukushkin heard who you were, he began telling +every one you had attacked him and tried to murder him ... and that he +only just escaped with his life." + +I did not speak. + +"Old servants do not forget their masters.... It's very nice of you," +said Orlov jocosely. "Will you have some wine and some coffee, though? I +will tell them to make some." + +"No, thank you. I have come to see you about a very important matter, +Georgy Ivanitch." + +"I am not very fond of important matters, but I shall be glad to be of +service to you. What do you want?" + +"You see," I began, growing agitated, "I have here with me Zinaida +Fyodorovna's daughter.... Hitherto I have brought her up, but, as you +see, before many days I shall be an empty sound. I should like to die +with the thought that she is provided for." + +Orlov coloured a little, frowned a little, and took a cursory and sullen +glance at me. He was unpleasantly affected, not so much by the +"important matter" as by my words about death, about becoming an empty +sound. + +"Yes, it must be thought about," he said, screening his eyes as though +from the sun. "Thank you. You say it's a girl?" + +"Yes, a girl. A wonderful child!" + +"Yes. Of course, it's not a lap-dog, but a human being. I understand we +must consider it seriously. I am prepared to do my part, and am very +grateful to you." + +He got up, walked about, biting his nails, and stopped before a picture. + +"We must think about it," he said in a hollow voice, standing with his +back to me. "I shall go to Pekarsky's to-day and will ask him to go to +Krasnovsky's. I don't think he will make much ado about consenting to +take the child." + +"But, excuse me, I don't see what Krasnovsky has got to do with it," I +said, also getting up and walking to a picture at the other end of the +room. + +"But she bears his name, of course!" said Orlov. + +"Yes, he may be legally obliged to accept the child--I don't know; but I +came to you, Georgy Ivanitch, not to discuss the legal aspect." + +"Yes, yes, you are right," he agreed briskly. "I believe I am talking +nonsense. But don't excite yourself. We will decide the matter to our +mutual satisfaction. If one thing won't do, we'll try another; and if +that won't do, we'll try a third--one way or another this delicate +question shall be settled. Pekarsky will arrange it all. Be so good as +to leave me your address and I will let you know at once what we decide. +Where are you living?" + +Orlov wrote down my address, sighed, and said with a smile: + +"Oh, Lord, what a job it is to be the father of a little daughter! But +Pekarsky will arrange it all. He is a sensible man. Did you stay long in +Paris?" + +"Two months." + +We were silent. Orlov was evidently afraid I should begin talking of the +child again, and to turn my attention in another direction, said: + +"You have probably forgotten your letter by now. But I have kept it. I +understand your mood at the time, and, I must own, I respect that +letter. 'Damnable cold blood,' 'Asiatic,' 'coarse laugh'--that was +charming and characteristic," he went on with an ironical smile. "And +the fundamental thought is perhaps near the truth, though one might +dispute the question endlessly. That is," he hesitated, "not dispute the +thought itself, but your attitude to the question--your temperament, so +to say. Yes, my life is abnormal, corrupted, of no use to any one, and +what prevents me from beginning a new life is cowardice--there you are +quite right. But that you take it so much to heart, are troubled, and +reduced to despair by it--that's irrational; there you are quite wrong." + +"A living man cannot help being troubled and reduced to despair when he +sees that he himself is going to ruin and others are going to ruin round +him." + +"Who doubts it! I am not advocating indifference; all I ask for is an +objective attitude to life. The more objective, the less danger of +falling into error. One must look into the root of things, and try to +see in every phenomenon a cause of all the other causes. We have grown +feeble, slack--degraded, in fact. Our generation is entirely composed of +neurasthenics and whimperers; we do nothing but talk of fatigue and +exhaustion. But the fault is neither yours nor mine; we are of too +little consequence to affect the destiny of a whole generation. We must +suppose for that larger, more general causes with a solid _raison +d'être_ from the biological point of view. We are neurasthenics, flabby, +renegades, but perhaps it's necessary and of service for generations +that will come after us. Not one hair falls from the head without the +will of the Heavenly Father--in other words, nothing happens by chance +in Nature and in human environment. Everything has its cause and is +inevitable. And if so, why should we worry and write despairing +letters?" + +"That's all very well," I said, thinking a little. "I believe it will be +easier and clearer for the generations to come; our experience will be +at their service. But one wants to live apart from future generations +and not only for their sake. Life is only given us once, and one wants +to live it boldly, with full consciousness and beauty. One wants to play +a striking, independent, noble part; one wants to make history so that +those generations may not have the right to say of each of us that we +were nonentities or worse.... I believe what is going on about us is +inevitable and not without a purpose, but what have I to do with that +inevitability? Why should my ego be lost?" + +"Well, there's no help for it," sighed Orlov, getting up and, as it +were, giving me to understand that our conversation was over. + +I took my hat. + +"We've only been sitting here half an hour, and how many questions we +have settled, when you come to think of it!" said Orlov, seeing me into +the hall. "So I will see to that matter.... I will see Pekarsky +to-day.... Don't be uneasy." + +He stood waiting while I put on my coat, and was obviously relieved at +the feeling that I was going away. + +"Georgy Ivanitch, give me back my letter," I said. + +"Certainly." + +He went to his study, and a minute later returned with the letter. I +thanked him and went away. + +The next day I got a letter from him. He congratulated me on the +satisfactory settlement of the question. Pekarsky knew a lady, he wrote, +who kept a school, something like a kindergarten, where she took quite +little children. The lady could be entirely depended upon, but before +concluding anything with her it would be as well to discuss the matter +with Krasnovsky--it was a matter of form. He advised me to see Pekarsky +at once and to take the birth certificate with me, if I had it. "Rest +assured of the sincere respect and devotion of your humble servant...." + +I read this letter, and Sonya sat on the table and gazed at me +attentively without blinking, as though she knew her fate was being +decided. + + + + +THE HUSBAND + + +IN the course of the manoeuvres the N---- cavalry regiment halted for a +night at the district town of K----. Such an event as the visit of +officers always has the most exciting and inspiring effect on the +inhabitants of provincial towns. The shopkeepers dream of getting rid of +the rusty sausages and "best brand" sardines that have been lying for +ten years on their shelves; the inns and restaurants keep open all +night; the Military Commandant, his secretary, and the local garrison +put on their best uniforms; the police flit to and fro like mad, while +the effect on the ladies is beyond all description. + +The ladies of K----, hearing the regiment approaching, forsook their +pans of boiling jam and ran into the street. Forgetting their morning +_deshabille_ and general untidiness, they rushed breathless with +excitement to meet the regiment, and listened greedily to the band +playing the march. Looking at their pale, ecstatic faces, one might have +thought those strains came from some heavenly choir rather than from a +military brass band. + +"The regiment!" they cried joyfully. "The regiment is coming!" + +What could this unknown regiment that came by chance to-day and would +depart at dawn to-morrow mean to them? + +Afterwards, when the officers were standing in the middle of the square, +and, with their hands behind them, discussing the question of billets, +all the ladies were gathered together at the examining magistrate's and +vying with one another in their criticisms of the regiment. They already +knew, goodness knows how, that the colonel was married, but not living +with his wife; that the senior officer's wife had a baby born dead every +year; that the adjutant was hopelessly in love with some countess, and +had even once attempted suicide. They knew everything. When a +pock-marked soldier in a red shirt darted past the windows, they knew +for certain that it was Lieutenant Rymzov's orderly running about the +town, trying to get some English bitter ale on tick for his master. They +had only caught a passing glimpse of the officers' backs, but had +already decided that there was not one handsome or interesting man among +them.... Having talked to their hearts' content, they sent for the +Military Commandant and the committee of the club, and instructed them +at all costs to make arrangements for a dance. + +Their wishes were carried out. At nine o'clock in the evening the +military band was playing in the street before the club, while in the +club itself the officers were dancing with the ladies of K----. The +ladies felt as though they were on wings. Intoxicated by the dancing, +the music, and the clank of spurs, they threw themselves heart and soul +into making the acquaintance of their new partners, and quite forgot +their old civilian friends. Their fathers and husbands, forced +temporarily into the background, crowded round the meagre refreshment +table in the entrance hall. All these government cashiers, secretaries, +clerks, and superintendents--stale, sickly-looking, clumsy figures--were +perfectly well aware of their inferiority. They did not even enter the +ball-room, but contented themselves with watching their wives and +daughters in the distance dancing with the accomplished and graceful +officers. + +Among the husbands was Shalikov, the tax-collector--a narrow, spiteful +soul, given to drink, with a big, closely cropped head, and thick, +protruding lips. He had had a university education; there had been a +time when he used to read progressive literature and sing students' +songs, but now, as he said of himself, he was a tax-collector and +nothing more. + +He stood leaning against the doorpost, his eyes fixed on his wife, Anna +Pavlovna, a little brunette of thirty, with a long nose and a pointed +chin. Tightly laced, with her face carefully powdered, she danced +without pausing for breath--danced till she was ready to drop exhausted. +But though she was exhausted in body, her spirit was inexhaustible.... +One could see as she danced that her thoughts were with the past, that +faraway past when she used to dance at the "College for Young Ladies," +dreaming of a life of luxury and gaiety, and never doubting that her +husband was to be a prince or, at the worst, a baron. + +The tax-collector watched, scowling with spite.... + +It was not jealousy he was feeling. He was ill-humoured--first, because +the room was taken up with dancing and there was nowhere he could play a +game of cards; secondly, because he could not endure the sound of wind +instruments; and, thirdly, because he fancied the officers treated the +civilians somewhat too casually and disdainfully. But what above +everything revolted him and moved him to indignation was the expression +of happiness on his wife's face. + +"It makes me sick to look at her!" he muttered. "Going on for forty, and +nothing to boast of at any time, and she must powder her face and lace +herself up! And frizzing her hair! Flirting and making faces, and +fancying she's doing the thing in style! Ugh! you're a pretty figure, +upon my soul!" + +Anna Pavlovna was so lost in the dance that she did not once glance at +her husband. + +"Of course not! Where do we poor country bumpkins come in!" sneered the +tax-collector. + +"We are at a discount now.... We're clumsy seals, unpolished provincial +bears, and she's the queen of the ball! She has kept enough of her looks +to please even officers ... They'd not object to making love to her, I +dare say!" + +During the mazurka the tax-collector's face twitched with spite. A +black-haired officer with prominent eyes and Tartar cheekbones danced +the mazurka with Anna Pavlovna. Assuming a stern expression, he worked +his legs with gravity and feeling, and so crooked his knees that he +looked like a jack-a-dandy pulled by strings, while Anna Pavlovna, pale +and thrilled, bending her figure languidly and turning her eyes up, +tried to look as though she scarcely touched the floor, and evidently +felt herself that she was not on earth, not at the local club, but +somewhere far, far away--in the clouds. Not only her face but her whole +figure was expressive of beatitude.... The tax-collector could endure it +no longer; he felt a desire to jeer at that beatitude, to make Anna +Pavlovna feel that she had forgotten herself, that life was by no means +so delightful as she fancied now in her excitement.... + +"You wait; I'll teach you to smile so blissfully," he muttered. "You are +not a boarding-school miss, you are not a girl. An old fright ought to +realise she is a fright!" + +Petty feelings of envy, vexation, wounded vanity, of that small, +provincial misanthropy engendered in petty officials by vodka and a +sedentary life, swarmed in his heart like mice. Waiting for the end of +the mazurka, he went into the hall and walked up to his wife. Anna +Pavlovna was sitting with her partner, and, flirting her fan and +coquettishly dropping her eyelids, was describing how she used to dance +in Petersburg (her lips were pursed up like a rosebud, and she +pronounced "at home in Pütürsburg"). + +"Anyuta, let us go home," croaked the tax-collector. + +Seeing her husband standing before her, Anna Pavlovna started as though +recalling the fact that she had a husband; then she flushed all over: +she felt ashamed that she had such a sickly-looking, ill-humoured, +ordinary husband. + +"Let us go home," repeated the tax-collector. + +"Why? It's quite early!" + +"I beg you to come home!" said the tax-collector deliberately, with a +spiteful expression. + +"Why? Has anything happened?" Anna Pavlovna asked in a flutter. + +"Nothing has happened, but I wish you to go home at once.... I wish it; +that's enough, and without further talk, please." + +Anna Pavlovna was not afraid of her husband, but she felt ashamed on +account of her partner, who was looking at her husband with surprise and +amusement. She got up and moved a little apart with her husband. + +"What notion is this?" she began. "Why go home? Why, it's not eleven +o'clock." + +"I wish it, and that's enough. Come along, and that's all about it." + +"Don't be silly! Go home alone if you want to." + +"All right; then I shall make a scene." + +The tax-collector saw the look of beatitude gradually vanish from his +wife's face, saw how ashamed and miserable she was--and he felt a little +happier. + +"Why do you want me at once?" asked his wife. + +"I don't want you, but I wish you to be at home. I wish it, that's all." + +At first Anna Pavlovna refused to hear of it, then she began entreating +her husband to let her stay just another half-hour; then, without +knowing why, she began to apologise, to protest--and all in a whisper, +with a smile, that the spectators might not suspect that she was having +a tiff with her husband. She began assuring him she would not stay long, +only another ten minutes, only five minutes; but the tax-collector stuck +obstinately to his point. + +"Stay if you like," he said, "but I'll make a scene if you do." + +And as she talked to her husband Anna Pavlovna looked thinner, older, +plainer. Pale, biting her lips, and almost crying, she went out to the +entry and began putting on her things. + +"You are not going?" asked the ladies in surprise. "Anna Pavlovna, you +are not going, dear?" + +"Her head aches," said the tax-collector for his wife. + +Coming out of the club, the husband and wife walked all the way home in +silence. The tax-collector walked behind his wife, and watching her +downcast, sorrowful, humiliated little figure, he recalled the look of +beatitude which had so irritated him at the club, and the consciousness +that the beatitude was gone filled his soul with triumph. He was pleased +and satisfied, and at the same time he felt the lack of something; he +would have liked to go back to the club and make every one feel dreary +and miserable, so that all might know how stale and worthless life is +when you walk along the streets in the dark and hear the slush of the +mud under your feet, and when you know that you will wake up next +morning with nothing to look forward to but vodka and cards. Oh, how +awful it is! + +And Anna Pavlovna could scarcely walk.... She was still under the +influence of the dancing, the music, the talk, the lights, and the +noise; she asked herself as she walked along why God had thus afflicted +her. She felt miserable, insulted, and choking with hate as she listened +to her husband's heavy footsteps. She was silent, trying to think of the +most offensive, biting, and venomous word she could hurl at her husband, +and at the same time she was fully aware that no word could penetrate +her tax-collector's hide. What did he care for words? Her bitterest +enemy could not have contrived for her a more helpless position. + +And meanwhile the band was playing and the darkness was full of the most +rousing, intoxicating dance-tunes. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lady With The Dog and Other Stories, by +Anton Chekhov + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13415 *** diff --git a/13415-h/13415-h.htm b/13415-h/13415-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..efa96de --- /dev/null +++ b/13415-h/13415-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,7897 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en" xml:lang="en"> + <head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Tales of Chekhov, by Anton Tchekhov. +</title> +<style type="text/css"> + p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} + +.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} + + h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both;} + + h2 {margin-top:5%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; + font-size:120%;} + + h3 {margin: 5% auto 2% auto;text-align:center;clear:both;} + + hr.full {width: 50%;margin:5% auto 5% auto;border:4px double gray;} + +.nind {text-indent:0%;} + + table {margin-top:5%;margin-bottom:5%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;text-align:left;} + + body{margin-left:2%;margin-right:2%;background:#fdfdfd;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} + +a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + + link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + +a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} + +a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} + +.poem {margin-left:25%;text-indent:0%;} +.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} +.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +</style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13415 ***</div> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="cb">THE TALES OF CHEKHOV<br /><br /> +<small>VOLUME 3</small></p> + +<h1>THE LADY WITH THE DOG<br /> +AND OTHER STORIES</h1> + +<p class="cb">BY<br /> +ANTON TCHEKHOV</p> + +<p class="cb">Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT</p> + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#THE_LADY_WITH_THE_DOG"><b>THE LADY WITH THE DOG</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#A_DOCTORS_VISIT"><b>A DOCTOR'S VISIT</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#AN_UPHEAVAL"><b>AN UPHEAVAL</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#IONITCH"><b>IONITCH</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#THE_HEAD_OF_THE_FAMILY"><b>THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#THE_BLACK_MONK"><b>THE BLACK MONK</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#VOLODYA"><b>VOLODYA</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#AN_ANONYMOUS_STORY"><b>AN ANONYMOUS STORY</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#THE_HUSBAND"><b>THE HUSBAND</b></a></td></tr> +</table> + +<h2><a name="THE_LADY_WITH_THE_DOG" id="THE_LADY_WITH_THE_DOG"></a>THE LADY WITH THE DOG</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="nind"><big>I</big><small>T</small> was said that a new person had appeared on the sea-front: a lady with +a little dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had by then been a fortnight +at Yalta, and so was fairly at home there, had begun to take an interest +in new arrivals. Sitting in Verney's pavilion, he saw, walking on the +sea-front, a fair-haired young lady of medium height, wearing a <i>béret</i>; +a white Pomeranian dog was running behind her.</p> + +<p>And afterwards he met her in the public gardens and in the square +several times a day. She was walking alone, always wearing the same +<i>béret</i>, and always with the same white dog; no one knew who she was, +and every one called her simply "the lady with the dog."</p> + +<p>"If she is here alone without a husband or friends, it wouldn't be amiss +to make her acquaintance," Gurov reflected.</p> + +<p>He was under forty, but he had a daughter already twelve years old, and +two sons at school. He had been married young, when he was a student in +his second year, and by now his wife seemed half as old again as he. She +was a tall, erect woman with dark eyebrows, staid and dignified, and, as +she said of herself, intellectual. She read a great deal, used phonetic +spelling, called her husband, not Dmitri, but Dimitri, and he secretly +considered her unintelligent, narrow, inelegant, was afraid of her, and +did not like to be at home. He had begun being unfaithful to her long +ago—had been unfaithful to her often, and, probably on that account, +almost always spoke ill of women, and when they were talked about in his +presence, used to call them "the lower race."</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that he had been so schooled by bitter experience that +he might call them what he liked, and yet he could not get on for two +days together without "the lower race." In the society of men he was +bored and not himself, with them he was cold and uncommunicative; but +when he was in the company of women he felt free, and knew what to say +to them and how to behave; and he was at ease with them even when he was +silent. In his appearance, in his character, in his whole nature, there +was something attractive and elusive which allured women and disposed +them in his favour; he knew that, and some force seemed to draw him, +too, to them.</p> + +<p>Experience often repeated, truly bitter experience, had taught him long +ago that with decent people, especially Moscow people—always slow to +move and irresolute—every intimacy, which at first so agreeably +diversifies life and appears a light and charming adventure, inevitably +grows into a regular problem of extreme intricacy, and in the long run +the situation becomes unbearable. But at every fresh meeting with an +interesting woman this experience seemed to slip out of his memory, and +he was eager for life, and everything seemed simple and amusing.</p> + +<p>One evening he was dining in the gardens, and the lady in the <i>béret</i> +came up slowly to take the next table. Her expression, her gait, her +dress, and the way she did her hair told him that she was a lady, that +she was married, that she was in Yalta for the first time and alone, and +that she was dull there.... The stories told of the immorality in such +places as Yalta are to a great extent untrue; he despised them, and knew +that such stories were for the most part made up by persons who would +themselves have been glad to sin if they had been able; but when the +lady sat down at the next table three paces from him, he remembered +these tales of easy conquests, of trips to the mountains, and the +tempting thought of a swift, fleeting love affair, a romance with an +unknown woman, whose name he did not know, suddenly took possession of +him.</p> + +<p>He beckoned coaxingly to the Pomeranian, and when the dog came up to him +he shook his finger at it. The Pomeranian growled: Gurov shook his +finger at it again.</p> + +<p>The lady looked at him and at once dropped her eyes.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't bite," she said, and blushed.</p> + +<p>"May I give him a bone?" he asked; and when she nodded he asked +courteously, "Have you been long in Yalta?"</p> + +<p>"Five days."</p> + +<p>"And I have already dragged out a fortnight here."</p> + +<p>There was a brief silence.</p> + +<p>"Time goes fast, and yet it is so dull here!" she said, not looking at +him.</p> + +<p>"That's only the fashion to say it is dull here. A provincial will live +in Belyov or Zhidra and not be dull, and when he comes here it's 'Oh, +the dulness! Oh, the dust!' One would think he came from Grenada."</p> + +<p>She laughed. Then both continued eating in silence, like strangers, but +after dinner they walked side by side; and there sprang up between them +the light jesting conversation of people who are free and satisfied, to +whom it does not matter where they go or what they talk about. They +walked and talked of the strange light on the sea: the water was of a +soft warm lilac hue, and there was a golden streak from the moon upon +it. They talked of how sultry it was after a hot day. Gurov told her +that he came from Moscow, that he had taken his degree in Arts, but had +a post in a bank; that he had trained as an opera-singer, but had given +it up, that he owned two houses in Moscow.... And from her he learnt +that she had grown up in Petersburg, but had lived in S—— since her +marriage two years before, that she was staying another month in Yalta, +and that her husband, who needed a holiday too, might perhaps come and +fetch her. She was not sure whether her husband had a post in a Crown +Department or under the Provincial Council—and was amused by her own +ignorance. And Gurov learnt, too, that she was called Anna Sergeyevna.</p> + +<p>Afterwards he thought about her in his room at the hotel—thought she +would certainly meet him next day; it would be sure to happen. As he got +into bed he thought how lately she had been a girl at school, doing +lessons like his own daughter; he recalled the diffidence, the +angularity, that was still manifest in her laugh and her manner of +talking with a stranger. This must have been the first time in her life +she had been alone in surroundings in which she was followed, looked at, +and spoken to merely from a secret motive which she could hardly fail to +guess. He recalled her slender, delicate neck, her lovely grey eyes.</p> + +<p>"There's something pathetic about her, anyway," he thought, and fell +asleep.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>A week had passed since they had made acquaintance. It was a holiday. It +was sultry indoors, while in the street the wind whirled the dust round +and round, and blew people's hats off. It was a thirsty day, and Gurov +often went into the pavilion, and pressed Anna Sergeyevna to have syrup +and water or an ice. One did not know what to do with oneself.</p> + +<p>In the evening when the wind had dropped a little, they went out on the +groyne to see the steamer come in. There were a great many people +walking about the harbour; they had gathered to welcome some one, +bringing bouquets. And two peculiarities of a well-dressed Yalta crowd +were very conspicuous: the elderly ladies were dressed like young ones, +and there were great numbers of generals.</p> + +<p>Owing to the roughness of the sea, the steamer arrived late, after the +sun had set, and it was a long time turning about before it reached the +groyne. Anna Sergeyevna looked through her lorgnette at the steamer and +the passengers as though looking for acquaintances, and when she turned +to Gurov her eyes were shining. She talked a great deal and asked +disconnected questions, forgetting next moment what she had asked; then +she dropped her lorgnette in the crush.</p> + +<p>The festive crowd began to disperse; it was too dark to see people's +faces. The wind had completely dropped, but Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna +still stood as though waiting to see some one else come from the +steamer. Anna Sergeyevna was silent now, and sniffed the flowers without +looking at Gurov.</p> + +<p>"The weather is better this evening," he said. "Where shall we go now? +Shall we drive somewhere?"</p> + +<p>She made no answer.</p> + +<p>Then he looked at her intently, and all at once put his arm round her +and kissed her on the lips, and breathed in the moisture and the +fragrance of the flowers; and he immediately looked round him, anxiously +wondering whether any one had seen them.</p> + +<p>"Let us go to your hotel," he said softly. And both walked quickly.</p> + +<p>The room was close and smelt of the scent she had bought at the Japanese +shop. Gurov looked at her and thought: "What different people one meets +in the world!" From the past he preserved memories of careless, +good-natured women, who loved cheerfully and were grateful to him for +the happiness he gave them, however brief it might be; and of women like +his wife who loved without any genuine feeling, with superfluous +phrases, affectedly, hysterically, with an expression that suggested +that it was not love nor passion, but something more significant; and of +two or three others, very beautiful, cold women, on whose faces he had +caught a glimpse of a rapacious expression—an obstinate desire to +snatch from life more than it could give, and these were capricious, +unreflecting, domineering, unintelligent women not in their first youth, +and when Gurov grew cold to them their beauty excited his hatred, and +the lace on their linen seemed to him like scales.</p> + +<p>But in this case there was still the diffidence, the angularity of +inexperienced youth, an awkward feeling; and there was a sense of +consternation as though some one had suddenly knocked at the door. The +attitude of Anna Sergeyevna—"the lady with the dog"—to what had +happened was somehow peculiar, very grave, as though it were her +fall—so it seemed, and it was strange and inappropriate. Her face +dropped and faded, and on both sides of it her long hair hung down +mournfully; she mused in a dejected attitude like "the woman who was a +sinner" in an old-fashioned picture.</p> + +<p>"It's wrong," she said. "You will be the first to despise me now."</p> + +<p>There was a water-melon on the table. Gurov cut himself a slice and +began eating it without haste. There followed at least half an hour of +silence.</p> + +<p>Anna Sergeyevna was touching; there was about her the purity of a good, +simple woman who had seen little of life. The solitary candle burning on +the table threw a faint light on her face, yet it was clear that she was +very unhappy.</p> + +<p>"How could I despise you?" asked Gurov. "You don't know what you are +saying."</p> + +<p>"God forgive me," she said, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's +awful."</p> + +<p>"You seem to feel you need to be forgiven."</p> + +<p>"Forgiven? No. I am a bad, low woman; I despise myself and don't attempt +to justify myself. It's not my husband but myself I have deceived. And +not only just now; I have been deceiving myself for a long time. My +husband may be a good, honest man, but he is a flunkey! I don't know +what he does there, what his work is, but I know he is a flunkey! I was +twenty when I was married to him. I have been tormented by curiosity; I +wanted something better. 'There must be a different sort of life,' I +said to myself. I wanted to live! To live, to live!... I was fired by +curiosity ... you don't understand it, but, I swear to God, I could not +control myself; something happened to me: I could not be restrained. I +told my husband I was ill, and came here.... And here I have been +walking about as though I were dazed, like a mad creature; ... and now I +have become a vulgar, contemptible woman whom any one may despise."</p> + +<p>Gurov felt bored already, listening to her. He was irritated by the +naïve tone, by this remorse, so unexpected and inopportune; but for the +tears in her eyes, he might have thought she was jesting or playing a +part.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," he said softly. "What is it you want?"</p> + +<p>She hid her face on his breast and pressed close to him.</p> + +<p>"Believe me, believe me, I beseech you ..." she said. "I love a pure, +honest life, and sin is loathsome to me. I don't know what I am doing. +Simple people say: 'The Evil One has beguiled me.' And I may say of +myself now that the Evil One has beguiled me."</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush!..." he muttered.</p> + +<p>He looked at her fixed, scared eyes, kissed her, talked softly and +affectionately, and by degrees she was comforted, and her gaiety +returned; they both began laughing.</p> + +<p>Afterwards when they went out there was not a soul on the sea-front. The +town with its cypresses had quite a deathlike air, but the sea still +broke noisily on the shore; a single barge was rocking on the waves, and +a lantern was blinking sleepily on it.</p> + +<p>They found a cab and drove to Oreanda.</p> + +<p>"I found out your surname in the hall just now: it was written on the +board—Von Diderits," said Gurov. "Is your husband a German?"</p> + +<p>"No; I believe his grandfather was a German, but he is an Orthodox +Russian himself."</p> + +<p>At Oreanda they sat on a seat not far from the church, looked down at +the sea, and were silent. Yalta was hardly visible through the morning +mist; white clouds stood motionless on the mountain-tops. The leaves did +not stir on the trees, grasshoppers chirruped, and the monotonous hollow +sound of the sea rising up from below, spoke of the peace, of the +eternal sleep awaiting us. So it must have sounded when there was no +Yalta, no Oreanda here; so it sounds now, and it will sound as +indifferently and monotonously when we are all no more. And in this +constancy, in this complete indifference to the life and death of each +of us, there lies hid, perhaps, a pledge of our eternal salvation, of +the unceasing movement of life upon earth, of unceasing progress towards +perfection. Sitting beside a young woman who in the dawn seemed so +lovely, soothed and spellbound in these magical surroundings—the sea, +mountains, clouds, the open sky—Gurov thought how in reality everything +is beautiful in this world when one reflects: everything except what we +think or do ourselves when we forget our human dignity and the higher +aims of our existence.</p> + +<p>A man walked up to them—probably a keeper—looked at them and walked +away. And this detail seemed mysterious and beautiful, too. They saw a +steamer come from Theodosia, with its lights out in the glow of dawn.</p> + +<p>"There is dew on the grass," said Anna Sergeyevna, after a silence.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It's time to go home."</p> + +<p>They went back to the town.</p> + +<p>Then they met every day at twelve o'clock on the sea-front, lunched and +dined together, went for walks, admired the sea. She complained that she +slept badly, that her heart throbbed violently; asked the same +questions, troubled now by jealousy and now by the fear that he did not +respect her sufficiently. And often in the square or gardens, when there +was no one near them, he suddenly drew her to him and kissed her +passionately. Complete idleness, these kisses in broad daylight while he +looked round in dread of some one's seeing them, the heat, the smell of +the sea, and the continual passing to and fro before him of idle, +well-dressed, well-fed people, made a new man of him; he told Anna +Sergeyevna how beautiful she was, how fascinating. He was impatiently +passionate, he would not move a step away from her, while she was often +pensive and continually urged him to confess that he did not respect +her, did not love her in the least, and thought of her as nothing but a +common woman. Rather late almost every evening they drove somewhere out +of town, to Oreanda or to the waterfall; and the expedition was always a +success, the scenery invariably impressed them as grand and beautiful.</p> + +<p>They were expecting her husband to come, but a letter came from him, +saying that there was something wrong with his eyes, and he entreated +his wife to come home as quickly as possible. Anna Sergeyevna made haste +to go.</p> + +<p>"It's a good thing I am going away," she said to Gurov. "It's the finger +of destiny!"</p> + +<p>She went by coach and he went with her. They were driving the whole day. +When she had got into a compartment of the express, and when the second +bell had rung, she said:</p> + +<p>"Let me look at you once more ... look at you once again. That's right."</p> + +<p>She did not shed tears, but was so sad that she seemed ill, and her face +was quivering.</p> + +<p>"I shall remember you ... think of you," she said. "God be with you; be +happy. Don't remember evil against me. We are parting forever—it must +be so, for we ought never to have met. Well, God be with you."</p> + +<p>The train moved off rapidly, its lights soon vanished from sight, and a +minute later there was no sound of it, as though everything had +conspired together to end as quickly as possible that sweet delirium, +that madness. Left alone on the platform, and gazing into the dark +distance, Gurov listened to the chirrup of the grasshoppers and the hum +of the telegraph wires, feeling as though he had only just waked up. And +he thought, musing, that there had been another episode or adventure in +his life, and it, too, was at an end, and nothing was left of it but a +memory.... He was moved, sad, and conscious of a slight remorse. This +young woman whom he would never meet again had not been happy with him; +he was genuinely warm and affectionate with her, but yet in his manner, +his tone, and his caresses there had been a shade of light irony, the +coarse condescension of a happy man who was, besides, almost twice her +age. All the time she had called him kind, exceptional, lofty; obviously +he had seemed to her different from what he really was, so he had +unintentionally deceived her....</p> + +<p>Here at the station was already a scent of autumn; it was a cold +evening.</p> + +<p>"It's time for me to go north," thought Gurov as he left the platform. +"High time!"</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>At home in Moscow everything was in its winter routine; the stoves were +heated, and in the morning it was still dark when the children were +having breakfast and getting ready for school, and the nurse would light +the lamp for a short time. The frosts had begun already. When the first +snow has fallen, on the first day of sledge-driving it is pleasant to +see the white earth, the white roofs, to draw soft, delicious breath, +and the season brings back the days of one's youth. The old limes and +birches, white with hoar-frost, have a good-natured expression; they are +nearer to one's heart than cypresses and palms, and near them one +doesn't want to be thinking of the sea and the mountains.</p> + +<p>Gurov was Moscow born; he arrived in Moscow on a fine frosty day, and +when he put on his fur coat and warm gloves, and walked along Petrovka, +and when on Saturday evening he heard the ringing of the bells, his +recent trip and the places he had seen lost all charm for him. Little by +little he became absorbed in Moscow life, greedily read three newspapers +a day, and declared he did not read the Moscow papers on principle! He +already felt a longing to go to restaurants, clubs, dinner-parties, +anniversary celebrations, and he felt flattered at entertaining +distinguished lawyers and artists, and at playing cards with a professor +at the doctors' club. He could already eat a whole plateful of salt fish +and cabbage.</p> + +<p>In another month, he fancied, the image of Anna Sergeyevna would be +shrouded in a mist in his memory, and only from time to time would visit +him in his dreams with a touching smile as others did. But more than a +month passed, real winter had come, and everything was still clear in +his memory as though he had parted with Anna Sergeyevna only the day +before. And his memories glowed more and more vividly. When in the +evening stillness he heard from his study the voices of his children, +preparing their lessons, or when he listened to a song or the organ at +the restaurant, or the storm howled in the chimney, suddenly everything +would rise up in his memory: what had happened on the groyne, and the +early morning with the mist on the mountains, and the steamer coming +from Theodosia, and the kisses. He would pace a long time about his +room, remembering it all and smiling; then his memories passed into +dreams, and in his fancy the past was mingled with what was to come. +Anna Sergeyevna did not visit him in dreams, but followed him about +everywhere like a shadow and haunted him. When he shut his eyes he saw +her as though she were living before him, and she seemed to him +lovelier, younger, tenderer than she was; and he imagined himself finer +than he had been in Yalta. In the evenings she peeped out at him from +the bookcase, from the fireplace, from the corner—he heard her +breathing, the caressing rustle of her dress. In the street he watched +the women, looking for some one like her.</p> + +<p>He was tormented by an intense desire to confide his memories to some +one. But in his home it was impossible to talk of his love, and he had +no one outside; he could not talk to his tenants nor to any one at the +bank. And what had he to talk of? Had he been in love, then? Had there +been anything beautiful, poetical, or edifying or simply interesting in +his relations with Anna Sergeyevna? And there was nothing for him but to +talk vaguely of love, of woman, and no one guessed what it meant; only +his wife twitched her black eyebrows, and said:</p> + +<p>"The part of a lady-killer does not suit you at all, Dimitri."</p> + +<p>One evening, coming out of the doctors' club with an official with whom +he had been playing cards, he could not resist saying:</p> + +<p>"If only you knew what a fascinating woman I made the acquaintance of in +Yalta!"</p> + +<p>The official got into his sledge and was driving away, but turned +suddenly and shouted:</p> + +<p>"Dmitri Dmitritch!"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"You were right this evening: the sturgeon was a bit too strong!"</p> + +<p>These words, so ordinary, for some reason moved Gurov to indignation, +and struck him as degrading and unclean. What savage manners, what +people! What senseless nights, what uninteresting, uneventful days! The +rage for card-playing, the gluttony, the drunkenness, the continual talk +always about the same thing. Useless pursuits and conversations always +about the same things absorb the better part of one's time, the better +part of one's strength, and in the end there is left a life grovelling +and curtailed, worthless and trivial, and there is no escaping or +getting away from it—just as though one were in a madhouse or a prison.</p> + +<p>Gurov did not sleep all night, and was filled with indignation. And he +had a headache all next day. And the next night he slept badly; he sat +up in bed, thinking, or paced up and down his room. He was sick of his +children, sick of the bank; he had no desire to go anywhere or to talk +of anything.</p> + +<p>In the holidays in December he prepared for a journey, and told his wife +he was going to Petersburg to do something in the interests of a young +friend—and he set off for S——. What for? He did not very well know +himself. He wanted to see Anna Sergeyevna and to talk with her—to +arrange a meeting, if possible.</p> + +<p>He reached S—— in the morning, and took the best room at the hotel, in +which the floor was covered with grey army cloth, and on the table was +an inkstand, grey with dust and adorned with a figure on horseback, with +its hat in its hand and its head broken off. The hotel porter gave him +the necessary information; Von Diderits lived in a house of his own in +Old Gontcharny Street—it was not far from the hotel: he was rich and +lived in good style, and had his own horses; every one in the town knew +him. The porter pronounced the name "Dridirits."</p> + +<p>Gurov went without haste to Old Gontcharny Street and found the house. +Just opposite the house stretched a long grey fence adorned with nails.</p> + +<p>"One would run away from a fence like that," thought Gurov, looking from +the fence to the windows of the house and back again.</p> + +<p>He considered: to-day was a holiday, and the husband would probably be +at home. And in any case it would be tactless to go into the house and +upset her. If he were to send her a note it might fall into her +husband's hands, and then it might ruin everything. The best thing was +to trust to chance. And he kept walking up and down the street by the +fence, waiting for the chance. He saw a beggar go in at the gate and +dogs fly at him; then an hour later he heard a piano, and the sounds +were faint and indistinct. Probably it was Anna Sergeyevna playing. The +front door suddenly opened, and an old woman came out, followed by the +familiar white Pomeranian. Gurov was on the point of calling to the dog, +but his heart began beating violently, and in his excitement he could +not remember the dog's name.</p> + +<p>He walked up and down, and loathed the grey fence more and more, and by +now he thought irritably that Anna Sergeyevna had forgotten him, and was +perhaps already amusing herself with some one else, and that that was +very natural in a young woman who had nothing to look at from morning +till night but that confounded fence. He went back to his hotel room and +sat for a long while on the sofa, not knowing what to do, then he had +dinner and a long nap.</p> + +<p>"How stupid and worrying it is!" he thought when he woke and looked at +the dark windows: it was already evening. "Here I've had a good sleep +for some reason. What shall I do in the night?"</p> + +<p>He sat on the bed, which was covered by a cheap grey blanket, such as +one sees in hospitals, and he taunted himself in his vexation:</p> + +<p>"So much for the lady with the dog ... so much for the adventure.... +You're in a nice fix...."</p> + +<p>That morning at the station a poster in large letters had caught his +eye. "The Geisha" was to be performed for the first time. He thought of +this and went to the theatre.</p> + +<p>"It's quite possible she may go to the first performance," he thought.</p> + +<p>The theatre was full. As in all provincial theatres, there was a fog +above the chandelier, the gallery was noisy and restless; in the front +row the local dandies were standing up before the beginning of the +performance, with their hands behind them; in the Governor's box the +Governor's daughter, wearing a boa, was sitting in the front seat, while +the Governor himself lurked modestly behind the curtain with only his +hands visible; the orchestra was a long time tuning up; the stage +curtain swayed. All the time the audience were coming in and taking +their seats Gurov looked at them eagerly.</p> + +<p>Anna Sergeyevna, too, came in. She sat down in the third row, and when +Gurov looked at her his heart contracted, and he understood clearly that +for him there was in the whole world no creature so near, so precious, +and so important to him; she, this little woman, in no way remarkable, +lost in a provincial crowd, with a vulgar lorgnette in her hand, filled +his whole life now, was his sorrow and his joy, the one happiness that +he now desired for himself, and to the sounds of the inferior orchestra, +of the wretched provincial violins, he thought how lovely she was. He +thought and dreamed.</p> + +<p>A young man with small side-whiskers, tall and stooping, came in with +Anna Sergeyevna and sat down beside her; he bent his head at every step +and seemed to be continually bowing. Most likely this was the husband +whom at Yalta, in a rush of bitter feeling, she had called a flunkey. +And there really was in his long figure, his side-whiskers, and the +small bald patch on his head, something of the flunkey's obsequiousness; +his smile was sugary, and in his buttonhole there was some badge of +distinction like the number on a waiter.</p> + +<p>During the first interval the husband went away to smoke; she remained +alone in her stall. Gurov, who was sitting in the stalls, too, went up +to her and said in a trembling voice, with a forced smile:</p> + +<p>"Good-evening."</p> + +<p>She glanced at him and turned pale, then glanced again with horror, +unable to believe her eyes, and tightly gripped the fan and the +lorgnette in her hands, evidently struggling with herself not to faint. +Both were silent. She was sitting, he was standing, frightened by her +confusion and not venturing to sit down beside her. The violins and the +flute began tuning up. He felt suddenly frightened; it seemed as though +all the people in the boxes were looking at them. She got up and went +quickly to the door; he followed her, and both walked senselessly along +passages, and up and down stairs, and figures in legal, scholastic, and +civil service uniforms, all wearing badges, flitted before their eyes. +They caught glimpses of ladies, of fur coats hanging on pegs; the +draughts blew on them, bringing a smell of stale tobacco. And Gurov, +whose heart was beating violently, thought:</p> + +<p>"Oh, heavens! Why are these people here and this orchestra!..."</p> + +<p>And at that instant he recalled how when he had seen Anna Sergeyevna off +at the station he had thought that everything was over and they would +never meet again. But how far they were still from the end!</p> + +<p>On the narrow, gloomy staircase over which was written "To the +Amphitheatre," she stopped.</p> + +<p>"How you have frightened me!" she said, breathing hard, still pale and +overwhelmed. "Oh, how you have frightened me! I am half dead. Why have +you come? Why?"</p> + +<p>"But do understand, Anna, do understand ..." he said hastily in a low +voice. "I entreat you to understand...."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with dread, with entreaty, with love; she looked at +him intently, to keep his features more distinctly in her memory.</p> + +<p>"I am so unhappy," she went on, not heeding him. "I have thought of +nothing but you all the time; I live only in the thought of you. And I +wanted to forget, to forget you; but why, oh, why, have you come?"</p> + +<p>On the landing above them two schoolboys were smoking and looking down, +but that was nothing to Gurov; he drew Anna Sergeyevna to him, and began +kissing her face, her cheeks, and her hands.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing, what are you doing!" she cried in horror, pushing +him away. "We are mad. Go away to-day; go away at once.... I beseech you +by all that is sacred, I implore you.... There are people coming this +way!"</p> + +<p>Some one was coming up the stairs.</p> + +<p>"You must go away," Anna Sergeyevna went on in a whisper. "Do you hear, +Dmitri Dmitritch? I will come and see you in Moscow. I have never been +happy; I am miserable now, and I never, never shall be happy, never! +Don't make me suffer still more! I swear I'll come to Moscow. But now +let us part. My precious, good, dear one, we must part!"</p> + +<p>She pressed his hand and began rapidly going downstairs, looking round +at him, and from her eyes he could see that she really was unhappy. +Gurov stood for a little while, listened, then, when all sound had died +away, he found his coat and left the theatre.</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>And Anna Sergeyevna began coming to see him in Moscow. Once in two or +three months she left S——, telling her husband that she was going to +consult a doctor about an internal complaint—and her husband believed +her, and did not believe her. In Moscow she stayed at the Slaviansky +Bazaar hotel, and at once sent a man in a red cap to Gurov. Gurov went +to see her, and no one in Moscow knew of it.</p> + +<p>Once he was going to see her in this way on a winter morning (the +messenger had come the evening before when he was out). With him walked +his daughter, whom he wanted to take to school: it was on the way. Snow +was falling in big wet flakes.</p> + +<p>"It's three degrees above freezing-point, and yet it is snowing," said +Gurov to his daughter. "The thaw is only on the surface of the earth; +there is quite a different temperature at a greater height in the +atmosphere."</p> + +<p>"And why are there no thunderstorms in the winter, father?"</p> + +<p>He explained that, too. He talked, thinking all the while that he was +going to see her, and no living soul knew of it, and probably never +would know. He had two lives: one, open, seen and known by all who cared +to know, full of relative truth and of relative falsehood, exactly like +the lives of his friends and acquaintances; and another life running its +course in secret. And through some strange, perhaps accidental, +conjunction of circumstances, everything that was essential, of interest +and of value to him, everything in which he was sincere and did not +deceive himself, everything that made the kernel of his life, was hidden +from other people; and all that was false in him, the sheath in which he +hid himself to conceal the truth—such, for instance, as his work in the +bank, his discussions at the club, his "lower race," his presence with +his wife at anniversary festivities—all that was open. And he judged of +others by himself, not believing in what he saw, and always believing +that every man had his real, most interesting life under the cover of +secrecy and under the cover of night. All personal life rested on +secrecy, and possibly it was partly on that account that civilised man +was so nervously anxious that personal privacy should be respected.</p> + +<p>After leaving his daughter at school, Gurov went on to the Slaviansky +Bazaar. He took off his fur coat below, went upstairs, and softly +knocked at the door. Anna Sergeyevna, wearing his favourite grey dress, +exhausted by the journey and the suspense, had been expecting him since +the evening before. She was pale; she looked at him, and did not smile, +and he had hardly come in when she fell on his breast. Their kiss was +slow and prolonged, as though they had not met for two years.</p> + +<p>"Well, how are you getting on there?" he asked. "What news?"</p> + +<p>"Wait; I'll tell you directly.... I can't talk."</p> + +<p>She could not speak; she was crying. She turned away from him, and +pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Let her have her cry out. I'll sit down and wait," he thought, and he +sat down in an arm-chair.</p> + +<p>Then he rang and asked for tea to be brought him, and while he drank his +tea she remained standing at the window with her back to him. She was +crying from emotion, from the miserable consciousness that their life +was so hard for them; they could only meet in secret, hiding themselves +from people, like thieves! Was not their life shattered?</p> + +<p>"Come, do stop!" he said.</p> + +<p>It was evident to him that this love of theirs would not soon be over, +that he could not see the end of it. Anna Sergeyevna grew more and more +attached to him. She adored him, and it was unthinkable to say to her +that it was bound to have an end some day; besides, she would not have +believed it!</p> + +<p>He went up to her and took her by the shoulders to say something +affectionate and cheering, and at that moment he saw himself in the +looking-glass.</p> + +<p>His hair was already beginning to turn grey. And it seemed strange to +him that he had grown so much older, so much plainer during the last few +years. The shoulders on which his hands rested were warm and quivering. +He felt compassion for this life, still so warm and lovely, but probably +already not far from beginning to fade and wither like his own. Why did +she love him so much? He always seemed to women different from what he +was, and they loved in him not himself, but the man created by their +imagination, whom they had been eagerly seeking all their lives; and +afterwards, when they noticed their mistake, they loved him all the +same. And not one of them had been happy with him. Time passed, he had +made their acquaintance, got on with them, parted, but he had never once +loved; it was anything you like, but not love.</p> + +<p>And only now when his head was grey he had fallen properly, really in +love—for the first time in his life.</p> + +<p>Anna Sergeyevna and he loved each other like people very close and akin, +like husband and wife, like tender friends; it seemed to them that fate +itself had meant them for one another, and they could not understand why +he had a wife and she a husband; and it was as though they were a pair +of birds of passage, caught and forced to live in different cages. They +forgave each other for what they were ashamed of in their past, they +forgave everything in the present, and felt that this love of theirs had +changed them both.</p> + +<p>In moments of depression in the past he had comforted himself with any +arguments that came into his mind, but now he no longer cared for +arguments; he felt profound compassion, he wanted to be sincere and +tender....</p> + +<p>"Don't cry, my darling," he said. "You've had your cry; that's +enough.... Let us talk now, let us think of some plan."</p> + +<p>Then they spent a long while taking counsel together, talked of how to +avoid the necessity for secrecy, for deception, for living in different +towns and not seeing each other for long at a time. How could they be +free from this intolerable bondage?</p> + +<p>"How? How?" he asked, clutching his head. "How?"</p> + +<p>And it seemed as though in a little while the solution would be found, +and then a new and splendid life would begin; and it was clear to both +of them that they had still a long, long road before them, and that the +most complicated and difficult part of it was only just beginning.</p> + +<h2><a name="A_DOCTORS_VISIT" id="A_DOCTORS_VISIT"></a>A DOCTOR'S VISIT</h2> + +<p class="nind"><big>T</big><small>HE</small> Professor received a telegram from the Lyalikovs' factory; he was +asked to come as quickly as possible. The daughter of some Madame +Lyalikov, apparently the owner of the factory, was ill, and that was all +that one could make out of the long, incoherent telegram. And the +Professor did not go himself, but sent instead his assistant, Korolyov.</p> + +<p>It was two stations from Moscow, and there was a drive of three miles +from the station. A carriage with three horses had been sent to the +station to meet Korolyov; the coachman wore a hat with a peacock's +feather on it, and answered every question in a loud voice like a +soldier: "No, sir!" "Certainly, sir!"</p> + +<p>It was Saturday evening; the sun was setting, the workpeople were coming +in crowds from the factory to the station, and they bowed to the +carriage in which Korolyov was driving. And he was charmed with the +evening, the farmhouses and villas on the road, and the birch-trees, and +the quiet atmosphere all around, when the fields and woods and the sun +seemed preparing, like the workpeople now on the eve of the holiday, to +rest, and perhaps to pray....</p> + +<p>He was born and had grown up in Moscow; he did not know the country, and +he had never taken any interest in factories, or been inside one, but he +had happened to read about factories, and had been in the houses of +manufacturers and had talked to them; and whenever he saw a factory far +or near, he always thought how quiet and peaceable it was outside, but +within there was always sure to be impenetrable ignorance and dull +egoism on the side of the owners, wearisome, unhealthy toil on the side +of the workpeople, squabbling, vermin, vodka. And now when the +workpeople timidly and respectfully made way for the carriage, in their +faces, their caps, their walk, he read physical impurity, drunkenness, +nervous exhaustion, bewilderment.</p> + +<p>They drove in at the factory gates. On each side he caught glimpses of +the little houses of workpeople, of the faces of women, of quilts and +linen on the railings. "Look out!" shouted the coachman, not pulling up +the horses. It was a wide courtyard without grass, with five immense +blocks of buildings with tall chimneys a little distance one from +another, warehouses and barracks, and over everything a sort of grey +powder as though from dust. Here and there, like oases in the desert, +there were pitiful gardens, and the green and red roofs of the houses in +which the managers and clerks lived. The coachman suddenly pulled up the +horses, and the carriage stopped at the house, which had been newly +painted grey; here was a flower garden, with a lilac bush covered with +dust, and on the yellow steps at the front door there was a strong smell +of paint.</p> + +<p>"Please come in, doctor," said women's voices in the passage and the +entry, and at the same time he heard sighs and whisperings. "Pray walk +in.... We've been expecting you so long ... we're in real trouble. Here, +this way."</p> + +<p>Madame Lyalikov—a stout elderly lady wearing a black silk dress with +fashionable sleeves, but, judging from her face, a simple uneducated +woman—looked at the doctor in a flutter, and could not bring herself to +hold out her hand to him; she did not dare. Beside her stood a personage +with short hair and a pince-nez; she was wearing a blouse of many +colours, and was very thin and no longer young. The servants called her +Christina Dmitryevna, and Korolyov guessed that this was the governess. +Probably, as the person of most education in the house, she had been +charged to meet and receive the doctor, for she began immediately, in +great haste, stating the causes of the illness, giving trivial and +tiresome details, but without saying who was ill or what was the matter.</p> + +<p>The doctor and the governess were sitting talking while the lady of the +house stood motionless at the door, waiting. From the conversation +Korolyov learned that the patient was Madame Lyalikov's only daughter +and heiress, a girl of twenty, called Liza; she had been ill for a long +time, and had consulted various doctors, and the previous night she had +suffered till morning from such violent palpitations of the heart, that +no one in the house had slept, and they had been afraid she might die.</p> + +<p>"She has been, one may say, ailing from a child," said Christina +Dmitryevna in a sing-song voice, continually wiping her lips with her +hand. "The doctors say it is nerves; when she was a little girl she was +scrofulous, and the doctors drove it inwards, so I think it may be due +to that."</p> + +<p>They went to see the invalid. Fully grown up, big and tall, but ugly +like her mother, with the same little eyes and disproportionate breadth +of the lower part of the face, lying with her hair in disorder, muffled +up to the chin, she made upon Korolyov at the first minute the +impression of a poor, destitute creature, sheltered and cared for here +out of charity, and he could hardly believe that this was the heiress of +the five huge buildings.</p> + +<p>"I am the doctor come to see you," said Korolyov. "Good evening."</p> + +<p>He mentioned his name and pressed her hand, a large, cold, ugly hand; +she sat up, and, evidently accustomed to doctors, let herself be +sounded, without showing the least concern that her shoulders and chest +were uncovered.</p> + +<p>"I have palpitations of the heart," she said, "It was so awful all +night.... I almost died of fright! Do give me something."</p> + +<p>"I will, I will; don't worry yourself."</p> + +<p>Korolyov examined her and shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"The heart is all right," he said; "it's all going on satisfactorily; +everything is in good order. Your nerves must have been playing pranks a +little, but that's so common. The attack is over by now, one must +suppose; lie down and go to sleep."</p> + +<p>At that moment a lamp was brought into the bed-room. The patient screwed +up her eyes at the light, then suddenly put her hands to her head and +broke into sobs. And the impression of a destitute, ugly creature +vanished, and Korolyov no longer noticed the little eyes or the heavy +development of the lower part of the face. He saw a soft, suffering +expression which was intelligent and touching: she seemed to him +altogether graceful, feminine, and simple; and he longed to soothe her, +not with drugs, not with advice, but with simple, kindly words. Her +mother put her arms round her head and hugged her. What despair, what +grief was in the old woman's face! She, her mother, had reared her and +brought her up, spared nothing, and devoted her whole life to having her +daughter taught French, dancing, music: had engaged a dozen teachers for +her; had consulted the best doctors, kept a governess. And now she could +not make out the reason of these tears, why there was all this misery, +she could not understand, and was bewildered; and she had a guilty, +agitated, despairing expression, as though she had omitted something +very important, had left something undone, had neglected to call in +somebody—and whom, she did not know.</p> + +<p>"Lizanka, you are crying again ... again," she said, hugging her +daughter to her. "My own, my darling, my child, tell me what it is! Have +pity on me! Tell me."</p> + +<p>Both wept bitterly. Korolyov sat down on the side of the bed and took +Liza's hand.</p> + +<p>"Come, give over; it's no use crying," he said kindly. "Why, there is +nothing in the world that is worth those tears. Come, we won't cry; +that's no good...."</p> + +<p>And inwardly he thought:</p> + +<p>"It's high time she was married...."</p> + +<p>"Our doctor at the factory gave her kalibromati," said the governess, +"but I notice it only makes her worse. I should have thought that if she +is given anything for the heart it ought to be drops.... I forget the +name.... Convallaria, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>And there followed all sorts of details. She interrupted the doctor, +preventing his speaking, and there was a look of effort on her face, as +though she supposed that, as the woman of most education in the house, +she was duty bound to keep up a conversation with the doctor, and on no +other subject but medicine.</p> + +<p>Korolyov felt bored.</p> + +<p>"I find nothing special the matter," he said, addressing the mother as +he went out of the bedroom. "If your daughter is being attended by the +factory doctor, let him go on attending her. The treatment so far has +been perfectly correct, and I see no reason for changing your doctor. +Why change? It's such an ordinary trouble; there's nothing seriously +wrong."</p> + +<p>He spoke deliberately as he put on his gloves, while Madame Lyalikov +stood without moving, and looked at him with her tearful eyes.</p> + +<p>"I have half an hour to catch the ten o'clock train," he said. "I hope I +am not too late."</p> + +<p>"And can't you stay?" she asked, and tears trickled down her cheeks +again. "I am ashamed to trouble you, but if you would be so good.... For +God's sake," she went on in an undertone, glancing towards the door, "do +stay to-night with us! She is all I have ... my only daughter.... She +frightened me last night; I can't get over it.... Don't go away, for +goodness' sake!..."</p> + +<p>He wanted to tell her that he had a great deal of work in Moscow, that +his family were expecting him home; it was disagreeable to him to spend +the evening and the whole night in a strange house quite needlessly; but +he looked at her face, heaved a sigh, and began taking off his gloves +without a word.</p> + +<p>All the lamps and candles were lighted in his honour in the drawing-room +and the dining-room. He sat down at the piano and began turning over the +music. Then he looked at the pictures on the walls, at the portraits. +The pictures, oil-paintings in gold frames, were views of the Crimea—a +stormy sea with a ship, a Catholic monk with a wineglass; they were all +dull, smooth daubs, with no trace of talent in them. There was not a +single good-looking face among the portraits, nothing but broad +cheekbones and astonished-looking eyes. Lyalikov, Liza's father, had a +low forehead and a self-satisfied expression; his uniform sat like a +sack on his bulky plebeian figure; on his breast was a medal and a Red +Cross Badge. There was little sign of culture, and the luxury was +senseless and haphazard, and was as ill fitting as that uniform. The +floors irritated him with their brilliant polish, the lustres on the +chandelier irritated him, and he was reminded for some reason of the +story of the merchant who used to go to the baths with a medal on his +neck....</p> + +<p>He heard a whispering in the entry; some one was softly snoring. And +suddenly from outside came harsh, abrupt, metallic sounds, such as +Korolyov had never heard before, and which he did not understand now; +they roused strange, unpleasant echoes in his soul.</p> + +<p>"I believe nothing would induce me to remain here to live ..." he +thought, and went back to the music-books again.</p> + +<p>"Doctor, please come to supper!" the governess called him in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>He went into supper. The table was large and laid with a vast number of +dishes and wines, but there were only two to supper: himself and +Christina Dmitryevna. She drank Madeira, ate rapidly, and talked, +looking at him through her pince-nez:</p> + +<p>"Our workpeople are very contented. We have performances at the factory +every winter; the workpeople act themselves. They have lectures with a +magic lantern, a splendid tea-room, and everything they want. They are +very much attached to us, and when they heard that Lizanka was worse +they had a service sung for her. Though they have no education, they +have their feelings, too."</p> + +<p>"It looks as though you have no man in the house at all," said Korolyov.</p> + +<p>"Not one. Pyotr Nikanoritch died a year and a half ago, and left us +alone. And so there are the three of us. In the summer we live here, and +in winter we live in Moscow, in Polianka. I have been living with them +for eleven years—as one of the family."</p> + +<p>At supper they served sterlet, chicken rissoles, and stewed fruit; the +wines were expensive French wines.</p> + +<p>"Please don't stand on ceremony, doctor," said Christina Dmitryevna, +eating and wiping her mouth with her fist, and it was evident she found +her life here exceedingly pleasant. "Please have some more."</p> + +<p>After supper the doctor was shown to his room, where a bed had been made +up for him, but he did not feel sleepy. The room was stuffy and it smelt +of paint; he put on his coat and went out.</p> + +<p>It was cool in the open air; there was already a glimmer of dawn, and +all the five blocks of buildings, with their tall chimneys, barracks, +and warehouses, were distinctly outlined against the damp air. As it was +a holiday, they were not working, and the windows were dark, and in only +one of the buildings was there a furnace burning; two windows were +crimson, and fire mixed with smoke came from time to time from the +chimney. Far away beyond the yard the frogs were croaking and the +nightingales singing.</p> + +<p>Looking at the factory buildings and the barracks, where the workpeople +were asleep, he thought again what he always thought when he saw a +factory. They may have performances for the workpeople, magic lanterns, +factory doctors, and improvements of all sorts, but, all the same, the +workpeople he had met that day on his way from the station did not look +in any way different from those he had known long ago in his childhood, +before there were factory performances and improvements. As a doctor +accustomed to judging correctly of chronic complaints, the radical cause +of which was incomprehensible and incurable, he looked upon factories as +something baffling, the cause of which also was obscure and not +removable, and all the improvements in the life of the factory hands he +looked upon not as superfluous, but as comparable with the treatment of +incurable illnesses.</p> + +<p>"There is something baffling in it, of course ..." he thought, looking +at the crimson windows. "Fifteen hundred or two thousand workpeople are +working without rest in unhealthy surroundings, making bad cotton goods, +living on the verge of starvation, and only waking from this nightmare +at rare intervals in the tavern; a hundred people act as overseers, and +the whole life of that hundred is spent in imposing fines, in abuse, in +injustice, and only two or three so-called owners enjoy the profits, +though they don't work at all, and despise the wretched cotton. But what +are the profits, and how do they enjoy them? Madame Lyalikov and her +daughter are unhappy—it makes one wretched to look at them; the only +one who enjoys her life is Christina Dmitryevna, a stupid, middle-aged +maiden lady in pince-nez. And so it appears that all these five blocks +of buildings are at work, and inferior cotton is sold in the Eastern +markets, simply that Christina Dmitryevna may eat sterlet and drink +Madeira."</p> + +<p>Suddenly there came a strange noise, the same sound Korolyov had heard +before supper. Some one was striking on a sheet of metal near one of the +buildings; he struck a note, and then at once checked the vibrations, so +that short, abrupt, discordant sounds were produced, rather like "Dair +... dair ... dair...." Then there was half a minute of stillness, and +from another building there came sounds equally abrupt and unpleasant, +lower bass notes: "Drin ... drin ... drin ..." Eleven times. Evidently +it was the watchman striking the hour. Near the third building he heard: +"Zhuk ... zhuk ... zhuk...." And so near all the buildings, and then +behind the barracks and beyond the gates. And in the stillness of the +night it seemed as though these sounds were uttered by a monster with +crimson eyes—the devil himself, who controlled the owners and the +work-people alike, and was deceiving both.</p> + +<p>Korolyov went out of the yard into the open country.</p> + +<p>"Who goes there?" some one called to him at the gates in an abrupt +voice.</p> + +<p>"It's just like being in prison," he thought, and made no answer.</p> + +<p>Here the nightingales and the frogs could be heard more distinctly, and +one could feel it was a night in May. From the station came the noise of +a train; somewhere in the distance drowsy cocks were crowing; but, all +the same, the night was still, the world was sleeping tranquilly. In a +field not far from the factory there could be seen the framework of a +house and heaps of building material.</p> + +<p>Korolyov sat down on the planks and went on thinking.</p> + +<p>"The only person who feels happy here is the governess, and the factory +hands are working for her gratification. But that's only apparent: she +is only the figurehead. The real person, for whom everything is being +done, is the devil."</p> + +<p>And he thought about the devil, in whom he did not believe, and he +looked round at the two windows where the fires were gleaming. It seemed +to him that out of those crimson eyes the devil himself was looking at +him—that unknown force that had created the mutual relation of the +strong and the weak, that coarse blunder which one could never correct. +The strong must hinder the weak from living—such was the law of +Nature; but only in a newspaper article or in a school book was that +intelligible and easily accepted. In the hotchpotch which was everyday +life, in the tangle of trivialities out of which human relations were +woven, it was no longer a law, but a logical absurdity, when the strong +and the weak were both equally victims of their mutual relations, +unwillingly submitting to some directing force, unknown, standing +outside life, apart from man.</p> + +<p>So thought Korolyov, sitting on the planks, and little by little he was +possessed by a feeling that this unknown and mysterious force was really +close by and looking at him. Meanwhile the east was growing paler, time +passed rapidly; when there was not a soul anywhere near, as though +everything were dead, the five buildings and their chimneys against the +grey background of the dawn had a peculiar look—not the same as by day; +one forgot altogether that inside there were steam motors, electricity, +telephones, and kept thinking of lake-dwellings, of the Stone Age, +feeling the presence of a crude, unconscious force....</p> + +<p>And again there came the sound: "Dair ... dair ... dair ... dair ..." +twelve times. Then there was stillness, stillness for half a minute, and +at the other end of the yard there rang out.</p> + +<p>"Drin ... drin ... drin...."</p> + +<p>"Horribly disagreeable," thought Korolyov.</p> + +<p>"Zhuk ... zhuk ..." there resounded from a third place, abruptly, +sharply, as though with annoyance—"Zhuk ... zhuk...."</p> + +<p>And it took four minutes to strike twelve. Then there was a hush; and +again it seemed as though everything were dead.</p> + +<p>Korolyov sat a little longer, then went to the house, but sat up for a +good while longer. In the adjoining rooms there was whispering, there +was a sound of shuffling slippers and bare feet.</p> + +<p>"Is she having another attack?" thought Korolyov.</p> + +<p>He went out to have a look at the patient. By now it was quite light in +the rooms, and a faint glimmer of sunlight, piercing through the morning +mist, quivered on the floor and on the wall of the drawing-room. The +door of Liza's room was open, and she was sitting in a low chair beside +her bed, with her hair down, wearing a dressing-gown and wrapped in a +shawl. The blinds were down on the windows.</p> + +<p>"How do you feel?" asked Korolyov.</p> + +<p>"Well, thank you."</p> + +<p>He touched her pulse, then straightened her hair, that had fallen over +her forehead.</p> + +<p>"You are not asleep," he said. "It's beautiful weather outside. It's +spring. The nightingales are singing, and you sit in the dark and think +of something."</p> + +<p>She listened and looked into his face; her eyes were sorrowful and +intelligent, and it was evident she wanted to say something to him.</p> + +<p>"Does this happen to you often?" he said.</p> + +<p>She moved her lips, and answered:</p> + +<p>"Often, I feel wretched almost every night."</p> + +<p>At that moment the watchman in the yard began striking two o'clock. They +heard: "Dair ... dair ..." and she shuddered.</p> + +<p>"Do those knockings worry you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Everything here worries me," she answered, and pondered. +"Everything worries me. I hear sympathy in your voice; it seemed to me +as soon as I saw you that I could tell you all about it."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, I beg you."</p> + +<p>"I want to tell you of my opinion. It seems to me that I have no +illness, but that I am weary and frightened, because it is bound to be +so and cannot be otherwise. Even the healthiest person can't help being +uneasy if, for instance, a robber is moving about under his window. I am +constantly being doctored," she went on, looking at her knees, and she +gave a shy smile. "I am very grateful, of course, and I do not deny that +the treatment is a benefit; but I should like to talk, not with a +doctor, but with some intimate friend who would understand me and would +convince me that I was right or wrong."</p> + +<p>"Have you no friends?" asked Korolyov.</p> + +<p>"I am lonely. I have a mother; I love her, but, all the same, I am +lonely. That's how it happens to be.... Lonely people read a great deal, +but say little and hear little. Life for them is mysterious; they are +mystics and often see the devil where he is not. Lermontov's Tamara was +lonely and she saw the devil."</p> + +<p>"Do you read a great deal?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You see, my whole time is free from morning till night. I read by +day, and by night my head is empty; instead of thoughts there are +shadows in it."</p> + +<p>"Do you see anything at night?" asked Korolyov.</p> + +<p>"No, but I feel...."</p> + +<p>She smiled again, raised her eyes to the doctor, and looked at him so +sorrowfully, so intelligently; and it seemed to him that she trusted +him, and that she wanted to speak frankly to him, and that she thought +the same as he did. But she was silent, perhaps waiting for him to +speak.</p> + +<p>And he knew what to say to her. It was clear to him that she needed as +quickly as possible to give up the five buildings and the million if she +had it—to leave that devil that looked out at night; it was clear to +him, too, that she thought so herself, and was only waiting for some one +she trusted to confirm her.</p> + +<p>But he did not know how to say it. How? One is shy of asking men under +sentence what they have been sentenced for; and in the same way it is +awkward to ask very rich people what they want so much money for, why +they make such a poor use of their wealth, why they don't give it up, +even when they see in it their unhappiness; and if they begin a +conversation about it themselves, it is usually embarrassing, awkward, +and long.</p> + +<p>"How is one to say it?" Korolyov wondered. "And is it necessary to +speak?"</p> + +<p>And he said what he meant in a roundabout way:</p> + +<p>"You in the position of a factory owner and a wealthy heiress are +dissatisfied; you don't believe in your right to it; and here now you +can't sleep. That, of course, is better than if you were satisfied, +slept soundly, and thought everything was satisfactory. Your +sleeplessness does you credit; in any case, it is a good sign. In +reality, such a conversation as this between us now would have been +unthinkable for our parents. At night they did not talk, but slept +sound; we, our generation, sleep badly, are restless, but talk a great +deal, and are always trying to settle whether we are right or not. For +our children or grandchildren that question—whether they are right or +not—will have been settled. Things will be clearer for them than for +us. Life will be good in fifty years' time; it's only a pity we shall +not last out till then. It would be interesting to have a peep at it."</p> + +<p>"What will our children and grandchildren do?" asked Liza.</p> + +<p>"I don't know.... I suppose they will throw it all up and go away."</p> + +<p>"Go where?"</p> + +<p>"Where?... Why, where they like," said Korolyov; and he laughed. "There +are lots of places a good, intelligent person can go to."</p> + +<p>He glanced at his watch.</p> + +<p>"The sun has risen, though," he said. "It is time you were asleep. +Undress and sleep soundly. Very glad to have made your acquaintance," he +went on, pressing her hand. "You are a good, interesting woman. +Good-night!"</p> + +<p>He went to his room and went to bed.</p> + +<p>In the morning when the carriage was brought round they all came out on +to the steps to see him off. Liza, pale and exhausted, was in a white +dress as though for a holiday, with a flower in her hair; she looked at +him, as yesterday, sorrowfully and intelligently, smiled and talked, and +all with an expression as though she wanted to tell him something +special, important—him alone. They could hear the larks trilling and +the church bells pealing. The windows in the factory buildings were +sparkling gaily, and, driving across the yard and afterwards along the +road to the station, Korolyov thought neither of the workpeople nor of +lake dwellings, nor of the devil, but thought of the time, perhaps close +at hand, when life would be as bright and joyous as that still Sunday +morning; and he thought how pleasant it was on such a morning in the +spring to drive with three horses in a good carriage, and to bask in the +sunshine.</p> + +<h2><a name="AN_UPHEAVAL" id="AN_UPHEAVAL"></a>AN UPHEAVAL</h2> + +<p class="nind"><big>M</big><small>ASHENKA PAVLETSKY</small>, a young girl who had only just finished her studies +at a boarding school, returning from a walk to the house of the +Kushkins, with whom she was living as a governess, found the household +in a terrible turmoil. Mihailo, the porter who opened the door to her, +was excited and red as a crab.</p> + +<p>Loud voices were heard from upstairs.</p> + +<p>"Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely, or else she has quarrelled +with her husband," thought Mashenka.</p> + +<p>In the hall and in the corridor she met maid-servants. One of them was +crying. Then Mashenka saw, running out of her room, the master of the +house himself, Nikolay Sergeitch, a little man with a flabby face and a +bald head, though he was not old. He was red in the face and twitching +all over. He passed the governess without noticing her, and throwing up +his arms, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Oh, how horrible it is! How tactless! How stupid! How barbarous! +Abominable!"</p> + +<p>Mashenka went into her room, and then, for the first time in her life, +it was her lot to experience in all its acuteness the feeling that is so +familiar to persons in dependent positions, who eat the bread of the +rich and powerful, and cannot speak their minds. There was a search +going on in her room. The lady of the house, Fedosya Vassilyevna, a +stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth woman with thick black eyebrows, a +faintly perceptible moustache, and red hands, who was exactly like a +plain, illiterate cook in face and manners, was standing, without her +cap on, at the table, putting back into Mashenka's workbag balls of +wool, scraps of materials, and bits of paper.... Evidently the +governess's arrival took her by surprise, since, on looking round and +seeing the girl's pale and astonished face, she was a little taken +aback, and muttered:</p> + +<p>"<i>Pardon</i>. I ... I upset it accidentally.... My sleeve caught in it ..."</p> + +<p>And saying something more, Madame Kushkin rustled her long skirts and +went out. Mashenka looked round her room with wondering eyes, and, +unable to understand it, not knowing what to think, shrugged her +shoulders, and turned cold with dismay. What had Fedosya Vassilyevna +been looking for in her work-bag? If she really had, as she said, caught +her sleeve in it and upset everything, why had Nikolay Sergeitch dashed +out of her room so excited and red in the face? Why was one drawer of +the table pulled out a little way? The money-box, in which the governess +put away ten kopeck pieces and old stamps, was open. They had opened it, +but did not know how to shut it, though they had scratched the lock all +over. The whatnot with her books on it, the things on the table, the +bed—all bore fresh traces of a search. Her linen-basket, too. The linen +had been carefully folded, but it was not in the same order as Mashenka +had left it when she went out. So the search had been thorough, most +thorough. But what was it for? Why? What had happened? Mashenka +remembered the excited porter, the general turmoil which was still going +on, the weeping servant-girl; had it not all some connection with the +search that had just been made in her room? Was not she mixed up in +something dreadful? Mashenka turned pale, and feeling cold all over, +sank on to her linen-basket.</p> + +<p>A maid-servant came into the room.</p> + +<p>"Liza, you don't know why they have been rummaging in my room?" the +governess asked her.</p> + +<p>"Mistress has lost a brooch worth two thousand," said Liza.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but why have they been rummaging in my room?"</p> + +<p>"They've been searching every one, miss. They've searched all my things, +too. They stripped us all naked and searched us.... God knows, miss, I +never went near her toilet-table, let alone touching the brooch. I shall +say the same at the police-station."</p> + +<p>"But ... why have they been rummaging here?" the governess still +wondered.</p> + +<p>"A brooch has been stolen, I tell you. The mistress has been rummaging +in everything with her own hands. She even searched Mihailo, the porter, +herself. It's a perfect disgrace! Nikolay Sergeitch simply looks on and +cackles like a hen. But you've no need to tremble like that, miss. They +found nothing here. You've nothing to be afraid of if you didn't take +the brooch."</p> + +<p>"But, Liza, it's vile ... it's insulting," said Mashenka, breathless +with indignation. "It's so mean, so low! What right had she to suspect +me and to rummage in my things?"</p> + +<p>"You are living with strangers, miss," sighed Liza. "Though you are a +young lady, still you are ... as it were ... a servant.... It's not like +living with your papa and mamma."</p> + +<p>Mashenka threw herself on the bed and sobbed bitterly. Never in her life +had she been subjected to such an outrage, never had she been so deeply +insulted.... She, well-educated, refined, the daughter of a teacher, was +suspected of theft; she had been searched like a street-walker! She +could not imagine a greater insult. And to this feeling of resentment +was added an oppressive dread of what would come next. All sorts of +absurd ideas came into her mind. If they could suspect her of theft, +then they might arrest her, strip her naked, and search her, then lead +her through the street with an escort of soldiers, cast her into a cold, +dark cell with mice and woodlice, exactly like the dungeon in which +Princess Tarakanov was imprisoned. Who would stand up for her? Her +parents lived far away in the provinces; they had not the money to come +to her. In the capital she was as solitary as in a desert, without +friends or kindred. They could do what they liked with her.</p> + +<p>"I will go to all the courts and all the lawyers," Mashenka thought, +trembling. "I will explain to them, I will take an oath.... They will +believe that I could not be a thief!"</p> + +<p>Mashenka remembered that under the sheets in her basket she had some +sweetmeats, which, following the habits of her schooldays, she had put +in her pocket at dinner and carried off to her room. She felt hot all +over, and was ashamed at the thought that her little secret was known to +the lady of the house; and all this terror, shame, resentment, brought +on an attack of palpitation of the heart, which set up a throbbing in +her temples, in her heart, and deep down in her stomach.</p> + +<p>"Dinner is ready," the servant summoned Mashenka.</p> + +<p>"Shall I go, or not?"</p> + +<p>Mashenka brushed her hair, wiped her face with a wet towel, and went +into the dining-room. There they had already begun dinner. At one end of +the table sat Fedosya Vassilyevna with a stupid, solemn, serious face; +at the other end Nikolay Sergeitch. At the sides there were the visitors +and the children. The dishes were handed by two footmen in swallowtails +and white gloves. Every one knew that there was an upset in the house, +that Madame Kushkin was in trouble, and every one was silent. Nothing +was heard but the sound of munching and the rattle of spoons on the +plates.</p> + +<p>The lady of the house, herself, was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>"What is the third course?" she asked the footman in a weary, injured +voice.</p> + +<p>"<i>Esturgeon à la russe</i>," answered the footman.</p> + +<p>"I ordered that, Fenya," Nikolay Sergeitch hastened to observe. "I +wanted some fish. If you don't like it, <i>ma chère</i>, don't let them serve +it. I just ordered it...."</p> + +<p>Fedosya Vassilyevna did not like dishes that she had not ordered +herself, and now her eyes filled with tears.</p> + +<p>"Come, don't let us agitate ourselves," Mamikov, her household doctor, +observed in a honeyed voice, just touching her arm, with a smile as +honeyed. "We are nervous enough as it is. Let us forget the brooch! +Health is worth more than two thousand roubles!"</p> + +<p>"It's not the two thousand I regret," answered the lady, and a big tear +rolled down her cheek. "It's the fact itself that revolts me! I cannot +put up with thieves in my house. I don't regret it—I regret nothing; +but to steal from me is such ingratitude! That's how they repay me for +my kindness...."</p> + +<p>They all looked into their plates, but Mashenka fancied after the lady's +words that every one was looking at her. A lump rose in her throat; she +began crying and put her handkerchief to her lips.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pardon</i>," she muttered. "I can't help it. My head aches. I'll go +away."</p> + +<p>And she got up from the table, scraping her chair awkwardly, and went +out quickly, still more overcome with confusion.</p> + +<p>"It's beyond everything!" said Nikolay Sergeitch, frowning. "What need +was there to search her room? How out of place it was!"</p> + +<p>"I don't say she took the brooch," said Fedosya Vassilyevna, "but can +you answer for her? To tell the truth, I haven't much confidence in +these learned paupers."</p> + +<p>"It really was unsuitable, Fenya.... Excuse me, Fenya, but you've no +kind of legal right to make a search."</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about your laws. All I know is that I've lost my brooch. +And I will find the brooch!" She brought her fork down on the plate with +a clatter, and her eyes flashed angrily. "And you eat your dinner, and +don't interfere in what doesn't concern you!"</p> + +<p>Nikolay Sergeitch dropped his eyes mildly and sighed. Meanwhile +Mashenka, reaching her room, flung herself on her bed. She felt now +neither alarm nor shame, but she felt an intense longing to go and slap +the cheeks of this hard, arrogant, dull-witted, prosperous woman.</p> + +<p>Lying on her bed she breathed into her pillow and dreamed of how nice it +would be to go and buy the most expensive brooch and fling it into the +face of this bullying woman. If only it were God's will that Fedosya +Vassilyevna should come to ruin and wander about begging, and should +taste all the horrors of poverty and dependence, and that Mashenka, whom +she had insulted, might give her alms! Oh, if only she could come in for +a big fortune, could buy a carriage, and could drive noisily past the +windows so as to be envied by that woman!</p> + +<p>But all these were only dreams, in reality there was only one thing left +to do—to get away as quickly as possible, not to stay another hour in +this place. It was true it was terrible to lose her place, to go back to +her parents, who had nothing; but what could she do? Mashenka could not +bear the sight of the lady of the house nor of her little room; she felt +stifled and wretched here. She was so disgusted with Fedosya +Vassilyevna, who was so obsessed by her illnesses and her supposed +aristocratic rank, that everything in the world seemed to have become +coarse and unattractive because this woman was living in it. Mashenka +jumped up from the bed and began packing.</p> + +<p>"May I come in?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch at the door; he had come up +noiselessly to the door, and spoke in a soft, subdued voice. "May I?"</p> + +<p>"Come in."</p> + +<p>He came in and stood still near the door. His eyes looked dim and his +red little nose was shiny. After dinner he used to drink beer, and the +fact was perceptible in his walk, in his feeble, flabby hands.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the basket.</p> + +<p>"I am packing. Forgive me, Nikolay Sergeitch, but I cannot remain in +your house. I feel deeply insulted by this search!"</p> + +<p>"I understand.... Only you are wrong to go. Why should you? They've +searched your things, but you ... what does it matter to you? You will +be none the worse for it."</p> + +<p>Mashenka was silent and went on packing. Nikolay Sergeitch pinched his +moustache, as though wondering what he should say next, and went on in +an ingratiating voice:</p> + +<p>"I understand, of course, but you must make allowances. You know my wife +is nervous, headstrong; you mustn't judge her too harshly."</p> + +<p>Mashenka did not speak.</p> + +<p>"If you are so offended," Nikolay Sergeitch went on, "well, if you like, +I'm ready to apologise. I ask your pardon."</p> + +<p>Mashenka made no answer, but only bent lower over her box. This +exhausted, irresolute man was of absolutely no significance in the +household. He stood in the pitiful position of a dependent and +hanger-on, even with the servants, and his apology meant nothing either.</p> + +<p>"H'm!... You say nothing! That's not enough for you. In that case, I +will apologise for my wife. In my wife's name.... She behaved +tactlessly, I admit it as a gentleman...."</p> + +<p>Nikolay Sergeitch walked about the room, heaved a sigh, and went on:</p> + +<p>"Then you want me to have it rankling here, under my heart.... You want +my conscience to torment me...."</p> + +<p>"I know it's not your fault, Nikolay Sergeitch," said Mashenka, looking +him full in the face with her big tear-stained eyes. "Why should you +worry yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, no.... But still, don't you ... go away. I entreat you."</p> + +<p>Mashenka shook her head. Nikolay Sergeitch stopped at the window and +drummed on the pane with his finger-tips.</p> + +<p>"Such misunderstandings are simply torture to me," he said. "Why, do you +want me to go down on my knees to you, or what? Your pride is wounded, +and here you've been crying and packing up to go; but I have pride, too, +and you do not spare it! Or do you want me to tell you what I would not +tell as Confession? Do you? Listen; you want me to tell you what I won't +tell the priest on my deathbed?"</p> + +<p>Mashenka made no answer.</p> + +<p>"I took my wife's brooch," Nikolay Sergeitch said quickly. "Is that +enough now? Are you satisfied? Yes, I ... took it.... But, of course, I +count on your discretion.... For God's sake, not a word, not half a hint +to any one!"</p> + +<p>Mashenka, amazed and frightened, went on packing; she snatched her +things, crumpled them up, and thrust them anyhow into the box and the +basket. Now, after this candid avowal on the part of Nikolay Sergeitch, +she could not remain another minute, and could not understand how she +could have gone on living in the house before.</p> + +<p>"And it's nothing to wonder at," Nikolay Sergeitch went on after a +pause. "It's an everyday story! I need money, and she ... won't give it +to me. It was my father's money that bought this house and everything, +you know! It's all mine, and the brooch belonged to my mother, and ... +it's all mine! And she took it, took possession of everything.... I +can't go to law with her, you'll admit.... I beg you most earnestly, +overlook it ... stay on. <i>Tout comprendre, tout pardonner.</i> Will you +stay?"</p> + +<p>"No!" said Mashenka resolutely, beginning to tremble. "Let me alone, I +entreat you!"</p> + +<p>"Well, God bless you!" sighed Nikolay Sergeitch, sitting down on the +stool near the box. "I must own I like people who still can feel +resentment, contempt, and so on. I could sit here forever and look at +your indignant face.... So you won't stay, then? I understand.... It's +bound to be so ... Yes, of course.... It's all right for you, but for +me—wo-o-o-o!... I can't stir a step out of this cellar. I'd go off to +one of our estates, but in every one of them there are some of my wife's +rascals ... stewards, experts, damn them all! They mortgage and +remortgage.... You mustn't catch fish, must keep off the grass, mustn't +break the trees."</p> + +<p>"Nikolay Sergeitch!" his wife's voice called from the drawing-room. +"Agnia, call your master!"</p> + +<p>"Then you won't stay?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch, getting up quickly and +going towards the door. "You might as well stay, really. In the evenings +I could come and have a talk with you. Eh? Stay! If you go, there won't +be a human face left in the house. It's awful!"</p> + +<p>Nikolay Sergeitch's pale, exhausted face besought her, but Mashenka +shook her head, and with a wave of his hand he went out.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later she was on her way.</p> + +<h2><a name="IONITCH" id="IONITCH"></a>IONITCH</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="nind"><big>W</big><small>HEN</small> visitors to the provincial town S—— complained of the dreariness +and monotony of life, the inhabitants of the town, as though defending +themselves, declared that it was very nice in S——, that there was a +library, a theatre, a club; that they had balls; and, finally, that +there were clever, agreeable, and interesting families with whom one +could make acquaintance. And they used to point to the family of the +Turkins as the most highly cultivated and talented.</p> + +<p>This family lived in their own house in the principal street, near the +Governor's. Ivan Petrovitch Turkin himself—a stout, handsome, dark man +with whiskers—used to get up amateur performances for benevolent +objects, and used to take the part of an elderly general and cough very +amusingly. He knew a number of anecdotes, charades, proverbs, and was +fond of being humorous and witty, and he always wore an expression from +which it was impossible to tell whether he were joking or in earnest. +His wife, Vera Iosifovna—a thin, nice-looking lady who wore a +pince-nez—used to write novels and stories, and was very fond of +reading them aloud to her visitors. The daughter, Ekaterina Ivanovna, a +young girl, used to play on the piano. In short, every member of the +family had a special talent. The Turkins welcomed visitors, and +good-humouredly displayed their talents with genuine simplicity. Their +stone house was roomy and cool in summer; half of the windows looked +into a shady old garden, where nightingales used to sing in the spring. +When there were visitors in the house, there was a clatter of knives in +the kitchen and a smell of fried onions in the yard—and that was always +a sure sign of a plentiful and savoury supper to follow.</p> + +<p>And as soon as Dmitri Ionitch Startsev was appointed the district +doctor, and took up his abode at Dyalizh, six miles from S——, he, too, +was told that as a cultivated man it was essential for him to make the +acquaintance of the Turkins. In the winter he was introduced to Ivan +Petrovitch in the street; they talked about the weather, about the +theatre, about the cholera; an invitation followed. On a holiday in the +spring—it was Ascension Day—after seeing his patients, Startsev set +off for town in search of a little recreation and to make some +purchases. He walked in a leisurely way (he had not yet set up his +carriage), humming all the time:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Before I'd drunk the tears from life's goblet....'"</span> +</div></div> + +<p>In town he dined, went for a walk in the gardens, then Ivan +Petrovitch's invitation came into his mind, as it were of itself, +and he decided to call on the Turkins and see what sort of people +they were.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, if you please?" said Ivan Petrovitch, meeting him +on the steps. "Delighted, delighted to see such an agreeable visitor. +Come along; I will introduce you to my better half. I tell him, +Verotchka," he went on, as he presented the doctor to his wife—"I +tell him that he has no human right to sit at home in a hospital; +he ought to devote his leisure to society. Oughtn't he, darling?"</p> + +<p>"Sit here," said Vera Iosifovna, making her visitor sit down beside +her. "You can dance attendance on me. My husband is jealous—he +is an Othello; but we will try and behave so well that he will +notice nothing."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you spoilt chicken!" Ivan Petrovitch muttered tenderly, and +he kissed her on the forehead. "You have come just in the nick of +time," he said, addressing the doctor again. "My better half has +written a 'hugeous' novel, and she is going to read it aloud to-day."</p> + +<p>"Petit Jean," said Vera Iosifovna to her husband, "dites que l'on +nous donne du thé."</p> + +<p>Startsev was introduced to Ekaterina Ivanovna, a girl of eighteen, +very much like her mother, thin and pretty. Her expression was still +childish and her figure was soft and slim; and her developed girlish +bosom, healthy and beautiful, was suggestive of spring, real spring.</p> + +<p>Then they drank tea with jam, honey, and sweetmeats, and with very +nice cakes, which melted in the mouth. As the evening came on, other +visitors gradually arrived, and Ivan Petrovitch fixed his laughing +eyes on each of them and said:</p> + +<p>"How do you do, if you please?"</p> + +<p>Then they all sat down in the drawing-room with very serious faces, +and Vera Iosifovna read her novel. It began like this: "The frost +was intense...." The windows were wide open; from the kitchen +came the clatter of knives and the smell of fried onions.... It +was comfortable in the soft deep arm-chair; the lights had such a +friendly twinkle in the twilight of the drawing-room, and at the +moment on a summer evening when sounds of voices and laughter floated +in from the street and whiffs of lilac from the yard, it was difficult +to grasp that the frost was intense, and that the setting sun was +lighting with its chilly rays a solitary wayfarer on the snowy +plain. Vera Iosifovna read how a beautiful young countess founded +a school, a hospital, a library, in her village, and fell in love +with a wandering artist; she read of what never happens in real +life, and yet it was pleasant to listen—it was comfortable, and +such agreeable, serene thoughts kept coming into the mind, one had +no desire to get up.</p> + +<p>"Not badsome ..." Ivan Petrovitch said softly.</p> + +<p>And one of the visitors hearing, with his thoughts far away, said +hardly audibly:</p> + +<p>"Yes ... truly...."</p> + +<p>One hour passed, another. In the town gardens close by a band was +playing and a chorus was singing. When Vera Iosifovna shut her +manuscript book, the company was silent for five minutes, listening +to "Lutchina" being sung by the chorus, and the song gave what was +not in the novel and is in real life.</p> + +<p>"Do you publish your stories in magazines?" Startsev asked Vera +Iosifovna.</p> + +<p>"No," she answered. "I never publish. I write it and put it away +in my cupboard. Why publish?" she explained. "We have enough to +live on."</p> + +<p>And for some reason every one sighed.</p> + +<p>"And now, Kitten, you play something," Ivan Petrovitch said to his +daughter.</p> + +<p>The lid of the piano was raised and the music lying ready was opened. +Ekaterina Ivanovna sat down and banged on the piano with both hands, +and then banged again with all her might, and then again and again; +her shoulders and bosom shook. She obstinately banged on the same +notes, and it sounded as if she would not leave off until she had +hammered the keys into the piano. The drawing-room was filled with +the din; everything was resounding; the floor, the ceiling, the +furniture.... Ekaterina Ivanovna was playing a difficult passage, +interesting simply on account of its difficulty, long and monotonous, +and Startsev, listening, pictured stones dropping down a steep hill +and going on dropping, and he wished they would leave off dropping; +and at the same time Ekaterina Ivanovna, rosy from the violent +exercise, strong and vigorous, with a lock of hair falling over her +forehead, attracted him very much. After the winter spent at Dyalizh +among patients and peasants, to sit in a drawing-room, to watch +this young, elegant, and, in all probability, pure creature, and +to listen to these noisy, tedious but still cultured sounds, was +so pleasant, so novel....</p> + +<p>"Well, Kitten, you have played as never before," said Ivan Petrovitch, +with tears in his eyes, when his daughter had finished and stood +up. "Die, Denis; you won't write anything better."</p> + +<p>All flocked round her, congratulated her, expressed astonishment, +declared that it was long since they had heard such music, and she +listened in silence with a faint smile, and her whole figure was +expressive of triumph.</p> + +<p>"Splendid, superb!"</p> + +<p>"Splendid," said Startsev, too, carried away by the general enthusiasm. +"Where have you studied?" he asked Ekaterina Ivanovna. "At the +Conservatoire?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am only preparing for the Conservatoire, and till now have +been working with Madame Zavlovsky."</p> + +<p>"Have you finished at the high school here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," Vera Iosifovna answered for her, "We have teachers for +her at home; there might be bad influences at the high school or a +boarding school, you know. While a young girl is growing up, she +ought to be under no influence but her mother's."</p> + +<p>"All the same, I'm going to the Conservatoire," said Ekaterina +Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>"No. Kitten loves her mamma. Kitten won't grieve papa and mamma."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm going, I'm going," said Ekaterina Ivanovna, with playful +caprice and stamping her foot.</p> + +<p>And at supper it was Ivan Petrovitch who displayed his talents. +Laughing only with his eyes, he told anecdotes, made epigrams, asked +ridiculous riddles and answered them himself, talking the whole +time in his extraordinary language, evolved in the course of prolonged +practice in witticism and evidently now become a habit: "Badsome," +"Hugeous," "Thank you most dumbly," and so on.</p> + +<p>But that was not all. When the guests, replete and satisfied, trooped +into the hall, looking for their coats and sticks, there bustled +about them the footman Pavlusha, or, as he was called in the family, +Pava—a lad of fourteen with shaven head and chubby cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Come, Pava, perform!" Ivan Petrovitch said to him.</p> + +<p>Pava struck an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic +tone: "Unhappy woman, die!"</p> + +<p>And every one roared with laughter.</p> + +<p>"It's entertaining," thought Startsev, as he went out into the +street.</p> + +<p>He went to a restaurant and drank some beer, then set off to walk +home to Dyalizh; he walked all the way singing:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Thy voice to me so languid and caressing....'"</span> +</div></div> + +<p>On going to bed, he felt not the slightest fatigue after the six miles' +walk. On the contrary, he felt as though he could with pleasure have +walked another twenty.</p> + +<p>"Not badsome," he thought, and laughed as he fell asleep.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Startsev kept meaning to go to the Turkins' again, but there was a great +deal of work in the hospital, and he was unable to find free time. In +this way more than a year passed in work and solitude. But one day a +letter in a light blue envelope was brought him from the town.</p> + +<p>Vera Iosifovna had been suffering for some time from migraine, but now +since Kitten frightened her every day by saying that she was going away +to the Conservatoire, the attacks began to be more frequent. All the +doctors of the town had been at the Turkins'; at last it was the +district doctor's turn. Vera Iosifovna wrote him a touching letter in +which she begged him to come and relieve her sufferings. Startsev went, +and after that he began to be often, very often at the Turkins'.... He +really did something for Vera Iosifovna, and she was already telling all +her visitors that he was a wonderful and exceptional doctor. But it was +not for the sake of her migraine that he visited the Turkins' now....</p> + +<p>It was a holiday. Ekaterina Ivanovna finished her long, wearisome +exercises on the piano. Then they sat a long time in the dining-room, +drinking tea, and Ivan Petrovitch told some amusing story. Then there +was a ring and he had to go into the hall to welcome a guest; Startsev +took advantage of the momentary commotion, and whispered to Ekaterina +Ivanovna in great agitation:</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, I entreat you, don't torment me; let us go into the +garden!"</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders, as though perplexed and not knowing what he +wanted of her, but she got up and went.</p> + +<p>"You play the piano for three or four hours," he said, following her; +"then you sit with your mother, and there is no possibility of speaking +to you. Give me a quarter of an hour at least, I beseech you."</p> + +<p>Autumn was approaching, and it was quiet and melancholy in the old +garden; the dark leaves lay thick in the walks. It was already beginning +to get dark early.</p> + +<p>"I haven't seen you for a whole week," Startsev went on, "and if you +only knew what suffering it is! Let us sit down. Listen to me."</p> + +<p>They had a favourite place in the garden; a seat under an old spreading +maple. And now they sat down on this seat.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" said Ekaterina Ivanovna drily, in a matter-of-fact +tone.</p> + +<p>"I have not seen you for a whole week; I have not heard you for so long. +I long passionately, I thirst for your voice. Speak."</p> + +<p>She fascinated him by her freshness, the naïve expression of her eyes +and cheeks. Even in the way her dress hung on her, he saw something +extraordinarily charming, touching in its simplicity and naïve grace; +and at the same time, in spite of this naïveté, she seemed to him +intelligent and developed beyond her years. He could talk with her about +literature, about art, about anything he liked; could complain to her of +life, of people, though it sometimes happened in the middle of serious +conversation she would laugh inappropriately or run away into the house. +Like almost all girls of her neighbourhood, she had read a great deal +(as a rule, people read very little in S——, and at the lending library +they said if it were not for the girls and the young Jews, they might as +well shut up the library). This afforded Startsev infinite delight; he +used to ask her eagerly every time what she had been reading the last +few days, and listened enthralled while she told him.</p> + +<p>"What have you been reading this week since I saw you last?" he asked +now. "Do please tell me."</p> + +<p>"I have been reading Pisemsky."</p> + +<p>"What exactly?"</p> + +<p>"'A Thousand Souls,'" answered Kitten. "And what a funny name Pisemsky +had—Alexey Feofilaktitch!"</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" cried Startsev in horror, as she suddenly got up +and walked towards the house. "I must talk to you; I want to explain +myself.... Stay with me just five minutes, I supplicate you!"</p> + +<p>She stopped as though she wanted to say something, then awkwardly thrust +a note into his hand, ran home and sat down to the piano again.</p> + +<p>"Be in the cemetery," Startsev read, "at eleven o'clock to-night, near +the tomb of Demetti."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's not at all clever," he thought, coming to himself. "Why +the cemetery? What for?"</p> + +<p>It was clear: Kitten was playing a prank. Who would seriously dream of +making an appointment at night in the cemetery far out of the town, when +it might have been arranged in the street or in the town gardens? And +was it in keeping with him—a district doctor, an intelligent, staid +man—to be sighing, receiving notes, to hang about cemeteries, to do +silly things that even schoolboys think ridiculous nowadays? What would +this romance lead to? What would his colleagues say when they heard of +it? Such were Startsev's reflections as he wandered round the tables at +the club, and at half-past ten he suddenly set off for the cemetery.</p> + +<p>By now he had his own pair of horses, and a coachman called Panteleimon, +in a velvet waistcoat. The moon was shining. It was still warm, warm as +it is in autumn. Dogs were howling in the suburb near the +slaughter-house. Startsev left his horses in one of the side-streets at +the end of the town, and walked on foot to the cemetery.</p> + +<p>"We all have our oddities," he thought. "Kitten is odd, too; and—who +knows?—perhaps she is not joking, perhaps she will come"; and he +abandoned himself to this faint, vain hope, and it intoxicated him.</p> + +<p>He walked for half a mile through the fields; the cemetery showed as a +dark streak in the distance, like a forest or a big garden. The wall of +white stone came into sight, the gate.... In the moonlight he could read +on the gate: "The hour cometh." Startsev went in at the little gate, and +before anything else he saw the white crosses and monuments on both +sides of the broad avenue, and the black shadows of them and the +poplars; and for a long way round it was all white and black, and the +slumbering trees bowed their branches over the white stones. It seemed +as though it were lighter here than in the fields; the maple-leaves +stood out sharply like paws on the yellow sand of the avenue and on the +stones, and the inscriptions on the tombs could be clearly read. For the +first moments Startsev was struck now by what he saw for the first time +in his life, and what he would probably never see again; a world not +like anything else, a world in which the moonlight was as soft and +beautiful, as though slumbering here in its cradle, where there was no +life, none whatever; but in every dark poplar, in every tomb, there was +felt the presence of a mystery that promised a life peaceful, beautiful, +eternal. The stones and faded flowers, together with the autumn scent of +the leaves, all told of forgiveness, melancholy, and peace.</p> + +<p>All was silence around; the stars looked down from the sky in the +profound stillness, and Startsev's footsteps sounded loud and out of +place, and only when the church clock began striking and he imagined +himself dead, buried there for ever, he felt as though some one were +looking at him, and for a moment he thought that it was not peace and +tranquillity, but stifled despair, the dumb dreariness of +non-existence....</p> + +<p>Demetti's tomb was in the form of a shrine with an angel at the top. The +Italian opera had once visited S—— and one of the singers had died; +she had been buried here, and this monument put up to her. No one in the +town remembered her, but the lamp at the entrance reflected the +moonlight, and looked as though it were burning.</p> + +<p>There was no one, and, indeed, who would come here at midnight? But +Startsev waited, and as though the moonlight warmed his passion, he +waited passionately, and, in imagination, pictured kisses and embraces. +He sat near the monument for half an hour, then paced up and down the +side avenues, with his hat in his hand, waiting and thinking of the many +women and girls buried in these tombs who had been beautiful and +fascinating, who had loved, at night burned with passion, yielding +themselves to caresses. How wickedly Mother Nature jested at man's +expense, after all! How humiliating it was to recognise it!</p> + +<p>Startsev thought this, and at the same time he wanted to cry out that he +wanted love, that he was eager for it at all costs. To his eyes they +were not slabs of marble, but fair white bodies in the moonlight; he saw +shapes hiding bashfully in the shadows of the trees, felt their warmth, +and the languor was oppressive....</p> + +<p>And as though a curtain were lowered, the moon went behind a cloud, and +suddenly all was darkness. Startsev could scarcely find the gate—by now +it was as dark as it is on an autumn night. Then he wandered about for +an hour and a half, looking for the side-street in which he had left his +horses.</p> + +<p>"I am tired; I can scarcely stand on my legs," he said to Panteleimon.</p> + +<p>And settling himself with relief in his carriage, he thought: "Och! I +ought not to get fat!"</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The following evening he went to the Turkins' to make an offer. But it +turned out to be an inconvenient moment, as Ekaterina Ivanovna was in +her own room having her hair done by a hair-dresser. She was getting +ready to go to a dance at the club.</p> + +<p>He had to sit a long time again in the dining-room drinking tea. Ivan +Petrovitch, seeing that his visitor was bored and preoccupied, drew some +notes out of his waistcoat pocket, read a funny letter from a German +steward, saying that all the ironmongery was ruined and the plasticity +was peeling off the walls.</p> + +<p>"I expect they will give a decent dowry," thought Startsev, listening +absent-mindedly.</p> + +<p>After a sleepless night, he found himself in a state of stupefaction, as +though he had been given something sweet and soporific to drink; there +was fog in his soul, but joy and warmth, and at the same time a sort of +cold, heavy fragment of his brain was reflecting:</p> + +<p>"Stop before it is too late! Is she the match for you? She is spoilt, +whimsical, sleeps till two o'clock in the afternoon, while you are a +deacon's son, a district doctor...."</p> + +<p>"What of it?" he thought. "I don't care."</p> + +<p>"Besides, if you marry her," the fragment went on, "then her relations +will make you give up the district work and live in the town."</p> + +<p>"After all," he thought, "if it must be the town, the town it must be. +They will give a dowry; we can establish ourselves suitably."</p> + +<p>At last Ekaterina Ivanovna came in, dressed for the ball, with a low +neck, looking fresh and pretty; and Startsev admired her so much, and +went into such ecstasies, that he could say nothing, but simply stared +at her and laughed.</p> + +<p>She began saying good-bye, and he—he had no reason for staying now—got +up, saying that it was time for him to go home; his patients were +waiting for him.</p> + +<p>"Well, there's no help for that," said Ivan Petrovitch. "Go, and you +might take Kitten to the club on the way."</p> + +<p>It was spotting with rain; it was very dark, and they could only tell +where the horses were by Panteleimon's husky cough. The hood of the +carriage was put up.</p> + +<p>"I stand upright; you lie down right; he lies all right," said Ivan +Petrovitch as he put his daughter into the carriage.</p> + +<p>They drove off.</p> + +<p>"I was at the cemetery yesterday," Startsev began. "How ungenerous and +merciless it was on your part!..."</p> + +<p>"You went to the cemetery?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I went there and waited almost till two o'clock. I suffered...."</p> + +<p>"Well, suffer, if you cannot understand a joke."</p> + +<p>Ekaterina Ivanovna, pleased at having so cleverly taken in a man who was +in love with her, and at being the object of such intense love, burst +out laughing and suddenly uttered a shriek of terror, for, at that very +minute, the horses turned sharply in at the gate of the club, and the +carriage almost tilted over. Startsev put his arm round Ekaterina +Ivanovna's waist; in her fright she nestled up to him, and he could not +restrain himself, and passionately kissed her on the lips and on the +chin, and hugged her more tightly.</p> + +<p>"That's enough," she said drily.</p> + +<p>And a minute later she was not in the carriage, and a policeman near the +lighted entrance of the club shouted in a detestable voice to +Panteleimon:</p> + +<p>"What are you stopping for, you crow? Drive on."</p> + +<p>Startsev drove home, but soon afterwards returned. Attired in another +man's dress suit and a stiff white tie which kept sawing at his neck and +trying to slip away from the collar, he was sitting at midnight in the +club drawing-room, and was saying with enthusiasm to Ekaterina Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>"Ah, how little people know who have never loved! It seems to me that no +one has ever yet written of love truly, and I doubt whether this tender, +joyful, agonising feeling can be described, and any one who has once +experienced it would not attempt to put it into words. What is the use +of preliminaries and introductions? What is the use of unnecessary fine +words? My love is immeasurable. I beg, I beseech you," Startsev brought +out at last, "be my wife!"</p> + +<p>"Dmitri Ionitch," said Ekaterina Ivanovna, with a very grave face, after +a moment's thought—"Dmitri Ionitch, I am very grateful to you for the +honour. I respect you, but ..." she got up and continued standing, "but, +forgive me, I cannot be your wife. Let us talk seriously. Dmitri +Ionitch, you know I love art beyond everything in life. I adore music; I +love it frantically; I have dedicated my whole life to it. I want to be +an artist; I want fame, success, freedom, and you want me to go on +living in this town, to go on living this empty, useless life, which has +become insufferable to me. To become a wife—oh, no, forgive me! One +must strive towards a lofty, glorious goal, and married life would put +me in bondage for ever. Dmitri Ionitch" (she faintly smiled as she +pronounced his name; she thought of "Alexey Feofilaktitch")—"Dmitri +Ionitch, you are a good, clever, honourable man; you are better than any +one...." Tears came into her eyes. "I feel for you with my whole heart, +but ... but you will understand...."</p> + +<p>And she turned away and went out of the drawing-room to prevent herself +from crying.</p> + +<p>Startsev's heart left off throbbing uneasily. Going out of the club into +the street, he first of all tore off the stiff tie and drew a deep +breath. He was a little ashamed and his vanity was wounded—he had not +expected a refusal—and could not believe that all his dreams, his hopes +and yearnings, had led him up to such a stupid end, just as in some +little play at an amateur performance, and he was sorry for his feeling, +for that love of his, so sorry that he felt as though he could have +burst into sobs or have violently belaboured Panteleimon's broad back +with his umbrella.</p> + +<p>For three days he could not get on with anything, he could not eat nor +sleep; but when the news reached him that Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone +away to Moscow to enter the Conservatoire, he grew calmer and lived as +before.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, remembering sometimes how he had wandered about the cemetery +or how he had driven all over the town to get a dress suit, he stretched +lazily and said:</p> + +<p>"What a lot of trouble, though!"</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Four years had passed. Startsev already had a large practice in the +town. Every morning he hurriedly saw his patients at Dyalizh, then he +drove in to see his town patients. By now he drove, not with a pair, but +with a team of three with bells on them, and he returned home late at +night. He had grown broader and stouter, and was not very fond of +walking, as he was somewhat asthmatic. And Panteleimon had grown stout, +too, and the broader he grew, the more mournfully he sighed and +complained of his hard luck: he was sick of driving! Startsev used to +visit various households and met many people, but did not become +intimate with any one. The inhabitants irritated him by their +conversation, their views of life, and even their appearance. Experience +taught him by degrees that while he played cards or lunched with one of +these people, the man was a peaceable, friendly, and even intelligent +human being; that as soon as one talked of anything not eatable, for +instance, of politics or science, he would be completely at a loss, or +would expound a philosophy so stupid and ill-natured that there was +nothing else to do but wave one's hand in despair and go away. Even when +Startsev tried to talk to liberal citizens, saying, for instance, that +humanity, thank God, was progressing, and that one day it would be +possible to dispense with passports and capital punishment, the liberal +citizen would look at him askance and ask him mistrustfully: "Then any +one could murder any one he chose in the open street?" And when, at tea +or supper, Startsev observed in company that one should work, and that +one ought not to live without working, every one took this as a +reproach, and began to get angry and argue aggressively. With all that, +the inhabitants did nothing, absolutely nothing, and took no interest in +anything, and it was quite impossible to think of anything to say. And +Startsev avoided conversation, and confined himself to eating and +playing <i>vint</i>; and when there was a family festivity in some household +and he was invited to a meal, then he sat and ate in silence, looking at +his plate.</p> + +<p>And everything that was said at the time was uninteresting, unjust, and +stupid; he felt irritated and disturbed, but held his tongue, and, +because he sat glumly silent and looked at his plate, he was nicknamed +in the town "the haughty Pole," though he never had been a Pole.</p> + +<p>All such entertainments as theatres and concerts he declined, but he +played <i>vint</i> every evening for three hours with enjoyment. He had +another diversion to which he took imperceptibly, little by little: in +the evening he would take out of his pockets the notes he had gained by +his practice, and sometimes there were stuffed in his pockets +notes—yellow and green, and smelling of scent and vinegar and incense +and fish oil—up to the value of seventy roubles; and when they amounted +to some hundreds he took them to the Mutual Credit Bank and deposited +the money there to his account.</p> + +<p>He was only twice at the Turkins' in the course of the four years after +Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone away, on each occasion at the invitation of +Vera Iosifovna, who was still undergoing treatment for migraine. Every +summer Ekaterina Ivanovna came to stay with her parents, but he did not +once see her; it somehow never happened.</p> + +<p>But now four years had passed. One still, warm morning a letter was +brought to the hospital. Vera Iosifovna wrote to Dmitri Ionitch that she +was missing him very much, and begged him to come and see them, and to +relieve her sufferings; and, by the way, it was her birthday. Below was +a postscript: "I join in mother's request.—K."</p> + +<p>Startsev considered, and in the evening he went to the Turkins'.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, if you please?" Ivan Petrovitch met him, smiling with +his eyes only. "Bongjour."</p> + +<p>Vera Iosifovna, white-haired and looking much older, shook Startsev's +hand, sighed affectedly, and said:</p> + +<p>"You don't care to pay attentions to me, doctor. You never come and see +us; I am too old for you. But now some one young has come; perhaps she +will be more fortunate."</p> + +<p>And Kitten? She had grown thinner, paler, had grown handsomer and more +graceful; but now she was Ekaterina Ivanovna, not Kitten; she had lost +the freshness and look of childish naïveté. And in her expression and +manners there was something new—guilty and diffident, as though she did +not feel herself at home here in the Turkins' house.</p> + +<p>"How many summers, how many winters!" she said, giving Startsev her +hand, and he could see that her heart was beating with excitement; and +looking at him intently and curiously, she went on: "How much stouter +you are! You look sunburnt and more manly, but on the whole you have +changed very little."</p> + +<p>Now, too, he thought her attractive, very attractive, but there was +something lacking in her, or else something superfluous—he could not +himself have said exactly what it was, but something prevented him from +feeling as before. He did not like her pallor, her new expression, her +faint smile, her voice, and soon afterwards he disliked her clothes, +too, the low chair in which she was sitting; he disliked something in +the past when he had almost married her. He thought of his love, of the +dreams and the hopes which had troubled him four years before—and he +felt awkward.</p> + +<p>They had tea with cakes. Then Vera Iosifovna read aloud a novel; she +read of things that never happen in real life, and Startsev listened, +looked at her handsome grey head, and waited for her to finish.</p> + +<p>"People are not stupid because they can't write novels, but because they +can't conceal it when they do," he thought.</p> + +<p>"Not badsome," said Ivan Petrovitch.</p> + +<p>Then Ekaterina Ivanovna played long and noisily on the piano, and when +she finished she was profusely thanked and warmly praised.</p> + +<p>"It's a good thing I did not marry her," thought Startsev.</p> + +<p>She looked at him, and evidently expected him to ask her to go into the +garden, but he remained silent.</p> + +<p>"Let us have a talk," she said, going up to him. "How are you getting +on? What are you doing? How are things? I have been thinking about you +all these days," she went on nervously. "I wanted to write to you, +wanted to come myself to see you at Dyalizh. I quite made up my mind to +go, but afterwards I thought better of it. God knows what your attitude +is towards me now; I have been looking forward to seeing you to-day with +such emotion. For goodness' sake let us go into the garden."</p> + +<p>They went into the garden and sat down on the seat under the old maple, +just as they had done four years before. It was dark.</p> + +<p>"How are you getting on?" asked Ekaterina Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right; I am jogging along," answered Startsev.</p> + +<p>And he could think of nothing more. They were silent.</p> + +<p>"I feel so excited!" said Ekaterina Ivanovna, and she hid her face in +her hands. "But don't pay attention to it. I am so happy to be at home; +I am so glad to see every one. I can't get used to it. So many memories! +I thought we should talk without stopping till morning."</p> + +<p>Now he saw her face near, her shining eyes, and in the darkness she +looked younger than in the room, and even her old childish expression +seemed to have come back to her. And indeed she was looking at him with +naïve curiosity, as though she wanted to get a closer view and +understanding of the man who had loved her so ardently, with such +tenderness, and so unsuccessfully; her eyes thanked him for that love. +And he remembered all that had been, every minute detail; how he had +wandered about the cemetery, how he had returned home in the morning +exhausted, and he suddenly felt sad and regretted the past. A warmth +began glowing in his heart.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember how I took you to the dance at the club?" he asked. "It +was dark and rainy then ..."</p> + +<p>The warmth was glowing now in his heart, and he longed to talk, to rail +at life....</p> + +<p>"Ech!" he said with a sigh. "You ask how I am living. How do we live +here? Why, not at all. We grow old, we grow stout, we grow slack. Day +after day passes; life slips by without colour, without expressions, +without thoughts.... In the daytime working for gain, and in the evening +the club, the company of card-players, alcoholic, raucous-voiced +gentlemen whom I can't endure. What is there nice in it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you have work—a noble object in life. You used to be so fond of +talking of your hospital. I was such a queer girl then; I imagined +myself such a great pianist. Nowadays all young ladies play the piano, +and I played, too, like everybody else, and there was nothing special +about me. I am just such a pianist as my mother is an authoress. And of +course I didn't understand you then, but afterwards in Moscow I often +thought of you. I thought of no one but you. What happiness to be a +district doctor; to help the suffering; to be serving the people! What +happiness!" Ekaterina Ivanovna repeated with enthusiasm. "When I thought +of you in Moscow, you seemed to me so ideal, so lofty...."</p> + +<p>Startsev thought of the notes he used to take out of his pockets in the +evening with such pleasure, and the glow in his heart was quenched.</p> + +<p>He got up to go into the house. She took his arm.</p> + +<p>"You are the best man I've known in my life," she went on. "We will see +each other and talk, won't we? Promise me. I am not a pianist; I am not +in error about myself now, and I will not play before you or talk of +music."</p> + +<p>When they had gone into the house, and when Startsev saw in the +lamplight her face, and her sad, grateful, searching eyes fixed upon +him, he felt uneasy and thought again:</p> + +<p>"It's a good thing I did not marry her then."</p> + +<p>He began taking leave.</p> + +<p>"You have no human right to go before supper," said Ivan Petrovitch as +he saw him off. "It's extremely perpendicular on your part. Well, now, +perform!" he added, addressing Pava in the hall.</p> + +<p>Pava, no longer a boy, but a young man with moustaches, threw himself +into an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic voice:</p> + +<p>"Unhappy woman, die!"</p> + +<p>All this irritated Startsev. Getting into his carriage, and looking at +the dark house and garden which had once been so precious and so dear, +he thought of everything at once—Vera Iosifovna's novels and Kitten's +noisy playing, and Ivan Petrovitch's jokes and Pava's tragic posturing, +and thought if the most talented people in the town were so futile, what +must the town be?</p> + +<p>Three days later Pava brought a letter from Ekaterina Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>"You don't come and see us—why?" she wrote to him. "I am afraid that +you have changed towards us. I am afraid, and I am terrified at the very +thought of it. Reassure me; come and tell me that everything is well.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I must talk to you.—Your E. I."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He read this letter, thought a moment, and said to Pava:</p> + +<p>"Tell them, my good fellow, that I can't come to-day; I am very busy. +Say I will come in three days or so."</p> + +<p>But three days passed, a week passed; he still did not go. Happening +once to drive past the Turkins' house, he thought he must go in, if only +for a moment, but on second thoughts ... did not go in.</p> + +<p>And he never went to the Turkins' again.</p> + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Several more years have passed. Startsev has grown stouter still, has +grown corpulent, breathes heavily, and already walks with his head +thrown back. When stout and red in the face, he drives with his bells +and his team of three horses, and Panteleimon, also stout and red in the +face with his thick beefy neck, sits on the box, holding his arms +stiffly out before him as though they were made of wood, and shouts to +those he meets: "Keep to the ri-i-ight!" it is an impressive picture; +one might think it was not a mortal, but some heathen deity in his +chariot. He has an immense practice in the town, no time to breathe, and +already has an estate and two houses in the town, and he is looking out +for a third more profitable; and when at the Mutual Credit Bank he is +told of a house that is for sale, he goes to the house without ceremony, +and, marching through all the rooms, regardless of half-dressed women +and children who gaze at him in amazement and alarm, he prods at the +doors with his stick, and says:</p> + +<p>"Is that the study? Is that a bedroom? And what's here?"</p> + +<p>And as he does so he breathes heavily and wipes the sweat from his brow.</p> + +<p>He has a great deal to do, but still he does not give up his work as +district doctor; he is greedy for gain, and he tries to be in all places +at once. At Dyalizh and in the town he is called simply "Ionitch": +"Where is Ionitch off to?" or "Should not we call in Ionitch to a +consultation?"</p> + +<p>Probably because his throat is covered with rolls of fat, his voice has +changed; it has become thin and sharp. His temper has changed, too: he +has grown ill-humoured and irritable. When he sees his patients he is +usually out of temper; he impatiently taps the floor with his stick, and +shouts in his disagreeable voice:</p> + +<p>"Be so good as to confine yourself to answering my questions! Don't talk +so much!"</p> + +<p>He is solitary. He leads a dreary life; nothing interests him.</p> + +<p>During all the years he had lived at Dyalizh his love for Kitten had +been his one joy, and probably his last. In the evenings he plays <i>vint</i> +at the club, and then sits alone at a big table and has supper. Ivan, +the oldest and most respectable of the waiters, serves him, hands him +Lafitte No. 17, and every one at the club—the members of the committee, +the cook and waiters—know what he likes and what he doesn't like and do +their very utmost to satisfy him, or else he is sure to fly into a rage +and bang on the floor with his stick.</p> + +<p>As he eats his supper, he turns round from time to time and puts in his +spoke in some conversation:</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about? Eh? Whom?"</p> + +<p>And when at a neighbouring table there is talk of the Turkins, he asks:</p> + +<p>"What Turkins are you speaking of? Do you mean the people whose daughter +plays on the piano?"</p> + +<p>That is all that can be said about him.</p> + +<p>And the Turkins? Ivan Petrovitch has grown no older; he is not changed +in the least, and still makes jokes and tells anecdotes as of old. Vera +Iosifovna still reads her novels aloud to her visitors with eagerness +and touching simplicity. And Kitten plays the piano for four hours every +day. She has grown visibly older, is constantly ailing, and every autumn +goes to the Crimea with her mother. When Ivan Petrovitch sees them off +at the station, he wipes his tears as the train starts, and shouts:</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, if you please."</p> + +<p>And he waves his handkerchief.</p> + +<h2><a name="THE_HEAD_OF_THE_FAMILY" id="THE_HEAD_OF_THE_FAMILY"></a>THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY</h2> + +<p class="nind"><big>I</big><small>T</small> is, as a rule, after losing heavily at cards or after a drinking-bout +when an attack of dyspepsia is setting in that Stepan Stepanitch Zhilin +wakes up in an exceptionally gloomy frame of mind. He looks sour, +rumpled, and dishevelled; there is an expression of displeasure on his +grey face, as though he were offended or disgusted by something. He +dresses slowly, sips his Vichy water deliberately, and begins walking +about the rooms.</p> + +<p>"I should like to know what b-b-beast comes in here and does not shut +the door!" he grumbles angrily, wrapping his dressing-gown about him and +spitting loudly. "Take away that paper! Why is it lying about here? We +keep twenty servants, and the place is more untidy than a pot-house. Who +was that ringing? Who the devil is that?"</p> + +<p>"That's Anfissa, the midwife who brought our Fedya into the world," +answers his wife.</p> + +<p>"Always hanging about ... these cadging toadies!"</p> + +<p>"There's no making you out, Stepan Stepanitch. You asked her yourself, +and now you scold."</p> + +<p>"I am not scolding; I am speaking. You might find something to do, my +dear, instead of sitting with your hands in your lap trying to pick a +quarrel. Upon my word, women are beyond my comprehension! Beyond my +comprehension! How can they waste whole days doing nothing? A man works +like an ox, like a b-beast, while his wife, the partner of his life, +sits like a pretty doll, sits and does nothing but watch for an +opportunity to quarrel with her husband by way of diversion. It's time +to drop these schoolgirlish ways, my dear. You are not a schoolgirl, not +a young lady; you are a wife and mother! You turn away? Aha! It's not +agreeable to listen to the bitter truth!"</p> + +<p>"It's strange that you only speak the bitter truth when your liver is +out of order."</p> + +<p>"That's right; get up a scene."</p> + +<p>"Have you been out late? Or playing cards?"</p> + +<p>"What if I have? Is that anybody's business? Am I obliged to give an +account of my doings to any one? It's my own money I lose, I suppose? +What I spend as well as what is spent in this house belongs to me—me. +Do you hear? To me!"</p> + +<p>And so on, all in the same style. But at no other time is Stepan +Stepanitch so reasonable, virtuous, stern or just as at dinner, when all +his household are sitting about him. It usually begins with the soup. +After swallowing the first spoonful Zhilin suddenly frowns and puts down +his spoon.</p> + +<p>"Damn it all!" he mutters; "I shall have to dine at a restaurant, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"What's wrong?" asks his wife anxiously. "Isn't the soup good?"</p> + +<p>"One must have the taste of a pig to eat hogwash like that! There's too +much salt in it; it smells of dirty rags ... more like bugs than +onions.... It's simply revolting, Anfissa Ivanovna," he says, addressing +the midwife. "Every day I give no end of money for housekeeping.... I +deny myself everything, and this is what they provide for my dinner! I +suppose they want me to give up the office and go into the kitchen to do +the cooking myself."</p> + +<p>"The soup is very good to-day," the governess ventures timidly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you think so?" says Zhilin, looking at her angrily from under his +eyelids. "Every one to his taste, of course. It must be confessed our +tastes are very different, Varvara Vassilyevna. You, for instance, are +satisfied with the behaviour of this boy" (Zhilin with a tragic gesture +points to his son Fedya); "you are delighted with him, while I ... I am +disgusted. Yes!"</p> + +<p>Fedya, a boy of seven with a pale, sickly face, leaves off eating and +drops his eyes. His face grows paler still.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are delighted, and I am disgusted. Which of us is right, I +cannot say, but I venture to think as his father, I know my own son +better than you do. Look how he is sitting! Is that the way decently +brought up children sit? Sit properly."</p> + +<p>Fedya tilts his chin up, cranes his neck, and fancies that he is holding +himself better. Tears come into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Eat your dinner! Hold your spoon properly! You wait. I'll show you, you +horrid boy! Don't dare to whimper! Look straight at me!"</p> + +<p>Fedya tries to look straight at him, but his face is quivering and his +eyes fill with tears.</p> + +<p>"A-ah!... you cry? You are naughty and then you cry? Go and stand in the +corner, you beast!"</p> + +<p>"But ... let him have his dinner first," his wife intervenes.</p> + +<p>"No dinner for him! Such bla ... such rascals don't deserve dinner!"</p> + +<p>Fedya, wincing and quivering all over, creeps down from his chair and +goes into the corner.</p> + +<p>"You won't get off with that!" his parent persists. "If nobody else +cares to look after your bringing up, so be it; I must begin.... I won't +let you be naughty and cry at dinner, my lad! Idiot! You must do your +duty! Do you understand? Do your duty! Your father works and you must +work, too! No one must eat the bread of idleness! You must be a man! A +m-man!"</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, leave off," says his wife in French. "Don't nag at us +before outsiders, at least.... The old woman is all ears; and now, +thanks to her, all the town will hear of it."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid of outsiders," answers Zhilin in Russian. "Anfissa +Ivanovna sees that I am speaking the truth. Why, do you think I ought to +be pleased with the boy? Do you know what he costs me? Do you know, you +nasty boy, what you cost me? Or do you imagine that I coin money, that I +get it for nothing? Don't howl! Hold your tongue! Do you hear what I +say? Do you want me to whip you, you young ruffian?"</p> + +<p>Fedya wails aloud and begins to sob.</p> + +<p>"This is insufferable," says his mother, getting up from the table and +flinging down her dinner-napkin. "You never let us have dinner in peace! +Your bread sticks in my throat."</p> + +<p>And putting her handkerchief to her eyes, she walks out of the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>"Now she is offended," grumbles Zhilin, with a forced smile. "She's been +spoilt.... That's how it is, Anfissa Ivanovna; no one likes to hear the +truth nowadays.... It's all my fault, it seems."</p> + +<p>Several minutes of silence follow. Zhilin looks round at the plates, and +noticing that no one has yet touched their soup, heaves a deep sigh, and +stares at the flushed and uneasy face of the governess.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you eat, Varvara Vassilyevna?" he asks. "Offended, I suppose? +I see.... You don't like to be told the truth. You must forgive me, it's +my nature; I can't be a hypocrite.... I always blurt out the plain +truth" (a sigh). "But I notice that my presence is unwelcome. No one can +eat or talk while I am here.... Well, you should have told me, and I +would have gone away.... I will go."</p> + +<p>Zhilin gets up and walks with dignity to the door. As he passes the +weeping Fedya he stops.</p> + +<p>"After all that has passed here, you are free," he says to Fedya, +throwing back his head with dignity. "I won't meddle in your bringing up +again. I wash my hands of it! I humbly apologise that as a father, from +a sincere desire for your welfare, I have disturbed you and your +mentors. At the same time, once for all I disclaim all responsibility +for your future...."</p> + +<p>Fedya wails and sobs more loudly than ever. Zhilin turns with dignity to +the door and departs to his bedroom.</p> + +<p>When he wakes from his after-dinner nap he begins to feel the stings of +conscience. He is ashamed to face his wife, his son, Anfissa Ivanovna, +and even feels very wretched when he recalls the scene at dinner, but +his amour-propre is too much for him; he has not the manliness to be +frank, and he goes on sulking and grumbling.</p> + +<p>Waking up next morning, he feels in excellent spirits, and whistles +gaily as he washes. Going into the dining-room to breakfast, he finds +there Fedya, who, at the sight of his father, gets up and looks at him +helplessly.</p> + +<p>"Well, young man?" Zhilin greets him good-humouredly, sitting down to +the table. "What have you got to tell me, young man? Are you all right? +Well, come, chubby; give your father a kiss."</p> + +<p>With a pale, grave face Fedya goes up to his father and touches his +cheek with his quivering lips, then walks away and sits down in his +place without a word.</p> + +<h2><a name="THE_BLACK_MONK" id="THE_BLACK_MONK"></a>THE BLACK MONK</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="nind"><big>A</big><small>NDREY VASSILITCH KOVRIN</small>, who held a master's degree at the University, +had exhausted himself, and had upset his nerves. He did not send for a +doctor, but casually, over a bottle of wine, he spoke to a friend who +was a doctor, and the latter advised him to spend the spring and summer +in the country. Very opportunely a long letter came from Tanya Pesotsky, +who asked him to come and stay with them at Borissovka. And he made up +his mind that he really must go.</p> + +<p>To begin with—that was in April—he went to his own home, Kovrinka, and +there spent three weeks in solitude; then, as soon as the roads were in +good condition, he set off, driving in a carriage, to visit Pesotsky, +his former guardian, who had brought him up, and was a horticulturist +well known all over Russia. The distance from Kovrinka to Borissovka was +reckoned only a little over fifty miles. To drive along a soft road in +May in a comfortable carriage with springs was a real pleasure.</p> + +<p>Pesotsky had an immense house with columns and lions, off which the +stucco was peeling, and with a footman in swallow-tails at the entrance. +The old park, laid out in the English style, gloomy and severe, +stretched for almost three-quarters of a mile to the river, and there +ended in a steep, precipitous clay bank, where pines grew with bare +roots that looked like shaggy paws; the water shone below with an +unfriendly gleam, and the peewits flew up with a plaintive cry, and +there one always felt that one must sit down and write a ballad. But +near the house itself, in the courtyard and orchard, which together with +the nurseries covered ninety acres, it was all life and gaiety even in +bad weather. Such marvellous roses, lilies, camellias; such tulips of +all possible shades, from glistening white to sooty black—such a wealth +of flowers, in fact, Kovrin had never seen anywhere as at Pesotsky's. It +was only the beginning of spring, and the real glory of the flower-beds +was still hidden away in the hot-houses. But even the flowers along the +avenues, and here and there in the flower-beds, were enough to make one +feel, as one walked about the garden, as though one were in a realm of +tender colours, especially in the early morning when the dew was +glistening on every petal.</p> + +<p>What was the decorative part of the garden, and what Pesotsky +contemptuously spoke of as rubbish, had at one time in his childhood +given Kovrin an impression of fairyland.</p> + +<p>Every sort of caprice, of elaborate monstrosity and mockery at Nature +was here. There were espaliers of fruit-trees, a pear-tree in the shape +of a pyramidal poplar, spherical oaks and lime-trees, an apple-tree in +the shape of an umbrella, plum-trees trained into arches, crests, +candelabra, and even into the number 1862—the year when Pesotsky first +took up horticulture. One came across, too, lovely, graceful trees with +strong, straight stems like palms, and it was only by looking intently +that one could recognise these trees as gooseberries or currants. But +what made the garden most cheerful and gave it a lively air, was the +continual coming and going in it, from early morning till evening; +people with wheelbarrows, shovels, and watering-cans swarmed round the +trees and bushes, in the avenues and the flower-beds, like ants....</p> + +<p>Kovrin arrived at Pesotsky's at ten o'clock in the evening. He found +Tanya and her father, Yegor Semyonitch, in great anxiety. The clear +starlight sky and the thermometer foretold a frost towards morning, and +meanwhile Ivan Karlovitch, the gardener, had gone to the town, and they +had no one to rely upon. At supper they talked of nothing but the +morning frost, and it was settled that Tanya should not go to bed, and +between twelve and one should walk through the garden, and see that +everything was done properly, and Yegor Semyonitch should get up at +three o'clock or even earlier.</p> + +<p>Kovrin sat with Tanya all the evening, and after midnight went out with +her into the garden. It was cold. There was a strong smell of burning +already in the garden. In the big orchard, which was called the +commercial garden, and which brought Yegor Semyonitch several thousand +clear profit, a thick, black, acrid smoke was creeping over the ground +and, curling around the trees, was saving those thousands from the +frost. Here the trees were arranged as on a chessboard, in straight and +regular rows like ranks of soldiers, and this severe pedantic +regularity, and the fact that all the trees were of the same size, and +had tops and trunks all exactly alike, made them look monotonous and +even dreary. Kovrin and Tanya walked along the rows where fires of dung, +straw, and all sorts of refuse were smouldering, and from time to time +they were met by labourers who wandered in the smoke like shadows. The +only trees in flower were the cherries, plums, and certain sorts of +apples, but the whole garden was plunged in smoke, and it was only near +the nurseries that Kovrin could breathe freely.</p> + +<p>"Even as a child I used to sneeze from the smoke here," he said, +shrugging his shoulders, "but to this day I don't understand how smoke +can keep off frost."</p> + +<p>"Smoke takes the place of clouds when there are none ..." answered +Tanya.</p> + +<p>"And what do you want clouds for?"</p> + +<p>"In overcast and cloudy weather there is no frost."</p> + +<p>"You don't say so."</p> + +<p>He laughed and took her arm. Her broad, very earnest face, chilled with +the frost, with her delicate black eyebrows, the turned-up collar of her +coat, which prevented her moving her head freely, and the whole of her +thin, graceful figure, with her skirts tucked up on account of the dew, +touched him.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! she is grown up," he said. "When I went away from here +last, five years ago, you were still a child. You were such a thin, +longlegged creature, with your hair hanging on your shoulders; you used +to wear short frocks, and I used to tease you, calling you a heron.... +What time does!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, five years!" sighed Tanya. "Much water has flowed since then. Tell +me, Andryusha, honestly," she began eagerly, looking him in the face: +"do you feel strange with us now? But why do I ask you? You are a man, +you live your own interesting life, you are somebody.... To grow apart +is so natural! But however that may be, Andryusha, I want you to think +of us as your people. We have a right to that."</p> + +<p>"I do, Tanya."</p> + +<p>"On your word of honour?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, on my word of honour."</p> + +<p>"You were surprised this evening that we have so many of your +photographs. You know my father adores you. Sometimes it seems to me +that he loves you more than he does me. He is proud of you. You are a +clever, extraordinary man, you have made a brilliant career for +yourself, and he is persuaded that you have turned out like this because +he brought you up. I don't try to prevent him from thinking so. Let +him."</p> + +<p>Dawn was already beginning, and that was especially perceptible from the +distinctness with which the coils of smoke and the tops of the trees +began to stand out in the air.</p> + +<p>"It's time we were asleep, though," said Tanya, "and it's cold, too." +She took his arm. "Thank you for coming, Andryusha. We have only +uninteresting acquaintances, and not many of them. We have only the +garden, the garden, the garden, and nothing else. Standards, +half-standards," she laughed. "Aports, Reinettes, Borovinkas, budded +stocks, grafted stocks.... All, all our life has gone into the garden. I +never even dream of anything but apples and pears. Of course, it is very +nice and useful, but sometimes one longs for something else for variety. +I remember that when you used to come to us for the summer holidays, or +simply a visit, it always seemed to be fresher and brighter in the +house, as though the covers had been taken off the lustres and the +furniture. I was only a little girl then, but yet I understood it."</p> + +<p>She talked a long while and with great feeling. For some reason the idea +came into his head that in the course of the summer he might grow fond +of this little, weak, talkative creature, might be carried away and fall +in love; in their position it was so possible and natural! This thought +touched and amused him; he bent down to her sweet, preoccupied face and +hummed softly:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Onyegin, I won't conceal it;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I madly love Tatiana....'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>By the time they reached the house, Yegor Semyonitch had got up. Kovrin +did not feel sleepy; he talked to the old man and went to the garden +with him. Yegor Semyonitch was a tall, broad-shouldered, corpulent man, +and he suffered from asthma, yet he walked so fast that it was hard work +to hurry after him. He had an extremely preoccupied air; he was always +hurrying somewhere, with an expression that suggested that if he were +one minute late all would be ruined!</p> + +<p>"Here is a business, brother ..." he began, standing still to take +breath. "On the surface of the ground, as you see, is frost; but if you +raise the thermometer on a stick fourteen feet above the ground, there +it is warm.... Why is that?"</p> + +<p>"I really don't know," said Kovrin, and he laughed.</p> + +<p>"H'm!... One can't know everything, of course.... However large the +intellect may be, you can't find room for everything in it. I suppose +you still go in chiefly for philosophy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I lecture in psychology; I am working at philosophy in general."</p> + +<p>"And it does not bore you?"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, it's all I live for."</p> + +<p>"Well, God bless you!..." said Yegor Semyonitch, meditatively stroking +his grey whiskers. "God bless you!... I am delighted about you ... +delighted, my boy...."</p> + +<p>But suddenly he listened, and, with a terrible face, ran off and quickly +disappeared behind the trees in a cloud of smoke.</p> + +<p>"Who tied this horse to an apple-tree?" Kovrin heard his despairing, +heart-rending cry. "Who is the low scoundrel who has dared to tie this +horse to an apple-tree? My God, my God! They have ruined everything; +they have spoilt everything; they have done everything filthy, horrible, +and abominable. The orchard's done for, the orchard's ruined. My God!"</p> + +<p>When he came back to Kovrin, his face looked exhausted and mortified.</p> + +<p>"What is one to do with these accursed people?" he said in a tearful +voice, flinging up his hands. "Styopka was carting dung at night, and +tied the horse to an apple-tree! He twisted the reins round it, the +rascal, as tightly as he could, so that the bark is rubbed off in three +places. What do you think of that! I spoke to him and he stands like a +post and only blinks his eyes. Hanging is too good for him."</p> + +<p>Growing calmer, he embraced Kovrin and kissed him on the cheek.</p> + +<p>"Well, God bless you!... God bless you!..." he muttered. "I am very glad +you have come. Unutterably glad.... Thank you."</p> + +<p>Then, with the same rapid step and preoccupied face, he made the round +of the whole garden, and showed his former ward all his greenhouses and +hot-houses, his covered-in garden, and two apiaries which he called the +marvel of our century.</p> + +<p>While they were walking the sun rose, flooding the garden with brilliant +light. It grew warm. Foreseeing a long, bright, cheerful day, Kovrin +recollected that it was only the beginning of May, and that he had +before him a whole summer as bright, cheerful, and long; and suddenly +there stirred in his bosom a joyous, youthful feeling, such as he used +to experience in his childhood, running about in that garden. And he +hugged the old man and kissed him affectionately. Both of them, feeling +touched, went indoors and drank tea out of old-fashioned china cups, +with cream and satisfying krendels made with milk and eggs; and these +trifles reminded Kovrin again of his childhood and boyhood. The +delightful present was blended with the impressions of the past that +stirred within him; there was a tightness at his heart; yet he was +happy.</p> + +<p>He waited till Tanya was awake and had coffee with her, went for a walk, +then went to his room and sat down to work. He read attentively, making +notes, and from time to time raised his eyes to look out at the open +windows or at the fresh, still dewy flowers in the vases on the table; +and again he dropped his eyes to his book, and it seemed to him as +though every vein in his body was quivering and fluttering with +pleasure.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>In the country he led just as nervous and restless a life as in town. He +read and wrote a great deal, he studied Italian, and when he was out for +a walk, thought with pleasure that he would soon sit down to work again. +He slept so little that every one wondered at him; if he accidentally +dozed for half an hour in the daytime, he would lie awake all night, +and, after a sleepless night, would feel cheerful and vigorous as though +nothing had happened.</p> + +<p>He talked a great deal, drank wine, and smoked expensive cigars. Very +often, almost every day, young ladies of neighbouring families would +come to the Pesotskys', and would sing and play the piano with Tanya; +sometimes a young neighbour who was a good violinist would come, too. +Kovrin listened with eagerness to the music and singing, and was +exhausted by it, and this showed itself by his eyes closing and his head +falling to one side.</p> + +<p>One day he was sitting on the balcony after evening tea, reading. At the +same time, in the drawing-room, Tanya taking soprano, one of the young +ladies a contralto, and the young man with his violin, were practising a +well-known serenade of Braga's. Kovrin listened to the words—they were +Russian—and could not understand their meaning. At last, leaving his +book and listening attentively, he understood: a maiden, full of sick +fancies, heard one night in her garden mysterious sounds, so strange and +lovely that she was obliged to recognise them as a holy harmony which is +unintelligible to us mortals, and so flies back to heaven. Kovrin's eyes +began to close. He got up, and in exhaustion walked up and down the +drawing-room, and then the dining-room. When the singing was over he +took Tanya's arm, and with her went out on the balcony.</p> + +<p>"I have been all day thinking of a legend," he said. "I don't remember +whether I have read it somewhere or heard it, but it is a strange and +almost grotesque legend. To begin with, it is somewhat obscure. A +thousand years ago a monk, dressed in black, wandered about the desert, +somewhere in Syria or Arabia.... Some miles from where he was, some +fisherman saw another black monk, who was moving slowly over the surface +of a lake. This second monk was a mirage. Now forget all the laws of +optics, which the legend does not recognise, and listen to the rest. +From that mirage there was cast another mirage, then from that other a +third, so that the image of the black monk began to be repeated +endlessly from one layer of the atmosphere to another. So that he was +seen at one time in Africa, at another in Spain, then in Italy, then in +the Far North.... Then he passed out of the atmosphere of the earth, and +now he is wandering all over the universe, still never coming into +conditions in which he might disappear. Possibly he may be seen now in +Mars or in some star of the Southern Cross. But, my dear, the real point +on which the whole legend hangs lies in the fact that, exactly a +thousand years from the day when the monk walked in the desert, the +mirage will return to the atmosphere of the earth again and will appear +to men. And it seems that the thousand years is almost up.... According +to the legend, we may look out for the black monk to-day or to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"A queer mirage," said Tanya, who did not like the legend.</p> + +<p>"But the most wonderful part of it all," laughed Kovrin, "is that I +simply cannot recall where I got this legend from. Have I read it +somewhere? Have I heard it? Or perhaps I dreamed of the black monk. I +swear I don't remember. But the legend interests me. I have been +thinking about it all day."</p> + +<p>Letting Tanya go back to her visitors, he went out of the house, and, +lost in meditation, walked by the flower-beds. The sun was already +setting. The flowers, having just been watered, gave forth a damp, +irritating fragrance. Indoors they began singing again, and in the +distance the violin had the effect of a human voice. Kovrin, racking his +brains to remember where he had read or heard the legend, turned slowly +towards the park, and unconsciously went as far as the river. By a +little path that ran along the steep bank, between the bare roots, he +went down to the water, disturbed the peewits there and frightened two +ducks. The last rays of the setting sun still threw light here and there +on the gloomy pines, but it was quite dark on the surface of the river. +Kovrin crossed to the other side by the narrow bridge. Before him lay a +wide field covered with young rye not yet in blossom. There was no +living habitation, no living soul in the distance, and it seemed as +though the little path, if one went along it, would take one to the +unknown, mysterious place where the sun had just gone down, and where +the evening glow was flaming in immensity and splendour.</p> + +<p>"How open, how free, how still it is here!" thought Kovrin, walking +along the path. "And it feels as though all the world were watching me, +hiding and waiting for me to understand it...."</p> + +<p>But then waves began running across the rye, and a light evening breeze +softly touched his uncovered head. A minute later there was another gust +of wind, but stronger—the rye began rustling, and he heard behind him +the hollow murmur of the pines. Kovrin stood still in amazement. From +the horizon there rose up to the sky, like a whirlwind or a waterspout, +a tall black column. Its outline was indistinct, but from the first +instant it could be seen that it was not standing still, but moving with +fearful rapidity, moving straight towards Kovrin, and the nearer it came +the smaller and the more distinct it was. Kovrin moved aside into the +rye to make way for it, and only just had time to do so.</p> + +<p>A monk, dressed in black, with a grey head and black eyebrows, his arms +crossed over his breast, floated by him.... His bare feet did not touch +the earth. After he had floated twenty feet beyond him, he looked round +at Kovrin, and nodded to him with a friendly but sly smile. But what a +pale, fearfully pale, thin face! Beginning to grow larger again, he flew +across the river, collided noiselessly with the clay bank and pines, and +passing through them, vanished like smoke.</p> + +<p>"Why, you see," muttered Kovrin, "there must be truth in the legend."</p> + +<p>Without trying to explain to himself the strange apparition, glad that +he had succeeded in seeing so near and so distinctly, not only the +monk's black garments, but even his face and eyes, agreeably excited, he +went back to the house.</p> + +<p>In the park and in the garden people were moving about quietly, in the +house they were playing—so he alone had seen the monk. He had an +intense desire to tell Tanya and Yegor Semyonitch, but he reflected that +they would certainly think his words the ravings of delirium, and that +would frighten them; he had better say nothing.</p> + +<p>He laughed aloud, sang, and danced the mazurka; he was in high spirits, +and all of them, the visitors and Tanya, thought he had a peculiar look, +radiant and inspired, and that he was very interesting.</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>After supper, when the visitors had gone, he went to his room and lay +down on the sofa: he wanted to think about the monk. But a minute later +Tanya came in.</p> + +<p>"Here, Andryusha; read father's articles," she said, giving him a bundle +of pamphlets and proofs. "They are splendid articles. He writes +capitally."</p> + +<p>"Capitally, indeed!" said Yegor Semyonitch, following her and smiling +constrainedly; he was ashamed. "Don't listen to her, please; don't read +them! Though, if you want to go to sleep, read them by all means; they +are a fine soporific."</p> + +<p>"I think they are splendid articles," said Tanya, with deep conviction. +"You read them, Andryusha, and persuade father to write oftener. He +could write a complete manual of horticulture."</p> + +<p>Yegor Semyonitch gave a forced laugh, blushed, and began uttering the +phrases usually made use of by an embarrassed author. At last he began +to give way.</p> + +<p>"In that case, begin with Gaucher's article and these Russian articles," +he muttered, turning over the pamphlets with a trembling hand, "or else +you won't understand. Before you read my objections, you must know what +I am objecting to. But it's all nonsense ... tiresome stuff. Besides, I +believe it's bedtime."</p> + +<p>Tanya went away. Yegor Semyonitch sat down on the sofa by Kovrin and +heaved a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my boy ..." he began after a pause. "That's how it is, my dear +lecturer. Here I write articles, and take part in exhibitions, and +receive medals.... Pesotsky, they say, has apples the size of a head, +and Pesotsky, they say, has made his fortune with his garden. In short, +'Kotcheby is rich and glorious.' But one asks oneself: what is it all +for? The garden is certainly fine, a model. It's not really a garden, +but a regular institution, which is of the greatest public importance +because it marks, so to say, a new era in Russian agriculture and +Russian industry. But, what's it for? What's the object of it?"</p> + +<p>"The fact speaks for itself."</p> + +<p>"I do not mean in that sense. I meant to ask: what will happen to the +garden when I die? In the condition in which you see it now, it would +not be maintained for one month without me. The whole secret of success +lies not in its being a big garden or a great number of labourers being +employed in it, but in the fact that I love the work. Do you understand? +I love it perhaps more than myself. Look at me; I do everything myself. +I work from morning to night: I do all the grafting myself, the pruning +myself, the planting myself. I do it all myself: when any one helps me I +am jealous and irritable till I am rude. The whole secret lies in loving +it—that is, in the sharp eye of the master; yes, and in the master's +hands, and in the feeling that makes one, when one goes anywhere for an +hour's visit, sit, ill at ease, with one's heart far away, afraid that +something may have happened in the garden. But when I die, who will look +after it? Who will work? The gardener? The labourers? Yes? But I will +tell you, my dear fellow, the worst enemy in the garden is not a hare, +not a cockchafer, and not the frost, but any outside person."</p> + +<p>"And Tanya?" asked Kovrin, laughing. "She can't be more harmful than a +hare? She loves the work and understands it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she loves it and understands it. If after my death the garden goes +to her and she is the mistress, of course nothing better could be +wished. But if, which God forbid, she should marry," Yegor Semyonitch +whispered, and looked with a frightened look at Kovrin, "that's just it. +If she marries and children come, she will have no time to think about +the garden. What I fear most is: she will marry some fine gentleman, and +he will be greedy, and he will let the garden to people who will run it +for profit, and everything will go to the devil the very first year! In +our work females are the scourge of God!"</p> + +<p>Yegor Semyonitch sighed and paused for a while.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is egoism, but I tell you frankly: I don't want Tanya to get +married. I am afraid of it! There is one young dandy comes to see us, +bringing his violin and scraping on it; I know Tanya will not marry him, +I know it quite well; but I can't bear to see him! Altogether, my boy, I +am very queer. I know that."</p> + +<p>Yegor Semyonitch got up and walked about the room in excitement, and it +was evident that he wanted to say something very important, but could +not bring himself to it.</p> + +<p>"I am very fond of you, and so I am going to speak to you openly," he +decided at last, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I deal plainly +with certain delicate questions, and say exactly what I think, and I +cannot endure so-called hidden thoughts. I will speak plainly: you are +the only man to whom I should not be afraid to marry my daughter. You +are a clever man with a good heart, and would not let my beloved work go +to ruin; and the chief reason is that I love you as a son, and I am +proud of you. If Tanya and you could get up a romance somehow, +then—well! I should be very glad and even happy. I tell you this +plainly, without mincing matters, like an honest man."</p> + +<p>Kovrin laughed. Yegor Semyonitch opened the door to go out, and stood in +the doorway.</p> + +<p>"If Tanya and you had a son, I would make a horticulturist of him," he +said, after a moment's thought. "However, this is idle dreaming. +Goodnight."</p> + +<p>Left alone, Kovrin settled himself more comfortably on the sofa and took +up the articles. The title of one was "On Intercropping"; of another, "A +few Words on the Remarks of Monsieur Z. concerning the Trenching of the +Soil for a New Garden"; a third, "Additional Matter concerning Grafting +with a Dormant Bud"; and they were all of the same sort. But what a +restless, jerky tone! What nervous, almost hysterical passion! Here was +an article, one would have thought, with most peaceable and impersonal +contents: the subject of it was the Russian Antonovsky Apple. But Yegor +Semyonitch began it with "Audiatur altera pars," and finished it with +"Sapienti sat"; and between these two quotations a perfect torrent of +venomous phrases directed "at the learned ignorance of our recognised +horticultural authorities, who observe Nature from the height of their +university chairs," or at Monsieur Gaucher, "whose success has been the +work of the vulgar and the dilettanti." And then followed an +inappropriate, affected, and insincere regret that peasants who stole +fruit and broke the branches could not nowadays be flogged.</p> + +<p>"It is beautiful, charming, healthy work, but even in this there is +strife and passion," thought Kovrin, "I suppose that everywhere and in +all careers men of ideas are nervous, and marked by exaggerated +sensitiveness. Most likely it must be so."</p> + +<p>He thought of Tanya, who was so pleased with Yegor Semyonitch's +articles. Small, pale, and so thin that her shoulder-blades stuck out, +her eyes, wide and open, dark and intelligent, had an intent gaze, as +though looking for something. She walked like her father with a little +hurried step. She talked a great deal and was fond of arguing, +accompanying every phrase, however insignificant, with expressive +mimicry and gesticulation. No doubt she was nervous in the extreme.</p> + +<p>Kovrin went on reading the articles, but he understood nothing of them, +and flung them aside. The same pleasant excitement with which he had +earlier in the evening danced the mazurka and listened to the music was +now mastering him again and rousing a multitude of thoughts. He got up +and began walking about the room, thinking about the black monk. It +occurred to him that if this strange, supernatural monk had appeared to +him only, that meant that he was ill and had reached the point of having +hallucinations. This reflection frightened him, but not for long.</p> + +<p>"But I am all right, and I am doing no harm to any one; so there is no +harm in my hallucinations," he thought; and he felt happy again.</p> + +<p>He sat down on the sofa and clasped his hands round his head. +Restraining the unaccountable joy which filled his whole being, he then +paced up and down again, and sat down to his work. But the thought that +he read in the book did not satisfy him. He wanted something gigantic, +unfathomable, stupendous. Towards morning he undressed and reluctantly +went to bed: he ought to sleep.</p> + +<p>When he heard the footsteps of Yegor Semyonitch going out into the +garden, Kovrin rang the bell and asked the footman to bring him some +wine. He drank several glasses of Lafitte, then wrapped himself up, head +and all; his consciousness grew clouded and he fell asleep.</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya often quarrelled and said nasty things to +each other.</p> + +<p>They quarrelled about something that morning. Tanya burst out crying and +went to her room. She would not come down to dinner nor to tea. At first +Yegor Semyonitch went about looking sulky and dignified, as though to +give every one to understand that for him the claims of justice and good +order were more important than anything else in the world; but he could +not keep it up for long, and soon sank into depression. He walked about +the park dejectedly, continually sighing: "Oh, my God! My God!" and at +dinner did not eat a morsel. At last, guilty and conscience-stricken, he +knocked at the locked door and called timidly:</p> + +<p>"Tanya! Tanya!"</p> + +<p>And from behind the door came a faint voice, weak with crying but still +determined:</p> + +<p>"Leave me alone, if you please."</p> + +<p>The depression of the master and mistress was reflected in the whole +household, even in the labourers working in the garden. Kovrin was +absorbed in his interesting work, but at last he, too, felt dreary and +uncomfortable. To dissipate the general ill-humour in some way, he made +up his mind to intervene, and towards evening he knocked at Tanya's +door. He was admitted.</p> + +<p>"Fie, fie, for shame!" he began playfully, looking with surprise at +Tanya's tear-stained, woebegone face, flushed in patches with crying. +"Is it really so serious? Fie, fie!"</p> + +<p>"But if you knew how he tortures me!" she said, and floods of scalding +tears streamed from her big eyes. "He torments me to death," she went +on, wringing her hands. "I said nothing to him ... nothing ... I only +said that there was no need to keep ... too many labourers ... if we +could hire them by the day when we wanted them. You know ... you know +the labourers have been doing nothing for a whole week.... I ... I ... +only said that, and he shouted and ... said ... a lot of horrible +insulting things to me. What for?"</p> + +<p>"There, there," said Kovrin, smoothing her hair. "You've quarrelled with +each other, you've cried, and that's enough. You must not be angry for +long—that's wrong ... all the more as he loves you beyond everything."</p> + +<p>"He has ... has spoiled my whole life," Tanya went on, sobbing. "I hear +nothing but abuse and ... insults. He thinks I am of no use in the +house. Well! He is right. I shall go away to-morrow; I shall become a +telegraph clerk.... I don't care...."</p> + +<p>"Come, come, come.... You mustn't cry, Tanya. You mustn't, dear.... You +are both hot-tempered and irritable, and you are both to blame. Come +along; I will reconcile you."</p> + +<p>Kovrin talked affectionately and persuasively, while she went on crying, +twitching her shoulders and wringing her hands, as though some terrible +misfortune had really befallen her. He felt all the sorrier for her +because her grief was not a serious one, yet she suffered extremely. +What trivialities were enough to make this little creature miserable for +a whole day, perhaps for her whole life! Comforting Tanya, Kovrin +thought that, apart from this girl and her father, he might hunt the +world over and would not find people who would love him as one of +themselves, as one of their kindred. If it had not been for those two he +might very likely, having lost his father and mother in early childhood, +never to the day of his death have known what was meant by genuine +affection and that naïve, uncritical love which is only lavished on very +close blood relations; and he felt that the nerves of this weeping, +shaking girl responded to his half-sick, overstrained nerves like iron +to a magnet. He never could have loved a healthy, strong, rosy-cheeked +woman, but pale, weak, unhappy Tanya attracted him.</p> + +<p>And he liked stroking her hair and her shoulders, pressing her hand and +wiping away her tears.... At last she left off crying. She went on for a +long time complaining of her father and her hard, insufferable life in +that house, entreating Kovrin to put himself in her place; then she +began, little by little, smiling, and sighing that God had given her +such a bad temper. At last, laughing aloud, she called herself a fool, +and ran out of the room.</p> + +<p>When a little later Kovrin went into the garden, Yegor Semyonitch and +Tanya were walking side by side along an avenue as though nothing had +happened, and both were eating rye bread with salt on it, as both were +hungry.</p> + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Glad that he had been so successful in the part of peacemaker, Kovrin +went into the park. Sitting on a garden seat, thinking, he heard the +rattle of a carriage and a feminine laugh—visitors were arriving. When +the shades of evening began falling on the garden, the sounds of the +violin and singing voices reached him indistinctly, and that reminded +him of the black monk. Where, in what land or in what planet, was that +optical absurdity moving now?</p> + +<p>Hardly had he recalled the legend and pictured in his imagination the +dark apparition he had seen in the rye-field, when, from behind a +pine-tree exactly opposite, there came out noiselessly, without the +slightest rustle, a man of medium height with uncovered grey head, all +in black, and barefooted like a beggar, and his black eyebrows stood out +conspicuously on his pale, death-like face. Nodding his head graciously, +this beggar or pilgrim came noiselessly to the seat and sat down, and +Kovrin recognised him as the black monk.</p> + +<p>For a minute they looked at one another, Kovrin with amazement, and the +monk with friendliness, and, just as before, a little slyness, as though +he were thinking something to himself.</p> + +<p>"But you are a mirage," said Kovrin. "Why are you here and sitting +still? That does not fit in with the legend."</p> + +<p>"That does not matter," the monk answered in a low voice, not +immediately turning his face towards him. "The legend, the mirage, and I +are all the products of your excited imagination. I am a phantom."</p> + +<p>"Then you don't exist?" said Kovrin.</p> + +<p>"You can think as you like," said the monk, with a faint smile. "I exist +in your imagination, and your imagination is part of nature, so I exist +in nature."</p> + +<p>"You have a very old, wise, and extremely expressive face, as though you +really had lived more than a thousand years," said Kovrin. "I did not +know that my imagination was capable of creating such phenomena. But why +do you look at me with such enthusiasm? Do you like me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are one of those few who are justly called the chosen of God. +You do the service of eternal truth. Your thoughts, your designs, the +marvellous studies you are engaged in, and all your life, bear the +Divine, the heavenly stamp, seeing that they are consecrated to the +rational and the beautiful—that is, to what is eternal."</p> + +<p>"You said 'eternal truth.' ... But is eternal truth of use to man and +within his reach, if there is no eternal life?"</p> + +<p>"There is eternal life," said the monk.</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in the immortality of man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. A grand, brilliant future is in store for you men. And +the more there are like you on earth, the sooner will this future be +realised. Without you who serve the higher principle and live in full +understanding and freedom, mankind would be of little account; +developing in a natural way, it would have to wait a long time for the +end of its earthly history. You will lead it some thousands of years +earlier into the kingdom of eternal truth—and therein lies your supreme +service. You are the incarnation of the blessing of God, which rests +upon men."</p> + +<p>"And what is the object of eternal life?" asked Kovrin.</p> + +<p>"As of all life—enjoyment. True enjoyment lies in knowledge, and +eternal life provides innumerable and inexhaustible sources of +knowledge, and in that sense it has been said: 'In My Father's house +there are many mansions.'"</p> + +<p>"If only you knew how pleasant it is to hear you!" said Kovrin, rubbing +his hands with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad."</p> + +<p>"But I know that when you go away I shall be worried by the question of +your reality. You are a phantom, an hallucination. So I am mentally +deranged, not normal?"</p> + +<p>"What if you are? Why trouble yourself? You are ill because you have +overworked and exhausted yourself, and that means that you have +sacrificed your health to the idea, and the time is near at hand when +you will give up life itself to it. What could be better? That is the +goal towards which all divinely endowed, noble natures strive."</p> + +<p>"If I know I am mentally affected, can I trust myself?"</p> + +<p>"And are you sure that the men of genius, whom all men trust, did not +see phantoms, too? The learned say now that genius is allied to madness. +My friend, healthy and normal people are only the common herd. +Reflections upon the neurasthenia of the age, nervous exhaustion and +degeneracy, et cetera, can only seriously agitate those who place the +object of life in the present—that is, the common herd."</p> + +<p>"The Romans used to say: <i>Mens sana in corpore sano.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Not everything the Greeks and the Romans said is true. Exaltation, +enthusiasm, ecstasy—all that distinguishes prophets, poets, martyrs for +the idea, from the common folk—is repellent to the animal side of +man—that is, his physical health. I repeat, if you want to be healthy +and normal, go to the common herd."</p> + +<p>"Strange that you repeat what often comes into my mind," said Kovrin. +"It is as though you had seen and overheard my secret thoughts. But +don't let us talk about me. What do you mean by 'eternal truth'?"</p> + +<p>The monk did not answer. Kovrin looked at him and could not distinguish +his face. His features grew blurred and misty. Then the monk's head and +arms disappeared; his body seemed merged into the seat and the evening +twilight, and he vanished altogether.</p> + +<p>"The hallucination is over," said Kovrin; and he laughed. "It's a pity."</p> + +<p>He went back to the house, light-hearted and happy. The little the monk +had said to him had flattered, not his vanity, but his whole soul, his +whole being. To be one of the chosen, to serve eternal truth, to stand +in the ranks of those who could make mankind worthy of the kingdom of +God some thousands of years sooner—that is, to free men from some +thousands of years of unnecessary struggle, sin, and suffering; to +sacrifice to the idea everything—youth, strength, health; to be ready +to die for the common weal—what an exalted, what a happy lot! He +recalled his past—pure, chaste, laborious; he remembered what he had +learned himself and what he had taught to others, and decided that there +was no exaggeration in the monk's words.</p> + +<p>Tanya came to meet him in the park: she was by now wearing a different +dress.</p> + +<p>"Are you here?" she said. "And we have been looking and looking for +you.... But what is the matter with you?" she asked in wonder, glancing +at his radiant, ecstatic face and eyes full of tears. "How strange you +are, Andryusha!"</p> + +<p>"I am pleased, Tanya," said Kovrin, laying his hand on her shoulders. "I +am more than pleased: I am happy. Tanya, darling Tanya, you are an +extraordinary, nice creature. Dear Tanya, I am so glad, I am so glad!"</p> + +<p>He kissed both her hands ardently, and went on:</p> + +<p>"I have just passed through an exalted, wonderful, unearthly moment. But +I can't tell you all about it or you would call me mad and not believe +me. Let us talk of you. Dear, delightful Tanya! I love you, and am used +to loving you. To have you near me, to meet you a dozen times a day, has +become a necessity of my existence; I don't know how I shall get on +without you when I go back home."</p> + +<p>"Oh," laughed Tanya, "you will forget about us in two days. We are +humble people and you are a great man."</p> + +<p>"No; let us talk in earnest!" he said. "I shall take you with me, Tanya. +Yes? Will you come with me? Will you be mine?"</p> + +<p>"Come," said Tanya, and tried to laugh again, but the laugh would not +come, and patches of colour came into her face.</p> + +<p>She began breathing quickly and walked very quickly, but not to the +house, but further into the park.</p> + +<p>"I was not thinking of it ... I was not thinking of it," she said, +wringing her hands in despair.</p> + +<p>And Kovrin followed her and went on talking, with the same radiant, +enthusiastic face:</p> + +<p>"I want a love that will dominate me altogether; and that love only you, +Tanya, can give me. I am happy! I am happy!"</p> + +<p>She was overwhelmed, and huddling and shrinking together, seemed ten +years older all at once, while he thought her beautiful and expressed +his rapture aloud:</p> + +<p>"How lovely she is!"</p> + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>Learning from Kovrin that not only a romance had been got up, but that +there would even be a wedding, Yegor Semyonitch spent a long time in +pacing from one corner of the room to the other, trying to conceal his +agitation. His hands began trembling, his neck swelled and turned +purple, he ordered his racing droshky and drove off somewhere. Tanya, +seeing how he lashed the horse, and seeing how he pulled his cap over +his ears, understood what he was feeling, shut herself up in her room, +and cried the whole day.</p> + +<p>In the hot-houses the peaches and plums were already ripe; the packing +and sending off of these tender and fragile goods to Moscow took a great +deal of care, work, and trouble. Owing to the fact that the summer was +very hot and dry, it was necessary to water every tree, and a great deal +of time and labour was spent on doing it. Numbers of caterpillars made +their appearance, which, to Kovrin's disgust, the labourers and even +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya squashed with their fingers. In spite of all +that, they had already to book autumn orders for fruit and trees, and to +carry on a great deal of correspondence. And at the very busiest time, +when no one seemed to have a free moment, the work of the fields carried +off more than half their labourers from the garden. Yegor Semyonitch, +sunburnt, exhausted, ill-humoured, galloped from the fields to the +garden and back again; cried that he was being torn to pieces, and that +he should put a bullet through his brains.</p> + +<p>Then came the fuss and worry of the trousseau, to which the Pesotskys +attached a good deal of importance. Every one's head was in a whirl from +the snipping of the scissors, the rattle of the sewing-machine, the +smell of hot irons, and the caprices of the dressmaker, a huffy and +nervous lady. And, as ill-luck would have it, visitors came every day, +who had to be entertained, fed, and even put up for the night. But all +this hard labour passed unnoticed as though in a fog. Tanya felt that +love and happiness had taken her unawares, though she had, since she was +fourteen, for some reason been convinced that Kovrin would marry her and +no one else. She was bewildered, could not grasp it, could not believe +herself.... At one minute such joy would swoop down upon her that she +longed to fly away to the clouds and there pray to God, at another +moment she would remember that in August she would have to part from her +home and leave her father; or, goodness knows why, the idea would occur +to her that she was worthless—insignificant and unworthy of a great man +like Kovrin—and she would go to her room, lock herself in, and cry +bitterly for several hours. When there were visitors, she would suddenly +fancy that Kovrin looked extraordinarily handsome, and that all the +women were in love with him and envying her, and her soul was filled +with pride and rapture, as though she had vanquished the whole world; +but he had only to smile politely at any young lady for her to be +trembling with jealousy, to retreat to her room—and tears again. These +new sensations mastered her completely; she helped her father +mechanically, without noticing peaches, caterpillars or labourers, or +how rapidly the time was passing.</p> + +<p>It was almost the same with Yegor Semyonitch. He worked from morning +till night, was always in a hurry, was irritable, and flew into rages, +but all of this was in a sort of spellbound dream. It seemed as though +there were two men in him: one was the real Yegor Semyonitch, who was +moved to indignation, and clutched his head in despair when he heard of +some irregularity from Ivan Karlovitch the gardener; and another—not +the real one—who seemed as though he were half drunk, would interrupt a +business conversation at half a word, touch the gardener on the +shoulder, and begin muttering:</p> + +<p>"Say what you like, there is a great deal in blood. His mother was a +wonderful woman, most high-minded and intelligent. It was a pleasure to +look at her good, candid, pure face; it was like the face of an angel. +She drew splendidly, wrote verses, spoke five foreign languages, +sang.... Poor thing! she died of consumption. The Kingdom of Heaven be +hers."</p> + +<p>The unreal Yegor Semyonitch sighed, and after a pause went on:</p> + +<p>"When he was a boy and growing up in my house, he had the same angelic +face, good and candid. The way he looks and talks and moves is as soft +and elegant as his mother's. And his intellect! We were always struck +with his intelligence. To be sure, it's not for nothing he's a Master of +Arts! It's not for nothing! And wait a bit, Ivan Karlovitch, what will +he be in ten years' time? He will be far above us!"</p> + +<p>But at this point the real Yegor Semyonitch, suddenly coming to himself, +would make a terrible face, would clutch his head and cry:</p> + +<p>"The devils! They have spoilt everything! They have ruined everything! +They have spoilt everything! The garden's done for, the garden's +ruined!"</p> + +<p>Kovrin, meanwhile, worked with the same ardour as before, and did not +notice the general commotion. Love only added fuel to the flames. After +every talk with Tanya he went to his room, happy and triumphant, took up +his book or his manuscript with the same passion with which he had just +kissed Tanya and told her of his love. What the black monk had told him +of the chosen of God, of eternal truth, of the brilliant future of +mankind and so on, gave peculiar and extraordinary significance to his +work, and filled his soul with pride and the consciousness of his own +exalted consequence. Once or twice a week, in the park or in the house, +he met the black monk and had long conversations with him, but this did +not alarm him, but, on the contrary, delighted him, as he was now firmly +persuaded that such apparitions only visited the elect few who rise up +above their fellows and devote themselves to the service of the idea.</p> + +<p>One day the monk appeared at dinner-time and sat in the dining-room +window. Kovrin was delighted, and very adroitly began a conversation +with Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya of what might be of interest to the +monk; the black-robed visitor listened and nodded his head graciously, +and Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya listened, too, and smiled gaily without +suspecting that Kovrin was not talking to them but to his hallucination.</p> + +<p>Imperceptibly the fast of the Assumption was approaching, and soon after +came the wedding, which, at Yegor Semyonitch's urgent desire, was +celebrated with "a flourish"—that is, with senseless festivities that +lasted for two whole days and nights. Three thousand roubles' worth of +food and drink was consumed, but the music of the wretched hired band, +the noisy toasts, the scurrying to and fro of the footmen, the uproar +and crowding, prevented them from appreciating the taste of the +expensive wines and wonderful delicacies ordered from Moscow.</p> + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p>One long winter night Kovrin was lying in bed, reading a French novel. +Poor Tanya, who had headaches in the evenings from living in town, to +which she was not accustomed, had been asleep a long while, and, from +time to time, articulated some incoherent phrase in her restless dreams.</p> + +<p>It struck three o'clock. Kovrin put out the light and lay down to sleep, +lay for a long time with his eyes closed, but could not get to sleep +because, as he fancied, the room was very hot and Tanya talked in her +sleep. At half-past four he lighted the candle again, and this time he +saw the black monk sitting in an arm-chair near the bed.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning," said the monk, and after a brief pause he asked: "What +are you thinking of now?"</p> + +<p>"Of fame," answered Kovrin. "In the French novel I have just been +reading, there is a description of a young <i>savant</i>, who does silly +things and pines away through worrying about fame. I can't understand +such anxiety."</p> + +<p>"Because you are wise. Your attitude towards fame is one of +indifference, as towards a toy which no longer interests you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is true."</p> + +<p>"Renown does not allure you now. What is there flattering, amusing, or +edifying in their carving your name on a tombstone, then time rubbing +off the inscription together with the gilding? Moreover, happily there +are too many of you for the weak memory of mankind to be able to retain +your names."</p> + +<p>"Of course," assented Kovrin. "Besides, why should they be remembered? +But let us talk of something else. Of happiness, for instance. What is +happiness?"</p> + +<p>When the clock struck five, he was sitting on the bed, dangling his feet +to the carpet, talking to the monk:</p> + +<p>"In ancient times a happy man grew at last frightened of his happiness +—it was so great!—and to propitiate the gods he brought as a sacrifice +his favourite ring. Do you know, I, too, like Polykrates, begin to be +uneasy of my happiness. It seems strange to me that from morning to +night I feel nothing but joy; it fills my whole being and smothers all +other feelings. I don't know what sadness, grief, or boredom is. Here I +am not asleep; I suffer from sleeplessness, but I am not dull. I say it +in earnest; I begin to feel perplexed."</p> + +<p>"But why?" the monk asked in wonder. "Is joy a supernatural feeling? +Ought it not to be the normal state of man? The more highly a man is +developed on the intellectual and moral side, the more independent he +is, the more pleasure life gives him. Socrates, Diogenes, and Marcus +Aurelius, were joyful, not sorrowful. And the Apostle tells us: 'Rejoice +continually'; 'Rejoice and be glad.'"</p> + +<p>"But will the gods be suddenly wrathful?" Kovrin jested; and he laughed. +"If they take from me comfort and make me go cold and hungry, it won't +be very much to my taste."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Tanya woke up and looked with amazement and horror at her +husband. He was talking, addressing the arm-chair, laughing and +gesticulating; his eyes were gleaming, and there was something strange +in his laugh.</p> + +<p>"Andryusha, whom are you talking to?" she asked, clutching the hand he +stretched out to the monk. "Andryusha! Whom?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Whom?" said Kovrin in confusion. "Why, to him.... He is sitting +here," he said, pointing to the black monk.</p> + +<p>"There is no one here ... no one! Andryusha, you are ill!"</p> + +<p>Tanya put her arm round her husband and held him tight, as though +protecting him from the apparition, and put her hand over his eyes.</p> + +<p>"You are ill!" she sobbed, trembling all over. "Forgive me, my precious, +my dear one, but I have noticed for a long time that your mind is +clouded in some way.... You are mentally ill, Andryusha...."</p> + +<p>Her trembling infected him, too. He glanced once more at the arm-chair, +which was now empty, felt a sudden weakness in his arms and legs, was +frightened, and began dressing.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing, Tanya; it's nothing," he muttered, shivering. "I really +am not quite well ... it's time to admit that."</p> + +<p>"I have noticed it for a long time ... and father has noticed it," she +said, trying to suppress her sobs. "You talk to yourself, smile somehow +strangely ... and can't sleep. Oh, my God, my God, save us!" she said in +terror. "But don't be frightened, Andryusha; for God's sake don't be +frightened...."</p> + +<p>She began dressing, too. Only now, looking at her, Kovrin realised the +danger of his position—realised the meaning of the black monk and his +conversations with him. It was clear to him now that he was mad.</p> + +<p>Neither of them knew why they dressed and went into the dining-room: she +in front and he following her. There they found Yegor Semyonitch +standing in his dressing-gown and with a candle in his hand. He was +staying with them, and had been awakened by Tanya's sobs.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened, Andryusha," Tanya was saying, shivering as though +in a fever; "don't be frightened.... Father, it will all pass over ... +it will all pass over...."</p> + +<p>Kovrin was too much agitated to speak. He wanted to say to his +father-in-law in a playful tone: "Congratulate me; it appears I have +gone out of my mind"; but he could only move his lips and smile +bitterly.</p> + +<p>At nine o'clock in the morning they put on his jacket and fur coat, +wrapped him up in a shawl, and took him in a carriage to a doctor.</p> + +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<p>Summer had come again, and the doctor advised their going into the +country. Kovrin had recovered; he had left off seeing the black monk, +and he had only to get up his strength. Staying at his father-in-law's, +he drank a great deal of milk, worked for only two hours out of the +twenty-four, and neither smoked nor drank wine.</p> + +<p>On the evening before Elijah's Day they had an evening service in the +house. When the deacon was handing the priest the censer the immense old +room smelt like a graveyard, and Kovrin felt bored. He went out into the +garden. Without noticing the gorgeous flowers, he walked about the +garden, sat down on a seat, then strolled about the park; reaching the +river, he went down and then stood lost in thought, looking at the +water. The sullen pines with their shaggy roots, which had seen him a +year before so young, so joyful and confident, were not whispering now, +but standing mute and motionless, as though they did not recognise him. +And, indeed, his head was closely cropped, his beautiful long hair was +gone, his step was lagging, his face was fuller and paler than last +summer.</p> + +<p>He crossed by the footbridge to the other side. Where the year before +there had been rye the oats stood, reaped, and lay in rows. The sun had +set and there was a broad stretch of glowing red on the horizon, a sign +of windy weather next day. It was still. Looking in the direction from +which the year before the black monk had first appeared, Kovrin stood +for twenty minutes, till the evening glow had begun to fade....</p> + +<p>When, listless and dissatisfied, he returned home the service was over. +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya were sitting on the steps of the verandah, +drinking tea. They were talking of something, but, seeing Kovrin, ceased +at once, and he concluded from their faces that their talk had been +about him.</p> + +<p>"I believe it is time for you to have your milk," Tanya said to her +husband.</p> + +<p>"No, it is not time yet ..." he said, sitting down on the bottom step. +"Drink it yourself; I don't want it."</p> + +<p>Tanya exchanged a troubled glance with her father, and said in a guilty +voice:</p> + +<p>"You notice yourself that milk does you good."</p> + +<p>"Yes, a great deal of good!" Kovrin laughed. "I congratulate you: I have +gained a pound in weight since Friday." He pressed his head tightly in +his hands and said miserably: "Why, why have you cured me? Preparations +of bromide, idleness, hot baths, supervision, cowardly consternation at +every mouthful, at every step—all this will reduce me at last to +idiocy. I went out of my mind, I had megalomania; but then I was +cheerful, confident, and even happy; I was interesting and original. Now +I have become more sensible and stolid, but I am just like every one +else: I am—mediocrity; I am weary of life.... Oh, how cruelly you have +treated me!... I saw hallucinations, but what harm did that do to any +one? I ask, what harm did that do any one?"</p> + +<p>"Goodness knows what you are saying!" sighed Yegor Semyonitch. "It's +positively wearisome to listen to it."</p> + +<p>"Then don't listen."</p> + +<p>The presence of other people, especially Yegor Semyonitch, irritated +Kovrin now; he answered him drily, coldly, and even rudely, never looked +at him but with irony and hatred, while Yegor Semyonitch was overcome +with confusion and cleared his throat guiltily, though he was not +conscious of any fault in himself. At a loss to understand why their +charming and affectionate relations had changed so abruptly, Tanya +huddled up to her father and looked anxiously in his face; she wanted to +understand and could not understand, and all that was clear to her was +that their relations were growing worse and worse every day, that of +late her father had begun to look much older, and her husband had grown +irritable, capricious, quarrelsome and uninteresting. She could not +laugh or sing; at dinner she ate nothing; did not sleep for nights +together, expecting something awful, and was so worn out that on one +occasion she lay in a dead faint from dinner-time till evening. During +the service she thought her father was crying, and now while the three +of them were sitting together on the terrace she made an effort not to +think of it.</p> + +<p>"How fortunate Buddha, Mahomed, and Shakespeare were that their kind +relations and doctors did not cure them of their ecstasy and their +inspiration," said Kovrin. "If Mahomed had taken bromide for his nerves, +had worked only two hours out of the twenty-four, and had drunk milk, +that remarkable man would have left no more trace after him than his +dog. Doctors and kind relations will succeed in stupefying mankind, in +making mediocrity pass for genius and in bringing civilisation to ruin. +If only you knew," Kovrin said with annoyance, "how grateful I am to +you."</p> + +<p>He felt intense irritation, and to avoid saying too much, he got up +quickly and went into the house. It was still, and the fragrance of the +tobacco plant and the marvel of Peru floated in at the open window. The +moonlight lay in green patches on the floor and on the piano in the big +dark dining-room. Kovrin remembered the raptures of the previous summer +when there had been the same scent of the marvel of Peru and the moon +had shone in at the window. To bring back the mood of last year he went +quickly to his study, lighted a strong cigar, and told the footman to +bring him some wine. But the cigar left a bitter and disgusting taste in +his mouth, and the wine had not the same flavour as it had the year +before. And so great is the effect of giving up a habit, the cigar and +the two gulps of wine made him giddy, and brought on palpitations of the +heart, so that he was obliged to take bromide.</p> + +<p>Before going to bed, Tanya said to him:</p> + +<p>"Father adores you. You are cross with him about something, and it is +killing him. Look at him; he is ageing, not from day to day, but from +hour to hour. I entreat you, Andryusha, for God's sake, for the sake of +your dead father, for the sake of my peace of mind, be affectionate to +him."</p> + +<p>"I can't, I don't want to."</p> + +<p>"But why?" asked Tanya, beginning to tremble all over. "Explain why."</p> + +<p>"Because he is antipathetic to me, that's all," said Kovrin carelessly; +and he shrugged his shoulders. "But we won't talk about him: he is your +father."</p> + +<p>"I can't understand, I can't," said Tanya, pressing her hands to her +temples and staring at a fixed point. "Something incomprehensible, +awful, is going on in the house. You have changed, grown unlike +yourself.... You, clever, extraordinary man as you are, are irritated +over trifles, meddle in paltry nonsense.... Such trivial things excite +you, that sometimes one is simply amazed and can't believe that it is +you. Come, come, don't be angry, don't be angry," she went on, kissing +his hands, frightened of her own words. "You are clever, kind, noble. +You will be just to father. He is so good."</p> + +<p>"He is not good; he is just good-natured. Burlesque old uncles like your +father, with well-fed, good-natured faces, extraordinarily hospitable +and queer, at one time used to touch me and amuse me in novels and in +farces and in life; now I dislike them. They are egoists to the marrow +of their bones. What disgusts me most of all is their being so well-fed, +and that purely bovine, purely hoggish optimism of a full stomach."</p> + +<p>Tanya sat down on the bed and laid her head on the pillow.</p> + +<p>"This is torture," she said, and from her voice it was evident that she +was utterly exhausted, and that it was hard for her to speak. "Not one +moment of peace since the winter.... Why, it's awful! My God! I am +wretched."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course, I am Herod, and you and your father are the innocents. +Of course."</p> + +<p>His face seemed to Tanya ugly and unpleasant. Hatred and an ironical +expression did not suit him. And, indeed, she had noticed before that +there was something lacking in his face, as though ever since his hair +had been cut his face had changed, too. She wanted to say something +wounding to him, but immediately she caught herself in this antagonistic +feeling, she was frightened and went out of the bedroom.</p> + +<h3>IX</h3> + +<p>Kovrin received a professorship at the University. The inaugural address +was fixed for the second of December, and a notice to that effect was +hung up in the corridor at the University. But on the day appointed he +informed the students' inspector, by telegram, that he was prevented by +illness from giving the lecture.</p> + +<p>He had hæmorrhage from the throat. He was often spitting blood, but it +happened two or three times a month that there was a considerable loss +of blood, and then he grew extremely weak and sank into a drowsy +condition. This illness did not particularly frighten him, as he knew +that his mother had lived for ten years or longer suffering from the +same disease, and the doctors assured him that there was no danger, and +had only advised him to avoid excitement, to lead a regular life, and to +speak as little as possible.</p> + +<p>In January again his lecture did not take place owing to the same +reason, and in February it was too late to begin the course. It had to +be postponed to the following year.</p> + +<p>By now he was living not with Tanya, but with another woman, who was two +years older than he was, and who looked after him as though he were a +baby. He was in a calm and tranquil state of mind; he readily gave in to +her, and when Varvara Nikolaevna—that was the name of his +friend—decided to take him to the Crimea, he agreed, though he had a +presentiment that no good would come of the trip.</p> + +<p>They reached Sevastopol in the evening and stopped at an hotel to rest +and go on the next day to Yalta. They were both exhausted by the +journey. Varvara Nikolaevna had some tea, went to bed and was soon +asleep. But Kovrin did not go to bed. An hour before starting for the +station, he had received a letter from Tanya, and had not brought +himself to open it, and now it was lying in his coat pocket, and the +thought of it excited him disagreeably. At the bottom of his heart he +genuinely considered now that his marriage to Tanya had been a mistake. +He was glad that their separation was final, and the thought of that +woman who in the end had turned into a living relic, still walking about +though everything seemed dead in her except her big, staring, +intelligent eyes—the thought of her roused in him nothing but pity and +disgust with himself. The handwriting on the envelope reminded him how +cruel and unjust he had been two years before, how he had worked off his +anger at his spiritual emptiness, his boredom, his loneliness, and his +dissatisfaction with life by revenging himself on people in no way to +blame. He remembered, also, how he had torn up his dissertation and all +the articles he had written during his illness, and how he had thrown +them out of window, and the bits of paper had fluttered in the wind and +caught on the trees and flowers. In every line of them he saw strange, +utterly groundless pretension, shallow defiance, arrogance, megalomania; +and they made him feel as though he were reading a description of his +vices. But when the last manuscript had been torn up and sent flying out +of window, he felt, for some reason, suddenly bitter and angry; he went +to his wife and said a great many unpleasant things to her. My God, how +he had tormented her! One day, wanting to cause her pain, he told her +that her father had played a very unattractive part in their romance, +that he had asked him to marry her. Yegor Semyonitch accidentally +overheard this, ran into the room, and, in his despair, could not utter +a word, could only stamp and make a strange, bellowing sound as though +he had lost the power of speech, and Tanya, looking at her father, had +uttered a heart-rending shriek and had fallen into a swoon. It was +hideous.</p> + +<p>All this came back into his memory as he looked at the familiar writing. +Kovrin went out on to the balcony; it was still warm weather and there +was a smell of the sea. The wonderful bay reflected the moonshine and +the lights, and was of a colour for which it was difficult to find a +name. It was a soft and tender blending of dark blue and green; in +places the water was like blue vitriol, and in places it seemed as +though the moonlight were liquefied and filling the bay instead of +water. And what harmony of colours, what an atmosphere of peace, calm, +and sublimity!</p> + +<p>In the lower storey under the balcony the windows were probably open, +for women's voices and laughter could be heard distinctly. Apparently +there was an evening party.</p> + +<p>Kovrin made an effort, tore open the envelope, and, going back into his +room, read:</p> + +<p>"My father is just dead. I owe that to you, for you have killed him. Our +garden is being ruined; strangers are managing it already—that is, the +very thing is happening that poor father dreaded. That, too, I owe to +you. I hate you with my whole soul, and I hope you may soon perish. Oh, +how wretched I am! Insufferable anguish is burning my soul.... My curses +on you. I took you for an extraordinary man, a genius; I loved you, and +you have turned out a madman...."</p> + +<p>Kovrin could read no more, he tore up the letter and threw it away. He +was overcome by an uneasiness that was akin to terror. Varvara +Nikolaevna was asleep behind the screen, and he could hear her +breathing. From the lower storey came the sounds of laughter and women's +voices, but he felt as though in the whole hotel there were no living +soul but him. Because Tanya, unhappy, broken by sorrow, had cursed him +in her letter and hoped for his perdition, he felt eerie and kept +glancing hurriedly at the door, as though he were afraid that the +uncomprehended force which two years before had wrought such havoc in +his life and in the life of those near him might come into the room and +master him once more.</p> + +<p>He knew by experience that when his nerves were out of hand the best +thing for him to do was to work. He must sit down to the table and force +himself, at all costs, to concentrate his mind on some one thought. He +took from his red portfolio a manuscript containing a sketch of a small +work of the nature of a compilation, which he had planned in case he +should find it dull in the Crimea without work. He sat down to the table +and began working at this plan, and it seemed to him that his calm, +peaceful, indifferent mood was coming back. The manuscript with the +sketch even led him to meditation on the vanity of the world. He thought +how much life exacts for the worthless or very commonplace blessings it +can give a man. For instance, to gain, before forty, a university chair, +to be an ordinary professor, to expound ordinary and second-hand +thoughts in dull, heavy, insipid language—in fact, to gain the position +of a mediocre learned man, he, Kovrin, had had to study for fifteen +years, to work day and night, to endure a terrible mental illness, to +experience an unhappy marriage, and to do a great number of stupid and +unjust things which it would have been pleasant not to remember. Kovrin +recognised clearly, now, that he was a mediocrity, and readily resigned +himself to it, as he considered that every man ought to be satisfied +with what he is.</p> + +<p>The plan of the volume would have soothed him completely, but the torn +letter showed white on the floor and prevented him from concentrating +his attention. He got up from the table, picked up the pieces of the +letter and threw them out of window, but there was a light wind blowing +from the sea, and the bits of paper were scattered on the windowsill. +Again he was overcome by uneasiness akin to terror, and he felt as +though in the whole hotel there were no living soul but himself.... He +went out on the balcony. The bay, like a living thing, looked at him +with its multitude of light blue, dark blue, turquoise and fiery eyes, +and seemed beckoning to him. And it really was hot and oppressive, and +it would not have been amiss to have a bathe.</p> + +<p>Suddenly in the lower storey under the balcony a violin began playing, +and two soft feminine voices began singing. It was something familiar. +The song was about a maiden, full of sick fancies, who heard one night +in her garden mysterious sounds, so strange and lovely that she was +obliged to recognise them as a holy harmony which is unintelligible to +us mortals, and so flies back to heaven.... Kovrin caught his breath and +there was a pang of sadness at his heart, and a thrill of the sweet, +exquisite delight he had so long forgotten began to stir in his breast.</p> + +<p>A tall black column, like a whirlwind or a waterspout, appeared on the +further side of the bay. It moved with fearful rapidity across the bay, +towards the hotel, growing smaller and darker as it came, and Kovrin +only just had time to get out of the way to let it pass.... The monk +with bare grey head, black eyebrows, barefoot, his arms crossed over his +breast, floated by him, and stood still in the middle of the room.</p> + +<p>"Why did you not believe me?" he asked reproachfully, looking +affectionately at Kovrin. "If you had believed me then, that you were a +genius, you would not have spent these two years so gloomily and so +wretchedly."</p> + +<p>Kovrin already believed that he was one of God's chosen and a genius; he +vividly recalled his conversations with the monk in the past and tried +to speak, but the blood flowed from his throat on to his breast, and not +knowing what he was doing, he passed his hands over his breast, and his +cuffs were soaked with blood. He tried to call Varvara Nikolaevna, who +was asleep behind the screen; he made an effort and said:</p> + +<p>"Tanya!"</p> + +<p>He fell on the floor, and propping himself on his arms, called again:</p> + +<p>"Tanya!"</p> + +<p>He called Tanya, called to the great garden with the gorgeous flowers +sprinkled with dew, called to the park, the pines with their shaggy +roots, the rye-field, his marvellous learning, his youth, courage, +joy—called to life, which was so lovely. He saw on the floor near his +face a great pool of blood, and was too weak to utter a word, but an +unspeakable, infinite happiness flooded his whole being. Below, under +the balcony, they were playing the serenade, and the black monk +whispered to him that he was a genius, and that he was dying only +because his frail human body had lost its balance and could no longer +serve as the mortal garb of genius.</p> + +<p>When Varvara Nikolaevna woke up and came out from behind the screen, +Kovrin was dead, and a blissful smile was set upon his face.</p> + +<h2><a name="VOLODYA" id="VOLODYA"></a>VOLODYA</h2> + +<p class="nind"><big>A</big><small>T</small> five o'clock one Sunday afternoon in summer, Volodya, a plain, shy, +sickly-looking lad of seventeen, was sitting in the arbour of the +Shumihins' country villa, feeling dreary. His despondent thought flowed +in three directions. In the first place, he had next day, Monday, an +examination in mathematics; he knew that if he did not get through the +written examination on the morrow, he would be expelled, for he had +already been two years in the sixth form and had two and three-quarter +marks for algebra in his annual report. In the second place, his +presence at the villa of the Shumihins, a wealthy family with +aristocratic pretensions, was a continual source of mortification to his +<i>amour-propre</i>. It seemed to him that Madame Shumihin looked upon him +and his maman as poor relations and dependents, that they laughed at his +<i>maman</i> and did not respect her. He had on one occasion accidently +overheard Madame Shumihin, in the verandah, telling her cousin Anna +Fyodorovna that his <i>maman</i> still tried to look young and got herself +up, that she never paid her losses at cards, and had a partiality for +other people's shoes and tobacco. Every day Volodya besought his <i>maman</i> +not to go to the Shumihins', and drew a picture of the humiliating part +she played with these gentlefolk. He tried to persuade her, said rude +things, but she—a frivolous, pampered woman, who had run through two +fortunes, her own and her husband's, in her time, and always gravitated +towards acquaintances of high rank—did not understand him, and twice a +week Volodya had to accompany her to the villa he hated.</p> + +<p>In the third place, the youth could not for one instant get rid of a +strange, unpleasant feeling which was absolutely new to him.... It +seemed to him that he was in love with Anna Fyodorovna, the Shumihins' +cousin, who was staying with them. She was a vivacious, loud-voiced, +laughter-loving, healthy, and vigorous lady of thirty, with rosy cheeks, +plump shoulders, a plump round chin and a continual smile on her thin +lips. She was neither young nor beautiful—Volodya knew that perfectly +well; but for some reason he could not help thinking of her, looking at +her while she shrugged her plump shoulders and moved her flat back as +she played croquet, or after prolonged laughter and running up and down +stairs, sank into a low chair, and, half closing her eyes and gasping +for breath, pretended that she was stifling and could not breathe. She +was married. Her husband, a staid and dignified architect, came once a +week to the villa, slept soundly, and returned to town. Volodya's +strange feeling had begun with his conceiving an unaccountable hatred +for the architect, and feeling relieved every time he went back to town.</p> + +<p>Now, sitting in the arbour, thinking of his examination next day, and of +his <i>maman</i>, at whom they laughed, he felt an intense desire to see +Nyuta (that was what the Shumihins called Anna Fyodorovna), to hear her +laughter and the rustle of her dress.... This desire was not like the +pure, poetic love of which he read in novels and about which he dreamed +every night when he went to bed; it was strange, incomprehensible; he +was ashamed of it, and afraid of it as of something very wrong and +impure, something which it was disagreeable to confess even to himself.</p> + +<p>"It's not love," he said to himself. "One can't fall in love with women +of thirty who are married. It is only a little intrigue.... Yes, an +intrigue...."</p> + +<p>Pondering on the "intrigue," he thought of his uncontrollable shyness, +his lack of moustache, his freckles, his narrow eyes, and put himself in +his imagination side by side with Nyuta, and the juxtaposition seemed to +him impossible; then he made haste to imagine himself bold, handsome, +witty, dressed in the latest fashion.</p> + +<p>When his dreams were at their height, as he sat huddled together and +looking at the ground in a dark corner of the arbour, he heard the sound +of light footsteps. Some one was coming slowly along the avenue. Soon +the steps stopped and something white gleamed in the entrance.</p> + +<p>"Is there any one here?" asked a woman's voice.</p> + +<p>Volodya recognised the voice, and raised his head in a fright.</p> + +<p>"Who is here?" asked Nyuta, going into the arbour. "Ah, it is you, +Volodya? What are you doing here? Thinking? And how can you go on +thinking, thinking, thinking?... That's the way to go out of your mind!"</p> + +<p>Volodya got up and looked in a dazed way at Nyuta. She had only just +come back from bathing. Over her shoulder there was hanging a sheet and +a rough towel, and from under the white silk kerchief on her head he +could see the wet hair sticking to her forehead. There was the cool damp +smell of the bath-house and of almond soap still hanging about her. She +was out of breath from running quickly. The top button of her blouse was +undone, so that the boy saw her throat and bosom.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you say something?" said Nyuta, looking Volodya up and down. +"It's not polite to be silent when a lady talks to you. What a clumsy +seal you are though, Volodya! You always sit, saying nothing, thinking +like some philosopher. There's not a spark of life or fire in you! You +are really horrid!... At your age you ought to be living, skipping, and +jumping, chattering, flirting, falling in love."</p> + +<p>Volodya looked at the sheet that was held by a plump white hand, and +thought....</p> + +<p>"He's mute," said Nyuta, with wonder; "it is strange, really.... Listen! +Be a man! Come, you might smile at least! Phew, the horrid philosopher!" +she laughed. "But do you know, Volodya, why you are such a clumsy seal? +Because you don't devote yourself to the ladies. Why don't you? It's +true there are no girls here, but there is nothing to prevent your +flirting with the married ladies! Why don't you flirt with me, for +instance?"</p> + +<p>Volodya listened and scratched his forehead in acute and painful +irresolution.</p> + +<p>"It's only very proud people who are silent and love solitude," Nyuta +went on, pulling his hand away from his forehead. "You are proud, +Volodya. Why do you look at me like that from under your brows? Look me +straight in the face, if you please! Yes, now then, clumsy seal!"</p> + +<p>Volodya made up his mind to speak. Wanting to smile, he twitched his +lower lip, blinked, and again put his hand to his forehead.</p> + +<p>"I ... I love you," he said.</p> + +<p>Nyuta raised her eyebrows in surprise, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"What do I hear?" she sang, as prima-donnas sing at the opera when they +hear something awful. "What? What did you say? Say it again, say it +again...."</p> + +<p>"I ... I love you!" repeated Volodya.</p> + +<p>And without his will's having any part in his action, without reflection +or understanding, he took half a step towards Nyuta and clutched her by +the arm. Everything was dark before his eyes, and tears came into them. +The whole world was turned into one big, rough towel which smelt of the +bathhouse.</p> + +<p>"Bravo, bravo!" he heard a merry laugh. "Why don't you speak? I want you +to speak! Well?"</p> + +<p>Seeing that he was not prevented from holding her arm, Volodya glanced +at Nyuta's laughing face, and clumsily, awkwardly, put both arms round +her waist, his hands meeting behind her back. He held her round the +waist with both arms, while, putting her hands up to her head, showing +the dimples in her elbows, she set her hair straight under the kerchief +and said in a calm voice:</p> + +<p>"You must be tactful, polite, charming, and you can only become that +under feminine influence. But what a wicked, angry face you have! You +must talk, laugh.... Yes, Volodya, don't be surly; you are young and +will have plenty of time for philosophising. Come, let go of me; I am +going. Let go."</p> + +<p>Without effort she released her waist, and, humming something, walked +out of the arbour. Volodya was left alone. He smoothed his hair, smiled, +and walked three times to and fro across the arbour, then he sat down on +the bench and smiled again. He felt insufferably ashamed, so much so +that he wondered that human shame could reach such a pitch of acuteness +and intensity. Shame made him smile, gesticulate, and whisper some +disconnected words.</p> + +<p>He was ashamed that he had been treated like a small boy, ashamed of his +shyness, and, most of all, that he had had the audacity to put his arms +round the waist of a respectable married woman, though, as it seemed to +him, he had neither through age nor by external quality, nor by social +position any right to do so.</p> + +<p>He jumped up, went out of the arbour, and, without looking round, walked +into the recesses of the garden furthest from the house.</p> + +<p>"Ah! only to get away from here as soon as possible," he thought, +clutching his head. "My God! as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>The train by which Volodya was to go back with his <i>maman</i> was at +eight-forty. There were three hours before the train started, but he +would with pleasure have gone to the station at once without waiting for +his <i>maman</i>.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock he went to the house. His whole figure was expressive +of determination: what would be, would be! He made up his mind to go in +boldly, to look them straight in the face, to speak in a loud voice, +regardless of everything.</p> + +<p>He crossed the terrace, the big hall and the drawing-room, and there +stopped to take breath. He could hear them in the dining-room, drinking +tea. Madame Shumihin, <i>maman</i>, and Nyuta were talking and laughing about +something.</p> + +<p>Volodya listened.</p> + +<p>"I assure you!" said Nyuta. "I could not believe my eyes! When he began +declaring his passion and—just imagine!—put his arms round my waist, I +should not have recognised him. And you know he has a way with him! When +he told me he was in love with me, there was something brutal in his +face, like a Circassian."</p> + +<p>"Really!" gasped <i>maman</i>, going off into a peal of laughter. "Really! +How he does remind me of his father!"</p> + +<p>Volodya ran back and dashed out into the open air.</p> + +<p>"How could they talk of it aloud!" he wondered in agony, clasping his +hands and looking up to the sky in horror. "They talk aloud in cold +blood ... and <i>maman</i> laughed!... <i>Maman!</i> My God, why didst Thou give +me such a mother? Why?"</p> + +<p>But he had to go to the house, come what might. He walked three times up +and down the avenue, grew a little calmer, and went into the house.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you come in in time for tea?" Madame Shumihin asked sternly.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, it's ... it's time for me to go," he muttered, not raising +his eyes. "<i>Maman</i>, it's eight o'clock!"</p> + +<p>"You go alone, my dear," said his <i>maman</i> languidly. "I am staying the +night with Lili. Goodbye, my dear.... Let me make the sign of the cross +over you."</p> + +<p>She made the sign of the cross over her son, and said in French, turning +to Nyuta:</p> + +<p>"He's rather like Lermontov ... isn't he?"</p> + +<p>Saying good-bye after a fashion, without looking any one in the face, +Volodya went out of the dining-room. Ten minutes later he was walking +along the road to the station, and was glad of it. Now he felt neither +frightened nor ashamed; he breathed freely and easily.</p> + +<p>About half a mile from the station, he sat down on a stone by the side +of the road, and gazed at the sun, which was half hidden behind a +barrow. There were lights already here and there at the station, and one +green light glimmered dimly, but the train was not yet in sight. It was +pleasant to Volodya to sit still without moving, and to watch the +evening coming little by little. The darkness of the arbour, the +footsteps, the smell of the bath-house, the laughter, and the waist—all +these rose with amazing vividness before his imagination, and all this +was no longer so terrible and important as before.</p> + +<p>"It's of no consequence.... She did not pull her hand away, and laughed +when I held her by the waist," he thought. "So she must have liked it. +If she had disliked it she would have been angry...."</p> + +<p>And now Volodya felt sorry that he had not had more boldness there in +the arbour. He felt sorry that he was so stupidly going away, and he was +by now persuaded that if the same thing happened again he would be +bolder and look at it more simply.</p> + +<p>And it would not be difficult for the opportunity to occur again. They +used to stroll about for a long time after supper at the Shumihins'. If +Volodya went for a walk with Nyuta in the dark garden, there would be an +opportunity!</p> + +<p>"I will go back," he thought, "and will go by the morning train +to-morrow.... I will say I have missed the train."</p> + +<p>And he turned back.... Madame Shumihin, <i>Maman</i>, Nyuta, and one of the +nieces were sitting on the verandah, playing <i>vint</i>. When Volodya told +them the lie that he had missed the train, they were uneasy that he +might be late for the examination day, and advised him to get up early. +All the while they were playing he sat on one side, greedily watching +Nyuta and waiting.... He already had a plan prepared in his mind: he +would go up to Nyuta in the dark, would take her by the hand, then would +embrace her; there would be no need to say anything, as both of them +would understand without words.</p> + +<p>But after supper the ladies did not go for a walk in the garden, but +went on playing cards. They played till one o'clock at night, and then +broke up to go to bed.</p> + +<p>"How stupid it all is!" Volodya thought with vexation as he got into +bed. "But never mind; I'll wait till to-morrow ... to-morrow in the +arbour. It doesn't matter...."</p> + +<p>He did not attempt to go to sleep, but sat in bed, hugging his knees and +thinking. All thought of the examination was hateful to him. He had +already made up his mind that they would expel him, and that there was +nothing terrible about his being expelled. On the contrary, it was a +good thing—a very good thing, in fact. Next day he would be as free as +a bird; he would put on ordinary clothes instead of his school uniform, +would smoke openly, come out here, and make love to Nyuta when he liked; +and he would not be a schoolboy but "a young man." And as for the rest +of it, what is called a career, a future, that was clear; Volodya would +go into the army or the telegraph service, or he would go into a +chemist's shop and work his way up till he was a dispenser.... There +were lots of callings. An hour or two passed, and he was still sitting +and thinking....</p> + +<p>Towards three o'clock, when it was beginning to get light, the door +creaked cautiously and his <i>maman</i> came into the room.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you asleep?" she asked, yawning. "Go to sleep; I have only come +in for a minute.... I am only fetching the drops...."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"Poor Lili has got spasms again. Go to sleep, my child, your +examination's to-morrow...."</p> + +<p>She took a bottle of something out of the cupboard, went to the window, +read the label, and went away.</p> + +<p>"Marya Leontyevna, those are not the drops!" Volodya heard a woman's +voice, a minute later. "That's convallaria, and Lili wants morphine. Is +your son asleep? Ask him to look for it...."</p> + +<p>It was Nyuta's voice. Volodya turned cold. He hurriedly put on his +trousers, flung his coat over his shoulders, and went to the door.</p> + +<p>"Do you understand? Morphine," Nyuta explained in a whisper. "There must +be a label in Latin. Wake Volodya; he will find it."</p> + +<p><i>Maman</i> opened the door and Volodya caught sight of Nyuta. She was +wearing the same loose wrapper in which she had gone to bathe. Her hair +hung loose and disordered on her shoulders, her face looked sleepy and +dark in the half-light....</p> + +<p>"Why, Volodya is not asleep," she said. "Volodya, look in the cupboard +for the morphine, there's a dear! What a nuisance Lili is! She has +always something the matter."</p> + +<p><i>Maman</i> muttered something, yawned, and went away.</p> + +<p>"Look for it," said Nyuta. "Why are you standing still?"</p> + +<p>Volodya went to the cupboard, knelt down, and began looking through the +bottles and boxes of medicine. His hands were trembling, and he had a +feeling in his chest and stomach as though cold waves were running all +over his inside. He felt suffocated and giddy from the smell of ether, +carbolic acid, and various drugs, which he quite unnecessarily snatched +up with his trembling fingers and spilled in so doing.</p> + +<p>"I believe <i>maman</i> has gone," he thought. "That's a good thing ... a +good thing...."</p> + +<p>"Will you be quick?" said Nyuta, drawling.</p> + +<p>"In a minute.... Here, I believe this is morphine," said Volodya, +reading on one of the labels the word "morph...." "Here it is!"</p> + +<p>Nyuta was standing in the doorway in such a way that one foot was in his +room and one was in the passage. She was tidying her hair, which was +difficult to put in order because it was so thick and long, and looked +absent-mindedly at Volodya. In her loose wrap, with her sleepy face and +her hair down, in the dim light that came into the white sky not yet lit +by the sun, she seemed to Volodya captivating, magnificent.... +Fascinated, trembling all over, and remembering with relish how he had +held that exquisite body in his arms in the arbour, he handed her the +bottle and said:</p> + +<p>"How wonderful you are!"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>She came into the room.</p> + +<p>"What?" she asked, smiling.</p> + +<p>He was silent and looked at her, then, just as in the arbour, he took +her hand, and she looked at him with a smile and waited for what would +happen next.</p> + +<p>"I love you," he whispered.</p> + +<p>She left off smiling, thought a minute, and said:</p> + +<p>"Wait a little; I think somebody is coming. Oh, these schoolboys!" she +said in an undertone, going to the door and peeping out into the +passage. "No, there is no one to be seen...."</p> + +<p>She came back.</p> + +<p>Then it seemed to Volodya that the room, Nyuta, the sunrise and +himself—all melted together in one sensation of acute, extraordinary, +incredible bliss, for which one might give up one's whole life and face +eternal torments.... But half a minute passed and all that vanished. +Volodya saw only a fat, plain face, distorted by an expression of +repulsion, and he himself suddenly felt a loathing for what had +happened.</p> + +<p>"I must go away, though," said Nyuta, looking at Volodya with disgust. +"What a wretched, ugly ... fie, ugly duckling!"</p> + +<p>How unseemly her long hair, her loose wrap, her steps, her voice seemed +to Volodya now!...</p> + +<p>"'Ugly duckling' ..." he thought after she had gone away. "I really am +ugly ... everything is ugly."</p> + +<p>The sun was rising, the birds were singing loudly; he could hear the +gardener walking in the garden and the creaking of his wheelbarrow ... +and soon afterwards he heard the lowing of the cows and the sounds of +the shepherd's pipe. The sunlight and the sounds told him that somewhere +in this world there is a pure, refined, poetical life. But where was it? +Volodya had never heard a word of it from his <i>maman</i> or any of the +people round about him.</p> + +<p>When the footman came to wake him for the morning train, he pretended to +be asleep....</p> + +<p>"Bother it! Damn it all!" he thought.</p> + +<p>He got up between ten and eleven.</p> + +<p>Combing his hair before the looking-glass, and looking at his ugly face, +pale from his sleepless night, he thought:</p> + +<p>"It's perfectly true ... an ugly duckling!"</p> + +<p>When <i>maman</i> saw him and was horrified that he was not at his +examination, Volodya said:</p> + +<p>"I overslept myself, <i>maman</i>.... But don't worry, I will get a medical +certificate."</p> + +<p>Madame Shumihin and Nyuta waked up at one o'clock. Volodya heard Madame +Shumihin open her window with a bang, heard Nyuta go off into a peal of +laughter in reply to her coarse voice. He saw the door open and a string +of nieces and other toadies (among the latter was his <i>maman</i>) file into +lunch, caught a glimpse of Nyuta's freshly washed laughing face, and, +beside her, the black brows and beard of her husband the architect, who +had just arrived.</p> + +<p>Nyuta was wearing a Little Russian dress which did not suit her at all, +and made her look clumsy; the architect was making dull and vulgar +jokes. The rissoles served at lunch had too much onion in them—so it +seemed to Volodya. It also seemed to him that Nyuta laughed loudly on +purpose, and kept glancing in his direction to give him to understand +that the memory of the night did not trouble her in the least, and that +she was not aware of the presence at table of the "ugly duckling."</p> + +<p>At four o'clock Volodya drove to the station with his <i>maman</i>. Foul +memories, the sleepless night, the prospect of expulsion from school, +the stings of conscience—all roused in him now an oppressive, gloomy +anger. He looked at <i>maman</i>'s sharp profile, at her little nose, and at +the raincoat which was a present from Nyuta, and muttered:</p> + +<p>"Why do you powder? It's not becoming at your age! You make yourself up, +don't pay your debts at cards, smoke other people's tobacco.... It's +hateful! I don't love you ... I don't love you!"</p> + +<p>He was insulting her, and she moved her little eyes about in alarm, +flung up her hands, and whispered in horror:</p> + +<p>"What are you saying, my dear! Good gracious! the coachman will hear! Be +quiet or the coachman will hear! He can overhear everything."</p> + +<p>"I don't love you ... I don't love you!" he went on breathlessly. +"You've no soul and no morals.... Don't dare to wear that raincoat! Do +you hear? Or else I will tear it into rags...."</p> + +<p>"Control yourself, my child," <i>maman</i> wept; "the coachman can hear!"</p> + +<p>"And where is my father's fortune? Where is your money? You have wasted +it all. I am not ashamed of being poor, but I am ashamed of having such +a mother.... When my schoolfellows ask questions about you, I always +blush."</p> + +<p>In the train they had to pass two stations before they reached the town. +Volodya spent all the time on the little platform between two carriages +and shivered all over. He did not want to go into the compartment +because there the mother he hated was sitting. He hated himself, hated +the ticket collectors, the smoke from the engine, the cold to which he +attributed his shivering. And the heavier the weight on his heart, the +more strongly he felt that somewhere in the world, among some people, +there was a pure, honourable, warm, refined life, full of love, +affection, gaiety, and serenity.... He felt this and was so intensely +miserable that one of the passengers, after looking in his face +attentively, actually asked:</p> + +<p>"You have the toothache, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>In the town <i>maman</i> and Volodya lived with Marya Petrovna, a lady of +noble rank, who had a large flat and let rooms to boarders. <i>Maman</i> had +two rooms, one with windows and two pictures in gold frames hanging on +the walls, in which her bed stood and in which she lived, and a little +dark room opening out of it in which Volodya lived. Here there was a +sofa on which he slept, and, except that sofa, there was no other +furniture; the rest of the room was entirely filled up with wicker +baskets full of clothes, cardboard hat-boxes, and all sorts of rubbish, +which <i>maman</i> preserved for some reason or other. Volodya prepared his +lessons either in his mother's room or in the "general room," as the +large room in which the boarders assembled at dinner-time and in the +evening was called.</p> + +<p>On reaching home he lay down on his sofa and put the quilt over him to +stop his shivering. The cardboard hat-boxes, the wicker baskets, and the +other rubbish, reminded him that he had not a room of his own, that he +had no refuge in which he could get away from his mother, from her +visitors, and from the voices that were floating up from the "general +room." The satchel and the books lying about in the corners reminded him +of the examination he had missed.... For some reason there came into his +mind, quite inappropriately, Mentone, where he had lived with his father +when he was seven years old; he thought of Biarritz and two little +English girls with whom he ran about on the sand.... He tried to recall +to his memory the colour of the sky, the sea, the height of the waves, +and his mood at the time, but he could not succeed. The English girls +flitted before his imagination as though they were living; all the rest +was a medley of images that floated away in confusion....</p> + +<p>"No; it's cold here," thought Volodya. He got up, put on his overcoat, +and went into the "general room."</p> + +<p>There they were drinking tea. There were three people at the samovar: +<i>maman</i>; an old lady with tortoiseshell pince-nez, who gave music +lessons; and Avgustin Mihalitch, an elderly and very stout Frenchman, +who was employed at a perfumery factory.</p> + +<p>"I have had no dinner to-day," said <i>maman</i>. "I ought to send the maid +to buy some bread."</p> + +<p>"Dunyasha!" shouted the Frenchman.</p> + +<p>It appeared that the maid had been sent out somewhere by the lady of the +house.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's of no consequence," said the Frenchman, with a broad smile. +"I will go for some bread myself at once. Oh, it's nothing."</p> + +<p>He laid his strong, pungent cigar in a conspicuous place, put on his hat +and went out. After he had gone away <i>maman</i> began telling the music +teacher how she had been staying at the Shumihins', and how warmly they +welcomed her.</p> + +<p>"Lili Shumihin is a relation of mine, you know," she said. "Her late +husband, General Shumihin, was a cousin of my husband. And she was a +Baroness Kolb by birth...."</p> + +<p>"<i>Maman</i>, that's false!" said Volodya irritably. "Why tell lies?"</p> + +<p>He knew perfectly well that what his mother said was true; in what she +was saying about General Shumihin and about Baroness Kolb there was not +a word of lying, but nevertheless he felt that she was lying. There was +a suggestion of falsehood in her manner of speaking, in the expression +of her face, in her eyes, in everything.</p> + +<p>"You are lying," repeated Volodya; and he brought his fist down on the +table with such force that all the crockery shook and <i>maman</i>'s tea was +spilt over. "Why do you talk about generals and baronesses? It's all +lies!"</p> + +<p>The music teacher was disconcerted, and coughed into her handkerchief, +affecting to sneeze, and <i>maman</i> began to cry.</p> + +<p>"Where can I go?" thought Volodya.</p> + +<p>He had been in the street already; he was ashamed to go to his +schoolfellows. Again, quite incongruously, he remembered the two little +English girls.... He paced up and down the "general room," and went into +Avgustin Mihalitch's room. Here there was a strong smell of ethereal +oils and glycerine soap. On the table, in the window, and even on the +chairs, there were a number of bottles, glasses, and wineglasses +containing fluids of various colours. Volodya took up from the table a +newspaper, opened it and read the title <i>Figaro</i> ... There was a strong +and pleasant scent about the paper. Then he took a revolver from the +table....</p> + +<p>"There, there! Don't take any notice of it." The music teacher was +comforting <i>maman</i> in the next room. "He is young! Young people of his +age never restrain themselves. One must resign oneself to that."</p> + +<p>"No, Yevgenya Andreyevna; he's too spoilt," said <i>maman</i> in a singsong +voice. "He has no one in authority over him, and I am weak and can do +nothing. Oh, I am unhappy!"</p> + +<p>Volodya put the muzzle of the revolver to his mouth, felt something like +a trigger or spring, and pressed it with his finger.... Then felt +something else projecting, and once more pressed it. Taking the muzzle +out of his mouth, he wiped it with the lapel of his coat, looked at the +lock. He had never in his life taken a weapon in his hand before....</p> + +<p>"I believe one ought to raise this ..." he reflected. "Yes, it seems +so."</p> + +<p>Avgustin Mihalitch went into the "general room," and with a laugh began +telling them about something. Volodya put the muzzle in his mouth again, +pressed it with his teeth, and pressed something with his fingers. There +was a sound of a shot.... Something hit Volodya in the back of his head +with terrible violence, and he fell on the table with his face downwards +among the bottles and glasses. Then he saw his father, as in Mentone, in +a top-hat with a wide black band on it, wearing mourning for some lady, +suddenly seize him by both hands, and they fell headlong into a very +deep, dark pit.</p> + +<p>Then everything was blurred and vanished.</p> + +<h2><a name="AN_ANONYMOUS_STORY" id="AN_ANONYMOUS_STORY"></a>AN ANONYMOUS STORY</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="nind"><big>T</big><small>HROUGH</small> causes which it is not the time to go into in detail, I had to +enter the service of a Petersburg official called Orlov, in the capacity +of a footman. He was about five and thirty, and was called Georgy* +Ivanitch.</p> + +<p>*Both <i>g's</i> hard, as in "Gorgon"; <i>e</i> like <i>ai</i> in <i>rain</i>.</p> + +<p>I entered this Orlov's service on account of his father, a prominent +political man, whom I looked upon as a serious enemy of my cause. I +reckoned that, living with the son, I should—from the conversations I +should hear, and from the letters and papers I should find on the +table—learn every detail of the father's plans and intentions.</p> + +<p>As a rule at eleven o'clock in the morning the electric bell rang in my +footman's quarters to let me know that my master was awake. When I went +into the bedroom with his polished shoes and brushed clothes, Georgy +Ivanitch would be sitting in his bed with a face that looked, not +drowsy, but rather exhausted by sleep, and he would gaze off in one +direction without any sign of satisfaction at having waked. I helped him +to dress, and he let me do it with an air of reluctance without speaking +or noticing my presence; then with his head wet with washing, smelling +of fresh scent, he used to go into the dining-room to drink his coffee. +He used to sit at the table, sipping his coffee and glancing through the +newspapers, while the maid Polya and I stood respectfully at the door +gazing at him. Two grown-up persons had to stand watching with the +gravest attention a third drinking coffee and munching rusks. It was +probably ludicrous and grotesque, but I saw nothing humiliating in +having to stand near the door, though I was quite as well born and well +educated as Orlov himself.</p> + +<p>I was in the first stage of consumption, and was suffering from +something else, possibly even more serious than consumption. I don't +know whether it was the effect of my illness or of an incipient change +in my philosophy of life of which I was not conscious at the time, but I +was, day by day, more possessed by a passionate, irritating longing for +ordinary everyday life. I yearned for mental tranquillity, health, fresh +air, good food. I was becoming a dreamer, and, like a dreamer, I did not +know exactly what I wanted. Sometimes I felt inclined to go into a +monastery, to sit there for days together by the window and gaze at the +trees and the fields; sometimes I fancied I would buy fifteen acres of +land and settle down as a country gentleman; sometimes I inwardly vowed +to take up science and become a professor at some provincial university. +I was a retired navy lieutenant; I dreamed of the sea, of our squadron, +and of the corvette in which I had made the cruise round the world. I +longed to experience again the indescribable feeling when, walking in +the tropical forest or looking at the sunset in the Bay of Bengal, one +is thrilled with ecstasy and at the same time homesick. I dreamed of +mountains, women, music, and, with the curiosity of a child, I looked +into people's faces, listened to their voices. And when I stood at the +door and watched Orlov sipping his coffee, I felt not a footman, but a +man interested in everything in the world, even in Orlov.</p> + +<p>In appearance Orlov was a typical Petersburger, with narrow shoulders, a +long waist, sunken temples, eyes of an indefinite colour, and scanty, +dingy-coloured hair, beard and moustaches. His face had a stale, +unpleasant look, though it was studiously cared for. It was particularly +unpleasant when he was asleep or lost in thought. It is not worth while +describing a quite ordinary appearance; besides, Petersburg is not +Spain, and a man's appearance is not of much consequence even in love +affairs, and is only of value to a handsome footman or coachman. I have +spoken of Orlov's face and hair only because there was something in his +appearance worth mentioning. When Orlov took a newspaper or book, +whatever it might be, or met people, whoever they be, an ironical smile +began to come into his eyes, and his whole countenance assumed an +expression of light mockery in which there was no malice. Before reading +or hearing anything he always had his irony in readiness, as a savage +has his shield. It was an habitual irony, like some old liquor brewed +years ago, and now it came into his face probably without any +participation of his will, as it were by reflex action. But of that +later.</p> + +<p>Soon after midday he took his portfolio, full of papers, and drove to +his office. He dined away from home and returned after eight o'clock. I +used to light the lamp and candles in his study, and he would sit down +in a low chair with his legs stretched out on another chair, and, +reclining in that position, would begin reading. Almost every day he +brought in new books with him or received parcels of them from the +shops, and there were heaps of books in three languages, to say nothing +of Russian, which he had read and thrown away, in the corners of my room +and under my bed. He read with extraordinary rapidity. They say: "Tell +me what you read, and I'll tell you who you are." That may be true, but +it was absolutely impossible to judge of Orlov by what he read. It was a +regular hotchpotch. Philosophy, French novels, political economy, +finance, new poets, and publications of the firm <i>Posrednik</i>*—and he +read it all with the same rapidity and with the same ironical expression +in his eyes.</p> + +<p>* I.e., Tchertkov and others, publishers of Tolstoy, who issued good +literature for peasants' reading.</p> + +<p>After ten o'clock he carefully dressed, often in evening dress, very +rarely in his <i>kammer-junker</i>'s uniform, and went out, returning in the +morning.</p> + +<p>Our relations were quiet and peaceful, and we never had any +misunderstanding. As a rule he did not notice my presence, and when he +talked to me there was no expression of irony on his face—he evidently +did not look upon me as a human being.</p> + +<p>I only once saw him angry. One day—it was a week after I had entered +his service—he came back from some dinner at nine o'clock; his face +looked ill-humoured and exhausted. When I followed him into his study to +light the candles, he said to me:</p> + +<p>"There's a nasty smell in the flat."</p> + +<p>"No, the air is fresh," I answered.</p> + +<p>"I tell you, there's a bad smell," he answered irritably.</p> + +<p>"I open the movable panes every day."</p> + +<p>"Don't argue, blockhead!" he shouted.</p> + +<p>I was offended, and was on the point of answering, and goodness knows +how it would have ended if Polya, who knew her master better than I did, +had not intervened.</p> + +<p>"There really is a disagreeable smell," she said, raising her eyebrows. +"What can it be from? Stepan, open the pane in the drawing-room, and +light the fire."</p> + +<p>With much bustle and many exclamations, she went through all the rooms, +rustling her skirts and squeezing the sprayer with a hissing sound. And +Orlov was still out of humour; he was obviously restraining himself not +to vent his ill-temper aloud. He was sitting at the table and rapidly +writing a letter. After writing a few lines he snorted angrily and tore +it up, then he began writing again.</p> + +<p>"Damn them all!" he muttered. "They expect me to have an abnormal +memory!"</p> + +<p>At last the letter was written; he got up from the table and said, +turning to me:</p> + +<p>"Go to Znamensky Street and deliver this letter to Zinaida Fyodorovna +Krasnovsky in person. But first ask the porter whether her husband +—that is, Mr. Krasnovsky—has returned yet. If he has returned, don't +deliver the letter, but come back. Wait a minute!... If she asks whether +I have any one here, tell her that there have been two gentlemen here +since eight o'clock, writing something."</p> + +<p>I drove to Znamensky Street. The porter told me that Mr. Krasnovsky had +not yet come in, and I made my way up to the third storey. The door was +opened by a tall, stout, drab-coloured flunkey with black whiskers, who +in a sleepy, churlish, and apathetic voice, such as only flunkeys use in +addressing other flunkeys, asked me what I wanted. Before I had time to +answer, a lady dressed in black came hurriedly into the hall. She +screwed up her eyes and looked at me.</p> + +<p>"Is Zinaida Fyodorovna at home?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"That is me," said the lady.</p> + +<p>"A letter from Georgy Ivanitch."</p> + +<p>She tore the letter open impatiently, and holding it in both hands, so +that I saw her sparkling diamond rings, she began reading. I made out a +pale face with soft lines, a prominent chin, and long dark lashes. From +her appearance I should not have judged the lady to be more than five +and twenty.</p> + +<p>"Give him my thanks and my greetings," she said when she had finished +the letter. "Is there any one with Georgy Ivanitch?" she asked softly, +joyfully, and as though ashamed of her mistrust.</p> + +<p>"Two gentlemen," I answered. "They're writing something."</p> + +<p>"Give him my greetings and thanks," she repeated, bending her head +sideways, and, reading the letter as she walked, she went noiselessly +out. I saw few women at that time, and this lady of whom I had a passing +glimpse made an impression on me. As I walked home I recalled her face +and the delicate fragrance about her, and fell to dreaming. By the time +I got home Orlov had gone out.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>And so my relations with my employer were quiet and peaceful, but still +the unclean and degrading element which I so dreaded on becoming a +footman was conspicuous and made itself felt every day. I did not get on +with Polya. She was a well-fed and pampered hussy who adored Orlov +because he was a gentleman and despised me because I was a footman. +Probably, from the point of view of a real flunkey or cook, she was +fascinating, with her red cheeks, her turned-up nose, her coquettish +glances, and the plumpness, one might almost say fatness, of her person. +She powdered her face, coloured her lips and eyebrows, laced herself in, +and wore a bustle, and a bangle made of coins. She walked with little +ripping steps; as she walked she swayed, or, as they say, wriggled her +shoulders and back. The rustle of her skirts, the creaking of her stays, +the jingle her bangle and the vulgar smell of lip salve, toilet vinegar, +and scent stolen from her master, aroused in me whilst I was doing the +rooms with her in the morning a sensation as though I were taking part +with her in some abomination.</p> + +<p>Either because I did not steal as she did, or because I displayed no +desire to become her lover, which she probably looked upon as an insult, +or perhaps because she felt that I was a man of a different order, she +hated me from the first day. My inexperience, my appearance—so unlike +a flunkey—and my illness, seemed to her pitiful and excited her +disgust. I had a bad cough at that time, and sometimes at night I +prevented her from sleeping, as our rooms were only divided by a wooden +partition, and every morning she said to me:</p> + +<p>"Again you didn't let me sleep. You ought to be in hospital instead of +in service."</p> + +<p>She so genuinely believed that I was hardly a human being, but something +infinitely below her, that, like the Roman matrons who were not ashamed +to bathe before their slaves, she sometimes went about in my presence in +nothing but her chemise.</p> + +<p>Once when I was in a happy, dreamy mood, I asked her at dinner (we had +soup and roast meat sent in from a restaurant every day):</p> + +<p>"Polya, do you believe in God?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course!"</p> + +<p>"Then," I went on, "you believe there will be a day of judgment, and +that we shall have to answer to God for every evil action?"</p> + +<p>She gave me no reply, but simply made a contemptuous grimace, and, +looking that time at her cold eyes and over-fed expression, I realised +that for her complete and finished personality no God, no conscience, no +laws existed, and that if I had had to set fire to the house, to murder +or to rob, I could not have hired a better accomplice.</p> + +<p>In my novel surroundings I felt very uncomfortable for the first week at +Orlov's before I got used to being addressed as "thou," and being +constantly obliged to tell lies (saying "My master is not at home" when +he was). In my flunkey's swallow-tail I felt as though I were in armour. +But I grew accustomed to it in time. Like a genuine footman, I waited at +table, tidied the rooms, ran and drove about on errands of all sorts. +When Orlov did not want to keep an appointment with Zinaida Fyodorovna, +or when he forgot that he had promised to go and see her, I drove to +Znamensky Street, put a letter into her hands and told a lie. And the +result of it all was quite different from what I had expected when I +became a footman. Every day of this new life of mine was wasted for me +and my cause, as Orlov never spoke of his father, nor did his visitors, +and all I could learn of the stateman's doings was, as before, what I +could glean from the newspapers or from correspondence with my comrades. +The hundreds of notes and papers I used to find in the study and read +had not the remotest connection with what I was looking for. Orlov was +absolutely uninterested in his father's political work, and looked as +though he had never heard of it, or as though his father had long been +dead.</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Every Thursday we had visitors.</p> + +<p>I ordered a piece of roast beef from the restaurant and telephoned to +Eliseyev's to send us caviare, cheese, oysters, and so on. I bought +playing-cards. Polya was busy all day getting ready the tea-things and +the dinner service. To tell the truth, this spurt of activity came as a +pleasant change in our idle life, and Thursdays were for us the most +interesting days.</p> + +<p>Only three visitors used to come. The most important and perhaps the +most interesting was the one called Pekarsky—a tall, lean man of five +and forty, with a long hooked nose, with a big black beard, and a bald +patch on his head. His eyes were large and prominent, and his expression +was grave and thoughtful like that of a Greek philosopher. He was on the +board of management of some railway, and also had some post in a bank; +he was a consulting lawyer in some important Government institution, and +had business relations with a large number of private persons as a +trustee, chairman of committees, and so on. He was of quite a low grade +in the service, and modestly spoke of himself as a lawyer, but he had a +vast influence. A note or card from him was enough to make a celebrated +doctor, a director of a railway, or a great dignitary see any one +without waiting; and it was said that through his protection one might +obtain even a post of the Fourth Class, and get any sort of unpleasant +business hushed up. He was looked upon as a very intelligent man, but +his was a strange, peculiar intelligence. He was able to multiply 213 by +373 in his head instantaneously, or turn English pounds into German +marks without help of pencil or paper; he understood finance and railway +business thoroughly, and the machinery of Russian administration had no +secrets for him; he was a most skilful pleader in civil suits, and it +was not easy to get the better of him at law. But that exceptional +intelligence could not grasp many things which are understood even by +some stupid people. For instance, he was absolutely unable to understand +why people are depressed, why they weep, shoot themselves, and even kill +others; why they fret about things that do not affect them personally, +and why they laugh when they read Gogol or Shtchedrin.... Everything +abstract, everything belonging to the domain of thought and feeling, was +to him boring and incomprehensible, like music to one who has no ear. He +looked at people simply from the business point of view, and divided +them into competent and incompetent. No other classification existed for +him. Honesty and rectitude were only signs of competence. Drinking, +gambling, and debauchery were permissible, but must not be allowed to +interfere with business. Believing in God was rather stupid, but +religion ought be safeguarded, as the common people must have some +principle to restrain them, otherwise they would not work. Punishment is +only necessary as deterrent. There was no need to go away for holidays, +as it was just as nice in town. And so on. He was a widower and had no +children, but lived on a large scale, as though he had a family, and +paid three thousand roubles a year for his flat.</p> + +<p>The second visitor, Kukushkin, an actual civil councillor though a young +man, was short, and was conspicuous for his extremely unpleasant +appearance, which was due to the disproportion between his fat, puffy +body and his lean little face. His lips were puckered up suavely, and +his little trimmed moustaches looked as though they had been fixed on +with glue. He was a man with the manners of a lizard. He did not walk, +but, as it were, crept along with tiny steps, squirming and sniggering, +and when he laughed he showed his teeth. He was a clerk on special +commissions, and did nothing, though he received a good salary, +especially in the summer, when special and lucrative jobs were found for +him. He was a man of personal ambition, not only to the marrow of his +bones, but more fundamentally—to the last drop of his blood; but even +in his ambitions he was petty and did not rely on himself, but was +building his career on the chance favour flung him by his superiors. For +the sake of obtaining some foreign decoration, or for the sake of having +his name mentioned in the newspapers as having been present at some +special service in the company of other great personages, he was ready +to submit to any kind of humiliation, to beg, to flatter, to promise. He +flattered Orlov and Pekarsky from cowardice, because he thought they +were powerful; he flattered Polya and me because we were in the service +of a powerful man. Whenever I took off his fur coat he tittered and +asked me: "Stepan, are you married?" and then unseemly vulgarities +followed—by way of showing me special attention. Kukushkin flattered +Orlov's weaknesses, humoured his corrupted and blasé ways; to please him +he affected malicious raillery and atheism, in his company criticised +persons before whom in other places he would slavishly grovel. When at +supper they talked of love and women, he pretended to be a subtle and +perverse voluptuary. As a rule, one may say, Petersburg rakes are fond +of talking of their abnormal tastes. Some young actual civil councillor +is perfectly satisfied with the embraces of his cook or of some unhappy +street-walker on the Nevsky Prospect, but to listen to him you would +think he was contaminated by all the vices of East and West combined, +that he was an honourary member of a dozen iniquitous secret societies +and was already marked by the police. Kukushkin lied about himself in an +unconscionable way, and they did not exactly disbelieve him, but paid +little heed to his incredible stories.</p> + +<p>The third guest was Gruzin, the son of a worthy and learned general; a +man of Orlov's age, with long hair, short-sighted eyes, and gold +spectacles. I remember his long white fingers, that looked like a +pianist's; and, indeed, there was something of a musician, of a +virtuoso, about his whole figure. The first violins in orchestras look +just like that. He used to cough, suffered from migraine, and seemed +invalidish and delicate. Probably at home he was dressed and undressed +like a baby. He had finished at the College of Jurisprudence, and had at +first served in the Department of Justice, then he was transferred to +the Senate; he left that, and through patronage had received a post in +the Department of Crown Estates, and had soon afterwards given that up. +In my time he was serving in Orlov's department; he was his head-clerk, +but he said that he should soon exchange into the Department of Justice +again. He took his duties and his shifting about from one post to +another with exceptional levity, and when people talked before him +seriously of grades in the service, decorations, salaries, he smiled +good-naturedly and repeated Prutkov's aphorism: "It's only in the +Government service you learn the truth." He had a little wife with a +wrinkled face, who was very jealous of him, and five weedy-looking +children. He was unfaithful to his wife, he was only fond of his +children when he saw them, and on the whole was rather indifferent to +his family, and made fun of them. He and his family existed on credit, +borrowing wherever they could at every opportunity, even from his +superiors in the office and porters in people's houses. His was a flabby +nature; he was so lazy that he did not care what became of himself, and +drifted along heedless where or why he was going. He went where he was +taken. If he was taken to some low haunt, he went; if wine was set +before him, he drank—if it were not put before him, he abstained; if +wives were abused in his presence, he abused his wife, declaring she had +ruined his life—when wives were praised, he praised his and said quite +sincerely: "I am very fond of her, poor thing!" He had no fur coat and +always wore a rug which smelt of the nursery. When at supper he rolled +balls of bread and drank a great deal of red wine, absorbed in thought, +strange to say, I used to feel almost certain that there was something +in him of which perhaps he had a vague sense, though in the bustle and +vulgarity of his daily life he had not time to understand and appreciate +it. He played a little on the piano. Sometimes he would sit down at the +piano, play a chord or two, and begin singing softly:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What does the coming day bring to me?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But at once, as though afraid, he would get up and walk from the piano.</p> + +<p>The visitors usually arrived about ten o'clock. They played cards in +Orlov's study, and Polya and I handed them tea. It was only on these +occasions that I could gauge the full sweetness of a flunkey's life. +Standing for four or five hours at the door, watching that no one's +glass should be empty, changing the ash-trays, running to the table to +pick up the chalk or a card when it was dropped, and, above all, +standing, waiting, being attentive without venturing to speak, to cough, +to smile—is harder, I assure you, is harder than the hardest of field +labour. I have stood on watch at sea for four hours at a stretch on +stormy winter nights, and to my thinking it is an infinitely easier +duty.</p> + +<p>They used to play cards till two, sometimes till three o'clock at night, +and then, stretching, they would go into the dining-room to supper, or, +as Orlov said, for a snack of something. At supper there was +conversation. It usually began by Orlov's speaking with laughing eyes of +some acquaintance, of some book he had lately been reading, of a new +appointment or Government scheme. Kukushkin, always ingratiating, would +fall into his tone, and what followed was to me, in my mood at that +time, a revolting exhibition. The irony of Orlov and his friends knew no +bounds, and spared no one and nothing. If they spoke of religion, it was +with irony; they spoke of philosophy, of the significance and object of +life—irony again, if any one began about the peasantry, it was with +irony.</p> + +<p>There is in Petersburg a species of men whose specialty it is to jeer at +every aspect of life; they cannot even pass by a starving man or a +suicide without saying something vulgar. But Orlov and his friends did +not jeer or make jokes, they talked ironically. They used to say that +there was no God, and personality was completely lost at death; the +immortals only existed in the French Academy. Real good did not and +could not possibly exist, as its existence was conditional upon human +perfection, which was a logical absurdity. Russia was a country as poor +and dull as Persia. The intellectual class was hopeless; in Pekarsky's +opinion the overwhelming majority in it were incompetent persons, good +for nothing. The people were drunken, lazy, thievish, and degenerate. We +had no science, our literature was uncouth, our commerce rested on +swindling—"No selling without cheating." And everything was in that +style, and everything was a subject for laughter.</p> + +<p>Towards the end of supper the wine made them more good-humoured, and +they passed to more lively conversation. They laughed over Gruzin's +family life, over Kukushkin's conquests, or at Pekarsky, who had, they +said, in his account book one page headed <i>Charity</i> and another +<i>Physiological Necessities</i>. They said that no wife was faithful; that +there was no wife from whom one could not, with practice, obtain +caresses without leaving her drawing-room while her husband was sitting +in his study close by; that girls in their teens were perverted and knew +everything. Orlov had preserved a letter of a schoolgirl of fourteen: on +her way home from school she had "hooked an officer on the Nevsky," who +had, it appears, taken her home with him, and had only let her go late +in the evening; and she hastened to write about this to her school +friend to share her joy with her. They maintained that there was not and +never had been such a thing as moral purity, and that evidently it was +unnecessary; mankind had so far done very well without it. The harm done +by so-called vice was undoubtedly exaggerated. Vices which are punished +by our legal code had not prevented Diogenes from being a philosopher +and a teacher. Cæsar and Cicero were profligates and at the same time +great men. Cato in his old age married a young girl, and yet he was +regarded as a great ascetic and a pillar of morality.</p> + +<p>At three or four o'clock the party broke up or they went off together +out of town, or to Officers' Street, to the house of a certain Varvara +Ossipovna, while I retired to my quarters, and was kept awake a long +while by coughing and headache.</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Three weeks after I entered Orlov's service—it was Sunday morning, I +remember—somebody rang the bell. It was not yet eleven, and Orlov was +still asleep. I went to open the door. You can imagine my astonishment +when I found a lady in a veil standing at the door on the landing.</p> + +<p>"Is Georgy Ivanitch up?" she asked.</p> + +<p>From her voice I recognised Zinaida Fyodorovna, to whom I had taken +letters in Znamensky Street. I don't remember whether I had time or +self-possession to answer her—I was taken aback at seeing her. And, +indeed, she did not need my answer. In a flash she had darted by me, +and, filling the hall with the fragrance of her perfume, which I +remember to this day, she went on, and her footsteps died away. For at +least half an hour afterwards I heard nothing. But again some one rang. +This time it was a smartly dressed girl, who looked like a maid in a +wealthy family, accompanied by our house porter. Both were out of +breath, carrying two trunks and a dress-basket.</p> + +<p>"These are for Zinaida Fyodorovna," said the girl.</p> + +<p>And she went down without saying another word. All this was mysterious, +and made Polya, who had a deep admiration for the pranks of her betters, +smile slyly to herself; she looked as though she would like to say, "So +that's what we're up to," and she walked about the whole time on tiptoe. +At last we heard footsteps; Zinaida Fyodorovna came quickly into the +hall, and seeing me at the door of my room, said:</p> + +<p>"Stepan, take Georgy Ivanitch his things."</p> + +<p>When I went in to Orlov with his clothes and his boots, he was sitting +on the bed with his feet on the bearskin rug. There was an air of +embarrassment about his whole figure. He did not notice me, and my +menial opinion did not interest him; he was evidently perturbed and +embarrassed before himself, before his inner eye. He dressed, washed, +and used his combs and brushes silently and deliberately, as though +allowing himself time to think over his position and to reflect, and +even from his back one could see he was troubled and dissatisfied with +himself.</p> + +<p>They drank coffee together. Zinaida Fyodorovna poured out coffee for +herself and for Orlov, then she put her elbows on the table and laughed.</p> + +<p>"I still can't believe it," she said. "When one has been a long while on +one's travels and reaches a hotel at last, it's difficult to believe +that one hasn't to go on. It is pleasant to breathe freely."</p> + +<p>With the expression of a child who very much wants to be mischievous, +she sighed with relief and laughed again.</p> + +<p>"You will excuse me," said Orlov, nodding towards the coffee. "Reading +at breakfast is a habit I can't get over. But I can do two things at +once—read and listen."</p> + +<p>"Read away.... You shall keep your habits and your freedom. But why do +you look so solemn? Are you always like that in the morning, or is it +only to-day? Aren't you glad?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am. But I must own I am a little overwhelmed."</p> + +<p>"Why? You had plenty of time to prepare yourself for my descent upon +you. I've been threatening to come every day."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I didn't expect you to carry out your threat to-day."</p> + +<p>"I didn't expect it myself, but that's all the better. It's all the +better, my dear. It's best to have an aching tooth out and have done +with it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear," she said, closing her eyes, "all is well that ends well; +but before this happy ending, what suffering there has been! My laughing +means nothing; I am glad, I am happy, but I feel more like crying than +laughing. Yesterday I had to fight a regular battle," she went on in +French. "God alone knows how wretched I was. But I laugh because I can't +believe in it. I keep fancying that my sitting here drinking coffee with +you is not real, but a dream."</p> + +<p>Then, still speaking French, she described how she had broken with her +husband the day before and her eyes were alternately full of tears and +of laughter while she gazed with rapture at Orlov. She told him her +husband had long suspected her, but had avoided explanations; they had +frequent quarrels, and usually at the most heated moment he would +suddenly subside into silence and depart to his study for fear that in +his exasperation he might give utterance to his suspicions or she might +herself begin to speak openly. And she had felt guilty, worthless, +incapable of taking a bold and serious step, and that had made her hate +herself and her husband more every day, and she had suffered the +torments of hell. But the day before, when during a quarrel he had cried +out in a tearful voice, "My God, when will it end?" and had walked off +to his study, she had run after him like a cat after a mouse, and, +preventing him from shutting the door, she had cried that she hated him +with her whole soul. Then he let her come into the study and she had +told him everything, had confessed that she loved some one else, that +that some one else was her real, most lawful husband, and that she +thought it her true duty to go away to him that very day, whatever might +happen, if she were to be shot for it.</p> + +<p>"There's a very romantic streak in you," Orlov interrupted, keeping his +eyes fixed on the newspaper.</p> + +<p>She laughed and went on talking without touching her coffee. Her cheeks +glowed and she was a little embarrassed by it, and she looked in +confusion at Polya and me. From what she went on to say I learnt that +her husband had answered her with threats, reproaches, and finally +tears, and that it would have been more accurate to say that she, and +not he, had been the attacking party.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear, so long as I was worked up, everything went all right," +she told Orlov; "but as night came on, my spirits sank. You don't +believe in God, <i>George</i>, but I do believe a little, and I fear +retribution. God requires of us patience, magnanimity, self-sacrifice, +and here I am refusing to be patient and want to remodel my life to suit +myself. Is that right? What if from the point of view of God it's wrong? +At two o'clock in the night my husband came to me and said: 'You dare +not go away. I'll fetch you back through the police and make a scandal.' +And soon afterwards I saw him like a shadow at my door. 'Have mercy on +me! Your elopement may injure me in the service.' Those words had a +coarse effect upon me and made me feel stiff all over. I felt as though +the retribution were beginning already; I began crying and trembling +with terror. I felt as though the ceiling would fall upon me, that I +should be dragged off to the police-station at once, that you would grow +cold to me—all sorts of things, in fact! I thought I would go into a +nunnery or become a nurse, and give up all thought of happiness, but +then I remembered that you loved me, and that I had no right to dispose +of myself without your knowledge; and everything in my mind was in a +tangle—I was in despair and did not know what to do or think. But the +sun rose and I grew happier. As soon as it was morning I dashed off to +you. Ah, what I've been through, dear one! I haven't slept for two +nights!"</p> + +<p>She was tired out and excited. She was sleepy, and at the same time she +wanted to talk endlessly, to laugh and to cry, and to go to a restaurant +to lunch that she might feel her freedom.</p> + +<p>"You have a cosy flat, but I am afraid it may be small for the two of +us," she said, walking rapidly through all the rooms when they had +finished breakfast. "What room will you give me? I like this one because +it is next to your study."</p> + +<p>At one o'clock she changed her dress in the room next to the study, +which from that time she called hers, and she went off with Orlov to +lunch. They dined, too, at a restaurant, and spent the long interval +between lunch and dinner in shopping. Till late at night I was opening +the door to messengers and errand-boys from the shops. They bought, +among other things, a splendid pier-glass, a dressing-table, a bedstead, +and a gorgeous tea service which we did not need. They bought a regular +collection of copper saucepans, which we set in a row on the shelf in +our cold, empty kitchen. As we were unpacking the tea service Polya's +eyes gleamed, and she looked at me two or three times with hatred and +fear that I, not she, would be the first to steal one of these charming +cups. A lady's writing-table, very expensive and inconvenient, came too. +It was evident that Zinaida Fyodorovna contemplated settling with us for +good, and meant to make the flat her home.</p> + +<p>She came back with Orlov between nine and ten. Full of proud +consciousness that she had done something bold and out of the common, +passionately in love, and, as she imagined, passionately loved, +exhausted, looking forward to a sweet sound sleep, Zinaida Fyodorovna +was revelling in her new life. She squeezed her hands together in the +excess of her joy, declared that everything was delightful, and swore +that she would love Orlov for ever; and these vows, and the naïve, +almost childish confidence that she too was deeply loved and would be +loved forever, made her at least five years younger. She talked charming +nonsense and laughed at herself.</p> + +<p>"There's no other blessing greater than freedom!" she said, forcing +herself to say something serious and edifying. "How absurd it is when +you think of it! We attach no value to our own opinion even when it is +wise, but tremble before the opinion of all sorts of stupid people. Up +to the last minute I was afraid of what other people would say, but as +soon as I followed my own instinct and made up my mind to go my own way, +my eyes were opened, I overcame my silly fears, and now I am happy and +wish every one could be as happy!"</p> + +<p>But her thoughts immediately took another turn, and she began talking of +another flat, of wallpapers, horses, a trip to Switzerland and Italy. +Orlov was tired by the restaurants and the shops, and was still +suffering from the same uneasiness that I had noticed in the morning. He +smiled, but more from politeness than pleasure, and when she spoke of +anything seriously, he agreed ironically: "Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"Stepan, make haste and find us a good cook," she said to me.</p> + +<p>"There's no need to be in a hurry over the kitchen arrangements," said +Orlov, looking at me coldly. "We must first move into another flat."</p> + +<p>We had never had cooking done at home nor kept horses, because, as he +said, "he did not like disorder about him," and only put up with having +Polya and me in his flat from necessity. The so-called domestic hearth +with its everyday joys and its petty cares offended his taste as +vulgarity; to be with child, or to have children and talk about them, +was bad form, like a petty bourgeois. And I began to feel very curious +to see how these two creatures would get on together in one flat—she, +domestic and home-loving with her copper saucepans and her dreams of a +good cook and horses; and he, fond of saying to his friends that a +decent and orderly man's flat ought, like a warship, to have nothing in +it superfluous—no women, no children, no rags, no kitchen utensils.</p> + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Then I will tell you what happened the following Thursday. That day +Zinaida Fyodorovna dined at Content's or Donon's. Orlov returned home +alone, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, as I learnt afterwards, went to the +Petersburg Side to spend with her old governess the time visitors were +with us. Orlov did not care to show her to his friends. I realised that +at breakfast, when he began assuring her that for the sake of her peace +of mind it was essential to give up his Thursday evenings.</p> + +<p>As usual the visitors arrived at almost the same time.</p> + +<p>"Is your mistress at home, too?" Kukushkin asked me in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," I answered.</p> + +<p>He went in with a sly, oily look in his eyes, smiling mysteriously, +rubbing his hands, which were cold from the frost.</p> + +<p>"I have the honour to congratulate you," he said to Orlov, shaking all +over with ingratiating, obsequious laughter. "May you increase and +multiply like the cedars of Lebanon."</p> + +<p>The visitors went into the bedroom, and were extremely jocose on the +subject of a pair of feminine slippers, the rug that had been put down +between the two beds, and a grey dressing-jacket that hung at the foot +of the bedstead. They were amused that the obstinate man who despised +all the common place details of love had been caught in feminine snares +in such a simple and ordinary way.</p> + +<p>"He who pointed the finger of scorn is bowing the knee in homage," +Kukushkin repeated several times. He had, I may say in parenthesis, an +unpleasant habit of adorning his conversation with texts in Church +Slavonic. "Sh-sh!" he said as they went from the bedroom into the room +next to the study. "Sh-sh! Here Gretchen is dreaming of her Faust."</p> + +<p>He went off into a peal of laughter as though he had said something very +amusing. I watched Gruzin, expecting that his musical soul would not +endure this laughter, but I was mistaken. His thin, good-natured face +beamed with pleasure. When they sat down to play cards, he, lisping and +choking with laughter, said that all that "dear <i>George</i>" wanted to +complete his domestic felicity was a cherry-wood pipe and a guitar. +Pekarsky laughed sedately, but from his serious expression one could see +that Orlov's new love affair was distasteful to him. He did not +understand what had happened exactly.</p> + +<p>"But how about the husband?" he asked in perplexity, after they had +played three rubbers.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," answered Orlov.</p> + +<p>Pekarsky combed his big beard with his fingers and sank into thought, +and he did not speak again till supper-time. When they were seated at +supper, he began deliberately, drawling every word:</p> + +<p>"Altogether, excuse my saying so, I don't understand either of you. You +might love each other and break the seventh commandment to your heart's +content—that I understand. Yes, that's comprehensible. But why make the +husband a party to your secrets? Was there any need for that?"</p> + +<p>"But does it make any difference?"</p> + +<p>"Hm!...." Pekarsky mused. "Well, then, let me tell you this, my friend," +he went on, evidently thinking hard: "if I ever marry again and you take +it into your head to seduce my wife, please do it so that I don't notice +it. It's much more honest to deceive a man than to break up his family +life and injure his reputation. I understand. You both imagine that in +living together openly you are doing something exceptionally honourable +and advanced, but I can't agree with that ... what shall I call it?... +romantic attitude?"</p> + +<p>Orlov made no reply. He was out of humour and disinclined to talk. +Pekarsky, still perplexed, drummed on the table with his fingers, +thought a little, and said:</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you, all the same. You are not a student and she is +not a dressmaker. You are both of you people with means. I should have +thought you might have arranged a separate flat for her."</p> + +<p>"No, I couldn't. Read Turgenev."</p> + +<p>"Why should I read him? I have read him already."</p> + +<p>"Turgenev teaches us in his novels that every exalted, noble-minded girl +should follow the man she loves to the ends of the earth, and should +serve his idea," said Orlov, screwing up his eyes ironically. "The ends +of the earth are poetic license; the earth and all its ends can be +reduced to the flat of the man she loves.... And so not to live in the +same flat with the woman who loves you is to deny her her exalted +vocation and to refuse to share her ideals. Yes, my dear fellow, +Turgenev wrote, and I have to suffer for it."</p> + +<p>"What Turgenev has got to do with it I don't understand," said Gruzin +softly, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Do you remember, <i>George</i>, how +in 'Three Meetings' he is walking late in the evening somewhere in +Italy, and suddenly hears, <i>'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'</i>" Gruzin +hummed. "It's fine."</p> + +<p>"But she hasn't come to settle with you by force," said Pekarsky. "It +was your own wish."</p> + +<p>"What next! Far from wishing it, I never imagined that this would ever +happen. When she said she was coming to live with me, I thought it was a +charming joke on her part."</p> + +<p>Everybody laughed.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't have wished for such a thing," said Orlov in the tone of a +man compelled to justify himself. "I am not a Turgenev hero, and if I +ever wanted to free Bulgaria I shouldn't need a lady's company. I look +upon love primarily as a necessity of my physical nature, degrading and +antagonistic to my spirit; it must either be satisfied with discretion +or renounced altogether, otherwise it will bring into one's life +elements as unclean as itself. For it to be an enjoyment and not a +torment, I will try to make it beautiful and to surround it with a mass +of illusions. I should never go and see a woman unless I were sure +beforehand that she would be beautiful and fascinating; and I should +never go unless I were in the mood. And it is only in that way that we +succeed in deceiving one another, and fancying that we are in love and +happy. But can I wish for copper saucepans and untidy hair, or like to +be seen myself when I am unwashed or out of humour? Zinaida Fyodorovna +in the simplicity of her heart wants me to love what I have been +shunning all my life. She wants my flat to smell of cooking and washing +up; she wants all the fuss of moving into another flat, of driving about +with her own horses; she wants to count over my linen and to look after +my health; she wants to meddle in my personal life at every instant, and +to watch over every step; and at the same time she assures me genuinely +that my habits and my freedom will be untouched. She is persuaded that, +like a young couple, we shall very soon go for a honeymoon—that is, +she wants to be with me all the time in trains and hotels, while I like +to read on the journey and cannot endure talking in trains."</p> + +<p>"You should give her a talking to," said Pekarsky.</p> + +<p>"What! Do you suppose she would understand me? Why, we think so +differently. In her opinion, to leave one's papa and mamma or one's +husband for the sake of the man one loves is the height of civic virtue, +while I look upon it as childish. To fall in love and run away with a +man to her means beginning a new life, while to my mind it means nothing +at all. Love and man constitute the chief interest of her life, and +possibly it is the philosophy of the unconscious at work in her. Try and +make her believe that love is only a simple physical need, like the need +of food or clothes; that it doesn't mean the end of the world if wives +and husbands are unsatisfactory; that a man may be a profligate and a +libertine, and yet a man of honour and a genius; and that, on the other +hand, one may abstain from the pleasures of love and at the same time be +a stupid, vicious animal! The civilised man of to-day, even among the +lower classes—for instance, the French workman—spends ten <i>sous</i> on +dinner, five <i>sous</i> on his wine, and five or ten <i>sous</i> on woman, and +devotes his brain and nerves entirely to his work. But Zinaida +Fyodorovna assigns to love not so many <i>sous</i>, but her whole soul. I +might give her a talking to, but she would raise a wail in answer, and +declare in all sincerity that I had ruined her, that she had nothing +left to live for."</p> + +<p>"Don't say anything to her," said Pekarsky, "but simply take a separate +flat for her, that's all."</p> + +<p>"That's easy to say."</p> + +<p>There was a brief silence.</p> + +<p>"But she is charming," said Kukushkin. "She is exquisite. Such women +imagine that they will be in love for ever, and abandon themselves with +tragic intensity."</p> + +<p>"But one must keep a head on one's shoulders," said Orlov; "one must be +reasonable. All experience gained from everyday life and handed down in +innumerable novels and plays, uniformly confirms the fact that adultery +and cohabitation of any sort between decent people never lasts longer +than two or at most three years, however great the love may have been at +the beginning. That she ought to know. And so all this business of +moving, of saucepans, hopes of eternal love and harmony, are nothing but +a desire to delude herself and me. She is charming and exquisite—who +denies it? But she has turned my life upside down; what I have regarded +as trivial and nonsensical till now she has forced me to raise to the +level of a serious problem; I serve an idol whom I have never looked +upon as God. She is charming—exquisite, but for some reason now when I +am going home, I feel uneasy, as though I expected to meet with +something inconvenient at home, such as workmen pulling the stove to +pieces and blocking up the place with heaps of bricks. In fact, I am no +longer giving up to love a <i>sous</i>, but part of my peace of mind and my +nerves. And that's bad."</p> + +<p>"And she doesn't hear this villain!" sighed Kukushkin. "My dear sir," he +said theatrically, "I will relieve you from the burdensome obligation to +love that adorable creature! I will wrest Zinaida Fyodorovna from you!"</p> + +<p>"You may ..." said Orlov carelessly.</p> + +<p>For half a minute Kukushkin laughed a shrill little laugh, shaking all +over, then he said:</p> + +<p>"Look out; I am in earnest! Don't you play the Othello afterwards!"</p> + +<p>They all began talking of Kukushkin's indefatigable energy in love +affairs, how irresistible he was to women, and what a danger he was to +husbands; and how the devil would roast him in the other world for his +immorality in this. He screwed up his eyes and remained silent, and when +the names of ladies of their acquaintance were mentioned, he held up his +little finger—as though to say they mustn't give away other people's +secrets.</p> + +<p>Orlov suddenly looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>His friends understood, and began to take their leave. I remember that +Gruzin, who was a little drunk, was wearisomely long in getting off. He +put on his coat, which was cut like children's coats in poor families, +pulled up the collar, and began telling some long-winded story; then, +seeing he was not listened to, he flung the rug that smelt of the +nursery over one shoulder, and with a guilty and imploring face begged +me to find his hat.</p> + +<p>"<i>George</i>, my angel," he said tenderly. "Do as I ask you, dear boy; come +out of town with us!"</p> + +<p>"You can go, but I can't. I am in the position of a married man now."</p> + +<p>"She is a dear, she won't be angry. My dear chief, come along! It's +glorious weather; there's snow and frost.... Upon my word, you want +shaking up a bit; you are out of humour. I don't know what the devil is +the matter with you...."</p> + +<p>Orlov stretched, yawned, and looked at Pekarsky.</p> + +<p>"Are you going?" he said, hesitating.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Shall I get drunk? All right, I'll come," said Orlov after some +hesitation. "Wait a minute; I'll get some money."</p> + +<p>He went into the study, and Gruzin slouched in, too, dragging his rug +after him. A minute later both came back into the hall. Gruzin, a little +drunk and very pleased, was crumpling a ten-rouble note in his hands.</p> + +<p>"We'll settle up to-morrow," he said. "And she is kind, she won't be +cross.... She is my Lisotchka's godmother; I am fond of her, poor thing! +Ah, my dear fellow!" he laughed joyfully, and pressing his forehead on +Pekarsky's back. "Ah, Pekarsky, my dear soul! Advocatissimus—as dry as +a biscuit, but you bet he is fond of women...."</p> + +<p>"Fat ones," said Orlov, putting on his fur coat. "But let us get off, or +we shall be meeting her on the doorstep."</p> + +<p>"<i>'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'</i>" hummed Gruzin.</p> + +<p>At last they drove off: Orlov did not sleep at home, and returned next +day at dinner-time.</p> + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna had lost her gold watch, a present from her father. +This loss surprised and alarmed her. She spent half a day going through +the rooms, looking helplessly on all the tables and on all the windows. +But the watch had disappeared completely.</p> + +<p>Only three days afterwards Zinaida Fyodorovna, on coming in, left her +purse in the hall. Luckily for me, on that occasion it was not I but +Polya who helped her off with her coat. When the purse was missed, it +could not be found in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Strange," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in bewilderment. "I distinctly +remember taking it out of my pocket to pay the cabman ... and then I put +it here near the looking-glass. It's very odd!"</p> + +<p>I had not stolen it, but I felt as though I had stolen it and had been +caught in the theft. Tears actually came into my eyes. When they were +seated at dinner, Zinaida Fyodorovna said to Orlov in French:</p> + +<p>"There seem to be spirits in the flat. I lost my purse in the hall +to-day, and now, lo and behold, it is on my table. But it's not quite a +disinterested trick of the spirits. They took out a gold coin and twenty +roubles in notes."</p> + +<p>"You are always losing something; first it's your watch and then it's +your money ..." said Orlov. "Why is it nothing of the sort ever happens +to me?"</p> + +<p>A minute later Zinaida Fyodorovna had forgotten the trick played by the +spirits, and was telling with a laugh how the week before she had +ordered some notepaper and had forgotten to give her new address, and +the shop had sent the paper to her old home at her husband's, who had to +pay twelve roubles for it. And suddenly she turned her eyes on Polya and +looked at her intently. She blushed as she did so, and was so confused +that she began talking of something else.</p> + +<p>When I took in the coffee to the study, Orlov was standing with his back +to the fire and she was sitting in an arm-chair facing him.</p> + +<p>"I am not in a bad temper at all," she was saying in French. "But I have +been putting things together, and now I see it clearly. I can give you +the day and the hour when she stole my watch. And the purse? There can +be no doubt about it. Oh!" she laughed as she took the coffee from me. +"Now I understand why I am always losing my handkerchiefs and gloves. +Whatever you say, I shall dismiss the magpie to-morrow and send Stepan +for my Sofya. She is not a thief and has not got such a repulsive +appearance."</p> + +<p>"You are out of humour. To-morrow you will feel differently, and will +realise that you can't discharge people simply because you suspect +them."</p> + +<p>"It's not suspicion; it's certainty," said Zinaida Fyodorovna. "So long +as I suspected that unhappy-faced, poor-looking valet of yours, I said +nothing. It's too bad of you not to believe me, <i>George</i>."</p> + +<p>"If we think differently about anything, it doesn't follow that I don't +believe you. You may be right," said Orlov, turning round and flinging +his cigarette-end into the fire, "but there is no need to be excited +about it, anyway. In fact, I must say, I never expected my humble +establishment would cause you so much serious worry and agitation. +You've lost a gold coin: never mind—you may have a hundred of mine; but +to change my habits, to pick up a new housemaid, to wait till she is +used to the place—all that's a tedious, tiring business and does not +suit me. Our present maid certainly is fat, and has, perhaps, a weakness +for gloves and handkerchiefs, but she is perfectly well behaved, well +trained, and does not shriek when Kukushkin pinches her."</p> + +<p>"You mean that you can't part with her?... Why don't you say so?"</p> + +<p>"Are you jealous?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, decidedly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am jealous," she repeated, and tears glistened in her eyes. "No, +it's something worse ... which I find it difficult to find a name for." +She pressed her hands on her temples, and went on impulsively. "You men +are so disgusting! It's horrible!"</p> + +<p>"I see nothing horrible about it."</p> + +<p>"I've not seen it; I don't know; but they say that you men begin with +housemaids as boys, and get so used to it that you feel no repugnance. I +don't know, I don't know, but I have actually read.... <i>George</i>, of +course you are right," she said, going up to Orlov and changing to a +caressing and imploring tone. "I really am out of humour to-day. But, +you must understand, I can't help it. She disgusts me and I am afraid of +her. It makes me miserable to see her."</p> + +<p>"Surely you can rise above such paltriness?" said Orlov, shrugging his +shoulders in perplexity, and walking away from the fire. "Nothing could +be simpler: take no notice of her, and then she won't disgust you, and +you won't need to make a regular tragedy out of a trifle."</p> + +<p>I went out of the study, and I don't know what answer Orlov received. +Whatever it was, Polya remained. After that Zinaida Fyodorovna never +applied to her for anything, and evidently tried to dispense with her +services. When Polya handed her anything or even passed by her, jingling +her bangle and rustling her skirts, she shuddered.</p> + +<p>I believe that if Gruzin or Pekarsky had asked Orlov to dismiss Polya he +would have done so without the slightest hesitation, without troubling +about any explanations. He was easily persuaded, like all indifferent +people. But in his relations with Zinaida Fyodorovna he displayed for +some reason, even in trifles, an obstinacy which sometimes was almost +irrational. I knew beforehand that if Zinaida Fyodorovna liked anything, +it would be certain not to please Orlov. When on coming in from shopping +she made haste to show him with pride some new purchase, he would glance +at it and say coldly that the more unnecessary objects they had in the +flat, the less airy it would be. It sometimes happened that after +putting on his dress clothes to go out somewhere, and after saying +good-bye to Zinaida Fyodorovna, he would suddenly change his mind and +remain at home from sheer perversity. I used to think that he remained +at home then simply in order to feel injured.</p> + +<p>"Why are you staying?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a show of vexation, +though at the same time she was radiant with delight. "Why do you? You +are not accustomed to spending your evenings at home, and I don't want +you to alter your habits on my account. Do go out as usual, if you don't +want me to feel guilty."</p> + +<p>"No one is blaming you," said Orlov.</p> + +<p>With the air of a victim he stretched himself in his easy-chair in the +study, and shading his eyes with his hand, took up a book. But soon the +book dropped from his hand, he turned heavily in his chair, and again +screened his eyes as though from the sun. Now he felt annoyed that he +had not gone out.</p> + +<p>"May I come in?" Zinaida Fyodorovna would say, coming irresolutely into +the study. "Are you reading? I felt dull by myself, and have come just +for a minute ... to have a peep at you."</p> + +<p>I remember one evening she went in like that, irresolutely and +inappropriately, and sank on the rug at Orlov's feet, and from her soft, +timid movements one could see that she did not understand his mood and +was afraid.</p> + +<p>"You are always reading ..." she said cajolingly, evidently wishing to +flatter him. "Do you know, <i>George</i>, what is one of the secrets of your +success? You are very clever and well-read. What book have you there?"</p> + +<p>Orlov answered. A silence followed for some minutes which seemed to me +very long. I was standing in the drawing-room, from which I could watch +them, and was afraid of coughing.</p> + +<p>"There is something I wanted to tell you," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, and +she laughed; "shall I? Very likely you'll laugh and say that I flatter +myself. You know I want, I want horribly to believe that you are staying +at home to-night for my sake ... that we might spend the evening +together. Yes? May I think so?"</p> + +<p>"Do," he said, screening his eyes. "The really happy man is he who +thinks not only of what is, but of what is not."</p> + +<p>"That was a long sentence which I did not quite understand. You mean +happy people live in their imagination. Yes, that's true. I love to sit +in your study in the evening and let my thoughts carry me far, far +away.... It's pleasant sometimes to dream. Let us dream aloud, +<i>George</i>."</p> + +<p>"I've never been at a girls' boarding-school; I never learnt the art."</p> + +<p>"You are out of humour?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, taking Orlov's hand. +"Tell me why. When you are like that, I'm afraid. I don't know whether +your head aches or whether you are angry with me...."</p> + +<p>Again there was a silence lasting several long minutes.</p> + +<p>"Why have you changed?" she said softly. "Why are you never so tender or +so gay as you used to be at Znamensky Street? I've been with you almost +a month, but it seems to me as though we had not yet begun to live, and +have not yet talked of anything as we ought to. You always answer me +with jokes or else with a long cold lecture like a teacher. And there is +something cold in your jokes.... Why have you given up talking to me +seriously?"</p> + +<p>"I always talk seriously."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, let us talk. For God's sake, <i>George</i>.... Shall we?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, but about what?"</p> + +<p>"Let us talk of our life, of our future," said Zinaida Fyodorovna +dreamily. "I keep making plans for our life, plans and plans—and I +enjoy doing it so! <i>George</i>, I'll begin with the question, when are you +going to give up your post?"</p> + +<p>"What for?" asked Orlov, taking his hand from his forehead.</p> + +<p>"With your views you cannot remain in the service. You are out of place +there."</p> + +<p>"My views?" Orlov repeated. "My views? In conviction and temperament I +am an ordinary official, one of Shtchedrin's heroes. You take me for +something different, I venture to assure you."</p> + +<p>"Joking again, <i>George</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. The service does not satisfy me, perhaps; but, +anyway, it is better for me than anything else. I am used to it, and in +it I meet men of my own sort; I am in my place there and find it +tolerable."</p> + +<p>"You hate the service and it revolts you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed? If I resign my post, take to dreaming aloud and letting myself +be carried away into another world, do you suppose that that world would +be less hateful to me than the service?"</p> + +<p>"You are ready to libel yourself in order to contradict me." Zinaida +Fyodorovna was offended and got up. "I am sorry I began this talk."</p> + +<p>"Why are you angry? I am not angry with you for not being an official. +Every one lives as he likes best."</p> + +<p>"Why, do you live as you like best? Are you free? To spend your life +writing documents that are opposed to your own ideas," Zinaida +Fyodorovna went on, clasping her hands in despair: "to submit to +authority, congratulate your superiors at the New Year, and then cards +and nothing but cards: worst of all, to be working for a system which +must be distasteful to you—no, <i>George</i>, no! You should not make such +horrid jokes. It's dreadful. You are a man of ideas, and you ought to be +working for your ideas and nothing else."</p> + +<p>"You really take me for quite a different person from what I am," sighed +Orlov.</p> + +<p>"Say simply that you don't want to talk to me. You dislike me, that's +all," said Zinaida Fyodorovna through her tears.</p> + +<p>"Look here, my dear," said Orlov admonishingly, sitting up in his chair. +"You were pleased to observe yourself that I am a clever, well-read man, +and to teach one who knows does nothing but harm. I know very well all +the ideas, great and small, which you mean when you call me a man of +ideas. So if I prefer the service and cards to those ideas, you may be +sure I have good grounds for it. That's one thing. Secondly, you have, +so far as I know, never been in the service, and can only have drawn +your ideas of Government service from anecdotes and indifferent novels. +So it would not be amiss for us to make a compact, once for all, not to +talk of things we know already or of things about which we are not +competent to speak."</p> + +<p>"Why do you speak to me like that?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, stepping +back as though in horror. "What for? <i>George</i>, for God's sake, think +what you are saying!"</p> + +<p>Her voice quivered and broke; she was evidently trying to restrain her +tears, but she suddenly broke into sobs.</p> + +<p>"<i>George</i>, my darling, I am perishing!" she said in French, dropping +down before Orlov, and laying her head on his knees. "I am miserable, I +am exhausted. I can't bear it, I can't bear it.... In my childhood my +hateful, depraved stepmother, then my husband, now you ... you!... You +meet my mad love with coldness and irony.... And that horrible, insolent +servant," she went on, sobbing. "Yes, yes, I see: I am not your wife nor +your friend, but a woman you don't respect because she has become your +mistress.... I shall kill myself!"</p> + +<p>I had not expected that her words and her tears would make such an +impression on Orlov. He flushed, moved uneasily in his chair, and +instead of irony, his face wore a look of stupid, schoolboyish dismay.</p> + +<p>"My darling, you misunderstood me," he muttered helplessly, touching her +hair and her shoulders. "Forgive me, I entreat you. I was unjust and I +hate myself."</p> + +<p>"I insult you with my whining and complaints. You are a true, generous +... rare man—I am conscious of it every minute; but I've been horribly +depressed for the last few days ..."</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna impulsively embraced Orlov and kissed him on the +cheek.</p> + +<p>"Only please don't cry," he said.</p> + +<p>"No, no.... I've had my cry, and now I am better."</p> + +<p>"As for the servant, she shall be gone to-morrow," he said, still moving +uneasily in his chair.</p> + +<p>"No, she must stay, <i>George!</i> Do you hear? I am not afraid of her +now.... One must rise above trifles and not imagine silly things. You +are right! You are a wonderful, rare person!"</p> + +<p>She soon left off crying. With tears glistening on her eyelashes, +sitting on Orlov's knee, she told him in a low voice something touching, +something like a reminiscence of childhood and youth. She stroked his +face, kissed him, and carefully examined his hands with the rings on +them and the charms on his watch-chain. She was carried away by what she +was saying, and by being near the man she loved, and probably because +her tears had cleared and refreshed her soul, there was a note of +wonderful candour and sincerity in her voice. And Orlov played with her +chestnut hair and kissed her hands, noiselessly pressing them to his +lips.</p> + +<p>Then they had tea in the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna read aloud some +letters. Soon after midnight they went to bed. I had a fearful pain in +my side that night, and I could not get warm or go to sleep till +morning. I could hear Orlov go from the bedroom into his study. After +sitting there about an hour, he rang the bell. In my pain and exhaustion +I forgot all the rules and conventions, and went to his study in my +night attire, barefooted. Orlov, in his dressing-gown and cap, was +standing in the doorway, waiting for me.</p> + +<p>"When you are sent for you should come dressed," he said sternly. "Bring +some fresh candles."</p> + +<p>I was about to apologise, but suddenly broke into a violent cough, and +clutched at the side of the door to save myself from falling.</p> + +<p>"Are you ill?" said Orlov.</p> + +<p>I believe it was the first time of our acquaintance that he addressed me +not in the singular—goodness knows why. Most likely, in my night +clothes and with my face distorted by coughing, I played my part poorly, +and was very little like a flunkey.</p> + +<p>"If you are ill, why do you take a place?" he said.</p> + +<p>"That I may not die of starvation," I answered.</p> + +<p>"How disgusting it all is, really!" he said softly, going up to his +table.</p> + +<p>While hurriedly getting into my coat, I put up and lighted fresh +candles. He was sitting at the table, with feet stretched out on a low +chair, cutting a book.</p> + +<p>I left him deeply engrossed, and the book did not drop out of his hands +as it had done in the evening.</p> + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p>Now that I am writing these lines I am restrained by that dread of +appearing sentimental and ridiculous, in which I have been trained from +childhood; when I want to be affectionate or to say anything tender, I +don't know how to be natural. And it is that dread, together with lack +of practice, that prevents me from being able to express with perfect +clearness what was passing in my soul at that time.</p> + +<p>I was not in love with Zinaida Fyodorovna, but in the ordinary human +feeling I had for her, there was far more youth, freshness, and +joyousness than in Orlov's love.</p> + +<p>As I worked in the morning, cleaning boots or sweeping the rooms, I +waited with a thrill at my heart for the moment when I should hear her +voice and her footsteps. To stand watching her as she drank her coffee +in the morning or ate her lunch, to hold her fur coat for her in the +hall, and to put the goloshes on her little feet while she rested her +hand on my shoulder; then to wait till the hall porter rang up for me, +to meet her at the door, cold, and rosy, powdered with the snow, to +listen to her brief exclamations about the frost or the cabman—if only +you knew how much all that meant to me! I longed to be in love, to have +a wife and child of my own. I wanted my future wife to have just such a +face, such a voice. I dreamed of it at dinner, and in the street when I +was sent on some errand, and when I lay awake at night. Orlov rejected +with disgust children, cooking, copper saucepans, and feminine +knicknacks and I gathered them all up, tenderly cherished them in my +dreams, loved them, and begged them of destiny. I had visions of a wife, +a nursery, a little house with garden paths....</p> + +<p>I knew that if I did love her I could never dare hope for the miracle of +her returning my love, but that reflection did not worry me. In my +quiet, modest feeling akin to ordinary affection, there was no jealousy +of Orlov or even envy of him, since I realised that for a wreck like me +happiness was only to be found in dreams.</p> + +<p>When Zinaida Fyodorovna sat up night after night for her <i>George</i>, +looking immovably at a book of which she never turned a page, or when +she shuddered and turned pale at Polya's crossing the room, I suffered +with her, and the idea occurred to me to lance this festering wound as +quickly as possible by letting her know what was said here at supper on +Thursdays; but—how was it to be done? More and more often I saw her +tears. For the first weeks she laughed and sang to herself, even when +Orlov was not at home, but by the second month there was a mournful +stillness in our flat broken only on Thursday evenings.</p> + +<p>She flattered Orlov, and to wring from him a counterfeit smile or kiss, +was ready to go on her knees to him, to fawn on him like a dog. Even +when her heart was heaviest, she could not resist glancing into a +looking-glass if she passed one and straightening her hair. It seemed +strange to me that she could still take an interest in clothes and go +into ecstasies over her purchases. It did not seem in keeping with her +genuine grief. She paid attention to the fashions and ordered expensive +dresses. What for? On whose account? I particularly remember one dress +which cost four hundred roubles. To give four hundred roubles for an +unnecessary, useless dress while women for their hard day's work get +only twenty kopecks a day without food, and the makers of Venice and +Brussels lace are only paid half a franc a day on the supposition that +they can earn the rest by immorality! And it seemed strange to me that +Zinaida Fyodorovna was not conscious of it; it vexed me. But she had +only to go out of the house for me to find excuses and explanations for +everything, and to be waiting eagerly for the hall porter to ring for +me.</p> + +<p>She treated me as a flunkey, a being of a lower order. One may pat a +dog, and yet not notice it; I was given orders and asked questions, but +my presence was not observed. My master and mistress thought it unseemly +to say more to me than is usually said to servants; if when waiting at +dinner I had laughed or put in my word in the conversation, they would +certainly have thought I was mad and have dismissed me. Zinaida +Fyodorovna was favourably disposed to me, all the same. When she was +sending me on some errand or explaining to me the working of a new lamp +or anything of that sort, her face was extraordinarily kind, frank, and +cordial, and her eyes looked me straight in the face. At such moments I +always fancied she remembered with gratitude how I used to bring her +letters to Znamensky Street. When she rang the bell, Polya, who +considered me her favourite and hated me for it, used to say with a +jeering smile:</p> + +<p>"Go along, <i>your</i> mistress wants you."</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna considered me as a being of a lower order, and did +not suspect that if any one in the house were in a humiliating position +it was she. She did not know that I, a footman, was unhappy on her +account, and used to ask myself twenty times a day what was in store for +her and how it would all end. Things were growing visibly worse day by +day. After the evening on which they had talked of his official work, +Orlov, who could not endure tears, unmistakably began to avoid +conversation with her; whenever Zinaida Fyodorovna began to argue, or to +beseech him, or seemed on the point of crying, he seized some plausible +excuse for retreating to his study or going out. He more and more rarely +slept at home, and still more rarely dined there: on Thursdays he was +the one to suggest some expedition to his friends. Zinaida Fyodorovna +was still dreaming of having the cooking done at home, of moving to a +new flat, of travelling abroad, but her dreams remained dreams. Dinner +was sent in from the restaurant. Orlov asked her not to broach the +question of moving until after they had come back from abroad, and +apropos of their foreign tour, declared that they could not go till his +hair had grown long, as one could not go trailing from hotel to hotel +and serving the idea without long hair.</p> + +<p>To crown it all, in Orlov's absence, Kukushkin began calling at the flat +in the evening. There was nothing exceptional in his behaviour, but I +could never forget the conversation in which he had offered to cut Orlov +out. He was regaled with tea and red wine, and he used to titter and, +anxious to say something pleasant, would declare that a free union was +superior in every respect to legal marriage, and that all decent people +ought really to come to Zinaida Fyodorovna and fall at her feet.</p> + +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<p>Christmas was spent drearily in vague anticipations of calamity. On New +Year's Eve Orlov unexpectedly announced at breakfast that he was being +sent to assist a senator who was on a revising commission in a certain +province.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go, but I can't find an excuse to get off," he said +with vexation. "I must go; there's nothing for it."</p> + +<p>Such news instantly made Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes look red. "Is it for +long?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Five days or so."</p> + +<p>"I am glad, really, you are going," she said after a moment's thought. +"It will be a change for you. You will fall in love with some one on the +way, and tell me about it afterwards."</p> + +<p>At every opportunity she tried to make Orlov feel that she did not +restrict his liberty in any way, and that he could do exactly as he +liked, and this artless, transparent strategy deceived no one, and only +unnecessarily reminded Orlov that he was not free.</p> + +<p>"I am going this evening," he said, and began reading the paper.</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna wanted to see him off at the station, but he +dissuaded her, saying that he was not going to America, and not going to +be away five years, but only five days—possibly less.</p> + +<p>The parting took place between seven and eight. He put one arm round +her, and kissed her on the lips and on the forehead.</p> + +<p>"Be a good girl, and don't be depressed while I am away," he said in a +warm, affectionate tone which touched even me. "God keep you!"</p> + +<p>She looked greedily into his face, to stamp his dear features on her +memory, then she put her arms gracefully round his neck and laid her +head on his breast.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me our misunderstandings," she said in French. "Husband and +wife cannot help quarrelling if they love each other, and I love you +madly. Don't forget me.... Wire to me often and fully."</p> + +<p>Orlov kissed her once more, and, without saying a word, went out in +confusion. When he heard the click of the lock as the door closed, he +stood still in the middle of the staircase in hesitation and glanced +upwards. It seemed to me that if a sound had reached him at that moment +from above, he would have turned back. But all was quiet. He +straightened his coat and went downstairs irresolutely.</p> + +<p>The sledges had been waiting a long while at the door. Orlov got into +one, I got into the other with two portmanteaus. It was a hard frost and +there were fires smoking at the cross-roads. The cold wind nipped my +face and hands, and took my breath away as we drove rapidly along; and, +closing my eyes, I thought what a splendid woman she was. How she loved +him! Even useless rubbish is collected in the courtyards nowadays and +used for some purpose, even broken glass is considered a useful +commodity, but something so precious, so rare, as the love of a refined, +young, intelligent, and good woman is utterly thrown away and wasted. +One of the early sociologists regarded every evil passion as a force +which might by judicious management be turned to good, while among us +even a fine, noble passion springs up and dies away in impotence, turned +to no account, misunderstood or vulgarised. Why is it?</p> + +<p>The sledges stopped unexpectedly. I opened my eyes and I saw that we had +come to a standstill in Sergievsky Street, near a big house where +Pekarsky lived. Orlov got out of the sledge and vanished into the entry. +Five minutes later Pekarsky's footman came out, bareheaded, and, angry +with the frost, shouted to me:</p> + +<p>"Are you deaf? Pay the cabmen and go upstairs. You are wanted!"</p> + +<p>At a complete loss, I went to the first storey. I had been to Pekarsky's +flat before—that is, I had stood in the hall and looked into the +drawing-room, and, after the damp, gloomy street, it always struck me by +the brilliance of its picture-frames, its bronzes and expensive +furniture. To-day in the midst of this splendour I saw Gruzin, +Kukushkin, and, after a minute, Orlov.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Stepan," he said, coming up to me. "I shall be staying here +till Friday or Saturday. If any letters or telegrams come, you must +bring them here every day. At home, of course you will say that I have +gone, and send my greetings. Now you can go."</p> + +<p>When I reached home Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the sofa in the +drawing-room, eating a pear. There was only one candle burning in the +candelabra.</p> + +<p>"Did you catch the train?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna.</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam. His honour sends his greetings."</p> + +<p>I went into my room and I, too, lay down. I had nothing to do, and I did +not want to read. I was not surprised and I was not indignant. I only +racked my brains to think why this deception was necessary. It is only +boys in their teens who deceive their mistresses like that. How was it +that a man who had thought and read so much could not imagine anything +more sensible? I must confess I had by no means a poor opinion of his +intelligence. I believe if he had had to deceive his minister or any +other influential person he would have put a great deal of skill and +energy into doing so; but to deceive a woman, the first idea that +occurred to him was evidently good enough. If it succeeded—well and +good; if it did not, there would be no harm done—he could tell some +other lie just as quickly and simply, with no mental effort.</p> + +<p>At midnight when the people on the floor overhead were moving their +chairs and shouting hurrah to welcome the New Year, Zinaida Fyodorovna +rang for me from the room next to the study. Languid from lying down so +long, she was sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap of +paper.</p> + +<p>"I must send a telegram," she said, with a smile. "Go to the station as +quick as you can and ask them to send it after him."</p> + +<p>Going out into the street, I read on the scrap of paper:</p> + +<p>"May the New Year bring new happiness. Make haste and telegraph; I miss +you dreadfully. It seems an eternity. I am only sorry I can't send a +thousand kisses and my very heart by telegraph. Enjoy yourself, my +darling.—ZINA."</p> + +<p>I sent the telegram, and next morning I gave her the receipt.</p> + +<h3>IX</h3> + +<p>The worst of it was that Orlov had thoughtlessly let Polya, too, into +the secret of his deception, telling her to bring his shirts to +Sergievsky Street. After that, she looked at Zinaida Fyodorovna with a +malignant joy and hatred I could not understand, and was never tired of +snorting with delight to herself in her own room and in the hall.</p> + +<p>"She's outstayed her welcome; it's time she took herself off!" she would +say with zest. "She ought to realise that herself...."</p> + +<p>She already divined by instinct that Zinaida Fyodorovna would not be +with us much longer, and, not to let the chance slip, carried off +everything she set her eyes on—smelling-bottles, tortoise-shell +hairpins, handkerchiefs, shoes! On the day after New Year's Day, Zinaida +Fyodorovna summoned me to her room and told me in a low voice that she +missed her black dress. And then she walked through all the rooms, with +a pale, frightened, and indignant face, talking to herself:</p> + +<p>"It's too much! It's beyond everything. Why, it's unheard-of insolence!"</p> + +<p>At dinner she tried to help herself to soup, but could not—her hands +were trembling. Her lips were trembling, too. She looked helplessly at +the soup and at the little pies, waiting for the trembling to pass off, +and suddenly she could not resist looking at Polya.</p> + +<p>"You can go, Polya," she said. "Stepan is enough by himself."</p> + +<p>"I'll stay; I don't mind," answered Polya.</p> + +<p>"There's no need for you to stay. You go away altogether," Zinaida +Fyodorovna went on, getting up in great agitation. "You may look out for +another place. You can go at once."</p> + +<p>"I can't go away without the master's orders. He engaged me. It must be +as he orders."</p> + +<p>"You can take orders from me, too! I am mistress here!" said Zinaida +Fyodorovna, and she flushed crimson.</p> + +<p>"You may be the mistress, but only the master can dismiss me. It was he +engaged me."</p> + +<p>"You dare not stay here another minute!" cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, and +she struck the plate with her knife. "You are a thief! Do you hear?"</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna flung her dinner-napkin on the table, and with a +pitiful, suffering face, went quickly out of the room. Loudly sobbing +and wailing something indistinct, Polya, too, went away. The soup and +the grouse got cold. And for some reason all the restaurant dainties on +the table struck me as poor, thievish, like Polya. Two pies on a plate +had a particularly miserable and guilty air. "We shall be taken back to +the restaurant to-day," they seemed to be saying, "and to-morrow we +shall be put on the table again for some official or celebrated singer."</p> + +<p>"She is a fine lady, indeed," I heard uttered in Polya's room. "I could +have been a lady like that long ago, but I have some self-respect! We'll +see which of us will be the first to go!"</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna rang the bell. She was sitting in her room, in the +corner, looking as though she had been put in the corner as a +punishment.</p> + +<p>"No telegram has come?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, madam."</p> + +<p>"Ask the porter; perhaps there is a telegram. And don't leave the +house," she called after me. "I am afraid to be left alone."</p> + +<p>After that I had to run down almost every hour to ask the porter whether +a telegram had come. I must own it was a dreadful time! To avoid seeing +Polya, Zinaida Fyodorovna dined and had tea in her own room; it was here +that she slept, too, on a short sofa like a half-moon, and she made her +own bed. For the first days I took the telegrams; but, getting no +answer, she lost her faith in me and began telegraphing herself. Looking +at her, I, too, began impatiently hoping for a telegram. I hoped he +would contrive some deception, would make arrangements, for instance, +that a telegram should be sent to her from some station. If he were too +much engrossed with cards or had been attracted by some other woman, I +thought that both Gruzin and Kukushkin would remind him of us. But our +expectations were vain. Five times a day I would go in to Zinaida +Fyodorovna, intending to tell her the truth. But her eyes looked piteous +as a fawn's, her shoulders seemed to droop, her lips were moving, and I +went away again without saying a word. Pity and sympathy seemed to rob +me of all manliness. Polya, as cheerful and well satisfied with herself +as though nothing had happened, was tidying the master's study and the +bedroom, rummaging in the cupboards, and making the crockery jingle, and +when she passed Zinaida Fyodorovna's door, she hummed something and +coughed. She was pleased that her mistress was hiding from her. In the +evening she would go out somewhere, and rang at two or three o'clock in +the morning, and I had to open the door to her and listen to remarks +about my cough. Immediately afterwards I would hear another ring; I +would run to the room next to the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, putting +her head out of the door, would ask, "Who was it rung?" while she looked +at my hands to see whether I had a telegram.</p> + +<p>When at last on Saturday the bell rang below and she heard the familiar +voice on the stairs, she was so delighted that she broke into sobs. She +rushed to meet him, embraced him, kissed him on the breast and sleeves, +said something one could not understand. The hall porter brought up the +portmanteaus; Polya's cheerful voice was heard. It was as though some +one had come home for the holidays.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you wire?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna, breathless with joy. +"Why was it? I have been in misery; I don't know how I've lived through +it.... Oh, my God!"</p> + +<p>"It was very simple! I returned with the senator to Moscow the very +first day, and didn't get your telegrams," said Orlov. "After dinner, my +love, I'll give you a full account of my doings, but now I must sleep +and sleep.... I am worn out with the journey."</p> + +<p>It was evident that he had not slept all night; he had probably been +playing cards and drinking freely. Zinaida Fyodorovna put him to bed, +and we all walked about on tiptoe all that day. The dinner went off +quite satisfactorily, but when they went into the study and had coffee +the explanation began. Zinaida Fyodorovna began talking of something +rapidly in a low voice; she spoke in French, and her words flowed like a +stream. Then I heard a loud sigh from Orlov, and his voice.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he said in French. "Have you really nothing fresher to tell me +than this everlasting tale of your servant's misdeeds?"</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, she robbed me and said insulting things to me."</p> + +<p>"But why is it she doesn't rob me or say insulting things to me? Why is +it I never notice the maids nor the porters nor the footmen? My dear, +you are simply capricious and refuse to know your own mind.... I really +begin to suspect that you must be in a certain condition. When I offered +to let her go, you insisted on her remaining, and now you want me to +turn her away. I can be obstinate, too, in such cases. You want her to +go, but I want her to remain. That's the only way to cure you of your +nerves."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well, very well," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in alarm. "Let us +say no more about that.... Let us put it off till to-morrow.... Now tell +me about Moscow.... What is going on in Moscow?"</p> + +<h3>X</h3> + +<p>After lunch next day—it was the seventh of January, St. John the +Baptist's Day—Orlov put on his black dress coat and his decoration to +go to visit his father and congratulate him on his name day. He had to +go at two o'clock, and it was only half-past one when he had finished +dressing. What was he to do for that half-hour? He walked about the +drawing-room, declaiming some congratulatory verses which he had recited +as a child to his father and mother.</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna, who was just going out to a dressmaker's or to the +shops, was sitting, listening to him with a smile. I don't know how +their conversation began, but when I took Orlov his gloves, he was +standing before her with a capricious, beseeching face, saying:</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, in the name of everything that's holy, don't talk of +things that everybody knows! What an unfortunate gift our intellectual +thoughtful ladies have for talking with enthusiasm and an air of +profundity of things that every schoolboy is sick to death of! Ah, if +only you would exclude from our conjugal programme all these serious +questions! How grateful I should be to you!"</p> + +<p>"We women may not dare, it seems, to have views of our own."</p> + +<p>"I give you full liberty to be as liberal as you like, and quote from +any authors you choose, but make me one concession: don't hold forth in +my presence on either of two subjects: the corruption of the upper +classes and the evils of the marriage system. Do understand me, at last. +The upper class is always abused in contrast with the world of +tradesmen, priests, workmen and peasants, Sidors and Nikitas of all +sorts. I detest both classes, but if I had honestly to choose between +the two, I should without hesitation, prefer the upper class, and there +would be no falsity or affectation about it, since all my tastes are in +that direction. Our world is trivial and empty, but at any rate we speak +French decently, read something, and don't punch each other in the ribs +even in our most violent quarrels, while the Sidors and the Nikitas and +their worships in trade talk about 'being quite agreeable,' 'in a +jiffy,' 'blast your eyes,' and display the utmost license of pothouse +manners and the most degrading superstition."</p> + +<p>"The peasant and the tradesman feed you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but what of it? That's not only to my discredit, but to theirs +too. They feed me and take off their caps to me, so it seems they have +not the intelligence and honesty to do otherwise. I don't blame or +praise any one: I only mean that the upper class and the lower are as +bad as one another. My feelings and my intelligence are opposed to both, +but my tastes lie more in the direction of the former. Well, now for the +evils of marriage," Orlov went on, glancing at his watch. "It's high +time for you to understand that there are no evils in the system itself; +what is the matter is that you don't know yourselves what you want from +marriage. What is it you want? In legal and illegal cohabitation, in +every sort of union and cohabitation, good or bad, the underlying +reality is the same. You ladies live for that underlying reality alone: +for you it's everything; your existence would have no meaning for you +without it. You want nothing but that, and you get it; but since you've +taken to reading novels you are ashamed of it: you rush from pillar to +post, you recklessly change your men, and to justify this turmoil you +have begun talking of the evils of marriage. So long as you can't and +won't renounce what underlies it all, your chief foe, your devil—so +long as you serve that slavishly, what use is there in discussing the +matter seriously? Everything you may say to me will be falsity and +affectation. I shall not believe you."</p> + +<p>I went to find out from the hall porter whether the sledge was at the +door, and when I came back I found it had become a quarrel. As sailors +say, a squall had blown up.</p> + +<p>"I see you want to shock me by your cynicism today," said Zinaida +Fyodorovna, walking about the drawing-room in great emotion. "It revolts +me to listen to you. I am pure before God and man, and have nothing to +repent of. I left my husband and came to you, and am proud of it. I +swear, on my honour, I am proud of it!"</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all right, then!"</p> + +<p>"If you are a decent, honest man, you, too, ought to be proud of what I +did. It raises you and me above thousands of people who would like to do +as we have done, but do not venture through cowardice or petty prudence. +But you are not a decent man. You are afraid of freedom, and you mock +the promptings of genuine feeling, from fear that some ignoramus may +suspect you of being sincere. You are afraid to show me to your friends; +there's no greater infliction for you than to go about with me in the +street.... Isn't that true? Why haven't you introduced me to your father +or your cousin all this time? Why is it? No, I am sick of it at last," +cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, stamping. "I demand what is mine by right. You +must present me to your father."</p> + +<p>"If you want to know him, go and present yourself. He receives visitors +every morning from ten till half-past."</p> + +<p>"How base you are!" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, wringing her hands in +despair. "Even if you are not sincere, and are not saying what you +think, I might hate you for your cruelty. Oh, how base you are!"</p> + +<p>"We keep going round and round and never reach the real point. The real +point is that you made a mistake, and you won't acknowledge it aloud. +You imagined that I was a hero, and that I had some extraordinary ideas +and ideals, and it has turned out that I am a most ordinary official, a +cardplayer, and have no partiality for ideas of any sort. I am a worthy +representative of the rotten world from which you have run away because +you were revolted with its triviality and emptiness. Recognise it and be +just: don't be indignant with me, but with yourself, as it is your +mistake, and not mine."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I admit I was mistaken."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all right, then. We've reached that point at last, thank +God. Now hear something more, if you please: I can't rise to your +level—I am too depraved; you can't descend to my level, either, for you +are too exalted. So there is only one thing left to do...."</p> + +<p>"What?" Zinaida Fyodorovna asked quickly, holding her breath and turning +suddenly as white as a sheet of paper.</p> + +<p>"To call logic to our aid...."</p> + +<p>"Georgy, why are you torturing me?" Zinaida Fyodorovna said suddenly in +Russian in a breaking voice. "What is it for? Think of my misery...."</p> + +<p>Orlov, afraid of tears, went quickly into his study, and I don't know +why—whether it was that he wished to cause her extra pain, or whether +he remembered it was usually done in such cases—he locked the door +after him. She cried out and ran after him with a rustle of her skirt.</p> + +<p>"What does this mean?" she cried, knocking at his door. "What ... what +does this mean?" she repeated in a shrill voice breaking with +indignation. "Ah, so this is what you do! Then let me tell you I hate +you, I despise you! Everything is over between us now."</p> + +<p>I heard hysterical weeping mingled with laughter. Something small in the +drawing-room fell off the table and was broken. Orlov went out into the +hall by another door, and, looking round him nervously, he hurriedly put +on his great-coat and went out.</p> + +<p>Half an hour passed, an hour, and she was still weeping. I remembered +that she had no father or mother, no relations, and here she was living +between a man who hated her and Polya, who robbed her—and how desolate +her life seemed to me! I do not know why, but I went into the +drawing-room to her. Weak and helpless, looking with her lovely hair +like an embodiment of tenderness and grace, she was in anguish, as +though she were ill; she was lying on a couch, hiding her face, and +quivering all over.</p> + +<p>"Madam, shouldn't I fetch a doctor?" I asked gently.</p> + +<p>"No, there's no need ... it's nothing," she said, and she looked at me +with her tear-stained eyes. "I have a little headache.... Thank you."</p> + +<p>I went out, and in the evening she was writing letter after letter, and +sent me out first to Pekarsky, then to Gruzin, then to Kukushkin, and +finally anywhere I chose, if only I could find Orlov and give him the +letter. Every time I came back with the letter she scolded me, entreated +me, thrust money into my hand—as though she were in a fever. And all +the night she did not sleep, but sat in the drawing-room, talking to +herself.</p> + +<p>Orlov returned to dinner next day, and they were reconciled.</p> + +<p>The first Thursday afterwards Orlov complained to his friends of the +intolerable life he led; he smoked a great deal, and said with +irritation:</p> + +<p>"It is no life at all; it's the rack. Tears, wailing, intellectual +conversations, begging for forgiveness, again tears and wailing; and the +long and the short of it is that I have no flat of my own now. I am +wretched, and I make her wretched. Surely I haven't to live another +month or two like this? How can I? But yet I may have to."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you speak, then?" said Pekarsky.</p> + +<p>"I've tried, but I can't. One can boldly tell the truth, whatever it may +be, to an independent, rational man; but in this case one has to do with +a creature who has no will, no strength of character, and no logic. I +cannot endure tears; they disarm me. When she cries, I am ready to swear +eternal love and cry myself."</p> + +<p>Pekarsky did not understand; he scratched his broad forehead in +perplexity and said:</p> + +<p>"You really had better take another flat for her. It's so simple!"</p> + +<p>"She wants me, not the flat. But what's the good of talking?" sighed +Orlov. "I only hear endless conversations, but no way out of my +position. It certainly is a case of 'being guilty without guilt.' I +don't claim to be a mushroom, but it seems I've got to go into the +basket. The last thing I've ever set out to be is a hero. I never could +endure Turgenev's novels; and now, all of a sudden, as though to spite +me, I've heroism forced upon me. I assure her on my honour that I'm not +a hero at all, I adduce irrefutable proofs of the same, but she doesn't +believe me. Why doesn't she believe me? I suppose I really must have +something of the appearance of a hero."</p> + +<p>"You go off on a tour of inspection in the provinces," said Kukushkin, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the only thing left for me."</p> + +<p>A week after this conversation Orlov announced that he was again ordered +to attend the senator, and the same evening he went off with his +portmanteaus to Pekarsky.</p> + +<h3>XI</h3> + +<p>An old man of sixty, in a long fur coat reaching to the ground, and a +beaver cap, was standing at the door.</p> + +<p>"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he asked.</p> + +<p>At first I thought it was one of the moneylenders, Gruzin's creditors, +who sometimes used to come to Orlov for small payments on account; but +when he came into the hall and flung open his coat, I saw the thick +brows and the characteristically compressed lips which I knew so well +from the photographs, and two rows of stars on the uniform. I recognised +him: it was Orlov's father, the distinguished statesman.</p> + +<p>I answered that Georgy Ivanitch was not at home. The old man pursed up +his lips tightly and looked into space, reflecting, showing me his +dried-up, toothless profile.</p> + +<p>"I'll leave a note," he said; "show me in."</p> + +<p>He left his goloshes in the hall, and, without taking off his long, +heavy fur coat, went into the study. There he sat down before the table, +and, before taking up the pen, for three minutes he pondered, shading +his eyes with his hand as though from the sun—exactly as his son did +when he was out of humour. His face was sad, thoughtful, with that look +of resignation which I have only seen on the faces of the old and +religious. I stood behind him, gazed at his bald head and at the hollow +at the nape of his neck, and it was clear as daylight to me that this +weak old man was now in my power. There was not a soul in the flat +except my enemy and me. I had only to use a little physical violence, +then snatch his watch to disguise the object of the crime, and to get +off by the back way, and I should have gained infinitely more than I +could have imagined possible when I took up the part of a footman. I +thought that I could hardly get a better opportunity. But instead of +acting, I looked quite unconcernedly, first at his bald patch and then +at his fur, and calmly meditated on this man's relation to his only son, +and on the fact that people spoiled by power and wealth probably don't +want to die....</p> + +<p>"Have you been long in my son's service?" he asked, writing a large hand +on the paper.</p> + +<p>"Three months, your High Excellency."</p> + +<p>He finished the letter and stood up. I still had time. I urged myself on +and clenched my fists, trying to wring out of my soul some trace of my +former hatred; I recalled what a passionate, implacable, obstinate hate +I had felt for him only a little while before.... But it is difficult to +strike a match against a crumbling stone. The sad old face and the cold +glitter of his stars roused in me nothing but petty, cheap, unnecessary +thoughts of the transitoriness of everything earthly, of the nearness of +death....</p> + +<p>"Good-day, brother," said the old man. He put on his cap and went out.</p> + +<p>There could be no doubt about it: I had undergone a change; I had become +different. To convince myself, I began to recall the past, but at once I +felt uneasy, as though I had accidentally peeped into a dark, damp +corner. I remembered my comrades and friends, and my first thought was +how I should blush in confusion if ever I met any of them. What was I +now? What had I to think of and to do? Where was I to go? What was I +living for?</p> + +<p>I could make nothing of it. I only knew one thing—that I must make +haste to pack my things and be off. Before the old man's visit my +position as a flunkey had a meaning; now it was absurd. Tears dropped +into my open portmanteau; I felt insufferably sad; but how I longed to +live! I was ready to embrace and include in my short life every +possibility open to man. I wanted to speak, to read, and to hammer in +some big factory, and to stand on watch, and to plough. I yearned for +the Nevsky Prospect, for the sea and the fields—for every place to +which my imagination travelled. When Zinaida Fyodorovna came in, I +rushed to open the door for her, and with peculiar tenderness took off +her fur coat. The last time!</p> + +<p>We had two other visitors that day besides the old man. In the evening +when it was quite dark, Gruzin came to fetch some papers for Orlov. He +opened the table-drawer, took the necessary papers, and, rolling them +up, told me to put them in the hall beside his cap while he went in to +see Zinaida Fyodorovna. She was lying on the sofa in the drawing-room, +with her arms behind her head. Five or six days had already passed since +Orlov went on his tour of inspection, and no one knew when he would be +back, but this time she did not send telegrams and did not expect them. +She did not seem to notice the presence of Polya, who was still living +with us. "So be it, then," was what I read on her passionless and very +pale face. Like Orlov, she wanted to be unhappy out of obstinacy. To +spite herself and everything in the world, she lay for days together on +the sofa, desiring and expecting nothing but evil for herself. Probably +she was picturing to herself Orlov's return and the inevitable quarrels +with him; then his growing indifference to her, his infidelities; then +how they would separate; and perhaps these agonising thoughts gave her +satisfaction. But what would she have said if she found out the actual +truth?</p> + +<p>"I love you, Godmother," said Gruzin, greeting her and kissing her hand. +"You are so kind! And so dear <i>George</i> has gone away," he lied. "He has +gone away, the rascal!"</p> + +<p>He sat down with a sigh and tenderly stroked her hand.</p> + +<p>"Let me spend an hour with you, my dear," he said. "I don't want to go +home, and it's too early to go to the Birshovs'. The Birshovs are +keeping their Katya's birthday to-day. She is a nice child!"</p> + +<p>I brought him a glass of tea and a decanter of brandy. He slowly and +with obvious reluctance drank the tea, and returning the glass to me, +asked timidly:</p> + +<p>"Can you give me ... something to eat, my friend? I have had no dinner."</p> + +<p>We had nothing in the flat. I went to the restaurant and brought him the +ordinary rouble dinner.</p> + +<p>"To your health, my dear," he said to Zinaida Fyodorovna, and he tossed +off a glass of vodka. "My little girl, your godchild, sends you her +love. Poor child! she's rickety. Ah, children, children!" he sighed. +"Whatever you may say, Godmother, it is nice to be a father. Dear +<i>George</i> can't understand that feeling."</p> + +<p>He drank some more. Pale and lean, with his dinner-napkin over his chest +like a little pinafore, he ate greedily, and raising his eyebrows, kept +looking guiltily, like a little boy, first at Zinaida Fyodorovna and +then at me. It seemed as though he would have begun crying if I had not +given him the grouse or the jelly. When he had satisfied his hunger he +grew more lively, and began laughingly telling some story about the +Birshov household, but perceiving that it was tiresome and that Zinaida +Fyodorovna was not laughing, he ceased. And there was a sudden feeling +of dreariness. After he had finished his dinner they sat in the +drawing-room by the light of a single lamp, and did not speak; it was +painful to him to lie to her, and she wanted to ask him something, but +could not make up her mind to. So passed half an hour. Gruzin glanced at +his watch.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's time for me to go."</p> + +<p>"No, stay a little.... We must have a talk."</p> + +<p>Again they were silent. He sat down to the piano, struck one chord, then +began playing, and sang softly, "What does the coming day bring me?" but +as usual he got up suddenly and tossed his head.</p> + +<p>"Play something," Zinaida Fyodorovna asked him.</p> + +<p>"What shall I play?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "I have +forgotten everything. I've given it up long ago."</p> + +<p>Looking at the ceiling as though trying to remember, he played two +pieces of Tchaikovsky with exquisite expression, with such warmth, such +insight! His face was just as usual—neither stupid nor intelligent—and +it seemed to me a perfect marvel that a man whom I was accustomed to see +in the midst of the most degrading, impure surroundings, was capable of +such purity, of rising to a feeling so lofty, so far beyond my reach. +Zinaida Fyodorovna's face glowed, and she walked about the drawing-room +in emotion.</p> + +<p>"Wait a bit, Godmother; if I can remember it, I will play you +something," he said; "I heard it played on the violoncello."</p> + +<p>Beginning timidly and picking out the notes, and then gathering +confidence, he played Saint-Saëns's "Swan Song." He played it through, +and then played it a second time.</p> + +<p>"It's nice, isn't it?" he said.</p> + +<p>Moved by the music, Zinaida Fyodorovna stood beside him and asked:</p> + +<p>"Tell me honestly, as a friend, what do you think about me?"</p> + +<p>"What am I to say?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "I love you and think +nothing but good of you. But if you wish that I should speak generally +about the question that interests you," he went on, rubbing his sleeve +near the elbow and frowning, "then, my dear, you know.... To follow +freely the promptings of the heart does not always give good people +happiness. To feel free and at the same time to be happy, it seems to +me, one must not conceal from oneself that life is coarse, cruel, and +merciless in its conservatism, and one must retaliate with what it +deserves—that is, be as coarse and as merciless in one's striving for +freedom. That's what I think."</p> + +<p>"That's beyond me," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a mournful smile. "I +am exhausted already. I am so exhausted that I wouldn't stir a finger +for my own salvation."</p> + +<p>"Go into a nunnery."</p> + +<p>He said this in jest, but after he had said it, tears glistened in +Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes and then in his.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "we've been sitting and sitting, and now we must go. +Good-bye, dear Godmother. God give you health."</p> + +<p>He kissed both her hands, and stroking them tenderly, said that he +should certainly come to see her again in a day or two. In the hall, as +he was putting on his overcoat, that was so like a child's pelisse, he +fumbled long in his pockets to find a tip for me, but found nothing +there.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, my dear fellow," he said sadly, and went away.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget the feeling that this man left behind him.</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna still walked about the room in her excitement. That +she was walking about and not still lying down was so much to the good. +I wanted to take advantage of this mood to speak to her openly and then +to go away, but I had hardly seen Gruzin out when I heard a ring. It was +Kukushkin.</p> + +<p>"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he said. "Has he come back? You say no? +What a pity! In that case, I'll go in and kiss your mistress's hand, and +so away. Zinaida Fyodorovna, may I come in?" he cried. "I want to kiss +your hand. Excuse my being so late."</p> + +<p>He was not long in the drawing-room, not more than ten minutes, but I +felt as though he were staying a long while and would never go away. I +bit my lips from indignation and annoyance, and already hated Zinaida +Fyodorovna. "Why does she not turn him out?" I thought indignantly, +though it was evident that she was bored by his company.</p> + +<p>When I held his fur coat for him he asked me, as a mark of special +good-will, how I managed to get on without a wife.</p> + +<p>"But I don't suppose you waste your time," he said, laughingly. "I've no +doubt Polya and you are as thick as thieves.... You rascal!"</p> + +<p>In spite of my experience of life, I knew very little of mankind at that +time, and it is very likely that I often exaggerated what was of little +consequence and failed to observe what was important. It seemed to me it +was not without motive that Kukushkin tittered and flattered me. Could +it be that he was hoping that I, like a flunkey, would gossip in other +kitchens and servants' quarters of his coming to see us in the evenings +when Orlov was away, and staying with Zinaida Fyodorovna till late at +night? And when my tittle-tattle came to the ears of his acquaintance, +he would drop his eyes in confusion and shake his little finger. And +would not he, I thought, looking at his little honeyed face, this very +evening at cards pretend and perhaps declare that he had already won +Zinaida Fyodorovna from Orlov?</p> + +<p>That hatred which failed me at midday when the old father had come, took +possession of me now. Kukushkin went away at last, and as I listened to +the shuffle of his leather goloshes, I felt greatly tempted to fling +after him, as a parting shot, some coarse word of abuse, but I +restrained myself. And when the steps had died away on the stairs, I +went back to the hall, and, hardly conscious of what I was doing, took +up the roll of papers that Gruzin had left behind, and ran headlong +downstairs. Without cap or overcoat, I ran down into the street. It was +not cold, but big flakes of snow were falling and it was windy.</p> + +<p>"Your Excellency!" I cried, catching up Kukushkin. "Your Excellency!"</p> + +<p>He stopped under a lamp-post and looked round with surprise. "Your +Excellency!" I said breathless, "your Excellency!"</p> + +<p>And not able to think of anything to say, I hit him two or three times +on the face with the roll of paper. Completely at a loss, and hardly +wondering—I had so completely taken him by surprise—he leaned his back +against the lamp-post and put up his hands to protect his face. At that +moment an army doctor passed, and saw how I was beating the man, but he +merely looked at us in astonishment and went on. I felt ashamed and I +ran back to the house.</p> + +<h3>XII</h3> + +<p>With my head wet from the snow, and gasping for breath, I ran to my +room, and immediately flung off my swallow-tails, put on a reefer jacket +and an overcoat, and carried my portmanteau out into the passage; I must +get away! But before going I hurriedly sat down and began writing to +Orlov:</p> + +<p>"I leave you my false passport," I began. "I beg you to keep it as a +memento, you false man, you Petersburg official!</p> + +<p>"To steal into another man's house under a false name, to watch under +the mask of a flunkey this person's intimate life, to hear everything, +to see everything in order later on, unasked, to accuse a man of +lying—all this, you will say, is on a level with theft. Yes, but I care +nothing for fine feelings now. I have endured dozens of your dinners and +suppers when you said and did what you liked, and I had to hear, to look +on, and be silent. I don't want to make you a present of my silence. +Besides, if there is not a living soul at hand who dares to tell you the +truth without flattery, let your flunkey Stepan wash your magnificent +countenance for you."</p> + +<p>I did not like this beginning, but I did not care to alter it. Besides, +what did it matter?</p> + +<p>The big windows with their dark curtains, the bed, the crumpled dress +coat on the floor, and my wet footprints, looked gloomy and forbidding. +And there was a peculiar stillness.</p> + +<p>Possibly because I had run out into the street without my cap and +goloshes I was in a high fever. My face burned, my legs ached.... My +heavy head drooped over the table, and there was that kind of division +in my thought when every idea in the brain seemed dogged by its shadow.</p> + +<p>"I am ill, weak, morally cast down," I went on; "I cannot write to you +as I should like to. From the first moment I desired to insult and +humiliate you, but now I do not feel that I have the right to do so. You +and I have both fallen, and neither of us will ever rise up again; and +even if my letter were eloquent, terrible, and passionate, it would +still seem like beating on the lid of a coffin: however one knocks upon +it, one will not wake up the dead! No efforts could warm your accursed +cold blood, and you know that better than I do. Why write? But my mind +and heart are burning, and I go on writing; for some reason I am moved +as though this letter still might save you and me. I am so feverish that +my thoughts are disconnected, and my pen scratches the paper without +meaning; but the question I want to put to you stands before me as clear +as though in letters of flame.</p> + +<p>"Why I am prematurely weak and fallen is not hard to explain. Like +Samson of old, I have taken the gates of Gaza on my shoulders to carry +them to the top of the mountain, and only when I was exhausted, when +youth and health were quenched in me forever, I noticed that that burden +was not for my shoulders, and that I had deceived myself. I have been, +moreover, in cruel and continual pain. I have endured cold, hunger, +illness, and loss of liberty. Of personal happiness I know and have +known nothing. I have no home; my memories are bitter, and my conscience +is often in dread of them. But why have you fallen—you? What fatal, +diabolical causes hindered your life from blossoming into full flower? +Why, almost before beginning life, were you in such haste to cast off +the image and likeness of God, and to become a cowardly beast who backs +and scares others because he is afraid himself? You are afraid of +life—as afraid of it as an Oriental who sits all day on a cushion +smoking his hookah. Yes, you read a great deal, and a European coat fits +you well, but yet with what tender, purely Oriental, pasha-like care you +protect yourself from hunger, cold, physical effort, from pain and +uneasiness! How early your soul has taken to its dressing-gown! What a +cowardly part you have played towards real life and nature, with which +every healthy and normal man struggles! How soft, how snug, how warm, +how comfortable—and how bored you are! Yes, it is deathly boredom, +unrelieved by one ray of light, as in solitary confinement; but you try +to hide from that enemy, too, you play cards eight hours out of +twenty-four.</p> + +<p>"And your irony? Oh, but how well I understand it! Free, bold, living +thought is searching and dominating; for an indolent, sluggish mind it +is intolerable. That it may not disturb your peace, like thousands of +your contemporaries, you made haste in youth to put it under bar and +bolt. Your ironical attitude to life, or whatever you like to call it, +is your armour; and your thought, fettered and frightened, dare not leap +over the fence you have put round it; and when you jeer at ideas which +you pretend to know all about, you are like the deserter fleeing from +the field of battle, and, to stifle his shame, sneering at war and at +valour. Cynicism stifles pain. In some novel of Dostoevsky's an old man +tramples underfoot the portrait of his dearly loved daughter because he +had been unjust to her, and you vent your foul and vulgar jeers upon the +ideas of goodness and truth because you have not the strength to follow +them. You are frightened of every honest and truthful hint at your +degradation, and you purposely surround yourself with people who do +nothing but flatter your weaknesses. And you may well, you may well +dread the sight of tears!</p> + +<p>"By the way, your attitude to women. Shamelessness has been handed down +to us in our flesh and blood, and we are trained to shamelessness; but +that is what we are men for—to subdue the beast in us. When you reached +manhood and <i>all</i> ideas became known to you, you could not have failed +to see the truth; you knew it, but you did not follow it; you were +afraid of it, and to deceive your conscience you began loudly assuring +yourself that it was not you but woman that was to blame, that she was +as degraded as your attitude to her. Your cold, scabrous anecdotes, your +coarse laughter, all your innumerable theories concerning the underlying +reality of marriage and the definite demands made upon it, concerning +the ten <i>sous</i> the French workman pays his woman; your everlasting +attacks on female logic, lying, weakness and so on—doesn't it all look +like a desire at all costs to force woman down into the mud that she may +be on the same level as your attitude to her? You are a weak, unhappy, +unpleasant person!"</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna began playing the piano in the drawing-room, trying +to recall the song of Saint Saëns that Gruzin had played. I went and lay +on my bed, but remembering that it was time for me to go, I got up with +an effort and with a heavy, burning head went to the table again.</p> + +<p>"But this is the question," I went on. "Why are we worn out? Why are we, +at first so passionate, so bold, so noble, and so full of faith, complete +bankrupts at thirty or thirty-five? Why does one waste in consumption, +another put a bullet through his brains, a third seeks forgetfulness in +vodka and cards, while the fourth tries to stifle his fear and misery by +cynically trampling underfoot the pure image of his fair youth? Why is +it that, having once fallen, we do not try to rise up again, and, losing +one thing, do not seek something else? Why is it?</p> + +<p>"The thief hanging on the Cross could bring back the joy of life and the +courage of confident hope, though perhaps he had not more than an hour +to live. You have long years before you, and I shall probably not die so +soon as one might suppose. What if by a miracle the present turned out +to be a dream, a horrible nightmare, and we should wake up renewed, +pure, strong, proud of our righteousness? Sweet visions fire me, and I +am almost breathless with emotion. I have a terrible longing to live. I +long for our life to be holy, lofty, and majestic as the heavens above. +Let us live! The sun doesn't rise twice a day, and life is not given us +again—clutch at what is left of your life and save it...."</p> + +<p>I did not write another word. I had a multitude of thoughts in my mind, +but I could not connect them and get them on to paper. Without finishing +the letter, I signed it with my name and rank, and went into the study. +It was dark. I felt for the table and put the letter on it. I must have +stumbled against the furniture in the dark and made a noise.</p> + +<p>"Who is there?" I heard an alarmed voice in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>And the clock on the table softly struck one at the moment.</p> + +<h3>XIII</h3> + +<p>For at least half a minute I fumbled at the door in the dark, feeling +for the handle; then I slowly opened it and walked into the +drawing-room. Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the couch, and raising +herself on her elbow, she looked towards me. Unable to bring myself to +speak, I walked slowly by, and she followed me with her eyes. I stood +for a little time in the dining-room and then walked by her again, and +she looked at me intently and with perplexity, even with alarm. At last +I stood still and said with an effort:</p> + +<p>"He is not coming back."</p> + +<p>She quickly got on to her feet, and looked at me without understanding.</p> + +<p>"He is not coming back," I repeated, and my heart beat violently. "He +will not come back, for he has not left Petersburg. He is staying at +Pekarsky's."</p> + +<p>She understood and believed me—I saw that from her sudden pallor, and +from the way she laid her arms upon her bosom in terror and entreaty. In +one instant all that had happened of late flashed through her mind; she +reflected, and with pitiless clarity she saw the whole truth. But at the +same time she remembered that I was a flunkey, a being of a lower +order.... A casual stranger, with hair ruffled, with face flushed with +fever, perhaps drunk, in a common overcoat, was coarsely intruding into +her intimate life, and that offended her. She said to me sternly:</p> + +<p>"It's not your business: go away."</p> + +<p>"Oh, believe me!" I cried impetuously, holding out my hands to her. "I +am not a footman; I am as free as you."</p> + +<p>I mentioned my name, and, speaking very rapidly that she might not +interrupt me or go away, explained to her who I was and why I was living +there. This new discovery struck her more than the first. Till then she +had hoped that her footman had lied or made a mistake or been silly, but +now after my confession she had no doubts left. From the expression of +her unhappy eyes and face, which suddenly lost its softness and beauty +and looked old, I saw that she was insufferably miserable, and that the +conversation would lead to no good; but I went on impetuously:</p> + +<p>"The senator and the tour of inspection were invented to deceive you. In +January, just as now, he did not go away, but stayed at Pekarsky's, and +I saw him every day and took part in the deception. He was weary of you, +he hated your presence here, he mocked at you.... If you could have +heard how he and his friends here jeered at you and your love, you would +not have remained here one minute! Go away from here! Go away."</p> + +<p>"Well," she said in a shaking voice, and moved her hand over her hair. +"Well, so be it."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were full of tears, her lips were quivering, and her whole face +was strikingly pale and distorted with anger. Orlov's coarse, petty +lying revolted her and seemed to her contemptible, ridiculous: she +smiled and I did not like that smile.</p> + +<p>"Well," she repeated, passing her hand over her hair again, "so be it. +He imagines that I shall die of humiliation, and instead of that I am +... amused by it. There's no need for him to hide." She walked away from +the piano and said, shrugging her shoulders: "There's no need.... It +would have been simpler to have it out with me instead of keeping in +hiding in other people's flats. I have eyes; I saw it myself long +ago.... I was only waiting for him to come back to have things out once +for all."</p> + +<p>Then she sat down on a low chair by the table, and, leaning her head on +the arm of the sofa, wept bitterly. In the drawing-room there was only +one candle burning in the candelabra, and the chair where she was +sitting was in darkness; but I saw how her head and shoulders were +quivering, and how her hair, escaping from her combs, covered her neck, +her face, her arms.... Her quiet, steady weeping, which was not +hysterical but a woman's ordinary weeping, expressed a sense of insult, +of wounded pride, of injury, and of something helpless, hopeless, which +one could not set right and to which one could not get used. Her tears +stirred an echo in my troubled and suffering heart; I forgot my illness +and everything else in the world; I walked about the drawing-room and +muttered distractedly:</p> + +<p>"Is this life?... Oh, one can't go on living like this, one can't.... +Oh, it's madness, wickedness, not life."</p> + +<p>"What humiliation!" she said through her tears. "To live together, to +smile at me at the very time when I was burdensome to him, ridiculous in +his eyes! Oh, how humiliating!"</p> + +<p>She lifted up her head, and looking at me with tear-stained eyes through +her hair, wet with her tears, and pushing it back as it prevented her +seeing me, she asked:</p> + +<p>"They laughed at me?"</p> + +<p>"To these men you were laughable—you and your love and Turgenev; they +said your head was full of him. And if we both die at once in despair, +that will amuse them, too; they will make a funny anecdote of it and +tell it at your requiem service. But why talk of them?" I said +impatiently. "We must get away from here—I cannot stay here one minute +longer."</p> + +<p>She began crying again, while I walked to the piano and sat down.</p> + +<p>"What are we waiting for?" I asked dejectedly. "It's two o'clock."</p> + +<p>"I am not waiting for anything," she said. "I am utterly lost."</p> + +<p>"Why do you talk like that? We had better consider together what we are +to do. Neither you nor I can stay here. Where do you intend to go?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a ring at the bell. My heart stood still. Could it be +Orlov, to whom perhaps Kukushkin had complained of me? How should we +meet? I went to open the door. It was Polya. She came in shaking the +snow off her pelisse, and went into her room without saying a word to +me. When I went back to the drawing-room, Zinaida Fyodorovna, pale as +death, was standing in the middle of the room, looking towards me with +big eyes.</p> + +<p>"Who was it?" she asked softly.</p> + +<p>"Polya," I answered.</p> + +<p>She passed her hand over her hair and closed her eyes wearily.</p> + +<p>"I will go away at once," she said. "Will you be kind and take me to the +Petersburg Side? What time is it now?"</p> + +<p>"A quarter to three."</p> + +<h3>XIV</h3> + +<p>When, a little afterwards, we went out of the house, it was dark and +deserted in the street. Wet snow was falling and a damp wind lashed in +one's face. I remember it was the beginning of March; a thaw had set in, +and for some days past the cabmen had been driving on wheels. Under the +impression of the back stairs, of the cold, of the midnight darkness, +and the porter in his sheepskin who had questioned us before letting us +out of the gate, Zinaida Fyodorovna was utterly cast down and +dispirited. When we got into the cab and the hood was put up, trembling +all over, she began hurriedly saying how grateful she was to me.</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt your good-will, but I am ashamed that you should be +troubled," she muttered. "Oh, I understand, I understand.... When Gruzin +was here to-day, I felt that he was lying and concealing something. +Well, so be it. But I am ashamed, anyway, that you should be troubled."</p> + +<p>She still had her doubts. To dispel them finally, I asked the cabman to +drive through Sergievsky Street; stopping him at Pekarsky's door, I got +out of the cab and rang. When the porter came to the door, I asked +aloud, that Zinaida Fyodorovna might hear, whether Georgy Ivanitch was +at home.</p> + +<p>"Yes," was the answer, "he came in half an hour ago. He must be in bed +by now. What do you want?"</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna could not refrain from putting her head out.</p> + +<p>"Has Georgy Ivanitch been staying here long?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Going on for three weeks."</p> + +<p>"And he's not been away?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered the porter, looking at me with surprise.</p> + +<p>"Tell him, early to-morrow," I said, "that his sister has arrived from +Warsaw. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Then we drove on. The cab had no apron, the snow fell on us in big +flakes, and the wind, especially on the Neva, pierced us through and +through. I began to feel as though we had been driving for a long time, +that for ages we had been suffering, and that for ages I had been +listening to Zinaida Fyodorovna's shuddering breath. In semi-delirium, +as though half asleep, I looked back upon my strange, incoherent life, +and for some reason recalled a melodrama, "The Parisian Beggars," which +I had seen once or twice in my childhood. And when to shake off that +semi-delirium I peeped out from the hood and saw the dawn, all the +images of the past, all my misty thoughts, for some reason, blended in +me into one distinct, overpowering thought: everything was irrevocably +over for Zinaida Fyodorovna and for me. This was as certain a conviction +as though the cold blue sky contained a prophecy, but a minute later I +was already thinking of something else and believed differently.</p> + +<p>"What am I now?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, in a voice husky with the cold +and the damp. "Where am I to go? What am I to do? Gruzin told me to go +into a nunnery. Oh, I would! I would change my dress, my face, my name, +my thoughts ... everything—everything, and would hide myself for ever. +But they will not take me into a nunnery. I am with child."</p> + +<p>"We will go abroad together to-morrow," I said.</p> + +<p>"That's impossible. My husband won't give me a passport."</p> + +<p>"I will take you without a passport."</p> + +<p>The cabman stopped at a wooden house of two storeys, painted a dark +colour. I rang. Taking from me her small light basket—the only luggage +we had brought with us—Zinaida Fyodorovna gave a wry smile and said:</p> + +<p>"These are my <i>bijoux</i>."</p> + +<p>But she was so weak that she could not carry these <i>bijoux</i>.</p> + +<p>It was a long while before the door was opened. After the third or +fourth ring a light gleamed in the windows, and there was a sound of +steps, coughing and whispering; at last the key grated in the lock, and +a stout peasant woman with a frightened red face appeared at the door. +Some distance behind her stood a thin little old woman with short grey +hair, carrying a candle in her hand. Zinaida Fyodorovna ran into the +passage and flung her arms round the old woman's neck.</p> + +<p>"Nina, I've been deceived," she sobbed loudly. "I've been coarsely, +foully deceived! Nina, Nina!"</p> + +<p>I handed the basket to the peasant woman. The door was closed, but still +I heard her sobs and the cry "Nina!"</p> + +<p>I got into the cab and told the man to drive slowly to the Nevsky +Prospect. I had to think of a night's lodging for myself.</p> + +<p>Next day towards evening I went to see Zinaida Fyodorovna. She was +terribly changed. There were no traces of tears on her pale, terribly +sunken face, and her expression was different. I don't know whether it +was that I saw her now in different surroundings, far from luxurious, +and that our relations were by now different, or perhaps that intense +grief had already set its mark upon her; she did not strike me as so +elegant and well dressed as before. Her figure seemed smaller; there was +an abruptness and excessive nervousness about her as though she were in +a hurry, and there was not the same softness even in her smile. I was +dressed in an expensive suit which I had bought during the day. She +looked first of all at that suit and at the hat in my hand, then turned +an impatient, searching glance upon my face as though studying it.</p> + +<p>"Your transformation still seems to me a sort of miracle," she said. +"Forgive me for looking at you with such curiosity. You are an +extraordinary man, you know."</p> + +<p>I told her again who I was, and why I was living at Orlov's, and I told +her at greater length and in more detail than the day before. She +listened with great attention, and said without letting me finish:</p> + +<p>"Everything there is over for me. You know, I could not refrain from +writing a letter. Here is the answer."</p> + +<p>On the sheet which she gave there was written in Orlov's hand:</p> + +<p>"I am not going to justify myself. But you must own that it was your +mistake, not mine. I wish you happiness, and beg you to make haste and +forget.</p> + +<p>"Yours sincerely,</p> + +<p>"G. O.</p> + +<p>"P. S.—I am sending on your things."</p> + +<p>The trunks and baskets despatched by Orlov were standing in the passage, +and my poor little portmanteau was there beside them.</p> + +<p>"So ..." Zinaida Fyodorovna began, but she did not finish.</p> + +<p>We were silent. She took the note and held it for a couple of minutes +before her eyes, and during that time her face wore the same haughty, +contemptuous, proud, and harsh expression as the day before at the +beginning of our explanation; tears came into her eyes—not timid, +bitter tears, but proud, angry tears.</p> + +<p>"Listen," she said, getting up abruptly and moving away to the window +that I might not see her face. "I have made up my mind to go abroad with +you tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad. I am ready to go to-day."</p> + +<p>"Accept me as a recruit. Have you read Balzac?" she asked suddenly, +turning round. "Have you? At the end of his novel 'Père Goriot' the hero +looks down upon Paris from the top of a hill and threatens the town: +'Now we shall settle our account,' and after this he begins a new life. +So when I look out of the train window at Petersburg for the last time, +I shall say, 'Now we shall settle our account!'"</p> + +<p>Saying this, she smiled at her jest, and for some reason shuddered all +over.</p> + +<h3>XV</h3> + +<p>At Venice I had an attack of pleurisy. Probably I had caught cold in the +evening when we were rowing from the station to the Hotel Bauer. I had +to take to my bed and stay there for a fortnight. Every morning while I +was ill Zinaida Fyodorovna came from her room to drink coffee with me, +and afterwards read aloud to me French and Russian books, of which we +had bought a number at Vienna. These books were either long, long +familiar to me or else had no interest for me, but I had the sound of a +sweet, kind voice beside me, so that the meaning of all of them was +summed up for me in the one thing—I was not alone. She would go out for +a walk, come back in her light grey dress, her light straw hat, gay, +warmed by the spring sun; and sitting by my bed, bending low down over +me, would tell me something about Venice or read me those books—and I +was happy.</p> + +<p>At night I was cold, ill, and dreary, but by day I revelled in life—I +can find no better expression for it. The brilliant warm sunshine +beating in at the open windows and at the door upon the balcony, the +shouts below, the splash of oars, the tinkle of bells, the prolonged +boom of the cannon at midday, and the feeling of perfect, perfect +freedom, did wonders with me; I felt as though I were growing strong, +broad wings which were bearing me God knows whither. And what charm, +what joy at times at the thought that another life was so close to mine! +that I was the servant, the guardian, the friend, the indispensable +fellow-traveller of a creature, young, beautiful, wealthy, but weak, +lonely, and insulted! It is pleasant even to be ill when you know that +there are people who are looking forward to your convalescence as to a +holiday. One day I heard her whispering behind the door with my doctor, +and then she came in to me with tear-stained eyes. It was a bad sign, +but I was touched, and there was a wonderful lightness in my heart.</p> + +<p>But at last they allowed me to go out on the balcony. The sunshine and +the breeze from the sea caressed and fondled my sick body. I looked down +at the familiar gondolas, which glide with feminine grace smoothly and +majestically as though they were alive, and felt all the luxury of this +original, fascinating civilisation. There was a smell of the sea. Some +one was playing a stringed instrument and two voices were singing. How +delightful it was! How unlike it was to that Petersburg night when the +wet snow was falling and beating so rudely on our faces. If one looks +straight across the canal, one sees the sea, and on the wide expanse +towards the horizon the sun glittered on the water so dazzlingly that it +hurt one's eyes to look at it. My soul yearned towards that lovely sea, +which was so akin to me and to which I had given up my youth. I longed +to live—to live—and nothing more.</p> + +<p>A fortnight later I began walking freely. I loved to sit in the sun, and +to listen to the gondoliers without understanding them, and for hours +together to gaze at the little house where, they said, Desdemona +lived—a naïve, mournful little house with a demure expression, as light +as lace, so light that it looked as though one could lift it from its +place with one hand. I stood for a long time by the tomb of Canova, and +could not take my eyes off the melancholy lion. And in the Palace of the +Doges I was always drawn to the corner where the portrait of the unhappy +Marino Faliero was painted over with black. "It is fine to be an artist, +a poet, a dramatist," I thought, "but since that is not vouchsafed to +me, if only I could go in for mysticism! If only I had a grain of some +faith to add to the unruffled peace and serenity that fills the soul!"</p> + +<p>In the evening we ate oysters, drank wine, and went out in a gondola. I +remember our black gondola swayed softly in the same place while the +water faintly gurgled under it. Here and there the reflection of the +stars and the lights on the bank quivered and trembled. Not far from us +in a gondola, hung with coloured lanterns which were reflected in the +water, there were people singing. The sounds of guitars, of violins, of +mandolins, of men's and women's voices, were audible in the dark. +Zinaida Fyodorovna, pale, with a grave, almost stern face, was sitting +beside me, compressing her lips and clenching her hands. She was +thinking about something; she did not stir an eyelash, nor hear me. Her +face, her attitude, and her fixed, expressionless gaze, and her +incredibly miserable, dreadful, and icy-cold memories, and around her +the gondolas, the lights, the music, the song with its vigorous +passionate cry of "<i>Jam-mo! Jam-mo!</i>"—what contrasts in life! When she +sat like that, with tightly clasped hands, stony, mournful, I used to +feel as though we were both characters in some novel in the +old-fashioned style called "The Ill-fated," "The Abandoned," or +something of the sort. Both of us: she—the ill-fated, the abandoned; +and I—the faithful, devoted friend, the dreamer, and, if you like it, a +superfluous man, a failure capable of nothing but coughing and dreaming, +and perhaps sacrificing myself.</p> + +<p>But who and what needed my sacrifices now? And what had I to sacrifice, +indeed?</p> + +<p>When we came in in the evening we always drank tea in her room and +talked. We did not shrink from touching on old, unhealed wounds—on the +contrary, for some reason I felt a positive pleasure in telling her +about my life at Orlov's, or referring openly to relations which I knew +and which could not have been concealed from me.</p> + +<p>"At moments I hated you," I said to her. "When he was capricious, +condescending, told you lies, I marvelled how it was you did not see, +did not understand, when it was all so clear! You kissed his hands, you +knelt to him, you flattered him ..."</p> + +<p>"When I ... kissed his hands and knelt to him, I loved him ..." she +said, blushing crimson.</p> + +<p>"Can it have been so difficult to see through him? A fine sphinx! A +sphinx indeed—a <i>kammer-junker!</i> I reproach you for nothing, God +forbid," I went on, feeling I was coarse, that I had not the tact, the +delicacy which are so essential when you have to do with a +fellow-creature's soul; in early days before I knew her I had not +noticed this defect in myself. "But how could you fail to see what he +was," I went on, speaking more softly and more diffidently, however.</p> + +<p>"You mean to say you despise my past, and you are right," she said, +deeply stirred. "You belong to a special class of men who cannot be +judged by ordinary standards; your moral requirements are exceptionally +rigorous, and I understand you can't forgive things. I understand you, +and if sometimes I say the opposite, it doesn't mean that I look at +things differently from you; I speak the same old nonsense simply +because I haven't had time yet to wear out my old clothes and +prejudices. I, too, hate and despise my past, and Orlov and my love.... +What was that love? It's positively absurd now," she said, going to the +window and looking down at the canal. "All this love only clouds the +conscience and confuses the mind. The meaning of life is to be found +only in one thing—fighting. To get one's heel on the vile head of the +serpent and to crush it! That's the meaning of life. In that alone or in +nothing."</p> + +<p>I told her long stories of my past, and described my really astounding +adventures. But of the change that had taken place in me I did not say +one word. She always listened to me with great attention, and at +interesting places she rubbed her hands as though vexed that it had not +yet been her lot to experience such adventures, such joys and terrors. +Then she would suddenly fall to musing and retreat into herself, and I +could see from her face that she was not attending to me.</p> + +<p>I closed the windows that looked out on the canal and asked whether we +should not have the fire lighted.</p> + +<p>"No, never mind. I am not cold," she said, smiling listlessly. "I only +feel weak. Do you know, I fancy I have grown much wiser lately. I have +extraordinary, original ideas now. When I think of my past, of my life +then ... people in general, in fact, it is all summed up for me in the +image of my stepmother. Coarse, insolent, soulless, false, depraved, and +a morphia maniac too. My father, who was feeble and weak-willed, married +my mother for her money and drove her into consumption; but his second +wife, my stepmother, he loved passionately, insanely.... What I had to +put up with! But what is the use of talking! And so, as I say, it is all +summed up in her image.... And it vexes me that my stepmother is dead. I +should like to meet her now!"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she answered with a laugh and a graceful movement of her +head. "Good-night. You must get well. As soon as you are well, we'll +take up our work ... It's time to begin."</p> + +<p>After I had said good-night and had my hand on the door-handle, she +said:</p> + +<p>"What do you think? Is Polya still living there?"</p> + +<p>"Probably."</p> + +<p>And I went off to my room. So we spent a whole month. One grey morning +when we both stood at my window, looking at the clouds which were moving +up from the sea, and at the darkening canal, expecting every minute that +it would pour with rain, and when a thick, narrow streak of rain covered +the sea as though with a muslin veil, we both felt suddenly dreary. The +same day we both set off for Florence.</p> + +<h3>XVI</h3> + +<p>It was autumn, at Nice. One morning when I went into her room she was +sitting on a low chair, bent together and huddled up, with her legs +crossed and her face hidden in her hands. She was weeping bitterly, with +sobs, and her long, unbrushed hair fell on her knees. The impression of +the exquisite marvellous sea which I had only just seen and of which I +wanted to tell her, left me all at once, and my heart ached.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" I asked; she took one hand from her face and motioned me +to go away. "What is it?" I repeated, and for the first time during our +acquaintance I kissed her hand.</p> + +<p>"No, it's nothing, nothing," she said quickly. "Oh, it's nothing, +nothing.... Go away.... You see, I am not dressed."</p> + +<p>I went out overwhelmed. The calm and serene mood in which I had been for +so long was poisoned by compassion. I had a passionate longing to fall +at her feet, to entreat her not to weep in solitude, but to share her +grief with me, and the monotonous murmur of the sea already sounded a +gloomy prophecy in my ears, and I foresaw fresh tears, fresh troubles, +and fresh losses in the future. "What is she crying about? What is it?" +I wondered, recalling her face and her agonised look. I remembered she +was with child. She tried to conceal her condition from other people, +and also from herself. At home she went about in a loose wrapper or in a +blouse with extremely full folds over the bosom, and when she went out +anywhere she laced herself in so tightly that on two occasions she +fainted when we were out. She never spoke to me of her condition, and +when I hinted that it might be as well to see a doctor, she flushed +crimson and said not a word.</p> + +<p>When I went to see her next time she was already dressed and had her +hair done.</p> + +<p>"There, there," I said, seeing that she was ready to cry again. "We had +better go to the sea and have a talk."</p> + +<p>"I can't talk. Forgive me, I am in the mood now when one wants to be +alone. And, if you please, Vladimir Ivanitch, another time you want to +come into my room, be so good as to give a knock at the door."</p> + +<p>That "be so good" had a peculiar, unfeminine sound. I went away. My +accursed Petersburg mood came back, and all my dreams were crushed and +crumpled up like leaves by the heat. I felt I was alone again and there +was no nearness between us. I was no more to her than that cobweb to +that palm-tree, which hangs on it by chance and which will be torn off +and carried away by the wind. I walked about the square where the band +was playing, went into the Casino; there I looked at overdressed and +heavily perfumed women, and every one of them glanced at me as though +she would say: "You are alone; that's all right." Then I went out on the +terrace and looked for a long time at the sea. There was not one sail on +the horizon. On the left bank, in the lilac-coloured mist, there were +mountains, gardens, towers, and houses, the sun was sparkling over it +all, but it was all alien, indifferent, an incomprehensible tangle.</p> + +<h3>XVII</h3> + +<p>She used as before to come into my room in the morning to coffee, but we +no longer dined together, as she said she was not hungry; and she lived +only on coffee, tea, and various trifles such as oranges and caramels.</p> + +<p>And we no longer had conversations in the evening. I don't know why it +was like this. Ever since the day when I had found her in tears she had +treated me somehow lightly, at times casually, even ironically, and for +some reason called me "My good sir." What had before seemed to her +terrible, heroic, marvellous, and had stirred her envy and enthusiasm, +did not touch her now at all, and usually after listening to me, she +stretched and said:</p> + +<p>"Yes, 'great things were done in days of yore,' my good sir."</p> + +<p>It sometimes happened even that I did not see her for days together. I +would knock timidly and guiltily at her door and get no answer; I would +knock again—still silence.... I would stand near the door and listen; +then the chambermaid would pass and say coldly, "<i>Madame est partie.</i>" +Then I would walk about the passages of the hotel, walk and walk.... +English people, full-bosomed ladies, waiters in swallow-tails.... And as +I keep gazing at the long striped rug that stretches the whole length of +the corridor, the idea occurs to me that I am playing in the life of +this woman a strange, probably false part, and that it is beyond my +power to alter that part. I run to my room and fall on my bed, and think +and think, and can come to no conclusion; and all that is clear to me is +that I want to live, and that the plainer and the colder and the harder +her face grows, the nearer she is to me, and the more intensely and +painfully I feel our kinship. Never mind "My good sir," never mind her +light careless tone, never mind anything you like, only don't leave me, +my treasure. I am afraid to be alone.</p> + +<p>Then I go out into the corridor again, listen in a tremor.... I have no +dinner; I don't notice the approach of evening. At last about eleven I +hear the familiar footstep, and at the turn near the stairs Zinaida +Fyodorovna comes into sight.</p> + +<p>"Are you taking a walk?" she would ask as she passes me. "You had better +go out into the air.... Good-night!"</p> + +<p>"But shall we not meet again to-day?"</p> + +<p>"I think it's late. But as you like."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, where have you been?" I would ask, following her into the +room.</p> + +<p>"Where? To Monte Carlo." She took ten gold coins out of her pocket and +said: "Look, my good sir; I have won. That's at roulette."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! As though you would gamble."</p> + +<p>"Why not? I am going again to-morrow."</p> + +<p>I imagined her with a sick and morbid face, in her condition, tightly +laced, standing near the gaming-table in a crowd of cocottes, of old +women in their dotage who swarm round the gold like flies round the +honey. I remembered she had gone off to Monte Carlo for some reason in +secret from me.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you," I said one day. "You wouldn't go there."</p> + +<p>"Don't agitate yourself. I can't lose much."</p> + +<p>"It's not the question of what you lose," I said with annoyance. "Has it +never occurred to you while you were playing there that the glitter of +gold, all these women, young and old, the croupiers, all the +surroundings—that it is all a vile, loathsome mockery at the toiler's +labour, at his bloody sweat?"</p> + +<p>"If one doesn't play, what is one to do here?" she asked. "The toiler's +labour and his bloody sweat—all that eloquence you can put off till +another time; but now, since you have begun, let me go on. Let me ask +you bluntly, what is there for me to do here, and what am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"What are you to do?" I said, shrugging my shoulders. "That's a question +that can't be answered straight off."</p> + +<p>"I beg you to answer me honestly, Vladimir Ivanitch," she said, and her +face looked angry. "Once I have brought myself to ask you this question, +I am not going to listen to stock phrases. I am asking you," she went +on, beating her hand on the table, as though marking time, "what ought I +to do here? And not only here at Nice, but in general?"</p> + +<p>I did not speak, but looked out of window to the sea. My heart was +beating terribly.</p> + +<p>"Vladimir Ivanitch," she said softly and breathlessly; it was hard for +her to speak—"Vladimir Ivanitch, if you do not believe in the cause +yourself, if you no longer think of going back to it, why ... why did +you drag me out of Petersburg? Why did you make me promises, why did you +rouse mad hopes? Your convictions have changed; you have become a +different man, and nobody blames you for it—our convictions are not +always in our power. But ... but, Vladimir Ivanitch, for God's sake, why +are you not sincere?" she went on softly, coming up to me. "All these +months when I have been dreaming aloud, raving, going into raptures over +my plans, remodelling my life on a new pattern, why didn't you tell me +the truth? Why were you silent or encouraged me by your stories, and +behaved as though you were in complete sympathy with me? Why was it? Why +was it necessary?"</p> + +<p>"It's difficult to acknowledge one's bankruptcy," I said, turning round, +but not looking at her. "Yes, I have no faith; I am worn out. I have +lost heart.... It is difficult to be truthful—very difficult, and I +held my tongue. God forbid that any one should have to go through what I +have been through."</p> + +<p>I felt that I was on the point of tears, and ceased speaking.</p> + +<p>"Vladimir Ivanitch," she said, and took me by both hands, "you have been +through so much and seen so much of life, you know more than I do; think +seriously, and tell me, what am I to do? Teach me! If you haven't the +strength to go forward yourself and take others with you, at least show +me where to go. After all, I am a living, feeling, thinking being. To +sink into a false position ... to play an absurd part ... is painful to +me. I don't reproach you, I don't blame you; I only ask you."</p> + +<p>Tea was brought in.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, giving me a glass. "What do you say to +me?"</p> + +<p>"There is more light in the world than you see through your window," I +answered. "And there are other people besides me, Zinaida Fyodorovna."</p> + +<p>"Then tell me who they are," she said eagerly. "That's all I ask of +you."</p> + +<p>"And I want to say, too," I went on, "one can serve an idea in more than +one calling. If one has made a mistake and lost faith in one, one may +find another. The world of ideas is large and cannot be exhausted."</p> + +<p>"The world of ideas!" she said, and she looked into my face +sarcastically. "Then we had better leave off talking. What's the +use?..."</p> + +<p>She flushed.</p> + +<p>"The world of ideas!" she repeated. She threw her dinner-napkin aside, +and an expression of indignation and contempt came into her face. "All +your fine ideas, I see, lead up to one inevitable, essential step: I +ought to become your mistress. That's what's wanted. To be taken up with +ideas without being the mistress of an honourable, progressive man, is +as good as not understanding the ideas. One has to begin with that ... +that is, with being your mistress, and the rest will come of itself."</p> + +<p>"You are irritated, Zinaida Fyodorovna," I said.</p> + +<p>"No, I am sincere!" she cried, breathing hard. "I am sincere!"</p> + +<p>"You are sincere, perhaps, but you are in error, and it hurts me to hear +you."</p> + +<p>"I am in error?" she laughed. "Any one else might say that, but not you, +my dear sir! I may seem to you indelicate, cruel, but I don't care: you +love me? You love me, don't you?"</p> + +<p>I shrugged my shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Yes, shrug your shoulders!" she went on sarcastically. "When you were +ill I heard you in your delirium, and ever since these adoring eyes, +these sighs, and edifying conversations about friendship, about +spiritual kinship.... But the point is, why haven't you been sincere? +Why have you concealed what is and talked about what isn't? Had you said +from the beginning what ideas exactly led you to drag me from +Petersburg, I should have known. I should have poisoned myself then as I +meant to, and there would have been none of this tedious farce.... But +what's the use of talking!"</p> + +<p>With a wave of the hand she sat down.</p> + +<p>"You speak to me as though you suspected me of dishonourable +intentions," I said, offended.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well. What's the use of talking! I don't suspect you of +intentions, but of having no intentions. If you had any, I should have +known them by now. You had nothing but ideas and love. For the +present—ideas and love, and in prospect—me as your mistress. That's in +the order of things both in life and in novels.... Here you abused him," +she said, and she slapped the table with her hand, "but one can't help +agreeing with him. He has good reasons for despising these ideas."</p> + +<p>"He does not despise ideas; he is afraid of them," I cried. "He is a +coward and a liar."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well. He is a coward and a liar, and deceived me. And you? +Excuse my frankness; what are you? He deceived me and left me to take my +chance in Petersburg, and you have deceived me and abandoned me here. +But he did not mix up ideas with his deceit, and you ..."</p> + +<p>"For goodness' sake, why are you saying this?" I cried in horror, +wringing my hands and going up to her quickly. "No, Zinaida Fyodorovna, +this is cynicism. You must not be so despairing; listen to me," I went +on, catching at a thought which flashed dimly upon me, and which seemed +to me might still save us both. "Listen. I have passed through so many +experiences in my time that my head goes round at the thought of them, +and I have realised with my mind, with my racked soul, that man finds +his true destiny in nothing if not in self-sacrificing love for his +neighbour. It is towards that we must strive, and that is our +destination! That is my faith!"</p> + +<p>I wanted to go on to speak of mercy, of forgiveness, but there was an +insincere note in my voice, and I was embarrassed.</p> + +<p>"I want to live!" I said genuinely. "To live, to live! I want peace, +tranquillity; I want warmth—this sea here—to have you near. Oh, how I +wish I could rouse in you the same thirst for life! You spoke just now +of love, but it would be enough for me to have you near, to hear your +voice, to watch the look in your face ...!"</p> + +<p>She flushed crimson, and to hinder my speaking, said quickly:</p> + +<p>"You love life, and I hate it. So our ways lie apart."</p> + +<p>She poured herself out some tea, but did not touch it, went into the +bedroom, and lay down.</p> + +<p>"I imagine it is better to cut short this conversation," she said to me +from within. "Everything is over for me, and I want nothing.... What +more is there to say?"</p> + +<p>"No, it's not all over!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well!... I know! I am sick of it.... That's enough."</p> + +<p>I got up, took a turn from one end of the room to the other, and went +out into the corridor. When late at night I went to her door and +listened, I distinctly heard her crying.</p> + +<p>Next morning the waiter, handing me my clothes, informed me, with a +smile, that the lady in number thirteen was confined. I dressed somehow, +and almost fainting with terror ran to Zinaida Fyodorovna. In her room I +found a doctor, a midwife, and an elderly Russian lady from Harkov, +called Darya Milhailovna. There was a smell of ether. I had scarcely +crossed the threshold when from the room where she was lying I heard a +low, plaintive moan, and, as though it had been wafted me by the wind +from Russia, I thought of Orlov, his irony, Polya, the Neva, the +drifting snow, then the cab without an apron, the prediction I had read +in the cold morning sky, and the despairing cry "Nina! Nina!"</p> + +<p>"Go in to her," said the lady.</p> + +<p>I went in to see Zinaida Fyodorovna, feeling as though I were the father +of the child. She was lying with her eyes closed, looking thin and pale, +wearing a white cap edged with lace. I remember there were two +expressions on her face: one—cold, indifferent, apathetic; the other—a +look of childish helplessness given her by the white cap. She did not +hear me come in, or heard, perhaps, but did not pay attention. I stood, +looked at her, and waited.</p> + +<p>But her face was contorted with pain; she opened her eyes and gazed at +the ceiling, as though wondering what was happening to her.... There was +a look of loathing on her face.</p> + +<p>"It's horrible ..." she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Zinaida Fyodorovna." I spoke her name softly. She looked at me +indifferently, listlessly, and closed her eyes. I stood there a little +while, then went away.</p> + +<p>At night, Darya Mihailovna informed me that the child, a girl, was born, +but that the mother was in a dangerous condition. Then I heard noise and +bustle in the passage. Darya Mihailovna came to me again and with a face +of despair, wringing her hands, said:</p> + +<p>"Oh, this is awful! The doctor suspects that she has taken poison! Oh, +how badly Russians do behave here!"</p> + +<p>And at twelve o'clock the next day Zinaida Fyodorovna died.</p> + +<h3>XVIII</h3> + +<p>Two years had passed. Circumstances had changed; I had come to +Petersburg again and could live here openly. I was no longer afraid of +being and seeming sentimental, and gave myself up entirely to the +fatherly, or rather idolatrous feeling roused in me by Sonya, Zinaida +Fyodorovna's child. I fed her with my own hands, gave her her bath, put +her to bed, never took my eyes off her for nights together, and screamed +when it seemed to me that the nurse was just going to drop her. My +thirst for normal ordinary life became stronger and more acute as time +went on, but wider visions stopped short at Sonya, as though I had found +in her at last just what I needed. I loved the child madly. In her I saw +the continuation of my life, and it was not exactly that I fancied, but +I felt, I almost believed, that when I had cast off at last my long, +bony, bearded frame, I should go on living in those little blue eyes, +that silky flaxen hair, those dimpled pink hands which stroked my face +so lovingly and were clasped round my neck.</p> + +<p>Sonya's future made me anxious. Orlov was her father; in her birth +certificate she was called Krasnovsky, and the only person who knew of +her existence, and took interest in her—that is, I—was at death's +door. I had to think about her seriously.</p> + +<p>The day after I arrived in Petersburg I went to see Orlov. The door was +opened to me by a stout old fellow with red whiskers and no moustache, +who looked like a German. Polya, who was tidying the drawing-room, did +not recognise me, but Orlov knew me at once.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Mr. Revolutionist!" he said, looking at me with curiosity, and +laughing. "What fate has brought you?"</p> + +<p>He was not changed in the least: the same well-groomed, unpleasant face, +the same irony. And a new book was lying on the table just as of old, +with an ivory paper-knife thrust in it. He had evidently been reading +before I came in. He made me sit down, offered me a cigar, and with a +delicacy only found in well-bred people, concealing the unpleasant +feeling aroused by my face and my wasted figure, observed casually that +I was not in the least changed, and that he would have known me anywhere +in spite of my having grown a beard. We talked of the weather, of Paris. +To dispose as quickly as possible of the oppressive, inevitable +question, which weighed upon him and me, he asked:</p> + +<p>"Zinaida Fyodorovna is dead?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered.</p> + +<p>"In childbirth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in childbirth. The doctor suspected another cause of death, but +... it is more comforting for you and for me to think that she died in +childbirth."</p> + +<p>He sighed decorously and was silent. The angel of silence passed over +us, as they say.</p> + +<p>"Yes. And here everything is as it used to be—no changes," he said +briskly, seeing that I was looking about the room. "My father, as you +know, has left the service and is living in retirement; I am still in +the same department. Do you remember Pekarsky? He is just the same as +ever. Gruzin died of diphtheria a year ago.... Kukushkin is alive, and +often speaks of you. By the way," said Orlov, dropping his eyes with an +air of reserve, "when Kukushkin heard who you were, he began telling +every one you had attacked him and tried to murder him ... and that he +only just escaped with his life."</p> + +<p>I did not speak.</p> + +<p>"Old servants do not forget their masters.... It's very nice of you," +said Orlov jocosely. "Will you have some wine and some coffee, though? I +will tell them to make some."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I have come to see you about a very important matter, +Georgy Ivanitch."</p> + +<p>"I am not very fond of important matters, but I shall be glad to be of +service to you. What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"You see," I began, growing agitated, "I have here with me Zinaida +Fyodorovna's daughter.... Hitherto I have brought her up, but, as you +see, before many days I shall be an empty sound. I should like to die +with the thought that she is provided for."</p> + +<p>Orlov coloured a little, frowned a little, and took a cursory and sullen +glance at me. He was unpleasantly affected, not so much by the +"important matter" as by my words about death, about becoming an empty +sound.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it must be thought about," he said, screening his eyes as though +from the sun. "Thank you. You say it's a girl?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a girl. A wonderful child!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Of course, it's not a lap-dog, but a human being. I understand we +must consider it seriously. I am prepared to do my part, and am very +grateful to you."</p> + +<p>He got up, walked about, biting his nails, and stopped before a picture.</p> + +<p>"We must think about it," he said in a hollow voice, standing with his +back to me. "I shall go to Pekarsky's to-day and will ask him to go to +Krasnovsky's. I don't think he will make much ado about consenting to +take the child."</p> + +<p>"But, excuse me, I don't see what Krasnovsky has got to do with it," I +said, also getting up and walking to a picture at the other end of the +room.</p> + +<p>"But she bears his name, of course!" said Orlov.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he may be legally obliged to accept the child—I don't know; but I +came to you, Georgy Ivanitch, not to discuss the legal aspect."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, you are right," he agreed briskly. "I believe I am talking +nonsense. But don't excite yourself. We will decide the matter to our +mutual satisfaction. If one thing won't do, we'll try another; and if +that won't do, we'll try a third—one way or another this delicate +question shall be settled. Pekarsky will arrange it all. Be so good as +to leave me your address and I will let you know at once what we decide. +Where are you living?"</p> + +<p>Orlov wrote down my address, sighed, and said with a smile:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord, what a job it is to be the father of a little daughter! But +Pekarsky will arrange it all. He is a sensible man. Did you stay long in +Paris?"</p> + +<p>"Two months."</p> + +<p>We were silent. Orlov was evidently afraid I should begin talking of the +child again, and to turn my attention in another direction, said:</p> + +<p>"You have probably forgotten your letter by now. But I have kept it. I +understand your mood at the time, and, I must own, I respect that +letter. 'Damnable cold blood,' 'Asiatic,' 'coarse laugh'—that was +charming and characteristic," he went on with an ironical smile. "And +the fundamental thought is perhaps near the truth, though one might +dispute the question endlessly. That is," he hesitated, "not dispute the +thought itself, but your attitude to the question—your temperament, so +to say. Yes, my life is abnormal, corrupted, of no use to any one, and +what prevents me from beginning a new life is cowardice—there you are +quite right. But that you take it so much to heart, are troubled, and +reduced to despair by it—that's irrational; there you are quite wrong."</p> + +<p>"A living man cannot help being troubled and reduced to despair when he +sees that he himself is going to ruin and others are going to ruin round +him."</p> + +<p>"Who doubts it! I am not advocating indifference; all I ask for is an +objective attitude to life. The more objective, the less danger of +falling into error. One must look into the root of things, and try to +see in every phenomenon a cause of all the other causes. We have grown +feeble, slack—degraded, in fact. Our generation is entirely composed of +neurasthenics and whimperers; we do nothing but talk of fatigue and +exhaustion. But the fault is neither yours nor mine; we are of too +little consequence to affect the destiny of a whole generation. We must +suppose for that larger, more general causes with a solid <i>raison +d'être</i> from the biological point of view. We are neurasthenics, flabby, +renegades, but perhaps it's necessary and of service for generations +that will come after us. Not one hair falls from the head without the +will of the Heavenly Father—in other words, nothing happens by chance +in Nature and in human environment. Everything has its cause and is +inevitable. And if so, why should we worry and write despairing +letters?"</p> + +<p>"That's all very well," I said, thinking a little. "I believe it will be +easier and clearer for the generations to come; our experience will be +at their service. But one wants to live apart from future generations +and not only for their sake. Life is only given us once, and one wants +to live it boldly, with full consciousness and beauty. One wants to play +a striking, independent, noble part; one wants to make history so that +those generations may not have the right to say of each of us that we +were nonentities or worse.... I believe what is going on about us is +inevitable and not without a purpose, but what have I to do with that +inevitability? Why should my ego be lost?"</p> + +<p>"Well, there's no help for it," sighed Orlov, getting up and, as it +were, giving me to understand that our conversation was over.</p> + +<p>I took my hat.</p> + +<p>"We've only been sitting here half an hour, and how many questions we +have settled, when you come to think of it!" said Orlov, seeing me into +the hall. "So I will see to that matter.... I will see Pekarsky +to-day.... Don't be uneasy."</p> + +<p>He stood waiting while I put on my coat, and was obviously relieved at +the feeling that I was going away.</p> + +<p>"Georgy Ivanitch, give me back my letter," I said.</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>He went to his study, and a minute later returned with the letter. I +thanked him and went away.</p> + +<p>The next day I got a letter from him. He congratulated me on the +satisfactory settlement of the question. Pekarsky knew a lady, he wrote, +who kept a school, something like a kindergarten, where she took quite +little children. The lady could be entirely depended upon, but before +concluding anything with her it would be as well to discuss the matter +with Krasnovsky—it was a matter of form. He advised me to see Pekarsky +at once and to take the birth certificate with me, if I had it. "Rest +assured of the sincere respect and devotion of your humble servant...."</p> + +<p>I read this letter, and Sonya sat on the table and gazed at me +attentively without blinking, as though she knew her fate was being +decided.</p> + +<h2><a name="THE_HUSBAND" id="THE_HUSBAND"></a>THE HUSBAND</h2> + +<p class="nind"><big>I</big><small>N</small> the course of the manoeuvres the N—— cavalry regiment halted for a +night at the district town of K——. Such an event as the visit of +officers always has the most exciting and inspiring effect on the +inhabitants of provincial towns. The shopkeepers dream of getting rid of +the rusty sausages and "best brand" sardines that have been lying for +ten years on their shelves; the inns and restaurants keep open all +night; the Military Commandant, his secretary, and the local garrison +put on their best uniforms; the police flit to and fro like mad, while +the effect on the ladies is beyond all description.</p> + +<p>The ladies of K——, hearing the regiment approaching, forsook their +pans of boiling jam and ran into the street. Forgetting their morning +<i>deshabille</i> and general untidiness, they rushed breathless with +excitement to meet the regiment, and listened greedily to the band +playing the march. Looking at their pale, ecstatic faces, one might have +thought those strains came from some heavenly choir rather than from a +military brass band.</p> + +<p>"The regiment!" they cried joyfully. "The regiment is coming!"</p> + +<p>What could this unknown regiment that came by chance to-day and would +depart at dawn to-morrow mean to them?</p> + +<p>Afterwards, when the officers were standing in the middle of the square, +and, with their hands behind them, discussing the question of billets, +all the ladies were gathered together at the examining magistrate's and +vying with one another in their criticisms of the regiment. They already +knew, goodness knows how, that the colonel was married, but not living +with his wife; that the senior officer's wife had a baby born dead every +year; that the adjutant was hopelessly in love with some countess, and +had even once attempted suicide. They knew everything. When a +pock-marked soldier in a red shirt darted past the windows, they knew +for certain that it was Lieutenant Rymzov's orderly running about the +town, trying to get some English bitter ale on tick for his master. They +had only caught a passing glimpse of the officers' backs, but had +already decided that there was not one handsome or interesting man among +them.... Having talked to their hearts' content, they sent for the +Military Commandant and the committee of the club, and instructed them +at all costs to make arrangements for a dance.</p> + +<p>Their wishes were carried out. At nine o'clock in the evening the +military band was playing in the street before the club, while in the +club itself the officers were dancing with the ladies of K——. The +ladies felt as though they were on wings. Intoxicated by the dancing, +the music, and the clank of spurs, they threw themselves heart and soul +into making the acquaintance of their new partners, and quite forgot +their old civilian friends. Their fathers and husbands, forced +temporarily into the background, crowded round the meagre refreshment +table in the entrance hall. All these government cashiers, secretaries, +clerks, and superintendents—stale, sickly-looking, clumsy figures—were +perfectly well aware of their inferiority. They did not even enter the +ball-room, but contented themselves with watching their wives and +daughters in the distance dancing with the accomplished and graceful +officers.</p> + +<p>Among the husbands was Shalikov, the tax-collector—a narrow, spiteful +soul, given to drink, with a big, closely cropped head, and thick, +protruding lips. He had had a university education; there had been a +time when he used to read progressive literature and sing students' +songs, but now, as he said of himself, he was a tax-collector and +nothing more.</p> + +<p>He stood leaning against the doorpost, his eyes fixed on his wife, Anna +Pavlovna, a little brunette of thirty, with a long nose and a pointed +chin. Tightly laced, with her face carefully powdered, she danced +without pausing for breath—danced till she was ready to drop exhausted. +But though she was exhausted in body, her spirit was inexhaustible.... +One could see as she danced that her thoughts were with the past, that +faraway past when she used to dance at the "College for Young Ladies," +dreaming of a life of luxury and gaiety, and never doubting that her +husband was to be a prince or, at the worst, a baron.</p> + +<p>The tax-collector watched, scowling with spite....</p> + +<p>It was not jealousy he was feeling. He was ill-humoured—first, because +the room was taken up with dancing and there was nowhere he could play a +game of cards; secondly, because he could not endure the sound of wind +instruments; and, thirdly, because he fancied the officers treated the +civilians somewhat too casually and disdainfully. But what above +everything revolted him and moved him to indignation was the expression +of happiness on his wife's face.</p> + +<p>"It makes me sick to look at her!" he muttered. "Going on for forty, and +nothing to boast of at any time, and she must powder her face and lace +herself up! And frizzing her hair! Flirting and making faces, and +fancying she's doing the thing in style! Ugh! you're a pretty figure, +upon my soul!"</p> + +<p>Anna Pavlovna was so lost in the dance that she did not once glance at +her husband.</p> + +<p>"Of course not! Where do we poor country bumpkins come in!" sneered the +tax-collector.</p> + +<p>"We are at a discount now.... We're clumsy seals, unpolished provincial +bears, and she's the queen of the ball! She has kept enough of her looks +to please even officers ... They'd not object to making love to her, I +dare say!"</p> + +<p>During the mazurka the tax-collector's face twitched with spite. A +black-haired officer with prominent eyes and Tartar cheekbones danced +the mazurka with Anna Pavlovna. Assuming a stern expression, he worked +his legs with gravity and feeling, and so crooked his knees that he +looked like a jack-a-dandy pulled by strings, while Anna Pavlovna, pale +and thrilled, bending her figure languidly and turning her eyes up, +tried to look as though she scarcely touched the floor, and evidently +felt herself that she was not on earth, not at the local club, but +somewhere far, far away—in the clouds. Not only her face but her whole +figure was expressive of beatitude.... The tax-collector could endure it +no longer; he felt a desire to jeer at that beatitude, to make Anna +Pavlovna feel that she had forgotten herself, that life was by no means +so delightful as she fancied now in her excitement....</p> + +<p>"You wait; I'll teach you to smile so blissfully," he muttered. "You are +not a boarding-school miss, you are not a girl. An old fright ought to +realise she is a fright!"</p> + +<p>Petty feelings of envy, vexation, wounded vanity, of that small, +provincial misanthropy engendered in petty officials by vodka and a +sedentary life, swarmed in his heart like mice. Waiting for the end of +the mazurka, he went into the hall and walked up to his wife. Anna +Pavlovna was sitting with her partner, and, flirting her fan and +coquettishly dropping her eyelids, was describing how she used to dance +in Petersburg (her lips were pursed up like a rosebud, and she +pronounced "at home in Pütürsburg").</p> + +<p>"Anyuta, let us go home," croaked the tax-collector.</p> + +<p>Seeing her husband standing before her, Anna Pavlovna started as though +recalling the fact that she had a husband; then she flushed all over: +she felt ashamed that she had such a sickly-looking, ill-humoured, +ordinary husband.</p> + +<p>"Let us go home," repeated the tax-collector.</p> + +<p>"Why? It's quite early!"</p> + +<p>"I beg you to come home!" said the tax-collector deliberately, with a +spiteful expression.</p> + +<p>"Why? Has anything happened?" Anna Pavlovna asked in a flutter.</p> + +<p>"Nothing has happened, but I wish you to go home at once.... I wish it; +that's enough, and without further talk, please."</p> + +<p>Anna Pavlovna was not afraid of her husband, but she felt ashamed on +account of her partner, who was looking at her husband with surprise and +amusement. She got up and moved a little apart with her husband.</p> + +<p>"What notion is this?" she began. "Why go home? Why, it's not eleven +o'clock."</p> + +<p>"I wish it, and that's enough. Come along, and that's all about it."</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly! Go home alone if you want to."</p> + +<p>"All right; then I shall make a scene."</p> + +<p>The tax-collector saw the look of beatitude gradually vanish from his +wife's face, saw how ashamed and miserable she was—and he felt a little +happier.</p> + +<p>"Why do you want me at once?" asked his wife.</p> + +<p>"I don't want you, but I wish you to be at home. I wish it, that's all."</p> + +<p>At first Anna Pavlovna refused to hear of it, then she began entreating +her husband to let her stay just another half-hour; then, without +knowing why, she began to apologise, to protest—and all in a whisper, +with a smile, that the spectators might not suspect that she was having +a tiff with her husband. She began assuring him she would not stay long, +only another ten minutes, only five minutes; but the tax-collector stuck +obstinately to his point.</p> + +<p>"Stay if you like," he said, "but I'll make a scene if you do."</p> + +<p>And as she talked to her husband Anna Pavlovna looked thinner, older, +plainer. Pale, biting her lips, and almost crying, she went out to the +entry and began putting on her things.</p> + +<p>"You are not going?" asked the ladies in surprise. "Anna Pavlovna, you +are not going, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Her head aches," said the tax-collector for his wife.</p> + +<p>Coming out of the club, the husband and wife walked all the way home in +silence. The tax-collector walked behind his wife, and watching her +downcast, sorrowful, humiliated little figure, he recalled the look of +beatitude which had so irritated him at the club, and the consciousness +that the beatitude was gone filled his soul with triumph. He was pleased +and satisfied, and at the same time he felt the lack of something; he +would have liked to go back to the club and make every one feel dreary +and miserable, so that all might know how stale and worthless life is +when you walk along the streets in the dark and hear the slush of the +mud under your feet, and when you know that you will wake up next +morning with nothing to look forward to but vodka and cards. Oh, how +awful it is!</p> + +<p>And Anna Pavlovna could scarcely walk.... She was still under the +influence of the dancing, the music, the talk, the lights, and the +noise; she asked herself as she walked along why God had thus afflicted +her. She felt miserable, insulted, and choking with hate as she listened +to her husband's heavy footsteps. She was silent, trying to think of the +most offensive, biting, and venomous word she could hurl at her husband, +and at the same time she was fully aware that no word could penetrate +her tax-collector's hide. What did he care for words? Her bitterest +enemy could not have contrived for her a more helpless position.</p> + +<p>And meanwhile the band was playing and the darkness was full of the most +rousing, intoxicating dance-tunes.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13415 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..14ceb12 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #13415 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/13415) diff --git a/old/13415-8.txt b/old/13415-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b7b78d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13415-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8311 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Lady With The Dog and Other Stories, by Anton Chekhov + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: The Lady With The Dog and Other Stories + +Author: Anton Chekhov + +Release Date: September 9, 2004 [EBook #13415] +[Last updated: July 29, 2017] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY WITH THE DOG *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk + + + + + + +THE TALES OF CHEKHOV + +VOLUME 3 + +THE LADY WITH THE DOG AND OTHER STORIES + +BY + +ANTON TCHEKHOV + +Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE LADY WITH THE DOG + +A DOCTOR'S VISIT + +AN UPHEAVAL + +IONITCH + +THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY + +THE BLACK MONK + +VOLODYA + +AN ANONYMOUS STORY + +THE HUSBAND + + + + +THE LADY WITH THE DOG + + +I + +IT was said that a new person had appeared on the sea-front: a lady with +a little dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had by then been a fortnight +at Yalta, and so was fairly at home there, had begun to take an interest +in new arrivals. Sitting in Verney's pavilion, he saw, walking on the +sea-front, a fair-haired young lady of medium height, wearing a _béret_; +a white Pomeranian dog was running behind her. + +And afterwards he met her in the public gardens and in the square +several times a day. She was walking alone, always wearing the same +_béret_, and always with the same white dog; no one knew who she was, +and every one called her simply "the lady with the dog." + +"If she is here alone without a husband or friends, it wouldn't be amiss +to make her acquaintance," Gurov reflected. + +He was under forty, but he had a daughter already twelve years old, and +two sons at school. He had been married young, when he was a student in +his second year, and by now his wife seemed half as old again as he. She +was a tall, erect woman with dark eyebrows, staid and dignified, and, as +she said of herself, intellectual. She read a great deal, used phonetic +spelling, called her husband, not Dmitri, but Dimitri, and he secretly +considered her unintelligent, narrow, inelegant, was afraid of her, and +did not like to be at home. He had begun being unfaithful to her long +ago--had been unfaithful to her often, and, probably on that account, +almost always spoke ill of women, and when they were talked about in his +presence, used to call them "the lower race." + +It seemed to him that he had been so schooled by bitter experience that +he might call them what he liked, and yet he could not get on for two +days together without "the lower race." In the society of men he was +bored and not himself, with them he was cold and uncommunicative; but +when he was in the company of women he felt free, and knew what to say +to them and how to behave; and he was at ease with them even when he was +silent. In his appearance, in his character, in his whole nature, there +was something attractive and elusive which allured women and disposed +them in his favour; he knew that, and some force seemed to draw him, +too, to them. + +Experience often repeated, truly bitter experience, had taught him long +ago that with decent people, especially Moscow people--always slow to +move and irresolute--every intimacy, which at first so agreeably +diversifies life and appears a light and charming adventure, inevitably +grows into a regular problem of extreme intricacy, and in the long run +the situation becomes unbearable. But at every fresh meeting with an +interesting woman this experience seemed to slip out of his memory, and +he was eager for life, and everything seemed simple and amusing. + +One evening he was dining in the gardens, and the lady in the _béret_ +came up slowly to take the next table. Her expression, her gait, her +dress, and the way she did her hair told him that she was a lady, that +she was married, that she was in Yalta for the first time and alone, and +that she was dull there.... The stories told of the immorality in such +places as Yalta are to a great extent untrue; he despised them, and knew +that such stories were for the most part made up by persons who would +themselves have been glad to sin if they had been able; but when the +lady sat down at the next table three paces from him, he remembered +these tales of easy conquests, of trips to the mountains, and the +tempting thought of a swift, fleeting love affair, a romance with an +unknown woman, whose name he did not know, suddenly took possession of +him. + +He beckoned coaxingly to the Pomeranian, and when the dog came up to him +he shook his finger at it. The Pomeranian growled: Gurov shook his +finger at it again. + +The lady looked at him and at once dropped her eyes. + +"He doesn't bite," she said, and blushed. + +"May I give him a bone?" he asked; and when she nodded he asked +courteously, "Have you been long in Yalta?" + +"Five days." + +"And I have already dragged out a fortnight here." + +There was a brief silence. + +"Time goes fast, and yet it is so dull here!" she said, not looking at +him. + +"That's only the fashion to say it is dull here. A provincial will live +in Belyov or Zhidra and not be dull, and when he comes here it's 'Oh, +the dulness! Oh, the dust!' One would think he came from Grenada." + +She laughed. Then both continued eating in silence, like strangers, but +after dinner they walked side by side; and there sprang up between them +the light jesting conversation of people who are free and satisfied, to +whom it does not matter where they go or what they talk about. They +walked and talked of the strange light on the sea: the water was of a +soft warm lilac hue, and there was a golden streak from the moon upon +it. They talked of how sultry it was after a hot day. Gurov told her +that he came from Moscow, that he had taken his degree in Arts, but had +a post in a bank; that he had trained as an opera-singer, but had given +it up, that he owned two houses in Moscow.... And from her he learnt +that she had grown up in Petersburg, but had lived in S---- since her +marriage two years before, that she was staying another month in Yalta, +and that her husband, who needed a holiday too, might perhaps come and +fetch her. She was not sure whether her husband had a post in a Crown +Department or under the Provincial Council--and was amused by her own +ignorance. And Gurov learnt, too, that she was called Anna Sergeyevna. + +Afterwards he thought about her in his room at the hotel--thought she +would certainly meet him next day; it would be sure to happen. As he got +into bed he thought how lately she had been a girl at school, doing +lessons like his own daughter; he recalled the diffidence, the +angularity, that was still manifest in her laugh and her manner of +talking with a stranger. This must have been the first time in her life +she had been alone in surroundings in which she was followed, looked at, +and spoken to merely from a secret motive which she could hardly fail to +guess. He recalled her slender, delicate neck, her lovely grey eyes. + +"There's something pathetic about her, anyway," he thought, and fell +asleep. + + +II + +A week had passed since they had made acquaintance. It was a holiday. It +was sultry indoors, while in the street the wind whirled the dust round +and round, and blew people's hats off. It was a thirsty day, and Gurov +often went into the pavilion, and pressed Anna Sergeyevna to have syrup +and water or an ice. One did not know what to do with oneself. + +In the evening when the wind had dropped a little, they went out on the +groyne to see the steamer come in. There were a great many people +walking about the harbour; they had gathered to welcome some one, +bringing bouquets. And two peculiarities of a well-dressed Yalta crowd +were very conspicuous: the elderly ladies were dressed like young ones, +and there were great numbers of generals. + +Owing to the roughness of the sea, the steamer arrived late, after the +sun had set, and it was a long time turning about before it reached the +groyne. Anna Sergeyevna looked through her lorgnette at the steamer and +the passengers as though looking for acquaintances, and when she turned +to Gurov her eyes were shining. She talked a great deal and asked +disconnected questions, forgetting next moment what she had asked; then +she dropped her lorgnette in the crush. + +The festive crowd began to disperse; it was too dark to see people's +faces. The wind had completely dropped, but Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna +still stood as though waiting to see some one else come from the +steamer. Anna Sergeyevna was silent now, and sniffed the flowers without +looking at Gurov. + +"The weather is better this evening," he said. "Where shall we go now? +Shall we drive somewhere?" + +She made no answer. + +Then he looked at her intently, and all at once put his arm round her +and kissed her on the lips, and breathed in the moisture and the +fragrance of the flowers; and he immediately looked round him, anxiously +wondering whether any one had seen them. + +"Let us go to your hotel," he said softly. And both walked quickly. + +The room was close and smelt of the scent she had bought at the Japanese +shop. Gurov looked at her and thought: "What different people one meets +in the world!" From the past he preserved memories of careless, +good-natured women, who loved cheerfully and were grateful to him for +the happiness he gave them, however brief it might be; and of women like +his wife who loved without any genuine feeling, with superfluous +phrases, affectedly, hysterically, with an expression that suggested +that it was not love nor passion, but something more significant; and of +two or three others, very beautiful, cold women, on whose faces he had +caught a glimpse of a rapacious expression--an obstinate desire to +snatch from life more than it could give, and these were capricious, +unreflecting, domineering, unintelligent women not in their first youth, +and when Gurov grew cold to them their beauty excited his hatred, and +the lace on their linen seemed to him like scales. + +But in this case there was still the diffidence, the angularity of +inexperienced youth, an awkward feeling; and there was a sense of +consternation as though some one had suddenly knocked at the door. The +attitude of Anna Sergeyevna--"the lady with the dog"--to what had +happened was somehow peculiar, very grave, as though it were her +fall--so it seemed, and it was strange and inappropriate. Her face +dropped and faded, and on both sides of it her long hair hung down +mournfully; she mused in a dejected attitude like "the woman who was a +sinner" in an old-fashioned picture. + +"It's wrong," she said. "You will be the first to despise me now." + +There was a water-melon on the table. Gurov cut himself a slice and +began eating it without haste. There followed at least half an hour of +silence. + +Anna Sergeyevna was touching; there was about her the purity of a good, +simple woman who had seen little of life. The solitary candle burning on +the table threw a faint light on her face, yet it was clear that she was +very unhappy. + +"How could I despise you?" asked Gurov. "You don't know what you are +saying." + +"God forgive me," she said, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's +awful." + +"You seem to feel you need to be forgiven." + +"Forgiven? No. I am a bad, low woman; I despise myself and don't attempt +to justify myself. It's not my husband but myself I have deceived. And +not only just now; I have been deceiving myself for a long time. My +husband may be a good, honest man, but he is a flunkey! I don't know +what he does there, what his work is, but I know he is a flunkey! I was +twenty when I was married to him. I have been tormented by curiosity; I +wanted something better. 'There must be a different sort of life,' I +said to myself. I wanted to live! To live, to live!... I was fired by +curiosity ... you don't understand it, but, I swear to God, I could not +control myself; something happened to me: I could not be restrained. I +told my husband I was ill, and came here.... And here I have been +walking about as though I were dazed, like a mad creature; ... and now I +have become a vulgar, contemptible woman whom any one may despise." + +Gurov felt bored already, listening to her. He was irritated by the +naïve tone, by this remorse, so unexpected and inopportune; but for the +tears in her eyes, he might have thought she was jesting or playing a +part. + +"I don't understand," he said softly. "What is it you want?" + +She hid her face on his breast and pressed close to him. + +"Believe me, believe me, I beseech you ..." she said. "I love a pure, +honest life, and sin is loathsome to me. I don't know what I am doing. +Simple people say: 'The Evil One has beguiled me.' And I may say of +myself now that the Evil One has beguiled me." + +"Hush, hush!..." he muttered. + +He looked at her fixed, scared eyes, kissed her, talked softly and +affectionately, and by degrees she was comforted, and her gaiety +returned; they both began laughing. + +Afterwards when they went out there was not a soul on the sea-front. The +town with its cypresses had quite a deathlike air, but the sea still +broke noisily on the shore; a single barge was rocking on the waves, and +a lantern was blinking sleepily on it. + +They found a cab and drove to Oreanda. + +"I found out your surname in the hall just now: it was written on the +board--Von Diderits," said Gurov. "Is your husband a German?" + +"No; I believe his grandfather was a German, but he is an Orthodox +Russian himself." + +At Oreanda they sat on a seat not far from the church, looked down at +the sea, and were silent. Yalta was hardly visible through the morning +mist; white clouds stood motionless on the mountain-tops. The leaves did +not stir on the trees, grasshoppers chirruped, and the monotonous hollow +sound of the sea rising up from below, spoke of the peace, of the +eternal sleep awaiting us. So it must have sounded when there was no +Yalta, no Oreanda here; so it sounds now, and it will sound as +indifferently and monotonously when we are all no more. And in this +constancy, in this complete indifference to the life and death of each +of us, there lies hid, perhaps, a pledge of our eternal salvation, of +the unceasing movement of life upon earth, of unceasing progress towards +perfection. Sitting beside a young woman who in the dawn seemed so +lovely, soothed and spellbound in these magical surroundings--the sea, +mountains, clouds, the open sky--Gurov thought how in reality everything +is beautiful in this world when one reflects: everything except what we +think or do ourselves when we forget our human dignity and the higher +aims of our existence. + +A man walked up to them--probably a keeper--looked at them and walked +away. And this detail seemed mysterious and beautiful, too. They saw a +steamer come from Theodosia, with its lights out in the glow of dawn. + +"There is dew on the grass," said Anna Sergeyevna, after a silence. + +"Yes. It's time to go home." + +They went back to the town. + +Then they met every day at twelve o'clock on the sea-front, lunched and +dined together, went for walks, admired the sea. She complained that she +slept badly, that her heart throbbed violently; asked the same +questions, troubled now by jealousy and now by the fear that he did not +respect her sufficiently. And often in the square or gardens, when there +was no one near them, he suddenly drew her to him and kissed her +passionately. Complete idleness, these kisses in broad daylight while he +looked round in dread of some one's seeing them, the heat, the smell of +the sea, and the continual passing to and fro before him of idle, +well-dressed, well-fed people, made a new man of him; he told Anna +Sergeyevna how beautiful she was, how fascinating. He was impatiently +passionate, he would not move a step away from her, while she was often +pensive and continually urged him to confess that he did not respect +her, did not love her in the least, and thought of her as nothing but a +common woman. Rather late almost every evening they drove somewhere out +of town, to Oreanda or to the waterfall; and the expedition was always a +success, the scenery invariably impressed them as grand and beautiful. + +They were expecting her husband to come, but a letter came from him, +saying that there was something wrong with his eyes, and he entreated +his wife to come home as quickly as possible. Anna Sergeyevna made haste +to go. + +"It's a good thing I am going away," she said to Gurov. "It's the finger +of destiny!" + +She went by coach and he went with her. They were driving the whole day. +When she had got into a compartment of the express, and when the second +bell had rung, she said: + +"Let me look at you once more ... look at you once again. That's right." + +She did not shed tears, but was so sad that she seemed ill, and her face +was quivering. + +"I shall remember you ... think of you," she said. "God be with you; be +happy. Don't remember evil against me. We are parting forever--it must +be so, for we ought never to have met. Well, God be with you." + +The train moved off rapidly, its lights soon vanished from sight, and a +minute later there was no sound of it, as though everything had +conspired together to end as quickly as possible that sweet delirium, +that madness. Left alone on the platform, and gazing into the dark +distance, Gurov listened to the chirrup of the grasshoppers and the hum +of the telegraph wires, feeling as though he had only just waked up. And +he thought, musing, that there had been another episode or adventure in +his life, and it, too, was at an end, and nothing was left of it but a +memory.... He was moved, sad, and conscious of a slight remorse. This +young woman whom he would never meet again had not been happy with him; +he was genuinely warm and affectionate with her, but yet in his manner, +his tone, and his caresses there had been a shade of light irony, the +coarse condescension of a happy man who was, besides, almost twice her +age. All the time she had called him kind, exceptional, lofty; obviously +he had seemed to her different from what he really was, so he had +unintentionally deceived her.... + +Here at the station was already a scent of autumn; it was a cold +evening. + +"It's time for me to go north," thought Gurov as he left the platform. +"High time!" + + +III + +At home in Moscow everything was in its winter routine; the stoves were +heated, and in the morning it was still dark when the children were +having breakfast and getting ready for school, and the nurse would light +the lamp for a short time. The frosts had begun already. When the first +snow has fallen, on the first day of sledge-driving it is pleasant to +see the white earth, the white roofs, to draw soft, delicious breath, +and the season brings back the days of one's youth. The old limes and +birches, white with hoar-frost, have a good-natured expression; they are +nearer to one's heart than cypresses and palms, and near them one +doesn't want to be thinking of the sea and the mountains. + +Gurov was Moscow born; he arrived in Moscow on a fine frosty day, and +when he put on his fur coat and warm gloves, and walked along Petrovka, +and when on Saturday evening he heard the ringing of the bells, his +recent trip and the places he had seen lost all charm for him. Little by +little he became absorbed in Moscow life, greedily read three newspapers +a day, and declared he did not read the Moscow papers on principle! He +already felt a longing to go to restaurants, clubs, dinner-parties, +anniversary celebrations, and he felt flattered at entertaining +distinguished lawyers and artists, and at playing cards with a professor +at the doctors' club. He could already eat a whole plateful of salt fish +and cabbage. + +In another month, he fancied, the image of Anna Sergeyevna would be +shrouded in a mist in his memory, and only from time to time would visit +him in his dreams with a touching smile as others did. But more than a +month passed, real winter had come, and everything was still clear in +his memory as though he had parted with Anna Sergeyevna only the day +before. And his memories glowed more and more vividly. When in the +evening stillness he heard from his study the voices of his children, +preparing their lessons, or when he listened to a song or the organ at +the restaurant, or the storm howled in the chimney, suddenly everything +would rise up in his memory: what had happened on the groyne, and the +early morning with the mist on the mountains, and the steamer coming +from Theodosia, and the kisses. He would pace a long time about his +room, remembering it all and smiling; then his memories passed into +dreams, and in his fancy the past was mingled with what was to come. +Anna Sergeyevna did not visit him in dreams, but followed him about +everywhere like a shadow and haunted him. When he shut his eyes he saw +her as though she were living before him, and she seemed to him +lovelier, younger, tenderer than she was; and he imagined himself finer +than he had been in Yalta. In the evenings she peeped out at him from +the bookcase, from the fireplace, from the corner--he heard her +breathing, the caressing rustle of her dress. In the street he watched +the women, looking for some one like her. + +He was tormented by an intense desire to confide his memories to some +one. But in his home it was impossible to talk of his love, and he had +no one outside; he could not talk to his tenants nor to any one at the +bank. And what had he to talk of? Had he been in love, then? Had there +been anything beautiful, poetical, or edifying or simply interesting in +his relations with Anna Sergeyevna? And there was nothing for him but to +talk vaguely of love, of woman, and no one guessed what it meant; only +his wife twitched her black eyebrows, and said: + +"The part of a lady-killer does not suit you at all, Dimitri." + +One evening, coming out of the doctors' club with an official with whom +he had been playing cards, he could not resist saying: + +"If only you knew what a fascinating woman I made the acquaintance of in +Yalta!" + +The official got into his sledge and was driving away, but turned +suddenly and shouted: + +"Dmitri Dmitritch!" + +"What?" + +"You were right this evening: the sturgeon was a bit too strong!" + +These words, so ordinary, for some reason moved Gurov to indignation, +and struck him as degrading and unclean. What savage manners, what +people! What senseless nights, what uninteresting, uneventful days! The +rage for card-playing, the gluttony, the drunkenness, the continual talk +always about the same thing. Useless pursuits and conversations always +about the same things absorb the better part of one's time, the better +part of one's strength, and in the end there is left a life grovelling +and curtailed, worthless and trivial, and there is no escaping or +getting away from it--just as though one were in a madhouse or a prison. + +Gurov did not sleep all night, and was filled with indignation. And he +had a headache all next day. And the next night he slept badly; he sat +up in bed, thinking, or paced up and down his room. He was sick of his +children, sick of the bank; he had no desire to go anywhere or to talk +of anything. + +In the holidays in December he prepared for a journey, and told his wife +he was going to Petersburg to do something in the interests of a young +friend--and he set off for S----. What for? He did not very well know +himself. He wanted to see Anna Sergeyevna and to talk with her--to +arrange a meeting, if possible. + +He reached S---- in the morning, and took the best room at the hotel, in +which the floor was covered with grey army cloth, and on the table was +an inkstand, grey with dust and adorned with a figure on horseback, with +its hat in its hand and its head broken off. The hotel porter gave him +the necessary information; Von Diderits lived in a house of his own in +Old Gontcharny Street--it was not far from the hotel: he was rich and +lived in good style, and had his own horses; every one in the town knew +him. The porter pronounced the name "Dridirits." + +Gurov went without haste to Old Gontcharny Street and found the house. +Just opposite the house stretched a long grey fence adorned with nails. + +"One would run away from a fence like that," thought Gurov, looking from +the fence to the windows of the house and back again. + +He considered: to-day was a holiday, and the husband would probably be +at home. And in any case it would be tactless to go into the house and +upset her. If he were to send her a note it might fall into her +husband's hands, and then it might ruin everything. The best thing was +to trust to chance. And he kept walking up and down the street by the +fence, waiting for the chance. He saw a beggar go in at the gate and +dogs fly at him; then an hour later he heard a piano, and the sounds +were faint and indistinct. Probably it was Anna Sergeyevna playing. The +front door suddenly opened, and an old woman came out, followed by the +familiar white Pomeranian. Gurov was on the point of calling to the dog, +but his heart began beating violently, and in his excitement he could +not remember the dog's name. + +He walked up and down, and loathed the grey fence more and more, and by +now he thought irritably that Anna Sergeyevna had forgotten him, and was +perhaps already amusing herself with some one else, and that that was +very natural in a young woman who had nothing to look at from morning +till night but that confounded fence. He went back to his hotel room and +sat for a long while on the sofa, not knowing what to do, then he had +dinner and a long nap. + +"How stupid and worrying it is!" he thought when he woke and looked at +the dark windows: it was already evening. "Here I've had a good sleep +for some reason. What shall I do in the night?" + +He sat on the bed, which was covered by a cheap grey blanket, such as +one sees in hospitals, and he taunted himself in his vexation: + +"So much for the lady with the dog ... so much for the adventure.... +You're in a nice fix...." + +That morning at the station a poster in large letters had caught his +eye. "The Geisha" was to be performed for the first time. He thought of +this and went to the theatre. + +"It's quite possible she may go to the first performance," he thought. + +The theatre was full. As in all provincial theatres, there was a fog +above the chandelier, the gallery was noisy and restless; in the front +row the local dandies were standing up before the beginning of the +performance, with their hands behind them; in the Governor's box the +Governor's daughter, wearing a boa, was sitting in the front seat, while +the Governor himself lurked modestly behind the curtain with only his +hands visible; the orchestra was a long time tuning up; the stage +curtain swayed. All the time the audience were coming in and taking +their seats Gurov looked at them eagerly. + +Anna Sergeyevna, too, came in. She sat down in the third row, and when +Gurov looked at her his heart contracted, and he understood clearly that +for him there was in the whole world no creature so near, so precious, +and so important to him; she, this little woman, in no way remarkable, +lost in a provincial crowd, with a vulgar lorgnette in her hand, filled +his whole life now, was his sorrow and his joy, the one happiness that +he now desired for himself, and to the sounds of the inferior orchestra, +of the wretched provincial violins, he thought how lovely she was. He +thought and dreamed. + +A young man with small side-whiskers, tall and stooping, came in with +Anna Sergeyevna and sat down beside her; he bent his head at every step +and seemed to be continually bowing. Most likely this was the husband +whom at Yalta, in a rush of bitter feeling, she had called a flunkey. +And there really was in his long figure, his side-whiskers, and the +small bald patch on his head, something of the flunkey's obsequiousness; +his smile was sugary, and in his buttonhole there was some badge of +distinction like the number on a waiter. + +During the first interval the husband went away to smoke; she remained +alone in her stall. Gurov, who was sitting in the stalls, too, went up +to her and said in a trembling voice, with a forced smile: + +"Good-evening." + +She glanced at him and turned pale, then glanced again with horror, +unable to believe her eyes, and tightly gripped the fan and the +lorgnette in her hands, evidently struggling with herself not to faint. +Both were silent. She was sitting, he was standing, frightened by her +confusion and not venturing to sit down beside her. The violins and the +flute began tuning up. He felt suddenly frightened; it seemed as though +all the people in the boxes were looking at them. She got up and went +quickly to the door; he followed her, and both walked senselessly along +passages, and up and down stairs, and figures in legal, scholastic, and +civil service uniforms, all wearing badges, flitted before their eyes. +They caught glimpses of ladies, of fur coats hanging on pegs; the +draughts blew on them, bringing a smell of stale tobacco. And Gurov, +whose heart was beating violently, thought: + +"Oh, heavens! Why are these people here and this orchestra!..." + +And at that instant he recalled how when he had seen Anna Sergeyevna off +at the station he had thought that everything was over and they would +never meet again. But how far they were still from the end! + +On the narrow, gloomy staircase over which was written "To the +Amphitheatre," she stopped. + +"How you have frightened me!" she said, breathing hard, still pale and +overwhelmed. "Oh, how you have frightened me! I am half dead. Why have +you come? Why?" + +"But do understand, Anna, do understand ..." he said hastily in a low +voice. "I entreat you to understand...." + +She looked at him with dread, with entreaty, with love; she looked at +him intently, to keep his features more distinctly in her memory. + +"I am so unhappy," she went on, not heeding him. "I have thought of +nothing but you all the time; I live only in the thought of you. And I +wanted to forget, to forget you; but why, oh, why, have you come?" + +On the landing above them two schoolboys were smoking and looking down, +but that was nothing to Gurov; he drew Anna Sergeyevna to him, and began +kissing her face, her cheeks, and her hands. + +"What are you doing, what are you doing!" she cried in horror, pushing +him away. "We are mad. Go away to-day; go away at once.... I beseech you +by all that is sacred, I implore you.... There are people coming this +way!" + +Some one was coming up the stairs. + +"You must go away," Anna Sergeyevna went on in a whisper. "Do you hear, +Dmitri Dmitritch? I will come and see you in Moscow. I have never been +happy; I am miserable now, and I never, never shall be happy, never! +Don't make me suffer still more! I swear I'll come to Moscow. But now +let us part. My precious, good, dear one, we must part!" + +She pressed his hand and began rapidly going downstairs, looking round +at him, and from her eyes he could see that she really was unhappy. +Gurov stood for a little while, listened, then, when all sound had died +away, he found his coat and left the theatre. + + +IV + +And Anna Sergeyevna began coming to see him in Moscow. Once in two or +three months she left S----, telling her husband that she was going to +consult a doctor about an internal complaint--and her husband believed +her, and did not believe her. In Moscow she stayed at the Slaviansky +Bazaar hotel, and at once sent a man in a red cap to Gurov. Gurov went +to see her, and no one in Moscow knew of it. + +Once he was going to see her in this way on a winter morning (the +messenger had come the evening before when he was out). With him walked +his daughter, whom he wanted to take to school: it was on the way. Snow +was falling in big wet flakes. + +"It's three degrees above freezing-point, and yet it is snowing," said +Gurov to his daughter. "The thaw is only on the surface of the earth; +there is quite a different temperature at a greater height in the +atmosphere." + +"And why are there no thunderstorms in the winter, father?" + +He explained that, too. He talked, thinking all the while that he was +going to see her, and no living soul knew of it, and probably never +would know. He had two lives: one, open, seen and known by all who cared +to know, full of relative truth and of relative falsehood, exactly like +the lives of his friends and acquaintances; and another life running its +course in secret. And through some strange, perhaps accidental, +conjunction of circumstances, everything that was essential, of interest +and of value to him, everything in which he was sincere and did not +deceive himself, everything that made the kernel of his life, was hidden +from other people; and all that was false in him, the sheath in which he +hid himself to conceal the truth--such, for instance, as his work in the +bank, his discussions at the club, his "lower race," his presence with +his wife at anniversary festivities--all that was open. And he judged of +others by himself, not believing in what he saw, and always believing +that every man had his real, most interesting life under the cover of +secrecy and under the cover of night. All personal life rested on +secrecy, and possibly it was partly on that account that civilised man +was so nervously anxious that personal privacy should be respected. + +After leaving his daughter at school, Gurov went on to the Slaviansky +Bazaar. He took off his fur coat below, went upstairs, and softly +knocked at the door. Anna Sergeyevna, wearing his favourite grey dress, +exhausted by the journey and the suspense, had been expecting him since +the evening before. She was pale; she looked at him, and did not smile, +and he had hardly come in when she fell on his breast. Their kiss was +slow and prolonged, as though they had not met for two years. + +"Well, how are you getting on there?" he asked. "What news?" + +"Wait; I'll tell you directly.... I can't talk." + +She could not speak; she was crying. She turned away from him, and +pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. + +"Let her have her cry out. I'll sit down and wait," he thought, and he +sat down in an arm-chair. + +Then he rang and asked for tea to be brought him, and while he drank his +tea she remained standing at the window with her back to him. She was +crying from emotion, from the miserable consciousness that their life +was so hard for them; they could only meet in secret, hiding themselves +from people, like thieves! Was not their life shattered? + +"Come, do stop!" he said. + +It was evident to him that this love of theirs would not soon be over, +that he could not see the end of it. Anna Sergeyevna grew more and more +attached to him. She adored him, and it was unthinkable to say to her +that it was bound to have an end some day; besides, she would not have +believed it! + +He went up to her and took her by the shoulders to say something +affectionate and cheering, and at that moment he saw himself in the +looking-glass. + +His hair was already beginning to turn grey. And it seemed strange to +him that he had grown so much older, so much plainer during the last few +years. The shoulders on which his hands rested were warm and quivering. +He felt compassion for this life, still so warm and lovely, but probably +already not far from beginning to fade and wither like his own. Why did +she love him so much? He always seemed to women different from what he +was, and they loved in him not himself, but the man created by their +imagination, whom they had been eagerly seeking all their lives; and +afterwards, when they noticed their mistake, they loved him all the +same. And not one of them had been happy with him. Time passed, he had +made their acquaintance, got on with them, parted, but he had never once +loved; it was anything you like, but not love. + +And only now when his head was grey he had fallen properly, really in +love--for the first time in his life. + +Anna Sergeyevna and he loved each other like people very close and akin, +like husband and wife, like tender friends; it seemed to them that fate +itself had meant them for one another, and they could not understand why +he had a wife and she a husband; and it was as though they were a pair +of birds of passage, caught and forced to live in different cages. They +forgave each other for what they were ashamed of in their past, they +forgave everything in the present, and felt that this love of theirs had +changed them both. + +In moments of depression in the past he had comforted himself with any +arguments that came into his mind, but now he no longer cared for +arguments; he felt profound compassion, he wanted to be sincere and +tender.... + +"Don't cry, my darling," he said. "You've had your cry; that's +enough.... Let us talk now, let us think of some plan." + +Then they spent a long while taking counsel together, talked of how to +avoid the necessity for secrecy, for deception, for living in different +towns and not seeing each other for long at a time. How could they be +free from this intolerable bondage? + +"How? How?" he asked, clutching his head. "How?" + +And it seemed as though in a little while the solution would be found, +and then a new and splendid life would begin; and it was clear to both +of them that they had still a long, long road before them, and that the +most complicated and difficult part of it was only just beginning. + + + + +A DOCTOR'S VISIT + + +THE Professor received a telegram from the Lyalikovs' factory; he was +asked to come as quickly as possible. The daughter of some Madame +Lyalikov, apparently the owner of the factory, was ill, and that was all +that one could make out of the long, incoherent telegram. And the +Professor did not go himself, but sent instead his assistant, Korolyov. + +It was two stations from Moscow, and there was a drive of three miles +from the station. A carriage with three horses had been sent to the +station to meet Korolyov; the coachman wore a hat with a peacock's +feather on it, and answered every question in a loud voice like a +soldier: "No, sir!" "Certainly, sir!" + +It was Saturday evening; the sun was setting, the workpeople were coming +in crowds from the factory to the station, and they bowed to the +carriage in which Korolyov was driving. And he was charmed with the +evening, the farmhouses and villas on the road, and the birch-trees, and +the quiet atmosphere all around, when the fields and woods and the sun +seemed preparing, like the workpeople now on the eve of the holiday, to +rest, and perhaps to pray.... + +He was born and had grown up in Moscow; he did not know the country, and +he had never taken any interest in factories, or been inside one, but he +had happened to read about factories, and had been in the houses of +manufacturers and had talked to them; and whenever he saw a factory far +or near, he always thought how quiet and peaceable it was outside, but +within there was always sure to be impenetrable ignorance and dull +egoism on the side of the owners, wearisome, unhealthy toil on the side +of the workpeople, squabbling, vermin, vodka. And now when the +workpeople timidly and respectfully made way for the carriage, in their +faces, their caps, their walk, he read physical impurity, drunkenness, +nervous exhaustion, bewilderment. + +They drove in at the factory gates. On each side he caught glimpses of +the little houses of workpeople, of the faces of women, of quilts and +linen on the railings. "Look out!" shouted the coachman, not pulling up +the horses. It was a wide courtyard without grass, with five immense +blocks of buildings with tall chimneys a little distance one from +another, warehouses and barracks, and over everything a sort of grey +powder as though from dust. Here and there, like oases in the desert, +there were pitiful gardens, and the green and red roofs of the houses in +which the managers and clerks lived. The coachman suddenly pulled up the +horses, and the carriage stopped at the house, which had been newly +painted grey; here was a flower garden, with a lilac bush covered with +dust, and on the yellow steps at the front door there was a strong smell +of paint. + +"Please come in, doctor," said women's voices in the passage and the +entry, and at the same time he heard sighs and whisperings. "Pray walk +in.... We've been expecting you so long ... we're in real trouble. Here, +this way." + +Madame Lyalikov--a stout elderly lady wearing a black silk dress with +fashionable sleeves, but, judging from her face, a simple uneducated +woman--looked at the doctor in a flutter, and could not bring herself to +hold out her hand to him; she did not dare. Beside her stood a personage +with short hair and a pince-nez; she was wearing a blouse of many +colours, and was very thin and no longer young. The servants called her +Christina Dmitryevna, and Korolyov guessed that this was the governess. +Probably, as the person of most education in the house, she had been +charged to meet and receive the doctor, for she began immediately, in +great haste, stating the causes of the illness, giving trivial and +tiresome details, but without saying who was ill or what was the matter. + +The doctor and the governess were sitting talking while the lady of the +house stood motionless at the door, waiting. From the conversation +Korolyov learned that the patient was Madame Lyalikov's only daughter +and heiress, a girl of twenty, called Liza; she had been ill for a long +time, and had consulted various doctors, and the previous night she had +suffered till morning from such violent palpitations of the heart, that +no one in the house had slept, and they had been afraid she might die. + +"She has been, one may say, ailing from a child," said Christina +Dmitryevna in a sing-song voice, continually wiping her lips with her +hand. "The doctors say it is nerves; when she was a little girl she was +scrofulous, and the doctors drove it inwards, so I think it may be due +to that." + +They went to see the invalid. Fully grown up, big and tall, but ugly +like her mother, with the same little eyes and disproportionate breadth +of the lower part of the face, lying with her hair in disorder, muffled +up to the chin, she made upon Korolyov at the first minute the +impression of a poor, destitute creature, sheltered and cared for here +out of charity, and he could hardly believe that this was the heiress of +the five huge buildings. + +"I am the doctor come to see you," said Korolyov. "Good evening." + +He mentioned his name and pressed her hand, a large, cold, ugly hand; +she sat up, and, evidently accustomed to doctors, let herself be +sounded, without showing the least concern that her shoulders and chest +were uncovered. + +"I have palpitations of the heart," she said, "It was so awful all +night.... I almost died of fright! Do give me something." + +"I will, I will; don't worry yourself." + +Korolyov examined her and shrugged his shoulders. + +"The heart is all right," he said; "it's all going on satisfactorily; +everything is in good order. Your nerves must have been playing pranks a +little, but that's so common. The attack is over by now, one must +suppose; lie down and go to sleep." + +At that moment a lamp was brought into the bed-room. The patient screwed +up her eyes at the light, then suddenly put her hands to her head and +broke into sobs. And the impression of a destitute, ugly creature +vanished, and Korolyov no longer noticed the little eyes or the heavy +development of the lower part of the face. He saw a soft, suffering +expression which was intelligent and touching: she seemed to him +altogether graceful, feminine, and simple; and he longed to soothe her, +not with drugs, not with advice, but with simple, kindly words. Her +mother put her arms round her head and hugged her. What despair, what +grief was in the old woman's face! She, her mother, had reared her and +brought her up, spared nothing, and devoted her whole life to having her +daughter taught French, dancing, music: had engaged a dozen teachers for +her; had consulted the best doctors, kept a governess. And now she could +not make out the reason of these tears, why there was all this misery, +she could not understand, and was bewildered; and she had a guilty, +agitated, despairing expression, as though she had omitted something +very important, had left something undone, had neglected to call in +somebody--and whom, she did not know. + +"Lizanka, you are crying again ... again," she said, hugging her +daughter to her. "My own, my darling, my child, tell me what it is! Have +pity on me! Tell me." + +Both wept bitterly. Korolyov sat down on the side of the bed and took +Liza's hand. + +"Come, give over; it's no use crying," he said kindly. "Why, there is +nothing in the world that is worth those tears. Come, we won't cry; +that's no good...." + +And inwardly he thought: + +"It's high time she was married...." + +"Our doctor at the factory gave her kalibromati," said the governess, +"but I notice it only makes her worse. I should have thought that if she +is given anything for the heart it ought to be drops.... I forget the +name.... Convallaria, isn't it?" + +And there followed all sorts of details. She interrupted the doctor, +preventing his speaking, and there was a look of effort on her face, as +though she supposed that, as the woman of most education in the house, +she was duty bound to keep up a conversation with the doctor, and on no +other subject but medicine. + +Korolyov felt bored. + +"I find nothing special the matter," he said, addressing the mother as +he went out of the bedroom. "If your daughter is being attended by the +factory doctor, let him go on attending her. The treatment so far has +been perfectly correct, and I see no reason for changing your doctor. +Why change? It's such an ordinary trouble; there's nothing seriously +wrong." + +He spoke deliberately as he put on his gloves, while Madame Lyalikov +stood without moving, and looked at him with her tearful eyes. + +"I have half an hour to catch the ten o'clock train," he said. "I hope I +am not too late." + +"And can't you stay?" she asked, and tears trickled down her cheeks +again. "I am ashamed to trouble you, but if you would be so good.... For +God's sake," she went on in an undertone, glancing towards the door, "do +stay to-night with us! She is all I have ... my only daughter.... She +frightened me last night; I can't get over it.... Don't go away, for +goodness' sake!..." + +He wanted to tell her that he had a great deal of work in Moscow, that +his family were expecting him home; it was disagreeable to him to spend +the evening and the whole night in a strange house quite needlessly; but +he looked at her face, heaved a sigh, and began taking off his gloves +without a word. + +All the lamps and candles were lighted in his honour in the drawing-room +and the dining-room. He sat down at the piano and began turning over the +music. Then he looked at the pictures on the walls, at the portraits. +The pictures, oil-paintings in gold frames, were views of the Crimea--a +stormy sea with a ship, a Catholic monk with a wineglass; they were all +dull, smooth daubs, with no trace of talent in them. There was not a +single good-looking face among the portraits, nothing but broad +cheekbones and astonished-looking eyes. Lyalikov, Liza's father, had a +low forehead and a self-satisfied expression; his uniform sat like a +sack on his bulky plebeian figure; on his breast was a medal and a Red +Cross Badge. There was little sign of culture, and the luxury was +senseless and haphazard, and was as ill fitting as that uniform. The +floors irritated him with their brilliant polish, the lustres on the +chandelier irritated him, and he was reminded for some reason of the +story of the merchant who used to go to the baths with a medal on his +neck.... + +He heard a whispering in the entry; some one was softly snoring. And +suddenly from outside came harsh, abrupt, metallic sounds, such as +Korolyov had never heard before, and which he did not understand now; +they roused strange, unpleasant echoes in his soul. + +"I believe nothing would induce me to remain here to live ..." he +thought, and went back to the music-books again. + +"Doctor, please come to supper!" the governess called him in a low +voice. + +He went into supper. The table was large and laid with a vast number of +dishes and wines, but there were only two to supper: himself and +Christina Dmitryevna. She drank Madeira, ate rapidly, and talked, +looking at him through her pince-nez: + +"Our workpeople are very contented. We have performances at the factory +every winter; the workpeople act themselves. They have lectures with a +magic lantern, a splendid tea-room, and everything they want. They are +very much attached to us, and when they heard that Lizanka was worse +they had a service sung for her. Though they have no education, they +have their feelings, too." + +"It looks as though you have no man in the house at all," said Korolyov. + +"Not one. Pyotr Nikanoritch died a year and a half ago, and left us +alone. And so there are the three of us. In the summer we live here, and +in winter we live in Moscow, in Polianka. I have been living with them +for eleven years--as one of the family." + +At supper they served sterlet, chicken rissoles, and stewed fruit; the +wines were expensive French wines. + +"Please don't stand on ceremony, doctor," said Christina Dmitryevna, +eating and wiping her mouth with her fist, and it was evident she found +her life here exceedingly pleasant. "Please have some more." + +After supper the doctor was shown to his room, where a bed had been made +up for him, but he did not feel sleepy. The room was stuffy and it smelt +of paint; he put on his coat and went out. + +It was cool in the open air; there was already a glimmer of dawn, and +all the five blocks of buildings, with their tall chimneys, barracks, +and warehouses, were distinctly outlined against the damp air. As it was +a holiday, they were not working, and the windows were dark, and in only +one of the buildings was there a furnace burning; two windows were +crimson, and fire mixed with smoke came from time to time from the +chimney. Far away beyond the yard the frogs were croaking and the +nightingales singing. + +Looking at the factory buildings and the barracks, where the workpeople +were asleep, he thought again what he always thought when he saw a +factory. They may have performances for the workpeople, magic lanterns, +factory doctors, and improvements of all sorts, but, all the same, the +workpeople he had met that day on his way from the station did not look +in any way different from those he had known long ago in his childhood, +before there were factory performances and improvements. As a doctor +accustomed to judging correctly of chronic complaints, the radical cause +of which was incomprehensible and incurable, he looked upon factories as +something baffling, the cause of which also was obscure and not +removable, and all the improvements in the life of the factory hands he +looked upon not as superfluous, but as comparable with the treatment of +incurable illnesses. + +"There is something baffling in it, of course ..." he thought, looking +at the crimson windows. "Fifteen hundred or two thousand workpeople are +working without rest in unhealthy surroundings, making bad cotton goods, +living on the verge of starvation, and only waking from this nightmare +at rare intervals in the tavern; a hundred people act as overseers, and +the whole life of that hundred is spent in imposing fines, in abuse, in +injustice, and only two or three so-called owners enjoy the profits, +though they don't work at all, and despise the wretched cotton. But what +are the profits, and how do they enjoy them? Madame Lyalikov and her +daughter are unhappy--it makes one wretched to look at them; the only +one who enjoys her life is Christina Dmitryevna, a stupid, middle-aged +maiden lady in pince-nez. And so it appears that all these five blocks +of buildings are at work, and inferior cotton is sold in the Eastern +markets, simply that Christina Dmitryevna may eat sterlet and drink +Madeira." + +Suddenly there came a strange noise, the same sound Korolyov had heard +before supper. Some one was striking on a sheet of metal near one of the +buildings; he struck a note, and then at once checked the vibrations, so +that short, abrupt, discordant sounds were produced, rather like "Dair +... dair ... dair...." Then there was half a minute of stillness, and +from another building there came sounds equally abrupt and unpleasant, +lower bass notes: "Drin ... drin ... drin ..." Eleven times. Evidently +it was the watchman striking the hour. Near the third building he heard: +"Zhuk ... zhuk ... zhuk...." And so near all the buildings, and then +behind the barracks and beyond the gates. And in the stillness of the +night it seemed as though these sounds were uttered by a monster with +crimson eyes--the devil himself, who controlled the owners and the +work-people alike, and was deceiving both. + +Korolyov went out of the yard into the open country. + +"Who goes there?" some one called to him at the gates in an abrupt +voice. + +"It's just like being in prison," he thought, and made no answer. + +Here the nightingales and the frogs could be heard more distinctly, and +one could feel it was a night in May. From the station came the noise of +a train; somewhere in the distance drowsy cocks were crowing; but, all +the same, the night was still, the world was sleeping tranquilly. In a +field not far from the factory there could be seen the framework of a +house and heaps of building material. + +Korolyov sat down on the planks and went on thinking. + +"The only person who feels happy here is the governess, and the factory +hands are working for her gratification. But that's only apparent: she +is only the figurehead. The real person, for whom everything is being +done, is the devil." + +And he thought about the devil, in whom he did not believe, and he +looked round at the two windows where the fires were gleaming. It seemed +to him that out of those crimson eyes the devil himself was looking at +him--that unknown force that had created the mutual relation of the +strong and the weak, that coarse blunder which one could never correct. +The strong must hinder the weak from living--such was the law of +Nature; but only in a newspaper article or in a school book was that +intelligible and easily accepted. In the hotchpotch which was everyday +life, in the tangle of trivialities out of which human relations were +woven, it was no longer a law, but a logical absurdity, when the strong +and the weak were both equally victims of their mutual relations, +unwillingly submitting to some directing force, unknown, standing +outside life, apart from man. + +So thought Korolyov, sitting on the planks, and little by little he was +possessed by a feeling that this unknown and mysterious force was really +close by and looking at him. Meanwhile the east was growing paler, time +passed rapidly; when there was not a soul anywhere near, as though +everything were dead, the five buildings and their chimneys against the +grey background of the dawn had a peculiar look--not the same as by day; +one forgot altogether that inside there were steam motors, electricity, +telephones, and kept thinking of lake-dwellings, of the Stone Age, +feeling the presence of a crude, unconscious force.... + +And again there came the sound: "Dair ... dair ... dair ... dair ..." +twelve times. Then there was stillness, stillness for half a minute, and +at the other end of the yard there rang out. + +"Drin ... drin ... drin...." + +"Horribly disagreeable," thought Korolyov. + +"Zhuk ... zhuk ..." there resounded from a third place, abruptly, +sharply, as though with annoyance--"Zhuk ... zhuk...." + +And it took four minutes to strike twelve. Then there was a hush; and +again it seemed as though everything were dead. + +Korolyov sat a little longer, then went to the house, but sat up for a +good while longer. In the adjoining rooms there was whispering, there +was a sound of shuffling slippers and bare feet. + +"Is she having another attack?" thought Korolyov. + +He went out to have a look at the patient. By now it was quite light in +the rooms, and a faint glimmer of sunlight, piercing through the morning +mist, quivered on the floor and on the wall of the drawing-room. The +door of Liza's room was open, and she was sitting in a low chair beside +her bed, with her hair down, wearing a dressing-gown and wrapped in a +shawl. The blinds were down on the windows. + +"How do you feel?" asked Korolyov. + +"Well, thank you." + +He touched her pulse, then straightened her hair, that had fallen over +her forehead. + +"You are not asleep," he said. "It's beautiful weather outside. It's +spring. The nightingales are singing, and you sit in the dark and think +of something." + +She listened and looked into his face; her eyes were sorrowful and +intelligent, and it was evident she wanted to say something to him. + +"Does this happen to you often?" he said. + +She moved her lips, and answered: + +"Often, I feel wretched almost every night." + +At that moment the watchman in the yard began striking two o'clock. They +heard: "Dair ... dair ..." and she shuddered. + +"Do those knockings worry you?" he asked. + +"I don't know. Everything here worries me," she answered, and pondered. +"Everything worries me. I hear sympathy in your voice; it seemed to me +as soon as I saw you that I could tell you all about it." + +"Tell me, I beg you." + +"I want to tell you of my opinion. It seems to me that I have no +illness, but that I am weary and frightened, because it is bound to be +so and cannot be otherwise. Even the healthiest person can't help being +uneasy if, for instance, a robber is moving about under his window. I am +constantly being doctored," she went on, looking at her knees, and she +gave a shy smile. "I am very grateful, of course, and I do not deny that +the treatment is a benefit; but I should like to talk, not with a +doctor, but with some intimate friend who would understand me and would +convince me that I was right or wrong." + +"Have you no friends?" asked Korolyov. + +"I am lonely. I have a mother; I love her, but, all the same, I am +lonely. That's how it happens to be.... Lonely people read a great deal, +but say little and hear little. Life for them is mysterious; they are +mystics and often see the devil where he is not. Lermontov's Tamara was +lonely and she saw the devil." + +"Do you read a great deal?" + +"Yes. You see, my whole time is free from morning till night. I read by +day, and by night my head is empty; instead of thoughts there are +shadows in it." + +"Do you see anything at night?" asked Korolyov. + +"No, but I feel...." + +She smiled again, raised her eyes to the doctor, and looked at him so +sorrowfully, so intelligently; and it seemed to him that she trusted +him, and that she wanted to speak frankly to him, and that she thought +the same as he did. But she was silent, perhaps waiting for him to +speak. + +And he knew what to say to her. It was clear to him that she needed as +quickly as possible to give up the five buildings and the million if she +had it--to leave that devil that looked out at night; it was clear to +him, too, that she thought so herself, and was only waiting for some one +she trusted to confirm her. + +But he did not know how to say it. How? One is shy of asking men under +sentence what they have been sentenced for; and in the same way it is +awkward to ask very rich people what they want so much money for, why +they make such a poor use of their wealth, why they don't give it up, +even when they see in it their unhappiness; and if they begin a +conversation about it themselves, it is usually embarrassing, awkward, +and long. + +"How is one to say it?" Korolyov wondered. "And is it necessary to +speak?" + +And he said what he meant in a roundabout way: + +"You in the position of a factory owner and a wealthy heiress are +dissatisfied; you don't believe in your right to it; and here now you +can't sleep. That, of course, is better than if you were satisfied, +slept soundly, and thought everything was satisfactory. Your +sleeplessness does you credit; in any case, it is a good sign. In +reality, such a conversation as this between us now would have been +unthinkable for our parents. At night they did not talk, but slept +sound; we, our generation, sleep badly, are restless, but talk a great +deal, and are always trying to settle whether we are right or not. For +our children or grandchildren that question--whether they are right or +not--will have been settled. Things will be clearer for them than for +us. Life will be good in fifty years' time; it's only a pity we shall +not last out till then. It would be interesting to have a peep at it." + +"What will our children and grandchildren do?" asked Liza. + +"I don't know.... I suppose they will throw it all up and go away." + +"Go where?" + +"Where?... Why, where they like," said Korolyov; and he laughed. "There +are lots of places a good, intelligent person can go to." + +He glanced at his watch. + +"The sun has risen, though," he said. "It is time you were asleep. +Undress and sleep soundly. Very glad to have made your acquaintance," he +went on, pressing her hand. "You are a good, interesting woman. +Good-night!" + +He went to his room and went to bed. + +In the morning when the carriage was brought round they all came out on +to the steps to see him off. Liza, pale and exhausted, was in a white +dress as though for a holiday, with a flower in her hair; she looked at +him, as yesterday, sorrowfully and intelligently, smiled and talked, and +all with an expression as though she wanted to tell him something +special, important--him alone. They could hear the larks trilling and +the church bells pealing. The windows in the factory buildings were +sparkling gaily, and, driving across the yard and afterwards along the +road to the station, Korolyov thought neither of the workpeople nor of +lake dwellings, nor of the devil, but thought of the time, perhaps close +at hand, when life would be as bright and joyous as that still Sunday +morning; and he thought how pleasant it was on such a morning in the +spring to drive with three horses in a good carriage, and to bask in the +sunshine. + + + + +AN UPHEAVAL + + +MASHENKA PAVLETSKY, a young girl who had only just finished her studies +at a boarding school, returning from a walk to the house of the +Kushkins, with whom she was living as a governess, found the household +in a terrible turmoil. Mihailo, the porter who opened the door to her, +was excited and red as a crab. + +Loud voices were heard from upstairs. + +"Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely, or else she has quarrelled +with her husband," thought Mashenka. + +In the hall and in the corridor she met maid-servants. One of them was +crying. Then Mashenka saw, running out of her room, the master of the +house himself, Nikolay Sergeitch, a little man with a flabby face and a +bald head, though he was not old. He was red in the face and twitching +all over. He passed the governess without noticing her, and throwing up +his arms, exclaimed: + +"Oh, how horrible it is! How tactless! How stupid! How barbarous! +Abominable!" + +Mashenka went into her room, and then, for the first time in her life, +it was her lot to experience in all its acuteness the feeling that is so +familiar to persons in dependent positions, who eat the bread of the +rich and powerful, and cannot speak their minds. There was a search +going on in her room. The lady of the house, Fedosya Vassilyevna, a +stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth woman with thick black eyebrows, a +faintly perceptible moustache, and red hands, who was exactly like a +plain, illiterate cook in face and manners, was standing, without her +cap on, at the table, putting back into Mashenka's workbag balls of +wool, scraps of materials, and bits of paper.... Evidently the +governess's arrival took her by surprise, since, on looking round and +seeing the girl's pale and astonished face, she was a little taken +aback, and muttered: + +"_Pardon_. I ... I upset it accidentally.... My sleeve caught in it ..." + +And saying something more, Madame Kushkin rustled her long skirts and +went out. Mashenka looked round her room with wondering eyes, and, +unable to understand it, not knowing what to think, shrugged her +shoulders, and turned cold with dismay. What had Fedosya Vassilyevna +been looking for in her work-bag? If she really had, as she said, caught +her sleeve in it and upset everything, why had Nikolay Sergeitch dashed +out of her room so excited and red in the face? Why was one drawer of +the table pulled out a little way? The money-box, in which the governess +put away ten kopeck pieces and old stamps, was open. They had opened it, +but did not know how to shut it, though they had scratched the lock all +over. The whatnot with her books on it, the things on the table, the +bed--all bore fresh traces of a search. Her linen-basket, too. The linen +had been carefully folded, but it was not in the same order as Mashenka +had left it when she went out. So the search had been thorough, most +thorough. But what was it for? Why? What had happened? Mashenka +remembered the excited porter, the general turmoil which was still going +on, the weeping servant-girl; had it not all some connection with the +search that had just been made in her room? Was not she mixed up in +something dreadful? Mashenka turned pale, and feeling cold all over, +sank on to her linen-basket. + +A maid-servant came into the room. + +"Liza, you don't know why they have been rummaging in my room?" the +governess asked her. + +"Mistress has lost a brooch worth two thousand," said Liza. + +"Yes, but why have they been rummaging in my room?" + +"They've been searching every one, miss. They've searched all my things, +too. They stripped us all naked and searched us.... God knows, miss, I +never went near her toilet-table, let alone touching the brooch. I shall +say the same at the police-station." + +"But ... why have they been rummaging here?" the governess still +wondered. + +"A brooch has been stolen, I tell you. The mistress has been rummaging +in everything with her own hands. She even searched Mihailo, the porter, +herself. It's a perfect disgrace! Nikolay Sergeitch simply looks on and +cackles like a hen. But you've no need to tremble like that, miss. They +found nothing here. You've nothing to be afraid of if you didn't take +the brooch." + +"But, Liza, it's vile ... it's insulting," said Mashenka, breathless +with indignation. "It's so mean, so low! What right had she to suspect +me and to rummage in my things?" + +"You are living with strangers, miss," sighed Liza. "Though you are a +young lady, still you are ... as it were ... a servant.... It's not like +living with your papa and mamma." + +Mashenka threw herself on the bed and sobbed bitterly. Never in her life +had she been subjected to such an outrage, never had she been so deeply +insulted.... She, well-educated, refined, the daughter of a teacher, was +suspected of theft; she had been searched like a street-walker! She +could not imagine a greater insult. And to this feeling of resentment +was added an oppressive dread of what would come next. All sorts of +absurd ideas came into her mind. If they could suspect her of theft, +then they might arrest her, strip her naked, and search her, then lead +her through the street with an escort of soldiers, cast her into a cold, +dark cell with mice and woodlice, exactly like the dungeon in which +Princess Tarakanov was imprisoned. Who would stand up for her? Her +parents lived far away in the provinces; they had not the money to come +to her. In the capital she was as solitary as in a desert, without +friends or kindred. They could do what they liked with her. + +"I will go to all the courts and all the lawyers," Mashenka thought, +trembling. "I will explain to them, I will take an oath.... They will +believe that I could not be a thief!" + +Mashenka remembered that under the sheets in her basket she had some +sweetmeats, which, following the habits of her schooldays, she had put +in her pocket at dinner and carried off to her room. She felt hot all +over, and was ashamed at the thought that her little secret was known to +the lady of the house; and all this terror, shame, resentment, brought +on an attack of palpitation of the heart, which set up a throbbing in +her temples, in her heart, and deep down in her stomach. + +"Dinner is ready," the servant summoned Mashenka. + +"Shall I go, or not?" + +Mashenka brushed her hair, wiped her face with a wet towel, and went +into the dining-room. There they had already begun dinner. At one end of +the table sat Fedosya Vassilyevna with a stupid, solemn, serious face; +at the other end Nikolay Sergeitch. At the sides there were the visitors +and the children. The dishes were handed by two footmen in swallowtails +and white gloves. Every one knew that there was an upset in the house, +that Madame Kushkin was in trouble, and every one was silent. Nothing +was heard but the sound of munching and the rattle of spoons on the +plates. + +The lady of the house, herself, was the first to speak. + +"What is the third course?" she asked the footman in a weary, injured +voice. + +"_Esturgeon à la russe_," answered the footman. + +"I ordered that, Fenya," Nikolay Sergeitch hastened to observe. "I +wanted some fish. If you don't like it, _ma chère_, don't let them serve +it. I just ordered it...." + +Fedosya Vassilyevna did not like dishes that she had not ordered +herself, and now her eyes filled with tears. + +"Come, don't let us agitate ourselves," Mamikov, her household doctor, +observed in a honeyed voice, just touching her arm, with a smile as +honeyed. "We are nervous enough as it is. Let us forget the brooch! +Health is worth more than two thousand roubles!" + +"It's not the two thousand I regret," answered the lady, and a big tear +rolled down her cheek. "It's the fact itself that revolts me! I cannot +put up with thieves in my house. I don't regret it--I regret nothing; +but to steal from me is such ingratitude! That's how they repay me for +my kindness...." + +They all looked into their plates, but Mashenka fancied after the lady's +words that every one was looking at her. A lump rose in her throat; she +began crying and put her handkerchief to her lips. + +"_Pardon_," she muttered. "I can't help it. My head aches. I'll go +away." + +And she got up from the table, scraping her chair awkwardly, and went +out quickly, still more overcome with confusion. + +"It's beyond everything!" said Nikolay Sergeitch, frowning. "What need +was there to search her room? How out of place it was!" + +"I don't say she took the brooch," said Fedosya Vassilyevna, "but can +you answer for her? To tell the truth, I haven't much confidence in +these learned paupers." + +"It really was unsuitable, Fenya.... Excuse me, Fenya, but you've no +kind of legal right to make a search." + +"I know nothing about your laws. All I know is that I've lost my brooch. +And I will find the brooch!" She brought her fork down on the plate with +a clatter, and her eyes flashed angrily. "And you eat your dinner, and +don't interfere in what doesn't concern you!" + +Nikolay Sergeitch dropped his eyes mildly and sighed. Meanwhile +Mashenka, reaching her room, flung herself on her bed. She felt now +neither alarm nor shame, but she felt an intense longing to go and slap +the cheeks of this hard, arrogant, dull-witted, prosperous woman. + +Lying on her bed she breathed into her pillow and dreamed of how nice it +would be to go and buy the most expensive brooch and fling it into the +face of this bullying woman. If only it were God's will that Fedosya +Vassilyevna should come to ruin and wander about begging, and should +taste all the horrors of poverty and dependence, and that Mashenka, whom +she had insulted, might give her alms! Oh, if only she could come in for +a big fortune, could buy a carriage, and could drive noisily past the +windows so as to be envied by that woman! + +But all these were only dreams, in reality there was only one thing left +to do--to get away as quickly as possible, not to stay another hour in +this place. It was true it was terrible to lose her place, to go back to +her parents, who had nothing; but what could she do? Mashenka could not +bear the sight of the lady of the house nor of her little room; she felt +stifled and wretched here. She was so disgusted with Fedosya +Vassilyevna, who was so obsessed by her illnesses and her supposed +aristocratic rank, that everything in the world seemed to have become +coarse and unattractive because this woman was living in it. Mashenka +jumped up from the bed and began packing. + +"May I come in?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch at the door; he had come up +noiselessly to the door, and spoke in a soft, subdued voice. "May I?" + +"Come in." + +He came in and stood still near the door. His eyes looked dim and his +red little nose was shiny. After dinner he used to drink beer, and the +fact was perceptible in his walk, in his feeble, flabby hands. + +"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the basket. + +"I am packing. Forgive me, Nikolay Sergeitch, but I cannot remain in +your house. I feel deeply insulted by this search!" + +"I understand.... Only you are wrong to go. Why should you? They've +searched your things, but you ... what does it matter to you? You will +be none the worse for it." + +Mashenka was silent and went on packing. Nikolay Sergeitch pinched his +moustache, as though wondering what he should say next, and went on in +an ingratiating voice: + +"I understand, of course, but you must make allowances. You know my wife +is nervous, headstrong; you mustn't judge her too harshly." + +Mashenka did not speak. + +"If you are so offended," Nikolay Sergeitch went on, "well, if you like, +I'm ready to apologise. I ask your pardon." + +Mashenka made no answer, but only bent lower over her box. This +exhausted, irresolute man was of absolutely no significance in the +household. He stood in the pitiful position of a dependent and +hanger-on, even with the servants, and his apology meant nothing either. + +"H'm!... You say nothing! That's not enough for you. In that case, I +will apologise for my wife. In my wife's name.... She behaved +tactlessly, I admit it as a gentleman...." + +Nikolay Sergeitch walked about the room, heaved a sigh, and went on: + +"Then you want me to have it rankling here, under my heart.... You want +my conscience to torment me...." + +"I know it's not your fault, Nikolay Sergeitch," said Mashenka, looking +him full in the face with her big tear-stained eyes. "Why should you +worry yourself?" + +"Of course, no.... But still, don't you ... go away. I entreat you." + +Mashenka shook her head. Nikolay Sergeitch stopped at the window and +drummed on the pane with his finger-tips. + +"Such misunderstandings are simply torture to me," he said. "Why, do you +want me to go down on my knees to you, or what? Your pride is wounded, +and here you've been crying and packing up to go; but I have pride, too, +and you do not spare it! Or do you want me to tell you what I would not +tell as Confession? Do you? Listen; you want me to tell you what I won't +tell the priest on my deathbed?" + +Mashenka made no answer. + +"I took my wife's brooch," Nikolay Sergeitch said quickly. "Is that +enough now? Are you satisfied? Yes, I ... took it.... But, of course, I +count on your discretion.... For God's sake, not a word, not half a hint +to any one!" + +Mashenka, amazed and frightened, went on packing; she snatched her +things, crumpled them up, and thrust them anyhow into the box and the +basket. Now, after this candid avowal on the part of Nikolay Sergeitch, +she could not remain another minute, and could not understand how she +could have gone on living in the house before. + +"And it's nothing to wonder at," Nikolay Sergeitch went on after a +pause. "It's an everyday story! I need money, and she ... won't give it +to me. It was my father's money that bought this house and everything, +you know! It's all mine, and the brooch belonged to my mother, and ... +it's all mine! And she took it, took possession of everything.... I +can't go to law with her, you'll admit.... I beg you most earnestly, +overlook it ... stay on. _Tout comprendre, tout pardonner._ Will you +stay?" + +"No!" said Mashenka resolutely, beginning to tremble. "Let me alone, I +entreat you!" + +"Well, God bless you!" sighed Nikolay Sergeitch, sitting down on the +stool near the box. "I must own I like people who still can feel +resentment, contempt, and so on. I could sit here forever and look at +your indignant face.... So you won't stay, then? I understand.... It's +bound to be so ... Yes, of course.... It's all right for you, but for +me--wo-o-o-o!... I can't stir a step out of this cellar. I'd go off to +one of our estates, but in every one of them there are some of my wife's +rascals ... stewards, experts, damn them all! They mortgage and +remortgage.... You mustn't catch fish, must keep off the grass, mustn't +break the trees." + +"Nikolay Sergeitch!" his wife's voice called from the drawing-room. +"Agnia, call your master!" + +"Then you won't stay?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch, getting up quickly and +going towards the door. "You might as well stay, really. In the evenings +I could come and have a talk with you. Eh? Stay! If you go, there won't +be a human face left in the house. It's awful!" + +Nikolay Sergeitch's pale, exhausted face besought her, but Mashenka +shook her head, and with a wave of his hand he went out. + +Half an hour later she was on her way. + + + + +IONITCH + + +I + +WHEN visitors to the provincial town S---- complained of the dreariness +and monotony of life, the inhabitants of the town, as though defending +themselves, declared that it was very nice in S----, that there was a +library, a theatre, a club; that they had balls; and, finally, that +there were clever, agreeable, and interesting families with whom one +could make acquaintance. And they used to point to the family of the +Turkins as the most highly cultivated and talented. + +This family lived in their own house in the principal street, near the +Governor's. Ivan Petrovitch Turkin himself--a stout, handsome, dark man +with whiskers--used to get up amateur performances for benevolent +objects, and used to take the part of an elderly general and cough very +amusingly. He knew a number of anecdotes, charades, proverbs, and was +fond of being humorous and witty, and he always wore an expression from +which it was impossible to tell whether he were joking or in earnest. +His wife, Vera Iosifovna--a thin, nice-looking lady who wore a +pince-nez--used to write novels and stories, and was very fond of +reading them aloud to her visitors. The daughter, Ekaterina Ivanovna, a +young girl, used to play on the piano. In short, every member of the +family had a special talent. The Turkins welcomed visitors, and +good-humouredly displayed their talents with genuine simplicity. Their +stone house was roomy and cool in summer; half of the windows looked +into a shady old garden, where nightingales used to sing in the spring. +When there were visitors in the house, there was a clatter of knives in +the kitchen and a smell of fried onions in the yard--and that was always +a sure sign of a plentiful and savoury supper to follow. + +And as soon as Dmitri Ionitch Startsev was appointed the district +doctor, and took up his abode at Dyalizh, six miles from S----, he, too, +was told that as a cultivated man it was essential for him to make the +acquaintance of the Turkins. In the winter he was introduced to Ivan +Petrovitch in the street; they talked about the weather, about the +theatre, about the cholera; an invitation followed. On a holiday in the +spring--it was Ascension Day--after seeing his patients, Startsev set +off for town in search of a little recreation and to make some +purchases. He walked in a leisurely way (he had not yet set up his +carriage), humming all the time: + + "'Before I'd drunk the tears from life's goblet....'" + +In town he dined, went for a walk in the gardens, then Ivan +Petrovitch's invitation came into his mind, as it were of itself, +and he decided to call on the Turkins and see what sort of people +they were. + +"How do you do, if you please?" said Ivan Petrovitch, meeting him +on the steps. "Delighted, delighted to see such an agreeable visitor. +Come along; I will introduce you to my better half. I tell him, +Verotchka," he went on, as he presented the doctor to his wife--"I +tell him that he has no human right to sit at home in a hospital; +he ought to devote his leisure to society. Oughtn't he, darling?" + +"Sit here," said Vera Iosifovna, making her visitor sit down beside +her. "You can dance attendance on me. My husband is jealous--he +is an Othello; but we will try and behave so well that he will +notice nothing." + +"Ah, you spoilt chicken!" Ivan Petrovitch muttered tenderly, and +he kissed her on the forehead. "You have come just in the nick of +time," he said, addressing the doctor again. "My better half has +written a 'hugeous' novel, and she is going to read it aloud to-day." + +"Petit Jean," said Vera Iosifovna to her husband, "dites que l'on +nous donne du thé." + +Startsev was introduced to Ekaterina Ivanovna, a girl of eighteen, +very much like her mother, thin and pretty. Her expression was still +childish and her figure was soft and slim; and her developed girlish +bosom, healthy and beautiful, was suggestive of spring, real spring. + +Then they drank tea with jam, honey, and sweetmeats, and with very +nice cakes, which melted in the mouth. As the evening came on, other +visitors gradually arrived, and Ivan Petrovitch fixed his laughing +eyes on each of them and said: + +"How do you do, if you please?" + +Then they all sat down in the drawing-room with very serious faces, +and Vera Iosifovna read her novel. It began like this: "The frost +was intense...." The windows were wide open; from the kitchen +came the clatter of knives and the smell of fried onions.... It +was comfortable in the soft deep arm-chair; the lights had such a +friendly twinkle in the twilight of the drawing-room, and at the +moment on a summer evening when sounds of voices and laughter floated +in from the street and whiffs of lilac from the yard, it was difficult +to grasp that the frost was intense, and that the setting sun was +lighting with its chilly rays a solitary wayfarer on the snowy +plain. Vera Iosifovna read how a beautiful young countess founded +a school, a hospital, a library, in her village, and fell in love +with a wandering artist; she read of what never happens in real +life, and yet it was pleasant to listen--it was comfortable, and +such agreeable, serene thoughts kept coming into the mind, one had +no desire to get up. + +"Not badsome ..." Ivan Petrovitch said softly. + +And one of the visitors hearing, with his thoughts far away, said +hardly audibly: + +"Yes ... truly...." + +One hour passed, another. In the town gardens close by a band was +playing and a chorus was singing. When Vera Iosifovna shut her +manuscript book, the company was silent for five minutes, listening +to "Lutchina" being sung by the chorus, and the song gave what was +not in the novel and is in real life. + +"Do you publish your stories in magazines?" Startsev asked Vera +Iosifovna. + +"No," she answered. "I never publish. I write it and put it away +in my cupboard. Why publish?" she explained. "We have enough to +live on." + +And for some reason every one sighed. + +"And now, Kitten, you play something," Ivan Petrovitch said to his +daughter. + +The lid of the piano was raised and the music lying ready was opened. +Ekaterina Ivanovna sat down and banged on the piano with both hands, +and then banged again with all her might, and then again and again; +her shoulders and bosom shook. She obstinately banged on the same +notes, and it sounded as if she would not leave off until she had +hammered the keys into the piano. The drawing-room was filled with +the din; everything was resounding; the floor, the ceiling, the +furniture.... Ekaterina Ivanovna was playing a difficult passage, +interesting simply on account of its difficulty, long and monotonous, +and Startsev, listening, pictured stones dropping down a steep hill +and going on dropping, and he wished they would leave off dropping; +and at the same time Ekaterina Ivanovna, rosy from the violent +exercise, strong and vigorous, with a lock of hair falling over her +forehead, attracted him very much. After the winter spent at Dyalizh +among patients and peasants, to sit in a drawing-room, to watch +this young, elegant, and, in all probability, pure creature, and +to listen to these noisy, tedious but still cultured sounds, was +so pleasant, so novel.... + +"Well, Kitten, you have played as never before," said Ivan Petrovitch, +with tears in his eyes, when his daughter had finished and stood +up. "Die, Denis; you won't write anything better." + +All flocked round her, congratulated her, expressed astonishment, +declared that it was long since they had heard such music, and she +listened in silence with a faint smile, and her whole figure was +expressive of triumph. + +"Splendid, superb!" + +"Splendid," said Startsev, too, carried away by the general enthusiasm. +"Where have you studied?" he asked Ekaterina Ivanovna. "At the +Conservatoire?" + +"No, I am only preparing for the Conservatoire, and till now have +been working with Madame Zavlovsky." + +"Have you finished at the high school here?" + +"Oh, no," Vera Iosifovna answered for her, "We have teachers for +her at home; there might be bad influences at the high school or a +boarding school, you know. While a young girl is growing up, she +ought to be under no influence but her mother's." + +"All the same, I'm going to the Conservatoire," said Ekaterina +Ivanovna. + +"No. Kitten loves her mamma. Kitten won't grieve papa and mamma." + +"No, I'm going, I'm going," said Ekaterina Ivanovna, with playful +caprice and stamping her foot. + +And at supper it was Ivan Petrovitch who displayed his talents. +Laughing only with his eyes, he told anecdotes, made epigrams, asked +ridiculous riddles and answered them himself, talking the whole +time in his extraordinary language, evolved in the course of prolonged +practice in witticism and evidently now become a habit: "Badsome," +"Hugeous," "Thank you most dumbly," and so on. + +But that was not all. When the guests, replete and satisfied, trooped +into the hall, looking for their coats and sticks, there bustled +about them the footman Pavlusha, or, as he was called in the family, +Pava--a lad of fourteen with shaven head and chubby cheeks. + +"Come, Pava, perform!" Ivan Petrovitch said to him. + +Pava struck an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic +tone: "Unhappy woman, die!" + +And every one roared with laughter. + +"It's entertaining," thought Startsev, as he went out into the +street. + +He went to a restaurant and drank some beer, then set off to walk +home to Dyalizh; he walked all the way singing: + + "'Thy voice to me so languid and caressing....'" + +On going to bed, he felt not the slightest fatigue after the six miles' +walk. On the contrary, he felt as though he could with pleasure have +walked another twenty. + +"Not badsome," he thought, and laughed as he fell asleep. + + +II + +Startsev kept meaning to go to the Turkins' again, but there was a great +deal of work in the hospital, and he was unable to find free time. In +this way more than a year passed in work and solitude. But one day a +letter in a light blue envelope was brought him from the town. + +Vera Iosifovna had been suffering for some time from migraine, but now +since Kitten frightened her every day by saying that she was going away +to the Conservatoire, the attacks began to be more frequent. All the +doctors of the town had been at the Turkins'; at last it was the +district doctor's turn. Vera Iosifovna wrote him a touching letter in +which she begged him to come and relieve her sufferings. Startsev went, +and after that he began to be often, very often at the Turkins'.... He +really did something for Vera Iosifovna, and she was already telling all +her visitors that he was a wonderful and exceptional doctor. But it was +not for the sake of her migraine that he visited the Turkins' now.... + +It was a holiday. Ekaterina Ivanovna finished her long, wearisome +exercises on the piano. Then they sat a long time in the dining-room, +drinking tea, and Ivan Petrovitch told some amusing story. Then there +was a ring and he had to go into the hall to welcome a guest; Startsev +took advantage of the momentary commotion, and whispered to Ekaterina +Ivanovna in great agitation: + +"For God's sake, I entreat you, don't torment me; let us go into the +garden!" + +She shrugged her shoulders, as though perplexed and not knowing what he +wanted of her, but she got up and went. + +"You play the piano for three or four hours," he said, following her; +"then you sit with your mother, and there is no possibility of speaking +to you. Give me a quarter of an hour at least, I beseech you." + +Autumn was approaching, and it was quiet and melancholy in the old +garden; the dark leaves lay thick in the walks. It was already beginning +to get dark early. + +"I haven't seen you for a whole week," Startsev went on, "and if you +only knew what suffering it is! Let us sit down. Listen to me." + +They had a favourite place in the garden; a seat under an old spreading +maple. And now they sat down on this seat. + +"What do you want?" said Ekaterina Ivanovna drily, in a matter-of-fact +tone. + +"I have not seen you for a whole week; I have not heard you for so long. +I long passionately, I thirst for your voice. Speak." + +She fascinated him by her freshness, the naïve expression of her eyes +and cheeks. Even in the way her dress hung on her, he saw something +extraordinarily charming, touching in its simplicity and naïve grace; +and at the same time, in spite of this naïveté, she seemed to him +intelligent and developed beyond her years. He could talk with her about +literature, about art, about anything he liked; could complain to her of +life, of people, though it sometimes happened in the middle of serious +conversation she would laugh inappropriately or run away into the house. +Like almost all girls of her neighbourhood, she had read a great deal +(as a rule, people read very little in S----, and at the lending library +they said if it were not for the girls and the young Jews, they might as +well shut up the library). This afforded Startsev infinite delight; he +used to ask her eagerly every time what she had been reading the last +few days, and listened enthralled while she told him. + +"What have you been reading this week since I saw you last?" he asked +now. "Do please tell me." + +"I have been reading Pisemsky." + +"What exactly?" + +"'A Thousand Souls,'" answered Kitten. "And what a funny name Pisemsky +had--Alexey Feofilaktitch!" + +"Where are you going?" cried Startsev in horror, as she suddenly got up +and walked towards the house. "I must talk to you; I want to explain +myself.... Stay with me just five minutes, I supplicate you!" + +She stopped as though she wanted to say something, then awkwardly thrust +a note into his hand, ran home and sat down to the piano again. + +"Be in the cemetery," Startsev read, "at eleven o'clock to-night, near +the tomb of Demetti." + +"Well, that's not at all clever," he thought, coming to himself. "Why +the cemetery? What for?" + +It was clear: Kitten was playing a prank. Who would seriously dream of +making an appointment at night in the cemetery far out of the town, when +it might have been arranged in the street or in the town gardens? And +was it in keeping with him--a district doctor, an intelligent, staid +man--to be sighing, receiving notes, to hang about cemeteries, to do +silly things that even schoolboys think ridiculous nowadays? What would +this romance lead to? What would his colleagues say when they heard of +it? Such were Startsev's reflections as he wandered round the tables at +the club, and at half-past ten he suddenly set off for the cemetery. + +By now he had his own pair of horses, and a coachman called Panteleimon, +in a velvet waistcoat. The moon was shining. It was still warm, warm as +it is in autumn. Dogs were howling in the suburb near the +slaughter-house. Startsev left his horses in one of the side-streets at +the end of the town, and walked on foot to the cemetery. + +"We all have our oddities," he thought. "Kitten is odd, too; and--who +knows?--perhaps she is not joking, perhaps she will come"; and he +abandoned himself to this faint, vain hope, and it intoxicated him. + +He walked for half a mile through the fields; the cemetery showed as a +dark streak in the distance, like a forest or a big garden. The wall of +white stone came into sight, the gate.... In the moonlight he could read +on the gate: "The hour cometh." Startsev went in at the little gate, and +before anything else he saw the white crosses and monuments on both +sides of the broad avenue, and the black shadows of them and the +poplars; and for a long way round it was all white and black, and the +slumbering trees bowed their branches over the white stones. It seemed +as though it were lighter here than in the fields; the maple-leaves +stood out sharply like paws on the yellow sand of the avenue and on the +stones, and the inscriptions on the tombs could be clearly read. For the +first moments Startsev was struck now by what he saw for the first time +in his life, and what he would probably never see again; a world not +like anything else, a world in which the moonlight was as soft and +beautiful, as though slumbering here in its cradle, where there was no +life, none whatever; but in every dark poplar, in every tomb, there was +felt the presence of a mystery that promised a life peaceful, beautiful, +eternal. The stones and faded flowers, together with the autumn scent of +the leaves, all told of forgiveness, melancholy, and peace. + +All was silence around; the stars looked down from the sky in the +profound stillness, and Startsev's footsteps sounded loud and out of +place, and only when the church clock began striking and he imagined +himself dead, buried there for ever, he felt as though some one were +looking at him, and for a moment he thought that it was not peace and +tranquillity, but stifled despair, the dumb dreariness of +non-existence.... + +Demetti's tomb was in the form of a shrine with an angel at the top. The +Italian opera had once visited S---- and one of the singers had died; +she had been buried here, and this monument put up to her. No one in the +town remembered her, but the lamp at the entrance reflected the +moonlight, and looked as though it were burning. + +There was no one, and, indeed, who would come here at midnight? But +Startsev waited, and as though the moonlight warmed his passion, he +waited passionately, and, in imagination, pictured kisses and embraces. +He sat near the monument for half an hour, then paced up and down the +side avenues, with his hat in his hand, waiting and thinking of the many +women and girls buried in these tombs who had been beautiful and +fascinating, who had loved, at night burned with passion, yielding +themselves to caresses. How wickedly Mother Nature jested at man's +expense, after all! How humiliating it was to recognise it! + +Startsev thought this, and at the same time he wanted to cry out that he +wanted love, that he was eager for it at all costs. To his eyes they +were not slabs of marble, but fair white bodies in the moonlight; he saw +shapes hiding bashfully in the shadows of the trees, felt their warmth, +and the languor was oppressive.... + +And as though a curtain were lowered, the moon went behind a cloud, and +suddenly all was darkness. Startsev could scarcely find the gate--by now +it was as dark as it is on an autumn night. Then he wandered about for +an hour and a half, looking for the side-street in which he had left his +horses. + +"I am tired; I can scarcely stand on my legs," he said to Panteleimon. + +And settling himself with relief in his carriage, he thought: "Och! I +ought not to get fat!" + + +III + +The following evening he went to the Turkins' to make an offer. But it +turned out to be an inconvenient moment, as Ekaterina Ivanovna was in +her own room having her hair done by a hair-dresser. She was getting +ready to go to a dance at the club. + +He had to sit a long time again in the dining-room drinking tea. Ivan +Petrovitch, seeing that his visitor was bored and preoccupied, drew some +notes out of his waistcoat pocket, read a funny letter from a German +steward, saying that all the ironmongery was ruined and the plasticity +was peeling off the walls. + +"I expect they will give a decent dowry," thought Startsev, listening +absent-mindedly. + +After a sleepless night, he found himself in a state of stupefaction, as +though he had been given something sweet and soporific to drink; there +was fog in his soul, but joy and warmth, and at the same time a sort of +cold, heavy fragment of his brain was reflecting: + +"Stop before it is too late! Is she the match for you? She is spoilt, +whimsical, sleeps till two o'clock in the afternoon, while you are a +deacon's son, a district doctor...." + +"What of it?" he thought. "I don't care." + +"Besides, if you marry her," the fragment went on, "then her relations +will make you give up the district work and live in the town." + +"After all," he thought, "if it must be the town, the town it must be. +They will give a dowry; we can establish ourselves suitably." + +At last Ekaterina Ivanovna came in, dressed for the ball, with a low +neck, looking fresh and pretty; and Startsev admired her so much, and +went into such ecstasies, that he could say nothing, but simply stared +at her and laughed. + +She began saying good-bye, and he--he had no reason for staying now--got +up, saying that it was time for him to go home; his patients were +waiting for him. + +"Well, there's no help for that," said Ivan Petrovitch. "Go, and you +might take Kitten to the club on the way." + +It was spotting with rain; it was very dark, and they could only tell +where the horses were by Panteleimon's husky cough. The hood of the +carriage was put up. + +"I stand upright; you lie down right; he lies all right," said Ivan +Petrovitch as he put his daughter into the carriage. + +They drove off. + +"I was at the cemetery yesterday," Startsev began. "How ungenerous and +merciless it was on your part!..." + +"You went to the cemetery?" + +"Yes, I went there and waited almost till two o'clock. I suffered...." + +"Well, suffer, if you cannot understand a joke." + +Ekaterina Ivanovna, pleased at having so cleverly taken in a man who was +in love with her, and at being the object of such intense love, burst +out laughing and suddenly uttered a shriek of terror, for, at that very +minute, the horses turned sharply in at the gate of the club, and the +carriage almost tilted over. Startsev put his arm round Ekaterina +Ivanovna's waist; in her fright she nestled up to him, and he could not +restrain himself, and passionately kissed her on the lips and on the +chin, and hugged her more tightly. + +"That's enough," she said drily. + +And a minute later she was not in the carriage, and a policeman near the +lighted entrance of the club shouted in a detestable voice to +Panteleimon: + +"What are you stopping for, you crow? Drive on." + +Startsev drove home, but soon afterwards returned. Attired in another +man's dress suit and a stiff white tie which kept sawing at his neck and +trying to slip away from the collar, he was sitting at midnight in the +club drawing-room, and was saying with enthusiasm to Ekaterina Ivanovna. + +"Ah, how little people know who have never loved! It seems to me that no +one has ever yet written of love truly, and I doubt whether this tender, +joyful, agonising feeling can be described, and any one who has once +experienced it would not attempt to put it into words. What is the use +of preliminaries and introductions? What is the use of unnecessary fine +words? My love is immeasurable. I beg, I beseech you," Startsev brought +out at last, "be my wife!" + +"Dmitri Ionitch," said Ekaterina Ivanovna, with a very grave face, after +a moment's thought--"Dmitri Ionitch, I am very grateful to you for the +honour. I respect you, but ..." she got up and continued standing, "but, +forgive me, I cannot be your wife. Let us talk seriously. Dmitri +Ionitch, you know I love art beyond everything in life. I adore music; I +love it frantically; I have dedicated my whole life to it. I want to be +an artist; I want fame, success, freedom, and you want me to go on +living in this town, to go on living this empty, useless life, which has +become insufferable to me. To become a wife--oh, no, forgive me! One +must strive towards a lofty, glorious goal, and married life would put +me in bondage for ever. Dmitri Ionitch" (she faintly smiled as she +pronounced his name; she thought of "Alexey Feofilaktitch")--"Dmitri +Ionitch, you are a good, clever, honourable man; you are better than any +one...." Tears came into her eyes. "I feel for you with my whole heart, +but ... but you will understand...." + +And she turned away and went out of the drawing-room to prevent herself +from crying. + +Startsev's heart left off throbbing uneasily. Going out of the club into +the street, he first of all tore off the stiff tie and drew a deep +breath. He was a little ashamed and his vanity was wounded--he had not +expected a refusal--and could not believe that all his dreams, his hopes +and yearnings, had led him up to such a stupid end, just as in some +little play at an amateur performance, and he was sorry for his feeling, +for that love of his, so sorry that he felt as though he could have +burst into sobs or have violently belaboured Panteleimon's broad back +with his umbrella. + +For three days he could not get on with anything, he could not eat nor +sleep; but when the news reached him that Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone +away to Moscow to enter the Conservatoire, he grew calmer and lived as +before. + +Afterwards, remembering sometimes how he had wandered about the cemetery +or how he had driven all over the town to get a dress suit, he stretched +lazily and said: + +"What a lot of trouble, though!" + + +IV + +Four years had passed. Startsev already had a large practice in the +town. Every morning he hurriedly saw his patients at Dyalizh, then he +drove in to see his town patients. By now he drove, not with a pair, but +with a team of three with bells on them, and he returned home late at +night. He had grown broader and stouter, and was not very fond of +walking, as he was somewhat asthmatic. And Panteleimon had grown stout, +too, and the broader he grew, the more mournfully he sighed and +complained of his hard luck: he was sick of driving! Startsev used to +visit various households and met many people, but did not become +intimate with any one. The inhabitants irritated him by their +conversation, their views of life, and even their appearance. Experience +taught him by degrees that while he played cards or lunched with one of +these people, the man was a peaceable, friendly, and even intelligent +human being; that as soon as one talked of anything not eatable, for +instance, of politics or science, he would be completely at a loss, or +would expound a philosophy so stupid and ill-natured that there was +nothing else to do but wave one's hand in despair and go away. Even when +Startsev tried to talk to liberal citizens, saying, for instance, that +humanity, thank God, was progressing, and that one day it would be +possible to dispense with passports and capital punishment, the liberal +citizen would look at him askance and ask him mistrustfully: "Then any +one could murder any one he chose in the open street?" And when, at tea +or supper, Startsev observed in company that one should work, and that +one ought not to live without working, every one took this as a +reproach, and began to get angry and argue aggressively. With all that, +the inhabitants did nothing, absolutely nothing, and took no interest in +anything, and it was quite impossible to think of anything to say. And +Startsev avoided conversation, and confined himself to eating and +playing _vint_; and when there was a family festivity in some household +and he was invited to a meal, then he sat and ate in silence, looking at +his plate. + +And everything that was said at the time was uninteresting, unjust, and +stupid; he felt irritated and disturbed, but held his tongue, and, +because he sat glumly silent and looked at his plate, he was nicknamed +in the town "the haughty Pole," though he never had been a Pole. + +All such entertainments as theatres and concerts he declined, but he +played _vint_ every evening for three hours with enjoyment. He had +another diversion to which he took imperceptibly, little by little: in +the evening he would take out of his pockets the notes he had gained by +his practice, and sometimes there were stuffed in his pockets +notes--yellow and green, and smelling of scent and vinegar and incense +and fish oil--up to the value of seventy roubles; and when they amounted +to some hundreds he took them to the Mutual Credit Bank and deposited +the money there to his account. + +He was only twice at the Turkins' in the course of the four years after +Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone away, on each occasion at the invitation of +Vera Iosifovna, who was still undergoing treatment for migraine. Every +summer Ekaterina Ivanovna came to stay with her parents, but he did not +once see her; it somehow never happened. + +But now four years had passed. One still, warm morning a letter was +brought to the hospital. Vera Iosifovna wrote to Dmitri Ionitch that she +was missing him very much, and begged him to come and see them, and to +relieve her sufferings; and, by the way, it was her birthday. Below was +a postscript: "I join in mother's request.--K." + +Startsev considered, and in the evening he went to the Turkins'. + +"How do you do, if you please?" Ivan Petrovitch met him, smiling with +his eyes only. "Bongjour." + +Vera Iosifovna, white-haired and looking much older, shook Startsev's +hand, sighed affectedly, and said: + +"You don't care to pay attentions to me, doctor. You never come and see +us; I am too old for you. But now some one young has come; perhaps she +will be more fortunate." + +And Kitten? She had grown thinner, paler, had grown handsomer and more +graceful; but now she was Ekaterina Ivanovna, not Kitten; she had lost +the freshness and look of childish naïveté. And in her expression and +manners there was something new--guilty and diffident, as though she did +not feel herself at home here in the Turkins' house. + +"How many summers, how many winters!" she said, giving Startsev her +hand, and he could see that her heart was beating with excitement; and +looking at him intently and curiously, she went on: "How much stouter +you are! You look sunburnt and more manly, but on the whole you have +changed very little." + +Now, too, he thought her attractive, very attractive, but there was +something lacking in her, or else something superfluous--he could not +himself have said exactly what it was, but something prevented him from +feeling as before. He did not like her pallor, her new expression, her +faint smile, her voice, and soon afterwards he disliked her clothes, +too, the low chair in which she was sitting; he disliked something in +the past when he had almost married her. He thought of his love, of the +dreams and the hopes which had troubled him four years before--and he +felt awkward. + +They had tea with cakes. Then Vera Iosifovna read aloud a novel; she +read of things that never happen in real life, and Startsev listened, +looked at her handsome grey head, and waited for her to finish. + +"People are not stupid because they can't write novels, but because they +can't conceal it when they do," he thought. + +"Not badsome," said Ivan Petrovitch. + +Then Ekaterina Ivanovna played long and noisily on the piano, and when +she finished she was profusely thanked and warmly praised. + +"It's a good thing I did not marry her," thought Startsev. + +She looked at him, and evidently expected him to ask her to go into the +garden, but he remained silent. + +"Let us have a talk," she said, going up to him. "How are you getting +on? What are you doing? How are things? I have been thinking about you +all these days," she went on nervously. "I wanted to write to you, +wanted to come myself to see you at Dyalizh. I quite made up my mind to +go, but afterwards I thought better of it. God knows what your attitude +is towards me now; I have been looking forward to seeing you to-day with +such emotion. For goodness' sake let us go into the garden." + +They went into the garden and sat down on the seat under the old maple, +just as they had done four years before. It was dark. + +"How are you getting on?" asked Ekaterina Ivanovna. + +"Oh, all right; I am jogging along," answered Startsev. + +And he could think of nothing more. They were silent. + +"I feel so excited!" said Ekaterina Ivanovna, and she hid her face in +her hands. "But don't pay attention to it. I am so happy to be at home; +I am so glad to see every one. I can't get used to it. So many memories! +I thought we should talk without stopping till morning." + +Now he saw her face near, her shining eyes, and in the darkness she +looked younger than in the room, and even her old childish expression +seemed to have come back to her. And indeed she was looking at him with +naïve curiosity, as though she wanted to get a closer view and +understanding of the man who had loved her so ardently, with such +tenderness, and so unsuccessfully; her eyes thanked him for that love. +And he remembered all that had been, every minute detail; how he had +wandered about the cemetery, how he had returned home in the morning +exhausted, and he suddenly felt sad and regretted the past. A warmth +began glowing in his heart. + +"Do you remember how I took you to the dance at the club?" he asked. "It +was dark and rainy then ..." + +The warmth was glowing now in his heart, and he longed to talk, to rail +at life.... + +"Ech!" he said with a sigh. "You ask how I am living. How do we live +here? Why, not at all. We grow old, we grow stout, we grow slack. Day +after day passes; life slips by without colour, without expressions, +without thoughts.... In the daytime working for gain, and in the evening +the club, the company of card-players, alcoholic, raucous-voiced +gentlemen whom I can't endure. What is there nice in it?" + +"Well, you have work--a noble object in life. You used to be so fond of +talking of your hospital. I was such a queer girl then; I imagined +myself such a great pianist. Nowadays all young ladies play the piano, +and I played, too, like everybody else, and there was nothing special +about me. I am just such a pianist as my mother is an authoress. And of +course I didn't understand you then, but afterwards in Moscow I often +thought of you. I thought of no one but you. What happiness to be a +district doctor; to help the suffering; to be serving the people! What +happiness!" Ekaterina Ivanovna repeated with enthusiasm. "When I thought +of you in Moscow, you seemed to me so ideal, so lofty...." + +Startsev thought of the notes he used to take out of his pockets in the +evening with such pleasure, and the glow in his heart was quenched. + +He got up to go into the house. She took his arm. + +"You are the best man I've known in my life," she went on. "We will see +each other and talk, won't we? Promise me. I am not a pianist; I am not +in error about myself now, and I will not play before you or talk of +music." + +When they had gone into the house, and when Startsev saw in the +lamplight her face, and her sad, grateful, searching eyes fixed upon +him, he felt uneasy and thought again: + +"It's a good thing I did not marry her then." + +He began taking leave. + +"You have no human right to go before supper," said Ivan Petrovitch as +he saw him off. "It's extremely perpendicular on your part. Well, now, +perform!" he added, addressing Pava in the hall. + +Pava, no longer a boy, but a young man with moustaches, threw himself +into an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic voice: + +"Unhappy woman, die!" + +All this irritated Startsev. Getting into his carriage, and looking at +the dark house and garden which had once been so precious and so dear, +he thought of everything at once--Vera Iosifovna's novels and Kitten's +noisy playing, and Ivan Petrovitch's jokes and Pava's tragic posturing, +and thought if the most talented people in the town were so futile, what +must the town be? + +Three days later Pava brought a letter from Ekaterina Ivanovna. + +"You don't come and see us--why?" she wrote to him. "I am afraid that +you have changed towards us. I am afraid, and I am terrified at the very +thought of it. Reassure me; come and tell me that everything is well. + + "I must talk to you.--Your E. I." + + * * * * * + +He read this letter, thought a moment, and said to Pava: + +"Tell them, my good fellow, that I can't come to-day; I am very busy. +Say I will come in three days or so." + +But three days passed, a week passed; he still did not go. Happening +once to drive past the Turkins' house, he thought he must go in, if only +for a moment, but on second thoughts ... did not go in. + +And he never went to the Turkins' again. + + +V + +Several more years have passed. Startsev has grown stouter still, has +grown corpulent, breathes heavily, and already walks with his head +thrown back. When stout and red in the face, he drives with his bells +and his team of three horses, and Panteleimon, also stout and red in the +face with his thick beefy neck, sits on the box, holding his arms +stiffly out before him as though they were made of wood, and shouts to +those he meets: "Keep to the ri-i-ight!" it is an impressive picture; +one might think it was not a mortal, but some heathen deity in his +chariot. He has an immense practice in the town, no time to breathe, and +already has an estate and two houses in the town, and he is looking out +for a third more profitable; and when at the Mutual Credit Bank he is +told of a house that is for sale, he goes to the house without ceremony, +and, marching through all the rooms, regardless of half-dressed women +and children who gaze at him in amazement and alarm, he prods at the +doors with his stick, and says: + +"Is that the study? Is that a bedroom? And what's here?" + +And as he does so he breathes heavily and wipes the sweat from his brow. + +He has a great deal to do, but still he does not give up his work as +district doctor; he is greedy for gain, and he tries to be in all places +at once. At Dyalizh and in the town he is called simply "Ionitch": +"Where is Ionitch off to?" or "Should not we call in Ionitch to a +consultation?" + +Probably because his throat is covered with rolls of fat, his voice has +changed; it has become thin and sharp. His temper has changed, too: he +has grown ill-humoured and irritable. When he sees his patients he is +usually out of temper; he impatiently taps the floor with his stick, and +shouts in his disagreeable voice: + +"Be so good as to confine yourself to answering my questions! Don't talk +so much!" + +He is solitary. He leads a dreary life; nothing interests him. + +During all the years he had lived at Dyalizh his love for Kitten had +been his one joy, and probably his last. In the evenings he plays _vint_ +at the club, and then sits alone at a big table and has supper. Ivan, +the oldest and most respectable of the waiters, serves him, hands him +Lafitte No. 17, and every one at the club--the members of the committee, +the cook and waiters--know what he likes and what he doesn't like and do +their very utmost to satisfy him, or else he is sure to fly into a rage +and bang on the floor with his stick. + +As he eats his supper, he turns round from time to time and puts in his +spoke in some conversation: + +"What are you talking about? Eh? Whom?" + +And when at a neighbouring table there is talk of the Turkins, he asks: + +"What Turkins are you speaking of? Do you mean the people whose daughter +plays on the piano?" + +That is all that can be said about him. + +And the Turkins? Ivan Petrovitch has grown no older; he is not changed +in the least, and still makes jokes and tells anecdotes as of old. Vera +Iosifovna still reads her novels aloud to her visitors with eagerness +and touching simplicity. And Kitten plays the piano for four hours every +day. She has grown visibly older, is constantly ailing, and every autumn +goes to the Crimea with her mother. When Ivan Petrovitch sees them off +at the station, he wipes his tears as the train starts, and shouts: + +"Good-bye, if you please." + +And he waves his handkerchief. + + + + +THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY + + +IT is, as a rule, after losing heavily at cards or after a drinking-bout +when an attack of dyspepsia is setting in that Stepan Stepanitch Zhilin +wakes up in an exceptionally gloomy frame of mind. He looks sour, +rumpled, and dishevelled; there is an expression of displeasure on his +grey face, as though he were offended or disgusted by something. He +dresses slowly, sips his Vichy water deliberately, and begins walking +about the rooms. + +"I should like to know what b-b-beast comes in here and does not shut +the door!" he grumbles angrily, wrapping his dressing-gown about him and +spitting loudly. "Take away that paper! Why is it lying about here? We +keep twenty servants, and the place is more untidy than a pot-house. Who +was that ringing? Who the devil is that?" + +"That's Anfissa, the midwife who brought our Fedya into the world," +answers his wife. + +"Always hanging about ... these cadging toadies!" + +"There's no making you out, Stepan Stepanitch. You asked her yourself, +and now you scold." + +"I am not scolding; I am speaking. You might find something to do, my +dear, instead of sitting with your hands in your lap trying to pick a +quarrel. Upon my word, women are beyond my comprehension! Beyond my +comprehension! How can they waste whole days doing nothing? A man works +like an ox, like a b-beast, while his wife, the partner of his life, +sits like a pretty doll, sits and does nothing but watch for an +opportunity to quarrel with her husband by way of diversion. It's time +to drop these schoolgirlish ways, my dear. You are not a schoolgirl, not +a young lady; you are a wife and mother! You turn away? Aha! It's not +agreeable to listen to the bitter truth!" + +"It's strange that you only speak the bitter truth when your liver is +out of order." + +"That's right; get up a scene." + +"Have you been out late? Or playing cards?" + +"What if I have? Is that anybody's business? Am I obliged to give an +account of my doings to any one? It's my own money I lose, I suppose? +What I spend as well as what is spent in this house belongs to me--me. +Do you hear? To me!" + +And so on, all in the same style. But at no other time is Stepan +Stepanitch so reasonable, virtuous, stern or just as at dinner, when all +his household are sitting about him. It usually begins with the soup. +After swallowing the first spoonful Zhilin suddenly frowns and puts down +his spoon. + +"Damn it all!" he mutters; "I shall have to dine at a restaurant, I +suppose." + +"What's wrong?" asks his wife anxiously. "Isn't the soup good?" + +"One must have the taste of a pig to eat hogwash like that! There's too +much salt in it; it smells of dirty rags ... more like bugs than +onions.... It's simply revolting, Anfissa Ivanovna," he says, addressing +the midwife. "Every day I give no end of money for housekeeping.... I +deny myself everything, and this is what they provide for my dinner! I +suppose they want me to give up the office and go into the kitchen to do +the cooking myself." + +"The soup is very good to-day," the governess ventures timidly. + +"Oh, you think so?" says Zhilin, looking at her angrily from under his +eyelids. "Every one to his taste, of course. It must be confessed our +tastes are very different, Varvara Vassilyevna. You, for instance, are +satisfied with the behaviour of this boy" (Zhilin with a tragic gesture +points to his son Fedya); "you are delighted with him, while I ... I am +disgusted. Yes!" + +Fedya, a boy of seven with a pale, sickly face, leaves off eating and +drops his eyes. His face grows paler still. + +"Yes, you are delighted, and I am disgusted. Which of us is right, I +cannot say, but I venture to think as his father, I know my own son +better than you do. Look how he is sitting! Is that the way decently +brought up children sit? Sit properly." + +Fedya tilts his chin up, cranes his neck, and fancies that he is holding +himself better. Tears come into his eyes. + +"Eat your dinner! Hold your spoon properly! You wait. I'll show you, you +horrid boy! Don't dare to whimper! Look straight at me!" + +Fedya tries to look straight at him, but his face is quivering and his +eyes fill with tears. + +"A-ah!... you cry? You are naughty and then you cry? Go and stand in the +corner, you beast!" + +"But ... let him have his dinner first," his wife intervenes. + +"No dinner for him! Such bla ... such rascals don't deserve dinner!" + +Fedya, wincing and quivering all over, creeps down from his chair and +goes into the corner. + +"You won't get off with that!" his parent persists. "If nobody else +cares to look after your bringing up, so be it; I must begin.... I won't +let you be naughty and cry at dinner, my lad! Idiot! You must do your +duty! Do you understand? Do your duty! Your father works and you must +work, too! No one must eat the bread of idleness! You must be a man! A +m-man!" + +"For God's sake, leave off," says his wife in French. "Don't nag at us +before outsiders, at least.... The old woman is all ears; and now, +thanks to her, all the town will hear of it." + +"I am not afraid of outsiders," answers Zhilin in Russian. "Anfissa +Ivanovna sees that I am speaking the truth. Why, do you think I ought to +be pleased with the boy? Do you know what he costs me? Do you know, you +nasty boy, what you cost me? Or do you imagine that I coin money, that I +get it for nothing? Don't howl! Hold your tongue! Do you hear what I +say? Do you want me to whip you, you young ruffian?" + +Fedya wails aloud and begins to sob. + +"This is insufferable," says his mother, getting up from the table and +flinging down her dinner-napkin. "You never let us have dinner in peace! +Your bread sticks in my throat." + +And putting her handkerchief to her eyes, she walks out of the +dining-room. + +"Now she is offended," grumbles Zhilin, with a forced smile. "She's been +spoilt.... That's how it is, Anfissa Ivanovna; no one likes to hear the +truth nowadays.... It's all my fault, it seems." + +Several minutes of silence follow. Zhilin looks round at the plates, and +noticing that no one has yet touched their soup, heaves a deep sigh, and +stares at the flushed and uneasy face of the governess. + +"Why don't you eat, Varvara Vassilyevna?" he asks. "Offended, I suppose? +I see.... You don't like to be told the truth. You must forgive me, it's +my nature; I can't be a hypocrite.... I always blurt out the plain +truth" (a sigh). "But I notice that my presence is unwelcome. No one can +eat or talk while I am here.... Well, you should have told me, and I +would have gone away.... I will go." + +Zhilin gets up and walks with dignity to the door. As he passes the +weeping Fedya he stops. + +"After all that has passed here, you are free," he says to Fedya, +throwing back his head with dignity. "I won't meddle in your bringing up +again. I wash my hands of it! I humbly apologise that as a father, from +a sincere desire for your welfare, I have disturbed you and your +mentors. At the same time, once for all I disclaim all responsibility +for your future...." + +Fedya wails and sobs more loudly than ever. Zhilin turns with dignity to +the door and departs to his bedroom. + +When he wakes from his after-dinner nap he begins to feel the stings of +conscience. He is ashamed to face his wife, his son, Anfissa Ivanovna, +and even feels very wretched when he recalls the scene at dinner, but +his amour-propre is too much for him; he has not the manliness to be +frank, and he goes on sulking and grumbling. + +Waking up next morning, he feels in excellent spirits, and whistles +gaily as he washes. Going into the dining-room to breakfast, he finds +there Fedya, who, at the sight of his father, gets up and looks at him +helplessly. + +"Well, young man?" Zhilin greets him good-humouredly, sitting down to +the table. "What have you got to tell me, young man? Are you all right? +Well, come, chubby; give your father a kiss." + +With a pale, grave face Fedya goes up to his father and touches his +cheek with his quivering lips, then walks away and sits down in his +place without a word. + + + + +THE BLACK MONK + + +I + +ANDREY VASSILITCH KOVRIN, who held a master's degree at the University, +had exhausted himself, and had upset his nerves. He did not send for a +doctor, but casually, over a bottle of wine, he spoke to a friend who +was a doctor, and the latter advised him to spend the spring and summer +in the country. Very opportunely a long letter came from Tanya Pesotsky, +who asked him to come and stay with them at Borissovka. And he made up +his mind that he really must go. + +To begin with--that was in April--he went to his own home, Kovrinka, and +there spent three weeks in solitude; then, as soon as the roads were in +good condition, he set off, driving in a carriage, to visit Pesotsky, +his former guardian, who had brought him up, and was a horticulturist +well known all over Russia. The distance from Kovrinka to Borissovka was +reckoned only a little over fifty miles. To drive along a soft road in +May in a comfortable carriage with springs was a real pleasure. + +Pesotsky had an immense house with columns and lions, off which the +stucco was peeling, and with a footman in swallow-tails at the entrance. +The old park, laid out in the English style, gloomy and severe, +stretched for almost three-quarters of a mile to the river, and there +ended in a steep, precipitous clay bank, where pines grew with bare +roots that looked like shaggy paws; the water shone below with an +unfriendly gleam, and the peewits flew up with a plaintive cry, and +there one always felt that one must sit down and write a ballad. But +near the house itself, in the courtyard and orchard, which together with +the nurseries covered ninety acres, it was all life and gaiety even in +bad weather. Such marvellous roses, lilies, camellias; such tulips of +all possible shades, from glistening white to sooty black--such a wealth +of flowers, in fact, Kovrin had never seen anywhere as at Pesotsky's. It +was only the beginning of spring, and the real glory of the flower-beds +was still hidden away in the hot-houses. But even the flowers along the +avenues, and here and there in the flower-beds, were enough to make one +feel, as one walked about the garden, as though one were in a realm of +tender colours, especially in the early morning when the dew was +glistening on every petal. + +What was the decorative part of the garden, and what Pesotsky +contemptuously spoke of as rubbish, had at one time in his childhood +given Kovrin an impression of fairyland. + +Every sort of caprice, of elaborate monstrosity and mockery at Nature +was here. There were espaliers of fruit-trees, a pear-tree in the shape +of a pyramidal poplar, spherical oaks and lime-trees, an apple-tree in +the shape of an umbrella, plum-trees trained into arches, crests, +candelabra, and even into the number 1862--the year when Pesotsky first +took up horticulture. One came across, too, lovely, graceful trees with +strong, straight stems like palms, and it was only by looking intently +that one could recognise these trees as gooseberries or currants. But +what made the garden most cheerful and gave it a lively air, was the +continual coming and going in it, from early morning till evening; +people with wheelbarrows, shovels, and watering-cans swarmed round the +trees and bushes, in the avenues and the flower-beds, like ants.... + +Kovrin arrived at Pesotsky's at ten o'clock in the evening. He found +Tanya and her father, Yegor Semyonitch, in great anxiety. The clear +starlight sky and the thermometer foretold a frost towards morning, and +meanwhile Ivan Karlovitch, the gardener, had gone to the town, and they +had no one to rely upon. At supper they talked of nothing but the +morning frost, and it was settled that Tanya should not go to bed, and +between twelve and one should walk through the garden, and see that +everything was done properly, and Yegor Semyonitch should get up at +three o'clock or even earlier. + +Kovrin sat with Tanya all the evening, and after midnight went out with +her into the garden. It was cold. There was a strong smell of burning +already in the garden. In the big orchard, which was called the +commercial garden, and which brought Yegor Semyonitch several thousand +clear profit, a thick, black, acrid smoke was creeping over the ground +and, curling around the trees, was saving those thousands from the +frost. Here the trees were arranged as on a chessboard, in straight and +regular rows like ranks of soldiers, and this severe pedantic +regularity, and the fact that all the trees were of the same size, and +had tops and trunks all exactly alike, made them look monotonous and +even dreary. Kovrin and Tanya walked along the rows where fires of dung, +straw, and all sorts of refuse were smouldering, and from time to time +they were met by labourers who wandered in the smoke like shadows. The +only trees in flower were the cherries, plums, and certain sorts of +apples, but the whole garden was plunged in smoke, and it was only near +the nurseries that Kovrin could breathe freely. + +"Even as a child I used to sneeze from the smoke here," he said, +shrugging his shoulders, "but to this day I don't understand how smoke +can keep off frost." + +"Smoke takes the place of clouds when there are none ..." answered +Tanya. + +"And what do you want clouds for?" + +"In overcast and cloudy weather there is no frost." + +"You don't say so." + +He laughed and took her arm. Her broad, very earnest face, chilled with +the frost, with her delicate black eyebrows, the turned-up collar of her +coat, which prevented her moving her head freely, and the whole of her +thin, graceful figure, with her skirts tucked up on account of the dew, +touched him. + +"Good heavens! she is grown up," he said. "When I went away from here +last, five years ago, you were still a child. You were such a thin, +longlegged creature, with your hair hanging on your shoulders; you used +to wear short frocks, and I used to tease you, calling you a heron.... +What time does!" + +"Yes, five years!" sighed Tanya. "Much water has flowed since then. Tell +me, Andryusha, honestly," she began eagerly, looking him in the face: +"do you feel strange with us now? But why do I ask you? You are a man, +you live your own interesting life, you are somebody.... To grow apart +is so natural! But however that may be, Andryusha, I want you to think +of us as your people. We have a right to that." + +"I do, Tanya." + +"On your word of honour?" + +"Yes, on my word of honour." + +"You were surprised this evening that we have so many of your +photographs. You know my father adores you. Sometimes it seems to me +that he loves you more than he does me. He is proud of you. You are a +clever, extraordinary man, you have made a brilliant career for +yourself, and he is persuaded that you have turned out like this because +he brought you up. I don't try to prevent him from thinking so. Let +him." + +Dawn was already beginning, and that was especially perceptible from the +distinctness with which the coils of smoke and the tops of the trees +began to stand out in the air. + +"It's time we were asleep, though," said Tanya, "and it's cold, too." +She took his arm. "Thank you for coming, Andryusha. We have only +uninteresting acquaintances, and not many of them. We have only the +garden, the garden, the garden, and nothing else. Standards, +half-standards," she laughed. "Aports, Reinettes, Borovinkas, budded +stocks, grafted stocks.... All, all our life has gone into the garden. I +never even dream of anything but apples and pears. Of course, it is very +nice and useful, but sometimes one longs for something else for variety. +I remember that when you used to come to us for the summer holidays, or +simply a visit, it always seemed to be fresher and brighter in the +house, as though the covers had been taken off the lustres and the +furniture. I was only a little girl then, but yet I understood it." + +She talked a long while and with great feeling. For some reason the idea +came into his head that in the course of the summer he might grow fond +of this little, weak, talkative creature, might be carried away and fall +in love; in their position it was so possible and natural! This thought +touched and amused him; he bent down to her sweet, preoccupied face and +hummed softly: + + "'Onyegin, I won't conceal it; + I madly love Tatiana....'" + +By the time they reached the house, Yegor Semyonitch had got up. Kovrin +did not feel sleepy; he talked to the old man and went to the garden +with him. Yegor Semyonitch was a tall, broad-shouldered, corpulent man, +and he suffered from asthma, yet he walked so fast that it was hard work +to hurry after him. He had an extremely preoccupied air; he was always +hurrying somewhere, with an expression that suggested that if he were +one minute late all would be ruined! + +"Here is a business, brother ..." he began, standing still to take +breath. "On the surface of the ground, as you see, is frost; but if you +raise the thermometer on a stick fourteen feet above the ground, there +it is warm.... Why is that?" + +"I really don't know," said Kovrin, and he laughed. + +"H'm!... One can't know everything, of course.... However large the +intellect may be, you can't find room for everything in it. I suppose +you still go in chiefly for philosophy?" + +"Yes, I lecture in psychology; I am working at philosophy in general." + +"And it does not bore you?" + +"On the contrary, it's all I live for." + +"Well, God bless you!..." said Yegor Semyonitch, meditatively stroking +his grey whiskers. "God bless you!... I am delighted about you ... +delighted, my boy...." + +But suddenly he listened, and, with a terrible face, ran off and quickly +disappeared behind the trees in a cloud of smoke. + +"Who tied this horse to an apple-tree?" Kovrin heard his despairing, +heart-rending cry. "Who is the low scoundrel who has dared to tie this +horse to an apple-tree? My God, my God! They have ruined everything; +they have spoilt everything; they have done everything filthy, horrible, +and abominable. The orchard's done for, the orchard's ruined. My God!" + +When he came back to Kovrin, his face looked exhausted and mortified. + +"What is one to do with these accursed people?" he said in a tearful +voice, flinging up his hands. "Styopka was carting dung at night, and +tied the horse to an apple-tree! He twisted the reins round it, the +rascal, as tightly as he could, so that the bark is rubbed off in three +places. What do you think of that! I spoke to him and he stands like a +post and only blinks his eyes. Hanging is too good for him." + +Growing calmer, he embraced Kovrin and kissed him on the cheek. + +"Well, God bless you!... God bless you!..." he muttered. "I am very glad +you have come. Unutterably glad.... Thank you." + +Then, with the same rapid step and preoccupied face, he made the round +of the whole garden, and showed his former ward all his greenhouses and +hot-houses, his covered-in garden, and two apiaries which he called the +marvel of our century. + +While they were walking the sun rose, flooding the garden with brilliant +light. It grew warm. Foreseeing a long, bright, cheerful day, Kovrin +recollected that it was only the beginning of May, and that he had +before him a whole summer as bright, cheerful, and long; and suddenly +there stirred in his bosom a joyous, youthful feeling, such as he used +to experience in his childhood, running about in that garden. And he +hugged the old man and kissed him affectionately. Both of them, feeling +touched, went indoors and drank tea out of old-fashioned china cups, +with cream and satisfying krendels made with milk and eggs; and these +trifles reminded Kovrin again of his childhood and boyhood. The +delightful present was blended with the impressions of the past that +stirred within him; there was a tightness at his heart; yet he was +happy. + +He waited till Tanya was awake and had coffee with her, went for a walk, +then went to his room and sat down to work. He read attentively, making +notes, and from time to time raised his eyes to look out at the open +windows or at the fresh, still dewy flowers in the vases on the table; +and again he dropped his eyes to his book, and it seemed to him as +though every vein in his body was quivering and fluttering with +pleasure. + + +II + +In the country he led just as nervous and restless a life as in town. He +read and wrote a great deal, he studied Italian, and when he was out for +a walk, thought with pleasure that he would soon sit down to work again. +He slept so little that every one wondered at him; if he accidentally +dozed for half an hour in the daytime, he would lie awake all night, +and, after a sleepless night, would feel cheerful and vigorous as though +nothing had happened. + +He talked a great deal, drank wine, and smoked expensive cigars. Very +often, almost every day, young ladies of neighbouring families would +come to the Pesotskys', and would sing and play the piano with Tanya; +sometimes a young neighbour who was a good violinist would come, too. +Kovrin listened with eagerness to the music and singing, and was +exhausted by it, and this showed itself by his eyes closing and his head +falling to one side. + +One day he was sitting on the balcony after evening tea, reading. At the +same time, in the drawing-room, Tanya taking soprano, one of the young +ladies a contralto, and the young man with his violin, were practising a +well-known serenade of Braga's. Kovrin listened to the words--they were +Russian--and could not understand their meaning. At last, leaving his +book and listening attentively, he understood: a maiden, full of sick +fancies, heard one night in her garden mysterious sounds, so strange and +lovely that she was obliged to recognise them as a holy harmony which is +unintelligible to us mortals, and so flies back to heaven. Kovrin's eyes +began to close. He got up, and in exhaustion walked up and down the +drawing-room, and then the dining-room. When the singing was over he +took Tanya's arm, and with her went out on the balcony. + +"I have been all day thinking of a legend," he said. "I don't remember +whether I have read it somewhere or heard it, but it is a strange and +almost grotesque legend. To begin with, it is somewhat obscure. A +thousand years ago a monk, dressed in black, wandered about the desert, +somewhere in Syria or Arabia.... Some miles from where he was, some +fisherman saw another black monk, who was moving slowly over the surface +of a lake. This second monk was a mirage. Now forget all the laws of +optics, which the legend does not recognise, and listen to the rest. +From that mirage there was cast another mirage, then from that other a +third, so that the image of the black monk began to be repeated +endlessly from one layer of the atmosphere to another. So that he was +seen at one time in Africa, at another in Spain, then in Italy, then in +the Far North.... Then he passed out of the atmosphere of the earth, and +now he is wandering all over the universe, still never coming into +conditions in which he might disappear. Possibly he may be seen now in +Mars or in some star of the Southern Cross. But, my dear, the real point +on which the whole legend hangs lies in the fact that, exactly a +thousand years from the day when the monk walked in the desert, the +mirage will return to the atmosphere of the earth again and will appear +to men. And it seems that the thousand years is almost up.... According +to the legend, we may look out for the black monk to-day or to-morrow." + +"A queer mirage," said Tanya, who did not like the legend. + +"But the most wonderful part of it all," laughed Kovrin, "is that I +simply cannot recall where I got this legend from. Have I read it +somewhere? Have I heard it? Or perhaps I dreamed of the black monk. I +swear I don't remember. But the legend interests me. I have been +thinking about it all day." + +Letting Tanya go back to her visitors, he went out of the house, and, +lost in meditation, walked by the flower-beds. The sun was already +setting. The flowers, having just been watered, gave forth a damp, +irritating fragrance. Indoors they began singing again, and in the +distance the violin had the effect of a human voice. Kovrin, racking his +brains to remember where he had read or heard the legend, turned slowly +towards the park, and unconsciously went as far as the river. By a +little path that ran along the steep bank, between the bare roots, he +went down to the water, disturbed the peewits there and frightened two +ducks. The last rays of the setting sun still threw light here and there +on the gloomy pines, but it was quite dark on the surface of the river. +Kovrin crossed to the other side by the narrow bridge. Before him lay a +wide field covered with young rye not yet in blossom. There was no +living habitation, no living soul in the distance, and it seemed as +though the little path, if one went along it, would take one to the +unknown, mysterious place where the sun had just gone down, and where +the evening glow was flaming in immensity and splendour. + +"How open, how free, how still it is here!" thought Kovrin, walking +along the path. "And it feels as though all the world were watching me, +hiding and waiting for me to understand it...." + +But then waves began running across the rye, and a light evening breeze +softly touched his uncovered head. A minute later there was another gust +of wind, but stronger--the rye began rustling, and he heard behind him +the hollow murmur of the pines. Kovrin stood still in amazement. From +the horizon there rose up to the sky, like a whirlwind or a waterspout, +a tall black column. Its outline was indistinct, but from the first +instant it could be seen that it was not standing still, but moving with +fearful rapidity, moving straight towards Kovrin, and the nearer it came +the smaller and the more distinct it was. Kovrin moved aside into the +rye to make way for it, and only just had time to do so. + +A monk, dressed in black, with a grey head and black eyebrows, his arms +crossed over his breast, floated by him.... His bare feet did not touch +the earth. After he had floated twenty feet beyond him, he looked round +at Kovrin, and nodded to him with a friendly but sly smile. But what a +pale, fearfully pale, thin face! Beginning to grow larger again, he flew +across the river, collided noiselessly with the clay bank and pines, and +passing through them, vanished like smoke. + +"Why, you see," muttered Kovrin, "there must be truth in the legend." + +Without trying to explain to himself the strange apparition, glad that +he had succeeded in seeing so near and so distinctly, not only the +monk's black garments, but even his face and eyes, agreeably excited, he +went back to the house. + +In the park and in the garden people were moving about quietly, in the +house they were playing--so he alone had seen the monk. He had an +intense desire to tell Tanya and Yegor Semyonitch, but he reflected that +they would certainly think his words the ravings of delirium, and that +would frighten them; he had better say nothing. + +He laughed aloud, sang, and danced the mazurka; he was in high spirits, +and all of them, the visitors and Tanya, thought he had a peculiar look, +radiant and inspired, and that he was very interesting. + + +III + +After supper, when the visitors had gone, he went to his room and lay +down on the sofa: he wanted to think about the monk. But a minute later +Tanya came in. + +"Here, Andryusha; read father's articles," she said, giving him a bundle +of pamphlets and proofs. "They are splendid articles. He writes +capitally." + +"Capitally, indeed!" said Yegor Semyonitch, following her and smiling +constrainedly; he was ashamed. "Don't listen to her, please; don't read +them! Though, if you want to go to sleep, read them by all means; they +are a fine soporific." + +"I think they are splendid articles," said Tanya, with deep conviction. +"You read them, Andryusha, and persuade father to write oftener. He +could write a complete manual of horticulture." + +Yegor Semyonitch gave a forced laugh, blushed, and began uttering the +phrases usually made use of by an embarrassed author. At last he began +to give way. + +"In that case, begin with Gaucher's article and these Russian articles," +he muttered, turning over the pamphlets with a trembling hand, "or else +you won't understand. Before you read my objections, you must know what +I am objecting to. But it's all nonsense ... tiresome stuff. Besides, I +believe it's bedtime." + +Tanya went away. Yegor Semyonitch sat down on the sofa by Kovrin and +heaved a deep sigh. + +"Yes, my boy ..." he began after a pause. "That's how it is, my dear +lecturer. Here I write articles, and take part in exhibitions, and +receive medals.... Pesotsky, they say, has apples the size of a head, +and Pesotsky, they say, has made his fortune with his garden. In short, +'Kotcheby is rich and glorious.' But one asks oneself: what is it all +for? The garden is certainly fine, a model. It's not really a garden, +but a regular institution, which is of the greatest public importance +because it marks, so to say, a new era in Russian agriculture and +Russian industry. But, what's it for? What's the object of it?" + +"The fact speaks for itself." + +"I do not mean in that sense. I meant to ask: what will happen to the +garden when I die? In the condition in which you see it now, it would +not be maintained for one month without me. The whole secret of success +lies not in its being a big garden or a great number of labourers being +employed in it, but in the fact that I love the work. Do you understand? +I love it perhaps more than myself. Look at me; I do everything myself. +I work from morning to night: I do all the grafting myself, the pruning +myself, the planting myself. I do it all myself: when any one helps me I +am jealous and irritable till I am rude. The whole secret lies in loving +it--that is, in the sharp eye of the master; yes, and in the master's +hands, and in the feeling that makes one, when one goes anywhere for an +hour's visit, sit, ill at ease, with one's heart far away, afraid that +something may have happened in the garden. But when I die, who will look +after it? Who will work? The gardener? The labourers? Yes? But I will +tell you, my dear fellow, the worst enemy in the garden is not a hare, +not a cockchafer, and not the frost, but any outside person." + +"And Tanya?" asked Kovrin, laughing. "She can't be more harmful than a +hare? She loves the work and understands it." + +"Yes, she loves it and understands it. If after my death the garden goes +to her and she is the mistress, of course nothing better could be +wished. But if, which God forbid, she should marry," Yegor Semyonitch +whispered, and looked with a frightened look at Kovrin, "that's just it. +If she marries and children come, she will have no time to think about +the garden. What I fear most is: she will marry some fine gentleman, and +he will be greedy, and he will let the garden to people who will run it +for profit, and everything will go to the devil the very first year! In +our work females are the scourge of God!" + +Yegor Semyonitch sighed and paused for a while. + +"Perhaps it is egoism, but I tell you frankly: I don't want Tanya to get +married. I am afraid of it! There is one young dandy comes to see us, +bringing his violin and scraping on it; I know Tanya will not marry him, +I know it quite well; but I can't bear to see him! Altogether, my boy, I +am very queer. I know that." + +Yegor Semyonitch got up and walked about the room in excitement, and it +was evident that he wanted to say something very important, but could +not bring himself to it. + +"I am very fond of you, and so I am going to speak to you openly," he +decided at last, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I deal plainly +with certain delicate questions, and say exactly what I think, and I +cannot endure so-called hidden thoughts. I will speak plainly: you are +the only man to whom I should not be afraid to marry my daughter. You +are a clever man with a good heart, and would not let my beloved work go +to ruin; and the chief reason is that I love you as a son, and I am +proud of you. If Tanya and you could get up a romance somehow, +then--well! I should be very glad and even happy. I tell you this +plainly, without mincing matters, like an honest man." + +Kovrin laughed. Yegor Semyonitch opened the door to go out, and stood in +the doorway. + +"If Tanya and you had a son, I would make a horticulturist of him," he +said, after a moment's thought. "However, this is idle dreaming. +Goodnight." + +Left alone, Kovrin settled himself more comfortably on the sofa and took +up the articles. The title of one was "On Intercropping"; of another, "A +few Words on the Remarks of Monsieur Z. concerning the Trenching of the +Soil for a New Garden"; a third, "Additional Matter concerning Grafting +with a Dormant Bud"; and they were all of the same sort. But what a +restless, jerky tone! What nervous, almost hysterical passion! Here was +an article, one would have thought, with most peaceable and impersonal +contents: the subject of it was the Russian Antonovsky Apple. But Yegor +Semyonitch began it with "Audiatur altera pars," and finished it with +"Sapienti sat"; and between these two quotations a perfect torrent of +venomous phrases directed "at the learned ignorance of our recognised +horticultural authorities, who observe Nature from the height of their +university chairs," or at Monsieur Gaucher, "whose success has been the +work of the vulgar and the dilettanti." And then followed an +inappropriate, affected, and insincere regret that peasants who stole +fruit and broke the branches could not nowadays be flogged. + +"It is beautiful, charming, healthy work, but even in this there is +strife and passion," thought Kovrin, "I suppose that everywhere and in +all careers men of ideas are nervous, and marked by exaggerated +sensitiveness. Most likely it must be so." + +He thought of Tanya, who was so pleased with Yegor Semyonitch's +articles. Small, pale, and so thin that her shoulder-blades stuck out, +her eyes, wide and open, dark and intelligent, had an intent gaze, as +though looking for something. She walked like her father with a little +hurried step. She talked a great deal and was fond of arguing, +accompanying every phrase, however insignificant, with expressive +mimicry and gesticulation. No doubt she was nervous in the extreme. + +Kovrin went on reading the articles, but he understood nothing of them, +and flung them aside. The same pleasant excitement with which he had +earlier in the evening danced the mazurka and listened to the music was +now mastering him again and rousing a multitude of thoughts. He got up +and began walking about the room, thinking about the black monk. It +occurred to him that if this strange, supernatural monk had appeared to +him only, that meant that he was ill and had reached the point of having +hallucinations. This reflection frightened him, but not for long. + +"But I am all right, and I am doing no harm to any one; so there is no +harm in my hallucinations," he thought; and he felt happy again. + +He sat down on the sofa and clasped his hands round his head. +Restraining the unaccountable joy which filled his whole being, he then +paced up and down again, and sat down to his work. But the thought that +he read in the book did not satisfy him. He wanted something gigantic, +unfathomable, stupendous. Towards morning he undressed and reluctantly +went to bed: he ought to sleep. + +When he heard the footsteps of Yegor Semyonitch going out into the +garden, Kovrin rang the bell and asked the footman to bring him some +wine. He drank several glasses of Lafitte, then wrapped himself up, head +and all; his consciousness grew clouded and he fell asleep. + + +IV + +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya often quarrelled and said nasty things to +each other. + +They quarrelled about something that morning. Tanya burst out crying and +went to her room. She would not come down to dinner nor to tea. At first +Yegor Semyonitch went about looking sulky and dignified, as though to +give every one to understand that for him the claims of justice and good +order were more important than anything else in the world; but he could +not keep it up for long, and soon sank into depression. He walked about +the park dejectedly, continually sighing: "Oh, my God! My God!" and at +dinner did not eat a morsel. At last, guilty and conscience-stricken, he +knocked at the locked door and called timidly: + +"Tanya! Tanya!" + +And from behind the door came a faint voice, weak with crying but still +determined: + +"Leave me alone, if you please." + +The depression of the master and mistress was reflected in the whole +household, even in the labourers working in the garden. Kovrin was +absorbed in his interesting work, but at last he, too, felt dreary and +uncomfortable. To dissipate the general ill-humour in some way, he made +up his mind to intervene, and towards evening he knocked at Tanya's +door. He was admitted. + +"Fie, fie, for shame!" he began playfully, looking with surprise at +Tanya's tear-stained, woebegone face, flushed in patches with crying. +"Is it really so serious? Fie, fie!" + +"But if you knew how he tortures me!" she said, and floods of scalding +tears streamed from her big eyes. "He torments me to death," she went +on, wringing her hands. "I said nothing to him ... nothing ... I only +said that there was no need to keep ... too many labourers ... if we +could hire them by the day when we wanted them. You know ... you know +the labourers have been doing nothing for a whole week.... I ... I ... +only said that, and he shouted and ... said ... a lot of horrible +insulting things to me. What for?" + +"There, there," said Kovrin, smoothing her hair. "You've quarrelled with +each other, you've cried, and that's enough. You must not be angry for +long--that's wrong ... all the more as he loves you beyond everything." + +"He has ... has spoiled my whole life," Tanya went on, sobbing. "I hear +nothing but abuse and ... insults. He thinks I am of no use in the +house. Well! He is right. I shall go away to-morrow; I shall become a +telegraph clerk.... I don't care...." + +"Come, come, come.... You mustn't cry, Tanya. You mustn't, dear.... You +are both hot-tempered and irritable, and you are both to blame. Come +along; I will reconcile you." + +Kovrin talked affectionately and persuasively, while she went on crying, +twitching her shoulders and wringing her hands, as though some terrible +misfortune had really befallen her. He felt all the sorrier for her +because her grief was not a serious one, yet she suffered extremely. +What trivialities were enough to make this little creature miserable for +a whole day, perhaps for her whole life! Comforting Tanya, Kovrin +thought that, apart from this girl and her father, he might hunt the +world over and would not find people who would love him as one of +themselves, as one of their kindred. If it had not been for those two he +might very likely, having lost his father and mother in early childhood, +never to the day of his death have known what was meant by genuine +affection and that naïve, uncritical love which is only lavished on very +close blood relations; and he felt that the nerves of this weeping, +shaking girl responded to his half-sick, overstrained nerves like iron +to a magnet. He never could have loved a healthy, strong, rosy-cheeked +woman, but pale, weak, unhappy Tanya attracted him. + +And he liked stroking her hair and her shoulders, pressing her hand and +wiping away her tears.... At last she left off crying. She went on for a +long time complaining of her father and her hard, insufferable life in +that house, entreating Kovrin to put himself in her place; then she +began, little by little, smiling, and sighing that God had given her +such a bad temper. At last, laughing aloud, she called herself a fool, +and ran out of the room. + +When a little later Kovrin went into the garden, Yegor Semyonitch and +Tanya were walking side by side along an avenue as though nothing had +happened, and both were eating rye bread with salt on it, as both were +hungry. + + +V + +Glad that he had been so successful in the part of peacemaker, Kovrin +went into the park. Sitting on a garden seat, thinking, he heard the +rattle of a carriage and a feminine laugh--visitors were arriving. When +the shades of evening began falling on the garden, the sounds of the +violin and singing voices reached him indistinctly, and that reminded +him of the black monk. Where, in what land or in what planet, was that +optical absurdity moving now? + +Hardly had he recalled the legend and pictured in his imagination the +dark apparition he had seen in the rye-field, when, from behind a +pine-tree exactly opposite, there came out noiselessly, without the +slightest rustle, a man of medium height with uncovered grey head, all +in black, and barefooted like a beggar, and his black eyebrows stood out +conspicuously on his pale, death-like face. Nodding his head graciously, +this beggar or pilgrim came noiselessly to the seat and sat down, and +Kovrin recognised him as the black monk. + +For a minute they looked at one another, Kovrin with amazement, and the +monk with friendliness, and, just as before, a little slyness, as though +he were thinking something to himself. + +"But you are a mirage," said Kovrin. "Why are you here and sitting +still? That does not fit in with the legend." + +"That does not matter," the monk answered in a low voice, not +immediately turning his face towards him. "The legend, the mirage, and I +are all the products of your excited imagination. I am a phantom." + +"Then you don't exist?" said Kovrin. + +"You can think as you like," said the monk, with a faint smile. "I exist +in your imagination, and your imagination is part of nature, so I exist +in nature." + +"You have a very old, wise, and extremely expressive face, as though you +really had lived more than a thousand years," said Kovrin. "I did not +know that my imagination was capable of creating such phenomena. But why +do you look at me with such enthusiasm? Do you like me?" + +"Yes, you are one of those few who are justly called the chosen of God. +You do the service of eternal truth. Your thoughts, your designs, the +marvellous studies you are engaged in, and all your life, bear the +Divine, the heavenly stamp, seeing that they are consecrated to the +rational and the beautiful--that is, to what is eternal." + +"You said 'eternal truth.' ... But is eternal truth of use to man and +within his reach, if there is no eternal life?" + +"There is eternal life," said the monk. + +"Do you believe in the immortality of man?" + +"Yes, of course. A grand, brilliant future is in store for you men. And +the more there are like you on earth, the sooner will this future be +realised. Without you who serve the higher principle and live in full +understanding and freedom, mankind would be of little account; +developing in a natural way, it would have to wait a long time for the +end of its earthly history. You will lead it some thousands of years +earlier into the kingdom of eternal truth--and therein lies your supreme +service. You are the incarnation of the blessing of God, which rests +upon men." + +"And what is the object of eternal life?" asked Kovrin. + +"As of all life--enjoyment. True enjoyment lies in knowledge, and +eternal life provides innumerable and inexhaustible sources of +knowledge, and in that sense it has been said: 'In My Father's house +there are many mansions.'" + +"If only you knew how pleasant it is to hear you!" said Kovrin, rubbing +his hands with satisfaction. + +"I am very glad." + +"But I know that when you go away I shall be worried by the question of +your reality. You are a phantom, an hallucination. So I am mentally +deranged, not normal?" + +"What if you are? Why trouble yourself? You are ill because you have +overworked and exhausted yourself, and that means that you have +sacrificed your health to the idea, and the time is near at hand when +you will give up life itself to it. What could be better? That is the +goal towards which all divinely endowed, noble natures strive." + +"If I know I am mentally affected, can I trust myself?" + +"And are you sure that the men of genius, whom all men trust, did not +see phantoms, too? The learned say now that genius is allied to madness. +My friend, healthy and normal people are only the common herd. +Reflections upon the neurasthenia of the age, nervous exhaustion and +degeneracy, et cetera, can only seriously agitate those who place the +object of life in the present--that is, the common herd." + +"The Romans used to say: _Mens sana in corpore sano._" + +"Not everything the Greeks and the Romans said is true. Exaltation, +enthusiasm, ecstasy--all that distinguishes prophets, poets, martyrs for +the idea, from the common folk--is repellent to the animal side of +man--that is, his physical health. I repeat, if you want to be healthy +and normal, go to the common herd." + +"Strange that you repeat what often comes into my mind," said Kovrin. +"It is as though you had seen and overheard my secret thoughts. But +don't let us talk about me. What do you mean by 'eternal truth'?" + +The monk did not answer. Kovrin looked at him and could not distinguish +his face. His features grew blurred and misty. Then the monk's head and +arms disappeared; his body seemed merged into the seat and the evening +twilight, and he vanished altogether. + +"The hallucination is over," said Kovrin; and he laughed. "It's a pity." + +He went back to the house, light-hearted and happy. The little the monk +had said to him had flattered, not his vanity, but his whole soul, his +whole being. To be one of the chosen, to serve eternal truth, to stand +in the ranks of those who could make mankind worthy of the kingdom of +God some thousands of years sooner--that is, to free men from some +thousands of years of unnecessary struggle, sin, and suffering; to +sacrifice to the idea everything--youth, strength, health; to be ready +to die for the common weal--what an exalted, what a happy lot! He +recalled his past--pure, chaste, laborious; he remembered what he had +learned himself and what he had taught to others, and decided that there +was no exaggeration in the monk's words. + +Tanya came to meet him in the park: she was by now wearing a different +dress. + +"Are you here?" she said. "And we have been looking and looking for +you.... But what is the matter with you?" she asked in wonder, glancing +at his radiant, ecstatic face and eyes full of tears. "How strange you +are, Andryusha!" + +"I am pleased, Tanya," said Kovrin, laying his hand on her shoulders. "I +am more than pleased: I am happy. Tanya, darling Tanya, you are an +extraordinary, nice creature. Dear Tanya, I am so glad, I am so glad!" + +He kissed both her hands ardently, and went on: + +"I have just passed through an exalted, wonderful, unearthly moment. But +I can't tell you all about it or you would call me mad and not believe +me. Let us talk of you. Dear, delightful Tanya! I love you, and am used +to loving you. To have you near me, to meet you a dozen times a day, has +become a necessity of my existence; I don't know how I shall get on +without you when I go back home." + +"Oh," laughed Tanya, "you will forget about us in two days. We are +humble people and you are a great man." + +"No; let us talk in earnest!" he said. "I shall take you with me, Tanya. +Yes? Will you come with me? Will you be mine?" + +"Come," said Tanya, and tried to laugh again, but the laugh would not +come, and patches of colour came into her face. + +She began breathing quickly and walked very quickly, but not to the +house, but further into the park. + +"I was not thinking of it ... I was not thinking of it," she said, +wringing her hands in despair. + +And Kovrin followed her and went on talking, with the same radiant, +enthusiastic face: + +"I want a love that will dominate me altogether; and that love only you, +Tanya, can give me. I am happy! I am happy!" + +She was overwhelmed, and huddling and shrinking together, seemed ten +years older all at once, while he thought her beautiful and expressed +his rapture aloud: + +"How lovely she is!" + + +VI + +Learning from Kovrin that not only a romance had been got up, but that +there would even be a wedding, Yegor Semyonitch spent a long time in +pacing from one corner of the room to the other, trying to conceal his +agitation. His hands began trembling, his neck swelled and turned +purple, he ordered his racing droshky and drove off somewhere. Tanya, +seeing how he lashed the horse, and seeing how he pulled his cap over +his ears, understood what he was feeling, shut herself up in her room, +and cried the whole day. + +In the hot-houses the peaches and plums were already ripe; the packing +and sending off of these tender and fragile goods to Moscow took a great +deal of care, work, and trouble. Owing to the fact that the summer was +very hot and dry, it was necessary to water every tree, and a great deal +of time and labour was spent on doing it. Numbers of caterpillars made +their appearance, which, to Kovrin's disgust, the labourers and even +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya squashed with their fingers. In spite of all +that, they had already to book autumn orders for fruit and trees, and to +carry on a great deal of correspondence. And at the very busiest time, +when no one seemed to have a free moment, the work of the fields carried +off more than half their labourers from the garden. Yegor Semyonitch, +sunburnt, exhausted, ill-humoured, galloped from the fields to the +garden and back again; cried that he was being torn to pieces, and that +he should put a bullet through his brains. + +Then came the fuss and worry of the trousseau, to which the Pesotskys +attached a good deal of importance. Every one's head was in a whirl from +the snipping of the scissors, the rattle of the sewing-machine, the +smell of hot irons, and the caprices of the dressmaker, a huffy and +nervous lady. And, as ill-luck would have it, visitors came every day, +who had to be entertained, fed, and even put up for the night. But all +this hard labour passed unnoticed as though in a fog. Tanya felt that +love and happiness had taken her unawares, though she had, since she was +fourteen, for some reason been convinced that Kovrin would marry her and +no one else. She was bewildered, could not grasp it, could not believe +herself.... At one minute such joy would swoop down upon her that she +longed to fly away to the clouds and there pray to God, at another +moment she would remember that in August she would have to part from her +home and leave her father; or, goodness knows why, the idea would occur +to her that she was worthless--insignificant and unworthy of a great man +like Kovrin--and she would go to her room, lock herself in, and cry +bitterly for several hours. When there were visitors, she would suddenly +fancy that Kovrin looked extraordinarily handsome, and that all the +women were in love with him and envying her, and her soul was filled +with pride and rapture, as though she had vanquished the whole world; +but he had only to smile politely at any young lady for her to be +trembling with jealousy, to retreat to her room--and tears again. These +new sensations mastered her completely; she helped her father +mechanically, without noticing peaches, caterpillars or labourers, or +how rapidly the time was passing. + +It was almost the same with Yegor Semyonitch. He worked from morning +till night, was always in a hurry, was irritable, and flew into rages, +but all of this was in a sort of spellbound dream. It seemed as though +there were two men in him: one was the real Yegor Semyonitch, who was +moved to indignation, and clutched his head in despair when he heard of +some irregularity from Ivan Karlovitch the gardener; and another--not +the real one--who seemed as though he were half drunk, would interrupt a +business conversation at half a word, touch the gardener on the +shoulder, and begin muttering: + +"Say what you like, there is a great deal in blood. His mother was a +wonderful woman, most high-minded and intelligent. It was a pleasure to +look at her good, candid, pure face; it was like the face of an angel. +She drew splendidly, wrote verses, spoke five foreign languages, +sang.... Poor thing! she died of consumption. The Kingdom of Heaven be +hers." + +The unreal Yegor Semyonitch sighed, and after a pause went on: + +"When he was a boy and growing up in my house, he had the same angelic +face, good and candid. The way he looks and talks and moves is as soft +and elegant as his mother's. And his intellect! We were always struck +with his intelligence. To be sure, it's not for nothing he's a Master of +Arts! It's not for nothing! And wait a bit, Ivan Karlovitch, what will +he be in ten years' time? He will be far above us!" + +But at this point the real Yegor Semyonitch, suddenly coming to himself, +would make a terrible face, would clutch his head and cry: + +"The devils! They have spoilt everything! They have ruined everything! +They have spoilt everything! The garden's done for, the garden's +ruined!" + +Kovrin, meanwhile, worked with the same ardour as before, and did not +notice the general commotion. Love only added fuel to the flames. After +every talk with Tanya he went to his room, happy and triumphant, took up +his book or his manuscript with the same passion with which he had just +kissed Tanya and told her of his love. What the black monk had told him +of the chosen of God, of eternal truth, of the brilliant future of +mankind and so on, gave peculiar and extraordinary significance to his +work, and filled his soul with pride and the consciousness of his own +exalted consequence. Once or twice a week, in the park or in the house, +he met the black monk and had long conversations with him, but this did +not alarm him, but, on the contrary, delighted him, as he was now firmly +persuaded that such apparitions only visited the elect few who rise up +above their fellows and devote themselves to the service of the idea. + +One day the monk appeared at dinner-time and sat in the dining-room +window. Kovrin was delighted, and very adroitly began a conversation +with Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya of what might be of interest to the +monk; the black-robed visitor listened and nodded his head graciously, +and Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya listened, too, and smiled gaily without +suspecting that Kovrin was not talking to them but to his hallucination. + +Imperceptibly the fast of the Assumption was approaching, and soon after +came the wedding, which, at Yegor Semyonitch's urgent desire, was +celebrated with "a flourish"--that is, with senseless festivities that +lasted for two whole days and nights. Three thousand roubles' worth of +food and drink was consumed, but the music of the wretched hired band, +the noisy toasts, the scurrying to and fro of the footmen, the uproar +and crowding, prevented them from appreciating the taste of the +expensive wines and wonderful delicacies ordered from Moscow. + + +VII + +One long winter night Kovrin was lying in bed, reading a French novel. +Poor Tanya, who had headaches in the evenings from living in town, to +which she was not accustomed, had been asleep a long while, and, from +time to time, articulated some incoherent phrase in her restless dreams. + +It struck three o'clock. Kovrin put out the light and lay down to sleep, +lay for a long time with his eyes closed, but could not get to sleep +because, as he fancied, the room was very hot and Tanya talked in her +sleep. At half-past four he lighted the candle again, and this time he +saw the black monk sitting in an arm-chair near the bed. + +"Good-morning," said the monk, and after a brief pause he asked: "What +are you thinking of now?" + +"Of fame," answered Kovrin. "In the French novel I have just been +reading, there is a description of a young _savant_, who does silly +things and pines away through worrying about fame. I can't understand +such anxiety." + +"Because you are wise. Your attitude towards fame is one of +indifference, as towards a toy which no longer interests you." + +"Yes, that is true." + +"Renown does not allure you now. What is there flattering, amusing, or +edifying in their carving your name on a tombstone, then time rubbing +off the inscription together with the gilding? Moreover, happily there +are too many of you for the weak memory of mankind to be able to retain +your names." + +"Of course," assented Kovrin. "Besides, why should they be remembered? +But let us talk of something else. Of happiness, for instance. What is +happiness?" + +When the clock struck five, he was sitting on the bed, dangling his feet +to the carpet, talking to the monk: + +"In ancient times a happy man grew at last frightened of his happiness +--it was so great!--and to propitiate the gods he brought as a sacrifice +his favourite ring. Do you know, I, too, like Polykrates, begin to be +uneasy of my happiness. It seems strange to me that from morning to +night I feel nothing but joy; it fills my whole being and smothers all +other feelings. I don't know what sadness, grief, or boredom is. Here I +am not asleep; I suffer from sleeplessness, but I am not dull. I say it +in earnest; I begin to feel perplexed." + +"But why?" the monk asked in wonder. "Is joy a supernatural feeling? +Ought it not to be the normal state of man? The more highly a man is +developed on the intellectual and moral side, the more independent he +is, the more pleasure life gives him. Socrates, Diogenes, and Marcus +Aurelius, were joyful, not sorrowful. And the Apostle tells us: 'Rejoice +continually'; 'Rejoice and be glad.'" + +"But will the gods be suddenly wrathful?" Kovrin jested; and he laughed. +"If they take from me comfort and make me go cold and hungry, it won't +be very much to my taste." + +Meanwhile Tanya woke up and looked with amazement and horror at her +husband. He was talking, addressing the arm-chair, laughing and +gesticulating; his eyes were gleaming, and there was something strange +in his laugh. + +"Andryusha, whom are you talking to?" she asked, clutching the hand he +stretched out to the monk. "Andryusha! Whom?" + +"Oh! Whom?" said Kovrin in confusion. "Why, to him.... He is sitting +here," he said, pointing to the black monk. + +"There is no one here ... no one! Andryusha, you are ill!" + +Tanya put her arm round her husband and held him tight, as though +protecting him from the apparition, and put her hand over his eyes. + +"You are ill!" she sobbed, trembling all over. "Forgive me, my precious, +my dear one, but I have noticed for a long time that your mind is +clouded in some way.... You are mentally ill, Andryusha...." + +Her trembling infected him, too. He glanced once more at the arm-chair, +which was now empty, felt a sudden weakness in his arms and legs, was +frightened, and began dressing. + +"It's nothing, Tanya; it's nothing," he muttered, shivering. "I really +am not quite well ... it's time to admit that." + +"I have noticed it for a long time ... and father has noticed it," she +said, trying to suppress her sobs. "You talk to yourself, smile somehow +strangely ... and can't sleep. Oh, my God, my God, save us!" she said in +terror. "But don't be frightened, Andryusha; for God's sake don't be +frightened...." + +She began dressing, too. Only now, looking at her, Kovrin realised the +danger of his position--realised the meaning of the black monk and his +conversations with him. It was clear to him now that he was mad. + +Neither of them knew why they dressed and went into the dining-room: she +in front and he following her. There they found Yegor Semyonitch +standing in his dressing-gown and with a candle in his hand. He was +staying with them, and had been awakened by Tanya's sobs. + +"Don't be frightened, Andryusha," Tanya was saying, shivering as though +in a fever; "don't be frightened.... Father, it will all pass over ... +it will all pass over...." + +Kovrin was too much agitated to speak. He wanted to say to his +father-in-law in a playful tone: "Congratulate me; it appears I have +gone out of my mind"; but he could only move his lips and smile +bitterly. + +At nine o'clock in the morning they put on his jacket and fur coat, +wrapped him up in a shawl, and took him in a carriage to a doctor. + + +VIII + +Summer had come again, and the doctor advised their going into the +country. Kovrin had recovered; he had left off seeing the black monk, +and he had only to get up his strength. Staying at his father-in-law's, +he drank a great deal of milk, worked for only two hours out of the +twenty-four, and neither smoked nor drank wine. + +On the evening before Elijah's Day they had an evening service in the +house. When the deacon was handing the priest the censer the immense old +room smelt like a graveyard, and Kovrin felt bored. He went out into the +garden. Without noticing the gorgeous flowers, he walked about the +garden, sat down on a seat, then strolled about the park; reaching the +river, he went down and then stood lost in thought, looking at the +water. The sullen pines with their shaggy roots, which had seen him a +year before so young, so joyful and confident, were not whispering now, +but standing mute and motionless, as though they did not recognise him. +And, indeed, his head was closely cropped, his beautiful long hair was +gone, his step was lagging, his face was fuller and paler than last +summer. + +He crossed by the footbridge to the other side. Where the year before +there had been rye the oats stood, reaped, and lay in rows. The sun had +set and there was a broad stretch of glowing red on the horizon, a sign +of windy weather next day. It was still. Looking in the direction from +which the year before the black monk had first appeared, Kovrin stood +for twenty minutes, till the evening glow had begun to fade.... + +When, listless and dissatisfied, he returned home the service was over. +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya were sitting on the steps of the verandah, +drinking tea. They were talking of something, but, seeing Kovrin, ceased +at once, and he concluded from their faces that their talk had been +about him. + +"I believe it is time for you to have your milk," Tanya said to her +husband. + +"No, it is not time yet ..." he said, sitting down on the bottom step. +"Drink it yourself; I don't want it." + +Tanya exchanged a troubled glance with her father, and said in a guilty +voice: + +"You notice yourself that milk does you good." + +"Yes, a great deal of good!" Kovrin laughed. "I congratulate you: I have +gained a pound in weight since Friday." He pressed his head tightly in +his hands and said miserably: "Why, why have you cured me? Preparations +of bromide, idleness, hot baths, supervision, cowardly consternation at +every mouthful, at every step--all this will reduce me at last to +idiocy. I went out of my mind, I had megalomania; but then I was +cheerful, confident, and even happy; I was interesting and original. Now +I have become more sensible and stolid, but I am just like every one +else: I am--mediocrity; I am weary of life.... Oh, how cruelly you have +treated me!... I saw hallucinations, but what harm did that do to any +one? I ask, what harm did that do any one?" + +"Goodness knows what you are saying!" sighed Yegor Semyonitch. "It's +positively wearisome to listen to it." + +"Then don't listen." + +The presence of other people, especially Yegor Semyonitch, irritated +Kovrin now; he answered him drily, coldly, and even rudely, never looked +at him but with irony and hatred, while Yegor Semyonitch was overcome +with confusion and cleared his throat guiltily, though he was not +conscious of any fault in himself. At a loss to understand why their +charming and affectionate relations had changed so abruptly, Tanya +huddled up to her father and looked anxiously in his face; she wanted to +understand and could not understand, and all that was clear to her was +that their relations were growing worse and worse every day, that of +late her father had begun to look much older, and her husband had grown +irritable, capricious, quarrelsome and uninteresting. She could not +laugh or sing; at dinner she ate nothing; did not sleep for nights +together, expecting something awful, and was so worn out that on one +occasion she lay in a dead faint from dinner-time till evening. During +the service she thought her father was crying, and now while the three +of them were sitting together on the terrace she made an effort not to +think of it. + +"How fortunate Buddha, Mahomed, and Shakespeare were that their kind +relations and doctors did not cure them of their ecstasy and their +inspiration," said Kovrin. "If Mahomed had taken bromide for his nerves, +had worked only two hours out of the twenty-four, and had drunk milk, +that remarkable man would have left no more trace after him than his +dog. Doctors and kind relations will succeed in stupefying mankind, in +making mediocrity pass for genius and in bringing civilisation to ruin. +If only you knew," Kovrin said with annoyance, "how grateful I am to +you." + +He felt intense irritation, and to avoid saying too much, he got up +quickly and went into the house. It was still, and the fragrance of the +tobacco plant and the marvel of Peru floated in at the open window. The +moonlight lay in green patches on the floor and on the piano in the big +dark dining-room. Kovrin remembered the raptures of the previous summer +when there had been the same scent of the marvel of Peru and the moon +had shone in at the window. To bring back the mood of last year he went +quickly to his study, lighted a strong cigar, and told the footman to +bring him some wine. But the cigar left a bitter and disgusting taste in +his mouth, and the wine had not the same flavour as it had the year +before. And so great is the effect of giving up a habit, the cigar and +the two gulps of wine made him giddy, and brought on palpitations of the +heart, so that he was obliged to take bromide. + +Before going to bed, Tanya said to him: + +"Father adores you. You are cross with him about something, and it is +killing him. Look at him; he is ageing, not from day to day, but from +hour to hour. I entreat you, Andryusha, for God's sake, for the sake of +your dead father, for the sake of my peace of mind, be affectionate to +him." + +"I can't, I don't want to." + +"But why?" asked Tanya, beginning to tremble all over. "Explain why." + +"Because he is antipathetic to me, that's all," said Kovrin carelessly; +and he shrugged his shoulders. "But we won't talk about him: he is your +father." + +"I can't understand, I can't," said Tanya, pressing her hands to her +temples and staring at a fixed point. "Something incomprehensible, +awful, is going on in the house. You have changed, grown unlike +yourself.... You, clever, extraordinary man as you are, are irritated +over trifles, meddle in paltry nonsense.... Such trivial things excite +you, that sometimes one is simply amazed and can't believe that it is +you. Come, come, don't be angry, don't be angry," she went on, kissing +his hands, frightened of her own words. "You are clever, kind, noble. +You will be just to father. He is so good." + +"He is not good; he is just good-natured. Burlesque old uncles like your +father, with well-fed, good-natured faces, extraordinarily hospitable +and queer, at one time used to touch me and amuse me in novels and in +farces and in life; now I dislike them. They are egoists to the marrow +of their bones. What disgusts me most of all is their being so well-fed, +and that purely bovine, purely hoggish optimism of a full stomach." + +Tanya sat down on the bed and laid her head on the pillow. + +"This is torture," she said, and from her voice it was evident that she +was utterly exhausted, and that it was hard for her to speak. "Not one +moment of peace since the winter.... Why, it's awful! My God! I am +wretched." + +"Oh, of course, I am Herod, and you and your father are the innocents. +Of course." + +His face seemed to Tanya ugly and unpleasant. Hatred and an ironical +expression did not suit him. And, indeed, she had noticed before that +there was something lacking in his face, as though ever since his hair +had been cut his face had changed, too. She wanted to say something +wounding to him, but immediately she caught herself in this antagonistic +feeling, she was frightened and went out of the bedroom. + + +IX + +Kovrin received a professorship at the University. The inaugural address +was fixed for the second of December, and a notice to that effect was +hung up in the corridor at the University. But on the day appointed he +informed the students' inspector, by telegram, that he was prevented by +illness from giving the lecture. + +He had hæmorrhage from the throat. He was often spitting blood, but it +happened two or three times a month that there was a considerable loss +of blood, and then he grew extremely weak and sank into a drowsy +condition. This illness did not particularly frighten him, as he knew +that his mother had lived for ten years or longer suffering from the +same disease, and the doctors assured him that there was no danger, and +had only advised him to avoid excitement, to lead a regular life, and to +speak as little as possible. + +In January again his lecture did not take place owing to the same +reason, and in February it was too late to begin the course. It had to +be postponed to the following year. + +By now he was living not with Tanya, but with another woman, who was two +years older than he was, and who looked after him as though he were a +baby. He was in a calm and tranquil state of mind; he readily gave in to +her, and when Varvara Nikolaevna--that was the name of his +friend--decided to take him to the Crimea, he agreed, though he had a +presentiment that no good would come of the trip. + +They reached Sevastopol in the evening and stopped at an hotel to rest +and go on the next day to Yalta. They were both exhausted by the +journey. Varvara Nikolaevna had some tea, went to bed and was soon +asleep. But Kovrin did not go to bed. An hour before starting for the +station, he had received a letter from Tanya, and had not brought +himself to open it, and now it was lying in his coat pocket, and the +thought of it excited him disagreeably. At the bottom of his heart he +genuinely considered now that his marriage to Tanya had been a mistake. +He was glad that their separation was final, and the thought of that +woman who in the end had turned into a living relic, still walking about +though everything seemed dead in her except her big, staring, +intelligent eyes--the thought of her roused in him nothing but pity and +disgust with himself. The handwriting on the envelope reminded him how +cruel and unjust he had been two years before, how he had worked off his +anger at his spiritual emptiness, his boredom, his loneliness, and his +dissatisfaction with life by revenging himself on people in no way to +blame. He remembered, also, how he had torn up his dissertation and all +the articles he had written during his illness, and how he had thrown +them out of window, and the bits of paper had fluttered in the wind and +caught on the trees and flowers. In every line of them he saw strange, +utterly groundless pretension, shallow defiance, arrogance, megalomania; +and they made him feel as though he were reading a description of his +vices. But when the last manuscript had been torn up and sent flying out +of window, he felt, for some reason, suddenly bitter and angry; he went +to his wife and said a great many unpleasant things to her. My God, how +he had tormented her! One day, wanting to cause her pain, he told her +that her father had played a very unattractive part in their romance, +that he had asked him to marry her. Yegor Semyonitch accidentally +overheard this, ran into the room, and, in his despair, could not utter +a word, could only stamp and make a strange, bellowing sound as though +he had lost the power of speech, and Tanya, looking at her father, had +uttered a heart-rending shriek and had fallen into a swoon. It was +hideous. + +All this came back into his memory as he looked at the familiar writing. +Kovrin went out on to the balcony; it was still warm weather and there +was a smell of the sea. The wonderful bay reflected the moonshine and +the lights, and was of a colour for which it was difficult to find a +name. It was a soft and tender blending of dark blue and green; in +places the water was like blue vitriol, and in places it seemed as +though the moonlight were liquefied and filling the bay instead of +water. And what harmony of colours, what an atmosphere of peace, calm, +and sublimity! + +In the lower storey under the balcony the windows were probably open, +for women's voices and laughter could be heard distinctly. Apparently +there was an evening party. + +Kovrin made an effort, tore open the envelope, and, going back into his +room, read: + +"My father is just dead. I owe that to you, for you have killed him. Our +garden is being ruined; strangers are managing it already--that is, the +very thing is happening that poor father dreaded. That, too, I owe to +you. I hate you with my whole soul, and I hope you may soon perish. Oh, +how wretched I am! Insufferable anguish is burning my soul.... My curses +on you. I took you for an extraordinary man, a genius; I loved you, and +you have turned out a madman...." + +Kovrin could read no more, he tore up the letter and threw it away. He +was overcome by an uneasiness that was akin to terror. Varvara +Nikolaevna was asleep behind the screen, and he could hear her +breathing. From the lower storey came the sounds of laughter and women's +voices, but he felt as though in the whole hotel there were no living +soul but him. Because Tanya, unhappy, broken by sorrow, had cursed him +in her letter and hoped for his perdition, he felt eerie and kept +glancing hurriedly at the door, as though he were afraid that the +uncomprehended force which two years before had wrought such havoc in +his life and in the life of those near him might come into the room and +master him once more. + +He knew by experience that when his nerves were out of hand the best +thing for him to do was to work. He must sit down to the table and force +himself, at all costs, to concentrate his mind on some one thought. He +took from his red portfolio a manuscript containing a sketch of a small +work of the nature of a compilation, which he had planned in case he +should find it dull in the Crimea without work. He sat down to the table +and began working at this plan, and it seemed to him that his calm, +peaceful, indifferent mood was coming back. The manuscript with the +sketch even led him to meditation on the vanity of the world. He thought +how much life exacts for the worthless or very commonplace blessings it +can give a man. For instance, to gain, before forty, a university chair, +to be an ordinary professor, to expound ordinary and second-hand +thoughts in dull, heavy, insipid language--in fact, to gain the position +of a mediocre learned man, he, Kovrin, had had to study for fifteen +years, to work day and night, to endure a terrible mental illness, to +experience an unhappy marriage, and to do a great number of stupid and +unjust things which it would have been pleasant not to remember. Kovrin +recognised clearly, now, that he was a mediocrity, and readily resigned +himself to it, as he considered that every man ought to be satisfied +with what he is. + +The plan of the volume would have soothed him completely, but the torn +letter showed white on the floor and prevented him from concentrating +his attention. He got up from the table, picked up the pieces of the +letter and threw them out of window, but there was a light wind blowing +from the sea, and the bits of paper were scattered on the windowsill. +Again he was overcome by uneasiness akin to terror, and he felt as +though in the whole hotel there were no living soul but himself.... He +went out on the balcony. The bay, like a living thing, looked at him +with its multitude of light blue, dark blue, turquoise and fiery eyes, +and seemed beckoning to him. And it really was hot and oppressive, and +it would not have been amiss to have a bathe. + +Suddenly in the lower storey under the balcony a violin began playing, +and two soft feminine voices began singing. It was something familiar. +The song was about a maiden, full of sick fancies, who heard one night +in her garden mysterious sounds, so strange and lovely that she was +obliged to recognise them as a holy harmony which is unintelligible to +us mortals, and so flies back to heaven.... Kovrin caught his breath and +there was a pang of sadness at his heart, and a thrill of the sweet, +exquisite delight he had so long forgotten began to stir in his breast. + +A tall black column, like a whirlwind or a waterspout, appeared on the +further side of the bay. It moved with fearful rapidity across the bay, +towards the hotel, growing smaller and darker as it came, and Kovrin +only just had time to get out of the way to let it pass.... The monk +with bare grey head, black eyebrows, barefoot, his arms crossed over his +breast, floated by him, and stood still in the middle of the room. + +"Why did you not believe me?" he asked reproachfully, looking +affectionately at Kovrin. "If you had believed me then, that you were a +genius, you would not have spent these two years so gloomily and so +wretchedly." + +Kovrin already believed that he was one of God's chosen and a genius; he +vividly recalled his conversations with the monk in the past and tried +to speak, but the blood flowed from his throat on to his breast, and not +knowing what he was doing, he passed his hands over his breast, and his +cuffs were soaked with blood. He tried to call Varvara Nikolaevna, who +was asleep behind the screen; he made an effort and said: + +"Tanya!" + +He fell on the floor, and propping himself on his arms, called again: + +"Tanya!" + +He called Tanya, called to the great garden with the gorgeous flowers +sprinkled with dew, called to the park, the pines with their shaggy +roots, the rye-field, his marvellous learning, his youth, courage, +joy--called to life, which was so lovely. He saw on the floor near his +face a great pool of blood, and was too weak to utter a word, but an +unspeakable, infinite happiness flooded his whole being. Below, under +the balcony, they were playing the serenade, and the black monk +whispered to him that he was a genius, and that he was dying only +because his frail human body had lost its balance and could no longer +serve as the mortal garb of genius. + +When Varvara Nikolaevna woke up and came out from behind the screen, +Kovrin was dead, and a blissful smile was set upon his face. + + + + +VOLODYA + + +AT five o'clock one Sunday afternoon in summer, Volodya, a plain, shy, +sickly-looking lad of seventeen, was sitting in the arbour of the +Shumihins' country villa, feeling dreary. His despondent thought flowed +in three directions. In the first place, he had next day, Monday, an +examination in mathematics; he knew that if he did not get through the +written examination on the morrow, he would be expelled, for he had +already been two years in the sixth form and had two and three-quarter +marks for algebra in his annual report. In the second place, his +presence at the villa of the Shumihins, a wealthy family with +aristocratic pretensions, was a continual source of mortification to his +_amour-propre_. It seemed to him that Madame Shumihin looked upon him +and his maman as poor relations and dependents, that they laughed at his +_maman_ and did not respect her. He had on one occasion accidently +overheard Madame Shumihin, in the verandah, telling her cousin Anna +Fyodorovna that his _maman_ still tried to look young and got herself +up, that she never paid her losses at cards, and had a partiality for +other people's shoes and tobacco. Every day Volodya besought his _maman_ +not to go to the Shumihins', and drew a picture of the humiliating part +she played with these gentlefolk. He tried to persuade her, said rude +things, but she--a frivolous, pampered woman, who had run through two +fortunes, her own and her husband's, in her time, and always gravitated +towards acquaintances of high rank--did not understand him, and twice a +week Volodya had to accompany her to the villa he hated. + +In the third place, the youth could not for one instant get rid of a +strange, unpleasant feeling which was absolutely new to him.... It +seemed to him that he was in love with Anna Fyodorovna, the Shumihins' +cousin, who was staying with them. She was a vivacious, loud-voiced, +laughter-loving, healthy, and vigorous lady of thirty, with rosy cheeks, +plump shoulders, a plump round chin and a continual smile on her thin +lips. She was neither young nor beautiful--Volodya knew that perfectly +well; but for some reason he could not help thinking of her, looking at +her while she shrugged her plump shoulders and moved her flat back as +she played croquet, or after prolonged laughter and running up and down +stairs, sank into a low chair, and, half closing her eyes and gasping +for breath, pretended that she was stifling and could not breathe. She +was married. Her husband, a staid and dignified architect, came once a +week to the villa, slept soundly, and returned to town. Volodya's +strange feeling had begun with his conceiving an unaccountable hatred +for the architect, and feeling relieved every time he went back to town. + +Now, sitting in the arbour, thinking of his examination next day, and of +his _maman_, at whom they laughed, he felt an intense desire to see +Nyuta (that was what the Shumihins called Anna Fyodorovna), to hear her +laughter and the rustle of her dress.... This desire was not like the +pure, poetic love of which he read in novels and about which he dreamed +every night when he went to bed; it was strange, incomprehensible; he +was ashamed of it, and afraid of it as of something very wrong and +impure, something which it was disagreeable to confess even to himself. + +"It's not love," he said to himself. "One can't fall in love with women +of thirty who are married. It is only a little intrigue.... Yes, an +intrigue...." + +Pondering on the "intrigue," he thought of his uncontrollable shyness, +his lack of moustache, his freckles, his narrow eyes, and put himself in +his imagination side by side with Nyuta, and the juxtaposition seemed to +him impossible; then he made haste to imagine himself bold, handsome, +witty, dressed in the latest fashion. + +When his dreams were at their height, as he sat huddled together and +looking at the ground in a dark corner of the arbour, he heard the sound +of light footsteps. Some one was coming slowly along the avenue. Soon +the steps stopped and something white gleamed in the entrance. + +"Is there any one here?" asked a woman's voice. + +Volodya recognised the voice, and raised his head in a fright. + +"Who is here?" asked Nyuta, going into the arbour. "Ah, it is you, +Volodya? What are you doing here? Thinking? And how can you go on +thinking, thinking, thinking?... That's the way to go out of your mind!" + +Volodya got up and looked in a dazed way at Nyuta. She had only just +come back from bathing. Over her shoulder there was hanging a sheet and +a rough towel, and from under the white silk kerchief on her head he +could see the wet hair sticking to her forehead. There was the cool damp +smell of the bath-house and of almond soap still hanging about her. She +was out of breath from running quickly. The top button of her blouse was +undone, so that the boy saw her throat and bosom. + +"Why don't you say something?" said Nyuta, looking Volodya up and down. +"It's not polite to be silent when a lady talks to you. What a clumsy +seal you are though, Volodya! You always sit, saying nothing, thinking +like some philosopher. There's not a spark of life or fire in you! You +are really horrid!... At your age you ought to be living, skipping, and +jumping, chattering, flirting, falling in love." + +Volodya looked at the sheet that was held by a plump white hand, and +thought.... + +"He's mute," said Nyuta, with wonder; "it is strange, really.... Listen! +Be a man! Come, you might smile at least! Phew, the horrid philosopher!" +she laughed. "But do you know, Volodya, why you are such a clumsy seal? +Because you don't devote yourself to the ladies. Why don't you? It's +true there are no girls here, but there is nothing to prevent your +flirting with the married ladies! Why don't you flirt with me, for +instance?" + +Volodya listened and scratched his forehead in acute and painful +irresolution. + +"It's only very proud people who are silent and love solitude," Nyuta +went on, pulling his hand away from his forehead. "You are proud, +Volodya. Why do you look at me like that from under your brows? Look me +straight in the face, if you please! Yes, now then, clumsy seal!" + +Volodya made up his mind to speak. Wanting to smile, he twitched his +lower lip, blinked, and again put his hand to his forehead. + +"I ... I love you," he said. + +Nyuta raised her eyebrows in surprise, and laughed. + +"What do I hear?" she sang, as prima-donnas sing at the opera when they +hear something awful. "What? What did you say? Say it again, say it +again...." + +"I ... I love you!" repeated Volodya. + +And without his will's having any part in his action, without reflection +or understanding, he took half a step towards Nyuta and clutched her by +the arm. Everything was dark before his eyes, and tears came into them. +The whole world was turned into one big, rough towel which smelt of the +bathhouse. + +"Bravo, bravo!" he heard a merry laugh. "Why don't you speak? I want you +to speak! Well?" + +Seeing that he was not prevented from holding her arm, Volodya glanced +at Nyuta's laughing face, and clumsily, awkwardly, put both arms round +her waist, his hands meeting behind her back. He held her round the +waist with both arms, while, putting her hands up to her head, showing +the dimples in her elbows, she set her hair straight under the kerchief +and said in a calm voice: + +"You must be tactful, polite, charming, and you can only become that +under feminine influence. But what a wicked, angry face you have! You +must talk, laugh.... Yes, Volodya, don't be surly; you are young and +will have plenty of time for philosophising. Come, let go of me; I am +going. Let go." + +Without effort she released her waist, and, humming something, walked +out of the arbour. Volodya was left alone. He smoothed his hair, smiled, +and walked three times to and fro across the arbour, then he sat down on +the bench and smiled again. He felt insufferably ashamed, so much so +that he wondered that human shame could reach such a pitch of acuteness +and intensity. Shame made him smile, gesticulate, and whisper some +disconnected words. + +He was ashamed that he had been treated like a small boy, ashamed of his +shyness, and, most of all, that he had had the audacity to put his arms +round the waist of a respectable married woman, though, as it seemed to +him, he had neither through age nor by external quality, nor by social +position any right to do so. + +He jumped up, went out of the arbour, and, without looking round, walked +into the recesses of the garden furthest from the house. + +"Ah! only to get away from here as soon as possible," he thought, +clutching his head. "My God! as soon as possible." + +The train by which Volodya was to go back with his _maman_ was at +eight-forty. There were three hours before the train started, but he +would with pleasure have gone to the station at once without waiting for +his _maman_. + +At eight o'clock he went to the house. His whole figure was expressive +of determination: what would be, would be! He made up his mind to go in +boldly, to look them straight in the face, to speak in a loud voice, +regardless of everything. + +He crossed the terrace, the big hall and the drawing-room, and there +stopped to take breath. He could hear them in the dining-room, drinking +tea. Madame Shumihin, _maman_, and Nyuta were talking and laughing about +something. + +Volodya listened. + +"I assure you!" said Nyuta. "I could not believe my eyes! When he began +declaring his passion and--just imagine!--put his arms round my waist, I +should not have recognised him. And you know he has a way with him! When +he told me he was in love with me, there was something brutal in his +face, like a Circassian." + +"Really!" gasped _maman_, going off into a peal of laughter. "Really! +How he does remind me of his father!" + +Volodya ran back and dashed out into the open air. + +"How could they talk of it aloud!" he wondered in agony, clasping his +hands and looking up to the sky in horror. "They talk aloud in cold +blood ... and _maman_ laughed!... _Maman!_ My God, why didst Thou give +me such a mother? Why?" + +But he had to go to the house, come what might. He walked three times up +and down the avenue, grew a little calmer, and went into the house. + +"Why didn't you come in in time for tea?" Madame Shumihin asked sternly. + +"I am sorry, it's ... it's time for me to go," he muttered, not raising +his eyes. "_Maman_, it's eight o'clock!" + +"You go alone, my dear," said his _maman_ languidly. "I am staying the +night with Lili. Goodbye, my dear.... Let me make the sign of the cross +over you." + +She made the sign of the cross over her son, and said in French, turning +to Nyuta: + +"He's rather like Lermontov ... isn't he?" + +Saying good-bye after a fashion, without looking any one in the face, +Volodya went out of the dining-room. Ten minutes later he was walking +along the road to the station, and was glad of it. Now he felt neither +frightened nor ashamed; he breathed freely and easily. + +About half a mile from the station, he sat down on a stone by the side +of the road, and gazed at the sun, which was half hidden behind a +barrow. There were lights already here and there at the station, and one +green light glimmered dimly, but the train was not yet in sight. It was +pleasant to Volodya to sit still without moving, and to watch the +evening coming little by little. The darkness of the arbour, the +footsteps, the smell of the bath-house, the laughter, and the waist--all +these rose with amazing vividness before his imagination, and all this +was no longer so terrible and important as before. + +"It's of no consequence.... She did not pull her hand away, and laughed +when I held her by the waist," he thought. "So she must have liked it. +If she had disliked it she would have been angry...." + +And now Volodya felt sorry that he had not had more boldness there in +the arbour. He felt sorry that he was so stupidly going away, and he was +by now persuaded that if the same thing happened again he would be +bolder and look at it more simply. + +And it would not be difficult for the opportunity to occur again. They +used to stroll about for a long time after supper at the Shumihins'. If +Volodya went for a walk with Nyuta in the dark garden, there would be an +opportunity! + +"I will go back," he thought, "and will go by the morning train +to-morrow.... I will say I have missed the train." + +And he turned back.... Madame Shumihin, _Maman_, Nyuta, and one of the +nieces were sitting on the verandah, playing _vint_. When Volodya told +them the lie that he had missed the train, they were uneasy that he +might be late for the examination day, and advised him to get up early. +All the while they were playing he sat on one side, greedily watching +Nyuta and waiting.... He already had a plan prepared in his mind: he +would go up to Nyuta in the dark, would take her by the hand, then would +embrace her; there would be no need to say anything, as both of them +would understand without words. + +But after supper the ladies did not go for a walk in the garden, but +went on playing cards. They played till one o'clock at night, and then +broke up to go to bed. + +"How stupid it all is!" Volodya thought with vexation as he got into +bed. "But never mind; I'll wait till to-morrow ... to-morrow in the +arbour. It doesn't matter...." + +He did not attempt to go to sleep, but sat in bed, hugging his knees and +thinking. All thought of the examination was hateful to him. He had +already made up his mind that they would expel him, and that there was +nothing terrible about his being expelled. On the contrary, it was a +good thing--a very good thing, in fact. Next day he would be as free as +a bird; he would put on ordinary clothes instead of his school uniform, +would smoke openly, come out here, and make love to Nyuta when he liked; +and he would not be a schoolboy but "a young man." And as for the rest +of it, what is called a career, a future, that was clear; Volodya would +go into the army or the telegraph service, or he would go into a +chemist's shop and work his way up till he was a dispenser.... There +were lots of callings. An hour or two passed, and he was still sitting +and thinking.... + +Towards three o'clock, when it was beginning to get light, the door +creaked cautiously and his _maman_ came into the room. + +"Aren't you asleep?" she asked, yawning. "Go to sleep; I have only come +in for a minute.... I am only fetching the drops...." + +"What for?" + +"Poor Lili has got spasms again. Go to sleep, my child, your +examination's to-morrow...." + +She took a bottle of something out of the cupboard, went to the window, +read the label, and went away. + +"Marya Leontyevna, those are not the drops!" Volodya heard a woman's +voice, a minute later. "That's convallaria, and Lili wants morphine. Is +your son asleep? Ask him to look for it...." + +It was Nyuta's voice. Volodya turned cold. He hurriedly put on his +trousers, flung his coat over his shoulders, and went to the door. + +"Do you understand? Morphine," Nyuta explained in a whisper. "There must +be a label in Latin. Wake Volodya; he will find it." + +_Maman_ opened the door and Volodya caught sight of Nyuta. She was +wearing the same loose wrapper in which she had gone to bathe. Her hair +hung loose and disordered on her shoulders, her face looked sleepy and +dark in the half-light.... + +"Why, Volodya is not asleep," she said. "Volodya, look in the cupboard +for the morphine, there's a dear! What a nuisance Lili is! She has +always something the matter." + +_Maman_ muttered something, yawned, and went away. + +"Look for it," said Nyuta. "Why are you standing still?" + +Volodya went to the cupboard, knelt down, and began looking through the +bottles and boxes of medicine. His hands were trembling, and he had a +feeling in his chest and stomach as though cold waves were running all +over his inside. He felt suffocated and giddy from the smell of ether, +carbolic acid, and various drugs, which he quite unnecessarily snatched +up with his trembling fingers and spilled in so doing. + +"I believe _maman_ has gone," he thought. "That's a good thing ... a +good thing...." + +"Will you be quick?" said Nyuta, drawling. + +"In a minute.... Here, I believe this is morphine," said Volodya, +reading on one of the labels the word "morph...." "Here it is!" + +Nyuta was standing in the doorway in such a way that one foot was in his +room and one was in the passage. She was tidying her hair, which was +difficult to put in order because it was so thick and long, and looked +absent-mindedly at Volodya. In her loose wrap, with her sleepy face and +her hair down, in the dim light that came into the white sky not yet lit +by the sun, she seemed to Volodya captivating, magnificent.... +Fascinated, trembling all over, and remembering with relish how he had +held that exquisite body in his arms in the arbour, he handed her the +bottle and said: + +"How wonderful you are!" + +"What?" + +She came into the room. + +"What?" she asked, smiling. + +He was silent and looked at her, then, just as in the arbour, he took +her hand, and she looked at him with a smile and waited for what would +happen next. + +"I love you," he whispered. + +She left off smiling, thought a minute, and said: + +"Wait a little; I think somebody is coming. Oh, these schoolboys!" she +said in an undertone, going to the door and peeping out into the +passage. "No, there is no one to be seen...." + +She came back. + +Then it seemed to Volodya that the room, Nyuta, the sunrise and +himself--all melted together in one sensation of acute, extraordinary, +incredible bliss, for which one might give up one's whole life and face +eternal torments.... But half a minute passed and all that vanished. +Volodya saw only a fat, plain face, distorted by an expression of +repulsion, and he himself suddenly felt a loathing for what had +happened. + +"I must go away, though," said Nyuta, looking at Volodya with disgust. +"What a wretched, ugly ... fie, ugly duckling!" + +How unseemly her long hair, her loose wrap, her steps, her voice seemed +to Volodya now!... + +"'Ugly duckling' ..." he thought after she had gone away. "I really am +ugly ... everything is ugly." + +The sun was rising, the birds were singing loudly; he could hear the +gardener walking in the garden and the creaking of his wheelbarrow ... +and soon afterwards he heard the lowing of the cows and the sounds of +the shepherd's pipe. The sunlight and the sounds told him that somewhere +in this world there is a pure, refined, poetical life. But where was it? +Volodya had never heard a word of it from his _maman_ or any of the +people round about him. + +When the footman came to wake him for the morning train, he pretended to +be asleep.... + +"Bother it! Damn it all!" he thought. + +He got up between ten and eleven. + +Combing his hair before the looking-glass, and looking at his ugly face, +pale from his sleepless night, he thought: + +"It's perfectly true ... an ugly duckling!" + +When _maman_ saw him and was horrified that he was not at his +examination, Volodya said: + +"I overslept myself, _maman_.... But don't worry, I will get a medical +certificate." + +Madame Shumihin and Nyuta waked up at one o'clock. Volodya heard Madame +Shumihin open her window with a bang, heard Nyuta go off into a peal of +laughter in reply to her coarse voice. He saw the door open and a string +of nieces and other toadies (among the latter was his _maman_) file into +lunch, caught a glimpse of Nyuta's freshly washed laughing face, and, +beside her, the black brows and beard of her husband the architect, who +had just arrived. + +Nyuta was wearing a Little Russian dress which did not suit her at all, +and made her look clumsy; the architect was making dull and vulgar +jokes. The rissoles served at lunch had too much onion in them--so it +seemed to Volodya. It also seemed to him that Nyuta laughed loudly on +purpose, and kept glancing in his direction to give him to understand +that the memory of the night did not trouble her in the least, and that +she was not aware of the presence at table of the "ugly duckling." + +At four o'clock Volodya drove to the station with his _maman_. Foul +memories, the sleepless night, the prospect of expulsion from school, +the stings of conscience--all roused in him now an oppressive, gloomy +anger. He looked at _maman_'s sharp profile, at her little nose, and at +the raincoat which was a present from Nyuta, and muttered: + +"Why do you powder? It's not becoming at your age! You make yourself up, +don't pay your debts at cards, smoke other people's tobacco.... It's +hateful! I don't love you ... I don't love you!" + +He was insulting her, and she moved her little eyes about in alarm, +flung up her hands, and whispered in horror: + +"What are you saying, my dear! Good gracious! the coachman will hear! Be +quiet or the coachman will hear! He can overhear everything." + +"I don't love you ... I don't love you!" he went on breathlessly. +"You've no soul and no morals.... Don't dare to wear that raincoat! Do +you hear? Or else I will tear it into rags...." + +"Control yourself, my child," _maman_ wept; "the coachman can hear!" + +"And where is my father's fortune? Where is your money? You have wasted +it all. I am not ashamed of being poor, but I am ashamed of having such +a mother.... When my schoolfellows ask questions about you, I always +blush." + +In the train they had to pass two stations before they reached the town. +Volodya spent all the time on the little platform between two carriages +and shivered all over. He did not want to go into the compartment +because there the mother he hated was sitting. He hated himself, hated +the ticket collectors, the smoke from the engine, the cold to which he +attributed his shivering. And the heavier the weight on his heart, the +more strongly he felt that somewhere in the world, among some people, +there was a pure, honourable, warm, refined life, full of love, +affection, gaiety, and serenity.... He felt this and was so intensely +miserable that one of the passengers, after looking in his face +attentively, actually asked: + +"You have the toothache, I suppose?" + +In the town _maman_ and Volodya lived with Marya Petrovna, a lady of +noble rank, who had a large flat and let rooms to boarders. _Maman_ had +two rooms, one with windows and two pictures in gold frames hanging on +the walls, in which her bed stood and in which she lived, and a little +dark room opening out of it in which Volodya lived. Here there was a +sofa on which he slept, and, except that sofa, there was no other +furniture; the rest of the room was entirely filled up with wicker +baskets full of clothes, cardboard hat-boxes, and all sorts of rubbish, +which _maman_ preserved for some reason or other. Volodya prepared his +lessons either in his mother's room or in the "general room," as the +large room in which the boarders assembled at dinner-time and in the +evening was called. + +On reaching home he lay down on his sofa and put the quilt over him to +stop his shivering. The cardboard hat-boxes, the wicker baskets, and the +other rubbish, reminded him that he had not a room of his own, that he +had no refuge in which he could get away from his mother, from her +visitors, and from the voices that were floating up from the "general +room." The satchel and the books lying about in the corners reminded him +of the examination he had missed.... For some reason there came into his +mind, quite inappropriately, Mentone, where he had lived with his father +when he was seven years old; he thought of Biarritz and two little +English girls with whom he ran about on the sand.... He tried to recall +to his memory the colour of the sky, the sea, the height of the waves, +and his mood at the time, but he could not succeed. The English girls +flitted before his imagination as though they were living; all the rest +was a medley of images that floated away in confusion.... + +"No; it's cold here," thought Volodya. He got up, put on his overcoat, +and went into the "general room." + +There they were drinking tea. There were three people at the samovar: +_maman_; an old lady with tortoiseshell pince-nez, who gave music +lessons; and Avgustin Mihalitch, an elderly and very stout Frenchman, +who was employed at a perfumery factory. + +"I have had no dinner to-day," said _maman_. "I ought to send the maid +to buy some bread." + +"Dunyasha!" shouted the Frenchman. + +It appeared that the maid had been sent out somewhere by the lady of the +house. + +"Oh, that's of no consequence," said the Frenchman, with a broad smile. +"I will go for some bread myself at once. Oh, it's nothing." + +He laid his strong, pungent cigar in a conspicuous place, put on his hat +and went out. After he had gone away _maman_ began telling the music +teacher how she had been staying at the Shumihins', and how warmly they +welcomed her. + +"Lili Shumihin is a relation of mine, you know," she said. "Her late +husband, General Shumihin, was a cousin of my husband. And she was a +Baroness Kolb by birth...." + +"_Maman_, that's false!" said Volodya irritably. "Why tell lies?" + +He knew perfectly well that what his mother said was true; in what she +was saying about General Shumihin and about Baroness Kolb there was not +a word of lying, but nevertheless he felt that she was lying. There was +a suggestion of falsehood in her manner of speaking, in the expression +of her face, in her eyes, in everything. + +"You are lying," repeated Volodya; and he brought his fist down on the +table with such force that all the crockery shook and _maman_'s tea was +spilt over. "Why do you talk about generals and baronesses? It's all +lies!" + +The music teacher was disconcerted, and coughed into her handkerchief, +affecting to sneeze, and _maman_ began to cry. + +"Where can I go?" thought Volodya. + +He had been in the street already; he was ashamed to go to his +schoolfellows. Again, quite incongruously, he remembered the two little +English girls.... He paced up and down the "general room," and went into +Avgustin Mihalitch's room. Here there was a strong smell of ethereal +oils and glycerine soap. On the table, in the window, and even on the +chairs, there were a number of bottles, glasses, and wineglasses +containing fluids of various colours. Volodya took up from the table a +newspaper, opened it and read the title _Figaro_ ... There was a strong +and pleasant scent about the paper. Then he took a revolver from the +table.... + +"There, there! Don't take any notice of it." The music teacher was +comforting _maman_ in the next room. "He is young! Young people of his +age never restrain themselves. One must resign oneself to that." + +"No, Yevgenya Andreyevna; he's too spoilt," said _maman_ in a singsong +voice. "He has no one in authority over him, and I am weak and can do +nothing. Oh, I am unhappy!" + +Volodya put the muzzle of the revolver to his mouth, felt something like +a trigger or spring, and pressed it with his finger.... Then felt +something else projecting, and once more pressed it. Taking the muzzle +out of his mouth, he wiped it with the lapel of his coat, looked at the +lock. He had never in his life taken a weapon in his hand before.... + +"I believe one ought to raise this ..." he reflected. "Yes, it seems +so." + +Avgustin Mihalitch went into the "general room," and with a laugh began +telling them about something. Volodya put the muzzle in his mouth again, +pressed it with his teeth, and pressed something with his fingers. There +was a sound of a shot.... Something hit Volodya in the back of his head +with terrible violence, and he fell on the table with his face downwards +among the bottles and glasses. Then he saw his father, as in Mentone, in +a top-hat with a wide black band on it, wearing mourning for some lady, +suddenly seize him by both hands, and they fell headlong into a very +deep, dark pit. + +Then everything was blurred and vanished. + + + + +AN ANONYMOUS STORY + + +I + +THROUGH causes which it is not the time to go into in detail, I had to +enter the service of a Petersburg official called Orlov, in the capacity +of a footman. He was about five and thirty, and was called Georgy* +Ivanitch. + +*Both _g's_ hard, as in "Gorgon"; _e_ like _ai_ in _rain_. + +I entered this Orlov's service on account of his father, a prominent +political man, whom I looked upon as a serious enemy of my cause. I +reckoned that, living with the son, I should--from the conversations I +should hear, and from the letters and papers I should find on the +table--learn every detail of the father's plans and intentions. + +As a rule at eleven o'clock in the morning the electric bell rang in my +footman's quarters to let me know that my master was awake. When I went +into the bedroom with his polished shoes and brushed clothes, Georgy +Ivanitch would be sitting in his bed with a face that looked, not +drowsy, but rather exhausted by sleep, and he would gaze off in one +direction without any sign of satisfaction at having waked. I helped him +to dress, and he let me do it with an air of reluctance without speaking +or noticing my presence; then with his head wet with washing, smelling +of fresh scent, he used to go into the dining-room to drink his coffee. +He used to sit at the table, sipping his coffee and glancing through the +newspapers, while the maid Polya and I stood respectfully at the door +gazing at him. Two grown-up persons had to stand watching with the +gravest attention a third drinking coffee and munching rusks. It was +probably ludicrous and grotesque, but I saw nothing humiliating in +having to stand near the door, though I was quite as well born and well +educated as Orlov himself. + +I was in the first stage of consumption, and was suffering from +something else, possibly even more serious than consumption. I don't +know whether it was the effect of my illness or of an incipient change +in my philosophy of life of which I was not conscious at the time, but I +was, day by day, more possessed by a passionate, irritating longing for +ordinary everyday life. I yearned for mental tranquillity, health, fresh +air, good food. I was becoming a dreamer, and, like a dreamer, I did not +know exactly what I wanted. Sometimes I felt inclined to go into a +monastery, to sit there for days together by the window and gaze at the +trees and the fields; sometimes I fancied I would buy fifteen acres of +land and settle down as a country gentleman; sometimes I inwardly vowed +to take up science and become a professor at some provincial university. +I was a retired navy lieutenant; I dreamed of the sea, of our squadron, +and of the corvette in which I had made the cruise round the world. I +longed to experience again the indescribable feeling when, walking in +the tropical forest or looking at the sunset in the Bay of Bengal, one +is thrilled with ecstasy and at the same time homesick. I dreamed of +mountains, women, music, and, with the curiosity of a child, I looked +into people's faces, listened to their voices. And when I stood at the +door and watched Orlov sipping his coffee, I felt not a footman, but a +man interested in everything in the world, even in Orlov. + +In appearance Orlov was a typical Petersburger, with narrow shoulders, a +long waist, sunken temples, eyes of an indefinite colour, and scanty, +dingy-coloured hair, beard and moustaches. His face had a stale, +unpleasant look, though it was studiously cared for. It was particularly +unpleasant when he was asleep or lost in thought. It is not worth while +describing a quite ordinary appearance; besides, Petersburg is not +Spain, and a man's appearance is not of much consequence even in love +affairs, and is only of value to a handsome footman or coachman. I have +spoken of Orlov's face and hair only because there was something in his +appearance worth mentioning. When Orlov took a newspaper or book, +whatever it might be, or met people, whoever they be, an ironical smile +began to come into his eyes, and his whole countenance assumed an +expression of light mockery in which there was no malice. Before reading +or hearing anything he always had his irony in readiness, as a savage +has his shield. It was an habitual irony, like some old liquor brewed +years ago, and now it came into his face probably without any +participation of his will, as it were by reflex action. But of that +later. + +Soon after midday he took his portfolio, full of papers, and drove to +his office. He dined away from home and returned after eight o'clock. I +used to light the lamp and candles in his study, and he would sit down +in a low chair with his legs stretched out on another chair, and, +reclining in that position, would begin reading. Almost every day he +brought in new books with him or received parcels of them from the +shops, and there were heaps of books in three languages, to say nothing +of Russian, which he had read and thrown away, in the corners of my room +and under my bed. He read with extraordinary rapidity. They say: "Tell +me what you read, and I'll tell you who you are." That may be true, but +it was absolutely impossible to judge of Orlov by what he read. It was a +regular hotchpotch. Philosophy, French novels, political economy, +finance, new poets, and publications of the firm _Posrednik_*--and he +read it all with the same rapidity and with the same ironical expression +in his eyes. + +* I.e., Tchertkov and others, publishers of Tolstoy, who issued good +literature for peasants' reading. + +After ten o'clock he carefully dressed, often in evening dress, very +rarely in his _kammer-junker_'s uniform, and went out, returning in the +morning. + +Our relations were quiet and peaceful, and we never had any +misunderstanding. As a rule he did not notice my presence, and when he +talked to me there was no expression of irony on his face--he evidently +did not look upon me as a human being. + +I only once saw him angry. One day--it was a week after I had entered +his service--he came back from some dinner at nine o'clock; his face +looked ill-humoured and exhausted. When I followed him into his study to +light the candles, he said to me: + +"There's a nasty smell in the flat." + +"No, the air is fresh," I answered. + +"I tell you, there's a bad smell," he answered irritably. + +"I open the movable panes every day." + +"Don't argue, blockhead!" he shouted. + +I was offended, and was on the point of answering, and goodness knows +how it would have ended if Polya, who knew her master better than I did, +had not intervened. + +"There really is a disagreeable smell," she said, raising her eyebrows. +"What can it be from? Stepan, open the pane in the drawing-room, and +light the fire." + +With much bustle and many exclamations, she went through all the rooms, +rustling her skirts and squeezing the sprayer with a hissing sound. And +Orlov was still out of humour; he was obviously restraining himself not +to vent his ill-temper aloud. He was sitting at the table and rapidly +writing a letter. After writing a few lines he snorted angrily and tore +it up, then he began writing again. + +"Damn them all!" he muttered. "They expect me to have an abnormal +memory!" + +At last the letter was written; he got up from the table and said, +turning to me: + +"Go to Znamensky Street and deliver this letter to Zinaida Fyodorovna +Krasnovsky in person. But first ask the porter whether her husband +--that is, Mr. Krasnovsky--has returned yet. If he has returned, don't +deliver the letter, but come back. Wait a minute!... If she asks whether +I have any one here, tell her that there have been two gentlemen here +since eight o'clock, writing something." + +I drove to Znamensky Street. The porter told me that Mr. Krasnovsky had +not yet come in, and I made my way up to the third storey. The door was +opened by a tall, stout, drab-coloured flunkey with black whiskers, who +in a sleepy, churlish, and apathetic voice, such as only flunkeys use in +addressing other flunkeys, asked me what I wanted. Before I had time to +answer, a lady dressed in black came hurriedly into the hall. She +screwed up her eyes and looked at me. + +"Is Zinaida Fyodorovna at home?" I asked. + +"That is me," said the lady. + +"A letter from Georgy Ivanitch." + +She tore the letter open impatiently, and holding it in both hands, so +that I saw her sparkling diamond rings, she began reading. I made out a +pale face with soft lines, a prominent chin, and long dark lashes. From +her appearance I should not have judged the lady to be more than five +and twenty. + +"Give him my thanks and my greetings," she said when she had finished +the letter. "Is there any one with Georgy Ivanitch?" she asked softly, +joyfully, and as though ashamed of her mistrust. + +"Two gentlemen," I answered. "They're writing something." + +"Give him my greetings and thanks," she repeated, bending her head +sideways, and, reading the letter as she walked, she went noiselessly +out. I saw few women at that time, and this lady of whom I had a passing +glimpse made an impression on me. As I walked home I recalled her face +and the delicate fragrance about her, and fell to dreaming. By the time +I got home Orlov had gone out. + + +II + +And so my relations with my employer were quiet and peaceful, but still +the unclean and degrading element which I so dreaded on becoming a +footman was conspicuous and made itself felt every day. I did not get on +with Polya. She was a well-fed and pampered hussy who adored Orlov +because he was a gentleman and despised me because I was a footman. +Probably, from the point of view of a real flunkey or cook, she was +fascinating, with her red cheeks, her turned-up nose, her coquettish +glances, and the plumpness, one might almost say fatness, of her person. +She powdered her face, coloured her lips and eyebrows, laced herself in, +and wore a bustle, and a bangle made of coins. She walked with little +ripping steps; as she walked she swayed, or, as they say, wriggled her +shoulders and back. The rustle of her skirts, the creaking of her stays, +the jingle her bangle and the vulgar smell of lip salve, toilet vinegar, +and scent stolen from her master, aroused in me whilst I was doing the +rooms with her in the morning a sensation as though I were taking part +with her in some abomination. + +Either because I did not steal as she did, or because I displayed no +desire to become her lover, which she probably looked upon as an insult, +or perhaps because she felt that I was a man of a different order, she +hated me from the first day. My inexperience, my appearance--so unlike +a flunkey--and my illness, seemed to her pitiful and excited her +disgust. I had a bad cough at that time, and sometimes at night I +prevented her from sleeping, as our rooms were only divided by a wooden +partition, and every morning she said to me: + +"Again you didn't let me sleep. You ought to be in hospital instead of +in service." + +She so genuinely believed that I was hardly a human being, but something +infinitely below her, that, like the Roman matrons who were not ashamed +to bathe before their slaves, she sometimes went about in my presence in +nothing but her chemise. + +Once when I was in a happy, dreamy mood, I asked her at dinner (we had +soup and roast meat sent in from a restaurant every day): + +"Polya, do you believe in God?" + +"Why, of course!" + +"Then," I went on, "you believe there will be a day of judgment, and +that we shall have to answer to God for every evil action?" + +She gave me no reply, but simply made a contemptuous grimace, and, +looking that time at her cold eyes and over-fed expression, I realised +that for her complete and finished personality no God, no conscience, no +laws existed, and that if I had had to set fire to the house, to murder +or to rob, I could not have hired a better accomplice. + +In my novel surroundings I felt very uncomfortable for the first week at +Orlov's before I got used to being addressed as "thou," and being +constantly obliged to tell lies (saying "My master is not at home" when +he was). In my flunkey's swallow-tail I felt as though I were in armour. +But I grew accustomed to it in time. Like a genuine footman, I waited at +table, tidied the rooms, ran and drove about on errands of all sorts. +When Orlov did not want to keep an appointment with Zinaida Fyodorovna, +or when he forgot that he had promised to go and see her, I drove to +Znamensky Street, put a letter into her hands and told a lie. And the +result of it all was quite different from what I had expected when I +became a footman. Every day of this new life of mine was wasted for me +and my cause, as Orlov never spoke of his father, nor did his visitors, +and all I could learn of the stateman's doings was, as before, what I +could glean from the newspapers or from correspondence with my comrades. +The hundreds of notes and papers I used to find in the study and read +had not the remotest connection with what I was looking for. Orlov was +absolutely uninterested in his father's political work, and looked as +though he had never heard of it, or as though his father had long been +dead. + + +III + +Every Thursday we had visitors. + +I ordered a piece of roast beef from the restaurant and telephoned to +Eliseyev's to send us caviare, cheese, oysters, and so on. I bought +playing-cards. Polya was busy all day getting ready the tea-things and +the dinner service. To tell the truth, this spurt of activity came as a +pleasant change in our idle life, and Thursdays were for us the most +interesting days. + +Only three visitors used to come. The most important and perhaps the +most interesting was the one called Pekarsky--a tall, lean man of five +and forty, with a long hooked nose, with a big black beard, and a bald +patch on his head. His eyes were large and prominent, and his expression +was grave and thoughtful like that of a Greek philosopher. He was on the +board of management of some railway, and also had some post in a bank; +he was a consulting lawyer in some important Government institution, and +had business relations with a large number of private persons as a +trustee, chairman of committees, and so on. He was of quite a low grade +in the service, and modestly spoke of himself as a lawyer, but he had a +vast influence. A note or card from him was enough to make a celebrated +doctor, a director of a railway, or a great dignitary see any one +without waiting; and it was said that through his protection one might +obtain even a post of the Fourth Class, and get any sort of unpleasant +business hushed up. He was looked upon as a very intelligent man, but +his was a strange, peculiar intelligence. He was able to multiply 213 by +373 in his head instantaneously, or turn English pounds into German +marks without help of pencil or paper; he understood finance and railway +business thoroughly, and the machinery of Russian administration had no +secrets for him; he was a most skilful pleader in civil suits, and it +was not easy to get the better of him at law. But that exceptional +intelligence could not grasp many things which are understood even by +some stupid people. For instance, he was absolutely unable to understand +why people are depressed, why they weep, shoot themselves, and even kill +others; why they fret about things that do not affect them personally, +and why they laugh when they read Gogol or Shtchedrin.... Everything +abstract, everything belonging to the domain of thought and feeling, was +to him boring and incomprehensible, like music to one who has no ear. He +looked at people simply from the business point of view, and divided +them into competent and incompetent. No other classification existed for +him. Honesty and rectitude were only signs of competence. Drinking, +gambling, and debauchery were permissible, but must not be allowed to +interfere with business. Believing in God was rather stupid, but +religion ought be safeguarded, as the common people must have some +principle to restrain them, otherwise they would not work. Punishment is +only necessary as deterrent. There was no need to go away for holidays, +as it was just as nice in town. And so on. He was a widower and had no +children, but lived on a large scale, as though he had a family, and +paid three thousand roubles a year for his flat. + +The second visitor, Kukushkin, an actual civil councillor though a young +man, was short, and was conspicuous for his extremely unpleasant +appearance, which was due to the disproportion between his fat, puffy +body and his lean little face. His lips were puckered up suavely, and +his little trimmed moustaches looked as though they had been fixed on +with glue. He was a man with the manners of a lizard. He did not walk, +but, as it were, crept along with tiny steps, squirming and sniggering, +and when he laughed he showed his teeth. He was a clerk on special +commissions, and did nothing, though he received a good salary, +especially in the summer, when special and lucrative jobs were found for +him. He was a man of personal ambition, not only to the marrow of his +bones, but more fundamentally--to the last drop of his blood; but even +in his ambitions he was petty and did not rely on himself, but was +building his career on the chance favour flung him by his superiors. For +the sake of obtaining some foreign decoration, or for the sake of having +his name mentioned in the newspapers as having been present at some +special service in the company of other great personages, he was ready +to submit to any kind of humiliation, to beg, to flatter, to promise. He +flattered Orlov and Pekarsky from cowardice, because he thought they +were powerful; he flattered Polya and me because we were in the service +of a powerful man. Whenever I took off his fur coat he tittered and +asked me: "Stepan, are you married?" and then unseemly vulgarities +followed--by way of showing me special attention. Kukushkin flattered +Orlov's weaknesses, humoured his corrupted and blasé ways; to please him +he affected malicious raillery and atheism, in his company criticised +persons before whom in other places he would slavishly grovel. When at +supper they talked of love and women, he pretended to be a subtle and +perverse voluptuary. As a rule, one may say, Petersburg rakes are fond +of talking of their abnormal tastes. Some young actual civil councillor +is perfectly satisfied with the embraces of his cook or of some unhappy +street-walker on the Nevsky Prospect, but to listen to him you would +think he was contaminated by all the vices of East and West combined, +that he was an honourary member of a dozen iniquitous secret societies +and was already marked by the police. Kukushkin lied about himself in an +unconscionable way, and they did not exactly disbelieve him, but paid +little heed to his incredible stories. + +The third guest was Gruzin, the son of a worthy and learned general; a +man of Orlov's age, with long hair, short-sighted eyes, and gold +spectacles. I remember his long white fingers, that looked like a +pianist's; and, indeed, there was something of a musician, of a +virtuoso, about his whole figure. The first violins in orchestras look +just like that. He used to cough, suffered from migraine, and seemed +invalidish and delicate. Probably at home he was dressed and undressed +like a baby. He had finished at the College of Jurisprudence, and had at +first served in the Department of Justice, then he was transferred to +the Senate; he left that, and through patronage had received a post in +the Department of Crown Estates, and had soon afterwards given that up. +In my time he was serving in Orlov's department; he was his head-clerk, +but he said that he should soon exchange into the Department of Justice +again. He took his duties and his shifting about from one post to +another with exceptional levity, and when people talked before him +seriously of grades in the service, decorations, salaries, he smiled +good-naturedly and repeated Prutkov's aphorism: "It's only in the +Government service you learn the truth." He had a little wife with a +wrinkled face, who was very jealous of him, and five weedy-looking +children. He was unfaithful to his wife, he was only fond of his +children when he saw them, and on the whole was rather indifferent to +his family, and made fun of them. He and his family existed on credit, +borrowing wherever they could at every opportunity, even from his +superiors in the office and porters in people's houses. His was a flabby +nature; he was so lazy that he did not care what became of himself, and +drifted along heedless where or why he was going. He went where he was +taken. If he was taken to some low haunt, he went; if wine was set +before him, he drank--if it were not put before him, he abstained; if +wives were abused in his presence, he abused his wife, declaring she had +ruined his life--when wives were praised, he praised his and said quite +sincerely: "I am very fond of her, poor thing!" He had no fur coat and +always wore a rug which smelt of the nursery. When at supper he rolled +balls of bread and drank a great deal of red wine, absorbed in thought, +strange to say, I used to feel almost certain that there was something +in him of which perhaps he had a vague sense, though in the bustle and +vulgarity of his daily life he had not time to understand and appreciate +it. He played a little on the piano. Sometimes he would sit down at the +piano, play a chord or two, and begin singing softly: + + "What does the coming day bring to me?" + +But at once, as though afraid, he would get up and walk from the piano. + +The visitors usually arrived about ten o'clock. They played cards in +Orlov's study, and Polya and I handed them tea. It was only on these +occasions that I could gauge the full sweetness of a flunkey's life. +Standing for four or five hours at the door, watching that no one's +glass should be empty, changing the ash-trays, running to the table to +pick up the chalk or a card when it was dropped, and, above all, +standing, waiting, being attentive without venturing to speak, to cough, +to smile--is harder, I assure you, is harder than the hardest of field +labour. I have stood on watch at sea for four hours at a stretch on +stormy winter nights, and to my thinking it is an infinitely easier +duty. + +They used to play cards till two, sometimes till three o'clock at night, +and then, stretching, they would go into the dining-room to supper, or, +as Orlov said, for a snack of something. At supper there was +conversation. It usually began by Orlov's speaking with laughing eyes of +some acquaintance, of some book he had lately been reading, of a new +appointment or Government scheme. Kukushkin, always ingratiating, would +fall into his tone, and what followed was to me, in my mood at that +time, a revolting exhibition. The irony of Orlov and his friends knew no +bounds, and spared no one and nothing. If they spoke of religion, it was +with irony; they spoke of philosophy, of the significance and object of +life--irony again, if any one began about the peasantry, it was with +irony. + +There is in Petersburg a species of men whose specialty it is to jeer at +every aspect of life; they cannot even pass by a starving man or a +suicide without saying something vulgar. But Orlov and his friends did +not jeer or make jokes, they talked ironically. They used to say that +there was no God, and personality was completely lost at death; the +immortals only existed in the French Academy. Real good did not and +could not possibly exist, as its existence was conditional upon human +perfection, which was a logical absurdity. Russia was a country as poor +and dull as Persia. The intellectual class was hopeless; in Pekarsky's +opinion the overwhelming majority in it were incompetent persons, good +for nothing. The people were drunken, lazy, thievish, and degenerate. We +had no science, our literature was uncouth, our commerce rested on +swindling--"No selling without cheating." And everything was in that +style, and everything was a subject for laughter. + +Towards the end of supper the wine made them more good-humoured, and +they passed to more lively conversation. They laughed over Gruzin's +family life, over Kukushkin's conquests, or at Pekarsky, who had, they +said, in his account book one page headed _Charity_ and another +_Physiological Necessities_. They said that no wife was faithful; that +there was no wife from whom one could not, with practice, obtain +caresses without leaving her drawing-room while her husband was sitting +in his study close by; that girls in their teens were perverted and knew +everything. Orlov had preserved a letter of a schoolgirl of fourteen: on +her way home from school she had "hooked an officer on the Nevsky," who +had, it appears, taken her home with him, and had only let her go late +in the evening; and she hastened to write about this to her school +friend to share her joy with her. They maintained that there was not and +never had been such a thing as moral purity, and that evidently it was +unnecessary; mankind had so far done very well without it. The harm done +by so-called vice was undoubtedly exaggerated. Vices which are punished +by our legal code had not prevented Diogenes from being a philosopher +and a teacher. Cæsar and Cicero were profligates and at the same time +great men. Cato in his old age married a young girl, and yet he was +regarded as a great ascetic and a pillar of morality. + +At three or four o'clock the party broke up or they went off together +out of town, or to Officers' Street, to the house of a certain Varvara +Ossipovna, while I retired to my quarters, and was kept awake a long +while by coughing and headache. + + +IV + +Three weeks after I entered Orlov's service--it was Sunday morning, I +remember--somebody rang the bell. It was not yet eleven, and Orlov was +still asleep. I went to open the door. You can imagine my astonishment +when I found a lady in a veil standing at the door on the landing. + +"Is Georgy Ivanitch up?" she asked. + +From her voice I recognised Zinaida Fyodorovna, to whom I had taken +letters in Znamensky Street. I don't remember whether I had time or +self-possession to answer her--I was taken aback at seeing her. And, +indeed, she did not need my answer. In a flash she had darted by me, +and, filling the hall with the fragrance of her perfume, which I +remember to this day, she went on, and her footsteps died away. For at +least half an hour afterwards I heard nothing. But again some one rang. +This time it was a smartly dressed girl, who looked like a maid in a +wealthy family, accompanied by our house porter. Both were out of +breath, carrying two trunks and a dress-basket. + +"These are for Zinaida Fyodorovna," said the girl. + +And she went down without saying another word. All this was mysterious, +and made Polya, who had a deep admiration for the pranks of her betters, +smile slyly to herself; she looked as though she would like to say, "So +that's what we're up to," and she walked about the whole time on tiptoe. +At last we heard footsteps; Zinaida Fyodorovna came quickly into the +hall, and seeing me at the door of my room, said: + +"Stepan, take Georgy Ivanitch his things." + +When I went in to Orlov with his clothes and his boots, he was sitting +on the bed with his feet on the bearskin rug. There was an air of +embarrassment about his whole figure. He did not notice me, and my +menial opinion did not interest him; he was evidently perturbed and +embarrassed before himself, before his inner eye. He dressed, washed, +and used his combs and brushes silently and deliberately, as though +allowing himself time to think over his position and to reflect, and +even from his back one could see he was troubled and dissatisfied with +himself. + +They drank coffee together. Zinaida Fyodorovna poured out coffee for +herself and for Orlov, then she put her elbows on the table and laughed. + +"I still can't believe it," she said. "When one has been a long while on +one's travels and reaches a hotel at last, it's difficult to believe +that one hasn't to go on. It is pleasant to breathe freely." + +With the expression of a child who very much wants to be mischievous, +she sighed with relief and laughed again. + +"You will excuse me," said Orlov, nodding towards the coffee. "Reading +at breakfast is a habit I can't get over. But I can do two things at +once--read and listen." + +"Read away.... You shall keep your habits and your freedom. But why do +you look so solemn? Are you always like that in the morning, or is it +only to-day? Aren't you glad?" + +"Yes, I am. But I must own I am a little overwhelmed." + +"Why? You had plenty of time to prepare yourself for my descent upon +you. I've been threatening to come every day." + +"Yes, but I didn't expect you to carry out your threat to-day." + +"I didn't expect it myself, but that's all the better. It's all the +better, my dear. It's best to have an aching tooth out and have done +with it." + +"Yes, of course." + +"Oh, my dear," she said, closing her eyes, "all is well that ends well; +but before this happy ending, what suffering there has been! My laughing +means nothing; I am glad, I am happy, but I feel more like crying than +laughing. Yesterday I had to fight a regular battle," she went on in +French. "God alone knows how wretched I was. But I laugh because I can't +believe in it. I keep fancying that my sitting here drinking coffee with +you is not real, but a dream." + +Then, still speaking French, she described how she had broken with her +husband the day before and her eyes were alternately full of tears and +of laughter while she gazed with rapture at Orlov. She told him her +husband had long suspected her, but had avoided explanations; they had +frequent quarrels, and usually at the most heated moment he would +suddenly subside into silence and depart to his study for fear that in +his exasperation he might give utterance to his suspicions or she might +herself begin to speak openly. And she had felt guilty, worthless, +incapable of taking a bold and serious step, and that had made her hate +herself and her husband more every day, and she had suffered the +torments of hell. But the day before, when during a quarrel he had cried +out in a tearful voice, "My God, when will it end?" and had walked off +to his study, she had run after him like a cat after a mouse, and, +preventing him from shutting the door, she had cried that she hated him +with her whole soul. Then he let her come into the study and she had +told him everything, had confessed that she loved some one else, that +that some one else was her real, most lawful husband, and that she +thought it her true duty to go away to him that very day, whatever might +happen, if she were to be shot for it. + +"There's a very romantic streak in you," Orlov interrupted, keeping his +eyes fixed on the newspaper. + +She laughed and went on talking without touching her coffee. Her cheeks +glowed and she was a little embarrassed by it, and she looked in +confusion at Polya and me. From what she went on to say I learnt that +her husband had answered her with threats, reproaches, and finally +tears, and that it would have been more accurate to say that she, and +not he, had been the attacking party. + +"Yes, my dear, so long as I was worked up, everything went all right," +she told Orlov; "but as night came on, my spirits sank. You don't +believe in God, _George_, but I do believe a little, and I fear +retribution. God requires of us patience, magnanimity, self-sacrifice, +and here I am refusing to be patient and want to remodel my life to suit +myself. Is that right? What if from the point of view of God it's wrong? +At two o'clock in the night my husband came to me and said: 'You dare +not go away. I'll fetch you back through the police and make a scandal.' +And soon afterwards I saw him like a shadow at my door. 'Have mercy on +me! Your elopement may injure me in the service.' Those words had a +coarse effect upon me and made me feel stiff all over. I felt as though +the retribution were beginning already; I began crying and trembling +with terror. I felt as though the ceiling would fall upon me, that I +should be dragged off to the police-station at once, that you would grow +cold to me--all sorts of things, in fact! I thought I would go into a +nunnery or become a nurse, and give up all thought of happiness, but +then I remembered that you loved me, and that I had no right to dispose +of myself without your knowledge; and everything in my mind was in a +tangle--I was in despair and did not know what to do or think. But the +sun rose and I grew happier. As soon as it was morning I dashed off to +you. Ah, what I've been through, dear one! I haven't slept for two +nights!" + +She was tired out and excited. She was sleepy, and at the same time she +wanted to talk endlessly, to laugh and to cry, and to go to a restaurant +to lunch that she might feel her freedom. + +"You have a cosy flat, but I am afraid it may be small for the two of +us," she said, walking rapidly through all the rooms when they had +finished breakfast. "What room will you give me? I like this one because +it is next to your study." + +At one o'clock she changed her dress in the room next to the study, +which from that time she called hers, and she went off with Orlov to +lunch. They dined, too, at a restaurant, and spent the long interval +between lunch and dinner in shopping. Till late at night I was opening +the door to messengers and errand-boys from the shops. They bought, +among other things, a splendid pier-glass, a dressing-table, a bedstead, +and a gorgeous tea service which we did not need. They bought a regular +collection of copper saucepans, which we set in a row on the shelf in +our cold, empty kitchen. As we were unpacking the tea service Polya's +eyes gleamed, and she looked at me two or three times with hatred and +fear that I, not she, would be the first to steal one of these charming +cups. A lady's writing-table, very expensive and inconvenient, came too. +It was evident that Zinaida Fyodorovna contemplated settling with us for +good, and meant to make the flat her home. + +She came back with Orlov between nine and ten. Full of proud +consciousness that she had done something bold and out of the common, +passionately in love, and, as she imagined, passionately loved, +exhausted, looking forward to a sweet sound sleep, Zinaida Fyodorovna +was revelling in her new life. She squeezed her hands together in the +excess of her joy, declared that everything was delightful, and swore +that she would love Orlov for ever; and these vows, and the naïve, +almost childish confidence that she too was deeply loved and would be +loved forever, made her at least five years younger. She talked charming +nonsense and laughed at herself. + +"There's no other blessing greater than freedom!" she said, forcing +herself to say something serious and edifying. "How absurd it is when +you think of it! We attach no value to our own opinion even when it is +wise, but tremble before the opinion of all sorts of stupid people. Up +to the last minute I was afraid of what other people would say, but as +soon as I followed my own instinct and made up my mind to go my own way, +my eyes were opened, I overcame my silly fears, and now I am happy and +wish every one could be as happy!" + +But her thoughts immediately took another turn, and she began talking of +another flat, of wallpapers, horses, a trip to Switzerland and Italy. +Orlov was tired by the restaurants and the shops, and was still +suffering from the same uneasiness that I had noticed in the morning. He +smiled, but more from politeness than pleasure, and when she spoke of +anything seriously, he agreed ironically: "Oh, yes." + +"Stepan, make haste and find us a good cook," she said to me. + +"There's no need to be in a hurry over the kitchen arrangements," said +Orlov, looking at me coldly. "We must first move into another flat." + +We had never had cooking done at home nor kept horses, because, as he +said, "he did not like disorder about him," and only put up with having +Polya and me in his flat from necessity. The so-called domestic hearth +with its everyday joys and its petty cares offended his taste as +vulgarity; to be with child, or to have children and talk about them, +was bad form, like a petty bourgeois. And I began to feel very curious +to see how these two creatures would get on together in one flat--she, +domestic and home-loving with her copper saucepans and her dreams of a +good cook and horses; and he, fond of saying to his friends that a +decent and orderly man's flat ought, like a warship, to have nothing in +it superfluous--no women, no children, no rags, no kitchen utensils. + + +V + +Then I will tell you what happened the following Thursday. That day +Zinaida Fyodorovna dined at Content's or Donon's. Orlov returned home +alone, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, as I learnt afterwards, went to the +Petersburg Side to spend with her old governess the time visitors were +with us. Orlov did not care to show her to his friends. I realised that +at breakfast, when he began assuring her that for the sake of her peace +of mind it was essential to give up his Thursday evenings. + +As usual the visitors arrived at almost the same time. + +"Is your mistress at home, too?" Kukushkin asked me in a whisper. + +"No, sir," I answered. + +He went in with a sly, oily look in his eyes, smiling mysteriously, +rubbing his hands, which were cold from the frost. + +"I have the honour to congratulate you," he said to Orlov, shaking all +over with ingratiating, obsequious laughter. "May you increase and +multiply like the cedars of Lebanon." + +The visitors went into the bedroom, and were extremely jocose on the +subject of a pair of feminine slippers, the rug that had been put down +between the two beds, and a grey dressing-jacket that hung at the foot +of the bedstead. They were amused that the obstinate man who despised +all the common place details of love had been caught in feminine snares +in such a simple and ordinary way. + +"He who pointed the finger of scorn is bowing the knee in homage," +Kukushkin repeated several times. He had, I may say in parenthesis, an +unpleasant habit of adorning his conversation with texts in Church +Slavonic. "Sh-sh!" he said as they went from the bedroom into the room +next to the study. "Sh-sh! Here Gretchen is dreaming of her Faust." + +He went off into a peal of laughter as though he had said something very +amusing. I watched Gruzin, expecting that his musical soul would not +endure this laughter, but I was mistaken. His thin, good-natured face +beamed with pleasure. When they sat down to play cards, he, lisping and +choking with laughter, said that all that "dear _George_" wanted to +complete his domestic felicity was a cherry-wood pipe and a guitar. +Pekarsky laughed sedately, but from his serious expression one could see +that Orlov's new love affair was distasteful to him. He did not +understand what had happened exactly. + +"But how about the husband?" he asked in perplexity, after they had +played three rubbers. + +"I don't know," answered Orlov. + +Pekarsky combed his big beard with his fingers and sank into thought, +and he did not speak again till supper-time. When they were seated at +supper, he began deliberately, drawling every word: + +"Altogether, excuse my saying so, I don't understand either of you. You +might love each other and break the seventh commandment to your heart's +content--that I understand. Yes, that's comprehensible. But why make the +husband a party to your secrets? Was there any need for that?" + +"But does it make any difference?" + +"Hm!...." Pekarsky mused. "Well, then, let me tell you this, my friend," +he went on, evidently thinking hard: "if I ever marry again and you take +it into your head to seduce my wife, please do it so that I don't notice +it. It's much more honest to deceive a man than to break up his family +life and injure his reputation. I understand. You both imagine that in +living together openly you are doing something exceptionally honourable +and advanced, but I can't agree with that ... what shall I call it?... +romantic attitude?" + +Orlov made no reply. He was out of humour and disinclined to talk. +Pekarsky, still perplexed, drummed on the table with his fingers, +thought a little, and said: + +"I don't understand you, all the same. You are not a student and she is +not a dressmaker. You are both of you people with means. I should have +thought you might have arranged a separate flat for her." + +"No, I couldn't. Read Turgenev." + +"Why should I read him? I have read him already." + +"Turgenev teaches us in his novels that every exalted, noble-minded girl +should follow the man she loves to the ends of the earth, and should +serve his idea," said Orlov, screwing up his eyes ironically. "The ends +of the earth are poetic license; the earth and all its ends can be +reduced to the flat of the man she loves.... And so not to live in the +same flat with the woman who loves you is to deny her her exalted +vocation and to refuse to share her ideals. Yes, my dear fellow, +Turgenev wrote, and I have to suffer for it." + +"What Turgenev has got to do with it I don't understand," said Gruzin +softly, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Do you remember, _George_, how +in 'Three Meetings' he is walking late in the evening somewhere in +Italy, and suddenly hears, _'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'_" Gruzin +hummed. "It's fine." + +"But she hasn't come to settle with you by force," said Pekarsky. "It +was your own wish." + +"What next! Far from wishing it, I never imagined that this would ever +happen. When she said she was coming to live with me, I thought it was a +charming joke on her part." + +Everybody laughed. + +"I couldn't have wished for such a thing," said Orlov in the tone of a +man compelled to justify himself. "I am not a Turgenev hero, and if I +ever wanted to free Bulgaria I shouldn't need a lady's company. I look +upon love primarily as a necessity of my physical nature, degrading and +antagonistic to my spirit; it must either be satisfied with discretion +or renounced altogether, otherwise it will bring into one's life +elements as unclean as itself. For it to be an enjoyment and not a +torment, I will try to make it beautiful and to surround it with a mass +of illusions. I should never go and see a woman unless I were sure +beforehand that she would be beautiful and fascinating; and I should +never go unless I were in the mood. And it is only in that way that we +succeed in deceiving one another, and fancying that we are in love and +happy. But can I wish for copper saucepans and untidy hair, or like to +be seen myself when I am unwashed or out of humour? Zinaida Fyodorovna +in the simplicity of her heart wants me to love what I have been +shunning all my life. She wants my flat to smell of cooking and washing +up; she wants all the fuss of moving into another flat, of driving about +with her own horses; she wants to count over my linen and to look after +my health; she wants to meddle in my personal life at every instant, and +to watch over every step; and at the same time she assures me genuinely +that my habits and my freedom will be untouched. She is persuaded that, +like a young couple, we shall very soon go for a honeymoon--that is, +she wants to be with me all the time in trains and hotels, while I like +to read on the journey and cannot endure talking in trains." + +"You should give her a talking to," said Pekarsky. + +"What! Do you suppose she would understand me? Why, we think so +differently. In her opinion, to leave one's papa and mamma or one's +husband for the sake of the man one loves is the height of civic virtue, +while I look upon it as childish. To fall in love and run away with a +man to her means beginning a new life, while to my mind it means nothing +at all. Love and man constitute the chief interest of her life, and +possibly it is the philosophy of the unconscious at work in her. Try and +make her believe that love is only a simple physical need, like the need +of food or clothes; that it doesn't mean the end of the world if wives +and husbands are unsatisfactory; that a man may be a profligate and a +libertine, and yet a man of honour and a genius; and that, on the other +hand, one may abstain from the pleasures of love and at the same time be +a stupid, vicious animal! The civilised man of to-day, even among the +lower classes--for instance, the French workman--spends ten _sous_ on +dinner, five _sous_ on his wine, and five or ten _sous_ on woman, and +devotes his brain and nerves entirely to his work. But Zinaida +Fyodorovna assigns to love not so many _sous_, but her whole soul. I +might give her a talking to, but she would raise a wail in answer, and +declare in all sincerity that I had ruined her, that she had nothing +left to live for." + +"Don't say anything to her," said Pekarsky, "but simply take a separate +flat for her, that's all." + +"That's easy to say." + +There was a brief silence. + +"But she is charming," said Kukushkin. "She is exquisite. Such women +imagine that they will be in love for ever, and abandon themselves with +tragic intensity." + +"But one must keep a head on one's shoulders," said Orlov; "one must be +reasonable. All experience gained from everyday life and handed down in +innumerable novels and plays, uniformly confirms the fact that adultery +and cohabitation of any sort between decent people never lasts longer +than two or at most three years, however great the love may have been at +the beginning. That she ought to know. And so all this business of +moving, of saucepans, hopes of eternal love and harmony, are nothing but +a desire to delude herself and me. She is charming and exquisite--who +denies it? But she has turned my life upside down; what I have regarded +as trivial and nonsensical till now she has forced me to raise to the +level of a serious problem; I serve an idol whom I have never looked +upon as God. She is charming--exquisite, but for some reason now when I +am going home, I feel uneasy, as though I expected to meet with +something inconvenient at home, such as workmen pulling the stove to +pieces and blocking up the place with heaps of bricks. In fact, I am no +longer giving up to love a _sous_, but part of my peace of mind and my +nerves. And that's bad." + +"And she doesn't hear this villain!" sighed Kukushkin. "My dear sir," he +said theatrically, "I will relieve you from the burdensome obligation to +love that adorable creature! I will wrest Zinaida Fyodorovna from you!" + +"You may ..." said Orlov carelessly. + +For half a minute Kukushkin laughed a shrill little laugh, shaking all +over, then he said: + +"Look out; I am in earnest! Don't you play the Othello afterwards!" + +They all began talking of Kukushkin's indefatigable energy in love +affairs, how irresistible he was to women, and what a danger he was to +husbands; and how the devil would roast him in the other world for his +immorality in this. He screwed up his eyes and remained silent, and when +the names of ladies of their acquaintance were mentioned, he held up his +little finger--as though to say they mustn't give away other people's +secrets. + +Orlov suddenly looked at his watch. + +His friends understood, and began to take their leave. I remember that +Gruzin, who was a little drunk, was wearisomely long in getting off. He +put on his coat, which was cut like children's coats in poor families, +pulled up the collar, and began telling some long-winded story; then, +seeing he was not listened to, he flung the rug that smelt of the +nursery over one shoulder, and with a guilty and imploring face begged +me to find his hat. + +"_George_, my angel," he said tenderly. "Do as I ask you, dear boy; come +out of town with us!" + +"You can go, but I can't. I am in the position of a married man now." + +"She is a dear, she won't be angry. My dear chief, come along! It's +glorious weather; there's snow and frost.... Upon my word, you want +shaking up a bit; you are out of humour. I don't know what the devil is +the matter with you...." + +Orlov stretched, yawned, and looked at Pekarsky. + +"Are you going?" he said, hesitating. + +"I don't know. Perhaps." + +"Shall I get drunk? All right, I'll come," said Orlov after some +hesitation. "Wait a minute; I'll get some money." + +He went into the study, and Gruzin slouched in, too, dragging his rug +after him. A minute later both came back into the hall. Gruzin, a little +drunk and very pleased, was crumpling a ten-rouble note in his hands. + +"We'll settle up to-morrow," he said. "And she is kind, she won't be +cross.... She is my Lisotchka's godmother; I am fond of her, poor thing! +Ah, my dear fellow!" he laughed joyfully, and pressing his forehead on +Pekarsky's back. "Ah, Pekarsky, my dear soul! Advocatissimus--as dry as +a biscuit, but you bet he is fond of women...." + +"Fat ones," said Orlov, putting on his fur coat. "But let us get off, or +we shall be meeting her on the doorstep." + +"_'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'_" hummed Gruzin. + +At last they drove off: Orlov did not sleep at home, and returned next +day at dinner-time. + + +VI + +Zinaida Fyodorovna had lost her gold watch, a present from her father. +This loss surprised and alarmed her. She spent half a day going through +the rooms, looking helplessly on all the tables and on all the windows. +But the watch had disappeared completely. + +Only three days afterwards Zinaida Fyodorovna, on coming in, left her +purse in the hall. Luckily for me, on that occasion it was not I but +Polya who helped her off with her coat. When the purse was missed, it +could not be found in the hall. + +"Strange," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in bewilderment. "I distinctly +remember taking it out of my pocket to pay the cabman ... and then I put +it here near the looking-glass. It's very odd!" + +I had not stolen it, but I felt as though I had stolen it and had been +caught in the theft. Tears actually came into my eyes. When they were +seated at dinner, Zinaida Fyodorovna said to Orlov in French: + +"There seem to be spirits in the flat. I lost my purse in the hall +to-day, and now, lo and behold, it is on my table. But it's not quite a +disinterested trick of the spirits. They took out a gold coin and twenty +roubles in notes." + +"You are always losing something; first it's your watch and then it's +your money ..." said Orlov. "Why is it nothing of the sort ever happens +to me?" + +A minute later Zinaida Fyodorovna had forgotten the trick played by the +spirits, and was telling with a laugh how the week before she had +ordered some notepaper and had forgotten to give her new address, and +the shop had sent the paper to her old home at her husband's, who had to +pay twelve roubles for it. And suddenly she turned her eyes on Polya and +looked at her intently. She blushed as she did so, and was so confused +that she began talking of something else. + +When I took in the coffee to the study, Orlov was standing with his back +to the fire and she was sitting in an arm-chair facing him. + +"I am not in a bad temper at all," she was saying in French. "But I have +been putting things together, and now I see it clearly. I can give you +the day and the hour when she stole my watch. And the purse? There can +be no doubt about it. Oh!" she laughed as she took the coffee from me. +"Now I understand why I am always losing my handkerchiefs and gloves. +Whatever you say, I shall dismiss the magpie to-morrow and send Stepan +for my Sofya. She is not a thief and has not got such a repulsive +appearance." + +"You are out of humour. To-morrow you will feel differently, and will +realise that you can't discharge people simply because you suspect +them." + +"It's not suspicion; it's certainty," said Zinaida Fyodorovna. "So long +as I suspected that unhappy-faced, poor-looking valet of yours, I said +nothing. It's too bad of you not to believe me, _George_." + +"If we think differently about anything, it doesn't follow that I don't +believe you. You may be right," said Orlov, turning round and flinging +his cigarette-end into the fire, "but there is no need to be excited +about it, anyway. In fact, I must say, I never expected my humble +establishment would cause you so much serious worry and agitation. +You've lost a gold coin: never mind--you may have a hundred of mine; but +to change my habits, to pick up a new housemaid, to wait till she is +used to the place--all that's a tedious, tiring business and does not +suit me. Our present maid certainly is fat, and has, perhaps, a weakness +for gloves and handkerchiefs, but she is perfectly well behaved, well +trained, and does not shriek when Kukushkin pinches her." + +"You mean that you can't part with her?... Why don't you say so?" + +"Are you jealous?" + +"Yes, I am," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, decidedly. + +"Thank you." + +"Yes, I am jealous," she repeated, and tears glistened in her eyes. "No, +it's something worse ... which I find it difficult to find a name for." +She pressed her hands on her temples, and went on impulsively. "You men +are so disgusting! It's horrible!" + +"I see nothing horrible about it." + +"I've not seen it; I don't know; but they say that you men begin with +housemaids as boys, and get so used to it that you feel no repugnance. I +don't know, I don't know, but I have actually read.... _George_, of +course you are right," she said, going up to Orlov and changing to a +caressing and imploring tone. "I really am out of humour to-day. But, +you must understand, I can't help it. She disgusts me and I am afraid of +her. It makes me miserable to see her." + +"Surely you can rise above such paltriness?" said Orlov, shrugging his +shoulders in perplexity, and walking away from the fire. "Nothing could +be simpler: take no notice of her, and then she won't disgust you, and +you won't need to make a regular tragedy out of a trifle." + +I went out of the study, and I don't know what answer Orlov received. +Whatever it was, Polya remained. After that Zinaida Fyodorovna never +applied to her for anything, and evidently tried to dispense with her +services. When Polya handed her anything or even passed by her, jingling +her bangle and rustling her skirts, she shuddered. + +I believe that if Gruzin or Pekarsky had asked Orlov to dismiss Polya he +would have done so without the slightest hesitation, without troubling +about any explanations. He was easily persuaded, like all indifferent +people. But in his relations with Zinaida Fyodorovna he displayed for +some reason, even in trifles, an obstinacy which sometimes was almost +irrational. I knew beforehand that if Zinaida Fyodorovna liked anything, +it would be certain not to please Orlov. When on coming in from shopping +she made haste to show him with pride some new purchase, he would glance +at it and say coldly that the more unnecessary objects they had in the +flat, the less airy it would be. It sometimes happened that after +putting on his dress clothes to go out somewhere, and after saying +good-bye to Zinaida Fyodorovna, he would suddenly change his mind and +remain at home from sheer perversity. I used to think that he remained +at home then simply in order to feel injured. + +"Why are you staying?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a show of vexation, +though at the same time she was radiant with delight. "Why do you? You +are not accustomed to spending your evenings at home, and I don't want +you to alter your habits on my account. Do go out as usual, if you don't +want me to feel guilty." + +"No one is blaming you," said Orlov. + +With the air of a victim he stretched himself in his easy-chair in the +study, and shading his eyes with his hand, took up a book. But soon the +book dropped from his hand, he turned heavily in his chair, and again +screened his eyes as though from the sun. Now he felt annoyed that he +had not gone out. + +"May I come in?" Zinaida Fyodorovna would say, coming irresolutely into +the study. "Are you reading? I felt dull by myself, and have come just +for a minute ... to have a peep at you." + +I remember one evening she went in like that, irresolutely and +inappropriately, and sank on the rug at Orlov's feet, and from her soft, +timid movements one could see that she did not understand his mood and +was afraid. + +"You are always reading ..." she said cajolingly, evidently wishing to +flatter him. "Do you know, _George_, what is one of the secrets of your +success? You are very clever and well-read. What book have you there?" + +Orlov answered. A silence followed for some minutes which seemed to me +very long. I was standing in the drawing-room, from which I could watch +them, and was afraid of coughing. + +"There is something I wanted to tell you," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, and +she laughed; "shall I? Very likely you'll laugh and say that I flatter +myself. You know I want, I want horribly to believe that you are staying +at home to-night for my sake ... that we might spend the evening +together. Yes? May I think so?" + +"Do," he said, screening his eyes. "The really happy man is he who +thinks not only of what is, but of what is not." + +"That was a long sentence which I did not quite understand. You mean +happy people live in their imagination. Yes, that's true. I love to sit +in your study in the evening and let my thoughts carry me far, far +away.... It's pleasant sometimes to dream. Let us dream aloud, +_George_." + +"I've never been at a girls' boarding-school; I never learnt the art." + +"You are out of humour?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, taking Orlov's hand. +"Tell me why. When you are like that, I'm afraid. I don't know whether +your head aches or whether you are angry with me...." + +Again there was a silence lasting several long minutes. + +"Why have you changed?" she said softly. "Why are you never so tender or +so gay as you used to be at Znamensky Street? I've been with you almost +a month, but it seems to me as though we had not yet begun to live, and +have not yet talked of anything as we ought to. You always answer me +with jokes or else with a long cold lecture like a teacher. And there is +something cold in your jokes.... Why have you given up talking to me +seriously?" + +"I always talk seriously." + +"Well, then, let us talk. For God's sake, _George_.... Shall we?" + +"Certainly, but about what?" + +"Let us talk of our life, of our future," said Zinaida Fyodorovna +dreamily. "I keep making plans for our life, plans and plans--and I +enjoy doing it so! _George_, I'll begin with the question, when are you +going to give up your post?" + +"What for?" asked Orlov, taking his hand from his forehead. + +"With your views you cannot remain in the service. You are out of place +there." + +"My views?" Orlov repeated. "My views? In conviction and temperament I +am an ordinary official, one of Shtchedrin's heroes. You take me for +something different, I venture to assure you." + +"Joking again, _George_!" + +"Not in the least. The service does not satisfy me, perhaps; but, +anyway, it is better for me than anything else. I am used to it, and in +it I meet men of my own sort; I am in my place there and find it +tolerable." + +"You hate the service and it revolts you." + +"Indeed? If I resign my post, take to dreaming aloud and letting myself +be carried away into another world, do you suppose that that world would +be less hateful to me than the service?" + +"You are ready to libel yourself in order to contradict me." Zinaida +Fyodorovna was offended and got up. "I am sorry I began this talk." + +"Why are you angry? I am not angry with you for not being an official. +Every one lives as he likes best." + +"Why, do you live as you like best? Are you free? To spend your life +writing documents that are opposed to your own ideas," Zinaida +Fyodorovna went on, clasping her hands in despair: "to submit to +authority, congratulate your superiors at the New Year, and then cards +and nothing but cards: worst of all, to be working for a system which +must be distasteful to you--no, _George_, no! You should not make such +horrid jokes. It's dreadful. You are a man of ideas, and you ought to be +working for your ideas and nothing else." + +"You really take me for quite a different person from what I am," sighed +Orlov. + +"Say simply that you don't want to talk to me. You dislike me, that's +all," said Zinaida Fyodorovna through her tears. + +"Look here, my dear," said Orlov admonishingly, sitting up in his chair. +"You were pleased to observe yourself that I am a clever, well-read man, +and to teach one who knows does nothing but harm. I know very well all +the ideas, great and small, which you mean when you call me a man of +ideas. So if I prefer the service and cards to those ideas, you may be +sure I have good grounds for it. That's one thing. Secondly, you have, +so far as I know, never been in the service, and can only have drawn +your ideas of Government service from anecdotes and indifferent novels. +So it would not be amiss for us to make a compact, once for all, not to +talk of things we know already or of things about which we are not +competent to speak." + +"Why do you speak to me like that?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, stepping +back as though in horror. "What for? _George_, for God's sake, think +what you are saying!" + +Her voice quivered and broke; she was evidently trying to restrain her +tears, but she suddenly broke into sobs. + +"_George_, my darling, I am perishing!" she said in French, dropping +down before Orlov, and laying her head on his knees. "I am miserable, I +am exhausted. I can't bear it, I can't bear it.... In my childhood my +hateful, depraved stepmother, then my husband, now you ... you!... You +meet my mad love with coldness and irony.... And that horrible, insolent +servant," she went on, sobbing. "Yes, yes, I see: I am not your wife nor +your friend, but a woman you don't respect because she has become your +mistress.... I shall kill myself!" + +I had not expected that her words and her tears would make such an +impression on Orlov. He flushed, moved uneasily in his chair, and +instead of irony, his face wore a look of stupid, schoolboyish dismay. + +"My darling, you misunderstood me," he muttered helplessly, touching her +hair and her shoulders. "Forgive me, I entreat you. I was unjust and I +hate myself." + +"I insult you with my whining and complaints. You are a true, generous +... rare man--I am conscious of it every minute; but I've been horribly +depressed for the last few days ..." + +Zinaida Fyodorovna impulsively embraced Orlov and kissed him on the +cheek. + +"Only please don't cry," he said. + +"No, no.... I've had my cry, and now I am better." + +"As for the servant, she shall be gone to-morrow," he said, still moving +uneasily in his chair. + +"No, she must stay, _George!_ Do you hear? I am not afraid of her +now.... One must rise above trifles and not imagine silly things. You +are right! You are a wonderful, rare person!" + +She soon left off crying. With tears glistening on her eyelashes, +sitting on Orlov's knee, she told him in a low voice something touching, +something like a reminiscence of childhood and youth. She stroked his +face, kissed him, and carefully examined his hands with the rings on +them and the charms on his watch-chain. She was carried away by what she +was saying, and by being near the man she loved, and probably because +her tears had cleared and refreshed her soul, there was a note of +wonderful candour and sincerity in her voice. And Orlov played with her +chestnut hair and kissed her hands, noiselessly pressing them to his +lips. + +Then they had tea in the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna read aloud some +letters. Soon after midnight they went to bed. I had a fearful pain in +my side that night, and I could not get warm or go to sleep till +morning. I could hear Orlov go from the bedroom into his study. After +sitting there about an hour, he rang the bell. In my pain and exhaustion +I forgot all the rules and conventions, and went to his study in my +night attire, barefooted. Orlov, in his dressing-gown and cap, was +standing in the doorway, waiting for me. + +"When you are sent for you should come dressed," he said sternly. "Bring +some fresh candles." + +I was about to apologise, but suddenly broke into a violent cough, and +clutched at the side of the door to save myself from falling. + +"Are you ill?" said Orlov. + +I believe it was the first time of our acquaintance that he addressed me +not in the singular--goodness knows why. Most likely, in my night +clothes and with my face distorted by coughing, I played my part poorly, +and was very little like a flunkey. + +"If you are ill, why do you take a place?" he said. + +"That I may not die of starvation," I answered. + +"How disgusting it all is, really!" he said softly, going up to his +table. + +While hurriedly getting into my coat, I put up and lighted fresh +candles. He was sitting at the table, with feet stretched out on a low +chair, cutting a book. + +I left him deeply engrossed, and the book did not drop out of his hands +as it had done in the evening. + + +VII + +Now that I am writing these lines I am restrained by that dread of +appearing sentimental and ridiculous, in which I have been trained from +childhood; when I want to be affectionate or to say anything tender, I +don't know how to be natural. And it is that dread, together with lack +of practice, that prevents me from being able to express with perfect +clearness what was passing in my soul at that time. + +I was not in love with Zinaida Fyodorovna, but in the ordinary human +feeling I had for her, there was far more youth, freshness, and +joyousness than in Orlov's love. + +As I worked in the morning, cleaning boots or sweeping the rooms, I +waited with a thrill at my heart for the moment when I should hear her +voice and her footsteps. To stand watching her as she drank her coffee +in the morning or ate her lunch, to hold her fur coat for her in the +hall, and to put the goloshes on her little feet while she rested her +hand on my shoulder; then to wait till the hall porter rang up for me, +to meet her at the door, cold, and rosy, powdered with the snow, to +listen to her brief exclamations about the frost or the cabman--if only +you knew how much all that meant to me! I longed to be in love, to have +a wife and child of my own. I wanted my future wife to have just such a +face, such a voice. I dreamed of it at dinner, and in the street when I +was sent on some errand, and when I lay awake at night. Orlov rejected +with disgust children, cooking, copper saucepans, and feminine +knicknacks and I gathered them all up, tenderly cherished them in my +dreams, loved them, and begged them of destiny. I had visions of a wife, +a nursery, a little house with garden paths.... + +I knew that if I did love her I could never dare hope for the miracle of +her returning my love, but that reflection did not worry me. In my +quiet, modest feeling akin to ordinary affection, there was no jealousy +of Orlov or even envy of him, since I realised that for a wreck like me +happiness was only to be found in dreams. + +When Zinaida Fyodorovna sat up night after night for her _George_, +looking immovably at a book of which she never turned a page, or when +she shuddered and turned pale at Polya's crossing the room, I suffered +with her, and the idea occurred to me to lance this festering wound as +quickly as possible by letting her know what was said here at supper on +Thursdays; but--how was it to be done? More and more often I saw her +tears. For the first weeks she laughed and sang to herself, even when +Orlov was not at home, but by the second month there was a mournful +stillness in our flat broken only on Thursday evenings. + +She flattered Orlov, and to wring from him a counterfeit smile or kiss, +was ready to go on her knees to him, to fawn on him like a dog. Even +when her heart was heaviest, she could not resist glancing into a +looking-glass if she passed one and straightening her hair. It seemed +strange to me that she could still take an interest in clothes and go +into ecstasies over her purchases. It did not seem in keeping with her +genuine grief. She paid attention to the fashions and ordered expensive +dresses. What for? On whose account? I particularly remember one dress +which cost four hundred roubles. To give four hundred roubles for an +unnecessary, useless dress while women for their hard day's work get +only twenty kopecks a day without food, and the makers of Venice and +Brussels lace are only paid half a franc a day on the supposition that +they can earn the rest by immorality! And it seemed strange to me that +Zinaida Fyodorovna was not conscious of it; it vexed me. But she had +only to go out of the house for me to find excuses and explanations for +everything, and to be waiting eagerly for the hall porter to ring for +me. + +She treated me as a flunkey, a being of a lower order. One may pat a +dog, and yet not notice it; I was given orders and asked questions, but +my presence was not observed. My master and mistress thought it unseemly +to say more to me than is usually said to servants; if when waiting at +dinner I had laughed or put in my word in the conversation, they would +certainly have thought I was mad and have dismissed me. Zinaida +Fyodorovna was favourably disposed to me, all the same. When she was +sending me on some errand or explaining to me the working of a new lamp +or anything of that sort, her face was extraordinarily kind, frank, and +cordial, and her eyes looked me straight in the face. At such moments I +always fancied she remembered with gratitude how I used to bring her +letters to Znamensky Street. When she rang the bell, Polya, who +considered me her favourite and hated me for it, used to say with a +jeering smile: + +"Go along, _your_ mistress wants you." + +Zinaida Fyodorovna considered me as a being of a lower order, and did +not suspect that if any one in the house were in a humiliating position +it was she. She did not know that I, a footman, was unhappy on her +account, and used to ask myself twenty times a day what was in store for +her and how it would all end. Things were growing visibly worse day by +day. After the evening on which they had talked of his official work, +Orlov, who could not endure tears, unmistakably began to avoid +conversation with her; whenever Zinaida Fyodorovna began to argue, or to +beseech him, or seemed on the point of crying, he seized some plausible +excuse for retreating to his study or going out. He more and more rarely +slept at home, and still more rarely dined there: on Thursdays he was +the one to suggest some expedition to his friends. Zinaida Fyodorovna +was still dreaming of having the cooking done at home, of moving to a +new flat, of travelling abroad, but her dreams remained dreams. Dinner +was sent in from the restaurant. Orlov asked her not to broach the +question of moving until after they had come back from abroad, and +apropos of their foreign tour, declared that they could not go till his +hair had grown long, as one could not go trailing from hotel to hotel +and serving the idea without long hair. + +To crown it all, in Orlov's absence, Kukushkin began calling at the flat +in the evening. There was nothing exceptional in his behaviour, but I +could never forget the conversation in which he had offered to cut Orlov +out. He was regaled with tea and red wine, and he used to titter and, +anxious to say something pleasant, would declare that a free union was +superior in every respect to legal marriage, and that all decent people +ought really to come to Zinaida Fyodorovna and fall at her feet. + + +VIII + +Christmas was spent drearily in vague anticipations of calamity. On New +Year's Eve Orlov unexpectedly announced at breakfast that he was being +sent to assist a senator who was on a revising commission in a certain +province. + +"I don't want to go, but I can't find an excuse to get off," he said +with vexation. "I must go; there's nothing for it." + +Such news instantly made Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes look red. "Is it for +long?" she asked. + +"Five days or so." + +"I am glad, really, you are going," she said after a moment's thought. +"It will be a change for you. You will fall in love with some one on the +way, and tell me about it afterwards." + +At every opportunity she tried to make Orlov feel that she did not +restrict his liberty in any way, and that he could do exactly as he +liked, and this artless, transparent strategy deceived no one, and only +unnecessarily reminded Orlov that he was not free. + +"I am going this evening," he said, and began reading the paper. + +Zinaida Fyodorovna wanted to see him off at the station, but he +dissuaded her, saying that he was not going to America, and not going to +be away five years, but only five days--possibly less. + +The parting took place between seven and eight. He put one arm round +her, and kissed her on the lips and on the forehead. + +"Be a good girl, and don't be depressed while I am away," he said in a +warm, affectionate tone which touched even me. "God keep you!" + +She looked greedily into his face, to stamp his dear features on her +memory, then she put her arms gracefully round his neck and laid her +head on his breast. + +"Forgive me our misunderstandings," she said in French. "Husband and +wife cannot help quarrelling if they love each other, and I love you +madly. Don't forget me.... Wire to me often and fully." + +Orlov kissed her once more, and, without saying a word, went out in +confusion. When he heard the click of the lock as the door closed, he +stood still in the middle of the staircase in hesitation and glanced +upwards. It seemed to me that if a sound had reached him at that moment +from above, he would have turned back. But all was quiet. He +straightened his coat and went downstairs irresolutely. + +The sledges had been waiting a long while at the door. Orlov got into +one, I got into the other with two portmanteaus. It was a hard frost and +there were fires smoking at the cross-roads. The cold wind nipped my +face and hands, and took my breath away as we drove rapidly along; and, +closing my eyes, I thought what a splendid woman she was. How she loved +him! Even useless rubbish is collected in the courtyards nowadays and +used for some purpose, even broken glass is considered a useful +commodity, but something so precious, so rare, as the love of a refined, +young, intelligent, and good woman is utterly thrown away and wasted. +One of the early sociologists regarded every evil passion as a force +which might by judicious management be turned to good, while among us +even a fine, noble passion springs up and dies away in impotence, turned +to no account, misunderstood or vulgarised. Why is it? + +The sledges stopped unexpectedly. I opened my eyes and I saw that we had +come to a standstill in Sergievsky Street, near a big house where +Pekarsky lived. Orlov got out of the sledge and vanished into the entry. +Five minutes later Pekarsky's footman came out, bareheaded, and, angry +with the frost, shouted to me: + +"Are you deaf? Pay the cabmen and go upstairs. You are wanted!" + +At a complete loss, I went to the first storey. I had been to Pekarsky's +flat before--that is, I had stood in the hall and looked into the +drawing-room, and, after the damp, gloomy street, it always struck me by +the brilliance of its picture-frames, its bronzes and expensive +furniture. To-day in the midst of this splendour I saw Gruzin, +Kukushkin, and, after a minute, Orlov. + +"Look here, Stepan," he said, coming up to me. "I shall be staying here +till Friday or Saturday. If any letters or telegrams come, you must +bring them here every day. At home, of course you will say that I have +gone, and send my greetings. Now you can go." + +When I reached home Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the sofa in the +drawing-room, eating a pear. There was only one candle burning in the +candelabra. + +"Did you catch the train?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna. + +"Yes, madam. His honour sends his greetings." + +I went into my room and I, too, lay down. I had nothing to do, and I did +not want to read. I was not surprised and I was not indignant. I only +racked my brains to think why this deception was necessary. It is only +boys in their teens who deceive their mistresses like that. How was it +that a man who had thought and read so much could not imagine anything +more sensible? I must confess I had by no means a poor opinion of his +intelligence. I believe if he had had to deceive his minister or any +other influential person he would have put a great deal of skill and +energy into doing so; but to deceive a woman, the first idea that +occurred to him was evidently good enough. If it succeeded--well and +good; if it did not, there would be no harm done--he could tell some +other lie just as quickly and simply, with no mental effort. + +At midnight when the people on the floor overhead were moving their +chairs and shouting hurrah to welcome the New Year, Zinaida Fyodorovna +rang for me from the room next to the study. Languid from lying down so +long, she was sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap of +paper. + +"I must send a telegram," she said, with a smile. "Go to the station as +quick as you can and ask them to send it after him." + +Going out into the street, I read on the scrap of paper: + +"May the New Year bring new happiness. Make haste and telegraph; I miss +you dreadfully. It seems an eternity. I am only sorry I can't send a +thousand kisses and my very heart by telegraph. Enjoy yourself, my +darling.--ZINA." + +I sent the telegram, and next morning I gave her the receipt. + + +IX + +The worst of it was that Orlov had thoughtlessly let Polya, too, into +the secret of his deception, telling her to bring his shirts to +Sergievsky Street. After that, she looked at Zinaida Fyodorovna with a +malignant joy and hatred I could not understand, and was never tired of +snorting with delight to herself in her own room and in the hall. + +"She's outstayed her welcome; it's time she took herself off!" she would +say with zest. "She ought to realise that herself...." + +She already divined by instinct that Zinaida Fyodorovna would not be +with us much longer, and, not to let the chance slip, carried off +everything she set her eyes on--smelling-bottles, tortoise-shell +hairpins, handkerchiefs, shoes! On the day after New Year's Day, Zinaida +Fyodorovna summoned me to her room and told me in a low voice that she +missed her black dress. And then she walked through all the rooms, with +a pale, frightened, and indignant face, talking to herself: + +"It's too much! It's beyond everything. Why, it's unheard-of insolence!" + +At dinner she tried to help herself to soup, but could not--her hands +were trembling. Her lips were trembling, too. She looked helplessly at +the soup and at the little pies, waiting for the trembling to pass off, +and suddenly she could not resist looking at Polya. + +"You can go, Polya," she said. "Stepan is enough by himself." + +"I'll stay; I don't mind," answered Polya. + +"There's no need for you to stay. You go away altogether," Zinaida +Fyodorovna went on, getting up in great agitation. "You may look out for +another place. You can go at once." + +"I can't go away without the master's orders. He engaged me. It must be +as he orders." + +"You can take orders from me, too! I am mistress here!" said Zinaida +Fyodorovna, and she flushed crimson. + +"You may be the mistress, but only the master can dismiss me. It was he +engaged me." + +"You dare not stay here another minute!" cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, and +she struck the plate with her knife. "You are a thief! Do you hear?" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna flung her dinner-napkin on the table, and with a +pitiful, suffering face, went quickly out of the room. Loudly sobbing +and wailing something indistinct, Polya, too, went away. The soup and +the grouse got cold. And for some reason all the restaurant dainties on +the table struck me as poor, thievish, like Polya. Two pies on a plate +had a particularly miserable and guilty air. "We shall be taken back to +the restaurant to-day," they seemed to be saying, "and to-morrow we +shall be put on the table again for some official or celebrated singer." + +"She is a fine lady, indeed," I heard uttered in Polya's room. "I could +have been a lady like that long ago, but I have some self-respect! We'll +see which of us will be the first to go!" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna rang the bell. She was sitting in her room, in the +corner, looking as though she had been put in the corner as a +punishment. + +"No telegram has come?" she asked. + +"No, madam." + +"Ask the porter; perhaps there is a telegram. And don't leave the +house," she called after me. "I am afraid to be left alone." + +After that I had to run down almost every hour to ask the porter whether +a telegram had come. I must own it was a dreadful time! To avoid seeing +Polya, Zinaida Fyodorovna dined and had tea in her own room; it was here +that she slept, too, on a short sofa like a half-moon, and she made her +own bed. For the first days I took the telegrams; but, getting no +answer, she lost her faith in me and began telegraphing herself. Looking +at her, I, too, began impatiently hoping for a telegram. I hoped he +would contrive some deception, would make arrangements, for instance, +that a telegram should be sent to her from some station. If he were too +much engrossed with cards or had been attracted by some other woman, I +thought that both Gruzin and Kukushkin would remind him of us. But our +expectations were vain. Five times a day I would go in to Zinaida +Fyodorovna, intending to tell her the truth. But her eyes looked piteous +as a fawn's, her shoulders seemed to droop, her lips were moving, and I +went away again without saying a word. Pity and sympathy seemed to rob +me of all manliness. Polya, as cheerful and well satisfied with herself +as though nothing had happened, was tidying the master's study and the +bedroom, rummaging in the cupboards, and making the crockery jingle, and +when she passed Zinaida Fyodorovna's door, she hummed something and +coughed. She was pleased that her mistress was hiding from her. In the +evening she would go out somewhere, and rang at two or three o'clock in +the morning, and I had to open the door to her and listen to remarks +about my cough. Immediately afterwards I would hear another ring; I +would run to the room next to the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, putting +her head out of the door, would ask, "Who was it rung?" while she looked +at my hands to see whether I had a telegram. + +When at last on Saturday the bell rang below and she heard the familiar +voice on the stairs, she was so delighted that she broke into sobs. She +rushed to meet him, embraced him, kissed him on the breast and sleeves, +said something one could not understand. The hall porter brought up the +portmanteaus; Polya's cheerful voice was heard. It was as though some +one had come home for the holidays. + +"Why didn't you wire?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna, breathless with joy. +"Why was it? I have been in misery; I don't know how I've lived through +it.... Oh, my God!" + +"It was very simple! I returned with the senator to Moscow the very +first day, and didn't get your telegrams," said Orlov. "After dinner, my +love, I'll give you a full account of my doings, but now I must sleep +and sleep.... I am worn out with the journey." + +It was evident that he had not slept all night; he had probably been +playing cards and drinking freely. Zinaida Fyodorovna put him to bed, +and we all walked about on tiptoe all that day. The dinner went off +quite satisfactorily, but when they went into the study and had coffee +the explanation began. Zinaida Fyodorovna began talking of something +rapidly in a low voice; she spoke in French, and her words flowed like a +stream. Then I heard a loud sigh from Orlov, and his voice. + +"My God!" he said in French. "Have you really nothing fresher to tell me +than this everlasting tale of your servant's misdeeds?" + +"But, my dear, she robbed me and said insulting things to me." + +"But why is it she doesn't rob me or say insulting things to me? Why is +it I never notice the maids nor the porters nor the footmen? My dear, +you are simply capricious and refuse to know your own mind.... I really +begin to suspect that you must be in a certain condition. When I offered +to let her go, you insisted on her remaining, and now you want me to +turn her away. I can be obstinate, too, in such cases. You want her to +go, but I want her to remain. That's the only way to cure you of your +nerves." + +"Oh, very well, very well," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in alarm. "Let us +say no more about that.... Let us put it off till to-morrow.... Now tell +me about Moscow.... What is going on in Moscow?" + + +X + +After lunch next day--it was the seventh of January, St. John the +Baptist's Day--Orlov put on his black dress coat and his decoration to +go to visit his father and congratulate him on his name day. He had to +go at two o'clock, and it was only half-past one when he had finished +dressing. What was he to do for that half-hour? He walked about the +drawing-room, declaiming some congratulatory verses which he had recited +as a child to his father and mother. + +Zinaida Fyodorovna, who was just going out to a dressmaker's or to the +shops, was sitting, listening to him with a smile. I don't know how +their conversation began, but when I took Orlov his gloves, he was +standing before her with a capricious, beseeching face, saying: + +"For God's sake, in the name of everything that's holy, don't talk of +things that everybody knows! What an unfortunate gift our intellectual +thoughtful ladies have for talking with enthusiasm and an air of +profundity of things that every schoolboy is sick to death of! Ah, if +only you would exclude from our conjugal programme all these serious +questions! How grateful I should be to you!" + +"We women may not dare, it seems, to have views of our own." + +"I give you full liberty to be as liberal as you like, and quote from +any authors you choose, but make me one concession: don't hold forth in +my presence on either of two subjects: the corruption of the upper +classes and the evils of the marriage system. Do understand me, at last. +The upper class is always abused in contrast with the world of +tradesmen, priests, workmen and peasants, Sidors and Nikitas of all +sorts. I detest both classes, but if I had honestly to choose between +the two, I should without hesitation, prefer the upper class, and there +would be no falsity or affectation about it, since all my tastes are in +that direction. Our world is trivial and empty, but at any rate we speak +French decently, read something, and don't punch each other in the ribs +even in our most violent quarrels, while the Sidors and the Nikitas and +their worships in trade talk about 'being quite agreeable,' 'in a +jiffy,' 'blast your eyes,' and display the utmost license of pothouse +manners and the most degrading superstition." + +"The peasant and the tradesman feed you." + +"Yes, but what of it? That's not only to my discredit, but to theirs +too. They feed me and take off their caps to me, so it seems they have +not the intelligence and honesty to do otherwise. I don't blame or +praise any one: I only mean that the upper class and the lower are as +bad as one another. My feelings and my intelligence are opposed to both, +but my tastes lie more in the direction of the former. Well, now for the +evils of marriage," Orlov went on, glancing at his watch. "It's high +time for you to understand that there are no evils in the system itself; +what is the matter is that you don't know yourselves what you want from +marriage. What is it you want? In legal and illegal cohabitation, in +every sort of union and cohabitation, good or bad, the underlying +reality is the same. You ladies live for that underlying reality alone: +for you it's everything; your existence would have no meaning for you +without it. You want nothing but that, and you get it; but since you've +taken to reading novels you are ashamed of it: you rush from pillar to +post, you recklessly change your men, and to justify this turmoil you +have begun talking of the evils of marriage. So long as you can't and +won't renounce what underlies it all, your chief foe, your devil--so +long as you serve that slavishly, what use is there in discussing the +matter seriously? Everything you may say to me will be falsity and +affectation. I shall not believe you." + +I went to find out from the hall porter whether the sledge was at the +door, and when I came back I found it had become a quarrel. As sailors +say, a squall had blown up. + +"I see you want to shock me by your cynicism today," said Zinaida +Fyodorovna, walking about the drawing-room in great emotion. "It revolts +me to listen to you. I am pure before God and man, and have nothing to +repent of. I left my husband and came to you, and am proud of it. I +swear, on my honour, I am proud of it!" + +"Well, that's all right, then!" + +"If you are a decent, honest man, you, too, ought to be proud of what I +did. It raises you and me above thousands of people who would like to do +as we have done, but do not venture through cowardice or petty prudence. +But you are not a decent man. You are afraid of freedom, and you mock +the promptings of genuine feeling, from fear that some ignoramus may +suspect you of being sincere. You are afraid to show me to your friends; +there's no greater infliction for you than to go about with me in the +street.... Isn't that true? Why haven't you introduced me to your father +or your cousin all this time? Why is it? No, I am sick of it at last," +cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, stamping. "I demand what is mine by right. You +must present me to your father." + +"If you want to know him, go and present yourself. He receives visitors +every morning from ten till half-past." + +"How base you are!" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, wringing her hands in +despair. "Even if you are not sincere, and are not saying what you +think, I might hate you for your cruelty. Oh, how base you are!" + +"We keep going round and round and never reach the real point. The real +point is that you made a mistake, and you won't acknowledge it aloud. +You imagined that I was a hero, and that I had some extraordinary ideas +and ideals, and it has turned out that I am a most ordinary official, a +cardplayer, and have no partiality for ideas of any sort. I am a worthy +representative of the rotten world from which you have run away because +you were revolted with its triviality and emptiness. Recognise it and be +just: don't be indignant with me, but with yourself, as it is your +mistake, and not mine." + +"Yes, I admit I was mistaken." + +"Well, that's all right, then. We've reached that point at last, thank +God. Now hear something more, if you please: I can't rise to your +level--I am too depraved; you can't descend to my level, either, for you +are too exalted. So there is only one thing left to do...." + +"What?" Zinaida Fyodorovna asked quickly, holding her breath and turning +suddenly as white as a sheet of paper. + +"To call logic to our aid...." + +"Georgy, why are you torturing me?" Zinaida Fyodorovna said suddenly in +Russian in a breaking voice. "What is it for? Think of my misery...." + +Orlov, afraid of tears, went quickly into his study, and I don't know +why--whether it was that he wished to cause her extra pain, or whether +he remembered it was usually done in such cases--he locked the door +after him. She cried out and ran after him with a rustle of her skirt. + +"What does this mean?" she cried, knocking at his door. "What ... what +does this mean?" she repeated in a shrill voice breaking with +indignation. "Ah, so this is what you do! Then let me tell you I hate +you, I despise you! Everything is over between us now." + +I heard hysterical weeping mingled with laughter. Something small in the +drawing-room fell off the table and was broken. Orlov went out into the +hall by another door, and, looking round him nervously, he hurriedly put +on his great-coat and went out. + +Half an hour passed, an hour, and she was still weeping. I remembered +that she had no father or mother, no relations, and here she was living +between a man who hated her and Polya, who robbed her--and how desolate +her life seemed to me! I do not know why, but I went into the +drawing-room to her. Weak and helpless, looking with her lovely hair +like an embodiment of tenderness and grace, she was in anguish, as +though she were ill; she was lying on a couch, hiding her face, and +quivering all over. + +"Madam, shouldn't I fetch a doctor?" I asked gently. + +"No, there's no need ... it's nothing," she said, and she looked at me +with her tear-stained eyes. "I have a little headache.... Thank you." + +I went out, and in the evening she was writing letter after letter, and +sent me out first to Pekarsky, then to Gruzin, then to Kukushkin, and +finally anywhere I chose, if only I could find Orlov and give him the +letter. Every time I came back with the letter she scolded me, entreated +me, thrust money into my hand--as though she were in a fever. And all +the night she did not sleep, but sat in the drawing-room, talking to +herself. + +Orlov returned to dinner next day, and they were reconciled. + +The first Thursday afterwards Orlov complained to his friends of the +intolerable life he led; he smoked a great deal, and said with +irritation: + +"It is no life at all; it's the rack. Tears, wailing, intellectual +conversations, begging for forgiveness, again tears and wailing; and the +long and the short of it is that I have no flat of my own now. I am +wretched, and I make her wretched. Surely I haven't to live another +month or two like this? How can I? But yet I may have to." + +"Why don't you speak, then?" said Pekarsky. + +"I've tried, but I can't. One can boldly tell the truth, whatever it may +be, to an independent, rational man; but in this case one has to do with +a creature who has no will, no strength of character, and no logic. I +cannot endure tears; they disarm me. When she cries, I am ready to swear +eternal love and cry myself." + +Pekarsky did not understand; he scratched his broad forehead in +perplexity and said: + +"You really had better take another flat for her. It's so simple!" + +"She wants me, not the flat. But what's the good of talking?" sighed +Orlov. "I only hear endless conversations, but no way out of my +position. It certainly is a case of 'being guilty without guilt.' I +don't claim to be a mushroom, but it seems I've got to go into the +basket. The last thing I've ever set out to be is a hero. I never could +endure Turgenev's novels; and now, all of a sudden, as though to spite +me, I've heroism forced upon me. I assure her on my honour that I'm not +a hero at all, I adduce irrefutable proofs of the same, but she doesn't +believe me. Why doesn't she believe me? I suppose I really must have +something of the appearance of a hero." + +"You go off on a tour of inspection in the provinces," said Kukushkin, +laughing. + +"Yes, that's the only thing left for me." + +A week after this conversation Orlov announced that he was again ordered +to attend the senator, and the same evening he went off with his +portmanteaus to Pekarsky. + + +XI + +An old man of sixty, in a long fur coat reaching to the ground, and a +beaver cap, was standing at the door. + +"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he asked. + +At first I thought it was one of the moneylenders, Gruzin's creditors, +who sometimes used to come to Orlov for small payments on account; but +when he came into the hall and flung open his coat, I saw the thick +brows and the characteristically compressed lips which I knew so well +from the photographs, and two rows of stars on the uniform. I recognised +him: it was Orlov's father, the distinguished statesman. + +I answered that Georgy Ivanitch was not at home. The old man pursed up +his lips tightly and looked into space, reflecting, showing me his +dried-up, toothless profile. + +"I'll leave a note," he said; "show me in." + +He left his goloshes in the hall, and, without taking off his long, +heavy fur coat, went into the study. There he sat down before the table, +and, before taking up the pen, for three minutes he pondered, shading +his eyes with his hand as though from the sun--exactly as his son did +when he was out of humour. His face was sad, thoughtful, with that look +of resignation which I have only seen on the faces of the old and +religious. I stood behind him, gazed at his bald head and at the hollow +at the nape of his neck, and it was clear as daylight to me that this +weak old man was now in my power. There was not a soul in the flat +except my enemy and me. I had only to use a little physical violence, +then snatch his watch to disguise the object of the crime, and to get +off by the back way, and I should have gained infinitely more than I +could have imagined possible when I took up the part of a footman. I +thought that I could hardly get a better opportunity. But instead of +acting, I looked quite unconcernedly, first at his bald patch and then +at his fur, and calmly meditated on this man's relation to his only son, +and on the fact that people spoiled by power and wealth probably don't +want to die.... + +"Have you been long in my son's service?" he asked, writing a large hand +on the paper. + +"Three months, your High Excellency." + +He finished the letter and stood up. I still had time. I urged myself on +and clenched my fists, trying to wring out of my soul some trace of my +former hatred; I recalled what a passionate, implacable, obstinate hate +I had felt for him only a little while before.... But it is difficult to +strike a match against a crumbling stone. The sad old face and the cold +glitter of his stars roused in me nothing but petty, cheap, unnecessary +thoughts of the transitoriness of everything earthly, of the nearness of +death.... + +"Good-day, brother," said the old man. He put on his cap and went out. + +There could be no doubt about it: I had undergone a change; I had become +different. To convince myself, I began to recall the past, but at once I +felt uneasy, as though I had accidentally peeped into a dark, damp +corner. I remembered my comrades and friends, and my first thought was +how I should blush in confusion if ever I met any of them. What was I +now? What had I to think of and to do? Where was I to go? What was I +living for? + +I could make nothing of it. I only knew one thing--that I must make +haste to pack my things and be off. Before the old man's visit my +position as a flunkey had a meaning; now it was absurd. Tears dropped +into my open portmanteau; I felt insufferably sad; but how I longed to +live! I was ready to embrace and include in my short life every +possibility open to man. I wanted to speak, to read, and to hammer in +some big factory, and to stand on watch, and to plough. I yearned for +the Nevsky Prospect, for the sea and the fields--for every place to +which my imagination travelled. When Zinaida Fyodorovna came in, I +rushed to open the door for her, and with peculiar tenderness took off +her fur coat. The last time! + +We had two other visitors that day besides the old man. In the evening +when it was quite dark, Gruzin came to fetch some papers for Orlov. He +opened the table-drawer, took the necessary papers, and, rolling them +up, told me to put them in the hall beside his cap while he went in to +see Zinaida Fyodorovna. She was lying on the sofa in the drawing-room, +with her arms behind her head. Five or six days had already passed since +Orlov went on his tour of inspection, and no one knew when he would be +back, but this time she did not send telegrams and did not expect them. +She did not seem to notice the presence of Polya, who was still living +with us. "So be it, then," was what I read on her passionless and very +pale face. Like Orlov, she wanted to be unhappy out of obstinacy. To +spite herself and everything in the world, she lay for days together on +the sofa, desiring and expecting nothing but evil for herself. Probably +she was picturing to herself Orlov's return and the inevitable quarrels +with him; then his growing indifference to her, his infidelities; then +how they would separate; and perhaps these agonising thoughts gave her +satisfaction. But what would she have said if she found out the actual +truth? + +"I love you, Godmother," said Gruzin, greeting her and kissing her hand. +"You are so kind! And so dear _George_ has gone away," he lied. "He has +gone away, the rascal!" + +He sat down with a sigh and tenderly stroked her hand. + +"Let me spend an hour with you, my dear," he said. "I don't want to go +home, and it's too early to go to the Birshovs'. The Birshovs are +keeping their Katya's birthday to-day. She is a nice child!" + +I brought him a glass of tea and a decanter of brandy. He slowly and +with obvious reluctance drank the tea, and returning the glass to me, +asked timidly: + +"Can you give me ... something to eat, my friend? I have had no dinner." + +We had nothing in the flat. I went to the restaurant and brought him the +ordinary rouble dinner. + +"To your health, my dear," he said to Zinaida Fyodorovna, and he tossed +off a glass of vodka. "My little girl, your godchild, sends you her +love. Poor child! she's rickety. Ah, children, children!" he sighed. +"Whatever you may say, Godmother, it is nice to be a father. Dear +_George_ can't understand that feeling." + +He drank some more. Pale and lean, with his dinner-napkin over his chest +like a little pinafore, he ate greedily, and raising his eyebrows, kept +looking guiltily, like a little boy, first at Zinaida Fyodorovna and +then at me. It seemed as though he would have begun crying if I had not +given him the grouse or the jelly. When he had satisfied his hunger he +grew more lively, and began laughingly telling some story about the +Birshov household, but perceiving that it was tiresome and that Zinaida +Fyodorovna was not laughing, he ceased. And there was a sudden feeling +of dreariness. After he had finished his dinner they sat in the +drawing-room by the light of a single lamp, and did not speak; it was +painful to him to lie to her, and she wanted to ask him something, but +could not make up her mind to. So passed half an hour. Gruzin glanced at +his watch. + +"I suppose it's time for me to go." + +"No, stay a little.... We must have a talk." + +Again they were silent. He sat down to the piano, struck one chord, then +began playing, and sang softly, "What does the coming day bring me?" but +as usual he got up suddenly and tossed his head. + +"Play something," Zinaida Fyodorovna asked him. + +"What shall I play?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "I have +forgotten everything. I've given it up long ago." + +Looking at the ceiling as though trying to remember, he played two +pieces of Tchaikovsky with exquisite expression, with such warmth, such +insight! His face was just as usual--neither stupid nor intelligent--and +it seemed to me a perfect marvel that a man whom I was accustomed to see +in the midst of the most degrading, impure surroundings, was capable of +such purity, of rising to a feeling so lofty, so far beyond my reach. +Zinaida Fyodorovna's face glowed, and she walked about the drawing-room +in emotion. + +"Wait a bit, Godmother; if I can remember it, I will play you +something," he said; "I heard it played on the violoncello." + +Beginning timidly and picking out the notes, and then gathering +confidence, he played Saint-Saëns's "Swan Song." He played it through, +and then played it a second time. + +"It's nice, isn't it?" he said. + +Moved by the music, Zinaida Fyodorovna stood beside him and asked: + +"Tell me honestly, as a friend, what do you think about me?" + +"What am I to say?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "I love you and think +nothing but good of you. But if you wish that I should speak generally +about the question that interests you," he went on, rubbing his sleeve +near the elbow and frowning, "then, my dear, you know.... To follow +freely the promptings of the heart does not always give good people +happiness. To feel free and at the same time to be happy, it seems to +me, one must not conceal from oneself that life is coarse, cruel, and +merciless in its conservatism, and one must retaliate with what it +deserves--that is, be as coarse and as merciless in one's striving for +freedom. That's what I think." + +"That's beyond me," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a mournful smile. "I +am exhausted already. I am so exhausted that I wouldn't stir a finger +for my own salvation." + +"Go into a nunnery." + +He said this in jest, but after he had said it, tears glistened in +Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes and then in his. + +"Well," he said, "we've been sitting and sitting, and now we must go. +Good-bye, dear Godmother. God give you health." + +He kissed both her hands, and stroking them tenderly, said that he +should certainly come to see her again in a day or two. In the hall, as +he was putting on his overcoat, that was so like a child's pelisse, he +fumbled long in his pockets to find a tip for me, but found nothing +there. + +"Good-bye, my dear fellow," he said sadly, and went away. + +I shall never forget the feeling that this man left behind him. + +Zinaida Fyodorovna still walked about the room in her excitement. That +she was walking about and not still lying down was so much to the good. +I wanted to take advantage of this mood to speak to her openly and then +to go away, but I had hardly seen Gruzin out when I heard a ring. It was +Kukushkin. + +"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he said. "Has he come back? You say no? +What a pity! In that case, I'll go in and kiss your mistress's hand, and +so away. Zinaida Fyodorovna, may I come in?" he cried. "I want to kiss +your hand. Excuse my being so late." + +He was not long in the drawing-room, not more than ten minutes, but I +felt as though he were staying a long while and would never go away. I +bit my lips from indignation and annoyance, and already hated Zinaida +Fyodorovna. "Why does she not turn him out?" I thought indignantly, +though it was evident that she was bored by his company. + +When I held his fur coat for him he asked me, as a mark of special +good-will, how I managed to get on without a wife. + +"But I don't suppose you waste your time," he said, laughingly. "I've no +doubt Polya and you are as thick as thieves.... You rascal!" + +In spite of my experience of life, I knew very little of mankind at that +time, and it is very likely that I often exaggerated what was of little +consequence and failed to observe what was important. It seemed to me it +was not without motive that Kukushkin tittered and flattered me. Could +it be that he was hoping that I, like a flunkey, would gossip in other +kitchens and servants' quarters of his coming to see us in the evenings +when Orlov was away, and staying with Zinaida Fyodorovna till late at +night? And when my tittle-tattle came to the ears of his acquaintance, +he would drop his eyes in confusion and shake his little finger. And +would not he, I thought, looking at his little honeyed face, this very +evening at cards pretend and perhaps declare that he had already won +Zinaida Fyodorovna from Orlov? + +That hatred which failed me at midday when the old father had come, took +possession of me now. Kukushkin went away at last, and as I listened to +the shuffle of his leather goloshes, I felt greatly tempted to fling +after him, as a parting shot, some coarse word of abuse, but I +restrained myself. And when the steps had died away on the stairs, I +went back to the hall, and, hardly conscious of what I was doing, took +up the roll of papers that Gruzin had left behind, and ran headlong +downstairs. Without cap or overcoat, I ran down into the street. It was +not cold, but big flakes of snow were falling and it was windy. + +"Your Excellency!" I cried, catching up Kukushkin. "Your Excellency!" + +He stopped under a lamp-post and looked round with surprise. "Your +Excellency!" I said breathless, "your Excellency!" + +And not able to think of anything to say, I hit him two or three times +on the face with the roll of paper. Completely at a loss, and hardly +wondering--I had so completely taken him by surprise--he leaned his back +against the lamp-post and put up his hands to protect his face. At that +moment an army doctor passed, and saw how I was beating the man, but he +merely looked at us in astonishment and went on. I felt ashamed and I +ran back to the house. + + +XII + +With my head wet from the snow, and gasping for breath, I ran to my +room, and immediately flung off my swallow-tails, put on a reefer jacket +and an overcoat, and carried my portmanteau out into the passage; I must +get away! But before going I hurriedly sat down and began writing to +Orlov: + +"I leave you my false passport," I began. "I beg you to keep it as a +memento, you false man, you Petersburg official! + +"To steal into another man's house under a false name, to watch under +the mask of a flunkey this person's intimate life, to hear everything, +to see everything in order later on, unasked, to accuse a man of +lying--all this, you will say, is on a level with theft. Yes, but I care +nothing for fine feelings now. I have endured dozens of your dinners and +suppers when you said and did what you liked, and I had to hear, to look +on, and be silent. I don't want to make you a present of my silence. +Besides, if there is not a living soul at hand who dares to tell you the +truth without flattery, let your flunkey Stepan wash your magnificent +countenance for you." + +I did not like this beginning, but I did not care to alter it. Besides, +what did it matter? + +The big windows with their dark curtains, the bed, the crumpled dress +coat on the floor, and my wet footprints, looked gloomy and forbidding. +And there was a peculiar stillness. + +Possibly because I had run out into the street without my cap and +goloshes I was in a high fever. My face burned, my legs ached.... My +heavy head drooped over the table, and there was that kind of division +in my thought when every idea in the brain seemed dogged by its shadow. + +"I am ill, weak, morally cast down," I went on; "I cannot write to you +as I should like to. From the first moment I desired to insult and +humiliate you, but now I do not feel that I have the right to do so. You +and I have both fallen, and neither of us will ever rise up again; and +even if my letter were eloquent, terrible, and passionate, it would +still seem like beating on the lid of a coffin: however one knocks upon +it, one will not wake up the dead! No efforts could warm your accursed +cold blood, and you know that better than I do. Why write? But my mind +and heart are burning, and I go on writing; for some reason I am moved +as though this letter still might save you and me. I am so feverish that +my thoughts are disconnected, and my pen scratches the paper without +meaning; but the question I want to put to you stands before me as clear +as though in letters of flame. + +"Why I am prematurely weak and fallen is not hard to explain. Like +Samson of old, I have taken the gates of Gaza on my shoulders to carry +them to the top of the mountain, and only when I was exhausted, when +youth and health were quenched in me forever, I noticed that that burden +was not for my shoulders, and that I had deceived myself. I have been, +moreover, in cruel and continual pain. I have endured cold, hunger, +illness, and loss of liberty. Of personal happiness I know and have +known nothing. I have no home; my memories are bitter, and my conscience +is often in dread of them. But why have you fallen--you? What fatal, +diabolical causes hindered your life from blossoming into full flower? +Why, almost before beginning life, were you in such haste to cast off +the image and likeness of God, and to become a cowardly beast who backs +and scares others because he is afraid himself? You are afraid of +life--as afraid of it as an Oriental who sits all day on a cushion +smoking his hookah. Yes, you read a great deal, and a European coat fits +you well, but yet with what tender, purely Oriental, pasha-like care you +protect yourself from hunger, cold, physical effort, from pain and +uneasiness! How early your soul has taken to its dressing-gown! What a +cowardly part you have played towards real life and nature, with which +every healthy and normal man struggles! How soft, how snug, how warm, +how comfortable--and how bored you are! Yes, it is deathly boredom, +unrelieved by one ray of light, as in solitary confinement; but you try +to hide from that enemy, too, you play cards eight hours out of +twenty-four. + +"And your irony? Oh, but how well I understand it! Free, bold, living +thought is searching and dominating; for an indolent, sluggish mind it +is intolerable. That it may not disturb your peace, like thousands of +your contemporaries, you made haste in youth to put it under bar and +bolt. Your ironical attitude to life, or whatever you like to call it, +is your armour; and your thought, fettered and frightened, dare not leap +over the fence you have put round it; and when you jeer at ideas which +you pretend to know all about, you are like the deserter fleeing from +the field of battle, and, to stifle his shame, sneering at war and at +valour. Cynicism stifles pain. In some novel of Dostoevsky's an old man +tramples underfoot the portrait of his dearly loved daughter because he +had been unjust to her, and you vent your foul and vulgar jeers upon the +ideas of goodness and truth because you have not the strength to follow +them. You are frightened of every honest and truthful hint at your +degradation, and you purposely surround yourself with people who do +nothing but flatter your weaknesses. And you may well, you may well +dread the sight of tears! + +"By the way, your attitude to women. Shamelessness has been handed down +to us in our flesh and blood, and we are trained to shamelessness; but +that is what we are men for--to subdue the beast in us. When you reached +manhood and _all_ ideas became known to you, you could not have failed +to see the truth; you knew it, but you did not follow it; you were +afraid of it, and to deceive your conscience you began loudly assuring +yourself that it was not you but woman that was to blame, that she was +as degraded as your attitude to her. Your cold, scabrous anecdotes, your +coarse laughter, all your innumerable theories concerning the underlying +reality of marriage and the definite demands made upon it, concerning +the ten _sous_ the French workman pays his woman; your everlasting +attacks on female logic, lying, weakness and so on--doesn't it all look +like a desire at all costs to force woman down into the mud that she may +be on the same level as your attitude to her? You are a weak, unhappy, +unpleasant person!" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna began playing the piano in the drawing-room, trying +to recall the song of Saint Saëns that Gruzin had played. I went and lay +on my bed, but remembering that it was time for me to go, I got up with +an effort and with a heavy, burning head went to the table again. + +"But this is the question," I went on. "Why are we worn out? Why are we, +at first so passionate, so bold, so noble, and so full of faith, complete +bankrupts at thirty or thirty-five? Why does one waste in consumption, +another put a bullet through his brains, a third seeks forgetfulness in +vodka and cards, while the fourth tries to stifle his fear and misery by +cynically trampling underfoot the pure image of his fair youth? Why is +it that, having once fallen, we do not try to rise up again, and, losing +one thing, do not seek something else? Why is it? + +"The thief hanging on the Cross could bring back the joy of life and the +courage of confident hope, though perhaps he had not more than an hour +to live. You have long years before you, and I shall probably not die so +soon as one might suppose. What if by a miracle the present turned out +to be a dream, a horrible nightmare, and we should wake up renewed, +pure, strong, proud of our righteousness? Sweet visions fire me, and I +am almost breathless with emotion. I have a terrible longing to live. I +long for our life to be holy, lofty, and majestic as the heavens above. +Let us live! The sun doesn't rise twice a day, and life is not given us +again--clutch at what is left of your life and save it...." + +I did not write another word. I had a multitude of thoughts in my mind, +but I could not connect them and get them on to paper. Without finishing +the letter, I signed it with my name and rank, and went into the study. +It was dark. I felt for the table and put the letter on it. I must have +stumbled against the furniture in the dark and made a noise. + +"Who is there?" I heard an alarmed voice in the drawing-room. + +And the clock on the table softly struck one at the moment. + + +XIII + +For at least half a minute I fumbled at the door in the dark, feeling +for the handle; then I slowly opened it and walked into the +drawing-room. Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the couch, and raising +herself on her elbow, she looked towards me. Unable to bring myself to +speak, I walked slowly by, and she followed me with her eyes. I stood +for a little time in the dining-room and then walked by her again, and +she looked at me intently and with perplexity, even with alarm. At last +I stood still and said with an effort: + +"He is not coming back." + +She quickly got on to her feet, and looked at me without understanding. + +"He is not coming back," I repeated, and my heart beat violently. "He +will not come back, for he has not left Petersburg. He is staying at +Pekarsky's." + +She understood and believed me--I saw that from her sudden pallor, and +from the way she laid her arms upon her bosom in terror and entreaty. In +one instant all that had happened of late flashed through her mind; she +reflected, and with pitiless clarity she saw the whole truth. But at the +same time she remembered that I was a flunkey, a being of a lower +order.... A casual stranger, with hair ruffled, with face flushed with +fever, perhaps drunk, in a common overcoat, was coarsely intruding into +her intimate life, and that offended her. She said to me sternly: + +"It's not your business: go away." + +"Oh, believe me!" I cried impetuously, holding out my hands to her. "I +am not a footman; I am as free as you." + +I mentioned my name, and, speaking very rapidly that she might not +interrupt me or go away, explained to her who I was and why I was living +there. This new discovery struck her more than the first. Till then she +had hoped that her footman had lied or made a mistake or been silly, but +now after my confession she had no doubts left. From the expression of +her unhappy eyes and face, which suddenly lost its softness and beauty +and looked old, I saw that she was insufferably miserable, and that the +conversation would lead to no good; but I went on impetuously: + +"The senator and the tour of inspection were invented to deceive you. In +January, just as now, he did not go away, but stayed at Pekarsky's, and +I saw him every day and took part in the deception. He was weary of you, +he hated your presence here, he mocked at you.... If you could have +heard how he and his friends here jeered at you and your love, you would +not have remained here one minute! Go away from here! Go away." + +"Well," she said in a shaking voice, and moved her hand over her hair. +"Well, so be it." + +Her eyes were full of tears, her lips were quivering, and her whole face +was strikingly pale and distorted with anger. Orlov's coarse, petty +lying revolted her and seemed to her contemptible, ridiculous: she +smiled and I did not like that smile. + +"Well," she repeated, passing her hand over her hair again, "so be it. +He imagines that I shall die of humiliation, and instead of that I am +... amused by it. There's no need for him to hide." She walked away from +the piano and said, shrugging her shoulders: "There's no need.... It +would have been simpler to have it out with me instead of keeping in +hiding in other people's flats. I have eyes; I saw it myself long +ago.... I was only waiting for him to come back to have things out once +for all." + +Then she sat down on a low chair by the table, and, leaning her head on +the arm of the sofa, wept bitterly. In the drawing-room there was only +one candle burning in the candelabra, and the chair where she was +sitting was in darkness; but I saw how her head and shoulders were +quivering, and how her hair, escaping from her combs, covered her neck, +her face, her arms.... Her quiet, steady weeping, which was not +hysterical but a woman's ordinary weeping, expressed a sense of insult, +of wounded pride, of injury, and of something helpless, hopeless, which +one could not set right and to which one could not get used. Her tears +stirred an echo in my troubled and suffering heart; I forgot my illness +and everything else in the world; I walked about the drawing-room and +muttered distractedly: + +"Is this life?... Oh, one can't go on living like this, one can't.... +Oh, it's madness, wickedness, not life." + +"What humiliation!" she said through her tears. "To live together, to +smile at me at the very time when I was burdensome to him, ridiculous in +his eyes! Oh, how humiliating!" + +She lifted up her head, and looking at me with tear-stained eyes through +her hair, wet with her tears, and pushing it back as it prevented her +seeing me, she asked: + +"They laughed at me?" + +"To these men you were laughable--you and your love and Turgenev; they +said your head was full of him. And if we both die at once in despair, +that will amuse them, too; they will make a funny anecdote of it and +tell it at your requiem service. But why talk of them?" I said +impatiently. "We must get away from here--I cannot stay here one minute +longer." + +She began crying again, while I walked to the piano and sat down. + +"What are we waiting for?" I asked dejectedly. "It's two o'clock." + +"I am not waiting for anything," she said. "I am utterly lost." + +"Why do you talk like that? We had better consider together what we are +to do. Neither you nor I can stay here. Where do you intend to go?" + +Suddenly there was a ring at the bell. My heart stood still. Could it be +Orlov, to whom perhaps Kukushkin had complained of me? How should we +meet? I went to open the door. It was Polya. She came in shaking the +snow off her pelisse, and went into her room without saying a word to +me. When I went back to the drawing-room, Zinaida Fyodorovna, pale as +death, was standing in the middle of the room, looking towards me with +big eyes. + +"Who was it?" she asked softly. + +"Polya," I answered. + +She passed her hand over her hair and closed her eyes wearily. + +"I will go away at once," she said. "Will you be kind and take me to the +Petersburg Side? What time is it now?" + +"A quarter to three." + + +XIV + +When, a little afterwards, we went out of the house, it was dark and +deserted in the street. Wet snow was falling and a damp wind lashed in +one's face. I remember it was the beginning of March; a thaw had set in, +and for some days past the cabmen had been driving on wheels. Under the +impression of the back stairs, of the cold, of the midnight darkness, +and the porter in his sheepskin who had questioned us before letting us +out of the gate, Zinaida Fyodorovna was utterly cast down and +dispirited. When we got into the cab and the hood was put up, trembling +all over, she began hurriedly saying how grateful she was to me. + +"I do not doubt your good-will, but I am ashamed that you should be +troubled," she muttered. "Oh, I understand, I understand.... When Gruzin +was here to-day, I felt that he was lying and concealing something. +Well, so be it. But I am ashamed, anyway, that you should be troubled." + +She still had her doubts. To dispel them finally, I asked the cabman to +drive through Sergievsky Street; stopping him at Pekarsky's door, I got +out of the cab and rang. When the porter came to the door, I asked +aloud, that Zinaida Fyodorovna might hear, whether Georgy Ivanitch was +at home. + +"Yes," was the answer, "he came in half an hour ago. He must be in bed +by now. What do you want?" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna could not refrain from putting her head out. + +"Has Georgy Ivanitch been staying here long?" she asked. + +"Going on for three weeks." + +"And he's not been away?" + +"No," answered the porter, looking at me with surprise. + +"Tell him, early to-morrow," I said, "that his sister has arrived from +Warsaw. Good-bye." + +Then we drove on. The cab had no apron, the snow fell on us in big +flakes, and the wind, especially on the Neva, pierced us through and +through. I began to feel as though we had been driving for a long time, +that for ages we had been suffering, and that for ages I had been +listening to Zinaida Fyodorovna's shuddering breath. In semi-delirium, +as though half asleep, I looked back upon my strange, incoherent life, +and for some reason recalled a melodrama, "The Parisian Beggars," which +I had seen once or twice in my childhood. And when to shake off that +semi-delirium I peeped out from the hood and saw the dawn, all the +images of the past, all my misty thoughts, for some reason, blended in +me into one distinct, overpowering thought: everything was irrevocably +over for Zinaida Fyodorovna and for me. This was as certain a conviction +as though the cold blue sky contained a prophecy, but a minute later I +was already thinking of something else and believed differently. + +"What am I now?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, in a voice husky with the cold +and the damp. "Where am I to go? What am I to do? Gruzin told me to go +into a nunnery. Oh, I would! I would change my dress, my face, my name, +my thoughts ... everything--everything, and would hide myself for ever. +But they will not take me into a nunnery. I am with child." + +"We will go abroad together to-morrow," I said. + +"That's impossible. My husband won't give me a passport." + +"I will take you without a passport." + +The cabman stopped at a wooden house of two storeys, painted a dark +colour. I rang. Taking from me her small light basket--the only luggage +we had brought with us--Zinaida Fyodorovna gave a wry smile and said: + +"These are my _bijoux_." + +But she was so weak that she could not carry these _bijoux_. + +It was a long while before the door was opened. After the third or +fourth ring a light gleamed in the windows, and there was a sound of +steps, coughing and whispering; at last the key grated in the lock, and +a stout peasant woman with a frightened red face appeared at the door. +Some distance behind her stood a thin little old woman with short grey +hair, carrying a candle in her hand. Zinaida Fyodorovna ran into the +passage and flung her arms round the old woman's neck. + +"Nina, I've been deceived," she sobbed loudly. "I've been coarsely, +foully deceived! Nina, Nina!" + +I handed the basket to the peasant woman. The door was closed, but still +I heard her sobs and the cry "Nina!" + +I got into the cab and told the man to drive slowly to the Nevsky +Prospect. I had to think of a night's lodging for myself. + +Next day towards evening I went to see Zinaida Fyodorovna. She was +terribly changed. There were no traces of tears on her pale, terribly +sunken face, and her expression was different. I don't know whether it +was that I saw her now in different surroundings, far from luxurious, +and that our relations were by now different, or perhaps that intense +grief had already set its mark upon her; she did not strike me as so +elegant and well dressed as before. Her figure seemed smaller; there was +an abruptness and excessive nervousness about her as though she were in +a hurry, and there was not the same softness even in her smile. I was +dressed in an expensive suit which I had bought during the day. She +looked first of all at that suit and at the hat in my hand, then turned +an impatient, searching glance upon my face as though studying it. + +"Your transformation still seems to me a sort of miracle," she said. +"Forgive me for looking at you with such curiosity. You are an +extraordinary man, you know." + +I told her again who I was, and why I was living at Orlov's, and I told +her at greater length and in more detail than the day before. She +listened with great attention, and said without letting me finish: + +"Everything there is over for me. You know, I could not refrain from +writing a letter. Here is the answer." + +On the sheet which she gave there was written in Orlov's hand: + +"I am not going to justify myself. But you must own that it was your +mistake, not mine. I wish you happiness, and beg you to make haste and +forget. + +"Yours sincerely, + +"G. O. + +"P. S.--I am sending on your things." + +The trunks and baskets despatched by Orlov were standing in the passage, +and my poor little portmanteau was there beside them. + +"So ..." Zinaida Fyodorovna began, but she did not finish. + +We were silent. She took the note and held it for a couple of minutes +before her eyes, and during that time her face wore the same haughty, +contemptuous, proud, and harsh expression as the day before at the +beginning of our explanation; tears came into her eyes--not timid, +bitter tears, but proud, angry tears. + +"Listen," she said, getting up abruptly and moving away to the window +that I might not see her face. "I have made up my mind to go abroad with +you tomorrow." + +"I am very glad. I am ready to go to-day." + +"Accept me as a recruit. Have you read Balzac?" she asked suddenly, +turning round. "Have you? At the end of his novel 'Père Goriot' the hero +looks down upon Paris from the top of a hill and threatens the town: +'Now we shall settle our account,' and after this he begins a new life. +So when I look out of the train window at Petersburg for the last time, +I shall say, 'Now we shall settle our account!'" + +Saying this, she smiled at her jest, and for some reason shuddered all +over. + + +XV + +At Venice I had an attack of pleurisy. Probably I had caught cold in the +evening when we were rowing from the station to the Hotel Bauer. I had +to take to my bed and stay there for a fortnight. Every morning while I +was ill Zinaida Fyodorovna came from her room to drink coffee with me, +and afterwards read aloud to me French and Russian books, of which we +had bought a number at Vienna. These books were either long, long +familiar to me or else had no interest for me, but I had the sound of a +sweet, kind voice beside me, so that the meaning of all of them was +summed up for me in the one thing--I was not alone. She would go out for +a walk, come back in her light grey dress, her light straw hat, gay, +warmed by the spring sun; and sitting by my bed, bending low down over +me, would tell me something about Venice or read me those books--and I +was happy. + +At night I was cold, ill, and dreary, but by day I revelled in life--I +can find no better expression for it. The brilliant warm sunshine +beating in at the open windows and at the door upon the balcony, the +shouts below, the splash of oars, the tinkle of bells, the prolonged +boom of the cannon at midday, and the feeling of perfect, perfect +freedom, did wonders with me; I felt as though I were growing strong, +broad wings which were bearing me God knows whither. And what charm, +what joy at times at the thought that another life was so close to mine! +that I was the servant, the guardian, the friend, the indispensable +fellow-traveller of a creature, young, beautiful, wealthy, but weak, +lonely, and insulted! It is pleasant even to be ill when you know that +there are people who are looking forward to your convalescence as to a +holiday. One day I heard her whispering behind the door with my doctor, +and then she came in to me with tear-stained eyes. It was a bad sign, +but I was touched, and there was a wonderful lightness in my heart. + +But at last they allowed me to go out on the balcony. The sunshine and +the breeze from the sea caressed and fondled my sick body. I looked down +at the familiar gondolas, which glide with feminine grace smoothly and +majestically as though they were alive, and felt all the luxury of this +original, fascinating civilisation. There was a smell of the sea. Some +one was playing a stringed instrument and two voices were singing. How +delightful it was! How unlike it was to that Petersburg night when the +wet snow was falling and beating so rudely on our faces. If one looks +straight across the canal, one sees the sea, and on the wide expanse +towards the horizon the sun glittered on the water so dazzlingly that it +hurt one's eyes to look at it. My soul yearned towards that lovely sea, +which was so akin to me and to which I had given up my youth. I longed +to live--to live--and nothing more. + +A fortnight later I began walking freely. I loved to sit in the sun, and +to listen to the gondoliers without understanding them, and for hours +together to gaze at the little house where, they said, Desdemona +lived--a naïve, mournful little house with a demure expression, as light +as lace, so light that it looked as though one could lift it from its +place with one hand. I stood for a long time by the tomb of Canova, and +could not take my eyes off the melancholy lion. And in the Palace of the +Doges I was always drawn to the corner where the portrait of the unhappy +Marino Faliero was painted over with black. "It is fine to be an artist, +a poet, a dramatist," I thought, "but since that is not vouchsafed to +me, if only I could go in for mysticism! If only I had a grain of some +faith to add to the unruffled peace and serenity that fills the soul!" + +In the evening we ate oysters, drank wine, and went out in a gondola. I +remember our black gondola swayed softly in the same place while the +water faintly gurgled under it. Here and there the reflection of the +stars and the lights on the bank quivered and trembled. Not far from us +in a gondola, hung with coloured lanterns which were reflected in the +water, there were people singing. The sounds of guitars, of violins, of +mandolins, of men's and women's voices, were audible in the dark. +Zinaida Fyodorovna, pale, with a grave, almost stern face, was sitting +beside me, compressing her lips and clenching her hands. She was +thinking about something; she did not stir an eyelash, nor hear me. Her +face, her attitude, and her fixed, expressionless gaze, and her +incredibly miserable, dreadful, and icy-cold memories, and around her +the gondolas, the lights, the music, the song with its vigorous +passionate cry of "_Jam-mo! Jam-mo!_"--what contrasts in life! When she +sat like that, with tightly clasped hands, stony, mournful, I used to +feel as though we were both characters in some novel in the +old-fashioned style called "The Ill-fated," "The Abandoned," or +something of the sort. Both of us: she--the ill-fated, the abandoned; +and I--the faithful, devoted friend, the dreamer, and, if you like it, a +superfluous man, a failure capable of nothing but coughing and dreaming, +and perhaps sacrificing myself. + +But who and what needed my sacrifices now? And what had I to sacrifice, +indeed? + +When we came in in the evening we always drank tea in her room and +talked. We did not shrink from touching on old, unhealed wounds--on the +contrary, for some reason I felt a positive pleasure in telling her +about my life at Orlov's, or referring openly to relations which I knew +and which could not have been concealed from me. + +"At moments I hated you," I said to her. "When he was capricious, +condescending, told you lies, I marvelled how it was you did not see, +did not understand, when it was all so clear! You kissed his hands, you +knelt to him, you flattered him ..." + +"When I ... kissed his hands and knelt to him, I loved him ..." she +said, blushing crimson. + +"Can it have been so difficult to see through him? A fine sphinx! A +sphinx indeed--a _kammer-junker!_ I reproach you for nothing, God +forbid," I went on, feeling I was coarse, that I had not the tact, the +delicacy which are so essential when you have to do with a +fellow-creature's soul; in early days before I knew her I had not +noticed this defect in myself. "But how could you fail to see what he +was," I went on, speaking more softly and more diffidently, however. + +"You mean to say you despise my past, and you are right," she said, +deeply stirred. "You belong to a special class of men who cannot be +judged by ordinary standards; your moral requirements are exceptionally +rigorous, and I understand you can't forgive things. I understand you, +and if sometimes I say the opposite, it doesn't mean that I look at +things differently from you; I speak the same old nonsense simply +because I haven't had time yet to wear out my old clothes and +prejudices. I, too, hate and despise my past, and Orlov and my love.... +What was that love? It's positively absurd now," she said, going to the +window and looking down at the canal. "All this love only clouds the +conscience and confuses the mind. The meaning of life is to be found +only in one thing--fighting. To get one's heel on the vile head of the +serpent and to crush it! That's the meaning of life. In that alone or in +nothing." + +I told her long stories of my past, and described my really astounding +adventures. But of the change that had taken place in me I did not say +one word. She always listened to me with great attention, and at +interesting places she rubbed her hands as though vexed that it had not +yet been her lot to experience such adventures, such joys and terrors. +Then she would suddenly fall to musing and retreat into herself, and I +could see from her face that she was not attending to me. + +I closed the windows that looked out on the canal and asked whether we +should not have the fire lighted. + +"No, never mind. I am not cold," she said, smiling listlessly. "I only +feel weak. Do you know, I fancy I have grown much wiser lately. I have +extraordinary, original ideas now. When I think of my past, of my life +then ... people in general, in fact, it is all summed up for me in the +image of my stepmother. Coarse, insolent, soulless, false, depraved, and +a morphia maniac too. My father, who was feeble and weak-willed, married +my mother for her money and drove her into consumption; but his second +wife, my stepmother, he loved passionately, insanely.... What I had to +put up with! But what is the use of talking! And so, as I say, it is all +summed up in her image.... And it vexes me that my stepmother is dead. I +should like to meet her now!" + +"Why?" + +"I don't know," she answered with a laugh and a graceful movement of her +head. "Good-night. You must get well. As soon as you are well, we'll +take up our work ... It's time to begin." + +After I had said good-night and had my hand on the door-handle, she +said: + +"What do you think? Is Polya still living there?" + +"Probably." + +And I went off to my room. So we spent a whole month. One grey morning +when we both stood at my window, looking at the clouds which were moving +up from the sea, and at the darkening canal, expecting every minute that +it would pour with rain, and when a thick, narrow streak of rain covered +the sea as though with a muslin veil, we both felt suddenly dreary. The +same day we both set off for Florence. + + +XVI + +It was autumn, at Nice. One morning when I went into her room she was +sitting on a low chair, bent together and huddled up, with her legs +crossed and her face hidden in her hands. She was weeping bitterly, with +sobs, and her long, unbrushed hair fell on her knees. The impression of +the exquisite marvellous sea which I had only just seen and of which I +wanted to tell her, left me all at once, and my heart ached. + +"What is it?" I asked; she took one hand from her face and motioned me +to go away. "What is it?" I repeated, and for the first time during our +acquaintance I kissed her hand. + +"No, it's nothing, nothing," she said quickly. "Oh, it's nothing, +nothing.... Go away.... You see, I am not dressed." + +I went out overwhelmed. The calm and serene mood in which I had been for +so long was poisoned by compassion. I had a passionate longing to fall +at her feet, to entreat her not to weep in solitude, but to share her +grief with me, and the monotonous murmur of the sea already sounded a +gloomy prophecy in my ears, and I foresaw fresh tears, fresh troubles, +and fresh losses in the future. "What is she crying about? What is it?" +I wondered, recalling her face and her agonised look. I remembered she +was with child. She tried to conceal her condition from other people, +and also from herself. At home she went about in a loose wrapper or in a +blouse with extremely full folds over the bosom, and when she went out +anywhere she laced herself in so tightly that on two occasions she +fainted when we were out. She never spoke to me of her condition, and +when I hinted that it might be as well to see a doctor, she flushed +crimson and said not a word. + +When I went to see her next time she was already dressed and had her +hair done. + +"There, there," I said, seeing that she was ready to cry again. "We had +better go to the sea and have a talk." + +"I can't talk. Forgive me, I am in the mood now when one wants to be +alone. And, if you please, Vladimir Ivanitch, another time you want to +come into my room, be so good as to give a knock at the door." + +That "be so good" had a peculiar, unfeminine sound. I went away. My +accursed Petersburg mood came back, and all my dreams were crushed and +crumpled up like leaves by the heat. I felt I was alone again and there +was no nearness between us. I was no more to her than that cobweb to +that palm-tree, which hangs on it by chance and which will be torn off +and carried away by the wind. I walked about the square where the band +was playing, went into the Casino; there I looked at overdressed and +heavily perfumed women, and every one of them glanced at me as though +she would say: "You are alone; that's all right." Then I went out on the +terrace and looked for a long time at the sea. There was not one sail on +the horizon. On the left bank, in the lilac-coloured mist, there were +mountains, gardens, towers, and houses, the sun was sparkling over it +all, but it was all alien, indifferent, an incomprehensible tangle. + + +XVII + +She used as before to come into my room in the morning to coffee, but we +no longer dined together, as she said she was not hungry; and she lived +only on coffee, tea, and various trifles such as oranges and caramels. + +And we no longer had conversations in the evening. I don't know why it +was like this. Ever since the day when I had found her in tears she had +treated me somehow lightly, at times casually, even ironically, and for +some reason called me "My good sir." What had before seemed to her +terrible, heroic, marvellous, and had stirred her envy and enthusiasm, +did not touch her now at all, and usually after listening to me, she +stretched and said: + +"Yes, 'great things were done in days of yore,' my good sir." + +It sometimes happened even that I did not see her for days together. I +would knock timidly and guiltily at her door and get no answer; I would +knock again--still silence.... I would stand near the door and listen; +then the chambermaid would pass and say coldly, "_Madame est partie._" +Then I would walk about the passages of the hotel, walk and walk.... +English people, full-bosomed ladies, waiters in swallow-tails.... And as +I keep gazing at the long striped rug that stretches the whole length of +the corridor, the idea occurs to me that I am playing in the life of +this woman a strange, probably false part, and that it is beyond my +power to alter that part. I run to my room and fall on my bed, and think +and think, and can come to no conclusion; and all that is clear to me is +that I want to live, and that the plainer and the colder and the harder +her face grows, the nearer she is to me, and the more intensely and +painfully I feel our kinship. Never mind "My good sir," never mind her +light careless tone, never mind anything you like, only don't leave me, +my treasure. I am afraid to be alone. + +Then I go out into the corridor again, listen in a tremor.... I have no +dinner; I don't notice the approach of evening. At last about eleven I +hear the familiar footstep, and at the turn near the stairs Zinaida +Fyodorovna comes into sight. + +"Are you taking a walk?" she would ask as she passes me. "You had better +go out into the air.... Good-night!" + +"But shall we not meet again to-day?" + +"I think it's late. But as you like." + +"Tell me, where have you been?" I would ask, following her into the +room. + +"Where? To Monte Carlo." She took ten gold coins out of her pocket and +said: "Look, my good sir; I have won. That's at roulette." + +"Nonsense! As though you would gamble." + +"Why not? I am going again to-morrow." + +I imagined her with a sick and morbid face, in her condition, tightly +laced, standing near the gaming-table in a crowd of cocottes, of old +women in their dotage who swarm round the gold like flies round the +honey. I remembered she had gone off to Monte Carlo for some reason in +secret from me. + +"I don't believe you," I said one day. "You wouldn't go there." + +"Don't agitate yourself. I can't lose much." + +"It's not the question of what you lose," I said with annoyance. "Has it +never occurred to you while you were playing there that the glitter of +gold, all these women, young and old, the croupiers, all the +surroundings--that it is all a vile, loathsome mockery at the toiler's +labour, at his bloody sweat?" + +"If one doesn't play, what is one to do here?" she asked. "The toiler's +labour and his bloody sweat--all that eloquence you can put off till +another time; but now, since you have begun, let me go on. Let me ask +you bluntly, what is there for me to do here, and what am I to do?" + +"What are you to do?" I said, shrugging my shoulders. "That's a question +that can't be answered straight off." + +"I beg you to answer me honestly, Vladimir Ivanitch," she said, and her +face looked angry. "Once I have brought myself to ask you this question, +I am not going to listen to stock phrases. I am asking you," she went +on, beating her hand on the table, as though marking time, "what ought I +to do here? And not only here at Nice, but in general?" + +I did not speak, but looked out of window to the sea. My heart was +beating terribly. + +"Vladimir Ivanitch," she said softly and breathlessly; it was hard for +her to speak--"Vladimir Ivanitch, if you do not believe in the cause +yourself, if you no longer think of going back to it, why ... why did +you drag me out of Petersburg? Why did you make me promises, why did you +rouse mad hopes? Your convictions have changed; you have become a +different man, and nobody blames you for it--our convictions are not +always in our power. But ... but, Vladimir Ivanitch, for God's sake, why +are you not sincere?" she went on softly, coming up to me. "All these +months when I have been dreaming aloud, raving, going into raptures over +my plans, remodelling my life on a new pattern, why didn't you tell me +the truth? Why were you silent or encouraged me by your stories, and +behaved as though you were in complete sympathy with me? Why was it? Why +was it necessary?" + +"It's difficult to acknowledge one's bankruptcy," I said, turning round, +but not looking at her. "Yes, I have no faith; I am worn out. I have +lost heart.... It is difficult to be truthful--very difficult, and I +held my tongue. God forbid that any one should have to go through what I +have been through." + +I felt that I was on the point of tears, and ceased speaking. + +"Vladimir Ivanitch," she said, and took me by both hands, "you have been +through so much and seen so much of life, you know more than I do; think +seriously, and tell me, what am I to do? Teach me! If you haven't the +strength to go forward yourself and take others with you, at least show +me where to go. After all, I am a living, feeling, thinking being. To +sink into a false position ... to play an absurd part ... is painful to +me. I don't reproach you, I don't blame you; I only ask you." + +Tea was brought in. + +"Well?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, giving me a glass. "What do you say to +me?" + +"There is more light in the world than you see through your window," I +answered. "And there are other people besides me, Zinaida Fyodorovna." + +"Then tell me who they are," she said eagerly. "That's all I ask of +you." + +"And I want to say, too," I went on, "one can serve an idea in more than +one calling. If one has made a mistake and lost faith in one, one may +find another. The world of ideas is large and cannot be exhausted." + +"The world of ideas!" she said, and she looked into my face +sarcastically. "Then we had better leave off talking. What's the +use?..." + +She flushed. + +"The world of ideas!" she repeated. She threw her dinner-napkin aside, +and an expression of indignation and contempt came into her face. "All +your fine ideas, I see, lead up to one inevitable, essential step: I +ought to become your mistress. That's what's wanted. To be taken up with +ideas without being the mistress of an honourable, progressive man, is +as good as not understanding the ideas. One has to begin with that ... +that is, with being your mistress, and the rest will come of itself." + +"You are irritated, Zinaida Fyodorovna," I said. + +"No, I am sincere!" she cried, breathing hard. "I am sincere!" + +"You are sincere, perhaps, but you are in error, and it hurts me to hear +you." + +"I am in error?" she laughed. "Any one else might say that, but not you, +my dear sir! I may seem to you indelicate, cruel, but I don't care: you +love me? You love me, don't you?" + +I shrugged my shoulders. + +"Yes, shrug your shoulders!" she went on sarcastically. "When you were +ill I heard you in your delirium, and ever since these adoring eyes, +these sighs, and edifying conversations about friendship, about +spiritual kinship.... But the point is, why haven't you been sincere? +Why have you concealed what is and talked about what isn't? Had you said +from the beginning what ideas exactly led you to drag me from +Petersburg, I should have known. I should have poisoned myself then as I +meant to, and there would have been none of this tedious farce.... But +what's the use of talking!" + +With a wave of the hand she sat down. + +"You speak to me as though you suspected me of dishonourable +intentions," I said, offended. + +"Oh, very well. What's the use of talking! I don't suspect you of +intentions, but of having no intentions. If you had any, I should have +known them by now. You had nothing but ideas and love. For the +present--ideas and love, and in prospect--me as your mistress. That's in +the order of things both in life and in novels.... Here you abused him," +she said, and she slapped the table with her hand, "but one can't help +agreeing with him. He has good reasons for despising these ideas." + +"He does not despise ideas; he is afraid of them," I cried. "He is a +coward and a liar." + +"Oh, very well. He is a coward and a liar, and deceived me. And you? +Excuse my frankness; what are you? He deceived me and left me to take my +chance in Petersburg, and you have deceived me and abandoned me here. +But he did not mix up ideas with his deceit, and you ..." + +"For goodness' sake, why are you saying this?" I cried in horror, +wringing my hands and going up to her quickly. "No, Zinaida Fyodorovna, +this is cynicism. You must not be so despairing; listen to me," I went +on, catching at a thought which flashed dimly upon me, and which seemed +to me might still save us both. "Listen. I have passed through so many +experiences in my time that my head goes round at the thought of them, +and I have realised with my mind, with my racked soul, that man finds +his true destiny in nothing if not in self-sacrificing love for his +neighbour. It is towards that we must strive, and that is our +destination! That is my faith!" + +I wanted to go on to speak of mercy, of forgiveness, but there was an +insincere note in my voice, and I was embarrassed. + +"I want to live!" I said genuinely. "To live, to live! I want peace, +tranquillity; I want warmth--this sea here--to have you near. Oh, how I +wish I could rouse in you the same thirst for life! You spoke just now +of love, but it would be enough for me to have you near, to hear your +voice, to watch the look in your face ...!" + +She flushed crimson, and to hinder my speaking, said quickly: + +"You love life, and I hate it. So our ways lie apart." + +She poured herself out some tea, but did not touch it, went into the +bedroom, and lay down. + +"I imagine it is better to cut short this conversation," she said to me +from within. "Everything is over for me, and I want nothing.... What +more is there to say?" + +"No, it's not all over!" + +"Oh, very well!... I know! I am sick of it.... That's enough." + +I got up, took a turn from one end of the room to the other, and went +out into the corridor. When late at night I went to her door and +listened, I distinctly heard her crying. + +Next morning the waiter, handing me my clothes, informed me, with a +smile, that the lady in number thirteen was confined. I dressed somehow, +and almost fainting with terror ran to Zinaida Fyodorovna. In her room I +found a doctor, a midwife, and an elderly Russian lady from Harkov, +called Darya Milhailovna. There was a smell of ether. I had scarcely +crossed the threshold when from the room where she was lying I heard a +low, plaintive moan, and, as though it had been wafted me by the wind +from Russia, I thought of Orlov, his irony, Polya, the Neva, the +drifting snow, then the cab without an apron, the prediction I had read +in the cold morning sky, and the despairing cry "Nina! Nina!" + +"Go in to her," said the lady. + +I went in to see Zinaida Fyodorovna, feeling as though I were the father +of the child. She was lying with her eyes closed, looking thin and pale, +wearing a white cap edged with lace. I remember there were two +expressions on her face: one--cold, indifferent, apathetic; the other--a +look of childish helplessness given her by the white cap. She did not +hear me come in, or heard, perhaps, but did not pay attention. I stood, +looked at her, and waited. + +But her face was contorted with pain; she opened her eyes and gazed at +the ceiling, as though wondering what was happening to her.... There was +a look of loathing on her face. + +"It's horrible ..." she whispered. + +"Zinaida Fyodorovna." I spoke her name softly. She looked at me +indifferently, listlessly, and closed her eyes. I stood there a little +while, then went away. + +At night, Darya Mihailovna informed me that the child, a girl, was born, +but that the mother was in a dangerous condition. Then I heard noise and +bustle in the passage. Darya Mihailovna came to me again and with a face +of despair, wringing her hands, said: + +"Oh, this is awful! The doctor suspects that she has taken poison! Oh, +how badly Russians do behave here!" + +And at twelve o'clock the next day Zinaida Fyodorovna died. + + +XVIII + +Two years had passed. Circumstances had changed; I had come to +Petersburg again and could live here openly. I was no longer afraid of +being and seeming sentimental, and gave myself up entirely to the +fatherly, or rather idolatrous feeling roused in me by Sonya, Zinaida +Fyodorovna's child. I fed her with my own hands, gave her her bath, put +her to bed, never took my eyes off her for nights together, and screamed +when it seemed to me that the nurse was just going to drop her. My +thirst for normal ordinary life became stronger and more acute as time +went on, but wider visions stopped short at Sonya, as though I had found +in her at last just what I needed. I loved the child madly. In her I saw +the continuation of my life, and it was not exactly that I fancied, but +I felt, I almost believed, that when I had cast off at last my long, +bony, bearded frame, I should go on living in those little blue eyes, +that silky flaxen hair, those dimpled pink hands which stroked my face +so lovingly and were clasped round my neck. + +Sonya's future made me anxious. Orlov was her father; in her birth +certificate she was called Krasnovsky, and the only person who knew of +her existence, and took interest in her--that is, I--was at death's +door. I had to think about her seriously. + +The day after I arrived in Petersburg I went to see Orlov. The door was +opened to me by a stout old fellow with red whiskers and no moustache, +who looked like a German. Polya, who was tidying the drawing-room, did +not recognise me, but Orlov knew me at once. + +"Ah, Mr. Revolutionist!" he said, looking at me with curiosity, and +laughing. "What fate has brought you?" + +He was not changed in the least: the same well-groomed, unpleasant face, +the same irony. And a new book was lying on the table just as of old, +with an ivory paper-knife thrust in it. He had evidently been reading +before I came in. He made me sit down, offered me a cigar, and with a +delicacy only found in well-bred people, concealing the unpleasant +feeling aroused by my face and my wasted figure, observed casually that +I was not in the least changed, and that he would have known me anywhere +in spite of my having grown a beard. We talked of the weather, of Paris. +To dispose as quickly as possible of the oppressive, inevitable +question, which weighed upon him and me, he asked: + +"Zinaida Fyodorovna is dead?" + +"Yes," I answered. + +"In childbirth?" + +"Yes, in childbirth. The doctor suspected another cause of death, but +... it is more comforting for you and for me to think that she died in +childbirth." + +He sighed decorously and was silent. The angel of silence passed over +us, as they say. + +"Yes. And here everything is as it used to be--no changes," he said +briskly, seeing that I was looking about the room. "My father, as you +know, has left the service and is living in retirement; I am still in +the same department. Do you remember Pekarsky? He is just the same as +ever. Gruzin died of diphtheria a year ago.... Kukushkin is alive, and +often speaks of you. By the way," said Orlov, dropping his eyes with an +air of reserve, "when Kukushkin heard who you were, he began telling +every one you had attacked him and tried to murder him ... and that he +only just escaped with his life." + +I did not speak. + +"Old servants do not forget their masters.... It's very nice of you," +said Orlov jocosely. "Will you have some wine and some coffee, though? I +will tell them to make some." + +"No, thank you. I have come to see you about a very important matter, +Georgy Ivanitch." + +"I am not very fond of important matters, but I shall be glad to be of +service to you. What do you want?" + +"You see," I began, growing agitated, "I have here with me Zinaida +Fyodorovna's daughter.... Hitherto I have brought her up, but, as you +see, before many days I shall be an empty sound. I should like to die +with the thought that she is provided for." + +Orlov coloured a little, frowned a little, and took a cursory and sullen +glance at me. He was unpleasantly affected, not so much by the +"important matter" as by my words about death, about becoming an empty +sound. + +"Yes, it must be thought about," he said, screening his eyes as though +from the sun. "Thank you. You say it's a girl?" + +"Yes, a girl. A wonderful child!" + +"Yes. Of course, it's not a lap-dog, but a human being. I understand we +must consider it seriously. I am prepared to do my part, and am very +grateful to you." + +He got up, walked about, biting his nails, and stopped before a picture. + +"We must think about it," he said in a hollow voice, standing with his +back to me. "I shall go to Pekarsky's to-day and will ask him to go to +Krasnovsky's. I don't think he will make much ado about consenting to +take the child." + +"But, excuse me, I don't see what Krasnovsky has got to do with it," I +said, also getting up and walking to a picture at the other end of the +room. + +"But she bears his name, of course!" said Orlov. + +"Yes, he may be legally obliged to accept the child--I don't know; but I +came to you, Georgy Ivanitch, not to discuss the legal aspect." + +"Yes, yes, you are right," he agreed briskly. "I believe I am talking +nonsense. But don't excite yourself. We will decide the matter to our +mutual satisfaction. If one thing won't do, we'll try another; and if +that won't do, we'll try a third--one way or another this delicate +question shall be settled. Pekarsky will arrange it all. Be so good as +to leave me your address and I will let you know at once what we decide. +Where are you living?" + +Orlov wrote down my address, sighed, and said with a smile: + +"Oh, Lord, what a job it is to be the father of a little daughter! But +Pekarsky will arrange it all. He is a sensible man. Did you stay long in +Paris?" + +"Two months." + +We were silent. Orlov was evidently afraid I should begin talking of the +child again, and to turn my attention in another direction, said: + +"You have probably forgotten your letter by now. But I have kept it. I +understand your mood at the time, and, I must own, I respect that +letter. 'Damnable cold blood,' 'Asiatic,' 'coarse laugh'--that was +charming and characteristic," he went on with an ironical smile. "And +the fundamental thought is perhaps near the truth, though one might +dispute the question endlessly. That is," he hesitated, "not dispute the +thought itself, but your attitude to the question--your temperament, so +to say. Yes, my life is abnormal, corrupted, of no use to any one, and +what prevents me from beginning a new life is cowardice--there you are +quite right. But that you take it so much to heart, are troubled, and +reduced to despair by it--that's irrational; there you are quite wrong." + +"A living man cannot help being troubled and reduced to despair when he +sees that he himself is going to ruin and others are going to ruin round +him." + +"Who doubts it! I am not advocating indifference; all I ask for is an +objective attitude to life. The more objective, the less danger of +falling into error. One must look into the root of things, and try to +see in every phenomenon a cause of all the other causes. We have grown +feeble, slack--degraded, in fact. Our generation is entirely composed of +neurasthenics and whimperers; we do nothing but talk of fatigue and +exhaustion. But the fault is neither yours nor mine; we are of too +little consequence to affect the destiny of a whole generation. We must +suppose for that larger, more general causes with a solid _raison +d'être_ from the biological point of view. We are neurasthenics, flabby, +renegades, but perhaps it's necessary and of service for generations +that will come after us. Not one hair falls from the head without the +will of the Heavenly Father--in other words, nothing happens by chance +in Nature and in human environment. Everything has its cause and is +inevitable. And if so, why should we worry and write despairing +letters?" + +"That's all very well," I said, thinking a little. "I believe it will be +easier and clearer for the generations to come; our experience will be +at their service. But one wants to live apart from future generations +and not only for their sake. Life is only given us once, and one wants +to live it boldly, with full consciousness and beauty. One wants to play +a striking, independent, noble part; one wants to make history so that +those generations may not have the right to say of each of us that we +were nonentities or worse.... I believe what is going on about us is +inevitable and not without a purpose, but what have I to do with that +inevitability? Why should my ego be lost?" + +"Well, there's no help for it," sighed Orlov, getting up and, as it +were, giving me to understand that our conversation was over. + +I took my hat. + +"We've only been sitting here half an hour, and how many questions we +have settled, when you come to think of it!" said Orlov, seeing me into +the hall. "So I will see to that matter.... I will see Pekarsky +to-day.... Don't be uneasy." + +He stood waiting while I put on my coat, and was obviously relieved at +the feeling that I was going away. + +"Georgy Ivanitch, give me back my letter," I said. + +"Certainly." + +He went to his study, and a minute later returned with the letter. I +thanked him and went away. + +The next day I got a letter from him. He congratulated me on the +satisfactory settlement of the question. Pekarsky knew a lady, he wrote, +who kept a school, something like a kindergarten, where she took quite +little children. The lady could be entirely depended upon, but before +concluding anything with her it would be as well to discuss the matter +with Krasnovsky--it was a matter of form. He advised me to see Pekarsky +at once and to take the birth certificate with me, if I had it. "Rest +assured of the sincere respect and devotion of your humble servant...." + +I read this letter, and Sonya sat on the table and gazed at me +attentively without blinking, as though she knew her fate was being +decided. + + + + +THE HUSBAND + + +IN the course of the manoeuvres the N---- cavalry regiment halted for a +night at the district town of K----. Such an event as the visit of +officers always has the most exciting and inspiring effect on the +inhabitants of provincial towns. The shopkeepers dream of getting rid of +the rusty sausages and "best brand" sardines that have been lying for +ten years on their shelves; the inns and restaurants keep open all +night; the Military Commandant, his secretary, and the local garrison +put on their best uniforms; the police flit to and fro like mad, while +the effect on the ladies is beyond all description. + +The ladies of K----, hearing the regiment approaching, forsook their +pans of boiling jam and ran into the street. Forgetting their morning +_deshabille_ and general untidiness, they rushed breathless with +excitement to meet the regiment, and listened greedily to the band +playing the march. Looking at their pale, ecstatic faces, one might have +thought those strains came from some heavenly choir rather than from a +military brass band. + +"The regiment!" they cried joyfully. "The regiment is coming!" + +What could this unknown regiment that came by chance to-day and would +depart at dawn to-morrow mean to them? + +Afterwards, when the officers were standing in the middle of the square, +and, with their hands behind them, discussing the question of billets, +all the ladies were gathered together at the examining magistrate's and +vying with one another in their criticisms of the regiment. They already +knew, goodness knows how, that the colonel was married, but not living +with his wife; that the senior officer's wife had a baby born dead every +year; that the adjutant was hopelessly in love with some countess, and +had even once attempted suicide. They knew everything. When a +pock-marked soldier in a red shirt darted past the windows, they knew +for certain that it was Lieutenant Rymzov's orderly running about the +town, trying to get some English bitter ale on tick for his master. They +had only caught a passing glimpse of the officers' backs, but had +already decided that there was not one handsome or interesting man among +them.... Having talked to their hearts' content, they sent for the +Military Commandant and the committee of the club, and instructed them +at all costs to make arrangements for a dance. + +Their wishes were carried out. At nine o'clock in the evening the +military band was playing in the street before the club, while in the +club itself the officers were dancing with the ladies of K----. The +ladies felt as though they were on wings. Intoxicated by the dancing, +the music, and the clank of spurs, they threw themselves heart and soul +into making the acquaintance of their new partners, and quite forgot +their old civilian friends. Their fathers and husbands, forced +temporarily into the background, crowded round the meagre refreshment +table in the entrance hall. All these government cashiers, secretaries, +clerks, and superintendents--stale, sickly-looking, clumsy figures--were +perfectly well aware of their inferiority. They did not even enter the +ball-room, but contented themselves with watching their wives and +daughters in the distance dancing with the accomplished and graceful +officers. + +Among the husbands was Shalikov, the tax-collector--a narrow, spiteful +soul, given to drink, with a big, closely cropped head, and thick, +protruding lips. He had had a university education; there had been a +time when he used to read progressive literature and sing students' +songs, but now, as he said of himself, he was a tax-collector and +nothing more. + +He stood leaning against the doorpost, his eyes fixed on his wife, Anna +Pavlovna, a little brunette of thirty, with a long nose and a pointed +chin. Tightly laced, with her face carefully powdered, she danced +without pausing for breath--danced till she was ready to drop exhausted. +But though she was exhausted in body, her spirit was inexhaustible.... +One could see as she danced that her thoughts were with the past, that +faraway past when she used to dance at the "College for Young Ladies," +dreaming of a life of luxury and gaiety, and never doubting that her +husband was to be a prince or, at the worst, a baron. + +The tax-collector watched, scowling with spite.... + +It was not jealousy he was feeling. He was ill-humoured--first, because +the room was taken up with dancing and there was nowhere he could play a +game of cards; secondly, because he could not endure the sound of wind +instruments; and, thirdly, because he fancied the officers treated the +civilians somewhat too casually and disdainfully. But what above +everything revolted him and moved him to indignation was the expression +of happiness on his wife's face. + +"It makes me sick to look at her!" he muttered. "Going on for forty, and +nothing to boast of at any time, and she must powder her face and lace +herself up! And frizzing her hair! Flirting and making faces, and +fancying she's doing the thing in style! Ugh! you're a pretty figure, +upon my soul!" + +Anna Pavlovna was so lost in the dance that she did not once glance at +her husband. + +"Of course not! Where do we poor country bumpkins come in!" sneered the +tax-collector. + +"We are at a discount now.... We're clumsy seals, unpolished provincial +bears, and she's the queen of the ball! She has kept enough of her looks +to please even officers ... They'd not object to making love to her, I +dare say!" + +During the mazurka the tax-collector's face twitched with spite. A +black-haired officer with prominent eyes and Tartar cheekbones danced +the mazurka with Anna Pavlovna. Assuming a stern expression, he worked +his legs with gravity and feeling, and so crooked his knees that he +looked like a jack-a-dandy pulled by strings, while Anna Pavlovna, pale +and thrilled, bending her figure languidly and turning her eyes up, +tried to look as though she scarcely touched the floor, and evidently +felt herself that she was not on earth, not at the local club, but +somewhere far, far away--in the clouds. Not only her face but her whole +figure was expressive of beatitude.... The tax-collector could endure it +no longer; he felt a desire to jeer at that beatitude, to make Anna +Pavlovna feel that she had forgotten herself, that life was by no means +so delightful as she fancied now in her excitement.... + +"You wait; I'll teach you to smile so blissfully," he muttered. "You are +not a boarding-school miss, you are not a girl. An old fright ought to +realise she is a fright!" + +Petty feelings of envy, vexation, wounded vanity, of that small, +provincial misanthropy engendered in petty officials by vodka and a +sedentary life, swarmed in his heart like mice. Waiting for the end of +the mazurka, he went into the hall and walked up to his wife. Anna +Pavlovna was sitting with her partner, and, flirting her fan and +coquettishly dropping her eyelids, was describing how she used to dance +in Petersburg (her lips were pursed up like a rosebud, and she +pronounced "at home in Pütürsburg"). + +"Anyuta, let us go home," croaked the tax-collector. + +Seeing her husband standing before her, Anna Pavlovna started as though +recalling the fact that she had a husband; then she flushed all over: +she felt ashamed that she had such a sickly-looking, ill-humoured, +ordinary husband. + +"Let us go home," repeated the tax-collector. + +"Why? It's quite early!" + +"I beg you to come home!" said the tax-collector deliberately, with a +spiteful expression. + +"Why? Has anything happened?" Anna Pavlovna asked in a flutter. + +"Nothing has happened, but I wish you to go home at once.... I wish it; +that's enough, and without further talk, please." + +Anna Pavlovna was not afraid of her husband, but she felt ashamed on +account of her partner, who was looking at her husband with surprise and +amusement. She got up and moved a little apart with her husband. + +"What notion is this?" she began. "Why go home? Why, it's not eleven +o'clock." + +"I wish it, and that's enough. Come along, and that's all about it." + +"Don't be silly! Go home alone if you want to." + +"All right; then I shall make a scene." + +The tax-collector saw the look of beatitude gradually vanish from his +wife's face, saw how ashamed and miserable she was--and he felt a little +happier. + +"Why do you want me at once?" asked his wife. + +"I don't want you, but I wish you to be at home. I wish it, that's all." + +At first Anna Pavlovna refused to hear of it, then she began entreating +her husband to let her stay just another half-hour; then, without +knowing why, she began to apologise, to protest--and all in a whisper, +with a smile, that the spectators might not suspect that she was having +a tiff with her husband. She began assuring him she would not stay long, +only another ten minutes, only five minutes; but the tax-collector stuck +obstinately to his point. + +"Stay if you like," he said, "but I'll make a scene if you do." + +And as she talked to her husband Anna Pavlovna looked thinner, older, +plainer. Pale, biting her lips, and almost crying, she went out to the +entry and began putting on her things. + +"You are not going?" asked the ladies in surprise. "Anna Pavlovna, you +are not going, dear?" + +"Her head aches," said the tax-collector for his wife. + +Coming out of the club, the husband and wife walked all the way home in +silence. The tax-collector walked behind his wife, and watching her +downcast, sorrowful, humiliated little figure, he recalled the look of +beatitude which had so irritated him at the club, and the consciousness +that the beatitude was gone filled his soul with triumph. He was pleased +and satisfied, and at the same time he felt the lack of something; he +would have liked to go back to the club and make every one feel dreary +and miserable, so that all might know how stale and worthless life is +when you walk along the streets in the dark and hear the slush of the +mud under your feet, and when you know that you will wake up next +morning with nothing to look forward to but vodka and cards. Oh, how +awful it is! + +And Anna Pavlovna could scarcely walk.... She was still under the +influence of the dancing, the music, the talk, the lights, and the +noise; she asked herself as she walked along why God had thus afflicted +her. She felt miserable, insulted, and choking with hate as she listened +to her husband's heavy footsteps. She was silent, trying to think of the +most offensive, biting, and venomous word she could hurl at her husband, +and at the same time she was fully aware that no word could penetrate +her tax-collector's hide. What did he care for words? Her bitterest +enemy could not have contrived for her a more helpless position. + +And meanwhile the band was playing and the darkness was full of the most +rousing, intoxicating dance-tunes. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lady With The Dog and Other Stories, by +Anton Chekhov + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY WITH THE DOG *** + +***** This file should be named 13415-8.txt or 13415-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/4/1/13415/ + +Produced by James Rusk + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: The Lady With The Dog and Other Stories + +Author: Anton Chekhov + +Release Date: September 9, 2004 [EBook #13415] +[Last updated: July 29, 2017] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY WITH THE DOG *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk +HTML version by Chuck Greif + + + + + +</pre> + +<hr class="full" /> + +<p class="cb">THE TALES OF CHEKHOV<br /><br /> +<small>VOLUME 3</small></p> + +<h1>THE LADY WITH THE DOG<br /> +AND OTHER STORIES</h1> + +<p class="cb">BY<br /> +ANTON TCHEKHOV</p> + +<p class="cb">Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT</p> + +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#THE_LADY_WITH_THE_DOG"><b>THE LADY WITH THE DOG</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#A_DOCTORS_VISIT"><b>A DOCTOR'S VISIT</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#AN_UPHEAVAL"><b>AN UPHEAVAL</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#IONITCH"><b>IONITCH</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#THE_HEAD_OF_THE_FAMILY"><b>THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#THE_BLACK_MONK"><b>THE BLACK MONK</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#VOLODYA"><b>VOLODYA</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#AN_ANONYMOUS_STORY"><b>AN ANONYMOUS STORY</b></a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="center"><a href="#THE_HUSBAND"><b>THE HUSBAND</b></a></td></tr> +</table> + +<h2><a name="THE_LADY_WITH_THE_DOG" id="THE_LADY_WITH_THE_DOG"></a>THE LADY WITH THE DOG</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="nind"><big>I</big><small>T</small> was said that a new person had appeared on the sea-front: a lady with +a little dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had by then been a fortnight +at Yalta, and so was fairly at home there, had begun to take an interest +in new arrivals. Sitting in Verney's pavilion, he saw, walking on the +sea-front, a fair-haired young lady of medium height, wearing a <i>béret</i>; +a white Pomeranian dog was running behind her.</p> + +<p>And afterwards he met her in the public gardens and in the square +several times a day. She was walking alone, always wearing the same +<i>béret</i>, and always with the same white dog; no one knew who she was, +and every one called her simply "the lady with the dog."</p> + +<p>"If she is here alone without a husband or friends, it wouldn't be amiss +to make her acquaintance," Gurov reflected.</p> + +<p>He was under forty, but he had a daughter already twelve years old, and +two sons at school. He had been married young, when he was a student in +his second year, and by now his wife seemed half as old again as he. She +was a tall, erect woman with dark eyebrows, staid and dignified, and, as +she said of herself, intellectual. She read a great deal, used phonetic +spelling, called her husband, not Dmitri, but Dimitri, and he secretly +considered her unintelligent, narrow, inelegant, was afraid of her, and +did not like to be at home. He had begun being unfaithful to her long +ago—had been unfaithful to her often, and, probably on that account, +almost always spoke ill of women, and when they were talked about in his +presence, used to call them "the lower race."</p> + +<p>It seemed to him that he had been so schooled by bitter experience that +he might call them what he liked, and yet he could not get on for two +days together without "the lower race." In the society of men he was +bored and not himself, with them he was cold and uncommunicative; but +when he was in the company of women he felt free, and knew what to say +to them and how to behave; and he was at ease with them even when he was +silent. In his appearance, in his character, in his whole nature, there +was something attractive and elusive which allured women and disposed +them in his favour; he knew that, and some force seemed to draw him, +too, to them.</p> + +<p>Experience often repeated, truly bitter experience, had taught him long +ago that with decent people, especially Moscow people—always slow to +move and irresolute—every intimacy, which at first so agreeably +diversifies life and appears a light and charming adventure, inevitably +grows into a regular problem of extreme intricacy, and in the long run +the situation becomes unbearable. But at every fresh meeting with an +interesting woman this experience seemed to slip out of his memory, and +he was eager for life, and everything seemed simple and amusing.</p> + +<p>One evening he was dining in the gardens, and the lady in the <i>béret</i> +came up slowly to take the next table. Her expression, her gait, her +dress, and the way she did her hair told him that she was a lady, that +she was married, that she was in Yalta for the first time and alone, and +that she was dull there.... The stories told of the immorality in such +places as Yalta are to a great extent untrue; he despised them, and knew +that such stories were for the most part made up by persons who would +themselves have been glad to sin if they had been able; but when the +lady sat down at the next table three paces from him, he remembered +these tales of easy conquests, of trips to the mountains, and the +tempting thought of a swift, fleeting love affair, a romance with an +unknown woman, whose name he did not know, suddenly took possession of +him.</p> + +<p>He beckoned coaxingly to the Pomeranian, and when the dog came up to him +he shook his finger at it. The Pomeranian growled: Gurov shook his +finger at it again.</p> + +<p>The lady looked at him and at once dropped her eyes.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't bite," she said, and blushed.</p> + +<p>"May I give him a bone?" he asked; and when she nodded he asked +courteously, "Have you been long in Yalta?"</p> + +<p>"Five days."</p> + +<p>"And I have already dragged out a fortnight here."</p> + +<p>There was a brief silence.</p> + +<p>"Time goes fast, and yet it is so dull here!" she said, not looking at +him.</p> + +<p>"That's only the fashion to say it is dull here. A provincial will live +in Belyov or Zhidra and not be dull, and when he comes here it's 'Oh, +the dulness! Oh, the dust!' One would think he came from Grenada."</p> + +<p>She laughed. Then both continued eating in silence, like strangers, but +after dinner they walked side by side; and there sprang up between them +the light jesting conversation of people who are free and satisfied, to +whom it does not matter where they go or what they talk about. They +walked and talked of the strange light on the sea: the water was of a +soft warm lilac hue, and there was a golden streak from the moon upon +it. They talked of how sultry it was after a hot day. Gurov told her +that he came from Moscow, that he had taken his degree in Arts, but had +a post in a bank; that he had trained as an opera-singer, but had given +it up, that he owned two houses in Moscow.... And from her he learnt +that she had grown up in Petersburg, but had lived in S—— since her +marriage two years before, that she was staying another month in Yalta, +and that her husband, who needed a holiday too, might perhaps come and +fetch her. She was not sure whether her husband had a post in a Crown +Department or under the Provincial Council—and was amused by her own +ignorance. And Gurov learnt, too, that she was called Anna Sergeyevna.</p> + +<p>Afterwards he thought about her in his room at the hotel—thought she +would certainly meet him next day; it would be sure to happen. As he got +into bed he thought how lately she had been a girl at school, doing +lessons like his own daughter; he recalled the diffidence, the +angularity, that was still manifest in her laugh and her manner of +talking with a stranger. This must have been the first time in her life +she had been alone in surroundings in which she was followed, looked at, +and spoken to merely from a secret motive which she could hardly fail to +guess. He recalled her slender, delicate neck, her lovely grey eyes.</p> + +<p>"There's something pathetic about her, anyway," he thought, and fell +asleep.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>A week had passed since they had made acquaintance. It was a holiday. It +was sultry indoors, while in the street the wind whirled the dust round +and round, and blew people's hats off. It was a thirsty day, and Gurov +often went into the pavilion, and pressed Anna Sergeyevna to have syrup +and water or an ice. One did not know what to do with oneself.</p> + +<p>In the evening when the wind had dropped a little, they went out on the +groyne to see the steamer come in. There were a great many people +walking about the harbour; they had gathered to welcome some one, +bringing bouquets. And two peculiarities of a well-dressed Yalta crowd +were very conspicuous: the elderly ladies were dressed like young ones, +and there were great numbers of generals.</p> + +<p>Owing to the roughness of the sea, the steamer arrived late, after the +sun had set, and it was a long time turning about before it reached the +groyne. Anna Sergeyevna looked through her lorgnette at the steamer and +the passengers as though looking for acquaintances, and when she turned +to Gurov her eyes were shining. She talked a great deal and asked +disconnected questions, forgetting next moment what she had asked; then +she dropped her lorgnette in the crush.</p> + +<p>The festive crowd began to disperse; it was too dark to see people's +faces. The wind had completely dropped, but Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna +still stood as though waiting to see some one else come from the +steamer. Anna Sergeyevna was silent now, and sniffed the flowers without +looking at Gurov.</p> + +<p>"The weather is better this evening," he said. "Where shall we go now? +Shall we drive somewhere?"</p> + +<p>She made no answer.</p> + +<p>Then he looked at her intently, and all at once put his arm round her +and kissed her on the lips, and breathed in the moisture and the +fragrance of the flowers; and he immediately looked round him, anxiously +wondering whether any one had seen them.</p> + +<p>"Let us go to your hotel," he said softly. And both walked quickly.</p> + +<p>The room was close and smelt of the scent she had bought at the Japanese +shop. Gurov looked at her and thought: "What different people one meets +in the world!" From the past he preserved memories of careless, +good-natured women, who loved cheerfully and were grateful to him for +the happiness he gave them, however brief it might be; and of women like +his wife who loved without any genuine feeling, with superfluous +phrases, affectedly, hysterically, with an expression that suggested +that it was not love nor passion, but something more significant; and of +two or three others, very beautiful, cold women, on whose faces he had +caught a glimpse of a rapacious expression—an obstinate desire to +snatch from life more than it could give, and these were capricious, +unreflecting, domineering, unintelligent women not in their first youth, +and when Gurov grew cold to them their beauty excited his hatred, and +the lace on their linen seemed to him like scales.</p> + +<p>But in this case there was still the diffidence, the angularity of +inexperienced youth, an awkward feeling; and there was a sense of +consternation as though some one had suddenly knocked at the door. The +attitude of Anna Sergeyevna—"the lady with the dog"—to what had +happened was somehow peculiar, very grave, as though it were her +fall—so it seemed, and it was strange and inappropriate. Her face +dropped and faded, and on both sides of it her long hair hung down +mournfully; she mused in a dejected attitude like "the woman who was a +sinner" in an old-fashioned picture.</p> + +<p>"It's wrong," she said. "You will be the first to despise me now."</p> + +<p>There was a water-melon on the table. Gurov cut himself a slice and +began eating it without haste. There followed at least half an hour of +silence.</p> + +<p>Anna Sergeyevna was touching; there was about her the purity of a good, +simple woman who had seen little of life. The solitary candle burning on +the table threw a faint light on her face, yet it was clear that she was +very unhappy.</p> + +<p>"How could I despise you?" asked Gurov. "You don't know what you are +saying."</p> + +<p>"God forgive me," she said, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's +awful."</p> + +<p>"You seem to feel you need to be forgiven."</p> + +<p>"Forgiven? No. I am a bad, low woman; I despise myself and don't attempt +to justify myself. It's not my husband but myself I have deceived. And +not only just now; I have been deceiving myself for a long time. My +husband may be a good, honest man, but he is a flunkey! I don't know +what he does there, what his work is, but I know he is a flunkey! I was +twenty when I was married to him. I have been tormented by curiosity; I +wanted something better. 'There must be a different sort of life,' I +said to myself. I wanted to live! To live, to live!... I was fired by +curiosity ... you don't understand it, but, I swear to God, I could not +control myself; something happened to me: I could not be restrained. I +told my husband I was ill, and came here.... And here I have been +walking about as though I were dazed, like a mad creature; ... and now I +have become a vulgar, contemptible woman whom any one may despise."</p> + +<p>Gurov felt bored already, listening to her. He was irritated by the +naïve tone, by this remorse, so unexpected and inopportune; but for the +tears in her eyes, he might have thought she was jesting or playing a +part.</p> + +<p>"I don't understand," he said softly. "What is it you want?"</p> + +<p>She hid her face on his breast and pressed close to him.</p> + +<p>"Believe me, believe me, I beseech you ..." she said. "I love a pure, +honest life, and sin is loathsome to me. I don't know what I am doing. +Simple people say: 'The Evil One has beguiled me.' And I may say of +myself now that the Evil One has beguiled me."</p> + +<p>"Hush, hush!..." he muttered.</p> + +<p>He looked at her fixed, scared eyes, kissed her, talked softly and +affectionately, and by degrees she was comforted, and her gaiety +returned; they both began laughing.</p> + +<p>Afterwards when they went out there was not a soul on the sea-front. The +town with its cypresses had quite a deathlike air, but the sea still +broke noisily on the shore; a single barge was rocking on the waves, and +a lantern was blinking sleepily on it.</p> + +<p>They found a cab and drove to Oreanda.</p> + +<p>"I found out your surname in the hall just now: it was written on the +board—Von Diderits," said Gurov. "Is your husband a German?"</p> + +<p>"No; I believe his grandfather was a German, but he is an Orthodox +Russian himself."</p> + +<p>At Oreanda they sat on a seat not far from the church, looked down at +the sea, and were silent. Yalta was hardly visible through the morning +mist; white clouds stood motionless on the mountain-tops. The leaves did +not stir on the trees, grasshoppers chirruped, and the monotonous hollow +sound of the sea rising up from below, spoke of the peace, of the +eternal sleep awaiting us. So it must have sounded when there was no +Yalta, no Oreanda here; so it sounds now, and it will sound as +indifferently and monotonously when we are all no more. And in this +constancy, in this complete indifference to the life and death of each +of us, there lies hid, perhaps, a pledge of our eternal salvation, of +the unceasing movement of life upon earth, of unceasing progress towards +perfection. Sitting beside a young woman who in the dawn seemed so +lovely, soothed and spellbound in these magical surroundings—the sea, +mountains, clouds, the open sky—Gurov thought how in reality everything +is beautiful in this world when one reflects: everything except what we +think or do ourselves when we forget our human dignity and the higher +aims of our existence.</p> + +<p>A man walked up to them—probably a keeper—looked at them and walked +away. And this detail seemed mysterious and beautiful, too. They saw a +steamer come from Theodosia, with its lights out in the glow of dawn.</p> + +<p>"There is dew on the grass," said Anna Sergeyevna, after a silence.</p> + +<p>"Yes. It's time to go home."</p> + +<p>They went back to the town.</p> + +<p>Then they met every day at twelve o'clock on the sea-front, lunched and +dined together, went for walks, admired the sea. She complained that she +slept badly, that her heart throbbed violently; asked the same +questions, troubled now by jealousy and now by the fear that he did not +respect her sufficiently. And often in the square or gardens, when there +was no one near them, he suddenly drew her to him and kissed her +passionately. Complete idleness, these kisses in broad daylight while he +looked round in dread of some one's seeing them, the heat, the smell of +the sea, and the continual passing to and fro before him of idle, +well-dressed, well-fed people, made a new man of him; he told Anna +Sergeyevna how beautiful she was, how fascinating. He was impatiently +passionate, he would not move a step away from her, while she was often +pensive and continually urged him to confess that he did not respect +her, did not love her in the least, and thought of her as nothing but a +common woman. Rather late almost every evening they drove somewhere out +of town, to Oreanda or to the waterfall; and the expedition was always a +success, the scenery invariably impressed them as grand and beautiful.</p> + +<p>They were expecting her husband to come, but a letter came from him, +saying that there was something wrong with his eyes, and he entreated +his wife to come home as quickly as possible. Anna Sergeyevna made haste +to go.</p> + +<p>"It's a good thing I am going away," she said to Gurov. "It's the finger +of destiny!"</p> + +<p>She went by coach and he went with her. They were driving the whole day. +When she had got into a compartment of the express, and when the second +bell had rung, she said:</p> + +<p>"Let me look at you once more ... look at you once again. That's right."</p> + +<p>She did not shed tears, but was so sad that she seemed ill, and her face +was quivering.</p> + +<p>"I shall remember you ... think of you," she said. "God be with you; be +happy. Don't remember evil against me. We are parting forever—it must +be so, for we ought never to have met. Well, God be with you."</p> + +<p>The train moved off rapidly, its lights soon vanished from sight, and a +minute later there was no sound of it, as though everything had +conspired together to end as quickly as possible that sweet delirium, +that madness. Left alone on the platform, and gazing into the dark +distance, Gurov listened to the chirrup of the grasshoppers and the hum +of the telegraph wires, feeling as though he had only just waked up. And +he thought, musing, that there had been another episode or adventure in +his life, and it, too, was at an end, and nothing was left of it but a +memory.... He was moved, sad, and conscious of a slight remorse. This +young woman whom he would never meet again had not been happy with him; +he was genuinely warm and affectionate with her, but yet in his manner, +his tone, and his caresses there had been a shade of light irony, the +coarse condescension of a happy man who was, besides, almost twice her +age. All the time she had called him kind, exceptional, lofty; obviously +he had seemed to her different from what he really was, so he had +unintentionally deceived her....</p> + +<p>Here at the station was already a scent of autumn; it was a cold +evening.</p> + +<p>"It's time for me to go north," thought Gurov as he left the platform. +"High time!"</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>At home in Moscow everything was in its winter routine; the stoves were +heated, and in the morning it was still dark when the children were +having breakfast and getting ready for school, and the nurse would light +the lamp for a short time. The frosts had begun already. When the first +snow has fallen, on the first day of sledge-driving it is pleasant to +see the white earth, the white roofs, to draw soft, delicious breath, +and the season brings back the days of one's youth. The old limes and +birches, white with hoar-frost, have a good-natured expression; they are +nearer to one's heart than cypresses and palms, and near them one +doesn't want to be thinking of the sea and the mountains.</p> + +<p>Gurov was Moscow born; he arrived in Moscow on a fine frosty day, and +when he put on his fur coat and warm gloves, and walked along Petrovka, +and when on Saturday evening he heard the ringing of the bells, his +recent trip and the places he had seen lost all charm for him. Little by +little he became absorbed in Moscow life, greedily read three newspapers +a day, and declared he did not read the Moscow papers on principle! He +already felt a longing to go to restaurants, clubs, dinner-parties, +anniversary celebrations, and he felt flattered at entertaining +distinguished lawyers and artists, and at playing cards with a professor +at the doctors' club. He could already eat a whole plateful of salt fish +and cabbage.</p> + +<p>In another month, he fancied, the image of Anna Sergeyevna would be +shrouded in a mist in his memory, and only from time to time would visit +him in his dreams with a touching smile as others did. But more than a +month passed, real winter had come, and everything was still clear in +his memory as though he had parted with Anna Sergeyevna only the day +before. And his memories glowed more and more vividly. When in the +evening stillness he heard from his study the voices of his children, +preparing their lessons, or when he listened to a song or the organ at +the restaurant, or the storm howled in the chimney, suddenly everything +would rise up in his memory: what had happened on the groyne, and the +early morning with the mist on the mountains, and the steamer coming +from Theodosia, and the kisses. He would pace a long time about his +room, remembering it all and smiling; then his memories passed into +dreams, and in his fancy the past was mingled with what was to come. +Anna Sergeyevna did not visit him in dreams, but followed him about +everywhere like a shadow and haunted him. When he shut his eyes he saw +her as though she were living before him, and she seemed to him +lovelier, younger, tenderer than she was; and he imagined himself finer +than he had been in Yalta. In the evenings she peeped out at him from +the bookcase, from the fireplace, from the corner—he heard her +breathing, the caressing rustle of her dress. In the street he watched +the women, looking for some one like her.</p> + +<p>He was tormented by an intense desire to confide his memories to some +one. But in his home it was impossible to talk of his love, and he had +no one outside; he could not talk to his tenants nor to any one at the +bank. And what had he to talk of? Had he been in love, then? Had there +been anything beautiful, poetical, or edifying or simply interesting in +his relations with Anna Sergeyevna? And there was nothing for him but to +talk vaguely of love, of woman, and no one guessed what it meant; only +his wife twitched her black eyebrows, and said:</p> + +<p>"The part of a lady-killer does not suit you at all, Dimitri."</p> + +<p>One evening, coming out of the doctors' club with an official with whom +he had been playing cards, he could not resist saying:</p> + +<p>"If only you knew what a fascinating woman I made the acquaintance of in +Yalta!"</p> + +<p>The official got into his sledge and was driving away, but turned +suddenly and shouted:</p> + +<p>"Dmitri Dmitritch!"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"You were right this evening: the sturgeon was a bit too strong!"</p> + +<p>These words, so ordinary, for some reason moved Gurov to indignation, +and struck him as degrading and unclean. What savage manners, what +people! What senseless nights, what uninteresting, uneventful days! The +rage for card-playing, the gluttony, the drunkenness, the continual talk +always about the same thing. Useless pursuits and conversations always +about the same things absorb the better part of one's time, the better +part of one's strength, and in the end there is left a life grovelling +and curtailed, worthless and trivial, and there is no escaping or +getting away from it—just as though one were in a madhouse or a prison.</p> + +<p>Gurov did not sleep all night, and was filled with indignation. And he +had a headache all next day. And the next night he slept badly; he sat +up in bed, thinking, or paced up and down his room. He was sick of his +children, sick of the bank; he had no desire to go anywhere or to talk +of anything.</p> + +<p>In the holidays in December he prepared for a journey, and told his wife +he was going to Petersburg to do something in the interests of a young +friend—and he set off for S——. What for? He did not very well know +himself. He wanted to see Anna Sergeyevna and to talk with her—to +arrange a meeting, if possible.</p> + +<p>He reached S—— in the morning, and took the best room at the hotel, in +which the floor was covered with grey army cloth, and on the table was +an inkstand, grey with dust and adorned with a figure on horseback, with +its hat in its hand and its head broken off. The hotel porter gave him +the necessary information; Von Diderits lived in a house of his own in +Old Gontcharny Street—it was not far from the hotel: he was rich and +lived in good style, and had his own horses; every one in the town knew +him. The porter pronounced the name "Dridirits."</p> + +<p>Gurov went without haste to Old Gontcharny Street and found the house. +Just opposite the house stretched a long grey fence adorned with nails.</p> + +<p>"One would run away from a fence like that," thought Gurov, looking from +the fence to the windows of the house and back again.</p> + +<p>He considered: to-day was a holiday, and the husband would probably be +at home. And in any case it would be tactless to go into the house and +upset her. If he were to send her a note it might fall into her +husband's hands, and then it might ruin everything. The best thing was +to trust to chance. And he kept walking up and down the street by the +fence, waiting for the chance. He saw a beggar go in at the gate and +dogs fly at him; then an hour later he heard a piano, and the sounds +were faint and indistinct. Probably it was Anna Sergeyevna playing. The +front door suddenly opened, and an old woman came out, followed by the +familiar white Pomeranian. Gurov was on the point of calling to the dog, +but his heart began beating violently, and in his excitement he could +not remember the dog's name.</p> + +<p>He walked up and down, and loathed the grey fence more and more, and by +now he thought irritably that Anna Sergeyevna had forgotten him, and was +perhaps already amusing herself with some one else, and that that was +very natural in a young woman who had nothing to look at from morning +till night but that confounded fence. He went back to his hotel room and +sat for a long while on the sofa, not knowing what to do, then he had +dinner and a long nap.</p> + +<p>"How stupid and worrying it is!" he thought when he woke and looked at +the dark windows: it was already evening. "Here I've had a good sleep +for some reason. What shall I do in the night?"</p> + +<p>He sat on the bed, which was covered by a cheap grey blanket, such as +one sees in hospitals, and he taunted himself in his vexation:</p> + +<p>"So much for the lady with the dog ... so much for the adventure.... +You're in a nice fix...."</p> + +<p>That morning at the station a poster in large letters had caught his +eye. "The Geisha" was to be performed for the first time. He thought of +this and went to the theatre.</p> + +<p>"It's quite possible she may go to the first performance," he thought.</p> + +<p>The theatre was full. As in all provincial theatres, there was a fog +above the chandelier, the gallery was noisy and restless; in the front +row the local dandies were standing up before the beginning of the +performance, with their hands behind them; in the Governor's box the +Governor's daughter, wearing a boa, was sitting in the front seat, while +the Governor himself lurked modestly behind the curtain with only his +hands visible; the orchestra was a long time tuning up; the stage +curtain swayed. All the time the audience were coming in and taking +their seats Gurov looked at them eagerly.</p> + +<p>Anna Sergeyevna, too, came in. She sat down in the third row, and when +Gurov looked at her his heart contracted, and he understood clearly that +for him there was in the whole world no creature so near, so precious, +and so important to him; she, this little woman, in no way remarkable, +lost in a provincial crowd, with a vulgar lorgnette in her hand, filled +his whole life now, was his sorrow and his joy, the one happiness that +he now desired for himself, and to the sounds of the inferior orchestra, +of the wretched provincial violins, he thought how lovely she was. He +thought and dreamed.</p> + +<p>A young man with small side-whiskers, tall and stooping, came in with +Anna Sergeyevna and sat down beside her; he bent his head at every step +and seemed to be continually bowing. Most likely this was the husband +whom at Yalta, in a rush of bitter feeling, she had called a flunkey. +And there really was in his long figure, his side-whiskers, and the +small bald patch on his head, something of the flunkey's obsequiousness; +his smile was sugary, and in his buttonhole there was some badge of +distinction like the number on a waiter.</p> + +<p>During the first interval the husband went away to smoke; she remained +alone in her stall. Gurov, who was sitting in the stalls, too, went up +to her and said in a trembling voice, with a forced smile:</p> + +<p>"Good-evening."</p> + +<p>She glanced at him and turned pale, then glanced again with horror, +unable to believe her eyes, and tightly gripped the fan and the +lorgnette in her hands, evidently struggling with herself not to faint. +Both were silent. She was sitting, he was standing, frightened by her +confusion and not venturing to sit down beside her. The violins and the +flute began tuning up. He felt suddenly frightened; it seemed as though +all the people in the boxes were looking at them. She got up and went +quickly to the door; he followed her, and both walked senselessly along +passages, and up and down stairs, and figures in legal, scholastic, and +civil service uniforms, all wearing badges, flitted before their eyes. +They caught glimpses of ladies, of fur coats hanging on pegs; the +draughts blew on them, bringing a smell of stale tobacco. And Gurov, +whose heart was beating violently, thought:</p> + +<p>"Oh, heavens! Why are these people here and this orchestra!..."</p> + +<p>And at that instant he recalled how when he had seen Anna Sergeyevna off +at the station he had thought that everything was over and they would +never meet again. But how far they were still from the end!</p> + +<p>On the narrow, gloomy staircase over which was written "To the +Amphitheatre," she stopped.</p> + +<p>"How you have frightened me!" she said, breathing hard, still pale and +overwhelmed. "Oh, how you have frightened me! I am half dead. Why have +you come? Why?"</p> + +<p>"But do understand, Anna, do understand ..." he said hastily in a low +voice. "I entreat you to understand...."</p> + +<p>She looked at him with dread, with entreaty, with love; she looked at +him intently, to keep his features more distinctly in her memory.</p> + +<p>"I am so unhappy," she went on, not heeding him. "I have thought of +nothing but you all the time; I live only in the thought of you. And I +wanted to forget, to forget you; but why, oh, why, have you come?"</p> + +<p>On the landing above them two schoolboys were smoking and looking down, +but that was nothing to Gurov; he drew Anna Sergeyevna to him, and began +kissing her face, her cheeks, and her hands.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing, what are you doing!" she cried in horror, pushing +him away. "We are mad. Go away to-day; go away at once.... I beseech you +by all that is sacred, I implore you.... There are people coming this +way!"</p> + +<p>Some one was coming up the stairs.</p> + +<p>"You must go away," Anna Sergeyevna went on in a whisper. "Do you hear, +Dmitri Dmitritch? I will come and see you in Moscow. I have never been +happy; I am miserable now, and I never, never shall be happy, never! +Don't make me suffer still more! I swear I'll come to Moscow. But now +let us part. My precious, good, dear one, we must part!"</p> + +<p>She pressed his hand and began rapidly going downstairs, looking round +at him, and from her eyes he could see that she really was unhappy. +Gurov stood for a little while, listened, then, when all sound had died +away, he found his coat and left the theatre.</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>And Anna Sergeyevna began coming to see him in Moscow. Once in two or +three months she left S——, telling her husband that she was going to +consult a doctor about an internal complaint—and her husband believed +her, and did not believe her. In Moscow she stayed at the Slaviansky +Bazaar hotel, and at once sent a man in a red cap to Gurov. Gurov went +to see her, and no one in Moscow knew of it.</p> + +<p>Once he was going to see her in this way on a winter morning (the +messenger had come the evening before when he was out). With him walked +his daughter, whom he wanted to take to school: it was on the way. Snow +was falling in big wet flakes.</p> + +<p>"It's three degrees above freezing-point, and yet it is snowing," said +Gurov to his daughter. "The thaw is only on the surface of the earth; +there is quite a different temperature at a greater height in the +atmosphere."</p> + +<p>"And why are there no thunderstorms in the winter, father?"</p> + +<p>He explained that, too. He talked, thinking all the while that he was +going to see her, and no living soul knew of it, and probably never +would know. He had two lives: one, open, seen and known by all who cared +to know, full of relative truth and of relative falsehood, exactly like +the lives of his friends and acquaintances; and another life running its +course in secret. And through some strange, perhaps accidental, +conjunction of circumstances, everything that was essential, of interest +and of value to him, everything in which he was sincere and did not +deceive himself, everything that made the kernel of his life, was hidden +from other people; and all that was false in him, the sheath in which he +hid himself to conceal the truth—such, for instance, as his work in the +bank, his discussions at the club, his "lower race," his presence with +his wife at anniversary festivities—all that was open. And he judged of +others by himself, not believing in what he saw, and always believing +that every man had his real, most interesting life under the cover of +secrecy and under the cover of night. All personal life rested on +secrecy, and possibly it was partly on that account that civilised man +was so nervously anxious that personal privacy should be respected.</p> + +<p>After leaving his daughter at school, Gurov went on to the Slaviansky +Bazaar. He took off his fur coat below, went upstairs, and softly +knocked at the door. Anna Sergeyevna, wearing his favourite grey dress, +exhausted by the journey and the suspense, had been expecting him since +the evening before. She was pale; she looked at him, and did not smile, +and he had hardly come in when she fell on his breast. Their kiss was +slow and prolonged, as though they had not met for two years.</p> + +<p>"Well, how are you getting on there?" he asked. "What news?"</p> + +<p>"Wait; I'll tell you directly.... I can't talk."</p> + +<p>She could not speak; she was crying. She turned away from him, and +pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Let her have her cry out. I'll sit down and wait," he thought, and he +sat down in an arm-chair.</p> + +<p>Then he rang and asked for tea to be brought him, and while he drank his +tea she remained standing at the window with her back to him. She was +crying from emotion, from the miserable consciousness that their life +was so hard for them; they could only meet in secret, hiding themselves +from people, like thieves! Was not their life shattered?</p> + +<p>"Come, do stop!" he said.</p> + +<p>It was evident to him that this love of theirs would not soon be over, +that he could not see the end of it. Anna Sergeyevna grew more and more +attached to him. She adored him, and it was unthinkable to say to her +that it was bound to have an end some day; besides, she would not have +believed it!</p> + +<p>He went up to her and took her by the shoulders to say something +affectionate and cheering, and at that moment he saw himself in the +looking-glass.</p> + +<p>His hair was already beginning to turn grey. And it seemed strange to +him that he had grown so much older, so much plainer during the last few +years. The shoulders on which his hands rested were warm and quivering. +He felt compassion for this life, still so warm and lovely, but probably +already not far from beginning to fade and wither like his own. Why did +she love him so much? He always seemed to women different from what he +was, and they loved in him not himself, but the man created by their +imagination, whom they had been eagerly seeking all their lives; and +afterwards, when they noticed their mistake, they loved him all the +same. And not one of them had been happy with him. Time passed, he had +made their acquaintance, got on with them, parted, but he had never once +loved; it was anything you like, but not love.</p> + +<p>And only now when his head was grey he had fallen properly, really in +love—for the first time in his life.</p> + +<p>Anna Sergeyevna and he loved each other like people very close and akin, +like husband and wife, like tender friends; it seemed to them that fate +itself had meant them for one another, and they could not understand why +he had a wife and she a husband; and it was as though they were a pair +of birds of passage, caught and forced to live in different cages. They +forgave each other for what they were ashamed of in their past, they +forgave everything in the present, and felt that this love of theirs had +changed them both.</p> + +<p>In moments of depression in the past he had comforted himself with any +arguments that came into his mind, but now he no longer cared for +arguments; he felt profound compassion, he wanted to be sincere and +tender....</p> + +<p>"Don't cry, my darling," he said. "You've had your cry; that's +enough.... Let us talk now, let us think of some plan."</p> + +<p>Then they spent a long while taking counsel together, talked of how to +avoid the necessity for secrecy, for deception, for living in different +towns and not seeing each other for long at a time. How could they be +free from this intolerable bondage?</p> + +<p>"How? How?" he asked, clutching his head. "How?"</p> + +<p>And it seemed as though in a little while the solution would be found, +and then a new and splendid life would begin; and it was clear to both +of them that they had still a long, long road before them, and that the +most complicated and difficult part of it was only just beginning.</p> + +<h2><a name="A_DOCTORS_VISIT" id="A_DOCTORS_VISIT"></a>A DOCTOR'S VISIT</h2> + +<p class="nind"><big>T</big><small>HE</small> Professor received a telegram from the Lyalikovs' factory; he was +asked to come as quickly as possible. The daughter of some Madame +Lyalikov, apparently the owner of the factory, was ill, and that was all +that one could make out of the long, incoherent telegram. And the +Professor did not go himself, but sent instead his assistant, Korolyov.</p> + +<p>It was two stations from Moscow, and there was a drive of three miles +from the station. A carriage with three horses had been sent to the +station to meet Korolyov; the coachman wore a hat with a peacock's +feather on it, and answered every question in a loud voice like a +soldier: "No, sir!" "Certainly, sir!"</p> + +<p>It was Saturday evening; the sun was setting, the workpeople were coming +in crowds from the factory to the station, and they bowed to the +carriage in which Korolyov was driving. And he was charmed with the +evening, the farmhouses and villas on the road, and the birch-trees, and +the quiet atmosphere all around, when the fields and woods and the sun +seemed preparing, like the workpeople now on the eve of the holiday, to +rest, and perhaps to pray....</p> + +<p>He was born and had grown up in Moscow; he did not know the country, and +he had never taken any interest in factories, or been inside one, but he +had happened to read about factories, and had been in the houses of +manufacturers and had talked to them; and whenever he saw a factory far +or near, he always thought how quiet and peaceable it was outside, but +within there was always sure to be impenetrable ignorance and dull +egoism on the side of the owners, wearisome, unhealthy toil on the side +of the workpeople, squabbling, vermin, vodka. And now when the +workpeople timidly and respectfully made way for the carriage, in their +faces, their caps, their walk, he read physical impurity, drunkenness, +nervous exhaustion, bewilderment.</p> + +<p>They drove in at the factory gates. On each side he caught glimpses of +the little houses of workpeople, of the faces of women, of quilts and +linen on the railings. "Look out!" shouted the coachman, not pulling up +the horses. It was a wide courtyard without grass, with five immense +blocks of buildings with tall chimneys a little distance one from +another, warehouses and barracks, and over everything a sort of grey +powder as though from dust. Here and there, like oases in the desert, +there were pitiful gardens, and the green and red roofs of the houses in +which the managers and clerks lived. The coachman suddenly pulled up the +horses, and the carriage stopped at the house, which had been newly +painted grey; here was a flower garden, with a lilac bush covered with +dust, and on the yellow steps at the front door there was a strong smell +of paint.</p> + +<p>"Please come in, doctor," said women's voices in the passage and the +entry, and at the same time he heard sighs and whisperings. "Pray walk +in.... We've been expecting you so long ... we're in real trouble. Here, +this way."</p> + +<p>Madame Lyalikov—a stout elderly lady wearing a black silk dress with +fashionable sleeves, but, judging from her face, a simple uneducated +woman—looked at the doctor in a flutter, and could not bring herself to +hold out her hand to him; she did not dare. Beside her stood a personage +with short hair and a pince-nez; she was wearing a blouse of many +colours, and was very thin and no longer young. The servants called her +Christina Dmitryevna, and Korolyov guessed that this was the governess. +Probably, as the person of most education in the house, she had been +charged to meet and receive the doctor, for she began immediately, in +great haste, stating the causes of the illness, giving trivial and +tiresome details, but without saying who was ill or what was the matter.</p> + +<p>The doctor and the governess were sitting talking while the lady of the +house stood motionless at the door, waiting. From the conversation +Korolyov learned that the patient was Madame Lyalikov's only daughter +and heiress, a girl of twenty, called Liza; she had been ill for a long +time, and had consulted various doctors, and the previous night she had +suffered till morning from such violent palpitations of the heart, that +no one in the house had slept, and they had been afraid she might die.</p> + +<p>"She has been, one may say, ailing from a child," said Christina +Dmitryevna in a sing-song voice, continually wiping her lips with her +hand. "The doctors say it is nerves; when she was a little girl she was +scrofulous, and the doctors drove it inwards, so I think it may be due +to that."</p> + +<p>They went to see the invalid. Fully grown up, big and tall, but ugly +like her mother, with the same little eyes and disproportionate breadth +of the lower part of the face, lying with her hair in disorder, muffled +up to the chin, she made upon Korolyov at the first minute the +impression of a poor, destitute creature, sheltered and cared for here +out of charity, and he could hardly believe that this was the heiress of +the five huge buildings.</p> + +<p>"I am the doctor come to see you," said Korolyov. "Good evening."</p> + +<p>He mentioned his name and pressed her hand, a large, cold, ugly hand; +she sat up, and, evidently accustomed to doctors, let herself be +sounded, without showing the least concern that her shoulders and chest +were uncovered.</p> + +<p>"I have palpitations of the heart," she said, "It was so awful all +night.... I almost died of fright! Do give me something."</p> + +<p>"I will, I will; don't worry yourself."</p> + +<p>Korolyov examined her and shrugged his shoulders.</p> + +<p>"The heart is all right," he said; "it's all going on satisfactorily; +everything is in good order. Your nerves must have been playing pranks a +little, but that's so common. The attack is over by now, one must +suppose; lie down and go to sleep."</p> + +<p>At that moment a lamp was brought into the bed-room. The patient screwed +up her eyes at the light, then suddenly put her hands to her head and +broke into sobs. And the impression of a destitute, ugly creature +vanished, and Korolyov no longer noticed the little eyes or the heavy +development of the lower part of the face. He saw a soft, suffering +expression which was intelligent and touching: she seemed to him +altogether graceful, feminine, and simple; and he longed to soothe her, +not with drugs, not with advice, but with simple, kindly words. Her +mother put her arms round her head and hugged her. What despair, what +grief was in the old woman's face! She, her mother, had reared her and +brought her up, spared nothing, and devoted her whole life to having her +daughter taught French, dancing, music: had engaged a dozen teachers for +her; had consulted the best doctors, kept a governess. And now she could +not make out the reason of these tears, why there was all this misery, +she could not understand, and was bewildered; and she had a guilty, +agitated, despairing expression, as though she had omitted something +very important, had left something undone, had neglected to call in +somebody—and whom, she did not know.</p> + +<p>"Lizanka, you are crying again ... again," she said, hugging her +daughter to her. "My own, my darling, my child, tell me what it is! Have +pity on me! Tell me."</p> + +<p>Both wept bitterly. Korolyov sat down on the side of the bed and took +Liza's hand.</p> + +<p>"Come, give over; it's no use crying," he said kindly. "Why, there is +nothing in the world that is worth those tears. Come, we won't cry; +that's no good...."</p> + +<p>And inwardly he thought:</p> + +<p>"It's high time she was married...."</p> + +<p>"Our doctor at the factory gave her kalibromati," said the governess, +"but I notice it only makes her worse. I should have thought that if she +is given anything for the heart it ought to be drops.... I forget the +name.... Convallaria, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>And there followed all sorts of details. She interrupted the doctor, +preventing his speaking, and there was a look of effort on her face, as +though she supposed that, as the woman of most education in the house, +she was duty bound to keep up a conversation with the doctor, and on no +other subject but medicine.</p> + +<p>Korolyov felt bored.</p> + +<p>"I find nothing special the matter," he said, addressing the mother as +he went out of the bedroom. "If your daughter is being attended by the +factory doctor, let him go on attending her. The treatment so far has +been perfectly correct, and I see no reason for changing your doctor. +Why change? It's such an ordinary trouble; there's nothing seriously +wrong."</p> + +<p>He spoke deliberately as he put on his gloves, while Madame Lyalikov +stood without moving, and looked at him with her tearful eyes.</p> + +<p>"I have half an hour to catch the ten o'clock train," he said. "I hope I +am not too late."</p> + +<p>"And can't you stay?" she asked, and tears trickled down her cheeks +again. "I am ashamed to trouble you, but if you would be so good.... For +God's sake," she went on in an undertone, glancing towards the door, "do +stay to-night with us! She is all I have ... my only daughter.... She +frightened me last night; I can't get over it.... Don't go away, for +goodness' sake!..."</p> + +<p>He wanted to tell her that he had a great deal of work in Moscow, that +his family were expecting him home; it was disagreeable to him to spend +the evening and the whole night in a strange house quite needlessly; but +he looked at her face, heaved a sigh, and began taking off his gloves +without a word.</p> + +<p>All the lamps and candles were lighted in his honour in the drawing-room +and the dining-room. He sat down at the piano and began turning over the +music. Then he looked at the pictures on the walls, at the portraits. +The pictures, oil-paintings in gold frames, were views of the Crimea—a +stormy sea with a ship, a Catholic monk with a wineglass; they were all +dull, smooth daubs, with no trace of talent in them. There was not a +single good-looking face among the portraits, nothing but broad +cheekbones and astonished-looking eyes. Lyalikov, Liza's father, had a +low forehead and a self-satisfied expression; his uniform sat like a +sack on his bulky plebeian figure; on his breast was a medal and a Red +Cross Badge. There was little sign of culture, and the luxury was +senseless and haphazard, and was as ill fitting as that uniform. The +floors irritated him with their brilliant polish, the lustres on the +chandelier irritated him, and he was reminded for some reason of the +story of the merchant who used to go to the baths with a medal on his +neck....</p> + +<p>He heard a whispering in the entry; some one was softly snoring. And +suddenly from outside came harsh, abrupt, metallic sounds, such as +Korolyov had never heard before, and which he did not understand now; +they roused strange, unpleasant echoes in his soul.</p> + +<p>"I believe nothing would induce me to remain here to live ..." he +thought, and went back to the music-books again.</p> + +<p>"Doctor, please come to supper!" the governess called him in a low +voice.</p> + +<p>He went into supper. The table was large and laid with a vast number of +dishes and wines, but there were only two to supper: himself and +Christina Dmitryevna. She drank Madeira, ate rapidly, and talked, +looking at him through her pince-nez:</p> + +<p>"Our workpeople are very contented. We have performances at the factory +every winter; the workpeople act themselves. They have lectures with a +magic lantern, a splendid tea-room, and everything they want. They are +very much attached to us, and when they heard that Lizanka was worse +they had a service sung for her. Though they have no education, they +have their feelings, too."</p> + +<p>"It looks as though you have no man in the house at all," said Korolyov.</p> + +<p>"Not one. Pyotr Nikanoritch died a year and a half ago, and left us +alone. And so there are the three of us. In the summer we live here, and +in winter we live in Moscow, in Polianka. I have been living with them +for eleven years—as one of the family."</p> + +<p>At supper they served sterlet, chicken rissoles, and stewed fruit; the +wines were expensive French wines.</p> + +<p>"Please don't stand on ceremony, doctor," said Christina Dmitryevna, +eating and wiping her mouth with her fist, and it was evident she found +her life here exceedingly pleasant. "Please have some more."</p> + +<p>After supper the doctor was shown to his room, where a bed had been made +up for him, but he did not feel sleepy. The room was stuffy and it smelt +of paint; he put on his coat and went out.</p> + +<p>It was cool in the open air; there was already a glimmer of dawn, and +all the five blocks of buildings, with their tall chimneys, barracks, +and warehouses, were distinctly outlined against the damp air. As it was +a holiday, they were not working, and the windows were dark, and in only +one of the buildings was there a furnace burning; two windows were +crimson, and fire mixed with smoke came from time to time from the +chimney. Far away beyond the yard the frogs were croaking and the +nightingales singing.</p> + +<p>Looking at the factory buildings and the barracks, where the workpeople +were asleep, he thought again what he always thought when he saw a +factory. They may have performances for the workpeople, magic lanterns, +factory doctors, and improvements of all sorts, but, all the same, the +workpeople he had met that day on his way from the station did not look +in any way different from those he had known long ago in his childhood, +before there were factory performances and improvements. As a doctor +accustomed to judging correctly of chronic complaints, the radical cause +of which was incomprehensible and incurable, he looked upon factories as +something baffling, the cause of which also was obscure and not +removable, and all the improvements in the life of the factory hands he +looked upon not as superfluous, but as comparable with the treatment of +incurable illnesses.</p> + +<p>"There is something baffling in it, of course ..." he thought, looking +at the crimson windows. "Fifteen hundred or two thousand workpeople are +working without rest in unhealthy surroundings, making bad cotton goods, +living on the verge of starvation, and only waking from this nightmare +at rare intervals in the tavern; a hundred people act as overseers, and +the whole life of that hundred is spent in imposing fines, in abuse, in +injustice, and only two or three so-called owners enjoy the profits, +though they don't work at all, and despise the wretched cotton. But what +are the profits, and how do they enjoy them? Madame Lyalikov and her +daughter are unhappy—it makes one wretched to look at them; the only +one who enjoys her life is Christina Dmitryevna, a stupid, middle-aged +maiden lady in pince-nez. And so it appears that all these five blocks +of buildings are at work, and inferior cotton is sold in the Eastern +markets, simply that Christina Dmitryevna may eat sterlet and drink +Madeira."</p> + +<p>Suddenly there came a strange noise, the same sound Korolyov had heard +before supper. Some one was striking on a sheet of metal near one of the +buildings; he struck a note, and then at once checked the vibrations, so +that short, abrupt, discordant sounds were produced, rather like "Dair +... dair ... dair...." Then there was half a minute of stillness, and +from another building there came sounds equally abrupt and unpleasant, +lower bass notes: "Drin ... drin ... drin ..." Eleven times. Evidently +it was the watchman striking the hour. Near the third building he heard: +"Zhuk ... zhuk ... zhuk...." And so near all the buildings, and then +behind the barracks and beyond the gates. And in the stillness of the +night it seemed as though these sounds were uttered by a monster with +crimson eyes—the devil himself, who controlled the owners and the +work-people alike, and was deceiving both.</p> + +<p>Korolyov went out of the yard into the open country.</p> + +<p>"Who goes there?" some one called to him at the gates in an abrupt +voice.</p> + +<p>"It's just like being in prison," he thought, and made no answer.</p> + +<p>Here the nightingales and the frogs could be heard more distinctly, and +one could feel it was a night in May. From the station came the noise of +a train; somewhere in the distance drowsy cocks were crowing; but, all +the same, the night was still, the world was sleeping tranquilly. In a +field not far from the factory there could be seen the framework of a +house and heaps of building material.</p> + +<p>Korolyov sat down on the planks and went on thinking.</p> + +<p>"The only person who feels happy here is the governess, and the factory +hands are working for her gratification. But that's only apparent: she +is only the figurehead. The real person, for whom everything is being +done, is the devil."</p> + +<p>And he thought about the devil, in whom he did not believe, and he +looked round at the two windows where the fires were gleaming. It seemed +to him that out of those crimson eyes the devil himself was looking at +him—that unknown force that had created the mutual relation of the +strong and the weak, that coarse blunder which one could never correct. +The strong must hinder the weak from living—such was the law of +Nature; but only in a newspaper article or in a school book was that +intelligible and easily accepted. In the hotchpotch which was everyday +life, in the tangle of trivialities out of which human relations were +woven, it was no longer a law, but a logical absurdity, when the strong +and the weak were both equally victims of their mutual relations, +unwillingly submitting to some directing force, unknown, standing +outside life, apart from man.</p> + +<p>So thought Korolyov, sitting on the planks, and little by little he was +possessed by a feeling that this unknown and mysterious force was really +close by and looking at him. Meanwhile the east was growing paler, time +passed rapidly; when there was not a soul anywhere near, as though +everything were dead, the five buildings and their chimneys against the +grey background of the dawn had a peculiar look—not the same as by day; +one forgot altogether that inside there were steam motors, electricity, +telephones, and kept thinking of lake-dwellings, of the Stone Age, +feeling the presence of a crude, unconscious force....</p> + +<p>And again there came the sound: "Dair ... dair ... dair ... dair ..." +twelve times. Then there was stillness, stillness for half a minute, and +at the other end of the yard there rang out.</p> + +<p>"Drin ... drin ... drin...."</p> + +<p>"Horribly disagreeable," thought Korolyov.</p> + +<p>"Zhuk ... zhuk ..." there resounded from a third place, abruptly, +sharply, as though with annoyance—"Zhuk ... zhuk...."</p> + +<p>And it took four minutes to strike twelve. Then there was a hush; and +again it seemed as though everything were dead.</p> + +<p>Korolyov sat a little longer, then went to the house, but sat up for a +good while longer. In the adjoining rooms there was whispering, there +was a sound of shuffling slippers and bare feet.</p> + +<p>"Is she having another attack?" thought Korolyov.</p> + +<p>He went out to have a look at the patient. By now it was quite light in +the rooms, and a faint glimmer of sunlight, piercing through the morning +mist, quivered on the floor and on the wall of the drawing-room. The +door of Liza's room was open, and she was sitting in a low chair beside +her bed, with her hair down, wearing a dressing-gown and wrapped in a +shawl. The blinds were down on the windows.</p> + +<p>"How do you feel?" asked Korolyov.</p> + +<p>"Well, thank you."</p> + +<p>He touched her pulse, then straightened her hair, that had fallen over +her forehead.</p> + +<p>"You are not asleep," he said. "It's beautiful weather outside. It's +spring. The nightingales are singing, and you sit in the dark and think +of something."</p> + +<p>She listened and looked into his face; her eyes were sorrowful and +intelligent, and it was evident she wanted to say something to him.</p> + +<p>"Does this happen to you often?" he said.</p> + +<p>She moved her lips, and answered:</p> + +<p>"Often, I feel wretched almost every night."</p> + +<p>At that moment the watchman in the yard began striking two o'clock. They +heard: "Dair ... dair ..." and she shuddered.</p> + +<p>"Do those knockings worry you?" he asked.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Everything here worries me," she answered, and pondered. +"Everything worries me. I hear sympathy in your voice; it seemed to me +as soon as I saw you that I could tell you all about it."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, I beg you."</p> + +<p>"I want to tell you of my opinion. It seems to me that I have no +illness, but that I am weary and frightened, because it is bound to be +so and cannot be otherwise. Even the healthiest person can't help being +uneasy if, for instance, a robber is moving about under his window. I am +constantly being doctored," she went on, looking at her knees, and she +gave a shy smile. "I am very grateful, of course, and I do not deny that +the treatment is a benefit; but I should like to talk, not with a +doctor, but with some intimate friend who would understand me and would +convince me that I was right or wrong."</p> + +<p>"Have you no friends?" asked Korolyov.</p> + +<p>"I am lonely. I have a mother; I love her, but, all the same, I am +lonely. That's how it happens to be.... Lonely people read a great deal, +but say little and hear little. Life for them is mysterious; they are +mystics and often see the devil where he is not. Lermontov's Tamara was +lonely and she saw the devil."</p> + +<p>"Do you read a great deal?"</p> + +<p>"Yes. You see, my whole time is free from morning till night. I read by +day, and by night my head is empty; instead of thoughts there are +shadows in it."</p> + +<p>"Do you see anything at night?" asked Korolyov.</p> + +<p>"No, but I feel...."</p> + +<p>She smiled again, raised her eyes to the doctor, and looked at him so +sorrowfully, so intelligently; and it seemed to him that she trusted +him, and that she wanted to speak frankly to him, and that she thought +the same as he did. But she was silent, perhaps waiting for him to +speak.</p> + +<p>And he knew what to say to her. It was clear to him that she needed as +quickly as possible to give up the five buildings and the million if she +had it—to leave that devil that looked out at night; it was clear to +him, too, that she thought so herself, and was only waiting for some one +she trusted to confirm her.</p> + +<p>But he did not know how to say it. How? One is shy of asking men under +sentence what they have been sentenced for; and in the same way it is +awkward to ask very rich people what they want so much money for, why +they make such a poor use of their wealth, why they don't give it up, +even when they see in it their unhappiness; and if they begin a +conversation about it themselves, it is usually embarrassing, awkward, +and long.</p> + +<p>"How is one to say it?" Korolyov wondered. "And is it necessary to +speak?"</p> + +<p>And he said what he meant in a roundabout way:</p> + +<p>"You in the position of a factory owner and a wealthy heiress are +dissatisfied; you don't believe in your right to it; and here now you +can't sleep. That, of course, is better than if you were satisfied, +slept soundly, and thought everything was satisfactory. Your +sleeplessness does you credit; in any case, it is a good sign. In +reality, such a conversation as this between us now would have been +unthinkable for our parents. At night they did not talk, but slept +sound; we, our generation, sleep badly, are restless, but talk a great +deal, and are always trying to settle whether we are right or not. For +our children or grandchildren that question—whether they are right or +not—will have been settled. Things will be clearer for them than for +us. Life will be good in fifty years' time; it's only a pity we shall +not last out till then. It would be interesting to have a peep at it."</p> + +<p>"What will our children and grandchildren do?" asked Liza.</p> + +<p>"I don't know.... I suppose they will throw it all up and go away."</p> + +<p>"Go where?"</p> + +<p>"Where?... Why, where they like," said Korolyov; and he laughed. "There +are lots of places a good, intelligent person can go to."</p> + +<p>He glanced at his watch.</p> + +<p>"The sun has risen, though," he said. "It is time you were asleep. +Undress and sleep soundly. Very glad to have made your acquaintance," he +went on, pressing her hand. "You are a good, interesting woman. +Good-night!"</p> + +<p>He went to his room and went to bed.</p> + +<p>In the morning when the carriage was brought round they all came out on +to the steps to see him off. Liza, pale and exhausted, was in a white +dress as though for a holiday, with a flower in her hair; she looked at +him, as yesterday, sorrowfully and intelligently, smiled and talked, and +all with an expression as though she wanted to tell him something +special, important—him alone. They could hear the larks trilling and +the church bells pealing. The windows in the factory buildings were +sparkling gaily, and, driving across the yard and afterwards along the +road to the station, Korolyov thought neither of the workpeople nor of +lake dwellings, nor of the devil, but thought of the time, perhaps close +at hand, when life would be as bright and joyous as that still Sunday +morning; and he thought how pleasant it was on such a morning in the +spring to drive with three horses in a good carriage, and to bask in the +sunshine.</p> + +<h2><a name="AN_UPHEAVAL" id="AN_UPHEAVAL"></a>AN UPHEAVAL</h2> + +<p class="nind"><big>M</big><small>ASHENKA PAVLETSKY</small>, a young girl who had only just finished her studies +at a boarding school, returning from a walk to the house of the +Kushkins, with whom she was living as a governess, found the household +in a terrible turmoil. Mihailo, the porter who opened the door to her, +was excited and red as a crab.</p> + +<p>Loud voices were heard from upstairs.</p> + +<p>"Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely, or else she has quarrelled +with her husband," thought Mashenka.</p> + +<p>In the hall and in the corridor she met maid-servants. One of them was +crying. Then Mashenka saw, running out of her room, the master of the +house himself, Nikolay Sergeitch, a little man with a flabby face and a +bald head, though he was not old. He was red in the face and twitching +all over. He passed the governess without noticing her, and throwing up +his arms, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Oh, how horrible it is! How tactless! How stupid! How barbarous! +Abominable!"</p> + +<p>Mashenka went into her room, and then, for the first time in her life, +it was her lot to experience in all its acuteness the feeling that is so +familiar to persons in dependent positions, who eat the bread of the +rich and powerful, and cannot speak their minds. There was a search +going on in her room. The lady of the house, Fedosya Vassilyevna, a +stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth woman with thick black eyebrows, a +faintly perceptible moustache, and red hands, who was exactly like a +plain, illiterate cook in face and manners, was standing, without her +cap on, at the table, putting back into Mashenka's workbag balls of +wool, scraps of materials, and bits of paper.... Evidently the +governess's arrival took her by surprise, since, on looking round and +seeing the girl's pale and astonished face, she was a little taken +aback, and muttered:</p> + +<p>"<i>Pardon</i>. I ... I upset it accidentally.... My sleeve caught in it ..."</p> + +<p>And saying something more, Madame Kushkin rustled her long skirts and +went out. Mashenka looked round her room with wondering eyes, and, +unable to understand it, not knowing what to think, shrugged her +shoulders, and turned cold with dismay. What had Fedosya Vassilyevna +been looking for in her work-bag? If she really had, as she said, caught +her sleeve in it and upset everything, why had Nikolay Sergeitch dashed +out of her room so excited and red in the face? Why was one drawer of +the table pulled out a little way? The money-box, in which the governess +put away ten kopeck pieces and old stamps, was open. They had opened it, +but did not know how to shut it, though they had scratched the lock all +over. The whatnot with her books on it, the things on the table, the +bed—all bore fresh traces of a search. Her linen-basket, too. The linen +had been carefully folded, but it was not in the same order as Mashenka +had left it when she went out. So the search had been thorough, most +thorough. But what was it for? Why? What had happened? Mashenka +remembered the excited porter, the general turmoil which was still going +on, the weeping servant-girl; had it not all some connection with the +search that had just been made in her room? Was not she mixed up in +something dreadful? Mashenka turned pale, and feeling cold all over, +sank on to her linen-basket.</p> + +<p>A maid-servant came into the room.</p> + +<p>"Liza, you don't know why they have been rummaging in my room?" the +governess asked her.</p> + +<p>"Mistress has lost a brooch worth two thousand," said Liza.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but why have they been rummaging in my room?"</p> + +<p>"They've been searching every one, miss. They've searched all my things, +too. They stripped us all naked and searched us.... God knows, miss, I +never went near her toilet-table, let alone touching the brooch. I shall +say the same at the police-station."</p> + +<p>"But ... why have they been rummaging here?" the governess still +wondered.</p> + +<p>"A brooch has been stolen, I tell you. The mistress has been rummaging +in everything with her own hands. She even searched Mihailo, the porter, +herself. It's a perfect disgrace! Nikolay Sergeitch simply looks on and +cackles like a hen. But you've no need to tremble like that, miss. They +found nothing here. You've nothing to be afraid of if you didn't take +the brooch."</p> + +<p>"But, Liza, it's vile ... it's insulting," said Mashenka, breathless +with indignation. "It's so mean, so low! What right had she to suspect +me and to rummage in my things?"</p> + +<p>"You are living with strangers, miss," sighed Liza. "Though you are a +young lady, still you are ... as it were ... a servant.... It's not like +living with your papa and mamma."</p> + +<p>Mashenka threw herself on the bed and sobbed bitterly. Never in her life +had she been subjected to such an outrage, never had she been so deeply +insulted.... She, well-educated, refined, the daughter of a teacher, was +suspected of theft; she had been searched like a street-walker! She +could not imagine a greater insult. And to this feeling of resentment +was added an oppressive dread of what would come next. All sorts of +absurd ideas came into her mind. If they could suspect her of theft, +then they might arrest her, strip her naked, and search her, then lead +her through the street with an escort of soldiers, cast her into a cold, +dark cell with mice and woodlice, exactly like the dungeon in which +Princess Tarakanov was imprisoned. Who would stand up for her? Her +parents lived far away in the provinces; they had not the money to come +to her. In the capital she was as solitary as in a desert, without +friends or kindred. They could do what they liked with her.</p> + +<p>"I will go to all the courts and all the lawyers," Mashenka thought, +trembling. "I will explain to them, I will take an oath.... They will +believe that I could not be a thief!"</p> + +<p>Mashenka remembered that under the sheets in her basket she had some +sweetmeats, which, following the habits of her schooldays, she had put +in her pocket at dinner and carried off to her room. She felt hot all +over, and was ashamed at the thought that her little secret was known to +the lady of the house; and all this terror, shame, resentment, brought +on an attack of palpitation of the heart, which set up a throbbing in +her temples, in her heart, and deep down in her stomach.</p> + +<p>"Dinner is ready," the servant summoned Mashenka.</p> + +<p>"Shall I go, or not?"</p> + +<p>Mashenka brushed her hair, wiped her face with a wet towel, and went +into the dining-room. There they had already begun dinner. At one end of +the table sat Fedosya Vassilyevna with a stupid, solemn, serious face; +at the other end Nikolay Sergeitch. At the sides there were the visitors +and the children. The dishes were handed by two footmen in swallowtails +and white gloves. Every one knew that there was an upset in the house, +that Madame Kushkin was in trouble, and every one was silent. Nothing +was heard but the sound of munching and the rattle of spoons on the +plates.</p> + +<p>The lady of the house, herself, was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>"What is the third course?" she asked the footman in a weary, injured +voice.</p> + +<p>"<i>Esturgeon à la russe</i>," answered the footman.</p> + +<p>"I ordered that, Fenya," Nikolay Sergeitch hastened to observe. "I +wanted some fish. If you don't like it, <i>ma chère</i>, don't let them serve +it. I just ordered it...."</p> + +<p>Fedosya Vassilyevna did not like dishes that she had not ordered +herself, and now her eyes filled with tears.</p> + +<p>"Come, don't let us agitate ourselves," Mamikov, her household doctor, +observed in a honeyed voice, just touching her arm, with a smile as +honeyed. "We are nervous enough as it is. Let us forget the brooch! +Health is worth more than two thousand roubles!"</p> + +<p>"It's not the two thousand I regret," answered the lady, and a big tear +rolled down her cheek. "It's the fact itself that revolts me! I cannot +put up with thieves in my house. I don't regret it—I regret nothing; +but to steal from me is such ingratitude! That's how they repay me for +my kindness...."</p> + +<p>They all looked into their plates, but Mashenka fancied after the lady's +words that every one was looking at her. A lump rose in her throat; she +began crying and put her handkerchief to her lips.</p> + +<p>"<i>Pardon</i>," she muttered. "I can't help it. My head aches. I'll go +away."</p> + +<p>And she got up from the table, scraping her chair awkwardly, and went +out quickly, still more overcome with confusion.</p> + +<p>"It's beyond everything!" said Nikolay Sergeitch, frowning. "What need +was there to search her room? How out of place it was!"</p> + +<p>"I don't say she took the brooch," said Fedosya Vassilyevna, "but can +you answer for her? To tell the truth, I haven't much confidence in +these learned paupers."</p> + +<p>"It really was unsuitable, Fenya.... Excuse me, Fenya, but you've no +kind of legal right to make a search."</p> + +<p>"I know nothing about your laws. All I know is that I've lost my brooch. +And I will find the brooch!" She brought her fork down on the plate with +a clatter, and her eyes flashed angrily. "And you eat your dinner, and +don't interfere in what doesn't concern you!"</p> + +<p>Nikolay Sergeitch dropped his eyes mildly and sighed. Meanwhile +Mashenka, reaching her room, flung herself on her bed. She felt now +neither alarm nor shame, but she felt an intense longing to go and slap +the cheeks of this hard, arrogant, dull-witted, prosperous woman.</p> + +<p>Lying on her bed she breathed into her pillow and dreamed of how nice it +would be to go and buy the most expensive brooch and fling it into the +face of this bullying woman. If only it were God's will that Fedosya +Vassilyevna should come to ruin and wander about begging, and should +taste all the horrors of poverty and dependence, and that Mashenka, whom +she had insulted, might give her alms! Oh, if only she could come in for +a big fortune, could buy a carriage, and could drive noisily past the +windows so as to be envied by that woman!</p> + +<p>But all these were only dreams, in reality there was only one thing left +to do—to get away as quickly as possible, not to stay another hour in +this place. It was true it was terrible to lose her place, to go back to +her parents, who had nothing; but what could she do? Mashenka could not +bear the sight of the lady of the house nor of her little room; she felt +stifled and wretched here. She was so disgusted with Fedosya +Vassilyevna, who was so obsessed by her illnesses and her supposed +aristocratic rank, that everything in the world seemed to have become +coarse and unattractive because this woman was living in it. Mashenka +jumped up from the bed and began packing.</p> + +<p>"May I come in?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch at the door; he had come up +noiselessly to the door, and spoke in a soft, subdued voice. "May I?"</p> + +<p>"Come in."</p> + +<p>He came in and stood still near the door. His eyes looked dim and his +red little nose was shiny. After dinner he used to drink beer, and the +fact was perceptible in his walk, in his feeble, flabby hands.</p> + +<p>"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the basket.</p> + +<p>"I am packing. Forgive me, Nikolay Sergeitch, but I cannot remain in +your house. I feel deeply insulted by this search!"</p> + +<p>"I understand.... Only you are wrong to go. Why should you? They've +searched your things, but you ... what does it matter to you? You will +be none the worse for it."</p> + +<p>Mashenka was silent and went on packing. Nikolay Sergeitch pinched his +moustache, as though wondering what he should say next, and went on in +an ingratiating voice:</p> + +<p>"I understand, of course, but you must make allowances. You know my wife +is nervous, headstrong; you mustn't judge her too harshly."</p> + +<p>Mashenka did not speak.</p> + +<p>"If you are so offended," Nikolay Sergeitch went on, "well, if you like, +I'm ready to apologise. I ask your pardon."</p> + +<p>Mashenka made no answer, but only bent lower over her box. This +exhausted, irresolute man was of absolutely no significance in the +household. He stood in the pitiful position of a dependent and +hanger-on, even with the servants, and his apology meant nothing either.</p> + +<p>"H'm!... You say nothing! That's not enough for you. In that case, I +will apologise for my wife. In my wife's name.... She behaved +tactlessly, I admit it as a gentleman...."</p> + +<p>Nikolay Sergeitch walked about the room, heaved a sigh, and went on:</p> + +<p>"Then you want me to have it rankling here, under my heart.... You want +my conscience to torment me...."</p> + +<p>"I know it's not your fault, Nikolay Sergeitch," said Mashenka, looking +him full in the face with her big tear-stained eyes. "Why should you +worry yourself?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, no.... But still, don't you ... go away. I entreat you."</p> + +<p>Mashenka shook her head. Nikolay Sergeitch stopped at the window and +drummed on the pane with his finger-tips.</p> + +<p>"Such misunderstandings are simply torture to me," he said. "Why, do you +want me to go down on my knees to you, or what? Your pride is wounded, +and here you've been crying and packing up to go; but I have pride, too, +and you do not spare it! Or do you want me to tell you what I would not +tell as Confession? Do you? Listen; you want me to tell you what I won't +tell the priest on my deathbed?"</p> + +<p>Mashenka made no answer.</p> + +<p>"I took my wife's brooch," Nikolay Sergeitch said quickly. "Is that +enough now? Are you satisfied? Yes, I ... took it.... But, of course, I +count on your discretion.... For God's sake, not a word, not half a hint +to any one!"</p> + +<p>Mashenka, amazed and frightened, went on packing; she snatched her +things, crumpled them up, and thrust them anyhow into the box and the +basket. Now, after this candid avowal on the part of Nikolay Sergeitch, +she could not remain another minute, and could not understand how she +could have gone on living in the house before.</p> + +<p>"And it's nothing to wonder at," Nikolay Sergeitch went on after a +pause. "It's an everyday story! I need money, and she ... won't give it +to me. It was my father's money that bought this house and everything, +you know! It's all mine, and the brooch belonged to my mother, and ... +it's all mine! And she took it, took possession of everything.... I +can't go to law with her, you'll admit.... I beg you most earnestly, +overlook it ... stay on. <i>Tout comprendre, tout pardonner.</i> Will you +stay?"</p> + +<p>"No!" said Mashenka resolutely, beginning to tremble. "Let me alone, I +entreat you!"</p> + +<p>"Well, God bless you!" sighed Nikolay Sergeitch, sitting down on the +stool near the box. "I must own I like people who still can feel +resentment, contempt, and so on. I could sit here forever and look at +your indignant face.... So you won't stay, then? I understand.... It's +bound to be so ... Yes, of course.... It's all right for you, but for +me—wo-o-o-o!... I can't stir a step out of this cellar. I'd go off to +one of our estates, but in every one of them there are some of my wife's +rascals ... stewards, experts, damn them all! They mortgage and +remortgage.... You mustn't catch fish, must keep off the grass, mustn't +break the trees."</p> + +<p>"Nikolay Sergeitch!" his wife's voice called from the drawing-room. +"Agnia, call your master!"</p> + +<p>"Then you won't stay?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch, getting up quickly and +going towards the door. "You might as well stay, really. In the evenings +I could come and have a talk with you. Eh? Stay! If you go, there won't +be a human face left in the house. It's awful!"</p> + +<p>Nikolay Sergeitch's pale, exhausted face besought her, but Mashenka +shook her head, and with a wave of his hand he went out.</p> + +<p>Half an hour later she was on her way.</p> + +<h2><a name="IONITCH" id="IONITCH"></a>IONITCH</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="nind"><big>W</big><small>HEN</small> visitors to the provincial town S—— complained of the dreariness +and monotony of life, the inhabitants of the town, as though defending +themselves, declared that it was very nice in S——, that there was a +library, a theatre, a club; that they had balls; and, finally, that +there were clever, agreeable, and interesting families with whom one +could make acquaintance. And they used to point to the family of the +Turkins as the most highly cultivated and talented.</p> + +<p>This family lived in their own house in the principal street, near the +Governor's. Ivan Petrovitch Turkin himself—a stout, handsome, dark man +with whiskers—used to get up amateur performances for benevolent +objects, and used to take the part of an elderly general and cough very +amusingly. He knew a number of anecdotes, charades, proverbs, and was +fond of being humorous and witty, and he always wore an expression from +which it was impossible to tell whether he were joking or in earnest. +His wife, Vera Iosifovna—a thin, nice-looking lady who wore a +pince-nez—used to write novels and stories, and was very fond of +reading them aloud to her visitors. The daughter, Ekaterina Ivanovna, a +young girl, used to play on the piano. In short, every member of the +family had a special talent. The Turkins welcomed visitors, and +good-humouredly displayed their talents with genuine simplicity. Their +stone house was roomy and cool in summer; half of the windows looked +into a shady old garden, where nightingales used to sing in the spring. +When there were visitors in the house, there was a clatter of knives in +the kitchen and a smell of fried onions in the yard—and that was always +a sure sign of a plentiful and savoury supper to follow.</p> + +<p>And as soon as Dmitri Ionitch Startsev was appointed the district +doctor, and took up his abode at Dyalizh, six miles from S——, he, too, +was told that as a cultivated man it was essential for him to make the +acquaintance of the Turkins. In the winter he was introduced to Ivan +Petrovitch in the street; they talked about the weather, about the +theatre, about the cholera; an invitation followed. On a holiday in the +spring—it was Ascension Day—after seeing his patients, Startsev set +off for town in search of a little recreation and to make some +purchases. He walked in a leisurely way (he had not yet set up his +carriage), humming all the time:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Before I'd drunk the tears from life's goblet....'"</span> +</div></div> + +<p>In town he dined, went for a walk in the gardens, then Ivan +Petrovitch's invitation came into his mind, as it were of itself, +and he decided to call on the Turkins and see what sort of people +they were.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, if you please?" said Ivan Petrovitch, meeting him +on the steps. "Delighted, delighted to see such an agreeable visitor. +Come along; I will introduce you to my better half. I tell him, +Verotchka," he went on, as he presented the doctor to his wife—"I +tell him that he has no human right to sit at home in a hospital; +he ought to devote his leisure to society. Oughtn't he, darling?"</p> + +<p>"Sit here," said Vera Iosifovna, making her visitor sit down beside +her. "You can dance attendance on me. My husband is jealous—he +is an Othello; but we will try and behave so well that he will +notice nothing."</p> + +<p>"Ah, you spoilt chicken!" Ivan Petrovitch muttered tenderly, and +he kissed her on the forehead. "You have come just in the nick of +time," he said, addressing the doctor again. "My better half has +written a 'hugeous' novel, and she is going to read it aloud to-day."</p> + +<p>"Petit Jean," said Vera Iosifovna to her husband, "dites que l'on +nous donne du thé."</p> + +<p>Startsev was introduced to Ekaterina Ivanovna, a girl of eighteen, +very much like her mother, thin and pretty. Her expression was still +childish and her figure was soft and slim; and her developed girlish +bosom, healthy and beautiful, was suggestive of spring, real spring.</p> + +<p>Then they drank tea with jam, honey, and sweetmeats, and with very +nice cakes, which melted in the mouth. As the evening came on, other +visitors gradually arrived, and Ivan Petrovitch fixed his laughing +eyes on each of them and said:</p> + +<p>"How do you do, if you please?"</p> + +<p>Then they all sat down in the drawing-room with very serious faces, +and Vera Iosifovna read her novel. It began like this: "The frost +was intense...." The windows were wide open; from the kitchen +came the clatter of knives and the smell of fried onions.... It +was comfortable in the soft deep arm-chair; the lights had such a +friendly twinkle in the twilight of the drawing-room, and at the +moment on a summer evening when sounds of voices and laughter floated +in from the street and whiffs of lilac from the yard, it was difficult +to grasp that the frost was intense, and that the setting sun was +lighting with its chilly rays a solitary wayfarer on the snowy +plain. Vera Iosifovna read how a beautiful young countess founded +a school, a hospital, a library, in her village, and fell in love +with a wandering artist; she read of what never happens in real +life, and yet it was pleasant to listen—it was comfortable, and +such agreeable, serene thoughts kept coming into the mind, one had +no desire to get up.</p> + +<p>"Not badsome ..." Ivan Petrovitch said softly.</p> + +<p>And one of the visitors hearing, with his thoughts far away, said +hardly audibly:</p> + +<p>"Yes ... truly...."</p> + +<p>One hour passed, another. In the town gardens close by a band was +playing and a chorus was singing. When Vera Iosifovna shut her +manuscript book, the company was silent for five minutes, listening +to "Lutchina" being sung by the chorus, and the song gave what was +not in the novel and is in real life.</p> + +<p>"Do you publish your stories in magazines?" Startsev asked Vera +Iosifovna.</p> + +<p>"No," she answered. "I never publish. I write it and put it away +in my cupboard. Why publish?" she explained. "We have enough to +live on."</p> + +<p>And for some reason every one sighed.</p> + +<p>"And now, Kitten, you play something," Ivan Petrovitch said to his +daughter.</p> + +<p>The lid of the piano was raised and the music lying ready was opened. +Ekaterina Ivanovna sat down and banged on the piano with both hands, +and then banged again with all her might, and then again and again; +her shoulders and bosom shook. She obstinately banged on the same +notes, and it sounded as if she would not leave off until she had +hammered the keys into the piano. The drawing-room was filled with +the din; everything was resounding; the floor, the ceiling, the +furniture.... Ekaterina Ivanovna was playing a difficult passage, +interesting simply on account of its difficulty, long and monotonous, +and Startsev, listening, pictured stones dropping down a steep hill +and going on dropping, and he wished they would leave off dropping; +and at the same time Ekaterina Ivanovna, rosy from the violent +exercise, strong and vigorous, with a lock of hair falling over her +forehead, attracted him very much. After the winter spent at Dyalizh +among patients and peasants, to sit in a drawing-room, to watch +this young, elegant, and, in all probability, pure creature, and +to listen to these noisy, tedious but still cultured sounds, was +so pleasant, so novel....</p> + +<p>"Well, Kitten, you have played as never before," said Ivan Petrovitch, +with tears in his eyes, when his daughter had finished and stood +up. "Die, Denis; you won't write anything better."</p> + +<p>All flocked round her, congratulated her, expressed astonishment, +declared that it was long since they had heard such music, and she +listened in silence with a faint smile, and her whole figure was +expressive of triumph.</p> + +<p>"Splendid, superb!"</p> + +<p>"Splendid," said Startsev, too, carried away by the general enthusiasm. +"Where have you studied?" he asked Ekaterina Ivanovna. "At the +Conservatoire?"</p> + +<p>"No, I am only preparing for the Conservatoire, and till now have +been working with Madame Zavlovsky."</p> + +<p>"Have you finished at the high school here?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no," Vera Iosifovna answered for her, "We have teachers for +her at home; there might be bad influences at the high school or a +boarding school, you know. While a young girl is growing up, she +ought to be under no influence but her mother's."</p> + +<p>"All the same, I'm going to the Conservatoire," said Ekaterina +Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>"No. Kitten loves her mamma. Kitten won't grieve papa and mamma."</p> + +<p>"No, I'm going, I'm going," said Ekaterina Ivanovna, with playful +caprice and stamping her foot.</p> + +<p>And at supper it was Ivan Petrovitch who displayed his talents. +Laughing only with his eyes, he told anecdotes, made epigrams, asked +ridiculous riddles and answered them himself, talking the whole +time in his extraordinary language, evolved in the course of prolonged +practice in witticism and evidently now become a habit: "Badsome," +"Hugeous," "Thank you most dumbly," and so on.</p> + +<p>But that was not all. When the guests, replete and satisfied, trooped +into the hall, looking for their coats and sticks, there bustled +about them the footman Pavlusha, or, as he was called in the family, +Pava—a lad of fourteen with shaven head and chubby cheeks.</p> + +<p>"Come, Pava, perform!" Ivan Petrovitch said to him.</p> + +<p>Pava struck an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic +tone: "Unhappy woman, die!"</p> + +<p>And every one roared with laughter.</p> + +<p>"It's entertaining," thought Startsev, as he went out into the +street.</p> + +<p>He went to a restaurant and drank some beer, then set off to walk +home to Dyalizh; he walked all the way singing:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Thy voice to me so languid and caressing....'"</span> +</div></div> + +<p>On going to bed, he felt not the slightest fatigue after the six miles' +walk. On the contrary, he felt as though he could with pleasure have +walked another twenty.</p> + +<p>"Not badsome," he thought, and laughed as he fell asleep.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>Startsev kept meaning to go to the Turkins' again, but there was a great +deal of work in the hospital, and he was unable to find free time. In +this way more than a year passed in work and solitude. But one day a +letter in a light blue envelope was brought him from the town.</p> + +<p>Vera Iosifovna had been suffering for some time from migraine, but now +since Kitten frightened her every day by saying that she was going away +to the Conservatoire, the attacks began to be more frequent. All the +doctors of the town had been at the Turkins'; at last it was the +district doctor's turn. Vera Iosifovna wrote him a touching letter in +which she begged him to come and relieve her sufferings. Startsev went, +and after that he began to be often, very often at the Turkins'.... He +really did something for Vera Iosifovna, and she was already telling all +her visitors that he was a wonderful and exceptional doctor. But it was +not for the sake of her migraine that he visited the Turkins' now....</p> + +<p>It was a holiday. Ekaterina Ivanovna finished her long, wearisome +exercises on the piano. Then they sat a long time in the dining-room, +drinking tea, and Ivan Petrovitch told some amusing story. Then there +was a ring and he had to go into the hall to welcome a guest; Startsev +took advantage of the momentary commotion, and whispered to Ekaterina +Ivanovna in great agitation:</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, I entreat you, don't torment me; let us go into the +garden!"</p> + +<p>She shrugged her shoulders, as though perplexed and not knowing what he +wanted of her, but she got up and went.</p> + +<p>"You play the piano for three or four hours," he said, following her; +"then you sit with your mother, and there is no possibility of speaking +to you. Give me a quarter of an hour at least, I beseech you."</p> + +<p>Autumn was approaching, and it was quiet and melancholy in the old +garden; the dark leaves lay thick in the walks. It was already beginning +to get dark early.</p> + +<p>"I haven't seen you for a whole week," Startsev went on, "and if you +only knew what suffering it is! Let us sit down. Listen to me."</p> + +<p>They had a favourite place in the garden; a seat under an old spreading +maple. And now they sat down on this seat.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" said Ekaterina Ivanovna drily, in a matter-of-fact +tone.</p> + +<p>"I have not seen you for a whole week; I have not heard you for so long. +I long passionately, I thirst for your voice. Speak."</p> + +<p>She fascinated him by her freshness, the naïve expression of her eyes +and cheeks. Even in the way her dress hung on her, he saw something +extraordinarily charming, touching in its simplicity and naïve grace; +and at the same time, in spite of this naïveté, she seemed to him +intelligent and developed beyond her years. He could talk with her about +literature, about art, about anything he liked; could complain to her of +life, of people, though it sometimes happened in the middle of serious +conversation she would laugh inappropriately or run away into the house. +Like almost all girls of her neighbourhood, she had read a great deal +(as a rule, people read very little in S——, and at the lending library +they said if it were not for the girls and the young Jews, they might as +well shut up the library). This afforded Startsev infinite delight; he +used to ask her eagerly every time what she had been reading the last +few days, and listened enthralled while she told him.</p> + +<p>"What have you been reading this week since I saw you last?" he asked +now. "Do please tell me."</p> + +<p>"I have been reading Pisemsky."</p> + +<p>"What exactly?"</p> + +<p>"'A Thousand Souls,'" answered Kitten. "And what a funny name Pisemsky +had—Alexey Feofilaktitch!"</p> + +<p>"Where are you going?" cried Startsev in horror, as she suddenly got up +and walked towards the house. "I must talk to you; I want to explain +myself.... Stay with me just five minutes, I supplicate you!"</p> + +<p>She stopped as though she wanted to say something, then awkwardly thrust +a note into his hand, ran home and sat down to the piano again.</p> + +<p>"Be in the cemetery," Startsev read, "at eleven o'clock to-night, near +the tomb of Demetti."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's not at all clever," he thought, coming to himself. "Why +the cemetery? What for?"</p> + +<p>It was clear: Kitten was playing a prank. Who would seriously dream of +making an appointment at night in the cemetery far out of the town, when +it might have been arranged in the street or in the town gardens? And +was it in keeping with him—a district doctor, an intelligent, staid +man—to be sighing, receiving notes, to hang about cemeteries, to do +silly things that even schoolboys think ridiculous nowadays? What would +this romance lead to? What would his colleagues say when they heard of +it? Such were Startsev's reflections as he wandered round the tables at +the club, and at half-past ten he suddenly set off for the cemetery.</p> + +<p>By now he had his own pair of horses, and a coachman called Panteleimon, +in a velvet waistcoat. The moon was shining. It was still warm, warm as +it is in autumn. Dogs were howling in the suburb near the +slaughter-house. Startsev left his horses in one of the side-streets at +the end of the town, and walked on foot to the cemetery.</p> + +<p>"We all have our oddities," he thought. "Kitten is odd, too; and—who +knows?—perhaps she is not joking, perhaps she will come"; and he +abandoned himself to this faint, vain hope, and it intoxicated him.</p> + +<p>He walked for half a mile through the fields; the cemetery showed as a +dark streak in the distance, like a forest or a big garden. The wall of +white stone came into sight, the gate.... In the moonlight he could read +on the gate: "The hour cometh." Startsev went in at the little gate, and +before anything else he saw the white crosses and monuments on both +sides of the broad avenue, and the black shadows of them and the +poplars; and for a long way round it was all white and black, and the +slumbering trees bowed their branches over the white stones. It seemed +as though it were lighter here than in the fields; the maple-leaves +stood out sharply like paws on the yellow sand of the avenue and on the +stones, and the inscriptions on the tombs could be clearly read. For the +first moments Startsev was struck now by what he saw for the first time +in his life, and what he would probably never see again; a world not +like anything else, a world in which the moonlight was as soft and +beautiful, as though slumbering here in its cradle, where there was no +life, none whatever; but in every dark poplar, in every tomb, there was +felt the presence of a mystery that promised a life peaceful, beautiful, +eternal. The stones and faded flowers, together with the autumn scent of +the leaves, all told of forgiveness, melancholy, and peace.</p> + +<p>All was silence around; the stars looked down from the sky in the +profound stillness, and Startsev's footsteps sounded loud and out of +place, and only when the church clock began striking and he imagined +himself dead, buried there for ever, he felt as though some one were +looking at him, and for a moment he thought that it was not peace and +tranquillity, but stifled despair, the dumb dreariness of +non-existence....</p> + +<p>Demetti's tomb was in the form of a shrine with an angel at the top. The +Italian opera had once visited S—— and one of the singers had died; +she had been buried here, and this monument put up to her. No one in the +town remembered her, but the lamp at the entrance reflected the +moonlight, and looked as though it were burning.</p> + +<p>There was no one, and, indeed, who would come here at midnight? But +Startsev waited, and as though the moonlight warmed his passion, he +waited passionately, and, in imagination, pictured kisses and embraces. +He sat near the monument for half an hour, then paced up and down the +side avenues, with his hat in his hand, waiting and thinking of the many +women and girls buried in these tombs who had been beautiful and +fascinating, who had loved, at night burned with passion, yielding +themselves to caresses. How wickedly Mother Nature jested at man's +expense, after all! How humiliating it was to recognise it!</p> + +<p>Startsev thought this, and at the same time he wanted to cry out that he +wanted love, that he was eager for it at all costs. To his eyes they +were not slabs of marble, but fair white bodies in the moonlight; he saw +shapes hiding bashfully in the shadows of the trees, felt their warmth, +and the languor was oppressive....</p> + +<p>And as though a curtain were lowered, the moon went behind a cloud, and +suddenly all was darkness. Startsev could scarcely find the gate—by now +it was as dark as it is on an autumn night. Then he wandered about for +an hour and a half, looking for the side-street in which he had left his +horses.</p> + +<p>"I am tired; I can scarcely stand on my legs," he said to Panteleimon.</p> + +<p>And settling himself with relief in his carriage, he thought: "Och! I +ought not to get fat!"</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>The following evening he went to the Turkins' to make an offer. But it +turned out to be an inconvenient moment, as Ekaterina Ivanovna was in +her own room having her hair done by a hair-dresser. She was getting +ready to go to a dance at the club.</p> + +<p>He had to sit a long time again in the dining-room drinking tea. Ivan +Petrovitch, seeing that his visitor was bored and preoccupied, drew some +notes out of his waistcoat pocket, read a funny letter from a German +steward, saying that all the ironmongery was ruined and the plasticity +was peeling off the walls.</p> + +<p>"I expect they will give a decent dowry," thought Startsev, listening +absent-mindedly.</p> + +<p>After a sleepless night, he found himself in a state of stupefaction, as +though he had been given something sweet and soporific to drink; there +was fog in his soul, but joy and warmth, and at the same time a sort of +cold, heavy fragment of his brain was reflecting:</p> + +<p>"Stop before it is too late! Is she the match for you? She is spoilt, +whimsical, sleeps till two o'clock in the afternoon, while you are a +deacon's son, a district doctor...."</p> + +<p>"What of it?" he thought. "I don't care."</p> + +<p>"Besides, if you marry her," the fragment went on, "then her relations +will make you give up the district work and live in the town."</p> + +<p>"After all," he thought, "if it must be the town, the town it must be. +They will give a dowry; we can establish ourselves suitably."</p> + +<p>At last Ekaterina Ivanovna came in, dressed for the ball, with a low +neck, looking fresh and pretty; and Startsev admired her so much, and +went into such ecstasies, that he could say nothing, but simply stared +at her and laughed.</p> + +<p>She began saying good-bye, and he—he had no reason for staying now—got +up, saying that it was time for him to go home; his patients were +waiting for him.</p> + +<p>"Well, there's no help for that," said Ivan Petrovitch. "Go, and you +might take Kitten to the club on the way."</p> + +<p>It was spotting with rain; it was very dark, and they could only tell +where the horses were by Panteleimon's husky cough. The hood of the +carriage was put up.</p> + +<p>"I stand upright; you lie down right; he lies all right," said Ivan +Petrovitch as he put his daughter into the carriage.</p> + +<p>They drove off.</p> + +<p>"I was at the cemetery yesterday," Startsev began. "How ungenerous and +merciless it was on your part!..."</p> + +<p>"You went to the cemetery?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I went there and waited almost till two o'clock. I suffered...."</p> + +<p>"Well, suffer, if you cannot understand a joke."</p> + +<p>Ekaterina Ivanovna, pleased at having so cleverly taken in a man who was +in love with her, and at being the object of such intense love, burst +out laughing and suddenly uttered a shriek of terror, for, at that very +minute, the horses turned sharply in at the gate of the club, and the +carriage almost tilted over. Startsev put his arm round Ekaterina +Ivanovna's waist; in her fright she nestled up to him, and he could not +restrain himself, and passionately kissed her on the lips and on the +chin, and hugged her more tightly.</p> + +<p>"That's enough," she said drily.</p> + +<p>And a minute later she was not in the carriage, and a policeman near the +lighted entrance of the club shouted in a detestable voice to +Panteleimon:</p> + +<p>"What are you stopping for, you crow? Drive on."</p> + +<p>Startsev drove home, but soon afterwards returned. Attired in another +man's dress suit and a stiff white tie which kept sawing at his neck and +trying to slip away from the collar, he was sitting at midnight in the +club drawing-room, and was saying with enthusiasm to Ekaterina Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>"Ah, how little people know who have never loved! It seems to me that no +one has ever yet written of love truly, and I doubt whether this tender, +joyful, agonising feeling can be described, and any one who has once +experienced it would not attempt to put it into words. What is the use +of preliminaries and introductions? What is the use of unnecessary fine +words? My love is immeasurable. I beg, I beseech you," Startsev brought +out at last, "be my wife!"</p> + +<p>"Dmitri Ionitch," said Ekaterina Ivanovna, with a very grave face, after +a moment's thought—"Dmitri Ionitch, I am very grateful to you for the +honour. I respect you, but ..." she got up and continued standing, "but, +forgive me, I cannot be your wife. Let us talk seriously. Dmitri +Ionitch, you know I love art beyond everything in life. I adore music; I +love it frantically; I have dedicated my whole life to it. I want to be +an artist; I want fame, success, freedom, and you want me to go on +living in this town, to go on living this empty, useless life, which has +become insufferable to me. To become a wife—oh, no, forgive me! One +must strive towards a lofty, glorious goal, and married life would put +me in bondage for ever. Dmitri Ionitch" (she faintly smiled as she +pronounced his name; she thought of "Alexey Feofilaktitch")—"Dmitri +Ionitch, you are a good, clever, honourable man; you are better than any +one...." Tears came into her eyes. "I feel for you with my whole heart, +but ... but you will understand...."</p> + +<p>And she turned away and went out of the drawing-room to prevent herself +from crying.</p> + +<p>Startsev's heart left off throbbing uneasily. Going out of the club into +the street, he first of all tore off the stiff tie and drew a deep +breath. He was a little ashamed and his vanity was wounded—he had not +expected a refusal—and could not believe that all his dreams, his hopes +and yearnings, had led him up to such a stupid end, just as in some +little play at an amateur performance, and he was sorry for his feeling, +for that love of his, so sorry that he felt as though he could have +burst into sobs or have violently belaboured Panteleimon's broad back +with his umbrella.</p> + +<p>For three days he could not get on with anything, he could not eat nor +sleep; but when the news reached him that Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone +away to Moscow to enter the Conservatoire, he grew calmer and lived as +before.</p> + +<p>Afterwards, remembering sometimes how he had wandered about the cemetery +or how he had driven all over the town to get a dress suit, he stretched +lazily and said:</p> + +<p>"What a lot of trouble, though!"</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Four years had passed. Startsev already had a large practice in the +town. Every morning he hurriedly saw his patients at Dyalizh, then he +drove in to see his town patients. By now he drove, not with a pair, but +with a team of three with bells on them, and he returned home late at +night. He had grown broader and stouter, and was not very fond of +walking, as he was somewhat asthmatic. And Panteleimon had grown stout, +too, and the broader he grew, the more mournfully he sighed and +complained of his hard luck: he was sick of driving! Startsev used to +visit various households and met many people, but did not become +intimate with any one. The inhabitants irritated him by their +conversation, their views of life, and even their appearance. Experience +taught him by degrees that while he played cards or lunched with one of +these people, the man was a peaceable, friendly, and even intelligent +human being; that as soon as one talked of anything not eatable, for +instance, of politics or science, he would be completely at a loss, or +would expound a philosophy so stupid and ill-natured that there was +nothing else to do but wave one's hand in despair and go away. Even when +Startsev tried to talk to liberal citizens, saying, for instance, that +humanity, thank God, was progressing, and that one day it would be +possible to dispense with passports and capital punishment, the liberal +citizen would look at him askance and ask him mistrustfully: "Then any +one could murder any one he chose in the open street?" And when, at tea +or supper, Startsev observed in company that one should work, and that +one ought not to live without working, every one took this as a +reproach, and began to get angry and argue aggressively. With all that, +the inhabitants did nothing, absolutely nothing, and took no interest in +anything, and it was quite impossible to think of anything to say. And +Startsev avoided conversation, and confined himself to eating and +playing <i>vint</i>; and when there was a family festivity in some household +and he was invited to a meal, then he sat and ate in silence, looking at +his plate.</p> + +<p>And everything that was said at the time was uninteresting, unjust, and +stupid; he felt irritated and disturbed, but held his tongue, and, +because he sat glumly silent and looked at his plate, he was nicknamed +in the town "the haughty Pole," though he never had been a Pole.</p> + +<p>All such entertainments as theatres and concerts he declined, but he +played <i>vint</i> every evening for three hours with enjoyment. He had +another diversion to which he took imperceptibly, little by little: in +the evening he would take out of his pockets the notes he had gained by +his practice, and sometimes there were stuffed in his pockets +notes—yellow and green, and smelling of scent and vinegar and incense +and fish oil—up to the value of seventy roubles; and when they amounted +to some hundreds he took them to the Mutual Credit Bank and deposited +the money there to his account.</p> + +<p>He was only twice at the Turkins' in the course of the four years after +Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone away, on each occasion at the invitation of +Vera Iosifovna, who was still undergoing treatment for migraine. Every +summer Ekaterina Ivanovna came to stay with her parents, but he did not +once see her; it somehow never happened.</p> + +<p>But now four years had passed. One still, warm morning a letter was +brought to the hospital. Vera Iosifovna wrote to Dmitri Ionitch that she +was missing him very much, and begged him to come and see them, and to +relieve her sufferings; and, by the way, it was her birthday. Below was +a postscript: "I join in mother's request.—K."</p> + +<p>Startsev considered, and in the evening he went to the Turkins'.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, if you please?" Ivan Petrovitch met him, smiling with +his eyes only. "Bongjour."</p> + +<p>Vera Iosifovna, white-haired and looking much older, shook Startsev's +hand, sighed affectedly, and said:</p> + +<p>"You don't care to pay attentions to me, doctor. You never come and see +us; I am too old for you. But now some one young has come; perhaps she +will be more fortunate."</p> + +<p>And Kitten? She had grown thinner, paler, had grown handsomer and more +graceful; but now she was Ekaterina Ivanovna, not Kitten; she had lost +the freshness and look of childish naïveté. And in her expression and +manners there was something new—guilty and diffident, as though she did +not feel herself at home here in the Turkins' house.</p> + +<p>"How many summers, how many winters!" she said, giving Startsev her +hand, and he could see that her heart was beating with excitement; and +looking at him intently and curiously, she went on: "How much stouter +you are! You look sunburnt and more manly, but on the whole you have +changed very little."</p> + +<p>Now, too, he thought her attractive, very attractive, but there was +something lacking in her, or else something superfluous—he could not +himself have said exactly what it was, but something prevented him from +feeling as before. He did not like her pallor, her new expression, her +faint smile, her voice, and soon afterwards he disliked her clothes, +too, the low chair in which she was sitting; he disliked something in +the past when he had almost married her. He thought of his love, of the +dreams and the hopes which had troubled him four years before—and he +felt awkward.</p> + +<p>They had tea with cakes. Then Vera Iosifovna read aloud a novel; she +read of things that never happen in real life, and Startsev listened, +looked at her handsome grey head, and waited for her to finish.</p> + +<p>"People are not stupid because they can't write novels, but because they +can't conceal it when they do," he thought.</p> + +<p>"Not badsome," said Ivan Petrovitch.</p> + +<p>Then Ekaterina Ivanovna played long and noisily on the piano, and when +she finished she was profusely thanked and warmly praised.</p> + +<p>"It's a good thing I did not marry her," thought Startsev.</p> + +<p>She looked at him, and evidently expected him to ask her to go into the +garden, but he remained silent.</p> + +<p>"Let us have a talk," she said, going up to him. "How are you getting +on? What are you doing? How are things? I have been thinking about you +all these days," she went on nervously. "I wanted to write to you, +wanted to come myself to see you at Dyalizh. I quite made up my mind to +go, but afterwards I thought better of it. God knows what your attitude +is towards me now; I have been looking forward to seeing you to-day with +such emotion. For goodness' sake let us go into the garden."</p> + +<p>They went into the garden and sat down on the seat under the old maple, +just as they had done four years before. It was dark.</p> + +<p>"How are you getting on?" asked Ekaterina Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>"Oh, all right; I am jogging along," answered Startsev.</p> + +<p>And he could think of nothing more. They were silent.</p> + +<p>"I feel so excited!" said Ekaterina Ivanovna, and she hid her face in +her hands. "But don't pay attention to it. I am so happy to be at home; +I am so glad to see every one. I can't get used to it. So many memories! +I thought we should talk without stopping till morning."</p> + +<p>Now he saw her face near, her shining eyes, and in the darkness she +looked younger than in the room, and even her old childish expression +seemed to have come back to her. And indeed she was looking at him with +naïve curiosity, as though she wanted to get a closer view and +understanding of the man who had loved her so ardently, with such +tenderness, and so unsuccessfully; her eyes thanked him for that love. +And he remembered all that had been, every minute detail; how he had +wandered about the cemetery, how he had returned home in the morning +exhausted, and he suddenly felt sad and regretted the past. A warmth +began glowing in his heart.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember how I took you to the dance at the club?" he asked. "It +was dark and rainy then ..."</p> + +<p>The warmth was glowing now in his heart, and he longed to talk, to rail +at life....</p> + +<p>"Ech!" he said with a sigh. "You ask how I am living. How do we live +here? Why, not at all. We grow old, we grow stout, we grow slack. Day +after day passes; life slips by without colour, without expressions, +without thoughts.... In the daytime working for gain, and in the evening +the club, the company of card-players, alcoholic, raucous-voiced +gentlemen whom I can't endure. What is there nice in it?"</p> + +<p>"Well, you have work—a noble object in life. You used to be so fond of +talking of your hospital. I was such a queer girl then; I imagined +myself such a great pianist. Nowadays all young ladies play the piano, +and I played, too, like everybody else, and there was nothing special +about me. I am just such a pianist as my mother is an authoress. And of +course I didn't understand you then, but afterwards in Moscow I often +thought of you. I thought of no one but you. What happiness to be a +district doctor; to help the suffering; to be serving the people! What +happiness!" Ekaterina Ivanovna repeated with enthusiasm. "When I thought +of you in Moscow, you seemed to me so ideal, so lofty...."</p> + +<p>Startsev thought of the notes he used to take out of his pockets in the +evening with such pleasure, and the glow in his heart was quenched.</p> + +<p>He got up to go into the house. She took his arm.</p> + +<p>"You are the best man I've known in my life," she went on. "We will see +each other and talk, won't we? Promise me. I am not a pianist; I am not +in error about myself now, and I will not play before you or talk of +music."</p> + +<p>When they had gone into the house, and when Startsev saw in the +lamplight her face, and her sad, grateful, searching eyes fixed upon +him, he felt uneasy and thought again:</p> + +<p>"It's a good thing I did not marry her then."</p> + +<p>He began taking leave.</p> + +<p>"You have no human right to go before supper," said Ivan Petrovitch as +he saw him off. "It's extremely perpendicular on your part. Well, now, +perform!" he added, addressing Pava in the hall.</p> + +<p>Pava, no longer a boy, but a young man with moustaches, threw himself +into an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic voice:</p> + +<p>"Unhappy woman, die!"</p> + +<p>All this irritated Startsev. Getting into his carriage, and looking at +the dark house and garden which had once been so precious and so dear, +he thought of everything at once—Vera Iosifovna's novels and Kitten's +noisy playing, and Ivan Petrovitch's jokes and Pava's tragic posturing, +and thought if the most talented people in the town were so futile, what +must the town be?</p> + +<p>Three days later Pava brought a letter from Ekaterina Ivanovna.</p> + +<p>"You don't come and see us—why?" she wrote to him. "I am afraid that +you have changed towards us. I am afraid, and I am terrified at the very +thought of it. Reassure me; come and tell me that everything is well.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I must talk to you.—Your E. I."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>He read this letter, thought a moment, and said to Pava:</p> + +<p>"Tell them, my good fellow, that I can't come to-day; I am very busy. +Say I will come in three days or so."</p> + +<p>But three days passed, a week passed; he still did not go. Happening +once to drive past the Turkins' house, he thought he must go in, if only +for a moment, but on second thoughts ... did not go in.</p> + +<p>And he never went to the Turkins' again.</p> + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Several more years have passed. Startsev has grown stouter still, has +grown corpulent, breathes heavily, and already walks with his head +thrown back. When stout and red in the face, he drives with his bells +and his team of three horses, and Panteleimon, also stout and red in the +face with his thick beefy neck, sits on the box, holding his arms +stiffly out before him as though they were made of wood, and shouts to +those he meets: "Keep to the ri-i-ight!" it is an impressive picture; +one might think it was not a mortal, but some heathen deity in his +chariot. He has an immense practice in the town, no time to breathe, and +already has an estate and two houses in the town, and he is looking out +for a third more profitable; and when at the Mutual Credit Bank he is +told of a house that is for sale, he goes to the house without ceremony, +and, marching through all the rooms, regardless of half-dressed women +and children who gaze at him in amazement and alarm, he prods at the +doors with his stick, and says:</p> + +<p>"Is that the study? Is that a bedroom? And what's here?"</p> + +<p>And as he does so he breathes heavily and wipes the sweat from his brow.</p> + +<p>He has a great deal to do, but still he does not give up his work as +district doctor; he is greedy for gain, and he tries to be in all places +at once. At Dyalizh and in the town he is called simply "Ionitch": +"Where is Ionitch off to?" or "Should not we call in Ionitch to a +consultation?"</p> + +<p>Probably because his throat is covered with rolls of fat, his voice has +changed; it has become thin and sharp. His temper has changed, too: he +has grown ill-humoured and irritable. When he sees his patients he is +usually out of temper; he impatiently taps the floor with his stick, and +shouts in his disagreeable voice:</p> + +<p>"Be so good as to confine yourself to answering my questions! Don't talk +so much!"</p> + +<p>He is solitary. He leads a dreary life; nothing interests him.</p> + +<p>During all the years he had lived at Dyalizh his love for Kitten had +been his one joy, and probably his last. In the evenings he plays <i>vint</i> +at the club, and then sits alone at a big table and has supper. Ivan, +the oldest and most respectable of the waiters, serves him, hands him +Lafitte No. 17, and every one at the club—the members of the committee, +the cook and waiters—know what he likes and what he doesn't like and do +their very utmost to satisfy him, or else he is sure to fly into a rage +and bang on the floor with his stick.</p> + +<p>As he eats his supper, he turns round from time to time and puts in his +spoke in some conversation:</p> + +<p>"What are you talking about? Eh? Whom?"</p> + +<p>And when at a neighbouring table there is talk of the Turkins, he asks:</p> + +<p>"What Turkins are you speaking of? Do you mean the people whose daughter +plays on the piano?"</p> + +<p>That is all that can be said about him.</p> + +<p>And the Turkins? Ivan Petrovitch has grown no older; he is not changed +in the least, and still makes jokes and tells anecdotes as of old. Vera +Iosifovna still reads her novels aloud to her visitors with eagerness +and touching simplicity. And Kitten plays the piano for four hours every +day. She has grown visibly older, is constantly ailing, and every autumn +goes to the Crimea with her mother. When Ivan Petrovitch sees them off +at the station, he wipes his tears as the train starts, and shouts:</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, if you please."</p> + +<p>And he waves his handkerchief.</p> + +<h2><a name="THE_HEAD_OF_THE_FAMILY" id="THE_HEAD_OF_THE_FAMILY"></a>THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY</h2> + +<p class="nind"><big>I</big><small>T</small> is, as a rule, after losing heavily at cards or after a drinking-bout +when an attack of dyspepsia is setting in that Stepan Stepanitch Zhilin +wakes up in an exceptionally gloomy frame of mind. He looks sour, +rumpled, and dishevelled; there is an expression of displeasure on his +grey face, as though he were offended or disgusted by something. He +dresses slowly, sips his Vichy water deliberately, and begins walking +about the rooms.</p> + +<p>"I should like to know what b-b-beast comes in here and does not shut +the door!" he grumbles angrily, wrapping his dressing-gown about him and +spitting loudly. "Take away that paper! Why is it lying about here? We +keep twenty servants, and the place is more untidy than a pot-house. Who +was that ringing? Who the devil is that?"</p> + +<p>"That's Anfissa, the midwife who brought our Fedya into the world," +answers his wife.</p> + +<p>"Always hanging about ... these cadging toadies!"</p> + +<p>"There's no making you out, Stepan Stepanitch. You asked her yourself, +and now you scold."</p> + +<p>"I am not scolding; I am speaking. You might find something to do, my +dear, instead of sitting with your hands in your lap trying to pick a +quarrel. Upon my word, women are beyond my comprehension! Beyond my +comprehension! How can they waste whole days doing nothing? A man works +like an ox, like a b-beast, while his wife, the partner of his life, +sits like a pretty doll, sits and does nothing but watch for an +opportunity to quarrel with her husband by way of diversion. It's time +to drop these schoolgirlish ways, my dear. You are not a schoolgirl, not +a young lady; you are a wife and mother! You turn away? Aha! It's not +agreeable to listen to the bitter truth!"</p> + +<p>"It's strange that you only speak the bitter truth when your liver is +out of order."</p> + +<p>"That's right; get up a scene."</p> + +<p>"Have you been out late? Or playing cards?"</p> + +<p>"What if I have? Is that anybody's business? Am I obliged to give an +account of my doings to any one? It's my own money I lose, I suppose? +What I spend as well as what is spent in this house belongs to me—me. +Do you hear? To me!"</p> + +<p>And so on, all in the same style. But at no other time is Stepan +Stepanitch so reasonable, virtuous, stern or just as at dinner, when all +his household are sitting about him. It usually begins with the soup. +After swallowing the first spoonful Zhilin suddenly frowns and puts down +his spoon.</p> + +<p>"Damn it all!" he mutters; "I shall have to dine at a restaurant, I +suppose."</p> + +<p>"What's wrong?" asks his wife anxiously. "Isn't the soup good?"</p> + +<p>"One must have the taste of a pig to eat hogwash like that! There's too +much salt in it; it smells of dirty rags ... more like bugs than +onions.... It's simply revolting, Anfissa Ivanovna," he says, addressing +the midwife. "Every day I give no end of money for housekeeping.... I +deny myself everything, and this is what they provide for my dinner! I +suppose they want me to give up the office and go into the kitchen to do +the cooking myself."</p> + +<p>"The soup is very good to-day," the governess ventures timidly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, you think so?" says Zhilin, looking at her angrily from under his +eyelids. "Every one to his taste, of course. It must be confessed our +tastes are very different, Varvara Vassilyevna. You, for instance, are +satisfied with the behaviour of this boy" (Zhilin with a tragic gesture +points to his son Fedya); "you are delighted with him, while I ... I am +disgusted. Yes!"</p> + +<p>Fedya, a boy of seven with a pale, sickly face, leaves off eating and +drops his eyes. His face grows paler still.</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are delighted, and I am disgusted. Which of us is right, I +cannot say, but I venture to think as his father, I know my own son +better than you do. Look how he is sitting! Is that the way decently +brought up children sit? Sit properly."</p> + +<p>Fedya tilts his chin up, cranes his neck, and fancies that he is holding +himself better. Tears come into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Eat your dinner! Hold your spoon properly! You wait. I'll show you, you +horrid boy! Don't dare to whimper! Look straight at me!"</p> + +<p>Fedya tries to look straight at him, but his face is quivering and his +eyes fill with tears.</p> + +<p>"A-ah!... you cry? You are naughty and then you cry? Go and stand in the +corner, you beast!"</p> + +<p>"But ... let him have his dinner first," his wife intervenes.</p> + +<p>"No dinner for him! Such bla ... such rascals don't deserve dinner!"</p> + +<p>Fedya, wincing and quivering all over, creeps down from his chair and +goes into the corner.</p> + +<p>"You won't get off with that!" his parent persists. "If nobody else +cares to look after your bringing up, so be it; I must begin.... I won't +let you be naughty and cry at dinner, my lad! Idiot! You must do your +duty! Do you understand? Do your duty! Your father works and you must +work, too! No one must eat the bread of idleness! You must be a man! A +m-man!"</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, leave off," says his wife in French. "Don't nag at us +before outsiders, at least.... The old woman is all ears; and now, +thanks to her, all the town will hear of it."</p> + +<p>"I am not afraid of outsiders," answers Zhilin in Russian. "Anfissa +Ivanovna sees that I am speaking the truth. Why, do you think I ought to +be pleased with the boy? Do you know what he costs me? Do you know, you +nasty boy, what you cost me? Or do you imagine that I coin money, that I +get it for nothing? Don't howl! Hold your tongue! Do you hear what I +say? Do you want me to whip you, you young ruffian?"</p> + +<p>Fedya wails aloud and begins to sob.</p> + +<p>"This is insufferable," says his mother, getting up from the table and +flinging down her dinner-napkin. "You never let us have dinner in peace! +Your bread sticks in my throat."</p> + +<p>And putting her handkerchief to her eyes, she walks out of the +dining-room.</p> + +<p>"Now she is offended," grumbles Zhilin, with a forced smile. "She's been +spoilt.... That's how it is, Anfissa Ivanovna; no one likes to hear the +truth nowadays.... It's all my fault, it seems."</p> + +<p>Several minutes of silence follow. Zhilin looks round at the plates, and +noticing that no one has yet touched their soup, heaves a deep sigh, and +stares at the flushed and uneasy face of the governess.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you eat, Varvara Vassilyevna?" he asks. "Offended, I suppose? +I see.... You don't like to be told the truth. You must forgive me, it's +my nature; I can't be a hypocrite.... I always blurt out the plain +truth" (a sigh). "But I notice that my presence is unwelcome. No one can +eat or talk while I am here.... Well, you should have told me, and I +would have gone away.... I will go."</p> + +<p>Zhilin gets up and walks with dignity to the door. As he passes the +weeping Fedya he stops.</p> + +<p>"After all that has passed here, you are free," he says to Fedya, +throwing back his head with dignity. "I won't meddle in your bringing up +again. I wash my hands of it! I humbly apologise that as a father, from +a sincere desire for your welfare, I have disturbed you and your +mentors. At the same time, once for all I disclaim all responsibility +for your future...."</p> + +<p>Fedya wails and sobs more loudly than ever. Zhilin turns with dignity to +the door and departs to his bedroom.</p> + +<p>When he wakes from his after-dinner nap he begins to feel the stings of +conscience. He is ashamed to face his wife, his son, Anfissa Ivanovna, +and even feels very wretched when he recalls the scene at dinner, but +his amour-propre is too much for him; he has not the manliness to be +frank, and he goes on sulking and grumbling.</p> + +<p>Waking up next morning, he feels in excellent spirits, and whistles +gaily as he washes. Going into the dining-room to breakfast, he finds +there Fedya, who, at the sight of his father, gets up and looks at him +helplessly.</p> + +<p>"Well, young man?" Zhilin greets him good-humouredly, sitting down to +the table. "What have you got to tell me, young man? Are you all right? +Well, come, chubby; give your father a kiss."</p> + +<p>With a pale, grave face Fedya goes up to his father and touches his +cheek with his quivering lips, then walks away and sits down in his +place without a word.</p> + +<h2><a name="THE_BLACK_MONK" id="THE_BLACK_MONK"></a>THE BLACK MONK</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="nind"><big>A</big><small>NDREY VASSILITCH KOVRIN</small>, who held a master's degree at the University, +had exhausted himself, and had upset his nerves. He did not send for a +doctor, but casually, over a bottle of wine, he spoke to a friend who +was a doctor, and the latter advised him to spend the spring and summer +in the country. Very opportunely a long letter came from Tanya Pesotsky, +who asked him to come and stay with them at Borissovka. And he made up +his mind that he really must go.</p> + +<p>To begin with—that was in April—he went to his own home, Kovrinka, and +there spent three weeks in solitude; then, as soon as the roads were in +good condition, he set off, driving in a carriage, to visit Pesotsky, +his former guardian, who had brought him up, and was a horticulturist +well known all over Russia. The distance from Kovrinka to Borissovka was +reckoned only a little over fifty miles. To drive along a soft road in +May in a comfortable carriage with springs was a real pleasure.</p> + +<p>Pesotsky had an immense house with columns and lions, off which the +stucco was peeling, and with a footman in swallow-tails at the entrance. +The old park, laid out in the English style, gloomy and severe, +stretched for almost three-quarters of a mile to the river, and there +ended in a steep, precipitous clay bank, where pines grew with bare +roots that looked like shaggy paws; the water shone below with an +unfriendly gleam, and the peewits flew up with a plaintive cry, and +there one always felt that one must sit down and write a ballad. But +near the house itself, in the courtyard and orchard, which together with +the nurseries covered ninety acres, it was all life and gaiety even in +bad weather. Such marvellous roses, lilies, camellias; such tulips of +all possible shades, from glistening white to sooty black—such a wealth +of flowers, in fact, Kovrin had never seen anywhere as at Pesotsky's. It +was only the beginning of spring, and the real glory of the flower-beds +was still hidden away in the hot-houses. But even the flowers along the +avenues, and here and there in the flower-beds, were enough to make one +feel, as one walked about the garden, as though one were in a realm of +tender colours, especially in the early morning when the dew was +glistening on every petal.</p> + +<p>What was the decorative part of the garden, and what Pesotsky +contemptuously spoke of as rubbish, had at one time in his childhood +given Kovrin an impression of fairyland.</p> + +<p>Every sort of caprice, of elaborate monstrosity and mockery at Nature +was here. There were espaliers of fruit-trees, a pear-tree in the shape +of a pyramidal poplar, spherical oaks and lime-trees, an apple-tree in +the shape of an umbrella, plum-trees trained into arches, crests, +candelabra, and even into the number 1862—the year when Pesotsky first +took up horticulture. One came across, too, lovely, graceful trees with +strong, straight stems like palms, and it was only by looking intently +that one could recognise these trees as gooseberries or currants. But +what made the garden most cheerful and gave it a lively air, was the +continual coming and going in it, from early morning till evening; +people with wheelbarrows, shovels, and watering-cans swarmed round the +trees and bushes, in the avenues and the flower-beds, like ants....</p> + +<p>Kovrin arrived at Pesotsky's at ten o'clock in the evening. He found +Tanya and her father, Yegor Semyonitch, in great anxiety. The clear +starlight sky and the thermometer foretold a frost towards morning, and +meanwhile Ivan Karlovitch, the gardener, had gone to the town, and they +had no one to rely upon. At supper they talked of nothing but the +morning frost, and it was settled that Tanya should not go to bed, and +between twelve and one should walk through the garden, and see that +everything was done properly, and Yegor Semyonitch should get up at +three o'clock or even earlier.</p> + +<p>Kovrin sat with Tanya all the evening, and after midnight went out with +her into the garden. It was cold. There was a strong smell of burning +already in the garden. In the big orchard, which was called the +commercial garden, and which brought Yegor Semyonitch several thousand +clear profit, a thick, black, acrid smoke was creeping over the ground +and, curling around the trees, was saving those thousands from the +frost. Here the trees were arranged as on a chessboard, in straight and +regular rows like ranks of soldiers, and this severe pedantic +regularity, and the fact that all the trees were of the same size, and +had tops and trunks all exactly alike, made them look monotonous and +even dreary. Kovrin and Tanya walked along the rows where fires of dung, +straw, and all sorts of refuse were smouldering, and from time to time +they were met by labourers who wandered in the smoke like shadows. The +only trees in flower were the cherries, plums, and certain sorts of +apples, but the whole garden was plunged in smoke, and it was only near +the nurseries that Kovrin could breathe freely.</p> + +<p>"Even as a child I used to sneeze from the smoke here," he said, +shrugging his shoulders, "but to this day I don't understand how smoke +can keep off frost."</p> + +<p>"Smoke takes the place of clouds when there are none ..." answered +Tanya.</p> + +<p>"And what do you want clouds for?"</p> + +<p>"In overcast and cloudy weather there is no frost."</p> + +<p>"You don't say so."</p> + +<p>He laughed and took her arm. Her broad, very earnest face, chilled with +the frost, with her delicate black eyebrows, the turned-up collar of her +coat, which prevented her moving her head freely, and the whole of her +thin, graceful figure, with her skirts tucked up on account of the dew, +touched him.</p> + +<p>"Good heavens! she is grown up," he said. "When I went away from here +last, five years ago, you were still a child. You were such a thin, +longlegged creature, with your hair hanging on your shoulders; you used +to wear short frocks, and I used to tease you, calling you a heron.... +What time does!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, five years!" sighed Tanya. "Much water has flowed since then. Tell +me, Andryusha, honestly," she began eagerly, looking him in the face: +"do you feel strange with us now? But why do I ask you? You are a man, +you live your own interesting life, you are somebody.... To grow apart +is so natural! But however that may be, Andryusha, I want you to think +of us as your people. We have a right to that."</p> + +<p>"I do, Tanya."</p> + +<p>"On your word of honour?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, on my word of honour."</p> + +<p>"You were surprised this evening that we have so many of your +photographs. You know my father adores you. Sometimes it seems to me +that he loves you more than he does me. He is proud of you. You are a +clever, extraordinary man, you have made a brilliant career for +yourself, and he is persuaded that you have turned out like this because +he brought you up. I don't try to prevent him from thinking so. Let +him."</p> + +<p>Dawn was already beginning, and that was especially perceptible from the +distinctness with which the coils of smoke and the tops of the trees +began to stand out in the air.</p> + +<p>"It's time we were asleep, though," said Tanya, "and it's cold, too." +She took his arm. "Thank you for coming, Andryusha. We have only +uninteresting acquaintances, and not many of them. We have only the +garden, the garden, the garden, and nothing else. Standards, +half-standards," she laughed. "Aports, Reinettes, Borovinkas, budded +stocks, grafted stocks.... All, all our life has gone into the garden. I +never even dream of anything but apples and pears. Of course, it is very +nice and useful, but sometimes one longs for something else for variety. +I remember that when you used to come to us for the summer holidays, or +simply a visit, it always seemed to be fresher and brighter in the +house, as though the covers had been taken off the lustres and the +furniture. I was only a little girl then, but yet I understood it."</p> + +<p>She talked a long while and with great feeling. For some reason the idea +came into his head that in the course of the summer he might grow fond +of this little, weak, talkative creature, might be carried away and fall +in love; in their position it was so possible and natural! This thought +touched and amused him; he bent down to her sweet, preoccupied face and +hummed softly:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"'Onyegin, I won't conceal it;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I madly love Tatiana....'"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>By the time they reached the house, Yegor Semyonitch had got up. Kovrin +did not feel sleepy; he talked to the old man and went to the garden +with him. Yegor Semyonitch was a tall, broad-shouldered, corpulent man, +and he suffered from asthma, yet he walked so fast that it was hard work +to hurry after him. He had an extremely preoccupied air; he was always +hurrying somewhere, with an expression that suggested that if he were +one minute late all would be ruined!</p> + +<p>"Here is a business, brother ..." he began, standing still to take +breath. "On the surface of the ground, as you see, is frost; but if you +raise the thermometer on a stick fourteen feet above the ground, there +it is warm.... Why is that?"</p> + +<p>"I really don't know," said Kovrin, and he laughed.</p> + +<p>"H'm!... One can't know everything, of course.... However large the +intellect may be, you can't find room for everything in it. I suppose +you still go in chiefly for philosophy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I lecture in psychology; I am working at philosophy in general."</p> + +<p>"And it does not bore you?"</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, it's all I live for."</p> + +<p>"Well, God bless you!..." said Yegor Semyonitch, meditatively stroking +his grey whiskers. "God bless you!... I am delighted about you ... +delighted, my boy...."</p> + +<p>But suddenly he listened, and, with a terrible face, ran off and quickly +disappeared behind the trees in a cloud of smoke.</p> + +<p>"Who tied this horse to an apple-tree?" Kovrin heard his despairing, +heart-rending cry. "Who is the low scoundrel who has dared to tie this +horse to an apple-tree? My God, my God! They have ruined everything; +they have spoilt everything; they have done everything filthy, horrible, +and abominable. The orchard's done for, the orchard's ruined. My God!"</p> + +<p>When he came back to Kovrin, his face looked exhausted and mortified.</p> + +<p>"What is one to do with these accursed people?" he said in a tearful +voice, flinging up his hands. "Styopka was carting dung at night, and +tied the horse to an apple-tree! He twisted the reins round it, the +rascal, as tightly as he could, so that the bark is rubbed off in three +places. What do you think of that! I spoke to him and he stands like a +post and only blinks his eyes. Hanging is too good for him."</p> + +<p>Growing calmer, he embraced Kovrin and kissed him on the cheek.</p> + +<p>"Well, God bless you!... God bless you!..." he muttered. "I am very glad +you have come. Unutterably glad.... Thank you."</p> + +<p>Then, with the same rapid step and preoccupied face, he made the round +of the whole garden, and showed his former ward all his greenhouses and +hot-houses, his covered-in garden, and two apiaries which he called the +marvel of our century.</p> + +<p>While they were walking the sun rose, flooding the garden with brilliant +light. It grew warm. Foreseeing a long, bright, cheerful day, Kovrin +recollected that it was only the beginning of May, and that he had +before him a whole summer as bright, cheerful, and long; and suddenly +there stirred in his bosom a joyous, youthful feeling, such as he used +to experience in his childhood, running about in that garden. And he +hugged the old man and kissed him affectionately. Both of them, feeling +touched, went indoors and drank tea out of old-fashioned china cups, +with cream and satisfying krendels made with milk and eggs; and these +trifles reminded Kovrin again of his childhood and boyhood. The +delightful present was blended with the impressions of the past that +stirred within him; there was a tightness at his heart; yet he was +happy.</p> + +<p>He waited till Tanya was awake and had coffee with her, went for a walk, +then went to his room and sat down to work. He read attentively, making +notes, and from time to time raised his eyes to look out at the open +windows or at the fresh, still dewy flowers in the vases on the table; +and again he dropped his eyes to his book, and it seemed to him as +though every vein in his body was quivering and fluttering with +pleasure.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>In the country he led just as nervous and restless a life as in town. He +read and wrote a great deal, he studied Italian, and when he was out for +a walk, thought with pleasure that he would soon sit down to work again. +He slept so little that every one wondered at him; if he accidentally +dozed for half an hour in the daytime, he would lie awake all night, +and, after a sleepless night, would feel cheerful and vigorous as though +nothing had happened.</p> + +<p>He talked a great deal, drank wine, and smoked expensive cigars. Very +often, almost every day, young ladies of neighbouring families would +come to the Pesotskys', and would sing and play the piano with Tanya; +sometimes a young neighbour who was a good violinist would come, too. +Kovrin listened with eagerness to the music and singing, and was +exhausted by it, and this showed itself by his eyes closing and his head +falling to one side.</p> + +<p>One day he was sitting on the balcony after evening tea, reading. At the +same time, in the drawing-room, Tanya taking soprano, one of the young +ladies a contralto, and the young man with his violin, were practising a +well-known serenade of Braga's. Kovrin listened to the words—they were +Russian—and could not understand their meaning. At last, leaving his +book and listening attentively, he understood: a maiden, full of sick +fancies, heard one night in her garden mysterious sounds, so strange and +lovely that she was obliged to recognise them as a holy harmony which is +unintelligible to us mortals, and so flies back to heaven. Kovrin's eyes +began to close. He got up, and in exhaustion walked up and down the +drawing-room, and then the dining-room. When the singing was over he +took Tanya's arm, and with her went out on the balcony.</p> + +<p>"I have been all day thinking of a legend," he said. "I don't remember +whether I have read it somewhere or heard it, but it is a strange and +almost grotesque legend. To begin with, it is somewhat obscure. A +thousand years ago a monk, dressed in black, wandered about the desert, +somewhere in Syria or Arabia.... Some miles from where he was, some +fisherman saw another black monk, who was moving slowly over the surface +of a lake. This second monk was a mirage. Now forget all the laws of +optics, which the legend does not recognise, and listen to the rest. +From that mirage there was cast another mirage, then from that other a +third, so that the image of the black monk began to be repeated +endlessly from one layer of the atmosphere to another. So that he was +seen at one time in Africa, at another in Spain, then in Italy, then in +the Far North.... Then he passed out of the atmosphere of the earth, and +now he is wandering all over the universe, still never coming into +conditions in which he might disappear. Possibly he may be seen now in +Mars or in some star of the Southern Cross. But, my dear, the real point +on which the whole legend hangs lies in the fact that, exactly a +thousand years from the day when the monk walked in the desert, the +mirage will return to the atmosphere of the earth again and will appear +to men. And it seems that the thousand years is almost up.... According +to the legend, we may look out for the black monk to-day or to-morrow."</p> + +<p>"A queer mirage," said Tanya, who did not like the legend.</p> + +<p>"But the most wonderful part of it all," laughed Kovrin, "is that I +simply cannot recall where I got this legend from. Have I read it +somewhere? Have I heard it? Or perhaps I dreamed of the black monk. I +swear I don't remember. But the legend interests me. I have been +thinking about it all day."</p> + +<p>Letting Tanya go back to her visitors, he went out of the house, and, +lost in meditation, walked by the flower-beds. The sun was already +setting. The flowers, having just been watered, gave forth a damp, +irritating fragrance. Indoors they began singing again, and in the +distance the violin had the effect of a human voice. Kovrin, racking his +brains to remember where he had read or heard the legend, turned slowly +towards the park, and unconsciously went as far as the river. By a +little path that ran along the steep bank, between the bare roots, he +went down to the water, disturbed the peewits there and frightened two +ducks. The last rays of the setting sun still threw light here and there +on the gloomy pines, but it was quite dark on the surface of the river. +Kovrin crossed to the other side by the narrow bridge. Before him lay a +wide field covered with young rye not yet in blossom. There was no +living habitation, no living soul in the distance, and it seemed as +though the little path, if one went along it, would take one to the +unknown, mysterious place where the sun had just gone down, and where +the evening glow was flaming in immensity and splendour.</p> + +<p>"How open, how free, how still it is here!" thought Kovrin, walking +along the path. "And it feels as though all the world were watching me, +hiding and waiting for me to understand it...."</p> + +<p>But then waves began running across the rye, and a light evening breeze +softly touched his uncovered head. A minute later there was another gust +of wind, but stronger—the rye began rustling, and he heard behind him +the hollow murmur of the pines. Kovrin stood still in amazement. From +the horizon there rose up to the sky, like a whirlwind or a waterspout, +a tall black column. Its outline was indistinct, but from the first +instant it could be seen that it was not standing still, but moving with +fearful rapidity, moving straight towards Kovrin, and the nearer it came +the smaller and the more distinct it was. Kovrin moved aside into the +rye to make way for it, and only just had time to do so.</p> + +<p>A monk, dressed in black, with a grey head and black eyebrows, his arms +crossed over his breast, floated by him.... His bare feet did not touch +the earth. After he had floated twenty feet beyond him, he looked round +at Kovrin, and nodded to him with a friendly but sly smile. But what a +pale, fearfully pale, thin face! Beginning to grow larger again, he flew +across the river, collided noiselessly with the clay bank and pines, and +passing through them, vanished like smoke.</p> + +<p>"Why, you see," muttered Kovrin, "there must be truth in the legend."</p> + +<p>Without trying to explain to himself the strange apparition, glad that +he had succeeded in seeing so near and so distinctly, not only the +monk's black garments, but even his face and eyes, agreeably excited, he +went back to the house.</p> + +<p>In the park and in the garden people were moving about quietly, in the +house they were playing—so he alone had seen the monk. He had an +intense desire to tell Tanya and Yegor Semyonitch, but he reflected that +they would certainly think his words the ravings of delirium, and that +would frighten them; he had better say nothing.</p> + +<p>He laughed aloud, sang, and danced the mazurka; he was in high spirits, +and all of them, the visitors and Tanya, thought he had a peculiar look, +radiant and inspired, and that he was very interesting.</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>After supper, when the visitors had gone, he went to his room and lay +down on the sofa: he wanted to think about the monk. But a minute later +Tanya came in.</p> + +<p>"Here, Andryusha; read father's articles," she said, giving him a bundle +of pamphlets and proofs. "They are splendid articles. He writes +capitally."</p> + +<p>"Capitally, indeed!" said Yegor Semyonitch, following her and smiling +constrainedly; he was ashamed. "Don't listen to her, please; don't read +them! Though, if you want to go to sleep, read them by all means; they +are a fine soporific."</p> + +<p>"I think they are splendid articles," said Tanya, with deep conviction. +"You read them, Andryusha, and persuade father to write oftener. He +could write a complete manual of horticulture."</p> + +<p>Yegor Semyonitch gave a forced laugh, blushed, and began uttering the +phrases usually made use of by an embarrassed author. At last he began +to give way.</p> + +<p>"In that case, begin with Gaucher's article and these Russian articles," +he muttered, turning over the pamphlets with a trembling hand, "or else +you won't understand. Before you read my objections, you must know what +I am objecting to. But it's all nonsense ... tiresome stuff. Besides, I +believe it's bedtime."</p> + +<p>Tanya went away. Yegor Semyonitch sat down on the sofa by Kovrin and +heaved a deep sigh.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my boy ..." he began after a pause. "That's how it is, my dear +lecturer. Here I write articles, and take part in exhibitions, and +receive medals.... Pesotsky, they say, has apples the size of a head, +and Pesotsky, they say, has made his fortune with his garden. In short, +'Kotcheby is rich and glorious.' But one asks oneself: what is it all +for? The garden is certainly fine, a model. It's not really a garden, +but a regular institution, which is of the greatest public importance +because it marks, so to say, a new era in Russian agriculture and +Russian industry. But, what's it for? What's the object of it?"</p> + +<p>"The fact speaks for itself."</p> + +<p>"I do not mean in that sense. I meant to ask: what will happen to the +garden when I die? In the condition in which you see it now, it would +not be maintained for one month without me. The whole secret of success +lies not in its being a big garden or a great number of labourers being +employed in it, but in the fact that I love the work. Do you understand? +I love it perhaps more than myself. Look at me; I do everything myself. +I work from morning to night: I do all the grafting myself, the pruning +myself, the planting myself. I do it all myself: when any one helps me I +am jealous and irritable till I am rude. The whole secret lies in loving +it—that is, in the sharp eye of the master; yes, and in the master's +hands, and in the feeling that makes one, when one goes anywhere for an +hour's visit, sit, ill at ease, with one's heart far away, afraid that +something may have happened in the garden. But when I die, who will look +after it? Who will work? The gardener? The labourers? Yes? But I will +tell you, my dear fellow, the worst enemy in the garden is not a hare, +not a cockchafer, and not the frost, but any outside person."</p> + +<p>"And Tanya?" asked Kovrin, laughing. "She can't be more harmful than a +hare? She loves the work and understands it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she loves it and understands it. If after my death the garden goes +to her and she is the mistress, of course nothing better could be +wished. But if, which God forbid, she should marry," Yegor Semyonitch +whispered, and looked with a frightened look at Kovrin, "that's just it. +If she marries and children come, she will have no time to think about +the garden. What I fear most is: she will marry some fine gentleman, and +he will be greedy, and he will let the garden to people who will run it +for profit, and everything will go to the devil the very first year! In +our work females are the scourge of God!"</p> + +<p>Yegor Semyonitch sighed and paused for a while.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is egoism, but I tell you frankly: I don't want Tanya to get +married. I am afraid of it! There is one young dandy comes to see us, +bringing his violin and scraping on it; I know Tanya will not marry him, +I know it quite well; but I can't bear to see him! Altogether, my boy, I +am very queer. I know that."</p> + +<p>Yegor Semyonitch got up and walked about the room in excitement, and it +was evident that he wanted to say something very important, but could +not bring himself to it.</p> + +<p>"I am very fond of you, and so I am going to speak to you openly," he +decided at last, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I deal plainly +with certain delicate questions, and say exactly what I think, and I +cannot endure so-called hidden thoughts. I will speak plainly: you are +the only man to whom I should not be afraid to marry my daughter. You +are a clever man with a good heart, and would not let my beloved work go +to ruin; and the chief reason is that I love you as a son, and I am +proud of you. If Tanya and you could get up a romance somehow, +then—well! I should be very glad and even happy. I tell you this +plainly, without mincing matters, like an honest man."</p> + +<p>Kovrin laughed. Yegor Semyonitch opened the door to go out, and stood in +the doorway.</p> + +<p>"If Tanya and you had a son, I would make a horticulturist of him," he +said, after a moment's thought. "However, this is idle dreaming. +Goodnight."</p> + +<p>Left alone, Kovrin settled himself more comfortably on the sofa and took +up the articles. The title of one was "On Intercropping"; of another, "A +few Words on the Remarks of Monsieur Z. concerning the Trenching of the +Soil for a New Garden"; a third, "Additional Matter concerning Grafting +with a Dormant Bud"; and they were all of the same sort. But what a +restless, jerky tone! What nervous, almost hysterical passion! Here was +an article, one would have thought, with most peaceable and impersonal +contents: the subject of it was the Russian Antonovsky Apple. But Yegor +Semyonitch began it with "Audiatur altera pars," and finished it with +"Sapienti sat"; and between these two quotations a perfect torrent of +venomous phrases directed "at the learned ignorance of our recognised +horticultural authorities, who observe Nature from the height of their +university chairs," or at Monsieur Gaucher, "whose success has been the +work of the vulgar and the dilettanti." And then followed an +inappropriate, affected, and insincere regret that peasants who stole +fruit and broke the branches could not nowadays be flogged.</p> + +<p>"It is beautiful, charming, healthy work, but even in this there is +strife and passion," thought Kovrin, "I suppose that everywhere and in +all careers men of ideas are nervous, and marked by exaggerated +sensitiveness. Most likely it must be so."</p> + +<p>He thought of Tanya, who was so pleased with Yegor Semyonitch's +articles. Small, pale, and so thin that her shoulder-blades stuck out, +her eyes, wide and open, dark and intelligent, had an intent gaze, as +though looking for something. She walked like her father with a little +hurried step. She talked a great deal and was fond of arguing, +accompanying every phrase, however insignificant, with expressive +mimicry and gesticulation. No doubt she was nervous in the extreme.</p> + +<p>Kovrin went on reading the articles, but he understood nothing of them, +and flung them aside. The same pleasant excitement with which he had +earlier in the evening danced the mazurka and listened to the music was +now mastering him again and rousing a multitude of thoughts. He got up +and began walking about the room, thinking about the black monk. It +occurred to him that if this strange, supernatural monk had appeared to +him only, that meant that he was ill and had reached the point of having +hallucinations. This reflection frightened him, but not for long.</p> + +<p>"But I am all right, and I am doing no harm to any one; so there is no +harm in my hallucinations," he thought; and he felt happy again.</p> + +<p>He sat down on the sofa and clasped his hands round his head. +Restraining the unaccountable joy which filled his whole being, he then +paced up and down again, and sat down to his work. But the thought that +he read in the book did not satisfy him. He wanted something gigantic, +unfathomable, stupendous. Towards morning he undressed and reluctantly +went to bed: he ought to sleep.</p> + +<p>When he heard the footsteps of Yegor Semyonitch going out into the +garden, Kovrin rang the bell and asked the footman to bring him some +wine. He drank several glasses of Lafitte, then wrapped himself up, head +and all; his consciousness grew clouded and he fell asleep.</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya often quarrelled and said nasty things to +each other.</p> + +<p>They quarrelled about something that morning. Tanya burst out crying and +went to her room. She would not come down to dinner nor to tea. At first +Yegor Semyonitch went about looking sulky and dignified, as though to +give every one to understand that for him the claims of justice and good +order were more important than anything else in the world; but he could +not keep it up for long, and soon sank into depression. He walked about +the park dejectedly, continually sighing: "Oh, my God! My God!" and at +dinner did not eat a morsel. At last, guilty and conscience-stricken, he +knocked at the locked door and called timidly:</p> + +<p>"Tanya! Tanya!"</p> + +<p>And from behind the door came a faint voice, weak with crying but still +determined:</p> + +<p>"Leave me alone, if you please."</p> + +<p>The depression of the master and mistress was reflected in the whole +household, even in the labourers working in the garden. Kovrin was +absorbed in his interesting work, but at last he, too, felt dreary and +uncomfortable. To dissipate the general ill-humour in some way, he made +up his mind to intervene, and towards evening he knocked at Tanya's +door. He was admitted.</p> + +<p>"Fie, fie, for shame!" he began playfully, looking with surprise at +Tanya's tear-stained, woebegone face, flushed in patches with crying. +"Is it really so serious? Fie, fie!"</p> + +<p>"But if you knew how he tortures me!" she said, and floods of scalding +tears streamed from her big eyes. "He torments me to death," she went +on, wringing her hands. "I said nothing to him ... nothing ... I only +said that there was no need to keep ... too many labourers ... if we +could hire them by the day when we wanted them. You know ... you know +the labourers have been doing nothing for a whole week.... I ... I ... +only said that, and he shouted and ... said ... a lot of horrible +insulting things to me. What for?"</p> + +<p>"There, there," said Kovrin, smoothing her hair. "You've quarrelled with +each other, you've cried, and that's enough. You must not be angry for +long—that's wrong ... all the more as he loves you beyond everything."</p> + +<p>"He has ... has spoiled my whole life," Tanya went on, sobbing. "I hear +nothing but abuse and ... insults. He thinks I am of no use in the +house. Well! He is right. I shall go away to-morrow; I shall become a +telegraph clerk.... I don't care...."</p> + +<p>"Come, come, come.... You mustn't cry, Tanya. You mustn't, dear.... You +are both hot-tempered and irritable, and you are both to blame. Come +along; I will reconcile you."</p> + +<p>Kovrin talked affectionately and persuasively, while she went on crying, +twitching her shoulders and wringing her hands, as though some terrible +misfortune had really befallen her. He felt all the sorrier for her +because her grief was not a serious one, yet she suffered extremely. +What trivialities were enough to make this little creature miserable for +a whole day, perhaps for her whole life! Comforting Tanya, Kovrin +thought that, apart from this girl and her father, he might hunt the +world over and would not find people who would love him as one of +themselves, as one of their kindred. If it had not been for those two he +might very likely, having lost his father and mother in early childhood, +never to the day of his death have known what was meant by genuine +affection and that naïve, uncritical love which is only lavished on very +close blood relations; and he felt that the nerves of this weeping, +shaking girl responded to his half-sick, overstrained nerves like iron +to a magnet. He never could have loved a healthy, strong, rosy-cheeked +woman, but pale, weak, unhappy Tanya attracted him.</p> + +<p>And he liked stroking her hair and her shoulders, pressing her hand and +wiping away her tears.... At last she left off crying. She went on for a +long time complaining of her father and her hard, insufferable life in +that house, entreating Kovrin to put himself in her place; then she +began, little by little, smiling, and sighing that God had given her +such a bad temper. At last, laughing aloud, she called herself a fool, +and ran out of the room.</p> + +<p>When a little later Kovrin went into the garden, Yegor Semyonitch and +Tanya were walking side by side along an avenue as though nothing had +happened, and both were eating rye bread with salt on it, as both were +hungry.</p> + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Glad that he had been so successful in the part of peacemaker, Kovrin +went into the park. Sitting on a garden seat, thinking, he heard the +rattle of a carriage and a feminine laugh—visitors were arriving. When +the shades of evening began falling on the garden, the sounds of the +violin and singing voices reached him indistinctly, and that reminded +him of the black monk. Where, in what land or in what planet, was that +optical absurdity moving now?</p> + +<p>Hardly had he recalled the legend and pictured in his imagination the +dark apparition he had seen in the rye-field, when, from behind a +pine-tree exactly opposite, there came out noiselessly, without the +slightest rustle, a man of medium height with uncovered grey head, all +in black, and barefooted like a beggar, and his black eyebrows stood out +conspicuously on his pale, death-like face. Nodding his head graciously, +this beggar or pilgrim came noiselessly to the seat and sat down, and +Kovrin recognised him as the black monk.</p> + +<p>For a minute they looked at one another, Kovrin with amazement, and the +monk with friendliness, and, just as before, a little slyness, as though +he were thinking something to himself.</p> + +<p>"But you are a mirage," said Kovrin. "Why are you here and sitting +still? That does not fit in with the legend."</p> + +<p>"That does not matter," the monk answered in a low voice, not +immediately turning his face towards him. "The legend, the mirage, and I +are all the products of your excited imagination. I am a phantom."</p> + +<p>"Then you don't exist?" said Kovrin.</p> + +<p>"You can think as you like," said the monk, with a faint smile. "I exist +in your imagination, and your imagination is part of nature, so I exist +in nature."</p> + +<p>"You have a very old, wise, and extremely expressive face, as though you +really had lived more than a thousand years," said Kovrin. "I did not +know that my imagination was capable of creating such phenomena. But why +do you look at me with such enthusiasm? Do you like me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you are one of those few who are justly called the chosen of God. +You do the service of eternal truth. Your thoughts, your designs, the +marvellous studies you are engaged in, and all your life, bear the +Divine, the heavenly stamp, seeing that they are consecrated to the +rational and the beautiful—that is, to what is eternal."</p> + +<p>"You said 'eternal truth.' ... But is eternal truth of use to man and +within his reach, if there is no eternal life?"</p> + +<p>"There is eternal life," said the monk.</p> + +<p>"Do you believe in the immortality of man?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course. A grand, brilliant future is in store for you men. And +the more there are like you on earth, the sooner will this future be +realised. Without you who serve the higher principle and live in full +understanding and freedom, mankind would be of little account; +developing in a natural way, it would have to wait a long time for the +end of its earthly history. You will lead it some thousands of years +earlier into the kingdom of eternal truth—and therein lies your supreme +service. You are the incarnation of the blessing of God, which rests +upon men."</p> + +<p>"And what is the object of eternal life?" asked Kovrin.</p> + +<p>"As of all life—enjoyment. True enjoyment lies in knowledge, and +eternal life provides innumerable and inexhaustible sources of +knowledge, and in that sense it has been said: 'In My Father's house +there are many mansions.'"</p> + +<p>"If only you knew how pleasant it is to hear you!" said Kovrin, rubbing +his hands with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"I am very glad."</p> + +<p>"But I know that when you go away I shall be worried by the question of +your reality. You are a phantom, an hallucination. So I am mentally +deranged, not normal?"</p> + +<p>"What if you are? Why trouble yourself? You are ill because you have +overworked and exhausted yourself, and that means that you have +sacrificed your health to the idea, and the time is near at hand when +you will give up life itself to it. What could be better? That is the +goal towards which all divinely endowed, noble natures strive."</p> + +<p>"If I know I am mentally affected, can I trust myself?"</p> + +<p>"And are you sure that the men of genius, whom all men trust, did not +see phantoms, too? The learned say now that genius is allied to madness. +My friend, healthy and normal people are only the common herd. +Reflections upon the neurasthenia of the age, nervous exhaustion and +degeneracy, et cetera, can only seriously agitate those who place the +object of life in the present—that is, the common herd."</p> + +<p>"The Romans used to say: <i>Mens sana in corpore sano.</i>"</p> + +<p>"Not everything the Greeks and the Romans said is true. Exaltation, +enthusiasm, ecstasy—all that distinguishes prophets, poets, martyrs for +the idea, from the common folk—is repellent to the animal side of +man—that is, his physical health. I repeat, if you want to be healthy +and normal, go to the common herd."</p> + +<p>"Strange that you repeat what often comes into my mind," said Kovrin. +"It is as though you had seen and overheard my secret thoughts. But +don't let us talk about me. What do you mean by 'eternal truth'?"</p> + +<p>The monk did not answer. Kovrin looked at him and could not distinguish +his face. His features grew blurred and misty. Then the monk's head and +arms disappeared; his body seemed merged into the seat and the evening +twilight, and he vanished altogether.</p> + +<p>"The hallucination is over," said Kovrin; and he laughed. "It's a pity."</p> + +<p>He went back to the house, light-hearted and happy. The little the monk +had said to him had flattered, not his vanity, but his whole soul, his +whole being. To be one of the chosen, to serve eternal truth, to stand +in the ranks of those who could make mankind worthy of the kingdom of +God some thousands of years sooner—that is, to free men from some +thousands of years of unnecessary struggle, sin, and suffering; to +sacrifice to the idea everything—youth, strength, health; to be ready +to die for the common weal—what an exalted, what a happy lot! He +recalled his past—pure, chaste, laborious; he remembered what he had +learned himself and what he had taught to others, and decided that there +was no exaggeration in the monk's words.</p> + +<p>Tanya came to meet him in the park: she was by now wearing a different +dress.</p> + +<p>"Are you here?" she said. "And we have been looking and looking for +you.... But what is the matter with you?" she asked in wonder, glancing +at his radiant, ecstatic face and eyes full of tears. "How strange you +are, Andryusha!"</p> + +<p>"I am pleased, Tanya," said Kovrin, laying his hand on her shoulders. "I +am more than pleased: I am happy. Tanya, darling Tanya, you are an +extraordinary, nice creature. Dear Tanya, I am so glad, I am so glad!"</p> + +<p>He kissed both her hands ardently, and went on:</p> + +<p>"I have just passed through an exalted, wonderful, unearthly moment. But +I can't tell you all about it or you would call me mad and not believe +me. Let us talk of you. Dear, delightful Tanya! I love you, and am used +to loving you. To have you near me, to meet you a dozen times a day, has +become a necessity of my existence; I don't know how I shall get on +without you when I go back home."</p> + +<p>"Oh," laughed Tanya, "you will forget about us in two days. We are +humble people and you are a great man."</p> + +<p>"No; let us talk in earnest!" he said. "I shall take you with me, Tanya. +Yes? Will you come with me? Will you be mine?"</p> + +<p>"Come," said Tanya, and tried to laugh again, but the laugh would not +come, and patches of colour came into her face.</p> + +<p>She began breathing quickly and walked very quickly, but not to the +house, but further into the park.</p> + +<p>"I was not thinking of it ... I was not thinking of it," she said, +wringing her hands in despair.</p> + +<p>And Kovrin followed her and went on talking, with the same radiant, +enthusiastic face:</p> + +<p>"I want a love that will dominate me altogether; and that love only you, +Tanya, can give me. I am happy! I am happy!"</p> + +<p>She was overwhelmed, and huddling and shrinking together, seemed ten +years older all at once, while he thought her beautiful and expressed +his rapture aloud:</p> + +<p>"How lovely she is!"</p> + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>Learning from Kovrin that not only a romance had been got up, but that +there would even be a wedding, Yegor Semyonitch spent a long time in +pacing from one corner of the room to the other, trying to conceal his +agitation. His hands began trembling, his neck swelled and turned +purple, he ordered his racing droshky and drove off somewhere. Tanya, +seeing how he lashed the horse, and seeing how he pulled his cap over +his ears, understood what he was feeling, shut herself up in her room, +and cried the whole day.</p> + +<p>In the hot-houses the peaches and plums were already ripe; the packing +and sending off of these tender and fragile goods to Moscow took a great +deal of care, work, and trouble. Owing to the fact that the summer was +very hot and dry, it was necessary to water every tree, and a great deal +of time and labour was spent on doing it. Numbers of caterpillars made +their appearance, which, to Kovrin's disgust, the labourers and even +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya squashed with their fingers. In spite of all +that, they had already to book autumn orders for fruit and trees, and to +carry on a great deal of correspondence. And at the very busiest time, +when no one seemed to have a free moment, the work of the fields carried +off more than half their labourers from the garden. Yegor Semyonitch, +sunburnt, exhausted, ill-humoured, galloped from the fields to the +garden and back again; cried that he was being torn to pieces, and that +he should put a bullet through his brains.</p> + +<p>Then came the fuss and worry of the trousseau, to which the Pesotskys +attached a good deal of importance. Every one's head was in a whirl from +the snipping of the scissors, the rattle of the sewing-machine, the +smell of hot irons, and the caprices of the dressmaker, a huffy and +nervous lady. And, as ill-luck would have it, visitors came every day, +who had to be entertained, fed, and even put up for the night. But all +this hard labour passed unnoticed as though in a fog. Tanya felt that +love and happiness had taken her unawares, though she had, since she was +fourteen, for some reason been convinced that Kovrin would marry her and +no one else. She was bewildered, could not grasp it, could not believe +herself.... At one minute such joy would swoop down upon her that she +longed to fly away to the clouds and there pray to God, at another +moment she would remember that in August she would have to part from her +home and leave her father; or, goodness knows why, the idea would occur +to her that she was worthless—insignificant and unworthy of a great man +like Kovrin—and she would go to her room, lock herself in, and cry +bitterly for several hours. When there were visitors, she would suddenly +fancy that Kovrin looked extraordinarily handsome, and that all the +women were in love with him and envying her, and her soul was filled +with pride and rapture, as though she had vanquished the whole world; +but he had only to smile politely at any young lady for her to be +trembling with jealousy, to retreat to her room—and tears again. These +new sensations mastered her completely; she helped her father +mechanically, without noticing peaches, caterpillars or labourers, or +how rapidly the time was passing.</p> + +<p>It was almost the same with Yegor Semyonitch. He worked from morning +till night, was always in a hurry, was irritable, and flew into rages, +but all of this was in a sort of spellbound dream. It seemed as though +there were two men in him: one was the real Yegor Semyonitch, who was +moved to indignation, and clutched his head in despair when he heard of +some irregularity from Ivan Karlovitch the gardener; and another—not +the real one—who seemed as though he were half drunk, would interrupt a +business conversation at half a word, touch the gardener on the +shoulder, and begin muttering:</p> + +<p>"Say what you like, there is a great deal in blood. His mother was a +wonderful woman, most high-minded and intelligent. It was a pleasure to +look at her good, candid, pure face; it was like the face of an angel. +She drew splendidly, wrote verses, spoke five foreign languages, +sang.... Poor thing! she died of consumption. The Kingdom of Heaven be +hers."</p> + +<p>The unreal Yegor Semyonitch sighed, and after a pause went on:</p> + +<p>"When he was a boy and growing up in my house, he had the same angelic +face, good and candid. The way he looks and talks and moves is as soft +and elegant as his mother's. And his intellect! We were always struck +with his intelligence. To be sure, it's not for nothing he's a Master of +Arts! It's not for nothing! And wait a bit, Ivan Karlovitch, what will +he be in ten years' time? He will be far above us!"</p> + +<p>But at this point the real Yegor Semyonitch, suddenly coming to himself, +would make a terrible face, would clutch his head and cry:</p> + +<p>"The devils! They have spoilt everything! They have ruined everything! +They have spoilt everything! The garden's done for, the garden's +ruined!"</p> + +<p>Kovrin, meanwhile, worked with the same ardour as before, and did not +notice the general commotion. Love only added fuel to the flames. After +every talk with Tanya he went to his room, happy and triumphant, took up +his book or his manuscript with the same passion with which he had just +kissed Tanya and told her of his love. What the black monk had told him +of the chosen of God, of eternal truth, of the brilliant future of +mankind and so on, gave peculiar and extraordinary significance to his +work, and filled his soul with pride and the consciousness of his own +exalted consequence. Once or twice a week, in the park or in the house, +he met the black monk and had long conversations with him, but this did +not alarm him, but, on the contrary, delighted him, as he was now firmly +persuaded that such apparitions only visited the elect few who rise up +above their fellows and devote themselves to the service of the idea.</p> + +<p>One day the monk appeared at dinner-time and sat in the dining-room +window. Kovrin was delighted, and very adroitly began a conversation +with Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya of what might be of interest to the +monk; the black-robed visitor listened and nodded his head graciously, +and Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya listened, too, and smiled gaily without +suspecting that Kovrin was not talking to them but to his hallucination.</p> + +<p>Imperceptibly the fast of the Assumption was approaching, and soon after +came the wedding, which, at Yegor Semyonitch's urgent desire, was +celebrated with "a flourish"—that is, with senseless festivities that +lasted for two whole days and nights. Three thousand roubles' worth of +food and drink was consumed, but the music of the wretched hired band, +the noisy toasts, the scurrying to and fro of the footmen, the uproar +and crowding, prevented them from appreciating the taste of the +expensive wines and wonderful delicacies ordered from Moscow.</p> + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p>One long winter night Kovrin was lying in bed, reading a French novel. +Poor Tanya, who had headaches in the evenings from living in town, to +which she was not accustomed, had been asleep a long while, and, from +time to time, articulated some incoherent phrase in her restless dreams.</p> + +<p>It struck three o'clock. Kovrin put out the light and lay down to sleep, +lay for a long time with his eyes closed, but could not get to sleep +because, as he fancied, the room was very hot and Tanya talked in her +sleep. At half-past four he lighted the candle again, and this time he +saw the black monk sitting in an arm-chair near the bed.</p> + +<p>"Good-morning," said the monk, and after a brief pause he asked: "What +are you thinking of now?"</p> + +<p>"Of fame," answered Kovrin. "In the French novel I have just been +reading, there is a description of a young <i>savant</i>, who does silly +things and pines away through worrying about fame. I can't understand +such anxiety."</p> + +<p>"Because you are wise. Your attitude towards fame is one of +indifference, as towards a toy which no longer interests you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is true."</p> + +<p>"Renown does not allure you now. What is there flattering, amusing, or +edifying in their carving your name on a tombstone, then time rubbing +off the inscription together with the gilding? Moreover, happily there +are too many of you for the weak memory of mankind to be able to retain +your names."</p> + +<p>"Of course," assented Kovrin. "Besides, why should they be remembered? +But let us talk of something else. Of happiness, for instance. What is +happiness?"</p> + +<p>When the clock struck five, he was sitting on the bed, dangling his feet +to the carpet, talking to the monk:</p> + +<p>"In ancient times a happy man grew at last frightened of his happiness +—it was so great!—and to propitiate the gods he brought as a sacrifice +his favourite ring. Do you know, I, too, like Polykrates, begin to be +uneasy of my happiness. It seems strange to me that from morning to +night I feel nothing but joy; it fills my whole being and smothers all +other feelings. I don't know what sadness, grief, or boredom is. Here I +am not asleep; I suffer from sleeplessness, but I am not dull. I say it +in earnest; I begin to feel perplexed."</p> + +<p>"But why?" the monk asked in wonder. "Is joy a supernatural feeling? +Ought it not to be the normal state of man? The more highly a man is +developed on the intellectual and moral side, the more independent he +is, the more pleasure life gives him. Socrates, Diogenes, and Marcus +Aurelius, were joyful, not sorrowful. And the Apostle tells us: 'Rejoice +continually'; 'Rejoice and be glad.'"</p> + +<p>"But will the gods be suddenly wrathful?" Kovrin jested; and he laughed. +"If they take from me comfort and make me go cold and hungry, it won't +be very much to my taste."</p> + +<p>Meanwhile Tanya woke up and looked with amazement and horror at her +husband. He was talking, addressing the arm-chair, laughing and +gesticulating; his eyes were gleaming, and there was something strange +in his laugh.</p> + +<p>"Andryusha, whom are you talking to?" she asked, clutching the hand he +stretched out to the monk. "Andryusha! Whom?"</p> + +<p>"Oh! Whom?" said Kovrin in confusion. "Why, to him.... He is sitting +here," he said, pointing to the black monk.</p> + +<p>"There is no one here ... no one! Andryusha, you are ill!"</p> + +<p>Tanya put her arm round her husband and held him tight, as though +protecting him from the apparition, and put her hand over his eyes.</p> + +<p>"You are ill!" she sobbed, trembling all over. "Forgive me, my precious, +my dear one, but I have noticed for a long time that your mind is +clouded in some way.... You are mentally ill, Andryusha...."</p> + +<p>Her trembling infected him, too. He glanced once more at the arm-chair, +which was now empty, felt a sudden weakness in his arms and legs, was +frightened, and began dressing.</p> + +<p>"It's nothing, Tanya; it's nothing," he muttered, shivering. "I really +am not quite well ... it's time to admit that."</p> + +<p>"I have noticed it for a long time ... and father has noticed it," she +said, trying to suppress her sobs. "You talk to yourself, smile somehow +strangely ... and can't sleep. Oh, my God, my God, save us!" she said in +terror. "But don't be frightened, Andryusha; for God's sake don't be +frightened...."</p> + +<p>She began dressing, too. Only now, looking at her, Kovrin realised the +danger of his position—realised the meaning of the black monk and his +conversations with him. It was clear to him now that he was mad.</p> + +<p>Neither of them knew why they dressed and went into the dining-room: she +in front and he following her. There they found Yegor Semyonitch +standing in his dressing-gown and with a candle in his hand. He was +staying with them, and had been awakened by Tanya's sobs.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened, Andryusha," Tanya was saying, shivering as though +in a fever; "don't be frightened.... Father, it will all pass over ... +it will all pass over...."</p> + +<p>Kovrin was too much agitated to speak. He wanted to say to his +father-in-law in a playful tone: "Congratulate me; it appears I have +gone out of my mind"; but he could only move his lips and smile +bitterly.</p> + +<p>At nine o'clock in the morning they put on his jacket and fur coat, +wrapped him up in a shawl, and took him in a carriage to a doctor.</p> + +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<p>Summer had come again, and the doctor advised their going into the +country. Kovrin had recovered; he had left off seeing the black monk, +and he had only to get up his strength. Staying at his father-in-law's, +he drank a great deal of milk, worked for only two hours out of the +twenty-four, and neither smoked nor drank wine.</p> + +<p>On the evening before Elijah's Day they had an evening service in the +house. When the deacon was handing the priest the censer the immense old +room smelt like a graveyard, and Kovrin felt bored. He went out into the +garden. Without noticing the gorgeous flowers, he walked about the +garden, sat down on a seat, then strolled about the park; reaching the +river, he went down and then stood lost in thought, looking at the +water. The sullen pines with their shaggy roots, which had seen him a +year before so young, so joyful and confident, were not whispering now, +but standing mute and motionless, as though they did not recognise him. +And, indeed, his head was closely cropped, his beautiful long hair was +gone, his step was lagging, his face was fuller and paler than last +summer.</p> + +<p>He crossed by the footbridge to the other side. Where the year before +there had been rye the oats stood, reaped, and lay in rows. The sun had +set and there was a broad stretch of glowing red on the horizon, a sign +of windy weather next day. It was still. Looking in the direction from +which the year before the black monk had first appeared, Kovrin stood +for twenty minutes, till the evening glow had begun to fade....</p> + +<p>When, listless and dissatisfied, he returned home the service was over. +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya were sitting on the steps of the verandah, +drinking tea. They were talking of something, but, seeing Kovrin, ceased +at once, and he concluded from their faces that their talk had been +about him.</p> + +<p>"I believe it is time for you to have your milk," Tanya said to her +husband.</p> + +<p>"No, it is not time yet ..." he said, sitting down on the bottom step. +"Drink it yourself; I don't want it."</p> + +<p>Tanya exchanged a troubled glance with her father, and said in a guilty +voice:</p> + +<p>"You notice yourself that milk does you good."</p> + +<p>"Yes, a great deal of good!" Kovrin laughed. "I congratulate you: I have +gained a pound in weight since Friday." He pressed his head tightly in +his hands and said miserably: "Why, why have you cured me? Preparations +of bromide, idleness, hot baths, supervision, cowardly consternation at +every mouthful, at every step—all this will reduce me at last to +idiocy. I went out of my mind, I had megalomania; but then I was +cheerful, confident, and even happy; I was interesting and original. Now +I have become more sensible and stolid, but I am just like every one +else: I am—mediocrity; I am weary of life.... Oh, how cruelly you have +treated me!... I saw hallucinations, but what harm did that do to any +one? I ask, what harm did that do any one?"</p> + +<p>"Goodness knows what you are saying!" sighed Yegor Semyonitch. "It's +positively wearisome to listen to it."</p> + +<p>"Then don't listen."</p> + +<p>The presence of other people, especially Yegor Semyonitch, irritated +Kovrin now; he answered him drily, coldly, and even rudely, never looked +at him but with irony and hatred, while Yegor Semyonitch was overcome +with confusion and cleared his throat guiltily, though he was not +conscious of any fault in himself. At a loss to understand why their +charming and affectionate relations had changed so abruptly, Tanya +huddled up to her father and looked anxiously in his face; she wanted to +understand and could not understand, and all that was clear to her was +that their relations were growing worse and worse every day, that of +late her father had begun to look much older, and her husband had grown +irritable, capricious, quarrelsome and uninteresting. She could not +laugh or sing; at dinner she ate nothing; did not sleep for nights +together, expecting something awful, and was so worn out that on one +occasion she lay in a dead faint from dinner-time till evening. During +the service she thought her father was crying, and now while the three +of them were sitting together on the terrace she made an effort not to +think of it.</p> + +<p>"How fortunate Buddha, Mahomed, and Shakespeare were that their kind +relations and doctors did not cure them of their ecstasy and their +inspiration," said Kovrin. "If Mahomed had taken bromide for his nerves, +had worked only two hours out of the twenty-four, and had drunk milk, +that remarkable man would have left no more trace after him than his +dog. Doctors and kind relations will succeed in stupefying mankind, in +making mediocrity pass for genius and in bringing civilisation to ruin. +If only you knew," Kovrin said with annoyance, "how grateful I am to +you."</p> + +<p>He felt intense irritation, and to avoid saying too much, he got up +quickly and went into the house. It was still, and the fragrance of the +tobacco plant and the marvel of Peru floated in at the open window. The +moonlight lay in green patches on the floor and on the piano in the big +dark dining-room. Kovrin remembered the raptures of the previous summer +when there had been the same scent of the marvel of Peru and the moon +had shone in at the window. To bring back the mood of last year he went +quickly to his study, lighted a strong cigar, and told the footman to +bring him some wine. But the cigar left a bitter and disgusting taste in +his mouth, and the wine had not the same flavour as it had the year +before. And so great is the effect of giving up a habit, the cigar and +the two gulps of wine made him giddy, and brought on palpitations of the +heart, so that he was obliged to take bromide.</p> + +<p>Before going to bed, Tanya said to him:</p> + +<p>"Father adores you. You are cross with him about something, and it is +killing him. Look at him; he is ageing, not from day to day, but from +hour to hour. I entreat you, Andryusha, for God's sake, for the sake of +your dead father, for the sake of my peace of mind, be affectionate to +him."</p> + +<p>"I can't, I don't want to."</p> + +<p>"But why?" asked Tanya, beginning to tremble all over. "Explain why."</p> + +<p>"Because he is antipathetic to me, that's all," said Kovrin carelessly; +and he shrugged his shoulders. "But we won't talk about him: he is your +father."</p> + +<p>"I can't understand, I can't," said Tanya, pressing her hands to her +temples and staring at a fixed point. "Something incomprehensible, +awful, is going on in the house. You have changed, grown unlike +yourself.... You, clever, extraordinary man as you are, are irritated +over trifles, meddle in paltry nonsense.... Such trivial things excite +you, that sometimes one is simply amazed and can't believe that it is +you. Come, come, don't be angry, don't be angry," she went on, kissing +his hands, frightened of her own words. "You are clever, kind, noble. +You will be just to father. He is so good."</p> + +<p>"He is not good; he is just good-natured. Burlesque old uncles like your +father, with well-fed, good-natured faces, extraordinarily hospitable +and queer, at one time used to touch me and amuse me in novels and in +farces and in life; now I dislike them. They are egoists to the marrow +of their bones. What disgusts me most of all is their being so well-fed, +and that purely bovine, purely hoggish optimism of a full stomach."</p> + +<p>Tanya sat down on the bed and laid her head on the pillow.</p> + +<p>"This is torture," she said, and from her voice it was evident that she +was utterly exhausted, and that it was hard for her to speak. "Not one +moment of peace since the winter.... Why, it's awful! My God! I am +wretched."</p> + +<p>"Oh, of course, I am Herod, and you and your father are the innocents. +Of course."</p> + +<p>His face seemed to Tanya ugly and unpleasant. Hatred and an ironical +expression did not suit him. And, indeed, she had noticed before that +there was something lacking in his face, as though ever since his hair +had been cut his face had changed, too. She wanted to say something +wounding to him, but immediately she caught herself in this antagonistic +feeling, she was frightened and went out of the bedroom.</p> + +<h3>IX</h3> + +<p>Kovrin received a professorship at the University. The inaugural address +was fixed for the second of December, and a notice to that effect was +hung up in the corridor at the University. But on the day appointed he +informed the students' inspector, by telegram, that he was prevented by +illness from giving the lecture.</p> + +<p>He had hæmorrhage from the throat. He was often spitting blood, but it +happened two or three times a month that there was a considerable loss +of blood, and then he grew extremely weak and sank into a drowsy +condition. This illness did not particularly frighten him, as he knew +that his mother had lived for ten years or longer suffering from the +same disease, and the doctors assured him that there was no danger, and +had only advised him to avoid excitement, to lead a regular life, and to +speak as little as possible.</p> + +<p>In January again his lecture did not take place owing to the same +reason, and in February it was too late to begin the course. It had to +be postponed to the following year.</p> + +<p>By now he was living not with Tanya, but with another woman, who was two +years older than he was, and who looked after him as though he were a +baby. He was in a calm and tranquil state of mind; he readily gave in to +her, and when Varvara Nikolaevna—that was the name of his +friend—decided to take him to the Crimea, he agreed, though he had a +presentiment that no good would come of the trip.</p> + +<p>They reached Sevastopol in the evening and stopped at an hotel to rest +and go on the next day to Yalta. They were both exhausted by the +journey. Varvara Nikolaevna had some tea, went to bed and was soon +asleep. But Kovrin did not go to bed. An hour before starting for the +station, he had received a letter from Tanya, and had not brought +himself to open it, and now it was lying in his coat pocket, and the +thought of it excited him disagreeably. At the bottom of his heart he +genuinely considered now that his marriage to Tanya had been a mistake. +He was glad that their separation was final, and the thought of that +woman who in the end had turned into a living relic, still walking about +though everything seemed dead in her except her big, staring, +intelligent eyes—the thought of her roused in him nothing but pity and +disgust with himself. The handwriting on the envelope reminded him how +cruel and unjust he had been two years before, how he had worked off his +anger at his spiritual emptiness, his boredom, his loneliness, and his +dissatisfaction with life by revenging himself on people in no way to +blame. He remembered, also, how he had torn up his dissertation and all +the articles he had written during his illness, and how he had thrown +them out of window, and the bits of paper had fluttered in the wind and +caught on the trees and flowers. In every line of them he saw strange, +utterly groundless pretension, shallow defiance, arrogance, megalomania; +and they made him feel as though he were reading a description of his +vices. But when the last manuscript had been torn up and sent flying out +of window, he felt, for some reason, suddenly bitter and angry; he went +to his wife and said a great many unpleasant things to her. My God, how +he had tormented her! One day, wanting to cause her pain, he told her +that her father had played a very unattractive part in their romance, +that he had asked him to marry her. Yegor Semyonitch accidentally +overheard this, ran into the room, and, in his despair, could not utter +a word, could only stamp and make a strange, bellowing sound as though +he had lost the power of speech, and Tanya, looking at her father, had +uttered a heart-rending shriek and had fallen into a swoon. It was +hideous.</p> + +<p>All this came back into his memory as he looked at the familiar writing. +Kovrin went out on to the balcony; it was still warm weather and there +was a smell of the sea. The wonderful bay reflected the moonshine and +the lights, and was of a colour for which it was difficult to find a +name. It was a soft and tender blending of dark blue and green; in +places the water was like blue vitriol, and in places it seemed as +though the moonlight were liquefied and filling the bay instead of +water. And what harmony of colours, what an atmosphere of peace, calm, +and sublimity!</p> + +<p>In the lower storey under the balcony the windows were probably open, +for women's voices and laughter could be heard distinctly. Apparently +there was an evening party.</p> + +<p>Kovrin made an effort, tore open the envelope, and, going back into his +room, read:</p> + +<p>"My father is just dead. I owe that to you, for you have killed him. Our +garden is being ruined; strangers are managing it already—that is, the +very thing is happening that poor father dreaded. That, too, I owe to +you. I hate you with my whole soul, and I hope you may soon perish. Oh, +how wretched I am! Insufferable anguish is burning my soul.... My curses +on you. I took you for an extraordinary man, a genius; I loved you, and +you have turned out a madman...."</p> + +<p>Kovrin could read no more, he tore up the letter and threw it away. He +was overcome by an uneasiness that was akin to terror. Varvara +Nikolaevna was asleep behind the screen, and he could hear her +breathing. From the lower storey came the sounds of laughter and women's +voices, but he felt as though in the whole hotel there were no living +soul but him. Because Tanya, unhappy, broken by sorrow, had cursed him +in her letter and hoped for his perdition, he felt eerie and kept +glancing hurriedly at the door, as though he were afraid that the +uncomprehended force which two years before had wrought such havoc in +his life and in the life of those near him might come into the room and +master him once more.</p> + +<p>He knew by experience that when his nerves were out of hand the best +thing for him to do was to work. He must sit down to the table and force +himself, at all costs, to concentrate his mind on some one thought. He +took from his red portfolio a manuscript containing a sketch of a small +work of the nature of a compilation, which he had planned in case he +should find it dull in the Crimea without work. He sat down to the table +and began working at this plan, and it seemed to him that his calm, +peaceful, indifferent mood was coming back. The manuscript with the +sketch even led him to meditation on the vanity of the world. He thought +how much life exacts for the worthless or very commonplace blessings it +can give a man. For instance, to gain, before forty, a university chair, +to be an ordinary professor, to expound ordinary and second-hand +thoughts in dull, heavy, insipid language—in fact, to gain the position +of a mediocre learned man, he, Kovrin, had had to study for fifteen +years, to work day and night, to endure a terrible mental illness, to +experience an unhappy marriage, and to do a great number of stupid and +unjust things which it would have been pleasant not to remember. Kovrin +recognised clearly, now, that he was a mediocrity, and readily resigned +himself to it, as he considered that every man ought to be satisfied +with what he is.</p> + +<p>The plan of the volume would have soothed him completely, but the torn +letter showed white on the floor and prevented him from concentrating +his attention. He got up from the table, picked up the pieces of the +letter and threw them out of window, but there was a light wind blowing +from the sea, and the bits of paper were scattered on the windowsill. +Again he was overcome by uneasiness akin to terror, and he felt as +though in the whole hotel there were no living soul but himself.... He +went out on the balcony. The bay, like a living thing, looked at him +with its multitude of light blue, dark blue, turquoise and fiery eyes, +and seemed beckoning to him. And it really was hot and oppressive, and +it would not have been amiss to have a bathe.</p> + +<p>Suddenly in the lower storey under the balcony a violin began playing, +and two soft feminine voices began singing. It was something familiar. +The song was about a maiden, full of sick fancies, who heard one night +in her garden mysterious sounds, so strange and lovely that she was +obliged to recognise them as a holy harmony which is unintelligible to +us mortals, and so flies back to heaven.... Kovrin caught his breath and +there was a pang of sadness at his heart, and a thrill of the sweet, +exquisite delight he had so long forgotten began to stir in his breast.</p> + +<p>A tall black column, like a whirlwind or a waterspout, appeared on the +further side of the bay. It moved with fearful rapidity across the bay, +towards the hotel, growing smaller and darker as it came, and Kovrin +only just had time to get out of the way to let it pass.... The monk +with bare grey head, black eyebrows, barefoot, his arms crossed over his +breast, floated by him, and stood still in the middle of the room.</p> + +<p>"Why did you not believe me?" he asked reproachfully, looking +affectionately at Kovrin. "If you had believed me then, that you were a +genius, you would not have spent these two years so gloomily and so +wretchedly."</p> + +<p>Kovrin already believed that he was one of God's chosen and a genius; he +vividly recalled his conversations with the monk in the past and tried +to speak, but the blood flowed from his throat on to his breast, and not +knowing what he was doing, he passed his hands over his breast, and his +cuffs were soaked with blood. He tried to call Varvara Nikolaevna, who +was asleep behind the screen; he made an effort and said:</p> + +<p>"Tanya!"</p> + +<p>He fell on the floor, and propping himself on his arms, called again:</p> + +<p>"Tanya!"</p> + +<p>He called Tanya, called to the great garden with the gorgeous flowers +sprinkled with dew, called to the park, the pines with their shaggy +roots, the rye-field, his marvellous learning, his youth, courage, +joy—called to life, which was so lovely. He saw on the floor near his +face a great pool of blood, and was too weak to utter a word, but an +unspeakable, infinite happiness flooded his whole being. Below, under +the balcony, they were playing the serenade, and the black monk +whispered to him that he was a genius, and that he was dying only +because his frail human body had lost its balance and could no longer +serve as the mortal garb of genius.</p> + +<p>When Varvara Nikolaevna woke up and came out from behind the screen, +Kovrin was dead, and a blissful smile was set upon his face.</p> + +<h2><a name="VOLODYA" id="VOLODYA"></a>VOLODYA</h2> + +<p class="nind"><big>A</big><small>T</small> five o'clock one Sunday afternoon in summer, Volodya, a plain, shy, +sickly-looking lad of seventeen, was sitting in the arbour of the +Shumihins' country villa, feeling dreary. His despondent thought flowed +in three directions. In the first place, he had next day, Monday, an +examination in mathematics; he knew that if he did not get through the +written examination on the morrow, he would be expelled, for he had +already been two years in the sixth form and had two and three-quarter +marks for algebra in his annual report. In the second place, his +presence at the villa of the Shumihins, a wealthy family with +aristocratic pretensions, was a continual source of mortification to his +<i>amour-propre</i>. It seemed to him that Madame Shumihin looked upon him +and his maman as poor relations and dependents, that they laughed at his +<i>maman</i> and did not respect her. He had on one occasion accidently +overheard Madame Shumihin, in the verandah, telling her cousin Anna +Fyodorovna that his <i>maman</i> still tried to look young and got herself +up, that she never paid her losses at cards, and had a partiality for +other people's shoes and tobacco. Every day Volodya besought his <i>maman</i> +not to go to the Shumihins', and drew a picture of the humiliating part +she played with these gentlefolk. He tried to persuade her, said rude +things, but she—a frivolous, pampered woman, who had run through two +fortunes, her own and her husband's, in her time, and always gravitated +towards acquaintances of high rank—did not understand him, and twice a +week Volodya had to accompany her to the villa he hated.</p> + +<p>In the third place, the youth could not for one instant get rid of a +strange, unpleasant feeling which was absolutely new to him.... It +seemed to him that he was in love with Anna Fyodorovna, the Shumihins' +cousin, who was staying with them. She was a vivacious, loud-voiced, +laughter-loving, healthy, and vigorous lady of thirty, with rosy cheeks, +plump shoulders, a plump round chin and a continual smile on her thin +lips. She was neither young nor beautiful—Volodya knew that perfectly +well; but for some reason he could not help thinking of her, looking at +her while she shrugged her plump shoulders and moved her flat back as +she played croquet, or after prolonged laughter and running up and down +stairs, sank into a low chair, and, half closing her eyes and gasping +for breath, pretended that she was stifling and could not breathe. She +was married. Her husband, a staid and dignified architect, came once a +week to the villa, slept soundly, and returned to town. Volodya's +strange feeling had begun with his conceiving an unaccountable hatred +for the architect, and feeling relieved every time he went back to town.</p> + +<p>Now, sitting in the arbour, thinking of his examination next day, and of +his <i>maman</i>, at whom they laughed, he felt an intense desire to see +Nyuta (that was what the Shumihins called Anna Fyodorovna), to hear her +laughter and the rustle of her dress.... This desire was not like the +pure, poetic love of which he read in novels and about which he dreamed +every night when he went to bed; it was strange, incomprehensible; he +was ashamed of it, and afraid of it as of something very wrong and +impure, something which it was disagreeable to confess even to himself.</p> + +<p>"It's not love," he said to himself. "One can't fall in love with women +of thirty who are married. It is only a little intrigue.... Yes, an +intrigue...."</p> + +<p>Pondering on the "intrigue," he thought of his uncontrollable shyness, +his lack of moustache, his freckles, his narrow eyes, and put himself in +his imagination side by side with Nyuta, and the juxtaposition seemed to +him impossible; then he made haste to imagine himself bold, handsome, +witty, dressed in the latest fashion.</p> + +<p>When his dreams were at their height, as he sat huddled together and +looking at the ground in a dark corner of the arbour, he heard the sound +of light footsteps. Some one was coming slowly along the avenue. Soon +the steps stopped and something white gleamed in the entrance.</p> + +<p>"Is there any one here?" asked a woman's voice.</p> + +<p>Volodya recognised the voice, and raised his head in a fright.</p> + +<p>"Who is here?" asked Nyuta, going into the arbour. "Ah, it is you, +Volodya? What are you doing here? Thinking? And how can you go on +thinking, thinking, thinking?... That's the way to go out of your mind!"</p> + +<p>Volodya got up and looked in a dazed way at Nyuta. She had only just +come back from bathing. Over her shoulder there was hanging a sheet and +a rough towel, and from under the white silk kerchief on her head he +could see the wet hair sticking to her forehead. There was the cool damp +smell of the bath-house and of almond soap still hanging about her. She +was out of breath from running quickly. The top button of her blouse was +undone, so that the boy saw her throat and bosom.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you say something?" said Nyuta, looking Volodya up and down. +"It's not polite to be silent when a lady talks to you. What a clumsy +seal you are though, Volodya! You always sit, saying nothing, thinking +like some philosopher. There's not a spark of life or fire in you! You +are really horrid!... At your age you ought to be living, skipping, and +jumping, chattering, flirting, falling in love."</p> + +<p>Volodya looked at the sheet that was held by a plump white hand, and +thought....</p> + +<p>"He's mute," said Nyuta, with wonder; "it is strange, really.... Listen! +Be a man! Come, you might smile at least! Phew, the horrid philosopher!" +she laughed. "But do you know, Volodya, why you are such a clumsy seal? +Because you don't devote yourself to the ladies. Why don't you? It's +true there are no girls here, but there is nothing to prevent your +flirting with the married ladies! Why don't you flirt with me, for +instance?"</p> + +<p>Volodya listened and scratched his forehead in acute and painful +irresolution.</p> + +<p>"It's only very proud people who are silent and love solitude," Nyuta +went on, pulling his hand away from his forehead. "You are proud, +Volodya. Why do you look at me like that from under your brows? Look me +straight in the face, if you please! Yes, now then, clumsy seal!"</p> + +<p>Volodya made up his mind to speak. Wanting to smile, he twitched his +lower lip, blinked, and again put his hand to his forehead.</p> + +<p>"I ... I love you," he said.</p> + +<p>Nyuta raised her eyebrows in surprise, and laughed.</p> + +<p>"What do I hear?" she sang, as prima-donnas sing at the opera when they +hear something awful. "What? What did you say? Say it again, say it +again...."</p> + +<p>"I ... I love you!" repeated Volodya.</p> + +<p>And without his will's having any part in his action, without reflection +or understanding, he took half a step towards Nyuta and clutched her by +the arm. Everything was dark before his eyes, and tears came into them. +The whole world was turned into one big, rough towel which smelt of the +bathhouse.</p> + +<p>"Bravo, bravo!" he heard a merry laugh. "Why don't you speak? I want you +to speak! Well?"</p> + +<p>Seeing that he was not prevented from holding her arm, Volodya glanced +at Nyuta's laughing face, and clumsily, awkwardly, put both arms round +her waist, his hands meeting behind her back. He held her round the +waist with both arms, while, putting her hands up to her head, showing +the dimples in her elbows, she set her hair straight under the kerchief +and said in a calm voice:</p> + +<p>"You must be tactful, polite, charming, and you can only become that +under feminine influence. But what a wicked, angry face you have! You +must talk, laugh.... Yes, Volodya, don't be surly; you are young and +will have plenty of time for philosophising. Come, let go of me; I am +going. Let go."</p> + +<p>Without effort she released her waist, and, humming something, walked +out of the arbour. Volodya was left alone. He smoothed his hair, smiled, +and walked three times to and fro across the arbour, then he sat down on +the bench and smiled again. He felt insufferably ashamed, so much so +that he wondered that human shame could reach such a pitch of acuteness +and intensity. Shame made him smile, gesticulate, and whisper some +disconnected words.</p> + +<p>He was ashamed that he had been treated like a small boy, ashamed of his +shyness, and, most of all, that he had had the audacity to put his arms +round the waist of a respectable married woman, though, as it seemed to +him, he had neither through age nor by external quality, nor by social +position any right to do so.</p> + +<p>He jumped up, went out of the arbour, and, without looking round, walked +into the recesses of the garden furthest from the house.</p> + +<p>"Ah! only to get away from here as soon as possible," he thought, +clutching his head. "My God! as soon as possible."</p> + +<p>The train by which Volodya was to go back with his <i>maman</i> was at +eight-forty. There were three hours before the train started, but he +would with pleasure have gone to the station at once without waiting for +his <i>maman</i>.</p> + +<p>At eight o'clock he went to the house. His whole figure was expressive +of determination: what would be, would be! He made up his mind to go in +boldly, to look them straight in the face, to speak in a loud voice, +regardless of everything.</p> + +<p>He crossed the terrace, the big hall and the drawing-room, and there +stopped to take breath. He could hear them in the dining-room, drinking +tea. Madame Shumihin, <i>maman</i>, and Nyuta were talking and laughing about +something.</p> + +<p>Volodya listened.</p> + +<p>"I assure you!" said Nyuta. "I could not believe my eyes! When he began +declaring his passion and—just imagine!—put his arms round my waist, I +should not have recognised him. And you know he has a way with him! When +he told me he was in love with me, there was something brutal in his +face, like a Circassian."</p> + +<p>"Really!" gasped <i>maman</i>, going off into a peal of laughter. "Really! +How he does remind me of his father!"</p> + +<p>Volodya ran back and dashed out into the open air.</p> + +<p>"How could they talk of it aloud!" he wondered in agony, clasping his +hands and looking up to the sky in horror. "They talk aloud in cold +blood ... and <i>maman</i> laughed!... <i>Maman!</i> My God, why didst Thou give +me such a mother? Why?"</p> + +<p>But he had to go to the house, come what might. He walked three times up +and down the avenue, grew a little calmer, and went into the house.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you come in in time for tea?" Madame Shumihin asked sternly.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry, it's ... it's time for me to go," he muttered, not raising +his eyes. "<i>Maman</i>, it's eight o'clock!"</p> + +<p>"You go alone, my dear," said his <i>maman</i> languidly. "I am staying the +night with Lili. Goodbye, my dear.... Let me make the sign of the cross +over you."</p> + +<p>She made the sign of the cross over her son, and said in French, turning +to Nyuta:</p> + +<p>"He's rather like Lermontov ... isn't he?"</p> + +<p>Saying good-bye after a fashion, without looking any one in the face, +Volodya went out of the dining-room. Ten minutes later he was walking +along the road to the station, and was glad of it. Now he felt neither +frightened nor ashamed; he breathed freely and easily.</p> + +<p>About half a mile from the station, he sat down on a stone by the side +of the road, and gazed at the sun, which was half hidden behind a +barrow. There were lights already here and there at the station, and one +green light glimmered dimly, but the train was not yet in sight. It was +pleasant to Volodya to sit still without moving, and to watch the +evening coming little by little. The darkness of the arbour, the +footsteps, the smell of the bath-house, the laughter, and the waist—all +these rose with amazing vividness before his imagination, and all this +was no longer so terrible and important as before.</p> + +<p>"It's of no consequence.... She did not pull her hand away, and laughed +when I held her by the waist," he thought. "So she must have liked it. +If she had disliked it she would have been angry...."</p> + +<p>And now Volodya felt sorry that he had not had more boldness there in +the arbour. He felt sorry that he was so stupidly going away, and he was +by now persuaded that if the same thing happened again he would be +bolder and look at it more simply.</p> + +<p>And it would not be difficult for the opportunity to occur again. They +used to stroll about for a long time after supper at the Shumihins'. If +Volodya went for a walk with Nyuta in the dark garden, there would be an +opportunity!</p> + +<p>"I will go back," he thought, "and will go by the morning train +to-morrow.... I will say I have missed the train."</p> + +<p>And he turned back.... Madame Shumihin, <i>Maman</i>, Nyuta, and one of the +nieces were sitting on the verandah, playing <i>vint</i>. When Volodya told +them the lie that he had missed the train, they were uneasy that he +might be late for the examination day, and advised him to get up early. +All the while they were playing he sat on one side, greedily watching +Nyuta and waiting.... He already had a plan prepared in his mind: he +would go up to Nyuta in the dark, would take her by the hand, then would +embrace her; there would be no need to say anything, as both of them +would understand without words.</p> + +<p>But after supper the ladies did not go for a walk in the garden, but +went on playing cards. They played till one o'clock at night, and then +broke up to go to bed.</p> + +<p>"How stupid it all is!" Volodya thought with vexation as he got into +bed. "But never mind; I'll wait till to-morrow ... to-morrow in the +arbour. It doesn't matter...."</p> + +<p>He did not attempt to go to sleep, but sat in bed, hugging his knees and +thinking. All thought of the examination was hateful to him. He had +already made up his mind that they would expel him, and that there was +nothing terrible about his being expelled. On the contrary, it was a +good thing—a very good thing, in fact. Next day he would be as free as +a bird; he would put on ordinary clothes instead of his school uniform, +would smoke openly, come out here, and make love to Nyuta when he liked; +and he would not be a schoolboy but "a young man." And as for the rest +of it, what is called a career, a future, that was clear; Volodya would +go into the army or the telegraph service, or he would go into a +chemist's shop and work his way up till he was a dispenser.... There +were lots of callings. An hour or two passed, and he was still sitting +and thinking....</p> + +<p>Towards three o'clock, when it was beginning to get light, the door +creaked cautiously and his <i>maman</i> came into the room.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you asleep?" she asked, yawning. "Go to sleep; I have only come +in for a minute.... I am only fetching the drops...."</p> + +<p>"What for?"</p> + +<p>"Poor Lili has got spasms again. Go to sleep, my child, your +examination's to-morrow...."</p> + +<p>She took a bottle of something out of the cupboard, went to the window, +read the label, and went away.</p> + +<p>"Marya Leontyevna, those are not the drops!" Volodya heard a woman's +voice, a minute later. "That's convallaria, and Lili wants morphine. Is +your son asleep? Ask him to look for it...."</p> + +<p>It was Nyuta's voice. Volodya turned cold. He hurriedly put on his +trousers, flung his coat over his shoulders, and went to the door.</p> + +<p>"Do you understand? Morphine," Nyuta explained in a whisper. "There must +be a label in Latin. Wake Volodya; he will find it."</p> + +<p><i>Maman</i> opened the door and Volodya caught sight of Nyuta. She was +wearing the same loose wrapper in which she had gone to bathe. Her hair +hung loose and disordered on her shoulders, her face looked sleepy and +dark in the half-light....</p> + +<p>"Why, Volodya is not asleep," she said. "Volodya, look in the cupboard +for the morphine, there's a dear! What a nuisance Lili is! She has +always something the matter."</p> + +<p><i>Maman</i> muttered something, yawned, and went away.</p> + +<p>"Look for it," said Nyuta. "Why are you standing still?"</p> + +<p>Volodya went to the cupboard, knelt down, and began looking through the +bottles and boxes of medicine. His hands were trembling, and he had a +feeling in his chest and stomach as though cold waves were running all +over his inside. He felt suffocated and giddy from the smell of ether, +carbolic acid, and various drugs, which he quite unnecessarily snatched +up with his trembling fingers and spilled in so doing.</p> + +<p>"I believe <i>maman</i> has gone," he thought. "That's a good thing ... a +good thing...."</p> + +<p>"Will you be quick?" said Nyuta, drawling.</p> + +<p>"In a minute.... Here, I believe this is morphine," said Volodya, +reading on one of the labels the word "morph...." "Here it is!"</p> + +<p>Nyuta was standing in the doorway in such a way that one foot was in his +room and one was in the passage. She was tidying her hair, which was +difficult to put in order because it was so thick and long, and looked +absent-mindedly at Volodya. In her loose wrap, with her sleepy face and +her hair down, in the dim light that came into the white sky not yet lit +by the sun, she seemed to Volodya captivating, magnificent.... +Fascinated, trembling all over, and remembering with relish how he had +held that exquisite body in his arms in the arbour, he handed her the +bottle and said:</p> + +<p>"How wonderful you are!"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>She came into the room.</p> + +<p>"What?" she asked, smiling.</p> + +<p>He was silent and looked at her, then, just as in the arbour, he took +her hand, and she looked at him with a smile and waited for what would +happen next.</p> + +<p>"I love you," he whispered.</p> + +<p>She left off smiling, thought a minute, and said:</p> + +<p>"Wait a little; I think somebody is coming. Oh, these schoolboys!" she +said in an undertone, going to the door and peeping out into the +passage. "No, there is no one to be seen...."</p> + +<p>She came back.</p> + +<p>Then it seemed to Volodya that the room, Nyuta, the sunrise and +himself—all melted together in one sensation of acute, extraordinary, +incredible bliss, for which one might give up one's whole life and face +eternal torments.... But half a minute passed and all that vanished. +Volodya saw only a fat, plain face, distorted by an expression of +repulsion, and he himself suddenly felt a loathing for what had +happened.</p> + +<p>"I must go away, though," said Nyuta, looking at Volodya with disgust. +"What a wretched, ugly ... fie, ugly duckling!"</p> + +<p>How unseemly her long hair, her loose wrap, her steps, her voice seemed +to Volodya now!...</p> + +<p>"'Ugly duckling' ..." he thought after she had gone away. "I really am +ugly ... everything is ugly."</p> + +<p>The sun was rising, the birds were singing loudly; he could hear the +gardener walking in the garden and the creaking of his wheelbarrow ... +and soon afterwards he heard the lowing of the cows and the sounds of +the shepherd's pipe. The sunlight and the sounds told him that somewhere +in this world there is a pure, refined, poetical life. But where was it? +Volodya had never heard a word of it from his <i>maman</i> or any of the +people round about him.</p> + +<p>When the footman came to wake him for the morning train, he pretended to +be asleep....</p> + +<p>"Bother it! Damn it all!" he thought.</p> + +<p>He got up between ten and eleven.</p> + +<p>Combing his hair before the looking-glass, and looking at his ugly face, +pale from his sleepless night, he thought:</p> + +<p>"It's perfectly true ... an ugly duckling!"</p> + +<p>When <i>maman</i> saw him and was horrified that he was not at his +examination, Volodya said:</p> + +<p>"I overslept myself, <i>maman</i>.... But don't worry, I will get a medical +certificate."</p> + +<p>Madame Shumihin and Nyuta waked up at one o'clock. Volodya heard Madame +Shumihin open her window with a bang, heard Nyuta go off into a peal of +laughter in reply to her coarse voice. He saw the door open and a string +of nieces and other toadies (among the latter was his <i>maman</i>) file into +lunch, caught a glimpse of Nyuta's freshly washed laughing face, and, +beside her, the black brows and beard of her husband the architect, who +had just arrived.</p> + +<p>Nyuta was wearing a Little Russian dress which did not suit her at all, +and made her look clumsy; the architect was making dull and vulgar +jokes. The rissoles served at lunch had too much onion in them—so it +seemed to Volodya. It also seemed to him that Nyuta laughed loudly on +purpose, and kept glancing in his direction to give him to understand +that the memory of the night did not trouble her in the least, and that +she was not aware of the presence at table of the "ugly duckling."</p> + +<p>At four o'clock Volodya drove to the station with his <i>maman</i>. Foul +memories, the sleepless night, the prospect of expulsion from school, +the stings of conscience—all roused in him now an oppressive, gloomy +anger. He looked at <i>maman</i>'s sharp profile, at her little nose, and at +the raincoat which was a present from Nyuta, and muttered:</p> + +<p>"Why do you powder? It's not becoming at your age! You make yourself up, +don't pay your debts at cards, smoke other people's tobacco.... It's +hateful! I don't love you ... I don't love you!"</p> + +<p>He was insulting her, and she moved her little eyes about in alarm, +flung up her hands, and whispered in horror:</p> + +<p>"What are you saying, my dear! Good gracious! the coachman will hear! Be +quiet or the coachman will hear! He can overhear everything."</p> + +<p>"I don't love you ... I don't love you!" he went on breathlessly. +"You've no soul and no morals.... Don't dare to wear that raincoat! Do +you hear? Or else I will tear it into rags...."</p> + +<p>"Control yourself, my child," <i>maman</i> wept; "the coachman can hear!"</p> + +<p>"And where is my father's fortune? Where is your money? You have wasted +it all. I am not ashamed of being poor, but I am ashamed of having such +a mother.... When my schoolfellows ask questions about you, I always +blush."</p> + +<p>In the train they had to pass two stations before they reached the town. +Volodya spent all the time on the little platform between two carriages +and shivered all over. He did not want to go into the compartment +because there the mother he hated was sitting. He hated himself, hated +the ticket collectors, the smoke from the engine, the cold to which he +attributed his shivering. And the heavier the weight on his heart, the +more strongly he felt that somewhere in the world, among some people, +there was a pure, honourable, warm, refined life, full of love, +affection, gaiety, and serenity.... He felt this and was so intensely +miserable that one of the passengers, after looking in his face +attentively, actually asked:</p> + +<p>"You have the toothache, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>In the town <i>maman</i> and Volodya lived with Marya Petrovna, a lady of +noble rank, who had a large flat and let rooms to boarders. <i>Maman</i> had +two rooms, one with windows and two pictures in gold frames hanging on +the walls, in which her bed stood and in which she lived, and a little +dark room opening out of it in which Volodya lived. Here there was a +sofa on which he slept, and, except that sofa, there was no other +furniture; the rest of the room was entirely filled up with wicker +baskets full of clothes, cardboard hat-boxes, and all sorts of rubbish, +which <i>maman</i> preserved for some reason or other. Volodya prepared his +lessons either in his mother's room or in the "general room," as the +large room in which the boarders assembled at dinner-time and in the +evening was called.</p> + +<p>On reaching home he lay down on his sofa and put the quilt over him to +stop his shivering. The cardboard hat-boxes, the wicker baskets, and the +other rubbish, reminded him that he had not a room of his own, that he +had no refuge in which he could get away from his mother, from her +visitors, and from the voices that were floating up from the "general +room." The satchel and the books lying about in the corners reminded him +of the examination he had missed.... For some reason there came into his +mind, quite inappropriately, Mentone, where he had lived with his father +when he was seven years old; he thought of Biarritz and two little +English girls with whom he ran about on the sand.... He tried to recall +to his memory the colour of the sky, the sea, the height of the waves, +and his mood at the time, but he could not succeed. The English girls +flitted before his imagination as though they were living; all the rest +was a medley of images that floated away in confusion....</p> + +<p>"No; it's cold here," thought Volodya. He got up, put on his overcoat, +and went into the "general room."</p> + +<p>There they were drinking tea. There were three people at the samovar: +<i>maman</i>; an old lady with tortoiseshell pince-nez, who gave music +lessons; and Avgustin Mihalitch, an elderly and very stout Frenchman, +who was employed at a perfumery factory.</p> + +<p>"I have had no dinner to-day," said <i>maman</i>. "I ought to send the maid +to buy some bread."</p> + +<p>"Dunyasha!" shouted the Frenchman.</p> + +<p>It appeared that the maid had been sent out somewhere by the lady of the +house.</p> + +<p>"Oh, that's of no consequence," said the Frenchman, with a broad smile. +"I will go for some bread myself at once. Oh, it's nothing."</p> + +<p>He laid his strong, pungent cigar in a conspicuous place, put on his hat +and went out. After he had gone away <i>maman</i> began telling the music +teacher how she had been staying at the Shumihins', and how warmly they +welcomed her.</p> + +<p>"Lili Shumihin is a relation of mine, you know," she said. "Her late +husband, General Shumihin, was a cousin of my husband. And she was a +Baroness Kolb by birth...."</p> + +<p>"<i>Maman</i>, that's false!" said Volodya irritably. "Why tell lies?"</p> + +<p>He knew perfectly well that what his mother said was true; in what she +was saying about General Shumihin and about Baroness Kolb there was not +a word of lying, but nevertheless he felt that she was lying. There was +a suggestion of falsehood in her manner of speaking, in the expression +of her face, in her eyes, in everything.</p> + +<p>"You are lying," repeated Volodya; and he brought his fist down on the +table with such force that all the crockery shook and <i>maman</i>'s tea was +spilt over. "Why do you talk about generals and baronesses? It's all +lies!"</p> + +<p>The music teacher was disconcerted, and coughed into her handkerchief, +affecting to sneeze, and <i>maman</i> began to cry.</p> + +<p>"Where can I go?" thought Volodya.</p> + +<p>He had been in the street already; he was ashamed to go to his +schoolfellows. Again, quite incongruously, he remembered the two little +English girls.... He paced up and down the "general room," and went into +Avgustin Mihalitch's room. Here there was a strong smell of ethereal +oils and glycerine soap. On the table, in the window, and even on the +chairs, there were a number of bottles, glasses, and wineglasses +containing fluids of various colours. Volodya took up from the table a +newspaper, opened it and read the title <i>Figaro</i> ... There was a strong +and pleasant scent about the paper. Then he took a revolver from the +table....</p> + +<p>"There, there! Don't take any notice of it." The music teacher was +comforting <i>maman</i> in the next room. "He is young! Young people of his +age never restrain themselves. One must resign oneself to that."</p> + +<p>"No, Yevgenya Andreyevna; he's too spoilt," said <i>maman</i> in a singsong +voice. "He has no one in authority over him, and I am weak and can do +nothing. Oh, I am unhappy!"</p> + +<p>Volodya put the muzzle of the revolver to his mouth, felt something like +a trigger or spring, and pressed it with his finger.... Then felt +something else projecting, and once more pressed it. Taking the muzzle +out of his mouth, he wiped it with the lapel of his coat, looked at the +lock. He had never in his life taken a weapon in his hand before....</p> + +<p>"I believe one ought to raise this ..." he reflected. "Yes, it seems +so."</p> + +<p>Avgustin Mihalitch went into the "general room," and with a laugh began +telling them about something. Volodya put the muzzle in his mouth again, +pressed it with his teeth, and pressed something with his fingers. There +was a sound of a shot.... Something hit Volodya in the back of his head +with terrible violence, and he fell on the table with his face downwards +among the bottles and glasses. Then he saw his father, as in Mentone, in +a top-hat with a wide black band on it, wearing mourning for some lady, +suddenly seize him by both hands, and they fell headlong into a very +deep, dark pit.</p> + +<p>Then everything was blurred and vanished.</p> + +<h2><a name="AN_ANONYMOUS_STORY" id="AN_ANONYMOUS_STORY"></a>AN ANONYMOUS STORY</h2> + +<h3>I</h3> + +<p class="nind"><big>T</big><small>HROUGH</small> causes which it is not the time to go into in detail, I had to +enter the service of a Petersburg official called Orlov, in the capacity +of a footman. He was about five and thirty, and was called Georgy* +Ivanitch.</p> + +<p>*Both <i>g's</i> hard, as in "Gorgon"; <i>e</i> like <i>ai</i> in <i>rain</i>.</p> + +<p>I entered this Orlov's service on account of his father, a prominent +political man, whom I looked upon as a serious enemy of my cause. I +reckoned that, living with the son, I should—from the conversations I +should hear, and from the letters and papers I should find on the +table—learn every detail of the father's plans and intentions.</p> + +<p>As a rule at eleven o'clock in the morning the electric bell rang in my +footman's quarters to let me know that my master was awake. When I went +into the bedroom with his polished shoes and brushed clothes, Georgy +Ivanitch would be sitting in his bed with a face that looked, not +drowsy, but rather exhausted by sleep, and he would gaze off in one +direction without any sign of satisfaction at having waked. I helped him +to dress, and he let me do it with an air of reluctance without speaking +or noticing my presence; then with his head wet with washing, smelling +of fresh scent, he used to go into the dining-room to drink his coffee. +He used to sit at the table, sipping his coffee and glancing through the +newspapers, while the maid Polya and I stood respectfully at the door +gazing at him. Two grown-up persons had to stand watching with the +gravest attention a third drinking coffee and munching rusks. It was +probably ludicrous and grotesque, but I saw nothing humiliating in +having to stand near the door, though I was quite as well born and well +educated as Orlov himself.</p> + +<p>I was in the first stage of consumption, and was suffering from +something else, possibly even more serious than consumption. I don't +know whether it was the effect of my illness or of an incipient change +in my philosophy of life of which I was not conscious at the time, but I +was, day by day, more possessed by a passionate, irritating longing for +ordinary everyday life. I yearned for mental tranquillity, health, fresh +air, good food. I was becoming a dreamer, and, like a dreamer, I did not +know exactly what I wanted. Sometimes I felt inclined to go into a +monastery, to sit there for days together by the window and gaze at the +trees and the fields; sometimes I fancied I would buy fifteen acres of +land and settle down as a country gentleman; sometimes I inwardly vowed +to take up science and become a professor at some provincial university. +I was a retired navy lieutenant; I dreamed of the sea, of our squadron, +and of the corvette in which I had made the cruise round the world. I +longed to experience again the indescribable feeling when, walking in +the tropical forest or looking at the sunset in the Bay of Bengal, one +is thrilled with ecstasy and at the same time homesick. I dreamed of +mountains, women, music, and, with the curiosity of a child, I looked +into people's faces, listened to their voices. And when I stood at the +door and watched Orlov sipping his coffee, I felt not a footman, but a +man interested in everything in the world, even in Orlov.</p> + +<p>In appearance Orlov was a typical Petersburger, with narrow shoulders, a +long waist, sunken temples, eyes of an indefinite colour, and scanty, +dingy-coloured hair, beard and moustaches. His face had a stale, +unpleasant look, though it was studiously cared for. It was particularly +unpleasant when he was asleep or lost in thought. It is not worth while +describing a quite ordinary appearance; besides, Petersburg is not +Spain, and a man's appearance is not of much consequence even in love +affairs, and is only of value to a handsome footman or coachman. I have +spoken of Orlov's face and hair only because there was something in his +appearance worth mentioning. When Orlov took a newspaper or book, +whatever it might be, or met people, whoever they be, an ironical smile +began to come into his eyes, and his whole countenance assumed an +expression of light mockery in which there was no malice. Before reading +or hearing anything he always had his irony in readiness, as a savage +has his shield. It was an habitual irony, like some old liquor brewed +years ago, and now it came into his face probably without any +participation of his will, as it were by reflex action. But of that +later.</p> + +<p>Soon after midday he took his portfolio, full of papers, and drove to +his office. He dined away from home and returned after eight o'clock. I +used to light the lamp and candles in his study, and he would sit down +in a low chair with his legs stretched out on another chair, and, +reclining in that position, would begin reading. Almost every day he +brought in new books with him or received parcels of them from the +shops, and there were heaps of books in three languages, to say nothing +of Russian, which he had read and thrown away, in the corners of my room +and under my bed. He read with extraordinary rapidity. They say: "Tell +me what you read, and I'll tell you who you are." That may be true, but +it was absolutely impossible to judge of Orlov by what he read. It was a +regular hotchpotch. Philosophy, French novels, political economy, +finance, new poets, and publications of the firm <i>Posrednik</i>*—and he +read it all with the same rapidity and with the same ironical expression +in his eyes.</p> + +<p>* I.e., Tchertkov and others, publishers of Tolstoy, who issued good +literature for peasants' reading.</p> + +<p>After ten o'clock he carefully dressed, often in evening dress, very +rarely in his <i>kammer-junker</i>'s uniform, and went out, returning in the +morning.</p> + +<p>Our relations were quiet and peaceful, and we never had any +misunderstanding. As a rule he did not notice my presence, and when he +talked to me there was no expression of irony on his face—he evidently +did not look upon me as a human being.</p> + +<p>I only once saw him angry. One day—it was a week after I had entered +his service—he came back from some dinner at nine o'clock; his face +looked ill-humoured and exhausted. When I followed him into his study to +light the candles, he said to me:</p> + +<p>"There's a nasty smell in the flat."</p> + +<p>"No, the air is fresh," I answered.</p> + +<p>"I tell you, there's a bad smell," he answered irritably.</p> + +<p>"I open the movable panes every day."</p> + +<p>"Don't argue, blockhead!" he shouted.</p> + +<p>I was offended, and was on the point of answering, and goodness knows +how it would have ended if Polya, who knew her master better than I did, +had not intervened.</p> + +<p>"There really is a disagreeable smell," she said, raising her eyebrows. +"What can it be from? Stepan, open the pane in the drawing-room, and +light the fire."</p> + +<p>With much bustle and many exclamations, she went through all the rooms, +rustling her skirts and squeezing the sprayer with a hissing sound. And +Orlov was still out of humour; he was obviously restraining himself not +to vent his ill-temper aloud. He was sitting at the table and rapidly +writing a letter. After writing a few lines he snorted angrily and tore +it up, then he began writing again.</p> + +<p>"Damn them all!" he muttered. "They expect me to have an abnormal +memory!"</p> + +<p>At last the letter was written; he got up from the table and said, +turning to me:</p> + +<p>"Go to Znamensky Street and deliver this letter to Zinaida Fyodorovna +Krasnovsky in person. But first ask the porter whether her husband +—that is, Mr. Krasnovsky—has returned yet. If he has returned, don't +deliver the letter, but come back. Wait a minute!... If she asks whether +I have any one here, tell her that there have been two gentlemen here +since eight o'clock, writing something."</p> + +<p>I drove to Znamensky Street. The porter told me that Mr. Krasnovsky had +not yet come in, and I made my way up to the third storey. The door was +opened by a tall, stout, drab-coloured flunkey with black whiskers, who +in a sleepy, churlish, and apathetic voice, such as only flunkeys use in +addressing other flunkeys, asked me what I wanted. Before I had time to +answer, a lady dressed in black came hurriedly into the hall. She +screwed up her eyes and looked at me.</p> + +<p>"Is Zinaida Fyodorovna at home?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"That is me," said the lady.</p> + +<p>"A letter from Georgy Ivanitch."</p> + +<p>She tore the letter open impatiently, and holding it in both hands, so +that I saw her sparkling diamond rings, she began reading. I made out a +pale face with soft lines, a prominent chin, and long dark lashes. From +her appearance I should not have judged the lady to be more than five +and twenty.</p> + +<p>"Give him my thanks and my greetings," she said when she had finished +the letter. "Is there any one with Georgy Ivanitch?" she asked softly, +joyfully, and as though ashamed of her mistrust.</p> + +<p>"Two gentlemen," I answered. "They're writing something."</p> + +<p>"Give him my greetings and thanks," she repeated, bending her head +sideways, and, reading the letter as she walked, she went noiselessly +out. I saw few women at that time, and this lady of whom I had a passing +glimpse made an impression on me. As I walked home I recalled her face +and the delicate fragrance about her, and fell to dreaming. By the time +I got home Orlov had gone out.</p> + +<h3>II</h3> + +<p>And so my relations with my employer were quiet and peaceful, but still +the unclean and degrading element which I so dreaded on becoming a +footman was conspicuous and made itself felt every day. I did not get on +with Polya. She was a well-fed and pampered hussy who adored Orlov +because he was a gentleman and despised me because I was a footman. +Probably, from the point of view of a real flunkey or cook, she was +fascinating, with her red cheeks, her turned-up nose, her coquettish +glances, and the plumpness, one might almost say fatness, of her person. +She powdered her face, coloured her lips and eyebrows, laced herself in, +and wore a bustle, and a bangle made of coins. She walked with little +ripping steps; as she walked she swayed, or, as they say, wriggled her +shoulders and back. The rustle of her skirts, the creaking of her stays, +the jingle her bangle and the vulgar smell of lip salve, toilet vinegar, +and scent stolen from her master, aroused in me whilst I was doing the +rooms with her in the morning a sensation as though I were taking part +with her in some abomination.</p> + +<p>Either because I did not steal as she did, or because I displayed no +desire to become her lover, which she probably looked upon as an insult, +or perhaps because she felt that I was a man of a different order, she +hated me from the first day. My inexperience, my appearance—so unlike +a flunkey—and my illness, seemed to her pitiful and excited her +disgust. I had a bad cough at that time, and sometimes at night I +prevented her from sleeping, as our rooms were only divided by a wooden +partition, and every morning she said to me:</p> + +<p>"Again you didn't let me sleep. You ought to be in hospital instead of +in service."</p> + +<p>She so genuinely believed that I was hardly a human being, but something +infinitely below her, that, like the Roman matrons who were not ashamed +to bathe before their slaves, she sometimes went about in my presence in +nothing but her chemise.</p> + +<p>Once when I was in a happy, dreamy mood, I asked her at dinner (we had +soup and roast meat sent in from a restaurant every day):</p> + +<p>"Polya, do you believe in God?"</p> + +<p>"Why, of course!"</p> + +<p>"Then," I went on, "you believe there will be a day of judgment, and +that we shall have to answer to God for every evil action?"</p> + +<p>She gave me no reply, but simply made a contemptuous grimace, and, +looking that time at her cold eyes and over-fed expression, I realised +that for her complete and finished personality no God, no conscience, no +laws existed, and that if I had had to set fire to the house, to murder +or to rob, I could not have hired a better accomplice.</p> + +<p>In my novel surroundings I felt very uncomfortable for the first week at +Orlov's before I got used to being addressed as "thou," and being +constantly obliged to tell lies (saying "My master is not at home" when +he was). In my flunkey's swallow-tail I felt as though I were in armour. +But I grew accustomed to it in time. Like a genuine footman, I waited at +table, tidied the rooms, ran and drove about on errands of all sorts. +When Orlov did not want to keep an appointment with Zinaida Fyodorovna, +or when he forgot that he had promised to go and see her, I drove to +Znamensky Street, put a letter into her hands and told a lie. And the +result of it all was quite different from what I had expected when I +became a footman. Every day of this new life of mine was wasted for me +and my cause, as Orlov never spoke of his father, nor did his visitors, +and all I could learn of the stateman's doings was, as before, what I +could glean from the newspapers or from correspondence with my comrades. +The hundreds of notes and papers I used to find in the study and read +had not the remotest connection with what I was looking for. Orlov was +absolutely uninterested in his father's political work, and looked as +though he had never heard of it, or as though his father had long been +dead.</p> + +<h3>III</h3> + +<p>Every Thursday we had visitors.</p> + +<p>I ordered a piece of roast beef from the restaurant and telephoned to +Eliseyev's to send us caviare, cheese, oysters, and so on. I bought +playing-cards. Polya was busy all day getting ready the tea-things and +the dinner service. To tell the truth, this spurt of activity came as a +pleasant change in our idle life, and Thursdays were for us the most +interesting days.</p> + +<p>Only three visitors used to come. The most important and perhaps the +most interesting was the one called Pekarsky—a tall, lean man of five +and forty, with a long hooked nose, with a big black beard, and a bald +patch on his head. His eyes were large and prominent, and his expression +was grave and thoughtful like that of a Greek philosopher. He was on the +board of management of some railway, and also had some post in a bank; +he was a consulting lawyer in some important Government institution, and +had business relations with a large number of private persons as a +trustee, chairman of committees, and so on. He was of quite a low grade +in the service, and modestly spoke of himself as a lawyer, but he had a +vast influence. A note or card from him was enough to make a celebrated +doctor, a director of a railway, or a great dignitary see any one +without waiting; and it was said that through his protection one might +obtain even a post of the Fourth Class, and get any sort of unpleasant +business hushed up. He was looked upon as a very intelligent man, but +his was a strange, peculiar intelligence. He was able to multiply 213 by +373 in his head instantaneously, or turn English pounds into German +marks without help of pencil or paper; he understood finance and railway +business thoroughly, and the machinery of Russian administration had no +secrets for him; he was a most skilful pleader in civil suits, and it +was not easy to get the better of him at law. But that exceptional +intelligence could not grasp many things which are understood even by +some stupid people. For instance, he was absolutely unable to understand +why people are depressed, why they weep, shoot themselves, and even kill +others; why they fret about things that do not affect them personally, +and why they laugh when they read Gogol or Shtchedrin.... Everything +abstract, everything belonging to the domain of thought and feeling, was +to him boring and incomprehensible, like music to one who has no ear. He +looked at people simply from the business point of view, and divided +them into competent and incompetent. No other classification existed for +him. Honesty and rectitude were only signs of competence. Drinking, +gambling, and debauchery were permissible, but must not be allowed to +interfere with business. Believing in God was rather stupid, but +religion ought be safeguarded, as the common people must have some +principle to restrain them, otherwise they would not work. Punishment is +only necessary as deterrent. There was no need to go away for holidays, +as it was just as nice in town. And so on. He was a widower and had no +children, but lived on a large scale, as though he had a family, and +paid three thousand roubles a year for his flat.</p> + +<p>The second visitor, Kukushkin, an actual civil councillor though a young +man, was short, and was conspicuous for his extremely unpleasant +appearance, which was due to the disproportion between his fat, puffy +body and his lean little face. His lips were puckered up suavely, and +his little trimmed moustaches looked as though they had been fixed on +with glue. He was a man with the manners of a lizard. He did not walk, +but, as it were, crept along with tiny steps, squirming and sniggering, +and when he laughed he showed his teeth. He was a clerk on special +commissions, and did nothing, though he received a good salary, +especially in the summer, when special and lucrative jobs were found for +him. He was a man of personal ambition, not only to the marrow of his +bones, but more fundamentally—to the last drop of his blood; but even +in his ambitions he was petty and did not rely on himself, but was +building his career on the chance favour flung him by his superiors. For +the sake of obtaining some foreign decoration, or for the sake of having +his name mentioned in the newspapers as having been present at some +special service in the company of other great personages, he was ready +to submit to any kind of humiliation, to beg, to flatter, to promise. He +flattered Orlov and Pekarsky from cowardice, because he thought they +were powerful; he flattered Polya and me because we were in the service +of a powerful man. Whenever I took off his fur coat he tittered and +asked me: "Stepan, are you married?" and then unseemly vulgarities +followed—by way of showing me special attention. Kukushkin flattered +Orlov's weaknesses, humoured his corrupted and blasé ways; to please him +he affected malicious raillery and atheism, in his company criticised +persons before whom in other places he would slavishly grovel. When at +supper they talked of love and women, he pretended to be a subtle and +perverse voluptuary. As a rule, one may say, Petersburg rakes are fond +of talking of their abnormal tastes. Some young actual civil councillor +is perfectly satisfied with the embraces of his cook or of some unhappy +street-walker on the Nevsky Prospect, but to listen to him you would +think he was contaminated by all the vices of East and West combined, +that he was an honourary member of a dozen iniquitous secret societies +and was already marked by the police. Kukushkin lied about himself in an +unconscionable way, and they did not exactly disbelieve him, but paid +little heed to his incredible stories.</p> + +<p>The third guest was Gruzin, the son of a worthy and learned general; a +man of Orlov's age, with long hair, short-sighted eyes, and gold +spectacles. I remember his long white fingers, that looked like a +pianist's; and, indeed, there was something of a musician, of a +virtuoso, about his whole figure. The first violins in orchestras look +just like that. He used to cough, suffered from migraine, and seemed +invalidish and delicate. Probably at home he was dressed and undressed +like a baby. He had finished at the College of Jurisprudence, and had at +first served in the Department of Justice, then he was transferred to +the Senate; he left that, and through patronage had received a post in +the Department of Crown Estates, and had soon afterwards given that up. +In my time he was serving in Orlov's department; he was his head-clerk, +but he said that he should soon exchange into the Department of Justice +again. He took his duties and his shifting about from one post to +another with exceptional levity, and when people talked before him +seriously of grades in the service, decorations, salaries, he smiled +good-naturedly and repeated Prutkov's aphorism: "It's only in the +Government service you learn the truth." He had a little wife with a +wrinkled face, who was very jealous of him, and five weedy-looking +children. He was unfaithful to his wife, he was only fond of his +children when he saw them, and on the whole was rather indifferent to +his family, and made fun of them. He and his family existed on credit, +borrowing wherever they could at every opportunity, even from his +superiors in the office and porters in people's houses. His was a flabby +nature; he was so lazy that he did not care what became of himself, and +drifted along heedless where or why he was going. He went where he was +taken. If he was taken to some low haunt, he went; if wine was set +before him, he drank—if it were not put before him, he abstained; if +wives were abused in his presence, he abused his wife, declaring she had +ruined his life—when wives were praised, he praised his and said quite +sincerely: "I am very fond of her, poor thing!" He had no fur coat and +always wore a rug which smelt of the nursery. When at supper he rolled +balls of bread and drank a great deal of red wine, absorbed in thought, +strange to say, I used to feel almost certain that there was something +in him of which perhaps he had a vague sense, though in the bustle and +vulgarity of his daily life he had not time to understand and appreciate +it. He played a little on the piano. Sometimes he would sit down at the +piano, play a chord or two, and begin singing softly:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"What does the coming day bring to me?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>But at once, as though afraid, he would get up and walk from the piano.</p> + +<p>The visitors usually arrived about ten o'clock. They played cards in +Orlov's study, and Polya and I handed them tea. It was only on these +occasions that I could gauge the full sweetness of a flunkey's life. +Standing for four or five hours at the door, watching that no one's +glass should be empty, changing the ash-trays, running to the table to +pick up the chalk or a card when it was dropped, and, above all, +standing, waiting, being attentive without venturing to speak, to cough, +to smile—is harder, I assure you, is harder than the hardest of field +labour. I have stood on watch at sea for four hours at a stretch on +stormy winter nights, and to my thinking it is an infinitely easier +duty.</p> + +<p>They used to play cards till two, sometimes till three o'clock at night, +and then, stretching, they would go into the dining-room to supper, or, +as Orlov said, for a snack of something. At supper there was +conversation. It usually began by Orlov's speaking with laughing eyes of +some acquaintance, of some book he had lately been reading, of a new +appointment or Government scheme. Kukushkin, always ingratiating, would +fall into his tone, and what followed was to me, in my mood at that +time, a revolting exhibition. The irony of Orlov and his friends knew no +bounds, and spared no one and nothing. If they spoke of religion, it was +with irony; they spoke of philosophy, of the significance and object of +life—irony again, if any one began about the peasantry, it was with +irony.</p> + +<p>There is in Petersburg a species of men whose specialty it is to jeer at +every aspect of life; they cannot even pass by a starving man or a +suicide without saying something vulgar. But Orlov and his friends did +not jeer or make jokes, they talked ironically. They used to say that +there was no God, and personality was completely lost at death; the +immortals only existed in the French Academy. Real good did not and +could not possibly exist, as its existence was conditional upon human +perfection, which was a logical absurdity. Russia was a country as poor +and dull as Persia. The intellectual class was hopeless; in Pekarsky's +opinion the overwhelming majority in it were incompetent persons, good +for nothing. The people were drunken, lazy, thievish, and degenerate. We +had no science, our literature was uncouth, our commerce rested on +swindling—"No selling without cheating." And everything was in that +style, and everything was a subject for laughter.</p> + +<p>Towards the end of supper the wine made them more good-humoured, and +they passed to more lively conversation. They laughed over Gruzin's +family life, over Kukushkin's conquests, or at Pekarsky, who had, they +said, in his account book one page headed <i>Charity</i> and another +<i>Physiological Necessities</i>. They said that no wife was faithful; that +there was no wife from whom one could not, with practice, obtain +caresses without leaving her drawing-room while her husband was sitting +in his study close by; that girls in their teens were perverted and knew +everything. Orlov had preserved a letter of a schoolgirl of fourteen: on +her way home from school she had "hooked an officer on the Nevsky," who +had, it appears, taken her home with him, and had only let her go late +in the evening; and she hastened to write about this to her school +friend to share her joy with her. They maintained that there was not and +never had been such a thing as moral purity, and that evidently it was +unnecessary; mankind had so far done very well without it. The harm done +by so-called vice was undoubtedly exaggerated. Vices which are punished +by our legal code had not prevented Diogenes from being a philosopher +and a teacher. Cæsar and Cicero were profligates and at the same time +great men. Cato in his old age married a young girl, and yet he was +regarded as a great ascetic and a pillar of morality.</p> + +<p>At three or four o'clock the party broke up or they went off together +out of town, or to Officers' Street, to the house of a certain Varvara +Ossipovna, while I retired to my quarters, and was kept awake a long +while by coughing and headache.</p> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<p>Three weeks after I entered Orlov's service—it was Sunday morning, I +remember—somebody rang the bell. It was not yet eleven, and Orlov was +still asleep. I went to open the door. You can imagine my astonishment +when I found a lady in a veil standing at the door on the landing.</p> + +<p>"Is Georgy Ivanitch up?" she asked.</p> + +<p>From her voice I recognised Zinaida Fyodorovna, to whom I had taken +letters in Znamensky Street. I don't remember whether I had time or +self-possession to answer her—I was taken aback at seeing her. And, +indeed, she did not need my answer. In a flash she had darted by me, +and, filling the hall with the fragrance of her perfume, which I +remember to this day, she went on, and her footsteps died away. For at +least half an hour afterwards I heard nothing. But again some one rang. +This time it was a smartly dressed girl, who looked like a maid in a +wealthy family, accompanied by our house porter. Both were out of +breath, carrying two trunks and a dress-basket.</p> + +<p>"These are for Zinaida Fyodorovna," said the girl.</p> + +<p>And she went down without saying another word. All this was mysterious, +and made Polya, who had a deep admiration for the pranks of her betters, +smile slyly to herself; she looked as though she would like to say, "So +that's what we're up to," and she walked about the whole time on tiptoe. +At last we heard footsteps; Zinaida Fyodorovna came quickly into the +hall, and seeing me at the door of my room, said:</p> + +<p>"Stepan, take Georgy Ivanitch his things."</p> + +<p>When I went in to Orlov with his clothes and his boots, he was sitting +on the bed with his feet on the bearskin rug. There was an air of +embarrassment about his whole figure. He did not notice me, and my +menial opinion did not interest him; he was evidently perturbed and +embarrassed before himself, before his inner eye. He dressed, washed, +and used his combs and brushes silently and deliberately, as though +allowing himself time to think over his position and to reflect, and +even from his back one could see he was troubled and dissatisfied with +himself.</p> + +<p>They drank coffee together. Zinaida Fyodorovna poured out coffee for +herself and for Orlov, then she put her elbows on the table and laughed.</p> + +<p>"I still can't believe it," she said. "When one has been a long while on +one's travels and reaches a hotel at last, it's difficult to believe +that one hasn't to go on. It is pleasant to breathe freely."</p> + +<p>With the expression of a child who very much wants to be mischievous, +she sighed with relief and laughed again.</p> + +<p>"You will excuse me," said Orlov, nodding towards the coffee. "Reading +at breakfast is a habit I can't get over. But I can do two things at +once—read and listen."</p> + +<p>"Read away.... You shall keep your habits and your freedom. But why do +you look so solemn? Are you always like that in the morning, or is it +only to-day? Aren't you glad?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am. But I must own I am a little overwhelmed."</p> + +<p>"Why? You had plenty of time to prepare yourself for my descent upon +you. I've been threatening to come every day."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I didn't expect you to carry out your threat to-day."</p> + +<p>"I didn't expect it myself, but that's all the better. It's all the +better, my dear. It's best to have an aching tooth out and have done +with it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, of course."</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear," she said, closing her eyes, "all is well that ends well; +but before this happy ending, what suffering there has been! My laughing +means nothing; I am glad, I am happy, but I feel more like crying than +laughing. Yesterday I had to fight a regular battle," she went on in +French. "God alone knows how wretched I was. But I laugh because I can't +believe in it. I keep fancying that my sitting here drinking coffee with +you is not real, but a dream."</p> + +<p>Then, still speaking French, she described how she had broken with her +husband the day before and her eyes were alternately full of tears and +of laughter while she gazed with rapture at Orlov. She told him her +husband had long suspected her, but had avoided explanations; they had +frequent quarrels, and usually at the most heated moment he would +suddenly subside into silence and depart to his study for fear that in +his exasperation he might give utterance to his suspicions or she might +herself begin to speak openly. And she had felt guilty, worthless, +incapable of taking a bold and serious step, and that had made her hate +herself and her husband more every day, and she had suffered the +torments of hell. But the day before, when during a quarrel he had cried +out in a tearful voice, "My God, when will it end?" and had walked off +to his study, she had run after him like a cat after a mouse, and, +preventing him from shutting the door, she had cried that she hated him +with her whole soul. Then he let her come into the study and she had +told him everything, had confessed that she loved some one else, that +that some one else was her real, most lawful husband, and that she +thought it her true duty to go away to him that very day, whatever might +happen, if she were to be shot for it.</p> + +<p>"There's a very romantic streak in you," Orlov interrupted, keeping his +eyes fixed on the newspaper.</p> + +<p>She laughed and went on talking without touching her coffee. Her cheeks +glowed and she was a little embarrassed by it, and she looked in +confusion at Polya and me. From what she went on to say I learnt that +her husband had answered her with threats, reproaches, and finally +tears, and that it would have been more accurate to say that she, and +not he, had been the attacking party.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear, so long as I was worked up, everything went all right," +she told Orlov; "but as night came on, my spirits sank. You don't +believe in God, <i>George</i>, but I do believe a little, and I fear +retribution. God requires of us patience, magnanimity, self-sacrifice, +and here I am refusing to be patient and want to remodel my life to suit +myself. Is that right? What if from the point of view of God it's wrong? +At two o'clock in the night my husband came to me and said: 'You dare +not go away. I'll fetch you back through the police and make a scandal.' +And soon afterwards I saw him like a shadow at my door. 'Have mercy on +me! Your elopement may injure me in the service.' Those words had a +coarse effect upon me and made me feel stiff all over. I felt as though +the retribution were beginning already; I began crying and trembling +with terror. I felt as though the ceiling would fall upon me, that I +should be dragged off to the police-station at once, that you would grow +cold to me—all sorts of things, in fact! I thought I would go into a +nunnery or become a nurse, and give up all thought of happiness, but +then I remembered that you loved me, and that I had no right to dispose +of myself without your knowledge; and everything in my mind was in a +tangle—I was in despair and did not know what to do or think. But the +sun rose and I grew happier. As soon as it was morning I dashed off to +you. Ah, what I've been through, dear one! I haven't slept for two +nights!"</p> + +<p>She was tired out and excited. She was sleepy, and at the same time she +wanted to talk endlessly, to laugh and to cry, and to go to a restaurant +to lunch that she might feel her freedom.</p> + +<p>"You have a cosy flat, but I am afraid it may be small for the two of +us," she said, walking rapidly through all the rooms when they had +finished breakfast. "What room will you give me? I like this one because +it is next to your study."</p> + +<p>At one o'clock she changed her dress in the room next to the study, +which from that time she called hers, and she went off with Orlov to +lunch. They dined, too, at a restaurant, and spent the long interval +between lunch and dinner in shopping. Till late at night I was opening +the door to messengers and errand-boys from the shops. They bought, +among other things, a splendid pier-glass, a dressing-table, a bedstead, +and a gorgeous tea service which we did not need. They bought a regular +collection of copper saucepans, which we set in a row on the shelf in +our cold, empty kitchen. As we were unpacking the tea service Polya's +eyes gleamed, and she looked at me two or three times with hatred and +fear that I, not she, would be the first to steal one of these charming +cups. A lady's writing-table, very expensive and inconvenient, came too. +It was evident that Zinaida Fyodorovna contemplated settling with us for +good, and meant to make the flat her home.</p> + +<p>She came back with Orlov between nine and ten. Full of proud +consciousness that she had done something bold and out of the common, +passionately in love, and, as she imagined, passionately loved, +exhausted, looking forward to a sweet sound sleep, Zinaida Fyodorovna +was revelling in her new life. She squeezed her hands together in the +excess of her joy, declared that everything was delightful, and swore +that she would love Orlov for ever; and these vows, and the naïve, +almost childish confidence that she too was deeply loved and would be +loved forever, made her at least five years younger. She talked charming +nonsense and laughed at herself.</p> + +<p>"There's no other blessing greater than freedom!" she said, forcing +herself to say something serious and edifying. "How absurd it is when +you think of it! We attach no value to our own opinion even when it is +wise, but tremble before the opinion of all sorts of stupid people. Up +to the last minute I was afraid of what other people would say, but as +soon as I followed my own instinct and made up my mind to go my own way, +my eyes were opened, I overcame my silly fears, and now I am happy and +wish every one could be as happy!"</p> + +<p>But her thoughts immediately took another turn, and she began talking of +another flat, of wallpapers, horses, a trip to Switzerland and Italy. +Orlov was tired by the restaurants and the shops, and was still +suffering from the same uneasiness that I had noticed in the morning. He +smiled, but more from politeness than pleasure, and when she spoke of +anything seriously, he agreed ironically: "Oh, yes."</p> + +<p>"Stepan, make haste and find us a good cook," she said to me.</p> + +<p>"There's no need to be in a hurry over the kitchen arrangements," said +Orlov, looking at me coldly. "We must first move into another flat."</p> + +<p>We had never had cooking done at home nor kept horses, because, as he +said, "he did not like disorder about him," and only put up with having +Polya and me in his flat from necessity. The so-called domestic hearth +with its everyday joys and its petty cares offended his taste as +vulgarity; to be with child, or to have children and talk about them, +was bad form, like a petty bourgeois. And I began to feel very curious +to see how these two creatures would get on together in one flat—she, +domestic and home-loving with her copper saucepans and her dreams of a +good cook and horses; and he, fond of saying to his friends that a +decent and orderly man's flat ought, like a warship, to have nothing in +it superfluous—no women, no children, no rags, no kitchen utensils.</p> + +<h3>V</h3> + +<p>Then I will tell you what happened the following Thursday. That day +Zinaida Fyodorovna dined at Content's or Donon's. Orlov returned home +alone, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, as I learnt afterwards, went to the +Petersburg Side to spend with her old governess the time visitors were +with us. Orlov did not care to show her to his friends. I realised that +at breakfast, when he began assuring her that for the sake of her peace +of mind it was essential to give up his Thursday evenings.</p> + +<p>As usual the visitors arrived at almost the same time.</p> + +<p>"Is your mistress at home, too?" Kukushkin asked me in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"No, sir," I answered.</p> + +<p>He went in with a sly, oily look in his eyes, smiling mysteriously, +rubbing his hands, which were cold from the frost.</p> + +<p>"I have the honour to congratulate you," he said to Orlov, shaking all +over with ingratiating, obsequious laughter. "May you increase and +multiply like the cedars of Lebanon."</p> + +<p>The visitors went into the bedroom, and were extremely jocose on the +subject of a pair of feminine slippers, the rug that had been put down +between the two beds, and a grey dressing-jacket that hung at the foot +of the bedstead. They were amused that the obstinate man who despised +all the common place details of love had been caught in feminine snares +in such a simple and ordinary way.</p> + +<p>"He who pointed the finger of scorn is bowing the knee in homage," +Kukushkin repeated several times. He had, I may say in parenthesis, an +unpleasant habit of adorning his conversation with texts in Church +Slavonic. "Sh-sh!" he said as they went from the bedroom into the room +next to the study. "Sh-sh! Here Gretchen is dreaming of her Faust."</p> + +<p>He went off into a peal of laughter as though he had said something very +amusing. I watched Gruzin, expecting that his musical soul would not +endure this laughter, but I was mistaken. His thin, good-natured face +beamed with pleasure. When they sat down to play cards, he, lisping and +choking with laughter, said that all that "dear <i>George</i>" wanted to +complete his domestic felicity was a cherry-wood pipe and a guitar. +Pekarsky laughed sedately, but from his serious expression one could see +that Orlov's new love affair was distasteful to him. He did not +understand what had happened exactly.</p> + +<p>"But how about the husband?" he asked in perplexity, after they had +played three rubbers.</p> + +<p>"I don't know," answered Orlov.</p> + +<p>Pekarsky combed his big beard with his fingers and sank into thought, +and he did not speak again till supper-time. When they were seated at +supper, he began deliberately, drawling every word:</p> + +<p>"Altogether, excuse my saying so, I don't understand either of you. You +might love each other and break the seventh commandment to your heart's +content—that I understand. Yes, that's comprehensible. But why make the +husband a party to your secrets? Was there any need for that?"</p> + +<p>"But does it make any difference?"</p> + +<p>"Hm!...." Pekarsky mused. "Well, then, let me tell you this, my friend," +he went on, evidently thinking hard: "if I ever marry again and you take +it into your head to seduce my wife, please do it so that I don't notice +it. It's much more honest to deceive a man than to break up his family +life and injure his reputation. I understand. You both imagine that in +living together openly you are doing something exceptionally honourable +and advanced, but I can't agree with that ... what shall I call it?... +romantic attitude?"</p> + +<p>Orlov made no reply. He was out of humour and disinclined to talk. +Pekarsky, still perplexed, drummed on the table with his fingers, +thought a little, and said:</p> + +<p>"I don't understand you, all the same. You are not a student and she is +not a dressmaker. You are both of you people with means. I should have +thought you might have arranged a separate flat for her."</p> + +<p>"No, I couldn't. Read Turgenev."</p> + +<p>"Why should I read him? I have read him already."</p> + +<p>"Turgenev teaches us in his novels that every exalted, noble-minded girl +should follow the man she loves to the ends of the earth, and should +serve his idea," said Orlov, screwing up his eyes ironically. "The ends +of the earth are poetic license; the earth and all its ends can be +reduced to the flat of the man she loves.... And so not to live in the +same flat with the woman who loves you is to deny her her exalted +vocation and to refuse to share her ideals. Yes, my dear fellow, +Turgenev wrote, and I have to suffer for it."</p> + +<p>"What Turgenev has got to do with it I don't understand," said Gruzin +softly, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Do you remember, <i>George</i>, how +in 'Three Meetings' he is walking late in the evening somewhere in +Italy, and suddenly hears, <i>'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'</i>" Gruzin +hummed. "It's fine."</p> + +<p>"But she hasn't come to settle with you by force," said Pekarsky. "It +was your own wish."</p> + +<p>"What next! Far from wishing it, I never imagined that this would ever +happen. When she said she was coming to live with me, I thought it was a +charming joke on her part."</p> + +<p>Everybody laughed.</p> + +<p>"I couldn't have wished for such a thing," said Orlov in the tone of a +man compelled to justify himself. "I am not a Turgenev hero, and if I +ever wanted to free Bulgaria I shouldn't need a lady's company. I look +upon love primarily as a necessity of my physical nature, degrading and +antagonistic to my spirit; it must either be satisfied with discretion +or renounced altogether, otherwise it will bring into one's life +elements as unclean as itself. For it to be an enjoyment and not a +torment, I will try to make it beautiful and to surround it with a mass +of illusions. I should never go and see a woman unless I were sure +beforehand that she would be beautiful and fascinating; and I should +never go unless I were in the mood. And it is only in that way that we +succeed in deceiving one another, and fancying that we are in love and +happy. But can I wish for copper saucepans and untidy hair, or like to +be seen myself when I am unwashed or out of humour? Zinaida Fyodorovna +in the simplicity of her heart wants me to love what I have been +shunning all my life. She wants my flat to smell of cooking and washing +up; she wants all the fuss of moving into another flat, of driving about +with her own horses; she wants to count over my linen and to look after +my health; she wants to meddle in my personal life at every instant, and +to watch over every step; and at the same time she assures me genuinely +that my habits and my freedom will be untouched. She is persuaded that, +like a young couple, we shall very soon go for a honeymoon—that is, +she wants to be with me all the time in trains and hotels, while I like +to read on the journey and cannot endure talking in trains."</p> + +<p>"You should give her a talking to," said Pekarsky.</p> + +<p>"What! Do you suppose she would understand me? Why, we think so +differently. In her opinion, to leave one's papa and mamma or one's +husband for the sake of the man one loves is the height of civic virtue, +while I look upon it as childish. To fall in love and run away with a +man to her means beginning a new life, while to my mind it means nothing +at all. Love and man constitute the chief interest of her life, and +possibly it is the philosophy of the unconscious at work in her. Try and +make her believe that love is only a simple physical need, like the need +of food or clothes; that it doesn't mean the end of the world if wives +and husbands are unsatisfactory; that a man may be a profligate and a +libertine, and yet a man of honour and a genius; and that, on the other +hand, one may abstain from the pleasures of love and at the same time be +a stupid, vicious animal! The civilised man of to-day, even among the +lower classes—for instance, the French workman—spends ten <i>sous</i> on +dinner, five <i>sous</i> on his wine, and five or ten <i>sous</i> on woman, and +devotes his brain and nerves entirely to his work. But Zinaida +Fyodorovna assigns to love not so many <i>sous</i>, but her whole soul. I +might give her a talking to, but she would raise a wail in answer, and +declare in all sincerity that I had ruined her, that she had nothing +left to live for."</p> + +<p>"Don't say anything to her," said Pekarsky, "but simply take a separate +flat for her, that's all."</p> + +<p>"That's easy to say."</p> + +<p>There was a brief silence.</p> + +<p>"But she is charming," said Kukushkin. "She is exquisite. Such women +imagine that they will be in love for ever, and abandon themselves with +tragic intensity."</p> + +<p>"But one must keep a head on one's shoulders," said Orlov; "one must be +reasonable. All experience gained from everyday life and handed down in +innumerable novels and plays, uniformly confirms the fact that adultery +and cohabitation of any sort between decent people never lasts longer +than two or at most three years, however great the love may have been at +the beginning. That she ought to know. And so all this business of +moving, of saucepans, hopes of eternal love and harmony, are nothing but +a desire to delude herself and me. She is charming and exquisite—who +denies it? But she has turned my life upside down; what I have regarded +as trivial and nonsensical till now she has forced me to raise to the +level of a serious problem; I serve an idol whom I have never looked +upon as God. She is charming—exquisite, but for some reason now when I +am going home, I feel uneasy, as though I expected to meet with +something inconvenient at home, such as workmen pulling the stove to +pieces and blocking up the place with heaps of bricks. In fact, I am no +longer giving up to love a <i>sous</i>, but part of my peace of mind and my +nerves. And that's bad."</p> + +<p>"And she doesn't hear this villain!" sighed Kukushkin. "My dear sir," he +said theatrically, "I will relieve you from the burdensome obligation to +love that adorable creature! I will wrest Zinaida Fyodorovna from you!"</p> + +<p>"You may ..." said Orlov carelessly.</p> + +<p>For half a minute Kukushkin laughed a shrill little laugh, shaking all +over, then he said:</p> + +<p>"Look out; I am in earnest! Don't you play the Othello afterwards!"</p> + +<p>They all began talking of Kukushkin's indefatigable energy in love +affairs, how irresistible he was to women, and what a danger he was to +husbands; and how the devil would roast him in the other world for his +immorality in this. He screwed up his eyes and remained silent, and when +the names of ladies of their acquaintance were mentioned, he held up his +little finger—as though to say they mustn't give away other people's +secrets.</p> + +<p>Orlov suddenly looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>His friends understood, and began to take their leave. I remember that +Gruzin, who was a little drunk, was wearisomely long in getting off. He +put on his coat, which was cut like children's coats in poor families, +pulled up the collar, and began telling some long-winded story; then, +seeing he was not listened to, he flung the rug that smelt of the +nursery over one shoulder, and with a guilty and imploring face begged +me to find his hat.</p> + +<p>"<i>George</i>, my angel," he said tenderly. "Do as I ask you, dear boy; come +out of town with us!"</p> + +<p>"You can go, but I can't. I am in the position of a married man now."</p> + +<p>"She is a dear, she won't be angry. My dear chief, come along! It's +glorious weather; there's snow and frost.... Upon my word, you want +shaking up a bit; you are out of humour. I don't know what the devil is +the matter with you...."</p> + +<p>Orlov stretched, yawned, and looked at Pekarsky.</p> + +<p>"Are you going?" he said, hesitating.</p> + +<p>"I don't know. Perhaps."</p> + +<p>"Shall I get drunk? All right, I'll come," said Orlov after some +hesitation. "Wait a minute; I'll get some money."</p> + +<p>He went into the study, and Gruzin slouched in, too, dragging his rug +after him. A minute later both came back into the hall. Gruzin, a little +drunk and very pleased, was crumpling a ten-rouble note in his hands.</p> + +<p>"We'll settle up to-morrow," he said. "And she is kind, she won't be +cross.... She is my Lisotchka's godmother; I am fond of her, poor thing! +Ah, my dear fellow!" he laughed joyfully, and pressing his forehead on +Pekarsky's back. "Ah, Pekarsky, my dear soul! Advocatissimus—as dry as +a biscuit, but you bet he is fond of women...."</p> + +<p>"Fat ones," said Orlov, putting on his fur coat. "But let us get off, or +we shall be meeting her on the doorstep."</p> + +<p>"<i>'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'</i>" hummed Gruzin.</p> + +<p>At last they drove off: Orlov did not sleep at home, and returned next +day at dinner-time.</p> + +<h3>VI</h3> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna had lost her gold watch, a present from her father. +This loss surprised and alarmed her. She spent half a day going through +the rooms, looking helplessly on all the tables and on all the windows. +But the watch had disappeared completely.</p> + +<p>Only three days afterwards Zinaida Fyodorovna, on coming in, left her +purse in the hall. Luckily for me, on that occasion it was not I but +Polya who helped her off with her coat. When the purse was missed, it +could not be found in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Strange," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in bewilderment. "I distinctly +remember taking it out of my pocket to pay the cabman ... and then I put +it here near the looking-glass. It's very odd!"</p> + +<p>I had not stolen it, but I felt as though I had stolen it and had been +caught in the theft. Tears actually came into my eyes. When they were +seated at dinner, Zinaida Fyodorovna said to Orlov in French:</p> + +<p>"There seem to be spirits in the flat. I lost my purse in the hall +to-day, and now, lo and behold, it is on my table. But it's not quite a +disinterested trick of the spirits. They took out a gold coin and twenty +roubles in notes."</p> + +<p>"You are always losing something; first it's your watch and then it's +your money ..." said Orlov. "Why is it nothing of the sort ever happens +to me?"</p> + +<p>A minute later Zinaida Fyodorovna had forgotten the trick played by the +spirits, and was telling with a laugh how the week before she had +ordered some notepaper and had forgotten to give her new address, and +the shop had sent the paper to her old home at her husband's, who had to +pay twelve roubles for it. And suddenly she turned her eyes on Polya and +looked at her intently. She blushed as she did so, and was so confused +that she began talking of something else.</p> + +<p>When I took in the coffee to the study, Orlov was standing with his back +to the fire and she was sitting in an arm-chair facing him.</p> + +<p>"I am not in a bad temper at all," she was saying in French. "But I have +been putting things together, and now I see it clearly. I can give you +the day and the hour when she stole my watch. And the purse? There can +be no doubt about it. Oh!" she laughed as she took the coffee from me. +"Now I understand why I am always losing my handkerchiefs and gloves. +Whatever you say, I shall dismiss the magpie to-morrow and send Stepan +for my Sofya. She is not a thief and has not got such a repulsive +appearance."</p> + +<p>"You are out of humour. To-morrow you will feel differently, and will +realise that you can't discharge people simply because you suspect +them."</p> + +<p>"It's not suspicion; it's certainty," said Zinaida Fyodorovna. "So long +as I suspected that unhappy-faced, poor-looking valet of yours, I said +nothing. It's too bad of you not to believe me, <i>George</i>."</p> + +<p>"If we think differently about anything, it doesn't follow that I don't +believe you. You may be right," said Orlov, turning round and flinging +his cigarette-end into the fire, "but there is no need to be excited +about it, anyway. In fact, I must say, I never expected my humble +establishment would cause you so much serious worry and agitation. +You've lost a gold coin: never mind—you may have a hundred of mine; but +to change my habits, to pick up a new housemaid, to wait till she is +used to the place—all that's a tedious, tiring business and does not +suit me. Our present maid certainly is fat, and has, perhaps, a weakness +for gloves and handkerchiefs, but she is perfectly well behaved, well +trained, and does not shriek when Kukushkin pinches her."</p> + +<p>"You mean that you can't part with her?... Why don't you say so?"</p> + +<p>"Are you jealous?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, decidedly.</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I am jealous," she repeated, and tears glistened in her eyes. "No, +it's something worse ... which I find it difficult to find a name for." +She pressed her hands on her temples, and went on impulsively. "You men +are so disgusting! It's horrible!"</p> + +<p>"I see nothing horrible about it."</p> + +<p>"I've not seen it; I don't know; but they say that you men begin with +housemaids as boys, and get so used to it that you feel no repugnance. I +don't know, I don't know, but I have actually read.... <i>George</i>, of +course you are right," she said, going up to Orlov and changing to a +caressing and imploring tone. "I really am out of humour to-day. But, +you must understand, I can't help it. She disgusts me and I am afraid of +her. It makes me miserable to see her."</p> + +<p>"Surely you can rise above such paltriness?" said Orlov, shrugging his +shoulders in perplexity, and walking away from the fire. "Nothing could +be simpler: take no notice of her, and then she won't disgust you, and +you won't need to make a regular tragedy out of a trifle."</p> + +<p>I went out of the study, and I don't know what answer Orlov received. +Whatever it was, Polya remained. After that Zinaida Fyodorovna never +applied to her for anything, and evidently tried to dispense with her +services. When Polya handed her anything or even passed by her, jingling +her bangle and rustling her skirts, she shuddered.</p> + +<p>I believe that if Gruzin or Pekarsky had asked Orlov to dismiss Polya he +would have done so without the slightest hesitation, without troubling +about any explanations. He was easily persuaded, like all indifferent +people. But in his relations with Zinaida Fyodorovna he displayed for +some reason, even in trifles, an obstinacy which sometimes was almost +irrational. I knew beforehand that if Zinaida Fyodorovna liked anything, +it would be certain not to please Orlov. When on coming in from shopping +she made haste to show him with pride some new purchase, he would glance +at it and say coldly that the more unnecessary objects they had in the +flat, the less airy it would be. It sometimes happened that after +putting on his dress clothes to go out somewhere, and after saying +good-bye to Zinaida Fyodorovna, he would suddenly change his mind and +remain at home from sheer perversity. I used to think that he remained +at home then simply in order to feel injured.</p> + +<p>"Why are you staying?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a show of vexation, +though at the same time she was radiant with delight. "Why do you? You +are not accustomed to spending your evenings at home, and I don't want +you to alter your habits on my account. Do go out as usual, if you don't +want me to feel guilty."</p> + +<p>"No one is blaming you," said Orlov.</p> + +<p>With the air of a victim he stretched himself in his easy-chair in the +study, and shading his eyes with his hand, took up a book. But soon the +book dropped from his hand, he turned heavily in his chair, and again +screened his eyes as though from the sun. Now he felt annoyed that he +had not gone out.</p> + +<p>"May I come in?" Zinaida Fyodorovna would say, coming irresolutely into +the study. "Are you reading? I felt dull by myself, and have come just +for a minute ... to have a peep at you."</p> + +<p>I remember one evening she went in like that, irresolutely and +inappropriately, and sank on the rug at Orlov's feet, and from her soft, +timid movements one could see that she did not understand his mood and +was afraid.</p> + +<p>"You are always reading ..." she said cajolingly, evidently wishing to +flatter him. "Do you know, <i>George</i>, what is one of the secrets of your +success? You are very clever and well-read. What book have you there?"</p> + +<p>Orlov answered. A silence followed for some minutes which seemed to me +very long. I was standing in the drawing-room, from which I could watch +them, and was afraid of coughing.</p> + +<p>"There is something I wanted to tell you," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, and +she laughed; "shall I? Very likely you'll laugh and say that I flatter +myself. You know I want, I want horribly to believe that you are staying +at home to-night for my sake ... that we might spend the evening +together. Yes? May I think so?"</p> + +<p>"Do," he said, screening his eyes. "The really happy man is he who +thinks not only of what is, but of what is not."</p> + +<p>"That was a long sentence which I did not quite understand. You mean +happy people live in their imagination. Yes, that's true. I love to sit +in your study in the evening and let my thoughts carry me far, far +away.... It's pleasant sometimes to dream. Let us dream aloud, +<i>George</i>."</p> + +<p>"I've never been at a girls' boarding-school; I never learnt the art."</p> + +<p>"You are out of humour?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, taking Orlov's hand. +"Tell me why. When you are like that, I'm afraid. I don't know whether +your head aches or whether you are angry with me...."</p> + +<p>Again there was a silence lasting several long minutes.</p> + +<p>"Why have you changed?" she said softly. "Why are you never so tender or +so gay as you used to be at Znamensky Street? I've been with you almost +a month, but it seems to me as though we had not yet begun to live, and +have not yet talked of anything as we ought to. You always answer me +with jokes or else with a long cold lecture like a teacher. And there is +something cold in your jokes.... Why have you given up talking to me +seriously?"</p> + +<p>"I always talk seriously."</p> + +<p>"Well, then, let us talk. For God's sake, <i>George</i>.... Shall we?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly, but about what?"</p> + +<p>"Let us talk of our life, of our future," said Zinaida Fyodorovna +dreamily. "I keep making plans for our life, plans and plans—and I +enjoy doing it so! <i>George</i>, I'll begin with the question, when are you +going to give up your post?"</p> + +<p>"What for?" asked Orlov, taking his hand from his forehead.</p> + +<p>"With your views you cannot remain in the service. You are out of place +there."</p> + +<p>"My views?" Orlov repeated. "My views? In conviction and temperament I +am an ordinary official, one of Shtchedrin's heroes. You take me for +something different, I venture to assure you."</p> + +<p>"Joking again, <i>George</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Not in the least. The service does not satisfy me, perhaps; but, +anyway, it is better for me than anything else. I am used to it, and in +it I meet men of my own sort; I am in my place there and find it +tolerable."</p> + +<p>"You hate the service and it revolts you."</p> + +<p>"Indeed? If I resign my post, take to dreaming aloud and letting myself +be carried away into another world, do you suppose that that world would +be less hateful to me than the service?"</p> + +<p>"You are ready to libel yourself in order to contradict me." Zinaida +Fyodorovna was offended and got up. "I am sorry I began this talk."</p> + +<p>"Why are you angry? I am not angry with you for not being an official. +Every one lives as he likes best."</p> + +<p>"Why, do you live as you like best? Are you free? To spend your life +writing documents that are opposed to your own ideas," Zinaida +Fyodorovna went on, clasping her hands in despair: "to submit to +authority, congratulate your superiors at the New Year, and then cards +and nothing but cards: worst of all, to be working for a system which +must be distasteful to you—no, <i>George</i>, no! You should not make such +horrid jokes. It's dreadful. You are a man of ideas, and you ought to be +working for your ideas and nothing else."</p> + +<p>"You really take me for quite a different person from what I am," sighed +Orlov.</p> + +<p>"Say simply that you don't want to talk to me. You dislike me, that's +all," said Zinaida Fyodorovna through her tears.</p> + +<p>"Look here, my dear," said Orlov admonishingly, sitting up in his chair. +"You were pleased to observe yourself that I am a clever, well-read man, +and to teach one who knows does nothing but harm. I know very well all +the ideas, great and small, which you mean when you call me a man of +ideas. So if I prefer the service and cards to those ideas, you may be +sure I have good grounds for it. That's one thing. Secondly, you have, +so far as I know, never been in the service, and can only have drawn +your ideas of Government service from anecdotes and indifferent novels. +So it would not be amiss for us to make a compact, once for all, not to +talk of things we know already or of things about which we are not +competent to speak."</p> + +<p>"Why do you speak to me like that?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, stepping +back as though in horror. "What for? <i>George</i>, for God's sake, think +what you are saying!"</p> + +<p>Her voice quivered and broke; she was evidently trying to restrain her +tears, but she suddenly broke into sobs.</p> + +<p>"<i>George</i>, my darling, I am perishing!" she said in French, dropping +down before Orlov, and laying her head on his knees. "I am miserable, I +am exhausted. I can't bear it, I can't bear it.... In my childhood my +hateful, depraved stepmother, then my husband, now you ... you!... You +meet my mad love with coldness and irony.... And that horrible, insolent +servant," she went on, sobbing. "Yes, yes, I see: I am not your wife nor +your friend, but a woman you don't respect because she has become your +mistress.... I shall kill myself!"</p> + +<p>I had not expected that her words and her tears would make such an +impression on Orlov. He flushed, moved uneasily in his chair, and +instead of irony, his face wore a look of stupid, schoolboyish dismay.</p> + +<p>"My darling, you misunderstood me," he muttered helplessly, touching her +hair and her shoulders. "Forgive me, I entreat you. I was unjust and I +hate myself."</p> + +<p>"I insult you with my whining and complaints. You are a true, generous +... rare man—I am conscious of it every minute; but I've been horribly +depressed for the last few days ..."</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna impulsively embraced Orlov and kissed him on the +cheek.</p> + +<p>"Only please don't cry," he said.</p> + +<p>"No, no.... I've had my cry, and now I am better."</p> + +<p>"As for the servant, she shall be gone to-morrow," he said, still moving +uneasily in his chair.</p> + +<p>"No, she must stay, <i>George!</i> Do you hear? I am not afraid of her +now.... One must rise above trifles and not imagine silly things. You +are right! You are a wonderful, rare person!"</p> + +<p>She soon left off crying. With tears glistening on her eyelashes, +sitting on Orlov's knee, she told him in a low voice something touching, +something like a reminiscence of childhood and youth. She stroked his +face, kissed him, and carefully examined his hands with the rings on +them and the charms on his watch-chain. She was carried away by what she +was saying, and by being near the man she loved, and probably because +her tears had cleared and refreshed her soul, there was a note of +wonderful candour and sincerity in her voice. And Orlov played with her +chestnut hair and kissed her hands, noiselessly pressing them to his +lips.</p> + +<p>Then they had tea in the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna read aloud some +letters. Soon after midnight they went to bed. I had a fearful pain in +my side that night, and I could not get warm or go to sleep till +morning. I could hear Orlov go from the bedroom into his study. After +sitting there about an hour, he rang the bell. In my pain and exhaustion +I forgot all the rules and conventions, and went to his study in my +night attire, barefooted. Orlov, in his dressing-gown and cap, was +standing in the doorway, waiting for me.</p> + +<p>"When you are sent for you should come dressed," he said sternly. "Bring +some fresh candles."</p> + +<p>I was about to apologise, but suddenly broke into a violent cough, and +clutched at the side of the door to save myself from falling.</p> + +<p>"Are you ill?" said Orlov.</p> + +<p>I believe it was the first time of our acquaintance that he addressed me +not in the singular—goodness knows why. Most likely, in my night +clothes and with my face distorted by coughing, I played my part poorly, +and was very little like a flunkey.</p> + +<p>"If you are ill, why do you take a place?" he said.</p> + +<p>"That I may not die of starvation," I answered.</p> + +<p>"How disgusting it all is, really!" he said softly, going up to his +table.</p> + +<p>While hurriedly getting into my coat, I put up and lighted fresh +candles. He was sitting at the table, with feet stretched out on a low +chair, cutting a book.</p> + +<p>I left him deeply engrossed, and the book did not drop out of his hands +as it had done in the evening.</p> + +<h3>VII</h3> + +<p>Now that I am writing these lines I am restrained by that dread of +appearing sentimental and ridiculous, in which I have been trained from +childhood; when I want to be affectionate or to say anything tender, I +don't know how to be natural. And it is that dread, together with lack +of practice, that prevents me from being able to express with perfect +clearness what was passing in my soul at that time.</p> + +<p>I was not in love with Zinaida Fyodorovna, but in the ordinary human +feeling I had for her, there was far more youth, freshness, and +joyousness than in Orlov's love.</p> + +<p>As I worked in the morning, cleaning boots or sweeping the rooms, I +waited with a thrill at my heart for the moment when I should hear her +voice and her footsteps. To stand watching her as she drank her coffee +in the morning or ate her lunch, to hold her fur coat for her in the +hall, and to put the goloshes on her little feet while she rested her +hand on my shoulder; then to wait till the hall porter rang up for me, +to meet her at the door, cold, and rosy, powdered with the snow, to +listen to her brief exclamations about the frost or the cabman—if only +you knew how much all that meant to me! I longed to be in love, to have +a wife and child of my own. I wanted my future wife to have just such a +face, such a voice. I dreamed of it at dinner, and in the street when I +was sent on some errand, and when I lay awake at night. Orlov rejected +with disgust children, cooking, copper saucepans, and feminine +knicknacks and I gathered them all up, tenderly cherished them in my +dreams, loved them, and begged them of destiny. I had visions of a wife, +a nursery, a little house with garden paths....</p> + +<p>I knew that if I did love her I could never dare hope for the miracle of +her returning my love, but that reflection did not worry me. In my +quiet, modest feeling akin to ordinary affection, there was no jealousy +of Orlov or even envy of him, since I realised that for a wreck like me +happiness was only to be found in dreams.</p> + +<p>When Zinaida Fyodorovna sat up night after night for her <i>George</i>, +looking immovably at a book of which she never turned a page, or when +she shuddered and turned pale at Polya's crossing the room, I suffered +with her, and the idea occurred to me to lance this festering wound as +quickly as possible by letting her know what was said here at supper on +Thursdays; but—how was it to be done? More and more often I saw her +tears. For the first weeks she laughed and sang to herself, even when +Orlov was not at home, but by the second month there was a mournful +stillness in our flat broken only on Thursday evenings.</p> + +<p>She flattered Orlov, and to wring from him a counterfeit smile or kiss, +was ready to go on her knees to him, to fawn on him like a dog. Even +when her heart was heaviest, she could not resist glancing into a +looking-glass if she passed one and straightening her hair. It seemed +strange to me that she could still take an interest in clothes and go +into ecstasies over her purchases. It did not seem in keeping with her +genuine grief. She paid attention to the fashions and ordered expensive +dresses. What for? On whose account? I particularly remember one dress +which cost four hundred roubles. To give four hundred roubles for an +unnecessary, useless dress while women for their hard day's work get +only twenty kopecks a day without food, and the makers of Venice and +Brussels lace are only paid half a franc a day on the supposition that +they can earn the rest by immorality! And it seemed strange to me that +Zinaida Fyodorovna was not conscious of it; it vexed me. But she had +only to go out of the house for me to find excuses and explanations for +everything, and to be waiting eagerly for the hall porter to ring for +me.</p> + +<p>She treated me as a flunkey, a being of a lower order. One may pat a +dog, and yet not notice it; I was given orders and asked questions, but +my presence was not observed. My master and mistress thought it unseemly +to say more to me than is usually said to servants; if when waiting at +dinner I had laughed or put in my word in the conversation, they would +certainly have thought I was mad and have dismissed me. Zinaida +Fyodorovna was favourably disposed to me, all the same. When she was +sending me on some errand or explaining to me the working of a new lamp +or anything of that sort, her face was extraordinarily kind, frank, and +cordial, and her eyes looked me straight in the face. At such moments I +always fancied she remembered with gratitude how I used to bring her +letters to Znamensky Street. When she rang the bell, Polya, who +considered me her favourite and hated me for it, used to say with a +jeering smile:</p> + +<p>"Go along, <i>your</i> mistress wants you."</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna considered me as a being of a lower order, and did +not suspect that if any one in the house were in a humiliating position +it was she. She did not know that I, a footman, was unhappy on her +account, and used to ask myself twenty times a day what was in store for +her and how it would all end. Things were growing visibly worse day by +day. After the evening on which they had talked of his official work, +Orlov, who could not endure tears, unmistakably began to avoid +conversation with her; whenever Zinaida Fyodorovna began to argue, or to +beseech him, or seemed on the point of crying, he seized some plausible +excuse for retreating to his study or going out. He more and more rarely +slept at home, and still more rarely dined there: on Thursdays he was +the one to suggest some expedition to his friends. Zinaida Fyodorovna +was still dreaming of having the cooking done at home, of moving to a +new flat, of travelling abroad, but her dreams remained dreams. Dinner +was sent in from the restaurant. Orlov asked her not to broach the +question of moving until after they had come back from abroad, and +apropos of their foreign tour, declared that they could not go till his +hair had grown long, as one could not go trailing from hotel to hotel +and serving the idea without long hair.</p> + +<p>To crown it all, in Orlov's absence, Kukushkin began calling at the flat +in the evening. There was nothing exceptional in his behaviour, but I +could never forget the conversation in which he had offered to cut Orlov +out. He was regaled with tea and red wine, and he used to titter and, +anxious to say something pleasant, would declare that a free union was +superior in every respect to legal marriage, and that all decent people +ought really to come to Zinaida Fyodorovna and fall at her feet.</p> + +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<p>Christmas was spent drearily in vague anticipations of calamity. On New +Year's Eve Orlov unexpectedly announced at breakfast that he was being +sent to assist a senator who was on a revising commission in a certain +province.</p> + +<p>"I don't want to go, but I can't find an excuse to get off," he said +with vexation. "I must go; there's nothing for it."</p> + +<p>Such news instantly made Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes look red. "Is it for +long?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Five days or so."</p> + +<p>"I am glad, really, you are going," she said after a moment's thought. +"It will be a change for you. You will fall in love with some one on the +way, and tell me about it afterwards."</p> + +<p>At every opportunity she tried to make Orlov feel that she did not +restrict his liberty in any way, and that he could do exactly as he +liked, and this artless, transparent strategy deceived no one, and only +unnecessarily reminded Orlov that he was not free.</p> + +<p>"I am going this evening," he said, and began reading the paper.</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna wanted to see him off at the station, but he +dissuaded her, saying that he was not going to America, and not going to +be away five years, but only five days—possibly less.</p> + +<p>The parting took place between seven and eight. He put one arm round +her, and kissed her on the lips and on the forehead.</p> + +<p>"Be a good girl, and don't be depressed while I am away," he said in a +warm, affectionate tone which touched even me. "God keep you!"</p> + +<p>She looked greedily into his face, to stamp his dear features on her +memory, then she put her arms gracefully round his neck and laid her +head on his breast.</p> + +<p>"Forgive me our misunderstandings," she said in French. "Husband and +wife cannot help quarrelling if they love each other, and I love you +madly. Don't forget me.... Wire to me often and fully."</p> + +<p>Orlov kissed her once more, and, without saying a word, went out in +confusion. When he heard the click of the lock as the door closed, he +stood still in the middle of the staircase in hesitation and glanced +upwards. It seemed to me that if a sound had reached him at that moment +from above, he would have turned back. But all was quiet. He +straightened his coat and went downstairs irresolutely.</p> + +<p>The sledges had been waiting a long while at the door. Orlov got into +one, I got into the other with two portmanteaus. It was a hard frost and +there were fires smoking at the cross-roads. The cold wind nipped my +face and hands, and took my breath away as we drove rapidly along; and, +closing my eyes, I thought what a splendid woman she was. How she loved +him! Even useless rubbish is collected in the courtyards nowadays and +used for some purpose, even broken glass is considered a useful +commodity, but something so precious, so rare, as the love of a refined, +young, intelligent, and good woman is utterly thrown away and wasted. +One of the early sociologists regarded every evil passion as a force +which might by judicious management be turned to good, while among us +even a fine, noble passion springs up and dies away in impotence, turned +to no account, misunderstood or vulgarised. Why is it?</p> + +<p>The sledges stopped unexpectedly. I opened my eyes and I saw that we had +come to a standstill in Sergievsky Street, near a big house where +Pekarsky lived. Orlov got out of the sledge and vanished into the entry. +Five minutes later Pekarsky's footman came out, bareheaded, and, angry +with the frost, shouted to me:</p> + +<p>"Are you deaf? Pay the cabmen and go upstairs. You are wanted!"</p> + +<p>At a complete loss, I went to the first storey. I had been to Pekarsky's +flat before—that is, I had stood in the hall and looked into the +drawing-room, and, after the damp, gloomy street, it always struck me by +the brilliance of its picture-frames, its bronzes and expensive +furniture. To-day in the midst of this splendour I saw Gruzin, +Kukushkin, and, after a minute, Orlov.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Stepan," he said, coming up to me. "I shall be staying here +till Friday or Saturday. If any letters or telegrams come, you must +bring them here every day. At home, of course you will say that I have +gone, and send my greetings. Now you can go."</p> + +<p>When I reached home Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the sofa in the +drawing-room, eating a pear. There was only one candle burning in the +candelabra.</p> + +<p>"Did you catch the train?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna.</p> + +<p>"Yes, madam. His honour sends his greetings."</p> + +<p>I went into my room and I, too, lay down. I had nothing to do, and I did +not want to read. I was not surprised and I was not indignant. I only +racked my brains to think why this deception was necessary. It is only +boys in their teens who deceive their mistresses like that. How was it +that a man who had thought and read so much could not imagine anything +more sensible? I must confess I had by no means a poor opinion of his +intelligence. I believe if he had had to deceive his minister or any +other influential person he would have put a great deal of skill and +energy into doing so; but to deceive a woman, the first idea that +occurred to him was evidently good enough. If it succeeded—well and +good; if it did not, there would be no harm done—he could tell some +other lie just as quickly and simply, with no mental effort.</p> + +<p>At midnight when the people on the floor overhead were moving their +chairs and shouting hurrah to welcome the New Year, Zinaida Fyodorovna +rang for me from the room next to the study. Languid from lying down so +long, she was sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap of +paper.</p> + +<p>"I must send a telegram," she said, with a smile. "Go to the station as +quick as you can and ask them to send it after him."</p> + +<p>Going out into the street, I read on the scrap of paper:</p> + +<p>"May the New Year bring new happiness. Make haste and telegraph; I miss +you dreadfully. It seems an eternity. I am only sorry I can't send a +thousand kisses and my very heart by telegraph. Enjoy yourself, my +darling.—ZINA."</p> + +<p>I sent the telegram, and next morning I gave her the receipt.</p> + +<h3>IX</h3> + +<p>The worst of it was that Orlov had thoughtlessly let Polya, too, into +the secret of his deception, telling her to bring his shirts to +Sergievsky Street. After that, she looked at Zinaida Fyodorovna with a +malignant joy and hatred I could not understand, and was never tired of +snorting with delight to herself in her own room and in the hall.</p> + +<p>"She's outstayed her welcome; it's time she took herself off!" she would +say with zest. "She ought to realise that herself...."</p> + +<p>She already divined by instinct that Zinaida Fyodorovna would not be +with us much longer, and, not to let the chance slip, carried off +everything she set her eyes on—smelling-bottles, tortoise-shell +hairpins, handkerchiefs, shoes! On the day after New Year's Day, Zinaida +Fyodorovna summoned me to her room and told me in a low voice that she +missed her black dress. And then she walked through all the rooms, with +a pale, frightened, and indignant face, talking to herself:</p> + +<p>"It's too much! It's beyond everything. Why, it's unheard-of insolence!"</p> + +<p>At dinner she tried to help herself to soup, but could not—her hands +were trembling. Her lips were trembling, too. She looked helplessly at +the soup and at the little pies, waiting for the trembling to pass off, +and suddenly she could not resist looking at Polya.</p> + +<p>"You can go, Polya," she said. "Stepan is enough by himself."</p> + +<p>"I'll stay; I don't mind," answered Polya.</p> + +<p>"There's no need for you to stay. You go away altogether," Zinaida +Fyodorovna went on, getting up in great agitation. "You may look out for +another place. You can go at once."</p> + +<p>"I can't go away without the master's orders. He engaged me. It must be +as he orders."</p> + +<p>"You can take orders from me, too! I am mistress here!" said Zinaida +Fyodorovna, and she flushed crimson.</p> + +<p>"You may be the mistress, but only the master can dismiss me. It was he +engaged me."</p> + +<p>"You dare not stay here another minute!" cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, and +she struck the plate with her knife. "You are a thief! Do you hear?"</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna flung her dinner-napkin on the table, and with a +pitiful, suffering face, went quickly out of the room. Loudly sobbing +and wailing something indistinct, Polya, too, went away. The soup and +the grouse got cold. And for some reason all the restaurant dainties on +the table struck me as poor, thievish, like Polya. Two pies on a plate +had a particularly miserable and guilty air. "We shall be taken back to +the restaurant to-day," they seemed to be saying, "and to-morrow we +shall be put on the table again for some official or celebrated singer."</p> + +<p>"She is a fine lady, indeed," I heard uttered in Polya's room. "I could +have been a lady like that long ago, but I have some self-respect! We'll +see which of us will be the first to go!"</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna rang the bell. She was sitting in her room, in the +corner, looking as though she had been put in the corner as a +punishment.</p> + +<p>"No telegram has come?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No, madam."</p> + +<p>"Ask the porter; perhaps there is a telegram. And don't leave the +house," she called after me. "I am afraid to be left alone."</p> + +<p>After that I had to run down almost every hour to ask the porter whether +a telegram had come. I must own it was a dreadful time! To avoid seeing +Polya, Zinaida Fyodorovna dined and had tea in her own room; it was here +that she slept, too, on a short sofa like a half-moon, and she made her +own bed. For the first days I took the telegrams; but, getting no +answer, she lost her faith in me and began telegraphing herself. Looking +at her, I, too, began impatiently hoping for a telegram. I hoped he +would contrive some deception, would make arrangements, for instance, +that a telegram should be sent to her from some station. If he were too +much engrossed with cards or had been attracted by some other woman, I +thought that both Gruzin and Kukushkin would remind him of us. But our +expectations were vain. Five times a day I would go in to Zinaida +Fyodorovna, intending to tell her the truth. But her eyes looked piteous +as a fawn's, her shoulders seemed to droop, her lips were moving, and I +went away again without saying a word. Pity and sympathy seemed to rob +me of all manliness. Polya, as cheerful and well satisfied with herself +as though nothing had happened, was tidying the master's study and the +bedroom, rummaging in the cupboards, and making the crockery jingle, and +when she passed Zinaida Fyodorovna's door, she hummed something and +coughed. She was pleased that her mistress was hiding from her. In the +evening she would go out somewhere, and rang at two or three o'clock in +the morning, and I had to open the door to her and listen to remarks +about my cough. Immediately afterwards I would hear another ring; I +would run to the room next to the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, putting +her head out of the door, would ask, "Who was it rung?" while she looked +at my hands to see whether I had a telegram.</p> + +<p>When at last on Saturday the bell rang below and she heard the familiar +voice on the stairs, she was so delighted that she broke into sobs. She +rushed to meet him, embraced him, kissed him on the breast and sleeves, +said something one could not understand. The hall porter brought up the +portmanteaus; Polya's cheerful voice was heard. It was as though some +one had come home for the holidays.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you wire?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna, breathless with joy. +"Why was it? I have been in misery; I don't know how I've lived through +it.... Oh, my God!"</p> + +<p>"It was very simple! I returned with the senator to Moscow the very +first day, and didn't get your telegrams," said Orlov. "After dinner, my +love, I'll give you a full account of my doings, but now I must sleep +and sleep.... I am worn out with the journey."</p> + +<p>It was evident that he had not slept all night; he had probably been +playing cards and drinking freely. Zinaida Fyodorovna put him to bed, +and we all walked about on tiptoe all that day. The dinner went off +quite satisfactorily, but when they went into the study and had coffee +the explanation began. Zinaida Fyodorovna began talking of something +rapidly in a low voice; she spoke in French, and her words flowed like a +stream. Then I heard a loud sigh from Orlov, and his voice.</p> + +<p>"My God!" he said in French. "Have you really nothing fresher to tell me +than this everlasting tale of your servant's misdeeds?"</p> + +<p>"But, my dear, she robbed me and said insulting things to me."</p> + +<p>"But why is it she doesn't rob me or say insulting things to me? Why is +it I never notice the maids nor the porters nor the footmen? My dear, +you are simply capricious and refuse to know your own mind.... I really +begin to suspect that you must be in a certain condition. When I offered +to let her go, you insisted on her remaining, and now you want me to +turn her away. I can be obstinate, too, in such cases. You want her to +go, but I want her to remain. That's the only way to cure you of your +nerves."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well, very well," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in alarm. "Let us +say no more about that.... Let us put it off till to-morrow.... Now tell +me about Moscow.... What is going on in Moscow?"</p> + +<h3>X</h3> + +<p>After lunch next day—it was the seventh of January, St. John the +Baptist's Day—Orlov put on his black dress coat and his decoration to +go to visit his father and congratulate him on his name day. He had to +go at two o'clock, and it was only half-past one when he had finished +dressing. What was he to do for that half-hour? He walked about the +drawing-room, declaiming some congratulatory verses which he had recited +as a child to his father and mother.</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna, who was just going out to a dressmaker's or to the +shops, was sitting, listening to him with a smile. I don't know how +their conversation began, but when I took Orlov his gloves, he was +standing before her with a capricious, beseeching face, saying:</p> + +<p>"For God's sake, in the name of everything that's holy, don't talk of +things that everybody knows! What an unfortunate gift our intellectual +thoughtful ladies have for talking with enthusiasm and an air of +profundity of things that every schoolboy is sick to death of! Ah, if +only you would exclude from our conjugal programme all these serious +questions! How grateful I should be to you!"</p> + +<p>"We women may not dare, it seems, to have views of our own."</p> + +<p>"I give you full liberty to be as liberal as you like, and quote from +any authors you choose, but make me one concession: don't hold forth in +my presence on either of two subjects: the corruption of the upper +classes and the evils of the marriage system. Do understand me, at last. +The upper class is always abused in contrast with the world of +tradesmen, priests, workmen and peasants, Sidors and Nikitas of all +sorts. I detest both classes, but if I had honestly to choose between +the two, I should without hesitation, prefer the upper class, and there +would be no falsity or affectation about it, since all my tastes are in +that direction. Our world is trivial and empty, but at any rate we speak +French decently, read something, and don't punch each other in the ribs +even in our most violent quarrels, while the Sidors and the Nikitas and +their worships in trade talk about 'being quite agreeable,' 'in a +jiffy,' 'blast your eyes,' and display the utmost license of pothouse +manners and the most degrading superstition."</p> + +<p>"The peasant and the tradesman feed you."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but what of it? That's not only to my discredit, but to theirs +too. They feed me and take off their caps to me, so it seems they have +not the intelligence and honesty to do otherwise. I don't blame or +praise any one: I only mean that the upper class and the lower are as +bad as one another. My feelings and my intelligence are opposed to both, +but my tastes lie more in the direction of the former. Well, now for the +evils of marriage," Orlov went on, glancing at his watch. "It's high +time for you to understand that there are no evils in the system itself; +what is the matter is that you don't know yourselves what you want from +marriage. What is it you want? In legal and illegal cohabitation, in +every sort of union and cohabitation, good or bad, the underlying +reality is the same. You ladies live for that underlying reality alone: +for you it's everything; your existence would have no meaning for you +without it. You want nothing but that, and you get it; but since you've +taken to reading novels you are ashamed of it: you rush from pillar to +post, you recklessly change your men, and to justify this turmoil you +have begun talking of the evils of marriage. So long as you can't and +won't renounce what underlies it all, your chief foe, your devil—so +long as you serve that slavishly, what use is there in discussing the +matter seriously? Everything you may say to me will be falsity and +affectation. I shall not believe you."</p> + +<p>I went to find out from the hall porter whether the sledge was at the +door, and when I came back I found it had become a quarrel. As sailors +say, a squall had blown up.</p> + +<p>"I see you want to shock me by your cynicism today," said Zinaida +Fyodorovna, walking about the drawing-room in great emotion. "It revolts +me to listen to you. I am pure before God and man, and have nothing to +repent of. I left my husband and came to you, and am proud of it. I +swear, on my honour, I am proud of it!"</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all right, then!"</p> + +<p>"If you are a decent, honest man, you, too, ought to be proud of what I +did. It raises you and me above thousands of people who would like to do +as we have done, but do not venture through cowardice or petty prudence. +But you are not a decent man. You are afraid of freedom, and you mock +the promptings of genuine feeling, from fear that some ignoramus may +suspect you of being sincere. You are afraid to show me to your friends; +there's no greater infliction for you than to go about with me in the +street.... Isn't that true? Why haven't you introduced me to your father +or your cousin all this time? Why is it? No, I am sick of it at last," +cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, stamping. "I demand what is mine by right. You +must present me to your father."</p> + +<p>"If you want to know him, go and present yourself. He receives visitors +every morning from ten till half-past."</p> + +<p>"How base you are!" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, wringing her hands in +despair. "Even if you are not sincere, and are not saying what you +think, I might hate you for your cruelty. Oh, how base you are!"</p> + +<p>"We keep going round and round and never reach the real point. The real +point is that you made a mistake, and you won't acknowledge it aloud. +You imagined that I was a hero, and that I had some extraordinary ideas +and ideals, and it has turned out that I am a most ordinary official, a +cardplayer, and have no partiality for ideas of any sort. I am a worthy +representative of the rotten world from which you have run away because +you were revolted with its triviality and emptiness. Recognise it and be +just: don't be indignant with me, but with yourself, as it is your +mistake, and not mine."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I admit I was mistaken."</p> + +<p>"Well, that's all right, then. We've reached that point at last, thank +God. Now hear something more, if you please: I can't rise to your +level—I am too depraved; you can't descend to my level, either, for you +are too exalted. So there is only one thing left to do...."</p> + +<p>"What?" Zinaida Fyodorovna asked quickly, holding her breath and turning +suddenly as white as a sheet of paper.</p> + +<p>"To call logic to our aid...."</p> + +<p>"Georgy, why are you torturing me?" Zinaida Fyodorovna said suddenly in +Russian in a breaking voice. "What is it for? Think of my misery...."</p> + +<p>Orlov, afraid of tears, went quickly into his study, and I don't know +why—whether it was that he wished to cause her extra pain, or whether +he remembered it was usually done in such cases—he locked the door +after him. She cried out and ran after him with a rustle of her skirt.</p> + +<p>"What does this mean?" she cried, knocking at his door. "What ... what +does this mean?" she repeated in a shrill voice breaking with +indignation. "Ah, so this is what you do! Then let me tell you I hate +you, I despise you! Everything is over between us now."</p> + +<p>I heard hysterical weeping mingled with laughter. Something small in the +drawing-room fell off the table and was broken. Orlov went out into the +hall by another door, and, looking round him nervously, he hurriedly put +on his great-coat and went out.</p> + +<p>Half an hour passed, an hour, and she was still weeping. I remembered +that she had no father or mother, no relations, and here she was living +between a man who hated her and Polya, who robbed her—and how desolate +her life seemed to me! I do not know why, but I went into the +drawing-room to her. Weak and helpless, looking with her lovely hair +like an embodiment of tenderness and grace, she was in anguish, as +though she were ill; she was lying on a couch, hiding her face, and +quivering all over.</p> + +<p>"Madam, shouldn't I fetch a doctor?" I asked gently.</p> + +<p>"No, there's no need ... it's nothing," she said, and she looked at me +with her tear-stained eyes. "I have a little headache.... Thank you."</p> + +<p>I went out, and in the evening she was writing letter after letter, and +sent me out first to Pekarsky, then to Gruzin, then to Kukushkin, and +finally anywhere I chose, if only I could find Orlov and give him the +letter. Every time I came back with the letter she scolded me, entreated +me, thrust money into my hand—as though she were in a fever. And all +the night she did not sleep, but sat in the drawing-room, talking to +herself.</p> + +<p>Orlov returned to dinner next day, and they were reconciled.</p> + +<p>The first Thursday afterwards Orlov complained to his friends of the +intolerable life he led; he smoked a great deal, and said with +irritation:</p> + +<p>"It is no life at all; it's the rack. Tears, wailing, intellectual +conversations, begging for forgiveness, again tears and wailing; and the +long and the short of it is that I have no flat of my own now. I am +wretched, and I make her wretched. Surely I haven't to live another +month or two like this? How can I? But yet I may have to."</p> + +<p>"Why don't you speak, then?" said Pekarsky.</p> + +<p>"I've tried, but I can't. One can boldly tell the truth, whatever it may +be, to an independent, rational man; but in this case one has to do with +a creature who has no will, no strength of character, and no logic. I +cannot endure tears; they disarm me. When she cries, I am ready to swear +eternal love and cry myself."</p> + +<p>Pekarsky did not understand; he scratched his broad forehead in +perplexity and said:</p> + +<p>"You really had better take another flat for her. It's so simple!"</p> + +<p>"She wants me, not the flat. But what's the good of talking?" sighed +Orlov. "I only hear endless conversations, but no way out of my +position. It certainly is a case of 'being guilty without guilt.' I +don't claim to be a mushroom, but it seems I've got to go into the +basket. The last thing I've ever set out to be is a hero. I never could +endure Turgenev's novels; and now, all of a sudden, as though to spite +me, I've heroism forced upon me. I assure her on my honour that I'm not +a hero at all, I adduce irrefutable proofs of the same, but she doesn't +believe me. Why doesn't she believe me? I suppose I really must have +something of the appearance of a hero."</p> + +<p>"You go off on a tour of inspection in the provinces," said Kukushkin, +laughing.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's the only thing left for me."</p> + +<p>A week after this conversation Orlov announced that he was again ordered +to attend the senator, and the same evening he went off with his +portmanteaus to Pekarsky.</p> + +<h3>XI</h3> + +<p>An old man of sixty, in a long fur coat reaching to the ground, and a +beaver cap, was standing at the door.</p> + +<p>"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he asked.</p> + +<p>At first I thought it was one of the moneylenders, Gruzin's creditors, +who sometimes used to come to Orlov for small payments on account; but +when he came into the hall and flung open his coat, I saw the thick +brows and the characteristically compressed lips which I knew so well +from the photographs, and two rows of stars on the uniform. I recognised +him: it was Orlov's father, the distinguished statesman.</p> + +<p>I answered that Georgy Ivanitch was not at home. The old man pursed up +his lips tightly and looked into space, reflecting, showing me his +dried-up, toothless profile.</p> + +<p>"I'll leave a note," he said; "show me in."</p> + +<p>He left his goloshes in the hall, and, without taking off his long, +heavy fur coat, went into the study. There he sat down before the table, +and, before taking up the pen, for three minutes he pondered, shading +his eyes with his hand as though from the sun—exactly as his son did +when he was out of humour. His face was sad, thoughtful, with that look +of resignation which I have only seen on the faces of the old and +religious. I stood behind him, gazed at his bald head and at the hollow +at the nape of his neck, and it was clear as daylight to me that this +weak old man was now in my power. There was not a soul in the flat +except my enemy and me. I had only to use a little physical violence, +then snatch his watch to disguise the object of the crime, and to get +off by the back way, and I should have gained infinitely more than I +could have imagined possible when I took up the part of a footman. I +thought that I could hardly get a better opportunity. But instead of +acting, I looked quite unconcernedly, first at his bald patch and then +at his fur, and calmly meditated on this man's relation to his only son, +and on the fact that people spoiled by power and wealth probably don't +want to die....</p> + +<p>"Have you been long in my son's service?" he asked, writing a large hand +on the paper.</p> + +<p>"Three months, your High Excellency."</p> + +<p>He finished the letter and stood up. I still had time. I urged myself on +and clenched my fists, trying to wring out of my soul some trace of my +former hatred; I recalled what a passionate, implacable, obstinate hate +I had felt for him only a little while before.... But it is difficult to +strike a match against a crumbling stone. The sad old face and the cold +glitter of his stars roused in me nothing but petty, cheap, unnecessary +thoughts of the transitoriness of everything earthly, of the nearness of +death....</p> + +<p>"Good-day, brother," said the old man. He put on his cap and went out.</p> + +<p>There could be no doubt about it: I had undergone a change; I had become +different. To convince myself, I began to recall the past, but at once I +felt uneasy, as though I had accidentally peeped into a dark, damp +corner. I remembered my comrades and friends, and my first thought was +how I should blush in confusion if ever I met any of them. What was I +now? What had I to think of and to do? Where was I to go? What was I +living for?</p> + +<p>I could make nothing of it. I only knew one thing—that I must make +haste to pack my things and be off. Before the old man's visit my +position as a flunkey had a meaning; now it was absurd. Tears dropped +into my open portmanteau; I felt insufferably sad; but how I longed to +live! I was ready to embrace and include in my short life every +possibility open to man. I wanted to speak, to read, and to hammer in +some big factory, and to stand on watch, and to plough. I yearned for +the Nevsky Prospect, for the sea and the fields—for every place to +which my imagination travelled. When Zinaida Fyodorovna came in, I +rushed to open the door for her, and with peculiar tenderness took off +her fur coat. The last time!</p> + +<p>We had two other visitors that day besides the old man. In the evening +when it was quite dark, Gruzin came to fetch some papers for Orlov. He +opened the table-drawer, took the necessary papers, and, rolling them +up, told me to put them in the hall beside his cap while he went in to +see Zinaida Fyodorovna. She was lying on the sofa in the drawing-room, +with her arms behind her head. Five or six days had already passed since +Orlov went on his tour of inspection, and no one knew when he would be +back, but this time she did not send telegrams and did not expect them. +She did not seem to notice the presence of Polya, who was still living +with us. "So be it, then," was what I read on her passionless and very +pale face. Like Orlov, she wanted to be unhappy out of obstinacy. To +spite herself and everything in the world, she lay for days together on +the sofa, desiring and expecting nothing but evil for herself. Probably +she was picturing to herself Orlov's return and the inevitable quarrels +with him; then his growing indifference to her, his infidelities; then +how they would separate; and perhaps these agonising thoughts gave her +satisfaction. But what would she have said if she found out the actual +truth?</p> + +<p>"I love you, Godmother," said Gruzin, greeting her and kissing her hand. +"You are so kind! And so dear <i>George</i> has gone away," he lied. "He has +gone away, the rascal!"</p> + +<p>He sat down with a sigh and tenderly stroked her hand.</p> + +<p>"Let me spend an hour with you, my dear," he said. "I don't want to go +home, and it's too early to go to the Birshovs'. The Birshovs are +keeping their Katya's birthday to-day. She is a nice child!"</p> + +<p>I brought him a glass of tea and a decanter of brandy. He slowly and +with obvious reluctance drank the tea, and returning the glass to me, +asked timidly:</p> + +<p>"Can you give me ... something to eat, my friend? I have had no dinner."</p> + +<p>We had nothing in the flat. I went to the restaurant and brought him the +ordinary rouble dinner.</p> + +<p>"To your health, my dear," he said to Zinaida Fyodorovna, and he tossed +off a glass of vodka. "My little girl, your godchild, sends you her +love. Poor child! she's rickety. Ah, children, children!" he sighed. +"Whatever you may say, Godmother, it is nice to be a father. Dear +<i>George</i> can't understand that feeling."</p> + +<p>He drank some more. Pale and lean, with his dinner-napkin over his chest +like a little pinafore, he ate greedily, and raising his eyebrows, kept +looking guiltily, like a little boy, first at Zinaida Fyodorovna and +then at me. It seemed as though he would have begun crying if I had not +given him the grouse or the jelly. When he had satisfied his hunger he +grew more lively, and began laughingly telling some story about the +Birshov household, but perceiving that it was tiresome and that Zinaida +Fyodorovna was not laughing, he ceased. And there was a sudden feeling +of dreariness. After he had finished his dinner they sat in the +drawing-room by the light of a single lamp, and did not speak; it was +painful to him to lie to her, and she wanted to ask him something, but +could not make up her mind to. So passed half an hour. Gruzin glanced at +his watch.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it's time for me to go."</p> + +<p>"No, stay a little.... We must have a talk."</p> + +<p>Again they were silent. He sat down to the piano, struck one chord, then +began playing, and sang softly, "What does the coming day bring me?" but +as usual he got up suddenly and tossed his head.</p> + +<p>"Play something," Zinaida Fyodorovna asked him.</p> + +<p>"What shall I play?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "I have +forgotten everything. I've given it up long ago."</p> + +<p>Looking at the ceiling as though trying to remember, he played two +pieces of Tchaikovsky with exquisite expression, with such warmth, such +insight! His face was just as usual—neither stupid nor intelligent—and +it seemed to me a perfect marvel that a man whom I was accustomed to see +in the midst of the most degrading, impure surroundings, was capable of +such purity, of rising to a feeling so lofty, so far beyond my reach. +Zinaida Fyodorovna's face glowed, and she walked about the drawing-room +in emotion.</p> + +<p>"Wait a bit, Godmother; if I can remember it, I will play you +something," he said; "I heard it played on the violoncello."</p> + +<p>Beginning timidly and picking out the notes, and then gathering +confidence, he played Saint-Saëns's "Swan Song." He played it through, +and then played it a second time.</p> + +<p>"It's nice, isn't it?" he said.</p> + +<p>Moved by the music, Zinaida Fyodorovna stood beside him and asked:</p> + +<p>"Tell me honestly, as a friend, what do you think about me?"</p> + +<p>"What am I to say?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "I love you and think +nothing but good of you. But if you wish that I should speak generally +about the question that interests you," he went on, rubbing his sleeve +near the elbow and frowning, "then, my dear, you know.... To follow +freely the promptings of the heart does not always give good people +happiness. To feel free and at the same time to be happy, it seems to +me, one must not conceal from oneself that life is coarse, cruel, and +merciless in its conservatism, and one must retaliate with what it +deserves—that is, be as coarse and as merciless in one's striving for +freedom. That's what I think."</p> + +<p>"That's beyond me," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a mournful smile. "I +am exhausted already. I am so exhausted that I wouldn't stir a finger +for my own salvation."</p> + +<p>"Go into a nunnery."</p> + +<p>He said this in jest, but after he had said it, tears glistened in +Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes and then in his.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said, "we've been sitting and sitting, and now we must go. +Good-bye, dear Godmother. God give you health."</p> + +<p>He kissed both her hands, and stroking them tenderly, said that he +should certainly come to see her again in a day or two. In the hall, as +he was putting on his overcoat, that was so like a child's pelisse, he +fumbled long in his pockets to find a tip for me, but found nothing +there.</p> + +<p>"Good-bye, my dear fellow," he said sadly, and went away.</p> + +<p>I shall never forget the feeling that this man left behind him.</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna still walked about the room in her excitement. That +she was walking about and not still lying down was so much to the good. +I wanted to take advantage of this mood to speak to her openly and then +to go away, but I had hardly seen Gruzin out when I heard a ring. It was +Kukushkin.</p> + +<p>"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he said. "Has he come back? You say no? +What a pity! In that case, I'll go in and kiss your mistress's hand, and +so away. Zinaida Fyodorovna, may I come in?" he cried. "I want to kiss +your hand. Excuse my being so late."</p> + +<p>He was not long in the drawing-room, not more than ten minutes, but I +felt as though he were staying a long while and would never go away. I +bit my lips from indignation and annoyance, and already hated Zinaida +Fyodorovna. "Why does she not turn him out?" I thought indignantly, +though it was evident that she was bored by his company.</p> + +<p>When I held his fur coat for him he asked me, as a mark of special +good-will, how I managed to get on without a wife.</p> + +<p>"But I don't suppose you waste your time," he said, laughingly. "I've no +doubt Polya and you are as thick as thieves.... You rascal!"</p> + +<p>In spite of my experience of life, I knew very little of mankind at that +time, and it is very likely that I often exaggerated what was of little +consequence and failed to observe what was important. It seemed to me it +was not without motive that Kukushkin tittered and flattered me. Could +it be that he was hoping that I, like a flunkey, would gossip in other +kitchens and servants' quarters of his coming to see us in the evenings +when Orlov was away, and staying with Zinaida Fyodorovna till late at +night? And when my tittle-tattle came to the ears of his acquaintance, +he would drop his eyes in confusion and shake his little finger. And +would not he, I thought, looking at his little honeyed face, this very +evening at cards pretend and perhaps declare that he had already won +Zinaida Fyodorovna from Orlov?</p> + +<p>That hatred which failed me at midday when the old father had come, took +possession of me now. Kukushkin went away at last, and as I listened to +the shuffle of his leather goloshes, I felt greatly tempted to fling +after him, as a parting shot, some coarse word of abuse, but I +restrained myself. And when the steps had died away on the stairs, I +went back to the hall, and, hardly conscious of what I was doing, took +up the roll of papers that Gruzin had left behind, and ran headlong +downstairs. Without cap or overcoat, I ran down into the street. It was +not cold, but big flakes of snow were falling and it was windy.</p> + +<p>"Your Excellency!" I cried, catching up Kukushkin. "Your Excellency!"</p> + +<p>He stopped under a lamp-post and looked round with surprise. "Your +Excellency!" I said breathless, "your Excellency!"</p> + +<p>And not able to think of anything to say, I hit him two or three times +on the face with the roll of paper. Completely at a loss, and hardly +wondering—I had so completely taken him by surprise—he leaned his back +against the lamp-post and put up his hands to protect his face. At that +moment an army doctor passed, and saw how I was beating the man, but he +merely looked at us in astonishment and went on. I felt ashamed and I +ran back to the house.</p> + +<h3>XII</h3> + +<p>With my head wet from the snow, and gasping for breath, I ran to my +room, and immediately flung off my swallow-tails, put on a reefer jacket +and an overcoat, and carried my portmanteau out into the passage; I must +get away! But before going I hurriedly sat down and began writing to +Orlov:</p> + +<p>"I leave you my false passport," I began. "I beg you to keep it as a +memento, you false man, you Petersburg official!</p> + +<p>"To steal into another man's house under a false name, to watch under +the mask of a flunkey this person's intimate life, to hear everything, +to see everything in order later on, unasked, to accuse a man of +lying—all this, you will say, is on a level with theft. Yes, but I care +nothing for fine feelings now. I have endured dozens of your dinners and +suppers when you said and did what you liked, and I had to hear, to look +on, and be silent. I don't want to make you a present of my silence. +Besides, if there is not a living soul at hand who dares to tell you the +truth without flattery, let your flunkey Stepan wash your magnificent +countenance for you."</p> + +<p>I did not like this beginning, but I did not care to alter it. Besides, +what did it matter?</p> + +<p>The big windows with their dark curtains, the bed, the crumpled dress +coat on the floor, and my wet footprints, looked gloomy and forbidding. +And there was a peculiar stillness.</p> + +<p>Possibly because I had run out into the street without my cap and +goloshes I was in a high fever. My face burned, my legs ached.... My +heavy head drooped over the table, and there was that kind of division +in my thought when every idea in the brain seemed dogged by its shadow.</p> + +<p>"I am ill, weak, morally cast down," I went on; "I cannot write to you +as I should like to. From the first moment I desired to insult and +humiliate you, but now I do not feel that I have the right to do so. You +and I have both fallen, and neither of us will ever rise up again; and +even if my letter were eloquent, terrible, and passionate, it would +still seem like beating on the lid of a coffin: however one knocks upon +it, one will not wake up the dead! No efforts could warm your accursed +cold blood, and you know that better than I do. Why write? But my mind +and heart are burning, and I go on writing; for some reason I am moved +as though this letter still might save you and me. I am so feverish that +my thoughts are disconnected, and my pen scratches the paper without +meaning; but the question I want to put to you stands before me as clear +as though in letters of flame.</p> + +<p>"Why I am prematurely weak and fallen is not hard to explain. Like +Samson of old, I have taken the gates of Gaza on my shoulders to carry +them to the top of the mountain, and only when I was exhausted, when +youth and health were quenched in me forever, I noticed that that burden +was not for my shoulders, and that I had deceived myself. I have been, +moreover, in cruel and continual pain. I have endured cold, hunger, +illness, and loss of liberty. Of personal happiness I know and have +known nothing. I have no home; my memories are bitter, and my conscience +is often in dread of them. But why have you fallen—you? What fatal, +diabolical causes hindered your life from blossoming into full flower? +Why, almost before beginning life, were you in such haste to cast off +the image and likeness of God, and to become a cowardly beast who backs +and scares others because he is afraid himself? You are afraid of +life—as afraid of it as an Oriental who sits all day on a cushion +smoking his hookah. Yes, you read a great deal, and a European coat fits +you well, but yet with what tender, purely Oriental, pasha-like care you +protect yourself from hunger, cold, physical effort, from pain and +uneasiness! How early your soul has taken to its dressing-gown! What a +cowardly part you have played towards real life and nature, with which +every healthy and normal man struggles! How soft, how snug, how warm, +how comfortable—and how bored you are! Yes, it is deathly boredom, +unrelieved by one ray of light, as in solitary confinement; but you try +to hide from that enemy, too, you play cards eight hours out of +twenty-four.</p> + +<p>"And your irony? Oh, but how well I understand it! Free, bold, living +thought is searching and dominating; for an indolent, sluggish mind it +is intolerable. That it may not disturb your peace, like thousands of +your contemporaries, you made haste in youth to put it under bar and +bolt. Your ironical attitude to life, or whatever you like to call it, +is your armour; and your thought, fettered and frightened, dare not leap +over the fence you have put round it; and when you jeer at ideas which +you pretend to know all about, you are like the deserter fleeing from +the field of battle, and, to stifle his shame, sneering at war and at +valour. Cynicism stifles pain. In some novel of Dostoevsky's an old man +tramples underfoot the portrait of his dearly loved daughter because he +had been unjust to her, and you vent your foul and vulgar jeers upon the +ideas of goodness and truth because you have not the strength to follow +them. You are frightened of every honest and truthful hint at your +degradation, and you purposely surround yourself with people who do +nothing but flatter your weaknesses. And you may well, you may well +dread the sight of tears!</p> + +<p>"By the way, your attitude to women. Shamelessness has been handed down +to us in our flesh and blood, and we are trained to shamelessness; but +that is what we are men for—to subdue the beast in us. When you reached +manhood and <i>all</i> ideas became known to you, you could not have failed +to see the truth; you knew it, but you did not follow it; you were +afraid of it, and to deceive your conscience you began loudly assuring +yourself that it was not you but woman that was to blame, that she was +as degraded as your attitude to her. Your cold, scabrous anecdotes, your +coarse laughter, all your innumerable theories concerning the underlying +reality of marriage and the definite demands made upon it, concerning +the ten <i>sous</i> the French workman pays his woman; your everlasting +attacks on female logic, lying, weakness and so on—doesn't it all look +like a desire at all costs to force woman down into the mud that she may +be on the same level as your attitude to her? You are a weak, unhappy, +unpleasant person!"</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna began playing the piano in the drawing-room, trying +to recall the song of Saint Saëns that Gruzin had played. I went and lay +on my bed, but remembering that it was time for me to go, I got up with +an effort and with a heavy, burning head went to the table again.</p> + +<p>"But this is the question," I went on. "Why are we worn out? Why are we, +at first so passionate, so bold, so noble, and so full of faith, complete +bankrupts at thirty or thirty-five? Why does one waste in consumption, +another put a bullet through his brains, a third seeks forgetfulness in +vodka and cards, while the fourth tries to stifle his fear and misery by +cynically trampling underfoot the pure image of his fair youth? Why is +it that, having once fallen, we do not try to rise up again, and, losing +one thing, do not seek something else? Why is it?</p> + +<p>"The thief hanging on the Cross could bring back the joy of life and the +courage of confident hope, though perhaps he had not more than an hour +to live. You have long years before you, and I shall probably not die so +soon as one might suppose. What if by a miracle the present turned out +to be a dream, a horrible nightmare, and we should wake up renewed, +pure, strong, proud of our righteousness? Sweet visions fire me, and I +am almost breathless with emotion. I have a terrible longing to live. I +long for our life to be holy, lofty, and majestic as the heavens above. +Let us live! The sun doesn't rise twice a day, and life is not given us +again—clutch at what is left of your life and save it...."</p> + +<p>I did not write another word. I had a multitude of thoughts in my mind, +but I could not connect them and get them on to paper. Without finishing +the letter, I signed it with my name and rank, and went into the study. +It was dark. I felt for the table and put the letter on it. I must have +stumbled against the furniture in the dark and made a noise.</p> + +<p>"Who is there?" I heard an alarmed voice in the drawing-room.</p> + +<p>And the clock on the table softly struck one at the moment.</p> + +<h3>XIII</h3> + +<p>For at least half a minute I fumbled at the door in the dark, feeling +for the handle; then I slowly opened it and walked into the +drawing-room. Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the couch, and raising +herself on her elbow, she looked towards me. Unable to bring myself to +speak, I walked slowly by, and she followed me with her eyes. I stood +for a little time in the dining-room and then walked by her again, and +she looked at me intently and with perplexity, even with alarm. At last +I stood still and said with an effort:</p> + +<p>"He is not coming back."</p> + +<p>She quickly got on to her feet, and looked at me without understanding.</p> + +<p>"He is not coming back," I repeated, and my heart beat violently. "He +will not come back, for he has not left Petersburg. He is staying at +Pekarsky's."</p> + +<p>She understood and believed me—I saw that from her sudden pallor, and +from the way she laid her arms upon her bosom in terror and entreaty. In +one instant all that had happened of late flashed through her mind; she +reflected, and with pitiless clarity she saw the whole truth. But at the +same time she remembered that I was a flunkey, a being of a lower +order.... A casual stranger, with hair ruffled, with face flushed with +fever, perhaps drunk, in a common overcoat, was coarsely intruding into +her intimate life, and that offended her. She said to me sternly:</p> + +<p>"It's not your business: go away."</p> + +<p>"Oh, believe me!" I cried impetuously, holding out my hands to her. "I +am not a footman; I am as free as you."</p> + +<p>I mentioned my name, and, speaking very rapidly that she might not +interrupt me or go away, explained to her who I was and why I was living +there. This new discovery struck her more than the first. Till then she +had hoped that her footman had lied or made a mistake or been silly, but +now after my confession she had no doubts left. From the expression of +her unhappy eyes and face, which suddenly lost its softness and beauty +and looked old, I saw that she was insufferably miserable, and that the +conversation would lead to no good; but I went on impetuously:</p> + +<p>"The senator and the tour of inspection were invented to deceive you. In +January, just as now, he did not go away, but stayed at Pekarsky's, and +I saw him every day and took part in the deception. He was weary of you, +he hated your presence here, he mocked at you.... If you could have +heard how he and his friends here jeered at you and your love, you would +not have remained here one minute! Go away from here! Go away."</p> + +<p>"Well," she said in a shaking voice, and moved her hand over her hair. +"Well, so be it."</p> + +<p>Her eyes were full of tears, her lips were quivering, and her whole face +was strikingly pale and distorted with anger. Orlov's coarse, petty +lying revolted her and seemed to her contemptible, ridiculous: she +smiled and I did not like that smile.</p> + +<p>"Well," she repeated, passing her hand over her hair again, "so be it. +He imagines that I shall die of humiliation, and instead of that I am +... amused by it. There's no need for him to hide." She walked away from +the piano and said, shrugging her shoulders: "There's no need.... It +would have been simpler to have it out with me instead of keeping in +hiding in other people's flats. I have eyes; I saw it myself long +ago.... I was only waiting for him to come back to have things out once +for all."</p> + +<p>Then she sat down on a low chair by the table, and, leaning her head on +the arm of the sofa, wept bitterly. In the drawing-room there was only +one candle burning in the candelabra, and the chair where she was +sitting was in darkness; but I saw how her head and shoulders were +quivering, and how her hair, escaping from her combs, covered her neck, +her face, her arms.... Her quiet, steady weeping, which was not +hysterical but a woman's ordinary weeping, expressed a sense of insult, +of wounded pride, of injury, and of something helpless, hopeless, which +one could not set right and to which one could not get used. Her tears +stirred an echo in my troubled and suffering heart; I forgot my illness +and everything else in the world; I walked about the drawing-room and +muttered distractedly:</p> + +<p>"Is this life?... Oh, one can't go on living like this, one can't.... +Oh, it's madness, wickedness, not life."</p> + +<p>"What humiliation!" she said through her tears. "To live together, to +smile at me at the very time when I was burdensome to him, ridiculous in +his eyes! Oh, how humiliating!"</p> + +<p>She lifted up her head, and looking at me with tear-stained eyes through +her hair, wet with her tears, and pushing it back as it prevented her +seeing me, she asked:</p> + +<p>"They laughed at me?"</p> + +<p>"To these men you were laughable—you and your love and Turgenev; they +said your head was full of him. And if we both die at once in despair, +that will amuse them, too; they will make a funny anecdote of it and +tell it at your requiem service. But why talk of them?" I said +impatiently. "We must get away from here—I cannot stay here one minute +longer."</p> + +<p>She began crying again, while I walked to the piano and sat down.</p> + +<p>"What are we waiting for?" I asked dejectedly. "It's two o'clock."</p> + +<p>"I am not waiting for anything," she said. "I am utterly lost."</p> + +<p>"Why do you talk like that? We had better consider together what we are +to do. Neither you nor I can stay here. Where do you intend to go?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a ring at the bell. My heart stood still. Could it be +Orlov, to whom perhaps Kukushkin had complained of me? How should we +meet? I went to open the door. It was Polya. She came in shaking the +snow off her pelisse, and went into her room without saying a word to +me. When I went back to the drawing-room, Zinaida Fyodorovna, pale as +death, was standing in the middle of the room, looking towards me with +big eyes.</p> + +<p>"Who was it?" she asked softly.</p> + +<p>"Polya," I answered.</p> + +<p>She passed her hand over her hair and closed her eyes wearily.</p> + +<p>"I will go away at once," she said. "Will you be kind and take me to the +Petersburg Side? What time is it now?"</p> + +<p>"A quarter to three."</p> + +<h3>XIV</h3> + +<p>When, a little afterwards, we went out of the house, it was dark and +deserted in the street. Wet snow was falling and a damp wind lashed in +one's face. I remember it was the beginning of March; a thaw had set in, +and for some days past the cabmen had been driving on wheels. Under the +impression of the back stairs, of the cold, of the midnight darkness, +and the porter in his sheepskin who had questioned us before letting us +out of the gate, Zinaida Fyodorovna was utterly cast down and +dispirited. When we got into the cab and the hood was put up, trembling +all over, she began hurriedly saying how grateful she was to me.</p> + +<p>"I do not doubt your good-will, but I am ashamed that you should be +troubled," she muttered. "Oh, I understand, I understand.... When Gruzin +was here to-day, I felt that he was lying and concealing something. +Well, so be it. But I am ashamed, anyway, that you should be troubled."</p> + +<p>She still had her doubts. To dispel them finally, I asked the cabman to +drive through Sergievsky Street; stopping him at Pekarsky's door, I got +out of the cab and rang. When the porter came to the door, I asked +aloud, that Zinaida Fyodorovna might hear, whether Georgy Ivanitch was +at home.</p> + +<p>"Yes," was the answer, "he came in half an hour ago. He must be in bed +by now. What do you want?"</p> + +<p>Zinaida Fyodorovna could not refrain from putting her head out.</p> + +<p>"Has Georgy Ivanitch been staying here long?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Going on for three weeks."</p> + +<p>"And he's not been away?"</p> + +<p>"No," answered the porter, looking at me with surprise.</p> + +<p>"Tell him, early to-morrow," I said, "that his sister has arrived from +Warsaw. Good-bye."</p> + +<p>Then we drove on. The cab had no apron, the snow fell on us in big +flakes, and the wind, especially on the Neva, pierced us through and +through. I began to feel as though we had been driving for a long time, +that for ages we had been suffering, and that for ages I had been +listening to Zinaida Fyodorovna's shuddering breath. In semi-delirium, +as though half asleep, I looked back upon my strange, incoherent life, +and for some reason recalled a melodrama, "The Parisian Beggars," which +I had seen once or twice in my childhood. And when to shake off that +semi-delirium I peeped out from the hood and saw the dawn, all the +images of the past, all my misty thoughts, for some reason, blended in +me into one distinct, overpowering thought: everything was irrevocably +over for Zinaida Fyodorovna and for me. This was as certain a conviction +as though the cold blue sky contained a prophecy, but a minute later I +was already thinking of something else and believed differently.</p> + +<p>"What am I now?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, in a voice husky with the cold +and the damp. "Where am I to go? What am I to do? Gruzin told me to go +into a nunnery. Oh, I would! I would change my dress, my face, my name, +my thoughts ... everything—everything, and would hide myself for ever. +But they will not take me into a nunnery. I am with child."</p> + +<p>"We will go abroad together to-morrow," I said.</p> + +<p>"That's impossible. My husband won't give me a passport."</p> + +<p>"I will take you without a passport."</p> + +<p>The cabman stopped at a wooden house of two storeys, painted a dark +colour. I rang. Taking from me her small light basket—the only luggage +we had brought with us—Zinaida Fyodorovna gave a wry smile and said:</p> + +<p>"These are my <i>bijoux</i>."</p> + +<p>But she was so weak that she could not carry these <i>bijoux</i>.</p> + +<p>It was a long while before the door was opened. After the third or +fourth ring a light gleamed in the windows, and there was a sound of +steps, coughing and whispering; at last the key grated in the lock, and +a stout peasant woman with a frightened red face appeared at the door. +Some distance behind her stood a thin little old woman with short grey +hair, carrying a candle in her hand. Zinaida Fyodorovna ran into the +passage and flung her arms round the old woman's neck.</p> + +<p>"Nina, I've been deceived," she sobbed loudly. "I've been coarsely, +foully deceived! Nina, Nina!"</p> + +<p>I handed the basket to the peasant woman. The door was closed, but still +I heard her sobs and the cry "Nina!"</p> + +<p>I got into the cab and told the man to drive slowly to the Nevsky +Prospect. I had to think of a night's lodging for myself.</p> + +<p>Next day towards evening I went to see Zinaida Fyodorovna. She was +terribly changed. There were no traces of tears on her pale, terribly +sunken face, and her expression was different. I don't know whether it +was that I saw her now in different surroundings, far from luxurious, +and that our relations were by now different, or perhaps that intense +grief had already set its mark upon her; she did not strike me as so +elegant and well dressed as before. Her figure seemed smaller; there was +an abruptness and excessive nervousness about her as though she were in +a hurry, and there was not the same softness even in her smile. I was +dressed in an expensive suit which I had bought during the day. She +looked first of all at that suit and at the hat in my hand, then turned +an impatient, searching glance upon my face as though studying it.</p> + +<p>"Your transformation still seems to me a sort of miracle," she said. +"Forgive me for looking at you with such curiosity. You are an +extraordinary man, you know."</p> + +<p>I told her again who I was, and why I was living at Orlov's, and I told +her at greater length and in more detail than the day before. She +listened with great attention, and said without letting me finish:</p> + +<p>"Everything there is over for me. You know, I could not refrain from +writing a letter. Here is the answer."</p> + +<p>On the sheet which she gave there was written in Orlov's hand:</p> + +<p>"I am not going to justify myself. But you must own that it was your +mistake, not mine. I wish you happiness, and beg you to make haste and +forget.</p> + +<p>"Yours sincerely,</p> + +<p>"G. O.</p> + +<p>"P. S.—I am sending on your things."</p> + +<p>The trunks and baskets despatched by Orlov were standing in the passage, +and my poor little portmanteau was there beside them.</p> + +<p>"So ..." Zinaida Fyodorovna began, but she did not finish.</p> + +<p>We were silent. She took the note and held it for a couple of minutes +before her eyes, and during that time her face wore the same haughty, +contemptuous, proud, and harsh expression as the day before at the +beginning of our explanation; tears came into her eyes—not timid, +bitter tears, but proud, angry tears.</p> + +<p>"Listen," she said, getting up abruptly and moving away to the window +that I might not see her face. "I have made up my mind to go abroad with +you tomorrow."</p> + +<p>"I am very glad. I am ready to go to-day."</p> + +<p>"Accept me as a recruit. Have you read Balzac?" she asked suddenly, +turning round. "Have you? At the end of his novel 'Père Goriot' the hero +looks down upon Paris from the top of a hill and threatens the town: +'Now we shall settle our account,' and after this he begins a new life. +So when I look out of the train window at Petersburg for the last time, +I shall say, 'Now we shall settle our account!'"</p> + +<p>Saying this, she smiled at her jest, and for some reason shuddered all +over.</p> + +<h3>XV</h3> + +<p>At Venice I had an attack of pleurisy. Probably I had caught cold in the +evening when we were rowing from the station to the Hotel Bauer. I had +to take to my bed and stay there for a fortnight. Every morning while I +was ill Zinaida Fyodorovna came from her room to drink coffee with me, +and afterwards read aloud to me French and Russian books, of which we +had bought a number at Vienna. These books were either long, long +familiar to me or else had no interest for me, but I had the sound of a +sweet, kind voice beside me, so that the meaning of all of them was +summed up for me in the one thing—I was not alone. She would go out for +a walk, come back in her light grey dress, her light straw hat, gay, +warmed by the spring sun; and sitting by my bed, bending low down over +me, would tell me something about Venice or read me those books—and I +was happy.</p> + +<p>At night I was cold, ill, and dreary, but by day I revelled in life—I +can find no better expression for it. The brilliant warm sunshine +beating in at the open windows and at the door upon the balcony, the +shouts below, the splash of oars, the tinkle of bells, the prolonged +boom of the cannon at midday, and the feeling of perfect, perfect +freedom, did wonders with me; I felt as though I were growing strong, +broad wings which were bearing me God knows whither. And what charm, +what joy at times at the thought that another life was so close to mine! +that I was the servant, the guardian, the friend, the indispensable +fellow-traveller of a creature, young, beautiful, wealthy, but weak, +lonely, and insulted! It is pleasant even to be ill when you know that +there are people who are looking forward to your convalescence as to a +holiday. One day I heard her whispering behind the door with my doctor, +and then she came in to me with tear-stained eyes. It was a bad sign, +but I was touched, and there was a wonderful lightness in my heart.</p> + +<p>But at last they allowed me to go out on the balcony. The sunshine and +the breeze from the sea caressed and fondled my sick body. I looked down +at the familiar gondolas, which glide with feminine grace smoothly and +majestically as though they were alive, and felt all the luxury of this +original, fascinating civilisation. There was a smell of the sea. Some +one was playing a stringed instrument and two voices were singing. How +delightful it was! How unlike it was to that Petersburg night when the +wet snow was falling and beating so rudely on our faces. If one looks +straight across the canal, one sees the sea, and on the wide expanse +towards the horizon the sun glittered on the water so dazzlingly that it +hurt one's eyes to look at it. My soul yearned towards that lovely sea, +which was so akin to me and to which I had given up my youth. I longed +to live—to live—and nothing more.</p> + +<p>A fortnight later I began walking freely. I loved to sit in the sun, and +to listen to the gondoliers without understanding them, and for hours +together to gaze at the little house where, they said, Desdemona +lived—a naïve, mournful little house with a demure expression, as light +as lace, so light that it looked as though one could lift it from its +place with one hand. I stood for a long time by the tomb of Canova, and +could not take my eyes off the melancholy lion. And in the Palace of the +Doges I was always drawn to the corner where the portrait of the unhappy +Marino Faliero was painted over with black. "It is fine to be an artist, +a poet, a dramatist," I thought, "but since that is not vouchsafed to +me, if only I could go in for mysticism! If only I had a grain of some +faith to add to the unruffled peace and serenity that fills the soul!"</p> + +<p>In the evening we ate oysters, drank wine, and went out in a gondola. I +remember our black gondola swayed softly in the same place while the +water faintly gurgled under it. Here and there the reflection of the +stars and the lights on the bank quivered and trembled. Not far from us +in a gondola, hung with coloured lanterns which were reflected in the +water, there were people singing. The sounds of guitars, of violins, of +mandolins, of men's and women's voices, were audible in the dark. +Zinaida Fyodorovna, pale, with a grave, almost stern face, was sitting +beside me, compressing her lips and clenching her hands. She was +thinking about something; she did not stir an eyelash, nor hear me. Her +face, her attitude, and her fixed, expressionless gaze, and her +incredibly miserable, dreadful, and icy-cold memories, and around her +the gondolas, the lights, the music, the song with its vigorous +passionate cry of "<i>Jam-mo! Jam-mo!</i>"—what contrasts in life! When she +sat like that, with tightly clasped hands, stony, mournful, I used to +feel as though we were both characters in some novel in the +old-fashioned style called "The Ill-fated," "The Abandoned," or +something of the sort. Both of us: she—the ill-fated, the abandoned; +and I—the faithful, devoted friend, the dreamer, and, if you like it, a +superfluous man, a failure capable of nothing but coughing and dreaming, +and perhaps sacrificing myself.</p> + +<p>But who and what needed my sacrifices now? And what had I to sacrifice, +indeed?</p> + +<p>When we came in in the evening we always drank tea in her room and +talked. We did not shrink from touching on old, unhealed wounds—on the +contrary, for some reason I felt a positive pleasure in telling her +about my life at Orlov's, or referring openly to relations which I knew +and which could not have been concealed from me.</p> + +<p>"At moments I hated you," I said to her. "When he was capricious, +condescending, told you lies, I marvelled how it was you did not see, +did not understand, when it was all so clear! You kissed his hands, you +knelt to him, you flattered him ..."</p> + +<p>"When I ... kissed his hands and knelt to him, I loved him ..." she +said, blushing crimson.</p> + +<p>"Can it have been so difficult to see through him? A fine sphinx! A +sphinx indeed—a <i>kammer-junker!</i> I reproach you for nothing, God +forbid," I went on, feeling I was coarse, that I had not the tact, the +delicacy which are so essential when you have to do with a +fellow-creature's soul; in early days before I knew her I had not +noticed this defect in myself. "But how could you fail to see what he +was," I went on, speaking more softly and more diffidently, however.</p> + +<p>"You mean to say you despise my past, and you are right," she said, +deeply stirred. "You belong to a special class of men who cannot be +judged by ordinary standards; your moral requirements are exceptionally +rigorous, and I understand you can't forgive things. I understand you, +and if sometimes I say the opposite, it doesn't mean that I look at +things differently from you; I speak the same old nonsense simply +because I haven't had time yet to wear out my old clothes and +prejudices. I, too, hate and despise my past, and Orlov and my love.... +What was that love? It's positively absurd now," she said, going to the +window and looking down at the canal. "All this love only clouds the +conscience and confuses the mind. The meaning of life is to be found +only in one thing—fighting. To get one's heel on the vile head of the +serpent and to crush it! That's the meaning of life. In that alone or in +nothing."</p> + +<p>I told her long stories of my past, and described my really astounding +adventures. But of the change that had taken place in me I did not say +one word. She always listened to me with great attention, and at +interesting places she rubbed her hands as though vexed that it had not +yet been her lot to experience such adventures, such joys and terrors. +Then she would suddenly fall to musing and retreat into herself, and I +could see from her face that she was not attending to me.</p> + +<p>I closed the windows that looked out on the canal and asked whether we +should not have the fire lighted.</p> + +<p>"No, never mind. I am not cold," she said, smiling listlessly. "I only +feel weak. Do you know, I fancy I have grown much wiser lately. I have +extraordinary, original ideas now. When I think of my past, of my life +then ... people in general, in fact, it is all summed up for me in the +image of my stepmother. Coarse, insolent, soulless, false, depraved, and +a morphia maniac too. My father, who was feeble and weak-willed, married +my mother for her money and drove her into consumption; but his second +wife, my stepmother, he loved passionately, insanely.... What I had to +put up with! But what is the use of talking! And so, as I say, it is all +summed up in her image.... And it vexes me that my stepmother is dead. I +should like to meet her now!"</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know," she answered with a laugh and a graceful movement of her +head. "Good-night. You must get well. As soon as you are well, we'll +take up our work ... It's time to begin."</p> + +<p>After I had said good-night and had my hand on the door-handle, she +said:</p> + +<p>"What do you think? Is Polya still living there?"</p> + +<p>"Probably."</p> + +<p>And I went off to my room. So we spent a whole month. One grey morning +when we both stood at my window, looking at the clouds which were moving +up from the sea, and at the darkening canal, expecting every minute that +it would pour with rain, and when a thick, narrow streak of rain covered +the sea as though with a muslin veil, we both felt suddenly dreary. The +same day we both set off for Florence.</p> + +<h3>XVI</h3> + +<p>It was autumn, at Nice. One morning when I went into her room she was +sitting on a low chair, bent together and huddled up, with her legs +crossed and her face hidden in her hands. She was weeping bitterly, with +sobs, and her long, unbrushed hair fell on her knees. The impression of +the exquisite marvellous sea which I had only just seen and of which I +wanted to tell her, left me all at once, and my heart ached.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" I asked; she took one hand from her face and motioned me +to go away. "What is it?" I repeated, and for the first time during our +acquaintance I kissed her hand.</p> + +<p>"No, it's nothing, nothing," she said quickly. "Oh, it's nothing, +nothing.... Go away.... You see, I am not dressed."</p> + +<p>I went out overwhelmed. The calm and serene mood in which I had been for +so long was poisoned by compassion. I had a passionate longing to fall +at her feet, to entreat her not to weep in solitude, but to share her +grief with me, and the monotonous murmur of the sea already sounded a +gloomy prophecy in my ears, and I foresaw fresh tears, fresh troubles, +and fresh losses in the future. "What is she crying about? What is it?" +I wondered, recalling her face and her agonised look. I remembered she +was with child. She tried to conceal her condition from other people, +and also from herself. At home she went about in a loose wrapper or in a +blouse with extremely full folds over the bosom, and when she went out +anywhere she laced herself in so tightly that on two occasions she +fainted when we were out. She never spoke to me of her condition, and +when I hinted that it might be as well to see a doctor, she flushed +crimson and said not a word.</p> + +<p>When I went to see her next time she was already dressed and had her +hair done.</p> + +<p>"There, there," I said, seeing that she was ready to cry again. "We had +better go to the sea and have a talk."</p> + +<p>"I can't talk. Forgive me, I am in the mood now when one wants to be +alone. And, if you please, Vladimir Ivanitch, another time you want to +come into my room, be so good as to give a knock at the door."</p> + +<p>That "be so good" had a peculiar, unfeminine sound. I went away. My +accursed Petersburg mood came back, and all my dreams were crushed and +crumpled up like leaves by the heat. I felt I was alone again and there +was no nearness between us. I was no more to her than that cobweb to +that palm-tree, which hangs on it by chance and which will be torn off +and carried away by the wind. I walked about the square where the band +was playing, went into the Casino; there I looked at overdressed and +heavily perfumed women, and every one of them glanced at me as though +she would say: "You are alone; that's all right." Then I went out on the +terrace and looked for a long time at the sea. There was not one sail on +the horizon. On the left bank, in the lilac-coloured mist, there were +mountains, gardens, towers, and houses, the sun was sparkling over it +all, but it was all alien, indifferent, an incomprehensible tangle.</p> + +<h3>XVII</h3> + +<p>She used as before to come into my room in the morning to coffee, but we +no longer dined together, as she said she was not hungry; and she lived +only on coffee, tea, and various trifles such as oranges and caramels.</p> + +<p>And we no longer had conversations in the evening. I don't know why it +was like this. Ever since the day when I had found her in tears she had +treated me somehow lightly, at times casually, even ironically, and for +some reason called me "My good sir." What had before seemed to her +terrible, heroic, marvellous, and had stirred her envy and enthusiasm, +did not touch her now at all, and usually after listening to me, she +stretched and said:</p> + +<p>"Yes, 'great things were done in days of yore,' my good sir."</p> + +<p>It sometimes happened even that I did not see her for days together. I +would knock timidly and guiltily at her door and get no answer; I would +knock again—still silence.... I would stand near the door and listen; +then the chambermaid would pass and say coldly, "<i>Madame est partie.</i>" +Then I would walk about the passages of the hotel, walk and walk.... +English people, full-bosomed ladies, waiters in swallow-tails.... And as +I keep gazing at the long striped rug that stretches the whole length of +the corridor, the idea occurs to me that I am playing in the life of +this woman a strange, probably false part, and that it is beyond my +power to alter that part. I run to my room and fall on my bed, and think +and think, and can come to no conclusion; and all that is clear to me is +that I want to live, and that the plainer and the colder and the harder +her face grows, the nearer she is to me, and the more intensely and +painfully I feel our kinship. Never mind "My good sir," never mind her +light careless tone, never mind anything you like, only don't leave me, +my treasure. I am afraid to be alone.</p> + +<p>Then I go out into the corridor again, listen in a tremor.... I have no +dinner; I don't notice the approach of evening. At last about eleven I +hear the familiar footstep, and at the turn near the stairs Zinaida +Fyodorovna comes into sight.</p> + +<p>"Are you taking a walk?" she would ask as she passes me. "You had better +go out into the air.... Good-night!"</p> + +<p>"But shall we not meet again to-day?"</p> + +<p>"I think it's late. But as you like."</p> + +<p>"Tell me, where have you been?" I would ask, following her into the +room.</p> + +<p>"Where? To Monte Carlo." She took ten gold coins out of her pocket and +said: "Look, my good sir; I have won. That's at roulette."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! As though you would gamble."</p> + +<p>"Why not? I am going again to-morrow."</p> + +<p>I imagined her with a sick and morbid face, in her condition, tightly +laced, standing near the gaming-table in a crowd of cocottes, of old +women in their dotage who swarm round the gold like flies round the +honey. I remembered she had gone off to Monte Carlo for some reason in +secret from me.</p> + +<p>"I don't believe you," I said one day. "You wouldn't go there."</p> + +<p>"Don't agitate yourself. I can't lose much."</p> + +<p>"It's not the question of what you lose," I said with annoyance. "Has it +never occurred to you while you were playing there that the glitter of +gold, all these women, young and old, the croupiers, all the +surroundings—that it is all a vile, loathsome mockery at the toiler's +labour, at his bloody sweat?"</p> + +<p>"If one doesn't play, what is one to do here?" she asked. "The toiler's +labour and his bloody sweat—all that eloquence you can put off till +another time; but now, since you have begun, let me go on. Let me ask +you bluntly, what is there for me to do here, and what am I to do?"</p> + +<p>"What are you to do?" I said, shrugging my shoulders. "That's a question +that can't be answered straight off."</p> + +<p>"I beg you to answer me honestly, Vladimir Ivanitch," she said, and her +face looked angry. "Once I have brought myself to ask you this question, +I am not going to listen to stock phrases. I am asking you," she went +on, beating her hand on the table, as though marking time, "what ought I +to do here? And not only here at Nice, but in general?"</p> + +<p>I did not speak, but looked out of window to the sea. My heart was +beating terribly.</p> + +<p>"Vladimir Ivanitch," she said softly and breathlessly; it was hard for +her to speak—"Vladimir Ivanitch, if you do not believe in the cause +yourself, if you no longer think of going back to it, why ... why did +you drag me out of Petersburg? Why did you make me promises, why did you +rouse mad hopes? Your convictions have changed; you have become a +different man, and nobody blames you for it—our convictions are not +always in our power. But ... but, Vladimir Ivanitch, for God's sake, why +are you not sincere?" she went on softly, coming up to me. "All these +months when I have been dreaming aloud, raving, going into raptures over +my plans, remodelling my life on a new pattern, why didn't you tell me +the truth? Why were you silent or encouraged me by your stories, and +behaved as though you were in complete sympathy with me? Why was it? Why +was it necessary?"</p> + +<p>"It's difficult to acknowledge one's bankruptcy," I said, turning round, +but not looking at her. "Yes, I have no faith; I am worn out. I have +lost heart.... It is difficult to be truthful—very difficult, and I +held my tongue. God forbid that any one should have to go through what I +have been through."</p> + +<p>I felt that I was on the point of tears, and ceased speaking.</p> + +<p>"Vladimir Ivanitch," she said, and took me by both hands, "you have been +through so much and seen so much of life, you know more than I do; think +seriously, and tell me, what am I to do? Teach me! If you haven't the +strength to go forward yourself and take others with you, at least show +me where to go. After all, I am a living, feeling, thinking being. To +sink into a false position ... to play an absurd part ... is painful to +me. I don't reproach you, I don't blame you; I only ask you."</p> + +<p>Tea was brought in.</p> + +<p>"Well?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, giving me a glass. "What do you say to +me?"</p> + +<p>"There is more light in the world than you see through your window," I +answered. "And there are other people besides me, Zinaida Fyodorovna."</p> + +<p>"Then tell me who they are," she said eagerly. "That's all I ask of +you."</p> + +<p>"And I want to say, too," I went on, "one can serve an idea in more than +one calling. If one has made a mistake and lost faith in one, one may +find another. The world of ideas is large and cannot be exhausted."</p> + +<p>"The world of ideas!" she said, and she looked into my face +sarcastically. "Then we had better leave off talking. What's the +use?..."</p> + +<p>She flushed.</p> + +<p>"The world of ideas!" she repeated. She threw her dinner-napkin aside, +and an expression of indignation and contempt came into her face. "All +your fine ideas, I see, lead up to one inevitable, essential step: I +ought to become your mistress. That's what's wanted. To be taken up with +ideas without being the mistress of an honourable, progressive man, is +as good as not understanding the ideas. One has to begin with that ... +that is, with being your mistress, and the rest will come of itself."</p> + +<p>"You are irritated, Zinaida Fyodorovna," I said.</p> + +<p>"No, I am sincere!" she cried, breathing hard. "I am sincere!"</p> + +<p>"You are sincere, perhaps, but you are in error, and it hurts me to hear +you."</p> + +<p>"I am in error?" she laughed. "Any one else might say that, but not you, +my dear sir! I may seem to you indelicate, cruel, but I don't care: you +love me? You love me, don't you?"</p> + +<p>I shrugged my shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Yes, shrug your shoulders!" she went on sarcastically. "When you were +ill I heard you in your delirium, and ever since these adoring eyes, +these sighs, and edifying conversations about friendship, about +spiritual kinship.... But the point is, why haven't you been sincere? +Why have you concealed what is and talked about what isn't? Had you said +from the beginning what ideas exactly led you to drag me from +Petersburg, I should have known. I should have poisoned myself then as I +meant to, and there would have been none of this tedious farce.... But +what's the use of talking!"</p> + +<p>With a wave of the hand she sat down.</p> + +<p>"You speak to me as though you suspected me of dishonourable +intentions," I said, offended.</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well. What's the use of talking! I don't suspect you of +intentions, but of having no intentions. If you had any, I should have +known them by now. You had nothing but ideas and love. For the +present—ideas and love, and in prospect—me as your mistress. That's in +the order of things both in life and in novels.... Here you abused him," +she said, and she slapped the table with her hand, "but one can't help +agreeing with him. He has good reasons for despising these ideas."</p> + +<p>"He does not despise ideas; he is afraid of them," I cried. "He is a +coward and a liar."</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well. He is a coward and a liar, and deceived me. And you? +Excuse my frankness; what are you? He deceived me and left me to take my +chance in Petersburg, and you have deceived me and abandoned me here. +But he did not mix up ideas with his deceit, and you ..."</p> + +<p>"For goodness' sake, why are you saying this?" I cried in horror, +wringing my hands and going up to her quickly. "No, Zinaida Fyodorovna, +this is cynicism. You must not be so despairing; listen to me," I went +on, catching at a thought which flashed dimly upon me, and which seemed +to me might still save us both. "Listen. I have passed through so many +experiences in my time that my head goes round at the thought of them, +and I have realised with my mind, with my racked soul, that man finds +his true destiny in nothing if not in self-sacrificing love for his +neighbour. It is towards that we must strive, and that is our +destination! That is my faith!"</p> + +<p>I wanted to go on to speak of mercy, of forgiveness, but there was an +insincere note in my voice, and I was embarrassed.</p> + +<p>"I want to live!" I said genuinely. "To live, to live! I want peace, +tranquillity; I want warmth—this sea here—to have you near. Oh, how I +wish I could rouse in you the same thirst for life! You spoke just now +of love, but it would be enough for me to have you near, to hear your +voice, to watch the look in your face ...!"</p> + +<p>She flushed crimson, and to hinder my speaking, said quickly:</p> + +<p>"You love life, and I hate it. So our ways lie apart."</p> + +<p>She poured herself out some tea, but did not touch it, went into the +bedroom, and lay down.</p> + +<p>"I imagine it is better to cut short this conversation," she said to me +from within. "Everything is over for me, and I want nothing.... What +more is there to say?"</p> + +<p>"No, it's not all over!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well!... I know! I am sick of it.... That's enough."</p> + +<p>I got up, took a turn from one end of the room to the other, and went +out into the corridor. When late at night I went to her door and +listened, I distinctly heard her crying.</p> + +<p>Next morning the waiter, handing me my clothes, informed me, with a +smile, that the lady in number thirteen was confined. I dressed somehow, +and almost fainting with terror ran to Zinaida Fyodorovna. In her room I +found a doctor, a midwife, and an elderly Russian lady from Harkov, +called Darya Milhailovna. There was a smell of ether. I had scarcely +crossed the threshold when from the room where she was lying I heard a +low, plaintive moan, and, as though it had been wafted me by the wind +from Russia, I thought of Orlov, his irony, Polya, the Neva, the +drifting snow, then the cab without an apron, the prediction I had read +in the cold morning sky, and the despairing cry "Nina! Nina!"</p> + +<p>"Go in to her," said the lady.</p> + +<p>I went in to see Zinaida Fyodorovna, feeling as though I were the father +of the child. She was lying with her eyes closed, looking thin and pale, +wearing a white cap edged with lace. I remember there were two +expressions on her face: one—cold, indifferent, apathetic; the other—a +look of childish helplessness given her by the white cap. She did not +hear me come in, or heard, perhaps, but did not pay attention. I stood, +looked at her, and waited.</p> + +<p>But her face was contorted with pain; she opened her eyes and gazed at +the ceiling, as though wondering what was happening to her.... There was +a look of loathing on her face.</p> + +<p>"It's horrible ..." she whispered.</p> + +<p>"Zinaida Fyodorovna." I spoke her name softly. She looked at me +indifferently, listlessly, and closed her eyes. I stood there a little +while, then went away.</p> + +<p>At night, Darya Mihailovna informed me that the child, a girl, was born, +but that the mother was in a dangerous condition. Then I heard noise and +bustle in the passage. Darya Mihailovna came to me again and with a face +of despair, wringing her hands, said:</p> + +<p>"Oh, this is awful! The doctor suspects that she has taken poison! Oh, +how badly Russians do behave here!"</p> + +<p>And at twelve o'clock the next day Zinaida Fyodorovna died.</p> + +<h3>XVIII</h3> + +<p>Two years had passed. Circumstances had changed; I had come to +Petersburg again and could live here openly. I was no longer afraid of +being and seeming sentimental, and gave myself up entirely to the +fatherly, or rather idolatrous feeling roused in me by Sonya, Zinaida +Fyodorovna's child. I fed her with my own hands, gave her her bath, put +her to bed, never took my eyes off her for nights together, and screamed +when it seemed to me that the nurse was just going to drop her. My +thirst for normal ordinary life became stronger and more acute as time +went on, but wider visions stopped short at Sonya, as though I had found +in her at last just what I needed. I loved the child madly. In her I saw +the continuation of my life, and it was not exactly that I fancied, but +I felt, I almost believed, that when I had cast off at last my long, +bony, bearded frame, I should go on living in those little blue eyes, +that silky flaxen hair, those dimpled pink hands which stroked my face +so lovingly and were clasped round my neck.</p> + +<p>Sonya's future made me anxious. Orlov was her father; in her birth +certificate she was called Krasnovsky, and the only person who knew of +her existence, and took interest in her—that is, I—was at death's +door. I had to think about her seriously.</p> + +<p>The day after I arrived in Petersburg I went to see Orlov. The door was +opened to me by a stout old fellow with red whiskers and no moustache, +who looked like a German. Polya, who was tidying the drawing-room, did +not recognise me, but Orlov knew me at once.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Mr. Revolutionist!" he said, looking at me with curiosity, and +laughing. "What fate has brought you?"</p> + +<p>He was not changed in the least: the same well-groomed, unpleasant face, +the same irony. And a new book was lying on the table just as of old, +with an ivory paper-knife thrust in it. He had evidently been reading +before I came in. He made me sit down, offered me a cigar, and with a +delicacy only found in well-bred people, concealing the unpleasant +feeling aroused by my face and my wasted figure, observed casually that +I was not in the least changed, and that he would have known me anywhere +in spite of my having grown a beard. We talked of the weather, of Paris. +To dispose as quickly as possible of the oppressive, inevitable +question, which weighed upon him and me, he asked:</p> + +<p>"Zinaida Fyodorovna is dead?"</p> + +<p>"Yes," I answered.</p> + +<p>"In childbirth?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in childbirth. The doctor suspected another cause of death, but +... it is more comforting for you and for me to think that she died in +childbirth."</p> + +<p>He sighed decorously and was silent. The angel of silence passed over +us, as they say.</p> + +<p>"Yes. And here everything is as it used to be—no changes," he said +briskly, seeing that I was looking about the room. "My father, as you +know, has left the service and is living in retirement; I am still in +the same department. Do you remember Pekarsky? He is just the same as +ever. Gruzin died of diphtheria a year ago.... Kukushkin is alive, and +often speaks of you. By the way," said Orlov, dropping his eyes with an +air of reserve, "when Kukushkin heard who you were, he began telling +every one you had attacked him and tried to murder him ... and that he +only just escaped with his life."</p> + +<p>I did not speak.</p> + +<p>"Old servants do not forget their masters.... It's very nice of you," +said Orlov jocosely. "Will you have some wine and some coffee, though? I +will tell them to make some."</p> + +<p>"No, thank you. I have come to see you about a very important matter, +Georgy Ivanitch."</p> + +<p>"I am not very fond of important matters, but I shall be glad to be of +service to you. What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"You see," I began, growing agitated, "I have here with me Zinaida +Fyodorovna's daughter.... Hitherto I have brought her up, but, as you +see, before many days I shall be an empty sound. I should like to die +with the thought that she is provided for."</p> + +<p>Orlov coloured a little, frowned a little, and took a cursory and sullen +glance at me. He was unpleasantly affected, not so much by the +"important matter" as by my words about death, about becoming an empty +sound.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it must be thought about," he said, screening his eyes as though +from the sun. "Thank you. You say it's a girl?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, a girl. A wonderful child!"</p> + +<p>"Yes. Of course, it's not a lap-dog, but a human being. I understand we +must consider it seriously. I am prepared to do my part, and am very +grateful to you."</p> + +<p>He got up, walked about, biting his nails, and stopped before a picture.</p> + +<p>"We must think about it," he said in a hollow voice, standing with his +back to me. "I shall go to Pekarsky's to-day and will ask him to go to +Krasnovsky's. I don't think he will make much ado about consenting to +take the child."</p> + +<p>"But, excuse me, I don't see what Krasnovsky has got to do with it," I +said, also getting up and walking to a picture at the other end of the +room.</p> + +<p>"But she bears his name, of course!" said Orlov.</p> + +<p>"Yes, he may be legally obliged to accept the child—I don't know; but I +came to you, Georgy Ivanitch, not to discuss the legal aspect."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, you are right," he agreed briskly. "I believe I am talking +nonsense. But don't excite yourself. We will decide the matter to our +mutual satisfaction. If one thing won't do, we'll try another; and if +that won't do, we'll try a third—one way or another this delicate +question shall be settled. Pekarsky will arrange it all. Be so good as +to leave me your address and I will let you know at once what we decide. +Where are you living?"</p> + +<p>Orlov wrote down my address, sighed, and said with a smile:</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord, what a job it is to be the father of a little daughter! But +Pekarsky will arrange it all. He is a sensible man. Did you stay long in +Paris?"</p> + +<p>"Two months."</p> + +<p>We were silent. Orlov was evidently afraid I should begin talking of the +child again, and to turn my attention in another direction, said:</p> + +<p>"You have probably forgotten your letter by now. But I have kept it. I +understand your mood at the time, and, I must own, I respect that +letter. 'Damnable cold blood,' 'Asiatic,' 'coarse laugh'—that was +charming and characteristic," he went on with an ironical smile. "And +the fundamental thought is perhaps near the truth, though one might +dispute the question endlessly. That is," he hesitated, "not dispute the +thought itself, but your attitude to the question—your temperament, so +to say. Yes, my life is abnormal, corrupted, of no use to any one, and +what prevents me from beginning a new life is cowardice—there you are +quite right. But that you take it so much to heart, are troubled, and +reduced to despair by it—that's irrational; there you are quite wrong."</p> + +<p>"A living man cannot help being troubled and reduced to despair when he +sees that he himself is going to ruin and others are going to ruin round +him."</p> + +<p>"Who doubts it! I am not advocating indifference; all I ask for is an +objective attitude to life. The more objective, the less danger of +falling into error. One must look into the root of things, and try to +see in every phenomenon a cause of all the other causes. We have grown +feeble, slack—degraded, in fact. Our generation is entirely composed of +neurasthenics and whimperers; we do nothing but talk of fatigue and +exhaustion. But the fault is neither yours nor mine; we are of too +little consequence to affect the destiny of a whole generation. We must +suppose for that larger, more general causes with a solid <i>raison +d'être</i> from the biological point of view. We are neurasthenics, flabby, +renegades, but perhaps it's necessary and of service for generations +that will come after us. Not one hair falls from the head without the +will of the Heavenly Father—in other words, nothing happens by chance +in Nature and in human environment. Everything has its cause and is +inevitable. And if so, why should we worry and write despairing +letters?"</p> + +<p>"That's all very well," I said, thinking a little. "I believe it will be +easier and clearer for the generations to come; our experience will be +at their service. But one wants to live apart from future generations +and not only for their sake. Life is only given us once, and one wants +to live it boldly, with full consciousness and beauty. One wants to play +a striking, independent, noble part; one wants to make history so that +those generations may not have the right to say of each of us that we +were nonentities or worse.... I believe what is going on about us is +inevitable and not without a purpose, but what have I to do with that +inevitability? Why should my ego be lost?"</p> + +<p>"Well, there's no help for it," sighed Orlov, getting up and, as it +were, giving me to understand that our conversation was over.</p> + +<p>I took my hat.</p> + +<p>"We've only been sitting here half an hour, and how many questions we +have settled, when you come to think of it!" said Orlov, seeing me into +the hall. "So I will see to that matter.... I will see Pekarsky +to-day.... Don't be uneasy."</p> + +<p>He stood waiting while I put on my coat, and was obviously relieved at +the feeling that I was going away.</p> + +<p>"Georgy Ivanitch, give me back my letter," I said.</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>He went to his study, and a minute later returned with the letter. I +thanked him and went away.</p> + +<p>The next day I got a letter from him. He congratulated me on the +satisfactory settlement of the question. Pekarsky knew a lady, he wrote, +who kept a school, something like a kindergarten, where she took quite +little children. The lady could be entirely depended upon, but before +concluding anything with her it would be as well to discuss the matter +with Krasnovsky—it was a matter of form. He advised me to see Pekarsky +at once and to take the birth certificate with me, if I had it. "Rest +assured of the sincere respect and devotion of your humble servant...."</p> + +<p>I read this letter, and Sonya sat on the table and gazed at me +attentively without blinking, as though she knew her fate was being +decided.</p> + +<h2><a name="THE_HUSBAND" id="THE_HUSBAND"></a>THE HUSBAND</h2> + +<p class="nind"><big>I</big><small>N</small> the course of the manoeuvres the N—— cavalry regiment halted for a +night at the district town of K——. Such an event as the visit of +officers always has the most exciting and inspiring effect on the +inhabitants of provincial towns. The shopkeepers dream of getting rid of +the rusty sausages and "best brand" sardines that have been lying for +ten years on their shelves; the inns and restaurants keep open all +night; the Military Commandant, his secretary, and the local garrison +put on their best uniforms; the police flit to and fro like mad, while +the effect on the ladies is beyond all description.</p> + +<p>The ladies of K——, hearing the regiment approaching, forsook their +pans of boiling jam and ran into the street. Forgetting their morning +<i>deshabille</i> and general untidiness, they rushed breathless with +excitement to meet the regiment, and listened greedily to the band +playing the march. Looking at their pale, ecstatic faces, one might have +thought those strains came from some heavenly choir rather than from a +military brass band.</p> + +<p>"The regiment!" they cried joyfully. "The regiment is coming!"</p> + +<p>What could this unknown regiment that came by chance to-day and would +depart at dawn to-morrow mean to them?</p> + +<p>Afterwards, when the officers were standing in the middle of the square, +and, with their hands behind them, discussing the question of billets, +all the ladies were gathered together at the examining magistrate's and +vying with one another in their criticisms of the regiment. They already +knew, goodness knows how, that the colonel was married, but not living +with his wife; that the senior officer's wife had a baby born dead every +year; that the adjutant was hopelessly in love with some countess, and +had even once attempted suicide. They knew everything. When a +pock-marked soldier in a red shirt darted past the windows, they knew +for certain that it was Lieutenant Rymzov's orderly running about the +town, trying to get some English bitter ale on tick for his master. They +had only caught a passing glimpse of the officers' backs, but had +already decided that there was not one handsome or interesting man among +them.... Having talked to their hearts' content, they sent for the +Military Commandant and the committee of the club, and instructed them +at all costs to make arrangements for a dance.</p> + +<p>Their wishes were carried out. At nine o'clock in the evening the +military band was playing in the street before the club, while in the +club itself the officers were dancing with the ladies of K——. The +ladies felt as though they were on wings. Intoxicated by the dancing, +the music, and the clank of spurs, they threw themselves heart and soul +into making the acquaintance of their new partners, and quite forgot +their old civilian friends. Their fathers and husbands, forced +temporarily into the background, crowded round the meagre refreshment +table in the entrance hall. All these government cashiers, secretaries, +clerks, and superintendents—stale, sickly-looking, clumsy figures—were +perfectly well aware of their inferiority. They did not even enter the +ball-room, but contented themselves with watching their wives and +daughters in the distance dancing with the accomplished and graceful +officers.</p> + +<p>Among the husbands was Shalikov, the tax-collector—a narrow, spiteful +soul, given to drink, with a big, closely cropped head, and thick, +protruding lips. He had had a university education; there had been a +time when he used to read progressive literature and sing students' +songs, but now, as he said of himself, he was a tax-collector and +nothing more.</p> + +<p>He stood leaning against the doorpost, his eyes fixed on his wife, Anna +Pavlovna, a little brunette of thirty, with a long nose and a pointed +chin. Tightly laced, with her face carefully powdered, she danced +without pausing for breath—danced till she was ready to drop exhausted. +But though she was exhausted in body, her spirit was inexhaustible.... +One could see as she danced that her thoughts were with the past, that +faraway past when she used to dance at the "College for Young Ladies," +dreaming of a life of luxury and gaiety, and never doubting that her +husband was to be a prince or, at the worst, a baron.</p> + +<p>The tax-collector watched, scowling with spite....</p> + +<p>It was not jealousy he was feeling. He was ill-humoured—first, because +the room was taken up with dancing and there was nowhere he could play a +game of cards; secondly, because he could not endure the sound of wind +instruments; and, thirdly, because he fancied the officers treated the +civilians somewhat too casually and disdainfully. But what above +everything revolted him and moved him to indignation was the expression +of happiness on his wife's face.</p> + +<p>"It makes me sick to look at her!" he muttered. "Going on for forty, and +nothing to boast of at any time, and she must powder her face and lace +herself up! And frizzing her hair! Flirting and making faces, and +fancying she's doing the thing in style! Ugh! you're a pretty figure, +upon my soul!"</p> + +<p>Anna Pavlovna was so lost in the dance that she did not once glance at +her husband.</p> + +<p>"Of course not! Where do we poor country bumpkins come in!" sneered the +tax-collector.</p> + +<p>"We are at a discount now.... We're clumsy seals, unpolished provincial +bears, and she's the queen of the ball! She has kept enough of her looks +to please even officers ... They'd not object to making love to her, I +dare say!"</p> + +<p>During the mazurka the tax-collector's face twitched with spite. A +black-haired officer with prominent eyes and Tartar cheekbones danced +the mazurka with Anna Pavlovna. Assuming a stern expression, he worked +his legs with gravity and feeling, and so crooked his knees that he +looked like a jack-a-dandy pulled by strings, while Anna Pavlovna, pale +and thrilled, bending her figure languidly and turning her eyes up, +tried to look as though she scarcely touched the floor, and evidently +felt herself that she was not on earth, not at the local club, but +somewhere far, far away—in the clouds. Not only her face but her whole +figure was expressive of beatitude.... The tax-collector could endure it +no longer; he felt a desire to jeer at that beatitude, to make Anna +Pavlovna feel that she had forgotten herself, that life was by no means +so delightful as she fancied now in her excitement....</p> + +<p>"You wait; I'll teach you to smile so blissfully," he muttered. "You are +not a boarding-school miss, you are not a girl. An old fright ought to +realise she is a fright!"</p> + +<p>Petty feelings of envy, vexation, wounded vanity, of that small, +provincial misanthropy engendered in petty officials by vodka and a +sedentary life, swarmed in his heart like mice. Waiting for the end of +the mazurka, he went into the hall and walked up to his wife. Anna +Pavlovna was sitting with her partner, and, flirting her fan and +coquettishly dropping her eyelids, was describing how she used to dance +in Petersburg (her lips were pursed up like a rosebud, and she +pronounced "at home in Pütürsburg").</p> + +<p>"Anyuta, let us go home," croaked the tax-collector.</p> + +<p>Seeing her husband standing before her, Anna Pavlovna started as though +recalling the fact that she had a husband; then she flushed all over: +she felt ashamed that she had such a sickly-looking, ill-humoured, +ordinary husband.</p> + +<p>"Let us go home," repeated the tax-collector.</p> + +<p>"Why? It's quite early!"</p> + +<p>"I beg you to come home!" said the tax-collector deliberately, with a +spiteful expression.</p> + +<p>"Why? Has anything happened?" Anna Pavlovna asked in a flutter.</p> + +<p>"Nothing has happened, but I wish you to go home at once.... I wish it; +that's enough, and without further talk, please."</p> + +<p>Anna Pavlovna was not afraid of her husband, but she felt ashamed on +account of her partner, who was looking at her husband with surprise and +amusement. She got up and moved a little apart with her husband.</p> + +<p>"What notion is this?" she began. "Why go home? Why, it's not eleven +o'clock."</p> + +<p>"I wish it, and that's enough. Come along, and that's all about it."</p> + +<p>"Don't be silly! Go home alone if you want to."</p> + +<p>"All right; then I shall make a scene."</p> + +<p>The tax-collector saw the look of beatitude gradually vanish from his +wife's face, saw how ashamed and miserable she was—and he felt a little +happier.</p> + +<p>"Why do you want me at once?" asked his wife.</p> + +<p>"I don't want you, but I wish you to be at home. I wish it, that's all."</p> + +<p>At first Anna Pavlovna refused to hear of it, then she began entreating +her husband to let her stay just another half-hour; then, without +knowing why, she began to apologise, to protest—and all in a whisper, +with a smile, that the spectators might not suspect that she was having +a tiff with her husband. She began assuring him she would not stay long, +only another ten minutes, only five minutes; but the tax-collector stuck +obstinately to his point.</p> + +<p>"Stay if you like," he said, "but I'll make a scene if you do."</p> + +<p>And as she talked to her husband Anna Pavlovna looked thinner, older, +plainer. Pale, biting her lips, and almost crying, she went out to the +entry and began putting on her things.</p> + +<p>"You are not going?" asked the ladies in surprise. "Anna Pavlovna, you +are not going, dear?"</p> + +<p>"Her head aches," said the tax-collector for his wife.</p> + +<p>Coming out of the club, the husband and wife walked all the way home in +silence. The tax-collector walked behind his wife, and watching her +downcast, sorrowful, humiliated little figure, he recalled the look of +beatitude which had so irritated him at the club, and the consciousness +that the beatitude was gone filled his soul with triumph. He was pleased +and satisfied, and at the same time he felt the lack of something; he +would have liked to go back to the club and make every one feel dreary +and miserable, so that all might know how stale and worthless life is +when you walk along the streets in the dark and hear the slush of the +mud under your feet, and when you know that you will wake up next +morning with nothing to look forward to but vodka and cards. Oh, how +awful it is!</p> + +<p>And Anna Pavlovna could scarcely walk.... She was still under the +influence of the dancing, the music, the talk, the lights, and the +noise; she asked herself as she walked along why God had thus afflicted +her. She felt miserable, insulted, and choking with hate as she listened +to her husband's heavy footsteps. She was silent, trying to think of the +most offensive, biting, and venomous word she could hurl at her husband, +and at the same time she was fully aware that no word could penetrate +her tax-collector's hide. What did he care for words? Her bitterest +enemy could not have contrived for her a more helpless position.</p> + +<p>And meanwhile the band was playing and the darkness was full of the most +rousing, intoxicating dance-tunes.</p> + +<hr class="full" /> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lady With The Dog and Other Stories, by +Anton Chekhov + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY WITH THE DOG *** + +***** This file should be named 13415-h.htm or 13415-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/4/1/13415/ + +Produced by James Rusk + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + +</body> +</html> diff --git a/old/13415.txt b/old/13415.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7eef968 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/13415.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8311 @@ +Project Gutenberg's The Lady With The Dog and Other Stories, by Anton Chekhov + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license + + +Title: The Lady With The Dog and Other Stories + +Author: Anton Chekhov + +Release Date: September 9, 2004 [EBook #13415] +[Last updated: August 6, 2012] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY WITH THE DOG *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk + + + + + + +THE TALES OF CHEKHOV + +VOLUME 3 + +THE LADY WITH THE DOG AND OTHER STORIES + +BY + +ANTON TCHEKHOV + +Translated by CONSTANCE GARNETT + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE LADY WITH THE DOG + +A DOCTOR'S VISIT + +AN UPHEAVAL + +IONITCH + +THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY + +THE BLACK MONK + +VOLODYA + +AN ANONYMOUS STORY + +THE HUSBAND + + + + +THE LADY WITH THE DOG + + +I + +IT was said that a new person had appeared on the sea-front: a lady with +a little dog. Dmitri Dmitritch Gurov, who had by then been a fortnight +at Yalta, and so was fairly at home there, had begun to take an interest +in new arrivals. Sitting in Verney's pavilion, he saw, walking on the +sea-front, a fair-haired young lady of medium height, wearing a _beret_; +a white Pomeranian dog was running behind her. + +And afterwards he met her in the public gardens and in the square +several times a day. She was walking alone, always wearing the same +_beret_, and always with the same white dog; no one knew who she was, +and every one called her simply "the lady with the dog." + +"If she is here alone without a husband or friends, it wouldn't be amiss +to make her acquaintance," Gurov reflected. + +He was under forty, but he had a daughter already twelve years old, and +two sons at school. He had been married young, when he was a student in +his second year, and by now his wife seemed half as old again as he. She +was a tall, erect woman with dark eyebrows, staid and dignified, and, as +she said of herself, intellectual. She read a great deal, used phonetic +spelling, called her husband, not Dmitri, but Dimitri, and he secretly +considered her unintelligent, narrow, inelegant, was afraid of her, and +did not like to be at home. He had begun being unfaithful to her long +ago--had been unfaithful to her often, and, probably on that account, +almost always spoke ill of women, and when they were talked about in his +presence, used to call them "the lower race." + +It seemed to him that he had been so schooled by bitter experience that +he might call them what he liked, and yet he could not get on for two +days together without "the lower race." In the society of men he was +bored and not himself, with them he was cold and uncommunicative; but +when he was in the company of women he felt free, and knew what to say +to them and how to behave; and he was at ease with them even when he was +silent. In his appearance, in his character, in his whole nature, there +was something attractive and elusive which allured women and disposed +them in his favour; he knew that, and some force seemed to draw him, +too, to them. + +Experience often repeated, truly bitter experience, had taught him long +ago that with decent people, especially Moscow people--always slow to +move and irresolute--every intimacy, which at first so agreeably +diversifies life and appears a light and charming adventure, inevitably +grows into a regular problem of extreme intricacy, and in the long run +the situation becomes unbearable. But at every fresh meeting with an +interesting woman this experience seemed to slip out of his memory, and +he was eager for life, and everything seemed simple and amusing. + +One evening he was dining in the gardens, and the lady in the _beret_ +came up slowly to take the next table. Her expression, her gait, her +dress, and the way she did her hair told him that she was a lady, that +she was married, that she was in Yalta for the first time and alone, and +that she was dull there.... The stories told of the immorality in such +places as Yalta are to a great extent untrue; he despised them, and knew +that such stories were for the most part made up by persons who would +themselves have been glad to sin if they had been able; but when the +lady sat down at the next table three paces from him, he remembered +these tales of easy conquests, of trips to the mountains, and the +tempting thought of a swift, fleeting love affair, a romance with an +unknown woman, whose name he did not know, suddenly took possession of +him. + +He beckoned coaxingly to the Pomeranian, and when the dog came up to him +he shook his finger at it. The Pomeranian growled: Gurov shook his +finger at it again. + +The lady looked at him and at once dropped her eyes. + +"He doesn't bite," she said, and blushed. + +"May I give him a bone?" he asked; and when she nodded he asked +courteously, "Have you been long in Yalta?" + +"Five days." + +"And I have already dragged out a fortnight here." + +There was a brief silence. + +"Time goes fast, and yet it is so dull here!" she said, not looking at +him. + +"That's only the fashion to say it is dull here. A provincial will live +in Belyov or Zhidra and not be dull, and when he comes here it's 'Oh, +the dulness! Oh, the dust!' One would think he came from Grenada." + +She laughed. Then both continued eating in silence, like strangers, but +after dinner they walked side by side; and there sprang up between them +the light jesting conversation of people who are free and satisfied, to +whom it does not matter where they go or what they talk about. They +walked and talked of the strange light on the sea: the water was of a +soft warm lilac hue, and there was a golden streak from the moon upon +it. They talked of how sultry it was after a hot day. Gurov told her +that he came from Moscow, that he had taken his degree in Arts, but had +a post in a bank; that he had trained as an opera-singer, but had given +it up, that he owned two houses in Moscow.... And from her he learnt +that she had grown up in Petersburg, but had lived in S---- since her +marriage two years before, that she was staying another month in Yalta, +and that her husband, who needed a holiday too, might perhaps come and +fetch her. She was not sure whether her husband had a post in a Crown +Department or under the Provincial Council--and was amused by her own +ignorance. And Gurov learnt, too, that she was called Anna Sergeyevna. + +Afterwards he thought about her in his room at the hotel--thought she +would certainly meet him next day; it would be sure to happen. As he got +into bed he thought how lately she had been a girl at school, doing +lessons like his own daughter; he recalled the diffidence, the +angularity, that was still manifest in her laugh and her manner of +talking with a stranger. This must have been the first time in her life +she had been alone in surroundings in which she was followed, looked at, +and spoken to merely from a secret motive which she could hardly fail to +guess. He recalled her slender, delicate neck, her lovely grey eyes. + +"There's something pathetic about her, anyway," he thought, and fell +asleep. + + +II + +A week had passed since they had made acquaintance. It was a holiday. It +was sultry indoors, while in the street the wind whirled the dust round +and round, and blew people's hats off. It was a thirsty day, and Gurov +often went into the pavilion, and pressed Anna Sergeyevna to have syrup +and water or an ice. One did not know what to do with oneself. + +In the evening when the wind had dropped a little, they went out on the +groyne to see the steamer come in. There were a great many people +walking about the harbour; they had gathered to welcome some one, +bringing bouquets. And two peculiarities of a well-dressed Yalta crowd +were very conspicuous: the elderly ladies were dressed like young ones, +and there were great numbers of generals. + +Owing to the roughness of the sea, the steamer arrived late, after the +sun had set, and it was a long time turning about before it reached the +groyne. Anna Sergeyevna looked through her lorgnette at the steamer and +the passengers as though looking for acquaintances, and when she turned +to Gurov her eyes were shining. She talked a great deal and asked +disconnected questions, forgetting next moment what she had asked; then +she dropped her lorgnette in the crush. + +The festive crowd began to disperse; it was too dark to see people's +faces. The wind had completely dropped, but Gurov and Anna Sergeyevna +still stood as though waiting to see some one else come from the +steamer. Anna Sergeyevna was silent now, and sniffed the flowers without +looking at Gurov. + +"The weather is better this evening," he said. "Where shall we go now? +Shall we drive somewhere?" + +She made no answer. + +Then he looked at her intently, and all at once put his arm round her +and kissed her on the lips, and breathed in the moisture and the +fragrance of the flowers; and he immediately looked round him, anxiously +wondering whether any one had seen them. + +"Let us go to your hotel," he said softly. And both walked quickly. + +The room was close and smelt of the scent she had bought at the Japanese +shop. Gurov looked at her and thought: "What different people one meets +in the world!" From the past he preserved memories of careless, +good-natured women, who loved cheerfully and were grateful to him for +the happiness he gave them, however brief it might be; and of women like +his wife who loved without any genuine feeling, with superfluous +phrases, affectedly, hysterically, with an expression that suggested +that it was not love nor passion, but something more significant; and of +two or three others, very beautiful, cold women, on whose faces he had +caught a glimpse of a rapacious expression--an obstinate desire to +snatch from life more than it could give, and these were capricious, +unreflecting, domineering, unintelligent women not in their first youth, +and when Gurov grew cold to them their beauty excited his hatred, and +the lace on their linen seemed to him like scales. + +But in this case there was still the diffidence, the angularity of +inexperienced youth, an awkward feeling; and there was a sense of +consternation as though some one had suddenly knocked at the door. The +attitude of Anna Sergeyevna--"the lady with the dog"--to what had +happened was somehow peculiar, very grave, as though it were her +fall--so it seemed, and it was strange and inappropriate. Her face +dropped and faded, and on both sides of it her long hair hung down +mournfully; she mused in a dejected attitude like "the woman who was a +sinner" in an old-fashioned picture. + +"It's wrong," she said. "You will be the first to despise me now." + +There was a water-melon on the table. Gurov cut himself a slice and +began eating it without haste. There followed at least half an hour of +silence. + +Anna Sergeyevna was touching; there was about her the purity of a good, +simple woman who had seen little of life. The solitary candle burning on +the table threw a faint light on her face, yet it was clear that she was +very unhappy. + +"How could I despise you?" asked Gurov. "You don't know what you are +saying." + +"God forgive me," she said, and her eyes filled with tears. "It's +awful." + +"You seem to feel you need to be forgiven." + +"Forgiven? No. I am a bad, low woman; I despise myself and don't attempt +to justify myself. It's not my husband but myself I have deceived. And +not only just now; I have been deceiving myself for a long time. My +husband may be a good, honest man, but he is a flunkey! I don't know +what he does there, what his work is, but I know he is a flunkey! I was +twenty when I was married to him. I have been tormented by curiosity; I +wanted something better. 'There must be a different sort of life,' I +said to myself. I wanted to live! To live, to live!... I was fired by +curiosity ... you don't understand it, but, I swear to God, I could not +control myself; something happened to me: I could not be restrained. I +told my husband I was ill, and came here.... And here I have been +walking about as though I were dazed, like a mad creature; ... and now I +have become a vulgar, contemptible woman whom any one may despise." + +Gurov felt bored already, listening to her. He was irritated by the +naive tone, by this remorse, so unexpected and inopportune; but for the +tears in her eyes, he might have thought she was jesting or playing a +part. + +"I don't understand," he said softly. "What is it you want?" + +She hid her face on his breast and pressed close to him. + +"Believe me, believe me, I beseech you ..." she said. "I love a pure, +honest life, and sin is loathsome to me. I don't know what I am doing. +Simple people say: 'The Evil One has beguiled me.' And I may say of +myself now that the Evil One has beguiled me." + +"Hush, hush!..." he muttered. + +He looked at her fixed, scared eyes, kissed her, talked softly and +affectionately, and by degrees she was comforted, and her gaiety +returned; they both began laughing. + +Afterwards when they went out there was not a soul on the sea-front. The +town with its cypresses had quite a deathlike air, but the sea still +broke noisily on the shore; a single barge was rocking on the waves, and +a lantern was blinking sleepily on it. + +They found a cab and drove to Oreanda. + +"I found out your surname in the hall just now: it was written on the +board--Von Diderits," said Gurov. "Is your husband a German?" + +"No; I believe his grandfather was a German, but he is an Orthodox +Russian himself." + +At Oreanda they sat on a seat not far from the church, looked down at +the sea, and were silent. Yalta was hardly visible through the morning +mist; white clouds stood motionless on the mountain-tops. The leaves did +not stir on the trees, grasshoppers chirruped, and the monotonous hollow +sound of the sea rising up from below, spoke of the peace, of the +eternal sleep awaiting us. So it must have sounded when there was no +Yalta, no Oreanda here; so it sounds now, and it will sound as +indifferently and monotonously when we are all no more. And in this +constancy, in this complete indifference to the life and death of each +of us, there lies hid, perhaps, a pledge of our eternal salvation, of +the unceasing movement of life upon earth, of unceasing progress towards +perfection. Sitting beside a young woman who in the dawn seemed so +lovely, soothed and spellbound in these magical surroundings--the sea, +mountains, clouds, the open sky--Gurov thought how in reality everything +is beautiful in this world when one reflects: everything except what we +think or do ourselves when we forget our human dignity and the higher +aims of our existence. + +A man walked up to them--probably a keeper--looked at them and walked +away. And this detail seemed mysterious and beautiful, too. They saw a +steamer come from Theodosia, with its lights out in the glow of dawn. + +"There is dew on the grass," said Anna Sergeyevna, after a silence. + +"Yes. It's time to go home." + +They went back to the town. + +Then they met every day at twelve o'clock on the sea-front, lunched and +dined together, went for walks, admired the sea. She complained that she +slept badly, that her heart throbbed violently; asked the same +questions, troubled now by jealousy and now by the fear that he did not +respect her sufficiently. And often in the square or gardens, when there +was no one near them, he suddenly drew her to him and kissed her +passionately. Complete idleness, these kisses in broad daylight while he +looked round in dread of some one's seeing them, the heat, the smell of +the sea, and the continual passing to and fro before him of idle, +well-dressed, well-fed people, made a new man of him; he told Anna +Sergeyevna how beautiful she was, how fascinating. He was impatiently +passionate, he would not move a step away from her, while she was often +pensive and continually urged him to confess that he did not respect +her, did not love her in the least, and thought of her as nothing but a +common woman. Rather late almost every evening they drove somewhere out +of town, to Oreanda or to the waterfall; and the expedition was always a +success, the scenery invariably impressed them as grand and beautiful. + +They were expecting her husband to come, but a letter came from him, +saying that there was something wrong with his eyes, and he entreated +his wife to come home as quickly as possible. Anna Sergeyevna made haste +to go. + +"It's a good thing I am going away," she said to Gurov. "It's the finger +of destiny!" + +She went by coach and he went with her. They were driving the whole day. +When she had got into a compartment of the express, and when the second +bell had rung, she said: + +"Let me look at you once more ... look at you once again. That's right." + +She did not shed tears, but was so sad that she seemed ill, and her face +was quivering. + +"I shall remember you ... think of you," she said. "God be with you; be +happy. Don't remember evil against me. We are parting forever--it must +be so, for we ought never to have met. Well, God be with you." + +The train moved off rapidly, its lights soon vanished from sight, and a +minute later there was no sound of it, as though everything had +conspired together to end as quickly as possible that sweet delirium, +that madness. Left alone on the platform, and gazing into the dark +distance, Gurov listened to the chirrup of the grasshoppers and the hum +of the telegraph wires, feeling as though he had only just waked up. And +he thought, musing, that there had been another episode or adventure in +his life, and it, too, was at an end, and nothing was left of it but a +memory.... He was moved, sad, and conscious of a slight remorse. This +young woman whom he would never meet again had not been happy with him; +he was genuinely warm and affectionate with her, but yet in his manner, +his tone, and his caresses there had been a shade of light irony, the +coarse condescension of a happy man who was, besides, almost twice her +age. All the time she had called him kind, exceptional, lofty; obviously +he had seemed to her different from what he really was, so he had +unintentionally deceived her.... + +Here at the station was already a scent of autumn; it was a cold +evening. + +"It's time for me to go north," thought Gurov as he left the platform. +"High time!" + + +III + +At home in Moscow everything was in its winter routine; the stoves were +heated, and in the morning it was still dark when the children were +having breakfast and getting ready for school, and the nurse would light +the lamp for a short time. The frosts had begun already. When the first +snow has fallen, on the first day of sledge-driving it is pleasant to +see the white earth, the white roofs, to draw soft, delicious breath, +and the season brings back the days of one's youth. The old limes and +birches, white with hoar-frost, have a good-natured expression; they are +nearer to one's heart than cypresses and palms, and near them one +doesn't want to be thinking of the sea and the mountains. + +Gurov was Moscow born; he arrived in Moscow on a fine frosty day, and +when he put on his fur coat and warm gloves, and walked along Petrovka, +and when on Saturday evening he heard the ringing of the bells, his +recent trip and the places he had seen lost all charm for him. Little by +little he became absorbed in Moscow life, greedily read three newspapers +a day, and declared he did not read the Moscow papers on principle! He +already felt a longing to go to restaurants, clubs, dinner-parties, +anniversary celebrations, and he felt flattered at entertaining +distinguished lawyers and artists, and at playing cards with a professor +at the doctors' club. He could already eat a whole plateful of salt fish +and cabbage. + +In another month, he fancied, the image of Anna Sergeyevna would be +shrouded in a mist in his memory, and only from time to time would visit +him in his dreams with a touching smile as others did. But more than a +month passed, real winter had come, and everything was still clear in +his memory as though he had parted with Anna Sergeyevna only the day +before. And his memories glowed more and more vividly. When in the +evening stillness he heard from his study the voices of his children, +preparing their lessons, or when he listened to a song or the organ at +the restaurant, or the storm howled in the chimney, suddenly everything +would rise up in his memory: what had happened on the groyne, and the +early morning with the mist on the mountains, and the steamer coming +from Theodosia, and the kisses. He would pace a long time about his +room, remembering it all and smiling; then his memories passed into +dreams, and in his fancy the past was mingled with what was to come. +Anna Sergeyevna did not visit him in dreams, but followed him about +everywhere like a shadow and haunted him. When he shut his eyes he saw +her as though she were living before him, and she seemed to him +lovelier, younger, tenderer than she was; and he imagined himself finer +than he had been in Yalta. In the evenings she peeped out at him from +the bookcase, from the fireplace, from the corner--he heard her +breathing, the caressing rustle of her dress. In the street he watched +the women, looking for some one like her. + +He was tormented by an intense desire to confide his memories to some +one. But in his home it was impossible to talk of his love, and he had +no one outside; he could not talk to his tenants nor to any one at the +bank. And what had he to talk of? Had he been in love, then? Had there +been anything beautiful, poetical, or edifying or simply interesting in +his relations with Anna Sergeyevna? And there was nothing for him but to +talk vaguely of love, of woman, and no one guessed what it meant; only +his wife twitched her black eyebrows, and said: + +"The part of a lady-killer does not suit you at all, Dimitri." + +One evening, coming out of the doctors' club with an official with whom +he had been playing cards, he could not resist saying: + +"If only you knew what a fascinating woman I made the acquaintance of in +Yalta!" + +The official got into his sledge and was driving away, but turned +suddenly and shouted: + +"Dmitri Dmitritch!" + +"What?" + +"You were right this evening: the sturgeon was a bit too strong!" + +These words, so ordinary, for some reason moved Gurov to indignation, +and struck him as degrading and unclean. What savage manners, what +people! What senseless nights, what uninteresting, uneventful days! The +rage for card-playing, the gluttony, the drunkenness, the continual talk +always about the same thing. Useless pursuits and conversations always +about the same things absorb the better part of one's time, the better +part of one's strength, and in the end there is left a life grovelling +and curtailed, worthless and trivial, and there is no escaping or +getting away from it--just as though one were in a madhouse or a prison. + +Gurov did not sleep all night, and was filled with indignation. And he +had a headache all next day. And the next night he slept badly; he sat +up in bed, thinking, or paced up and down his room. He was sick of his +children, sick of the bank; he had no desire to go anywhere or to talk +of anything. + +In the holidays in December he prepared for a journey, and told his wife +he was going to Petersburg to do something in the interests of a young +friend--and he set off for S----. What for? He did not very well know +himself. He wanted to see Anna Sergeyevna and to talk with her--to +arrange a meeting, if possible. + +He reached S---- in the morning, and took the best room at the hotel, in +which the floor was covered with grey army cloth, and on the table was +an inkstand, grey with dust and adorned with a figure on horseback, with +its hat in its hand and its head broken off. The hotel porter gave him +the necessary information; Von Diderits lived in a house of his own in +Old Gontcharny Street--it was not far from the hotel: he was rich and +lived in good style, and had his own horses; every one in the town knew +him. The porter pronounced the name "Dridirits." + +Gurov went without haste to Old Gontcharny Street and found the house. +Just opposite the house stretched a long grey fence adorned with nails. + +"One would run away from a fence like that," thought Gurov, looking from +the fence to the windows of the house and back again. + +He considered: to-day was a holiday, and the husband would probably be +at home. And in any case it would be tactless to go into the house and +upset her. If he were to send her a note it might fall into her +husband's hands, and then it might ruin everything. The best thing was +to trust to chance. And he kept walking up and down the street by the +fence, waiting for the chance. He saw a beggar go in at the gate and +dogs fly at him; then an hour later he heard a piano, and the sounds +were faint and indistinct. Probably it was Anna Sergeyevna playing. The +front door suddenly opened, and an old woman came out, followed by the +familiar white Pomeranian. Gurov was on the point of calling to the dog, +but his heart began beating violently, and in his excitement he could +not remember the dog's name. + +He walked up and down, and loathed the grey fence more and more, and by +now he thought irritably that Anna Sergeyevna had forgotten him, and was +perhaps already amusing herself with some one else, and that that was +very natural in a young woman who had nothing to look at from morning +till night but that confounded fence. He went back to his hotel room and +sat for a long while on the sofa, not knowing what to do, then he had +dinner and a long nap. + +"How stupid and worrying it is!" he thought when he woke and looked at +the dark windows: it was already evening. "Here I've had a good sleep +for some reason. What shall I do in the night?" + +He sat on the bed, which was covered by a cheap grey blanket, such as +one sees in hospitals, and he taunted himself in his vexation: + +"So much for the lady with the dog ... so much for the adventure.... +You're in a nice fix...." + +That morning at the station a poster in large letters had caught his +eye. "The Geisha" was to be performed for the first time. He thought of +this and went to the theatre. + +"It's quite possible she may go to the first performance," he thought. + +The theatre was full. As in all provincial theatres, there was a fog +above the chandelier, the gallery was noisy and restless; in the front +row the local dandies were standing up before the beginning of the +performance, with their hands behind them; in the Governor's box the +Governor's daughter, wearing a boa, was sitting in the front seat, while +the Governor himself lurked modestly behind the curtain with only his +hands visible; the orchestra was a long time tuning up; the stage +curtain swayed. All the time the audience were coming in and taking +their seats Gurov looked at them eagerly. + +Anna Sergeyevna, too, came in. She sat down in the third row, and when +Gurov looked at her his heart contracted, and he understood clearly that +for him there was in the whole world no creature so near, so precious, +and so important to him; she, this little woman, in no way remarkable, +lost in a provincial crowd, with a vulgar lorgnette in her hand, filled +his whole life now, was his sorrow and his joy, the one happiness that +he now desired for himself, and to the sounds of the inferior orchestra, +of the wretched provincial violins, he thought how lovely she was. He +thought and dreamed. + +A young man with small side-whiskers, tall and stooping, came in with +Anna Sergeyevna and sat down beside her; he bent his head at every step +and seemed to be continually bowing. Most likely this was the husband +whom at Yalta, in a rush of bitter feeling, she had called a flunkey. +And there really was in his long figure, his side-whiskers, and the +small bald patch on his head, something of the flunkey's obsequiousness; +his smile was sugary, and in his buttonhole there was some badge of +distinction like the number on a waiter. + +During the first interval the husband went away to smoke; she remained +alone in her stall. Gurov, who was sitting in the stalls, too, went up +to her and said in a trembling voice, with a forced smile: + +"Good-evening." + +She glanced at him and turned pale, then glanced again with horror, +unable to believe her eyes, and tightly gripped the fan and the +lorgnette in her hands, evidently struggling with herself not to faint. +Both were silent. She was sitting, he was standing, frightened by her +confusion and not venturing to sit down beside her. The violins and the +flute began tuning up. He felt suddenly frightened; it seemed as though +all the people in the boxes were looking at them. She got up and went +quickly to the door; he followed her, and both walked senselessly along +passages, and up and down stairs, and figures in legal, scholastic, and +civil service uniforms, all wearing badges, flitted before their eyes. +They caught glimpses of ladies, of fur coats hanging on pegs; the +draughts blew on them, bringing a smell of stale tobacco. And Gurov, +whose heart was beating violently, thought: + +"Oh, heavens! Why are these people here and this orchestra!..." + +And at that instant he recalled how when he had seen Anna Sergeyevna off +at the station he had thought that everything was over and they would +never meet again. But how far they were still from the end! + +On the narrow, gloomy staircase over which was written "To the +Amphitheatre," she stopped. + +"How you have frightened me!" she said, breathing hard, still pale and +overwhelmed. "Oh, how you have frightened me! I am half dead. Why have +you come? Why?" + +"But do understand, Anna, do understand ..." he said hastily in a low +voice. "I entreat you to understand...." + +She looked at him with dread, with entreaty, with love; she looked at +him intently, to keep his features more distinctly in her memory. + +"I am so unhappy," she went on, not heeding him. "I have thought of +nothing but you all the time; I live only in the thought of you. And I +wanted to forget, to forget you; but why, oh, why, have you come?" + +On the landing above them two schoolboys were smoking and looking down, +but that was nothing to Gurov; he drew Anna Sergeyevna to him, and began +kissing her face, her cheeks, and her hands. + +"What are you doing, what are you doing!" she cried in horror, pushing +him away. "We are mad. Go away to-day; go away at once.... I beseech you +by all that is sacred, I implore you.... There are people coming this +way!" + +Some one was coming up the stairs. + +"You must go away," Anna Sergeyevna went on in a whisper. "Do you hear, +Dmitri Dmitritch? I will come and see you in Moscow. I have never been +happy; I am miserable now, and I never, never shall be happy, never! +Don't make me suffer still more! I swear I'll come to Moscow. But now +let us part. My precious, good, dear one, we must part!" + +She pressed his hand and began rapidly going downstairs, looking round +at him, and from her eyes he could see that she really was unhappy. +Gurov stood for a little while, listened, then, when all sound had died +away, he found his coat and left the theatre. + + +IV + +And Anna Sergeyevna began coming to see him in Moscow. Once in two or +three months she left S----, telling her husband that she was going to +consult a doctor about an internal complaint--and her husband believed +her, and did not believe her. In Moscow she stayed at the Slaviansky +Bazaar hotel, and at once sent a man in a red cap to Gurov. Gurov went +to see her, and no one in Moscow knew of it. + +Once he was going to see her in this way on a winter morning (the +messenger had come the evening before when he was out). With him walked +his daughter, whom he wanted to take to school: it was on the way. Snow +was falling in big wet flakes. + +"It's three degrees above freezing-point, and yet it is snowing," said +Gurov to his daughter. "The thaw is only on the surface of the earth; +there is quite a different temperature at a greater height in the +atmosphere." + +"And why are there no thunderstorms in the winter, father?" + +He explained that, too. He talked, thinking all the while that he was +going to see her, and no living soul knew of it, and probably never +would know. He had two lives: one, open, seen and known by all who cared +to know, full of relative truth and of relative falsehood, exactly like +the lives of his friends and acquaintances; and another life running its +course in secret. And through some strange, perhaps accidental, +conjunction of circumstances, everything that was essential, of interest +and of value to him, everything in which he was sincere and did not +deceive himself, everything that made the kernel of his life, was hidden +from other people; and all that was false in him, the sheath in which he +hid himself to conceal the truth--such, for instance, as his work in the +bank, his discussions at the club, his "lower race," his presence with +his wife at anniversary festivities--all that was open. And he judged of +others by himself, not believing in what he saw, and always believing +that every man had his real, most interesting life under the cover of +secrecy and under the cover of night. All personal life rested on +secrecy, and possibly it was partly on that account that civilised man +was so nervously anxious that personal privacy should be respected. + +After leaving his daughter at school, Gurov went on to the Slaviansky +Bazaar. He took off his fur coat below, went upstairs, and softly +knocked at the door. Anna Sergeyevna, wearing his favourite grey dress, +exhausted by the journey and the suspense, had been expecting him since +the evening before. She was pale; she looked at him, and did not smile, +and he had hardly come in when she fell on his breast. Their kiss was +slow and prolonged, as though they had not met for two years. + +"Well, how are you getting on there?" he asked. "What news?" + +"Wait; I'll tell you directly.... I can't talk." + +She could not speak; she was crying. She turned away from him, and +pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. + +"Let her have her cry out. I'll sit down and wait," he thought, and he +sat down in an arm-chair. + +Then he rang and asked for tea to be brought him, and while he drank his +tea she remained standing at the window with her back to him. She was +crying from emotion, from the miserable consciousness that their life +was so hard for them; they could only meet in secret, hiding themselves +from people, like thieves! Was not their life shattered? + +"Come, do stop!" he said. + +It was evident to him that this love of theirs would not soon be over, +that he could not see the end of it. Anna Sergeyevna grew more and more +attached to him. She adored him, and it was unthinkable to say to her +that it was bound to have an end some day; besides, she would not have +believed it! + +He went up to her and took her by the shoulders to say something +affectionate and cheering, and at that moment he saw himself in the +looking-glass. + +His hair was already beginning to turn grey. And it seemed strange to +him that he had grown so much older, so much plainer during the last few +years. The shoulders on which his hands rested were warm and quivering. +He felt compassion for this life, still so warm and lovely, but probably +already not far from beginning to fade and wither like his own. Why did +she love him so much? He always seemed to women different from what he +was, and they loved in him not himself, but the man created by their +imagination, whom they had been eagerly seeking all their lives; and +afterwards, when they noticed their mistake, they loved him all the +same. And not one of them had been happy with him. Time passed, he had +made their acquaintance, got on with them, parted, but he had never once +loved; it was anything you like, but not love. + +And only now when his head was grey he had fallen properly, really in +love--for the first time in his life. + +Anna Sergeyevna and he loved each other like people very close and akin, +like husband and wife, like tender friends; it seemed to them that fate +itself had meant them for one another, and they could not understand why +he had a wife and she a husband; and it was as though they were a pair +of birds of passage, caught and forced to live in different cages. They +forgave each other for what they were ashamed of in their past, they +forgave everything in the present, and felt that this love of theirs had +changed them both. + +In moments of depression in the past he had comforted himself with any +arguments that came into his mind, but now he no longer cared for +arguments; he felt profound compassion, he wanted to be sincere and +tender.... + +"Don't cry, my darling," he said. "You've had your cry; that's +enough.... Let us talk now, let us think of some plan." + +Then they spent a long while taking counsel together, talked of how to +avoid the necessity for secrecy, for deception, for living in different +towns and not seeing each other for long at a time. How could they be +free from this intolerable bondage? + +"How? How?" he asked, clutching his head. "How?" + +And it seemed as though in a little while the solution would be found, +and then a new and splendid life would begin; and it was clear to both +of them that they had still a long, long road before them, and that the +most complicated and difficult part of it was only just beginning. + + + + +A DOCTOR'S VISIT + + +THE Professor received a telegram from the Lyalikovs' factory; he was +asked to come as quickly as possible. The daughter of some Madame +Lyalikov, apparently the owner of the factory, was ill, and that was all +that one could make out of the long, incoherent telegram. And the +Professor did not go himself, but sent instead his assistant, Korolyov. + +It was two stations from Moscow, and there was a drive of three miles +from the station. A carriage with three horses had been sent to the +station to meet Korolyov; the coachman wore a hat with a peacock's +feather on it, and answered every question in a loud voice like a +soldier: "No, sir!" "Certainly, sir!" + +It was Saturday evening; the sun was setting, the workpeople were coming +in crowds from the factory to the station, and they bowed to the +carriage in which Korolyov was driving. And he was charmed with the +evening, the farmhouses and villas on the road, and the birch-trees, and +the quiet atmosphere all around, when the fields and woods and the sun +seemed preparing, like the workpeople now on the eve of the holiday, to +rest, and perhaps to pray.... + +He was born and had grown up in Moscow; he did not know the country, and +he had never taken any interest in factories, or been inside one, but he +had happened to read about factories, and had been in the houses of +manufacturers and had talked to them; and whenever he saw a factory far +or near, he always thought how quiet and peaceable it was outside, but +within there was always sure to be impenetrable ignorance and dull +egoism on the side of the owners, wearisome, unhealthy toil on the side +of the workpeople, squabbling, vermin, vodka. And now when the +workpeople timidly and respectfully made way for the carriage, in their +faces, their caps, their walk, he read physical impurity, drunkenness, +nervous exhaustion, bewilderment. + +They drove in at the factory gates. On each side he caught glimpses of +the little houses of workpeople, of the faces of women, of quilts and +linen on the railings. "Look out!" shouted the coachman, not pulling up +the horses. It was a wide courtyard without grass, with five immense +blocks of buildings with tall chimneys a little distance one from +another, warehouses and barracks, and over everything a sort of grey +powder as though from dust. Here and there, like oases in the desert, +there were pitiful gardens, and the green and red roofs of the houses in +which the managers and clerks lived. The coachman suddenly pulled up the +horses, and the carriage stopped at the house, which had been newly +painted grey; here was a flower garden, with a lilac bush covered with +dust, and on the yellow steps at the front door there was a strong smell +of paint. + +"Please come in, doctor," said women's voices in the passage and the +entry, and at the same time he heard sighs and whisperings. "Pray walk +in.... We've been expecting you so long ... we're in real trouble. Here, +this way." + +Madame Lyalikov--a stout elderly lady wearing a black silk dress with +fashionable sleeves, but, judging from her face, a simple uneducated +woman--looked at the doctor in a flutter, and could not bring herself to +hold out her hand to him; she did not dare. Beside her stood a personage +with short hair and a pince-nez; she was wearing a blouse of many +colours, and was very thin and no longer young. The servants called her +Christina Dmitryevna, and Korolyov guessed that this was the governess. +Probably, as the person of most education in the house, she had been +charged to meet and receive the doctor, for she began immediately, in +great haste, stating the causes of the illness, giving trivial and +tiresome details, but without saying who was ill or what was the matter. + +The doctor and the governess were sitting talking while the lady of the +house stood motionless at the door, waiting. From the conversation +Korolyov learned that the patient was Madame Lyalikov's only daughter +and heiress, a girl of twenty, called Liza; she had been ill for a long +time, and had consulted various doctors, and the previous night she had +suffered till morning from such violent palpitations of the heart, that +no one in the house had slept, and they had been afraid she might die. + +"She has been, one may say, ailing from a child," said Christina +Dmitryevna in a sing-song voice, continually wiping her lips with her +hand. "The doctors say it is nerves; when she was a little girl she was +scrofulous, and the doctors drove it inwards, so I think it may be due +to that." + +They went to see the invalid. Fully grown up, big and tall, but ugly +like her mother, with the same little eyes and disproportionate breadth +of the lower part of the face, lying with her hair in disorder, muffled +up to the chin, she made upon Korolyov at the first minute the +impression of a poor, destitute creature, sheltered and cared for here +out of charity, and he could hardly believe that this was the heiress of +the five huge buildings. + +"I am the doctor come to see you," said Korolyov. "Good evening." + +He mentioned his name and pressed her hand, a large, cold, ugly hand; +she sat up, and, evidently accustomed to doctors, let herself be +sounded, without showing the least concern that her shoulders and chest +were uncovered. + +"I have palpitations of the heart," she said, "It was so awful all +night.... I almost died of fright! Do give me something." + +"I will, I will; don't worry yourself." + +Korolyov examined her and shrugged his shoulders. + +"The heart is all right," he said; "it's all going on satisfactorily; +everything is in good order. Your nerves must have been playing pranks a +little, but that's so common. The attack is over by now, one must +suppose; lie down and go to sleep." + +At that moment a lamp was brought into the bed-room. The patient screwed +up her eyes at the light, then suddenly put her hands to her head and +broke into sobs. And the impression of a destitute, ugly creature +vanished, and Korolyov no longer noticed the little eyes or the heavy +development of the lower part of the face. He saw a soft, suffering +expression which was intelligent and touching: she seemed to him +altogether graceful, feminine, and simple; and he longed to soothe her, +not with drugs, not with advice, but with simple, kindly words. Her +mother put her arms round her head and hugged her. What despair, what +grief was in the old woman's face! She, her mother, had reared her and +brought her up, spared nothing, and devoted her whole life to having her +daughter taught French, dancing, music: had engaged a dozen teachers for +her; had consulted the best doctors, kept a governess. And now she could +not make out the reason of these tears, why there was all this misery, +she could not understand, and was bewildered; and she had a guilty, +agitated, despairing expression, as though she had omitted something +very important, had left something undone, had neglected to call in +somebody--and whom, she did not know. + +"Lizanka, you are crying again ... again," she said, hugging her +daughter to her. "My own, my darling, my child, tell me what it is! Have +pity on me! Tell me." + +Both wept bitterly. Korolyov sat down on the side of the bed and took +Liza's hand. + +"Come, give over; it's no use crying," he said kindly. "Why, there is +nothing in the world that is worth those tears. Come, we won't cry; +that's no good...." + +And inwardly he thought: + +"It's high time she was married...." + +"Our doctor at the factory gave her kalibromati," said the governess, +"but I notice it only makes her worse. I should have thought that if she +is given anything for the heart it ought to be drops.... I forget the +name.... Convallaria, isn't it?" + +And there followed all sorts of details. She interrupted the doctor, +preventing his speaking, and there was a look of effort on her face, as +though she supposed that, as the woman of most education in the house, +she was duty bound to keep up a conversation with the doctor, and on no +other subject but medicine. + +Korolyov felt bored. + +"I find nothing special the matter," he said, addressing the mother as +he went out of the bedroom. "If your daughter is being attended by the +factory doctor, let him go on attending her. The treatment so far has +been perfectly correct, and I see no reason for changing your doctor. +Why change? It's such an ordinary trouble; there's nothing seriously +wrong." + +He spoke deliberately as he put on his gloves, while Madame Lyalikov +stood without moving, and looked at him with her tearful eyes. + +"I have half an hour to catch the ten o'clock train," he said. "I hope I +am not too late." + +"And can't you stay?" she asked, and tears trickled down her cheeks +again. "I am ashamed to trouble you, but if you would be so good.... For +God's sake," she went on in an undertone, glancing towards the door, "do +stay to-night with us! She is all I have ... my only daughter.... She +frightened me last night; I can't get over it.... Don't go away, for +goodness' sake!..." + +He wanted to tell her that he had a great deal of work in Moscow, that +his family were expecting him home; it was disagreeable to him to spend +the evening and the whole night in a strange house quite needlessly; but +he looked at her face, heaved a sigh, and began taking off his gloves +without a word. + +All the lamps and candles were lighted in his honour in the drawing-room +and the dining-room. He sat down at the piano and began turning over the +music. Then he looked at the pictures on the walls, at the portraits. +The pictures, oil-paintings in gold frames, were views of the Crimea--a +stormy sea with a ship, a Catholic monk with a wineglass; they were all +dull, smooth daubs, with no trace of talent in them. There was not a +single good-looking face among the portraits, nothing but broad +cheekbones and astonished-looking eyes. Lyalikov, Liza's father, had a +low forehead and a self-satisfied expression; his uniform sat like a +sack on his bulky plebeian figure; on his breast was a medal and a Red +Cross Badge. There was little sign of culture, and the luxury was +senseless and haphazard, and was as ill fitting as that uniform. The +floors irritated him with their brilliant polish, the lustres on the +chandelier irritated him, and he was reminded for some reason of the +story of the merchant who used to go to the baths with a medal on his +neck.... + +He heard a whispering in the entry; some one was softly snoring. And +suddenly from outside came harsh, abrupt, metallic sounds, such as +Korolyov had never heard before, and which he did not understand now; +they roused strange, unpleasant echoes in his soul. + +"I believe nothing would induce me to remain here to live ..." he +thought, and went back to the music-books again. + +"Doctor, please come to supper!" the governess called him in a low +voice. + +He went into supper. The table was large and laid with a vast number of +dishes and wines, but there were only two to supper: himself and +Christina Dmitryevna. She drank Madeira, ate rapidly, and talked, +looking at him through her pince-nez: + +"Our workpeople are very contented. We have performances at the factory +every winter; the workpeople act themselves. They have lectures with a +magic lantern, a splendid tea-room, and everything they want. They are +very much attached to us, and when they heard that Lizanka was worse +they had a service sung for her. Though they have no education, they +have their feelings, too." + +"It looks as though you have no man in the house at all," said Korolyov. + +"Not one. Pyotr Nikanoritch died a year and a half ago, and left us +alone. And so there are the three of us. In the summer we live here, and +in winter we live in Moscow, in Polianka. I have been living with them +for eleven years--as one of the family." + +At supper they served sterlet, chicken rissoles, and stewed fruit; the +wines were expensive French wines. + +"Please don't stand on ceremony, doctor," said Christina Dmitryevna, +eating and wiping her mouth with her fist, and it was evident she found +her life here exceedingly pleasant. "Please have some more." + +After supper the doctor was shown to his room, where a bed had been made +up for him, but he did not feel sleepy. The room was stuffy and it smelt +of paint; he put on his coat and went out. + +It was cool in the open air; there was already a glimmer of dawn, and +all the five blocks of buildings, with their tall chimneys, barracks, +and warehouses, were distinctly outlined against the damp air. As it was +a holiday, they were not working, and the windows were dark, and in only +one of the buildings was there a furnace burning; two windows were +crimson, and fire mixed with smoke came from time to time from the +chimney. Far away beyond the yard the frogs were croaking and the +nightingales singing. + +Looking at the factory buildings and the barracks, where the workpeople +were asleep, he thought again what he always thought when he saw a +factory. They may have performances for the workpeople, magic lanterns, +factory doctors, and improvements of all sorts, but, all the same, the +workpeople he had met that day on his way from the station did not look +in any way different from those he had known long ago in his childhood, +before there were factory performances and improvements. As a doctor +accustomed to judging correctly of chronic complaints, the radical cause +of which was incomprehensible and incurable, he looked upon factories as +something baffling, the cause of which also was obscure and not +removable, and all the improvements in the life of the factory hands he +looked upon not as superfluous, but as comparable with the treatment of +incurable illnesses. + +"There is something baffling in it, of course ..." he thought, looking +at the crimson windows. "Fifteen hundred or two thousand workpeople are +working without rest in unhealthy surroundings, making bad cotton goods, +living on the verge of starvation, and only waking from this nightmare +at rare intervals in the tavern; a hundred people act as overseers, and +the whole life of that hundred is spent in imposing fines, in abuse, in +injustice, and only two or three so-called owners enjoy the profits, +though they don't work at all, and despise the wretched cotton. But what +are the profits, and how do they enjoy them? Madame Lyalikov and her +daughter are unhappy--it makes one wretched to look at them; the only +one who enjoys her life is Christina Dmitryevna, a stupid, middle-aged +maiden lady in pince-nez. And so it appears that all these five blocks +of buildings are at work, and inferior cotton is sold in the Eastern +markets, simply that Christina Dmitryevna may eat sterlet and drink +Madeira." + +Suddenly there came a strange noise, the same sound Korolyov had heard +before supper. Some one was striking on a sheet of metal near one of the +buildings; he struck a note, and then at once checked the vibrations, so +that short, abrupt, discordant sounds were produced, rather like "Dair +... dair ... dair...." Then there was half a minute of stillness, and +from another building there came sounds equally abrupt and unpleasant, +lower bass notes: "Drin ... drin ... drin ..." Eleven times. Evidently +it was the watchman striking the hour. Near the third building he heard: +"Zhuk ... zhuk ... zhuk...." And so near all the buildings, and then +behind the barracks and beyond the gates. And in the stillness of the +night it seemed as though these sounds were uttered by a monster with +crimson eyes--the devil himself, who controlled the owners and the +work-people alike, and was deceiving both. + +Korolyov went out of the yard into the open country. + +"Who goes there?" some one called to him at the gates in an abrupt +voice. + +"It's just like being in prison," he thought, and made no answer. + +Here the nightingales and the frogs could be heard more distinctly, and +one could feel it was a night in May. From the station came the noise of +a train; somewhere in the distance drowsy cocks were crowing; but, all +the same, the night was still, the world was sleeping tranquilly. In a +field not far from the factory there could be seen the framework of a +house and heaps of building material: + +Korolyov sat down on the planks and went on thinking. + +"The only person who feels happy here is the governess, and the factory +hands are working for her gratification. But that's only apparent: she +is only the figurehead. The real person, for whom everything is being +done, is the devil." + +And he thought about the devil, in whom he did not believe, and he +looked round at the two windows where the fires were gleaming. It seemed +to him that out of those crimson eyes the devil himself was looking at +him--that unknown force that had created the mutual relation of the +strong and the weak, that coarse blunder which one could never correct. +The strong must hinder the weak from living--such was the law of +Nature; but only in a newspaper article or in a school book was that +intelligible and easily accepted. In the hotchpotch which was everyday +life, in the tangle of trivialities out of which human relations were +woven, it was no longer a law, but a logical absurdity, when the strong +and the weak were both equally victims of their mutual relations, +unwillingly submitting to some directing force, unknown, standing +outside life, apart from man. + +So thought Korolyov, sitting on the planks, and little by little he was +possessed by a feeling that this unknown and mysterious force was really +close by and looking at him. Meanwhile the east was growing paler, time +passed rapidly; when there was not a soul anywhere near, as though +everything were dead, the five buildings and their chimneys against the +grey background of the dawn had a peculiar look--not the same as by day; +one forgot altogether that inside there were steam motors, electricity, +telephones, and kept thinking of lake-dwellings, of the Stone Age, +feeling the presence of a crude, unconscious force.... + +And again there came the sound: "Dair ... dair ... dair ... dair ..." +twelve times. Then there was stillness, stillness for half a minute, and +at the other end of the yard there rang out. + +"Drin ... drin ... drin...." + +"Horribly disagreeable," thought Korolyov. + +"Zhuk ... zhuk ..." there resounded from a third place, abruptly, +sharply, as though with annoyance--"Zhuk ... zhuk...." + +And it took four minutes to strike twelve. Then there was a hush; and +again it seemed as though everything were dead. + +Korolyov sat a little longer, then went to the house, but sat up for a +good while longer. In the adjoining rooms there was whispering, there +was a sound of shuffling slippers and bare feet. + +"Is she having another attack?" thought Korolyov. + +He went out to have a look at the patient. By now it was quite light in +the rooms, and a faint glimmer of sunlight, piercing through the morning +mist, quivered on the floor and on the wall of the drawing-room. The +door of Liza's room was open, and she was sitting in a low chair beside +her bed, with her hair down, wearing a dressing-gown and wrapped in a +shawl. The blinds were down on the windows. + +"How do you feel?" asked Korolyov. + +"Well, thank you." + +He touched her pulse, then straightened her hair, that had fallen over +her forehead. + +"You are not asleep," he said. "It's beautiful weather outside. It's +spring. The nightingales are singing, and you sit in the dark and think +of something." + +She listened and looked into his face; her eyes were sorrowful and +intelligent, and it was evident she wanted to say something to him. + +"Does this happen to you often?" he said. + +She moved her lips, and answered: + +"Often, I feel wretched almost every night." + +At that moment the watchman in the yard began striking two o'clock. They +heard: "Dair ... dair ..." and she shuddered. + +"Do those knockings worry you?" he asked. + +"I don't know. Everything here worries me," she answered, and pondered. +"Everything worries me. I hear sympathy in your voice; it seemed to me +as soon as I saw you that I could tell you all about it." + +"Tell me, I beg you." + +"I want to tell you of my opinion. It seems to me that I have no +illness, but that I am weary and frightened, because it is bound to be +so and cannot be otherwise. Even the healthiest person can't help being +uneasy if, for instance, a robber is moving about under his window. I am +constantly being doctored," she went on, looking at her knees, and she +gave a shy smile. "I am very grateful, of course, and I do not deny that +the treatment is a benefit; but I should like to talk, not with a +doctor, but with some intimate friend who would understand me and would +convince me that I was right or wrong." + +"Have you no friends?" asked Korolyov. + +"I am lonely. I have a mother; I love her, but, all the same, I am +lonely. That's how it happens to be.... Lonely people read a great deal, +but say little and hear little. Life for them is mysterious; they are +mystics and often see the devil where he is not. Lermontov's Tamara was +lonely and she saw the devil." + +"Do you read a great deal?" + +"Yes. You see, my whole time is free from morning till night. I read by +day, and by night my head is empty; instead of thoughts there are +shadows in it." + +"Do you see anything at night?" asked Korolyov. + +"No, but I feel...." + +She smiled again, raised her eyes to the doctor, and looked at him so +sorrowfully, so intelligently; and it seemed to him that she trusted +him, and that she wanted to speak frankly to him, and that she thought +the same as he did. But she was silent, perhaps waiting for him to +speak. + +And he knew what to say to her. It was clear to him that she needed as +quickly as possible to give up the five buildings and the million if she +had it--to leave that devil that looked out at night; it was clear to +him, too, that she thought so herself, and was only waiting for some one +she trusted to confirm her. + +But he did not know how to say it. How? One is shy of asking men under +sentence what they have been sentenced for; and in the same way it is +awkward to ask very rich people what they want so much money for, why +they make such a poor use of their wealth, why they don't give it up, +even when they see in it their unhappiness; and if they begin a +conversation about it themselves, it is usually embarrassing, awkward, +and long. + +"How is one to say it?" Korolyov wondered. "And is it necessary to +speak?" + +And he said what he meant in a roundabout way: + +"You in the position of a factory owner and a wealthy heiress are +dissatisfied; you don't believe in your right to it; and here now you +can't sleep. That, of course, is better than if you were satisfied, +slept soundly, and thought everything was satisfactory. Your +sleeplessness does you credit; in any case, it is a good sign. In +reality, such a conversation as this between us now would have been +unthinkable for our parents. At night they did not talk, but slept +sound; we, our generation, sleep badly, are restless, but talk a great +deal, and are always trying to settle whether we are right or not. For +our children or grandchildren that question--whether they are right or +not--will have been settled. Things will be clearer for them than for +us. Life will be good in fifty years' time; it's only a pity we shall +not last out till then. It would be interesting to have a peep at it." + +"What will our children and grandchildren do?" asked Liza. + +"I don't know.... I suppose they will throw it all up and go away." + +"Go where?" + +"Where?... Why, where they like," said Korolyov; and he laughed. "There +are lots of places a good, intelligent person can go to." + +He glanced at his watch. + +"The sun has risen, though," he said. "It is time you were asleep. +Undress and sleep soundly. Very glad to have made your acquaintance," he +went on, pressing her hand. "You are a good, interesting woman. +Good-night!" + +He went to his room and went to bed. + +In the morning when the carriage was brought round they all came out on +to the steps to see him off. Liza, pale and exhausted, was in a white +dress as though for a holiday, with a flower in her hair; she looked at +him, as yesterday, sorrowfully and intelligently, smiled and talked, and +all with an expression as though she wanted to tell him something +special, important--him alone. They could hear the larks trilling and +the church bells pealing. The windows in the factory buildings were +sparkling gaily, and, driving across the yard and afterwards along the +road to the station, Korolyov thought neither of the workpeople nor of +lake dwellings, nor of the devil, but thought of the time, perhaps close +at hand, when life would be as bright and joyous as that still Sunday +morning; and he thought how pleasant it was on such a morning in the +spring to drive with three horses in a good carriage, and to bask in the +sunshine. + + + + +AN UPHEAVAL + + +MASHENKA PAVLETSKY, a young girl who had only just finished her studies +at a boarding school, returning from a walk to the house of the +Kushkins, with whom she was living as a governess, found the household +in a terrible turmoil. Mihailo, the porter who opened the door to her, +was excited and red as a crab. + +Loud voices were heard from upstairs. + +"Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely, or else she has quarrelled +with her husband," thought Mashenka. + +In the hall and in the corridor she met maid-servants. One of them was +crying. Then Mashenka saw, running out of her room, the master of the +house himself, Nikolay Sergeitch, a little man with a flabby face and a +bald head, though he was not old. He was red in the face and twitching +all over. He passed the governess without noticing her, and throwing up +his arms, exclaimed: + +"Oh, how horrible it is! How tactless! How stupid! How barbarous! +Abominable!" + +Mashenka went into her room, and then, for the first time in her life, +it was her lot to experience in all its acuteness the feeling that is so +familiar to persons in dependent positions, who eat the bread of the +rich and powerful, and cannot speak their minds. There was a search +going on in her room. The lady of the house, Fedosya Vassilyevna, a +stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth woman with thick black eyebrows, a +faintly perceptible moustache, and red hands, who was exactly like a +plain, illiterate cook in face and manners, was standing, without her +cap on, at the table, putting back into Mashenka's workbag balls of +wool, scraps of materials, and bits of paper.... Evidently the +governess's arrival took her by surprise, since, on looking round and +seeing the girl's pale and astonished face, she was a little taken +aback, and muttered: + +"_Pardon_. I ... I upset it accidentally.... My sleeve caught in it ..." + +And saying something more, Madame Kushkin rustled her long skirts and +went out. Mashenka looked round her room with wondering eyes, and, +unable to understand it, not knowing what to think, shrugged her +shoulders, and turned cold with dismay. What had Fedosya Vassilyevna +been looking for in her work-bag? If she really had, as she said, caught +her sleeve in it and upset everything, why had Nikolay Sergeitch dashed +out of her room so excited and red in the face? Why was one drawer of +the table pulled out a little way? The money-box, in which the governess +put away ten kopeck pieces and old stamps, was open. They had opened it, +but did not know how to shut it, though they had scratched the lock all +over. The whatnot with her books on it, the things on the table, the +bed--all bore fresh traces of a search. Her linen-basket, too. The linen +had been carefully folded, but it was not in the same order as Mashenka +had left it when she went out. So the search had been thorough, most +thorough. But what was it for? Why? What had happened? Mashenka +remembered the excited porter, the general turmoil which was still going +on, the weeping servant-girl; had it not all some connection with the +search that had just been made in her room? Was not she mixed up in +something dreadful? Mashenka turned pale, and feeling cold all over, +sank on to her linen-basket. + +A maid-servant came into the room. + +"Liza, you don't know why they have been rummaging in my room?" the +governess asked her. + +"Mistress has lost a brooch worth two thousand," said Liza. + +"Yes, but why have they been rummaging in my room?" + +"They've been searching every one, miss. They've searched all my things, +too. They stripped us all naked and searched us.... God knows, miss, I +never went near her toilet-table, let alone touching the brooch. I shall +say the same at the police-station." + +"But ... why have they been rummaging here?" the governess still +wondered. + +"A brooch has been stolen, I tell you. The mistress has been rummaging +in everything with her own hands. She even searched Mihailo, the porter, +herself. It's a perfect disgrace! Nikolay Sergeitch simply looks on and +cackles like a hen. But you've no need to tremble like that, miss. They +found nothing here. You've nothing to be afraid of if you didn't take +the brooch." + +"But, Liza, it's vile ... it's insulting," said Mashenka, breathless +with indignation. "It's so mean, so low! What right had she to suspect +me and to rummage in my things?" + +"You are living with strangers, miss," sighed Liza. "Though you are a +young lady, still you are ... as it were ... a servant.... It's not like +living with your papa and mamma." + +Mashenka threw herself on the bed and sobbed bitterly. Never in her life +had she been subjected to such an outrage, never had she been so deeply +insulted.... She, well-educated, refined, the daughter of a teacher, was +suspected of theft; she had been searched like a street-walker! She +could not imagine a greater insult. And to this feeling of resentment +was added an oppressive dread of what would come next. All sorts of +absurd ideas came into her mind. If they could suspect her of theft, +then they might arrest her, strip her naked, and search her, then lead +her through the street with an escort of soldiers, cast her into a cold, +dark cell with mice and woodlice, exactly like the dungeon in which +Princess Tarakanov was imprisoned. Who would stand up for her? Her +parents lived far away in the provinces; they had not the money to come +to her. In the capital she was as solitary as in a desert, without +friends or kindred. They could do what they liked with her. + +"I will go to all the courts and all the lawyers," Mashenka thought, +trembling. "I will explain to them, I will take an oath.... They will +believe that I could not be a thief!" + +Mashenka remembered that under the sheets in her basket she had some +sweetmeats, which, following the habits of her schooldays, she had put +in her pocket at dinner and carried off to her room. She felt hot all +over, and was ashamed at the thought that her little secret was known to +the lady of the house; and all this terror, shame, resentment, brought +on an attack of palpitation of the heart, which set up a throbbing in +her temples, in her heart, and deep down in her stomach. + +"Dinner is ready," the servant summoned Mashenka. + +"Shall I go, or not?" + +Mashenka brushed her hair, wiped her face with a wet towel, and went +into the dining-room. There they had already begun dinner. At one end of +the table sat Fedosya Vassilyevna with a stupid, solemn, serious face; +at the other end Nikolay Sergeitch. At the sides there were the visitors +and the children. The dishes were handed by two footmen in swallowtails +and white gloves. Every one knew that there was an upset in the house, +that Madame Kushkin was in trouble, and every one was silent. Nothing +was heard but the sound of munching and the rattle of spoons on the +plates. + +The lady of the house, herself, was the first to speak. + +"What is the third course?" she asked the footman in a weary, injured +voice. + +"_Esturgeon a la russe_," answered the footman. + +"I ordered that, Fenya," Nikolay Sergeitch hastened to observe. "I +wanted some fish. If you don't like it, _ma chere_, don't let them serve +it. I just ordered it...." + +Fedosya Vassilyevna did not like dishes that she had not ordered +herself, and now her eyes filled with tears. + +"Come, don't let us agitate ourselves," Mamikov, her household doctor, +observed in a honeyed voice, just touching her arm, with a smile as +honeyed. "We are nervous enough as it is. Let us forget the brooch! +Health is worth more than two thousand roubles!" + +"It's not the two thousand I regret," answered the lady, and a big tear +rolled down her cheek. "It's the fact itself that revolts me! I cannot +put up with thieves in my house. I don't regret it--I regret nothing; +but to steal from me is such ingratitude! That's how they repay me for +my kindness...." + +They all looked into their plates, but Mashenka fancied after the lady's +words that every one was looking at her. A lump rose in her throat; she +began crying and put her handkerchief to her lips. + +"_Pardon_," she muttered. "I can't help it. My head aches. I'll go +away." + +And she got up from the table, scraping her chair awkwardly, and went +out quickly, still more overcome with confusion. + +"It's beyond everything!" said Nikolay Sergeitch, frowning. "What need +was there to search her room? How out of place it was!" + +"I don't say she took the brooch," said Fedosya Vassilyevna, "but can +you answer for her? To tell the truth, I haven't much confidence in +these learned paupers." + +"It really was unsuitable, Fenya.... Excuse me, Fenya, but you've no +kind of legal right to make a search." + +"I know nothing about your laws. All I know is that I've lost my brooch. +And I will find the brooch!" She brought her fork down on the plate with +a clatter, and her eyes flashed angrily. "And you eat your dinner, and +don't interfere in what doesn't concern you!" + +Nikolay Sergeitch dropped his eyes mildly and sighed. Meanwhile +Mashenka, reaching her room, flung herself on her bed. She felt now +neither alarm nor shame, but she felt an intense longing to go and slap +the cheeks of this hard, arrogant, dull-witted, prosperous woman. + +Lying on her bed she breathed into her pillow and dreamed of how nice it +would be to go and buy the most expensive brooch and fling it into the +face of this bullying woman. If only it were God's will that Fedosya +Vassilyevna should come to ruin and wander about begging, and should +taste all the horrors of poverty and dependence, and that Mashenka, whom +she had insulted, might give her alms! Oh, if only she could come in for +a big fortune, could buy a carriage, and could drive noisily past the +windows so as to be envied by that woman! + +But all these were only dreams, in reality there was only one thing left +to do--to get away as quickly as possible, not to stay another hour in +this place. It was true it was terrible to lose her place, to go back to +her parents, who had nothing; but what could she do? Mashenka could not +bear the sight of the lady of the house nor of her little room; she felt +stifled and wretched here. She was so disgusted with Fedosya +Vassilyevna, who was so obsessed by her illnesses and her supposed +aristocratic rank, that everything in the world seemed to have become +coarse and unattractive because this woman was living in it. Mashenka +jumped up from the bed and began packing. + +"May I come in?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch at the door; he had come up +noiselessly to the door, and spoke in a soft, subdued voice. "May I?" + +"Come in." + +He came in and stood still near the door. His eyes looked dim and his +red little nose was shiny. After dinner he used to drink beer, and the +fact was perceptible in his walk, in his feeble, flabby hands. + +"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the basket. + +"I am packing. Forgive me, Nikolay Sergeitch, but I cannot remain in +your house. I feel deeply insulted by this search!" + +"I understand.... Only you are wrong to go. Why should you? They've +searched your things, but you ... what does it matter to you? You will +be none the worse for it." + +Mashenka was silent and went on packing. Nikolay Sergeitch pinched his +moustache, as though wondering what he should say next, and went on in +an ingratiating voice: + +"I understand, of course, but you must make allowances. You know my wife +is nervous, headstrong; you mustn't judge her too harshly." + +Mashenka did not speak. + +"If you are so offended," Nikolay Sergeitch went on, "well, if you like, +I'm ready to apologise. I ask your pardon." + +Mashenka made no answer, but only bent lower over her box. This +exhausted, irresolute man was of absolutely no significance in the +household. He stood in the pitiful position of a dependent and +hanger-on, even with the servants, and his apology meant nothing either. + +"H'm!... You say nothing! That's not enough for you. In that case, I +will apologise for my wife. In my wife's name.... She behaved +tactlessly, I admit it as a gentleman...." + +Nikolay Sergeitch walked about the room, heaved a sigh, and went on: + +"Then you want me to have it rankling here, under my heart.... You want +my conscience to torment me...." + +"I know it's not your fault, Nikolay Sergeitch," said Mashenka, looking +him full in the face with her big tear-stained eyes. "Why should you +worry yourself?" + +"Of course, no.... But still, don't you ... go away. I entreat you." + +Mashenka shook her head. Nikolay Sergeitch stopped at the window and +drummed on the pane with his finger-tips. + +"Such misunderstandings are simply torture to me," he said. "Why, do you +want me to go down on my knees to you, or what? Your pride is wounded, +and here you've been crying and packing up to go; but I have pride, too, +and you do not spare it! Or do you want me to tell you what I would not +tell as Confession? Do you? Listen; you want me to tell you what I won't +tell the priest on my deathbed?" + +Mashenka made no answer. + +"I took my wife's brooch," Nikolay Sergeitch said quickly. "Is that +enough now? Are you satisfied? Yes, I ... took it.... But, of course, I +count on your discretion.... For God's sake, not a word, not half a hint +to any one!" + +Mashenka, amazed and frightened, went on packing; she snatched her +things, crumpled them up, and thrust them anyhow into the box and the +basket. Now, after this candid avowal on the part of Nikolay Sergeitch, +she could not remain another minute, and could not understand how she +could have gone on living in the house before. + +"And it's nothing to wonder at," Nikolay Sergeitch went on after a +pause. "It's an everyday story! I need money, and she ... won't give it +to me. It was my father's money that bought this house and everything, +you know! It's all mine, and the brooch belonged to my mother, and ... +it's all mine! And she took it, took possession of everything.... I +can't go to law with her, you'll admit.... I beg you most earnestly, +overlook it ... stay on. _Tout comprendre, tout pardonner._ Will you +stay?" + +"No!" said Mashenka resolutely, beginning to tremble. "Let me alone, I +entreat you!" + +"Well, God bless you!" sighed Nikolay Sergeitch, sitting down on the +stool near the box. "I must own I like people who still can feel +resentment, contempt, and so on. I could sit here forever and look at +your indignant face.... So you won't stay, then? I understand.... It's +bound to be so ... Yes, of course.... It's all right for you, but for +me--wo-o-o-o!... I can't stir a step out of this cellar. I'd go off to +one of our estates, but in every one of them there are some of my wife's +rascals ... stewards, experts, damn them all! They mortgage and +remortgage.... You mustn't catch fish, must keep off the grass, mustn't +break the trees." + +"Nikolay Sergeitch!" his wife's voice called from the drawing-room. +"Agnia, call your master!" + +"Then you won't stay?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch, getting up quickly and +going towards the door. "You might as well stay, really. In the evenings +I could come and have a talk with you. Eh? Stay! If you go, there won't +be a human face left in the house. It's awful!" + +Nikolay Sergeitch's pale, exhausted face besought her, but Mashenka +shook her head, and with a wave of his hand he went out. + +Half an hour later she was on her way. + + + + +IONITCH + + +I + +WHEN visitors to the provincial town S---- complained of the dreariness +and monotony of life, the inhabitants of the town, as though defending +themselves, declared that it was very nice in S----, that there was a +library, a theatre, a club; that they had balls; and, finally, that +there were clever, agreeable, and interesting families with whom one +could make acquaintance. And they used to point to the family of the +Turkins as the most highly cultivated and talented. + +This family lived in their own house in the principal street, near the +Governor's. Ivan Petrovitch Turkin himself--a stout, handsome, dark man +with whiskers--used to get up amateur performances for benevolent +objects, and used to take the part of an elderly general and cough very +amusingly. He knew a number of anecdotes, charades, proverbs, and was +fond of being humorous and witty, and he always wore an expression from +which it was impossible to tell whether he were joking or in earnest. +His wife, Vera Iosifovna--a thin, nice-looking lady who wore a +pince-nez--used to write novels and stories, and was very fond of +reading them aloud to her visitors. The daughter, Ekaterina Ivanovna, a +young girl, used to play on the piano. In short, every member of the +family had a special talent. The Turkins welcomed visitors, and +good-humouredly displayed their talents with genuine simplicity. Their +stone house was roomy and cool in summer; half of the windows looked +into a shady old garden, where nightingales used to sing in the spring. +When there were visitors in the house, there was a clatter of knives in +the kitchen and a smell of fried onions in the yard--and that was always +a sure sign of a plentiful and savoury supper to follow. + +And as soon as Dmitri Ionitch Startsev was appointed the district +doctor, and took up his abode at Dyalizh, six miles from S----, he, too, +was told that as a cultivated man it was essential for him to make the +acquaintance of the Turkins. In the winter he was introduced to Ivan +Petrovitch in the street; they talked about the weather, about the +theatre, about the cholera; an invitation followed. On a holiday in the +spring--it was Ascension Day--after seeing his patients, Startsev set +off for town in search of a little recreation and to make some +purchases. He walked in a leisurely way (he had not yet set up his +carriage), humming all the time: + + "'Before I'd drunk the tears from life's goblet....'" + +In town he dined, went for a walk in the gardens, then Ivan +Petrovitch's invitation came into his mind, as it were of itself, +and he decided to call on the Turkins and see what sort of people +they were. + +"How do you do, if you please?" said Ivan Petrovitch, meeting him +on the steps. "Delighted, delighted to see such an agreeable visitor. +Come along; I will introduce you to my better half. I tell him, +Verotchka," he went on, as he presented the doctor to his wife--"I +tell him that he has no human right to sit at home in a hospital; +he ought to devote his leisure to society. Oughtn't he, darling?" + +"Sit here," said Vera Iosifovna, making her visitor sit down beside +her. "You can dance attendance on me. My husband is jealous--he +is an Othello; but we will try and behave so well that he will +notice nothing." + +"Ah, you spoilt chicken!" Ivan Petrovitch muttered tenderly, and +he kissed her on the forehead. "You have come just in the nick of +time," he said, addressing the doctor again. "My better half has +written a 'hugeous' novel, and she is going to read it aloud to-day." + +"Petit Jean," said Vera Iosifovna to her husband, "dites que l'on +nous donne du the." + +Startsev was introduced to Ekaterina Ivanovna, a girl of eighteen, +very much like her mother, thin and pretty. Her expression was still +childish and her figure was soft and slim; and her developed girlish +bosom, healthy and beautiful, was suggestive of spring, real spring. + +Then they drank tea with jam, honey, and sweetmeats, and with very +nice cakes, which melted in the mouth. As the evening came on, other +visitors gradually arrived, and Ivan Petrovitch fixed his laughing +eyes on each of them and said: + +"How do you do, if you please?" + +Then they all sat down in the drawing-room with very serious faces, +and Vera Iosifovna read her novel. It began like this: "The frost +was intense...." The windows were wide open; from the kitchen +came the clatter of knives and the smell of fried onions.... It +was comfortable in the soft deep arm-chair; the lights had such a +friendly twinkle in the twilight of the drawing-room, and at the +moment on a summer evening when sounds of voices and laughter floated +in from the street and whiffs of lilac from the yard, it was difficult +to grasp that the frost was intense, and that the setting sun was +lighting with its chilly rays a solitary wayfarer on the snowy +plain. Vera Iosifovna read how a beautiful young countess founded +a school, a hospital, a library, in her village, and fell in love +with a wandering artist; she read of what never happens in real +life, and yet it was pleasant to listen--it was comfortable, and +such agreeable, serene thoughts kept coming into the mind, one had +no desire to get up. + +"Not badsome ..." Ivan Petrovitch said softly. + +And one of the visitors hearing, with his thoughts far away, said +hardly audibly: + +"Yes ... truly...." + +One hour passed, another. In the town gardens close by a band was +playing and a chorus was singing. When Vera Iosifovna shut her +manuscript book, the company was silent for five minutes, listening +to "Lutchina" being sung by the chorus, and the song gave what was +not in the novel and is in real life. + +"Do you publish your stories in magazines?" Startsev asked Vera +Iosifovna. + +"No," she answered. "I never publish. I write it and put it away +in my cupboard. Why publish?" she explained. "We have enough to +live on." + +And for some reason every one sighed. + +"And now, Kitten, you play something," Ivan Petrovitch said to his +daughter. + +The lid of the piano was raised and the music lying ready was opened. +Ekaterina Ivanovna sat down and banged on the piano with both hands, +and then banged again with all her might, and then again and again; +her shoulders and bosom shook. She obstinately banged on the same +notes, and it sounded as if she would not leave off until she had +hammered the keys into the piano. The drawing-room was filled with +the din; everything was resounding; the floor, the ceiling, the +furniture.... Ekaterina Ivanovna was playing a difficult passage, +interesting simply on account of its difficulty, long and monotonous, +and Startsev, listening, pictured stones dropping down a steep hill +and going on dropping, and he wished they would leave off dropping; +and at the same time Ekaterina Ivanovna, rosy from the violent +exercise, strong and vigorous, with a lock of hair falling over her +forehead, attracted him very much. After the winter spent at Dyalizh +among patients and peasants, to sit in a drawing-room, to watch +this young, elegant, and, in all probability, pure creature, and +to listen to these noisy, tedious but still cultured sounds, was +so pleasant, so novel.... + +"Well, Kitten, you have played as never before," said Ivan Petrovitch, +with tears in his eyes, when his daughter had finished and stood +up. "Die, Denis; you won't write anything better." + +All flocked round her, congratulated her, expressed astonishment, +declared that it was long since they had heard such music, and she +listened in silence with a faint smile, and her whole figure was +expressive of triumph. + +"Splendid, superb!" + +"Splendid," said Startsev, too, carried away by the general enthusiasm. +"Where have you studied?" he asked Ekaterina Ivanovna. "At the +Conservatoire?" + +"No, I am only preparing for the Conservatoire, and till now have +been working with Madame Zavlovsky." + +"Have you finished at the high school here?" + +"Oh, no," Vera Iosifovna answered for her, "We have teachers for +her at home; there might be bad influences at the high school or a +boarding school, you know. While a young girl is growing up, she +ought to be under no influence but her mother's." + +"All the same, I'm going to the Conservatoire," said Ekaterina +Ivanovna. + +"No. Kitten loves her mamma. Kitten won't grieve papa and mamma." + +"No, I'm going, I'm going," said Ekaterina Ivanovna, with playful +caprice and stamping her foot. + +And at supper it was Ivan Petrovitch who displayed his talents. +Laughing only with his eyes, he told anecdotes, made epigrams, asked +ridiculous riddles and answered them himself, talking the whole +time in his extraordinary language, evolved in the course of prolonged +practice in witticism and evidently now become a habit: "Badsome," +"Hugeous," "Thank you most dumbly," and so on. + +But that was not all. When the guests, replete and satisfied, trooped +into the hall, looking for their coats and sticks, there bustled +about them the footman Pavlusha, or, as he was called in the family, +Pava--a lad of fourteen with shaven head and chubby cheeks. + +"Come, Pava, perform!" Ivan Petrovitch said to him. + +Pava struck an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic +tone: "Unhappy woman, die!" + +And every one roared with laughter. + +"It's entertaining," thought Startsev, as he went out into the +street. + +He went to a restaurant and drank some beer, then set off to walk +home to Dyalizh; he walked all the way singing: + + "'Thy voice to me so languid and caressing....'" + +On going to bed, he felt not the slightest fatigue after the six miles' +walk. On the contrary, he felt as though he could with pleasure have +walked another twenty. + +"Not badsome," he thought, and laughed as he fell asleep. + + +II + +Startsev kept meaning to go to the Turkins' again, but there was a great +deal of work in the hospital, and he was unable to find free time. In +this way more than a year passed in work and solitude. But one day a +letter in a light blue envelope was brought him from the town. + +Vera Iosifovna had been suffering for some time from migraine, but now +since Kitten frightened her every day by saying that she was going away +to the Conservatoire, the attacks began to be more frequent. All the +doctors of the town had been at the Turkins'; at last it was the +district doctor's turn. Vera Iosifovna wrote him a touching letter in +which she begged him to come and relieve her sufferings. Startsev went, +and after that he began to be often, very often at the Turkins'.... He +really did something for Vera Iosifovna, and she was already telling all +her visitors that he was a wonderful and exceptional doctor. But it was +not for the sake of her migraine that he visited the Turkins' now.... + +It was a holiday. Ekaterina Ivanovna finished her long, wearisome +exercises on the piano. Then they sat a long time in the dining-room, +drinking tea, and Ivan Petrovitch told some amusing story. Then there +was a ring and he had to go into the hall to welcome a guest; Startsev +took advantage of the momentary commotion, and whispered to Ekaterina +Ivanovna in great agitation: + +"For God's sake, I entreat you, don't torment me; let us go into the +garden!" + +She shrugged her shoulders, as though perplexed and not knowing what he +wanted of her, but she got up and went. + +"You play the piano for three or four hours," he said, following her; +"then you sit with your mother, and there is no possibility of speaking +to you. Give me a quarter of an hour at least, I beseech you." + +Autumn was approaching, and it was quiet and melancholy in the old +garden; the dark leaves lay thick in the walks. It was already beginning +to get dark early. + +"I haven't seen you for a whole week," Startsev went on, "and if you +only knew what suffering it is! Let us sit down. Listen to me." + +They had a favourite place in the garden; a seat under an old spreading +maple. And now they sat down on this seat. + +"What do you want?" said Ekaterina Ivanovna drily, in a matter-of-fact +tone. + +"I have not seen you for a whole week; I have not heard you for so long. +I long passionately, I thirst for your voice. Speak." + +She fascinated him by her freshness, the naive expression of her eyes +and cheeks. Even in the way her dress hung on her, he saw something +extraordinarily charming, touching in its simplicity and naive grace; +and at the same time, in spite of this naivete, she seemed to him +intelligent and developed beyond her years. He could talk with her about +literature, about art, about anything he liked; could complain to her of +life, of people, though it sometimes happened in the middle of serious +conversation she would laugh inappropriately or run away into the house. +Like almost all girls of her neighbourhood, she had read a great deal +(as a rule, people read very little in S----, and at the lending library +they said if it were not for the girls and the young Jews, they might as +well shut up the library). This afforded Startsev infinite delight; he +used to ask her eagerly every time what she had been reading the last +few days, and listened enthralled while she told him. + +"What have you been reading this week since I saw you last?" he asked +now. "Do please tell me." + +"I have been reading Pisemsky." + +"What exactly?" + +"'A Thousand Souls,'" answered Kitten. "And what a funny name Pisemsky +had--Alexey Feofilaktitch! + +"Where are you going?" cried Startsev in horror, as she suddenly got up +and walked towards the house. "I must talk to you; I want to explain +myself.... Stay with me just five minutes, I supplicate you!" + +She stopped as though she wanted to say something, then awkwardly thrust +a note into his hand, ran home and sat down to the piano again. + +"Be in the cemetery," Startsev read, "at eleven o'clock to-night, near +the tomb of Demetti." + +"Well, that's not at all clever," he thought, coming to himself. "Why +the cemetery? What for?" + +It was clear: Kitten was playing a prank. Who would seriously dream of +making an appointment at night in the cemetery far out of the town, when +it might have been arranged in the street or in the town gardens? And +was it in keeping with him--a district doctor, an intelligent, staid +man--to be sighing, receiving notes, to hang about cemeteries, to do +silly things that even schoolboys think ridiculous nowadays? What would +this romance lead to? What would his colleagues say when they heard of +it? Such were Startsev's reflections as he wandered round the tables at +the club, and at half-past ten he suddenly set off for the cemetery. + +By now he had his own pair of horses, and a coachman called Panteleimon, +in a velvet waistcoat. The moon was shining. It was still warm, warm as +it is in autumn. Dogs were howling in the suburb near the +slaughter-house. Startsev left his horses in one of the side-streets at +the end of the town, and walked on foot to the cemetery. + +"We all have our oddities," he thought. "Kitten is odd, too; and--who +knows?--perhaps she is not joking, perhaps she will come"; and he +abandoned himself to this faint, vain hope, and it intoxicated him. + +He walked for half a mile through the fields; the cemetery showed as a +dark streak in the distance, like a forest or a big garden. The wall of +white stone came into sight, the gate.... In the moonlight he could read +on the gate: "The hour cometh." Startsev went in at the little gate, and +before anything else he saw the white crosses and monuments on both +sides of the broad avenue, and the black shadows of them and the +poplars; and for a long way round it was all white and black, and the +slumbering trees bowed their branches over the white stones. It seemed +as though it were lighter here than in the fields; the maple-leaves +stood out sharply like paws on the yellow sand of the avenue and on the +stones, and the inscriptions on the tombs could be clearly read. For the +first moments Startsev was struck now by what he saw for the first time +in his life, and what he would probably never see again; a world not +like anything else, a world in which the moonlight was as soft and +beautiful, as though slumbering here in its cradle, where there was no +life, none whatever; but in every dark poplar, in every tomb, there was +felt the presence of a mystery that promised a life peaceful, beautiful, +eternal. The stones and faded flowers, together with the autumn scent of +the leaves, all told of forgiveness, melancholy, and peace. + +All was silence around; the stars looked down from the sky in the +profound stillness, and Startsev's footsteps sounded loud and out of +place, and only when the church clock began striking and he imagined +himself dead, buried there for ever, he felt as though some one were +looking at him, and for a moment he thought that it was not peace and +tranquillity, but stifled despair, the dumb dreariness of +non-existence.... + +Demetti's tomb was in the form of a shrine with an angel at the top. The +Italian opera had once visited S---- and one of the singers had died; +she had been buried here, and this monument put up to her. No one in the +town remembered her, but the lamp at the entrance reflected the +moonlight, and looked as though it were burning. + +There was no one, and, indeed, who would come here at midnight? But +Startsev waited, and as though the moonlight warmed his passion, he +waited passionately, and, in imagination, pictured kisses and embraces. +He sat near the monument for half an hour, then paced up and down the +side avenues, with his hat in his hand, waiting and thinking of the many +women and girls buried in these tombs who had been beautiful and +fascinating, who had loved, at night burned with passion, yielding +themselves to caresses. How wickedly Mother Nature jested at man's +expense, after all! How humiliating it was to recognise it! + +Startsev thought this, and at the same time he wanted to cry out that he +wanted love, that he was eager for it at all costs. To his eyes they +were not slabs of marble, but fair white bodies in the moonlight; he saw +shapes hiding bashfully in the shadows of the trees, felt their warmth, +and the languor was oppressive.... + +And as though a curtain were lowered, the moon went behind a cloud, and +suddenly all was darkness. Startsev could scarcely find the gate--by now +it was as dark as it is on an autumn night. Then he wandered about for +an hour and a half, looking for the side-street in which he had left his +horses. + +"I am tired; I can scarcely stand on my legs," he said to Panteleimon. + +And settling himself with relief in his carriage, he thought: "Och! I +ought not to get fat!" + + +III + +The following evening he went to the Turkins' to make an offer. But it +turned out to be an inconvenient moment, as Ekaterina Ivanovna was in +her own room having her hair done by a hair-dresser. She was getting +ready to go to a dance at the club. + +He had to sit a long time again in the dining-room drinking tea. Ivan +Petrovitch, seeing that his visitor was bored and preoccupied, drew some +notes out of his waistcoat pocket, read a funny letter from a German +steward, saying that all the ironmongery was ruined and the plasticity +was peeling off the walls. + +"I expect they will give a decent dowry," thought Startsev, listening +absent-mindedly. + +After a sleepless night, he found himself in a state of stupefaction, as +though he had been given something sweet and soporific to drink; there +was fog in his soul, but joy and warmth, and at the same time a sort of +cold, heavy fragment of his brain was reflecting: + +"Stop before it is too late! Is she the match for you? She is spoilt, +whimsical, sleeps till two o'clock in the afternoon, while you are a +deacon's son, a district doctor...." + +"What of it?" he thought. "I don't care." + +"Besides, if you marry her," the fragment went on, "then her relations +will make you give up the district work and live in the town." + +"After all," he thought, "if it must be the town, the town it must be. +They will give a dowry; we can establish ourselves suitably." + +At last Ekaterina Ivanovna came in, dressed for the ball, with a low +neck, looking fresh and pretty; and Startsev admired her so much, and +went into such ecstasies, that he could say nothing, but simply stared +at her and laughed. + +She began saying good-bye, and he--he had no reason for staying now--got +up, saying that it was time for him to go home; his patients were +waiting for him. + +"Well, there's no help for that," said Ivan Petrovitch. "Go, and you +might take Kitten to the club on the way." + +It was spotting with rain; it was very dark, and they could only tell +where the horses were by Panteleimon's husky cough. The hood of the +carriage was put up. + +"I stand upright; you lie down right; he lies all right," said Ivan +Petrovitch as he put his daughter into the carriage. + +They drove off. + +"I was at the cemetery yesterday," Startsev began. "How ungenerous and +merciless it was on your part!..." + +"You went to the cemetery?" + +"Yes, I went there and waited almost till two o'clock. I suffered...." + +"Well, suffer, if you cannot understand a joke." + +Ekaterina Ivanovna, pleased at having so cleverly taken in a man who was +in love with her, and at being the object of such intense love, burst +out laughing and suddenly uttered a shriek of terror, for, at that very +minute, the horses turned sharply in at the gate of the club, and the +carriage almost tilted over. Startsev put his arm round Ekaterina +Ivanovna's waist; in her fright she nestled up to him, and he could not +restrain himself, and passionately kissed her on the lips and on the +chin, and hugged her more tightly. + +"That's enough," she said drily. + +And a minute later she was not in the carriage, and a policeman near the +lighted entrance of the club shouted in a detestable voice to +Panteleimon: + +"What are you stopping for, you crow? Drive on." + +Startsev drove home, but soon afterwards returned. Attired in another +man's dress suit and a stiff white tie which kept sawing at his neck and +trying to slip away from the collar, he was sitting at midnight in the +club drawing-room, and was saying with enthusiasm to Ekaterina Ivanovna. + +"Ah, how little people know who have never loved! It seems to me that no +one has ever yet written of love truly, and I doubt whether this tender, +joyful, agonising feeling can be described, and any one who has once +experienced it would not attempt to put it into words. What is the use +of preliminaries and introductions? What is the use of unnecessary fine +words? My love is immeasurable. I beg, I beseech you," Startsev brought +out at last, "be my wife!" + +"Dmitri Ionitch," said Ekaterina Ivanovna, with a very grave face, after +a moment's thought--"Dmitri Ionitch, I am very grateful to you for the +honour. I respect you, but ..." she got up and continued standing, "but, +forgive me, I cannot be your wife. Let us talk seriously. Dmitri +Ionitch, you know I love art beyond everything in life. I adore music; I +love it frantically; I have dedicated my whole life to it. I want to be +an artist; I want fame, success, freedom, and you want me to go on +living in this town, to go on living this empty, useless life, which has +become insufferable to me. To become a wife--oh, no, forgive me! One +must strive towards a lofty, glorious goal, and married life would put +me in bondage for ever. Dmitri Ionitch" (she faintly smiled as she +pronounced his name; she thought of "Alexey Feofilaktitch")--"Dmitri +Ionitch, you are a good, clever, honourable man; you are better than any +one...." Tears came into her eyes. "I feel for you with my whole heart, +but ... but you will understand...." + +And she turned away and went out of the drawing-room to prevent herself +from crying. + +Startsev's heart left off throbbing uneasily. Going out of the club into +the street, he first of all tore off the stiff tie and drew a deep +breath. He was a little ashamed and his vanity was wounded--he had not +expected a refusal--and could not believe that all his dreams, his hopes +and yearnings, had led him up to such a stupid end, just as in some +little play at an amateur performance, and he was sorry for his feeling, +for that love of his, so sorry that he felt as though he could have +burst into sobs or have violently belaboured Panteleimon's broad back +with his umbrella. + +For three days he could not get on with anything, he could not eat nor +sleep; but when the news reached him that Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone +away to Moscow to enter the Conservatoire, he grew calmer and lived as +before. + +Afterwards, remembering sometimes how he had wandered about the cemetery +or how he had driven all over the town to get a dress suit, he stretched +lazily and said: + +"What a lot of trouble, though!" + + +IV + +Four years had passed. Startsev already had a large practice in the +town. Every morning he hurriedly saw his patients at Dyalizh, then he +drove in to see his town patients. By now he drove, not with a pair, but +with a team of three with bells on them, and he returned home late at +night. He had grown broader and stouter, and was not very fond of +walking, as he was somewhat asthmatic. And Panteleimon had grown stout, +too, and the broader he grew, the more mournfully he sighed and +complained of his hard luck: he was sick of driving! Startsev used to +visit various households and met many people, but did not become +intimate with any one. The inhabitants irritated him by their +conversation, their views of life, and even their appearance. Experience +taught him by degrees that while he played cards or lunched with one of +these people, the man was a peaceable, friendly, and even intelligent +human being; that as soon as one talked of anything not eatable, for +instance, of politics or science, he would be completely at a loss, or +would expound a philosophy so stupid and ill-natured that there was +nothing else to do but wave one's hand in despair and go away. Even when +Startsev tried to talk to liberal citizens, saying, for instance, that +humanity, thank God, was progressing, and that one day it would be +possible to dispense with passports and capital punishment, the liberal +citizen would look at him askance and ask him mistrustfully: "Then any +one could murder any one he chose in the open street?" And when, at tea +or supper, Startsev observed in company that one should work, and that +one ought not to live without working, every one took this as a +reproach, and began to get angry and argue aggressively. With all that, +the inhabitants did nothing, absolutely nothing, and took no interest in +anything, and it was quite impossible to think of anything to say. And +Startsev avoided conversation, and confined himself to eating and +playing _vint_; and when there was a family festivity in some household +and he was invited to a meal, then he sat and ate in silence, looking at +his plate. + +And everything that was said at the time was uninteresting, unjust, and +stupid; he felt irritated and disturbed, but held his tongue, and, +because he sat glumly silent and looked at his plate, he was nicknamed +in the town "the haughty Pole," though he never had been a Pole. + +All such entertainments as theatres and concerts he declined, but he +played _vint_ every evening for three hours with enjoyment. He had +another diversion to which he took imperceptibly, little by little: in +the evening he would take out of his pockets the notes he had gained by +his practice, and sometimes there were stuffed in his pockets +notes--yellow and green, and smelling of scent and vinegar and incense +and fish oil--up to the value of seventy roubles; and when they amounted +to some hundreds he took them to the Mutual Credit Bank and deposited +the money there to his account. + +He was only twice at the Turkins' in the course of the four years after +Ekaterina Ivanovna had gone away, on each occasion at the invitation of +Vera Iosifovna, who was still undergoing treatment for migraine. Every +summer Ekaterina Ivanovna came to stay with her parents, but he did not +once see her; it somehow never happened. + +But now four years had passed. One still, warm morning a letter was +brought to the hospital. Vera Iosifovna wrote to Dmitri Ionitch that she +was missing him very much, and begged him to come and see them, and to +relieve her sufferings; and, by the way, it was her birthday. Below was +a postscript: "I join in mother's request.--K." + +Startsev considered, and in the evening he went to the Turkins'. + +"How do you do, if you please?" Ivan Petrovitch met him, smiling with +his eyes only. "Bongjour." + +Vera Iosifovna, white-haired and looking much older, shook Startsev's +hand, sighed affectedly, and said: + +"You don't care to pay attentions to me, doctor. You never come and see +us; I am too old for you. But now some one young has come; perhaps she +will be more fortunate." + +And Kitten? She had grown thinner, paler, had grown handsomer and more +graceful; but now she was Ekaterina Ivanovna, not Kitten; she had lost +the freshness and look of childish naivete. And in her expression and +manners there was something new--guilty and diffident, as though she did +not feel herself at home here in the Turkins' house. + +"How many summers, how many winters!" she said, giving Startsev her +hand, and he could see that her heart was beating with excitement; and +looking at him intently and curiously, she went on: "How much stouter +you are! You look sunburnt and more manly, but on the whole you have +changed very little." + +Now, too, he thought her attractive, very attractive, but there was +something lacking in her, or else something superfluous--he could not +himself have said exactly what it was, but something prevented him from +feeling as before. He did not like her pallor, her new expression, her +faint smile, her voice, and soon afterwards he disliked her clothes, +too, the low chair in which she was sitting; he disliked something in +the past when he had almost married her. He thought of his love, of the +dreams and the hopes which had troubled him four years before--and he +felt awkward. + +They had tea with cakes. Then Vera Iosifovna read aloud a novel; she +read of things that never happen in real life, and Startsev listened, +looked at her handsome grey head, and waited for her to finish. + +"People are not stupid because they can't write novels, but because they +can't conceal it when they do," he thought. + +"Not badsome," said Ivan Petrovitch. + +Then Ekaterina Ivanovna played long and noisily on the piano, and when +she finished she was profusely thanked and warmly praised. + +"It's a good thing I did not marry her," thought Startsev. + +She looked at him, and evidently expected him to ask her to go into the +garden, but he remained silent. + +"Let us have a talk," she said, going up to him. "How are you getting +on? What are you doing? How are things? I have been thinking about you +all these days," she went on nervously. "I wanted to write to you, +wanted to come myself to see you at Dyalizh. I quite made up my mind to +go, but afterwards I thought better of it. God knows what your attitude +is towards me now; I have been looking forward to seeing you to-day with +such emotion. For goodness' sake let us go into the garden." + +They went into the garden and sat down on the seat under the old maple, +just as they had done four years before. It was dark. + +"How are you getting on?" asked Ekaterina Ivanovna. + +"Oh, all right; I am jogging along," answered Startsev. + +And he could think of nothing more. They were silent. + +"I feel so excited!" said Ekaterina Ivanovna, and she hid her face in +her hands. "But don't pay attention to it. I am so happy to be at home; +I am so glad to see every one. I can't get used to it. So many memories! +I thought we should talk without stopping till morning." + +Now he saw her face near, her shining eyes, and in the darkness she +looked younger than in the room, and even her old childish expression +seemed to have come back to her. And indeed she was looking at him with +naive curiosity, as though she wanted to get a closer view and +understanding of the man who had loved her so ardently, with such +tenderness, and so unsuccessfully; her eyes thanked him for that love. +And he remembered all that had been, every minute detail; how he had +wandered about the cemetery, how he had returned home in the morning +exhausted, and he suddenly felt sad and regretted the past. A warmth +began glowing in his heart. + +"Do you remember how I took you to the dance at the club?" he asked. "It +was dark and rainy then ..." + +The warmth was glowing now in his heart, and he longed to talk, to rail +at life.... + +"Ech!" he said with a sigh. "You ask how I am living. How do we live +here? Why, not at all. We grow old, we grow stout, we grow slack. Day +after day passes; life slips by without colour, without expressions, +without thoughts.... In the daytime working for gain, and in the evening +the club, the company of card-players, alcoholic, raucous-voiced +gentlemen whom I can't endure. What is there nice in it?" + +"Well, you have work--a noble object in life. You used to be so fond of +talking of your hospital. I was such a queer girl then; I imagined +myself such a great pianist. Nowadays all young ladies play the piano, +and I played, too, like everybody else, and there was nothing special +about me. I am just such a pianist as my mother is an authoress. And of +course I didn't understand you then, but afterwards in Moscow I often +thought of you. I thought of no one but you. What happiness to be a +district doctor; to help the suffering; to be serving the people! What +happiness!" Ekaterina Ivanovna repeated with enthusiasm. "When I thought +of you in Moscow, you seemed to me so ideal, so lofty...." + +Startsev thought of the notes he used to take out of his pockets in the +evening with such pleasure, and the glow in his heart was quenched. + +He got up to go into the house. She took his arm. + +"You are the best man I've known in my life," she went on. "We will see +each other and talk, won't we? Promise me. I am not a pianist; I am not +in error about myself now, and I will not play before you or talk of +music." + +When they had gone into the house, and when Startsev saw in the +lamplight her face, and her sad, grateful, searching eyes fixed upon +him, he felt uneasy and thought again: + +"It's a good thing I did not marry her then." + +He began taking leave. + +"You have no human right to go before supper," said Ivan Petrovitch as +he saw him off. "It's extremely perpendicular on your part. Well, now, +perform!" he added, addressing Pava in the hall. + +Pava, no longer a boy, but a young man with moustaches, threw himself +into an attitude, flung up his arm, and said in a tragic voice: + +"Unhappy woman, die!" + +All this irritated Startsev. Getting into his carriage, and looking at +the dark house and garden which had once been so precious and so dear, +he thought of everything at once--Vera Iosifovna's novels and Kitten's +noisy playing, and Ivan Petrovitch's jokes and Pava's tragic posturing, +and thought if the most talented people in the town were so futile, what +must the town be? + +Three days later Pava brought a letter from Ekaterina Ivanovna. + +"You don't come and see us--why?" she wrote to him. "I am afraid that +you have changed towards us. I am afraid, and I am terrified at the very +thought of it. Reassure me; come and tell me that everything is well. + + "I must talk to you.--Your E. I." + + * * * * * + +He read this letter, thought a moment, and said to Pava: + +"Tell them, my good fellow, that I can't come to-day; I am very busy. +Say I will come in three days or so." + +But three days passed, a week passed; he still did not go. Happening +once to drive past the Turkins' house, he thought he must go in, if only +for a moment, but on second thoughts ... did not go in. + +And he never went to the Turkins' again. + + +V + +Several more years have passed. Startsev has grown stouter still, has +grown corpulent, breathes heavily, and already walks with his head +thrown back. When stout and red in the face, he drives with his bells +and his team of three horses, and Panteleimon, also stout and red in the +face with his thick beefy neck, sits on the box, holding his arms +stiffly out before him as though they were made of wood, and shouts to +those he meets: "Keep to the ri-i-ight!" it is an impressive picture; +one might think it was not a mortal, but some heathen deity in his +chariot. He has an immense practice in the town, no time to breathe, and +already has an estate and two houses in the town, and he is looking out +for a third more profitable; and when at the Mutual Credit Bank he is +told of a house that is for sale, he goes to the house without ceremony, +and, marching through all the rooms, regardless of half-dressed women +and children who gaze at him in amazement and alarm, he prods at the +doors with his stick, and says: + +"Is that the study? Is that a bedroom? And what's here?" + +And as he does so he breathes heavily and wipes the sweat from his brow. + +He has a great deal to do, but still he does not give up his work as +district doctor; he is greedy for gain, and he tries to be in all places +at once. At Dyalizh and in the town he is called simply "Ionitch": +"Where is Ionitch off to?" or "Should not we call in Ionitch to a +consultation?" + +Probably because his throat is covered with rolls of fat, his voice has +changed; it has become thin and sharp. His temper has changed, too: he +has grown ill-humoured and irritable. When he sees his patients he is +usually out of temper; he impatiently taps the floor with his stick, and +shouts in his disagreeable voice: + +"Be so good as to confine yourself to answering my questions! Don't talk +so much!" + +He is solitary. He leads a dreary life; nothing interests him. + +During all the years he had lived at Dyalizh his love for Kitten had +been his one joy, and probably his last. In the evenings he plays _vint_ +at the club, and then sits alone at a big table and has supper. Ivan, +the oldest and most respectable of the waiters, serves him, hands him +Lafitte No. 17, and every one at the club--the members of the committee, +the cook and waiters--know what he likes and what he doesn't like and do +their very utmost to satisfy him, or else he is sure to fly into a rage +and bang on the floor with his stick. + +As he eats his supper, he turns round from time to time and puts in his +spoke in some conversation: + +"What are you talking about? Eh? Whom?" + +And when at a neighbouring table there is talk of the Turkins, he asks: + +"What Turkins are you speaking of? Do you mean the people whose daughter +plays on the piano?" + +That is all that can be said about him. + +And the Turkins? Ivan Petrovitch has grown no older; he is not changed +in the least, and still makes jokes and tells anecdotes as of old. Vera +Iosifovna still reads her novels aloud to her visitors with eagerness +and touching simplicity. And Kitten plays the piano for four hours every +day. She has grown visibly older, is constantly ailing, and every autumn +goes to the Crimea with her mother. When Ivan Petrovitch sees them off +at the station, he wipes his tears as the train starts, and shouts: + +"Good-bye, if you please." + +And he waves his handkerchief. + + + + +THE HEAD OF THE FAMILY + + +IT is, as a rule, after losing heavily at cards or after a drinking-bout +when an attack of dyspepsia is setting in that Stepan Stepanitch Zhilin +wakes up in an exceptionally gloomy frame of mind. He looks sour, +rumpled, and dishevelled; there is an expression of displeasure on his +grey face, as though he were offended or disgusted by something. He +dresses slowly, sips his Vichy water deliberately, and begins walking +about the rooms. + +"I should like to know what b-b-beast comes in here and does not shut +the door!" he grumbles angrily, wrapping his dressing-gown about him and +spitting loudly. "Take away that paper! Why is it lying about here? We +keep twenty servants, and the place is more untidy than a pot-house. Who +was that ringing? Who the devil is that?" + +"That's Anfissa, the midwife who brought our Fedya into the world," +answers his wife. + +"Always hanging about ... these cadging toadies!" + +"There's no making you out, Stepan Stepanitch. You asked her yourself, +and now you scold." + +"I am not scolding; I am speaking. You might find something to do, my +dear, instead of sitting with your hands in your lap trying to pick a +quarrel. Upon my word, women are beyond my comprehension! Beyond my +comprehension! How can they waste whole days doing nothing? A man works +like an ox, like a b-beast, while his wife, the partner of his life, +sits like a pretty doll, sits and does nothing but watch for an +opportunity to quarrel with her husband by way of diversion. It's time +to drop these schoolgirlish ways, my dear. You are not a schoolgirl, not +a young lady; you are a wife and mother! You turn away? Aha! It's not +agreeable to listen to the bitter truth! + +"It's strange that you only speak the bitter truth when your liver is +out of order." + +"That's right; get up a scene." + +"Have you been out late? Or playing cards?" + +"What if I have? Is that anybody's business? Am I obliged to give an +account of my doings to any one? It's my own money I lose, I suppose? +What I spend as well as what is spent in this house belongs to me--me. +Do you hear? To me!" + +And so on, all in the same style. But at no other time is Stepan +Stepanitch so reasonable, virtuous, stern or just as at dinner, when all +his household are sitting about him. It usually begins with the soup. +After swallowing the first spoonful Zhilin suddenly frowns and puts down +his spoon. + +"Damn it all!" he mutters; "I shall have to dine at a restaurant, I +suppose." + +"What's wrong?" asks his wife anxiously. "Isn't the soup good?" + +"One must have the taste of a pig to eat hogwash like that! There's too +much salt in it; it smells of dirty rags ... more like bugs than +onions.... It's simply revolting, Anfissa Ivanovna," he says, addressing +the midwife. "Every day I give no end of money for housekeeping.... I +deny myself everything, and this is what they provide for my dinner! I +suppose they want me to give up the office and go into the kitchen to do +the cooking myself." + +"The soup is very good to-day," the governess ventures timidly. + +"Oh, you think so?" says Zhilin, looking at her angrily from under his +eyelids. "Every one to his taste, of course. It must be confessed our +tastes are very different, Varvara Vassilyevna. You, for instance, are +satisfied with the behaviour of this boy" (Zhilin with a tragic gesture +points to his son Fedya); "you are delighted with him, while I ... I am +disgusted. Yes!" + +Fedya, a boy of seven with a pale, sickly face, leaves off eating and +drops his eyes. His face grows paler still. + +"Yes, you are delighted, and I am disgusted. Which of us is right, I +cannot say, but I venture to think as his father, I know my own son +better than you do. Look how he is sitting! Is that the way decently +brought up children sit? Sit properly." + +Fedya tilts his chin up, cranes his neck, and fancies that he is holding +himself better. Tears come into his eyes. + +"Eat your dinner! Hold your spoon properly! You wait. I'll show you, you +horrid boy! Don't dare to whimper! Look straight at me!" + +Fedya tries to look straight at him, but his face is quivering and his +eyes fill with tears. + +"A-ah!... you cry? You are naughty and then you cry? Go and stand in the +corner, you beast!" + +"But ... let him have his dinner first," his wife intervenes. + +"No dinner for him! Such bla ... such rascals don't deserve dinner!" + +Fedya, wincing and quivering all over, creeps down from his chair and +goes into the corner. + +"You won't get off with that!" his parent persists. "If nobody else +cares to look after your bringing up, so be it; I must begin.... I won't +let you be naughty and cry at dinner, my lad! Idiot! You must do your +duty! Do you understand? Do your duty! Your father works and you must +work, too! No one must eat the bread of idleness! You must be a man! A +m-man!" + +"For God's sake, leave off," says his wife in French. "Don't nag at us +before outsiders, at least.... The old woman is all ears; and now, +thanks to her, all the town will hear of it." + +"I am not afraid of outsiders," answers Zhilin in Russian. "Anfissa +Ivanovna sees that I am speaking the truth. Why, do you think I ought to +be pleased with the boy? Do you know what he costs me? Do you know, you +nasty boy, what you cost me? Or do you imagine that I coin money, that I +get it for nothing? Don't howl! Hold your tongue! Do you hear what I +say? Do you want me to whip you, you young ruffian?" + +Fedya wails aloud and begins to sob. + +"This is insufferable," says his mother, getting up from the table and +flinging down her dinner-napkin. "You never let us have dinner in peace! +Your bread sticks in my throat." + +And putting her handkerchief to her eyes, she walks out of the +dining-room. + +"Now she is offended," grumbles Zhilin, with a forced smile. "She's been +spoilt.... That's how it is, Anfissa Ivanovna; no one likes to hear the +truth nowadays.... It's all my fault, it seems." + +Several minutes of silence follow. Zhilin looks round at the plates, and +noticing that no one has yet touched their soup, heaves a deep sigh, and +stares at the flushed and uneasy face of the governess. + +"Why don't you eat, Varvara Vassilyevna?" he asks. "Offended, I suppose? +I see.... You don't like to be told the truth. You must forgive me, it's +my nature; I can't be a hypocrite.... I always blurt out the plain +truth" (a sigh). "But I notice that my presence is unwelcome. No one can +eat or talk while I am here.... Well, you should have told me, and I +would have gone away.... I will go." + +Zhilin gets up and walks with dignity to the door. As he passes the +weeping Fedya he stops. + +"After all that has passed here, you are free," he says to Fedya, +throwing back his head with dignity. "I won't meddle in your bringing up +again. I wash my hands of it! I humbly apologise that as a father, from +a sincere desire for your welfare, I have disturbed you and your +mentors. At the same time, once for all I disclaim all responsibility +for your future...." + +Fedya wails and sobs more loudly than ever. Zhilin turns with dignity to +the door and departs to his bedroom. + +When he wakes from his after-dinner nap he begins to feel the stings of +conscience. He is ashamed to face his wife, his son, Anfissa Ivanovna, +and even feels very wretched when he recalls the scene at dinner, but +his amour-propre is too much for him; he has not the manliness to be +frank, and he goes on sulking and grumbling. + +Waking up next morning, he feels in excellent spirits, and whistles +gaily as he washes. Going into the dining-room to breakfast, he finds +there Fedya, who, at the sight of his father, gets up and looks at him +helplessly. + +"Well, young man?" Zhilin greets him good-humouredly, sitting down to +the table. "What have you got to tell me, young man? Are you all right? +Well, come, chubby; give your father a kiss." + +With a pale, grave face Fedya goes up to his father and touches his +cheek with his quivering lips, then walks away and sits down in his +place without a word. + + + + +THE BLACK MONK + + +I + +ANDREY VASSILITCH KOVRIN, who held a master's degree at the University, +had exhausted himself, and had upset his nerves. He did not send for a +doctor, but casually, over a bottle of wine, he spoke to a friend who +was a doctor, and the latter advised him to spend the spring and summer +in the country. Very opportunely a long letter came from Tanya Pesotsky, +who asked him to come and stay with them at Borissovka. And he made up +his mind that he really must go. + +To begin with--that was in April--he went to his own home, Kovrinka, and +there spent three weeks in solitude; then, as soon as the roads were in +good condition, he set off, driving in a carriage, to visit Pesotsky, +his former guardian, who had brought him up, and was a horticulturist +well known all over Russia. The distance from Kovrinka to Borissovka was +reckoned only a little over fifty miles. To drive along a soft road in +May in a comfortable carriage with springs was a real pleasure. + +Pesotsky had an immense house with columns and lions, off which the +stucco was peeling, and with a footman in swallow-tails at the entrance. +The old park, laid out in the English style, gloomy and severe, +stretched for almost three-quarters of a mile to the river, and there +ended in a steep, precipitous clay bank, where pines grew with bare +roots that looked like shaggy paws; the water shone below with an +unfriendly gleam, and the peewits flew up with a plaintive cry, and +there one always felt that one must sit down and write a ballad. But +near the house itself, in the courtyard and orchard, which together with +the nurseries covered ninety acres, it was all life and gaiety even in +bad weather. Such marvellous roses, lilies, camellias; such tulips of +all possible shades, from glistening white to sooty black--such a wealth +of flowers, in fact, Kovrin had never seen anywhere as at Pesotsky's. It +was only the beginning of spring, and the real glory of the flower-beds +was still hidden away in the hot-houses. But even the flowers along the +avenues, and here and there in the flower-beds, were enough to make one +feel, as one walked about the garden, as though one were in a realm of +tender colours, especially in the early morning when the dew was +glistening on every petal. + +What was the decorative part of the garden, and what Pesotsky +contemptuously spoke of as rubbish, had at one time in his childhood +given Kovrin an impression of fairyland. + +Every sort of caprice, of elaborate monstrosity and mockery at Nature +was here. There were espaliers of fruit-trees, a pear-tree in the shape +of a pyramidal poplar, spherical oaks and lime-trees, an apple-tree in +the shape of an umbrella, plum-trees trained into arches, crests, +candelabra, and even into the number 1862--the year when Pesotsky first +took up horticulture. One came across, too, lovely, graceful trees with +strong, straight stems like palms, and it was only by looking intently +that one could recognise these trees as gooseberries or currants. But +what made the garden most cheerful and gave it a lively air, was the +continual coming and going in it, from early morning till evening; +people with wheelbarrows, shovels, and watering-cans swarmed round the +trees and bushes, in the avenues and the flower-beds, like ants.... + +Kovrin arrived at Pesotsky's at ten o'clock in the evening. He found +Tanya and her father, Yegor Semyonitch, in great anxiety. The clear +starlight sky and the thermometer foretold a frost towards morning, and +meanwhile Ivan Karlovitch, the gardener, had gone to the town, and they +had no one to rely upon. At supper they talked of nothing but the +morning frost, and it was settled that Tanya should not go to bed, and +between twelve and one should walk through the garden, and see that +everything was done properly, and Yegor Semyonitch should get up at +three o'clock or even earlier. + +Kovrin sat with Tanya all the evening, and after midnight went out with +her into the garden. It was cold. There was a strong smell of burning +already in the garden. In the big orchard, which was called the +commercial garden, and which brought Yegor Semyonitch several thousand +clear profit, a thick, black, acrid smoke was creeping over the ground +and, curling around the trees, was saving those thousands from the +frost. Here the trees were arranged as on a chessboard, in straight and +regular rows like ranks of soldiers, and this severe pedantic +regularity, and the fact that all the trees were of the same size, and +had tops and trunks all exactly alike, made them look monotonous and +even dreary. Kovrin and Tanya walked along the rows where fires of dung, +straw, and all sorts of refuse were smouldering, and from time to time +they were met by labourers who wandered in the smoke like shadows. The +only trees in flower were the cherries, plums, and certain sorts of +apples, but the whole garden was plunged in smoke, and it was only near +the nurseries that Kovrin could breathe freely. + +"Even as a child I used to sneeze from the smoke here," he said, +shrugging his shoulders, "but to this day I don't understand how smoke +can keep off frost." + +"Smoke takes the place of clouds when there are none ..." answered +Tanya. + +"And what do you want clouds for?" + +"In overcast and cloudy weather there is no frost." + +"You don't say so." + +He laughed and took her arm. Her broad, very earnest face, chilled with +the frost, with her delicate black eyebrows, the turned-up collar of her +coat, which prevented her moving her head freely, and the whole of her +thin, graceful figure, with her skirts tucked up on account of the dew, +touched him. + +"Good heavens! she is grown up," he said. "When I went away from here +last, five years ago, you were still a child. You were such a thin, +longlegged creature, with your hair hanging on your shoulders; you used +to wear short frocks, and I used to tease you, calling you a heron.... +What time does!" + +"Yes, five years!" sighed Tanya. "Much water has flowed since then. Tell +me, Andryusha, honestly," she began eagerly, looking him in the face: +"do you feel strange with us now? But why do I ask you? You are a man, +you live your own interesting life, you are somebody.... To grow apart +is so natural! But however that may be, Andryusha, I want you to think +of us as your people. We have a right to that." + +"I do, Tanya." + +"On your word of honour?" + +"Yes, on my word of honour." + +"You were surprised this evening that we have so many of your +photographs. You know my father adores you. Sometimes it seems to me +that he loves you more than he does me. He is proud of you. You are a +clever, extraordinary man, you have made a brilliant career for +yourself, and he is persuaded that you have turned out like this because +he brought you up. I don't try to prevent him from thinking so. Let +him." + +Dawn was already beginning, and that was especially perceptible from the +distinctness with which the coils of smoke and the tops of the trees +began to stand out in the air. + +"It's time we were asleep, though," said Tanya, "and it's cold, too." +She took his arm. "Thank you for coming, Andryusha. We have only +uninteresting acquaintances, and not many of them. We have only the +garden, the garden, the garden, and nothing else. Standards, +half-standards," she laughed. "Aports, Reinettes, Borovinkas, budded +stocks, grafted stocks.... All, all our life has gone into the garden. I +never even dream of anything but apples and pears. Of course, it is very +nice and useful, but sometimes one longs for something else for variety. +I remember that when you used to come to us for the summer holidays, or +simply a visit, it always seemed to be fresher and brighter in the +house, as though the covers had been taken off the lustres and the +furniture. I was only a little girl then, but yet I understood it." + +She talked a long while and with great feeling. For some reason the idea +came into his head that in the course of the summer he might grow fond +of this little, weak, talkative creature, might be carried away and fall +in love; in their position it was so possible and natural! This thought +touched and amused him; he bent down to her sweet, preoccupied face and +hummed softly: + + "'Onyegin, I won't conceal it; + I madly love Tatiana....'" + +By the time they reached the house, Yegor Semyonitch had got up. Kovrin +did not feel sleepy; he talked to the old man and went to the garden +with him. Yegor Semyonitch was a tall, broad-shouldered, corpulent man, +and he suffered from asthma, yet he walked so fast that it was hard work +to hurry after him. He had an extremely preoccupied air; he was always +hurrying somewhere, with an expression that suggested that if he were +one minute late all would be ruined! + +"Here is a business, brother ..." he began, standing still to take +breath. "On the surface of the ground, as you see, is frost; but if you +raise the thermometer on a stick fourteen feet above the ground, there +it is warm.... Why is that?" + +"I really don't know," said Kovrin, and he laughed. + +"H'm!... One can't know everything, of course.... However large the +intellect may be, you can't find room for everything in it. I suppose +you still go in chiefly for philosophy?" + +"Yes, I lecture in psychology; I am working at philosophy in general." + +"And it does not bore you?" + +"On the contrary, it's all I live for." + +"Well, God bless you!..." said Yegor Semyonitch, meditatively stroking +his grey whiskers. "God bless you!... I am delighted about you ... +delighted, my boy...." + +But suddenly he listened, and, with a terrible face, ran off and quickly +disappeared behind the trees in a cloud of smoke. + +"Who tied this horse to an apple-tree?" Kovrin heard his despairing, +heart-rending cry. "Who is the low scoundrel who has dared to tie this +horse to an apple-tree? My God, my God! They have ruined everything; +they have spoilt everything; they have done everything filthy, horrible, +and abominable. The orchard's done for, the orchard's ruined. My God!" + +When he came back to Kovrin, his face looked exhausted and mortified. + +"What is one to do with these accursed people?" he said in a tearful +voice, flinging up his hands. "Styopka was carting dung at night, and +tied the horse to an apple-tree! He twisted the reins round it, the +rascal, as tightly as he could, so that the bark is rubbed off in three +places. What do you think of that! I spoke to him and he stands like a +post and only blinks his eyes. Hanging is too good for him." + +Growing calmer, he embraced Kovrin and kissed him on the cheek. + +"Well, God bless you!... God bless you!..." he muttered. "I am very glad +you have come. Unutterably glad.... Thank you." + +Then, with the same rapid step and preoccupied face, he made the round +of the whole garden, and showed his former ward all his greenhouses and +hot-houses, his covered-in garden, and two apiaries which he called the +marvel of our century. + +While they were walking the sun rose, flooding the garden with brilliant +light. It grew warm. Foreseeing a long, bright, cheerful day, Kovrin +recollected that it was only the beginning of May, and that he had +before him a whole summer as bright, cheerful, and long; and suddenly +there stirred in his bosom a joyous, youthful feeling, such as he used +to experience in his childhood, running about in that garden. And he +hugged the old man and kissed him affectionately. Both of them, feeling +touched, went indoors and drank tea out of old-fashioned china cups, +with cream and satisfying krendels made with milk and eggs; and these +trifles reminded Kovrin again of his childhood and boyhood. The +delightful present was blended with the impressions of the past that +stirred within him; there was a tightness at his heart; yet he was +happy. + +He waited till Tanya was awake and had coffee with her, went for a walk, +then went to his room and sat down to work. He read attentively, making +notes, and from time to time raised his eyes to look out at the open +windows or at the fresh, still dewy flowers in the vases on the table; +and again he dropped his eyes to his book, and it seemed to him as +though every vein in his body was quivering and fluttering with +pleasure. + + +II + +In the country he led just as nervous and restless a life as in town. He +read and wrote a great deal, he studied Italian, and when he was out for +a walk, thought with pleasure that he would soon sit down to work again. +He slept so little that every one wondered at him; if he accidentally +dozed for half an hour in the daytime, he would lie awake all night, +and, after a sleepless night, would feel cheerful and vigorous as though +nothing had happened. + +He talked a great deal, drank wine, and smoked expensive cigars. Very +often, almost every day, young ladies of neighbouring families would +come to the Pesotskys', and would sing and play the piano with Tanya; +sometimes a young neighbour who was a good violinist would come, too. +Kovrin listened with eagerness to the music and singing, and was +exhausted by it, and this showed itself by his eyes closing and his head +falling to one side. + +One day he was sitting on the balcony after evening tea, reading. At the +same time, in the drawing-room, Tanya taking soprano, one of the young +ladies a contralto, and the young man with his violin, were practising a +well-known serenade of Braga's. Kovrin listened to the words--they were +Russian--and could not understand their meaning. At last, leaving his +book and listening attentively, he understood: a maiden, full of sick +fancies, heard one night in her garden mysterious sounds, so strange and +lovely that she was obliged to recognise them as a holy harmony which is +unintelligible to us mortals, and so flies back to heaven. Kovrin's eyes +began to close. He got up, and in exhaustion walked up and down the +drawing-room, and then the dining-room. When the singing was over he +took Tanya's arm, and with her went out on the balcony. + +"I have been all day thinking of a legend," he said. "I don't remember +whether I have read it somewhere or heard it, but it is a strange and +almost grotesque legend. To begin with, it is somewhat obscure. A +thousand years ago a monk, dressed in black, wandered about the desert, +somewhere in Syria or Arabia.... Some miles from where he was, some +fisherman saw another black monk, who was moving slowly over the surface +of a lake. This second monk was a mirage. Now forget all the laws of +optics, which the legend does not recognise, and listen to the rest. +From that mirage there was cast another mirage, then from that other a +third, so that the image of the black monk began to be repeated +endlessly from one layer of the atmosphere to another. So that he was +seen at one time in Africa, at another in Spain, then in Italy, then in +the Far North.... Then he passed out of the atmosphere of the earth, and +now he is wandering all over the universe, still never coming into +conditions in which he might disappear. Possibly he may be seen now in +Mars or in some star of the Southern Cross. But, my dear, the real point +on which the whole legend hangs lies in the fact that, exactly a +thousand years from the day when the monk walked in the desert, the +mirage will return to the atmosphere of the earth again and will appear +to men. And it seems that the thousand years is almost up.... According +to the legend, we may look out for the black monk to-day or to-morrow." + +"A queer mirage," said Tanya, who did not like the legend. + +"But the most wonderful part of it all," laughed Kovrin, "is that I +simply cannot recall where I got this legend from. Have I read it +somewhere? Have I heard it? Or perhaps I dreamed of the black monk. I +swear I don't remember. But the legend interests me. I have been +thinking about it all day." + +Letting Tanya go back to her visitors, he went out of the house, and, +lost in meditation, walked by the flower-beds. The sun was already +setting. The flowers, having just been watered, gave forth a damp, +irritating fragrance. Indoors they began singing again, and in the +distance the violin had the effect of a human voice. Kovrin, racking his +brains to remember where he had read or heard the legend, turned slowly +towards the park, and unconsciously went as far as the river. By a +little path that ran along the steep bank, between the bare roots, he +went down to the water, disturbed the peewits there and frightened two +ducks. The last rays of the setting sun still threw light here and there +on the gloomy pines, but it was quite dark on the surface of the river. +Kovrin crossed to the other side by the narrow bridge. Before him lay a +wide field covered with young rye not yet in blossom. There was no +living habitation, no living soul in the distance, and it seemed as +though the little path, if one went along it, would take one to the +unknown, mysterious place where the sun had just gone down, and where +the evening glow was flaming in immensity and splendour. + +"How open, how free, how still it is here!" thought Kovrin, walking +along the path. "And it feels as though all the world were watching me, +hiding and waiting for me to understand it...." + +But then waves began running across the rye, and a light evening breeze +softly touched his uncovered head. A minute later there was another gust +of wind, but stronger--the rye began rustling, and he heard behind him +the hollow murmur of the pines. Kovrin stood still in amazement. From +the horizon there rose up to the sky, like a whirlwind or a waterspout, +a tall black column. Its outline was indistinct, but from the first +instant it could be seen that it was not standing still, but moving with +fearful rapidity, moving straight towards Kovrin, and the nearer it came +the smaller and the more distinct it was. Kovrin moved aside into the +rye to make way for it, and only just had time to do so. + +A monk, dressed in black, with a grey head and black eyebrows, his arms +crossed over his breast, floated by him.... His bare feet did not touch +the earth. After he had floated twenty feet beyond him, he looked round +at Kovrin, and nodded to him with a friendly but sly smile. But what a +pale, fearfully pale, thin face! Beginning to grow larger again, he flew +across the river, collided noiselessly with the clay bank and pines, and +passing through them, vanished like smoke. + +"Why, you see," muttered Kovrin, "there must be truth in the legend." + +Without trying to explain to himself the strange apparition, glad that +he had succeeded in seeing so near and so distinctly, not only the +monk's black garments, but even his face and eyes, agreeably excited, he +went back to the house. + +In the park and in the garden people were moving about quietly, in the +house they were playing--so he alone had seen the monk. He had an +intense desire to tell Tanya and Yegor Semyonitch, but he reflected that +they would certainly think his words the ravings of delirium, and that +would frighten them; he had better say nothing. + +He laughed aloud, sang, and danced the mazurka; he was in high spirits, +and all of them, the visitors and Tanya, thought he had a peculiar look, +radiant and inspired, and that he was very interesting. + + +III + +After supper, when the visitors had gone, he went to his room and lay +down on the sofa: he wanted to think about the monk. But a minute later +Tanya came in. + +"Here, Andryusha; read father's articles," she said, giving him a bundle +of pamphlets and proofs. "They are splendid articles. He writes +capitally." + +"Capitally, indeed!" said Yegor Semyonitch, following her and smiling +constrainedly; he was ashamed. "Don't listen to her, please; don't read +them! Though, if you want to go to sleep, read them by all means; they +are a fine soporific." + +"I think they are splendid articles," said Tanya, with deep conviction. +"You read them, Andryusha, and persuade father to write oftener. He +could write a complete manual of horticulture." + +Yegor Semyonitch gave a forced laugh, blushed, and began uttering the +phrases usually made use of by an embarrassed author. At last he began +to give way. + +"In that case, begin with Gaucher's article and these Russian articles," +he muttered, turning over the pamphlets with a trembling hand, "or else +you won't understand. Before you read my objections, you must know what +I am objecting to. But it's all nonsense ... tiresome stuff. Besides, I +believe it's bedtime." + +Tanya went away. Yegor Semyonitch sat down on the sofa by Kovrin and +heaved a deep sigh. + +"Yes, my boy ..." he began after a pause. "That's how it is, my dear +lecturer. Here I write articles, and take part in exhibitions, and +receive medals.... Pesotsky, they say, has apples the size of a head, +and Pesotsky, they say, has made his fortune with his garden. In short, +'Kotcheby is rich and glorious.' But one asks oneself: what is it all +for? The garden is certainly fine, a model. It's not really a garden, +but a regular institution, which is of the greatest public importance +because it marks, so to say, a new era in Russian agriculture and +Russian industry. But, what's it for? What's the object of it?" + +"The fact speaks for itself." + +"I do not mean in that sense. I meant to ask: what will happen to the +garden when I die? In the condition in which you see it now, it would +not be maintained for one month without me. The whole secret of success +lies not in its being a big garden or a great number of labourers being +employed in it, but in the fact that I love the work. Do you understand? +I love it perhaps more than myself. Look at me; I do everything myself. +I work from morning to night: I do all the grafting myself, the pruning +myself, the planting myself. I do it all myself: when any one helps me I +am jealous and irritable till I am rude. The whole secret lies in loving +it--that is, in the sharp eye of the master; yes, and in the master's +hands, and in the feeling that makes one, when one goes anywhere for an +hour's visit, sit, ill at ease, with one's heart far away, afraid that +something may have happened in the garden. But when I die, who will look +after it? Who will work? The gardener? The labourers? Yes? But I will +tell you, my dear fellow, the worst enemy in the garden is not a hare, +not a cockchafer, and not the frost, but any outside person." + +"And Tanya?" asked Kovrin, laughing. "She can't be more harmful than a +hare? She loves the work and understands it." + +"Yes, she loves it and understands it. If after my death the garden goes +to her and she is the mistress, of course nothing better could be +wished. But if, which God forbid, she should marry," Yegor Semyonitch +whispered, and looked with a frightened look at Kovrin, "that's just it. +If she marries and children come, she will have no time to think about +the garden. What I fear most is: she will marry some fine gentleman, and +he will be greedy, and he will let the garden to people who will run it +for profit, and everything will go to the devil the very first year! In +our work females are the scourge of God!" + +Yegor Semyonitch sighed and paused for a while. + +"Perhaps it is egoism, but I tell you frankly: I don't want Tanya to get +married. I am afraid of it! There is one young dandy comes to see us, +bringing his violin and scraping on it; I know Tanya will not marry him, +I know it quite well; but I can't bear to see him! Altogether, my boy, I +am very queer. I know that." + +Yegor Semyonitch got up and walked about the room in excitement, and it +was evident that he wanted to say something very important, but could +not bring himself to it. + +"I am very fond of you, and so I am going to speak to you openly," he +decided at last, thrusting his hands into his pockets. "I deal plainly +with certain delicate questions, and say exactly what I think, and I +cannot endure so-called hidden thoughts. I will speak plainly: you are +the only man to whom I should not be afraid to marry my daughter. You +are a clever man with a good heart, and would not let my beloved work go +to ruin; and the chief reason is that I love you as a son, and I am +proud of you. If Tanya and you could get up a romance somehow, +then--well! I should be very glad and even happy. I tell you this +plainly, without mincing matters, like an honest man." + +Kovrin laughed. Yegor Semyonitch opened the door to go out, and stood in +the doorway. + +"If Tanya and you had a son, I would make a horticulturist of him," he +said, after a moment's thought. "However, this is idle dreaming. +Goodnight." + +Left alone, Kovrin settled himself more comfortably on the sofa and took +up the articles. The title of one was "On Intercropping"; of another, "A +few Words on the Remarks of Monsieur Z. concerning the Trenching of the +Soil for a New Garden"; a third, "Additional Matter concerning Grafting +with a Dormant Bud"; and they were all of the same sort. But what a +restless, jerky tone! What nervous, almost hysterical passion! Here was +an article, one would have thought, with most peaceable and impersonal +contents: the subject of it was the Russian Antonovsky Apple. But Yegor +Semyonitch began it with "Audiatur altera pars," and finished it with +"Sapienti sat"; and between these two quotations a perfect torrent of +venomous phrases directed "at the learned ignorance of our recognised +horticultural authorities, who observe Nature from the height of their +university chairs," or at Monsieur Gaucher, "whose success has been the +work of the vulgar and the dilettanti." "And then followed an +inappropriate, affected, and insincere regret that peasants who stole +fruit and broke the branches could not nowadays be flogged. + +"It is beautiful, charming, healthy work, but even in this there is +strife and passion," thought Kovrin, "I suppose that everywhere and in +all careers men of ideas are nervous, and marked by exaggerated +sensitiveness. Most likely it must be so." + +He thought of Tanya, who was so pleased with Yegor Semyonitch's +articles. Small, pale, and so thin that her shoulder-blades stuck out, +her eyes, wide and open, dark and intelligent, had an intent gaze, as +though looking for something. She walked like her father with a little +hurried step. She talked a great deal and was fond of arguing, +accompanying every phrase, however insignificant, with expressive +mimicry and gesticulation. No doubt she was nervous in the extreme. + +Kovrin went on reading the articles, but he understood nothing of them, +and flung them aside. The same pleasant excitement with which he had +earlier in the evening danced the mazurka and listened to the music was +now mastering him again and rousing a multitude of thoughts. He got up +and began walking about the room, thinking about the black monk. It +occurred to him that if this strange, supernatural monk had appeared to +him only, that meant that he was ill and had reached the point of having +hallucinations. This reflection frightened him, but not for long. + +"But I am all right, and I am doing no harm to any one; so there is no +harm in my hallucinations," he thought; and he felt happy again. + +He sat down on the sofa and clasped his hands round his head. +Restraining the unaccountable joy which filled his whole being, he then +paced up and down again, and sat down to his work. But the thought that +he read in the book did not satisfy him. He wanted something gigantic, +unfathomable, stupendous. Towards morning he undressed and reluctantly +went to bed: he ought to sleep. + +When he heard the footsteps of Yegor Semyonitch going out into the +garden, Kovrin rang the bell and asked the footman to bring him some +wine. He drank several glasses of Lafitte, then wrapped himself up, head +and all; his consciousness grew clouded and he fell asleep. + + +IV + +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya often quarrelled and said nasty things to +each other. + +They quarrelled about something that morning. Tanya burst out crying and +went to her room. She would not come down to dinner nor to tea. At first +Yegor Semyonitch went about looking sulky and dignified, as though to +give every one to understand that for him the claims of justice and good +order were more important than anything else in the world; but he could +not keep it up for long, and soon sank into depression. He walked about +the park dejectedly, continually sighing: "Oh, my God! My God!" and at +dinner did not eat a morsel. At last, guilty and conscience-stricken, he +knocked at the locked door and called timidly: + +"Tanya! Tanya!" + +And from behind the door came a faint voice, weak with crying but still +determined: + +"Leave me alone, if you please." + +The depression of the master and mistress was reflected in the whole +household, even in the labourers working in the garden. Kovrin was +absorbed in his interesting work, but at last he, too, felt dreary and +uncomfortable. To dissipate the general ill-humour in some way, he made +up his mind to intervene, and towards evening he knocked at Tanya's +door. He was admitted. + +"Fie, fie, for shame!" he began playfully, looking with surprise at +Tanya's tear-stained, woebegone face, flushed in patches with crying. +"Is it really so serious? Fie, fie!" + +"But if you knew how he tortures me!" she said, and floods of scalding +tears streamed from her big eyes. "He torments me to death," she went +on, wringing her hands. "I said nothing to him ... nothing ... I only +said that there was no need to keep ... too many labourers ... if we +could hire them by the day when we wanted them. You know ... you know +the labourers have been doing nothing for a whole week.... I ... I ... +only said that, and he shouted and ... said ... a lot of horrible +insulting things to me. What for?" + +"There, there," said Kovrin, smoothing her hair. "You've quarrelled with +each other, you've cried, and that's enough. You must not be angry for +long--that's wrong ... all the more as he loves you beyond everything." + +"He has ... has spoiled my whole life," Tanya went on, sobbing. "I hear +nothing but abuse and ... insults. He thinks I am of no use in the +house. Well! He is right. I shall go away to-morrow; I shall become a +telegraph clerk.... I don't care...." + +"Come, come, come.... You mustn't cry, Tanya. You mustn't, dear.... You +are both hot-tempered and irritable, and you are both to blame. Come +along; I will reconcile you." + +Kovrin talked affectionately and persuasively, while she went on crying, +twitching her shoulders and wringing her hands, as though some terrible +misfortune had really befallen her. He felt all the sorrier for her +because her grief was not a serious one, yet she suffered extremely. +What trivialities were enough to make this little creature miserable for +a whole day, perhaps for her whole life! Comforting Tanya, Kovrin +thought that, apart from this girl and her father, he might hunt the +world over and would not find people who would love him as one of +themselves, as one of their kindred. If it had not been for those two he +might very likely, having lost his father and mother in early childhood, +never to the day of his death have known what was meant by genuine +affection and that naive, uncritical love which is only lavished on very +close blood relations; and he felt that the nerves of this weeping, +shaking girl responded to his half-sick, overstrained nerves like iron +to a magnet. He never could have loved a healthy, strong, rosy-cheeked +woman, but pale, weak, unhappy Tanya attracted him. + +And he liked stroking her hair and her shoulders, pressing her hand and +wiping away her tears.... At last she left off crying. She went on for a +long time complaining of her father and her hard, insufferable life in +that house, entreating Kovrin to put himself in her place; then she +began, little by little, smiling, and sighing that God had given her +such a bad temper. At last, laughing aloud, she called herself a fool, +and ran out of the room. + +When a little later Kovrin went into the garden, Yegor Semyonitch and +Tanya were walking side by side along an avenue as though nothing had +happened, and both were eating rye bread with salt on it, as both were +hungry. + + +V + +Glad that he had been so successful in the part of peacemaker, Kovrin +went into the park. Sitting on a garden seat, thinking, he heard the +rattle of a carriage and a feminine laugh--visitors were arriving. When +the shades of evening began falling on the garden, the sounds of the +violin and singing voices reached him indistinctly, and that reminded +him of the black monk. Where, in what land or in what planet, was that +optical absurdity moving now? + +Hardly had he recalled the legend and pictured in his imagination the +dark apparition he had seen in the rye-field, when, from behind a +pine-tree exactly opposite, there came out noiselessly, without the +slightest rustle, a man of medium height with uncovered grey head, all +in black, and barefooted like a beggar, and his black eyebrows stood out +conspicuously on his pale, death-like face. Nodding his head graciously, +this beggar or pilgrim came noiselessly to the seat and sat down, and +Kovrin recognised him as the black monk. + +For a minute they looked at one another, Kovrin with amazement, and the +monk with friendliness, and, just as before, a little slyness, as though +he were thinking something to himself. + +"But you are a mirage," said Kovrin. "Why are you here and sitting +still? That does not fit in with the legend." + +"That does not matter," the monk answered in a low voice, not +immediately turning his face towards him. "The legend, the mirage, and I +are all the products of your excited imagination. I am a phantom." + +"Then you don't exist?" said Kovrin. + +"You can think as you like," said the monk, with a faint smile. "I exist +in your imagination, and your imagination is part of nature, so I exist +in nature." + +"You have a very old, wise, and extremely expressive face, as though you +really had lived more than a thousand years," said Kovrin. "I did not +know that my imagination was capable of creating such phenomena. But why +do you look at me with such enthusiasm? Do you like me?" + +"Yes, you are one of those few who are justly called the chosen of God. +You do the service of eternal truth. Your thoughts, your designs, the +marvellous studies you are engaged in, and all your life, bear the +Divine, the heavenly stamp, seeing that they are consecrated to the +rational and the beautiful--that is, to what is eternal." + +"You said 'eternal truth.' ... But is eternal truth of use to man and +within his reach, if there is no eternal life?" + +"There is eternal life," said the monk. + +"Do you believe in the immortality of man?" + +"Yes, of course. A grand, brilliant future is in store for you men. And +the more there are like you on earth, the sooner will this future be +realised. Without you who serve the higher principle and live in full +understanding and freedom, mankind would be of little account; +developing in a natural way, it would have to wait a long time for the +end of its earthly history. You will lead it some thousands of years +earlier into the kingdom of eternal truth--and therein lies your supreme +service. You are the incarnation of the blessing of God, which rests +upon men." + +"And what is the object of eternal life?" asked Kovrin. + +"As of all life--enjoyment. True enjoyment lies in knowledge, and +eternal life provides innumerable and inexhaustible sources of +knowledge, and in that sense it has been said: 'In My Father's house +there are many mansions.'" + +"If only you knew how pleasant it is to hear you!" said Kovrin, rubbing +his hands with satisfaction. + +"I am very glad." + +"But I know that when you go away I shall be worried by the question of +your reality. You are a phantom, an hallucination. So I am mentally +deranged, not normal?" + +"What if you are? Why trouble yourself? You are ill because you have +overworked and exhausted yourself, and that means that you have +sacrificed your health to the idea, and the time is near at hand when +you will give up life itself to it. What could be better? That is the +goal towards which all divinely endowed, noble natures strive." + +"If I know I am mentally affected, can I trust myself?" + +"And are you sure that the men of genius, whom all men trust, did not +see phantoms, too? The learned say now that genius is allied to madness. +My friend, healthy and normal people are only the common herd. +Reflections upon the neurasthenia of the age, nervous exhaustion and +degeneracy, et cetera, can only seriously agitate those who place the +object of life in the present--that is, the common herd." + +"The Romans used to say: _Mens sana in corpore sano._" + +"Not everything the Greeks and the Romans said is true. Exaltation, +enthusiasm, ecstasy--all that distinguishes prophets, poets, martyrs for +the idea, from the common folk--is repellent to the animal side of +man--that is, his physical health. I repeat, if you want to be healthy +and normal, go to the common herd." + +"Strange that you repeat what often comes into my mind," said Kovrin. +"It is as though you had seen and overheard my secret thoughts. But +don't let us talk about me. What do you mean by 'eternal truth'?" + +The monk did not answer. Kovrin looked at him and could not distinguish +his face. His features grew blurred and misty. Then the monk's head and +arms disappeared; his body seemed merged into the seat and the evening +twilight, and he vanished altogether. + +"The hallucination is over," said Kovrin; and he laughed. "It's a pity." + +He went back to the house, light-hearted and happy. The little the monk +had said to him had flattered, not his vanity, but his whole soul, his +whole being. To be one of the chosen, to serve eternal truth, to stand +in the ranks of those who could make mankind worthy of the kingdom of +God some thousands of years sooner--that is, to free men from some +thousands of years of unnecessary struggle, sin, and suffering; to +sacrifice to the idea everything--youth, strength, health; to be ready +to die for the common weal--what an exalted, what a happy lot! He +recalled his past--pure, chaste, laborious; he remembered what he had +learned himself and what he had taught to others, and decided that there +was no exaggeration in the monk's words. + +Tanya came to meet him in the park: she was by now wearing a different +dress. + +"Are you here?" she said. "And we have been looking and looking for +you.... But what is the matter with you?" she asked in wonder, glancing +at his radiant, ecstatic face and eyes full of tears. "How strange you +are, Andryusha!" + +"I am pleased, Tanya," said Kovrin, laying his hand on her shoulders. "I +am more than pleased: I am happy. Tanya, darling Tanya, you are an +extraordinary, nice creature. Dear Tanya, I am so glad, I am so glad!" + +He kissed both her hands ardently, and went on: + +"I have just passed through an exalted, wonderful, unearthly moment. But +I can't tell you all about it or you would call me mad and not believe +me. Let us talk of you. Dear, delightful Tanya! I love you, and am used +to loving you. To have you near me, to meet you a dozen times a day, has +become a necessity of my existence; I don't know how I shall get on +without you when I go back home." + +"Oh," laughed Tanya, "you will forget about us in two days. We are +humble people and you are a great man." + +"No; let us talk in earnest!" he said. "I shall take you with me, Tanya. +Yes? Will you come with me? Will you be mine?" + +"Come," said Tanya, and tried to laugh again, but the laugh would not +come, and patches of colour came into her face. + +She began breathing quickly and walked very quickly, but not to the +house, but further into the park. + +"I was not thinking of it ... I was not thinking of it," she said, +wringing her hands in despair. + +And Kovrin followed her and went on talking, with the same radiant, +enthusiastic face: + +"I want a love that will dominate me altogether; and that love only you, +Tanya, can give me. I am happy! I am happy!" + +She was overwhelmed, and huddling and shrinking together, seemed ten +years older all at once, while he thought her beautiful and expressed +his rapture aloud: + +"How lovely she is!" + + +VI + +Learning from Kovrin that not only a romance had been got up, but that +there would even be a wedding, Yegor Semyonitch spent a long time in +pacing from one corner of the room to the other, trying to conceal his +agitation. His hands began trembling, his neck swelled and turned +purple, he ordered his racing droshky and drove off somewhere. Tanya, +seeing how he lashed the horse, and seeing how he pulled his cap over +his ears, understood what he was feeling, shut herself up in her room, +and cried the whole day. + +In the hot-houses the peaches and plums were already ripe; the packing +and sending off of these tender and fragile goods to Moscow took a great +deal of care, work, and trouble. Owing to the fact that the summer was +very hot and dry, it was necessary to water every tree, and a great deal +of time and labour was spent on doing it. Numbers of caterpillars made +their appearance, which, to Kovrin's disgust, the labourers and even +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya squashed with their fingers. In spite of all +that, they had already to book autumn orders for fruit and trees, and to +carry on a great deal of correspondence. And at the very busiest time, +when no one seemed to have a free moment, the work of the fields carried +off more than half their labourers from the garden. Yegor Semyonitch, +sunburnt, exhausted, ill-humoured, galloped from the fields to the +garden and back again; cried that he was being torn to pieces, and that +he should put a bullet through his brains. + +Then came the fuss and worry of the trousseau, to which the Pesotskys +attached a good deal of importance. Every one's head was in a whirl from +the snipping of the scissors, the rattle of the sewing-machine, the +smell of hot irons, and the caprices of the dressmaker, a huffy and +nervous lady. And, as ill-luck would have it, visitors came every day, +who had to be entertained, fed, and even put up for the night. But all +this hard labour passed unnoticed as though in a fog. Tanya felt that +love and happiness had taken her unawares, though she had, since she was +fourteen, for some reason been convinced that Kovrin would marry her and +no one else. She was bewildered, could not grasp it, could not believe +herself.... At one minute such joy would swoop down upon her that she +longed to fly away to the clouds and there pray to God, at another +moment she would remember that in August she would have to part from her +home and leave her father; or, goodness knows why, the idea would occur +to her that she was worthless--insignificant and unworthy of a great man +like Kovrin--and she would go to her room, lock herself in, and cry +bitterly for several hours. When there were visitors, she would suddenly +fancy that Kovrin looked extraordinarily handsome, and that all the +women were in love with him and envying her, and her soul was filled +with pride and rapture, as though she had vanquished the whole world; +but he had only to smile politely at any young lady for her to be +trembling with jealousy, to retreat to her room--and tears again. These +new sensations mastered her completely; she helped her father +mechanically, without noticing peaches, caterpillars or labourers, or +how rapidly the time was passing. + +It was almost the same with Yegor Semyonitch. He worked from morning +till night, was always in a hurry, was irritable, and flew into rages, +but all of this was in a sort of spellbound dream. It seemed as though +there were two men in him: one was the real Yegor Semyonitch, who was +moved to indignation, and clutched his head in despair when he heard of +some irregularity from Ivan Karlovitch the gardener; and another--not +the real one--who seemed as though he were half drunk, would interrupt a +business conversation at half a word, touch the gardener on the +shoulder, and begin muttering: + +"Say what you like, there is a great deal in blood. His mother was a +wonderful woman, most high-minded and intelligent. It was a pleasure to +look at her good, candid, pure face; it was like the face of an angel. +She drew splendidly, wrote verses, spoke five foreign languages, +sang.... Poor thing! she died of consumption. The Kingdom of Heaven be +hers." + +The unreal Yegor Semyonitch sighed, and after a pause went on: + +"When he was a boy and growing up in my house, he had the same angelic +face, good and candid. The way he looks and talks and moves is as soft +and elegant as his mother's. And his intellect! We were always struck +with his intelligence. To be sure, it's not for nothing he's a Master of +Arts! It's not for nothing! And wait a bit, Ivan Karlovitch, what will +he be in ten years' time? He will be far above us!" + +But at this point the real Yegor Semyonitch, suddenly coming to himself, +would make a terrible face, would clutch his head and cry: + +"The devils! They have spoilt everything! They have ruined everything! +They have spoilt everything! The garden's done for, the garden's +ruined!" + +Kovrin, meanwhile, worked with the same ardour as before, and did not +notice the general commotion. Love only added fuel to the flames. After +every talk with Tanya he went to his room, happy and triumphant, took up +his book or his manuscript with the same passion with which he had just +kissed Tanya and told her of his love. What the black monk had told him +of the chosen of God, of eternal truth, of the brilliant future of +mankind and so on, gave peculiar and extraordinary significance to his +work, and filled his soul with pride and the consciousness of his own +exalted consequence. Once or twice a week, in the park or in the house, +he met the black monk and had long conversations with him, but this did +not alarm him, but, on the contrary, delighted him, as he was now firmly +persuaded that such apparitions only visited the elect few who rise up +above their fellows and devote themselves to the service of the idea. + +One day the monk appeared at dinner-time and sat in the dining-room +window. Kovrin was delighted, and very adroitly began a conversation +with Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya of what might be of interest to the +monk; the black-robed visitor listened and nodded his head graciously, +and Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya listened, too, and smiled gaily without +suspecting that Kovrin was not talking to them but to his hallucination. + +Imperceptibly the fast of the Assumption was approaching, and soon after +came the wedding, which, at Yegor Semyonitch's urgent desire, was +celebrated with "a flourish"--that is, with senseless festivities that +lasted for two whole days and nights. Three thousand roubles' worth of +food and drink was consumed, but the music of the wretched hired band, +the noisy toasts, the scurrying to and fro of the footmen, the uproar +and crowding, prevented them from appreciating the taste of the +expensive wines and wonderful delicacies ordered from Moscow. + + +VII + +One long winter night Kovrin was lying in bed, reading a French novel. +Poor Tanya, who had headaches in the evenings from living in town, to +which she was not accustomed, had been asleep a long while, and, from +time to time, articulated some incoherent phrase in her restless dreams. + +It struck three o'clock. Kovrin put out the light and lay down to sleep, +lay for a long time with his eyes closed, but could not get to sleep +because, as he fancied, the room was very hot and Tanya talked in her +sleep. At half-past four he lighted the candle again, and this time he +saw the black monk sitting in an arm-chair near the bed. + +"Good-morning," said the monk, and after a brief pause he asked: "What +are you thinking of now?" + +"Of fame," answered Kovrin. "In the French novel I have just been +reading, there is a description of a young _savant_, who does silly +things and pines away through worrying about fame. I can't understand +such anxiety." + +"Because you are wise. Your attitude towards fame is one of +indifference, as towards a toy which no longer interests you." + +"Yes, that is true." + +"Renown does not allure you now. What is there flattering, amusing, or +edifying in their carving your name on a tombstone, then time rubbing +off the inscription together with the gilding? Moreover, happily there +are too many of you for the weak memory of mankind to be able to retain +your names." + +"Of course," assented Kovrin. "Besides, why should they be remembered? +But let us talk of something else. Of happiness, for instance. What is +happiness?" + +When the clock struck five, he was sitting on the bed, dangling his feet +to the carpet, talking to the monk: + +"In ancient times a happy man grew at last frightened of his happiness +--it was so great!--and to propitiate the gods he brought as a sacrifice +his favourite ring. Do you know, I, too, like Polykrates, begin to be +uneasy of my happiness. It seems strange to me that from morning to +night I feel nothing but joy; it fills my whole being and smothers all +other feelings. I don't know what sadness, grief, or boredom is. Here I +am not asleep; I suffer from sleeplessness, but I am not dull. I say it +in earnest; I begin to feel perplexed." + +"But why?" the monk asked in wonder. "Is joy a supernatural feeling? +Ought it not to be the normal state of man? The more highly a man is +developed on the intellectual and moral side, the more independent he +is, the more pleasure life gives him. Socrates, Diogenes, and Marcus +Aurelius, were joyful, not sorrowful. And the Apostle tells us: 'Rejoice +continually'; 'Rejoice and be glad.'" + +"But will the gods be suddenly wrathful?" Kovrin jested; and he laughed. +"If they take from me comfort and make me go cold and hungry, it won't +be very much to my taste." + +Meanwhile Tanya woke up and looked with amazement and horror at her +husband. He was talking, addressing the arm-chair, laughing and +gesticulating; his eyes were gleaming, and there was something strange +in his laugh. + +"Andryusha, whom are you talking to?" she asked, clutching the hand he +stretched out to the monk. "Andryusha! Whom?" + +"Oh! Whom?" said Kovrin in confusion. "Why, to him.... He is sitting +here," he said, pointing to the black monk. + +"There is no one here ... no one! Andryusha, you are ill!" + +Tanya put her arm round her husband and held him tight, as though +protecting him from the apparition, and put her hand over his eyes. + +"You are ill!" she sobbed, trembling all over. "Forgive me, my precious, +my dear one, but I have noticed for a long time that your mind is +clouded in some way.... You are mentally ill, Andryusha...." + +Her trembling infected him, too. He glanced once more at the arm-chair, +which was now empty, felt a sudden weakness in his arms and legs, was +frightened, and began dressing. + +"It's nothing, Tanya; it's nothing," he muttered, shivering. "I really +am not quite well ... it's time to admit that." + +"I have noticed it for a long time ... and father has noticed it," she +said, trying to suppress her sobs. "You talk to yourself, smile somehow +strangely ... and can't sleep. Oh, my God, my God, save us!" she said in +terror. "But don't be frightened, Andryusha; for God's sake don't be +frightened...." + +She began dressing, too. Only now, looking at her, Kovrin realised the +danger of his position--realised the meaning of the black monk and his +conversations with him. It was clear to him now that he was mad. + +Neither of them knew why they dressed and went into the dining-room: she +in front and he following her. There they found Yegor Semyonitch +standing in his dressing-gown and with a candle in his hand. He was +staying with them, and had been awakened by Tanya's sobs. + +"Don't be frightened, Andryusha," Tanya was saying, shivering as though +in a fever; "don't be frightened.... Father, it will all pass over ... +it will all pass over...." + +Kovrin was too much agitated to speak. He wanted to say to his +father-in-law in a playful tone: "Congratulate me; it appears I have +gone out of my mind"; but he could only move his lips and smile +bitterly. + +At nine o'clock in the morning they put on his jacket and fur coat, +wrapped him up in a shawl, and took him in a carriage to a doctor. + + +VIII + +Summer had come again, and the doctor advised their going into the +country. Kovrin had recovered; he had left off seeing the black monk, +and he had only to get up his strength. Staying at his father-in-law's, +he drank a great deal of milk, worked for only two hours out of the +twenty-four, and neither smoked nor drank wine. + +On the evening before Elijah's Day they had an evening service in the +house. When the deacon was handing the priest the censer the immense old +room smelt like a graveyard, and Kovrin felt bored. He went out into the +garden. Without noticing the gorgeous flowers, he walked about the +garden, sat down on a seat, then strolled about the park; reaching the +river, he went down and then stood lost in thought, looking at the +water. The sullen pines with their shaggy roots, which had seen him a +year before so young, so joyful and confident, were not whispering now, +but standing mute and motionless, as though they did not recognise him. +And, indeed, his head was closely cropped, his beautiful long hair was +gone, his step was lagging, his face was fuller and paler than last +summer. + +He crossed by the footbridge to the other side. Where the year before +there had been rye the oats stood, reaped, and lay in rows. The sun had +set and there was a broad stretch of glowing red on the horizon, a sign +of windy weather next day. It was still. Looking in the direction from +which the year before the black monk had first appeared, Kovrin stood +for twenty minutes, till the evening glow had begun to fade.... + +When, listless and dissatisfied, he returned home the service was over. +Yegor Semyonitch and Tanya were sitting on the steps of the verandah, +drinking tea. They were talking of something, but, seeing Kovrin, ceased +at once, and he concluded from their faces that their talk had been +about him. + +"I believe it is time for you to have your milk," Tanya said to her +husband. + +"No, it is not time yet ..." he said, sitting down on the bottom step. +"Drink it yourself; I don't want it." + +Tanya exchanged a troubled glance with her father, and said in a guilty +voice: + +"You notice yourself that milk does you good." + +"Yes, a great deal of good!" Kovrin laughed. "I congratulate you: I have +gained a pound in weight since Friday." He pressed his head tightly in +his hands and said miserably: "Why, why have you cured me? Preparations +of bromide, idleness, hot baths, supervision, cowardly consternation at +every mouthful, at every step--all this will reduce me at last to +idiocy. I went out of my mind, I had megalomania; but then I was +cheerful, confident, and even happy; I was interesting and original. Now +I have become more sensible and stolid, but I am just like every one +else: I am--mediocrity; I am weary of life.... Oh, how cruelly you have +treated me!... I saw hallucinations, but what harm did that do to any +one? I ask, what harm did that do any one?" + +"Goodness knows what you are saying!" sighed Yegor Semyonitch. "It's +positively wearisome to listen to it." + +"Then don't listen." + +The presence of other people, especially Yegor Semyonitch, irritated +Kovrin now; he answered him drily, coldly, and even rudely, never looked +at him but with irony and hatred, while Yegor Semyonitch was overcome +with confusion and cleared his throat guiltily, though he was not +conscious of any fault in himself. At a loss to understand why their +charming and affectionate relations had changed so abruptly, Tanya +huddled up to her father and looked anxiously in his face; she wanted to +understand and could not understand, and all that was clear to her was +that their relations were growing worse and worse every day, that of +late her father had begun to look much older, and her husband had grown +irritable, capricious, quarrelsome and uninteresting. She could not +laugh or sing; at dinner she ate nothing; did not sleep for nights +together, expecting something awful, and was so worn out that on one +occasion she lay in a dead faint from dinner-time till evening. During +the service she thought her father was crying, and now while the three +of them were sitting together on the terrace she made an effort not to +think of it. + +"How fortunate Buddha, Mahomed, and Shakespeare were that their kind +relations and doctors did not cure them of their ecstasy and their +inspiration," said Kovrin. "If Mahomed had taken bromide for his nerves, +had worked only two hours out of the twenty-four, and had drunk milk, +that remarkable man would have left no more trace after him than his +dog. Doctors and kind relations will succeed in stupefying mankind, in +making mediocrity pass for genius and in bringing civilisation to ruin. +If only you knew," Kovrin said with annoyance, "how grateful I am to +you." + +He felt intense irritation, and to avoid saying too much, he got up +quickly and went into the house. It was still, and the fragrance of the +tobacco plant and the marvel of Peru floated in at the open window. The +moonlight lay in green patches on the floor and on the piano in the big +dark dining-room. Kovrin remembered the raptures of the previous summer +when there had been the same scent of the marvel of Peru and the moon +had shone in at the window. To bring back the mood of last year he went +quickly to his study, lighted a strong cigar, and told the footman to +bring him some wine. But the cigar left a bitter and disgusting taste in +his mouth, and the wine had not the same flavour as it had the year +before. And so great is the effect of giving up a habit, the cigar and +the two gulps of wine made him giddy, and brought on palpitations of the +heart, so that he was obliged to take bromide. + +Before going to bed, Tanya said to him: + +"Father adores you. You are cross with him about something, and it is +killing him. Look at him; he is ageing, not from day to day, but from +hour to hour. I entreat you, Andryusha, for God's sake, for the sake of +your dead father, for the sake of my peace of mind, be affectionate to +him." + +"I can't, I don't want to." + +"But why?" asked Tanya, beginning to tremble all over. "Explain why." + +"Because he is antipathetic to me, that's all," said Kovrin carelessly; +and he shrugged his shoulders. "But we won't talk about him: he is your +father." + +"I can't understand, I can't," said Tanya, pressing her hands to her +temples and staring at a fixed point. "Something incomprehensible, +awful, is going on in the house. You have changed, grown unlike +yourself.... You, clever, extraordinary man as you are, are irritated +over trifles, meddle in paltry nonsense.... Such trivial things excite +you, that sometimes one is simply amazed and can't believe that it is +you. Come, come, don't be angry, don't be angry," she went on, kissing +his hands, frightened of her own words. "You are clever, kind, noble. +You will be just to father. He is so good." + +"He is not good; he is just good-natured. Burlesque old uncles like your +father, with well-fed, good-natured faces, extraordinarily hospitable +and queer, at one time used to touch me and amuse me in novels and in +farces and in life; now I dislike them. They are egoists to the marrow +of their bones. What disgusts me most of all is their being so well-fed, +and that purely bovine, purely hoggish optimism of a full stomach." + +Tanya sat down on the bed and laid her head on the pillow. + +"This is torture," she said, and from her voice it was evident that she +was utterly exhausted, and that it was hard for her to speak. "Not one +moment of peace since the winter.... Why, it's awful! My God! I am +wretched." + +"Oh, of course, I am Herod, and you and your father are the innocents. +Of course." + +His face seemed to Tanya ugly and unpleasant. Hatred and an ironical +expression did not suit him. And, indeed, she had noticed before that +there was something lacking in his face, as though ever since his hair +had been cut his face had changed, too. She wanted to say something +wounding to him, but immediately she caught herself in this antagonistic +feeling, she was frightened and went out of the bedroom. + + +IX + +Kovrin received a professorship at the University. The inaugural address +was fixed for the second of December, and a notice to that effect was +hung up in the corridor at the University. But on the day appointed he +informed the students' inspector, by telegram, that he was prevented by +illness from giving the lecture. + +He had haemorrhage from the throat. He was often spitting blood, but it +happened two or three times a month that there was a considerable loss +of blood, and then he grew extremely weak and sank into a drowsy +condition. This illness did not particularly frighten him, as he knew +that his mother had lived for ten years or longer suffering from the +same disease, and the doctors assured him that there was no danger, and +had only advised him to avoid excitement, to lead a regular life, and to +speak as little as possible. + +In January again his lecture did not take place owing to the same +reason, and in February it was too late to begin the course. It had to +be postponed to the following year. + +By now he was living not with Tanya, but with another woman, who was two +years older than he was, and who looked after him as though he were a +baby. He was in a calm and tranquil state of mind; he readily gave in to +her, and when Varvara Nikolaevna--that was the name of his +friend--decided to take him to the Crimea, he agreed, though he had a +presentiment that no good would come of the trip. + +They reached Sevastopol in the evening and stopped at an hotel to rest +and go on the next day to Yalta. They were both exhausted by the +journey. Varvara Nikolaevna had some tea, went to bed and was soon +asleep. But Kovrin did not go to bed. An hour before starting for the +station, he had received a letter from Tanya, and had not brought +himself to open it, and now it was lying in his coat pocket, and the +thought of it excited him disagreeably. At the bottom of his heart he +genuinely considered now that his marriage to Tanya had been a mistake. +He was glad that their separation was final, and the thought of that +woman who in the end had turned into a living relic, still walking about +though everything seemed dead in her except her big, staring, +intelligent eyes--the thought of her roused in him nothing but pity and +disgust with himself. The handwriting on the envelope reminded him how +cruel and unjust he had been two years before, how he had worked off his +anger at his spiritual emptiness, his boredom, his loneliness, and his +dissatisfaction with life by revenging himself on people in no way to +blame. He remembered, also, how he had torn up his dissertation and all +the articles he had written during his illness, and how he had thrown +them out of window, and the bits of paper had fluttered in the wind and +caught on the trees and flowers. In every line of them he saw strange, +utterly groundless pretension, shallow defiance, arrogance, megalomania; +and they made him feel as though he were reading a description of his +vices. But when the last manuscript had been torn up and sent flying out +of window, he felt, for some reason, suddenly bitter and angry; he went +to his wife and said a great many unpleasant things to her. My God, how +he had tormented her! One day, wanting to cause her pain, he told her +that her father had played a very unattractive part in their romance, +that he had asked him to marry her. Yegor Semyonitch accidentally +overheard this, ran into the room, and, in his despair, could not utter +a word, could only stamp and make a strange, bellowing sound as though +he had lost the power of speech, and Tanya, looking at her father, had +uttered a heart-rending shriek and had fallen into a swoon. It was +hideous. + +All this came back into his memory as he looked at the familiar writing. +Kovrin went out on to the balcony; it was still warm weather and there +was a smell of the sea. The wonderful bay reflected the moonshine and +the lights, and was of a colour for which it was difficult to find a +name. It was a soft and tender blending of dark blue and green; in +places the water was like blue vitriol, and in places it seemed as +though the moonlight were liquefied and filling the bay instead of +water. And what harmony of colours, what an atmosphere of peace, calm, +and sublimity! + +In the lower storey under the balcony the windows were probably open, +for women's voices and laughter could be heard distinctly. Apparently +there was an evening party. + +Kovrin made an effort, tore open the envelope, and, going back into his +room, read: + +"My father is just dead. I owe that to you, for you have killed him. Our +garden is being ruined; strangers are managing it already--that is, the +very thing is happening that poor father dreaded. That, too, I owe to +you. I hate you with my whole soul, and I hope you may soon perish. Oh, +how wretched I am! Insufferable anguish is burning my soul.... My curses +on you. I took you for an extraordinary man, a genius; I loved you, and +you have turned out a madman...." + +Kovrin could read no more, he tore up the letter and threw it away. He +was overcome by an uneasiness that was akin to terror. Varvara +Nikolaevna was asleep behind the screen, and he could hear her +breathing. From the lower storey came the sounds of laughter and women's +voices, but he felt as though in the whole hotel there were no living +soul but him. Because Tanya, unhappy, broken by sorrow, had cursed him +in her letter and hoped for his perdition, he felt eerie and kept +glancing hurriedly at the door, as though he were afraid that the +uncomprehended force which two years before had wrought such havoc in +his life and in the life of those near him might come into the room and +master him once more. + +He knew by experience that when his nerves were out of hand the best +thing for him to do was to work. He must sit down to the table and force +himself, at all costs, to concentrate his mind on some one thought. He +took from his red portfolio a manuscript containing a sketch of a small +work of the nature of a compilation, which he had planned in case he +should find it dull in the Crimea without work. He sat down to the table +and began working at this plan, and it seemed to him that his calm, +peaceful, indifferent mood was coming back. The manuscript with the +sketch even led him to meditation on the vanity of the world. He thought +how much life exacts for the worthless or very commonplace blessings it +can give a man. For instance, to gain, before forty, a university chair, +to be an ordinary professor, to expound ordinary and second-hand +thoughts in dull, heavy, insipid language--in fact, to gain the position +of a mediocre learned man, he, Kovrin, had had to study for fifteen +years, to work day and night, to endure a terrible mental illness, to +experience an unhappy marriage, and to do a great number of stupid and +unjust things which it would have been pleasant not to remember. Kovrin +recognised clearly, now, that he was a mediocrity, and readily resigned +himself to it, as he considered that every man ought to be satisfied +with what he is. + +The plan of the volume would have soothed him completely, but the torn +letter showed white on the floor and prevented him from concentrating +his attention. He got up from the table, picked up the pieces of the +letter and threw them out of window, but there was a light wind blowing +from the sea, and the bits of paper were scattered on the windowsill. +Again he was overcome by uneasiness akin to terror, and he felt as +though in the whole hotel there were no living soul but himself.... He +went out on the balcony. The bay, like a living thing, looked at him +with its multitude of light blue, dark blue, turquoise and fiery eyes, +and seemed beckoning to him. And it really was hot and oppressive, and +it would not have been amiss to have a bathe. + +Suddenly in the lower storey under the balcony a violin began playing, +and two soft feminine voices began singing. It was something familiar. +The song was about a maiden, full of sick fancies, who heard one night +in her garden mysterious sounds, so strange and lovely that she was +obliged to recognise them as a holy harmony which is unintelligible to +us mortals, and so flies back to heaven.... Kovrin caught his breath and +there was a pang of sadness at his heart, and a thrill of the sweet, +exquisite delight he had so long forgotten began to stir in his breast. + +A tall black column, like a whirlwind or a waterspout, appeared on the +further side of the bay. It moved with fearful rapidity across the bay, +towards the hotel, growing smaller and darker as it came, and Kovrin +only just had time to get out of the way to let it pass.... The monk +with bare grey head, black eyebrows, barefoot, his arms crossed over his +breast, floated by him, and stood still in the middle of the room. + +"Why did you not believe me?" he asked reproachfully, looking +affectionately at Kovrin. "If you had believed me then, that you were a +genius, you would not have spent these two years so gloomily and so +wretchedly." + +Kovrin already believed that he was one of God's chosen and a genius; he +vividly recalled his conversations with the monk in the past and tried +to speak, but the blood flowed from his throat on to his breast, and not +knowing what he was doing, he passed his hands over his breast, and his +cuffs were soaked with blood. He tried to call Varvara Nikolaevna, who +was asleep behind the screen; he made an effort and said: + +"Tanya!" + +He fell on the floor, and propping himself on his arms, called again: + +"Tanya!" + +He called Tanya, called to the great garden with the gorgeous flowers +sprinkled with dew, called to the park, the pines with their shaggy +roots, the rye-field, his marvellous learning, his youth, courage, +joy--called to life, which was so lovely. He saw on the floor near his +face a great pool of blood, and was too weak to utter a word, but an +unspeakable, infinite happiness flooded his whole being. Below, under +the balcony, they were playing the serenade, and the black monk +whispered to him that he was a genius, and that he was dying only +because his frail human body had lost its balance and could no longer +serve as the mortal garb of genius. + +When Varvara Nikolaevna woke up and came out from behind the screen, +Kovrin was dead, and a blissful smile was set upon his face. + + + + +VOLODYA + + +AT five o'clock one Sunday afternoon in summer, Volodya, a plain, shy, +sickly-looking lad of seventeen, was sitting in the arbour of the +Shumihins' country villa, feeling dreary. His despondent thought flowed +in three directions. In the first place, he had next day, Monday, an +examination in mathematics; he knew that if he did not get through the +written examination on the morrow, he would be expelled, for he had +already been two years in the sixth form and had two and three-quarter +marks for algebra in his annual report. In the second place, his +presence at the villa of the Shumihins, a wealthy family with +aristocratic pretensions, was a continual source of mortification to his +_amour-propre_. It seemed to him that Madame Shumihin looked upon him +and his maman as poor relations and dependents, that they laughed at his +_maman_ and did not respect her. He had on one occasion accidently +overheard Madame Shumihin, in the verandah, telling her cousin Anna +Fyodorovna that his _maman_ still tried to look young and got herself +up, that she never paid her losses at cards, and had a partiality for +other people's shoes and tobacco. Every day Volodya besought his _maman_ +not to go to the Shumihins', and drew a picture of the humiliating part +she played with these gentlefolk. He tried to persuade her, said rude +things, but she--a frivolous, pampered woman, who had run through two +fortunes, her own and her husband's, in her time, and always gravitated +towards acquaintances of high rank--did not understand him, and twice a +week Volodya had to accompany her to the villa he hated. + +In the third place, the youth could not for one instant get rid of a +strange, unpleasant feeling which was absolutely new to him.... It +seemed to him that he was in love with Anna Fyodorovna, the Shumihins' +cousin, who was staying with them. She was a vivacious, loud-voiced, +laughter-loving, healthy, and vigorous lady of thirty, with rosy cheeks, +plump shoulders, a plump round chin and a continual smile on her thin +lips. She was neither young nor beautiful--Volodya knew that perfectly +well; but for some reason he could not help thinking of her, looking at +her while she shrugged her plump shoulders and moved her flat back as +she played croquet, or after prolonged laughter and running up and down +stairs, sank into a low chair, and, half closing her eyes and gasping +for breath, pretended that she was stifling and could not breathe. She +was married. Her husband, a staid and dignified architect, came once a +week to the villa, slept soundly, and returned to town. Volodya's +strange feeling had begun with his conceiving an unaccountable hatred +for the architect, and feeling relieved every time he went back to town. + +Now, sitting in the arbour, thinking of his examination next day, and of +his _maman_, at whom they laughed, he felt an intense desire to see +Nyuta (that was what the Shumihins called Anna Fyodorovna), to hear her +laughter and the rustle of her dress.... This desire was not like the +pure, poetic love of which he read in novels and about which he dreamed +every night when he went to bed; it was strange, incomprehensible; he +was ashamed of it, and afraid of it as of something very wrong and +impure, something which it was disagreeable to confess even to himself. + +"It's not love," he said to himself. "One can't fall in love with women +of thirty who are married. It is only a little intrigue.... Yes, an +intrigue...." + +Pondering on the "intrigue," he thought of his uncontrollable shyness, +his lack of moustache, his freckles, his narrow eyes, and put himself in +his imagination side by side with Nyuta, and the juxtaposition seemed to +him impossible; then he made haste to imagine himself bold, handsome, +witty, dressed in the latest fashion. + +When his dreams were at their height, as he sat huddled together and +looking at the ground in a dark corner of the arbour, he heard the sound +of light footsteps. Some one was coming slowly along the avenue. Soon +the steps stopped and something white gleamed in the entrance. + +"Is there any one here?" asked a woman's voice. + +Volodya recognised the voice, and raised his head in a fright. + +"Who is here?" asked Nyuta, going into the arbour. "Ah, it is you, +Volodya? What are you doing here? Thinking? And how can you go on +thinking, thinking, thinking?... That's the way to go out of your mind!" + +Volodya got up and looked in a dazed way at Nyuta. She had only just +come back from bathing. Over her shoulder there was hanging a sheet and +a rough towel, and from under the white silk kerchief on her head he +could see the wet hair sticking to her forehead. There was the cool damp +smell of the bath-house and of almond soap still hanging about her. She +was out of breath from running quickly. The top button of her blouse was +undone, so that the boy saw her throat and bosom. + +"Why don't you say something?" said Nyuta, looking Volodya up and down. +"It's not polite to be silent when a lady talks to you. What a clumsy +seal you are though, Volodya! You always sit, saying nothing, thinking +like some philosopher. There's not a spark of life or fire in you! You +are really horrid!... At your age you ought to be living, skipping, and +jumping, chattering, flirting, falling in love." + +Volodya looked at the sheet that was held by a plump white hand, and +thought.... + +"He's mute," said Nyuta, with wonder; "it is strange, really.... Listen! +Be a man! Come, you might smile at least! Phew, the horrid philosopher!" +she laughed. "But do you know, Volodya, why you are such a clumsy seal? +Because you don't devote yourself to the ladies. Why don't you? It's +true there are no girls here, but there is nothing to prevent your +flirting with the married ladies! Why don't you flirt with me, for +instance?" + +Volodya listened and scratched his forehead in acute and painful +irresolution. + +"It's only very proud people who are silent and love solitude," Nyuta +went on, pulling his hand away from his forehead. "You are proud, +Volodya. Why do you look at me like that from under your brows? Look me +straight in the face, if you please! Yes, now then, clumsy seal!" + +Volodya made up his mind to speak. Wanting to smile, he twitched his +lower lip, blinked, and again put his hand to his forehead. + +"I ... I love you," he said. + +Nyuta raised her eyebrows in surprise, and laughed. + +"What do I hear?" she sang, as prima-donnas sing at the opera when they +hear something awful. "What? What did you say? Say it again, say it +again...." + +"I ... I love you!" repeated Volodya. + +And without his will's having any part in his action, without reflection +or understanding, he took half a step towards Nyuta and clutched her by +the arm. Everything was dark before his eyes, and tears came into them. +The whole world was turned into one big, rough towel which smelt of the +bathhouse. + +"Bravo, bravo!" he heard a merry laugh. "Why don't you speak? I want you +to speak! Well?" + +Seeing that he was not prevented from holding her arm, Volodya glanced +at Nyuta's laughing face, and clumsily, awkwardly, put both arms round +her waist, his hands meeting behind her back. He held her round the +waist with both arms, while, putting her hands up to her head, showing +the dimples in her elbows, she set her hair straight under the kerchief +and said in a calm voice: + +"You must be tactful, polite, charming, and you can only become that +under feminine influence. But what a wicked, angry face you have! You +must talk, laugh.... Yes, Volodya, don't be surly; you are young and +will have plenty of time for philosophising. Come, let go of me; I am +going. Let go." + +Without effort she released her waist, and, humming something, walked +out of the arbour. Volodya was left alone. He smoothed his hair, smiled, +and walked three times to and fro across the arbour, then he sat down on +the bench and smiled again. He felt insufferably ashamed, so much so +that he wondered that human shame could reach such a pitch of acuteness +and intensity. Shame made him smile, gesticulate, and whisper some +disconnected words. + +He was ashamed that he had been treated like a small boy, ashamed of his +shyness, and, most of all, that he had had the audacity to put his arms +round the waist of a respectable married woman, though, as it seemed to +him, he had neither through age nor by external quality, nor by social +position any right to do so. + +He jumped up, went out of the arbour, and, without looking round, walked +into the recesses of the garden furthest from the house. + +"Ah! only to get away from here as soon as possible," he thought, +clutching his head. "My God! as soon as possible." + +The train by which Volodya was to go back with his _maman_ was at +eight-forty. There were three hours before the train started, but he +would with pleasure have gone to the station at once without waiting for +his _maman_. + +At eight o'clock he went to the house. His whole figure was expressive +of determination: what would be, would be! He made up his mind to go in +boldly, to look them straight in the face, to speak in a loud voice, +regardless of everything. + +He crossed the terrace, the big hall and the drawing-room, and there +stopped to take breath. He could hear them in the dining-room, drinking +tea. Madame Shumihin, _maman_, and Nyuta were talking and laughing about +something. + +Volodya listened. + +"I assure you!" said Nyuta. "I could not believe my eyes! When he began +declaring his passion and--just imagine!--put his arms round my waist, I +should not have recognised him. And you know he has a way with him! When +he told me he was in love with me, there was something brutal in his +face, like a Circassian." + +"Really!" gasped _maman_, going off into a peal of laughter. "Really! +How he does remind me of his father!" + +Volodya ran back and dashed out into the open air. + +"How could they talk of it aloud!" he wondered in agony, clasping his +hands and looking up to the sky in horror. "They talk aloud in cold +blood ... and _maman_ laughed!... _Maman!_ My God, why didst Thou give +me such a mother? Why?" + +But he had to go to the house, come what might. He walked three times up +and down the avenue, grew a little calmer, and went into the house. + +"Why didn't you come in in time for tea?" Madame Shumihin asked sternly. + +"I am sorry, it's ... it's time for me to go," he muttered, not raising +his eyes. "_Maman_, it's eight o'clock!" + +"You go alone, my dear," said his _maman_ languidly. "I am staying the +night with Lili. Goodbye, my dear.... Let me make the sign of the cross +over you." + +She made the sign of the cross over her son, and said in French, turning +to Nyuta: + +"He's rather like Lermontov ... isn't he?" + +Saying good-bye after a fashion, without looking any one in the face, +Volodya went out of the dining-room. Ten minutes later he was walking +along the road to the station, and was glad of it. Now he felt neither +frightened nor ashamed; he breathed freely and easily. + +About half a mile from the station, he sat down on a stone by the side +of the road, and gazed at the sun, which was half hidden behind a +barrow. There were lights already here and there at the station, and one +green light glimmered dimly, but the train was not yet in sight. It was +pleasant to Volodya to sit still without moving, and to watch the +evening coming little by little. The darkness of the arbour, the +footsteps, the smell of the bath-house, the laughter, and the waist--all +these rose with amazing vividness before his imagination, and all this +was no longer so terrible and important as before. + +"It's of no consequence.... She did not pull her hand away, and laughed +when I held her by the waist," he thought. "So she must have liked it. +If she had disliked it she would have been angry...." + +And now Volodya felt sorry that he had not had more boldness there in +the arbour. He felt sorry that he was so stupidly going away, and he was +by now persuaded that if the same thing happened again he would be +bolder and look at it more simply. + +And it would not be difficult for the opportunity to occur again. They +used to stroll about for a long time after supper at the Shumihins'. If +Volodya went for a walk with Nyuta in the dark garden, there would be an +opportunity! + +"I will go back," he thought, "and will go by the morning train +to-morrow.... I will say I have missed the train." + +And he turned back.... Madame Shumihin, _Maman_, Nyuta, and one of the +nieces were sitting on the verandah, playing _vint_. When Volodya told +them the lie that he had missed the train, they were uneasy that he +might be late for the examination day, and advised him to get up early. +All the while they were playing he sat on one side, greedily watching +Nyuta and waiting.... He already had a plan prepared in his mind: he +would go up to Nyuta in the dark, would take her by the hand, then would +embrace her; there would be no need to say anything, as both of them +would understand without words. + +But after supper the ladies did not go for a walk in the garden, but +went on playing cards. They played till one o'clock at night, and then +broke up to go to bed. + +"How stupid it all is!" Volodya thought with vexation as he got into +bed. "But never mind; I'll wait till to-morrow ... to-morrow in the +arbour. It doesn't matter...." + +He did not attempt to go to sleep, but sat in bed, hugging his knees and +thinking. All thought of the examination was hateful to him. He had +already made up his mind that they would expel him, and that there was +nothing terrible about his being expelled. On the contrary, it was a +good thing--a very good thing, in fact. Next day he would be as free as +a bird; he would put on ordinary clothes instead of his school uniform, +would smoke openly, come out here, and make love to Nyuta when he liked; +and he would not be a schoolboy but "a young man." And as for the rest +of it, what is called a career, a future, that was clear; Volodya would +go into the army or the telegraph service, or he would go into a +chemist's shop and work his way up till he was a dispenser.... There +were lots of callings. An hour or two passed, and he was still sitting +and thinking.... + +Towards three o'clock, when it was beginning to get light, the door +creaked cautiously and his _maman_ came into the room. + +"Aren't you asleep?" she asked, yawning. "Go to sleep; I have only come +in for a minute.... I am only fetching the drops...." + +"What for?" + +"Poor Lili has got spasms again. Go to sleep, my child, your +examination's to-morrow...." + +She took a bottle of something out of the cupboard, went to the window, +read the label, and went away. + +"Marya Leontyevna, those are not the drops!" Volodya heard a woman's +voice, a minute later. "That's convallaria, and Lili wants morphine. Is +your son asleep? Ask him to look for it...." + +It was Nyuta's voice. Volodya turned cold. He hurriedly put on his +trousers, flung his coat over his shoulders, and went to the door. + +"Do you understand? Morphine," Nyuta explained in a whisper. "There must +be a label in Latin. Wake Volodya; he will find it." + +_Maman_ opened the door and Volodya caught sight of Nyuta. She was +wearing the same loose wrapper in which she had gone to bathe. Her hair +hung loose and disordered on her shoulders, her face looked sleepy and +dark in the half-light.... + +"Why, Volodya is not asleep," she said. "Volodya, look in the cupboard +for the morphine, there's a dear! What a nuisance Lili is! She has +always something the matter." + +_Maman_ muttered something, yawned, and went away. + +"Look for it," said Nyuta. "Why are you standing still?" + +Volodya went to the cupboard, knelt down, and began looking through the +bottles and boxes of medicine. His hands were trembling, and he had a +feeling in his chest and stomach as though cold waves were running all +over his inside. He felt suffocated and giddy from the smell of ether, +carbolic acid, and various drugs, which he quite unnecessarily snatched +up with his trembling fingers and spilled in so doing. + +"I believe _maman_ has gone," he thought. "That's a good thing ... a +good thing...." + +"Will you be quick?" said Nyuta, drawling. + +"In a minute.... Here, I believe this is morphine," said Volodya, +reading on one of the labels the word "morph...." "Here it is!" + +Nyuta was standing in the doorway in such a way that one foot was in his +room and one was in the passage. She was tidying her hair, which was +difficult to put in order because it was so thick and long, and looked +absent-mindedly at Volodya. In her loose wrap, with her sleepy face and +her hair down, in the dim light that came into the white sky not yet lit +by the sun, she seemed to Volodya captivating, magnificent.... +Fascinated, trembling all over, and remembering with relish how he had +held that exquisite body in his arms in the arbour, he handed her the +bottle and said: + +"How wonderful you are!" + +"What?" + +She came into the room. + +"What?" she asked, smiling. + +He was silent and looked at her, then, just as in the arbour, he took +her hand, and she looked at him with a smile and waited for what would +happen next. + +"I love you," he whispered. + +She left off smiling, thought a minute, and said: + +"Wait a little; I think somebody is coming. Oh, these schoolboys!" she +said in an undertone, going to the door and peeping out into the +passage. "No, there is no one to be seen...." + +She came back. + +Then it seemed to Volodya that the room, Nyuta, the sunrise and +himself--all melted together in one sensation of acute, extraordinary, +incredible bliss, for which one might give up one's whole life and face +eternal torments.... But half a minute passed and all that vanished. +Volodya saw only a fat, plain face, distorted by an expression of +repulsion, and he himself suddenly felt a loathing for what had +happened. + +"I must go away, though," said Nyuta, looking at Volodya with disgust. +"What a wretched, ugly ... fie, ugly duckling!" + +How unseemly her long hair, her loose wrap, her steps, her voice seemed +to Volodya now!... + +"'Ugly duckling' ..." he thought after she had gone away. "I really am +ugly ... everything is ugly." + +The sun was rising, the birds were singing loudly; he could hear the +gardener walking in the garden and the creaking of his wheelbarrow ... +and soon afterwards he heard the lowing of the cows and the sounds of +the shepherd's pipe. The sunlight and the sounds told him that somewhere +in this world there is a pure, refined, poetical life. But where was it? +Volodya had never heard a word of it from his _maman_ or any of the +people round about him. + +When the footman came to wake him for the morning train, he pretended to +be asleep.... + +"Bother it! Damn it all!" he thought. + +He got up between ten and eleven. + +Combing his hair before the looking-glass, and looking at his ugly face, +pale from his sleepless night, he thought: + +"It's perfectly true ... an ugly duckling!" + +When _maman_ saw him and was horrified that he was not at his +examination, Volodya said: + +"I overslept myself, _maman_.... But don't worry, I will get a medical +certificate." + +Madame Shumihin and Nyuta waked up at one o'clock. Volodya heard Madame +Shumihin open her window with a bang, heard Nyuta go off into a peal of +laughter in reply to her coarse voice. He saw the door open and a string +of nieces and other toadies (among the latter was his _maman_) file into +lunch, caught a glimpse of Nyuta's freshly washed laughing face, and, +beside her, the black brows and beard of her husband the architect, who +had just arrived. + +Nyuta was wearing a Little Russian dress which did not suit her at all, +and made her look clumsy; the architect was making dull and vulgar +jokes. The rissoles served at lunch had too much onion in them--so it +seemed to Volodya. It also seemed to him that Nyuta laughed loudly on +purpose, and kept glancing in his direction to give him to understand +that the memory of the night did not trouble her in the least, and that +she was not aware of the presence at table of the "ugly duckling." + +At four o'clock Volodya drove to the station with his _maman_. Foul +memories, the sleepless night, the prospect of expulsion from school, +the stings of conscience--all roused in him now an oppressive, gloomy +anger. He looked at _maman_'s sharp profile, at her little nose, and at +the raincoat which was a present from Nyuta, and muttered: + +"Why do you powder? It's not becoming at your age! You make yourself up, +don't pay your debts at cards, smoke other people's tobacco.... It's +hateful! I don't love you ... I don't love you!" + +He was insulting her, and she moved her little eyes about in alarm, +flung up her hands, and whispered in horror: + +"What are you saying, my dear! Good gracious! the coachman will hear! Be +quiet or the coachman will hear! He can overhear everything." + +"I don't love you ... I don't love you!" he went on breathlessly. +"You've no soul and no morals.... Don't dare to wear that raincoat! Do +you hear? Or else I will tear it into rags...." + +"Control yourself, my child," _maman_ wept; "the coachman can hear!" + +"And where is my father's fortune? Where is your money? You have wasted +it all. I am not ashamed of being poor, but I am ashamed of having such +a mother.... When my schoolfellows ask questions about you, I always +blush." + +In the train they had to pass two stations before they reached the town. +Volodya spent all the time on the little platform between two carriages +and shivered all over. He did not want to go into the compartment +because there the mother he hated was sitting. He hated himself, hated +the ticket collectors, the smoke from the engine, the cold to which he +attributed his shivering. And the heavier the weight on his heart, the +more strongly he felt that somewhere in the world, among some people, +there was a pure, honourable, warm, refined life, full of love, +affection, gaiety, and serenity.... He felt this and was so intensely +miserable that one of the passengers, after looking in his face +attentively, actually asked: + +"You have the toothache, I suppose?" + +In the town _maman_ and Volodya lived with Marya Petrovna, a lady of +noble rank, who had a large flat and let rooms to boarders. _Maman_ had +two rooms, one with windows and two pictures in gold frames hanging on +the walls, in which her bed stood and in which she lived, and a little +dark room opening out of it in which Volodya lived. Here there was a +sofa on which he slept, and, except that sofa, there was no other +furniture; the rest of the room was entirely filled up with wicker +baskets full of clothes, cardboard hat-boxes, and all sorts of rubbish, +which _maman_ preserved for some reason or other. Volodya prepared his +lessons either in his mother's room or in the "general room," as the +large room in which the boarders assembled at dinner-time and in the +evening was called. + +On reaching home he lay down on his sofa and put the quilt over him to +stop his shivering. The cardboard hat-boxes, the wicker baskets, and the +other rubbish, reminded him that he had not a room of his own, that he +had no refuge in which he could get away from his mother, from her +visitors, and from the voices that were floating up from the "general +room." The satchel and the books lying about in the corners reminded him +of the examination he had missed.... For some reason there came into his +mind, quite inappropriately, Mentone, where he had lived with his father +when he was seven years old; he thought of Biarritz and two little +English girls with whom he ran about on the sand.... He tried to recall +to his memory the colour of the sky, the sea, the height of the waves, +and his mood at the time, but he could not succeed. The English girls +flitted before his imagination as though they were living; all the rest +was a medley of images that floated away in confusion.... + +"No; it's cold here," thought Volodya. He got up, put on his overcoat, +and went into the "general room." + +There they were drinking tea. There were three people at the samovar: +_maman_; an old lady with tortoiseshell pince-nez, who gave music +lessons; and Avgustin Mihalitch, an elderly and very stout Frenchman, +who was employed at a perfumery factory. + +"I have had no dinner to-day," said _maman_. "I ought to send the maid +to buy some bread." + +"Dunyasha!" shouted the Frenchman. + +It appeared that the maid had been sent out somewhere by the lady of the +house. + +"Oh, that's of no consequence," said the Frenchman, with a broad smile. +"I will go for some bread myself at once. Oh, it's nothing." + +He laid his strong, pungent cigar in a conspicuous place, put on his hat +and went out. After he had gone away _maman_ began telling the music +teacher how she had been staying at the Shumihins', and how warmly they +welcomed her. + +"Lili Shumihin is a relation of mine, you know," she said. "Her late +husband, General Shumihin, was a cousin of my husband. And she was a +Baroness Kolb by birth...." + +"_Maman_, that's false!" said Volodya irritably. "Why tell lies?" + +He knew perfectly well that what his mother said was true; in what she +was saying about General Shumihin and about Baroness Kolb there was not +a word of lying, but nevertheless he felt that she was lying. There was +a suggestion of falsehood in her manner of speaking, in the expression +of her face, in her eyes, in everything. + +"You are lying," repeated Volodya; and he brought his fist down on the +table with such force that all the crockery shook and _maman_'s tea was +spilt over. "Why do you talk about generals and baronesses? It's all +lies!" + +The music teacher was disconcerted, and coughed into her handkerchief, +affecting to sneeze, and _maman_ began to cry. + +"Where can I go?" thought Volodya. + +He had been in the street already; he was ashamed to go to his +schoolfellows. Again, quite incongruously, he remembered the two little +English girls.... He paced up and down the "general room," and went into +Avgustin Mihalitch's room. Here there was a strong smell of ethereal +oils and glycerine soap. On the table, in the window, and even on the +chairs, there were a number of bottles, glasses, and wineglasses +containing fluids of various colours. Volodya took up from the table a +newspaper, opened it and read the title _Figaro_ ... There was a strong +and pleasant scent about the paper. Then he took a revolver from the +table.... + +"There, there! Don't take any notice of it." The music teacher was +comforting _maman_ in the next room. "He is young! Young people of his +age never restrain themselves. One must resign oneself to that." + +"No, Yevgenya Andreyevna; he's too spoilt," said _maman_ in a singsong +voice. "He has no one in authority over him, and I am weak and can do +nothing. Oh, I am unhappy!" + +Volodya put the muzzle of the revolver to his mouth, felt something like +a trigger or spring, and pressed it with his finger.... Then felt +something else projecting, and once more pressed it. Taking the muzzle +out of his mouth, he wiped it with the lapel of his coat, looked at the +lock. He had never in his life taken a weapon in his hand before.... + +"I believe one ought to raise this ..." he reflected. "Yes, it seems +so." + +Avgustin Mihalitch went into the "general room," and with a laugh began +telling them about something. Volodya put the muzzle in his mouth again, +pressed it with his teeth, and pressed something with his fingers. There +was a sound of a shot.... Something hit Volodya in the back of his head +with terrible violence, and he fell on the table with his face downwards +among the bottles and glasses. Then he saw his father, as in Mentone, in +a top-hat with a wide black band on it, wearing mourning for some lady, +suddenly seize him by both hands, and they fell headlong into a very +deep, dark pit. + +Then everything was blurred and vanished. + + + + +AN ANONYMOUS STORY + + +I + +THROUGH causes which it is not the time to go into in detail, I had to +enter the service of a Petersburg official called Orlov, in the capacity +of a footman. He was about five and thirty, and was called Georgy* +Ivanitch. + +*Both _g's_ hard, as in "Gorgon"; _e_ like _ai_ in _rain_. + +I entered this Orlov's service on account of his father, a prominent +political man, whom I looked upon as a serious enemy of my cause. I +reckoned that, living with the son, I should--from the conversations I +should hear, and from the letters and papers I should find on the +table--learn every detail of the father's plans and intentions. + +As a rule at eleven o'clock in the morning the electric bell rang in my +footman's quarters to let me know that my master was awake. When I went +into the bedroom with his polished shoes and brushed clothes, Georgy +Ivanitch would be sitting in his bed with a face that looked, not +drowsy, but rather exhausted by sleep, and he would gaze off in one +direction without any sign of satisfaction at having waked. I helped him +to dress, and he let me do it with an air of reluctance without speaking +or noticing my presence; then with his head wet with washing, smelling +of fresh scent, he used to go into the dining-room to drink his coffee. +He used to sit at the table, sipping his coffee and glancing through the +newspapers, while the maid Polya and I stood respectfully at the door +gazing at him. Two grown-up persons had to stand watching with the +gravest attention a third drinking coffee and munching rusks. It was +probably ludicrous and grotesque, but I saw nothing humiliating in +having to stand near the door, though I was quite as well born and well +educated as Orlov himself. + +I was in the first stage of consumption, and was suffering from +something else, possibly even more serious than consumption. I don't +know whether it was the effect of my illness or of an incipient change +in my philosophy of life of which I was not conscious at the time, but I +was, day by day, more possessed by a passionate, irritating longing for +ordinary everyday life. I yearned for mental tranquillity, health, fresh +air, good food. I was becoming a dreamer, and, like a dreamer, I did not +know exactly what I wanted. Sometimes I felt inclined to go into a +monastery, to sit there for days together by the window and gaze at the +trees and the fields; sometimes I fancied I would buy fifteen acres of +land and settle down as a country gentleman; sometimes I inwardly vowed +to take up science and become a professor at some provincial university. +I was a retired navy lieutenant; I dreamed of the sea, of our squadron, +and of the corvette in which I had made the cruise round the world. I +longed to experience again the indescribable feeling when, walking in +the tropical forest or looking at the sunset in the Bay of Bengal, one +is thrilled with ecstasy and at the same time homesick. I dreamed of +mountains, women, music, and, with the curiosity of a child, I looked +into people's faces, listened to their voices. And when I stood at the +door and watched Orlov sipping his coffee, I felt not a footman, but a +man interested in everything in the world, even in Orlov. + +In appearance Orlov was a typical Petersburger, with narrow shoulders, a +long waist, sunken temples, eyes of an indefinite colour, and scanty, +dingy-coloured hair, beard and moustaches. His face had a stale, +unpleasant look, though it was studiously cared for. It was particularly +unpleasant when he was asleep or lost in thought. It is not worth while +describing a quite ordinary appearance; besides, Petersburg is not +Spain, and a man's appearance is not of much consequence even in love +affairs, and is only of value to a handsome footman or coachman. I have +spoken of Orlov's face and hair only because there was something in his +appearance worth mentioning. When Orlov took a newspaper or book, +whatever it might be, or met people, whoever they be, an ironical smile +began to come into his eyes, and his whole countenance assumed an +expression of light mockery in which there was no malice. Before reading +or hearing anything he always had his irony in readiness, as a savage +has his shield. It was an habitual irony, like some old liquor brewed +years ago, and now it came into his face probably without any +participation of his will, as it were by reflex action. But of that +later. + +Soon after midday he took his portfolio, full of papers, and drove to +his office. He dined away from home and returned after eight o'clock. I +used to light the lamp and candles in his study, and he would sit down +in a low chair with his legs stretched out on another chair, and, +reclining in that position, would begin reading. Almost every day he +brought in new books with him or received parcels of them from the +shops, and there were heaps of books in three languages, to say nothing +of Russian, which he had read and thrown away, in the corners of my room +and under my bed. He read with extraordinary rapidity. They say: "Tell +me what you read, and I'll tell you who you are." That may be true, but +it was absolutely impossible to judge of Orlov by what he read. It was a +regular hotchpotch. Philosophy, French novels, political economy, +finance, new poets, and publications of the firm _Posrednik_*--and he +read it all with the same rapidity and with the same ironical expression +in his eyes. + +* I.e., Tchertkov and others, publishers of Tolstoy, who issued good +literature for peasants' reading. + +After ten o'clock he carefully dressed, often in evening dress, very +rarely in his _kammer-junker_'s uniform, and went out, returning in the +morning. + +Our relations were quiet and peaceful, and we never had any +misunderstanding. As a rule he did not notice my presence, and when he +talked to me there was no expression of irony on his face--he evidently +did not look upon me as a human being. + +I only once saw him angry. One day--it was a week after I had entered +his service--he came back from some dinner at nine o'clock; his face +looked ill-humoured and exhausted. When I followed him into his study to +light the candles, he said to me: + +"There's a nasty smell in the flat." + +"No, the air is fresh," I answered. + +"I tell you, there's a bad smell," he answered irritably. + +"I open the movable panes every day." + +"Don't argue, blockhead!" he shouted. + +I was offended, and was on the point of answering, and goodness knows +how it would have ended if Polya, who knew her master better than I did, +had not intervened. + +"There really is a disagreeable smell," she said, raising her eyebrows. +"What can it be from? Stepan, open the pane in the drawing-room, and +light the fire." + +With much bustle and many exclamations, she went through all the rooms, +rustling her skirts and squeezing the sprayer with a hissing sound. And +Orlov was still out of humour; he was obviously restraining himself not +to vent his ill-temper aloud. He was sitting at the table and rapidly +writing a letter. After writing a few lines he snorted angrily and tore +it up, then he began writing again. + +"Damn them all!" he muttered. "They expect me to have an abnormal +memory!" + +At last the letter was written; he got up from the table and said, +turning to me: + +"Go to Znamensky Street and deliver this letter to Zinaida Fyodorovna +Krasnovsky in person. But first ask the porter whether her husband +--that is, Mr. Krasnovsky--has returned yet. If he has returned, don't +deliver the letter, but come back. Wait a minute!... If she asks whether +I have any one here, tell her that there have been two gentlemen here +since eight o'clock, writing something." + +I drove to Znamensky Street. The porter told me that Mr. Krasnovsky had +not yet come in, and I made my way up to the third storey. The door was +opened by a tall, stout, drab-coloured flunkey with black whiskers, who +in a sleepy, churlish, and apathetic voice, such as only flunkeys use in +addressing other flunkeys, asked me what I wanted. Before I had time to +answer, a lady dressed in black came hurriedly into the hall. She +screwed up her eyes and looked at me. + +"Is Zinaida Fyodorovna at home?" I asked. + +"That is me," said the lady. + +"A letter from Georgy Ivanitch." + +She tore the letter open impatiently, and holding it in both hands, so +that I saw her sparkling diamond rings, she began reading. I made out a +pale face with soft lines, a prominent chin, and long dark lashes. From +her appearance I should not have judged the lady to be more than five +and twenty. + +"Give him my thanks and my greetings," she said when she had finished +the letter. "Is there any one with Georgy Ivanitch?" she asked softly, +joyfully, and as though ashamed of her mistrust. + +"Two gentlemen," I answered. "They're writing something." + +"Give him my greetings and thanks," she repeated, bending her head +sideways, and, reading the letter as she walked, she went noiselessly +out. I saw few women at that time, and this lady of whom I had a passing +glimpse made an impression on me. As I walked home I recalled her face +and the delicate fragrance about her, and fell to dreaming. By the time +I got home Orlov had gone out. + + +II + +And so my relations with my employer were quiet and peaceful, but still +the unclean and degrading element which I so dreaded on becoming a +footman was conspicuous and made itself felt every day. I did not get on +with Polya. She was a well-fed and pampered hussy who adored Orlov +because he was a gentleman and despised me because I was a footman. +Probably, from the point of view of a real flunkey or cook, she was +fascinating, with her red cheeks, her turned-up nose, her coquettish +glances, and the plumpness, one might almost say fatness, of her person. +She powdered her face, coloured her lips and eyebrows, laced herself in, +and wore a bustle, and a bangle made of coins. She walked with little +ripping steps; as she walked she swayed, or, as they say, wriggled her +shoulders and back. The rustle of her skirts, the creaking of her stays, +the jingle her bangle and the vulgar smell of lip salve, toilet vinegar, +and scent stolen from her master, aroused me whilst I was doing the +rooms with her in the morning a sensation as though I were taking part +with her in some abomination. + +Either because I did not steal as she did, or because I displayed no +desire to become her lover, which she probably looked upon as an insult, +or perhaps because she felt that I was a man of a different order, she +hated me from the first day. My inexperience, my appearance--so unlike +a flunkey--and my illness, seemed to her pitiful and excited her +disgust. I had a bad cough at that time, and sometimes at night I +prevented her from sleeping, as our rooms were only divided by a wooden +partition, and every morning she said to me: + +"Again you didn't let me sleep. You ought to be in hospital instead of +in service." + +She so genuinely believed that I was hardly a human being, but something +infinitely below her, that, like the Roman matrons who were not ashamed +to bathe before their slaves, she sometimes went about in my presence in +nothing but her chemise. + +Once when I was in a happy, dreamy mood, I asked her at dinner (we had +soup and roast meat sent in from a restaurant every day) + +"Polya, do you believe in God?" + +"Why, of course!" + +"Then," I went on, "you believe there will be a day of judgment, and +that we shall have to answer to God for every evil action?" + +She gave me no reply, but simply made a contemptuous grimace, and, +looking that time at her cold eyes and over-fed expression, I realised +that for her complete and finished personality no God, no conscience, no +laws existed, and that if I had had to set fire to the house, to murder +or to rob, I could not have hired a better accomplice. + +In my novel surroundings I felt very uncomfortable for the first week at +Orlov's before I got used to being addressed as "thou," and being +constantly obliged to tell lies (saying "My master is not at home" when +he was). In my flunkey's swallow-tail I felt as though I were in armour. +But I grew accustomed to it in time. Like a genuine footman, I waited at +table, tidied the rooms, ran and drove about on errands of all sorts. +When Orlov did not want to keep an appointment with Zinaida Fyodorovna, +or when he forgot that he had promised to go and see her, I drove to +Znamensky Street, put a letter into her hands and told a lie. And the +result of it all was quite different from what I had expected when I +became a footman. Every day of this new life of mine was wasted for me +and my cause, as Orlov never spoke of his father, nor did his visitors, +and all I could learn of the stateman's doings was, as before, what I +could glean from the newspapers or from correspondence with my comrades. +The hundreds of notes and papers I used to find in the study and read +had not the remotest connection with what I was looking for. Orlov was +absolutely uninterested in his father's political work, and looked as +though he had never heard of it, or as though his father had long been +dead. + + +III + +Every Thursday we had visitors. + +I ordered a piece of roast beef from the restaurant and telephoned to +Eliseyev's to send us caviare, cheese, oysters, and so on. I bought +playing-cards. Polya was busy all day getting ready the tea-things and +the dinner service. To tell the truth, this spurt of activity came as a +pleasant change in our idle life, and Thursdays were for us the most +interesting days. + +Only three visitors used to come. The most important and perhaps the +most interesting was the one called Pekarsky--a tall, lean man of five +and forty, with a long hooked nose, with a big black beard, and a bald +patch on his head. His eyes were large and prominent, and his expression +was grave and thoughtful like that of a Greek philosopher. He was on the +board of management of some railway, and also had some post in a bank; +he was a consulting lawyer in some important Government institution, and +had business relations with a large number of private persons as a +trustee, chairman of committees, and so on. He was of quite a low grade +in the service, and modestly spoke of himself as a lawyer, but he had a +vast influence. A note or card from him was enough to make a celebrated +doctor, a director of a railway, or a great dignitary see any one +without waiting; and it was said that through his protection one might +obtain even a post of the Fourth Class, and get any sort of unpleasant +business hushed up. He was looked upon as a very intelligent man, but +his was a strange, peculiar intelligence. He was able to multiply 213 by +373 in his head instantaneously, or turn English pounds into German +marks without help of pencil or paper; he understood finance and railway +business thoroughly, and the machinery of Russian administration had no +secrets for him; he was a most skilful pleader in civil suits, and it +was not easy to get the better of him at law. But that exceptional +intelligence could not grasp many things which are understood even by +some stupid people. For instance, he was absolutely unable to understand +why people are depressed, why they weep, shoot themselves, and even kill +others; why they fret about things that do not affect them personally, +and why they laugh when they read Gogol or Shtchedrin.... Everything +abstract, everything belonging to the domain of thought and feeling, was +to him boring and incomprehensible, like music to one who has no ear. He +looked at people simply from the business point of view, and divided +them into competent and incompetent. No other classification existed for +him. Honesty and rectitude were only signs of competence. Drinking, +gambling, and debauchery were permissible, but must not be allowed to +interfere with business. Believing in God was rather stupid, but +religion ought be safeguarded, as the common people must have some +principle to restrain them, otherwise they would not work. Punishment is +only necessary as deterrent. There was no need to go away for holidays, +as it was just as nice in town. And so on. He was a widower and had no +children, but lived on a large scale, as though he had a family, and +paid three thousand roubles a year for his flat. + +The second visitor, Kukushkin, an actual civil councillor though a young +man, was short, and was conspicuous for his extremely unpleasant +appearance, which was due to the disproportion between his fat, puffy +body and his lean little face. His lips were puckered up suavely, and +his little trimmed moustaches looked as though they had been fixed on +with glue. He was a man with the manners of a lizard. He did not walk, +but, as it were, crept along with tiny steps, squirming and sniggering, +and when he laughed he showed his teeth. He was a clerk on special +commissions, and did nothing, though he received a good salary, +especially in the summer, when special and lucrative jobs were found for +him. He was a man of personal ambition, not only to the marrow of his +bones, but more fundamentally--to the last drop of his blood; but even +in his ambitions he was petty and did not rely on himself, but was +building his career on the chance favour flung him by his superiors. For +the sake of obtaining some foreign decoration, or for the sake of having +his name mentioned in the newspapers as having been present at some +special service in the company of other great personages, he was ready +to submit to any kind of humiliation, to beg, to flatter, to promise. He +flattered Orlov and Pekarsky from cowardice, because he thought they +were powerful; he flattered Polya and me because we were in the service +of a powerful man. Whenever I took off his fur coat he tittered and +asked me: "Stepan, are you married?" and then unseemly vulgarities +followed--by way of showing me special attention. Kukushkin flattered +Orlov's weaknesses, humoured his corrupted and blase ways; to please him +he affected malicious raillery and atheism, in his company criticised +persons before whom in other places he would slavishly grovel. When at +supper they talked of love and women, he pretended to be a subtle and +perverse voluptuary. As a rule, one may say, Petersburg rakes are fond +of talking of their abnormal tastes. Some young actual civil councillor +is perfectly satisfied with the embraces of his cook or of some unhappy +street-walker on the Nevsky Prospect, but to listen to him you would +think he was contaminated by all the vices of East and West combined, +that he was an honourary member of a dozen iniquitous secret societies +and was already marked by the police. Kukushkin lied about himself in an +unconscionable way, and they did not exactly disbelieve him, but paid +little heed to his incredible stories. + +The third guest was Gruzin, the son of a worthy and learned general; a +man of Orlov's age, with long hair, short-sighted eyes, and gold +spectacles. I remember his long white fingers, that looked like a +pianist's; and, indeed, there was something of a musician, of a +virtuoso, about his whole figure. The first violins in orchestras look +just like that. He used to cough, suffered from migraine, and seemed +invalidish and delicate. Probably at home he was dressed and undressed +like a baby. He had finished at the College of Jurisprudence, and had at +first served in the Department of Justice, then he was transferred to +the Senate; he left that, and through patronage had received a post in +the Department of Crown Estates, and had soon afterwards given that up. +In my time he was serving in Orlov's department; he was his head-clerk, +but he said that he should soon exchange into the Department of Justice +again. He took his duties and his shifting about from one post to +another with exceptional levity, and when people talked before him +seriously of grades in the service, decorations, salaries, he smiled +good-naturedly and repeated Prutkov's aphorism: "It's only in the +Government service you learn the truth." He had a little wife with a +wrinkled face, who was very jealous of him, and five weedy-looking +children. He was unfaithful to his wife, he was only fond of his +children when he saw them, and on the whole was rather indifferent to +his family, and made fun of them. He and his family existed on credit, +borrowing wherever they could at every opportunity, even from his +superiors in the office and porters in people's houses. His was a flabby +nature; he was so lazy that he did not care what became of himself, and +drifted along heedless where or why he was going. He went where he was +taken. If he was taken to some low haunt, he went; if wine was set +before him, he drank--if it were not put before him, he abstained; if +wives were abused in his presence, he abused his wife, declaring she had +ruined his life--when wives were praised, he praised his and said quite +sincerely: "I am very fond of her, poor thing!" He had no fur coat and +always wore a rug which smelt of the nursery. When at supper he rolled +balls of bread and drank a great deal of red wine, absorbed in thought, +strange to say, I used to feel almost certain that there was something +in him of which perhaps he had a vague sense, though in the bustle and +vulgarity of his daily life he had not time to understand and appreciate +it. He played a little on the piano. Sometimes he would sit down at the +piano, play a chord or two, and begin singing softly: + + "What does the coming day bring to me?" + +But at once, as though afraid, he would get up and walk from the piano. + +The visitors usually arrived about ten o'clock. They played cards in +Orlov's study, and Polya and I handed them tea. It was only on these +occasions that I could gauge the full sweetness of a flunkey's life. +Standing for four or five hours at the door, watching that no one's +glass should be empty, changing the ash-trays, running to the table to +pick up the chalk or a card when it was dropped, and, above all, +standing, waiting, being attentive without venturing to speak, to cough, +to smile--is harder, I assure you, is harder than the hardest of field +labour. I have stood on watch at sea for four hours at a stretch on +stormy winter nights, and to my thinking it is an infinitely easier +duty. + +They used to play cards till two, sometimes till three o'clock at night, +and then, stretching, they would go into the dining-room to supper, or, +as Orlov said, for a snack of something. At supper there was +conversation. It usually began by Orlov's speaking with laughing eyes of +some acquaintance, of some book he had lately been reading, of a new +appointment or Government scheme. Kukushkin, always ingratiating, would +fall into his tone, and what followed was to me, in my mood at that +time, a revolting exhibition. The irony of Orlov and his friends knew no +bounds, and spared no one and nothing. If they spoke of religion, it was +with irony; they spoke of philosophy, of the significance and object of +life--irony again, if any one began about the peasantry, it was with +irony. + +There is in Petersburg a species of men whose specialty it is to jeer at +every aspect of life; they cannot even pass by a starving man or a +suicide without saying something vulgar. But Orlov and his friends did +not jeer or make jokes, they talked ironically. They used to say that +there was no God, and personality was completely lost at death; the +immortals only existed in the French Academy. Real good did not and +could not possibly exist, as its existence was conditional upon human +perfection, which was a logical absurdity. Russia was a country as poor +and dull as Persia. The intellectual class was hopeless; in Pekarsky's +opinion the overwhelming majority in it were incompetent persons, good +for nothing. The people were drunken, lazy, thievish, and degenerate. We +had no science, our literature was uncouth, our commerce rested on +swindling--"No selling without cheating." And everything was in that +style, and everything was a subject for laughter. + +Towards the end of supper the wine made them more good-humoured, and +they passed to more lively conversation. They laughed over Gruzin's +family life, over Kukushkin's conquests, or at Pekarsky, who had, they +said, in his account book one page headed _Charity_ and another +_Physiological Necessities_. They said that no wife was faithful; that +there was no wife from whom one could not, with practice, obtain +caresses without leaving her drawing-room while her husband was sitting +in his study close by; that girls in their teens were perverted and knew +everything. Orlov had preserved a letter of a schoolgirl of fourteen: on +her way home from school she had "hooked an officer on the Nevsky," who +had, it appears, taken her home with him, and had only let her go late +in the evening; and she hastened to write about this to her school +friend to share her joy with her. They maintained that there was not and +never had been such a thing as moral purity, and that evidently it was +unnecessary; mankind had so far done very well without it. The harm done +by so-called vice was undoubtedly exaggerated. Vices which are punished +by our legal code had not prevented Diogenes from being a philosopher +and a teacher. Caesar and Cicero were profligates and at the same time +great men. Cato in his old age married a young girl, and yet he was +regarded as a great ascetic and a pillar of morality. + +At three or four o'clock the party broke up or they went off together +out of town, or to Officers' Street, to the house of a certain Varvara +Ossipovna, while I retired to my quarters, and was kept awake a long +while by coughing and headache. + + +IV + +Three weeks after I entered Orlov's service--it was Sunday morning, I +remember--somebody rang the bell. It was not yet eleven, and Orlov was +still asleep. I went to open the door. You can imagine my astonishment +when I found a lady in a veil standing at the door on the landing. + +"Is Georgy Ivanitch up?" she asked. + +From her voice I recognised Zinaida Fyodorovna, to whom I had taken +letters in Znamensky Street. I don't remember whether I had time or +self-possession to answer her--I was taken aback at seeing her. And, +indeed, she did not need my answer. In a flash she had darted by me, +and, filling the hall with the fragrance of her perfume, which I +remember to this day, she went on, and her footsteps died away. For at +least half an hour afterwards I heard nothing. But again some one rang. +This time it was a smartly dressed girl, who looked like a maid in a +wealthy family, accompanied by our house porter. Both were out of +breath, carrying two trunks and a dress-basket. + +"These are for Zinaida Fyodorovna," said the girl. + +And she went down without saying another word. All this was mysterious, +and made Polya, who had a deep admiration for the pranks of her betters, +smile slyly to herself; she looked as though she would like to say, "So +that's what we're up to," and she walked about the whole time on tiptoe. +At last we heard footsteps; Zinaida Fyodorovna came quickly into the +hall, and seeing me at the door of my room, said: + +"Stepan, take Georgy Ivanitch his things." + +When I went in to Orlov with his clothes and his boots, he was sitting +on the bed with his feet on the bearskin rug. There was an air of +embarrassment about his whole figure. He did not notice me, and my +menial opinion did not interest him; he was evidently perturbed and +embarrassed before himself, before his inner eye. He dressed, washed, +and used his combs and brushes silently and deliberately, as though +allowing himself time to think over his position and to reflect, and +even from his back one could see he was troubled and dissatisfied with +himself. + +They drank coffee together. Zinaida Fyodorovna poured out coffee for +herself and for Orlov, then she put her elbows on the table and laughed. + +"I still can't believe it," she said. "When one has been a long while on +one's travels and reaches a hotel at last, it's difficult to believe +that one hasn't to go on. It is pleasant to breathe freely." + +With the expression of a child who very much wants to be mischievous, +she sighed with relief and laughed again. + +"You will excuse me," said Orlov, nodding towards the coffee. "Reading +at breakfast is a habit I can't get over. But I can do two things at +once--read and listen." + +"Read away.... You shall keep your habits and your freedom. But why do +you look so solemn? Are you always like that in the morning, or is it +only to-day? Aren't you glad?" + +"Yes, I am. But I must own I am a little overwhelmed." + +"Why? You had plenty of time to prepare yourself for my descent upon +you. I've been threatening to come every day." + +"Yes, but I didn't expect you to carry out your threat to-day." + +"I didn't expect it myself, but that's all the better. It's all the +better, my dear. It's best to have an aching tooth out and have done +with it." + +"Yes, of course." + +"Oh, my dear," she said, closing her eyes, "all is well that ends well; +but before this happy ending, what suffering there has been! My laughing +means nothing; I am glad, I am happy, but I feel more like crying than +laughing. Yesterday I had to fight a regular battle," she went on in +French. "God alone knows how wretched I was. But I laugh because I can't +believe in it. I keep fancying that my sitting here drinking coffee with +you is not real, but a dream." + +Then, still speaking French, she described how she had broken with her +husband the day before and her eyes were alternately full of tears and +of laughter while she gazed with rapture at Orlov. She told him her +husband had long suspected her, but had avoided explanations; they had +frequent quarrels, and usually at the most heated moment he would +suddenly subside into silence and depart to his study for fear that in +his exasperation he might give utterance to his suspicions or she might +herself begin to speak openly. And she had felt guilty, worthless, +incapable of taking a bold and serious step, and that had made her hate +herself and her husband more every day, and she had suffered the +torments of hell. But the day before, when during a quarrel he had cried +out in a tearful voice, "My God, when will it end?" and had walked off +to his study, she had run after him like a cat after a mouse, and, +preventing him from shutting the door, she had cried that she hated him +with her whole soul. Then he let her come into the study and she had +told him everything, had confessed that she loved some one else, that +that some one else was her real, most lawful husband, and that she +thought it her true duty to go away to him that very day, whatever might +happen, if she were to be shot for it. + +"There's a very romantic streak in you," Orlov interrupted, keeping his +eyes fixed on the newspaper. + +She laughed and went on talking without touching her coffee. Her cheeks +glowed and she was a little embarrassed by it, and she looked in +confusion at Polya and me. From what she went on to say I learnt that +her husband had answered her with threats, reproaches, and finally +tears, and that it would have been more accurate to say that she, and +not he, had been the attacking party. + +"Yes, my dear, so long as I was worked up, everything went all right," +she told Orlov; "but as night came on, my spirits sank. You don't +believe in God, _George_, but I do believe a little, and I fear +retribution. God requires of us patience, magnanimity, self-sacrifice, +and here I am refusing to be patient and want to remodel my life to suit +myself. Is that right? What if from the point of view of God it's wrong? +At two o'clock in the night my husband came to me and said: 'You dare +not go away. I'll fetch you back through the police and make a scandal.' +And soon afterwards I saw him like a shadow at my door. 'Have mercy on +me! Your elopement may injure me in the service.' Those words had a +coarse effect upon me and made me feel stiff all over. I felt as though +the retribution were beginning already; I began crying and trembling +with terror. I felt as though the ceiling would fall upon me, that I +should be dragged off to the police-station at once, that you would grow +cold to me--all sorts of things, in fact! I thought I would go into a +nunnery or become a nurse, and give up all thought of happiness, but +then I remembered that you loved me, and that I had no right to dispose +of myself without your knowledge; and everything in my mind was in a +tangle--I was in despair and did not know what to do or think. But the +sun rose and I grew happier. As soon as it was morning I dashed off to +you. Ah, what I've been through, dear one! I haven't slept for two +nights!" + +She was tired out and excited. She was sleepy, and at the same time she +wanted to talk endlessly, to laugh and to cry, and to go to a restaurant +to lunch that she might feel her freedom. + +"You have a cosy flat, but I am afraid it may be small for the two of +us," she said, walking rapidly through all the rooms when they had +finished breakfast. "What room will you give me? I like this one because +it is next to your study." + +At one o'clock she changed her dress in the room next to the study, +which from that time she called hers, and she went off with Orlov to +lunch. They dined, too, at a restaurant, and spent the long interval +between lunch and dinner in shopping. Till late at night I was opening +the door to messengers and errand-boys from the shops. They bought, +among other things, a splendid pier-glass, a dressing-table, a bedstead, +and a gorgeous tea service which we did not need. They bought a regular +collection of copper saucepans, which we set in a row on the shelf in +our cold, empty kitchen. As we were unpacking the tea service Polya's +eyes gleamed, and she looked at me two or three times with hatred and +fear that I, not she, would be the first to steal one of these charming +cups. A lady's writing-table, very expensive and inconvenient, came too. +It was evident that Zinaida Fyodorovna contemplated settling with us for +good, and meant to make the flat her home. + +She came back with Orlov between nine and ten. Full of proud +consciousness that she had done something bold and out of the common, +passionately in love, and, as she imagined, passionately loved, +exhausted, looking forward to a sweet sound sleep, Zinaida Fyodorovna +was revelling in her new life. She squeezed her hands together in the +excess of her joy, declared that everything was delightful, and swore +that she would love Orlov for ever; and these vows, and the naive, +almost childish confidence that she too was deeply loved and would be +loved forever, made her at least five years younger. She talked charming +nonsense and laughed at herself. + +"There's no other blessing greater than freedom!" she said, forcing +herself to say something serious and edifying. "How absurd it is when +you think of it! We attach no value to our own opinion even when it is +wise, but tremble before the opinion of all sorts of stupid people. Up +to the last minute I was afraid of what other people would say, but as +soon as I followed my own instinct and made up my mind to go my own way, +my eyes were opened, I overcame my silly fears, and now I am happy and +wish every one could be as happy!" + +But her thoughts immediately took another turn, and she began talking of +another flat, of wallpapers, horses, a trip to Switzerland and Italy. +Orlov was tired by the restaurants and the shops, and was still +suffering from the same uneasiness that I had noticed in the morning. He +smiled, but more from politeness than pleasure, and when she spoke of +anything seriously, he agreed ironically: "Oh, yes." + +"Stepan, make haste and find us a good cook," she said to me. + +"There's no need to be in a hurry over the kitchen arrangements," said +Orlov, looking at me coldly. "We must first move into another flat." + +We had never had cooking done at home nor kept horses, because, as he +said, "he did not like disorder about him," and only put up with having +Polya and me in his flat from necessity. The so-called domestic hearth +with its everyday joys and its petty cares offended his taste as +vulgarity; to be with child, or to have children and talk about them, +was bad form, like a petty bourgeois. And I began to feel very curious +to see how these two creatures would get on together in one flat--she, +domestic and home-loving with her copper saucepans and her dreams of a +good cook and horses; and he, fond of saying to his friends that a +decent and orderly man's flat ought, like a warship, to have nothing in +it superfluous--no women, no children, no rags, no kitchen utensils. + + +V + +Then I will tell you what happened the following Thursday. That day +Zinaida Fyodorovna dined at Content's or Donon's. Orlov returned home +alone, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, as I learnt afterwards, went to the +Petersburg Side to spend with her old governess the time visitors were +with us. Orlov did not care to show her to his friends. I realised that +at breakfast, when he began assuring her that for the sake of her peace +of mind it was essential to give up his Thursday evenings. + +As usual the visitors arrived at almost the same time. + +"Is your mistress at home, too?" Kukushkin asked me in a whisper. + +"No, sir," I answered. + +He went in with a sly, oily look in his eyes, smiling mysteriously, +rubbing his hands, which were cold from the frost. + +"I have the honour to congratulate you," he said to Orlov, shaking all +over with ingratiating, obsequious laughter. "May you increase and +multiply like the cedars of Lebanon." + +The visitors went into the bedroom, and were extremely jocose on the +subject of a pair of feminine slippers, the rug that had been put down +between the two beds, and a grey dressing-jacket that hung at the foot +of the bedstead. They were amused that the obstinate man who despised +all the common place details of love had been caught in feminine snares +in such a simple and ordinary way. + +"He who pointed the finger of scorn is bowing the knee in homage," +Kukushkin repeated several times. He had, I may say in parenthesis, an +unpleasant habit of adorning his conversation with texts in Church +Slavonic. "Sh-sh!" he said as they went from the bedroom into the room +next to the study. "Sh-sh! Here Gretchen is dreaming of her Faust." + +He went off into a peal of laughter as though he had said something very +amusing. I watched Gruzin, expecting that his musical soul would not +endure this laughter, but I was mistaken. His thin, good-natured face +beamed with pleasure. When they sat down to play cards, he, lisping and +choking with laughter, said that all that "dear _George_" wanted to +complete his domestic felicity was a cherry-wood pipe and a guitar. +Pekarsky laughed sedately, but from his serious expression one could see +that Orlov's new love affair was distasteful to him. He did not +understand what had happened exactly. + +"But how about the husband?" he asked in perplexity, after they had +played three rubbers. + +"I don't know," answered Orlov. + +Pekarsky combed his big beard with his fingers and sank into thought, +and he did not speak again till supper-time. When they were seated at +supper, he began deliberately, drawling every word: + +"Altogether, excuse my saying so, I don't understand either of you. You +might love each other and break the seventh commandment to your heart's +content--that I understand. Yes, that's comprehensible. But why make the +husband a party to your secrets? Was there any need for that?" + +"But does it make any difference?" + +"Hm!...." Pekarsky mused. "Well, then, let me tell you this, my friend," +he went on, evidently thinking hard: "if I ever marry again and you take +it into your head to seduce my wife, please do it so that I don't notice +it. It's much more honest to deceive a man than to break up his family +life and injure his reputation. I understand. You both imagine that in +living together openly you are doing something exceptionally honourable +and advanced, but I can't agree with that ... what shall I call it?... +romantic attitude?" + +Orlov made no reply. He was out of humour and disinclined to talk. +Pekarsky, still perplexed, drummed on the table with his fingers, +thought a little, and said: + +"I don't understand you, all the same. You are not a student and she is +not a dressmaker. You are both of you people with means. I should have +thought you might have arranged a separate flat for her." + +"No, I couldn't. Read Turgenev." + +"Why should I read him? I have read him already." + +"Turgenev teaches us in his novels that every exalted, noble-minded girl +should follow the man she loves to the ends of the earth, and should +serve his idea," said Orlov, screwing up his eyes ironically. "The ends +of the earth are poetic license; the earth and all its ends can be +reduced to the flat of the man she loves.... And so not to live in the +same flat with the woman who loves you is to deny her her exalted +vocation and to refuse to share her ideals. Yes, my dear fellow, +Turgenev wrote, and I have to suffer for it." + +"What Turgenev has got to do with it I don't understand," said Gruzin +softly, and he shrugged his shoulders. "Do you remember, _George_, how +in 'Three Meetings' he is walking late in the evening somewhere in +Italy, and suddenly hears, _'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'_" Gruzin +hummed. "It's fine." + +"But she hasn't come to settle with you by force," said Pekarsky. "It +was your own wish." + +"What next! Far from wishing it, I never imagined that this would ever +happen. When she said she was coming to live with me, I thought it was a +charming joke on her part." + +Everybody laughed. + +"I couldn't have wished for such a thing," said Orlov in the tone of a +man compelled to justify himself. "I am not a Turgenev hero, and if I +ever wanted to free Bulgaria I shouldn't need a lady's company. I look +upon love primarily as a necessity of my physical nature, degrading and +antagonistic to my spirit; it must either be satisfied with discretion +or renounced altogether, otherwise it will bring into one's life +elements as unclean as itself. For it to be an enjoyment and not a +torment, I will try to make it beautiful and to surround it with a mass +of illusions. I should never go and see a woman unless I were sure +beforehand that she would be beautiful and fascinating; and I should +never go unless I were in the mood. And it is only in that way that we +succeed in deceiving one another, and fancying that we are in love and +happy. But can I wish for copper saucepans and untidy hair, or like to +be seen myself when I am unwashed or out of humour? Zinaida Fyodorovna +in the simplicity of her heart wants me to love what I have been +shunning all my life. She wants my flat to smell of cooking and washing +up; she wants all the fuss of moving into another flat, of driving about +with her own horses; she wants to count over my linen and to look after +my health; she wants to meddle in my personal life at every instant, and +to watch over every step; and at the same time she assures me genuinely +that my habits and my freedom will be untouched. She is persuaded that, +like a young couple, we shall very soon go for a honeymoon--that is, +she wants to be with me all the time in trains and hotels, while I like +to read on the journey and cannot endure talking in trains." + +"You should give her a talking to," said Pekarsky. + +"What! Do you suppose she would understand me? Why, we think so +differently. In her opinion, to leave one's papa and mamma or one's +husband for the sake of the man one loves is the height of civic virtue, +while I look upon it as childish. To fall in love and run away with a +man to her means beginning a new life, while to my mind it means nothing +at all. Love and man constitute the chief interest of her life, and +possibly it is the philosophy of the unconscious at work in her. Try and +make her believe that love is only a simple physical need, like the need +of food or clothes; that it doesn't mean the end of the world if wives +and husbands are unsatisfactory; that a man may be a profligate and a +libertine, and yet a man of honour and a genius; and that, on the other +hand, one may abstain from the pleasures of love and at the same time be +a stupid, vicious animal! The civilised man of to-day, even among the +lower classes--for instance, the French workman--spends ten _sous_ on +dinner, five _sous_ on his wine, and five or ten _sous_ on woman, and +devotes his brain and nerves entirely to his work. But Zinaida +Fyodorovna assigns to love not so many _sous_, but her whole soul. I +might give her a talking to, but she would raise a wail in answer, and +declare in all sincerity that I had ruined her, that she had nothing +left to live for." + +"Don't say anything to her," said Pekarsky, "but simply take a separate +flat for her, that's all." + +"That's easy to say." + +There was a brief silence. + +"But she is charming," said Kukushkin. "She is exquisite. Such women +imagine that they will be in love for ever, and abandon themselves with +tragic intensity." + +"But one must keep a head on one's shoulders," said Orlov; "one must be +reasonable. All experience gained from everyday life and handed down in +innumerable novels and plays, uniformly confirms the fact that adultery +and cohabitation of any sort between decent people never lasts longer +than two or at most three years, however great the love may have been at +the beginning. That she ought to know. And so all this business of +moving, of saucepans, hopes of eternal love and harmony, are nothing but +a desire to delude herself and me. She is charming and exquisite--who +denies it? But she has turned my life upside down; what I have regarded +as trivial and nonsensical till now she has forced me to raise to the +level of a serious problem; I serve an idol whom I have never looked +upon as God. She is charming--exquisite, but for some reason now when I +am going home, I feel uneasy, as though I expected to meet with +something inconvenient at home, such as workmen pulling the stove to +pieces and blocking up the place with heaps of bricks. In fact, I am no +longer giving up to love a _sous_, but part of my peace of mind and my +nerves. And that's bad." + +"And she doesn't hear this villain!" sighed Kukushkin. "My dear sir," he +said theatrically, "I will relieve you from the burdensome obligation to +love that adorable creature! I will wrest Zinaida Fyodorovna from you!" + +"You may ..." said Orlov carelessly. + +For half a minute Kukushkin laughed a shrill little laugh, shaking all +over, then he said: + +"Look out; I am in earnest! Don't you play the Othello afterwards!" + +They all began talking of Kukushkin's indefatigable energy in love +affairs, how irresistible he was to women, and what a danger he was to +husbands; and how the devil would roast him in the other world for his +immorality in this. He screwed up his eyes and remained silent, and when +the names of ladies of their acquaintance were mentioned, he held up his +little finger--as though to say they mustn't give away other people's +secrets. + +Orlov suddenly looked at his watch. + +His friends understood, and began to take their leave. I remember that +Gruzin, who was a little drunk, was wearisomely long in getting off. He +put on his coat, which was cut like children's coats in poor families, +pulled up the collar, and began telling some long-winded story; then, +seeing he was not listened to, he flung the rug that smelt of the +nursery over one shoulder, and with a guilty and imploring face begged +me to find his hat. + +"_George_, my angel," he said tenderly. "Do as I ask you, dear boy; come +out of town with us!" + +"You can go, but I can't. I am in the position of a married man now." + +"She is a dear, she won't be angry. My dear chief, come along! It's +glorious weather; there's snow and frost.... Upon my word, you want +shaking up a bit; you are out of humour. I don't know what the devil is +the matter with you...." + +Orlov stretched, yawned, and looked at Pekarsky. + +"Are you going?" he said, hesitating. + +"I don't know. Perhaps." + +"Shall I get drunk? All right, I'll come," said Orlov after some +hesitation. "Wait a minute; I'll get some money." + +He went into the study, and Gruzin slouched in, too, dragging his rug +after him. A minute later both came back into the hall. Gruzin, a little +drunk and very pleased, was crumpling a ten-rouble note in his hands. + +"We'll settle up to-morrow," he said. "And she is kind, she won't be +cross.... She is my Lisotchka's godmother; I am fond of her, poor thing! +Ah, my dear fellow!" he laughed joyfully, and pressing his forehead on +Pekarsky's back. "Ah, Pekarsky, my dear soul! Advocatissimus--as dry as +a biscuit, but you bet he is fond of women...." + +"Fat ones," said Orlov, putting on his fur coat. "But let us get off, or +we shall be meeting her on the doorstep." + +"_'Vieni pensando a me segretamente,'_" hummed Gruzin. + +At last they drove off: Orlov did not sleep at home, and returned next +day at dinner-time. + + +VI + +Zinaida Fyodorovna had lost her gold watch, a present from her father. +This loss surprised and alarmed her. She spent half a day going through +the rooms, looking helplessly on all the tables and on all the windows. +But the watch had disappeared completely. + +Only three days afterwards Zinaida Fyodorovna, on coming in, left her +purse in the hall. Luckily for me, on that occasion it was not I but +Polya who helped her off with her coat. When the purse was missed, it +could not be found in the hall. + +"Strange," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in bewilderment. "I distinctly +remember taking it out of my pocket to pay the cabman ... and then I put +it here near the looking-glass. It's very odd!" + +I had not stolen it, but I felt as though I had stolen it and had been +caught in the theft. Tears actually came into my eyes. When they were +seated at dinner, Zinaida Fyodorovna said to Orlov in French: + +"There seem to be spirits in the flat. I lost my purse in the hall +to-day, and now, lo and behold, it is on my table. But it's not quite a +disinterested trick of the spirits. They took out a gold coin and twenty +roubles in notes." + +"You are always losing something; first it's your watch and then it's +your money ..." said Orlov. "Why is it nothing of the sort ever happens +to me?" + +A minute later Zinaida Fyodorovna had forgotten the trick played by the +spirits, and was telling with a laugh how the week before she had +ordered some notepaper and had forgotten to give her new address, and +the shop had sent the paper to her old home at her husband's, who had to +pay twelve roubles for it. And suddenly she turned her eyes on Polya and +looked at her intently. She blushed as she did so, and was so confused +that she began talking of something else. + +When I took in the coffee to the study, Orlov was standing with his back +to the fire and she was sitting in an arm-chair facing him. + +"I am not in a bad temper at all," she was saying in French. "But I have +been putting things together, and now I see it clearly. I can give you +the day and the hour when she stole my watch. And the purse? There can +be no doubt about it. Oh!" she laughed as she took the coffee from me. +"Now I understand why I am always losing my handkerchiefs and gloves. +Whatever you say, I shall dismiss the magpie to-morrow and send Stepan +for my Sofya. She is not a thief and has not got such a repulsive +appearance." + +"You are out of humour. To-morrow you will feel differently, and will +realise that you can't discharge people simply because you suspect +them." + +"It's not suspicion; it's certainty," said Zinaida Fyodorovna. "So long +as I suspected that unhappy-faced, poor-looking valet of yours, I said +nothing. It's too bad of you not to believe me, _George_." + +"If we think differently about anything, it doesn't follow that I don't +believe you. You may be right," said Orlov, turning round and flinging +his cigarette-end into the fire, "but there is no need to be excited +about it, anyway. In fact, I must say, I never expected my humble +establishment would cause you so much serious worry and agitation. +You've lost a gold coin: never mind--you may have a hundred of mine; but +to change my habits, to pick up a new housemaid, to wait till she is +used to the place--all that's a tedious, tiring business and does not +suit me. Our present maid certainly is fat, and has, perhaps, a weakness +for gloves and handkerchiefs, but she is perfectly well behaved, well +trained, and does not shriek when Kukushkin pinches her." + +"You mean that you can't part with her?... Why don't you say so?" + +"Are you jealous?" + +"Yes, I am," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, decidedly. + +"Thank you." + +"Yes, I am jealous," she repeated, and tears glistened in her eyes. "No, +it's something worse ... which I find it difficult to find a name for." +She pressed her hands on her temples, and went on impulsively. "You men +are so disgusting! It's horrible!" + +"I see nothing horrible about it." + +"I've not seen it; I don't know; but they say that you men begin with +housemaids as boys, and get so used to it that you feel no repugnance. I +don't know, I don't know, but I have actually read.... _George_, of +course you are right," she said, going up to Orlov and changing to a +caressing and imploring tone. "I really am out of humour to-day. But, +you must understand, I can't help it. She disgusts me and I am afraid of +her. It makes me miserable to see her." + +"Surely you can rise above such paltriness?" said Orlov, shrugging his +shoulders in perplexity, and walking away from the fire. "Nothing could +be simpler: take no notice of her, and then she won't disgust you, and +you won't need to make a regular tragedy out of a trifle." + +I went out of the study, and I don't know what answer Orlov received. +Whatever it was, Polya remained. After that Zinaida Fyodorovna never +applied to her for anything, and evidently tried to dispense with her +services. When Polya handed her anything or even passed by her, jingling +her bangle and rustling her skirts, she shuddered. + +I believe that if Gruzin or Pekarsky had asked Orlov to dismiss Polya he +would have done so without the slightest hesitation, without troubling +about any explanations. He was easily persuaded, like all indifferent +people. But in his relations with Zinaida Fyodorovna he displayed for +some reason, even in trifles, an obstinacy which sometimes was almost +irrational. I knew beforehand that if Zinaida Fyodorovna liked anything, +it would be certain not to please Orlov. When on coming in from shopping +she made haste to show him with pride some new purchase, he would glance +at it and say coldly that the more unnecessary objects they had in the +flat, the less airy it would be. It sometimes happened that after +putting on his dress clothes to go out somewhere, and after saying +good-bye to Zinaida Fyodorovna, he would suddenly change his mind and +remain at home from sheer perversity. I used to think that he remained +at home then simply in order to feel injured. + +"Why are you staying?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a show of vexation, +though at the same time she was radiant with delight. "Why do you? You +are not accustomed to spending your evenings at home, and I don't want +you to alter your habits on my account. Do go out as usual, if you don't +want me to feel guilty." + +"No one is blaming you," said Orlov. + +With the air of a victim he stretched himself in his easy-chair in the +study, and shading his eyes with his hand, took up a book. But soon the +book dropped from his hand, he turned heavily in his chair, and again +screened his eyes as though from the sun. Now he felt annoyed that he +had not gone out. + +"May I come in?" Zinaida Fyodorovna would say, coming irresolutely into +the study. "Are you reading? I felt dull by myself, and have come just +for a minute ... to have a peep at you." + +I remember one evening she went in like that, irresolutely and +inappropriately, and sank on the rug at Orlov's feet, and from her soft, +timid movements one could see that she did not understand his mood and +was afraid. + +"You are always reading ..." she said cajolingly, evidently wishing to +flatter him. "Do you know, _George_, what is one of the secrets of your +success? You are very clever and well-read. What book have you there?" + +Orlov answered. A silence followed for some minutes which seemed to me +very long. I was standing in the drawing-room, from which I could watch +them, and was afraid of coughing. + +"There is something I wanted to tell you," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, and +she laughed; "shall I? Very likely you'll laugh and say that I flatter +myself. You know I want, I want horribly to believe that you are staying +at home to-night for my sake ... that we might spend the evening +together. Yes? May I think so?" + +"Do," he said, screening his eyes. "The really happy man is he who +thinks not only of what is, but of what is not." + +"That was a long sentence which I did not quite understand. You mean +happy people live in their imagination. Yes, that's true. I love to sit +in your study in the evening and let my thoughts carry me far, far +away.... It's pleasant sometimes to dream. Let us dream aloud, +_George_." + +"I've never been at a girls' boarding-school; I never learnt the art." + +"You are out of humour?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, taking Orlov's hand. +"Tell me why. When you are like that, I'm afraid. I don't know whether +your head aches or whether you are angry with me...." + +Again there was a silence lasting several long minutes. + +"Why have you changed?" she said softly. "Why are you never so tender or +so gay as you used to be at Znamensky Street? I've been with you almost +a month, but it seems to me as though we had not yet begun to live, and +have not yet talked of anything as we ought to. You always answer me +with jokes or else with a long cold lecture like a teacher. And there is +something cold in your jokes.... Why have you given up talking to me +seriously?" + +"I always talk seriously." + +"Well, then, let us talk. For God's sake, _George_.... Shall we?" + +"Certainly, but about what?" + +"Let us talk of our life, of our future," said Zinaida Fyodorovna +dreamily. "I keep making plans for our life, plans and plans--and I +enjoy doing it so! _George_, I'll begin with the question, when are you +going to give up your post?" + +"What for?" asked Orlov, taking his hand from his forehead. + +"With your views you cannot remain in the service. You are out of place +there." + +"My views?" Orlov repeated. "My views? In conviction and temperament I +am an ordinary official, one of Shtchedrin's heroes. You take me for +something different, I venture to assure you." + +"Joking again, _George_!" + +"Not in the least. The service does not satisfy me, perhaps; but, +anyway, it is better for me than anything else. I am used to it, and in +it I meet men of my own sort; I am in my place there and find it +tolerable." + +"You hate the service and it revolts you." + +"Indeed? If I resign my post, take to dreaming aloud and letting myself +be carried away into another world, do you suppose that that world would +be less hateful to me than the service?" + +"You are ready to libel yourself in order to contradict me." Zinaida +Fyodorovna was offended and got up. "I am sorry I began this talk." + +"Why are you angry? I am not angry with you for not being an official. +Every one lives as he likes best." + +"Why, do you live as you like best? Are you free? To spend your life +writing documents that are opposed to your own ideas," Zinaida +Fyodorovna went on, clasping her hands in despair: "to submit to +authority, congratulate your superiors at the New Year, and then cards +and nothing but cards: worst of all, to be working for a system which +must be distasteful to you--no, _George_, no! You should not make such +horrid jokes. It's dreadful. You are a man of ideas, and you ought to be +working for your ideas and nothing else." + +"You really take me for quite a different person from what I am," sighed +Orlov. + +"Say simply that you don't want to talk to me. You dislike me, that's +all," said Zinaida Fyodorovna through her tears. + +"Look here, my dear," said Orlov admonishingly, sitting up in his chair. +"You were pleased to observe yourself that I am a clever, well-read man, +and to teach one who knows does nothing but harm. I know very well all +the ideas, great and small, which you mean when you call me a man of +ideas. So if I prefer the service and cards to those ideas, you may be +sure I have good grounds for it. That's one thing. Secondly, you have, +so far as I know, never been in the service, and can only have drawn +your ideas of Government service from anecdotes and indifferent novels. +So it would not be amiss for us to make a compact, once for all, not to +talk of things we know already or of things about which we are not +competent to speak." + +"Why do you speak to me like that?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, stepping +back as though in horror. "What for? _George_, for God's sake, think +what you are saying!" + +Her voice quivered and broke; she was evidently trying to restrain her +tears, but she suddenly broke into sobs. + +"_George_, my darling, I am perishing!" she said in French, dropping +down before Orlov, and laying her head on his knees. "I am miserable, I +am exhausted. I can't bear it, I can't bear it.... In my childhood my +hateful, depraved stepmother, then my husband, now you ... you!... You +meet my mad love with coldness and irony.... And that horrible, insolent +servant," she went on, sobbing. "Yes, yes, I see: I am not your wife nor +your friend, but a woman you don't respect because she has become your +mistress.... I shall kill myself!" + +I had not expected that her words and her tears would make such an +impression on Orlov. He flushed, moved uneasily in his chair, and +instead of irony, his face wore a look of stupid, schoolboyish dismay. + +"My darling, you misunderstood me," he muttered helplessly, touching her +hair and her shoulders. "Forgive me, I entreat you. I was unjust and I +hate myself." + +"I insult you with my whining and complaints. You are a true, generous +... rare man--I am conscious of it every minute; but I've been horribly +depressed for the last few days ..." + +Zinaida Fyodorovna impulsively embraced Orlov and kissed him on the +cheek. + +"Only please don't cry," he said. + +"No, no.... I've had my cry, and now I am better." + +"As for the servant, she shall be gone to-morrow," he said, still moving +uneasily in his chair. + +"No, she must stay, _George!_ Do you hear? I am not afraid of her +now.... One must rise above trifles and not imagine silly things. You +are right! You are a wonderful, rare person!" + +She soon left off crying. With tears glistening on her eyelashes, +sitting on Orlov's knee, she told him in a low voice something touching, +something like a reminiscence of childhood and youth. She stroked his +face, kissed him, and carefully examined his hands with the rings on +them and the charms on his watch-chain. She was carried away by what she +was saying, and by being near the man she loved, and probably because +her tears had cleared and refreshed her soul, there was a note of +wonderful candour and sincerity in her voice. And Orlov played with her +chestnut hair and kissed her hands, noiselessly pressing them to his +lips. + +Then they had tea in the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna read aloud some +letters. Soon after midnight they went to bed. I had a fearful pain in +my side that night, and I could not get warm or go to sleep till +morning. I could hear Orlov go from the bedroom into his study. After +sitting there about an hour, he rang the bell. In my pain and exhaustion +I forgot all the rules and conventions, and went to his study in my +night attire, barefooted. Orlov, in his dressing-gown and cap, was +standing in the doorway, waiting for me. + +"When you are sent for you should come dressed," he said sternly. "Bring +some fresh candles." + +I was about to apologise, but suddenly broke into a violent cough, and +clutched at the side of the door to save myself from falling. + +"Are you ill?" said Orlov. + +I believe it was the first time of our acquaintance that he addressed me +not in the singular--goodness knows why. Most likely, in my night +clothes and with my face distorted by coughing, I played my part poorly, +and was very little like a flunkey. + +"If you are ill, why do you take a place?" he said. + +"That I may not die of starvation," I answered. + +"How disgusting it all is, really!" he said softly, going up to his +table. + +While hurriedly getting into my coat, I put up and lighted fresh +candles. He was sitting at the table, with feet stretched out on a low +chair, cutting a book. + +I left him deeply engrossed, and the book did not drop out of his hands +as it had done in the evening. + + +VII + +Now that I am writing these lines I am restrained by that dread of +appearing sentimental and ridiculous, in which I have been trained from +childhood; when I want to be affectionate or to say anything tender, I +don't know how to be natural. And it is that dread, together with lack +of practice, that prevents me from being able to express with perfect +clearness what was passing in my soul at that time. + +I was not in love with Zinaida Fyodorovna, but in the ordinary human +feeling I had for her, there was far more youth, freshness, and +joyousness than in Orlov's love. + +As I worked in the morning, cleaning boots or sweeping the rooms, I +waited with a thrill at my heart for the moment when I should hear her +voice and her footsteps. To stand watching her as she drank her coffee +in the morning or ate her lunch, to hold her fur coat for her in the +hall, and to put the goloshes on her little feet while she rested her +hand on my shoulder; then to wait till the hall porter rang up for me, +to meet her at the door, cold, and rosy, powdered with the snow, to +listen to her brief exclamations about the frost or the cabman--if only +you knew how much all that meant to me! I longed to be in love, to have +a wife and child of my own. I wanted my future wife to have just such a +face, such a voice. I dreamed of it at dinner, and in the street when I +was sent on some errand, and when I lay awake at night. Orlov rejected +with disgust children, cooking, copper saucepans, and feminine +knicknacks and I gathered them all up, tenderly cherished them in my +dreams, loved them, and begged them of destiny. I had visions of a wife, +a nursery, a little house with garden paths.... + +I knew that if I did love her I could never dare hope for the miracle of +her returning my love, but that reflection did not worry me. In my +quiet, modest feeling akin to ordinary affection, there was no jealousy +of Orlov or even envy of him, since I realised that for a wreck like me +happiness was only to be found in dreams. + +When Zinaida Fyodorovna sat up night after night for her _George_, +looking immovably at a book of which she never turned a page, or when +she shuddered and turned pale at Polya's crossing the room, I suffered +with her, and the idea occurred to me to lance this festering wound as +quickly as possible by letting her know what was said here at supper on +Thursdays; but--how was it to be done? More and more often I saw her +tears. For the first weeks she laughed and sang to herself, even when +Orlov was not at home, but by the second month there was a mournful +stillness in our flat broken only on Thursday evenings. + +She flattered Orlov, and to wring from him a counterfeit smile or kiss, +was ready to go on her knees to him, to fawn on him like a dog. Even +when her heart was heaviest, she could not resist glancing into a +looking-glass if she passed one and straightening her hair. It seemed +strange to me that she could still take an interest in clothes and go +into ecstasies over her purchases. It did not seem in keeping with her +genuine grief. She paid attention to the fashions and ordered expensive +dresses. What for? On whose account? I particularly remember one dress +which cost four hundred roubles. To give four hundred roubles for an +unnecessary, useless dress while women for their hard day's work get +only twenty kopecks a day without food, and the makers of Venice and +Brussels lace are only paid half a franc a day on the supposition that +they can earn the rest by immorality! And it seemed strange to me that +Zinaida Fyodorovna was not conscious of it; it vexed me. But she had +only to go out of the house for me to find excuses and explanations for +everything, and to be waiting eagerly for the hall porter to ring for +me. + +She treated me as a flunkey, a being of a lower order. One may pat a +dog, and yet not notice it; I was given orders and asked questions, but +my presence was not observed. My master and mistress thought it unseemly +to say more to me than is usually said to servants; if when waiting at +dinner I had laughed or put in my word in the conversation, they would +certainly have thought I was mad and have dismissed me. Zinaida +Fyodorovna was favourably disposed to me, all the same. When she was +sending me on some errand or explaining to me the working of a new lamp +or anything of that sort, her face was extraordinarily kind, frank, and +cordial, and her eyes looked me straight in the face. At such moments I +always fancied she remembered with gratitude how I used to bring her +letters to Znamensky Street. When she rang the bell, Polya, who +considered me her favourite and hated me for it, used to say with a +jeering smile: + +"Go along, _your_ mistress wants you." + +Zinaida Fyodorovna considered me as a being of a lower order, and did +not suspect that if any one in the house were in a humiliating position +it was she. She did not know that I, a footman, was unhappy on her +account, and used to ask myself twenty times a day what was in store for +her and how it would all end. Things were growing visibly worse day by +day. After the evening on which they had talked of his official work, +Orlov, who could not endure tears, unmistakably began to avoid +conversation with her; whenever Zinaida Fyodorovna began to argue, or to +beseech him, or seemed on the point of crying, he seized some plausible +excuse for retreating to his study or going out. He more and more rarely +slept at home, and still more rarely dined there: on Thursdays he was +the one to suggest some expedition to his friends. Zinaida Fyodorovna +was still dreaming of having the cooking done at home, of moving to a +new flat, of travelling abroad, but her dreams remained dreams. Dinner +was sent in from the restaurant. Orlov asked her not to broach the +question of moving until after they had come back from abroad, and +apropos of their foreign tour, declared that they could not go till his +hair had grown long, as one could not go trailing from hotel to hotel +and serving the idea without long hair. + +To crown it all, in Orlov's absence, Kukushkin began calling at the flat +in the evening. There was nothing exceptional in his behaviour, but I +could never forget the conversation in which he had offered to cut Orlov +out. He was regaled with tea and red wine, and he used to titter and, +anxious to say something pleasant, would declare that a free union was +superior in every respect to legal marriage, and that all decent people +ought really to come to Zinaida Fyodorovna and fall at her feet. + + +VIII + +Christmas was spent drearily in vague anticipations of calamity. On New +Year's Eve Orlov unexpectedly announced at breakfast that he was being +sent to assist a senator who was on a revising commission in a certain +province. + +"I don't want to go, but I can't find an excuse to get off," he said +with vexation. "I must go; there's nothing for it." + +Such news instantly made Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes look red. "Is it for +long?" she asked. + +"Five days or so." + +"I am glad, really, you are going," she said after a moment's thought. +"It will be a change for you. You will fall in love with some one on the +way, and tell me about it afterwards." + +At every opportunity she tried to make Orlov feel that she did not +restrict his liberty in any way, and that he could do exactly as he +liked, and this artless, transparent strategy deceived no one, and only +unnecessarily reminded Orlov that he was not free. + +"I am going this evening," he said, and began reading the paper. + +Zinaida Fyodorovna wanted to see him off at the station, but he +dissuaded her, saying that he was not going to America, and not going to +be away five years, but only five days--possibly less. + +The parting took place between seven and eight. He put one arm round +her, and kissed her on the lips and on the forehead. + +"Be a good girl, and don't be depressed while I am away," he said in a +warm, affectionate tone which touched even me. "God keep you!" + +She looked greedily into his face, to stamp his dear features on her +memory, then she put her arms gracefully round his neck and laid her +head on his breast. + +"Forgive me our misunderstandings," she said in French. "Husband and +wife cannot help quarrelling if they love each other, and I love you +madly. Don't forget me.... Wire to me often and fully." + +Orlov kissed her once more, and, without saying a word, went out in +confusion. When he heard the click of the lock as the door closed, he +stood still in the middle of the staircase in hesitation and glanced +upwards. It seemed to me that if a sound had reached him at that moment +from above, he would have turned back. But all was quiet. He +straightened his coat and went downstairs irresolutely. + +The sledges had been waiting a long while at the door. Orlov got into +one, I got into the other with two portmanteaus. It was a hard frost and +there were fires smoking at the cross-roads. The cold wind nipped my +face and hands, and took my breath away as we drove rapidly along; and, +closing my eyes, I thought what a splendid woman she was. How she loved +him! Even useless rubbish is collected in the courtyards nowadays and +used for some purpose, even broken glass is considered a useful +commodity, but something so precious, so rare, as the love of a refined, +young, intelligent, and good woman is utterly thrown away and wasted. +One of the early sociologists regarded every evil passion as a force +which might by judicious management be turned to good, while among us +even a fine, noble passion springs up and dies away in impotence, turned +to no account, misunderstood or vulgarised. Why is it? + +The sledges stopped unexpectedly. I opened my eyes and I saw that we had +come to a standstill in Sergievsky Street, near a big house where +Pekarsky lived. Orlov got out of the sledge and vanished into the entry. +Five minutes later Pekarsky's footman came out, bareheaded, and, angry +with the frost, shouted to me: + +"Are you deaf? Pay the cabmen and go upstairs. You are wanted!" + +At a complete loss, I went to the first storey. I had been to Pekarsky's +flat before--that is, I had stood in the hall and looked into the +drawing-room, and, after the damp, gloomy street, it always struck me by +the brilliance of its picture-frames, its bronzes and expensive +furniture. To-day in the midst of this splendour I saw Gruzin, +Kukushkin, and, after a minute, Orlov. + +"Look here, Stepan," he said, coming up to me. "I shall be staying here +till Friday or Saturday. If any letters or telegrams come, you must +bring them here every day. At home, of course you will say that I have +gone, and send my greetings. Now you can go." + +When I reached home Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the sofa in the +drawing-room, eating a pear. There was only one candle burning in the +candelabra. + +"Did you catch the train?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna. + +"Yes, madam. His honour sends his greetings." + +I went into my room and I, too, lay down. I had nothing to do, and I did +not want to read. I was not surprised and I was not indignant. I only +racked my brains to think why this deception was necessary. It is only +boys in their teens who deceive their mistresses like that. How was it +that a man who had thought and read so much could not imagine anything +more sensible? I must confess I had by no means a poor opinion of his +intelligence. I believe if he had had to deceive his minister or any +other influential person he would have put a great deal of skill and +energy into doing so; but to deceive a woman, the first idea that +occurred to him was evidently good enough. If it succeeded--well and +good; if it did not, there would be no harm done--he could tell some +other lie just as quickly and simply, with no mental effort. + +At midnight when the people on the floor overhead were moving their +chairs and shouting hurrah to welcome the New Year, Zinaida Fyodorovna +rang for me from the room next to the study. Languid from lying down so +long, she was sitting at the table, writing something on a scrap of +paper. + +"I must send a telegram," she said, with a smile. "Go to the station as +quick as you can and ask them to send it after him." + +Going out into the street, I read on the scrap of paper: + +"May the New Year bring new happiness. Make haste and telegraph; I miss +you dreadfully. It seems an eternity. I am only sorry I can't send a +thousand kisses and my very heart by telegraph. Enjoy yourself, my +darling.--ZINA." + +I sent the telegram, and next morning I gave her the receipt. + + +IX + +The worst of it was that Orlov had thoughtlessly let Polya, too, into +the secret of his deception, telling her to bring his shirts to +Sergievsky Street. After that, she looked at Zinaida Fyodorovna with a +malignant joy and hatred I could not understand, and was never tired of +snorting with delight to herself in her own room and in the hall. + +"She's outstayed her welcome; it's time she took herself off!" she would +say with zest. "She ought to realise that herself...." + +She already divined by instinct that Zinaida Fyodorovna would not be +with us much longer, and, not to let the chance slip, carried off +everything she set her eyes on--smelling-bottles, tortoise-shell +hairpins, handkerchiefs, shoes! On the day after New Year's Day, Zinaida +Fyodorovna summoned me to her room and told me in a low voice that she +missed her black dress. And then she walked through all the rooms, with +a pale, frightened, and indignant face, talking to herself: + +"It's too much! It's beyond everything. Why, it's unheard-of insolence!" + +At dinner she tried to help herself to soup, but could not--her hands +were trembling. Her lips were trembling, too. She looked helplessly at +the soup and at the little pies, waiting for the trembling to pass off, +and suddenly she could not resist looking at Polya. + +"You can go, Polya," she said. "Stepan is enough by himself." + +"I'll stay; I don't mind," answered Polya. + +"There's no need for you to stay. You go away altogether," Zinaida +Fyodorovna went on, getting up in great agitation. "You may look out for +another place. You can go at once." + +"I can't go away without the master's orders. He engaged me. It must be +as he orders." + +"You can take orders from me, too! I am mistress here!" said Zinaida +Fyodorovna, and she flushed crimson. + +"You may be the mistress, but only the master can dismiss me. It was he +engaged me." + +"You dare not stay here another minute!" cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, and +she struck the plate with her knife. "You are a thief! Do you hear?" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna flung her dinner-napkin on the table, and with a +pitiful, suffering face, went quickly out of the room. Loudly sobbing +and wailing something indistinct, Polya, too, went away. The soup and +the grouse got cold. And for some reason all the restaurant dainties on +the table struck me as poor, thievish, like Polya. Two pies on a plate +had a particularly miserable and guilty air. "We shall be taken back to +the restaurant to-day," they seemed to be saying, "and to-morrow we +shall be put on the table again for some official or celebrated singer." + +"She is a fine lady, indeed," I heard uttered in Polya's room. "I could +have been a lady like that long ago, but I have some self-respect! We'll +see which of us will be the first to go!" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna rang the bell. She was sitting in her room, in the +corner, looking as though she had been put in the corner as a +punishment. + +"No telegram has come?" she asked. + +"No, madam." + +"Ask the porter; perhaps there is a telegram. And don't leave the +house," she called after me. "I am afraid to be left alone." + +After that I had to run down almost every hour to ask the porter whether +a telegram had come. I must own it was a dreadful time! To avoid seeing +Polya, Zinaida Fyodorovna dined and had tea in her own room; it was here +that she slept, too, on a short sofa like a half-moon, and she made her +own bed. For the first days I took the telegrams; but, getting no +answer, she lost her faith in me and began telegraphing herself. Looking +at her, I, too, began impatiently hoping for a telegram. I hoped he +would contrive some deception, would make arrangements, for instance, +that a telegram should be sent to her from some station. If he were too +much engrossed with cards or had been attracted by some other woman, I +thought that both Gruzin and Kukushkin would remind him of us. But our +expectations were vain. Five times a day I would go in to Zinaida +Fyodorovna, intending to tell her the truth, But her eyes looked piteous +as a fawn's, her shoulders seemed to droop, her lips were moving, and I +went away again without saying a word. Pity and sympathy seemed to rob +me of all manliness. Polya, as cheerful and well satisfied with herself +as though nothing had happened, was tidying the master's study and the +bedroom, rummaging in the cupboards, and making the crockery jingle, and +when she passed Zinaida Fyodorovna's door, she hummed something and +coughed. She was pleased that her mistress was hiding from her. In the +evening she would go out somewhere, and rang at two or three o'clock in +the morning, and I had to open the door to her and listen to remarks +about my cough. Immediately afterwards I would hear another ring; I +would run to the room next to the study, and Zinaida Fyodorovna, putting +her head out of the door, would ask, "Who was it rung?" while she looked +at my hands to see whether I had a telegram. + +When at last on Saturday the bell rang below and she heard the familiar +voice on the stairs, she was so delighted that she broke into sobs. She +rushed to meet him, embraced him, kissed him on the breast and sleeves, +said something one could not understand. The hall porter brought up the +portmanteaus; Polya's cheerful voice was heard. It was as though some +one had come home for the holidays. + +"Why didn't you wire?" asked Zinaida Fyodorovna, breathless with joy. +"Why was it? I have been in misery; I don't know how I've lived through +it.... Oh, my God!" + +"It was very simple! I returned with the senator to Moscow the very +first day, and didn't get your telegrams," said Orlov. "After dinner, my +love, I'll give you a full account of my doings, but now I must sleep +and sleep.... I am worn out with the journey." + +It was evident that he had not slept all night; he had probably been +playing cards and drinking freely. Zinaida Fyodorovna put him to bed, +and we all walked about on tiptoe all that day. The dinner went off +quite satisfactorily, but when they went into the study and had coffee +the explanation began. Zinaida Fyodorovna began talking of something +rapidly in a low voice; she spoke in French, and her words flowed like a +stream. Then I heard a loud sigh from Orlov, and his voice. + +"My God!" he said in French. "Have you really nothing fresher to tell me +than this everlasting tale of your servant's misdeeds?" + +"But, my dear, she robbed me and said insulting things to me." + +"But why is it she doesn't rob me or say insulting things to me? Why is +it I never notice the maids nor the porters nor the footmen? My dear, +you are simply capricious and refuse to know your own mind.... I really +begin to suspect that you must be in a certain condition. When I offered +to let her go, you insisted on her remaining, and now you want me to +turn her away. I can be obstinate, too, in such cases. You want her to +go, but I want her to remain. That's the only way to cure you of your +nerves." + +"Oh, very well, very well," said Zinaida Fyodorovna in alarm. "Let us +say no more about that.... Let us put it off till to-morrow.... Now tell +me about Moscow.... What is going on in Moscow?" + + +X + +After lunch next day--it was the seventh of January, St. John the +Baptist's Day--Orlov put on his black dress coat and his decoration to +go to visit his father and congratulate him on his name day. He had to +go at two o'clock, and it was only half-past one when he had finished +dressing. What was he to do for that half-hour? He walked about the +drawing-room, declaiming some congratulatory verses which he had recited +as a child to his father and mother. + +Zinaida Fyodorovna, who was just going out to a dressmaker's or to the +shops, was sitting, listening to him with a smile. I don't know how +their conversation began, but when I took Orlov his gloves, he was +standing before her with a capricious, beseeching face, saying: + +"For God's sake, in the name of everything that's holy, don't talk of +things that everybody knows! What an unfortunate gift our intellectual +thoughtful ladies have for talking with enthusiasm and an air of +profundity of things that every schoolboy is sick to death of! Ah, if +only you would exclude from our conjugal programme all these serious +questions! How grateful I should be to you!" + +"We women may not dare, it seems, to have views of our own." + +"I give you full liberty to be as liberal as you like, and quote from +any authors you choose, but make me one concession: don't hold forth in +my presence on either of two subjects: the corruption of the upper +classes and the evils of the marriage system. Do understand me, at last. +The upper class is always abused in contrast with the world of +tradesmen, priests, workmen and peasants, Sidors and Nikitas of all +sorts. I detest both classes, but if I had honestly to choose between +the two, I should without hesitation, prefer the upper class, and there +would be no falsity or affectation about it, since all my tastes are in +that direction. Our world is trivial and empty, but at any rate we speak +French decently, read something, and don't punch each other in the ribs +even in our most violent quarrels, while the Sidors and the Nikitas and +their worships in trade talk about 'being quite agreeable,' 'in a +jiffy,' 'blast your eyes,' and display the utmost license of pothouse +manners and the most degrading superstition." + +"The peasant and the tradesman feed you." + +"Yes, but what of it? That's not only to my discredit, but to theirs +too. They feed me and take off their caps to me, so it seems they have +not the intelligence and honesty to do otherwise. I don't blame or +praise any one: I only mean that the upper class and the lower are as +bad as one another. My feelings and my intelligence are opposed to both, +but my tastes lie more in the direction of the former. Well, now for the +evils of marriage," Orlov went on, glancing at his watch. "It's high +time for you to understand that there are no evils in the system itself; +what is the matter is that you don't know yourselves what you want from +marriage. What is it you want? In legal and illegal cohabitation, in +every sort of union and cohabitation, good or bad, the underlying +reality is the same. You ladies live for that underlying reality alone: +for you it's everything; your existence would have no meaning for you +without it. You want nothing but that, and you get it; but since you've +taken to reading novels you are ashamed of it: you rush from pillar to +post, you recklessly change your men, and to justify this turmoil you +have begun talking of the evils of marriage. So long as you can't and +won't renounce what underlies it all, your chief foe, your devil--so +long as you serve that slavishly, what use is there in discussing the +matter seriously? Everything you may say to me will be falsity and +affectation. I shall not believe you." + +I went to find out from the hall porter whether the sledge was at the +door, and when I came back I found it had become a quarrel. As sailors +say, a squall had blown up. + +"I see you want to shock me by your cynicism today," said Zinaida +Fyodorovna, walking about the drawing-room in great emotion. "It revolts +me to listen to you. I am pure before God and man, and have nothing to +repent of. I left my husband and came to you, and am proud of it. I +swear, on my honour, I am proud of it!" + +"Well, that's all right, then!" + +"If you are a decent, honest man, you, too, ought to be proud of what I +did. It raises you and me above thousands of people who would like to do +as we have done, but do not venture through cowardice or petty prudence. +But you are not a decent man. You are afraid of freedom, and you mock +the promptings of genuine feeling, from fear that some ignoramus may +suspect you of being sincere. You are afraid to show me to your friends; +there's no greater infliction for you than to go about with me in the +street.... Isn't that true? Why haven't you introduced me to your father +or your cousin all this time? Why is it? No, I am sick of it at last," +cried Zinaida Fyodorovna, stamping. "I demand what is mine by right. You +must present me to your father." + +"If you want to know him, go and present yourself. He receives visitors +every morning from ten till half-past." + +"How base you are!" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, wringing her hands in +despair. "Even if you are not sincere, and are not saying what you +think, I might hate you for your cruelty. Oh, how base you are!" + +"We keep going round and round and never reach the real point. The real +point is that you made a mistake, and you won't acknowledge it aloud. +You imagined that I was a hero, and that I had some extraordinary ideas +and ideals, and it has turned out that I am a most ordinary official, a +cardplayer, and have no partiality for ideas of any sort. I am a worthy +representative of the rotten world from which you have run away because +you were revolted with its triviality and emptiness. Recognise it and be +just: don't be indignant with me, but with yourself, as it is your +mistake, and not mine." + +"Yes, I admit I was mistaken." + +"Well, that's all right, then. We've reached that point at last, thank +God. Now hear something more, if you please: I can't rise to your +level--I am too depraved; you can't descend to my level, either, for you +are too exalted. So there is only one thing left to do...." + +"What?" Zinaida Fyodorovna asked quickly, holding her breath and turning +suddenly as white as a sheet of paper. + +"To call logic to our aid...." + +"Georgy, why are you torturing me?" Zinaida Fyodorovna said suddenly in +Russian in a breaking voice. "What is it for? Think of my misery...." + +Orlov, afraid of tears, went quickly into his study, and I don't know +why--whether it was that he wished to cause her extra pain, or whether +he remembered it was usually done in such cases--he locked the door +after him. She cried out and ran after him with a rustle of her skirt. + +"What does this mean?" she cried, knocking at his door. "What ... what +does this mean?" she repeated in a shrill voice breaking with +indignation. "Ah, so this is what you do! Then let me tell you I hate +you, I despise you! Everything is over between us now." + +I heard hysterical weeping mingled with laughter. Something small in the +drawing-room fell off the table and was broken. Orlov went out into the +hall by another door, and, looking round him nervously, he hurriedly put +on his great-coat and went out. + +Half an hour passed, an hour, and she was still weeping. I remembered +that she had no father or mother, no relations, and here she was living +between a man who hated her and Polya, who robbed her--and how desolate +her life seemed to me! I do not know why, but I went into the +drawing-room to her. Weak and helpless, looking with her lovely hair +like an embodiment of tenderness and grace, she was in anguish, as +though she were ill; she was lying on a couch, hiding her face, and +quivering all over. + +"Madam, shouldn't I fetch a doctor?" I asked gently. + +"No, there's no need ... it's nothing," she said, and she looked at me +with her tear-stained eyes. "I have a little headache.... Thank you." + +I went out, and in the evening she was writing letter after letter, and +sent me out first to Pekarsky, then to Gruzin, then to Kukushkin, and +finally anywhere I chose, if only I could find Orlov and give him the +letter. Every time I came back with the letter she scolded me, entreated +me, thrust money into my hand--as though she were in a fever. And all +the night she did not sleep, but sat in the drawing-room, talking to +herself. + +Orlov returned to dinner next day, and they were reconciled. + +The first Thursday afterwards Orlov complained to his friends of the +intolerable life he led; he smoked a great deal, and said with +irritation: + +"It is no life at all; it's the rack. Tears, wailing, intellectual +conversations, begging for forgiveness, again tears and wailing; and the +long and the short of it is that I have no flat of my own now. I am +wretched, and I make her wretched. Surely I haven't to live another +month or two like this? How can I? But yet I may have to." + +"Why don't you speak, then?" said Pekarsky. + +"I've tried, but I can't. One can boldly tell the truth, whatever it may +be, to an independent, rational man; but in this case one has to do with +a creature who has no will, no strength of character, and no logic. I +cannot endure tears; they disarm me. When she cries, I am ready to swear +eternal love and cry myself." + +Pekarsky did not understand; he scratched his broad forehead in +perplexity and said: + +"You really had better take another flat for her. It's so simple!" + +"She wants me, not the flat. But what's the good of talking?" sighed +Orlov. "I only hear endless conversations, but no way out of my +position. It certainly is a case of 'being guilty without guilt.' I +don't claim to be a mushroom, but it seems I've got to go into the +basket. The last thing I've ever set out to be is a hero. I never could +endure Turgenev's novels; and now, all of a sudden, as though to spite +me, I've heroism forced upon me. I assure her on my honour that I'm not +a hero at all, I adduce irrefutable proofs of the same, but she doesn't +believe me. Why doesn't she believe me? I suppose I really must have +something of the appearance of a hero." + +"You go off on a tour of inspection in the provinces," said Kukushkin, +laughing. + +"Yes, that's the only thing left for me." + +A week after this conversation Orlov announced that he was again ordered +to attend the senator, and the same evening he went off with his +portmanteaus to Pekarsky. + + +XI + +An old man of sixty, in a long fur coat reaching to the ground, and a +beaver cap, was standing at the door. + +"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he asked. + +At first I thought it was one of the moneylenders, Gruzin's creditors, +who sometimes used to come to Orlov for small payments on account; but +when he came into the hall and flung open his coat, I saw the thick +brows and the characteristically compressed lips which I knew so well +from the photographs, and two rows of stars on the uniform. I recognised +him: it was Orlov's father, the distinguished statesman. + +I answered that Georgy Ivanitch was not at home. The old man pursed up +his lips tightly and looked into space, reflecting, showing me his +dried-up, toothless profile. + +"I'll leave a note," he said; "show me in." + +He left his goloshes in the hall, and, without taking off his long, +heavy fur coat, went into the study. There he sat down before the table, +and, before taking up the pen, for three minutes he pondered, shading +his eyes with his hand as though from the sun--exactly as his son did +when he was out of humour. His face was sad, thoughtful, with that look +of resignation which I have only seen on the faces of the old and +religious. I stood behind him, gazed at his bald head and at the hollow +at the nape of his neck, and it was clear as daylight to me that this +weak old man was now in my power. There was not a soul in the flat +except my enemy and me. I had only to use a little physical violence, +then snatch his watch to disguise the object of the crime, and to get +off by the back way, and I should have gained infinitely more than I +could have imagined possible when I took up the part of a footman. I +thought that I could hardly get a better opportunity. But instead of +acting, I looked quite unconcernedly, first at his bald patch and then +at his fur, and calmly meditated on this man's relation to his only son, +and on the fact that people spoiled by power and wealth probably don't +want to die.... + +"Have you been long in my son's service?" he asked, writing a large hand +on the paper. + +"Three months, your High Excellency." + +He finished the letter and stood up. I still had time. I urged myself on +and clenched my fists, trying to wring out of my soul some trace of my +former hatred; I recalled what a passionate, implacable, obstinate hate +I had felt for him only a little while before.... But it is difficult to +strike a match against a crumbling stone. The sad old face and the cold +glitter of his stars roused in me nothing but petty, cheap, unnecessary +thoughts of the transitoriness of everything earthly, of the nearness of +death.... + +"Good-day, brother," said the old man. He put on his cap and went out. + +There could be no doubt about it: I had undergone a change; I had become +different. To convince myself, I began to recall the past, but at once I +felt uneasy, as though I had accidentally peeped into a dark, damp +corner. I remembered my comrades and friends, and my first thought was +how I should blush in confusion if ever I met any of them. What was I +now? What had I to think of and to do? Where was I to go? What was I +living for? + +I could make nothing of it. I only knew one thing--that I must make +haste to pack my things and be off. Before the old man's visit my +position as a flunkey had a meaning; now it was absurd. Tears dropped +into my open portmanteau; I felt insufferably sad; but how I longed to +live! I was ready to embrace and include in my short life every +possibility open to man. I wanted to speak, to read, and to hammer in +some big factory, and to stand on watch, and to plough. I yearned for +the Nevsky Prospect, for the sea and the fields--for every place to +which my imagination travelled. When Zinaida Fyodorovna came in, I +rushed to open the door for her, and with peculiar tenderness took off +her fur coat. The last time! + +We had two other visitors that day besides the old man. In the evening +when it was quite dark, Gruzin came to fetch some papers for Orlov. He +opened the table-drawer, took the necessary papers, and, rolling them +up, told me to put them in the hall beside his cap while he went in to +see Zinaida Fyodorovna. She was lying on the sofa in the drawing-room, +with her arms behind her head. Five or six days had already passed since +Orlov went on his tour of inspection, and no one knew when he would be +back, but this time she did not send telegrams and did not expect them. +She did not seem to notice the presence of Polya, who was still living +with us. "So be it, then," was what I read on her passionless and very +pale face. Like Orlov, she wanted to be unhappy out of obstinacy. To +spite herself and everything in the world, she lay for days together on +the sofa, desiring and expecting nothing but evil for herself. Probably +she was picturing to herself Orlov's return and the inevitable quarrels +with him; then his growing indifference to her, his infidelities; then +how they would separate; and perhaps these agonising thoughts gave her +satisfaction. But what would she have said if she found out the actual +truth? + +"I love you, Godmother," said Gruzin, greeting her and kissing her hand. +"You are so kind! And so dear _George_ has gone away," he lied. "He has +gone away, the rascal!" + +He sat down with a sigh and tenderly stroked her hand. + +"Let me spend an hour with you, my dear," he said. "I don't want to go +home, and it's too early to go to the Birshovs'. The Birshovs are +keeping their Katya's birthday to-day. She is a nice child!" + +I brought him a glass of tea and a decanter of brandy. He slowly and +with obvious reluctance drank the tea, and returning the glass to me, +asked timidly: + +"Can you give me ... something to eat, my friend? I have had no dinner." + +We had nothing in the flat. I went to the restaurant and brought him the +ordinary rouble dinner. + +"To your health, my dear," he said to Zinaida Fyodorovna, and he tossed +off a glass of vodka. "My little girl, your godchild, sends you her +love. Poor child! she's rickety. Ah, children, children!" he sighed. +"Whatever you may say, Godmother, it is nice to be a father. Dear +_George_ can't understand that feeling." + +He drank some more. Pale and lean, with his dinner-napkin over his chest +like a little pinafore, he ate greedily, and raising his eyebrows, kept +looking guiltily, like a little boy, first at Zinaida Fyodorovna and +then at me. It seemed as though he would have begun crying if I had not +given him the grouse or the jelly. When he had satisfied his hunger he +grew more lively, and began laughingly telling some story about the +Birshov household, but perceiving that it was tiresome and that Zinaida +Fyodorovna was not laughing, he ceased. And there was a sudden feeling +of dreariness. After he had finished his dinner they sat in the +drawing-room by the light of a single lamp, and did not speak; it was +painful to him to lie to her, and she wanted to ask him something, but +could not make up her mind to. So passed half an hour. Gruzin glanced at +his watch. + +"I suppose it's time for me to go." + +"No, stay a little.... We must have a talk." + +Again they were silent. He sat down to the piano, struck one chord, then +began playing, and sang softly, "What does the coming day bring me?" but +as usual he got up suddenly and tossed his head. + +"Play something," Zinaida Fyodorovna asked him. + +"What shall I play?" he asked, shrugging his shoulders. "I have +forgotten everything. I've given it up long ago." + +Looking at the ceiling as though trying to remember, he played two +pieces of Tchaikovsky with exquisite expression, with such warmth, such +insight! His face was just as usual--neither stupid nor intelligent--and +it seemed to me a perfect marvel that a man whom I was accustomed to see +in the midst of the most degrading, impure surroundings, was capable of +such purity, of rising to a feeling so lofty, so far beyond my reach. +Zinaida Fyodorovna's face glowed, and she walked about the drawing-room +in emotion. + +"Wait a bit, Godmother; if I can remember it, I will play you +something," he said; "I heard it played on the violoncello." + +Beginning timidly and picking out the notes, and then gathering +confidence, he played Saint-Saens's "Swan Song." He played it through, +and then played it a second time. + +"It's nice, isn't it?" he said. + +Moved by the music, Zinaida Fyodorovna stood beside him and asked: + +"Tell me honestly, as a friend, what do you think about me?" + +"What am I to say?" he said, raising his eyebrows. "I love you and think +nothing but good of you. But if you wish that I should speak generally +about the question that interests you," he went on, rubbing his sleeve +near the elbow and frowning, "then, my dear, you know.... To follow +freely the promptings of the heart does not always give good people +happiness. To feel free and at the same time to be happy, it seems to +me, one must not conceal from oneself that life is coarse, cruel, and +merciless in its conservatism, and one must retaliate with what it +deserves--that is, be as coarse and as merciless in one's striving for +freedom. That's what I think." + +"That's beyond me," said Zinaida Fyodorovna, with a mournful smile. "I +am exhausted already. I am so exhausted that I wouldn't stir a finger +for my own salvation." + +"Go into a nunnery." + +He said this in jest, but after he had said it, tears glistened in +Zinaida Fyodorovna's eyes and then in his. + +"Well," he said, "we've been sitting and sitting, and now we must go. +Good-bye, dear Godmother. God give you health." + +He kissed both her hands, and stroking them tenderly, said that he +should certainly come to see her again in a day or two. In the hall, as +he was putting on his overcoat, that was so like a child's pelisse, he +fumbled long in his pockets to find a tip for me, but found nothing +there. + +"Good-bye, my dear fellow," he said sadly, and went away. + +I shall never forget the feeling that this man left behind him. + +Zinaida Fyodorovna still walked about the room in her excitement. That +she was walking about and not still lying down was so much to the good. +I wanted to take advantage of this mood to speak to her openly and then +to go away, but I had hardly seen Gruzin out when I heard a ring. It was +Kukushkin. + +"Is Georgy Ivanitch at home?" he said. "Has he come back? You say no? +What a pity! In that case, I'll go in and kiss your mistress's hand, and +so away. Zinaida Fyodorovna, may I come in?" he cried. "I want to kiss +your hand. Excuse my being so late." + +He was not long in the drawing-room, not more than ten minutes, but I +felt as though he were staying a long while and would never go away. I +bit my lips from indignation and annoyance, and already hated Zinaida +Fyodorovna. "Why does she not turn him out?" I thought indignantly, +though it was evident that she was bored by his company. + +When I held his fur coat for him he asked me, as a mark of special +good-will, how I managed to get on without a wife. + +"But I don't suppose you waste your time," he said, laughingly. "I've no +doubt Polya and you are as thick as thieves.... You rascal!" + +In spite of my experience of life, I knew very little of mankind at that +time, and it is very likely that I often exaggerated what was of little +consequence and failed to observe what was important. It seemed to me it +was not without motive that Kukushkin tittered and flattered me. Could +it be that he was hoping that I, like a flunkey, would gossip in other +kitchens and servants' quarters of his coming to see us in the evenings +when Orlov was away, and staying with Zinaida Fyodorovna till late at +night? And when my tittle-tattle came to the ears of his acquaintance, +he would drop his eyes in confusion and shake his little finger. And +would not he, I thought, looking at his little honeyed face, this very +evening at cards pretend and perhaps declare that he had already won +Zinaida Fyodorovna from Orlov? + +That hatred which failed me at midday when the old father had come, took +possession of me now. Kukushkin went away at last, and as I listened to +the shuffle of his leather goloshes, I felt greatly tempted to fling +after him, as a parting shot, some coarse word of abuse, but I +restrained myself. And when the steps had died away on the stairs, I +went back to the hall, and, hardly conscious of what I was doing, took +up the roll of papers that Gruzin had left behind, and ran headlong +downstairs. Without cap or overcoat, I ran down into the street. It was +not cold, but big flakes of snow were falling and it was windy. + +"Your Excellency!" I cried, catching up Kukushkin. "Your Excellency!" + +He stopped under a lamp-post and looked round with surprise. "Your +Excellency!" I said breathless, "your Excellency!" + +And not able to think of anything to say, I hit him two or three times +on the face with the roll of paper. Completely at a loss, and hardly +wondering--I had so completely taken him by surprise--he leaned his back +against the lamp-post and put up his hands to protect his face. At that +moment an army doctor passed, and saw how I was beating the man, but he +merely looked at us in astonishment and went on. I felt ashamed and I +ran back to the house. + + +XII + +With my head wet from the snow, and gasping for breath, I ran to my +room, and immediately flung off my swallow-tails, put on a reefer jacket +and an overcoat, and carried my portmanteau out into the passage; I must +get away! But before going I hurriedly sat down and began writing to +Orlov: + +"I leave you my false passport," I began. "I beg you to keep it as a +memento, you false man, you Petersburg official! + +"To steal into another man's house under a false name, to watch under +the mask of a flunkey this person's intimate life, to hear everything, +to see everything in order later on, unasked, to accuse a man of +lying--all this, you will say, is on a level with theft. Yes, but I care +nothing for fine feelings now. I have endured dozens of your dinners and +suppers when you said and did what you liked, and I had to hear, to look +on, and be silent. I don't want to make you a present of my silence. +Besides, if there is not a living soul at hand who dares to tell you the +truth without flattery, let your flunkey Stepan wash your magnificent +countenance for you." + +I did not like this beginning, but I did not care to alter it. Besides, +what did it matter? + +The big windows with their dark curtains, the bed, the crumpled dress +coat on the floor, and my wet footprints, looked gloomy and forbidding. +And there was a peculiar stillness. + +Possibly because I had run out into the street without my cap and +goloshes I was in a high fever. My face burned, my legs ached.... My +heavy head drooped over the table, and there was that kind of division +in my thought when every idea in the brain seemed dogged by its shadow. + +"I am ill, weak, morally cast down," I went on; "I cannot write to you +as I should like to. From the first moment I desired to insult and +humiliate you, but now I do not feel that I have the right to do so. You +and I have both fallen, and neither of us will ever rise up again; and +even if my letter were eloquent, terrible, and passionate, it would +still seem like beating on the lid of a coffin: however one knocks upon +it, one will not wake up the dead! No efforts could warm your accursed +cold blood, and you know that better than I do. Why write? But my mind +and heart are burning, and I go on writing; for some reason I am moved +as though this letter still might save you and me. I am so feverish that +my thoughts are disconnected, and my pen scratches the paper without +meaning; but the question I want to put to you stands before me as clear +as though in letters of flame. + +"Why I am prematurely weak and fallen is not hard to explain. Like +Samson of old, I have taken the gates of Gaza on my shoulders to carry +them to the top of the mountain, and only when I was exhausted, when +youth and health were quenched in me forever, I noticed that that burden +was not for my shoulders, and that I had deceived myself. I have been, +moreover, in cruel and continual pain. I have endured cold, hunger, +illness, and loss of liberty. Of personal happiness I know and have +known nothing. I have no home; my memories are bitter, and my conscience +is often in dread of them. But why have you fallen--you? What fatal, +diabolical causes hindered your life from blossoming into full flower? +Why, almost before beginning life, were you in such haste to cast off +the image and likeness of God, and to become a cowardly beast who backs +and scares others because he is afraid himself? You are afraid of +life--as afraid of it as an Oriental who sits all day on a cushion +smoking his hookah. Yes, you read a great deal, and a European coat fits +you well, but yet with what tender, purely Oriental, pasha-like care you +protect yourself from hunger, cold, physical effort, from pain and +uneasiness! How early your soul has taken to its dressing-gown! What a +cowardly part you have played towards real life and nature, with which +every healthy and normal man struggles! How soft, how snug, how warm, +how comfortable--and how bored you are! Yes, it is deathly boredom, +unrelieved by one ray of light, as in solitary confinement; but you try +to hide from that enemy, too, you play cards eight hours out of +twenty-four. + +"And your irony? Oh, but how well I understand it! Free, bold, living +thought is searching and dominating; for an indolent, sluggish mind it +is intolerable. That it may not disturb your peace, like thousands of +your contemporaries, you made haste in youth to put it under bar and +bolt. Your ironical attitude to life, or whatever you like to call it, +is your armour; and your thought, fettered and frightened, dare not leap +over the fence you have put round it; and when you jeer at ideas which +you pretend to know all about, you are like the deserter fleeing from +the field of battle, and, to stifle his shame, sneering at war and at +valour. Cynicism stifles pain. In some novel of Dostoevsky's an old man +tramples underfoot the portrait of his dearly loved daughter because he +had been unjust to her, and you vent your foul and vulgar jeers upon the +ideas of goodness and truth because you have not the strength to follow +them. You are frightened of every honest and truthful hint at your +degradation, and you purposely surround yourself with people who do +nothing but flatter your weaknesses. And you may well, you may well +dread the sight of tears! + +"By the way, your attitude to women. Shamelessness has been handed down +to us in our flesh and blood, and we are trained to shamelessness; but +that is what we are men for--to subdue the beast in us. When you reached +manhood and _all_ ideas became known to you, you could not have failed +to see the truth; you knew it, but you did not follow it; you were +afraid of it, and to deceive your conscience you began loudly assuring +yourself that it was not you but woman that was to blame, that she was +as degraded as your attitude to her. Your cold, scabrous anecdotes, your +coarse laughter, all your innumerable theories concerning the underlying +reality of marriage and the definite demands made upon it, concerning +the ten _sous_ the French workman pays his woman; your everlasting +attacks on female logic, lying, weakness and so on--doesn't it all look +like a desire at all costs to force woman down into the mud that she may +be on the same level as your attitude to her? You are a weak, unhappy, +unpleasant person!" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna began playing the piano in the drawing-room, trying +to recall the song of Saint Saens that Gruzin had played. I went and lay +on my bed, but remembering that it was time for me to go, I got up with +an effort and with a heavy, burning head went to the table again. + +"But this is the question," I went on. "Why are we worn out? Why are we, +at first so passionate so bold, so noble, and so full of faith, complete +bankrupts at thirty or thirty-five? Why does one waste in consumption, +another put a bullet through his brains, a third seeks forgetfulness in +vodka and cards, while the fourth tries to stifle his fear and misery by +cynically trampling underfoot the pure image of his fair youth? Why is +it that, having once fallen, we do not try to rise up again, and, losing +one thing, do not seek something else? Why is it? + +"The thief hanging on the Cross could bring back the joy of life and the +courage of confident hope, though perhaps he had not more than an hour +to live. You have long years before you, and I shall probably not die so +soon as one might suppose. What if by a miracle the present turned out +to be a dream, a horrible nightmare, and we should wake up renewed, +pure, strong, proud of our righteousness? Sweet visions fire me, and I +am almost breathless with emotion. I have a terrible longing to live. I +long for our life to be holy, lofty, and majestic as the heavens above. +Let us live! The sun doesn't rise twice a day, and life is not given us +again--clutch at what is left of your life and save it...." + +I did not write another word. I had a multitude of thoughts in my mind, +but I could not connect them and get them on to paper. Without finishing +the letter, I signed it with my name and rank, and went into the study. +It was dark. I felt for the table and put the letter on it. I must have +stumbled against the furniture in the dark and made a noise. + +"Who is there?" I heard an alarmed voice in the drawing-room. + +And the clock on the table softly struck one at the moment. + + +XIII + +For at least half a minute I fumbled at the door in the dark, feeling +for the handle; then I slowly opened it and walked into the +drawing-room. Zinaida Fyodorovna was lying on the couch, and raising +herself on her elbow, she looked towards me. Unable to bring myself to +speak, I walked slowly by, and she followed me with her eyes. I stood +for a little time in the dining-room and then walked by her again, and +she looked at me intently and with perplexity, even with alarm. At last +I stood still and said with an effort: + +"He is not coming back." + +She quickly got on to her feet, and looked at me without understanding. + +"He is not coming back," I repeated, and my heart beat violently. "He +will not come back, for he has not left Petersburg. He is staying at +Pekarsky's." + +She understood and believed me--I saw that from her sudden pallor, and +from the way she laid her arms upon her bosom in terror and entreaty. In +one instant all that had happened of late flashed through her mind; she +reflected, and with pitiless clarity she saw the whole truth. But at the +same time she remembered that I was a flunkey, a being of a lower +order.... A casual stranger, with hair ruffled, with face flushed with +fever, perhaps drunk, in a common overcoat, was coarsely intruding into +her intimate life, and that offended her. She said to me sternly: + +"It's not your business: go away." + +"Oh, believe me!" I cried impetuously, holding out my hands to her. "I +am not a footman; I am as free as you." + +I mentioned my name, and, speaking very rapidly that she might not +interrupt me or go away, explained to her who I was and why I was living +there. This new discovery struck her more than the first. Till then she +had hoped that her footman had lied or made a mistake or been silly, but +now after my confession she had no doubts left. From the expression of +her unhappy eyes and face, which suddenly lost its softness and beauty +and looked old, I saw that she was insufferably miserable, and that the +conversation would lead to no good; but I went on impetuously: + +"The senator and the tour of inspection were invented to deceive you. In +January, just as now, he did not go away, but stayed at Pekarsky's, and +I saw him every day and took part in the deception. He was weary of you, +he hated your presence here, he mocked at you.... If you could have +heard how he and his friends here jeered at you and your love, you would +not have remained here one minute! Go away from here! Go away." + +"Well," she said in a shaking voice, and moved her hand over her hair. +"Well, so be it." + +Her eyes were full of tears, her lips were quivering, and her whole face +was strikingly pale and distorted with anger. Orlov's coarse, petty +lying revolted her and seemed to her contemptible, ridiculous: she +smiled and I did not like that smile. + +"Well," she repeated, passing her hand over her hair again, "so be it. +He imagines that I shall die of humiliation, and instead of that I am +... amused by it. There's no need for him to hide." She walked away from +the piano and said, shrugging her shoulders: "There's no need.... It +would have been simpler to have it out with me instead of keeping in +hiding in other people's flats. I have eyes; I saw it myself long +ago.... I was only waiting for him to come back to have things out once +for all." + +Then she sat down on a low chair by the table, and, leaning her head on +the arm of the sofa, wept bitterly. In the drawing-room there was only +one candle burning in the candelabra, and the chair where she was +sitting was in darkness; but I saw how her head and shoulders were +quivering, and how her hair, escaping from her combs, covered her neck, +her face, her arms.... Her quiet, steady weeping, which was not +hysterical but a woman's ordinary weeping, expressed a sense of insult, +of wounded pride, of injury, and of something helpless, hopeless, which +one could not set right and to which one could not get used. Her tears +stirred an echo in my troubled and suffering heart; I forgot my illness +and everything else in the world; I walked about the drawing-room and +muttered distractedly: + +"Is this life?... Oh, one can't go on living like this, one can't.... +Oh, it's madness, wickedness, not life." + +"What humiliation!" she said through her tears. "To live together, to +smile at me at the very time when I was burdensome to him, ridiculous in +his eyes! Oh, how humiliating!" + +She lifted up her head, and looking at me with tear-stained eyes through +her hair, wet with her tears, and pushing it back as it prevented her +seeing me, she asked: + +"They laughed at me?" + +"To these men you were laughable--you and your love and Turgenev; they +said your head was full of him. And if we both die at once in despair, +that will amuse them, too; they will make a funny anecdote of it and +tell it at your requiem service. But why talk of them?" I said +impatiently. "We must get away from here--I cannot stay here one minute +longer." + +She began crying again, while I walked to the piano and sat down. + +"What are we waiting for?" I asked dejectedly. "It's two o'clock." + +"I am not waiting for anything," she said. "I am utterly lost." + +"Why do you talk like that? We had better consider together what we are +to do. Neither you nor I can stay here. Where do you intend to go?" + +Suddenly there was a ring at the bell. My heart stood still. Could it be +Orlov, to whom perhaps Kukushkin had complained of me? How should we +meet? I went to open the door. It was Polya. She came in shaking the +snow off her pelisse, and went into her room without saying a word to +me. When I went back to the drawing-room, Zinaida Fyodorovna, pale as +death, was standing in the middle of the room, looking towards me with +big eyes. + +"Who was it?" she asked softly. + +"Polya," I answered. + +She passed her hand over her hair and closed her eyes wearily. + +"I will go away at once," she said. "Will you be kind and take me to the +Petersburg Side? What time is it now?" + +"A quarter to three." + + +XIV + +When, a little afterwards, we went out of the house, it was dark and +deserted in the street. Wet snow was falling and a damp wind lashed in +one's face. I remember it was the beginning of March; a thaw had set in, +and for some days past the cabmen had been driving on wheels. Under the +impression of the back stairs, of the cold, of the midnight darkness, +and the porter in his sheepskin who had questioned us before letting us +out of the gate, Zinaida Fyodorovna was utterly cast down and +dispirited. When we got into the cab and the hood was put up, trembling +all over, she began hurriedly saying how grateful she was to me. + +"I do not doubt your good-will, but I am ashamed that you should be +troubled," she muttered. "Oh, I understand, I understand.... When Gruzin +was here to-day, I felt that he was lying and concealing something. +Well, so be it. But I am ashamed, anyway, that you should be troubled." + +She still had her doubts. To dispel them finally, I asked the cabman to +drive through Sergievsky Street; stopping him at Pekarsky's door, I got +out of the cab and rang. When the porter came to the door, I asked +aloud, that Zinaida Fyodorovna might hear, whether Georgy Ivanitch was +at home. + +"Yes," was the answer, "he came in half an hour ago. He must be in bed +by now. What do you want?" + +Zinaida Fyodorovna could not refrain from putting her head out. + +"Has Georgy Ivanitch been staying here long?" she asked. + +"Going on for three weeks." + +"And he's not been away?" + +"No," answered the porter, looking at me with surprise. + +"Tell him, early to-morrow," I said, "that his sister has arrived from +Warsaw. Good-bye." + +Then we drove on. The cab had no apron, the snow fell on us in big +flakes, and the wind, especially on the Neva, pierced us through and +through. I began to feel as though we had been driving for a long time, +that for ages we had been suffering, and that for ages I had been +listening to Zinaida Fyodorovna's shuddering breath. In semi-delirium, +as though half asleep, I looked back upon my strange, incoherent life, +and for some reason recalled a melodrama, "The Parisian Beggars," which +I had seen once or twice in my childhood. And when to shake off that +semi-delirium I peeped out from the hood and saw the dawn, all the +images of the past, all my misty thoughts, for some reason, blended in +me into one distinct, overpowering thought: everything was irrevocably +over for Zinaida Fyodorovna and for me. This was as certain a conviction +as though the cold blue sky contained a prophecy, but a minute later I +was already thinking of something else and believed differently. + +"What am I now?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, in a voice husky with the cold +and the damp. "Where am I to go? What am I to do? Gruzin told me to go +into a nunnery. Oh, I would! I would change my dress, my face, my name, +my thoughts ... everything--everything, and would hide myself for ever. +But they will not take me into a nunnery. I am with child." + +"We will go abroad together to-morrow," I said. + +"That's impossible. My husband won't give me a passport." + +"I will take you without a passport." + +The cabman stopped at a wooden house of two storeys, painted a dark +colour. I rang. Taking from me her small light basket--the only luggage +we had brought with us--Zinaida Fyodorovna gave a wry smile and said: + +"These are my _bijoux_." + +But she was so weak that she could not carry these _bijoux_. + +It was a long while before the door was opened. After the third or +fourth ring a light gleamed in the windows, and there was a sound of +steps, coughing and whispering; at last the key grated in the lock, and +a stout peasant woman with a frightened red face appeared at the door. +Some distance behind her stood a thin little old woman with short grey +hair, carrying a candle in her hand. Zinaida Fyodorovna ran into the +passage and flung her arms round the old woman's neck. + +"Nina, I've been deceived," she sobbed loudly. "I've been coarsely, +foully deceived! Nina, Nina!" + +I handed the basket to the peasant woman. The door was closed, but still +I heard her sobs and the cry "Nina!" + +I got into the cab and told the man to drive slowly to the Nevsky +Prospect. I had to think of a night's lodging for myself. + +Next day towards evening I went to see Zinaida Fyodorovna. She was +terribly changed. There were no traces of tears on her pale, terribly +sunken face, and her expression was different. I don't know whether it +was that I saw her now in different surroundings, far from luxurious, +and that our relations were by now different, or perhaps that intense +grief had already set its mark upon her; she did not strike me as so +elegant and well dressed as before. Her figure seemed smaller; there was +an abruptness and excessive nervousness about her as though she were in +a hurry, and there was not the same softness even in her smile. I was +dressed in an expensive suit which I had bought during the day. She +looked first of all at that suit and at the hat in my hand, then turned +an impatient, searching glance upon my face as though studying it. + +"Your transformation still seems to me a sort of miracle," she said. +"Forgive me for looking at you with such curiosity. You are an +extraordinary man, you know." + +I told her again who I was, and why I was living at Orlov's, and I told +her at greater length and in more detail than the day before. She +listened with great attention, and said without letting me finish: + +"Everything there is over for me. You know, I could not refrain from +writing a letter. Here is the answer." + +On the sheet which she gave there was written in Orlov's hand: + +"I am not going to justify myself. But you must own that it was your +mistake, not mine. I wish you happiness, and beg you to make haste and +forget. + +"Yours sincerely, + +"G. O. + +"P. S.--I am sending on your things." + +The trunks and baskets despatched by Orlov were standing in the passage, +and my poor little portmanteau was there beside them. + +"So ..." Zinaida Fyodorovna began, but she did not finish. + +We were silent. She took the note and held it for a couple of minutes +before her eyes, and during that time her face wore the same haughty, +contemptuous, proud, and harsh expression as the day before at the +beginning of our explanation; tears came into her eyes--not timid, +bitter tears, but proud, angry tears. + +"Listen," she said, getting up abruptly and moving away to the window +that I might not see her face. "I have made up my mind to go abroad with +you tomorrow." + +"I am very glad. I am ready to go to-day." + +"Accept me as a recruit. Have you read Balzac?" she asked suddenly, +turning round. "Have you? At the end of his novel 'Pere Goriot' the hero +looks down upon Paris from the top of a hill and threatens the town: +'Now we shall settle our account,' and after this he begins a new life. +So when I look out of the train window at Petersburg for the last time, +I shall say, 'Now we shall settle our account!'" + +Saying this, she smiled at her jest, and for some reason shuddered all +over. + + +XV + +At Venice I had an attack of pleurisy. Probably I had caught cold in the +evening when we were rowing from the station to the Hotel Bauer. I had +to take to my bed and stay there for a fortnight. Every morning while I +was ill Zinaida Fyodorovna came from her room to drink coffee with me, +and afterwards read aloud to me French and Russian books, of which we +had bought a number at Vienna. These books were either long, long +familiar to me or else had no interest for me, but I had the sound of a +sweet, kind voice beside me, so that the meaning of all of them was +summed up for me in the one thing--I was not alone. She would go out for +a walk, come back in her light grey dress, her light straw hat, gay, +warmed by the spring sun; and sitting by my bed, bending low down over +me, would tell me something about Venice or read me those books--and I +was happy. + +At night I was cold, ill, and dreary, but by day I revelled in life--I +can find no better expression for it. The brilliant warm sunshine +beating in at the open windows and at the door upon the balcony, the +shouts below, the splash of oars, the tinkle of bells, the prolonged +boom of the cannon at midday, and the feeling of perfect, perfect +freedom, did wonders with me; I felt as though I were growing strong, +broad wings which were bearing me God knows whither. And what charm, +what joy at times at the thought that another life was so close to mine! +that I was the servant, the guardian, the friend, the indispensable +fellow-traveller of a creature, young, beautiful, wealthy, but weak, +lonely, and insulted! It is pleasant even to be ill when you know that +there are people who are looking forward to your convalescence as to a +holiday. One day I heard her whispering behind the door with my doctor, +and then she came in to me with tear-stained eyes. It was a bad sign, +but I was touched, and there was a wonderful lightness in my heart. + +But at last they allowed me to go out on the balcony. The sunshine and +the breeze from the sea caressed and fondled my sick body. I looked down +at the familiar gondolas, which glide with feminine grace smoothly and +majestically as though they were alive, and felt all the luxury of this +original, fascinating civilisation. There was a smell of the sea. Some +one was playing a stringed instrument and two voices were singing. How +delightful it was! How unlike it was to that Petersburg night when the +wet snow was falling and beating so rudely on our faces. If one looks +straight across the canal, one sees the sea, and on the wide expanse +towards the horizon the sun glittered on the water so dazzlingly that it +hurt one's eyes to look at it. My soul yearned towards that lovely sea, +which was so akin to me and to which I had given up my youth. I longed +to live--to live--and nothing more. + +A fortnight later I began walking freely. I loved to sit in the sun, and +to listen to the gondoliers without understanding them, and for hours +together to gaze at the little house where, they said, Desdemona +lived--a naive, mournful little house with a demure expression, as light +as lace, so light that it looked as though one could lift it from its +place with one hand. I stood for a long time by the tomb of Canova, and +could not take my eyes off the melancholy lion. And in the Palace of the +Doges I was always drawn to the corner where the portrait of the unhappy +Marino Faliero was painted over with black. "It is fine to be an artist, +a poet, a dramatist," I thought, "but since that is not vouchsafed to +me, if only I could go in for mysticism! If only I had a grain of some +faith to add to the unruffled peace and serenity that fills the soul!" + +In the evening we ate oysters, drank wine, and went out in a gondola. I +remember our black gondola swayed softly in the same place while the +water faintly gurgled under it. Here and there the reflection of the +stars and the lights on the bank quivered and trembled. Not far from us +in a gondola, hung with coloured lanterns which were reflected in the +water, there were people singing. The sounds of guitars, of violins, of +mandolins, of men's and women's voices, were audible in the dark. +Zinaida Fyodorovna, pale, with a grave, almost stern face, was sitting +beside me, compressing her lips and clenching her hands. She was +thinking about something; she did not stir an eyelash, nor hear me. Her +face, her attitude, and her fixed, expressionless gaze, and her +incredibly miserable, dreadful, and icy-cold memories, and around her +the gondolas, the lights, the music, the song with its vigorous +passionate cry of "_Jam-mo! Jam-mo!_"--what contrasts in life! When she +sat like that, with tightly clasped hands, stony, mournful, I used to +feel as though we were both characters in some novel in the +old-fashioned style called "The Ill-fated," "The Abandoned," or +something of the sort. Both of us: she--the ill-fated, the abandoned; +and I--the faithful, devoted friend, the dreamer, and, if you like it, a +superfluous man, a failure capable of nothing but coughing and dreaming, +and perhaps sacrificing myself. + +But who and what needed my sacrifices now? And what had I to sacrifice, +indeed? + +When we came in in the evening we always drank tea in her room and +talked. We did not shrink from touching on old, unhealed wounds--on the +contrary, for some reason I felt a positive pleasure in telling her +about my life at Orlov's, or referring openly to relations which I knew +and which could not have been concealed from me. + +"At moments I hated you," I said to her. "When he was capricious, +condescending, told you lies, I marvelled how it was you did not see, +did not understand, when it was all so clear! You kissed his hands, you +knelt to him, you flattered him ..." + +"When I ... kissed his hands and knelt to him, I loved him ..." she +said, blushing crimson. + +"Can it have been so difficult to see through him? A fine sphinx! A +sphinx indeed--a _kammer-junker!_ I reproach you for nothing, God +forbid," I went on, feeling I was coarse, that I had not the tact, the +delicacy which are so essential when you have to do with a +fellow-creature's soul; in early days before I knew her I had not +noticed this defect in myself. "But how could you fail to see what he +was," I went on, speaking more softly and more diffidently, however. + +"You mean to say you despise my past, and you are right," she said, +deeply stirred. "You belong to a special class of men who cannot be +judged by ordinary standards; your moral requirements are exceptionally +rigorous, and I understand you can't forgive things. I understand you, +and if sometimes I say the opposite, it doesn't mean that I look at +things differently from you; I speak the same old nonsense simply +because I haven't had time yet to wear out my old clothes and +prejudices. I, too, hate and despise my past, and Orlov and my love.... +What was that love? It's positively absurd now," she said, going to the +window and looking down at the canal. "All this love only clouds the +conscience and confuses the mind. The meaning of life is to be found +only in one thing--fighting. To get one's heel on the vile head of the +serpent and to crush it! That's the meaning of life. In that alone or in +nothing." + +I told her long stories of my past, and described my really astounding +adventures. But of the change that had taken place in me I did not say +one word. She always listened to me with great attention, and at +interesting places she rubbed her hands as though vexed that it had not +yet been her lot to experience such adventures, such joys and terrors. +Then she would suddenly fall to musing and retreat into herself, and I +could see from her face that she was not attending to me. + +I closed the windows that looked out on the canal and asked whether we +should not have the fire lighted. + +"No, never mind. I am not cold," she said, smiling listlessly. "I only +feel weak. Do you know, I fancy I have grown much wiser lately. I have +extraordinary, original ideas now. When I think of my past, of my life +then ... people in general, in fact, it is all summed up for me in the +image of my stepmother. Coarse, insolent, soulless, false, depraved, and +a morphia maniac too. My father, who was feeble and weak-willed, married +my mother for her money and drove her into consumption; but his second +wife, my stepmother, he loved passionately, insanely.... What I had to +put up with! But what is the use of talking! And so, as I say, it is all +summed up in her image.... And it vexes me that my stepmother is dead. I +should like to meet her now!" + +"Why?" + +"I don't know," she answered with a laugh and a graceful movement of her +head. "Good-night. You must get well. As soon as you are well, we'll +take up our work ... It's time to begin." + +After I had said good-night and had my hand on the door-handle, she +said: + +"What do you think? Is Polya still living there?" + +"Probably." + +And I went off to my room. So we spent a whole month. One grey morning +when we both stood at my window, looking at the clouds which were moving +up from the sea, and at the darkening canal, expecting every minute that +it would pour with rain, and when a thick, narrow streak of rain covered +the sea as though with a muslin veil, we both felt suddenly dreary. The +same day we both set off for Florence. + + +XVI + +It was autumn, at Nice. One morning when I went into her room she was +sitting on a low chair, bent together and huddled up, with her legs +crossed and her face hidden in her hands. She was weeping bitterly, with +sobs, and her long, unbrushed hair fell on her knees. The impression of +the exquisite marvellous sea which I had only just seen and of which I +wanted to tell her, left me all at once, and my heart ached. + +"What is it?" I asked; she took one hand from her face and motioned me +to go away. "What is it?" I repeated, and for the first time during our +acquaintance I kissed her hand. + +"No, it's nothing, nothing," she said quickly. "Oh, it's nothing, +nothing.... Go away.... You see, I am not dressed." + +I went out overwhelmed. The calm and serene mood in which I had been for +so long was poisoned by compassion. I had a passionate longing to fall +at her feet, to entreat her not to weep in solitude, but to share her +grief with me, and the monotonous murmur of the sea already sounded a +gloomy prophecy in my ears, and I foresaw fresh tears, fresh troubles, +and fresh losses in the future. "What is she crying about? What is it?" +I wondered, recalling her face and her agonised look. I remembered she +was with child. She tried to conceal her condition from other people, +and also from herself. At home she went about in a loose wrapper or in a +blouse with extremely full folds over the bosom, and when she went out +anywhere she laced herself in so tightly that on two occasions she +fainted when we were out. She never spoke to me of her condition, and +when I hinted that it might be as well to see a doctor, she flushed +crimson and said not a word. + +When I went to see her next time she was already dressed and had her +hair done. + +"There, there," I said, seeing that she was ready to cry again. "We had +better go to the sea and have a talk." + +"I can't talk. Forgive me, I am in the mood now when one wants to be +alone. And, if you please, Vladimir Ivanitch, another time you want to +come into my room, be so good as to give a knock at the door." + +That "be so good" had a peculiar, unfeminine sound. I went away. My +accursed Petersburg mood came back, and all my dreams were crushed and +crumpled up like leaves by the heat. I felt I was alone again and there +was no nearness between us. I was no more to her than that cobweb to +that palm-tree, which hangs on it by chance and which will be torn off +and carried away by the wind. I walked about the square where the band +was playing, went into the Casino; there I looked at overdressed and +heavily perfumed women, and every one of them glanced at me as though +she would say: "You are alone; that's all right." Then I went out on the +terrace and looked for a long time at the sea. There was not one sail on +the horizon. On the left bank, in the lilac-coloured mist, there were +mountains, gardens, towers, and houses, the sun was sparkling over it +all, but it was all alien, indifferent, an incomprehensible tangle. + + +XVII + +She used as before to come into my room in the morning to coffee, but we +no longer dined together, as she said she was not hungry; and she lived +only on coffee, tea, and various trifles such as oranges and caramels. + +And we no longer had conversations in the evening. I don't know why it +was like this. Ever since the day when I had found her in tears she had +treated me somehow lightly, at times casually, even ironically, and for +some reason called me "My good sir." What had before seemed to her +terrible, heroic, marvellous, and had stirred her envy and enthusiasm, +did not touch her now at all, and usually after listening to me, she +stretched and said: + +"Yes, 'great things were done in days of yore,' my good sir." + +It sometimes happened even that I did not see her for days together. I +would knock timidly and guiltily at her door and get no answer; I would +knock again--still silence.... I would stand near the door and listen; +then the chambermaid would pass and say coldly, "_Madame est partie._" +Then I would walk about the passages of the hotel, walk and walk.... +English people, full-bosomed ladies, waiters in swallow-tails.... And as +I keep gazing at the long striped rug that stretches the whole length of +the corridor, the idea occurs to me that I am playing in the life of +this woman a strange, probably false part, and that it is beyond my +power to alter that part. I run to my room and fall on my bed, and think +and think, and can come to no conclusion; and all that is clear to me is +that I want to live, and that the plainer and the colder and the harder +her face grows, the nearer she is to me, and the more intensely and +painfully I feel our kinship. Never mind "My good sir," never mind her +light careless tone, never mind anything you like, only don't leave me, +my treasure. I am afraid to be alone. + +Then I go out into the corridor again, listen in a tremor.... I have no +dinner; I don't notice the approach of evening. At last about eleven I +hear the familiar footstep, and at the turn near the stairs Zinaida +Fyodorovna comes into sight. + +"Are you taking a walk?" she would ask as she passes me. "You had better +go out into the air.... Good-night!" + +"But shall we not meet again to-day?" + +"I think it's late. But as you like." + +"Tell me, where have you been?" I would ask, following her into the +room. + +"Where? To Monte Carlo." She took ten gold coins out of her pocket and +said: "Look, my good sir; I have won. That's at roulette." + +"Nonsense! As though you would gamble." + +"Why not? I am going again to-morrow." + +I imagined her with a sick and morbid face, in her condition, tightly +laced, standing near the gaming-table in a crowd of cocottes, of old +women in their dotage who swarm round the gold like flies round the +honey. I remembered she had gone off to Monte Carlo for some reason in +secret from me. + +"I don't believe you," I said one day. "You wouldn't go there." + +"Don't agitate yourself. I can't lose much." + +"It's not the question of what you lose," I said with annoyance. "Has it +never occurred to you while you were playing there that the glitter of +gold, all these women, young and old, the croupiers, all the +surroundings--that it is all a vile, loathsome mockery at the toiler's +labour, at his bloody sweat? + +"If one doesn't play, what is one to do here?" she asked. "The toiler's +labour and his bloody sweat--all that eloquence you can put off till +another time; but now, since you have begun, let me go on. Let me ask +you bluntly, what is there for me to do here, and what am I to do?" + +"What are you to do?" I said, shrugging my shoulders. "That's a question +that can't be answered straight off." + +"I beg you to answer me honestly, Vladimir Ivanitch," she said, and her +face looked angry. "Once I have brought myself to ask you this question, +I am not going to listen to stock phrases. I am asking you," she went +on, beating her hand on the table, as though marking time, "what ought I +to do here? And not only here at Nice, but in general?" + +I did not speak, but looked out of window to the sea. My heart was +beating terribly. + +"Vladimir Ivanitch," she said softly and breathlessly; it was hard for +her to speak--"Vladimir Ivanitch, if you do not believe in the cause +yourself, if you no longer think of going back to it, why ... why did +you drag me out of Petersburg? Why did you make me promises, why did you +rouse mad hopes? Your convictions have changed; you have become a +different man, and nobody blames you for it--our convictions are not +always in our power. But ... but, Vladimir Ivanitch, for God's sake, why +are you not sincere?" she went on softly, coming up to me. "All these +months when I have been dreaming aloud, raving, going into raptures over +my plans, remodelling my life on a new pattern, why didn't you tell me +the truth? Why were you silent or encouraged me by your stories, and +behaved as though you were in complete sympathy with me? Why was it? Why +was it necessary?" + +"It's difficult to acknowledge one's bankruptcy," I said, turning round, +but not looking at her. "Yes, I have no faith; I am worn out. I have +lost heart.... It is difficult to be truthful--very difficult, and I +held my tongue. God forbid that any one should have to go through what I +have been through." + +I felt that I was on the point of tears, and ceased speaking. + +"Vladimir Ivanitch," she said, and took me by both hands, "you have been +through so much and seen so much of life, you know more than I do; think +seriously, and tell me, what am I to do? Teach me! If you haven't the +strength to go forward yourself and take others with you, at least show +me where to go. After all, I am a living, feeling, thinking being. To +sink into a false position ... to play an absurd part ... is painful to +me. I don't reproach you, I don't blame you; I only ask you." + +Tea was brought in. + +"Well?" said Zinaida Fyodorovna, giving me a glass. "What do you say to +me?" + +"There is more light in the world than you see through your window," I +answered. "And there are other people besides me, Zinaida Fyodorovna." + +"Then tell me who they are," she said eagerly. "That's all I ask of +you." + +"And I want to say, too," I went on, "one can serve an idea in more than +one calling. If one has made a mistake and lost faith in one, one may +find another. The world of ideas is large and cannot be exhausted." + +"The world of ideas!" she said, and she looked into my face +sarcastically. "Then we had better leave off talking. What's the +use?..." + +She flushed. + +"The world of ideas!" she repeated. She threw her dinner-napkin aside, +and an expression of indignation and contempt came into her face. "All +your fine ideas, I see, lead up to one inevitable, essential step: I +ought to become your mistress. That's what's wanted. To be taken up with +ideas without being the mistress of an honourable, progressive man, is +as good as not understanding the ideas. One has to begin with that ... +that is, with being your mistress, and the rest will come of itself." + +"You are irritated, Zinaida Fyodorovna," I said. + +"No, I am sincere!" she cried, breathing hard. "I am sincere!" + +"You are sincere, perhaps, but you are in error, and it hurts me to hear +you." + +"I am in error?" she laughed. "Any one else might say that, but not you, +my dear sir! I may seem to you indelicate, cruel, but I don't care: you +love me? You love me, don't you?" + +I shrugged my shoulders. + +"Yes, shrug your shoulders!" she went on sarcastically. "When you were +ill I heard you in your delirium, and ever since these adoring eyes, +these sighs, and edifying conversations about friendship, about +spiritual kinship.... But the point is, why haven't you been sincere? +Why have you concealed what is and talked about what isn't? Had you said +from the beginning what ideas exactly led you to drag me from +Petersburg, I should have known. I should have poisoned myself then as I +meant to, and there would have been none of this tedious farce.... But +what's the use of talking!" + +With a wave of the hand she sat down. + +"You speak to me as though you suspected me of dishonourable +intentions," I said, offended. + +"Oh, very well. What's the use of talking! I don't suspect you of +intentions, but of having no intentions. If you had any, I should have +known them by now. You had nothing but ideas and love. For the +present--ideas and love, and in prospect--me as your mistress. That's in +the order of things both in life and in novels.... Here you abused him," +she said, and she slapped the table with her hand, "but one can't help +agreeing with him. He has good reasons for despising these ideas." + +"He does not despise ideas; he is afraid of them," I cried. "He is a +coward and a liar." + +"Oh, very well. He is a coward and a liar, and deceived me. And you? +Excuse my frankness; what are you? He deceived me and left me to take my +chance in Petersburg, and you have deceived me and abandoned me here. +But he did not mix up ideas with his deceit, and you ..." + +"For goodness' sake, why are you saying this?" I cried in horror, +wringing my hands and going up to her quickly. "No, Zinaida Fyodorovna, +this is cynicism. You must not be so despairing; listen to me," I went +on, catching at a thought which flashed dimly upon me, and which seemed +to me might still save us both. "Listen. I have passed through so many +experiences in my time that my head goes round at the thought of them, +and I have realised with my mind, with my racked soul, that man finds +his true destiny in nothing if not in self-sacrificing love for his +neighbour. It is towards that we must strive, and that is our +destination! That is my faith!" + +I wanted to go on to speak of mercy, of forgiveness, but there was an +insincere note in my voice, and I was embarrassed. + +"I want to live!" I said genuinely. "To live, to live! I want peace, +tranquillity; I want warmth--this sea here--to have you near. Oh, how I +wish I could rouse in you the same thirst for life! You spoke just now +of love, but it would be enough for me to have you near, to hear your +voice, to watch the look in your face ...!" + +She flushed crimson, and to hinder my speaking, said quickly: + +"You love life, and I hate it. So our ways lie apart." + +She poured herself out some tea, but did not touch it, went into the +bedroom, and lay down. + +"I imagine it is better to cut short this conversation," she said to me +from within. "Everything is over for me, and I want nothing.... What +more is there to say?" + +"No, it's not all over!" + +"Oh, very well!... I know! I am sick of it.... That's enough." + +I got up, took a turn from one end of the room to the other, and went +out into the corridor. When late at night I went to her door and +listened, I distinctly heard her crying. + +Next morning the waiter, handing me my clothes, informed me, with a +smile, that the lady in number thirteen was confined. I dressed somehow, +and almost fainting with terror ran to Zinaida Fyodorovna. In her room I +found a doctor, a midwife, and an elderly Russian lady from Harkov, +called Darya Milhailovna. There was a smell of ether. I had scarcely +crossed the threshold when from the room where she was lying I heard a +low, plaintive moan, and, as though it had been wafted me by the wind +from Russia, I thought of Orlov, his irony, Polya, the Neva, the +drifting snow, then the cab without an apron, the prediction I had read +in the cold morning sky, and the despairing cry "Nina! Nina!" + +"Go in to her," said the lady. + +I went in to see Zinaida Fyodorovna, feeling as though I were the father +of the child. She was lying with her eyes closed, looking thin and pale, +wearing a white cap edged with lace. I remember there were two +expressions on her face: one--cold, indifferent, apathetic; the other--a +look of childish helplessness given her by the white cap. She did not +hear me come in, or heard, perhaps, but did not pay attention. I stood, +looked at her, and waited. + +But her face was contorted with pain; she opened her eyes and gazed at +the ceiling, as though wondering what was happening to her.... There was +a look of loathing on her face. + +"It's horrible ..." she whispered. + +"Zinaida Fyodorovna." I spoke her name softly. She looked at me +indifferently, listlessly, and closed her eyes. I stood there a little +while, then went away. + +At night, Darya Mihailovna informed me that the child, a girl, was born, +but that the mother was in a dangerous condition. Then I heard noise and +bustle in the passage. Darya Mihailovna came to me again and with a face +of despair, wringing her hands, said: + +"Oh, this is awful! The doctor suspects that she has taken poison! Oh, +how badly Russians do behave here!" + +And at twelve o'clock the next day Zinaida Fyodorovna died. + + +XVIII + +Two years had passed. Circumstances had changed; I had come to +Petersburg again and could live here openly. I was no longer afraid of +being and seeming sentimental, and gave myself up entirely to the +fatherly, or rather idolatrous feeling roused in me by Sonya, Zinaida +Fyodorovna's child. I fed her with my own hands, gave her her bath, put +her to bed, never took my eyes off her for nights together, and screamed +when it seemed to me that the nurse was just going to drop her. My +thirst for normal ordinary life became stronger and more acute as time +went on, but wider visions stopped short at Sonya, as though I had found +in her at last just what I needed. I loved the child madly. In her I saw +the continuation of my life, and it was not exactly that I fancied, but +I felt, I almost believed, that when I had cast off at last my long, +bony, bearded frame, I should go on living in those little blue eyes, +that silky flaxen hair, those dimpled pink hands which stroked my face +so lovingly and were clasped round my neck. + +Sonya's future made me anxious. Orlov was her father; in her birth +certificate she was called Krasnovsky, and the only person who knew of +her existence, and took interest in her--that is, I--was at death's +door. I had to think about her seriously. + +The day after I arrived in Petersburg I went to see Orlov. The door was +opened to me by a stout old fellow with red whiskers and no moustache, +who looked like a German. Polya, who was tidying the drawing-room, did +not recognise me, but Orlov knew me at once. + +"Ah, Mr. Revolutionist!" he said, looking at me with curiosity, and +laughing. "What fate has brought you?" + +He was not changed in the least: the same well-groomed, unpleasant face, +the same irony. And a new book was lying on the table just as of old, +with an ivory paper-knife thrust in it. He had evidently been reading +before I came in. He made me sit down, offered me a cigar, and with a +delicacy only found in well-bred people, concealing the unpleasant +feeling aroused by my face and my wasted figure, observed casually that +I was not in the least changed, and that he would have known me anywhere +in spite of my having grown a beard. We talked of the weather, of Paris. +To dispose as quickly as possible of the oppressive, inevitable +question, which weighed upon him and me, he asked: + +"Zinaida Fyodorovna is dead?" + +"Yes," I answered. + +"In childbirth?" + +"Yes, in childbirth. The doctor suspected another cause of death, but +... it is more comforting for you and for me to think that she died in +childbirth." + +He sighed decorously and was silent. The angel of silence passed over +us, as they say. + +"Yes. And here everything is as it used to be--no changes," he said +briskly, seeing that I was looking about the room. "My father, as you +know, has left the service and is living in retirement; I am still in +the same department. Do you remember Pekarsky? He is just the same as +ever. Gruzin died of diphtheria a year ago.... Kukushkin is alive, and +often speaks of you. By the way," said Orlov, dropping his eyes with an +air of reserve, "when Kukushkin heard who you were, he began telling +every one you had attacked him and tried to murder him ... and that he +only just escaped with his life." + +I did not speak. + +"Old servants do not forget their masters.... It's very nice of you," +said Orlov jocosely. "Will you have some wine and some coffee, though? I +will tell them to make some." + +"No, thank you. I have come to see you about a very important matter, +Georgy Ivanitch." + +"I am not very fond of important matters, but I shall be glad to be of +service to you. What do you want?" + +"You see," I began, growing agitated, "I have here with me Zinaida +Fyodorovna's daughter.... Hitherto I have brought her up, but, as you +see, before many days I shall be an empty sound. I should like to die +with the thought that she is provided for." + +Orlov coloured a little, frowned a little, and took a cursory and sullen +glance at me. He was unpleasantly affected, not so much by the +"important matter" as by my words about death, about becoming an empty +sound. + +"Yes, it must be thought about," he said, screening his eyes as though +from the sun. "Thank you. You say it's a girl?" + +"Yes, a girl. A wonderful child!" + +"Yes. Of course, it's not a lap-dog, but a human being. I understand we +must consider it seriously. I am prepared to do my part, and am very +grateful to you." + +He got up, walked about, biting his nails, and stopped before a picture. + +"We must think about it," he said in a hollow voice, standing with his +back to me. "I shall go to Pekarsky's to-day and will ask him to go to +Krasnovsky's. I don't think he will make much ado about consenting to +take the child." + +"But, excuse me, I don't see what Krasnovsky has got to do with it," I +said, also getting up and walking to a picture at the other end of the +room. + +"But she bears his name, of course!" said Orlov. + +"Yes, he may be legally obliged to accept the child--I don't know; but I +came to you, Georgy Ivanitch, not to discuss the legal aspect." + +"Yes, yes, you are right," he agreed briskly. "I believe I am talking +nonsense. But don't excite yourself. We will decide the matter to our +mutual satisfaction. If one thing won't do, we'll try another; and if +that won't do, we'll try a third--one way or another this delicate +question shall be settled. Pekarsky will arrange it all. Be so good as +to leave me your address and I will let you know at once what we decide. +Where are you living?" + +Orlov wrote down my address, sighed, and said with a smile: + +"Oh, Lord, what a job it is to be the father of a little daughter! But +Pekarsky will arrange it all. He is a sensible man. Did you stay long in +Paris?" + +"Two months." + +We were silent. Orlov was evidently afraid I should begin talking of the +child again, and to turn my attention in another direction, said: + +"You have probably forgotten your letter by now. But I have kept it. I +understand your mood at the time, and, I must own, I respect that +letter. 'Damnable cold blood,' 'Asiatic,' 'coarse laugh'--that was +charming and characteristic," he went on with an ironical smile. "And +the fundamental thought is perhaps near the truth, though one might +dispute the question endlessly. That is," he hesitated, "not dispute the +thought itself, but your attitude to the question--your temperament, so +to say. Yes, my life is abnormal, corrupted, of no use to any one, and +what prevents me from beginning a new life is cowardice--there you are +quite right. But that you take it so much to heart, are troubled, and +reduced to despair by it--that's irrational; there you are quite wrong." + +"A living man cannot help being troubled and reduced to despair when he +sees that he himself is going to ruin and others are going to ruin round +him." + +"Who doubts it! I am not advocating indifference; all I ask for is an +objective attitude to life. The more objective, the less danger of +falling into error. One must look into the root of things, and try to +see in every phenomenon a cause of all the other causes. We have grown +feeble, slack--degraded, in fact. Our generation is entirely composed of +neurasthenics and whimperers; we do nothing but talk of fatigue and +exhaustion. But the fault is neither yours nor mine; we are of too +little consequence to affect the destiny of a whole generation. We must +suppose for that larger, more general causes with a solid _raison +d'etre_ from the biological point of view. We are neurasthenics, flabby, +renegades, but perhaps it's necessary and of service for generations +that will come after us. Not one hair falls from the head without the +will of the Heavenly Father--in other words, nothing happens by chance +in Nature and in human environment. Everything has its cause and is +inevitable. And if so, why should we worry and write despairing +letters?" + +"That's all very well," I said, thinking a little. "I believe it will be +easier and clearer for the generations to come; our experience will be +at their service. But one wants to live apart from future generations +and not only for their sake. Life is only given us once, and one wants +to live it boldly, with full consciousness and beauty. One wants to play +a striking, independent, noble part; one wants to make history so that +those generations may not have the right to say of each of us that we +were nonentities or worse.... I believe what is going on about us is +inevitable and not without a purpose, but what have I to do with that +inevitability? Why should my ego be lost?" + +"Well, there's no help for it," sighed Orlov, getting up and, as it +were, giving me to understand that our conversation was over. + +I took my hat. + +"We've only been sitting here half an hour, and how many questions we +have settled, when you come to think of it!" said Orlov, seeing me into +the hall. "So I will see to that matter.... I will see Pekarsky +to-day.... Don't be uneasy." + +He stood waiting while I put on my coat, and was obviously relieved at +the feeling that I was going away. + +"Georgy Ivanitch, give me back my letter," I said. + +"Certainly." + +He went to his study, and a minute later returned with the letter. I +thanked him and went away. + +The next day I got a letter from him. He congratulated me on the +satisfactory settlement of the question. Pekarsky knew a lady, he wrote, +who kept a school, something like a kindergarten, where she took quite +little children. The lady could be entirely depended upon, but before +concluding anything with her it would be as well to discuss the matter +with Krasnovsky--it was a matter of form. He advised me to see Pekarsky +at once and to take the birth certificate with me, if I had it. "Rest +assured of the sincere respect and devotion of your humble servant...." + +I read this letter, and Sonya sat on the table and gazed at me +attentively without blinking, as though she knew her fate was being +decided. + + + + +THE HUSBAND + + +IN the course of the maneuvres the N---- cavalry regiment halted for a +night at the district town of K----. Such an event as the visit of +officers always has the most exciting and inspiring effect on the +inhabitants of provincial towns. The shopkeepers dream of getting rid of +the rusty sausages and "best brand" sardines that have been lying for +ten years on their shelves; the inns and restaurants keep open all +night; the Military Commandant, his secretary, and the local garrison +put on their best uniforms; the police flit to and fro like mad, while +the effect on the ladies is beyond all description. + +The ladies of K----, hearing the regiment approaching, forsook their +pans of boiling jam and ran into the street. Forgetting their morning +_deshabille_ and general untidiness, they rushed breathless with +excitement to meet the regiment, and listened greedily to the band +playing the march. Looking at their pale, ecstatic faces, one might have +thought those strains came from some heavenly choir rather than from a +military brass band. + +"The regiment!" they cried joyfully. "The regiment is coming!" + +What could this unknown regiment that came by chance to-day and would +depart at dawn to-morrow mean to them? + +Afterwards, when the officers were standing in the middle of the square, +and, with their hands behind them, discussing the question of billets, +all the ladies were gathered together at the examining magistrate's and +vying with one another in their criticisms of the regiment. They already +knew, goodness knows how, that the colonel was married, but not living +with his wife; that the senior officer's wife had a baby born dead every +year; that the adjutant was hopelessly in love with some countess, and +had even once attempted suicide. They knew everything. When a +pock-marked soldier in a red shirt darted past the windows, they knew +for certain that it was Lieutenant Rymzov's orderly running about the +town, trying to get some English bitter ale on tick for his master. They +had only caught a passing glimpse of the officers' backs, but had +already decided that there was not one handsome or interesting man among +them.... Having talked to their hearts' content, they sent for the +Military Commandant and the committee of the club, and instructed them +at all costs to make arrangements for a dance. + +Their wishes were carried out. At nine o'clock in the evening the +military band was playing in the street before the club, while in the +club itself the officers were dancing with the ladies of K----. The +ladies felt as though they were on wings. Intoxicated by the dancing, +the music, and the clank of spurs, they threw themselves heart and soul +into making the acquaintance of their new partners, and quite forgot +their old civilian friends. Their fathers and husbands, forced +temporarily into the background, crowded round the meagre refreshment +table in the entrance hall. All these government cashiers, secretaries, +clerks, and superintendents--stale, sickly-looking, clumsy figures--were +perfectly well aware of their inferiority. They did not even enter the +ball-room, but contented themselves with watching their wives and +daughters in the distance dancing with the accomplished and graceful +officers. + +Among the husbands was Shalikov, the tax-collector--a narrow, spiteful +soul, given to drink, with a big, closely cropped head, and thick, +protruding lips. He had had a university education; there had been a +time when he used to read progressive literature and sing students' +songs, but now, as he said of himself, he was a tax-collector and +nothing more. + +He stood leaning against the doorpost, his eyes fixed on his wife, Anna +Pavlovna, a little brunette of thirty, with a long nose and a pointed +chin. Tightly laced, with her face carefully powdered, she danced +without pausing for breath--danced till she was ready to drop exhausted. +But though she was exhausted in body, her spirit was inexhaustible.... +One could see as she danced that her thoughts were with the past, that +faraway past when she used to dance at the "College for Young Ladies," +dreaming of a life of luxury and gaiety, and never doubting that her +husband was to be a prince or, at the worst, a baron. + +The tax-collector watched, scowling with spite.... + +It was not jealousy he was feeling. He was ill-humoured--first, because +the room was taken up with dancing and there was nowhere he could play a +game of cards; secondly, because he could not endure the sound of wind +instruments; and, thirdly, because he fancied the officers treated the +civilians somewhat too casually and disdainfully. But what above +everything revolted him and moved him to indignation was the expression +of happiness on his wife's face. + +"It makes me sick to look at her!" he muttered. "Going on for forty, and +nothing to boast of at any time, and she must powder her face and lace +herself up! And frizzing her hair! Flirting and making faces, and +fancying she's doing the thing in style! Ugh! you're a pretty figure, +upon my soul!" + +Anna Pavlovna was so lost in the dance that she did not once glance at +her husband. + +"Of course not! Where do we poor country bumpkins come in!" sneered the +tax-collector. + +"We are at a discount now.... We're clumsy seals, unpolished provincial +bears, and she's the queen of the ball! She has kept enough of her looks +to please even officers ... They'd not object to making love to her, I +dare say!" + +During the mazurka the tax-collector's face twitched with spite. A +black-haired officer with prominent eyes and Tartar cheekbones danced +the mazurka with Anna Pavlovna. Assuming a stern expression, he worked +his legs with gravity and feeling, and so crooked his knees that he +looked like a jack-a-dandy pulled by strings, while Anna Pavlovna, pale +and thrilled, bending her figure languidly and turning her eyes up, +tried to look as though she scarcely touched the floor, and evidently +felt herself that she was not on earth, not at the local club, but +somewhere far, far away--in the clouds. Not only her face but her whole +figure was expressive of beatitude.... The tax-collector could endure it +no longer; he felt a desire to jeer at that beatitude, to make Anna +Pavlovna feel that she had forgotten herself, that life was by no means +so delightful as she fancied now in her excitement.... + +"You wait; I'll teach you to smile so blissfully," he muttered. "You are +not a boarding-school miss, you are not a girl. An old fright ought to +realise she is a fright!" + +Petty feelings of envy, vexation, wounded vanity, of that small, +provincial misanthropy engendered in petty officials by vodka and a +sedentary life, swarmed in his heart like mice. Waiting for the end of +the mazurka, he went into the hall and walked up to his wife. Anna +Pavlovna was sitting with her partner, and, flirting her fan and +coquettishly dropping her eyelids, was describing how she used to dance +in Petersburg (her lips were pursed up like a rosebud, and she +pronounced "at home in Puetuersburg"). + +"Anyuta, let us go home," croaked the tax-collector. + +Seeing her husband standing before her, Anna Pavlovna started as though +recalling the fact that she had a husband; then she flushed all over: +she felt ashamed that she had such a sickly-looking, ill-humoured, +ordinary husband. + +"Let us go home," repeated the tax-collector. + +"Why? It's quite early!" + +"I beg you to come home!" said the tax-collector deliberately, with a +spiteful expression. + +"Why? Has anything happened?" Anna Pavlovna asked in a flutter. + +"Nothing has happened, but I wish you to go home at once.... I wish it; +that's enough, and without further talk, please." + +Anna Pavlovna was not afraid of her husband, but she felt ashamed on +account of her partner, who was looking at her husband with surprise and +amusement. She got up and moved a little apart with her husband. + +"What notion is this?" she began. "Why go home? Why, it's not eleven +o'clock." + +"I wish it, and that's enough. Come along, and that's all about it." + +"Don't be silly! Go home alone if you want to." + +"All right; then I shall make a scene." + +The tax-collector saw the look of beatitude gradually vanish from his +wife's face, saw how ashamed and miserable she was--and he felt a little +happier. + +"Why do you want me at once?" asked his wife. + +"I don't want you, but I wish you to be at home. I wish it, that's all." + +At first Anna Pavlovna refused to hear of it, then she began entreating +her husband to let her stay just another half-hour; then, without +knowing why, she began to apologise, to protest--and all in a whisper, +with a smile, that the spectators might not suspect that she was having +a tiff with her husband. She began assuring him she would not stay long, +only another ten minutes, only five minutes; but the tax-collector stuck +obstinately to his point. + +"Stay if you like," he said, "but I'll make a scene if you do." + +And as she talked to her husband Anna Pavlovna looked thinner, older, +plainer. Pale, biting her lips, and almost crying, she went out to the +entry and began putting on her things. + +"You are not going?" asked the ladies in surprise. "Anna Pavlovna, you +are not going, dear?" + +"Her head aches," said the tax-collector for his wife. + +Coming out of the club, the husband and wife walked all the way home in +silence. The tax-collector walked behind his wife, and watching her +downcast, sorrowful, humiliated little figure, he recalled the look of +beatitude which had so irritated him at the club, and the consciousness +that the beatitude was gone filled his soul with triumph. He was pleased +and satisfied, and at the same time he felt the lack of something; he +would have liked to go back to the club and make every one feel dreary +and miserable, so that all might know how stale and worthless life is +when you walk along the streets in the dark and hear the slush of the +mud under your feet, and when you know that you will wake up next +morning with nothing to look forward to but vodka and cards. Oh, how +awful it is! + +And Anna Pavlovna could scarcely walk.... She was still under the +influence of the dancing, the music, the talk, the lights, and the +noise; she asked herself as she walked along why God had thus afflicted +her. She felt miserable, insulted, and choking with hate as she listened +to her husband's heavy footsteps. She was silent, trying to think of the +most offensive, biting, and venomous word she could hurl at her husband, +and at the same time she was fully aware that no word could penetrate +her tax-collector's hide. What did he care for words? Her bitterest +enemy could not have contrived for her a more helpless position. + +And meanwhile the band was playing and the darkness was full of the most +rousing, intoxicating dance-tunes. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Lady With The Dog and Other Stories, by +Anton Chekhov + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LADY WITH THE DOG *** + +***** This file should be named 13415.txt or 13415.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/3/4/1/13415/ + +Produced by James Rusk + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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